#it's the second canon song written by a band member!

[timespenttogethercomic]

these guys haven't really hung out yet before

the song in question

[muchosbesitos]

NO ONE NOTICED— featuring rockstar ex boyfriend suguru geto x fem reader

after a year of breaking up and making multiple songs about you, he starts to forget. isn’t that what he wanted though?

contents: 18+ content, mdni! non canon compliant/au, angst, somewhat desperate geto, ex sex, jerking him off, nipple play, cunnilingus (i will never get tired of munch geto sry), riding (or at least trying to..), backshots, unprotected sex, unresolved feelings, and some aftercare

word count: 6.9k (hehehehe)

author’s note: i’d like to thank beyonce for letting me make this 🥹 inspo for this was from the marias and this :3

Out of all the places that Suguru Geto expected himself to be tonight, your apartment would've been dead last on that list.

In the middle of an ongoing tour.

When he was supposed to be in his hotel room rehearsing the song that he'd promised Ijichi he'd have ready for tonight. A song that a majority of his fans was bound to be expecting.

Though he supposed that maybe Ijichi was the reason that he found himself on your doorstep in the first place. And not the sheer desperation that fueled his actions, that very same desperation that made him get a plane ticket at an absurd price just to see you as soon as possible. To pack up a duffel bag with only a shirt, one pair of pants, and the first pair of shoes he found scattered in his hotel room.

For knocking on your door like a mad man at nearly one in the morning, praying to whatever entity there was above that you wouldn't just shut the door at the first glance of him. Shifting between his feet, waiting to hear for some kind of signal that you were inside. He'd gotten this far, right? That had to count for something.

"Geto, can I talk to you for a second?" Ijichi had waited until all the band members had left, approaching him with an iPad clutched underneath his arm. "Yeah, go ahead," Suguru responded offhandedly, making no effort to stand up just yet, his guitar sitting next to him. All he did was look over at the man with a bored expression on his face, waiting for what he had to say.

Last time Ijichi said he needed to talk to him—he ended up getting called a slut. Well, not precisely in those words. But Ijichi made it a point to get it through Suguru's skull about how hooking up with random groupies on tour wasn't the smartest idea (stuttering over his words when Suguru gave him a sharp glare in response.)

And he had stopped sleeping around with groupies. For the most part, that was. So he wasn't too sure what to expect from this conversation.

Ijichi didn't waste time in getting the iPad from underneath his arm, his fingers frantically typing and swiping across the screen. "I know it's somewhat of a late notice but the fans are somewhat expecting a teaser of a song for the next show," he kept his gaze on the iPad, handing it over to Suguru once he pulled up an array of graphs. An array of graphs that Suguru simply gave a once over to.

"What type of song are they expecting?" Ijichi retracted the iPad once he realized Suguru wouldn't show interest in the same graphs he'd spent hours the night prior coloring, tucking it underneath his arm. "Well, it's been a while since you've written one of those love songs. But please, let me know if you need more time."

"No, it's fine. I'll have it to you by tonight."

Despite how assured Suguru had been in the statement, he found himself prolonging actually having to sit down and work on the song. Cleaning up his space, packing up his bags earlier than usual. Anything that he figured would be the most time consuming. Even going as to cleaning around the hotel room despite that the staff would've done so either way.

It was ridiculous how much effort he took to make sure not an ounce of dust or a food crumb was left by the time he finished. The space was left cleaner than when first stepped foot inside.

Suguru wasn't completely sure why he'd put off the task as long as he did, this type of material came to him naturally. He always used the same muse when it came to writing things like this—you. Even after a year of breaking up, you were the only one he could bring himself to bear his heart out to. He could write another one of these songs, right?

It wasn't like you'd left his mind throughout the past year, anyways. He didn't need to bring himself to lie whenever he composed a new work—everything was a manifestation of what he'd never tell you in person. Choosing instead to express it in his songs. Which he guessed is why his fans ate it up as much as they did. He figured he'd be done before tonight, pulling his notepad out from the depths of his backpack.

But as soon as he went to press his pen down against the notepad, Suguru found himself second guessing every word that he wanted to write down. A feeling that was extremely foreign to him, considering that he'd usually be able to paint a clear picture of you in his head. The last good day you'd had with him before breaking up. But now he was lost. He simply just didn't know.

The color of your eyes? He couldn't remember. The scent of your perfume? Was it cherry? Bergamot? Or neither. What you looked like waking up in the mornings? Suguru could barely decipher your face in his mind, his memory failing to recall the scene that consoled him throughout most nights.

Isn't this what he wanted, though?

To completely forget about you. To just be able to say that the two of you had a failed relationship and move on, like most people probably would've done in his situation. To be able to be with someone else without the constant reminder that they'd never hold a candle to you, that he wouldn't even bother remembering their name by the time the night was over.

To stop having to take shot after shot so that the dull pain in his chest that never seemed to just go away could be replaced with the sharp pounding in his skull.

Except that Suguru didn't want to forget you, he didn't want to ever forget about what the taste of your lips was like after you'd applied a fresh layer of lip gloss was. Suguru didn't want to forget about the person that made him feel safe, that made him feel like he was at home. He didn't ever want to forget just how happy you'd made him, even if it hadn't lasted for long.

He didn't want to find himself missing you so badly was the problem. But no, he didn't want to forget you. At least he realized that now.

After a year, no less.

The more that he looked at the blank piece of paper in front of him, the sheet almost taunting him, the more that Suguru started to realize that this wasn't what he wanted. "Come on," he muttered to himself, the rest of his bandmates next door oblivious to his obvious struggle. He was starting to grow restless, his leg bouncing against the cold granite of the floor. The memory of you was slipping away despite how much he wanted to cling on.

Suguru looked over at the clock, nearly thirty minutes having passed since he'd taken a seat. And all he had on his page were scribbles and a stick figure on the margin of the page. He balled up the sheet of paper after staring down at it for a couple more seconds, a pile of missed paper balls piling just on the edge of the waste bin. Much to Suguru's annoyance. The work that he promised wouldn't be finished by the end of the month at this rate.

Which is what lead him to book a flight without thinking too much of the consequences, Suguru supposed he could deal with those tomorrow. All that he knew was that he needed to see you, to feel you, to remember what it was like being around you again.

And maybe Suguru should've gone with a phone call first, see if you'd even want to have a conversation for more than five seconds. But whatever brain cells that were still alive in that big head of his decided that this was the best idea. Leaving without so much as giving up a heads up to the rest of the band. All he had going for him was some stupid hope that maybe, just maybe, you didn't hate him completely. That you missed him the same way.

Three loud knocks woke you from the nap you were taking on the living room couch, the movie that you'd picked out still droning on in what you had to assume was the climax. You rubbed a hand over your eyes, hoping that you didn't look as tired as you felt before making your way over to the front door. "Who's there?" You'd meant for it to come out more authoritative, though the words came out groggy as you tried to wake yourself up fully.

You made no effort to move, your foot tapping on the wooden floor while you waited for some kind of response. You let out a scoff, rubbing the bridge of your nose before calling out, "Hel-?"

"Don't come out here to hit me with a baseball bat. Just me, I promise," the very same voice that came from trending songs on the radio (that you skipped with a bitter look on your face) was the same one calling out. Sounding almost desperate. Well, the closest thing to desperate. You opened the door to see Suguru standing there, a duffel bag slung on his arm. If you had to guess, you would say that it's all the man was carrying with him.  "Shouldn't you be on tour?"

Suguru shifted awkwardly on your carpet, looking more like a sopping wet dog than the cocky persona you'd grown used to seeing on TV. "I can't explain it, but I just had to see you. Do you mind if I come in?" He threaded carefully, unmoving from his spot. You rubbed your eyes, letting out a sigh before glancing over at the wall clock in the kitchen. "You came here at two in the morning and you can't explain to me why you're here?"

"Exactly."

"And you don't see how that's a little strange?"

Suguru swallowed dryly, looking around before his eyes met yours again. "Please," the word sounded like it was painful to get out, like his pride was getting damaged with every second. Or maybe he wasn't letting his pride come in the way? Whatever the case was, you found yourself getting increasingly curious. "Fine," you relented, moving to the side to let him inside. Suguru almost rushed inside, doing quick work of taking his shoes off.

Before you had the chance to change your mind.

You walked over to the living room, a noticeable gap in between the two of you as you sat on the couch. Blankly staring at the screen, ignoring the obvious elephant. You wanted to approach the situation, you really did, but what exactly were you supposed to say to him? 'How have you been since I broke up with you?' just didn't seem like the perfect conversation starter. If he was as conflicted as you were, you couldn't see it.

From the corner of your eye, you gauged his expression. He almost seemed too composed. Too composed for a man who was just outside your door begging to be let inside. You'd been expecting something more than just having him stare at the anticlimactic movie.

"I missed you, that's why I came here," Suguru spoke up after a couple minutes of sitting in silence, his eyes focused on the screen in front of him. His hands twitched to touch you, to feel your skin underneath his fingertips once more. But he refrained, choosing to stuff them in the pockets of his jeans instead. "Everything feels dull without you around. Music doesn't really feel the same, sleeping isn't that easy for me anymore."

The two of you hadn't exactly ended on bad terms, which only served to make these interactions all the much more painful. You still loved him, he still loved you. But the two of you were at completely different points in your life when you made the decision to end things. While Suguru was out traveling in various different cities, you stayed at home. Occasionally going to some of the local shows nearby.

Your relationship was composed a simple phone call every couple days or a collection of text messages, something that you didn't quite mind at first. Rumors started speculating like wildfire on the shows you didn't go to—pictures taken out of context, falsified interviews. And as much as you didn't want it to get to you, it did. Especially when Suguru didn't want to risk bad publicity by denying these claims.

"You can't just come here every time you feel lonely, though. It's not healthy," you responded, keeping your gaze on him. You could see the way his jaw ticked slightly, the only visible reaction that your words had affected him. "You're not hearing me. I'm telling you that I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. That even after a year, you're still the one that every song is about."

"And you're not hearing me. I'm telling you that you can't just come over every time you decide that you miss me. I'm trying to move on too."

"What are you trying to move on from when you're the one who left me?" Suguru's voice raised as he spoke, desperately running a hand through his hair again, "You left."

The sheer vulnerability in his voice, the way it seemed like he was willing himself to stop it from cracking made whatever remaining pieces of your heart that still belonged to him clench painfully. "I know. But being here isn't exactly doing you any favors, Suguru."

"Tell me to go home. Tell me that you never want to see me again and I'll go," Suguru spoke up after a couple moments of silence, his gaze boring into you. You wanted to say something, say that this the opposite of what you should be doing. Send him on his way back home. But why couldn't you open your mouth to say those things?

Every brain cell practically yelled at you that this was a bad idea. You knew that you had to send him home—that this would only serve to complicate things between the two of you. But what even was there to complicate? And the silence between the two of you spoke louder than any of the other words you'd said to him tonight. "Stay," all you did was just affirm what was already basically implied, "Just for the night."

"Just for the night, I promise," Suguru brought your hand up to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. A silent reassurance between the two of you. Even after all this time, things still felt so.. unfinished. You hadn't been able to move on, either. Even if you'd tried to convince yourself that this was for the best. "But if it's just for the night, then just let me do something stupid."

Every memory that Suguru had been clinging to, trying so desperately to try and remember came rushing to him like a freight train at just having your skin under his fingertips. Every little thing that he'd been having a doubt about came back to the forefront of his mind. And for once, he didn't mind that the only thing in his mind was you. Frankly, he was starting to enjoy it. Wondering why he'd even let you slip away so easily.

Suguru's lips connected with yours in a span of mere seconds, one of his hands coming to rest against your cheek. Holding you as close as he could to himself. "Still taste so good," he whispered against your lips, his teeth gently pulling at your bottom lip. Coaxing you into parting your lips, his tongue slipping inside with little to no resistance. "Just for the night," you said once again, trying to convince yourself.

Trying to convince him in the process. Though you weren't doing a great job at either, your body practically molding into his as his hand went down to your back. Instinctively arching against him as if it were the one place that you belonged. It felt as if Suguru needed to have your lips against his own, needed to engrave the taste of you in his mind again. He didn't dare pull away; your lips seemed more vital than oxygen.

The only time that Suguru pulled away was to have you sit on his lap, your warm cunt resting right against his hardening cock. If the tent in his pants was any indication, anyways. Your hand cupped his cheek, the small contact enough to have him leaning into your touch. Like a man starved. But when you started to shift a little bit too much on his lap, his hands gripped your hips.

"I know I'm the one that put you up here, but we don't have to do anything if you don't want to. I just.. I guess I just wanted to taste you again," Suguru was quick to stop your movements, placing one of his hands above your own. His fingers gently enclosing against your wrist, treating you like a piece of fine china. Treating you the same way he should've done over a year ago.

"I want to, I promise," you assured him, placing your other hand above his own. Amethyst eyes bored into yours, trying to gauge your expression for any trace of uncertainty. For any trace that you didn't want to do this. After finding none, he removed his hand and placed it back on your waist. "Are you sure that you want this?" You questioned. This time it was you analyzing him for any tics or signs he was uncomfortable.

"Yes," he sounded ragged, his fingers drawing small circles against the thin silk material of your nightgown, "More than you know." The last words were spoken as a whisper, almost as if he were thinking out loud. Exposing himself to you in every form. You moved further down, giving yourself enough space to unbutton his jeans. His cock was tenting through his boxers, hitting his stomach when you slipped them down just enough.

The sight was almost pretty to look at. Just like the rest of him. Through the pale moonlight shining in through the window's curtains, you could see a drop of precum dripping along the side of his shaft. The tip an angry shade of red, his cock twitching for whatever attention you would give. "Don't tease me, please. Just want you," Suguru spoke up after you'd been staring at his cock for a couple seconds.

"Don't worry, I won't. But a little patience wouldn't hurt, y'know?" You couldn't help but poke fun at him a bit, a teasing smile on your face as you traced the path of his happy trail. All the way down to where his cock was throbbing to be touched.

"You try being patient when you've been deprived for a yea—"

You wrapped your hand around the base, jerking your fist as you moved up his shaft. "Oh fuck," Suguru let out a huff underneath you, his hips bucking up to meet your hand. "Easy there, let me take care of you," you whispered, keeping one of your hands pressed against his thigh. The muscle flexed with every movement you made, his cheeks flushed as he threw his head back. You started off slow, building up with absolutely no rush.

“So good, so good, don't stop," Suguru all but whined, the man completely unraveling from a couple strokes. Wet sloshes and low groans drowned out the sound of the TV in the background, his cock completely covered in his own precum. "S-Shit, just like that," his words came out as he bit down on his lip, muffling any other moans that threatened to leave him. That was, until an idea came to mind.

Suguru pushed the flimsy straps of your nightgown, your breasts exposed to him in a manner of seconds. He met your gaze when he leaned in, his tongue swirling around your areola before taking it in his mouth. "F-Fuck," a muffled moan escaped from his lips, his other hand going up to your other breast. The combined stimulation of his fingers tweaking your nipple and the small chill in the living room had your nipples hardening in record time.

Suguru dripped like a faucet against your hand, drops of precum helping you glide your hand against his length with ease. Your thumb swirled around his tip, bringing it up to your lips and swirling your tongue around it. The taste of him somewhat salty (presumably from how shitty his diet's gotten through tour), but still bearable. At the sight, Suguru took his hand off your nipple and placed it on your chin.

While the previous kiss had been something out of sheer desperation, this one was much slower. Though just as needy, if not more. His tongue tasting the taste of him and yourself combined, the two of you moving in synchrony. You weren't even sure if his moans were from your hand or the kiss anymore. Probably both. "Missed you, missed you so much," he whispered when you pulled away, holding your face for just a little while longer.

And the moment would've been bittersweet, if he weren't for the slutty moan he let out. "S-Shit, getting close," Suguru let out a louder hiss, his moans starting to become more vocal. You reached down with your other hand, holding his balls in your grasp. You could feel just how heavy they were when you held them in your palm, your fingers rolling over them the way you would dice. "Let go, let go, I'm gonna cum," Suguru all but pleaded, placing his hand on top of yours.

Your hand came to a halt before he came, tapping two of your fingers against his bottom lip. His mind barely registered the action—his cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink and his eyes completely unfocused. His tongue wrapped around your fingers—slick with his precum, before licking them completely clean. "So nasty," you uttered, pulling your fingers away once he was finished.

"Saying that like you don't like it," Suguru clicked his tongue, bringing you into a kiss once more. He really was taking every and opportunity that he could to do it, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. Even if that meant he got a taste of himself in the process. "Let me return the favor, you just sit there and look pretty. Okay?"

Suguru dropped down to his knees in front of you, violet eyes locked on you as he slid his hands across the smooth skin of your legs. His hands were rough, calloused after playing guitar for so long—but his touch still managed to be gentle all the same. "You have no idea how much I've missed you. Missed this," he spoke quietly, his hands coming underneath your silk nightgown. Toying with the hem of your underwear. Teasing you in the same matter you'd done him.

And yet, you did have an idea of how much he missed you. There wasn't a day that had passed by where you hadn't woken up to a drunken ramble from Suguru, where he'd usually express how much he found himself missing you. Voicemails that you deleted right after the first listen—never acknowledging the ever growing collection and pretending as if you'd never received anything in the first place. It was easier.

Suguru started off by your calf, raising up your leg to rest on his shoulder before he started to kiss his way up. His movements were slow, his fingers gently stroking your leg when he did. "So pretty. So perfect. All just for me," he punctuated every sentence with a sloppy open-mouthed kiss, his mouth by your inner thighs. "Just for the night," you reminded, your back already starting to arch into him.

"Yeah, yeah, just for the night," he almost sounded annoyed that you were interrupting him, to say that of all things. Suguru reached your underwear, pressing a kiss on your clothed mound.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties, sliding them down with relative ease before letting them fall to the floor. And if he still had the same habit he did when the two of you were dating, you knew that you wouldn't see them again after tonight. His head fit perfectly in between your thighs, the one place where he wouldn't mind staying in permanently.

"I didn't tease you this badly," you let out a small huff, your fingers threading through his hair. Almost wanting to pull him where you needed him most. Almost.

"You're lucky I'm feeling nice."

"Lucky? You're the one on your knees in my apartment."

"And I could easily leave."

“Except for the fact that you won't."

Almost as if proving your point (or wanting you to shut up), Suguru's tongue prodded deeper inside of your cunt. "So pretty when you finally shut up," he mumbled against your folds, messily spitting against them. You could only dig your fingers into his scalp, even if your walls clenched at just the simplest contact. And as if it wasn't enough that your pussy didn't get the memo you were annoyed, he simply laughed. Didn't even wince.

"Fucking slut, of course you'd be into that," you muttered, the sound of his laughter only serving to grate on your nerves even more. "If it makes you feel better, I only like it when you do it," he responded, unable to stop himself from laughing further, "You're the only one that does it like they hate me."

"Wonder why that is," your words died in your tongue when you felt two of his fingers penetrating through the thick layer of muscle, pushing inside your cunt. His tongue swirled around your clit, working in tandem with his fingers. "O-Oh s-shit," your body went completely lax, your hips pushing your cunt all the much more into his mouth. "Not bad for a slut, hm?"

"U-Until you have to open up your mouth to say something," even now, with just how needy you were for him to keep going, you refused to let him have the last word. "Thought you liked my mouth," And the shaky breath that you let out when his tongue started to draw circles on your clit definitely wasn't working in your favor. "J-Just oh fuck, just when you use it for everything else."

Suguru was more of a giver rather than receiver— all that much more evident in the way that he relished in your cunt. Tongue lapping up every single drop of your essence, greedily taking everything you had to give. Every single of drop of alcohol that Suguru had taken a sip of paled in comparison to the sweet taste of your cunt; just one taste was enough to have him drunk off you. Completely intoxicated.

Your back arched up against the couch cushion, your head entangled in his thick hair. He didn't even seem to mind the way you pushed your hips to meet his licks, letting you push his head further in your cunt. He'd gladly die in between your legs if it came down to it if only to get the taste of you ingrained in his taste buds. "Gonna cum, aren't you?" All you could do was nod, your grip on his hair tightening.

"F-Fuck, keep going, keep going," you let out a series of babbles, your toes curling against his shoulders as you approached your orgasm. You could hardly register the fact that he was tracing his name on your clit with the tip of his tongue, only making the connection after the 'g.' By the time he'd finished, your walls clenched around his two fingers before coating them in your release. "That's it, there ya go," Suguru let out a muffled praise, lapping up every drop of your cum.

Some of it dribbling down his mouth and chin when he pulled away. Your grip on his hair loosened, your hands falling by your sides. While you were busy trying to get your chest to stop heaving with every shaky breath that left your lips, Suguru wiped away your release with the back of his thumb.

"Just had to trace your name?"

"I had to, yeah. Don't see why you're complaining if I made you cum. Already more than what anyone after me's probably done," Now you know why you hadn't bothered to contact him earlier. If this was him coming to you, you couldn't imagine how damn cocky he'd be if you were the one to break no contact first. "There hasn't been anyone after you," you muttered reluctantly, sitting up on the couch.

