#my favorite stupid little joke to make when I’m tuning my guitar

[dewdrops-whammy-bar]

Dew, tuning his guitar: D standard? I’d say it’s above average but okay.

[mrsbrookegillespie]

+Homework+ Luke x Fem!Reader

(Not My Gif)

Description:When Y/N’s progress report comes out it seems as though their mom isn’t happy with the letters that follow each subject. So when they have to cancel on her friends band rehearsal to do their assignments it leads to an interesting encounter with the brunette guitarist of Julie and the Phantoms.

Warning: Stress, school, bad grades, mild angst, mostly fluff. 

+Homework+

Luke is not someone to judge another for having bad grades, considering what his report cards looked like, and the fact he dropped out of high school at seventeen. But, Y/N has two more years left in school, despite her age, and frankly… She’s struggling. “What’s this?” her mother asks, showing her an email.

“Those are… My grades?” Y/N shrugs, avoiding the small letters that labeled her as dumb, and lazy.

“Y/N! You need to start getting serious about this. You’re going to flunk out!” Y/N internally winces at her mother shouting at her. “I’m very disappointed about this…”

“Well,” Y/N starts. “I’ll do it!” She bites her lip, sliding away from her desk. “Tomorrow,” she adds, looking at the time. “I promised Julie I’d watch band practice today.” Her mom gives her a blank stare.

“Y/N! We’ve been very laid back with you, you’ve never been grounded or anything, but right now I want you to stay at home, and get your missing work done.” 

“But--”

“No!” 

Her mom closes the door on the way out, leaving Y/N feeling the stress of school. She grabs her phone, clicking Julie’s contact. “Hey! Are you almost here?” Julie asks.

“I can’t make it…” Y/N breathes out.

“What?!” Julie exclaims. “But, you promised to be here today, we’re performing tomorrow, you know?” The disappointment radiates through the phone.

“I know! And I will be there for that, because that’s really important, but I just can’t make it today.” Y/N is too embarrassed to say the reason why. Julie has amazing grades, and is insanely talented, and she might be a little jealous of that, mostly because she gets to spend extra time with Luke who Y/N has heart eyes for. But, his eyes are for someone else. Julie.

“No, she’s not coming,” she answers the muffled voice in the background. “I don’t know!” she groans. “The boys wanted me to ask you if you’re okay, which are you?” 

“Yes! I’m fine, just go rehearse, even though you guys don’t really need it, I know you’ll rock tomorrow--” Y/N gets cut off by her door swinging open.

“Y/N! Homework! Now!” her mom orders.

“I’m just telling Julie I can’t make it,” Y/N argues. “I gotta go.” 

“Oh, okay, well, we all miss you over here,” she affirms.

“Yeah, I miss you all too, but we did see each other today, so… I miss the boys.” 

Julie laughs. “I’ll tell them that, especially you know who.” Y/N can sense Julie’s smirk when she speaks. 

Y/N chokes on a bit of her saliva. “Julie! I-I have to go.” She hangs up. “Why me?” she asks whatever higher power could possibly be listening to the teenage girl. 

She plops down on her desk chair.

“What to start with?” Her eyes scan her To-Do List she’s already made, it’s not as much as she thought, but it’s definitely time consuming and very boring. Some of her teachers have already reached out to her, but she chooses to ignore their offers of help. She’s scared she’ll say something they’ll find stupid, or won’t understand. 

And so she has to skip her favorite part of the day, to do Algebra, and History and Biology, and…

“So, why couldn’t she come today?” Luke asks, tuning his guitar on the couch.

“Eh, I didn’t ask her,” Julie admits. 

“Why not?” Luke gives her a pointed look, his movements faltering.

“She would’ve told me if it was that important,” she claims. She looks off, before seeing him go back to his previous state. “Luke, you've been tuning that guitar for half an hour, I think it’s good.” 

He rolls his eyes. 

“So, Y/N really can’t come today?” Reggie asks, saddened over the news. “But, she never misses a rehearsal unless it’s family, or school related.” 

Luke finally stops, setting down his guitar. “Wait,” he starts. “Didn’t progress reports come out today?” 

Everyone looks at him weirdly. “How do you know that?” Alex questions, spinning his drumstick.

“Oh--uh.” He scratches the back of his head. “When I visited Julie at school the other day, I heard something about it.” 

Julie turns his head towards him. “Are you talking about when Y/N said something about it to Flynn? A couple feet away from us? Yeah I heard her too, because I was facing her.” She crosses her arms. “I think someone has a crush,” she teases, smiling widely.

“What?!” A subtle blush paints over his cheeks. “I don’t like Y/N like that, she’s--she’s just a good friend.”

“Oh come on!” Alex joins. “It’s so obvious, don’t think I don’t notice when you stare at her.” He sends a wink to Luke.

“Or when you talk about her,” Reggie adds. “Which is all the time.” 

“Just tell her,” Julie advises. 

“Tell her?” Luke repeats, giving her a look of disbelief. “I don’t think you’ve guys noticed, but I’m dead, and she’s very much alive.” 

“So?! Everyone knows you two are completely in love with each other, so give it a shot,” Julie urges, also knowing her friend's infatuation with the guitarist.

Luke chuckles. “She doesn’t like me, she rarely talks to me, to be honest I think she hates me.” 

“You rarely talk to her,” Julie points out. “And ‘to be honest’ I think she thinks you hate her.” Luke’s posture caves hearing Julie’s words. “Are we going to get started now?” 

Everyone nods. 

Throughout practice Luke found his mind wandering back to the previous conversations the band had. A warm feeling would build in his stomach for a movement when he would think about the fact that Y/N likes him, or at least his friends think so. “Luke!” Alex shouts, snapping Luke out of his thoughts. “Practice is over,” he informs.

"It is?!” His eyes widened when an idea popped into his mind. “Well, won’t you look at that, it is over, and I completely forgot I made plans, bye!” Luke poofs out, landing in a girly room, but has a certain vibe to it.

“Luke!” Y/N shrieks, putting a hand over her heart. “What are you doing here?” she whisper-yells.

“T-the--” he snaps his fingers. “The guys wanted someone to check in on you, and Alex is hanging out with Willie, and Reggie is Reggie so… I volunteered.” He sways back and forth against his ankles. “Sooo… How are you doing?” He strolls up to her smoothly, placing an arm on the back of her chair.

“Luke… You are a terrible liar,” she asserts. “But, if you really want to know. I’m not doing too well.”

He frowns. “Why?”

“School,” she sighs. “We got our progress reports, and I’m not doing too well.” She tries to hide the paper from Luke.

“Y/N, don’t be embarrassed, I’m sure it’s not that bad.” He plucks the paper from under her arm. His reassuring smile slowly faded. “There’s… Room for improvement?” He shrugs.

“Get out,” Y/N mutters. 

Luke’s heart plummeted. “What?” 

“I said get out,” she repeats, harshly. “I get it, I’m dumb, and I’m lazy, and I don’t do my work. I get it. So, just leave.” Tears threatened to fall from her eyes. “I’m serious Luke.” Her voice cracks a little.

Guilt washed over him when he saw the effect his words take on her. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. He reaches out to hug her, but he instead goes straight through her.

Y/N doesn’t notice his attempt of this action, instead boring her eyes at the paper in front of her. “Luke, I said just go.” She rubs her forehead.

He didn’t move though, he instead started looking over the paper she hadn't touched. “Twenty-three,” he answers.

“What?” she chokes out.

“The answer, it’s twenty-three.” He looks at her, a little self-conscious. “Look, just because I didn’t have the best grades, or didn’t do work, didn’t mean I was dumb, so stop telling yourself that. We’re not so different you know.” 

She scrunches her face. “How’d you get that?” she asks. “The answer to the question.”

His eyes light up when she accepts his explanation, not asking him to leave again. “So… I just did…” 

He talks through the problem, asking Y/N if she understands when her eyes widen. He noticed she does that when she’s getting confused, or is not fully processing the words. As they go through each subject, him helping her, or giving his opinion on things. She started to find herself smiling, and having fun? “Wow,” he whispers, reading a poem. “You just wrote this?” 

She nods. “Yeah, I know, it’s not that great.” 

“No! It’s really good for something you wrote in five minutes,” he compliments, rereading the poem in his head. “Who knew you were such a romantic?” he teases.

Y/N feels her cheeks warm up. “That’s actually the first time I’ve heard that.”

“So, who’d you write it about?” he asks. He partially dreaded asking the questions. He didn’t want to picture her ever describing someone that wasn’t him in such a beautiful context. “C’mon, you can tell me, what am I going to do? Tell my ghost friends.” 

Y/N giggles. “I--uh… Someone?” It comes out more as a question.

“Name?” 

“Why you want to know so bad, huh?” she blurts, with a smirk. “Why? You jealous?” She knew he wasn’t, but the thought made her whole body catch on fire.

Luke, surprised by her sudden cockiness, sends her a smirk right back. “Well, what if I am?” 

She scoffs. “Yeah, right,” she murmurs.

He tilts his head. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She gives him a ‘really’ look. “Luke, c’mon…” She waits for him to say something like ‘you’re right, I’m joking’, or anything along those lines, but he just stares back with the same intensity she has.

“What do you want me to say?”

The question lingers in Y/N’s mind. I want you to say you like me. That’s what she wanted to tell him, that’s what she wanted to hear. “Nothing,” she mumbles. “Absolutely nothing.” 

He cracks a smile. “Just tell me!” After that he keeps repeating it over and over again.

“I want you to say you like me!” she shouts. 

His eyes widened, but he didn’t seem uncomfortable, he seemed in awe of the situation. “Why are you shouting?” Y/N’s mom asks, rushing in.

“Because I’ve gotten ten assignments turned in!” Y/N cheers trying to ignore Luke giving her a big smile, seriously, it’s scary how wide it is. 

“I like you too,” he whispers, her heart dropping. It’s like he couldn’t contain his little secret for any longer, but now it leaves Y/N impatient as her mom stares down at her on the bed. 

“That’s good! she assures. “Though it would’ve been better if you turned them in on time, but at least they’re in.” Y/N nods at her mom's backhanded compliment. “Anyways, dinners ready.” 

“Ah, yes.” Y/N shuts her laptop. “I forgot humans have to eat.” 

“Can I stay?” Luke asks.

“In my room,” she answers.

“You’re going to eat in your room?” her mom asks.

“Can you?” Luke perks up, hearing it. “Just say you want to finish your work, because you’re already in the groove, or something!” His eyes are pleading Y/N to stay with him, leaving her almost speechless.

“Y-yeah,” she stutters. “There’s a few more things I want to do before I call it a night, and I’m kind of in… ‘The Groove’,” she discreetly ridicules the boy next to her that’s invisible to her mom's eyes.

“Okay, just come down when you’re ready.” 

Y/N sighs of relief when she hears the door shut quietly. “So, you like me?” She was slightly breathless from the beautiful boy so close to her.

“Yeah,” he responds. His eyes didn’t meet hers though.

“You don’t seem sure,” she judges. 

His gaze locks with her. “I’m just nervous,” he reveals. “You make me really nervous. I thought you hated me just an hour ago, and now…”

She gapes at him. “I thought you hated me!” 

“That’s what Julie said,” he adds, pointing towards her.

Y/N jolts her body away from him. “You spoke about me with Julie?” As if she summoned her, Julie’s contact lights up her phone. “Hello,” she answers.

“Is Luke over there?” she asks. “Sorry! Hi, it’s just the boys were worried.” Y/N sneaks a glimpse towards Luke who can’t seem to take his eyes off of her, it’s like he’s trying to memorize every single part of her body. 

“He’s not, but I had a question for you.” Luke looks at Y/N confused as to why she lied. “Did you guys talk about anything earlier? He was acting weird, and you know with you being good friends with him, and us being the best of friends, I wanted to know.” 

“Oh my God!” she exclaims. “He was out of it the entire rehearsal after we told him you weren’t going to be there, and he was all worried, and concerned, it was adorable. Dude is so in love with you it’s insane. I mean even Reggie and Alex were talking about how he talks about you, and how he stares at you, and how he’s so invested in you. I’d say he’s obsessed.” 

Y/N lets out a victorious hum. “Good to know, well, I’ll let you know if I see him--oh wait, he’s right next to me, thanks for the info.” Y/N hangs up.

“She told you about rehearsal didn’t she?” He plays with the rings on his fingers, a nervous habit he picked up.

“Yep.” Y/N pops the ‘p’. “She said you’re obsessed with me.”

“Not true!” he argues. “Sort of…” He pouts. “Not in a creepy way though!” He tries to grab her hand, but it goes straight through. “This will be interesting.” 

“Yeah,” Y/N agrees. “But, we’ll get through it…” 

Luke then learned one thing about himself that night. He was touched-starved.

[woodrokiro]

Do It For the Band, Part Six (fic)

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: When Tatsuki said she wanted their sophomore album to be the next Rumours, this is NOT what she meant. Band AU. Read Part One, Two, Three, Four, and Five. 

Tatsuki never thought she’d live to see the day that she has to drag herself to jam with her friends.

Sure, she’s been pretty hung over on some of her work days; but she was always, always able to pull herself out of bed, pop a couple of Tylenol and be on her way to make a racket. It made no sense how she could still be giddy to beat some loud drums when she had a throbbing headache - but.

She loved it. She loved her band. 

She still does… But she hates Ichigo right now.

Ichigo, who’s being a real insensitive dick. Ichigo, who went on a date with Orihime, aka her-best-friend-aka-longtime-love-of-her-life-maybe-who-knows-she-never-got-a-chance-to-find-out-cuz-of-her-dickwad-friend. 

Ichigo, who is doing this as some stupid fucking vendetta against Rukia, or to forget her, or whatever the fact is being a dumbass and everyone is having to pay for it.

Needless to say: she’s worked herself up to a pretty furious state by the time she rages to practice.  

She stomps over to Chad’s garage, viciously lifting the the heavy door while simultaneously (unreasonably) half expecting to be faced with the sight of Ichigo and Orihime making out - 

When her eyes adjust to see into the garage, there’s none of that (thank God). They’re not even next to each other. Instead, she’s met with a very different sight.

Ichigo’s stewing in the corner, hands stuffed in his pocket and visibly grinding his teeth. Chad is sitting quietly next to him but definitely trying to blend himself into the shadows more than usual. Orihime is looking down at her hands across the room, silent and stiff.

And Rukia is plugging her phone into their speaker jack rather manically. 

“Ah, good afternoon Tatsuki!” Rukia greets the drummer with a too-large, sparkling smile that she recognizes as Rukia’s favorite mask to put on when she’s pissed. The vocalist has noticeable bags under her eyes from… Lack of sleep? Crying? Who knows. Her heart cracks for her.

The pity doesn’t last long when Rukia continues, sickly-sweet. “Since Ichigo was so kind to tell us we should start working on new stuff - “

“Woah woah woah, I didn’t tell you - ”

“My mistake!” Rukia sends Ichigo a somehow-withering smile that could kill. “You’re so right, we all agreed. In any case, I decided to start sooner rather than later. I recorded a quick version by myself last night at - oh, I don’t know, two A.M. - and sent it to Urahara by five.”

Ichigo’s foot starts tapping as he leans forward, arms crossed. “You sent something to Urahara without showing us first?”

“He said he liked it, but to get it passed through you guys. Of course I agreed, so… Here we are.” Rukia’s not looking at him any further, instead sending a hard glance to Tatsuki. 

The drummer knows it’s not really directed at her - more like a woman’s communication-without-words kind of thing - but she finds herself gulping anyway.

--

Here we are indeed. 

Oh you got stars in your eyes, baby

If you think this will work

I won’t follow your galaxies

Won’t fall for that fucking smirk. 

When will you realize the stars were never yours?

Never at any time, never at any time.

The song has turned to pure obliteration by the end. Rukia’s voice intentionally fades out at the finish, but not without absolute raw emotion, pure fury that leaves goosebumps on Tatsuki’s skin. 

Rukia stands in the middle of the garage, hands on her hips, looking proud and dangerous and fiery as she stares straight back at Ichigo’s stone-faced glare. 

Good for her, Tatsuki thinks before remembering: wait. She shouldn’t be rooting for this. 

This is the beginning of a war. 

As if on cue, Ichigo clears his throat, raising his chin to match Rukia’s arrogance.

“Great work, Kuchiki. Way better than anything you’ve done so far, I’d say.” 

Rukia’s nostrils flare. “Is that a comment on my previous work?”

“Not at all. Just… Inspires me to step up my game. In fact…” Ichigo stands up, dusting off his pants. “Is it cool with you all if I cut out early? Think I have some writing to do too, alone.”

“Absolutely not, Ichigo.” Tatsuki is shaken out of watching the trainwreck that’s her life. “Chad, Orihime and I did not come here for you to cut out without even practicing - “

“No, I think it’s fine, Tatsuki.” Rukia’s eyes glint with a challenge. “We can practice… Without Ichigo.” 

An excruciating silence follows. Tatsuki can practically hear Ichigo’s teeth crack beneath his grinding.

“... I can wait to write.” He roughly grabs his guitar, quickly getting to work on tuning it. “Teamwork is important. We’re nakama, after all.”

Something about the pointed word visibly causes the keyboardist to flush, but she starts to unplug her phone from the speaker jack anyway.

The next hour of practice may just be the most painful hour in Tatsuki’s life.

--

She thought she might have an idea of what happened between Ichigo and Rukia from Rukia’s song Celestial Lies - okay, so Ichigo broke a promise? - but seeing what kind of songs follow after that practice from both of them leaves it all… A little muddled.

The next day, Ichigo sends the group chat audio of a break up song.

Eyes softly gazed 

Heart breaking stare

Who knew you’d crush me 

Lying is your best jewelry you wear. 

Everyone hits a wary thumbs up reaction except Rukia, who hours later only replies: Did Urahara approve of this one?

Yes. Ichigo sends back at a neck-breaking speed… 

Followed by a :).

A few days later, Rukia sends another audio. 

It only took you ten days to realize 

I wasn’t good enough, but no one’s ever good enough

No one’s ever nice enough, 

No one’s ever fucked you enough

Called your bluff enough

Said your name like a God enough.

Now Ichigo’s response is a weird song about a siren with lavender eyes feasting on a golden-haired sailor’s skull, and Tatsuki didn’t know what to think happened but frankly? She doesn’t care. 

She calls Urahara immediately. 

“You know what this is gonna do to us, right?!” She shouts into the phone. “This isn’t doing anything but hurting the band, letting them go at it like this!” 

Urahara - to his credit - listens patiently from the other end as she explodes. He has the decency to voice his sympathies, that it must be really tough working in a group with… So many opinions.

“These aren’t opinions. These. Are. Fatalities.” She grits out. 

“I understand, Tatsuki-san, but…” She can nearly hear their manager shrug. “This is… How good music is made. I hate what it’s doing to your nerves, but you have to understand that this is how I get you guys out there.”

“At the expense of our friendship? What kind of manager are you -”

“A good one.” His voice drops low, suddenly serious in a way she’s never heard before. “What would you have me do, Tatsuki-san? Tell everyone to stop writing mean songs? Have them hug it out? You know that does nothing for any of us.” 

“That’s not what I’m... “

“Tatsuki.” His voice lifts, a bit gentler. “This is what you all wanted, what you’re working hard for. Whether or not they get through this… Nobody can say. But that’s not gonna change whether or not they stop writing these stellar pieces. You know how good they are. So… I hate to tell you, but you’re gonna have to suck it up. Enjoy it while it lasts. It might make your career.”

She hangs up immediately, knowing he won’t be offended.

He knows that she knows he’s right. 

--

Almost like a God-sent gift for Tatsuki’s suffering, Orihime breaks it off with Ichigo after only a few weeks. 

The relationship ends - quite spectacularly - in disaster after a couple of dates… Just as Tatsuki thought it would, but hey. She’s not going to gloat about it, only promises whatever deity is responsible a huge offering the next time she happens upon a shrine. 

She hears all about it from Orihime, of course - she’s way too pissed at Ichigo to speak to him about anything besides business - who tells her they got a couple of drinks, dinner a few times. 

“It’s a very nice time! But he’s not… It’s…” She sighs forlornly and it makes Tatsuki hurt for her. 

“He hasn’t made any moves, huh.”

The stage manager shakes her head, suddenly grabbing her water to keep the tears misting her eyes at bay. 

Tatsuki wants to kill him. 

“He said I looked nice. He opens the doors for me, pulls out my chair, pays for my bill. He and I have… Fun, I think. At least I do - and he’s very kind, such a gentleman -”

“It’s okay, Orihime. You can say it: he fucking sucks.”

Orihime laughs a watery laugh. “No, nothing like that. I just… This Rukia thing. It’s so… Intense, right? In practice? I should’ve known. I feel so stupid.”

“... Orihime.” The drummer puts her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Nobody could’ve known. Had I known? You’d find me on a cruise ship, drumming for some dumb cover band.” 

“You make jokes like that, Tatsuki, but you’re the band’s lifeline.” Orihime shakes her head, blinking back tears. “I just… Rukia is so… Goodness, she’s lovely. And talented. And so, so kind - “

“Orihime - “

“And I’m not one to be jealous, I know I’ve only known Ichigo for about a month now so I’m really not too upset about that. But I’d - I’d love to be someone’s first choice like that. I’d love to be the person that someone wants to write songs about, that inspires someone so much. Because that anger that’s coming through their songs… That’s them caring, you know? That’s them caring so much that good or bad, they want the whole world to know, and yeah I don’t love the bad so much but I do love love and want to be cared about like that one day but I’m not as smart or talented as Rukia-chan so - “

Tatsuki interrupts her by firmly pressing her lips to Orihime’s, her hands snaking into her gorgeous auburn hair and suddenly: everything is perfect, angels are singing and if she died at this very moment she would be too blissed out to fight it. 

She briefly breaks it off, nudging Orihime’s forehead with her own. “Rukia is also my friend, but don’t get it twisted. They’re both absolute shits.” 

Orihime laughs, smiling softly at the drummer before she goes back in and Tatsuki thinks band drama?

Who gives a fuck. 

--

Her new girlfriend calls her the next day to say she’s told Ichigo, and Tatsuki sighs. She was about to enjoy her morning by smoking a joint, but. Priorities, she guesses. 

She arrives at Ichigo’s apartment door within the hour, banging until he opens it.

“Y’know, how you get beyond the buzzer at the building entrance is beyond me - “

Tatsuki wastes no time. “Orihime told you, yeah?” 

Ichigo rolls his eyes, but a rare, small smile betrays him. “Yeah, she told me. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. You mad?” 

“What? No. Of course I’m not mad.” 

“Cool. ‘Cuz what the ever-loving fuck, Ichigo.” 

“... Not sure what you mean.” Ichigo’s eyes turn to flint as understanding dawns on him, and he’s about to close the door when she stomps on his foot. 

“Tatsuki, what the hell--”

“Don’t ever try to do that to me again. What is this all about?” 

“God, we didn’t have a - Orihime and I are friends! It’s all been worked out! What do you care, you got your girl - ” He shuts his mouth at the giveaway as Tatsuki narrows her eyes. 

“Is that what this is about? You didn’t get your girl so you tried to get mine?”

“No, Tatsuki. I had no idea you liked her, I would’ve never had - and what do you mean ‘my girl’?!”

She ignores the question and chooses instead to ask in reply: “Have you talked to Rukia?”

A beat.

“... We’re not discussing this, Tatsuki.” 

“Like, really talked to her? ‘Cuz I know you, and a whole lot of this bullshit could’ve been avoided had you just - “

“I’m not discussing this with you Tatsuki.” He looks down at his phone, lighting up the screen to look at the time. “Look, there’s a few more hours until practice and I wanted to get in some writing - “

“Of course you do.”

“... Just do me a favor. Please? Don’t - don’t ask me to talk about that stuff. You’re my friend and you scare the shit out of me - but I’m drawing the line there. Unless it has something to do with the band - “

She’s getting pissed all over again. “Ichigo, you know it effects the band - “

“We’re professional.” He snaps, and the quick show of temper stuns Tatsuki. He’s never had the nerve to talk to her like that, ever.

She’d be impressed if it wasn’t for the circumstances.

“... Congrats again on you and Orihime. I’ll see you two at practice tonight.” 

He slams the door.

“... And you can kick my ass for doing that, later!” His muffled shout sounds from the other side of the door. 

