#ten years later or so i still remember so incredibly many songs from this tv show

[blueberry-beanie]

.

[nautiscarader]

2020 in animation - recap

So, 2020. 

Yeah, I have to say I’m not entirely satisfied. Would not recommend, 1 star. 

But I would be willing to bump it to 1.5, if only because of one factor: the animation. 

Because I have to say, this was the best animated end of the world so far! And if there was something that kept our spirits up, it was the cartoon industry!

Just like last year, I should preface this by saying that this is highly subjective selection. Even when one is confined to their Hobbit holes for better part of the year because of *waves hands* everything around, 

day still only has 24 hours, so I have missed a few shows. (I should also apologise for omitting a few major ones last year, like Milo Murphy’s Law S2, Ducktales, or She-Ra. This is why I started keeping a track this year). I’m sure I will catch up with those I missed this year some time in the future, but for now, let’s see what this year has gifted us with.

And right from the start, January opens the race with very interesting propositions. We were still riding on an incredibly high wave from last year, with Infinity Train season 2.

This one focused on Tulip’s mirror, and pushed the season towards a much darker and complex story, diving deep into one’s personal journey and identity. There were tears, math, deer, and cops being murdered. Brutally. 

t was followed by two newcomers: The Owl House and first season of Kipo and The Age of the Wonderbeast. Both of them would dominate first half of the year, with The Owl House’s traditional, week-to-week airings, and Kipo's seasons appearing in  June and October.

The Owl House, a strong contender in "What will be the Next Gravity Falls?" contest, invited us to a world full of magic, mystery, elongated owl demons and some dark secrets. It has also created a milestone for Disney, introducing an LGBT couple with characters of bisexual Luz Noceda and lesbian Amity Blight. Their Grom dance has risen to the top of my animates scenes, polling very closely to the unforgettable Kataango.

On the other hand, Kipo has taken us to the post-apocalyptic world filled with mutant animals, revealing that despite the end of the world, our old vices and animosities have survived in underground burrows, and we have infected the overworld of giant doggos and suit-wearing frogs with them. 

Kipo did not pull any punches regarding commentary about our society, at the same time giving us hope in the form of the main protagonist, who was able to spread friendship and understanding amongst the mutes, as well as the humans that had to survive. And in the world that we have found ourselves in, it was a pretty darn good lesson.

February would bring end to two seasons of airing cartoons, Big Hero Six season 2 and Miraculous season 3, as well as another newcomer that won the hearts of fans: Glitch Techs, with its "second" season arriving in August. And while in my opinion he show wasn't as good as the other two new titles, I am clearly in minority, as the show about Ghostbuters-like team of game console technicians gained huge popularity... though not enough to keep the show afloat. As of writing this, it is currently in limbo, which is a shame, as the second set of 10 episodes finally added some much needed ongoing story.  

in March, another show from last year ended - Steven Universe Future. As we have expected, it tackled slightly more mature themes, showing how much Steven needed that therapy we have wished him, telling an important tale of finding one's worth and one's self. its ending might not have been as explosive as those of the original show, or the movie, but it left Steven’s story as open as an open road, and deep in our hearts, we all knew it would look like this.   

March was also the time when majority of western world caught the coronavirus, and that caused quite a turmoil with the movie and animation industry. One of the first victim of changed schedule was Disney's Onward, which was released on-line on Disney+ quickly after its theatrical release.

I have mixed feelings towards “Onward”. For such interesting promise, I think it made a few questionable and down right boring turns, though the unorthodox message at the end of it was its strongest point, and it was one I haven’t seen in a while, so it was worth watching just for that.  

April was relatively quiet (aside from more end of the world stuff); brought us third season of Ducktales that spread throughout the year, while May gave us final, fifth season of She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. 

To my eternal shame, I missed on this show when it premiered, and due to the lockdown, I binge-watched the previous four right in time for powerful and explosive season 5. And even though Catra and Adora finally gave us exactly what we needed, some fans felt slightly unsatisfied, calling for a movie, like the Steven Universe one to be made. And I’d be all for it, the rest of universe needs saving from the Horde! Also, cats in space - hilarious. 

May also revealed a new player on the streaming field: HBO Max, who surprised us with new Looney Tunes Cartoons, much more in the spirit of the legendary originals than the often-criticised Looney Tunes Show from 2011-2014. And in my opinion, it did; one could feel the same fluidity in animation, dedication to slapstick, and synchronisation with music than in the very first cartoons with Bugs and Daffy.

HBO Max would, however, return in June with first of series of Adventure Time original movies called "Distant Lands". The first centred around BMO, with second one - Obsidian giving us a glimpse into Bonnibel and Marceline's lives.

Distant Lands allowed people to revisit the odd, odd world of Ooo and learn about its colourful inhabitants, taking turns to seeing their past and the future, an, as usual, showing us that post-apocalyptic world can teach us valuable and meaningful lessons.   

Just in time for full lockdown in our burrows, aforementioned Kipo season 2 premiered in June, together with another cartoon movie, this time featuring We Bare Bears. While their movie wasn't anything to write songs about, it was exactly like the show, providing some wholesome content right when we needed it.

And just in case you needed more wholesome adventures, Craig of the Creek's second season ended, and its third season began, reminding us of HOW COOL LIFE WAS WHEN OUTERNET WASN’T SCARY AND WE COULD STILL WALK OUTSIDE FOR FUN AND NOT TO HUNT TOILET PAPER.

Just like last year, July was not dogs' days, but frogs'. Amphibia season 2 started raining on our heads, but unlike last year, its schedule wasn't a daily one, spreading the episodes throughout the Summer and early Autumn, with its second part arriving in February of 2021. There were more roadtrips, more mysteries and MORE MARCY.

August was equally strong: aforementioned Glitch Techs "season 2" premiered, offering better and more plot-heavy episodes than the first ten episodes. Unfortunately, the show's future is unclear; the uneven divide of plot between the seasons probably contributed to the show not being renewed. 10 new episodes apparently are written, but await in sleep mode, until Nickelodeon remembers about it.

HBO MAX picked up Infinity Train for its third season, after being derailed by Cartoon Network. And if you thought that killing a mirror cop was shocking... then this season has pushed the limit of what can be shown in modern children's cartoon to a frightening degree. The schedule was once again, weirder, with first five episodes airing on the day of the premiere, ending with a cliffhanger (literally) that only contributed to the shock factor and made us wait anxiously for its conclusion. It was bold, it was dark, it was memorable. 

And just like Glitch Techs, Infinity Train waits on a side track, unsure if it will be picked up, or will it be abandoned and left as a canvas for graffiti artists.

However, to end the Summer, a truly amazing TV movie has arrived on Disney Plus, where we came back to good, old Danville and could witness Candace against the universe. The new Phineas and Ferb movie brought back the glorious memories of this fantastic show, with the same humour, writing, abundance of catchy songs and a surprisingly deep moral.

In September we have seen the start of Big Hero 6 season 3 and a odd change of format. Instead of standalone 22-minute episodes, the show now consists of two 11-minute segments. In opinion of many, this weakened the stories, forcing them to be more comedy-oriented, and shortening the potential emotional drama. Still, it gave us funny, short stories, but they did clash with the two previous season, not to mention the movie.

However, if that wasn't up to your taste, Ducktales season 3 also started airing, and continued its first part up until December with more action- and plot-driven episodes, including the Darkwing Duck crossover, serving as a pilot of the spin-off. 

Later in December fans have learned that Season 3 will be its last, which broke the hearts of many duck fans; however, it seems that the season has been written as the last one in mind, and the news of the ending was known to the creators, which gives us hope for a kick-ass finale somewhere in 2021.

Miraculous New York, telling arguably one of the most mature storylines, opened the "Heroez" world to some new characters and new opportunities, with two more specials, taking place in Shanghai and Brazil, meant to air somewhere next year. AND I DO HOPE WE WILL SEE MORE LOCAL FOOD VENDOR SUPERHEROES LIKE HOT DOG DAN. 

October was the month of two season 3's: Carmen Sandiego and Kipo. In case of Carmen, as it is usual with Netflix, the "season" was only a half-one, with just a handful standalone episodes, and just a dash of more ongoing plot. 

For Kipo, however, season 3 was the end, and what a glorious one it was. Fans were saddened to learn of it, but Kipo was always imagined as a 3-part story, and it showed. The finale proved more than satisfying ending to the plot, elevating Kipo to one of the smartest cartoon characters we should all try to aspire to.

In November, Distant Lands: Obsidian aired, focusing on everyone’s favourite candy/vampire couple, and the long and complicated love between Bonnibel and Marceline. And as usual, it showed us that relationships are not always as straightforward as we would like them to be, but with enough music and teamwork, no enemy is big enough. 

For the next new show, I’ve waited with the most amount of excitement and anxiety. Because while I was completely fine with other reboots and re-imaginings to take creative takes, new Animaniacs, (airing on Hulu) had to be perfect and had to be the lightning that struck twice. 

And sadly... it wasn’t. It was still good, but some people criticised (incorrectly imho) the amount of political topics, while I mourned almost total cast-ration of additional characters, aside from Pinky and the Brain. This truly weakened the possibilities it could have had. It was still very good, but you can feel that some of the original charm was lost, due to these odd, odd limitations. 

December brought us a new original Apple TV movie, Wolfwalkers. A beautifully animated folk tale of friendship and social divides, and how short-sight can cause the collapse of both arguing sides, reminding me very much of the intelligence and heart of original “How to Train Your Dragon”.  

We’ve had to wait two years for the return of arguably one of the most wholesome shows out there: Hilda. Second season dived into deeper mysteries that permeate the rich and colourful troll-ridden land, we saw the return of some familiar characters, and introduced a whole new storyline, that ended with a surprising cliffhanger. Still as wholesome, but now with a tiny bit of Police incompetence. Also Twig, lots of Twig.   

Just like Onward, Pixar’s highly anticipated Soul aired on Disney+, telling a very mature story about finding one’s purpose in life, what that purpose actually means, and whether it exists at all. Beautifully animated, with fantastic soundtrack, it was a stunning tribute to creativity, and it never dumbed down its profound, open message about following your dream.   

And just if you thought that Soul was going to be 2020′s last note (pun very much intended), right before the year ended, DC Super Hero Girls concluded its first season on a rather anti-climactic two-parter. That being said, the season, running from March of last year, was packed with short, bite-sized, funny stories, taking interesting spins on existing comic book characters. For a comic book noob like me, it was perfectly fine, and I can’t wait for the second season next year. 

And so, we have reached the series finale of humanity. 

2020 ends in just under a day. What will 2021 bring us? I do not know, and if the animated shows of this year have taught me anything, is that the future is an always open book, full of worries and challenges, but also opportunities and possibilities. 

...

And in reality I was too lazy to check any news sites about upcoming projects.

[ttylfedora]

The Rookiest Rookie that ever Rookied- Part Two

Oh god I feel so bad for Cole!!

Characters belong to the completely wonderful @lumosinlove

Cw, food

Enjoy!! 💚

“Right, mon fils, you remember the plan?” Pascal had sat Louis and Marc down at the dining room table and had his serious dad face on. The boys knew this face meant business and sat up straighter, as though they were in a proper business meeting.

“Oui, papa.” Louis answered. Marc nodded in agreement, both of them determined not to let their father down. After all, this was the difference between whether or not they could go out for ice cream at the weekend. All of the shots were riding on this!

“Repeat it back to me.” Dumo instructed.

“Which part?” Marc questioned, still getting his little brain around all of the instructions his father had given him.

“All of it, this is serious business. The two of you are embarking on a journey that can only be ruled as the greatest journey known to man. You two have a legacy to fill, mon fils, a legacy!” Dumo exclaimed dramatically, his arms out as though he was introducing a show on the West End.

“Ce n'est pas si dramatique, papa.” Louis rolled his eyes, and his father gasped.

“Say that again and you are grounded.” Pascal locked his eyes on Louis’. The famous Dumais pranks were a serious business and should be treated as such.

“There is a lot riding on this,” Dumo reasoned, “do you want ice cream or not?”

“I guess.” Louis huffed. “Alright, so we only answer to each other’s names.”

“Make sure all the clocks show a different time.” Marc continued “Can you help us get the higher clocks?” he asked his dad. Dumo nodded.

“Make sure the robot spider is under the couch.” Louis chimed in.

“Ask him where babies come from.” Marc giggled. “Where do they come from papa?” he asked curiously.

“Non, non, ask Cole. He’ll tell you.” Dumo wiggled his finger in front of his younger son's face.

“Okay, okay.”

“Parfait, right, he’ll be back in,” he checked his watch,”half an hour from hanging out with Leo. Let’s get this started, shall we mes fils?” Dumo rubbed his hands together and giggled, leading his children into the kitchen to get started on the clocks.

--

“Right, we shouldn’t be gone for long but if anything goes wrong, just call us straight away. We’ll be back by dinner time.” Celeste fussed. Her husband was already out in the car with Adele and Katie, ready to take them both to basketball practice.

“I will, promise.” Cole smiled. It was the first time they trusted him to look after any of their kids so he can understand why they were airing on the side of caution. “We’ll have lots of fun.” He smiled over to the two boys who were currently sat watching something on the television. Celeste thanked him again and left, shutting the door softly behind her.

Babysitting was a piece of cake. He could do this.

“Right boys, what’s the plan for today.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together, sitting down on the couch that was adjacent to the two brothers. Marc’s eyes lit up.

“Can we make a cake?” he asked, practically jumping up from his spot on the couch.

“We certainly can, what flavour?”

Marc thought for a moment. “Chocolate.” he smiled.

“Sounds good to me, buddy, lead the way.” He reached over and grabbed the remote off of the coffee table in the centre of the room and switched the television off, following them into the kitchen.

“Right, let me see what we have here,” Cole started, going through all of the cupboards to round up the ingredients for the cake.

“Louis, can you grab me the eggs please.” He said over his shoulder as he went to retrieve the milk and butter from the fridge.

“No, no, no, Marc wait-“ Cole was cut off by the eggs Marc was attempting to hold in one hand dropping to the floor and smashing everywhere. He froze with his arms out mid step, and just sighed, laughing slightly. “Oh dear.” Marc looked up at him.

“Sorry Cole.”

“It’s okay buddy, how about you go and change your trousers and socks so that you’re not walking around all day with egg on them and we’ll throw them in the wash. It’s no big deal.” he smiled, grabbing a wet paper towel to start to clean the egg yolk off of the floor. Marc nodded and ran to his room. As he cleaned up, Louis gathered all of the ingredients onto the side, and grabbed more eggs from the basket.

By the time the floor was clean, Marc had come back down in a fresh pair of jeans and socks and popped his dirty ones into the washing machine for his mother to deal with later.

“Perfect, right, Marc, you’re in charge of weighing things, okay?” He looked at Marc but Louis nodded, sitting up on the bar stool in front of the weighing scales.

“Okay.” Louis smiled. Cole widened his eyes slightly but shook it off. Maybe he misspoke?

“Marc, you’re going to help me mix everything up, okay?”

“But I thought I was weighing the ingredients?” Louis asked, confused.

“Yeah, I was talking to your brother?” Cole said, though it came out more of a question. He placed his hand on his hip and scratched his head.

The boys just shrug and carry on anyway, allowing Cole to guide them through the recipe, one his mother swears by back at home. He was hoping it lived up to Celeste’s baking but he doubted his skills were that good. It was the least he could offer her for all the amazing meals she had cooked for him so far. She insisted that it was nothing but when one is so far away from home, having another mother cook a full homemade meal brought immense amounts of comfort to him.

They carried on working around each other, occasionally turning up the radio when a good song comes on, laughing and throwing flour and sugar over each other. Cole was an only child, but if he wasn’t, this is how he would want to spend his weekends with them. He supposed he wasn’t any more; his chosen family adding to the numbers ten-fold and he was beyond grateful for it.

Once all of the ingredients had been mixed, he asked Louis, well who he was sure was Louis, to help him pour the cake mix into the cake moulds. He started doubting himself as Marc, well who he was sure was Marc, came to help him. Once he had placed the moulds into the oven, which he noted had the wrong time displayed, he sent the kids through to the sitting room as he set the timer on his phone. His thumb hovered over the message app icon, wondering whether or not admitting defeat was wise. He quickly changed his mind as he thought up a better idea, opened the app and clocked on Leo’s name instead.

‘Hey man, I have a really embarrassing question but you CANNOT tell Dumo, okay?’

‘Oh god, this is gonna be good.’

‘Leo, PROMISE ME.’

‘Jeez man, okay, i promise!!’

‘Which of Dumo’s boys are older? Louis or Marc? Because i think ive been calling them by the wrong names.’

‘OH MY GOD HAHAHAHAHAHA COLE!!!!!!!!! PLEASE TELL ME YOURE JOKING’

‘Leo…’

‘Oh my god you arent joking.’

‘Please?’

‘Marc is the older one. Oh my god that is actually hilarious. Logan’s wetting himself.’

‘I’m never hearing the end of this.’

Cole put his phone away in his pocket, feeling incredibly embarrassed. Had he been calling these kids by the wrong name for the past month? It would seem so. He filled himself a glass of water and walked into the sitting room, sitting down on the couch next to Marc, no, Louis, the younger one.

“How long until the cake’s ready?” the older one asked.

“About twenty minutes now buddy. What are we watching?” he asked, gesturing to the television.

“Minecraft videos,” the youngest answered, smiling. Cole shook his head, clearly realising he had lost his touch with kids. Wasn’t Minecraft big, what, four years ago now? He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started aimlessly scrolling through Instagram, liking and commenting on a few of the posts until the youngest sibling piped up again.

“Cole?” he asked, an inquisitive look on his face.

“Mhm?” Cole replied, taking a sip of his water.

“Where do babies come from?”

Cole promptly spat his water back out looking at the youngest with wide eyes, stuttering slightly in shock. How was he meant to answer that?!

“I- well- have you not asked your dad this?” he stuttered, this was not what he expected to be answering today, to a nine year old nonetheless.

“Non, I just thought of it” the younger one shook his head.

“Oh, well, I mean, when two adults want to have a baby, they do a special hug, I guess?” Cole replied cautiously.

“So maman, and papa did a special hug for me, Louis, Katie and Adele?”

Cole just stared at him, mouth trying and failing to come up with a response to that. The last thing he even wanted to think about was Dumo’s sex life, no matter how many times the Lions’ sex lives were brought up in the locker room.

Thankfully, the timer for the cake went off, giving him the perfect excuse to exit the conversation. He set the cake on the side to cool, making a start on the icing. The boys decided to stay in the sitting room, engrossed in the video they were watching. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. Surely it wasn’t still early afternoon? He checked the time on the oven and it matched, as did the one on the radio, and the fridge, and everything else in the kitchen apart from his phone.

“Boys, what time is it?” he shouted through to them.

“The tv says it’s 3pm!” Marc, Louis, the older one shouted back. He ran his hands over his face and checked his phone, noting that the time read ‘17:30’. He just rested his head in his hands with his elbows against the counter; he evidently did not get enough sleep last night. He quickly decorated the cake to return his thought process to something concrete and set it aside, joining the boys in front of the television quickly after.

He couldn’t have been sat down for more than five minutes when the biggest fuck off spider he had ever seen crawled out from under the couch, right next to his foot. Like any normal, self-respecting 19 year old man, he screamed and jumped up onto the couch.

Both boys were in hysterics.

“Cole, we got you so good!” The younger of the two was currently beside himself on the other couch, tears streaming from his eyes as he held up a little remote; evidently the remote for the spider.

“You two are taking after your father it seems.” Cole laughed nervously. He was well aware of the notorious Pascal Dumais prank streak and it seemed. They pressed play on the tv until Celeste, Dumo, Adele and Katie came home. He was grateful only in the sense that he was completely and utterly exhausted from today.

“Aaahhhh, you boys made a cake!” Celeste mused, walking into the kitchen to have a look at it, “it will be perfect for after dinner.”

“Did you have a good day, mes garçons?” he asked. Both boys nodded, understanding that their father was asking if they did everything he asked of them.

“It seems your boys take after you, Dumo. Got me pretty good with a spider under the couch there.” Cole laughed from his position on the couch.

Dumo let out one of the biggest dad laughs known to man. “Incroyable! I’m proud of you both!” Both of his sons looked at him and began laughing with him, but followed their mother and sisters into the kitchen.

“I hope they weren’t too much trouble?” Dumo asked, hanging his coat up and turning to Cole.

“No, not at all. It was a fun day, a long day but a fun one. Really set me through my paces there. For a hot second i thought it was one of your tasks.” he laughed as he stood up.

Dumo froze.

“My children are a task to you?” he looked Cole straight in the eyes and cocked an eyebrow. Cole stared at him wide eyed and started stuttering, attempting to form and answer. Pascal laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m only joking, kid. You should have seen your face!”

“Haha, yeah, I’m just going to run to the toilet real quick and I’ll join you for dinner. Won’t be long!” He left, looking quite flustered as PAscal made his way into the kitchen. His wife was leant against the counter with her arms crossed and a slightly amused expression on her face.

“You are a cruel man, mon roi. A cruel cruel man.” she shook her head and turned back around as she continued to prepare dinner.

He stalked over and placed a kiss on her head.

“It’s called character building, ma reine.” he smiled. “And I am nowhere near done just yet.”

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Civic Auditorium Arena in Omaha, NE, USA - September 13, 1980

(x)

(x)

Fan Stories

“I don't know if anyone has ever been able to appreciate a rock concert as much as I did when I saw Queen at age 7. I knew the order the songs were supposed to be in, the way the stage was supposed to look, and what the band was supposed to do. And everything happened perfectly. Except for that damn mustache. Late summer 1980, I was pestering my mom to take me into town to get candy. She said, "Do you really want to get candy, or would you rather get tickets to see Queen?" I stopped in my tracks and started being the nicest boy you could imagine. I thought maybe she was kidding, but knew she wouldn't kid me about something like that. I guess my dad had already OKd it too. Like Axl Rose once said about Queen: "They meant everything to me." We drove all the way to Omaha to get tickets: they were $9 in advance, or $11 the day of the show if still available (though now I'm not sure how they weren't sold out immediately). I'm still not quite sure why Queen was playing smaller arenas at that point, since I think they had already begun playing stadiums. Finally, September 13 arrived. I was in 2nd grade. Ads had been all over the radio for this concert. One of my baby-sitters and two of her friends rode up with us also, and they went off on their own when we got there. The show was one of those infamous "general admission" things, so our seats depended solely on how early we arrived. I think we got to the arena at about 9 am... almost a full 12 hours before the show actually started (much longer in 7-year-old hours). A single word, "QUEEN", was boldly displayed on the marquee above the many doors where small lines were beginning to form. Excited bands of people were running/gathering everywhere. Queen was one of the biggest five bands in the world at that time: "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" was on the charts, The Game had just been released, and "Another One Bites the Dust" was soon-to-be released as a single. We picked one of the lines and got ready for what was indeed halfway dangerous: the growing mob of people ready to run in when the doors would open. This was a big issue of the time, as it was the year before that 11 people were crushed to death at the turnstiles of a Who concert. (An episode of the TV show W.K.R.P. in Cincinnati even focused on this.) People were starting to press onto the transparent doors trying to look inside, when suddenly there was the sound of tires screeching from the street: a white limousine honked twice and sped around the corner toward the other side of the arena, and was gone within seconds. The "big kids" screamed and ran after it; I was too small to do this, but we got better places in line! When everyone came back, they said they actually saw Freddie and John get out of it and be scuffled into the building before getting attacked by the mob of people. In the meantime, others around us were starting to talk to my mom. Two of them were a man and a lady who were apparently on date, and they ended up even staying by and sitting by us through the show. Some other people also offered to kind of stay around my mom and I to make sure I'd be safe on the way in. A couple of times, a big fat drunk guy yelled out, "Who's your favorite group?" and of course everyone yelled "Queen!"

Now people were beginning to bang on the doors of the entrance. I think the doors finally opened at around 11 am. When they did, we and other people from several sides of the arena moved in, towards those coming in from other doors on opposite sides: within seconds, everyone had funneled from outside to stopping cold in the lobby, having basically run into each other. This is exactly where everyone stayed for the next two hours. A human shield of several people were intact around my mom and I preventing my being crushed... and all I could see for two hours were a bunch of butts! Once in awhile someone would try and lift me up to see all the people. From the distance, the drunk guy again repeated the "Who's your favorite band?" line a couple of times, realizing that more people could hear him now that he was indoors and echoing, and everyone gave the appropriate response. By the fifth time, only the drunk people were responding to him, and by the tenth time people were laughing and moaning. Every so often, some loud music would come out of the arena like a band was tuning-up, but it wasn't Queen music so everyone figured it was just the opening act. At 1 pm, the turnstiles were finally opened. I was kind of keeping my guard around me as everyone pressed forward, and everything was moving faster the closer we got, but by surveying the area I thought I'd be safe. I had my ticket in my hand. The guy from the couple was going to try and enter first, then me, and then my mom. When I got to the turnstiles, my mom and the guy grabbed my arms on both sides and completely hoisted me over. A surprised old man tore my ticket while I was in mid-air. Suddenly, we were standing relatively calmly inside: the difficult part was over, and we were at least safe from here on out. People were still running everywhere and screaming, but the hallways were pretty big so it wasn't too dangerous as long as we stayed toward the edge. Most people were still outside, since we were somewhat early. An older 12-year-old tore around the corner, then his '70s-style tennis shoes screeched against the floor and he fell down for a second as he decided to which way to go. We knew we were sort of on a mission to walk fast toward a balcony and just get seats instead of wandering around indecisively like others. We went straight up toward the second level balcony, as others ran the opposite way down to the main floor. My mom and I and the people we'd befriended walked right next to the wall, and I pressed against it while just a few feet away scattered groups of people would sometimes run by full-speed. I would have wanted to be on the main floor, but my mom had previously explained to me how, unless we were in the balcony, we would have to actually stand through the whole show (there weren't any chairs on the main floor) and would hardly be able to see anything. Plus, along with the horror stories of people running in at the beginning of a rock concert, I had also heard how people supposedly got crushed to death against the stage... so sitting in the balcony was just fine with me. We got two seats in the front of the second balcony, just by the railing to the balcony below. We were on the right side of the arena, about halfway back, so we couldn't complain. Now, I knew this was the beginning of the biggest wait: sitting in the same spot from 1 in the afternoon to about 9 at night.

The main parts of the stage I liked (from viewing the pictures in my Live Killers album) were intact: the steps were lined with lights under Roger's drums, and middle of the main stage had a small plank stage that stuck out for Freddie to walk on, where the crowd could touch him but not too easily. Most of the instruments, and all of Roger's drum set, were covered in giant sheets of plastic. I'd never seen such big speakers; I had a flashback when I saw the black and white photo to the right because that's what they looked like with the house lights up. Throughout the afternoon, the lights in the arena would go out, then come back on... like we were being teased. Finally when it was about time for the opening band, the lights went off longer than usual and the band took the stage. The opening band was someone we had never heard of, and my mom and I both can't even remember who it was now (two people have e-mailed me saying it was a band called "Dakota"). I don't think they had any hits, and then apparently disappeared soon after. The crowd tolerated the first two or three songs. Then, every song ended with "Just one more song!" much to the audience's vocal dismay. I went on a trip to the bathroom, and they were still playing when I came back. Then they left. Ten minutes later, they came back and said "Just one more song!" and I think they played three. People were yelling, "We want Queen!" People were getting harsh to the point it was just uncomfortable even seeing the band on the stage. Everyone cheered when they left. The lights came back on. Another two hours. Just seeing them walk across the stage would have been enough for me, so at that age I really couldn't comprehend being in their presence for a whole two-hour concert. This wait was easier though because every second we knew the show could start. Seeing Queen still seemed like it was too good to be true, like some act of God would occur just before the show to prevent it. Then, the lights went out. There's no feeling like the wait in total darkness just before a Queen concert. It was 10 minutes of black and the loudest screaming I'd ever heard. I remember it was "scary" and so I think Brian might have also been playing the weeping guitar sound like the beginning of the We Will Rock You concert video. It was a good scary feeling though, like going up the first hill of a roller coaster. After several minutes of intense darkness and the crowd screaming, when I felt like my ears didn't have room for any more sound to enter (though I loved it), the even louder sound of thunder clapped across the arena with an incredibly blinding light. I could see everyone on the main floor have to turn completely around in unison toward the back of the arena because the lights were so bright. I kept trying to glance at the stage to see what was happening, but it was too bright to see anything... plus, in between the flashes, it was too dark to see anything. It was sort of an unnerving state, being totally blinded in that big of a place with that many people, and coming to the realizaton that it would be unthinkable to actually move around and that we were basically helpless. I was holding my mom's hand. Queen had the whole crowd paralyzed in their tracks before the show even began.

I'm not sure if the lights all rose up like in the We Will Rock You video or not (since we couldn't see), or if they were already raised because of the opening band. Eventually the thunder and noise turned to music. Finally, through my wincing, Freddie Mercury was suddenly in front of my own little eyes on the front extended stage in all the smoke. I'd never even seen a celebrity in person before, much less my idol at the time. I didn't think they would open with the fast version of "We Will Rock You" for some reason, since that's at the beginning of the Live Killers album and I thought they would want to do something different, but was surprised that they opened with a non-Queen song: "Jailhouse Rock". The stage looked similar to that in the We Will Rock You concert video, with the smaller panels of lights replacing the single giant panel from previous tours; however, I'm certain there was at least another entire, higher level of moving lights (not only from seeing them at the concert, but also looking at the pictures for years afterwards). The lights in the We Will Rock You video seem extremely cut-back. Instead of one row of panels of lights across the back of the stage, the panels were all over the place and the ones above the band moved straight up and down on poles and tilted back and forth. There were also little men somehow sitting amongst the panels who manually operated at least a dozen spotlights, and more guys doing this from a small section hanging down from the ceiling at the middle of the arena. Since the spotlights were directed from the top of the arena, there wasn't a big bulky spotlight booth in the middle of the main floor taking up space, and the audio booth was placed along the right side of the arena (down not to far from us) so it wasn't in anyone's way. In the darkness between a lot of the songs, flashlights darted around the stage... we couldn't figure out if it was the band or engineers setting things up. Thankfully, no one came out on stage before the show to announce the band (I've always thought this is really cheesy). Freddie had on those red leather pants with the blue knee-pads... and, unfortunately, that ugly mustache! "What do you think about my new mustache?" Freddie asked. (Mixed applause.) "Some people don't like it, but I just say 'fu** 'em.'" (Crowd goes wild.). Freddie drank some water, then tossed the rest out onto the crowd along with his cup. He tossed his tambourine out later, and I couldn't imagine what it would actually be like to touch it. Freddie also had that long silver microphone stand that he always danced around with in the videos. He was running all over the place; one second he was on the plank at our side of the arena, the next at the other side. The three high school girls who rode up with us were excited because when he went to the end of one of the planks he ended up level and close to them in the balcony (but upset because, had one not been on crutches, they would have stayed on the main floor where Freddie tossed his tambourine!). Once or twice I remember looking into the middle of the arena and some kind of explosion occurred in mid-air (apparently launched from the lighting duct at the top of the arena). There weren't that many lighters in the audience, but instead everyone was using those green glow-sticks that come out around Halloween (I think these were new at the time). The audience kept throwing their green glow sticks up on the stage until at times it was covered, and more than once Brian kicked off some back into the audience (and I think he might have been getting upset but I'm not sure!).

There were numerous parts of the show I knew had to be there... and they all were. The first was the "scary" sound effects and section of "Get Down, Make Love", where Queen showed off their lights. (At that age, I thought the erotic sound effects were simply supposed to represent the monster breaking-in on the cover of News of the World). Smoke shrouded the band, as the panels of lights took over and moved around to the audience's ooohs and aaahs. My mom and I were trying to figure out what was on Roger's bass drum, since it didn't look like an album cover; it turned out to be the white "face" design, also in the We Will Rock You video. Back then, concerts didn't have big video screens, so we just had to use the binoculars that we'd brought. Some spotlights were gathering on Freddie and Brian as they went to sit on two stools toward the right of the stage, and my mom got excited because we knew "Love of My Life" was coming. Freddie announced, "This is our first time in Omaha... " as the song started, and got the crowd to sing along like on the Live Killers album. Meanwhile, I had become a source of info for those around who wanted to know what the songs were; every time a new song would start, people would ask me what it was! I really don't know if anyone has ever actually been able to appreciate a concert as much as I did that night: I was only 7, but had every album except the first two, and knew every song they played except maybe two or three. But what's interesting is how fans often wish they could experience how a "classic" band was 20 years prior... and this is strangely how I felt I was experiencing the show, because at my age it seemed like Queen had been around 20 years. There were parts of the show, including the stage design, that were "legendary" to me, but were only 2-3 years old in reality. Now, 20 years later, they're legendary to everyone else. Periodically, the guy next to me changed the tape in his "hidden" tape recorder. We knew the show was close to the end when "Bohemian Rhapsody" began. Everyone clapped to the pre-recorded opera section, and as the Live Killers liner notes say: "The audience and the lights take care of the rest." The crowd went nuts when Roger hit the famous gong at the end.

I think there were two or three more songs, and then everything went black for about 10 minutes. Could it be that they were actually not going to play the standard "We Will Rock You/We Are the Champions/God Save the Queen" closing? The house lights may have even come on for awhile, then went back off. A few people were starting to leave, and I kept telling my mom that they had to end the concert that way, because that's the only way a Queen concert ends... but then even I was having doubts. Finally, the yellow lights around the gong all turned on, pointing directly on Roger, who started the drums of "We Will Rock You" and everyone stomped their feet and clapped. Of course "We Are the Champions" was next, and Freddie shook some of the hands flailing in front of the stage while singing it. I remember there was one hand jumping up and down that never got shook! Freddie bent his neck way back when he sang "... of the world!" at the very end like I knew he was supposed to from videos on TV, and we hoped for another song but knew that was probably going to be it. A grand finale of Queen's famous pyrotechnics began shooting everywhere from the stage, the lights were all moving around, and everyone was jumping all over in the aisles. Soon the pre-recorded Night at the Opera version of "God Save the Queen" did begin playing...but, nobody really sang to it since this is America and no one knows the words! At this point, I tried to make sure I was truly fathoming what it was like to actually see the band members in front of me since they'd be gone soon. Freddie was still dancing around and danced out a little door behind the drums, and the rest of the band followed one-by-one, with John being last as he waved to everybody one last time. The lights flickered and moved some more to the rest of the song, slowly going dark along with the rest of the arena, with the final rise of the crowd's applause. Perfect. Except for that damn mustache. We walked down what seemed like endless spiraling stairs on the way out...extremely slowly this time. My ears had that weird "ringing" feeling like everyone said I'd have, but that I'd never experienced before. Spotlights were panning the sky outside. We said goodbye to the couple we'd been with during the show. A guy in his late 20s started talking to us on the long way out; he laughed and told me how he'd also had to argue with his mom who said Queen would never come to Omaha. My mom asked him if he thought I'd even remember the whole thing since I was so little. He looked down at me, saw my grin from ear-to-ear, and said, "He'll never forget this."” - Jim

[papermoonloveslucy]

REMINISCING

August 14, 1977

By Frank Swertlow, Chicago Daily News 

BEVERLY HILLS - During the first years of television, Ed Wynn, the radio and stage comic, was trying to break into television with a half-hour comedy on CBS. (1)

One night, he invited a couple of second echelon performers to make an appearance: a comedienne, known as "Technicolor Tessie" for her blazing red hair, and a song-and-dance man, best remembered for hollering "babalu."

Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz were the couple, and they, like Wynn, were sampling the waters of the new medium. CBS had asked Miss Ball and her conga-drum pounding husband to develop a comedy show for television. Later, after months of thought and testing their ideas on the vaudeville circuit, the couple came up with "I Love Lucy," the misadventures of Lucy and Ricky Riccardo. (2)

It made its debut on CBS in October 1951. More than a quarter of a century afterwards, "I Love Lucy" easily can vie for the honor of television's most successful show. It was the archtype [sp] domestic comedy, the bumbling husband and his daffy wife. It gave birth to two other Lucy shows, a host of specials and a giant production company, Desilu. 

"We spent months thinking about what we should do," Miss Ball recalled. "We didn't want to be the average Hollywood couple. Nobody would think you had any problems if you had a car and swimming pool and a nice house. 

"Ultimately, we wanted a show in which people could identify with us. Everybody could understand what it was like to struggle for a buck. I was an ordinary, everyday, middle class housewife. I wore the same dress often. My husband worked and tolerated my mistakes. It was something that everyone could identify with." 

With the debut of the TV series, Lucille Ball, the former Goldwyn girl who started her film career in the 1930s, had a new career. 

"I never expected the show to go more than a year," said Miss Ball. "I wanted to do the show on film so I could use them as home movies. Who knew about television then? It was a no-no to do TV work. The movie studios were against it." 

To Miss Ball, who was not a new face to the public, the impact of her show was incredible. "We went to New York on a trip once and we were unprepared for what happened. People rushed up and wanted to touch you. They knew you, and called you by your first name. I had been in pictures for years, and most of the time I was never identified." 

If the movers and shakers of the film industry who gave Miss Ball her start during the 1930s were alive, they would have been shocked. To them, simply and kindly, Lucille Ball was a B-movie queen, one of the many second-line actresses who never attained star billing, but who was an important ingredient to the motion picture industry. 

Unlike many performers who labored under the cruel studio system, Miss Ball fondly remembered her early years in Hollywood. "It was nice to be under the umbrella of a studio. You always had a poppa. I loved it. I loved being part of the business. I would have swept floors just to be in it." 

Miss Ball, however, did not forget the tactics of the brutal and disgusting lords of movieland. Harry "King" Cohn, the ruler of Columbia Pictures, stood out. "He made the biggest dent in everybody. He was ruthless. He always had to take a devious route." (3)

Miss Ball, who is not exactly a pushover, laughingly recalled the time she outwitted the sly Cohn. 

Miss Ball had received an offer to work in a Cecil B. DeMille film, but Cohn refused to loan her to the producer. He was being mean. Then, Cohn decided to drop her contract. To do it, he sent the actress a horrible script something that the trade called a lease breaker. "Oh, everybody was dying to play opposite John Agar and Raymond Burr," she recalled jokingly. "I was going to be a harum [sp] girl." Naturally, Cohn expected her to refuse and it would be the end of her contract. (4)

The savvy Miss Ball decided to do the film and collect her check. When she made this announcement there was an uproar. She coyly told her bosses: "Oh, I want to do the film. It's a wonderful film." 

Meanwhile, Miss Ball, who had been trying to get pregnant for years, found out she was going to have a baby. Now, she was in trouble. If Cohn found out, he would break her contract. "I only told my mother and my husband I was pregnant." 

Keeping her lips sealed, she went ahead with Cohn's film. "The wardrobe girl kept looking at me in my harum [sp] girl costume and saying, 'What's wrong with you, you are getting so big.' "So, I told her, 'Don't worry, I ate a big meal last night. Just put a little more taffeta on my dress.' Well, I finished the film and I collected my $85,000." 

"Then I had to go to Mr. DeMille and tell him I couldn't do his film. I was pregnant. 'What,' he said. And I replied. 'I'm going to have a baby. 'Get rid of it,' he said. And he was serious.' She declined. (5)

While Miss Ball's career as a TV star is secure (she still has a contract with CBS) (6) she is not so certain about the state of the industry. Today, unlike when she started on the air, shows are yanked off the screen within a couple of weeks. This, she said, destroys performers. 

"If a show is canceled, the actor takes the blame. He or she suffers for it. They suffer inside. The rejection - they failed. (7)

"I would fail. You can't protect yourself. It's out of your hands. It's always Lucy failed or Rhoda failed or Farrah Sauset Fawcett Sauset, whatever her name is, failed. It's rough." (8)

Even so, Lucille Ball, the red-haired girl from Jamestown, N.Y., would still be on top.

#   #   #

FOOTNOTES FROM THE FUTURE

(1) Ed Wynn (1886-1966) was a vaudevillian who hosted “The Ed Wynn Show” on television from 1949 to 1950.  Lucy and Desi guest-starred on the show.  

(2) ‘Riccardo’ is probably a misspelling of ‘Ricardo’, but it was also the way their surname was spelled on “I Love Lucy” in early episodes!  

(3) Harry Cohn (1891-1958) was a much-despised executive at Columbia Studios.  Lucille Ball once facetiously told Louella Parsons that she liked Harry Cohn too much to ever sign a contract with him. What Lucille meant is that  Cohn had a reputation for being difficult.  Despite that fact, a casting draught forced her to sign with Columbia in 1949. 

(4) Lucille Ball had often complained to Cohn about the quality of the pictures she had been doing at Columbia. At the time The Magic Carpet was made, Ball was only obligated to Columbia for one more film, and Cohn had producer Sam Katzman, who turned out most of Columbia's low-budget "B" pictures, concoct a cheap Arabian Nights fantasy as a punishment to Ball for her constantly challenging him. More salacious writers insist that Cohn’s frustration with Ball was due to the fact that she would not submit to him sexually. 

