#something's up with the radio station at work it's been playing the same seven songs over and over again for days

[yours-the-author]

I went to work this morning and the radio played "All I Want for Christmas is You" twice in a row. So. That was a start to my morning.

[featherandferns]

daylight - four

jj maybank x fem!reader | part 4 of the daylight series | read part 3 here

content warnings: mentions of sex

word count: 1.6k.

blurb: as JJ drives the two of you back from work, a small slip-up sends you spiralling.

A month into your life in Kildare, you land a job at the Kook Country Club. You’re the summertime photographer. Hired to loiter and snap shots of the guests so they can be posted on their Facebook and used in advertisements. When you told the Pogues (now a firm member of the group), JJ told you that he worked at the same place. Professional busboy, he remarked. He offered to carpool to and from work whenever possible, to save gas and effort. You had hoped your lack of elation didn’t show on your face. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like JJ. The contrary, actually. Despite spending considerable time with all of the Pogues, long enough to build friendships with each one, you and JJ were the closest. Perhaps it followed the first meeting, knitting you closer together. Or it might be the attraction that still lingers under the surface of your friendship. Since that night at the Chateau, neither of you had brought it up since. Not explicitly, at least. But you knew you liked JJ, and you knew he liked you too. Both of you had been caught stealing glances and flirting was hidden under banter and jokes. It dampened the weight of it: softened the truth. But it was getting harder to keep your feelings at bay. So, to say that you would have to face JJ even more at work didn’t exactly perk you up. 

Not that you’d ever say that to him. So, now you hitch rides with JJ to and from work everyday.

You hitch your tote bag up your shoulder as you make your way to the Twinkie. The memory card is full of photos of sun-kissed snobs, grinning in the sunlight, sipping on overpriced mimosas and martinis. What a way to live. JJ is lent against the side of the van, typing something on his phone. At the sound of your footsteps, he looks over. The background is something cinematic: a sky of swirling purple and blue as day turns to night. 

“Yo! Good to go?”

“Yeah,” you say. You climb into the van. JJ starts the journey home. The silence is filled with gossip and shit-talking about your least favourite co-workers. When that dies down, you say, “thanks for bringing me lunch, by the way.”

“Course. Maggie makes the best biscuits. Had to sneak you one.”  

And it’s things like that which drive you insane. He just had to bring you one, because you were hungry, and you forgot lunch, and he wanted you to try something tasty. It’s not fair. It’s confusing. Your infatuation with him makes you want to dive deeper into the hidden meanings; weaving between the lines to find strands that don't even exist.

About halfway home, the dashboard pings. 

“Shit. We’re low on gas.”

He changes course for the nearest gas station, eventually turning into a Seven Eleven. It glows fluorescent in the soulless streets. JJ turns off the engine after pulling up to a pump. He digs about in his pocket and passes you his card. 

“Go pay for me?” he asks. You take his card and it feels strangely intimate, you doing this. “Oh! And you get a free slurpee so make sure that you claim it!”

“Oh my God,” you mumble with a roll of your eyes, climbing out the van.

You head into the gas station and buy him half a gallon of gas and, sure enough, you get a free slurpee. You mix cherry with blue raspberry. When you return to the van, JJ’s placing the pump back into the hold. He looks at you and grins when you present the slurpee. 

“Sweet.”

He grabs it from you like a nine-year-old helping with errands and takes several gulps through the straw as the two of you settle back in the Twinkie. He passes it back as he starts to drive. You can’t take the quiet so turn on the radio. Whatever new Ariana Grande song has just come out begins to play. JJ makes grabby hands. 

“Lemme have another sip.”

“No, I’m still drinking.”

“Come on!”

“Just a minute,” you laugh, taking another drink.

JJ tries to wrestle it from your hold, keeping a steady, white-knuckled grip on the wheel and his eyes on the road. In the sloppy battle, his hand slips from the condensed cup. It somehow finds place on your chest. Your laughter catches in your throat at the weight of his hand on your breast. The moment his brain catches up, he snatches it away. He clears his throat, both hands now on the wheel. 

“Sorry,” JJ eventually croaks. 

You stare wide eyed at the road ahead. Take an almost comic sip of the drink to calm your burning body. One fucking fleeting touch and you’re alit, like he’s the match to your kerosene. Jesus Christ: you didn’t know you were so touch starved. 

The two of you don’t talk for the rest of the ride. He doesn’t try to take the drink back. Doesn’t have another sip. The van has hardly stopped moving when you dart out, heading to your house with a hurried thanks, bye. It feels like you’ve been holding your breath all the way to your bedroom. The second air gets into your lungs, you know what you need to do. 

Mimsy picks up on the second ring. The time zones have aligned nicely and it’s about six in the evening there, and nine at night for yourself. 

“Sup?”

“Oh my God, Mimsy. You’re not going to believe this,” you blurt. 

“Doubtful,” she snorts. 

“JJ just felt me up.”

The line goes so silent you wonder if the service cut out. When your ear drums are nearly blasted, you know that it hasn’t. 

“What!?”

“Well, kind of,” you clarify. 

“He felt you up!? In what way? Where? When? Why?”

“Just now. Like five minutes ago, in the car.”

“Were you hooking up in the car!?” Mimsy screeches. “Ah! You’re iconic!”

“I was not hooking up in the car!” you loudly reply, before remembering that your parents are both probably home. Clearing your throat, you lower your voice. “It really wasn’t that deep, to be honest.”

“Well, walk me through it. Gimme a play-by-play,” Mimsy says. 

“Well, he was giving me a ride home like usual. You remember me telling you that we work at the same club and stuff?”

“Mhm.”

“So we’re driving, driving, driving and the gas light comes on. We pull up at a seven-eleven, all pretty standard, and he gives me his card, right? To go pay?”

“Wait, he gives you his card?”

“Thank you!” you cheer. “That’s kinda boyfriend-ish, right?”

“Kinda, yeah,” she agrees. “Okay, so, you go in to pay.”

“Well, he also wants a free slurpee so I get us one and I head out and we’re sharing it, and start driving back, and then he tries to grab it off me. And this little play fight starts and bla bla bla and then BAM. Hand on tit.”

Mimsy goes quiet for a second time. “And?”

“Well…That’s it…” you mumble. 

Another quiet. “Girl, please tell me you’re joking.”

“No?”

“I’ve had a lamp post feel me up more than that,” Mimsy says. 

“What kind of lamp posts have you been walking past?” you mumble. 

“Not important, babes,” Mimsy replies. “Look, if you’re horny at this man grazing your tit then just jump his bones. Didn’t he say that he was into you, anyway?”

“He did but that was like a month ago.”

“So what? Men are simple creatures, babes. He liked you then, he likes you now. Probably more, actually, now that he’s really got to know you. Really had to pine and yearn.”

“Don’t feed my delusions,” you grumble, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“They’re not delusions when you have cold, hard proof that the guy wants to fuck you.”

“God, I love how you don’t hold back,” you sardonically quip. 

“Look, what is this? Why won’t you just sleep with the guy?” Mimsy asks, her tone more genuine. 

Your eyes flick down to the box under your bed. “I don’t know,” you lie.

“Is this because of Tyler?”

“Mimsy–”

“Because you’ve let that scumbag taint enough of your life,” she tells you pointedly. “And here’s a hot surfer bro who’s totally into you, and you’re punishing yourself for a crime you didn’t even commit!”

“It’s not like that,” you reply. Sitting on your bed, you hang your head. “I just…I think Tyler kind of messed me up. I don’t even know why, or how, but everything romantic now makes me feel sick. Hell, I cry every time I get myself off Mimsy because whenever I come, I just remember that last night with him and how fucking confused I was.”

Mimsy’s voice is low and soft. “Shit, babes. Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“Because I was embarrassed,” you mumble. Tears slip past your eyes and you hurry to wipe them away. “I mean, you know that he never assaulted me. Never laid a hand on me without my permission.”

“And? You’re still allowed to be upset,” Mimsy gently says. 

You groan as more tears fall. “God this is so stupid! I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. Fuck, I just wish you were still in Vancouver. I’d be over at your house in five minutes and give you a hug,” Mimsy says. 

You give a soggy laugh. “Shit, me too.”

“Look, just take the night, get some rest and really think about this whole JJ thing. If you’re into him and he’s into you, then you two should quick beating around the bush and fuck. In the bush, even.”

“Charming,” you laugh, shaking your head. “But, yeah, I’ll have a think.”

“Okay.”

You wipe your face and smile at the floor. “Thanks, Mimsy. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she returns. “Bye babes.”

“Bye.”

Shutting off your phone, you step out of your uniform and crawl into bed. You spend the hour before drifting off trying to ward off thoughts of JJ and Tyler. It's useless though, because the sleep that you eventually fall into is haunted by them both.

read part five here!

taglist:

@princessuki21 | @psyches-reid | @heybank | @avengersgirllorianna | @rrosiitas | @yourmumstoy | @jjsfavgirl | @void21 | @fictionalcomforts | @gsp420 | @redhead1180 | @wearemadeofstardust0 | @mrs-jjmaybank | @ifilwtmfc | @heybank |

[wolf-star-chaser12]

Radio Nights

| tw: panic attacks. pairings: jegulus. fluff, pure fluff word count: 3086 |

It was him again, that same boy. He kept calling the station over and over. Regulus should’ve been sick of it, but the boy kept him company unknowingly. 

Regulus ran the local radio station during the night hours because his body physically refused to be up from seven to five during the day. It worked out quite well— he got to choose the music and rarely got complaints because no one listened to his station when he was running it. He was able to complete his online classes easily and was set to graduate a year early, even with two majors. The job paid quite well and he lived two buildings down. It was perfect.

The only downside was that he rarely got to talk with his brother, Sirius. Regulus was a being of the night and his brother was a deranged creature who got up before Regulus went to bed— which varied from five to six.

Regulus figured his music suited the hours of the night perfectly. There was nothing upbeat, no loud music, it was all mellow and overall quiet. But this boy who kept calling their station, always said Mamma Mia was perfect for 2 A.M.. Regulus vehemently disagreed and refused to put on any ABBA songs. He should be worried about upsetting their listeners, but he didn’t care, and it seemed neither did the other boy. 

“Please?” the boy asked, for the third night in a row.

“No. Why are you even up anyway?” Regulus asked.

“It’s a perfectly reasonable time to be up.”

“It’s two A.M.” he deadpaned.

“Is it really? Huh. Well, that makes sense, usually the music is so much different when I’m home.”

“Do you have a problem with my music?”

“No! Your music is perfectly fine, I just wish I had something upbeat to listen to this early in the morning. It’ll help keep me awake.”

Regulus was intrigued, was this boy out of town? It made sense if he was currently in a different time zone. After all, why would anyone who wasn’t a local listen to his station?

“What time is it for you?”

“Six. I’m only four hours ahead.”

Regulus really shouldn’t let the call go on for this long. It was meant for requests, not conversations. “This seems like a you problem. If you want different music, change the station.”

He hung up before the boy could protest. Regulus thought it odd that this boy only started making requests when he was supposedly out of town. Sirius was also out of town, but it was only a coincidence. The only time he could ever really have a conversation with his brother was when whatever time zone he was in lined up with Regulus’ hours. The rest of his night went smoothly, but he got no more calls, he felt a bit disappointed but didn't know why.

The next night, the boy called the station number again. Sighing, Regulus picked up the phone.

“What do you want this time?”

“Is this how you greet all of your listeners?”

“Only you, because you can’t take no for an answer.”

“But please. It’s just one song.”

“No. People are used to my music at this time and they would be confused if I suddenly put on a random ABBA song.”

“No one needs to know.”

“I’ll know.”

The boy sighs. “I guess I’ll stop asking for ABBA then.”

Regulus felt both relieved and disappointed. 

“Can you put on Bohemian Rapsody?”

Regulus groaned. It was one of Sirius’ favourite songs.

“It’s not for me it’s for my mate, he’s driving so he can’t ask.”

Regulus thought for a moment, he didn’t hate the song, but it would also be funny to let his friend choose whatever he liked.

Smirking, Regulus said, “Okay, only because your friend asked.”

He hung up as the boy squawked in outrage and lined up Bohemian Rapsody to play next. A few hours later, Regulus got a text from Sirius. 

‘thanks for playing my song :P’

Wait what?

‘What are you talking about?’

‘you actually played it on the radio’

‘What were doing up so early?’

‘seven a.m. is more than reasonable’

Regulus scoffed. ‘Whatever you say.’

Regulus began to suspect something was up. Was it possible this boy and Sirius knew each other? Or maybe Sirius just happened to be listening to the radio at the same time. It was possible, but it was also possible for him and Sirius to somehow know each other. Unlikely.

Sirius was away playing pro rugby somewhere Regulus didn’t care to know. He was supposed to have finished the game yesterday, meaning he would be on his way back soon. Regulus missed his brother, even when he was here. They had a strange relationship but since they both ran away as kids, they’ve been working on it. Regulus has become dependent on Sirius again, but he rarely sees him because of his nocturnal schedule. Their family dinners were actually breakfast for Regulus. It sucked sometimes, but on the rare occasion he got up earlier or Sirius stayed up later, they would have fun. 

Regulus never got to meet any of his friends, and Sirius never got to meet his. Barty and Evan worked in a tattoo shop a few blocks down, they were open from ten to five, at night. Pandora was up at night because it was how she preferred it. She did astrology and astronomy things that Regulus had never quite understood. She came by sometimes unannounced, but she always showed up for their near-daily “lunch.” Dorcas… it varied from time to time. Her sleep schedule was the most fucked up of them all. She was a freelance designer, free to do whatever she liked, whenever she liked. She tried to split her schedule between their friend group and her girlfriend, Marlene. Marlene was one of the only friends of Sirius that he’s met— Remus didn’t count since he was Regulus’ friend too, not to mention Sirius’ boyfriend.

Speak of the devil.

‘Why is Sirius grinning evilly?’

‘I played Bohemian Rapsody and now he probably thinks I’ll play more Queen songs.’

‘That was a mistake.’

‘Why did you do it in the first place?’

‘Remember that boy I told you about?’

‘The one who keeps calling about ABBA?’

‘Vaguely, yes.’

‘Well…’

‘He asked for ABBA and I obviously refused. Then he said his mate was asking to play Bohemian Rapsody.’

‘I played it just to make him mad.’

‘That was mean.’

‘Do it again.’

Regulus chuckled. He didn’t know if the boy would call again. He didn’t particularly care. Or at least that’s what he was trying to tell himself. No one made song requests except for the rare caller who needed something stupidly depressing. The boy was a nice change. He never did get his name. 

The next night, he didn’t get a call until five. 

“Heyyyyyy, radio boy.”

“I’m not playing ABBA.”

Regulus could practically hear his pout. “I wasn’t going to ask.”

“Then why’d you call?”

“I like you,” he slurred.

“You’re pissed.” Regulus pinched his nose, he didn’t want to deal with this.

“Maybe. But it’s well deserved!”

“Tell yourself that in the morning when you wake up with a hangover.”

“You’re so mean. I like it.”

“There’s something wrong with you.”

“Maybe.”

Regulus couldn’t wait anymore. “What’s your name?”

“No, no. Remember? You said we couldn’t say our names to maintain privacy. So, according to you, we will not say anything unless we happen to see each other in person.”

Regulus scowled, how could he forget that? “Good night.”

“Wait no!”

“Yes?”

“One song?”

“Depends.”

“Your favourite one.”

What? No one’s asked him that before. “Why?”

“They say someone’s music taste says a lot about their character.”

“And you haven’t been listening to my music this entire time?”

“I have. But I want to know your favourite.”

Sighing, Regulus queues up his favourite— To Build A Home. He only has to wait a minute before the first notes play, the boy is still connected. 

“This is, I. This is one of my favourites.”

His heart does a funny little jump. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He sounds breathless. 

“I um, I know how to play it. On piano I mean.”

Silence.

“Regulus.”

“What?”

“My name.”

“Oh. What a lovely name. Regulus. Perfect name for a star.”

Regulus blushes furiously. 

“James.”

“James. It suits you.”

More silence. “James?”

“Hmm?” 

“Goodnight, James.”

“Goodnight. Regulus.”

He hung up after it became obvious James had fallen asleep. Regulus hadn’t stopped smiling softly since he found out James’ name. He was in too deep.

—

The next night, there was no call. Nor the one after that, or for the next few nights. Regulus was sad, but he was also mad at himself for possibly having fallen in love with a stranger who called a few times. For the next two weeks, Evan would have to maintain the station with Pandora because Regulus would have to adjust to a normal schedule for a few days and then return to his nightly schedule.

He had to do a stupid dissertation for his final project, which meant presenting to an audience during the day. He needed a few days to prepare himself because it was a two-day event. Then after that, he would be spending time with Sirius before adjusting back to his regular schedule.

Sirius was thrilled at the news. He’d invited Regulus for a family/friend dinner with his so-called adoptive parents, Effie and Monty. It had been a few months since he last saw them, and that was during Sirius’ birthday. All his friends would be there because they were like family. Regulus knew he would only be hanging out with Sirius, Remus and Dorcas for most of the time. Not really Sirius, however, because he would be talking to everyone. Remus and Dorcas would stay close by. 

Sirius’ best friend James would be there too. They had never met— it seemed like any time Regulus was with Sirius and sometimes his parents, James was never there. Regulus couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that maybe Sirius’ James was his James. But he was never this lucky so he quickly dropped the idea.

Pandora told Regulus she would notify him if James called again, but he never did. His presentation went by smoothly, but he still felt disappointed. Why did James stop calling?

He didn’t have time to worry about the boy right now, he was getting ready for the stupid dinner. 

“You should wear that sweater.”

Regulus whirled around. “Do you want me to look like an idiot?”

Sirius groaned. “Why did you ask for my help when you turned down every option I suggested?”

“Because they’re your friends.”

Sirius was lying on Regulus’ bed, being entirely unhelpful, but he had an idea. He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Remus. 

‘I’m going to Facetime you, and you’re going to pick up saying “Hey babe.”’

‘Umm okay… why?’

‘You’ll see.’

Smirking, he called Remus, and to his credit, he did as Regulus said. 

“Hey babe.”

Sirius perked up at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice and then processed what he said. Sirius gave an undignified squawk as he nearly fell on his face. 

“Moony why are you calling my brother babe?!”

Remus’ eyes widened before he burst out laughing. 

“Not funny,” Sirius pouted. 

“It is,” Regulus and Remus said together.

“Reg, why’d you call?”

“The idiot is being unhelpful. I need something to wear.”

“You know no one will care what you look like, right?”

Regulus gave him a blank stare.

“Ugh, alright. The green cardigan with the white cuffs and trim, a white turtleneck and those black trousers. You know which ones.”

“Great, thank you.”

“Alright see you later. Bye.”

“Wait!” Sirius yelled. “Let me talk to him.”

“No.” Regulus ended the call and went to change while Sirius whined like a lost puppy. Honestly, he was so pathetic sometimes.

