#i just pressed record and sung over a track

[flowerboypoet]

i feel sick to my stomach

physically ill

for the way that you’re not there

but i feel you still

[earthtoharlow]

Flashing Lights

Jack Harlow x SingerOC

Series Masterlist

8) Every Kind of Way

“Maryse, I love how hard working you are but are you seriously writing another song this close to the deadline?”

Maryse was currently in the studio working on a new song. The last couple days she’s locked herself up in the studio and played every single track over and over again making sure it was perfect. This was her debut album and she had a lot to prove. 

“Yes, CoCo. I promise this is the last song. Besides, I'm almost done with it.” She replied before picking up her guitar and strumming chords. 

“Ok well, while you continue writing more love songs about Jack I’m going to draft up your schedule for the next couple months.”

Maryse rolled her eyes and continued harmonizing to herself. She didn’t even want to think about how busy she was going to be. TV appearances, photoshoots, magazine interviews, private concerts, listening parties, signings, tour rehearsals and it all ended with performing at the Video Music Awards and then going straight to the world tour.  

Pushing that to the back of her mind she thought about her feelings for Jack. CoCo was right, she was writing a lot of love songs for him, half of which wasn’t going to make the album. 

She had never liked someone this much. Music was her only source to express how deeply she feels for him…other than telling him of course. 

Just as she was falling into the rabbit hole of thinking about Jack, he texted her asking if he could stop by the studio to show her something he was working on, Maryse immediately told him yes.

He arrived 20 minutes later with his laptop in hand. “Hey, babe.” Jack said walking over to where she was sitting on the couch, plopping down next to her after giving her a kiss on the forehead. 

Butterflies swirled in her stomach as he sat close to her, it amazed her how she still felt nervous around him, months later. 

Putting her guitar down, she sat cross legged and gave her his full attention. 

“I’ve got this song I’ve been working on and I’m pretty sure I’m going to make it my second single off the album.” Jack said as he fumbled around with the keys on the laptop. Maryse could tell he seemed nervous to show her. 

“Well, I’m excited to hear it!” Maryse wasn’t lying with that statement. Jack had been pretty secretive when it came to this album, not telling her much about it.

Jack bit his lip right before he pressed play. “Promise me you’ll give me your honest opinion, okay?”

“I promise.”

Jack took a deep breath and pressed play.

Mm

I been a (G), throw up the (L)

Sex in the (A-M), uh-huh

(O-R-O-U-S, yeah)

And I can put you in (first class, up in the sky)

A huge smile creeped on Maryse’s face as she heard the sample. She couldn’t believe it as she nodded her head and sung along. As the song came to an end the smile never left her face. 

“So, what did you—“ Jack couldn’t even finish what he was saying before Maryse reached over and wrapped her arms around him, words coming out in a squeal

All Jack could do was laugh as he wrapped his arms around her. “So you like it?”

“Are you kidding me?! I fucking love it!” She could see Jack immediately relax at her approval. 

Letting out a happy sigh, she continued. “One of our first conversations was you telling me about how much you loved Fergie as a child and now you’re sampling one of her biggest tracks, I’m so proud of you.” Maryse told him honestly.

Jack's face warmed when hearing her say that, dropping his head shyly.

“Thanks, M. When I was recording this I was telling the whole room it was a hit, but no one seemed to believe me.” 

“Well, no offense but they’re idiots.”

Jack bumped his shoulders against hers as they both laughed. 

Maryse perked up with an idea. “Prove them wrong.” Jack raised an eyebrow confused. “Prove who wrong? And how?”

“Post a teaser of First Class on Tik Tok and see how the world responds to it. When it goes viral, like I know it will, your team will be eating their words!”

JACKHARLOW

liked by summerwalker, lifeofmonet, dojacat, champagnepapi, neelamthadhani,urbanwyatt, druski, chloebailey and 967,456 others

jackharlow: First Class out NOW!

view all 12,567 comments

user: AAAAAAAH

user: maryse is so gorgeous

user: 😍

user: you made this song for the bitches!!

user: sweet sweet sweet semen is crazy

lifeofmonet: no free promo!

user: 🤣🤣🤣

user: wait is that maryse in the song saying “I am”

user: FINALLY

user: classic already

***

Jack rushed around the hotel room ignoring the laughs from Urban who was sitting in the corner of the room rolling a joint. 

“Dude, you’re sunburned BAD!”

He groaned at the reminder. He had spent the weekend in Turks and Caicos with Drake recording music and jet skiing which left his arms and face red as a tomato. The sun was never on his side. 

Jack had just stepped off his private jet having taken a red eye to New York. Maryse was having a private concert for her fans to celebrate her album that was coming out in a few weeks. He wanted to surprise her since she wasn’t expecting him back in town for another day.

The show starts in an hour and Jack still needed to find something to wear, if he didn’t leave in the next 15 minutes. He was going to be late. 

Quickly deciding on a pair of cargos and a hoodie, Urban and him rushed to the venue hoping he would make it in time to wish Maryse good luck. 

Because of traffic he wasn’t able to surprise Maryse before she got on stage. The show was about to start in 5 minutes. The stage crew was making sure the microphone and instruments were in the right place as the DJ played the last song. Jack pulled his hood over his head so he didn’t draw too much attention as he and Urban made their way to the friends and family section. 

Once in his seat he greeted Doja and Saweetie as they were both shocked to see him there.

“Maryse ain’t gonna be able to focus when she sees your sunburnt self in the crowd!” Saweetie said jokingly, Jack just rolled his eyes as Doja and Urban laughed around him. 

“NYC! Show some love for Maryse Monet!”

***

Maryse was doing her vocal runs to herself backstage while she mentally prepared herself for tonight’s show. This was going to be the first time fans, friends and family were going to hear the new music from the album, needless to say she was nervous. And she wished Jack was there. She hadn’t heard from him much today, too busy in the studio with Drake. 

Noticing she was nervous, Coco placed both her hands on her shoulders. 

“You’re going to kill it tonight. Like you always do. Just take a deep breath.”

Maryse took a deep breath and simply nodded. She checked her phone once more seeing if Jack messaged her, frowning when she saw no new messages. Luckily she didn’t have time to harp on it as the DJ introduced her to the crowd. Taking one last deep breath, she walked on stage. 

The crowd screamed in excitement as Maryse walked on the stage. Maryse kept her outfit casual as she wore a red mesh top with a long orange jacket and denim shorts. Her long curly hair flowed down her back. 

The nerves immediately went away as she saw the sold out venue, smile spreading across her face. 

“If you guys didn’t know, my name is Maryse!” She paused as the crowd cheered louder

The opening chords of Focus started playing as Maryse placed her mic back on the mic stand. As she began to sing she couldn’t help but smile as the crowd swayed and sung along to every word. 

After about 5 songs, Maryse grabbed a drink of water from the side of the stage as a stagehand adjusted her mic and placed a stool down. 

As she sat back on the stool she looked up and waved to Doja, Saweetie. “I have some friends here tonight, hey Doja and Saweetie!” She laughed as the crowd screamed, trying to catch her friend’s attention. Maryse squinted a little when she noticed Urban sitting next to them as well. Smiling to herself, thinking Jack must have told him to come since he couldn’t be there himself. 

“Ok, y’all I got one more song tonight for you. But I have a question, how many of y’all are in loooove?” She asked, putting emphasis on the word love. 

Maryse nodded at the cheers from the audience. “Falling in love is so scary, but you know what? It’s one of my favorite feelings in the world. I think I might be in love too.”

The crowd cheered loudly at the admission, some even cheering Jack’s name. “This next song is called Every Kind of Way.”

The crowd was silent as she began singing. It wasn’t until she got to the chorus when she started to feel chills. Glancing up in the friends and family section, that’s when she spotted him. Jack was standing behind Doja, towering over her because of his height. 

They both locked eyes. All her focus was on Jack now. It didn’t matter that they’ve only been dating for 4 months. She knew for certain that she loved that man. It was like she was speaking to him as she sung.

I wanna love you in every kind of way, I wanna please you, no matter how long it takes, If the world should end tomorrow and we only have today, I'm gonna love you in every kind of way

Tears were threatening to fall as she sung those words to Jack. A smile creeped on her face as he blew her kiss in greeting. The smile on Jack’s face widened when he watched her pretend to grab the kiss he blew, kissing it and placing it in her pocket. 

She loved him, and couldn’t wait to get off stage and tell him. 

***

Maryse was fidgety with excitement when a knock sounded on the door of her dressing room, rushing to open the door she couldn’t hide her disappointment when it was just CoCo. 

“Oh, hey.” Opening the door wider to let her manager in. 

“Okay, rude. Jack will be here in a second. I'm just grabbing my laptop that I left.”

Just as she was about to apologize for her reaction, there was another knock, but this time they didn’t wait for her to answer the door. 

The man Maryse wanted to see walked in. Jack stood at the door after closing it, holding his arms out for Maryse to jump in them. 

“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU'RE HERE!” Maryse squeaked, face buried inside his neck. Jack squeezed her tightly, before walking them both to the loveseat. He leaned forward and kissed her, moaning into her mouth.

Their legs and arms and mouths became two missing pieces of a puzzle, fitting together effortlessly. 

The chair was small and cramped.

It’s perfect. 

“Oh, this is my que to leave.” Coco said leaving the dressing room. 

Jack and Maryse didn’t even hear her, too wrapped into each other. 

Pulling away, Jack spoke first. “You did amazing tonight. The crowd loved you.”

Love. 

There goes that word again. 

Maryse watched with a smile as Jack rambled about the show, and the songs she performed.

“Hey, Jack?” Maryse said, interrupting him. 

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

Jack froze at the words. Maryse was praying that she didn’t just fuck things up. 

“I know, it might seem too soon but—“ It was Jack’s turn to interrupt now, but this time with a kiss. Both of their hearts were beating out their chest. 

“I can’t remember what it’s like to wake up and not have you be the first thing on my mind. Every morning, I roll over and check and see if you’ve called. I wanted you to be mine the second I laid eyes on you at the Grammy’s.” He told her.

Maryse was looking at Jack with so much love and appreciation that it made his chest hurt. The smile on her face was beautiful, he thought to himself. The tears that were streaming down her cheeks were beautiful. She was beautiful and so was her love. 

“I love you, Maryse Monet.”

Maryse exhales a soft breath and leans in slowly gently pressing her lips to his. 

“I love you so much it feels like a constant flow spilling into my soul.”

She pressed another kiss to his lips, feeling speechless. This kiss was filled with tenderness and affection. It felt like an unspoken promise that she was his now. Forever. 

Maryse pulled away, wiping the tears that fell from Jack’s face. “You know this means you’re stuck with me.”

Jack couldn’t help but laugh at that. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It was silent for a moment as Maryse rested her head on his chest.

"Also, you look like you got in a fight with the sun."

Jack groand as Maryse's giggles echoed through the room.

***

An: OUR BBS ARE BACK!!!! sorry this took so long, I've been busy but next update won't take that long I promise

Tag List:

(message me if you’d like to be added or removed)

@heavyhitterheaux @hoodharlow @neon-lights-and-glitter @babiefries @toocriticalharlow @mace23477 @jackmans-poison @dstark-0706 @harlowsbby @itsyagirljaz @leftapricotprofessorlover @ilyangelsxo @comehomeimissyou @minkookie95 @harlowcomehome @jackharloww @w1ldthoughts @hufflewhore128

[ijustwantedtobeoneofthestrokesuk]

Different Strokes

New York

When The Strokes returned in 2011 with Angles they were a very different band, in a very different scene. A lot of the bands who joined them as part of the New Rock Revolution had either burned away or established them as reliabilities (almost “heritage”).. New York had changed too, Manhattan had lost its cool, it had cleaned itself up and rent had pushed the creatives to the boroughs, mostly in Brooklyn. 

It’s an understatement to say Angles was highly anticipated, there was so much thirst for new music from The Strokes. It could have been automatically hailed a classic because it was something new or it could have struggled to live up to unattainable expectations. Angles was the first new music from the band since First Impressions of Earth in 2006. What fans of The Strokes were unaware of was that the dynamics in the band had shifted. Was this the same Strokes that was loved 10 years earlier? 

The Angles era of The Strokes wasn’t a happy time for the band. Recording sessions originally kicked off in 2009 and it was the first time that the band worked together on an album, Julian had written pretty much everything on the first 3 albums however his input was minimal this time as he distanced himself, only coming in to record his vocals for this record.  

Produced by Gus Oberg and recorded at Albert Hammond Jnr’s home studios, it wasn’t the same but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. People had been crying out for The Strokes to mix things up a little but in retrospect the first three albums were brilliant, they could have recorded replicas and remained a cult band. 

Angles is good, it just lacked something, that something being Julian. Julian is a control freak and he wasn’t just the frontman of The Strokes, he was The Strokes but he wasn’t ready to return to the day job. 

Ronnie Joice “I was totally indifferent to Angles. The first 2 Strokes albums hit a nerve, and the singles from First Impressions on Earth blew my socks off, and continue to, I’m in my mid-30’s now, I was 18 when I first heard those tracks, and they kicked me right in the nuts! “Why won’t you come over heerrrrrreeee” 

However, I never really got into another Strokes album until the last one they released – Bad Decisions. It came out during lockdown one, and I had been living alone throughout all of it. Something aligned again, and it sung to me. I had it on repeat for weeks after it came out. 

Another influencing factor with The Strokes were just how lackluster they were live. I saw them once during the Impressions tour, and they just didn’t seem bothered to be there. I saw them again recently at All Points East and the same could be said there. The crowd made those gigs exciting, at least but it did upset me they seemed to just enjoyed being adored, without giving us much back in return.” 

Listening to The Strokes' back catalogue in order, there’s a shift in direction as it gets to Angles. It was clear that there was friction between the frontman and the rest of the band in the few interviews they did do and they didn’t tour.  

Some things are best left alone and this was where The Strokes should have called it quits as Comedown Machine followed Angles 2 years later and it didn’t go down well at all. The reviews were poor, sale figures were at their lowest, had the magic worn off? The band didn’t tour the album either, or do any press while the album artwork suggested that it was made to fulfill their record contract with RCA. 

The Strokes were clearly not an essential part of Julian’s life at this point as, just 2 months after the Comedown Machine was released he appeared on Instant Crush, a song on Daft Punk’s Grammy award-winning album, Random Access Memories. In the same year Nick formed a new band, CRX in LA, where he had moved to. In September 2014 Julian released Tyranny, the first album with his punk band The Voidz on his own label Cult and it was a huge departure from anything that he’d done before as it was experimental noise. Albert Hammond Jnr. released his third solo album, Momentary Masters in the following July. 

A month before Momentary Masters The Strokes returned to London for a huge headline show at Hyde Park where they ripped through material from all five albums, pleasing the London crowd, reminding them why they were the band of this generation. New music came a year later with the release of three-track EP, Future Past Present, on Julian’s label, Cult Records, their first not on RCA followed by more solo projects. 

The Strokes' 6th album, The New Abnormal came 7 years after Comedown Machine, their longest gap between albums however, after the disappointment of the last album, excitement wasn’t really there. The timing wasn’t ideal, released in April 2020, less than a month after the COVID-19 pandemic had shut down the world but the album was received much better than Comedown Machine, they did interviews over Zoom and that brotherly love was back! It was worth the wait, even if nobody was really waiting for it. 

Brooklyn had always been the home of The National, who in their early years were overlooked but the lowkey 5-piece continued to perfect what they started and became the unlikely headliners at festivals and, then, even Taylor Swift collaborators. 

While The National had become one of the biggest guitar bands of the 2010’s, preppy boys Vampire Weekend had an equally successful decade with three no.1 albums in the US (Contra, Modern Vampires of the City, Father of the Bride) and two Grammy wins for Best Alternative Music Album (Modern Vampires of the City and Father of the Bride). 

The White Stripes released their last album Icky Thump in 2007 and called in quits but that wasn’t the last time we’d hear of Jack White who had moved to Nashville, built a studio and a HQ for his record label, Third Man Records. The workaholic had already founded The Raconteurs with Brendan Benson, in 2005, while he was still releasing albums and touring with Meg. A couple of years after The White Stripes bowed out Jack teamed up with Alison Mosshart and started another band, The Dead Weather before going solo in 2012.

After building a base in Nashville Jack returned home to Detroit, a city on the rise and Jack is behind it more than just the Third Man Records HQ which opened in 2015. This state-of-the-art warehouse is an upscaled version of the Nashville hub. The huge, derelict warehouse has been transformed into the world of Jack White where he pays homage to The White Stripes with memorabilia and a shop selling all things Third Man Records as well as a recording studio, a stage for gigs and a vinyl pressing plant. Everything within the building proves that Jack, famed for being anti-tech is now looking forward. In 2021 Third Man got their first bricks and mortar base outside of the US when they opened a shop in London, but again, this isn’t just somewhere to buy a few records, it’s a Third Man experience with unique collectibles, memorabilia and instore gigs. 

Jack’s former buddy from Detroit Jason Stollsteimer started a new band too! Hounds Below formed in 2009 before The Von Bondies went on a hiatus and released one album. In 2019 The Von Bondies were planning to reform for a UK-only tour before the COVID-19 pandemic put plans on hold. 

The New Rock Revolution big hitters might have hit their commercial peak in the early 2000’s but the wealth of material that has been released since, that hasn’t stayed in the past is highly impressive, particularly with side projects where Julian and his Voidz have gone into electro hardcore whilst Jack has consistently unearthed new talent, nurtured them and released them out into the open on Third Man Records.  

NEXT CHAPTER

[markwatkinsconsumerguide]

Consumer Guide / No.136 / American-Australian singer-songwriter and poet Joe Dolce with Mark Watkins.

MW: Your new album…

JD: My new album ‘Green-eyed Boy of the Rain’ has been in the works for 10 years. 

I wanted to make an album of songs where all the song lyrics had first been published as REAL poetry in poetry journals by editors who never heard the music. This was my litmus test to prove to myself that the lyrics were in fact stand-alone poems not just song-lyrics that people erroneously ‘called’ poetry. 

Over the 14 years since I started doing this, I’ve had about 150 song lyrics published as serious poetry so I picked the 12  that I liked best and made this record.  

No one has ever done this kind of thing before. Ever. Either in the worlds of music or poetry.

I produced the album with a co-production credit to my engineer who came up with some important and  incredibly creative ideas throughout the recording. 