Tatsuki leaves in a hell of a less good mood than when she came.

[wannawritefast]

Whiplash: Ch. 3- Practicing

A/N: Thank you for your kind words, lovelies! I really appreciate you guys engaging with my work.

Pairing: Gwilym Lee! Brian May x Reader

Pt. 2

Warnings: Mild language, alcohol, again... mentions of Stupid Men... fluffy??? kinda???

You and Brian had worked out that you would split the holiday between your families: Christmas with yours and New Year’s with his. Although you had confirmed with your parents and brother that you did, in fact, have a (fake) boyfriend and, yes, you were bringing him for Christmas, that didn’t make you any less nervous. You weren’t entirely certain you could even pull it off.

Brian suggested acting as if the two of you were a couple before you left for holiday. Just so it would be easier to play the part later.

The whole experience gave you metaphorical whiplash. It wasn’t because of any drastic changes in behavior. It was quite the opposite actually.

There wasn’t a massive change in how the two of you interacted. Sure, there was a little more couple-y PDA. But there was no other change in how he addressed you or interacted with you. That was what was most alarming. And, boy, did people buy it…

“Brian, I can’t just buy cereal for dinner.” You tidily placed the box of sugary carbs back on the shelf with a pointed look at the curly-haired man and continued pushing your trolley. Brian followed closely behind but not before plucking the box off of the spot you had placed it on, unbeknownst to you.

Brian underhand tossed the cereal over your head and it landed in the trolley with a clang. You could practically hear the defiance echo through the metal after the brightly colored box cut majestically through the fluorescent lighting. If you weren’t so taken aback, you would have been impressed with the aim.

You halted and immediately looked at your faux boyfriend. There he was, whistling and inspecting another box of cereal with trained attention. You plucked the box out of the trolley and tried to stroll past him but the box slipped out of grasp suddenly.

You whirled around and saw the cereal box in the hand of your favorite curly-haired guitarist. Brian shook it victoriously with a brow raised in challenge and you narrowed your eyes, determined. Oh, if he wanted to play… you could play.

All Brian had to do was hold the box straight in the air while you jumped up desperately trying to reach it. He even taunted you a few times lowering his arm just enough but raising it again when you got close.

“Brian,” you whined exasperatedly. Trying to be angry at him was much too hard when he was chuckling at you with that cocky smile on his face. “Give it back!”

“No way!” He replied. “You’re very cute right now, did you know?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t relent. And you certainly didn’t let him see the blush spreading on your face. “I see we’re trying to charm our way out of trouble again.”

“Ah, indeed I am,” Brian affirmed with a cheeky smile. You kept hopping up to reach it. You would have to work smarter not harder. “Is it working?”

You huffed a few times, beginning to tire, and blew a strand of hair out of your face and ceased all jumping. He cocked his head in confusion and you pressed a peck to his cheek. Now it was his turn to be stunned. 

Brian’s guard was down and you swiftly pulled the cereal box out of his hand. While he was still in shock you tucked the box into your torso and moved to run back to the spot where you had found it, not unlike a rugby player.

You made it about half way there before long arms locked around yours and stopped you. You squealed in surprise and Brian spun you around dramatically from behind. The cereal remained in your vice-like grip but Brian wasn’t letting go any time soon either. His laugh was right next to your ear and yours joined in.

“You kids are so cute.” A brittle voice sounded from behind you.

You and Brian immediately halted your antics, unraveling yourselves, and stood stiffly next to each other like two kids who had been caught red-handed. Your arm swung the cereal box roughly into Brian’s chest and he grunted. You blurted out an apology.

“No, don’t stop on my account.” An older woman shakily supported herself on her trolley. Her hair was white and her knuckles were knobby and her back was hunched but she smiled sweetly at the two of you.

“I remember when my Harold and I were that young,” she rasped. The woman put her hand on the middle of her chest. You giggled sheepishly to diffuse the awkwardness. “It seems like just yesterday that we-”

“Marianne!” An older man yelled a little too loudly from the end of the aisle.

“I’m right here,” she answered. Harold hobbled over to where she was and put two boxes of chocolate biscuits in the trolley. “Harold, we have biscuits at home, luv.”

“But not the good kind,” he groused.

“We bought them yesterday, darling,” Marianne explained. “They’re blueberry. We only bought them because you said you wanted them. I don't even like blueberry.”

“Well, I changed my mind. I want chocolate biscuits now.”

Marianne rolled her eyes. “You do this every time. It’s wasteful. We’re not getting the biscuits.” She began waddling away still muttering to herself with the trolley after placing the biscuits on the shelf next to her.

Harold watched her with a frown on his face. After making sure that she was no longer paying attention to him, he mischievously put a finger to his lips and shushed you and Brian. You put a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter. He grabbed the boxes off of the shelf and marched slowly but surely after her.

“My God…” Brian muttered after Harold was out of earshot. “It’s like looking in a mirror.”

You hiccuped on your laughter as you watched Marianne scold Harold from the other end of the aisle. “You think so?” You asked.

He hummed contemplatively. “I’m about 80% certain.”

“Only 80%?”

“Yeah, I figure if you don’t murder me before we reach that age, I’ll actually outlive you.”

“Oh, really,” you laughed. “And why would I commit such a heinous act?”

“Because of this.” Before you had a chance to stop him, Brian took his arm and scooped approximately seven boxes of that godforsaken cereal from earlier into his chest and shot toward the basket. He dumped the boxes haphazardly into the trolley and began pushing it away like a mad man.

He made it to end of the aisle and made sure you saw him drift the cart as he turned into the next aisle.

A child… You were fake dating an actual child.

[{...}]

The following weekend your sister came into the city to visit you. When she had originally planned to visit you, you had been sans fake boyfriend. But since you had made the arrangement with Brian, she was much more excited than she had been initially.

Donna took to temporarily living in your flat with extreme comfort. Your cat certainly enjoyed having another person around to dote on him and you certainly enjoyed having someone else to talk to. Brian was a great friend, er, fake boyfriend but it was nice to have another friendly face around.

Having your sister over meant showing her how you lived and taking her to the places that you usually went and that included seeing Queen play a gig.

With an ale in hand, you headed backstage little sister in tow. The people guarding the doors knew you by name and let you pass. Following intuitively the layout of how most pub stages worked (you had been to plenty of Brian’s gigs before to understand) you navigated your way to where the band was backstage. 

“Hey,” you bumped Brian with your shoulder who was turned around, tuning his red guitar.

Brian immediately smiled upon recognizing you. Instead of greeting you with a side hug, he took the mug out of your hand with a ‘for me?’ and began chugging it.

“Hey!” You scolded. You grabbed at your mug but by the time you got your fingers around it, half of your ale was gone.

“That was really good, thank you!”

You kept a tight grip on your mug in case he was getting any ideas about continuing his antics. “I asked if you wanted one!”

“I changed my mind.” He shrugged. “Plus, it tastes better when it’s yours.”

“So you just decided to drink my mug half-empty?!”

“I prefer to look at it as half-full,” a smile spread across his face. Cocky bastard. You batted your palm toward his shoulder and he laughed gleefully at your reaction. Brian caught your wrist mid-swing and halted your assault. You paused standing as still as Brian was.

“If you wanted me to grab you one, you should have told me,” you spoke gently, suddenly calm for some odd reason. “I offered to get you one.”

He still had his hand on your wrist. It wasn’t tight but the contact was there.

“I might take you up on that after the show,” Brian contemplated. He slid his hand down to hold yours and swung your arm playfully. “Thank you for letting me have some of your drink-”

“I didn’t really have much choice in the matter.” The lights on stage slowly turned on.

Someone cleared their throat next to you and you suddenly remembered that your sister was, in fact, present as well. Brian let go of your hand gently and turned to face her.

“Donna,” she supplied with an extended hand. Brian shook her hand firmly with a smile.

“Brian,” he answered politely, “it’s nice to finally put a face to the great ‘Donna.’”

“Likewise. My sister and I don’t get to meet up often but when we do, she does NOT shut up about you,” she looked at you with a giggle.

Your sister really loved digging you into holes, didn’t she? You gave her a pointed look. The realization of her lack of filter dawned on her suddenly.

“Not that she doesn’t talk about other things! She talks about you a normal amount. Definitely not obsessively or anything like that!” She rushed out her words in a poor attempt to fix what she had said. Donna smiled at you like she had smoothed everything over.

“Please make me sound more creepy, Donna.” You iterated through gritted teeth.

Brian chuckled. “Aw, you couldn’t be creepy if you tried.”

“Thank you, Brian.”

“Maybe a tad pathetic,” he joked with a grin. “A little sad, perhaps.”

“Yeah?” You lightly smacked his arm. He laughed in response. “Keep talking, poodle.”

Roger jogged up to the two of you. “Hey, Y/n,” he greeted with a charming look. The drummer clapped his friend on the shoulder. “We’re about to go on.” Roger suddenly noticed Donna next to you and turned up the charm. “Hello there. I’m Roger.” He extended his hand toward hers.

Donna smiled back at him and grasped his hand as she introduced herself. “You must be the drummer.”

“You’re a smart girl, how’d you know?”

“You’ve got drumsticks sticking out of your pocket.” She explained. “I have good eyes.”

“They’re beautiful, too.”

You rolled your eyes and groaned. But neither your sister nor Roger heard you. Your sister giggled and twirled the end of her hair around her finger.

Not this… anything but this… 

Brian chuckled and put an arm over your shoulders. He rubbed the side of your arm. The body of his guitar lightly rested against your side.

“I’d be more than happy to give you some private drumming lessons after the set.” Roger took the drumsticks out of his pocket and twirled one of them skillfully in his fingers. “How’s that sound?”

Before she could get another word out you interjected, “Yeah, that’s not happening. Turn it around and march it away, Rog.”

Roger faced you with a scoff. “But-”

“Did I stutter? Move it along, casanova.”

“Y/n!” Your sister scolded incredulously.

But you didn’t pull your gaze from Roger. You narrowed your eyes at him as he defiantly pressed his lips together. “Fine.” Roger stalked away.

“Are you kidding me, Y/n?!” you sister asked. “He was cute.”

“He does this with literally every girl, Donna.”

“Whatever.”

Brian turned back to directly face you and pulled his arm from your shoulder. “Anyways, I’ll take you up on that drink offer after the show, darling.”

If trying to repress your blush from his pet name wasn’t enough, he grabbed your open hand suddenly, pressed an exaggerated kiss to the back of it, and let it drop to your side. Brian walked to the huddle, leaving you dumbstruck with a half-finished mug of ale and an irritated younger sister.

It took you a moment to come back to reality and go back into the fray to watch the show.

[{...}]

The set ran unbelievably smooth. But to be fair, they usually played without any noticeable mistakes.

As per routine, you went out with the band to get drinks and you did, in fact, buy Brian a drink. He claimed to have been joking but you still got him a mug of ale.

The two of you together waited for the round that you were covering at the bar.

“How was the set?” Brian asked, leaning sideways against the bar and facing you.

“Horrible,” you sighed exaggeratedly. Brian’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m kidding. It was wonderful as usual.” You patted his cheek affectionately. He gnashed his teeth at your hand as you pulled it away.

He glanced over his shoulder at the table where the rest of the band, Mary, your sister, and a groupie were sitting. Your eyes followed his quick glance.

“And what’d your sister think?” He asked.

“Still a little cross at me for preventing the Roger situation. She’ll get over it by the morning though and-”

Brian cut you off. He turned back to you, looking down and fiddling with his fingers. “No, darling. Not about Roger. What’d she think of the music? Me?”

You smiled at Brian. He was nervous. There was certainly no need to be. “Donna loves you, Brian. And she loves Queen.”

“Really?” He questioned. “You’re not just saying that? I want to make a good first impression.”

“No,” you exclaimed assuredly. You grabbed hold of his hand. “She’s really impressed with you guys.” Brian let out a casual sigh of relief, feigning no big deal, but you knew better. “It’s impossible for people not to like you, Bri. What are you so worried about?”

Brian inhaled like he was going to speak but the bartender set down mugs on the counter for you to take. Only half of the round. You asked Brian to wait for the other half of the order and you walked to the table with the first half only to find your sister and Roger heatedly arguing. Freddie was leaned against Mary in amusement and John was fiddling with his wallet in his hands as if this was a common occurrence.

“Are you joking?!” Roger exclaimed. “Have you seen the way they look at each other?”

“I think I know my sister. Now pull your head out of your ass before I kick something else in that region, prat.”

“I know Brian.” Roger iterated. “I’m not a dimwit like you.”

“Perhaps your drums have affected your hearing so I’ll say it slower and louder,” Donna leaned forward exaggeratedly and Roger rolled his eyes angrily as the groupie sat back with her arms crossed, simultaneously irritated by the lack of attention and overwhelmed by the anger. “BRIAN. AND. MY. SISTER. ARE NOT DATING. Okay. Do I need to write it down for you too?!”

“No!-”

“Good!” She brought her mug of ale to her lips. “Its not like you’d be able to read it anyways.”

Roger weakly mocked her by leaning forward childishly and imitating her voice before retorting. “You don’t see what we see on a regular basis. You’re just visiting.”

“I’m her sister, you wanker! She tells me everything.”

Brian appeared next to you with the mugs in hand. You had been frozen to the spot in shock and amusement of the situation. “What did I miss?” He asked from the corner of his mouth.

“Look! They’re right here,” Donna turned to you and gestured her arm at you. “Why don’t we ask them, hmm? Are you or are you not dating?”

You and Brian looked at each other momentarily before beginning to stammer.

“Well, technically-”

“-it’s for a challenge with-”

“-and we’re staying the holidays with each others’ families-”

Roger halted the two of you assertively. “Wait, so you are?”

“No…” Brian’s voice went high in consideration. “Not technically.”

“How do you mean?”

You handed out the mugs as Brian and you explained what was going on. You both sat down in the booth with you in between him and your sister; Brian rested his arm on the top of the booth behind your shoulders as you leaned comfortably against his side. Roger sat scrutinizing the backstory and the explanation.

“Let me get this straight,” Roger shifted in his seat and gestured to you and the guitarist, “The two of you are fake dating over the holidays because your brother,-” he switched to gesture between you and your sister “-amongst other male members of your family, is a pillock who won’t leave you alone unless you’re dating someone even though you’re more than adequate without a boyfriend. No offense, Bri.”

“None taken,” Brian shrugged and took a drink from his beer.

“Did I get it right?”

You and Donna looked at each other for a moment before nodding at each other. You turned to Roger. “Yep.”

Roger, with his sunglasses on, nodded at you and Brian for a moment and finally put his arm around the groupie. “Yeah, and what‘re the two of you going to do once the holidays are over?”

You were taken aback for a moment. Brian and you suddenly looked at each other, both startled. You stopped leaning on him. Neither of you had considered what would happen after the holidays.

Brian scratched the back of his head and took a swig of his beer before answering, “Well, I suppose we go back to normal. Being friends. All that.” He took another swig of his beer.

You hummed in agreement and took a big gulp of the alcohol in front of you. “Yeah. We’ll go back to how it was before this arrangement or whatever you want to call it.”

Donna scoffed to herself. “Have you met our family? If Brian comes out alive, he certainly won’t come back normal.”

“He’ll be fine. They deal with crazy fans every weekend. It’ll be a walk in the park.” You leaned into his side again. 

“What if it doesn’t work,” Mary inquired sweetly. “I mean, I hope it does for your sake but on the off chance it doesn’t…”

“It just has to.” You answered with a shrug. “I have faith in us.” Brian brought his arm down to rest on your shoulders and he rubbed your arm.

“Well, what if it does work?” The blonde drummer asked. You cocked your head in confusion. 

“How do you mean?”

“What if it works a little too well and they end up really liking him? What are you going to do next year?” Roger asked. 

John spoke up too. “Yeah, what are you going to say if they ask about him again and want him to visit with you?”

You were beginning to panic. There was so much you hadn’t thought about. “I’m just trying to get through this year’s holidays. We’ll worry about the rest later.” You polished off the rest of your drink. You needed to get away from the table suddenly; the urge to vomit was bubbling in your chest. You put on a polite smile. “I need to use the loo. Anyone coming with me? Donna? Mary?”

Brian slid off the bench to let you out and you briskly began walking to the restrooms with Mary and Donna in tow.

You threw the door open and took pacing steps. “What have I gotten myself into?” Donna and Mary stepped into the bathroom, watching your distress. “Roger was right. I didn’t think this through at all. My god, what have I done? What if this doesn’t work? What if James doesn’t believe me? Or Dad? Or Granddad?”

“Hey…” Donna began. But you were too wrapped up in your thoughts. You fiddled with the ends of your hair.

“Oh goodness, what if this does work?! What if they want to keep seeing him? We can’t fake date forever! Brian has a life ahead of him. He doesn’t need to waste time on helping me with my stupid family.” You froze in your tracks as your stomach dropped. “What if Brian and I aren’t friends after this?” 

Out of all of the logistical worries and stresses, there was nothing more terrifying than not having Brian in your life. You couldn't bear it if you ruined the friendship between the two of you.

“You’re worrying over nothing, dear,” Mary urged. She stepped forward and pulled you into a warm hug. “One thing at a time, remember? Just like you said at the table.”

You nodded and took a deep breath. Mary was right.

Your stomach lurched suddenly. You ran to the nearest bathroom stall and emptied your alcohol-filled stomach. You’d had quite a few beers since the evening began, even before Queen’s set. Maybe your nerves had been a result of your drunken state… You were drained all of a sudden.

“I think,” Donna pushed open the stall door behind you, “that’s our cue to leave.”

“God, Donna, I’m sorry.” You clutched your forehead. “I know you don’t want to be dealing with hungover-me when you’re visiting.”

“It’s alright,” your sister grabbed your upper arm and guided you up from the floor. “Let’s go.”

You waddled out of the bathroom with a headache pounding behind your eyes and a dizzying ringing in your ears. The two of you headed to the booth together; the after effects were hitting you hard and fast and you were beginning to wonder if you had a touch of food poisoning. You leaned over the back of the booth with your head hidden in the crook of your arm while Donna grabbed your bags.

“Are you alright,” Brian’s voice asked. Everything was much too loud. The music playing. The people chattering. The drinks clinking. The chairs scraping. Your stomach tossed again but you repressed the reflex with a deep breath. 

You shot a thumbs up to him before quietly saying that you had thrown up. You were feeling seriously under the weather.

You felt a hand on your back, Brian’s. “Let me walk you and Donna home.”

“It’s alright, Brian,” you began. It was worth a shot to not pull Brian away from spending time with the band. Deep down you knew he was going to insist on walking you home; he always did. “I don’t want to stop you from having a good time.”

“I’m not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.” Of course he wasn’t. “You and Donna both have alcohol in your system. No good time is worth your safety on the line,” he spoke gently. You leaned on him as he put his arm under yours to support you upright. “Alright, let’s go.”

“I’ve got our bags,” Donna affirmed gently.

You waved a vague goodbye at the table and there was a hum of ‘goodbyes’ as you left with Brian and Donna.

You arrived clumsily at your flat, to the simultaneous excitement and dismay of your cat. He immediately yelled at you for food after yelling at you in greeting. Brian went to feed him as Donna walked you to your bedroom.

Brian, on many separate occasions, although an animal lover, claimed not to be particularly fond of cats. And just as many times as he had said that he didn’t like them, you had caught him baby talking, petting, and even cradling your cat. Not fond of them, your ass… Brian stood in the doorway with your furry baby draped over his shoulder.

Donna helped you clean your face and tucked you into bed. You apologized to her and Brian once again. They both hummed that it was alright.

“You’re sure?” You asked groggily, already feeling sleep tugging at your consciousness.

“Yes,” Brian answered. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll make it up to you. Both of you, I promise.” You slurred.

“It’s alright.”

“Breakfast tomorrow morning and we’ll call it even,” Donna bargained.

“Deal. To both of you,” you agreed through a yawn. “Okay. I love you both. Good dreams.”

You were so tired that you turned on your side and fell asleep almost immediately. You missed Brian set your cat on the bed. And adjust the blanket over your shoulder. And whisper ‘I love you too’ back.

But Donna didn’t miss it. Not at all.

TAGS:

@phantoms-lynn​ @andtheswordwentsnickersnack​ 

[hetacon]

Much Ado About Remus

Word Count: 1,614

Pairings: Platonic Dukexiety, Prinxiety, Creativitwins, Implied Demus

Warning: Swearing, sexual jokes, Remus-like ideas, mention of tearing one’s heart out of their chest, kissing, Roman is an oblivious dumbass, Virgil is a pining dumbass, and Remus is a dumbass dumbass who loves his dumbass brother

______________________________

Summary: Remus and Virgil may not get along but the one thing they have in common is that they love Roman. Both in different ways, mind you, and Remus tries to help Virgil deal with his own affections. It’s definitely interesting to say the least.

______________________________

Virgil sat on the back of the couch, watching movies with the rest of the sides and Thomas. Tonight had been Virgil’s pick and of course, The Nightmare Before Christmas was currently on, Sally’s Song playing. He couldn’t help it as he stared at Roman from his little pillow throne, the dork.

“Hey Virgil!” he heard whisper shouted next to his ear.

Virgil shrieked as he fell backwards, landing painfully on the ground behind the couch. He saw Remus looming over him with wide eyes and an excited smile.

“You alright kiddo?” Virgil heard Patton ask as the movie paused.

“Yeah yeah, keep watching, I’m fine!” he insisted quickly before glaring at Remus. “What the fuck do you need?”

“You want my brother to bone you?” Remus whispered excitedly, maybe a bit too much with the words he just spoke.

“What the fuck,” Virgil muttered. “What’s it to you?”

“You’re making goo-goo eyes at him, it’s disgusting. I want to help!”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “We’re not really friends you know. Why would you help me? Why would I accept it in any case?”

“Cause you have the hots for him and I can tell you’re a horny bitch about it too so why not!”

Virgil looked unamused and Remus pouted.

“He’s my brother,” Remus conceded. “Even if he’s sometimes kinda boring, I still want him to be happy and he’s a doofus who can’t see what’s two feet in front of him.”

With a sigh, Virgil looked up at him. “What would you know about romance?”

“I’ll have you know that I take two d’s every night like a good little boy!”

Virgil grimaced at that. “It’s a mystery why Deceit likes you.”

“Yes it is!”

“And again, why would I accept your help?”

“Because you maybe sorta actually still like me like the good old days?”

“No, I still despise you.”

“Eh, fair enough!”

_____

Somehow, Virgil found himself in Remus’ room, sitting on the one clutter-free part of the bed that Remus had cleared off for him. He watched as Remus sat across the room from him, smiling widely.

“Am I supposed to start? I wasn’t even going to tell him, you know,” Virgil said finally.

Remus snorted. “That’s why I’m helping! You’re just gonna fantasize about being his pretty little damsel in distress and boring romance shit like that if I don’t help. And then when I read your diary, it won’t be any fun-!”

Virgil’s head shot up. “You read my journal!?”

“So what better way to get you to stop being sappy and disgusting than by getting you laid?” Remus finished.

Virgil groaned, strongly tempted to hit his head against the wall. He managed to control himself enough to not do so, no easy feat for Remus’ room. “What do you suggest I do?”

“I was hoping you’d ask!” Remus said with a clap of his hands.

“That’s why I agreed to your help dumbass, it’s what you offered.”

“Shush, first idea! You go to his room, lie naked on his bed, and tell him to take you when he comes in!”

Virgil looked at Remus blankly.

“Scream at him to take you right where you stand!”

Still no good based on the look Virgil was sporting at it, even worse as another thought popped into his head.

“No? You could rip your heart out of your chest and give it to him as a symbol of your undying love!”

Remus only received an uncomfortable grimace. Closer but not quite.

“You’re so boring, mutilation and sex are fun!” Remus huffed out.

“I’m not tearing myself open or telling him to fuck me and you know it,” Virgil snapped. “Like, what does he like?”

“Lots of things! Adventure, saving damsels in distress from me, slaying dragon witches—that one’s my favorite, he makes it really gory—sour gummy worms, romance, swords, poetry, ceiling fans, sappy shit a lot of the time!”

“That was all just really random,” Virgil told him.

“Yep, that’s me!” Remus beamed. “But c’mon, it’s not that hard! Just tell him how horny and or sappy he makes you feel and then you can tell him to take you!”

