#t: humming the bassline

[vgtrackbracket]

Video Game Track Bracket Round 2

What I'm Made Of from Sonic Heroes

vs.

Humming the Bassline from Jet Set Radio

No propaganda was submitted for either track.

If you want your propaganda reblogged and added to future polls, please tag it as propaganda or otherwise indicate this!

[prettyiwa]

I do not authorize the translation or reposting of my work anywhere. Do not mention me or my work on Tik-Tok.

Relationship: Ex!Semi Eita x F!Reader Content Tags: Bassist!Semi Eita, Post MSBY-Schweiden, Fluff, Past Relationship, Mentions of a Messy Break-Up, High School Sweethearts, Lingering Feelings, Awkwardness Summary: Throughout your relationship with Eita, there was only one song he never shared with you completely. He used to hum its melody while he worked, though its lyrics remained a mystery to you. No one expected the first time you'd hear them would be during a show following a surprise reunion years after your separation. Word Count: 2,390

A/N: I found this in my WIPs and decided to share what I had. I'm slowly coming to terms with sharing unfinished WIPs and the idea that I may never fully return to them. In the meantime, enjoy?

Ushijima’s question is forgotten the second you hear the opening chords of the next song. Your attention returns to Eita—as though he hasn’t been the center of it all evening—and all coherent thought escapes you. Your heart swells and your breath catches and all you can do is listen to the gentle bassline Eita provides before other instruments join in, one by one.

Suddenly seventeen again, you’re listening to this progression for the first time before he blushes and flusters, ceasing his playing before offering a proper greeting. But that swelling in your chest halts when you’re reminded that you’re not seventeen, that you’re twenty-four with years having passed since you two last spoke.

The song continues, its full form light and hopeful, melancholy if only to you because it viciously reminds you that you’re no longer the kids who believed they could conquer the world together. All the same, the smile that appears on your lips is completely involuntary, a reaction to hearing his lyrics for the first time.

It’s not until he looks away that you realize the hold he’s kept you under, that he’s undeniably aware of your presence in the back of the audience. While you remain uncertain whether Satori’s teases have merit or that Shirabu didn’t set this up for personal entertainment (or that, perhaps, the truth lies in either’s persistence), you are certain that Eita sees you now.

Your heart remains hopeful, willing you to see the yearning in his expression, but there’s that voice in the back of your mind telling you that you’re projecting, that he’s sung this song hundreds of times before for the attention of any of the women around you. The romance you two once had is dead and gone and this is nothing more than a reminder of what once was.

Hell, you’re only here because of a series of coincidences—your return to Japan aligning with Ushijima’s game in Sendai; a schedule change that made Shirabu unavailable to attend the MSBY v. Schweiden match; a passing comment made by Reon regarding Eita’s show tonight; Ushijima inviting you since it’s been years since he’s seen you and months since he’s spoken with Eita. At no point yesterday did Eita otherwise speak with you. He only stared as though confronted with a ghost while you were invited to his performance by the grace of your high school friends. If not for how deeply you missed everyone—if not for how easily swayed you are by all of them—you wouldn’t be here.

The truth remains that Eita wouldn’t have invited you, that he likely already had this song on his set list before your reemergence in his life, that you aren’t the one he intends for it.

Still, you’re both here. He’s playing with his band at his favorite venue and you’re in the audience to cheer him on. One of the first promises you two made each other, fulfilled, something you can cherish if all else is lost. It does nothing to temper your longing, but it soothes some of the sting.

Girls on either side of you swoon, enamored by the pretty men on stage offering prettier lyrics while you’re faced with the largest what-if of your adult life and all of the abandoned promises and sweet nothings that were once yours. What does it matter when the promises that truly mattered are being fulfilled?

The song finishes, its lovely melody coming to a close, but you don’t realize you’re crying until Ushijima offers his handkerchief. Eita’s gaze shifts away again as Ushijima says, “I haven’t heard him play that song since high school.”

“Have you seen Eita perform with this band before?”

“I have. Sometimes they play in Tokyo and if they have a show when I’m in Miyagi, I’ll attend.”

“I’m glad. That makes me happy,” you answer with a smile before returning your full attention to the band.

It means nothing that Ushijima has never heard the song any of the times he’s seen Eita play. It’s not as though he played it for you. Even if he did… it changes nothing. All the same, you’re glad you’re here and glad you were given the opportunity to listen to the finished piece.

With the performance over and the band retreating to the back, you’re about ready to call it a night, certain Ushijima’s feeling the same. Instead, he beckons you to the periphery, providing identification to security as he leads you both to the back of the club. It’s too loud for you to get a word in edgewise once you realize he intends to bring you to Eita, but you don’t want to leave without saying goodbye.

Heart racing, you can’t help but remember yesterday, remember how Eita behaved, deciding he doesn’t actually want you here. He’s never been one to hold back, always asking for what he wants—“the answer’s already no if you don’t ask,” he used to say—so for him to say nothing? Well… It’s easy to anticipate push-back.

“Ushijima,” you prompt once the hallway provides a buffer to the cacophony of the club, “are you sure this is a good idea? I don’t know if Eita wants to see me. Maybe it’s better if I just leave and let you two catch up.”

Stopping in front of the door, he turns to you with a furrowed brow before speaking. “He wants to see you. We were both pleased to run into you after my game.”

“I’m happy I got to see you, too, but I don’t know.”

“I can show you the group conversation if you don’t believe me,” he offers, pulling out his phone.

“Ah, no, it’s okay, I promise,” you say with a laugh, pushing his phone away. “I’m just nervous, I guess.”

“You still care for him, don’t you?”

“I never stopped.”

Before he can respond, the door opens and the drummer pauses upon seeing you. Sizing you both up, he calls back to the band, “Ushijima and some chick are here,” before pushing past you.

Ushijima enters, taking the space once occupied by the musician, waiting for you to join him. The back room is small, adorned with signed posters from bands who’ve performed in years past, cramped with a mini-bar and unnecessarily large seating, making it feel cluttered even without people.

Everyone watches as you enter, curious as to the identity of “some chick,” and you’re struck by the tension that hangs in the air, the obvious remnants of an argument. Your search for a quiet distraction isn’t in vain as you catch sight of Eita.

Painfully aware that you aren’t alone, that it’s getting harder to breathe under everyone’s continued scrutiny, that the temperature’s rising, that your palms are uncomfortably sweaty, you find that you… don’t care. Not when he’s no longer looking at you as a ghost but as a friend that he’s missed. He looks at you like that, smile stretching his lips, and you can almost forget that last brutal argument.

Offering an awkward little wave and sincere praise for their performance, you feel it more than you see it—the release of the tension in the room, a collective breath held being released. The groupies start gushing over professional athlete Ushijima Wakatoshi and the musicians greet him like they’re used to it. Meanwhile, Eita stands as you approach, disbelief still tucked behind his expression despite his smile.

“You came.”

“Of course I came. I always promised I’d see you here,” you remind him, returning his smile.

“I didn’t think you’d show.”

“How could I miss this? I don’t think I have any right to say this, but I’m proud of you and your hard work. For whatever that’s worth.”

A steady flush starts to rise on his cheeks before his smile turns boyish. Uttering your given name in conjunction with his thanks, the other conversations stop and eyes are on you two again. Not until his guitarist repeats your name do you look away, surprised to meet the frustrated faces of his bandmates.

“Oh, so she’s the one you threw our set list out the window for?”

“I’m—what?”

“I already told you guys—”

“Yeah, yeah, you didn’t know what you were doing until it was too late. Doesn’t change the fact that you almost left us hanging in the middle of a set.”

“What are they talking about?” you ask, determined to not read more into the situation than you already have.

“Nothing. They’re talking about nothing. Can we—?”

“Nothing? Nothing except your boyfriend surprising us by playing a completely different song than the one we planned. He’s lucky we’ve practiced it before or we would’ve all been left in a lurch.”

Eita looks at you again and you’re reminded of a child being caught with their hand in the sweets jar. Your mind can’t seem to move past the casual use of “boyfriend” and the reveal that he hadn’t planned on playing that song.

“We aren’t—shit. Ei- I mean, Semi?” you ask, alarm audible in your voice as your cheeks start to burn.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he turns to you, eyes wide, mirroring your trepidation. “I told you guys that we aren’t together.”

“After that stunt tonight, you better be.”

“Semi, I can leave. It’s fine. We came back to say ‘hi’ and tell you that the band’s performance was great,” you say, pulling back. Ushijima starts and you wave him away. “It’s okay, Ushijima. I can call myself a cab. I’ll text you.”

Ushijima hesitates, not wanting to leave you on your own but wanting to respect your wishes, only relenting when Eita steps forward, closing the distance between you two again. He shoots a glare toward his guitarist and cellist before turning to you.

“Please don’t go. You just got here.”

“Semi,” you warn, guilt rippling through you as he deflates. “Listen. It was great seeing you and being able to watch you play, but I should get going. It’s been a long day.”

You can tell he wants to push back, that he wants you to stay—and what a wonderful feeling it is, knowing that—but he senses your discomfort and nods. “At least let me walk you out.”

“Okay.”

“Make sure to take her out through the back so your fan girls don’t get pissy.” The guitarist sports a scowl when you say goodbye to Ushijima, allowing Eita to usher you outside.

It’s hard to place what you’re feeling as you follow, hard to reconcile the way you find this comfortable despite the distance between you. Maybe the silence is as equally daunting, equally filled for him as it is for you. He waits until you’re both outside before saying anything, though he still hasn’t turned to face you. “Look, I need you to know that—”

“It’s okay, Semi. Truly.”

“Will you just let me speak?”

“Sorry. I’m just… nervous.”

“And you think I’m not?” he asks, turning and pinning you with his stare. “Shit. None of this is going the way I thought it would.” Hiding his face behind his hands, he takes a deep breath before bringing his hands up, smoothing over his hair.

“What’s not?”

“Tonight. You.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Shit, I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I thought I would’ve gotten over my nerves around you. Things between us… didn’t end on the best of terms.”

“To put it mildly,” you agree, remembering how vehemently he refused your proposal to split, how quickly concerns over distance were warped into insecure accusations until the argument destroyed any hope you had to remain friends.

“I miss you. It was like a dream seeing you the other night.”

Your heart hiccups at his uncharacteristic openness about his emotions and you look at your shoes before asking, “Didn’t Shirabu tell you I was coming? Or Satori?”

“You must be confusing me for someone who has a better relationship with Shirabu. And Tendō said he didn’t tell me because he thought it would be funnier this way.”

You can’t help but laugh, but let some of your nervous energy escape with the sound. When you look up again, you find the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’m sorry. Shirabu told me he planned on seeing the match with you and Reon, only for his shift to change at the last minute.”

“He told Reon, but Reon seemed to forget to pass it on.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you apologize again, amused by their antics. Part of you wishes you had looked at the group chat when Ushijima offered. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“Let me take you out for coffee.”

The answer comes a little too quickly and his familiar confidence starts to make itself known, but you hear that little seed of doubt that Eita’s always worked so hard to hide. Even still, you’re worried that it’s too much too soon, that you’ll both get caught in the illusion of “what could have been” rather than what is, that there’s nothing but pain waiting at the end of this road.

“Just coffee, and just as friends, right?”

“Of course.”

“Semi—”

“Just coffee. No surprises. No unwelcome guests. No songs that catch everyone off guard. Just coffee.”

“So you didn’t plan on playing that song?”

“I’ll tell you more about it when we get coffee,” he teases, flashing you a wide smile that makes his eyes crinkle.

Gods is this man beautiful. So easy would it be to fall into old habits, to give him whatever he asks for. There’s an undeniable pull for you to learn all the way he’s changed in the years since you last saw him, to discover who he is now, and it’s terrifying and exhilarating in such a way that only Eita could pull off.

Bowing your head in an attempt to hide your answering smile, you relent. “Okay, fine. Just coffee. Let me give you my number and we can figure out a time that works for us both.”

His fingers brush against yours as he hands you his phone and you don’t miss the way his smile grows and you know deep within your bones that there’s no way it’s going to be just coffee. Not that either of you seems to mind.

Haikyuu!! Masterlist

[noonaishere]

Music of the Heart [J.YH] - fourteen | calendar man

You sat at the table and continued to work your way through the music you had been tasked to transcribe over the past few weeks.

“Hey, t/n.” Maddox asked as he walked over. 

You paused the song you were working on and pulled one of your earbuds out. “What’s up?”

“Do you need any help?”

“With this? I thought you couldn’t transcribe music.��

“I mean like, do you need more sheet paper or maybe some nicer headphones?”

You hummed to yourself. “Studio headphones would be nice. I might be missing some notes because of the quality of these earbuds.”

He smiled and nodded. “I’m sure I can find you a spare.”

“Um… also, if you have any of the iso layers of any of these songs, that would be really helpful. Some of the earlier ones have been mixed into oblivion.”

You heard a scoff and you and Maddox looked over at Hongjoong. He was standing at the whiteboard calendar that hung on the wall, looking from his phone to the board as he worked out the recording schedule for the next month.

“Those should be from when the producer I replaced worked here.” He stated flatly.

“Not a fan of his mixing style?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“I guess that explains why Wonderland’s style suddenly changed a few years ago.”

Hongjoong looked at you.

You shrugged. “For the better.”

He nodded and turned back to organizing the schedule.

“I’ll look for those headphones.” Maddox said and left the room for, you presumed, a storage room or something.

You went to put the earbuds back in.

“You really want those to come out right.” Hongjoong said without looking up from what he was doing.

You toyed with the earbud for a second. “I mean, of course. I’m being paid to make sure they’re right, aren’t I?”

Hongjoog looked at you for a moment.

You nodded.

“The mixing really is bad in some of the earlier songs, right?”

You smiled. Of course the thing he would talk to you about would be music production. “Yeah. Bed of Roses is kind of a mess, and Poor Young Man is even worse. Which is a pity because, lyrically, they’re good songs.”

He nodded. “Do you have experience mixing?”

“I make mashups and post them online. Sort of… a side thing and lets me play with music since I don’t have a band or anything right now, and I get to work with a lot of different genres and even mash some together. It’s fun.”

He nodded with an expression that you thought, maybe, looked impressed.

Maddox came back in. “Here are the headphones.”

“Oh, thanks.” You took them and plugged them into the music player.

“I’ll look for the masters for songs and put them on a laptop for you.”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

He nodded and sat at the desk.

You worked for an hour or so when you felt there was a presence near you.

“T/n.”

You looked up. 

Hongjoong was standing next to the table with his arms folded. 

You took your headphones off. “Am I in trouble?”

“No. I wanted your opinion on a bassline.”

Your eyebrows ticked up. “Oh. Um, yeah.”

You stood and followed him over to the desk where he sat and gestured to you to sit in Maddox’s seat. You sat and rolled closer so you could look at the screen.

Hongjoong played the bassline for you and you listened.

“Hmm…”

“Is it bad?”

“Well…”

“Please be honest.”

“So it’s not… good.”

He stared at you blankly.

“It’s bad.”

“Well,” he sighed. “You have your bass, show me what you would do.”

“Should I take an amp out of the recording booth?”

“You can just go in.”

“Oh… yeah, okay.”

You picked up your bass and walked into the recording booth. You weren’t nervous at all during your audition - maybe it was because you realized you were being tested and you were so annoyed that that feeling overrode everything else - but you were nervous now. Maybe because this was your first time playing for your job? The expectation of having to rise to the occasion? Especially after telling Hongjoong his bassline sucked. But you couldn’t let that affect you.

“Can you play it through the headphones?”

“Yes I can.” Hongjoong pressed a few buttons and navigated with his mouse. “I’m going to start recording, and you can just play whenever you’re ready.”

You nodded as you put the headphones on. You listened to the MIDI loop a few times and turned your pick over in your hand as you did so, eyes closed. You nodded along with the beat until you understood how you wanted to change it and started playing. 

You played what you thought fit well. To you, the other instruments needed to be elevated, and you played a bassline that you felt could do that. You played it over when the loop restarted, altering it subtly for a later part of the song.

The loop stopped. You stopped.

“Wow,” Hongjoong’s voice came over the PA speaker. “That was… lush, fully formed.”

You nodded.

“How long have you been playing bass for?”

“Since I was seventeen? So almost ten years now.” 

He nodded. “No wonder you’re so good.”

You smiled. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“And you’ve only ever played bass?”

“No. I also play guitar and mandolin. I used to play violin and I can play a little piano.”

“You can play violin?”

“Used to. I don’t anymore.”

He nodded, he looked a little disappointed.

“Well, I think for future bass lines I’m just going to have you write them. Even if they get translated into MIDI afterwards.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You build a solid foundation for everything else in a song to rest on.”

You nodded.

“Come back out.”

You unplugged your bass and walked back to the other side of the glass.

“I think I’ll just defer to you on anything involving a bassline. Do you think you can handle it?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I think I can.”

He smiled. “Good, because the first round of recording is going to start soon.” He leaned over to the wall and gestured. “This is the calendar.”

You nodded.

“It has a twin--” He went to the computer, opened the Google Calendar that matched it exactly and added you. “And now you can also see it.”

You nodded.

He looked at you very seriously.

You looked back.

“I am the only one who is allowed to change either calendar, okay?”

You nodded.

“At one point, we let whoever change them, and there was a lot of fighting with people trying to put their recording times at the same time and erasing each other,” he waved a hand around, “it was a mess. If you want to change your schedule at any time, contact me and I’ll make the changes.”

You nodded again.

“I’ll change it, take a picture for posterity, and change the Google Calendar as well. Okay?”

“Gotcha.” You nodded. “You’re the man of the calendar, the Calendar Man.”

“Truly, Batman’s worst villain.” Maddox said.

Hongjoong frowned at him. Maddox smiled.

With a little laugh, you took your phone out and opened the calendar. You couldn’t see the full list of people it had been shared with, but the max amount of icons was displayed; it was probably every recording artist who ever used this studio. 

There was a lull of just a week, and then it was packed. You looked at the names of the people who were supposed to be recording.

“Does everyone have a comeback at once?”

“Some do. A few of the older performers are doing their military service soon, so they need to record now or they won’t have enough time to finish a comeback before leaving. Yoo Haeun and Kim Minjun are overdue for a comeback so they’re actually going to do a joint comeback because the fans wanted it, and some of the soloists have been waiting to make comebacks.”

“I see Choi Jongho is on here a few times?”

“He’s working on his next album.”

You nodded.

“And since he sings ballads which are backed by a band, you’ll be playing bass on all his tracks.”

Your eyebrows shot up. It made sense but you didn’t think it would be so soon.

“Do you think you’re ready?”

You looked up at him. You couldn’t tell if you were being tested again or if he was genuinely concerned. 

“I don’t have much of a choice, no? I accepted the job, so I have to be ready.” You smiled at him.

He smiled, satisfied, and nodded. “Alright.”

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[hazellvsq]

trc au - drive

Leo leaned his forehead against the door. Remembered the vision of Frank. Frank as a ghost, bathed in ethereal flames. Burning forever. 

If you kiss your true love, he will die.

Leo picked up the phone, dialed without trying to think too hard. Frank answered. “Valdez?”

“Frank. Can you pick me up?”

“Yes! Yeah.” He sounded worried. “Are you okay?”

No, Leo wanted to say, but he wasn’t hurt or anything and he didn’t want to worry Frank. He settled on something simple, keeping his head against the wood of the door. “I just...I can’t be home right now. If you’re not doing anything-” He let the words hang.

“I’ll come by, I’m not busy.” Leo heard muffled movement from Frank’s end. “Did you see Hazel this afternoon?”

Silence. Only the crackling of the line. Then Leo said, “Can we talk about something else?”

A month and a half ago he would have said nothing, because Frank very clearly had feelings for Hazel and very clearly thought Leo was a shithead. Four weeks ago he would have said nothing because Frank was mad at Hazel and trying to hide it, and Leo wanted to be nowhere near the inevitable eruption. Three weeks ago Leo wasn’t sure if he and Frank were even really friends. Two weeks ago even, they were, but Hazel was still Frank’s older friend, the one who was there first, the one who would win the friend group when she and Leo’s whatever had imploded.

Now Leo didn’t know if Frank and Hazel were still friends at all. And after this afternoon, he didn’t know if Hazel would ever speak to him again.

The quiet static hissed for another long moment. Frank said, “I’ll be there in five.”

Leo waited on the curb, knees hunched towards his chest, trying to think of nothing at all. The air was humid, breezeless, almost oppressively tense. Mosquitos hummed and whined. Frank made it in four, a knight in shining Volvo. He pushed open the door and tossed the keys at Leo.

“Yeah?” he asked, surprised.

“You need it,” Frank said seriously. 

Both Frank and Leo struggled with carsickness, but Leo could typically withstand Frank’s cautious driving. Frank would also give Leo shotgun recently, despite Leo having way shorter legs than Reyna. This had made Reyna like Leo even less, if possible. Oh well. 

Leo took it easy on the way out of Jo and Emmie’s neighborhood, kept the speed of the road past the residential areas, but the second the empty streets straightened out he hit the gas and held it. Instead of grimacing, which Leo was watching for, Frank rolled down his window and held on. Under the streetlights over head, appearing in flashes and bursts, Frank’s white T-shirt practically glowed. Looking ahead at the road, eyes narrowed against the wind, he held none of his normal awkwardness. He had all the solidity of a tree trunk, a thousand year old boulder.

Frank reached forwards toward the radio, turning it on and skipping past the dad rock station Leo had laughed at him for liking. Settled on something more interesting, with a heavy bassline that matched the rumble of the center strip beneath Leo’s feet. 

“How was Canada?” Leo asked. Neither he nor Reyna had been invited. He was annoyed about it deep down, so he was sure Reyna was madder. Neither of them had voiced it, to his knowledge. He kept the annoyance tamped down, tough - he’d already used all his words on the topic on Hazel earlier. Now he was just curious about Frank’s family home.

Frank frowned in the corner of Leo’s eye. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about Hazel.”

“I don’t,” Leo said. “I’ve just never been to Canada. Or met your family. How was it?”

Frank told him about the coniferous forests around his house, the national park he lived in the backyard of, and grizzly bears and little red foxes that roamed nearby. Then he talked about downtown Vancouver, the places he’d hang out as a kid. Seafood by the harbor and a trip to Seattle, once. He talked about his grandma conscripting him into kitchen duty, described how homesick the food made him.

Leo listened. Before Jo and Emmie, he’d been a foster kid for six years. Before that, he lived in a crappy part of one of the hottest cities in the country, but he missed his mom’s apartment there with an intensity that made his heart feel like it was withering away to ashes. 

Whatever was replacing it was steelier, harder. 

The tiny glow of the stereo lit Frank’s knees, the thick muscle in his calves, the sparse hair on his legs. The furrow of his brow, the finally-relaxed set to his shoulders. Leo stopped looking, checked back at the road. Then looked back at Frank.

“It sounds nice.” They had reached the mountains. Leo slowed down a little to drive uphill. “I mean it. I’m glad you went.”

He was, now. He had been mad that Frank left, but he wanted him to be happy.

“What did you get up to?” Frank asked.

“Oh, you know. Worked on the truck. Kissed Nico. I saw Reyna across the street and waved at her.”

“Liar.”

Leo was lying. About Reyna, who he hadn’t seen once.

“Me and Hazel are done, I think.” He hadn’t meant to say that. Not now?

Frank didn’t look at him, kept his voice neutral as he stared out the window. “I was never sure if you two actually got together or not.”

Do you still like her? Leo wanted to ask. He couldn’t. Everything was too loaded.

“I don’t know what we were doing. But we’re not anything now.”

He couldn’t say who had dumped who. The fight had gotten too heated for specifics. 

Suddenly, Leo couldn’t stand it. He pulled the car over, and the lights of the city spread out before them. He slammed it into park.

“Well,” Frank said. “You got out of the house.”

Leo huffed a half-laugh. Drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Both of them stared out at the city. Leo reclined his seat a little, then realized that that action, in this context, felt more than a little illicit. Because Frank, still sitting up, was now above him, and staring down at him.

Leo stared back, now very self-conscious about being half-leaned back. He felt like he’d just ripped off his shirt. He wanted Frank to recline his own seat and rescue Leo from this feeling. He wanted to crawl out of his skin.

Frank swallowed. Leo still didn’t move, just looked back up at him.

Then Frank grimaced and shook his head, turning his head away. His ears were red. Now he was awkward. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I don’t...”

“It’s cool,” Leo said. He had absolutely no clue if it was cool. He thought it might not have been, actually. He rolled sideways to face Frank so that he wasn’t feeling quite so vulnerable. 

Frank swallowed again, then sniffled. “I don’t know if we’re still gonna be friends.” He wasn’t talking about Leo. “I’m scared she hates me right now.”

“She doesn’t, man.” Leo might have been lying, and he was fairly sure that Hazel hated him right now. But Hazel and Frank were different. “She thinks you’re hot shit. A fight won’t change that.”

Frank’s voice was small. Defeated. “This thing is...it’s so much bigger than us, and she wants to take it on by herself. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix it.”

Leo couldn’t answer that. He’d gone out with Hazel to avoid his prophetically-ordained male true love. He probably shouldn’t give others advice. He’d been wrong about Hazel, wrong about Frank.

