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lastbluetardis · 3 years ago

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Sacred New Beginnings (2/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong.

Ten x Rose AU, @doctorroseprompts

This Chapter: Teen, ~3900 words

AO3 || Ch1

James can barely concentrate on the meetings he’s meant to be having. His Apple watch flashes with new notifications every few minutes, and he glances at each one, hoping to catch a glimpse of 🌹 Bad Wolf Girl 🌹 on the screen. Alas, most of the notifications are emails or texts from family, friends, or his personal assistant.

He can tell his producer is getting frustrated with his nonexistent attention span; however, his last album, Midnight, is still sitting comfortably in the top ten of all major streaming platforms, so they can’t be too peeved with him. Especially when he casually reminds them of the notoriety and fortune he made them; they drop the attitude after that, and the rest of the day goes by pleasantly.

They’re all in agreement that they want this newest album, his fourth, to mirror Midnight—why reinvent the wheel, after all?—as much as possible without it sounding identical. James agrees, his mind already piecing together some ideas for new songs. The next few weeks will be busy with brainstorming and writing, a welcome relief after the whirlwind tour he just finished a couple months ago.

He’s been allowed more artistic freedom with each album. His first, Gridlock, he had no hand in except to sing the lyrics someone else wrote to the melodies someone else composed. The album did well, as far as debuts go, in part because of his massive YouTube following. (And he’s pretty sure the half-naked promotional photoshoot he did for the album didn’t hurt…) He’d won several awards simply because it was his first album, but it was enough to get his name out there and to build his fan base.

He had more of a voice in the production of the second album, though he was still so new to the whole industry that he let other people talk over him and pitch ideas he didn’t necessarily agree with. The second album hadn’t flopped, per se, but it received only middling reviews and a handful of nominations without any wins.

With his third album, however, he went directly to his label with an outline of the music he wanted on the record, as well as rough drafts of melodies and lyrics. He’d worked tirelessly to keep up with what his team was pitching, and to counter with what he wanted the album to be. Mercifully, they listened to his suggestions and opinions, though they made it clear that if this album was as mediocre as his second, he was benched, and he would, without fuss, sing whatever lyrics the label handed to him.

When the album dropped eighteen months ago, it became an overnight sensation, shattering records left and right for albums sold, stream counts, and music video hits. He had already been famous, but the rapid, worldwide success of the album had completely erased any trace of anonymity he had been clinging to.

The tours for his previous albums had been around fifty shows each across major cities in the US and UK. But for that third album, he tripled the number of shows and toured for nearly a full calendar year. It had been absolutely exhilarating but exhausting, and that was even with him mostly performing with nothing but his guitar and piano. There were no strenuous dance routines he’d had to memorize and choreograph while also singing.

James hopes his fourth album will be as much of a success as his third. Now that he’s gotten one huge world tour under his belt, he should be more prepared to face the rigors of promotion and touring for any future albums. He loves people and always has, but that tour was a bit much, even for him. The best part was getting to meet his fans before and after his shows, and to be with them in a stadium where the only thing everyone wanted to do was hear him play and tell the occasional anecdote about a certain song or a memory that a song was based off of.

He idly wonders if Rose has ever been to one of his shows as he packs up his things and heads out to his car to be driven to a local news station for a radio interview. Though his schedule is far less busy now that he’s finished touring, the publicity never stops.

They stop for lunch before heading to the station. The greasy burgers and chips hit the spot, though they make him feel bloated and slightly gross; he really needs to get back in the habit of working out in the mornings. He skipped his exercise regimen one morning a few weeks ago when he woke with a hangover-turned-migraine, and hasn’t gotten back into the routine since. His excellent genetics and metabolism have kept him looking slim, but he can feel the effects of his laziness. He isn’t as energized as he usually is, and without the endorphins of a good workout, he can often feel brain fog descending on him throughout the day, which also causes his mood to plummet.

Tomorrow, he vows. While he’s thinking about it, he goes into his phone to adjust his alarm, setting it for an hour earlier. He bought home gym equipment for himself a few months ago so he can sweat and wheeze in peace, unless some of his security team are there too. In that case his head of security, a no-nonsense woman named River Song, will rib him about being woefully out of shape.

The car pulls up to the radio station a half hour later. He can see and hear the crowd of paparazzi waiting for him.

“Have I got lettuce in my teeth?” he asks his driver, flashing a grotesque grin at her through the mirror.

His driver, Idris, cracks a rare smile. “No, sir.”

“Cheers.”

James vigorously ruffles his hands through his hair, then waits for his security team to part the red sea for him. When they do, he steps out of his car and puts on a lazy smile for the cameras, but mostly ignores the shouts of him to turn in one direction or another. If he did, he’d be outside for an hour, and he’s due to be on the air in fifteen minutes.

At the doors to the station, he indulges the paps and turns around, saluting them all and bowing theatrically. There. That should keep them happy for a while.

Inside, he’s greeted by interns who try their best not to be star struck, but he can see the thinly veiled excitement. It still amuses him that people get so flustered around him, as though he’s a god rather than any other mortal man. He just got lucky, is all. That’s all the industry is: luck. Getting seen by the right person at the right time. He could very easily be back in that dingey one-bedroom flat, his nose buried in textbooks, on his way to becoming an aerospace engineer like he’d always thought he’d be.

When they get to the recording booth, he asks the interns if they’d like a photo with him. They all squeak and nod vigorously, and he spends the next five minutes posing with them individually until he’s pulled away to start the show.

He usually does early morning interviews on the radio, or he’ll co-host a late-night show, so the fact that he’s sitting in the booth in the middle of a Sunday afternoon is slightly odd. There are two radio hosts in the booth with him, along with some technical specialists who are doing last-minute sound checks. James has worked with one of the hosts, Tish Jones, before, but the second, Yvonne Hartman, is new to him.

“Got moved to a new time slot, Tish?” he asks. “Don’t you usually do breakfast shows?”

She looks thrilled that he remembers, as though he hasn’t been doing semi-regular radio chats with her for years. “I’m fillin’ in for a bit. The usual host, Craig, Owens is on paternity leave for the next month, and Yvonne is a new hire to be Craig’s co-host when he gets back.”

They’re interrupted and told to get ready, because they’re going live in thirty seconds. James reclines in his cushy chair, crossing an ankle over his knee, and spots a photographer in the corner of the room, trying their best to be inconspicuous. James flashes them a cheeky wink, grinning when he sees the flash of their camera.

“Five… four… three… two… one…”

“And welcome back, listeners,” Tish says. “You’ve just finished listening to the hit single “Human Nature” by James Noble, who we currently have with us in the booth right now. James, hi, how are you?”

“Hello Tish, lovely seeing you again. Hello Yvonne, lovely meeting you,” he replies. “I’m good. I’m great. And yourselves? Tish, how’s the family?”

“Great!” she says brightly. “My little sister Martha’s passed her exams to be a doctor!”

“Oh, wonderful!” he says, and he makes a mental note to send some sort of congratulations. He’s been on Tish’s morning show several times throughout the past couple of years, all the way back when Martha was first starting her residency rotations. “That’s wonderful. My deepest congratulations to her. What sort of medicine does she specialize in?”

“Trauma and emergency,” Tish says with a wince. “God bless her. She’s cool as a cucumber, that one. I couldn’t handle that anxiety.”