Suguru got up from his spot on the carpet, taking a seat on the couch cushion next to you. And before you had the chance to complain about his bare ass on your expensive couch, he was already pulling you up on his lap again. "No one else could compare?" You looked over to see him biting down on his lip, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "Don't laugh at me," you grumbled, smacking the side of his arm. Not hard enough to hurt. Which only led him to start laughing. Loudly.

"Okay, okay, sorry," your glare had him shutting up immediately, his hands running up and down your thighs. "It's kind of cute, really."

You looked down at his cock, looking more intimidating than before now that you were going to ride him. "Don't worry, we'll take our time. There's no rush, okay?" His reassurance was a stark contrast from just a mere seconds before, though it did help you calm down. Somewhat. You hovered above his cock, your hand wrapping around the thick base as you lined it up before slowly starting to sink down.

"There you go, just take it. You've always done it so well," While his words were meant to be reassuring, the sting in between your legs as you tried to take his cock was almost too much to bear. Suguru's fingers came to rest on your hips, the cold silver of his rings a stark sensation to just how warm the rest of his body felt. You sunk down completely, a combination of a hiss and a moan leaving your lips. You felt so full already, the thickness of his cock stretching your walls.

"That's it, that's my girl," you weren't sure if you wanted to smack him or kiss him.

Probably both.

You looked down to see that the man was already staring up at you, one of those fingers reaching to wipe some tears from your waterline. Tears you hadn't even noticed until now. "Don't force yourself if you're not ready. Take your time, it's okay," his fingers rubbed small mindless circles on your hips. Your cunt clenched and unclenched around his shaft, a low groan leaving Suguru's lips.

The sting subsided enough after a while, your movements slow as you tried to move. "So fucking tight," Suguru leaned his head back against the couch, his eyes still boring into yours. Your ass hit his thighs each time you sunk down, the loud squelch of your wet cunt and the sound of skin clapping against one another echoing throughout the room. Drowning out whatever last bits of the movie remained, if it was even playing.

Your hips swiveled as you tried to find a steady rhythm, Suguru's breath hitching at the motion. His fingers gripping onto your hips all the much tighter, holding onto you like a lifeline. "So so fucking good," he let out a groan, his head killing forward to bury his face in your neck. Pressing a couple kisses in whatever skin he could reach, leaving spit trails in his wake. He bit down onto your shoulder, sucking on the skin to leave a hickey behind.

"N-Not so obvious," you let out a mix between a hiss and a moan at the feeling of his teeth nipping at your neck. Your nails dug into his shoulders, using them to keep yourself balanced while you tried to establish some sort of pace. "Got other hoes that mind seeing you with them?" Suguru let out a sharp hiss when your walls tightened around his cock, almost making him swallow his words.

"N-No. A-Already told you there's no one else," you let out a shaky laugh, barely managing to get it out as you impaled yourself on his cock, "Not everyone's a w-whore like you."

And he didn't even give you a chance to regret your words before his hips started moving against yours, his cock filling you up faster and deeper in a span of seconds. (The very same thing you'd been trying to do for the past ten minutes.) Your nails dug into the couch cushion in front of you, your head buried into a decorative pillow. "Ah ah, fuck Suguru," your moans came out muffled, your body jerking forward with each thrust.

Whatever delicacy Suguru had granted you at the beginning of your night together was completely stripped away—his hips snapping into yours. His balls smacked against your ass with every thrust, his fingers digging into the flesh. Sure enough to leave indents for a couple days. Like he just needed you to remember this night as much as he did. "Feel how fucking deep I am?" He pressed down on the bulge prodding through your lower tummy, putting some pressure behind it.

You could start to feel him at your throat in this position. Not that you'd ever admit that, of course. "D-Don't think you're deep enough, really," you babbled, the drool dripping from the corner of your lips and the cockdrunk look on your face completely betraying that statement.

Each thrust had you regretting even opening your mouth, each one getting deeper and deeper than the last. Your cunt practically swallowed him in, your walls clenching around his length like a vice. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," you whined out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Suguru placed a leg up on the couch, the new angle allowing him to go even deeper. "Too deep, too deep," you relented, his thrusts slowing down the slightest bit.

"Thought it was what you wanted," Suguru clicked his tongue, one of his hands going down in between your legs. His pointer finger began to rub small circles against your clit, moving in tandem with his hips. "It's good, it's good, I swear," you practically let out a whine, your hips moving back to meet his. Your ass jiggling with every movement, the sight only serving to entice Suguru even further.

"L-Love you so much. Missed you so bad," And every fiber of your being was telling you to just let his words slide—that it was just a mindless admission made. But you couldn't help the way that both your heart and your pussy clenched afterwards, the latter squeezing around his cock like it never wanted to let go. "Got so tight, you like hearin' me say that?" Suguru whispered by your ear, his chest resting against your sweaty back.

"Like hearing how much I miss you? How much I missed your pussy?" You could practically see the shit eating grin on his face—yet you couldn't exactly bring yourself to care. Not while you were so close to your second orgasm of the night.

All you could do was nod, your whines muffled by the couch cushion underneath. "D-Don't stop, Sugu. Please! Missed your cock!" You babbled, your pussy squelching around his length. Coating it with your arousal, making it slide in with ease. The tip of his cock prodded against your g-spot, your nails digging into the couch. "How much? Come on, tell me."

"So so much," you managed to get out, your chest heaving with every breath that you tried to take. Your walls clenched tighter around him, your cunt snuggling around his cock like a vice. "Gonna c-cum," you managed to get out, the coil in your lower belly tightening and tightening with each of his sloppy thrusts. "That's it, there you go," Suguru continued rubbing at your clit in circles, that coil inside of you snapping. Your walls unclenched, your release coating his length and forming a creamy white ring around his base.

Suguru barely managed to pull out of the tight vice you had his cock in, rope after rope of cum shooting onto your back. "Fuck, fuck," he groaned, the wet sloshing sound of his hand combining his moans as he came all over you. "I'll clean you up in a bit, let me just catch my breath," Suguru laid on top of you, not seeming to mind the fact that his cum was rubbing all on his chest when he did.

The two of you stayed still on the couch for a couple minutes, shaky breaths escaping your lips as you tried to get your breathing under control. A pin dropping could've been heard with how quiet the room was, though it was a comfortable silence this time around. And maybe the two of you still had things to talk about, but you figured that they could be left for another time. Not while the two of you felt so at bliss, at least.

Suguru came back into the living room with one of the hand towels that you kept in the bathroom's bottom right cabinet—walking around your space like he'd never stopped being around. "You did so well for me, so perfect," his voice came out quiet as he swiped the slightly wet towel against your inner thighs, his touch almost as soft. He continued with that gentle touch across your back, wiping away his dry cum off you.

You’d barely registered when he moved the two of you to the bathroom, barely starting to come to your senses. While he was getting a towel, he’d also started up a warm bath for when you were ready.

"Am I finally allowed to ask what you're doing here?" You broke the silence, your back leaning against his chest in a manner that was all too comfortable between the two of you. Like it was the one place where you belonged. "No," Suguru responded almost immediately, squirting some of your body wash onto the washcloth. Moving it slowly across your back, the scent of it combining with whatever candle Suguru raided from your cabinets.

"Am I allowed to ask how long you're planning on staying here, then?" You figured he was bound to break with one of these questions, only to get the same answer. "Turn around for me," was the only thing he said a couple moments later, your back completely lathered up in a mixture of bubbles and soap.

"Do you mind if I stay?" The way that Suguru asked the question reminded you of a sopping wet dog, that same desperation from earlier coming back tenfold. You'd never seen him so compliant in the years that you'd known him—usually he'd just act like he'd owned the place and take up the middle of the bed. "Yeah, just stick to your side of the bed."

After turning off the lights and making sure the doors were locked, you made your way underneath the warm blanket. You hadn't expected for Suguru to take your words so seriously, but at least he'd stuck to the right side of the bed. The sight was almost comical, seeing him comfortable with your collection of stuffed animals scattered around him. You set your phone on your bed stand table, shifting to get comfortable.

And as much as you wanted to fall asleep, your thoughts just didn't seem to shut up. He wouldn't book a flight just to come and see you if all he wanted was pussy, right? No, of course not. If the tabloid articles that came out while he was on tour was anything to go by. And as much as you wanted to bite your tongue, go to sleep as easily as he did, you just couldn't bring yourself to do it. Not without the slightest bit of resolution just yet. "Sugu, you still up?"

You turned to look over at Suguru, almost expecting for him to be still awake. He'd clutched one of your plushies underneath his arm, looking more at peace than he had throughout the night. "Good night," you whispered, pressing a kiss against his cheek before pulling the pumpkin blanket to cover up the two of you. The act almost felt too domestic, much too reminiscent of your past relationship.

Though, you figured you could start worrying about what this all means tomorrow. "Good night," Suguru mumbled, turning to face you. He was more half asleep than anything, the plushie long discarded next to him. It'd probably end up on the floor later in the night. His arm wrapped around your midriff, keeping you pressed against his body. His body intertwined against yours, almost like he had no plans of getting up by any means.

"I love you," was the last thing that you heard before you succumbed to sleep, your body molding against Suguru's almost perfectly.

You'd expected to wake up next to a head full of hair in the pillow next to you, not the same coldness you'd grown accustomed to throughout the last year. Suguru had left without a trace, almost as if he never stepped foot into your place. The only indication that the previous night wasn't a figment of your imagination was the indent of his body left behind on the sheets.

[dcbbw]

The Odd Couples

Hi, tumblrs! I’m back with yet another AU of one of my favorite AUs: it’s the DC gang, paired differently.  

(I know I haven’t written anything DC AU-related in a long ass five minutes, and I swear Chapter 6 of the original series is practically ready to post, just needs a deep-dive edit)  

So, this story is the product of two separate ideas: First, what if I hadn’t followed canon/fanon/personal head canons when pairing the couples up/off?  And the second idea comes from the What If episode of Friends where that gang ends up with someone different (Phoebe x Ross, Monica x Joey, Rachel x Chandler).  

Side note: Using throwback DC crew (Liam, Riley, Max, Leo, Liv, Drake, Madeleine, and Penelope). Also, check out the link to Leo’s shirt (if you make it that far). It’s the Leo-est shirt ever IMHO) 

Side Note 2: Mixing the pairings up means I have/will be writing pairings that others write/have written and are generally associated with said writer(s). While I am fully aware that no one owns ships, I realize this is a fandom and strive to be mindful of those who write rareships and respect their pairings.  

This is simply my take on my version of these characters when coupled differently in my world. 

To those who read over this story in parcels, pieces, and in whole ...THANK YOU!  

For those who do read this fic, THANK YOU! Your likes, comments, and/or reblogs are appreciated more than you realize. 

 Please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors. Microsoft Editor rates this piece as 99% error free.  

I’ll be back sooner rather than later with a submission for Hana Lee Appreciation Week, an angsty Driam/Riley love triangle, and some Stormholt.  

Song Inspo: Moments We Live For (Acoustic Version), In Paradise 

Word Count:  4,099

Pairings: SGL x Olivia; Drake x Madeleine; Leo x Riley B; Max x Penelope 

Rating: M for Mature themes 

SGL x Liv 

Liam Rys tipsily followed Olivia Nervakis into the hotel room, hip-checking the door to shut it while Olivia occasionally paused her steps to turn on table lamps. Her black stiletto heels made no noise against the carpet; however, the swish of her highly starched black and white polka-dotted dress sounded scratchy in the silent room.  

“Do you have to turn on every light?” Liam complained as he fastened the deadbolt. 

“It’s not every light, and not our electric bill,” his girlfriend responded tartly as she flipped yet another switch.  

The couple was in Baltimore for the weekend, attending a costume party thrown by Liv’s employer. There had been a buffet; an open bar; and a prize for the best costume, which Liam and Olivia did not win. Carlos Santiago, a member of the Environmental Services team, and his wife and three children came costumed as The Birds and The Bees and won the prize.  

Liam and Liv were The Ricardos: Olivia’s red hair was done up in Lucy’s signature poodle hairstyle, and her dress was a dead ringer for the world’s most famous housewife’s iconic frock. He had wanted to wear a tuxedo and carry a conga drum but settled for Ricky’s purple, polka dot silk smoking jacket with shawl collar, black pants, and black velvet slippers.  

“I can’t believe we didn’t win!” Liam muttered beneath his breath as he came behind Olivia, arms encircling her waist; his palms splayed against her flat, toned stomach. She responded by leaning against him, her back pressed against his chest.  

“Don’t hate!” she admonished. “With those Korean features and Boston accent, no way were you a convincing Cuban band leader. Besides, you have to admit Carlos had a pretty creative idea.” 

“Not more creative than my SOCK GAME! I mean, Liv … you gotta admit, it’s damn good tonight!” 

He was wearing black, knee-length socks with red hearts inscribed with “I Love Lucy” scattered all over. Olivia rolled her eyes in exasperation at the mention of his sock game. 

This man and his socks! Liam thought his sock game could cure cancer and bring about world peace. 

 “You’re sock game is great as it always is, darling. But it was a costume contest,” Olivia placated in a soothing tone as his fingers began removing bobby pins from her hair.  

She spun around, facing her boyfriend as her hair fell in soft curls that framed her face. Her green eyes twinkled as she pressed a quick kiss against his lips.  

“You big, spoiled baby,” she teased. “Wanna smoke, take the edge off? I brought a couple of blunts along.” 

He quickly shook his head. “No way am I going to be in BALTIMORE off some loud.” 

Olivia grabbed the lapels of Liam’s smoking jacket, pulling him closer to her. The tip of her tongue swiped his lower lip. “Makes sense,” she agreed. 

Liam pressed his palms against her ass cheeks; he sang softly in her ear as he swayed his hips against hers.  

And life is heaven, you see  'Cause I love Lucy, yes  I love Lucy  And Lucy  Loves me! 

“My name’s Liv”, Olivia corrected with a giggle as she gently wriggled out of Liam’s embrace. “C’mon, let’s get ready for bed,” she urged as she headed for the bathroom.  

Liam stuck out his tongue at her retreating back before glancing around the room. It was a typical hotel room, nothing really standing out or making it different from any other room. 

The door that led to the balcony was all glass with a brass doorknob; the hotel promised a 360◦ view of the city’s famed Harbor from the patio. The couple planned to have breakfast there in the morning. 

There was a workstation; a large, wall-mounted television; coffee maker and microwave; and the bed: queen-sized, four-poster, and centered against the back wall.  

His eyes widened when he saw the wall to the side of the bed. It was covered floor to ceiling, and side to side with a … mirror.  

Well, that was different.  

Liam approached the bed, kicking off his slippers as he went; he stared curiously at his reflection before climbing atop the bed and resting on his haunches. He then lay on his back, turning his head to continue staring at his reflection.  

He impatiently pushed his hair off his forehead before rolling over onto his stomach; pressing his palms against the bedcovers, Liam pushed himself up with his arms, still watching himself. He imagined Liv beneath him, her pale legs scissored across his back as they watched themselves. 

This could be fun.  

“LIVVY!” he yelled excitedly over the sound of water running in the sink. “There’s a MIRROR! On the WALL! By the BED!” 

The water turned off; Olivia sauntered into the room; her face was scrubbed clean of makeup, damp ends of her hair curling, and wearing a red lace bra with matching panties. A sultry smirk curved her lips.  

 Liam caught sight of her in the mirror’s reflection, and visibly gulped. Liv only wore matching underwear when they were going to have sex.  

“Ai yi yi yi”, he muttered as he bounded off the bed and hastily divested himself of the smoking jacket.  

Olivia was now standing directly in front of Liam; after guiding him to the other side of the bed, directly against the wall so he could see them both in the mirror, her red-tipped fingernails trailed a path from his throat to his belt buckle before unfastening the belt. She slid to her knees, pulling the pants zipper down with her teeth. Her eyes looked up at Liam.  

“Care to hear me do some ‘splaining?” she purred as her hand reached inside the opening and pulled his cock out.  

Liam never answered; he was too busy staring at Liv’s reflection as her mouth swallowed his manhood. 

Drake x Madeleine 

“Open your mouth, and stick out your tongue,” Madeleine demanded.  

Drake’s chocolate brown eyes stared up at her before raking over her body, his gaze settling on her chest. “Take off your shirt,” he countered.  

Madeleine exhaled a frustrated sigh that fluttered her bangs as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Damnit, Drake! You’re sick, and I need to take your temperature to make sure the meds are working.” 

Quickly covering his mouth, Drake Walker let out a series of deep, wet coughs that rattled the congestion in his chest.  

“They aren't”, he rasped as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Tits would help. For sure.” 

With a horrified look, Madeleine hastily grabbed and thrusted a bottle of hand sanitizer in his face. “WIPE!” 

Rolling his eyes, Drake took the bottle; he then complied with his girlfriend’s first request. He slathered the disinfectant over his hands while Madeleine inserted a thermometer under his tongue.  

His temperature was 102◦; two degrees lower than it had been three hours ago. Uneasy relief washed over Madeleine’s features.  

“You should take the meds on a full stomach. You hungry?” 

Drake turned onto his side, adjusting the pillows beneath his head as he did so. “Not really, but we both know you’re gonna harp on it until I give in. I think I have some canned soup in one of the kitchen cabinets.” 

Madeleine nodded absently as she stepped into the bathroom to run the instrument under hot water in an attempt to kill the cooties her boyfriend more than likely transferred onto it. She heard Drake’s question when she turned the water off. 

“When are you giving up that broom closet you’re living in to move in with me?” 

“Don’t start,” Madeleine warned with a shake of her head as she re-entered the bedroom.  

“Start what? You’re paying $1300 a month to RENT A ROOM! You could move in here with me and pay HALF that and it would be a whole ass apartment! You could start saving, pay down that credit card debt of yours …” 

“I prefer to have my own, Drake!” 

Madeleine’s boyfriend rolled his eyes. “You HAVE your own RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW!  Clothes! Shoes! Makeup! Oat milk! And if we’re talking preferences, I prefer to wake up with you in my bed every morning. I prefer to glare and glower at you from across the room when we argue instead of sitting on the phone in awkward silence. I prefer to not have to wait for make-up sex!” 

Madeleine shifted uncomfortably, scuffing the toe of her sneaker against the carpet. Her green eyes peeked up to sneak a glance at Drake, whose bleary eyes stared at her with a mixture of frustration and hopefulness. His fingers idly played in his chest hair. 

“Why won’t you just accept this greatness?” he huffed accusingly.  

Madeleine rolled her eyes in a here we go again way. 

She and Drake were in love with each other. They were the odd couple of the group: The WASP and the Blue-Collar Worker, but they fit each other like a glove. Most of the time.  

Cohabitation should have been the next logical step in their relationship. 

Madeleine found it nice to come to his U Street apartment after work and find him cooking them dinner while she mixed killer cocktails to help them unwind from their day.  

Or for her to be the first one awake and cook them breakfast, making sure to prepare the thick-cut bacon he liked, and brew the dark-roast coffee that was his favorite before sharing morning-breath kisses. 

Drake making sure Madeleine had the apricot and cream body wash that cost a small fortune, and high thread count Egyptian cotton towels she insisted upon for her showers. 

While their relationship was highly sexual, it was not sexually based. There were debates and discussions covering a gambit from international events and politics to cooking meats with mustard. The only thing they could never agree on was music: Madeleine was a Swiftie, and Drake was 70s rock and country. They shared a love of exercise and the outdoors; weekends usually found them taking day trips to Shenandoah to hike the trails, snacking on the beef jerky Drake loved and Madeleine tolerated. 

But people broke up all the time … over the most minute and ridiculous things. And Madeleine knew she could be an anal-retentive pill most of the time. She wasn’t going to be heartbroken and house hunting if things went south with Drake.  

Madeleine had been instilled from an early age that God blessed the child that had their own. 

“I’m not going to be that chick if we don’t work out," she stated in a small but firm voice as she sat at the foot of the bed; close enough to show support and comfort, far enough away to maybe being in a germ-free zone.  

“You’re saying that after I just asked you to move in with me for the 100th time?” Drake huffed before another coughing fit overtook him.  

While Drake hacked up a lung, Madeleine looked around the bedroom, wondering if he had any masks around. The couple locked eyes briefly, chocolate fastened on emerald. 

 “You could dump me at Target or something!” she countered as she alternated between awkwardly patting his back and scooting further away from him. 

When the coughing subsided, Drake pointed to the nightstand on Madeleine’s side of the bed.  

“Masks. Bottom drawer.” 

Drake knew her. 

“As for dumping you, you don’t shop at Target; it’d have to be Macy’s.” 

So well.  

Leo x Riley B. 

Leo Rys hefted an oversized, too-full sriracha red snapper taco in both hands before greedily biting into it. He let out a low grunt of satisfaction as flavors and spices exploded over his tongue and crumbles of taco shell fell onto his plate.  

Saturday afternoons couldn’t get much better than this: wearing his most comfortable shirt; hanging with his girlfriend Riley Brooks, who was his favorite person in the world; and lunch at his new favorite eatery, Tia Maria Tacos. Bonus: they had scored an upstairs window booth that overlooked the Potomac River. 

Normally for the pair, Saturdays were for sleeping in and being lazy; 24 hours of partial nudity and horizontal positions suited them just fine after clocking out of work on a Friday afternoon. Especially if they had worked a full week.  