(5) The DeMille film in question was The Greatest Show on Earth, a movie set at the Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey circus. Lucille was set to play the elephant trainer, a role that went to Gloria Graham. It was a film Lucille really wanted to do - but she wanted a baby more.  Later in life, Desilu created a TV version of the film.  Lucille also guest-starred as the ringmaster on “Circus of the Stars II” in which Lucie Arnaz was featured as.... the elephant trainer!  

(6) Lucille Ball had started working at CBS on radio and was considered their premiere star. In 1980, after her television shows had ended, she signed with NBC, a partnership that yielded very little except that Ball was obliged to appear on Bob Hope’s many specials, something she frequently did anyway.  Both CBS and NBC declined her final series “Life With Lucy” which producer Aaron Spelling finally convinced ABC to air. 

(7) Although this article was written ten years before “Life With Lucy”, Lucille could very well be describing her own devastation when the series was cancelled even before all the initial episodes aired. She was widely criticized and the series often turned up on “worst show” lists.  

(8) Rhoda refers to a character on “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” that was played by Valerie Harper, a performer that appeared on Broadway with Lucille. In 1974, the character was spun off into its own eponymous sitcom which aired for four seasons. 

Farrah Fawcett-Majors was a beautiful blonde actress and poster girl that burst onto the TV scene in the mid-1970s. A year after this interview, she was in the hit series “Charlie’s Angels” entering American iconography for her feathered hair and curvaceous figure the same way Betty Grable had in the 1940s.  

[theimprobabledreamersworld]

For the love of vocab cards.

Soo... another story written for @analogicalweek :D This is for day 5, prompt: Vocab cards. This again is a bit longer than my previous ones, but hopefully it’s worth it!

This is another College AU, Logan helps Virgil revise for an exam and leaves him a surpise to get through it on the day :) Hope you like it!

Taglist: @psychedelicships @edupunkn00b @jwillowwolf @look-ma-im-on-tv @kacklingisanart :) If anyone would like to be added, let me know! :D

For the love of vocab cards.

Word count: 1765

No warnings that I’m aware of :)

Virgil sat in an abandoned corner of the college library, just reading a textbook and finishing his third book of notes. He was desperately trying to revise for this exam tomorrow, but after four hours; his brain had reached its capacity of trying to retain information. It didn’t help that it was for a science exam and he hated that subject with a passion. There were too many long words with complicated meanings that he could never remember. He also just about understood equations when it came to math, but he had no idea how to apply them to science. Virgil belonged within the Performing Arts side of college, he loved music technology in particular and he loved creating all kinds of new music with the different pieces of equipment littered throughout the department. However, if he wanted to get onto next year’s course in Music Tech, he still had to pass the core subjects of math, english and science. Despite his unbridled hatred for the subject, he couldn’t help but smile whenever he remembered that he met Logan, his boyfriend of nearly two years, in the science labs.

It was the first day of class. They were assigned seats next to each other, and despite Virgil’s anxiety telling him otherwise, they seemed to get on extremely well. Logan was wearing a button up shirt, tailored trousers and large framed glasses, and Virgil had to admit that the ensemble looked amazing on him. Whereas Virgil was in his classic purple shirt, purple patchwork jacket and ripped jeans. They could not have looked like total opposites if they tried. Eventually the teacher started the class and was monotonously trying to explain the more complex concepts of the Periodic Table. Logan must have noticed just how confused Virgil was because he began to write something down on some blank vocabulary cards, all while Virgil stared at the whiteboard helplessly. After a while, Logan tapped Virgil lightly on the shoulder and he jumped. When he looked down at Logan’s hands, he was surprised at what he saw. It was a set of about ten vocabulary cards, and as Virgil took them and looked through them all, he could see that Logan had written out everything the teacher was explaining. However, Logan’s explanation was actually comprehensible, and Virgil genuinely started to understand the work they had been given. He looked at Logan who had a small but sincere smile on his face, and Virgil almost lost his words as he stared into Logan’s eyes. He managed to shyly utter a thank you to Logan while blushing an extremely bright shade of pink. Logan smiled back before turning his attention to the work before the teacher could inevitably come over and have a go at them. That’s where everything started.

Virgil was snapped out of this trip down memory lane by two hands covering his eyes. The familiar scent of aftershave and coffee reassured him about who was standing behind him. Their identity was confirmed with the light kiss on Virgil’s neck and a soft voice saying “Guess who? My Storm Cloud.” Virgil smiled and removed the hands gently from over his eyes.

“I couldn’t hazard a guess, Pocket Protector.” He turned and stood up to give Logan a much-needed hug for them both. He forgot that he said they’d meet after Logan had finished his extra revision session for the same exam. That was the only reassuring thing… they wouldn’t be able to talk or anything, but at least they’d be in the same room tomorrow.

Logan chuckled as he hid his face in Virgil’s neck. “How’s the revision going? Have you taken a break at all?”

“Horribly… I’ve been here for four hours and I still don’t understand a single word that I’m writing down. My brain is not absorbing any of this.” He sighed and was on the verge of crying. “What’s the point of me trying, Lo? I just need to accept that I won’t pass tomorrow.” He couldn’t stop a tear running down his cheek as he thought about how important tomorrow was. Logan closed the space between them, and softly wiped the tear off Virgil’s face. He lifted his chin up, making sure Virgil was looking into his eyes.

“Now you listen to me, Starlight. You are much smarter than you think, and you are stronger than you know. The main reason you’re struggling to remember things right now is because you’re stressed. You’ve cooped yourself into a small corner of this extremely large space and haven’t taken a break for a significant period of time. Let’s sit here and watch something while you drink this coffee I got you. I’ve finished my revision for this exam, so I’ll help you sort out some vocabulary cards for you to take in tomorrow before we go home. Sound good?” Logan looked at the smile starting to form on Virgil’s face and knew that he was okay. Virgil nodded as they sat down, and he snuggled up against a nearby wall with his coffee and took a sip while waiting for Logan.

“Ahh, you know my coffee order?” Virgil asked in a flirty voice as Logan set up his laptop and put on an episode of Parks and Rec. “Of course I do.” In a voice that made it sound like the most obvious thing in the world.

As they watched the episode, Logan ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair and kissed his forehead at random intervals because he loved how Virgil smiled every single time. When the coffee was finished, Logan got up and pulled over a chair to the table so they could finish the last bit of Virgil’s revision. They worked for an hour and Virgil felt more confident when he could answer the questions Logan asked him, that made him feel so much better.

“Alright, do you want to go now? I think we’ve covered everything. No more revising for you today, you’ve done more than enough!” Logan started to pack up Virgil’s things and Virgil looked relieved to be leaving.

“Yes please! I don’t think I could do anymore if I tried anyway. I really owe you for this, love. Let me go put these extra books away, I’ll be back in a minute.” He smiled and quickly kissed Logan before taking the books back to the shelves.

“Tell you what, write a song for me on your crazy music gadgets and we’ll call it even, okay?” Logan called out after Virgil as he walked away.

“You have a deal!” Virgil called back. He smiled and waited until Virgil was completely out of sight before grabbing some blank vocabulary cards and wrote on them furiously. He attached them to Virgil’s exam ones and put them into his bag just before he came back around the corner. Virgil stared at his boyfriend with a playful glare, knowing something suspicious had just happened, but then laughed before leaving the library hand in hand with his boyfriend going to Logan’s car.

They pulled up outside Virgil’s house, he grabbed his bag and Logan walked with him to the door. “Alright, so keep everything in your bag so it’s all in there for tomorrow. Get some food and watch something funny okay? I’ll pick you up in the morning.” He kissed Virgil gently, “I love you.” He turned to walk to the car, but Virgil pulled him back to kiss him again.

“I love you too! Thank you for today. I promise the song I’ll write for you will be the best one yet.” They both smiled and Logan reluctantly pulled away to head home. He still had some revision to do after all.

Morning came all too quickly. Virgil was feeling incredibly nervous as predicted, but he managed to have some breakfast and waited at the front door for Logan to arrive. He saw the car pull up and Logan beeped the horn twice as he normally did. He got out of the car and waited for Virgil to run up for their morning hug. He spun him around a couple of times which made Virgil laugh and kissed him.

“Are you ready to go? Everything is going to be okay. I promise.” Logan said with the most reassuring smile that made Virgil feel safe and secure.

“Yup. Might as well get this over and done with!” He smiled and got into the car. They turned the music up and sang along at the top of their lungs. Virgil would never admit that singing along to cheesy pop songs was his ultimate way to calm down.

They got to college and signed in before sorting their things and heading towards the exam room. Logan gave him a quick hug and they walked into the room together before finding their seats. They both looked amused when they realized that they were sitting next to each other, one row apart. Virgil took the opportunity to look the vocabulary cards over before they were allowed to start. He looked puzzled when he came across some that definitely weren’t there yesterday. His heart swelled when he read them one after the other.

‘You are amazing.’ ‘You are the smartest, most talented person I’ve ever met.’ ‘You can do absolutely anything the world throws at you. I know you can.’ ‘I’m so proud of you.’ ‘I love you to the ends of the unknown universe and back.’

 Virgil couldn’t hide his smile as he held the cards as close to his heart as possible. He turned to Logan who had clearly been watching him the entire time. He mouthed thank you at Logan, who winked in response. Just like that, they announced the start of the exam and Virgil immediately felt like he could do this. They both sneaked loving glances at each other throughout, a silent and unnoticeable gesture of encouragement. Then it was all over, and the relief was almost overwhelming.

When the results came through a few weeks later… Virgil was ecstatic to know that he passed, and unsurprised that Logan got full marks. He knew that without those vocabulary cards Logan made, he would never have believed in himself enough to do everything he could to pass the crucial test. Despite being complete opposites when they met, Virgil knew that now they were two halves of the same coin, they completed each other perfectly. There was only one thing left to do now…

He had one hell of a song to write for the one and only love of his life.

[catherine-sketches]

Explaining José Carioca.  José “Zezinho” do Patrocínio Oliveira: The History of the voice and inspiration of a beloved parrot.

SENTA QUE LÁ VEM HISTÓRIA (Sit Down, Here comes some History)

In 1942, When he was introduced to Walt Disney in the United States, the musician José do Patrocínio Oliveira immediately started a conversation using his heavily accented English. Upon hearing him speak, Walt recommended: “Don’t try to be American, we already have enough of those. Be Brazilian” And that was something Oliveira knew how to do really well. Inspired by him, Disney created his first Brazilian character: Zé Carioca

But the man behind de parrot... was Paulista!

Fun Fact #1: The word “Carioca” means “Born and raised on the state and city of Rio de Janeiro”. If Joe had being born outside the city of Rio, but still lived in the state of Rio he would be named José Fluminense.

Fun Fact #2: The word “Paulista” means “Born and raised in the state of São Paulo”. If he had being born in the city of São Paulo, he would be Paulistano

(For the people wondering : São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro are states, and both have a city which bears the same name

The state and city of Rio de Janeiro

The state and city of São Paulo

So as a rule: Every Carioca is Fluminense, but not all Fluminense are Carioca. Same thing for Paulista and Paulistano)

Born in Jundiaí in 1904, the violinist and cavaquista (ukulele player) Oliveira, Zezinho as his friends called him, had many knacks. “He was all quick, never stoped moving himself or stoped speaking”, says the Tv director José Amâncio, that was really close to the musician. “It wasn't that Zezinho was similar to Zé Carioca.

He was Zé Carioca!”

Many thought that Zezinho was making impressions when voicing Zé Carioca.

“Nope! It was his voice all the way”, says José Bonifácio de Oliveira Sobrinho, Boni for short, show runner of Tv Vanguarda, that had meet Zezinho through his father in his childhood. In 1957, when he was 22 years old, Boni meeted  Zezinho again and kept a friendship that lasted 30 years ---- were never lacked histories about how was the life of an animated character.

“Disney even used to say that Zezinho had a parrot nose. Then he would take him to the studio, put a hat in his head, gave him an umbrella and asked him o walk, sambar and rebolar (or as you americas say, shake around the studio)... The animators kept looking so they could make the parrot move in the same way. And Zezinho always joked: “But I don't know how to rebolar, I’m Paulista!”

(this is a Brazilian joke. we say that people from São Paulo don’t know how to rebolar to save their lives.

But as you can see in the movie, Zezinho was both an exception and a liar that lies)

Before and above being José Carioca, Zezinho was a great musician. Since the 30s, he accompanied the singers Aurora and Camen Miranda (the first one appearing in The Three Caballeros) when both of them fulfilled their daily schedule pre-carnival at 7:30pm, in the Record Radio of Rio de Janeiro. In Carmen’s biography Carmen, the writer Run Castro tell us the Aurora and her more famous sister adored Zezinho, thanks for his peculiar personality.

Zezinho, for example, was a former employee from the Butantan Institute of São Paulo, know for its study of venomous animals.

“When he got excited, he talked about snakes by their names in Latin,” write Ruy Castro. 

His friend José Amâncio remembers that there was something else that did not come out of Zezinho’s head: all the stations of the São Paulo train lines.

“He used to quote one by one, in the right order”

Zezinho's incredible memory allowed him to decorate practically all Carnival songs ever made. “We used to say the year, and he then listed each marchinha (also know as the carnival marches) and samba. If we asked, he would sing ”, says Boni. In addition to guitar and ukulele, Zezinho was an ace in the mandolin and in more than ten instruments. He went to the United States in the late 1930s, in the wake of Carmen Miranda's success. There, he recorded three albums with Aurora and, in 1942, became part of Bando da Lua (Pack of the Moon), the group of musicians who used to accompany the two sisters.

(Carmen Miranda and the members of Bando da Lua. From left to right: Zé Carioca, Vadico, Nestor Amaral, Afonso, Stenio and Aloysio de Oliveira)

In 1942, Zezinho made his film debut playing with Bando da Lua in the film Minha Secretária Brasileira, starring Carmen Miranda. 

Soon after, in Saludos Amigos, he did more than dub Zé Carioca: he appeared playing “Na Baixa do Sapateiro” and “Os Quindins de Iaiá”, by Ary Barroso. 

In 1944, he gave voice to Zé Carioca again and acted in yet another combination of film and cartoons produced by Disney Studios: the classic The Three Caballeros. There, alongside Aurora, he played “Aquarela do Brasil”, also by Ary Barroso, and “Tico-Tico no Fubá”, by Zequinha de Abreu.

Brazilian music, which had conquered the United States with Carmen Miranda, gained even more space with the push given by Disney in the cinema. After the premiere of The Three Caballeros , Zezinho played with Aurora in Mexico. 

According to Ruy Castro, despite the fame of the singer, her name was the second on the posters of the shows. It came just below “Joe Carioca” - Zezinho had taken on the name of the parrot because of its popularity. The musician played samba until the age of 75, in several American states. He performed almost every night in luxury hotels, restaurants, casinos and at Disneyland, California. His first appearance there was at the opening of the theme park in 1955 - he entered the stage announced by Disney himself.

Like Zé Carioca in Saludos Amigos, Zezinho was a warm host: he insisted on keeping the doors of his home in the United States always open, transforming it into a kind of informal Brazilian embassy. According to Boni, the musician became a co-director of directors who, later on, would stand out on Brazilian TV, such as Daniel Filho and Augusto César Vanucci. “Friends wanted to get to know Hollywood better, to see how things were done there. I arranged with Zezinho and he took us to all the studios. Everyone there knew him ”, he says.

Once, the friend José Amâncio witnessed how the fame of the musician was perpetuated. In the early 1980s, the TV director visited Disneyland for the first time, accompanied by Zezinho. As soon as he arrived at the park, he was amazed to see all the employees greeting the musician, waving and saying: “Hey, Joe Carioca”. 

“I knew he was the man behind Zé Carioca, but I didn't think he was recognized that way. That day I found out how dear he was ”, he says. 

Zezinho was almost 80 when that moment  took place - and the character's debut film was over 40 years old.

In 1987, after much bohemia, Zezinho died. And he left the scene in the best Zé Carioca style. "On his headstone it says: 'Awesome' Because for him everything was 'Awesome'," says businessman José do Patrocínio Oliveira Júnior, the parrot's son. Or rather, the musician’s son.

TL;DR : Zezinho was the most lovable dork. He loved Samba, Snakes and Trains, made fast friend with everyone he meet, travelled the world with Carmen Miranda, was a walking musical encyclopaedia, was a walking snake encyclopaedia,  he thought that everything was awesome and through the power of friendliness alone he meet some of the greatest names on Brazilian music, cinema and television.

Truly a legend.

[fyexo]

200930 SuperM On Album Super One's Message, Friendship & Their Group Halloween Costume

What happens when you put together an Avengers-style K-pop group, featuring the top talent from some of South Korea's biggest boy bands, and unite their individual bands' fan bases? The boys of SuperM—Mark (from NCT and NCT 127), Kai (from EXO), Ten (from WayV and NCT), Lucas (from WayV and NCT), Taemin (from SHINee), Taeyong (from NCT and NCT 127), and Baekhyun (from EXO)—started that journey a year ago and made history.

With their first, self-titled EP, SuperM became the first debut K-pop act to reach #1 on the Billboard 200 albums chart. Nearly a year later, their first full-length album Super One is newly released—and very much influenced by the ongoing coronavirus pandemic, which has stalled most musicians' plans for touring and performing for fans. Songs like "Together at Home" poignantly touch on it, with lyrics focused on finding the silver lining and embracing little pleasures.

Taemin tells ELLE.com that the boys want Super One to bring joy to their fans, and a sense of unity as the world goes through this period of quarantining and social distancing. "We want our fans to know that despite the distance, we are together in spirit," he says. "We created this album wanting to give back to our fans who give us unconditional love and support. Hopefully through our music, they can feel the positive energy and find happiness and hope to help get through this difficult time together."

Below, the boys discuss the album with ELLE, along with insights into how their friendship changed during their first year as a group, their experiences quarantining, and what their group Halloween costume has to be.

How has it felt to watch K-pop, C-pop, and J-pop take off in the West over the past couple years, and be part of that moment?

Taemin: As a K-pop artist, I am very proud. From performing in Paris and L.A. for the first time to having fans recognize me when we were taking photos along Abbey Road in London, these moments don’t seem that long ago, but it’s amazing to see how quickly K-pop has become popular around the globe. I am proud to have been a part of this movement and I’ll continue to work hard to help take K-pop to greater heights.

Last October, you made history as the first debut Korean act to hit #1 on the Billboard 200 with your SuperM EP. How did it feel taking that in? As a group, what is your dream to accomplish in the U.S. music scene?

Baekhyun: To have our first debut album hit number one on the chart was an incredible honor and the happiest, unexpected surprise. This is all because of our fans and I am so grateful for all the love and support they have and continue to give us. This just made me want to work harder to create a better album and provide more amazing content that brings joy to the fans. As for my goal in the U.S. music scene, when everything gets better, it’d be a dream come true to perform during the Super Bowl Halftime Show!

You’ve all known each other for years before working together. What were your first impressions of each other?

Mark: Before coming together as SuperM, I always looked up to them as role models. It was a cool feeling to see them all when we first had our meeting. I was thrilled and really looking forward to being on a team with them. And so, getting close to them as a brother and as a person was a good transition from just knowing them as senior artists. They all have their own brother-like personalities and I’m really happy to be able to see that side of them and have them accept me as a brother too.

Kai told Billboard last October that there was "nothing new to learn" about each other since you’ve all been friends for years. But what has working together as a group on this album taught you musically?

Taeyong: All the members are great artists and performers—each with their own unique, individual charm. Put them together and you get this amazing synergy onstage that’s been fun to show our fans. There are so many lessons I’ve learned from being part of SuperM but I would have to say the older members’ leadership and their ability to empathize with others inspired me to become a better leader for NCT 127. They really listen to what you have to say and always give great advice so I try to be the same for NCT 127 and help bring out the best in each member. I still have a lot to learn but I’m always trying to improve and working with SuperM encourages me to do so.

Ten: I learned so much from all the members while working on this album. They give the best advice, especially the senior members. Taemin gave me great tips on how to better express myself on stage and Baekhyun helped me a lot with my vocals. Outside of work, we can have deep conversations about anything. We all began our career at a young age so they really understand what I’m going through and how I feel. I can always count on them when I need someone to talk to.

How has being bandmates changed your friendships over the last year?

Kai: In the beginning, because we mostly knew each other as juniors/seniors within the industry and label, it was slightly awkward. But once we started to get to know each other, we were all able to connect with each other within the older/younger brother dynamic, so now they really feel like brothers to me. And I want to keep it that way going forward.

What has been your favorite moment from your first year together?

Baekhyun: One of my favorite moments would have to be when we filmed the reality show together. It was fun to do “regular” things together like cooking, playing games, and doing challenges. Everyone has a great sense of humor so we laughed the entire time. It was a great opportunity for us to bond and we had a blast.

Kai: I’d have to say when we were touring around the world together—and more recently, when we got to shoot our own reality TV show. Each of those moments brought us much closer together.

Taemin: When we made our debut as SuperM, and held our very first showcase at Capitol Records. I remember thinking, "This is another new beginning for me" and it brought back old memories of when I auditioned for SM and debuted as SHINee. It felt like another new path was created for me and I remember feeling all kinds of emotions throughout the day.

Taeyong: If you think about it, a year is not that long, but we made so many memories together and I think that’s because we are all positive-minded people. In the past year, we spent almost half a year on a world tour and the other half practicing and preparing for our album. I’ve grown a lot both on a professional and personal level so I cherish every single moment!

Mark: I think it would have to be our debut showcase in L.A. at the Capitol Records Tower. We were nervous but it felt good that we were all nervous together. Sharing the same emotions with the members is a good feeling because you know we’re all in it together.

Ten: When we went on our world tour. Experiencing different cultures and meeting our fans worldwide was unforgettable. Also, we all got very close during the tour from being together 24/7. Because we come from different groups, this was our first time doing a tour together so we were able to really bond.

Lucas: Our first performance of "Jopping" in L.A. It was a great feeling to finally be able to show the world what we’ve been working really hard on. The audience’s energy, the city, and the overall vibe that day was incredible. I’ll never forget it.

What song on Super One are you most proud of and why?

Taeyong: I am most proud of "Together at Home." It’s a little more special to me because I wrote some of the lyrics for the song. I put a lot of thought into the messaging and wanted to say that even though we are not physically together, we can find new ways to be there for each other. With what’s going on right now, I feel like fans can relate to the message and find comfort knowing that no matter what, we’ll always find a way to reach them. It’s a feel-good song that anyone can hum along to.

Lucas: I choose "Infinity." You can really feel our energy and our ambition "to go to infinity." Our title song, "One," is a hybrid remix that combines "Infinity" and "Monster" so it’s fun to hear the two tracks on their own and then hear "One" which has a completely different vibe. Each has its own charm.

Mark, you helped write "100" and Taeyong and Mark, you worked together to write "Together at Home." What do those songs mean to you? How has your songwriting evolved as you’ve worked on more music?

Taeyong: "Together at Home" [has] special meaning to me. When writing the lyrics, I tried to be as honest as possible with my feelings and thankfully, the team loved it, so I was very happy about that. Hopefully fans can also feel the sincerity of the message and like the song as much as I do.

Mark: It was fun writing both songs but I enjoyed "Together at Home" a little more because it really suits the current situation we’re all going through and I could really relate to it. Through this process, I realized how important it is to stay true to yourself. You can get inspired and get ideas from basically everything around you, but ultimately, you need to interpret them in your own way. Staying true to yourself differentiates you from other artists. This is what I always try to bring alive through my music.

Who would you love to collaborate with?

Taemin: I would love to collaborate with Jessie J one day. Her performances are very sincere and I can feel her singing from the heart. I admire her energy and passion onstage and she is someone I feel I can learn a lot from. I also think we would create great synergy together if we collaborated!

You all are incredible dancers. What song from Super One has your favorite choreography so far?

Kai: I personally like "Tiger Inside." The choreography is inspired by the movement of a tiger and fits perfectly with the concept and theme of the song. I like that the choreography has its own storyline.

Quarantine and COVID-19 have drastically changed every musicians’ plans for the year. What is a day in the life of quarantine like for you? What things have you done for self-care when the days have felt harder?

Ten: First, I do the basics like wash my hands often, take vitamins, eat healthy, and exercise. But, most importantly, I’ve been keeping myself busy at home relaxing, practicing my vocals and dancing skills, finding new hobbies, and trying new activities that I didn’t have the time to try before. I was actually surprised at how much you can do at home.

Is there anything you can tease about what fans can expect for your next tour?

Mark: When we are able to tour again, I can guarantee we’ll be preparing the best show ever. As much as we missed out on a lot of shows due to inevitable circumstances, when it’s safe and the next tour opens, we’ll bring everything we have for the fans, especially songs from Super One.

What Halloween group costume will SuperM do this year?

Mark: It would have to be The Avengers! And if I were to do it myself, it would still be a character from The Avengers. Maybe Spider-Man? It’s a character fans really like and I think it suits me really well.

What's an entertainment pick—TV show, music, movie, video game, book—you’ve loved in quarantine?

Baekhyun: I’m sure many people are already watching a lot of Netflix and YouTube videos at home. Rather than an entertainment pick, I think it’s a great idea to take advantage of the time we have and start a new hobby you can do indoors—like learning to play a new instrument. Everyone has something they’ve always wanted to try but never did. Now is a great time to start! If you're interested in learning a new instrument, there are many great books and tutorial videos online so you can teach yourself!

Taeyong: SuperM videos! We created a lot of content for you guys and they’ll definitely keep you entertained and make time go by faster. Hopefully they’ll make you laugh too!

What’s next for SuperM?

Baekhyun: Fans have already seen our powerful, energetic side through our performances. Now, we want to get closer to the fans and show them more of our "human" side—who we are off-stage. Of course, we’ll continue to bring great performances but at the same time, we want fans to feel comfortable approaching us and not feel so distant. Most importantly, I want fans to find comfort and positive energy in our music.

Alyssa Bailey @ ELLE

[calumcest]

if these walls could talk (they’ve seen way too many things)

[ao3]

before i begin i have to give two huge thank yous: firstly to @miguelclifford for beta-reading this fic, for her comments, ideas, motivation and general company/conversation over the past few days and also for writing that excellent malum fic the other day yes i’m still thinking about it this fic is completely indebted to you and your wonderful mind and secondly to @5sosnsfw for letting me scream in agony about this fic for the past 4 days because i just could not stop writing no matter how much i wanted it to END and for being so incredibly supportive of every single thing i do you are truly both such wonderful individuals and this is the first time in my life i’ve been glad i wrote That Fic because i would not have met u otherwise

-

The announcement comes late, at eight p.m., interrupting radio and TV broadcasts and flashing up on phone screens.

Due to the current pandemic, the state is now on mandatory lockdown for three weeks. All citizens have until midnight to return to their places of residence. Those outside after midnight will be subject to severe penalties. Further information to follow.

“You have to leave,” Ashton says. “You have to go.” Luke blinks. “They’re locking down the state.”

-

luke gets stuck at ashton's during lockdown

-4 hours 

The announcement comes late, at eight p.m., interrupting radio and TV broadcasts and flashing up on phone screens.

Due to the current pandemic, the state is now on mandatory lockdown for three weeks. All citizens have until midnight to return to their places of residence. Those outside after midnight will be subject to severe penalties. Further information to follow.

Ashton sees it when his phone lights up obnoxiously, distracting him from the song he’s halfway through perfecting on drums. He picks it up, annoyed, intending to turn it around so it can’t distract him anymore, but the notification catches his eye. 

“Shit,” he says, reading the notification a second and third time, just to make sure. “Shit, shit- Luke!” He scrambles to his feet, throwing his drumsticks onto the floor with a loud clatter,  taking the stairs back up to the ground floor two at a time, clutching his phone. “Luke!”

“Yeah?” Luke’s voice is muffled by walls, but Ashton can hear it’s coming from the living room, so he slams open the door, wincing a little at the sound the handle makes when it hits the wall. Luke, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, Star Wars playing on the TV, throws him a look of surprise at the urgency clearly written all over Ashton’s face. 

“You have to leave,” Ashton says. “You have to go.” Luke blinks, and Ashton doesn’t miss the brief hurt that flashes across his face. “No, not like that, I’m not kicking you out. They’re locking down the state.”

“What?” Luke asks, confused. Ashton thrusts his phone into Luke’s face. Luke scans the notification, eyes widening, and stands up so abruptly he sends Ashton’s phone flying onto the floor. “Shit, shit, sorry, I-”

“Fuck, don’t worry, get your stuff together,” Ashton says, picking his phone up and electing not to tell Luke about the new crack running from the top left-hand corner to the middle of the screen. 

“Shit, Ash, I can’t,” Luke says, forehead creased, running a hand through his hair. “I’m never going to make it that far in four hours with everyone else on the road.”

“Well, you’re not if you just fucking stand there, are you?” Ashton says, agitated. “I’ll get your stuff from down here.” Luke hesitates for a moment and then nods, running out of the room, and Ashton hears him thundering up the stairs to the guest room he’s been staying in.

Ashton swears under his breath as he tries to remember what the fuck Luke actually brought with him. He picks up the hoodie that Luke had slung over the arm of the couch, wrestles his phone charger out of the wall, and tucks the notebook full of lyrics Luke had brought for Ashton’s approval under his arm. Twisting on the spot, he looks around the room wildly for anything he might have missed, and decides it won’t be anything important if he has missed something, nothing that can’t be replaced- 

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, spotting Luke’s laptop, and clutches it close to his chest. That’s got to be all the important stuff now, he reckons, so he sprints up the stairs to the guest room to see Luke shoving all his stuff haphazardly in his bag.

“Bathroom?” Ashton asks, dropping everything in his arms on the bed, and Luke shakes his head, grabbing the hoodie and stuffing it in his bag. Ashton nods, running to the bathroom to grab Luke’s toothbrush, toothpaste – he hadn’t brought any mouthwash, had he? No, just the toothbrush and toothpaste – and is halfway back to the bedroom when he remembers Luke’s fancy electric razor and rushes back to the bathroom to grab it.

“Fuck,” Luke says, when Ashton gets back in and crams the bathroom items into Luke’s already overflowing bag. “Fuck, check the traffic, I have to pee.” Ashton pulls his phone out as Luke runs out of the room, getting up his Maps and calculating the route to Luke’s house.

Shit.

Six hours.

“Luke!” he shouts. “Luke, you have to leave now, bro. It says six hours.” The toilet flushes, and Ashton hears a faint “ Six ?” over the sound of the tap running. The door to the bathroom flies open, revealing an incredibly harassed-looking Luke Hemmings, hands dripping with water.

“I don’t have six hours,” Luke says.

“You can make it across the state line in four if you leave now,” Ashton says.

“Not if the traffic increases!” Luke sounds panicked now.

“Well, get a fucking move on then!” Ashton says, equally panicked. Luke nods, pushing past Ashton with wet hands to grab his bag from the guest room, and sprints down the stairs, Ashton in tow. 

“Fuck, where’d I leave my car keys?” Luke mutters, patting his pockets frantically.

“Put your shoes on, I’ll look for your keys,” Ashton says, grabbing Luke’s bag off him and shoving his hand in to feel around the bottom. It only takes him about ten seconds, by which time Luke’s straightening up, shoes on, and he slaps the key into Luke’s hand and runs to the door to open it. 

“Shit,” Luke says, running to his car and chucking his bag in the passenger seat, shutting it with a slam. “Bye, Ash, thanks for having me, love you, all that.” 

“Love you,” Ashton echoes. “Get home safe. Let me know. I’ll stay up.” Luke nods, pulling his car door shut, and doesn’t even bother putting his seatbelt on before backing out of Ashton’s driveway. Ashton feels his heart clench with both fear and worry, and watches Luke roar down the street until he turns the corner.

Fuck.

 ------- 

  -3 hours 

“Shit, Ash,” Calum says, when Ashton calls him half an hour later, having had a cup of tea to try and calm his nerves. “Is he going to make it back?”

“I don’t know,” Ashton says, biting his lip. “I fucking hope so. He should make it across the state line by midnight, depending on traffic.” There’s a distant mumbling at the other end of the line, and Ashton hears Calum informing Michael about what’s going on.

“…if he didn’t fucking live in Vegas,” is all he catches Michael saying, and, not for the first time, Ashton wholeheartedly agrees.

“Put me on speaker,” Ashton says. He hears some tapping, and then the static becomes a little more tinny. “Mike?”

“Hey, yeah,” Michael says, and Ashton can imagine the crease of worry between his brows. “So you said he should make it across the state line before midnight?”

“Depending on traffic,” Ashton reiterates, biting his fingernails – a habit he’d kicked, like, seventeen years ago.

“And if he can’t?”

“Well, I don’t know, maybe they’ll be lenient?” Ashton says.

“In America?” Michael sounds sceptical.

“You have a point,” Calum says.

“At least you two are together,” Ashton says, trying to focus on the positive. “Look after yourselves, yeah? Stay indoors.” He can almost hear Michael rolling his eyes.

“Right, like we have a choice,” he says.

“You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah,” Calum says, in that soothing voice he uses to calm them all down. “Try not to worry, Ash. He’ll be alright.”

“Will he?” Ashton says, ripping a hangnail off. It fucking hurts, but he’s kind of glad for the distraction.

“If I can get stranded in Bali and Michael can get stranded on his own in America Luke can handle being stuck in California,” Calum says.

“Yeah, but it’s a lockdown,” Ashton says.

“Even better,” Michael says. “He can’t do anything stupid.”

“Where would he go, though?” Ashton’s nervous train of thought is interrupted by a beeping, signalling someone’s trying to get through, and he holds his phone away from his ear to see it’s Luke. “Shit, he’s calling me. I’ll ring you back.” He doesn’t even wait for Calum and Michael to answer before picking up Luke’s call. 

“Luke?” he says.

“Ash?” he hears, Luke’s voice echoing and distant in his car. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I can hear you,” Ashton says. “Where are you?”

“I won’t make it,” Luke says. “The I-15’s totally backed up, I can’t even get onto it. Everyone’s trying to leave.” Ashton’s stomach drops.

“Fuck,” he says. “Can you get back to mine? You can stay here. 

“Are you sure?” Luke says. 

“‘Course,” Ashton says, the knot of worry in his stomach tightening. If Luke can’t even get onto the I-15, what if he can’t make it back to Ashton’s?

“Alright,” Luke says. “I’ll call you when I’m near, then. Fucking hell, what the fuck?”

“What?” Ashton asks anxiously. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, sorry, some guy just cut me off,” Luke says. “I’ll call you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “Drive safe.”

“Will do,” Luke says. “See you soon.” The line goes dead, and Ashton swallows, dialling Calum back.

“What’d he say?” Calum demands, picking up after half a ring.

“He’s not going to make it,” Ashton says. “Can’t even get on the I-15. He’s coming back here.”

“To LA?” Calum asks.

“Yeah, to mine,” Ashton says.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Calum says, and Ashton can hear the relief flooding his voice.

“I know,” Ashton says. “I hope he can get back here.”

“Of course he will, he’s got three hours. He’ll be alright, Ash. Breathe.”

“I’m breathing,” Ashton grumbles, but the knot in his stomach loosens a little at Calum’s calming tone.

“Want me to stay on the phone?” Calum asks gently. Ashton thinks for a moment, and then shakes his head, momentarily forgetting that Calum can’t see him.

“No,” he says. “I think I’m going to, like, clean my house, or something. Burn off this nervous energy. Thanks, though.”

“No worries,” Calum says. “I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks, Cal,” Ashton says, exhaling and hoping that Calum can’t hear that it’s a little unsteady. “I’ll text you when he gets here.”

“Alright,” Calum says. “I’ll tell Mikey. He’s not going to say it, but he’s really fucking worried.” Ashton snorts. Typical Michael.

“I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” he says.

“Love you,” Calum says.

“Love you,” Ashton echoes, and there’s a click as Calum hangs up.

Fuck.

 -------

  0 hours 

Ashton hoovers the entire house, dusts the living room and is halfway through dusting the kitchen, trying his best not to look at the clock (which by now has ticked past eleven p.m.), when he hears the faint sound of a car getting closer and closer. He throws down the duster, runs to the front door and yanks it open just in time to see Luke’s car pulling into his driveway. The tension in him dissipates entirely when Luke steps out of the car with his bag slung over his shoulder, raking his fingers through his bleached curls. Ashton almost sinks to his knees in relief.

“Hi,” Luke says, sounding tired but smiling nonetheless. Ashton pulls him in for a fierce hug, shakily breathing in the scent of warmth and Luke . Luke hugs back immediately, dropping his forehead on Ashton’s shoulder and inhaling deeply. Ashton’s not sure which of them is more relieved that he’s back. 

“C’mon,” Ashton mumbles after a moment. He doesn’t want to let go but is starting to feel the cool March breeze make the hair on his arms stand on end, and he shivers involuntarily as he stands aside to let Luke past. 

“Huh,” Luke says, wandering back into the living room. “This is cleaner than it was four hours ago.” Ashton snorts.

“Had to find some way to pass the time,” he says.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Luke says, an edge of nervousness in his voice. It kind of breaks Ashton’s heart a little bit, that even after all these years Luke still doesn’t quite believe he’s good enough.

“Fucking hell, Luke, of course not,” Ashton says. Luke grins, eyes crinkling around the corners, and Ashton can’t help but grin back.

“Looks like I’m your new roommate, then,” Luke says.

“Perfect time for me to house-train you,” Ashton says, dodging the swat Luke sends his way. “I’m going to call Cal back, let him know you made it here. They were worried about you.”

“Were you all on the phone talking about me?” Luke says.

“Yeah, about how fucking stupid you are for buying a place in Vegas when everyone else lives in LA,” Ashton says. Luke pulls a face.

“I don’t like LA,” he says.

“Well, you’re going to have to learn to,” Ashton says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and dialling Calum. The phone rings once, and then there’s the scrambling sound of someone answering.

“Ash?” It’s Michael. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “He made it back.” Michael swears under his breath.

“Thank fuck,” he says. “Calum was really worried.”

“Yeah, sure, Calum was really worried,” Ashton says pointedly. Michael never picks up Ashton’s calls after a single ring.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Michael huffs. “I’m going to tell Cal. Tell Luke he’s a fucking idiot for buying a house in Vegas.”

“Will do,” Ashton says. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Michael says, and Ashton hears a distant Cal, baby - before the call cuts out.

“What’d Calum say?” Luke asks, throwing himself down on one of Ashton’s sofas and kicking his shoes off. Ashton frowns.

“It was Michael,” he says. “He said you’re a fucking idiot for buying a house in Vegas. And put your shoes in the hallway.” Luke rolls his eyes, but gets up and pads out to the hallway, shoes in hand.

“I told you, I don’t like LA,” he calls, and Ashton follows him, leaning against the doorframe as Luke slots his shoes neatly in Ashton’s shoe rack.

“Well, you’re stuck here now,” Ashton says. “Might as well get used to it.” 

“Well, technically I don’t need to get used to LA, since I can’t leave the fucking house,” Luke says, stifling a yawn. “Actually, I think I’m going to head to bed. I’m fucking exhausted.”

Ashton nods, still wired from the adrenaline.He knows he’s going to crash in about half an hour and should probably get his teeth brushed and skincare done before that happens.

“I should sleep too,” he says, watching Luke stretch and yawn and thinking it might be the cutest thing he’s seen all day. “You know where towels are, and everything.” Luke nods, holding the back of his hand to his mouth as he yawns again. “Alright, well. See you in the morning, then,” Ashton says, starting upstairs as Luke goes to retrieve his bag from the living room. 

“Night, Ash,” Luke calls back. “And- um. Thanks for letting me stay. Again. It means a lot.”

“Shut up, Luke,” Ashton says fondly, pausing on the stairs. “You know I love spending time with you.” There’s a moment of silence from Luke, and Ashton takes another step before he hears a slightly shy-sounding: 

“Not as much as I love spending time with you.” 

Ashton grins, rolling his eyes and blaming the curl of warmth in his stomach on the remnants of adrenaline, and heads upstairs.

 -------

  9 hours 

When Ashton wakes up the next morning, he immediately rolls over to check his phone. He’s got about fifty texts in the group chat, a bunch from his mum asking him to call and tell her he’s okay, and a couple of notifications from his news apps.

California state lockdown explained: 5 things you need to know.

CA on lockdown – citizens can only leave their house for food.

California lockdown: What does it mean for you?  

He clicks on the first one and quickly scrolls through the news article. As far as he can tell, he can only leave his house to go grocery shopping and get medication. Fucking hell.