“Neither could I, which is why I’m sat on my bum in a recording studio most days,” he says, segueing them back to the purpose of the interview: to talk about him.

“Have you started recording anything yet for album number four?” Yvonne asks. “Anything you can tease to us?”

He shrugs. “’Fraid not. I’m not being coy, we’ve only begun planning the album today; I just came from a meeting about that, actually. We’re months away from being ready to record anything.”

“How does an album come about?” Tish asks. “Can you describe the whole process, for listeners who may not be familiar with it?”

“It can actually vary from album to album,” he answers, taking a sip of the coffee someone brought for him. It’s slightly over-sugared, but he’d rather that than anything bitter. “Sometimes my label comes to me with lyrics and melodies and tells me to sing. Sometimes I go to them with the same. It’s often a back and forth, and exchange of ideas until we’ve created something we’re all very proud of. Then once we’ve got the music written, it only takes a couple weeks to record the vocals, as long as my voice doesn’t give out on me.”

That earns him a laugh. He’d gotten bronchitis and laryngitis in the middle of recording Midnight, and for a while he’d tried to sing through it, but no amount of sound editing could salvage that fiasco. After the album came out, he shared behind-the-scenes videos of the failed recording sessions when his voice cracked more than it had done during puberty. His fans and the media lapped it right up.

“Then it gets sent out to people to make it sound nice, add background vocals, adjust audio levels, et cetera,” he explains, “then voila, we’ve got a record.”

“It’s one big endless cycle,” Tish teases. “Planning, recording, touring.”

“The rest of my life is practically planned out to the minute,” he jokes.

“That doesn’t leave much time for a personal life,” Yvonne butts in, and James tenses, though he forces his mouth to stay upturned in a smile.

“I do take vacation days. Personal days. I take holidays off. It’s not all work.”

“Yes, as evidenced by your night out in New York a few days ago. Living the dream. If you’ve got it, flaunt it, right?”

James grinds his teeth so hard he’s in danger of cracking a molar, but goddammit, he keeps that smile on his face. Tish’s face, meanwhile, has gone wooden.

“I enjoyed a night out with friends,” he explains. “The last time I was in America, I was in a different city every night. Didn’t get to see my mates. It was nice to catch up and spend time with them.”

“Sure, sure, but that wasn’t the only reason you went out, was it?” Yvonne wheedled. “Does it get discouraging to be unable to maintain a steady relationship? Do your partners get frustrated with your hectic work schedule and your extended absences? Or do you prefer it like that? Something quick, no strings attached? But then there was that stretch of time with… God, what was her name? You were with her for a year and a half. So clearly that’s something you also crave.”

James humbly thinks he deserves an Oscar for keeping his mouth shut against the acerbic words he wants to hurl at this obnoxious radio host. He’ll have to tell his personal assistant to refuse any future interviews with Yvonne. Hopefully Tish won’t be working with her after this, because he genuinely likes Tish as an interviewer. She very rarely tests his boundaries, and when she does, she can recognize his attempts at giving a non-answer and she redirects the conversation.

“Despite what the media writes, I do try to keep my private life private,” he says instead. “Obviously that doesn’t always work.”

“Have you ever taken your partners on tour with you?” Tish interjects, desperately trying to steer the conversation to something more palatable. “How much down time do you get between shows?”

“It depends,” he says, taking another sip of coffee to give himself a moment to breathe. “A lot of the so-called down time is spent traveling to the next city. I’ve learned how to sleep well on buses. I’ve sometimes flown partners out to a city if I have a short break between shows, or I’ll invite them to come touring with me for a couple weeks. We’ve made it work.”

“Clearly not, though,” Yvonne chirps, and James thinks he sees Tish kick her under the table.

“No, clearly not,” he repeats, not bothering to mask the disdain dripping from the syllables.

“Is there a city you haven’t visited but would love to someday travel to?” Tish asks. “Either a tour stop or a vacation?”

James flashes her a grateful smile. “So many places. Sure, I’ve set foot in hundreds of cities and dozens of countries, but haven’t been able to explore or have adventures. I would love to one day take a year away from music and travel across the globe without any sort of plan. Take time in each place to immerse myself in the culture.”

“Oh, that sounds heavenly,” Tish hums.

“By yourself, or with a special someone?” Yvonne presses and James rubs a finger into his eye.

“You’ve clearly got my love life on your mind,” he quips, keeping his tone light but pinning her with a glare that has made many reporters shrink away.

Not Yvonne Hartman, though. She keeps his gaze until he relents with a sigh.

“What can I say? I love my job and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Rose’s face flashes in his mind’s eye. The way her face lit up when she smiled; the way her body moved in sync with his to the beat of the music; the teasing lilt in her voice that hardly anyone but his family uses because everyone else is too starstruck by him.

He blinks, but Rose is still stuck forever in his memory. An ache gnaws at his stomach.

“I love my job,” he repeats, “but sometimes all I want is to be able to have the freedom to go out to a pub and meet an enchanting person and have a magical evening drinking and dancing with them.”

“We all make sacrifices for what we want,” Yvonne says.

“We’ve got just a few minutes left,” Tish announces. “How would you say you’ve grown as an artist from where you first started to where you are now?”

“You mean from recording videos of myself singing into cheap mic while playing a keyboard?” he drawls, and he’s pleased when she cackles. “Obviously I have the funds for actual equipment. Got a piano and several guitars at home. But I think I’ve come into my own a bit more. When I was making videos of me singing in my flat, I was just having a laugh. My YouTube channel was something I did to take a break from studying.

“Then when I signed on with Blue Box Studios, there’s a lot of pressure to perform, to live up to their expectations and be everything they hoped I could be. Nobody really talks about what comes after you sign your contract.”

“Oh yeah?” Tish asks. “And what’s that?”

“Lots and lots of anxiety,” he laughs. The sound is echoed by both hosts.

Yvonne gets the last word however, and slips in, “Well something tells me you’ve never had any issues with… performance anxiety. Right, thanks for having this chat with us, James. We hope to see you again some time.”

Not bloody likely. “Thanks for having me. Always a pleasure.”

Their audio cuts off as the station airs some adverts. James tugs his headset off and gulps down the last of his coffee.

“Gotta dash,” he says, standing.

“I’ll walk you out,” Tish says. To Yvonne, she says, “Be back in five.”

James holds the door for Tish, and even though he knows the way to the front of the building, he lets her lead.

“God, I am so sorry about her. I had no idea she would say those sorts of things to you.”

He shrugs. “Everyone’s thinking it.”

His face is always on the cover of gossip rags that evidently have nothing better to do than speculate about his love life. He has been photographed with every single partner he’s ever had over the past five years. The media has turned him into a modern-day Casanova, never staying single for more than a few days. They had a field day when they learned he identifies as pansexual—well, they insist on calling him bisexual, no matter how many times he corrects them—and they began twisting every person he was spotted with in public into an illicit affair.

In the early days of his celebrity, he’d tried to have an open and honest rapport with the paparazzi, figuring they wouldn’t print lies or stretch the truth if he was forthright with them. God, he’d been naive. It didn’t matter what he told them, they painted him in a different light, taking whichever angle would sell the best articles.