“Alright, I’m leaving now,” Virgil said quickly, standing up.

“Suit yourself!”

“Er..” Virgil paused at the door, looking back to Remus. “Thanks.”

“For what?” Remus asked.

“Nothing, whatever.”

_____

Virgil held a piece of paper in his hand, looking at Remus with an unsure look. “Are you really sure I should do this? What if he doesn’t want to even talk to me anymore? What if he laughs at me!?” he shouted in Remus’ face, clinging to his shirt.

“If he doesn’t like you back, he’s clearly more stupid than I thought,” Remus told him.

Virgil looked at him for a second, blinking. “Wow.. That’s uh, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever-“

“Though to be fair, he’s just stupid in general so that’s not saying much!”

“You ruined it,” Virgil deadpanned, dropping him. He sighed as Remus only cackled on the floor.

“Enough enough,” Remus said, hitting Virgil’s ankle with his hand. “Go show him your disgustingly sappy poem!!”

Virgil took a deep breath and walked down the stairs to where Roman was on the couch, absentmindedly watching a Disney movie as he wrote ideas down on a notepad. Roman looked up to see Virgil holding a piece of lined paper in front of his face.

“What’s this?” Roman asked him, glancing up to see Virgil look away as he took it.

“Just read it before I pass out from embarrassment,” Virgil muttered to him.

Roman opened it up, reading it quietly to himself. He smiled. “It sounds nice, did you want my feedback on it, oh angsty one?” he asked.

Virgil never wanted to disappear more in his life and stupidly nodded, not willing to tell Roman the real reason for it. That was how he ended up sitting next to Roman on the couch, Roman telling him of things he liked about it, the meaning he gathered from it, ways to improve it should Virgil feel it needed to be.

_____

Virgil walked up the stairs in a daze and lied down on the floor in front of Remus. Remus snorted.

“I told ya, he’s dumb!” Remus sang out a little.

“I’m never going to do it, I’m never going to be able to confess to him, I’m going to be miserable for the rest of my life-“

“He’ll fuck you eventually!”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too~!”

_____

Attempt numbers 2 through 4 had failed miserably too and Virgil was close to giving up as Roman once again missed the point on attempt number 5. Heading towards his room, he grimaced to Remus again and Remus shrugged.

“He’s a dumbass you know, I didn’t think he was this stupid though! That’s usually my job if anything!”

Virgil thought about it for a moment before lighting up. “You’re right!” he shouted before hurrying to his room.

“Well geez, you didn’t have to agree with me,” Remus said but shrugged, sinking out.

_____

Virgil took a deep breath as he opened the front door, seeing Roman sitting on the porch. He held his guitar with a tense smile as Roman turned around and beamed at him.

“Hello my dark and stormy knight, how are you this fine evening?” Roman asked, stunning Virgil for a moment.

“Good, um, can I play something for you?” he asked, motioning to the acoustic guitar weakly.

Roman smiled more and scooted over on the doorstep, following Virgil’s gaze as he sat down.

Virgil gave a quick strum, tuning it a little to make sure it sounded ok. He strummed again, cursing as he dropped his pick.

He wasn’t even sure what he played as his nerves got to him. He knew he was playing, he knew he was singing, he knew that Roman was watching him.

He knew there was no turning back.

“I love you,” he heard himself say over the sound of blood rushing through his ears. It was a miracle it happened.

“Really? You mean that sincerely?” Roman asked.

Virgil only nodded before Roman was holding his chin up, asking his permission to kiss him. Virgil nodded once more and Roman’s lips were on his in seconds.

_____

“So, need another plan? I think I’ve got a good one this time!” Remus said as Virgil walked into his room.

Virgil sat on Remus’ bed, staring at the ground with probably the dumbest grin on his face. “I told him.”

“Without me? Ah, no fun!” Remus whined. “How’d you do it? Finally took my advice and ask for him to take you? Did he bang you?”

“I just- I just told him, just said I love him.”

“What? Boooooooring!”

Virgil laughed. “You said he couldn’t see what’s two feet in front of him so I just was upfront about it,” he said with a smile.

“Is it too late to go on the record and say this was a mistake? You’re sapping all over my bed!” Remus joked, only to be met with a pillow to the face as Virgil snorted.

“Shut up, God!!”

_____

“You’re welcome you know,” Remus grinned as he passed Roman in the hallway the next day.

______________________________

Taglist: @virgils-paranoia, @marshmallow-the-panda

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Too Smart for Your Own Good: Part 1

Pairings: Machine Gun Kelly x Reader, (Past and Future) Henry Cavill x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, one night stand, unprotected sex

Word Count: 2,551

A/N: Doesn’t have a completed end yet, but just giving you more content to try to get myself out of a writing funk. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So there’s something you need to know about my cousin.” Ashleigh sighed as she took her ID back from the guard at the gate of your very exclusive Malibu community. Colson looked over at his best friend and manager as she ran her fingers through her hair and looked out the front window for a moment. With a small shake of her head, she looked over at him with a small sigh. “She’s weird, OK? And like… stupid rich.”

“Stupid rich.” He confirmed with a huff as the guard got off the phone with you and let your guests into the beach side development. “What, you got a fucking actor in your family I don’t know about, Ash?” Your cousin sighed again, trying to figure out just how to explain the one branch of her blood line no one really ever talked to or about.

“She discovered a new branch of stars and like micro planets and shit in the Milky Way that no one knew existed… when she was eleven.” Kels felt his jaw actually drop as his friend continued past the extravagant houses to the only gate guarded house at the very end of the road. “So her grandmother, Ann was the woman that invented the baby carrier in the 60’s for her son, my Uncle Negan, who is now the president of a motorcycle gang in LA- the Sanctuary? You heard of them?”

“Heard of ‘em.” He confirmed with a nod as he looked up at what he could see of the massive house through the slow moving bars of your personal gate.

“He married my mom’s sister, Lucille, and they had (Y/N). Aunt Lucille died in child birth, and Negan and my family got in a huge fight over who was a better fit to raise my cousin. With all the money that she was lined up to get, it was almost a sickening free for all for my parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. But in the midst of the arguing, it turned out she was genius level smart. Like Sheldon Cooper from Big Bang Theory was literally loosely based off her and she gets royalties off that shit. And after seeing all of the fighting going on over her for no reason, she convinced her dad to write us all off as a toddler. Which he happily did because he does anything his little girl asks him to do. She doesn’t talk to any of the older generations of my family but she talked to must of the cousins occasionally as long as they weren’t asking for money. Which, in the end, basically left me because I just see her as my cousin and not for her money.” Kels nodded his head slowly as Ashleigh parked her car and turned off the ignition. 

“She’s an amazing person that has had one hell of a life because of her circumstances. Picked on for being rich, for being smart… for actually remembering her mother’s death. And it doesn’t help that her dad is in a gang or that he’s in prison for manslaughter or something like that.” Ashleigh shook her head again and grabbed her purse off the back seat to go inside. “She never had a chance. But I love coming up here when I come to town…”

“You better have my love child with you!” You shouted as you headed up the stairs on the side of your house that ran along the edge of the cliff which acted like a giant privacy wall for the left side your property. “Hi, I’m all sandy but still.”

“He’s with me.” Ash giggled as you wiped your hands off on your short jean shorts and stopped for only half a second to kiss her cheek. “I need a favor.”

“This is not favor town, Ash.” You said as you pulled open the back door to coo at your second cousin, Ashton. “This is Auntie love time! Hi munchkin!” 

“(Y/N), this is Colson Baker, AKA Kels, or Machine Gun Kelly.”

“Kels is fine.” Colson said as you tossed Ashton up in the air a few inches to make him laugh.

“Mr. Baker works just as well.” You cooed to your cousin as you put him on your hip and turned to head inside. “Because I’m going to assume that the favor the pair of you need involves him, which leads me to deduce that this is a business transaction of some kind. You may either follow, or stand in my driveway all day, either option is acceptable in the world today. Freedoms and whatnot. Unless you are waiting for a formal invitation in which case, I’d be more than happy to write one up for you.”

“Her social skills with new people aren’t the best either.” Ashleigh whispered as low as she physically possibly could as she slung her bag over her shoulder and followed you toward the wrought iron gate at the entrance of your atrium. “But it’s better when you get to know her…”

“I can hear you talking shit, bitch.” You said evenly as you stopped and held the gate open for your guests. You gave the stranger to you a once over with your eyebrow raised as he passed by you and gave him a slight half nod. “I don’t see the purpose of small talk and sarcasm is the best defense in the world.”

“Small talk is over-rated.” Kels agreed as he, too, checked you out as shamelessly as you had. “Nice ink.”

“Save it.” You huffed with a smirk as you walked through the guest atrium and pushed open your ten foot tall, solid wood, pivot hinge front door to reveal the breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean you had. “What do you need? Yes, I’m putting you down.” You giggled as you set Ashton down on the floor and reached down for his hand to lead him over so he could push the window button, which made the glass panels slide open like doors into the walls so he could play out in the little private yard you had.

“Well… OK, so every year…” Ashleigh started as you helped Ashton into his favorite swing. “…we put on this concert for Christmas called XXmas. It’s fuckin’ crazy and it’s been sold out the last few years easy. It’s a two hour long set and they do some local Cleveland rappers for openers. (Y/N), you gotta see it some time. I mean, the following that Kels has managed to create…”

“The concert is in two days.” Colson interrupted when he noticed the slight hint of annoyance on your face. “And my guitarist broke his arm in a car accident last night. Now, Ash says you’re some kinda musical genius or some shit and you’d be able to help…?”

“I have plans.” You stated evenly as you kept your eyes locked on the toddler in front of you.

“It’s one night.” Ashleigh breathed, pleadingly as she took a step closer to you so you’d almost be forced to look up at her. “One night and I can make sure you are on a plane back that night or early the next morning. I’ll even pay for a private jet out of my own pocket to get you back on time to see your dad for Christmas if I have to.” With an audible sigh, you looked up at your cousin with a small shake of your head.

“Fuck you.”

“I love you, too.” She beamed, knowing that you were never going to say no to helping her out. You rolled your eyes and growled as you continued to push your cousin.

“Alright, play your songs. Which ever ones you want me to know, start playing them before I change my mind.” Colson looked a little stunned and glanced over at Ashleigh, who quickly pulled out her phone and nodded.

“She has an eidetic memory. All she needs to do is hear it once and she can memorize it.”

“Changing my mind over here.” You joked, flatly as you shot her an annoyed glare. “And it’s too close to Christmas to fight with flights so I’ll hire a jet. Hope your tickets are refundable.”

——

You choose to spend the four and a half hour flight sitting in the back of the private jet, with three different head phones in, listening to the full set list on repeat in your right ear, a narrated dissertation of someones research on further exploration of one of your original dissertations about the Milky Way’s cannibalism of surrounding stars in your left, and the feed back from your electric guitar in the head set you had over both ear buds. Your dad always told you you were crazy when you ‘nerded out’ like this, not being able to understand how you were able to have three different forms of audio stimulus going at the same time, nor how you could differentiate and focus on all three simultaneously. Even though you had your eyes closed, you could see the shift in the sun light in front of you and no matter how much you tried to ignore the feeling of eyes boring into your face, you couldn’t.

“This better be good.” You sighed as you pulled off your head set and pulled out both ear buds in an attempt to look civil.

“Three head phones?” Colson asked as you dropped the hardware in your lap and paused the two recordings on your phone.

“Keeping up with a dissertation from a colleague, listening to the set list, and messing around with it on my guitar.” You told him as you pointed to the corresponding head sets.

“Messing around with the set?” He asked as he scooted forward a bit in his chair and looked at the classic honey burst Les Paul on your lap. “Gunna share with the class?”

“Didn’t plan on it.” You responded as you tucked your legs up on the chair and held out one of the headphones. “But I’ll indulge all the same.” He nodded his head and put only one side over his ear while you handed him the other music headphone, put the original one in your ear, and pulled up the next track on the list. Your eyes closed again as the opening cords for ‘Rehab’ started playing, and you jumped right in with the riff that you had wrote in your head more to play for your father when you went to see him for Christmas.

“You wrote that?” Colson asked when you had finished. “You write music, too?!”

“No. No, I don’t.” You said quickly as you took back your headphones from him and put the extra ear bud away. “I… well, I remix songs. For my dad, mostly. When I go and visit… well I have a guitar there, and on nicer days, we sit outside and play name that tune. And I get my competitive side from him so I’ve gotten really good at recreating songs so that he can’t guess them but so they still sound like the original track.”

“So what’s he in for?” He asked innocently, which made you instantly stiffen and throw a wall up.

“Does it matter?” You retorted a little sharply. “He’s in prison.”

“Yo, my bad.” He said quickly as he held his hands up in surrender. “Didn’t know it was a touchy subject.” You nodded your head and glanced down at your lap as you started putting your headphones back in.

“Look, I’m not here to make friends, Mr. Baker. I’m here to help out some family, then I’m going home. That’s all. I don’t need friends…”

“Yea, you fucking got it.” He barked back as he got up from his chair to go back to his friends. With a shake of your head, you started your music and your paper back up, and slipped back into your anti-social bubble for a little bit longer.

——

You had never been an adrenaline junkie in your life, having had enough experiences with the club, but as you stood on the stage, playing through the set, you actually started craving the feeling. The high that the crowd was creating, feeding your soul and the music pouring out of the speakers behind you. You felt like a total rock star and you were glad that this feeling was something that you would remember forever.

It hadn’t taken you long into the set for you to notice Kels either, and not just notice, but really notice him. How sexy he looked in his low slung red pants with his ethika boxers peeking out. You hated that you were turned on by this stupid punk… but fuck if you couldn’t help but want to fuck his brains out. Even if his kid was only a hundred feet away from you, even if you never planned on seeing or speaking to him ever again. You almost needed to be under his sweat drenched body as fast as you could or your head was going to explode.

“She smiles.” Colson teased when the last cords of the last song faded away in the auditorium. You smirked and pulled out your ear phones as you handed off Ace’s guitar to the stage hand.

“Occasionally. Only when I’m having a really good time.” He nodded his head and looked around for a moment before grabbing your arm and turning you toward a side stage door. “Colson…?”

“You… are driving me fucking crazy.” He growled as he locked the door behind him with a shake of his head. “And I want to be pissed off at you for being a bitch for no fucking reason… but fuck I wanna fuck you way to Goddamn bad.”

“Oh, fuck…” You moaned as he pushed you back against a shelving unit and quickly started ripping at your jean shorts button.  “Kels… the crew… your daughter…”

“Guess I’ll just have to be quick then.” You whined at him as he shoved your bottoms off, and lifted you up off the floor by the backs of your thighs. He pushed his boxers and pants down only as far as he needed, and slid into you. Your eyes rolled back and you grabbed on to his shoulder and the shelving unit you were pressed up against. It was short, quick, and dirty, and you both got off within a couple minutes, but it was absolutely worth it… until it wasn’t.

“Thanks for helping out… and not just on stage…” Colson said, almost dismissively as you both pulled up your bottoms. You let out a huff and ran your fingers through your hair.

“Do me a favor and don’t even so much as think my fucking name ever again.” You snapped as you pushed past him and threw the door to the closet open. You walked quickly to the green room, grabbed your bag and your guitar case off the floor and pulled out your phone to call a cab as Ashleigh called out your name from across the room. As a lone tear fell down your cheek, you simply walked away from her, back through the stadium halls, and out the back door, leaving your brief lapse of judgement in the janitors closet behind you.

Part 2

[helloprettybb]

i don’t want to set the world on fire

The other Steve Rogers fic did surprisingly well. I have so many more ideas, so look out for those. Also, Peter Parker may come soon, but who knows. While writing this, I realized that I could probably write a part two, so would you all like that? Also, just warning you, I lowkey insult rock, but it’s only for the sake of the plot. Rock is great. I’m also writing a prequel for ‘i’ll be back’ which will be posted after this hopefully.

I have a plan to make this a series all inspired by old music. This first part is inspired by this song:

Warnings: almost rape

word count: 3.9k

“I didn’t mean to,” were the first words you uttered to the Avengers. Laying next to you was a man whose body was burnt to a crisp. Yet you, small and innocent-looking, were perfectly fine. Of course, they had some questions.

Your father was never in your life and your mother died from childbirth, so for most of your life, you were raised by your great aunt. Life was great, even normal, until she died when you were thirteen. Since you were a minor, you were placed in an orphanage while the house was up for rent. When you turned 18, you were allowed to move into her house. Although rather lonely, you were safe  and inherited a decent amount of money. Still, you had a part-time job to stay financially stable. 

You were walking up to your car when you noticed a piece of paper on your windshield. You knew what that meant so you quickly turned the other way but were too late. A man appeared out of nowhere and grabbed you. As much as you struggled, it was useless as he was much stronger than you. Before you could pull out your pepper spray, the man knocks you unconscious.

The first thing you see when you come to is a man hovering over you. He must have noticed you woke up because he cooed, “Don’t worry, I won’t take long,” You start to scream for help, but survey your surroundings and realize that you’re probably in the middle of nowhere. 

You panic as the man starts to unzip your pants. You can feel a heat burning inside of you. It feels like a volcano was erupting from within, extremely hot, but not uncomfortable. All of a sudden, a blast of fire erupts from your hands and shoots through the roof. You’re so taken aback that you don’t even notice the man burning to death until his screams of agony cut through your train of thought. You pull back instantly but it’s too late. The man is dying before your eyes and you are stuck frozen. Your brain starts up again and you look for something to put the fire out. You find a blanket and eventually put out the fire, but he is already dead.

All you could do is cry at the fact that you just killed a man. You’re so caught up in your tears that you don’t even realize that all your clothes are burned off. Shivering, you try to think of what to do. Noticing a dark bag in the corner, you hesitantly touch it and hope that it doesn’t burn to a crisp. Luckily, nothing happens so you rummage through it to find anything. You pull out a long shirt and clean boxers. Before you could think of an exit plan, you are startled by a blast through the door. 

You cower in fear as Iron Man flies and lands right in front of you. The rest of his team follow suit. They look at you, the burnt man and then back at you. Iron Man’s hand is glowing and pointed right at your face.

He towers over you, causing you to scoot back. He starts to say something when Captain America put up a hand and says, “She’s just a kid, Tony.” He squats down so that he’s eye level with you and asks, “Can you tell us what happened?”

You could barely talk since you were so nervous. Seeming to sense your fear, he removed his mask. You’ve seen him on television, but only as Captain America. But crouched in front of you, he didn’t seem like a superhero, but just an ordinary man. You rack your brain and finally remember his name: Steve Rogers. 

“H-he was trying to attack me. I don’t know how it happened, but one moment he was on top of me and the next he was on fire. I tried to put it out, but he was already dead.” you stutter, still shocked beyond belief. You start to hyperventilate as your actions finally sink in. “I didn’t mean to, honest. I didn’t even know I could do that. You have to believe me!” you cry unprompted. Steve moves to touch you soothingly before you quickly scoot away.

“Please don’t touch me! I don’t want to kill you too.” you exclaim, scared of your own body. Steve’s eyes are filled with what looks like sympathy and he glances at Tony.

He speaks up, “She’s right, Cap.” You suddenly notice the scanner on his suit. “Her temperature is off the charts. How are you alive, kid?”

Before you could attempt to answer his question, Steve speaks up, “We have to take her to the lab. Banner will know what to do.” With no further questions, you are escorted toward their ship, careful not to touch anyone. 

On the ship, you hear their muttered whispers and assume it’s about what they should do with you. After all, you’re just a stowaway. The ride feels like an eternity until the jet finally lands. The other Avenger separate, leaving you alone with Steve and Tony. They guide you inside the giant complex and you try not to gawk at the high ceilings and large staircases, but you’ve never been in a building this huge. 

You are directed downstairs to a high-tech lab. Tony types on a keyboard and does a retinal scan before the door opens. A smallish, fidgety man is in there and greets Tony. When he notices you, he asks politely, “Who’s this?”

Realizing he never caught your name, Tony turns to you and asks in an almost comical way, “Who are you?” You say your name and Tony continues, “Anyway, she uh, has some special abilities.” Bruce quirks an eyebrow at his wording and does a biological scan. His eyes widen when he sees your vitals.

“You have a temperature of 160 degrees Celsius.” he explains. You watch as he interacts with the projected screen.

“She also burned a hole in the ceiling.” Steve states, purposely excluding the part about you killing someone.

“This may sound like a stupid question, but can I touch people without hurting them?” you ask hesitantly. You don’t want to live the rest of your life in constant fear.

Bruce pushes the screen down and responds, “Well, I’ll have to do some tests before I know for sure. But seeing as you’re clothes are still intact, I assume that you are safe.” Bruce walks over to his lab table and starts typing something on his computer. You feel Steve’s gaze as you fidget uncomfortably.

“We’ll do the tests tomorrow. Let her get some rest,” Steve’s voice booms above you. Bruce just nods as you, Tony, and Steve leave the lab. As the three of you walk up the stairs, Tony’s phone goes off. 

He looks down and tells Steve, “It’s Pepper. Can you show Y/n to the residential area.” Steve nods and you two part ways with Tony. You’re silent as Steve guides you around the building and towards the elevator.

He presses the third button and you two stand in silence as the doors close. A familiar tune plays on the speakers. You smile after recognizing it. Steve catches your small grin and asks, “You know this song?”

“Uh, yeah. ‘Stop Pretending’ was one of my great aunt’s favorites. Personally, I prefer ‘I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire’” you comment lightly. Steve opens his mouth to say something when the doors open. He steps out and you follow him down the hall.

He stops in front of a door at the far end and says, “You can stay here for the time being. My room’s the first door on the left if you need anything,” Steve doesn’t know why he added that last part, but something about your wide, innocent eyes intrigued him and your affinity for old music sure didn’t hurt.

You open the door and start to walk in before turning around and tell, “Thank you, Steve.” He gives you a glowing smile before you close the door. You didn’t realize how tired you were until your head hit the pillow and you instantly fell asleep.

-

You’re woken up by a muted, yet pestering, alarm. “Miss Y/n, Dr. Banner requests your presence.” a disembodied voice says. You look at the clock and see that it’s nearly ten o’clock. You step into the elevator and expecting to hear smooth jazz music, are extremely caught off guard by the jarring rock music. Never a big fan of rock, you cringe slightly as the speakers blast the loud electric guitars and intense drums. Luckily you are spared when the elevator doors open to the living room. You see the Avengers, now in normal clothes, lounging on the couches.

They all get up and walk towards you. A man with only one arm goes to introduce himself, “I’m Bucky. Who are you?”

“I’m y/n.” you reply sheepishly, feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the new faces. You vaguely remember them from tv but an introduction helps. They go around and say their names. You remembered Natasha and Clint as Black Widow and Hawkeye but you didn’t know the man named Sam Wilson. You shake everyone’s hand and you mentally sigh in relief that you didn’t burn anyone.

They start a conversation with you and before you could respond a voice calls, “Y/n, aren’t you starting with Banner today?” You look over Natasha’s shoulder to see Steve. He’s wearing a fairly tight grey shirt and sweats that if you were in any other situation, would distract you greatly.

“Yeah, I was heading down there now.” you reply with a curt nod.

“I’ll walk you down.” he states, walking towards you. The others part so that Steve could get through. You follow him towards the stairs that lead to the lab.

“Sorry about them. They can be a little intense at first, but I promise they don’t bite.” Steve jokes and cracks a beautiful smile.

“No, it’s alright.” you reply with a smile to assure him, “They seem nice. I’m just not the best with people.” You realize how sad that sounded and it seems that he did too. It looks like he’s about to say something when the lab door opens.

“Y/n, come in.” Bruce insists. You and Steve walk in the lab and Bruce closes the door behind you. He leads you over to his work area and starts, “Before I test your abilities, I want to understand how your abilities work. I’ll do a couple blood tests, take some skin samples, and do a DNA test.” He pulls out a needle and you instantly stiffen. 

Steve notices and you half-joke, “I’m not the biggest fan of needles.” You expect Steve to leave when Bruce starts preparing the needle, but he stays. The more you think of the needle, the less you can control your shaky hands. You close your eyes to try and block out the image of the needles piercing your skin.