He scrolls over to the group chat, quickly skimming through the messages – Luke and Michael bickering about cereal, Calum trying to talk about the lockdown, Luke and Michael turning to squabbling over the lockdown – and then clicks out of his messages and into his FaceTime, dialling his mum with no expectation of her picking up, since it’s half three in the morning in Sydney so she should be at work. To Ashton’s surprise, however, she picks up after two rings.

“Ash!” she says, sounding tinny, looking dark and pixelated. “Thank fuck you’re alright."

“Hey, mum,” Ashton says, frowning. “Aren’t you at work?" 

“I am, but I had to talk to you, sweetie,” his mum says, moving into some light, and Ashton can see that she’s in her work uniform. “Are you alright? Have you got enough food? What about the other boys?”

“I’m alright, mum,” Ashton says, aiming for soothing. “I’m home, and they’re letting us out for food anyway. Luke couldn’t make it back to Vegas, though, so he’s staying with me.” His mum makes a sound of motherly distress. 

“Oh, no,” she says. “Poor Luke. Poor Liz – I’ll have to give her a ring tomorrow. What about Mike and Calum?”

“They’re alright,” Ashton says. “They’re at home.”

“Well, at least you’re all safe,” his mum says, sounding relieved. “It’s fucking scary, isn’t it?” Ashton shrugs, the duvet rustling as he moves.

“Kind of,” he says. “I don’t know. I don’t feel like it’s going to be any different than normal. Especially for Michael,” he tacks on as an afterthought. His mum laughs. “How about you? What’s it like in Australia? Are you, Harry, and Lauren alright?”

“Oh, it’s not nearly as bad,” his mum says. “I’m worried about the people in here, though – I don’t want to be bringing anything in. I’m keeping watch over Harry when he washes his hands after going to the loo.” Ashton snorts.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust him,” he says. He opens his mouth to add something else, but is interrupted by his bedroom door slamming open. Luke’s standing in the doorway, grinning cheerfully, holding two mugs of coffee. 

“I made you coffee,” he says. “Oh, sorry, are you on the phone?” Ashton nods, turning the phone around so Luke can see his mum.

“It’s mum,” he says, and Luke brightens, waving at the camera.

“Hi, Anne!” he says. “How are you?”

“Hey, Luke!” Ashton’s mum says. “Ash told me you couldn’t get home.” Luke nods as he walks over to the bed, setting the two mugs down carefully on Ashton’s bedside table. Ashton loves him. 

“Yeah, I tried driving back last night but couldn’t even get on the highway,” he says, sitting down on Ashton’s bed.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ashton’s mum says. “At least you’re with Ash – I’m sure that’ll make your mum feel better.”

“Well, at least someone’s happy about it,” Ashton says, earning himself an elbow from Luke. Ashton’s mum laughs.

“Listen, I’ve got to head back to work now, sweetie,” she says. “I’m so glad to hear you’re alright, though. Stay safe, please.”

“Will do,” Ashton says. “Speak to you soon, alright, mum? Love you.”

“Love you, Anne,” Luke says.

“Bye, boys, love you,” Ashton’s mum says, waving, and then Ashton’s screen goes blank.

“She’s so sweet,” Luke says, stretching out next to Ashton.

“Did your mum call?” Ashton asks, and Luke nods.

“All she wanted to know was that I wasn’t on my own in Vegas,” he admits, and Ashton snorts.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised,” he says. Luke scowls. 

“I can live on my own," he says, indignant. "I can cook pasta. And make coffee.” As though he’s just remembered, he reaches over to the bedside table and hands Ashton one of the mugs. He looks so proud of himself that Ashton’s heart melts a little.

“You just have to press a button on the machine,” he says, but he’s grinning as he takes a sip. 

“Actually, I have to press, like, three buttons,” Luke says. “And then put in two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of milk.” Ashton doesn’t think his stomach should be full of butterflies at the fact Luke remembers that, but whatever. It’s early, and he’s probably still half-asleep. 

“Fuck, you’re right,” Ashton says, slapping a hand to his forehead. “Sorry, Gordon Ramsay, I take it back. That’s a Michelin star operation right there.” Luke scowls again, and swats Ashton’s arm lightly. 

“I can’t believe I’m stuck with you for the next three weeks,” he says. 

"You’re stuck with me ?” Ashton says. “Sorry, whose house is this?” A grin unfurls on Luke’s lips.

“It’ll be mine by the time I’m done with it,” he says.

 -------

  1 day, 13 hours 

Luke wanders into the basement while Ashton’s drumming the next afternoon. He stands idly in the doorway, simply watching until Ashton finishes the song and pulls off his headphones. 

“You good?” Ashton asks, breathing heavily. Luke nods, sitting on one of the beanbags on the other side of the room.

“Just wanted to hear you play,” he says. “I’m bored.” Ashton rolls his eyes, but sets his headphones to one side.

“You’re already bored?” he says. “We’ve got three more weeks of this. Minimum.” Luke groans, tripping his head back and thunking it against the wall.

“Don’t remind me,” he says, closing his eyes. “Play something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Old Me,” Luke says.

“Why don’t you get a guitar?” Ashton suggests. “Play with me.” Luke shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says, not opening his eyes. “I just want to watch you, for a bit.” Ashton cocks his head.

“Yeah?” he says, feeling something oddly warm coursing through his veins. He really should get aircon for the basement. 

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” Ashton says, reaching for his headphones.

He drums his way through Old Me, and then Thin White Lies for the hell of it, only setting his headphones aside when Easier comes on shuffle, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and throwing Luke a glance. He’s staring at Ashton. It’s a look that Ashton’s never seen on his face before, eyes following the heavy rising and falling of Ashton’s chest.

“You alright?” Ashton asks. Luke blinks, snapping himself out of whatever headspace he was in, and nods.

“It’s hot in here,” he says.

“Yeah, I haven’t got aircon down here yet,” Ashton says, a touch apologetically. Luke cocks his head.

“You’re pretty hot too,” he says.

“Yeah, sorry,” Ashton says sheepishly, grinning as he wipes his forehead again. Gross. He needs to wash his hands. “I’ll shower after.” Luke catches his eye, and Ashton’s not sure if he’s imagining the soft pink blush creeping across his cheeks.

“I didn’t mean like that,” Luke says, and he sounds a little unsure of himself.

“What?”

“Never mind,” Luke says, all in a rush. “I’m going back up. Gonna try and write.” Ashton frowns but nods, watching Luke as he pulls himself up from the beanbag and starts back up the stairs.

Ashton doesn’t think any more of it, because Luke often says things that don’t make sense, just puts his headphones back on and scrolls to Red Desert.

 -------

  1 day, 18 hours 

“I’m hungry,” Luke announces at half-past six.

“Okay,” Ashton says, focused on the screen in front of him. Why can’t he fucking overtake the bastard next to him?

“Ash,” Luke says, and there’s a definite pout to his tone.

“Yeah?”

“I’m hungry.”

“You’re twenty-three, Luke,” Ashton says, eyes still not straying from the screen. “Do you need chaperoning in the kitchen, or something?” There’s a moment of silence from Luke, and Ashton throws him a brief glance to see his expression. He looks a little torn. 

“I just thought it’d be nice if we ate together,” Luke mumbles after a moment. Ashton can’t help the smile that unfurls on his lips, accompanied by a warm feeling in his stomach. 

“A day into lockdown and you’re already getting domestic,” he teases, sensing Luke’s embarrassment and wanting to push a little further. He sees Luke scowl in his peripheral vision.

“Fuck you,” Luke says, but he doesn’t mean it. “I’ll go and make myself dinner, then.” He stands up to leave, but Ashton reaches out and catches his leg as he walks past, making him stumble and fall into Ashton’s lap. Ashton squawks, trying to wrestle his controller out from underneath Luke, but it only makes Ashton’s car spin in circles on the track, and the race finishes just as Ashton gets his controller back in his hands. 

“Look what you did,” Ashton says accusingly, pointing at the screen. 

“You did that yourself,” Luke says, blinking up at Ashton from his lap. “You’re not very good at videogames.” Ashton flips him off.

“C’mon,” he says, pushing at Luke’s back with his knees. “I’m hungry now, too.” Luke stands up obediently, holding out a hand for Ashton to pull himself up with, and he tugs with such force that Ashton almost stumbles into Luke. 

“Jesus, when did you get that strong?” Ashton mutters, steadying himself, and Luke grins bashfully. 

“I told you, I’ve been working out,” he says, heading to the kitchen. Ashton follows in his wake, frowning. 

“Yeah, but not like that,” he says. “What are we making?”

“What have we got?”

“Uh…I can make a Thai curry?” Luke nods enthusiastically, hopping up on the counter and letting his legs dangle. “You’re helping me though, dickhead. I’m not a maid.”

“C’mon, Ash,” Luke whines. “You know I can’t cook.”

“Well, lockdown’s the perfect time to learn,” Ashton says, bustling over to the fridge and taking out the ingredients he needs. “You can cut up the chicken.” Luke wrinkles his nose but hops back off the counter and saunters over to the cutting board Ashton’s just placed out, pulling the chicken breasts out of the container and grabbing a knife. 

“How big?” he asks. Ashton looks over from where he’s chopping spring onions.

“Little strips,” he says.

“That’s not a size,” Luke says, frowning, but he starts chopping anyway. Ashton watches him from the corner of his eye just to check that he’s cutting it properly, taking in the way he’s furrowing his brows in concentration, biting the corner of his lip where his lip ring used to be absent-mindedly. He misses Luke’s lip ring.

“You ever think about getting your lip re-pierced?” Ashton asks, and Luke looks at him in surprise.

“Not really,” he says. “Why?” Ashton shrugs.

“It was cute,” he says.

“Maybe I’ll have to get it re-pierced, then,” Luke says. “If you think it’s cute.” Ashton scowls, certain Luke’s taking the piss.

“I’m trying to compliment you, arsehole,” he says, finishing with the spring onions and moving on to baby corn. “Can you get the coconut milk and curry paste out of the fridge?”

“I’m trying to let you,” Luke says, pushing the chopped chicken further up the counter to make room for the coconut milk and Thai green curry paste. Ashton’s not really sure what he means by that, so he chooses to ignore it. “What now?" 

“Rice,” Ashton says, nodding at the cupboard above Luke’s head. Luke reaches for the one next to it. “No, the one right in front of you. No- Luke, the one right in front of you. To your right. Right, Luke, that’s left. Ri- yes, that one. Top shelf. Jesus.”

“I’m not good at directions,” Luke says, reaching up for the rice. Ashton’s eyes fall to the sliver of skin that gets exposed as his shirt rides up, smooth and pale.

“You need to buy shirts that fit you,” he says.

“My shirts fit me,” Luke says indignantly, as he tugs the hem down. “See?” Ashton rolls his eyes fondly. 

“Put the kettle on,” he says, leaning over the hob to grab the cutting board with the chicken on and scraping it into the pan. It sizzles satisfyingly, and Ashton pokes it around with the spatula, leaning back against the counter. Luke watches him wordlessly, eyes following Ashton’s hand as it moves back and forth.

“You have such long fingers,” he comments after a moment, just as the kettle boils. He reaches over and fills the pan with the rice, without Ashton even having to prompt him. 

“It’s a gift,” Ashton says, drumming his fingers on the spatula.

“To who?” Ashton cocks his head. 

“Whoever I decide,” he leers, waggling his eyebrows up and down and expecting Luke to laugh. Luke, however, bites his lip and looks steadfastly away from Ashton to the rice. Ashton decides not to comment, just adds the curry paste and stirs it around a little before adding the coconut milk. 

“This smells good,” Luke says, after a while.

“Shocking,” Ashton deadpans. “Something that takes more than two seconds to cook actually smells good?” Luke grins.

“I’m looking forward to eating your cooking for the next three weeks,” he says. Ashton flicks a drop of coconut milk at him, and Luke flinches away with a quiet squeal.

“I’m not your maid,” Ashton reiterates, dumping the onions and baby corn in the mixture and turning the heat down to a simmer.

“Shame,” Luke says, grinning. “I’d love to see you in a maid outfit.” This time Ashton lets the spatula go and rounds on Luke, darting his hands out to tickle him before Luke has time to pull away, and Luke shrieks, collapsing in on himself with giggles and pleas for mercy. Ashton doesn’t relent, feeling Luke’s legs buckling and grabbing him around the waist with one arm to steady him as he keeps tickling, until Luke’s pleas start coming out more gasped and sincere, at which point he lets go and lets Luke sink to the floor, breathless and red-faced. 

“You’re a bastard,” Luke says, between pants, but he’s grinning. Ashton holds out a hand for Luke to pull himself up on, and Luke takes it, wobbling a little as he stands upright. He makes to let go of Ashton’s hand, but Ashton holds on, using it to pull Luke close to him and wrap his arms around Luke’s broad shoulders. Luke immediately hugs back, slotting his chin into the crook of Ashton’s neck, and Ashton grins as the soft, warm scent of Luke goes straight to his head. 

“I would look sexy in a maid outfit, though,” he murmurs, and he feels Luke’s laugh reverberate through his entire body.

“You look sexy in anything,” Luke mumbles, pressing a kiss to Ashton’s shoulder. Ashton’s grin widens. 

“Even my blue jumpsuit?” Luke groans.

“Okay, except in the blue jumpsuit,” he says, and Ashton squeezes his waist, making him squawk and jump away. Ashton steps back to the hob, stirring through the curry and deciding it’s probably done now. 

“Grab us some plates,” he says, nodding at the cupboard with the plates in as he turns off the heat – that, at least, Luke knows. Luke nods obediently, fetching two plates out of the cupboard and traipsing into the dining room to put them on the table. 

“D’you want a drink?” he calls, as Ashton grabs some heat-protecting mats and carries the rice and curry into the dining room.

“Yeah, just some water,” Ashton says, passing Luke on his way back to the kitchen. He settles down in his seat, inhaling the aroma – Luke’s right, it does smell fucking good – and waits for Luke to return with his glass and a jug of water.

“I’m so fucking hungry,” Luke says, eyeing the curry with the look of a man who hasn’t eaten in weeks, not a man staying in a house with a fully-stocked fridge. 

“You can wash up,” Ashton says, helping himself to a big serving of rice and curry.

“You can dry, then,” Luke counters. Ashton opens his mouth to respond, but his phone buzzes next to him, and he glances over to see another news notification.

CA lockdown expected to last three months.

“Oh, fuck,” he says.

“What?” Ashton slides his phone over to Luke, whose eyes widen as he reads the notification. 

“Shit,” he says. “I don’t- I don’t fucking have anything with me. I literally have, like, four pairs of underwear here.” 

“We’ll have to go clothes shopping,” Ashton says.

“The clothes shops are all shut, idiot,” Luke says. Oh, fuck. 

“Oh, shit,” Ashton says. “Uh. Is Target still open?”

 -------

  3 days, 16 hours 

Two days later, they’re standing in Target, having queued for forty minutes just to get into the store. 

“I don’t like any of these,” Luke says, pulling a face as he fingers the arm of a plaid shirt.

“I think we’re a bit beyond shopping for taste,” Ashton says, grabbing, like, seven black shirts and chucking them in the shopping trolley. He throws in some pink, red, and blue ones for good measure, too, because Luke can’t be dressed in all black every day. “Are any of these jeans going to fit you?”

“Probably not,” Luke says, but he thumbs through the sizes and throws five pairs of black jeans in the trolley anyway. Ashton takes two out and replaces them with blue jeans. “I’m going to have my ankles out for the next three months.” 

“Raunchy,” Ashton says, sweeping some white shirts in. “You’re making me swoon.” Luke scowls as he throws in a bunch of socks, and they move to the next aisle, where Luke immediately brightens as he spots the brightly coloured, patterned button-down shirts. 

“I like these,” he says decisively, picking up a few and holding them against himself.

“Well, there you go,” Ashton says, grabbing a bunch and putting them on the pile of clothes in the trolley. “You pick out some shirts you like, and I’ll go find underwear.” He rounds the corner into the next aisle, and picks out five different packs of briefs for Luke, carefully selecting the most obnoxiously patterned ones he can find (and one pack of black ones). He goes back into the last aisle to find that Luke’s cleared out half of the rack of the patterned button-downs, and rolls his eyes as he throws the underwear in the shopping trolley.

“Are we done?” he asks. Luke nods, and Ashton pushes the (considerably heavier) shopping trolley in the direction of the tills. 

“Hang on, I want chocolate,” Luke says, and disappears off to the left before Ashton even has time to protest about having to haul the fifteen kilos of clothes onto the conveyor belt on his own.

“Get me Skittles!” Ashton shouts after him, because it’s the least Luke can do, which earns him judgemental looks from two middle-aged women nearby, and starts unpacking the trolley onto the conveyor belt. This poor cashier.

“Good afternoon!” the cashier chirps.

“Sorry about this,” Ashton says apologetically, as the cashier takes in the mountain of clothes with wide eyes. “My friend couldn’t get back home before the lockdown, so he has to buy himself an entirely new wardrobe for the next three months.”

“No worries, sir,” the cashier says cheerily, and starts scanning.

“I got you two bags,” Luke says, skidding up to the conveyor belt. “And I got myself a good amount of chocolate, because the less we can go outside the better. I got you some chocolate too.”

“Thanks, Luke,” Ashton says, and Luke grins at him as he dumps the seven hundred items in his arms on the conveyor belt behind his new clothes

“Stocking up?” the cashier asks, and Luke laughs, a little embarrassed. 

“Trying to butter my friend up,” he says, batting his eyelashes at Ashton, who narrows his eyes as he starts on his second bag of clothes.

“For what?” he says suspiciously.

“You’ll find out,” Luke says. 

“No, no, I don’t like that,” Ashton says. “What have you done?” 

“Nothing!” Luke says indignantly. “Well. Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“That’ll be two hundred and thirty dollars, sir,” the cashier says. 

“Fucking hell,” Luke says, digging around in his pocket for his wallet. “I’m going to have to stream CALM like, five hundred thousand times.” Ashton laughs, bagging up the sweets and chocolate and dropping it on top of the five bags of clothes.

“Thanks,” he says to the cashier, Luke echoing him, and they head back to the car.

“What did you do?” Ashton demands, as soon as they’re out of the store. Luke stares at him, wide-eyed and innocent.

“Nothing!” he says, but there’s a glint in his eyes that Ashton doesn’t like the look of. “I haven’t done anything. Yet.”

“I have zero qualms about kicking you out of my house if you fuck with my kit,” Ashton warns, loading two bags into the car.

“Michael and Calum would take me in,” Luke says dismissively, pulling a bar of chocolate out of the bag of sweets and hopping into the passenger seat.

“They wouldn’t be allowed,” Ashton calls, dropping the shopping trolley back off at the return point they’d thankfully parked close to. “Plus, I don’t think you’d want to third-wheel them for the next three months.”

“True,” Luke says, when Ashton gets into the car. “Honestly, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend three months cooped up with than you.”

“Funny,” Ashton deadpans, looking over his shoulder as he reverses out of the bay.

“Who said I was joking?” Luke says, a touch defensive, but when Ashton turns to look at him, he’s buried in his phone.

Whatever, Ashton thinks, debating for a split second whether or not to ram into the woman who just walked obnoxiously close to the back of his car. Luke says strange things sometimes.

 -------

  6 days, 10 hours 

Ashton’s woken up on Friday morning by the buzz of low voices, muffled by the walls. He blinks blearily, trying to get the sleep out of his eyes, and rolls over to check his phone. There’s nothing particularly exciting, so he decides to be productive, get out of bed, and make himself a coffee before his shower.

He realises the voices are Michael and Luke’s when he gets close to the kitchen, bare feet padding silently on the tile, and he’s about a foot away from the door when he hears his name.

“-tell Ashton,” Michael’s saying, voice tinny from the internet connection, so Ashton does what any sane person would do when they hear their name come up in conversation between two of their best friends – he eavesdrops.

“I can’t,” Luke says, and he sounds distressed. “I’m telling you, Mike, I’ve tried. I’m trying. I can’t just say it.”

“Why not?” Michael asks. 

“I don’t have the balls,” Luke says. There’s a staticky sigh from Michael. 

“Well, you can either keep dropping hints that he refuses to take, or you can tell him,” Michael says. Luke groans, and Ashton hears the scraping sound of a chair on tile. 

“How the fuck am I going to survive three months here?” he says, and Ashton’s stomach drops.

Of course, it’s not exactly the most unexpected thing in the world, but it still kind of stings. Ashton probably wouldn’t want to spend three months cooped up in a house with Michael or Calum, but he’d thought things were different with him and Luke. He’d never had a problem with the idea of spending three months together, twenty-four hours a day, and he’d just assumed that Luke felt the same. But it stands to reason, really – nobody really wants to spend three months straight with only one person, do they? It’s not something he should take personally (even though he definitely is) – just because Ashton can’t get enough of Luke’s company doesn’t mean the feeling is mutual. 

“…still think you should just tell him,” Ashton catches Michael saying, and tunes back into the conversation, stomach still unpleasantly heavy. 

“I can’t,” Luke says. “What if he says no? And then I’m stuck here for three months?”

“He won’t,” Michael says reassuringly.

“You don’t know that,” Luke says, and he sounds upset now. “Fuck, Michael. How the fuck do I end this?”

“You tell him,” Michael says. “Or, like, you just keep feeling like this until the lockdown’s over.” 

“Fuck,” Luke says, and Ashton decides he’s had enough, he’s going in for his fucking coffee, fuck Luke Hemmings and his backstabbing. He pushes the door open, and Luke jumps, immediately looking fearful.

“Morning,” he says, aiming for cheerful, but Ashton hears the edge of anxiety in his voice.

“Morning,” Ashton returns, trying for a smile. “Hey, Mike.”

“Hey, Ash,” Michael says. “I should probably head now, anyway.”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Ashton says, breezing past Luke into the kitchen and busying himself with turning on the coffee machine so he won’t have to look at him. “Just making a coffee, then having a shower. Won’t be a minute. Sorry for interrupting."

“It’s your fucking house, dude,” Michael says, amusement clear in his tone. “I really should go, though. Cal’s got some elaborate obstacle course set up for Duke, and I’m planning on tempting him awry with treats.” 

“You’re such a dickhead,” Luke tells him, but the edge of anxiety is still in his tone and he doesn’t seem fully focused on Michael. Ashton wishes the coffee machine would hurry up.

“Well, someone’s got to keep Calum on his toes,” Michael says. “We’ll talk soon, though, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Luke mumbles. “Bye, Mike.”

“Bye, Ash! Love you,” Michael calls. 

“Love you too,” Ashton shouts back, and then there’s silence. 

“Hi,” Luke says, suddenly at Ashton’s shoulder, and Ashton’s going to implement a wear-shoes-on-the-tiles rule so that he can hear Luke coming. 

“Hey,” Ashton says, eyes on the coffee machine.

“Are you alright?” Luke asks, touching Ashton’s elbow gently. Ashton shrugs, the motion displacing Luke’s hand.

“Look, it’s okay if you don’t want to be here,” he says eventually, when it becomes clear Luke’s just going to wait until he has an answer, and figuring it’s best to get it over with sooner rather than later. 

“What?” Luke sounds genuinely shocked, and Ashton tears his eyes away from the fascinating drip-drip-drip of the coffee to Luke’s face.

“I know it’s not ideal, being stuck together for three months,” Ashton says, and a look of hurt flashes across Luke’s face.

“Oh,” Luke mumbles, averting his eyes. “I- sorry. I’m imposing, aren’t I?”

“What? No, Luke, I- fuck, no. I just…I heard you talking to Michael,” Ashton admits. “About, like, how you can’t be here for three months with me.” Luke’s look of hurt immediately turns to one of sheer terror.

“You…uh, what did you hear?” he asks, aiming for nonchalant, but the complete draining of blood from his face gives him away. Ashton would feel pretty guilty if he were caught saying he didn’t want to spend time with Luke to Michael too.

“Enough,” Ashton says, and it comes out a little bitter. He clears his throat, and tries again. “Like. We can figure something out. You can have the upstairs floor, or something. I’ll stay in the basement.” 

“What? Ash, fuck, no- it’s your house, and-”

“Well, for the time being it’s your house too,” Ashton says.

“No, I’m- look, I meant what I said the other day,” Luke says, carding a hand through his sleep-tousled curls. “There’s no one I’d rather spend three months stuck in a house with than you.” Ashton frowns.

“Luke, it’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to, like, lie to me, you’re my best friend and-” 

“No,” Luke interrupts. “I mean it, Ash.” He sounds so sincere, looks so earnest, that Ashton has no choice but to believe him. Luke’s a shitty liar, and Ashton always knows when he’s not being truthful. 

“Okay,” he says slowly, because if that’s the truth, then- “Then what was all that about?” he asks, inclining his head back towards Luke’s phone on the table. 

“That? Uh,” Luke says, eyes widening. “Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

“Okay, something, but not that,” Luke says, looking a little guilty. “Definitely not that I don’t want to be here, ‘cause I do.”

“Okay,” Ashton says after a moment, and with a little difficulty, because Luke’s allowed to keep secrets from him, even if it hurts. “You promise? Because I don’t want you to be uncomfortable here.”

“I’m not,” Luke says hurriedly. “It’s nothing like that. I promise.” The knot in Ashton’s stomach loosens considerably, and he nods.

“Okay,” he says again, and this time he even manages a smile. 

“Are we good?” Luke says anxiously. Ashton slides his arms around Luke and pulls him in for a tight hug, resting his cheek on Luke’s shoulder and pecking a kiss behind his ear. 

“We’re good,” Ashton says, savouring the way Luke’s arms automatically slip around Ashton’s waist and pull him tighter, flush against his body, so that Ashton can feel Luke warm against every inch of him. 

“Mm,” he says, sighing contentedly. “I could stay like this all day. Wouldn’t need to pay my heating bills.” 

“I think my neck would hurt from leaning down to your height,” Luke says, and Ashton pinches his arm.

“Dickhead,” he murmurs, and then he’s interrupted by the coffee machine beeping obnoxiously. Reluctantly, Ashton disentangles himself from Luke, reaching over and turning the machine off.

“I’m going to get dressed,” Luke says, and if Ashton’s not mistaken, he’s blushing slightly. Weird.

“Yeah, I’m gonna take a shower,” Ashton says, blowing on his coffee to cool it down a little.

“Can I watch?” Luke says, voice innocent but eyes mischievous. Ashton’s not really sure what to do with that. 

“You want to watch me soap up my balls?” he says, raising his eyebrows as he takes a sip of his coffee. Luke shrugs, a little pink-cheeked.

“Could always just do it for you,” he suggests, and Ashton, mug still in his mouth, aims a kick at his shin which Luke doesn’t quite manage to dodge in time. “Ow, fucking hell.” 

“Don’t mock my ball-washing routine,” Ashton says, pointing at Luke accusingly. “Never had any complaints so far.” 

“I was offering ,” Luke says, and Ashton rolls his eyes. 

“Sure you were,” he says, starting in the direction of the bathroom. “Go and get dressed. I’m going to shower.” 

“Leave the door open,” Luke calls after him, and Ashton laughs. 

“Fuck off,” he shouts back, smile evident in his voice, expecting to hear Luke laugh too, but he’s silent. 

Weird. 

 ------- 

  1 week, 1 day, 18 hours 

It only takes about a week for Ashton to remember why they have a blanket ‘don’t let Luke choose the movie’ rule. 

“No, Luke, I’m not watching fucking Frozen with you,” he says, for the fourth time in about two minutes. 

“Why not?” Luke demands, pouting slightly. Ashton tries not to think about the exact hue of his pink lips. 

“Because - y’know what, actually, I don’t think I need to justify myself on that one,” Ashton says. “Can’t we watch, like, Family Guy, or something?” 

“Wanting to watch Family Guy definitely requires justifying,” Luke says stroppily. “Or possibly a lobotomy.” Ashton scowls at him.

“Alright, how about Pulp Fiction?” 

“That’s so fucking long,” Luke groans.

“Oh, fuck, I forgot,” Ashton says, slapping a hand to his forehead. “We’re so busy. We have so many plans. We couldn’t possibly watch a three hour long movie.” Luke scowls, and throws a cushion at him.

“I have a suggestion,” he announces. Ashton throws him a wary look, chucking the cushion back at him. 

“If you say Frozen again-”

“Frozen 2,” Luke says, a smug look on his face, and Ashton’s had enough. He launches himself across the coffee table and onto Luke, landing haphazardly in his lap and reaching out to tickle him. Luke squeals, bucking his legs into Ashton’s arse uncomfortably, and squirms underneath him, trying to get him to stop. Ashton wrestles Luke back with his spare hand, pinning his arm to the back of the sofa as he gets his legs on either side of Luke, positioning himself so that Luke can’t move his legs. He doesn’t relent with the tickling until Luke’s red-faced and gasping for air.

“You bastard,” Luke says, breathing heavily, but he’s grinning. A curl’s fallen into his eye, and Ashton brushes it away without thinking, catching the way Luke’s breath hitches slightly on the intake as he does it. He hopes Luke’s not, like, developing asthma from the LA air. 

“I’m not watching Frozen,” Ashton says, watching Luke blink at him. He’s got such pretty eyes. “Or Frozen 2,” he adds quickly, seeing Luke open his mouth. Luke closes his mouth again, frowning. 

“It’s the least you can do after attacking me like that,” he says, still a little breathless. 

“Don’t give me reason to attack you, then,” Ashton says, grinning. Luke’s eyes are really fucking blue up close, he thinks. He doesn’t remember his lashes being that long, either.

“What?” Luke asks, and Ashton blinks, shaking himself out of it.

“Huh?” 

“You were staring.” Ashton feels colour rising to his cheeks. 

“I wasn’t,” he says. Luke looks amused. 

“You were,” he says. “What?” Ashton shrugs, not quite sure why he’s uncomfortable. It’s only Luke, after all, and it’s not like he doesn’t compliment Calum or Michael in his head too. 

“Your eyes are fucking gorgeous,” he says, and Luke smiles, a small, shy smile that Ashton hasn’t seen in far too long. 

“Yeah?” he says, sounding pleased, eyes lit up. Ashton suddenly thinks he would compliment Luke until his dying breath if it’ll keep him this happy. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says, tucking yet another stray curl behind Luke’s ear. “You’re really fucking pretty, Luke.” Luke ducks his head, embarrassed, but Ashton can see his grin and the crinkling in the corner of his eyes, and his heart swells at the knowledge that it’s because of him. He loves making Luke smile. 

“You’re just saying that to try and get in my pants,” Luke mumbles, and Ashton laughs. 

“This whole pandemic thing has been an elaborate set up,” he says, rolling off of Luke’s lap and feeling a sudden coolness on his thighs at the loss of contact. He shuffles down the sofa and rests his head on Luke’s lap to make up for it, blinking up at him. Luke leans down a little, a slight smile tugging at his lips. 

“Hi,” he says, voice soft. 

“Hi,” Ashton says. 

“Please don’t look up my nose,” Luke says, and Ashton snorts. 

“Sexy,” he deadpans. Luke grins.

“You look cute like this,” Luke says, and Ashton’s stomach swoops pleasantly. He likes compliments (and apparently, a little voice in his head says, he really likes them coming from Luke). 

“You’re just saying that to try and get in my pants,” Ashton retorts, and Luke’s eyes glint playfully. 

“Is it working?” he says. Ashton huffs out a laugh. 

“I mean, at this rate,” he says, referring to his incredibly long dry spell and hoping Luke gets the gist without him having to elaborate further. 

“Charming,” Luke says mock-angrily, shoving Ashton off his lap and almost off the sofa. “I’m only an option when no one else is.” Ashton, steadying himself on the sofa, looks up, worried he’s actually hurt Luke’s feelings - because Luke can be kind of sensitive about these things - but sees his eyes twinkling. 

“C’mon, baby, don’t be like that,” Ashton jokes, shuffling back onto the sofa and throwing Luke a pleading look, because there’s no room for him to lie down if he can’t curl up in Luke’s lap. Luke sends him a righteous glare, but moves his arms out of his lap, and Ashton wriggles back into it happily. 

They lull into a comfortable silence for a moment, and Luke brings his hand down to stroke through Ashton’s curls almost absent-mindedly, gazing at the TV with a thoughtful expression. Ashton pushes into Luke’s hand, eyes fluttering shut with a contented sigh - no one ever plays with his hair, and he fucking loves it. He could easily stay here for the rest of the day, he thinks. 

“Would you?” Luke blurts suddenly, breaking the silence. 

“Huh?” 

“Would you,” Luke repeats, and it sounds like he’s steeled himself for whatever response Ashton’s going to give. 

“Would I what?” 

“Fuck me.” Ashton’s eyes fly open. “I- as in, like. Hypothetically. Not, would you fuck me, as, like, a request.” 

“Yeah, I got that,” Ashton says. “I- where’s this coming from?” Luke shrugs, fingers scratching against Ashton’s scalp. Ashton can almost feel the heat emanating from Luke’s face.

“Would you?” he repeats stubbornly, despite the fierce blush on his cheeks, not letting Ashton dodge the question. 

The thing is, Ashton’s thought about it a few times. Mostly when he was younger - when he realised he was into boys, when he found out Luke was into boys, when he found out Michael and Calum had been fucking behind their backs since they were, like, sixteen - but he doesn’t think that’s particularly unusual. He’d been a fucking teenager, for Christ’s sake - another human being was pretty much all it’d taken back then. 

But there’ve been a few flashes in more recent years - when Luke’s wearing some particularly tight pants, when he’s sweaty and panting after running around on stage for two hours, when he’s sleepy and his voice is all low and husky. Ashton still doesn’t think it’s that weird, privately, because he’s going through a dry spell and Luke is objectively hot, but he thinks it’d probably be weird to tell Luke that. 

On the other hand, he doesn’t want to tell Luke no, because Luke’s sensitive and would probably take that to mean that he’s the most hideous person alive, or something. And he can’t go for the ‘but we’re friends!’ route - he’s fucked one too many of his friends for that shit to fly. So Ashton’s left with no choice but to tell the truth. 

“Hypothetically?” he says. “Yeah.” Luke blinks, looking almost shocked at Ashton’s answer, as though he’d been waiting for Ashton to say no. Ashton kind of wishes he had, now. 

“Yeah?” Luke echoes. Ashton shrugs, and gazes steadfastly at the ceiling. 

“You’re really fucking hot,” he says, and immediately regrets adding the qualifiers. You’re hot would have sufficed.

“Yeah, but…” Luke trails off. 

“But?” It’s Luke’s turn to shrug, and Ashton waits it out, but Luke doesn’t say anything else. Ashton doesn’t think that’s fair, so he says: “Would you?” 

“Would I?” Luke says, moving his fingers down to scratch just over Ashton’s ear, and Ashton can tell he’s stalling for time. 

“Fuck me, dickhead,” Ashton says. Luke swallows, and Ashton tries not to think about that given the current circumstances. 

“‘Course,” Luke says, and somehow, it’s different when Luke says it. Ashton saying he’d fuck Luke - well, yeah, that’s a given - but Luke saying he’d fuck Ashton? That puts a whole different dimension on things, makes him wonder just how much Luke’s thought about it, what he’s thought about, when he’s thought about it- 

“Yeah?” is all he can muster in response, mind racing. 

“Hypothetically or not,” Luke says, all in a rush, as though he’s had to build up the courage to say it. Ashton doesn’t quite understand what he means, but whatever. 

“So you think I’m fit?” Ashton says, grinning, and Luke scowls down at him. 

“We were having a moment,” he says, but there’s no heat behind his words, and his cheeks are still tinged with pink. 

“We’re still having a moment,” Ashton says. “I think you’re hot, you think I’m fit. That’s a moment.” 

“Why don’t we fuck, then?” Luke says, and Ashton laughs, but Luke doesn’t. 

“C’mon,” Ashton says, pulling himself out of Luke’s lap with a little difficulty. “Let’s actually watch a fucking movie.”

“So...Frozen or Frozen 2?” Luke says hopefully. 

 ------- 

  1 week, 5 days, 14 hours 

Ashton doesn’t think about the conversation again for a good few days. 

It’s not until he’s on FaceTime with Calum, catching him up on the previous few days, that he thinks about it again. 

“So,” he says carefully. “Luke and I had a bit of a...uh, conversation the other day.” Calum’s eyebrows fly up into his beanie. 

“Yeah?” he says. “About what?” 

“He asked me if I’d fuck him,” Ashton admits. “As in, like, hypothetically, not like he was asking me to.”

“And?” Calum says. “What was the verdict?” 

“Well, obviously,” Ashton says, as though Calum’s an idiot. “Who wouldn’t fuck Luke? You’d fuck Luke.” 

“True,” Calum admits. “Although, for the purposes of my relationship, I wouldn’t fuck Luke.” 

“But hypothetically,” Ashton says. 

“Hypothetically,” Calum agrees. 

“He said he’d fuck me too,” Ashton says. 

“Well, yeah,” Calum says, with an air of well, duh. “I’d fuck you.” Ashton wrinkles his nose. 

“Well, don’t,” he says. 

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Calum says, rolling his eyes. “So? You’ve got nothing else to do during quarantine, have you? Fuck him.” Ashton chokes on his next breath. 

“I- what? Cal- fuck, no, are you- what?” he splutters, and Calum grins. “I don’t- he’s not- we- I don’t see him like that! It’s hypothetical!” 

“Sure,” Calum says easily. “Hypothetical. Got you.” Ashton hates him. 

“I hate you,” he tells Calum, who just laughs. “Fuck you. I’m confiding in you.” 

“I’m offering you advice,” Calum says. “Fuck him.”

“No, Cal!” Ashton says. “I don’t want to. I just would.” 

“Why not?” Calum says, and before Ashton has time to respond, adds: “And don’t say because you’re friends, because that’s not stopped you before. Or because it’ll fuck up the band, because I’m fucking Michael, so that ship has sailed.” 

“Ew,” Ashton says, scrunching his face. “I don’t want to think about you fucking Michael.”

“So don’t,” Calum says. 

“I can’t help it when you talk about it,” Ashton says, images flashing up in his mind. “Ew. Ew. Gross.” He pauses for a second, and then, out of pure curiosity, to make sure his mental image is correct, asks: “Michael tops, right?” Calum bursts out laughing.

“‘Course he does,” he says, eyes twinkling. “I’m a massive sub, Ash.” 

“Okay, that I didn’t need to know,” Ashton says. 

“You already knew it,” Calum says. 

“Yeah, but I hadn’t connected it to Michael,” Ashton says, shuddering. 

“Don’t be rude about my boyfriend,” Calum says evenly. “And stop avoiding the question.”

“I’m not avoiding the question,” Ashton protests weakly, because he’s definitely avoiding the question. Calum just raises his eyebrows again, and Ashton sighs. 

“I just don’t see him like that,” Ashton says. “Like. Anyone would want to fuck him. Anyone would want to kiss him. Anyone would want to, like, hold his hand, take him on dates, suck his dick, because it’s fucking Luke, y’know? He’s just-” he breaks off, noticing Calum giving him a strange look. “What?” 

“I don’t want to do that, Ash,” Calum says. 

“Well, I’m not saying I want to, just that I would,” Ashton reiterates. 

“You know whose hand I wanna hold? Who I wanna kiss, take on dates, all that shit?” Calum says. 

“Who?"

“Michael.” Something twists uncomfortably deep in Ashton’s gut. 

“Yeah, well. You would say that, wouldn’t you?” he says, but Calum’s still got that look on his face. 

“Yeah,” he says, tone unreadable. “Guess I would.” He gives Ashton an odd look, one that makes him feel oddly exposed, but then the moment passes, and he’s grinning again. “Hey, did I tell you about the obstacle course I set up for Duke?” 

 ------- 

  2 weeks, 1 day, 16 hours

“Hey,” Luke says, popping his head around the door to the basement. Ashton’s in between songs, scrolling through his music to find something he thinks he might like to learn. “I’m going shopping. Want anything?” 

“I’ll come with,” Ashton says, putting down his sticks and pulling his headphones off. “I’ve got a whole list.” 

“Yeah, I’ve got the list,” Luke says, waving the piece of paper Ashton keeps next to the microwave. 

“I’ll come anyway,” Ashton says. “I don’t trust you shopping on your own.” Luke frowns. 

“Why not?” he says, more than a little petulant. “I shop for myself in Vegas.” 

“Yeah,” Ashton says pointedly, thinking about Luke’s fridge stocked full with alcohol and ready meals. Luke’s frown deepens. 

“Whatever,” he huffs. “I can shop.” 

“For alcohol,” Ashton says, getting up and starting towards the stairs.

“Yeah, what else do I need?” Luke says breezily, stepping aside for Ashton to pass him. Ashton snorts, and shakes his head. 

“Do I smell?” he asks, knowing he’s been sweating. Luke leans in, close enough that Ashton can smell his cologne and fresh linen and soap. It makes him feel a little dizzy. 

“Nah,” Luke says, straightening up. “Let’s take my car, it’s got more space in the boot.” Ashton nods, pulling on the first shoes he can find (which might be Luke’s, given that they feel slightly too roomy), and following Luke out to his car. 