At some point, it became too exhausting to correct them or to defend himself. James found it’s easier to play the aloof Lothario—it’s safer to hide behind the facade that the media created rather than broadcast his bruised and broken heart for the world to see.

“That still doesn’t make it okay,” Tish says, drawing him out of his head.

They’ve arrived at the front of the studio, and he can already hear the buzz of reporters standing outside. River and Jack Harkness, another member of his security team, leap to their feet from where they’d been sitting and playing what appears to be gin rummy.

“Who won?” he asks as Jack cleans up the pile of cards.

“I did,” River and Jack say at the same time.

James grins and listens to them squabble until Tish gives his upper arm a gentle squeeze. “Thanks again. And sorry. Again.”

He inclines his head in a parting bow, then looks to River and Jack, who have their serious, don’t fuck with us faces on. River is speaking into her phone, then she nods.

“Right, we’ve cleared a path,” she says, gesturing James forward.

She takes the front, Jack takes the rear, and as a trio, they step outside. It has begun raining—shocking—which means it’s not rude for them to make a mad dash for the car. Nevertheless, paps snap frantic photos of him, and he laughs to think about seeing the surely-blurry photographs of his arse on social media in a few hours.

He half-climbs, half-dives into the open back door, followed by River in the back seat with him and Jack riding in the front. They’re barely buckled in when Idris pulls into traffic and points the car away from the city.

James shuts his eyes and thunks his head back on the headrest.

“That interview sounded like a minor disaster,” River says lightly, patting his knee.

“You could say that.”

“You did well though,” Idris chimes in, flicking her eyes to the rear-view mirror to catch his gaze.

He grunts in acknowledgement, and tugs his phone out of his pocket to slog through the slew of new emails and messages he’s gotten in the hour since he last checked it. There are a few messages from his publicist, who takes great pleasure in teasing him after awful interviews. Funnily, it always seems to cheer him up. If ever Donna pays him a true compliment, that’s when the red flags start flying.

But he utterly ignores her texts when he sees a red rose emoji at the top of his notifications. His heart somersaults as he goes directly to Rose's message.

Enchanting, am I? Or was that a different stranger you met at a pub?

He grins. “If I say yes, does that mean we can share another magical evening together?”

She replies instantly. Flatterer. Fine, but only if you keep stroking my ego. You sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself.

“I can make a girl feel good about lots of things,” he texts, and hopes to God he doesn’t offend her. To cover his arse, he sends a new message before she can answer. “Are you free tonight? Wanna meet up for dinner and drinks?”

Only if we don’t stay out too late. Some of us have work in the morning.

“Excuse you, I have work in the morning too,” he says, and he’s suddenly dying to know what she does for a living. “Never you mind. I have a very strict eight o’clock bedtime on school nights. Gotta get my beauty sleep.”

Her response is a long time coming, and he worries he’s come on too strongly. But when her new message appears, her words make no sense. Did you look me up?

“Er. No? Why?”

You said school night. How did you know I work at a school?

He blinks at his phone for several incredulous seconds. “I swear, it was just a joke. You work at a school? As a teacher?”

Yep. I can tell you about it at dinner. Where do you wanna go?

“Dealer’s choice,” he says. “Maybe somewhere kinda out of the way. I dunno if you noticed, but practically the whole of London knows who I am.”

Never woulda guessed 😉 Have you heard of Cocinara? It’s a little Mexican place on Blackpool St. Makes amazing burritos and margaritas.

“Never heard of it, but I can’t wait to experience it with you. I’d offer to pick you up but I’d rather you not got swarmed by paparazzi. I’ll meet you there at six?”

It’s a date 😉

#ficandchips #dwfic #doctorroseprompts #doctor who #ten x rose #ten x rose au #james x rose #romance #fluff #meet cute #my fic #sacred new beginnings

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passionate-reply · 3 years ago

Video

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This week on Great Albums: lots of people love Gary Numan. But they tend to love his very early work, and his very recent work, without a whole lot vouching for the stuff in between. My favourite work of Numan’s is 1984′s Berserker, a true gem buried in the sands of many, many mediocre albums. Find out what makes it so great by watching my video, or reading the transcript below!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! This time around, we’re looking at a fairly famous artist, and at one of his not-as-famous works: Gary Numan’s Berserker, first released in 1984.

For the most part, if you’re a fan of Numan, you’re either a fan of his earliest work, and/or, his recent work since the 1990s, and there’s a substantive slump in between these two. In 1979, the artist made a tremendous splash with his initial hits “Cars” and “Are ‘Friends’ Electric?”, but after the release of his second solo LP, Telekon, only the following year, the public rapidly began to sour on Numan’s android antics. While his early work is held in high regard, and perhaps even unassailable for synth fans, most of his other work in the 1980s is met with a lot more scrutiny.

Numan’s bad days arguably came to a head with 1983’s Warriors. Warriors was initially meant to have been produced by the great Bill Nelson, whose work Numan evidently much admired. However, the artists’ clashing personalities allegedly made it impossible for them to work together, and Nelson left the project and had his name removed from it. Besides this period’s poor aesthetic decisions, showcasing Numan with blond hair and head-to-toe leather like a very sorry Billy Idol clone, Warriors feels like a mess of disjointed sonic ideas, losing the nucleus of what had made Numan special.

Music: “Sister Surprise”

Like most of Numan’s work from this period, Warriors was not only a flop in the eyes of critics, but also an arguable commercial failure. It would go on to be the final record he released on the Beggars’ Banquet label; after its release, he decided to take matters into his own hands and start an independent label, Numa Records. This is where Berserker comes in, having been the first independent release Numan got to make. And I think it shows, in that the album comes across as extremely focused in its themes, as well as very willing to do things that are more novel and unique.

Music: “Berserker”

The album’s title track was its lead single, as well as its opener. As it opens the album with the line, “I’ve been waiting for you,” I can’t help but feel that I, too, have been waiting for Gary Numan, whose true genius lay dormant for some years, like the fabled king under the mountain. The title track’s screeching guitar is, perhaps ironically, more reminiscent of Bill Nelson’s famous guitar work than anything on Warriors. Overall, I can’t help but feel it resembles the general template of Numan’s celebrated later work, with its emphasis on jagged electronic textures rather than traditional instruments, as well as its lyricism, portraying an abstractly menacing narrator who seems as inscrutable and inhuman as they do dangerous. In that sense, it’s a bit of a glimpse into Numan’s future. Still, one can’t deny that Berserker remains an album that feels “of its time,” take it or leave it, as on the second and final single, “My Dying Machine.”

Music: “My Dying Machine”

“My Dying Machine” seems to revolve around its woodsy, sample-based percussion track, perhaps reminiscent of Geinoh Yamashirogumi’s work with gamelans and jegogs for the soundtrack of the famous film Akira, later in the 1980s--albeit less organic and more precisely mechanical. It’s a sound that I can’t get enough of, personally, but it’s also something that springs directly from the advancements in sampling technology that were becoming more accessible by this time. The use of female backing vocalists, heard on many tracks throughout the album, is another touch that grounds Berserker in a mid-80s context, as it was a fairly common trend at the time. But I’d argue that the employment of this technique enriches the album: Numan’s backing choir seem no less haunting than he does, surrounding him like sirens on a desolate crag, harrying us with hooks that in the past might have been played on an early synthesiser instead. The contrast of these female voices also helps highlight the greater vocal range that Numan himself attempts on this album. Squawking at higher pitches had been serviceable earlier in his career, when he remained more indebted to punk, but on Berserker, we really get a lot of his chest voice, and he proves himself to be a surprisingly competent vocalist on tracks like “Cold Warning.”

