#listened to wish you were here too but Pink Floyd doesn’t get so much ���they were ALL BAD’ discourse

[ujuro]

During my explorations of Actual Acclaimed Music before going back to my esoteric bullshit I decided to actually listen to a beatles album for once and I hate to break it to everybody but their seminal hit album 1965’s revolver is actually really good

[imaginedisish]

Wish You Were Here (The Umbrella Academy) (Ben Hargreeves x Reader)

A/N: HI GUYS! I’m back already!! So this is based on a request I recently got. I was really excited about this one and decided to write it right away. It’s a long one, so get ready. I hope you all like it!!! Enjoy! Request some more stuff because my requests are OPEN! Woot woot see ya guys next time :) Stay well! P.S the title is based on the Pink Floyd album/song of the same name

Summary: You’ve been kidnapped by Cha Cha and Hazel, but Ben is there to help. (Kinda sort of AU where season 2 hasn’t taken place but it’s pretty different than season one and ah just roll with it LOL)

Warnings: Violence, death, cursing, kidnapping, and tons and tons of FLUFF

Word Count: 3,326

It’s cold, damp, and dark. The room, or closet rather, that you’re in is unwelcoming and decrepit. It’s disgusting and uncomfortable. The frigid cement floors are stained in certain places with a dry, dark brown something, and you know that stain could only be two things. You hoped to god it wasn’t yours. 

The ceramic tiles behind you were like ice on your practically bare back. All you had on was a pair of baggy jeans and a tank top. You wished you could move, break free. You try to. But the handcuffs attached to the floor by a silver chain quickly remind you exactly where you are. Somehow, someway, they managed to kidnap you. 

You were trapped, alone in a four walled box. No one was coming to help you, and you knew that. You defected from the planned out mission. You got a little bit too cocky. You thought you could handle things on your own. You’ve always been like this, and you always ended up getting hurt. But you were used to doing things on your own. You had been alone your entire life until you found the Hargreeves, or rather until the Hargreeves found you. 

It was no more than six years ago. You were eighteen and fighting all the world’s problems by yourself. You had gone from foster home to foster home, but ran away from the system at sixteen because you just couldn’t take it anymore. So, you were young and alone. 

That is, until you met Ben for the very first time. 

It was in a situation just like this one. You had been captured, just seconds away from defeat, or worse death, when out of thin air some invisible thing and some crazy shirtless man managed to decimate the people you were fighting. You didn’t know then, but it was Klaus and Ben. 

Then, Ben appeared in front of you. It felt like a dream. Klaus was there, too, but for some reason he didn’t phase you as much. 

Klaus kneeled down and carefully began to cut the duck tape off your wrists and ankles. “Th-thank you,” You said to Ben specifically, making Klaus suddenly stop. He looks confused, concerned. 

“You can see me?” Ben asked, looking as if he had seen a ghost. 

“Well, yeah. I don’t know how you got in here or what the hell you two did, but I sure can see you,” You responded calmly, a slight smile playing at your lips. 

Ben smiled a bit, but concern stayed prominent in his eyes, almost as if to say, “I’m watching you, kid.” And honestly, you felt like you actually heard what he was saying. 

And then you realized that you did, because you’re a telekinetic clairvoyant. “Sorry,” You said, looking down. “I read your thoughts just there.” 

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I still haven’t told you I’m a ghost.” 

That’s when everything changed for you. The night you met Ben and Klaus would become the night you met the rest of the Hargreeves. They decided that even though you weren’t originally one of them, you should be. They let you in with open arms. They wanted you help you grow. They wanted to help you learn more about your powers and how to use them properly. 

But old habits die hard, and you always found a way to piss someone off and completely isolate yourself, all in an attempt to do things the way you liked to. And every time you did, you would end up broken and alone in some shitty situation. You were truly insane, doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results. This time, the Hargreeves weren’t having any of it. They left you to handle this one on your own. 

Except this time you knew you couldn’t do it. This was it. The Commission had found you once and for all. You were done for, and you knew it.

You knew it because even Ben had left you. 

Ben usually stayed with you on missions, but this time he didn’t. 

Tears begin to well up in your eyes. You blink just once and it feels as though a million tears come crashing down your cheeks, making tiny puddles on the floor as they fall. This was it. This was how you would go out. It was hopeless. You are hopeless. You can’t help but feel inexplicably guilty. You ruined the entire mission. You made the entire team fall, all so you could go after Hazel and Cha Cha. Now they had you, and they would have the others in no time. 

It’s all your fault and you know it. 

You’re sobbing now. “I-I’m sorry,” You manage to cry out as the guilt grows bigger and bigger in the pit of your stomach. “F-fuck, please I-I’m sorry.” But no one answers. “P-please,” You look up to the leaky ceiling above you, asking some higher power for help you know it won’t give you. It’s pointless. “I didn’t want this to happen, I’m sorry,” You whisper finally as you pull your legs into your chest. 

“Don’t apologize,” A familiar voice whispers, and a warm hand finds its way to your knee. You look to your left and there he his, sitting right next to you. 

“B-Ben, what are you-,” You try to ask but he cuts you off, wrapping you in his arms. For some reason, you were the only person he was able to touch, and you were the only person that could touch him. You wondered if somehow, you were part ghost, but your research into your powers had never gotten that far, and based on your current situation you feared that it never would. 

But for now, you try to focus on the fact that Ben is here with you. You try to focus on what was good, not the fact that you could die any minute now. Your warm tears still slowly fall down your cheeks. It’s uncontrollable at this point. 

Ben pulls ever so slightly apart from you, just enough for him to take his thumbs and wipe your tears from your cheeks. “It’s all going to be okay, okay (Y/N)?” He says softly, staring deeply into your eyes. 

You shake your head in disbelief. “I’m fucked, Ben. I’m done for. I feel so weak. I can barely use my telekinesis. I can’t move anything with my brain at least, that’s for sure.” 

Ben sighs. “But you can see me, can’t you?” He asks, trying to get you to believe that you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. 

“But that doesn’t mean I can take that door off its hinges with my powers and swat Cha Cha like a fly with it,” You say matter of factly. Ben can’t help but let out a slight laugh. His smile sets a million butterflies free in your stomach. It’s contagious, too, and you can’t help but smile back in his direction. 

“I can try to help you out of this, but I don’t exactly know where to start,” Ben says as his tone of voice changes drastically. He seems somber now. He’s helpless, just like you. Sure, there are ways Ben could try to help you, but they pose a risk to you and him alike. If you weren’t careful, Ben could possibly get hurt if he attempted to possess someone. And even if he could possess Hazel or Cha Cha, it’s not like he could do it for long enough. 

It finally dawns on you that all of this is up to you. The future of the Hargreeves, the future of the world. The future of you. 

Any possible future of you and Ben. 

That particular idea stings in your head and burns in your stomach. It had been six years of living with Ben and the Hargreeves, and yet you never managed to let anyone know how you felt about Ben. Absolutely no one knew. And, lucky for you, no one could see. The only one who had an inkling about anything going on was Klaus, and you made sure that he didn't know your true feelings. 

You were nervous that if Ben knew you had loved him all these years, that things would change. You would lose your friendship with him. That could in turn make things awkward with Klaus, and if things were ever awkward with Klaus, they could become awkward with everyone else. The very thought of losing the only home filled with the only sort of family you’ve ever had was heartbreaking. 

And that was a heartbreak you just weren’t ready to deal with today, or any day for that matter. 

You needed to find a way out, and you needed to find a way out now. 

You search around the room for something, anything to get you out. There are windows along the tops of the walls that touch the ceiling. They’re big enough for you to get through, but you don’t know where you are, or who’s going be on the other side when you get out. Ben could help you out with that part, but even if you could get out, the Commission could easily find you and kill you before you get to safety. 

“What are you concocting up in that head of yours?” Ben asks as he drapes an arm around you. “Tell me what I can do to help.” He moves himself as close as he possibly can be to you. You’d think a ghost would be ice cold, but not Ben. Ben was warm and comforting. You let your head fall against his shoulder. 

This is what he could do to help. Him just being with you was a help. You shut your eyes; a few tears slip their way out while you aren’t paying attention. You take a deep breath, and open your eyes back up again. You hoped that when you opened your eyes you’d be back at home. 

Obviously, you were mistaken. 

You begin to hear shuffling foot steps above you. There are a few grunts, a few shouts, and then some more shuffling. You knew it was just a matter of time before they came back downstairs, questioned you, and killed you. 

“It’s hopeless, isn’t it?” You ask, tears streaming down your cheeks rapidly again. Your breath is quick and sharp. You feel a panic attack coming on. “I’m going to die. I’m going to lose you aren’t I?” 

Ben tilts his head to the side as he listens to everything you’re saying. 

“I-I’m never going to see you again. Everything is going to be lost. I’ll be nothing. We’ll be nothing…” You trail off, deciding that it’s best not to get more specific than you already are. Now is not the time to profess your love to Ben. Now is not the time for this. You wasted your chances. You wasted everything. 

You lost and you know it. 

Ben inches his face closer to yours, and places his hands on the sides of your head by your ears. “You aren’t allowed to give up, (Y/N). Giving up isn’t a choice here. Do you understand that?” You shake your head yes in response to Ben’s words. “You’re going to get out of here. And if you have to, you’re going to get rid of Hazel and Cha Cha, got it?” You nod again, but at this point Ben is so close to your face that it’s impossible to concentrate on anything. 

Before you could do anything more, the moment dissolves. You hear footsteps coming down the staircase that you assume leads to exactly where you are. This was it. Do or die. 

Except you didn’t know what it was you had to do. 

The footsteps march closer and closer. 

“Ben,” you say, looking deeply into his dark brown eyes. Then, just like that, the words come pouring out. “I love you, okay? I’ve always wanted to say that, always. I’m so sorry if I don’t make it. I really am. Tell the others I’m sorry, please.” 

“Don’t talk like that, please. I-,” But Ben is cut off as the door swings open. 

It’s Cha Cha. 

You look to your left, and Ben is gone. “Wh-where did he go?”

“Who, bitch? You’re alone and you’re done for,” Cha Cha says. Thoughts of never seeing Ben again fill your head. Your gut wrenches with pain. Thoughts of never seeing the Hargreeves find themselves infiltrating your head too. You know you can’t let that happen. You know you can’t let Cha Cha and the Commission win. You need to survive for yourself, for the Hargreeves. 

For Ben. 

“You’re just a parentless, useless piece of-,” But rage fills your core, and you cut her off.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch.” You shout, shutting your eyes tightly as you concentrate hardly and imagine the metal chain of your handcuffs breaking in two. 

And just like that, they do. Suddenly, you’re free. 

You extend your hand out towards the door behind Cha Cha, and watch as it break off its hinges, threatening to come crashing down onto her. She moves to the side, and aims her gun at you. It takes almost all of your energy, but you extend your hand out again, and as she shoots, you carefully stop each bullet in mid air. 

She looks at you, stunned. “No fucking way,” She ways. 

“You’ll want to run now, Cha Cha,” You say to her condescendingly, but she doesn’t. She stands her ground. 

In fact, she laughs. “The Commission is already on its way. Kill me if you want, but you aren’t getting out of here alive, kid.” 

Sadness fills your stomach. You know she’s right. No one is here to help you. You let the bullets fall. Where’s Ben? You think. 

“…Wish you were here,” You whisper, looking down at the ground as you shake your head. 

“I am,” Ben responds. There is was, right next to you again. He grabs your hand. “I thought I told you that you aren’t allowed to give up.” 

That was all you needed to keep moving. You had a purpose again. 

Cha Cha starts to speak. “Who the hell are you talking t-,” But you cut her off, extending your hand right out and pressing her up against the wall.

“I’m getting out of here alive, whether you and the Commission like it or not,” You say firmly. With your left hand, you’re able to mend your handcuffs back together, and bring them over to place on Cha Cha. You muster enough strength to keep a hold on her while you fix the door and put it back on its hinges, too. 

“So what? You got the door back up and I’m in handcuffs. Big deal,” Cha Cha says. 

You smirk. “You left the keys in the door, dumbass.” You walk over to the door, leaving Cha Cha behind. Ben follows. 

“Oh come on. Are you really doing this? It’s a waste of your time. You aren’t getting out alive. At least let me mercy kill you,” Cha Cha pleads. 

You grab the door handle, getting ready to shut it behind you. “You lost, Cha Cha. Get over yourself.” You slam the door, and lock it up, making sure there’s no way for Cha Cha to get out. 

“I knew you could do it,” Ben says, pulling you into a tight embrace. 

You feel so calm, so at peace. And then, you realize it isn’t over yet. “The Commission.” 

You run up the stairs and realize you’re in some old, suburban house. You don’t remember how you got there or where exactly you are, but that doesn’t matter. You know that the Commission is already probably here. You know that there’s still a fight to be had. You make your way to the front door, and take a deep breath before opening it up. 

The sky is a bright blue. The grass is a deep green. Things are… 

Normal. 

No one is there. There is no Commission. No guns. No one is there to hurt you at all. You turn to Ben, confused. “That’s it? That can’t be it.” 

Ben smiles. “I might have enlisted some help.” 

Six familiar figures walk towards you from separate directions, all covered in dirt and blood. Then you realize that bodies are scattered along the lawn. It’s an absolute mess, but you can only think about one thing. 

They came back for you. 

Five, Klaus, Luther, Diego, Vanya  and Allison all came back for you. They smile and wave from the sidewalk.  

Klaus walks up to you. “You really thought that Ben would’ve just left you for dead? I mean come on! He’s in absolute l-,” But before Klaus can finish his sentence, Ben cuts him off. 

“Klaus, come on!” Ben yells. “Can you and everyone else just give us a moment?” Ben pleads. 

Five shakes his head, overhearing the conversation from his place on the sidewalk. “A moment? I think a thank you would be nice too, you know. Or maybe even a thank you cup of coffee from the one who almost got us all killed because they just had to do things on their own.” You know he’s serious, but you can’t help but smile. As rude as he was trying to be, you knew that Five wouldn’t have ever let you die. 

“Thank you, Five. Thank you, guys. Thank you so much,” You start to say. “I’m so, so sorry. I know I let you all down. And I feel like shit about that. I really am so-,” but Five cuts you off. 

“It’s fine. No one here wanted you dead. And no one ever will. Just be more careful next time, okay?” Five says, and you nod your head in response.

“In other words,” Klaus says, “We love you. You’re one of us.” 

Allison adds on, “And we’ll always have your back.” 

“We’re family,” Diego says, a small smile spreading across his face.

“Yeah, yeah, enough of the soft shit. Let’s get this party moving,” Five says, but you know that’s just his way of saying he’ll always be there for you too. 

“Well, alrighty then. We’ll give you two your minute now,” Klaus chimes in, and the group walks away towards the car that waits for all of you. 

It’s just you and Ben now, standing on the porch of the weird suburban house you were kidnapped in just minutes ago. 

Ben grabs your hands, and holds them tightly. “What I was trying to say before,” He pauses, taking a deep breath, “before Cha Cha came in, is that…” He trails off nervously. “Maybe this isn’t the right time or place for this.” 

You shake your head. “It’s okay if you don’t love me, Ben. It’s fine. You don’t have to love me back, it’s all-,” But he cuts you off. 

His lips come crashing onto yours unexpectedly. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted. It’s perfect. It’s Ben. You want to stay in that moment forever. You feel safe, protected. You feel a feeling you don’t think you’ve ever felt. 

You feel like you’re home. 

Ben pulls apart from you. “I love you, I really do (Y/N).” 

And with that you no longer feel like you’re home. You know you are. 

[stylesnews]

A year ago, the guitar was in dire straits. With songs like Travis Scott’s “Sicko Mode,” Ariana Grande’s “7 Rings,” Lizzo’s “Truth Hurts” and Panic! At the Disco’s “High Hopes” among the most consumed of 2019, programmed beats and horns were the sonic flavors of popular music. Sure, there were outliers — the Jonas Brothers’ “Sucker,” Maroon 5’s “Memories” and Post Malone’s “Circles” among them — but as the rock and alternative genres embraced artists like Billie Eilish, whose innovative music made the traditional band approach feel outdated, the days of chords and solos seemed numbered if not headed towards irrelevance.

Then came the coronavirus pandemic and things changed. Forced to perform from home or in rooms not intended for live music during lockdown, many artists went back to basics and out came the trusty six-string. For iHeartRadio’s “Living Room Concert for America” in March, Foo Fighters’ Dave Grohl played an acoustic Guild on “My Hero”; Billie Joe Armstrong from Green Day strummed to his band’s “Boulevard of Broken Dreams”; and even Eilish, with her collaborator brother Finneas, sang her hit “Bad Guy” accompanied by only a Fender acoustic. Other benefit livestreams like Global Citizen’s “One World Together At Home” event saw the Rolling Stones, Keith Urban and Shawn Mendes strip down their hit songs for unplugged versions. And in April, Miley Cyrus delivered an emotional cover of Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” on “Saturday Night Live” with Andrew Watt, himself a COVID survivor, on guitar.

At the same time, there was an electric guitar solo being heard on one of the most-played songs in the United States. Harry Styles’ “Adore You,” which has logged 1.1 million radio spins in 2020, according to Mediabase, and has been streamed more than 400 million times, per Alpha Data, features the playing of Kid Harpoon (real name: Tom Hull), Styles’ friend and producer, who handled the guitar parts for much of the Brit’s excellent “Fine Line” album, released in Dec. 2019. As it turns out, the melody of the solo, which also serves as the bridge to “Adore You,” was first hummed by Styles for Hull to emulate. “I did it with my mouth into a microphone,” Styles told Variety in October. “And then Tom sent me this video trying to get it to sound the same. He spent a couple of hours getting it.”