You feel a panic attack coming when you feel a hand slipping into yours. You open your eyes and look down at Steve’s outstretched hand. Before you could say anything, you feel the needle prick. Almost out of instinct, you grab onto Steve’s large hand. His calm, blue eyes ease your tension and divert your attention from the blood. Steve starts lightly caressing your knuckles and you feel yourself warm up. 

It’s a different type of warm than in the warehouse. It feels like a warm hearth spreading through your body. Your mind wanders 

“Okay, I’ll have the results in a couple days.” Banner states, interrupting your thoughts. You look down and see a band-aid on your arm.

“It’s done already?” you ask, surprised that you actually did it without passing out.

“Yeah, you did it, doll.” Steve replies with his hand still wrapped around yours. Doll. You wonder if you were just imagining that, but you have to admit, that nickname made you feel a certain way. 

You glance over at Banner who is dripping the blood into a tube. You start shaking again and start to feel the urge to throw up. Steve’s solid hand lightly squeezes yours and he asks Banner, “Does she need to do any more tests?” 

“No, not today at least. It’ll take me a couple days to perform tests since I have Tony’s side project to work on. You’re free to go.” he replies. 

Steve lets go of your hand and it immediately feels colder. You hop off the stool and follow Steve out of the lab. As you walk, your stomach grumbles and Steve asks, “When was the last time you’ve eaten?” 

You think back to the past 24 hours and realize you haven’t eaten since that man abducted you. “Not since yesterday,” you reply. 

Steve furrows his brow at that and states, “I’ll make you something.” Before you could protest, Steve walks into the kitchen and looks through the cabinets. “What would you like?” he asks politely.

“Um, anything. I’m not picky.” you respond, pulling out a stool from under the counter. Swinging your legs, you watch Steve as he begins to make you a sandwich. Something about Captain America making you a sandwich is so odd that you laugh to yourself.

You didn’t realize you actually laughed out loud until Steve looks up at you. “Sorry, I just think it’s funny that Captain America is cooking for me.” you explain. Steve responds with a small smile and light chuckle and continues cooking. When he’s done, he pulls out a plate and hands you your food.

You smile widely, surprised that he’s so nice and caring, “Thank you, I’m starving.” He hands you the plate and you sit on a stool by the counter. Steve stands on the other side, waiting for you to take your first bite. You moan with delight and mumble with food still in your mouth, “It’s delicious.” Steve smiles as you continue eating.

A comfortable silence forms around the two of you. When you finish, you wipe your mouth with a napkin and get up to put your plate in the dishwasher. “Hey, uh, thank you for not mentioning the guy dying.” you note awkwardly as you throw the napkin in the trash.

“Don’t mention it.” He replies, turning to face you and shooting a short smile. He sees you look down, presumably too ashamed to look him in the eye, “Hey,” he starts, drawing your attention, “If you ever need to talk, I’m here.” He adds an assuring smile that makes you melt a little.

“Thanks, Steve.” you convey before heading upstairs. You take the stairs to avoid the rock music and although it’s a tiring three flights, at least it’s quiet.

-

It’s not that you don’t like the Avengers, but being alone for nearly a decade gave you some certain habits. One distinct habit was eating alone, which you didn’t realize how odd it was until Natasha asked, “Hey, Y/n. Do you want to eat with us?”

You wanted to say yes, but your years of self-isolation made you reply, “Oh, uh, I’m just going to eat in my room. Thank you, though.” Steve gives you a brief wave before looking back at his crossword puzzle like a true old man. 

Natasha watches you walk out and hums a short, “Hm.” 

“What is it?” Bucky asks, eyes flitting over to Natasha who has a confused look on her face.

“I wonder why Y/n insists on eating alone.” she takes a bite of her food and thinks again, “Are we not inviting enough?”

Tony laughs and replies, “You’re about as inviting as the green guy.” Luckily Bruce is down at the lab or else he would have stared daggers at him.

Nat rolls her eyes and says, “Well, I showed her my knife collection and she seemed pretty entertained.” Tony, Bucky, and Natasha present multiple theories.

“Maybe she just likes her personal space.” Tony shrugs, proposing the most logical explanation.

“Yeah, I guess. But I don’t know, there has to be another-” Natasha starts before Wanda interrupts her.

“It’s because of her great aunt.” Everyone at the table turns to Wanda. 

“How do you know that?” Bucky asks skeptically. Wanda rolls her eyes and simply points at her head. “Oh, yeah.”

Wanda continues, “After she died, Y/n was left alone and stayed that way for years.” She takes one last bite and adds, “I think she isn’t used to all this company.” Everyone seems to accept this answer and they take their last bites before picking up their plates. 

Wanda remembers one last thing and states, “Oh, yeah, and because Steve held her hand.” Bucky wolf whistles and Natasha’s eyebrows shoot up.

Steve had been listening to the conversation, but after hearing his name, he speaks for the first time since dinner started. “Bruce was drawing her blood and she looked really nervous.” Steve explains with an eye roll. He walks away before they could bully him anymore.

-

Throughout the week, Banner performed a skin biopsy, MRI, and DNA test. While none of them were as bad as the blood test, you wished Steve had been with you for them. You knew he was busy, being Captain America and all. Occasionally, you’d see him around the Compound but you haven’t had a full conversation with him since that one time.

On your fifth day, you find yourself wandering the Compound yet again. It seems that no matter how many times you wander, you still find a new room to discover. You open a door on the first floor and see a vast ballroom. It isn’t the ballroom that catches your attention, but what lies in the corner.

A beautiful grand piano is tucked away next time a guitar, drums, and microphone. Strolling over, you remove the keyboard cover and press a key. The piano sings, sounding prettier than your great aunt’s old upright piano. Smiling to yourself, you sit on the bench and begin to play. You become so lost in the music that you don’t even hear the footsteps walking closer.

You come to the end of a song and a voice behind you asks, “You play?” You turn, even though you already knew who it was. Steve’s blue eyes are so intense that you falter a bit before responding.

“Yeah, or at least I used to. My great aunt taught me before she passed away.” you sigh and turn back to the piano. Steve sits beside you on the bench and you start a slow, pretty tune. “I haven’t played since.” you admit sadly. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, not knowing what to say at the moment.

You smile a little sadly and remark, “You would have loved her. She’d always have her record player on and it’d fill the house with The Ink Spots or Al Bowlly.” 

As you reminisce, Steve studies you. With everything going on, he hasn’t had the chance to truly see you. You’re beautiful, but Steve already knew that. He noticed all the little imperfections that seemed to make you even more flawless. He can tell that you’re scared and he admires your calm disposition with all of this. 

He focuses on your hands, elegant and graceful across the keys. You apologize a couple times for your mistakes, but Steve doesn’t hear them. Even if he did, he wouldn’t care. Everything about you seems effortless and beautiful. When he first met you, he thought you were just a kid, but now he couldn’t be more wrong. You didn’t look old, but you had a mature beauty and something about your essence tells Steve that you’ve seen things.

Your hands slow and Steve sees a sly smile spread across your face. When you start again, Steve recognizes the introduction. He matches your smile and asks, “I’m Beginning to See the Light?”

“Yes, it’s one of the first non-classical songs I learned.” you respond. Steve nods and you return your focus to the music. You get so lost in it that you don’t even realize that you’re singing quietly. 

Your trance-like state is interrupted when Steve says lowly, “You have a beautiful singing voice.” You blush a little since no one except your great aunt has heard you sing.

“Thank you,” you respond, a little embarrassed. He already heard you sing so mind as well continue. A little louder, you sing, “Then you came and caused a spark. That’s a four-alarm fire now.” When the song ends, a sudden thought strike you.

“Why does the elevator only play jazz when you’re on it?” you ask curiously, trying to change the conversation.

He chuckles lightly and responds, “The elevator is programmed to play certain music for each of us. For guests, it plays Tony’s rock playlist.” You roll your eyes and close the fallboard.

“It was awful. How could anyone enjoying something that loud, especially in the morning?” you joke and Steve laughs.

“You’ll find out sooner or later that there’s a lot of things about Stark that can’t be explained.” Steve jests and you laugh. 

“I’ve been avoiding the elevator ever since.” you admit and Steve chuckles. 

F.R.I.D.A.Y breaks the conversation and announces, “Y/n, you’re test results are in. Dr. Banner requests your presence.” Trying to hide your disappointment, you get up and Steve follows suit. The two of you walk out of the ballroom. 

At the top of the lab stairs, you tell Steve, “Well, I guess I better get going.” 

“Yeah, see you later.” Steve says, giving a quick wave. You give him a final goodbye before heading down to the lab.

-

“You said that was the first time it happened?” Bruce asks and you nod in response. For the past half hour, Bruce explained the many discoveries he made. Turns out, not only could you produce fire, but your body can withstand such high temperatures that you could walk through fire. 

He continues, “Well, it seems there was a stimulus that triggered your body to increase its temperature so high that you were able to produce fire.” You nod as he continues, “I think with proper training, you could learn to control and use your abilities.” 

You raise your eyebrows in shock. Obviously, these new abilities would change your life, but you never thought you could actually achieve something with them. You ask, “Well, um, how do we go about this training?” 

Bruce thinks a bit and responds, “I’ll ask the team and we’ll put something together.” Bruce turns to work on something else and you take that as your cue to leave.

You remember a distinct detail from when you used your abilities and ask, “Can you design a suit that doesn’t result in me being naked every time I set on fire?” 

Bruce blushes a bit out of embarrassment and replies, “I’ll tell Tony.” You walk out of the lab and up the stairs. Too tired, you grit your teeth and decide to use the elevator.

Bracing yourself for heavy rock, you plug your ears. But when the elevator doors close and you don’t hear anything, you remove your fingers from your ears. You smile to yourself as the song ‘I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire’ starts playing. 

[prettyboyoongs]

The One That Got Away | Min Yoongi

requested! also i just got broken up with and i’m having a really, really hard time and all that’s really helping me is writing and the boys so ): this hits way too close to home

“Would you stop being a little baby and come on? I told you it’ll be good, so just listen to me,” Hoseok huffed, dragging his best friend into the small coffee shop for open mic night. When the boy opened his mouth to complain once again, Hobi rolled his eyes and pushing him gently into the empty booth. “I’ll buy you a coffee, alright? Just hush and listen. You’ll enjoy it, I promise.”

Yoongi sighed and threw his head back, resting it on the wall behind him. “Fine,” He agreed finally, sitting back up to give his best friend his order (as if he didn’t already know it). Hoseok smiled widely at him, patting him on his shoulder with gratitude as he thanked him. “Don’t mention it.” Yoongi mumbled as he watched his friend walk away to get their drinks.

He looked around, staring at the girl on the stage in front of him. His throat hitched, his mouth became dry, and his heart pounded in his chest. She was beautiful.

He watched her get everything in order for her song- her small arms making sure her guitar was tuned, her jean covered legs stretching to grab at the mic stand and adjust it to her height, her plump lips that were coated in pretty pink lip gloss wrapping around her water bottle as she drank nervously. 

“Here.” Hoseok chimed, hand blocking his view from seeing the girl on the stage. Yoongi blinked, head finally coming out of the clouds as he looked up at his best friend with a small smile, taking the paper cup from his hands. Hobi smiled back, sitting down besides him and taking a look at the stage. “Whoo! Let’s go!” He cheered loudly, making Yoongi’s skin turn pale and eyes widen. 

He looked over at his friend, turning his head quickly to look at the girl. She smiled widely at the two of them, waving a hand at Hoseok. He waved back, mouthing praises to her. She even smiled at Yoongi before she had turned back around to make sure her amp was plugged in correctly. “Yo, who is that?” Yoongi whispered into Hoseok’s ear, his eyes still trained on the girl.

“Y/N L/N,” Hoseok replied calmly, shrugging, “She’s a good friend of mine. That’s why I always come here- to cheer her on. She’s amazing. She’ll only preform if I’m here; she’s a little shy. Great kid though.”

Yoongi nodded and sat back up in the booth, allowing his eyes to trail over her figure. She was wearing bright and unique clothes, her style very much like Hoseok’s. She was stunning.

Before he knew it, she was sitting down on the stool with her electric guitar on her thighs, clearing her throat in the microphone. “Hey, everybody. I hope you’re all doing okay and are staying healthy! I’m, uh, gonna sing you a song I wrote.” 

Her stage presence was amazing. Her voice was raw and strong, the upbeat chords of her guitar almost overpowering the deep and sad lyrics. She ended the song with a nervous giggle and a final string on her electric, earning a bunch of claps and whistles- Hoseok and Yoongi included. She thanked everybody and made her way off the stage with her guitar in hand, skipping towards Hoseok to hug him. “Good job, kiddo! That was so good!” He cheered, rubbing at her back.

“Thanks, Hobi,” She blushed, pulling away and turning to Yoongi with a bright smile and red cheeks. “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

Yoongi smiled back instantly, looking down at her outstretched hand, gulping before shaking it. His heart raced at the physical contact. “Hey. I’m Yoongi.” She smiled and nodded in acknowledgment. “You did great up there, by the way. I mean, the lyrics were a little disheartening but hey.” He joked with a shrug, making Y/N giggle. 

“Thanks,” She replied. Hoseok smiled at the two, and made his way to the counter to buy Y/N a treat for doing so well on stage, his disappearance going unnoticed. “But yeah, no, um, I wrote it after my ex-boyfriend of two years cheated on me, so..” She laughed nervously.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi frowned, apologizing almost instantly. “You don’t deserve that. He sounds like an asshole. And any boy that hurts you is stupid.”

Within a week, you two were going on your first date together. Within two weeks, you were having your first kiss, and before three months came around, you were dating and were the happiest you two had ever been.

Everything was perfect until it wasn’t.

Yoongi started paying more attention to work. You started paying more attention to your job and making songs for people. It all happened so fast.

Over the next two years, the two of you learned how to juggle your relationship with your jobs. You made time for each other— except it wasn’t nearly enough time but neither of you cared to realize that.

After the third year, though, your routine started to slip. Mistakes were being made. Dates were being forgotten. Beds were left empty while desk chairs stayed filled. The house soon became sad and lonely, and nobody barely stayed home enough to make it happy again.

Yoongi was particularly good with birthdays and remembering important dates. He was always good to you on your birthdays— they were your favorite day of the year just because he treated you extra well.

You were so excited. You missed Yoongi, and you knew he missed you too. You put on your favorite dress (Yoongi’s too) and did your hair and makeup for the first time since forever, it seemed like. You sat on the couch and waited for your boyfriend to show up, a large smile on your face as you racked your brain about what he could possibly surprise you with this year.

Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes turned into hours. You had watched the sun go down, and even come up as you waited for Yoongi. Your heart was broken. He had never once missed a birthday— let alone yours.

You allowed yourself to slip out a few tears before you finally crawled into bed, staying as far away from his side as possible while your heart ached. You never mentioned it to him; you wanted to see if he realized his mistake. Unfortunately, he never did.

It was days of this— you ignoring him while he just sat back and wondered what he did wrong. One night, he waltzed in drunk off his ass, beer bottle in hand while he screamed something sort of like your name (it was hard to tell through the slurring).

You scrambled out of bed alarmingly, running down the hallway to see if he was okay. You were met with a very Soju-smelling man, standing in front of you with teary red eyes. “I know where this is going. Okay, I know. I’ve known for so long but I’m just so scared to let you go.” Yoongi muttered, making you blink back in surprise.

“Yoongi,” You scoffed slightly. “What are you talk—”

“Us!” Yoongi screamed back. You gulped and took a small step back. “Us, Y/N! I don’t know what the hell I did to make you hate me so much, but you do, and there’s nothing I can do to change that! We’re not the same, Y/N/N. We’re not. We’ve c-changed and if you haven’t realized it then..” He sighed heavily, throwing his arms up.

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked down. “You just stopped caring, Yoongs. I haven’t changed— you have. You stopped kissing me goodbye. You stopped sending me flowers on random occasions or when you knew I was having a bad day. You stopped making love to me. You stopped folding my laundry when I stayed up too late with work. You stopped ordering from my favorite restaurant when dinner didn’t go as planned. You forgot my birthday, Yoongi.”

Yoongi stayed silent at your words. He couldn’t move. He was frozen in place and the only thing that could bring him back to reality was the wheels of your suitcase on the hardwood floor. He blinked rapidly at this, dropping his empty Soju bottle onto the floor and rushing after you. “Baby, no. Please don’t do this.”

“I have to,” You sniffled. “I want us to be happy, and I don’t think us being together will give us that.”

It had been weeks since Yoongi had left the house. He would of gotten fired from his job, too, if it hadn’t been for one of his coworkers who backed him up. He hadn’t looked at his phone in about eight days. He stopped sending you long messages when you threatened to block him if he didn’t stop.

He truly didn’t plan on ever leaving his house. He wanted to stay home and suffer. He wanted to cry and drink but Hoseok wasn’t letting that happen.

Now here he was, being dragged inside of a coffee shop that seemed oddly familiar but his mind was so foggy that he couldn’t put his finger on it. “Look, dude, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I really don’t want to be h—” Yoongi sighed.

“I don’t care. Go sit down.” Hoseok ordered, gently pushing him towards the booth they had first sat in years ago. Yoongi groaned and dragged himself towards the seats, his head pounding and his eyes blurry with tears. It had been so normal lately for him to cry randomly, his heart getting heavy randomly while thinking of you. He sat himself down and crossed his arms over his body, keeping his eyes at the ground while he waited for Hobi to come back.

“Here,” Hoseok whispered, shoving the coffee into Yoongi’s hands. Yoongi smiled weakly at him and before he could say thank you, familiar strings began to play. Yoongi’s eyebrows furrowed and his heart dropped to his stomach. He looked up at the stage, which had been changed drastically since he last saw it— only to see you.

You weren’t wearing the bright clothes you were when he first saw you. You were wearing a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, your acoustic guitar keeping you company instead of your electric. You sniffled into the microphone, adjusting the hood ontop of your head so you could see the chords. Yoongi’s mouth went dry.

“I wrote this song when my ex-boyfriend at the time cheated on me,” You spoke weakly, trying desperately to sound strong. Yoongi tried to blink back his tears but it was way too hard. “I moved on, and I fell in love again. This time, he changed— and it hurt me a million times more than being cheated on. So, this is for him. I hope he’s happy with who he is now, because he sure as hell isn’t the man I fell in love with.”

Yoongi went to stand up and leave, pretty sure his heart wouldn’t be able to take anymore. However, Hoseok gripped his shoulder and sat him back harshly. “Listen to her. You did this, so you listen.”

So he did. He listened. He watched. He noticed. He remembered. He broke. He cried. He listened to your raw voice singing the lyrics that now seemed to fit more to your relationship than the one the song was intended for. You didn’t show your strength this time, you showed your weakness. You cried and had to stop a few times before continuing.

Yoongi watched you thank the crowd before rushing off of the stage and towards the women’s room, turning around when Hoseok yelled your name sweetly. Your heart stopped when your eyes met Yoongi’s accidentally, making you shake your head and let out another sob before pushing yourself into the restroom. “You ruined her, Yoongi. I trusted you with her, and you broke her.” Hobi spoke sadly before pushing past his best friend to cater to you.

Yoongi’s heart shattered at his best friend’s words. He ruined you. He broke you. He will never get you back.

[goodbysunball]

Quarantine rock, pt. III

Another long overdue update from the indoors. Hope you and yours are hanging in there - if nothing else, there’s no shortage of great music to keep you company. Here’s my take on some recent favorites.

C. Lavender, Myth of Equilibrium (Editions Mego)

Admittedly had not heard of C. Lavender until her collaborative cassette with Aaron Dilloway dropped earlier this year, but it’s safe to say that the tape was strong enough to blindly buy her new LP on Editions Mego. Myth of Equilibrium has been one of the best surprises from this year, drone at its core but opening up to something much more soothing over repeated listens, despite the jagged edges and tendency to embrace caustic noise. It came as no surprise to find out that C. Lavender embraces sound as a healing medium, as Myth of Equilibrium takes a deep, buzzing bass tone and twists and stretches it until individual packets of sound are weightless and ethereal. “Remedy Potion Extraction” is the most obvious example of this dark-to-light transformation C. Lavender excels at, but mostly the tracks present a satisfying puree of sound over shorter durations (”Engulf the Mystery,” “Dimly Lit Exit”). The brevity is a strength, and in that way C. Lavender reminds me of French duo Femme or even some of Tim Hecker’s work, but without the startling track-to-track transitions of the former or the diaphanous shroud of the latter. The bass keeps Myth of Equilibrium tangible and firmly grounded, and the rest of the sounds conjured by C. Lavender weave a very heady, very rich tapestry. The best respite from 2020 money can buy; soak it in. The LP is sold out from Editions Mego but those in the US can order it direct from C. Lavender for a very fair price.

Kobra, Confusione (Iron Lung)

Alright, I’m admittedly not a huge fan of the cover art for this record, but it’s an easy enough barrier to jump over when the music rips this hard. Kobra is from Italy, and they traffic in a mid-paced, pounding strain of punk that is right up my alley. Sounds like Una Bèstia Incontrolable meets Mecht Mensch to these ears: like the title track, which starts out like “Zombie” and then flips into a UBI-level groove, sax bleating and moaning on top of it all. This is punk through and through, the blown-out drums always there to remind you that this is presented by Iron Lung Records, but there’s a definite early post-punk/art-rock vibe present, too - check the groggy “Fogna” that opens up side B, which kinda sounds like Kobra doing their best impression of the Circle Jerks in Repo Man. The guitars don’t riff as much as they slash and chop, fragmented stabs landing among the onslaught of drums. The vocalist uses a menacing speak-scream (most effectively on ”Sogni Illusioni” and closer “C.P.D.M.”), and if I could speak or read Italian, I’m sure the lyrics would be intelligible amongst the din. Confusione is loaded with hits, but when the band clicks and all the parts come together, Kobra whips up a maelstrom; hard to deny the power of “Dentro Agli Schermi” (my favorite track) or “C.P.D.M.,” and though both of those tracks feature the saxophone, I’m glad the band wields that weapon sparingly for maximum effect. One of the most memorable and exciting punk releases of 2020, for sure, a formidable, brawny brew that’ll flex your pencil neck and have you involuntarily pogoing in no time. Highest recommendation! Confusione is sold out direct from Iron Lung, but Sorry State, Feel It, Grave Mistake, etc. all have it in stock.

Oily Boys, Cro Memory Grin (Cool Death)

The best musical news this year, hands-down: NEW OILY BOYS. Not only was an Oily Boys LP drop completely unexpected, I am completely steamrolled by this record every single time I drop the needle, from the opening “UGH!” on “Given” to the nearly nine minutes of caustic self-loathing on “GTrance.” There’s a definite metallic edge to the way Oily Boys approach punk, from the riffing to Drew Bennett’s brutally intense vocal performance, but while most punkers approach metal as a gimmick and end up sounding pretty tame, Oily Boys just sound absolutely mad - the 1-2 of “C.B.D.” into “My Sex Life,” especially the wild guitar theatrics on the latter, carry an intense, teeth-clenching physicality. If that was all Oily Boys did on this LP, it’d be a success, but the band throws curveballs and mid-tempo fits across Cro Memory Grin’s 13 tracks. “Heat Harmony” was the most jarring inclusion at first, relatively tuneful dark punk that could’ve been lifted from drummer Yuta Matsumura’s other band Orion. It definitely works, and the slightly softened approach of the band thankfully has no effect on Drew Bennett’s vocals. “Lizard Scheme” is another detour, swelling noise and Bennett’s barking (”Stupid is as stupid does, jazz boy!” is a choice lyric), reminiscent of Gutter Gods’ dizzying “Allan.” Probably the two most pummeling tracks here slow the tempos significantly and close out each side: “Stick Him,” my favorite track, and “GTrance,” the exhaustive closer. “Stick Him” is absolutely ferocious, the band emphasizing the quiet-loud dynamic with saxophone, the loud parts lurching into place like heavy machinery turning on, Bennett screaming the title with a violent ferocity. Where “Stick Him” is feral, the screed unleashed on “GTrance” by Bennett feels therapeutic, expelling every bit of toxic bile into the song without a break, and even if there is no resolution, the end result is a momentary peace, the same kind afforded by pushing to the full extent of one’s mental or physical abilities. That kinda seems like the point of Oily Boys, from the self-effacing name to the poisonous lyrical content to the absolutely ferocious performance: know your enemies, push back against the lowering boot of the world, fuck the rest. 2020′s best punk record, no contest, and maybe even the best record/soundtrack to the perfect storm of this year. Sick artwork/inserts on this LP, a nice job as usual from Cool Death. Cro Memory Grin is still available direct from them, and Goner still has it domestically.