Music: “Cold Warning”

Earlier, I argued that Berserker’s title track prefigured Numan’s later albums, but I was mainly comparing lead singles to lead singles. “Cold Warning,” I think, sounds a lot like the typical album track on a recent Numan album: slower-paced, somewhat atmospheric, and ominous in a more moody and subtle manner as opposed to directly threatening. Note also its intro, with its prominent use of a viola, which really stands out against Berserker’s overall more electronic soundscape. By this point, Numan had been no stranger to incorporating traditional instruments; earlier in his career, he’d been impressed by the work of Billy Currie of Ultravox, who played not only synthesisers, but also string instruments like viola, in the context of a rock group. Numan had gone as far as to hire Currie to perform on his 1979 LP The Pleasure Principle, and its accompanying tour. Still, I think “Cold Warning” reminds me less of The Pleasure Principle, and more of Numan’s more recent efforts--particularly his 2021 album Intruder, which features Gorkem Sen playing the yaybahar, a novel string instrument of the latter’s own invention. Still, for as much as Berserker stands out as one of the least commercial endeavours from this period of Numan’s career, it’s not totally devoid of pop influences. Take, for example, the track “This Is New Love.”

Music: “This Is New Love”

From its title alone, “This Is New Love” seems to announce itself as something more conventional and accessible, and indeed, its lyrics are more straightforward than what you’ll find elsewhere on Berserker. Those omnipresent backing vocalists are given a pleasingly hooky assignment here, and the instrumental arrangement, dominated by that oh-so-80s slap bass, is also less abrasive, and an apparent nod towards pop. If this track were also a scrying crystal, I’d say it looks ahead to Numan’s near future, and lighter, more funky tracks like “Your Fascination.”

Of course, I can’t do Berserker justice without talking about the visual side of this period in Numan’s career. Front and center on the cover of the album, as well as contemporary supplemental releases like singles, we see Numan in the distinctive makeup associated with this era: solid white skin, with striking, solid, deep blue hair, eyes, and lips. On one hand, his appearance here shares a lot in common with where he got started, generally painted white with a lot of dark eyeliner, but there’s also an element of newness about it, in the use of that brilliant blue. Visually as well as musically, Berserker feels to me like the ideal thing for an artist to be doing by the time of his eighth major release: whittling down to the very best elements that defined their initial work, while incorporating and experimenting with new ideas at the same time. The last time we saw a headshot of Numan on the cover of an album was the aforementioned Telekon, but in contrast to the ambiguous and perhaps diffident expression Numan had there, on the cover of Berserker, he seems much more sure of himself. Staring directly forward, with perhaps a hint of anger suggested in his brows, he seems to regard us with confidence, and a certain single-mindedness.

Taken together, Berserker is an album that “convinces,” expressing a clarity, certainty, and cohesiveness of creative ideas. Like the savage and frenzied warriors of the Old Norse skalds, Berserker comes after us relentlessly, invoking something otherworldly as it does so.

But as much as Berserker seems like such a determined statement, Numan never necessarily made an album that was exactly like it. He seems to have a relative soft spot for it, in that he still performs tracks from this album in live sets despite largely snubbing the rest of his 80s output, but Berserker didn’t exactly revolutionize the way he approached music at the time. For Numan, the 1980s were largely a time of throwing things at the wall to see what stuck, and, as mentioned above, we know he wouldn’t find what stuck for him until a decade after the release of Berserker. If you’re looking for more of this sound, your best bet might be the 1985 single “Change Your Mind,” a collaboration between Numan and Bill Sharpe of the jazz-funk outfit Shakatak. While combining Numan’s sound with funk may sound a bit strange, it’s something that many of the synth whizzes from earlier in the decade had started doing to remain relevant in the mid-to-late 1980s, and at least on this cracking single, it seems to come together pretty well.

Music: “Change Your Mind”

My favourite track on Berserker is “The Hunter.” While I’ve emphasized the extent to which Berserker is a forward-looking album for Numan in a sea of mostly forgotten mistakes, “The Hunter” is the track that feels the most to me like it could be a classic Numan work, and I can easily imagine a lower-tech version of it appearing on Telekon. Just listen to that delightful air-raid siren synth rendition of the main vocal hook, and I’m sure you’ll agree! That’s everything for today, thanks for listening!

Music: “The Hunter”

#music #album review #album reviews #great albums #gary numan

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pagesandmagic · 4 years ago

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folklore || this is me trying

description: she left the outer banks two years ago and now she’s coming back for the summer. they haven’t seen each other since she skipped town without telling him. they’ve both hurt each other, so how do they come back from heartbreak?

warnings: swearing, angst, S L O W B U R N.

series based on songs from the album ‘folklore’ by taylor swift.

author’s note: hiiii sorry i’ve been gone for a HOT second. life has been busy and inspiration has not hit me lately, but here we are and i’m excited about where this is going. pls let me know if you would like to be a part of the taglist!

Part One (the 1) | Part Three (mad woman)

her.

growing up, your favorite story was Peter Pan.

the boy from Neverland stole your heart quickly and you dreamt of a place where you would never have to get old. the adults in your life always seemed stiff and unlikeable. they complained about being invited and not being invited to parties. it seemed like they were confused about what they wanted.

being raised in figure eight meant too many fancy parties with stuffy adults and pretentious kids. through most of high school, you would show up at the beginning, but sneak out half way through to spend the night surfing with JJ. he had always been your escape from the uptight life that your parents made you live. they had dreams for you to go to college or marry into money, maybe both if it worked out for them. but that wasn’t what you had wanted.

college wasn’t your scene, you couldn’t imagine spending another four years learning about places and cultures, instead of actually experiencing them. you quickly wrote college off your list when you picked up a camera for the first time. at first, you was mediocre, at best, but eventually people were paying you hundreds of dollars to shoot their weddings in your first year. your senior year of high school, you created a name for yourself and through the power of social media, you was noticed by a multi-million dollar wedding company who offered you the internship of your dreams.

your parents didn’t approve of the offer, but at eighteen, you knew you wanted this and they couldn’t stop you. you packed up your entire life into her little Subaru and left.

this internship was the gateway out of the outer banks, away from kook life, away from the heartbreak, towards a new life. a fresh start.

he would have asked you to stay, but it wasn’t that easy. JJ brought a love you had never known into your life, but he also brought a heartbreak you had never felt before.

you had an hour left in your drive and as your stomach turned, you had to remind yourself that it was your choice to come back for the summer. JJ was a part of the package deal of returning. you pulled over to the side of the winding country road. in one swift motion the car door opened and you found yourself hurling out onto the dirt road.

“I’m trying, I’m trying, I’m trying,” tears were streaming down your face as the anxiety washed over your body. there was a certain desperation in your voice that scared you. knowing that if you were near the side of the road, maybe your car would get just a little too close and you’d go tumbling down, never having to deal with what was to come.