Why include a guitar solo when most pop songs would never dare? “I feel it’s kind of like ‘La La Land’ saving jazz  — only for rock ‘n’ roll,” Styles cracked when posed with the question. But more seriously speaking, Variety‘s Hitmaker of the Year added: “I’m not a spearheader of the movement, like, ‘Let’s bring back guitars.’ There’s plenty of times when [a song] doesn’t sound better with a guitar, and you don’t use it. But a lot of the references I grew up with have guitars; and it’s the first instrument I played, so it makes sense that I would like the sound of them more. I don’t think the guitar is dying. Guitars are great and always have been.”

In fact, guitar sales in 2020 have been robust. Music retailer Sweetwater reports more than 50% year-over-year growth in guitar purchases, with even larger increases during the peak COVID months of April, May and June “when customers most likely hunkered down to practice and create music after watching all of the streaming video they could handle,” according to a rep for the Indiana-based company.

The spike extended to other string instruments as well, which saw growth of more than 70% year-over-year in the price range of $299 or lower. The metric indicates that “new players are joining the fold,” says Sweetwater, which has been in business for over four decades and operates online. (Competitor Guitar Center, with more than 250 physical locations in the U.S., did not fare as well, filing for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection last month.)

Even in the virtual world, learning to play an instrument has taken off during lockdown. The platform Yousician, which provides interactive learning for guitar, bass, ukulele, piano and voice, currently reigns as the No. 1 app for music instruction while its sister product, GuitarTuna, is tops for guitar tuning.

Ask current writers and producers working in pop and hip-hop about their process and you soon learn that an acoustic guitar is often the beginning or the essence of a hit song. Among Variety‘s 2020 Hitmakers, the trio of Taz Taylor, Charlie Handsome and KC Supreme credited a guitar loop as the foundation for Trevor Daniel’s “Falling.” For Maren Morris’ “The Bones,” producer Greg Kurstin noted: “The first thing I noticed was Jimmy Robbins’ guitar hook; I wanted to keep the song rooted in that.”

“So many hit songs from 2020 started with a acoustic or electric guitar, whether it be a melody line or simple progression,” says songwriter and producer Jenna Andrews, whose recent credits include BTS’ “Dynamite” and Benee’s “Supalonely.”

And often, those guitar-based foundations remained through the finished product — for instance, 24KGoldn’s “Mood,” with its impossibly catchy sun-kissed guitar riff, and Powfu’s “death bed (coffee for your head).”

“I know it sounds kinda old school, but I love it when a well-recorded acoustic pops off on the radio,” says Sam Hollander, whose hits include the aforementioned “High Hopes” and Fitz and the Tantrums’ “HandClap.” “The bulk of my songs tend to be born on guitar. Without that foundation, the lyrics and melodies never really emote the heartbeat and emotion that I’m trying to dial in. There’s just a general warmth to it that’s hard to replicate. It’s like the warmest chocolate chip cookie.”

“I think the prevalence of guitar in 2020 has a lot to do with hip-hop producers using more emo and punk-rock influences,” offers Angie Pagano, whose AMP management company represents Tommy Brown (Ariana Grande, Blackpink) and Mr. Franks, among others. “Juice Wrld really helped bring this into the mainstream over the last few years. We’re seeing a great blend of emo and trap these days.”

Indeed, the year’s most-consumed hits leaned hip-hop — Roddy Ricch’s “The Box” landed at No. 1 on the Hitmakers list with Future and Drake, Jack Harlow and Megan Thee Stallion in the Top 10 — but even DaBaby’s “Rockstar,” the No. 3 song of the year, referenced a guitar in its chorus, albeit alongside mention of a Glock pistol. That visual may go against what Hollander calls “the Kumbaya vibe of the guitar,” but the song still features an acoustic strum at its core.

In the case of Styles’ 2020 successes, which also include the ubiquitous “Watermelon Sugar,” his producer further explained that, while aware of what was reacting on the charts at the time they were recording, Styles wasn’t about to chase the trends. Said Tom Hull: “We [thought], we can’t play the commercial game in terms of what’s happening right now. What we can do is make music that really resonates with us. There’s no blueprint. You just have faith. We love records from the ’70s and ’80s; weird prog rock music that might be a seven-minute instrumental; then you’re listening to Shania Twain, like, ‘This is awesome, too.’ The goal was to make something we will always love, and if it completely flops commercially, at least we know we love it. We have that.”

[twstales]

Hello, Zadie! I see that the request is open ❤️ may I get scenarios for Azul, Malleus and Jack having a crush on fem!mc and trying to confess to her? Thank you! ❤️

Oh my, hello there. Yes, I will keep my requests open for a while, the tale has just started after all. I suppose it’s time for tonight’s story, I sure hope you’ll enjoy it.

I added a bit of headcanons in additions to the scenarios I hope you don’t mind 💗

—————

“Tonight I have another tale to share with you. One of a thousand tales that capture the imagination”

Azul probably realizes his crush but doesn’t want admit it. He constantly tries to hide it although he doesn’t do very well

This man is all about business. He will definitely try to manipulate you or get you into a contract at first.

He’d look for you in between classes. Often offering to help you with your studies, these gestures are just his way of getting closer to you.

You can expect Jade and Floyd’s constant teasing

“How are you enjoying dinner?” Azul asked, dim candle light illuminating the room. “Are you sure you’re not up to something?” Despite his nice gestures so far you couldn’t help but feel wary. Having dinner with him was supposedly your end of the deal after he had helped you study. But all this just seems too convenient.

“I’m disappointed you think that badly of me.” He chuckled though what he said was half true, he wishes you’d relax more around him but he supposes he can’t really blame you for that now, can he? “I’d never take advantage of the one I have feelings for.” He added

“Huh?” You blinked once, then twice making sure you had heard him right. “You like someone?” A nervous laugh followed. He made sure to make his next words clear, although a subtle blush was definitely present.

“I suppose I should say, I love you (Y/n)

Malleus doesnt handle feelings well, though his crush will be fairly obvious for those who know him.

Though he doesnt realize this until lilia points it out, whilst teasing him about it

He’d actually do a lot of thinking before confessing. He rarely feel very affectionate towards others. I imagine he’d want you to clearly understand how he feels.

It was another one of your night strolls with the mysterious man. “Human, how was your day?” He asked, it was a rather common way to start your conversation. “Another day like the rest.” you answered, wasn’t that what he always says? You’ve probably spent so much time around the horned man lately, you’re starting to pick up his habits.

Though Malleus had made up his mind to tell you about his feelings that night. He just had to find the right moment. “Oh fireflies.” They always seems to appear when he’s around. “You seem to be quite fond of them.” Seeing as you were admiring the fireflies, he spoke.

“Do you not like them?”

“I suppose they are rather beautiful, but there’s something I’m more attracted to at the moment.” His next gesture was a simple kiss on the back of your hand but it left you nothing less than stunned. “I think I’ve grown quite attached to you.” You could only stare at him wide eyed as he says his next line

“Or as one would say I harbor feelings for you, child of man.”

Jack doesn’t take long to realize his feelings and actually tries to take it head on.

He tries to keep a straight face, hiding his excitement whenever he’s with you but the way his tail keeps swishing back and forth, it gives him away.

He’ll be much more gentle towards you, taking it upon himself to help you do little tasks like carrying your books or so.

“J-Jack?” You stopped your tracks. Jack had asked you to meet him near the garden after school. You had wondered what matter he wanted to discuss with you but you hadn’t expected to see him standing there with a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“(Y/n)? You’re here.” Noticing your arrival, he approached you. He’s trying to seem confident but the way his body tenses does little to hide his nervousness. He was beyond anxious, he wanted to make sure his confession goes smoothly. You’ve been close friends for quite a while so he figured it was about time he gets his feelings across.

“Is this..?”

“These are.. for you” he handed you the flowers. A beautiful bouquet of pink and whites wrapped in (f/c)*, tied with a ribbon.

“Listen (Y/n),” he gathered the courage to look at you “I like you”

—————

(f/c) : favorite colour

[springsteenicious]

WRITING PLAYLIST #2 of 5

This one is for @those70scomics‘ fic, Jackie Stargazer (ao3 / ffnet). Keep in mind, I put this together. None of these songs are approved by MistyMountainHop, I just think they fit the vibe of her excellent fic. And I would like her to know that she has veto power over this playlist, meaning that if there is a song she feels does not fit on this playlist, she can tell me to take it off :D 

I will also be adding to this as more of the story is published. Each time I add to it, I’ll make a post with the tag ‘Jackie Stargazer Playlist,’ so if you don’t want to see these, block that tag. 

Listen to the playlist on Spotify! (Let me know if that link doesn't work, Spotify was being weird.)

Number of songs on the playlist (currently): 24 songs

Bands/artists: Cheap Trick, Deep Purple, Ezra Furman, The Kinks, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Pink Floyd, Rainbow, Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow, The Dead Daisies, Black Sabbath 

Significant Songs: All. So, under the cut is my explanation for each song, or just the important lyrics. 

Downed by Cheap Trick - I’m gonna live on a mountain / way down under in Australia / it’s either that or suicide / its such a strange strain on you / Ooh, I got a mind / Over you it's not the first time / Ooh, I got a mind

Mean Streak by Deep Purple - This song is about Ro. It’s a kickass song and the lyrics fit her (and Hyde) very well. --- She drive me crazy gets inside my brain / She spun my money down the drain, ohh / So I roll over for my reward / How much can I afford? / She says, "Just a little more" --- I can't take this no more / Tried so hard but I can't get through the door / Because one smile from those eyes / And I stand there paralyzed / And she says, "You better beg for more I mean / Get down sucker you know what I like"

Perfect Strangers by Deep Purple - I am returning / The echo of a point in time / A distant face that shines --- I am the echo of your past

Black Night by Deep Purple - The whole song is relevant to Jackie. 

The Queen Of Hearts by Ezra Furman - See this post. 

Destroyer by The Kinks - Again, relevant to Jackie. --- She said, man, there's really something wrong with you / One day you’re gonna self-destruct / You're up, you're down, I cant work you out / You get a good thing going then you blow yourself out / Silly boy, ya self-destroyer / Silly boy, ya self-destroyer / Silly boy, you got so much to live for / So much to aim for, so much to try for / You blowing it all with paranoia / You're so insecure, you self-destroyer

Serve The Servants by Nirvana - Teenage angst has paid off well / Now I'm bored and old / Self-appointed judges judge / More than they have sold --- Serve the servants / That legendary divorce is such a bore / As my bones grew they did hurt / They hurt really bad / I tried hard to have a father / But instead I had a dad / I just want you to know that I / Don't hate you anymore / There is nothing I could say / That I haven't thought before

Heart-Shaped Box by Nirvana - Just. This song is so good. And can be very easily applied to JS. --- She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak / I've been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks / I've been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap / I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn black --- Meat-eating orchids forgive no one just yet / Cut myself on angel hair and baby's breath / Broken hymen of Your Highness, I'm left black / Throw down your umbilical noose so I can climb right back --- I got a new complaint / Forever in debt to your priceless advice

Rape Me by Nirvana - Self-explanatory. 

All Apologies by Nirvana - What else should I write? / I don't have the right / What else should I be? / All apologies --- I wish I was like you / Easily amused / Find my nest of salt / Everything is my fault / I'll take all the blame / Aqua Sea Foam shame / Sunburn freezer burn / Choking on the ashes of her enemy

Corduroy by Pearl Jam - This song is amazing and I could write so much about this and how it fits not just Jackie but Hyde too. If you listen to the song and follow along with the lyrics, you’ll see what I mean. 

State Of Love And Trust by Pearl Jam - State of love and trust as I busted down the pretext / Sin still plays and preaches, but to have an empty court, uh huh / And the signs are passin', grip the wheel, can't read it / Sacrifice receiving the smell that's on my hands, hands, yeah / And I listen for the voice inside my head / Nothin', I'll do this one myself

Once by Pearl Jam - I admit it / What's to say / I'll relive it / Without pain / Backstreet lover on the side of the road / I got a bomb in my temple that is gonna explode --- Once upon a time / I could control myself / Ooh, once upon a time / I could lose myself, yeah / Oh, try and mimic / What's insane / I am in it / Where do I stand? --- Ooh, once upon a time / I could love myself, yeah / Once upon a time / I could love you

Release by Pearl Jam - Again, relevant to Jackie. Just look at the lyrics. 

Black by Pearl Jam - Like Corduroy, if you follow the lyrics while listening you’ll see why I put this on the playlist. 

Paranoid Eyes by Pink Floyd - You believed in their stories of fame, fortune and glory / Now you're lost in a haze of alcohol soft middle age / The pie in the sky turned out to be miles too high / And you hide, hide, hide / Behind brown and mild eyes

The Thin Ice by Pink Floyd - Again, Jackie. And again, just pay attention to the lyrics. 

Stargazer by Rainbow - I will be completely honest with you, I chose this mostly for the title. The song is kind of a stretch, but if you look at the lyrics a certain way, the wizard is kind of Hyde. Anyway, I kept it on the list for the chorus(es): Where is your star? / Is it far, is it far, is it far? / When do we leave? / I believe, yes, I believe

Still I’m Sad by Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow - See the stars come fallin down the sky / Gently passing, they kiss your tear drops dry / See the wind come, softly blow / Your hair from your face --- For myself my tears just fall in the dust / As I search in the night and find they're lost / See the wind come gently blow / Time into my heart / And the rain comes falling down / While were apart / Still I'm sad

Unspoken by The Dead Daisies - Mostly because the lyrics fit, also there is a Degenerate Matter song with this same title --- In the oneness now you realize / Lost your compass and I sympathize / In the darkness now you fade to grey / In the stillness you will make your way / Oh, I can hear you breathe / Unspoken, you gotta let go / Unspoken, you're out in the glow / Unbroken, you let it all flow

Like No Other (Bassline) by The Dead Daisies - Don't breathe in the air on the dark side / It's a lie, you will go insane / You fall down, down deep in the landslide / Who am I, who am I? / You lose your head in the music / Move up and kiss the sky / You slip away and refuse it / Do or die, do or die

Come Alive by The Dead Daisies - Come alive / You can start over / Now take me by the hand and come alive / Gotta break your malady / You got to live your life free / So come alive

Resurrected by The Dead Daisies - Stare in the mirror, lines on my face, yeah / I wonder where the time has gone / It's been a long hard road out from the grave / But I keep a moving on / I been up, down, turned around / Kicked hard to the ground / Keep a coming back again / From the ashes, from the flame / I'm here to light the fire again / I'm back, resurrected

Paranoid by Black Sabbath - Sadly, this is yet another Jackie song. --- I need someone to show me / The things in life that I can't find / I can't see the things that make / True happiness, I must be blindMake a joke and I will sigh / And you will laugh and I will cry / Happiness I cannot feel / And love to me is so unreal

If you have questions about the songs or don't get why I put them on, feel free to ask!

[aloysiavirgata]

The Way That Light Attaches To A Girl

Title:  The Way That Light Attaches To A Girl

Author: Aloysia Virgata

Rating: PG (language)

Timeline: Season 1

Summary:  Maybe she’s not so bad, this gingery little doctor.

Author’s Notes:  Mulder reads Cicero and finds the method of loci tool useful in honing an eidetic memory. Also, the timeline of this show is absurd. Per canon, the Pilot is in March of 1992. But here it’s March of 1993 because...I just can’t, honestly. Thank you to @perplexistan for reminding me that I wrote this in 2013, and talking me through the timeline.