“You got the list?” he asks, when Luke sits down in the driver’s seat, and Luke lifts his hips to fish the piece of paper out of his pocket. Ashton tries not to let his eyes wander, mind flashing back to that conversation. He clears his throat, as though it’s going to push the thoughts away, and Luke throws him a strange look as he passes Ashton the paper. Ashton chooses to stare steadfastly at the list, pretending he’s totally enraptured in bananas, onions, bleach, lube- wait, lube?

“Lube?” Ashton says, before he can stop himself. Luke, pulling out of the driveway, blushes. 

“I didn’t bring any,” he says. “Didn’t know I was gonna be stuck here for three months. And, like. I’m not about to ask you for yours.” 

“What d’you need lube for?” Ashton says, without thinking. Luke bites his lip, blushing an even deeper shade of red, and Ashton realises exactly what the lube is for.

“Are you seriously gonna make me say it?” he asks. Ashton wasn’t going to, not until he’d seen how embarrassed Luke is. 

“Say what?” Ashton asks, feigning innocence. 

“To- for, uh. Wanking.” Luke’s cheeks are single-handedly heating up the entire car. 

“Oh,” Ashton says, conversationally, unable to stop the smug grin that creeps onto his face. “Like, so it’s not dry? Couldn’t you just use spit?” Luke makes a small noise somewhere between a cough and a choke. 

“Ash,” he whines. “You know what.” 

“Do I?” Ashton says, grinning widely. He’s not sure why he wants to push Luke’s buttons like this - he’s pretty sure if Michael had written ‘lube’ on a shopping list he would have just pulled a face and not mentioned it. It’s probably just the amusement of seeing how flustered Luke gets. 

“Oh my God,” Luke mutters. “To finger myself, Ash. Happy?” Something curls low in the pit of Ashton’s stomach hearing Luke - Luke - say those words. 

“That’s not why you upped the number of cucumbers on the shopping list, is it?” Ashton says, frowning at where x1 had been crossed out to say x3. Luke splutters. 

“No, you fucking- I hate you,” Luke says, turning into the car park. “I just- I like cucumbers.” 

“I’m sure you do,” Ashton says, grinning.  

“Fuck you,” Luke says, but he’s smiling too, and the curl in Ashton’s stomach licks up at him again.

(It takes Ashton all the way through the fifty-minute queue and five minutes into standing in the meat aisle of Walmart to realise what that curl of heat in his stomach was. 

Arousal.) 

 ------- 

  2 weeks, 1 day, 18 hours 

“Hey,” Ashton says over his shoulder, as they’re ambling through Target, Luke trailing behind him so they can stick to keeping the sanctioned six feet of distance between themselves and other shoppers. “Should we paint your room?” 

“Huh?” 

“Well, I’ve been wanting to redecorate that room for ages anyway, and it’s not like we have anything better to do.” He turns the shopping trolley into the paint aisle, and rounds on Luke with raised eyebrows, questioning. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Luke says, happily. “That sounds sick.” Ashton grins, and steps around the shopping trolley to the tins of paint. 

“What colour d’you want?” he asks. 

“It’s your house, dude,” Luke says. Ashton’s not sure he likes being called dude by a guy he’d fuck. Hypothetically. 

“Yeah, but I never use that room,” Ashton says, waving his hands dismissively. “You’re literally the only person who does, because everyone else lives in fucking LA.” 

“Are you sure?” Luke says, still a little hesitant. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “As long as you don’t pick, like, bright red. That’s bad for the psyche.” Luke snorts. 

“What the fuck?” he says. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Ashton insists. “I read it somewhere.” 

“Yeah, probably in a book about kale, or something,” Luke mutters, loud enough that Ashton knows he’s meant to hear it, so he chooses to ignore it. 

“I like pale yellow,” Ashton says. “How about that?” Luke wrinkles his nose. He’s got a really fucking cute nose, Ashton notices. 

“It’s gonna look like someone pissed on the walls,” he says. 

“My bedroom’s pale yellow,” Ashton says, affronted. Luke throws him an innocent smile, and Ashton scowls and flips him off. “Fuck you. My room does not look like someone pissed on the walls.” 

“Whatever you say,” Luke says, and Ashton hates him, just a little bit. 

“Alright, fuck, let’s paint my room too,” Ashton says, still scowling. “God, you’re a terrible guest. You can’t just stay in someone’s house and insult it.”

“You should get some more paintings for your living room and hallways,” Luke puts in, as though Ashton hadn’t spoken at all. 

“Sure, let me just access my bottomless bank account,” Ashton says sarcastically, picking up a tin of paint. “How’s pale green?” 

“I was thinking baby blue,” Luke says, another tin in his hands. 

“Well, I like pale green,” Ashton says stubbornly, because Luke can’t get all the wins here. 

“Good thing we’re decorating two rooms, then, isn’t it?” Luke says, amusement glittering in his eyes. Ashton can’t think of a good retort to that, so he just dumps like, seven tins of the paint in the shopping trolley, and Luke does the same with the blue paint. 

“Have we got brushes?” Luke asks. Ashton furrows his brow, trying to remember. 

“I don’t think so,” he says. “I think I lent them to Cal and Mike when they were redecorating.” Luke nods, picking up a handful of brushes and chucking them in the trolley. 

“Anything else?” Luke says, and Ashton shakes his head. Paint and brushes, that’s all you need to paint a room, right? “Cool. Let’s get out of here. After stopping in the chocolate aisle,” he tacks on as an afterthought. He grabs the trolley and heads off, leaving Ashton to shake his head fondly and follow in his wake. 

 ------- 

  2 weeks, 4 days, 20 hours  

It takes another 3 and a half days until they get all the furniture out of Luke’s room, Luke bitching every time he has to pick up anything heavier than a fucking pillow. The room looks odd when it’s empty, their voices reverberating strangely in a very un-homey way.

Ashton digs out some masking tape and tapes up the light switch, the doorframe, the skirting board, the window frame, anything he doesn’t trust Luke to successfully avoid painting over, while Luke places old newspaper across the floorboards. 

“I don’t get why we couldn’t just move everything to the middle of the room,” Luke whines, stepping over the pouffe that had stood in the corner of his room that’s blocking the doorway rather than picking it up and moving it like a rational human being. 

“Move the fucking pouffe,” is how Ashton responds, and he can almost hear Luke rolling his eyes sulkily. He stomps over to the pouffe and places it about two feet away sullenly. “Because you’re literally incapable of not making a mess of anything.” 

“I am not,” Luke protests, walking back over, picking up a paintbrush and dipping it into the paint. He whips around to face the wall, and paint splatters across the wall, floor, and Ashton in the process. “Whoops.” 

“Exactly,” Ashton says pointedly, and Luke flicks more paint at him. 

“C’mon,” he says. “Before the paint dries out.” 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Ashton says, but he dips his own brush in the paint and paints a big streak at eye level. It’s oddly satisfying, actually, the smooth movement of the brush on the wall. 

They paint in silence for a while, Ashton working methodically in sections, Luke just painting big fucking streaks here and there with zero regard for whether it’s evenly distributed or not. Whatever, Ashton thinks - he can always go back and fix it later. Plus, it’s Luke who has to live with it, not Ashton. 

(He’s not really sure when this room became ‘Luke’s room’ in his mind, but he finds he’s perfectly fine with it.) 

“We should put some music on,” Luke remarks after a while, and Ashton nods. 

“Speaker’s in my room,” he says. Luke nods, setting down his brush and heading out. Ashton hears a thump and a pained squawk, and figures Luke’s walked right into the pouffe he hadn’t properly moved out of the way.

“I told you to move it!” he calls. 

“Fuck you!” he hears back, muffled by the wall, and grins. Luke walks back into the room a few minutes later, frowning at the phone in his hand, and sets the speaker down by one wall. He fiddles with his phone for a minute then sets it down next to it too, the sound of All Time Low suddenly filling the room. 

“Really?” Ashton says, raising his eyebrows, but he’s grinning. ATL never get old. 

“Well, we’re touring with them soon, aren’t we?” Luke says, shrugging as he picks his paintbrush up again. “Can’t hurt to refresh the memory a bit.”

“Refresh the memory?” Ashton asks. “Luke, you know ATL’s songs better than our own.” 

“Guilty,” Luke says, not sounding guilty at all, and painting a big stripe next to the square Ashton’s currently working on. “Can’t help that they’re better than us.” 

“I don’t know, some of Dirty Work kinda sucks,” Ashton says. Luke makes a noise of outrage. 

“I’m telling Alex you said that,” he says. 

“He agrees with me,” Ashton says.

“He’s just saying that because he thinks you’re cute,” Luke says. 

“He thinks you’re cuter,” Ashton says nonchalantly, dipping his paintbrush back in the tin.  

“He’s wrong,” Luke says immediately. Ashton rolls his eyes but says nothing, not wanting to play into Luke’s insecurities, choosing to fix the uneven bottom of the streak Luke had just painted instead. 

They cycle through a few of Luke’s favourites - ATL, Blink - and then Best Years comes on. Ashton barely even realises until he hears Luke singing softly next to him, completely oblivious as he’s totally focused on painting. It sends something strong coursing through Ashton’s veins - a big fucking rush of love, because Luke’s so fucking talented, and he’s so proud of him, so proud of them, loves Luke and loves seeing him like this, disarmed and candid. 

“I love you,” he blurts, when Luke moves to humming instead of singing. Luke looks at him in surprise. “Fuck, sorry.” He laughs, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. Bit of a weird thing to just come out with like that. “I’m just. You’re so fucking talented, and I’m so proud of you.” A smile unfurls on Luke’s lips, big and happy. 

“You’re adorable,” he tells Ashton. “I love you too, obviously.” And oh, okay, that’s different. Ashton doesn’t usually get a rush of adrenaline hearing that. 

“Yeah?” he says, kind of wanting to hear it again, a little hooked on the high. 

“Yeah,” Luke echoes, and Ashton finds himself a touch disappointed that he leaves it there. 

“I’m glad you got stuck here for lockdown,” he says, instead of the please say it again that’s on the tip of his tongue. 

“So am I,” Luke says, still smiling widely. “You would’ve gone insane on your own.” Ashton throws him a glare. 

“Arsehole,” he says. “I handle being on my own just fine, thank you very much.” 

“Oh yeah?” Luke says. “What about that time we all went home for Christmas and you stayed here? You were texting me every two minutes asking to call.” 

“That’s different,” Ashton insists. “Christmas is a time to be with people.” 

“Sure,” Luke says, a smile curling around his words. “You just can’t get enough of me.” 

“Right,” Ashton says, sarcastically, while his mind tells him yeah, he’s right. You kind of can’t. He’s not quite sure why a little ball of anxiety settles in his abdomen following that thought. “You definitely weren’t third on my call list after Calum and Michael, or anything.” 

“I know I wasn’t,” Luke says smugly, “because firstly, Calum and Michael are always together so if anything, I’d be second on your call list, and secondly, I was with Cal and Michael half the time and my phone rang first.”

“Great,” Ashton says. “All of you hanging out without me. And you wonder why I have trust issues?” 

“You don’t have trust issues.” 

“I do now.” Luke rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. 

They paint quietly for a while longer, listening to Luke’s playlist scroll through - Christ, he still listens to a lot of old emo anthems - until Luke puts down his paintbrush with a dramatic sigh.

“I’m tired,” he complains. “What time is it?” Ashton pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. 

“Ten,” he says, surprised at how fast the time has gone and how little of the walls they’ve actually managed to paint. “Want to move your bed back in here?” Luke pulls a face. 

“I’d rather sleep on it in the bathroom,” he says, because it’s the closest space that could fit the bed that they found, and so naturally, that’s where it is. 

“Well, I might want to shower in the morning,” Ashton says. “Why don’t you just share with me?” 

“You sure?” Luke says. Ashton shrugs. They’ve shared beds so many times before - shared bunks on the bus, even - so how would this be any different? 

“It’s not like we’re not used to it,” he says, which makes him remember something - Luke’s a chronic duvet hogger. “Just bring your own duvet.” 

“I don’t hog,” Luke protests, but he disappears into the bathroom and returns with the duvet in his hands anyway. 

“You better not have picked that up with your paint-covered hands,” Ashton warns, and Luke throws him a sheepish grin. 

“Oops?” he offers. 

“Dickhead,” Ashton mutters. 

 ------- 

  2 weeks, 4 days, 23 hours 

Sharing a bed with Luke at home is strangely intimate. 

It takes Ashton until they’ve squabbled over who gets which side, whether they should turn the main light off or not and what time to set the alarm for until he realises that it’s because it’s not sharing a bed, it’s sharing his bed. 

“Your bed is comfy,” Luke remarks, duvet tucket up to his neck. He kind of looks like he’s been beheaded. 

“You look like your head’s been cut off,” Ashton tells him. Luke grins, tucking the blanket in tighter to maximise the effect. “Yeah, I got, like, some special memory foam mattress topper.” 

“I should get one,” Luke muses. 

“When you finally get back to Vegas,” Ashton agrees. 

“God, my house is going to be, like, so dusty,” Luke groans, turning onto his side. Ashton rolls over to face him. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I bet you’ve never actually fucking cleaned it, have you?” 

“I’ve hoovered before,” Luke protests. Ashton rolls his eyes, expecting nothing less. 

“You’re disgusting,” he tells Luke, who just grins at him. 

“At least I’ve been picking my towels off the floor,” he says. 

“Oh, right, at least you’ve been doing the bare fucking minimum,” Ashton says sarcastically. 

“For you,” Luke says pointedly, and something about the earnest look in his eyes sends the words straight to Ashton’s heart. 

“I’m honoured,” Ashton says, trying his best to ignore the way that his heart’s suddenly in his ears. He swallows, as if that’s somehow going to control his heartbeat, and he sees Luke’s eyes follow the line of his throat. It does nothing to help the pounding in his ears. 

“You should be,” Luke says, still gazing at Ashton’s throat, and it comes out as a murmur. His eyes flit back up to Ashton’s eyes, ocean blue meeting hazel. 

It strikes Ashton, all of a sudden, how close they are. His nose is almost touching Luke’s, maybe all of four inches apart, and he realises with a jolt that if he wanted to, it would be all too easy to lean forwards and press his lips to Luke’s. 

To kiss Luke. 

And, worst of all, he wants to.

A wave of panic crashes over him as soon as the thought crosses his mind, and he pulls back sharply, suddenly. Luke frowns, a little crease appearing between his eyebrows, and Ashton wills himself to not find it endearing. 

“I- uh, I’m tired,” Ashton lies, not even convincing himself, trying to ignore the way his palms are sweating and his mouth is going dry. 

“Oh,” Luke says, sounding a little sad, and Ashton’s heart aches. “Well. Night, I guess.” 

“Night,” Ashton says, too quickly, rolling over so his back is to Luke and switching off his side light. After a moment of silence, he hears shuffling on the other side of the bed, and Luke’s light clicks off too, leaving the room in darkness. 

Ashton tries to even out his breathing, tries to make it sound less shaky, but the panic is rising in him, pressing on his chest and settling like a hangover in his stomach. Breathe, he tells himself, trying to slow his racing mind. Breathe. 

What the fuck was that? Ashton doesn’t think about kissing Luke, not like that. In the odd fantasy, sure, sometimes out of pure curiosity, but not like that, not when it’s real and intimate and Luke’s gazing at him with those baby blues, not when it means anything. He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, as if it’ll erase the thought from ever having existed in his mind. 

He doesn’t want to kiss Luke. It probably wasn’t about wanting to kiss Luke, it was about the hypothetical possibility. The wanting probably just came as an instinctual continuation of that train of thought. And that’s not weird, because it’s a natural jump to make when there’s a hot man that he’d definitely fuck four inches from his face. It’s probably also compounded by the fact that Ashton hasn’t had sex in, like, well over a year at this point. He’s still a fairly young man, after all - hormones definitely still have to be playing a factor here. 

Yeah, he tells himself, breathing a little easier now. It wasn’t about wanting to kiss Luke - it was just that had he wanted to - which he didn’t - he could have. And there are so many mitigating factors that mean it was a perfectly normal thought to have, given the circumstances. 

He rolls onto his back trying to convince himself of that, or, failing that, to clear his mind and think of anything else, and eventually drifts off into an uneasy sleep. 

 ------- 

  2 weeks, 5 days, 12 hours 

The problem is, Ashton’s never been able to hide anything from Calum. 

The minute Ashton answers Calum’s FaceTime the next day, Calum leans forwards, a crease between his eyebrows. 

“What’s up?” he asks immediately. 

“Good morning to you too,” Ashton says, trying for light and humorous. 

“What’s wrong?” Calum says, ignoring Ashton’s comment as he adjusts his bucket hat. He’s sat in his garden, as he always seems to be these days, hair lighter every time Ashton sees him. 

“Nothing,” Ashton says, looking around to check that Luke isn’t in the kitchen. He isn’t, but Ashton figures he can’t be too safe, so he takes his iPad and carries it down to the basement. Calum’s silent while Ashton walks, just waiting, until Ashton throws himself down on a beanbag and swallows. He can tell Calum. Calum won’t say anything.  

“I think I might be fucked, Cal,” he says, sounding hopeless even to his own ears. 

“Why?” Calum asks, gentle and calming. Ashton puts his head in his hands. He doesn’t want to say it out loud. If he says it out loud, it becomes real. If someone else knows about it, it takes on a form that he can’t control, and Ashton doesn’t know if he can handle that. 

“I don’t- I can’t,” he says, helpless. 

“Is it Luke?” Calum asks knowingly. Ashton just nods. “Oh, Ash.” 

“I don’t know why,” Ashton says. “I- I don’t understand. I don’t think of him like that.” He doesn’t sound very convincing, even to himself.

“It’s okay,” Calum says soothingly.

“I don’t get it,” Ashton says dully. 

“I kind of figured this would happen,” Calum muses, but he’s not gloating, and it doesn’t make Ashton feel worse. “I mean, you two, cooped up in a house together for three months?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ashton says, aiming for affronted, but it comes out wobbly. Calum smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“You two are idiots,” is all he offers as a response. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Ashton says, and a hysterical laugh bubbles out of him at that, because yeah, nothing fucking happened, and he’s already freaking out. “Nothing. I just-” he takes a deep breath. It’s only Calum, he tells himself. Calum knows. Calum understands. Calum didn’t have an easy time admitting to himself that he liked Michael. “I...I think that maybe, I, uh. Wanted to kiss him.” 

The words hang between the two of them for a moment, and Ashton wishes he could push them back down. 

“Okay,” Calum says, calm and even. 

“Okay?” Ashton says, voice about an octave higher. “Cal, I wanted to kiss Luke. Like. We were so close.”

“To kissing?”

“No, just physically,” Ashton says, biting his thumbnail. 

“It’s okay,” Calum says. “It’s okay to want to kiss him.”

“No it’s not,” Ashton says. 

“Alright, why isn’t it okay?” Calum asks. “Let’s break it down.” 

“He’s my friend,” Ashton says. 

“You’ve fucked loads of your friends, Ash,” Calum says, like Ashton knew he would. 

“He’s in the band, though. I don’t want to fuck up the band.” 

“I’m fucking Michael,” Calum says. “We’re in the band.” 

“That’s different,” Ashton says. “You were fucking before the band.” 

“You didn’t know that, though,” Calum says. “Plus, we nearly broke up when we were twenty-one, and you didn’t notice.” Ashton gapes at him. 

“What? ” He’s absolutely aghast, all thoughts of kissing Luke suddenly wiped from his mind. “What the fuck? When?” Calum shrugs. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “Point is, you and Luke didn’t even know. We’re adults. We can get through shit like that.” Ashton doesn’t want to push, but he just can’t wrap his head around-

“I don’t get it,” he says bluntly. “You and Mike, you’re...you’ve never spent a day apart. How could we not notice you nearly breaking up?” Calum raises his eyebrows. 

“Because, like I said, we’re adults,” he says. “Yeah, it’d suck for a while, but we’d get through it. We can all be mature about these things.” Privately, Ashton’s not sure whether Luke can without Calum and Michael making him fall in line. Calum seems to know what he’s thinking, and adds: “Yeah, Ash, even Luke. He might be a whiny brat, but he’s our whiny brat.” 

“Look,” Ashton says, mind still spinning about the idea of Michael and Calum almost breaking up, and him not even noticing. “This is all- this is jumping a lot of steps. I just- I wanted to kiss him, okay? But, like. That doesn’t mean I want to date him.” 

“Don’t you?” Calum asks, cocking an eyebrow. 

“No!” Ashton protests. 

“You don’t want to fuck him?”

“Well, I mean, I would, but-”

“You don’t want to kiss him?”

“I just said I did, but-” 

“You don’t want to hold him in public so everyone knows he’s yours? Take him to shows you’ve got absolutely no interest in just to see him happy? Watch shitty movies with him just to see him laugh? Compliment him until he’s smiling like a fucking idiot? Watch him play guitar for hours on end just because he’s so fucking talented, and you love him so much?” 

“Alright, Cal, I get it, you want to suck Michael’s dick,” Ashton says loudly. “God. You’re a fucking romantic.” Calum laughs, broken up by his terrible internet. 

“I’m just describing things I want to do for him,” he says. “And I can tell you with absolute certainty that I’m in love with that boy.”

“I’m not in love with Luke,” Ashton says. 

“Maybe not,” Calum allows, “but you want to date him.” 

“I don’t- I don’t think I do,” Ashton says carefully. 

“That’s already a step closer than two minutes ago,” Calum notes. 

“Fuck,” Ashton says, panic swirling threateningly in his chest again. “I don’t- I don’t want to date Luke. Do I? No. I don’t.” He doesn’t sound sure of himself, though. He doesn’t feel sure of himself, not after listening to Calum, because he knows, deep down, that he wants to do those things for Luke too. 

But that doesn’t mean anything, he thinks immediately. They’re friends. The line is so fine. 

“Fuck,” Ashton says again. “God, Cal, I don’t know. How do I even know if I like him like that? Where’s the fucking line?”

“It’s tough,” Calum says, a crease between his brows. “Believe me, I know.” 

“How did you do it?”

“I thought about it,” Calum says. “For a long, long time. I mean, I was also trying to figure out my sexuality at the time, which probably contributed a lot to that. But I had to sit down and be honest with myself, stop making excuses and finding explanations or ways out - did I want a relationship with Michael, did I just want to fuck Michael, or was I just confused and frustrated and latching onto him?” Ashton bites his lip. 

“Excuses and explanations?” he asks, and his voice sounds kind of small. 

“Yeah,” Calum says. “You know, ‘oh, it’s just because we’re best friends, I’m a teenager with hormones, I’m going through a dry spell’, that kind of stuff.” He’s giving Ashton a look as he says it, as though he knows those are the exact same things Ashton’s been telling himself. 

“Fuck you,” Ashton says weakly. He doesn’t need to say anything else. 

“Think about it, Ash,” Calum says gently. “I’m always here if you need to bounce off someone.” 

“Thanks, Cal,” Ashton says, and he means it.”I just- I’m scared. It’s Luke.” 

“I know,” Calum says, and of course he knows, he knows better than anyone else. “We’ll figure it out. Promise.” 

 ------- 

  3 weeks, 3 days, 17 hours 

It takes another four days to get Luke’s room painted, mainly because Luke’s a diva who demands snack breaks every half-hour, and then another day after that to convince him to put the furniture back in the room, because Ashton’s sick of manoeuvring around the bed in the bathroom to shower. Ashton doesn’t have time to think about The Situation because he wakes up next to Luke, spends all day painting with Luke, and then goes to bed with Luke. He barely has time to breathe on his own, to answer Calum and Michael’s texts without Luke seeing what he’s typing, so he pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind and resolves for it to be a problem for Future Ashton. 

“Can we put the bed opposite the window?” Luke asks, when they start moving the furniture back into his room. 

“Sure,” Ashton says. 

“And the wardrobe by the far wall, and the desk next to it,” Luke says. 

“And the pouffe?” Luke considers for a moment. 

“To the right of the window,” he decides. “We should get a mirror, too. A floor length one.” Ashton smirks, not even registering the ‘we’. 

“Need something to wank to?” he asks. Luke throws him a mischievous grin.

“Not in this house,” he says, and then before Ashton has time to process what the fuck that means, he’s carrying on. “I think we should do the wardrobe first, because it’s going in the corner, and the bed last.” Ashton nods, filing Luke’s comment away in his mind alongside the other problems Future Ashton has to deal with, and bends down to pick up his side of the wardrobe. 

It takes them a solid hour to move all the furniture back into the room, largely because Luke’s fussy and wants things to change angles, wants the desk moved about thirty times and directs Ashton around with the pouffe so much that he eventually just drops it next to the window and tells Luke, more than a little irritably, to fucking move it himself. 

“You realise we’re going to have to do all of this again for your room?” Luke says, when Ashton comments that he’s so fucking glad that’s over. Ashton groans, tipping his head back against the freshly painted wall. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not going to take seventeen years to put the furniture back in my room, because I’m not a fucking prima donna,” he says. 

“I’m not a fucking-” Luke’s cut off by the loud sound of his phone ringing. “Prima donna,” he finishes, swiping on whoever’s calling. “Hey, Mike.” 

“Hey,” Michael says. “Where are you? Aren’t you at Ashton’s?” 

“I am,” Luke says, swivelling his phone around to show Ashton. 

“Hey, Mike,” Ashton says. 

“Hey,” Michael says, frowning and putting his face close to the camera. “Where the fuck is that?”

“Luke’s room,” Ashton says. “We redecorated.” Michael sits back, raising his eyebrows. 

“‘Luke’s room’?” he echoes. “Since when does Luke have a room in your house?” 

“No one else uses this room,” Ashton says. “No one else was stupid enough to move to Vegas.”

“Yeah, that was pretty fucking dumb,” Michael says. 

“Alright, fuck you,” Luke says, turning his phone back to face him. “Did you ring me just to bully me, or what?”

“No, but it’s an added bonus,” Michael says. “You guys must be going insane if you’re fucking redecorating.” 

“We’re doing Ashton’s room too,” Luke says. “Pale green.” 

“Nice,” Michael says approvingly. “We’re trying to teach Duke to bark on command.” 

“‘We’?” Ashton says sceptically. 

“Okay, I, and don’t tell Calum. The phrase is ‘best boyfriend’, because I’m sick of Calum referring to himself like that. I’m hoping making Duke bark every time he says it will stop him doing it.” Ashton and Luke both laugh. 

“He’s going to fucking hate you,” Luke says fondly. 

“He already does,” Michael says casually. “What’s new with you guys? Besides auditioning for Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.” 

“Nothing, really,” Luke says, with a shrug, casting a glance at Ashton, who shrugs back. “There’s only so much you can do in lockdown.” 

“True,” Michael says. “It’s shit not being able to annoy you every day.” That’s as close as they’re going to get to an I miss you, and they both know it.

“Love you too, Mikey,” Ashton says, at the same time as Luke says, “You’re allowed to express affection towards us, Mike, you know that, right?” 

“Shut up,” Michael says, but Ashton can hear the smile in his voice. “This is why I’m doing my lockdown with Calum, and not you two.”

“You live with Calum,” Luke says. 

“Yeah, and this is why I don’t live with you,” Michael says. “Anyway, I called because I wanted to know if you wanted to play something.” 

“Yeah,” Luke says. “Ash, can I use your desktop?” Ashton shrugs and nods.

“You gonna go on Twitch?” he asks Michael. 

“Might do,” Michael says. “You gonna watch?” 

“Maybe,” Ashton says.  

“You should join,” Luke says. “Get the viewers up.” 

“Fuck, yeah,” Michael says. “C’mon, Ash. We have to get our bills paid.”

“Twitch’ll only get your bills paid,” Ashton points out. 

“That’s already half the band.”

“I’ll think about it,” Ashton says. “I want to play for a bit, first. Haven’t had a chance in almost a week because of painting this room.” 

“How did it take you that long?” Michael wonders, and then immediately answers his own question: “Oh, right, Luke. Fucking diva.”

“I’m not - hey!” Luke says indignantly. 

“I bet you bitched about carrying the furniture in and out of the room,” Michael says knowingly. 

“It was fucking heavy,” Luke mumbles grumpily, getting off the bed and walking towards the door. “I’m going to log on now. What d’you want to play?” 

“Fortnite’s always a crowd-pleaser,” Michael says as Luke walks out of the room. Ashton follows a few paces behind him, peeling off at the top of the stairs to go down to the basement. 

“Have you told him yet?” he hears Michael say just before Luke slams the door to Ashton’s office shut. He wonders briefly what Luke’s supposed to tell who, before seeing that one of his toms has somehow fallen over and forgetting the train of thought entirely. 

 ------- 

  3 weeks, 3 days, 20 hours 

Ashton plays for a good forty-five minutes before he’s got most of his pent-up energy out, and he wanders upstairs to see what Luke’s up to. He can hear yelling from the office, so he assumes he’s still playing with Michael, and heads in to see Luke, headset on, leaning forwards in concentration. 

“Hey,” Ashton says. 

“Ash!” Luke says, pulling the headphones down to his neck and flashing Ashton a winning smile that definitely doesn’t make him slightly weak at the knees. “Hang on.” He reaches over and unplugs the headphones, and the room is suddenly filled with Michael swearing colourfully. 

“Hey, Mike," Ashton says. “Game going well, I see.” 

“It’s your fucking fault,” Michael shouts. “Luke got distracted when you came in, and died.”

“Oops,” Luke says, not sounding sorry at all. 

“Dickhead,” Michael says. Ashton walks over to Luke, hovering at his shoulder. One of the monitors has got Fortnite on it, big and bright, and Ashton can see Michael and a very fast-moving chat on the other one. 

“How the fuck do you read this chat?” Ashton marvels. 

“I don’t,” Michael says. “I can’t read.”

“This is why we need Ashton here,” Luke says. “Only one who finished school.”

“Is Ash gonna play?” Michael asks. 

“No,” Ashton says. “I fucking hate Fortnite, you know that.” 

“Aw, c’mon, Ash,” Michael wheedles. “For the fans. For the views. For getting my bills paid.” 

“I’ve been streaming CALM for like, a week,” Ashton says. “That’s paying your bills.” 

“And yours,” Michael remarks. 

“I need my bills paying,” Ashton says. “I’ve got extra costs right now.”

“Oh, yeah,” Michael says. “Luke and Ashton have been sort of social-media-MIA, so you guys probably don’t know that they’re spending lockdown together.” Ashton kind of hates the way Michael made it sound like a choice. 

“Luke got stuck in California,” Ashton says, as an explanation, as he watches the chat somehow start moving even faster. 

“Yeah, and now they’re redecorating Ashton’s house together,” Michael says, and Ashton can see the smirk playing on his lips. It makes a hot flash of annoyance flare up in him - Michael’s doing this on purpose, riling him up, playing into the fans’ hands. 

“Have to find some way to pass the time,” Luke says, and he sounds surprisingly calm. 

“Yeah, how are you spending lockdown, Michael?” Ashton says. 

“Me? I’m doing great,” Michael says. “Training Calum’s dog.” 

“To do what?” Ashton’s pushing it, he knows. Michael and Calum haven’t come out yet, not officially - they haven’t said anything either way, and Ashton knows Calum would rather it stayed that way. He doesn’t like his private life mixing with his public life. 

“To obey commands,” Michael says smoothly. “Tends to be what you train a dog to do.” Ashton wishes Michael had never had PR training. 

“I’m going to tell Calum to train Duke to bite you,” he says darkly, because he can’t say you’re an arsehole without confusing everybody and probably causing some insane conspiracy theories about how the band’s about to break up to pop up online. 

“My ankles are terrified,” Michael deadpans. 

“Play with us,” Luke says to Ashton, gazing up at him pleadingly. Ashton swallows. Saying no to Luke’s puppy dog eyes has always been a challenge, even when he didn’t want to kiss him. 

“I don’t have anywhere to sit,” he says weakly. 

“Luke’s lap is right there,” Michael puts in. Ashton’s going to scream at him on FaceTime the moment this stream is over. 

“I’m too heavy,” Ashton says. 

“You sit on my lap all the time,” Michael says. 

“You’re sturdier than Luke.” 

“Hey,” Luke and Michael say at the same time, both affronted. Luckily, as though God’s sensing Ashton’s distress and is sending him a lifeboat, Ashton’s phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he fishes it out to see it’s Lauren calling. 

“Lauren’s calling,” he says, already halfway to the door. “I’ll speak to you later.” 

“Say hi from me,” Luke says. 

“And me,” Michael says. “Bye, Ash.” 

“Bye, guys!” Ashton calls, to whoever the fuck is on the stream (he doesn’t understand Twitch at all), and heads to his bedroom to take Lauren’s call, resolving to pay for her prom dress, or something. 

 ------- 

  3 weeks, 3 days, 22 hours 

Ashton’s phone buzzes continually through the movie he’s watching with Luke, Michael trying to FaceTime him at least six times until Ashton just turns his phone onto airplane mode and settles back to watch the rest of the film. He catches Luke frowning at him in his peripheral vision, but by the time he’s turned to look at him Luke’s eyes are focused on the screen again, and Ashton shrugs it off. 

He turns his phone back on again when Luke says he’s going to get ready for bed, and he has even more missed calls from Michael and some from Calum (which is probably Michael knowing Ashton’s ignoring him). 

Michael US New can we talk? 

Michael US New i’m sorry if i took it too far on twitch

Michael US New i didn’t know it was a big deal  

Michael US New  ash come on don’t be childish 

Michael US New call me back when you can 

Michael US New love you

Ashton sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, because he really can’t be fucked to have this conversation now, but he knows it’s childish to keep ignoring Michael for something so small and he doesn’t have an excuse to anymore, now that the film’s done. He swipes on one of Michael’s missed FaceTimes, and Michael picks up after three rings. 

“Are you done ignoring me now?” he asks evenly, and Ashton feels guilt starting to creep into his annoyance. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he is. It was childish. He almost adds I was watching a movie with Luke , but stops himself, because that’s just an excuse, and Michael would know it. 

“I’m sorry,” Michael says sincerely. “I didn’t know it would upset you that much. I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.” Ashton thinks that’s probably only half-true, because Michael loves pushing people’s buttons, pushing them too far, and doesn’t have a clear definition of boundaries because Calum’s so fucking zen that Michael can pretty much push him to the very edge before he tells him it’s enough. 

“It’s okay,” Ashton says, because it is - it’s not Michael’s fault, technically. It’s just Ashton overreacting to their usual banter. 

“Why’s it a big deal, though?” Michael says. “You’ve never cared before.” Ashton swallows, tugging on one of his curls. 

“Have you talked to Calum?” he asks. 

“Well, yes, we live in the same house,” Michael says. 

“I mean. About.” He swallows again. “This.” Michael frowns. 

“No,” he says. “If Calum doesn’t think I need to know, he doesn’t tell me. And that’s okay.” Ashton’s suddenly filled with a rush of love and affection for both Michael and Calum - Calum, for not telling Michael, his best friend, his boyfriend, his everything, what Ashton had told him, and Michael for being okay with Calum and Ashton, two of his best friends, keeping secrets from him. 

“Okay,” Ashton says. “I, uh. I don’t think I’m ready to tell you yet.” 

“Okay,” Michael says with a shrug, and it’s that easy. “But you know I’m here if you need me.” The guilt washes away the rest of the annoyance, and Ashton suddenly feels a bit sick. 

“I’m sorry,” Ashton says, hoping Michael understands what he’s apologising for. “I- fuck. I love you, Mikey.”

“Love you too,” Michael says, smiling fondly, and it’s a real, genuine smile, one that makes his eyes light up. It makes Ashton kind of see why Calum’s willing to go to the ends of the earth for Michael. 

“I miss you,” Ashton says. 

“I’m not surprised,” Michael says breezily, and Ashton rolls his eyes. “I miss you too, Ash. It’s not the same without you here.” 

“I know,” Ashton says, sighing heavily. “We should have just, like, all gone to yours, or you guys come here, or something.” 

“You want to hear three months’ worth of me and Cal’s sex life?” Michael asks, a smile tugging at his lips. Ashton pulls a face. 

“Fuck you,” he says. “I’m being cute here. Why’ve you got sex on the brain all the time?” 

“You would too if you were dating Calum,” Michael says. Ashton hears something on Michael’s end of the line that sounds suspiciously like Michael, baby, how long are you going to leave me tied up here? 

“What the fuck?” Ashton demands. “Did you call me halfway through having sex with Calum?” 

“Not quite halfway through,” Michael corrects, a mischievous grin on his face. “And technically, you called me.”

“You’re disgusting,” Ashton tells him. “I’m hanging up now.” 

“Probably for the best,” Michael agrees. “I’ve, uh, got places to be. Love you, Ash.” 

“Love you too,” Ashton says grudgingly, because he does, despite himself, and ends the call, trying his best not to think about what’s just happened, or what’s currently happening in the Hood-Clifford household. 

Gross. 

 ------- 

  3 weeks, 4 days, 1 hour 

It’s 1 a.m. when Luke knocks at his door. 

“Hey,” he says, peeking around the door. “Are you asleep?” 

“Yes,” Ashton says, just to be difficult. 

“Shut up,” Luke says automatically, shuffling into the room. He’s wrapped in his duvet, and looks incredibly...well, soft is the only word Ashton can think of. 

“What?” Ashton asks, rolling onto his back letting his forearm rest on his forehead. 

“I can’t sleep.” 

“And that’s my problem because…?” Luke bites his lip. 

“Can I sleep here?” Ashton blinks. “I mean. It feels weird sleeping without you, now. But it’s okay if you want to sleep alone. Obviously.” A warm feeling floods Ashton’s stomach, and he tries to will it away.

“If you want,” he says, as nonchalantly as he can manage. Luke’s face splits into a grin, and he shuffles towards the bed, flopping down on it when Ashton shifts up to make room.

“I even brought my own duvet,” Luke says, blinking at Ashton earnestly. Ashton’s treacherous mind flashes an image of him leaning down and pressing his lips to Luke’s softly in front of his eyes. 

“You did,” is all he can manage in response, trying to quash the fear rising in his chest. 

“Hey,” Luke says, eyes fluttering shut, and now that Ashton’s close he can see how sleepy Luke looks. “Stop thinking so much.” 

“I’m not,” Ashton lies, swallowing hard. 

“You are,” Luke says serenely. The dim light of the moon and light pollution is falling on Luke’s hair through a crack in the curtains, illuminating his soft blonde curls. Ashton thinks he looks a little bit like an angel. “Stop it. Go to sleep.” Ashton huffs out a laugh, hoping the edge of hysteria is only audible to him. 

“It’s not that easy, golden boy,” he says, aiming for sarcastic. A small smile finds its way onto Luke’s lips. 

“Golden boy,” he echoes. “I like it when you call me that.” 

“Go to sleep,” Ashton says, because he doesn’t trust himself to say anything else. 

“Golden boy,” Luke says again, smile audible, and he rolls onto his other side. 

Great. Well. Ashton’s not going to sleep tonight. 

 ------- 

  4 weeks, 13 hours

“Mike and Cal want to FaceTime tonight,” Luke says over lunch. “Apparently Michael’s really missing us. Calum suggested watching a movie together, or something.” It reminds Ashton of the conversation he’d had with Calum last week, which, in the midst of his badly-repressed romantic crisis, he’d somehow completely forgotten to tell Luke about. 

“You know Calum told me they almost broke up three years ago?” he says. Luke gapes at him. 

“What?” he says, mouth open in shock. Ashton nods as he brings another forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. “Mike and Cal?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says, when he’s finished chewing. “Did you know?” 

“No,” Luke says emphatically, now looking somewhere between confused and shocked. “What the fuck?” 

“I know,” Ashton agrees. 

“Why? When? What the fuck? What happened?”

“I don't know, he didn’t say,” Ashton says. “I was just so surprised that I never noticed.” 

“Well, I didn’t either,” Luke says. “Does that make us terrible friends?”

“Probably,” Ashton says. “Or it makes them good liars.” 

“They are good liars,” Luke muses. “God, I’m- I don’t even know what to think. What the fuck? Cal and Michael?” 

“I know,” Ashton says fervently, taking a sip of his juice. 

“How did that even come up?” Luke asks. Ashton shrugs. 

“Can’t remember,” he lies. Luke looks at him for a moment, and Ashton knows that look - it’s the should I, shouldn’t I look that Luke gets when he wants to say something but isn’t quite sure how to say it. 

“D’you think it would have fucked up the band?” he asks eventually, and his tone sounds a little too casual. Ashton shrugs, staring down at his pasta rather than meeting Luke’s eyes. “Like. Two people in the band dating, and then breaking up.” Ashton swallows, and reminds himself that Luke doesn’t mean what Ashton wants him to mean. 

“I don’t know,” he says, and then, feeling a spurt of courage: “Do you?” 

“I don’t know,” Luke echoes. “I hope not.” 

