#music was ABOUT him being a piece of shit. it just read as exaggerated self loathing but now its like. kind of hard to listen to

[infizero]

sorry im filled with numb rage and other emotions rn but the fact that wilbur soot is so good at music is so fucking infuriating. this sounds so stupid but like genuinely makes me so fucking mad that he brought such fantastic music into the world, music that I PERSONALLY CONNECTED TO ON A DEEP EMOTIONAL LEVEL, and he ended up being such a piece of shit. like how hard is it to not be fucking awful it makes my blood fucking boil

[nitpick7]

Ayo anyone wanna see my essay on why removing Anybody Have A Map made the Dear Evan Hansen movie worse? It is slightly long

Disclaimer: I did like the movie (I cried three times), but I think they made some stupid decisions with it.

Dear Evan Hansen movie + musical spoilers under the cut, plus a fair amount of DEH neg/crit

Instead of Anybody Have A Map, they just have Evan's mom say "Hey are you writing those letters to yourself? Also you should ask the kids to sign your cast" before he goes to school and sings Waving Through A Window. They ignore every other part of the song and quickly insert the only thing from the song that's absolutely needed to understand the story so Evan can go be angsty at school. We don't even meet the Murphys until they meet Evan in the principal's office to tell him about Connor.

Disclaimer part 2 electric boogaloo: I complain about Evan a lot here. It's not because I think his experiences aren't valid and it's not because I'm trying to demonize people with mental illnesses or something. I know that his own struggles influenced his bad decisions. That doesn't mean they weren't bad decisions. He still did shitty things and he wasn't justified (listen to Words Fail), but I know it was influenced by his mental health.

On with the complaining!

First of all, the movie opens with Waving Through A Window? It feels like they're putting the most popular song first as a desperate grab for your attention to convince you the movie is good and like... they really didn't need to do that. Waving Through A Window is right after Anybody Have A Map, it's not like anyone's gonna walk out of the theatre after one (really good) song.

Anybody Have A Map establishes a few things: it shows us that both of these families are struggling so that we know immediately that the Murphys' perfect facade is fake, it shows us that Connor was a dick to his family (this is very important), and obviously it tells us why Evan was writing letters to himself. It also introduces us to the two main families at the same time so we know this story isn't just about Evan.

By starting the movie with an Evan solo song instead of the group song, they frame Evan as the one main character, the only person whose perspective we need to understand. But Evan is incredibly flawed, just like everyone else, and by making us think the story is only about him, it immediately makes us (the audience) more inclined to believe that Evan is always in the right and less inclined to consider everyone else's side of the story. Evan is an incredibly unreliable narrator, he's always going to frame his actions as correct, or at least excusable, even when he's actively hurting/lying to other people.

All of the Murphys get introduced through interacting with Evan instead of interacting with each other. This makes it seem like the Murphys only exist for Evan, but the entire point of the climax is that everything doesn't exist just for Evan! Evan is not part of their family, he can't just use everyone around him for his own benefit, and all of the Murphys have lives outside of him. When they're introduced through Evan, they're introduced as existing for Evan. Anybody Have A Map introduces them separately from Evan instead of attached to him.

Without Anybody Have A Map, we never actually see Connor being mean to Zoe, so she just looks like an asshole for not being sad about her dead brother. To make up for it, she's constantly having to tell the audience why she hated him, tripping over herself to talk about all the shitty things he did to her because we don't have Anybody Have A Map to show us their interactions. Zoe ends up complaining about her brother the entire time, so when it gets to Only Us and she says that she doesn't want everything to be about her brother, it seems out of character for her.

And with the removal of Anybody Have A Map, we don't ever see Connor interact with his own family in the movie. Anybody Have A Map is the only time we get to see Connor with his family. It shows us that Connor really was an asshole to his family, it justifies Zoe hating him, and it gives his mom more dimensions by showing her struggling to keep her family together even with everyone fighting against her. Without that, the writers ended up ignoring the most basic piece of writing advice - "show, don't tell" - to fill in the missing information from the song.

In the movie, all we get of Cynthia Murphy is... her being sad about Connor and refusing to admit that he ever did anything wrong. She's just boring and annoying in the movie, but in the musical, we get that bit at the beginning that shows her as an actual person with actual motivations! By cutting Anybody Have A Map, they made her into a more one-dimensional character.

So in a bit of a conclusion: Anybody Have A Map establishes the Murphys as main characters separate from Evan and shows us Connor's relationship with his family instead of telling us about it. It sets the scene for the story before just jumping into "Evan is sad and alone uwu anxious depressed soft boy" and makes everyone a better, more three-dimensional character. Getting rid of it meant that they had to do backflips to justify everyone's decisions during the movie instead of setting everything up at the beginning.

I do think the movie could've benefitted from Disappear but then again, it could've benefitted from the whole "Connor being the visual/vocal representation of Evan's justifications for why keeping up the lie is helping people" thing in general, but they got rid of that so Disappear wouldn't have worked. (I am salty that they got rid of that thing but whatever) The Anonymous Ones worked instead and it was a good song, so sure, why not I guess? /neutral

I could also complain about how they got rid of To Break In A Glove, Disappear, and Good For You, but none of those decisions actually impacted the story too much. To Break In A Glove and Good For You both got replaced with some tell-not-show cutscenes that gave us the same information in a less interesting way (and Larry got less character development without To Break In A Glove), and Disappear got replaced with an Alana song which was honestly pretty good so i'm fine with that one.

Now for some good changes that the movie made!

The Anonymous Ones was a good song, I actually really liked that. I'm disappointed that they got rid of Disappear, but they replaced it with another song that served the same purpose while also giving Alana more screen time and character depth! And it was a genuinely good song, I really enjoyed it and it made me like Alana more!

I really liked the ending of the movie. In the musical, there are literally no negative consequences for Evan, Zoe even forgives him at the end. She fucking forgives him for lying to her entire family about their dead son and and taking advantage of them because it "brought them closer together". And the internet never finds out what he did! He does all this terrible shit, lies to the entire fucking world, and gets away scot-free. And he never learns anything real about Connor. The movie changes all of that.

Connor's song was also a great addition! Every time we saw Connor in the musical, he was either being a dick or he was a fantasy version of himself made by Evan and/or Jared. Seeing that Connor can, in fact, be a nice person, that Cynthia's belief in him wasn't misplaced, was so satisfying. He really was just a meaner version of Evan a troubled kid lashing out at the world in self-defense. He wasn't an entirely bad person.

The Murphys still decide not to tell anyone what he did, but then Evan decides (on his own!) that he needs to own up to what he did. He records a video of himself admitting to what he did, shifts all the blame to himself, and then goes out of his way to fix his mistakes in any way he can. He says that his biggest regret is not getting to know Connor while he had the chance, so he goes online to find anything he can. He reads Connor's favorite books, tries to find anyone who might be able to tell him what Connor was like, and when he receives a video of Connor playing his song in rehab, he takes the time to send the video (through the mail, on a flash drive) to the Murphys, Jared, and Alana.

Evan doesn't contact Zoe at the end, she contacts him instead. She doesn't forgive him, and he doesn't ask for forgiveness. He knows what he did was wrong and he owns up to it and tries to fix it as much as possible, knowing full well that it could ruin his life. He does the right thing for the first time in the entire fucking movie (that's hardly even an exaggeration) and it's such a good ending. It makes more sense and is more satisfying than the musical.

The Dear Evan Hansen movie was not nearly as bad as the reviews say it was. It wasn't as good as the musical, it had its own problems, but it also made some good changes that I think made the story better. It wasn't perfect, but I enjoyed it and most movies aren't perfect anyway. It really could've benefitted from Anybody Have A Map, though.

[sendmyresignation]

In Defense of Teenagers:

Ok so. There seems to be a general consensus that Teenagers doesn’t fit on the black parade or that it ruins the trajectory of the album or that the song order of bp needs to be changed to fit the b-sides and drop Teenagers, or it should have just been a single- basically any option other than its inclusion between Sleep and Disenchanted would have been better. now, i’m not here to tell anyone that they’re wrong- i just want to offer an alternative perspective because i truly believe Teenagers is right where it belongs and that its inclusion on that album is, in my opinion, completely necessary to the album’s narrative arc. I want to focus on the way Teenagers builds into the foundation of the Concept Record, the way it bridges the gap between Sleep and Disenchanted so as not to delegitimize Disenchanted’s impact, and the fact that no other available material fits into the struggle the Patient endures at the end of the narrative (sorry this got LONG here’s a read more)

So, before we get into the meat of Teenager’s narrative significance, i wanted to briefly mention the way it makes Black Parade a more cohesive whole in relation to the material it is mimicking. Like Black Parade as an album is structured very differently from Pink Floyd’s The Wall- but it takes a lot of the same beats and recontextualizes them for a new purpose. Both records use war and relationship troubles and school and drugs to create an atmosphere that leads to disillusionment. In The Wall, this is quite literally the protagonist, Pink, building up “bricks in the wall” that isolates him from the rest of society and lead to a downward spiral into cynicism and hate. But Black Parade uses the same tools that The Wall does to say something different- things, specifically the actions you've made or the trauma you've endured, haunts you and makes your life seem insignificant in the face of what happens to you and those regrets are what causes the Patient to fall into a cycle of damnation and cynicism. This is representative of the Patient's descent through the afterlife- each new "layer" of the Patient's exploration is equivalent to a brick in The Wall's metaphor. Additionally, in this new context, this song in particular takes The Wall’s discussions of adolescence and the vice-grip control older generations attempt to force on teens and the disillusionment with the future and retells it from a new perspective- both literally in the fact the song is now more reflective of the 2000s post-9/11 and post-columbine culture, but its also literally from the perspective of the Patient as an adult. Teenagers, as a result, becomes a necessary piece of that puzzle- it is the refraction of Another Brick in the Wall repurposed to mean something new entirely- it’s no longer about kids being forced into complacency by a cruel education system from their own perspective (the children’s choir allows them to speak for themselves) but about the ways in which adults see those kids and why they decide to enact actions similar to those within The Wall. I mean even the imagery used in the song’s music video is purposely almost plagiarizing The Wall- it feeds into a separate analysis of the video and song outside the narrative as well- which i don’t have time right now to get into, its just very interesting that the band is bodily removed from their instruments at the end of the video and the teenagers in the audience have rendered them incapacitated (“they’re looking for a rockstar to kill” anyone?) it's the metaphorical tearing down of the wall from a completely different perspective. Anyway, the work Teenagers does for the narrative is it fits the album into the Concept Record Cinematic Universe- it is a piece that evokes the material it is influenced by to build off of the old to create the new- without it, the connections to The Wall would still be there, sure, but it wouldn’t be as complete- you cannot recontextualize the album without the foundation of Teenagers.

Teenagers is also, at its core, a subtle subversion of genre- using the blueprint of a specific kind of song to center the song within the timeline/narrative. In this case, the same way I Don’t Love You mimics and exaggerates the emotive and plaintive 80s rock ballad, Teenagers twists the classic rock of a bygone era to specifically call back on the stadium rock anthem.  Black Parade, on the whole, does this quite frequently- most of its songs take pre-existing genre cues and subverts them in ways that play off of the expected tapestry of a concept record to create individual sounding songs that seamlessly transition into one another yet remain entirely separate. It maintains their presence as scenes in a larger tapestry- specifically the fabric of the Black Parade being a morality play. This serves two purposes, it allows for this exaggeration of genre to become a motif within the work (see mama, cancer, house of wolves, i don’t love you, wttbp -> they all play with a different, varied song type/structure that is distinct from each other) and it plays off of existing genre-stereotypes in ways that contribute to the songs overall function. I Don’t Love You, for example, undermines the fundamental purposes of sappy power ballads- to express one of the two dualities of love songs: the cheesy unconditional “i will love you forever” types or the plaintive, melancholic end-of-relationship song by instead focusing on the complexity of a not-quite-finished relationship. The ballad then shifts from an expression of love to one of human loss- and the loss is less about the individual speaking, but moreso about what the other character has become - it’s a mourning not for the relationship, but for the person themselves, who they used to be in a way. It shifts from the one-dimensional view of what a ballad can achieve and instead infuses the anger, the resignation, the drama, the transformation- it humanizes a very stock genre full of platitudes and uses our expectations to create something more interesting. Similarly, Teenagers takes a tired genre and utilizes the working mechanisms of its typical song structure to subvert and repurpose those into commentary- its literally a stadium rock song that devolves into a chant. Looking at the loud drumbeat that resonates in your chest, the all together now as a command that lures the listener into singing along, the addition of more chorus vocals at the end like a crowd is shouting along, the screaming and the solo on after another like the song is falling apart a little bit, all of these elements build into a song literally meant to be infectious and replicated by the audience. Herein lies one of the songs many interpretations- humans can be easily influenced by the media they consume, the perspectives they are fed. What happens when the view that we have of adolescence is cloaked in mistrust and violence? This aspect of the song is less about the band reconciling teenagers being moved to committing acts of violence and more in analyzing how an audience can be persuaded into believing the erroneous view of teens as fundamentally destructive- are you not repeating the chorus? do teenagers not “scare the shit out of you”? Obviously the band doesn’t want you to believe this but it does what you to think about why this perspective is so common. It's a cultural subliminal message that is present in songs and tv and books that we simply do not question- it is a chant we cannot help but join in on. Teenagers is a replication of that process, but is clearly just subversive enough (both as a piece of genre and just as a song in general terms) that the listener knows its commentary and not itself propagating that viewpoint. Every song on Black Parade does this kind of “genre-bending” to make a point in some way or another, so it's a significant reason Teenagers fits into the albums cohesion.

But,Teenagers isn’t just important to the album in its sound- it lyrically parallels Disenchanted in a way that effectively moves on from Sleep without losing the album’s emotional momentum. Sleep, conceptually and lyrically, is a very heavy track- its influence from the Dune soundtrack’s Final Dream turn a cinematic, swelling piece of instrumentation into an oppressive blanket of noise that bears down on the listener and the lyrics are referential to the patient believing themselves to be irredeemable and monstrous. It's also inspired directly from Gerard’s vivid and violent night terrors during his stay at the paramour- including a recording of Gerard’s recollection of those dreams, that mentions being choked, seeing loved ones die, burning alive, etc. To transition directly from such a dark, personal subject into a reflective acoustic number about the narrator’s adolescence would be tonally inappropriate and almost laughable- it would stop the progression in its tracks, while also doing a disservice to Disenchanted. Having a break is necessary! And it's even more appropriate for that break to be a song about teenagers considering Disenchanted is so nostalgic. Additionally, Teenagers brings up a really interesting narrative thread about the Patient becoming disenchanted with the youth that then directly transitions into a song about him losing faith in his values and sense of self- they are directly correlated conceptually. Looking deeper, Disenchanted is a punk song. sort of. more specifically, it is the foundation of a punk song that becomes a ballad through narrative framing- it takes punk cliches (running from the cops, the crowds, the imagery of guillotining traitorous rich celebrities) and turns them wistful and sad because the Patient is looking back at something they no longer understand or identify with, it allows the narrative to illustrate how the Patient feels like their life was worthless and didn’t amount to much and they’re just another stupid punk kid who grew up and didn’t achieve anything. and you can’t get to this point from Sleep because it would weaken Disenchanted’s impact, make it seem insignificant and petulant in the face of Sleep’s heavy and grand sorrow. Lyrically, you need Teenagers to bridge the gap between the war metaphors and the visualizations of hell and the all-encompassing nature of cancer in order to redirect the focus to the Patient and limit the scope of the narrative at the end of the album. Teenagers, within the story, then functions as the Patient reflecting on the nature of youth and, in the wake of Mama’s “we all go to hell” rhetoric, comes to the conclusion that teenagers are wholly violent, easily manipulated, and unsympathetic. It's another step in the Patient removing his own agency and viewing his life as predestined at the same time it allows the “plot” to focus back on the more nostalgic and mundane aspects of the patient’s life. Doing so makes Famous Last Words so much more significant because it forces the Patient to reconcile with his past before he can move forward (whether that's living or dying its still applicable). so, Teenagers is very important to the overall “plot” of Black Parade- it is fundamentally necessary for the pieces to fit together.

Another larger aspect of Teenagers' importance is that it introduces the fate versus free will internal debate central to the ending fourth of the record. The song lays the foundation for this thematic idea by being about the fated violence of the youth and how they cannot help but to respond to their world with anger and cruelty. This realization about adolescence by the Patient leads to him perceiving his own youth as destructive and worthless and in following the themes of guilt/regret and damnation it's this violence that began his path to hell or his current state of suffering.  In that vein, Teenagers leads into the idea that your life is predetermined or that there is a destiny that we all have (in the Patient’s case its the absence of a future, or “a lifelong wait for a hospital stay”) and no matter what, you cannot fight that. While Mama gives a blanket statement about how "we all go to hell", Disenchanted centers the Patient's specific destiny by saying his whole life has led up to his illness and, looking further, there is the implication that life before that was retrospectively pointless. So, as previously mentioned, Disenchanted begins, structurally and lyrically, as a punk song- this sort of expression of youthful existence that, in any other song or under another faster instrumentation, would fit on some basement demo from 1986. But it doesn't stay that way, instead it actively subverts the genre it's cliches are lifted from- thinking specifically about “we ran from the cops” and the “roar of the crowd” that is juxtaposed with the change in structure  or theme. Namely, punk songs (speaking generally here) aren’t wistful because there isn't really a sense of legacy in punk music. There's history yes, but most songs are about the immediacy of emotion, not existential questioning. The retrospective nature and the shift into a ballad structure are elements reflective of a change in the main character brought on by the disillusionment present in teenagers from a punk kid to a dying young man looking back on the banality of youth and the hypocrisy, the trauma and the lack of agency. It's so much easier to think that nothing matters and the perspective makes it so much easier to give up.

This build from Teenagers into Disenchanted regarding the Patient's fate allows Famous Last Words to become an even stronger end because it's in direct opposition to that perspective. Famous Last Words is a song that screams fuck fate and fuck the past- the only thing that matters is moving forward. The image of the Patient keeping on whether he’s walking into the afterlife or continuing to stay alive as long as possible becomes something difficult, something he had to fight to achieve - he had to struggle to find a new understanding. That he can't be "afraid to keep living" or "going home" and that these are concrete actions, a use of free will. And that free will is very specifically defiant. Regardless of how you view the Patient's end, he makes the conscious decision to accept the present and move forward. We are not fated to die alone, nor is life worthless. Black Parade proves that the opposite is true, that we must grow to accept the value of life, and it's so much stronger having the Patient actively reject nihilism and apathy. Ultimately, Teenagers introduces the main thread of the final songs and without it, those songs would be narrative incomplete.

So, Teenagers has a valued place on the album sonically and within the narrative whole, that much is clear. But another reason that the album order of Sleep, Teenagers and Disenchanted is important is that none of the other material written for the album comes close to filling its place. In this case, I am going to be specifically talking about the b-sides since the demos are incomplete and we have no idea what the final version would have sounded like (but I would contend they don’t fit either). Beginning with the easiest song to discard from the narrative- My Way Home Is Through You has its moments in the lyrics but it's completely out of place musically- plus the tone is a little too hopeful for this point in the album which does not gel with Disenchanted’s hopelessness. It's also incongruent with the album since Disenchanted is effective as the only “punk” song on a record that plays with and explores genre and having this come before it would ruin the previously mentioned motif of each of the songs being individual and unique in form. Also, it really adds nothing to the fate vs free will theme- meaning its placement would weaken the disenchanted/flw combo ending. Moving forward, Kill All Your Friends seems to fit, considering its cynicism and nostalgia, but the bridge (“you’ll never get me alive, you’ll never take me alive, do what it takes to survive and I'm still here") doesn’t fit the Patient’s slow decent into apathy at all and contradicts Disenchanted’s loss of faith in the idea of living- it's too hopeful and centers survival and resilience in a way that makes it an ineffective substitute for Teenagers as a bridge song. And finally, Heaven Help Us is too religiously centered- it would refocus the fate vs free will discussion in the context of god/angels when that isn’t a theme in the album up to this point (hell is the grounded point of the album- the protagonist has already accepted their fate by Mama- having a reconciliation with a lack of faith or the absence of God seems completely out of left field when its just not an established part of the narrative) Black Parade is actually one of the mcr albums with the least references to god/angels in the heavenly religious sense- more centered around the human struggle against determinism: the usage of damnation is Catholic inspired but divorced from the division of hell vs heaven and is instead about guilt and worthiness and agency. The presence of angels or god or any divinity would simply weaken the narrative by expanding the album's focus outside its own limitations. Also, the Patient isn't ever a martyred figure, if anything he is purposely pathetic. Including any comparison of the Patient to Christ ("give you all the nails you need") or a saint unravels the key feature of the Patient's character: that he is insignificant. His insignificance and his struggles with his past actions make him a character who must find the strength to live through the guilt and pain to prove that everyone is worthy of life. The overarching purpose of Black Parade is emphasizing that no matter what we've done and how dirty we feel, we can move forward and either accept our afterlife or we can find value in being alive. Because of this contradiction, Heaven Help Us destroys the central theme of the entire album if it is included. With all of this in mind, it seems to me that the b-sides are their own nebulous thing- they don’t tonally fit on Black Parade (though I do think they fit together and are interconnected thematically) but any of them would break the flow since they seem angrier and gritter in a way that is noticeably absent and would be at odds with from a lot of Parade’s resignation. They also just do not complete the narrative, they are simple not as good as Teenagers at bringing all the pieces together.

If I still haven’t convinced you, a bonus reason Teenagers is a valuable memeber of the Black Parade tracklist, Ray was the only one who believed in the song- he called it genius (x) so listen to mr chemical romance himself telling you the song is Good and Important :)

anyway now you should, at the very least respect teenagers based on a couple thematic ideas expressed here, if not also understand why it’s imperative to black parade as an album, as well as the narrative itself. <3

[greenninjagal-blog]

Trouble

Hi yeah its me, and look I’m already back with a new fic for the new year :D cherish this moment I don’t think i will have have this turn around so quick again. For the TSS Fanworks Secret Santa Exchange because I was a pinch hitter :DD @nerdywriterhaven I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Patton has a thing about boardgames and Virgil has a thing about Logan. Together they figure it out. 

Word Count: 7900

Quick Taglist: @alias290​ @chelsvans​ @coyboi300​ @dante-reblogs @dwbh888​ @glitchybina​ @faithfulcat111​ @felicianoromano​ @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries​ @jemthebookworm​ @killerfangirl3​ @mrbubbajones​  @musical-nerd18​ @nonasficcollection​ @stricken-with-clairvoyancy​ @the-sunshine-dims​ @themagicheartmailman​ @themultishipperchild @thenaiads​ @treasureofpriam​ @vianadraws​ @welovelogansanders​  

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

Patton shows up at Virgil’s dorm room just slightly after six pm on a Tuesday with two thermoses of soup that are still warm to the touch, a halloween tupperware of chocolate chip cookies that had been passed between him and Virgil so many times that Patton really doesn’t remember whose it was originally, his laptop, phone, the chargers for both, and the board game Trouble.

Virgil, predictably, shuts the door in his face the second he sees the game box hidden under all the other things in his arms. Patton also thinks that Virgil tells him to go away, but it’s muddled by the door.