*** It's been a long December and there's reason to believe Maybe this year will be better than the last I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself To hold on to these moments as they pass - Counting Crows *** It’s gritty outside, gritty and gray with a rime of salt on everything. There are pockets of rotten snow for him to kick, slushy and satisfying against his heavy shoes. He pulls his coat tighter, feeling like a hard-boiled detective in a pulp paperback, thinking this would be a good time for a cigarette if he still smoked. His divorce papers were filed this time last year, just like his parents’ had been a couple decades back. The ink had scarcely been dry on the marriage certificate when they realized they didn’t know each other and changed their minds. It was the same time Diana left him and his - their - files for whatever the fuck had summoned her across the sea. Paperwork, as ever in his life, was all that remained of these experiences. If this were really a detective story, he thinks, stepping over a soggy Washington Post, a tall cool blonde would have walked in through the frozen mist and into his arms. Someone lithe, with red lipstick and half-lidded violet eyes. She would look like Veronica Lake and speak in a low, compelling voice, urging him to do brave and outlandish things to thwart the Nazis. He’d wear a fedora, buy a mink stole for the blonde. They’d drink martinis and make love in dark hotels smelling of leather and intrigue. But he’s not living in a dime-store novel, he’s living in Alexandria on Christmas Eve 1993 (“The New Age of Angels,” claimed Time magazine, somewhat cryptically) and is eager to turn the last page in his calendar. Mulder knows it’s symbolic only, that his Eurocentrism is showing, but he still watches the ball drop on TV. Last year he’d kissed a woman in a bar and gone home with her too, but doesn’t think he’d remember her face if he saw it. He hasn’t got the energy to entice a stranger this year, and Scully’s hardly his type. He shouldn’t be sleeping with coworkers anyway, it’s never worth the trouble and the FBI is full of people who are paid to do nothing but sniff out secrets. Besides, he is now 32 years old which is really about time to start getting your shit together even if your baby sister was abducted by aliens at Thanksgiving. Mulder generally holds the holidays in low regard. He pauses to watch a small flock of cats at an upended trash can, feasting upon pungent things like battlefield ravens. One of the cats glances at him sidelong, narrowing round yellow eyes as though Mulder has designs on the gray thing it’s gnawing at. He holds his hands up to show the cats he wishes them no harm, keeps walking. Scully had offered to drive him home but he thanked her and caught the blue line, the clank and rattle of the train making him feel like some variety of normal businessman. Maybe people thought he was a banker or a Congressional staffer, going home to a twinkling Douglas fir and a mantle hung with stockings. Nine months and a broken condom can, in many circumstances, result in a whole new person. But it’s been nine months with Scully and she’s still her own woman, though Christ knows Mulder’s tried to remake her in his own image. She’s trudged alongside him through graveyards, military bases, bad diners, and one memorable night in Pennsylvania where she had captured a frantic bat in the hotel lobby. (“Do you want to wait for it to take human form before I release it?” she’d asked drily.) Through all of it she remained disbelieving and supercilious, leaving him vexed. She’d chirped “Merry Christmas, Mulder” at him, assuming that he celebrated Christmas and was capable of merriment. He was afraid Scully’d bring in a little Charlie Brown tree for the office, ornaments smooth and shining as her earnest face. She is skeptical in all the wrong ways and probably has the Michael Bolton Christmas album on her stereo at this very moment. She probably has eggnog in the fridge and will drink it without rum. She probably likes fruitcake and ham with pineapple rings on it. Mulder, going home to the shadows of his apartment where he might listen to Pink Floyd and nurse his resentment with three fingers of whiskey, feels justified in his scorn. A couple loaded with gifts pushes past him and he nearly loses his balance on a patch of black ice, clutches at a lamp post. He gazes up at the endless sky as snow begins to fall again. (Scully’s probably delighted by the prospect of a white Christmas, probably whistling a few bars of the song as she puts on a green sweater.) But he’s being unfair, isn’t he? For all her tattling back to the higher ups, she’s never tried to present herself as an angel. Her primary fault is in not being Diana, not being a tall dark moon goddess. Being pretty rather than beautiful, being frank rather than alluring. He’s seen her smoking a couple of times, discovered that she says “Jesus!” a lot so that she doesn’t say “fuck” or “shit.” This amuses him; he thought the blasphemy would be worse. He knows Scully watches what she eats but turns to carbohydrates and wine in times of stress. He found out she was sleeping with that asshole Jack Willis, which really threw him for a loop because Scully has a schoolteacherish quality that led him to presume premarital abstinence. He thinks of her in that first motel room, her smooth back beneath his hands, her panic turning on some masculine caveman switch. It’s been a long year, perhaps she could be his type after all despite her sensible underwear. She’s attractive enough if you like that sort of Hibernian look. He can tell she’s a bit awed by him and he could manipulate that to his advantage. Mulder walks the last slushy block thinking impious thoughts about Catholic school uniforms and playing doctor. The honeycomb tile of his building is muddied, layered with fragments of leaves and footprints. A radio blares something about Barbra Streisand doing her first live concert in twenty years. Mulder shakes his head and imagines his mother on the Vineyard, frothing with excitement. “Merry Christmas Agent Mulder,” says Leo, the maintenance guy. Leo’s got some kind of intellectual disability that Mulder hasn’t bothered to diagnose, but he’s always quick to replace a kicked-in lock or a shot-out window, and Mulder therefore regards him as a master craftsman. He gives Leo money every year at Christmas. At present he’s attacking the hallway sludge with an ancient mop. “Merry Christmas, Leo.” He gets his mail, sorting through it as he ambles to the elevator. Bill; bill; Playboy; Christmas cards from his doctor, dentist, and insurance agent; coupons; a thick manila envelope from the divorce attorney. Mulder rolls it all into a bundle and shoves it under his arm. He’s fumbling with his keys when the elevator deposits him on the fourth floor. There are wreaths on most of the doors in his building, a handful of mezuzas. Number 42, as usual, conforms to no given standard. He stops when he sees Scully leaning against his door. “Um,” he says. “Hey.” She waves her fingertips, looking uncomfortable. She’s holding a cardboard FedEx envelope. “I forgot to give you this before you left.” “Okay,” he says, uncertain about the idea of Scully on his turf. “Hang on a sec.” He makes sure the packet from the lawyer is hidden, though she’s probably heard the whole story. He knows what the talk is. They all act like he’s John fucking Douglas, like he can guess what number they’re thinking of based on how they part their hair. He’s a sideshow act, the guy who can think like John Roche and Monty Props. A freak. Scully turns to slouch against the wall while he jiggles the latest lock open, wishing there were a convenient place to stash a can of WD-40. “So, uh, come on in, I guess.” She turns, walks under his arm as he hold the door open, and stands in the entryway. The door clicks shut behind him, a final sound. Mulder puts his mail on the kitchen counter, tossing his coat over it. “You want anything to drink?” he calls to her, unsure if he can make good on the offer. What the hell does Scully drink? Tea? Zima? He’s got a few beers in the fridge, his wife’s wine is long finished. “No, I’m good.” Her coat’s draped over her arm when he comes back out, and he hangs it up for her. He notices that she’s wearing jeans with a navy cable-knit sweater, no tartan in sight. Her boots are dark and practical. Mulder shrugs off his jacket, loosens his tie out of its regulation noose. “Here, sit down. There’s, uh, the couch is right over there.” His couch is the atramentous green of algae, appearing black in the close room. “So what’s up?” She holds out the folder to him. “I realized I had this when I got home and since it’s a three day weekend, I wanted to make sure you had it. I thought it might be important.” Scully sits down close to the edge of the couch, much of her weight on her knees. She presses her hands together between them after Mulder takes the envelope, bouncing a little bit. He looks at the return address and groans. Arlinsky, that idiot from the Smithsonian. Mulder’s got enough credibility issues without this nutcase on his tail. He tosses the envelope on his cluttered desk for later perusal. Scully, as the messenger, looks apologetic. “Bad news?” He sits next to her, why not? “Nah, just…you know. The usual.” “Ah.” He watches her do a quick scan of his apartment. He has nothing to be ashamed of, she can look around. Mulder removes his tie completely now, untucks his shirt and leans into the corner of his couch. “So I’m surprised you’re here, Scully. I got the impression Christmas was a…thing. For your family.” He waves his hand vaguely, as though families are something he read about in a Margaret Mead article but never fully understood. Something closes in Scully’s face, which intrigues him. Discomfort usually comes with a good story, but he’ll tease it out of her later. She scratches her elbow, stalling. “I’m going to go by my parents’ house tomorrow.” “Not tonight? No big Scully celebration with stockings hung by the fire and cookies for Santa?” He has picked these ideas up from Oxford and Christmas music. Santa would probably prefer a cold longneck and some nachos. “My sister’s coming in tomorrow, she’s staying with my parents so they’re getting everything ready tonight. My younger brother and his family too, they’re getting in late.” Scully looks faintly guilty for this wealth of relatives. Which one of them are you avoiding, Dana? “Fun,” he says in a tone that he hopes is not sarcastic. Scully shrugs, picks at the cuff of her sweater. “Yeah, it’ll be good. I’ll get to see my niece and nephew. What about you? What are you doing?” “Oh, just…you know. Laying low.” He’s meeting up with the Gunmen for Chinese food and bootleg video games from some Japanese guy they know, but he’s not ready to tell Scully about them. In part because she might want to meet them and would end up charging Frohike with a sex crime. “Sounds good,” she says in a non-judgmental tone. “I could use some down time myself.” “Job wearing on you?” Going to wimp out and request a transfer? She puffs a breath of air out, pushes the tip of her tongue to her top lip. “No. Well, I mean, it’s hard. We travel so much, I didn’t do that before and it’s taking some adjustment.” Mulder drapes an arm over the back of the couch, wishing he could take his pants off and order a pizza. But he wants to know more about what drives her; Diana left him wary of unknown quantities, and this is his first opportunity to peer into Scully’s head. “Yeah, I guess they mostly shipped the cadavers to you before, huh? When you were doing doctor things?” He sees a slight narrowing of her eyes at this, the implication that she’s not a doctor now. The fact that she took it as an insult means it’s a vulnerability. “Mostly.” He decides to push it, being as he has home field advantage. “How come you decided to stop practicing medicine?” Scully sits up straight, her palms on the tops of her thighs. “I didn’t realize I had.” Prickly. “Oh, sorry, no offense. I just….you left your residency to join the FBI, right?” Faker, he knows her career trajectory down to the day. “My work as a Special Agent has always revolved around my background in forensic pathology. I just felt…called to the FBI as the place to best put those skills to use.” Called, religious imagery. Interesting. Her reply had a rehearsed sound, it’s something she’s repeated numerous times. Who gives her grief about being an FBI agent? A younger brother wouldn’t, would probably look up to that. Mom or Dad, most likely, though it could be one of the older siblings. He’d put his money on Dad or big brother based on the cold formality of her words. Both men are in the military, she’d speak to that. And big brother wasn’t mentioned as being in town, so Dad it is. He throws her a bone for revealing so much. “I’ve heard nothing but commendations.” “Thanks.” The appreciation seems genuine. “So what about you, Mulder? Why….this?” Scully holds her arms out like an orchestra conductor. The gesture encompasses his desk, the groaning bookshelves and fading newspaper clippings. Area 51, Reticulans, ectoplasm, and jackalopes. “Study hard what interests you the most in the most undisciplined, irreverent and original manner possible,” he quotes. “Feynman.” Scully knows her physicists. “It’s the perfect con, really. I figured out a way to get the federal government to pay for my hobbies.” He hopes that will satisfy her, but knows better. “Why is it your hobby?” Ah, Scully. You little investigator, you. “I’m a lousy knitter.” She smiles. “Because of your sister?” He steeples his fingertips, taps them against his chin. It’s tempting to blow her off, but he considers the implications of her presence. There was no reason to bring that letter by; she could have called and he could have told her to round-file it. She’s trying to build something between them, she’s looking past his annoyance with her assignment and he’s not going to slap her hand away on Christmas Eve. “Hold that thought,” he says. Mulder goes to the kitchen for the beers and the churchkey magnet stuck to the freezer. He checks for food, but a cursory examination reveals that Scully is going to have to make do with some brews. She’s peering into the fish tank when he returns, scrutinizing the inhabitants. “I think one of your mollies is pregnant,” she says. “That spotted one.” “Yeah, they’re prolific little cannibals. Here, Scully. Have a drink.” He holds the bottle out to her when she turns, watches her hesitate for an instant before accepting. “Thanks,” she says. “Though I probably shouldn’t.” She pops the lid off when he’s done with the opener. Takes a long drink. “So,” he says, returning to his seat on the couch. “Why do I spend my time looking for ET and yetis, right?” Scully rolls the bottle between her palms. “It’s hard for me to understand why someone with your abilities chooses to use those gifts this way.” Once she rides out this dogleg, Mulder thinks, she’ll go far in the Bureau with her careful diplomacy. “When my sister was…taken, it was the first time that none of the authority figures in my life had an answer. Not my parents, my teachers, the police…no one could tell me what had happened. Years went by and there was still no solution. People stopped thinking about it, you know? They just acted like she was gone and that’s all there was to it.” “But not you.” Her voice is gentle. “I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that this was a question with an answer, even if no one wanted to delve deeper into what that answer was. I became, well, obsessed with the idea that there were all of these mysteries out there with answers that people were uncomfortable finding. So when I found the X-Files…” He glances sidelong at his partner, her nutmeg freckles and her cinnamon hair. “Isn’t that what you were doing already, though? Solving impossible cases?” He shrugs. “They weren’t impossible. They followed a pattern if you knew what to look for. But what I do now, no one wants the answer, Scully. That’s the real challenge.” “You caught Monty Props. Props, Jesus, that case is legendary! I want to understand, I do. I see what you’re saying about the challenge, it does make a kind of sense. But when I think about the people you stopped…” She shakes her head. She doesn’t get it. But she’s trying instead of dismissing him. That’s something. “That’s just it. Your reaction, it’s…look. Serial killers, they’re sexy. The public loves them. Everyone wants to be Bill Patterson or, or… Jack Crawford, right? People still read about Jack the Ripper, they practically turn these psychopaths into folk heroes. There will never be a shortage of people wanting to do what I did.” Half the beer is gone in his next swallow. Scully looks thoughtful, her thumbnail at the damp corner of the label on her bottle. “So this is like, what? Like a martyr thing? If you walk away from the limelight for this then it makes up for never knowing what happened to your sister?” She turns her head to give him a level gaze, her eyes so blue and clear they seem artificial at times. He’s been called worse than a martyr, but somehow it stings. “Martyr? That’s condescending.” “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry. I just, I guess it’s hard for me to understand what you hope to gain. What all this means to you in the end.” Mulder’s had enough of her analysis. “I’m not like you, I don’t crave approval.” It’s her turn to look stung. “I didn’t mean to pry.” He sighs. “Your questions aren’t unfair. It’s been a hard year.” “I heard.” There’s sympathy in her tone and he tries not to resent it. “Listen, Scully, I know you didn’t ask for this assignment and you’re doing your best with a bad hand. It’s just hard to share a career I’m passionate about with someone who pretty clearly thinks it’s a waste of time.” Scully sets her beer on the coffee table, resting her elbows on her knees, her hands cupped around her chin. Mulder props his feet up next to her bottle, patient in the silence. There are deep shadows in the room, illuminated by the ambient streetlight through the curtains, the cool blue aquarium lamp. Puddles of light leak from the kitchen, but they barely stain the rug. Scully looks like a Hitchcock girl, white and pure, untouched by the surrounding gloom. She reminds him of Ingrid Bergman or Greta Garbo, her good bones and heavy-lidded eyes. “You know,” Scully says, muffled, “Pathology’s hardly the hottest specialty in med school. It’s not really seen as a place to make a career.” “The malpractice can’t be bad though, right?” She rolls her eyes. “You spend years of your life learning to care for the living and use it to examine the dead. People have…opinions about that.” This had not occurred to him, and he says as much. Scully sits up and settles back into the couch. “And to then take that to the FBI, well…” Full circle to the truth. “Lots of grief for that?” She shrugs. “From some more than others. My dad, he – look, Mulder. I’m not saying we’re in the same place or have the same ideas or that we’re both noble misunderstood renegades. I am not trying to oversimplify anything. I’m just telling you that I know what it’s like to care deeply about something that other people don’t necessarily understand.” She looks defensive after this, takes a fierce swig of her beer. Mulder eyes her up with a new appreciation. “I guess I just figured all doctors sit on pedestals.” “If so, some of the pedestals are much higher than others. I know you don’t like me, Mulder. Or at least you don’t like our partnership. We may never be friends, I realize that. But it’s been three quarters of a year, you have to let your guard down if we’re going to work together. I want what you want, answers to these questions.” He smiles at her. A real smile, and thinks that it’s been a long time since he’s done it. “But you still think I’m spooky.” Scully smiles back. “Absolutely. And I still don’t believe in aliens. Or yetis. Or missing time or vampires or Nessie. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe there are answers.” He scratches his chin, five o’clock shadow rough on his fingertips. Maybe she’s not so bad, this gingery little doctor. “I did say I wanted a challenge.” “You did at that.” She returns her bottle to the table, then turns to face him. The aquarium provides a ghostly backlight, her hair gleaming like rubbed copper. He holds this image of Scully in his mind until it is indelible, then tucks it away to remember her by. The Rhetorica ad Herennium advises sensory encoding to aid in recall, and so he places her in the sunlit portrait gallery of his memory palace. Scully stands, crosses the room to take her coat from the rack. “I’m sorry the letter wasn’t good news.” Mulder gets up to join her. “It’s okay.” He squints when she opens the door, the hallway so bright it hurts his eyes. “Thanks for bringing it by.” “Okay, well, I’ll see you on Monday, I guess.” She seems hesitant to go. She probably feels sorry for him. “Thanks for the drink. And the company.” “Go,” he says. “You don’t want coal in your stocking for oversleeping tomorrow.” She laughs a little, then takes his hands in her small white ones. She gives them a squeeze. “This is going to be okay, Mulder.” He thinks she might be right, squeezes back. She lets go of him, walks out and turns right. He locks up behind her, her perfume still lingering on his side of the door. Diana’s not coming home. It’s time that he moved on.

[crash-cinematic-universe]

Home

pairing: Peter Maximoff/reader

summary: Peter Maximoff wants to feel at home.

Song: Home by Cavetown

Warnings: insecurity issues, abandonment issues

other notes: holy fuck, i’m really proud of this one. Peter Maximoff deserves the world and I’m determined to give it to him. 

(gif is not mine, credit to @shhh-no-ones-home​)

________________________________________________________________

Often I am upset that I cannot fall in love but I guess

This avoids the stress of falling out of it

        Peter remembers the days he spent in his mother’s basement, lying on his bed absentmindedly staring at the ceiling. He remembers the crippling feeling of loneliness, the fear he felt during those late nights, the anger that festered in him every day he was alone. He didn’t believe in love-- at least, he didn’t think he could ever love or be loved. Of course, he loved his mother and his sisters, that was a given, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was dragging them down. He couldn’t shake the idea that he was a leech, a loser that was so emotionally drained all the time that he still lived in his mother’s basement at the age of 27. He didn’t think he really deserved love. Sometimes he made excuses for his feelings; every rom-com involves heartbreak, after all, and if he never fell in love he’d never have to feel that. But Peter couldn’t help but yearn for someone to love him, even if it did involve a bit of heartbreak. All Peter wanted was to feel at home.

Are you tired of me yet?

I'm a little sick right now but I swear

When I'm ready I will fly us out of here

        Peter remembers the day he met you. He remembers the way you smiled at him when he introduced himself, and the way butterflies erupted in his stomach and the way his heart skipped a beat any time you looked his way. He suddenly felt the need to be close to you, the urge to have you pay attention to him and only him. He got scared, scared that he was being too clingy, too needy, scared that you’d get sick of him and run away like everyone else. He may be the fastest man on Earth, but he could never keep up with those who ran away from him. He waited for the day that you’d snap, the day that you’d confess that he’s been nothing but a bother and a burden and that you wanted nothing to do with him. That day never came. Peter soon saw his fears grow into something much bigger. He was absolutely terrified of the fact that he was falling in love with you. The scariest part? He started to believe that you were falling in love with him, too. 

(Mmm) I'll cut my hair

(Mmm) To make you stare

(Mmm) I'll hide my chest

And I'll figure out a way to get us out of here

Ooh, Ooh, Ooh, Ooh

        Peter remembers his schemes, his elaborate plans and stunts done only to get your attention. He remembers the day he walked into your classroom with bright red hair, he recalls the flabbergasted look on your face that preceded your faux cries of pain. He quickly dyed his hair back to it’s original silver hue the moment he realized you didn’t like it. He always finds himself smiling whenever he thinks of the way you stroked his hair the day it went from red to silver, the soft stroke of your gentle hands as you whispered into his ear. He leaned into your touch, and for a second, he wasn’t afraid of being in love. That was only for a second though, and the dreadful thoughts and beliefs that he was on borrowed time returned. He figured the only way to stay sane was to stay away from you. He soon discovered that being away from you was much, much worse than being afraid. 