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Ashton says, because there’s no way Michael and Calum are breaking up now, and they’re the only two people in the band dating.  

“I guess it doesn’t,” Luke says, frowning down at his plate and stabbing at his pasta a little moodily. 

Ashton chalks it up to Luke being the last to find out about Michael and Calum, because he doesn’t like to be left out. He doesn’t really think it warrants that kind of a response, but Luke likes to overreact, so he lets him stew and finishes his pasta. 

 ------- 

  4 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours 

Ashton’s not sure why it’s been over a month since he last picked up a guitar. 

He’s been drumming, laying down some raw beats that he likes the sound of, and he’s even been fiddling around on his piano in the basement, but the first time he thinks about guitar is when he goes upstairs for some water after a particularly hard drumming session and hears Luke strumming and singing, muffled by closed doors. It’s soft, a little tentative, which is usually the mark of Luke writing. 

Ashton knocks on the door and Luke stops abruptly. 

“Yeah?” he says. Ashton cracks the door open and peers around. Luke’s sat cross-legged on the sofa, blonde curls falling in his face, Ashton’s second-favourite guitar in his lap. 

“You writing?” Ashton asks. Luke nods. 

“I’ve been writing for a few weeks,” he says. “When you drum.” Something about that sends a stab of hurt straight to Ashton’s heart. 

“D’you not want me to hear?” Ashton says, trying for nonchalant, but he hears the accusatory note in his own voice. Luke shrugs, a little uncomfortable. 

“I usually write the first bits alone,” he says. “Don’t usually show you guys until I have a little more of an idea where it’s going.” Ashton nods, swallowing away the bitter taste in his mouth. 

“Makes sense,” he says, because it does, even if he doesn’t like it. “Well. Let me know if there’s anything you want me to listen to, yeah?” Luke nods, and Ashton knows that’s his cue to leave. 

“You should use the Martin,” he adds, as he makes to leave; an olive branch. 

“I left that one for you,” Luke says. “In case you wanted to play. I know it’s your favourite.” 

Ashton thinks he might die. He’s never wanted to kiss anybody this much in his life, he’s pretty sure. 

“Oh,” he manages to get out. “That’s. Really thoughtful.” Luke shrugs, looking somewhere between embarrassed and pleased. “You can use it, though. I’m- uh. Going back downstairs.” Ashton turns on his heel and walks out, not throwing a backwards glance at Luke in case he does something fucking stupid like stride back over and kiss him. 

When he gets back to the basement, he picks up his phone and sends a text to Calum. 

Me I’m fucked 

Calum’s typing bubble appears immediately.

Calum US You want to talk about it? 

Ashton squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t. He doesn’t even want to think about it, just wants to fill his head with drums and make his muscles ache and tire himself out so he can just go straight to bed later, fall asleep and not have to dwell on any of this. 

Me No

Calum US Do you think you SHOULD talk about it? 

Ashton hates him. 

Me Yes 

Calum US Okay 

Calum US You know where to find me when you’re ready  

Ashton does, and he thinks it’s probably the only reason he hasn’t collapsed into a panicking mess on the floor. 

Me Love you

He sets his phone down, picks up his headphones, and loses himself in the music, letting the pain in his muscles drown out the panic in his mind. 

 ------- 

  4 weeks, 4 days, 18 hours 

In the end, it’s only three and a half hours until Ashton caves and rings Calum, who picks up after two rings. 

“Drummed yourself out?” Calum asks, even though Ashton’s not even sat at his kit. Ashton hates how well Calum knows him. 

“Fuck you,” he says. 

“What happened?” Ashton sighs. 

“He didn’t use my Martin,” he says helplessly. There’s a beat, and then-

“Sorry, I think your wifi’s cutting out,” Calum says. “All I heard was he didn’t use your Martin.”

“That’s all I said,” Ashton says. 

“Right,” Calum says slowly. “So. Let me get this straight. Luke didn’t use your favourite guitar, and...that made you want to fuck him?”

“Kiss him,” Ashton corrects. Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, sorry, forgot we had to keep it PG,” he says. 

“He was writing,” Ashton says, electing to be the bigger person and ignore that comment, “and he used my Strat because he thought I might want to play and he knows the Martin is my favourite, so. He left it for me.” 

“That is kinda cute,” Calum admits. 

“I know,” Ashton moans. 

“Have you thought about it?” Calum asks. Ashton shakes his head. “C’mon, Ash. All you ever fucking do is think. Why not?” 

“Because he’s here,” Ashton says. “And- and what if I do like him? Or what if I think myself into liking him? What am I supposed to do then?” 

“That’s step two,” Calum says gently. “Step one is just figuring it out for yourself. Don’t overcomplicate it.” 

“I don’t want to figure it out,” Ashton says sullenly. 

“I know,” Calum says. “But that’s kind of why you have to. It’s not going away by not thinking about it, is it?” Ashton hates it when he’s right. 

“You know, I’m older than you,” he says moodily. “I know better than you.” Calum laughs. 

“Which is why you came to me for advice,” he says. 

“Fuck you,” Ashton says again, and Calum grins. 

“I-” he cuts himself off, looking up and over the camera. “What?” There’s the sound of someone shouting at him. “Can it wait a second? I’m on FaceTime.” There’s another pause. “With Ashton.” 

“Don’t mind me,” Ashton grumbles. Calum looks down at him again. 

“Sorry, it’s Mike,” he says, as if it would be anyone else. “Wants me to come in for dinner.” 

“You can go,” Ashton says. 

“Nah, he’s just being a bitch,” Calum says. “Cooked a fucking casserole, like he wasn’t the whitest person alive already.” He looks over the camera again. “I’ll be five minutes, Michael, it’s not going to go cold!” 

Ashton can make out the sound of Michael yelling: “It’s already going fucking cold!” 

“You’re so fucking melodramatic,” Calum calls back. 

“Fine, fuck you,” Michael shouts, and his voice is getting closer. “I’m going to date someone who appreciates my cooking.” Calum rolls his eyes, and then Michael’s coming into the frame, throwing himself down on the outdoor sofa next to Calum. 

“You’re making my casserole go cold,” he says accusingly, looking at Ashton. 

“It’s not going to go cold in five minutes,” Ashton tells him. Michael scowls, and Calum slips an arm around his waist, mindless and easy. Michael leans into Calum’s touch, resting his head on Calum’s shoulder. 

“Exactly,” Calum says, pressing a kiss to the top of Michael’s head, because physical touch from Calum is always a guaranteed way to bring Michael out of a strop. Michael huffs, but wraps an arm around Calum.

“I’m never cooking for you again,” he declares, but they all know that’s a lie. 

“Ashton will send me food,” Calum says, fingers threading through Michael’s hair. “Won’t you, Ash?”

“No,” Ashton says. “I’ve got my hands full trying to force Luke to do something more than make toast.” 

“See?” Michael says, looking up at Calum. “Be thankful you’re not living with Luke.” Calum rolls his eyes back, but he’s smiling fondly. 

Something about their interactions makes Ashton feel kind of empty. He sees Michael and Calum like this all the time, every day, but it feels like it’s the first time he’s actually seeing their interactions - the absent-minded touches, the fond looks - and it makes him ache a little. He wants that. He wants someone to look at him with that kind of affection, to touch him like that without even thinking about it, to share that kind of intimacy and love with. 

He tries his best not to let his mind wander to fantasies of having Luke’s arms wrapped around him whilst he’s cooking dinner, Luke curled up in his lap whilst a movie plays on the TV, Luke pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before they fall asleep, but the thoughts are so loud and pervasive, making Ashton squeeze his eyes shut as if it’ll wipe his mind clean. 

“I should go,” Ashton says, a bitter taste in his mouth all of a sudden. “I’m not sure I want Luke to be in the kitchen on his own.”

“Fucking hell, you’re not actually letting him cook, are you?” Michael says, sounding a little alarmed. “He told me he was helping, but I assumed that meant, like, laying the table, or something.” 

“I’m not his fucking mum,” Ashton grumbles. “Plus, he hasn’t burnt the house down, yet.” 

“Yet,” Calum says pointedly. 

“If he does, let me know, so I can bring my ice cold casserole over and heat it up again,” Michael says, throwing daggers at Calum. Calum just rolls his eyes again. 

“Alright, fucking hell,” he says. “Text me, Ash?” Ashton nods, finger already hovering above the ‘end call’ button. 

“Text me too,” Michael says. 

“No,” Ashton says. “You’ll just send me stupid memes that make no sense.” 

“Y’know, the fans have a point when they call you a boomer,” Calum says. Ashton scowls. 

“Fuck you,” he says. “I’m hanging up now.” 

“Good,” Michael says. 

“Fuck you too,” Ashton says. “Speak to you soon,” Calum says, pointedly, raising his eyebrows. Ashton doesn’t like what he’s implying.

“Fuck you, again,” Ashton says, and hangs up.

Fucking hell. 

 ------- 

  4 weeks, 6 days, 21 hours

The floodgates finally open two days later, despite Ashton’s best attempts to keep everything sealed away tightly in boxes in his mind labelled ‘Don’t Think About This’ and ‘You’re Just Going Through A Dry Spell’. 

They’re sat on the same sofa watching Harry Potter, because they’re sharing a bowl of popcorn and Ashton got sick of getting up every thirty seconds to grab another handful and just threw himself down next to Luke. 

“This is my favourite one,” Luke says off-handedly, when Harry goes into Diagon Alley for the first time. “Like, it’s so happy.” 

“There’s literally an attempt on his life at the end,” Ashton says. 

“Well, it’s happier than the others,” Luke says defensively, reaching for another handful of popcorn. 

“That’s not really a high bar,” Ashton points out. 

“Alright, what’s your favourite then?” Luke asks, watching Harry and Hagrid in Gringotts. 

“The last one,” Ashton says. 

“That’s the saddest,” Luke says. 

“No, they win the war.” 

“Yeah, but, like, hundreds of people die.” 

“Alright, it’s bittersweet,” Ashton allows. Luke rolls his eyes, shoving the rest of the popcorn in his hand into his mouth. Ashton should probably find it disgusting, but he doesn’t. 

They watch in silence for a while longer, Luke totally enraptured in the film, despite the fact they’ve seen it about forty times on Michael’s movie nights. It’s not until Harry’s in the Forbidden Forest in detention that Luke’s hand snatches out and grabs Ashton’s tightly. Ashton looks down, and then up at Luke’s face, hoping the surprise will outweigh the tension in his expression. 

“Don’t like this bit,” is all Luke offers as an explanation, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the screen.

“Well, stop watching, then,” Ashton suggests. 

“I have to watch,” Luke says. Ashton doesn’t think that makes any sense. 

“It’s not like you don’t know what happens,” Ashton says, and Luke’s grip on Ashton’s hand tightens as Harry stumbles across the hooded figure drinking from the unicorn. It kind of fucking hurts, so, just trying to get rid of the pain, Ashton turns his hand around so his palm is facing Luke’s, meaning their fingers tangle together loosely. Luke slots his fingers in between Ashton’s with purpose, making the hair on Ashton’s arms stand on end, but when he chances a look at Luke, he’s still focused on the film. 

Harry gets away, as he obviously always does, but Luke’s fingers don’t move out of Ashton’s. Ashton tries not to think about what that might mean, but his mind is in overdrive for the remainder of the film. Luke’s probably just forgotten, he tells himself, as he stares through the TV, not taking in any of the movie. He’s so enraptured in the film, he’s probably just not realised his fingers are still linked to Ashton’s. 

That theory, however, is out of the window when Harry approaches Professor Quirrell in front of the Mirror of Erised. 

“Why the fuck would you walk towards him?” Luke says, lifting their joined hands to indicate to the screen. 

“He’s a Gryffindor,” Ashton says, proud of how steady he’s able to keep his voice despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. 

“Worst house to be in,” Luke says decisively. “No sense of self-preservation. No wonder Harry keeps having near-death experiences.” 

“Yeah, well,” is all Ashton can muster weakly in response, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because Luke’s already making a noise of frustration as Harry gets all the way up to Quirrell. 

Ashton swallows, trying to get some moisture back into his mouth, and wills himself not to think about the sensation of Luke’s hand, warm and slightly calloused in his own. 

“I love that movie,” Luke says passionately, when the credits start rolling, forcing Ashton back into reality. Luke’s got a happy little smile on his face, eyes lit up, and Ashton, thoughts having been on Luke for the past forty-five minutes, really, really wants to kiss him. 

So, instinctively, he does. 

He leans forwards, not thinking about what he’s doing, and cups Luke’s jaw with his free hand, eyes fluttering closed as he presses his lips to Luke’s. They’re soft, so fucking soft, and he can feel one of Luke’s curls brushing against the hollow of his eye, and he’s just so fucking overwhelmed with Luke, the feeling of Luke against him, the scent of Luke around him, the warmth emanating from his body, Luke, Luke, Luke. 

It’s a split second, but it feels like forever, the spell only broken when Luke makes a little noise - surprise? Distress? - and tilts his head, giving Ashton a better angle, and fucking kisses back. 

Ashton springs back, realisation hitting him like a sickening, ice-cold wave. 

He’s fucking kissing Luke. 

“Uh,” he says intelligently, taking in Luke’s red, spit-slicked lips, his wide, blue eyes, his dumbfounded expression. “I. Fuck.” Ashton jumps up, balling his hands into fists at his side, and stalks out of the room and into the basement. He got up too fast and his vision is swimming, but he pushes through it, figuring if he faints and falls down the basement stairs and dies - well, at least he won’t have to deal with the aftermath of what he’s just done. 

He sits down on one of the beanbags opposite his drum kit, the light of the basement suddenly too bright and making his head hurt, heart pounding in his ears, palms sweating, mouth dry. He can feel himself starting to hyperventilate, can’t even keep up with all the thoughts in his mind, and takes deeps breaths, exhaling and inhaling shakily. Breathe, he tells himself. Just fucking breathe. 

With fumbling hands, he slides his phone out of his pocket and dials Calum, who doesn’t pick up at first. 

“Fuck, c’mon,” Ashton mumbles, dialling again. Still nothing. Fuck. This is some sort of cosmic joke. What the fuck is he doing, anyway - he’s in fucking lockdown, it’s not like he’s busy. 

Ashton dials a third time, and this time, thankfully, Calum picks up. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, crease between his eyebrows, as he walks swiftly out of his living room and into the kitchen. 

“No,” Ashton says. 

“What happened?” Calum asks soothingly. Ashton reminds himself, again, to breathe. 

“I kissed Luke.” Calum blinks. 

“You- you kissed him?” Ashton nods, swallowing hard. “Okay. Breathe, Ash. Breathe.”

“‘M breathing,” Ashton says, but he does it anyway - in for seven, out for eleven. 

“Okay,” Calum says calmly. “D’you want to tell me what happened, or?” Ashton shakes his head. “Okay,” Calum says again. “D’you want me to talk?” Ashton nods. “Alright. Mikey and I are doing some garden-scaping, can you believe? I cut a fucking hedge today. I’ve never done anything that domestic in my life. We made a veggie lasagne for dinner - or, well, I made a veggie lasagne for dinner, and I made Michael a normal one, and Michael bitched about it not tasting the same because he thought I’d just made a veggie one for the both of us. He’s still sulking about that, actually.” Ashton huffs out a laugh at that, heartbeat slowing a little. That sounds like Michael. “I’ve been writing a bit, but nothing major. I’m using this as a bit of a break, trying to clear my mind, get myself back in a headspace I’m happy with. Michael seems to think ‘lockdown’ is synonymous to ‘play as many videogames during your waking hours as possible’, though. That’s why I made him start on the garden-scaping, actually. It’s the only way I can get him out of the house, and he’s starting to glow in the dark.” Calum pauses, and Ashton exhales again, far less shaky. 

“Thanks,” he says. 

“Always,” Calum says sincerely. “So? What happened.” 

“I don’t know,” Ashton says. “I- we were watching Harry Potter, and then he got scared, and held my hand, and then- he didn’t let go, and. I kissed him.” 

“Right,” Calum says. “Look, I know this is, like, emotionally distressing for you, and all, but who the fuck gets scared of Harry Potter?” Ashton laughs, a little hysterical. 

“I know,” he says emphatically. 

“So, he didn’t let go of your hand?” Calum says. Ashton nods miserably. 

“And he definitely didn’t forget he was holding my hand,” he adds. “He used our hands to point at the TV.” 

“Oh, Ash,” Calum says, with a sigh, closing his eyes. “You- you’re, like, new levels of stupid.” 

“I know,” Ashton says, because he knows he’s a fucking idiot for kissing Luke - he doesn’t need reminding. “I didn’t mean to kiss him.” 

“And? Did he- what did he do?” 

“He- I don’t- I mean, it seemed like...he kissed back?” Ashton says uncertainly. Calum pinches the bridge of his nose, and inhales deeply. 

“So why is this a problem?” Ashton gapes at him. 

“Are you even listening to me?” he demands. “I kissed Luke.” 

“Well, you said he kissed back,” Calum says. 

“I don’t know if he did,” Ashton says, distressed. “It just seemed like it.” 

“You- fucking hell. Ashton, will you listen to yourself? You kissed Luke, and he kissed b-” Ashton makes a noise of protest “-okay, probably kissed back.” 

“It’s just, like, what you do when someone kisses you, though,” Ashton says. “Like. It’s polite.” Calum puts his head in his hands. 

“You think Luke kissed you to be polite?” 

“Okay, not- fuck, not polite, but, like, on automatic pilot,” Ashton says hurriedly. 

“Fucking hell, Ash. This conversation has shaved a solid five years off my life,” Calum tells him. “And? How did you leave it?” 

“I, uh.” He knows Calum’s not going to like his answer. “Ran out?” 

“Ran out?” Ashton blinks sheepishly. “Christ. Make that ten years.” 

“It’s not funny,” Ashton protests, even though neither of them are laughing. 

“I know,” Calum says, voice softening again. “You should talk to him.” Ashton shakes his head. “Ash, you’ve just kissed the guy. The least you can do is talk about it.” 

“No,” Ashton says immediately, even though he knows he should. “I’m stuck in a house with him, Cal. It’ll be so fucking awkward.” 

“So, what, your grand plan is to just...avoid him? Move into the basement?” Ashton nods miserably. “That’s fucking stupid, and you know it. That’s going to make you both miserable.” 

“It can’t be any worse,” Ashton says, picking at a loose thread on his jumper. Calum frowns. 

“Look, I’m not going to intervene,” he says, “yet. But you have to talk to him.” 

“What do you mean, yet?” Ashton says, a shade indignantly. 

“Well, it’s my fucking band too, isn’t it?” 

“Nothing’s happened!” Ashton says. “The band’s fine!” Calum shoots him a look. 

“Talk to him,” he says. Ashton’s shoulders slump. “Hey. You’re alright, Ash. I’ve got you.” 

“I know,” Ashton says. “I love you.” 

“Love you too,” Calum says. “Go and get your boy.” 

“He’s not my boy,” Ashton says, but Calum’s already hung up. “Fuck you,” he says to his contact list, before pocketing his phone again and standing up, taking a deep breath to steel himself. 

It’s just Luke, he tells himself as he walks back up the stairs. He talks to Luke all the time. This isn’t going to be any different. 

Luke’s not in the living room where Ashton left him, and Ashton has a brief moment of panic as he takes the stairs two at a time, thinking Luke might have left the fucking house in lockdown, but he finds Luke in Ashton’s room, pillow and duvet in hand. He looks like a deer in headlights when he sees Ashton in the doorway. 

“What are you doing?” Ashton blurts, cursing inwardly as soon as the words have left his mouth, because that’s not what he came here to say. 

“I, uh. I think. I should probably sleep in my room,” Luke says, biting his lip. Ashton’s stomach sinks. 

Fuck. Ashton’s fucked things up. 

“You don’t have to,” he tries. 

“I should,” Luke mumbles. Ashton feels sick. 

“Okay,” he says. Luke breaks the gaze first, busying himself with gathering all his belongings, which are strewn across the room by now - phone charger next to Ashton’s, book he’d been reading on the bedside table, pyjamas crumpled on the floor like they always are - and walks over to the door. Ashton, not quite processing what’s going on, takes a second to move aside, and it’s the most uncomfortable second of his life. 

“Night, then,” Luke says, awkwardly. 

“Night,” Ashton echoes, and he can do nothing but watch helplessly as Luke trails into his room and shuts the door behind him. 

Fuck. 

 ------- 

  5 weeks, 8 hours 

Ashton, predictably, doesn’t sleep a fucking wink. 

He drags himself out of bed at eight a.m., figuring he’s just fucked on the sleep front, and tiptoes to the shower, ears straining in case Luke’s already awake. He hears Luke’s door open at quarter past over the sound of the rushing water - boiling hot, but Ashton can’t even feel it on his skin - and stands under the stream until his skin is wrinkled, waiting to hear it shut again. It does at half past, and Ashton gets out, towels himself off quickly, and all but runs back to his room, shutting the door behind him as quietly as he can. 

He’s not hungry enough for breakfast, the conversation of last night still weighing down on his stomach, and when lunchtime rolls around, he finds he’s not hungry enough for that either. He spends the whole morning replying to emails he’s been ignoring, forcing himself to find something that takes so much of his concentration that he can’t think about Luke, and has actually caught up on all of his admin stuff by three p.m.. That, however, leaves him with only two choices - risk going downstairs to the basement, or stay in his room indefinitely and hope the lockdown ends before he starves to death. 

Ashton’s dithering is interrupted by a buzzing on his bedside table, and he looks over to see Calum calling him. He lets it ring out, because the second-last thing he wants to do right now (after ‘talk to Luke’) is relive last night. 

Calum, though, is persistent, and despite Ashton turning his phone over so he won’t see it light up, it keeps buzzing, eventually irritating him so much that he just picks up. 

“What,” he snaps. Calum arches an eyebrow. 

“Afternoon to you too,” he says. 

“What,” Ashton repeats, no kinder than before. 

“What happened?” 

“He hates me,” Ashton says flatly. “So.” 

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Calum says. 

“He told me he should sleep in his room again. And I said he didn’t have to, and he said he did. So.” Ashton shrugs, as if it’ll dull the searing hurt that’s seeping into every pore of his body. 

“Oh, Ash,” Calum says, and he sounds genuinely sorry. 

“Don’t,” Ashton says dully. “I don’t want to hear it.” Calum nods, biting his lip. 

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks. Ashton shrugs again. 

“Surgically remove my emotions?” 

“So you do like him?” Ashton huffs out a humourless laugh. 

“I think we’re a bit beyond that debate, Cal,” he says. Calum’s expression softens. 

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. 

“It’s okay,” Ashton says. “It is what it is.” 

“D’you want to go?” Calum asks. Ashton nods. Talking is just tiring him out. “Okay. But- don’t shut yourself away, okay? You’ve got me, and Mikey. We love you.” 

“Love you too,” Ashton mumbles listlessly. Calum hesitates, like he’s going to say something else, but then just sighs. 

“I really do love you,” he says. 

“You too,” Ashton says. Calum sends him another sad smile, and then Ashton’s staring at his lock screen. Somehow, even though he’d wanted Calum to go, he feels even more lonely now, his bedroom feeling even more empty. He doesn’t want to call Calum back, though, because he knows it’ll just be more sad smiles and worried sighs, and he’s got nothing else to do in his bedroom that’ll take his mind off Luke so he braces himself and gets out of bed to go to the basement. 

His heart is pounding as he jogs downstairs, not relenting until he’s slammed the basement door shut behind him a little louder than he’d wanted to and made his way over to his kit. He pulls his headphones over his head, puts his music on shuffle and then skips at least fifteen songs until he finds one he actually knows on drums, and starts playing. 

He forces himself to put his all into playing, so focused on getting the fills just right that he doesn’t have time to think about Luke, switching songs to something harder anytime he catches his mind wandering, keeping himself occupied. He’s exhausted by the time he looks at his phone and sees it’s eight p.m., running on zero sleep and zero food, and he’s got a headache from not drinking enough water. He is pretty fucking thirsty, especially after playing for hours, so he pads up the stairs and stands by the door to the basement for a moment, listening for any sounds from the kitchen. He doesn’t hear anything, luckily, so he chances it and slips out hesitantly, speed-walking over to the sink and grabbing a glass. 

He gulps down three glasses of water and is just filling up the fourth when he hears a sound behind him and whips around in shock. 

“Uh,” Luke says, looking around the room wildly. He looks a mess, Ashton notes. “I, um. Making dinner.” 

“Oh,” Ashton says. “Sorry. Uh, I was getting water.” He holds up the glass, as if it’ll end the sheer fucking awkwardness of this interaction. “Sorry. I’m- um. Going back upstairs.” Luke just nods, biting his lip, and stands aside for Ashton to walk past. Ashton catches a brief, faint imprint of Luke as he passes him, slightly stale cologne and soap, and it makes his heart ache. 

He only realises when he gets up to his room that he hasn’t eaten a single thing today, and, despite still having no appetite, thinks he’ll probably pass out if he doesn’t, so digs out the only thing he has in his room - a bar of chocolate - and forces it down himself. He washes it down with the glass of water, wishing he’d taken a bigger glass, and settles back down in bed, feeling the exhaustion catching up with him. Fucking finally. 

He rolls over, not bothering to close the curtains or plug his phone in, and lets himself drift off into an uneasy, dreamless sleep. 

 ------- 

  5 weeks, 1 day, 13 hours 

Ashton doesn’t get up until midday, and then plugs in his dead phone and fucks around on his laptop a bit until he can no longer ignore the growling in his stomach. He hasn’t heard Luke’s door since he woke up, which either means he’s been downstairs the whole time, or he’s holed up in his room, which Ashton prays is the case. He feels a bit woozy as he goes downstairs - he supposes a chocolate bar isn’t really enough to tide an active twenty-five year old man over for a whole day - and decides to just put the kettle on and make some pasta, sinking down into a chair because he doesn’t trust himself to stand up for the length of the time the kettle takes to boil. 

He eats listlessly, not liking the feeling of the food in his mouth and forcing himself to swallow, eating as fast as he can with the ever-present threat of Luke coming downstairs hanging over his head. He makes it safely, though, even managing to wash up and put his pan away before slinking upstairs. He hears Luke’s door click open a few seconds after he’s clicked his own shut, and his stomach flips unpleasantly - conclusive proof that Luke’s actively avoiding him. 

It’s another few hours before Ashton realises he really, really needs to piss, and he hadn’t been paying attention to whether or not Luke had actually come back earlier, so he gives it until he’s pretty much ready to wet himself and then bolts out of his room - straight into Luke, who’s coming up the stairs. 

“Hi,” Luke says, a little nervous. Ashton groans inwardly. This is not the fucking moment. 

“Hi,” Ashton says, eyes flicking to the bathroom door. 

“Can we talk?” Luke says. 

“Uh,” Ashton says, looking towards the bathroom again. “Can it wait?” Luke looks a little taken aback. 

“Oh,” he says, in a small voice. “Uh. I guess.” Ashton nods curtly, mind on nothing but how badly he needs to fucking empty his bladder, and pretty much sprints into the bathroom, sighing in relief as he finally gets to the toilet. 

He starts thinking about what Luke had said as he’s washing his hands - for thirty seconds, of course - and a sense of dread settles in his stomach. What’s Luke going to say? Is he going to end the band? Say he wants to move back to Australia, get away from Ashton? 

Ashton dawdles drying his hands, not wanting to face whatever Luke’s going to throw at him, but eventually, when his hands are starting to actually get exfoliated by the towel, he drops it reluctantly and unlocks the bathroom door, ready to knock on Luke’s door. Just as he’s raising his hand, though, he hears a soft murmur of voices from inside - Luke, and a female voice. He can’t make out what they’re saying, because Luke’s speaking incredibly quietly, but it sounds like it could be Liz on the phone if the accent’s anything to go by. Ashton’s stomach twists. He’s probably getting advice on how to tell Ashton he doesn’t want to be in a band with him anymore. 

He walks into his own room quickly, shutting the door as silently as he can, and flops down onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling and feeling equal parts incredibly sorry for himself and sick. 

He’s well and truly fucked things up. 

 ------- 

  5 weeks, 4 days, 15 hours 

The next few days continue in pretty much the same pattern. 

Ashton gets up and showers, during which time Luke goes downstairs and makes himself breakfast. Ashton waits for Luke to come back before he leaves the bathroom and gets himself brunch, and then waits for Luke to go down to make lunch until he can slip into the basement. Luke makes sure to be done with dinner by eight so Ashton can go upstairs and cook for himself, and then they both spend their evenings locked in their respective rooms. 

It’s fucking miserable. 

Ashton hasn’t had any human contact in, like, four days, and he’s struggling, so he can’t even imagine how Luke’s coping. He can sometimes hear the soft murmur of voices floating through the wall but always puts his headphones on, not wanting to think about Luke ringing around telling people he’s quitting the band as soon as lockdown is over because Ashton came onto him and made things fucking awkward. 

Calling Calum helps, a bit, because he gets it, and he just sits there in silence, going about his day and saying nothing, just so Ashton isn’t sat, desperately lonely, in his room or in the basement. But it’s not the same, and Ashton finds he’s not just missing human contact - he’s missing Luke. 

He misses the way they’d bicker over dinner, how Ashton would try and force Luke to take more of a responsibility in cooking and Luke would pout and refuse, misses the way Luke’s face would light up when Ashton complimented him, misses the light-hearted way Luke would tease him for taking two showers a day, misses the warmth of Luke next to him in bed and his blue eyes blinking sleepily up at Ashton in the morning. 

It’s fucking pathetic. Ashton’s never been so broken-hearted, not after any of his breakups. He’s deflated, listless, lifeless. 

On the fifth day, however, he’s jolted out of his moping in the late afternoon by a hesitant knock at his door. 

“Yeah?” he says, heart suddenly beating too fast, because it can only be Luke. The door opens, revealing an anxious-looking Luke standing in the doorway. 

“Hi,” Luke says. 

“Hi,” Ashton says, swallowing hard. He looks fucking gorgeous, and Ashton wants nothing more than to reach out, pull him close. He’s suddenly very aware of how disgusting he must look - he’s barely changed out of his pyjamas for almost a week. 

“I, uh. Need to speak to you,” Luke says. Ashton’s stomach bottoms out. 

“Please don’t leave the band,” he says, all in a rush. “I’m- I’m sorry. Just. Please.” Luke’s brow furrows. 

“I’m, uh. Not leaving the band,” he says, and Ashton feels a wave of relief so strong wash over him that were he not lying down, he thinks his knees would buckle. 

“Oh,” he says. “Well. Good.” They stare at each other for a moment. “Uh. What was it that you wanted to talk about?” 

“Oh,” Luke says, as though he’s just remembered, and shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I’m. Going.” 

“Going?” Ashton’s confused. 

“Yeah,” Luke says nervously. “To Mike and Cal’s.” 

“But you- we’re in lockdown,” Ashton says. 

“Well, I’ve been here long enough that I can be certain I’m not contagious, and the same goes for Mike and Calum,” Luke says. “And I’m not going to leave the house at all after I go to theirs, just in case, and I’m going in my car, so.” He shrugs, and Ashton’s stomach sinks. 

“I’m sorry,” Ashton says. “I- fuck. I didn’t mean to fuck things up.” 

“It’s okay,” Luke says, sounding a little sad. “You made a mistake. And, like, you can’t help how you feel.” 

“I don’t want you to go,” Ashton blurts, even though that’s fucking obvious, given that he fucking kissed Luke. He scrambles out of bed, lurches to his feet, and takes a step towards Luke before thinking better of it. Luke probably doesn’t want to be near him right now. 

“I- what?” Luke sounds a little confused, and Ashton opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by Luke’s phone ringing. Fucking typical. 

“Sorry,” Luke says, and he has the grace to look embarrassed as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. “I- fuck, sorry, I really should take this. It’s Michael.” 

“Oh,” Ashton says. It kind of stands to reason, because Luke’s about to go to their house. As Luke swipes on his phone, Ashton’s own phone starts buzzing on his bedside table, and he reaches over to see it’s Calum. Fuck it, he thinks, as Luke waits for his phone to connect - if Luke’s going to talk to Michael, he can talk to Calum.

“Don’t fucking come here!” Michael’s voice yells, all of a sudden, making both Luke and Ashton jump. 

“What?” Luke says, sounding bewildered. “Why no-” 

“Don’t let Luke leave!” Calum shouts, and Ashton nearly drops his phone in surprise. 

“What th- are you okay? Are you sick?” Ashton’s first thought is fuck, are they ill? Have they got it? 

“I’m sorry, Luke,” Michael says, all in a rush. “I promised I wouldn’t tell Cal, but he mentioned something, and we both-” 

“Is that Michael?” Calum says, and Ashton looks down to see him rushing from their bedroom into the living room. “Mike, are you calling Luke?” 

“Yeah, I have to-” 

“I’m on the phone to Ashton,” Calum says. 

“I’m with Luke,” Ashton says. 

“Oh,” Michael says. “Well. That makes things easier.” Luke’s phone beeps, and Ashton looks over to see that Michael’s hung up and shuffled into frame on Ashton’s phone. “You guys have to talk to each other.” 

“Mike,” Luke says, and he sounds pleading. He throws Ashton a nervous look. “Don’t.” 

“No, you have to fucking tell him,” Michael presses. 

“Ash, I’m sorry, I didn’t tell him, but Michael worked it out, and-” Calum starts, but Michael interrupts.

“You guys are fucking-” 

“Michael.”

“-okay, you’re not the most intelligent, how’s that?” 

“What the-” Ashton starts indignantly, but Michael cuts him off. 

“Luke, tell him,” he says. 

“Mike, I told you-” 

“Ash,” Calum says, much gentler than Michael. “Why did you kiss Luke?” Ashton blanches. 

“What the fuck?” he whispers, because this wasn’t part of the fucking deal. He told Calum in confidence . And sure, Ashton knows, Calum knows, and clearly Luke knows, which is seventy-five percent of the room, but still. It’s a forbidden topic. 

“Why?” Calum pushes. 

“Cal,” Ashton says weakly, because he doesn’t think he can take this kind of humiliation in front of his two other best friends. He’s steadfastly not looking at Luke - he doesn’t think he could handle the shame. 

“Why?” Calum asks again, firmly. No one speaks for a good few seconds, and the tension hangs thick in the air.

“Because I like him,” Ashton mumbles eventually, when it becomes clear no one else is going to speak. 

“Fucking finally,” Calum mutters. 

“You- what?” Luke sounds absolutely nonplussed. 

“I like you, okay?” Ashton says, feeling like a fucking fourteen year old. He’s still staring at the floor. “I- I didn’t, and then I did, and. Then I kissed you. And you didn’t, like.” He shrugs, wishing whatever sins he’s committed in his life would all catch up to him at the same time and God would smite him on the spot. 

“But- you ran away,” Luke says, still sounding perplexed. “And when I tried to talk to you, you- you didn’t want to.” 

“What?” Ashton says. “When?” 

“You ran to the bathroom,” Luke says. 

“I- fuck, Luke, I needed to piss,” Ashton says. 

“Oh,” Luke says. “But. You still ran away.” 

“I was scared,” Ashton says. “Like. If I’d fucked things up, with you, with the band.” 

“Oh,” Luke says again, and Ashton finally chances a look at him. He looks baffled, but a small smile is spreading across his face. 

“Luke?” Michael prompts. 

“I, uh.” Luke swallows, smiling properly now. “I like you too?” 

“Fucking finally,” Michael says, sounding relieved, and then Ashton’s phone beeps. 

They’re alone. 

“You- what?” Ashton’s not quite sure what he’s just heard. 

“I- I thought you knew how I felt, and you regretted it because you ran away, and you didn’t feel the same as me, because I- don’t make me say it again,” Luke says, a pleading note to his voice, but he’s still smiling. “Do you- do you really?” 

“Really what?” 

“Like me,” Luke says, sounding like a fourteen year old. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says boldly.  

“Oh,” Luke says, full-on grinning now. “Oh.” 

“And- and you like me?” Ashton says. “Like, romantically?” Ashton has to be sure that he’s understanding this correctly. 

“Ash, I’ve been trying to hit on you for the past six weeks,” Luke says, rolling his eyes, still grinning. 

“You have?” Ashton says, surprised, and then- oh. Oh. Luke watches the realisation dawn on Ashton’s face, and snorts. 

“Yeah,” he says pointedly. 

“Oh,” Ashton says, a warm feeling starting to unfurl in his stomach, a smile forming on his lips. 

“Yeah,” Luke says again, and they stand there for a moment, grinning at each other. 

“So,” Ashton says, a little nervously. “I can kiss you?” 

“Please,” Luke says emphatically, and Ashton laughs, elation bubbling in his chest, and crosses the room in two strides to kiss Luke. They’re both still grinning, lips pressed together awkwardly, and Ashton’s momentum makes Luke stumble backwards a little. He finds his balance quickly, though, and wraps an arm around Ashton’s waist, pulling him closer, and Ashton tilts his head a little to give him a better angle. Then - finally - they’re properly kissing, Luke’s lips slotted soft and warm against Ashton’s. Ashton slides one hand to the nape of Luke’s neck, resting in the nest of curls there, and slips the other around Luke’s waist, trying to imprint this moment - the feeling of Luke against him, around him - in his memory forever, atom for atom. 

They kiss a little tentatively at first, unsure what the boundary is, what’s okay, but the tension soon drains from Luke’s shoulders and he kisses a little more desperately, a little more like he has something to prove. Ashton tries not to think about the little keening noises Luke’s making, tries not to let them go straight to his dick, but kisses back harder, steadying Luke with the arm around his waist when it seems like he might stumble again. 

Eventually, the kiss turns slow, languid, easy, as it really sinks in - Ashton’s kissing Luke, and Luke’s kissing back. Something’s burning warm in Ashton’s stomach, heating him from the inside out, spreading through his veins like lazy flames, making him smile into the kiss, and feels Luke smiling against his lips too. 

Eventually, Ashton breaks away, a little breathless, and he’s not sure whether that’s because of the kiss or because of Luke. 

“Fuck,” he says, dropping his head onto Luke’s shoulder and pressing a soft kiss there. 

“We just kissed,” Luke says, and he sounds kind of awe-struck. 

“We did that, like, last week,” Ashton points out. 

“Shut up,” Luke says, and it’s fond, and it sounds like Calum speaking to Michael, and Ashton doesn’t think he’s ever been happier. 

“So,” he says hopefully, drawing back a little to look at Luke. He kind of likes that Luke’s a little taller than him, likes that he feels a little small and protected in Luke’s arms. “Does this mean you’re going to sleep in here again?” 

Luke just grins at him. 

 -------

  8 weeks, 3 days, 13 hours 

“I am not moving that fucking bed out of your room,” Luke says pointedly, drying the glass Ashton hands him with a tea towel. 

“Well, I’m not having my bed get splattered with paint because you don’t know how to handle a paintbrush,” Ashton shoots back, scrubbing a plate. Luke scowls at him. 

“I know how to handle a fucking paintbrush,” Luke says sulkily, putting the glass back in the cupboard, and then brightens a little as he smirks, and adds: “I know how to handle a lot of things.” 

“The truth not being one of them, apparently,” Ashton says, dodging the towel that Luke swats in his direction. “C’mon, Luke. We’re stuck at home, we’ve watched every film on Netflix, we’ve fucked ourselves raw - we’ve run out of condoms, actually, is that on the shopping list?”

“Yeah,” Luke says.

“Right,” Ashton continues, “we’ve fucked ourselves raw, we’ve decorated your room, we’ve written songs, and we’ve already got the paint.” Luke groans, tipping his head back in frustration. 

“I don’t want to have to spend a whole week dodging a bed in the bathroom again,” Luke says. 

“Well, if you’re not such a fucking bitch about it this time, it’ll be done in less than a week,” Ashton notes, handing him the last bit of cutlery to dry off and draining the sink. Luke flips him off after drying the cutlery, placing it back in the drawer and hanging the tea towel off the front of the oven. 

“I was not a bitch about it,” he says petulantly, but he’s slipping his arms around Ashton’s waist as he says it, resting his chin on Ashton’s shoulder. It sends a thrill shooting through Ashton’s body, the same thrill he’s been experiencing for a good three weeks now - Luke is his, now. Still his best friend, still doesn’t pick up his fucking towels in the morning, still stomps away from an argument and then comes running back a few minutes later, but also more, also the man who kisses Ashton’s temple softly when he thinks Ashton’s asleep, who moans so fucking prettily when Ashton’s in between his thighs, who reaches for Ashton’s hand when he’s scrolling through his phone, just because. Ashton hums at the thought, tilting his head to one side to make room for Luke, and slots his wet fingers in between Luke’s, who makes a noise of disgust. 

“Gross,” he complains, and Ashton grins, spinning around in Luke’s grasp and looping his arms around his neck, letting his fingers trail cold and wet down Luke’s spine. Luke shivers and squirms, but doesn’t try to pull away. “Stop it, ew.” 