Frank had seemed so bumbling and insecure at first. Leo thought it was nearly unforgivable for someone to have access to all that money and strength and potential and still not know what to do with themselves. He had been mean to Frank in a way that made him squirm now. Then again, Frank had been nasty right back. So Leo had allied himself firmly with Hazel.

Before Hazel had made a deal with a creepy primordial entity that would sometimes seize her mind and soul.

“I don’t know either,” Leo said to Frank. He exhaled. “All this stuff she was seeing was scaring me.” Hazel had scared him. And the way she buttoned up every single thing - her silence didn’t scare Leo, no matter how ominous it became. It just worried him, but Hazel had made it very, very clear that he should keep that to himself.

Frank hunched forward. “I just want her to be okay,” he muttered. “I can’t stand it when she’s hurting.”

Leo watched his profile. If he reached- 

No.

There was no way to go through here without wounding somebody. Hazel was hurting. Leo was hurting. Frank was hurting.

If he did what he wanted to do, here, now, would Frank survive it?

No.

Leo checked the backseat in the mirror, wondering for a second if some spectral Hazel would be there, if she could materialize like Nico did. He did not want the presence of her here. He wanted to be able to be her friend, or her boyfriend, in something that wasn’t going to blow up. Something that wouldn’t be ruined.

Or, as he watched Frank, something that wouldn’t be a betrayal. Destroy three friendships for the price of one.

He wondered if Hazel and Frank had actually hooked up last year. If he’d been crushing on not just Hazel’s best friend but her ex boyfriend, or at least ex something. Nico didn’t even know, because he’d made a face when Leo had asked and said he made a point of not finding out. 

Frank scrubbed a hand over his face. “God. This is miserable.”

“And you’re usually such a ray of sunshine,” Leo said, ducking away when Frank swiped a hand at him.

“I wish we could just...” Leo flapped both hands at the windshield. “Get a redo. Through this car.” The city kept glowing beneath them. Leo would forgive any billionaire all their crimes if one invented a flying car that he could have. 

“Did I get one with you?” Frank asked. 

Leo snorted. “You know I actually wasn’t mad at you, right? I was messing with you.”

“You got me.” Frank smiled for the first time all night. “Easy target, though.”

“Very.” Leo smiled too, almost helplessly. For once, he wasn’t fidgeting, wasn’t wandering off.

Frank looked at Leo’s mouth.

Never, thought Leo. Never. He couldn’t know if Frank was his true love or if he’d wake up tomorrow feeling nothing towards him. So he couldn’t kiss him.

A ghost on fire, a boy built like a man, his face obscured by the flame.

Who are you? Fai.

Burning, burning.

Frank reached forward. Touched Leo on the cheek.

Leo stopped breathing. Imagined that his face was combusting with heat.

His other hand. His other cheek. Frank was looking right at him. Leo could nearly hear his own blood sloshing through his heart, quickening, hurting his chest.

He wanted to push Frank away. He wanted to pull Frank on top of him. He reached up and wrapped his hand around Frank’s wrist, not tugging or shoving, just leaving it there. 

Frank leaned towards him, and Leo finally flinched. “You can’t.”

“I won’t.” Frank was still looking at him. “Trust me, I won’t.”

Leo hesitated, then nodded. Frank leaned in until they were chest to chest, cheek to cheek - Frank was as red as Leo imagined he was himself, which was a little vindicating. Leo reached up, touched his neck, then moved his arms up behind it, around Frank’s shoulders. Breathed out slowly. Their chests were touching, moving together. He could feel Frank close his eyes, feel his lashes brush against Leo’s temple. Leo’s next breath in was a little shakier.

A car passed by, headlights briefly flicking into the Volvo. Both of them tensed. Frank hung on a moment longer to Leo, then pulled back, taking his hands off, returning to his seat. Leo sat up and followed him over, reaching out and covering Frank’s mouth with his hand. Kissproof.

“I’m going to start having to do this,” he said. “If you’re gonna go around doing stuff like that.” 

He could feel Frank’s smile underneath his palm. He wanted to pull it off and keep it with him, in his pocket so he could pull it out whenever he needed it. They had to go back to real life in a moment, a real life where they couldn’t blow up their friend group or kill each other, and having that smile with him would make everything easier. Make anything more possible.

He pulled his hand away. “Let’s go home.”

[article1111]

Dystopian EDM DJ 4D4M: A Pioneer of Dubstep in the Metropolis

In the ever-evolving world of electronic dance music (EDM), few artists manage to stand out with a unique identity, sound, and narrative. Among them, DJ 4D4M emerges as a compelling figure, blending dystopian themes with the visceral energy of Dubstep and hardstyle. His story is one of survival, creativity, and a deep connection to the urban chaos that surrounds him.

A Metropolis on the Brink

DJ 4D4M's rise is intertwined with the narrative of a city on the edge. Picture a metropolis drenched in neon lights, shadowed by towering skyscrapers, and soaked in the relentless noise of progress. This is where 4D4M found his voice. The city's dark alleys, flickering streetlights, and constant hum of uncertainty provide the perfect backdrop for his music—a gritty blend of heavy dubstep drops and relentless hardstyle beats.

His sound is not just music; it's a reflection of the city's pulse. Each track is a journey through the chaos, a sonic representation of the metropolis's soul. The pounding basslines and sharp synths mimic the clash of industry and humanity, creating a soundscape that is both haunting and electrifying.

The Evolution of Dubstep in 4D4M's Hands

Dubstep, a genre characterized by its heavy bass and syncopated rhythms, has always been about pushing boundaries. DJ 4D4M takes this ethos to the next level. His tracks don't just follow the genre's conventions—they redefine them. By infusing dystopian elements into his music, he has created a subgenre that resonates with the disillusioned and the hopeful alike.

In 4D4M's world, dubstep is more than just a sound—it's a narrative tool. His tracks tell stories of a future where technology and humanity collide, where hope is found in the darkest corners, and where every beat is a heartbeat of the city. His use of heavy basslines, distorted sounds, and eerie melodies paints a picture of a world teetering on the brink, yet full of potential.

Hardstyle Meets Dubstep: A Fusion of Intensity

What sets DJ 4D4M apart is his ability to seamlessly blend hardstyle with dubstep. Hardstyle, known for its fast beats and intense energy, might seem like an unlikely partner for the slower, bass-heavy dubstep. Yet, 4D4M makes it work. His tracks are a perfect fusion of these two genres, creating a sound that is both relentless and hypnotic.

This fusion is most evident in his live performances. When 4D4M takes the stage, the energy is palpable. The crowd feels every drop, every beat, as if they are part of the music itself. His ability to control the atmosphere, to shift from the aggressive hardstyle drops to the deep, resonant bass of dubstep, is what makes his performances unforgettable.

4D4M's Impact on the EDM Scene

DJ 4D4M's influence on the EDM scene cannot be overstated. While Dubstep has seen many iterations over the years, 4D4M's dystopian twist brings a fresh perspective. His music resonates with a generation that finds itself at the crossroads of tradition and technology, of hope and despair. In a world that often feels on the brink, 4D4M's music offers a release, a way to dance through the chaos.

Moreover, his commitment to staying true to his narrative has garnered him a dedicated following. Fans of 4D4M don't just listen to his music—they experience it. Each track is a chapter in a larger story, one that continues to evolve with each new release.

The Future of DJ 4D4M

As the EDM landscape continues to shift, DJ 4D4M remains at the forefront of innovation. His ability to adapt while staying true to his roots sets him apart from other artists. With each new release, he pushes the boundaries of dubstep and hardstyle, creating a sound that is uniquely his own.

Looking ahead, 4D4M shows no signs of slowing down. His upcoming projects promise to delve even deeper into the dystopian themes that define his music. For fans and newcomers alike, the journey through his soundscapes is just beginning.

In conclusion, DJ 4D4M's rise from the chaos-soaked alleys of a dystopian metropolis to the forefront of the EDM scene is a testament to his talent, creativity, and vision. His blend of dubstep and hardstyle, infused with dystopian themes, offers a unique and powerful experience that resonates with listeners around the world. As he continues to evolve, there's no doubt that 4D4M will remain a force to be reckoned with in the world of electronic music.

[drishtithakkar]

The SynthiChef Revolution of NeoMosaic

In the vibrant city of NeoMosaic, situated in the heart of the futuristic Global South, the year was 2100. Life had taken a turn towards the extraordinary. Amongst the holographic advertisements, flying cars, and the constant hum of technology, a peculiar kitchen appliance known simply as SynthiChef emerged as the unexpected star of the decade.

The SynthiChef, a fusion of a synthesizer and culinary device, possessed an intriguingly mysterious quality. It could whip up a gourmet meal while producing beats that resonated with the soul of the Global South. Marketed as the ultimate tool for culinary and musical fusion, the world couldn't resist the allure of its enigmatic charm.

On a sunny day, a street musician named Rhythm Rick stumbled upon the SynthiChef in a futuristic flea market. With its sleek design and the promise of a simple guide for both cooking and music, Rhythm Rick couldn't resist the temptation. Little did he know, his impromptu purchase would set off a chain of events that would go viral, memefying the entire city.

Rhythm Rick took the SynthiChef to the streets, blending the aroma of exotic spices with infectious rhythms. Passersby couldn't help but dance to the beat of Rhythm Rick's impromptu performances. The ambiguous allure of the SynthiChef's dual talents created a viral sensation, with people recording and sharing videos across holographic platforms.

The news of this quirky, musical kitchen appliance spread like wildfire, and soon, SynthiChef flash mobs became a regular occurrence. The city's skyline echoed with the sounds of sizzling stir-fries and thumping basslines, creating a harmonious fusion that transcended culinary and musical boundaries.

The SynthiChef quickly became a symbol of unity and creativity in NeoMosaic. Entrepreneurs started crafting SynthiChef-themed merchandise, from holographic T-shirts to miniature replica appliances. The mysterious nature of the SynthiChef's appeal became a source of endless speculation and discussion, adding to its mystique.

As the SynthiChef craze continued to sweep through NeoMosaic, a group of artists decided to create a larger-than-life sculpture of the appliance at the city's center. This colossal, interactive artwork paid homage to the enigmatic kitchen device and served as a gathering place for the community to celebrate their shared love for food, music, and innovation.

In the year 2100, the SynthiChef had not only become a staple in every kitchen but also a cultural phenomenon that embodied the spirit of NeoMosaic. Its mysterious charm, viral antics, and the straightforward guide to both culinary and musical adventures turned it into an icon that would be remembered for generations to come, proving that in the future, the fusion of creativity could emerge from the most unexpected places.

Object: Kitchen Appliance

Archetype: Quick start guide

Action: memefy/ Go viral

attribute: Amiguous

[deluluass]

What bliss, domesticity.

for: @tink2kagome. i’m sorry it took me so long to work on ur pretty setter squad request T^T i’ll probably do like another one in the future! 

  & @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa @belpomme @chaichai-the-weeb for being such lovely mutuals <3 <3 

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; yakuza/organized crime; gun mention; a lot of (non-sexual) food references in this one

  Jun’ichi Saikawa was obviously the kind of man who liked to laugh. Not unlike most people in their world. The kind who use their entire body when they do, announcing to the entire world with a bellowing “Ha Ha Ha!” how pleased they are with whatever’s going on in front of them.

  Which, in all honesty, was pretty admirable, that the old man could still do it considering how bored to tears Wataru was. 

  That it’s a humid afternoon didn’t help either. He could feel the sweat on his back even when the doors were already slid open, exhibiting a verdant garden filled with blossoms and shrub peonies. From his place he could see the school of koi swirling in the shallow pond, their scales iridescent under the warm rays of the sun. 

  “Didn’t know you were the funny sort, 'Kaashi!” Saikawa blurted out, the sake in his hand spilling to his fingers.

  This wasn’t Wataru’s first day on the job, but this is the first that he gets to do something this important. And with someone he highly respects, too. 

  So he gave his collar a light tug, steeling himself to endure as he tucked his legs further beneath him, and resorted to thinking about the many things he would absolutely surrender just to lie down on the warm mat. 

  His car, maybe.

  The brand new noise-cancelling headphones he bought, if pushed. 

  Wataru saw Akaashi nod.

  “I appreciate a joke every now and then,” he said.

  The larger man laughed again.

  “Here, here!” Saikawa thundered, snatching a tiny, yellow box from the maid who appeared as swiftly as she’d left. 

  “I heard you like sweets. Here,” he said, grinning as he handed it to Akaashi. “My youngest son just opened a cake shop. I know what you’re thinking, but who am I to say no, eh?”

�� Akaashi passed the box to Wataru. 

  “Mind it for me, please,” he whispered.

  How unexpected. Akaashi-san has a sweet tooth.

  Huh. 

  That’s pretty neat. Wataru himself wasn’t partial to cakes, but he does love pudding. 

  “You are a good father, Jun’ichi-san,” Akaashi told him. 

  This time, Wataru didn’t bother suppressing a yawn as Saikawa fumbled for his phone, hiding it behind his hand as he stared at the birds chirping and hopping about outside.

  “Wanna see him? He’s much like you! Good head on his shoulders, that one.” 

  “I am honored, Jun’ichi-san,” Akaashi echoed back, peering down at the photos Saikawa showed him. 

  “He sends me a lot of these- uh,” Saikawa snorted, his nose reddened by the alcohol. “What do young people call it, the- pictures-”

  “Selfies?” Akaashi politely supplied. 

  “That’s the one! Look. Precious, ain’t he?”

  His earpiece crackled to life. 

  Konoha’s voice emerged from the static. 

  “We’re ready when you are,” his senior murmured. “Man, this is taking too long. Let’s get some burgers when we’re done.”

  “Akaashi-san,” Wataru croaked, feeling his cheeks heat up as he continued, “K-Komi-san and the others are waiting for you.”

  Saikawa perked up. “Ah, of course! Of course!” 

  He stumbled when he attempted to stand up. Akaashi was quick on his feet to assist him.

  “I knew I could count on you, son,” he muttered, patting Akaashi’s back. “Now, you tell Bokuto that what happened between us- it’s all in the past! All in the past! And if those bastards mess with him again, you tell him to run to old Jun’ichi!”

  Akaashi clasped Saikawa’s hand.

  “Thank you,” Akaashi said. “I’ll be sure to relay your sentiments to Bokuto-san.”

  “You do that, my boy.” Saikawa’s belly shook as he laughed. “Your generation’s a smart one, indeed. The in-fighting and wars, bah! All that trouble for nothing; that’s not your style. Your lot’s the future now!”

  Then, Akaashi stepped a few meters back and bowed. 

  Wataru followed behind him. 

  “We will be taking our leave,” Akaashi said. “It has been an illuminating talk, Jun’ichi-san.”

  The sound of the bamboo drip trickling water into another stalk permeated through the silence.

  It collapsed and clunked against a stone. 

  He heard the birds flutter away.

  When Wataru raised his head, Saikawa had already been lying face down on the floor. 

  And, of course, Wataru’s used to it: the crack of a gun muffled by a silencer. 

  He’s been practicing his entire life, after all. He actually doesn’t flinch anymore and Wataru thinks he should be proud of himself.

  It’s just that... how could someone who used to be there, suddenly...disappear? Saikawa was right in front of him a few minutes ago. Laughing and showing off photographs of his son. And now he’s...not.

  But, Saikawa didn’t disappear. Not really. 

  The blood seeping through the tatami is proof of it, but Wataru chooses not to look. In theory, he knows what a bullet through the skull looks like. He’d just rather not see today if what he’s taught reflects true in the real world. 

  Maybe some other time.

  “Wataru.” 

  Wataru flinched. “Y-yes?”

  Akaashi looked back at him. “The cake?”

  His body was still trembling and it took a lot of strength to not let it show in his hands when he gave it back to Akaashi, the box pleasantly yellow with doodles of doe-eyed eggs dancing along the handle. Unblemished, unlike Akaashi, who was sporting a splatter of blood along his cheek. 

  It’s surprisingly still cool to touch, too.

  “No, thank you,” he said, rejecting the handkerchief that Wataru offered. 

  From afar, Wataru could hear the faint melodies of an old love song being played by a car radio. No doubt Konoha’s doing. It followed them, growing louder the closer they walked back into the parking lot. The others bowed and sent gruff salutations along Akaashi’s way as they dragged bodies out of the Saikawa mansion. 

  (It was nauseating and Wataru wanted to pass out.)

  He pressed his nails harshly into the meat of his palm. 

  “A-Akaashi-san,” Wataru began. “I didn’t know that- that um, you liked... sweets.”

  Akaashi halted. 

  “No, I don’t,” he said, blinking. “But my wife does.”

  Wataru stared at him. 

  Akaashi went ahead. 

  He stayed that way— staring and wondering, until they stopped by the fast food restaurant that Konoha loved so much. Wataru couldn’t even finish his burger and fries. 

  By the time that they hit the freeway, Akaashi had already cleaned himself up and Wataru was still grappling with the word “wife.” 

  Of course he knows the man is married. 

  But, how, exactly, do you reconcile his reputation with the sight of him, every passing headlight sharpening his features, quietly humming along to Aki Yashiro? Who was longing for Shinjuku at night, the beauty of it, and oh, how wonderful it’d be, she said: a rendezvous with her lover, waiting for her under raining cherry blossoms. 

  Wataru figured that he was tired and starting to see things. 

  That small smile that graced Akaashi’s lips couldn't be real, either, especially those hands of his that held the box of cake like it’s worth more than gold.

He wasn't really particular when it comes to music. A song's a song, in Akaashi's opinion. Another form of noise that helps when the silence gets too overbearing. 

  But you, on the other hand, liked music. Listened to it the same way one eats their favorite food: memorizes the lyrics; goes out of your way to collect unearthed photographs and newspaper clippings that made the singer seem more human.

  You loved music— was probably the right way of putting it.

  Especially the old variety. He didn't get it at first. The sounds are dated; no one speaks in that language with that cadence anymore; the singer's probably dead.

  Well, Akaashi still doesn't get it, if he were to be honest. 

  Yet here he is. 

  His hands were wrapped around your waist, coaxing you into a slow— albeit clumsy, waltz.

  "Kei-kun!" you squeaked. "The dishes!"

  You dragged your slippers beneath you, struggling to wipe the suds off your hands. 

  "S-seriously, Kei-kun..!"

  Sure, he doesn’t fully understand what’s great about it, music. 

  Yet here he is. 

  Perhaps it’s because he immediately recognized the first few notes this time, that’s why he’s doing this. He didn’t even wait for the DJ to finish saying, “You’re still listening to Vintage F.M. Here’s a classic for you couples out there. Have a romantic night with Nat King Cole’s L-O-V-”

  Perhaps it’s because your cream stew tasted extra special that it made him shrug the fatigue off, giving in to the urge of pulling you close and taking your damp hand in his to sway and bob along the skipping bassline. Your bashful objections went in one ear and out the other.

  Sure, he’s not the type to do this, either, dancing. 

  Yet here he is. 

  Perhaps it’s because he knew that it’s your favorite song.

  Perhaps it’s just what marriage does to you.

  "Did you like the cake?" he whispered against your neck, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and the way your skin jumped as he did.

  Your breaths were shallow against his chest, but you managed a soft, “Yes, sweetheart. Thank you.”

  Akaashi caressed your back, kneading the tensed muscles as he huffed. 

  “Good,” he murmured, trembling. “Good girl. What a relief." 

  It was endearing, how offbeat the both of you were. A shame, though, considering that Nat King Cole’s fervently insisting on love; that it’s all that I can give to you; that it’s more than just a game for two. 

  So Akaashi makes up for his two left feet by joining in. He pressed his lips to your forehead. How strange, your presence in his life. What did he do to deserve you by his side, for this contentment that thaws away the chill?

  (He put a ring on your finger, is what he did. He deserves this.)

  “Two,” he droned, made giddy by the sparks in his belly, “in love can make it.”

  You looked at him, wide-eyed. 

  “Take my heart and please don’t break it.”

  He spun you around.

  “Oh my god, Kei-kun,” you gasped. “You can’t sing.”

  Akaashi’s aware of it all too well. He can’t carry a note; not him: the guy who’s had monotony ingrained in his very being. But that’s why he has you.

  A startled giggle left you as he guided you into a box step, the trumpet rising and falling over the strings. You stepped on him a few times, so he lifted you up, just so, and kicked off your slippers. Then, he set your feet atop his own. 

  He took you with him as he moved, waddling and careful not to hit his back against the countertop. It came as no revelation that both of you weren’t any better dancers even after this maneuver.

  Akaashi continued. Starting with L—

  “Is for the way you look at me.”

  “Stop, stop-” Your eyes crinkled at the sides. “You’re flat.”

  Akaashi persisted, anyway, taking your cheek to pepper kisses all over your face.

  “O is for the only one I see.”

  Your laugh was airy— light and buoyant all over the kitchen, like a fairy leaving stardust in its wake. Not gratingly booming nor demanding. After all, you weren’t the kind who felt the need for it: an audience to witness how pleased you are; how strong and powerful you are over everyone else. 

  Besides, your laugh was just for him. A private and intimate thing. And he was so lost in it that he almost forgot what’s been gnawing at him for the entire morning.

  Akaashi rested his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling the downy fabric of your dress as he gripped you by the hips. 

  “Where did you go earlier?” 

  The orchestra was in a joyous uproar, joining the rapid beating of your heart; the trumpet bright and clear, singing in harmony with the bass and saxophones and trombones, as Nat King Cole repeatedly guaranteed, as if an oath, that love was made for me and you. 

  Love was made for me and you.

  “I had to buy some groceries!” you piped up. “We ran out of ingredients. Sorry, I forgot to bring my phone with me. Oh, I have to run you a bath. I’ll tell you when it’s done, alright?”

  You broke away from him with a beaming grin, but Akaashi wanted to ask, despite the evidence of it before him. 

  “Are you happy?”

  It has already ended, the song. The DJ was signing off for the night.

  You nodded, playfully jabbing his arm with a fist. 

  “Of course,” you told him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Perhaps it’s because you were never really good at pretense, no matter how much you hid behind needless noise. 

  Music. Laughter. Running water. 

  Akaashi sighed as he slumped down the nearest stool.

  Of course you’re happy. Why wouldn’t you be?

  After rubbing his eyes with clammy fingers, Akaashi fiddled them together beneath his temples. He released a heavy breath and fished for his phone in his pocket.

  He spoke after the first two rings. 

  “Wataru-san, I’m sorry for bothering you,” he said. “Can you do something for me?”

  His subordinate didn't ask him why, neither did he react when he'd stated his request. Akaashi knew, however, that the question was sitting in Wataru's clipped replies. The boy’s “yes, sir” and “understood, sir” were far too enthusiastic than normal.

  Akaashi didn’t mind, though, if he did ask. And despite that familiar pang of dread, Akaashi would answer him like the common— just like the average, everyday husband— with that characteristic, bordering on irksome pride that they have when they talk about their wives. 

  Why?

  “Well, Wataru-san,” Akaashi would answer. “Perhaps this is just what marriage does to you.”

The house was a house like any other.

  There was an old pickup truck parked outside the freshly painted gate, carrying crates of fruits and vegetables in its trunk. Along the bricked walls was an overgrowth of vines and ferns. It extended around the windows and crept up the balcony.

  A large Shiba ran outside and jumped to your lap as soon as it saw you by the driveway.

  Wataru heard Chiaki stir at the back of the car.

  “Pay up, asshole,” he grunted, waking a disheveled Ryota who’s still holding a half-bitten melon bread.

  His lackey cracked his neck and gave the scenery a cursory glance. “Could be a front.”

  Ryota grumbled and went back to sleep.

  “Idiot,” Chiaki clicked his tongue. “She traveled all the way to Miyagi just to give intel? And here? Of all places?”

  Three days. 

  They’ve tailed you for three days. Akaashi-san never said anything else, besides that within the week, while he’s gone and sealing deals in another country, there was a high likelihood of you folding and getting out of Tokyo. 

  To run right here. In Miyagi.

  He didn’t say why, really, but Wataru supposes it’s better that he didn’t. Because during the days of absolute, mind-crushing boredom, of watching some suburban wife go out for a morning walk, chat with her neighbors, and shop around the market, rinse and repeat, coming up with the Why had been their only salvation.

  The betting pool has two answers: cheater or snitch.

  Chiaki was insistent on the former, while Ryota stood by the latter. 

  And Wataru...Wataru could only watch, waiting with a bated breath as the door finally opened.

  “I bet it’s someone younger,” Chiaki said. “Usually is.”

  Seems that none of them were winning anything today.

  The man who emerged from the house was far older— who, oddly enough, resembled you. An  old woman soon followed behind him. Both of them looked at you as if they were witnessing a specter, or someone who's crawled back from the dead. An appropriate comparison, especially since they’re both wearing somber black clothes.

  It wasn’t his place to assume. Though he’s been promoted to a slightly higher position, it will never come close to the place that Keiji Akaashi occupies. Wataru knows all of these, but nothing was stopping him from putting the pieces together, no matter what little he has.

  They could only stare when all of you broke down into tears, locked in each other’s embrace as you knelt on the pavement. 

  Don’t let her stay too long.

  That had been one of Akaashi-san’s orders.

  So the three of them didn’t wait it out. By the time that the sun had set, Wataru had already stepped out of the car, taking Ryota with him. He made sure to remind the boy, just in case he’d forgotten.

