#like i sat down to learn a song by ear. researched some chords i could use

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[raywritesthings]

Music and Memories

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters (with speaking parts): Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Cisco Ramon, Thea Queen, Barry Allen Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary:  At a joint team holiday party, Laurel coaxes some of the old Oliver she still knows and loves out for their friends to see. Songs used: 1967's "Someday at Christmas" (written by Ron Miller and Bryan Wells for Stevie Wonder) and 1977's "Keep Christmas With You (All Through the Year)" (music and lyrics by Sam Pottle and David Axelrod for Bob McGrath).

No one would call her a natural host. For one thing, Laurel usually kept herself too busy to host anything. But it had been a while since Oliver had been able to have a full Christmas party without something going wrong, and Laurel wanted it to be perfect for him this year.

She’d gotten the invitations out and received the various RSVPs back from their wide-spread group of friends. The Waverider had been the only non-response, and Laurel anticipated her sister’s crew arriving with presents and eggnog in tow sometime before March. But it was to be a full house at the mayoral residence tonight, a place Laurel was becoming more familiar with now that she spent a few nights a week here. Nevertheless, she ended up recruiting Thea’s keen eye for decorating.

“You know Ollie’s gonna like whatever you do, right?” Thea asked her as they wrapped tinsel around the banisters.

“I know, but I don’t want him to just like it. Something’s always seemed to go wrong around the holiday for him the last few years, and I want him to have the chance to kick back and enjoy himself. Open up a bit more with some friends.”

It had been strange when Laurel had first realized Oliver had a reputation amongst their larger circle of vigilantes and heroes for being intimidating. Certainly he was no wallflower, and there were few criminals who didn’t regret having met him, but it was Oliver. Even after he had returned from the island reserved and somber, she had never even entertained the thought of being nervous or afraid around him the way some from Central and even a few of the newer vigilantes who had become active in their own city were. They just didn’t know him the way she did, and Laurel hoped this party could go a ways to changing that.

Oliver came back with a tree before dark, and she was happy to see his face light up at the sight of the decorations. “This looks great, you two. Did you come across a box for ornaments?”

“Got you covered,” Thea said.

By the time they finished decorating the tree the sun had set and the catering had arrived. For how busy they were and the size of their group, Oliver had acknowledged that cooking just wasn’t going to be possible. Laurel was just glad he wouldn’t be stuck in the kitchen for half the party.

“We better get changed,” Thea said. “They should start coming any minute now.”

Laurel nodded and followed the siblings upstairs. Oliver lent her the en suite to change in since he was just trading his shirt and tie for a deep red sweater. Laurel emerged from the bathroom in the dark green velvet dress she had bought for the occasion. “Well, we’ve got the festive colors down,” she remarked.

“That we do.” Oliver took a couple steps to meet her, one hand smoothing up her back while she placed her own hand to his chest. This kind of closeness between them creates a kind of giddiness in her, still; it hadn’t been all that long ago that she thought they’d never be this way again.

The doorbell ringing interrupted the moment, and they had to make it back downstairs quickly to meet the first of their guests, Mari with a covered dish under her arm. Laurel gave her friend a side hug and directed her to the table to set it down with everything else.

For the food, they had set up a buffet of sorts with little standing tables here and there, their gathering too large to fit at a table, even if the one in the dining room nearly rivaled the old one that had been back at the Queen Manor.

More and more people filtered in; John and Lyla, minus the twins; her father; then the Flash team from Central City, which upped the noise level in the house dramatically.

Hugs were exchanged, conversations springing up in pockets here and there as people got food and found places to stand or sit and eat. Everyone was having a good time catching up with each other and about the various goings-on in their respective cities.

One thing Laurel noted with warmth in her chest was the lack of alcohol. They’d told their friends it was BYOB, but the fact that all of them had decided simply to go without for tonight was a quiet, yet deeply moving gesture to her, though she managed not to get too teary about it.

She did her best to play the part of hostess, flitting between groups here and there and checking in with each of her friends. Her dad was doing well talking shop with Detective Joe West, so she didn’t feel too badly about only stopping by him for a moment or so. She was glad the other cop had decided to come, even if he supposedly wasn’t too fond of Star City or its residents.

Laurel spotted Oliver once talking to Barry then again later standing alone by a table. She was in the middle of a conversation with Caitlin and Iris at the time, and once it had wrapped up he had moved somewhere else. She hoped it was to speak with one of their other friends.

She registered music coming from the sitting room. Apparently someone had found the piano that sat there, totally unused. It actually didn’t sound that badly out of tune. Laurel was only mildly surprised to find Cisco at the keys when she wandered into the room. Her friend had a lot of talents.

“Laurel, come over here!” Cisco’s summons accompanied by a charming grin was infectious, and Laurel made her way to the piano. “What are we singing? Good King Wenceslas?”

She shook her head with a laugh and he banged out a couple heavy-handed chords. “Maybe something a little more modern.”

“Mm-hm. Let’s do some Stevie.”

“Okay,” Laurel agreed. She knew the song; it had always been one of her favorites. And since the emergence of her powers had gifted her a good ear and a strong voice, she’d gotten more and more comfortable with using it for an audience.

Cisco started to play and took the first verse. “Someday at Christmas men won't be boys, playing with bombs like kids play with toys. One warm December our hearts will see a world where men are free.”

He nodded for her to take the next one. She placed a hand on the closed lid of the piano and drew a breath.

“Someday at Christmas there'll be no wars. When we have learned what Christmas is for. When we have found what life's really worth, there’ll be peace on earth.”

Cisco joined back in.

“Someday all our dreams will come to be. Someday in a world where men are free. Maybe not in time for you and me, but someday at Christmastime.”

She tossed her head shift her hair over her shoulder and happened to catch Oliver’s eyes across the room. Others were standing around, swaying to the music and smiling, but the sheer tenderness in his gaze as he watched her stole her breath for a second. Laurel almost missed coming back in.

“Whoa, someday at Christmas there'll be no tears. When all men are equal and no man has fears. One shining moment one prayer away from our world today.”

She couldn’t seem to look away from Oliver now. Maybe, in a way, she wanted to be sure he heard this. How many times had he struggled to keep going or felt like he was losing his way? He judged himself so harshly for not being able to save everyone or stop every disaster. What they did for their city, it wasn’t easy and it wasn’t for the short-term. They were fighting now in the hopes that they were making a better future for those who came next, and that didn’t have to mean it was hopeless even if they never saw it themselves.

“Someday all our dreams will come to be. Someday in a world where men are free. Maybe not in time for you and me, but someday at Christmastime. Someday at Christmastime.”

There was a good deal of clapping from their friends, almost all of whom had found their way to the sitting room at this point to listen. They stood or sat in clumps around the room, all except Ollie who was back against the wall on his own. Laurel thought for a moment, then came up with an idea, turning to Cisco.

“Can you look up a song really quick for me and wing it?” Laurel leaned in and whispered her plan quickly, causing Cisco’s eyes to light up as he nodded and grabbed the tablet for some research.

Laurel stood straight and crossed the room towards where Oliver stood. “That was beautiful,” he told her, and she ducked her head with a pleased smile.

“Hold the praise. I’m about to do something you might not like.”

“Oh?”

Laurel held out her hand, and she was gratified that he took it even if he was raising an eyebrow at her while doing so. She led him back over towards the piano.

“Okay, everyone,” she called out, waiting for the general chatter of voices to die down a little. “Thank you all so much for coming out and for making this truly a happy holiday for all of us.”

“We really appreciate it,” Oliver added, which she’d been hoping for.

“Christmas is Ollie’s favorite holiday, and I actually know what his favorite Christmas song was from back when we were growing up…”

Oliver turned his head sharply towards her, but Laurel wasn’t done.

“And I’m hoping that he will agree to sing it with me for you all tonight.”

A great whoop of excitement went around the room, accompanied by scattered laughs and giggles. Barry in particular looked like his Christmas had just arrived a few days early.

“Do it, Ollie!” Thea called from her perch on the arm of the couch. It seemed to kick off a scattered chant of “Do it, do it!” around the room.

Oliver looked down at her, attempting to appear stern. “Really?”

“Come on. It’s Christmas,” she reminded him.

He hung his head for a moment, then held out a hand to quiet the chanting that had only grown louder and more unified. “Cisco, do your worst.”

“You got it,” their friend replied with an ear to ear beam. 

“I’ll start it off for you,” Laurel promised softly as the opening chords were played. “When Christmas time is over and presents put away, don't be sad. There'll be so much to treasure about this Christmas day and the fun we've had.”

She nodded at him encouragingly, and with a sigh, he joined in, a little rough but mostly on pitch. “So many happy feelings to celebrate with you, and, oh, the good times hurry by so fast. But even when it's over there's something you can do to make Christmas last.”

“I love this so much,” Cisco remarked as he swiped to the next page for the chorus.

“Ollie, is this Sesame Street?” Barry asked, looking up from his phone which he’d clearly been using for a quick search.

Oliver nearly pulled away, but Laurel slipped her arm around his waist. “Keep Christmas with you all through the year. When Christmas is over, you can keep it near. Think of this Christmas day when Christmas is far away.”