So many different themes: there’s a song about the little known assassination of Martin Luther King's mother, ‘The Murder of Alberta King’; a song about a Italian gangster named Paul Kelly who started the Five Point gang in New York and a song called, ‘Mr Q’, about my hometown paedophile as when I was just 10 years old he owned the comic book shop, oddly enough. (This track also ties in with your question later about Marvel comics!)

Love songs, too. The title track - on the theme of jealousy and lost love - is the first song-lyric I ever had published as a poem, in 2010.

I sing a duet with my daughter called, ‘The Murder of Alberta King’ – the first time we’ve ever sung together, and two beautiful duets with my partner Lin van Hek, ‘I Never Found Those Lips Again’ and ‘Anemone’.  Lin and I have been singing together for 44 years - as long as we’ve been together. 

Three of the song lyrics are villanelles – the Renaissance poetic structure that Dylan Thomas used for Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night. Nineteen lines, with repetitive lines. 

The villanelle started out during the Renaissance as a dance-song structure but over the years has only been used for poetry.

I am returning it to its roots by using it for songwriting. A perfect form for both poets and songwriters to use for writing poetic lyrics.

The other unique thing about this album - which may surprise people - is that it is very strongly guitar-oriented: themes, solos & sounds. 

The electric guitar is my first instrument that I started playing in the late 1960s in local psychedelic bands in Ohio. I could play anything back then: Jimi Hendrix, Jeff Beck and Eric Clapton solos note-for note. I especially loved Albert King’s simplicity. No shredding – just soulful simple phrasing with a great tone.

I finally decided to get back to it. I had a specially custom-built Stratocaster (with a Telecaster pickup) made to my specifications and there’s some pretty thrilling guitar ideas all through the record.

MW: In 1981, your slapstick record, ‘Shaddap You Face’, topped the UK singles chart for three weeks, preventing Ultravox having their No.1 hit with the serious, ‘Vienna’. Have you ever spoken to any members of the new wave band about this or perhaps know of their feelings? Does it matter to you either way?

JD: I have never spoken to any of Ultravox about the problems they had with my song. I never had a problem with theirs. In fact, I never even noticed, ‘Vienna’, and would’ve totally forgotten about it if the band hadn’t insisted on dwelling on my song in their press interviews.

I think, ‘Vienna’, is a good song – but not a great song - and pretty representative of the early 1980s trend in style-over-content music that was so prevalent then. Not really the kind of song that you hear a lot of people doing cover versions of, however, in that sense it was more of something specific to the culture of the 80s and more or less irrelevant to the present.

‘Shaddap You Face’, on the other hand sounded like it was written in the 1940s & 1950s and could have (and probably would have) been sung by Dean Martin or Frank Sinatra. Ringo Starr could have done a great cover version. He still might! haha.

It hasn’t dated because it was never really part of that 80s culture. Two of the members of Ultravox have said in print that they always liked my song – keyboard player Billy Currie said he wished he had written it! Only ‘Midge’ Ure had a ‘bug’ up his arse, so to speak.

MW: Born in America in 1947, why did you move to Australia in 1978?

JD: I moved to Australia during my first marriage. We had two small children and decided Australia might be a good place to make a fresh start. It was also near my ex-wife’s parents so that was advantageous for the children.

MW: One of your early records was called, ‘Boat People’ - do you have any thoughts on the current plight of those getting on boats and crossing the seas to the UK?

JD: I’m not that familiar with the UK boat people problem. 

In 1979, when I wrote 'Boat People', I was concerned about the arrivals in Darwin of all these dangerous rickety boats. It was in the headlines every day. I had made friends with a cook at the only Vietnamese restaurant in Melbourne and would go over there just about every day for lunch. A bowl of pho in those days cost two dollars and I’d never had anything like it before.

I recorded and paid for the record myself. It got a little media attention and then nothing. So I took all the copies of the '45 single I had made over to the Vietnamese restaurant and gave them to the cook and asked him to distribute them amongst the fledgling Vietnamese community. As a result I was invited for the next two years in a row to perform at the major Vietnamese festivals in Australia. It was translated into Vietnamese and even written-up in newspapers in Hanoi.

MW: What first made you decide to incorporate performance art and poetry into your cabaret-type-music?

JD: My ex-wife was a modern dancer in Berkeley, California. When we met, we wanted to do something together so we did a fusion of my music and her dancing. We had a 4 member group. That’s where  the performance art had its foundations. I’ve always been attracted to dance and dancers. My first girlfriend was one of the best go-go dancers I ever saw. I dated dancers from the Australian Dance Theatre. My ex-wife was an improvisational dancer. My partner Lin is a tremendous party dancer. Very hot. Just watch the ‘Intimacy’ video clip online. I guess dance and music are natural partners.

The poetry was a different story. 

I wrote (bad) poetry before I learned to play music. The first girl I fell in love with, and took to my high school prom when I was 16, was two years older than me and attended a local prestigious girls’ college on a Creative Poetry scholarship. She even credited me, in my high school yearbook, with helping her with her sonnets! 

In 2009, I found myself being very critical of the quality of the lyric-writing in songs, at the time, especially new songs by Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen. 

I felt they were producing way below their potential and their best early work - but no one else seemed to notice. 

One day I decided that if  I’m going to be critical, I’d better be able to walk-my-talk and to do it myself i.e write quality poetry and poetic songs. So I started writing verse and sending it out to magazines.  

Gradually my poems began to be accepted for publication. I became quite prolific at writing and had a lot of success with getting them published, even winning important poetry competitions.

MW: For you, as in the musical, is life a "...cabaret old chum",  - if so how?

JD: I’ve never considered my music "cabaret" but I suppose you could look at it that way. My partner Lin and I created a two-person show called Difficult Women which we called a "literary cabaret". We toured all over the world for fifteen years including Okinawa, Canada, New Zealand, Estonia and played fifty shows at the Edinburgh Festival.

I’ve always considered, ‘Shaddap You Face’, to be  the ‘Yellow Submarine’ of my song repertoire! I’ve  always looked at it as simply just a good song because when I was growing  up, the kind of songs that stuck with me, like most of kids, weren’t romantic songs but songs that had something humorous and colourful about them:  ‘The Purple People Eater’, ‘Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini’, ‘Alley Oop’ - hundreds of unforgettable songs with catchy hooks. To me, and kids in general, they are just songs. The term ‘novelty song’ was invented by adults, not kids. They don’t pigeon-hole music like that. They like something or they don’t.

‘Shaddap You Face’, also had a strong rebellious and singalong component and at that time that was pretty rare. Nowadays everyone knows the lyrics to just about every pop singer’s songs (e.g. Taylor Swift) and sings along at the top of their lungs. But in the 80s, the world was saturated with glamour-pop – the singalong, which had been essential during the protest folk movement of the 1970s, had become obsolete.

MW: What is your favourite musical of all time - why?

JD: I don’t really have any favourite musicals. It’s not really my go-to kind of entertainment but I suppose The Wizard of Oz and Mary Poppins are up there. Brilliant characters and songs.

MW: Tell me about some of your favourite records...

JD: ...pretty much any Beatles album. The Byrds. I love the British Invasion of the late-60s. Most late-60s & early-70s bands: Zombies, Kinks, early-Rolling Stones... too many to mention.

I have a rare LP by The Singing Nun, Lyrics For Lovers, by Dirk Bogart (a spoken word album from 1960), The Youngbloods, Blonde On Blonde (my favourite Bob Dylan album, with the dumbest title) and The Band. Louis Armstrong’s Hot Five - his trumpet playing strongly influenced my blues harp playing. Anything by guitarist Albert King. 

MW: Rank your Top 5 comedians and give details as to why you like each one… 

JD: I generally steer away from meritocracy when talking about art – or I try to as much as my ego will let me!  A truly unique artist exists in a world immune from criticism. I mean how do you rank guitarists like Robert Johnson, Jimi Hendrix and Segovia? Picasso, Van Gogh or Monet? Whitman, Lorca, or Cavafy? Hemingway, Faulkner or Henry James? Impossible. They all have their own unique space and style. Meritocracy; i.e. who’s first, second, third, etc is for the world of sport and pop charts – but not true immortal art.

Comedians who have influenced my style however are: 

Jerry Lewis – his physical humour and ability to make fun of himself.

The Marx Bros – probably my all-time favourite comedians. They all were musicians, too. My Italian broken-English ‘Giuseppe’ comes directly from Chico Marx, who strangely enough wasn’t even Italian, but Jewish!

Andy Kaufman -  taught me conceptual and intellectual comedy-  how to create something outside the box that the audience doesn’t  see coming.

Richard Pryor– I saw Richard Pryor live in a big arena. His irreverence and willingness to make very uncomfortable racial observations that were somehow endearing to both blacks and whites was very visionary.

Henny Youngman – the king of one-liners and audience come-backs. e.g "If God can make penicillin out of mouldy bread, He can make something out of you." Stuff like that. Handy to have a couple of dozen of these on hand for hecklers in the audience. I’ve always felt that a good one-liner was practically a zen parable.

MW: As a child, did you “marvel” at comics? 

JD: When I was a young child, I had the biggest collection of Marvel comics of anyone I knew. I owned the first issues of Superman, Batman, Green Lantern, Fantastic Four, Spider Man, so many others. Stacks of them that went up to the ceiling that would be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars now.

Unfortunately, when I went off to college and basically stayed away from home for five years my mother threw them all away. Listen to, ‘Mr Q’, on my new album. About our hometown paedophile who ran the local comic book shop. Very problematic for kids who liked comic books.

MW: What book have you re-read the most, which book have you started but never finished, and which book have you yet to read but really want to (one day)?

JD: My reading changes from year to year depending on what else I’m doing. I think the first book series I read was the James Bond books, long before the films were made. I had read all of them. And then I think I moved into poetry: Rilke, Walt Whitman, E.E Cummings, Cavafy. I like popular novels rather than classical novels. I read the Godfather, the Red Dragon and Queen’s Gambit long before the films. Some of the more serious books: like, Varieties of Religious Experience, by William James or Robert Johnson, Understanding the Psychology of Romantic Love. I read hundreds of feminist books during our Difficult Women show days. I have a huge poetry collection.

The book I have never finished – and probably never will - is James Joyce’s Ulysses. 

The book I still haven’t read but want to: Dante’s Inferno.

MW: What are your plans for Christmas 2024 (personal & professional)?

JD:

Professional: to develop, and sell, over the Christmas period, both the new albums I have produced this year – my own and my partner Lin’s Intimacy album. (We co-wrote and she sang the title song in the first Terminator movie in the 80's). Also to sell my cookbook, which won a Gourmand Award last year, and my perennial Christmas album. I get many requests for the Christmas album, recorded in the 80s. It is out-of-print but available on my website as a digital download.

Personal:  We have a big extended family meal on Boxing Day, the day after Christmas, and then go bush for two weeks - which is a 12-hour drive north and then another hour inland into the mountains. We have a secluded place in the middle of a state forest that requires a four-wheel-drive to get to, a bush house built of stone &  bush timber. We’ve been flooded out and had a house destroyed by bushfires. We say we go there for the “inconveniences” - wood chopping, carrying water, going for long walks. Once we get in there, we  put the car keys away,  put our money away for a week or two-  we don’t even think about things like that - we bring everything we need. I usually spend the time writing a lot of poetry, getting a bit fitter (I always lose about 5 kg from those trips without even thinking about it), cooking outdoors on campfires, swimming in the creek - beautiful swimming - that’s our Christmas!

JOE DOLCE WEBSITE : www.atthenoisycafe.com

(c) Mark Watkins / November 2024.

[skinnyducky]

made for you // v.h.

hello.. im sorry i havent been posting. school has been keeping me busy but i wanted to post this. this idea comes from @yelenasdarling so thank you ! i recommend listening to halley’s comet by billie eilish (as well as the whole album) bc that’s the song that is being discussed in this (as well as many others), so yuh. enjoy ! and i promise i haven’t forgotten about party @ y/ns !

vinnie hacker x singer!fem!reader

Word Count: 1408, edited

WARNING: MAJOR FLUFF LUV

---------

As the year was coming to an end, so was your debut album. For months, you’d been working with the best producers, musicians, and doing endless promo for this album and within a few days, you’d be playing it for the label. Obviously because it is your first record, you’re protective over it. No one had heard it besides the people working on it. So, you were a bit nervous to let your pleading boyfriend, Vinnie, tag along to the studio with you.

It was Friday, and you two had been chilling in his room when your producer, Sarah, said she needed you to go over it before the label meeting. As you bid your goodbyes to Vinnie, informing him of the reason for your departure, he pouted. “Why can’t I come?” he nearly cried, giving you his puppy dog eyes. Because you couldn’t resist them—and you just can’t say “no” to him—you allowed him to come.

Now here the two of you were, in the studio and listening to Sarah go on and on about how long it took for her to finish mastering it. Your manager, Jen, had came too. She had to hear the album for herself also. She couldn’t have her client looking a mess in front of her bosses. Bad for business and her reputation.

“…and after an hour or two of making sure your vocals were clear, I finally finish the album.” Sarah explained. “Honestly, this is probably the best album I’ve produced in a minute, and I worked on SZA’s album.”

“That good?” Vinnie asked with a smirk, leaning against the studio door. “That’s sick. I’m ready to listen to it.”

As that sentence left Vinnie’s mouth, you felt your anxiety overcome you. “Are you sure, Sarah? There has to be some sort of adlib I need to rework or something. Can’t be ready so soon.”

“Y/n, it can’t get any better than this. This is a solid project. I should know, I spent days listening to it over and over again. Trust me, it’s ready.”

“Besides, it’s too late to rerecord now.” Jen added. “The label meeting is next Thursday, and we don’t have a week for Sarah to mix and master all over again. Once the label gives us the greenlight, if there’s anything to tweak, you can do it before you have to submit the final project. But until then, no changes and no additions.”

You sighed, nodded your head. It’s not that you were afraid of it not being perfect. You were more scared of what Vinnie would think. I mean, he’s the one who inspired the album; more than half of the songs are about him. His opinion meant everything to you, and if he didn’t like an inch of it…that would destroy you.

As you were sulking and picking at your chipped nail polish, Vinnie wandered over to you where you sat at the soundboard with Sarah. He leaned against it and smiled down at you. “What’s the matter, baby?”

“Nothing.” You sighed, keeping your head down. He scoffed and chuckled. “Y/n, you’re playing with your nail polish. You always do that when you’re upset.”

He pulled you up and took you out of your seat before sitting down himself and placing you on his lap. “Tell Santa what’s up.” He joked, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I’m just nervous. This album means so much to me.”

“Completely understandable. It’s your first one, it should mean a lot to you.”

You shook your head. “It’s not just because of that. It’s also because it’s about you. The only reason you haven’t came with me to the studio until now is because I didn’t want you to hate anything on this, and it would kill me if you did.”

“Y/n, look at me”—you finally met his eyes for the first time—“I could never not like anything you do. Especially if it’s dedicated to me. That’s like throwing away a gift you gave me. I wouldn’t ever do that. So don’t think for a minute that I’d hate this. That’s literally impossible.”

You smiled, planting a kiss on his forehead. “You’re too good for me.”

“I know.” He laughed and turned to Sarah. “Play us the album!” He said dramatically, sending the producer into a fit of giggles.

She followed his orders and with a few clicks and the press of a button, the first song from your album rang out from the studio speakers. You watched timidly as Vinnie bobbed his head up and down as it went from track to track.

“This shit slaps!” He exclaimed as “Y/n Bossa Nova” played. He nearly about died during “Oxytocin”, claiming it to be god tier. Minutes went by until you got to the final track “Halley’s Comet”, and you were scared to play him this song.

While the other tracks were quite playful in nature, this one was different. The song was a bit cynical, but it was also like a love letter to Vinnie. Never before have you ever felt what you had with him. And at first that made you scared. But as the months went by and your relationship started to blossom, you realized he was the one for you. This was just your way of telling him that.

When it started, you looked everywhere but at Vinnie. It wasn’t just because you couldn’t bear to see the expression on his face, but also because this song was quite emotional. You didn’t want him to see you “being a little bitch” as you put it.

The sound of your soft vocals bounced off the walls and you felt Vinnie place his chin on your shoulder. His hold on you grew tighter as he swayed you two back forth. A small smile crept it’s way onto your face as you tried your best to stray away from crying.

“I’ve been loved before, but right now in this moment,” you sung, “I feel more and more like I was made for you…”

When those lyrics hit, you felt Vinnie stop swaying. Hell, you were pretty sure he had stopped breathing too. You didn’t know what to think about that; did he not like the song, is he shocked? What was he thinking and feeling? Shortly after, the song came to an end with you singing, “I think I might have fallen in love…what am I to do?”

And with that, the album finished. The room was silent, the only sound being your sniffles. Although that was broken when Sarah screamed. “Wasn’t that amazing!? Ugh, my power…I really outdid myself on this one.”

Thankfully, Jen understood the impact of that last song. “Sarah, why don’t we go get a Snickers or something from the vending machine?”

“I can’t eat anything fatty, Jen. You know this.”

Jen mouthed some profanities and threats at the woman causing her to shoot up from her chair and run out into the hallway. “We’ll leave you two alone for a minute.” Jen smiled, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her.

Neither of you or Vinnie spoke and that somewhat was comforting. However, part of it made you feel insecure about the album, “Halley’s Comet” in specific. Out of all the songs, that’s the one you wanted him to like the most.

The silence soon grew uncomfortable, so you decided to be the first to speak. “Well, that was the album. What’d you think?”

He opened his mouth, but it was obviously he couldn’t find the right words to say. “I-I don’t know how to even put it in words.”

“That bad?” You sighed.

“No, never.” He laughed. “It was beautiful, all of it really. And that last song, that was amazing.”

You pursed your lips, hiding the grin wanting to break free. “You think so?”

“Yeah, it was definitely one of my favorites. To know I had that much of an impact on you, it’s really sweet. I didn’t think I could simp for you any harder than I do now.”

“Shut up!” you laughed, slapping his shoulder.

“It’s the truth!” he said, throwing his hands up in defense. “I love you, Y/n. I really do.”

“I love you too.” And with that, he laid a sweet and gentle kiss on your lips.

Pulling back, he said, “Oh and just so you know, I agree with you.”

“On what?”

“You were definitely made for me.”