Turn off your porcelain face

I can't really think right now and this place

Has too many colors, enough to drive all of us insane

        Peter remembers the strong feeling of being completely overwhelmed. He remembers how many things he felt whenever he got too close to you. He always seemed confused, yet content. The mansion, however, was a different story. It never stopped being overwhelming, it sometimes got so bad that he had to find a corner and hide away for a while; he needed to shut off his brain. There were days where it got really bad, and Peter would refuse to leave his room, collapsing under the pressure of being an X-Man, of being a mutant, of just being Peter Maximoff. He thought he was going insane-- he really believed that he wouldn’t make it. But then you’d be there to comfort him, to keep him grounded in reality for a while, and he’d be all right. 

Are you dead?

Sometimes I think I'm dead

Cause I can feel ghosts and ghouls wrapping my head

But I don't wanna fall asleep just yet

        Peter remembers the times he spent with you in your room. He remembers the way he’d lay his head on your chest and listen to your heartbeat as you’d gently stroke his hair and listen to the rain. He’d always been so hesitant when it came to physical affection; Peter was unimaginably touch starved yet so convinced that he didn’t deserve affection that he avoided it overall. Once he did allow physical affection, he couldn’t get enough of it. He was always craving it, always desperate to feel your skin on his. He relished every touch like it was the last, he lived in the warmth that you radiated for as long as he could each night because he was so very afraid that he’d be cold again. It was heaven. Every morning that he woke up in your arms felt like a dream, and he often wondered if he actually was dead. He wondered if a mission had gone south and he’d been sent to heaven where he could be with you forever. Every night he was afraid to fall asleep, he was so very afraid that you’d be gone when he woke up. He always fell asleep with a tight grip on you, pulling you as close as possible. Almost as if you were going to disappear.

(Ooh) My eyes went dark

(Ooh) I don't know where

(Ooh) My pupils are

But I'll figure out a way to get us out of here

        Peter remembers the feeling of utter emptiness the first time you fought. He remembers the shame he felt when you walk away from him, but he felt a dreadful, crippling fear overtake him more so than shame. He’d been reckless on a mission, he’d gotten too cocky during a fight and it almost cost him his life. He remembers seeing you walk into the hospital wing of the mansion and he remembers how horrible he felt when you started crying. He remembers how disappointed in him you were, how worried you seemed. Neither of you shouted, no voices were raised, but your words hurt worse than yelling ever could. You weren’t mean, no, you were concerned. You expressed how much you cared for him, how badly you wanted him to be happy and safe. He pushed you away, and the moment you left the room he broke down. Hank thought he was in pain due to his injuries, and Peter was too embarrassed to admit what he was crying about. He went to sleep cold that night. 

Get a load of this monster

He doesn't know how to communicate

His mind is in a different place

Will everybody please give him a little bit of space?

         Peter remembers the first time he discovered his mutation. He remembered running down the street with his friends and before he knew it he was 30 miles away from his house. Sometimes, when he sleeps, he hears their screams. They all called him a mistake, an abomination, a monster. After a while, he started to believe it. His friends all ran away, and Peter resided in the basement from then on. He did everything he could to be liked, to be accepted; he hid his mutation, broke 8 world records, hell, he even went to the Olympics and won. They had taken away his medals once they found out he was a mutant, recounted his records, and exposed him to the world. He shut himself off from the world, believing that all he’d ever be was a failure. An unlovable, mutant, monster. 

Get a load of this train wreck

His hair's a mess and he doesn't know who he is yet

But little do we know, the stars

Welcome him with open...

        Peter remembers the days where the shame consumed him. He remembers the tears he shed alone in his basement. His intrusive thoughts and insecurities couldn’t be drowned out by any of his Pink Floyd songs. His past failures and disappointments couldn’t be diminished by his high scores he got on his stolen Ms. Pacman machine. There were days where he wished he could be anyone else. He projected himself onto the characters on his T.V. and in his video games. He adopted the personalities of all his favorite characters until he was a shadow of his former self, a mangled bunch of nothing that couldn’t cover up what Peter was. He got so confused, losing touch with who he was until he couldn’t tell the difference. He lost sight of where the fiction ended and Peter began. It was all so ironic, he was so desperate to be anyone other than Peter Maximoff and when he got his wish, he wanted nothing more than to be himself again. The shame only grew from there.

Get a load of this monster

He doesn't know how to communicate

His mind is in a different place

Will everybody please give him a little bit of space?

        Peter remembers the first time he saw you use your mutation. He remembers the way you moved through the air and sent little bursts of energy across the room. In that moment, Peter didn’t see you as a monster. He didn’t think you were unlovable or evil or a mistake. He thought you were amazing. He thought you were extravagant. He felt a swell of pride as you bested Warren in a fight, he loved you with all of his heart. It didn’t matter to him that you were a mutant-- he loved you regardless. That’s when he realized real love can’t be lessened or dampened by something as futile as a mutation. Peter realized everyone who called him a monster didn’t really care about him. He stopped thinking about them and started thinking about how much he loved you, how he’d lay down his life for you. Suddenly, Peter wasn’t so afraid.

Get a load of this train wreck

His hair's a mess and he doesn't know who he is yet

But little do we know, the stars

Welcome him with open arms.

Peter remembers the day that he realized he didn’t have to hide anymore. He remembers the way you’d told him he had nothing to be ashamed of. You had looked him in the eyes and told him you fell in love with Peter Maximoff, the clumsy, caring, gentle, kindhearted man that he was. You fell in love with Peter Maximoff and all of his hurt and insecurities and fears and shame. You fell in love with Peter Maximoff and his great taste in music and his unique sense of humor and his amazing ability to best anyone at Pacman. You fell in love with Peter Maximoff, the silver mutant who had previously believed he didn’t deserve love and that no one could ever really love him. You fell in love with Peter Maximoff and for the first time in his life, Peter wasn’t ashamed to be Peter Maximoff anymore. 

Time is

Slowly

Tracing his face

But strangely he feels at home in this place

        Peter is a bit older now, and so are you. Peter loves to look back on his life every now and then just to see how far he’s come. Peter isn’t ashamed, nor is he afraid. He’s content. He’s happy. He’s unashamedly himself. He’s married. He’s married to the first person he’s ever loved. He’s married to the only person who made him unafraid of love. He’s married to the only person who could keep him grounded when everything got too overwhelming. He’s married to the person who always kept him warm when he slept. He’s married to the person who only ever wanted him to be safe and happy. He’s married to the first person who made him unafraid. He’s married to the only person who showed him that being Peter Maximoff wasn’t a bad thing. He’s married to the only person who ever made him feel at home.

[unscharf-an-den-raendern]

Rating my new LPs - Part 2

Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here

This shows me why I started collecting records. If I listened to this on shuffle, I’d probably skip most of the songs but when listening to it as a whole it’s great. There are some albums that sound better when you listen to them as a whole and this is one of them.

Speaking of skipping: Even though side B of my copy has at least three scratches, it only skips once or twice.

Shine On You Crazy Diamond is just *chef’s kiss*

People on Reddit are telling me it's a wonder I found this cause Pink Floyd records are very hard to find in record stores. They also had Dark Side of the Moon for 20€ but I didn't want to make my grandpa pay that much. 20€ is pretty much my limit for used records, except for a few I really want and which you can't get any cheaper.

Queen - Greatest Hits

First song is Bohemian Rhapsody a.k.a the song everybody likes.

I’ve got the European re-issue which means Under Pressure is on it. Queen and David Bowie in one song. That bass line. All of it is just perfection.

Freddie and David must be having a great time in the afterlife now 😭

ABBA - Voulez-Vous

My goal is to own all ABBA studio albums. I still need five but they’re all cheap and very common.

What can I say? ABBA fucking slaps. There is no bad ABBA song.

Also this one’s got I Have A Dream on it and that song always takes me right back to my childhood.

And Does Your Mother Know? That one’s on  Greatest Hits Pt. 2 too but I love it. It’s impossible not to dance to it.

ABBA - Super Trouper

Unfortunately there’s something stuck in the first few grooves on my copy, so the first song on both sides skips pretty often. Which sucks a little since the first song on side A is Super Trouper and that’s one of my favourite ABBA songs. Maybe I can fix it with the vinyl cleaning fluid I ordered.

And the previous owner also did something you should never do to a record: They. touched. the. fucking. grooves. And now it’s got finger prints on it. Remember kids: Only hold your record on the label or on the sides, never on the grooves.

I’ve got the French pressing instead of the German one. There’s no difference except for the label. I just think it’s cool to have a pressing from another country since most records I own are German pressings.

Nena - ? (Fragezeichen)

Not as good as their debut album (which is one of my fav albums) but still nice to listen to

One song is just them singing "Der Bus ist schon weg" (we missed the bus) very fast for 16 seconds.

This one still got the original price tag on it. 17.90 DM. I got it for 2€. Neue Deutsche Welle records are really cheap and I love it.

My copy is the club edition. It's the exact same album as the regular version except that it wasn't sold in stores, only to members of the Bertelsmann vinyl club. Makes it a bit rarer than the regular version but since NDW records are so cheap it doesn't make it more valuable.

Nena - Feuer und Flamme

This one use to belong to a girl called Sandra Müller. I love used records with things written on them.

Unfortunately Sandra didn't care for this record properly. It's got a lot of crackling. It skips. But I guess that's fixable by cleaning it, it seems to be caused by dust not scratches.

I only bought this for Irgendwie Irgendwo Irgendwann. It also got Haus der drei Sonnen but I like the duet version with Peter Heppner more.

Ein Brief is a beautiful song.

ABBA - Arrival

I've got the Italian pressing and now I know the Italian word for "side". It's "lato".

And it's in excellent conditon. It looks and sounds like it was played only a few times if at all. Maybe the previous owner wasn't into ABBA. Good for me.

Dancing Queen is a great song but the problem with it is that it starts to get annoying if you listen to it too much. Fun Fact: Dancing Queen can be used as a song to do CPR to.

The Beatles - 1962-1966

I’ve got both best of albums now. All The Beatles bops and they’re a lot cheaper than the original albums.

The album is the German pressing but the cover is from the UK pressing. Buying used records is like a box of chocolate. You never know what you're gonna get.

But wait there’s more. This one’s not only got the usual two records in it, it’s got an additional third one - another German pressing of the first record. Which unfortunately has a scratch but hey, I can choose between two German pressings when I listen to this. And I only payed 9€ for this!

And there’s even more. One of these pressings was never sold on Discogs. Only 4 people have it in their collection and 14 are looking for it. WTF What the hell did I stumble upon? Like I said, this was 9€.

A Hard Day’s Night a.k.a. the song that’s partially responsible Kraftwerk even exists because Karl listened to it and decided he wanted to become a professional musician.

Listening to this and 1967-1970 back to back is great to hear how The Beatles developed. First they were all like “Hi, we’re nice guys from Liverpool singing about love” and then they were like “I’m gonna sing a poetic text about the universe now”.

I was thinking “hey, the sides seem to be unusually short”. They are, they’re just 14/15/17 minutes long.

[mancalledmxlice]

Honorable Mentions: Somebody to Love- Queen//Fernando- Abba

War Pig: Damien Blackwell Playlist

Option 1: we’re looking to highlight the differences between your canon mythology character and the oc you’ve created and built around them. for side a, include songs that apply to the myth, for side b, songs about your own character

Side A: Deimos

War Pigs- Black Sabbath

Time will tell on their power minds Making war just for fun Treating people just like pawns in chess Wait 'till their judgment day comes, yeah!

Another Way Out- Hollywood Undead

You better run, better run, better run, yeah I'm coming after you When you're sleeping at night, yeah there's nothing you can do There's no place you can hide cause I'm coming after you

Street Fight- Adam Jensen

Try to break me, but I can't break I'm a bad dream, and you can't wake Nothing's gonna kill me, nothing's gonna stand in my way

Everything Black- Unlike Pluto

In a nocturnal state of mind Children of the night But it's the only way alive This black hole's pulling me inside Of this black heart, this black soul Underneath this black, black sky

Brain Damage- Pink Floyd

The lunatic is in my head The lunatic is in my head You raise the blade, you make the change You re-arrange me 'til I'm sane

Look What You’ve Done- Jet

Give me back my point of view 'Cause I just can't think for you I can hardly hear you say What should I do, well you choose

Gladiator- Zayde Wolf

Let me back it up to the start of the climb Faced with an army of vipers and lions I had to keep on reaching up 'cause it was my time To tear down the kingdom and call out the liars

Can’t go to Hell- Sin Shake Sin

Turn that fear into a souvenir The world is waiting and the hour's near So if you need a reason, if you need a sign Open up you're eyes, you'll see they stole your water, turned it into wine

Metal Health (Bang Your Head)- Quiet Riot

Bang your head Wake the dead We're all metal mad It's all you have So bang your head And raise the dead

Ain’t No Grave- Johnny Cash

Well, look way down the river And what do you think I see I see a band of angels And they're coming after me

Wreak Havoc- Skylar Grey

I herd 'em like cattle Cause I'm surrounded by cowards And I don't give a fuck when I walk into battle And that's why I got all the power I'm where you wanna be Ain't no one ahead of me All of my enemies made a decision It's better to follow me

Who Are You, Really- Mikky Eiko

Now you're moving idle and you say you're alone Suspicious that the string is moving your bones We are the fire, we see how they run See how they run, lift me higher, let me look at the sun Look at the sun and once I hear them clearly, say

Bad to the Bone- George Thorogood and the Destroyers

The head nurse spoke up Said "leave this one alone" She could tell right away That I was bad to the bone

For What It’s Worth- Buffalo Springfield

Paranoia strikes deep Into your life it will creep It starts when you're always afraid Step out of line, the man come and take you away

Ohio- Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young

Gotta get down to it Soldiers are cutting us down Should have been done long ago.

God’s Gonna Cut You Down- Johnny Cash

Well you may throw your rock and hide your hand Workin' in the dark against your fellow man But as sure as God made black and white What's done in the dark will be brought to the light

Side B: Damien

War- Edwin Starr

Oh, war has shattered many a young man's dreams Made him disabled, bitter and mean Life is much too short and precious to spend fighting wars these days War can't give life, it can only take it away

Hurt- Johnny Cash

I wear this crown of thorns Upon my liar's chair Full of broken thoughts I cannot repair

Pretty Fly For a White Guy- The Offspring

Friends say he's trying too hard And he's not quite hip. But in his own mind He's the—he's the dopest trip.

Funny the Way it is- Dave Matthews Band

The way your mouth feels in your lover's kiss Like a pretty bird on a breeze, or water to a fish The bomb blast brings the building crashing to the floor Hear the laughter while the children play war

For Your Love- The Yardbirds

For your love, for your love I would give the stars above For your love, for your love I would give you all I could

My Mirror Speaks- Death Cab For Cutie

And when my mirror speaks it never minces words 'Cause these eyes don't shine half as bright As they used to do and they haven't for quite a while

Sleep is for the Weak- The Dreadnoughts

Baltic is at your back You'll head towards the Black Where the river's rising high All along the countryside Enter the hyenas

Viva La Vida- Coldplay

Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes Listened as the crowd would sing, "Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!" One minute I held the key Next the walls were closed on me

Wish You Were Here- Pink Floyd

How I wish, how I wish you were here. We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year, Running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here.

Rock and Roll- Led Zepplin

It's been a long time since the book of love. I can't count the tears of a life with no love. Carry me back, carry me back, carry me back, baby, where I come from.

Dear God- XTC

Dear God, sorry to disturb you, but I feel That I should be heard loud and clear We all need a big reduction in amount of tears And all the people that you made in your image, See them fighting in the street 'Cause they can't make opinions meet

When You Were Young- The Killers

He doesn't look a thing like Jesus But he talks like a gentleman Like you imagined When you were young

Train in Vain- The Clash

Now I got a job But it don't pay I need new clothes I need somewhere to stay But without all these things I can do But without your love I won't make it through

Wish I Knew You- The Revivalists

Oh I hope you don't mind We can share my mood Two strangers in the bright lights I wish I knew you I wish I knew you Oh I wish I knew you when I was young

The Weight- The Band

I pulled into Nazareth, was feelin' about half past dead I just need some place where I can lay my head "Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed?" He just grinned and shook my hand, "no" was all he said

Hard to Handle- The Black Crows

I have got some good old lovin' And I got some more in store When I get through throwin' it on you You gotta come back for more

Honorable Mentions

Somebody to Love- Queen

I work hard (he works hard) every day of my life I work 'til I ache my bones At the end (at the end of the day) I take home (takes home) my hard-earned pay all (goes home on his own) on my own

Fernando- ABBA

In the firelight Fernando You were humming to yourself and softly strumming your guitar I could hear the distant drums And sounds of bugle calls were coming from afar

[bubblesandgutz]

Every Record I Own - Day 524: Pink Floyd Animals

I’m supposed to be in Belgium today, preparing to embark on a six-week European tour with Russian Circles, but instead I’m sitting in my upstairs loft at home listening to Pink Floyd.

First our Italian shows got cancelled due to the quarantine in the wake of coronavirus. Then our Paris show had to halt ticket sales because it was on the verge of exceeding France’s cap on public events surpassing 1000 attendees. Then our Czech and Austrian shows were cancelled due to the ban on public events. Then our promoter in Greece asked us to reschedule. Then we were told our first show was most likely going to get cancelled and the German shows weren’t looking too promising either. The tour was evaporating before our eyes as coronavirus spread. We weren’t necessarily worried about our health, but we were worried about being stuck in a lockdown or quarantined away from home.