To her relief and delight, Thea stood up and pressed herself to Oliver’s other side, joining in with her own voice. Apparently she could still remember this, too.

“Keep Christmas with you all through the year. When Christmas is over save some Christmas cheer. These precious moments—” with his sister’s support, Oliver had joined back in, and she felt him wind his own arm around her waist, drawing her into his side. “—hold them very dear. And keep Christmas with you all through the year.”

Cisco had started singing along as he played as well, and over by the tree she saw her dad grinning fondly at their group while Joe West looked on them with total bemusement, stunned, she supposed, at seeing the Green Arrow this way.

“Christmas means the spirit of giving

Peace and joy to you. The goodness of loving, the gladness of living; these are Christmas, too.”

Barry had his phone out still and was sharing it with Caitlin and Iris to read the words off the screen while Mari came up to the piano to read over Cisco’s shoulder. John and Lyla seemed to know the words on their own, and the whole room was ringing with their combined voices by the end.

“So, keep Christmas with you all through the year. When Christmas is over save some Christmas cheer. These precious moments, hold them very dear. And keep Christmas with you all through the year.”

Cisco ended his playing with a great flourish, and cheers and clapping went up around the room, “Merry Christmas!” shouted here and there.

“That didn’t hurt much, did it?” Laurel asked quietly.

“No,” Oliver said, and she felt his lips press against her temple. “Not at all. Thank you.”

There friends were all lining up to share their favorite carol or song with Cisco to look up, and though their voices would no doubt be hoarse by tomorrow, Laurel knew it was worth it seeing Oliver, alight with happiness in the center of the room the way she knew he still could be.

[innittowinit]

Abandoned amusement parks are the best place for young children (chapt. 2)

relationships: sbi + dt (all platonic they are kids)

Fic summary: 

Techno, Tommy, Wilbur and Phil have been hanging out at the abandoned amusement park in the woods since they moved in. Techno likes knowing he's definitely alone with his brothers Tommy likes climbing on the old rides Wilbur likes having a place to play his music Phil likes spending time with his younger brothers

That is, until a group of brothers calling themselves the 'dream team' move in down the road. Will the sleepy boys give in and share the park or will they succeed in scaring the new kids off?

Chapter summary: 

Without Tommy and Phil around, Techno and Wil hang out in the park alone until they see some unwelcome visitors.

or

Wilbur tries to be nice and intimidating at the same time

Chapter word count: 2291

Ao3

L’manburg had never become a national theme park but it was big; if you asked anyone from any other town they would have never heard of it, but here it was like an urban legend, an eerie reminder of how things can go from bustling to dead in the blink of an eye. 

But even in a battlefield, poppy’s still bloom and even in a place like this, memories were still made. 

As Wilbur strummed out random chords, trying to figure out the perfect sequence for the song he was working on, Techno sat next to him, cross-legged. With his long, pink hair draped over one shoulder in a loose braid, The teen scrawled into a notebook some English homework. Overall, the two were at peace, this was their routine and even with Tommy off playing at Tubbo’s house and Phil at work, they still enjoyed the time they could spend together. 

Eventually, Wil had started singing Techno’s essay as if it were the lyrics to the song he had been working on, earning himself a snigger and a playful shove from his twin. 

“Don’t you have any homework, music boy?” 

Pulling his braid up, twisting it into a bun and tying it off with a hair band, Techno glanced over at his brother. In all honesty, his hair really annoyed him, he was naturally very anxious and he didn’t like bringing attention to himself so long, pink hair didn’t seem like a very good choice. 

If he had any control over it, he’d be identical to Wilbur and he’d look so normal that everyone would leave him alone; the pink hair was always an anomaly, not even doctors could figure it out, the rapid speed at which it grew was strange too but he had learnt to live with it. 

Wil had a friend called Niki, she helped him with his hair when he was getting overwhelmed with it. 

“I do but then you wouldn’t get to hear me sing would you?” 

Wil laughed, leaning back against the old pool wall as he reached for his school bag, only to notice that Techno already had a hold of it and was looking through his planner to see what homework he needed to catch up on. 

They really thought alike didn’t they? 

Wilbur smiled to himself as he looked up to Techno, waiting for him to lecture him on everything he needed to do. 

“You’ve got a math’s paper due tomorrow, Phil’s better at that stuff than I am so if you need help you’ll have better luck with him than me”

Techno copied Wil, laying down next to him even though the pool hadn’t been cleaned in years. No doubt their uniform would need washing. 

“You’re both better than I am, Tech’ I really think at some point you should start going to your own classes” he sucked in a breath, lips pierced together “You’re smarter than I am and I don’t want to hold you back just because we want to stay together. I know you do all the work for your lessons and I think it’s really cool that you’re able to keep on top of things like that but eventually you should probably try to go to a class alone.”

Techno scowled and Wilbur knew he needed to elaborate if he didn’t want to hurt his brother. 

“Tech’ you’re really cool and funny but you’re also so smart and I know you’ll get great grades in your exams if you keep at it but sometimes it seems like you’d be happier with your own group of friends. I’d miss you so much if we stopped staying together but I think it would be good for both of us if we learnt how to talk to people aside from each other”

“I can’t Wil. I know what you mean, we can’t stay in this bubble forever, but I dont think i’m ready yet”

“Yeah I know… and that’s fine, we don’t need to rush it, I’ll stay with you as long as you’ll put up with me” 

And the tension melted away as the two laughed, it was almost ironic how they were so good at communicating their feelings with each other and so bad with it to anyone else (aside from their brother’s of course.) Wil had Techno’s hand clutched in his own again, he really loved his brothers and loved giving them hugs and cuddles, he understood that Techno didn’t like that kind of affection though so he stuck to just holding his hand whenever he felt big emotions.

The peaceful nature of their afternoon hadn’t lasted long though, a loud crash was heard somewhere nearby. Undoubtedly it would be the Dream Team, Wil didn’t understand why they couldn’t just leave, if he had accidentally intruded on someone else's spot, he would have left! 

“Do you wanna go find them?” Wil stood up, still holding onto Techno’s hand. It was comforting but it was also just nice to know he was there and present.

The pink haired boy nodded, pulling his bun back down into the long braid again since, even though it was less practical, it looked a lot better.  

The old pool was hard to climb out of, it always had been, but for Techno and Wilbur it was the best place in the whole park. If Tommy was being too hyper or Wil wanted some more privacy to play a song that might have been more personal, they always came down to the old log floom and sat in the pool.  

It was deep though, it had been made with the intention of the boats riding over the water, they had never made any steps to get out since people weren't supposed to be inside of it but that wasn’t to say it was impossible to get out, you just needed to know how.  

Sliding his guitar onto his back and holding his backpack against his chest, Wil made his way to the old vines that seeped into the pool, they had never checked to make sure these vines were safe to touch but they had never gotten a rash from them so they supposed it was fine. 

After making sure Techno was right by him, the brunette used the vine to ‘abseil’ himself up the side of the pool, being only 13 they were both still pretty light but it was clear that in a few more years they wouldn’t be able to do that any more. 

Techno climbed up after him and that was that, he had his mouth clamped shut as he always had done when he didn’t know if he was alone or not, Wil didn’t mind though, he had grown up with his brother like this so he knew his mannerisms well enough to read his body language fairly accurately. 

“I’m pretty sure the noise came from this way, honestly they’re probably digging around looking for things to steal. I don’t trust them at all” Grumbling, Wil shoved one hand in his pocket and took hold of Techno’s with the other. 

Glancing towards his brother, he saw the same kind of expression as his own, he could tell that Techno was just as upset as he was about someone messing with their space. 

“I don’t like them” He spoke rather matter-of-factly, he had grown a habit of rambling since he liked to fill the silence when Techno couldn’t talk. 

“They’re so rude. They don’t understand anything. I still can't believe what they said about you and Tommy! If you ask me, they deserved that rock! If Phil wasn’t there I would’ve thrown a second one..and a third one, then they could all have matching scars! And that Dream kid always has a mask on, how are we to know he’s not some criminal! Stranger danger dude! If we haven’t seen his face we shouldn’t play with him”

Wil rambled on as they walked, unaware of how hypocritical he was being by criticizing them for being rude about Techno’s issues and then immediately talking about Dream’s. That was just a part of childhood though, you had to be a bit of an asshole sometimes to learn how to be a good person.  

After getting a sharp elbow to the rib from his twin, he realised that he hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings at all because right in front of them were two of the three boys they had been expecting, sitting in the centre of a heap of old Theme park maps. They had never done any research about L’manburg but Wil guessed it was probably open during the 80’s due to the overall theme of it. 

“What are you doing here?” 

He tried to seem threatening, he hoped he had at least a little bit of a bad boy reputation after throwing that rock. He was still riding out the adrenaline high from that. 

That’s what he thought at least, until George turned around. From his ear to his mid cheek, there was a big, puffy, red scar and Wil couldn’t help but feel guilty. That looked like it had definitely needed stitches.