But Riley had been in a funk lately; she had been to five job interviews over the past month; good interviews, where she had been a top-two contender. However, that hadn’t been good enough. Riley had been passed over every time, for each job.  

Requests for feedback had not been helpful; hiring managers told her they couldn’t go wrong regardless of who they chose for the position. Riley’s ego was bruised, her esteem low. Despite her having a job that she had worked for the past 10 years ... a job she did damn well ... she was now comparing herself to Penelope, for Chrissakes.  

Leo knew he had to do something, so he planned Date Day.  

They began at Lincoln’s Waffle House for breakfast followed by a couples’ massage in Cleveland Park. Riley wanted to visit a tarot shop; Leo was agreeable. They both got readings, and she purchased a deck of tarot cards along with a strand of chakra beads.  

From there they went to Georgetown, navigating the crowds and perusing shops. A French bakery was offering a European tea meal; Riley looked at Leo with hopeful eyes that quickly filled with dismay at his emphatic refusal. An hour later, laden with bags from a vintage clothing shop, a sex store, and a spice-filled storefront, they decided they were hungry; Leo suggested tacos.  

He took a long swallow from his bottle of beer, his gaze fixed on Riley who had a plate filled key lime shrimp, Korean BBQ, and spicy chicken tacos, along with a serving of nacho fries. She felt his gaze and looked up to smile at him before taking a healthy bite of the shrimp taco. 

Her eyes widened with surprise before closing in bliss. 

“Hmmmmmm, this is soooooo good, Leo! I mean, it ain’t Chinese food but still like, hella good! Thank you for suggesting this place!” she said around a mouthful of food.  

“Anytime, boo,” he replied with a wink as he reached into her plate for fries covered in nacho cheese and seasoned ground beef.  

“And thank you for cheering me up today. It’s the reminder I needed that the Universe is just doing what it does, and all those hiring managers are just bitches and heifers.” 

Leo dragged his fork through seasoned beans and rice. “They weren’t the jobs for you,” he assured her.  “YOU are smart, funny, kind, and the greatest asset any person or job can have, and the right organization will recognize that. Not to mention you’re fucking gorgeous, and do you have any idea how hot you are?” 

Riley bit into the spicy chicken taco, and quickly took a sip of her Sierra Mist with lemon. She nodded at Leo. “How hot I am? Yeah, I know ...  and the answer is not very.” 

Leo chuckled as he shook his head. This woman.  

He and Riley were the couple that were never supposed to be. Both had had extremely bad luck with love, resulting in deeply rooted trust issues; the issues were more prevalent on Riley’s end than Leo’s.  

They were both ambiverts, which loosely translated meant that there was no guarantee that plans made at 10am would still be in effect at 5pm. And you couldn’t be angry about it. 

Physically, neither was the other’s type. Leo was a touch too lanky and fit for the buxom Riley; for Leo, Riley had a few too many inches in height, and was a tad curvier than he was used to. They met via Tinder, and it was supposed to be a one-night stand. 

But their chemistry was off the charts.  

But the sex was too good.  

But their pillow talk left them curious to know more about each other while fully clothed.  

Long story short … she kept him wild, and he kept her safe.  

Before Leo could reassure his girlfriend that she was indeed VERY hot, her eyes trained on someone at a table near the back wall; they narrowed in anger as she tossed her food onto her plate while muttering, “What the actual FUCK?” 

Leo looked around puzzled, wondering WHO happened. Because with Riley, it was never a what.  If he could change two things about his woman, it would be her incredible grudge-holding talents and her penchant for public confrontation.  

Only one table in the far corner was occupied.  A Latina, facing them, was excitedly showing off one of her purchases to her male companion; Leo squinted, determining that the girl was proudly displaying a pair of earrings.  

He swung back around, a look of confusion on his face. “Who are we hating on here?” 

Riley dramatically pointed her index finger at the Latina. “HER! She told me I was a SHOO-IN for that freaking job!! AND THEN WENT WITH SOMEONE ELSE!” 

Leo looked even more confused. “Which job? There were five of them!” 

Riley didn’t answer. She was too busy scowling at the woman across the room while alternating between shaking her fist and making symbols with her fingers.  

“Babe, what are you doing?”  

“Throwing gang signs!” 

“DC DOESN’T HAVE GANGS!” Leo argued. 

“IT DOES NOW!!” 

So much for a peaceful outing and letting the Universe do its thing. 

Maxwell x Penelope 

 “I cannot believe you right now, Pen!” Maxwell Beaumont seethed as he rubbed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes.  

The Communications and Marketing Director inhaled and exhaled deeply, slowly. It was rare that anyone or anything upset Maxwell, much less angered him; but if anyone could knock him off his equilibrium, for certain it was his girlfriend, Penelope.  

His girlfriend stared at him with her wide, pansy-blue eyes before quickly licking her pink-glossed lips. She ran slender, pale fingers through her black hair, then tightened the belt of her pink silk robe. Penelope outstretched her arm, her fingertips grazing the fabric of her boyfriend’s shirt; at his look of frustrated rage, she quickly pulled her hand back.   

“Max,” she began in her breathy voice, “I know you’re upset with me, but I HAD to leave that godawful job! The commute sucked and who knew data entry was so … exacting? It’s a miracle I lasted as long as I did!” 

By the time she finished her explanation, her hands were gesticulating wildly about, and her tone of voice had become a shriek.  

Maxwell turned his back on Penelope to go into their kitchen; still hot Italian food sat on the stove, wrapped in plastic bags. He hollered at her while he began unpacking what was supposed to be a celebratory dinner for Penelope’s new job.  

“IT WAS A TELEWORK POSITION! That you were LATE for BOTH DAYS you worked! And it was MAIL MERGE, NOT DATA ENTRY!” He turned to glare daggers at her. “I don’t know what’s worse, the fact you put forth entirely ZERO effort into at least TRYING to become a member of the working class, or that you lied to me the entire week about still having the damn job!” 

An angry retort sprang to her lips; Penelope debated continuing the argument but thought better of it.  She had known the lie would catch up with her, but she had been hoping it would have been after the dinner. Carmine’s had the most amazing food, and Penelope was in love with their broiled Lobster Oreganata, Porterhouse Pizzaiola, and pasta with meatballs and sausage.  

With Maxwell’s back facing her, Penelope quietly tiptoed into the kitchen, trying to neither be seen nor heard. She peered over her potentially ex-boyfriend's shoulder, salivating at the sight and smells of containers filled with pastas, meats, and sauces.  

Maxwell felt his girlfriend’s eyes on him and exhaled a silent breath. He should have known from their first meeting that Penelope was not relationship material.  

They met at 9:30am on the elevator at the office building Max worked in; it was Penelope’s first day at a company occupying the entire third floor. At 11am, Max was back on the elevator hellbent on a Starbucks run; the elevator stopped at the third floor and Penelope entered, her blue eyes filled with tears.  

She had been let go from her new job in less than 90 minutes. 

Max was a sucker for a damsel in distress. He dried Penelope’s tears, treated her to a coffee, and offered to take her out on a date. That had been over two years ago, and if the woman had worked a cumulative 40-hour work week since, he knew nothing about it.  

He had asked the gang if their companies were hiring; Liam laughed so hard, his drink came out of his nose. Riley, who worked with Max, rolled her eyes as she muttered, “You already know.” Everyone else shook their heads vigorously. 

For a brief period, he had even let her be a stay-at-home girlfriend, but that definitely didn’t work out; Penelope couldn’t cook and had no concept of housekeeping. He had to pull from his savings to replace his wardrobe when she tossed his lights, darks and half a bottle of bleach into the washing machine. She was asleep when he left for work, and asleep when he returned home.  

Irresponsible was too inadequate of a word to describe his girlfriend. She was a money pit in addition to being careless, thoughtless, and an emotional vampire. 

But Maxwell Beaumont loved Penelope Ebrim. She could be sweet, buying him small gifts that brought a smile to his face. She mixed mean cocktails, had a killer sense of humor, and was a terrific dancer. She just needed to find her way.  

Apparently, God had chosen Max to help her do so.  

“Pen, you have GOT to find and keep a job!” Max stated in a firm tone that brooked no argument as he prepared her a plate of lobster, pasta with garlic and oil, and shrimp parmigiana.  

When Penelope saw Maxwell piling a plate with Italian yumminess, she had moved to the cabinets to grab a bottle of wine and two glasses. She was setting them on the dinette table as she debated coming clean in her reply. 

“I may have found something; I’m supposed to have an interview Monday.” 

Max set the serving spoon down as be swung his head to look at his girlfriend in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me this?” 

“I was waiting until afterwards so I could surprise you!” Penelope crowed happily.  

“Well, where? With who?” Max’s smile covered his entire face as he resumed plating food. 

Maybe things were looking up.  

Penelope expertly removed the wine bottle’s cork and began pouring sparkling merlot into the glasses.  

“The interview is at The Greene Turtle, and it’s with a temp agency called Daddy’s Little Girl. Basically, I would be having lunches and meetings at hotels with older men for an hourly rate.” 

Maxwell had plates in both hands, which he slowly lowered onto the kitchen counter; his every movement displayed his disbelief. There was no way his girlfriend had applied for a job as an escort.  

No.Way.  

“You’re going to be a prostitute?” he choked out.  

Penelope had just taken her seat. She looked up at Maxwell in horror at his words.  

“NO!! Why would you say THAT?  How could you even THINK THAT of me??’ It’s like lunch meetings or something!” 

“NAKED LUNCH! Pen, NO ONE is paying a woman … a PRETTY WOMAN … to just “have lunch”!! And meetings in HOTEL ROOMS? What the ACTUAL fuck?” 

“It’s working lunches, sometimes dinners, with out-of-town business entrepreneurs who need someone to take dictation!” 

Max’s face dropped into his open palm.  

“The going rate is $150 an hour! I was told with my looks and appearance, I could be in huge demand,” Penelope argued.  

“WHEN DID THEY SEE YOU?” Max yelled as he threateningly shook a plastic spatula in Penelope’s direction. 

“I saw the ad on Craigslist and called the number in the listing, then did a Zoom with the manager.” 

Maxwell Beaumont stared at his girlfriend for a long, silent moment before exiting the kitchen and heading for their bedroom.  

“MAX! Where are you going??” 

“To have a talk with God.” 

Penelope stared at his retreating back with a furrowed brow before shrugging and rising to fetch her dinner.  

“Tell Him I said heyyyy.” 

Max’s response was to slam the bedroom door. 

Tagging: @ao719 @jared2612 @marietrinmimi @indiacater @kingliam2019 @bebepac @mom2000aggie @liamxs-world @liamrhysstalker2020 @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet @busywoman @beezm @gabesmommie1130 @tessa-liam @gardeningourmet @mainstreetreader @angelasscribbles @emkay512 @princessleac1 @charlotteg234 @alj4890 @lovingchoices14 @lady-calypso @walkerdrakewalker @queenjilian @kristinamae093 @choicesficwriterscreations

[klanceficatalogue]

hi!! do you have any rec of a fic that is based on albums or songs or playlists??? oneshots or chapteres fics idk

also i need to add scrolling through your favs i found “Like the Night Falling” by iybms and i think its one of my fav fics now 😭 i absolutely loved ittt

thanks!! have a good day!! <3

totally!! Like the Night Falling is a fantastic fic sooo true - k

Will They Won't They by goddessemily (15/15 | 89,679 | Explicit)

“There's something about you that just…” He struggled to articulate it. “I can’t figure it out. I don’t know what your deal is,” “My deal?” Lance’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead. He jabbed a finger into Keith’s chest, voice angry as he spoke. “Alright, here’s my deal. A few weeks ago, one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen walked into my life, and then I punched him in the face. I keep bending over backwards trying to impress him, but I just keep fucking things up. It doesn’t help, though, that he’s aloof and mysterious and acts like a dick, but I know there’s more to him than that, and for some god-forsaken reason, I’m dying to figure it out,” — Or, Keith has never heard of Voltron or any of its band members. That is, until he’s hired to work with them and catches the eye of Lance, the lead singer/guitarist. Their relationship is complicated and filled with obstacles, and they both try to figure out the best way to navigate it. Or, well, Keith tries. But it’s hard to figure out your emotions when someone is releasing a song clearly written about you every 5 seconds.

//internalised homophobia

(minor james/keith)

high hopes (are getting low) by metamizol (1/1 | 1,420 | Teen and Up)

Lance is the elder prince of Altea, yet he has no rights to inheir the throne. Making out with servants and living like a rebellious royal kid, breaking hearts and being whispered about all around the galaxy - that's what he's like. Love is unnecessary and marriage is overrated. Until he meets some half galra guy.

Past the Mourning Sun by crapoftheworld (14/14 | 67,705 | General)

His vision blurred from tears and sweat running together and making his eyes sting, and he heard his team screaming his name. They felt far away and he wanted to tell them not to worry, his eyes sluggishly attempting to convey what his clenched jaw couldn’t, but before he could do much of anything, Lance’s view of the desolation Voltron had wrought, of the new Galra fleet, of his fellow Voltron lions, of the giant druid ship with its offensively shaped canon, all faded to darkest black. *** Voltron is falling apart. Keith has left, Shiro’s acting weird, and Red is shunning Lance. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, they did. Lance gets zapped far away to an alternate reality where he struggles to find his footing. He needs to find his way back to the team, fast, and maybe he’ll find himself along the way. Despite his aversion to cliches, he just can't seem to steer clear of them.

//graphic violence //ptsd //substance abuse //panic attacks

[curseplay]

PARIS TATTOO TOUR:

under the cut is an in-depth look at paris' mainline canon tattoos. subject to change based on verse, as she does love to get ink that correlates with her loved ones!

#1: a single black line wrapped around her right bicep.

this is the first tattoo paris ever got. she was sixteen and bribed a local artist into doing it for free with the promise of discounted meals at their family's restaurant. done purely for rebellion purposes, as they knew their mother would hate it.

#2: a small, minimalistic frog on her inner left forearm. [ CLICK HERE! ]

a tribute to her deceased older brother. done about a month after his death. she was twenty and chose to get the frog because tommy would help her catch them in the creek behind their house when they were young.

#3: a tattoo that reads 'be quiet and drive' in her handwriting, accompanied by a star. located underneath their left breast. [ CLICK HERE! ]

done after the deftones song of the same name was the first thing that came on the radio in their truck as they drove off to run away from home. they had never heard the song before then and took it as a sign. stopped in a town one state over to get it done. wrote it out herself before sitting down.

#4: a pair of simple scissors. located below their thumb and pointer finger on their left hand. [ CLICK HERE! ]

done to symbolize her chopping off her long hair one week into running away. also done because she thought lesbians would "get it."

#4: smiley face + star finger tattoos on right hand. [ CLICK HERE ! ]

done on the road en route to LA, three months after running away. purely for fun and so they could have something to look at while playing guitar.

#5: a large star accompanied by dots that create a smaller star. located on her upper left arm, below her shoulder. [ CLICK HERE! ]

done on the road en route to LA five months after running away. a way for them to "manifest" making it in the music industry / becoming a star.

#6 and 7: a compass and rabbit running above it. located beneath the single black line tattoo on her left bicep, stretching down her left forearm. [ CLICK HERE! ]

done on the road once they reach california. the compass as a tribute to their travels, the rabbit above it as a tribute to jackrabbit, their dog and companion on the road.

#8: a tattoo that reads 'STAY SOFT' on the inside of their right thigh and 'GET EATEN' on the inside of their left thigh. written in her thin, hasty handwriting.

in honor of SILK's first studio album. one of her favorite placements to date.

#9 and 10: a bird and a snake located on her left bicep and forearm, respectively.

in honor of andie (the bird) and lauren (the snake.) all three of them got matching tattoos of the other two respective members of the band. paris' symbol that the other two got tattooed was a bow and arrow.

#11: a tattoo that reads 'GET ON WITH IT!' in their thin, hastily written handwriting. located on her lower back, essentially a tramp stamp.

in honor of SILK's second studio album. another one of her favorite placements to date.

#12: a simple heartbeat line finger tattoo on their left hand. [ CLICK HERE! ]

in honor of officially feeling reconnected with their best friend, chad (@behe4dings). symbolized by a heartbeat line, as the song 'flatline' on SILK's second studio album was written by them about growing apart from chad.

#13: a tattoo that reads 'WHK' in their thin, hastily written handwriting. located on her inner right wrist.

in honor of SILK's third studio album. loves to explain what the letters stand for.

[apckrfan]

Fic: Felt Good In His Hands 1/1 FRT HP (Hermione/Severus)

TITLE: Felt Good In His Hands AUTHOR: Susan / apckrfan DISTRIBUTION: My site, AO3, FFnet, LiveJournal. DISCLAIMER: I don't own any characters. They are owned by JK Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, etc. No profit is made from this fic. RATING: FRT SPOILERS: General through Deathly Hallows, but canon divergent (Snape lives, EWE, and I also embellish a bit with Hermione's family) SUMMARY: Just why is potions professor Severus Snape familiar to Hermione when she arrives at Hogwarts? It takes a few years, but she finally figures it out. CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape DATE STARTED: August 2022 STATUS: Complete WORD COUNT: 7,800 +/- FEEDBACK: Please, I can't write better without it. NOTES: Written for Kidansong for the Hearts and Cauldrons Gift Exchange 2022 hosted on AO3. BETA: Sarmo - Any mistakes are mine and mine alone. PLAYLIST: There is a 459 song, just over 29 hour long playlist on Spotify (https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2Af8MRjVRPlgBRtbD7UX2s?si=1b7c47bd6487417d) based on the idea for this fic titled Felt Good In His Hands. The first grouping of songs are from a band member or a band's perspective (I tried to make them all good guitar songs). The second grouping is about playing guitar or where guitars are part of the focus of the song. The third grouping (and bulk of the playlist) are just some good guitar songs. The fourth grouping are some holiday songs, again focusing on guitar. I slaved over this list, wanting to be inclusive and broad. You will find country, blues, jazz, mambo, reggae, rock, and classical guitar. A few song choices are obvious (Freebird & Stairway To Heaven), but I tried to stray to the "different" when I could. You will not find many artists featured more than once (a few are because of their different bands like Eric Clapton & Joe Walsh). As much as probably ten each Led Zeppelin, Hendrix, and Beatles songs alone are great guitar songs, I wanted this playlist to delve deeper than the same handful of groups. I tried to be unbiased (only one The Doors song tells you I succeeded pretty well). Obviously I had to like the song to begin with. There are some songs in here I don't love, but they fit the bill of a good guitar song. There are a couple of artists I debated about including because I know that their political beliefs are a bit extreme, but I couldn't in good conscience compile a guitar song list without including Ted Nugent or Eric Clapton. There is no particular order, so Pink Floyd, say, appearing where it does in relation to Led Zeppelin, The Beatles, or whoever means nothing, other than I felt that's where their song fit best in the order of things. I did try to make the segue from song to song make sense. My daughter says it's a major flex, so I hope you'll give it a whirl. And that maybe you'll find a new to you artist or two! You shouldn't need to shuffle it as it's pretty shuffled as it is. Links are in the Distribution portion of header above.

[relaxxattack]

YOU SAID JANE/CALLIE/ROXY in any iteration and hey i am. a jane kinnie. SO. i love those three so much here i go.

insert breaking benjamin reference is an excerpt from jane's diary post-canon. calliejaneroxy, very sweet!

lilith and the morningstar is a demon/angel janeroxy au! multichapter, it reminds me of ineffable husbands almost. love it.

it's something of a peril of the job is a detective noir janeroxy au which is VITAL for any jane pairing

the lies we've led around (winnipeg debug) is a remix of a previous janeroxy fic (which is also pretty good you should also read that one) and it's about an au in which debugging jane from crockertier is not as easy as it seems, even after the condesce is dead. it's Very very funny.

negative space is janeroxy and talks about roxy and malnutrition (so i would caution those for whom that is a trigger!) but it is very very sweet.

black triangle red circle is janeroxy, dream bubbles, butch femme dynamics, and that in itself makes it perfect.

the neon bible is a cyberpunk janeroxy au in which jane is the heiress to crockercorp, which has conquered earth, and roxy is the bodyguard hired to protect her. it is INSANELY good and written by the same person who did song of the pyre.

roxy lalonde's terrible confusing no-good teenage romance problems is a janecallieroxy modern au about dealing with Feelings!

as deadaly to the heart ass she is beatuiful is a janeroxy secret agents au which is so sweettttttt.

anything that burns is a janeroxy bodyguard au set vaguely in a canonlike setup and it HURTS. oh man.

till the stars come down is a janeroxy rebellion au!!!! very good. can you tell what kind of janeroxy stuff i like to read lmao

an echo of inflicted evil is a jane-centric post canon fic with endgame janecallieroxy and it HURTS i love her so much

you're invited - janecallieroxy sleepover. calliope gets to let out some feelings. extremely good. you can read as platonic or romantic

strangely good is a janecallieroxy calliope-centric post-canon fic with Emotions.

eldritch pleas is a roxycallie au (with side jaderose and mentioned vrisrezi!) in which roxy is a member of a Very Fucked Up Band and calliope is there to do a documentary on them.

the slowest spark is a breather is a rebellion roxycallie au, roxy is a hacker and calliope is in an untenable position. side vrisrezi!

big mating party is a roxycallie pesterlog in which roxy and calliope have the funniest attempt at cybersex ever it's like genuinely hilarious

reminder is a roxycallie comic about finding each other again. very sweet, the art is gorgeous.

disparate is a roxycallie fic (roxy-centric) in which roxy has ptsd post-game and is struggling with being the only survivor of her timeline.

i also have lots of gen fic and rarepair fic i can send as well!

anon i think you might actually be the second coming of mr jesus h christ

[aziraphales-library]

Hey love your blog!!!

could you pls recommend me some band member crowley or any type of musician crowley ??? could be a rockband member, pianist, violinist, guitarist........