Ten years ago we were about to wrap up a six week tour in Europe with a show in Athens when the Icelandic volcano Eyjafjallajökull erupted and the resulting ash plume closed the European airspace. We were stuck at a hotel attached to Schiphol Airport outside of Amsterdam for a week while we waited for flights to Greece to resume. We were eventually able to fly to Athens where we played a rescheduled show, but we were still stuck waiting for the airspace west of Europe to open so that we could fly home. It was a strange time. Greece was in the midst of a financial crisis with daily protests and armed soldiers patrolling the streets. No one knew when it would be safe to fly again. It felt like the end of the world.

Whenever I listen to Animals, I remember listening to the album on my iPod while pedaling away on a stationary bike at the hotel at Schiphol. I was stressed out and stir crazy, and I figured wearing myself out at the gym would take some of the edge off my anxiety. I have no idea why I chose to listen to Pink Floyd at the gym---they’re usually a band I use to wind down rather than get my heart rate up, but I guess I was looking for something more on the soothing side at the time.

Animals has always been a strange album for me. I consider it the last great Pink Floyd album, even if I still see it as a decline from some of their previous work. It doesn’t feel as visionary or adventurous as Dark Side of the Moon or Wish You Were Here. It feels like a more straightforward rock album, and I presume that has something to do with some of the behind-the-scenes drama within the band, with the story being that Roger Waters oversaw most of the writing. It’s a bleak record in tone, though I’ve always felt that the bookending compositions “Pigs on the wing (Part One)” and “(Part Two”) helped resolve the ominous tone with a reminder that we can always find solace in each other. It’s a device Russian Circles used on Memorial, with “Memoriam” and “Memorial” using the same chord structure to give the album a sense of closure. Or maybe it was meant to give the impression of a cycle, death and rebirth. A reminder that we’ve been here before.

But I have to admit I didn’t listen to Animals much after our time in Schiphol. Even though I love this album, it had bad connotations after that experience. Yet for some subconscious reason, I pulled this LP out a week ago and listened to it several nights in a row. It finally sounded good again. I wasn’t thinking about how a six-week European tour was looming on the horizon. I wasn’t thinking about coronavirus. But yesterday morning as I was talking on a conference call with my bandmates while in my pajamas, my gear packed up and waiting by the front door, I was reminded about those weeks in Europe back in 2010 when I had to make a call across the ocean to my husband saying I didn’t know when I was going to be home again. 

Everything is a cycle. We’ve been here before and we’ll figure a way out of it. In the meantime, find solace in the people you love. And wash your damn hands.

[amethyst-noir]

Tony plays guitar, that's canon. Stephen likes Pink Floyd (not sure if it's canon but let's pretend it is),and Tony makes it very clear that he doesn't. But when Stephen returned from another long inter-dimensional travel the first thing he heard was Tony playing "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd he pretends to hate so much.

And Tony can sing, you can’t convince me otherwise. So Stephen comes home, tired, filthy and just wanting a shower, a bed and a cuddle and hears this:

And did they get you to trade / Your heroes for ghosts? / Hot ashes for trees? / Hot air for a cool breeze?

And he just tears up. There is so much emotion in Tony’s voice and he’s playing it so well that it’s clear that he practiced whenever Stephen was away. Learned a song by a band he doesn’t particularly like and just because he wants to do something nice for Stephen. It’s too much. He goes down to the floor right there and then, listening silently and being so much in love that it hurts.

Tony looks up, smiles at him and puts the guitar away. Gets over to Stephen and down on the floor with him.

“Welcome back, my love,” he says softly. He kisses Stephen, not caring that he hasn’t seen a shower in a week. He takes Stephen into his arms and they just enjoy each other’s presence, everything else unimportant for the moment.

Tony holds Stephen, gently stroking his over his back and still humming the song, and Stephen knows that this, right here and now, is home.

[piratewithvigor]

Love Break My Heart: Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Summary: A half-life relationship is disintegrating at the seams. Neither of them is good for the other, but after 14 years together, they don’t know how to be with each other anymore.

Word Count: 2179

A/N: This is a prize story written for @slashscowboyboots​ that is getting written super fast because I seem to be on a roll. Unless I get hit with a massive plot bunny, the next chapter will be the final one.

I’m running. It’s a distant memory from long ago, but I can feel the uneven gravel under my sneakers. Every little pebble getting stuck in the grooves of the sole. My lungs are aching for air, but I’m not slowing down. I can’t afford to slow down. The tree shows itself over the horizon and I exhale hard in relief. The tree is safety presenting itself to us, allowing us reprise.

I don’t slow down until I grab hold of the tree, the bark scraping the skin on my hand and wrist. Only then do my feet stop moving. Axl arrives moments after I do, tagging into pause in much the same way, but not drawing blood from his palm like I did.

His face is much the same as it is now. A jawline that could cut glass and lips appearing just as soft. His hair is a little shorter and not quite as straight, but he’s already well on his way to having it be too long for most of Indiana. The one thing that’s never changed are his eyes. Even as he’s gasping for air with his hands on his knees, he looks up at me and his eyes are the same. They remind me of the day I first noticed them: a stormy day with a grey sky shadowing over green fields. We’d snuck out of class to smoke under the bleachers of the football field and got caught in the storm. We stayed mostly dry there and got the best view of the downpour. Axl had said something that made me look into his eyes and notice them for the first time. His words exactly are lost to me.

Once Axl catches his breath, he straightens up and grins.

“So you beat me here; big whoop.”

“I don’t think that’s what the deal was,” I counter, crossing my arms as I lean against the tree.

“What deal? I don’t remember a deal.” He’s trying to look innocent and for a moment, it almost works on me. But no fourteen-year-old buys crap that obvious.

“C’mon, Bill. You gotta do it. I beat you fair and square.”

Axl sighs before taking a few steps back from me to give himself space. To his credit, he isn’t one to back down from a bet, no matter how stupid it was. And this was the epitome of stupid.

“Friday night and the lights are low, looking out for a place to go…” His voice sounds ridiculous when mentally compared to the original vocals of Dancing Queen, but his attitude towards it is perfect. With the front of his hair fluffed out to the sides, he looks just like a ginger version of Agnetha Fältskog.

I’m cracking up during the entire performance. Partly because of watching my best friend make a fool of himself to no one but me, but also because he’s putting so much effort into it. I didn’t even know he knew all the words to Dancing Queen, but life surprises you daily. The chorus is the moment he truly belts out into the open field. It’s the moment when I watch all of the cares leave his body. All the stress. Everything he has to suffer through at his house is forgotten and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was enjoying himself.

I’m almost sad to hear the song end, but it does. And with an almost regal bow that I’m sure caused Axl to brush the grass underneath with his elbow. Just to play along, I’m applauding. I’m sure he thinks it’s to make fun of him, which is what the whole ordeal was supposed to be about in the first place, but there’s a hint of sincerity in there that I hope he picks up on.

“Thank you, thank you, all,” he declares, speaking to an imaginary audience. “We’ve been ABBA and now we’re going to shut the fuck up so no one has to hear that goddamn song ever again.”

“Bold words coming from someone who knows every line.” I smirk, sitting down with my back against the tree.

“Everyone knows every line. When’s the last day you haven’t heard that fucking noise on the radio?” He gripes, sitting down across from me.

“Fair enough. Wish they’d play more of the good stuff. Like that new Aerosmith album.”

Axl covers his ears in a hurry.

“Don’t say anything about it! I’ve been saving my allowance for three weeks to get it, so don’t spoil it!” I chuckle and reach over to pull his hands away from his ears.

“I won’t say anything, but why don’t you just come to my place to listen to it?”

“I can’t listen to anything for the first time with someone else in the room. It ruins the experience.”

“That seems stupid.”

“It’s not stupid! It’s like… It’s like the movies, y’know?” I raise my eyebrow at him. He’s fumbling for an explanation hard enough that he looks like he might fall over. “Like, when you go to the movies, sometimes you can go with someone if you don’t really care about it, because half your attention is watching how the other person reacts the entire time and it doesn’t matter. But if you go alone, you can really pay attention to the details.”

“Guess that makes sense. You’ve really thought this through, huh?”

“You gotta. What’s the point in enjoying something unless it’s the best experience it can be?”

Axl’s eyes have lit up while he’s talking. If I’m being honest, my mind is in two places as I listen: half focused on what he’s saying and half watching him say it. Axl doesn’t talk with his hands too much like how some people do when they get passionate. He talks with his eyes. You can only see it if you’re truly looking for it. It might be the reason why none of the adults ever thought he cared about anything. But he truly does.

“Is being alone all you need to enjoy an album?” I eventually ask, on the realisation that I haven’t said anything in a few moments.

“Usually. Sometimes I smoke a little, but that’s only for, like, Pink Floyd or something. Speaking of which…” He gives me a look and I know he knows I know what he’s talking about. It’s still fun to dick around with him anyway.

“Speaking of what?”

“C’mon, Jeff…”

“You must have me confused with some kind of scoundrel,” I smirk, pulling my cap down over my eyes.

“I have you confused with no one, you pothead dipshit,” Axl laughs, flicking my cap off.

“Well, since you were so mean to me, I’m just going to smoke it all, then.”

“I’ll frisk you over it.” He says it like a threat, but my heart still skips a beat when he says it.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

I hadn’t noticed we were in a Mexican standoff until we were already knee-deep. He was on his knees, staring me down without a hint of joking in his expression. I was doing my best to keep the same stoicism on my face, but something in the air was making me want to giggle. It was probably only a minute or so before I cracked and reached into my shirt pocket to toss the little baggie of joints at him.

“Yeah, I’m the pothead,” I snickered as I watched him light one up eagerly.

“You’re baked more than a Dunkin Donuts,” he countered, exhaling happily.

“No shit, idiot. Donuts are fried.”

“Just like your brain from how much you smoke.”

The back-and-forth continues and only grows sillier as we smoke. We both consider ourselves experts on pot. Real hot shit because we know how to do it without coughing too much. Typical young teenager dumbassery.

The evening is growing later and our conversation is calmer. Less silly and more dreamy. Axl is no longer sitting across from me, but beside me with his back to the tree as well to make passing the joint back and forth easier. Our shoulders are brushing and sometimes hands as well. If I weren’t a little high, I never would have thought anything of it, but my mind keeps getting drawn back to every detail about the kid sitting beside me. Details like how he always smells like old books on Monday morning because he spent all of the day before at church. How his clothes never quite fit him right because they’re either from when he was a kid, or he’s lost weight. How soft his hair feels when a light breeze blows a few strands into my face.

“When we get out of here, we’re going to be huge,” he murmurs, finally accepting that we’ve smoked the joint down to the nub and puts it out.

“I mean, yeah, obviously. Who wouldn’t want to listen to you, Miss Disco Queen?” I tease. He punches me lightly in the arm.

“I’m serious. We could totally make it. We’ve got the stuff.”

“And when have you ever heard of someone from Indiana really making it big?”

“No one from Indiana, exactly, but tons of hick kids make it big. Like, Liverpool is the hick town of England, I think.”

“You serious?”

“I mean, probably. They sound like hick English guys when they talk.”

“And Buddy Holly was from a hick Texas town.”

“Jeff, he died when he was 23. Not the greatest role model.”

“He was 22, but think of it: that was almost 20 years ago and people still like him.”

“What’s your point?”

I shrug and cross my fingers behind my head to cushion it from the tree. “Dunno anymore. Guess that anyone can make it with the right stuff.”

Axl seems to agree with me because he doesn’t say anything else.

The moment is one that sticks with me long afterwards. In the 14 years since we’ve been 14, I still remember every detail. My back is aching against the rough back poking through my shirt and I know Axl’s back is hurting from the beating he’d gotten a few days ago. The bruises were finally turning away from the nasty black and blue, but now they were yellow, which was almost worse. He’s leaning on me a little bit. Not in a way that implied anything, just in a way that expressed his exhaustion from the evening. The sun is setting in front of us and I almost wish I had brought my sunglasses. I usually never go anywhere without them, but the race from my house to the tree was something I couldn’t risk losing them on. In a way, I’m glad. It means nothing is blocking the colours. The sky is the same orange as Axl’s hair. The setting sun over the horizon feels the same way the colour appears; warm, safe. I’m feeling the gold-laced orange on my face and against my fingers as I lower my hands from behind my head and tentatively wrap one around Axl’s shoulders. He doesn’t move beyond adjusting to allow me to place my arm comfortably and I take it to mean he’s okay with the change. Just in case I took his body language wrong, I turn to him to check and my body freezes. The glow of the dusk is still radiating from him, making his hair glow. It feels like I’m holding a small ball of fire under my arm. He turns to look up at me and I feel I should turn away, but I can’t bring myself to. The sight is too spectacular to have end.

Axl ends it for me.

Before I can apologise for my staring, his lips are on mine. They’re just as soft as I always guessed they were. Plush and yielding and unwilling to let me back away. He tastes like the weed we just smoked with a hint of the burgers my mom made for us only a few hours ago. He tastes like Axl. Feels like Axl. I could make all the comparisons I wanted to, but at the end of the day, he was more than the sum of the parts I love about him. He’s Axl. My Axl.

He pulls away hardly an inch and I find myself as breathless as I was after sprinting a mile. Breathing isn’t as important as it once was. Nothing seems to be. Everything that’s important to me is already here.

“I hope that was okay…” He whispers, the lasting sunlight illuminating the blush spotting his cheeks. “I’ve been wanting to do that for months.”

“You’re not the only one,” I respond, cupping his face in my free hand. I pull him close and kiss him again, dissipating all the fear I know he held during the first.

I go back to this memory often. Reminding myself of the love we held for each other once upon a time. I’m back in it again tonight as I sit alone at the kitchen table, holding an ice pack to my face to ease the swelling after my Fireball successfully got me with a lamp.

[bazzybelle]

Carry On Countdown - Day Seven

Notes: Right... confession time.. So, I posted this fic yesterday... But, I’ve been having a really difficult mental health week (lots of self-doubt, self-isolation, and weeping) and it all came to a head last night when I spiraled and deleted this story (my depression/anxiety/Imposter Syndrome demon caught up to me, I guess). I was also close to deleting all my other fics and potentially closing my account, but @fight-surrender and my amazing husband talked me down from the ledge so to speak. It was actually their support, along with the amazing kindness of @giishu that convinced me to repost my story... so here it is. 

Lyrics are inspired by “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” by The Beatles. However, I was inspired by the version from “Across The Universe”, sung by T.V. Carpio (Such a great movie and soundtrack). 

Thank you to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for their writing support and amazing beta-reads. 

Also, this is the last story until the Angst prompt... I’m also gonna take it easy with my writing. Going back into it after 8 years of numbness and denying my passion hasn’t been easy and it’s beginning to take its toll on me. I have so many ideas, but I want to feel well enough in my head to be able to write them properly (in case you haven’t noticed, I like writing about healing and hopeful futures... kinda hard to do that if you’re spiraling). I’ve got a few more stories already prepared for the Countdown, but I’m not making any promises on writing for other prompts. 

TW: Extremely minimal (like blink and you’ll miss it) reference to drugs.

Day 7 Prompt: WLW

Title: I Wanna Hold Your Hand

________________________________________________________________

Please, say to me, you’ll let me hold your hand. Now, let me hold your hand. I wanna hold your hand. 

FIONA

The music here is bloody terrible.

So’s the alcohol. But what else can I expect from a dingy little pub in this dodgy area of the city? Besides, it isn’t the alcohol I’m here for, which is a shock, considering how much of it I drink. 

Nor am I here for this horrid music. I look at the stage and a skinny little whelp is crooning a pathetic rendition of a Pink Floyd song. Kid can’t be older than 18, of course he’s singing a Floyd song. I swear, you  listen to Dark Side of The Moon one time, and suddenly you think you know everything there is to know about music. 

Good Lord… he’s doing a Floyd medley. News flash, boyo, you cannot transition from Wish You Were Here to Another Brick in The Wall without raising a few eyebrows. 

He isn’t a bad looking bloke though. Shaggy brown hair, styled so it’s away from his eyes. He’s got a bit of a long, oval-shaped face, a little gaunt, but not too much. He reminds me of someone… Ah… George Harrison! He’s got a bit of a George Harrison vibe, I reckon. A part of me wants to snap a photo of him and ask Baz if he’d fancy him, but the last time I did that, he chewed my ear off for a week. 

Dramatic little shit. I’m only trying to help. He’s so edgy all the time. Baz is about to head into his final year at Watford and honestly, he needs to let loose and have a little fun, before the pressures of being a Pitch crushes him…

Maybe I’m being the dramatic shit...

I leave George Harrison to his crooning (Christ, he’s moved onto Money. Does he only know the popular Floyd songs? Tosser), and direct myself to the bar. The person I’m here to see greets me with a wide, toothy smile. 

“Well well, look who it is. How are you, love?” bellows Shannon Ryan (Shan for short). Shan is the annoyingly vivacious proprietor of the Golden Griffin Pub and Inn. She is all hair (bright, thick, ginger-red, with a generous amount of blond and strawberry-blond highlights, that falls in tight ringlets down her back) and little to no filter. She’s the kind of person that can decide in an instant if she’ll offer you a free pint, or if she’ll drag your sorry arse onto the curb. Most of the time, she’ll offer you the pint and a wink of her dark brown eyes. 

I give her a half smile and take a seat in front of her. Shan pours me a glass of Chivas (Bless her, she knows I love the stuff) and leans her elbows on the counter. I salute her and nod at George Harrison.

“Heads up Shan, if your lad starts playing Comfortably Numb, I may have to murder him with his own guitar.”

Shan playfully punches my shoulder. Normally, I’d retaliate with a knife to the throat, but I’m not nearly so… angry when Shan’s around. I can relax around her and allow myself to be a little playful. 

“Aw, come on now Prue, Mickey’s not that bad. A little rough around the edg-” She starts to laugh, because George Harrison’s begun to sing Comfortably Numb and I begin to crack my knuckles. Shan grabs my hands and gives them a pat. “Alright, very rough around the edges, but he’s a sweet kid.”