He never wanted to hurt anyone he just wanted to scare them and maybe graze them up a bit. 

“Listen.” Wil sighed, telling himself he was only doing this because Phil had told him to and definitely not because he felt like a horrible person right now. Who knows how long that scar would take to heal? Maybe he’d have it all his life. The thought of someone being scarred for life because of him made him feel a little sick. 

“I hate you guys. You and your stupid brother with his stupid mask. You’re all stupid and you dont understand anything. But I shouldn’t have hurt you” A bump to the shoulder and a squeeze to his hand was all the encouragement he needed to keep going, to know he was making the correct choice. 

“I feel really bad, that scar looks like it hurts, that being said though why are you here?”

The youngest brother glared at him, Wilbur glared back. He remembered Phil saying his name was Sapnap. That was a stupid name, he thought, but then again he had a brother called Techno so he was being hypocritical yet again. 

“We were gonna look around because we thought you weren’t here but we got lost” George had mumbled from where he sat. Now the maps made sense, they were trying to find their way out. They were far too water damaged to be used though, the ink was smudged beyond comprehension, he remembered looking through them himself, with Techno and Phil when they had first found this place. Considering the amount of water damage all over this park, Wil wouldn’t be surprised if it had closed due to a hurricane or something. 

“We were looking around but Dream called saying dinner was gonna be ready soon and that we had to come home but we don't know the way”

“We can show you the way” Wilbur wore a smug smile across his face, he didn’t even need to look at Techno to know he was thinking the same thing. 

“You need to swear never to come back though, you two or your stupid brother”

He could see Sapnap get angry over his brother being called stupid but he seemed to know when to pick his battles, considering he was currently the youngest in the group. 

“Fine.” George stood up, slinging a backpack over his shoulders 

“Why are you so protective of this place anyway? It’s not like it can get any worse, none of the rides even work anymore”

For a split second Wilbur considered telling the truth, opening up to them. Aside from Phil, he was for sure the most honest brother, he wore his emotions on his sleeve and it was usually Techno that convinced him to pull back if he knew his brother was about to hurt himself. 

After a quick glance to Techno, to make sure it was okay, he started talking. 

“I don’t have anywhere else to play my music, Tommy doesn’t have anywhere else he can run around, Phil just likes hanging out honestly, but there’s nowhere else Techno feels comfortable speaking. I’m not letting you take that from him, from us. He deserves to have a place he feels safe and we deserve to be able to talk to our brother” He didn’t bother mentioning that he found communicating with Techno like this still fairly easy, he wanted it to sting when he told the two why they needed the park. He wanted them to feel just as guilty as he had when he saw the scar. 

“Can’t he just.. I dunno.. Talk?” Sapnap giggled, earning a smack to the back of the head from none other than Techno. 

“It’s kinda like anxiety” Tommy hadn’t understood at first either, he thought maybe they just hadn’t experienced it before.

“He’s fine talking with our brother’s and myself but it’s really really hard for him to do it with other people. He’s not weak though so don’t underestimate him because of it” He gave them both a glare, still trying to appear threatening 

“So promise you wont come back. We took you to the exit, now go home and don’t come back” 

The duo both gave half hearted promises, In fairness they weren’t even trying to be cruel. They were just young and wanted to explore a cool area with people they thought could potentially be their friends. Still not really understanding why they needed the place so badly, they muttered to themselves the whole walk home about how they could ‘reclaim’ L’manburg.

[kioraxerxo]

A/N: aww heeell yeas the perfect thing to distract me from finals week. I did a bit of research at how Imperial College works since this is set in 1969. Thanks anon!! Keep em’ coming guys! 

Warning: NSFW nyohoho don’t read this in school jesus this is dirty. 

London, 1969. 

You’ve always regarded yourself to be a capable person --that is before you moved in with Brian. To be honest when you met him, he didn’t seem that spectacular. He was a rather gangly physics student who minded his own business. You’ve noticed him before since he tended to linger by the Union Concert Hall. You decided to recruit him to the Entertainment Committee because the workload was getting a little too intense around midterms. 

He was a fairly good workmate, albeit a little nervous around you for a while. You found it adorable how he would try to assist you in all the little things in the Committee. He was like a puppy, or rather a poodle. Quite an innocent, gentle man. The type to settle down in a 9-5 job after finishing college.  That image changed that faithful night when disaster struck. It was one of the biggest events in the school year and your organization invited the hottest bands around London. Said hottest band’s guitarist was a little too drunk (passed out) to play. And so your little Committee huddled together for damage control. You were nearly at the end of your wits from arguing when Brian piped in.  “What you got to say, newbie?” the VP sighed, clearly as equally frustrated as you were. 

“I... I can play a little.” he stuttered. “They’re just covering some Beatle songs, I know how to play those.”

You knew this was a bad idea. But there was no other choice. “I’ll talk to the band.” you said. 

“What? You’re actually on board with this?” your deputy general said. “Have you actually heard Brian play?”  Your temper spiked. “Well can you play, Sharon? Or would you rather we come out there and tell them the event’s over?” You turned around and stomped towards the band. 

Turns out it was the best decision you’ve ever made. He rocked the entire house. It was on that night that your perception of Brian May, the quiet physics nerd, changed. 

And it continued to change more when you and him entered into a relationship. Time and time again you are completely floored at things he can do. After discovering that he’s a master at the guitar, you discovered he can play multiple other instruments too-- coupled with a wonderful voice. Then you discovered that he was a genius in class.  Then you discovered that he’s a good artist, a capable writer, and is on the college cricket team. He can cook well, repair appliances with ease, and even watercolour for heaven’s sake. 

He crafted his own guitar when he was only 16 years old!

It’s not that you were jealous of Brian-- no you were proud and thankful you had such a capable boyfriend to be at your side. 

The problem really, is how mediocre you felt you were around him. 

Said renaissance man was currently taking a shower. He’d been fiddling with his banjolele (yes a banjo and a ukelele--you didn’t even know those things existed and he can already play it well).  You’ve always wanted to play instruments. You weren’t gifted with a pleasing voice, so music would be the only recourse. You pushed away the blankets and hesitantly picked up the instrument quietly strumming some chords you remember back when you played the uke. You checked to see if your muscle memory still worked and you quietly plucked Moon River. You were starting to get the hang of it when Brian emerged from the shower wrapped up in a towel looking rather excited. 

“Are you playing? Is that Moon River? You never told me you could play!” he grinned from ear to ear. For some reason, he’s always been egging you to play instruments, but for some reason as well you didn’t want to play in front of him. You didn’t want him to see that your learning process took a lot longer than his. It was ridiculous and you were aware of how ridiculous you were. 

You immediately let go of the instrument. “I was just studying the craftsmanship. It’s good , it’s really good.” 

But he knew you said it too quickly, a clear indication of you lying. “Come now love, i want to hear you play!” he perched himself beside you, the scent of his shampoo overwhelming your senses.  “I told you, I don’t know how to!”  “But you were playing just now! Look, I can teach you!”  Something about that sentence struck a chord inside you.   “I don’t want you to teach me anything! I already know how good you are at it, no need to show off.” you spat out. He was taken aback a few moments. There was a look of confusion and hurt until it mellowed to understanding.  “This isn’t just about musical instruments, is it love?” He asked gently, crawling on the bed and moving beside you. You knew it was an invitation so after laying down your pride you snuggled up beside him.  “I’m... so embarrassed about this. Christ, Brian I don’t want you to know this side of me.” you buried your face in his chest. You felt the shame through your cheeks. He patiently waited for you to continue, rubbing your back in soothing circles.  “I...I feel so mediocre when I’m with you.” you mutter. 

“What?” he pulled you back to peer at your face. 

“You’re just... you’re so good at everything you do. You’re almost naturally good at everything. You barely take anytime to completely master something.”

“Love, that’s not true. Not one person is like that.” he shook his head.  “Remember the time I left you with that small puzzle box my brother gave me last Christmas? I’ve been trying solving that for well over a month. I went out to buy groceries and when I returned you’ve already fixed it!”  “It was just a simple puzz--”  He stopped when he realized that saying that would make you more upset. Brian just sat there hugging you, unsure of what to do really. Suddenly, he placed you upright on the bed and reached out for the banjolele. 

“You know, this was the first instrument I knew how to play. My dad would play this tune over and over again. Said it was what got him through the war.”  You smiled. You loved hearing stories about Brian’s family. It never failed to warm your heart.  He handed you the instrument. “Come on now, you’ll never learn by staring at it.” You slowly took the instrument. “Now how about you play me that sweet tune you were playing a while ago?” he smiled and pecked you on the lips.  

You took a deep breath. You felt your body tense. Brian felt it too. 

He situated himself between your legs and held your thigh the way he would hold a guitar.  “What are you doing.” 

“Teaching you chords.” he said casually. 

“Mhmm?” you smirked, knowing exactly where this was going. He shrugged you off. 

“Pay attention now student.” you rolled your eyes playfully. “This one’s a G” he pressed his fingers firmly into your flesh. You pretended to be unfazed and mimicked it. “Like this?”  “Good. This is an F.” he slid his fingers higher, pressing into the sensitive tendon. You shivered in pleasure but you wouldn’t let him have it that easily. You could see the smug look on his face and your resolve strengthened. 