Regulus put on the clothes Remus had suggested— he did look good in them. Remus had a good eye, even if his style was different than Regulus’. He wanted to make a good impression, even if he seemed like he didn’t care.

They got to the Potter’s house early so Regulus could settle in before everyone else arrived. Dorcas’ and Marlene’s car was the only one pulled onto the drive. Regulus had barely stepped inside the house before Dorcas practically tackled him.

“Reg!”

“Cas…” he warned.

“Oh come off it, you like when I hug you.”

He grumbled. Dorcas looked nice— she seemed to look much healthier than the last time Regulus saw her. She had been extremely sleep-deprived and was fighting off a cold, causing her to look like a wraith. Now, she looked like her normal self. Behind her, he spotted Marlene looking at him upside down, with her head tilted back over the arm of the chair.

“Regulusssss,” she said, giving him a maniacal grin.

He waved tentatively, that smile never meant anything good. “What do you want?”

“Can’t I just say hi?”

“With you? No.”

Dorcas rolled her eyes at their antics and pulled Regulus by the arm, leading him to the kitchen where Effie was. She turned around at the sound of them entering. 

Smiling, Effie went up to hug Regulus. “How are you? It’s been too long.”

Regulus kissed her cheek. “I’m doing good. What are you making?”

“A little bit of everyone’s favourite.”

“Can I help?”

Effie smiled, “Of course.” She looked towards Dorcas, “Make sure Sirius and James don’t come into the kitchen— they’re banned.”

The three of them talked as Effie and Regulus made dinner. It was nice, maybe Regulus had nothing to worry about. When he finished doing all he could, Regulus went out to set the table. Nearly done, the door opened as Sirius burst in, yelling nonsense with several people following him inside.

“You twat, I could beat you any day.”

Regulus froze, there was no way. That voice, it was him. It couldn’t be, and yet… He turned around seeing everyone in the living room. Remus was there, trying to calm down Sirius just as Marlene was hyping him up. Sirius trailed off whatever he was saying when he made eye contact with Regulus.

He ran up to him, “Why do you look petrified?”

Regulus looked back to James, his James.

Oblivious to his struggles, Sirius called out to everyone and pushed Regulus forward to meet everyone. Everyone crowded around him, trying to introduce themselves. Thankfully, Effie chose that moment to leave the kitchen. 

“Give him space.”

Regulus was breathing too quickly. He needed to leave. It was too much, he needed to leave. Why couldn’t he breathe? Distracted by Effie’s scolding, he slipped past everyone into the hallway.

He should have known he’d have this reaction. Regulus had always had anxiety and panic attacks, and so did Sirius— it was a result of their unfortunate upbringing. Pandora and Dorcas always helped him out of the attacks, but neither was here. Where was Dorcas?

“What’s wrong?” 

It was James. Why did he have to be here, to meet him while he was breaking down? It’s not how they were supposed to meet. Regulus wanted to meet James differently, but he never got what he wanted, did he?

“Hey, can you follow my breathing?” James was kneeling in front of him. When did he end up on the floor?

Regulus tried, his hand was against James’s chest which was rising steadily and slowly. 

“That’s it, just take deep breaths.”

Regulus looked up and was instantly taken aback by James' beauty. He’d seen pictures of him, but they were nothing compared to the sight before him. His eyes were a striking colour— more green than hazel. When James smiled tentatively, it revealed a small gap between his front teeth. He was beautiful.

“Are you feeling better now?” James asked.

“I- um.” Why couldn’t Regulus speak? He’d spoken to James a dozen times before.

“You’re Sirius’s brother aren’t you?”

Regulus nodded.

“He used to get panic attacks all the time, he still gets them once in a while.”

Regulus still stared. 

James chuckled nervously. “Umm, my name’s James.”

“I know.”

“What?” James’s brows furrowed.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus covered his face in mortification. 

“Don’t apologise, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

Did James not recognise his voice?

“No, I’m sorry we had to meet like this. I didn’t want you to ever see me like this.”

“What do you… oh.” James's eyes widened as he stared at Regulus with reverence. “Regulus.”

“James.”

“It’s really you,” he said breathlessly. “I knew Sirius’s brother was named Regulus, but I didn’t think you two could possibly be the same.”

“Just how many people do you know by the name Regulus?”

“So mean.”

“You like it though,” Regulus smiled.

“Yes, yes I do. I like you too.”

Regulus felt butterflies erupt. 

James’s eyes dropped down to his mouth. Shyly, he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

“What?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Regulus gave a minute nod.

James leaned forward, capturing Regulus in the softest kiss. They kissed slowly, softly, unhurried. They had all the time in the world. But they ran out of breath and pulled back, breathing heavily. 

“Regulus?” It was Dorcas.

Regulus looked at James and to his horror, started giggling. James also started laughing before the both of them were interrupted by Dorcas.

“Oh there you are, I see you’ve met James.”

They shared a glance, which caused Dorcas to narrow her eyes in suspicion. 

“He was helping me,” Regulus said.

“With what exactly?”

“Reggie had a panic attack,” James said.

Dorcas’s eyes softened. “Are you okay now?”

Regulus nodded.

“Good, you two better head back, I delayed Sirius for long enough.” 

Dorcas left the hall, heading back into the dining room. Regulus thought more about her words. 

“Oh no.”

“What?” James asked.

“What are we going to tell Sirius?”

James thought for a moment. He looked cute when he was confused, Regulus thought.

“James?”

“Yeah?”

“What are we?”

They looked at each other, holding their breaths. 

“Maybe, could you— would you want to be my boyfriend, Regulus?”

Regulus grinned, butterflies fluttering wildly inside him. 

“Yes, I would like that very much.”

James leaned down to kiss Regulus once more before standing up. He held out his hand for Regulus to take. He got up and they walked into the dining room, hand-in-hand, much to Sirius’s confusion and everyone’s delight.

[auxiliarydetective]

AP-01: Project Apocalypse

ch. 00: Prologue

AP-01 Masterlist

This fic is part of the Academy Projects series, a full rewrite of The Umbrella Academy with the addition of an original character, Kassandra Hargreeves. Throughout the story, you'll stumble across a few songs. This is supposed to make the fic feel as much like the show as possible, so I recommend you don't skip them.

Warnings: Canon-typical issues, death, drugs

On the 12th hour of the first day of October 1989, 43 women around the world gave birth. This was unusual only in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day first began. Sir Reginald Hargreeves, eccentric billionaire and adventurer, resolved to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible.

He got eight of them.

These eight children, numbered and ordered, had grown up together at the Umbrella Academy, stuck in a time capsule as their Number 4 would later say, with no friends outside those walls and little space for themselves despite the sheer size of the house. You would think that such an experience would bond the children together. Make them virtually inseparable. But fate had other plans. Tragedy struck the family, not once but twice, and the second time was the match that finally hit the powder barrel after dozens had been tossed. One by one, each of the siblings left, and over the next decade, they all lost contact.

Well, not all of them. One of them still knew where everyone was. What they did, who they were… or who they remembered them as. Number Eight, the one at the bottom of the list, also known as Kassandra Hargreeves. She had been among the first to leave and now worked as a librarian, but she still tried to keep an eye on her siblings. For old times’ sake, she told anyone who asked.

Number Seven, Vanya Hargreeves, had stuck to her passion for the violin, and had taken up teaching the instrument to other people. She also played third chair in a local orchestra and, perhaps most notoriously, had written a tell-all biography about her life at the Academy, one that none of her siblings had taken very well.

Number Four, Klaus Hargreeves, was still a drug addict. Had been since he was young and maybe he always would be. Kassandra knew because she had had to collect him from the police station, the hospital or jail a few times. After all, she was still his emergency contact, since he couldn’t find himself a new one. Still, the two of them didn’t really talk, for reasons they wouldn’t tell the other.

Number Three, Allison Hargreeves, the superstar. An incredibly famous actress, she now had everything she had dreamed of as a girl… except for a stable family, according to various gossip magazines and newspapers. After a messy divorce from her husband, poor Allison had lost custody of her daughter, Claire. That couldn’t have gone well for her, Kassandra knew. She had planned on calling Allison after the divorce, but had only reached the answer machine.

Number Two, Diego Hargreeves, hadn’t changed his ways at all. He was a vigilante now, still brave, with a firm sense of justice - and a troublemaker for the police. Originally, Kassandra had been the one the police would call on in case something went wrong, but Diego had erased her as his emergency contact only a month or two in.

And finally, Number One, Luther Hargreeves. Luther was in space, that was all Kassandra knew. One last mission from dad.

As for Number Five and Number Six… Kassandra tried not to think about them, and every day, she failed.

In over 13 years, the Hargreeves siblings hadn’t been in the same room or even the same building together. Whether they were avoiding each other or just drifting apart was unimportant, what mattered was the distance. But all of that was about to change.

On the 21st of March, Sir Reginald Hargreeves suddenly died. The news of his death travelled around the world, across every tv screen and radio station, by word of mouth or rumors. Inevitably, it also had to reach the siblings and reel them in. In an ironic mirror image of the way things usually went, Kassandra learned of her father’s death last.

It was close to midnight and Kassandra was still at work, finally having finished sorting the new books. The library had been closed since 9pm, but the new books had come in late and they needed to be sorted before 9am the next day, which was opening time. Well, technically, they didn’t necessarily need to be sorted, but tomorrow was Friday, a busy day, and also one with few experienced workers there. Bad combinations, really. Sorting could take hours if you didn’t know what you were doing, so Kassandra had volunteered to stay and finish the job. In the end, she hadn’t had to do it on her own though.

“Alright, Timmy, are you ready to go?” Kassandra called as she put on her coat.

“Coming!”

Timothy Carmichael, one of her coworkers. A nice man, a bit boyish though, and not the good kind. Still, he was good company, especially on those late nights. As Kassandra waited for him to emerge from the rows of shelves, she moved to turn off the radio still playing in the break room. But then, the news came on and she paused.

“The world mourns the death of eccentric billionaire Sir Reginald Hargreeves, a known adventurer and philanthropist.”

Kassandra froze in place, her eyes turning glossy and her hand gloved hand moving on its own to turn the volume up.

“The news of his death were made public just an hour ago by a speaker of the Umbrella Academy. As of now, the cause of death is still unclear, but evidence points towards a heart attack, says the speaker. Sir Reginald Hargreeves leaves behind a large fortune, multiple companies and properties, as well as five children that–”

With an almost violent swiftness, Kassandra shut the radio off, her fingers hovering over the button afterwards. She pulled her hand back and rolled her shoulders, taking a deep breath. All the while, her expression remained controlled, though her eyes were somber.

“I’m sorry,” she could hear Timmy saying next to her.

“They got it wrong,” Kassandra just said. “Even after that book, they still get it wrong.”

Timothy blinked a few times, and Kassandra could’ve heard the gears in his head turning if she had been paying attention. But she was too busy listening to her own inner voice.

“Get what wrong?” Timmy finally asked.

“The number. There’s six of us left, not five. Poor Vanya…”

“You’re not… upset about your father at all?”

Kassandra sighed and tugged at her thin satin gloves, making sure they were snug on her fingers. “I don’t know. I just… didn’t think the man could die.”

Timmy was kind enough to drive Kassandra home, allowing her to make it home at a somewhat reasonable hour. As she turned the keys, her mind was still lingering on that news report, the jingling of metal taking her back to her younger years. She tried to ignore it, she really did, but her mind kept telling her that there was something wrong, striking her with guilt over and over.

At 1:30am, against her better judgement, Kassandra made a phone call.

General Taglist: @starcrossedjedis @oneirataxia-girl @daughter-of-melpomene @bravelittleflower @box-of-bats - let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Academy Projects Taglist: @therantsofawriterrr @come-along-pond @the-wyvern-institute @cherrybombgigi

[liamgallaghermpreg]

b-sides & rarities

– for @wincestwednesdays flash event prompt 3: radio

Dean never liked to listen to the radio. Always claimed even the classic rock stations were trash; for every seven or eight good songs they’d play something he hated that wasn’t even technically the right genre, and don’t you understand that with my tapes that just ain’t an issue, Sammy? And besides, he always said, with that force in his voice that meant he was gearing up for a big rant, there’s no annoying-voiced disc jockeys to piss him off when it’s a cassette playing instead of the goddamn radio.

I got it, I guess. Commercials could be grating, and so could having to fiddle with the dial every time we got out of the territory of one radio tower and into the next. But as a kid it mostly just pissed me off. I wanted to be normal so badly, and I was convinced that normal included a family that would let you listen to Top 40 or the alt station. I was convinced it meant a brother who wasn’t trying so hard to emulate our father that he kept a box of the same exact tapes Dad had in his truck, under his passenger seat.

I was wrong, of course. Having parents that were stuck in their ways music-wise was maybe the most normal thing about our family, but I never really got close enough with anybody to discuss it. I had friends at some schools, sort of, but I never wanted to talk about Dad and Dean always had enough of a reputation around town that I never wanted to bring him up. I was jealous, of course I was, but I kept telling myself that was about the way girls flocked to him and not about the girls being with him in general.

A part of me knew, though. A part of me knew that my obsession with the girls and normalcy and an ordinary family with everyday jobs had to do with my feelings for Dean. The jealousy, the pining. In the end, I guess that worked out for me. It just took years and years of situations nobody should ever have to be put in first.

I don’t think I’d trade my life for anything, despite all the bullshit; sure there’s things that I wish had never happened and things that I wish neither of us had to ever experience. Dad, too. And Mom. But, I don’t know. It’s hard to think of a life lived without him, or a life lived where he’s just my brother and we have an appropriate relationship between us. A life lived where even if we were close – and there was always the chance that we wouldn’t have even been close – I’d never know his touch or what his voice sounds like when he’s about to finish or see him, however occasionally, in his most vulnerable moments. Even if that would’ve made things easier when he went, I don’t think I’d have wanted it.

Anyway, I don’t really take the car out, but I don’t listen to the radio either. Feels like one thing I can do to honor his memory, I guess. Maybe it’s stupid, I don’t know. But it’s nice to think about him cracking a smile, telling me he’s proud, even if I’ve moved on from cassettes straight to music on my phone. No annoying ass commercials, right? He’d say it with a grin. I can hear it; he’s talking all muffled from tearing at beef jerky with his teeth. No stupid deejays, huh? Only you and the music.

On days when it really fucking sucks, because there are days when it really fucking sucks, and I want to just end it all, I will actually go ahead and put on one of his tapes. The dad rock, the mullet rock, the Zeppelin I’ve heard so many times I could sing along just fine if I wanted to. It’s not only me and the music. There’s somebody else around.

[doublegoblin]

Story about a gas station

Off the country road, halfway to the middle of nowhere was a gas station. It was a small and modest establishment to be sure but it was the lighthouse for many an out-of-state travelers. Inside this station were two women, Susan and Tonya. Strangers at first but now something closer to friends; at least the kind you have at work. Susan was busy sweeping the same spot in the floor as Tonya rested her weight on the counter. The sun had dipped low and the sky was ablaze with its splendor; dark clouds were hanging on the horizon. The only sound other than the rustle of the broom was the electrical hums from different machinery, low thrum of the coolers, and the radio with words that fought against the static.

Susan groaned and stretched while glancing at the clock on the wall, “Hey Tonya,” she chirped “clocks busted again, you got the time?”

Tonya picks her head up from her arms and glances at the register, “About  three-quarter past seven. You headin’ out?”

“Yeah, think you can manage the fort by yourself?” She asks while heading to the employee area.

Following behind, “I don’t know, the place is pretty busy.” 

“You’re a capable gal, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Adjusting the ball cap on her head she hiked the thin jacket over her shoulders. “Mark should be by to relieve ya around three in the morning. Here” -she hands Tonya a sheet of paper- “if you by some miracle find yourself with some free time, I got a list of things that need doin’.”

The two head back to the main floor of the establishment and Tonya rings Susan up for a pack of cigarettes and a meat stick. Lingering long enough for a idle bit more of chit chat before heading out the door. Her rusted pickup truck struggling to life before bellowing off into the encroaching twilight.

Then it was just Tonya.

Time by yourself can really start to drag on. Seconds become hours and hours become eternity. So to keep herself from feeling the crushing weight of gears of time, Tonya starts to work on the list. First is facing all of the items on the shelves. It seems the universe deemed to reward her as the radio was able to hold a consistent signal for more than three songs. As the notes bounced she absentmindedly sang along, well, more mumbled the words she didn’t know and whispered the ones she did. She must have really gotten into that last song because to her horror, the man who had been patiently waiting clapped for her.

Her cheeks burned bright as she hurried behind the counter to assist the gentleman.

“I am so sorry! Our little chime stopped working a few months back and I didn’t hear you come in.” She stammered while typing in the UPCs.

He laughed like a granddad and smiled through his thick white beard, “That’s quite alright I’m in no rush. Are you really all by your lonesome out here?”

Hearing his kind tone she slowed, still looking at the register, “Yes sir. Coworker left not more than an hour ago…I think. I’m sorry but what pump were you at?”

“Pump 3 dear. Can I put ten dollars on it?”

“Yes sir.” She glanced out the window to confirm his location, a ruby red Sedan shined in the over-head lights, “Oh I love that color.”

The man follows her eyes and chuckles, “It’s the miss’s car, but yes, it is a wonderful color isn’t it? I’ll have to let her know she got a compliment today.”

She couldn’t help but smile a little, “So will that be all?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The register whirled and sputtered as the total was calculated, “That’ll be $23.76 please.”

The man riffles through his pockets and pulls out his wallet, riffling through he hands a $20 and a $10 bill across to her. After she has type in the amount and goes for his change he holds his hand up.

“Keep the change.”

“Are you sure sir?” She hopes he isn’t playing a cruel trick.

“More than. Now, you have a wonderful rest of your evening…”

“Tonya sir.”

“Have a wonderful evening Tonya.” He nods politely and heads back out the door and after fueling his car, leaves into the night.

Tonya was alone once again.

The inside of the gas station was washed in the harsh fluorescent lights. Their unnatural glow emphasized by the moonless night out past the glass. She was making steady progress through the list. She had cleaned the counter, restocked the washer fluid at each pump, organized the supplies in the backroom, and other such small tasks. During such time only a handful of more customers came and went, each pleasant in their own ways. With a chair pulled to the windows she was scrubbing away at the accumulated dust and grime when the radio caught signal once more.

Gaining purchase, a smooth tenor voice slid from the speakers, “The Cranberries folks, always  a delight. Half past nine and it’s about that time.” The voice laughs. “Before I leave you, the evening forecast and news. Right now the skies are clear but that’ll most likely change around midnight. Weatherfolks are calling for some pretty severe thundershowers so best to batten down the hatches and get everyone inside. Looking like a high of 63 and a low of 54 so really the best time to snuggle up with the one you love and ride out the storm. No traffic to report on in our quiet little town. 