I met Shannon about 4 months ago. It was during one of my lower points. I had been on a wild bender, drinking, smoking up, everything. At some point, I lost all recollection of where I was and what was happening. I still don’t know how long I’d been out of my mind at that point, but I somehow ended up at Shan’s pub, trashed out and rambling nonsense. Shan took one look at me and she decided that she would give me a room and a bed, instead of throwing me out (a horrible decision, really). I woke up in an unknown room, in an unknown bed with her knocking on the door. 

I nearly killed her. 

Shan managed to calm me down and gave me some breakfast. Fat greasy bangers, perfectly poached eggs, fried tomatoes and back bacon. She had informed me that I had been out for quite a while. I remember feeling like a numpty had taken a beating to my head. She had offered to let me stay there so that I could recover from whatever was causing me distress. Instead of taking the hint and staying there, I gathered my belongings while she was gone and slipped out. That would have been the end of it, but I had returned a few days later to pay for my room and board. Shan refused to take my money, and instead asked that I pay her back by coming to see her from time to time. Originally, I was only supposed to come see her until the end of the month… But here we are, four months later and I still find myself wanting to come see her. 

Shan doesn’t know my real name (She knows me by my middle name, Prudence… I swear my family gets its kicks from naming their offspring ridiculous names), nor that I am a magician from a long line of magical aristocracy. She does not know that I am embroiled in the middle of a war that threatens to rip my world and my family apart. Maybe that sense of escapism is why I keep coming back here, why I keep flirting with this Normal pub owner. 

I turn back to her now. She is cleaning some of the dirty glasses that have been left on the bar counter. It’s a quiet evening tonight, not many patrons at the pub. Shan’s pub can gain a small gathering during the weekends, mostly young folks out on a crawl. Some tend to stay here on account of the atmosphere, and Shan’s personality. Tonight’s one of the quieter nights. I blame George Harrison mucking it up on the microphone.  

“Where do you find these characters, Shan?”

“Beats me. They sometimes just show up needing a spot. Mick’s been tossed out from his home, poor child. I give him a room, he works the bar. It all works out.”

Shan sometimes uses her rooms to shelter people who may need a place to stay. I wasn’t a special case for her. Any misfit or vagabond has a place to stay at Shan’s. I suppose that explains George Harrison, who has just finished his set and has exited the stage, thank Merlin for that. She’s now turned on her online music playlist, an eclectic mix of punk, classic rock, and current indie songs. It makes no bloody sense, but the patrons aren’t mad about it. 

“You’re too generous Shan.” She rolls her eyes and proceeds to serve some other patrons who have been waiting for her. Once George Harrison arrives behind the counter, she sends him off to prepare orders while she turns back to me. 

“And you, my dear friend, are far too cold. What brings you here tonight? Chasing one of your hoodlums, again?”

With the war brewing between the Old Families and the Mage, I have been tracking down members of the magical community who have been shunned and cast away by the Mage and his reforms. The Old Families believed that we could find some support amongst the masses who’ve been mistreated by Davy and his band of Merry Men. If I’m in the area, I’ll stop by the pub for a quick drink and a chat. 

Like I said, it’s been happening more often than not. 

Today is different. I am not here because I’m in the area. I felt the need to be here. Maybe it’s the bitter heat of August in London; Or maybe it’s the fact that it’s August 13th, the thirteenth anniversary (plus a day) of my sister’s death that brings me here. Normally, I’d be home, drinking myself into a stupor until enough time has passed where I don’t feel the grief anymore. I never allow myself to drink on the actual day of her death, because I’m too busy spending the day with Basil and Malcolm (Basil mostly), making sure that they’ve kept their heads in one place. I look out for my nephew first and once the day has passed, I go home and begin my process of drinking and mourning.

For some reason, I didn’t want to be home alone today. I don’t know what came over me, but I felt I needed to be here, at Shan’s pub. But I’ll never tell her that. So instead I put on my classic Pitch smooth face and smile slyly at her. 

“Who says I need a reason to be here? Maybe I just decided to come over.” Shan rolls her eyes at me. She faces me and leans over the counter, inches from my face. I have to look away, in case she notices the small blush creeping over my cheeks. I take another sip of my Chivas before looking at her once more. I tilt my head at her and smile. She places her hand on mine and pushes it down, until the glass is back on the counter.

“You’ve always got a reason, Prue. You don’t allow yourself to do anything simply because you want to.” Now, I roll my eyes at her. I down the remainder of my Chivas and slam the glass back down on the counter. I cross my arms over my chest and pull myself back from the counter. 

“Oh? And what exactly do I want?”

Shan also steps back from the counter. She’s got her hands on her hips and shrugs at me. She takes the bottle of Chivas and pours me another glass. 

“I am not nearly qualified enough to untangle the mess in your mind, Prue. I can only offer a listening ear and a reasonable amount of alcohol.” She leans back against the wall. I stare at her for a minute and take in how she looks in the pub’s dim light. Shan’s got incredibly light skin, but it isn’t entirely pale and the dim lighting in here is showcasing her pretty features. She’s wearing a black tank top under a dark purple vest that cuts just at her waist. She’s got on dark jeans and a light gold studded belt. Shan pulls her hair back into a very high, very messy bun at the top of her head. A few strands still hang loose and frame her face. I draw a shaky breath and take a sip of my scotch. I speak softly, more to the glass than to her. 

“My sister died. Yesterday has been 13 years since she died.” Shan relaxes her posture and approaches me again. I don’t shift my position at all. If she thinks she can get me to open up more than that, she’s wrong. I won’t come undone by a pretty girl with bright red hair. 

“You don’t want to be alone then?” Shan reaches for my hand. I don’t let her take it. I’m still focusing on my drink and the patterns of the wood grains on the counter. 

“I am perfectly fine to be alone Shan! I’ve been alone for many years, what’s another one?” I straighten my back even further, attempting to close off my walls. They had been slowly coming down as I spend more time with Shan, but thinking about yesterday, about Tasha, about the losses in my life, have caused me to build them back up with a more reinforced metal. 

Now, I’m here again, in front of Shannon, and the metal around my heart is starting to melt again. What power does this Normal have over me that she can make me feel this way? Shan exits from her side of the bar and she comes to sit down next to me. I want to turn away from her, but I can’t find it in me to do so. I’m running my fingers along the rim of the glass when I feel her tough, guitar-calloused hand lay on top of mine. I refuse to look her in the eyes. She gently places my hand on the counter and turns it over. I finally look at her as she clasps her hand in mine.

“What if you didn’t have to be alone?” Her deep brown eyes are staring right into my grey ones. I can feel my heartbeat beginning to pick up. My breathing becomes a little erratic. I have not felt this in such a long time. Not since my final year at Watford. Not since I had my heartbroken into pieces and decided to shut it down forever. I start to pull my hand away, but Shan holds it tight. I frown at her and glare at her a little bit. 

“People like me are meant to be alone.” I try to make my voice sound icy and intimidating. But, Merlin help me, it sounds breathless, like I’m chocking it out. I take a sharp inhale of breath through my nose. Shan, the fool that she is, reaches over and grabs my other hand, she gently turns my body towards her and leans a little closer to me. She speaks in a soft and calm voice. I almost miss what she says because of the music in the background. 

“You don’t have to be alone.”

She leans in closer to me. I feel a small flutter in the pit of my stomach. I want to lean into her as well, but something stops me. I can’t. I can’t. Not again. Never again. I pull away from her and jump out of my seat. I ignore the confused and saddened look on Shan’s face and I fumble in my bag for my wallet. 

“I have to go.”

Shan grabs my arm and tries to look at me again. I will not give her the satisfaction of seeing me coming undone. I will not let another person into my heart only for them to destroy it again. I can’t handle more pain and misery. 

“Wait… Prue I-” She’s going to beg me to stay, I don’t give her a chance to finish.

“Thank you, Shannon. I’ll see you soon.” I pull out some notes and slam them onto the counter. I yank my arm away from Shan’s grasp and stalk out of the pub, leaving her sorrowful brown eyes behind me. 

I am meant to be alone. I don’t need anyone, especially not some nobody Normal. Even if the same nobody Normal is currently holding a key to my heart. I go home, fully intent on drinking my conflicting feelings away.

________

Six weeks.

Basil’s been missing for six weeks and I haven’t had any luck in finding him. 

I have tried every bloody spell I could think of. I have poured over every single one of Natasha’s old books in that blasted library. I have even tried to contact some of the undesirables in my midst to see if any of them knew anything. None of them could tell me any information. Even though I threatened and screamed and even cast spells to force them to give me any information, none of them had any information to give me. 

I was losing my mind. I wanted nothing more to march into Watford myself and threaten the bloody Mage himself, or even that stupid snivelling little magling, Simon Snow. The only thing preventing me from torching the damn school was the fact that The Mage knew exactly where Baz was and he could decide to retaliate by hurting or even killing him. He was not above murder, the bastard. 

The latest call we got from the numpties had demanded wands from us. They must have been bloody joking. Malcolm, the fool, was already looking for spare wands. I called him a spineless idiot, and if he couldn’t see that this wasn’t about a simple ransom, well then he really was more feebleminded than I thought. I told him that my sister scraped the bottom of the barrel when she married a Grimm and stomped out of the manor. 

The bloody numpties were holding him near some water, so I drew up a map of potential spots where he could be hidden. I was not going to rest until I searched each and every one, no matter how long that took. 

I now find myself walking down a familiar dodgy street, towards a familiar pub. I have not been back since Shan grabbed my hand and I almost allowed her a piece of me. I decided that I would not go back there and risk anything more happening between Shan and myself. To go back would mean I would have to talk about what almost happened, and to do that would mean I would have to either lie to her or give into my feelings, neither option really appealing to me. Still, I need to start a fight. I need to yell at something and punch something. And the thought of Shannon throwing me out of her pub and her life because I caused a fight with her patrons is exactly what I need to revitalize myself on this search mission. 

I storm into the establishment and see a few confused clientele staring at me. I should pick out which unfortunate character will be my target, but my eyes wander to the bar. I want Shan to be watching. 

She isn’t there. But her pathetic little ward is. I march to the bar and before the weasel says anything, I grab his shirt sleeve and pull him over the bar counter. I roughly toss him to the floor. The boy yelps in surprise and lifts his hands up to protect his face. I am not done yet. I am about to lift him up, when someone grabs my arm. I spin around and I’m about to deck them, when I see her deep brown eyes. 

“PRUE! That’s enough!” Shan looks absolutely murderous with rage. I have never seen that look on her face before. I give her a cold hard stare and sneer at her. 

“Get. Your. Bloody. Hands. OFF. ME!” Shan returns my stare with a scowl of her own. She keeps her hand secured on my jacket and begins to drag me outside. 

“We’re going outside, NOW!” 

Well that was fast. I didn’t even get to have any fun. 

Shan shoves me outside and practically tosses me onto the floor. I am astounded by the strength she has, considering just how skinny she is. But she does this for a living. She’s had to toss out larger folks than myself. I dust off my jacket and straighten out my jeans before turning to Shan, who is still wearing a livid look on her face. Her hair, although braided, has a frizzy halo that surrounds it. I already regret coming here. 

“I like you, Prue. But I will not have you starting fights in my pub! Either you tell me what’s gotten into you, or you can kindly fuck off!” She points an accusing finger at me and then out towards the street. I should be honest with her, but I have a knack for self-destruction, so I push my luck.

“Oh fuck off Shan!” She steps back, shocked at first by my demeanor. But she then shakes her head and scoffs. She steps up to me and responds with a coldness of her own.

“If you insist! But this whole tough bitch attitude is getting bloody exhausting! Call me once you’ve calmed yourself” she says as she begins to walk away. I want to let her go back. I want to watch her leave and never see her again. But my damn head won’t let her leave. I call out before I have a chance to stop myself.

“My nephew’s missing...” Shan stops in her tracks. She turns to me, her furious face already changed to one of deep concern. “He’s been missing for nearly 6 weeks and I’m going out of my bloody mind!” 

She approaches me cautiously. I know she is still very angry with me and my actions. She asks me smoothly, “Have they demanded a ransom?” Shan knows well enough to not ask about law enforcement. With the type of charges she takes in, the reality is that law enforcement will typically make matters worse. 

I roll my eyes and answer her. “We don’t pay ransoms in my family!” 

Shan stares incredulously at me, “Are you daft? I don’t know what kind of business you’re running Prudence, but I think the life of your nephew is worth a ransom payment, yeah?”

“This isn’t about a ransom, Shannon! It’s something more! Oh forget it! I’m wasting time, I could be using to search under bridges or in sewers!” This was a mistake. I never should have come here. I turn my back to Shan and start to walk away. 

“Under bridges?” She asks me. I stop and turn back to her. 

“The kidnappers sounded like they were near running water when they called. Which, considering this bloody city, could be fucking anywhere!”

“Christ…” Shan starts to shake her head. She put her hand to her face, as if she was starting to ponder something. It is enough for me to march right back up to her.

“What is it!?”

“I thought he was being batty…” Shan delivers that line in such a thoughtful way that I almost want to be gentle with her. 

Almost. But Basil is missing and this is the first tiny morsel of a clue that I have had for six weeks. So I grab Shan’s shoulders and press her further.

“Who was?! What do you know Shan!?” She frowns at me and shrugs me off.

“Nothing, Prue! I volunteer at one of the homeless shelters in the city and one of our regulars was going on about how one of his favourite sleeping spots near the river was overrun with boulders. It looked like someone was trying to hide something there. The man’s a little mad. He claimed that some of the boulders were moving.”

Moving boulders?! Bloody fucking hell! That’s it! That’s fucking it! Six weeks, I’ve been going mad trying to find Basil, and all this time, the one place I should have been looking was amongst the vagabonds and the homeless. Christ, go figure I’d find my most important clue with Shannon fucking Ryan.  

“Where is he now!!?” I demand of her.  Maybe a little too harshly. I really couldn't care less if I hurt Shan’s feelings anymore. I need to find this drifter as soon as I can. 

“Prue! You can’t be-” Shan tries to calm me down, but I am not having it. I am so close to bringing my nephew home, I am not stopping now. I get up to her face and nearly shout at her.

“You tell me where he is now, Shannon, or I swear to Christ…” Shan shakes her head at me, but she caves in and sighs at me. 

“You are a lunatic, Prudence. But he’s most likely at Whitechapel. He’s been spending most of his time th- Prue!” I’m already walking away. I have all the information I need.

“I’ll see you later, Shan.” I say to her. Maybe if I survive this, I’ll come back and apologize for being a proper psychopath towards her. Maybe she’ll forgive me. For now, I have more important matters to attend to.

“Prue! Come back! You can’t do this alone!” 

That’s where you’re wrong Shannon. I’ve had to do everything on my own. It’s what I’m best at. I can still hear her shouting into the night, even though I am far from the pub at this point. 

“PRUDENCE!”

________

I am once more, back at the Golden Griffin. The pub has just closed for the night, but I know that Shan is still inside. She usually stays behind a few hours after closing time in order to clean up the place. I stand right in front of the door, taking a few moments to decide if I want to knock on her door, or if I should leave. I lift my fist to the window on the door. I’m about to knock when Shan’s head pops up from the side of the door. She looks surprised to see me at first, then… is that relief? She whips the door opened and pulls me inside. 

“Prudence…” she whispers to me. She holds my hand in hers. Merlin, what is she doing to me? I let go of her hand and stuff my hands into my jacket pockets. I clear my throat and start to talk.

“He was alive. I found him in time.”

“Your nephew. I’m so relieved to hear that.” She’s got her hand over her heart and she sighs in relief. Has she truly been worried this whole time? 

I feel guilty for not coming back sooner. But I had to make sure Baz was fine and then well, I wanted to start planning retribution for this attack on my family. I hadn’t realized that it was mid-November and I still had not gone to see Shan. 

And so, here I am. At 2AM on a Tuesday. At this pub once more, in front of this Normal. This Normal who is nobody important, from a nobody family. Yet, all I’m hoping is that she can forgive me for my foolishness. 

“You said I couldn’t do it alone. I did it alone. I found him, I got him back. I didn’t need anyone.” I just have to antagonize her, don’t I? I am a Pitch after all. Shan shakes her head, like she was ready for this to begin with an argument. 

“I’m happy for you Prue. Truly, I am.” She responds with an icy sarcasm. Her arms are crossed and she is leaning away from me. She isn’t up for having a go at me. I take a half-step towards her and offer an olive branch.

“My real name’s Fiona. Fiona Pitch.” Shan drops her hands to her hips. She gives me a cold stare and shakes her head. She then raises her hands slightly only to cross them again. She’s upset and I can’t say I blame her. I’ve only been lying to her for several months. 

“Fiona. Christ… Alright…”

“Prudence is my middle name. I didn’t know you.” I offer her an explanation. She rolls her eyes at that and continues to stare at me. 

“Fine, Fiona. What do you want from me?” She waves her arms and points to her chest. I furrow my eyebrows. I don’t know how to answer her question. I also don’t like how she calls me Fiona with disdain in her voice. As if she’s talking to someone she doesn’t know or care for. I suppose I deserve that. 

“I don’t need anyone. I’m perfectly fine to be on my own.” I take another half-step towards her. 

“What do you want from me, Fiona?” She asks me again. She is challenging me. Her voice, while still severe, is more inquisitive. She wants me to answer her, to let her in. To allow her another piece of me. 

I am not ready to answer her. Instead I continue to fight her and my own feelings. 

“I do not want another person coming into my life only to destroy it again!” I turn my head away from her as I expose a tiny piece of myself. Shan now steps forward. She is a breath away from me now. I want to touch her hair, her face, her hands. 

“What do you want from me, Fiona?” Her voice has now lost its edge, its icy tone. She is softer now, asking me to trust her. She reaches for my hand. I let her take it. I look down at our clasped hands, and I remember the last time she did this. I’m going to try and not run away again.  

“But then you held my hand… You held my hand. And you told me I didn’t have to be alone!”

“I did.” She says so sincerely. 

“And you helped me find my nephew.” I try to divert the conversation. I don’t know if I’m ready for this. Merlin help me, I am not ready for this. 