“Hm. I see. How do you do an F7?″ “That one’s a bit more complicated. You press you fingers here.” he placed it on that bit of flesh between your thigh and your groin. “And here” he was edging closer and closer to that spot. “and here--”  “Just fuck me already Brian. Stop teasing.” you growled.  A wide grin spread on his face and he took the instrument from you and placed it on the bedside table before completely enveloping you in his arms. He kissed you deeply, conveying all the love he held for you. You buried you fingers through his hair and inhaled his intoxicating scent. You pushed the towel around his waist off, impatient for contact.  Brian chuckled. “Wait a moment, love. I haven’t even taught you strumming yet.” 

You were about to complain when you felt his fingers slowly entering you and your vision turned white from the flood of absolute pleasure.

“See, it really depends on the feel of the song how you strum.” he said in a rather clinical voice that oozed with confidence. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

“But the general rule is that you curl you fingers like this.” he grinned while doing so.  You yelped and grabbed his shoulders. It was ridiculous how much you were shaking. The pace of his fingers had you screaming in seconds. You clung unto him when you felt that familiar heat pooling at the base of your stomach. Soon enough you were seeing stars, he started slowing down before pulling his fingers back and popping it in his mouth.  Through sleepy eyes you watched him. You knew what Brian looked like when he was pleased with himself. He was definitely pleased with himself.  “I know one thing you’re not good at, Brian May.”  “Mhmm?” he muffled, fingers still in his mouth. “You don’t know how to play the trumpet.” “Well, when I was ten I think I--” “I’ll teach you.” you cut him off as you got up and pushed him back on the mattress and settled between his legs.  You were pretty good at some things too.

A/N: WOW. This turned out to be longer than I expected. Jesus christ this is dirty. I hope you guys like it! Feel free to message you about requests! 

[gumnut-logic]

Love

Title: Love Part 6 of 6, directly after Learn Author: Gumnut 14-16 Aug 2018 Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/Thunderbirds: TOS Rating: Teen Summary: For the world is unkind and it needs your touch. Word count: 5076 Spoilers & warnings: None Author’s note: I have no idea whether this worked or not. I claim no knowledge of any of the subjects so I apologise if my mad Librarian skillz haven’t been up to task. No beta, because I’m too lazy. I really hope you enjoy it in any case. Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

The piano stool was a little high for him, but not high enough to daunt his determination. If Mom could sit up there, so could he. He shoved his chest onto the soft cover, pushing himself up, feet dangling below as he twisted his hips, attempting to get a leg up. An extra swing and his knee caught the edge and he pulled himself up.

Pushing himself upright, he finally found himself sitting at the piano. His feet dangled way off the ground.

But he could reach those wonderful keys.

Reaching out, he touched one slice of ivory just gently. A single note thrummed softly. Another. A higher note.

Balancing on his butt, he brought both hands into play, just like Mom did. Several keys at once. One, two, three. Up in scale. Three, two, one. Down in scale. Two, one, three. Three, one, two. He giggled. He could make music.

Five, two, three, one, four. One, five, six, four, two, three. More giggles.

“That is beautiful, honey.”

He startled, looking up to see his Mom smiling down at him.

“Mommy, play?”

She smiled at him. “Perhaps a little. Scoot over, sweetie.”

He shuffled to one side on the stool and his Mom sat beside him, her fingers automatically dropping to the keys and dancing out a little tune.

“Do you like the piano, Virgil?”

He nodded. “Sounds nice.”

“Would you like to learn how to play it?”

“Can I?”

“You can do anything you want to, honey.”

“Can you teach me?”

Another smile. “I can help you, but only you can learn what you want to learn.”

“Yes, Mom.” Hopeful. “Can I try?”

She lifted him onto her lap and holding out both his little hands, she splayed his fingers. “Your fingers will make the music. You need to practise until they make music without you thinking about it. Do you think you can do that?”

“I can try, Mom.”

She kissed his hair. “Good boy.” She touched a key in the centre of the keyboard. “This is called Middle C. It all begins here.”

-o-o-o-

Scott stared at his brother’s chest, watching it rise and fall with each breath. The soft sound of inhalation and exhalation was keeping him sane.

Hypovolemic shock, cardiac arrest, gastrointestinal tract perforation, associated peritonitis and threatened sepsis.

Concussion.

Virgil no longer had an appendix.

And his large intestine was full of stitched up holes.

But he was breathing.

In.

Out.

All by himself.

Scott stared.

Breathe.

-o-o-o-

He watched his mother’s hands. “You can play the chords with your left hand and the melody with your right.” To demonstrate she played a simple tune backed by several chords. Her left hand paused and the her right slipped into a more complicated melody. “Or not.” She looked at him. “Would you like to try.”

“Sure.” His fingers weren’t quite long enough for some of the stretches, but he had a few dependable ones up his sleeve.

He sat next to her on the stool and she leant back giving him room.

Left hand C Major followed by F Major, then G Major, repeat. Right hand, simple tune dancing up and down the scale.

“Lovely, Virgil. Where did you find that one?”

He shrugged. “Made it up.”

Her expression was unreadable for a moment before she suddenly stood up and walked across the room to a cabinet. She rummaged in there for a moment before returning to him with a simple tablet. “Here, honey. If you are going to create music, you should write it down so you can play it again.”

She opened a program on the tablet. “Touch here to write the notes, and here to record the music as you play.”

His eyes widened. “Thanks, Mom.”

She smiled at him. “Do you remember that song I used to sing to you?”

“Which one?”

She sat forward, her back automatically straightening, her fingers hovering over the keys, before gently touching out the music.

And she sang.

Listen, my son. Listen and learn Be what you can And make what you will be Love with your all Share with your heart And know I am there for you And will always be

If you can hear Answer If you have voice Sing For the world is unkind And it needs your touch.

A run of notes and it ended. It was familiar, but he wasn’t sure from where.

She reached over and touched the tablet. A list of compositions appeared. She chose one. It was titled ‘Virgil’. “I wrote that shortly after you were born.” She smiled a little self-consciously. “Think of it as some of my thoughts for the future of my new baby boy.” Her eyes sparkled.

Virgil stared down at the notes. Wow.

He gently placed the tablet up on the music rack, and straightening his back, began to play.

The first time around he focussed on the playing of the music. On the second he sung the words.

There was silence for a moment after he finished. He looked up at his Mom to find her staring at him, her eyes wide.

“Do you like singing, Virgil?”

He shrugged again. “It’s okay.”

The following week found him at an audition for the local choir.

He was successful.

-o-o-o-

Time in hospital is a weird thing. Sometimes it stretches out and seems to last forever, other times it moves so fast, you could blink and lose everything.

One step forward, two steps backward.

That morning Virgil was improving. That afternoon, he was back in intensive care, his fever skyrocketing.

Scott was reduced to sitting beside the bed, simply holding his brother’s hand.

And begging.

-o-o-o-

His mother straightened his collar, the lipstick on her lips shining in the overhead lighting. “You’ll do wonderfully, Virgil.”

He nodded, too nervous to say anything.

“Trust me, honey, I know. You were made for this.”

He smiled just a little at her before suddenly grabbing her in a desperate hug. “Thanks, Mom.”

Her arms wrapped around him and she kissed his hair. “Now, don’t mess yourself up. It is nearly time.” She ran a finger down his cheek. “Your brothers and I will be in the audience. We are there for you. Remember that.”

“I will, Mom.” Her fingers brushed his chin before she turned and left, forcing him to face the fact that within minutes, he would be out on stage, in the spotlights singing his heart out.

“Come now, Virgil, we can’t have our lead wandering off.” The choir master was an excellent singer and conductor, but a little odd in everything else. Including the peacock hat she was wearing tonight.

The feather bounced off beat.

The lights were bright, the music loud, but the atmosphere was vibrant. And he was singing.

First with the entire choir, then separate alone, a single pure voice above the music. He felt alive. This was what he wanted to do. This was everything.

He had wings.

-o-o-o-

The doctors couldn’t give him any definitive answers.

Virgil’s body had taken such a beating, between the injury and the infections, they couldn’t guarantee his brother had it in him to survive.

Scott’s spirit steeled at that. Virgil was one of the strongest people he knew. He was fit, he was healthy, he was as stubborn as the Thunderbird he flew.

And he had four brothers who dearly wanted to see him fly her again.

International Rescue shut down its services for an indefinite amount of time. The world complained, but Scott didn’t have the ears for it.

He spent his days beside his fallen brother, attempting to give him what he could in his fight.

But no matter what he did, Virgil lay there waxen and drawn, not waking, not reacting.

To anything.

Now there was talk of maybe he would never wake up.

Gordon ended up yelling at the doctor and had to be restrained, Scott pulling him back into his arms, desperately trying to give what little comfort he could.

Alan looked like a ghost, there but not.

John disappeared into research desperately looking for something that might help.