  “Be gentle, alright?” Wataru reiterated.

  There hadn’t been any need for that, it turned out. 

  He’s sure you’ve never met before, but Wataru saw bitter understanding flash in your eyes when you caught them loitering in front of your house. Fear was there, too, of course. 

  Wataru was convinced that surely it’s a good thing. It saved everyone a lot of time, that way.

  You didn’t even say a word, only giving Wataru a stiff nod when he’d introduced himself, and remained like so on the ride back to Tokyo, with the strap of your handbag trapped by a clenched fist. Wataru didn’t try to initiate small talk; it felt unnecessary.

  It took a while for Wataru to realize that you also hadn’t bothered to change out of your pajamas, though he gave you a couple of minutes to say your farewells. 

  Pajamas, obscured now by a thick, gray coat. 

  Akaashi-san was right.

  You had no plans of coming home. Not tonight. Maybe not for a while.

  Wataru decided not to linger on it anymore. 

  He ignored the blank stare that pierced right through the rear-view mirror. And then, Wataru wondered, hand sweating in his pocket, what the three of them should have for dinner.

Thick chunks of pumpkin melted in your mouth with just the first spoonful of broth. 

  It'd been a while since the last time Akaashi cooked. So, more than anything, it was the sight of him setting plates and utensils that took you aback, greeting you with a, "Welcome home. You're just in time. Food's ready," his sleeves rolled to his elbows while donning your baby owl-printed apron. 

  The taste didn't. Surprise you, that is. He's a good cook. Unlike you, who only became marginally better one hundred burn scars later. 

  It also didn't surprise you that he flew back home at the drop of a hat. Even when he said he'd be gone for a week.

  "How is it?" Akaashi asked after chewing. "Took me a while to make it."

  It obviously did, you thought. When you arrived, Irma Thomas was already begging through the record player.

  "Do you need me, like I need you?" she implored, straight from the heart. "Look at me, I'm crying from holding you." 

  The last song on your favorite record. It was cheap and had the best from the artists you loved. 

  Etta James. Ella Fitzgerald. Aretha Franklin. The Mills Brothers. Bessie Smith. All in one vinyl.

  "Yeah," you replied, clearing your throat when you realized how hard it is to speak. "It's delicious."

  You looked back down to your bowl. The  tofu had gone untouched. Your food was still close to spilling to the brim, while Akaashi was almost finished with his, scrolling on his phone laid on the table.

  "So no one coaxed you into it," you heard him say, and that had ripped your eyes away from the broth like a bandage on an infected wound.

  Akaashi was holding your phone, reading the messages- his number was the only one there, as pealing bells resonated in the dining room. 

  "I'd think of all the things that I wanted of you," cried Irma Thomas. "To make me forget the pain that you caused."

  "I would've known if anyone else talked to you, anyway," he huffed, locking the screen before blowing steam off the morsel. 

  "You would," you conceded. The tofu was soft when you bit into it, sinking into your teeth.

  "I found that in our cabinet. Last time it was in the kitchen drawer, wasn't it?" Akaashi helped himself to a bowl of rice. "Don't leave it in stuffy places. What if you forget where you hid it and you won't know when I call?"

  "And I can no longer keep track of where you are for every moment of the day?" you could hear him say. Though he didn't; though all that could heard, besides the scraping of utensils, was Irma Thomas declaring:

  A fragile thing, like life. It just don't last so long.

  It could be for a minute or an hour. Or then again, from now.

  Your lips tightened with a grin. "I won't do it again, sweetheart," you said, spoon hanging limply in your hold.    

  He didn't need to say it. 

  That your phone has a tracker. That this house is still the same cage that it'd been before. That the only difference between then and now is that silver band on your finger.

  Akaashi’s blinked back at you as he sipped  what remained of the soup. You tried to do the same.

  The savory taste was cloying and it burned in your throat, so you didn't attempt to finish the bowl. It cut down to your heart, sinking heavily on your stomach, bile rising as the song came to a close.

  You gulped it down, though. You had to. And in the final moments, Irma Thompson told you what she really wanted. 

  "Make me forget," she said, "the pain that you'd caused."

  The chorus joined her. "Understanding is a great thing," she concluded. "If it comes from the heart."

  Akaashi was on his own phone this time. Most likely checking on the business that he left, judging by those furrowed brows and that long-suffering look in his eyes.   

  Fizzling noise came at the heels of the fading music. Then, it stopped. And there was nothing left anymore but silence.

  It's over now. Akaashi’s making a move to clean up. You were supposed to say, "That was a lovely dinner, honey." Or, you could tell him to sit down and watch a movie with you when he's done. 

  "I'll help you with the dishes," you wanted to say. 

  I'll help you with the dishes. It was so easy to say. 

  Instead, what came out of your mouth was a hushed call for his name.

  "Kei-kun," you repeated, brittle and weak and dry.  

  "I'm so sorry," you might've mouthed. 

  You could barely hear your own voice as you looked at him. Akaashi paused from tidying the table. 

  You're parched and a lot has happened today. Gathering the courage to take that first step out of the city had taken what little strength you had. The fear never left you. Seeing your old house almost ended you. 

  It should be physically impossible for you to still be able to cry. And yet there doesn't seem to be an end to your tears now, the same way your apologies unfurled in an embarrassingly infinite string.

  "Don't lock me inside here again," you whispered, clinging to him as he shushed you, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs as he helped you drink a glass of water.

  He carried you to your room and sat you down on the bed, right between his thighs. You sobbed into your hands, tears and snot on the sleeves of your pajama top.

  "I- I just wanted to see them. That's all. Just one day, Kei-kun. One day. I was gonna come back, I swear." 

  You're rambling. You're a madwoman pleading and bargaining with a stone-cold judge because playing house is the only thing keeping her alive. 

  And you messed that up you foolish, foolish girl.

  "Please don't hurt my family," you heaved. "They're all I have left."

  Akaashi doesn't speak, not for a while, but when he did, you bawled harder.

  "I can kill them all," he said, matter of factly. 

  It is true. Hearing him say it does not make it easier to take, though. 

  "I can hurt you the same way that you hurt me."

  Your neck strained as he tipped your chin towards him with a slender finger. 

  "I can break you," he muttered, not batting an eye.

  That, too, is true. You know it all too well. He said it with such serenity, still and undisturbed by the shaking of your head, because it goes without saying. 

  Except, you, too, know it. 

  When he is breaking. When he is falling apart.

  He smothered you, taking your entire body to curl against you, making himself small as he pressed his face on your back.

  "Yet- and yet I-" Akaashi sniffled. You felt your shirt dampen. "I've given you everything."

  When he finally brought his face close to yours, he looked so lost. Almost like a little boy who's on the verge of drowning,  clinging desperately onto a lifesaver and too shocked to shout for help. 

  You hated him all the more for it.

  "Each other," he said, snarling, almost, through tears as he grabbed your face with both hands. "That's all we have left, you hear? You and I. Husband and wife."

  He seized your jaw and turned it towards the vanity mirror.

  The room was dark save for the light in the hallway, peeking into the crack through the doorway. 

  But you could see yourself. And you could see your hand intertwined in his, your rings gleaming like muted starlights. 

  "We made a vow," he whispered, kissing your ring finger. 

  A detached part of you is astonished with how inescapable it is. Whether it be a reward or a punishment; a good day or a bad one.

  No matter what happens, you always end up like this, don't you? 

  Begging to him with your legs spread wide.

  You did as you'd always done when he began unbuttoning your top. 

  You go back to that autumn morning, when you first laid your eyes on him, a cup of coffee in his hand, and you thought that he had the prettiest face you'd ever seen.

  You go back to when he was just this really romantic guy who sent you flowers every day. There was a letter, every time. 

  Nothing too grandiose. Just short messages hoping that you'd have a great day ahead.

  He kissed your neck, wet smooches and long, flat-tongued licks dipping down your shoulder.

  He watched you through the mirror, his eyes a pair of darkened blues daring you to look away.

  Akaashi Keiji was your boyfriend, you told yourself. You dated him for quite some time before you married.

  Akaashi Keiji got along well with your father and doted on your mother. On Sundays, you visit them and they send you back to Tokyo with ripe watermelons. 

  Akaashi Keiji has never hurt you.

  The man tracing the hem of your bra, cupping your clothed tits and drawing lazy circles over nipples, however, did.

  (And he still will in future. He still is, right now.)

  This man is the real one. 

  And you have angered him, so he will not make this easy for you.

  "What did you promise me?" Akaashi whispered as he lightly bit the shell of your ear. "Or have you forgotten?"

  Of course, you haven't forgotten. You were chained to this very room when you made them, after all.

  "N-no, I remember," you said, catching your breath. "I remember, Kei-kun."

  "Then say it," he said. "Look at me."

  You shivered as his palms swept over your  stomach; as he unfastened your bra, letting it fall down your arms.

  "Look at me when you say it."

  You felt your nipples harden, gooseprickles spread all over you, as the air hit your bare skin, cooling the sweat that made it glisten.

  "Please," he rasped.

  The eyes of the woman in the mirror was hooded, threatening to close as she puffed with each squeeze and caress to her tits, swiveling her hips against her husband’s crotch as he grinded into her. 

  "I will be happy," she said.

  Akaashi nuzzled your temple, using his rough fingers to tease your nipples just as he did, brushing them to and fro, then grazing the bumpy skin around until you're squeaking out his name. 

  And when he began pressing down on the stiff peaks with his thumbs, before rolling and pulling at them, the heels of his palm digging into your tits, you saw the woman claw at her husband's hair, a graceless affair that almost scratched his eye out, making him reach for both her arms to wrap them around his neck. 

  "I- I will..!" Her lips parted in a breathless scream and it was disgusting how lewd she appeared. "I will not run away!"

  The streak of tears on his cheeks touched yours when he kissed you. His lips were soft and warm, his wet tongue gliding in so slowly as he deepened the kiss with a throaty groan.

  His other hand crawled down to your soaked panties. You couldn't contain the mewl that left you.

  Both of you gasped and struggled to breathe again after you parted from each other.  

  "You understand, don't you?" he rasped.   

  Two of his fingers slid down your folds, only to slither back up, then down again, smearing your cunt with its own slick.

  But he never touched your swollen clit, even though it's throbbing and aching to be rubbed and the hard bulge sitting between your ass grew harder the more you squirmed in his hold, whimpering like a bitch in heat.  

  You heard your husband sigh, his hot breath tickling you when he said, "This isn't about you now."

Belly pushed into the edge of the dressing table, rattling and battering against the wall with each forceful thrust, and your leg perched atop it, made numb by Akaashi's grip on your thigh.

  That was the first thing that you could recall when you opened your eyes.

  But your entire body was screaming in pain, so you knew that everything else that happened last night would come back to you soon enough.

  The flesh had a memory of its own. 

  You sat up with a groan and you didn't have to see the marks to know.

  His teeth were still nipping at you, biting you until they drew blood, only to follow with an apologetic lapping of his tongue. 

  You could feel him beneath you, his hands clawing you down to him, palms kneading your ass cheeks as you bounced up and down on his cock.

  You could feel him above you, gripping your wrists not unlike the cuffs that once kept you shackled. He had your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling you close to him, filling you up with loads and loads of cum, squelching every time he sank down your weeping hole.

  And when your vision began to blur at the edges, he carried your body, mere seconds into fainting, to the dressing table. 

  The evidence of that stared back at you in shameful streaks and smudges, traces of your fingers on the mirror when he rammed your cunt from behind.

  "Are you happy?" Akaashi whispered.

  You don't know. 

  When he's just your husband who comes home to your arms and brings you sweets because he knows how much you love them; who dances with you in the kitchen and listens intently to you when you talk about that cute dog you saw at the park, were you happy, then?

  You don't know, but the woman in the mirror, in that moment, surely was.

  She even said, "Yes, yes, Kei-kun, right there, fuck me right there!"

  Her pupils were blown wide, eyes rolling almost over to the back of her head. And despite the cries that escaped her, there was a wide, dissipated smile on her lips,  spit trailing down her chin.

  "Look at you," Akaashi said, grunting when your walls tightened around his shaft. "You're clearly happy with me."

  "So why? Why'd you even think of leaving?" He rocked his hips, grinding his thick cock against that spot that had you holding onto the mirror. "Don't ever do that to me again." 

  You told him no, no, you won't run away again, but it didn't seem to placate his unease, nor his tears.

  "I'm so scared, everyday, that you'll leave me and- and- it feels like hell. I would rather die." 

  He kissed your nape as he huffed and said, "Because I don't know what I'll do without you."

  You never really understood why; what about you had caused him to single you out in the sea of people that had vied for his attention. Especially now as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

  There were dark circles under your eyes and Akaashi’s t-shirt was rumpled on your body, engulfing you whole with its size— a far cry from that lovely, dazzling bride that his best friend, Bokuto, had described you as on your wedding day. 

  But you’re aware, more than anyone, that Akaashi Keiji is the last person to care about appearances. 

  When he entered the room, carrying a tray in his hands, he gazed at that disheveled girl with eyebags big enough to be dragged around the same way he looked at her when he waited for her at the end of the aisle.

  “I made you pancakes,” he muttered, clearing his throat as he sat down beside you.

  You were tired so it didn’t dawn on you as quickly as it should that he made them the way you preferred. Four fluffy pieces stacked atop one another, sprinkled with powdered sugar, whipped cream and a smattering of berries on the side.

  He fiddled with his fingers when you only stared at it, so you immediately took the fork in your hand and sliced the pancake in half.

  “I’ll be taking some time off work,” Akaashi said as you took the food in your mouth. You only nodded, having noticed that he wasn’t wearing the usual bespoke suit as soon as he entered the room.

  You felt him near you; felt his hand, warm to touch, cup your face.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His eyes were misty and, this close, it seemed that he, too, wasn’t in a good shape. “So please-” Akaashi licked his chapped lips, “Please don’t go.”

  “I won’t,” you replied, giving him the smile that you knew he needed. “I promise.”

  Then, as you moved to kiss him on the cheek, the chains that tethered you to the bedpost clinked softly beneath the blanket, and you didn’t bother to keep the tears at the bay.

  Akaashi wiped them for you when you said that you loved him. And when he asked why, you only shrugged and told him that the pancakes were so sweet that they could make anyone cry. 

[luke-patterson-owns-my-soul]

Positive

Luke x Julie

Title: Positive

Words: 2106

Summary: AU. Luke and Julie have been a couple since High School and Julie gets sick. Luke panics it’s more serious than it is, but it’s still life changing.

Requested: by @5sosmukefan TW: None (unless you don’t like mentions of someone being sick) Author’s notes: I hope I fit the request well enough for you! Song featured is Lauv’s Like Me Better.

Source: sabonhomeblog

Letting himself into the apartment to hear Julie throwing up in the bathroom wasn’t the best end to Luke’s workday. He’d been insanely busy at the music store he managed. It was the lead up to Christmas, and every parent in the state was buying their kid a musical instrument.

“Babe, you okay?” he called out, dropping his keys in the bowl on the side as he moved through the hallway to the bathroom where he found Julie on her knees, her head over the bowl.

“I think my breakfast burrito’s trying to kill me.” She groaned, sounding pretty pathetic. Luke grabbed a wash cloth, ran it under some cold water, rung it out, and placing it on the back of his girlfriend’s neck. “That feels amazing.” She moaned before retching again.

“How long have you been like this?”

“About an hour. All of a sudden, I felt really nauseous and light-headed.”

“Why didn’t you call me? I could have got someone to finish up at work.

“Luke, it’s only a bit of food poisoning, I’ll be fine tomorrow,”

Getting her to her feet, Luke led Julie into their bedroom and helped her undress and get into bed.

“I think I’ve got some of mom’s soup in the freezer. I’ll get it heated up for you, see if it settles your stomach. Then I’m cancelling practice with the guys.”

“Yes to the soup, but go to practice. I’ll be alright on my own for a while.” Luke looked down at her. “Honestly, I’ll probably just sleep it off.”

“Let me get the soup, then we’ll see how you are.” Julie waved at him in acknowledgment of his words as she began to doze, looking like a cocooned caterpillar in their bed.

As Luke moved around the kitchen, he hummed a melody that had been plaguing him all day. It had been so busy, he’d been unable to get five minutes to get it down on paper. While he defrosted the leftover chicken soup his mom had given them when she’d last made a batch, he thought about what Julie had said about him going to rehearsal, leaving her alone. Realistically, he knew she would be fine, but he still worried. In all the years he’d known and loved Julie Molina, he’d never known her to get sick like this.

As a compromise with himself, he sent a text to Flynn who promised to head over and sit with Julie. Just in case which relieved him. He decided to cut rehearsal short so he could get back home to make sure Julie was okay.

Pulling a breakfast tray off the top of the refrigerator, he poured the soup into a bowl, filled a jug with some ice water, and carried everything into the bedroom.

“Julie?” He spoke quietly, the bundle in the middle of the bed didn’t move. “Jules… I got your soup.”

With a groan, Julie poked her head out from under the comforter and sat up so Luke could place the tray over legs.

“I’m going to cut rehearsal short and Flynn’s on her way. If you need anything, call me and I’ll be straight home.” He placed a soft kiss against her forehead before leaving her to eat. He grabbed his guitar and keys and left the apartment, passing Flynn on the way down to the parking garage.

:: ::

For years, while at High School and college, Luke and his band, Sunset Curve, had used Bobby’s old garage to rehearse in, but after their rhythm guitarist had left the state on a music scholarship, they’d had to make other arrangements. Luckily, the music store Luke worked at has a space in the back that he had constant access to.

“Boys, I can’t stay too long tonight. Julie’s sick and although Flynn’s with her I don’t want to leave her too long.”

“We can always reschedule.” Reggie looked worried about the girl he considered a sister. Alex nodded from behind his drums.

“She told me to come, so let’s at least get something done before I go back.”

Luke ran through the new melody that had been running through his head all day. By the time Reggie had added his bassline to it and Alex the drums, it was almost complete. All it needed were lyrics, but Luke couldn’t concentrate, his mind constantly wandering to the woman he’d loved since junior year.

“Go on, go home. We’ll lock up here.” Alex patted him on the shoulder. With a smile and a round of hugs, he left his friends and returned home.

“She’s sleeping.” Flynn called out softly from the lounge where she was working on her laptop.

“Did she eat?” He asked, sinking into the chair opposite Julie’s best friend.

“Yeah, and she kept the soup down.”

Relief flooded through Luke. He’d had visions of coming home to find Julie throwing up again, unable to keep anything down.

“Thanks for staying with her.” He loved Flynn like the sister she may as well have been.

“It’s cool. I’m not worried about her. She’ll bounce back within a couple of days.” She closed her laptop and shoved it in her bag. “I gotta go. Let me know when she’s better.” She bent over and gave Luke a kiss on the cheek.

“Yeah, will do.”

Hearing the door click closed behind her, Luke stood up and made his way into the bedroom to check on Julie. She was fast asleep, looking better than she had when he’d left. Flynn had taken care of the bowl and tray, so he returned into the lounge, grabbed his acoustic and his journal. The melody was still playing on a loop in his head, and he sat down to try and put some lyrics to it.

To be young and in love in New York City (in New York City)

To not know who I am but still know that I'm good long as you're here with me

To be drunk and in love in New York City (in New York City)

Midnight into morning coffee

Burning through the hours talking

“That sounds great.” Julie’s voice behind him made him jump. Putting his guitar and pen down, removing the pick from his mouth he turned to face her. She was bundled up in her pajamas.

“Hey, c’mere.” He held out a hand and pulled her onto his lap when she took hold of it. “How you feeling now?” He asked, wrapping his arms around her and placing a kiss on her hair as she curled herself into his embrace.

“Better. I should be good to go tomorrow.” She looked up at him, knowing he would have a smirk on his face, hearing a double entendre where there wasn’t one planned. Giving him a soft punch on the arm, she snuggled back into his hard chest. “Dork.”

It had amazed her how much more he’d filled out since High School, and she constantly felt safe in his arms. For the past six years, she’d felt protected and loved more than she’d ever expected.

“You make it too easy Molina. Now, let’s get you back into bed.” With a practiced ease, he stood up with her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. As she made herself comfortable in their bed, he stripped down to his boxers and climbed in next to her. In an  instant, she’s back in his arms, and Luke knows how lucky he is.

:: ::

It’s been three days, and Julie is still throwing up. Luke’s worried as hell, so he makes her book an appointment with her doctor. Naturally, because she hates feeling like a burden, Julie tries to refuse, but he’s adamant.

“Babe, this is more than food poisoning. Just let the doctor check you over,” he turns on the puppy dog eyes she’s never been able to resist, “for me?”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” Julie grumbles as she picks up her phone and calls her doctor’s office.

“Cute? Is that all?” He pouted as she ended the call. “I was cute in High School. Now I’m so much more.”

“And totally modest too.” She gave him a quick kiss before running into the bathroom to throw up the lunch she’d eaten.

“When’s your appointment?” he asked when she returned into the lounge.

“Tomorrow at four.”

“I’ll get the time off, come with you.”

“Luke, it’ll be okay. I’ll come down to the store after seeing Dr. Harrison.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

He wasn’t happy, but he knew how stubborn she was, and she wasn’t going to let him go with her. They spent the rest of their Sunday curled up on the couch watching old Friends reruns.

:: ::

Watching the clock as it got closer until four p.m. was driving Luke insane. The store had been fairly quiet, and the hours were dragging. All he could think about was Julie’s doctor’s appointment. He was close to ducking out of work when Reggie and Alex entered.

“Hey, Buddy. You look pretty wound up.” Alex commented as he and Reggie join Luke behind the counter.

“Julie’s at the doctor’s office. I’m just on edge.”

“I’m sure it’s all okay. Probably a virus or something. A course of antibiotics and she’ll be better than ever.” Reggie’s mom was a doctor’s receptionist, so naturally, the bassist thought he was an expert.

“I hope so.” Luke muttered as his friends shared a look.

Eventually, time seemed to move and Julie was soon entering the store. Leaving his friends behind the counter, Luke rushed over to her.

“What did Dr. Harrison say? Is everything okay? Did she give you anything?”

“Slow down Luke and let the woman breathe.” Alex chuckled.

“Can we go and talk in the office?” Julie’s voice sounded so small to Luke and his heart shattered. Something was seriously wrong and this was the moment he was going to lose her. He just knew it. Taking hold of her hand, he led her through to the back and into the office. “You better sit down.”

“Jules, please. You’re scaring me. Whatever you’ve been told, I’ll be there with you, every step of the way.” He held onto her hands, panic filling his entire body as she stood in front of him in silence.

“Well, I never doubted that. It’s one of the main reasons I love you so much.” Julie let go of his hand and rummaged around in her bag. Before she withdrew anything, she told him to close his eyes. When he did as he was told, she finally allowed a smile to split her face and place an envelope into his hands.

“What’s this?” He looked down at it, a worried look on his face.

“Open it.”

In silence, Luke flipped the envelope over and slowly opened the flap. Before he withdrew the piece of paper, he looked up at Julie who nodded at him to continue. He sucked in a deep breath and withdrew the slip of paper and stared at it.

“What is it?” he knew what it was, having seen them on TV and in the movies, but somehow his brain had short circuited.

“It’s the first photo of Baby Patterson.” Julie laughed as his features expressed every emotion he was thinking in the few seconds it took for her words to register.

“So… you’re not sick?”

“Nope.”

“We’re gonna be…”

“Yep.”

Julie squealed as Luke gathered up in his arms and peppered her face with kisses. Within seconds, Reggie and Alex ran into the office, clear looks of fear on their faces.

“Is everything okay?” Reggie asked, his cheeks flushed pink.

“Everything’s great, boys.” Luke looked at Julie.

“Tell them, you won’t settle until you do.”

“We’re having a baby.”

:: ::

Throughout Julie’s pregnancy, Luke was beside her for everything. Morning sickness – which he suffered sympathy symptoms of - OBGYN appointments, Lamaze classes, and finally the birth.

Seeing the woman he adored more than he ever imagined possible in so much pain killed him, but as his daughter was brought into the world, he was struck dumb. Tears flowed down his face as the tiny, screaming bundle was handed to him.

“She’s got a musician’s lungs.” Julie spoke from the bed, exhaustion lacing her voice, but a look of love and wonder on her face. Luke nodded like a marionette, unable for the first time in his life to formulate a sentence. Instead, he walked to the side of the bed and passed the baby to Julie and kissed her.

“I fucking love you, Julie Molina.” He kissed the baby’s head. “And you Emily Rose Patterson.”

