#like their evidence for this is *checks notes* taylor picked two of her own songs to perform? at her own concert? wild 🙄

[janetsnakehole02]

some swifties really out here supporting matty healy despite the verifiable evidence of the shit he’s said while also coming at joe alwyn for rumors they made up on their own?? another breed fr like this is what some of y’all sound like

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift Turns on a Facsimile Machine for the Ingenious Recreations of ‘Fearless (Taylor’s Version)’: Album Review

Swift recreates her entire 2008 album literally down to the last note, then gives herself room for stylistic latitude on six never-before-recorded "vault" tracks.

By Chris Willman

Swift recreates her entire 2008 album literally down to the last note, then gives herself room for stylistic latitude on six never-before-recorded "vault" tracks.

There is no “best actress” award at the Grammys, perhaps for obvious reasons, but maybe there should be this coming year. And the Grammy would go to… Taylor Swift, for so persuasively playing her 18-year-old self in “Fearless (Taylor’s Version),” her beyond-meticulous recreation of the 2008 recording that did win her her first album of the year trophy back in the day. It’s impossible to overstate just how thoroughly the new version is intended as an exact replica of the old — all the way down to her startling ability to recapture an untrained teen singing voice she’s long matured and moved on from. It’s a stunt, to be sure, but a stunt for the ages — mastering the guile it takes to go back to sounding this guileless.

There are two different, very solid reasons to pick up or stream “Taylor’s Version,” regardless of whether you share her ire for the Big Machine label, whose loose ways with her nine-figure catalog precipitated this, the first in a six-album series of remakes where she’ll be turning on the facsimile machine. One is to marvel at her gift for self-mimicry on the album’s original tracks, where she sounds as possessed by her younger self as Regan ever was by Pazuzu. The other reason is, of course, to check out the six “vault” numbers that Swift wrote during that time frame but has never released before in any form, which dispenses with stylistic fealty to the late 2000s and frames her “Fearless”-era discards in production and arrangements closer to “Folklore.” Those half-dozen (kind of) new tracks really do sound like modern Taylor Swift covering her old stuff.

But those original lucky 13? It’s the same damn record… which is kind of hilarious and marvelous and the kind of meta-ness that will inspire a thousand more think-pieces than it already has, along with possibly efforts at forensic analysis to figure out how she did it.

It would not be surprising if, as we speak, Big Machine was putting a combined team of scientists and lawyers on the case of the new album’s waveform readouts, to make sure it’s not just the original album, remixed. Honestly, it’s that close. The timings of the songs are all within a few seconds of the original tracks, if not coming in at exactly the same length. The duplication effort doesn’t allow any detours. If “Forever and Always” had a cold open then, it’s going to have a cold open now. If the 2008 “That’s the Way I Love You” had slamming rock guitars with an almost subliminal banjo being plucked beneath the racket, so will the 2021 “That’s the Way I Loved You.” A drum roll to end the old “Change”? A drum roll to end its body-snatcher doppelganger. And if she chuckled before the final chorus of “Hey Stephen” 13 years ago, so will that moment be cause for a delighted giggle now.

Of course, much analysis will be put into whether the new laugh is a more knowing-sounding laugh. And that will be part of the fun for a certain segment of audiophile Swifties who will go looking for the slightest change as evidence of something meaningful. When “Love Story (Taylor’s Version)” first came out weeks back to preview the album, there were reviews written that swore she’d subtly changed up her phrasing to put a contemporary spin on the song. And maybe they were right, but, having done a fair amount of A/B testing of the two versions of the album, I found myself feeling like I do when vinyl buffs insist there are significant sonic differences between the first stamper version of an LP and one that was pressed a year later. If you can spot those very, very, very modest tweaks, go for it.

But my suspicion is that if Swift has decided to turn a phrase a little differently here or there on this album, or done anything too differently aside from brighten the sound, she’s doing it more as an Easter egg, for the people who are on that kind of hunt, than anything really designed as reinterpretation. Because the last thing Swift wants most of her fans doing is A/B-ing the two versions, the way I did. The whole point is to have folks retire the OG “Fearless” from their Spotify playlists, right? The Swift faithful were already threatening to rain down damnation on anyone caught sneaking an audio peek at the old version after midnight. What she intended was to come up with a rendering so faithful that you would never have a need to spin the vintage album again. In that, she has succeeded beyond what could have been imagined even in the dreams of the few self-forgers who’ve tried this before, like a Jeff Lynne.

Is there any reason to find value in the new versions if you couldn’t care less about the issues of masters and contracts and respect in business deals that made all this strangely possible? Yes, with the first one being that the new album just sounds like a terrific remastering of the old — the same notes, and you’d swear the same performances, but sounding brighter and punchier just on a surface level. But on a more philosophical one, it’s not just a case of Swift playing with her back catalog like Andy Warhol played with his soup can. It’s really a triumph of self-knowledge and self-awareness, in the way that Swift is so hyper-conscious of the ways she’s matured that she has the ability to un-mature before our very ears. With her vocals, it’s virtuosic, in a way, how she’s made herself return to her unvirtuosic upstart self.

On Swift’s earliest albums and in those seminal live shows — at the time when she was famously being told she “can’t sing,” to quote a song from the follow-up album — there was a slight shrillness around the edges of her voice that, if you lacked faith, you might’ve imaged would be there forever. It wasn’t. That was partly youth, and partly just the sheer earnestness with which she wanted to convey the honesty of the songs. She’s advanced so much since then — into one of pop’s most gifted modern singers, really — that the woman of “Folklore” and “Evermore” seems like a completely different human being than the one who made the self-titled debut and “Fearless,” never mind just a woman versus girl. It wouldn’t have seemed possible that she could go back to her old way of singing at the accomplished age of 31, but she found and recreated that nervous, sincere, pleading voice of yesteryear. And maybe it was just a technical feat, of temporarily unlearning what she’s learned since then, but you can sense that maybe she had to go there internally, too, to the place where she was counseling other girls to guard their sexual virtue in “Fifteen,” or wondering whether to believe the fairy tale of “Love Story” or the wakeup call of “White Horse,” or proving with “Forever & Always” that writing a song telling off Joe Jonas for his 27-second breakup call was better than revenge.