“Officials are still asking people to call in with any information about the family of three. Sheriff Jackson says he’s offering a reward of $100 to anyone who can provide any vital information; so hopefully that can loosen any tight lips out there listening. But that’ll about do it for me folks, to send you off into the land of dreams, up next- KZZGTZZ”

Static returns again, startling Tonya who almost falls from her chair. Thankfully, nobody was around to hear her panicked yelp as she clung to the gutters. Shaken and embarrassed she scuttles back inside and deletes that portion of the CCTV footage.

The wind whistles through the crack of the entrance as she sorts through the food in the freezer for anything expired. A loud THWACK causes her to jump. Looking up and down the aisles a box of sweets must have been too close to the edge and caught the breeze. Right? Undeterred by aero-vandalism, she returns the item back to it’s place and makes her way back to the freezer.

 Hands numb from the cold she blows into them and rubs them together.

THWACK! 

More agitated than startled she heads back to see the same box lying on the floor. With a furrowed brow she marches over and firmly sets it back. Not wanting to experience the rule of three she makes her way behind the counter and rummages through the drawer for some tape. 

“Ah-ha!” 

Pulling a half empty roll of duct-tape she roughly shuts the drawer and heads back but stops at the end of the aisle. 

No noise was made, or at least none were heard, but that same box was once again on the floor. As were several more. 

With an almost growl she mutters to herself and sticks each container within eye-sight to their shelf. Standing triumphant against her adversary of unruly confections and candy she turn her back onto the aisle. Quickly turning around to catch a box leaning half-way over. Glaring out the window she sighs and resigns herself to pushing everything that could be caught by wayward wind back on their shelf. It didn’t look nice, but she was not playing this game all evening. Her eyes are caught by two blinding spotlights and a low rumble. Voices beyond the door but nobody to see. Male voices. Deep and rowdy voices. 

The doors open and three men dressed in business casual and baseball caps spill in. The wind fought against the door and in the gale, the unmistakable smell of alcohol. Once they had cleared away Tonya struggled against the blustering bastard but soon sealed the station back up against the outside world.

“H-hey Tonny!” One of the men slurred at the top of his lungs.

“Bro, shhh, inside voices man.” The one called Tonny responded, more coherent than his friend. “What?”

“Dude check it oooout, tiiiiiits!” The loud one held aloft an adult magazine and giggled.

“Kyle, man, p-put th-that doooown.” The third man pawed at the magazine, turning bright red.

“Scotty chill you’ll break something, and Kyle, my man, what are you eleven?” Tonny snatched the item away from Kyle.

“Eleven inches in your mooooom!” He and Scotty laughed and high-fived as Tonny just sighed and put it back on the rack.

Tonya couldn’t help but giggle but also feel disgusted at the drunken antics. Staying firmly behind the counter she observed the men as they milled about the store. One would make their way to the beer cooler before Tonny would drag them away, often with toddler-like protests. Stumbling through the tight aisles Kyle and Scotty groped at each thing that caught their attention. Tonny walked his way to the counter and set down a few things, taking glances back at his two children.

“Sorry about all the noise.”

“It’s alright sir, you all celebrating something?” She made idle chit chat while punching in the numbers once again.

Tonny laughed, “Ya don’t have to call me sir. And yeah, Scotty” -he points to the man who was fighting to stay awake in the snack aisle- “just got himself a promotion, ain’t that right Scotty?” He shouts, startling Scotty awake who reflexively shoots some finger guns towards them.

“You don’t seem to be as…celebrant, as your friends.” She brushes the hair away from her ear.

“I mean, one of us needs to be the DD-”

“Tonny!” Kyle shrieks while sprinting up.

“Jesus!” Tonny clutches his chest. “Fuckin’ hell man, what!? You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Kyle blinks slowly and sways in place, “I gotta piss.”

“Back corner hun.” She gently points at the marked door.

His eyes lighting up, Kyle stumbles away.

The men lingered for a while longer than needed. Tonya and Tonny struck up a pleasant conversation and on the way out he had slipped her a piece of paper. With a coy smile she tucked it into her uniform pocket and wished the men a safe evening. Once the rose tinted glasses had come off though she was fully aware of the mess the tornado of booze created in her mostly perfected store. With butterflies keeping her aloft though, she tiptoes through the disaster and gets to cleaning once more.

What was once howling now was a shrill shriek as the sky opened up and let down its tears. Lightning cracked across the sky turning for a flash the night into a harsh day. Tonya was unaware of it though. Her headphones snug and walkman blasting sick tunes as she mopped the store floor. Most locations may have the odd midnight visitor but out here, well, the men were the exception. So as she ballroom danced with the handle her mind wandered and drifted away. The lights flickering gave her pause. With a click of a button her warm backdrop of sound was once more the cold and sterile buzz.

“Storm is really blowing, I should let the folks know I’m fine.” she muttered.

Heading back to the counter she hoisted the employee phone up and dialed. Leaning against the counter twirling the cord she hummed her most recent song. When it went to voicemail she recalled exactly when she was calling and the burn of embarrassment was hot.

After the tone, “S-sorry I forgot what time it was, I’m just calling to let you both know I’m fine. U-uh yeah, love you both, bye!” she quickly slammed the receiver down and held her head in her hands groaning.

The lights flickered once again, longer.

“Oh shoot, I hope the power doesn’t go out…I should double check the generator.”

With a nod she headed back to the employee area and grabbed the umbrella. 

With her back turned she didn’t see the silhouette illuminated by lightning at the front door. 

The rain pounded against the umbrella, threatening to rip a hole through the fabric. Her feet were quick. Flashlight in the other hand she rounded the building from the employee exit and made her way to the shed at the end of the parking lot. The dim yellow glow, all to guide her through the murk. A harsh and bitter wind tore through her cotton uniform and sent a shiver down her spine.

The rain was violent, she didn’t hear the second set of footsteps.

Stuck. The handle of the shed was always stuck. Nothing a well placed shoulder couldn’t fix. With the door relenting she stumbled into the must shed, the dust on the pavement being washed away. She allows herself a moment to shake dry what she could. Once satisfied she fumbles along the wall until finding the switch. With a click the old lightbulb hums to dim light. The shed was more like a concrete tomb to be fair, the long corpse the cobweb covered generator; on the side was sticker that read ‘Bessie’. Shutting the door behind her she sets the umbrella down and goes to attend to Bessie. The manual, with pages curled and yellow, sits on the workbench at the far side of the shed. She thumbs through the book until she makes it to the maintenance section.

Did the door handle jiggle or was that thunder?

She paused for a second to think. Thunder for sure.

Her mind ached at the techno-babble but she soon made heads of the tails. With confidence she followed the pictured instructions as needed. After her very brief inspection she was able to set the machine to an automatic trigger.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

She wasn’t sure why. But she felt as if she was being watched. She glances at the window but doesn’t see anything, apart from the darkness of a stormy night. Shaking the feeling off she turns her attention back to the generator and making sure it has enough fuel. 

Tap

Tap

Tap

It must be rain on the window for sure…right?

Tap 

Tap

CRASH

A wicked wind cuts through the shed. Leaves and sticks scattering among the glass. With her heart racing she grabs the broom and dustpan and starts to clean it all up. Something possessing her she glances at the mirror above the sink, and sees a figure slink around the store. She grips the broom handle tight, enough to splinter the wood. With a sharp inhale she drops the thing and quickly picks the splinters out of her flesh. It had to have been something caught in the wind. It had to be. Nobody else is usually out this far, not this late at night. For an unknown amount of time; maybe second or minutes, she stared at the same corner where that thing had slipped. 

Courage returning she broke her line of sight and hastily returned to cleaning. Then back into the dark. Her feet carry her quickly back to the safety of the store light and then into the breakroom. With a slamming of the door she leaned on it and caught her breath. 

“It’s just late Tonya, you are just seeing things.” She lied to herself.

It must have been a convincing lie as she made her way out to the floor again.

Nothing at first seemed out of place. The store was small and the CCTV footage didn’t show anyone hiding among the aisles. The wind was bad enough that if someone had come inside the door would still be open, and it wasn’t. With a half-hearted laugh she returned to her post, her eyes darting this way and that.

Should she call someone?

Would anyone answer?

Should she call the police?

What if there wasn’t anything?

Her stance was rigid but her mind was racing. Then her eyes caught something that was out of the ordinary. A set of wet footprints at the front doors. Her eyes follow the path: from the front door they march towards the counter, snaking around and to the side just a foot from where she was standing, they then turn and lead to the employee door, then…to the bathroom. Where her eyes had followed, now do her feet. As if compelled she slowly approaches the door to the bathroom; her pulse quickens. It’s beating so hard she can feel it in her ears.

She reaches out towards the handle.

Then everything goes dark.

She shrieks and blindly sprints away from the door and shuts herself into the employee area. In her escape she had run into a display and the pain shoots through her as she huddles in a far corner.

She hears the bathroom door click open.

Then whistling.

Then heavy feet.

Her mind is racing. Why hadn’t the generator kicked back on!? Who is this person!? What do they want!? Then her mind goes quiet as the door to the employee shakes. Her blood is ice cold as she sits in perfect darkness and hears the handle rattling and the door buckling. A deep voice grunts and swears as the door is pounded on; each strike causes her to flinch. She backs herself more and more into the corner.

BAM

The door slams open as the light flicker back on. A large man looms in the doorframe. In one hand a knife shines in the light. In the other gnarled and rotting rope. From his perspective the lounge area is empty. Yet he knows someone has made their way in. The same someone he had seen in the shed. His feet fall with the sound of thunder as he ducks under the door frame and into the room. His odor of mold and rust fill the small space. Tonya fights back the urge to wretch and gag.  He whistles coldly as he stomps through the room. Leaning over to peer into each of the lockers. Hands gripping the knife firmly he thrusts the blade through each of the metal doors, disappointed when it comes back clean. This was no story or tale though, he was not going to turn and leave so easily.

Then, he spots the girl huddling in the corner. Her face is pale. Eyes are red. He grins a smile of blackened and crooked teeth. She had been crying, his favorite. He licks his lips and runs his thumb along the blade of his knife. He was going to take his time with her. She was so pretty after all. So absolutely statuesque. He looms over her, looking down to look at her reflection in the knife.

The lights go out. A sharp pain. Searing pain. Thousands of small needles. The splash of liquid on the floor. A scream.

A man runs into the store. A young man. He curses under his breath and hurries to the employee area. Finding it empty he heads out the backdoor.

“About time you showed up.” Tonya teases, tossing bags full to burst into the dumpster.

“Storm caught me out. Did you manage alright?” He helps her lift the warm and slippery plastic into the rusted container.

She nods, cleaning a red speck from the corner of her mouth, “Yeah, just had to take out the trash.”

[musiconanironingboard]

5 February 2023: Squares Blot Out the Sun, various artists. (DB Recs, 1990)

This album was an instant purchase when I saw it in the bins of my neighborhood record shop, as I remember it from my university radio station when it was new. I’m not certain, but I’d wager this might be from the same collection as the items I discuss in my seven previous posts. It’s of later vintage than those other things, but it’s a pristine promo copy and not something you generally see anywhere. I know that collection came from Florida, and DB Recs was an Atlanta label and you just see more things on DB when you’re in the South.

It was an instant purchase in part because I am nostalgic for the albums that we played at the station I programmed beginning 33 years ago, and in part because it was an album I never understood at the time and with a copy in my home I can finally make sense of it. On the surface, it’s a simple concept: it’s just a sampling of songs by bands on the DB Recs label, but it always confounded me because the track listing only shows song titles and not the names of the bands performing them. If you want to know who’s doing what, you have to read that teeny little handwriting that takes up the bottom half of the back cover. The front cover always confused me as well; in 1990 I didn’t automatically understand what “D.B. REC. #72″ meant (it’s simply the catalog number), and again because it’s hard to tell that this is a compilation, I originally thought it was an album called Blot Out the Sun by a band called Squares. On the back is an explanation that this compilation had been in the works since 1984 (!) and got shelved for various reasons until six years later.

Above you can see the front and back covers.

Below we have both labels. Note that here it’s also not explicitly stated what bands perform the tunes. The songwriter is shown in parentheses below the song titles, and in some cases where the whole band wrote the tune (such as the two Pylon songs on side one) it’s understandable, but if you don’t know that “Villar” is a member of the band The Fans, this label is not going to help you. And you certainly can’t guess from this label that the cover of James Brown’s Sex Machine” is by a band called Jack Heard. You may think you know “Stipe” on side two, but what the uninitiated may not be able to glean is that this is by Linda Stipe’s band Oh-Ok and not her brother Michael’s R.E.M.

And, last, much like the Swimming Pool Q’s album I wrote about earlier in the month, this has a DB Recs catalog insert (though a different version than in the Q’s LP), which I show below (front, inside, back).

[radlou]

OPEN LETTER TO LTHQ

to all whom it concerns in LTHQ and want to make things work:

Despite LT discussing fans “growing up with him” from 1D to now, the majority of his active fans are not old 1D fans. Catering to the 1D crowd doesn’t activate sales or interest outside the nostalgic cohort. If LT is too sentimental to blacklist 1D questions then at the very least you should be aware that these are HURDLES to establishing him, not aides. 

7 years - seven years - have gone by with LT’s output being ignored and interest redirected towards HS and others. Whoever the audience was then isn’t there now. Whoever the audience was then doesn’t have the motivation towards LT’s success-- they have Harry, BTS, Niall, etc etc. They don’t need Louis. The public does not know about what LT has been doing in that time, nor do they care when the music isn’t being played. 

Louies who are still here since then, or joined the fandom in that time, have worked tirelessly to make up for the lack of official support from labels/radio/PR/etc. We are tired. We are exhausted. We also know that what we do does not matter unless it’s amplified by official sources. We haven’t seen any of that, and so attrition returns. 

RADIO BLACKOUT - whether there is an official blackballing of LT in UK radio -- BBC, Capital FM who have monopoly have not given LT airtime or any support. We know BBC was part of HS’s rollout, perhaps there is nothing you can do to change that. Then please find alternatives. UK and US audiences have not heard or seen LT taken seriously in 7 years. Innovate, please. At least TRY. At least confirm that stations will play BTM instead of old 1D songs. At least confirm that the song and album will be plugged instead of ignored. 

Louies--fans--want to support Louis’ new album and new music. But it seems like the very same roadblocks are up as they were before, and little has been done to fix them. People are leaving the fandom in the lead up to an album because it looks like nothing has changed, in fact, it might be worse now because a new team hasn’t helped. 

So much is being left on the table. Fans will step up if there is reason to, if there is motivation to. We are rooting for you, and for Louis. Give us something to support.

[sunflovverharry]

Driving Home for Christmas

a/n: hii! i wanted to make this a super cute dad!h during christmas fic so i hope you enjoy! this fic is a part of @goldenbluesuit ´s christmas song fic challenge which i’m honored to be a part of! It's the first fic challenge I’ve entered and I’ve been nervous to post something along with all these other amazing writers, but I'm excited to post this little piece centered in the dad universe. Happy reading, and remember to read the rest of the entries as well (which I’ve read some these past two weeks and they’re fab!) <3

pairing: dad!h + y/n

warnings: none! just a cute dad!h piece

word count: 3.8k

Harry was loading the trunk of their Audi, putting all their packed suitcases and bags of presents in there. The car was smack full as this year they had another addition to their family, waiting patiently for her mum to feed her before they left the city. It was snowing heavily and Anne made sure they knew they didn’t have to drive up today with the weather making the roads worse than usual. Y/n also told him a hundred times it was his decision as he was the one driving. Harry didn’t budge though, telling his mum they would definitely be there by tonight.

This year's Christmas celebrations were being spent in Cheshire with Harry’s family seeing as they were with her family in Nottingham last year. They’ve found it works best this way rather than splitting it up to go both places every year. After four years together and buying a house at the start of this year, y/n thinks this might be the last Christmas spent out of their own home. They have their two cats (Nellie and Sunny) and having their first child it might be time to start celebrating the holiday at their own house.

«Babe, did you remember to pack the board games?» Harry heard his girlfriend ask from the threshold where they had hung a mistletoe and had Harry not been busy trying to make everything fit, he definitely would’ve turned around, ran up to her and gave her a big smack on the lips. He settled for giving her a thumbs up not swirling around as he was too busy trying to figure out how he could make most of their things fit in the trunk, thinking it was just like a game of tetris. While Harry had been doing the heavy lifting and packing; y/n had put a cute Christmas onesie on the still tiny body of their daughter, definitely small for her age but she was eating like her daddy so where the weight went they had no idea.

Olive was a generally happy, cuddly baby who more often than not reached for her dad over her mum. It didn’t bother y/n that she was a daddy’s girl, knowing how much Harry loves children and now that he has his own he’s all over her. She finds the two cuddled together on the sofa, their bed or the armchair in her nursery at least a couple times a day. Her phone is now overflowing with photos of the two and she’s hoping to put together a photo album for Harry’s birthday filled with them - knowing he’d cherish it forever.

Half an hour later they were pulling out of the driveway. Harry had checked multiple times that all the lights were out, the doors were locked and the alarm system was functioning properly. Olive was smiling as she sat still in her car seat behind y/n. She had wondered if sitting in the back with her daughter would be better, but decided against it. If she got fussy they’d stop at a gas station and she’d move to the back.

The couple was tremendously excited to bring along their little bundle of happiness and get to show her off to all of Harry’s family and friends. Of course, his family have seen her when she was a newborn but living quite far away most of them only get to see them once or twice a year. It’ll change the dynamic of how they celebrate the holidays for sure, but it's a positive change. Anne will spoil her rotten, just like she does to y/n when they visit - making her tea whenever she wants some, washing their dirty laundry (which y/n didn’t care that her mother-in-law saw her underwear cause she didn’t bring anything too scandalous) and heading to the shops when they needed even the smallest thing. Really, y/n thought she was too kind for her own good. At the same time though, y/n always did play a good host when Anne visited them - spoiling her with the comfiest bed sheets, making the food for every meal, not wanting her to lift a finger as if she was the queen.

Olive was eight months - a fairly active one at that - and loves to crawl everywhere, especially to follow her mum or dad around the lower floor of their (way too big) house for only the three (five) of them. Since the pair hadn’t brought Olive with them for such a long drive, the longest being an hour, they were anxious to find out how she’d react to being confined over a longer period of time.

Half an hour in and Olive was babbling away to the teddy bear in her arms (she got it from her nephews when she was born and has been attached to it since) as Harry and y/n talked about how excited they were for their daughter to explore her daddy´s hometown and how his whole family and friends would fall in love with Olive even more. With their little girl just starting to sleep all through the night in her own room, Anne wanted to make sure she got her own room at her nana's too, so apparently she’s cleaned the office and made it into a makeshift nursery for her granddaughter.