Instead he shuffles all the supplies to his left arm and knee, and knocks again on his door just below the leftover tape from the nametag that his RA keeps putting up and Virgil keeps ripping down because he doesn’t want anyone knowing where he sleeps. His knuckles hum with the rap, datatata dat dat! And he smiles even when there’s the sound of something being thrown at the door from that side.

Patton chooses not to hear it because he’s a good friend and an even more stubborn houseguest.

The door a little bit down the hall opens up with the usual fanfare of someone who is running late to a night class-- which of course is the charm of Roman Prince. He looks nice, as usual, and Patton even thinks that if he hadn’t been wearing two different colored shoes, no one would even know that he had probably just woken up from a nap. The music of his room blares out into the hall with a rap song Patton thinks is Hip With the Kids these days, but Patton himself can’t make out any of the actual words.

All the much better because he’s pretty sure it’s Remus’s music and Remus likes his songs like he likes just about everything else: dirty, scandalous, and offensive. Not that Patton is good friends with either of the Prince siblings, but he’s heard the rumors floating around about both. Roman smiles at him, with glittering white teeth and dimples and soft warm brown eyes that could have been made of melted chocolate.

“Oh! What a spectre!” Roman says, seeming to forget that he’s on the way to a class at the sight of Patton standing at Virgil’s door. “Tell me, angel, what brings a glorious sight such as you to our dorm buildings on this amazing day?”

Virgil’s door swings back open before Patton can answer and Virgil hisses from the darkness, the way he’s usually prone to do whenever Roman or Remus or their blatant disregard for the rules about music volume at two AM is brought up.

He looks not much better from the glimpse Patton got before the door was closed in his face earlier: he’s still pale to the point of looking sickly and dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, with his eye shadow smeared and his hair not brushed at all. There’s a red imprint on the side of his face that Patton thinks matches a crease in his blankets or pillows from where he probably tried to suffocate himself on and off all day between anxiously texting Patton all about “the absolute worst day of my entire life and no I’m not even exaggerating this time Pat”.

“Hi Virgil!” Patton says, as Virgil reaches forward and to take a thermos and the tupperware from his arms and glare unbidenedly at Roman. “I brought dinner!”

“I hate you,” Virgil says, and does not mean because he loves Patton’s Broccoli Cheddar Cheer Up Soup and he’s been in need of cheering up since Patton had seen his messages at noon on his way to his second class of the day.

Roman gasps like he’s offended on behalf of Patton who is not offended as much as endeared to his best friend of several years. “Virgil! How could you act so callus towards a beautiful muse such as this?”

“Get lost, Princey,” Virgil tells him firmly, grumpily, Virgil-ly. “He came here specifically to make a pun about my pain.”

“I do it with love,” Patton adds. “And I brought cookies to make up for it.”

Roman looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that information and Virgil doesn’t give him time to find out because he kinda hates Roman-- although Patton always tells him that “hate” is a strong word and Virgil always says he means it anyway. Patton supposes that if he, too, had hallmates that played music louder than life up to the early hours of the mornings during Finals Week, and then cranked it higher when he knocked on the door to ask them to stop, he might also strongly dislike them.

Virgil ushers Patton into the dark room and then kicks the door closed while Patton is waving goodbye at Roman.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light level: Virgil was certainly making use of those thick blackout curtains! It made the whole room look like it was three AM, rather than six PM! There are blobs of stuff all around the room, piles of clothes and blankets that Virgil prefers to have on the floor rather than put somewhere where he’s not going to trip over it in the middle of the night, but Patton supposes that’s just how Virgil’s always been.

“If someone breaks in, they’re gonna trip over this shit and I will be out of here long before they can get back up,” Virgil had said the first time Patton had suggested maybe, possibly cleaning something until they found the floor.

The desk where Virgil did his school work is empty and the textbooks and computer that normally covered it are all on the ground like a massacre from what Patton can make out. Virgil shuffles through the room and ends up turning on the purple lava lamp that Patton got him three years ago so that they could at least see each other and the faux-floor, and even then he doesn’t look happy at needing that much. The elevated bed had the blankets ripped up from it and turned into a nest with Virgil’s phone light peeking out from the depths like some underwater cave with a sea monster in it waiting for an unsuspecting diver.

“Remind me, how you got into this building?” Virgil says, tiredly as he pries open the cookie container. “It requires a key and last time I checked, you don’t have one of those, Pat.”

“As if a key would stop me from checking on you!” Patton replies. He plops himself on a pile of clothes and clears away another spot for Virgil to collapse next to him, so that Virgil can’t exactly escape. “Now, what is this about Logan again? You were being kinda vague and world-ending-y again. ”

Virgil lets out a moan around the cookie he shoved in his mouth and drops to the floor next to Patton, to munch angrily or just upsetly without actually offering an answer, because he’s Virgil and he’s allergic to talking about things that upset him. Patton sets down his other thermos, his laptop, and his own phone to make room for the game between them.

“Must we?” Virgil asks as Patton sets up the board with a practiced hand. Even in the near darkness of the room he knows exactly what he’s doing, and could probably figure it out with no light at all.

“Of course!” Patton says. “You sounded like you were in Trouble.”

“ Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s rather Risk -y of you to be self deprecating while within hugging distance.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything for a moment, just swallows the bite of his cookie and stares at the colored pieces in front of him. The board game is well worn and well loved-- one of the first ones Patton had ever gotten and one of the first ones he ever convinced Virgil to play with him. Although “convinced” is a strong word for how Patton had just been staring at the board numbly with red rimmed eyes when his father had asked Virgil to come over and try to coax him into eating something, anything, please .

They’d lost three pieces of the red team and one of the yellow and two of the green, but that’s okay because Patton generally played blue and Virgil had custom ordered four purple pieces for just the two of them a few years ago.

Carefully, placatingly, Virgil reaches a hand forward and pops the dice bubble for his number. He gets a four.

Patton gets a five.

“How many times have we played this one, Pat?” Virgil asks, in a voice much softer than before. In the faded purple light and the shadows, it’s hard to see the number on the die, and harder to see exactly what Virgil is thinking about with his eyes hidden like that. His nails are bitten down to the quick, ruining the black nail polish he spent an hour applying last weekend over their shared Biology notes.

Patton shrugs as he reaches forward to take his turn and pops the bubble. Honestly he didn’t think he could calculate the answer if Virgil pressed: this was their go-to game, this was his go-to pun, this is what they did even when the world was falling apart at the seams. It was easier to focus on moving playing pieces a couple pegs than it was to focus on the sound of a heart monitor or raspy breathing or bony pale fingers that shook when they tried to hold anything.

It was easier to find a way to win when the instructions were so clear, and the rules were so fair, and the consequences of losing were just having to put the game back in the box.

Virgil doesn’t say anything more and Patton doesn’t force him to, although he desperately wants to. He wants to reach out and catch Virgil’s hands in his own, he wants to give him a squeeze, he wants to wipe away the tear tracks in his makeup and he wants to tell Virgil that whatever it is, Patton will be there for him.

He wants Virgil to look at a game for once and have fun.

But the only sound in the room is the popper when they roll the die back and forth.

Patton gets the six first. He moves his second leftmost piece to the start and hits it again for a three.

Virgil stares his blue piece on the board for a long moment, without blinking. His hands lie limply in his lap and the tub of cookies sits at his knee. The purple light makes his eyes glisten sweetly, wetly, sadly, with a resignation that Patton knows and wishes he doesn’t. The lump in his throat swells up.

“Virgil?”

Virgil blinks. And then blinks again.

“Why should I even bother at this point?” he asks. He runs a hand up to his hair and tugs at the locks.

“Virgil, this is the opening of the game,” Patton says. “You can’t give up alrea--”

“But it’s not like I’m going to win,” Virgil says and Patton sucks in a breath sharply.

Oh. It was one of those days.

Patton thinks that he should have been expecting this; it had been a decent amount of time since Virgil last had refused to finish a game, and Patton had almost thought that maybe they had kicked those thoughts for good! That through sheer willpower and perseverance and proof to the contrary, they might have managed to rework how Virgil approached a challenge. That at one point Virgil might laugh and smile even when he wasn’t in the lead--

And yet, Patton’s sitting with one piece three spaces ahead of Virgil and Virgil is ready to call it quits. The game had just started. Patton had only been sitting in the room for a total of five minutes. Virgil hadn’t talked for more than a couple sentences.

It’s one of those days, except that Patton doesn’t think that it’s ever been this bad before, because usually they at least made it to the one piece around the board in Trouble , through to one check in Chess , through to one hotel being built in Monopoly , or one train ticket completed in Ticket to Ride .

“This is a sign, isn’t it?” Virgil continues. “I’m just being stupid even considering it. Of course I am. I always am. Nevermind, I don’t want to do this today Pat. Thanks for the soup and the cookies and I’m sorry that I made you walk all the way--”

Patton reaches out and snags Virgil’s arm before he can get all the way off the ground. The board nudges to the side dislodging several pieces into the surrounding void, but Patton thinks that he can replace a hundred playing pieces.

He cannot replace his best friend.

Virgil’s skin is cold, even though the room was comfortably warm, and he’s soft to the touch-- which is never what Patton expects when he gets those lightning quick hugs, when Virgil rests his head on his shoulder during movie nights, when they go shopping and there are crowds that make Virgil want to run for the hills and only Patton’s hand in his keeps him grounded there. Virgil is soft despite the jagged persona he puts on to drive away other people, and he hasn’t gotten any sort of touch in a while because he shuts up the moment that Patton’s own warmth floods over him.

The room holds the silence for an eternity: Virgil frozen halfway up from the ground, and Patton latching on to him like he can pluck all the reasons Virgil is upset out of his mind through osmosis. The lava lamp makes him look unreal, makes the silence ring louder, makes the lump in Patton’s throat grow larger.

“Virgil,” Patton says, “please.”

Please tell me what I can do. Please allow me to help. Please let me in.

“It’s stupid,” Virgil says.

Patton wants to laugh, because nothing that ever hurts Virgil has ever been stupid. “I don’t think so, kiddo.”

Virgil bites his lip and inhales with all of his chest.

“You didn’t go to any classes today. You’ve been crying. You’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes.” Patton says. “Something happened. And it can’t possibly be stupid because nothing that affects you like this is can be anything less than something huge.”

Patton feels Virgil’s hand curl into a fist like he can hide his shaking when Patton is right there .

“Do you remember Logan Ackroyd,” Virgil says. “The senior a year older than us who I had Sociology with last year?”

The same Logan who took extra notes for when Virgil missed class and emailed them to him. The same Logan who offered Virgil a granola bar when he overheard that Virgil had missed lunch. The same Logan who helped Virgil break into the auditorium after school hours to search for his missing earbuds.

The same Logan who has eyes more knowledgeable than the entire galaxy, who wears a tie to class, who smells like coffee beans and pen ink and looks like he’d give really good, safe hugs.

The same Logan who Patton has never once met, but feels like he knows intimately thanks to Virgil’s starstruck rambles.

Logan must be something great and amazing. Patton has known that for a year now, from watching the months slip away and suddenly the ghost of Logan joins them on every outing, summoned by the blush over Virgil’s ears and the soft smile on his lips and the way that Virgil steadfastly won’t meet Patton’s eyes like it will prevent Patton from noticing the way that the senior is always on Virgil’s mind. Logan is kind. Logan is smart. Logan has a new book every day. Logan has a voice like the ocean waves.

Logan, Patton thinks, should have been more careful if he caused Virgil this much distress. Because there are things that Patton would do for Virgil that not even a cold blooded killer would consider doing.

“Yeah,” Patton says, with a smile soft and dumb and innocent. “You guys have Analytical Science together this year, right?”

Virgil lets go of his lip, and breathes out a breath that sounds like more relief than Patton is supposed to hear. “Yeah. Yeah. He, uh… yeah.” Virgil shifts back down, shifts so that he’s on his knees and Patton is right next to him, and they’re still touching and that warmth is stronger than the shadows made by the blobs in the lava lamp.

“Janus… Janus asked him out yesterday,” Virgil says, using his other hand to pluck at a thread in his jeans.

Oh. Patton doesn’t think cookies and soup were enough.

And golly, Patton doesn’t think Logan is as smart as Virgil is always saying he is either, because if he said yes in front of Virgil, he must have been the stupidest person on the planet.

Virgil is quiet, dismissible, a shadow in his own skin even on his best days. But he is not un-noticeable.

He carries an aura around himself that storms and thunders and promises danger to those that get too close. His laughter is a threat first and a comfort second. His smile is a knife blade that even Patton sometimes wonders if he might find in his back one day. Virgil was someone that you noticed and you stayed the fudge away from.

Unless you were Patton, who hadn’t been afraid of Death from the moment he watched his mother cough up blood over the cards to CandyLand, watched his mother turn into a real-life game of Operation, watched her breathing get ragged and her fingers struggle to hold playing cards between them.

Logan hadn’t been scared away by Virgil’s thunder, and somehow he had weathered the storm that Virgil put up to protect himself and lived securely in the eye of the hurricane. And somehow he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared, had taken advantage of Virgil’s softening heart just to shatter it.

“He didn’t…” Virgil says. “Janus… he didn’t really mean it. I don’t think. It might have been a joke because they’re friends but Logan told everyone that he would only consider dating someone who could… could…”

“Could what?”

Virgil’s eyes flick down to the Trouble game board, to the pieces lost in chaos of the floor, to the box they hadn’t needed except for transport. Patton feels his heart thud in his chest before he crawls up his throat and he tastes it in his mouth along with the remains of the raw cookie dough he licked off the spoon while cleaning up.

Virgil’s words come back to him in whispers. But it’s not like I’m going to win. This is a sign, isn’t it? I’m just being stupid even considering it.

“Someone who could….” Patton says, “beat him in a boardgame?”

Virgil yanks the thread on his jeans sharply and nods without meeting Patton’s eyes. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Virgil,” Patton says. “This is great! We’ve been playing games together for years! You can beat--”

“That’s the thing!” Virgil says with his shoulders curling up to his ears and burying him in layers of excess fabric. “Pat, I can’t even beat you in a board game and I know all your strategies!”

“I don’t think that Trouble actually has any strategies. It’s really luck of the roll--”

Virgil peeks out of his hood enough to give Patton a miserable glare. “When was the last time I won against you, Pat? Be honest.”

Patton purses his lips. “I don’t think that’s fair, kiddo. I’ve been playing games since I was able to understand the rules--”

“You don’t even remember, do you.”

“It was Dominos and you won by twenty points.”

“Nice try, but you purposely miscounted and you actually won by two.” Virgil reaches out for another cookie and offers it to Patton without making any move to pull his other hand from Patton’s hold.

“You would have a lot more wins if you didn’t insist on not finishing games sometimes!” Patton says. “You never know the ending of a game until you play it out!”

“I could tell you that Logan was going to beat Janus in Chess the moment the opening moves were made,” Virgil counters. “He won in twelve moves and then the next game in six.”

Patton opens his mouth, but Virgil shoves the cookie in before he can actually say anything.

“And God Rest Remy’s soul because Logan obliterated him in Trivia Pursuit.” Virgil continues, “He turned Roman to mincemeat over Scrabble, and not only beat Remus in Poker, but won one hundred dollars off him too. I also watched him win in Othello against some kid he tutored in Calc, a game of Mancala with an art kid who was doing it for clout, and Stratego which he won before I finished reading the fuuuuuudging rules and made his opponent cry over it.”

Patton swallows down a bite of cookie that he didn’t not chew well enough because he feels it tear up his esophagus as it goes. Virgil politely ignores him dying for a second and offers him his own thermos of soup to help it down, before remembering that he’s supposed to be brooding and staring at Patton for too long makes him soft.

“Not to make a pun here, but no dice; I legitimately cannot beat Logan,” Virgil says. “He’s just… so good. At everything. What is the point in humiliating myself with this? Even if I find a game so obscure that he’s never heard of it and doesn’t have a strategy built for it, just going up to him and putting the board between us is like-- that’s telling him that I’ve had this massive stupid crush on him for ages and what if he doesn’t even like me? What if I win and then he has to date me because he said so but he actually hates me? What if--”

Patton coughs so hard he thinks he might have dislodged his own lung, which is fine!! Because at least it got Virgil to snap back to him and table his panicky spiral for later.

“Weren’t you,” Patton croaks, “Weren’t you already going to confess to him? You bought the chocolate kisses and you sent me pictures of them in your bag right before class last week.”

Patton can’t see Virgil’s ears because of his hood but he knows that they’re glowing red from the way that Virgil can’t meet his eyes again.

“I just….I did but then he….” Virgil nudges a pile of questionably clean band t-shirts with his socked foot. “He said he wasn’t interested because class was starting and I still don’t know if he meant an actual kiss or a Hershey kiss because he had to leave class early to pick up his kid brother from his middle school because he was sick with a fever and then I was too mortified to bring it back up-- See Pat, I can’t even come up with a creative way to tell Logan that I wanna listen to him ramble about jellyfish immortality and play with his hair or tell him that I wanna know what the flavor of his chapstick is-- which, by the way, I did say to him and he told me was cake batter and that I could find it at the corner drugstore because he thought I was looking for recommendations-- There is no way to subtly tell him that I want to date him.”

“Then maybe… don’t be subtle?” Patton suggests, and then points at the game between them. “Boardgame?”

Virgil scowls at the game like it had personally offended him. “But I can’t beat him. And if I lose and by some miracle he still wants to be seen with me, then he’d be breaking the very rules he set up and everyone else who lost is going to be pissed at both of us and I can’t do that to Logan.”

Patton bites back the then don’t lose that he wants to say. It seems so obvious to him. He doesn’t really see why Virgil doesn’t think he can win one single game. There isn’t even a rule that says Virgil can’t come back and play again-- which isn’t that the point of games? That you can play them for a little while, pack them up, and then come back to them later? That you sit down with friends-maybe-more and you play and have fun ?

Not for the first time, and not for the last time, Patton wonders why Virgil ever played games with him at all. He knows the first time was pity because he found Patton sitting on the floor of his bedroom with Trouble on the ground in front of him and staring at it numbly because he had cried all the tears out of himself already at the hospital, at the funeral, at the everything that had come after that he couldn’t remember. The first time it had been to get Patton to react because he had been so lost, but every time after that Virgil had made the conscious decision to pick up the pieces.

Even if sometimes he had put them back down halfway through and Patton hadn’t figured out how to convince him that the point isn’t to win as much as it is to have fun.

Virgil twists his wrist loosely in Patton’s grip so that he’s holding Patton back, his cold fingers somehow feeling comforting rather than startling. Patton has always loved that about him, although he’s never sure how that works. The coolness of his touch is familiar, but the vulnerability of Virgil reaching out is something newer, something special, something fragile and Virgil holds onto him like he’s expecting Patton to let go at any moment and Patton steadfastly refuses to let him drift off. Patton squeezes his wrist gently, lightly, softly.

I’m here. I’m not leaving. We’re in this together.

“I think that Logan can make decisions for himself,” Patton says with words so featherlight they barely move the air. “Remember the dominos? Any player can choose to lose, whether it be miscounting or it be refusing to finish the game in the end. But if you never even offer to play with him… Logan can’t make that choice, Virgil.”

Virgil holds his gaze for a moment, two, three, and there’s something in his eyes that shies away from the glow of the light, something slippery and weak and scared. Something that Patton is afraid to put a name to, lest it disappear from him forever.

Something that causes Virgil to squeeze his wrist back.

Together. Us. We’ve got this.

“So what game do you want to play with Logan?” Patton asks. “We can go look at my collection if you want? I loaned out Backgammon to a girl in my Shakespearean class, but other than that I have the usuals with me.”

Virgil takes a deep breath. “Can we…” He says. “Do it tomorrow? I don’t want…” He squeezes Patton’s wrist again and Patton can fill in the rest of the blanks with his own interpretations. He is, after all, fluent in Virgilese, as much as Virgil is fluent in Pattonish.

“Yeah, yeah,” Patton says and shifts through the piles of clothes that act as cushions so he’s right next to Virgil, pressing their shoulders together, leaning his head on Virgil’s collarbone, and reaching around him for another cookie. Virgil moves the tub between them and then pulls the Trouble game board in front of that.

He hesitates for another moment-- they’re missing two of Patton’s blue pieces to the floor, and one of Virgil’s purples to a pile of sweatshirts-- but the fact that Virgil drops forward and presses the bubble to roll the die makes Patton’s chest warm.

He gets a six, and then a four and that thing in his eyes seems to grow just a bit stronger.

That is, of course, when the rap music from next door starts up loud enough to shake the entire room and Patton wonders if Logan would still be up for playing a game with Virgil when he’s incarcerated for second degree murder.

Patton, at least, gets a hug out of it, when he tackles Virgil to the ground before he can get to the door, and he manages to coax Virgil back to their area, back to the floor, back to the game, and then later into the blanket-fort-and-movie-night that they watch with one earbud each and their foreheads pressed together late into the night.

***

Patton’s mother developed lung cancer when he was seven. He remembers it in vague flashes: the blood, the shakiness, her fall to the floor because they had never had any sign of it happening until it was too late to do much about it. He was told it was because his maternal grandparents both smoked a lot when she was growing up and she spent the weekends helping them around the house still.

The doctors said she had a year. She got eighteen months.

He barely remembers her face from his own memories anymore, all of them blurred and twisted by the passage of time that he almost got swept away in entirely. Her picture still hangs around the house, though, and he guesses he’s lucky in that regard. He liked how he could see her every time he passed by the stairs, even after his dad remarried and he had grown up and the telemarketers stopped calling the house to tell her that there was an interesting charge on the credit card she didn’t have anymore.

He still wakes up sometimes with his heart beating in his ears and his eyes blinded with tears and his lungs refusing to cooperate because of nightmares about forgetting her entirely, of seeing her stand up to call out to his dad, of seeing her cough out blood and then fall to the floor right in front of him as his dad is running down the stairs. He still wakes up and feels his heart aching where she might have once been if everything had gone just a little bit different. He still wakes up and wishes that he could go back to sleep because at least in his dreams she’s still there waiting with a deck of cards and a smile that says, “Alright, Buster, don’t think I’m going to go easy on you this time!”  

Usually those types of days he labels as “Bad Ones”, and he finds it harder to crawl from under his blankets to do pretty much anything.

Virgil knows immediately when he sees Patton staring at his black laptop screen that it’s a Bad One.

Patton loves that he knows not to ask, hates that Virgil can read him so easily, wants to cry because it’s been so long and shouldn’t the edges of that pain have gone away by now? He wants to pull Virgil’s purple comforter back over them and drift back off into the blissful warmth while pretending that the idea of a game right now didn’t make his hands shake.

She hadn’t left Patton specifically a lot of things, but the things that she had left him had been boardgames. Things that she had collected over the years and kept on a shelf in the study for them to play after work and school: Candyland, Trouble, Snakes and Ladders. She had a whole shelf for him when he got to an age where he could understand more complex concepts: Ticket to Ride, Pandemic, Mysterium, Star Realms, Settlers of Catan.

After she was gone… Patton had stared at that shelf and wondered if she had ever thought that maybe she wouldn’t get a chance to play some of them with him.

He wonders how many of them he could have beat her at, how many of them she might let him win in, how many of them they would love to play together and how many of them they would both play through once and then wrinkle their noses at because it wasn’t what they thought it was going to be.

He wonders and maybe it’s a bit too much because he’s stomach is rolling nauseously and he thinks that if he has to look at a game he’ll actually throw up this time.