“Say you’ll help me move the furniture out of my room,” Ashton says, wiping the back of his fingers on Luke’s neck. Luke brings his shoulders up to his ears in an attempt to stop Ashton’s hands moving. 

“Fine, fuck, I’ll help you move the fucking bed,” Luke says, and Ashton stops, and leans up to press a chaste kiss to Luke’s lips. 

“That’s all you had to say, sweetheart,” he says, and Luke smiles at him, bright and mischievous. 

“I said the bed,” he says. “You’re on your own with the wardrobe.” 

“Arsehole,” Ashton says, but he’s grinning too. 

“Actually, I’ve been thinking,” Luke says, and he sounds a little nervous. 

“God, you’re getting experimental,” Ashton says, earning himself another scowl from Luke. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Luke says. “I kind of like LA, now I’ve got you here.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Ashton says, trying not to look like his heart is bursting at the idea that he’s the reason Luke’s changed his mind on LA. “Are you going to buy yourself a place?” Luke bites his lip. 

“Well,” he says, and it dawns on Ashton what he’s saying. 

“Oh,” he says, a smile creeping onto his face. “Luke Hemmings, are you asking me to ask you to move in?” Luke drops his forehead onto Ashton’s shoulder. 

“No,” he says weakly, sounding embarrassed. Ashton shrugs his shoulder, forcing Luke to move his head back up. 

“You are,” he says teasingly. “You want to live with me.” 

“I do live with you,” Luke says. 

“You know what I mean,” Ashton says. 

“Fuck you,” Luke says, but there’s no heat behind the words, just a touch of self-consciousness. “You can just say no.” 

“I’m not saying no,” Ashton says. 

“Well, it doesn’t sound like you’re saying yes.” 

“Alright, how does this sound?” Ashton says, using his arms around Luke’s neck to pull him closer. “What should we do with the spare room?” Luke frowns at him for a moment, then, as realisation dawns on him, a slow smile spreads across his face. 

“Yeah?” he says. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “I mean, we already live together. Plus, you have a house in Vegas, and I want a holiday home.” Luke snorts. 

“I think we should turn it into a studio,” Luke says, and it takes Ashton a moment to remember what he’s talking about. 

“I have a studio,” he says. 

“Yeah, in the basement, you fucking vampire,” Luke says. 

“How much money do you think I have?” Ashton demands. “I can’t just rebuild my entire studio upstairs because golden boy wants to catch some fucking rays.” He doesn’t miss the way Luke’s lips quirk up at ‘golden boy’. 

“Okay, how about a gaming room?” 

“You don’t even play that much,” Ashton says. Luke rolls his eyes. 

“Fucking hell, alright, a sex dungeon,” he suggests sarcastically. Ashton opens his mouth, and then shuts it again. 

“You know what?” he muses, grinning when Luke sighs dramatically. “Alright, how about an office?” Luke frowns. 

“You have an office,” he says. 

“Your office,” Ashton says. Luke blinks, and then smiles. 

“Oh,” he says, sounding way too happy for someone talking about offices. “I mean. I’d rather just have a desk in your office.” Ashton rolls his eyes then, hard. 

“You’re fucking impossible,” he says. “I guess it’ll just have to stay a guest room.” Luke pulls Ashton tighter to him, their bodies pressed against each other top to toe. 

“You better not be planning on inviting any other hot young men living in Vegas around,” he says warningly. Ashton blinks up at him, a small smile unfurling on his lips. 

“I’ve already got the best one,” he says, and Luke grins at him. 

“You’re a fucking romantic,” he says. 

“Yeah, he’ll be here soon,” Ashton continues, eyes glinting, and Luke squawks indignantly and squeezes Ashton’s waist, making him squeal and squirm in Luke’s grasp. “Dickhead,” he says, when the sensation fades. Luke just grins, and presses a kiss to Ashton’s forehead. 

“I love you,” Luke says, and Ashton’s not quite sure how he means it, but that’s okay. 

“I love you too,” Ashton says, and he’s not quite sure how he means it, but that’s okay. 

[dailyexo]

[INTERVIEW] Baekhyun, Kai - 201001 Elle: “SuperM On Album Super One's Message, Friendship & Their Group Halloween Costume”

"What happens when you put together an Avengers-style K-pop group, featuring the top talent from some of South Korea's biggest boy bands, and unite their individual bands' fan bases? The boys of SuperM—Mark (from NCT and NCT 127), Kai (from EXO), Ten (from WayV and NCT), Lucas (from WayV and NCT), Taemin (from SHINee), Taeyong (from NCT and NCT 127), and Baekhyun (from EXO)—started that journey a year ago and made history.

With their first, self-titled EP, SuperM became the first debut K-pop act to reach #1 on the Billboard 200 albums chart. Nearly a year later, their first full-length album Super One is newly released—and very much influenced by the ongoing coronavirus pandemic, which has stalled most musicians' plans for touring and performing for fans. Songs like "Together at Home" poignantly touch on it, with lyrics focused on finding the silver lining and embracing little pleasures.

Taemin tells ELLE.com that the boys want Super One to bring joy to their fans, and a sense of unity as the world goes through this period of quarantining and social distancing. "We want our fans to know that despite the distance, we are together in spirit," he says. "We created this album wanting to give back to our fans who give us unconditional love and support. Hopefully through our music, they can feel the positive energy and find happiness and hope to help get through this difficult time together."

Below, the boys discuss the album with ELLE, along with insights into how their friendship changed during their first year as a group, their experiences quarantining, and what their group Halloween costume has to be.

How has it felt to watch K-pop, C-pop, and J-pop take off in the West over the past couple years, and be part of that moment?

Taemin: As a K-pop artist, I am very proud. From performing in Paris and L.A. for the first time to having fans recognize me when we were taking photos along Abbey Road in London, these moments don’t seem that long ago, but it’s amazing to see how quickly K-pop has become popular around the globe. I am proud to have been a part of this movement and I’ll continue to work hard to help take K-pop to greater heights.

Last October, you made history as the first debut Korean act to hit #1 on the Billboard 200 with your SuperM EP. How did it feel taking that in? As a group, what is your dream to accomplish in the U.S. music scene?

Baekhyun: To have our first debut album hit number one on the chart was an incredible honor and the happiest, unexpected surprise. This is all because of our fans and I am so grateful for all the love and support they have and continue to give us. This just made me want to work harder to create a better album and provide more amazing content that brings joy to the fans. As for my goal in the U.S. music scene, when everything gets better, it’d be a dream come true to perform during the Super Bowl Halftime Show!

You’ve all known each other for years before working together. What were your first impressions of each other?

Mark: Before coming together as SuperM, I always looked up to them as role models. It was a cool feeling to see them all when we first had our meeting. I was thrilled and really looking forward to being on a team with them. And so, getting close to them as a brother and as a person was a good transition from just knowing them as senior artists. They all have their own brother-like personalities and I’m really happy to be able to see that side of them and have them accept me as a brother too.

Kai told Billboard last October that there was "nothing new to learn" about each other since you’ve all been friends for years. But what has working together as a group on this album taught you musically?

Taeyong: All the members are great artists and performers—each with their own unique, individual charm. Put them together and you get this amazing synergy onstage that’s been fun to show our fans. There are so many lessons I’ve learned from being part of SuperM but I would have to say the older members’ leadership and their ability to empathize with others inspired me to become a better leader for NCT 127. They really listen to what you have to say and always give great advice so I try to be the same for NCT 127 and help bring out the best in each member. I still have a lot to learn but I’m always trying to improve and working with SuperM encourages me to do so.

Ten: I learned so much from all the members while working on this album. They give the best advice, especially the senior members. Taemin gave me great tips on how to better express myself on stage and Baekhyun helped me a lot with my vocals. Outside of work, we can have deep conversations about anything. We all began our career at a young age so they really understand what I’m going through and how I feel. I can always count on them when I need someone to talk to.

How has being bandmates changed your friendships over the last year?

Kai: In the beginning, because we mostly knew each other as juniors/seniors within the industry and label, it was slightly awkward. But once we started to get to know each other, we were all able to connect with each other within the older/younger brother dynamic, so now they really feel like brothers to me. And I want to keep it that way going forward.

What has been your favorite moment from your first year together?

Baekhyun: One of my favorite moments would have to be when we filmed the reality show together. It was fun to do “regular” things together like cooking, playing games, and doing challenges. Everyone has a great sense of humor so we laughed the entire time. It was a great opportunity for us to bond and we had a blast.

Kai: I’d have to say when we were touring around the world together—and more recently, when we got to shoot our own reality TV show. Each of those moments brought us much closer together.

Taemin: When we made our debut as SuperM, and held our very first showcase at Capitol Records. I remember thinking, "This is another new beginning for me" and it brought back old memories of when I auditioned for SM and debuted as SHINee. It felt like another new path was created for me and I remember feeling all kinds of emotions throughout the day.

Taeyong: If you think about it, a year is not that long, but we made so many memories together and I think that’s because we are all positive-minded people. In the past year, we spent almost half a year on a world tour and the other half practicing and preparing for our album. I’ve grown a lot both on a professional and personal level so I cherish every single moment!

Mark: I think it would have to be our debut showcase in L.A. at the Capitol Records Tower. We were nervous but it felt good that we were all nervous together. Sharing the same emotions with the members is a good feeling because you know we’re all in it together.

Ten: When we went on our world tour. Experiencing different cultures and meeting our fans worldwide was unforgettable. Also, we all got very close during the tour from being together 24/7. Because we come from different groups, this was our first time doing a tour together so we were able to really bond.

Lucas: Our first performance of "Jopping" in L.A. It was a great feeling to finally be able to show the world what we’ve been working really hard on. The audience’s energy, the city, and the overall vibe that day was incredible. I’ll never forget it.

What song on Super One are you most proud of and why?

Taeyong: I am most proud of "Together at Home." It’s a little more special to me because I wrote some of the lyrics for the song. I put a lot of thought into the messaging and wanted to say that even though we are not physically together, we can find new ways to be there for each other. With what’s going on right now, I feel like fans can relate to the message and find comfort knowing that no matter what, we’ll always find a way to reach them. It’s a feel-good song that anyone can hum along to.

Lucas: I choose "Infinity." You can really feel our energy and our ambition "to go to infinity." Our title song, "One," is a hybrid remix that combines "Infinity" and "Monster" so it’s fun to hear the two tracks on their own and then hear "One" which has a completely different vibe. Each has its own charm.

Mark, you helped write "100" and Taeyong and Mark, you worked together to write "Together at Home." What do those songs mean to you? How has your songwriting evolved as you’ve worked on more music?

Taeyong: "Together at Home" [has] special meaning to me. When writing the lyrics, I tried to be as honest as possible with my feelings and thankfully, the team loved it, so I was very happy about that. Hopefully fans can also feel the sincerity of the message and like the song as much as I do.

Mark: It was fun writing both songs but I enjoyed "Together at Home" a little more because it really suits the current situation we’re all going through and I could really relate to it. Through this process, I realized how important it is to stay true to yourself. You can get inspired and get ideas from basically everything around you, but ultimately, you need to interpret them in your own way. Staying true to yourself differentiates you from other artists. This is what I always try to bring alive through my music.

Who would you love to collaborate with?

Taemin: I would love to collaborate with Jessie J one day. Her performances are very sincere and I can feel her singing from the heart. I admire her energy and passion onstage and she is someone I feel I can learn a lot from. I also think we would create great synergy together if we collaborated!

You all are incredible dancers. What song from Super One has your favorite choreography so far?

Kai: I personally like "Tiger Inside." The choreography is inspired by the movement of a tiger and fits perfectly with the concept and theme of the song. I like that the choreography has its own storyline.

Quarantine and COVID-19 have drastically changed every musicians’ plans for the year. What is a day in the life of quarantine like for you? What things have you done for self-care when the days have felt harder?

Ten: First, I do the basics like wash my hands often, take vitamins, eat healthy, and exercise. But, most importantly, I’ve been keeping myself busy at home relaxing, practicing my vocals and dancing skills, finding new hobbies, and trying new activities that I didn’t have the time to try before. I was actually surprised at how much you can do at home.

Is there anything you can tease about what fans can expect for your next tour?

Mark: When we are able to tour again, I can guarantee we’ll be preparing the best show ever. As much as we missed out on a lot of shows due to inevitable circumstances, when it’s safe and the next tour opens, we’ll bring everything we have for the fans, especially songs from Super One.

What Halloween group costume will SuperM do this year?

Mark: It would have to be The Avengers! And if I were to do it myself, it would still be a character from The Avengers. Maybe Spider-Man? It’s a character fans really like and I think it suits me really well.

What's an entertainment pick—TV show, music, movie, video game, book—you’ve loved in quarantine?

Baekhyun: I’m sure many people are already watching a lot of Netflix and YouTube videos at home. Rather than an entertainment pick, I think it’s a great idea to take advantage of the time we have and start a new hobby you can do indoors—like learning to play a new instrument. Everyone has something they’ve always wanted to try but never did. Now is a great time to start! If you're interested in learning a new instrument, there are many great books and tutorial videos online so you can teach yourself!

Taeyong: SuperM videos! We created a lot of content for you guys and they’ll definitely keep you entertained and make time go by faster. Hopefully they’ll make you laugh too!

What’s next for SuperM?

Baekhyun: Fans have already seen our powerful, energetic side through our performances. Now, we want to get closer to the fans and show them more of our "human" side—who we are off-stage. Of course, we’ll continue to bring great performances but at the same time, we want fans to feel comfortable approaching us and not feel so distant. Most importantly, I want fans to find comfort and positive energy in our music."

Credit: Elle.

[shima-draws]

Remember that one episode in Gravity Falls where Stan loses a bet to Mabel and does that stan-wrong-dance?? Can you write a drabble where Ford finds the footage pls the imagery is so freaking funny lmao

[[Send me a fandom/ship/prompt and I’ll write a drabble for it!]]

I’M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG BUT I FINALLY FINISHED…I had a total blast writing it tho!!

I kinda took your prompt and went way beyond the original concept anjsakbnda so there’s some angst in here because Stan’s a self-sacrificial idiot and Ford almost loses his shit, but I hope you like it nonetheless :’)

Also this ended up being nearly 4k words so. Yeah. That’s why it took so long LOL but hopefully you got more than what you asked for!

This is also on Archive, if you’d rather read it there!

——————————————————–

Ford is absolutely furious.

Now, he’s no stranger to anger, having fallen victim to it many, many times throughout his life. His bouts of rage usually result in catastrophe if he isn’t careful. A prime example: letting Stan get kicked out of the house forty years ago. Or, when his irritation caused a fight between them that ended up in Stan’s permanently scarred shoulder and his own thirty year trip into the multiverse. It’s never simple and it usually doesn’t end well, especially if Stan happens to be on the other side of the argument.

This time, however, is a bit different.

It’s one thing if his brother has done something to piss him off. It’s another if Stanley does something so unbelievably stupid it scares the absolute shit out of Ford. He doesn’t like being angry. He doesn’t like being angry as a result of him being terrified even more.

And so, he’s taken to pacing in his study, trying to let off some steam. He’d separated himself from Stan after lecturing at him for twenty-five minutes about the very many reasons why Stan shouldn’t have charged right into battle against a particularly violent group of bullasps (an enormous wasp-bull anomaly hybrid, helpfully named by Mabel). Stan had come this close to being pierced by one of their enormous stingers—and if he had, well. The venom they secrete works so quickly Ford doubts he would have been able to do anything about it in time. And that is what had triggered his hysteria.

Mabel sits on one of the oversized chairs in the room, munching on a bag of popcorn. She’d followed him after his frustration had shot through the ceiling, needing to get away before he said anything he’d come to regret. Dipper had stayed behind to admonish Stan further, but not as harshly as Ford originally had.

It’s been almost a year since Ford and Stan left Gravity Falls to travel the world together. They’ve had plenty of arguments and heated late night discussions on board the Stan O’ War II, but they’d never escalated to this level. The two of them hashed out all of their past history and mistakes, and they’ve been attached at the hip ever since—but Stanley’s always had a bit of a reckless steak, and Ford will never admit it, but he’s unbelievably overprotective of his twin, especially after the whole shooting-him-with-a-memory-gun thing. (They try not to talk about that, much, mostly because it makes Ford feel so guilty it brings him to tears, and Stan hates seeing him like that.) This sort of takes the cake for every previous situation where Stan has willingly put himself in danger on their journey out at sea. Ford can’t remember the last time he’s felt so high strung.

“I just can’t believe him,” Ford hisses, his fingers tangled in his hair. His heart is still pounding, fear spiking through his veins and making him as taught as a bowstring. “Out of all the reckless, most monumentally moronic—”

“I know you’re upset, Grunkle Ford, but we took care of it!” Mabel points out, trying to be helpful. She does sound worried, though, if her expression has anything to say about it. “Those things ran right off after I used that cannon to shoot that t-shirt into the woods! Who knew bullasps are actually attracted to red things? I thought regular bulls hated the color red!”

Ford can’t help but smile a bit at her observation. “Actually, regular bulls are red-green colorblind, Mabel. It’s not that they particularly dislike the color red, it’s the action of a matador moving their cape that stimulates hyper aggression in—wait, wait, that’s not the point!” He heaves out a sigh. He turns to her and frowns. “Do you—do you even know why I’m so furious with Stanley right now?”

Mabel makes a funny sound with her mouth, her legs kicking back and forth, and then she answers. “‘Cause he shook his butt at them and told them to shove it where the sun don’t shine?”

Ford groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. Could Stan have any less tact? The children are almost 14 now, but still.

“That’s part of it,” he grumbles. “But it’s his insistence on constantly throwing himself headlong into danger before even considering the consequences of doing so. Stanley is—he’s ridiculously defensive of his family, which isn’t a bad quality to have at all, but…it gets him into unnecessary trouble. A lot.”

Mabel looks truly concerned now, which is good. “Is that why you looked like Dipper in the middle of a Wendy crisis when Grunkle Stan almost got hit by one of those super giant sharp and pointy stingers?”

Ford considers telling her that the venom would have killed Stanley in minutes, but then decides he should probably spare her those morbid details.

“Yes. It would have been…very catastrophic if he’d actually come into contact with one.” Ford slumps, suddenly feeling exhausted. “I’ve come this close to losing him once, I…the mere thought of possibly losing him again, and him ending up somewhere I couldn’t ever possibly reach…”

His throat tightens and he feels pressure building behind his eyelids. Emotion makes his heart feel like it’s being constricted, squeezed tight, and he swallows. He’d gone half his life without his brother and he regrets every single minute he didn’t spend by Stanley’s side. Almost losing him to Bill was a huge wake up call, and Ford’s barely been without him since then.

“So that’s why you’re so frowny,” Mabel chirps. Ford can’t tell if she’s totally oblivious to the seriousness of the situation or if she’s just trying to act upbeat for his sake—but he appreciates it either way. “You were pretty scared for him, huh, Grunkle Ford?”

Ford wipes his eyes and nods wordlessly. In the past he might have brushed her off but he knows better now—his family is the most important thing he has, and confiding in them when times are difficult is usually the best course of action.

The young teen hums thoughtfully, scratching her chin, and then her eyes practically light up.

“Wait, hold on! I have an idea,” she says excitedly. Her smile turns wicked. Oh, no. Ford knows that look. He’s been on the receiving end of it many times before.

“Grunkle Ford, have you seen the Stan Wrong Song?”

Ford tilts his head. “The…what?”

Mabel giggles insanely. “The Stan Wrong Song! It’s a song we forced Grunkle Stan to sing after he lost a bet to me.”

“Stanley lost a bet.”

“Uh-huh!”

“To you.” If Ford didn’t know her so well, he’d think she was lying. It’s extremely hard to believe, knowing how brilliant his twin is in the conning department.

Her grin becomes wider, if that’s even possible. Her braces glint in the dim light. “We bet to see who could make more money—me, taking over Grunkle Stan’s position as a morally ambiguous tour guide, or him on vacation. And I won the bet by a dollar! A dollar, Grunkle Ford!”

“Incredible,” Ford breathes, shaking his head.

“We made him sing it at least thirty-six times,” his nibling tells him. She really could give Stan a run for his money with how mischievous she is.

“Or, wait, maybe it was thirty-eight? Anyway, it was a whole lot! We were all singing it for weeks. The power of catchy made up songs prevailed! Grunkle Stan says he hates it, but I hear him singing it in the bathroom sometimes when he thinks I can’t hear him!”

The older man chuckles at that, amused.

“Anyway,” Mabel sing-songs. “Since Grunkle Stan was a dumb-dumb and almost got speared today and scared the bejeebers out of all of us, I think this is a good opportunity to bust that video out and give him a good ol’ dose of shame!”

“You truly are a peculiar girl, Mabel,” Ford says in wonder.

The brunette beams at this, her smile almost blinding.

“Come on,” she says, grabbing his wrist. Her grip is surprisingly strong, and so is the way she tugs him along with her. “It’s payback time! Revenge tastes sweet, like gummy worms!”

——————————————————–

Ten minutes later they’re seated together in the living room, prepared for the show. Mabel has already plugged her phone into the TV, which can broadcast anything she wants, thanks to a helpful little device Fiddleford had made for the family a while back. (It definitely helped when Ford wanted to show off all the videos he’d taken while he and Stan were out at sea on a larger screen for the whole family to watch.)

Stan is nowhere to be seen—which Ford supposes is a good sign as any. He’d rather not have Stan confiscate Mabel’s phone before Ford even gets to watch whatever the young girl is intent on showing him. Dipper’s probably still keeping watch over Stan, so that’s reassuring. He’s sure that there’s nobody more capable of watching his twin, except maybe Soos.

Mabel is practically vibrating in her seat, posture tense with excitement, and Ford fidgets. He’s honestly not sure what to expect—but when the video finally loads and the first thing he sees is Stan in a neon orange track suit covered with sparkles, Ford blinks in shock. He definitely didn’t expect that.

His twin looks like he’d rather be chased by a horrendous monster of the deep than perform in front of the camera, and the deadpan expression on his face has Ford releasing an amused snort.

Stan glances offscreen, gruff and irritated. “Ugh, l-look, I’m not gonna—”

Mabel’s voice interjects before he can finish protesting. “Do it!”

Stan begins to bounce as a song plays in the background. He looks so goofy doing it that Ford starts to giggle a little, the stress of the day rolling off his shoulders.

“I’m Stan and I was wrong.” Stan sings, dryly, with all the emotion of a desert cactus. “I’m singing the Stan Wrong Song.”

Something in Ford breaks, then—and he’s laughing, incredulously, sort of struck dumb by the whole situation. Mabel sniggers beside him. Stan starts to swing his arms, and Ford wheezes. His brother looks so foolish. Ford is absolutely reveling in it. (He’s so using this for blackmail material later.)

“I shouldn’t have taken that chance. Now here’s my remorseful dance,” Stan finishes, pouty and clearly embarrassed.

“Do the kicks!” Mabel’s voice calls out again, and Stan makes a feeble attempt at performing a kick, to which she demands them to be “Jazzier!”

It’s when Gompers comes in and starts a tug of war match with Stan that’s one for the history books that Ford loses it completely. The entire thing is just so wild and hysterical that he can’t help it, clutching at his side as he laughs and laughs and laughs. The video resets, going back to the beginning, and Ford happily sits through it again.

By the time the video loops for the fifth round Ford is howling with laughter, nearly bowled over by the force of it. His side has a stitch and it hurts and he’s pretty sure he’s crying but he can’t stop, too overwhelmed at the hilarity of his brother in a sparkly suit singing a song clearly meant to humiliate him—and maybe it’s the fact that Stan had had another close brush with death earlier and the built up tension from the incident that has him letting it all out through his chortles. Mabel is giggling madly beside him—whether she’s laughing at Stan or laughing at him laughing at Stan is unclear, but it’s contagious, and Ford can’t stop smiling.

God, how utterly ridiculous this all is. He loves his family.

The video is on its eighth loop and Ford is pretty sure he’s going to pass out from lack of oxygen when Stan bursts into the room, his eyes wide. Dipper follows close behind.

“What’s going on in—Ford?!”

Stan rushes over to him, his face drawn up in concern, and Ford’s heart melts a little. He might still be angry at his twin for scaring him half to death, but really, Stan’s mother hen tendencies never fail to make him smile.

“Ford—Jesus, you’re cryin’, Sixer! What the hell happened?”

Ford giggles and wipes the tears from his eyes, struggling to get his breathing back under control. “I’m—ahaha! I’m fine, Stanley.”

“With all the noise you were making, I thought you were dying,” Stan says with a worried frown. “It sounded like you were in pain or—”

Ford playfully rolls his eyes and nudges him in the shin with his foot.

“Now you know how I feel.”

Once he finally settles down, and when Mabel’s tittering fades, Stan finally registers the video playing behind him. His face immediately goes ash white, his expression quickly morphing into one of utter horror, and if Ford weren’t so wiped out by nearly laughing his ass into unconsciousness he’d probably start doing it again.

Dipper sees what they’re watching and he snorts, covering his mouth to hide any further giggles from coming out.

"Mabel, pumpkin?”

Mabel is the picture of pure innocence, her smile sickly sweet. “Yes, Grunkle Stan?”

“Either I’m having memory issues again or I swear I made you promise me in confidence that you would never ever show this video to Ford,” Stan says, slowly. His grin is wide and almost terrifying. If Ford didn’t know how much Stan loves Mabel he would have thought his twin was seriously considering strangling her. “And what did you do?”

“I showed the video to Ford,” Mabel says, looking shameful. She twirls a piece of long brown hair around her finger. Ford chokes back a bark of laughter at how well she’s pulling this off.

“Don’t be too hard on her, Stan,” Ford soothes in an attempt to curb his brother’s embarrassment. “She was only trying to help.”

Stan simply pouts, and suddenly all Ford can see is a young boy, cheeks bright red from the sun, childishly complaining about having to wear glasses because he thinks it’ll make him look like a nerd. Something warm blooms inside Ford’s chest and he bites his cheek, trying not to get lost in the memory of their childhood.

“How is this helping anything,” Stan mumbles, his cheeks flushing a charming shade of pink.

“It’s teaching you some humility,” Ford states, crossing his arms. “Maybe you should sing it again, Stanley.”

“What?!” His twin barks in outrage.

“He does have a point, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper provides helpfully from where he’s now lounging on the couch with Mabel. The video continues to loop, much to Stan’s chagrin. “You did do something wrong today.”

“Wh—are you still on about that? My god,” Stan groans, throwing his head back. “I was trying to be, ya know, heroic! Live up to my title.”

Ford is tempted to kick him again, but harder. His glare makes the other man wilt slightly.

“You already live up to your title, Stan,” Ford points out. “You don’t have to throw yourself in front of a beast with a toxicity level of 94 percent to prove that.”

“94? Holy crow, that’s high,” Dipper squeaks.

“You’ve already saved the world and paid the price for it once,” Ford continues. He slumps a bit in his chair, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him. “Please, Stan, you have to understand—there’s no point in trying to protect us if we lose you in the process. It’s just…just…” And he shakes his head, frustrated that he can’t put it into words properly.

“Okay, alright,” Stan says sheepishly, edging closer to where he’s sitting. “I get it. I didn’t mean to scare ya. It’s just habit for me to be self-sacrificial at this point.”

“That’s a terrible habit!” Mabel accuses.

“She’s right,” Ford mumbles. “If you hadn’t…if that stinger had come into contact, you would have…and then I…I…” He chokes up, his eyes watering. His heart clenches painfully, fear making his body feel like it’s encased in ice. “If I lost you…”

“Hey, easy there on the waterworks, Poindexter,” Stan teases lightly. He holds his hands out in a pacifying gesture. “I’m fine, see? Still in one piece. Mostly.”

“This isn’t funny, Stanley! How can you still refuse to comprehend—ugh!”

Ford is nearly tearing his hair out in frustration now, his teeth grinding together. Seriously, how can his brother still be such an idiot? He thought the lecturing and the clear distress the rest of the family is expressing would be enough to make Stan realize, but—

Stan folds his arms, huffing, and Ford notes that his face is coloring again. Mabel and Dipper gaze at him curiously, and before Ford can question his twin, Stan releases a soft, irritated noise from his throat.

“I’m Stan and I was wrong,” Stan mutters.

Ford blinks in shock.

The other man sighs, a deep-sounding one that slackens his posture. “I’m singing…the Stan Wrong Song.”

Mabel makes a high-pitched keen of excitement, and Dipper grins. Ford almost falls right out of his chair.

He isn’t sure what’s more surprising—Stan willingly putting his pride on the line, or begrudgingly singing about his mistake in front of the family, who he knows are more than capable of holding this against him.

“I shouldn’t have taken that chance…”

Stan edges closer until he’s standing over Ford, his cheeks the color of a ripe apple.

“I’m sorry, okay? Now will you please forgive me already?”

Something lodges itself in Ford’s throat, and his whole body feels as if it’s being flooded with warmth. Even after all this time, Stan still puts his want for Ford’s forgiveness over everything else. His heart glows.

“Stanley…”

“Don’t gimme that look,” Stan grumbles, refusing to meet his eyes.

The older twin beams and launches himself out of his chair, scooping his brother up in a hug.

“Wh—Ford?!”

Ford nuzzles happily into Stan’s hair, grinning wide.

“Thank you, Stanley.”

“What! You cannot leave me out of this family hug action!” Mabel cries, leaping off the couch to run over and throw her arms around her Grunkles’ legs.

“Squeeeeze!” She says, squeezing them tight. Ford laughs jubilantly and Stan rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile that refuses to go away on his face.

Mabel presses her nose into Stan’s leg for a moment, and then she looks over her shoulder at Dipper.

“Come on, Dippin Dots, you know you want in on this!”

Dipper rolls his eyes but slides off the couch nonetheless, coming over to circle them before ending up beside Ford in the group hug.

The young girl starts giggling, a happy, wonderful sound that makes Ford’s heart swell like a balloon. He feels all sorts of fuzzy, the euphoria of being with the people he loves the most—and with his twin, his other half, the person who almost gave his life for him today—making him burst into merry laughter as well. Soon enough Dipper joins them, and finally, Stan is roped into it, their laughter too contagious to ignore.

When they finally all calm down, Ford nudges his head against Stan’s temple. So maybe he’s feeling a bit clingy now, so what?

“Next time you do something like that again I will sneak horrifying body-altering concoctions into your coffee,” Ford tells him way too cheerfully for someone who’s threatening possible disfiguration.

“Yikes, Sixer. What sort of crap did you learn how to do on the other side of that portal?”

“I know how to disembody someone in a total of 103 unique ways,” Ford responds brightly while he rubs his cheek against Stan’s shoulder, hiding a grin into his shirt.

Much to his delight, Stan stiffens beneath him, and Ford almost laughs.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Stan gruffs, patting him on the back. He pauses. “…Again.”

“Hey,” Dipper playfully elbows Stan. “Grunkle Stan, you didn’t finish.”

Mabel’s entire face lights up, and her smile is blinding—and devilish. “Oh, that’s right! You didn’t finish, Grunkle Stan! You have to commit to it all the way!”

Stan looks down at them, puzzled. He tries to squirm out of Ford’s hold but Ford just hums and hugs him tighter, his forehead pressing against the man’s shoulder.

Stan promptly gives up on getting free (because he knows from experience once Ford starts clinging it’s all over). Instead, he addresses the younger twins with an air of confusion.

“What are you gremlins going on about? Finish what?”

“Your song, silly!” Mabel chirps.

Dipper nods, his smirk matching his sister’s. “Yeah, you didn’t sing the entire thing. Or even do the dance! That was a pretty lackluster performance if you ask me.”

Stan’s face draws up in horror. “Oh, no.”

Ford leans back, but doesn’t detach himself from their interwoven limbs. Giving Stan another dose of shame, as Mabel put it, sounds thrilling right about now.

“You know, they do have a point,” he says, pretending to mull it over. He can’t stop grinning. “I’d love to see the most recent rendition of the Stan Wrong Song, from start to finish. Wouldn’t you, kids?”

“Abso-lutely!” Mabel almost screams. “I’ll have to go get my camera!”

Dipper nods, a hand on his chin. “Oh, yes, yes. Gotta have it.”

“You are the worst,” Stan hisses, his entire face matching the color of Ford’s sweater.

Ford laughs for the millionth time that day, his body feeling lighter than air.

——————————————————–

After that, they make him sing it a total of seven times before finally giving mercy. Stan swears he’s never going to do anything super dangerous again until he does two days later. Then the whole process repeats. LMAO

I can never get enough of Pines family fluff it makes me weak in the knees and oh so happy

[angrylizardjacket]

any time {Brian May}

@brianandthemays​ asked: Hello! I’m having a rough week and I absolutely love your imagines! So I was wondering if I could get a fluffy piece with Brian where the reader is sad/disappointed and he comforts her. Thank you!!

A/N: 1343 words. This is for me, @hysterical-qween, @brianandthemays​ who requested it, and everyone else who wants Brian to hug and tell them it’s. I hope it’s okay, I literally fell asleep twice at my computer because I started writing it at midnight. Anyways it’s 4am, good night, I hope tomorrow is better.

It’s Saturday, or it was Saturday like half an hour ago, but you’ve been staring at the TV playing some b-grade raunchy action movie too explicit for the hours regular people keep, and your hands are shaking. You’ve been home for what feels like ten minutes, but is closer to two and a half hours, and there’s a weight in your chest that won’t go away, an overwhelming- sadness? Disillusionment? Anxiety? Distress? You can’t quite put your finger on it.

“Hello?” When Brian answers the phone, he sounds groggy and annoyed.

“Hey, sorry it’s so late.” There’s a slight shake in your voice and his tone shifts immediately. 

“Darling, is that you? It’s almost one, what’s wrong?” He’s so gentle, so concerned, and there’s a hollow feeling in your chest that the sound of his voice goes a ways to healing.

“I-” Your words catch in your throat, and maybe it’s that you can hear him but he’s not there with you; you feel touch starved, needy and unashamed to want him with you. “I’m so sorry,” you start, and you can feel tears already stinging your eyes as you speak, “can I ask you a huge favour?”

“Anything, anything.” He assured, you ,and you sniffled loudly. “You know what, I’m coming over.” He preempts your request, taking the words right out of your mouth, and the tears begin to fall.

“Thank you.” You manage, and you can’t move, muscles wound tight with anxiety and sadness, holding the phone to your ear.

“I love you; I’ll be there soon.” 

In between breaths you feel like you’re drowning in your own emotions, as though sadness has you in a choke hold. Overwhelmed, you’re lost in the white noise of the television for what feels like an eon, time rushing past, a blur where it had felt like mere heartbeats only minutes before. There’s a knock at your door, and you finally uncurl yourself from your sofa, joints sore where you’ve been in the same position for hours, unmoving, barely feeling. 

Opening the door, you see him there with his sweater on backwards and concern in his eyes. He moves forward, wrapping you up in his arms as your silent sobs become more audible. There, in the doorway, at one in the morning, you’re crying in his arms. That hollow feeling in your chest, the way you’d been aching to just hold him, you can feel it slowly disappearing, and you hold him tighter.

Apologies tumble from you as he guides you back into the apartment, closing the door behind himself, one arm still carefully holding you. You’re sorry it’s so late, that he came over, that you’re just being silly, that-

“Don’t apologise.” He admonishes, sincere. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he moves the two of you into your bedroom, his voice gentle as he assures you; it’s never too late, he’ll always be there, you’re not being silly. He sits you down against the headboard, and you wriggle beneath the covers as he climbs in beside you. 

“If it’s got you this upset, it’s not silly.” When he pulls you close to him, wraps his arm around you and lets you rest your head on his chest, you feel for the first time since you’ve gotten home, that perhaps the whole world wasn’t against you. “Darling, anything that upsets you is never silly.” 

His tone doesn’t leave room for argument, and you know he means it with his whole heart. There’s something unequivocally reassuring about that. Already you can feel your stuttering, distressed heartbeat calming down as you clutch at his sweater.

“I’m sorry-” you start, and he quietly tells you to stop apologising, “I’m just- I don’t know what came over me, I just had a shit time at work and I just-” Pressing your lips together, you can’t even continue, words stuck behind a lump in your throat. Brian doesn’t press you, just rubs his hand up and down your arm in a comforting rhythm, occasionally pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“I’m just stuck in this dead-end job,” you finally spit, working through your sadness to the anger you held towards the situation, “and I have no idea what I’m doing with my life; I feel like I’m never going to achieve anything or do anything meaningful and- Brian I’m so scared, and I feel so useless.” You admitted, pressing your forehead to his chest, trying to take some deep breaths as he rubbed circles into your back.

As soon the words are out, and Brian’s still holding you close, you feel the anxiety disappearing, slow of course, but there’s a gentle peace that begins to fill you now you’ve articulated the thought that had been haunting you. It’s so cathartic, being able to finally admit that, but as soon as you do, you’re filled with an uncertainty, an irrepressible urge to apologise for dumping that all on him. You’re not expecting a response, it’s a lot to hear in one go.

“You’re not useless, darling, even just for the fact that you’ve made so many people smile.” Voice soft, he punctuates it with a kiss to the top of your forehead, and you know if he continues like this then you’re going to cry again, but for a very different reason. “There’s no rush to figure out the over-arching plan for your life, sweetheart, and-” he paused, and when you looked up, eyes red rimmed but heart already growing warm, he’s giving you a curious look; “would you like me to tell you how little anything matters to the universe, or how much you matter to me?” 

“I don’t care, I just need you to tell me it’s going to be okay.” Voice a whisper, you think you can see the moment your words melt his heart. 

“Everything you do is meaningful; every time you speak, everything you do, it all goes to making the world a little bit of a better place,” he continues, even as you try to protest, “I’ve seen you at your worst, dear, believe me, I’d rather spend the rest of my life with them than anyone else at their best. One day the world will see how incredible you are, or even if you see how incredible I think you are.”

“You’re gonna make me cry.” You pouted, but he reached down to pull the duvet further up the both of you, and you snuggled in tighter.

“Sorry, I was trying to stop that.” He half laughed, and you hummed thoughtfully, shifting to a more sitting position so you can rest your cheek on his shoulder.

“Good cry.” You assured him, and he nodded with a laugh of understanding, before you looked up, the movement prompting him to turn, and the two of you shared a sweet kiss. Pulling back, he wiped the tear tracks from your cheeks, smiling so fondly at you that you could feel your heart growing warm, earlier sadness still inching away, leaving much faster when you see him smiling at you like that.

“Thank you, I really needed to hear that.” You tell him, voice gentle. “I really needed you here.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, and you settle back in against him.

“I’ll always be here.” He assures. He starts to quietly recount how captivated he was, seeing you in the audience that first time the two of you had met. It’s one of your favourite stories, and you would never get over the way your breath would catch when he says ‘I’d wanted to see the stars for as long as I could remember, imagine my surprise having you right there in front of me’. As he speaks, you can feel yourself grow tired, with him still gently rubbing your back, his firm heartbeat steady with your head against his chest.

You fall asleep to the sound of him humming a melody you don’t recognise. Years later, you will come to recognise it as the song he writes for you.

[theswiftarmy]

#19 - 6000 Headphones, 12 Mobile Phones, SOO Many Shoes, And An Earworm Inside The Biebs’ Head

What better way to fight a war than with love?  And what better way to rule the world than with love?  Because how do you fight back against love?  How do you?  What’s that lawn sign?  Love trumps hate—Or, what did Taylor say?  Hater’s gonna hate (hate x3), is my math right on that?  How many times does Taylor say the word hate in Shake It Off?  Or, if you live in the south, Gators gonna gait….  Get it?  Because there are gators always walking around in the south and the word gait is another word for how a person walks, although, I don’t know if it can be applied to an alligator walking around because I’m pretty sure they crawl instead of walk.  Although, perhaps one might describe alligators as slithering around like snakes, then again, if you ask a snake, they’ll be like… WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?  Alligators don’t slither, don’t even try to steal my mode of mobility, they saunter, and maybe alligators do saunter about.  But, let’s just pretend alligators gait, because it rhymes with haters gonna hate.  There’s a lot of pretending going on in this story.  Just remember that, play pretend and you’ll follow along just fine.

           Stay with me here for a quick second and a hot minute before I get back to the story—suppose that this Elvis sound were real, obviously it’s not because it’s just a story and not real, remember we’re just playing pretend, unless… it IS real and I’m coincidentally writing fiction about something that DOES happens to be real, I just don’t happen to know that it is real, I suppose there’s always that highly unlikely scenario—but just for a moment, let your imagination run wild and really think about it.  Back in the day when Rock and Roll first came into existence it changed the world, or so I’ve been told, it changed everyone who encountered it, again, not from personal experience, just what I’ve been told, the groove made you move, brought people together in a new and different way.  It’s hard to know what that experience was like if you didn’t live through it, especially since it’s all part of our society and history nowadays.  But, there was a time before it existed when no one even knew something like it could exist, and then ears at the time were infected with infectious melodies that they couldn’t get enough of, they hungered for more of this new and incredible musical genre, of course it wouldn’t be the last time a new genre was created and ears hungered for more.