Y/n doesn’t know who’s more excited to see all the familiar faces, the family that’s become not only important to her in the last four years, but now also to their baby. The last time they visited Cheshire, y/n was barely two months pregnant and as tough as it was to keep it hidden from Anne for another month, they managed to keep it to the two of them (with just a handful of slip-ups). They were sure Anne knew they were having a baby with the small smirks she gave y/n and harry when she didn’t want the wine - Harry keeping to non-alcoholics in solidarity with her - which was unregular for her, normally jumping on the thought of having a glass or two after a long day.

“You know mum won’t give her up after she gets her hands on her right as we walk through the front door? Might want to hop in the back and get your fix before we get there.” Harry let out a chuckle with y/n joining in knowing just how true his words were. Anne was a godsend of a grandmother, taking Olive in her arms doting over her until she’ll start crying for her daddy. Though everyone gives her all the attention she could wish for, no one could ever do what Harry can. He’s her favorite, no matter how much I wish I could be.

Another half hour later and we were making our first stop at a local gas station in Aylesbury. We were about a third of the way in, but the weather was getting harsher with the snow falling harder and the wind picking up just a little bit. While Harry filled the car up with gas and made sure Olive didn’t start fussing, y/n went inside to get a couple snacky items for the three of them and a filled up cup of coffee for her boyfriend. Coming out of the station she could see Harry in the back with his love bug, bringing her out of the car seat as her cute little wails haltered. She was due for a feed, so they found a secluded space to park so no one would stare at her while breastfeeding their daughter.

Sitting in the front passenger seat with her daughter attached to her nipple with her baby daddy sitting in the driver's seat next to her they spent the next twenty minutes singing along to the Christmas songs playing one after the other on the radio.

Y/n had always loved this time of year - the snow, the songs (which - admittedly - she listened to throughout the entire year), the decorations, the joy and cheer. With y/n and Harry moving in together a month before Christmas, only half a year after they first began dating, they had a mutual understanding for how they would go all out with lights, trees and decorations both on the inside and outside. Though their house was gated with a high fence along the perimeter of their entire land. The trees lining the driveway all the way from the gate to where the gravel road extends into two, one leading to the garage and the other to the front door, were now lit up with strings of light going through them. It was only the beginning to their decorations, but it couldn’t be seen from the gate. More lights were lit along the house, windows were accentuated by red tape creating squares with spray along it, making it seem like snow on the glass. Though there aren’t tons of colourful lights, outside at least, the inside is littered with different colours, shining and sparkling along the staircases, mantels, dressers, counters and tables.

Olive felt like there was something new to look at, touch and be amazed by in every room of their house. As the clock sets seven in the morning, like clockwork, Harry hears Olive’s wails for him to get her out of the crib so she can move around. He kisses y/n’s forehead as he lets her sleep for another half hour to an hour like every morning before pulling on a pair of boxers and some pajama pants if it’s cold to get his daughter from her nursery across the hall.

The two of them were like two giggling girlfriends when they finally saw each other for the first time that day, not being able to keep their smiles from their similar lips. Walking downstairs Olive points at the garland wrapping the staircase and every time she sees it, a small sound of surprise and excitement exit her puckered lips. Harry talks to her about how good her mama is at decorating their house and how good it looks good for Christmas (he only helped her put up decorations, following her direct orders). Y/n had a certain way she liked to decorate and with this being the first Christmas in their house she wanted everything to look perfect.

Coming into the kitchen after turning the dimmed lights on low to have some lighting in the morning dark they had a little shimmy along the floor. Olive babbled along with Harry’s singing and mumbling to her explaining how the buttons on the walls turned on the different lights. She probably didn’t understand or care about the lights, but the two continued singing and talking about nonsense along the way. In the kitchen, Harry made her a bottle she demanded having before getting started on the omelette he makes for him and y/n every morning he’s home without fail.

When they finally got back on the road the snow was coming down heavily and the only thing they could see were the lines of cars in front of them on the M40 pushing the break every few seconds before accelerating again moving only a couple meters before breaking again. Y/n didn’t have a lot of patience in traffic - or in general - and quickly became annoyed making Harry laugh at her telling her to calm down (she wasn’t even the one who had to drive through this horrible weather). This lasted for another forty-five minutes before the snow let up just a little bit and the cars seemed to roll along the road like normal.

“I didn’t think driving home for Christmas would take this long. At least, I hoped it wouldn’t.” They’d been on the road since nine thirty this morning and now, two and a half hours later, they still have at least another two hours left until they’re at Anne’s. It wasn’t unusual for y/n to call Anne’s home, having stayed there for weeks at a time during the almost five years her and Harry have known each other. Harry isn’t unknown to calling y/n’s parents’ house his home either.

“I know. Wish it didn’t have to take this long and I’m sure little Ollie is going to get antsy soon. If the weather continues like this and we don’t have to take more than one more break, I think we’ll be there within three hours, but if we run into traffic, we might have to take more stops along the way.” Harry wanted to move along quickly to get to his mum’s before Olive’s nap time around three, if she didn’t end up sleeping in the car. We knew when we decided to drive in the morning that Olive would probably stay up the whole way, too engrossed with the cars and lights along the way to ever be able to fall asleep.

“You know what we should do to keep her happy for another half hour at least?” Y/n turned to look at Harry with a smile grazing her lips. “Play some Christmas music! She loves when we sing and dance around the house.” Playing the memories of hearing Olive’s belly laughter through the house while Harry and her danced in circles around her like another pair of idiots.

Putting on the same Christmas song list they’ve played since making it together all those years ago, the first song coming on shuffle being Santa Claus is Coming to Town. The noise was at a comfortable volume so they could still hear Olive if she started fussing though it’s unlikely and for it to not be too disturbing for Harry’s driving. With Olive seated with her back to them she couldn’t see her mummy dancing in her seat while they sang along to song after song, but she heard her parents’ voices singing out to the songs she’s heard oh so many times before.

“This is accurate, huh?” Harry snickered as Driving Home for Christmas began playing through the speakers.

“You don’t say.” It was one of their favorite songs and it fit the scene they were in, driving home for Christmas, excited to see their family, singing along the slowly getting better traffic. Looking around at the cars next to them, most of them looked to be families also driving home to be with their families for this year's holiday celebrations.

The rest of the drive was filled with more singing, two more stops for Harry to give his baby some cuddles and walking around one of the local Tesco’s they stopped at to get some more drinks and snacks. Olive was waving at everyone walking past us and talking all kinds of gibberish. While y/n grabbed the snacks, Harry had Olive walking along the aisles in between his feet while holding her little hands in his following her around the store.

A quarter to three they finally made it to Anne’s home, reversing into the driveway so they could get their baggage inside easier later in the day. Y/n saw Anne open the front door in the rearview mirror when Harry was pulling in the last meters. There was a bright smile on her face when we got out of the car. The snow had laid thick on the ground up north and the slick ice underneath made it harder to walk without having to make sure every step was carefully thought out.

Just minutes later Olive was already crawling with her little legs all over her grandma’s home, interested in anything and everything she could get her chubby hands on not seeming to be tired at all. They decided to forgo her nap and hope for an early night, which isn’t likely with everything going on around her. Anne was on granny duties right away telling the pair to sit down and relax with the tea she had prepared while she took care of the baby. There was no doubt she loved the attention from the person she might not remember from this summer but quickly became attached to, almost as much as she is to her daddy.

Harry found his place on the sofa, head in y/n’s lap and feet hanging over the armrest demanding her fingers curling through his locks. It wasn’t surprising to her that he was tired from driving the entirety of the way in traffic and tightly packed snow at times. Sure, if needed he could have stayed awake, but with his mum taking care of his little love he didn’t care much, falling asleep to his other love combing her fingers through his hair. It didn’t happen too often that they could have a cuddle in the middle of the day - just the two of them - with Olive needing their attention at all hours of the day so when the opportunity arose he wasn’t going to turn it down. He admits, though this is nice as well, that a naked cuddle in bed would definitely top laying on the sofa with his mum and daughter running around them. Maybe tonight, he thinks, as he finally falls asleep to the sound of Olive’s giggles.

As nighttime inched closer and Olive’s bedtime was passing them in the chatter and laughter, y/n told Harry to get their things from the car while she nurses Olive before getting her ready for bed. While they took care of their daughter, Anne made a nice spread of cheese and crackers for them to indulge tonight while catching up on everything that’s been going on in their lives since the last time she visited them in London.

Harry found Olive’s bag first, choosing a pair of christmassy pajamas from the mountain of clothes they had brought for her. Y/n walked upstairs to the nursery Anne had set up, seeing Harry already unpacking her bags into the cute vintage turquoise chiffonier Anne had bought from a neighbour only a couple weeks ago immediately falling in love with it.

«Would you like to have a cuddle with daddy before bed, Ollie?» Y/n firmly believed her daughter needed the nightly cuddle from Harry, just like she does, to fall asleep. She was already reaching out for him with her nimble hands waiting for him to take her in for a snuggle in his arms. There was no armchair in the makeshift nursery like they had purchased for Olive’s nursery back home where they always sat but Harry made it work. Anything for a cuddle with his baby growing way too quick for his liking.

It was no secret Harry loved babies and that only heightened when he had his own baby. With how good Olive is and how lush it’s been having a baby around and it not be just the two of them, he had thought about what it would be like with another baby around. Another little love for them to have, give Olive a sister or brother to play with. He hadn’t said anything to y/n about the thoughts he’d been having, not knowing if she'd agree with him. It’s been eight months and when they had talked about it before they agreed on a maximum of two years between their children.

Only a couple hours later they headed to bed themselves, ready for a good night's sleep before another long day tomorrow. Harry had been debating with himself whether he was going to mention babies to y/n or not - ultimately ended up with yes, he would mention it. Now they were finally alone with y/n resting her head on Harry’s pillow, her fingers delicately drawing patterns on his chest.

“I have something I’d like to discuss with you.” Harry’s voice wasn’t much louder than a whisper, not wanting to ruin the calmness around them. He wasn’t nervous so to say, but he felt his pulse quicken the tiniest bit at the thought of getting turned down. Y/n turned her head to watch Harry as he pulled her in as close as he could without suffocating her.

“It’s been lovely having Olive, right? Seems like it was meant to be to have a baby and during the holidays it’s been so fun watching her so interested in everything.” Y/n murmured her answer. She had loved having a little one to care for and to fill their days with joy over the last eight months.

“Well, with how well it’s been going with her, I was thinking we could talk about having another little one? Maybe discuss it a bit. What do you say, let's make Ollie a big sister?”

“I think we might be well on the way to making her a sister, bub.” Harry turned his head at lightning speed hearing her words, not knowing if he heard her quite right. His open mouth and big round eyes weren’t something she saw often combined as she wasn’t always the best at surprising him, but this time she was sure her secret had come as a big shock. It wasn’t as if they had been trying for a baby either, only forgetting a condom a handful times when they were too in the moment to care for it.

She found out only a week ago, thinking she could keep it to herself until Christmas day. It wasn’t difficult to hide it from him, not struggling with morning sickness and only craving sweets as if she was on her period. Knowing they had agreed on the number of children they wanted - four - she wasn’t scared of him reacting badly.

“You’re not joking, right?” Harry smashed his lips onto his girlfriends when she shook her head - no, i’m not joking - kissing her slow and long, showing her just how happy he was. They spent the night talking about how thrilled and excited they were to expand their family with more children and how great of a sister Olive would be. Baby names were flying between them, agreeing to never naming one of their babies after a city, but rather continuing naming them something more unique than Chloe or Adam.

The rest of the holiday spent up north with Harry’s family was relaxing and lovely all around. Playing board games, exploring the city with Olive (who was way too fascinated by all the snow), family dinner parties and having fun with friends they didn’t get to see all too often. Olive was wiped out after opening her presents on Christmas morning and spending all her energy on all the toys she got and the paper ripping she played with (more than the toys to be honest).

This year had been special for the family and Christmas was just the same. Olive was lively and it made y/n and Harry exhausted with everything going on, but they wouldn’t change it for the world. After all, Olive was their little girl and soon there would be another little love in their family. Trying to keep the pregnancy from their family and friends was easier this time around as she could blame not drinking alcohol on her breastfeeding and decided they would keep it hidden from everyone until the last possible minute.

[remakethestars]

CABIN 7 — APOLLO

Headcanons.

❝There ought to be more drama, I think. A musical crescendo. Confetti.❞

— Jess Cooper, I Am Still Alive

Headcanon masterlist.

Oh, boy — this is my cabin, y'all; buckle up! 😁

Not all Apollo kids are good at everything their dad's good at, okay? I sure as heck can’t paint or play an instrument. 

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of violence?

They run an underground tattoo parlor.

That's where Will & Butch got their respective sun & rainbow tats.

Apollo kids with lyrics tattooed into their skin.

Rick says there isn't much by way of décor inside, which is f*in' B.S. Apollo's the god of art; those walls have been graffitied Tangled style.

🎶 i'll paint the walls some more — i'm sure there's room somewhere! 🎶

The east wall is covered in a landscape of a sunrise, & the west has a sunset (because the sun rises in the east & sets in the — yeah, I'll see myself out).

The north & south walls & the ceiling are white, though, because it really brightens/opens up the space (C7 has the 2ⁿᵈ most campers under C11 because Apollo's a slut; things can get a little crowded in the summer).

When there’re celebrations, the artistically inclined kids bust out the face paint. Especially for the younger campers.

The artistically inclined are the ones that paint the camp beads for the end of the summer. Despite the numbers, it doesn’t take them as long as one might think.

Rick said the ceiling had cedar beams, but we're not gonna do Cyparissius dirty like that. Cypress wood is good for building; the beams are cypress. You know what? F*ck you — the whole dang cabin's cypress!

There’s a massive, potted aloe vera plant by the steps that gets moved into the C4 greenhouse in the winter. It’s one of those old ones — because everyone knows the old aloe plants work better for burns & blisters than these sh¡tty new ones. (It’s constantly getting broken off to heal burns & stuff.) 

Rick said there are potted red & purple hyacinths in the window & yellow flowers from Delos. That's true.

I'd say the flowerbeds around the cabin are full of healing plants, but I feel like they'd be better off around the infirmary for obvious reasons.

I do feel like there's a laurel tree planted outside C7, though, because Apollo's a pining b¡tch.

And there's an actual infirmary building, okay? Rick's kinda inconsistent about that. Sometimes he says "infirmary," sometimes he says the Big House is running over with injured, & apparently there's a cot dead center for injured in C7? B.S.

Or maybe I've just read too much fanfic, and the authors don't get it right?

Either way, there's an infirmary building with surgery & delivery rooms. One floor. Locker room for C7 kids to store their scrubs & sh¡t.

They go for yellow scrubs, though, because orange C.H.B. scrubs make them look like escaped convicts.

Fun Band-Aids™

They give out little orange stickers with laurels around the edges that are like I voted! stickers, but they're injury-specific.

I got my leg(s) reattached! & Percy Jackson shot me in the butt! & I ticked off Clarisse! & I made out with an Aphrodite kid in the poison ivy! & I fell off the lava wall! & I got pranked by the Stolls!

After a war or just when there’re a lot of campers in the infirmary, there seems to be a constant flow of Apollo kids singing one hymn to their father in unison to heal someone.

Sometimes, an unconscious camper wakes in a cot & thinks they’ve died & gone to the wrong afterlife for a moment because their singing sounds like angels. 

The medically inclined wash their hands like surgeons. 

Kind of germophobic?

They also go around tying surgeons knots in everything.

In the summer, they’re walking Banana Boat sunscreen & after-sun aloe lotion dispensers.

The medically inclined also have the world’s sh¡ttiest handwriting.

They have to work hard to fix it if it bothers them. 

Can check your vitals & run a blood test just by touching you.

A lot of them casually touch their loved ones (at least, the ones that aren’t in C7) every morning to check their vitals & see how their health’s doing.

They do it subconsciously every time they touch someone & don’t notice it until they pick up something’s wrong.

They can do this for themselves as well. Though it may not be as accurate? And they take daily vitamins depending on what they need.

Organize their lives via pill box (never lose an earring).

Fight surgically. Every blade in their hands becomes a scalpel, & every time they’re going in for a kill against an armed anthropomorphic monster, they slice the tendons in its arm required to grip its weapon to disable it before going in for the kill.

Back to C7, it’s got a little porch with a porch swing. The kids sit on it sometimes & teach people how to play instruments.

They leave the porch light on at night when they’re waiting for one of their siblings to come home from a quest.

Jumping into the depressing sh¡t, they never found Michael’s body, so they only presumed him dead. They leave the porch light on every night now, hoping he’ll come home.

Apollo kids are afraid of the dark. They use the buddy system after the sun goes down. 

The cabin’s central light fixture is a papier-mâché sun that’s been charmed to glow when someone sings 🎶 clap on 🎶 & stop glowing when someone sings 🎶 clap off. 🎶

The curtains are a gold fabric. They’re only closed at night. Because, again, C7 kids are afraid of the dark.

The Wikipedia says Apollo kids are cursed to be afraid of snakes (I assume by the Python Apollo killed). I feel like they’d burn a lot of aster leaves then. I read somewhere it was said by the Greeks to ward off evil spirits & snakes.

They play Go Fish with their tarot cards. They’re really good at tarot games.

Hand-drawn tarot decks featuring figures form Greek myth.

There’s a target on the back wall they practice throwing cards at. They can throw them in combat for a distraction with terrifying accuracy. 

There’s a Magic 8 ball that’s passed around on the Winter Solstice (the longest night of the year), when — as a headcanon I’m sure I’ve read somewhere has indicated — they’re up all night.

Crystal balls are allowed. However, they must be covered with a cloth or placed in a box when not in use because they’re double-convex lenses, & we don’t want another incident like the fire of 1993.

Sometimes, they make little predictions throughout the day other campers may find disturbing. Such as whipping around and catching a stray arrow without warning (spidey sense?). Or cutting you off when you’re talking about someone moments before they walk into the room.

There’s a tea cart in the corner. Because tea is good for healing & they’ve accumulated an addiction.

The cart has a radio on it that’s always on at night because a lot of C7 kids can’t sleep without noise. (Inspired by @sugarandspiceandkindanice.)

Most of the time, it’s on a nearby country station that actually plays good country at night. But sometimes they switch channels — especially when there’s a new kid settling in & they could use the comfort.

There’s a portable record player there too. The shelves under the cart are full of C.D.s & records.

I’m sure I’ve read a headcanon somewhere that they sing every morning while getting ready for the day. That’s true.

The number of times it’s been “When Will My Life Begin” from Tangled is disturbing, though. 

🎶 seven a.m., the usual morning lineup! 🎶

Luke said in The Lightning Thief C11 is up at 07:00 & breakfast is at 08:00, I think, but we all know Apollo’s waking his kids up when the sun rises. 

A lot of the time, someone will just start out with whatever song they have stuck in their head & everyone else will pick it up.

Sometimes, this leads to members having the aforementioned song stuck in their head for the rest of the day.

Even the people who aren’t musically inclined will sing along, as they’re usually drowned out by the music kids that get really into it.