And Scott…Scott wept when no one was looking. Dropped his forehead onto his brother’s and pleaded with him to come back. Please, Virgil.  Please.

Days turned into weeks.

-o-o-o-

The tablet in his hand trembled.

The email had arrived. “Mom, it’s here.” Even his voice shook.

His mother who had been attending to Alan in the nursery, hurried down the hall. “Really?”

“I think so, Mom” He bit his lip, nervous as he could be. “Should I open it?”

“Of course, you should, honey.” She wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “We’ll celebrate if they said yes, or we’ll celebrate if they said no.”

He touched the subject line and his breath hitched.

‘Dear Mr Tracy,

We are happy to inform you that your application for the Austrian Boys Performing Choir has been accepted. You are one of five successful applicants of over three thousand, and should be congratulated.

Please report to our choral hall in Vienna…’

Oh my god. “Mom! I got in!”

And then there was hugging, and cheering, and yelling for John and Scott. His father was contacted. There were celebrations all round.

Plans were made for the following month. The whole family would go to take advantage of the travel opportunity. Much discussion was had about what they could do in Austria. There were museums, piles of history to wade through, hiking and definitely some skiing. The Austrian Alps were a must see.

But Virgil’s head was in the clouds. This was it. A world class choir. This was his opportunity and he was going to take it.

-o-o-o-

“C’mon, man, you have to eat something.”

“Gordon, I said, I’m not hungry. Please just leave it.”

The aquanaut sat down beside his eldest brother and joined his stare at the wan figure on the bed. There was less of Virgil there every day. “Scott, if you don’t eat, you’ll end up in the bed beside him. I can’t afford to lose both of you.” His voice cracked.

Scott’s voice was smouldering flame. “We’re not losing anyone.”

“We will if you don’t eat!”

“Please, just leave it, Gordon.” The sound of pain.

“I can’t, Scott.”

His brother didn’t answer, his head just dropping into his hand, his elbow on the bed.

Gordon knew he was losing both of them. If Virgil didn’t wake up…  He could take it personally. Didn’t Scott have three more brothers to live for? But he understood it far too well.

His mother. His father. His brother.

How much more were they expected to lose before they lost everything?

Please, Virgil, just wake up.

It had been nearly three weeks now. His brother’s body was healing, the wounds sealed, the infections defeated, but he refused to stir. The doctors didn’t know why. The longer he was under the less likely it would be that he would ever wake.

Gordon let his hand drop onto his brother’s blanket covered leg, gripping his lax limb lightly as if to pass on some of his own energy through the bedclothes.

Out of all his brothers, Gordon understood his second eldest the least, but there was something about the man, his quiet smile, gentle demeanour and fierce loyalty that drew him in. Drew them all in. Virgil was their fulcrum. An ironic thought, him being an engineer, but true nonetheless. Scott led them, but Virgil…Virgil kept them together.

“He was singing. Just before we reached him. I guess he was trying to keep the kids entertained.” Scott was staring at Virgil, but his eyes were focussed elsewhere.

“Singing? Virgil doesn’t sing.”

Scott snorted.

“What? He doesn’t. Well, all except for that one night with the Hollies.” Now that had been an eyeopener. Not to mention completely mystifying. Whoever wrote He’s not heavy, he’s your brother obviously had never tried picking up Virgil. His brother was built like a tank.

Scott shifted in his chair, turning to look at Gordon. “Haven’t you ever wondered why, in a family full of stars, Virgil has never shone as brightly?”

Gordon frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Look at you, you are an Olympic Gold Medallist. Alan is a champion race car driver. John an astronaut – you don’t get much higher in achievement than astronaut, so that adds even more shine to Alan. Me, I’m top of the line Air Force. Dad, another astronaut and one of the most successful businessmen on the planet.” He paused for breath. “But what is Virgil?”

Gordon’s hackles rose. “Virgil is a brilliant engineer. What the hell are you saying, Scott?”

“Gordon.” His brother reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “Engineering was Virgil’s second choice in career. Not his first.”

-o-o-o-

He loved it. It was everything he could have dreamt of.

And they loved him too. Two months in and he was lead soloist, the choirmaster having taken a particular shine to his vocal offering.

Of course, it wasn’t perfect. Put a bunch of young boys together in any setting and there will eventually be scuffles of all kinds, no matter the interest in common. But he managed to keep out of trouble, despite the occasional spat of jealousy from his choirmates.

His mother moved the family temporarily to Vienna, the older brothers taking classes online for the last few months of the year. John loved it. Scott grumbled that he was missing his friends. Gordon and Alan were more excited about the snow than anything else.

Even Grandma and Grandpa came to stay for a while. The only person who didn’t join them was Dad. He had important business in the States he couldn’t ignore. But he kept in contact and visited regularly.

Everything was wonderful.

His main focus was the end of year concert, a large production to be televised across the world. A last secular offering before the Magic of Christmas three weeks after that. Virgil had been asked to perform in both and was consumed with practise.

The family had rented a house with a small studio out back. His mother hired a piano specially for this space and when she could grab a moment away from his brothers, she would play and he would sing.

He suspected she enjoyed it as much as he did.

And he would cherish the memories of those moments with her for the rest of his life.

Because the weekend before the final performance, everything came to an end.

Father was there. Grandma was there. Scott looked so pale. Where was Grandpa? He found himself with an armful of distraught Alan, John beside him equally clutching Gordon. Scott’s hand gripping his shoulder.

His father’s tear-filled eyes.

Mom was gone.

Gone.

-o-o-o-

Gordon stared at his brother. “What?”

Scott blinked a moment and let his hand drop. He looked away, staring once again at Virgil’s pale face. “Virgil was a world class choral singer.” Scott swallowed. “Or he could have been. He never gave himself the chance to win his gold medal.”

Incredulous frown. “Wha-?! When the hell did that happen?”

Scott looked back at him. “Why were we in Austria, Gordon?”

“When, Mom-? We were skiing!” Stupid Austria, never wanted to step foot inside that country ever again. Well, only if they were calling for help.  Stupid country.

“We were there for Virgil. He had an opportunity to perform with the Austrian Boys Performing Choir.”

Gordon blinked. Even he had heard of them. “Really?”

“Lead soloist.”

His eyes shot to his unconscious brother, his dark hair stark against his pale skin and the white bed sheets “But Mom died.”

“Yes, she did.”

-o-o-o-

“You cannot possibly expect him to perform.”

“He has to. We have no replacement.”

“No understudy?”

“He has taken ill. We need Virgil to perform.” The choirmaster’s Austrian accent was getting stronger by the minute. “The world will be watching.”

“He has just lost his mother!” Something in Virgil’s stomach twisted at the pain in his father’s voice. “How can you possibly ask him to do this?”

“This is his opportunity! His chance! The world must hear his beautiful voice.” The ‘master was pleading now. “This is what his mother would have wanted.”

Virgil stared at the man. What his mother would have wanted?

Beside him he could almost feel his father’s body temperature increase. “How the hell would you-!“

“Dad. I’ll do it.”

His father’s attention immediately focussed on him. “Virgil-“

“He’s right Dad. She loved this. I want to do it for her.”

“You don’t have to, son.”

He pressed his lips together. “Yes. I do.”

-o-o-o-

The last few days leading up to the performance were a blur. A blur of sympathetic looks, concerned questions and lone practise.

When the night finally came, Virgil was exhausted. There was no question of his resolve. He was going to do this. The question was – was he able?

Scott stood with him in the wings. Dad and his brothers were in the audience. None of them were at their best and he felt guilty for dragging them all here.  They would be going home tomorrow, taking Mom with them. His understudy would be taking the Christmas performance, Virgil just needed to get through tonight.

He fiddled with his suit.

“You’ll do great, Virgil.” Scott’s voice was soft, his blue eyes shining, a small encouraging smile on his face.

Virgil grabbed him and hugged with everything he had. “Thanks, big bro.”

“Do it for, Mom.”

Looking up at his brother, he smiled. “For Mom.”

Giving his arms one last squeeze, Virgil stepped away from his brother and strode out on the stage, taking up his lone forward position behind the curtain, the rest of the choir rustling into place behind him. A quick glance back at his brother in the wings.

Scott smiled sadly at him.

For Mom.

The stage hands counted down.

He drew in breath, deep in his core.

The curtain opened.

He opened his mouth.

And he sang.

-o-o-o-

“The newscasts had him front and centre for weeks afterwards.” Scott’s expression managed to be both proud and bleak at the same time. “We fled. Buried Mom. And hid.”

Gordon frowned, trying to remember back that far. He had been so young at the time. He remembered the funeral, but not much else. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why was he on the newscasts so much? Why did we hide? Why isn’t he a famous singer? Pick a question, Scott!”

His brother pressed his lips together before reaching into his back pocket for a mini holoprojector. He brought up a search screen, hooked into the nets and within moments a fifteen-year-old holocast of a young Virgil Tracy was hovering above the device.

“This is why.” Scott hit the play button.

His brother opened his mouth and sang.

From his heart.