Subdued, Over the Hills and Far Away (Roachleg)

With last year’s Bad Breeding LP still fresh and prescient as ever, and the political climate seemingly spiraling into reality TV while people mercilessly struggle and suffer all over, it seemed like scoping this new LP from the UK’s Subdued was more than appropriate. It’s reductive and maybe a little offensive to mention UK compatriots Bad Breeding in the first line of this review, but the similarities are hard to ignore: both bands create fiery politically-charged punk that flirts with metal and noise, delivered in screamed vocals with a heavy British accent. Subdued don’t fly off the rails as much as Bad Breeding; there’s more of a Crass/Rudimentary Peni vibe, with the emphasis on vocal delivery and riffs rather than conjuring a visceral tornado of noise. Sometimes the riffs can be a little clunky (particularly the end of “The Joke,” even though “Is hope the joke?” is a pretty powerful lyric), and for how much room the vocals are given, the lyrics can tread into oft-used clichés. Doesn’t make the message any less true, and I think the longer I spend with Over the Hills and Far Away, the more I come under its spell. “Problem of Evil” is probably the best song here, a near-perfect blend of deathrock, stomping riffs and barked vocals, and when it turns into the sprint of “No More,” Subdued are an undeniable force. Not sure if it just takes me until those two songs to warm up to Over the Hills, but the B-side of the LP seems to be more memorable - like the world-beating metallic riffs of the title track, or the frenetic guitar solo that finishes off “Call to Suffer.” There’s more than enough at play on Over the Hills to keep me coming back, and overall it’s a strong debut LP, and a great reason to check in with what Roachleg Records is bringing to the US punk scene. Cop the LP direct from Roachleg, and if you’re lucky you might have a chance at one of the limited-to-100 hand-screened covers. La Vida Es Un Mus put out the LP for the rest of the world, another solid co-sign for Subdued.

Aviador Dro, Nuclear, Sí 7″ (La Vida Es Un Mus) // Algara, Enamorados Del Control Total 7″ (La Vida Es Un Mus)

I don’t think these two 7″s have much in common other than the fact that they’re both put out by La Vida Es Un Mus, they’re both sung in Spanish and they’ve both been ruling my turntable this year. The Aviador Dro record is a reissue, one that came out last year, and it’s a gem: sci-fi keyboard punk from the '80s, the titular track one of the best songs I’ve ever heard, a slinking, funky beat driving the song into your brain forevermore. The B-side feels more edgy than the A-side but it’s all undeniably great; Paco did us all a favor by repressing this record, and continuing to keep it in print. Fast forward to 2020 for Algara’s 7″, their debut, which came out way back in pre-pandemic January. The cover art caught my eye, and the spindly, groovy drum-machine post-punk within is immediately addictive. The label says Crisis and Joy Division are in Algara’s musical DNA, and that sounds about right; the sound is spare, you can kinda dance to it, the bass lines carry the weight and the wiry guitars smear into each other (”Miedo a Perder”) or stitch single golden threads into the tapestry (”Dopamina y Producción”). Algara’s a 4-piece now, and they’ve got an LP coming soon on LVEUM, so 2021′s lookin’ bright. Both 7″s are mandatory, widely available from distros and direct from La Vida Es Un Mus. Scope the feature that Lulu’s wrote on Algara while you’re at it.

Saskia, Eeuwig Op Reis 7″ (Stroom)

The record collector sweat starts when you read about a 7″ reissued from a “highly intimate cassette” limited to ten or so copies in 1983, circulated only amongst friends and family. My eyes typically roll at such uncovered “gems” or whatever, but these two songs definitely deserve a wider audience. “My Lips Get Hot” splits the difference between the foggy late night atmosphere conjured by Chromatics and a breezy Balearic vibe, topped by sensual, high-pitched vocals that really drive the whole woozy, lovesick message home. The flip has the instrumental “You Left Your Soul Behind,” wherein said Balearic vibe is now at the forefront. It’s a strong track on its own, but kinda just serves as the comedown from “My Lips Get Hot” in this presentation. Stroom continues to unearth overlooked records with unnerving ease, and this Saskia 7″ might be the one that makes the label a more common name. One copy of this record is left at Stroom’s Bandcamp as of this writing - move quick.

Glen Schenau, “Jhumble” b/w “Jearnest” (self-released)

Glen Schenau is at the forefront of Brisbane’s experimental musical scene; he’s done time in Kitchen’s Floor, Bent and has even self-released a few things under his own name. The solo stuff I’ve checked by him was restless, frantic guitar and bass lines seemingly swimming against the current of his Bryan Ferry crooning. While there’s no denying that it was singular, it never really coalesced for me in the same way that this new 7″ does. That same restlessness is still at play here, obvious from the beginning strumming of “Jhumble,” and Schenau seems to still relish the vocal stylings of Ferry, though his vocals also remind me of some of the alterna-rock radio I was subjected to while working in a warehouse during summers between school. Normally that sort of vocal homage would send me running to the hills, but it really works here: the busy guitar line and the drums lock into an undeniable groove on “Jhumble,” and whatever Glen is singing, the melody is stuck in my head for days. “Jearnest” is my pick, the more difficult foil to “Jhumble”’s pop leanings. The sprightly guitar at the beginning is submerged into this rubbery goo, which eventually takes over the song while a whistle floats in to carry a melody over the tarry pit. Can’t say I’ve ever heard anything like it, but it doesn’t just float along on that claim; this is a highly potent brew served up on both sides of this single. Glen self-released this record and it’s limited to 150 copies; mine came with a hand-written note and drawing, which was a nice touch. High marks all around. I’ve got to echo Matt K.’s sentiments when he reviewed this record: “Seems like every Australian band gets their own album without much delay, so I have to ask: where the hell is Glen Schenau’s?!”

[jawnjendes]

can’t see in the stormy weather | shawn mendes

university au, shawn x goth gf

NOTE: this is NOT the new series. this is a one shot that takes place during the early stages of their relationship... you’ll find it in the Season 1 section of the masterlist :) 

goth gf playlist | masterlist

When Shawn asked me to make a playlist describing who I am, I almost threw myself back to California. I don't know what it is about people wanting to know things about me, but it's annoying. I detest it.

It's not like he made me a playlist full of sappy love songs. He just wanted to hear songs I identify with. That was borderline terrifying because Shawn is a musician. He lives and breathes music and analyzing lyrics and melodies. What's he going to think if he finds Halsey's "Without Me" or 5SOS's "Invisible?"

Oh yeah. I deeply project whatever bits of me I discover onto songs. Then I stick to those songs and keep them on repeat and I make sure no one knows about them because then people would know things about me. It's irrational and unrealistic but that's how my stupid brain works. Anyone who's ever known me needs to disappear! They can't have the luxury of knowing me and all my secrets! What the fuck would I do if Shawn and I broke up? I'd have to kill him, that's what.

"What, are you gonna kill me too if we stop being friends?" Stella asked. "Seriously, it's just a playlist. It doesn't have to be that deep."

"I told you what the prompt was, right?" I replied.

"Yeah. And that is because Shawn knows you don't verbally express yourself about… anything. So he gave you a different outlet."

Fuck, I thought I was the psychology major here.

Yes, it was easier to let Shawn in through ways where I didn't have to say things out loud and explicitly. I had to admit that. But he was still going to find out things I had yet to tell him. Important things apart from the anxiety and semi-regular therapy sessions.

"Why don't you just pick generic songs you like, and not the ones that reveal too much?" Stella suggested.

I scoffed. "I'm closed off, I'm not a liar."

"It's not lying. Everyone's favorite song means something. I was listening to Big Time Rush when I touched down on Toronto for the first time. Everytime I hear Boyfriend I think about how I successfully made it out of my parents' house."

As nice as that sentiment was, I couldn't bring myself to find ways around the prompt. I had to do what Shawn said: compile a bunch of songs that I feel represent who I am. Besides, making playlists is… really fucking fun.

~

It took an hour of adding, removing, and very specific placements, but I was happy about my playlist to the point where I was nervous. I sent the link to Shawn the next morning when I knew he was on the way to the gym. Figured he’d listen to it during his morning workout and get it overwith. But no.

No.

Basically, I’m a fool who forgets she’s dating a musician.

So here I was, thinking that Shawn would make of what he will about the songs I chose and we would never talk about it. Wow, was I fucking wrong. How did I not expect Shawn to want to know the why?

He was a little sneaky about it too. Shawn invited me over to his place after my classes, and why the fuck would I say no to that? Of course I went over, internally cursing myself for not shaving my legs the night before. He usually had the TV on and a steaming mug of chamomile ready for me whenever I came over no matter the circumstance. Today there was only tea, and a stupidly excited Shawn.

“We have music to listen to you today!” he said when he had me on his couch.

He knew I wouldn’t play dumb either. And because of the fact that I was looking at his stupid beautiful face, I couldn’t move away from this topic.

“Cool…” I said stiffly.

Jet Black Heart - Live

He pulled up the playlist, which I had titled with the black heart emoji, and hit shuffle. Completely going against the very intricate order I put each song in. He was surprised to hear an audience screaming at the first song, but he recognized the tune that came shortly after.

“Why’d you pick this one?” he asked, his arm going around the back of the couch, watching me with his stupid pretty eyes.

I chuckled. “It’s a goth joke! Everything about me is dark, even my heart!”

“And there’s a hurricane underneath it?” Shawn guessed. He really was going to pick apart the lyrics and apply them to me, huh? “Any reason why it’s the live version?”

The answer wasn’t anything too telling or cheesy. It was still hard to maintain eye contact as I explained. “Stella introduced me to this band. She dragged me to a 5SOS concert and now it’s our tradition to see them whenever they tour.”

“Is this your favorite song?”

“Live, yeah. It just reminds me of feeling so alive. Concerts are the only times I feel that way.”

Shawn grinned at the sentiment. He seemed happy with that answer and sang along to the rest of the song.

“And there’s your deep shit of the day,” I said when it ended.

“I want more.”

What I’m Made Of…

I felt a tiny pit in my stomach. I knew this song, and I knew that Shawn did not know this song. He was looking down at the album cover on his phone, thinking to himself. Then, he turned to me expectantly.

“So…?”

“Just enjoy the lyrics and the sick guitar solo.”

He was quiet for a minute. “Well, I do get your vibes from it. But you’re also reluctant to show me what you’re made of.”

I hesitated. “It’s uh, a battle song. I’ll fight someone for trying to forcibly take anything from me.”

“Like if somebody jumped you?”

“Physically, mentally, emotionally. Yeah.”

Again, silence. “You gonna fight me?”

I knew he was joking, and I cracked a grin. “Jury’s out.”

“Any reasoning behind this soundtrack?” He showed me the cover, and I internally tried not to panic.

I had plucked the song off the wrong album, and now Shawn knew I was a fan of a certain speedy blue creature.

So much for being cool and mysterious. I’m just a fucking nerd now.

“Nah, not at all,” I casually replied.

Honestly, I enjoyed this song. I love this song. Why else would it be on this playlist? But just this once, I wanted to skip to the next one.

And when the next one came, I wanted to skip again.

I Am… All of Me

“Do, do you kin a certain hedgehog?” Shawn asked, once again amused by the album cover.

“No…” I resisted rolling my eyes.

“This song definitely sounds like you. Tell me, am I dating a hedgehog?”

Suddenly, this felt less nerve wracking and more annoying. I sighed heavily.

“I thought you wanted to know more about me.”

He chuckled. “Hey, I’m trying. I’m interpreting all these songs in whatever way I can because you won’t explain them to me. Plus, this song is from a video game.”

“Did it occur to you that maybe I like the game this song came from? Maybe I casually like this whole franchise because-” I stopped myself upon seeing Shawn’s face light up, like he wanted me to go on.

But no, he made fun of me. This song is now void, and he will not get an answer.

“Because?” he coaxed.

“Because nothing.” I grabbed his phone out of his hand and skipped to the next song.

Without Me

“Oh, who hurt you?”

“You already know that story. Next!”

Wilson (Expensive Mistakes)

I’ll stop wearing black when they make a darker color.

Shawn looked at me for a moment, still trying to analyze the fuck out of my song choice. “I gotta say, I was expecting more goth music. You listen to a lot of mainstream artists.”

“There’s no rule saying I can’t. Mainstream artists are popular for a reason.”

“Touche. So why this song?”

“It’s what people think I am. Grumpy, bitter, always in black.”

"But that's not all you are." Shawn held his hand out to me, and I took it. He looked down at my chipped polish, running his fingers over my nails. "I mean, you are grumpy. Bitter? No, I'd say realistic. Always in black? Yeah, and you look beautiful all the time because you feel good in it."

That last part struck me. At least I didn't look odd to him. He didn't fall for the tough exterior I've built for myself. That little fact was both touching and terrifying.

"I know there's more to you than the way you dress yourself. It's why I like you so much." He grinned.

Cry With a Smile

"There's the goth metal you were looking for!" I exclaimed.

"Mm, your sense of belonging, as you put it. I know all about this already."

And he skipped to the next song.

A Little Too Much

Shawn perked up a little bit, a smile growing on his face. Then he looked at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Is that me?"

Now my cheeks burned. "Yeah. This song feels like a callout."

"Babe…" He was still smiling as he leaned in to cup my face and kiss my forehead.

"Yeah, can you believe? I get tired of being a hardass sometimes." I was only half joking.

Not a lot of people knew my deal with anxiety and depression, much less why they intensified over the last couple of years. The urge to tell Shawn everything was beginning to form in my throat but I kept pushing it down. He looked too happy, and I didn't want to bring that down.

"You don't have to be a hardass around me," he said sweetly. "Actually, please don't be a hardass around me, okay? Everyone has their limits."

Then, he skipped to the next song, because he was sick of his own voice.

Fist Bump

Shawn looked at me once again, a grin on his face. Here we go again.

“I’m noticing a trend here.”

“I like this franchise, okay?”

“Okay, kinnie.”

I rolled my eyes and sat back, scrolling on my phone to diffuse the frustration. What was the point if he was just going to make fun of me?

“Hey.” Shawn gently placed his hand over my phone, getting me to put it down. “I’m only kidding. You can laugh.”

My eyes narrowed.

“I’m serious! Look, maybe if you just tell me what these songs mean to you, I’ll understand better. Just give me a chance.”

His eyes didn’t show any bit of deceit… But that’s how they all are. And everytime, I’m always a fool. So I sighed and tried not to cringe at my own words.

“It’s lame… and stupid… and really stupid. But all those silly little video game songs? They…” I exhaled, and chipped at my nails. “You know I deal with… anxiety and everlasting sadness…”

“You mean depression?” Shawn corrected.

“Yeah, whatever,” I went on. “The world is full of some real shit, and, and the songs and the games…” I made a face and looked down. “They’re comforting.”

It was silent for a minute before a hand went and cupped my chin. I was met with Shawn’s eyes and glowing smile. But then he opened his mouth and the most baby baby voice came out.

“Does Sonic make yew feew bettew?”

I smacked his hand away. “I swear to-”

But I didn’t finish that statement because he tackled me in a hug.

“Kidding, kidding! I’m sorry, baby, that was the last one, I promise!” He kissed the side of my head before leaning back to look at me. “I think it’s really cute you like this series.”

“It’s not cute, it’s self care,” I mumbled.

Head Above Water

“Finally, a song I know!” Shawn exclaimed, and he dove into singing along.

I forgot I put that one on the playlist. I meant to take it off. It only made me more nervous that Shawn already knew this song. He was one step closer to unlocking the big one.

He sounded beautiful as he sang, lost in the melancholy melody. I watched him, trying not to give anything away through my face alone. It was getting harder to keep it together, just from the little things I had already told Shawn.

And so came the inevitable expectant look. “So? Depression? Religion?”

Part of me wanted to let him think that. Depression is common, it’s easier to explain than the real reason. Besides, it’s not a lie. I do have my dark days, and even darker periods. But depression isn’t the reason for this song.

“Nope,” I replied.

“You know, Avril Lavigne wrote this when she was really sick.”

Dammit, he does know what this song is about.

I sighed heavily. “How do I put this in a way that doesn’t sound scary or pathetic?”

“You’re sick,” Shawn guessed with a chuckle. But the look on my face changed the mood, and he went serious. “How bad are we talking?”

“I get sick… every so often,” I explained. “It’s nothing scary, it’s just… chronic IBS. I can manage it, I just have to be careful with what I eat.”

He nodded as he listened. “So it’s not that bad, but it’s enough for you to have a whole song about being sick?”

I hesitated. “There’s another song, actually.”

“Two?” Shawn shifted in his seat. “So that must mean it’s a bigger deal to you than you’re making it out to be.”

And he thinks he doesn’t know me well enough.

I didn’t like talking about my health problems, unless it was with my doctor. I didn’t talk about how annoying all this shit was outside my therapist’s office. Anytime I felt frustrated about food, I talked myself down because it could literally be worse. Why would I whine about something so mundane?

“You know you don’t have to tone it down for me,” Shawn added when I stayed quiet for too long. “And, if it helps… now I understand why you read restaurant menus so carefully.”

“Like I said, I have to be careful.” My voice went thick for a moment, so I coughed. “I eat the wrong thing, and I end up sleeping in the bathroom til the wrong thing is out.”

“So it’s frustrating to deal with this all the time?”

“Yeah… and I spent two and a half years not knowing what was wrong with me, two and a half years going to the doctor more times than a young adult should for their age… two and a half years thinking I might die…”

Shawn’s eyes widened. “Years?”

“We went to a doctor in Mexico, and he finally diagnosed me with IBS,” I explained. “But that was after the words ‘lymphoma’ and ‘tumor’ were thrown into the mix. It’s not really something you forget. Oh, and I hate vomiting. I hate it so much that I can’t be in the same room as someone who might be queasy. So that’s annoying.”

“Wow…”

I suddenly felt a little self conscious. “I know it’s stu-”

“If you say stupid one more time,” Shawn cut me off. “This is the least stupid thing you could be talking about right now.”

“My anxiety links back to food, too. Think that’s important to mention.”

“Is that why you always want to go back to your dorm after a dinner date?”

Oof, so he noticed. I stayed quiet, so Shawn continued.

“I can take care-”

“No,” I said immediately. The last thing I needed was my boyfriend seeing me have a meltdown because I ate something spicy. The last thing I needed was for anyone to see me have an anxiety attack after vomiting. “It’s not your job.”

Shawn reached over to cup my cheek. Only then did I realize I had been tearing up, and he was wiping it away.

I turned my head away, dabbing at my eyes with my sweater sleeves. I didn’t want to look pathetic and I failed.

“I have to ask,” he said after a moment, “have you gotten sick at all since we started dating?”

“It is a chronic illness that I have.”

“And you just… you just took care of yourself? While you were sleeping in the bathroom?”

“Like I’ve always done since I left home.”

“Impressive. I always call my mom when I feel sick, and she comes over every time.”

I was honestly surprised. I was expecting him to be upset because I never called him in my time of need. And that alone, made more tears well up in my eyes.

“Hey,” he said, scooting closer to me. “It’s okay. You probably went through a lot before you got diagnosed. It’s frustrating, I can see it weighing on your shoulders. Just tell me if there’s anything I can do for you.”

I could feel him looming over me, waiting for me to fall back in his arms. The song had long since ended, and it wasn’t about the playlist anymore. Shawn was just waiting for me to do something. I couldn’t bear to look at him, because his kindness and understanding would make me break even more. He really was too kind, far more than I expected.

Even when I said nothing, and he took out his phone. I thought he got bored, but his next prompt made me look up at him.

“Okay, so that barbeque restaurant we went to the other night, we had spicy buffalo wings for an appetizer, so we won’t have those again. Any other food that might make you sick?”

I stared for a moment before I caught another tear with my sleeve. “Um… can we skip that whole restaurant? Barbeque and my stomach don’t mix.”

Shawn typed, and the only sound in the room was his clicking keyboard. “Got it. No more barbeque. Any other place or food to avoid?”

“It’s a long list…”

“That’s why I’m writing it down.”

_______

goth gf taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @ilsolee @mendesromano @kitykatnumber @strangerliaa @iloveshawnieboi @someoneunimportantxx @goldenmndes @ruinhoney @calyumthomas @shawnsunflower @shawnvvmendes @parkeraul @havethetimeeofyourlifee @chillingbythesea @wronglanemendes @softmendesss 

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

Rating:  T

Chapter Summary:   Luka helps XY find some musical inspiration in unlikely places, and faces a revelation of his own.

Word Count:  5631 | Chapter 1/4

Notes:  For @luxyweek!  See AO3 for more notes.  Today’s prompt is Eye Contact but I needed that for a later chapter so here’s Collaboration instead

XXX

“Dude, can you play, like, anything besides the same four chords?”

Luka groaned and slammed his guitar down on the bed.  “I don’t know, can you say anything that isn’t rude?”

“I’m just trying to help!”  XY straightened from where he was slouched against the wall of Luka’s room.

Luka’s room.  Which XY had invaded for the fourth time this week.  He would’ve kept him above deck, but here there was less chance of Juleka seeing him and teasing him about it.

“Xavier—”

“It’s XY, bruh.”

“Xavier,” Luka repeated, because he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of using the nickname that was reserved for his peeps.  “You literally ripped off my music.  I don’t see you making anything better.”

XY scoffed.  “I could.  If I had my synths, and your, I don’t know, guitar noises—”

“No.  I’m not falling for that again.”

“C’mon, dude!  Tell me a bass-boosted version of your riffs wouldn’t be awesome!”

“Now you know what a riff is.”  He rolled his eyes.  Was XY trying to be stupid?  It was almost unbelievable that he’d put up with him for the past three days.  He only allowed it because XY would surely be leaving the hotel in a week or two.  Talentless or not, he was an international pop star.  He had to have things to do besides slum around in Paris, particularly in Luka’s “unsexy garbage heap.”

He’d been sure not to clean his room just to spite him.

Luka sighed and picked up his guitar again, but at that point XY was idly bouncing a rubber ball that he’d found among the clutter.  The thwump against the woven rug kept jarring him out of his groove.

“Whatever.  If you’re just gonna play chords, at least do ‘Wonderwall’ again.  That at least kind of slapped.”

“I’m not here for your entertainment. I’m still fine-tuning Marinette’s song.”  

Which would be much easier to do without XY’s background noise.  With him around, all Luka could hear were sharps and twangs and thump-thump-thump beats.  Not the kind of music that would suit Marinette.

“What’s your deal with her, anyway?  Is she paying you for this?”

“She’s… someone special,” Luka settled on, strumming a soft run.  “I’m just happy to enjoy the music her presence brings.”

“So, like, she’s got some background music that follows her around? That’s pretty dope.”

“No, like—ugh, nevermind.”  He guessed it was like background music, her presence was so strong.  She was just always moving, and she had a way of inspiring others just by being there, and— 

“Yo.” 

When had XY gotten close enough to wave his hand in front of his face?  For being so obnoxious the rest of the time, he somehow managed to be sneaky when he wanted to.  Or maybe Luka had just been that caught up in thoughts of Marinette.

“So, basically, you’re ripping off this Martini’s BGM—”

“It’s Marinette.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.  Anyway, you’re just ripping off her beats, so hah.”

XY smirked, as if that was supposed to be a mic-dropping burn.  

Luka scooted back and put his guitar between them to keep the other boy from invading his space again.  Though honestly, he was more likely to ignore it and crush the guitar with his knees.

“Did no one teach you the difference between inspiration and plagiarism?”  Luka asked before shaking his head.  “Nevermind.  I know the answer to that.”

“I don’t vibe with ‘perspiration.’  That’s what deodorant’s for.”

That was a joke.  That had to be a joke, right?  But XY’s blue eyes were still staring at him seriously.

I can’t believe I almost thought those eyes were cute.

“That’s it.”  He stood up and slung his guitar over his shoulder.  “Enough sitting around.  I’m going to show you what inspiration really is.”

“Ooooooh.”  XY sprawled across the now-open space of Luka’s bed, his palm braced against his cheek as he made the kissy face Luka had come to learn meant trouble.  “You’re gonna sweat for me?”

Luka was about three seconds from slamming his head against the wall.