So sometimes those not-music kids will find themselves singing by themselves during the day years later & are surprised to find — they actually sound good?? Or at least not bad??? And it’s because singing is a learned skill & they picked it up.

I’m sure I’ve also read a headcanon somewhere that they sing “Look Down” from Les Mis when they have to do menial chores, but I'm adding “It’s a Hard-Knock Life” from Annie, “Whistle While You Work” from Snow White, “Happy Working Song” from Enchanted, & the Smurf song.

They break into song all the time.

Lee was glaring at Tantalus once & made the mistake of saying, “Sometimes, I wish —” and the entire cabin broke out with “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

🎶 — i'd never been born at all! carry on, carry on… 🎶

As mentioned in at least The Lightning Thief & The Lost Hero, they spend a lot of time playing basketball. You can bet your butt they do a rendition of “Getcha Head in the Game” from High School Musical every time there’s a new camper passing by.

They have a sister named Jubilee, and every time someone greets her — "Hey, Jube!" — the entire cabin breaks into “Hey, Jude” by The Beetles.

🎶 hey, Jube! don't make it bad. take a sad song & make it better… 🎶

Sometimes, if there are two campers that really need to get together, C10′ll commission C7 to sing “Kiss the Girl” from The Little Mermaid (or the same song with different pronouns, obviously). 

It’s usually a capella unless someone happens to have an instrument on them.

Rickrolling. 

The “Macarena.” 

Apollo takes clandestine recordings of their jam sessions & distributes them professionally. Whatever money’s made goes directly into their college funds or they periodically find it under their pillow tooth-fairy-style.

There’s a lot of denim because the artistic members like to paint on the backs of jackets & the pockets of jeans.

A lot of them have excellent aim with most projectiles, so they toss stuff to each other a lot. This results in them being oddly in sync, so they can catch something from another sibling without warning & without looking like Sam & Dean Winchester do in Supernatural. 

Their life looks like a Dude Perfect trick shot video. 

It also results in some funny looks when they hurl things halfway across camp to each other. Namely, the whistling Nerf football. 

C7 is two stories. The second story has paint on every wall. 

The east wall upstairs has arrows mounted that got Robin Hooded along with a little tag with the name of the C7 kid & the date it happened.

They also have arrows mounted from the first bullseye if there’s a member being taught. 

Lots of musical instruments & art supplies up there.

There’s an old T.V. up there. They have all of Bob Ross’s show on V.H.S.

C7′s south wall (ground floor) holds the door to the bathroom on one side & a door leading to the stairs. 

It also hosts framed photos of Charlotte, Lee, & Michael.

Instead of saying “shoot,” they say “loose.” For everything. Instead of saying “Shoot!” when they drop something, they say “Loose!” 

It's kinda one of those things — like your friend starts saying something & you just integrate it into your vocabulary subconsciously.

They like to play a game where you shoot an arrow straight up & try to catch it as it comes back down.

That sounds really stupid on their part, but it actually comes in handy when someone tries to shoot them in combat & they catch the arrow, dumbfounding whoever's attempted to skewer them.

The cresting on their arrows is in Morse code of their nickname (·—— ·· ·—·· ·—··). They can take one look at an arrow & tell what’s whose.

And the paint color of the cresting tells them what kind of arrow it is — bullet tip, broadhead, explosive, etc. 

Every bunk in C7 is made with hospital corners. No exceptions. The kids who aren’t medically inclined learn because all the beds being made the same way makes it look cleaner for inspection.

I can’t decide if Apollo kids have really good eyesight so they fit the Hawkeye bill or if they’ve all just read — Apollo’s the god of knowledge — & painted so much they’ve messed up their eyes.

The number of times one of them has used bowstring wax on an art project in a rush instead of glue is hilariously large.

I use String Snot, and it comes in a container that looks like a glue stick.

A lot of them wear bracers all the time.

When the time it takes to sling one’s quiver onto one’s back, grab one’s bow, knock an arrow, & draw is so long, one really doesn’t have time to also strap on their bracers before rushing out of the cabin to threaten a giant bronze dragon.

Not to mention if they use a recurve, they’ll also have to string their bow.

And a number of them do use recurves due to the abilities to both knock multiple arrows at once & to restring in the field.

Bows with risers coated in golden, reflective paint & limbs painted with artistic strokes.

Trick arrows are their jam. C9 is constantly being asked for new arrows.

Explosive arrows, sonic arrows, grappling hook arrows…

That’s another saying they’ve all taken to: “___ is my jam!”

There’s a bookshelf or reference material on Apollo for new C7 kids (as Rick’s indicated), but the rest of the case is full of medical journals & textbooks & books on art & poetry & divining the future.

A lot — if not all — of them have either gold flecks in their eyes or central heterochromia.

Freckles across their noses & shoulders & on the tips of their ears. Tans. Sun-bleached hair. 

Long, nimble fingers perfect for playing musical instruments.

Either they hate the winter because the sun's out for less time (so you’ll find them walking around with blanched skin & faded freckles & with both a hoody & a parka on), or they’re perfectly fine with winter & are used by everyone around them as walking space heaters. 

They spend a lot of time with Castor & Pollux. 

Rachel sits at T7. She’s practically an Apollo kid at this point. 

While her cave was being renovated, she stayed in C7.

Their dad’s the god of truth; none of these M.F.s can lie worth a sh¡t. 

But, by the gods, they can tell when you’re lying.

And they take it as a personal insult. That you (A) would dare do something as immoral as lying in the first place & that you (B) would dare to insult their intelligence in such a way because you thought they couldn’t tell.

C6 & C7 are both known for reacting outrageously when their intelligence is insulted (see: chapter 10 of The Battle of the Labyrinth). 

The more civil of the reactions of a C7 kid being lied to is cursing the liar to tell the truth, which I believe they can. 

They can curse you to speak in rhyming couplets; they should be able to curse you to tell the truth.

You mean to tell me none of these kids have created a functioning Lasso of Truth yet?

This one's really long. 😅

A lot of people fancast Sam Claflin as Apollo, but I'm going with Ross Lynch. 'Cause I do what I want. 😎

Visit my Apollo cabin Pinterest board or my headcanon masterlist.

DISCLAIMER ━━━ These headcanons are what I consider to be canon in my fanfictions. They may be others’s headcanons I’ve subconsciously filed away in my noggin. If one’s yours and you want it removed or credited, please send me your post and let me know.

[bluejayblueskies]

seven for jontim? <3

jontim + things you said while we were driving

.

The tension in the car on the way to Great Yarmouth is so thick Jon could cut it with a knife. He’s not really sure how he ended up carpooling with Tim—something about old habits and the Archers and ‘time to think’ that has Basira and Daisy sharing a car—but they’re an hour in and Jon can count the number of words Tim’s said to him on one hand.

 Jon wants to break the silence. He doesn’t know if they’ll get another chance to talk, if he’ll get another chance to say everything he wants to say. To apologize, to try to make amends, to tell Tim that he still—

 Jon sucks in a breath and looks out the window, at the sprawling countryside as it whisks by. Once upon a time, his hand would be clasped with Tim’s on the center console and Tim would be telling him some elaborate story about his latest camping trip or the case he’d been working on that had taken a dramatic turn or the latest office gossip and his own rather strong opinions about it. That’s one of the things he’d liked about Tim—the fact that Tim could talk, and Jon could listen, and when Jon got excited about something and interrupted Tim’s story, Tim would take it in stride and listen with a smile.

 God, it had been so easy, and now it’s not, and that more than anything makes Jon ache like his heart has been torn free from his rib cage.

Jon doesn’t realize he’s been tapping his fingers in a nervous rhythm on the center console until Tim lets out a labored sigh and breaks the silence as gracelessly as a bullet through a glass house. “Just say it.”

 It’s too loud after so long with only the noise of the road and the low murmur of the radio, and Jon startles, his hand retreating back to his lap reflexively. “What?”

 Tim’s eyes remain on the road, but Jon can see the tension in him, in the way his hands grip the wheel firmly and his mouth flattens into a thin line. “Just say whatever it is you need to say. Might as well. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

 Jon winces slightly at the flatness in Tim’s voice, at the way he sounds just- just indifferent. It cuts worse than any anger or frustration. At least those meant that Tim was still feeling something toward him, no matter how negative. Now, Tim just sounds tired. Resigned.

 “I was…” Jon swallows and looks down at his hands so he doesn’t have to see Tim’s face. “I was thinking about the time we went to the coast together, to follow up on that case about the mermaid.”

 Tim makes a sound that might be a laugh if it weren’t so humorless. “Yeah, I remember,” he says, and maybe Jon’s imagining the hint of wistfulness in his voice, looking for something that isn’t there. “Turned out to be nonsense, but it…”

 Tim’s hands tighten on the wheel for a moment before going slack, his face twisting into something pained. “It was nice,” he says, so quietly Jon almost doesn’t catch it. “You, er. You had a lot to say about harbor seals.”

 Jon flushes and rubs one thumb over the other—a nervous tic of his, one that leads to dry and cracked skin if he isn’t careful. “Yes, well. Growing up by the sea tends to foster an interest in marine wildlife. And, er. Well. Nobody else ever seemed interested, in- in the topic.” A pause. Jon worries his bottom lip between his teeth and says, “I miss our conversations.”

 “Jon,” Tim says. It’s a warning and a plea and a refusal all wrapped into a single word. And Jon should just leave it at that—let them pass the rest of the time in silence, like they’ve been doing for months.

 Instead, he says, “I’m sorry, Tim. For- for everything.”

 “Please, just- not now,” Tim says, his voice growing sharp around the edges even as the core retains that same weariness Jon’s grown accustomed to.

 He hates it. He hates that Tim doesn’t tell jokes anymore, that Tim doesn’t smile wide and easy and greet Jon with a ghosting hand across Jon’s upper back, that Tim’s shoulders sag ever so slightly as he walks like he’s bearing the weight of the world. He hates that it’s his fault.

 “Then when?” Jon says, that same sharpness bleeding into the words against his will. “After this is all over? We might not—”

 We might not make it out alive, his mind supplies. But the words stick in his throat. Instead, he says, “Just. You don’t have to say anything, just- just listen. I- I don’t expect forgiveness.” Jon pauses, then says, softer, “It’s not my right to ask for it.”

 Tim’s quiet for a long moment. The radio is playing something upbeat, a pop song that Jon’s never heard but that sounds exactly like the rest of the music the station has been supplying. Jon wants to turn it off; it grates on his nerves, makes every second feel like an eternity.

 He doesn’t. Somehow, he thinks silence—true silence—might be worse.

 “Okay,” Tim says finally, his eyes still fixed on the road. “Just- just please don’t say you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it anymore.”

 “Right,” Jon says. His fingers go to the hem of his shirt, fiddling with the fabric. There’s a loose thread there, and without thinking, he pulls it. It spirals out, making a neat line in the fabric where the weave falls out of line that Jon won’t be able to smooth out again.

 He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? He can’t mend what’s broken, can’t unpull the thread that’s tugged them out of sync. In less than a day, they’ll be in the museum, and Jon’s skin will be crawling with the memory of ropes tight around his wrists and plastic fingers coated with lotion touching him over and over and over, and they’ll be executing a plan that Jon can’t shake the feeling will go horribly, terribly wrong. They have so little time. Never enough time.

 So, Jon says instead, “I remember when we first met. I- I don’t know if you do, it- it was very brief, and you seemed quite occupied with whatever case you were researching, but I- I remember. You were, uh. You were wearing that olive green shirt you like, the- the one with the buttons that look like flowers. You were distraught when you ripped the sleeve on that barbed wire fence when we, uh, broke into the—”

 Jon cuts off with a small laugh. “I suppose our research tactics were quite unorthodox. And more than a little illegal at times. But when I got excited about a case and decided to pursue it in a more, er, thorough capacity, you were always there. I- I don’t think I ever told you, but that was the first time I realized how much I’d grown to like you. You, lamenting about how you’d had that shirt for years, so- so dramatic about the whole situation. And I spent a frankly embarrassing amount of time finding another one just like it, an even more embarrassing amount of time figuring out how to give it to you without coming across as- as weird or what have you. But you just smiled and took it, and- and maybe it’s silly, but I think that’s when I…”

 Jon doesn’t say when I started to fall in love with you. But from the pinched look on Tim’s face, he knows he doesn’t have to.

 It’s like Jon’s there again, the weight of Tim’s smile making his pulse flutter hummingbird-fast in his throat, his voice slipping into the stutter he tried so hard to hide at work so that he came across as professional. He practically thrust the shirt into Tim’s hands, his cheeks burning as he did so. And Tim’s thank you, so genuine and surprised and happy, had dragged a smile of Jon’s own to his face.

 Tim had liked making Jon flustered—had made it a game, figuring out what he could say to make Jon smile or laugh or flush so deeply it was visible against his skin. Jon didn’t understand why some of the things he said made Tim smile in return or press a quick kiss to Jon’s lips or give Jon a soft I love you that still made Jon’s pulse quicken no matter how many times Tim said it. But it didn’t matter, because Tim understood him.

 Jon misses Tim so much he can hardly breathe, even after everything. His words come out slightly choked when he says, “I remember when you would bring me lunches because you knew I would forget to eat sometimes if I got caught up in my work. And- and when you went to that shop that had a cat and you sent me- Christ, so many pictures, it- it was really quite excessive.” Quieter, Jon says, “And when you brought me to that park with the lights, and- and you told me that you loved me.”

 “Jon,” Tim says. It comes out tense, like somebody who’s trying very hard to keep their emotions in check.

 “I know,” Jon says, pulling and pulling at the thread on his shirt until the fabric is bunched up completely and utterly ruined. I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry. “I… I know.”

 Tim’s quiet for another long moment. Then, he exhales heavily, like he’d been holding his breath, and moves one hand from the wheel to the center console, palm up.

 Tim’s hand is warm in his. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps his eyes trained on the road, even as his fingers twine with Jon’s in a practiced motion that’s still as easy as breathing.

 Jon spends the rest of the car ride memorizing the feel of Tim’s hand in his, the shape of his fingers and the soft skin of his palm, and tries very hard not to think about the way it feels like a goodbye.

[creativeashproductions]

In the Beginning // Alive!Luke Patterson

Summary: Reggie (Rhodes)’s older sister is the epitome of cool in his, and his friends, eyes with her in a band. Pushed by a hazel eyed brunette with a huge crush on the eldest Rhodes teen the boys decide to start a band. While at first the band is for Luke’s dream of landing you he finds his passion with music.

Warning: Swearing, angst, fluff, dad!Luke

Words: 4.1k

A/N: I couldn’t resist writing another alive!Luke fic with Luke crushing on his band mate’s sister. Ugh, just imagine Luke suggesting a band to impress his crush only to fall in love with music instead.  For my fics it will be Alex Mitchell and Reggie Rhodes until JATP reveals their canon names. 

Masterlist

Los Angeles, 1992

The guitar case was a familiar heaviness as you walked into the home for the first time in months after a practice. You ached from the long travel, and all you wanted was your bed. The yawn came first, then the startled yell at the living room.

Four pairs of eyes met the girl standing in the entryway, surprised at a sleepover with her brother and his full friends. Eyebrows coming together you shook your head wondering why they had come here instead of the typical Patterson home.

“Hey!” Fourteen-year-old Reggie beamed towards his older sister excited she was back from her weekend band practice. Your eyes blinked at his usual upbeat personality before switching to the brown eyes from Bobby, too shy to full meet yours.

Spread around the living room watching a movie was Reggie’s best friends; the socially awkward Alex, the shy Bobby, and the Patterson boy Luke. The young typically spent their time at Luke’s place, so seeing them in your home was strange.

“Reg, what’s up?” You asked crouching to untie your shoes confused at the sharp audible gasp coming from Luke. Standing straight up, you saw Luke awkwardly looking away with bright red cheeks.

“How was practice?” Reggie inquired with the smile he got from your mom and his dark hair from your dad.

Reggie usually wasn’t interested in your band leading you to wonder what the hell was going on with them. Being sixteen you didn’t socialize with Reggie’s friends, thanks to the two year age gap, but you were happy he had good friends. Well, less than two years between you and Luke.

“It was good. Since when are you interested in Crimson Queen?” You questioned moving more into the room with the four young teens, “You haven’t even touched your bass in years.”

One eyebrow raised you individually looked at the boys in the room all with sheets of paper around them. From a distance, you couldn’t tell what was on them, but it couldn’t be homework. They all attended the same high school while you had done correspondence with the band and a tutor.

“Luke’s parents got him a guitar,” Reggie spoke gesturing to the decent brand new acoustic guitar on the floor beside the Patterson. Luke’s hazel eyes widening as you came closer to the group.

Your hand picking up the guitar to look it over finding it was decent for a beginner, but it was definitely not tuned. The sheer sound made you wince.

“So, you guys want to be a band?” You questioned sitting on the floor beside Luke. The boy shifting nervously, you weren’t blind that he got shy around girls, “Do you guys even play instruments?”

“I got the bass, Bobby can play rhythm guitar, Alex plays dru-“

“I wouldn’t call it proper drumming. It’s just something my therapist suggested with my anxiety and frustrations.” Alex raised his hand leading to everyone in the room looking at the tall male, recently had a growth spurt, with the backward black hat.

“And Luke will learn guitar as well.” You added, looking at the quiet, “How well can you play?”

“I don’t even know how to properly tune it,” Luke admitted playing with his fingers adorned with a ring.

Luke had chosen a cutoff shirt in an attempt to gain your attention to his arms he hoped had gotten more muscled. He had a massive crush on you but with the guys your own age he had step up; he started working out. He actually enjoyed it, but he’d enjoy it more if you were checking him out.

“You’ll need a place to practice.” You mumbled glancing out the window at the ocean waves thinking. The house was on the prime real estate edge of the beach all thanks to your well off parents; Dad, a doctor and Mom, an interior designer.

Your fingers tapped on the ripped blue jeans you had chosen that day with the flannel shirt opened over the black AC/DC t-shirt. You started standing up, grabbing Luke’s hand to pull him up as well; the boy’s cheeks grew pinker, and his heart fluttered.

“What?” Luke spluttered, staring at his hand, caught in yours in sheer awe.

“You’ll need a place to practice.” You answered, dropping is head to reach in your pocket for your key chain.

The key chain had a few keys on it: one for home, one for your car, one for the band van for gigs, one for the garage, and lastly one for the house the garage belonged to. The boys piled into the car, apprehensive for where you were taking them. The only sound was the radio playing local greatest hits, your foot slammed on the brake at the house of your bassist.

“Well Marty, this song has blown up on the charts. New band Crimson-“

“Holy shit.” You breathed staring at the radio. Your door opened as you sprinted down to the steps that led to the garage. The footsteps of the boys following.

The garage was open already with your band members lounging around the space filled with instruments and amps. Their heads swivelling as you frantic turned the radio on.

“Come on.” You mumbled, turning the radio station to the right one, “Guys listen!”