If at first you’re not inclined to notice that Swift has re-adopted a completely different singing voice for the “Fearless” remakes, the realization may kick in when those “vault” tracks start appearing in the later stretch of this hour-and-50-minute album. The writing on the six songs that have been pulled up from the 2008 cutting room floor seems primitive, even a little bit by the standards of the “Fearless” album; there are great lines and couplets throughout the rescued tracks, but you can see why she left them as works-in-progress. But she doesn’t use her youthful voice on these resurrections, nor does she employ the actual style of “Fearless” very strictly. Of course, she feels more freedom on these, because there are no predecessors in the Big Machine catalog she’s asking you to leave behind. Her current collaborators of choice, Jack Antonoff and Aaron Dessner, divided the co-producing work on these fresher songs, as they did for the two all-new albums she released in the last year. (The “Fearless” recreations are co-produced by Swift with Christopher Rowe, someone who worked on remixes for Swift back in that era.) They co-produce the vault songs in a style that sounds somewhere between “Fearless” and Folklore”… a more spectral brand of country-pop, with flutes and synths and ringing 12-string guitars and a modicum of drum programming replacing some (but not all) of the acoustic stringed instruments you’d expect to be carried over from “Fearless” proper.

Of the previously unheard tracks, Swift was right — she’s always been her own best self-editor — in putting out “You All Over Me” first, in advance of the album. With its imagery of half-muddy stones being upturned on the road, this song has advanced lyrical conceits more of a piece with the level of writing she’s doing now than some of the slightly less precocious songs that follow. Still, there’s something to be said for the sheer zippiness with which Swift conveys teen heartbreak in “Mr. Perfectly Fine,” which has a lyric that shows Swift had long since absorbed the lessons Nashville had to offer about how to come up with a high-concept song — the concept, in this case, being just to stick the word “mister” in front of a lot of phrases relating to her shallow ex, as if they were honorary titles to be conferred for being a shit, while she employs the “miss” for herself more sparingly.

Some of the remaining outtake songs go back more toward the sedate side of “Fearless”-style material; she didn’t leave any real bangers in the can. “We Were Happy,” the first of two successive tracks to bring in Keith Urban (but only for backgrounds on this one), employs fake strings and real cello as Swift waxes nostalgic for a time when “you threw your arms around my neck, back when I deserved it.” It’s funny, in a good way, to hear Swift at 31 recreating a song she wrote at 17 or 18 that pined for long-past better times. The next song, “That’s When,” brings Urban in for a proper duet where he gets a whole second verse and featured status on half a chorus, and it’s lovely to hear them together. But, as a make-up song, it doesn’t feel as real or lived-in as the more personal things she was writing at the time — and the fact that its chords are pretty close to a slightly more balladic version of the superior “You Belong With Me” was probably a pretty good reason for dropping it at the time.

the 18-year-old Taylor Swift is a great place to visit, but “Folklore” and “Evermore” are the place you’ll want to return to and live, unless you have an especially strong sentimental attachment to “Fearless”… which, sure, half of young America does. It’s not irreconcilable to say that the two albums she issued in the last year represent a daring pinnacle of her career, but that “Fearless” deserved to win album of the year in 2008. Has there been a greater pop single in the 20th century than “You Belong With Me”? Probably not. Did the album also have lesser moments you probably haven’t thought about in a while, like the just-okay “Breathe”? Yes. (I looked up to see whether Swift had ever played that little remarked upon number in concert, and according to setlists.fm, she did, exactly once… in 2018. Because she’s Taylor Swift, and of course she did.) It’s not certain that her duet with Colbie Caillat really needed to be resurrected, except it’s fun, because hey, she even roped former duet partners back into her time warp. But there are so many number that have stood the test of time, like “The Way I Love You,” an early song that really got at the complicated feelings about passion and fidelity that she would come to explore more as she grew into her 20s… and just kind of a headbanger, too, on an album that does love its fiddles and mandolins.

It doesn’t take much to wonder why Swift put up “Fearless” first in this six-album exercise; it’s one of her two biggest albums, along with “1989,” and it’s 13 years old, which does mean something superstitious in the Taylor-verse. In a way, it’ll be more interesting to see what happens when she gets to more complicated productions, like “1989” or “Reputation.” But maybe “Fearless” did present the opportunity for the grandest experiment out of the gate: to recreate something that pure and heartfelt, with all the meticulousness a studio master like Swift can put to that process now, without having it seem like she’s faking sincerity. Let the think-pieces proceed — because this is about six hundred different shades of meta. But, all craftiness and calculation aside, there’s a sweetness to the regression that’s not inconsequential. It harks back to a time when she only wondered if she could be fearless, before she learned it the harder way for sure. What they say about actors “disappearing into the role”? That really applies to Taylor Swift, playing herself.

[dustedmagazine]

Dusted Mid-Year Exchange, Part 1: Activity to Jeff Parker

Irreversible Entanglements

Six years ago, newly moved to Tumblr, we looked for a fresh take on the mid-year best-of list idea, partly to be contrary, partly because some of us had no interest in writing about the same records over and over again. After some discussion — well, a lot of discussion — we decided to turn our mid-year feature into a sort of secret Santa exchange. We’d each nominate two records and each review two records, but, here’s the kicker, they wouldn’t be the same records. We’d trade with our fellow writers, and if it meant that we had to listen to music way out of our comfort zone, so be it.

Since then we’ve had smooth exchanges and rough ones – last year’s was especially testy, but what can you do with such an opinionated bunch—but it’s become a favorite annual event. This year was no different, except that no one was truly revolted by their assignments.

Unlike some years, there was no clear dominant pick, though Six Organs, James Elkington, Makaya McCraven/Gil Scott-Heron, Cable Ties and Irreversible Entanglements all got multiple votes.

We’ll split our individual album write-ups into two posts. Today’s covers records by artists from Activity to Jeff Parker. We’ll get to the rest of the alphabet tomorrow. On the third and final day, we’ll post writers’ lists. Participants included Tobias Carroll, Tim Clarke, Justin Cober-Lake, Andrew Forell, Ray Garraty, Jennifer Kelly, Arthur Krumins, Patrick Masterson, Ian Mathers, Bill Meyer, Jonathan Shaw and Derek Taylor.

Activity — Unmask Whoever

Who picked it? Tim Clarke

Did we review it? Yes, Tim said, “This music strains at the leash, held tightly in check by the motorik rhythms, while gaseous synths seek to permeate all corners of the soundscape.”

Ray Garraty’s take:

You wouldn’t know that it is a debut album, but then it’s a super band, so that doesn’t count. Vocalist Travis Johnson’s delivery reminds you a symbolist poet reciting some lines from his notebook, neither singing nor reading. Despite referring to violence in song titles and lyrics, this music is as far from violent as it can be. It’s too self-conscious to even carry symbolic violence but when on ‘Earth Angel’ the vocalist with the hook “I wanna fuck around” almost breaks into a scream, it turns into a whisper instead. It’s these small details that unmask the outfit’s postmodern disguise and show that Activity is the real deal, not a half-baked pastiche.

Decoy with Joe McPhee — AC/DC (OtoRoku)

Who picked it? Derek Taylor.