Oh, of course!

AUs:

Private Gig [E], WIP by madrabbitgirl

Aziraphale is on a miserable date with Gabriel, his most recent Grindr mistake, and is considering breaking things off when a sweaty musician in tight trousers appears before him, basically making the decision a snap. Aziraphale hasn't seen Crowley in a few decades, but their reunion is... passionate to say the least. Will they ever talk about why they stopped speaking in the first place? How does a stuffy bookseller go about dating a rock star?

Prompt was 'feedback' and I, of course, thought of microphones.

Soho [E] by Lurlur

Aziraphale lives a quiet kind of life, running a quiet specialist bookshop in one of the liveliest districts of London. He's content with his lot, happy with his friends, tolerant of his probably-human housemate, living vicariously through the gossip pages.

One day, a chance encounter with Anthony Crowley, lead singer of wildly successful rock band The Demons, threatens to turn his whole world upside down.

pop! goes my heart [E], WIP by attheborder

When has-been musician Anthony Crowley is recruited by pop singer Anathema Device to write a song for her new record, he jumps on the chance to resuscitate his career with a hit. There's only one problem: he can't write lyrics to save his life.

But a chance meeting with a stranger by the name of Aziraphale, with a poetic streak that's a perfect fit for the song, changes everything for Crowley. Together, they'll create something beautiful, fight the forces of the music industry, and perhaps even find a way back into love...

A Music and Lyrics AU for the GO Rom Com Event, complete with all-new original songs written and recorded by the author!

Or Be Nice [E], WIP charlottemadison

Crowley and Aziraphale are neighbours. And...it does not go at all well, until it does.

A human AU in which Aziraphale is a bookseller, Crowley is a drummer, and they are both petty disasters in the worst/best way.

+++

“So what’s your deal?”

“My-my-my deal?” Aziraphale stammered. “I’m a bookseller, is my deal.”

“Oh,” Crowley replied, sounding as uninterested as it was possible to sound.

“It’s just, I couldn’t help overhearing, and --” Aziraphale swallowed hard. “You really are an accomplished musician. But I thought -- for after 11PM -- perhaps we could reach some arrangement?”

“Arrangement?”

Aziraphale felt his his smile turning forced. “Such as, perhaps, playing the drums *before* eleven? Instead of after?”

Crowley stared blankly at him. In fact he stared for so long that Aziraphale briefly wondered if he'd lapsed into ancient Greek again, which he was known to do in bad dreams or during panic attacks.

The Magic of Christmas [G] by Nadzieja

Crowley's dream has come true - he is an acclaimed pianist and has everything he could ever want from life: fame, money, women, men… no commitments, no obligations and no one to hold him back. But is he truly happy? Could his life look any different? A dream he has once falling asleep on a hotel couch while watching telly and eating yesterday's chips might answer these questions...

A Happy Christmas Piece!

Canon:

greatest hits [M] by attheborder

“But my dear, I just can’t believe you never told me that you had joined a musical group. I would have come out to support you— at your gigs!”

“First of all, never say ‘gigs’ again. Second of all, not my fault you never noticed when I showed up to dinner with a great big guitar case slung over my shoulder.”

(Aziraphale accidentally discovers Crowley’s secret: he was in a band in the 90s. And he wrote a whole album of love songs…)

Here's a Musician Crowley tag!

~Mod N

[whumptimebaby]

Hi. I just read the 4 town fic you mosterd on ao3 and I also wanted to make a fic like that and I was wondering if you have any ideas on what I could write on. I understand it must be hard to write so much but I was wondering if you have anything you would like to see in a fic writen by someone else.

Hi! I'm so sorry for the late reply, I was camping 😭

I'm so honoured that you read my fic and were inspired to write something similar!

I've been brainstorming fic ideas all day 👹 so here are some of my suggestions depending on what you specifally liked!

If you like the tour setting, you could always write some tour shenanigans! Depending on the tone you want to convey, you could write about the Toledo concert for something fluffy, or post-pandapacalpyse for a recovery/angst fic! You could even play with writing about previous tours. I don't know what your headcanons are, but canonically they've been on at least one tour before '02 ('99, it's on the disk Miriam gave Mei), so it could be fun to write about what that tour was like. Since it's uncharted territory, you've got full reign to do whatever you want with that!

Specific Tour Ideas:

It's their first tour, and they're not used to being so close to each other all the time. Fic focuses on them bringing down each other's walls, and they go from coworkers/friends to family.

They're performing in Kitchner, and nobody can really shake the whole giant red panda thing. Could take a similar format, with the first chapter focusing on them before the concert, the second during, and the third after.

If the tour setting is too limiting, but you want them to still be doing boy band things, you could always write them doing a myriad of other things. There are plenty of promotional things they have to do (interviews, shooting music videos, recording songs in the studio, etc.) and all of those have been grazed upon at best by the fandom, so I'm sure many people would be interested in reading that. Generally speaking, there is so little content surrounding 4*Town, even in the fandom, that mundane interactions are just as fulfilling as larger scale stories.

Specific Boy Bandy Ideas:

I literally haven't stopped thinking about 4*Town messing around in the recording booth (If you don't write this, I will LMAO). One of the members is there alone, vibing with something they've written, and any number of members come in, and just,,, shenanigans. Messing around, trying to hit each other's notes, improvising, trying to make each other laugh, and they end up recording a lot of it. Maybe part of the amalgamation they made ends up on their next album, and the fans eat it up.

Filming a music video could have a similar, but a little more controlled vibe. Depending on the concept you come up with, the process could be,,, interesting. I'm imagining them in mermaid costumes right now, but you're definitely not limited to things we've seen in canon. They could be the school bad boys, or maybe filming something that the viewer is supposed to insert themself into (akin to the music video for One Direction's Night Changes). Of course, none of the members can take each other seriously, no matter what acting instructions they're given.

This one is a little out there, but what if 4*Town had a show similar to Run BTS? Just something that gives them an excuse to do weird things as a group in a controlled environment, so they don't have to worry about getting swarmed by fans (unless that appeals to you 👀 the angst could be juicy). Haunted houses come to mind, just because it's a pretty classic trope that, to my knowledge, has yet to be explored with 4*Town, but really, this idea goes as far as your imagination can take it. Could be a one-shot, or each chapter could be a different episode, it's really up to you!

Of course, 4*Town isn't always going to be on-duty. Assuming they actually like spending time together, there are many things they could get up while on a break from their promotional stuff. From what I've seen, this is the most saturated concept in the 4*Town subsection of the Turning Red fandom by far, but I still eat it up whenever I see it, so 😭

Specific Off-Duty Ideas:

Maybe I'm a little biased, because I just got back from a camping trip, but send them camping! There are so many shenanigans that can come from being out in the wild, and so much to play off of. Camping brings beaches, and hiking, and campfire stories, and importantly, privacy.

Domestic 4*Town!!! For something really relaxed, you could just write them at home! I don't know if you headcanon that they live together or not, but post-ikea trying to build furniture fresh after moving in together is an underrated trope. There's movie nights, baking, cleaning fics, or if you're feeling more angsty, nightmares, sickfics, and general exhaustion are all things to play with.

Then, of course, you have heavier angst. I'm currently 11000ish words into a plane crash fic for 4*Town, but if you also want to write a plane crash, please do!! It's literally my favourite trope lol, I can't get enough.

Specific Angst Ideas:

A stalker (either fan or anti) breaks into their hotel/apartment/house.

Somebody gets violent at one of their fan interaction events, and hurts one (or multiple) of the members.

Car accident, tour bus accident, plane crash (👹) literally any form of accident can be fun to play with, especially once you've established exactly how each member interacts with each other.

Finally, you could always do your own take on the Pandapacalypse! I wasn't the first, nor will I be the last to write 4*Town's POV, and there still is so much to explore! If there was anything you wanted to change, any headcanons to insert, dynamics to change, go for it! Nobody owns this concept, it's yours to do whatever you want with. Hell, you could even just,, write pretty much the same fic if you wanted to, or even missing scenes from it. I think I would cry if anyone ever wrote Aaron T.'s pool escapade from his perspective 😭 that would be so cool.

One super small piece of advice that you didn't ask for (but I've been dying to show off my notes LMAO) is to keep little headcanoned events in a document or notebook or something for reference! They're great things to reference as a bit of world building, and to make the members feel a little more well-rounded, since the only canon stuff on their personalities gives them one or two character traits at best. I'm just gonna,,, drop some of mine here 💅 for funsies 💅

As seen in You Know What's UP (It's Us):

T and Tae got kicked out of the hotel for being too rowdy on their first tour.

Aaron Z. doesn't like sleeping alone, and will stop at nothing to end up at the end of someone's bed.

Jesse is the secret third member of the menace line, specifically and only because he knows exactly how to make the members talk.

And some yet to be seen (but referenced in my next fic 👀) headcanons!

Robaire reads a lot of romance novels.

Aaron T. will whine forever about stubbing his toe, but if he injures himself in a way that could warrant a doctors visit? He's hiding it until he can't anymore.

Aaron Z. and Taeyoung go on hikes together.

Aaron T. and Jesse met because T. fell down the stairs at their agency. He found him laughing his ass off, ankle sprained, and ended up taking him to the doctor on-site.

So yeah! Those are my suggestions :-)! Feel free to take them, leave them, or take the aspects you like and leave the stuff you don't! I really am so honoured that you asked me. Thank you!

[ccyclonedoodleblog]

Coming up with some head canons for the first crew. Focusing on the original 5 bots from FNaF 1 here!

All of these are for the anthro designs of the bots - not the android AU that I have.

He's the second oldest of the crew and the shortest - not counting Goldie.

Freddy Fazbear

His height and chubby body was made to correct the mistakes in Fredbear. He even has less teeth than the others

His nose squeaks, and despite the posters, Freddy adores having the kids climb up on him and booping his nose.

The staff is obviously not keen on having kids so close to animatronics.

At night, Freddy is the one to enforce the rules. He makes sure that Bonnie, Chica, and Foxy do as they're told and do not gang up on the night guards. He wants it to be fair.

He is closest to Goldie, as he just wants to keep him safe. He fears that out of everyone, Goldie is most likely to be taken away from them.

That being said, Freddy is strong enough and can open the doors of the office from the outside. If a guard "cheats", he will not tolerate it.

His role is the leader, to do right by his team and to keep them safe. He takes his job seriously and will do anything for the good of his team.

When the pizzeria closed, he took it the hardest. He saw himself as a failure and knew it'd only be a matter of time before the humans came to deactivate them.

When "Purple Guy" (or Erik in my AU) came to destroy them, he put up a hell of a fight. He was able to take an eye from him before his systems gave out and he was deactivated.

The most laid back of the group.

Bonnie Bunny

Bonnie goes with the flow. He often agreeing with whatever plan Freddy has for them, or rolling with whatever odd idea Chica comes up with.

Bonnie's gender is "Whatever"

Any pronouns work, and this bunny will just respond to whatever their coworkers call them.

No really. He/him, she/her, they/them, or any combination works. He often switches it up.

She loves to play guitar on the nights without a guard. It's the best time for her to practice, and she has some original songs written down.

When they killed "Phone Guy" (Or Phil in my AU), Bonnie was devastated. While he knew he wasn't Phil's favorite, he loved the guard. Phil did so much for them, for them supplies and kept them safe. But the crew was following orders, and Phil knew the risks.

Of course, they love to write songs about their coworkers, coming up with a tune for everyone. Chica just so happens to be their main inspiration.

His role is their guitarist, but Bonnie is a jack of all trades. He is a fast learner and picks up little skills here and there. He's even learned how to do simple repairs.

When the pizzeria closed, she was the most relieved by the news. No more killing, no more night guards. She thought they would just be left alone to rot in the building and was thrilled to finally do whatever she wanted.

On the night Erik came to destroy them, Bonnie was shocked to see Freddy was destroyed. They were too caught up morning for their boss, their friend. They didn't even see him coming.

She is the loudest of the three main band members.

Chica

She is also programmed to be bilingual and acts as a translator at times. Otherwise, she personally sees it as her job to check up on the families.

What devastated her the most was losing the ability to walk around during the day. Being confined to a stage alone ate away at her

When the pizzeria was open, she would pester the staff to let her cook something. She wanted to try it and would sulk every time they denied her.

Phil let her try cooking once. It ended poorly.

Chica adores all of her coworkers, but she is smitten with Bonnie. She's amazed at how carefree he seems, and does all she can to comfort the worrywart that lies under that relaxed facade.

When the pizzeria closed, Chica was neutral. She knew what this meant for them, their lack of a future, but she decided the best thing she could do was to just pretend everything was going to be fine.

She also is the only bot who checks up on Foxy. They bond over their hatred of being confined.

When it comes to her role, she's the back up singer for Freddy. However, she's appointed herself as their party planner and unofficial manager. She jokes about it, but she does take her job seriously and is always thinking about ways to help the band grow.

When Erik came to destroy them, she put up a fight. Chica is pretty strong, and with Erik being so injured, he spent a good amount of energy taking her down. In the end, he was able to trip her to get the upper hand.

Captain Foxy

He was the last bot brought into the crew, and had mixed results with the others when he first joined

The kids adored him, his shows brought in far more attention than the band itself.

Bonnie was weary of him. Too much attention was taken for the band and they worried that the three of them would be scrapped.

Chica thought he was a reckless mess. Not bad, just a potential risk to the kids

Freddy was inspired by his energy. He wanted to make all of their performances feel unique.

Foxy's role was simple. Draw people in, be the "villain" of the show. He took it with pride and did all he could to make every act big and exciting. He'd tell tall tales of the sea, sing shanties, dance with the kids, and course he'd get Freddy involved by stealing his hat or challenging him to a duel.

When Foxy was placed behind an out of order sign, he was miserable. He lost his friendship with Freddy, snapped at Bonnie, and tried to chase Chica away.

His behavior worsened when the pizzeria closed. He wasn't given a final performance, or any way to go out with a bang. Instead, he spent that last day hiding behind his curtain, watching the performance.

The night that Phil was killed, he took no part in it. He adored that night guard and lashed out at Freddy later on. When he was reminded that all of the. Had blood on their hands, he finally dropped it.

Foxy was the last bot to wake up from sleep mode on the night that Erik came. He was furious when he saw the broken bodies of his friends. He wanted to gut Erik for it, and he nearly succeeded. Foxy's body was far too broken after years of neglect, so he didn't last long with the strain of it all. He at least got a good slash of his hook in before he was deactivated.

Golden Freddy

Originally Fredbear

His internal systems never changed. The humans essentially ripped his brain out and placed it into a smaller body. He was reintroduced as Goldie Fazbear, Freddy's adventurous nephew.

Goldie was meant to fully interact with kids and was small enough to easily walk around. During the short time he was activated, he did his job well, and he loved his new family.

However, he could still remember bits and pieces of his previous life. Nothing was clear at first, as they tried to reset his entire system. But the more he remembered, the more his body failed. He was soon placed back stage, deactivated.

At night, he would reactivate, though his empty body made a perfect home for the lost souls in the pizzeria. They all screamed in his mind at once, making it impossible to tell how many voices there were. 10? 30? 50? It was unbearable.

His role changed to the whims of those possessing him. He would enforce the cycle for revenge and lash out at the other animatronics should they not work towards killing the night guards. Which meant that with success brought another lost soul into his mind.

There was despair when the pizzeria closed. Goldie wanted to help free the souls, which meant killing the rightful murderer. A closed establishment couldn't exactly lure in the right person.

When Erik deactivated the others, Goldie silently watched from the shadows. He waited for Erik to bring his bloody and beaten body to the hidden back room, where he followed him.

He watched in horror as Erik used the body of Spring Bonnie to try and escape, even more so when he saw his old companion set off the spring locks herself, murdering Erik.

The last thing he recalls seeing was several souls vanish, but not all of them. He remembers the fear he felt the the cycle wasn't over. His system gave out and he was left deactivated.

[jonesyjonesyjonesy]

heyyy, this is my first ask ever on this page so I'm not exactly sure how to start this, so ill just get right to it from one jonesy/zeppelin stan to another.

Robert apparently wrote Carouselambra about him being frustrated with Jonesy and Jimmy not being there for him after his son karac passed away,,, the song itself is great inho, it's my favorite off of ittod besides in the evening. The situation was tragic enough on it own, but it also put a huge strain on the relationships between the band members, it seems like. I can't pretend I know a whole lot about that part of their history in particular, just wanted to hear your take on it.

Hello my dear!! Welcome to my asks! I hope it is a cozy and pleasant experience. You are always welcome, no matter how inane, as I myself am the queen of inanity (I'm claiming it here and now folks).

^^ look at these boys in their 30s (36, 34, and almost 32 respectively, dear god)

In Through the Out Door is generally pretty fascinating. 'Carouselambra' in and of itself I think is one of those tracks that if it had been deeper into the canon (as if Zep had been able to make more albums), it would have been openly considered a masterpiece. That's actually how I feel about the whole album, but...instead, it causes consternation.

The track itself is one of my favorites as well. It's like Space Jam but everyone's on drugs and having a midlife crisis and WOW it's good. The actual inspiration for the track, as you say, I think was a combination of the highs and lows of Zeppelin and this includes Karac's death and the aftermath. 'Carouselambra' was originally called 'The Epic' -- I like to imagine the epic poetry it was being likened too and if epic poetry was still written and consumed the way we consume Homer and Virgil, that Zeppelin would be a perfect candidate. 'Tales of Brave Ulysses' could never.

The general consensus is that 'The Epic' was renamed 'Carouselambra' because that's what being in Zeppelin was like. Around and around on this gaudy mechanical and in the process these tragic things were happening and you only got fast glances at them or missed out on important things. And in the case of Karac, I'm sure Robert was grappling with the fact he just wasn't around (and I believe he's said as much).

This culminating with Jonesy and Jimmle not being at the funeral, which at the time, Robert had apparently said to Richard Cole, “Maybe they don’t have as much respect for me as I do for them. Maybe they’re not the friends I thought they were.”

Which is understandable! I mean, anyone that close to you dying, let alone a child. You would want your friends there (...if Robert considered Jonesy a "friend" to me is debatable considering his supposed tongue-in-cheek offer to Lita Ford to be the bassist for Zep in '77, but I'm just a bitter Jonesy stan (and I have plenty of theories and ideas about the Jones/Plant dynamic)). From what I've read, Jonesy was on family holiday, I imagine continuing with Maureen and the girls in the RV they rented for the second leg of the '77 tour -- he stole away after the Oakland debacle and drove it up to Seattle (this is from a glancing in Mick Wall's When Giants Walked the Earth, which I'm currently reading). Can that man get any more precious? And Jimmy was...Jimmy, heroin and all, although he's been quoted saying "We were all mates. We had to give the man some space.”

Potentially illustrating this, Robert commented on this in 2005: “The other guys were [from] the South [of England] and didn’t have the same type of social etiquette that we have up here in the North that could actually bridge that uncomfortable chasm with all the sensitivities required … to console.”

By ITTOD, though, we have our "relatively clean" camp friends Jones and Robert leading the charge and, I hope, having some good heart to hearts and enjoying each others' company. I really do wish we had more from that time, of that dynamic because I think it's a really interesting blip on the timeline given their distance mostly (I believe Robert said in 1971 that he had just started becoming friends with Jonesy, which I don't find hard to believe considering their opposite natures).

And then you get 'Carouselambra', all the nonsense and the mayhem boiled down into "why the fuck are we doing this"-edness. The kids are getting older, the tour is now a slog, and now you've got back pain. Kind of a sad carousel at the end of the day. “The whole story of Led Zeppelin in its latter years is in that song, and I can’t hear the words," Plant said, regarding how his voice is mixed lower than the keyboard in the first half. And there they were, in their 30s, and punk was on the rise and let's be honest, rock n' roll has never been a "middle years" kind of game.

But TO ME, that adds to the theatricality, to the idea that everything WAS getting lost and muddled. It's a brilliant, most likely unanticipated homage in my mind and Led Zeppelin WAS theatrical for as much as it was about the music, it was about the mythos and fable as well.

As a side note, I really hate how ITTOD is talked about for the most part as this like "lame keyboard album" when in fact, if Zeppelin had continued, it would serve as an LZ III/HotH vibe to me in that they could do whatever they want so they did and wow it was great. That's just my opinion, though, and I can definitely chalk it up to bias and also my love for Jonesy's post-Zeppelin work that really showcased just how fucking marvelous he is.

oh my god this got so long how did this get so long

This is just my take...I'm sure many people would be ready to contest what I have to say and that's just fine. 'Southbound Saurez' is one of my favorite Zep tracks and I stand by it.