Virgil doesn’t say anything, even as he gets up and Patton remains buried under too many blankets and the alarm on his phone goes off again for his morning class. The darkness is safe and warm and Patton thinks he understands why Virgil likes it so much as he closes his eyes and tries not to think of a woman who is long gone and in the ground.

“Breakfast?” Virgil whispers at some point.

“Cookies,” Patton mumbles back.

Virgil had carted a hand through his curls and then the door to the room had opened closed and locked behind him. Patton thinks that was nice of him-- to lock the door like he was protecting anyone from coming in and stealing his valuables even though Patton was there. Or maybe since Patton was there? Patton presses his head into a pillow that smells vaguely like chocolate cherries and black licorice and other things that screamed Virgil, and thinks that Virgil might consider Patton a valuable that needs to be protected and kept safe.

Sometime later Patton wakes up with Virgil lying beside him, headphones on and typing on his computer with one hand while dragging fingers through Patton’s curls with the other. It’s impressive of him by itself, but not nearly as impressive as the fact that Virgil’s hood is down and the blackout curtains are parted enough to bring in a decent amount of light.

Virgil blinks at him and removes one earmuff. “I read that flowers need sunlight to grow,” he says in lieu of explaining the rays of light cascading into the room over the two of them.

Patton wants to laugh, and thinks he might if it were any other day and not this one. He settles for a somewhat bent smile and Virgil reaches to somewhere he can’t see and brings back a muffin from the Campus Cafe.

“Chocolate Chip,” he says. “Which is like a cookie, but better because it’s a muffin and I said so.”

Patton can’t really tell if the tears that prick in his eyes are from the lingering sadness or the softness of just a simple gesture from his best friend. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither.

It’s a muffin, not something he should be crying over, and he repeats it even as he takes a bite from the top and Virgil pretends like he doesn’t see Patton scrubbing his cheeks as he chews. It’s a muffin, but Virgil got it just for him and Virgil came right back here and sat with him so he wouldn’t wake up alone and sad and and and--

And if Patton liked anyone romantically like that(™) he thinks he would have fallen straight into love with Virgil.

“Did you miss class?” Patton whispers.

Virgil shrugs. “Nothing important. I sent an email to my teachers saying that I wasn’t feeling too good and didn’t want to risk accidentally spreading anything to anyone, which already helps because I didn’t go to class yesterday and I’ve already turned in all my work for the week for most of my classes. Besides, you were here and I didn’t want to just leave you all alone-- what if Roman started playing his Disney compilations at 160 decibels again?”

“You like Disney, though.”

“I also like my hearing and my best friend,” Virgil says like it’s nothing, like it’s obvious, like it shouldn’t be making Patton tear up again because Virgil is just so nice.

“I’m sorry,” Patton whispers.

Virgil moves his computer and jostles around on the bed until they’re lying side-by-side even though the bed was definitely not made for two persons. He presses his head to Patton’s, and he’s cool and soft and safe.

Together. We got this.

“Your mom?” He asks.

Patton nods, with a lump in his throat that makes all the words he wants to say crumble to ashes on his tongue. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Pat,” Virgil says.

“But… Logan…”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Virgil says. “And, full offense, but no boy is going to be more important to me than you regardless of how fuuuuuuunkily hot he is. Funkily, yeah, sure, that’s a word that I definitely was going to say right there.”

Patton feels the laugh build up in his chest, against all the odds in the world, and it tastes like chocolate when it rolls out of his mouth.

Virgil bumps his shoulder, and grins. “Look, I’m trying here. Cursing is in my nature!”

“Thank you,” Patton says. For everything.

“No prob, Bob,” Virgil says. I would do it all all over again and never change a thing.

“I’m not Bob! I’m Pat!”

Virgil’s laugh is like the sun breaking through the clouds after a rainstorm, like a rainbow cascading through the sky, like being caught after a fall. Patton gets the energy to smile back when he hears it and that alone nearly makes him want to cry again.

Patton twists the blanket under him between his fingers and takes a deep breath. “Did you…” He says before pausing to swallow back the taste of his own stomach acids he’s not sure is entirely imaginary. “Did you pick a game? For Logan?”

Virgil’s nose twitches, which means the answer is a sound no. “It’s not that important right now. You’re not feeling up to--”

“ Vir -gil,” Patton says and Virgil’s nose twitches again.

They share a look for another minute, two, three, before Virgil exhales and looks away.

“Fine, fine,” he says. “I didn’t pick out a game yet. I actually saw him in the Cafe earlier with Janus and he waved, though, which was awesome until I waved back and forgot to look where I was going and walked straight into a glass door. At this point it’s going to be a miracle if Logan doesn’t laugh in my face when I ask him to play anything with me.”

“He won’t laugh at you,” Patton says and Virgil slides his arms up and crosses them so he can bury his chin in them like he doesn’t believe Patton at all. “From what you’ve told me, Logan is really nice isn’t he? And the other day didn’t you say that he went on a rant about Pluto being a planet? I think that’s just as silly as you walking into a door.”

Virgil hums to show he’s listening, even if he isn’t taking the words to heart as much as letting them filter through his ears. Patton licks the last of the chocolate muffin from his fingertips and blinks away the urge to hide away from the rest of the world when he spies the box for Trouble on the ground next to Virgil’s desk trash can.

Virgil follows his gaze to the box and he purses his lips, although Patton isn’t sure if its from the fact that he’s remembering that neither of them won last night, or if he’s thinking about odds of beating Logan again or if he, too, is thinking about ghostly fingers trying so hard to move playing pieces that they can no longer touch.

Patton rolls over and stares at Virgil’s ceiling instead, counting his breaths until he feels like the static between his ears isn’t going to overwhelm him.

“What game do you want to play?” Patton asks.

“I won’t win.”

“I didn’t ask what game you wanted to win,” Patton points out. “What game do you want to play against Logan?”

Virgil is quiet, but he sighs so heavily that Patton can see his bangs flutter out of the corner of his eyes.

“This is going to sound stupid,” Virgil says, and again Patton remembers that nothing Virgil ever says has ever once been stupid. “But I don’t want to play against him at all.”

Patton frowns, rolling his head to the side to take in Virgil’s gaze that is already looking at him. His dark eyes are there and the something in them that Patton doesn’t want to put a name to is there again, shining just like the rays of light between Virgil’s blinds.

“I mean I want to play a game with Logan, just not against Logan. It’s stupid, okay? I was just thinking about the cooperative games back at your house that we used to play with your dad and step mom-- you know like the Unlock , Escape-room-in-a-box games? Or maybe Flashpoint? Or Forbidden Island? I was just thinking how shit I am at making my own decisions in Pandemic and Logan is really good at strategy so I bet that working together we’d be able to beat any game.”

Patton breathes deeply, sharply, and tries to ignore the piercing pain in his chest at the mention of the games. Virgil winces like he wants to take the words right back out of the air and hide them somewhere where neither of them have to face them at all.

“I don’t…” Virgil says, “I don’t want to play against him and lose. I’d rather play with him and win. Again: it’s stupid.”

Patton closes his eyes, and sees the shelf his mom left him full of boardgames she picked out long before he was past chewing on building blocks, of him at eleven years old finally getting the courage to drag a kitchen chair to the case and pick out a game while Virgil stood by to make sure he didn’t fall and to remind him that it was okay if he didn’t didn’t feel strong enough to try, of the two of them sitting at the kitchen table with the game directions between them that don’t really make any sense because it there’s no directions on how to attack each other when his dad comes home early and freezes at the sight

He might not remember his mother’s face outside of photographs he doesn’t remember being taken, but he remembers clearly the softness of his father’s expression when he dropped into the seat next to them and asked if they knew how to play this one yet.

“It’s a cooperative game,” his dad said, with a voice shaking and eyes wet. “That means we all work together to get to the goal at the end. Each player is going to have a different superpower-ability-thing that they can do that will make it easier for us to win as a team.”

So no, Patton doesn’t think that it’s stupid at all. It’s hard to do things by themselves, it’s scary, it’s difficult, it’s frustrating. That’s why when Virgil is texting him that the world is ending because of a boy, Patton will always show up at his dorm with soup and cookies and a game for them to play together instead of telling him that he’s being dramatic and silly. That’s why when Patton is missing a woman who hasn’t been in his life for twelve years now, Virgil will always stay with him to remind him that he’s going to get through it, instead of telling him to suck it up.

It’s much easier to win when they’re on the same side.

And Virgil has only ever had fun when playing games that he wins, hasn’t he?

“Why don’t you?” Patton asks suddenly.

Virgil must have nodded off because he jerks suddenly when Patton speaks up, “huh?”

“Why don’t you play a cooperative game?” Patton asks. “What did Logan say specifically about the whole dating thing?”

Virgil rubs an eye and squints at him tiredly. “I told you, he said he would only date someone who beats him at a game. I don’t--”

“Did he say beats him, or beats the game with him?”

“Neither?” Virgil says. “He literally said to Janus very loudly, “I will only consider someone a viable romantic partner if they can win in a game with me.””

“In a game with me,” Patton repeats. “ In a game with me. Not in a game against me!”

It takes Virgil a long, breathless moment to comprehend it, but it’s clear the moment it hits him. Virgil jerks so hard that he tumbles off the bed entirely and to the ground in a fumbling of long limbs, blankets, dubiously cleaned clothes, and his computer-headphones combo. Patton yelps and leans over to check on him but Virgil doesn’t even look like he noticed.

“Holy Shit,” He says, “holy shit, Pat.”

“Language.”

“ HOLY SHIT!” Virgil yells, and then he laughs and covers his mouth like he’s trying to bottle up the sound. “Patton! Patton! He didn’t say against!”

Virgil’s eyes sparkle, the light through the window makes his dark hair shine and just looking at him Patton thinks he’s never once seen him so happy before, so delighted, so excited.

So full of hope.

The next thing he knows is that he’s sitting up and Virgil is wrapped around him in a hug so tight, so soft, so cool and wonderful that those pesky tears come right back to his eyes. Virgil hugs like he’s unafraid of anything for just this endless moment, like he’s never been unsure of physical touch before, like he’s done it a million times before and Patton shouldn’t feel his breath catch in his lungs lest he shatter this dream with an exhale.

He’s standing at the eye of the storm that is Virgil, and he’s never felt so safe before in his life.

“Thank you,” Virgil whispers, “I, uh, I’m sorry for the sudden hug--”

And then, of course, Remus’s music comes back with a vengeance that rattles the ceiling tiles overhead and makes Virgil hiss and break the hug. Patton thinks that he could forgive it, if it weren’t for the unmistakable sound Disney’s Mulan soundtrack also ringing in the air, like it was trying to be heard over the rap music. Dust sprinkles from the tiles overhead.

“I’m going to kill them both,” Virgil vows, but Patton is quicker. He lunges forward before he even knows what he’s doing and coils around Virgil as tightly as he can, and just hugs him, his best friend, the guy who’s always been there for him, and who deserved all the happiness that he could get.

“Pat?” Virgil says.

“If Logan doesn’t treat you right I’m going to make sure no one finds his body,” Patton says.

And Virgil’s laughter makes it sound like he doesn’t quite believe Patton, but that’s okay. Virgil is still looking for reasons to play a game if not to win, and Patton is still trying to find a game that makes him smile, and together they’re going to figure out how to get Virgil to win with Logan.

But for now the hug is good, and the company is nice, and they have the game Trouble packed away ready for the next time they want to play.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 27

First time reader click here

TWs/Summary: If you read carefully, you knew this; if you didn't: reader was drugged at the party. Hangover from Hell ft. boys being cute, Loki being best friend material and reader fully integrating him into the Gen-Z community via Monster energy drinks and depressive music whilst being sad. I live for Loki/reader friendship tbh.

So folks, this is the last big plot thing before the endgame. I reckon it's about 10-15 chapters left until out happy ending and the next bit is going to focus on developing reader's and Stephen's relationship. There will be smutty parts too - either chapters or interludes, idk, depending on how well they'll integrate into the story.

I love y'all.

Ow, was my first thought upon waking up. My head throbbed something fierce, the pressure behind my eyelids was unbearable and my mouth tasted like a bog on a sunny summer's day. I was warm, from both sides, and one of the bodies felt foreign in everything besides the smell - sandalwood leaked through the lead curtain of alcohol and sex.

Needless to say, I had trouble piecing together the fine details of last night but had enough coherence to remember our... Activities. I was sore and Strange's long arm was still possessively draped over both me and Tony. The luck was on my side as I carefully wiggled out of his grasp, padding to the bedroom on quiet feet. The sorcerer barely moved, only grumbling briefly at the loss of my warmth and immediately quieting, shamelessly snuggling into Tony.

I would have not exaggerated if I said it was the worst hangover of my life. It was baffling, really, because I'd gone way wilder and didn't suffer half as much after effects; my first attempt to brush my teeth ended with my face resting against the toilet bowl, my empty stomach rejecting what little liquid in it was left as the room spun on its axis. That was incredibly embarrassing and I hoped my boys wouldn't wake up to witness my best impression of a bum - and they didn't, both men still sound asleep and interwined like snakes when I put on the shirt closest to me and departed in search of coffee.

My mood only worsened. Steve and Bucky were already up, shoveling an impressive amount of eggs and bacon, as Bucky quietly teased Steve about his own hangover. The blonde man was slightly greenish, disheveled - we traded equally glum looks and nodded to each other in silence. The smell of food made my stomach churn and I retreated, one black coffee in hand, towards Bruce's lab, having been informed by Friday that neither Tony not Stephen planned on waking up.

"Morning, Princess," Bruce smiled kindly, pushing his glasses out of the way to hold me close and give me a sweet kiss. "Had fun? The boys still asleep?"

I giggled at Bruce calling Tony and Stephen boys. "Yeah. I wouldn't be wearing Stephen's shirt if he was up and about, I think." I pointed out the obvious.

Bruce chuckled, holding my face to give me a long, thoughtful look. I stared back, hoping convey my respect and adoration without having to say a word; like Tony, I wasn't particularly apt when it came to talking feelings. Whatever Bruce was looking for, he found it, and sealed it with another kiss, twice as long and twice as sweet. We stood like that, my head on his shoulder and my arms firmly holding him to myself, until the elevator dinged behind the glass wall, revealing a shirtless Stephen and Tony in his pajama pants, both men bickering animatedly.

"Aw shit, here we go again," I rolled my eyes, unhappy about the possibility of the magic being broken. I rather preferred all three men to be like yesterday: friendly, kind and relaxed.

"I will kick them out if I have to," Bruce shrugged, turning me around to face them.

Tony smiled, seeing me, stopping mid-conversation. "Princess, I am disappointed in your lack of manners. You left me with Merlin and he is mean." The engineer unceremoniously snatched me from Bruce and smooched me, hangover breath and all.

"Gross, Tony," I rolled my eyes, giving the man a light shove in the chest. "Morning, Steph," I addressed the third man who had gone back to his usual stoic expression. Just to see his resolve crack, because I loved pushing his buttons, I gave him a good morning kiss too, and was unexpectedly blown away by the eager response from his side. As I pulled back, I noticed his cheeks dusting a light pink.

"I came to get my shirt but I think you'd rather keep it," The sorcerer's fingers caressed my skin beneath the collar of his shirt, voice still low and scratchy from sleep and those magnetic eyes fixated on the exposed flesh of my chest, no trace of previous awkwardness.

"You sure 'bout that?" I pushed one of the sides off, exposing my shoulder, seeing Tony gulp the remainder of my coffee, one hand already messing with the screen that Bruce was focused on. "I think I look better without it," I would never miss an opportunity to tease the uptight man.

"Quite," He grinned, "It's a shame I didn't get to see much last night..." Two could play this game, okay.

"Oh, but you will," Tony piped up suddenly, a hint of smugness in his voice barely covered by Bruce's fond chuckle. I really didn't know what to say, suddenly overwhelmed with the attention, my emotions amplified by the hangover - party drugs tended to exaggerate my anxiety on the comedown.

And what a comedown it was. My social energy ran out very quickly so I complained about a nasty headache and retreated into my room, Bruce's gentle hands pressing a bottle of Ibuprofen into my own. Despite my attempts to tame my rioting body, it got worse before it got better and shortly before lunch, I had thrown up twice more. Pissed off, I ran a bath with cold water and sat in it until I felt somewhat human to prepare myself for a journey to Wanda's apartment - as a last resort, I was going to chug on of Pietro's Monster energy drinks that I knew he kept hidden there.

The retrieval was a success. Cans securely hidden in the kangaroo pocket of Tony's oversized hoodie I had thrown on, I had to make a haste detour to throw up once again - the closest bathroom was in Loki's apartment and I only managed to knock twice before throwing open the door and making a mad dash for the porcelain throne, a very confused Asgardian following my movements with raised eyebrows.

"Hangover from Hell," I croaked once the first wave subsided. Loki nodded in understanding, waved a hand to summon me a water bottle and shut the door behind himself.

As I sat there, desperately trying to understand why was I feeling like utter shit... It clicked. Bile rose to my throat once again, and I just dry heaving, mulling my revelation over and over again.

I didn't take any drugs. I had been drugged. My memories became hazy and dream-like shortly after someone had given me the drink... Someone, who? It was a split-second moment; Sam, even in his drunk state, didn't keep his eyes off me for too long. Maybe it had been someone the team knew? Possibilities began playing out in my head. Cursed was my overactive brain - the anxiety from the leftover drugs was making me panic.

"Fuck, FUCK," My hands shook - I only noticed it because I had spilled water on myself, adding cold and wet to the unpleasant sensations I was already experiencing. "Why am I such a fucking fuck-up." Taking a drink from a stranger seemed downright idiotic now. Middle school bullshit.

"Are you alright?" Loki's worried voice interrupted my inner monologue.

"Yes," I replied, voice cracking. "No. I don't fucking know."

The door all but flew open, the Asgardian taking several long strides to take a good long look at me. The frown on his face tells me all I needed to know about my physical and mental state.

A slender hand tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "What happened?"

I laughed tersely, feeling tears to begin welling in the corners of my eyes. "I'm an idiot," Seeing his face get annoyed briefly, I conceded: "I got drugged yesterday. My drink."

The hand that he had slid between my shoulder blades froze. I felt his whole body go rigid and his nostrils flare, the smell of ozone and something foreign - magic - filling the small space. The air around us became charged with the power of his anger. "Pardon?" His voice was dangerously quiet.

I physically fought with the need to flinch away from him, settling for lowering my eyes and staring at the dark stain on my hoodie. "I got carried away dancing. Someone handed me a drink and my stupid ass just shotgunned it," I confessed, picking at the wet spot. "And I can't tell anybody because I had a threesome with Stephen and Tony," I suddenly realised, my voice raising in pitch. "They're gonna think I didn't want it and feel bad. You know how Tony blames himself for everything under the sun..." Another wave of dizziness and nausea hit me as I leaned against the wall closest to me.

"Alright," Loki conceded after a brief pause. "We absolutely are telling the others. I'll make sure they understand," The Asgardian stated firmly in a tone that bore no argument. Seeing me lift my head to protest, he interrupted me before I could say anything: "Did you... Did you want it?" He asked me, hooking a single finger under my chin to look me in the eye.

I nodded, feeling my face heat up.

"You're not lying. The team knows of my ability to detect lies. Nobody will blame anyone..." Loki trailed off, obviously already plotting something. I wished it were a prank both of us were conspiring on instead of... Trying to make sense of this cluster fuck of a shit show. The circus called, they seemed to have left their clowns behind. "Although I will have a word with Sam." The Asgardian muttered darkly.

"No, it's not his fault. I just got too relaxed, I need to pucker up and be responsible for myself," I protested, damn well knowing it wasn't the Bird's fault. Everyone was drunk and I should've known better.

"It's not yours either," Loki sneered, seeing right through my self-loathing. It took a deep, slow sigh for him to calm down. His expression softened and the hand that was on my back resumed the gentle stroking as he scooted closer to me to press my side against his chest. "Vile people of this kind aren't exclusive to Midgard. It could have happened to anyone."

I nodded, my logical part briefly taking over as the waves of nausea and dizziness waned. I stifled a giggle, coming to another sudden revelation. "You holding up my hair as I barf out my hangover? That makes you qualified for the position of my Best Friend," I stated with a snort.

Loki chuckled, relaxing bit by bit. "I accept the position," His voice was unusually soft and a little bit shaky; I chose to tactfully ignore it. "Shall I call for assembly in the war room?"

I sighed, the dread and anxiety creeping it's way back in. "Can we just... Wait a bit? I have something- hold on-" I rummaged around my pocket, taking out two cans of Monster. Loki eyed them curiously and I extended one to him. "It probably won't do much for you but for me it's a last-resort hangover cure." I popped open the metal cap, seeing him do the same. "Be warned though, it tastes kinda funky if you're not used to it," I announced the disclaimer but it simply egged Loki on.

The scrunched up face he made was pretty funny. "It's sour but sickeningly sweet at the same time? I can't tell," He briefly eyed the written ingredients on the can.

"There are a bunch of flavors. Pietro likes the plain one, I like the purple one better, it's not so tongue-burning." I paused to inhale loudly. "If this is what college life looks like, I don't want to go," Mustering up my courage and gathering my balls in a knot, with one broad motion I closed my nose and poured the carbonated acid down my throat until my eyes watered. "Gimme a minute," I hiccuped, trying to keep it down.

Wide-eyed, Loki took a chaste sip of his own drink, eyeing me warily. He looked part impressed part disgusted with the little stunt. "I am pretty certain that is counter-productive."

"Caffeine make brain and body go skrrt," I argued back. "Friday, play my "grant me the sweet release of death" playlist. I'm upset," I announced and the AI obliged silently, the first notes of Placebo's 'Exit Wounds' beginning to play. If I was going to mop in a stranger's bathroom, I was going to do it with style. Even if said style was just simply stealing in my own misery with emo background music.

Loki stared at me, I stared back, both of us lost in our respective minds. At one point, he began swaying to the music slightly, resting the cool tin of the can against his cheek; I followed suit, mouthing along to some of the lyrics. It took us about a dozen songs to finally finish the liquid acid that was Monster energy drink and my ass felt like the bathroom tile itself: flat and hard.

"Do you ever feel like the universe just hates you for no fucking reason?" I groused, taking Loki's outstretched hand and slowly feeling the blood rush back to my legs.

"You wouldn't believe," He rolled his eyes in solidarity, vanishing away the empty containers. "Norns, give me a Hel-damned break."

I laced his arm through mine as we exited his apartment, feeling considerably less upset than I was before. I couldn't protect myself, but one look at Loki's sullen, irritated expression was bound to scare off anyone who dared to interrupt our mission.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95

[cheekysos]

Road to Nowhere

Best Friend! Luke Hemmings x Reader

Summary: Luke asks his best friend Y/N on a road trip. 

Warnings: Unrequited love, angst, minor swears

Author’s Note: Thank you for being patient with me the past couple of weeks. I’m still unsure about this piece honestly but I hope you enjoy it. Feedback is always very much appreciated, whether it be positive or constructive. Thank you for reading.