Did we review it? Yes, Derek said, “Decoy is a working group and a heady amalgam that recalls a dream fusion of Atlantis-era Sun Ra, Keith Jarrett’s marathon electric stand with Miles at the Cellar Door, and Larry Young circa his Blue Note moonshot Contrasts, while still relentlessly retaining its own flight plan.”

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

Wow. “A/C” is impressive enough with its wild unfurlings of trumpet and sax, its woozy meditations in bowed and plucked stand-up bass, its incendiary organ bursts, all rooted in jazz, but touching on the hot, experimental outposts of rock and soul and R&B, too. But the second side, “D/C,” is even more exciting, as the tumult of sounds gets more fevered and McPhee breaks out in song. Who can blame him? You want to join in. It’s a mind-bending swirl that boils up and over the edges, heady, excessive and exhilarating. So glad I got to hear this, Derek, and it reinforces the benefits of trading favorites, i.e. finding music that is way out of your normal circuit but, even so, exactly what you need.  

 Sandy Ewen — You Win (Gilgongo)

You Win by Sandy Ewen

Who picked it? Bill Meyer

Did we review it? No.

Andrew Forell’s take:

Experimental guitarist Sandy Ewen appears as much concerned with space as sound. On You Win, she treats her instrument as pure object to explore the minutiae of its potential. Patterns emerge like communications from distant galaxies or the gradual shift and warp of old buildings. The 5 tracks scrape and rumble as occasionally identifiable guitar sounds — feedback hum, plucked strings — flicker from the mix. Best heard through headphones, You Win demands concentration lest one misses the nuanced denaturing and subversion of Ewen’s work, which is as fascinating as it is challenging.  

Fake Laugh — Dining Alone (State 51 Conspiracy)

Fake Laugh · Ever Imagine

Who picked it? Tim Clarke

Did we review it? Yes Tim said, “These sharp, funny, warm-hearted songs are immediately endearing, yet shot through with bracingly sour ingredients.” 

Andrew Forell’s take:

Dining Alone, Kamran Khan’s latest album as Fake Laugh, is a collection of pastel Day-Glo bedroom pop songs that breeze by leaving barely a hair ruffled in their wake. Khan has an ear for a melody, a wistfully pleasant voice and a talent for arrangement that make this album an enjoyable listen but there is a nagging feeling that he is holding something back. Tracks like the finely wrought “A Memory” and Supertramp update “The Empty Party” stand out but Dining Alone feels like an intermediate step on which Khan tries out ideas and seeks a way forward although there is enough here to be optimistic about what might come next.

 Field Works — Ultrasonic (Temporary Residence)

Ultrasonic by Field Works

Who picked it? Justin Cober-Lake

Did we review it? Yes, in a May Dust, Tim Clarke wrote that “Stuart Hyatt’s latest compilation in the Field Works series is an absolute beauty — and timely given it’s being released during a pandemic whose origins may be linked to bats.” 

Derek Taylor’s take:

Most of the listening that I do in the service of reviewing music revolves around discerning who’s, what’s and how’s. Those sorts of taxonomic identifications feel superfluous, not to mention futile when navigating the music on Ultrasonic. Sources I mistook as aquatic (“Dusk Tempi,” “Echo Affinity,” “Music for a Room with Vaulted Ceiling,” and “Indiana Blindfold”) are subterranean, specifically the echolocation emissions of bats. Harp and piano sounds dapple “Silver Secrets” and “Sodalis” as instrumental signposts, but they’re outliers in a program that feels largely electronic and beyond the scope of scrupulous inventory.  

The closest, if admittedly antiquated, genre descriptors I have for these ecology-minded creations are ambient and new age. A seraphic, celestial quality suffuses most of them with sweeping washes of tonal color layering over more definable rhythms and progressions. The combination curiously reminds me of a distant temporal relic that served as childhood gateway to this sort of territory, my father’s vinyl edition of Ray Lynch’s Deep Breakfast. It’s another feeble attempt at a compass point and evidence of how difficult it can be to escape the ingrained habits that influence personal musical consumption.

The Giving Shapes — Earth Leaps Up (Elsewhere)

Who recommended it? Arthur Krumins

Did we review it? Yes. Arthur said, “You feel like you’re being carried into a dream, familiar yet strange.”

Ian Mathers’ take:

There’s just something nice about a record where, a few minutes after putting it on, your partner suddenly remarks “you know, this is very calming”. It’s not that the work of Robyn Jacob (voice, piano) and Elisa Thorn (voice, harp) is soporific or somehow uninvolving, more that there’s a somehow centered kind of deliberateness with which they approach these songs that feels oddly reassuring. The way their voices often echo lines (or slightly altered lines) back at one another can feel vaguely Stereolab-ish, but rather than the coolly pulsing, layered grooves (and transient noise bursts) of that outfit, the simplicity of the arrangements here feels direct and clean and often comforting. But it’s the type of comfort that lets you see the difficulty you’re trying to tackle head-on, not the comfort that swaddles you away from having to deal with the world. It’s more bracing than lulling, in other words, and frequently beautiful at that.

  Irreversible Entanglements — Who Sent You? (Don Giovanni/International Anthem)

Who recommended it? Andrew Forell.

Did we review it? Yes. Andrew Forell wrote, “Who Sent You? is an extraordinary statement lyrically and musically.”

Bill Meyer’s take:

I’m inclined to agree with Andrew Forell. When I first encountered the vocal-focused free jazz of Irreversible Entanglements in 2018, I was more taken by the band’s focused exchanges of energy onstage than I was by their self-titled debut LP as a listening experience. But its successor steps up their already powerful game by easing up just a bit. They’ve let more air and variety into the surging rhythms and interweaving horn lines, opening up space for vocalist Camae Ayewa’s words to land with even more impact and staying power. Ayewa, who also records as Moor Mother, is more of a poetic declaimer than a singer or rapper, and her expressions of cultural memory and existential survival in the face of remorseless racism and economic terrorism boom over the music’s ebb and flow with inspiring authority. While her words are always applicable, this record sounds like it was made to be heard in a time of plague and revolt; when people ask in years to come what record sounds like the middle of 2020 felt, a lot of people will hold up Who Sent You?

  The Jacka — Murder Weapon (The Artist / EMPIRE)

Who recommended it? Ray Garraty

Did we review it? Yes. Ray Garraty said, “this album confirms Jacka’s status among the greatest fallen soldiers of hip hop.”

Tim Clarke’s take:

Despite being a posthumous release whose title refers to the artist’s tragic death by shooting back in 2015, Murder Weapon by Bay Area rapper The Jacka is a surprisingly cohesive listening experience, largely thanks to the lush palette of old-school samples employed on many of these tracks. From the aching strings on early highlight “Walk Away” via the swinging funk of “Can’t Go Home” to the children’s choir on “We Outside,” there’s a warmth and humanity to this sad story that honors the artist’s memory.