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Mute

Prompt: I absolutely adore your writing! Could I ask for a request too, please? I was thinking of a back-and-forth between Janus and Logan, just lies after truths after lies, until one snaps and accidentally causes the other to lose the ability to speak? Since they can both technically change the reality around them. Either the recipient becomes forcibly mute or the very angsty "sowed up mouth" method. Whoever caused the other to lose their speech freaks out and tries their best to fix their mess while apologising. Either a platonic or romantic ending -whichever you decide- but with at least a happy ending please? - willowaudreykeyes

Thanks for the prompts, babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: sympathetic janus, logan gets his mouth sewn shut but it's okay we fix it

Pairings: can be platonic or romantic I don't care, but we hit logince, rociet, lociet

Word Count: 2922

He doesn’t even remember how it started.

Or, an argument between Logan and Janus spirals dangerously out of hand, and powers in the Mindscape are sometimes more curses than blessings.

It hadn’t been something Thomas knew about, it hadn’t been a group discussion—he doesn’t think the others know where they are. Virgil is probably in his room, Roman is working in the Imagination, Patton is baking with Remus.

He doesn’t remember how it started.

He does know how they got here.

“I fail to see what use this is,” Logan had grumbled, standing up from the library table, “I will be better off figuring this out myself.”

“Oh, yes, of course, because that’s always gone so well for you in the past.”

Logan’s eyes had flashed with anger he still denies he has. “I fail to see what gives you the opinion that you have any right to complain.”

“Because I’m certainly the one saying that I’ve done all my best work alone.”

Janus had smirked cruelly as Logan shoved his glasses back up his nose and pointed a finger at him. “Your track record, may I remind you, has certainly shown that.”

Janus had thrown his head back and cackled, filled with mirth that sat like rot in the pit of his stomach. “And yet I managed to do so much more in the few times I appeared than you.”

“Oh, like that’s the same thing.”

He had held his hand to his mouth in a mock gasp. “Why, Logan, surely you can’t be insinuating that you think the others are incompetent. How hurtful, what on earth would they say?”

“I did not say that.”

“But you meant it, didn’t you?” Janus had morphed his expression into a mock pout. “They’re all so slow, so irrational, all they do is get in the way, they’re so irritating.”

“You’re attempting to convince me that I said something I did not,” Logan had said firmly, “it will not work. The meaning of my remark, as you are aware, was that you, as your role in the videos, have an easier time disrupting the flow of conversation that I do as a member of the main cast.”

Logan had ignored—or perhaps not noticed—the subtle tightening of Janus’s fist. He had simply sniffed and looked down his nose.

“And even then, it’s a surprise you haven’t been more capable.”

Janus had bared his teeth. “Yes, because obviously, you could’ve done better.”

“Oh, please.” Logan had tucked his notebook into the crook of his arm. “Can you name one of your haphazard schemes that actually worked?”

Janus had gritted his teeth as Logan opened the notebook and began to read down the list.

“Your attempt to get Thomas to lie to Joan failed when Roman started to believe that lying was wrong as well, leading to Thomas discovering your true identity.”

“By all means,” Janus had growled, “keep going.”

“Most notably, your attempt to get Thomas to go to the callback backfired quite spectacularly—something that wouldn’t have happened in quite the same fashion had you actually let me participate—“

“Keep talking, Logan,” he’d said again, inching closer to the nerd, “that’s a wonderful idea.”

“—and of course, led to what is the most disruptive event in recent memory,” Logan had continued, undaunted, “the wedding.”

Janus hadn’t even bothered with words this time, reaching for the notebook with a growl. Logan had tucked it away before he could reach it.

“Tell me,” he had said, “was it worth it? Knowing how much it cost us?”

“Surely,” Janus had growled back, “then you know it’s not because you didn’t do your job well enough.”

Logan had stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

“Well surely you haven’t realized that the reason I was able to make it into that video in the first place,” Janus had said smoothly, sliding back into the ‘villain’ persona Logan has so graciously cast him in, “was that you were so painfully easy to replace.”

“Falsehood,” Logan had said lowly.

Janus had raised his hand again. “Oh, so you did notice. Splendid. Then you know that when it comes to pushing blame around the Mindscape—“

He had leaned closer.

“—you’re where we should be looking too.”

“I am—“

“Easy to overlook,” Janus had sung, prowling around Logan in a circle, “easy to silence. And surely there’s no correlation between when you attempt to override the others and when Thomas gets hurt. You want to talk about my failures? Then let’s not forget getting the others trapped in Patton’s room, shall we?”

Logan’s fists had tightened. “That’s not—“

“After all,” Janus had continued, speaking over him to illustrate his point, “if I’m to blame for knocking all the dominos down, you certainly didn’t give me a hand setting them up.”

“As if that in any way equivocates to what you did,” Logan had spat, the emotionless facade finally giving way as he whirled of Janus, “I did not use, manipulate, and lie to get the others to do what I want.”

“Oh, of course you didn’t.”

“And if I did, my lies would be nowhere near as comically obvious.”

“Ah, yes, of course you’re never comical.” Janus had tapped Logan’s flushed cheek. “The possibilities of you being a joke have always been…infinitesimal.”

Logan had bared his teeth as Janus chuckled. “At least my concept of a joke never hurt anyone.”

Logan’s mouth had tugged up cruelly too.

“Setting Remus loose on Thomas when you knew he was already upset, pushing the others to follow on whatever path you decided was best. And let’s not even start on what you did to Roman.”

Janus had flinched.

“Have you ever apologized?” Logan had shaken his head. “For everything that you’ve done to hurt him?”

“Have you?”

The room had dropped several degrees.

Janus had dropped the villain persona, staring directly at Logan.

“You want to talk about hurting the others, hurting Roman,” he had said lowly, “what do you think it is that you do?”

Logan had opened his mouth to speak but Janus had raised a finger.

“No. Do you know how much you’ve hurt him? Over how many years you’ve made him ashamed of who he is?” He had shaken his head. “I know I’ve hurt him. But you don’t seem to recognize it.”

He had looked Logan up and down, mouth curled in disgust.

“Maybe I’m not good enough at my job for your liking, but I sure was good at yours.” He had raised an eyebrow. “Maybe they wanted you silenced permanently. They did press the ‘skip’ button, after all.”

He had looked for the shadow of the bruise on Logan’s neck.

“And it was so easy to replace you. To silence you properly.”

He had turned away, not bothering to look at Logan’s face.

“Maybe I should do them a favor and keep you quiet.”

There had been a strangled gasp behind him.

“Oh, what,” Janus had drawled, turning around, “did you finally realize you don’t have a smart comeback for…”

The room had frozen.

…so that’s how they got here.

Janus, standing a few paces from Logan, turning back to face him, the sharp quip dying on the edge of his lips as his mouth drops open in horror, staring back.

Logan, his eyes wide, shining with unshed tears, glasses blurred and obscured by the bright light shining from the golden stitches that sew his mouth shut.

Logan raises trembling hands to his mouth, feeling the stitches, tears rolling down his face. His fingers disappear into the bright golden light as he fumbles with his mouth, until he realizes that he can’t.

The strangled scream lingers in Janus’s head long after Logan shrinks into a crouch on the floor.

No.

No.

No, no, no, no—no, not Logan. Not Logan.

“Oh, god—“ Logan’s hands keep pressing fruitlessly against his mouth— “no, oh, god, Logan—“

He runs back, ready to crouch and pry Logan’s hands away before he hurts himself, chest splitting open from the ache of hurting the poor thing like this.

He doesn’t think it could hurt more.

Like so many other times today, he’s wrong.

The instant Logan catches a glimpse of him moving toward him, he shoves himself away, scrambling backward until his back hits the wall. Eyes wide, breathing as heavily as he can through the stitches, utterly terrified.

As he has every right to be.

“No, no, Logan,” he murmurs frantically, “no, it’s okay, I’m not trying to hurt you—“

Does it matter that you’re not trying? You certainly were earlier.

“—I promise, Logan, please, I’m—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

Through the pants, the sobs, the shakiness of his chest, Logan huffs, disbelieving.

“I didn’t, Logan, I promise.” Janus drops to his knees in front of the crying man. “I—we went too far. I’m sorry, I didn’t know this would happen, I didn’t mean to, please—“

The poor thing presses himself further against the wall. Janus swallows, feeling guilt press hot and heavy against the underside of his tongue. He reaches out, trying desperately to show him that he’s sorry, he didn’t mean to, he doesn’t actually believe anything he just said, he’s nothing but a liar, a horrible liar, please—

“I didn’t mean it, Logan, I promise, you’re—you’re not replaceable, I don’t want you silenced, the others don’t hate you, they don’t want you gone, I’m sorry—“

Slowly, too slowly, and not slowly enough, Logan’s breathing begins to settle. His eyes lose that awful whiteness and he slumps a little against the wall. His cheeks are damp, his glasses knocked askew, but he stares at Janus and slowly, slowly, nods.

“L-Logan?”

Another nod, a little less hesitant.

Janus’s shoulders slump. “Oh, Logan, why does it always end up with you being the better person?”

A tiny quirk of the eyebrow, nowhere near Logan’s typical sass levels, but it’s enough. It’s enough. Enough to make a weak smile come to Janus’s face.

“Can I come over, please? Can I come help?”

Logan nods, still wary as Janus shuffles across the floor. Before he makes it all the way there, he tugs off his gloves and stuffs them in his pocket.

“There,” he says quietly, wiggling his fingers to get used to it, “don’t want the fibers getting caught on anything.”

Logan’s wide-eyed stare tells him he knows why Janus really took the gloves off. Something Janus confirms a moment later.

“And I want you to know that I mean it.” He reaches forward. “Can I touch?”

Logan still flinches when Janus runs his thumb carefully over the cruel stitches sewing Logan’s mouth shut. He winces as he takes in how taut the thread is, how many stitches there are.

“Oh, Logan, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, “does it hurt very badly?”

Another miserable nod.

Then it clicks.

Logan.

The one who submits least to the Imagination. The one who tethers himself tightly to the fact that they are metaphysical, they are subjective, they need not subject themselves to real-world consequences of whatever nonsense the other Sides pull.

Logan still has the stitches.

It threatens to break Janus’s heart all over again.

“Oh, sweetie,” he murmurs, cupping Logan’s face and slipping his glasses to the top of his head, “I’ve hurt you more than this, haven’t I?”

For indeed, if Logan is too upset to remember how to pull himself out of turns of phrase, then the poor thing is distraught.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, gently wiping away Logan’s tears, “it’s okay, sweetie, I’m not going to hurt you, it’s over, I’m not angry, I’m going to take care of you.”

And oh, the way Logan pushes shyly into his hands feels warm.

“Does this help, sweetie, is this alright?” At Logan’s nod, he moves, tucking Logan’s legs across his lap with his other hands. “Come here, yes—that’s it, shh, I’ve got you, you just focus on me.”

Logan’s eyes fall closed and a muffled whimper comes from his throat.

“I’ve got you, sweetie, I’m right here,” Janus murmurs, still cupping the poor thing’s head as it leans into him, “shh, shh, let’s get you a little calmer before we have a look, okay?”

Logan gives a huff of ‘what do you think I’m trying to do?’

“I know you know that, sweetie,” he chuckles, lifting Logan’s head to gently knock their foreheads together, “you’re clever. Our resident brain cell.”

He wraps one hand around the back of his neck.

“It’s just like what you taught us, remember? Object impermanence. This won’t last forever. I’m right here. You were so brave, you are so brave, so wonderful, so sweet…just give yourself time, sweetie, it’s okay.”

Logan relaxes a little in his hold as he keeps talking quietly. The poor thing gets over his hesitation and buries his face shamelessly in the crook of Janus’s neck.

“Shh, shh, that’s it, sweetie, easy now—“ Janus cradles him as he sets his glasses out of the way— “I’ve got you. I’m right here, sweetie, I’ve got you. It’s almost over, now, you can do it, shh.”

Another muffled noise from Logan.

“You’re not easily replaceable,” Janus says firmly, “you’re not unwanted. You’re not a joke, the others know how much you care about them, how much you help them, how important they are to you, how important you are to them.”

He tilts his head to press a kiss to Logan’s temple.

“How important you are to me.”

The golden light dims, sputters, and vanishes.

“…sweetie?”

Logan pulls back, carefully rubbing his fingers over his stitch-free mouth. He opens and closes a few times.

“Ouch.”

“Are you alright, sweet? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“I know,” Logan says quietly, “I’m sorry too. That…escalated very quickly. I did not mean the things I said either.”

He squints.

“Oh, here—“ Janus passes him his glasses.

“Thank you. But that’s not why I—what were we arguing about, to begin with?”

Janus huffs a laugh. “I had been meaning to ask you that question.”

“Well, whatever it is, it must not have been very important.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“I’m sorry too,” Logan repeats after that pause, “you are not just a villain, you are not incompetent, and you…you are not to blame for everything that has gone wrong.”

Janus chucks him lightly under the chin. “Neither are you.”

“I know that, intellectually, and yet…somehow, it remains difficult for me to grasp.”

“Because even though you’re Logic, sweetie,” Janus says, “you’re Thomas’s Logic.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because Thomas is, frankly, something of a dumbass.”

It startles a laugh out of him at any rate.

“I mean, that also makes you a dumbass.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly aware.”

Logan’s smile is wonderful. “What is it that Roman is quite fond of saying?”

“That he’s pure of heart, dumb of ass?”

“That’s is.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“It is.” Logan frowns. “Even if he’s far more intelligent than he gets credit for.”

Janus nudges him. “I hope you know that you can be big of brain and dumb of ass at the same time.”

“Ah. I see.”

There’s another moment of silence as they reflect on what’s been said. Then Logan nervously adjusts his tie.

“Speaking of Roman…”

“I was about to say.” Janus gives his knee a pat. “Shall we see if we can find him?”

“I believe his business in the Imagination should be done.” They help each other to stand, Logan keeping a grip on Janus’s sleeve. “Should we check his room first?”

“I think so.”

Roman, of course, swings open the door with a cheerful greeting, the role of the pompous prince firmly in place until he takes in their tear-stained faces and he melts, dropping the act almost immediately.

“Oh, my darlings,” he coos, cupping each of their faces in a hand, “what’s the matter? Why do you look so upset?”

“May we come in, please?” Indeed, poor Logan looks as if he’s about to melt into Roman’s arms. Janus can’t talk, though, he’s about to do the same.

“Of course, come on, let’s get you sat down—“

Roman bustles about the room, fetching them a glass of water, sitting on his bed with them, almost bursting into tears himself when he hears what’s happened and promptly telling them they’re going to spend the rest of the day right here, in comfy clothes, watching ridiculously obscure documentaries until Patton and Remus call them down for dinner. They keep a hand on each other at all times, laughing at Janus’s snarky responses to awful narrators, Logan’s quick corrections when the information is out of date, and Roman’s impersonations of the strange wildlife. Roman’s room is pleasantly noisy and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

He doesn’t remember how it started, but he will always remember how it ended.

Curled around each other, in the warmth and safety of the people who care about him.

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[maplecornia]

chapter 10

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 3.24K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: I think the banner is super cute for this one, fitting to the super FLUFFY moments in this chapter ehehehe

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine |@fangirl125reader |@kookiebbyxx |@taradevonne

He takes you to a studio.

Though the hallway is simple, another slather of pure white paint, stone, and plaster, the floor a gorgeous light charcoal tile. The door to the studio is beautiful hardwood, a large window of tinted glass embedded within so that you can see a bit inside.

You stare at it with awestruck eyes.

Namjoon doesn't notice your expression at first, turning the knob to the door, and entering.

As he does, you don't move. You don't know if you can.

The studio isn't much, it's very simple when you think about it.

It's spacious, with dark walls and an almost metallic look to it. There are two comfortable chairs located at the soundboard which has a black undertone to them. The table is dark hardwood, even the floor is plated with dark mosaic tile. The recording area on the other side of the massive one-way glass in front of the soundboard has the same black theme, the walls soundproofed with patches of black material.

Though it may seem simple to some, to you, it could not be more beautiful.

This room holds every dream you ever had, everything you had once wanted to be. On the other side of that glass, you would have sung and made the very same music that helped you feel loved and wanted.

As you stand there, awestruck, RM notices that you're not beside him. He pauses, turning around to you, his computer powering on. He looks at you, a bit confused.

“Yen?” at his voice, you break out of your trance and snap your eyes to him. He chuckles a bit before setting down his coffee. “Are you going to come in? It's rude to stand in open doorways.”

Shaking yourself out of your reverie, you nod, hurrying in and closing the door shut behind you.

“Yes. I’m sorry I was just…” you trail off, searching for the words to explain, but coming up empty, you fall silent.

Namjoon gives you a look as you stop in the middle of the room, getting that dreamy, glazed-over look in your eyes once more. You seem as though you're afraid to touch anything. Maybe it will ruin the dream, somehow wake you up, when you don't want to be bothered.

“Are you okay?” he inquires, peering deeper into your eyes and tilting his head in a questioning gesture. Once more, the expression on your face disappears and you chuckle nervously.

“Yes, it's just, this doesn't quite feel real.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's always been my dream to come to a place like this.” You murmur, taking a steadying breath as you tentatively run your fingers over the top of the desk. The cool glossed-over granite sends a small shiver down your spine before you pull your hand back to your heart.

Namjoon’s eyes scan your face, searching it, as though it is the most interesting thing in the room right now. If you were to notice, the sight of his intense gaze would cause your heart to beat faster.

“What? A studio?” he inquires. You turn to him and nod, your mouth breaking into a wide grin, as you can’t ignore the pounding of adrenaline in your veins at your excitement.

“Yes. I've dreamed of being in one ever since I was a little girl.” Wistfully, your eyes turn to the one-way glass separating the soundproof from the recording studio.

“I would have sung right there, in front of that microphone. My producers and composers would be behind this glass, giving me pointers and helping me to make the best version of my song possible.” You explain, pointing to the lone microphone in the middle of the room. “But, I never got to live it.”

“What do you mean?” he asks intently, his eyes snapping back to you. You smile sadly and turn away from the glass, raising your tea to your lips. “Why couldn't you pursue your dream?”

“I didn't want to debut as a solo artist.” You answer him, chucking a bit bitterly afterward.