I hope this was worth the time, lovely. Thank you for appearing in the asks and I hope you return someday. It was really lovely to take a journey into the more "academic" side of Zep...turns out I know quite a bit and I'm pretty good at rustling through the interwebs to find all the quotes I wanted to locate!

Feel free to correct me or engage in discourse kindly. I don't have time for negativity, I just turned 26 after all.

let it be known this is literally 950 words

[paralleljulieverse]

‘Gentlemen like you are few...’: A Supercentenary Tribute to Irwin Kostal

1 October 2021 marks the 110th anniversary of the birth of Irwin Kostal, the musical arranger, orchestrator and conductor whose work helped shape the sound of the post-war American stage and screen musical. In this post we look back at the career of this remarkable 'music man’ with a particular focus on his collaborations with the equally remarkable Julie Andrews -- who, as it happens, shares the same birthday, so this post is doing double birthday honours.

A gentle, unassuming man, Kostal or ‘Irv’ as he was known by associates, was not one for the limelight. It’s possibly why he gravitated to the ‘behind-the-scenes’ art of musical arranging. Unlike composers, performers, or even conductors, arrangers seldom loom large in public perceptions of professional musicianship. They are, for the most part, the ‘invisible artists’ of the music industry: their contributions to the sound and experience of music are immense, but they remain largely ‘uncredited in records, liner notes or books or records’ (Niles 2104, p. 4). That Irwin Kostal would ultimately prove a rare exception to this tradition of thankless anonymity -- becoming sufficiently well-known to have his own name not only included on recordings, but emblazoned on the front cover alongside those of the ‘star’ vocalists with whom he worked -- is a testament to the singularity of his talents. 

Born the son of first generation immigrant parents in Chicago in 1911, Kostal claimed he was instantly ‘smitten’ by music when he saw a piano at the age of two-and-a-half, but his family was too poor to afford such luxuries. Moreover, his father -- a hard-drinking Czech with a fiery temper -- was ‘rigidly opposed’ to his interests in music and ‘could see no future in it’ (’Irwin’ 1962, p. 70). So Kostal initially had to content himself with listening and absorbing as much musical knowledge as he could indirectly. When he was eleven, his father finally brought home a broken player piano salvaged from a removals job and it provided the young Kostal with the launch pad he needed. 

Kostal devoted himself to his musical education with single-minded zeal. His formal training was intermittent -- enabled by a supportive mother who ‘surreptitiously managed to save money from her weekly allowance for my musical instruction’ (’Irwin’ 1962, p. 70) -- but he was a passionate autodidact who would spend countless hours studying and practising on his own. By age 15, he was already playing professionally with local touring bands, while also offering his own services as a piano teacher with, at one point, more than 40 pupils (ibid.).

When he wasn’t playing, Kostal would be found in the local library poring over musical scores and reading about the greats of the classical canon. He was particularly intrigued by orchestration and the possibilities it offered for varying the sound and feel of music. He recalls how he would take orchestral scores home and study all the parts learning ‘about musical instruments I never knew existed’ (Suskin 2009, p. 56).  He progressively worked his way through the music of the masters, going alphabetically: 

‘Bach...Beethoven, Brahms, Debussy, Elgar, Frank, Gounod, on and on through the alphabet...I tried to absorb everything. By the time I came to Ravel, Tchaikovsky and Wagner, I knew quite a lot about music in a jumbled way’ (Suskin 2009, p. 57).

While still in his teens, Kostal started to experiment with arrangements of his own, scoring a high school production of Uncle Tom’s Cabin with multiple variations on the American folk melody ‘Way Down upon the Swanee River’. ‘By taking away the rhythmic aspects and playing it in a minor key,’ he recounts, ‘I found lots of ways to play this song, making it fit the dramatics of the half-hour long story’ (ibid., p. 56). Thus, Irwin Kostal the arranger was born.

Throughout the 1930s and early-40s, Kostal honed his talents in a professional capacity, working with various big bands, before finally landing a job as a resident arranger for an NBC radio affiliate in Chicago. Following the war, Kostal moved to New York where, after a rocky start, he secured regular work as conductor and arranger on a number of long-running radio and TV variety shows including Your Show of Shows (1950-54), Max Liebman Presents (1954-56), and The Garry Moore Show (1959-63). It was demanding, fast-paced work with Kostal having to arrange and orchestrate hundreds of score pages a week, but it consolidated his musical versatility and capacity to work across a wide range of styles and forms (Suskin 2009, pp. 57-60).

Throughout this period, Kostal was also orchestrating for Broadway shows, racking up over 52 credits on theatre productions big and small (Allen 1995, p. 18). Many of these assignments were done in a ‘ghost-writer’ capacity including contributing work to such classic musicals as Wonderful Town (1953), The Pajama Game (1953) and Silk Stockings (1955). A major breakthrough came when Kostal was contracted to work in a credited capacity as co-orchestrator on the original Broadway production of West Side Story (1958) -- collaborating with Leonard Bernstein, Stephen Sondheim and Sid Ramin. It earned him his first Grammy Award and a subsequent invitation to arrange and orchestrate a string of other big Broadway musicals including Fiorello! (1959), Sail Away (1961) and A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum (1962).

The success of West Side Story also saw Kostal do repeat honours on the film version (1961) which would, in turn, earn him an Academy Award and kickstart a hugely successful Hollywood career. In 1963, Kostal was invited by none other than Walt Disney to take on the major job of arranging the songs for Mary Poppins (1964) which had been written by the in-house Disney composing team of Richard M. and Robert B. Sherman. The Sherman Brothers claim to have suggested Kostal because they were fans of his Broadway work and they wanted a bright theatrical sound for the score. However, Walt Disney demurred. He reasoned it was a period film and they needed someone who could write music for any style or era, suggesting they get the musical director from The Garry Moore Show instead. Cue mutual delight when it was discovered they were all referring to the same man, Irwin Kostal (Sherman & Sherman 1998; Suskin 2009, p. 65).

Kostal’s work on Mary Poppins catapulted him to new heights of mainstream success. It not only secured him another Academy Award nomination -- he lost to Andre Previn for his work on My Fair Lady -- but it also brought him a tidy fortune in royalties from the film’s best-selling soundtrack album (’Kostal’s’ $65,000′, 57). His fame -- and fortune -- skyrocketed even further the following year when Kostal was contracted to arrange the score for The Sound of Music (1965). His dazzling efforts on this box-office blockbuster confirmed Kostal’s status as Hollywood’s presiding musical wonder-boy and saw him walk home with his second Oscar. A string of other big screen musicals followed including Half a Sixpence (1967), Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (1968) and Bedknobs and Broomsticks (1971). 

Many of these films were repeat collaborations because Kostal favoured working with people he knew and with whom he clicked personally and creatively. He would for example continue as the de facto ‘house’ arranger for Disney well into the 1980s, working on various assignments for the studio including Pete’s Dragon (1978), Mickey’s Christmas Carol (1983) and the controversial re-recorded 1982 release of Fantasia (1940/1982) (Tietyan 1990). Kostal would also maintain a long association with the Sherman Brothers, acting as musical arranger for all their big screen musicals including the aforementioned Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (1968) and Bedknobs and Broomsticks (1971), as well as Tom Sawyer (1973); Charlotte’s Web (1973); and The Magic of Lassie (1978) (Sherman & Sherman 1998).

The other great collaboration of Kostal’s career was of course with Julie Andrews. Perhaps it was the fact that the pair shared the same birthday but Kostal had an extraordinarily sympathetic relationship with Julie and he would work with her more than any other vocalist. Long before they teamed on Poppins and The Sound of Music, Julie and ‘Irv’ were making musical magic together. Kostal was the arranger and conductor for Julie’s first two solo albums for RCA: The Lass with the Delicate Air (1957) and Julie Andrews Sings (1958) where his sensitive facility with a wide range of musical idioms from English classical to Broadway and Tin Pan Alley came to the fore. Reviewing the first of these albums at the time of its original release, one music critic lauded it as ‘a record to charm every member of the family...[with] a combination of sincerity and simplicity and wholesome sweetness...Thank goodness arranger and conductor Irwin Kostal met the challenge and set the ballads winningly without overpowering Miss Andrews’ light pure tones’ (RRS 1958, p. 5A). In a similar vein, another reviewer praised the second album for ‘its charming unforced version of standards, well known and almost forgotten...Miss Andrews still sings naturally and purely [and] the deft accompaniments played by an orchestra under Irwin Kostal are agreeably restrained’ (Masters 1959, p. 11).

In this early period Kostal also worked with Julie as guest star on several episodes of The Garry Moore Show, where he was resident musical director. In this context, Kostal was pivotal in helping establish the legendary teaming of Julie and Carol Burnett which came out of the Garry Moore appearances. He would go on to act as musical director for their breakout 1962 TV special Julie and Carol at Carnegie Hall which would earn Kostal his first Emmy (Taraborelli 1988, pp. 172-79). He would secure his second Emmy a few years later working with Julie again on the 1965 variety special, The Julie Andrews Show (1965) where, among other highlights, Kostal scored a series of stellar song-and-dance medleys for Julie and guest star Gene Kelly. The same year, Kostal teamed up with Julie on yet another recording with the 1965 edition of the annual Firestone Christmas albums. 

It was however their combined work on the two big musical mega-hits, Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music, that secured the Kostal-Andrews partnership a place in the history books. A cultural phenomenon of the highest order, the soundtrack recordings for these two films remain among the most successful albums of all time. Mary Poppins held the #1 spot on the US national music charts for 14 consecutive weeks in 1964, beating out Elvis Presley and The Beatles (Hollis and Erhbar 2006, pp.72ff). The album for The Sound of Music sold over 9 million copies in its first four years of release alone, remaining in the Billboard Top 100 for an unbelievable five-and-a-half years, and becoming the highest selling LP of all-time in the US up to that date (Murrells, 1978)  The Sound of Music continued its record-breaking run abroad, dominating the international charts and holding the #1 spot for 75 weeks in Australia, 73 weeks in Norway and 70 weeks in the UK, becoming in the process the single biggest selling album worldwide of the 1960s (Harker, 1992, pp. 189-91).

Commentators have frequently singled out the combination of Julie Andrews’ soaring vocals and Kostal’s dynamic arrangements as instrumental to the phenomenal success of these two albums. ‘Miss Andrews glows--positively glows--right through the record groove, vinyl disc, amplifiers, speakers, and all other mechanical barriers,’ enthused one contemporary reviewer of the Mary Poppins soundtrack, noting how the ‘songs that Richard M. and Robert B. Sherman have written’ and ‘the handsome arrangements by Irwin Kostal have the perfect balance ‘of lilt and flair to provide Miss Andrews with an effective working basis’ (Wilson 1965, p. 109). Apropos The Sound of Music, another critic pronounced it ‘as good a reproduction of a score as has ever been made’, noting how it ‘presents Julie in a most appealing role and given the splendid musical direction of Irwin Kostal, her talent comes shining through...as a treat beyond measure’ (Moore 1965, p. B6). 

In total, Julie Andrews and Irwin Kostal would work together on six recordings, two musical motion pictures, two television specials, and a host of other TV appearances representing some of the very best of Julie’s musical work during her heyday of the 1960s. Considered alongside the wealth of Kostal’s other work across film, stage, television and recording, it’s hard not to concur with Disney’s Nelson Meecham who, on the occasion of Kostal’s passing in 1994, eulogised: ‘He brought the joy of music to more people than it is possible to count’ (Allen, p. 19).

Sources:

Allen, John F 1995. ‘Remembering a Music Man: On the life and work of Irwin Kostal.’ Boxoffice. August: pp. 18-19.

Harker, Dave 1992. ‘Still Crazy After All These Years: What was popular music in the 1960s?” Cultural Revolution? The challenge of the arts in the 1960s. Bart Moore-Gilbert and John Seed, eds. Routledge, London and New York: pp. 186-200.

Hollis, Tim and Erhbar, Greg 2006. Mouse Tracks: The Story of Walt Disney Records. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.

‘Irwin Kostal: Music in all its many forms is his life.’ (1962). The Province. 2 June: p. 70.

’Kostal’s’ $65,000 Poppins Score’ 1965. Variety. 10 March: p. 57

Levy, Charles 1964. Mary Poppins: About the stars and photo-story features [Press kit]. Buena Vista Distribution, New York. 

Masters, John 1959. ‘Off the Record: Enchanting Music.’ The Age. 7 January: p. 11.

Moore, Robert 1965. ‘Record Turntable: Julie Andrews out in front again in film album of”Sound of Music”.’ The Arizona Daily Star. 7 March: p. B6.

Murrells, Joseph, ed. 1978. Book of Golden Discs: Records that sold a million. Barrie & Jenkins, New York.

Niles, Richard 2014. The Invisible Artist: Arrangers in popular music (1950-2000). BMI, London.

Oliver, Myrna. 1994. ‘Obituaries: Irwin Kostal; Film, TV Orchestrator.’ The Los Angeles Times. 1 December: P. B8.

RRS 1958. ‘On the Record: ‘Lass with the Delicate Air.’ Bristol Herald Courier. 9 February: p. 5A.

Sherman, Robert B &  Sherman, Richard M 1998. Walt's Time: From before to beyond. Camphor Tree, Santa Clarita, CA.

Suskin, Steven 2009. The Sound of Broadway Music: A book of orchestrators and orchestrations, Oxford University Press, New York.

Taraborelli, J. Randy 1988. Laughing Till It Hurts: The complete life and career of Carol Burnett. William Morrow & Co, New York.

Tietyan, David 1990. The Musical World of Walt Disney. H. Leonard, Milwaukee, Wis. 

Wilson, John S. 1965. ‘The Lighter Side’. High Fidelity Magazine. 15: 4: pp. 107-111.

© 2021, Brett Farmer. All Rights Reserved.

[ohshcscenerios]

Master List

The following works have been written by me. Hopefully this Master List acts as a helpful guide. Match-Ups, Memes, and Game Entries are not included in the Master List. 

Host Headcanons

Hikaru and Food/Cooking

Hosts Celebrating a Birthday

Hikaru and Shy S/O

Hosts with a Crush

Twins Interacting with the Other’s S/O

Hosts and a Violin Playing S/O

Hosts’ First “I Love You”

Sleepover with Hosts

Hosts with Lead Singer S/O

Hosts Cheering Up Depressed S/O

Double Date with Twins

Hosts Helping S/O Through Anxiety Attack

Meeting Hosts’ Parents

Twins with S/O Wearing Same Clothes Every Day

Happy and Sad Hikaru

Hosts with S/O in Toxic Friendship

Hosts Dealing with Their S/O Being Bullied

Hosts and S/O in Bookstore

Hosts Comforting Home-Sick S/O

Hosts Discovering S/O’s Tattoo

Hosts Celebrating Christmas

Hosts with Reckless S/O

Hosts with Stressed-Out Royal S/O

Hosts and S/O at Disneyland

Hosts and Pool/Beach Day

Hosts and General Relationship

Kaoru and Mistletoe (NSFW)

Hikaru and Mistletoe (NSFW)

Tamaki and Mistletoe (NSFW)

Kyoya and Mistletoe (NSFW)

Hosts and Musician S/O

Birthday with Hikaru

Rainy Day with Hosts

Hosts and S/O with Strict Family

Hosts Taking Care of Sick S/O

Hosts and S/O Who Never Celebrated a Birthday Before

Hosts and New Years Kiss

Birthday with Tamaki

Takashi and Arts&Crafts

Hosts and 7 Minutes in Heaven

Hosts and S/O Babysitting Together

Takashi and Shy Crush

Kyoya/Takashi General Relationship

Hosts Watching S/O Break Their Leg

Hosts Walk In on Toxic Friend Bullying S/O

Hosts Helping S/O Through Depressive Episode

Hosts with Chronically Ill S/O

Takashi and Tamaki with Hoodie-Stealing S/O

Hosts Surprised by S/O’s Relaxation Surprise

Hosts with Hoodie-Stealing S/O

Hosts’ Crush Who Has Toxic Boyfriend

Hosts Finding S/O’s Tickle Spot

Takashi Cheering Up S/O - Levels

Hosts’ S/O Bringing Home a Pet

Hosts’ S/O Teaching How to Braid Hair

Hosts’ Favorite Part of Woman’s Body

Takashi and Haruhi Family

Hosts Walking In on Artistic S/O

Hosts with Pregnant S/O Forced on Bed Rest

Takashi and Haruhi Family Fluff

Hosts Disovering S/O Locked In with Video Game

Kyoya and S/O Completely Opposite of Him

Hosts Discovering Haruhi’s Twin Sister

Hosts Meet Daughter’s Boyfriend

Mitsukuni Seducing S/O

Takashi and Y/N First Date

Hosts Play Fighting with S/O

Hosts Loving on S/O During AF

Hosts and S/O with Heterchromia Iridium

Takashi and Haruhi Date Night

Hosts with Tall S/O

Kyoya and Kaoru First Date

Kyoya as a Father

Takashi | Haruhi | Kyoya

Host’s reactions to Son/Daughter First Date

Hosts Asking Out Haruhi’s Twin

Hosts Learning their Daughter was Cheated On

Hosts and Sarcastic S/O

Hosts and Kid Play Dates

Hosts with Male S/O

Host Scenarios

Jealous Host at Dance

Meeting the Hosts in Club

Host Protecting Girlfriend from Jealous Guest

Hosts with S/O at Host Ball

Takashi Comforts Insomnia-Ridden S/O

Tamaki Comforts Insomnia-Ridden S/O

Takashi Finds Distressed S/O in Rain

Kyoya Finds Distressed S/O in Snow

Kyoya and Takashi Over-Protective over Pregnant S/O

Takashi Finds S/O in his Hoodie

Takashi Finds Beaten S/O

Takashi Caring for S/O with Broken Leg

Host One-Shots

Tamaki Birthday Surprise

Kaoru and Haruhi Fluff

Tamaki and Haruhi at Commoner Supermarket

Kyoya Rescuing Kidnapped Haruhi

Hikaru Losing a Bet to Kaoru

Haruhi Bullied After School

Kyoya and Chronic Pain

Yasuchika Wins a Match Against Mitsukuni

Double Date Kyoya/Mitsukuni and Tamaki/Kaoru

Tamaki and Renge Date

Kyoya and Haruhi Marriage Angst

Kyoya and Haruhi Break/Up and Make/Up Angst

Takashi and Haruhi “Dance With Me”

Kyoya and Haruhi “I Didn’t Know What To Get You”

Kyoya and Haruhi Romantic Angst

Hosts General Headcanons

Hosts as BTS Members

Hosts and Cuddling

Hosts Waking S/O with Hot Chocolate

Hosts and Kissing

Hosts and Intimacy

Host Answers

Hosts in University

Hosts and University Degrees

Hosts and First Date

Song Best Describes Each Host

Hosts with Punk/Grunge S/O

Hikaru and Stubborn S/O

Best Quality About Each Host

Hosts with S/O on Vacation

Quiet Night In with Hosts

Hosts’ Favorite Video Games

Hosts Given Homemade Bento

Hosts and Unexpected Talents/Hobbies

Hosts Receiving Sakura Kiss as Present

Hosts’ Reactions to Professional Cosplayer

Host’s Reaction to S/O’s Painting Gift

Hosts with Aspiring Doctor S/O

Hosts and Minecraft

Hosts and Superpowers

Hosts and Anime Con

Kyoya and “Firsts”

Hosts and Halloween

Tamaki and “First”s

Hosts and Weekend Apparel

Hosts and Pets

Hosts and Favorite Board Games

Hosts and Collections

Hosts and Wedding Rings

Hosts and Favorite Dessert

Hosts and Mario Kart

Hosts and Swimsuit Attire

Hosts and Ticklish S/O

What the Hosts Won’t Do

Hosts and Deity Animals

Hosts Helping S/O in the Kitchen

Hosts Dressing Haruhi

Hosts and Asexual S/O

Hosts’ S/O Dressing Like Izzy

Hosts’ Favorite Musician/Band

Hosts Cheer Up S/O

Host’s Reactions to Twin Ultrasound

Host’s Baby’s First Words

Hosts’ Reactions to Pregnancy + Number of Children

Hosts’ Family Timeline

Hosts’ Family Vacations

Host’s Pregnancy Dance with S/O

Hosts with Daredevil S/O

Hosts Over-Protective over Pregnant S/O

What Takashi Wants in a S/O

Hosts and Number of Children

Hosts as Uncles

Hosts’ Thoughts on “Robbin Hood”

Hosts Meeting Someone Like Reid from Criminal Minds

Hosts’ Reaction to “I’m Pregnant”

When Kaoru Says “I Love You”

Hosts and S/O with Amputated Leg

Hosts Accepting Male Guests

Song that Describes Kyoya

If Haruhi Chose Hikaru Instead of Tamaki

Hosts’ S/O who Doesn’t Want Kids

Hosts’ S/O either Bi or Pan

Hosts’s Secret Kinks

When Hosts Lose Virginity

When Hikaru Says “I Love you”