“I can’t take credit for that.” One of her hands has reached up to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“You helped me.”

“What do you want from me Fi-” She asks one last time. I feel her breath on my face. I give in.

This time, I am ready to answer her. 

I lean forward and kiss her. Her lips feel so soft, if a little chapped. Shan responds and returns my kiss. One of my hands has moved to the back of her head. I feel her thick soft curls in my hand. She has gripped my face in her hands. I feel her tilt her head and start softly nibbling on my bottom lip. I respond by lightly running my tongue over her teeth. I’ve wanted this for so long. Merlin knows why I’ve been denying it to myself. Our kiss breaks apart and Shan leans her head on the crook of my neck. 

��You. I want you, Shannon. Ever since you grabbed my hand and threw my world into bloody turmoil!” I whisper into her hair. She pulls away from me and looks at me as if I’m the most insane person in the world. She wouldn’t be wrong to assume that. I’m pretty sure there is a history of insanity within my family. 

“Well fuck, Prue… All you had to do was ask. But instead you ran away and acted like a bloody maniac. You could have talked to me, you know!” She shakes me lightly. 

“I bloody well could not!” I look away from her and shake my head. She wouldn’t understand. I am not the type of person who stands at the doorstep of a lover begging them to take them back or to love them. Even if I was, Shan’s life is wholesome and uncomplicated. All I am is one complication after another. She doesn’t need that in her life. 

“Why not? Help me understand you, Prue.” She’s grabbed my face again and she’s staring me down. Merlin help me, in the light, her eyes look like pools of honey. I grab her wrists tight. 

“I’m a bloody mess, Shan. I have no direction. I’m a disgrace to my family. A disgrace to my name.” Shan smiles at me. She runs her hands through my hair and I sigh. I’m a fucking mess. If my sister could see me now, she’d be so fucking disappointed. 

“You don’t have to be FIONA PITCH with me.” I snort sarcastically as she says my name with a snooty accent. “With me, you can be Prue. I like Prue a whole lot. She’s wild. She’s intense, but she’s got a good heart. She’s bloody gorgeous to.” With that, she grabs me by the back of my neck and pulls me into another deep kiss. My hands trail down to her hips and hold her in place. My thumbs tuck inside the hem of her jeans and run across her skin. It feels so soft. So perfect.  We pull away again and I laugh a little. 

“I can’t promise that I won’t run away or that I won’t be a complete maniac.”

“I can’t promise that I won’t kick your arse for being completely daft!” Shan flicks my white streak. 

“This could be a bloody disaster…” 

“Or not... Just don’t threaten my bartender again, or I may have to kill you.” She gives me a playfully wink, but I know she’s dead serious. I respond with a raised eyebrow and a tilt of my head. 

“I’d like to see you try.”

 With that, Shan cocks a half smile at me. She takes me by the hand and leads me away from the pub towards the stairs that lead to the Inn. She closes the lights as we walk up the stairs. 

I am not ready to give my heart to another person who could very well break it. But with Shan, I’m willing to risk it. 

Normal life be damned. 

And when I touch you, I feel happy inside. It’s such a feeling that my love, I can’t hide. 

[crunchyspicysalmon]

I was tagged by @mellowyellowwitch!! Thank you!!

1. Are there any songs that make you cry? What are they? Do you have a specific memory with them?

We could be here all day alkhdla (12H Pisces moon problems). The ones off the top of my head I’ll list: A Little Fall of Rain // Les Mis Cast (2012); The Gunner’s Dream // Pink Floyd; Ride // Lana Del Rey; My Love, My Life // ABBA; 13 Beaches // Lana Del Rey; Don’t Let the Kids Win // Julia Jacklin; Wish You Were Here // Pink Floyd; End of the Earth // MARINA; Believe in Love // MARINA

I think I’ll end it here lskdhlksf 

2. Do you like wearing jewelry? If so, what type/style?

I don’t wear jewellery too often, but I do have this cute layered necklace that has moon, star, and gem charms! I got it in a surprise bag from Ardene’s LMAO but it’s my favourite necklace! Otherwise I don’t really wear jewellery but I’d like to get my ears pierced at some point soon. 

3.Do you believe that there is another human “out there” for you to love and for them to love you? This doesn’t necessarily mean romanticly.

Yes of course, I don’t think just one though. We can have soulmates throughout our lives I believe, romantically or platonically. 

4. What’s your ideal aesthetic like?

Totally late 1960s/early-mid 1970s. I love bell-bottom jeans! I also like the basic 1970s band tee tied in the front and bell bottoms.

5. How do you prefer to listen to your music?

Always loud whether it’s earphones or out loud at home (but im also not totally inconsiderate to my neighbours, especially after certain times). 

6. What do you think about spirituality?

I think it’s totally great as long as you’re happy and you’re doing you, yk?

7. Do you ever daydream? Care to say what they’re about?

I can be a realist, but I do daydream a lot of scenarios that usually don’t happen LMAO!! Mix of my 12H Pisces moon, and 7H Libra venus lmaoo. 

8. If you could ever go back in time where in the world would you go and what time would it be?

I had to think about this one, but I think in the earlier 1970s, being able to see Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd live while high. That would be such a spiritual experience for both! 

9. Do you have any role models? Who are they and why?

I don’t really know who I look up to. I was thinking Lana Del Rey, but I never saw her as a role model, but more so as an inspiration.

10. What do you want to create in this world? What do you think needs to be created?

I don’t really know, I just think that everyone deserves to be loved and have their story heard. I want to make a safe space where everyone can be comfortable I guess? I’m going into social work for that reason. 

My questions:

1. How do you usually find new music?

Usually on Spotify, I use Apple Music regularly but it’s easier to find other artists on Spotify. I’ll also find new artists through my sisters and friends! 

2. What are you proud of, but never have an excuse to talk about?

Honestly how I’m proud of how I was able to overcome a lot of mental issues over the past year! I’m also proud of being fully able to accept who I am regarding my bisexuality and it’s made me also a lot happier and confident!

3. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?

I don’t even know tbh. 

4. What do you think the world will be like in ten years?

I hope more accepting, and empathetic. I feel we’ve been losing compassion for one another a lot lately and it’s depressing and emotionally exhausting to see.

5. What’s something new you learned today?

I can’t find my debit card, I learned that today LMAO!

6. Have you ever been to a concert? If so, what is the best concert you’ve ever been to?

Yes I’ve been to a few! The best I’ve been to was probably MARINA last September! I was pretty much front row, and it was the best I’ve ever seen her perform (I also saw her in 2015)! She seemed so much happier and I just loved LOVE + FEAR so much as an album, it meant a lot to me when I was going through a hard time. 

7. What makes you feel supported?

Knowing people have my back when I need them! 

8. Do you have your favorite fictitious character? If so, who is it and why?

I definitely do but I suddenly can’t think of any at all... no thoughts head empty..

9. What music put you in a good mood?

Definitely ABBA, they’re just so fun and happy and disco-y I love it!

10. Where’s the weirdest place you’ve found something that you lost?

I wouldn’t say weird, but for me I lose a lot of stuff and it always ends up in the most obvious spots which is so dumb!! But also I find a lot of stuff in old suitcases, bags, or drawers. 

I tag @roberts-dick @passingthetime @sickaddiktions @marauderofworlds @kountessbathory

[tisthenightofthewitch]

Tobias Forge: New Ghost Songs Designed to Fill Out Live Show

The evolution of Ghost seems almost mythical. How much of what the band has become did you actually envision when it started?

Damn. I's unfathomable looking back years to the embryonic state of Ghost as an idea.

I definitely felt like there was a career there or that there was a forum and that there'd be a crowd that would be a designated audience. I could really feel that already from 2008 when the first demo songs were being played to just a few people. Just the mere reaction of those people hearing it that early, you could tell that there was a vibe that was not really comparable to the current bands that I was in. So, I always had a good feeling about it, but fast forward 10 years and looking at a lot of the success, that was not taken into account at the time.

Headlining an arena tour is an opportunity to take the theatricality of Ghost to an even more elaborate level. How do you present a big show without overshadowing the music?

I don't think that there is such a thing really. It would be kind of miraculous if you've gotten to a level where you're allowed to do a big, spectacular show if you didn't have the songs already that you've built your career upon. I'm not trying to toot my own horn here, but I'm just saying that I think that, despite Ghost obviously being a very schticky band, I would never claim that we got to the point where we got to with music only.

Of course, the imagery played a giant part. But I know no bands at all that had a fantastic image but really sucky music that got anywhere. Maybe they, cult wise, got somewhere, but they never really materialized or amounted to grander things that don't have music that moves people. One thing that bands notice if they're ever given the chance of playing really big places is how much effort you need to put in.

Those steps and those measures feel like all of it on paper is almost overkill. Once you get there onstage, and once you do it, you're like, 'Oh, it's just like a normal rock show. It's just what I've seen many times.' I'm not saying repetitive.

One simple example is when you're a small band, you start out with a backdrop of a certain size. It feels like a huge backdrop when you bring it to your first club show. Then all the sudden, a few months later, you might support a bigger band in a theater, and you bring your big backdrop and now that backdrop just takes up a quarter of their big backdrop.

So, you make another big one and it's a really big one that on paper and once you order it, it looks like it's going to be so huge. Then when you play your first outdoor show in a shed or in a festival, it doesn't even look that big now. So every step you take you realize that what seemed inconceivable and almost vulgar in terms of overstating something half a year ago or three years ago, is now industry standards.

When you headline in an arena it has to be this big. It has to have these amount of fire canisters and this, that and the other. If you do it all really well, it's gonna look like an arena band. But my ambitions are bigger than that. There's a lot of things on my to-do list that goes into the future.

Ghost are categorized as metal but there are many other musical nuances throughout the songs as well. What taught you the musical adaptability that's so prevalent to Ghost?

I think it comes from a musical interest — an obsession with music, that actually went a little bit beyond just metal. Throughout my life, I've obsessed about many different bands and many different genres and many different ages of rock. I'm saying rock because it's still, besides my fascination for like classical music or film scores and pop song, everything else has been sort of rock-oriented in some way, be it early '60s with all the Beatles and Kinks and all that stuff.

To prog rock, to punk rock to hard rock, everything has sort of been rock based when it comes to being embracive of bands and artists. Whereas I've always had a very big love for songs in general and of course a lot of that is rooted in listening to radio and pop. But just because I like Nik Kershaw songs, it doesn't mean I'm obsessing over him as an artist at all. The same way that I would over [laughs] The Smiths or The Doors.

But I think, definitely, if I was to credit the diversity of Ghost music it would definitely be my upbringing musically. The fact that I was exposed to so much different music very early on. Absolute obsession for the Rolling Stones, my absolute obsession over The Doors, as well as my absolute obsession over Metallica and Morbid Angel, just to name a few.

Overall Ghost seems tailor-made for a concept album. What would be the positive and negative aspects of that format for you?

I'm often in sort of an inner conflict with myself for the idea of concept albums. My albums are always loosely themed around something particular. Just to draw parallels with other bands, I would say that it is loosely themed in the same way that Metallica's [early albums] or Iron Maiden's album are thematic. They are just based on and idea opposed to The Who's Tommy or King Diamond's records that are a story from start to finish.

I would say that I'm a little bit more like, Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here. It's a little bit more like based off of feeling. Wish You Were Here was based on the idea of missing and longing for someone. Everybody thinks it's about Syd Barrett, but it wasn't specifically about him. It was not a record that had to do with him alone.

I am, so far, into the planning stages on the new album right now and am trying to find the balance of how to incorporate songs ideas that I have and tie them in so it's loose enough to feel like what I thought of but clear enough to feel like it's a theme.

I've had this issue or this subject in our agenda for the previous albums as well — to avoid turning it into something like a story? The problem with that is that you're committing, you have to commit, you have to go full-on, completely committed into orchestrating that story. And when you're writing a story all of a sudden, there are dramaturgical needs that a story requires.

I am very, very interested in cinematic theater, so I would have very high demands on that storytelling. I just feel that at least as of right now it feels like that's a little too ambitious for me. At the end of the day, I want to write a record that is filled with good songs that will fit very well into our other pile of songs that we have for an album's worth of material.

To answer your question, I think that is another issue that if you make a rock opera. All of a sudden you have to store them. Like, how does this record fit into the rest of our repertoire?

I know that Pink Floyd solved it by for many years they played the current record. That was sort of act one. So they would go out and they'd play Dark Side of the Moon, and then they would come out after a little intermission they would come out and play like a hip sort of thing. And that's great. I would've loved to see that. [laughs] But it takes commitment and you need to sort of fully embrace that. I am not there right now. I want make a record that is a little more according to what the four albums I've already done.

It's hard to imagine Ghost without the charismatic characters. How do those identities empower you as a performer?

Speaking just for myself, I know that coming out onstage as another character, looking different, acting different, definitely allows for you to act and behave in a way that you wouldn't normally do. This can be both traumatic and also therapeutical in away.

Even though it's been a long time since I practiced any sort of martial arts, I almost feel similar to myself back then, like after karate class. I did all kinds of things. I did Judo, jiu-jitsu, tae kwon do and karate. After you are sort of cleansed from any sort of violent urges that you had. And in a way, I feel that way. Especially now when we play on our regular nights. When we play that long, any inkling that you have of wanting to dance and rock out is sort of over when you come off stage, which is very nice.

One of the luxuries of being able to dress up for it and become a different character is that as soon as I am not that character anymore, no one expects me to behave the way that the character does onstage. No one expects me to be that way offstage. There's been a great handful of rock artists that have had a big problem differentiating themselves from their character onstage. And that leads to a lot of potential problems.

You are tentatively planning to start recording the next Ghost album early next year. What informs or inspires you when you're in creative mode?

Pretty much all the same things that have always inspired me. I just add more things, but luckily I have managed to maintain my little oasis of inspiration or the well that doesn't seem to dry up. For me, I can still go back to films and records and books, a myriad of things. That still keeps me fired up and in awe to the point where I want to do something similar.

We still have months to go of touring and right about now has been the case in previous album cycles. I start to get very antsy about going into the studio. My mind is definitely far up in the new record. But also, making a new record for me nowadays is so much more than producing 40 minutes of music.

It's also hard work thing and a visual presentation first and foremost. Despite my love of making records and wanting to put my vision and musical ideas on to vinyl and wanting to hear that, it's about tours. That's what we do.

Making a record is not only making a record, it's also planning the show. And a lot of things, a lot of gags, a lot of production values that I've had ideas for - for songs that I wanted to do on a live stage that we haven't gotten to do but now are closer to being able to produce — basically a lot of the gags that we haven't been able to do before goes into consideration when making a new record.

It's like what kind of song do we need in order to make the show a year and a half from now all those things that I wanna try to present. So making the record goes in tandem with the existing material as well, from the live point of view. It's important that the songs I'm adding to the repertoire - I don’t know, however many songs we play live, but if it's a good record, maybe you can play seven songs from that new record? Eight songs? I don’t know.

But you want those songs to have relevance. You don't want another "Absolution," you want another song that we don't have. You don't want an exact replica of "He Is." You want another song to sort of perfect the live show. So, yeah, there's a lot to - you have to spend a lot of time thinking about that in order to get that right.

FULL METAL JACKIE RADIO

[har-rison-s]

doing alright?

plot: roger is mean to brian about him barely getting any girls, so reader, who’s brian’s friend, proves roger wrong. she says some things to roger, a little nasty, saying that not everyone needs to change girls every night to be good in bed. at the start, it’s just so roger would piss off, but when brian and reader get to brian's place, they’re not pretending anymore.

A/N: This has been sitting in my mind for a very long time. I'm not sorry it's so long, I'm actually finally a work of mine is longer than usually. I've been writing this for almost a month now, or over a month. You can choose whichever Brian. Happy reading!

main masterlist

borhap masterlist

brian may masterlist

warnings: swearing and unprotected sex if that even bothers anyone (don't try that at home, kids)!

Another long day at the studio, but Emma never gets bored. The only thing getting on her nerves is Roger and his damn groupie. He's been bragging about his supposed talents in bed and the amount of girls that love him since Emma has known him, and that's been a very long time. Like half of the time that Emma has been best friends with Brian. And it's always been a thing that Roger does, but lately it has teared Emma's nerves to pieces every single day.

Especially when he puts down Brian. God, she just wants to yell at Roger every time he says something, but she controls herself. Until one day, when the annoyance has built up and she can't take it anymore. Roger and Brian are the only ones at the studio, because the new song they're recording already has the bass and vocal tracks, and they don't need Fred or Deaky to fix anything.

There's a horribly plastic blonde lounging next to Emma on the studio couch, twirling her curled piece of hair between her fingers while she eye-fucks Roger with her gum travelling and sticking everywhere around her mouth. Emma rolls her eyes at Roger's groupie of the day and looks back at the boys. They're fixing their instruments up, having done the needed part for this day. Emma smiles. Finally she and Brian can go to his place and listen to a recently come-out Pink Floyd record. 

Roger and Brian walk into the room where the girls lay and Brian smiles at Emma, not giving any attention to the blonde girl next to her. Emma returns the gesture, and watches as he walks over to the controls. Roger, instead, sits down between Emma and the blonde and Emma turns her head away, covering her ears, once she starts hearing kissing noises. She makes a disgusted face at them and Brian extends his arm to her, requesting Emma to stand up. She takes his hand and his offer, standing up and smiling at Brian sheepishly. He gives a smile in response and then turns back to the switches. 

“Roger, please get up here so we can finish the day.” Brian says to his bandmate, clearly annoyed by his behavior, as well. Emma smiles faintly, enjoying the rightfully served justice. Roger pulls away from his girl of the day and looks at Brian.

“Distracting you, are we?” The drummer asks and Emma rolls her eyes. The blonde girl laughs a wicked laugh and it makes Emma want to vomit. Brian sighs.

“Yes.” He replies and puts headphones on his ears, ready to listen to their recording. Roger only chuckles.