“fuck,” you slammed the door shut, breathing in through your nose and out your mouth, watching your breathing and gripping the steering wheel like it was a lifeline. as your breathing slowed, you shifted gears and the wheels of your car found the road again.

the love you had for him was still there and it scared you more than anything in your life. and here you were, driving straight into the storm that was JJ Maybank.

JJ.

JJ felt like he was floating as he rushed around the chateau, to clean up the mess his friends made the previous night. so many things have changed, he thought, three years ago, there’s no way in hell I’d be doing this. which was true. when she left, his entire mindset shifted. she was the one person he thought he would have forever, and with the rest of his friends out of the outer banks during the school year, he had to grow up.

john b left him the chateau during the school year. free rent in order to keep up the house? sold. he made the house his home. completely renovating the little shack on the water. it was the first time in his life he was fully responsible for something big, and he wasn’t going to fuck it up. so he kept to himself, fixed up the chateau, praying every day that it would pay off. praying that she would come back to him.

he knocked on john b’s door.

“come on, man,” he yelled, “you gotta get up and clean, she’s going to be here in like an hour.”

he could hear both john b and sarah groan and shuffle around the room. sarah opened the door, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “J, you need to chill out.” she said, making her way to the kitchen.

john b was still in bed, his mouth hanging open, trying desperately to succumb to sleep again, “dude,” JJ threw a shirt at his face, “get up.”

“why does everything have to be perfect, JJ?” his voice hissed and was raspy from the early morning wakening, “it’s not like you guys left on the greatest terms, so what does it matter?”

JJ shut the door muttering a “fuck you” as he walked to the kitchen and threw the beer cans into the garbage which made an audible clang. sarah jumped as she closed the cabinet door. “JJ, chill,” she poured herself a cup of coffee as he paced around the house.

“sarah, if your asshole of a boyfriend does anythin-”

“he’s not going to do anything, JJ” she leaned against the countertop, her face almost buried in her morning coffee, “he loves Fin as much as the rest of us. she left on a high note with us, but on a bad one with you, so i get why you’re freaking out.” she paused, thinking of the best words to say, “but you can’t let her see that. she doesn’t need to have that power over you. you’ll talk it through with her this summer. i’ll make sure of it.” she touched his shoulder as she made her way back to the bedroom.

he collapsed onto the chair in the living room. closing his eyes and placing his head in his hands. “i’m trying. i’m trying so hard.”

she was coming back. this was what he had been waiting for since she left two years ago. he wanted more than anything to prove that he had changed and wasn’t the same boy she left.

her.

you wiped your hands on the side of your shorts as you pulled into the driveway of the chateau. you could feel tears pricking in the back of your eyes, and blinked in hopes of pushing them down. you put your car in park and turned off the engine. “it’s now or never, get out of the damn car.” you whispered to yourself through your teeth.

the front door of the shack opened and john b was the first to emerge the little house. you stepped out of the car just in time for him to wrap his arms around your waist and lift you off the ground. it always shocked you every time he was able to take your feet off the ground. in no way were you as physically small as sarah and kie, your curves were prominent and there were times you couldn’t shop at the same store as the other two girls, but john b always made you feel just as beautiful. he smelt of a mixture sea salt and tea tree shampoo. it felt like home.

“i missed you, Finny,” he smiled against your neck, it felt right that john b was the first one to hug you. he was the one who had been there for you the longest, and even though you didn’t want to admit it (because he was a real dumbass sometimes) his friendship meant the most to you.

“i missed you, too, JB,” you said, as he broke the hug to kiss your cheek.

sarah let out an audible squeak as she wrapped her arms around your neck. “it’s been too long!” you both rocked back and forth. until sarah let go, knowing you had a lot of people to hug.

pope and kie were next, it only seemed fitting that they both went in for a hug at the same time, forming a little circle. when pope left the hug, you grabbed kie to hold a little longer, whispering, “where is JJ?” kie could feel your hands shake slightly, clearly nervous to see the blonde boy.

you could feel her playing with the hair on your back, “i’m not sure, Fin. he’s around here somewhere. i think he’s just as nervous as you, if not more,” she placed her arms on your shoulders, separating the hug. “he loves you a lot,” she whispered for only you to hear.

“well, he had a pretty terrible way of showing it,” you sniffed, feeling tears streaming down your face. the entire scene was so overwhelming.

you had missed the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and watching the HMS pogue sway with the waves. you missed the salty air and the humidity that summer brought. you missed the sight of the chateau, while more fixed up now, just a little shack on the beach. you had missed this little family of yours.

“so,” john b clapped his hands together. “dinner?” everyone agreed in unison knowing the pizza that was awaiting them inside. kie and sarah wrapped their arms around your shoulders as everyone walked up the steps of the chateau.

it felt like a little piece of your heart was getting put back together. your friends were more of your family than your actual family ever had been. you breathed a small sigh of relief knowing the one person who you didn’t want to see wasn’t inside. whether you liked it or not, he would be around the next three months.

stepping inside you could see the amount of work that had been put into the home since you had last left. there were new coats of paint, new pieces of furniture, and there was a wall of pictures hanging up of the six friends in the different seasons of their lives. even the photos you had sent of your adventures in colorado were up there. you felt your stomach drop with the thought that your friends never actually forgot about you. instead, they were always supporting you from afar. tears pricked at your eyes. it was like coming home.

your eye caught a particular picture. it opened up an old wound you had spent so many years pushing down. it was you and JJ the summer before you left at the beach. his sandy blond hair pooling over your face as he looked down at you. it was a particularly warm day and instead of spending the day on the hms pogue, the gang had ventured out to the actual beach. it was one of your favorite days with JJ. you remember it being a day of snow cones and sandy butt cheeks and hitting a volleyball around the beach. it was like everyone agreed to fill an entire day with all of the summer adventures. it was a dream. until it wasn’t.

JJ.

he stood in the driveway of the chateau two hours after she arrived.

while the outer banks always had an ungodly amount of humidity, his hands were sweating more than usual. he chewed his bottom lip, unsure of where to go or what to do next. did he wait for her to come out? should he just walk through the door? it was technically his home and she was just visiting. no, it was definitely her home once too.

he ran his fingers through his hair, he knew he needed to see her. it had been two years since he had spoken to his best friend. but she was within walking distance. he could yell her name like all those nights after she left, but this time, she would hear him. he could run to her and wrap his arms around her waist and feel her warmth, her curves, her beauty and never let go. he could hear her laugh and listen to the stories of the adventures she’s been on, see the pictures she had taken. he wanted nothing more than to kiss her lips, and feel her love again.

the outer banks wasn’t big. so the entire town had known what he had done when she left. it was clear that she was running from him, but he didn’t blame her for any of it. if he was in her situation, he would run too.

he started to walk to the door, his legs felt like jelly, but it had been some time since she got there and he hoped she would be distracted by the others that he could just slip inside and listen to her talk from his bedroom.

the first thing he saw was her walk down the stairs, she was barefoot and her skin a golden brown. her t-shirt came down past past her hips and he was unsure if she was wearing any shorts underneath. it was by far his favorite thing she wore when they were dating. her hair had grew and was now far past her shoulders and cascaded down the front of her chest.

as his eyes came up, he locked eyes with the girl he loved since he was ten. and then his entire body went cold.