“-Crimson Queen is an LA-based band making waves in the LA Nightlife and hit the top ten with their newest song Sorry Now.” The radio host spoke, “If you haven’t heard the song before, this is the band’s new single.”

The song was blasted from the radio leading to the four girls screaming the song out dancing around the room. Euphoria was the only way you could call the feeling rising in the bodies of the girls in the place. The room burst into more screams as your drummer. Faith switched the radio station.

“Today history was made, Crimson Queen is an all-female rock band fronted by Y/N Rhodes. They started as a hobby at fifteen, but a year later at sixteen they’ve made waves.” A hit radio station, the second one so far, was talking about your band. Holy shit.

“Lucy, this band is going places. My daughter is seven years old, and she’s telling me this band is the talk of her school. I can’t tell how much Lucy listens to their demo.”

Your eyes saw Reggie having a meltdown of excitement for older sister and her band, and you were so unbelievably happy you should care the moment. You rushed over to Reggie to pull him into a hug.

“Girls…and boys.” Mrs Taylor spoke furrowing her brows at the young boys in the garage her daughter had begged to use for the band. Shaking her head, the middle-aged woman turned her attention to her daughter.

“Hey, Ma.” Dawn, your bassist, spoke spreading her pink painted lips to her perfectly straight teeth too hyped up on energy, “What’s up?”

“First congratulations on the single. Secondly, we’re gonna need to get a personal line for the band because our phone is blowing up.”

A sharp gasp from Dawn before the three of the four girls rushed to the house of the Taylor’s. You hung back to look at your brother and his band.

“So? What do you think?” You inquired with the group, “This idea of yours has to be one hundred percent what you want. It won’t be easy in LA, it will come with hardships, and Reggie Mom and Dad won’t let you drop out.”

The four boys nodded their heads because the excitement they saw in your big break was something they wanted. To be able to connect with people cemented their decision.

“Feel free to hang around.” You suggested glancing around the garage that started it all, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

The Orpheum, Los Angeles, 1995

The crowd screamed as Crimson Queen, the song that started this road played with the girl crouching to grasp the hand of fans. At the beat of the chorus, you stood up eating up the energy of the last show of the tour. You went jumped on the drum riser rocking on the guitar as Faith did her magic.

Dawn on her bass made her way to rock with your rhythm guitarist Sara sharing grins with you still feeling the euphoria of this success. As the song came to an end, your entire band went to the front of the stage.

“We’d like to thank our fans for the last nine months of our world tour. We started this band in LA in 1991, so we thought it fit to end our tour at The Orpheum.” You spoke to the crowd, feeding off the energy as the concert came to an end.

The road crew would load your instruments up in the van to take home after months of travelling. You were so excited to see Reggie, who would be seventeen now, having celebrated his birthday while you had been in Europe. Too excited were shocked as Reggie backstage.

“Reggie!” You exclaimed tugging the teen into your arms, leaning back to take him in, “Damn you grew!”

Reggie grinned not giving a shit you were coated in sweat from performing your setlist, but your eyes went over his shoulder. Standing close and just as excited was Reggie’s friends. Alex was taller, Bobby looked more confident, and Luke could meet your eyes. Luke also had changed, no longer baby faced.

“Sunset Curve.” You spoke, stepping back to look them over, “I haven’t seen you guys in months, how did you change so much!”

“That’s what happens when you go on tour for almost a year.” Luke teased tugging you into his arms for a tight hug.

It was odd seeing Luke taller and more muscled than when you left for tour, and the confidence was honestly hot. You had seen Luke as anything other than your brother’s friend, who tended to stare a little too long.

“You played the fucking Orpheum!” Alex screamed, holding your shoulders with a wrinkled nose at the damp red thin flannel shirt. The girls wandered up behind you each with a grin at the guys.

“Well if it isn’t Sunset Swerve,” Sara spoke swinging her arm over your shoulder with a teasing smirk plastered on her face. Her blonde hair swept up in a bun high on her head from a recent shower.

“Sunset Curve!” The male quartet snapped at the name before they fell back into a happy demeanour. Luke and you both staring at each other with a pink-hued face.

Faith was quieter in the group leaning closer to your band to whisper in your ear, “Jay scored us some drinks. But MJ got us into a party.” Faith’s textured hair tickling your neck.

Grins split the three girls at the suggestion each excited for the party with fellow musicians and plus ones. Sure, the parties had drugs and alcohol, but they were fun and part of the scene. Half of you wanted to go, but the other wanted to spend time with your brother.

“I’ll think I’ll pass.” You spoke up to the girls motioning to the guys, “I’ll head back with them. Meet you at the house later?”

Your black vans moving backwards as you moved to be closer to be flush against Reggie’s side grinning as he bumped his hip against you. Sara, Faith and Dawn each raising an eyebrow at your response since you often dragged them to parties.

“Orrr…we could each take one of them.” Faith cajoled mocha skin gleaming in the light with her hands, tugging her hair into a thick braid.

“You want me to take my seventeen-year-old brother and his friends-“

“-I’m like two weeks from being eighteen-” Luke cut into the conversation buzzing at the possible date, but not date, with the girl he had been crushing on for years. He was pretty sure he was in love with you at this point; he did date a little, but nothing stuck.

“-To a party in Hollywood.” You finished pinning your gaze on the three girls ahead each with mischievous grins. Your cheeks puffed as you breathed out, thinking of the positives and negatives.

Bobby was bouncing on his heels with Reggie leaving Alex shifting uncomfortably in his place. His partially relaxed when Luke squeezed his forearm through the distressed black jean jacket that bought his outfit together. Luke himself was apprehensive on your decision because either way, he got to spend time with you.

“Come on.” Dawn implored, pulling out the big guns with her ocean blue eyes widening into the puppy gaze that did you in each time. Her curtain of short dyed pink hair framing her heart-shaped face.

“I’m going to pass this time. Do some shots for me! Not tequila though, that was a huge mistake.” Faith’s grin widened at having you carry you out of the house in the early morning after a wicked party.

“Did you ever find your tho-“

“Faith!” You hissed turning a bright red at her revelation that you definitely didn’t want Reggie to know. The atmosphere turned awkward as everyone realized what the sentence would end with.

Okay so maybe you had hooked up with a few people over the last three years but nothing permanent. It was fun, drunk fun, but still fun and nothing had gone wrong. Your eyes avoided looking at Luke for a reason you couldn’t decipher.

“I’ll see you later.” You spoke motioning for the guys to follow you to the dressing room you had settled in early in the day. The corner of your lips quirked at the awe on each of the boys’ faces.

“I’m in the dressing where bands become legends.” Reggie gasped circling the room with wide-eyed interest. Alex was interested in the band posters on the walls from previous performers.

Luke, however, was more interested in your curves covered by your sweaty stage clothing that stuck to your form. His Adam’s apple gulped as you grabbed your shower bag moving towards the connected bathroom.

“I’ll grab a shower, and we can head out.” You supplied, “I’ll just need to stop at Rudy’s office for our portion of the concert.”

The guys mumbled a response finding a place to wait without hushed conversations of when they would get to play. Luke’s eyes found yours at the low call of his name from the bathroom; a crack opened he walked over.

“Do you have a sweater?” You mumbled at the taller teen with widening eyes as he realized that you were naked behind the door.

Luke stumbled over his feet, retrieving the black pullover Crimson Queen merch he had had for months now. He had saved up money to buy the merch to support the band. The door closed as you tugged the sweater in the bathroom momentarily before walking out.

“Thanks Lu. I forget to pack a shirt.” Luke awed as your nose scrunched up adorably to the amusement of his friends, “So, do you wanna hit the beach? Or maybe give me a concert in the garage?”

Luke intertwined his fingers in yours as he tugged you out of the room with your bag in hand. His heart fluttered as you held on to his hand even in the little office of the Orpheum’s management for the thick envelope of money.

“Thanks, Rudy!” You called over your shoulder at the short, stout man going over the financials and upcoming performances.

The smell of Sunset Boulevard brought a smile remembering the first time you performed and the small group that had waited outside. The first night of autographs and recognition.

“So, Reg how’s my car?” You questioned the teen who impishly grinned tugging the key chain from his black jeans. You had given him the keys when you revealed Crimson Queen had a world tour.

“Right there.” Reggie pointed leading the group of five to the car that would take them to the garage. Reggie drove with Alex in the passenger while you were crammed between Bobby and Luke; Luke was delighted in your warmth against his side.

While your band members partied, you got a first-row seating to Sunset Curve’s talent in the garage where you had started out. It was amazing to see how much they had accomplished in the three years since they started.

The sudden knock on the door had you flailing off the couch onto the floor with a sheet of paper stuck to your cheek. Your spine cracked as you sat up glancing at your watch, finding it was after midnight, only an hour of sleep after inspiration for a new song.

The door was knocked on once more and coming close the sound of crying could be heard, and you wondered if it was Luke. He had been over a few days in the night following a fight with his parents and needed to crash; helped you were giving dating a chance after his well-rehearsed speech.

Imagine your shock when it was Reggie sobbing, “Reggie.”

“C-can I stay here?” Reggie whimpered cuddling himself into the leather jacket he received at Christmas from you. You had inside in your arms in moments, “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Are they fighting again?” You murmured to your younger brother content to hold him as he cried. Bringing him to the living room, you held him as he cried humming under your breath the first song you ever let him see.

“Yeah. The music doesn’t work anymore.” Reggie murmured leaning back to wipe his tears off, “Sorry for crashing. I can go stay with-“

“Here. Reginald, you can always stay here.” You soothed the seventeen-year-old boy with sad eyes and a sombre look. His sad eyes shattered your heart, knowing he had suffered the fighting for months alone, “This house is empty Reg. You can move in here.”

His lip quirked up, “Can we play country music?”

“And eat breakfast at night.” You teased him grinning as his lips pulled up into his trademark grin, “The guys can come over whenever they want. I’d actually prefer they know they can stay here, they deserve a safe place to stay.”

You knew that Alex endured living with his parents, who had gone out of their way to avoid him after he came out. Luke couch surfed at your old house, never at Alex’s home; after coming out, Alex didn’t feel comfortable bringing anyone over.

“Good, because they’re outside.” Reggie sheepishly admitted raising his thumbs-up, “Go thinking ahead!”

Snorting the human version of a golden retriever you opened the front door to the house finding two guys in strange positions. Alex was inspecting the light fixture, and Luke was leaning against the wall with his elbow, foot across the other.

“You guys need lessons in the art of pretending you weren’t eavesdropping.” The sigh fell stepping aside for the two to enter the home—each carrying a backpack and small duffle bag for wherever they would have crashed.

The male trio got comfortable in the living room curiously glancing at the mess of papers, sticky notes and pencils. While with good intentions, they didn’t follow boundaries well, even for Alex.

“Whatcha working on?” Luke inquired, leaning closer to a sheet of paper. His pout coming over his face when you quickly tidied up the papers.

“Nothing. I fell asleep on the couch. The label wants new songs.” You groaned rubbing your eyes, “I got inspired last night. Oh! Hey, I took a message for you guys.”

Jogging to your office studio for the band you quickly grabbed the envelope along with the note that you had been given.

“So, Rudy called me, and I had a meeting with him.” You started sitting on the coffee table in front of the trio. The trio leaned forward.

“Rudy?” Luke questioned, pursing his lips together at the male name. While you and Luke were dating it wasn’t official, he was just really nervous with his dream girl liking him back.

“He’s the management for a venue. He asked if our band was available for a concert, but we collectively decided to focus on songs and recording, which you can’t tell anyone about, but he’s in dire need. So, I might have given him something. Specifically a demo of yours and knowing your home situations I gave my information.”

“Okay…so?” Alex questioned, leaning forward. His eyes growing wide as you pushed the envelope in his hand.

Alex quickly opened the cream envelope finding inside a paper along with a mock-up promo poster with Sunset Curve. The squeal was shocking from the teenager as he read the letter and note out loud.

Y/N,

I gave the demo a listen, and we usually wouldn’t do this, but Crimson Queen has been gracious with us. Always mentioning where the band got its start and closing the tour here. To repay the favour, we would formally like to invite Sunset Curve to perform. In the envelope is a mock-up poster as an option for the promo. Get the Sunset Curve’s people to get in touch. I can get the word out to some friends from some labels to come for a listen. Get in touch as soon as possible.

Manager of The Orpheum in Los Angeles,

Rudy West.

 “The Orpheum?” Luke screamed, yanking the paper from Alex to re-read it in complete shock, “We don’t have people!”

“But Crimson does.” You smirked, “On a temporary basis Crimson Queen formally offer our manager’s help.”

In his excitement, Luke lunged to pull you into a kiss freezing the room in shock.

“He got the girl.” Alex breathed elbowing Reggie in the side who’s mouth was open at his best friend kissing Reggie’s older sister. The older sister who was the driving force behind Luke wanting to form a band to impress her, “We need to tell Bobby!”

1995 was the best year for Luke Patterson. He got the girl, his band made it, his parents finally saw his dream was worth it.

The sound of music hypnotized the woman as she wandered down the hall to the open door of the large home. Nothing too over the top like Bobby’s mansion, but it was a nice size in a gated area. Your neighbours being Reggie on one side and Alex on the other side with his partner Willie; Willie had skated into Alex and into a love story pretty much.

Resting against the door edge of the designated home studio you saw Luke had moved a rocking recliner in. Softly playing in the room was a soft acoustic song recorded months previous as a surprise for you.

“When are the lessons starting?” You questioned bringing Luke’s attention to your soft smile and the love in your eyes. Luke’s grin widened glancing down at the miniature version of his love-filled eyes.

“Given her legendary parents, I think at two.” Luke chuckled shuffling the baby to the crook of his arm shifting, so you could curl into his side as well. Both eyes gazing at the little baby you had welcomed what felt like yesterday.

Stevie could fall asleep only to the lullaby her father had created during the pregnancy, and he had written. Stevie had Luke’s eyes, and so far her blonde hair had yet to darken so the question of if she’d take after your hair or his hair was unanswered.

“Hey sweetheart.” You whispered to your daughter falling asleep to the sound of her father’s voice in the room. An adorable yawn pulled from her little body as she nestled into Luke’s arms.

“She’s so gorgeous.” Luke breathed tears welling up as he could understand the reasoning behind his parents’ opinions in his teens. He truly felt terrible at hurting his mom now that he felt the love for his child.

“We did good Patterson.” You murmured back to the man who had held your heart since you were nineteen and back from tour. Your finger tracing Steve’s soft cheek, “I think she has your mom’s mouth.”

Luke’s lips lingered on your cheek heart full of love for his family with you and his little girl. He had known since his eleventh birthday he would marry you even if you were a year older. A year that made the difference when he was months older than his friends, so the year felt like two for you. At eighteen when was tentatively dating you, he knew he would marry you. He never anticipated the sheer amount of adoration for the little girl he would have at twenty-one.

God, he loved his life. He made up with his parents, his best friends, had the girl of his dreams, the most beautiful daughter and it all thanks to music. Can you see why he lives and breathes music?

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[jaskiersvalley]

I absolutely love your writing!! It's so very enjoyable and your au's are absolutely delightful. I just thought you should know.

Thank you so much, Nonnie! AUs are something I really enjoy and to hear that others find them fun makes me so very happy. As a little thank you, here’s another AU feat Kaer Morhen Radio and a Jaskier driving an 18 wheeler.

Life was a lonely one on the road. There were many acquaintances and other drivers Jaskier had a passing friendship with, Valdo Marx had the annoying habit of having similar routes to him - they did say mimicry was the highest form of compliment. Alas, nobody was a steady presence in Jaskier’s life. Well, nobody who was aware of him. Though there was the Kaer Morhen Radio family. They were the closest Jaskier had to everyday friends, as sad as that sounded.

“Good morning fuckheads.” Such a declaration could only mean it was 6am and Lambert had taken over. Instinctively, Jaskier was smiling as he sat up with a yawn. Most radio stations liked to gently rouse listeners with swelling music that got more up beat as the day went on. Not Kaer Morhen Radio. They had Lambert as their morning DJ, there to wake sensitive ears in more and more creative ways. He had become known for his unique way to wake listeners up; from bringing in pots to bang to trying to imitate the mating call of a moose at full volume. The only thing listeners loved more than Lambert being a general prick was his flirtation with Aiden who did weather and traffic announcements.

“And, in those four famous words: and now, the weather,” Lambert announced gleefully. After a long moment of silence, he snickered. “We shall have to give Aiden a moment to climb out from under the desk and rinse his mouth. In the mean time, here’s a banger.”

The banger, Jaskier was surprised to find, was quite literally a recording of someone (possibly Lambert) attempting to play drums (badly) on some kitchen pots. By the time the piece reached its rather boisterous end, it seemed that Aiden was no longer preoccupied.

“The weather today-” Jaskier tuned Aiden’s words out in favour of figuring out whether he was messing around or whether he really did sound so husky and gravelly thanks to having his throat fucked. It was quite the conundrum and Jaskier spent the start of his morning drive wondering how many complaints Lambert and Aiden will get now. Their record was 36 for the game of “identify that noise” wherein they stuck their fingers in various containers and made them squelch. To that day, nobody knew whether the last one really was, in Lambert’s words, “Aiden’s well used hole and my come”.

Afternoons were much more peaceful. Eskel took over at 2pm and he was laid back, played soothing music and gave the impression of being a very calm and reliable member of society. Jaskier always maintained it was an impression because, among all the chat, Eskel would sometimes drop a strange little fact that made him do a double take or two.

“This next song,” Eskel had once said, “was written while under the influence of cocaine.” It was a reasonable enough fact to share, Jaskier had been listening while stuck in a traffic jam along a motorway. “How they managed to write it though, I have no idea. Cocaine is terrible for your focus, I could barely scratch an itch before being distracted by something else. So kudos to the writers for creating a whole song while off their face.”

Which was something Jaskier had never thought Eskel would know anything about. He always seemed to demure, the solid rock of Kaer Morhen Radio. He balanced out Yennefer’s news updates perfectly. It was probably why Jaskier liked him so much, now that he thought of it. The surface innocence mixed in with hints of a very colourful life lived beneath the steady exterior. Well, hints other than the incident where Eskel somehow managed to not turn his microphone off and had a conversation about going to a rave with someone who worked at the radio station. Nobody knew the man’s name and his answers were half muffled but listeners swore they heard him suggest something along the lines of a collar and leash - which Eskel had hummed in agreement to, sounding all too happy. When questioned, Eskel resolutely refused to name the mystery man but conceded that there had been a rave. Jury was out whether Eskel had grumbled about being ‘in ecstasy’ or ‘on ecstasy’ for it. And there was definitely a picture of floating around the internet of him in a collar at what definitely looked like an underground rave.

The real reason Jaskier listened to Kaer Morhen Radio was the late night DJ. 10pm on the dot, Eskel would flick the switch and a prerecorded intro played, announcing that it was Late Late Nights with Geralt. Between 10pm and 6am, Geralt manned the station. The only reason Jaskier knew his name was because of the intro. Otherwise the man was silent other than a few hums between songs. Sometimes, presumably when he knocked something over, there would be a growled “fuck” that listeners lived for.