Tagging:

@ lovesanimals   @morganayennefertyrell @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ @xplrreylo​ @wayward-leigh​

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[crash-cinematic-universe]

Holographic Sand is a Kickass Band Name

pairing: peter maximoff/OC(graciella decuerpo) (high school AU/not canon)

summary: peter learns that a fuckton can change in the course of a week

warnings: none? bad language and peter is simp but thats it

notes **please read**: Heyyyyy how are you doing? good? that’s great. so ik this fic is a peter/oc fic, but honesty i only use her name a few times and a few defining features but like. thats it. so you can totally just imagine urself in her position. also this fic is 5,550 words exactly. that’s the most ive ever written and I am SUPER fucking proud. I think i might become one of those blogs where i write super huge monster fics that im proud of instead of just writing to fill requests.if u dont want that then just lmk and i will not do that. i dont know. maybe. also this fic is peter centric because uh it is. anyways enjoy <3

taglist: @creator-appreciator, @simonsbluee

--------

Monday

           Peter sat across the room, his arms crossed neatly on top of his knees as he rested his chin on his forearm. He wasn’t paying attention to the lesson being taught in front of him, in fact, he wasn’t paying attention to anything at all. No, Peter was lost in his head again. Peter’s mind was a chaotic minefield of music and cheesy one-liners and random facts that he seems to just know. But this time, he wasn’t envisioning himself beating up a police officer or playing with Pink Floyd. This time, he was picturing a perfect world where nothing ever happened yet nothing was ever boring. Peter had built a utopia in his mind-- a kingdom created to his exact preferences. A blissful tower of joy and happiness and energy and satisfaction. A paradise where he stood on top of the world with Graciella DeCuerpo, the pretty girl from algebra  class, standing right next to him.

          Now, Peter was well aware that the pretty girl from algebra  class had no idea who Peter was. The pair had never exchanged more than a few words, but somewhere within those few words, Peter managed to decide that she was his soulmate. He’d created an image of her in his head that would make God weep tears of envy, the perfect personality for the perfect person.  Peter willfully ignored the fact that he was setting himself up for heartbreak as he imagined how nice it would feel to have her fingers intertwined with his. 

           All of Peter’s friends thought he was ridiculous, ‘you can’t love someone you don’t know,’ they’d say. Peter would only scoff and shake away their words. He absolutely can love someone he doesn’t know, it’s getting the other person to reciprocate those feelings that’s nearly impossible. However, that doesn’t stop him from fantasizing at night. That doesn’t stop him from imagining the various ways he’d confess his love to the pretty girl who doesn’t love him. Or maybe she does. Peter doesn’t know, he could never know; unless, of course, he worked up the courage to talk to her. 

          Scott constantly teased Peter about his one-sided infatuation, but Peter paid no mind to him. He was 100% content with his perpetual pining for someone who probably didn’t know his name. He was totally okay with the unending ache in his chest that would appear any time she walked by or met his gaze. Peter was alright with his ceaseless yearning and the eternal feeling of disappointment that overtook him every time he snapped out of one of his fantasies. He was a-okay with all of that.

          So, there he was, spacing out during biology class as Professor Hargreeves struggles to teach the silver teen about photosynthesis. The Professor looked at Peter with desperate eyes, soon deciding that having his usually energetic student be quiet and still was the silver lining of the situation-- no pun intended. Professor Hargreeves droned on as Peter glanced at the clock, counting down the minutes until 7th period. Counting the seconds until he got to see the pretty girl in algebra  class once again.

Tuesday

          6th period was always the worst part of Peter’s day-- the dreaded english class. There were many contributing factors to Peter’s hatred for this class; the professor was a bore, the material itself was uninteresting, and Peter could never seem to sit still or retain any of the words he read in english class. Worst of all, english class seemed to go on forever, leaving Peter to impatiently wait for the bell to ring and release him to 7th period. At the end of the period every day, he was practically vibrating in his seat. 

          “Can anyone tell me what Juliet’s suicide is supposed to symbolize?” the Professor asked expectantly. Peter couldn’t care less about the symbolism of some chick’s suicide-- he’d much rather be studying the features of his algebra  class infatuation. 

          She sat next to him yesterday. There were at least 5 other open seats and she sat next to him. Yes, Peter read too much into it and yes, Peter spent the entire class period trying to make himself seem naturally cool, but he didn’t care. Peter would act like the most desperate, pathetic, lovestruck loser in the world if it meant that she would like him. They didn’t talk, they didn’t exchange a single word, nevertheless, Peter was in a state of euphoria for the entire class period. 

          Sometimes Peter feels like a stalker. He watches her whenever he can-- he doesn’t follow her around or anything, but if she’s around, he’ll stare at her. He has her features memorized, the curve of her nose, the dark brown irises surrounding her pupils, the way that she always seems to have chipped black nail polish on. He sees the small things. He sees the way she bites her nails when he gets bored and he sees the way her leg never seems to stop bouncing. She hums the basslines to songs as opposed to the melody. 

          English class came to an abrupt end as the bell cut off the Professor’s teachings as well as Peter’s distant daydreaming. Peter was out of his seat within seconds, his notes and books quickly being swept up in his arms as he walked out of the room. The hallways are crowded and chaotic and busy, each individual student attempting to get to their locker then to their class on time. Peter watches as kids swing their lockers open, fatigue and weariness apparent on their faces as they disappear into their classrooms. Peter reaches his locker hastily, the few small posters of classic rocks bands adorning the inside of his locker door. A playful giddiness overcame his body as he made his way to algebra  class, a small smile left on his face.

          Graciella shows up across the hallway, her bright red hair catching his eye in a sea of brown and blonde and blue. His stomach flutters as they get closer and closer to each other, finally meeting outside of the classroom. Her eyes rise to meet Peter’s, and instead of pulling away, Peter keeps looking. She smiles at him before disappearing inside the classroom, and Peter felt his knees get weak. With a deep breath and a triumphant smile, he walked into the classroom.

Wednesday

          Lunchtime; possibly one of the most enjoyable parts of Peter’s school day. Peter is free to kick back and stuff his face full of whatever junk the school board deems nutritious enough for highschoolers. Usually, he ate lunch under the bleachers with his friends, but in some sick twist of fate most of them were absent. So, Peter was left to eat alone in his usual spot.

          The quiet was comfortable, refreshing. The gentle summer breeze would blow every few minutes and Peter would listen to the rustle of the leaves. There’s a certain tranquility to being alone; Peter can lay back and relax and just… think. No stress, no panicking, no--

          “Hey, uh, Peter, right?” Peter’s eyes snap up so fast he’s afraid they would detach from his head and fall out. His breath faltered and his hands began to shake a bit-- why was he so freaked out? She was just a girl; sure, she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, and yeah, he was madly in love with her, but that’s besides the point. 

          “Uh-- uh, yeah, P-Peter. That’s, uh, that’s me,” He chuckled awkwardly, desperately trying to stay cool. Peter was an awkward person, but he’d rather die than fuck up his chances with Grace.

          “You dropped this on your way out of class yesterday, I, uhm, didn’t get to return it to you until now,” She holds out a small key chain with three small keys hanging off of it-- Peter’s house keys, along with the key to his mother’s car. He quickly takes the key chain from the red-haired girl in front of him.

          “Holy shit, uh, thanks! I couldn’t get into my house yesterday so I guess you saved me from another broken window,” Peter held up his hand and showcased the scattered pattern of small cuts on his palm. Grace laughed lightly before gently running her fingers over the cuts on Peter’s palm.

          “Oh fuck, dude, these look pretty bad. Maybe keep a spare key hidden under your welcome mat or something,” Peter doesn’t fully process Grace’s words; he’s too preoccupied with trying not to collapse at the feeling of her fingertips on his palm.

          “Hey, you okay? You look… pale,” Grace pressed the back of her hand on Peter’s forehead in an attempt to check for illness, but that just made Peter’s skin erupt in goosebumps. 

          “I, um, I’m fine. I’m just st-stressed about the algebra  t-test on Friday, I th-think,” To be fair, Peter was stressed about the algebra  test. Peter may or may not have spent the entire class staring at Grace instead of, you know, learning the material.

          “Oh! Well, if you want, I can help you study. I’m also kinda worried about it, and I study better with other people,” Peter silently thanked god for what was happening to him.

          “That would be fuckin’ fantastic,” Grace smiled a smile that made Peter shiver.

          “Cool! Uh, I’ll give you my phone number and we’ll meet up tomorrow. One day isn’t much time to study, but it’s better than nothing.” She pulls a pen out of her backpack and rips a small piece of paper out of one of her notebooks. Peter watches as she scribbles down her phone number and hands the paper to him.

          “Thanks. For everything, the keys, the studying-- everything.” Grace smiled.

          “It’s no problem, Peter, really. I’ll call you later,” And just like that, she walked away. Peter was left alone under the bleachers, a wide smile plastered on his face as he read the piece of paper in his hands over and over and over again.

Thursday

          30 minutes. 30 minutes until Grace Reaper DeCuerpo, the prettiest, nicest, funniest girl Peter had ever met would show up on his doorstep. She would be inside his house for god knows how long. She would sit next to Peter-- either on the coffee table in the basement or on the floor of his bedroom. Needless to say, Peter was freaking the fuck out.

          The plan was simple: Grace shows up, they study, they get comfortable, and she goes home. Yet, in those four simple steps, so much could go wrong. Wanda could interrupt, his mother could lose her temper, Lorena could start crying-- worst of all, Peter could embarrass himself and drive her away. 

           Peter was in the middle of reorganizing his record collection for a third time when he heard a knock at the door. His blood went cold and an electric excitement ran through his veins. Peter checked his hair in the mirror one last time before running to the door. He stood silently, staring at the chrome handle hesitantly. This was his one chance. His only chance to make his perfect kingdom real-- Peter really, really, really didn't want to fuck it up. With a deep breath, he slowly opened the door.

          "Hey, Peter!" Her voice was smooth and melodic and it made Peter's heart light up. He’s about to respond with something smooth and witty when a squeaky voice chirps behind him.

         “Hi!! Are you the pretty girl Peter talks about?” Peter can physically feel his face turn bright red as he turns to see his six-year-old sister, Lorena, standing behind him. She’s wearing a purple princess dress that has a syrup stain on the sleeve. Grace laughs before stepping through the doorway. 

          “Lorena!” Peter groans in annoyance, a pleading look on his face. The young girl just giggles before scurrying away, her dress flowing behind her.

          “‘The pretty girl Peter talks about��, huh?” Grace grins at Peter cheekily. Peter runs his hand through his hair before motioning to the staircase.

          “God, Lorna is quite the kid. Well, uh, we can work in my room,” He sighs. “And Grace? Uh, m-maybe don’t let Lorena change your opinion of me,” She just smirks before walking past Peter.

          “Too late,” She called before disappearing down the stairs. Peter could hear the faintest trace of a smile in her voice. His heart skipped a beat as he quickly followed after her. 

          She was wearing a Pink Floyd t-shirt and holding a backpack with various pins on it-- her left ear was pierced in three places and her right in five. The earrings she was wearing were black, or maybe grey; her bright red hair blocked Peter’s view of them. She was wearing rings, some odd words engraved in the metal. Peter couldn’t read them from where he was standing. She was wearing a skirt with fishnets, her hand buried in the pockets that seem to have been sewn in herself. She has callouses on both her hands, but Peter knew that already. Her appearance would put Aphrodite to shame-- suddenly, Peter was much less confident in himself than he was before. He ran his hand through his hair again before reaching the basement.

          He held his breath as Grace looked around his room, her gaze lingering on the plethora of stolen signs and band posters covering the walls. She placed her backpack on the floor and walked over to Peter’s record collection, her fingers carefully flitting through the different albums. She seemed… impressed. It was then that Peter realized it had been silent for much too long.

          “Y’know I can, uh, p-play some music if you want me to. You can just pick a record and, uh, I’ll... play it,” Peter winced at his words, cursing himself for being so awkward in front of the girl he’d been pining after since the beginning of the year. He felt like everything had spiraled out of control, and he watched idly as it happened. Then, Grace shot him a smile and pulled out a record.

          “You have a good taste in music, Silver,” No one had ever called Peter ‘silver’ before. He liked it a bit more than he should. “Although, that’s not really a surprise. I had a feeling you were cool.” 

          “You think I’m cool?” Peter asked, shocked. He wasn’t sure he heard her correctly.

          “Oh, totally. I see you in the hallways sometimes and you always seem so… carefree. Genuine. I don’t know, I guess it’s just… you, ya know? You’re naturally cool.” Every syllable that rolled off her tongue shot euphoria through Peter’s veins. Grace DeCuerpo, the girl Peter Maximoff had dreamed of for almost a full year, was telling him that she thought he was cool. Naturally cool. 

          “I know a lot of people who would disagree with you on that one,” Peter joked. There was truth behind his humor, but of course, he didn’t want to get into his insecurities now. “They think I’m a total loser, which isn’t totally wrong I guess.”

          “Well those people are stupid,” She stated matter-of-factly with a smile. “Speaking of stupid, we should probably get to work.” Peter nodded before sitting beside her on the floor. 

          For three hours they poured over their algebra  books. They quizzed each other and checked each other’s work; Peter’s proficiency in simplifying radicals aiding them both. Every now and then their hands would brush against each other, or the conversation would stray away from school and into their personal lives. Peter learned that Grace had two brothers, one of which passed away when she was younger. Peter talked about Lorena and Wanda and his miraculous abilities in the same way that she talked about her hometown and her own abilities. The conversation was smooth and natural-- Peter didn’t feel like he was being too annoying or too chatty and there was seldom an awkward pause. The pair were content in their time together, not a single moment went by where one wished the other would leave. 

          Eventually, Grace had to go home. Peter wished that she could stay forever, but of course, that would be considered kidnapping. He walked her to the door, although Peter didn’t feel like he was walking. He felt like he was floating.

          “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Silver,” Grace said softly as she turned to face Peter. She looked him in the eye and he could feel his stomach flutter. 

          “Yeah, I guess so,” She opened the door, but before she left, she froze. She turned to look at Peter once again. 

          “Peter?” she said. “You’re not a loser.”

Friday

          Peter could tell the second he walked through the front door of his high school that something had changed. The energy that radiated in the halls shifted from a dull buzz of boredom to a rush of anticipation. The students in the hallway looked the same as always; tired and anxious and wishing for the day to go by quickly. However, Peter wasn’t wishing for the end of the day, and he certainly wasn’t tired. He was determined and energized and absolutely terrified, because that morning Peter Maximoff made the most important decision a seventeen-year-old could. He decided that he was going to ask Grace out on a date. 

          Peter made the choice to keep this from his friends-- it’s not that he didn’t trust them, it’s just that Peter knew he would be teased for his infatuation. It’s happened before and it will happen again. He walked down the hallways with a brave face on, his eyes forward and his heart racing. Truthfully, the silver teenager was terrified of… well, everything. The looming image of a harsh rejection forced itself into his mind; the idea that she would laugh in his face made his heart break a tiny bit, even though it wasn’t real. Peter simply shook those images away and walked on. 

          The day flew by much faster than Peter was comfortable with, and for the first time ever, he was dreading algebra  class. He was terrified that he would walk through the door and have everything be exactly the same-- he feared that Grace would go back to not knowing who he was, just like before. Peter was alright with never being her boyfriend, but he didn’t want to be a stranger. He didn’t think he could take being a stranger anymore. 

            So, there he stood, staring at the door to his algebra classroom from across the hall. He felt confident and prepared himself for the task at hand. In four long strides, he entered the classroom. Grace was sitting next to an empty desk, her eyes stuck on the small notebook full of doodles on her desk. Peter watched as her eyes raised to meet his, a wide smile forming on her face as she motioned him over. 

          “Hey, silver! I saved a seat for ya,” she called, and Peter felt his knees get weak. He then decided that he would wait until after class to ask her out. 

          “You did?”

          “Of course,” She grinned. “I like you, dude, you’re my friend,” Peter’s heart fluttered as he sat down beside her. Grace shot an odd look his way before reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. “Hey, you look stressed. Don’t sweat it, silver, you’ll do fine. We studied for, like, 3 hours yesterday. You’re gonna ace it,”

          To be frank, Peter had forgotten all about the test. The real reason he looked so stressed was because he happened to be sitting next to the love of his life, and the love of his life happened to be touching his arm. 

          “O-oh! Uh, yeah, thanks. I was just nervous because of… the test,” The bell rang and class began, the professor strictly laying down the rules that were to be followed while the test was in session. Peter could feel the lingering touch of her hand on his skin. It made his head feel fuzzy.

          Peter soon came to learn that sitting next to Grace during a test was a huge mistake. He couldn’t focus on anything other than her-- it didn’t help that she kept shooting him glances from where she sat. The numbers and letters on the paper in front of him seemed to rearrange before his eyes, instead spelling out various taunts. He feels a little pathetic for how easily Grace can unravel him, but hey, he’s a teenager. 

          The silver-haired boy’s eyes were struggling to decipher the words on his page when a small folded square landed on his desk. It came from Grace’s direction, and a small smirk had formed on her lips as she solved equations. Hesitantly, he unfolded the paper and read the neatly written message.

          Hey silver :)

          Peter smiled softly. He quickly pulled a pad of post-it notes out of his backpack and scribbled down a quick reply.

          I have no idea what I’m doing. I think Professor Stedman decided to write our tests in hieroglyphics this time.

          He flicked the note onto her desk and quickly turned his face downward. Class would be over soon, and Peter knew he couldn’t turn in a blank test. He uses his enhanced speed to do his assessment in seconds. Sure, he was almost certain he’d barely reach a passing grade, but hey, he had bigger matters to focus on. By the time he finished, another note landed on his desk.

          That bad, huh? Looks like we better study longer next time. 

          Peter’s heart swelled a bit. He really thought the study sessions were a one-time thing. He’s overjoyed to know he’ll get to see Grace semi-regularly, even if he never manages to ask her out.

          I think I’d rather hang out with you without the looming threat of schoolwork. 

          That’s the closest Peter could get to asking her out. He put deep thought into every word, he examined the phrasing and checked the spelling of every word. His english teacher would be proud.

          That can be arranged ;) 

          Peter had no idea that four words could make him feel so much. He had no idea that 17 letters could make him want to scream in the middle of a silent testing period. His hand was shaking and his careful planning was abandoned as he scribbled back a reply.

          Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?

          Patiently, he waited. He waited for Grace to finish writing her response and he waited for her to toss the note back over. He didn’t wait for more than a few minutes, but it felt like hours. He was panicking, and he was sure she could tell. She was probably joking, right? She was probably writing an awkward clarification-- she was probably explaining that she would actually rather die than be around him for non-academic reasons. He braced himself as the yellow post-it landed on the center of his desk.

          My aunt owns a drive-in a few miles from here and she gave me keys to the projector room and the gate. She managed to snag a copy of The Exorcist-- I thought you’d like to join me during my midnight escapade tomorrow night.

          Peter’s heart stopped. For a moment, he thought his eyes were fooling him. Maybe this was all some sick joke. Maybe he was being set up. Maybe he’ll get in her car tomorrow and she’ll drive him into the woods and murder him. To be completely honest, Peter wouldn’t mind if she murdered him. Peter wrote his reply.

          Really? You want me there? I might be a drag. You could probably find at least 20 other people who would probably be more interesting than me.

          Grace frowned at his response, and suddenly Peter decided he never wanted to see her frown again. She wrote confidently, her words solid and sure.

          You? A drag? Impossible. I don’t want to be alone, and I don’t want to be with anyone other than you, Maximoff. 

          This note was his undoing. He couldn’t help himself, he read it over and over and over again-- he almost forgot to respond. He wanted to hold onto it forever, he wanted it to be framed and hung on his wall. Hell, he wanted it tattooed on his arm. Peter had never been so happy while taking a test, that’s for sure. He wasn’t sure exactly what to say; he went from heartfelt responses to witty retorts. Finally, he decided to be totally and completely honest.

          I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Saturday 

          There was seldom a time in his life where Peter Maximoff felt wholly content. Even in the most peaceful moments, there was always something bothering him, there was always something to pull him back to reality. However, sitting in the back of Grace’s dad’s convertible with the seats down and the roof pulled back, his head resting on her shoulder as they watched a cheesy horror movie, Peter was as close to nirvana as he’d ever been. 

          Life had always been so hard for Peter. He’s always had to fight for his seat at the table, to claw his way into a state of mind that wasn’t a hellhole. It seemed as if the world was plotted against him; he was ostracized from society and taught that he, along with his closest family and friends, were monsters. He never met his father and his mother spent so long fighting her own battles that she forgot to love her kids. Peter had to steal to stay fed, and he had to do his best to raise his little sisters to be good people. But right there, right then? That wasn’t hard. Peter didn’t have to be anyone or do anything-- he just had to exist next to someone who wanted him. That was the easiest thing Peter had ever done.

          Peter wasn’t exactly sure how he got there. Of course, he knew that they had driven to the drive-in, but he wasn’t sure how he was the person next to Grace. They had spoken for one day, maybe two, and somehow he landed himself in the most perfect spot in the entire universe. Less than a week ago, she didn’t even know his name. Or, maybe she did. Maybe she was just like Peter-- maybe she had spent the past year pining for him, and finally she worked up the nerve to just talk to him. Maybe. Peter isn’t complaining either way.

          “Can I ask you a kind of cheesy question?” Peter is startled by the sound of his own voice. Grace sits up and glances at him.

          “Shoot,”

          “Do you-- well, uh, don’t read too much into this, but, do you believe in love at first sight?” God, he sounded awkward. 

          “Nope,” She said bluntly. Peter wasn’t expecting that answer, but he wasn’t exactly disappointed by it. “I mean, it’s kind of a stupid idea, ya know? Like, isn’t there a million poems and sonnets and books written about how love is this weird complicated monster of a feeling? I don’t think you can really love someone just by looking at them. You can love the idea of a person, sure, or maybe the look of a person, but you can’t love that person. Because a person is so much more than ‘first sight’,” she sighs. “I don’t know, maybe I’m being a killjoy. It just seems dumb to me-- dumb and, I don’t know, exclusive,”

          Peter stops to think for a moment. He steps out of his lovesick chaotic hellbrain and looks at his feelings from an outside perspective. He thinks back to the kingdom he created in his brain-- a kingdom built on a foundation of sand. Or, less than sand. Holographic sand, because the sand he built his kingdom on wasn’t real. He made a mental note that ‘Holographic Sand’ is a kickass band name, then resumed his impromptu soul-searching. She was right-- he could see  that now. Scott was right, too. You really can’t love someone you don’t know, because if you don’t know them, you fill in the gaps. You fill in the gaps with what you think fits, and then the other person stops being them and starts being parts of you. Peter suddenly felt weird.

          “I’m sorry if I said something wrong,” Grace interjects after a while. Peter hadn’t realized he’d been silent for so long.

          “You didn’t say anything wrong. On the contrary, you, uh, you made things a little bit more… right, in my brain. You somehow managed to take a little chunk of chaos and tame it, which is scarily impressive,” he joked. “Remind me to ask you your opinion on the meaning of life and the root of true happiness,” They’re joined in a chorus of laughter and Peter realizes that his little brain kingdom didn’t hold a candle to the red convertible he was sitting in. She slings an arm around his shoulders.

          “Y’know, I might not know the meaning of life, but I am pretty close to true happiness right now,” She says, softer than before. “Maybe the root of true happiness is you, Maximoff,” She chuckles. Peter smiles. He doesn’t want the ruin the moment-- god, he is desperately trying to keep himself from fucking it up, but he feels obligated to tell her about his year of pining.

          “Hey, uh, can I tell you something kinda pathetic?” He cringes at the way his voice trembled on the last word. 

          “Go ahead, Peter,” She used his name this time. Peter thinks she knows he’s about to say something mildly serious.

          “I’ve liked you since, like, the beginning of the year. You seemed so… cool. So nice. I saw you in the hallways and my stomach would get all twisted up and my head would hurt a little bit. It was like I was allergic to you, but I enjoyed it. That sounds weird. I’m sorry,” He stopped for a moment, attempting to take the buzzing mass of words in his brain and string them into a sentence. “I was too afraid to talk to you, so I, uh, asked around. I got other people’s opinions of you and then built a little version of you in my brain. I realize now that, uhm, the little brain version of you is like, way way worse than actual you,”

          When you talked to me the first time, you threw me off. I wasn’t really nervous about the test-- I mean, yeah I was nervous but that’s not why I looked so pale. I just wasn’t expecting for you to talk to me, like, willingly. So I lied because I was embarrassed. And I lied again in class yesterday. Because I was embarrassed,” He stopped talking. Peter felt like he was digging himself into a hole-- he felt like he killed the sweet sugary mood. 

          “Why are you telling me this?” Grace asked. She didn’t sound angry. She sounded a little confused, and she sounded like she was trying to help Peter decipher his brain. 

          “I don’t know, I guess I just feel bad. I feel bad for, uh, for not being honest I guess. I feel bad for being a coward,” Yep, definitely killed the mood.

          “Peter, you shouldn’t feel bad for being afraid, you know,” She assures. “I would’ve done the exact same thing in your position. Hell, I did do the exact same thing in your position,” That caught Peter’s attention.

          “What?”

          “You didn’t drop your keys in algebra. You dropped them somewhere in bio and my friend found them. She was gonna take them to the office, but I wanted an excuse to talk to you, so I said I’d return them,” Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was being pranked, he had to be. “Being awkward and weird is like a requirement in high school. Don’t sweat it, Maximoff, really. We’re all the same in that way, I think,”

          Peter felt a wave of relief wash over him. He was feeling too much at that moment, he was letting the bad drown out the good. He didn’t want to remember the day in a sad light.

          “I like you. A lot. Even if you are awkward and weird,” He smiles softly. Slowly, ever so slowly, he intertwined his fingers with those of the girl beside him. It was a simple display of affection, but it made Peter feel like he was floating.