The song wasn’t in English. It was in German, but it didn’t need to be understood intellectually. His voice spoke emotion and emotion responded. Gordon could hear the sadness in his brother, he could hear what he was feeling.

A verse in, and the back of the stage lit up, revealing the rest of the choir who joined in, harmonising with Virgil’s lead. But their spirit lacked his fire and were merely a vague echo.

Gordon had seen Virgil lose himself to the piano before, but this was something else.

His brother’s voice truly was golden, even to a tin ear like his own, but it was the power behind it, the loss he knew his brother was experiencing, the painfilled energy and passion. His brother was an artist, and this was the artist in his defining medium.

The holographic Virgil had tears running down his face.

No orchestral accompaniment. The whole structure of the piece rested of Virgil’s lead. He controlled it. His voice cut the air, the others strung behind him. He held the ebb and flow and he drew it to a crescendo. Again. And again. And then he shut it down.

Two more softly sung words and silence.

Virgil let his head drop.

And the auditorium erupted with applause and screaming ovations.

Young Virgil turned and walked off the stage.

Scott flicked off the projector.

And Gordon discovered two soft brown eyes staring directly at him.

-o-o-o-

Scott saw Gordon’s eyes widen and turned abruptly to find Virgil, eyes open and staring at his younger brother.

“Virgil?”

Those eyes flicked to him, drooped closed, then opened again. His dry lips parted. “Wha-?”

Scott grabbed the jug of water from beside the bed and shakily poured a sip of water into a plastic cup and offered it to his brother. “Here, a little at a time.”

Virgil swallowed, looking over the cup at the both of them. He handed the empty cup back to Scott. “What were you doing?”

“Distracting Gordon.”

“From what?”

“From you.”

“With me?”

“You saw that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re a good singer.”

“I know.”

“He didn’t.”

“Did he have to?”

“I think so.”

“Okay.”

And Virgil’s eyes slipped closed again, his body relaxing into sleep.

Scott felt his face heating up, a stupid grin battling with the tears welling in his eyes. Gordon grabbed him in an excited hug, an incoherent sob his only words.

Oh, thank god!

-o-o-o-

Days passed and Virgil slowly woke more often and for longer periods. All his brothers, Grandma, Kayo, even Lady Penelope and Parker dropped in to visit.

Gordon was there the second time he woke up and was interrogated on the condition of Thunderbird Two. Something about damaging her wing on exiting the hanger. Gordon blamed it on the man’s illness. How could he possibly think he would be foolish enough to endanger his own life by damaging his brother’s ‘Bird? There were much better ways to die. Like being burnt alive.

Of course, waking up was only the first step in a long recovery. Rehabilitation, particularly for his abdominal muscles was in the journey ahead, but after such desolation, the simple act of his brother opening his eyes had lifted the pall hovering over them.

Gordon had to admit to some curiosity about the past though. Why hadn’t his brother continued singing? He was obviously damn good at it.

He considered asking Virgil, and he was certainly planning on discussing it with him sometime in the future, but he could see it was a sensitive subject and now was definitely not the time.

John was eagerly discussing something with his dark-haired brother. Something no doubt to do with monitoring lifesigns no matter what they were wearing. He’d been raving about the lack of information on Virgil’s condition during the situation since it had happened. Gordon was pretty sure that not-so-Big Brother would soon be watching his body functions from afar at all times. He rolled his eyes.

Maybe he could rig one that let John know, with the appropriate sound effects, each time he passed wind.

Squeezing Virgil’s knee, he indicated he would be back in a moment to rescue him, and then set off to find Scott. The real big brother had wandered off on a mission to acquire lunch and he had taken so long, Gordon wondered if he’d been attacked by the hospital tea lady and stuck in a freezer some where for safe keeping.

So it was with some surprise he found his brother sitting quietly in the corner of the cafeteria drinking mineral water. A pair of tired blue eyes glanced up at him as he approached.

“Watcha doin, big bro? I thought there would be lunch.”

“There is. It is being prepared.”

Gordon took the seat opposite Scott. “So you’re hanging out here in the meantime?”

Scott shrugged. “I thought perhaps John might like some time with Virgil for a bit.”

“Uh huh.”

“What?”

Gordon eyed him a moment. “Nothin’.”

Lips thinning. “What do you want, Gordon?’

“What, I can’t sit next to you? Is this seat taken? Got some hot chick waiting for me to move my butt?”

Scott rolled his eyes.

“I repeat. What do you want, Gordon?”

“I’m curious.”

“About what?”

“Why Virgil doesn’t sing, despite being damn good at it.”

“Mom died.”

“Well, yeah.”

“He barely spoke for nearly a month after that concert, much less sang anything.” Scott grimaced. “We were all worried. Dad was beside himself. Virgil simply shut down. We took him to specialists, but he wouldn’t respond. It was like he just didn’t want to use his voice anymore. So, when he did finally start talking again, we didn’t want to push it. We were just happy to have him back.” Scott paused. “That ‘night with the Hollies’ was the first time I had heard him sing in fifteen years. I wasn’t even sure he could anymore.” Scott put down his drink, staring at it. “He was really close to Mom. He took it really hard.”

“But he plays the piano.”

Scott looked up. “Honestly, I think he’s meeting her halfway. I’m sure part of it is grief, but I’m also damn convinced that a good chunk of it is anger.”

“Virgil? Angry? You’re kidding.”

Scott shrugged. “Each to his own. We cope how we cope.” He drank the last of his drink and stood up. “It appears lunch is ready.” And Scott grabbed the crate of food offered to him by the tea lady.

Gordon frowned.

-o-o-o-

Virgil knew he was getting better because he was getting more and more frustrated about being stuck in bed. Sure, he could now get out of bed any time he liked, but the exercise was one of pain and embarrassment.

And he needed help.

He had no strength in anything and it was annoying.

So, he was sitting up in bed, a pile of pillows securing him so he wouldn’t strain his injuries, doodling aimlessly on the hospital menu when Angela walked in the door.

“You up for a visitor or two?”

His mood immediately lifted, his face splitting into a grin. “Angela!”

She grinned back and rushed over to him, her hug gentle, but no less heartfelt.

“Mr Virgil?”

“Daniel?!” He looked towards the door again.

“And Jana, Marissa, Alex and Johnny!” The eight-year-old bounded into the room, followed by his little posse. Alex had his arm in plaster and Jana was still sporting the red remains of the scrape on the side of her face, but all of them were grinning like crazy.

“C’mon here, all you.” And he held out his arms.  With a squawk of ‘Be careful!’ from Angela, he found himself hugged gently all over by the five children.

“How are you all?”

“Better!” This from Jana.

“What about you, Mr Virgil? They wouldn’t let us visit you for such a long time.”

A soft smile. “Getting better every day.” He didn’t fail to notice Scott smiling in the doorway. “Hey, Daniel, did you want to meet the pilot of Thunderbird One?”

“Really, can I?” His eyes lit up like twin moons.

Virgil grinned. “Turn around. This is my brother Scott. He likes to fly fast.”

Scott straightened up, a flash of trepidation crossing his face before his Field Commander professional façade slipped on.

Daniel and the other kids stared up at him. There were a couple of dropped jaws.

“Hi, guys. V-…Mr Virgil tells me you like Thunderbird One.”

“So cool!” Daniel’s head looked like it was about to explode. “How fast can you go? Can you go into space like Thunderbird Three? Can you go faster than Thunderbird Three? Can I see her?”

And those were just Daniel’s questions. Virgil grinned as the kids swarmed his brother.

Angela smiled at him. “They’ve been asking about you since that first day.”

“How are they?”

Her smile slipped a bit. “As well as can be expected. They’ve all lost friends, so they’ve banded together with their shared experience.” She tilted her head. “The only team member who has been missing is you.”

“Me?”

Her lips twisted slightly. “I hear rumour you’re not a bad singer.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Really? I hear rumour you are going for the record number of rescues by International Rescue.”

A blush and an awkward smile. “Well, then, Mr Virgil.” She poked him in the shoulder. “I expect you to get well as soon as possible so you will be available for the next one. I expect only the best in my rescuing.”

Another smile and she lent closer and whispered, “Besides Thunderbird Two really is the coolest.”

-o-o-o-

Scott found his brother sitting on the front porch steps. The day was cool, but dry, the winter sun low on the horizon. Kansas stretched out before them and a light breeze tousled his hair.

“Hey, Virgil.” He received no response, but then he didn’t expect one. Virgil said very little now.

He plopped himself down beside his brother. Virgil had his head in one hand, his elbow held up by his knee. He was staring into the distance.

“I’ve got something for you.”

His brother’s eyes darted towards him for a moment, before returning to their distant stare.

Scott brought the sketchbook around onto his lap and opened it. “I figured that if you weren’t going to talk, then to have a good conversation, you could write or draw things.” He grabbed the pencil. “For example, here is me sitting on the porch.” He drew a stick figure sitting on a step with a sketchbook on its knees. Well, that’s what it was supposed to be.

Looking up to see if Virgil understood what he was drawing, he was surprised to find his brother’s eyes pinned to the sketchbook.

“What, you think you can do better?”