“It's a stupid reason, I know, but in America, there aren't necessarily companies constantly holding new auditions for boy and girl groups, like in Seoul. Normally it was you, on your own. If you wanted to debut as a group, you had to have people you knew willing to do that with you. I didn't have people who would want to do that with me. They all had their dreams, and I had mine. I saw those solo artists perform, and all I could see was how lonely they were up there. I wouldn't be able to do that. I don't think I'd be able to survive, to feel as though I were the only one in the world. As though everything I did or didn't do would define who I was. I wouldn't be strong enough to deal with that on my own.”

He looks at you, silent but understanding. As you raise your eyes to him, almost hesitant, you don't expect to see the sweet, kind smile on his face.

“It's not stupid.” He says, turning to the computer and opening up a few files. “Besides, now you're living it...sort of. How does it feel?”

He pulls back one of the chairs and beckons for you to sit down. You take it, easing yourself into the chair and thankfully finding that nothing disappears.

“Unreal.” You whisper, almost giddy at the sight of the soundboard in front of you. If you were in the recording area, things would get out of hand. He chuckles at your answer and sits down as well, pulling up a demo that he has no doubt been working on.

“You're lucky Yoongi isn't here, he would fuss at you for taking his seat.” He teases, but your eyes go wide and you almost stand up. RM grabs you by the wrist almost as soon as you do and sits you back down in your seat.

“Don't worry, I’m just joking.” You smile, laughing nervously, but continue to sit on the edge of the chair.

“Is he here?” you ask, trying to make sure you aren't overstepping any boundaries. Namjoon shakes his head in response, adjusting things on the soundboard.

“He was supposed to be but got called away for another project. He’s still a producer after all, and was only helping me a bit with this demo.” He explains. Relaxing, you sit back, nodding.

He proceeds to play with the soundboard as though it were some secret language only he knew, and you watch him, trying to study how it works. He pushes up a button there, twists a knob here, all the while clicking continuously on his computer.

“Is this what you got from your studio?” you inquire, and he turns toward you. As you glance up at him, your eyes meet before he turns back to the computer, and nods.

“Yep. I've been working on this for quite some time now, but can't seem to get the sound right. It's strange because I already have the lyrics for it, but one part just doesn't seem to flow.” You watch as his cursor highlights one part of his track and he pulls a pair of headphones off from the console. Drawing away from his computer, he turns to you. He offers them to you in a questioning gesture.

“Do you want to hear?” he asks and you nod, reaching for them.

Instead, he places them securely on your head, and your hands go up quickly to readjust it to your liking. As they do, your hands touch his as they pull away, for a small moment. It sends a shock through your body, and you can hardly look him in the eye as your face grows hot.

He, however, can't take his eyes off you. As you glance up at him with that innocent, confused gaze, he has to quickly turn away. His hand raises to his mouth, as though that would hide it from your curious orbs.

“Are you ready?” he asks softly, hoping that would cover up his slight embarrassment.

“Yes.”

Complying, he clicks the play button and after a small sound of silence, the music begins, soft and steady. It has a peaceful beat to it, one that calms you and makes you smile. Closing your eyes, you tap your hands over the headphones, almost as if to press the music deeper into your mind. As it progresses, the music grows faster and you can hear a woman's voice in the background vocalizing.

Opening your eyes, remembering that this should be where RM is having trouble, you can hear the music begin to transition, as though a record were stopping at the end of its song.

You can see where RM is having trouble.

The music that comes next is too fast, too different from the beginning of the track, it holds no consistency. Once it fades out, back to the calm and quiet track, you pull off the headphones, pondering what to tell him.

You know that he wants your opinion, but you don't want to be disrespectful.

“Well? Any suggestions?” he asks, holding your gaze with persistent eyes.

“May I?” you request, gesturing to the computer, and he nods, switching places with you. You have enough experience with software such as this that you know what you're doing.

“You see this area right here? I feel as though that's where the sound starts to sound a bit off. It's not necessarily that the beat is bad, it's perfect. However, in this area, it doesn't flow like the rest of the song.” As you play the area you're talking about, you hardly notice how close Namjoon moves to you, peering at the screen.

Your bodies are mere inches apart, his heat making your back warm. It's comforting, as though there is someone behind you whom you can trust.

“You see?” you say once it stops playing, turning and finding your face inches away from him. As he peers at the screen with narrowed, focused eyes he doesn’t notice you staring.

He's so close that you can see the deep brown of his eyes, the product in his soft hair, and the smoothness of his cheeks. The comforting warmth immediately changes into something else. Swallowing hard, you tear your gaze away. Pressing your hands to your cheeks, you try to cool them down, and silently wonder if he can hear how fast your heart is beating.

Honestly...how could Korea ever call this man ugly?

“What would you suggest we can do to change it?” he asks, glancing down at you just as you raise your eyes to the screen, trying to ignore your pounding heart.

“I think that maybe if you used the same piano accompaniment in the beginning after the transition, then that would satisfy the need for consistency while keeping the original sound of the track.” You suggest, looking at him for approval.

He doesn't answer at first, instead, he reaches across you, carrying out your task. Swallowing hard, you freeze, afraid to make the tiniest movement and accidentally touch him.

He doesn't notice, his turn to be entranced in his work, and you're thankful for it. You try to inconspicuously hide your face from him, missing your baggy clothes. Normally the giant sleeves would be enough to mask your blush, but now you only have the comfort of your small hands against your cheeks. Once he's done, he pulls back, gesturing for you to play it.

“Let's see if this works.” He murmurs, almost hopeful. You nod, pressing the mouse and intentionally avoiding eye contact with him until your heart has calmed down. The beginning of the song starts once again, helping to calm your nerves and you feel at ease once more.

You weren't aware there would be so little personal space when you first walked into the BigHit building.

When it comes to the particular area in the song, you're surprised to find that your idea worked. The small part no longer sounds out of place and it flows with the rest of the song. It still needs some tuning, but you solved his problem.

“Woah…” Kim Namjoon mutters, and you turn to him, finding surprise and a sort of pride in his expression.

“That’s incredible.” His eyes turn from the screen to rest on you laughing softly.

“Did you know that you're incredible? It's such a simple fix, such a simple error. Something we couldn’t pick up, and you…” he runs his hand over his face, staring at the computer screen with an unbelievable expression before turning his eyes to you once more. “I guess what they say about fresh ears is true.”

You blush at the pride, trying to ignore it, act like you did nothing at all, which you didn't. With him looking at you that way, however, it's hard not to feel vital, somehow important to this song.

“So!” you say, sitting straight in your chair and turning to him. “What do we do next?”

“What to do next….” he ponders on the thought before his eyes widen as though remembering something.

He curses under his breath, checking his watch. Immediately, he pulls back from the soundboard, and heads to the door, beckoning for you to follow him. You hurry to your feet, taking his coffee and your tea before scuttling after him.

“Where are we going?” you call out, having to jog to reach his side. He doesn't answer you, just mutters incomprehensible things under his breath.

You keep quiet behind him, understanding that he's stressed out. Sometimes it's just better to keep silent to show that you understand. You do that for him now, just follow him as he leads you back to Mon Studio, retrieving a few things and pocketing them in a backpack.

You wait for him near the entrance by your satchel, where you left it safe before.

As he finishes and begins to search for something, his phone rings and he curses once more. He rolls his eyes in annoyance as he pulls it out from his pocket.

“Yes?” he snaps.

As he presumes to continue packing, he beckons you for help. You comply, setting down the drinks before packing away the papers, pens, and flash drives into his pack.

“Han, I know I’m late, okay? I was in the middle of something.” Turning from you, he snags a mask off from a small hook on his wall. He shoves that into his jacket, before rummaging through his desk drawers, searching for something.

Han?

“Yes, I understand that it's an important meeting, I am trying my best to get there.” As you finish packing, he turns to you, whispering glasses, and you nod, beginning to search for them as well. He continues talking incomprehensibly on the phone, just as you spy the glasses. You snatch them, presenting them miraculously to him. He smiles at your ecstatic expression, taking them and placing them on his hat securely.

“Okay. Yes, I understand. Alright, I’ll see you soon.” With that, he ends the call, sighing as he places his phone back in his pocket and turns to you.

“I'm sorry about all that, I forgot I had to go to a meeting out of Yongsan-dong today and lost track of time.” He explains. You nod, understanding as he begins to position his mask on his face. “I was hoping to teach you the ropes a bit more, but I guess that will have to wait till tomorrow. Speaking of which, do you know what time to get here?”

“Yes. I'm supposed to get here around 7:30 am so that I’m ready.”

“Ready with what?” you smirk at his little question game before answering.

“Your schedule and coffee. You'll text me if you want me to get coffee for the other members. You'll also text me if I’m supposed to meet you in another place besides your studio. For now, I’ll be able to find any place in the building on the map you gave me.” He nods mutely as you recite your duties like a soldier. Once you're finished, he zips up his backpack and hikes it on his shoulder.

“Good. you'll be able to get the schedule from the receptionist at the front desk every morning. You'll also be accompanying me to every meeting, practice, or recording I have unless otherwise specified.” You nod in agreement, watching as he turns around in a circle seeming to search for something.

“Where did I…” reading his mind, you turn to the place where you put the drinks and hand him his coffee.

“Here you go.” You say, and he smiles, laughing at himself for his absentmindedness. He takes it from you, your hands making slight contact, but this time it isn't shocking. It's familiar, almost brotherly, makes you feel secure and comforted.

“Is there anything else I need to do?”

“Yes, actually if you could clean up my studio and the one we were working in, that would be a great help. You remember where it is right?” you nod, and he nods in return, turning to the door.

“After that, you'll be able to go home, I hope tomorrow I’ll be able to teach you more.” As he opens the door and steps outside, you bow to him, respectfully.

“Thank you, Mr. Kim. Once more, I apologize for being so late.” After a moment, you raise your head and find him staring at you with an unreadable expression. His soft brown eyes remind you of a wistful puppy. You tilt your head in confusion at the look, wondering what he could be thinking in that vast brain of his.

“Mr. Kim?”

“You don't need to do that.” He murmurs, as though he's talking half to himself.

“What?” you inquire, trying to make sure you heard him right. He turns fully to you, repeating himself once more, this time a bit louder for you to hear.

“You don't have to be so formal. I know everyone else does it, but you don't have to.”

You blink at him blankly.

“Jaejin never used them either. I guess it's easier to drop the formalities and work with someone who feels as though they’re a friend.” He explains, flashing a small smile your way. “I hope that won't be too hard.”

“Oh! Oh no! Not at all!” you say quickly, shaking your head vigorously.

“It makes it a bit easier on me, actually. Using honorifics can be a bit confusing.” You chuckle a bit and his smile grows wider, softening at the tips.

“Goodbye, Yen.” He says, turning away once more, before pausing and peeking over his shoulder at you as though he forgot something. “By the way, Jaejin was right."

"About what?" you ask, a bit confused, but all he does is smile.

"I'm glad he chose you as his replacement.”

The sweet phrase leaves you standing there frozen, unable to mutter a goodbye.

He chuckles to himself at the expression, placing his sunglasses on his nose before walking out of the room and down the hallway.

It takes you a moment, but once he’s gone, you shake out of your trance, your heart pounding deep in your chest.

“Thank you, Namjoon.” You whisper to yourself, holding your hand to your heart as you drop the honorific.

Crossing that barrier that turns you from a co-worker into his friend.

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: so...ship or skip?

chapter 11 here

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[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Their Doll 18

Hickies and Dinners

B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis:  y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: y/n and Bucky attempt to spend some time with the avengers

Warnings: swearing, implied smut, mentions of hickies, Steve being a complete dickhead

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

After another morning spent in bed; kissing, touching, fucking- you get the gist, we decided to head downstairs for a few hours to see the rest of the team. As much as I'd like to avoid Steve Tony and Peter, Bucky convinced me that I needed to spend time with someone that wasn't him, like Nat or Thor. So I agreed with a little bit of persuasion, if you'd like to call it that.

We walked through the corridors, neglecting to hold hands as we didn't want to boast or anything in case we came across steve - after all, we both still cared about him and I hated the broken look on his face when he'd seen us together. We chatted mindlessly, not really about anything until we reached the door to the common room.

Heading inside, I perched myself on a barstool by the breakfast bar that separated the living room area from the kitchen, whilst Bucky leant against the counter the other side - hands flat against the cool marble.

"Hey guys." Clint greeted from where him and Nat sat on the sofa a feet feet away, Nat reaching forward for the remote and turning down the show they were watching slightly.

"Hey." I smiled back, along with Bucky.

"I feel like we haven't seen you guys in ages," Nat chimed in, sinking back into the cushioned sofa with a little smirk. "Could it be a coincidence?" She said smugly. We hadn't officially become a couple, so Steve must've said something to the rest of the team.

It was that moment the steve and Peter walked in, Peter apparently trying to teach steve some kind of slang.

"Hey Stevie." Bucky said with a tight smile, nodding towards his best friend. Steve froze momentarily, before returning the tight smile.

"Hey Buck." He mumbled, before brushing last us and into the kitchen to grab a drink. The drone of the coffee machine filled the awkward silence until Peter stepped in.

"What's that?" Peter frowned at me, finger lifted and pointed towards my neck.

"What?" I asked, confused and glancing behind me to bucky, who simply shrugged but his sly smile told me otherwise.

"On your neck." Clint added, eyes squinted as they stared at my throat, Nat's attention bow drawn too. I gasped, promising myself to hit Bucky as hard as I could when we got back to my room later as my hand shot up to cover the deep purple bruise on my neck.

"It's nothing, just a burn." I dismissed quickly, glaring at Nat as she raised a brow.

"A burn? From what?" Peter persisted, folding his arms over his chest.

"My curling iron." I quickly waved off, fingering with the hem of my shirt.

"But your hair is straight." Nat inquired, and I gave her a look.

"What are we all hammering my daughter about?" Tony pondered aloud as he sauntered in, refusing to meet my eyes. I rolled mine, holding back a scoff. It was the first time I'd seen him since that night and I felt like a whole in my chest had been ripped open.

"Y/n has a hickey." Peter smirked, and Tony's eyes widened as he wheeled round to stare at me.

"Who the hell gave you a hickey?" Tony almost spat, knowing full well by that avoided gazes and awkward coughs that me and Steve still weren't on speaking terms. Bucky spotted a wolffish grin, holding back a chuckle and all attention was drawn to him. "Something funny, Barnes?" Tony asked, hands on his hips.

"I think we just found the curling iron." Nat smirked, bucky letting out his chuckle.

"Seriously Barnes?" Tony seethed, face almost as red as mine as he glared the super soldier down.

"Someone's in trouble." Clint sung, too smug to care about my embarrassment.

"Dad, it's nothing." I tried, but everyone seemed to forget what they were going to say when the door slammed shut.

"Did Steve just-?" Peter started.

"Leave? I think so." Nat said, all smirks diminished now as the tension rose.

"C'mon, doll." Bucky supplied with a smile smile, "how 'bout I take you out for lunch?" He offered, holding out his hand which I gladly took.

...

Dinner that night was...awkward, to say the least. Clint had insisted that Bucky and y/n join them all for dinner, minus Tony and Pepper as they were having a date night.

He'd convinced them by telling y/n that the whole team missed her and just wanted to see her happy, and that's what Bucky seemed to make her. Y/n had finally accepted with a long, begrudging sigh and told the marksman that they'd be down for seven.

That's how they'd found themselves where they were now, Bucky's arm secure around her waist as him and y/n walked their way down to dinner. They'd kept it simple, both still in sweats and y/n in a stolen t-shirt of Bucky's, with the super-soldier's hair pulled back into a low ponytail - a few wispy framing pieces fallen out around his soft face.

"It'll be fine, Doll." Bucky murmured in her ear as they exited the elevator, lips soft against her hair as he placed a quick, reassuring kiss there. Y/n huffed a sigh, giving her boyfriend a Curt nod before they were entering the kitchen.

"There they are!" Nat called, smile wide as she beckoned the couple over. But y/n stopped in her tracks as they rounded the corner, the sight of Steve cuddled up with some...blonde the other side of the table making her heart sink. Bucky sensed it immediately, ever so patient with her feelings, and tightened his grip on her waist, giving her a little squeeze before leading her to side at the opposite end of the table with Nat and Thor.

"Hey y/n, hey Sarge, how are you?" Nat greeted with a smile as they took a seat, y/n's eyes seemingly glued to the other end of the obnoxiously long table.

"F-fine." Y/n mumbled, completely disengaged. Nat and Bucky both sighed, Bucky putting on a boyish grin before replying himself.

"I'm good, thanks. Evening, Thor." The super soldier smiled, and Thor bid him a good evening too. The conversation seemed to flow for a moment, the three avengers exchanging pleasantries as y/n watched Steve. After a while bucky got fed up, deciding to do something about it himself.

"Hey Steve, who's the pretty girl?" Bucky smirked, calling out over y/n's head. Bruce and Steve looked their way, along with the blonde girl clinging to Steve.

"Oh, hey Buck." Steve said with a clearly forced smile. He looked down at the girl, placing his hand over her's on the table. "This is Sharon, an agent here." He introduced.

"Well it's lovely to meet you-"

"Now I'd love to know how you found a whore so quickly after dumping me." Y/n mused, elbow perched on the table as she sipped her drink. Steve's face dropped, and Sharon frowned.

"I'm sorry?" Her soft voice pondered, question in her tone.

"Oh, well since Steve only broke up with me a couple days ago, seemingly heartbroken, I was wondering where he found you." Y/n clarified, that Stark sass finally showing through. Awkward glances were exchanged.

"You must be y/n Stark. I've heard a lot about you." Sharon finally pieces together, met with a nod from y/n.

"Nothing good, I assume." She bit back.

"No, you're right. Just how you decided to fuck Steve's best friend." Sharon laughed without humour, both women completely unaware of their glowering boyfriend's behind them.

"So when did you met this one, hm? Was it while I was being tortured for weeks on end for information about you and your little club that I failed to tell them, huh?" Y/n asked almost mockingly, eyes locked on steve now. He cleared his throat, a shattered loom crossing his deep, blue eyes as he looked away.

"Doll-" Bucky started.

"You know, you might not believe this, but not everyone utilises their trauma because not everyone is like y/n Stark." Sharon clipped, voice chirpily snippy.

"Not everyone can be." Y/n cut back with a smile, fake as can be.

"That's Stark'a daughter, alright." Thor chuckled.