“Just come on.”

XXX

“Where are we going?  Why do I have to wear your stupid hoodie?  My hair is never gonna stick up straight after this.”

Luka tried to tune out XY’s constant stream of questions.  He should be glad Luka let him borrow his hoodie—it was probably the only thing keeping him from being swarmed by teenage girls as they walked to the Dupain-Cheng bakery.

When XY finally shut up, Luka glanced back to make sure he was still following.  He half expected the other boy to have just gone back to the hotel, but there he was, still strolling casually and… sniffing Luka’s hoodie?

“What are you doing.”

“What?”  XY’s head jerked up, like he hadn’t just been burying his nose in the crook of his ebow.  “Nothing.”

“Stop sniffing my clothes.  It’s weird.”

“You were the one who made me wear it.”  He crossed his arms.

At risk of learning something he’d regret, Luka asked, “Why are you sniffing my hoodie.”

“Y’know, I was expecting it to smell like your garbage heap, but you’ve got some kind of cologne that’s actually really—”

“Nevermind, I don’t want to know.”  He just hoped his hoodie didn’t smell like XY by the end of the day.

What did XY smell like, anyway?   

...That was a dumb question.  He wasn’t going to think about it.

“Yo, what’s that sick noise?”  XY perked up again, his head swiveling back and forth.

“What noise?”  All Luka could hear were passing cars, chattering pedestrians, and—

“Rloo-rloo, rloo-rloo.”

Luka groaned at the sight of Mr. Ramier once again blowing into his pigeon call.  How many times did Ladybug and Chat Noir have to teach him this lesson?

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.” Luka tugged on XY’s sleeve.  Nothing good would come from hanging around the man when he was feeding his pigeons.  Soon Officer Raincomprix would show up, and then Hawkmoth would akumatize Mr. Ramier for the seventeenth time, and then Luka would be stuck trying to keep XY from getting bombed by attack pigeons.

“Wait, I gotta see what kind of instrument that is!  It’d make a great effect in my next track!”

XY pulled out of his grip and dashed off towards Mr. Ramier.  Luka just sighed and dropped his forehead into his palm.  

Maybe he should just cut his losses, let XY keep his hoodie, and go back home.  It wasn’t like XY would know what real inspiration was if it whacked him over the head, anyway.

But it was his favorite hoodie.

Thankfully, XY had scared away most of the pigeons when he charged towards Mr. Ramier, leaving the man frowning.

“Young man, can I help you?”  He asked politely in spite of his obvious disappointment.  

Luka felt a pang of guilt.  Before Hawkmoth had come around and made Mr. Ramier into an actual danger, he’d been pleasant to talk to from time to time.  It wasn’t like Luka cared if feeding pigeons was technically against the law.

“Yeah!  Can I have that sick instrument?”  XY pointed to the bird call, and Mr. Ramier blinked.

“This?  But I need it to call back my pigeons that you scared away.  They’ll be quite hungry this fine afternoon.  It’s been days since I’ve come to see them.”

“Pshaw, birds don’t care about music.”

“It’s not even an instrument,” Luka muttered to himself, not that XY would care.

“My pigeons have excellent taste.  I’m not sure what your point is, young man, but I cannot give up my pigeon call.”

Maybe it would be better if he did.  At least then Mr. Ramier would have to have a different akumatized object during his next stint as Mister Pigeon.

Granted, taking the bird call would probably lead to an akumatization…

“Leave him alone, Xavier,” Luka sighed.

Both XY and Mr. Ramier looked at him before bursting into a flurry of excuses.

“If you think I’m about to give him my prized pigeon call—”

“Bruh, it sounds so cool—!”

“I wasn’t bothering anyone—”

“Just imagine a nice dubstep beat with that—”

“XY!”  Luka finally snapped.  “Sorry, Mr. Ramier, I forgot Xavier was your name too.”

XY and Mr. Ramier shared a glance.

“Dude,” XY said, going in for a fist bump. 

Mr. Ramier raised an eyebrow.  “Regardless of if we have the same name, you’re not getting my pigeon call.  Good day.”

He brushed off his trousers and rose from the bench.  A few pigeons trailed after him, pecking at the ground near his shoes.

“Aww, come on!”  XY pursed his lips in a pout.  It was ridiculous; he had enough money to buy a hundred bird calls.

Or there was an even simpler option.

“Mr. Ramier?”  Luka asked before the man could stride away.  “What if we recorded the sound of your bird call?  Would that be alright?”

He blinked.  “Why, of course.  As long as you are polite to the pigeons when you call them.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”  XY grinned while whipping out his phone.  “This is gonna be lit!”

A few rloo-rloos later, the pigeons were back in full force, and XY was satisfied.  Why he cared so much about some weird noises was beyond Luka, but at least no one had been akumatized.  

“Say hello to Anarka for me.” Mr. Ramier waved as they left, and Luka guiltily waved back.

He hoped their next stop at Marinette’s house would be a little less dramatic.

XXX

Marinette’s jaw dropped.  “You want me to what!?”  

Luka winced.  Marinette hadn’t spent all week with XY the way that he had.  She didn’t know that while he was definitely annoying, he was also completely harmless—at least when his dad wasn’t around.

“I’m sorry if I upset you.  I’ve just been trying to show Xavier what real musical inspiration looks like, and I’m always inspired when I’m around you.”

“Really?  Well, um… th-thanks, Luka.”  A cute blush stained her cheeks, but she quickly turned around and gestured to the pile of fabric on the desk behind her.  “I’ve got so much to get done though.  Even if I wanted to help XY—and I can’t say I do after how he treated Kitty Section—I just don’t have time.”

She sighed, sounding legitimately regretful.  He could practically hear the melancholy arpeggios backing her voice.  It was tempting to sling his guitar off his back and play it for her now.  

“How would I inspire XY, anyway?”  she asked him.  “I know you’re, um… well, I understand how I could inspire you, but that’s because…” She shook her head.  “Nevermind.  The point is, I’m not magic.”

Oh.  Right.  Luka had been so caught up in inspiring XY—and proving that Marinette was worth making music for—that he hadn’t exactly thought his plan through.  XY had terrible taste in inspiration, if the bird call was anything to go by.  He wouldn’t care.

Why did Luka care if he cared?

“Yo, are you Marinade?”

She screamed and jumped on the back of her chaise when XY’s head poked up through the trapdoor.  While he still wore Luka’s hoodie, the hood was down so his blond hair again stood straight up.

“Xavier, I told you to wait in the bakery,” Luka hissed under his breath.  

“Marinade’s parents said to bring up some pastries.”  He shrugged and pushed the plate across the floor before folding his arms over the ledge.

“It’s Marinette,” she deadpanned, looking as stern as she could with her arms crossed while perched at the top of her chaise.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”  XY looked at her like she was stupid, and Marinette glared.  Not at him, but at Luka.  

He swallowed.  Anger wasn’t a pleasant addition to her melody.

“You brought him here?”  she asked Luka, not bothering to lower her voice.  “I know you wanted my help, but I’d rather you ask first.”

Right.  Marinette was just always so willing to help everyone, but maybe he’d inadvertently taken advantage of that.  After all, she clearly had way more sewing jobs than he’d realized, and she’d only just recently finished their Kitty Section shirts.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again, fingers twitching over his guitar strings.  Maybe he’d have to throw in a clashing chord as a counterpoint to her sweet music.

“Wait, I remember you.” XY squinted up at her.  “You’re the one who made those sick costumes, right?”

“Oh, now he’ll admit it.” She threw her arms in the air.

“Hey, it’s not my fault Dad only gave me a few days to steal—er, come up with a costume design.”  He finished climbing out the hatch and stared around the room.  “I see why you called her persperational, Lu.  These clothes are ballin’.  Could use more purple, though.”

Marinette blinked, her mouth falling open dumbly.  Luka had gotten used to most of XY’s weird American slang, but she probably wouldn’t know that was a pretty decent compliment.

“Let’s just leave before you steal something else.”  Luka attempted to push XY back towards the hatch, but he slipped under his arm and made a break for Marinette’s desk.  

His foot landed on the sewing machine’s pedal, sending the needle whirring.  No fabric was under it, but that didn’t stop Marinette from shouting.

“Quit it!  You’ll tangle the bobbin thread and—don’t touch that!  It’s for Nino’s birthday!”  

She looked to Luka for help as XY ran his hands over her black fabric.  As if Luka knew how to control the reckless idiot.  At least he’d stumbled off the pedal.

“Oooooh.”  He ignored them both and held up the hoodie.  There was green piping along the sides and pockets, and cat ears dangled from the hood.  “Is Kneeknob some kind of furry?”

“No.”  Marinette snatched it out of his hands and inspected the stitching.  It looked finished to Luka; he hoped XY hadn’t damaged it.  But Marinette sighed in relief.  “I know you’re pretty new to Paris, but even you should recognize the Chat Noir theme.  Nino’s a big fan.”

“Pshaw, of course I’ve met Cat Noir.”

Luka grimaced at his American accent.  Cat Noy-er.  

“He and Ladybug saved me from Lu when he went crazy,” XY continued.  “He was so mad because we took—er, remixed your designs, right?  Are you his girlfriend?”

Luka tried his best not to blush.  Marinette already knew that he liked her, and XY normally picked way worse nicknames than “Lu.”  He had nothing to be embarrassed about—except the fact that he’d brought this idiot into her house.

“I—I’m...” She looked at Luka’s hopeful face and sighed.  “No, I’m not.  I’m in love with someone else.”

XY looked between the two of them.  His blue eyes, normally glossed over with boredom, had an odd expression in them.  “Huh.  Your loss.”

Luka wasn’t sure if XY was talking to him or Marinette.  Either way, he had to be joking.  Just egging Luka on, trying to rile him up like he always did.  Maybe he wanted Luka to get akumatized again.  Or maybe he was just mean.

He was so distracted trying to puzzle out XY’s probably meaningless words that he nearly missed XY haggling Marinette for a scrap of the fabric she’d used on the hoodie.

“I’d be a furry if I got to wear this kind of stuff,” he said, pocketing the black square.  “I wouldn’t dress up as the Cat, though.  You know who’s really cool?  That snake dude I saw on the news.  That tiny guitar was very sexy.”

“It’s a lyre,” Luka said at the same time as Marinette.  Why that was the part they chose to dispute, he didn’t know.  His face was burning by this point; it was probably best to get XY out before he either stole something or exposed Luka’s secret identity.

“Thank you for your time, Marinette,” he said quickly.  “I’ll find someone else to teach XY about inspiration.”

“Of course.  You know, you could always try asking Nino.  He works in the same kind of genre as him.  I hear he’s a fan, too.”  She forced a grin and picked up the plate of pastries XY had left on the floor.  

Nino.  Luka remembered him hanging around the Liberty every once in a while, though he’d never heard Nino’s music.  He didn’t feel like sticking around long enough to get Nino’s number from Marinette; he’d text Juleka for it.

He was just about to disappear down the hatch when she spoke up again, her voice soft.

“And just so you know… I am sorry.”

He gave her as gentle a smile as he could.  “Don’t worry about it.”

He knew that she had a crush on Adrien.  He couldn’t ask her to change the song in her heart.

He just hoped he could change the song in his.

XXX

“I still don’t get why you wanted me to see Marmalade so bad.  I don’t make my own costumes.”  XY was rubbing the black square of fabric between his fingers as they walked back towards the Liberty.  “Did you think she’d see you with me and get jealous?  Am I just some part of your plan to get a girlfriend?  ’Cause that’s pretty unsexy of you.”

Luka rolled his eyes.  As if anyone would be jealous of having to put up with XY.

“Says the guy who’s only ever used people for selfish reasons.”

“Pshaw, have not.”  XY spun, walking backwards and nearly tripping into the crosswalk.  

Luka, out of reflex, reached for his hand.  It was warmer than he expected as he yanked XY back upright.

XY froze for a moment.  The other pedestrians streamed by on either side of the crosswalk.  Luka’s eyes darted down to their linked hands.  How had their fingers enlaced?

“Tell me one person you haven’t used, then.” Luka ignored the tingles that ran down his arm while dragging him to the other side of the street.

“I’m not using you now,” he huffed, rubbing the hand Luka dropped against his pants.  “You’re the one who wanted to drag me around to see your not-girlfriend.”

“Because you wouldn’t shut up!  If you’re going to trash talk my music, you can at least have the nerve to make your own!”

XY’s eyes widened at Luka’s outburst.  His face looked a little bit red; was he about to snap back at him?  Luka didn’t know if he could keep his calm, not after being rejected by Marinette again.

But no, XY recovered his cool.  “I—I will make my own music.  I’m gonna make the most cash money music you’ve ever heard, and then you’ll regret ever sleeping on the extraordinary XY.”

He threw his hand sign and got a few odd looks from strangers on the street.  If anyone recognized the gesture, they weren’t impressed.  Or didn’t recognize him under Luka’s hoodie.

“Then prove it.  We’ve still got one more stop to make.”  

Luka got out his cell phone and sent a few texts, quickly ending up with Nino’s address and permission to stop by.

If XY had even a note of music in his heart, Luka was going to find it.

XXX

“Dude, no way!”  Nino said when Luka sheepishly introduced XY at his apartment doorstep.  “Yeah you guys can come in!  When you said you wanted to help a friend with some music, I didn’t think you meant you wanted me to collab with XY!”

“Finally, a homie with some taste.”  XY slung his arm around Nino’s neck, jostling his headphones.  If Luka didn’t know better, he would’ve thought they were already friends.  But XY was just overly familiar like that.

“You actually like his music?”  Luka asked as they made their way to Nino’s room.  The apartment was painted a dark brown, mostly tidy, but with patches of disorder that rivaled the Liberty.  Video game cartridges, tiny dinosaurs, and toy robots spilled out of a bedroom that they passed.

Nino’s room was only marginally cleaner.  Some shirts, sheets of homework—Luka shuddered at that—and records were piled on his desk and bed.  What took up the most space, though, was the DJ’s turntable, synth board, and meter-high speaker system against the back wall.

“Who doesn’t like XY’s music?”  Nino asked as if Luka was the crazy one.  “I mean, I know Adrien’s got some beef against him, but he’s always been more of a classics guy.  Station Nation, Jagged Stone, stuff like that.  But if you like electronic music, XY’s your man.  And he’s in my bedroom!”

XY beamed, basking in the praise.  Luka thought he’d be used to it, being an international pop star, but his joy seemed genuine.  As did Nino’s.  Marinette must never have told him about what really went down with Kitty Section.  

“Don’t get too excited.  Xavier doesn't make his own music.”

“Bruh!”  XY smacked his arm.  “Not cool!”

“What? It’s true.  I brought you here for inspiration, not so you can take advantage of Nino’s talent.”

Maybe it would’ve been more tactful not to crush Nino’s opinion of one of his favorite artists, but Luka had never claimed to be good with words.

“...You’ve lost me.”  Nino took off his cap and scratched his head.  “XY, you need my help to make some music?  Did you lose your spark or something?”

XY tugged at the chain around his neck, partially hidden beneath Luka’s hoodie.  “Yeeeaaaaah, something like that.  Lu thinks you can help me.”

“Marinette said you work in the same genre as Xavier,” Luka was quick to clarify, even while XY started poking around Nino’s room.  “She suggested you, but you don’t owe me or him anything.  You can say no.”

“Nah, it’s all good!  Even if XY’s stuff isn’t all him, it’s still pretty cool to get to work together in person.  Marinette won’t be the only one who got to help out a star.”  

Nino cleared a space from his bed and rolled out his desk chair.  XY wasted no time in flopping on the bed.  No amount of inspiration would teach him the meaning of personal space.

Speaking of inspiration, Luka could already feel a quick beat pulsing from Nino.  He did have the energy of a musician as he powered up his stereo and synth, connecting wires to his clunky computer.

“That thing looks old.  You’re really gonna make fresh tunes on that?”

“Ah, she’s old, but she’s got the best software pirating can buy.”  Nino grinned.  “Plus my bro Max beefed up the hardware.  She’s not as much of a dinosaur as she looks.”

XY still frowned, but he shrugged.  “You’re the expert, bruh.”

Was XY actually being… nice?  It didn’t make sense.  When Luka had tried to help him, he had practically thrown a tantrum trying to get out of putting in his own effort.  Maybe he still thought Nino would make a whole song for him.

But he didn’t.  He walked him through the program, showing him the electronic instruments he could mix together, but the most he did was demo a few ten-second clips.  Nothing XY could bother stealing.

Luka didn’t know enough about computers to follow most of what went on after that, though XY seemed to pick it up quickly.  Heavy bass started to shake the floor in a way Luka’s mom would appreciate, but Nino’s neighbors probably wouldn’t.  Nino didn’t seem to care.  Or maybe he was just too caught up in helping XY to notice.

Eventually, they plugged in two sets of noise-cancelling headphones to continue, and Luka was left in a disconcerting silence.  The only sound was the other boys’ occasional laughter or music-theory comments that he couldn’t follow.  He knew enough to construct chords, but for the most part he just played what felt right, trusting his ear rather than any kind of formal training.  All the technical jargon might as well have been another mispronunciation of XY’s, except that Nino said most of the words first.

He strummed a few basic chords once he realized the two couldn’t hear him over their own music.  How had Nino done it?  XY was grinning, nodding his head in time with the unheard music… and completely ignoring Luka.

Why did that itch at him?  Luka didn’t want to be saddled with XY.  It had been frustration and annoyance that led him to take the boy around town in search of inspiration.

Well, he’d found it.  XY was clearly getting along fine with Nino, without him.

Strings trembled beneath his fingers.  His own heartsong stuttered out of rhythm.  Too many diminished chords.  Too quick a beat.

This is stupid, he thought, tearing his gaze away from the back of Nino and XY’s heads.  He had no reason to feel jealous of their collaboration, of the way Nino somehow earned XY’s praise.  It was natural that their heartsongs would blend into a fine melody; they both worked with synths and software.  Luka wouldn’t like whatever music they made, anyway.

He could’ve left.  He wasn’t sure what prompted him to keep sitting there in silence, occasionally tuning his guitar and strumming a chord or two.  He should at least be working on Marinette’s melody, but it sounded hollow after listening to the deep bass of Nino and XY.  He could come back to it later.  For now, he let himself draw on the inspiration around him: harsher, sharper chords and echoing notes that would sound better on his electric guitar.  It wouldn’t be his first song choice—he probably wouldn’t even finish it—but there was something energizing about the discordant tune.

Was this what was in XY’s heart?  He played up close to the tuning pegs for the deepest chords his instrument could summon.  That wasn’t quite right though; XY did have some higher pitched notes in him.  The contrast was what made his song interesting.

Contrast.  Between his stupid mispronunciations and the conflict with his dad.  Between the way he nearly fell over every time he turned around and his strange ability to sneak up on Luka.  Between his outburst about not making his own music, and his embarrassed apology afterward.

What did it all mean?  And most of all, why did Luka care?

It wasn’t until his stomach growled loudly that he realized how long he’d been sitting and composing.  Nino and XY were still sitting at the synth, too.  XY’s fingers nimbly danced across the keys, though Luka still couldn’t hear any of the music.  Why the headphones?  Nino had giant speakers right there.  Unless they were trying to be considerate of the neighbors after all.  

It was dark by now, clearly past dinner time.  He’d spent the whole day with XY.  

He stood up with a sigh and shook his shoulder.  “We should head out.  We don’t want to take up Nino’s whole night.”

XY pouted, as if he’d actually been enjoying playing music.  Luka did feel a small surge of satisfaction at that.

Nino slipped off his headphones.  “You’re not bugging me, dudes.  If you don’t have anywhere to be, you can totally chill here tonight.  XY can keep working on his song, and I can order us a pizza.”

“That’d be tight.”  XY grinned, holding his fist out to bump Nino’s.  How were they already that close?

Part of Luka wanted to reject Nino’s offer just because of that.  But it was a Saturday night, and he didn’t have anywhere to be.  Mom probably wouldn’t even be home.

“Sure,” he sighed as XY let out a loud whoop.  “I don’t see why not.”

XXX

Luka awoke to a foot in his ribs.  He jolted up, nearly shouting, before realizing that it was just XY tripping over him.

Right.  They’d spent the night at Nino’s, sharing an air mattress on the floor.  Luka had wanted to take the couch in the living room, but XY insisted on having the “deluxe slumber party experience.”  That was something else they had in common, he guessed—neither of them had ever had a sleepover with friends before.  Nino had been appalled when he found out.

Four hours, three pizzas, and about twenty card games (that XY cheated at) later, they’d finally crashed for the night.  Except XY hadn’t, apparently.

“Go back to sleep, man,” Luka groaned, rolling over.  He’d been worried about XY flopping over on him in the middle of the night, but that would be preferable to this awakening.

“You go back to sleep.”

Luka blinked against the sudden burst of light.  He twisted around to see… XY booting up Nino’s computer?

The last dregs of sleep fled him as he scrambled to XY’s side.  “No way.  I did not just spend all this time hanging out with you for you to rip off Nino’s music!”

“Wha—that’s what you think I’m doing?”  XY’s jaw dropped.  Why was he surprised?  He was obviously…

Pulling up the track he’d been working on earlier.  The one titled XY’s Very Cash Money Day.

“Oh.”  Luka exhaled.  “Wait, if you’re just working on that, then why did you get up now?  It’s”—he looked at the clock in the corner of the screen—“three a.m.!”  

Nino let out a loud snore, making him jump again.  Maybe he should be quieter.

XY shrugged.  “So?”

“So, you could’ve waited until morning.”

He shook his head.  His normal gravity-defying hair had flattened during the short time he had slept, the gel finally wearing out.  It was weird to watch stray strands dance around his face, catching the computer’s glow.

“These beats wait for no dude, dude.”  He slipped on the headphones, disheveling his hair further.  It looked surprisingly soft, considering how much hair gel he must have slathered in it.

“So you… just woke up because you were feeling inspired?”

Another shrug.  “I don’t think I sweat when I sleep.”  

XY sniffed his armpit.  He was still wearing Luka’s hoodie; he hadn’t had any other clothes to change into, and he’d been just barely too tall to borrow Nino’s.  

“Nah, still smells like your sexy cologne.”

...How was Luka even supposed to respond to that?  He shook his head, hoping the computer’s light didn’t catch too much of the blush in his face.

“Inspiration, not perspiration.  You know that.”

XY had to know more than he let on.  He’d understood Nino’s technical jargon, and he’d thrown together—presumably—a whole song in an afternoon.  Luka didn’t know if it was any good; XY hadn’t allowed him to hear it.

“I don’t get it.  Why did you steal music when you knew how to make your own songs all along?  Unless Nino really inspired you that much.” He sat back down at the edge of the air mattress; it squished under his weight, almost leaving him on the floor.

XY laughed.  “Man, you’re dumb.”

“Wh—you’re telling me I’m dumb?”  He was used to XY’s insults, but this one didn’t even have context.  Unless it was supposed to be obvious that stealing was easier than making his own songs.  Either way, it didn’t sound like he was getting an explanation tonight.

XY wasn’t getting anywhere on his song tonight, either.  He threw off the headphones and flopped back next to him.  He was going to pop the mattress doing that.  

“I can’t work with you watching me.  Your eyes are too… y’know.”  He gestured vaguely.  Luka could barely see him when the monitor flickered off.

“I really don’t.” 

“You’re just. Always looking.  Like… I dunno.  You expect to see something.”

Luka blinked at that.  What did he expect to see?  He knew XY was an art thief, and a pretty bad one at that.  But that melody he’d felt from him today still intrigued him.  Not a rock ballad by any means, but something still vibrant.

“I don’t know if I really expect anything,” Luka murmured, lying back, so his head was at XY’s feet.  His hands folded over his stomach.  “But I guess… I hope there’s something in you, Xavier.  Something that understands music beyond just wanting to be famous.”

XY was quiet for a long time.  When he didn’t reply, Luka assumed he’d finally gone to sleep, and tried to roll over and do the same.  Between Nino’s snores and the thin blanket, it was difficult to drift off again.

So he was still conscious when XY asked, “Do you really think I can do it?”

It was hard to hear from this angle.  He turned around, so their heads were on the same side of the air mattress.  Did XY really say what he’d thought?

“Y’know.  Make my own music?”  he whispered.