Those brown eyes flicked up at him before reaching over and gently taking the book and pencil out of Scott’s hands.

Scott bit his lip as an artful facsimile of his brother appeared next to his stick figure.

His eyes widened. “Okay, so you can. Got yourself a full load of artistic genes there, bro.”

Virgil stared at him for a moment before returning the pencil to the paper.

The stick figure changed. Darker lines taking over as Scott appeared on the paper. Virgil’s frown of concentration was almost amusing.

“So mine not good enough, huh?”

Virgil sent him a half-lidded glare.

“Okay, okay, I bow to your artistic prowess, oh great brother of mine.”

That earned him some eye-rolling.

Scott hid a smile.

And Virgil kept drawing.

-o-o-o-

FIN

Epilogue

[winchestergirl-13]

The New Broken Scene

Pairing: TFW x Friend!Reader

Prompt: “She's Kinda Hot” by 5 Seconds of Summer

Word Count: 2,309

Warning: a couple swear words, a few feelings being touched on (not really angsty, but sad), fluff, talk of the end of the world, Winchesters being Winchesters.

A/N: this is for @sis-tafics “Jill’s Bday Pop Punk Challenge”. This was hard for me to write for as I had no idea what to do lol. I finally got this written up last night and I like it. The characters may be a little OOC, they may not be. It kinda jumps around at times, but I was trying to pick a character for each group of lyrics, so that’s why. I hope you like it.

Team Free Will, what a name. Let's see, there's a ex-blood junkie, a high school drop out with six bucks to his name, mister comatose over there, and a girl on the run. Sounds about right. 'Course, “titles” change over time, people/creatures add on every now and then, but any way you slice it, Team Free Will is just that. A team that saved the world; countless times mind you. To put it frankly, they were like the Kings and Queens of this new and broken scene, always finding a way to patch it back up.

My girlfriend's bitchin' 'cause I always sleep in She's always screaming when she's calling a friend She's kinda hot though Yeah she's kinda hot though (Just an itty bitty little bit hot)

“Damn, this chick won't leave me alone,” Dean grumbled to himself as he pressed “Decline” on his phone. Every time he answered, Melanie (or whatever her name was), would be practically screaming through the phone at Dean, or whining that he wasn't calling her back.

“Dude, just change your number or tell her you're not interested,” (Y/N) offered as she sat down next to him, cracking open a book to research their next case.

“You don't think I've tried?” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Screw it, I'll call her back and tell her it ain't working out. She's kinda hot though...”

(Y/N) watched Dean grab his phone as he stood up and placed a call back. She just shook her head with a smirk. When will he learn?

My shrink is telling me I got crazy dreams She's also saying I got low self-esteem She's kinda hot though Yeah she's kinda hot though (Just a little bit a little bit hot) She put me on meds, she won't get out of my head She's kinda hot though (One, two, three, go!)

When Castiel was in the mental hospital, Meg was his only sense of comfort. The doctor he was seeing didn't help him; only made him feel worse about his predicament, even if he didn't show it. The medication he was given didn't help; Lucifer always made an appearance. But now he was free of that place, and yet Meg stood by him.

Another normal day in the Bunker, relatively speaking. Castiel couldn't stop staring at Meg, but he stared at everyone for prolonged periods of time. Most just ignored it. Meg however looked up and held his gaze before Castiel looked away, a small blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Yes, Clarence?” she asked, smirking when he started at her sudden question.

“I uh...you...Ithinkyou'reratherbeautifulMeg,” he blurt out as fast as he could, embarrassment clouding his thoughts.

Meg caught what he was saying and made her way over to the flustered angel. Patting his cheek softly, she placed a small kiss to his rosy cheek. “Thank you, Castiel. You're rather handsome yourself.” And then she left, leaving behind a flustered and happy angel.

My friend left college 'cause it felt like a job His mom and dad both think he's a slob He's got a shot though (No, not really) Yeah, he's got a shot though (No, no, not really) When you've got bigger plans that no one else understands You've got a shot though (Oh my, that's a big plan you've got there)

With Mary back in the picture, Sam often wondered how she would feel knowing he left college, a chance at a normal life, to return to hunting with Dean. Would she think he was a slob? He didn't voice his queries aloud, mostly because he feared he was right.

Fate as it were, had other plans. Mary was going through some old files and records, trying to see just how much she missed (it was a lot), when she came across an old acceptance letter. It was addressed to Sam from Stanford. She knew he mentioned it to her, but she didn't know the full story. Did he graduate? Did he go back at some point? Figuring she'd get better answers from Sam himself, she set off to find her boy.

Dean was on a supply run with (Y/N), and Castiel was off doing some heavenly duties, leaving Sam and Mary in the Bunker. She found her son in the library, reclined in one of the rockers in the corner with a book in hand. He heard her footsteps and looked up, a smile on his face. “Hey mom. What's up?”

“I had a question for you, Sam. Found this in a pile of records in storage,” she handed him his old college acceptance letter. She watched as his face dropped at the sight of it, a sort of sadness creeping in his eyes.

“What did you want to know?” Sam asked, trying to hide how his voice cracked a little.

“What was it like?” Mary questioned, grabbing one of the chairs at the tables and pulled it over. With a sigh, Sam launched into his tale. How he got accepted, hid it from their dad, left hunting to go to school. He told her about Jess, how she sadly died, how he never went back and finished like he told himself he would. At the end of his tale, Sam was convinced Mary would think he was an idiot.

“Oh Sam, I'm so sorry. I wish you never had to go through that,” she comforted, placing a hand on his knee and giving it a small squeeze.

Sam gave her a tight smile, trying to hide the pain inside. Mary, however, saw right through it. A mother always knows. Standing up, she pulled Sam into a hug, feeling him tense slightly before slowly bringing his arms up to wrap around her. Running her fingers through his hair, she felt him relax into her touch.

“I'm proud of you, Sam. I always knew you'd go to a school like Stanford one day. I wish you could have gotten the chance to be a lawyer, but just know I am so proud of you. Despite everything, you still became an amazing young man. Quite literally saving the world. What mother wouldn't be proud of that?”

Sam felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Breathing a sigh of relief, he tightened his hold slightly, whispering a “thanks mom”. That was what he needed to hear.

They say we're losers and we're alright with that We are the leaders of the not-coming-back's But we're alright though Yeah we're alright though We are the kings and the queens of the new broken scene Yeah we're alright though (Uno, dos, tres, cuatro)

Jack stared out the window from the backseat of the Impala as the scenery flew by them. He, (Y/N) and the boys had just wrapped up another case. Another win for Team Free Will. At least it wasn't another apocalypse.

Sometimes it felt like this world was out to get them, whether it be another monster, a human, or for Jack, another angel tried to take him away from his family. The Winchesters had blasted them away before they could do anything. He was grateful, but sometimes it felt like it was too much.

He looked over at (Y/N) and saw she had these white chords in her ears that were attached to her phone. Reaching over, Jack tapped her shoulder and she turned around with a smile as she pulled out one of the chords.

“Yes Jack?”

“What is that?” he asked, pointing to the earphone chord in her hand.

“These are headphones. They allow you to listen to music. Wanna listen?” she explained, offering him one of the pieces. Jack gently placed it in his ear and s grin spread across his face as music came through.

“This is amazing!” he exclaimed, shifting closer to listen with her. While he may not understand the song or know who it is, something about it stood out to him. This band, 5 Seconds of Summer (which he also didn't quite understand), their song spoke to him in a way. Him, (Y/N), Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Mary were definitely like the Kings and Queens of coming back from the edge.

Sometimes I'm feeling like I'm going insane My neighbor told me that I got bad brains But I'm alright though (We're alright though) Yeah we'll be alright though (We're alright though) 'Cause we're the kings and the queens of the new broken scene And we're alright though (One, two, three, four)

(Y/N) was on the run for as long as she could remember. Whether it was running from a monster or the local cop that caught her playing hooky from school, not like she could tell the cop she was hunting for a monster. From an early age, her neighbors thought she wasn't going to make it in life; her parents were almost never home (they were hunters, what would you expect?), she didn't do that great in school sometimes, and they caught her talking to herself sometimes and thought she had gone insane. Turns out she was talking to a Zana and only she could see her (Emma was a friend of Sully's; who she got to meet later on when he needed their help).

Yet despite all the negativity that surrounded her from an early age, she persisted. Her grades went up, her parents stopped hunting for a while (at least until she was older), and Emma knew that (Y/N) didn't need her around much longer. But it was okay, she checked on her from time to time before moving on to the next kid in need. (Y/N) proved her neighbors wrong when she got accepted to college. She'd spend a few years there and graduated as an English major, but turned to hunting instead. That was how she met Sam and Dean, on a werewolf hunt of all things. And she's been with them ever since.

Her parents retired from hunting and set up shop as a communications hot spot between hunters with the help from Bobby. But that was okay with (Y/N). It meant they would stay safe. For now, the world was in the capable hands of Team Free Will. And they were doing alright by their standards.