#jj maybank x reader #JJ Imagine #jj fanfiction #jj x y/n #jj x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank #outer banks fanfic #outerbanks #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine

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sgt-morgan · 4 years ago

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Lucky Kentucky ch. 1

Chapter 2

Hello there, this is my new Rockstar!Bucky x Reader fic. It was heavily inspired by my love of seventies mega rockstars, Almost Famous, Classic Rock, and a little bit of personal whimsy. I hope you enjoy, and read responsibly.

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️ : cussing, sexy times, drugs, booze, smoking, objectification, fornication, liberation, and a litany of other sordid topics and traumas.

Your name didn’t matter, at least not so far as you could tell. They called you Kentucky, sometimes if they felt cheeky, Bluegrass. You liked it, the first band that gave you that name was some shitty college band out of Detroit. They were convinced they were gonna be the next Led Zepplin. They called it quits three years later, a good old fashioned Rock n’ Roll suicide, booze, women, and drugs. The finer things always gets the best amateurs. However, their lead singer had a way with words, he came up with the nickname. He also wrote a beautiful song about a girl named Kentucky, who he just couldn’t swing, some big named country superstar sang the song and the last you’d heard he had been writing for the best of the best since. This earned you your title, Lucky Kentucky. A bit on the nose for your taste, but it made perfect sense. You kept following the music, you went to a band in L.A., the day you left, they signed a record deal with Sony. The next was a little English girl and her backing band, her first tour of England with you landed her a tour of the US faster than they could say ‘Burbon.’

You are what is known in the music business as a road manager, so far as you could tell, this was the job you were born to do. You made schedules, you supplied booze and other artifacts, you got hotels, paid off paparazzi, packed busses, and shoved half out of their mind rock stars on to stages in more countries than you could count, you couldn’t imagine any better life. You were the best of the best, you were who the record company called when everyone else had given up. You were a fixer, and an incredibly talented one at that. You had a gift for taking a mediocre side show band, and turning them into headliners.

So when you got the call from Tony and Pepper that you had to fix The Howling Comandos, you were shocked. They were big time, nothing like your usual fixer upper opener that you could make insta stars. They certainly weren’t your crowd, but you always had a problem saying no to Pepper, Tony’s company manager. Tony was a talented mixer, and a gifted album technician. So when he started his own label, it blew up pretty quickly. The comandos were the first band he signed. They had won Album of the Year their first Grammy season without even batting an eyelash. So once business started booming, Pepper took over the paper work, and Tony did what he did best, Fucking around with a mixing board. You had met them when you started working with Natasha and the Widows, a Blondie style punk outfit. They had a pension for eating men alive. Eventually, it got in the way of their success, so you stepped in and saved the band from total destruction. You and the starks had been thick as theives since.

“Tony, you mean to tell me, that the Commandos, the biggest artists of the decade, need my help?” You scoffed down the line, checking the Widows out of the last hotel of their tour with Greta Van Fleet.

“Yes Bluegrass, I do. Barnes is going through some existential heart break shit ‘cause ole bitch called of the wedding, and fucked the Guitarist of their opener. He’s been all drugs, booze, and sappy shit since, and someone’s gotta get the mother fucker back on stage. I’m Loosing money here Kentucky, something’s gotta give.” Tony sounded livid, there were very few times where Tony was as frazzled as this, so you knew it was serious.

“Alright, but I have conditions.” You sighed, you thought you could hear the sound of Pepper weeping tears of joy, but you couldn’t be sure. “I want the Widows to open, I’m not done with them yet Stark they’ve got some potential that still needs to be tapped. I want Frankie on security, I want Wanda for wardrobe and makeup, I want Vision for my techie, and I’m taking Peter as my Head roadie.” It was a big ask, but if you were doing this, you were gonna need the best possible team.

“Jeez woman, rob the treasure chest would yah? You want all of them? You just asked me for the entire roster. They’re on other tours! I can’t just- HEY! Woman don’t you-“ you heard a slap and an ow, and suddenly you were with the one and only Pepper Potts- Stark.

“Kentucky? You have a deal. You can have the Allstars in three months, everyone’s tours should be wrapping up, that puts you just in time for festival season. You up to it?” Pepper sounded like someone had just kicked her puppy. So you knew, you were the only one that could save the day.

“Virginia? Count me in. Give me the three months to plan and connect with the team and I’ll make sure James Barnes makes it onto that bus.” You could practically taste her relief through the receiver. What had you just signed up for.

——��—————————————————————

You’d done it. Six months, 7 bus rentals, 75 hotels, 107 plane rides, 20 festivals, 95 shows, 89 cities, and roughly 200 people later, you had managed to construct the American leg of one of the biggest and longest tours you had ever seen. All it took was two months, and 23 bottles of Jack Daniels, and you had done it. Now all you had to do was meet the band, and have your first tour meeting.

You had never been so nervous to meet a group of men in your life. Normally, these meetings we’re pretty laid back and informal. Lots of getting to know you, and goofing off. This time, you were in charge of a multi-million dollar tour that could make or break the band of the decades d ruin your career. No pressure. Needless to say, you were fairly nervous.

You were relieved upon arrival that the first people to make it in were the people who seemed to be the most reliable. Vision and Wanda were quietly whispering to eachother in the corner as always, their hands gently intertwined as they surveyed the rest of their new subjects. Frankie was standing off in another corner looking like an immovable brick wall. His sunglasses firmly in place on his nose, looking scary as always. Peter was off with the widows flirting with their drummer. You didn’t think it would end well, seeing as MJ was a bit of a hot head, and Peter was akward and nerdy, but to your surprise, they seemed to be getting along swimmingly. Natasha and Carol were staring at a book full of something, if you had to guess, it would be song lyrics of some variety, and to your shock and absolute awe, Peggy had saddled up to Steve Rogers. Steve was the guitarist of the Commandos, and he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying her company. Tony and Pepper were chatting with Clint and Sam the drummer and bassist of the Commandos, and Bruce Banner, your newly appointed second hand. James Barnes was nowhere to be seen.

“Well, well, good to see that most of you have arrived early!” You smirked walking to the head of the table with your big box of tour folders, Peter moving instantly to help you. “If I have not yet made your acquaintance, I am Kentucky, just Kentucky, you may call me Bluegrass or Lucky, but I will always prefer Kentucky. It has come to my immediate attention, that you sorry suckers were in need of a fantastic road manager, and here I am.” You survey the room as you spoke taking into account every face that you could see in the room and making sure everyone was following. “Now, where is James?”

————Some unnamed bar across town ————

Bucky’s head pounded. Wether it was from the booze or the pounding music he had no clue, but he could tell that it was far too early to be in this booth.

“You really went for it last night Barnes,” Bucky looks for the source of the voice to find that, Luke Cage, owner of the best bar in LA, was unloading boxes of tequila into his storage cabinets under the bar. “You shouldn’t have either, you’re late for your tour meeting.”

Bucky absorbed the information, and felt it melt out of his brain as if it were nothing more than an irritating ear worm. “How do you know about that?” He sighed running a hand down his face and slowly standing to grab his leather jacket.

“It’s sharpied onto your arm,” Luke chuckled pointing to Bucky’s right arm in just about the only clean space someone could fine. “Steve came in and did it last night before giving about a hundred dollars to let you sleep it off in that booth.”