          “I like you too, dork,” Peter smiled widely before placing his head back on Grace’s shoulder. Peter wasn’t paying attention to the movie, in fact, he wasn’t paying attention to anything at all. No, Peter was lost in his head again-- but this time, he wasn’t standing on a false kingdom with a false version of the girl he liked. No, this time, he was thinking about the very real girl beside him. He was thinking about the perfect world they had created in the small car they were in; a perfect world where he felt so much emotion and so, so safe. They had built a utopia in the back seat- a blissful tower of awkwardness and comfort and clumsy confessions. A paradise where he sat in the back seat of a Ford Galaxie with Graciella DeCuerpo, the pretty girl from algebra class, sitting right next to him. 

[thollandthot]

three’s company ; tom holland x harrison osterfield

A/N: ta daaa !! here is my long awaited threesome one shot !! this is probably the longest one shot i have ever written so i hope you enjoy it !! WORD COUNT: ~5.5K lol PAIRING: college au frat boy!tom holland x frat boy!harrison osterfield x female reader. WARNINGS: possibly the most nsfw thing imaginable. threesome/polyamory, oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected sex,  underaged drinking kinda.

CLICK HERE TO READ PART ONE. CLICK HERE TO READ PART TWO. CLICK HERE TO READ PART THREE. CLICK HERE TO READ PART THREE AND A HALF. CLICK HERE TO READ PART FOUR.

three’s company

Quite a bit of your college experience had, for a lack of a better term, sucked. You took classes you didn’t care about that were taught by professors who didn’t care about you, and gave homework you never understood. You tried to remain a good student, but it was becoming increasingly difficult as the semester progressed.

However, there was one class you were always excited to attend. Your 11:15 Philosophy course. It was your last class of the day, and always put a smile on your face. Not because you enjoyed what you were being taught, nor the professor who taught it, but because of the two incredibly attractive British exchange students that sat in front of you.

You’d been fortunate enough to get paired with the two of them for a project at the beginning of the semester. You had to do a presentation about Socrates together, which wasn’t extremely difficult, but once you looked around the lecture hall and noticed many of your classmates practically drooling over the two boys who were assisting you on your project, you knew you weren’t the only one competing for their affections.

Luckily for you, you had a slight advantage over everyone else in your lecture. You had developed a friendship with both of them. Meeting with them twice a week for almost a month to work on a project did have its perks, but that did nothing to lessen the crush you had on the two. They were genuinely nice guys. They kept their room clean, they were funny, they were polite, and the more you saw them interact with each other, the more you began to like them.

But you knew you had to shove those feelings down. You knew both of them were incredibly out of your league, and although they both said they didn’t have girlfriends, you could tell that they both had a pretty high body count. But that didn’t deter you. Hell, if you looked like either of them, you would have a high body count, too.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” You snickered as you plopped into your unassigned assigned seat behind the two Brits a few minutes before your lecture began. The two swiveled around in their chairs to face you upon hearing your voice.

“Y/N.” The blonde greeted with a nod and a playful grin. That one was Harrison. He was taller than his roommate, and a little bit paler. He frequently wore a confident smile, which definitely factored into the crush you had on him. He had piercing blue eyes that always helped him get what he wanted out of you, whether it be answers to homework, a story about a boy, sex, you’d give it to him if he gave you one look. It was a problem.

“You free Friday night?” His brunet companion raised a brow at you. That one was Tom. Although he was shorter than Harrison, he was definitely leaner. You often found yourself staring at the way his t-shirts would strain around his shoulders and biceps, and when he’d move his arms up to stretch on occasion you found it difficult not to salivate. You also noticed that he often messed around with his chocolate brown curls during class, and it never failed to make you think about what it might feel like if you were the one running your fingers through that gorgeous head of hair. His brown eyes were soft, but his smirks were teasing, giving you the impression that he would never do anything to hurt you, but that he also wouldn’t hesitate to fuck you into oblivion.

You were too caught up in your own thoughts to realize Tom had asked you a question, and it took you a bit longer than it should have to respond. “Come on, Tom, you know Friday is bingo night. I’m trying to win big at the nursing home.” You joked, causing Harrison to stifle a laugh as his friend glared at him.

“You should blow that off and come hang out with us instead. PIKE is having a party.” Tom continued. PIKE, as in the fraternity. Of course they were in a fraternity. And it wasn’t just any fraternity. It was the fraternity that was rumored to host the wildest parties on campus. You heard tales since your freshman year about girls leaving without their shirts after the cops were called, a kiddie pool filled with jungle juice, the list went on. You never had the pleasure of going to a PIKE party, because they were always very exclusive.

You mulled over the invitation, tapping your chin as if you were deep in thought. “Huh, Idunno, boys. I might have to check my calendar.” Of course, you already had an answer. You would have been stupid to pass up an opportunity to hang out with two of the most attractive men you had ever laid eyes on and experience a wild frat party for the first time. It wasn’t as if you had anything better to do, anyway. Regardless, you played it cool. “Will there be alcohol involved?”

Your question caused Harrison to laugh, which was followed up by a playful smirk. “A little bit, yeah.” And as if you weren’t already sold on going to this party, that really sealed the deal. You knew you could use a break from all your studying, and a good drink would definitely help you loosen up.

“Can I bring a friend?” That was your next question. You were far too introverted to go to a party alone, even if you knew two of the fraternity brothers. Not to mention, your roommate would probably kill you if she knew you went to a PIKE party without her.

Tom glanced at Harrison, as if silently asking for his approval. The blond kept that playful grin on his lips, making it difficult for you to not melt into a puddle. “Yeah. Just make sure it’s not a guy, yeah? We want you to ourselves.”

You weren’t too sure what to make of that last bit, actually. You couldn’t decipher whether or not Harrison was just partaking in playful banter or genuinely flirting with you. Regardless, the words made your cheeks heat up. “Then perhaps I’ll stop by.” You gave the two of them a wink, and as if on cue, your professor entered the lecture hall, which caused the pair in front of you to face forward in their seats, ready to start today’s lesson.

——

Friday came upon you quickly. So quickly, in fact, that it was almost 10 p.m. and you were frantically searching for what to wear to see the two boys. They never gave you a dress code, so you were going in completely blind. You figured, because it was a frat party, you’d wear something a bit more suited for the occasion than your normal t-shirts and skinny jeans. Which was why you enlisted the help of your roommate to select the outfit you had decided on; a maroon velvet camisole that was tight around your chest, your trusty pair of distressed black skinny jeans, and a pair of black wedge heels. You wouldn’t be caught dead wearing stilettos to a frat party, but you couldn’t deny how the wedges your roommate suggested made your legs look longer and accentuated your ass in your skin tight jeans. 

After your brief walk across campus, the faint sound of a pounding bassline grew nearer, the beat of some dance remix to a popular song ringing in your ears. You and your roommate immediately went your separate ways upon entering the frat house, reminding each other to text or call if or when you left. You were ready to attempt to find the kitchen in hopes to get a drink until you heard your name being called.

“Y/N!” It was in a British accent you knew could only belong to one of two people. Turning in the direction of the voice, you were soon face to face with the two boys from your Philosophy class.

Tom was the first to greet you, looking more relaxed as he gave you a hug with his free arm. His change in demeanor was almost definitely due in part to the half empty solo cup of beer in his other hand. Harrison gave you a squeeze next, wrapping both arms around you before pulling away and giving you a quick once over. He let out a low whistle and then a chuckle.

“Damn, who knew you were hiding a body like this under all those band t-shirts.” His comment caused you to flush, but it probably wasn’t noticeable under the dim lighting. Harrison took your hand in his before lifting your arm up, giving you an expectant look. “Give is a spin, yeah?”

You rolled your eyes, but obliged, nevertheless, allowing Harrison to turn you around and let the two best friends see your outfit from every angle. Harrison whistled once more. “She looks good,” his attention went from you to his best friend for a moment, raising his brows at Tom and asking for his approval. “Doesn’t she, mate?”

It wasn’t until then that you noticed just how close the three of you were. Your fingers were still laced with Harrison’s and you heard Tom hum in agreement, even over the loud house music, before he proceeded to rest his free hand on the small of your back. He leaned in even closer to whisper in your ear, “You look sensational, darling.”

That made your heart skip a beat. Even the smallest of touches from Tom sent a shiver down your spine, and the pet name he called you made a surge of want course through your veins. It was suddenly incredibly hot, and you leaned forward to speak to both of them, hoping to dissolve the tension between the three of you. 

“So are you two just gonna stare at me all night, or are you gonna come with me to get a drink?”

They didn’t argue, and for most of the night, the three of you sat on a couch in the living room, you nursing the same vodka soda the entire time.  You were sat between the two roommates, Harrison’s arm resting across the back of the couch behind you, Tom’s hand on your thigh as his thumb absentmindedly drew circles on your skin through your jeans. You talked about a lot of things, but mostly classes and homework. You attempted to avoid talking about your shared Philosophy course, not wanting to kill the mood.

The three of you weren’t drunk, but you had enough to drink for your body to feel warm and for your judgement to be slightly clouded. Which was why you didn’t think twice before you asked, “So can i see your room?”

The two roommates looked at each other, a gleam in their eyes that you couldn’t quite recognize, before each of them took one of your hands, helping to pull you up off the couch and leading you upstairs. The three of you maneuvered through the bodies of drunken and sweaty college students, Tom and Harrison clearly having done so more than you ever had. They led you down the corridor, less people occupying it the further down the hall you went. You didn’t fail to notice how Harrison kept his hand in yours and Tom rested a hand on the small of your back as they guided you, but you weren’t going to comment on it. Not then, at least. Pushing through a door towards the end of the hallway, you were met with a relatively quiet room, the noise of the party becoming quieter once the door shut behind you. You took a moment to take in your surroundings; the two beds on opposite ends of the room, the UK flag on one of the bare walls, and a simple rug covering the expanse of the tiled floor. There were things tucked underneath their beds, and a few photos on their respective desks, but for the most part, there wasn’t much to be seen. 

You cautiously took a seat on one of their beds and you patted both spaces next to you, suggesting they join you in the same position they had on the couch downstairs. Of course, the two were happy to oblige, seemingly identical cheeky grins spread across their faces. They easily fell back into the same dynamic, with Tom’s hand resting on your thigh and Harrison’s arm draped around you. The air felt a lot thicker now, with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. There was a deafening silence as you looked between the two Brits, trying to read their expressions that darted between you and each other. You couldn’t read either of them, and it was driving you crazy.

You couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you guys, like, fighting over me or something?” It was probably stupid to ask, knowing they only thought of you as a friend, but the alcohol in your system really helped to get rid of the worry that the two of them would reject you. And in light of that, you decided to dig your grave a little bit deeper. “Because I’m gonna be honest, I’m super attracted to both of you.”

That seemed to pique their interest. It caused Harrison to smirk and Tom to chuckle, squeezing your thigh. “We’ve been best friends for years. We don’t fight over girls, love.”

Your head dropped, mentally slapping yourself. You should’ve known Tom and Harrison were out of your league. In fact, you did know it, but you assumed that when they spent all their time with you tonight, you thought that because of their body language, maybe you had a chance. You clearly had misinterpreted all of it, and you wanted to curl yourself into a ball and never come out. 

It was then that Harrison cleared his throat, causing you to look up. “What this div meant to say was that -- we both are attracted to you.” The blond clarified, causing you to snap your head to the right to look at his brunet friend, hoping he’d confirm the sentiment was true. Tom nodded in reply.

“Extremely.” He admitted, hand that was on your thigh now stroking back and forth. And you suddenly realized that the looks they were giving each other, both in class the other day and throughout the night, were looks of knowing. And maybe even lust.

You weren’t exactly sure of what to say, your mouth hung there as if words were going to come out but they didn’t. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d have a chance with even one of the attractive foreign exchange students from your Philosophy class, and now here you had a chance with either of them. With both of them.

“We’ve gotten, em, quite good at sharing.” Tom prompted after there was no reply other than a long pause and an slacked jaw from you. The sentence caused your brows to furrow, now slightly confused. Originally, you thought you were just supposed to pick one of them, which was an extremely difficult choice, by the way. Those words made you think differently.

Attempting to process what Tom had just said, you blinked a few times, gaze fixed in your lap, before speaking again. “You mean, like, you have threesomes together?”

Alright, that probably wasn’t the best way you could’ve phrased it, but that was what he had meant right? What else could sharing possibly mean? Clearly, neither of the boys expected you to say that word so bluntly, them both shifting slightly in their spots on the bed before Harrison finally spoke.

“It’s not something we’ve done before, but something we’ve talked about.” Harrison gave you that serious gaze with those gorgeous ocean blue eyes that would’ve gotten you to do anything. Perhaps even have a threesome with him and his best friend. “We thought that you’d be a good candidate.”

The words made your heart stop in your chest, your gaze flickering between the two boys beside you. The two most attractive boys you had ever seen in your life wanted to have a threesome with you. Who were you to pass on that opportunity? “I’ve, uh, never done anything like that before.” You muttered, embarrassed beyond belief.

And admittedly, Tom and Harrison had never done anything like that before, either. But they weren’t sure if you were saying yes or no, and there was an unspoken pact between them in that moment that they’d try to make you feel as comfortable as possible, if you chose to partake.

So they didn’t say anything. Instead, the two opted to make things the least awkward they could possibly be. “We don’t have to, love.”  Tom squeezed your knee gently, and the action combined with the pet name caused you to inhale sharply.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.” The declaration was quiet, but caused both boys to look at you intently, as if you were going to say something else. Maybe a ‘but I can’t’, or something along those lines. But you did want to. Oh god, did you want to. “I just wanted to give you the heads up.” Your gaze rose from your lap to glance between the two of them, and the three of you waited with bated breath for someone to make the first move.

That someone ended up being Harrison, bringing your chin closer to his face with his thumb and index finger, his lips meeting yours tenderly. You weren’t too sure of what to do about Tom, but your thoughts subsided when he started kissing your neck, which caused you to gasp into Harrison’s mouth.

After coming to terms with the fact that this was actually happening, you unlaced your fingers, giving each of them attention with one of your hands in order to palm them both through their jeans. You ran your fingers up and down their thighs until you found exactly what you were looking for, and the two both groaned against your skin in sync when you felt their hardening length beneath your touch.

The bed was small, especially since it was a twin sized mattress, courtesy of your university, but perhaps it was better this way. Having both Tom and Harrison impossibly close to you certainly wasn’t something you minded, and that was only proven as Tom shifted off the bed for a moment, allowing his roommate to lay you down across the sheets. You were quick to sit up for a moment, only giving yourself enough time to pull your shirt up and over your head and toss it somewhere on the floor. That gave the two initiative to keep going further, and cued Tom to remove his own shirt as well before leaning on his side and capturing your lips in a kiss.

You took the time to memorize the details about how different they were when it came to kissing. Tom was definitely more handsy, his one arm tugging you closer to his body by your bare waist, but Harrison had fuller lips. You were so caught up in your mental comparison between the two that you hadn’t noticed that Tom’s hand roaming lower until he gave your ass a squeeze, which caused you to gasp into his mouth. He smirked against your lips, the same hand now moving forward to rub you through the seam of your jeans.

“You can take them off.” You pulled away from Tom to mumble the words, chest heaving even though the three of you hadn’t gone further than second base yet. But you’d be lying through your teeth if you said you hadn’t wanted this. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this, too. Which was one of the many reasons why you were so anxious to get this show on the road. “Please…” you pleaded, and although it sounded pathetic to you, it was music to their ears, and it made the brunet turn to his blond friend with a wink. 

“Well, you heard her.” Tom grinned at Harrison, and Haz was quick to unbutton and unzip your skinny jeans, helping you slip them off your legs as Tom’s lips went back to yours. A whimper left your mouth as Harrison rubbed you through your panties, and he shimmied to the end of the bed so he could see the wet spot forming on the fabric.

Harrison tutted softly. “She’s fucking soaking, mate.” He grunted, words directed at Tom as if you weren’t even in the room. And it was hot. You found yourself thinking about if they talked about you when they were alone. Whether it was like this or platonically, you didn’t really care at the moment, but something told you it would’ve been the former.

“Really?” Tom grinned, turning his head to watch his roommate’s expression. It was then that Harrison pushed your panties to the side with his index finger, his middle and ring fingers slipping languidly through your wet folds a few times before raising his hand for Tom to see.

Harrison nodded, showing his now glistening fingers to his friend as evidence. You were, indeed, incredibly wet. “See for yourself.” Harrison’s words caused Tom to shift on the bed, propping himself up with one elbow to get a better look at Harrison’s digits in the dimly lit room. But you could still see the juices he’d managed to collect on them, and it made Tom let out a low groan.

Tom went back to your lips in an instant, this time much more hungrily than he had before. “You’re so fucking sexy.” His voice was lower than usual and dripping in lust, which forced a shiver to rack through your body. Tom went back to running his hands up and down your side while Harrison worked on pulling your panties down your legs before tossing them on the floor somewhere in the room. The blond admired your pussy for a few moments before licking one long, thick stripe up your folds, causing your back to arch forward, pushing yourself closer into Tom’s toned chest. Your hands curiously roamed his torso, fingertips brushing every dip and crevice of his abs. It was an action you only dreamed you’d ever be able to do, but here you were. Two gorgeous British boys, one on your lips and one between your thighs. You were convinced you were the luckiest girl on the planet.

It was only then that you realized you were almost completely unclothed, whereas Tom was the only one with his shirt off. You sat up on your forearms, causing the two to halt their movements as they waited for you to speak. “Can I, um --” you cleared your throat and didn’t fail to feel the heat rising in your cheeks. “Let me suck you guys off.”

The command made their cocks twitch as Tom helped you down off the bed as Harrison hopped down himself, and the two stripped themselves of the rest of their clothes. Your eyes weren’t too sure where to focus as they raked over their naked forms. Of course, Tom was as fit as you had imagined him to be, but Harrison was more muscular than he let on. The blond boy’s cock was lengthier than his roommate’s but Tom made up for that in girth. You had trouble not salivating as you dropped to your knees, one attractive Brit on either side of you, with their hard, swollen cocks now at your eye level.

Admittedly, you weren’t entirely sure where to start, much less who to start with. You rationalized that since Harrison was just giving you head, it was only fair that you returned the favor. With that in mind, you wrapped one hand around each of them before licking a tantalizing slow stripe up the underside of their cocks. You took Harrison’s tip in your mouth slowly, stroking Tom in time with each bob of your head. After a few minutes, you switched, giving more attention to Tom’s dick, and you kept that pattern going for a while. Every time you’d pivot on your knees to suck one of them, they’d buck their hips gently into your mouth, a groan passing their already parted lips. 

Eventually, Tom took a step backwards, and once Harrison saw the action, he did, as well. Tom offered you his hand to help you on your feet, a sinister glint in his eyes. “Why don’t you get back up on the bed, huh, love? On all fours.” 

You felt a surge of arousal course through your veins at his words, but you nodded eagerly as you stood, getting on your hands and knees on the bed like Tom instructed. In an instant, Harrison was behind you, rubbing a calming hand over your back as Tom positioned himself on his knees at the front of the bed, his cock once again at your eye level. You were quick to take him back into your mouth as Harrison gently pushed your legs further apart, rubbing his length slowly up and down your slick folds, which made you moan around Tom’s dick.

“Ready for me, love?” Harrison cooed, placing one hand on your hip, the other still massaging your back as he lined himself up with your entrance. You hummed your reply, which was all the approval the blond needed to push himself inside of you, grunting at the feeling of your walls around him. “God, even tighter than I thought you’d be.”

The words made your walls contract around Harrison’s cock. Knowing that Harrison -- and most likely Tom, as well -- had thought about fucking you was the hottest thing ever and a dream come true. For the last few months, you thought the two British exchange students from your Philosophy class were incredibly out of your league, and now here you were. One in your mouth and the other inside your cunt. It was the type of story Pornhub viewers would eat up. You were sure of it.

Once Harrison began thrusting inside of you, it took a lot less effort to suck Tom’s cock. Each thrust jolted you forward, forcing you to take more of Tom’s length, and soon, the two were working in sync. Tom was rutting his hips to meet your mouth while Harrison was jutting his hips to get deeper inside of you. You didn’t think it was possible to feel this completely and utterly fucked, and the sensation made your walls clench around Harrison’s cock once more.

“Fucking hell, look so fucking hot. Taking my cock so good.” Harrison groaned, pulling you back by your hips. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment upon hearing the praise, making Tom raise his brows curiously.

He decided to test the waters, bringing one hand down to your chin. Your eyes opened once more, now making eye contact with the attractive brunet above you. Tom grinned, “Doesn’t look too bad from here either, mate.” Tom replied to Harrison, giving you a wink. The words made you moan around Tom’s cock, eliciting a low groan from him in response. “Well, well, well.” Tom smirked, his gaze moving to his friend for a moment. “Looks like Y/N’s got a praise kink.” 

You wanted him to shut up, and in an attempt to make him do so, you opened your mouth wider to take Tom’s length into the back of your throat, which only made him lace his fingers in your hair. It was too late, anyway. The secret was out. “Really?” Harrison mused, shifting slightly to change the angle of his thrusts, quickening his pace. “You like being told you’re a good girl, don’t you, love?” You nodded as much as you could with Tom’s dick in your throat, batting your lashes up at the brunet. Tom rubbed his thumb gently over your cheek in response.

“You wanna be a good girl and cum for us, darling?” Tom cooed, thrusting himself deeper into your mouth, making you gag. The words made your walls clench around Harrison’s cock once more, eliciting a groan from the blond. You moaned around Tom’s length, and that was all the confirmation he needed. “Come on, then. Cum for us, love.” And the permission was all you needed, your eyes squeezing shut as your orgasm worked through you.

It was like a domino effect from there. Your moans of ecstasy around Tom’s cock caused his hips to stutter as he released into your throat, and the pulsing of your cunt sent Harrison over the edge, as well. After a few moments, you sat up on your knees, pulling your mouth away from Tom’s softening cock as Harrison simultaneously pulled out of you.

There was a silence between the three of you for a moment as you attempted to redress yourself, ready to head back to your dorm room. The two friends looked between each other before Tom nodded. “Hey, uh, Y/N. You don’t have to head back yet.”

The words took you a bit by surprise. You assumed this was much like other college hookups. You were supposed to head out as quickly as possible. But apparently, that was not the case. You halted your movements, only blinking and flicking your gaze between the two. Tom continued, “I mean, it’s getting late. We can let you borrow some clothes and you can, uh, spend the night.” You could almost see a blush tinge Tom’s cheeks from the dimly lit room as he spoke, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t want you walking back to your dorm alone or anything, you know?” 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You replied awkwardly. It was a nice gesture, and if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t want this night with the two of them to end just yet. The two gave you identical grins upon hearing your answer, and Tom was quick to grab you a t-shirt and a pair of boxers for you to change into, which you graciously accepted.

The soft music you could still hear died down as the three of you changed, getting ready for bed. You weren’t sure how long you had been up in their bedroom with them, but it must’ve been a while considering the party had now run its course. There were no windows in their room, so you couldn’t judge based on the night -- or perhaps the morning -- sky what time it was. Nevertheless, you got ready to head to bed, shifting slightly on the balls of your feet, unsure of what your sleeping situation would be.

“Looks like you’re bunking with me.” Tom murmured into your ear, as if on cue, as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You giggled, spinning around in his arms. “Haz over there is a spreader. Sometimes he even falls off the damn bed.” The brunet chuckled, causing his roommate to thump him over the back of the head.

“I would’ve offered, but I do --” Harrison spread his arms and legs wide, as if demonstrating his sleeping position, “-- starfish.” You nodded knowingly, a giggle leaving your lips as you padded over to the other side of the room where Tom’s bed resided.

It was a tight squeeze for the two of you to lay on the same bed, not that you minded. You were pressed impossibly close to Tom’s bare chest, his arms wrapped around your middle as they had been a few moments prior. “Sorry I didn’t get to eat you out.” Tom whispered into your hair. The words made you turn to face him, one hand reaching up to push a few stray strands of hair out of his face. So this was what it was like to run your hands through his hair. It felt good. Almost too good.

“It’s okay.” you replied softly, still feeling incredibly sated in that moment, regardless. “Sorry you didn’t get to fuck me. Next time, I promise.” You tensed upon hearing the words leave your mouth. Next time. Admittedly, you didn’t know if there was going to be a next time. You weren’t sure whether you were just helping the two friends check an experience off their bucket list, or whether they would be willing to do something like this again. If that was the case, you just made a complete and utter fool out of yourself. 

Nevertheless, Tom grinned at you, easing your nerves when he spoke, “Yeah. Next time.”

-----

@tom-hollands-eyelash / @ophcelia / @tiny-parker / @jackiehollanderr / @starlightfound / @thirsttrapholland / @marvelsinbin

[pinnithin-writes]

I Know A Place

The laugh that stumbled out of Gordon was pleasant to Tommy’s ears. It was genuine, mellow, not shrilled out from nervousness or anger like so many of his previous laughs had been. The sound pulled a smile from Tommy. He wanted to keep hearing it. He wanted to keep making it happen. “If you need to get away,” he continued tentatively, “I know a place. It’s quiet.”

Gordon and Tommy are tired and Chuck E. Cheese is too loud. They step outside for a minute and decide to get out of there. 3559 words.