They say we're losers and we're alright with that We are the leaders of the not-coming-back's But we're alright though (We're alright though) Yeah we're alright though (We're alright though) We are the kings and the queens of the new broken scene Yeah we're alright though (We're gonna be okay)

“Man, things just never seem to go easy on us, do they?” Dean sighed, sinking down into a chair at their kitchen table, an ice pack held to his cheek. Sam was rummaging through their first aid kit for some painkillers, the wound on his arm had stopped bleeding by now. (Y/N) limped over to a chair across from Dean and watched as Cas tried to heal him. Sadly, he used a little too much grace expelling the demons they dealt with and so healing would have to wait for a bit. He would recharge tonight and be good by morning.

“It's fine Cas. Just worry about getting some rest, alright?” (Y/N) replied, patting his hand before getting up to get some water for Dean. They four of them worked on patching each other up and then beers were passed around as they cheered to another job well done...sort of.

Sometimes they wished they didn't have such a burden on their shoulders, but if they didn't do what they do, who else would save the world?

“You know what boys? How about we do nothing tomorrow but take a day and relax. Have a movie marathon or something. Maybe start tonight when Mary gets home with Jack and show them all the movies they missed or don't know. Get them caught up on something current. Let someone else deal with the monsters tomorrow. We deserve a break. We saved this God damned world numerous times; let someone else save it tomorrow. We need this,” (Y/N) declared, getting up to go change before any of them could object. Yeah, she was right. Let someone else handle it tomorrow. It'll be okay.

Na na na na na na na na na na na Na na na na na na na na na na na But we're alright though Na na na na na na na na na na na Yeah we're alright though Na na na na na na na na na na na We are the kings and the queens of the new broken scene Yeah we're alright though

“Well, here's to another job well done, boys. And Mary,” (Y/N) held up her beer for a toast, listening to the replies and clinks from her family around her. They saved the world again, and this time, it got them Gabriel. While he was still recovering, he was happy to be free and apart of their little ragtag family of misfits. He fit right in.

“Here's to family,” Mary saluted.

“To friends,” Castiel stated.

“To my saviors,” Gabriel replied.

“To my family,” Jack added, a smile on his face.

“To freedom,” came Sam.

“To Team Free Will 2.0,” Dean chuckled, but it was true.

“To us. The Kings and Queens of the broken scene. Earth's heroes,” (Y/N) cheered. They didn't know what would await them tomorrow, but for now, they were alright. Everything would be alright in the end. The Earth had them to protect it, it was going to be just fine in the hands of Team Free Will 2.0, which included two salty hunters, one half angel kid, dude that just came back from the dead...again, an Archangel turned Trickster back from Hell, a mother back from the dead, and a girl who didn't have to run away anymore. This was their family.

[writingguide003-blog]

Does a hit song really need 9 writers?

New Post has been published on https://writingguideto.com/must-see/does-a-hit-song-really-need-9-writers/

Does a hit song really need 9 writers?

Image copyright Atlantic Records

Image caption Rudimental, Dan Caplen, Jess Glynne and Macklemore – just some of the writers on These Days

Rudimental’s uplifting dance track These Days has been named the most-performed song of 2018 at the prestigious Ivor Novello Awards.

A major international hit, it topped charts across Europe, and became the UK’s fifth best-selling single of 2018.

But their prize had to be shared between nine writers – a phenomenon that’s become increasingly common.

According to research by Music Week, it took an average of 5.34 people to write last year’s Top 100 biggest singles.

That’s up from 4.84 in 2017, and 4.53 the year before. So what’s going on?

“It’s a sign of the times,” says Jamie Scott, who wrote the first draft of These Days in a shed at the bottom of his garden.

“You go into a [songwriting] session and there are five people in a session and, if everyone is doing a great job, then there’s going to be five people on the credits.

“And if they’re not, then next time there are going to be four people in the session.”

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Scott says songwriting teams have blossomed because streaming services demand a constant supply of new material: An artist who wants to stay at the front of fans’ minds needs to put out more new music, more frequently, than at any other time in pop history.

“You need songs out there – literally one a month for streaming,” he says.

“It’s a business and people want a great product. That’s what we’re here to do – and that’s why you’ll find six or seven or even 12 writers on a song.”

It can go even higher than that. Anne Marie’s 2002 has 18 writers; Drake’s Nice For What lists 22; and Travis Scott’s Sicko Mode credits a staggering 30 people, each of whom receives a wafer-thin slice of the royalties.

Song ‘skeletons’

To be fair, all of those tracks contain samples and/or lyrical fragments of other songs, whose writers receive a mandatory credit in the post-Blurred Lines era of copyright litigation.

But co-writing culture is so ingrained that even singer-songwriters like George Ezra and Lewis Capaldi take a helping hand in the studio, albeit on a more one-to-one basis.

“I often write with other people and I always enjoy it,” says James Blunt, whose last album had collaborations with seasoned hitmakers like Ryan Tedder (Adele, Beyonce) and Johnny McDaid (Ed Sheeran, Snow Patrol).

“I still write very much from the heart but it’s nice to have someone to show me the elusive fourth chord – otherwise I’d always just be repeating the same three.”

Carly Rae Jepsen wrote 200 songs for her new album

How many writers does a hit song need?

Ryan Tedder slams ‘ludicrous’ copyright cases

For pop star Dua Lipa, working with co-writers helped her learn her craft at the start of her career.

“I was always able to write – essays and poetry – but I never really sat down to write a song,” she says.

“So when I started going into the studio, I learned a lot from the co-writers that were coming in to help me – the bones of how to write a proper song.

“But now I feel able to take the lead.”

Image copyright Dua Lipa / Instagram

Image caption Dua Lipa and Silk City’s hit single Electricity credits 10 writers – but she wrote the bulk of the song in the studio with Mark Ronson and Diplo

Songwriting sessions aren’t for everyone, however.

After making two records in a Glaswegian basement, pop trio Chvrches attended a songwriting camp to see if it could bring a new dimension to their third album, 2018’s Love Is Dead.

“These guys were writing a track and we were bouncing ideas around when a couple of producers came in and kind of sprinkled a chorus on,” recalls singer Lauren Mayberry.

“And then they left… We were just like, ‘What just happened? Have they gone to the toilet? Are they coming back?’

“But no, they’d left like ‘Boof! There’s your chorus. Goodbye’.

“That song did not make it any further.”

Personal touch

Let’s Eat Grandma, whose psych-pop opus I’m All Ears was up for album of the year at the Ivor Novellos, have also shunned writing camps.

“When that many people get involved, everyone is almost competing for their ideas to be heard,” says singer Rosa Walton. “It makes it hard to be honest and open.”

“If you’ve got really personal songs, you don’t really want to share them with people you don’t know that well,” agrees her bandmate Jenny Hollingworth, “because then you can’t really be yourself.”

That’s exactly why Olly Alexander (largely) avoided co-writers on Years and Years’ recent album Palo Santo,

“I don’t really want to sing a song someone else has written,” he says. “I have to be the person who writes the lyrics and who writes the top line [melody].

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable otherwise.”

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Dance producer Jax Jones, who’s scored top 10 hits with Breathe and You Don’t Know Me, says the proliferation of writing credits often obscures the fact that songs originate with one or two people, who will ultimately take the lion’s share of royalties.

“When I’ve had experience of writing in LA, you might get a killer song but as a producer, I’ll be like, ‘Alright, I need a better part here’.

“And I know someone who’s incredible at writing a verse, or a bridge, so I’m going to call them and get them involved.

“But that’s traditional record making,” he argues. “Quincy Jones works like that, Kanye West works like that. It’s amalgamating all these incredible talents, and that’s why you get incredible records.”

That’s pretty much a template for how These Days came together. It was originally written by up-and-coming R&B singer Dan Caplen in a session with the team behind One Direction’s Drag Me Down – Jamie Scott, Julian Bunetta and John Ryan.

He sent it to his label, who passed it on to Rudimental. The band liked the song and did some additional production work, earning each of their four members a share of the rights.

Finally, US rapper Macklemore was asked to contribute a guest verse – resulting in a ninth, and final, credit.

Caplen admits the figure looks ridiculous but says the song “needed a little Midas touch to make it what it is today”.

Image copyright Getty Images

Image caption Dan Caplen says any hit single needs the “perfect mix” of hard work and inspiration

In general, however, Caplen prefers to work with a smaller team.

“You know when there’s too many cooks in the kitchen? I say three or four maximum,” says the 27-year-old.

But the real question is whether the climate of co-writing genuinely affects what we hear.

“A film isn’t necessarily more enjoyable if it’s based on a true story. Likewise, a song isn’t necessarily any better or any more heartfelt, or convincing, because it was written by the singer,” wrote Bob Stanley in his peerless history of pop, Yeah Yeah Yeah.

And Natasha Khan, aka Bat For Lashes, argues the modern hit factory isn’t too different from the 1960s, when teams like Dozier-Holland-Dozier wrote timeless soul classics in the back room of Motown Records.

“Five writers seems like a lot,” she says. “It feels like it’s manufacturing something.

“But if a great pop song comes out of it then, why not?”

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Related Topics

Ivor Novello Awards

Music

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