 Ka — Descendants of Cain (Iron Works)

Who picked it? Ray Garraty

Did we review it? Yes, Ray said, “Descendants of Cain, Ka’s seventh album combines the epic bleakness of the Old Testament with Brownsville’s hopelessness.”

Tobias Carroll’s take:

Shamefully, this is my first exposure to the music of MC and producer Ka; it’s his sixth album overall, and I’ve got some catching up to do. For an album with a title and cover art that could just as easily fit on a doom metal album, what surprised me was how focused this all was. The album flows beautifully, with music that fits somewhere between sinuous soul and the art-damaged Americana heard on, say, Matmos’s The West — with a handful of cinematic samples topping it off. It’s a perfect match for Ka’s voice, which manages to be textured and beatifically smooth all at once. Some albums paint a picture for the listener; this one is wholly immersive.

Matt LaJoie — Everlasting Spring

Everlasting Spring by Matt LaJoie

Who picked it? Tobias Carroll

Did we review it? No

Ray Garraty’s take:

Matt LaJoie’s technical verbosity is on the spot here, as all the man-made sounds can be mistaken for something Nature produced out of its vast resources. Everlasting Spring is like a small water spring which flows and flows but can’t eventually flow into a river, being forever condemned to be just this spring. Everlasting Spring lasts almost for an hour (if we count a bonus track), and it’s six minutes for every string LaJoie’s guitar has. Not many men can admire nature for that long. The whole album has that New Age-ish feel, when you can start listening to it from any track, and nothing will change in your views on it.

Maybe it does give a good mimesis of what spring sounds like but we still need a change of weather from time to time.

 Mamaleek — Come & See (The Flenser)

Come and See by Mamaleek

Who recommended it? Jonathan Shaw

Did we review it? Yes. Jonathan said, “Their dominant textures are still harsh and confrontational, vocals are still howled and shouted. But there are riffs. There are melodic structures.”

Justin Cober-Lake's take:

As black metal, Mamaleek would hold their own, but there's a persistent work to stretch boundaries here. Come & See keeps a core mix of sludge and anger, but the group's inventiveness keeps the album consistently surprising. The group finds brighter tones than anticipated, even while moving away from metal more toward alt-rock at times, and post-rock at others, and generally finding expressions that require a hyphen. An occasional breakdown touches on jazz or finds its roots in rock 'n' roll. “Cabrini-Green” functions like a suite — track the movements and break the track into its separate pieces — even as it avoids a sort of linear sequence. “Elsewhere” (and, indeed, much of the album) turns out a demented history of hardcore. The record probably won't find much of an audience outside of the metal scene, but listening past the obvious trappings reveals a wealth of influences and a complexity that makes for intriguing listening across genre strictures.

 Jeff Parker — Suite for Max Brown (International Anthem)

Suite for Max Brown by Jeff Parker

Who picked it? Arthur Krumins

Did we review it? Yes. Arthur said, “Following the looped, electronic and eclectic New Breed, Jeff Parker’s latest album expands into an even greater range of off-kilter sonic experiments.”

Tobias Carroll’s take:

Before this year, my knowledge of Jeff Parker’s music came largely from his work with Tortoise. And that’s far from a bad thing; Tortoise is a fine band. But hearing Parker push further into the realm of jazz with Suite for Max Brown is its own form of delight, where precisely-played melodies meet instrumental virtuosity. It’s an eminently listenable album, and one where I’m still noticing new moments of subtle beauty in the mix.

[nosferatyou]

New Tune: Chapter 3 (Jake Kiszka x Reader)

WC: 3.2k

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of alcohol and hard drugs, two of our favorite boys smoking weed

Summary: Two guitarists meet at a Rock Festival, only having a week with each other before they have to return to their own lives. The bond they create is unfeigned and resolute.

Notes: I HIGHLY recommend the songs I mention throughout this chapter, especially into the mystic. That song fucks me up.

I walked up to the tour bus, acoustic strapped to my back. I checked my phone one more time to make sure I had the time right. The band was still playing what seemed to be their last song. All of the members were putting everything into their playing, emotion from all of them pouring through. The singing belting out everything, the drums and bass seemed to be on the same wavelength with a steady and more relaxed rhythm, and finally, the guitar seemed angry and messy. Despite all of their conflicting tones they found a way to meld together, making their music them. It wasn't anything like me and the boys played,  I could only describe it as a mixture of Sabbath's first album and Pink Floyds “wish you were here” album. That style of a very heavy, angry blues with David Gilmour's bends and solos. I couldn't think of a genre to pin it down with. 

I decided not to burst in unannounced, so I opened up my phone and leaned against the bus, mindlessly scrolling through instagram. As soon as I started three guys walked off the bus, cigarettes in hand. They stopped when they saw me, each with a quizzical look on their faces. I quickly stuck my hand out and introduced myself,

“Jake Kiszka, I’m um, here to meet Y/N.”

Matt seemed to quickly realize who I was because a smile adjourned his face.

“Oh shit hey man! I dont think you've met the other guys. This here is Eli, our bassist.” Eli quickly shook my hand returned back to his cig. Matt continued. “And this is Asa, our baby drummer.”

 Asa shook his head and took a drag of his, then motioned towards me. “I’m literally the same height this guy.”

Matt looked at the both of us and gave out a quick laugh “ Oh shit, my bad.”

“I can't help that i’m the shortest, literally all of you are over 5’10! Y/N is a head taller than me, especially when she wears heels. Which is like, everyday.” Said Asa, trying to defend himself.

“Speaking of! She will be out shortly, she's on the phone. We are gonna go to the bar, see 

you around man.” 

They all threw me a hasty peace sign and walked away. 

They are quite the crew, I see why Y/N is the way she is. 

Not too long after Y/N hopped off the bus with a guitar strapped to her back and what seemed to be a small mason jar. 

“Well hey there, Rockstar. Ready to go jam?”

She seemed different than earlier, and it wasn’t that her hangover was gone. She just seemed… off. Still, she was peppy and seemed eager to see me.

She was dressed the same as this morning, but she put on a light denim jacket. Probably for how cold it gets at night here.

“Hell yeah. I'm assuming we aren't playing here, just that no fun.” I joked.

“My feelings would be very hurt right now if I didn't have a super cool spot planned.”

I raised one of my eyebrows, not entirely visible behind my sunglasses.

“Super cool spot?”

“Yeah! It's a bit of a walk, I hope you don’t mind. I just enjoy hiking through the desert while I’m here. A welcome change of scenery.”

I smiled at that sentence,there is just something about a girl who doesn't mind a hike that gets me.

“I don’t mind at all.”

She did look beautiful, I can’t deny that. Her hair was wild and curly, not unkempt but perfectly messy. The light from the sun catching her skin perfectly.