The floodlights in the parking lot hummed like distant hornet’s nests, but right now Tommy would take that over the grating techno music inside.

It was his birthday. Of course it was, why else would he be at a Chuck E. Cheese – he and his dad had kept the running joke long into his thirties, so something as trivial as the world almost ending wasn’t about to get in the way of that. It was still a good bit the 37 th time around, especially since he’d actually had friends show up this year.

That didn’t take away from how loud it always was. The entertainment center was never really a calm atmosphere, and sometimes the music was too loud and the lights were too much and Tommy needed to take a breather. His tolerance threshold was particularly low this year. Probably had something to do with spending the past week surrounded by gunfire and full-volume yelling.

He sat on the curb outside, breathing in the cool desert night. Things were quiet out here. Well, quieter. There still was the chirping of crickets and the soft roar of the distant highway. Somewhere, a solitary coyote yowled into the sky. It sounded lonely.

Tommy was just catching a moment by himself. He could return to the party in a few minutes, his social battery recharged enough from the break to handle the sensory input. It was something about himself that he monitored closely, and had done so for years. Even when he and his colleagues were crashing through the underbelly of Black Mesa, there were a couple moments Tommy had to blink out of there, grabbing time by the shirt collar and telling it, “Hold up. I need a minute.”

The door behind him opened and the pulsing bassline poured out. Tommy recognized the heavy tread that approached and didn’t even need to turn his head to know that Gordon Freeman had followed him outside. The door swung shut, muffling the music once more. Tommy exhaled quietly.

“Hey,” Gordon said, drawing up beside him on the curb but not sitting down. “You know the party’s in there, right?”

Tommy offered him a polite smile. “I know, Mr. Freeman,” he said. “I’m just taking a break.”

Gordon crossed his arms, filling out the sleeves of his uniform’s undershirt. The top half of his coveralls were tied around his waist in a charming way that made him look more like a mechanic than a physicist. He had shed the HEV suit’s armor as soon as he arrived, bemoaning not even being able to change after enduring the apocalypse.

Tommy himself wasn’t a fan of that detail, either - he’d ditched the tie and the lab coat as quickly as possible. Oh, and he’d gotten rid of the blood. Chuck E. Cheese was a family establishment. It would just be plain rude for them all to show up covered in gore and grime - think about the kids.

Gordon was still looking at him. “You good?” he asked.

Tommy nodded. “I’m fine,” he assured him. “You can go back inside. I’ll only be a couple more minutes.”

“I actually think I’m gonna stay out here, too, if that’s okay,” Gordon went on. “My head is killing me.”

He was teetering there, still awkwardly staring down at him, and Tommy belatedly realized Gordon was waiting for his permission. Tommy flicked him a cursory up-and-down look. He was fond of Gordon, he really was, but the guy did have a tendency to never know when to shut up.

God, he looked bone-deep exhausted, though. His eyes didn’t used to look like that, faraway and weary, with purple half moons underneath. He probably wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep for 24 hours straight.

A little peace and quiet was the least Tommy could offer. He wordlessly patted the concrete next to him in invitation. Gordon picked up on the cue and gratefully eased himself down beside him. They were sitting close enough to touch, but they didn’t. The coyote howled again.

“So,” Gordon made it thirty seconds before breaking the silence. “Your dad is… Interesting.”

Tommy exhaled quickly out of his nose, almost a laugh. People said that about his dad a lot. “It’s okay, you can tell me he’s weird,” he allowed. “He’s been around for a while and he kind of forgets how to talk to people.”

A trait that Tommy had quickly learned he inherited. He said some pretty weird things, too. Well, weird to most people. Tommy always made perfect sense to Tommy, so Tommy was who Tommy usually talked to. The fact that Gordon so often sought out his company was still new to him.

“I mean, he did just spend like, ten minutes trying to tell me that Chuck E. Cheese’s wasn’t a restaurant,” Gordon said. His tone was bitter in a careful way, like he was trying not to offend for Tommy’s sake.

He only shook his head and gave Gordon a bemused smile. “It’s not a restaurant, though.”

“Oh - you - you, too, huh?” Gordon waved him off tiredly, his voice subdued and without its usual bite. “It serves food, okay? That makes it a restaurant.”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy chuckled, astounded at this man’s ability to find the smallest possible hills to die on.

“Thanks, buddy,” he sighed, reaching out a hand to give him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

It was an unfamiliar gesture, if only due to the fact that not three hours ago Gordon had been missing that hand. Tommy’s father had bestowed him a new one - thank you for your service and all that - and while Tommy was used to a healthy amount of the surreal, this particular gesture stuck with him. Maybe it was because Tommy had been there when Gordon’s hand had been chopped off. Maybe it was because he’d seen what Gordon was like, on the edge of death from the injury. It made all the suffering he went through seem remote, like it hadn’t even happened.

Not that Tommy wanted Gordon to still be missing a hand. It was very good that he had it back. But the wound was invisible now, living only in both of their heads, not even a scar to show for the hell they survived. Tommy found himself staring at the conjured limb as Gordon returned it to his own lap. How had his father done that? Was it any different from his other hand? Had he just pulled a copy of it from the past and attached it to present Gordon? Did it hurt at all?

He wished he knew. He wished he could have fixed things for Gordon as soon as it happened. Would have saved him a lot of pain.

“Tommy,” Gordon prompted.

Tommy’s eyes flicked guiltily back to Gordon’s face. “Yeah?”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You seem a little spaced out there.”

“Yeah,” he answered tonelessly. Tommy didn’t know how to explain that he was thinking this hard about Gordon’s hands. “Does your head still hurt?”

Gordon rolled his broad shoulders in a shrug. “I mean, yeah, but - heh - felt worse before, right?” he attempted to laugh, not quite succeeding.

Tommy was sure Gordon hadn’t meant for the comment to sting, but he winced anyway. It felt like far too soon to be joking about what just happened to them.

Gordon noticed. “Listen, Tommy, it’s really nothing,” he said. His voice was careful, soft, the edges sanded down in the absence of the past week’s adrenaline. “Just a little too much in there for me right now. I’ll get over it, okay?”

“You shouldn’t... have to, Mr. Freeman,” he replied. Tommy sighed and removed the silly propellor hat he was wearing, flicking the spinner distractedly. “If it hurts you, you should make it better.”

“What, you mean, like, take an ibuprofen or something?” Gordon asked.

Tommy stared at him, deadpan. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a headache in my life.”

The laugh that stumbled out of Gordon was pleasant to Tommy’s ears. It was genuine, mellow, not shrilled out from nervousness or anger like so many of his previous laughs had been. The sound pulled a smile from Tommy. He wanted to keep hearing it. He wanted to keep making it happen.

“If you need to get away,” he continued tentatively, “I know a place. It’s quiet.”

Gordon stopped laughing. Fixed Tommy with a curious look. “Right now?”

Tommy nodded despite the flush he felt creeping up his neck. “Mhm.” He’d been there many times. Alone, of course. It kind of defeated the purpose of going to a quiet place if you brought someone else with you. But Gordon was different. Gordon was okay.

“You want to just get up and leave your own birthday party?” Gordon asked, skeptical.

Tommy shrugged. “I can restart things. It’ll be here when we get back.”

The other man’s eyebrows furrowed with disbelief. “What do you mean, restart things?”

“Take us back; restart things.” He repeated, waving a hand vaguely. “Y’know, like, time? For a little.” He didn’t like to turn back the earth for more than an hour - things got weird if he did - but he didn’t imagine they’d need to be gone that long. Just long enough to make it better.

Gordon wasn’t entirely tracking. Tommy could see it on his face. But when he stood and offered his hand, Gordon took it without hesitation. Just like he had back at Black Mesa, when it was just the two of them against the cruel, cold world. Gordon had placed his unconditional trust in him, and Tommy had sworn to hold it close, keep it safe, never let it break.

He realized he was just standing there, staring at him. Hand in newly restored hand. Tommy blinked and pulled Gordon to his feet, the motion natural and reflexive after their week in hell together.

“Man, I still don’t know how you can just pick me up like that,” Gordon said as soon as he was upright. “You’ve gotta weigh what, a buck forty?”

“The soda gives me special energy,” Tommy replied dryly, just to make Gordon laugh, which he did.

He led him through the parking lot, patting the pockets of his slacks until he found his keys. As he pulled them out with a merry jingle, he and Gordon approached a truck on the far end of the lot. It was a Toyota Tacoma pickup, bright orange. Cheerful. Next to him, Gordon made a surprised noise.

“You can drive?”

Tommy gave him a curious look as he hit the unlock button on the key fob. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be able to?”

Gordon faltered, dark eyes thoughtful behind the lenses of his glasses. “I dunno, I guess I thought you grew up in Black Mesa or something,” he answered. “There weren’t a lot of cars there, right? Like, y’know how some people from New York never learn how to drive because of all the public transportation?”

Tommy just shrugged again, somewhat relieved Gordon wasn’t assuming he was too infantile to drive. It was a useful skill to have. Plus, he liked it. “I learned,” he said simply.

They climbed inside the vehicle, the ambient sound of the desert night muffled by the doors closing. Tommy started the car while Gordon put on his seatbelt.

“I didn’t really peg you as a truck person, either,” Gordon commented.

Tommy fastened his seatbelt as well, so the safety alarm wouldn’t sound off as soon as he hit the gas. A nice feature, he considered, if crashing and dying in a wreck was ever a concern to him. “It’s not always a truck, Mr. Freeman,” he explained.

Gordon snorted. “Of course it isn’t. Sure.” He gazed thoughtfully out the window at the parking lot while Tommy threw the Tacoma into gear. “You can just change your car into a different kind of car?”

He nodded.

“Is it always orange?”

“Usually,” Tommy answered, passing Gordon a fond smile. “I like orange.”

They drove. It didn’t take long to reach the highway, then to reach the access road off the highway, then to reach the little dirt track that snaked its way through the sand. The truck trundled past a barbed wire fence and Tommy rolled down the windows, letting the night air rush in to chill them. He didn’t play any music. It wasn’t the night for that.

“Where are we?” Gordon asked. “Where did your dad send us?”

“The Chuck E. Cheese is in Las Cruces,” Tommy replied as he cut the wheel. The Tacoma bucked and jostled them as they went off road.

“Las Cruces - so wait, we’re still in New Mexico?” Gordon tore his eyes away from the scenery to give Tommy an incredulous look. Well, as well as he could while he was bouncing around. “He just put us all back in the middle of fuckoff nowhere?”

“Yeah,” Tommy answered mildly. He thought it was pretty out here. “White Sands is just past those mountains.” He pulled the vehicle to a stop, put it in park, and pointed at the terrain in question.

To Tommy’s surprise, Gordon's eyes lit up. “The missile range?” he asked. “You know that’s where they tested the atomic bomb, right?”

Tommy was aware. He had fact-checked the Wikipedia article for WSMR several times during his employment at Black Mesa, and the topic was frequently touched on while he was getting his degree. But it was good to see Gordon excited about something, so he invited him to keep talking with an, “Oh, really?”

He listened to Gordon go on at length about the proving grounds and the Trinity detonation while he opened the door and let himself out. Gordon’s voice was animated and charming, and it brought a faint smile to Tommy’s face as it filled the desert night. In the backseat of the Tacoma was a tidy collection of pillows and blankets that Tommy piled into his arms. As he went to carry them to the bed of the truck, Gordon distractedly followed him.

“And then in the nineties they started hosting the Bataan Memorial Death March marathon there, and - oh, hey, d’you need a hand with that?” he asked as he clambered down from his seat.

“I’ve got it, Mr. Freeman,” he answered. “Thank you.”

Tommy tossed the blankets lightly into the bed and opened the tailgate. He climbed up, offering his hand once more to Gordon. The wind ruffled coolly through their hair as they paused. It wasn’t like the guy needed any help crawling into the bed of a truck - they both knew this - but Gordon gratefully took his hand anyway and let himself be pulled inside.

“Man, you’ve got this all figured out, huh?” Gordon commented as he took in the heap of blankets.

That he did. Tommy had come on many teeth-chattering night drives out to this spot over the years. Later on, when he’d come into his abilities, he would simply wink out of existence and end up here. The desert was peaceful, the mountain range enchanting. Tommy loved it. He kicked out the blankets and shuffled them into a more comfortable pile, trying to ignore the way his heart was starting to flutter.

He didn’t take people out here. This was his spot. But…Gordon was here. He’d put him in his truck and brought him here. And Tommy wanted him to be here. He really, really wanted him to be here.

“Whoa,” Gordon breathed as he settled back on one elbow to fully look at their surroundings. “This is… beautiful, Tommy.”

They were stretched out under the wheeling stars, the Milky Way tracing a smoky band across the velvet night. The southern Rockies bordered the desert like sentinels, guarding them and keeping them safe. Juniper and sagebrush cast the night in a heady scent, and somewhere faraway, a great horned owl hooted.

Tommy watched Gordon take it in. This was his place, and he desperately wanted Gordon to like it. His eyes were wide with wonder, the starry night reflected prettily in the lenses of his glasses. The tension that had built up in his shoulders was slowly soaking away in the quiet. He looked relaxed, for once. At ease.

The streaks of gray at his temples were likely new, brought on by the stress of recent events. Tommy fought the impulse to reach out and thread his fingers through his hair. He had done it in Black Mesa, when Gordon was half-conscious from blood loss, but now it was different. It would mean something else.

Gordon caught him looking. Raised his eyebrows in question. “What?”

Tommy blushed delicately and laid back to look at the stars. The stars didn’t look back. Usually. “Nothing,” he said.

They stargazed in silence, the desert sighing softly around them. It was a chilly night, and Tommy could sense Gordon subconsciously closing the gap between them for warmth. When they were close enough to be touching from shoulder to elbow, Tommy’s heart rate had worked up to a jog. It was bizarre; only yesterday personal space was out the window for the two of them, a cascading apocalypse forcing them to lean on one another to survive.

Now Tommy was keenly aware of the warmth radiating from the man beside him, and he found it incredibly unfair that the script had been flipped on him so suddenly.

“Hey, Tommy?” Gordon’s voice tugged him out of his thoughts.

Tommy turned his head slightly to indicate that he was listening.

“Did you…know? About like, everything that was happening?” He asked, his voice small. “The Resonance Cascade and the aliens and the - the weird shit with Benrey?”

“No, Mr. Freeman, I didn’t know about that.”

“Your dad just kind of let us take care of it without telling you anything?”

Tommy hesitated. “He didn’t… tell me anything, no.”

There were some clues he picked up on as they went along, but there was no way he would have been able to explain it to the science team at the time. Not in a way that made sense. He hoped Gordon didn’t think he was keeping anything from him while they were clawing their way through the halls of Black Mesa. The last thing he wanted to do was betray the man’s trust.

But all Gordon said was, “Pretty fucked up of him to leave you in the dark like that.”

“I...” Tommy faltered. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He had been dealing with his father’s tendency to play god all his life. The emotional detachment with which the man made decisions was prudent, but he often forgot how cold he really was. Yes, his father loved him. Tommy was aware of this. But loving someone and showing it were two different things.

At that realization, he turned his head to look at Gordon fully. The other man was already staring in his direction, the space between his eyebrows wrinkled in concern. It was sweet that he was worried. Gordon was the only member of their little ragtag team who had consistently asked after his wellbeing. Tommy reached out with a delicate hand and removed his glasses, folding the frames carefully and setting them aside. Gordon let him, watching expectantly.

God, his eyelashes were so long. It was a wonder they didn’t get all tangled up when he blinked.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Tommy told him.

“Okay,” Gordon answered immediately. “Is there something else you want to talk about instead?”

He smiled softly and shook his head. This was a quiet place. There was nothing left to say.

Tommy kissed him in the same way he did everything: with care and purpose. He thought about it first, decided it was right, and he did it. The brief, gentle press of Tommy’s mouth against Gordon’s was like a sheet of rain rolling over the desert, soaking them both with a muted calm. When he pulled away, his entire body felt weightless. Gordon was starry-eyed.

Tommy touched his fingertips to his own tingling lips, feeling his face go hot. He really just did that. “I’m sorry, Mr. Freeman,” he murmured. “I should have asked first.”

He didn’t regret it, though. He held Gordon’s gaze as the stars shifted silently overhead. Tommy realized he had done the impossible - he had rendered Gordon speechless.

Then his hand was on the back of Tommy’s neck and he was pulling him in again. Gordon kissed him in the same way he did everything: headfirst and with passion. It was blood roaring in his ears and fire burning in his stomach and as Tommy fisted a hand in Gordon’s hair, he thought he might never come up for air again.

They lay side by side in the bed of the truck, mouths meeting and parting and meeting again, slipping under each other’s skin. The trust they had built together bloomed into a lovely affection there in that desert night. And while they had to go back to the world eventually, Tommy was content to stay here for now, drinking in the quiet and the wonderful man in his arms.

The stars glittered brightly. The mountains stood tall and vast. Tommy would stop the world a hundred times over for this.

[grimelords]

October Playlist

My October playlist is finished and it’s complete from Rico Nasty to Rachmaninoff. I absolutely guarantee there’s something you’ll love in this 3 and a half hours of music, and probably something you’ll hate too! Something for everyone!

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Santeria - Pusha T: In anticipation of Jesus Is King I relistened to the entire Wyoming Sessions project a few times, and a year removed from all the hype and controversy here's the thing: it's fucking great. The individual albums ranged pretty widely in quality and felt slightly unfinished for how short they were sometimes, but taking the project as a whole 5-album 120 minute playlist it turns out it's a masterpiece. My personal tracklist goes Ye/Daytona/Nasir/KTSE/Kids See Ghosts, which isn't release order but I think makes it flow the best - both Kanye albums bookending it and the less impactful Nas and Teyana Taylor albums buried a bit further in where you can appreciate them now that you're deep in the mindset of the whole thing rather than alone on their own.

Puppets (Succession Remix) - Pusha T & Nicholas Brittel: This remix is such a perfect match: Pusha T’s corporate villainy finally given a context and prestige it deserves. It’s also short enough that it could feasible be the actual theme song next season, which would be a marked improvement imo.

Use This Gospel - Kanye West, Clipse & Kenny G: I am and remain a Kanye stan, even after everything. It’s nice to see him going back to the extremely uneven mastering of MBDTF era, it’s a sound that is uniquely his and it’s fun to see him revisit it. The thick vocoder harmony is so soupy you get lost in it, and the way it opens up to include the full choir in the No Malice verse is beautiful. Kanye reunited Clipse through Christ and we have Him to thank for that at least. The Kenny G break is great, and the grain and dirt on the whole track when the beat kicks in is so gritty you can feel it.

Man Of The Year - Schoolboy Q: I didn't love the Chromatics album they surprise released but it did thankfully remind me of the time Schoolboy Q sampled Cherry for Man Of The Year. Taken exclusively on lyrics, Man Of The Year is a triumph: he's the man of the year and it's all worked out but the sample and the beat underscores the dead eyed melancholy that runs through the whole of Oxymoron of never winning even when you've won.

Cold - Rico Nasty: This song fucking tears your face off. Imagine STARTING your album at this level of intensity. She just goes straight to 100 and burns the house down. Outside of Lil John so few rappers can get away with just straight up screaming in the adlibs but the way she just lung tearingly screams GOOOO through this is fucking sick.

Fake ID - Riton & Kah-Lo: TikTok songs are becoming their own genre, but it’s a very nebulous sort of a mood encompassing everything from aughts pop punk hooks to skipping rope raps like this. It’s a strange new way for songs to blow up that everyone seems compelled to write articles about but my take on it is it’s exactly the same as ads were in the old days. Remember how many songs did absolute numbers because someone put it in a Motorola ad? Same thing except you’re not being sold a phone this time, so in some ways it’s better. Anyway, this song bangs. The spirit of 212 era Azealia Banks lives on even if she’s doing her best ever since then to kill it.

Doctor Pressure - MYLO & Miami Sound Machine: There was a very good era in the mid-2000s where you could just put mashups out as singles and they’d chart, it was sick. My only two examples are this and Destination Calabria but I’m sure there’s more. Drop The Pressure is a masterpiece but as an alternate version this mashup is equally masterful.  

If You’re Tarzan, I’m Jane - Martika: Martika is unfortunately best known for the 1989 one hit wonder Toy Soldiers, a sort of boring overdramatic ballad which is best known for being sampled by Eminem in 2004 in his quite bad super duper serious song Like Toy Soldiers. I say unfortunately because every other song on her first album is great, it’s all hypercolour 80s synthpop and I love this song especially because it is so completely stuffed with activity it becomes dizzying. It gets so lost in itself that they completely abandon the dramatic pause before “I’m Jane” for some reason toward the end and instead just layer three different tracks of vocal adlibs. Every part of this song is great, the weird ‘o we o we o’ chant before the second verse? The neighing horse guitar before the bridge? The musical tour of the world IN the bridge? The part where she says ‘I want to swing on your vine?’. This song has everything.

You Got Me Into This - Martika: Every part of the instrumentation in this is amazing. The bass sound, the main synth, the extremely athletic brass, the wonderful echoing 80s snare that’s as big as a house. I just love it. She also does some really intriguing slurs on the word ‘love’ all the way through, just moving it around absolutely anywhere.

Space Time Motion - Jennifer Vanilla: I love when someone has such a clearly defined aesthetic and mission from the very beginning. Jennifer Vanilla is the alter ego of Becca Kaufmann from Ava Luna who I've had in this playlist before but never competely investigated. Jennifer Vanilla feels like an episode of Sex And The City where Samantha gets really into Laurie Anderson and she is incredible. This video is the best mission statement I’ve ever seen and is currently criminally underviewed so please do your part and support the Jennifer cause by watching these two videos.

So Hot You’re Hurting My Feelings - Caroline Polachek: Caroline Polachek said watch me write a Haim song and did it. Apparently the very early versions of this album started when she was in writing sessions for Katy Perry, but then it started to turn into something else and she took it for herself, and I think you can hear that. With more normal production and a little faster this is a hundred percent a Katy Perry song, but instead it’s completely uniquely Caroline Polachek and it’s all the better for it. And also Katy Perry must be furious because her new songs are simply not good at all.

Electric Blue - Arcade Fire: I just love the obsession of this song in the outro, chanting over and over and over “Cover my eyes electric blue, every single night I dream about you”

Promiscuous - Nelly Furtado and Timbaland: I got a youtube ad for one of those Masterclass videos the other day and it was Timbaland teaching production. This ad went for five minutes for some reason and I watched the whole thing and it made me admire Timbaland even more. He’s demonstrating his compositional technique which is basically to just beatbox, and then loop it, and then add some extra percussion layers with more beatboxing and hand percussion, then loop that and add a little melody by singing or humming. ‘It’s that simple’ he says. Then later he goes back in and puts in actual drums or synths or whatever. I was stunned because suddenly a lot of his music makes sense. Without the barrier of instrument or timbre to get hung up on it allows him to write from this instantly head-nodding place of just making up a little beat you can sing and dance to immediately. Listening to a lot of his music now you can hear the bones underneath everything so clearly, all his beats are supremely beatboxable and all his melodies are very hummable, they’ve never overcomplicated by instrumental skill or habits, they just exist to serve the song.

Serpent - TNGHT:  TNGHT are back baby and this song is like nothing I’ve ever heard before. It feels like afrofuturist footwork from another dimension, the mbira sounding lead against the oil drum percussion in this cacophony of yelps and screams that just builds to an irrepressible energy without a bassline in sight.

Ghosts Of My Life - Rufige Kru: I'm reading Mark Fisher's Ghosts Of My Life right now and some good person has put together a spotify playlist of all the songs he mentions. He has a whole essay about why this song is sick so I’m not going to go into it here but it’s interesting to hear about someone growing up with jungle when it’s a genre that has always felt very niche to me. I guess partly as a result of it never really making it mainstream as a genre here, and also me being a little too young for it.

Renegade Snares - Omni Trio: My biggest introduction to drum and bass comes from the game Midnight Club 3: Dub Edition and this really great song from the soundtrack that is finally on spotify after a very long absence. At almost the exact same time as I discovered this song with its spacious piano and repitched snares, I discovered Venetian Snares and breakcore in general. Having no particular frame of reference for breakcore as an offshoot of drum and bass only amplified its appeal to me as a completely alien genre that sounded like nothing else I’d ever heard, and so my personal history with drum and bass is a story of walking backwards into it after the fact which is interesting if not helpful.

Punching In A Dream - The Naked And Famous: The Mark Fisher book also mentions the Tricky song which I’ve never heard from which The Naked And Famous got their name and I thought ‘man remember The Naked And Famous, they were sick?’. The sort of harder edged Passion Pit instrumentation mixed with pop punk, a winning combination.

Vegas - Polica: My favourite part of this song is the unexpected blastbeats after the chorus, using their two drummers to their full advantage and just shaking the song by its foundations every now and then lest you get too comfortable.

Right Words - Cults: I’m beginning to suspect I may be the last surviving Cults stan but if this be my lot I’ll gladly do it

Running From The Sun - Chromatics: The new Chromatics album got me to relisten to their definitive document Kill For Love, and something new I appreciated this time about an album I love a lot is its length. Kill For Love is almost 80 minutes long and it luxuriates in that length. It’s sequenced perfectly so it never feels like it’s long for no reason, but large chunks just completely space out and go out of focus in the soft neon light and the second half of this song is a good example. The whole thing just evaporates into smoke and it feels perfect. If this were a shorter and more concise song that had a proper ending it wouldn’t feel right, this whole album has no straight edges at all and it’s all the better for it.