"That's my girl." Bucky smirked, giving y/n a chaste kiss when she turned to face him. Sharon rolled her eyes as she scoffed, turning back to Steve as they murmured quietly. Bucky looped his arm around y/n's shoulder, pulling her into his side and pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. Nat winked at her and Thor grinned boyishly.

"So how's the hickey, y/n?" Nat prompted, popping apiece of bread in her mouth. Y/n's eyes widened and Bucky smirked, as Nat had spoken extra loud so Sharon and Steve had looked over again.

"It's fine." Y/n mumbled quietly, pushing her food around her plate and resting her hand over her neck to hide the bruise. Bucky hated the dark, jealousy-clouded glare that Steve was shooting them - desperate for his best friend back.

All the tension was driving him mad. After years of not being able to see Steve, he fucked up their friendship the first night he was back. Well done Bucky, he thought with a glum puff of air.

Sparing a glance to Sharon and Steve, Bucky almost felt as if he was intruding as he looked on as Steve nipped and sucked at the girl's neck playfully, Sharon's flirtatious giggled wafting over. The super soldier barely realise how tight he was gripping his knife and fork until Thor snapped his fingers in front of Bucky's face, before repeating a question about how he was finding life in the Tower.

Bucky's jaw had been clenched so hard it nearly hurt, his eyes a deep blue that was filled with anger as he watched steve and Sharon. At least him and y/n were being subtle and not showing off, but what Steve was doing was clearly trying to get to y/n somehow, and it was working.

Her eyes were burning with a glare, jaw tensed and attention divided between the people in front of her and the sight the other end of the table. Bucky huffed out an exasperated sigh and leant back in his chair, stretching his arm over the top of y/n's head before resting it along the back of her seat, trying his hardest to focus on what Thor was saying now.

[maria-scribbles]

drunk words, sober thoughts

when his girlfriend has too many cups of spiked cider at tina's annual post-christmas bash, steve's reminded of a different party and a different girl who broke his heart.

fandom: stranger things

ship: steve harrington x ice skater!reader, past stancy

word count: 1.3k+

featuring: spiked cider, swearing, a high school christmas party, underage drinking, and a drunk declaration.

a/n: day 7 of my holiday challenge! this is kind of a follow-up to shadow skating, my fic for day one that features a figure skating reader, and so there might be some references to that but i don't think you'll need to read it to understand this one. unbetaed, all mistakes are my b.

come join my holiday challenge!

December 1984

"Hey, sorry I'm late!" Y/N said as she slid into the passenger seat of Steve's car, quickly closing the door behind her to block the freezing wind blowing outside. "I thought I lost this skirt but it turns out it 'magically' appeared in my sister's closet last month and she had 'absolutely no idea' how it got there."

"How convenient for Casey," He reached over to brush some snow from the shoulder of her emerald green coat and she smiled, grabbing his warm hand and dropping a quick kiss on the back of it before lacing her cold fingers through his.

"It's okay, she still hasn't figured out these are the tights I borrowed from her last Christmas." 

"Tell her she's never getting them back because you look beautiful.”

The girl ducked her head and tightened her grip on his hand. "Flatterer. Get going or we're gonna be even later than we already are."

"Okay, just let me do this first." And after pulling her in for a kiss that lingered, warm and safe like fire in a hearth, he put the car in drive and headed off into the cold night.

By the time they arrived at Tina's house and found a place to park on the crowded street, the party was in full swing, bass pumping loud through the front door, and Y/N turned to Steve with a frown as they stood on the porch, bathed in the soft glow of the lights strung on the roof.

"Is it, I don't know, tacky to show up this late? Oh my God, we're gonna look like idiots and it's all my fault-"

"Hey, we're fine, okay?" He said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead. "It's only an hour and all the cool kids show up late, anyway."

She cracked a small smile at his joke and laced her fingers with his once again. "Sorry, I don't really get to go to many parties so I'm kind of...nervous."

That was fair, the last time he'd seen her at one was the summer before freshman year, at the eighth grade graduation party the school hosted at the Hawkins community pool (not that he'd been keeping track, no). 

"We don't have to go in if you don't want to," Steve said, bringing their entwined hands to his mouth so he could drop another kiss on her knuckles. "We could go see a movie, maybe grab some food at the diner? I think I'm ready to try skating backwards so we could always go to the rink-"

"That's sweet of you but I'm not driving your ass to the hospital tonight," Y/N giggled at the way he rolled his eyes and mumbled 'gee, thanks' under his breath before she continued, her voice quiet and soft and oh so honest. "But seriously, I know how much you wanted to come to this and I really, um, I really wanna be here with you. Together."

Together. That's what they were for almost two weeks now, the best damn twelve days of his life, and while they never bothered hiding their relationship, they hadn't outright said they were dating yet; Tina's party was to be their big debut before going back to school in the new year and he couldn't wait to show the entirety of Hawkins High that this beautiful girl holding his hand, looking up at him with a bright smile on her face and sparkling lights reflecting in her eyes, wanted him.

"Pretty sure I'm the luckiest bastard on the planet, being here with you."

Y/N raised up on her tiptoes to press her lips to his, hand holding tight to his for balance. "Well then I must be the luckiest bitch. Now come on! Let's go party."

Things were great at first, aside from the typical nasty jabs from Carol and Tommy H -having nothing better to do than harass anyone who had the audacity to be happy in their miserable presences- as they danced with their classmates, arms wound tight around each other, spinning gracelessly, smiling and laughing and wrapped up in their own perfect little world.

And then Y/N had one too many cups of spiked cider. 

She was tipsy, swaying as she loudly sung along to Fleetwood Mac and when Steve caught her after she tripped over her heeled boots and sloshed booze on the hardwood floor, he couldn't help but think of a different party, a different time, a different girl. The night Nancy Wheeler broke his heart with one word, repeated over and over like a broken record: bullshit.

She was here, surprisingly, tucked in a corner across the room with Jonathan at her side, but the sight of them huddled close together, happy and in love, didn't hurt like it used to, like it did before he fell so hard for the girl wrapped in his arms, giggling as she twirled a strand of his hair around her finger and peppered little kisses all over his cheeks. 

"Stevie, baby boy, have I ever told you how cute you are?" She laughed delightedly at the blush rapidly spreading across his face and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. "So cute, so handsome, so beautiful."

"You're the beautiful one, Y/N," He replaced the half-full cup of cider in her hand with his can of pop -which she finished without noticing the switch- then steered her back toward the living room, away from the punch bowl. "Come on, let's get you home."

"No, Grandpa'll kill me if I come home like...like this!" She pointed to herself before clutching his hand in between both of hers like it was a lifeline. "Can I stay with you?"

At his nod, she squealed happily and wrapped her arms around his waist, the top of her head accidentally banging against his chin as she hugged him tight. "You're the best, Stevie! Stevie, Stevie...oh, like Stevie Nicks! Like, I love her but not as much as I love you." 

For the second time in this damn house, Steve was blindsided by the words of a drunk girl, feet frozen to the ground and brain just about short-circuiting as it tried to process what the hell she'd just said. "What?"

Y/N looked up, chin on his chest and a soft smile dancing on her lips and the blood rushing in his ears drowned out the pounding music, their classmates' chatter, everything and anything except her voice. "I think I love you."

"You're drunk, Y/N." He finally managed to croak after a long, long pause, in which the grin slowly slipped from her face with each passing second of silence; 'drunk words are sober thoughts' the saying always went, he knew it to be true firsthand, and yet something in him tried to warn him not to believe her (how could he, after all those terrible, shitty things he did to Nancy) as he somehow got his feet to move and started guiding her toward the front door. 

"So?" Keeping one arm around his waist, she shuffled alongside him all the way to his car and let him unceremoniously drop her into the passenger seat. "I just...that's just...ugh, words are hard."

He smiled to himself as he buckled her in and then rounded the car to the driver's side, her hand grabbing his and pulling it onto her lap the second he started driving toward his house. "They are, aren't they?"

Head leaned back against the seat, she took a deep breath and turned to look at him in the dim light of the dashboard. "Listen, I don't really know what love is 'cause I've never felt it before but...I think I could. With you."

Stopped at a street light, Steve met her eyes and tightened his grip on her hand and everything clicked into place when he said the words he'd been thinking for a month, ever since that cold December day he managed to pluck up the courage to ask her for skating lessons. "I think I could feel it with you, too."

Y/N might've missed most of his mouth when she leaned over for a kiss but to him, it was everything he needed. 

[sunjaesol]

baby, you ain't being slick

juke | human!au + strangers | title: juice // lizzo 

He didn’t want to be here. Alas, his friends could be persuasive if they wanted to. 

After a shit day in the studio, another rejection letter from agencies all around, contrived lyrics scratched on lined paper and one sugar crash, Alex and Reggie decided to go to a karaoke bar. Of all places they could go to take the edge off, they decide on an establishment that would literally be his cause of death. Luke despised karaoke bars. Why listen to drunk people blabber lyrics they didn’t know (nor cared about) into a shitty mic at two am while sipping on an equally shitty margarita? Why torture himself with music when music itself was kicking his butt as of late? 

But then Alex told him mocking drunk people was fun and Reggie begged for a chance to sing ABBA, so Luke couldn’t refuse. He already acted like a douche enough today. 

So there he sat, on a barstool at Neon Affluenza on a Wednesday night peering into the aforementioned shitty margarita. The place recently opened and has gotten pretty good reviews, Luke quietly admitting that the vibe of the bar was pretty dope. Dark walls and black hardfloor flooring, dimmed lights and purple LED giving everyone a mysterious glow. The stage was small, as usual, with an underpaid DJ on the side playing the tracks. It was packed, loud chatter and clinking glasses overpowering the slurring words of the heavy-lidded, burly man onstage working his way through a Céline Dion track. Luke wondered for a second if the singer thought about how many people butchered her song and brought slander to her name every second of the night in all the karaoke bars all over the world. Oh well. At least she had a record deal and, you know, any significance. 

Alex sat next to him, grinning face illuminated as he texted Willie, as Luke lazily let his gaze drift across the room. The man has stopped and gotten a weak applause, the next person ascending the stage and singing - Jesus fucking Christ, kill him now - “Firework” by Katy Perry. This night truly was the worst. 

It didn’t help that for some reason, three girls have come up to him. Was this an ongoing bet from one friend group or something? To see which one of the girls could crack him? Any other night, he would’ve relished the attention, maybe even chatted one up enough to go home with. Flirting was second nature to Luke. The third girl was his type too! When he rejected her avances, she just shrugged and continued her way to Reggie. Which, he must admit, was a pretty confident move on her part. Regardless - Luke wasn’t in the mood and nothing, or no one, would change that. (Maybe he could sneak back to the studio...)       

“Excuse me-” A female voice called out, tapping his arm. 

He rolled his eyes. “Not interested.”

She scoffed. “You’re sitting on my jacket, asshole.”

Turning to face her, he froze for a beat. His unimpressed glare turned surprised at how pretty she was. Like, “double take on the street”-pretty. If he thought the girl from before was his type, he was mistaken. This was his type. She regarded him with minimal interest, brows raised and arms crossed. 

“So?”

His reply stuttered out slowly. “Uh... huh?” Awesome. He was twenty-three and unable to speak to a pretty girl like some pimply eleven year old playing spin the bottle for the first time. 

She tugged on his stool and - oh. The stool wasn’t leather, it was suede. He was sitting on her leather jacket. Shit. He terribly hoped he didn’t have butt sweat, or else mortification would take him out and not the piercing belt of the drunk singer. Either way, he embarrassed himself. 

“Shit!” He rushed from his chair and held the garment out for her. “Sorry!”  

With a sneer, she grabbed it from his grasp, fingers brushing and letting heat ripple up his arm. Holy shit. Yup. The night took a turn. He had to know who she was. 

She pulled the jacket on. “Thanks, I guess...” Just as she was about to disappear back in the throng of drunkards, he called out for her. 

“Uh, hey! I didn’t get a name!”

The girl turned around, an amused - hella attractive - expression flitting across her face (damn, in what factory did they make her?), and tracked his body with her eyes. Instinctively fixing his slouch, he hoped she was into that punk-rocker aesthetic. That jacket was sort of a clue, right? 

An ironic smile tugged on her lips. “Thought you weren’t interested, loverboy.”

Oh, fuck. His flirting game found their match and it was wrapped around a 5′4 girl with glossy curls and eyes glinting with challenge. Luke recovered as fast as he could from his whiplash and swaggered over to her, a charming smirk falling on his lips - the one he so often pulled to make the front row fawn. The girl didn’t look away, raising her chin to level his intensity. A giddy feeling spread in his chest. This could be fun. 

“That’s before I knew the leather jacket belonged to a pretty face like yours, princess.”

“Trust me,” she laughed, also attractive. Everything about her was fucking enigmatic. “I’m not a princess.”

He tried again. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?”, she shot back. 

He licked his lips, grinning, and held his hand out. He’d gladly bridge this animosity if it got him a name and a number. “I’m Luke.”

His hand was met with cold air, the girl laughing again and showcasing the cute, little gap between her teeth. It should be an imperfection, but it kind of made her better. Jeez, he didn’t even know her! Why she was laughing, however, he didn’t know. He’d lie if he said his ego wasn’t slammed. 

“Are you-?”

“Next up: my girl Julie with Lizzo!” The DJ yelled in the mic, a gaggle in the crowd hooting and whistling. His dream girl winked, throwing a thumb at the stage and shrugging like she felt sorry for interrupting the conversation.  

“That’s my cue. Bye!”

“Wait!” Argh! He didn’t pay attention to the DJ! Now he still didn’t now her name! A beat later, though, the latter words processed. Lizzo. This girl was going to sing... Lizzo? The most revered pipes of the 21st century? Yeesh. Maybe she wasn’t so perfect after all. 

The girl jumped on the stage like she owned it, the first notes of “Juice” booming from the amps, her body moving with the beat. Straightening her jacket and mirroring the smirk he just sported himself, Luke’s throat went dry. 

“Oh.” Alex casually came to stand next to him. “That’s Julie.”

“What?!”

But then she opened her mouth and any sensical thought flew out the window. Her voice was fucking magnificent. Clear, kind of raspy, yet loud and strong and an undercurrent that suggested years of rigorous training. This was not just some girl singing - she was singer. 

If I'm shining, everybody gonna shine I was born like this, don't even gotta try

Her eyes searched across the heads and then stuck on him, that damned smirk widening and sending him a look that would bring any man to his knees. And then, to finish him off, teasingly waved at him as she spit the lyrics. 

I'm like Chardonnay, get better over time Heard you say I'm not the baddest bitch, you lie!

Julie zoomed through the lyrics with ease, dancing and singing like it was breathing, and oozing every bit of confidence a person could have. Cocky nods and flirtatious winks and sinking in her knees to direct a lyric to people in the crowd. He corrected his previous thought: she wasn’t a singer, she was a performer; and she had him stammering. 

All of a sudden, she jumped offstage with the mic, the adoring audience parting for her like the Red Sea and the bartenders brightening the LED’s to give everyone a proper look at what she was doing. Luke should’ve known that one verse wasn’t enough - should’ve known that if he was the Flirt King, Julie was the Flirt Queen. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face though. She was incredible and - fuck it - the coolest girl he’s ever met. 

Coming to a halt right in front of him with that smile meaning checkmate, she obnoxiously pointed at him as she sung the bridge to the audience. 

Somebody come get this man I think he got lost in my DMs, what? My DMs, what? You better come get your man I think he wanna be way more than friends, what? More than friends What you want me to say?

Luke was shaking from laughter, flushing red yet buzzing with exhilaration at this girl putting him in his place. Putting on a show! Where has she been all his life?! 

Before he could snatch her waist, she ran back to the stage to belt out the last chorus with all her might, a dazzling smile breaking through. It was the first genuine, earnest one of the night and... wow.  Julie was breathtaking. 

Alex, unfazed, pressed his phone in his face. “She’s a singer from LA. Thought you’d know her.”

Her song ended, applause so deafening the pedestrians probably heard too, Julie making a silly face and bumping fists with the DJ. She must be a regular here. Weaving her way back to the bar, Luke mustered all his bravado into a laid-back stance and nonchalant smile. He couldn’t hide the mischievous spark in his eye though. That checkmate was still up for grabs. 

“A water, please,” she asked the bartender. Catching her eye, she turned towards him. “Hello again.”

“Gotta admit, Julie-” he leaned back, elbows propped on the bar. “-wasn’t too bad.”

From the way her eyes lingered on the movement, triumph flared in his chest. She came closer, cocking a hip and placing her glass next to his arm. “Ha! I can sing circles around you.”

He leaned in with a grin. “You’d be surprised.”

She didn’t back down. “Is that a challenge?”

“Ask me again in the morning.”

Huffing, she uttered: “What makes you think I’d go home with you?”

“Cause I do ‘wanna be way more than friends’ and, well-” He closed the space between them, calloused fingers tugging on a curl and tucking it behind her ear. Her skin was hot from the lights. For a beat, her resolve waned.“You’re still here.”

Those eyes that have been driving him wild flickered to his lips. He held his breath in anticipation. One night with this girl and some snarky lyrics later and he’d be back on the saddle. This was what he needed to get out of his funk. After, everything would just go back to normal. Right?  

Her lips suddenly grazed his, gaze flicking up and giving him a killer grin. Right - maybe not entirely back to normal. He wouldn’t mind Julie giving him a look like that more often. 

“You got yourself a deal... loverboy.”

@blush-and-books @willexx @unsaid-emily @alexjulies

[jflashandclash]

Tales from Mount Othrys

Jack: Silenced III

 That was how they spent the days: composing songs, learning instruments (he the harp and she the guitar), splashing in the ocean and the freshwater lake, lazing in the warmth of the beach, composing ballads about the clouds—he would sing one verse, then she; the next, until they had a full heavenly court composed of fluffy monsters.

Jack assured that he would stay to heal for three days and nights, but time in Ogygia didn’t move right. He counted. He’d stayed out the second night, watching the stars and the silver slit of a moon. There was an epoch he’d written for Flynn (she hadn’t heard it yet) that lasted thirty minutes when sung at the correct tempo. It was designed to cycle between Mandarin and English, so it would take an hour in total. Calypso came to join him in the garden.

The stars and moon never moved throughout the song.

Time does not have the same meaning here.

Did Calypso have any control over it? Was Jack experiencing more per second or did Ogygia have a different sun, ticking away on its own orbit exterior to the rest of the world? Would he leave in three days and Flynn be old? He didn’t mind her being old, but it broke his heart to think her worrying over him for or their time together stolen by old age.