“Well let's get going! Can’t just stare at me all night.” 

Fuck.

A small blush rose to my cheeks. Guess I can't really smoothly play it off.

“Can you blame?”

“No I guess not.” A bright smile on her face as we started our trek.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And welcome to the coolest part of this whole festival.”

We stood on a massive boulder that went off the trail, overlooking the desert. It must've been about a 20 ft drop, at least. The vast desert ahead of us  seemed never ending, and it was all covered with green bushes. The sun still setting, about to disappear beyond the horizon.

“Fuck. The boys would kill to see this” I said, the view stunning me.

She already found a spot perched on a rock overlooking it all.

“Fuck is the perfect description for this place.”

I made my way over to her, grabbing a seat next to her. She pulled the small mason jar out of her pocket.

“Whatcha got there?”

“The surprise.” She looked over to me, excitement evident on her face.

“You never told me there was one.”

“It wouldn't be a surprise if i told you.” She said nudging my shoulder.

“Well show it to me then.” 

She unscrewed the lid and inside was a nug of weed, along with rolling papers and a lighter.

My eyes lit up, happy to see the product in front of me.

 I chuckled and said “Y/N, You're killing it tonight.”

“Rockstar, you don't have to tell me that.” She handed it to me suddenly, then continued 

“Thing is, I never learned to roll. Well-” She stopped for a moment, thinking. “Well I did learn, but my skills are laughable.”

I grabbed my guitar from my back, and laid it down in my lap, using it as a flat surface.

“You brought the right person with you.” I grabbed the items out of the jar and laid them out, staying as still as I could. Talking while rolling the blunt.

“Josh stopped smoking joints a while back, you know, for his voice. Sam and Danny still do, but both use bongs whenever they can. In fact, I remember Sam trying to make a bong in woodworking class, I think it’s still on the bus actually.”

I finished grinding it, setting it down in a little pile, then grabbing the papers. Continuing 

to talk while I rolled.

“Anyways they always left me to roll, and after MANY years of experience.” I stop for a moment to lick the edges and push the paper in with my tongue. “I can roll a pretty damn good blunt.”

I finally finish it off by running my lighter along the edge, cooking it.

“Under two minutes? Damn, man I’m impressed. If I did it we would have been here a while.” She laughed and then laid her guitar down next to her, leaning back on her hands. 

I grabbed all the stuff and put it back in the jar, sitting it down next to me. I tried to pass the blunt over to her.

“Ladies, first”

“Psh, please. I know proper etiquette.” She lightly scoffed, pushing my hand back over to me.

“I insist, it’s your bud.” My hand returning back to its spot, wiggling it around to tease her.

She was stubborn, her face was scrunched up in thought before finally accepted. She took it from my hands, going for the lighter.

“Ah, I got it.”

“Ooh, look at you being all chivalrous.”

I laughed and cupped my hand around it, blocking any wind, then lit the end of it.

She breathed in, holding it in a bit before finally exhaling, letting out a plume of smoke. It hanging heavy in the air for a moment before the breeze sweeps it away.

She passed it over to me, and I grabbed it out of her hand, taking an equally big hit.

“Its funny, usually by now i'm in the middle of a cough-” She cut herself off, going into an expected coughing fit. 

I cough out a laugh, not expecting that to happen. The both of us laughing and coughing before it eased.

It seemed like it had been a bit since she’d smoked, she was paying attention to all of her actions carefully before doing them.

We eventually calmed down and quietly passing it between each other, enjoying the sounds of nature and the setting sun.

“Fuck I hate when it gets this small.” She was doing her best to pinch the end of it, trying to get a hit.

“It's a fun challenge.” I laughed.

“I use this so I don’t have to deal with challenges.” She passed the roach over to me and settled back on her hands, staring off into the distance. A serene look on her face and seemingly not a bad thought in mind.

I took a final hit before putting it out on the rock and flicking it off the boulder.

“Wanna play something?” I asked.

“Just- Give me a second, this all is so beautiful its a bit overwhelming.”

I simply nodded and stared off myself, marveling in nature's beauty.

I caught my gaze drifting over to her several times, admiring her peace. She seemed so at home with all of this.

“Know the song “Junk” by John Denver?” She asked not looking away from the scenery.

I fully turned my head towards her saying “Of course.”

She pulled herself away and grabbed her guitar and pick, starting to strum the tune.

She sang along, never faltering. I listened for a bit, admiring her voice. The song matched the energy of the night, making the whole experience more surreal.

In the chorus I joined in, harmonizing with her soprano voice. Our voices melded together beautifully, our guitars singing and harmonizing together. A smile forming on her face, as we both sang together. Our guitars finding a rhythm together and continued on after the song ended. We played off of each other, either one of us soloing at any point, but we kept a steady strum pattern throughout it. 

We eventually found a way to segue into other songs, never really stopping. Continuing to sing, and if we messed up we’d laugh while continuing. We generally knew all the songs we started, and if the other didn't they’d play matching chords, listening to the other sing. I played my fair share of John Denver and Neil Young, never forgetting a word. She seemed kin to Jim Croce and James Taylor. Not that I ever minded. Both of us were so perfectly contempt with just staying there and never stopping. We stayed like that for hours.

Eventually we did slow down, finishing “Annie's Song” by John Denver. Which of course I started. I looked up to see her tearing up, still she never stopped playing, nor did it seem that she wanted to. Her voice cracking when singing the lyrics. Once the finished I gently set my guitar down on the ground, and moved hers as well, she didn't seem to mind. Her eyes never moved from the ground, staying quiet rather than her normal talkative self.

“Little Bird, what's wrong?”

She looked up, her eyes red and puffy, tears streaming down her face. 

“Little Bird?” She asked. 

“I don’t know just trying it out.” I said quietly.

“Well nor am I little or a bird, but its cute.” Very voice barely audible.

 I pulled her in for a tight hug, not letting go. I whispered “Talk to me, Little Bird.”

She relaxed in my arms, wrapping her arms around me, quietly crying onto my shoulder, muffling her sobs. We stayed like that for a while, I let her take the time she needed.

She finally pulled back turning her back to me to wipe her eyes and face, then turning back around to face me with sad eyes.

“It’s nothing really. It’s not anything I cant handle. I have been handling it.” Her voice 

trailed off, but I didn't push her. I let her take her time to get her thoughts together. 

“It’s just a big jumbled mess i’ve learned to deal with. You know how home life can be.”

I nodded, moving a bit closer, listening to her words.

“It’s just, this career, its taking a toll on my relationships. My dad, he was a musician too, he never got anywhere, but he is really fucking good. Anyways he always played folk and old country, I guess he never really got my heavier style. Which is fine, that wasn't a problem.”

She paused a moment.