Chance - Angel Olsen: I cannot belive this song. This feels like she wrote her own version of My Way looking forward instead of back. Instead of the ruefully triumphant "I've lived a life that's full / I've traveled each and every highway" it's “I don't want it all / I've had enough / I don't want it all / I've had a love." before the turn from the future to the present at the end, where she gives up on a forever love in exchange for right now. I love how raw this vocal take feels. It's not her best voice but it feels very very honest as a result. She's just singing her heart out in this huge showstopping closer. In an interview she said "I didn’t love the recording of it very much, and now I just feel in love with it as a closing statement, because it’s a way of saying, ‘Look, I have hope for the next thing in my life.’ I’m not going to anticipate negativity or hate or an end. But instead of us looking towards forever, why don’t we just work on right now?"

Something To Believe - Weyes Blood: This album just keeps paying dividends. I’m systematically going through long obsessive periods with every single song on it and now it’s Something To Believe’s turn.

Don’t Shut Me Up (Politely) - Brigid Mae Power: Without meaning to, Brigid Mae Power seems to have created some incredible fusion of folk music and stoner metal. The way this song absolutely sits unmoving on one deep and resonant chord for so long is amazing. When it does change chords it feels like a full body effort to get up and shift. She has a similar feeling to Emma Ruth Rundle, who more explicitly wears her metal influences, but Brigid Mae Powers' strength is in how much it resembles the traditional folk side of the spectrum. Her voice is also amazing, with the huge effortless runs she goes on about halfway through just coming unmoored from the song completely and floating off into space.

Sweetheart I Ain’t Your Christ - Josh T. Pearson: I had a real problem with Josh T. Pearson for a long time because of how he presents as so authentic on this album, and as I’ve previously discussed in these playlists the concept of authenticity in country music is a source of neverending anguish for me. But his newest album The Straight Hits! has largely cured that for me because it’s not good at all, is extremely contrived (all the song titles have the word ‘hit’ in them) and he’s shaved his beard and replaced it with one of the worst irony moustaches I’ve ever seen. So now I’m free to enjoy The Last Of The Country Gentlemen as a character construction, which allows me a far deeper and truer engagement than the idea of a man actually living and thinking like this which is frankly a little embarrassing.

Codeine Dream - Colter Wall: I love this song, it has that feeling that great folk songs do of feeling like you’ve always known it. The strongest moments on this Colter Wall album to me are in songs like this that chase this particular feeling of morose isolation, and where he leans away from storytelling like his biggest hit Kate McCannon - a kind of cliche country murder ballad. This song is fantastic because of the way it wallows in this black depression not as a low point, but as a reprieve from the lower previous point. Things are as bad as they get now, and they’re always going to be like this, but at least I don’t dream of you anymore.

Motorcycle - Colter Wall: I only just found out about Colter Wall this month and have been listening to this album over and over. When I first heard him I though it was strange I'd never heard of him before because he's obviously some old country veteran based off his voice, but it turns out he's 24 and this is his first album he just sings like he ate a cigar. I love this song especially because it's so straighforward. It's a simple and supremely relatable mood: what if I bought a motorbike and fucking died.

Who By Fire - Leonard Cohen: I watched American Animals a couple of weeks ago and it’s a great movie, highly recommended. This song plays near the end and I waited for the credits to find out what this great song was, and like a rube found out it’s only one of the most celebrated songwriters of all time. I’ve never had much of a Leonard Cohen phase, somehow. In my mind I always get him mixed up with Lou Reed, which I’m learning is actually way off. I love the harmony vocals in this, and the way they move around into the shadows in the ‘who shall I say is calling’ parts.

Words From The Executioner To Alexander Pearce - The Drones: Alexander Pearce was a convict who escaped Sarah Island’s penal settlement in Tasmania with seven other convicts in 1822. He was recaptured two months later alone. In 1823 he re-escaped with a fellow convict, Thomas Cox and again was returned alone.He was executed by hanging later having eaten six men during his escape attempts.

It Ain’t All Flowers - Sturgill Simpson: I found this album going through the Pichfork 200 albums of the decade list and I feel like a fool for not having heard it sooner because now I am completely obsessed. Sturgill Simpson is doing the very best work in country music right now because he's looking backwards with one eye and forwards with the other and this song is a great illustration: a perfect Hank Williams Jr type country song with big voiced hollers that morphs into a surprise psych freakout for the whole second half.

Desolation Row (Take 1, Alternate Take) - Bob Dylan: I’ve always liked Desolation Row a lot as a song but the acoustic guitar on the album version is simply not good, it's just kind of mindlessly playing this long directionless solo the whole time and over the course of a song this long it really adds up to just being annoying. Luckily because it’s a Bob Dylan song there’s a whole universe of alternate takes and mixes and this is a great pared down version I found without it. The best kind of Bob Dylan songs are the ones where he just makes an endless stream of allusions and bizzare imagery, and this and Bob Dylan's 115th Dream are my favourite examples of it.

Living On Credit Blues - El Ten Eleven: This is a groove I get stuck in my head a lot, and this is also a song I think would work well as a theme for a tv show. I've been meaning to do a 30 second edit of it just for my own amusement, maybe I'll do that soon. El Ten Eleven are a duo where one guy plays drums and one guys plays a double necked guitar/bass and looping pedals and somehow against all the odds of that description they manage to make emotional, driving instrumental music of very deep feeling, like this song which is one of my all time favourites.

Dusty Flourescent/Wooden Shelves - Talkdemonic: This is sort of a companion Living On Credit Blues, and Talkdemonic are similarly an instrumental duo with good drums. This entire album from 2005 is highly recommended, it's a sort of halfway between the post rock of the time and a kind of acoustic hiphop instrumentals that ends up sounding very rustic and homemade, like a soudtrack for a winter cabin.

Turnstile Blues - Autolux: This is a perfect song, built around a perfect beat. Every part just fits perfectly.

Fort Greene Park - Battles: The new Battles album is finally out and I absolutely love it. I cannot think of another band that has shed members in the same way as Battles; originally a quartet on their first album, then a trio for their second and third and now down to a duo for their fourth album - and somehow still performing material from their first album live. The paring down has seemingly only servers to focus them and the new album sounds fresh but still distinctively Battles, with no sense of anything lost or missing. This song is my standout so far, and the guitar line in particular is so good and interesting to me because I don’t think I’ve ever heard Ian Williams play something so distinctly guitar-y in his whole career. This is a straight up pentatonic riff with bends and everything. Filtered through his usual chopped and looped oddness it feels like he’s almost gone all the back around the guitar continuum and is this close to just doing power chords next album. And I’ll support him!

Diane Young - Vampire Weekend: I've listened to this song a lot in my life and I only looked up the lyrics the other day to find out that the opening line is 'you torched a SAAB like a pile of leaves' which I somehow never noticed. What a power phrase. There's also this very good quote from Ezra about it: "I had this feeling that the world doesn’t want a song called ‘Dying Young’,“ says Koenig, "it just sounded so heavy and self-serious, whereas ‘Diane Young’ sounded like a nice person’s name.”" and he was right to do it. This song is 100 times better because he’s saying Diane Young than it would be if he was saying ‘Dying Young’. That’s a songwriting tip for you.

Monster Mash - Bootsy Collins & Buckethead: Hey did you hear Bootsy Collins and Buckethead did a cover of the monster mash? Thank god for freaks.

The Dark Sentencer - Coheed And Cambria: There's not that many bands that I absolutely loved as a teenager that I've completely abandoned. I've moved on from a lot but I'll still keep up with them if they have a new album or something. Coheed And Cambria are one that I've almost completely turned my back on. They've had 3 apparently pretty patchy albums since I stopped listening after Year Of The Black Rainbow, which was extremely bad and really taught me what people mean when they say an album is 'overproduced'. On a whim I decided to see what they're up to now and listened to their album from last year and guess what: it rocks. It's got everything you'd expect from them: big riffs, bad and confusing lyrics, his weird high voice, overwrought and overlong songwriting, cheesy muscleman solos. Everything about this band is sort of cheesy and embarrassing and takes itself way too seriously, but I'm discovering slowly that that's what's so good about it. The weird pulp sci-fi story and mindset that underpins this whole band is ridiculous and overwrought and as a result it gives the music a reason to exist the way it does. It’s so big and dumb because the story it serves is so big and dumb. It feels exactly like reading Perry Rhodan or some increidibly long and dense but not especially good series like that, it’s pulp music and that’s what I love about it.

Romance In A (6 Hands) - Sergei Rachmaninoff: Piano works for 4 hands (where two guys sit next to each other on the same piano) have always seemed to tend towards the realm of the gimmick or party trick, and works for 6 hands (where three guys do it) even more so - but this Rachmaninoff piece is just beautiful and I can’t believe I haven’t heard of it before this month. It doesn’t overload everyone with a million things to do, it just builds this very wide harmonic bed for the simple melody to swim in - then the way the melody transfers over to the middle register is just magical before the tension of the final section takes over and builds.

Love's Theme - The Love Unlimited Orchestra: I’m so glad I got to learn about the Love Unlimited Orchestra this month. Aside from having one of the best names in music, they were Barry White’s backing band and had their own solo instrumental records too. Here’s a fun aside: Kenny G was a member when he was 17 and still in high school. This is a genre of music that has seemed to totally disappear into the realm of parody and farce only which is sort of a shame because it is unironically very beautiful and dense in its own way.

Dancing In The Moonlight - Liza Minelli: Can you believe I thought Dancing In The Moonlight by Toploader was an original until the other day when my girlfriend played this Liza Minelli version that predates it by several decades? This also isn’t the original! It was written by a band named King Harvest in 1972, with this version AND a version by Young Generation both coming out in 73 and a whole bunch of others in between (including a Baha Men version in 94) before Toploader finally had a proper hit with it in 2000. Truly the world works in mysterious ways. This version is the finest I think, it just goes and goes, frenetically unwinding at a breakneck pace before opening up into a flute solo of all things and then winding up again even and finishing in a kick line breakdown. Absolutely no limits.

Girls - Royal Headache: The sheer amount of power and melody that this song manages to pack into a minute and a half is incredible, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard a more instantly relatable opening lyric than “Girl! Think they’re to fine for me! Oh girls! And I’m inclined to agree!”

Pov Piti - Matana Roberts: In anticipation of Matana Roberts new volume of her Coin Coin album series that just came out I relistened through the three previous albums and they are even more powerful than I remembered. This song serves as a pretty good mission statement for the whole project, and the heartrending tortured screams that open it set the tone for the rest of it. Matana Roberts sings the injustices of slavery into being, and her sing-song delivery highlights the trauma - her indifferent delivery mirroring the indifference of the world at large. The way she rattles off this story like she’s gone over it a million times and grown numb to the facts only accentuates the pain in the telling, a pain that rises to the surface in the screams of her instrument and herself.  

Kingdoms (G) - Sunn 0))): This new Sun 0))) album is one of my favourites they’ve ever done because it’s so straightforward and back to basics. Every song is just ten minutes of straight up no-nonsense, big, rich, drone. They even put the notes in the track names so you can drone along if you like.

listen here

[mageicalwishes]

Crying In My Dress - Chapter 7

Read on AO3: here

Read the previous chapter (on Tumblr): here 

Summary: The Leaver’s Ball marks the end of the school year. The end of their time at Watford. Baz has a confession to make before it’s too late. But, will he ever pluck up the courage to tell Simon how he feels?

Inspired by the song “Prom Dress” by Mxmtoon.

Chapter: 7/7

Words: 4,524

Simon

I break our lips apart, leaning back on my knees. I glance down, revelling in the sight of him sprawled out under me. He looks wrecked - His long hair fanned out over the pillow, gazing up at me hazily. His usually colourless lips have a faint, rosy tinge to them, flushed with the force of our kissing (I suspect mine are in a similar state). It’s like, somehow, I’ve kissed life into him -  My lips waking his body up. It’s exhilarating. Looking at him like this, it’s like I’m really seeing him for the first time. No more impenetrable walls stand between us, blocking my view - I can finally just see him. And, I can see all of him - Not just the carefully constructed version of himself he usually lets me see. I love it. I love him like this. He's exactly where I want him. He looks … Smaller, somehow. Vulnerable. Open. Not a monster. Not a villain. Just … A boy. Oh shit - A boy. Well, I guess this means I’m Gay, then? Or? Well, I thought I liked Agatha. But that never felt like this - Although, it did feel like something. I mean, I asked her out. I wouldn’t do that if I was Gay … Would I? Fuck, maybe I’m Bi then. I don’t know. I mean, I guess I’m at least something not Straight. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I mean, I definitely like this. And, I guess that's all I really need to know right now. I’ll figure the rest out later.

“You okay there, Snow? You look like you're thinking. I don’t want you to strain yourself,” Baz teases, smirking up at me. 

"Hilarious," I deadpan, leaning my head down, and crashing my lips against his once more - Drawing a delightful, surprised hum from Baz.

Reluctantly, I pull away from him again. As if entranced- Baz pushes himself upwards, trailing after my lips with his, in a desperate attempt to recapture them. It’s adorable, and I’m powerless to stop the small giggle that escapes me. He steels himself self-consciously, flashing me an unimpressed scowl, as his cheeks flush a ferocious shade of red. I grin, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck.

“Come on, Baz,” I mumble, moving to look at him once again. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I just thought it was cute.”

“Gross, Snow,” he says, his tone teasing. “If I knew you were such a sap, I never would have let you kiss me.”

“Yeah, right. You so would’ve ... And, if anyone is a sap, it’s definitely you,” I challenge, poking a finger to the centre of his chest.

He raises an eyebrow at me, a warning look spread across his face.

“Alright, alright," I relent. "No more teasing. I was just going to say that, as much as I’m enjoying this, we really should get a move on. The party started nearly an hour ago.”

“Oh right. Of course. I’d sort of … Forgotten about that. Sorry,” he murmurs. 

“It’s okay. It wasn’t exactly my main focus, either. It’s just … You know. It’s probably our last chance to see everyone. And, I wanna give Watford a proper goodbye - This place was pretty much all I had for the longest time. I always hated Summer, because it meant I couldn’t be here. It - It means a lot to me, you know? This is the first, and only, place I could ever really call home - This stuffy old room, with my insufferable roommate,” I say, scrunching a hand into his hair and tugging on it lightly. “I don’t want to miss out on anything I have left. I know that Watford isn’t exactly ... the same for you - So, if you don’t feel up to it, you can stay. No worries. But, I think I’d still like to go.”

He huffs out a laugh, then. “Missing out on a chance to see the Chosen One drunk - I don't think so," he says, shuffling out of bed, and reaching a hand down to me in offering. "Come on, Snow. Let's go and give you the proper send-off you deserve."

————————————————————————————

Baz

Snow has gone unusually quiet, walking in silence besides me. He's clasping my hand tightly, swinging our arms together between us. He's trying to hide it, but I can tell something is wrong. He's scuffing his shoes along the pavement with every step he takes, as if he’s trying to delay our arrival as much as possible, without stopping outright. 

“What’s wrong, Snow?" I ask. "You’re acting even more peculiar than usual. I thought that you wanted to go to the party?” 

"I do want to," he whines, pouting slightly. "It's nothing. Don't worry."

“No. It’s something. Spill,” I insist.

“I just - I’m just not sure.”

“About what?” I ask. 

“Us.” 

My heart skips a beat and my stomach lurches uncomfortably - His confession knocking the wind right out of me. 

I stop dead in my tracks. Of course. I should’ve known that all of this was too good to be true. “Oh," I mumble, dejected. "Well, I can just go back to Mummers, then.”

“What? Why?" He asks, furrowing his brow, and turning to face me. I don't answer, a thick knot blocking my throat. His eyes widen then, realisation clearly hitting him. "Oh god! No. No. No. Baz. You’ve got the wrong idea. I didn’t mean that,” he says, grabbing hold of my arms, his eyes wild with panic. “I didn’t mean that. I - I just meant that at the party, I’m not sure - Well, I’m not sure I want to like kiss and stuff. Because, you know, lots of people kiss at parties, but … I’m not sure I want to. Well, no. I mean, I want to kiss you. I just maybe don’t want to do it in front of everybody. I’m not sure I’m ready for that … Not yet, anyway. I- I mean, Is that okay?” 

I find myself smiling, all of my stress melting away in an instant. That stupid, charming, bumbling moron. “Snow. I’ve managed to restrain myself perfectly well for the last eight years. I’m certain I can handle a few hours more,” I deadpan. “I understand. So, don’t worry about it. We won’t do anything you don’t want. So, you've got it - No kissing. Sounds easy enough to me,” I say, softening my voice slightly. That’s a definite lie - Refraining from kissing Snow is no easy feat. It was challenging enough as it was, but now that I’m allowed to ... Now that I know he wants me to - Trying to control that impulse has taken on a whole new level of difficulty. But I'm sure I'll manage - I've always prided myself on my level of self control. I understand, of course. I imagine all of this has been a bit of a shock to the system for him. I mean, he didn’t even realise how he felt himself until a couple of hours ago, and we certainly haven’t held ourselves back. It took me years to come out after I had realised I was Gay - So, I was hardly expecting Snow to out himself to the entire year within hours of realising he was ... Well, whatever he is. 

“Okay,” he breathes, clearly relieved. “Thanks, Baz.”

"You don't need to thank me, Snow. It's no trouble,” I explain. 

He smiles up at me then, dropping his arms back down and taking hold of my hands again. Rolling forwards onto his tip-toes, he pushes himself upwards, placing a chaste peck to my lips. "Softy," he teases, turning and darting off down the street. The cheeky bastard.

I chase after him, catching up with him easily (Vampirism does have a few perks, after all). I push him up against the nearest lamppost, holding him by the collar of his T-shirt. “Take it back,” I threaten. 

“Or what?” he teases, a devilish grin spread across his face. I raise an eyebrow, unsure of where he intends for this to go. “Okay. Okay,” he concedes. “Fine. I take it back.”

I smirk, pleased with myself. “Come along then, Snow,” I say, grabbing his hand and pulling him forwards. “That’s quite enough messing about, you absolute nightmare. I thought you said you didn’t want to be late.” 

————————————————————————————

Everything about this is incredibly overwhelming. The room is dark, lit only by a set of gaudy lights, that are flashing in my eyes aggressively. Droves of people surround me, dancing and singing loudly. And, obnoxiously loud music is booming out of the speakers- The bassline hammering within my chest like a second heartbeat. And then, there’s Simon. We’d spent the majority of the night moving person to person, chatting and joking around with them all (apparently Snow is friends with everyone). He’d even gone so far as to drag me into playing a game of 'Truth or Dare' with him, Trixie, Keris, and some guy I vaguely recognised from Elocution. But now, he’s spinning around me, dancing like a mad man, his curls wild, and beaming with joy. He’s definitely a little tipsy - Having insisted that we both down three Double Rum and Cokes (Which tasted absolutely appalling). He’s moving his hands all over me, seemingly incapable of letting me go for even a second. Charmingly, he can’t quite seem to decide where he wants to place them - Pulling me close by my waist one moment, and twirling me around the room, his hands clinging onto my shoulders, the next. It’s chaotic, but so exhilarating. He’s so alive, he’s overfilling with it - Energy pouring out of him in waves. And, it’s as though it’s seeping into me, lighting me up from within, so that I can feel it too. Alive. So, so alive. Finally. 

I will admit, I’m a bit out of the depth. I’ve been to parties before, of course, but never one like this. There is no Champagne or calming piano here, just cheap beer and toneless house music. Although mercifully, Snow (who appears to be in his element), is leading me through it. He’s laced our hands together now (so that we move as one), and is throwing us around the dance-floor in wild, uncoordinated circles.

“Baz,” he shouts, his voice barely audible over all the racket.

“Yeah”

“Come with me, yeah?” he says, tugging on my hand and turning away from me. 

Slightly dazed, I follow behind him, letting him drag me out of the room and up the stairs. “Snow, where on earth are you taking me?”

“Shhh. Wanna take you somewhere,” he mumbles, distracted, opening a random door and peering in. Apparently unsatisfied, he turns us away, leading me further down the corridor. He pulls another door open, whispering out a quiet “Perfect”, as he drags us inside. 

 He’s taken us into small, dimly lit storage cupboard - And, to be perfectly frank, I’m struggling to understand exactly what about it is 'Perfect'. But, before I have the opportunity to ask, he's shoving me back against the wall roughly. For a brief moment, I think he’s going to try to fight me, but then his hands are knotting themselves into my hair, and his lips are smashing against mine. He’s kissing me hungrily, putting all his force behind it. It’s all teeth and tongue, but I find it alarmingly hot (Because I’m disturbed, ask anyone). It may be more than a little clumsy, his chin constantly bumping against mine, but I don’t care. Because, Simon Snow is kissing me like his life depends on it - Relentless and desperate. And, it’s intoxicating. He pulls back slightly, gasping in a breath, and dropping his hands down to my waist. I chuckle quietly at the absurdity of it all - I never would've guessed that this is how my day would turn out when I woke up this morning (Not that I'm complaining, obviously. This is far better than anything I had envisioned). 

“Snogging in a cupboard, Snow. Really?” I taunt. “And they say romance is dead.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes at me. “God. Just shut it, you insufferable prat. You didn’t seem to care about that a minute ago - You seemed enthusiastic enough, to me.”

“Hmmm,” I hum, rubbing a thumb against his bottom lip absentmindedly. “I thought you said there would be no kissing”

He flushes an adorable shade of pink. “Oh yeah. Sorry,” he mumbles, shifting his body awkwardly.

“Don’t apologise," I protest. "As you said - I was enthusiastic enough. I was just wondering.”

“Well, nobody can see us here … So, it’s different," he murmurs. "We can kiss when nobody can see. I just … Couldn’t wait any longer.”

My heart floods with warmth, an in-suppressible grin spreading across my face. “Christ, Snow,” I laugh. “You really are impossible. I managed to restrain myself for years, and you couldn’t even manage a few hours.”

“It’s not my fault,” he whines.

I shake my head, helplessly charmed. "You ... Are a complete dolt," I mumble, leaning forwards so that are lips are barely millimetres apart. He smiles against me, the corners of his eyes crinkling up sweetly. And, I close the gap between us - Pressing our lips together once more. We move languidly - Our action unhurried. The kiss is softer than before, but no less impactful - My mind still fogging over helplessly, his lips entirely consuming my thoughts, as my body responds to his touch eagerly. I lift my hands up, caressing his cheekbones slowly - Entirely enraptured by him.   

We stay in the privacy of the cupboard, completely lost in one another, for at least another fifteen minutes - Before Snow pulls himself away from me again (Much to my dissatisfaction). 

“Did you maybe want to get out of here?" He asks, running a hand through my hair. "We’ve been here for like three hours now, I think it’s time to go home, yeah?"

“Sure, Snow. I'm happy to go whenever. Are you sure you're ready to leave, though? Everyone else will probably be hanging around for at least another half-hour.”

“Yep … I’m bored of sharing you with everybody else,” he says, nonchalantly - As if he hasn’t just set my heart off pounding again. 

“Okay,” I whisper, pressing the palms of our interlocked hands together. “Let’s go home.”

————————————————————————————

Simon

I’m no longer tipsy (the light buzz off alcohol having worn off about an hour ago), but somehow, I still feel slightly drunk. Well, not drunk, exactly (I mean I don’t feel dizzy, or out of control, or anything like that) - I guess I just feel a bit … High. Not on drugs, obviously. Just, high on … Well, life. High on the perfect night. High on the party atmosphere. High on Baz. I feel like I’m floating - My mind buzzing with elation. Everything just feels so ... Surreal. We’re walking down the high street, hand-in-hand. I’m belting out the lyrics to some random Taylor Swift song, and Baz is laughing at me (really, properly laughing) - The sound filling my ears, and flooding my body with Serotonin. It's all so new - It's no wonder I can hardly believe that it's real. But it is - I know that it is (There is no way my mind could ever come up with something so wonderful).  

I turn to face him. He’s grinning over at me, soft creases visible besides his mouth where his smile has pushed his cheeks upwards. The street lights are shining down on him perfectly, illuminating all the high-points of his face. He looks perfect like this - All happy and carefree. His smile has always been prettier than his scowl (Although, I hardly ever got to see it before today). Suddenly overcome, I stop - My heart urging me to get closer to him, somehow. Without thinking, I grab ahold of his shoulders, hoisting myself up onto his back in a quick, clumsy motion. Caught off guard, he stumbles slightly, his hands gripping onto my thighs tightly in an attempt to support me. 

“Crowley, Snow! He yelps. “You could’ve given me some warning before just launching yourself onto me." 

I can tell he’s not really mad - The slight, upwards curl of his lips betraying his stern tone. “Oh hush, you,” I tease. “You have your vampire super-strength thingy. Don’t try and pretend like you can’t carry me easily.”

He goes quiet then, shifting his grip on my leg slightly. Shit - I didn’t mean to bring that up.

“Hey, Baz, " I coo, trying to comfort him. "I know you're - You know, what you are. You don’t have to lie about it anymore. I know ... And, I don’t care. Okay?” . 