   You and Luke have been best friends ever since he moved to LA. When you first met him you were in a somewhat serious relationship and by the time you admitted to yourself your feelings for Luke he just met someone. You wallowed in self pity for quite some time before you forced yourself to move on, Luke seemed happy and you wanted to be happy too. When Luke was single again, you were a few months into a new relationship. This cycle has continued for the entirety of your guys’ friendship, the timing just never worked out. Not that it would have mattered, you knew your chances with Luke were slim to none. You two joked, laughed, cried, and confided in one another but there was something missing on his part. You could tell by the way he looked at you that he didn’t love you the way you loved him. He doesn’t look at your smile and instantly get butterflies, your laugh doesn’t send a shiver down his spine, and your touch doesn’t make it hard for him to breathe. Now here you are, single for almost a year and Luke is in what seems to be a very serious relationship and it’s eating you up inside. You wasted so much time ignoring and hiding from your feelings because you were too scared to lose your best friend. Now your feelings are so strong it’s difficult to ignore. 

  His current relationship was definitely putting a strain on your friendship. She wasn’t comfortable with it, you knew the second he introduced you to her. The way she scanned you up and down, like she was assessing your level of threat. She occupied most of his time and didn’t want you around much, she never came right out and said it but you could tell - basically everyone could except for Luke. It was little things like the way she touched him in front of you, like she was claiming him or how it took her months to “learn” your name. But you put up with it because you loved him, granted you were also in love with him as well but you respected their relationship and would never act on your feelings. Between touring and her Luke hasn’t had much time for you so when he called you and asked if you wanted to go on an impromptu road trip with no certain destination you didn’t hesitate. 

You packed enough clothes and toiletries for three days, that’s all the time off you could manage from work.  Luke arrived that morning with your favorite coffee in hand and looking as adorable as ever. He was dressed casually in blue jeans, T-shirt, and boots. 

  “You’re really going to wear jeans while we drive across the country?” You teased snagging the large cup of coffee out of his hand. 

  “Hey what’s wrong with my jeans?!” He asked defensively. 

  “Nothings wrong with them. I just meant they aren’t very comfortable.” 

   “Well thanks mom but I think I can dress myself.” He quipped.

   He stood in front of you with that stupid look on his stupid perfect face you loved so much. “So did you decide where you exactly were going?” You asked, spontaneity was not your strong suit. 

  “You pick, anywhere you want,” answered Luke.

You hesitated for a second, racking your brain for ideas. “Grand Canyon?”

“Whatever you want to see,” he flashed a sympathetic smile. What was going on?

“Seriously?” You asked. “Why are you being so nice to me?” 

“What a guy can’t spoil his best girl?” Luke had a tendency of saying things like this. Things that were obviously meant to be harmless but hurt you more than you’d like to admit because you knew he didn’t meant them, not how you wanted him to.  Luke helped you with your suitcase to his car and typed the coordinates into his GPS. While he did that you connected your phone to his car. Right after Luke asked you on this trip you started making a playlist for the occasion, of course a majority of the playlist was already assembled in a secret Luke playlist you already had. 

  “I hope you’re ready for this playlist, it’s going to blow your little rockstar brain.” Music is what immediately connected you to Luke. You guys didn’t have exactly the same taste and there were definitely songs and artists you disagreed on but his passion for it was contagious. He changed the way you consumed music, pushed you to listen to more than just lyrics and the beat. 

   “Excuse you I have a big rockstar brain thank you very much.” His hand rested on the back of your headrest as he backed out of the parking spot. It’s strange how Luke made everyday normal activities just effortlessly sexy. The way his seat had to be all the way back for his massive limbs to fit, how he gripped the steering wheel with one hand while the other rested on the gear shift, or the way the sun landed on his face and illuminated his sharp features. 

  Before you officially got on the road Luke stopped to fill up his car. “Here pay for the gas and grab some snacks,” he handed you his card. 

  You went inside and gathered an array of different snacks, candies and drinks. When you came out you saw Luke on the phone, at first you thought he was talking to her but he looked anxious and stressed while speaking. Maybe they were fighting, maybe that’s why he wanted to get away for a bit.  When you got closer to him he hung up the phone and returned the pump to it’s holster. 

“Let’s get the show on the road darlin’.” He faked a smile.

You were on route soon enough, Luke quietly snacking on the bag of chips you bought for him as he drove. You really didn’t want to pry and you hated asking him about her but it was obvious something was bothering him. 

   “You alright?” You questioned turning down the music. 

  He forced a smile, “All good. Just quietly regretting my decision to wear jeans. I wish someone would’ve told me not to.” 

  You playfully tossed a sour patch kid at his head. You knew that’s not what was bothering him but you didn’t pry.  After many hours of stupid car games, spontaneous singalong dance parties and a small cat nap on your part you couldn’t ignore the rumbling in your stomach any longer. 

   “Luke I need food and I’m tired.” You whined “I think we should call it a day, get some food and find a hotel.” 

  Luke rubbed at his 5 o’clock shadow. “Ya ok find a place nearby will ya?” 

  It took a little time but eventually you found a small bed and breakfast. “Take the next exit.” You instructed. 

  As Luke drove to the bed and breakfast you passed an In n Out. “Take a right!” you yelled. 

  Luke jerked the car into the turning lane, “the fuck Y/N! Scared the shit outta me.” 

   “In n Out! Need fries and a milkshake.” You exaggerate and pout your lip. 

  “You know I can’t say no to that pout.” Again, how could he not realize what he was saying to you? Could he be that oblivious?

  You went through the drive-thru and ordered way too much food for only two people and continued driving to the B&B. The Bed and Breakfast was a decent sized Victorian styled home, they probably couldn’t have more than five rooms. You stayed by the car, taking in the fresh air of a new state while Luke went inside to check for a room. 

  “Good news and bad news,” Luke said walking back to the car. “Got a room but it’s only got one bed, she’s got a cot though so she’s going to have it brought up to the room. I’ll take the cot.” Luke grabbed the luggage and you followed him with food and milkshakes in hand. The room was cozy, the main focus of the room was clearly the bed. This bed and breakfast most likely catered to couples looking for a quiet getaway and in any other situation it probably would have been romantic but not when you were with Luke and he was with her. 

  The two of you sat on the floor eating and catching up. Against your better judgement you asked about her, you were surprised to see his expression fall. 

   “I don’t want to talk about her, this trip is about us.” he said quietly. “Remember when we took that road trip to visit your parents?” he laughed. 

  “You mean the trip you agreed to take after being on tour for months leaving me to drive for HOURS while you slept the entire time?” you teased. 

  “Hey, It’s the thought that counts!” he defends. Things with Luke were great, back to how things were before.

  After spending a considerable amount of time reminiscing, the two of you got ready to go to bed. When Luke walked out of the bathroom he was dressed in only athletic shorts. You’ve seen Luke half naked plenty of time but it seemed like every time you saw him his shoulders were broader, his chest hair more dense, and his skin softer.

  “I-I’ll sleep on the cot Luke. There’s no way your lanky ass is going to fit. I don’t mind.” You tried deflecting with jokes.

“Ugh! How rude!” Luke played. “I am not lanky! And it doesn’t matter - that thing’s for children, neither of us are gonna fit on it. We’ll  just share” He tossed aside the extra throw pillows and pulled back the duvet. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” you hesitated. 

“It’s fine, just get in.” He turned off the lamp on his nightstand and tucked his extremities into bed, his back facing you. You followed his lead and got yourself situated on your side. You knew you should have turned around so your back was towards him but you just couldn’t bring yourself to look away. 

“Night Y/N.” he yawned. 

“Goodnight Lu.” As creepy as it sounded you spent some time watching his back, counting the times it rose and fell with each breath before he succumbed to sleep.  

  You woke up the next morning before Luke, he wasn’t a morning person in the slightest. After you finished getting ready and found Luke still in a deep slumber you figured the best way to wake him was a pillow to the face. After lots of whining and arguing the two of you were ready to get back on the road. Since Luke was still half asleep you offered to drive the rest of the way, which meant you spent most of the time in silence again, but you didn’t mind, you needed the time to think.   

  When you finally arrived at the Grand Canyon you and Luke stood there awhile speechless, taking in the beautiful scenery around you.  His arm suddenly snaked around your shoulders and pulled you into his side. You followed his suit and wrapped your arm around his waist. You felt completely content in this moment, for a second you could forget about everything and just relish in this the now. When you looked up at Luke tears were brimming in his eyes. You stood in front of him with both hands held onto his waist. 

“Hey...what’s the matter?” you pleaded.

“It's...I just. I’m just really happy to be here. To be with you, my best girl.” He pulled you in for a hug, his arms wrapped around you tightly and he placed soft kisses on the top of your head. Your heart soared in this moment. Everything felt so perfect, it felt like there was an inkling of a possibility that Luke loved you back. As you pulled away from the hug, Luke tucked the stray hairs behind your ear. Your faces were closer than they’ve ever been, your foreheads pressed together, noses just barely touching. 

“I need to tell you something Lu..” There was no more denying your feelings. You couldn’t go on like this anymore you needed him to know, even if that meant that he didn’t feel the same about you. 

“Lemme go first.” he cut you off. “She gave me an ultimatum, you or her…” Your heart was in the back of your throat and your entire body was on fire. This was it, he was about to kiss you.

His calloused thumb brushed along your cheekbone, “I..I chose her.”

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #249

“every wall that i knock down is just a wall that i’ll replace.”

Has anyone done anything nice for you today? Nothing in particular. The last time you hung out with your sibling(s), what did you do? We visited our mom in the hospital. Fun. Have you ever been so lonely, you cried? Oh, plenty of times. Have you ever given homeless people money? No, not that I've ever really had money to give. Do you usually bring or buy a lunch for school? I absolutely never buy from the cafe, I'll tell you that much. The price is fucking ridiculous; it's a standard number regardless of how little or how much you eat. Fucking $8 or so for a goddamn hot dog or something. I always either pack something or Mom and I drive over to McDonald's. Does it bug you when you want something done, and it doesn’t get done? Ugh, yes. Have you ever tried so hard to save up for something, but it was too hard? I don’t think so, no. I've rarely been in a position where I'm saving up for something because I rarely have any money on me. The last time you had sex, was it in their bed or yours? Hell if I remember. What was the last pill you took? One of my morning meds for my mood. If you were to have sex right now, would you use a condom? Yes. What’s your sexuality? Have you ever questioned it? How old were you when you figured out you were definitely straight, or bi, or whatever? I'm bi, though I grew up believing I was straight. I became definitely sure in '17. Do you fit in at work or in school? I don't care enough to think about this. Were you ever a fan of macaroni & cheese? Do you like Kraft dinner? BITCH yes that's my shit. Is there a laundry basket in your room? If yes, what color is it? Not currently, but all of ours are white. Have you ever read a book all the way through in one day? Not like, a big book. What would you do if you found out your last ex is engaged? Be very confused. Do you get along with your significant other’s family? N/A, but for anyone I've ever been with where I knew the family, we got along fine. Have you ever gone horseback riding? Where? Not really, just at like, fairs. Have you ever cried at a real wedding? Yes, but it was due to PTSD more than anything else. Who was the last person to be on a bed with you? Well I sat with Mom on her hospital bed. What were you afraid of the most when you were a kid? Thunderstorms or being separated from Mom. Depends on the age. Do you know how it feels to be cheated on? No. Do you have feelings for someone right now? How strong are those feelings? And does that person have feelings for you, too? Yes; "controlled" is the best way to put it ig; and idk. Who’s the last person that told you they loved you? My mom. Where was your Facebook default picture taken? The living room. What’s your brother(s)/sister(s) names? Misty, Katie, Bobby, Ashley, and Nicole. Do you like to cuddle? Yeah, if I like and am comfortable with that person. Are you currently reading a book? Yeah, amazingly. What’s on your mind? Way too goddamn much. Does any part on your body hurt? Not right now. Do you have nightmares a lot? I have nightmares/terrors on an almost nightly basis (I wish I was exaggerating) by now and it's fucking old. Who was the last person you texted? Sara. Think a lot before you fall asleep? It consistently takes me at least 20+ minutes to go to sleep because my brain doesn't shut up. What’s your favorite thing to have on your bed? MY CAT Where did you get the shirt you are wearing? Probaby like Wal-Mart. It's just a tank top. Last people you went to the mall with? Uhhhhh my mom and my sister I think. Are there any stressful situations in your life? Mom's cancer diagnosis is going to be my end in the stress department. Do you go to the bathroom with the door open or closed? Depends on where I am/who else is present. Where did you get your last bruise/cut from? Roman was playing a bit too rough with my hand. Did you cry at all today? No. Who was the last person you hugged? Mom. What is the last gift someone got you? A gift card to either Dairy Queen or Sonic, can't remember which. Is anyone on your bad side right now? No. Did you have a dream last night? A nightmare where I woke up crying/screaming that I physically couldn't kill myself for some reason I don't remember. And I remember Jesus was in there somewhere. Bro idk but it made my throat hurt like a bitch. Ready for kids? NOOOOOOOOOO and I assure you I never will be. What’s one thing you do when you’re mad? Cry, easily. Do you like where you live? No, fuck this house. Like, we *need* to move. How often do you lose your voice? Extremely rarely. I have to be sick as hell. Are you a good babysitter? I don't think so. How’s your mood? Sad, pretty lifeless. Do you have a job? No. Ever thrown up in a car? No. Is anyone over protective over you? *Over*protective, no. Have you ever violated school dress code? In high school, apparently, because I got in trouble for a shirt once that I'd worn many many times before that never caused trouble until then. If you are listening to music, is the singer male/female? Male. What (if anything) do you give up for Lent? I don't take part in Lent. I did sometimes as a Catholic kid though, but it never lasted. When you feel like giving up, how do you convince yourself not to? Like, on life? It's always the belief that I have one shot at this and can't let a few bad passing moments decide to cut it short. What was the subject of the last list you made? Grocery list that Mom wanted my input on. Do you ever get nervous before interviews / important meetings? Oh hell yes I do. Who pays for the majority of your belongings? Hi, I'm Brittany, I'm 24, and my parents pay for absolutely everything because I'm one hell of an excuse for an adult. Would you ever willingly shop in a thrift store? Dude, I love thrift shops. You can find the coolest shit. What is the most that you would ever spend on an outfit? I don't have a clue. I don't shop and never have shopped for clothes nearly frequently enough to gauge here. Is there anything you do that just outrages your parents? Mom hates when I curse excessively when I'm seriously upset. When was the last time you were embarrassed in public? How the actual fuck am I blanking here. I'm always embarrassed. I can blink "wrong" and be humiliated. Have you ever won an award you were actually proud of? Yeah, a few. What is the coolest science experiment you’ve ever done? Well, it wasn't an "experiment" per se, but dissecting a frog in the 7th grade was dope. Are you experiencing difficulties with any friends right now? No. When you apologize to someone after a fight, how do you go about saying that you are sorry? By saying sorry??? Not trying to be a smart ass, just... say sorry. I do absolutely ensure I'm sincere and do all I can for me to come across as such, but yeah. Have you ever played around with “dry ice”? No. Do you think parents are responsible for the actions of their children? To a degree. When was the last time that you corrected someone? I don’t know. When was the last time you were corrected? ^ Is there any celebrity you like to “keep up with”? There's a couple. Celebrity gossip: YAY or BOO? Ugh. Now the gossip part with celebs, I just don't care. What is the most life-changing book you have read? Johnny Got His Gun by Dalton Trumbo. Have you had a negative impact on anyone’s life? Probably. Has anyone had a negative impact on yours? Who/why? Yes, let's not linger on it. What does marriage mean to you, specifically? My feelings towards marriage have evolved semi-recently. It was once the "happily ever after" portion of a relationship, the goal to me, but now, it's really just a wise (to some, of course) financial option for a strong, stable, tested relationship that you intend to be permanent. Like, it's a piece of paper, congrats. I'll admit my mind still somewhat sees it as a desirable milestone, but I know that's simply the works of societal conditioning. How will you know when you are ready to get married? I don't know. This actually brings to my attention that I've pondered if I'll ever *confidently* know after Jason. I really don't know. How much time have you spent contemplating your own death? I mean, not a hell of a lot, but I'm sure more than the normal person. Is there a joke that you just can’t stand? I really hate any joke that's rooted in discrimination, or is just purely hateful. Have you ever read any self-help books? No, though I've contemplated them a bit. What is something you used to love, but now greatly dislike? Country music, oh boy. What is something you used to dislike, but now like? Hmmm. Lol first thing that comes to mind is mashed potatoes, I guess. Thanks, Sara's Mom. When (if) you become a parent, what will you do differently, compared to how your parents raised you? I'm never going to be a parent. Do you equate spanking with physical abuse? Would you spank a child? I can't say I exactly equate them, no, but I absolutely disagree with it. You do not teach children through fear and pain. If your bf/gf wanted to wait until marriage for sex, would you be willing? Yeah. Is there someone you wish you could trust/you wish was trustworthy? Yes. Is there anyone that you no longer want in you life? Who/why? No one that plays a big role in my life, no. At least not off the top of my head. How has your outlook on life changed in the past few years? I've strayed further from my fairy-tale outlook of it every year for the past few. Some can call it a much more negative view, but it's realism, baby. It doesn't depress me, even though I'm sure some may see it as such. I'm more accepting to fact and less preoccupied with "it'd be nice if..."s, things like that. Have you ever walked out of a boring movie (in theaters)? No. How open are you with people you know online? Depends on the person and location something is being shared. If a celebrity is involved in scandal after scandal, is that likely to affect how you view him/her & his/her work? Of course. What is one celebrity that you have zero respect for? Man, I don't pay enough attention to this or know all "the facts" or whatever. What is one fashion trend that you hope makes a comeback? It's the Rawring 20s motherfuckers LOOK the scene style is fucking adorable let's bring that shit BACK. What is one that you wish would just die out already? Idc. Have you ever driven under the influence of alcohol/drugs? Hell no. Are you overly attached to your material possessions? Some. Have you ever ridiculed anyone for their clothing choices? I'm sure I have when I was younger, but never aloud, I'd hope. Now, I seriously don't care what you wear. Living in poverty: what do you think it’d be like? I literally am riding on the poverty line and shit's bad enough, so I don't care to find out what it's like any lower. What is one “diet” that you think is just utterly worthless? The keto diet used to seriously appeal to me, but now I totally don't get it. You're GOING to gain weight back as you switch to a regular diet again. Not just that though, keto is extremely unhealthy to the body. It's tempting because yes, it has drastic results, but it's an awful choice. What advice would you give someone that is uncomfortable with his or her body/appearance? Oh hunny me too so don't ask me. What advice would you give someone about to start high school? Don't put too much weight on the people you're involved with. Don't let your world revolve around them. "They're" right when they say half those people won't mean shit later. What foreign food are you NOT interested in trying? Honestly? I'm not educated enough on cuisines to know. I have no clue what most entail. What foreign country do you believe is misunderstood? "I’m sure they all are." <<<< Do you understand/read Shakespeare? We read some stuff in school, and for the most part, I understood it. It's not something I'd go out of my way to read now. Would you feel more comfortable living with someone that owned a gun? I don't know for sure, but actually, probably no, BUT that's only because I don't trust my impulsive ass with her suicidal history. Otherwise, I'd feel safer with a gun. Have you ever had a make-over? Not a serious one. What’s the longest time you’ve stayed out of the country? Where? I've never left the country. Name one thing you’re grateful for today. My mom being here. What is your favorite high school memory? Long bus rides home with Jason. What is the most insane thing you’ve done to/for your crush that (s)he might not/might know about? Take a plane multiple times by myself and endure airports when my muscle atrophy was at its worse probably, lmao. Name three teachers you liked in high school. Coach Collie, Mrs. Cruz, Mrs. Williams... man, I could go on for a long time. I had great teachers. Who is your best friend? Sara. What’s your favorite song right now? Probably "Hunting Grounds" by In This Moment ft. Joe Cotela. Write a line from any song. My favorite lyric from the song that's playing right now is "I fell asleep at the wheel again, crashed my car just to feel again" bc some part of me feels that shit. Do you know at least one Disney song by heart? Which one? Oh, I'm sure there's a lot, "The Circle of Life" to name just one. All TLK ones really, lol. Would you rather be a hobbit, an elf, or a dwarf? E L F What are the first five things you would splurge on if you were a billionaire? Help Mom monetarily, and then like... I'd have to fight from blowing ALL of it on tattoos lmao. Do you blow dry your hair or do you let it air out? I just let it dry naturally after using a towel. Do you blush when you receive compliments? I think so. Depends, though. Candles or incense? Incenseeeeee. Can you juggle? No. Reason behind the last time you laughed until you cried? I don't remember. Are you one who brags a lot? No. Something you love to eat or drink at the fair? I don't know any typical "fair foods" I actually like. Your favorite vegetable? Broccoli. Are you confrontational? I'm the polar opposite. I will do anything to avoid confrontation. Have you ever caught yourself talking in your sleep? That's another nightly thing now. Do you catch lizards? No, leave wild animals be. Do you like pretzels? Yeah, preferably soft ones.

[wexregolden]

Read it on ao3 here <3

Chapter 8/19

THE BOY WHO LOVED Chapter 8

-The Midnight Duell Call-

---

The feeling of coming home after a long day of school, a day you´ve been exhausted from the second you woke up till now. The feeling of coming home, the feeling of taking off your shoes and jacket, putting your backpack down, the loss of weight off your shoulders which feels like a relief. Simply the feeling of coming home, the place you feel the most comfortable at.  

He was tired, so tired. Having relented when Gio, Luca and Elia tried to convince him to join them at the Baretto to get some studying done. Studying. Which ended up in various rounds of table football.  

His plan to go home straight after school was cancelled and so he only came home now, around 6pm, even more exhausted as before thanks to having to try to beat Gio and Luca at table soccer. He couldn´t help it. It´s essential to do so!

“Mamma?” Marti shouted int their apartment, wanting to know if his mother was home.  

“In the living room!” came a reply almost immediately.  

“Hey,” Marti greeted her as he entered the living room, pressing a kiss to her cheek after sitting down next to her on the couch. A smile appearing on her face.  

“How was your day, honey?”

“It was okay I guess. A bit exhausting but well, nothing major. I was just a bit tired.”

He put his phone and keys down on the little table in front of them, making a mental note to himself to take them back with him to his room later.  

“Tired? Did you stay awake till late?”

Marti immediately had to think back to his and Nico´s conversation last night that lasted till the morning. Yeah, he definitely stayed up late. But it was worth it.  

“Maybe,” he answered while a grin appeared on his face.  

“I see, I see. So no pity from me,” his mom answered, a grin appearing on her face too. Only short, as she came back to another topic afterwards.  

“But apart from that: Are you hungry? I made some pasta salad, there´s still some in the fridge.”

“I´m starving!” he answered, not exaggerating at all. Well okay, maybe a little. But only a little of course.  

“Help yourself then,” she answered with a laugh while Martino got up and went to the kitchen.

Taking a plate out of the cupboard and filling it with a loading of the pasta salad. A big one. Cause nothing, literally nothing, can beat the pasta salad of his mom, it´s the best.  

“Is it okay if I take this back to my room?” he asked as he was back in the living area.

“Of course!”

They exchanged a last smile before Martino went to his room, literally collapsing into bed, his food next to him. Before finally starting to eat he took his laptop from his desk, opening YouTube and clicking on some random video on his explore page.  

As Marti finally started eating and falling back into his pillows, he could actually feel the relaxation wash over him. His body starting to calm down and relax. His hunger disappearing.  

Suddenly, out of the blue, he was there again. On his mind, a mental image in front of his eyes. Bright smile, shiny eyes, beautiful hair. Niccolò.