“I… yeah,” Luka said, surprising himself.  He remembered the genuine joy on XY’s face when he’d been creating today.  “I really do.”

“Then… thanks.”

In the faint light through the window, Luka could make out his smile.  Not the duck lips, this time.  The moonlight and late hour had stripped away some of his posturing.

“It’s nothing.”  Luka shrugged, rolling over before he could think about just how warm that smile made him.

“‘Night, Lu.  Dream of guitars, or whatever goes through your funky head.”

Luka snorted, suppressing a laugh.  “’Night, XY.”

XY laughed back, a bright burst that somehow sounded less annoying than usual.  “You said my name!  You’re officially one of my peeps!”

He was probably going to regret that when XY teased him in the morning.

“I said good night,” he repeated.

He didn’t regret it.  Not the nickname, or the way that XY’s head had somehow rolled onto his chest as they slept, the tip of his hair tickling his nose.

It was going to take more than just a few chords to unravel the music that left in his heart.

[angelic-holland]

Harry Dean // fratboy!th x reader college au

Summary: You’re tutoring Tom and he invites you to watch his band perform. You reluctantly agree. Interested to see where this goes.

warnings: nsfw, smut 

You’re halfway through the calculus homework when Tom groans, laying his head down on your kitchen table.

“What?” You sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t wanna do this anymore,” he groans.

“You have like three problems left, come on, I don’t wanna be here either, I have other work I could be doing.”

“Well, damn Y/N if you don’t wanna be here you can go.”

“No I can’t, first off this is my apartment, and I’m getting paid to tutor you and students like you so let’s move this along.”

He lifts his head back up, resting his chin against his hand and looking at you with puppy dog eyes.

“What do you mean students like me? Stupid students?”

“You’re not stupid, you just don’t apply yourself.”

“That’s what smart people say about stupid people.”

“Well if you think you’re stupid there’s no changing that but I think if you just put a little more effort into your school work instead of other things then-,”

He cuts you off, his foot reaching out to tap yours, “what other things sweetheart?”

“You know what other things, partying, your frat, literally anything but schoolwork.”

“Yeah but college is when you’re supposed to have fun, you gotta relax every once in a while.”

You push his foot away from yours and stand up, “you can have fun but college is literally where you’re supposed to get a degree. Your parents send you here to get a degree in beer pong?”

You move to grab a glass from your cabinet and hear him stand up, the chair scraping against the ground.

“No, they sent me here to get a degree in business so I can eventually take over their company, the beer pong degree is just for fun.”

He’s right behind you now and you don’t dare turn, knowing he’ll be right there.

“Well you need to pass calculus and that’s what I’m here to help you with.”

“You know sweetheart, it’s Friday, what are your plans for the night?”

“Was just gonna, finish-,” you falter as his hands rest on either side of you against the counter, boxing you in.

“What was that?”

“Finish my homework, maybe put together my study guide for the calc exam.”

“That’s in two and a half weeks, why the hurry?”

“I, I don’t know,” you can feel his breath on your neck and you shake your head, clearing any dirty thoughts from your mind, moving his hand and side stepping out of his way, opening your fridge.

“My band’s got a gig tonight, you should come,” he says, sauntering over to you. You fill your cup with water, sitting back down at the table.

“I don’t know, that’s not really my thing,” you shrug as he sits back down.

“Come on sweetheart, gotta have some fun, why don’t you think about it? Not until 10 anyways.”

“Fine,” you say, hoping your response will shut him up so you can finish the homework you had planned to do.

****

“So it’s at Radio Bean, just tell ‘em you’re with me and they’ll wave the entrance fee, I’ll put you down as my plus one.”

“Tom, I don’t even know if I’ll go, I said I’d think about it.”

“Come on sweetheart, you’re always so fuckin uptight, let’s cut loose, just this once, just tonight, for me,” he says, his eyes pleading with you.

You didn’t understand what his deal was, he was flirty with you since you started tutoring him, but he never made an actual move until now, if you could call it that.

“Fine but if you’re music sucks I’m leaving.”

“Oh sweetheart, don’t you worry,” he says with a shit-eating grin before leaving you in your kitchen.

You decide to take a shower to cool down, you weren’t going to lie his words did things to you, the way he called you sweetheart today had you practically dripping. He always gave you little nicknames but today you were already on edge, horny and you haven’t had sex in months.

You end up coming on your fingers with a small moan of his name while the water washes over you. You blush at the thought of him seeing you like this and quickly shake the idea from your head, shaving your legs and washing your hair.

You had set out a few different outfits on your bed and you groaned, you wanted to look hot, you didn’t know if anything would actually happen tonight but you wanted to be prepared if it did.

You had one dress, it was a blue floral wrap dress that went down to your ankles and you shook your head, that wouldn’t work. You had a short black leather skater skirt that your sister bought you and you’ve literally never worn, you paired it with a dark red bralette that matched a lipstick shade you had from ages ago. You set about getting your hair dry and doing your makeup before slipping into the outfit and damn if you didn’t look good. You usually wore jeans and a tshirt so this was way out of your comfort zone, you just hoped it paid off.

You finished up your homework and got started on that study guide despite Tom making fun of you for it. It was better to be ahead of the game and besides, your scholarship depended on you getting good grades.

By the time you had finished it was around 9:30 which gave you enough time to walk to Radio Bean, you’ve been there before on dates, it was a coffee shop during the day, bar and music venue at night. You’d never actually heard of Tom’s band before, you looked it up from his Facebook, it was called “H.D.” and they mostly did covers of rock songs, lots of Led Zeppelin which you knew was Tom’s favorite band. He was the guitarist, sometimes sang, sometimes didn’t, but he always had fun on stage.

When you got there there was a small line to get in and you gave the person at the door your name, they checked the list, each person in the band had a certain number of free spots and they let you in. You looked around, wondering if anyone you knew was there. You couldn’t find anyone but it made sense, your friends were in the math club and the education majors, their parties consisted of cards against humanity and mikes hard lemonade in a dorm room. You got a soda, you wanted to be sober for his set.

You were relaxing at a stool near the back of the bar, the stage and the band’s equipment set up and waiting for them. You checked your phone, 9:55, they should be out any minute.

When the room erupted in cheers you looked up and saw Tom and his band mates walk on stage, he was wearing a black leather jacket, similar to the one you wore tonight and a tight white T-shirt, loose fitting black jeans adorning his legs. And honestly, he looked fucking great.

You stood up from your stool, moving with the crowd towards the stage, you didn’t get too close, watching Tom’s eyes scan the crowd.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” The main singer asked and the crowd cheered. You didn’t notice Tom had found you until the lead singer elbowed him, “Alright mate, I said you ready to go?”

Tom’s eyes were boring into your own, or more accurately staring at your chest, you had taken off your leather jacket and slung it over an arm, your bralette on full display.

He laughed at his friend, taking off his own jacket and picking up his guitar, “let’s do this.”

His eyes never wavered from yours as they started their first song, the familiar tune of “Thank You” by Led Zeppelin starting out on Tom’s guitar. It was a slower, more down to earth song and you swayed to the music. Closing your eyes and letting yourself get lost. They went straight into their next song, a cover of Green Day’s “American Idiot” and the crowd lost it, everyone was jumping up and down and you followed along, watching Tom watch you.

The next song was a bit slower and you moved your hips to the music, letting yourself get lost in the sound of the lead singer’s voice and Tom’s guitar. It wasn’t until you felt someone’s hands on your hips and body pressed against yours that threw you off your rhythm.

You quickly moved forward as much as the tight crowd would allow you, turning towards the source of the hands. A guy, probably a college student, grinning creepily at you, probably drunk, moved to pull you towards him again when you side stepped around him.

“Dude fuck off I don’t wanna dance with you,” you say, rolling your eyes at the sleazeball.

“Fuck you,” he grumbles, pushing through the crowd. You hear the guitar falter and pause before quickly picking back up again. You turn to face the band and see Tom’s trying his best to hide a scowl, it’s the same scowl he gets when you tell him one of his answers is wrong and he needs to work on the question again. You smile up at him, unsure if that interaction was the reason behind his frown but wanted to reassure him you’re fine.

They play some more songs, Tom’s voice surprising you in a few of them where he sang. An hour or so later they thanked Radio Bean for giving them the space and introduced the next band, another college group. You watched as Tom and his bandmates slipped out to a side room and you wandered back over to the bar, settling yourself on a stool.

“Y/N, are you okay? I tried to tell security about that guy in the crowd but they said they couldn’t find him, the description I gave was shit but-,” Tom said as he stood next to you.

“I’m fine, told the guy to fuck off, it’s whatever.”

“You sure?” He asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort or anger over the situation.

“It’s nice of you to worry but I can handle myself.”

“I don’t doubt that Y/N.”

“Good,” he says, holding his hand out. You hesitantly take it, letting him move you through the crowd.

“Didn’t know you had all that under those dorky shirts of yours,” he said, pulling you down a dark corridor.

“Oh yeah? Did you often think about what was under my shirts?” You joked but he bit his lip, blatantly staring at your tits and the way they bounced as you moved along the hallway.

“Only every day of my life sweetheart,” he says coming to a stop at a door.

“Where are we?”

“Performers only lounge, wanna join me?”

“Sure,” you say as he pushes the door open. It was a small space with a leather couch, a table, some chairs and a mini fridge.

“You know, when I saw you tonight, I nearly lost my mind, kept getting distracted.”

“I noticed,” you said as he leaned against the table.

“Subtlety isn’t my strong suit,” he shrugs, pulling you by the waist into him.

“Really? Cause that’s the vibe you’ve been giving off for the past few months.”

“I just, well you’re my tutor, and you’re a nerd, no offense, I didn’t wanna come off too strong and scare you off,” he says, his hands running up and down your sides.

“And what about now?”

“What about it?” He asks, his lips dangerously close to yours.

You couldn’t stand it, crashing your lips against his, your arms wrapping around his neck. You let him pull you flush against him, your hips slotted with his own. You felt his cock hard against you beneath his pants, they were so tight they left almost nothing to the imagination. One hand rested on your hip, the other hesitantly moved to your ass over your skirt. You grinded down against him, feeling your pussy soak through your panties.

“Fuck sweetheart,” he moans as you trail kisses down his neck sucking on a few points, causing him to slap your ass, “if I’d known you’d look like this I’d have invited you to a show ages ago.”

“Felt like bein’ a rebel,” you whisper in his ear and he groans.

“Can I touch you?”

“You already are?” You say, pulling off his neck and looking at him. Tom was red in the face, his hands playing with the edge of your skirt.

“Wanna touch all of you sweetheart.”

“Fuck, does this door lock?” You ask and he nods as you move to lock it, he’s behind you again, pushing you against the now locked door.

His hand grips your ass, the other moving between you and the door to play with your tits. You’re practically dripping as you grind your ass back against his hand.

“You want something sweetheart?”

“Touch me, Tom, please,” you whine, feeling blush creep up your cheeks.

You can practically hear his smirk as his hand tugs down your skirt and spins you around. You kick off the skirt and he kisses you as you try to pull off his jeans. He helps before pulling away to tug off his shirt.

“Fuck sweetheart you look so good like this, could just tug your panties to the side and fuck you right here.”

“Why don’t you?”

He groans, his hands pulling down his underwear and tugging at his cock a few times as you pulled the bralette over your head.

He leans down and grabs his wallet pulling out a condom and tossing the wallet back to the side.

“Look at you, all prepared,” you say, your hand reaching out hesitantly for his cock.

“Go ahead sweetheart,” he says opening the condom and handing it to you.

You roll it onto his cock and jerk it a few times. It looked how you imagined it, long, a little thick, perfect.

His hands had wandered to your tits, fingers pinching your nipples, hard from the cold air and how horny you were.

“You gonna fuck me now or?” You ask and he grins, pushing your hand off him, gripping the backs of your thighs.

“Jump,” he whispers in your ear and you do, wrapping your legs around his waist and arms around his neck. The feeling of his cock against your panty covered cunt making you whimper as he pushes you back against the door, one hand supporting you under your thigh, the other tugging your panties to the side.

“Fuck sweetheart, you’re dripping, this all for me?”

You nod as his thumb swipes through some of your juices, “been, fuck been thinking about you all night Tom.”

“What a coincidence, I’ve been thinking about having your pretty thighs wrapped around me all night,” he says, his thumb now in front of your lips. You suck it down like you would his cock, groaning around it as you taste yourself.

“Fuck sweetheart you look so good like that, wonder if that’s how you’d like sucking my cock.”

You moan around his thumb as he pushes into you, letting you get adjusted to his cock for a moment before fucking into you.

He pulls his thumb out of your mouth, his eyes watching your tits as you bounce on his cock, his fingers digging into your thigh.

“Fuck, Tom, feels so good,” you moan, crying out as he hits your sweet spot.

“Shhh, sweetheart, don’t want anyone to hear us, don’t want to get caught and have to stop do you?”

“No, Tom, don’t wanna stop, fuck,” you groan, your head leaning against the door, your hands gripping his shoulders.

“Feel so good around me sweetheart, love how wet you are already.”

“Oh fuck!” You cry out as his thumb rubs your clit.

“Shhh, what did I say about being quiet sweetheart?” He grins, his fingers resting on your lips, “I can keep you quiet don’t worry.”

You took the not so subtle hint and opened your mouth, letting Tom push three fingers into it. You put your focus on sucking them like you would a cock, tongue swirling around what you could as he picked up his pace, pounding into you. His fingers fucked into your mouth at the same pace, spit dripping out of your mouth when he pushed a little too far, causing you to gag around them.

“Fuck you look so hot like this sweetheart, choking on my fingers while your cunt takes my cock so well,” he groans, as one of your hands move to your clit, rubbing circles around it.

“You wanna come? You’re so wet sweetheart, think you’re going to come soon? Come all over my cock?”

You moan around his fingers, making as much noise as you could. You felt yourself get closer as his cock nudged against your sweet spot over and over again, your thumb making quick work on your clit. His lips work down your chest, leaving marks as he moved down, his lips wrapping around your nipples, looking up at you as you gagged around his fingers, pussy clenching around his cock. His teeth grazed your nipple and tugged it, which was all you needed to get pushed over the edge, crying around his fingers as you come.

The feeling of you pulsing around him and the view of your spit dripping down your chin onto your tits was enough to make Tom come with a groan of your name against your neck.

“Fuck,” he mutters, pulling his fingers out of your mouth, you suck and lap at them, trying to clean your spit off before he trails his hand down your chest, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

“That was-,”

“Fucking fantastic,” Tom says as he pulls out of you and your legs drop to the floor, shaking slightly.

“Why didn’t you fuck me sooner?”

“Didn’t know you wanted me to fuck you sooner sweetheart.”

“Then I guess I’m the idiot.”

“Nah that’s still my title sweetheart don’t worry.”

“Tom? You in there?” Someone shouts, jiggling the door handle.

“Fuck,” he says as you two pull apart from each other and scramble to put clothes on.

When you’re both dressed he unlocks the door and his band mate barges in, the lead singer, you think his name was Harrison.

“Oh fuck, sorry was I interrupting something?” He says taking in the state of you two.

“Nah you’re good,” you say, kissing Tom’s cheek, “call me?”

You wink behind Harrison’s back and watch Tom fumble for words, Harrison making fun of the lipstick stains on his neck as you leave.

[matt-hawthorne]

THE MISC CHALLENGE || More about Matt

Favorites

Color

Green. It’s both calming and full of life.

Band / Musician

Fall Out Boy, Frank Sinatra, Breaking Benjamin, My Chemical Romance, Dustin Kensrue. C’mon, I can’t fucking choose. Top 5 is the best I can do.

Movie / Show

Moulin Rouge (I’ll never ever get over El Tango de Roxanne). I’ll probably watch reruns of I Think You Should Leave and Monty Python’s Flying Circus until the day I die.

Book

Mario Puzo’s The Godfather. I’ve read it more times than I’ve watched the movies.

Animal

Crows! I don’t get why they get such a bad rap.

Place (Daily life and/or vacation spot)

A particular spot near a particular bench in the middle of Central Park, New York... wonderful New York. I’m glad I passed up on sleeping there for the night.

“They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that's true.”

What is/are his...

Theme song(s)?

Golden & West Coast Smoker by Fall Out Boy. I don’t know, they really help me put the past and present into perspective. I’ve found no tune matches the present... maybe Never Again (Aurora version) by Breaking Benjamin.

Pet peeves?

Screeching chalk on the board. FUUUUUCK. That.

Fictional character(s) they relate to the most?

Edward Bloom from Big Fish. He was a dreamer living the life he wanted.

“Fate has a cruel way to play with us, there is a time when a man must fight. And a moment when you must accept that he lost his destiny, which sailed the boat and that only a fool would ... Actually I've always been a fool.“

Most prized possession(s)?

This necklace Shay gave me on my 23rd birthday, I’m always wearing it under my shirt. Also, my first journal. It’s full of lyrics that I’ve been writing since I was around seven. Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps me from going into a rut.

Childhood dream job?

Rockstar... slowly but surely building up to that, buddy!

Catchphrase(s)?

Wicked!

Does he...

Have a quote/motto they live by? Which one(s)?

Yes. “The universe is under no obligation to make sense to you.”

Have any musical talents? Which one(s)?

Singing. I know my way around a piano, guitar, ukulele, bass, drums, violin, cello, didgeridoo, trumpet, sax, and accordion.

Practice any sport? Which one(s)?

Once upon a very long long time I played Lacrosse. Not very good– at all, really, but it was a blast!

Have a party trick? Which one(s)?

I don’t know if it counts as a “party” trick, but I can light a match with one hand.

Have any phobias? Which one(s)?

1. Claustrophobia - Fear of confined spaces. This fear breaks down in two parts. First one, the time he was bullied in middle school and two of his classmates decided it would be funny to lock him in the janitor’s closet after the school had closed. He was found the next morning. The second one, whenever he had one of his hyperactive episodes and his parents couldn’t deal with him for either reason, they locked him up in his room until it was over. Matt always needs to have either a window or a door open wherever he is.

2. Coimetrophobia - Fear of cemeteries. A stupid dare he had made his freshman year of high school, he had to spend the night over at a cemetery. Matt swore he saw things and, if they were nightmares, those were the worst he had ever had in his life. He also can’t stand them at day, they make him too sad.

3. Coulrophobia - Fear of clowns. It was his seventh birthday party and it was the first time a clown was brought in. The weird face, the awful laugh, the bad jokes, and the constant popping of the balloons; drove him to hide under a table and not come out until the clown was gone. It really didn’t help that the clown found that funny, and was the one that tried to grab Matt from under the table. Out of all the scary movies there are, he cannot watch IT.

Have any pets? Which one(s)?

Nope.

Is he...

Allergic to something? To what?

Peppermints. Which sucks, cause they smell so damn good.

Superstitious? If so, what do they believe brings them good/bad luck?

I am not superstitious, but I'm a little 'stitious... I always eat a green apple before performing a big show.

An early bird or night owl?

Night owl high on caffeine.

A dog or cat person?

DOGS! Got nothing against cats, though.

Optimistic or pessimistic?

As long as the glass has some water in it, there’s hope.

Indoorsy or outdoorsy?

Listen, I love a good walk in nature now and then, but nothing will ever beat home and its many comforts.

[fly-flower-fanfics]

Start Again

Draco Malfoy x Male Reader

Warnings: Death, cancer mentioned, depression episode, suicidal thoughts

*The song The Things We Used To Share is written by Thomas Sanders, but claimed as though the reader wrote it.*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Slytherin common room was one of the few places that comforted me. Well, let me rephrase that. The empty Slytherin common room was one of the few places that comforted me. I was a loner. I didn't want to be around people. I liked blending in and just observing from a distance. I liked being on the outside for the most part. 

How I got into Slytherin, I'll never know, but I don't really mind. Sure, I get picked on by Pansy and then more so because my mom was a Muggle, but I didn't mind it anymore. I'm used to their hateful comments. Actually, I didn't mind their hateful comments because I was missing my mom and that was what consumed my mind more. My mom had recently passed away from a long battle with cancer. Father had just sent me an owl a week ago. To make matters worse, my boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, had broken up with me after being together for three years.

I grabbed my ukulele and headed outside. It was dark and late. I shouldn't have been out, but even the heartless Filch has been letting me play my ukulele outside, as long as I was away from any open widows. Maybe he understood in a way. I didn't know, and I didn't question it either. I didn't want to know. 

I quietly sat in the grass, leaning back against the tree close to Hagrid's house. The lovely man offered me to come down anytime I wanted to. I did take him up on his offer at times. He was so sweet to me. He was, hands down, my favorite professor even if his class was rather strange. 

I thumbed the strings of the tiny guitar-like instrument in my hands. My mom had taught me how to play ukulele. She said when I was a baby, I had bumped into her guitar, and I tried to pull myself up with it, but I strummed the strings. Horribly, but I'd strummed them. She told me I laughed and giggled. She would always play the guitar for me. Later on, when I was around five, she bought me a ukulele and charmed it so I couldn't break it. 

The rest was history. I never got into the guitar, but my mom was proud of me nonetheless. Though it wasn't exactly meant for ukulele, I started to play one of my mom's favorite songs. I played the beginning, repeating the notes until I got up the courage to finally sing the words. 

"I've heard there was a secret chord that David played, and it pleased the Lord, but you don't really care for music, do you? It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth. The minor fall, the major lift. The baffled king composing hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah."

Tears built up in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Mom was a strong woman; she fought for two years with cancer. She wouldn't want me to cry for her. She wouldn't want me to stay upset. She would say, ‘be strong, my son, for we’ll meet again one day.’

"Your faith was strong, but you needed proof. You saw her bathing on the roof; her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you. She tied you to a kitchen chair; she broke your throne; she cut your hair and from your lips she drew the hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah."

My hands started to tremble as I played on, my notes still coming out strong and clear, though. Mom had taught me that no matter what, never look down at your hands if you know the song by heart. If you know the song by heart, your hands will know what to do. And she was right. Though I was starting to fall apart emotionally, my hands still knew what to do. She always taught me to believe in myself.

"Maybe I have been here before. I know this room; I've walked this floor. I used to live alone before I knew you. I've seen your flag on the marble arch. Love is not a victory march. It's a cold, and it's a broken hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah."

My words were starting to shake. Mom believed I was very talented in my music, and she thought I was going to go somewhere. She thought I was gonna be some famous ukulele player, some famous singer. I wish I believed her. I wished I could go back and tell her that I only needed her to be my biggest fan and that would make me famous enough in my heart. 

"There was a time you let me know what's real and going on below, but now you never show it to me, do you? And remember when I moved in you? The holy dark was moving too, and every breath we drew was hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah."

Mom would be proud of me. She would be proud to know I hadn't let my grades slip because of her passing. She would be proud to know that I didn't let anyone know I was sad. She always told me that if I didn't trust the person, don't open up to them or they'll use you. So I didn’t open up to anyone. 

"Maybe there's a God above, and all I ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you. And it's not a cry you can hear at night; it's not somebody who's seen the light. It's a cold, and it's a broken hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah."

When the song was finished, I leaned my head down, crying silently as I remembered all the good times my mother and I had shared. Father wasn't hardly ever around; he worked for the Ministry, and he ended up working over time many, many nights. Mom and I made it without him, and we had become so close. I was devastated to learn of her death. I’d lost the woman who taught me everything.

My mother, my strong, caring, loving mother. She was everything to me. She was my rock, and now that rock was gone, and I felt I was drowning in an ocean. My mother would be devastated to know I'd begun starting to think of harming myself. At mealtimes, I'd found myself wondering if I could sneak a knife back to my room. In the common room, when one of the other boys would leave their razor behind, I found myself wondering if I could swipe the blade or maybe use my own.

And Draco... fucking Draco Malfoy. That wonderful, horrible boy. He had always been so sweet to me, so caring. But upon learning of my mother's death two days after I had, he had broken up with me for reasons I could not explain, for reasons I did not know. I pulled myself together, wiping my eyes as I started to strum another song: a song I had written myself the night Draco had broken up with me.

I watched myself play it for a few moments, just playing the strings. I knew the words by heart, but it had taken me a little while to write the tune to it. I didn't sleep that night; I was up the entire night trying to write my feelings out, find the correct tune and words. The words, though, were a bit fudged so if anyone found it, I didn't have to tell them it was about Draco. I added things that weren’t necessarily about Draco an I as well so people wouldn’t be too suspicious. Soon, I felt comfortable with the playing and I closed my eyes, strumming carefully.