“You should care,” he says, his voice small.

I shrug, resting my chin against his shoulder. “Maybe. But I don’t. So don’t … Freak out. It’s fine. Honest. I like you just as you are.”

He huffs out a shaky breath. “I’d never … Never a person,” he mumbles. He doesn't elaborate any further, but I know what he means. I press a gentle kiss to the column of his throat, hoping to reassure him. 

“I know. I know you’d never do that ... You’re good, Baz. I know it,” I say earnestly. "I know you wouldn't - I've never thought that you would."

————————————————————————————

We walked in silence after that. I was beginning to panic, actually - Convinced that I'd managed to ruin everything, accidentally pushing Baz into retreating behind his walls once again. But, just as the sun began to rise, I felt it - His fingers slowly running along my thigh, smoothing along the fabric of my jeans soothingly. It was hesitant, his touch barely-there, but it meant everything to me - Because, I knew what it meant. He was still there with me - Standing open, his walls little more than rubble at his feet. We were still alright. And, he was still mine.  

————————————————————————————

Baz

Snow walks out of the bathroom, his hands balled into fists at his sides as if he was preparing for a fight. I drop my book onto my beside cabinet, flashing him a nervous smile. He paces across the room, stopping besides my bed, and standing over me awkwardly. 

“Can I?" He asks, hovering his hand above the corner of my duvet. "I don’t have to sleep in it with you ... Not if you don’t want me to. I just want to - You know, for a bit,” 

I nod my head, granting him permission. “You can. If you want. I mean - You can sleep here too, if you want,” I explain, my voice barely a whisper.

He grins, clambering into my bed - Swinging a leg over my body, and accidentally kneeing the side of my stomach painfully. “Snow, you absolute clutz,” I complain. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to lay on the right side,” he huffs.

I chuckle lightly, leaning over to pick up my wand, as he settles besides me in the bed. Shoving the bedside cabinet over slightly, I cast a quick “Room for Two” spell. A moment later, the bed shakes, before doubling in size with a sudden jolt. I’ve lived with Snow long enough to know that he prefers sleeping in a ridiculous, outstretched starfish position - So, if he intends to stay here all night, the spell is definitely necessary. I refuse to be woken up by getting shoved out of my own bed. 

“Wicked,” he breathes. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Hmmm. We’ll add that to the long, long list of things you don’t know then, Snow,” I tease, stretching over to lay my wand back down. 

He punches my arm jokingly in retaliation - Grumbling out a quiet "You’re such a prick."

“I know,” I say, flashing him a wicked grin, as I settle back down into bed. We’re facing each other now, barely six inches apart. Our eyes meet, and I’m suddenly nervous, my face filling with heat. Smiling softly, he reaches out, wrapping an arm around my waist. 

“You okay?” He whispers. 

I nod, not trusting my voice. 

“Good,” he says, shifting closer to me - Bumping our foreheads together lightly. “Me too.”

 We lay in silence for a while. And as always, I find myself focusing on him. His breathing is slow and steady, air softly puffing against my face with his every exhalation. But, his pulse is rapid, his heart hammering erratically within his chest.

“Did you get the send-off you wanted then, Snow?” I ask, keeping my voice hushed, careful not to startle him.

“Hmmm,” he hums, his eyes fluttering open. “It was perfect”

“Good” I say, sweeping my fingers along his side gently.

He shifts himself then, swinging a leg over mine, and pulling our bodies closer together - Enveloping me in his heat. He snuggles his face against my neck, his bronze curls tickling my chin slightly. 

“Baz?’ He mumbles. “Are we … I mean are we like together now? 

My body tenses, suddenly apprehensive. “Well, it depends. Is that something that you would want?” I ask, hesitantly. He shrugs, squeezing his eyes closed. Unsure, I continue. “If it helps … That’s definitely something that I would want. I’ve wanted that for a long time, actually. So, it’s really up to you, Snow. I know my answer.” I pause, taking in a deep breath, and gazing down at him. “There’s no pressure, though. I mean … You don’t have to decide what you want right away. If you need more time, I’d understand.”

He opens his eyes then, a shy smile flickering across his face. Leaning forwards slightly, he pulls me into a deep kiss, his free hand smoothing across my chest as our lips move together. After a moment, we break apart - My lips still flooded with warmth from the contact. “I think I want that too,” he breathes, squeezing my waist gently. “I mean ... This is definitely better than fighting.” 

My heart swells, an all too unfamiliar wave of joy washing over me. Simon really wants this. He really wants me. Alesteir Crowley, I can hardly believe that this is real life. The way we were - There wasn’t a day where I believed that we’d both live through it. And yet, here we are - Talking about a future. Talking about a future together, no less. Unbelievable. 

“But … What about tomorrow?”

“What about it?” I ask, confused. 

‘Well, we’re leaving. I mean … Will we still see each other?”

“Well I should bloody well hope so, Snow,” I scoff. “It was my understanding, that being together usually involves at least some level of physical interaction."

“Oh right, yeah. Obviously. But - I mean … Aren’t you going to London?”

“Well, yeah. But, I’m not leaving until September - We have the whole Summer before then." I explain. "Do you know where you’ll be this Summer? I know they ... Move you around quite a lot.”

He scrunches his face up awkwardly, clearly embarrassed. “No," he mumbles. "But, The Mage wants me to stay with him. So ... I may just be here. It was nice of him to offer - I mean, he even said that I could have a room in his private apartments. But … I’m not really sure I want to." 

I brush a rogue curl off of his face, smoothing a hand through his hair. “So, what is it that you do want, Snow?”

“Well ... Penny said that I could spend Summer at her house. I think - I think that I’d like that.”

“Then go for it. The Mage isn’t in control of your life, Simon. You are. Go and stay with Bunce, I’m sure she’d be overjoyed to have you,” I reassure. He flashes me a soft smile, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. “And, about us,” I continue. “You could always just catch a train down to Hampshire - Or, I could come to you, obviously. I could pay for all your tickets and everything, if need be - It’s really no hassle. I'd love for you to visit. And ... Thinking beyond Summer, there are always trains going into London. So, if you wanted us to be together, I see no real reason why it should matter that we’d no longer be living here. We could still make it work." I cringe slightly - Aware of how desperate I must sound. But, in my defence, I've pined after Simon Snow for eight years now - I couldn't bear losing him to something as surmountable as physical distance now. Not after tonight. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Then … Yes”

“Yes, what?” I ask, hope bubbling up within my chest.

“Yes to being together, you numpty,” he says, beaming up at me brightly. I mirror him, a wide grin cracking across my face. I chuckle, bumping our noses together, before pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“So that’s it then? We’re like proper boyfriends now,” he says, disbelieving. 

“Boyfriends,” I echo, the reverence clear in my voice. I like the sound of that - Simon Snow …  My boyfriend. Christ - How outstanding. 

He giggles, his nose scrunching up adorably. “You’re such a  sap,” he goads, his voice light with laughter. I quirk my brow, unimpressed. “I actually can’t believe you. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, who would’ve thought?” He continues, lacing his hands together behind my neck. Mesmerised, I reach up, gripping his forearms. "I love it. I love it so, so much” he mumbles, before crashing our lips together into another bruising kiss. 

Simon

I flip us over suddenly, gripping his wrists and pressing him down into the mattress beneath me. 

"What on earth are you doing, you absolute barbarian?" He giggles, shaking his head. 

I lean down, peppering light kisses across his face and neck, punctuating every press of my lips to his skin with a mumbled "Mine." The word feels good in my mouth. Mine. Baz is all mine, and I've got him exactly where I want him. Brilliant. 

He starts fidgeting beneath me, trying to shake my grip from his wrists. "Stop it, you moron. It tickles,” he laughs. 

I lean back, basking in the sight of him. His usually pale grey cheeks have flushed a delightful shade of pink, and he's beaming up at me, his eyes alive and sparkling. My heart squeezes within my chest - A happy warmth flooding my chest and spreading throughout my body. 

"Possessive much, Snow?" He teases, an amused smirk adorning his face. 

I raise my eyebrows, trying to copy his usual expression - Although I can’t seem to lift only one of them, so it doesn’t really work. “Don’t try and pretend like you don’t like it. You’re blushing,” I taunt, running a thumb across his right cheek. 

He squints up at me, casting me a murderous glare. But, he smiles then, the soft quirk of his lips betraying the ferocity of his look. It’s painfully endearing - Seeing him trying to maintain his hard exterior so desperately, even when I already know that, deep down, he’s just as soft as anybody in love. 

“Just shut up and kiss me, you disaster,” he sighs, lifting himself up and claiming my lips once more. 

[mercatorantique]

aesthetic tag! 

tagged by @seungchris

tagging:  yall dont have to do it but ! @banghans @kimatas @djxiao @chrrysoda @utunes @itzmidzy n if anybody else wants to feel free to say i tagged u!

rules: bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold

soft

baby pink | iridescent | glitter is always a good option | no bra | minimalistic tattoos | cherry patterns | sweet scented perfumes | wearing generous amounts of blush | doodling hearts | getting excited to pet an animal | fun nails | rewatching old barbie movies | hair sticking to glossed lips | heart shaped sunglasses | taking pictures of the sunset or sunrise | stuffed animals | protecting nature | stickers everywhere | teen movies | the light rain that falls from a clear sky at the beginning of the night

dark academia

neutral tones | masculine outfits | studying languages | worn down copy of books | grey skies | turtleneck sweaters | loose fitting pants | hair tied with a silk ribbon | trying to remember a cool difficult word you read somewhere to use in a convo | thick belts | minimal makeup | windows fogged by rain | vintage jewelry | blouses with cuffed sleeves | reading a murder mystery and trying to solve it | oxford style shoes | sweater vests | subtitled old movies in a language you don’t speak | leaves crackling as you walk | annotating books to express your emotions about the story

edgy

closet full of dark clothes | fishnet tights | makeup sweating off | neon signs | searching for unknown songs | chokers | band tees | doodling on old converses | finding smoking aesthetically pleasing but not doing it | weird humor | accidentally very dramatic | dim lights | layered outfits | chain belts | chipped nail polish | messy hair | low quality pics | piercings | combat boots | scribbling on desks

seventies

colorful wardrobe | doodling flowers | wearing short shorts | using a bikini top or bra as a normal top | listening to ABBA | flowers in your hair | diy-ing everything | jamming to songs alone in your room | drunkenly telling your friends you love them | patterned bandanas | mid heeled shoes | messy braids | flared sleeves | walking barefoot on grass or sand | bold sunglasses | the good kind of tired you get after doing something you enjoy for hours | feeding stray animals | fun patterned socks | room decorated with succulents and other plants | likes to go roller skating or skateboarding

preppy casual

collared clothes | drinking juice out of a champagne glass | getting excited to see the met gala looks | thick headbands | small pastel cardigans | making your friends take your ootd pics | plaid mini skirts | tweed two pieces | watching reality tv to pass time | frilly tops | watching old hollywood movies | academically driven | long manicured nails | new year’s eve fireworks | colorful tights | layered golden jewelry | yearns for luxury brand items | decorating your room with fairy-lights | cursive and neat handwriting | lace details

cinanamon - steph

gold jewelry, slowdancing in the kitchen with a lover, sun on skin, red-tinted lip balm, lazy mornings, getting lost in foreign cities, scent of bakeries, high-waisted jeans, kissing someone’s neck, writing reminders on your wrist, sleeping in braids to have waves in the morning, growing an herb garden, gentle touches, sketches tucked between pages, flushed cheeks, tandem bikes, floating in a pool, vintage gold hand-mirror, deer grazing, softly singing while doing chores

jaesmintea - dia

oversized everything | painted nails | fairy lights | dozing off in the middle of class | tying hair up into a ponytail | round glasses | laughing so hard you can’t breathe | late night study sessions | tender hand holding | impromptu photoshoots | drowning in moondust | bathing in the light of the sunset | strawberry flavored lollipops | polaroid pictures | eagerly tugging someone down the street | handwritten love letters | smell of coffee | living with reckless abandon | crinkled pages of a journal | replaying the same part in a song over and over

naptimetea - helena

everything black | rewearing your favorite outfit | drawing late into the night | rewatching favorite shows | the bread isle | minty lip balm | falling asleep anywhere and everywhere | making green tea | useless questions when it’s 2 am | forehead kisses | sleeping in till the afternoon | love of pink | staying up to watch the sunrise | dancing in the bathroom | messy handwriting | pile of sketchbooks | talking for hours about interest | old sentimental stuff animals | hanging out on the bed and doing nothing | thick fluffy blankets

jeonginks

the thrill of leaning your body way over a balcony’s edge | the suffocating feeling when the strong wind blows down your lungs | tip-toeing barefoot | hair ruffling and cheek pinching | hugging a body pillow at night | facing the sky with closed eyes | the whimsical silence when it’s past midnight and you’re the only person awake | when you can physically feel your eyes soften when you look at someone | dancing alone with only an oversized shirt | when your sweater falls over your thighs as you stand up | humming scary but memorable lullabies | vivid imagination | w-sitting with a mini skirt and thigh high socks | heated laptop on your lap | cereal at 3 am | gliding your fingers across your thighs | bittersweet melancholy | withdrawn and distant eyes | very tight belts | wanting love but not believing in it | not cruel but not kind

scxrlettwxtches

listening to a song and remembering the times you used to listen to it on repeat | imagining yourself living in any other life than the one you have now | crop tops and high waisted jeans | forgetting to smile but not actually being upset | nuzzling your face in the crook of their neck | back hugs when you’re stressed | turning in assignments 1 minute before they’re due | wanting a relationship but getting scared the moment you’re in one | pretending that you don’t care when inside you’re burning with doubts and fears | the sound of the evening waves as you lie on the sand | lying in your bed listening to your sad playlist | exhaustion but you can’t sleep | singing loudly when you’re the only one home | feeling safe and comfortable with that person in your life | knee high suede black boots with your black winter coat | comfort over appearance | writing essays at 2 am | creative peak from 1 am to 4 am | the one that always ends up walking in the back of a friend group

hyunsracha - sav!

split-dye hair | female rappers | staying up until 6am and sleeping until 1pm | taking notes on an ipad | middle school emo music | mini skirts | late night drives | rain on the ocean | flirting with people when you’re bored | doc martens | eating ramen in the pot | afraid of being looked at | fishnets | getting joy out of making people laugh | small tattoos | crying yourself to sleep | peppermint everything | desperate for freedom | chipped black nail polish

lveletters

well-worn converse | ginger ice cream | farmers’ markets | amaretto in coffee | the sound of pen on paper | empty mountain trails | black and white photographs | vintage bicycles | roads trips with no destination | overfilled bookcases | a shoebox full of ticket stubs | granny smith apples | orange gerbera daisies | cardigan sweaters | games that tell a story | red wine in a mason jar | succulent gardens | tattoos of birds | fresh-baked muffins | a favorite pair of jeans

dnceracha - sydni

black chelsea boots | chapped lips | browline glasses | losing yourself in video games | impressionist art | pink peonies | writing down anything you need to remember | the smell of gasoline | business goth style | dangly earrings | florals | ballet flats | cuffed jeans | liking the villain | a stack of journals | generous amounts of highlighter | knives | rain on a tin roof | heavy footsteps | small-town diners

seungchris - tessa

1am coffee |  small of fresh baked cookies |  lazy morning cuddles |  craft beer | corner booth in a local diner |  video games till 4am | strained vocals in songs | soft yellow lighting |  fresh mint |  loud synth bass with sweet vocals |  fuzzy photos |  squished cheeks |  long hugs | childhood stuffed animals | cat laying on your chest |  blasting music going to country roads | chocolate espresso beans |  white beat-up converse |  6-year-old worn sweaters |  hand-made gifts

gutenyang - luca

a game over screen playing its melancholy music in the darkness | being so full of love you start choking on it even though it has nowhere to go | being so drained of love that everything runs together | hazy memories as if they’re no longer your own | wet ink staining the palms of your hands | teeth glinting in the dim light, are those really so sharp? | getting lost in a campfire, the voices of your friends laughter and singing fading out as you stare | home-grown roses and lavender and lilies | the burn in your lungs after a good long scream | the ringing in your ears after seeing your favorite artist in concert, live, feeling the vibrations in your very soul | a smile shared between two...not lovers, but impossibly intertwined regardless | the fascination with catholic imagery and disgust with everything else | a ballroom in the modern era | lips against skin, a kiss and a secret whispered | a leather jacket so loaded with pins and patches that it says more about the owner than any words can describe | a bassline so melodic it catches you off guard, sweeps you off your feet | laughter for laughter’s sake | reading between the lines and only praying someone reads between yours as well | that one knife that says ‘jopping’

[madeinheavxn]

The Thing That Connects Us (Part 8)

Word Count: 823

warnings: none that i know of, maybe fluff idk

a/n: yes i know this is short but 9 and ten are coming soon promise

Story masterlist

She stepped out of the shower and dried her hair, humming along to the song that played out in the living room. It was an old Bing Crosby song that Roger had introduced to her. 

‘Little mean things we were doing, must have been part of the game’ 

She shrugged on a t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts before heading out into the kitchen to grab something to eat. Shuffling through all the cabinets, she found a tin can of biscuits. “Must be Johns?” She said out loud, as she found it hidden behind a can of beans and covered with a towel at the sad attempt of hiding it. She took out the tin and opened it to see that it was half full, meaning he had been hiding it for a while. She took it back to the couch and turned on the tv, letting an old re-run of a shitty show play while she picked up her bass, plugged it in and started playing chords, trying to figure out a good bassline for a song, stopping every once in a while to eat a biscuit.

A few hours later, she heard the door open. She turned around to see John running in. “Hi, Parker,” He shut the door behind him and ran over to grab her bass from her lap.

“Hey-”

“Shut up, just let me…” He started playing a riff that was quite complicated. He started mumbling lyrics. “Turn down the tv, and turn off Bing Crosby, holy shit.” He kept mumbling more lyrics.  “Shadows flickering my heart's jittering just you and I, not tonight come tomorrow.”

Parker sat there, watching him come up with a new song. After a few minutes, she stood up and went to her room, closing the door gently to letting him continue his work, late into the night.

The walls in this apartment were thin, thread-like narrow thin. It was past 1 in the morning and Parker could still hear John on the bass. He had turned off the TV about 30 minutes after she had left and put away the Bing Crosby record an hour ago. He had been sitting out there since 11 and he wasn’t stopping anytime soon. He had been playing the new song over and over again, figuring out chords and lyrics, stopping to write lyrics and notes or to adjust something, only to resume the playing a few seconds later. She sat up and groaned, getting out of bed and putting up her hair into a ponytail. She walked out into the living room to see John sitting on the floor, with a napkin and pen in front of him. “John? It’s one in the morning, you should head to sleep.”

“No, I need to finish this.” He wrote some more chords on the napkin. “Time don't mean a thing when you're by my side, please stay a while.” He mumbled again. “Does that sound good Parker?”

“It sounds great, John, come on let’s go to sleep.” She kneeled down next to him and put her hand gently on his shoulder. “Come on, I know you’re really into it right now but you need rest.”

“No, no listen it sounds good.” He started playing it from the beginning again. She let him play it and she listened as he sang and strummed at the strings. “It’s good right?”

“Yes it is John, but come on you need to rest.” She gently pulled her bass out of his hands and pulled him up by the shoulder. “Let’s go.” She unplugged the bass and set it on its stand. Picking up the napkin, she led him to his room. Opening the door, she looked around because she had never seen what his room looked like. She let him go sit down on his bed as she looked at the trinkets on his window sill. Small things he has collected like rocks, concert tickets, guitar picks, and some pictures of his family and the band when they were recording Sheer Heart Attack. She turned around and saw that John had already gotten under the covers without changing, proving how tired he was, so she put the napkin that held the song on his desk and walked over the door.

“Goodnight, Parker,” John mumbled, falling asleep. 

“Goodnight, John,” She whispered, even though she knew he wouldn’t hear, then shut the door behind her.

She walked back to her room and closed the door, thinking. This was a new side of John, she had never seen him like that before and it was calm, but not the normal calm that made her feel like something was about to explode which she normally felt around him. This calm was nice, he was just making music. He was just in his element and doing what he loved with no pressure on him. The least pressure she had felt while living under this roof.

[our-smooty]

Picnic Paradise

Fandom: Gorillaz

Rating: Teen

Relationships: 2doc

Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Fluff

Summary: 2Doc Week 2019 Day 1- Favorite Song: Kansas

That led them to today. 2D had planned everything and even made all the food. Murdoc handled the refreshments, making sure to hold back on the booze, but not too much. They were sitting in a little park, far out of the way of the main streets. It even had a little duck pond. It was sickeningly domestic, but also quite peaceful. Murdoc allowed himself to relax back on the checkered blanket they’d laid out under a suitably large tree. 2D pulled out a portable CD player and set it on the ground.

“Goin’ old-school, are we?” Murdoc chuckled. The CD player was dusty and dented. 2D pulled out a similarly well-loved CD case and popped in a CD, fiddling with the volume nob until the summery notes of The Now Now filled the air.

“Though it would be nice, and I put my iPod through the washer las’ week…” 2D answered, grabbing a sandwich from the cute little basket he brought with him. “We haven’t listened to it together yet, since you’ve been back.”

Murdoc grunted in agreement, reaching into the basket for a beer. “Sure, sure, it’s nice enough.” It was actually really nice to act like a normal couple for once. Murdoc had never had that with any of his past partners, had never felt comfortable enough to stick around. Stuart was, as usual, the exception to that rule.

They sat quietly, just each other and the good weather. They didn’t get weather like this very often in England, and it was one of the upsides of living in the States. The last few notes of Humility faded out, transitioning to Tranz, then Hollywood. Murdoc couldn’t help but laugh slightly; he could never get over the fact that they’d collaborated with Snoop Dog again.

“What’s so funny Muds?” Stu asked, sitting up again and ripping a few blades of grass up from the ground.

“Nothin’ Bluebird, jus’ can’t believe we’re here.” He hoped 2D would get it, but he didn’t have a lot of faith. As expected, 2D looked confused but nodded along anyway, like he always did. It was part of his charm, that naiveness and loyalty, one that Murdoc had taken advantage of for years. Not anymore though.

“It’s a nice park, innit?” Stu hummed, his mouth full of bread and cold cuts. Murdoc didn’t bother explaining what he meant. Things went quiet again until the opening bassline of Kansas started.

“Hey Stu?” Murdoc started hesitantly. The singer looked over to him and set the sandwich aside, giving Murdoc his full attention, those big black eyes trained solely on him.

“Yeah Muds?”

“I mean t’ask… What’s this one about?” He’d wanted to ask since he got home, but hadn’t had the courage. Today, surrounded by sunlight and greenery, felt like the right time. “The other ones I can puzzle out, but I don’t get this one at all.”

2D was quiet for a bit, studying Murdoc intently, before answering. “Well, I dunno. I wrote a lot of these real late at nigh’ or off my face. But I think… I was my way of sayin’ I could move on with my life. But at the same time I was missin’ you and I was worried you’d move on too so…” he was obviously getting upset, little sniffles and deep breaths beginning to interrupt his speech. “And I was so worried that you were upset at me for movin’ on and that you wouldn’t want me anymore cause of how much I changed and--”

Murdoc sat up then, facing the singer. He set his beer aside and took one of 2D’s hands in his own, squeezing gently.

“Stu, none of what happened back then was your fault. I was being a tosser, and you were jus’ throwin’ my own shit back in my face, and rightly so.” It wasn’t as hard to admit that as it would have been in the past. It felt good to be able to be open and honest with the person he cared about most.

“Maybe, but I coulda visited you at least,” Stu said, his fingers wiggling and fidgeting in Murdoc’s hold. “At the time I was scared and worried you’d be pissed so I jus’ tried to forget, but I couldn’t forget you Murdoc.”

Murdoc’s face flushed slightly. He could handle sex and dirty talk just fine, but he was still getting used to 2D’s sweet nature. “I’m glad you didn’t come. I was in a nasty mood mos’ of the time there. It wasn’t until the end when I sorted myself out.”

In the background, Kansas was ending leading into the next track. Murdoc took his free hand and raised it up to 2D’s face, stroking his jawline where a little bit of blue stubble was showing. “I uh, I don’t wanna make you cry anymore D. I wanna be better.”

“You are,” the singer responded, putting his hand over Murdoc’s and leaning into his touch. “You’re so much better, and I’m happy.”

Murdoc cleared his throat roughly, drawing back. “Ok, ok. Enough mushy stuff,” he said gruffly, trying to cover up the fact he was getting emotional. 2D just laughed a high bell-like sound that made the bassist’s heart lurch. Satan, he was in deep.

‘But we haven’t even gotten to Fireflies of Souk Eye yet!” he laughed, turning the volume on the CD player up. “That’s the real romantic bit.”

“You’re killin’ me Stu, you’re killin’ your boyfriend,” Murdoc whined, again laying back on the blanket. This time 2D followed, tucking into the bassist’s side and resting his head on his shoulder. Both men were staring up at the cloudless sky, admiring the way the light shone through the tree above them. Murdoc begrudgingly admitted to himself that maybe this date hadn’t been such a stupid idea after all, but he wouldn’t tell 2D that.