Hosts’ Reactions to Teenage Daughter’s Pregnancy

Hosts Having the “Ah Hah” Moment with S/O

Kyoya’s “Ah Hah” Moment with S/O

Hosts and Discounted Valentine Chocolates

Hosts’ Toddler Climbing into Bed

Which Hosts Can Sing

Hosts’ Insecurities

Hosts Receiving Rose from Crush

Hosts’ Children Not Liking Each Other

Kaoru with Second-Hand Fashion Designer Crush

What the Hosts Don’t Like Doing But Will for S/O

Hosts’ Dere Types

Hosts’ Physical Insecurities

Drunk Headcanons/Answers

Does Takashi Like it Rough

Hosts Crush on Haruhi’s Twin

Hosts Touching the Butt

Hosts and Daddy Kink

Wild Mitsukuni

Takashi Smacking S/O’s Butt

OHSHC Personal Ships

Hosts who Love the Butt

Twincest

Which Hosts Like Butt and Chest

Hosts and Naughty Outfits

Hosts “Making Love”

Which Hosts Eat Butt

NSWF for Kyoya and Kaoru

Kyoya’s S/O Type

Hosts’ Dirtiest Kink

Hosts’ Need for Intimacy

Hosts’ Propose in Public

Takashi’s S/O Type

Hosts and Sensual Intimacy

Hosts and Before & After Pampering

Hosts Drunk

Ritsu NSFW with Male

Hosts’ S/O Comes Home Drunk

Hosts with Big Butt S/O

Hosts Wearing Crop Tops

Ranka NSFW

Hosts’ Reaction to Boy Who Put Gum in Haruhi’s Hair

Kyoya and Haruhi NSFW Beach Episode

Is Haruhi a Screamer

Hosts Cooking Naked

Hosts and S/O Argue About Most

Takashi and Haruhi Intimacy NSFW

Hosts’ Thoughts to Rock Songs

Renge NSFW

Hosts Staying Up All Night

Hosts’ Giving Sexual Hints

Hosts and Masturbation

Hosts Being Called Master

Which Song the Hosts Will Dance To

Hosts’ Preferred Positions

Hosts with Bratty Sub S/O

Hikaru’s Punishment Games

Hosts with Surfer Girlfriend

Which Song the Hosts Make Love To

Hosts’ Food Kink

Hosts with Male S/O and Petplay

Sub Takashi

Preferred Hair and Eye Color for Hosts

Hauhi and Anal Sex

Canon Mitsukuni and Sex

Hosts’ Thoughts on Goth Girls

Hosts’ and Preferred S/O Heights

Which Takashi is Best

Hosts’ and Essential Oil Play

Hosts and Sex in Tub

Kyoya and Shibari

Hosts and Public Sex

Hosts’ Reactions to Being Called Daddy/Mommy

Most Scandalous Thing Kaoru Can Do

Hosts in Spencer Gifts

Hosts and Semi-Public Foreplay

Which Hosts Have “Big Dick” Energy

Hosts and Hickies

Hosts and Roleplay Fantasies

Haruhi and Oral Sex

Hosts and Roleplay Dress

OHSHC Pairing Game

Takashi & Kyoya

Mitsukuni & Haruhi

Ritsu & Haruhi

Kyoya & Kaoru

Tamaki & Kyoya

Hikaru & Haruhi

Kyoya & Haruhi

Kyoya & Renge

Tamaki & Hikaru

Umehito & Haruhi

Benio & Haruhi

Kaoru & Haruhi

Takashi & Haruhi

Kaoru & Takashi

The Case for Takashi and Haruhi

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

[kaypeace21]

any thoughts on will and mikes offical playlists? Especially since i discovered will's playlist the second song 'walk in the wild side' being a song about lgbt celebrities and characters, along with that many of the some of the other songs follow the same themes and some are written by lgbt musicians.

I mean yes Lou reed wrote the song “wild side” which was about lgbt icons . And the singer also endured gay conversion therapy himself , when younger . And mike’s very first song is “small town boy”- by bronski beat , a band of all gay members . The song was an 80s gay anthem about being a closeted gay boy in a small town. They had mike’s 11th song be “don’t you want me” and made it be from the “celebrate your gay pride album”. Cough cause 11 (el) is a beard and mike is gay . I find that intersting cause the 11th song is the gay version but later in the playlist they have the song again from the original album- prob to show they picked the gay album for the 11th song on purpose .

John has a song called “Nancy from now on” about a break up. And much more. I don’t know if it’s as canon as the comics (Canon in name only ) or actually canon. But some songs def makes me raise my eyebrows. I personally think the character Spotify playlists foreshadow and hint at quite a few plot points about various characters.

[schmokschmok]

everything changes, nothing perishes

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Jon Sims x Martin K. Blackwood

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin K. Blackwood, Gerry Delano, Georgie Barker, Melanie King, Tim Stoker, Sasha James

Wordcount: 10.000

Freeform:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Alternate Universe - College/University

Romantic & Platonic Soulmates

Brief Georgie/Jon

Amicable Breakups

Trans Melanie King & Martin Blackwood

He/Him & They/Them Pronouns For Asexual, Nonbinary Royalty Jon Sims

HOH Tim Stoker

The Mechanisms Are The Archivist’s College Band

Summary

It’s just like Martin to get a soulmate who’s already bound to someone else.

A "the first words your soulmate says to you are written on your skin"-au but the twist is only a twist if you haven't read the first installment of the series (which is not necessary but appreciated).

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28395876

Complimentary Georgie/Melanie Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25056415 

CN: Alcohol (mentioned), Canon-/Fanon-typical Martin Loneliness, Food (mentioned), Toxic Parent-Child Relationship (Martin’s mother)

 #1

Just got drunk and walked in.

It’s kind of a funny story, Martin supposes, what with the admission of alcohol being the catalysator and the cocky confidence of the script. When he was young, he thought about this sentence a lot, even though his idea of ‘getting drunk’ didn’t correspond to reality. (He still thinks a lot about it, but it’s not as rose-tinted anymore. Or at least he likes to think it isn’t.)

He never pictured a face or an actual voice to accommodate the words. But he thought about the tone, and the inflection, the way someone might say it with anger or arrogance or the intensity of a really great punchline.

The stories he made up were full of bravery and heroism, of drunk shenanigans and questionable decisions, of happy accidents and laughter. Fantastical in places, but realistic most of the time.

On better days he imagines a whole group of people close to him – friends – waiting for him in their favourite pub or on a patch of grass in front of the college he’s going to attend soon or in the flat of one of them. He imagines them chatting and retelling stories animatedly, laughing and talking over each other in enthusiasm and comradery. And one day there would be someone new, someone Martin would not have seen before. And in the moment, Martin would get into earshot, they would say it: Just got drunk and walked in. And it would be the start of a story about the lack of courage and the finding of it on the bottom of a bottle. Or the beginning of a tale about someone trying to do good, being all on their own, however. Or it would be the end of an adventure of nerves and worry.

Martin can see himself with someone equally as anxious as him. But he can also see himself with someone cockily declaring that they drunkenly walked into a place they shouldn’t have been in as well.

On worse days he imagines hearing the words in a crowd, only in bypassing, the source of countless daydreams and nightmares swallowed by the masses of people going on about their day without ever realising he was there in the first place.

One thing stays the same though in all of his imaginations and phantasies. In every single version Martin can think of, he falls in love with the voice before seeing their face first. It doesn’t matter if the words are yelled in arrogance and vanity or muttered self-consciously and kind of self-deprecatingly or hesitantly contemplated. He falls in love so fast and hard he stops breathing for a second then and there.

He had years upon years to build up enough expectations to know it only needs a little shove to snowball all of his fluttering endearment into the devastating, all-consuming love he was always destined to feel.

Martin is a romantic at heart and it doesn’t matter that all of his what ifs are futile and unrealistic, he’s in love with the idea of having a fairy-tale romance and that’s enough as it is. With all its daydreams and the gentle warmth in his stomach.

 #2

He doesn’t want to be lonely, really, he tries his best not to be. But it’s hard and he doesn’t know how to change it. When he still lived with his mother, she complained a lot about him being home all the time when he wasn’t working. (He shouldn’t think too much about it, she also complained a lot about him being away too much – no matter if he was out working or meeting up with somebody who could turn into a friend.)

The first two years in college didn’t change that fact at all. He was friendly with most of the people he met in his department and at the events he attended. But he wasn’t friends with them by any means. And that had always been the problem, hadn’t it? They thought he was a good lad, a nice chap, a dapper mate, a “we should hang out sometime!” and an “it’s lovely seeing you here!” but he’s not interesting to talk to. People don’t remember him because: While he can hold small talk relatively well, conversations with him tend to be one-sided. He asks the right questions, listens and reacts appropriately to the things people tell him, but he doesn’t reciprocate, can’t counter a story with a story because they’re either too personal or too embarrassing or don’t exist at all.

The first person talking often enough to Martin to make him share a few selected stories here and there is Gerry Delano. They share a single class and find themselves sitting next to each other, sharing and comparing the notes they made during the lecture. They haven’t met up outside of their shared class before, so Martin’s pleasantly surprised when Gerry asks him to come see his band the up-coming weekend.

 #3

He’s late. Because of course he is. One time. One single time he gets invited to something, so naturally he has to put in overtime. He’s at least an hour late, maybe even a little bit more. The text he shot Gerry to let him know that he’s late sits unread and unanswered in their chat and Martin feels awful.

Eventually, he reaches The Anglerfish, the small student bar just off the campus that hosts open mic nights and concerts for student bands. Gerry’s band is supposed to play tonight as the closing act; the after-act for a bigger student band Martin’s never heard of – The Mechanics? The Mech– something something. Apparently, they have a longer set than the other bands so Martin could be lucky to only have miss one or two songs of Gerry’s band.

Martin hasn’t listened to a single song of any of the bands that play tonight, so he’s not sure what to expect from the evening. Muffled music spills out of the slightly ajar windows, but he can’t make out a genre or any specific instruments, so he reaches for the handle of the door and takes a deep breath, for the last time relatively alone, then he opens the door and goes into the dimly lit entry way.

The first thing he hears are the chattering voices of people standing off to the bar and sitting at tables lining the walls, but when he dives into the crowd, simultaneously scanning it for Gerry’s lanky figure, he hears it.

“Just got drunk and walked in,” declares a voice loudly and with a manic kind of arrogance. Martin freezes in place. This is all wrong.

But he doesn’t get the chance to dwell on the fact that he heard the phrase etched into his upper thigh verbatim from someone he can’t even see, because the crowd doesn’t stop moving. Despite Martin’s need for the whole world to take a fucking breather, the people behind him shove him into the room and he tries to get air into his lungs again, but he only manages a few shallow breaths before the voice carries on and Martin realises that it has to be the singer on stage who said the most fateful words of Martin’s life.

The voice is gruff now, deeper and drunkenly confident.

Careful not to bump into too many people, Martin navigates through the crowd, trying to catch a look at the stage. In spite of his height it proves difficult and he goes further into the bar, diving into the crowd, while absolutely forgetting why he came in the first time: To meet Gerry who wanted to see the band Martin’s currently enraptured by, before playing with his band.

Finally, he manages to find a place at the far-right side of the publicum – close enough to see the stage but far enough to not stand in the way of the fans that came specifically for the band.

The song’s still going, and Martin scans the stage briefly. The band’s bigger than he expected and if it weren’t for the sheer presence of the person standing front centre stage, clutching the retro silver microphone with only one hand, Martin’s sure he’d have to look at every member of the band to determine who he’s looking for.

Adjusting his glasses, he attempts to take in every detail he can but he’s pretty far off and he can’t see everything he wants to. The things he can see are their long brown hair, dishevelled and laced with braids to keep it from falling into their face, goggles perched on their head like a headband; the dark brown skin of their face and hands and the lower half of their left arm; the black paint around their eyes, rampant like ivy roots; the black nail polish on the hand holding the microphone; the white linen shirt underneath the muddy brown waist coat, a dip hem skirt in the same soily brown over fishnet stockings and heavy brown boots with at least four or five centimetres of heel.

Their voice sounds like it’s made to narrate and yell and sing and– well, talk, actually. It sounds like a voice Martin would love to talk to and listen to and wake up to and– shit. This is bad and, did he mention, this is all wrong.

A narration begins and Martin realises all of a sudden that it took one measly song for him to lose all dignity and sense of appropriateness and instead win all of the love at first sight he dreamt of but didn’t anticipate to, well, suck so much.

He can’t have a crush on someone like, like that! Someone beautiful who carries themselves with ease and swagger and confidence. Until now he thought he could do this, you know, meeting his soulmate and instantly falling in love and maybe even talk to them like a civilised human being. But he was wrong, god was he wrong! He can’t talk to that ethereal being in fishnets. This is, wow, this is so far out of his comfort zone, he involuntarily takes a step back.

The only reasonable explanation is that he must have misheard the narration, must have missed a quintessential detail of what happened. Or it’s a very strange coincidence, his soulmark isn’t the most non-sensical sentence, there’s probably plenty people out there being able to say the exact same sentence. He just hasn’t met them yet.

Still, he can’t avert his eyes, he’s transfixed on the stage, listening to the, to be embarrassingly frank, horribly hot voice laying down the events leading to Oedipus’ Trial of Wits. Everything except the stage steps back and Martin’s brain singles out the band. The elbows touching him and the feet stepping on his don’t feel as real anymore, or maybe he’s less real in this weird interspace of knowing your soulmate or crushing on a complete stranger with the intensity of a thousand burning suns.

But there is no way to know, is it? He can’t go back and enter the bar again, consciously heeding the sentence that caused his distress. The only things he can think of doing are either getting to know the singer, who introduces himself as Jonny d’Ville just a few songs later, which is pretty creepy and Martin doesn’t want to do that – or he has to attend the next concert (or next concerts?) to determine if he merely misheard which doesn’t seem like a better alternative, if Martin’s honest.

So, still unsure what he should do next, he focuses on Jonny d’Ville and the way he gestures while narrating and singing like he’s winding his thoughts forth; the way he sits down during the songs he’s not involved in; the way he can’t hold back when Marius von Raum sings the part of Herakles and he mouths the words excitedly before jumping back to the microphone to sing the part of Zeus; the way he uses a single drumstick to beat the drum and holds the harmonica; the way he draws a steam punky gun and flourishes it like a natural extension of his arm.

“I’ve been looking for you!”

Gerry’s voice is so close to his ear, that the sudden proximity startles him more than the actual talking to him, or at least that’s what he tells himself. He’s not far gone enough to admit, even if it’s just to himself, that he was captivated by the band so much that he didn’t even realise that they neared the end of their act.

“D-Didn’t you get my text?” Martin yells back, leaning back, out of Gerry’s personal space. “Had to put in overtime and when I got here, I couldn’t find you.”

Gerry waves dismissively and shouts back: “Well, I found you at last, we’re up next!” He grins self-consciously and nods towards the stage. “Don’t really wanna get up after them but the crowd’s hyped up so maybe they’ll accept us as one of them.”

Even though his gaze flickers to the stage multiple times, Martin succeeds in looking at Gerry and smiling encouragingly. Then he says: “You’ll do amazing, Gerry. Don’t worry.”

While Gerry opens his mouth, the last notes of Elysian Fields carry through the bar and applause rings out. Jonny d’Ville takes a step forward, basking in the applause of the crowd and chugging water from a half litre bottle. As the applause dies down a bit, he lifts the microphone up again and exclaims: “Thank you! Thank you! Now, we are aiming to put that on CD, ehh, sometime around July. It won’t be exactly the show that you saw, this is, well, this is the debut. This’ll be refined and processed, et cetera, et cetera.” He bows outlandishly. “But if you want to help with that occurring – and you know you do – there is a crowdfunding, an indiegogo page, uhm, for this, uh, CD, there’s lots of,” he fumbles for words, “lovely perks from dice to patches and all sorts of brilliant things. So, go there, give us all your money.” The crowd laughs. “And then we will make a CD and we will send you the CD and you can listen to this to your heart’s content, uhh,” the crowd cheers again, “but thank you so much for coming!” He gives a few more thanks, then he says. “We’re going to, well, we’re going to leave you, uhm, with one quick final song and I think you probably know which one. So, sing along if you know the words.”

And the crowd knows the words.

Involuntarily, Martin steps back, overwhelmed by the sheer energy that erupts because of the people around him jumping up and down, yelling the lyrics to Drunk Space Pirate.

After that, it doesn’t take too long for The Mechanisms to clear the stage off their instruments and The Black Eyed Keays to set up their own act. Gerry comes out, hand gripping the neck of his electric guitar harder than necessary, knuckles lighter than the rest of his tan hand. His band is composed of five members including him, Martin’s yet to meet them.

Before he can start really looking at the other four musicians, he can see Ashes o’Reilly coming through the makeshift curtain separating the backstage area from the public. They goe straight to a woman standing off to the side, while politely dismissing people congratulating them and trying to involve them into conversation. As Martin averts his eyes because it seems like a private moment, he sees Jonny d’Ville leaving the backstage area, pulled through the curtain by Raphaella, their hands intertwined.

Something in Martin halts, something that had been on edge for the last hour or so, something that seemed to only be satisfied by the crushing reality of his potential soulmate holding the hand of someone other than him. (They could be friends, Martin knows that, he’s not that dense to think that everyone holding hands has to be romantically involved with each other. But it doesn’t stop him in the slightest of thinking that he wants to be in the place of holding Jonny d’Ville’s hand. He doesn’t even know the real name of the guy and already wants to hold his hand. Pathetic. And definitively creepy.)

Shaking his head to remind himself that he’s here for Gerry and The Black Eyed Keays, he turns away from Jonny d’Ville and Raphaella stopping at the bar, but out of the corner of his eyes he catches sight of Raphaella wrapping her arms around Jonny d’Ville’s waist.  

 #4

As far as Martin can tell, it’s going well for him, wonderful even, just perfectly fine. He realised today that he hadn’t spent too much time wondering about The Mechanisms or Jonny d’Ville in the past few months and he’s rather proud of himself for not obsessing. His shift ended a tad early today, he didn’t have any costumers that grinded his nerves, the night provided him with a good eight-hour long sleep, and he didn’t even have nightmares.

This is the literal incorporation of a good day. Martin doesn’t have too many of them, so he tries to really bask in the feeling, who knows how long it’s going to last.

On the way out of the Ceaseless Watcher, he picks up two cups – one filled with black coffee and one with a herbal-fruit tea blend – and starts walking to the patch of grass in front of the Jonah Magnus’ University where he’s supposed to meet Gerry. Careful not to spill coffee or tea or burn himself, he clenches one of the cups between his forearm and his chest, while he fumbles for the phone in his pocket.

For a second, he contemplates coming to a halt to text Gerry that he’s on his way, but he doesn’t want to stop, being in the momentum already. While concentrating on proper (or at least somewhat comprehensible) grammar and typing the right letters, he’s paying a little less attention to the way as he should. Of course, he notices the change of underground from the hard-stomped way underneath the trees to the openness and softness of the grassy patch. But, actually, that’s about it. It’s not too crowded because it starts to be too cold outside to properly hang out, so he doesn’t even have to navigate through groups of students.

The thing is: Martin doesn’t really think something (or someone) could cross his way, so he doesn’t even try to pay attention to the area around him. And that’s why he doesn’t reckon with the incredibly inauspicious sounding crinkling when he steps on something that is decidedly not lawn.

Martin stops dead in his track, draws a shaky breath and wants to say anything (like an apology probably), but the only words leaving his mouth are a softly whispered: “Oh no.”

The words of apology are stuck in his throat and he doesn’t dare look up from the sketchpad he stepped on unintentionally. Right on top of a study of the two statues in front of the academic museum of arts is a rather perfect imprint of the sole of his boot. Martin swallows.

“You cannot be serious,” drawls a voice that makes heat rise in Martin’s cheeks – out of shame and recognition all the same.

As if the voice had snapped Martin out of a stupor, he rushes to say: “Oh, god, I am so sorry.” Shoving his phone into his coat pocket and setting down the two cups, he crouches and starts to wipe at the now slightly damp paper, more apologies tumbling from his lips.

“Alright!” The voice cuts him short, impatiently. “Stop it. It’s alright. Don’t bother.”

Two hands reach for the sketchpad, taking it out of Martin’s hands without further ado.

“I’m really sorry,” Martin says again, still not daring to look into the face of the person he just ruined the day for. Instead, he’s looking at their hands – one of them pulling the sleeve of a jumper or hoodie out of the sleeve of their coat and over their other hand to gently dab at the paper that already starts to get wavy where Martin’s boot hit it.

The person who is definitely not Jonny d’Ville (because Jonny d’Ville is a stage name and Martin doesn’t know who the human being in front of him is) retorts curtly: “I gathered as much.”

“Is it …”, Martin interrupts himself, shifting his weight so that he’s sitting on his heels instead of the balls of his feet. “Was it important?” He scrunches his nose. “I mean, I didn’t– didn’t destroy, like, a project for a course you’ve been working on for months, did I?”

“No,” they reply but their tone suggests otherwise. “It’s not … It’s nothing.”

They stop dabbing at the paper and Martin realises that they’re looking at him now and that it would be the polite thing to look back. It costs him approximately a metric shit ton of effort to lift his eyes and meet theirs. But he manages. (Just about.)

Martin regrets his decision to meet their eyes at approximately the same time that he can start making out the details of their face that he hadn’t been able to see in the dim light of The Anglerfish and the distance between him and the stage. It’s the exact same moment that Martin realises that they are as beautiful as Martin thought they would be. In a more reigned in and moderated kind of way – their hair confined in a bun, their face not painted with ivy roots but dotted with circular scars, and their outfit more suitable for daily use – but nonetheless beautiful.