He doesn´t know what and why he´s doing that, but he finds himself typing Nico´s name in the search bar on the opened YouTube page in front of him.

Niccolò Fares.  

Marti didn´t reckon to find anything here. Really, not at all.  

And so he got really surprised when he found that video, with Niccolò on the thumbnail, sitting behind a piano.  

Occupy2017 i concerti all´alba del fares

There was nothing holding him back as he immediately clicked on the video, starting to watch it.  

The soft sounds of the piano filled his room and made their way directly to Marti´s heart.  

Note by note.  

The sound of Nico playing the piano, a gentle piece, makes his heart beat faster, beating happily.

And the image, watching this boy sitting behind the instrument, his hands roaming over the piano keys, face focused, absorbed in the music he´s playing.  

This image, Nico playing the piano, it did something to Marti. To his heart.  

On a rational level he was impressed by Nico´s musical skills, yes. He himself would never be able to play an instrument like that, the way Niccolò played the piano.  

On the other hand, on an emotional level, this video made him fall even more for him. The boy on the screen in front of him. Niccolò.  

Damn it, yes, he fell for Niccolò.  

This boy. This boy he doesn´t know for that long. This boy he met over social media. But still, this boy who is one of the persons he feels the most comfortable around. This boy he has the feeling he wouldn´t have to hide his true self whilst being around him. This boy who stole his heart.  

The video was finished by now and he closed his laptop and put it aside. A sigh escaped him. And then he finished his pasta salad. Acting as if nothing has happened, on the outside at least.  

On the inside it looked differently. Really differently.  

His heart was beating, his mind was racing, all his thoughts wrapping around Niccolò.

Niccolò, Niccolò, Niccolò.

His thoughts even went that far that he could suddenly hear Nico´s voice everywhere, even in his apartment, in front of the door to his bedroom. And it felt so real. Too real.  

And as he heard his mother say something in the hall in front of his room and Nico´s laughter as an answer it suddenly hit him.  

“Mom? Do you have my phone?!” he shouted, his mom entering his room in the exact same moment.  

“Marti! You left your phone in the living room”

And there it was again: Nico´s laugh coming from his phone.  

Shit shit shit shit shit.

“Mamma! You can´t just answer my phone!”

“Come on, it´s not so bad! What should I have done instead? Just keeping it ringing? No way!”

“Yes!” Marti butted in at the same time as his mom finished her sentence.  

“Now give it to me!” he continued while he took his phone from his mother's hands, pressing it to his chest. Hearing Nico´s laughs even louder and clearer now.  

“And now out out out!” he said as he pushed his mom out of his room. Gently of course, a smile on his lips. Which got wider as he saw his mom was smiling too.  

“Bye Marti. Have fun phoning,” she said before she actually left, closing the door behind her.  

Martino inhaled deeply and exhaled loud afterwards, before he sat down on his bed again, pressing the phone to his ear.  

“Ciao.”

“Ciao Marti!” Nico said and Marti was basically able to hear his grin through the phone.  

“Come on, stop grinning! I can literally hear that through the phone!” Marti responded before he buried his face in his pillow, letting out a groan.  

A loud laugh escaped Nico´s mouth.  

“It´s not that bad, Marti! We just talked one or two minutes. She´s nice.”

“I know that she´s nice but still.”

“I´m glad you have such a good relationship with your mom. At least it seems like that from what you´ve told me.”

“We do. At least I would say that it´s like that. Yes, it wasn´t always easy and sometimes it can be hard when she has her lows and depressive episodes but she´s still my mom and I love her so much,” Marti said, a soft smile on his face.  

“That´s nice. Really, it sounds great.”

“It is. How´s your relationship with your parents?”

“Quite good too I´d say. Yes, we do have our ups and downs too and there´s some time I can´t stand them but overall, I do really love them too,” Nico said.

“That´s nice,” Marti answered with the same words as Nico did before, a smile on his lips.

And so they fell into their usual chatty banter. Talking about this and that. Books, social media, school, their friends and family, sharing stories from their childhood. Talking about nothing and everything at once. Laughing, laughing so much. Martino couldn´t think back to a time where he felt at ease like that with someone, just being happy and laughing all the time whilst chatting.  

It felt like no time was passing at all, like they just have started talking to each other, still having so much to talk about.  

But when Marti took a look at the clock it hit him. It was already after 11pm.  

Shit. Once again.  

“Nico?”

“Mhm?”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Wait a moment... Oh shit! I´m sorry, Marti!”

“Sorry? Why?”

“Well... I kept you awake again. And I know you need your beauty sleep,” Nico spoke and Marti was sure that there was a grin on his lips again. By now he was able to hear this even if it´s only over the phone.  

“Oh come on, fuck off with your beauty sleep, what´s up with you and that topic?!”

“Nothing Marti, nothing. I just think that you´re good looking and that you need your beauty sleep to keep that.”

And then it was silent between the two.  

Nobody said something, the only thing you could hear was their unregular breathing.  

And Marti blushed. He couldn´t help but his cheeks turned bright pink, maybe even red, and his gaze turned down to his lap.  

Right now he was really glad that Nico couldn´t see him and that they were only talking over the phone. Really glad.  

“Well, don´t get me wrong, not that you wouldn´t be handsome without getting sleep, I´m sure about that, but well, I just think that it´s... well, I mean... do you get me?” Nico said, stuttering a bit.  

He stopped after that sentence, breathing out loudly.

“Doesn´t matter, just forget it. I´m rambling nonsense again, don´t ask me what´s up with that today,” he continued afterwards.  

“Don´t worry,” Marti said, trying to appear calm, trying to not seem affected by Nico´s comments, him literally complimenting him and calling him handsome twice. He really tries. Which might not work the best as, on the inside, he´s everything but calm and relaxed. Really, everything. His heart was beating too fast again and his thoughts were wrapping around what Niccolò just told him.  

I just think that you´re good looking. Good looking, good looking, good looking.  

Handsome.

Silence set in between the two of them again, no one being able or brave enough to say something right now. Not knowing what to say at all.  

After about a minute, which felt like years, an eternity, not only a simple minute, Nico broke the silence.  

“But now to another important topic before we should possibly stop talking for today: Is there any afternoon you´re free this week?”

“Huh?”

“For another meeting, Marti! You said you want to repeat that too, right?”

A wide smile immediately appeared on Marti´s face, thinking about the fact that Nico really would like to meet him again.

“Yes!” he answered, probably a bit too fast and enthusiastic.  

“Of course I want to!” he continued, a bit more settled this time.  

“Great Marti! So, when are you free?”

Marti took a moment to think about it, trying to call his schedule into his mind.  

“What about Wednesday afternoon? After school? I should be free then.”

“Wednesday sounds great! I don´t have anything planned there too.”

“So, Wednesday it is?” Marti asked.  

“It is,” Nico simply answered.  

Martino turned silent again and smiled brightly to himself.  

He´s going to meet Nico again. In only two days. And Nico was the one who got it on, he wants to meet him too.  

“Any idea where we could meet this time? Or what about talking about the details tomorrow via messages?”

“Sounds good!” Marti said, still smiling and unable to get the smile off his face. He´s just too... happy.  

“Well then, I guess we should literally stop talking now. Not that I want to but for the sake of it not getting out of control like it did yesterday or should I say this morning?”

Marti had to grin at Nico´s words.  

“Oh, and for the sake of you getting your beauty sleep of course. Sorry, I just had to mention it again,” Nico said, followed by a laugh.  

“Once again: Shut up, Nico!”

“Come on, Marti, it´s funny! I don´t mean anything bad!”

“Yeah yeah yeah, for sure!”

“Really, Marti! You should see me now, I just put my hands up in defence. I really mean it!”

“Still not sure if I should believe you,” Martino responded, laughing afterwards.

Silence settled in again, not awkward or unpleasant, but a comfortable one.  

“Well then, we should really stop that call now and go to bed, I guess it´s about time. And we´re going to hear from each other tomorrow and plan our meeting?” Nico asked.  

“Sounds good,” Marti answered.  

“Sleep well, Marti”

“You too!”

“Can´t wait to see you again,” Nico said with this soft voice of his.

“Me neither,” Marti answered.  

“Good night, Marti.”

And with this the call ended.  

As Marti took the phone away from his ear and looked at the display, it hit him.  

5:04:34

They talked for five hours.  

And the clock said 11:56pm. Nearly midnight.  

It didn´t feel that long, not at all.  

He never talked to someone on the phone for that long. Simply because of the fact that there isn´t a person he could talk to for five hours without getting bored or running out of topics to talk about. Not with him. Not with Nico.

Yes, he knew it before that phone call, but now there´s no way at all to deny this anymore.  

He´s in love with Niccolò.  

---

Here we have the next chapter, wuhu :D Marti is in looove <3 And yes, new meet up coming soon, yayyy haha :D I hope you liked the chapter and thank you for reading it! I would love to hear what you think of it in a comment or my ask box <3

[maman-suho]

False Impression || Jackson Wang

When you went to the parc to read a book, you hadn’t expected the venue of a gorilla dressed in an awful tracksuit to ruin your concentration.

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Jackson Wang

Words: 3,5k

Tags: Humor? 

A/N: hmmmmmmmmmm... I initially just wanted to make fun of Jackson Wang while still complimenting him but... it somehow turned into a message against stereotypes. Sorry about that haha. And yeah the gif isn’t really representative of the Jackson Wang in this fic. Just imagine him with his purple tracksuit okay? 

/!\ Unedited /!\

« No. »

Watching his face crumple, you were almost enjoying the situation. Indeed, being disturbed by a womanizer while peacefully reading a book in a parc wasn’t really what you’d planned for the afternoon. Still, you had succeeded in finding some amusement by rejecting his advances without gentleness. 

When he arrived by your side, taking a seat without even asking, all you wanted was to get rid of him. The afternoon was great, the sun high in the sky and the parc wasn’t too crowded. If some would have complained about the wind, you couldn’t care less. Yes, you’d had some difficulties to read due to wild pages and tumultuous hair. But what was more convenient than impromptu gusts to push people away? Being almost alone in a desert island of green, brown and orange, a scarf around your neck,  somewhere hidden between thickets and falling leaves… As cheesy as it seemed, your heart could not deny the attraction force this place had on you. Especially during autumn. Thus, accepting this fact, you’d moved here to enjoy the silent music of the parc. 

Or at least that’s what you’d thought before a muscled gorilla had arrived to ruin the landscape with an awful tracksuit under a jacket and a blinding gold chain around his neck. 

« No? » The young man repeated with a high pitched voice. Even there, only mere centimeters away from him, you could see his fragile masculine ego trying its best to not break into pieces. All over his face, you were able to notice how this rejection was affecting him. But not wanting to let him know how tasty it was to push away what seemed to be a smooth talker, you did your best to hide your gloating smile and maintain composure. 

« Is it that surprising? » You asked. 

« At least tell me why.» Avoided he. Somehow this well-determined guy had managed to get a bit closer, his ass moving inches by inches so he could be as close as socially permissible. 

Usually, the reduced distance would not make any difference. Nonetheless, in this case, it affected your perception of the person. Because suddenly all you could focus on was his puppy eyes. 

Not that you were feeling remorse about pushing him away but you started to find it endearing. So with a joke, you tried to ease the atmosphere, while in reality, you’d mostly done it to ease your sudden emotional lack of control. « It’s because of the gold chain. » 

« What? »

« Just kidding. » You joked. 

Hope. That’s what your smile gave him. And honestly, it was enough to make his heart race. Since the beginning of the conversation and even before, when he saw you reading alone, it was the first time he had hope. Because finally, it might have appeared that the beautiful girl on this bench wasn’t as severe as he first thought. And while he was enjoying the view, taking his time to admire your bright smiling face and the malicious glint in your eyes, you realized how shiny were his. 

« So is it a yes? » He asked while putting an arm on the backrest.

« No I wasn’t kidding the first time. » You crudely answered even if your happy expression hadn’t left your features.

Almost closing his eyes in frustration, Jackson turned his head to avoid your glare and lowered his shoulders. It seemed like an exaggerated act but it was the reflection of his feelings. False hope. Two rejections were too much, even for his determined and stubborn self. Multiple times he had had to face this kind of situation but today was special. Indeed you were still here, right next too him, and it felt like you didn’t especially want to leave either. On the contrary, you were now facing him, book closed and you kept smiling. He hadn’t faced any slap in the face. Or at least, not yet.

Glancing quickly at his friends far around the corner, he remembered the stake and decided to insist. « May I at least know why? »

You had to admit your surprise concerning his way of speaking. Strangely, his appearance wasn’t revealing the whole person this guy seemed to be. He might have chosen to wear a hideous tracksuit, his way of speaking wasn’t too basic nor too aggressive. He was expressing himself clearly, without slang or vulgarity. And you started to think that maybe the stereotypes society gave you were wrong. 

« Honestly? » You asked while gauging him. He could clearly see in your eyes how your brain tried desperately to figure out what was a lie and what was not. But since you seemed inclined to keep talking he didn’t mind. Because this glare was a proof of your curiosity, and your interest was his only way to achieve his aims.

« Sure. » He said with a smile. « How can I improve myself without feedback? »

« Oh I’m sorry. You can’t improve that. » The teasing tone on your lips felt attractive to his ears. This, mixed with your relaxed posture, was an evidence of how you were now comfortable around him. 

A full smile appeared on his face.

Anyone would have been able to perceive how in reality he wasn’t really looking at you. But you were too focused on denying how cool this situation was to discern it yourself. In fact, the young man was admiring you, from the way you were thinking about how not to be too rude, to the expressions you had while not realizing how curious he was about you, despite the original reason of his way to your bench. « What can’t I improve? » He finally asked.

« The first impression. » Your eyes were now staring directly at him. « The first image you give to people. »

« I’m afraid to ask, but what’s the first impression I give to people? »

« Honestly? »

« Yes, honestly! You just rejected me twice, I want to know why. » He almost shouted. And surprisingly you suddenly didn’t want to be honest anymore. He seemed nice, and unexpectedly charming. He might have had the guts to disturb your so precious minutes of reading, but now with his hair messy due to the wind, you were surprisingly ready to forgive him for this affront.

« Is it that surprising for you? I mean, to be rejected… »

« Honestly, yes. It doesn’t happen that much. » Instantly he saw you raise your eyes to heaven. Shit what did he do again? Thinking about it, he was keeping it to himself so much, trying his best to not be offended all the time. Why was he still here? « What? » He asked, feeling his nerves on edge.

« You’re confirming the first impression. »

« Which is? »

« The fuckboy one. The image of the guy who knows what he wants and will go away just after he got it. » You stopped yourself before picking your speech up again. « Okay wait. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I’m just implying that it’s not the perfect image to accost a girl on a bench, with a book in her hands. But if you want to pick up a bimbo in a nightclub then yeah, keep going. Next time you should at least wear a jean and a shirt. You might look nice enough to get what you want.» 

« And what do I want? »

« Oh please, stop acting like girls don’t know why guys approach them. »

A long and awkward silence then enveloped the conversation and you realized that maybe, you’d said too many things. On his side of the bench, Jackson waited to see you redden with embarrassment. But the young man didn’t perceive the regrets he was searching on your face. 

On your side, you couldn’t feel any shame, because all you said was the reflection of your thinking. And unfortunately, the confident person you were did not regret it. 

« You never stop uh? » He gave you a teasing yet reassuring smile. 

« Do you? » 

He offered you a quite funny high pitched and almost offended laugh, while briefly watching the sky. « True. » Now it seemed like his ass had melted to the woody bench. « But still. It’s unfair. » He answered. 

« What is? »

« It’s a value judgment based only on my physique. It’s full of stereotypes. » He started again while truly looking at you in the eyes.

« It’s not only about the looks. It’s also about the attitude » you started again. « about the way you speak and the ‘I’m so handsome, I can’t be rejected’. » You mimicked and made him smile. « Plus, no offense, of course, but you don’t even know my name. So I’m not sure you chose to approach me due to my complex and funny personality, you know? »

He laughed. From the way you were moving your hands to how you’d transformed your voice to impersonate him, you were far from what he had expected when he first noticed you on this bench. « Okay, You might be right. I chose to approach you because you looked truly beautiful while reading on that bench. But, for my defense, I never said I was handsome. You did. »

Shit. He got you. He was much more intelligent than you originally thought and you could feel yourself blushing just at the idea of your self-betrayal. Afterward, you didn’t know if you were blushing due to his compliment or due to the Freudian slip your lips let go. All of this wasn’t supposed to happen, and you hadn’t imagined how quickly this situation would escalate. 

You were fully aware of his handsomeness. Who wouldn’t? Cause even if he wasn’t as tall as you used to like, he had a beautiful smile which you thought was probably as bright as his personality. Plus you could perceive easily his fitness and the muscles coming with it, even if his tracksuit was hiding most of it. And to be honest, his voice was probably his most seductive trait. In only ten minutes of conversation, you had had enough time to analyze his physique, but you found yourself unable to put a finger on the personality behind this fuckboy mask. And looking at him _or mostly avoiding his glare due to embarrassment, you started to admit how curious it made you feel. 

That’s when you saw them. Two guys were standing beside a bush, watching you with full smiles on their faces. 

Thinking about it you wondered how you’d manage to miss this sight. Indeed they were not really discreet while standing there and playfully looking at you. They were even laughing. A skinny guy with panther patterns on his jacket and another dressed like a grandpa. What a funny view.

« How much did you bet? » You almost attacked.

He’d seen the change in your mood. Actually, it was almost if he felt it. And seeing you look in his friends’ direction he felt his heart accelerate. In just a second all his work to charm you and have your number had been reduced to ashes. 

« Bet what? » In a rush he decided to play the innocent card, hoping it will save him. But as your appearance showed it you weren’t stupid enough to let it go.

« It might feel that my attention is only focused on your lies but the tall toothpick with a Gucci belt over there is quite distracting. » You saw him fight a smile at the nickname you gave to his friend. 

« What the-. » He started. 

Thinking about it, it was obvious to you. Why a guy like him would bother approaching a girl like you when all he had to do to get one was to snap his fingers in an appropriate place? This approach had been planed, you realized, from his word to how he will win by accosting you. There must be a reward behind it. 

« So Tracksuit guy. Tell me. What was the bet?» You had an annoying knack of making him smile even when he could feel the control slip between his fingers. 

« Jackson. » he rectified.

Five seconds of pure silent then enveloped the conversation while all you were doing was to stare at him in his no longer sweet eyes. And as if the pressure was too heavy to carry he dropped the bomb.

« Okay they bet 50 bucks that I couldn’t get the number of a girl like you. » he stiffened. 

To be honest it hurt. Even if you’d started to understand the situation, it was really offensive. You did your best to hide it and keep a cool atmosphere between you two, but again, he felt it. Jackson could perceive just with a look how you thought he only came to you for the bet. He realized how mean he was suddenly seen, and if his ego had been hurt by your rejection, he’d just broke yours. « But make no mistake, all I said was-» He tried to explain himself. 

Jackson’s words had difficulties to make a sentence since his mind was too busy trying to find a proper summary of his thoughts. You truly were beautiful, all he said was the reflection of his opinion about you. And the last thing he wanted was for you to believe he only came for money.

« A girl like me? » You asked roughly. 

« Yes. » He hardly breathed. A new kind of silence was now making him suffocate. How could you have so much effect on him? « An intellectual. » He said calmly as if it was obvious. Your eyebrows had raised with surprise and obviously, some satisfaction. It was almost nice between his lips. Those words felt like a true compliment.

« Are you saying that you’re stupid? »

« Nope. » He smirked. « But I don’t go to parcs just to sit on a bench and read a book. »

« What do you do then? Do you take off your shirt and fool around just to draw attention? » Considering his face and how he started to adjust his position to sit straight you could feel some truth in your words. Indeed you could clearly imagine it. The tracksuit guy taking off his shirt to reveal a toned and gleaming chest under the sunlight. Him, putting a hand in his fluffy hair. His eyes narrowed and aiming to the horizon as if only a god could defy his perfection. 

Blinking quickly you tried to erase this vision. Had you just fantasize about a gorilla in a tracksuit? Please make an effort, this dude just tried to delude you for a bet, you told yourself.

« That’s… » He watched you lost your concentration for a second, your eyes wandering quickly on his chest. « …pretty much the idea… but right now it’s too cold for that. »

Jackson had the strength to make you go through an emotional roller coaster like no one ever did before. 

« Okay, do you see the guy with a gloomy face? » He started again while you were trying to focus. You frowned your eyebrows.

« You don’t even look at him how do you–» You started.

« I know Jinyoung has the face of a guy who wants to come back home. »

You smiled again and then brightened his mood and motivation. « Okay then yes, I see him. »

« Just as an example, this guy is an intellectual. When I noticed you on that bench he recognized the book you’re reading. HE said I wasn’t able to get your number. But that’s the toothpick beside him who bet 50 bucks. And since I had planned to approach you anyway, why not kill two birds with one stone? »

This sudden honesty had you surprised. But no one would get themself trapped two times in a raw with beautiful charmings words. « Let’s stop with all those lies okay?” You started again. “I don’t care anymore if you find me attractive or not, cause actually I already doubted a guy like you would. So let’s summarize the situation. You bet with those to guys over there that if I give you my number, you’ll have 50 dollars. Is that correct? » 

Your tone was almost aggressive, and he started to be fed up with all the rude words you were spitting at the minute. « Again, I never lied,” he justified himself calmly “but let’s say that your summary is accurate. »

« Okay, just give them a false number and pretend it’s mine. » You fakely smiled.

« Nope. Too easy. They will ask for proofs it’s yours. »

« Okay then, I have an idea. Since it’s too late for you to get my number with charm, let’s make a deal. A business one. »

That’s when he realized your strict appearance gave him at least one true characteristic of yours; you were pragmatic. 

« …Keep going. » He smiled while watching your brain work to arrange a good deal.

« The deal is just to have my number right? »

« Yup »

« Nice. I’ll give you mine if you give me half of the bet. »

He laughed, making you smile. You knew he wasn’t making fun of you, but it still was charming. « Are you implying that I’m paying you to have your number? » He asked, looking at you again straight in the eyes. You felt like he was now even closer than before but didn’t move either.

« Absolutely. » You answered proudly. 

« That’s absolutely immoral. »

« Less than approaching a girl and lie to her just to win 50 dollars. »

He was speechless. How could such a pretty mouth spit so many rudenesses? « I did not. » He corrected himself again. 

« Plus don’t make a big deal out of it. You’ll still have 25 dollars in the end. » 

That’s when you friendly hit his shoulder that Jackson realized he was a goner. He came here to charm you but in the end, he was the charmed one. « I’m still not sure you really understood why I originally accosted you.” he paused. “But okay.»

« Is it a deal… » Putting your book in your bag you hesitated a bit. « Hum what’s your name again? »

« Jackson. » He smiled and you swear you’d felt your cheeks blush. 

« Nice. So, is it a deal Jackson? » You said while offering him your hand.

Some seconds were then spent in complete silence. All you could hear was his loud breaths and the heavy heartbeats echoing in your head. 

« Deal. » He said with a deep seducing voice to finally shake your hand with his. 

« Okay give me your phone. » You asked.

___

« I have it! » He yelled while approaching Bambam and Jinyoung. 

The two guys were watching you leave the parc peacefully. « Really? » Surprisingly asked the one with big ears.