Memo to self: find way to spend entity with Flynn. Jack reasoned they could, whether or not the war was won. Either they’d end up in Elysium together if they won or the Fields of Punishment if they lost. That’s where Greeks went when they died, right? Jack didn’t mind either way, as long as he had Flynn.

 ***

Jack found the body on the morning of the third day.

Calypso went to bath. Jack learned not to be easily stumbled upon when she bathed, so she had plenty of space or time to find items she may have forgotten—combs, jewelry, soap, shampoo, clothing.

The morning was pleasant, though everything had been pleasant, like the weather itself didn’t want to leave an impression that could indicate the passage of time.

Jack hadn’t explored the island yet. He had wanted to spend as much time working on Calypso’s feelings for Odysseus, but she avoided the topic. The Greek hero must have hurt her bad. She asked uncomfortable questions about Flynn—ones that grew more uncomfortable once she discovered that Flynn��s face was scarred. Jack loved her scars. Calypso had used a word he didn’t like: disfigured. Disfigured and barren, she mused. As though Flynn wasn’t beautiful because she had marks from living life. Jack had never known Flynn without those markings. There was no figuring to disfigure. It was just part of Flynn.

That was their talk over breakfast, then she’d gone to bathe. He just hadn’t wanted to be easily found, but not wanting to be easily found quickly turned to the realization that he could continue out of the hiding spot.

At Camp Othrys, there was always someone to make sure he was in the right place, at the right time. Someone checked to make sure he did his voice exercises before breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Someone walked him to his monster meditation sessions, his band practice, his room. Life was a continuous carousal of Flynn’s, Luke’s, his boys’, and the titans’ faces. Before that, the riders had been switched out for his family, teachers, pastors, and youth directors.

When was the last time he’d been alone?

Stepping alongside the cave, gliding his fingers along the rough, chilly exterior as a guide, he jittered with terrified delight. Hollowness fogged him for the first step: he missed band practice; singing with Calypso made him nostalgic for it. He missed Phil and the other monsters; recounting stories to Calypso conjured up their memories. But…

Everything was sharper here. Maybe he was allowed to explore.

There was no schedule. There was no “someone.” He had some time before Calypso would come looking for him—whether if she paused half way through a bath to come find something or finished off completely.

There seemed no badness on this island. No monsters. No death. He didn’t need to fear the walls screaming nor the ocean coming to eat him. This world felt less dangerous. Emptier. Sadder. Ethereal at times. But less dangerous.

With the excitement of calculated fear, Jack traced his fingers along the exterior of the cave.

 ***

He did not expect to find a groove in the façade and a second three feet after: a doorway tucked tightly behind aspen trees and foliage. When he sang to it, mimicking the gentle trill of Calypso’s voice when she called her invisible servants, he did not expect the stone to give way to a passageway. Peering inside, he didn’t expect to find a naturally-lit cavern, a mirror image to the one he’d been enjoying.

Winged creatures—birds?—exploded upwards from the hideaway, into some unseen escape above.

For a heartbeat, Jack wondered if Calypso had been wrong: maybe he did need his medication on Ogygia. This felt too fairy tale, too much like a demented stumble into a rabbit’s hole. This cave eerily reflected Calypso. Here, the harp was abandoned in the corner, wood warped and strings broken. The ingredients and herbs in the shelf looked rotted to black dust. Mold and moths crumbled the white linens of the bed into a green moss. The crystalline ceiling caved to allow gentle, pleasant sunrays to golden the center of the room, where Jack saw the unmistakable shape of a skeleton.  

He froze, staring. Sometimes, if he looked long enough, things would go away. Sometimes, they were a trick of the light. His therapists and counselor told him to wait before panicking.

His chest hurt. Had he been holding his breath? Jack leaned forward, his hands still trailing the wall. There were more grooves, these much closer, much more systematic.

Upon checking the markings on the wall, Jack’s stomach dropped. There were numbers. The same kind some of the titans and monsters used: ancient Greek. They were carved into the walls—all of the walls. They twisted around the room, growing into longer numerical values. All of it was disrupted by one massive word, something that someone must have written in desperation or obsession:

       Πηνελόπη

 Jack knew enough Greek to read it.

PENELOPE

He took another step in.

More birds fluttered up through the hole in the ceiling. Jack flinched. No matter how many times he looked away, no matter how many steps he crept closer, the skeleton didn’t disappear. Jack knelt on the grassy mattress to inspect it. Judging from the size, he guessed it was a child or a very small person. There was a hole in the top back of the cranium, sending spidery fractures around it like rims of embroidery. It could have been broken when the roof caved in or maybe it was a death infliction—Jack didn’t have the coroner background to say.

Someone inhaled behind him.

Jack shrieked. He jumped, almost stumbling onto the skeleton. Instead, his legs buckled on a nearby box—a funerary box.

Calypso stood in the passageway. Her hair was damp, tinted to a deep brown. Its ends brushed her white dress, making sections semi-translucent. Wetness clung to her cheeks, but he doubted that came from her bath. Despite her eyes being shadowed, they were too wide.

Unless Jack sprouted wings to sore with the startled birds, she was in the way of his only exit.

Her voice was thick with emotion. “All ancient versions of the story have Odysseus leaving me with a child. Did new variations forget to mention that?”

Jack swallowed, horrified. He hadn’t found a mirror world of their little relaxing paradise; he’d found Odysseus’. His prison and his child’s tomb.

“You made it sound like the stories lied about you keeping him here against his will.” Jack scrambled off the funerary box, glad it hadn’t crumbled into a heap of rotted children’s toys. His skull hurt—he was tugging at his hair too tightly. He removed one hand to gesture at the walls. “Are these—are these markings about how many days he was here?”

She laughed: bitter, dark, heartbroken. “It’s not my fault he couldn’t keep track of how much time passes on Ogygia,” she whispered, “I gave him everything. Was kind and gentle. I offered him everything…” The wetness spread down her cheeks to drip into the increasing dampness of her dress.

Jack’s hand trembled. He forced himself not to curl into a ball, to rock, to banish the reality of the situation with thoughts that Flynn would come to save him. “B-but, he had a wife to go home to—”

“He had a terrible fate to bear!” she snarled.

“But he didn’t! After he left you, the Phaecians crafted him a marvelous boat, and sure, Poseidon destroyed it, but he fights off all of Penelope’s suitors, and he—and they—you—you kept Odysseus prisoner from his wife for seven years for no reason! You are an evil witch! A ‘terrible fate…’” Jack’s mockery died to horror. He took another step back, so the waterfall of sunlight and the child’s skeleton lay between their two spaces of shadow. Jack pressed against the cavern wall, feeling Odysseus’ scrawling, the numbers of days he’d desperately clawed out before he was allowed to return to his love. “‘A terrible fate…’” His memory whirled in the alarm. “That’s what you said about me… Oh titans—Oh Flynn! How long have I been here?!” He racked his fingers across the grooves in the wall, as though Odysseus’ ghost had kept a record in Jack’s absentmindedness.

How many other caves did Calypso have hidden? Ones with corpses of other lover’s children and other lover’s imprisonments.

“Jack…” Calypso’s voice chipped with emotion. She opened her hands towards him, as though for an embrace. “Come here. Let’s get away from this tomb. Let’s go sing on the beach or collect fruits and vegetables for breakfast…”

Something made Jack’s skin tingle. Hands, gentle but firm, clamped around his arms and dragged him forward, towards her. Her invisible servants.

         Jack squirmed and fought, but each heartbeat glided him past and away from the dead child, from where Odysseus carved his days and the name of his love, and towards the outstretched arms of a spider in a woman’s skin.

         The invisible hands released him at the edge of her fingertips. The warm, soft skin graced his neck.

         Jack wrenched back. He ducked under her arm and out the tomb. Tree branches and foliage lashed his face and arms as he stumbled outside. The ground felt warm against his bare feet, the ocean breeze as soothing as a tranquilizer. His heartbeat pounded in cacophony to the easing whisper of the incoming tide. He kept running until he found the beach.

         “Jack… you can’t leave.”

         Her words came directly behind him, steady, with no indication that she’d run to catch up.

         He whirled to find her standing there: perfect braid still dampening her dress, frown dripping with tears, face something he would find on a stained-glass window instead of before him in the planes of reality.

         Water lapped up against his ankle. He swallowed down the salty air to quiet his stomach and the panic screaming in his head. “They’ll come for me,” he said, taking another step backwards. The rush of water hit his calf.

         She shook her head. “They can’t.”

         “I’ll—I’ll try every day!” Something sharp—maybe a shell—split Jack’s heel, but he refused to look away. If he blinked, she might grab him again. “I’ll swim as far as I can swim until I can’t swim anymore.”

         Her throat bobbed with a sob. “I will not let you kill yourself in such a way! Besides…” She stared off into the distance, the dawn’s glimmer reflecting off her almond eyes. “Don’t you think Odysseus tried that? Where do you think he ended up as soon as he lost consciousness?”

         Jack’s jaw dropped. He shook his head and stomped a foot into the surf. “No—no—there must be a way—”

         “Jack, you can’t get away.” All the mirth and sweetness left her voice reduced to a clogged drone. “There is no leaving this place. No matter where you go—”

         “No—”

         “—all roads lead back to me. And—”

         “Shut up!”

         “—I’m tired of being alone.”

         “I said shut up!” the words vibrated painfully in his throat.

         Her lip quivered. “Why must you be so cruel, brave one?”

         “Cruel? Cruel?!” Jack laughed until his voice felt hoarse. “What’s cruel is keeping me away from my home—”

         “I get you for at least seven years!” It was her turn to ball her fists in a fit of temper, like the pastor’s daughter caught taking ice cream money out of the donation box. “If you stay, you’ll have immorality. You’ll have agelessness. You’ll have your sanity!”

         “I don’t want any of those things! All I want is my family—”

         “I can be your family—unlike that barren, disfigured whore who refuses to be your wife.”

         Jack’s terror and panic twisted tightly in his stomach. Blood thumped against his ears. His fingers trembled as he clutched at the guitar string braided around his wrist. “You can’t assume every person that washes ashore will fall in love with you, you presumptuous—”

         “But, that’s how it works. That’s how it always works. You will love me.” That fragile, kindly veneer chipped.

         Jack thought about the notches Odysseus carved into the wall, about the other dead children probably hidden in caverns throughout the island. How many times had Calypso been abandoned over the years? He may have pitied her if it hadn’t broken her mind and warped her into the exact, spoiled goddess Camp Othrys sought to destroy.  

         Sanity. She offered me sanity. Jack didn’t want this ability to reason. Life made sense here and the sense it made was cold, dark, and absurd.

“Ms. Calypso,” he whispered, “I know you’re too old to be acquainted with this, but, Stockholm syndrome isn’t love. It’s exhaustion, compliance, and distorted empathy. Forcing someone to love you by wearing them down isn’t love at all—it’s perversion, it’s defilement—” He scowled, locking his jaw. “Take back what you said about Flynn.”

Calypso’s beauty soured with anger. The island itself seemed to thicken with fog. “I don’t want to hear anymore about Flynn.”

“Why? Because what Odysseus said about Penelope doesn’t apply here?” Jack demanded, reviewing the verses of the epic. Odysseus had complimented Calypso, caved to her, if nothing else than out of fear of a wrathful goddess. Jack snorted, “’I know that my wise Penelope, when a man looks at her, is far beneath you in form and stature.’ You’re not better than Flynn. She doesn’t base her worth off needing a man’s romantic love, you delusional, archaic bitch. And I’m never going to stop trying to get back to her. And if you think you won’t let me go…” Jack’s nails dug into the metal of his guitar chord. “I’m going to make you.”

Calypso’s eyes blazed with rage. The air went static, breeze abruptly dying, and the tide seemed to smother its unending whisper. As Jack had experienced some of the times Luke lost his temper to Kronos, Jack realized he was in the presence of a goddess—an immortal being with powers he could not fathom. And he was about to fight her to go home.

“I’m going to make you sick.” Jack laughed. This wasn’t the overpowering need to quiet his siblings. This was a much more calculated hatred. “And if you still won’t let me leave, I’ll make you sicker. I’ll give you leprosy to rot off your nose and show you what superficial love gives you!”

She may have been a goddess that cornered Odysseus, but he was Jak-Jak the Plague Bringer, the Scourge of New Rome, the Shame of Apollo and he was ready to sing.

“Darling, all night

I have been flickering—”[1]

Calypso’s anger melted back to sadness. She raised a hand, and Jack wondered if here, already, was a sign of defeat.

The collar of Jack’s shirt constricted. The strings—so carefully spun on Calypso’s loom—obediently stretched up his neck. Folds of cloth twisted into his open mouth. The song died. He choked on the gag.

Jack fumbled with the material. He clawed where the ridges dug into his cheeks. As soon as his forearms came up, the front of his tunic fused to his shirt sleeves. The material tightened, binding him until he was stuck in the position of Van Gogh’s Scream.

Something tugged at his feet. Jack frantically searched down. Strands unwound from the end of his pants, crisscrossing and weaving. He managed one step backwards before it cinched his feet together.

His choked screams clogged to whimpers. Jack collapsed into the water, thrashing. Salt water splashed into his eyes, mixing with his tears. The material soaked up what had once been a refreshing coastline.

Flynn! He wanted to shriek. Oh, titans, please—Flynn! As Calypso’s wet dress sashayed closer, the pounding in his head increased, encasing him like the full body straight jacket she’d hidden in his clothing.

Calypso’s dress winkled with the layering of stratocumulus clouds. The soothing lull of water resumed, a mocking cacophony to his clashing heartbeat. He wished the ocean would overtake him, that the waves would encircle him like this binding and drag him into its uncaring depths, away from her caring embrace.

Fingers graced his cheek. They were warm to the touch in the iciness of the island. Jack sobbed, thinking about kissing after Flynn’s fingers in the morning, about never getting to feel her calluses again.

These fingers, Calypso’s fingers, were silky, salacious, and knew the methodical patience of a spider feeling its web vibrate. “No, Jack,” she cooed, lifting his head from the sand and water. “No, you won’t. You’re going to stay here.” She curled the strands of his hair off his forehead. Her dress—more suffocating material—pressed into his cheek as she lay his head in her lap. “And we’ll be happy together forever.” Or for seven years. Or at least until a god came to save him.

They sat on the edge of the beach, staring off into an eternal sunrise with the sound of her hums and Jack’s whimpers in euphony with the tide.

Seven years. Or until a god saved him.

Jack had forsaken all gods and time didn’t pass in Ogygia.

 ***

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! and thank all of you for your patience at this time and your continued interest despite my hiatus! I hope you enjoyed!

 Footnote:

[1] Silvia Plath.

[beelze-bae]

Parting Gifts: Lucifer

Summary: After a year in the Devildom, the exchange program comes to an end. Jae gives a gift to each of the brothers before she leaves for the human world, and after a few weeks, Lucifer finally discovers just what his gift is meant to be.

Eunjae is my MC, Yl belongs to @lovelesslovers who deserves all the love and affection!

The house is quiet in the absence of the humans, and it’s something that every one of the brothers has noted in their own ways. The melancholy aura is almost tangible, hanging heavy over their minds and actions as they try to remember what life was like before it had been overturned by the people that had changed it so drastically.

Lucifer’s mood had certainly been better before their departure, tension growing as the days spun by. He had never noticed just how mundane it had been. Meetings and ordinances and stacks upon stacks of files, broken only by his daily duties with the Council...and he couldn’t even count on his brothers to break up the monotony now, with each of them handling the loss of their dear humans in their own ways.

He couldn’t be victim to his emotions like this, he decides. It was an inevitability that the exchange program would end. The angels and the humans each didn’t belong in the Devildom...no matter how his brothers might wish for things to change. So when he catches himself wandering past the room that Jae and Yl had occupied, absently listening for any signs of life, he has to break the cycle.

It’s his life. He had been perfectly content before they arrived. He wouldn’t allow them to hold such power over his emotions. Their lives would have been snuffed out in the blink of an eye compared to the eternity he has stretching before him at any rate...it would do him no good to grow attached to something so temporary.

This decided, he waits until the end of a particularly trying day at the RAD to face these emotions head-on. The quiet of the House of Lamentation is overbearing...and he could use a break.

The record that he chooses has sat on his shelf since the day the humans left. The sleeve is nondescript--only brown paper, with his name written in black marker across the front. “It’s cursed,” Jae had told him as she pressed the package into his hands. “I don’t know what it does, so watch out. Back home, people used to make tapes or CDs of songs they liked and wanted to share...but I thought this would be more your style. Something original for your collection.” He blinks away the memory of her smile as he removes the record from its sleeve, arranging it in the player. A glass of demonus sits at the ready as he settles in his chair, hearing the first strains of a familiar tune.

She knows his taste well, he discovers. The handwritten tracklist on the back of the sleeve has several songs from his favorite eras of human music--jazz, swing, and crooning ballads across the golden ages of songwriting, all sung by voices he hasn’t heard before. Timeless melodies brought into the modern age. He’s sure it’s the alcohol that makes this carefully-crafted list so touching to him...but he has to admire the time and thought she has put into the gift.

The curse is much more insidious--to the point that he nearly forgot that it was there. Slowly, as the first song winds into two, then three, the bitter-spice of his drink no longer lingers on his tongue, replaced by black tea, flavored with strawberries and mint. A special blend that Barbatos had put together for none other than Jae herself. No matter how much he tries, he can’t rid himself of the flavor sitting on his tongue, heart twisting at the bittersweet warmth that it leaves behind. He finds himself running his fingers through his hair, loosening his tie as the vain attempts to thwart the curse start to take their toll.

He should have known, he thinks, laughing wryly as the needle makes its way across the record. Getting under his skin was her worst habit…and greatest skill. Despite his best attempts, he can’t keep her out of his head.

The pleasant hum of the alcohol softens the ache in his chest, allowing him to listen to the recordings in relative peace as he reminisces on the moments that they had shared across the space of a year...but the biggest surprise waits at the end of the final track, when instead of the soft hiss of the record coming to a stop, he hears a voice instead.