"You can have the toaster and the PC or even my Timothy Green DVD. I'll let you have the couch and the TV. Hang on to that jacket that you bought for me."

Fresh tears pooled behind my closed eyelids, but I didn't think about them. I only thought of the memories Draco and I had shared. Cuddles on the common room couch, late night walks in the halls and running from Ms. Norris, quick closet snogging sessions, and stupid jokes we told each other at four a.m. when neither of us could sleep.

"I don't really care, you can keep the things we used to share, but what did you do with my heart? What did you do with my heart?"

That stupid boy still held my heart, and I knew he always would. Tears ran in streaks past my closed eyelids and down my cheeks, but I paid no mind to it. I just strummed, pouring my soul into the lyrics I'd written just a few nights ago. My first and only successful gay relationship. Look how successful it was now.

"No more fireworks. No more compass. You didn't leave a single butterfly in my stomach. You took my spyglass, no knowin' what lies ahead. Took my warmth at night, but left a dent in my bed."

He still gave me butterflies. All the silly pictures we took still remained in the photo album I had next to my bed. He would always sleep with me at night when I had nightmares. He always made me feel safe. But now... now I haven't a clue what lies ahead, what'll happen to me or even him for that matter. 

"I don't really care, you can keep the things we used to share, but what did you do with my heart? What did you do with my heart?"

He held my heart and fractured it. He broke it. Three years of us being together. I never thought it would last that long, but had grown so attached. I was barely fourteen when he had asked me out, barely comfortable being out as gay. But three years later, and we were still going strong. And now... 

"You've stripped me of my pride. That's for the best, but you've also deprived me of a full night's rest. So no more dreams where we pull through, and I can't collect my thoughts cuz they're still with you."

My boyfriend, he was a work of art. Talented, arrogant, snarky, insecure, broken, handsome, and wonderful. A little bit of everything. I wouldn't have traded the world for him; I would've given my life for him. I still would. Though he avoids me, he's still the person I value the most after my mother.

"I don't really care, you can keep the things we used to share, but what did you do with my heart? What did you do with my heart?"

Things, materials, they never meant anything to me. I was fine with a sweater he gave me, the picture album, and the memories. Sure, some of those things were materials, but they were more than that; they held meaning. I don't know what I'd do without Draco, and I guess I'm starting to find out.

"I wouldn't take it back, even though I feel sore. I meant it when I said, 'what's mine is yours.' But I need to know, now that we're apart: What did you do... I need to know now that we're apart: What did you do with my heart? What did you do with my heart? What did you do with my heart? What did you do with my heart? What did you do with my heart?"

I was almost angry at my mom and Draco. Both had broken my heart. Both had left me alone. Both had left me struggling to find closure. Both had left me searching for answers. Both had left me hurt.

I placed my ukulele next to me and started to sob. I wasn't ever allowed to cry around people; I never allowed myself to do so. The only people to see me cry was Mom and Draco. And they both left me. I don't know what I did wrong. I can't believe the two people I loved the most were gone. 

There might be a razor laying around in the common room. I hid my face in my knees. I didn't want these thoughts. They weren't helping me. There might me a spare knife in the kitchen laying around. The house elves won't notice if it's gone. I covered my head. Too many feelings. Too many emotions. Madam Pomfrey is asleep. She won't notice a bottle of pills missing. Stop. Stop it. I can't do this. You're alone. Mom is dead. Draco hates you. No one will miss you.

"Stop it!" I cried out, my body shuddering with my sobs. I can't have these thoughts. I'm strong. I'm strong. I have to be strong. I can't be weak. Mom didn't raise me to be a bitch. I shouldn't even be crying right now, but I didn't know what else to do. I didn't know how to handle myself any longer. I felt more lost than I had my first day at Hogwarts trying to find my classes. 

Suddenly, I heard my name spoken quietly above the sound of my tears. I jerked my head up, violently wiping my cheeks. Slytherins didn't cry, and I surely did not ever cry. I looked around for the source of the voice, but my vision was too blurry, and it was too dark. I'm imagining things again. I just miss Mom and Draco. I dropped my head again, holding my knees. 

"I'm sorry, Mom. I know I messed up bad. I don't know what I did, but I'm real sorry. I messed up bad, and I can't fix it because I can't fix what I don't know. I'm sorry for not being the son that you wanted. I'm not the person you thought I would be." I squeezed my knees, wishing Mom was there to hold me. She let me cry even though she told me I shouldn't ever have a reason to cry. 

"I'm sorry, Draco," I continued. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the boy you wanted me to be, and I wish you the best of luck. Whoever you choose... they're quite lucky, and I hope they love you as deeply as I do." I would never stop loving him..

Kill yourself. You know that no one would miss you. You know the wizarding world would be better of without someone like you. You haven't done anything for anyone, do you realize that? Face it: if you killed yourself, the entire community would celebrate. They wouldn't mourn, not over you. 

"You're right," I mumbled to myself. "Maybe I should just kill myself." 

"No!" A voice cried out and this time, I knew it wasn't mine. "Dammit, don't you fucking say that!" 

I looked around and saw a figure running towards me. Only once I wiped my eyes again did I realize that that said figure was Draco. The last person I want to talk to right now. Draco knelt in front of me and took my hands. His own eyes were red from crying. What did he have to cry over? 

"Don't say that," he repeated softer as he looked into my eyes. "

What's it to you, Malfoy?" I replied bitterly, but I didn't pull my hands away. 

"You mean something to me..." 

I couldn't help but laugh. "Sure. That's why you broke up with me the day you learned of my mother's death. That's why you avoided me since. So tell me, Draco, why are you here now?"

A look of hurt fluttered across his beautiful features, and he gave off a small sigh. "I-I have things going on in my family, too, and I didn't want to burden you with that on top of your mom's death," he spoke quietly. 

"So you broke up with me?”

He looked down, a single tear running down his cheek, but he stayed silent. I sighed softly and pulled him down next to me, hugging him. He wrapped his arms around me, squeezing me and holding me tight. 

"Father is trying to do more stuff and-and he wants me involved as well. Mother thinks it's a great idea, but I don't wanna do it. I didn't want to get you involved,  and I thought if I broke up with you, then it would hurt less." Draco was stressed, worried, and confused. 

He did what he thought was best for me. He was always that way towards me. I gave him a gentle squeeze. 

"And now to know I'm part of the reason that your thoughts have turned to suicide..." His voice cracked a bit, and he didn't even try to cover it up. 

"It isn’t you, Draco. These-these thoughts are more complicated than that... We both have a lot going on in our lives, in our home lives, in our school lives. I forgive you, Draco," I said quietly. 

He looked down at me, wiping away my tears. "So you'll take me back?" he asked. I gave a slight shake of my head. 

"Not right now, Draco. You hurt me; you hurt me bad. You left me when I needed you most, but I still love you, and I'm willing to give you a second chance... just not now. I think it’ll be best for the both of us...”

"So we start as friends?" 

"We start as friends," I agreed.

"I can deal with that. I'll always be here for you, I promise that from now on. I'll wait on you forever if that's how long you need," Draco told me, and I gave a soft smile. His voice sounded genuine and it didn't have that 'cover' sound like it did when he made fun of others. 

He titled my head up and pressed his lips against mine. Does he know what the friend-zone is? I guess I didn't either because I didn't hesitate to kiss him back. His lips tasted like a slight mint taste with salt from our tears mixed in. Just before he pulled back, I felt him smile.

"I thought we were doing the whole 'just friends' thing to start with, Draco," I said, trying to sound stern, but I couldn't do it. 

"You kissed back," he reminded me.

I couldn't stop my own smile. "Touché, Malfoy. As much as I love your kisses, just friends, okay?" 

He nodded again, serious this time. "Just friends until you're ready. I meant it when I said I'd wait for you. I still love you..." 

"I love you too, Draco," I whispered. 

"You have a real talent with that and a lovely singing voice," Draco said. 

I smiled. "Mom taught me how to play the ukulele. It's the only way I can get my feelings out." 

"Did you write those songs?" 

I shook my head. "Not the first one. The first one is called Hallelujah. It's by a man names Rufus Wainwright. The second... the second I wrote. I titled it ‘The Things We Used To Share’." 

"It's sad, but beautiful," he said quietly.

 "Thank you. I really tried to explain my feelings in that one."

I took in a shaky breath and let it out slowly. "Why did you follow me?" 

"I saw you leave, and I thought I owed it to you to explain," he explained. "I finally got the courage to do so..." 

"Thank you," I said softly. I was thanking him for coming to tell me. I was thanking him for saving my life. I was thanking him for trying to do what was best for me. I hoped he understood, but I believed he did. 

I gazed up at the moon, smiling lightly. All would be well. All would eventually be well. . Tomorrow, I’ll go get help for my depression. I’ll learn to get better. My eyes closed as a soft breeze blew. They weren’t really gone, either one of them. Not really. Mom was in my music, and I had overreacted with Draco.

I reached over and grabbed my ukulele, pulling it into my lap. I had Draco and Mom with me, and that's all I needed.

[returnn-of-the-mac]

Companions react to Sole being a famous violinist that played Irish/Folk music? (no complaints if Cait's is longer * hint hint *) Love ya work!

Ah this one was fun! You might notice it in this little more in this React than in my others, but I’d just like to point out (in case you haven’t already noticed), I purposely make Sole not have any lines of dialogue because everyone’s SS is different. It kinda breaks the immersion if Sole says something that your Sole wouldn’t say. So that’s why Sole is, well, silent. Just leave their responses to your imagination! Also, I’m sorry this doesn’t really touch upon the “famous” part of your request, but I figured they’d all kind of sound the same as that prima ballerina React I did a while back, so I just did it more as a “Sole is very, very talented” kinda reaction. Hope that’s okay! Please enjoy!😄

FO4 Companions React: Sole Being a Famous Irish Folk Violinist

Sole and their companion were on their way to Salem when they stumbled upon an old music shop. Inside the store, the pair found a collection of perfectly preserved instruments. Upon looking through cases and displays, Sole found a violin— one that was identical to the one they used to perform Irish folk music in the pre-war days. They picked up the instrument and began to play familiar melodies

Deacon: Deacon was completely enthralled by the beautiful performance by his partner. When Sole has finished their song, Deacon enthusiastically clapped and cheered. “WOOHOO!” Deacon shouted, “ENCORE! ENCORE! Play I’ve Been Working on the Railroad next!”

Hancock: Hancock swayed to Sole’s music. When they had finished, he nodded in approval. “Excellent performance. Job well done. And without chems either? Damn, you got some real talent, [brother/sister]. You should be proud.” Hancock picked up an electric guitar. “My turn. You just sit back and enjoy the ride.” The ghoul proceeded to perform one of his favorite pre-war classics: Purple Haze by Jimi Hendrix. Sole watched him in awe as he perfected every riff. When he had finished his performance, Hancock took a bow. “I’d like to thank the ungodly amount of mentats that contributed to mastering this song—the only song I can play on any instrument.”

Nick: Nick smiled as Sole performed Irish folk tunes on the violin. When they had finished, he clapped. “That was an extraordinary performance. You’re quite the virtuoso, my friend.” The detective sat down on a piano bench and cracked his mechanical knuckles. “You know The Entertainer by Joplin? I know how to play it on the piano if you wanted to perform it together.”

Curie: Curie hummed along to Sole’s melody, immersed in the music. When Sole finished, Curie wiped away a lone tear that trickled down her cheek. “Magnificent. That was absolutely remarkable, [Madam/Monsieur]. It has brought tears to my eyes.” Curie blushed, “If it’s not too much, could you possibly play another melody? Possibly...La Java Bleue by Fréhel? That is my absolute favorite!”

Ada: Ada stood in place and listened to Sole’s performance. When Sole had finished, she finally spoke. “That was stunning, [sir/ma’am]. It’s incredible how nimble you are with that instrument. Me...I could only dream of being that dexterous.” She paused for a moment. “I wish I could compose a melody for you...oh! I can play Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star in Morse Code if you would like to hear that.”

Strong: Strong listened to Sole’s song all the way through. “Human...how you play tiny instrument? Strong want to try.” Strong picked up the violin and drew the bow across the strings. It made a horrendous screech that forced Sole to cover their ears. Strong was not amused. “STUPID INSTRUMENT! Why not work for Strong?” Strong crushed the violin in his hands and carelessly dropped the wooden fragments on the ground. “Bah! Useless junk anyway.”

Codsworth: Codsworth listened to every note of Sole’s performance with a strong longing for the past. When Sole finished, Codsworth signed. “Oh, [sir/mum]. I missed this. It was wonderful to have the opportunity to listen to your music again.” The two were silent for a few moments before Codsworth broke the silence, “Please, would you mind just playing one more tune?”

Danse: Danse, genuinely impressed by his partner’s talent, listened attentively to their performance. He then fished through the instrument box and pulled out a harmonica. He began to play harmoniously with Sole. When the two finished their song, Danse smiled. “Cutler and I would play that song among several others when business was slow at our junk stand in Rivet City,” the Paladin explained, “He played the accordion and I played the harmonica. We were decent enough. People gave us tips. We constantly joked about starting up a street band with other drifters, but nothing came of that. And we never spoke of t again once we joined the Brotherhood.” He put the instrument back in the box. “But I digress; that was an outstanding performance, soldier. You never cease to amaze me.”

Piper: Piper closed her eyes and fully immersed herself in Sole’s beautiful music. When Sole finished the melody, Piper approached them. “Blue...that was incredible. Honestly, I think that was the best violin performance I’ve ever heard!” She shook her head and laughed. “Hey, you should play that song for the upper-stand snobs. You’d absolutely blow their minds. I swear you’d make Ann Codman’s head explode if you proved to her that the working class have talent, too.”

X6-88: X6 absorbed every note of Sole’s Irish folk melodies and subtly tapped his fingers to the beat. When Sole had finished, he spoke. “That was excellent, [sir/ma’am]. I do not frequently listen to music— save for a few classical songs— but that was a truly riveting performance. Well done.”

Longfellow: Longfellow smiled widely as he listened to his partner performed. He picked up a nearby fiddle and played notes that complimented his partner’s perfectly. After their performance, Longfellow clapped. “Bravo!,” Longfellow praised, “I may not know how to play Irish folk songs on the fiddle, but I can teach you some sea shanties.”

MacCready: MacCready smirked and listened to his partner masterfully recreate traditional Irish folk music. When Sole has finished, MacCready grinned. “That was awesome! I never pictured you as the musical type.”MacCready approached an electric guitar that was on display and through the strap over his shoulder. “Now the real question is...can you play rock and roll?” MacCready aggressively strummed the strings of the guitar, creating sharp, piercing beats that caused both himself and Sole to cringe. He quickly stopped and sheepishly scratched his head “...because I clearly can’t.”

Preston: Preston stared in awe as his partner skillfully handled the violin. He clapped once Sole had finished playing. “General, that was incredible. I never would’ve guessed you were a master of the violin.” He complimented. He thought for a moment, and then eagerly turned to his partner. “Any chance you know how to play the pre-war National anthem? I’d love to hear it.”

Gage: Gage was taken aback by Sole’s sheer talent. “Boss. That was...good. And I ain’t messin with ya either. It was damn good.” He studied the violin. “And I ain’t usually a fan of these fancy-folk instruments. I’m more of a trashcan lid and harmonica kinda guy.”

Cait: Cait’s eyes lit up when she heard the all-too-familiar tunes of her homeland. When Sole finished, she beamed. “Hey, ye ain’t half bad! In fact, ye ain’t bad. Yer amazin! You’ve got some Irish in ye?” Sole answered and Cait smiled. “Well you’d probably be surprised to know that I know how to dance to these songs. When I was a girl, I taught myself how to dance in my spare time. Kept me from thinking of me parents.” She looked down and frowned. “But as much as I loved it, it was a risk. They’d beat me if they saw me practicin. So eventually I just stopped tryin.” She looked at her companion earnestly, “But I like to think I still have that spirit in me. The way I dodged punches in the Combat Zone, it reminded me of my dancin. I think I’d like to give it a try again if you don’t mind.” Sole agreed and started playing another tune. Cait aptly began to step to the music; her feet tapping to the beats synchronously. For the first time in a long time, Cait looked radiant and truly happy. When the song concluded, Cait took a playful bow. She then turned to her partner, eyes wide with genuine gratitude. “Thank you, [name]. That truly meant a lot to me.”

[howtolistentomusic]

Dear people that think the Goodwill wants to sell your Ziploc baggie of used crayons: it doesn’t. That shit goes directly into the trash, right on top of your broken furniture. Surely you mean well when you donate, say, an old dresser with a busted leg. But good intentions can’t magically transform a ragtag crew of temp agency employees into proper handymen. 

If, however, you need an informed opinion on one of those homemade mixtapes that sometimes find their way into the warehouse, I might be your man. 

Once upon a time I managed to con my way into the world of online music writing. As one might expect from a blogger haughty & naive enough to write under the banner How to Listen to Music, many of my insights have aged terribly. But I was constantly learning from the best critics, journalists and bloggers in the field and HtLtM was gaining steam before my fragile discipline collapsed under the weight of increasing visibility. I still believe deeply in the merits of the template I created to analyze songs on Youtube, which was unlike anything on the internet before or since. Maura Johnston seemed to like it, at least. 

And yet I failed miserably at turning these creative endeavors into a sustainable career. So here I am, handling donations at my local Goodwill warehouse for minimum wage. Today old man Kenneth and I are inside the container, which is the detachable part of a freight truck the drivers dump on the dock for the roll-off team to unload. We’re placing the donations on the open edge for the guys outside to grab and toss into gaylords. Yes, the thick cardboard boxes with an open top we place on pallets to store donations in are called gaylords. And yes, my coworkers think this is hilarious. Death, taxes, and “they’re calling you!” from one roll-off laborer to another every time the term is overheard. 

***

“You dropped this,” Kenneth says as he hands me a crate of CDs. 

“If there’s no Justin Bieber, it’s not mine.” I say.

“You better cut that shit out!” David says. 

“He’s joking,” Donald tells David. 

I laugh.

“I know you!” Donald says.

“Dude, I’m a poptimist.”

“A what?“ 

Let’s start by pointing out that it’s a hell of a lot easier to be an "authentic” artist, as a certain orthodoxy of criticism dictates one should be, when your very existence isn’t under constant attack. You’re in luck, straight white dudes! Again. What a coincidence. 

Poptimism basically says nay! to all the noise. The Beatles go to Jupiter to get more stupider. Gaga goes to Mars to get more candy bars. Or college, I suppose, if your childhood sucked.

“It means I listen to pop.” Among many other genres, to be very clear. “Top 40. All the stuff you guys probably hate.”

“Bullshit!” Donald says.

I don’t know who he thinks I am but it’s clearly someone much, much cooler. 

“I thought you were smart!” David says.

“Am I no longer smart if I listen to Justin Bieber?”

“Nope!” says Kenneth.

“Oh shut up!” I say to the grizzled geezer. “Go jack off to Creedence.” 

“I’d rather get gang banged by CCR than listen to that little homo.”

You heard it here first. Listening to Justin Bieber: gayer than being gay!

“Really? Justin Bieber?” David says. “Wow. You think you know a guy.”

“Any recommendations?”

“Marvin Gaye! Stevie Wonder! James Brown!”

What’s Going On. Songs in the Key of Life. Think. These are all stone cold classics. I have a healthy respect for these artists but they aren’t in my regular rotation.

“Those guys are before my time. If we move up a few decades, I’m totally there. New Edition, Boyz II Men, Soul 4 Real …”

“Now we’re talking!”

“Bieber’s better though.”

David throws up his arms in wild exasperation, as if his favorite sports team just botched an important play. He doesn’t seem to understand that I’m trolling him.

To be clear, I do indeed listen to Justin Bieber’s music. “Baby” is catchy as hell, and the song’s DNA can be heard in other notable pop releases from the era such as Katy Perry’s blockbuster Teenage Dream and internet darling Carly Rae Jepsen’s Kiss. I also like “Never Say Never” if only for hearing Jaden Smith say “No pun intended / was raised by the power of WIll.” And for an album created by a former child star falling apart at the seams, Purpose has no business being as good as it is. Stand-out track “Love Yourself” contains the immortal roast “My momma don’t like you and she likes everyone.” And with its heavy utilization of short, staccato notes and sudden, dramatic rests, the song is my favorite example of a distinct style of guitar playing favored by many male musicians. Such “cool pauses” give these songs a slightly broken, incomplete feel that mirrors the artist’s self-assured “deal with it” tone and I love it.

Even Carlos, my arch enemy, likes “Love Yourself”. A while back we were inside the warehouse creating pallets of our best furniture to be sent to proper Goodwill retail locations. Supervisor Anna miraculously felt like hearing some contemporary hits that day and had the building’s three radios tuned to Live 105.5, our local top 40 station. “Love Yourself” played. 

“This is Bieber’s only good song,” Carlos told me. He tried to sing along but quickly lost the words. “Sing it!” he said. “I know you know it!” 

I wasn’t sure if I should be offended by being stereotyped or impressed by his accuracy. Nonetheless, it was true! I did know the words! I picked up where he left off.

”‘Cause if you like the way you look that much / Oh baby you should go and love yourself / And if you think that I’m still holdin’ on to somethin’ / You should go and love yourself.“ 

It wasn’t a particularly strong vocal performance but Carlos, somehow, was awed. 

“Daaaaaaamn!” he cooed. It was perhaps the only time I ever impressed him.

Carlos, in case it wasn’t clear, is an asshole. He’s the type of open misogynist that progressives, in our insulated internet bubbles, are shocked to realize still exist. My masculinity isn’t up to par with his standards and he likes to torture me because of it.

Carlos is off today but there’s a small part of me that wishes he was here. He’d have no trouble buying the fact that I listen to Justin Bieber. At the same time, I know I need to be careful. After all, Bieber is far from my favorite musician. But I can’t help it. Playing Bieleber is such a fun and easy way to rile up my coworkers.

“You need a lesson in quality, my boy!” David says.

“I’m all ears!” I say, but he just shrugs.

If I wanted to be really mean, I could point out that David just might be the true Bieleber in roll-off. See, David the Bieber-hating quality expert is the same David that sometimes drops me off at the bus station after our shift ends. More than once on these trips, a Justin Bieber song played on the radio. Did he change the station? Nope! 

David seems to be harboring a lot of hate for a musician whose songs he doesn’t even recognize. This doesn’t surprise me, of course, because Bieber hate is barely about Justin Bieber.

Leonardo DiCaprio. Robert Pattinson. Zac Efron. Boy bands. The Biebs. Celebrities like these are cut from the same cloth in that they’re overwhelmingly attractive in a way that draws ravenous, predominantly female fanbases. In turn, this provokes intense contempt and ridicule from traditional dudes everywhere. This is bullshit. It’s retaliation against open female desire that, in an affront to their entitlement, isn’t directed towards Man McAverage.

Evoking “quality” is no exemption from these kinds of considerations. Many people treat the word as if it’s an objective and universal set of standards everyone intuitively understands but this is nonsense. Quality is more like a self-shaped hole we attempt to carve into the world, both encompassing and reproducing our ideals, desires, prejudices, etc. It sure as hell doesn’t explain itself.

I’ve been immersed in the world of music writing for a long time. My favorite publications tend to be ones that upend the very idea of quality. The Singles Jukebox gathers a variety of writers to weigh in and score the same song, and reading wildly different takes on what makes art good or bad is enlightening. One Week // One Band achieves something similar by inviting a different writer (sometimes a professional, sometimes not so much) to take over the blog for a seven-day deep dive into a musician they love, with “no rules and no canon” dictating who that musician can be. And then there was Hipster Runoff, the defunct but brilliant meta exploration of taste and identity that often delved into the ingredients of quality that we don’t like to talk about. 

I think I ‘like’ them because they are differentiated from 'traditional music’ and 'modern indie music.’ When I listen to them, I exist on a higher plane of musical appreciation and consume products for 'all the right reasons.’

- Carles, the voice of Hipster Runoff, on Animal Collective

Quality shouldn’t be a Get Out of Bullying Your Co-Worker Free card. But after a lifetime of living with what is often considered bad taste, I’ve learned to be on the offensive just in case.

Try harder, fuckers.