« I’m sure you paid her for that. We saw you giving her money. » Laughed Bambam.

Jackson smirked. Of course they did. « Maybe, but the bet was to have her number. It didn’t specify how do get it. » he said in a malicious tone. Back in his mind, he was trying to not let his defeat affect his speaking. Jackson couldn’t let them know he affected his ego. 

« Wait a sec. It’s too beautiful to be true.” Said Jinyoung with a concerned face. “Text her. I want to be sure. »

[Jackson] - 4:12pm: Hey!

[Unknown number] - 4:13pm: hmm… who r u?

[Jackson] - 4:13pm: Jackson, the handsome guy who succeeded in getting your number.

[Unknown number] - 4:16: Sorry you might have text the wrong number, I don’t know any Jackson.

« Dude she just scammed you » Loudly laughed Bambam. He almost tripped over a branch while letting all the surrounding hearing his giggles. Jinyoung then joined him, letting Jackson alone with his despair.

“Wait, guys. It could be her. She could be pretending she-”

« Yeah, yeah. Don’t make this face we won’t talk about with the others. » Started Jinyoung after patting his shoulder.

« Liar. » Said Jackson without any fun in his voice.

“Okay, enough fun, guys we’re late. Jaebum will kill us. We wasted too much time with this girl. But it worthed it.” Finally stopped Bambam while starting to walk towards the exit of the parc. “Let’s go.” 

« So, do you still love intellectuals? » Asked Jinyoung more calmly.

Jackson was peacefully looking at the empty bench, not knowing if he was amused or offended. Then he exhaled loudly and started walking with his friends.

« You have no idea. »

[shilohstrxfe]

Character  Intro - Shiloh Strife

╰☆╮ ROSS LYNCH ,  21 , CISMALE , HE/HIM ☆ — wait , is that ( SHILOH STRIFE ) ? dean lockwood has been looking for them . you didn’t hear it from me but , apparently the ( SOPHOMORE ) might know something about the whole omega chi & kappa tau situation . while they can be ( CRUDE & STUBBORN ) , they’re far too( DEDICATED & INNOVATIVE ) to be involved , right ? those who know them say they’re reminded of ( rainy days outdoors daring the lightning to strike you, chapped lips and a cold nose, a murky pond in the middle of the forest, something otherworldly and vaguely threatening, the light feeling that accompanies playing music for yourself ) whenever they’re around .  honestly , the ( MUSIC PERFORMANCE ) major should try to keep their head down . after the events of last semester , lockwood is out for blood . did you know that ( SHILOH ) is a member of ( KAPPA TAU GAMMA ) ? that might explain why their name is being brought up .  ☆ Z  ,19+ , HE/HIM , & EST ╰☆╮

Hey, it’s you boy Z back at it again with a second character! I’m excited to introduce y’all to Shiloh - little shit and younger brother to the wonderful Sam Strife. He’s here to make your life slightly more difficult and play some bitchin’ music along the way. 

I’m working on a connections page right now so when it’s finished, it should be linked here. Without further adu, here’s a shitstorm of an intro I wanted to get posted before I had to leave. if you have any questions, let me know and I’ll try my best to answer/clarify. 

Tw for below (if you can’t read because of these, let me know and I’ll give you an abridged version without triggers) : Child Abuse/Past Child Abuse, Verbal/Mental Abuse, Parental Neglect, Anxiety, Depression, Alcohol/Drug Use

Basics -

Name: Shiloh Sebastian Strife

Age: 21

Gender: Cismale (he/him)

Sexuality/Romantic Orientation: Demiromantic Bisexual 

Siblings: 1 Older Brother (Samuel) and 2 younger siblings

Year of Study: Junior

Major: Music Performance

Minor: Psychology

Greek Life: Part of Kappa Tau Gamma

Extra-Curricular Activities: Men’s Swim Team, He’s part of an alt-rock band where he sings lead and plays bass when needed

Intro - (read sam’s intro for more on their childhood)

- His name means ‘the peaceful one/peace’, which is ironic since he’s the farthest thing from a peaceful person - He's the second eldest at 21 (literally just had a birthday on the 20th) but he doesn’t act like it. If Sam’s responsible and nurturing, Shiloh’s reckless and standoffish at the best of times. - He's a little shit through and through -  However, he wasn’t always. When he was still technically under his mother’s roof, he was extraordinarily well-behaved. Once he got out from under her thumb, however, he went a little crazy with the freedom - Pierced his ears, dyed his hair, drank till he passed out - anything he could do to shed his mother’s ideals, he did.  - He’s settled a bit, but not much, and he’s big into the party scene.  - Most of the time, he’s terrified. Fear is a constant in his life, even when it really has no reason to be there, and more often than not that fear is expressed as anger or he goes overboard trying to counteract it and does stupid shit that should very well be scary because it’s DANGEROUS - Overcompensation should be his middle name because it's basically all he does. He puts on a front of cocky fearlessness because he's tired of being afraid, he's tired of feeling like he's not good enough and he's basically hinging all his hopes on the philosophy 'fake it 'till you make it.'  - Getting into Hollingsworth was mandatory in his mind and so he followed in his brother's footsteps and used his musical talent to shoehorn his way in. He's a fantastic Cellist and he loves to play but he rarely makes it public knowledge because Cellos aren't really seen as a 'badass' instrument and he's gotta maintain the aesthetic.  - He loves Sam more than anyone else in the entire goddamn world - including his other siblings, though he puts them at a close second - and Shiloh would probably murder for him in need be. Seriously. Not exaggerating.  - His sense of self is super messed up. He doesn't really know who he is or what he wants to do with himself, so he puts a lot of effort into not thinking about it - His identity was basically ripped away from him by his mother and he never had a chance to figure out who he wanted to be until he moved away. Now, he doesn’t know where to start, but he does know he wants to squash the pieces of himself his mother encouraged.  -  Shiloh can be nice, he's great at being nice, he's just done with it. At this point, it feels wrong. Niceness is a mask, yet another thing their mother ruined for him. So manners can go fuck themselves, thank you very much  - he’s got a hard time forming interpersonal relationships, but when he does he clings to them like a lifeline. Fights with his friends/family member destroy him.  - he’s never had a serious boyfriend/girlfriend, but he kind of wants one

Lighthearted Headcannons - 

- He’s 5′10″ and pissed about it. His brother’s like six inches taller, which is just unacceptable, so he wears shoes with a bit of a heel to compensate  - he dyes his hair a lot. Most commonly it’s either black, blond, or peach. They’re his favorite colors and he thinks they look good on him.  - He plays bass/does lead vocals for an Alt Rock band in the area and performing is (oddly enough) one of the only times he doesn’t feel fear/anxiety - he loves cats - for a while he wanted a pet rat, but those dreams died when he went to go get one and realized their tales freaked him out - he’s a huge sci-fi nerd

[crimsonbluemoon]

Unforgettable- Ohmtoonz Oneshot

So this week is always a hard week for me emotionally, and I needed some fluff to make my heart feel a little better. I heard this song the other day and I knew I wanted to write something for it. So I hope you enjoy. <3

Here is the song this story is based off of

Unforgettable

“Toonzy, where did you put the extra boxes?” The brunette popped his head out of the closet that he was rummaging through, blinking his hazel eyes when not receiving a response from his loud boyfriend. Ryan’s first thought was that the other man had distracted himself again during their packing. The two men had been working on tossing their entire apartment into boxes all day, the day fading into the night before the brunette had even realized it. They probably would have been done with the tedious task hours earlier, if Luke could stay focused. Ohm had always been the one in the couple that kept the train rolling, whether it was making dinner or preparing the next step in their life. Cartoonz seemed to prefer just going with the motion, never planning more than a few hours in advance. Sometimes it made Ohm laugh, while other moments could cause the younger man to roll his eyes in annoyance. Just once, Ryan would have liked his flitty boyfriend to stay on-task.

But that wasn’t the man he had fallen in love with.  

“I swear if he’s looking through his cd collection from high school again…” The hazel-eyed man gave a glance to the bed when a soft meow replied to his statement, Ryan smiling at the pretty long-haired cat now peering up at him. She looked elegant and fully judgemental of Ohm’s lack of organization, but he was used to the feline giving the snooty look. He simply smiled as hopped up to his feet, patting her twice before leaving the bedroom. He didn’t have to look long for his boyfriend, the bearded man sitting on the couch in their living room. And just as he suspected, his eyes were roaming something small in his grasp, Ryan pressing his hands to his hips as he sighed. “Luke.”

“Huh?” The brown gaze lifted from the object to glance up to Ryan, blinking twice to show he hadn’t heard Ohm’s earlier call of his name. Groaning to exaggerate his annoyance, Ryan walked over to the southern man, his head shaking in time to his ‘tsk’ noises.

“If you keep getting distracted, we’re never going to move.”

“Shut the fuck up, bitch.” The shove on his arm had Ryan laughing, his hand covering his giggles while he leaned his head onto the taller man’s shoulder. Though he knew he would regret wasting the packing time, the brunet couldn’t help himself from snuggling into the warmth at his side. A break wouldn’t kill them, even if they had to be out of the apartment by 5pm the next day. Not focusing on the encroaching deadline, Ohm glanced down to the large hands of his lover, catching a glimpse of what had caught his interest.

“Hey, is that...my wristband?” The black rope was worn and losing its dark color, the silver rabbit pendant less shiny than Ryan remembered it. It took him a moment to identify the jewelry as his own, having lost where he’d left it years ago. Where had Cartoonz re-discovered it? As if reading Ryan’s mind, the bearded lover smirked, swinging the black cord around his finger as he spoke.

“Found it behind the stack of books I was packing up. Princess probably brought it up there thinking it was her toy or something.”

“Now I know why they call them cat burglars,” Ryan mumbled, remembering the smug look of the fluff ball curled up on their bed.

“And Buddy’s the reason whiny, needy people are called bitches,” Was Luke’s reply, making Ohm raise his voice in protest.

“Hey, don’t be talking about Buddy like that!” The terrier in question was sleeping in the corner of the living room, though he ears flicked at the mention of his name. Not wanting to disturb the pup, Ryan snatched the bracelet from Cartoonz’s grasp, slipping it back onto his wrist. The weight of the rope against his skin felt nice, a tiny smile rising on his lips as he glanced at the rabbit. “I’m glad you found this; it’s my-”

“Favorite thing you got from your trip to Spain.” The way that Luke finished the sentence made Ryan blink, glancing back up at the man who shrugged and grinned at the look of confusion. “You told me the whole story the first night we met in person.”

“How did you remember my story? That was four years ago!”

“Because I remember everything about that night, Ohmie.” Luke’s tap on his nose paired with the old nickname made Ryan blush, glancing away from his boyfriend to fiddle with the worn out wristband.

“What are you talking about? We weren’t even dating back then.” It had taken the two a year to confess their feelings, a fact that everyone in their group seemed to already know. The men had been far too stubborn for their own good, pretending faster heartbeats and losses of breaths were meaningless. So the fact that Toonz was claiming to have a photographic memory of their first night was impossible for Ryan.

“So what? Are you calling me a liar?”

“...Not exactly.”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” The explosion returned the smile to Ryan’s lips, laughing at the look of pure betrayal plastered over Luke’s face. Trying to soothe his lover, Ryan turned to face him on the couch, one leg curling under the other while his hands linked slowly behind the strong neck in front of him.

“It’s just impossible to remember everything about a night that neither of us knew would change our lives. I mean, I can’t even remember the name of the bar we went to-”

“St. Claire’s.” The instant answer had Ryan blinking, taken aback by the ease that was reflected in the knowledge Luke provided. But he didn’t seem to be done, taking the moment to flesh out the answer. “It was a dingy bar that didn’t have my favorite beer, so I had to settle for some shitty Miller Coors. You didn’t give a fuck because they had a bunch of fruity margaritas and you had to try the mango one, which also tasted like shit.”

“The mango one was fantastic,” Ryan replied, though he knew it was less about the taste and more about the pleasant buzz it gave him after downing it in nerves. Though his memory wasn’t as sharp as Luke was claiming his was, Ohm had some memories of the night they shared.

“Bet it tasted even better when that guy with the weird mole under his eye bought you one across the bar.” The sour look that came over his boyfriend’s expression helped Ryan remember the moment. Though the face was missing some factors, the mole was very vivid in Ohm’s memory, making him shiver in disgust.

“How do you remember all of this?” Ryan asked, trying to erase the picture from his mind. Luke’s quiet gaze caught the hazel-eyed man’s attention, surprised by how serious the other man’s face had become. It was rare for his boyfriend to fall silent, especially when knowing he had the upper hand in a conversation. Normally, Cartoonz would be rubbing his superior memory in Ohm’s face, bragging about his brain’s mental strength with enough bravado to make Ryan tackle him. But this moment felt different, and Ryan’s stomach started to flutter the longer it lingered. The sudden rush of heat on his face wasn’t as common as it had been the first year they dated, when they were still new and unsure of their love. And yet here, the Chicago native felt like he was being dragged back on their first date, thumbs nervously rubbing against the back of Luke’s hairline to try and calm himself.

“We met on October 14th.” The soft voice that Luke used when speaking about the night was rare, jolting Ryan’s heartbeat into a rapid pace despite the serenity of the story-telling. “You wore that grey hoodie you love because you said you wanted to still be Ohm, even if we were meeting in person. I’d already had three beers before you got there, but you caught up pretty fast with how many girly drinks you tossed back. We sat at the bar because Delirious had told me that getting a table would look too much like a ‘date’. You reeked of Axe. Like, I swore you took a fucking bath in it or something.”

“I’d been on a plane all day, give me a break.” He did recall his panic over smelling like sweat and vomit, the woman next to him on the plane suffering from motion sickness. Ohm’s defense made the edge of Luke’s lift twitch up, leaning closer to continue the story.

“The start of the night was stupid; you made me try and guess your middle name, and made me buy you the most disgusting fried green beans as an appetizer. You couldn’t look me in the eye for the first hour. Not until your fourth drink, when mole guy sent over his flirty offering, and you started to panic. So you grabbed my hand and begged me to come dance with you so he’d think we were together.” The memory flashed through Ohm’s mind like a picture reel, watching his younger self drag the snickering Cartoonz onto the dancefloor of the crowded bar. The music was a lost memory to Ryan, but the way that Luke let him link their fingers and sway to the random beat mad his hands tingle from the flashback.  

“What song was it?” Ryan asked, closing his eyes when Luke pressed their foreheads together and gave his signature soft chuckle.

“Marry you, by Bruno Mars.” There was no hesitation in the answer, the warm air from Cartoonz’s mouth brushing over Ohm’s lips. “You said it made you wanna fall in love with someone who’d make you homemade breakfast and wouldn’t judge you for watching the Puppy Bowl every year. And when I told you I could make a mean bowl of cheerios, you declared we were gonna get married. ”

“I was...very drunk.” Which probably explained why he couldn’t remember nearly as much of the night as his boyfriend. But hearing the story from Luke’s point of view made up for it, the details filling in murky parts of his memory.  

“Yeah, you were. Which is probably why you kissed me.” The new piece of information had Ohm’s eyes opening wide, glancing into the warm brown gaze that was lined with humor. “Yup, gave me a big old kiss on the cheek in the middle of the dance floor.”

“I did not,” Ohm protested instantly, wanting to bury his face into Luke’s chest when he nodded their heads together through their forehead contact before tapping his right cheek.

“Yes sir, you did. Right here.”

“Why would you let me do that?” The miserable groan Ryan released was loud, and he expected a snicker or a teasing remark from his boyfriend. But when none came, Ohm had to look at the face his lover was making, not expecting the range of emotions flashing over the older man’s face.

“You really didn’t know back then, huh?”

“Know what?”      

“Ohm, I almost got us a table. I didn’t hesitate to pay for your nasty green beans. I wanted to dance like a fool with you. I...okay, I totally still judge you for the Puppy bowl obsession; I’m learning to accept it. I didn’t know shit about cooking before that night. But I learned how to make pancakes and home fries from scratch because you drunkenly said you loved breakfast. And when you said we were gonna get married?” The question had Ryan’s eyes widening, his breath hitching when Luke reached behind him to grab the hands shaking on the back of his neck. The paler, small hands were held in Luke’s, dropping between them on the couch. And throughout the movement, brown eyes never left hazel, stealing any words that Ryan thought to speak. “You kissed me because I said yes. And it wasn’t just to stop that dude from hitting on you or because we’d been drinking. I wasn’t just going with the motions. It was because for years, I...fuck it.”

“Cartoonz-” And then the man was moving, Ryan’s stomach flipping when his boyfriend sunk onto his knee on the floor. Hands squeezed around his own before one pulled away, shoving into the loose pocket of the sweatpants Luke wore.

“I had a whole fucking plan for this.”

“You never plan,” Ohm answered weakly, not wanting to rush to conclusions at the pose. Luke didn’t look up to his boyfriend when he switched hands, checking the other pocket of his pants.

“Fuck you, Ohm, I had everything ready for tomorrow but I had to find that damn bracelet-” Luke’s muttering to himself was cut off when he pulled out the item he’d been searching for, the small velvet box leaving Ohm breathless.

“Oh, my God.” Ryan’s whisper seemed to send a wave of relief over the older man, who gave an easy grin when flipping the case open. The silver gleam of the ring in the box made the brunet’s throat dry out, while his eyes couldn’t blink back the tears now sprouting in them. “Oh my God.”

“Delirious is gonna kill me for asking you early, because I promised he could be there...fuck, we’ll just do it again or something. He’s stupid and won’t know. Uh, I mean, if you say-”

“Yes.” Ryan couldn’t stop his lips from blubbering out his answer, a grin splitting his face as his hands reached out to grab the scruffy face in front of him. Ohm used his leverage to yank Luke up onto the couch, barely waiting for the other’s knees to find purchase on the edge of the sofa before kissing him. He enjoyed the way Luke’s shoulders relaxed instantly, kissing back without hesitation. Their lips always melded perfectly together, but this kiss felt different. It was full of their love, from years of being together. Of years they spent pining. The pain both went through when thinking the other could never be theirs to hold. It had all been leading to this, Ryan knew it somewhere in his soul. Feeling Cartoonz cup his face, tilting him back to better access his lips, was like finding home. The kiss didn’t intensify, but stayed simmering with potential when the two pulled back slowly. Their eyes met as Ryan caught his breath, his smile rising again when seeing the relieved look on Luke’s face.

“Don’t sound too eager, God damn.” But the jest was lacking sass, too full of joy to let any other emotion show. It was infectious, Ryan giggling when Luke started to kiss down his jawline.

“All because of a bracelet,” he murmured, voice hitching when Luke’s mouth skimmed a sensitive spot on his neck.

“All because of you.” Then the southern man was pulling back, his eyes shining with the love Ryan never expected he’d deserve.

“Why me?” But he took it willingly, knowing he’d never be able to love another soul as much as the one now whispering his answer against Ryan’s lips.

“Because you’re unforgettable.”

And thats the end of this purely fluffy mess. I haven't written much for them lately so I felt they deserved it. I hope that it makes your day bright, too. Thank you for reading. As always, like, reblog, and let me know what you think! ^.^

[margridarnauds]

XVI. The Tower and XXII. The Fool please!

Thanks!

XVI. The Tower: Do you easily change your opinion on matters? What makes you lose faith in other people? Is there anything, or anyone you feel safe with?

Do you easily change your opinion on matters?

I don’t really think I change my opinion TOO much, at its base, if that makes any sense? When I’m around people, I do find myself molding myself into what the conversation requires, or at least shutting myself up unless it’s something that I find truly deplorable/can back up easily, but I think it takes a lot for my own personal opinion to change. Except for that one day or so when I woke up a conservative Methodist and went to bed as a liberal (alright I was “libertarian” but that went down the drain fast) atheist. That was a fun time. In my research, I try to keep an open mind, but I’ll own to my own confirmation bias. I can say “This is a good paper, you make good arguments,” but…do I fully accept it in my mind? No. But also I tend to see things more in shades of gray to a potentially annoying extent as it is, so when I change my opinion, it’s…not necessarily a matter of saying “This thing has some bad points” it’s “This thing’s bad points now outweigh its good points in my mind.” Part of why I ultimately chose lit over history as my focus was that I like that there’s not really a press for an Ultimate Truth in lit, in the sense that everything’s much more open to interpretation, whereas history tends to pressure more for definite ARGUMENTS. 

What makes you lose faith in other people?

It’s odd, because losing faith in people, for me, is rarely a matter of ONE single thing. I try to give people second and third chances, I tend to brush off that little niggling, “Something’s not right here” feeling, etc. So, when I finally lose faith, it’s a Big Thing, but it’s also not one that I can solidly put down to a single thing, which also makes it very hard when I’m trying to build a timeline in my head. Betrayal, lies, cruelty (though I do TRY to understand that people can have bad days, but…it doesn’t ERASE it, you know?), willful ignorance, finding out that they support things that I find personally deplorable, all the things that you’d really expect. 

(Funny story there: For ages I didn’t get crushes. Not one. Then, I got a strange…thing on a guy in my German class. Not a straight-up crush, but I LIKED him in a way that was slightly more than platonic. And I was like, “Okay, I’m bi instead of ace after all.” Then, I found out he supported Trump and he made some insanely transphobic and biphobic comments under the guise of “debate” because he was That Guy. /Crush, and that was basically the last time I got a crush on a guy. My brain just went “nein.”) 

It’s also really, really hard if I’d previously really trusted and looked up to someone and that happens. That’s really when I start wondering if there’s something wrong with *me* or if I’m over-exaggerating things to suit my own narrative. 

Is there anything, or anyone you feel safe with?

My dogs, my cats, my mom, for the most part, though she does have the little habit of telling my aunt things in the name of “family unity” when I had meant for it to be a personal matter. See: When I begged her not to tell my aunt I’m an atheist because my aunt is REALLY STAUNCHLY conservative, when I begged her not to tell her that I wanted to get out of the country because of the situation at home + politically, etc. 

Safety is a generally relative concept, anyway; I can trust that my mom and aunt won’t abandon me to be raised by wolves and will be there for me when I need them barring a huge catastrophe, I can trust that my mom can help me work through an anxiety attack and keep a solid 80% of my secrets, I can trust that my friends can handle my various eccentricities and questionable sense of humor, and I can trust that my dogs and cats will be with me no matter what because I’m the one who feeds them and gives them scritches. 

It’s all much less depressing than it sounds. 

XXII. The Fool: How much weight do you give to other people’s opinion? What is an adventure you were part of - or you wish you could be part of? Is there something you have an endless passion for? 

How much weight do you give to other people’s opinion?

I blame it on the bullying, but I have this odd…thing where I simultaneously have an “I don’t give a fuck” and “I give every fuck” attitude to people’s opinions. Like, on one hand, there’s probably not been a single feature of mine that’s not been ripped to pieces at some point. I mean, I had comics drawn of me having sex with my cats by my best friend at the time when I was 12 years old. It was a lovely, lovely period in my life. And, as a result, I think I developed a very self-deprecating sense of humor, as well as the idea that, well, I’ll be ripped to shreds no matter what, so I might as well express myself and damn the consequences. 

Well…that and being homeschooled for most of my high school years. It’s astonishing how much your opinions and interests can diverge if you’re not under the pressure to necessarily conform.  