“You told me once that your pride controls everything in your mind.” Jae’s voice hits harder than he expects, breath catching in his throat. “And this is...probably a really terrible idea, but here I am, making an ass out of myself to prove a point. And that point is, Lucifer, that it’s okay to make an ass out of yourself. To apologize. To look foolish for the sake of mending bridges. What I guess I’m trying to say is that...whenever you start to feel like you have to destroy everything in order to save your image...I hope you remember this. That you’ll hear me in the back of your head, telling you that it’s okay. You’re allowed to be wrong. And we’ll still love you, even if things go wrong. And,” She laughs softly, the sound making his heart jump in his chest. “I’m sorry. Because this is probably going to sound terrible.” And then, against a music track he knows better than all the rest...she begins to sing.

A thousand thoughts tangle in his mind. He wonders when she had the time to record this, or how she managed to keep it a secret from the others. He wants to know who managed to curse the record itself, and if they knew what the results would be. He regrets waiting quite so long to experience this, knowing that its effects are made ever more devastating by his drinking and the longing in his heart that he had gotten accustomed to ignoring. He’s curious to know if she realized just how much he likes this song.

Laughter bubbles up from his chest, bowing his head as he tries in vain to wipe the tears from his cheeks. He is a fool, he decides. It’s impossible to ignore his own emotions when they’re sitting so close to the surface. He can’t pretend that things will ever go back to the way they were...not when his family, his life, and his heart has changed so much.

As her voice sweetly begs him not to forget her, he plucks his phone from its place on the table, finding her name in his history without a second thought. He doesn’t give himself a chance to consider his actions, or the repercussions this might bring. Right now, all he wants is to see her again. This, much to his regret, will simply have to do. He had always been more eloquent over text than in person, anyway.

“Eunjae. I listened to your gift today.” He begins. “I love it...and I miss you.”

[shemakesmusic-uk]

After re-signing with Nuclear Blast in early 2021, Finnish heavy metal sextet Battle Beast is once again getting ready to unleash its force upon the world in the shape of its brand new masterpiece Circus Of Doom. The album is set to be released on January 21, 2022 via Nuclear Blast Records, and in true Battle Beast fashion, the 10 tracks blend true heavy metal with pop and rock-vibes, paired with Noora Louhimo's unique voice. The band has shared the official music video for the second single ‘Eye Of The Storm’, directed by Tobias Andersson. Check it out below. Guitarist Joona Björkroth comments on the single: "'Eye Of The Storm' is a song about the one thing that keeps your boat floating when the storms of the world try to sink you. It's an empowering and uplifting song that works best with the volume turned way up to 11, so make sure to crank it up!" [via Blabbermouth]

Florentine alternative metal band Violet Blend have just revealed a music video for their new single ‘Rock DJ’, as well as announcing the availability of pre-orders for their upcoming sophomore album Demons. ‘Rock DJ’ is the first single from the band's new album which is set to drop worldwide on April 1, 2022. The music video was directed by Angelo Mura. "’Rock DJ’ speaks about a carefree dream where music appears only as a fun, primordial sense of joy and freedom, free from the constraints of the music business" says lead vocalist and composer Giada Celeste Chelli. "The video was shot in a real house and we set up all the scenes and instruments in every room for every shot. We had to be careful to not move objects and to keep the same position for musicians while shooting, to obtain the effect that people appeared and disappeared magically. This effect is very important for the meaning of the video. It symbolizes the struggle that everyone must go through to affirm their own identities and desires (represented by the musicians and the music), during the flow of daily life (represented by the rooms of the house and the different phases of life). Drummer Michel Agostini adds, "In the video, Giada goes through all the phases of a woman's life while she's trying to free herself from stereotypes and social constraints. She is living her normal life of everyday and she's fighting for the music. During this trip called life, you may have doubts, obstacles, and defeats. You'll have to fight for every little conquest you make, but it is worth it!"

UK death metal/metalcore band Venom Prison recently announced their new album, Erebos, due out February 4 via Century Media. They have also released the album's second single, ‘Pain of Oizys’ and its video. The band and video director Thomas Coe-Brooker spoke about it via press release: “The second offering by Venom Prison is a cold room with a dusty piano. It’s a softly sung war hymn with finger-picked guitar. It’s a ship in calm seas watching for the storm on the Horizon. ‘Pain Of Oizys’ will lull you into a false sense of security. Unique to Venom Prisons previous releases the instrumentation is not what you’d expect. Glassy reverberated guitars and cold piano notes lay the foundation for clean sung harmonies. ‘Pain Of Oizys’ climaxes with synthy leads, strings and aggressive vocal chants. Leaving them feeling empowered with the lyrical conclusion whilst the intensity of the song winds down,” states VENOM PRISON guitarist Ben Thomas. Guitarist Ash Gray adds, “The song was written in so many ways, structures and styles, it was only until it became the form you’re hearing now that it was a big realisation that Venom Prison found something different, special and very in our comfort zone even if this isn’t what listeners are expecting or used to at this point. We’ve always expressed as a band that we would not create the same records and songs over and over again so this is us sticking to our word.” “The song is about coming to terms with depression, trauma and PTSD. Accepting it as part of who I am and rather living life with it than not living at all. It’s about finding strength in suffering and not giving up. Every day is a new day, every day comes with its struggles but ultimately I don’t want to bow to these demons in my head, I wish for it to end and to find peace even in the most difficult of situations,” states lead vocalist Larissa Stupar. Director Thomas Coe-Brooker adds, “This was a really special video for me, collaborating with my amazing wife to create something that mirrored the song's juxtaposition of fragility and power, as well as the lyrical themes of finding your own way to deal with inner demons. I liked the idea of leading the viewer to believe that the character was destined to cause harm on herself when really she’s finding liberation and release, ending on a moment that suggests ‘a new day’, to be interpreted however the viewer sees fit.” [via Brooklyn Vegan]

Belgian progressive/avant-garde metal band Fabulae Dramatis released their newest single called ‘’Lead Astray •|• Indigo’. Isabel says: “The song talks about emotions! Something we don’t actually share that much nowadays or talk too much about it.”

Frontiers Music Srl is pleased to announce the upcoming release of Neptune Blue, the new album by Lana Lane. Out on January 28, 2022, it comes a full decade after El Dorado Hotel, the most recent release by the well-respected singer. A first single and video from the album entitled ‘Remember Me’ is available now.

[imaginewithmgk]

heyyy💗👼🏼 could u pls write one where u just spend the entire night keeping kells company in the studio & the two of u being all cuddly and idk kinda just cant keep each others hands to urself but like in a cute way no smut👼🏼💗💗 need some fluff in this quarantine life😂🙏🏻

TIRED EYES

summary: heyyy💗👼🏼 could u pls write one where u just spend the entire night keeping kells company in the studio & the two of u being all cuddly and idk kinda just cant keep each others hands to urself but like in a cute way no smut👼🏼💗💗 need some fluff in this quarantine life😂🙏🏻

word count: 1,385

warnings: smut (kissing), swearing, weed

“Ugh,” You look up from your phone to hear Colson groaning and mumbling to himself.

“What’s up?” You press the button on the desk so he can hear you in the recording booth. 

“I can’t get these bars right,”

“Why don’t you take a quick break?” Mod jumps in.

“I guess,” He grumbles and puts the headphones on the mic aggressively. You make your way over to the couch and start rolling a blunt for Colson. He makes his way over to you and sits on the floor, in between your legs. You finish rolling and light it quickly, taking a few puffs for yourself and then hand it over. You make conversation with Mod whilst running your hands through Colson’s hair and massaging his head because you know he loves the feeling of someone playing with his hair when he’s stressed. He traces shapes on your legs lightly at the same time. 

“So when are you going to release this?” Travis asks, looking at you and Colson.

“Release what?” You ask.

“That you two are together?” He furrows his eyebrows. Everyone bursts out in laughter. 

“We’re not together, Trav,” Colson chuckles. You smile down at him, oh how you wish you were. 

“You coulda fooled me,” Travis mumbles. You chuck him a gentle smile. 

“Alright on that note, I’m gonna get this done,” Colson says and makes his way back into the booth. You frown at the loss of touch but soon smile when you hear him complete the verse he’s been trying to do for the last few hours. 

“Mod you wanna do the chorus now?” Colson asks from the booth. You press the button so he can hear Mod’s answer. 

“Yeah sure man,” Colson leaves the booth and Mod takes his spot. You start the track and Mod starts singing. 

“Y/N you should take a break,”

“I gotta work on this with Mod though,” You mumble focusing on the numerous buttons, computers and knobs in front of you. 

“I can take over,” Slim offers. 

“Yes please do,” Colson says. You turn around to face him and furrow your eyebrows. 

“Am I not doing this right?” You ask because it’s only the third or fourth time you’ve helped with producing. You usually help them write the songs and you’ve sung a chorus or two on Colson’s albums. 

“Yeah, you’re doing a great job. I just think you should take a break, you’ve been at this a while,” He pauses.  “And I want cuddles,” He mumbles. 

“What was that?” You ask him, not hearing what he said properly. You notice him roll his eyes as he flops down onto the couch. He lies down and opens his arms,

“Come here,” He pouts. You chuckle at him and make your way over to the couch. You position your body so that you’re in between his legs and the back of your head is resting on his chest. He wraps his arms around your torso and grabs your hands in his, he gently rubs his thumbs on the backs of your hands while you snuggle into his warmth. You move your hands out of his and begin to trace shapes on his forearm, your eyes dancing over the distressed ink. Your fingers eventually get tired, along with your eyes. You feel them slowly drooping until you are engulfed in sleep. 

“Y/N,” You hear someone say softly. A hand reaches up to brush your hair out of your face lightly. You open your eyes to see Colson’s chest moving up and down under your head, somehow in your sleep you had rolled around so that you were laying with your stomach and head on his chest. You had your arms wrapped around him and your legs were entangled in his on the uncomfortable couch. 

“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” You yawn lightly. 

“It’s okay. I’m sorry for waking you but I need to do another verse,” He tells you. You put your arm beside him on the couch and use it to lift yourself up. You move so you’re sitting on the couch normally and he does the same. You stretch your arms upward and yawn more as he makes his way over to the booth. You follow him and sit on the chair in front of the mixing desk, expecting an onslaught of comments about how you two were cuddling on the couch but none come. I come to my senses and realise the recording studio is empty except for you and Colson obviously. 

“Where is everyone?” You press the button so he can hear you from the booth and ask him. 

“They left not long after you fell asleep. Mod finished his verse so they all went upstairs or home I think,” He tells you. You give him a simple “okay” as you start the music and he gets ready to sing, you’re working on a new song for the Tickets To My Downfall album instead of a rap. You check your phone to see that it’s almost 3 am, god how long was I asleep? You think to yourself. 

“Alright, I’m done. I’m too tired,” Colson chuckles. 

“Same,” You say as he comes out of the booth. You scan over some stuff on the laptop in front of you as he walks behind you and wraps his arms around your shoulders. For some reason, like it was a normal thing to do, you kiss the back of his hand lightly. Your eyes widen at the action. 

“Uh sorry,” You mutter and try to ignore it by looking at the laptop intensely. He grabs the top of the laptop and shuts it before grabbing the chair and spinning it around so you’re facing him. He puts one hand on the arm of the chair and uses the other to place a few fingers under your chin and guide your face to look up at him. 

“W-what are you doing?” You stutter. His eyes dart from your lips to your eyes and back down to your lips. He leans down so that your noses are touching and you lean your head up in an attempt to meet his lips but he moves away quickly. He chuckles to himself and makes his way out of the room. 

“What the fuck? What an asshole,” You mutter angrily. You open the laptop again and save all of your progress before shutting it and making your way to your room. 

You collapse onto your bed and put your head in your hands, groaning in frustration. You can’t believe Colson did that, that’s a real dick move. You’re only friends so you don’t know why he would kiss you anyway but you’re pretty sure he knows you have feelings for him, and that you have for a while. Your thoughts are interrupted by a light knock on your door. 

“What?” You snap angrily. 

“That’s no way to greet someone,” You hear Colson say. 

“Go away,” 

“No,” You turn around to look at him and send a glare his way. 

“Come to my room I want to show you something,” He tells you and leaves. You groan once more and drag your tired body to his room. 

You walk in and see him lying on his bed,

“What do you want?” You ask. He pats the spot next to him. You obnoxiously flop down on the bed and get into a comfortable position so that you’re facing him with the blanket wrapped around your cold body. You use your elbow to prop yourself up. He looks down at you and leans in slowly. 

“Nope,” You put your hand on his chest and push him away lightly. 

“What?” He pouts. 

“You’re not getting away with that again,” You glare. 

“I’m not going to do that again,”

“Mhm,” You stare into his eyes. He leans again and this time you don’t push him away, you let it happen. His lips finally meet yours, they mould together like they were perfectly made for each other. Colson pulls away and rests his forehead on your, breathing heavily. Your eyes dart back and forth from each of his. He moves back and gets under the blanket, only to grab your waist and pull you as close as possible. You get comfortable and feel your eyes close once again. 

-

tagged: @itjustkindahappenedreally @deanwinchesterswife121 @Feeding-into-darkness @machine-gun-colson @pumpkinqueenest19 @xxkellsvixen19xx @gabriella-lovely @mayaslifeinabox @wintersbleeding @kisstheskyyyxx @lovemythsworld @2dead2function @onecentricsoul @jindongdongie @xwhitewalkerx @onlybadthingz @hotel-colson @s-j-g-x 

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[living-dead-parker]

Homecoming Queen

Summary: Request by @kalianoble - I was thinking something along the same lines being Tony's daughter and friends with the team And someone actively is trying to replace her, but she sort of pours out everything into her music and songs that she writes

Inspiration: Homecoming Queen by Kelsea Ballerini

Songs Used in the fic (not my original writing, credit goes out to the musicians): With Ears To See And Eyes To Hear & The Left Side of Everywhere by Sleeping With Sirens

Pairings: Avengers x stark!daughter, Shawn Mendes x stark!daughter

Warnings: cussing I think, implied sex, ooc Avengers

Word count: 1.9 k

"Oh come on, she's not trying to replace you," your friend Serena states, trying to reassure you. Your frown deepens as you lean back in your chair until you're nearly falling off of it.

"The other day, she was in my dad's lab, laughing and chilling with him and Bruce,  as if they've been friends their whole life. Then, they barely acknowledge me and she would try to get rid of me way too quick."

Your friends wince, not entirely too sure how to respond to that. However they do feel bad, seeing how much it's taking a toll on you. Meanwhile, you sulk in your pity. As spoiled as it may sound, you'd always gotten attention from your dad and the Avengers. They never bothered to get to know any other interns or temps. Why now? What's different this time around?

Eventually, you find yourself back home and upon entering the common room, you see Peter, Sam, and Bucky sitting on a couch each. Much to your disdain, Chrissy, the Avengers thief is there too. You feel the dislike bubble inside of you. A smirk evident on her face.

"Hey, you," Bucky calls out, offering you a smile.

"Hey," you respond, not feeling or sounding too eager. They all pick upon it, but what they don't pick up on is the way Chrissy glares at you. Chrissy scoots closer to Peter, resting a hand on his thigh. You chose to ignore it.

"Is everything okay?" Sam asks.

"As much as I'd like to chit chat," Chrissy speaks up, sounding way too sweet to actually be sweet. "I think Tony might be looking for you."

"He is?"

Chrissy shrugs, picking at her nails, not looking up at you. "Last I checked," she mumbles. You roll your eyes, walking off towards your room. He would have called it it was important.

From that point on, nobody talked to you for the rest of the day. You stayed in the comfort of your room's solitude. Not a single person asked about you. Not when Chrissy was there to entertain. An angry sigh escapes your lips as you watch them all play a game of Cards Against Humanity without you. Everyone laughs as Chrissy cheers from winning another round.

The days seemed to pass by much in this fashion. Days turned to weeks, which turned to months. It was slowly growing on you until being alone was all you wanted to do anymore. The lonliness began to eat you up, making you feel depressed and angry. You'd begun to feel like you were truly loosing your place, and slowly, your assurance in your purpose.

Chrissy continued to climb the ranks and everyone was wrapped around her finger. You'd try to reach out to the others, understanding that communication is a two way street. However, it always seemed to fall apart as soon as Chrissy walked into the room. You're convinced she's watching your every move because she's always there to intercept every single interaction. Ultimately, she got to a point where she was invited to events.

Parties, galas, and any other event was no longer fun because all you ever got was a simple greeting and a rushed five minute conversation.

You sit alone at a table at one of your father's gala after parties. The gold dress you wear making you stand out, yet no one approaches. until you see an all too familiar man slowly walk up towards your table. Curly brown hair, warm brown eyes, and an inviting yet excited smile. It's contagious as you find yourself smiling back.

"This seat taken?" he asks. Looking up at him, and with a certain excited gleam, you shake your head eagerly.

"Feel free," you respond, watching as he pulls the chair opposite you out and takes a seat.

"I'm Shawn-"

"Mendes, I know," you cut him off. He looks amused as you gasp from how rude you're being. "Sorry, I didn't mean to cut you off. I'm Y/N-"

"Stark, I know," he cuts in, a s mink on his lips as he leans back. You never really took him as a cocky person, bout here he is, making a Stark all flustered. "Can I ask why you're all alone?"

You seemed to naturally let your guard down around him. The walls were quick to fall and you held such deep and personal conversation with him. He reciprocated, letting you in on tons of personal information. As the night continued, the two of you talked, danced, and laughed together.

From that point on, the two of you became close friends and Shawn introduced you to the amazing world of writing and making music. As your family continued to push you away and fall into Chrissy's hand, you learned to write your feelings away in some of the most lyrically beautiful prose you could. So much so that Shawn was taken aback by it all.

As time passed, you found yourself constantly examining your relationship with Shawn, realising that it's not as platonic as you'd expected. The cuddling, the kisses, the hand- holding and gentle touching. Maybe the fact that you'd just slept with him last night, just before he's meant to leave for tour.

"Are you sure you'll be fine?" he asks, stepping out of the restroom, towel wrapped around his waist. You bite your lip as you watch him  walk over. He picks up your shirt from the floor and tosses it at you nervously.

"I'll be fine," you tell him. He nods, still unsure. You sigh, kneeling on your bed and crawl over to him as he stands leaning against your bed. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, lips pecking his shoulder. "Seriously, I'll be fine," you assure him. "Maybe I'll write something new while you're out being a popstar," you joke. He chuckles, placing his lips to yours.

"Maybe you'll write something better than me," he states when he pulls away.  "Who am I kidding? I know you can."