“Just.. He hasn’t accept me as real musician in a way, because of it. In his eyes, my work is along the lines of all the pop shit out there. Which hurts more than anything else. It’s not like i’m doing this for my dad, this is all me. There is just something about a parents judgement though, you hold it above everything else.”

I stayed quiet for a moment, processing everything. I knew that wasn’t everything. Annie's song is what caused her to cry, these situations have no correlation.

“I think. I think he just sees these country and folk legends as what they are, the best. I mean we all know that, but I think he's so tunnel visioned that nothing else compares. I’ve heard you, you’re fucking fantastic. I won't lie to you, I found your instagram and made it to the bottom. You're an amazing performer who’s doing more than most out there, more than me. I found that video of you using the violin bow, it blew my mind. I tried my hand at it, but I didn't come close to what you can do.”

I stopped myself, fearing id go into a hole of compliments and guitar talk.

“I digress, your dad is honestly dumb if he can’t accept how talented you are. Yeah, I said it, your dad is acting dumb.”

She laughed lightly, and leaned against me.

“Ah so you agree?”

She just hummed against me in agreement.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

I turned my head to look at her face, and asked “What's really wrong? I know this is probably one of them, but I have a suspicion that this isn't the main problem.”

She took a deep breath and sighed. 

“I was hoping you wouldn't see that.” She somberly laughed.

“Well, um. I had a fight with my..” She trailed off, “With my boyfriend.” 

My own mood deflated when she said that, let down. I just stayed still and listened.

“I've been ignoring him for days. Which is extremely shitty on my end, I deserve what I get. We just, ever since my bands been growing he’s been getting harder to handle. If that 

makes sense?”

I nodded.

“Well, uh, he’s always been the jealous type. Asking me if i'd rather be with other men,and  if we went anywhere he’d make it extremely clear to anyone that I was with him. It's gotten to the point that he has convinced himself that im cheating on him whenever I leave to go on tour. Which is quite often. It hurts to hear that the man you're with has zero trust in you. It really fucking hurts, you eventually just start blaming yourself for his actions.”

She took a sharp breath, slowly exhaling.

“So I started turning my phone off and just leave it off for days. I couldn't handle it, so I ignored it.” 

“Y/N.”

She continued.

“ I swear he’s good to me, he loves me. He just lets his jealousy get the best of him, it just takes over. Once im home its all okay, but that's like two months out of the year. It doesn't help my case that I have to argue his case…”

She went quiet, just thinking to herself. I honestly didn’t know what to say, so I just continued to hold her and be there for her.

“Thank  you for being with me tonight.” She said

“No problem, little bird.”

She smiled for a second before it faltered. 

“God knows what I would've gotten into tonight. Usually this is when Eli would bust out the coke, and by that point I’d be hammered. Maybe Asa would have suggested acid instead of coke. God, the amount of acid i’ve tripped on during shows. I did it nights in a row, which isn't the safest thing. This is the tamest thing i've done weeks. I can't remember the last time I didn't drink into oblivion.”

“All to drown out the noise..” she said under her breath.

“I honestly don’t know what to say, Y/N.”

“I know, i’m a mess.”

“No, it's not that. I just, I want to give you some type of advice, I want to help you. I just don’t know how.”

“Thank you, Jake. The boys have all tried in their own ways. There is just nothing I can do.”

She gave a weak smile and pressed in closer for a second.

“No one should be treated that way, its bullshit. Love is trust, and that kind of jealousy isn’t the right kind of love. You know?” 

She weakly scrunched her shoulders.

“I’ve only known you for I think two days? I don't know if this is crossing a line for our two days of friendship, but I just have to say. You can’t take this bullshit from him, you’re a fucking rockstar who takes no shit. You definitely don't from any of these guys, and especially the business side of it. You're playing whatever you want on that stage, you obviously fought for that freedom. Fight for this one freedom.”

She moved out of my side, my arm falling from her shoulder.

She laid her head in her hands, running her hands 

through her hair. 

“Fuck. I know you're right. I know it, I.. I just can’t break away from him. Ive built my life around him, it’s just like that fucking Fleetwood Mac song.” 

She suddenly turned around, facing me, her eyes sad and heavy.

“Can we play one more song?” She asked.

“Anything, Little Bird. As long as it isn't Landslide.”

She weakly laughed and shook her head, focusing on her guitar.

She started the chord progression for “Into the Mystic” by Van Morrison. 

Just like before at practice, she played with every emotion poured into it. Melting into the song, letting it all out. I joined it after the first few verses, playing the solo part on my guitar, letting her focus on the words. During the chorus the both of us threw caution into the wind and belted it. No longer harmonizing, but just being in the moment. Connecting with the universe, as Morrison intended. Never letting our voices falter throughout the rest of the song, belting every word. Both of us playing our guitars as if our lives depended on it. 

We crescendoed into silence, both just sitting in the moment. Reveling in it.

She suddenly broke the silence.

“Hungry?”

“Starving.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eventually we made it back to her bus, both of us exhausted. She made it to her small pantry searching for something. I plopped down on the couch, leaning back into it. I closed my eyes and heard her pop something into the microwave. The clicking of her heels getting louder as she grew closer. She sat down next to me, leaning her head against my shoulder. A small smile growing on my face. 

“Thanks, Rockstar”

“My Pleasure, Little Bird.”

Chapter 4

[emma-nation]

I Almost Do (Mona x MC)

Summary: Inspired by the song, “I Almost Do” by Taylor Swift. Mona’s life and reflections after the events of Ride Or Die Book 1.

Genre: Romance/Fluff

Rating: G

MonaxMC Tag List: @zoe6111, @simsvetements, @whoinvitedalx, @abunchofbadchoices, @kamilahmademedoit, @talkinlikeateen, @eagle-one-1, @andreear17, @monagf, @nighthunterss, @fal-carrington, @crazzyplays, @honorablebicycle, @averyswilshere, @iam-the-fuckin-queen

Notes: I had this forgotten on my drafts for quite a while now. I just found it and as I miss Mona a lot, I decided to post.

“Why do I even have to learn this useless shit?” The moronic High School teenager threw her pencil across the table and rolled her eyes, frustrated because she was unable to solve a simple math equation. “Who cares about SATs? I’m gonna be a model, jeez!“

She stood up, kicking off the chair and went back to her bedroom, where she began to talk dirty to her boyfriend.

“Why do I have to do this again?” Mona thought to herself. The answer was obvious. Community service. Tutoring kids in poor financial conditions, who were close from failing school. Some were tolerable and willing to learn, but another…

She sat down at the couch, staring at her watch as she counted the hours to complete one more day of her alternative penalty. Filling the report, she lied, marking it as achieved task. She had done her part after all.

It was a little bit over 7 PM when she arrived at her mother’s small apartment in Bronx. A stupid incident at the subway caused her to be late, violating her 6 PM curfew. If only she was allowed to drive again.