But, at the same time, it also made me sensitive to personal criticism, as I have this idea that everyone hates me and is just being polite, that I’m really annoying, etc. One of the things that actually devastated me in college was reading teacher feedback, because even though I knew they were just trying to help me become a stronger academic, the thought that they might find me…wanting in some way stung. Especially when it was teachers that I really respected and looked up to. (Which, tbh, was all my teachers because I have a painful…thing when it comes to authority figures and trying to appease them and-Oh God I’m actually Peyrol minus the homicide, erratic temper, and questionable BDSM. That and our faculty was lovely.) I legit had to have my mom read the feedback, because I wanted to have it filtered and I was, like, worried one of them would say, “Rachel, you are a disgrace to the Humanities program and this school. This paper is shit. Goodbye” or something. 

I’Il often find myself softening my opinions or keeping silent if I feel like it could be dangerous, or if it might affect someone’s view of me, and I’m hyper-sensitive about, say, pauses in a conversation, because I’ll be like, “Oh, I’ve done it now.” And then in the next second, I’ll reblog, “FUCK OFF ANTIS” on my blog because, again, it’s a strange duality…thing with me. 

What is an adventure you were part of - or you wish you could be part of?

Oh, God, I’ve had some wild times. There’s the time that we were moving and ended up driving over a thousand miles overnight in a fifteen passenger van because we had 17 cats, two birds, and a bunny with us. And then had to travel BACK the next day because we had business to attend to back in our old place. 

OR the time that my late uncle lost his keys on a rollercoaster at Busch Gardens and so we ended up having to travel over three hours from where we live to rescue him, which is how we ended up meeting his boyfriend for the first time. 

OR the time that we picked up the youngest of our three dogs, Riley, when we ran into a curb less than ten minutes out, encountered various and assorted technical issues during the ~4 hours of the rest of the trip, and THEN when we were going back I had my hands nearly nibbled to death by an overeager puppy who was excited by the prospect of new friends. (This is how we met the nice old lady who gave me the money for the Toho 1789 + Riley is a sweet dog once he’s settled, so it was #WorthIt)

I really, really want to get out of the States, travel to different places around the world…see more musicals. Definitely see more musicals. I’m very aware of how limited my experience is, not having ever been out of my own country. (Unless you count briefly being over Canada when I was en route to Alaska, which I don’t.) I would love to go to Ireland and see some of the places mentioned in the various myths that I’ve read so much about, possibly embarrass myself by crying over Bres’ grave; I’d love to hit up the Tower of London or Versailles; go to either a Toho or Takarazuka musical in Japan (If and when my Japanese improves beyond「 アメリカ人です 」since I’d really rather be able to show my face in public). See snow again, maybe, since I do miss it.

 My old college offered study abroad trips to Oxford over the summer and I REALLY wanted to go, but, alas, it was insanely expensive + I wasn’t entirely sure about how much I would be able to enjoy myself if I had schoolwork to do, since I’d end up focusing on making that perfect rather than actually appreciating the trip. 

Alternatively: The Ghost Tour at Saint Augustine. I want to go on it SO MUCH. 

Is there something you have an endless passion for? 

Any of the musicals I’ve been lucky to get into (Especially. The one. You know the one. The one that I don’t even need to mention given that it consumes about 80% of my brain power at any given point), anything related to Irish Mythology, especially when it comes to my boy Bres, the French Revolution even though it also scares me because the scope of it’s so large and I never really feel like I make progress in it, female villainesses who can kill me and I would thank them (which is…a disturbingly large amount, actually). 

In general, I’m the type of person who develops special interests where I’ll become OBSESSIVE over learning everything I can about something and kind of latch onto it, so anything I’ve developed that for kind of goes here by default. 

And my dogs. Because they’re Good Bois (+ one Good Girl) and I honestly am not sure where I’d be atm without them. And my cats for tolerating my shit for this long. 

[tinymixtapes]

Feature: Insomniac Focus

Drew McDowall’s work extends well before Coil’s 1998 album Time Machines, but his major releases from that work to now is more than enough to explore. Coil fans, I know you’re set. It’s partly you who I had in mind when I welched on my assignment for his latest solo album, The Third Helix. You likely have alerts on this guy, and no amount of critical descriptors (“harrowing,” “cavernous,” “dreamscape,” “hallucinatory,” “bleak,” “trance-inducing,” etc.) are going to make any difference to you. And, as for neophytes, McDowall is not only an easy sell, but one who you likely have to get to ass backwards. And in these diffuse, cherry pick-enabling internet times, that’s something. We tend to keep our paths of discovery close to the vest against the snotty record store clerk in our heads. I say “we,” because I’m a newbie myself at 38. I did meet a classmate in my junior year of college who tried to help me with my post-NIN fan, small town ignorance, but it was to little effect. I don’t wanna admit I got into Blackest Ever Black and PAN artists before McDowall, but it’s true. There is no tomorrow, so allow me to show my ass in this regard. It took time — and a closer friend with a staggering record collection — to show me the way. I won’t blame blowing my assignment on anything but me, but I will offer the assertion that Drew McDowall’s music is alive in ways that language is not. Although McDowall, John Balance, and Peter Christopherson collaborated on Time Machines, you could hardly call it a conversation. It feels more like an unstable, massive hum, with the creative instinct of human interference put in restraints. It’s the sound of artists getting out of their own way, carving out a path for something that doesn’t sing so much as surge like blood or water or electricity (it resists analogy, so I’m inclined to reach for more elementary terms). If the intention was to induce the loss of a sense of time, it dissolved critical faculties in the process as well. It is sound happening to you. Whatever a train does to you when you hear it, before you even begin to get to the typical leitmotifs. Whatever a tuning orchestra makes you feel, before you remind yourself not to feel anything about it. There is suspense, sure, but there’s also the flat pulse of pure sensation. Time Machines hunkers down and dispels reaction in favor of presence. Of true immersion. Of rote and unquestioning self-sacrifice to a sensorily consuming source. The tracks being named after psychotropic drugs and the perhaps unavoidable (there’s always “repeat all”) reality of their finiteness are the only things stopping this machine. It has you without a hello. Time Machines hunkers down and dispels reaction in favor of presence. Of true immersion. It’s curious that this towering, uncompromisingly minimal work is collaborative, while his eventual solo material doesn’t shy from a comparatively genre-friendly, kitchen-sink aesthetic. But more on that in a bit. First, a decade-plus later, some more from the creative alliance dept. Having familiarized myself with Psychic Ills, McDowall’s collaboration with Tres Warren as Compound Eye was on my 2013 radar. Their music intrigued in ways that the sturdy psych rawk of Psychic Ills never did. I liked it enough to save it, but never got too deep. So McDowall’s presence didn’t properly register until researching him this year, even after the aforementioned friend gave me his free download code for 2017’s Unnatural Channel. Having familiarized myself with McDowall, it’s easy to see that the man never quite got triggering-then-getting-out-the-way-of-strong-currents out of his system in the intervening years. It contains that blissful, sci-fi pastoral modular babbling that is really nothing to turn off, but the album is balanced with the (watch me writhe, beset by stultifying magnetic poetry adjectives) vast, impassive coursings of McDowall’s high water mark material. The album title, Journey From Anywhere, reinforces the notion of not ruining vital elements of sonic procession with basic human shit. Both are men, with presumable communication skills, but never does conversation seem like an apt analogy. Their collaboration is a numb sort of cooperative sentience, toiling as a vessel for steady, sluicing flow. Destiny being God and human’s favorite crap joke alike, the void really deserves more credit. Compound Eye’s shimmering, delicate, 69-minute reverie comes across like a humble attempt to give the nothing its due. It simmers in rote bodily function reality, even as it attempts to merge with the least dense, most windless air it can manage to breathe. Another collaborative work, The Ghost of Georges Bataille (released on Bank earlier this year), is less of a curious animal, but enticing nonetheless. Hiro Kone (a.k.a. Nicky Mao) specializes in elegant digital snowdrift downtempo. She, like McDowall, is a friend to contemplative melancholy as a default mode. But similarly to McDowall, she’s careful to augment her traditional rainstreaked Aphex brooding with character-rich textures that teeter on the brink of encroachment. Here, McDowall pushes this bordering that much closer. Each haunted progression is enshrouded with warm yet disorienting clamor. Similarly to the post-Boards re-tooling of Dalhous, Bataille takes away the head-nod in favor of a swirled sort of distance. This blithe obfuscation renders that tradition of pastoral, half-remembered dream progressions that much more affecting. McDowall excels as a bit player as well. In 2015, he featured on Ben Greenberg’s (Sacred Bones engineer, Men) debut with Michael Berdan (York Factory Complaint) as Uniform. As much as the album is a scorcher par excellence and far superior (and I’m edging on apples/oranges territory here), what “Death Star” is to The Future of War, “Lost Causes” is to Perfect World. McDowall’s hermetic throb steals the show on an album of showstoppers. Then, ably displaying his adaptability to ambient techno, McDowall lent his modular chops to another album highlight on Hiro Kone’s 2017 album, Love is the Capital. “Rukhsana” is a shorter track, but it still bears the unmistakable fingerprints of McDowalls absorptive approach. With these drop ins, McDowall redeems the notion of the guest spot from mere name-dropping and seamlessly applies his methodology rather than his personal stamp. Now, back to 2015 and Drew McDowall’s first official solo release under his own name, Collapse. As I mentioned, McDowall wound up being decidedly less reductive once left to his own devices. Similarly to Prurient’s later output, there is a concerted effort to tacitly merge monophonic direness with monolithic earthen beast-sloughing reverbations, whelmed to the edge of over. Dark monophony has retained a lasting power, even if the grubby fingers of branding-obsessed metal aestheticians have rendered its keenings almost cute. These are the ones who cry “false metal,” which in and of itself is false. It’s no different than complaining about how football has changed or how a comic book adaptation oughta be. True artisans of inner and outer darkness are not beholden to purist genre fetishism. They survive, thrive, and die by their virtue in this exploration. By their unwaveringly limitless drive, we are able to imbibe the vast shimmering terror innate to existence. While Collapse may not be the most chilling thing out there, its black satin bug eyes affix you to where you are and evaporate your culture-soaked lunges for contextual asidery. Collapse by Drew McDowall True artisans of inner and outer darkness are not beholden to purist genre fetishism. They survive, thrive, and die by their virtue in this exploration. Things only seemed to get better with 2017’s Unnatural Channel, though it’s of a piece enough that “seem” might be the operative word. There are two tracks featuring words/vocals from Roxy Farman (of superb NYC duo Wetware, also a guest on the Hiro Kone album), but the key adjustment is a Vanity Records-like focus on the embracing of silent rests. Of course, the fidelity is higher, but the unrelenting hesitation of that legendary label’s best material (namely, Tolerance’s 1981 LP, Divin) is a curious early precedent. Even with the presence of a singer, Farman’s recitation of “this is what it’s like, sleep deprived” is just as innately infused as the “I convulsed” sample on the last record. And her whooping and schizo mutterances on closer “Recognition” are essential but unshowy bits of punctuation. All spaciousness aside, the tetanus textured throb of “Unnatural Channel (Part 2)” is a sort of head-nodder, but even this winds up being more of a cautious slink through a confusing party (boring? bad scene? twisted? brilliant?) than a departure. Although the bowstring bouncing on The Third Helix opener echoes Unnatural Channel’s “Tell Me The Name,” “Rhizome” initially feels like a proper departure. Not unlike the airy skittering of Actress’s R.I.P, this tune initially seemed like a wrong turn. It’s lovely, especially when the “Sinking of the Titanic” strings come in, but it feels almost lateral rather than expansive. The touchstones come too easy. It’s a fascinating track, the way it swells and glitches out abruptly, but it’s also strangely on-the-nose for this artist. Things get better and back to the same (“Proximity” sounds cut from the same cloth) from there, but one couldn’t be blamed for mistaking Third Helix for a Helm, Fis, or post-Virgins Tim Hecker album. Of course, he is a sort of godfather to said touchstones, but similarly to the atemporal realm of Time Machines, this sort of sine wave slippage reads more familiar than it actually is. And, for what it’s worth, why shouldn’t masters be genuinely influenced by their descendants (beyond tokenistic exaggerations)? Chances are, they are beholden to a lot of the same technology anyway. Taken another way, McDowall’s newest is a sort of long-distance collaboration with those who’ve been inspired by him and his rarefied peer group. Conscious or not, its blending with the aesthetics of younger, like-minded artists could be seen as a rejection of the notion of hierarchy in musical succession, one way or the other. The Third Helix is an endearingly solid listen, and it deserves a place among the heralded releases of 2018. Similarly to the previous two (all on Dais), the album’s tracks don’t stray too far past the five-minute mark. Despite this, they stretch out in the ears like ancient aural cobwebs, making one feel as lived-in as the planet itself. I’ve tried not to use the word “innovation” here. Too often, the notion of innovation is whittled down to novelty, and reinventing the wheel is not what makes McDowall’s third-act material so worthwhile. More so, it’s the sense of earnest drive. The deep affinity for life’s rich tangent. That it’s darkly fixated is no more material than that the blues are despondent. Actually, the best of that long deracinated-to-pilloried genre has much of the same turning-oneself-inside-out quality. Even if Drew McDowall never tops himself or others in this quietly industrious field of wide-eyed abstraction, he is set to remain a stirring essential to every cerebral wandering ear, regardless of prerequisites or lack thereof. http://j.mp/2RBEqkz

[aggresivelyfriendly]

~Meet Me In The Hallway~

Chapter 36-Se Rejouir

Hey Loveys!! Our interactions are the most fun! The Music Man! The Music!

Happy Reading-If you love a phrase or wanna fight me-let me know!

"Melly, Melody! Please answer your phone! Please! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. I didn't know! I didn't know she was coming! She planned it all with Jeff, I think before I told him you were comin. I had no intention of you seeing....I know, Angel, I know.....I know it hurt you, it would kill m..........what are we doing?"

His voice sounded tiny, like he was in a bathroom. And the silent bits were loud, or full of audible breaths.

I tried to staunch my sobs and thanked my unlucky stars that my parents were still asleep when I came in like a wrecking ball after the show. I can't remember the exact sequence of events around my departure.

If I was writing the movie it would go like this. Two lost lovers stare at each other with hope and excitement before it is all dashed out of their eyes as an interloper arrives. Our heroine looks heartbroken and a tear leaks from one eye. Our 'hero' looks regretful and watches her turn on her heel and exit the room before faking a smile and redirecting his attention to the beautiful woman in his arms. The woman looks strikingly similar to the one who just exited, only a little better.

The only part that would be true is the description of HER, the girlfriend. She was tall, an inch shorter than me and slim and gorgeous and obviously a model. She had long wavy blonde hair and a beautiful face with big blue eyes. But she looked a little less exaggerated than me. Less like an anime character and more classically beautiful. She was also in a white dress. Guess he had a type.

Why did that feel like eating broken glass?

The real scene played out more like a shit show. I audibly choked when I figured out what was going on. She snuck up behind him and spun her boyfriend like a top, crying "Baby!" happily before attaching their mouths. Harry was still reeling from the spin and it was almost like we were dancing, because his momentum transferred to me and I about faced and made my exit. I didn't give myself any time to process it, nor did I stick around to be forced to go through an awkward meeting. In hindsight, this was probably incredibly rude of me. The idea of having to stand and shake her hand and learn her name while I was shattering like a mirror sounds like a torture out of the Saw movies. Maybe every shiny piece that fell off of me onto the floor would have left a bleeding slice and I'd have to stand there like nothing was happening and make small talk and pretend that I wasn't watching someone else live the life I dreamed about while blood trickled from lots of tiny cuts.

In my flight, I realized the more painful parts later. Like the resemblance. In the moment, I just watched my heart be torn out of my chest and crushed by the man that I had just decided to give it back to. Well, he probably had it the whole time based on how I was feeling. Listening to his message, he didn't mean for this to happen, or for me to see something so painful. And he knows it would be, Harry had made it clear the thought of Milo hurt him, and he was empathetic enough to know how he would feel if we had switched places. I think it hurt so badly because I was turned back on. Being near to Harry and letting myself feel made everything bright. Like my life had been turned down, a volume dial on 2, until I walked in to his literal arena and went up to 11.

I want to be dialed back again, that numb region between 2-4 was looking really attractive right now.

I'm sure a sound like an injured cat escaped me and I pivoted and my heel caught. I fell to my knees. The abrasion on my right leg bled all the way home. I heard my name behind me, but it sounded like your favorite song playing in another room. So I got myself up in a scramble of long limbs and I ran. There was a car near the curb at the VIP entrance I had come through. I'm sure it wasn't for me, but the driver took one look at the bodily fluids leaking from my knee and eyes and nose and asked, "Where to?"

I gasped out my parent's address. I wanted Kara, but knew she had a visitor, and this was no way to meet her man.

I think I saw a suit clad man with wild hair chasing the car. But I kept my head forward. Towards my future.

Harry had called. Over and over, then texted. I'd shut my phone down. When I got brave enough, as a rainy day dawned, I listened to some of the messages. The one asking what we were doing was the last one. The others had been him asking me to answer. Most of them were sweet and full of sorry words. Like I caught him cheating on me, instead of the truth.

Truth was that we were walking a really fine line. We weren't seeing each other, until tonight, and our conversations were not naughty, they barely even crossed the line to flirty. But nobody knew. We were hiding again. This time with much better reason. There was so much between us, there were not enough words to cover it. At the very least, I was cheating emotionally. Harry took over my mind like an occupying army. Our memories invaded happy moments and disappointments alike. There was no activity I could be doing, or conversation I could be having, or plans I could be making free from his bombardment.

The memories were not even the worst of it, the real betrayals. Those were the possibilities. I was building a life on clouds everyday. Daydreaming about what ifs. I'd be having a lovely moment, slow dancing while cooking dinner, or cake tasting, or listening to prospective bands, and Milo would be replaced in my head, like an avatar, a space holder for Harry. I rejected a band Milo loved, they even knew some Spanish standards, because there was one Harry would have liked better. Might have kidnapped the vocalist and brought him on the road.

When I picked the banana cake for the top tier, I had to admit to myself what I was doing. But I didn't until I was laying on the floor of a bedroom that was once mine and looked at the choices I had been making for the last several months. I laid them out the way I did my physical flaws at 13, side my side in a long line. I was that frog in the video game in the middle of the street waiting to get squashed under car wheels. But I was choosing to hop there.

What were we doing? What was I doing? To myself, to Milo and Harry. I had trouble caring about her.

Harry had a girlfriend, who flew to Australia to surprise him. Sounded serious. And I was getting married. I was getting married in three months. And today, I was going back to the bridal shop and buying a dress. Not the One, because the thought of wearing that dress and not standing in front of Harry on a spring day in England was even more miserable to think about than seeing Harry kiss another woman. I pushed away the thoughts of him standing facing somebody else before an altar.

And Milo. He was the real victim here. I'd never even told him about Harry. I had alluded to a bad break up and when we had had the sexual history conversation. He had only asked for numbers and testing. It was all very grown up and mature. But it also allowed me to pretend to be more over it than I was. At the time, I really thought I was over it. But, it was like a cold case, new evidence had been brought to light, and I'd had to let Harry out of the mental prison he'd been in due to wrongful conviction. Now I was in the cell in my head, because I deserved it, and just like any prisoner, all I seemed to have was time to think about what I had done to get me there.

And Harry had been open to me. To talking to me. And I'd missed him, and his horrible puns and the sound of his voice and his joy! If Harry liked something, he liked it big - without self consciousness. And he would tell me about the things he was seeing with his increased time and freedom and I was so happy for him. All I wanted was for him to be happy.

But secretly, I had decided that was with me.

I had imagined this entire scenario in my head. I'd tell him I wanted him. The last three years would evaporate along with our hurts, and we would be together.

I guess I thought our partners would just disappear too.

Even my non break up with Harry had been torturous. We hadn't actually had the heart rending talk until years afterwards, but it was bad as the time. Yet, we had shared nothing. There were no assets to divide. I didn't have to go look at real estate to figure out where I would be laying my head. Whereas, If I broke up with Milo, which a small lady clad in white on my right shoulder was screaming I had to do for decency's sake, I had to find a place to go in Singapore, at least until I decided where in the world I wanted to be. And when we had moved in, we had each come with a few things, but we had not been careful about what was mine and what was his. The things we bought, Milo bought, were to be ours. I was just thankful our finances were separate beyond that. If he forgave me, we'd have to keep it like that.

Milo's name appears on my phone. And I just can't. I couldn't talk to him. Because I may have just told him everything, and arranged for him to not be home when I got back so that I can get my things and find a new place. Or beg.

That all felt hasty. Maybe if I told him everything, we could have started there. And since I didn't have Harry, and my fantasies had been unrealistic, we could start again, maybe delay the wedding I was not ready for. Because Milo was wonderful and I'd be lucky to have him, and I could work harder and make sure I was more worthy.

Maybe. Once he'd gone to voicemail, I called Kara.

"Yeah?"

"Can I come over?" I croaked.

"Um," she giggled and I was torn. She was happy and I could see the rose colored glasses on her face. The black cloud over my head was no good. I would not bring the rain down on her and Aiden's head.

"Kara," I bit my lip to make my voice stop going side to side like a weeble, "Sounds like you are still in the throes! Call me when you are done!"

"Ok!" She said and I heard her squeal as she hung up.

I could see them in my mind's eye, running, playing a very grown up game of tag in their undies.

Milo always felt the need to initiate wrestling matches. Last year, on the hottest day ever, or at least it felt like it, the grid went down and we were without air con. We'd been eating frozen fruit on the couch when I'd pushed him with my toes. He'd grabbed my foot then and hoisted me over. Before I knew it, he had me pinned beneath him and we were grappling and giggling and the juice from the quickly melting pineapple he was dribbling on my chest had wet through my bra.

"That looks sticky-guess I better help you take it off!" And my bralette was never seen again. It might be under the couch or in the cushions. We were already so sweaty, it didn't matter how much more gross we got and the cold shower afterwards was a remedy for several ills.

I was thinking how sweet the memory was, and that maybe all was not lost there, when Harry and his giant head invaded my mind.

Occasionally, the whole touring company would play hide and seek on the floors we occupied. There were long days sometimes where going outside was precluded because of the 1000's of fans crowded around the place and fifa and other games could get old.

"Knock, knock!" Niall's voice would sound, as he was instigator in chief, "We are doing shots and playing hide and go seek, get your arses out here!" Down the hallway he'd go and the assembled company would tumble out.

Before we were out, Harry and I would sneak into the hallway before everybody else and separate. Then we'd spend the rest of it trying to find each other and making out in any particularly secluded space we could find.

After everybody knew...well I still don't think Michael has recovered from where he found us tangled around each other. The bottle of water he'd doused us with was icy!

I pushed the memories away with both hands and got myself to the bathroom. My reflection suggested I'd been on a bender or a runway in the heroine chic era. My eyes were rimmed black and mascara had leaked onto my cheeks.

The water was cold, but it woke me up. I created this. By not being honest, with Milo, and Harry and myself.

I should have told Harry my hopes, so he could have dashed them properly. Maybe over the phone so I could save myself the heartbreak. I should have told Milo about my wandering heart.

I should have admitted to myself what I was doing.

I should have talked to Harry three years ago before I ran.

The fourth stair down creaks if you step on the right side of it. I carefully tiptoed over it and held the banister to get downstairs for some food.