“It doesn’t look like it’s nothing,” Martin says softly, and he doesn’t know where he’s getting the courage from. (Probably nowhere, he’s not exactly thinking as it is. And ‘not thinking’ is not the same thing as conjuring up courage.)

A scoff slips past their lips and they reply: “It is, though. And even if it wasn’t: I don’t see how this could be of any concern to you.”

Martin averts his eyes and looks down at the two cups he placed next to the place where the sketchpad had previously lain. The shock of already having his foot in his mouth is probably the reason why Martin just goes on: “If I want to make it up to you, I need to know just how bad my clanger was.”

His gaze flickers back to their face and takes in the steep corrugation between their drawn together brows.

Slowly, they say: “You don’t have to make it up to me.” They look almost appalled at the thought, and Martin’s not sure if he should be offended on his behalf or theirs. (Does he look like someone who ruins peoples work and then walks away? Or did nobody ever thought about righting their wrong when interacting with them?)

“I know I don’t have to,” Martin retorts, then he backpaddles and tries to correct himself: “I mean, you don’t seem like someone who’d enforce rectification but … I want to.” He swallows around the lump in his throat. “Make it up to you, that is.”

“Oh,” they say softly, and Martin thinks that they seem like they didn’t even notice they said anything at all. Absentmindedly, their left hand fiddles with the hem of the maybe-sweater-maybe-hoodie sleeve still pulled over their right hand.

“This was absolutely and entirely my fault,” Martin says when they don’t speak up again. “So, if it would be alright with you, I would like to, I don’t know, buy you a coffee?” The blush on his cheeks intensifies because he knows what this could look like. But someone like them would never even consider that someone like Martin could hit on them, so he tries not to dwell on that thought for too long. “I work at the Ceaseless Watcher, so, you could drop by and get a coffee on the house?”

Martin attempts a smile but it’s a rather weak one. The palms of his hands are clammy and a little numb, but he doesn’t dare wiping them on his trousers to get rid of the feeling.

“Are you working on Thursday?”

In all honesty, Martin didn’t reckon they would actually agree. Much less on the first go. (Such things don’t happen to Martin. He is never lucky enough that things just work out.)

“I– uh, yes,” Martin rushes to say before they can think about changing their mind. “Five to eleven.” An owlish blink in Martin’s direction. “P.M.”

“Good,” they say, both hands now lying flat on their sketchpad. “Then I will see you on Thursday.”

Martin takes this as his cue to stand up and leave, and it takes him almost ten whole minutes until he realises that he doesn’t even know the name of the person he had just met. And it takes him almost five more minutes of self-loathing and -pity until he remembers that they will see each other again. Next Thursday.

Maybe one time everything can work out for Martin. Just one time.

#5

It doesn’t work out for Martin.

It doesn’t work out for Martin, so obviously and severely, that Martin genuinely thinks about hiding in the employee’s bathroom so that Jane can take over the register and deal with the slowly trickling in students of the Jonah Magnus Institute.

Jon (that’s his name, Jon without an H, it’s short for Jonathan, narrowed eyes at Martin’s name tag, Martin) has a girlfriend that is beautiful like a flower meadow in full bloom underneath the blue open sky. But they don’t just look great together (and they do, Martin’s perfectly and painfully aware of that fact), they seem to get along greatly, too. (Which is good! It’s not like Martin’s begrudging someone’s happy relationship or anything. It’s more like … he envies it? Envies the apparent ease and comfortability that come with knowing someone intimately for a long time. Envies the way they lean into each other and share private smiles. Envies the look of contentedness and trust when they look at each other. – Or maybe he’s overanalysing things he has never been part of. Eternally condemned to an etic approach to romantic relationships.)

Today, however, Martin wants to flee the scene because Jon looks livid and Georgie’s attempts to calm him down seem rather futile. They’re barely in earshot when Jon hisses: “I still don’t understand why you invited her along.”

“It’s not every day that you meet your soulmate,” Georgie replies soft spoken and with an exasperation that implies that it’s not the first time she has said this sentence to him. “And I won’t let you antagonise her just for the sake of it. At least get to know her. If she’s as bad as you think she is, you get to tell me that you told me so and I’ll back off.” She smiles at him. “Deal?”

But she doesn’t wait for him to answer, instead she turns to the counter where Martin’s been standing the whole time, trying to look like he hasn’t been eavesdropping, and greets him: “Hey, Martin.”

“Hi.” Martin tries to smile through the awkward glances Jon shoots him. “What can I do for you?”

“Two latte macchiatos, one decaf, one regular, and one white coffee,” she replies. While he’s ringing up her order, she continues: “And maybe if you could answer me this: Do you think Jon’s approachable?”

Martin stops dead in his tracks and Jon splutters: “Georgie!”

“What?” Her gaze flickers between an indignant Jon and the redder and redder growing face of Martin. She tilts her head in confusion and furrows her brows.

Jon hisses: “You can’t rope Martin into your schemes, you wretched thing!”

“Why not?”, Georgie questions before Martin gets to have a word in this. (Not that Martin would actively try to intervene when they’re obviously fighting about something important. Something Martin doesn’t want to think about while they’re still standing right in front of him.)

“Because,” Jon starts to say, but Georgie’s bulldozing on: “Martin is the newest addition to our squad and you brought him in, so, if anyone knows if you’re approachable or not, it’s him.”

“Martin is not a part of our friend group,” Jon says bewildered, then the realisation that Martin’s right in front of them sinks in. But the words are out in the open and the damage is already done.

“Jon!” Georgie exclaims, her voice filled with outrage (or at least something that comes close to outrage).

Martin smiles weakly and says: “It’s okay, Jon’s right. We’re not friends, or anything.”

It’s true, even though Martin had hoped that they could become friends. Or at least acquainted. Sometime in the future. (But Martin has to admit that Georgie thinking that Martin belongs to them in any kind of way – it felt nice. Nicer and bigger than it should probably have.)

“Oh,” Georgie says, brows even more furrowed than before, and a look of contemplation on her face that Martin can’t decipher. Then she shakes her head and Jane calls out for Jon and Georgie to collect their drinks.

They continue their argument while walking away, and Georgie sends him a soft smile and a wave over her shoulder before they grab their coffees and head for a table near the front of the café.

Martin tries not to look at them too much, or at all even, but he must have failed embarrassingly, because he notices Jon’s displeased face before he realises that someone has entered the café and beelines for the table Georgie and Jon sit at.

And that’s the moment Georgie’s and Jon’s conversation hits him full force. Jon’s soulmate has come into their life. Jon‘s soulmate has come into their life and the soulmate in question has just entered The Ceaseless Watcher. Which means one thing: Martin is not Jon’s soulmate.

Martin laughs lowly and self-deprecatingly and thinks: It’s just like him to get a soulmate who’s already bound to someone else. If he’d tell his mother, she’d probably tell him he had it coming without ever specifying why.

 #6

“Sounds exhausting,” Gerry says, both arms on the counter and more slumped against it than standing upright.

Martin shrugs his shoulders and says: “That’s just uni life.”

“It’s not,” Gerry retorts, pulling a face. “I’ve been lying on my bed the whole weekend, working on a few new songs. What you’re doing is the Martin way of life and, no offence, but it sounds exhausting. Three out of ten, wouldn’t recommend.”

“I kinda … take offence?” Martin’s voice goes up way too much at the end of the sentence, and Gerry waves his hand dismissively. “Did you just come by to insult me?”

Gerry grins and extends his arm to ruffle Martin’s hair (which is not something Martin expects other people to do and that’s why he doesn’t really know how to react to it), before he says: “Nah. Don’t. If it’s working for you, go ahead. – I’m here because my roommate and their girlfriend broke up, so I’m waiting for them to, I don’t know, cheer them up, I guess.”

“Oh,” Martin says eloquently. “I’m sorry?”

Gerry shrugs. “It’s alright, I think. They didn’t sound too upset on the phone.” Then his gaze falls on the giant clock on the wall behind the counter. “Should be here soon. Could you please ring up one regular latte macchiato and one decaf?”

Nodding, Martin punches the order into the register and Gerry reaches for his wallet. Then Martin steps over to the coffee machine to prepare the two different shots of espresso and heat and foam the soy-oat milk blend.

They exchange a few more quips while Gerry carries the hot beverages to a table next to the wall and gets back to the counter because they don’t want to disturb the other patrons by talking too loudly.

Gerry’s about to go on a tangent about the breaking of his G and B strings, when the bell above the door chimes and someone enters The Ceaseless Watcher.

Without intent or his own volition, a bright smile plasters itself onto Martin’s face, before he even turns towards the door – pavloved into customer friendliness – and sees Jon walk into the café. His smile falters a bit, but he manages to uphold it and greets: “Hey, Jon.”

Jon nods in reciprocation and says: “Martin, Gerry.”

“Oh, you know each other?” Martin asks, already one finger on the register to punch in Jon’s order, but Gerry’s hand makes an abortive gesture.

“Jon’s my roommate,” Gerry explains with another gesture towards the table where the two latte macchiatos wait for them. “Didn’t know you were acquainted.”

A blush creeps up Martin’s neck and he forces an embarrassed groan back down his throat. He’s torn between processing the information that Jon and Georgie broke up (apparently) and the realisation that Gerry used they/them pronouns for Jon.

“Well, we are,” Jon replies curtly and frees Martin from saying anything at all. Jon already turns to leave the counter when Martin squeezes out: “Jon, could I– would you– just a moment?”

Jon nods and Gerry walks to their table to give them a moment of privacy. But Martin doesn’t continue, because the questions that pile up in his mouth and block the way for the thing he actually planned to ask try to fight their way over his lips. Did Georgie and you really break up? Is it because of your soulmate? Are you alright? Is Georgie alright?

“Yes, Martin?” Jon looks vaguely annoyed. (Or maybe Jon looks obviously annoyed, but Martin doesn’t want to accept it because he’s a hopeless romantic and thinks that even if he is not Jon’s soulmate, Jon is still his and that must mean something, right? The universe wouldn’t be as cruel as to present Martin his soulmate only to make them hate him, right? – Yes, of course, Martin knows that soulmates don’t have to be romantic or even platonic, that a shared soulmark only means this person will have an impact on your life and that it is on them to find out what kind of impact that is. But Martin wants it to be positive. He desperately craves for it to be positive force in his life. And he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if this thing ends up being a giant fluke.)

Martin clears his throat and tries to ignore the burning behind his eyes.

“Just,” Martin swallows down everything that doesn’t have any place being in his mouth, “Gerry used they/them pronouns for you and … I don’t want to misgender you?”

Jon’s face doesn’t tell Martin anything. If Jon is pleased knowing that Gerry uses the right pronouns; if Jon is annoyed that Gerry made a capital t Thing out of Jon by using gender-neutral language; if Jon doesn’t really care either way. Jon just looks at him. It’s a bit unsettling.

“If you don’t want to talk to me about this, I get it,” Martin continues softly when Jon doesn’t say a thing and only studies Martin’s face. “You don’t have to. But I would like to, you know, respect it if you preferred a specific set of pronouns.”

Martin shrugs to shove the weight off his shoulders, but Jon’s stare turns disconcerting. Uncertainty making its way into Martin’s chest, until Jon says slowly: “I use he/him and they/them pronouns. At the moment it’s the latter.”

A nod in acknowledgment earns Martin something akin to a smile, the smallest of uplifts of the corners of Jon’s lips, and warmth spreads through Martin’s cheeks and chest.

They lift their hand in a wave goodbye until they seem to realise that they’re not actually leaving but rather sitting down at the table Gerry’s still waiting at, and duck their head in something Martin wants to call embarrassment.

For a few minutes while nobody walks up to the counter and everyone seems to be busy except Martin, Martin takes a plate out of one of the cupboards and places two pastries on it. Then, after a few pacing steps forward and back again and too much hesitation, he walks over to Gerry and Jon and places the plate on the table.

Jon opens their mouth to say something and Martin can see the questioning look on Gerry’s face. But he cuts the discussion short by blurting out: “On the house.”

In an attempt to mask the anxiety already spreading through him, Martin smiles his brightest smile, turns around and walks away. (Which: Who does something like that? Jon must suspect that Gerry has told Martin something Martin shouldn’t know about. Or they must think that Martin is an absolute court jester. And given Gerry’s face, at least Gerry suspects that Martin is not acting out of sheer courtesy.)

(Martin desperately wishes for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.)

 #7

Georgie and Jon are broken up for good, or that’s at least what Jon says to Martin. This is remarkable because of two things: First of all because it means that Jon is actually talking to Martin except for, you know, ordering coffee or awkward small talk while Martin prepares the beverage. And secondly because Martin didn’t think their split would actually last. Georgie and Jon are, even if it sounds impossible, the perfect pair and Martin isn’t sure how they managed to not be soulmates.

Since Martin tried to clarify Jon’s use of pronouns, Jon has significantly warmed up to Martin and Martin isn’t sure if it’s because of this or because Jon can’t spend as much time with Georgie anymore. (It’s not like they actually take a break from seeing each other. Gerry told Martin that Jon and Georgie went to an outing together on the same night they broke up.) Either way, Martin’s suddenly confronted with a Jon who asks him low-voiced how he’s doing and who hesitantly wants him to have a good day.

“He/him day,” Jon says instead of a greeting. He wipes sweat from his forehead and tries to tug every stray strand and wisp of hair behind his ears or underneath his hair tie – rather unsuccessfully.

Martin throws a glance behind Jon to assess the situation in the café and if he can risk leaving the counter for a moment. When he deems it safe, Martin says: “This reminds me … Wait a moment, I …”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but instead walks into the little storage room in the back of the shop to fish a little box out of his bag and come back to the front of the café. A small blush blooming on his cheeks, Martin smiles at Jon and says: “Hey, Jon.”

Jon furrows his brow as if he hadn’t realised that he skipped an essential part of the conversation, then replies dutifully: “Hello, Martin.”

“So,” Martin begins, “I’ve been thinking. We’ve been talking about your pronouns and …” Martin trails off and presents the little box he retrieved from his bag. He opens it and showcases two braided bracelets, one in salmon pink and one in teal. “I heard about pronoun pins and bracelets? Had some yarn laying around and thought … if you want to, you could use them to indicate your preferred pronouns?”

At the end, Martin’s voice trails off and he sounds a lot less sure about his idea. His uncertainty is a mix out of ‘did I overstep’ and ‘am I too much’, but the way Jon’s furrowed brows melt into something entirely else lets Martin think that he’s not as much a burden as he feared.

Cautiously, Jon reaches for the bracelets, stopping mid-air to throw another glance at Martin who can’t stop himself from making a weird combination of nodding and shrugging.

Jon takes the two bracelets out of their box and Martin throws the empty box into a drawer underneath the counter. He runs them through his fingers, feeling the texture of the yarn and the structure of the fish braid pattern. Pocketing the salmon pink bracelet, he extends his right arm with the teal-coloured one towards Martin, asking: “Could you tie it?”

The uncoiling of the knot right underneath Martin’s midriff makes Martin smile and he takes the bracelet out of Jon’s hand to tie it around Jon’s wrist. He miscalculated quite a bit with his own wrist as reference, but he is able to comfortably wrap the bracelet around Jon’s wrist two times, before he ties it into a loose knot. The colour looks nice against the warm undertone of Jon’s skin and up-close Martin can see the smaller and bigger moles scattered across his lower arm.

Martin’s not sure if it is he who lets go of Jon’s arm first or Jon who takes his arm back, but he knows that he looks up from where he held Jon’s wrist just a few seconds ago and catches sight of Jon looking at him. It’s not a look Martin can decipher. As so often, Jon looks like he’s trying to make sense out of something Martin has said or done. (Or maybe he’s trying to make sense out of Martin as a whole. The same way Martin is still trying to grasp the essence of Jon.)

“This is really nice,” Jon says, and it sounds more like he’s turning every word three or four times before releasing it into the air between them; like he’s somehow forcing the words out after analysing and approving them, because they don’t want to be heard. But the way he cradles his wrist and the bracelet with such great care and a little disbelief shows clearly that he’s serious. Jon’s eyes snap upwards to look at Martin again, and Jon adds: “Thank you, Martin. That’s really,” he draws in a breath, “considerate.”

Not sure if he should dismiss Jon’s words or not, Martin ducks his head and turns towards the register: “Decaf or Regular?”

“Surprise me,” Jon replies with a shrug of his shoulders. Martin tilts his head in confusion and Jon clarifies: “Gerry and Georgie think I drink too much coffee, but I don’t necessarily like them interfering with my life choices, so we made the deal that every time we drink coffee together, we order one decaf and one regular and it’s a surprise who gets to drink the decaf.”

Chuckling lowly, Martin retorts: “That’s a nice tradition.”

Jon pays for his coffee and Martin turns around, reaching for the decaf beans, safely out of Jon’s sight. For the taste, he adds much more ground coffee than Elias normally allows him to use and sprinkles a bit of cocoa powder on top of the milk foam. Then he hands Jon the final product and smiles.

Their fingers almost touch when Jon takes the mug out of Martin’s hands and he starts to walk away for two and a half steps, before he turns back again and asks: “When does your shift end?”

“Oh,” Martin throws a glance at the clock behind him, “in about an hour? Why?”

Jon shifts his weight and replies: “I thought I could use a walk, and that, maybe, you could use a walk, too?”

This seems to cost even more surmounting than thanking Martin, but it fills Martin with warmth and the hope that Jon doesn’t hate him. (He should know by now that Jon doesn’t hate him, they’ve been friendly for quite a time now, but the fear that Jon [or anyone, really] could suddenly decide that Martin is too much and too overbearing is prevalent.)

He swallows all that down and says: “Yes, I’d like that.”

 #8

When Melanie and Georgie get together, Martin’s not entirely surprised. Actually, he’s not surprised at all because Jon himself has told Martin that Melanie had asked him about his feelings for Georgie. (I don’t get it, Martin, do I look like I would begrudge them their relationship? Do I look like a fragile thing that needs to be coddled? No, Gerry, shut it.) But part of Martin wonders if Jon’s really as alright with the situation as he makes it out to be. As far as Martin knows, Jon and Georgie had been dating for quite a while, and Melanie is Jon’s soulmate. It must be a horribly awkward situation to be in.

Somehow this hasn’t kept them from hanging out as a group, though. Melanie and Georgie are lying in the shadow of a tree, while Sasha and Tim rampage through the water, and Jon and Martin, they sit on the small landing stage, their feet dangling in the water.

Jon’s hand is resting right next to Martin’s and it would be so easy to reach out and grab it, to intertwine their fingers and just enjoy the weight of Jon’s hand in his. But they have never done something like this, Jon is an untouchable entity in the night sky, beautiful like the milky way but foreign and unjudgeable with his disconcerting stares and assessing questions and brutally honest words. And a mere mortal like Martin can’t just reach for the hand of a natural phenomenon like Jon Sims.

So, he takes his hands into his lap instead to keep himself from doing something ill-considered like taking Jon’s hand anyways.

For a moment, they watch Sasha and Tim, but when they head back to the picknick blanket Georgie and Jon had brought and where Georgie and Melanie are leisurely sitting, Jon indicates that they could go back to the others, too. So, they get up and walk back to the others. (Martin’s hand twitching to reach for Jon’s.)

“No way! You’re lying!” Tim’s voice is barely more than a whisper, while he’s scrubbing his hair as dry as possible with a towel.

Sasha’s hand reaches out for Tim’s ankle to direct his attention to her, and she says while signing simultaneously: “Nobody can hear shit of what you’re saying.”

“Louder?” Tim asks and it’s obvious that he tries to adjust his volume. But Sasha shakes her head. “Louder?” Sasha shakes her head again and Tim waves dismissively, before he continues to towel dry his hair.

“What’s going on?” Martin says, sitting down next to Sasha, quietly marvelling at the fact that Jon sits down next to him even though the space doesn’t necessarily allow it.

Melanie’s cheeks redden (a foreign and unsettling sight, if Martin is honest), and she seems to think about her answer for a moment, before she finally extends her legs, showcasing multiple sets of names written on her skin. Sasha’s, Tim’s, Georgie’s and Martin’s. But most prominently right in the middle Jonathan Sims in the same curvy scripture as the rest, but instead of a felt tip marker, it seems to come from under Melanie’s skin.

“Oh,” Jon says right next to Martin and Martin thinks: Oh, indeed.

That is, however, where the similarities between Jon and Martin end, because while Martin starts to panic at the obvious evidence of Melanie’s and Jon’s soulbond, Jon says: “Georgie, this is your handwriting.”

“Yes, it is,” Georgie replies cheerily, before pointing at the crook of her arm. “And you know what? That’s Melanie’s handwriting.”

“Congratulations,” Jon deadpans, but Martin can feel the rigid line of Jon’s shoulders relax.

Just for a moment, though, because Georgie says: “And you know what that means, Jon! There’s still someone out there waiting to be found by you!” And Jon is as tense as before.

“I hope not,” Jon replies, and Martin can’t help himself hoping that Jon is right. Because Melanie turning out not to be Jon’s soulmate doesn’t automatically turn Martin into Jon’s soulmate. Martin doesn’t even know what’s written on Jon’s body, and even if he knew he’s not sure he could remember the first thing he ever said to Jon.