But an interesting side effect of it all was that it created cultural icons, as the new genres continue to do.  It created idols, you know, like those with the first name of Billy, it created nice days for white weddings, and to start again.  And of course, these days there’s a new Billie in idol town, but I’ll get to why I bring her up later on.

Early rock stars and pop icons became immortalized, living on long after death, they’re gods and goddesses, a new era of decorated war heros or royals, as Lorde so eloquently put it, the weapon of choice a microphone or a guitar, or maybe both, or sometimes a keyboard, or a plethora of other instruments, insert instrument of choice here, maybe even a ukulele!  Mostly, though, early on the rock and roll army was a guitarmy.

These rock gods and goddesses all image and no human being, especially true of those who are no longer with us, the human being may be gone, but the image lives on, and we still look up to those who can sing and dance and gel their hair back in slick new ways.  Fantastic fashion abound, and the preferred weapons around, like I said, musical instruments, maybe some guitars, and guitar solos the ammunition.  Some would argue, not me, but some would say that’s what has gone wrong in our modern society, we mourn the loss of great guitar solos from these songs at the top of the charts.  

Could one correlate a graph with a rise in violence directly inversely correlated with solos in rock music?  Maybe.  But anyone can correlate anything if you tried hard enough, which is the point here, like fictionally connecting modern day Billy Porter in Taylor Swift’s music video for You Need To Calm Down, to back in the day Bill Porter, the sound engineer with the golden ear that recorded with Elvis in The Sixties.  But it does seem as though the guitar solo has been quietly replaced, those wailing solos instead becoming a bank of samples on which most music is now based.  Samples upon samples spliced in and layered over top of loops and mashed together with other samples and loops, but where did the samples originate?  So many musicians use samples in music without knowing anything about their origin.  It’s the wild west of sampling.  Anything that sounds good can be put in a beat or a hook.  And of course top it off with “The Drop”.  Ah yes, The Drop—the silence before a storm of melody, and perhaps that silence is what does it, what makes you anticipate the hook, what makes you addicted to the noise.  It sucks you in, and holds your ears hostage, note after note after note.  Making it so hard to turn the song off, we simply can’t get enough of the stuff.

           Suppose the sound were real though, go all in with suspension of disbelief, and samples upon samples of it were layered into songs you listen to, some of your favorite songs of all time, the ones you can’t get enough of and press repeat again, and again, exposing your ears over and over to the sound… Changing your brainwaves and playing with your mind and emotions… each new track artists put out an even more potent version to pull fans in, the only choice the fans have is to follow, unable to break away from the influence of our favorite icons and idols as we hang on their every word.  I mean, is it so absurd?  We continue to break streaming records, sell out stadiums, and fans are willing to fight for the right for their favorite artist to part ways with a record label, if you were an artist or a band, and in the market for fans, wouldn’t you sign up for it too?  What’s the harm in a little bit of sugar and spice to make everything already nice… Well, even more so, maybe twice or thrice that spice?  

And is it really all that hard to believe?  How many times have you pushed the back button on a song and listened to it again, a third time, a fifth time in a row?  How many times have you done something you wouldn’t normally have done because of a song?  How many times have you turned yourself around because a song changed your mood or mind, or your heart, asked someone to dance, or texted someone you probably wouldn’t have texted because of a tune you heard playing out on the town, or while shopping, or a song playing in a movie or TV show—how many times was just hearing the slightest snippet of a certain song taken as a sign and changed the course of your entire life?  I’m willing to bet more than a few of you out there just raised your hand.

Oak Felder finished making another point, “…but all that is lost to history and now pop stars are using it to control their fans.”

“Lure them in with love.”  Ariana said smiling.  “I mean, it works!”

“This is like, really blowing my mind right now.”  Scooter said.  “This just keeps getting even crazier!  It’s like, be careful what music you listen to because you have no idea what might happen to your mind…”

Scott reminded Scooter.  “And especially in Justin’s case, yeah—because his mind could be wiped if he hears the wrong song while he’s earwormed.”

Oak looked over at Pop, “Well, hold on to your seat, Scooter, because I found something else noteworthy!  We took Ariana’s suggestion to Shazam the sound, and—though I didn’t exactly do that—while we were analyzing it last night I did extract the sonic footprint of it, and Pop here was able to cross reference the footprint against the Shazam database in its entirety.”

“Yeah?”  Scooter responded, bracing for something extremely mind numbing.

“It seems as though Scott’s mystery Porter Pyramid noise, AKA ‘The Elvis Egg’ sound, may be in a lot more music than we thought.  It seems to show up across the Shazam library as small bits and pieces, or as these small pieces of music are more commonly referred to as, samples.”

“Wait, you mean sampling?”  Justin said, sitting again beside Ariana Grande but this time in a small but fun looking and colorfully designed IKEA-esk chair right beside the oversized beanbag chair, since Ariana had already called perpetual fivesies on the bean chair Justin had to find a new seat from the last time the group was in the studio.  Fivesies, for those not in the loop mean you have a claim to your seat after getting up, but that claim lasts for no more and no less than five minutes.  Although some people don’t always adhere to the rule, I won’t name names, but you know who you are.  Was that ten years ago?  Yes.  Am I still bitter?  That was my seat and you know it—Whatever, I’m allowed to be upset, how could anyone reading this possibly know what it’s like to have something that used to be yours suddenly in the possession of someone else.  It was mine, and then all of a sudden someone else is sitting on it, and wouldn’t let me have what was rightfully mine—even after I called fivesies!  It’s frustrating when someone takes something that was yours.  I mean, Taylor gets it, she called Fivesies on her back catalog of recordings and someone else, I won’t name names, totally took it from her.  Sorry, I digress, I’ll get back to the story—I’m in one of those writer’s moods, if you couldn’t tell.

Oak responded very matter-of-factly.  “That’s right Justin, sampling.  You know it as beats, grooves, drum breaks, horn sounds, and guitar riffs, just to name a few examples.  Most listeners have no idea that the original source of the sounds isn’t a direct recording, but a mashed up copy of a copy of a copy, sometimes many times over.”

“So, does that mean there are bad samples in music?” Ariana said swooping in and stealing the response directed at Justin—maybe you should have called fivesies on the convo, Justin.

Scooter scooted into the conversation too, taking some response time as well, being that it was there for the taking, like how Taylor’s masters were, so why not?  Why buy a vowel when you can buy an entire sentence in the form of a question, “What, like, you’re telling me that music is infected?  How?  Is it all music?”

That was three questions Scooter; you were only supposed to have asked one, you only bought one question, not three.

“No, not all music.  Just certain samples—“ Pop Wansel replied very Goldblum-y.  It was his turn to be Jeff.  Everyone gets to be Jeff Goldblum at least once and you can’t call fivesies on being Jeff Goldblum, only Jeff himself can do that.

Oak leaned forward in his Spaceship command chair.  “What’s the most sampled song of all time?  Does anyone know?”

“Umm…”  They all unknowingly blinked their eyes in the same cadence of the Capitol Records light and shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders, Justin’s cats moved their tails back and forth as they sat sleepily on the laps of two humans in the room, I’m not at liberty to disclose which two laps the cats sat upon, but they sat on two laps.  No fivesies were called, cats don’t need fivesies, they just sit wherever they please.

“No one knows the answer?  Well, the year was 1969.  A funk soul band named The Winstons released a single called ‘Color Him Father’.  The B side of that record contained a funked up version of a gospel song named ‘Amen, Brother’.  Now, of course, Color Him Father would win a Grammy for best R and B song after hitting number seven on the Billboard hot 100 charts, but the B side to that record?  Well, no one really paid it much attention for years… Eventually it would become the most sampled drum break in all music, it’s called the ‘Amen Break’.  It was first added to a compilation named Ultimate Breaks and Beats, which was popular with Hip Hop producers and DJs during the early days of Hip Hop.  The breakthrough hit Straight Outta Compton by N.W.A. most likely propelled it into the mainstream, Straight Outta Compton contained a slowed down looped version of the Amen Break in its entirety, although it was used on other songs at the time as well.  I believe the first track to sample it was I Desire by Salt-N-Pepa.  Eventually it was broken apart, spliced up, and bits and piece of it were used in thousands of songs.”

“So, are you saying sampling is bad?”  The lawyer asked, his red pen poised and ready to make a new note on his notepad.

“No.  Oh, of course not.  There are a lot of great songs that contain samples, but as with any tool, or invention, it’s in the way that you use it, like Eric Clapton says.  Same is true with any sign, or symbol, or any product of a culture, or subculture, it’s the way you use it, or more importantly, what meaning becomes attached.  Musically speaking, it’s about what hooks on to those catchy hooks.  Brands are a whole other ballgame and a conversation for another time—Sometimes just by wearing a certain brand, or putting a sticker on the bumper of your car, you can say a lot about what you stand for, without using any words at all.  Without going really deep into the meaning of life, for whatever reason we humans have a way of creating things that represent the good in the world, the bad in the world, and additionally, the indifferent—or one point of view over another—like I said, conversation for another time.  But the meanings shift, something that had absolutely no real meaning can become a symbol of power, or a movement.  A heart symbol could say love, but it could be a declaration of war depending on the context and who sends it to you.  How many individuals took a knee before Colin Kaepernick did?  Did the gesture of taking a knee change in its meaning after Colin did it?  How about when Nike made a deal with Colin, how did that change the meaning of the Nike symbol?  I’m going to let you think about the answers to those questions.  Music, brands, gestures, bumper stickers are simply what they are, but in the context of society and culture in a specific place and time the meaning can be so much more.  Music isn’t just music, it’s so much more.  Every person will tell you his or her personal attachment to any song, and it can be a shared experience, or a singular one.  I’m sure we can all think of a song that takes us back in time, and maybe it’s a memory you share with millions, or an experience only you know about.  Humans have a tendency not to start out making anything to be a symbol of a moment, that usually happens later on, we make things, usually with the best of intentions, but sometimes just because it’s something that we are passionate about, what starts out as innocent, or cool, or just something to do, can become a beacon of hope, in the right hands, or a nightmare down the road should it fall into the wrong hands.  The future of anything can’t be predicted.  Rock and Roll had a start with a small group of musicians who probably didn’t even know it was Rock and Roll at the time, and that it would eventually spread through the entire world.  The Amen Break started with one single drummer Gregory C. Coleman, and later would be used in thousands of songs.”

“And that’s causing this war with the Swifities?  The war with Taylor?”  An Arianator asked.

“We aren’t at war with Taylor…” Oak replied, his tone of voice turning very serious, “We’re at war with an unfortunate scenario.  Taylor isn’t fighting a war because she wants to, she’s fighting it because she needs to.  It’s not her fault, she’s a victim of circumstance... as so many other innocent people on this planet have been and continue to be.”

Scott grabbed his share of the conversation as well, “Trouble’s gonna follow where she goes…”

Oak took it back, “Trouble follows us all, we are all victims of circumstance.  And we’re all fighting wars made of personal battles.  Just some of us more than others.”

“She’s a victim of her own music holding her hostage, like how I’m a victim of this earworm in my head.”  Justin said solemnly.

Ariana turned to Justin sitting beside her, “Since you don’t want to talk about what happened, I may be out of place by saying this, and I hate to have to say this Justin, but if you hadn’t broken up with Selena like twenty times, you might not have her earworm in your head right now.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”  Justin said back.

Ariana stifled a growl of frustration with her hands, turning her attention to Oak instead.  “So we’re fighting to free Taylor from her old masters?  Or specifically, from that egg sound—from samples used… We’re fighting for her, not against her?”  Ariana asked for clarification.  She reached for her phone in her pocket and gave it a squeeze.  With the masters tracks back in Taylor’s hands, she now held the only recording of the easter egg track should they need it.  She decided to keep its existence a secret.  If they found out they may take it from her.  For a minute she felt a rush of power wash over her, like some energy from the past or another dimension was trying to come to her and take over.  The power pulsed through her for a brief moment, chills down her spine, before she was able to push back against whatever it was creating the rush inside her.

“As long as I still get to own her.” Scooter said, “I mean, own her old masters, sorry, that’s what I meant.  A deal is a deal and I bought them fair and square.”

Everyone glowered at Scooter.

“What?  I mean, after this is all over of course.”

Everyone continued to glower.

“Why am I the bad guy in this?”

Flower power was big in the 60s, but in these modern times glower power is where it is at.

“Okay FINE, once this is over I’ll work with her to figure out a way for her to buy back her masters, or something.”

Glower power for the win.

Scooter uncrossed his fingers from behind his back.  You sly devil you.

“The Elvis egg sound isn’t good or bad in itself, just like The Amen Break isn’t good or bad, Rock and Roll and Hip Hop are music, but to paraphrase Clapton, it’s in the way that she’s using it.  See the egg sound in itself makes you feel trippy; Which makes sense, it’s from the 60s.  The Elvis egg sound is from the start of the decade, and the Amen Break is from the end of the decade.  The egg sound makes you feel good.  But, as we’ve come to learn, when it interacts with specific sound samples, such as The Amen Break—that’s when you get… Well, it seems you get side effects.  But those side effects used in a specific manner, like what was done to Justin here, can be used as a weapon—” Oak told them as much as they needed to know.  It’s a bit like when scientists first invented the atom bomb, too much knowledge about something with that much power can be dangerous.  Musical genres have more power and are more influential than anyone could possibly fathom.  “It’s a weapon of war.”  He said plainly.

“That’s where the earworm came from.  You combine specific samples together… and anything is possible.  It can be used to push viral content, or addict and hook fans, or you can disarm your opponents, make them unable to fight back.”  Pop clarified for the ears in the room.  “When you combine new and old samples, things get really tricky.  Take, umm… Old Town Road, for example, that song took off seemingly overnight, but why?”

“Well it obviously took off because of me when I shared it on social media for all my Beliebers.”  Justin said. He tried to sing the song and do the dance… “Gonna take my love to the love love road to love love, I needed to lose you to love me… “  He stopped trying and sat there lost inside his head again.

“That’s not quite how it goes, but I’m fascinated by the mashup of music going on in your head.  Does anyone else want to comment on the song, does anyone know the origin of the track used behind the vocals?”  Oak asked.

“Didn’t he just find it online, Soundcloud, or YouTube or something, and then… Lay down his vocals over it?”  One of the Arianators offered.

“No, I think he bought it from a beats site for 30 bucks.  Wait, let me Google it.  Okay, it says here ‘The hook was originally purchased for $30 on BeatStars, a rap-focused beats marketplace.’ That’s cool.”  The other Arianator replied back.

           Oak stepped in, his voice soothing and constructive, “Well, so the original sample in Old Town Road is actually a Nine Inch Nails song named 34 Ghosts IV.  And it was placed over a trap beat and posted online for sale by a Dutch teenager Kiowa Roukema, who also goes by ‘Young Kio’.  Now, when you consider the entire Old Town Road song together in final form you have various tracks recorded at various times and places using various microphones and instruments, and other recording equipment including effects processors and such.  Each individual sound recording and sample was layered on top of one another, even the original sound sample from Nine Inch Nails had already been mastered, yet it was mastered again when it was posted for sale as a beat, and then mastered another time when Lil Nas X posted his version online, then the remix was mastered yet again.  It’s like Scooter said, an omlette of eggs.  If any piece of it contains the egg sound, you have a very complex variation of the original sounds that has been manipulated and mangled many times over with every sub master, the same has happened over the years with The Amen Break.  For all we know the Amen Break could be in that song, as there isn’t a clear source of every sample used to make the trap beat.  It’s a potent mix that when played into someone’s ear can have some very strange effects—”

           “Love love… To love love… I needed to lose you to love me… Dammit Selena!  Get out of my head!”  Justin erupted cutting off the conversation.  “It’s GETTING WORSE!”  He shouted then kneeled down on the floor holding his head between his hands he hummed Selena Gomez’s song Lose You To Love Me, softly at first, then yelled out, “GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”  He started to cry, just for a few tears, before wiping them away and sprawling out on the floor looking up at the ceiling fan.  His tears of anguish continued, flowing from his eyes and running down his cheeks.  “I give up.” He said quietly, his lower lip quivering.  “I can’t stop hearing it.  It’s just there on repeat—over and over again.  I just give up.  I want it to stop.  Make it stop.  I can’t take it anymore!  I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!  SELINA GOMEZ MAKE IT STOP!!!  I WANT OUT OF THIS!  I DON’T WANT YOU IN MY HEAD ANYMORE!!!”

“Oak you gotta help him.  Can’t you do anything?”  Ariana begged rushing to Justin’s side.

           Oak looked over at Pop.  They nodded to one another.  Justin couldn’t wait any longer.

           Pop got up and walked over to a Star Wars movie poster on the wall.  He turned around and held his hand out, Oak tossed the replica light saber at him, Pop caught it without flinching and then stood in front of the poster mimicking the stance of Skywalker.

           The poster began to roll up revealing a door.

           “No way!”  Scooter gasped.  “What the?”

           Oak smiled.  “Shall we?”

           Ariana helped Justin up and walked with him.  Her two Arianators rushed over to help carry him.

           Everyone walked over to the doorway previously hidden behind the poster and one by one they walked through it.

           The doorway led into a passageway that resembled the engine room of a spaceship—It was something out of every movie you’ve ever seen that takes place in space.  Hidden LED lights glowed spreading a soft even light, a blue hue that matched a humming sound, the engines of the spaceship.

           Oak Felder and Pop Wansel piloted the crew through the copious amount of twists and turns.  Several times forks in the tunnel shot off to the left or right of them.

           “How much money did it cost you to build this?”  The lawyer asked at one point.  Oak didn’t answer until they reached their final destination.

           “I didn’t build it for me, it was initially my wife’s extended shoe closet for shoe’s she refused to throw out, even though she knew she would never wear them again.”

           Scooter laughed.  “My wife would be jealous, her shoe collection is taking over the house!  I used to think ‘why would you keep shoes if you’re never going to wear them again?’  Ah, I was so young and naive.  I know better now.  But why?  Why so many shoes!”

Ariana responded “It’s just a thing.  It’s like keeping photos, memories of the past.  Also, you never know, there MIGHT be an occasion when you need that EXACT shoe!  And then if you had previously owned that pair and thrown them out you’d be kicking yourself.  Also, if you can afford that many shoes, why not spoil yourself? Whoever said money can't solve your problems, must not have had enough money to solve 'em, they say, ‘Which one?’ I say, ‘Nah, I want all of 'em’, happiness is the same price as red-bottoms.”

Oak stopped the group at a large door.  The door glowed amber around the edges outlining its silhouette.  He pulled out a key.  He inserted the key and turned the key clockwise.  While still holding the key in its turned position he pressed a large button, the first few seconds of a song began to play then it stopped.  He named the artist and the song.  Another song played, then stopped, again he named the artist and the song speaking out loud towards the door.  This continued for three more songs, after which a sixth and final song played for a little longer than the first five.  It played long enough for a few song lyrics to be heard before stopping, he continued singing the next line picking up where the song left off.

A small display beside the key and button read, “You win this round of trivia tunes!”

With that the door opened.

“SO that’s how you’re soo good at the audio round when we go to trivia night.”  Ariana said jokingly.

“You got me.”

With that Oak ushered everyone through the door.

“Whoa!” Scott shouted out after the motion sensor lights turned from a low amber glow to a bright and cheerful yellow, fully illuminating the room.

Half the room was filled with rows upon rows of headphones—All different kinds, vintage, modern, big clunky over ear headphones, sleek new sport Bluetooth ear buds that slipped inside the ear, every different type anyone could possibly imagine, there were thousands upon thousands of headphones, the collection seemed to go on forever, endlessly.  The other half of the room was filled with an equal amount of shoes, which also seemed to go on forever.

“Yeah, my wife really likes shoes.  What’s that phrase?  Happy wife, happy life.  All those songwriter royalty checks mostly go to two things, new toys for the studio, and my wife.”

“Oak, I was saying whoa about the headphone collection, but the shoe collection is equally as impressive as well.” Scott scanned the room with his eyes. “How many headphones are in here Oak?”  Scott asked out of curiosity.

“Hmm, I’d say at least six thousand.  I’ve lost count.”

“Six thousand headphones!”

“I had more, but my wife made me get rid of some to make space to move more shoes in.”  He shrugged as if to silently say, what are you gonna do about it?  Nothing.  “Okay, let’s see what we can do for Justin.”

Oak held his finger in the air and wiggled it towards him indicating for the group to follow.  They walked down a few rows of headphones as though they were walking through the aisles in a headphone only thrift shop.  Headphones clung neatly to hooks as low as a few inches off the floor all the way to the ceiling three stories up.  Ladders like one might find in an old bookstore ran along the shelves for access to the upper levels.

Oak picked up one pair and handed the headphones to Justin.  They were super vintage, 70s or 80s maybe? Well worn, large and clunky.  He plugged the audio cable into the same device he had used to diagnose the earworm playing a sound through the headphones.  “How about that?”

Justin stood for a minute with the headphones on his head then shook his head no indicating that the worm was stronger than ever.  Taking the headphones off he handed them back to Oak.  They walked a to the end of an aisle then down another, “AH HAH!”  He took another pair off a hook.  This time the pair was Bluetooth capable modern and flashy, customizable and comfortable with an over the ear fit.  He carefully placed the headphones over Justin’s ears and tapped on the digital touch screen of the earworm device after syncing the Bluetooth connection. He cycled through various settings.

“Anything yet?”

“No.  I don’t think so.”  Justin shook his head, and then shifted the headphones to fit better.  Oak continued to tap through various settings.

“Wait!”  Justin smiled slightly.  “Go back!”

Oak tapped the screen again.

“There!  I mean, I can still hear it slightly, but it’s barely even noticeable just soft background music.  I can deal with it like this.  Whatever these headphones do, keep doing it.”

Oak searched for the right response, “Umm, well it’s complicated science, let’s just say they’re emitting a phase cancelation noise that is close to what the earworm sound is.”

“Works for me!”  Justin said in an upbeat voice.

Ariana high fived Oak and then low fived Justin.

           Just then the lawyer’s phone rang.  He walked away for privacy.  “Uh huh… Oh, interesting…”

           “That’s not good.”  Scott said staring at the lawyer.

           “How do you know?”  Scooter asked.

           Scott shook his head.  “He only says ‘oh, interesting…’ when it’s something bad.  He’ll never say anything is bad, just ‘interesting’.”

           “How does he get cell service down here?”  Oak asked.  “Even I don’t get cell service!”

           “With him, it’s better not to question such things, just accepted it.”  Scott replied.

           “Okay then.”  Oak said, backing off the subject.

           After the call ended Carl, the lawyer walked back over to the group.

“What is it?” Scott asked.

“Just got off the phone with… Well, I’m not at liberty to disclose who the caller was… but let’s just say they had an interesting piece of information.”

“And that information is?”  Scott said in a coaxing voice.

“Taylor is going to place the porter egg sound behind her song Lover during her performance tonight at the American Music Awards, she’s using the string arrangement as a guise.”

“She can’t do that, we have to stop that!”  Scooter screamed out.  The room fell silent aside from the humming of a few air ventilation fans.

“There may be a way.” Oak finally said, breaking the silence.  “It would require getting two specific individuals to join with us—we’ll need someone on the inside who can get access to the equipment in order to swap the sound a second time with a placebo track, and we need someone to interrupt Taylor Swift right before her speech, long enough to swap out that backing track she’s going to play during Lover.”

“I can think of two people who might be perfect.” Justin’s spirits were picking back up, he seemed to be closer to his old self and less distant.

“Who?”  Scott asked.

“Well, the insider will already be there… Billie Eilish.  We’ve been chill ever since Coachella, you remember, Ariana,” Ariana nodded, how could she forget Coachella.  Justin continued, “and of course more recently she let me record a vocal track on another version of her ‘Bad Guy’ single.  I’m pretty sure she hasn’t made an alliance with Taylor yet.  I know, I KNOW, I was wrong about Ed Sheeran, but I think we can trust Billie.”

“Okay, that would work.  What about the other person?  We need someone to interrupt Taylor before the song, we need someone who has experience, who can get it right, we’ll only get one shot at this…”

They glanced at each other, not saying a word.

Scooter smiled, “Anyone else thinking what I’m thinking?  There’s only one person with the skill and experience to interrupt Taylor Swift at precisely the right moment.”

“KANYE WEST!”  Everyone yelled together.

The helicopter blades spun up as the group climbed through the open doors.  Scott told his ‘Where we’re going we don’t need roads, because we’re in a helicopter!’ joke again.  Oak laughed.

“See, Oak gets my humor.”  Scott said, satisfied that his joke was finally a hit.

Sushi and Tuna could be seen sitting in a window of the house looking out.  They were to stay at the spaceship studio in the care of the Defenders just in case Taylor tried to make any further kitty cat kidnapping attempts.

Pop was the last to climb on board, a Defender handed him a large black duffle bag after he was safely inside the helicopter.  He then handed the bag to Oak.  Oak unzipped the bag to make sure the contents were all there, enough gold headphone cases for each one of them.  He passed the cases out.  “Don’t lose these.”  Oak instructed them.  “There’s a set of over ear Beats by Dre headphones, special grade custom made Solo Pro with Active Noise Cancelling technology.  They’re linked with an integrated communication system so we can communicate with each other.  Works up to five miles away in a mesh network, so as long as each one of us is within at least five miles of another person, we can all talk.  Battery runs off kinetic energy, as long as you’re breathing, the headphones will work.  Unfold them to turn on, fold them to turn off.  There’s one mode for active cancelation with communication and another pre programed mode matching Justin’s frequency in case you get earwormed.  We don’t know if they have one strain of the Gomez earworm, or multiple, but right now, it’s the best we have.  This does mean Justin won’t have communication with us through the headphones, someone’s going to have to stay with him should the need arise for us to use these.”

“What are these little ones?” Scooter asked picking a smaller set of ear buds from perfectly cut-to-shape spaces within the foam.  They sat snuggly inside the case beside the Beats Solo Pro headphones.

“Lookalike AirPods—although, they aren’t Apple, Taylor’s been handing out some kind of custom set to her Swifties, they call them SwiftPods.  These will work in a pinch to protect you from both the Swift sound, and possible exposure to an earworm, but they contain no communication and it’s hard to hear anyone trying to talk to you, the noise cancelation is complete and contains no filters.  They basically work like earplugs, but they look like SwiftPods so you won’t blow your cover in close proximity to a Swiftie.”

“We won’t be needing these,” Ariana grabbed Scooter’s case out of his hands and handed it back along with her own case.  “Can you drop Scooter and I off at LAX before we stop at Kanye’s house?  My private jet is waiting—we’ve got a show to make…”  She looked over at Scooter disapprovingly.

“Better do as she asks.”  Scooter said to everyone.

“But that’s out of the way!”  Scott exclaimed.  Ariana stared at him, her eyes piercing through him.  He quickly backtracked,  “Yeah, we can do that.  Sure thing, not a problem Ms. Grande.”  Scott said to her after looking to the lawyer and getting a nod of approval from the lawyer.

           “Will you two be alright out there?”  Oak asked.

           Scooter shrugged.

           “We’ll be fine.”  Ariana said in a decisively powerful tone.  “My Arianators will protect us from any Swifties if they try anything tricky, it’s Justin that you need to look out for, they’ve already used him twice in this war game, first with the kittynapping and then the earworm weapon, they’re likely to strike again to get to Scooter.”

           The helicopter lifted into the air headed first for LAX and then to Kanye West’s house.

[1dcraftawards]

MARCH AOM

Hello everyone! It is time to reveal who our author of the month is! They will be revealed below along with an interview we conducted with them! Hope you enjoy x

-1D Craft Awards Team

And our March Author of the Month is.....

@marisa-writes​!!!

Questions:

1. Did you start writing fanfiction for One Direction, or was there another fandom that you wrote fanfiction for before this?

Before I found my way to One Direction fanfiction, I wrote Jonas Brothers fanfiction for a few years and I loved it immensely! I wouldn’t still be writing fic to this day if not for the relationships I built in that fandom, and the love I received both from my readers and my writing friends. I’ve been sharing my writing online for about ten years now, which is crazy to me. It was my connection to people I met through JBFA that led me to eventually make my way to 1DFF, though I was a very casual reader and not a writer in the beginning. I was also a casual fan of 1D at the time, definitely into their music but not planning to dive in much beyond that. Oh, how the tables have turned...

2. How old were you when you started writing fanfiction?

In 6th grade, my friends and I used to share the joy of writing this fake gossip column between us in which we were the members of this epic girl band. We would write about all of our exploits in the band and in our fictional personal lives, where we were  - obviously - dating famous people, like members of ‘N Sync and the Backstreet Boys. In 7th grade, I wrote pages and pages of stories on loose-leaf paper about myself and my friends and threw in my celebrity crush of the moment as a love interest, so I suppose those stories were my first attempts at writing fanfiction.

This was in the early 2000s, so I didn’t really know my way around finding fanfics on the internet until a couple of years later, but aside from these self-insert stories, the first piece of fanfiction I remember writing with original characters was a Justin Timberlake one I wrote during my freshman year of high school. I kept it in a spiral that I decorated with pictures of Justin and my “face claim” - before face claims had a name - for my original character, Jamie (to show my age, her face claim was Samantha Mumba). I still have that notebook and know exactly where it is. I pull it out every once in a while to remind myself of the journey my writing has taken, because WOW, was that story bad! But I’d never be where I am if I hadn’t written it!

3. What’s been your favorite fic you’ve written to work on so far?

What a terrible question. Asking me to choose between my stories is a lot like asking me to choose between my non-existent children!

I have thoroughly enjoyed writing all of the projects I’ve shared so far, but the summer that I wrote the sangria series was like magic. Teyana and Niall came out of a couple days’ worth of me listening to one of my favorite R&B artists, Jon B., on repeat, and after one lengthy one-shot in which I’d put a lot of thought into their back-story as well as the one I was telling in that particular piece, I was a goner for them. While writing that series, I was an endless well of inspiration and I enjoyed creating those characters and spending so much time in their world.

The Different Strokes series has been the gift that keeps on giving for a few years now, and the joy that’s come from showcasing Liam and Georgia’s love for one another as their family grows has pleased me immensely.

I also feel very similarly about one of my one-shots, goodnight, good morning. Creatively, it was just an absolute joy to write and I can’t help but regard it with fondness whenever I think about it. It came out of left field for me, but my love of the stuck-in-the-elevator trope combined with my love of Liam in nice winter coats made for a piece of writing I am super proud to say I’ve written.

4. Is there a fic that you really wanted to write, but you just never did?

I have a plethora of barely-started fics that just sit taunting me in my Google Docs. The two that haunt me the most are Basketball Jones, an AU in which Liam is a point guard playing on the same university team as my OFC Tionne’s twin brother, Amari, and Roots, in which newly-solo Liam is stoked when presented with the opportunity to work with a legendary soul artist named Maurice Collins to complete his album, but the project ends up getting passed off to Maurice’s daughter Cleo instead. Both stories are the kind you wish would write themselves because you just want them to be out there in the world, you know? But alas, I suppose I have to do the work myself, and I just haven’t been able to get either project to take off just yet.

5. What’s your favorite trope to write?

ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIPS! God, I’m such a sucker for it. I know a lot of people are fans of the build-up and all the angst and heartache and reconciliation that comes with it, but I’m always the one at the end going, “So what’s next?” I love to see what happens past the happy (or sometimes, not-so-happy) ending. There is so much to be told in what happens between a pairing when they’re committed and figuring out how to be together, and I adore being able to showcase that, especially because it’s not something you see as often as other tropes in fic.

6. What’s your ideal space to write in?

I like writing in my room. It’s quiet, peaceful, my own space. Sometimes I’ll sit on my bed; other times, I like to kick back in my chair in the corner where my lights are hung - my little reading/writing/tv-watching nook - and I’ll prop my feet up on my ottoman and do some writing with a nice cup of tea. I like to be as relaxed as possible, so I can really let my mind wade through all the lines of dialogue and scenes that I want to write.

7. What inspires you to write?

All sorts of things. For many years, it was music. I used to require music playing when I wrote, but I write in silence more often than not now. Still, music is a heavy inspiration for me - there are stories to find even in the songs that don’t seem like, lyrically, they’d provide any. But the mind is a powerful thing, and so is music, and when the two work together, magic tends to happen.

I also find inspiration in the world around me, and in the things I read. I’m a big fan of studying how people interact with one another. Relationships - familial, platonic, or romantic - are fascinating to me, and I love to write about how people react to the others around them, or the environment around them. I believe certain people and places come into your life exactly when they’re meant to for reasons you may or may not understand at the time, but they’re always important in your journey, and I love to write about that.

As a black woman, having the opportunity to continuously write about black women is also a huge inspiration for me, which is something you’ll notice in looking at the original female characters I write. One of my favorite authors, Alyssa Cole, is a black woman who has written both historical and contemporary romances, and she floors me with every piece of hers that I read because the diversity she includes in every story is encompassing and feels effortless. She paints a picture of what our diverse world looks like or has looked like in the past with every novel or novella she writes, and she inspires me to use my words to share stories that feature black women of all shapes, sizes, and backgrounds at the center because it’s important to me to see incredible black women having their stories told. Alyssa’s diversity doesn’t stop at just black characters, either, which is even more marvelous to me. She’s a force to be reckoned with, and I always joke that I want to be her when I grow up, but let’s be real, I’m not joking.

8. Do you typically like to listen to music when you write? If so, what do you listen to?

I inadvertently just answered this question! Back in my must-listen-to-music days, I would put Jason Reeves’ The Magnificent Adventures of Heartache (And Other Frightening Tales…) on repeat. That album in itself tells a story from start to finish of falling in love, being in love, getting your heart broken, and starting over, and there was something in the magic of Jason’s lyrics and musicality that used to wring endless sparks of inspiration from me. Whenever I felt stuck, I would turn that album on and the words would flow. Nowadays, I tend to find comfort in the quiet, but if a particular song or collection of songs has inspired something I’ve written, like Jon B. did with sangria on your lips, or SoMo’s “For You” did with the one-shot of the same name, I’ll listen to whatever’s inspiring me on repeat.

9. Do you have any plans for any future fic ideas you’d like to pursue?

Nothing confirmed at the moment! If I could get those fics I have haunting me in my Google Docs to wander past small blurbs and vague plot ideas, that’d be wonderful. I’ll write fanfiction in this fandom as long as I’m inspired.

10. Do you have any advice for other writers in the fandom?

WRITE. FOR. YOU. Look at that again, read it over and over until it’s ingrained deep in your mind and heart. Don’t write with the goal in mind to gain ‘x’ number of readers, and don’t write to measure up to anyone else. We as writers are our own worst critics and conspiracy theorists, and we will come up with a hundred different reasons to stop writing when we’re discouraged or frustrated, or compare ourselves to others and consider them leagues above us. It is so easy to talk ourselves in circles of why we should quit because of whatever reasons we’ve decided on in that precise moment, but you know what? If you write, you started for a reason. It gave you feelings you’d never experienced before and wanted to chase so hard that they drove you to write something that came from your mind, your heart, your fingertips. Do you realize how extraordinary that is?

Nothing you write will ever mean much if you don’t write it for you. You can’t love to do this and pour your heart into your words if they aren’t ones that mean something to you. You are never going to please everyone that reads your writing, which is often a hard truth to swallow because we just want to be liked, and you will be by some! But it’s important that you write something you’ll be proud to attach your name to, because someone is going to be very pleased with it, but most importantly, you will be pleased with it. We grow and change as writers and so does our level of work, but looking back and cringing because maturity has made us better writers is not the same as looking back and cringing because what we wrote doesn’t reflect who we’ve been at any stage. Write to satisfy yourself at whatever place in life you’re in. No regrets when you look back.

11. What is your writing process like?

It very much depends on the project! One-shots are my bread and butter, and those are often things I can write in a breeze when I’m inspired. My one-shots are usually the lengthy type, more of a short-story packed into a smaller package, so writing them tends to go smoothest for me.

For my chaptered projects, or the ones that started as one-shots and turned into stories or series, it’s a slower process for me. I always have a general plot line and specific important moments in mind, but I’m not the outlining type at all - feels too stifling for me, and I like the freedom to adjust certain plot points when the process serves. If I’m full of inspiration and my life allows me the freedom to sit down and write away, I will! I’ve recently moved myself out of a life situation that was taking a lot of that creativity and peace of mind away from me, and I’m hoping to find my way back to some sort of constant stream of inspiration soon.

Author Specific:

1. Why would you say you’re more attuned to writing Liam and Niall out of all the boys? Would you ever write for Harry / Louis / Zayn?

Liam is the whole reason I wound up in this lovely mess. I became a fan of 1D’s music from the first album, but genuinely had no intention of going beyond that in terms of interest. I’d recently exited the Jonas Brothers fandom as a whole because the cattiness and pettiness of some fans was absolutely exhausting and I needed a break from fandom for a good while (or so I thought, as I eventually found myself neck-deep in the Big Time Rush fandom). Around 2013, though, Liam’s vocals, smile, and stage presence had me slowly turning into the eye emoji. And those who have known me for quite a while can probably recall the night in 2015 where I drank a lot of wine and looked at a lot of pictures of him on Tumblr and became a complete goner.

It took me a little bit to start writing about him, however. I’d been reading some 1D fic because a dear friend I’d met through JBFA had moved to writing 1D fic and I once told her I’d read Magic School Bus fanfiction if she wrote it, so I obviously followed her to 1DFF. As I became more interested in Liam, I started reading some Liam fics, trying to get a hang on his personality because at the time I wrote mainly OU and I love finding that authenticity. I also wanted to get a feel for writing characters who weren’t American, like I am. Eventually, I came up with some ideas, decided to get my feet wet, and started writing. I would say I’m attuned to writing Liam because in learning about him, I connected with him. I adore him as a person and an artist, and hardly anyone writes about him these days (which breaks my heart), so I continue to because he makes me happy and we could all use a little more Liam-centric stories in our lives.

As for Niall, I was blown away by the leaps and bounds of the growth of his vocal talent on Made in the A.M. He really shined on those songs for me, and when his solo career started rolling, I was mesmerized by the way he was going about it. Very deliberate with his choices, taking his time, warming everyone up to the magic he’d been possessing for years. I was floored by his magnetism both as a person and an artist, and it drew me to write about him. While it was completely unexpected because I’d been gone for Liam for quite some time, I don’t regret a single minute of it.

I would absolutely write for Harry, Zayn, or Louis if a story idea struck me. I actually started a Harry story that I stalled with big time because I scared myself out of confidence with the massiveness of writing a story with supernatural elements, but hey, maybe someday!

2. What is one moment from “Regarding Our Ghosts” that you never got to write but want to?

ROG, my OG baby! I’m unbelievably heartbroken that I haven’t been able to finish that fic, because it was a passion project, but it always holds such a solid place in my heart.

In the story, Liam and Lissie were meant to travel home to the UK to visit family for the winter holidays, while Nina and Macy went to see her mother, Noreen, for a few days around Christmas. Over the course of their time apart, I wanted to show how integrated their lives had started to become, with Lissie insisting that she and Liam buy presents for Macy and Nina to give when they returned, and Noreen inquiring after the father-and-daughter pair that Macy couldn’t stop talking about during their visit.

Once Liam returned, he was to drop by Nina’s to catch up with her and see if she needed some help with shoveling snow from the drive. There was a moment in which they laughed and joked and Liam’s laughter made Nina realize how much she’d missed him and it absolutely terrified her because she didn’t have the capacity to put a name to that feeling just yet. There’s a little snippet I wrote on an index card at the place where I used to tutor because it struck me mid-lesson, and I carried that index card in my wallet for years. It went:

He laughs, and oh—oh. His laugh. She missed his laugh. She missed this. She missed Liam.

The feeling settles low in the pit of her stomach, goopy and sweet, and she doesn’t know what to make of it. In her mind, there are little compartments where she sorts out her thoughts and emotions, and as she tries to sort this—that she missed Liam—she can’t. She doesn’t know where to put it.

So she lets it churn in her gut, thickening like a rue, until she can make up her mind.

It was such an important moment for them - a turning point, for Nina at least, realizing that this man she and her daughter had come to rely on in certain ways could be more than just a friend to her. That her feelings could be stronger, and she could maybe feel something for someone again after convincing herself she’d be happy alone if that’s what was meant for her.

Man, I miss that story something fierce, but it stays with me every day.

3. What is one thing you wish you would’ve known before you started writing 1d fic?

That I would get in this deep. Ha. No, honestly, I’m glad that I didn’t have any expectations going in. That’s the best. You learn as you go. Similar to my time writing Jonas Brothers fic, I’ve built some pretty great friendships that I never would have if I hadn’t started writing 1D fic. I even made connections with people who read my Jonas Brothers fanfics but we’d never spoken until I started reading and writing 1D fic!