I mentally clapped myself on the back for being sneaky when I saw my parents sitting at the breakfast bar. They looked grim, like somebody died. I dramatically thought it must be my funeral.

"Morning!" I salvoed and tried to get tea as though nothing is amiss. I'd cleaned up my face and it was not too puffy, maybe they wouldn't notice.

"Melody Olivia," Dad started, shit. "Sit down."

They were clutching hands, like they were when my mom got her biopsy results. Tears are not being pressed down like a suitcase with too much stuffing, so I was hopeful this was just about the mess I'm in, not about matters of actual life and death importance.

I brought my cup and sat. 'What's going on?"

"We're concerned about you." My mom started.

"I'm not concerned about you, I'm damn worried." Dad harrumphed. "What are you doing, Melly? Here to pick out your wedding dress and sneaking out to see Harry? We didn't raise you like that?" He looked disappointed and I flashed to when I cheated on an exam and confessed to him.

"I didn't," I started with no end in sight to the sentence. "I just went to his show. We've been trying to be friends, Harry and me." I explained, painting a picture backlit with white. They both give me a look like they have just bitten into a lemon. "What?"

They exchanged  a look and my dad gestured for my mom to wade in. "Melody, you and Harry aren't friends. Don't think you can be. There's a force in the air when you two are near each other, like when you teach kids about magnets and they try to keep them apart. When he came here, that first time, your father and I could see it. It's why we let you leave with him. We doubted you'd ever come back."

She sighed. "But then you did, and I'm so thankful, I may not have had the will to go through," she swallowed, "You were my hope darling," she reached forward to caress my face, "As ever. But your hope was fading, we could see it. And then you were this ghost of a person. Never seen anybody so sad. We don't want you to ever feel that way again!" My dad squeezed her hand. "Then you just left. And he came looking for you, and we did what we thought best, though now, to watch you two orbiting each other again is..."

My dad cut in, "Melody Olivia."my name is a sentence onto itself. "You have some decisions to make. And right now. I may not be Milo's biggest fan. But he loves you and has made some big promises to you, which you've  accepted. And your mother tells me that you wouldn't buy a dress and don't you think she doesn't know why!" His voice went up at the end. "It's not right, little one, it's not. You and Harry are gonna wind up hurting a lot of people."

That's when I cut in. "Harry's not even an option! And I'm gonna." My eyes brimmed again. "I'm gonna tell Milo the truth and see if we can move on. Maybe we can delay a bit. I should marry him, I'd be lucky to." I bit my lip and could taste a bit of rust plus salt from my tears. "But I've discovered I have some feelings I need to get over. Harry, Harry." I'm not sure where to go there. "I need to get over him, we talked out all of our issues and he has, his," dammit, overflow, "His girlfriend was there last night. So, I'm sure that's done. And you guys are right, we can't be friends."

My parents looked at each other and the silent communication made me ache with pride and longing. We should all have that. It dawned on me that there was something I was missing.

"We think," my mother began then gave my dad a helpless look.

"Melody, we think you need to decide what you want. And try to be honest-then go get it," he said.

I shook my head. I couldn't have what I want, I ran that ship aground and damaged it beyond repair.

"I, he's happy, he looked happy, and that's." I looked up to clear my eyes and voice, "That's what I want for him. He's moved on and leaves today, I think. I need to accept reality and, um, be content." Like Kara said. My parents shared another look and my mother nodded.

 "Melody, Harry's in the sun room. He came this morning. To me that doesn't sound as hopeless as you think."

My dad keeps talking but I can't process anything beyond the fact that Harry is two rooms away.

[drtoaster]

RULES: tag ten followers you want to know better!

TAGGED BY: @theycallmekaibara​ (thanks man!)

TAGGING: @napsoldier @rogue-knifehead @thebloodofosiris @dimensionalguardian (I’m too lazy to do ten so feel free to steal)

NAME: Jakob (it finally occurred to me that anyone who actually wanted to know this could probably find it on here anyway so fuck it.) STAR SIGN: Cancer HEIGHT: 5′7″ (I think it’s been a while so it could be 5′8″ by now) WHAT’S YOUR MIDDLE NAME? - I don’t gots one lmao. It was gonna be Henry at one point apparently.

PUT YOUR ITUNES SPOTIFY ON SHUFFLE. WHAT ARE THE FIRST 4 SONGS THAT POPPED UP? Apple stuff is overpriced and I don’t like Spotify so I’m going to scroll round in my saved music and pick four at random.

Foster The People-Pumped up kicks

The White Stripes- Seven Nation Army.

Caravan Palace-Rock It For Me

Theme song from Gigantor (I fucking love Gigantor)

GRAB THE BOOK NEAREST YOU AND TURN TO PAGE 23. WHAT’S LINE 17? “Roasted hazelnuts added a rich aroma to the smells wafting around them.”

EVER HAD A POEM OR SONG WRITTEN ABOUT YOU? I hope not.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU PLAYED AIR GUITAR? I can’t remember.

WHO IS YOUR CELEBRITY CRUSH? I don’t really do celebrity stuff.  Does Rtas Vadam from Halo count? I’d have a piece of that.

WHAT’S A SOUND YOU HATE + SOUND YOU LOVE?

HATE: That fucking quiz show my grandma watches every fucking afternoon with the volume turned up to twenty fucktillion decibels.

LOVE: Thunderstorms.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS? Nah. I don’t have anything against people who do because I have seen weird shit happen but I think there’s better explanations.(Except for poltergeists. Even I can’t make head nor tail of what’s going on there.)

HOW ABOUT ALIENS? Those fuckers better exist and they better be hot. 

DO YOU DRIVE? I wish.

IF SO, HAVE YOU EVER CRASHED? I mean mentally and physically yes, but never a car.

WHAT WAS THE LAST BOOK YOU READ? I legit can’t remember the last time I read anything that wasn’t for university. I’d guess probably one of the Edge Chronicles books or maybe The ocean at the end of the lane?

DO YOU LIKE THE SMELL OF GASOLINE? Sorta I guess.

WHAT WAS THE LAST MOVIE YOU SAW? Deadpool 2

WHAT’S THE WORST INJURY YOU’VE EVER HAD? I’ve never actually had any super bad injuries. The worst is probably a twisted ankle but that’s not every interesting, so I’ll share a funny one instead. 

So as a kid I was home educated, and my mum was always worried I didn’t socialise enough so she’d take me to this group for home educated kids in the area called ‘Magical Mondays’ (muffled retching noises on my part). Now one day the parents arranged a Halloween ‘party’ at one of the parent’s houses. 

The family in question was one of the really hippy-dippy ones that went to the group and, unfortunately, this meant the halloween ‘party’ was more of accurately just standing around in the dark on my part because I didn’t want to sing daft hippy campfire songs about the ‘Earth Mother’ (Not exaggerating here by the way that’s genuinely along the lines of what was going on. I just wanted to be at home playing with my Bionicles not singing about feeling Mother Earth under my feet). They didn’t even have any candy or Halloween party games. Not even a game of in-the-dark hide and seek.

 What they did have was a spooky story however. I can’t remember the exact details but it was to do with some wolf-man in the local area that stalked the fields and woods surrounding the area at night. Being slightly sceptical of the supernatural even at a young age I kinda just figured it was a story to scare kids, and thought nothing of it when they suggested we go the field at the back of the property to see if we could spot him. I figured the parents would play pretend that they’d spotted him in the distant bushes just to wind us up a bit. What I wasn’t expecting, was legitimate roaring to ring out from the field, and a figure with a pair of glowing red eyes to suddenly rear out of the tall grass shrieking at us.

Of course, I metaphorically shit myself and bolted.

Now here lies the problem: I have been cripplingly short sighted since birth. I can’t see an object clearly without my glasses unless it’s about four inches away, and horror movie style vampires in my younger self’s opinion, were markedly less spooky with glasses, and so mine were left at home. Ironically, this left me blind as a bat, and combined with the fact it was already dark, I couldn’t see jack as I ran away in panic with all the other kids, disaster was assured.

I ran head first into a metal pole that was concreted into the ground, for use as a laundry line. There was actually and audible clang as I ran into it, loud enough to make most of the parents stop their charade because of a collective “Wtf was that noise” moment. Of course dad found me on my ass in tears by the pole and was able to get me up off the ground and check me over. It turns out the horrifying wolf man in the field was one of the other dads holding two red glowsticks. 

Needless to say my mood was sour for the rest of the evening, further embittered by the continuing lack of sweets or anything actually fun to do. I’m pretty sure this was a major contributor to my slight dislike of Halloween.

DO YOU HAVE ANY OBSESSIONS RIGHT NOW? Uhh I dunno I kinda obsesses about a lot of stuff. Gundam, Gigantor, Exoman, Bionicle, Halo, the list goes on. I think the only material thing I’m sorta obsessed with is this kinda neat mech figure I sorta wanted but talked myself out of (too much money and I should be saving, etc). But yeah other than the usual dumb shit I’m not really ‘obsessing’ over anything.

DO YOU TEND TO HOLD GRUDGES AGAINST PEOPLE WHO HAVE DONE YOU WRONG?Oh god yeah I’m a petty mf. 

IN A RELATIONSHIP?

Single pringle.

[brujalatina]

loyalty | 01

☆ pairing: yoongi x reader

☆ genre: angst, pining, jealousy, fluff, humor, future smut. producer au; reader is a model and a thotty lol

☆ word count: 3k

summary: First impressions are always important, and Yoongi never thought he’d be falling head over heels for you and your promiscuity. The problem was, you didn’t Do dating, nor desired it, and neither did he, until he met you.

→ part 01. → part 02.

a/n: this is for my black ‘n brown, not-skinny, curly-haired hoes cuz i’m tired of reading fics where the reader is described with white features and my black pussy can’t relate! :)) lmk what y’all think. also listen to loyalty by kendrick lamar ft. rihanna i think the song is fitting for this fic

Yoongi had never been a fan of parties. Really, he hated them.

They were messy, loud, and took time away from work. The time spent at a party was the time he could have been spending in his studio working on the production of a new piece of music. Parties deterred him from working, and as someone who was completely dedicated and committed to his music, he hated it.

Parties weren’t all bad, though. It allowed for Yoongi to form connections with other people within the music industry for opportunities to collaborate with them, or to form connections people involved with major media outlets that would help him gain more exposure (not that he needed any more than he already had). That is, if these connections weren’t wasted enough to carry a proper conversation regarding work at a party, which was almost rare. Sometimes Yoongi was lucky enough to make these connections at parties, but more often than not, people were too shit-faced to function.

Taking a swig of his Jack Daniel’s, Yoongi sighed as he tore his eyes away from potential connections among the crowd of dancing bodies and brought his attention back towards the song notebook he carried with him everywhere. In the midst of the party he had been attending, he was working on ideas for a new song he had promised he would help his friend and colleague, Hoseok, with. He was the reason he had been attending the party anyways—to form new connections, but most importantly, to have fun. Hoseok knew Yoongi almost rarely stepped out of his studio at home, so he dragged his best friend out to party at a club he had rented with the excuse of working on a new song between drinks. He felt that he had been doing Yoongi a favor by coercing him into attending this party, and Yoongi had always been weak for his best friend, so he no choice but to cave in. Needless to say, Yoongi was regretting allowing Hoseok to convince him to leave his studio for the party.

A large hand gripped Yoongi’s shoulder as they shoved their face in front of Yoongi’s, smile as bright as ever. “Hi! Sorry, I’m back.”

“Hobi,” Yoongi said, unamused. “You sure took your time.”

Removing his hand from Yoongi’s shoulder, he took a seat next to his best friend and ordered a drink, then turned to face him. “I was catching up with one of my party guests for the longest time, hadn’t seen him in a few months.” As he spoke, he spotted Yoongi’s notebook on the bar counter. “I told you to come have fun, not work.” He frowned.

Yoongi massaged his temples, annoyance clear in his features from not being able to work on the task at hand due to the heavy music resounding in the loft. “I know, but I wanted to get a head start on that song of yours that you’re stuck on.”

Hoseok smiled at this, touched that his best friend was taking his work so seriously for his sake, but not at all surprised. Yoongi took music, in general, quite seriously. “And I appreciate that—I do! but we can work on that tomorrow. Tonight, I want you to relax. You need it.”

Hoseok was right, when was the last time he had taken a break from work? Yoongi would have guessed that New Year’s Eve had been the last time he spent more than 24 hours outside of his studio, spending the holiday with his family instead. Not even on his birthday a month ago had he taken a break from work. He held so much love and dedication for his job that he felt he didn’t need breaks. Like people felt at peace through mediation, producing music made him feel euphoric and accomplished, and the feeling was addicting. Still, he did have to admit that the dark circles under his eyes from long nights working in his studio had only become darker. His weight had been reducing as well from skipped meals and his doctor had already reprimanded him for his malnutrition. Yes, Hoseok was absolutely right about him, as usual. He needed to take a break for once. Yoongi nodded and downed the rest of his drink. “Fine, you’re right. I’ll take a break. Just for tonight.”

Hoseok’s face beamed, relishing in the fact that Yoongi was being complacent with him, yet again. “Ok! Before anything, there are a few people here I’d like to introduce you to.” Hoseok grabbed Yoongi’s arm and pulled him into the crowd of bodies that were either dancing or were engaged in conversation over the blaring music, introducing Yoongi to some new artists that had recently entered the music industry.

As Yoongi and Hoseok continued to search for more people to mingle with, Hoseok changed directions upon spotting a familiar curly head of hair in the distance and began walking towards it while Yoongi followed.

She had been leaving one of the empty rooms in the club, pulling down the ends of her red, deep, v-neck bodycon dress that had risen considerably over her thick thighs, almost exposing her entire ass, and then pulled her dress straps over her shoulder and adjusted her breasts in the least undisguised form possible. A man left the room behind her, they exchanged a few words—he was visibly upset—and she rolled her eyes at him as she shooed him away with her hand.

Hoseok walked up to her as Yoongi followed by his side. “Hey, Y/N! How are you doing?”

You smiled at him and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug in which he had quickly and warmly returned. “I’m great. Thanks for the invite, babe. It’s been some time since I’ve gone to a party with people that are...worth the while, if you get what I mean.”

Hoseok rolled his eyes at you, understanding what you had insinuated. “From what I just saw, it looked like you didn’t like him, though?”

You shrugged. “He was good, but I don’t like when guys get clingy and start asking when they can see me again. Not that fast, at least. Pathetic.”

He laughed heartily at this, you were the same Y/N as usual—talking shit about the men you fucked.

As you and Hoseok talked about your sexual activity right in front of Yoongi, Yoongi, who had been standing beside Hoseok the entire time, had been long forgotten. While listening to your conversation had been rather amusing, he cleared his throat to remind Hoseok of his presence, which seemed to do the trick.

“Oh, right, Y/N, this is my friend, SUGA PD,” he gestured to Yoongi. “SUGA, this is my friend, Y/N.”

For the first time that night, Yoongi’s eyes locked with yours, and to him, it felt as though your brown irises were piercing into his flesh. Hoseok had mentioned a Y/N in the past—you were one of his closest friends, so naturally, your name came up occasionally in conversation. Based on what Hoseok had already told him about you, you were a model under their rival company but had recently switched to model under Hoseok and Yoongi’s company. Although the two of you were close friends, Hoseok had previously described you as, “so beautiful it hurts”, and “to die for”. Back then, Yoongi thought his friend had been exaggerating, which was not unusual on his part, but damn, the guy wasn’t kidding. You weren’t just beautiful, your beauty was enthralling—not to mention how cool he thought you were for having a tattoo of hands holding constellations on your right forearm. From head to toe, you were stunning and exuded a powerful aura that radiated confidence and made Yoongi’s spine tingle. Knowing your profession as a model, having some semblance of self-confidence was expected, but in that short moment he had met you, he knew yours exceeded the expected—not that he found anything wrong with that, it was just rare. This was the feature he found most captivating about you.

“Right, the famous SUGA PD. I have some of your music. It’s pretty tight.” You extended your hand to shake Yoongi’s, which had already been ready to shake yours before you suddenly retracted your hand and settled for a small wave while smiling sheepishly. It was then when Yoongi guessed you had avoided shaking hands with him because you had been using your hands for...other things that had taken place in the empty room just a few minutes prior. He took no offense to this and instead felt gratitude.

“Thank you,” he said, both in regards to your compliment and for your kind gesture in regards to sanitation. “Hoseok has mentioned you a few times,” he added, earning a light punch from Hoseok for exposing him.

You chuckled while curling a strand of hair around your finger, “All good things, I hope.” You weren’t going to lie, Yoongi was cute. You had seen him in pictures and in his music videos, but from up close he was fine. A fine ass piece of a man with beautiful, beautiful teeth. His skincare game was strong, too, which was something you both liked and admired in a person.

“I mean, I don’t have anything bad to say about you, Y/N. Especially since I know you’d kick my ass if I talked badly about you.” Hoseok scratched the back of his head, recalling a time in which you had, in fact, kicked his ass for drunkenly telling a mutual friend—who snitched on him to you, by the way—that you smelled like dick.

You clicked your tongue, recalling that time as well. “Talk shit, get hit. You know how it is.” You both laughed. “I’m under the same company as the both of you now. The company I was in treated me like complete shit, which I don’t take well, so I bounced.” Yoongi arched a brow, so you continued. “I mean, I was getting good money, but they talked down to me, which is an immediate strike in my book. I went off on this one dude in the company who thought he was big shit and said I was lacking, so I told him his dick was lacking, grody, and that it was a damn shame that he only lasted five minutes that one time I sucked him off, so he threatened to have me fired, but then I flipped him off and quit right on the spot.” You ended with a shrug and Yoongi’s mouth, as well as Hoseok’s, had fallen agape. Their eyes were wide with disbelief.

Yoongi was surprised by how frank you were being with him, considering how the both of you had only just met. You were sharp-tongued, smart-mouthed, vivacious, witty, and carried yourself with a confidence anyone would envy. Not forgetting to mention you were exhilarating in every form possible, from your beautiful curls, to your curvaceous body. It was especially your self-confidence and the way you carried yourself that had been enrapturing to him and probably to many others. Yoongi couldn’t help but feel goosebumps being in your very presence.

Hoseok, on the other hand, was accustomed to your antics. “Y/N...Jesus. I want to say I can’t believe it, but that was so Y/N-esque of you.” He shook his head as he clicked his tongue.

“What the fuck,” Yoongi blurted out. He hadn’t said much before—he had already been so tired from interacting with the other party guests that he had very little energy for social interaction left in him, so during the time he had met you, he had only uttered a few words. But for some reason, he suddenly felt like asking you a million-and-one questions. In the short time he had met you, he realized you were very interesting. And yeah, a lot of people are interesting, however, not to sound cliché, but you had something about you that stuck out to him. “He deserved that shit, honestly. I’m glad you told him off. Shit, I would have too. I think you’ll like it much better under our company.”

“‘What the fuck’ is right,” you laughed louder than usual, surprised by Yoongi’s sudden change in demeanor. You could tell he had gained a sudden interest, but was apprehensive to press on further about the subject. He was really cute and reserved, you noted, and his sudden change in behavior was also cute. “I hope so, hopping from company to company is fucking tiring.”

“Well, depends on what type of company you’re referring to,” Hoseok joked, earning an eye roll and a scoff from both you and Yoongi at the same time, which you both immediately caught and snickered over together. Hoseok’s eyebrow perked up at this interaction.  

“Anyways, I promised my friends I’d get plastered with them tonight and should probably go and find them. We’ll probably be seeing each other more often now, so take care of me,” You sing-songed and winked at Yoongi, earning a small, amused smirk from him in return.

“I will. It was nice meeting you, Y/N.” He smiled warmly, showing you those beautiful teeth again. This time, his smile was different. You knew he had taken an interest in you, but that wasn’t new for you. You had to admit, you were an interesting, complex person. But the way his demeanor had suddenly changed into something more charming had caught you slightly off-guard.

“Nice meeting you, too, Sugar.” You hugged him this time and didn’t miss how his body went rigid under your touch. “See you later, Hoseok.” You hugged Hoseok as well, adding a chaste kiss to his cheek.

Hoseok had grown accustomed to your hugs and cheek kisses throughout your friendship, so he thought nothing of it but knew Yoongi would probably ask questions later, considering the skinship he and you shared. “Call me if you need anything or if anything happens, ’kay?” He rubbed your back.

“Don’t worry, I’m a big girl. But thanks, babe.”

When you were out of sight, Yoongi still hadn’t moved from the spot where you had hugged him. You had left him, quite frankly, shook. When you hugged him, he noticed you smelled like roses and a hint of vanilla. And your arms, breasts, and torso pressed against him were warm, so warm, to the point where he almost missed your touch. You sent all of his senses on overdrive. He felt stupid for freezing up and not returning the hug and mentally chided himself—he had been in shock by the suddenness, after all. He also didn’t miss how you had called him “Sugar”, rather than “Suga”, in a way that resembled flirting.

Hoseok noticed Yoongi’s immobility and far-away expression. He was stunned. You had such a presence that it let everyone shaking in their boots, so Hoseok knew that his friend had been under your spell.

He put a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder and shook him lightly. “Yoongi, you okay?” He laughed.

Yoongi quickly snapped out of it and returned to a state of normalcy, dragging a hand over his face. “Yeah, I just—wow.”

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?”

“Incredible.”

Hoseok eyed his best friend carefully, it wasn’t always that Yoongi reacted so strongly to the presence or existence of a woman or man.

“She’s fucking hilarious and seems a bit intimidating, but she’s a good person and a great friend.” Yoongi nodded, not quite looking at Hoseok and once again drifting out of focus. “And she’s phenomenal in bed,” he added.

And Yoongi’s attention had returned, eyes snapping back to Hoseok. “You’ve had sex with her? Wait, so are you both a thing? She calls you ‘babe’.”

“Nah, we’re best friends who had sex together once, well, maybe twice and I kind of had feelings for her for some time? but she made it clear that she doesn’t date, just prefers to sleep around.” Hoseok noticed the way Yoongi held his attention onto him, the faint look of hope that had flashed in his eyes diminishing. A sigh escaped Hoseok’s lips. “Unless you just want sex, don’t even look at her, Yoongi.”

Yoongi felt a bit disappointed knowing this fact, and for what? He didn’t date either and had decided to instead dedicate his time and expend his energy into his music, at least until he felt ready to date. The people he had dated in the past had used him for his money and fame, and left him wallowing in his own hurt. The people he had dated prior to his fame had used him for his kindness and then fucked him over. These instances that had left him wounded had made him apprehensive of romantic relationships. And who knew which kind of person you would be? What he did know was that he couldn’t take the risk of finding out. When things went well with someone, his apprehension and self-doubt would get the best of him and he would end things before they got serious. Besides, he knew that he would be far too occupied with his own work to have a proper and fair relationship with his significant other. If he was going to be with someone, he wanted to give his all into their relationship; they didn’t deserve having to wait around for him, they didn’t deserve to be dragged into a relationship that was tedious and disappointing. Dating you was out of the question anyways, considering you only messed around. No matter how interesting, hilarious, or enrapturing you had been, it just was not possible. Besides, even if you did date, Yoongi would have probably fucked up somehow and chickened out along the way of trying to become something with you like he usually did with the women and men he felt attraction to. Dating was scary. Why was he even thinking about this in the first place?

He shook the thought of dating out of his head. “I need a shot.” He decided.