Georgie only smiles, used to Jon’s antiques and clearly mentally occupied.

“You’re making such a big deal out of it,” Tim says while turning his C.I. back on. The volume of his voice adjusting to an appropriate level when he’s finally able to hear himself again. “Out of anything, really. Why don’t you just enjoy the knowledge that somewhere out there is someone who enjoys talking to you, like, without any obligation.”

Out of Jon’s sight, Georgie starts a countdown (three – two – one!) with her fingers, and as if she had given Jon a sign, he goes on a tangent about determinism. Martin has never been as in love with Jon.

Oh.

Oh.  

 #9

MartiniKolada: sos

MyKeaymicalRomance: what did you do?

MartiniKolada: i had an oh. oh. moment MartiniKolada: you know where you think oh. and then it hits you like oh. but it’s italic and the italicity of the moment hits you right in the face??

MyKeaymicalRomance: i don’t think italicity is a real word

MartiniKolada: italicness then??

MyKeaymicalRomance: maybe italicisation?

MartiniKolada: does it really matter???

MyKeaymicalRomance: probably not lol

MartiniKolada: as i was saying MartiniKolada: i just had the mortifying realisation that i think i love jon?? like, not likelike but lovelove?? and idk what to do, like, what WILL i do next? burst into a song or into tears??

MyKeaymicalRomance: oh, well, i think it’s probably too early to tell him

MartiniKolada: “probably” he says

MyKeaymicalRomance: well, what do you want me to say?

MartiniKolada: idk???

MyKeaymicalRomance: do you want me to come over after my class?

MartiniKolada: yes pls ))):

MyKeaymicalromance: k

 #10

It’s October, and their semester break is over in two weeks. Martin’s already dreading having to go back to courses and classes because he’s not sure if the last few weeks of seeing Jon almost every day are over if they both have to pick up work again. (The good thing is that the others will come back from their visits home. Martin doesn’t know how it happened, but he’s grown close to Gerry and Jon’s squad and actually misses them.)

Now, however, he concentrates on the fact that Jon asked if he would like to stay overnight because Gerry’s away and he doesn’t want to be alone tonight. He said It’s eerily quiet and Martin didn’t need more to say Yes, I mean, yeah, no problem, I’d love to. Because: It’s not like Martin regrets agreeing to Jon’s request, it’s more that Martin’s utterly overwhelmed with the thought that he is going to spend time sleeping in the same room as Jon. (Embarrassing, right?)

“You seem distracted,” Jon states and reaches for the mousepad to pause the film they’re watching. Or in Martin’s case: attempt to watch.

It’s not a new development that Jon and Martin sit on Jon’s bed, huddled close together, to watch a movie or play a two-player game Jon has found on his hard drive. But it being old news doesn’t prevent Martin from marvelling at the way Jon’s thin frame fits in neatly with the curve of Martin’s fat stomach and thigh. And the way Jon seems to melt into Martin over the course of one evening, almost liquified at the end, nestled into Martin in a manner that Martin couldn’t recreate if he tried to; absolutely unretractable when Martin tries to reconstruct how he could find himself in a situation like this.

“A bit,” Martin agrees, studying the cursor now resting on the nose of the protagonist. “It’s nothing.”

“If you don’t want to watch a film, we don’t have to,” Jon says and it’s only because they’ve been spending so much time together that Martin recognises the defensive tone of Jon’s voice as concern. (A few months back he would have definitively thought that he had done something wrong and that Jon is annoyed with him. And the knowledge that the anxiety coiling underneath his midriff is with great certainty unfounded and only fabricated by his own brain makes warmth spread through his whole chest.)

“No, it’s alright, really, it’s nothing,” Martin repeats placatingly, already reaching for the mousepad to unpause the film.

But Jon catches his wrist mid-air and says lowly: “I hate when you do that.”

“What?” Martin’s hand sinks until it hits his stomach, but Jon’s hand remains wrapped around Martin’s wrist as if he needed to keep Martin by his side; as if Martin could somehow muster up the volition to get up and go.

Jon’s gaze is entirely on the junction of their skin, probably focusing on the way Martin’s skin tone clashes with the salmon pink of one of the two bracelets Jon’s wearing tonight. (Or probably not because Jon doesn’t really care for things like that.)

“Well,” Jon says to Martin’s wrist, “when you say it’s nothing even though it’s clearly something.”

Self-consciously, Martin contemplates for a hot second telling Jon the truth. That he just likes being with him even though Jon doesn’t feel the same way as Martin. That he likes how they fit together like matching salt and pepper shakers. That he likes the firmness of Jon’s hand around his when Jon excitedly grabs Martin’s hand and forgets to let go again. That he likes Jon’s distracted (and to be honest distracting) soliloquies and overexcited monologues.

Being honest, however, isn’t worth the awkwardness that will most likely be the result of confessing his feelings, so Martin deflects: “That implies that you’re always telling me right away when something’s bothering you. But that’s not what you do, is it?”

Jon pulls a face. “No.” He sighs. “No, it’s not.”

Without thinking, Jon shifts the weight of Martin’s wrist in his as if he’s trying to feel for Martin’s pulse. For a moment, they’re both silent, dwelling on thoughts they’re not ready to share, yet. Or maybe only Martin’s not ready to share, yet, because Jon concedes softly: “You’re right. So, if I were to share a matter that has been on my mind lately, would it be more encouraging or pressuring for you to hear about it?”

Martin weighs both options, partially occupied with the way Jon’s still holding onto his pulse. Then he concludes: “Both, probably? I mean, it could be both.”

“Do you want me to tell you anyway?” Jon asks, lifting his gaze and focusing on Martin’s face. (Jon has this incredibly unsettling habit of looking at people at precisely those moments it’s the most disconcerting, gaze unwavering and the only thing betraying his own nervousness is the way he fiddles with the hem of his sleeves or the jittery tapping of his fingers against the fabric of his trousers.)

And since Martin can’t refuse Jon anything, he nods.

“You know, this is probably ridiculous and you’re going to make fun of me, endlessly,” Jon says, a barely visible crinkle appearing between his brows, “but Georgie said that she doesn’t understand why we haven’t kissed, yet. And it’s been on my mind ever since. Should we be kissing, Martin?”

Martin almost chokes on air. “What?” He must have misheard. Or misunderstood. Because it’s absolutely impossible that Jon said this particular string of words without any hesitation.

“Well,” Jon says, obviously growing uncomfortable, “I told her that she should stop being presumptuous, because if you would want to kiss me you would say as much. But Georgie said she wouldn’t be surprised if you were to think that I’m kiss averse as some asexual people are and that you were ‘too bashful’ to ask for clarification.” Jon breathes in and out, once, then twice. Martin’s trying hard not to mcfucking lose it. “We’ve been dating for quite some time now and I hope you’d feel comfortable enough to ask me things like that instead of assuming my stance. However, I do see now that I should put my own house in order first rather than waiting for you to say something.” The crinkle between his brows smooths out. “So, the quintessence is that I would like to kiss you, Martin, and that I would like to know if you were amenable to this idea.”

Owlishly blinking, Martin tries to make sense of all the admittedly beautiful but absolutely impossible words that Jon has said just now. He’s not sure which part he should be concentrating on and his thoughts crash into each other, tumbling onto his tongue, only to get buried underneath a new load of thoughts just a nanosecond later.

The thing that actually makes it past Martin’s stupor is: “We’ve been what?”

Jon furrows his brows again and replies slowly: “Dating.”

“And you didn’t think I needed to know that??” Martin’s voice cracks, eyes wide and cheeks reddened. The pressure of Jon’s fingers around his wrist loosens and Martin wants nothing more than to hold on dearly, but at the moment he can’t do anything but stare at Jon’s face that shifts slowly into a look of embarrassment.

“Well, I thought– I didn’t,” he groans lowly. “I thought you knew.”

“How should I have known?” Martin doesn’t really want to argue about this, but the words tumble out of his mouth, absolutely unstoppable. “Did you send me a formal enquiry? Ask me to be your boyfriend while we were doing incredibly romantic things like shopping groceries? I would have said yes, don’t get me wrong, this is not a ‘I don’t want to be dating you’ because I do very much want to date you.”

Martin’s breath goes hard, and he attempts to focus on the blush that bloomed on Jon’s cheeks sometime around the mention of Martin calling himself Jon’s boyfriend and that deepened further when Martin stressed that he wanted to be Jon’s boyfriend as well. But then Jon’s smiling. Not a barely visible lift of the corners of his lips but a genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“I think,” Jon says, shifting the weight of Martin’s wrist again, so he can intertwine their fingers completely, “that everything we do together is inherently very romantic. Even grocery shopping.”

“Oh, my god,” Martin tries to hold back a giggle and fails, “you’re a sap! This is unbelievable. This should be illegal.” He wriggles his other hand out of the almost non-existing space between them and cups Jon’s hand in both of his. “You can’t just spring the fact on me that we’re dating, only to change your behaviour a hundred and eighty degrees and say things like, things like that!”

“I’m only adapting,” Jon replies, lifting Martin’s hands and pulling them in close. “I thought we were taking it slow because you never made a first move, and I didn’t want to be too much.”

“Then we’re in the same boat, huh,” Martin says while he’s watching Jon pressing small kisses on Martin’s knuckles. “So, what do we learn from this, Jon? Don’t talk to Georgie about those things, come talk to me.”

Jon snorts. “You’re one to talk. I can’t count the times Gerry told me to ‘go get my man he’s pining again.’ It was embarrassing.”

“Imagine how embarrassing that is for me?! I was literally gay on main while he thought we were already dating?!” Martin makes a suffering noise at the back of his throat, but Jon doesn’t stop pressing small kisses into his knuckles, so it’s not as bad as it could be. “We need to cut ties with Gerry but that shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“No, that’s feasible,” Jon replies. “Very sensible.” He puts down their intertwined hands. “A thing that would be very sensible, too, is telling me about the reason you were distracted earlier.”

“It seems ridiculous now,” Martin says, but Jon nudges him with his shoulder to prompt him to go on. “I just thought about how hard it is to sit next to you and not kiss you.”

Jon lifts himself up on his elbow and murmurs: “That is a lie, Martin K. Blackwood.”

“Only half of it,” Martin replies softly, before he closes the gap between them and kisses Jon with as much care as he can conjure.

(The light shove Martin gets when he asks “so, we’re boyfriends now, huh?” is definitely deserved.)

[doomedandstoned]

Chatting with Austin’s Shitbag

~Doomed & Stoned Interviews~

By Shawn Gibson

In his never ending quest to find the filthiest bands from around the world, Shawn Gibson brings us face-to-face, virtually speaking, with frontman Keith Young from Austin, Texas trio SHITBAG. The band dishes out a harsh blend of crust, grindcore, hardcore, and sludge, a sound you may already be acquanted with if you've heard their new EP Burden on Transylvanian Recordings. (Editor)

SHITBAG - BURDEN by SHITBAG

So why are you a Shitbag? What's the name all about?

I guess when I came up with the name, the thought was that Shitbag was a person I didn't want to be and I lived in fear of becoming. It's a catchy two syllable band name. (laughs)

Oh very catchy!

Half of it's just taking the piss right?

Oh yeah.

People think it's great or they think it's really fucking stupid.

I love the name Shitbag. It grabs your attention. It is so fitting for your style of music, the sludge-grind duo.

Definitely. The idea was to get a very dirty sound from the start. The name stuck with me. You can tell from some of our earlier releases to hone the sound but you can see that it's falling into place. I think we were zeroing in on the sound on the album we put out last year.

Which was 'Furnace,' right?

Correct.

Your latest release 'Burden' is out now.

Yes, that's now through Transylvanian Records.

Awesome, they are a good label! I have definitely heard of them and have some of their artists' music. So is 'Burden' your third release?

I guess it's our fourth, if you count the first EP. We don't really push that one out anymore.

Furnace by Shitbag

'Furnace' is a really good album! I think I bought all your digital albums on Bandcamp.

Oh, thank you.

I definitely fell in love with the sound! "Emasculator" is a great sludge song from the record Can you tell me a little about that one?

It is about castration. The riff was a fun thing I kind of threw out there. I told Eli our drummer this is in 4/4 and he said" it is absolutely not, I can try to play along to it anyways." As usual, he did. the different pieces kind of fell into place. The bass guitar always stuck out to me on that one. The speed of the song and the mix we got on those recordings allows the bass to shine through I think. Also, I think that might be one of my favorite vocal performances off of Furnace as well.

Who all is in the band and what roles do they have?

So I play guitar and vocals. Eli Deitz plays drums and Eric Prescott plays bass.

I would say 'Burden' sounds heavier than 'Furnace.' Can you tell me about your guitars and the set up you use for writing and recording?

Oh, sure!

What are you using to get that Shitbag sound?

So first off I think it's worth noting that we recorded Burden at a different location and we had more power at our fingertips. The guitars definitely did get beefed up. For the first two releases I had been playing a Randall RH 150 with a Randall 150 amp head. It gets this really nasty distortion right out of the box, you don't need a distortion pedal, which is pretty convenient. It wasn't reliable at high volumes. That was becoming a problem more and more playing alongside Eric, as he was playing an "O-R something" Orange head and also running that through an HM2 and some fuzz stuff in front of it, as well. He gets a very loud, snarling bass tone.

He's covering the low end, but there's an intersection where the guitars and bass compete when we are playing live. So I needed something that I could crank up just to keep up. The Randall wasn't cutting it. May of last year I purchased a Sunn Coliseum 880. That was great but I needed to beef up my cabinet setup. Before I had been playing out of a Laney 4x12 with two different Celestion speakers and an old Marshall 2x15. The Celestion speakers are just not cut out for running something like a Coliseum880. At 4 ohms I think it's already at 230 watts.

Oh, wow!

That is when I moved up to a Worshipper 4x12. It's an Intown establishment, and some good friends of mine run it. They got me a new cabinet in 8 to 12 weeks. Kinda crazy to think about from what I heard from Dillon at Worshipper they had good business during the pandemic.

That is great! I love to hear that everyone's keeping up the practicing at home.

Yeah, It definitely has a silver lining. I got a 4x 12 and I'm trying to remember what speakers are in it. My technical knowledge of that stuff is a little limited, I'll be honest. I went with Dillon's recommendation. I told him what I was using currently, this is what I want out of it. I already have a 2x15 cabinet so I don't need a whole shit ton of low end power coming out of the 4x12. He kind of went with something that had the right profile and could handle 320 watts. After that was the matter of finding a distortion pedal, because Sunn Coliseums don't really have a built in distortion the way a Randall does. For a while I was a really great distortion pedal that does all kinds of great stuff the Earthquaker device's grey channel.

It has six different clipping presets, clipping diodes, and you can do just about everything from straight up gain to kind of a fuzzy effect to full-on Moss clipping diode, which does the whole balls to the wall heavy metal thing. Great diversity on that pedal but it wasn't quite hitting the right spots. I went to a Boss HM2 and was very reluctant to do so because I know everyone does those. I ran that with a Graph equalizer like I would any distortion pedal. I made it not sound like I'm playing in tuned riffs. That's my equipment set up and how it evolved from Furnace to Burden.

Awesome, thank you. Something that attracted me to Shitbag's music is the sludge is the jelly and the grind is the peanut butter that makes this great Shitbag sandwich. There are moments in your music that it is as thick as swamp mud, then the next it's firing out like bullets out of an AR-15!

Hell, yeah!

Cordycep by Shitbag

With that being said you have a song like "New Day" that's grind as fuck, clocking in at a minute long, just blasting through! Then you have songs like "Rogue Furnace" that's right up the sludge/doom alley clocking in at 15-minutes, 20-seconds. Shitbag has a really great balance between different styles in your music.

Well, thank you!

What bands influenced Shitbag's music?

Yeah, so I think the time I was getting into sludge and doom in my college days and I came across Primitive Man.

Oh, yeah!

I grew up listening to death metal and shit like that.

Me too!

The way they threw that together with just oppressive doom sound. It was something I had never heard before. I instantly heard that and said"this is the future." I don't want to shit on anything but Black Sabbath has been around 50 years and that sound has been around 50 years.

Newer and current bands are still using that sound, yeah.

Maybe I shouldn't disparage it, right? Even the stuff I'm drawing influence from is 30 years old now. Maybe I shouldn't say it that way. I think it's a matter of pervasiveness rather than how old something is. There are a lot of bands in the sludge/doom canon that are like, "Black Sabbath, hell yeah!"

You can find lots of music that was coming out of the death and grindcore scene in the '80s, '90s, and 2000s that had very slow, lurching oppressive moods. To me, it's not so much a matter of the notes that are being played or the rhythms, it's the atmosphere. So yes Primitive Man, God Flesh, they are a big one. I'm a big fan of Assuck, Dystopia, and Grief. Then a lot of older death metal shit, too. Napalm Death, Eric and Eli loved Entombed. Full Of Hell is tight as shit, too!

Yes they are! By chance have you heard of Clinging To The Trees Of A Forest Fire?

Oh yeah, yeah.

I thought you might, being they were before Primitive Man. Great shit, as well!

Every band of theirs that the members of Primitive Man have been in that I have checked out, I have been very much into.

Vermin Womb, Many Blessings...

John put out an album with a death metal band called Black Curse last year that I thought was fucking phenominal!

I'll have to check that out! I like just about everything across the board, personally.

You are mentioning that we're striking this blend, we are not even playing the same genre through the whole EP. It's kind of like there's moments where it's one thing then there's moments where it's another. I think the more important thing is that it sounds like a cohesive thing. I hope we manage to do that.

You do! Shitbag has it's own sound that is unique to you guys!

Well, thank you!

I stumbled upon Shitbag's music on Bandcamp on Fathers Day. I saw the song title "Fathers and Sons" off of Burden and thought, "That's no coincidence -- I need to check this band out!" I was wondering if you can tell me a little about that track?

The song is about grappling with father and son relationships that are, I don't want to say estranged but you know trying at times. That was something that was a really big deal for me over the past year and a half, cause my mother passed away at the end of 2019.

I am sorry to hear that!

Thank you. When you have a death in the family like that, there is a lot of time for reflection that comes about. That's where the concept came about. I would not say that it's entirely autobiographical, there is definitely some exaggeration in there. We had the music for the song written and we couldn't figure what to write the lyrics about. I was just spitballing ideas and concepts to Eli. That was the one he said, "Yeah, I'm not really a fan of this draught but this is the concept to go with. Keep going with this."

Historically, I think I have been a weak lyricist. I would not call myself good by any means. We definitely made that part of the writing more collaborative process. Like the music has always been with us. We ironed out the words with each other so it felt a lot better. We came out with something more polished.

I understand completely.

A little graciousness opens yourself up. I think it's true with lyrics, as well. You probably don't have people say that to you very often, I imagine. I think it's especially true with lyrics when you're trying to make something that's personal and vulnerable. Having someone say, "Hey I would word that differently!" YOU MOTHERFUCKER!

Exactly. (laughs)

Take a step back from the initial knee-jerk response and just let it sit. You can really go places with that. I think lyrics are different just because people are not accustomed to making themselves vulnerable in that way.

What bands from Austin and surrounding areas that are heavy and you love to see them play or play with?

Let's see... Zyclops, really fucking great! There's bands like Glassing, Inhalants, Portrayal Of Guilt.

Yep, familiar with them.

There's a band called Godshell, they are new. I saw them play at a house show in North Austin in a living room full of people younger than myself. A crowd that was young enough to make me feel old. They played an outstanding fucking show! Those guys are rad live! There's also Metal Abortion, who is a pretty fun noise core band that Shitbag has played with a couple times. They put on a hell of a show and they have some crazy fucking records, too!

We have had the pleasure of playing many great shows with Desist on account of Shitbag and Desist being the two "Austin sludge" bands. Lucas is an outstanding vocalist and an even better human being. I don't know if Desist has been active through the pandemic but word is they have shit in the works. Another band forming a major constellation in the Austin shit-verse is the crusty blackened thrash outfit Vacha. Every show we've played with them was a fucking barn buner. I have nothing but love for all those dudes! Special shout out to Carlos for his God-like endurance behind the kit.

What makes Shitbag laugh? What's funny to you guys?

Oh, man. Eli and I have decided that a good way to get around when I bring a riff and don't know the time signature, is that we count everything in one. There 's no more time signature.That's a fairly recent joke. There are times at practice instead of playing a Shitbag riff with the distortion and everything balls out, I will go to the clean channel and push on the wah pedal and play with a funky staccato thing.

Hell yeah!

I think everyone else finds it annoying.

I have always enjoyed when the one guy in the band during practice either gets funky or jazzy, one of the two.

There is also something that Eli does that is fucking histarical. He never warns me he's going to do it. We will be in the middle of a song in the intense parts of the song he slips in the ba-dum tiss like a joke was told. When he nails it it's really a special thing.

Well, Keith that is all I have for you. Thank you again for your time!

Thank you very much, Shawn! The cassettes are available through Transylvania Recordings and Bandcamp. They are up for pre-order. I am not sure when those pre-orders will be in. There are some delays.

Several bands and labels having a tough time with vinyl getting pressed and shipping, too.

If you order the cassette you will get it eventually. I hope there is new music to announce in the near future.

We hope so, too!

Follow The Band

Get Their Music