“You’re late,” her mother complained. “What if the officer had called you and you weren’t here to pick up?”

“Trouble at the subway,” Mona told, throwing her backpack in some corner in the living room. “It wasn’t my fault.”

Her explanation wasn’t enough. At the kitchen, her mother scowled at her with her arms crossed and narrowed eyes. It was time for another lecture. Another scolding.

“Do you ever consider I had to humiliate myself to your father, so he could get out of jail?”

“Never asked for it,” she made her way to the small corridor that lead to her old bedroom.

“You ran away, you got yourself involved with a gang, you got shot… as if it wasn’t enough, you managed to get in trouble with the FBI. The FBI! I wonder, every single day, where I went so wrong with you. If that was because of your father, you’ve got what you wanted after all. He used his money to bribe a judge and ease your penalty.”

It wasn’t completely true. Mona was declared innocent in the Brotherhood case. She also disclosed all the information she knew about Jason Shaw and his gang. She refused to speak about Mercy Park Crew. They had no concrete proof of her involvement with Kaneko’s crew. Only witnesses’ reports and suspicions.

Being influent and rich, her father, the very same douchebag that abandoned her when she was just a toddler, worked on his ways to send her back to New York. Where she was punished with community service and parole. She was also forced to attend classes for High School drop-outs, in order to get a GED, and sessions with a therapist.

Mona slammed the bedroom’s door shut. She threw herself on the bed and stared at the ceiling. There wasn’t much she could do after all. Her mother had forbidden any access to internet or cell phone. Watching TV was her only option, but the channels were very limited, considering their budget wouldn’t allow them to pay for more.

She sat at her desk. Evidence of her old life was still all around, as a reminder of her past mistakes. In the drawer, she still kept the acceptance letters she received, from multiple universities, shortly before her first imprisonment. She grabbed an empty paper and a pen, attempting to start another letter.

“Dear Allison…” she started.

Within the weeks Mona spent in prison in California, she received a few letters from her lover. She refused to read or even open them. It was like putting salt in a open wound. That affection was temporary. Allison had just started college, why on Earth was she supposed to remember her criminal ex-girlfriend? The desire for a healthy and normal life would never allow her to keep this passion going for too long. There was also her father, Detective Wheeler, that hated Mona to his guts. He would never allow them to be together.

Mona crumpled the paper and threw it in the trash can. She couldn’t do that. Even if Allison wasn’t so far away, studying at Langston University, it wasn’t a good idea. She couldn’t bear the thought of learning she had moved on, or the thought of having to say goodbye again.

Dinner was ready. Another insult session with her mom. No matter how hard Mona was trying, their relationship would never be the same as before. She’d never look at her as her loving and smart daughter again. All she could see was a dirty criminal, who she was ashamed of.

“I called your therapist today. She told me you won’t say a single word during the sessions.”

“I don’t need therapy.”

“Your parole officer thinks so. Your current behavior is inconsistent with the person you used to be, two years ago, there must be something wrong.”

“I made my own decisions. I’m an adult.”

“Then start behaving like one.”

The late hours of the night were Mona’s favorite. She would sneak out to the building’s rooftop, only to look at the stars.

“What are you doing at this time of the night, nerd?” She spoke to the Universe. “Probably so bored and tired as I am.”

Being such a nerd, Allison was probably studying for a hard exam. Of course, even in college, she needed to work hard to maintain her #1 position in all her classes. Mona liked to imagine the picture they took at her Prom was lying somewhere on her desk, and that she’d look at it once in a while, to keep herself motivated.

“Wishful thinking,” in reality she should be making out with some rich frat guy.

In the next morning, her mother left early for work, as usual. After speaking to the parole officer over the phone, Mona checked her schedule. No brainless teenagers to teach. No therapist to analyze her. She had an entire day of freedom.

Wearing her best outfit and full of determination, she went to the subway station. She was going to Langston. It wasn’t doing any good for her mental health to have unfinished business. Maybe that would even help her to get discharged earlier from therapy.

Before she could enter the subway though, she took a step back. It was stupid. Completely stupid. Her presence would only embarrass Allison in front of her new group of friends and teachers, maybe even cause her trouble.

Upset, Mona turned around, ready to go back to Bronx, when a voice called her.

“Mona?!”

It was strangely familiar and… soft. She felt her cheeks blushing a little bit. Before turning around, she stared down at the floor for a second, only to be sure she wasn’t hearing things.

“Mona,” a pair of arms embraced her from behind, confirming she wasn’t dreaming. “It’s really you!”

She finally faced her. The girl she took to a stupid school Prom. The girl she got in trouble for. The girl she took a bullet for. The girl she loved.

“Allison,” she spoke. “Hey.”

Allison’s eyes were a little bit teary, after hugging her tightly again, she looked inside Mona’s eyes and stroked her cheek.

“I heard you were back in New York and I managed to get your address. I was just going to visit you.”

“Why?”

“Because I miss you? Because…” the embarrassment didn’t let her finish the sentence, but Mona knew what she meant, because she felt exactly the same.

“Yeah, ‘cause… that. Those three stupid words. I know, right?”

Allison smiled and nodded in confirmation. For the first time in months, Mona managed to smile for real. She took Allison’s hand.

“So… I was thinking…” she bit her lower lip. “Let’s start this again. The right way this time. Would you like to go out for a coffee?”

“A pretty girl is asking me out?!” Allison laughed. “How could I say no?“

[amessywritersmind]

Life On The Farm

Summary: Two girls, Queen, and a lovely little farm house recording studio

Pairings: Roger Taylor x OC(Sabrina), Brian May x OC(Kiernan) 

Author’s note:  This is dedicated to my lovely friend @darling-i-read-it ,,, enjoy love :) 

The sun shone brightly, warming my face as I breathed in the fresh air around me. Stepping off the porch of the cute little farm house, I decided today was a perfect day for some exploring, seeing as the boys were occupied in the studio house currently.

“Kiernan! Come join me!” I called out to my bestfriend. I heard a loud bang followed by the sound of scrambling feet as she appeared by my side, slightly out of breath.

“Do I even want to know?” I questioned with a laugh.

“Those stairs are dangerous, I swear to you” she stated, once she regained control of her breathing. I just shook my head again, linking our arms and skipping out into the open fields.

It was absolutely gorgeous. Infront of us laid miles and miles of seemingly untouched lands, all waiting for us to explore.

“So, Sabrina, where should we go on this fine day” Kiernan asked as we made our way down a little path that led into an open field with thousands of little yellow daisies popping out of the ground.

“I have an idea” I told her, smirking devilishly. I dragged her out into the field, explaining and getting to work on my master plan.

Two hours later, we sat in the field, 6 successful flower crowns sat around us, and many more failed attempts at ones around that.