Your heart swelled at his words. How can someone be so sweet and caring? So loving.

Once he left, you were stuck by yourself. However, you didn't allow yourself to get upset because you decided that you cannot buse all your happiness around Shawn. So, you got up and got productive. You showered, cleaned your room, got breakfast, and cleaned some more. You managed to say hi to your dad before Chrissy came along and you went back to your room. You grabbed your notebook and your pen, walking over to the garden room, guitar case on your back.

"Okay, we can do this," you say as you pull your guitar out. You flip open to the last song you wrote, one that's close to completion. Just needs a line or two. You then press record on your phone's voice recorder app.

"Falling over and over again," you sing, trying the chords you'd accidentally strummed the other day. You decided to keep the same general progression. "Oh, why does it have to be this way?"

The sound wasn't working, so you ditched the guitar, trying to find a sound through other mediums.

"From the place I was, to the place I am, to the place I want to be," you sing, following your own tune, letting your voice be your guide. "For the mountains I've been climbing over and under and over," you continue, finding your voice.

"From the place that I was to the woman I've become, I'll be there to see the tower you fall from," you belt out, really getting into it. "No this kingdom isn't quite what it may seem. You're an illusion you'll never be queen."

You sigh, flipping the pages in your notebook. "We'll come back to that one later, let's try Left Side of Everywhere," you tell yourself. This song was complete, now it's just a matter of recording it.

"There is no doubt tonight," you sing as you strum along on the guitar. However, you find yourself ditching the actual lyrics and singing something new. "I'm falling, I'm falling so in love with how you are to me. For you I would give anything, try to be a better person."

The words took you by surprise as you think of Shawn. You take a pause, falling into a rabbit hole of emotions and thoughts.

First and foremost, you're in love with Shawn. How could you not be? He's been nothing but kind and supportive of you. He's helped you through multiple breakdowns and he's given you purpose again. Sure, you've always had purpose even before he came along, but he helped you realize thats you're so much more than Tony Stark's daughter or a friend of the Avengers. So much more than just Shawn's friend. It doesn't matter if everyone is blinded by Chrissy's temporary shine, because you're so much more than that and you have things to say. Shawn encourages that. You don't need people who easily push you away and forget about you when someone new comes along.

"Now that I have the world in front of me," you sing excitedly. "I'm never turning back. How could I ever let this go?"

You pick the guitar back up and press record again, repeating the line and letting all your thoughts out.

"So many times I fall, I'm falling, I fall apart," you sing. "I'm so concerned with pity things, it drags me farther down. Why do we run from things we're scared of? I see it now it's all so clear. No, there's no turning back from here. Now that we have the world in front of us, we're never turning back. How could we ever not believe?"

It all seems rather silly, but you grow more excited with every word. You lose track of every word you've sung, but good thing you recorded it. Finally, after a minute, you end it, settling on going back to a loving tone,

"How could I ever let this go? I love the thought, what this all could mean. You're the only good thing left in me. Now that I have the world in front of me, I'm never turning back. How could I ever let this go?"

With that you call it a day.

Three months later, Shawn comes back, way too excited to see you. He arrives at the tower, meeting you in the common room where everyone, Chrissy included, is hanging out. He steps out of the elevator, quick to pull you into his arms and press his lips to yours in a sweet yet passionate kiss. When the two of you pull away, you grab his hand, pulling him towards the hall without acknowledging anyone.

Back in your room, you show Shawn your semi completed album. He listens to it, a large smile placed on his lips.

"So?"

He pauses as he pulls you into his arms. "It's amazing, just like you."

You smile, pulling him in for a kiss. He smiles into the kiss, pulling away to mumble a simple question. "Be my girlfriend?"

An excited squeal escapes your lips as you eagerly nod. Loving every second of this moment. You're excited. For your future, in music and with Shawn. Hopefully, a reconciliation will be in your future as Well, but for now, you're okay with where you are and you believe everything will fall firmly into place.

Send in feedback, requests, or asks, plz and thank you!!

[nobodyeverasked]

buenas noches; han jisung

(3054 words) - large

summary - 10,000 nights and 1,000,000 more...

A blissful sigh passed Y/N’s lips and faded into the traffic of the busy hall around him as he stood nestled in the safety of his open locker, fingers brushing over a  photograph of him and his boyfriend - Jisung - fooling around under the flash of ivory light. The memory of that night played over and over in his head like a silken record, the symphonies of their conversations which stumbled through the midnight and caught between his teeth still running sweet over his lips. The violet stains of compassion painted across his chest still aching with the toxins of his happiness, and the hair he tangled his hands in still singing his fingertips with the embers of their admiration-

“Hey.” A voice snapped him from the trance that sent his head up into the clouds of his daydreams, a hand grabbing his waist and whipping around. He couldn’t help but melt into the touch of the skin he’s spent countless nights memorizing - every inch. Y/N couldn’t hold back a gasp as his eyes met with Jisung’s, his back instantly meeting his now closed locker. Jisung pressed him up further, chests touching a grips tightening as they entwined their lips. “Happy anniversary, babe.” Jisung finally whispered out, all the breath sucked from out of him as he revelled in the sweetness dancing between their kisses.

he lost himself in Y/N’s eyes and brushed his hair back.

“Happy anniversary, Sung.” Y/N soaked in the light of Jisung’s awetricken smile, the hands moulding his waist and the eyes embracing his filling him with the sparks of joy.

As they stared into each other’s eyes, the clockwork of time stopped in its tracks. Jisung losing himself in the galaxies embracing Y/N’s eyes, the glimmers of happiness that made the starlight hovering over their nighttime walks shine so much brighter. Jisung carded his hands through Y/N’s hair, a comforting warmth radiating between their chests and the spiralling laughs filling the air around them as he held Y/N’s face in his hands - worshiping the scarlet that stained his cheeks from the kisses that longed for his skin.

It’s been one year, one whole year for these two, and somehow it’s felt like two hours and two decades at the same time, they were each other’s miracles, the shooting stars they would always pray upon when their moon turned their back on them. They are the love songs that would now always bring memories of them swaying together in their living room, the music drowning from their ears as they just looked into each other's eyes and followed their hearts. 

Jisung looked back on the summer nights they spent together under the sun they burned black with their laughter, the cinders of the sunset melting upon their intertwined bodies, and the autumn rain that would sing swansongs of peace as Jisung brushed his hands through Y/N’s hair. The violet nights that poured their essence over Y/N’s bare skin as they painted each other red forever engraved themselves in his memory.

“I can’t believe it’s been only a year.” Jisung finally lifted the sheets of silence that were pulled over them. Did the bell go? They didn’t notice, they didn’t care. All they cared about was the person between their arms and the tongues between their teeth. Y/N looked so beautiful, wrapped in his warm embrace, under his gaze - even with the harsh glow of the hallway lights, his eyes still shimmered with the molten gold forged from the flames of their adoration. He trailed kisses down Y/N’s cheek and under his jaw, stray fingers pulling on Y/N’s jacket to bring him closer… Closer…

“Yeah, it’s been so long, yet-”

“It’s felt like forever and nothing, all at the same time…” Jisung smiled sheepishly as a hand came up to nudge his chest.

“That’s what I was gonna say…” Y/N pouted, his shoulders dropping, ruby-lined lips forcing down a smile. “I thought I was in charge of the lovey-dovey shit.”

Jisung chuckled softly, caressing Y/N’s cheeks with his thumbs and working his touch down to his neck. “I’m here to overthrow you, my cringe is too strong!”

“You said it, not me-”

“Hey!”

“Sorry~” Y/N sang into the chest that he would always lay on when the road to sleep grew rough, or when the spotlight under the moon shone too bright. Jisung was the light at the end of the tunnel and the hands of the breeze that would guide him down busy streets.  “I love you!” Y/N listened to Jisung’s heartbeat as their laughs took flight once more, stifled by the adoration that stained their lips and ran down their necks, that soaked the stormy nights with a golden glow and turned their lonely nights into ones they would truly die to relive again.

“I love you more, babe.” Jisung took Y/N’s hands in his own. “So, as for our plans tonight. I’ve made reservations…”

“I thought you said nothing fancy…” Y/N looked up, swinging their knotted hands between them.

“It's at chez moi, party for two…” Jisung leaned over and whispered into Y/N’s ear, his voice dripping with the honey that laced their golden kisses and danced across the horizons of their tender mornings. Y/N relieved a sigh from through his lips and left a hand wandering in Jisung’s hair. Jisung never seized to amaze him. “My couch and Domino’s, class and elegance at the max. Exclusive.” Jisung arched an eyebrow, taking Y/N’s hand and lining his knuckles with kisses.

“Oh, I’m so honoured…”

“You’re lucky you’re cute, the waiting list was packed.”

“Wut…?”

“I’m kidding!” Jisung swept Y/N into a hug and let his lips drape over Y/N’s skin. “Are you sure it’s okay, though?”

“Is what okay?”

“Tonight…  I mean, it’s no candlelight dinner… I really wanted to do something special for my baby…” Jisung looked down, but a hand nudging under his chin brought his gaze right back up. Back up to the eyes he always lost himself in as the starlight sang over their bodies and spilled its essence over their sheets, the eyes that showed him the world that he closed himself off from. He could never truly thank the young man wound up in his embrace for what he’s done for him. His hands were paradise, his touch was heaven-sent, his being was the oasis in his desert of isolation. He was everything.

“Han Jisung,” Y/N started. Oh no. “Any time with you is the time of my life. We could literally be lying in a ditch and I’d fall in love with you all over again.” Y/N cupped Jisung’s face that burned with the flames of happiness, and brought him closer to mould his ruby lips into a grin he could never get enough of. All Y/N wanted to say through the sweet nothing’s he whispered into a sleeping Jisung’s chest coaxed out of him with the hands worshiping his waist and the lips weaving with his. “So I’ll see you after class then…?” Y/N was breathless. 

“Oh shit!”

“Yeah~” Y/N rolled his eyes and laughed, watching as Jisung pulled at his hair and winced in a silent apology.

“I’ll meet you here?”

“Yep. Till then, babe.” 

They parted with a kiss they wished could last forever, for as long as the sun spills over their smiles. They both round classroom corners with smiles, a year’s worth of memories playing in their heads too high in the clouds to hear their teachers’ lectures.

*

Y/N’s shaking hands fiddled with the white shirt-collar fitted snugly around his neck, straightening out his jeans and trying not to suffocate within the whit walls of his bedroom. The window looking out onto the night sky, stained by the moonlight, feeling smaller in the mirror he fidgeted in front of. Every few minutes - forever and nothing just like his life with Jisung - he found something new to flick into place or rub off his sleeves, checking his phone in between paces on his carpet. Jisung just texted him. He was leaving now, he lived almost five minutes away, and Jisung’s longing to see Y/N tonight might cut it down to two.

Y/N didn’t know why he was worrying so much, always feeling as if he was soaring in the clearest of skies when he was in Jisung’s arms, but he just wanted everything to be perfect. A perfect night with the perfect man, a perfect year to lead onto another one. Jisung made him feel like one in a million. No matter how much he tried to convince himself he wasn’t good enough, Jisung was there to pick up his pieces and make the rooms he painted blue into the lilac that sealed their kisses on strawberry sands and coiled their knotted hands whenever they had a craving for fresh air or ice cream.

Suddenly there was a jolt in his hand and his phone lit up, the bundles of heart emojis across his screen leaving no room for guessing who was at his front door. With one more breath easing slowly between Y/N’s teeth, he fetched his jean jacket resting on the arm of his couch and opened his door. He couldn’t help but smile as Jisung turned around with a bouquet of beautiful yellow roses, shining like the sun that spilled over their tangled bodies on sunday mornings. Y/N’s gasp was caught between his smile as Jisung’s lips beat his breath to it, his free hand instantly bringing his boyfriend closer.

“Sung… You didn’t have to…” Y/N said, breathless, the tongue that melded with his under the coral porch lights running as sweet as ever between his teeth, the laughter that strummed between burning cheeks and bright smiles splitting the violet night draping over them, coiling around ignited skin. “Seriously…”

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” Jisung couldn’t help but weave between Y/N’s words, but how could he not marvel at the one he loves. Eyes dancing with such an entrancing light, skin that sets his heart ablaze, and a smile that never seizes to make all the clouded things in his mind seem crystal clear. “I had such a hard time picking flowers, they have nothing on you.”

“Stop~” Y/N held onto the flowers with a smile, blush seeping into his cheeks and clinging to his ears. Jisung leaned in to kiss the scarlet on his skin, taking a rose out of the bouquet and tapped Y/N on the nose with it. Laughter dripped down their connecting lips and followed them to Jisung’s car, the moonlight spilling over the bouquet between them and all of its marigold glory.

Jisung kept his arm wrapped around the treasure nestled into his side. Their sighs of content filling the air and widening their smiles. Jisung couldn’t take his eyes off of Y/N, even as they strapped themselves into his car, his eyes wandering to the bouquet and back to his boyfriend. He could never get over how gorgeous Y/N looked with the sparks of happiness in his eyes, ones like the honey that painted their summertime evenings and sealed their memories in the molten gold that ran between breathless lips.

He drove on, letting the ivory of his headlights lead the way to his house, a warm smile across his lips every mile of the way.

*

“Welcome.” Jisung held his front door for Y/N, patting his waist as they went through the entrance and into Jisung’s house, four walls and ten rooms that welcomed him with open arms every time he passed through the white wood door. Y/N let himself breathe in the air of the sunsets painted on the walls, reminiscing on all of his fondest memories with the man that stood behind him, the arms around his waist and the lips on his neck more of a home then any roof over his head could be. “To the refined of the refined, best of the best.”

“I’m so honoured you made room for me, I see you’re fully booked.” Y/N tilted his head back with a sly smile, giggling as Jisung stroked his hands up his sides and rolled his eyes. They slipped their leather shoes off and walked further through the ivory archways and into the living room still singed by the flames of their adoration. The air still stung with the sunlight they stirred last weekend. The fingers tangling in hair, the amber spotlight hung over dancing tongues, cinnamon and desire stuck between their teeth and dripping from garnet lips. “So, do you know the time the pizza’s gonna get here?” Y/N perched himself on a barstool in Jisung’s kitchen, looking up as Jisung draped himself over Y/N’s shoulders that shrunk in sheepishness with every kiss trailing down his cheeks and to the corners of his smile.

“Yeah, I ordered it before I left, so it’ll be here in twenty minutes or it’s free!” They laced their fingers together, breath ghosting skin that ran so sickly sweet between curved lips and shone under crescent gazes. 

“Such elegance, mi amor.” Y/N stifled a laugh as Jisung stomped off to the couch in his living room, a fake pout cracking under the heat of Y/N’s touch and the softness of his words. He tried not to melt when an embrace wound around his shoulders from behind the couch. “I’m kidding. You’re the only thing that matters, Sung, as long as I’m with you.” Their fingers wound around each other under the faint coral lights of the ceiling fan above, swaying with each other in the melodies of silence, until Jisung grabbed Y/N’s arm and flipped him onto the couch, landing him in his lap in a storm of yelps and cackles that split the indigo clouds threading the moonlight together. “JISUNG!”

“Smooth, I know…” Jisung pulled Y/N further onto his lap, ignoring the fact that he could’ve broken his neck.

“Yeah, smooth like chunky guacamole.” Y/N relaxed into Jisung’s arms again grabbing the T.V. remote lost under their laughter.

“I’m working on it, okay?” They chuckled together, their eyes never leaving each other even after the T.V. was turned on, the galaxies embraced in loving stares lighting up the walls around them with the light of the new dawn that always greeted their restless nights where they just lay on Jisung’s bed, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. Jisung leaned down and annexed Y/N skin between his lips, the sweetness of the air that surrounded all of their nighttime walks shoving his head under the reckless waves of Y/N’s ocean. The waves of compassion that burst him out of his shell and into the man he is today. A man comfortable in his own skin - every inch of it memorized by the young man who finally turned around to meet his smile, loose hands perched on Jisung’s shoulders. Y/N always made him feel so special, like all the love he was finally able to give meant something, anything. Y/N was the key to a world he locked himself away from, the blanks in the pages he left in the corners of his doubts.

Now, as they spent this lifetime staring at each other’s eyes, they always found new things to love - even after 365 days of loving - how Y/N combs his hair back, how Jisung licks his lips when he’s nervous, how they stare at eachother and can get lost in the endless starlit skies of the paradise they’ve made for each other.

“You okay, Sung?” Y/N finally stepped through the silence draped over them like the ashen sheets housing their safest of sounds. His voice was silken, velvet through lips that were softer than the clouds they would send Jisung into every night their bodies aligned like the stars. Sometimes Jisung could feel them through the phone when long nights grew rough and sleepless, laughter brushing along his cheeks as if Y/N’s hands were there, and he could feel the weight of Y/N’s chest whenever he leaned on those plaza walls alone. All of the memories rushing back at him as the tides of Y/N’s touch swallowed him whole, waves of their waters caressing them like their summer kisses in Jisung’s pool. He’s so ready to lose count of the twilights that conquer together, the sunkissed walks on coral sands that always coloured his daydreams. It’s been only a year, and looking at Y/N’s expectant eyes, he longs for so many more.

“When you’re here?” Jisung let his hands twine in Y/N’s hair, the doorbell echoing through the house barely heard. The two young men lost in the flames of adoration spun into gold around them, shirts and jackets fell to the ground and greedy tongues met in a heavenly dance. The moonlight melting over heaving chests, spilling on skin soaked in the warmth of their love. Jisung could only think about the blessing of a young man on top of him, precious thighs that ran so soft between his hands seizing his waist. “Always…”

Cherry chapstick writhed between melded lips and dancing tongues. Their hands scorched their skin that ran with sweet toxins beneath them. Touches grew heavier with a burning hunger  - the fingers tangled between locks of Jisung’s deep, brown hair and running down his chest embracing him in the waves of Y/N unyielding trust and undying love that always sent him careening for the starlit skies draped over them.

He longed for the sparks of their entwined smiles to burn between his teeth like the burning suns that flashed in their memories. He wants to bring Y/N’s body closer and closer and to feel the warmth that radiated through all of Y/N’s shy chuckles and brilliant grins. He wants to drown in the silken sweetness of their devotion that stifled the indigo night. 

He wanted this day to feel like the countless years that would house their happiest memories.

A beautiful beginning to their happy ending...