As little as Geralt said, Jaskier was in love. The music was eclectic and death metal could be followed up by electro swing or grime. There was to way to predict just what Geralt would play next, he didn’t take requests, didn’t talk to his listeners. But, somehow, he still drew them in. Jaskier had made the mistake of looking Geralt up online and swooned a little at the few pictures available. It seemed Geralt was an elusive man, somehow managing to turn away from cameras with an uncanny ability. Though a few pictures did exist of Lambert and Eskel on either side of him, quite literally holding him down for a photo.

Truthfully, Geralt was one of the main reasons Jaskier chose to do overnight hauls. Not only did they pay better, he also had Geralt’s nonverbal grunts and hmms to look forward to. He was well aware that it was an infatuation and nothing more. He’d never met Geralt before, Geralt wasn’t even aware of his existence. So, really, Jaskier could daydream all he wanted but had no intention of doing anything more.

Except, Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder. Geralt had such range in his musical taste, maybe he would like what Jaskier wrote. It was a rare night off and Jaskier was well into the bottle with Valdo when they got talking, egging each other on about who was the better musician. It ended with Jaskier drunkenly posting a CD of his music to Kaer Morhen Radio, addressed for Geralt. When he woke up in the morning, on the floor next to his couch which was occupied by Valdo, Jaskier groaned.

Thankfully, there was never a mention or even a single note of his music in the next week. Slowly, Jaskier relaxed, only a little disappointed that his music hadn’t even been acknowledged by Geralt. He almost had a heart attack when eight days later, Lambert came on air with a mad cackle.

“Morning fuckheads!” Lambert sounded more cheery than ever before. “You’ll never guess what I found. Geralt has been hoarding new music. Good music. Said it was for him. Well, I have decided he cannot hold this back from us. If you’re listening, Jaskier, your note was hilarious. I hope your hangover was worth it. Thanks for the CD!”

There was a growl that sounded like Geralt storming into the booth but the microphone was cut and Jaskier’s song started playing. Jaskier almost crashed his truck in shock. Especially when Lambert declared it so good, they would play it again and, sure enough, the song went back to the beginning to play twice in a row.

If it had just been Lambert, Jaskier would have quietly died of shame, accepting that he was being mocked. But Eskel got in on it too. That afternoon he introduced Jaskier’s song with the promise that management were looking into getting in touch with him about the music. Even worse, a listener even requested the song later that evening. Jaskier was both in heaven and hell at the same time. That night, Geralt didn’t play his song and Jaskier was only a little disappointed.

His phone rang the next day.

“Good afternoon, my name is Vesemir, I’m calling from Kaer Morhen Radio. May I speak to Jaskier?”

Jaskier promptly choked. He got an invitation to the studio. It was a good seven days of driving away and Jaskier searched for a contract that would take him across the continent. While he drove, he got a bit braver and started e-mailing the radio station on his breaks.

His written request for songs were acknowledged by a hum and the song coming on next. When he asked Geralt for a shout out, he got obnoxious pop music playing instead. So Jaskier asked for two hums if Geralt wanted to meet and three if he didn’t. Thus, there was a “fuck” on air and the Beauty and the Beast theme song started playing. It was safe to say Jaskier didn’t understand it but he wasn’t deterred.

By the time Jaskier got into town and made his delivery, it was almost 6am. There was no time he had been specifically invited for and he ended up approaching the building at the same time Lambert showed up with Aiden and three large cups of coffee in hand.

“Excuse me,” he called out, “I’m here to see Vesemir.”

“Bit early for that.”

“He never gave me a time so I figured an early start would be appreciated.” It wasn’t exactly a lie but Jaskier kind of wanted to meet Geralt who would be finishing up soon.

For some bizarre reason, Jaskier was led into the radio studio, no questions asked. Surely it was a security issue but then again, Jaskier checked out Lambert and Aiden, they would no doubt be able to handle any issues. Then there was Geralt, stepping out of the booth, Lambert’s intro queued up. He froze when he spotted Jaskier and, curiously, glanced away, seemingly all shy. The curious response was explained away all too soon. There, on the wall, was Jaskier’s CD and a polaroid of him and Valdo, helpfully labeled “The Talent” with an arrow to Jaskier and “The Fake” pointing at Valdo.

“You here for Vesemir?” Geralt asked eventually, sipping at one of the cups Lambert had brought.

“Amongst other things,” Jaskier replied.

“He won’t be here until 10. Why don’t we go grab breakfast while you wait?”

Aiden wolf whistled at that and Lambert whooped, arms in the air.

“My dear fuckheads,” he purred into the microphone, “we have a date between our local cryptid and our mystery siren. Please wish them luck.”

It turned out that, in person, Geralt was a bit more talkative than on air. And Jaskier helped fill any silence without any problems. He ended up being later than planned to meet Vesemir and Tissaia who had a very handsome cheque for him for playing his music and also his phone number with the promise of passing it on to some connections who had expressed an interest in his music.

Never before had Jaskier thought he would thank Valdo Marx for anything. But, one drinking session with him had landed Jaskier with not only a contract with a record label but also a boyfriend. With his first pay, Jaskier send Valdo the biggest bouquet of flowers humanly possible.

[dweemeister]

Oklahoma! (1955)

Composer Richard Rodgers was in search of a new songwriting partner in the early 1940s. His previous partner, the lyricist Lorenz Hart, was devolving into an alcoholism that would soon claim his life. Wanting to transform Lynn Riggs’ rustic play Green Grow the Lilacs into a musical, Rodgers would find a new lyricist in Oscar Hammerstein II, who had not been involved in any Broadway successes for some time. Rodgers and Hammerstein’s 1943 adaptation of Rigg’s play was Oklahoma! and – despite widespread predictions that Broadway audiences would only flock to modern, urbane works – it became the longest-running Broadway musical for another dozen or so years. It began one of the most fruitful, important, and accomplished musical theater partnerships in the medium’s history.

Interest in a cinematic treatment from Hollywood’s major studios for the first Rodgers and Hammerstein musical came almost immediately after the initial reviews for Oklahoma!, but the rights went not to a movie studio, but a film equipment start-up known as the Magna Theatre Corporation. Magna’s owners intended Oklahoma! as a test for the Todd-AO widescreen process (a rival to Cinerama), but more on that and the film’s unique distribution history – which involves RKO and 20th Century Fox – later. Most importantly, the lack of studio executives to appease meant that Rodgers and Hammerstein could have full control over the film’s structure and musical/narrative changes for this adaptation. Directed by Fred Zinnemann (1952’s High Noon, 1953’s From Here to Eternity) – an unorthodox choice, given his expertise for morally complex dramas and no musical experience – 1955’s Oklahoma! is a harbinger for the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical films to come, and an inextricable part of the duo’s legacy.

Somewhere in the Oklahoman countryside, amid corn as high as an elephant’s eye, is the clean-cut cowboy Curly McLain (Gordon MacRae). Curly is en route to the farmstead of his crush, Laurey Williams (Shirley Jones in her cinematic debut), and Laurey’s aunt, Aunt Eller (Charlotte Greenwood). There, Curly invites Laurey to the box social scheduled for later that evening. Annoyed that it took him this long to ask her out, Laurey decides instead to go the box social with the Williams’ antisocial and intimidating farmhand, Jud Fry (Rod Steiger). Elsewhere at the train station, another cowboy, Will Parker (Gene Nelson) might be singing about how much he was entranced by Kansas City, but he is searching for his sweetheart, Ado Annie (Gloria Grahame) – herself entranced by traveling salesman Ali Hakim (Eddie Albert in brownface).

No members of the original Broadway cast reprised their roles for this film, which also stars Barbara Lawrence and character actors James Whitmore, Jay C. Flippen, and Roy Barcroft.

As Curly, MacRae is like a Broadway stage version of the characters Gene Autry or Roy Rogers might have played in another decade. MacRae, who started his career as a Broadway and radio singer, had just run down the end of his contract with Warner Bros. (signed in 1947) when he appeared in Oklahoma!. At Warners, he starred in a number of musicals including Look for the Silver Lining (1949) and opposite Doris Day in On Moonlight Bay (1951), but he had only starred in a film adaptation of stage musical once before. MacRae, despite a long hiatus from the Broadway stage, is a natural here: charming and exuding a natural chemistry with co-star Shirley Jones. This exterior, however, is not without malice – as seen in the scene where Curly tries to influence Jud to commit self-harm. Cut from the same baritone cloth like contemporary Howard Keel (Frank Butler in 1950’s Annie Get Your Gun, Adam Pontipee in 1954’s Seven Brides for Seven Brothers), MacRae never achieved the popularity that other stage-to-screen musical stars of the ‘30s and ‘40s did (and, of course, Julie Andrews much later on).

The film’s surprise package for audiences in 1955 was in Shirley Jones. Jones, rather than subjecting herself to a vetting process by a director, casting director, or studio executives, was hand-picked by Rodgers and Hammerstein. Stunned by her 1953 audition for the premiere of South Pacific but wanting more experience for the then-nineteen-year-old, the songwriting duo kept Jones in mind for future productions and signed her on a contract (Jones was the first and only singer to be contracted to Rodgers and Hammerstein). With a few years of Broadway productions under her belt, Jones still came to Oklahoma! lacking an understanding on how to tailor sharper emotions to a film camera. With Fred Zinnemann’s assistance, she navigates Laurey’s light romantic comedy scenes and tumultuous friendship (if one can call it that) with Jud maturely – one could scarcely believe this is her cinematic debut. For Laurey, she accentuates the character’s naïveté, especially in respect to how she acts around men and romantic idealizations, without feeling grating or overacting (a common problem when approaching characters without much life experience) the part. Jones’ excellence in Oklahoma! would land her the lead in Carousel (1956), with other Hollywood hits in Elmer Gantry (1960) and The Music Man (1962) to follow.

As their artistic collaboration progressed, Rodgers and Hammerstein did not shy away from asking heavier questions in their musicals. Their first two projects, Oklahoma! and the musical film State Fair (1945) are relatively airy, flighty compared to their successors – the darkness of morality in Carousel, the racist beliefs of the lead character in South Pacific. Foreshadowing that later drama in successive musicals is the misanthropic (not just misogynistic) character of Jud Fry. Played by Rod Steiger, Jud is a villain without any redeeming qualities in the original musical. Steiger’s Jud remains a reprehensible character, but Steiger – as have most other actors who have played Jud in on stage in the decades since – positions Jud as more of a loner whose social ineptitude results in an unchecked covetousness over Laurey. To some reading that last sentence, that distinction between portrayals of Jud may not make any meaningful difference in one’s negative opinions about the character and his actions. Yet, Steiger’s portrayal of Jud – as sloppy, maladjusted, knowing little else about life other than farm work – is nevertheless a refinement on the character Rodgers and Hammerstein originally did not give much thought to.

Zinnemann’s dramatic tendencies needed moderation, as they sometimes threated to overshadow the musical features. Although, to Zinnemann’s credit, as a dramatist first, he imbues Oklahoma! with a dramatic fervor that came to define all Rodgers and Hammerstein musical film versions after it – something that one never received from the somewhat assembly line-like musical from Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) and Fox. Oklahoma! was Zinnemann’s first widescreen film, as well as the first time he shot in color.  The emotional intensity of his earlier movies would be antithetical to the sweeping rural cinematography that he and cinematographer Robert Surtees (1959’s Ben-Hur, 1971’s The Last Picture Show) and Floyd Crosby (1931’s Tabu: A Story of the South Seas, 1960’s House of Usher) needed to capture. Zinnemann, Surtees, and Crosby offer sumptuous images of the Arizona countryside (Oklahoma’s oil wells proved too plentiful and distracting for the production) and the inviting blue sky that overhangs the cornfields sweeping across the land. With widescreen cameras rather new around 1955, the cameras wisely stay further back in interior scenes (shot at MGM’s studios in Culver City, California) with numerous people, directing our gaze centrally with brilliant blocking from the actors. The staging nevertheless feels like a stagebound musical during some interior scenes, like a lower-budget MGM musical with a trivial plot.

The widescreen cinematography, of course, was purposefully a showcase – see the shots of Gene Nelson spinning his rope directly towards the camera in “Kansas City” and the shot of an overly-excited auctioneer hammering their gavel and having the gavel nearly break the camera in another. Magna Theatre Corporation intended Oklahoma! to be a demonstration of their new Todd-AO 70mm process, in hopes of competing against Cinerama (which used three synchronized projectors at once on a curved screen). Because some theaters could not support the widescreen prints, two different versions of Oklahoma! exist: one in Todd-AO and another in CinemaScope (the latter a 20th Century Fox invention). This review is based on the Todd-AO print – which I recommend over the CinemaScope print – that currently is streaming on Disney+. Another note about the Todd-AO print: the first two films shot on Todd-AO 70mm – Oklahoma! and Around the World in Eighty Days (1956) – were shot in 30 frames per second (FPS) rather than the standard twenty-four. Thus, the Todd-AO print will appear slightly smoother in motion than most all other films, including modern ones.

Why 30 FPS for film screenings in 1955? Higher frames per second result in less noticeable light flickering and more dynamic colors (these effects for movies shot at higher FPS rates only apply to films shot on film stock, not digital). However, film projectors with a Todd-AO print would run hotter, requiring simultaneous cooling of the film while it ran through the projector. All subsequent films shot on Todd-AO reverted to the standard twenty-four frames per second.

Diehard musical fans often consider Fred Zinnemann’s Oklahoma! the most faithful – narratively, musically – of all the Rodgers and Hammerstein film adaptations. Deleted from Oklahoma! are two songs: Ali Hakim’s chauvinistic “It’s a Scandal, It’s a Outrage! [sic]” and Jud’s brooding “Lonely Room”. The former has among the least musical interest in the entire musical, but “Lonely Room” might have been a helpful source of characterization of Steiger’s Jud (the limited vocal range required for the song would suit Steiger). Otherwise, some of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s most iconic songs are present, starting with “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’”. Sung solo by MacRae on horseback (as opposed to being sung completely offstage in the original stage version), it serves the same purpose as the title song from The Sound of Music (1965) does. It establishes Curly’s character (mostly), and establishing the vast environs where the film takes place. The atmospheric opening shot of the camera moving through the corn and opening up into a grassy landscape might seem corny inane, but what a visual message it sends for one of the early widescreen American movies. Curly’s solo leads into “The Surrey with the Fringe on Top”, as he attempts to woo Laurey into accompanying him to the box social. A brief visual aside to allow viewers who do not know what a surrey looks like is a touch that a stage musical cannot provide, but this song – along with my choice of the best song in the musical, “People Will Say We’re in Love” (which gives MacRae and Jones a lovely duet with the production’s most romantic melodies) – exemplifies the rapport between MacRae and Jones and their two characters.

There remains charm aplenty across the musical score. Gene Nelson’s rendition of “Kansas City” is by no means essential to the plot of Oklahoma!, but it is a diverting number with some fancy footwork by not only Nelson (essentially the film’s comic relief and using a perfect, non-jarring voice for such a role), but Charlotte Greenwood and the scene’s extras as well. And then, arriving late, there is also the lively title song, delivered by MacRae with a similar energy as he employs for “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’”. “Oklahoma” became the official state song for Oklahoma in 1953, replacing a lesser-known song, “Oklahoma – A Toast”. Credit must also go to the extras and chorus for spearheading the song for its second half, as well as Robert Russell Bennett for his gorgeous (and definitive) vocal arrangement.

As its theatrical release drew near, details of the distribution of Oklahoma! would depend on which print a theater received. If a movie theater screened the Todd-AO 70mm print, Magna handled the distribution; if they showed the anamorphic CinemaScope 35mm print, the responsibility fell to RKO. RKO – the studio that gave audiences King Kong (1933), Citizen Kane (1942), and distributed all Disney movies until Rob Roy: The Highland Rogue (1954) – had fallen into turmoil by the mid-1950s and, by decade’s end, would be the first of the Big Five Hollywood studios to cease operations. The studio’s tyrannical owner, the eccentric Howard Hughes, disemboweled the studio from the inside out, and is a story for another day. Due to Hughes’ mismanagement, RKO withdrew from distribution and, in their place, came 20th Century Fox. Todd-AO and Fox shared theatrical and home media rights until Fox’s purchase by Disney in 2019; Todd-AO and Disney retain the split-ownership arrangement over Oklahoma!.

Though Oklahoma! is not usually part of most cinephiles’ and musical nerds’ pantheons of great Hollywood musicals, its contributions to the subsequent Rodgers and Hammerstein film adaptations are unmistakable. The duo’s closeness to numerous parts of the film’s production, the stunning widescreen cinematography, and the casting of actors with proven musical ability are hallmarks to be replicated, even in lesser adaptation such as South Pacific (1958) and Flower Drum Song (1961). For Rodgers and Hammerstein, they were so pleased from working with Fox that they continued to provide the rights to their musicals for all of their works’ adaptations with the exception of Flower Drum Song (which went to Universal). Like their work on Broadway, their best music and best movie adaptations of their musicals was yet to arrive. Oklahoma! marks a solid, healthy start to that run of adaptations, a hallmark of mid-century American moviemaking.

My rating: 7.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

[kayr0ss]

Dancing Queen

[Family, Diakko, Diakko baby!, kinda sad at first, but ends happy!]

Summary: Diana remembers being four, dancing with her mother at home. She remembers it all falling apart. Now she's the mother to a lovely little girl - and she's surprised to be dancing again. 

---

“You can dance!”

Diana giggled, arm reaching up towards the warmth of her mother. Their hands connected, their feet barely on-time while they swayed to the beat of one of the world’s most recognizable dance songs. “You can jive!” Bernadette twirled her in place—they were having the time of their lives.

In all her four years of existence, nothing ever felt as right as moments like these.

“Mother!” She giggled out, standing at the tips of her toes with a radiant grin so wide her sparkling blue eyes had creased around the corners in mirth. She wanted to be carried, and her mother would always oblige; in the same way she had indulged Diana when she knocked on her office door in the middle of the workday because she missed her.

Diana was hoisted upwards—the room was filled with music and laughter.

“There’s my little dancing queen!”

Her mother always had the most charming smile.

“I’m just a princess!” Diana pouted. “You’re the queen!”

--

Diana switched off the speakers’ power source so sharply that Hannah and Barbara reeled.

“Is something wrong?” Hannah tilted her head, looking a little miffed at her roommate’s behavior. “It was a good song.”

“It was distracting me from studying,” Diana replied coolly. “Apologies. Midterms are tomorrow and I must insist.”

“Loosen up.” Hannah grumbled. Barbara had only shrugged, but they dropped the subject, choosing to bury themselves back into their notes with a curtain of heaviness falling on the room’s atmosphere.

The memory was burned into her mind; something sore, and raw, and mocking in how happy it had all seemed. Diana bit down at the end of her pen—a habit from her childhood, one that she had outgrown except for when the troubles that plagued her were from her childhood as well.