I’m grateful for the people this has brought into my life, and the opportunity I’ve had to go into this fandom and spend more time honing my craft and getting to shine a light on people of color in my stories, black women specifically. We are so often missing from fiction and that is true from the fanfiction world to the romance novels I read, but our stories are so important and real and as needed as everyone else’s, so I am excited beyond belief that I’ve been able to create several black female characters that have reached out and touched readers of all kinds. I’ve also been able to connect to other authors of color who, like me, write about people who look and think and live like them, and the sense of being seen as a person of color is overwhelming. I hope to see more of it in the future.

4. Who has been your favorite OFC to write? Why?

I’m gonna cheat a bit here because it’s a three-way toss-up between Georgia, Rolly, and Teyana.

Georgia means the world to me because in my previous fandom, I wrote a lot of white OFCs because that was just...what I saw and experienced, and to be honest, I didn’t really think about it much at first. Writing white characters was the “norm”. After a while, I noticed that in seeking out characters who looked like me, I encountered a lot of storylines that featured racism as a conflict between x Jonas Brother’s family and the OFC. It was hard to find stories in which characters were just human beings who happened to be black and faced conflict that had nothing to do with their race. So, I decided to write a story in which that was the case. It opened up my eyes to what I’d been failing to focus on, something that became super important to me the more I reflected on it: seeing black characters represented realistically and in a positive light in fanfiction.

When I eventually came to write 1D fic, I made a very conscious choice to feature black women at the center of my stories, and Georgia was the first. Through her, I was able to show a successful black woman who had started a family with the man she loved, and I was able to showcase little moments of Georgia’s experiences as a black woman that Liam had to learn about, like why she wrapped her hair at night. It sounds like such a small thing, but that was big for me - I couldn’t recall ever seeing that in the writing I’d read thus far, a black woman wrapping her hair at night, so I wrote it. Soon, I had readers coming to me who could relate and said they hadn’t seen it, either. I’ve also had non-black readers who have expressed how much they like the fact that I write about black women, that they enjoy reading stories that focus on people of color. The whole experience has been so moving for me.  It’s made me realize that I am not only doing something I love, but also doing something important.

Rolly Marshall is, in many ways, a reflection of me. I conjured her up when I was a few months into my first year of teaching and overwhelmed, tired, and frustrated beyond belief. She was an escape. I could channel all of the things I loved and dreaded about my job into her and her life, and it was like lifting a weight off my shoulders. Rolly loves her job, like I did, but her experience was one that I created to be more positive than the one I experienced, which has made it both easy and hard to write about her at times. But more than our mutual connection through education, I love Rolly because she feels so genuine to me. She’s awkward and kind-hearted and funny and a good friend to the people in her life. She’s just a good egg. I love her spirit and her humor and that’s a big part of what’s made her such a joy to write. I didn’t expect many people to latch on to her because how many people could really relate to a second grade teacher? To my great surprise, many.

Teyana surprised me with my attachment to her. She and Niall were meant to be a one-time thing, much like Liam and Georgia, but seeing as how those two turned into an eighteen-part thing PLUS a throwback mini-fic, I should’ve known better. It was while I was writing sangria on your lips that I found myself thinking about who Teyana was before she and Niall met. I couldn’t stop thinking about where she came from, building her past. She comes from a single parent home where her father raised her after her mom left. She carries scars from that, from the abandonment she felt when her mom moved on without so much as a single moment to look back. She clung to her Papi and his Cuban culture and grew up with the lessons he instilled in her, including one she taught herself from watching his heart break: that maybe there was no great “one” for her. But that changes when she meets Niall, who challenges everything she thought she could gain from a relationship. He’s truly a partner to her. He has a glimpse into what life is like when your parents aren’t together anymore, so he’s empathetic to what she feels in regards to her mom. He loves her unconditionally. He’s her match, and after years of convincing herself she may never find her match and she’ll be okay with that, Niall is a pleasant surprise, and honestly, he restores her faith in love. She learns she doesn’t need anyone else to make her life complete - her Papi raised her to find that completion all on her own - but having someone to share her life with is a pleasure she’s more than grateful to have.

5. Which one of your fic boys was your favorite to write? Why?

Different Strokes Liam has been my all-time favorite. He’s driven and passionate about his work, completely committed to his family, and there’s a warmth, humor, and sexiness to him that has made him so much fun to write since I began. I love that I can paint him as a complete and utter sop in one piece, a classic romantic in another, and a confident master of seduction in the next. He’s confident and often sure of himself but not immune to insecurities. He’s got different facets, and I love getting to focus on each one at different times as the series shifts.

The Different Strokes series was something that spawned from what was supposed to be a stand-alone one-shot, but I found myself attached to the little family I built for Liam, Georgia, and their son Carter, and my mind expanded upon writing little snippets of them - glimpses of them as Carter grew, as their lives changed, as their family expanded. I am a big fan of established relationships, and I grew so attached to watching Liam mature and change as both a father and a husband. Liam in real life seems to have such a compassionate heart, and before he even became a father, I had a good feeling that he would be a great one and getting to write about him as both a father to his children and a partner to his wife has been such a joy. And with Checkpoints, my mini-fic in the series, I’ve been able to go back to when he and Georgia first met and began seeing each other and it’s been nothing but fun to write!

If not for DS Liam, I wouldn’t have fallen as in love with writing 1D fic as I have, so I am grateful every day for the opportunity I’ve had to expand upon his character and the incredible life he’s built for himself. Writing him has led to writing many other projects that I adore, and I can’t wait to see what’s next for me as a writer.

[chiseler]

Little Devils: 50 Years of Killer Kid Movies

Face it, children are just plain creepy—especially the really cute ones.

Historically—and I’m talking about going back thousands of years—we’ve always been scared to death of the children we’ve spawned. Before they’re born we worry they might be physically deformed or just a little off in the head somehow. And after they’re born and as they start to grow and think and talk, hoo boy, that’s when things really start getting scary, as you start to glean a little something about what’s going on behind those cold, staring eyes. I’m not a parent myself, but having been a kid once I fully understand the panic and fear that can grip parents as they come to better understand their kids. What if they’re no good at sports? What if they start hanging out with a bad crowd and using drugs? What if they get bullied by the other kids and take revenge by shooting up the school? Worse still, what if they decide to bludgeon us to death with a crowbar in our sleep one night? What if they turn out to be the bona fide offspring of Satan himself? What the hell do we do then? Sure, we all pretend to be shocked and dismayed when we hear news stories about some eight-year-old in Kansas or Oregon stabbing the little neighbor girl twenty times for no apparent reason, but let’s be honest—we all know what these pint-sized miscreants are capable of doing, and have simply come to expect it.

As with a few of those other fundamental adult fears, like asteroids, nuclear war, clowns and deadly plagues, over the years our fear of children has led to its own unheralded cinematic subgenre of Killer Kid movies.

While countless slasher films from Halloween onwards feature tykes with butcher knives who grow up to become adults with butcher knives, I’m focusing here on those films in which the snot-nosed killers remain snot-nosed throughout. While I could have included those rambunctious hobo youths from William Wellman’s Wild Boys of the Road (1933), those little back-to-nature wastrels from Lord of the Flies (1963) and the matricidal zombie girl with the trowel from George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (1968), I, um, didn’t. So sue me.

Here’s a quick chronological list of a double handful of notable features about murderous children. It’s interesting to note that as the years pass, the films themselves seem to grow less clever, endearing, original and interesting. Just like kids!

The Bad Seed (1956)

I’ve long been a big fan of that Mervyn LeRoy. As a director, he always understood the darker side of human nature, and had a sly sense of humor about it. In 1931 he directed my two favorite (and two of the bleakest) Edward G. Robinson pictures, Five-Star Final and Two Seconds. Then eight years later he directed The Wizard of Oz. I always like to think (though I’m undoubtedly wrong about this) he intended his 1956 creeper The Bad Seed as a kind of bonk on the head to those audience members who hadn’t recognized the darkness that lay at the heart of The Wizard of Oz.

Okay, Nancy Kelly plays Christine, the nightmare-plagued mother of the world’s most perfect little girl. Not only is blonde, pigtailed and always immaculately dressed Rhoda (Patty McCormack) perfect, the ten-year old knows she’s perfect. As a perfect child, she also knows what she deserves out of life and those around her, and lord help anyone who doesn’t cough it up. As time goes on, Christine  begins to suspect Rhoda may somehow be responsible for the tragic drowning of a classmate who’d recently won an award Rhoda felt she rightly deserved. And if she was responsible for that, maybe she was responsible for all those other weird deaths that have been happening all over town, too. And what the hell’s the deal with that recurring nightmare, anyway?

Although based on a stage play that was itself based on a novel, it was LeRoy’s film that would become the standard reference point and template for so many of the Killer Kid movies down the line, though few would come close to matching it.

Village of the Damned 1960

John Wyndham was a reasonably popular pulp writer in the 1930s. While his crime stories gained him the most attention at the time, these days he’s best remembered for his occasional forays into sci-fi and horror. Day of the Triffids, his end-of-the-world masterpiece about killer plants (a personal phobia) was a major hit when adapted for the big screen, but his cautionary evil kid tale Village of the Damned had a much longer reach after director Wolf Rilla got ahold of it.

Yes, we all know the story: one day everyone living in a small English village falls asleep at the same time for some unknown reason. When they awaken several hours later, all the women of child-bearing age (even the virgins!) find they’re pregnant. Weirder still, they all go into labor at exactly the same time.

Ten years later, all the kids born that day have turned out to be extremely intelligent, blond, beautiful, and emotionless. Snappy dressers though they may be, they’re also arrogant little snots who have no time for adults or other kids, and only hang out with one another all the time. They also seem to share a psychic connection, and there are hints they have some larger purpose in mind. Anyone who tries to interfere with them gets the creepy glowing eyes treatment shortly before unexpectedly committing suicide. George Sanders at the top of his game plays a rational sort who tries to get to the Bottom of what all the hell,

It remains a starkly eerie and atmospheric picture that to this day can still make you want to punch blond British pre-teens right in the face.

The film went on to spawn one lesser sequel (1964’s Children of the Damned), one superior sort-of sequel (Joseph Losey’s 1962 These Are the Damned), a 1995 remake directed by Jon Carpenter, and a Simpsons parody. My favorite bit of cultural impact, however, is that some of your more out-there paranoids have worked Village of the Damned into the Montauk Project conspiracy, claiming beautiful, blond alien/human hybrids were created in the secret government labs in the caves beneath Montauk, Long Island. These Montauk Children, as they’re called, were set out into the world as sleeper agents (though most settled in Denver for some reason), and to this day are awaiting their secret orders from above.

The Twilight Zone: “It’s a Good Life” (1961)

It was included as one of the segments in Twilight Zone: The Movie, but good as that was, there’s just no topping the original. And there’s no topping the original because back in the early Sixties Billy Mumy was the creepiest kid on the planet. Rod Serling clearly recognized this, which is why he kept casting him.

Little Anthony Freemont (Mumy) lives in a pleasant small town where everyone knows him and everyone’s really nice to him. I mean really, really, REALLY nice to him,. And they’re really nice because over time they’ve come to realize that even if he doesn’t opt to simply blink them out of existence if they don’t do what he says, he has the power to make incredibly awful things happen to them. Even thinking bad things about Anthony isn’t such a hot idea. Things aren’t any better in the Freemont household, where his terrified parents (John Larch and Cloris Leachman) have to walk on eggshells out of fear he might do something else to his siblings, or them. )“It’s a…very GOOD thing that you did that…”)

It remains one of the most delightfully wicked and true portraits of just how terrified adults are of kids, and just how sinister kids can be.

Interestingly, Mumy apparently also had this power in real life, later going on to have a big hit with the novelty song, “Fish Heads.”

The Other (1972)

Kids alone are creepy enough, but you get twins to boot, you know you’re in for some bad news. And you get twin boys in a rural town in the 1930s? Holy mackerel, you might as well just pack it in right there and go home. Nothing good is going to come of it.

I don’t know how many times I watched Robert Mulligan’s film (based on the Thomas Tryon novel) on TV in the early Seventies, but it was a lot. Enough that to this day I still remember every shot and every line of dialog., but it still gets under my skin as one of the most effective of the lot.

Real twins Martin and Chris Udvarnoky play Holland and Niles Perry. As with most twins, one is mostly nice and sweet and innocent, while the other, Holland in this case, is the dominant, wickedly mischievous one.. Also like most twins, Niles and Holland share a weird psychic link. But in their case, and under the guidance of their Russian grandmother Eda (Uta Hagen), they can use a special ring to take things one step further. They call it The Game. As in Being John Malkovich, they can actually enter the consciousness of anyone they choose, from a magician in a traveling carnival, to a passing crow, to a corpse.

It’s a Northern Gothic tale complete with dark family secrets, farm accidents, dead babies, emotionally shattered mothers and real freaks. And an evil twin. It unfolds very slowly and quietly, and even though we get the Big Revelation at the halfway point, it doesn’t matter because the story rolls on with a few more twists and surprises left. It’s not shocking or terribly bloody, but extremely unnerving. Featuring an early turn by John Ritter and a Jerry Goldsmith score.

Don’t Look Now (1973)

Nicholas Roeg’s brilliantly shattered, hallucinatory narrative with the shock ending might be a loose fit here, but it had such an influence on other sort of Killer Kid movies (like David Cronenberg’s The Brood) it deserves mention.

The great Donald Sutherland was rarely better than he was here as John, an architect whose young daughter recently drowned near the family  home in England. He takes a job in Venice, thinking a few months away from home might be just the thing to help him and his wife cope. Shortly after they arrive, however, they encounter a blind psychic in a restaurant who tells them their daughter’s spirit is around, and seems happy. Being the slide Rule sort, John is less willing than his wife to accept this at face value. At least until he starts having recurring visions of what seems to be his daughter all over Venice. Dresses like her, anyway. He becomes a little obsessed with that little girl in the red cloak who may or may not be his daughter. Who cares if she might have something to do with that whole nasty string of brutal stabbings around the city?

The less said about it at this point, the better (and easier, to be honest). Almost 45 years on now, it still works, that ending still gets me, and there’s nothing else like it.    

It’s Alive! (1974)

People might cite Rosemary’s Baby as the be-all and end-all of films about pre-natal anxiety, but think about it. Sure, she gave birth to the Antichrist, but she has a good support network right there in the building, and if she treats him right, she’s set for life. No, for my money Larry Cohen’s breakthrough monstrous infant hint trumps them all, beginning with one of the most unsettling ad campaigns of the Seventies.

Funny thing is, though it’s remembered as a film about a baby with fangs and claws who slaughters all the doctors in the delivery room before escaping to go on a killing spree around town, if you go look at it again now you realize that’s only a minor subplot. It’s also a conspiracy film about government scientists using unwitting citizens as guinea pigs. Above all else, though, it’s an indictment of the mass media, which has the power to destroy the lives and reputations of innocent people on a whim, in this case the Davis family. And damn but that John P. Ryan is great as the horrified and disbelieving father who finds himself and his wife being publicly blamed (as is So often the case) for giving birth to a kid who isn’t quite right.

Much smarter and more subtle than most would give it credit for, It’s Alive ! Is loaded with Frankenstein references, and went on to spawn two equally good (and very different) sequels. To this day I will not put my face or fingers anywhere near a baby’s mouth.

Devil Times Five (1974)

The early to mid Seventies were mighty good years for Leif Garret. Not only was his picture plastered all over every teeny-bopper magazine in the country month after month, he was also scoring supporting roles in huge drive-in hits like Macon County Line and Walking Tall. Let’s just say considering his squeaky-clean image, Devil Times Five (aka Peopletoys) was a departure.

Garret plays one of five kids traveling on a bus which crashes in the mountains during a snowstorm. With the driver dead and not knowing what else to do, the five youngsters take refuge in a nearby resort.

It eventually comes out the bus was actually delivering the kids to an institution for the criminally insane, as they’re all kookoo bananas and extremely violent. There were hints of this beforehand, as per the standard asylum movie cliche, each nutty kid has a telltale tic—this one thinks she’s a nun, the black kid thinks he’s in the military. etc. But it’s all just mild comic relief until they pick up the knives.

Well, before you can say “Mr. Green Jeans,” they begin slaughtering everyone at the resort in a variety of hilarious ways, and occasionally in slow motion.

Unlike other Killer Kid movies which try to explain away antisocial behavior by blaming it on assorted external forces (government scientists, radiation, aliens, Satan, or an eclipse), these kids are just plain old evil by nature, and that’s all there is to it.

It wasn’t a big hit, it didn’t do much to propel Garret into leading roles, but today it’s earned itself solid cult status as a pre-slasher grind house number. And what’s not to love about the ol’ “piranhas in the bathtub” gag?

The Omen (1976)

In the Seventies and Eighties, a number of once-huge stars—Ray Milland, Richard Widmark, Henry Fonda, Rory Calhoun, Ida Lupino, George C. Scott and, in this case Gregory Peck—found themselves making genre pictures simply because that was all that was available to them. Granted, The Omen was a few cuts above The Devil’s Rain and Tentacles, but still.

Okay, regardless what the producers and screenwriter David Seltzer may claim about the franchise’s origins, the original trilogy of Omen films was lifted wholesale from “The Devil’s Platform” episode of Kolchak: The Night Stalker.

Be that as it may, when you get a cast like this, a smart director like Richard Donner, a simply astonishing score by Jerry Goldsmith, some diabolical camera trickery and editing, wonderful practical effects (Lee Remick’s fall from the balcony kept me going for years), and a story about a smiling, (mostly cheerful 3-year-old Son of Satan wandering around England leaving a trail of beheadings, impaled priests, seriously pissed off baboons and hanged nannies  in his wake, how can you go wrong? Even if the script itself is absurdly silly.

In an interesting postscript, like so many other child actors deeply associated with high-profile horror films of the era—think Danny Lloyd from The Shining—Harvey Stephens (who as Damien spoke, what, five words onscreen?) would not appear in another film for the next four decades. And even then he hasn’t been in much, though he did have a cameo as a reporter in the remake of, yes, The Omen a few years back.

Alice Sweet Alice (1976)

I dare you to show me one worthwhile horror film about Presbyterians. No, as far as religious sects go, Catholics have it all over everyone when it comes to horror. You got your robes, your chanting, your weird rituals, your transmutation, your Inquisition, your fetishism, your magic relics, your ghostly visions, oh, it just goes on and on. The Catholic Church is just one big horror show, top to bottom. As a result, Catholicism lay at the heart of countless horror films, and Alice, Sweet Alice is among the best.

The tagline read, “If you survive this night, nothing will ever scare you again,” which may or may not have been a reference to the fact this was Brooke Shields’ film debut. Shields plays 10-year—old Karen, the cute, quiet, polite and well-dressed younger sister of that moody, smart-mouthed and generally ornery Alice (Paula Sheppard), who likes to pull nasty pranks and doesn’t dress nearly as well as her sister. Everyone from  the neighbors to their own parents to the local priest adores Karen and showers her with gifts, while they just wish Alice would go away. She clearly needs to see a shrink or something. So when Karen is brutally stabbed to death outside the church on the morning of her first communion and Alice is found with Karen’s veil in her pocket, well, there you go. And then when a whole bunch of other people around town somehow connected with Alice end up all stabbed to death as well, well, there you go again. I mean, she just looks like someone who could do something like that, right?

Alice, Sweet Alice is an American Giallo, so the less said about the story the better. For having such a tiny budget, the visuals are rich and gorgeous, filled with Catholic imagery and ritual throughout, featuring a cast of wholly unlikable characters you honestly don’t mind seeing stabbed to death (especially that Little Miss Perfect Karen). The one standout is Alphonso DeNoble as the crass, sleazy, filthy and morbidly obese landlord Mr. Alphonso. DeNoble has a terrifying charisma, which may have come from being a bouncer at a gay nightclub in Jersey in real life.

Yes, the film owes quite a bit, and blatantly so, to Roeg’s Don’t Look Now, but aimed at a more lowbrow mainstream audience. It’s a bloody, nasty little shocker still held dear by thousands of disaffected girls who survived Catholic school.

The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane (1976)

1976 was not only a busy year for Killer Kid films, it was also  the busiest year of Jodie Foster’s career, during which she appeared in half a dozen films ranging from Taxi Driver to, well, this, a film she and other cast and crew members would bad mouth down the line. In retrospect, it’s not really as bad as all that.

A 13-year-old Foster plays 13-year-old Rynn Jacobs, a precocious girl who may or may not be living alone in a rented house in a secluded section of a small, affluent seaside town. Her rich, nosy and suspicious landlady keeps barging in uninvited to ask too many questions, the landlady’s perv of a son (Martin Sheen) keeps putting the moves on her, a local cop is endlessly curious but nice enough, and a gimpy teenage magician from the area knows the score. But Rynn is self-sufficient and smart beyond her years. Enough so anyway to dispatch with all those nosy yokels who’d try and pry into her business.

It’s less a horror film than an atmospheric mystery that ties up all the loose ends by the three-quarters mark. Based on a 1974 novel, the claustrophobic stagebound film is mostly forgotten today, but back in ’76 the poster creeped the hell out of me. Certainly more than the film did.

The Children (1980)

Although “creepy bloodthirsty children” seems to be a simple, straightforward notion just bursting with possible storylines, 1980 marked the point at which screenwriters and filmmakers everywhere seemed to run out of ideas, so simply began rehashing those earlier, better films. Case in point is this slight variation on Village of the Damned.

This time around, instead of mysterious alien impregnation, a school bus full of perfectly normal kids drives through a cloud of yellow radioactive fog released from a nearby nuclear power plant. The radiation, it seems, turns all the tykes into shambling, emotionless and murderous zombies. Instead of glowing eyes, the infected kids have black fingernails (which was easier on the fx budget), and instead of psychically driving adults to kill themselves, the mere touch of these evil zombie children can fry any adult to a crisp. With little else to do, the radioactive zombie kids lay siege to their small town as the adults try to figure out just how to handle this. I mean, it was already hard enough trying to get them to go to bed on time.

Oh, derivative as it is, the film does have it’s moments. In fact it includes one scene I must admit I’ve never seen repeated in any other Killer Kid film, in which a group of well-armed adults barricaded inside a house open fire on the army of evil radioactive curtain climbers massing in the front yard. And when the adults finally do figure out how to dispatch the little monsters, well, let’s just say it was unexpectedly gruesome.

The Godsend (1980)

Given the year had already provided a Village of the Damned knockoff, it was apparently time for a Bad Seed knockoff, and an obvious one at that.

A pleasant and kindly British couple, the Marlowes (Malcolm Stoddard and Cyd Hayman) decide to take in a young unmarried pregnant woman even though they already have six kids of their own, telling her she can stay with them until she has the baby.  What nice people those Marlowes are! But wouldn’t you know it? As soon as the ungrateful wench spits out the baby she vanishes without a word, leaving them with a seventh mouth to feed.

Being pleasant people they don’t complain too much, and over time the child grows into a polite and lovely little girl named Bonnie (Wilhelmina Green).

Well, sure enough before you know it all the other Marlowe kids start dropping like flies, and the parents take their own sweet time connecting the dots. I mean, come now people! We all know what happens to the youngest kid in a large family.

Itself based on a less-than-original novel, director Gabrielle Beaumont’s low-budget film plays like a TV movie, and lacks pretty much everything that made The Bad Seed so effective.

Bloody Birthday (1981)

On June 9th, 1970, three women in a small California town give birth during a total solar eclipse (uh-oh!). The resulting three kids—Debbie (Elizabeth Hoy), Curtis (Billy Jacoby) and Steven (Andy Freeman)—understandably share a tight bond, and as their tenth birthday approaches in 1980, plans are underway for a big bash pretty much everyone in town is expected to attend.

In the week before the party, maybe just to trim that guest list down a bit, the trio of little scamps undertakes a killing spree. They bludgeon and strangle a couple of stereotypical slasher film teens making out in a graveyard, beat Debbie’s dad (the local sheriff) to death with a baseball bat, shoot a teacher, and attempt to lock a classmate in a refrigerator in a junkyard. No one suspects them, of course, because they’re freaking nine years old. Nowadays we know better. While you’d expect the big party to be the film’s climactic scene, it just comes and goes without much happening, and those darn kids keep killing.

Around the halfway point, a teenaged amateur astrologer offers up the closest thing we get to an explanation for such naughty behavior. During that eclipse, see, both the sun and moon were blocking Saturn. Since Saturn controls the emotions, these kids were born with no conscience. Okay, so you come to accept a lot on faith in these things. Ultimately, though there are hits of both Village of the Damned and Bad Seed here, the picture owes much more to Devil Times Five.

Director Ed Hunt had made a handful of genre cheapies prior to this, but today Bloody Birthday remains his most memorable film. The dialogue is often painful, the soundtrack is comprised of library music from TV movies, and it’s not nearly as gory as would become standard for slasher films, but his three little killers all exude a believable David Berkowitz vibe, and the film contains enough boobs to earn an R rating. In an irrelevant sidenote, it remains one of the very few entries here in which the kids use guns, and, I think, the only one in which they use a bow and arrow.

Sleepaway Camp (1983)

Writer/director Robert Hiltzik’s weirdie is a delightfully oddball number not only within the Killer Kid subgenre, but also among slasher films, which is doubly surprising considering when it was released.

Although the film at the outset has all the standard earmarks of a cookie-cutter post-friday the 13th slasher film (a bunch of youngsters at summer camp, and endless supply of sharp implements, a fast-rising body count), careful viewers will note a few unsettling details. First, apart from the counselors, most of the campers (and victims) are pre-adolescent, and all the males, young and old alike, wear shorts that are just a little too short and a little too snug. Hmm.

Anyway, Angela (Felissa Rose), has been sent to summer camp against her will with her older brother. She’s pretty and nice and shy, but has clearly been damaged in some way. She adamantly refuses to go swimming or play games ore shower wit the other kids, despite repeated (and usually understanding) pleas  from the counselors. She prefers to be alone, and isn’t much interested in making new friends. I know the feeling. I was sent to summer camp once, and after a lummox named Trent got to go home because he got a fish hook in the eye, I considered bribing those kids with the fishing poles to do the same to me.

Anyway, if you haven’t seen it, the less said the better. Let’s just say it fits the category, but with a notorious twist, and remains near the top of the lists of many slasher film fanatics I know. I do wonder, though, given the age we’re living in, how this one would go over today. It also leaves me wondering what the deal is with that Robert Hiltzik.

Children of the Corn (1984)

Yes, it’s a stinker, but remains a memorable touchstone within the then exploding subgenre of Stephen King stinkers. I always find it funny that King continues to bitch about Kubrick’s adaptation of The Shining, but never has a word to say about this, or The Mangler, or Silver Bullet, or Maximum Overdrive or…

But that’s beside the point. Given the subject at hand, both the original short story and Fritz Kiersch’s film adaptation are interesting in that they represent a genre-blending crossover between Killer Kid movies and Religious Zealot horror.

AS much as there is to chuckle at here—my goodness what an awful bit of filmmaking, from the script to the performances to the camera set-ups and fx—dammit I keep going back to it. I do enjoy that flashback in the diner, as well as the fact the initial slaughter of the adults is never clearly explained. Not really, anyway. And I do dig the amateurish overacting on the part of John Franklin as the crazy young preacher Isaac and Courtney Gains as his True Believer henchman Malachai. And I’ll watch that R.G. Armstrong in anything. Mostly, though, I think I keep going back time and again just to hear the line “He wants you, too…Malachai!,” which has been a catchphrase of mine for years now.

Firestarter (1984)

Amid the mid-‘80s flood of Stephen King quickies, at least director Mark L. Lester had a few more chops than most. He also had a much larger budget, which allowed him to sign a cast that included George C. Scott, Art Carney, Louise Fletcher, Martin Sheen and Heather Locklear (!).

So a young couple who met in college while volunteering as research guinea pigs in a secret government drug test later get married and have a daughter. As these things happen (see Blue Sunshine or Jacob’s Ladder), those secret government drug tests have a way of hanging around awhile, with some mighty unexpected side effects. In this case, their new daughter Charlie (Drew Barrymore, who was in a few King adaptations) was born with pyrokinetic powers, meaning she can set anyone or anything she doesn’t like ablaze, the lucky brat.

Well, a few years later when the secret government agency that ran the secret government drug test catches wind of what little Charlie can do, they decide they’d like to have a little chat with her, and maybe her dad too (the briefly popular David Keith), who himself might have psychic powers. Or maybe they’d like to have something more than a chat.

Less a horror movie than conspiracy thriller and chase picture, Firestarter remains an oddity here, as it’s one of the few Killer Kid films in which we’re asked to root for the Killer Kid, actually hoping the wee pyro in question, even though she’s cute and blond, will set a few of those icky, mean adults on fire.

It’s hardly on a par with The Shining, Carrie, or The Dead Zone, but at least it’s better than Night Shift, Sometimes They Come Back, Children of the Corn IV, Cat’s Eye, Maximum Overdrive…

The Omen IV: The Awakening (1991)

As would become standard for plenty of other franchises that had seemingly run their course, some bright TV executives thought there was still some money to be made with that whole Omen thing. A decade after the last and supposedly final entry came out, why not give it the TV movie treatment? And while we’re at it, why not give it a fresh twist by doing a little gender switcheroo, right? So this time around, why not make Damien a girl? That’d throw viewers for a loop, wouldn’t it?

(An Omen IV novel had actually been released shortly after The Final Conflict came out, but it had nothing to do with this.)

The events of the previous three films have long been forgotten by the time we get underway here, I mean, don’t we see the Second Coming of Christ at the end of Final Conflict? Okay, so I guess Jesus had gone on vacation or something by the time two young smug and wealthy lawyers (Michael Woods and Faye Grant) adopt a new daughter without asking too many questions.

Their daughter Delia (Asia Vieira) grows into a pretty, dark-haired young girl who is extremely unpleasant. Oooon, but she’s a bratty little smartass who could use a spanking.  I always thought the Antichrist was supposed to be charming and charismatic, but I’ll let it slide. In any case her New Age hippie nanny starts to suspect something far more sinister than smug parents might be at the heart of Delia’s bad attitude. When all her magic crystals turn black in the little girl’s presence, she starts making frantic calls to her other New Agey friends.

I’m going to stop there. Hilariously awful film, save for one scene, And that one scene alone is reason enough to forgive the film’s countless other unforgivable flaws.  

The nanny drags Delia to a New Age fair in a park in hopes of getting a snapshot of her aura, and let’s just say things don’t go well for much of anyone. In simple slapstick terms, it’s on a par with Final Conflict’s montage of baby murders.  

The Good Son (1993)

As he transitioned from the “dorky, buggy-eyed but still weirdly cute” kid in the Home Alone pictures into a “dorky, buggy-eyed and much less cute” adolescent, Macaulay Culkin decided to prove his range as an actor by playing against type in still another take on The Bad Seed.

Instead of telling the story through the mother’s eyes, in Joseph Ruben’s film we see things through the eyes of a nice, wholesome kid named Mark (a young Elijah Wood). After his mother dies, he’s sent to live with an aunt and uncle and two cousins. Not yet knowing he should avoid anyone named “Henry,” Mark and his cousin Henry (Culkin) become good friends. But after Henry is clearly delighted when one of his silly boyhood pranks triggers a deadly multi-car pileup, and after he shows off his homemade gun to Mark, and furthermore hints he once tried to kill his own brother, Mark starts to get the idea Henry might well be a psychopath with bigger diabolical schemes in mind.

Ruben’s picture is a slight cut above the likes of, say, The Godsend thanks to that change in perspective. Although Culkin makes for a believable psycho kid, it didn’t really do much to revamp his career and set him on that road to an Oscar. Thinking about it, though, Henry’s use of improvised and homemade weaponry wasn’t that big a step away from his Home Alone character, but with more fatalities and fewer cartoon sound effects..

Home Movie (2008)

The found footage/hand held video/POV horror film was pretty well dead and buried as a style by 2008, but that sure didn’t stop anyone. It was a cheap way to make a movie, after all. In this case, though, the story would have worked much better as a straight narrative, as the POV gimmick just gets in the way, leaving viewers (or maybe just me) repeatedly asking, “Why would anyone be filming this?”

Why, for instance, would an alcoholic Lutheran minister (Adrian Pasdar) choose to film an intimate argument with his psychiatrist wife (Cady McClain)? And why would a psychiatrist use the family video camera to record private patient notes, leaving them mixed in there with the Christmas and Easter home movies? Maybe writer/director Christopher Denham was trying to make a point about people so obsessed with living through screens that they can easily ignore the obvious and increasing threat posed by their clearly disturbed twin children, who mostly just lurk in the background as the parents focus on themselves. I doubt it though.

The creepy ten-year-olds Jack (Austin Williams) and Emily (Amber Joy Williams) were born on Halloween. While their parents try to desperately prove just how fun and cool and hip they are by setting up haunted houses in the basement and teaching their kids how to pick locks, Jack and Emily spend the first half of the film staring sullenly at the floor. Soon enough though, they begin killing goldfish, crushing toads in vices, crucifying the family cat, and attacking schoolmates, working their way up the evolutionary chain toward You Know Who.

Oh, I’m not giving a goddamn thing away here—the goddamn tagline gave it away! And even without the tagline if you couldn’t see exactly where this was headed with the first scene, maybe you need a nap or something.

To it’s credit, like Devil Times Five, Home Movie offers no explanation for why the kids are funny in the head. If you wanted to push it you could make something out of that Halloween birthday or the fact the family name is “Poe.” Myself, I just tend to accept that any kid unlucky enough to have a preacher or a shrink as a parent is fucked from the start.

Case 39 (2009)

Renee Zelwegger stars as a young sincere and overworked case worker at Children and Family Services. After the seemingly unbalanced parents of a shy, sweet and neglected girl on her case list try to cram the pre-adolescent into the oven (repeatedly!) one night, the parents are institutionalized and the social worker adopts the girl.

Okay, same as with Home Movie, if you can’t see where this one was headed ten minutes in, theres something wrong with you. Funny twist is, while I initially took it to be simply yet another Bad Seed knockoff (which it is) before deciding it was simply another Omen knockoff (which it is), by the half way point it finally  became clear: what I was watching was in fact a knockoff of Omen IV: The Awakening. And that’s pretty bad. To make it all even sadder and more pointless, Case 39 is capped by a climax that makes absolutely no sense, if you think about it even  for a little bit. Even the Omen IV had a better ending, and that’s saying something.

Considering all the above, the ultimate lesson to take away here is that, talk as we might about The Terrible Twos, it’s when the little monsters turn ten that you really need to watch out.

by Jim Knipfel

[thewidowstanton]

Archive feature 2012: ‘Mr Follow Spot’, Linford Hudson

Following this year’s Olivier Awards when Linford Husdon’s lengthy career received special recognition, we thought we’d mark the occasion by posting this feature. I was lucky enough to be shown behind the scenes at the London Palladium by him and to stand on the famous stage while he shone his light on me. He’d deiblerately left me in the eyrie, that is the follow-spot room to see if I could find my way back down. Luckily, I bumped into someone who knew the way!

By Liz Arratoon

It can only be The Mousetrap that’s had a longer West End run than Linford Hudson, who next October will have worked at the London Palladium for 50 years. Slim and dapper, the softly spoken British Jamaican is the historic venue’s elder statesman, and describes it as “my theatre, my home”. Its Hall of Fame, lined with photos and ephemera of past and present stars, reads like his personal CV. He knows every crevice of the building, even pointing out a tiny nick he made in a wall when he first arrived to record his height.

Linford came to the UK on September 9, 1963. It might have been traumatic to leave his island home and hit the capital in the Swinging Sixties, but he loved it. He’d watch TV’s Sunday Night at the London Palladium with his mother and walk past the Drury Lane and Aldwych theatres after school, taking in the scene. “I loved the hype of it all, the little lights flashing and dancers dancing, and kept going back. It was glamorous.” Just a month later, he saw an advert in the Evening Standard for a job at the Palladium and knew it was his way into a world that already entranced him. “It was for a pageboy. I came along and they employed me and I’m here still.”

He’d show people to the boxes and take messages or mail to management and artists. At 18, they said he’d grown too tall, but something better lay ahead. He explains: “When I was a pageboy I’d go up to the bio box [follow-spot room] in my break to look around and watch the shows because theatre was my first love. Mr Peter King, who was in charge of the limes, didn’t mind and said he’d teach me. I never looked back.”

But things were very different then. One of the hardest things to learn was the lethal carbon arcs; the red-hot carbon rods he had to put together to create a flame, which shone through a reflector and two lenses on to the stage. “They’d last 28 or 30 minutes. You’d have to turn them off and change them over with pliers in about six seconds without burning the theatre down, because we had a wooden floor then.” Linford laughs off the scars on his wrists, saying: “I could do it blindfold.” They also gave off noxious fumes and he had an allowance for milk, which supposedly neutralised the effects.

Another thing he had to learn was the feeling, the finesse of the lights, making the movement of the iris – the pin spot – smooth. “You have to fade it. Once you can feel a song, after a while you get used to it. I conquered it because Mr King was a very good teacher.” For example when someone such as Shirley Bassey lifted her arms, hit a high note and took a bow, he’d have to be ready to capture it down to her fingertips.

The equipment obviously advanced with time, and Linford reels off its technical details. Every spotlight – and there are about 20 types; German, Japanese, American Super Troupers, English and French – has its own sights, which he doesn’t use because “it can make you late on a cue. When you have artists going off and others coming on, there isn’t time to fade off and pick up again.” The huge lights give off incredible heat, which in summer is almost unbearable, but despite such hardships, and spurred on to succeed by a racist insult from another staff member, he mastered the job easily.

He has since lit show after show and everyone who was or is anyone. When asked to name his favourite or greatest star – maybe Josephine Baker who “still had an amazing physique and voice in her 70s”, Ella Fitzgerald or Judy Garland, whom he lit but never met – he’s slightly nonplussed. “That’s the biggest question because I’ve worked with them all. You find nice people, you find miserable people. Roy Castle was a brilliant guy, Frankie Vaughan (pictured above) was brilliant, Harry Secombe… the old boys were brilliant people. I can name names right down the line… Ethel Merman, Bette Davis, so many wonderful artists, man. Better Midler was fun to work with, Debbie Reynolds when she came with Carrie Fisher was brilliant, but my favourite lady, who I call my English rose, was Julie Andrews. Charming!”

The list is endless, and though the father of six and grandfather of ten stopped collecting autographs for a while because his kids kept taking them, he held on to Frank Sinatra’s. He remembers heady times when he was earning £12 a week and Sinatra sent his bodyguard with a massive £1,000 tip to share with the crew. “I worked with Frank here, at the Albert Hall and Festival Hall but you couldn’t get close to him. With Sammy [Davis Jr] it was different.” They’d go to London’s Playboy Club together and Sammy, always known as a big spender, would throw parties for everyone in the Palladium bar and take them and their families to events such as a new James Bond film.

Though known as Mr Follow Spot, he’s been much more than that. “I’ve been a plumber, carpenter, electrician and follow-spot operator here. I love rigging. I’d climb along very long trusses without a harness in the old days. It kept me fit,” he says, grinning. Down the years, Linford has also worked in TV and film, lighting Live at the Apollo and movies such as My Life with Marilyn. He’s worked with all the Royal Family; the Queen Mother, the Queen, Princess Margaret, Prince Charles and Diana, Princess of Wales on Symphony for the Spire at Salisbury Cathedral, and spent three days preparing and lighting her funeral at Westminster Abbey, which he says was “an honour”.

He’s lit 41 Royal Variety Performances – more than anyone else ever – and counting. “That show is the show,” he says, “All the people in the theatre business want to work on it. I missed a couple but all those boys at the Coliseum are my pupils. I taught at the National Theatre and the BBC. Everywhere I go, someone wants me to teach them, and I’ve been doing it for 25 or 30 years so I can pass it on.” His legacy to the business is indeed huge.

Now 66, the Palladium has told him to take a break, meaning his minimum 12-hour days are down to a more reasonable eight. “They invented a job for me, so I still come in and take pride in the building I love. It’s magnificent. It’s given me a very good living and taken care of my family. I’ve no regrets. Once I perfected my work everyone gave me jobs… the 02, Wembley Arena. When there’s a big show, they call for me. I’m semi-retired but when they call I still go and do it.”

It’s doubtful anyone in the business can imagine the Palladium without Linford, but he says should that time come, the theatre will be in safe hands. Its lighting team of Danny Turner, George Antoniu and Chris Barstow is headed by chief electrician Dave Draude, whom Linford describes as “a brilliant guy, brilliant knowledge, brilliant brain. He’s very good at his job. His boys are brilliant too, and will take care of this place for me. All my friends have moved and my teachers have passed away but I’m glad I can walk out of the building and know everything will be all right.”

This feature first appeared in The Stage in 2012