“Of course he did,” Bucky scoffed, “the punk never knew when to leave well enough alone.” Bucky quickly slipped his sunglasses over his aching eyes, as he watched Luke slide a cup of coffee across the bar. “Goodbye Luke, your bar is the only thing I’m gonna miss about this town.”

“Goodbye Bucky, the free live music, and the fantastic tips are all I’m going to miss about you boys. I’ll tell Jess you said hello.” And with that final fond farewell, Bucky left Luke’s bar for the last time before he was trapped in a tour bus for six months.

The drive to Stark Records was as second nature to him as tying his shoes. He easily glided in between cars, making record time to his place of employment. He parked his bike next to a slot that occupied the sweetest little red corvette he’s seen in a good while. The tune in the reference catches his brain and he starts to whistle the chorus, wishing the artist formerly known as Prince was still around. He walked past Sharon, the desk clerk, giving her his customary wink and a smirk, stealing a sucker out of her candy dish and wandering into the meeting.

That’s when he saw her, the hottest piece of ass this side of the sunset strip. She looked powerful, she looked commanding, she was covered in tattoos and wearing the best looking little black number. She was saying his name. “Where is James?”

“Right here sweet thing, I hope I’m not too late to the party, I’d hate to miss anything that came out of that pretty little mouth.” Boy was it pretty, the full lips covered in a red shade that he could only seem to imagine smeared all over her moth as she panted his name.

“Ah, yes there he is. Hello, James. Just in time to-”

“James is my dad sugar, I’m sure we can think of something a little more clever for you to-”

“Alright then Junior if you don’t mind, I’m trying to conduct a meeting, and I will not be letting a drunken moron interupt my carefully planned work flow.”

Bucky’s jaw snapped shut as the people around him, some friends and some strangers, laughed at the clever lady’s little barb.

“Alright then, as I was saying, I’m here to help. I believe in the Peter Grant method of representation. The you-have-a-venue-you-want-it-filled-I-have-just-the-band-sixty-forty method.” She said, flipping her hair into a simple bun on the top of her head, which Bucky couldn’t find more attractive if he tried, “I have made hotel arrangements for every show, I have made bus arrangements, I have planned for added shows, and delayed dates. I have brought you the best opener I have, the best artists, roadies, security, and technicians I could scrape together, and most importantly, I have given you my time and my trust. I can make your touring life as easy and as simple as humanly possible, or I could ruin it. However, all I want is to get you out there, grinding again, reminding your fans the reason they love you. All you have to do, is let me work, and focus on the music. Can we do that?”

“Doll? I like the way you think.”

“Junior? It’s gonna be a long fucking six months.”

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topconfessions · 4 years ago

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I agree with everything you said in the Normani ask! Lsa is mostly darkskin black women so I strongly assume that they live through Normani and see every type of criticism as a direct insult to themselves. I know it sucks, that there aren't any darkskin mainstream female singers, but Normani truly isn't it. She's so boring and her eyes look so hopeless. There's truly nothing wrong with not being a big superstar. They're defending a pretty multi-millionair who doesn't know them, as if their lives is depending on it lmao. And the song was bad, I don't understand the Du du du part. It's just another mediocre sex song. The Aaliyah sample, which they claim is a coincidence, was so badly embedded and everyone can tell, its One in a Million. But most of LSA are just trying to guilt trip everyone into agreeing with them, bc no one wants to be labelled a colorist or racist. I wish they'd come out of their forever-a-victim-shell, not all criticism that goes to her is a direct take on her skin color or race ffs. And I've only seen a handful of posts that have mentioned that she's not pretty in the face, never the skin color. And 98% of the criticism are about the lackluster song and that her fans are annoying lol. But the oversexualization of black women has desensitized me that it doesn't even bother me anymore. But I honestly liked Motivation, I hoped she would have gone the pop route because her voice would've meshed with the upbeat melody, so it wouldn't stand out so much, that her vocals aren't the best. And agree, Chloe also shows wayyyy too much ass. Both of them and Saweetie, are trying to be a persona, that they don't feel comfy with and you can clearly tell. I also thought Doja Cat would be the breakout star after Say So, but her album kinda tanked besides Kiss Me More, Ain't Shit and Woman I think. Those are the sounds that are very popular on Tik Tok rn. She is indeed really really weird. Idk if you saw it but I was so putt off after she posted that pic of her on the toilet naked on twitter, with the pad stuck in her underwear. I get that people now do the most; to get a buzz reaction from stans but after some time people won't react anymore, even if you show your cooch lmao. I'm still waiting, if she truly did peak with Say So. I have hopes on Halle Bailey, when the little mermaid comes out, because her and Chloe sing like angels but I'm not sure because there were soooo many racist Disney adults and they make up the majority of Disney consumers and they'll probably force their kids to not watch it. They won't tune in for a black mermaid, even though it literally won't change the fucking story lmao. I'm just worried that if she doesn't act good she'll be demonized. She also has a too unique look so I don't know if many people would be for that, many superstars are somehow conventionally attractive and uet very unique. I also don't get the point of live actions movies but whatever lol. But she also shows a lot of skin, it just doesn't get the press talking bc she's not as thick as Chloe. The decade has only begun, but I'm kinda hoping for a wholesome black woman. If Taylor Swift never has to show ass, I don't see why we can't have a cute black girl-next-door-superstar. I also have my theory that, if she exists, when shows up, she's going to be like the Rodrigo girl, a 'unique' sound and no one has ever heard of her (minus the industry plant part lol). LSA really wants the next superstar to show up already, with the many posts about Normani, Megan, Doja, Chloe and who ever else and trying to push them into superstardom already. What most don't get is, while they may be popular in the US, most of the time the rest of the world doesn't know who they are.

Exactly 10000% agree with you and tbh over there it does feel like they take disagreements with Normani as hate on themselves. I'm like Gina from Martin complexion so I can't relate to them and this entire thing with Norm.

Also y'all will kick my ass but honestly.. Unpopular opinion here, my own confession:

I really feel like Normani had more personality and soul as a person when she was in 5th harmony as well as when she was allowing her dislike for Camilla to show. LSA always spins it as Camilla bullying Normani and the group but it was equally messy in my eyes. Ironically look who went on to be a star first and isn't struggling with a boredom management crisis. But this will be equated to Camilla getting everything the way she did cause of her ethnic background etc. Camilla is on the chill out rn and Normani is having her moment but I would pay to go see Cam before Normani sadly and Normani is more talented than Cam. And yes not everybody needs to be a world star mega star.

Is it just me or is the American market very strange these days? So much narrow competition to be a BIG thing like damn can't y'all be okay with just a career and being in the game? Cause to me feel it feels like that after the 2000s it's just narrow now. Normani wouldn't have even been a star in the 2000s honestly cause she lacks that much personality and only ones who go for her are the ones who are invested in her beyond the music who are pushing her to win. But she deserved a shot at making it but I feel she is better off as a dancer.