“Well,” Roger says as he stands up, “that's only because you haven't gotten laid and you desperately need to.” He states. Roger secures his pants and picks up a pair of headphones himself. He looks at Brian, smirking, and nudges his side. “I can help you, me and Shelley here don't mind a little sharing.” He winks at the blonde, and she laughs again.

Brian sighs. “I don't need your help with that, thank you very much.” He says to Roger without looking at him, sarcasm showing in the last words. Roger rolls his eyes.

“Then tell me why there's never a girl with you here, except Emma.” Roger argues, turning to Brian. “It must be from your lack of talent in bed.” He says and puts on his headphones. That's it. That's it for Emma, she's had enough.

“Fucking hell, Roger.” she curses and shakes her head. Emma walks over to him. “Just because Brian doesn't brag about his, mind you, incredible talents at sex, doesn't mean he hasn't gotten laid.” She folds her arms over her chest and shoots Roger a challenging look with one eyebrow raised. 

“He's my best mate, I think I know he's desperate for a shag when I see it.” Roger says and scoffs.

“Oh really?” Emma challenges him further. Roger looks at her disbelievingly and Emma slides her arm around Brian's waist, which surprises not only Roger, but the guitarist himself. “Seems like you don't know your best friend at all. Don't you notice he's exhausted coming in today? Do you know what we did last night?” She tells Roger and slides her hand down to Brian's thigh, gripping it lightly. Brian grows nervous at her touching him, but can't show it to anyone around, especially Emma. “But you sure know how to put him down. So, my suggestion is, you get your head out of your ass and realise that your tiny dick size or your horrible characteristics aren't what please the women you change every night.” She says. Roger clenches his jaw. “It's your money.” Emma pats the drummer's shoulder with her hand, smiling sarcastically at him and takes Brian's hand as she starts to walk towards the exit door. “Your song's perfect. You've been working your bum off on that song.” She says in the guitarist's ear.

Brian grins from ear to ear as the two reach his car, and he laughs. So does Emma once she hears him, and lets go of his hand. “Thank you for that.” Brian says to her when they've sat down in his car. “I've always known what to say to him, but it never gets him to shut up, it does absolutely nothing to stop those stupid comments.” He admits. Emma smiles.

“I'm glad I could help.” She replies. “He was running me down, as well, and I just can't stand by watching an arrogant prick put down his best friend. And my best friend.” She states and looks over at Brian with a smile. He nods at her and starts the car, driving away from the studio finally. “It's been such a long day.” Emma sighs. Brian just smiles to himself, and looks at the road ahead.

Emma sits on Brian's kitchen table, Pink Floyd's 'Wish You Were Here' album playing from his living room. Her legs dangle off the edge, her bare feet knotting together once in a while as she watches him busying himself in the kitchen. 

“Did you talk at all with the blonde girl? Shelley?” He asks and brings Emma out of her music trance. 

“No.” She responds. “She didn't seem interesting.” Emma admits, but then raises her eyebrows and adds, “except the part of sharing in bed.” Brian laughs at that.

“Christ.” He mutters. “Don't believe that, Roger probably made it up.”

“Right, he likes to be the most interesting one in the room.” Emma nods, agreeing. She sighs and lifts her head up, looking at Brian who walks over to her with two cups of tea. Peppermint, she can smell it. Brian agrees to her statement with a hum. He stands next to her at the table, and looks at Emma. “His words don't get to you, do they?” She asks, tilting her head to look at Brian better, he looks down. Emma frowns. 

“Don't want them to.” He says slowly, and she pouts. 

“Brian,” she starts to say, moving her hand closer to his on the table's surface, and eventually taking his long fingers between her own. Brian looks at her, “please don't let them. It's just Roger picking on you.” Emma encourages him sweetly. “Don't let him have what he wants. If what he says is true or not, no matter, you must not let him walk over you.”

Brian sighs deeply. “And what if it is true?” He asks worriedly. Emma doesn't say anything, waiting for Brian to say what he wants to. “I really haven't gotten together with a girl in a long time. And I've tried, I've chatted girls up or whatever, but—”

“Don't you dare doubt yourself, Brian May,” Emma says in a threatening voice, disrupting his verbalised doubts. She knows what Brian wants to say next, but she won't let him, “don't doubt your looks, your charm, your skills in bed or anything else. You're amazing, okay?” Her thumb caresses the top of his hand and Brian chuckles airily. 

“Thanks, love,” he responds, “but why can't I get a girl into my bed?” He asks then and Emma sighs quietly. 

“I don't know, Bri.” She says and there's a moment of quiet between them both. They're not looking into each other's eyes, but then Emma draws in a deep breath and looks back up at Brian's lovely eyes. “I could help you out with that.” She suggests, and it sounds as crazy as it did in her head, if not crazier. An outrageous offer.

“What? Set me up with someone?” Brian asks, and then shakes his head. “No, I don't want to be with any of your friends, Emmie, sorry, but it'll be too weird.”

She's silent for a while, but then looks down with a shy smile. “No, no, I meant...” Emma fiddles between her hands in her lap and then tilts her head up again, looking at Brian with slightly clouded eyes, “I meant... me.”

Brian furrows his eyebrows immediately, not sure if he heard or understood her correctly. They look at each other for a while, Brian wondering through the staring if he's cleaned his ears. 

“You mean,” he starts to say, crossing his arms over his chest and squinting, “have sex with me?”

Emma inhales and nods. The thought sure sounds exciting. She shrugs then, and offers Brian an innocent smile. “Why not?” She asks. “Something wrong with me?”

“No, no,” he immediately shakes his head, “nothing's wrong with you, you're perfect, love. It's just... won't it be strange?”

Emma tilts her head from side to side. “We've seen each other naked before, and I've heard a lot of things through thin walls,” she says and rolls her eyes, Brian only laughs, knowing what she's talking about, “if we don't make it weird, it won't be.”

“Right.” Brian responds quietly. “And it's not just because you think I want to get back at Roger?”

Emma shakes her head. “No, Bri.” She says. “Haven't you wondered what your best friend is like in the intimate part of life? Cause I have.” Emma admits with no shame. “But if you want to get back at Roger, we can do that as well.” She suggests and moves her hands to Brian's sides. He gives her an alarmed look, but doesn't protest when she pulls him between her legs. 

Emma tilts her chin up at Brian and her hands travel up his shirt to rest on his chest. Their faces are close, a few centimeters between Brian's long nose and Emma's short, round one. They look into each other's eyes. 

“Do you really want to?” He asks, and Emma gives him a nod for an answer. “Cause I'm not sure about holding back.” Brian admits, raising his eyebrows for a short moment. Emma chuckles and her arms encircle Brian's waist. 

“You don't have to.” She whispers and leans up to capture Brian's lips between hers. It's their first shared kiss ever, they haven't kissed even in a dare or by mistake, never. And it feels nice, both of them can admit that. 

They're going easy, slowly, pulling back and reconnecting their lips now and then, Brian's nose softly touching her cheek. The two are slowly exploring each other and how their lips and tongues feel together, not hurrying. There's time for everything. And she tastes so sweet, sweeter than anything. Brian wonders why he hasn't thought of this before. 

Brian starts to think of Emma undressing, moaning his name and even writhing underneath him, her eyelids dropping and lifting, her lips parting and closing, and it's all over for slow going then. His lips grow hungrier, lapping at hers quicker and his hands grab at her waist. It brings a moan out of Emma and Brian hums in appreciation. He gasps for air between their kisses and Emma rests her hands on Brian's chest, stopping their small session. 

“That's not so bad, is it?” She asks him with a slight grin. Brian smiles and shakes his head, agreeing with her. Emma's hand sneaks up to the back of Brian's head, kneading through his curls. But he's in no mood to stop what they began, looking at Emma with darkened eyes. 

She doesn't know what she's quite in for when Brian pushes his lips back on hers, making Emma rock back slightly from the impact. She gasps at the intensity and tightens her grip on Brian's neck. She feels herself growing wet by the second, sensing how Brian's want for her rises. And quite literally. The closer she moves to him, the more accesable is his hard-on. Already? Brian must be severely touch starved.

Emma brushes her fingers softly through Brian's hair just as she feels his hand creeping down towards between her hips. Her breath stops and she looks at Brian with the most lustful look in her eyes that he's seen her carry. He breathes heavily and pushes his fingers against Emma's heat, making her freeze and shortly stop breathing, but only for a second. Her eyes are looking into Brian's before her eyelids drop and she completely surrenders before him.

Brian starts to quickly work on her clit after he's slid her knickers to the side a little, rubbing mercilessly at it in any shape he finds suitable. He's ruthless, and Emma's moaning his name and gasping and panting, her small hands gripping Brian's arms. He rests his forehead against Emma's and looks at her eyes, but only finds them closed. “Open your eyes, baby,” Brian urges and Emma does, though it's quite hard at the moment. “Are you close?” He whispers. She nods, gasping for more breath.

“Yes, Brian.” Emma answers him, and her words turn into a high-pitched moan. She's surprised at how quickly she feels close to her orgasm, and she might have liked to last longer for her friend. But she doesn't know what to expect from him, really, although she's wondered about how Brian felt or what he could do, from time to time. “Ungh!” Emma exclaims, then biting down on her lip, “I'm—I'm coming.” 

Brian feels her thighs throbbing against his, shaking almost. His lips part and he enjoys the pretty sight before him so much, he fastens the movements of his fingers. His other hand gropes her right thigh, reaching underneath it and hoisting Emma closer to him. Brian's starving for her suddenly, wanting to do many dirty things to her, and it shows in his eyes. He's picturing her beneath him, before him, above him, on her knees, on her back, on her stomach. His eyes cloud over and his cock twitches in his pants. 

Emma comes finally, starting with her body tensing up and her eyes rolling to the back of her head and finishing with deep gasps and hanging her head back, gripping Brian's arms tighter for support. Her hair sways behind her shoulders, her neck is completely exposed to Brian and he uses the chance to cover it with his lips all over. Emma gasps quietly, closing her eyes and putting her hands around Brian's neck. She smiles lazily when he sucks on her skin and tangles her fingers in his curls. She's touched his hair before, combed it, played with it, ran through every base of every curl, but now they feel different between her delicate fingers. They sort of feel... more accessible now, touchable.

“What do you want, baby?” Emma asks in a sweet, sweet voice in Brian's ear. He responds with a light groan and a soft bite on her ear. Emma chuckles, sliding her hand down to the treasure between Brian's legs and palms her hand over the shaft through his jeans. Brian's lips stop in an open-mouthed kiss on her neck and his eyes flutter shut. 

Oh, he'd love to have her fingers or lips wrapped around his cock, he would. Hear her encouraging words and moans while her hand moves up and down on it, or hear the simple sound of how her lips and tongue suck on him, her saliva and his cum mixing together. But not now. Now he wants to be the one who gives, he wants Emma to be the one shaking and writhing and almost passing out. Brian wants to love his friend tonight the way he has never before. 

He didn't reply to Emma's comment about wondering what he'd be like in bed, he didn't really have time to. Brian has wondered, sometimes even fantasized and pictured all sorts of things, but would he ever admit that to her? Perhaps it's too much of a sacred thing to him, something he's shy about. He's always been shy and quiet about these things, and Emma knows that. But she wants him to feel the best tonight, no holding back. Just as they promised. 

“N-No.” Brian stammers out and Emma opens her eyes, feeling confused. She halts her hand and looks at Brian, unsurely. 

“Why?” She whispers. “D-Did I do something, um—“

“No, no. Not at all.” Brian answers and gives Emma an small assuring smile. She smiles back, a reflex of hers, really. Brian's smile grows and Emma sees those vampire teeth that she loves, and she chuckles. “Fuck, you turn me on so much, Emmie,” he admits, looking away, “but I don't want you to...” Brian's head hangs low, his mind empty of the words he doesn't really want to say.

“Give you a handjob?” Emma finishes, a cocky eyebrow raised and a grin added. Brian only looks deep into her eyes. “Alright.” She says and tugs at the bottom of her dress, lifting the thin flowery material over her head. It takes Brian's full attention to see her in only her pushed-aside knickers, her breasts exposed and his breath hitches. Seeing her naked before is nothing like this right now. Emma rests her elbows on the table and leans onto them. She grins at Brian. “Do what you may to me.” (a/n: heheheheheehe sneaky sneak)

Brian bites his lip and moves to lean over Emma again, sliding her knickers down her legs afterwards. She was expecting him to kiss her, but he only lingers himself and his lips mere milimeters above Emma's skin. It makes goosebumps appear everywhere he moves, Emma's breath stopping here and there. Brian tugs his jeans and boxers down, and Emma's eyes widen a bit once seeing his size. It certainly is true about what they say - the hands match the package. And Brian's fingers are qute incredible in length. She parts her lips in a quiet 'wow', and is a bit astounded, not able to take her eyes off his already hard cock. But when he wants to take off the already half-unbuttoned blouse-shirt, Emma reaches her hand out to his and they look at each other.

“You look pretty.” She simply says. “With the necklace and all.” She explains and Brian laughs quietly. But that demeanor is gone in the second he kisses Emma again. He kisses her so fiercely and with such passion, Emma might burst. “Brian.” She begs quietly between their kisses and Brian takes that as a signal. Taking Emma by the waist, he pushes her slowly down onto the table and moves backwards a bit and grips her thighs. On her left thigh his hand rests on the top, pushing the leg to the side. Her right thigh is gripped under the knee at the start, then Brian moves the knee upwards. As he leans back towards Emma's chest and face, Brian pushes the knee with him and slowly enters Emma with his hard cock.

Although she winces, Emma keeps her eyes on Brian's, but due to the immensely wonderful feeling, her eyelids soon drop and her head falls back against the table. Brian grunts and lets his head rest between Emma's breasts. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath. She really feels incredible, surely better than he'd thought, and Brian would stay in the position for the span of his life if he could. But he's gotta start moving. 

“Oh, fuck!” Emma exclaims once he does and thanks Brian silently for pushing her legs apart before he entered her. She honestly stressed about him not fitting inside, and she can say that it's not an easy feeling. “Please, move, faster, Brian.” She begs and Brian obliges, making his thrusts more frequent and, with time, deeper. 

Emma's hands grip Brian's back, trying to hold onto to it as it's moving, and her fingers are soon to leave marks from the struggle and overwhelmind feeling. Her friend really is good in bed, he's very good at sex. He feels fulfilling and complete inside her, Emma realises it's the feeling of something long-lost that is regained. Strange, but she'll have time to think about it later. Now's not the moment.

Brian's hand is still resting under her knee and he pushes the leg back and forth with his thrusts, giving himself and Emma more space. “Fuck, Emmie, you feel—ugh!—wonderful.” He says to her between grunts and presses a kiss on the base of her neck. He admires the view on himself driving in and out of her and almost collapses then and there. “You look so pretty around my cock, darling.”

Emma moans at his words, blushing as well. “You're not so bad yourself.” She replies and they both laugh, looking into the other's eyes. Emma eventually lifts Brian's blouse-shirt over his head and throws it away, with Brian raising an eyebrow at her in question. “Are you close, though?” The question sounds so mundane and matter-of-factly that Emma almods laughs again. Brian shuts his eyes and presses kisses along Emma's neck, making her squirm and whimper. 

“Than I've ever been.” He answers in a deep, hushed whisper. Brian has been on the edge for a while and the foreign and new feeling of Emma stretching around him and kissing him and touching him drove him practically to the finish line the moment he went inside her. And he knows she might not be as close to orgasming as he is, so Brian reaches down between them both and rubs on her clit again. The action makes Emma's back arch and moan in such a high pitch that it's nearly a scream. She clenches around Brian's shaft, tightening, and Brian's eyes roll back. “Oh my fucking God, I'm gonna cum—“ He announces and looks down at Emma, watching her figure as it moves with each of his thrusts. 

He's started to hit just the right spot in her a few seconds ago, and she's started to drive herself on Brian, meeting his thrusts in the right rhythm. “Come for me, Bri,” Emma encourages and takes Brian's face between her hands, kissing his lips firmly. He presses his middle finger against her most sensitive nub and Emma whines, her lips parting and back lifting off the surface. Brian uses this opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth and next thing he knows is them both reaching their orgasms in unison. 

His thrusts grow slower and sloppier and Emma is clenching harder around him, riding out her orgasm. Soon she feels Brian's cum shooting inside her, warming and slickening her walls, and she lets her fluids drench his cock in all its glorious length. Brian releases a groan so gutteral he sounds like an animal, and if Emma hadn't come yet, she would have—on the spot—now. Brian leans up before her, his skin sweaty and shining from it, and from the light in the kitchen, he looks like a glowing angel to Emma. Very beautiful. 

Brian pulls himself out of Emma and she whines a bit. His eyes naturally wonder down to where his cock just met her folds and he raises his eyebrows, making a silly face at Emma. “Quite a mess we've made on this table.” He says and takes a few near-by tissues to clean their both's fluids off the surface. Emma pants, holding her forehead and steadying her breathing.

“Did you know people eat on those?” She asks jokingly and Brian chuckles, throwing the tissues away. Neither of them really heard the horrible squeaks of the table moving while they were just going at it, and truly, the sounds were loud enough to wake up all London. 

He comes back to Emma and looks down at her. She looks fucking amazing like this—on the kitchen table, fucked out and exhausted, but still probably the most attractive and hot woman Brian's ever layed eyes on. Her hair looks like a meadow, laying so artistically around herself, the hair closer to her face sticking to the skin; Emma's glistening with sweat all over; her thighs and hips and neck are a bit tainted with all sorts of marks from Brian; her legs are still a bit spread apart. Brian meets her eyes with the thought of lusting for her again.

“Fancy a shower?” He suggests with a sly grin. Emma chuckles, a smile stretching her lips. 

“Only if you're the added bonus.” She replies and Brian smiles wide, helping her get up from the table. It squeaks, and she's a little spooked from the sound, gasping. But then the pair laugh and intertwine hands and start walking to Brian's bathroom.

A/N: This might be my best and filthiest work ever lmao. Hope you liked it.

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