But this was a temporary discomfort. She would take a moment to collect herself and begin her nearly perfected art of compartmentalizing emotions.

She didn’t have a mother; but it shouldn’t matter.

There was nothing that could be done anymore. Accept it. Compartmentalize it. And carry on. Doing so was easier when one had duties and responsibilities to attend to, so she would throw herself back into her work.

The radio stayed quiet. The feelings died away at the sound of silence.

--

“Next up on deck is a beloved ABBA classic!”

The radio jock’s voice was booming, and Diana immediately felt the pit of her stomach twist into itself and sink. She reached forward with the intention of turning the volume knob of Akko’s old-style boom boxed until it ‘clicked’ off, but her hand was swatted away (“Hey!”) by the bull-headed brunette.

“—everyone get ready to dance and jive!”

The song intro was a downwards glissando that she knew by heart. Make it stop, she clenched her jaw, reaching for the volume until it was back to dead silence quicker than Akko could intervene.

“I love this song!” the younger witch whined, pushing herself up from where she laid down on her dormitory bed, staring up at Diana who sat beside her. Sucy and Lotte were elsewhere, so they were studying together. Akko liked the music from a certain throw-back radio station that was near enough for Luna Nova to have reception of them. In true Akko fashion, she had narrowed her eyes towards Diana in a challenge, reaching towards the radio on her desk and turning it back on until music filled the room—

—and her heart.

She couldn’t tell if it was in a good way or bad way; but it was always too much. It was a suffocating tightness that wrapped around her chest. She nearly flinched when the first verse rolled in—warmth was so familiar, but so far away. Gone. It slipped through her fingers like wispy memories beginning to fade—but the thought of forgetting them forever terrified her just the same.

It was too much. Diana missed her too much. Almost on reflex, she closed the music again.

Akko was quiet.

“Dia?”

There was a tentative hand that settled above hers, and Diana looked up. Akko had forgotten all about her homework, the music, the radio. The brunette took her hand, her red eyes were wide, searching, and… worried?

“Why are you crying?”

---

“They’ll love having you around for a whole week!” Akko grinned, reaching over to hold Diana’s hand while they weaved through the traffic of Tokyo’s streets. To everyone’s surprise Atsuko Kagari wasn’t as bad a driver as they had expected. “We’re still in for a long drive, my family home is at the outskirts of the city, along the suburbs.”

“We’ve been dating five years, since before graduation.” Diana muttered. “I remember where your house is.” Was she nervous? Quite a bit, if she were to be honest. Akko’s parents were wonderful people who had all but accepted her as their own. But at most, their meetings were dinners and parties; not a whole seven-day stay in the family home Akko had grown up in.

And never before had the agenda been asking for their daughter’s hand in marriage.

Not that said daughter knew it yet.

Akko’s head was bobbing excitedly, her fingers drumming along the steering while to the tune of a boppy Japanese song from the eighties that was foreign to her. By the time they escaped the deadlock of traffic along one of the main thoroughfares, the song had faded out. There was banter among the radio jocks, one of them began speaking loudly. Diana wasn’t listening in, but it sounded as though he was announcing the next song and—

“Akko?” She blinked. Her girlfriend had moved so quickly, switching the station to something else. “What were they saying?”

“Nah. Nothing.” Akko smiled. It was a little sad, and there was something suspicious about the way the brunette’s gaze had lingered on own, and how softly Akko reached out to hold her hand. It was firm, secure.

“I just didn’t like the next song coming up.”

---

Everyone was a little wine drunk and having a good time.

That alone was the criteria by which Akko decided that their wedding reception was a “booming success!”

Diana, of course, rolled her eyes, straightened out the wrinkles on her wife’s after-party dress and looked around to make sure that the party was carrying on with no incident.

“You’re not supposed to play school prefect on your wedding day, honey.” Akko scrunched her nose while Diana lightly dusted off the shorter woman’s shoulders.

“I wouldn’t have to if I hadn’t married such a troublemaker.” Diana smiled sweetly, leaning downwards when Akko moved in closer for a quick peck on the lips.

“This troublemaker didn’t force this marriage upon you, y’know!”

“That’s still up in the air.” Diana teased, holding Akko by the waist when the latter draped her arms around Diana’s shoulders. They were by the dancefloor—Amanda had dragged them to join everyone else once formalities were finished and the DJ took over the booth.

It was a cruel twist of fate when a certain song began to roll in.

A timeless tune, one that artists never dared to touch with tacky remixes or remasters. The same glissando from her memories of twenty-two years ago marked the start of the song.

The dancefloor erupted into cheers. Of course it would—it was a crowd favorite. A small group nearby heckled for the newlyweds to dance together, but Akko had smiled politely, pulling her wife towards the side for some space. The ballroom was dimly lit at this point in the evening, much to their relief.

“Want me to ask them to change the song?” Akko tilted her head, her eyes betraying softness and care. The sight of it soothed the dull ache beginning to take hold of Diana’s chest.

“No.” Diana shook her head. “It’s quite alright. The guests are enjoying.”

Akko chewed on her lip tentatively. “Do you miss her?”

“I wish she were here today, yes.”

“I wonder if she’d have liked me!” The brunette offered an unsure grin, trying to coax a smile back from Diana with a bit of humor. “I’d have probably said something stupid to her, like, thirty times by now, I think.” Akko narrowed her eyes in thought. It was adorable. “Hm. Yeah. Maybe forty.”

Diana chuckled. It worked. She brushed back Akko’s hair, smiling in a way that left a bittersweet taste in her mouth.

“My beautiful wife,” the blonde started tenderly. “She would have loved you so much.”

---

Diana sighed, dropping her glasses onto her desk while she leaned back and gave her shoulders a roll. It was only six in the evening; did people get backaches from overworking as early as thirty? She spared a glance towards her work, there was quite a bit left to finish, but Akko would have words to say if she missed dinner for work again.

There was a little knock on her door.

“Come in,” she called. Curious. It was too light to be Akko’s. Therefore…

“Mum?”

The way her lips quirked into a smile was nearly involuntary. “Yes, Sara, darling?”

She was timid the first time she peaked her head through the doorway, but upon her mother’s invitation, Sara grinned (identical with Akko’s) and all but ran into Diana’s studio. Her mop of light brown hair was wavy and pulled up into a ponytail, her bangs were similar to Diana’s own blonde ones, framing the sides of her adorable, four-year-old face. In her hands was…

“Where did you get that?” Diana blinked.

“I was looking around the storerooms!” Sara gave a toothy grin.

“Honey, I told you it isn’t safe to go through boxes alon—”

“Ka-san was with me!” Sara pouted. “We found this. Then she told me to bring it to you and fetch you for dinner. What is it, mum? Why is it flat?”

Diana leaned forward, feeling breathless at the sight of a memento from long ago. “It’s a… vinyl record.”

The cover was yellowed and thin, almost falling apart at the edges if it hadn’t been so well-kept. Four foreign faces were photographed in a square frame, outlined by white. The rest of the cover was black. It was from her mother’s collection.

ABBA (1976) | Dancing Queen

She ran her fingers along the record’s front. There was no dust. Either Akko or Sara had wiped it down, and the thought of them taking care of something so precious to her warmed her heart. She took a breath, realizing how similar her studio looked to that of her mother’s.

“Mum?” Sara chirped, eyes wide and curious and so familiarly red. “Can we play it?”

--

It only took a few minutes. They had finally set the needle down, and the record began to spin. Diana braced herself for the sting of longing, and fading memories, but—

“Mum!” Sara was gasping. “Dance with me!”

She wasn’t given a moment to respond. The little girl had taken her by the hands, pulling her upwards from the chair in a fit of giggles while awkwardly jumping. Diana felt a swell of pride to see that Sara was on-beat. She took after Akko. Sara raised her hand. “Spin!”

“Spin?”

“Like in the movies!” Sara pulled on her arm and—ah—she wanted to be twirled.

How could she say no?

She didn’t even realize she was grinning, ecstatic at the sight of Sara’s lounge dress flaring outwards while she twirled on her heel. “You’ll get dizzy,” Diana hummed, taking both of her daughter’s hands to keep her steady upright.

But Sara just laughed.

The sound of her laugh warmed her up so profoundly that it drove away bitterness and melancholy.

The void in her heart so filled—there was no space for longing.

“You know this song well, mum?”

Diana tilted her head in question.

“You’re singing it!”

She was? She didn’t even realize.

“Your grandmother would dance this with me, when I was around your age.”

Red eyes widened into saucers full of childish awe and boundless wonder. “You and grandma?”

Diana nodded, eyes glistening while she smiled. She sharply realized that now she was the mother—and she was dancing with her daughter.

She wondered, did her mother feel as wonderful as this during those dances? She didn’t know she could love so deeply, so unconditionally.

I was loved like this too, she breathlessly remembered the feeling of Bernadette’s hand on her own, always within reach and making sure she didn’t fall when she spun too quickly, too hard. It left her in awe. Sara was so carefree, and Diana saw the same four-year-old girl she had shut away in the smile of her daughter.

Why did she ever want to forget that feeling?

Why did she want to stop hearing this song?

Sara was a breathless mess of Akko’s energy and her own finesse, but all the dancing and laughing had tired out her legs.

“Take it easy, my little dancing queen.” Diana cooed.

“I’m just a princess!” Sara pouted, holding out her arms for her mother to carry her.

Diana’s eyes had widened; and then immediately began to sting and water. She smiled, lovingly, amazed at how her daughter—in so few words—repaired something that was broken for so many years.

She was now a mother—and it meant everything to hear the very words she had once said:

“You’re the queen!”

 -

 Having the time of her life

See that girl?

Watch that scene—

Digging the Dancing Queen

-

fin

-

A/N: Hey guys! Holy  sh*t, this is my 30th uploaded Diakko fanfic (on AO3)! Damn! This is (obviously) inspired by ABBA's super classic song Dancing Queen. It would be cool if you guys had a listen to visualize the last part. :)

I hope you enjoy this. Hammered it out at an ungoldy hour in the morning, but I wanted some feelings!Diana and in case it isn't obvious, songs are a really strong motivator and source of inspiration for me when writing. Thanks to everyone who has read, left kudos, shared wonderful, wonderful comments that honestly give me life, drive, and motivation LMAO on all the short stories I've shared thus far. Can't wait to share more!

*Insert turtle copulation noises* *cries in Appointments update*

[broken-stardust]

The Sweetest Thing

Summary: Spencer plans on proposing to Reader, but the night has something else in store for the two of them.

Category: Spencer!POV x Male!Reader Fluff!

A/n: I had this idea suddenly and I thought it would be so cute so I just had to get it out there

Word count: 1.9k

It's not every day that you get to wake up next to the love of your life, seeing their hair fall into their face as they snore softly, smiling to yourself and thinking about how you're the luckiest man in the world. But, if you play your cards right, it can be the rest of your days. That's what I was planning on making happen tonight. You only get to propose once in your life - if you're not David Rossi - and I was going to make this one count. I was going to make it something so special, it would be a story to tell our grandchildren.

I'd bought the perfect ring with JJ's help, and we were set to go to the fanciest new restaurant that had just opened. I'd made the reservation six months in advance. Tonight would be perfect. We'd have our dinner, and when the waiter asked if we wanted dessert, I'd say "No, thank you. I already have the sweetest thing right in front of me" and get down on one knee. Y/N was a sucker for clichés, so I was sure he'd love it. 

It was almost time to go, so I took one last look in the bathroom mirror to fix my hair and my tie. I shook my nerves out and smiled. Everything was going to be perfect.

I quickly shuffled over to my sock drawer before my boyfriend could see what I was doing, hoping to slip the ring into my pocket clandestinely. Except there was one problem. The ring was missing.

My breath caught in my throat as I struggled to comprehend the reality before me. How could the ring have gone missing? Did I misplace it? I couldn't have. I had an eidetic memory. I knew where I put it. My head spun with improbabilities and possible outcomes for the coming night. As I caught my breath, I resolved to call the only person who could rationally get me through this: JJ. I dialed her number, and after two and a half rings that felt like two and a half eternities, she finally picked up.

"Hey Spen-" I didn't even let her finish her greeting before telling her what was wrong. "The ring is missing," I whisper-yelled into the phone. "What?" I could practically hear her jaw on the floor.

"The ring is missing," I repeated in a panicked frenzy. "I went to get it from my sock drawer, and it wasn't there. How am I supposed to propose with no ring?" I was pacing around the room and running my hand through my hair every two seconds. I was sure that it was a mess by now.

"Are you sure you didn't put it somewhere else?" JJ asked. I glared as if she could see me, but she still somehow got the message. "Right, sorry," she apologized. 

"What do I do, JJ?" I pleaded.

She took a second to think before replying. "Just act like it's a regular date. Y/N doesn't have any reason to believe otherwise, so just pretend you wanted to spoil him tonight. Tomorrow when he's at work, I'll come over and help you look for it, okay?" I let out a sigh and nodded before remembering that she couldn't see me. "Okay," I replied.

There was a knock on the door and I jumped in surprise. "Darling?" I heard Y/N call. "Are you almost ready? Our reservation is at seven so we have to get going."

"I'll be right out, Love!" I called back. Then I turned back to my phone. "I have to go. Thanks for your help, JJ." I hung up without giving her a chance to respond and rushed to fix my hair. I stared at myself in the mirror, trying to calm my racing heart.

It's fine, I told myself. Everything is fine. It probably just fell behind the dresser. There is nothing to worry out. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. I smoothed my shirt down before exiting the bedroom and meeting Y/N in the living room. I grinned bigger than I thought possible when I saw him.

In front of me stood the gorgeous man that I had fallen in love with. It wasn't even his physical features that made him beautiful to me. No, it was more than that. It was that smile that he was wearing now, the same one that he wore every time I tickled him until we were both out of breath. It was those mesmerizing eyes that glistened when he cried during a movie that made him too emotional. It was the soul behind the body that I was in love with.

"Are you alright, Dear?" he asked me. I cleared my throat and nodded, trying to avoid any further questions. I didn't want him to know that I had lost his engagement ring. "Alright... You just look a bit upset."

"I'm fine," I assured him, taking his arm and leading him to the door. "Let's get going. We don't want to be late."

The ride to the restaurant was quiet, but not in an uncomfortable way. I drove with one hand resting on Y/N's knee. He had put on his favorite radio station, and he was humming along quietly to the songs as they came on. It was moments like these that I loved the most. Moments where we could do nothing together and still enjoy each other's company. But all too soon, the moment was over, and we arrived at our destination. I gave up my car to the valet, and my beautiful boyfriend and I made our way into the overpriced establishment.

"This place is nice," Y/N commented once we were settled at our table. He took a look at the menu while I just stared at him like a lovesick puppy. The dim lighting cast shade in just the right direction to accentuate his sharp features. The quiet music in the background was just the perfect noise to accompany the beautiful sight before me. Eventually, he looked up and started to laugh at my expression. "What is it?" he giggled.

"Do you remember our first date?" I asked dreamily. Of course, it would have been difficult to forget, being the disaster that it was. He laughed incredulously at my question.

"How could I forget?" His smile stretched so wide as he laughed, I wondered how his face hadn't ripped open. "You scared all those poor people by walking into that museum with your gun!"

My face turn red at the memory. It was true. I had messed up pretty bad, but if I hadn't, maybe we wouldn't have still been together now.

"I didn't mean to," I defended myself. "We had just gotten back from a case and I was not canceling on you for a second time." I looked down at the table and bit the inside of my cheek as I added "I just got a little too excited to see you, I guess."

"So excited that you ran into a museum with a gun holstered to your belt," Y/N scoffed. He let his head fall back as he laughed, and my heart fluttered at the sight. I felt heat begin to rise over my face, and he reached over and put a hand to my cheek, slowly rubbing his thumb over it. "It's okay, though," he whispered, leaning in. "Because that was the moment I knew that I'd fall in love with you."

I was so smitten that I could die right then and there. How had I ever gotten so lucky to meet a man such as Y/N? He was truly the love of my life. I couldn't wait to propose to him. I was just disappointed that tonight wouldn't be the night.

We enjoyed our dinner together, sharing laughs over old stories long forgotten. At least, they were long forgotten by Y/N. I, of course, could never forget, and there were no better times to be grateful for my eidetic memory than when I was reliving my favorite memories with him. He recounted the days of his puppy Winston, and all the trouble that they'd get into together, and I mused about all the books that I planned on reading to him. It really was the perfect date.

I hadn't even realized we had finished our dinner until our waiter came by. Truthfully, I was disappointed. I knew that Y/N and I would be heading home together and that we'd get to be able to continue our conversation, but something about this just felt different. I never wanted the moment to end.

"May I offer you gentlemen any dessert?"

That was the phrase that caught my attention. Well, not so much the phrase, but what came right after. Y/N's eyes glistened with an emotion I couldn't quite name, and he started speaking before I had a chance to say anything.

"No, thank you. I already have the sweetest thing right in front of me."

My heart stopped dead in its tracks. I looked into the eyes of the man who sat before me. No, he stood before me. He stood up in front of the whole restaurant and raised his glass. I knew what he was doing. I was supposed to be doing this. What was going on?

"Spencer Walter Reid," Y/N started, winking at me as he saw the confusion cloud my face. "From the moment I met you, I knew that you were special. It wasn't your fancy memory or your three PHDs, either. You saw me like no one else had seen me before, and you showed me what love is. You showed me what it's like to look forward to going home because the love of your life is waiting for you there. You-" His voice cracked as tears slid down his cheeks. "You are my soulmate. I know you don't believe in that, but I do. And that's why I want to ask you..."

Y/N dropped to one knee as he pulled a small box out of his pocket. Opening it up, he finally popped the question.

"Spencer, would you do me the absolute honor of being my husband?"

Through joyous tears, I could barely make sense of anything. All I felt was pure love and ecstasy at that moment. And then I saw the ring, and things started to make sense.

"Is that my ring?"

Y/N let out the biggest, happiest laugh is ever heard come from his mouth. People were now staring at us, but I didn't care. I was too happy. But first I wanted answers.

"It is if you say yes," he answered with a devilish grin plastered to that gorgeous face of his.

I let out a laugh of my own this time, allowing the relief of knowing I didn't lose the ring wash over me. Even when he was being such a child, Y/N had this effect on me.

"I can't believe you did that," I sigh, taking his hand and pulling him up to his feet. I wrapped my arms around his neck as I continued to speak. "I was absolutely terrified that I lost it. I wanted to propose to you tonight."

In typical Y/N fashion, he ignored all of the worrisome bits and went straight to the point. "Is that a yes?" he asked.

"Yes, it's a yes," I laughed as I leaned in for a kiss. He placed the ring on my finger and pulled me in for a hug. "Never do something like that again," I giggled in his ear.

"You know you love me," he quipped back.

"You're right," I hummed, placing another kiss on my fiancé's lips. "I do."