We were laughing, breathless, at a chicken who had decided to see what we were doing, who ended up plucking one the attempts of a flower crown out of Kiernan’s hand and running off with it.

“Alright alright” Kiernan said through gasps of laughter.

“What should we do with these lovelies now?” She finished, placing one on her head as I did the same.

“Now,” I started, standing up and grabbing two of the remaining crowns.

“Now I say we go make a group of boys very pretty” I giggled out. Kiernan smirked, standing up and grabbing the last two crowns in her hands.

“I like the way you think, my dear” She started, before we made our way into the house where the boys should be.

We walked into the front room, the boys lounging around, just having gotten done with recording for the day. All eyes made their way to us.

“And what have you been up to today my darlings?” Freddie called from one of the chairs in the front room, eyeing us cautiously.

“Well, while you hooligans were fluffing off in the studio, we were slaving away at something for you lot” I said dramatically.

“And what would that be my love?” Roger asked as he made his way from the kitchen.

I shot Kiernan a quick glance before we made our way to our significant others. I gave Roger a quick kiss, placing one of the flower crowns on his head while he was distracted, stepping back to admire my work.

“Oh how dashing you look” I feigned a swoon, giggling innocently as he made his way to one of the mirrors placed on the walls.

He did a dramatic twirl before making his way back to me and swaying us slightly.

“This is what you’ve been doing?” Brian asked and he looked at his own crown, laughing lightly. Kiernan giggled at that.

“Don’t worry Fred, John. We made one for you too!” I said as I danced over to Freddie, placing one on his head, Kiernan doing the same for John.

“Now we all are beautiful princesses!” I exclaimed as Freddie twirled me around. I detached myself from him, walking to the record player in the corner and putting on a new record that had just been released by a band called Fleetwood Mac that I had brought with me.

“C’mon Rog! Dance with me!!” I said excitedly as he rushed over to me, picking me up and spinning us wildly. I let out a little squeal, laughing as we went. One by one everyone joined in. Brian And Kiernan we’re dancing wildly, as John and Freddie attempted a slow waltz, despite the faster pace of the song.

We danced for a little while longer, all of us laughing and switching off partners. Roger and Brian were in the middle of an impromptu duet to whatever the boys had changed the record to, before the fun had to be ruined.

A throat cleared from the entry way, causing all to spin around and look, only to see Paul stood there with a sour look on his face.

“Don’t you guys have work to be doin?” He grumbled our.

“Oh don’t be so dramatic darling” Freddie was first to reply.

“We just wanted to have a bit of fun. It was getting tense in that studio!” Roger exclaimed.

“Well you need to have an album out by the end of the month and you guys are already 2 weeks behind schedule. There is no time for fun” he stated, more aggressively this time. I frowned at that. Party pooper.

The boys sighed, all making their way towards the front door and back into the recording studio. 

“I knew we should’ve left them at home. Those girls are just distractions” I heard Paul mutter under his breath as he turned to walk away.

Before I had the chance to make a comment back, I felt a tight hand clamped over my mouth until Paul was out of earshot. Once he was gone, I turned to Kiernan exasperatedly.

“What’d you do that for?”

“Because as much as I would love to see you bash his darn teeth in, I don’t think the boys would appreciate it. You just got to ignore it.” She said shrugging. I sighed, she did have a point. 

The rest of the day was spent in boredom until finally, the boys were done in the studio for the day. After a quick and fairly messy dinner, everyone separated for some time alone. 

“Rog! Let’s go for a walk!” I called up the stairs to him, knowing full well he could hear me from his room.

“Right now? It’s dark outside” He said, rubbing his eyes slightly. 

“Pleaseeeeeee, the moon is so bright and it’s the perfect night to go exploring” I all but begged like a two year old begging their mum for candy. He sighed, but returned to his room, pulling on a jacket and making his way down the stairs. 

“Let’s go” He grumbled. I kissed his cheek, pulling him to the door and putting on a jacket myself. 

On our way out, we passed Kiernan and Brian cuddled up on the porch swing, wrapped in a blanket with some tea. Probably star gazing, knowing Brian. 

“And where are you off to?” Brian questioned, as we walked past. 

“She’s forcing me to-” Roger started his whining but I cut him off. 

“We’re going exploring! If we aren’t back in an hour Roger probably hurt himself and you should probably go looking for us” I said, earning a chuckle from the pair on the swing. Roger just rolled his eyes. 

“Alright then” Brian said and we were off. 

We walked for a good ten minutes before we came across this grove of trees. I stared up at one of the taller ones, mischief in my eyes. 

“What are you thinking about?” Roger asked carefully. 

“I bet you five bucks I can make it to that branch before you.” I stated confidently, pointing to one of the branches that were higher up. 

“Oh you’re on!” He stated, shoving me out of the way slightly and reaching for the first branch. Before he could get off the ground though, I yanked his leg back down, hoisting myself up onto the branch and climbing upwards.

“Hey! Cheater!” He accused, but there was laughter evident in his voice.

I smirked down at him, continuing up. I didn't get very far though, because shortly after his statement, a crack could be heard, followed by a thud. I looked down, Roger laying on the floor, holding his hand and groaning. I quickly hurried back down, rushing to his side.

“What happened!? Are you ok?” I exclaimed, checking to make sure everything was in it’s correct place. Everything seemed to be ok, until he lifted his hand to my face. 

I grabbed his hand gently in mine, inspecting it, only to see his pinky was slightly bent. 

“Let’s get back to the house.” I said, pulling him up.

“Yep, that’s definitely broken.” John said, poking Roger’s finger causing him to hiss. 

“Well good going Rog, look what you’ve gone and done” Freddie sighed.

“Guys it really hurts! How am I supposed to drum?!” Roger cried out over dramatically.

“He’s got a point Fred, I guess we better start looking for a new drummer” Brian teased him. I had to stifle a laugh as Roger just glared at everyone. 

“Don’t be such a baby Rog, you only broke your pinky. You’ll be fine before you know it! And if not, I think I know enough of the drums to take your place” I finally said, joining in on the teasing. 

“Oi! Hush it! If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be in this position!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up, them landing back on his leg harshly, causing him to groan again, and the rest of us to break into laugher. He glared at us all once more. 

I grabbed an icepack, tossing it at him before grabbing his unhurt hand.

“C’mon you big baby, let me show you how sorry I am” I said throwing him a wink, before dragging him towards the stairs. Once we were at top, I turned to his smirking face as he was stumbling up the last few steps.

“Careful Rog, I know the last step is pretty steep. I don’t want you to end up breaking your other pinky” I called out. Laughter emitted from downstairs as Roger’s grin turned into a pout. 

“I was only kidding baby” I said, kissing him gently before pulling him into the room and closing the door softly.