Right. Tbh say so was enough for Doja to be known internationally cause it got turned into a Japanese version and I think she doesn't realize there is untapped potential there cause say so did sound like a kpop female idol solo song no cap. She has crossover potential but not well traveled and smart enough to realize and utilize that. There just aren't any smart girls that can do it hell none of them have the wits to do it. Meg is cool in general but she won't be it cause she does not have mass appeal out of America. I'm sure if she did a world tour it would sell of course but honestly her music is niche to the world and not every black person who isnt an African American is dying for a BBL large butt I'll make a man nut in 5 secs bad bitch savage aesthetic. It's tired already and meant more when Lil Kim and Nicki did it. Chloe x Halle are nobodies beyond that on a national scale outside of Western market although of course they have overseas listeners maybe. They all carry themselves and behave like they aren't going anywhere in life beyond America. This is why Beyonce and Michael Jackson are goats cause they had mass appeal. Also none of them followed beyonce formula and stuck to teetering on white aesthetics with the constant variations of blonde hair to the point you'd assume she was born with blonde hair and keeping her skin complexion light at times when it benefited her. A

And yes the next superstar may an Olivia type. Ella Mai and Jhene Aiko give me those vibes but Jhene fell off and Ella is still doing her. And that's the major divider and difference. A lot of white artist don't have get naked and sing about sex 24/7 to make it yet we keep falling behind cause our own resort to this 24/7 as their main sound and wonder why in regular life black women are always seen as a "fetish"

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fanficwriterinfinity · 4 years ago

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Serendipity-Minjoon/Minimoni

Geunyang geunyang neoui gippeumeuro

Summary-Namjoon sings a song to Jimin, and proposes to him.

TW-Light mention of past alcoholism, anorexia and depression. It’s not a lot, but I wanted to say this just in case.

Namjoon was nervous, his hand ghosting over the pocket in which he had kept the ring box.

Tonight, on the rooftop of the Sky Bar in Seoul, he was going to propose to Park Jimin, his fellow bandmate and boyfriend of three and a half years.

Right now, Jimin was at the balcony of the Sky Bar, looking at the beautiful view of Seoul that the bar had to offer. He had a drink in his hand, and Namjoon knew that would be his only one. Jimin had a past with alcohol, and although he was in a better place, Namjoon knew that Jimin still kept cautious around it.

“Back from the washroom?” his boyfriend asked. Namjoon resisted the urge to just stare into his eyes. “Yeah.” he’d lied. He never went to the washroom, he just gathered his nerves together outside the entrance to the bar.

“Thank you for doing this” Jimin said, his voice a little more than a whisper as he stared at the view. Namjoon loved seeing Jimin like this, calm, serene and captivated.

“For doing what?”

“This. I know you’ve been busy with the upcoming album, Joon, and in our lives, dates aren’t really that simple. And you know how much I like the view of Seoul from a height.” Jimin looked at him, and Namjoon guessed that he was touched by his gesture. Since neither of them were out to the public yet, they had to block off areas so that they could have date without risking their relationships, and letting their moments be seen by fans or Dispatch.

“I’d do anything for you, Jimin.” the two lovers stared at each other with love in their eyes before Namjoon leaned in and captured their lips in a chaste kiss.

“Seoul’s so pretty in the nighttime.” Namjoon remarked. No matter how many times either of them-or even the rest of their band-saw this view, it always captivated them the same way it had the first time.

“Well, so are you.” Jimin couldn’t help but add the cheesy line. Both of them laughed, in a way that only they could make each other.

Namjoon quickly finished off his beer. It was time. He went through all the things that the other boys had told him when he expressed his wish to propose to his lover.

“Sing a song” was something that all of them had in common. Although the song had varied. from Jungkook suggesting “Smithereens” by Twenty One Pilots (there were too many high notes), to Jin’s suggestion of “Falling in Love With You”(too cheesy), to Hobi and Tae’s mixed suggestion of “Dear Future Husband” by Meghan Trainor(Just NO). In the end, they picked on a song that had a special meaning to both Namjoon and Jimin.

“I modeun geon uyeoni anya” he started singing. Despite his insecurities in his singing voice, Jimin had reassured Namjoon that he’d always love his voice. “ Geunyang geunyang naui neukkimeuro “ Jimin looked at him in surprise before he picked up on the song.

Serendipity, the song that Jimin sand on the Love Yourself:Answer album. The song that Namjoon had written for Jimin in order to convey that he had feelings for him. The song that played when they said their first “I love you’s”.

“On sesangi eojewan dalla “ Jimin sang, in a voice that wasn’t his typical soprano, rather it was his natural voice. “ Geunyang geunyang neoui gippeumeuro “

They both continued the song together, alternating every two lines. Although it was impromptu (at least for Jimin, whereas Namjoon had practised in front of Yoongi and Jungkook for two hours), they fell into a natural rhythm, as if they always burst into song at random moments.

This was their magic. They way they could always work together seamlessly, like parts of a machine.

After the impromptu duet ended, Namjoon wrapped Jimin into a back hug, which Jimin gladly accepted.

Taking a deep breath, Namjoon started the speech that he’d written while Jimin thought he was working on the album.

“Jimin-ah, when I met you, it was in the BigHit building. I don’t think anyone knew what we were going to become. We were just two boys who thought we were straight. You were, shy, insecure, and a kind-hearted soul that most people never saw because they just tried to hurt you. I was, well, I was Rap Monster, with that ugly foil perm which for some reason, made Jungkook respect me.” Jimin laughed at the mention of Namjoon’s former stage name and persona. Namjoon didn’t blame him. It was very funny.

“Honestly, the most special thing about us is the flow we have with each other. From the first moment we met, we just..clicked. It was in a way that we didn’t with anyone else. It always took me time to build a connection with someone. Yet, with you, I felt it at an instant. Saying this, Namjoon moved, so that he was standing besides Jimin and facing him. Jimin was facing him too, tears starting to pool in his eyes.

“Namjoon..are you...? Jimin whispered, his voice shaky.

“Please let me do this” he hurried out, pressing his forehead against Jimin’s. The latter nodded, giggling as he pressed his lips against Namjoon’s. “Okay, I’ll let you.”

“I remember when we were practicing for the Blood Sweat and Tears comeback, and you passed out because you weren’t eating. I remember my panic; I remember wishing I could fix it, and make you realize that you are perfect the way you are, Jimin, because you might have flaws, but it’s the flaws that make you perfect. It was then I realized that I loved you, and that I wasn’t straight.” Tears start slipping from Jimin’s eyes, and Namjoon quickly wipes them away.

“Don’t cry, Jagiya.” he whispers. Jimin just nods.

“ Feburary 14th, 2017. We were shooting for Not Today, and in the dressing rooms of that set was where we shared our first kiss. It was a dare from Tae, and I thought that it was a joke to you too. And you thought it was just a dare to me. We both remember the date, so I have a feeling it was more than that. I couldn’t sleep that night, because all I could think of was you, and how I wished it was real. Six months later, I wrote Serendipity, and shared the demo to you. It was about you. And then I remember that I was feeling down, I wasn’t thinking the best thoughts about myself, and you manned up and said that I was perfect the way I was, and that you wished Serendipity was about you. You were ready to leave and go to Jungkook so that you could cry about how the band dynamics would get ruined thanks to your ‘selfishness’. And then I told you that it was about you. We shared our first kiss that night.”

“Do you remember the first time we made out? It was in a party, and you and I were, fair to say, a bit tipsy. And then we probably would’ve gone further, if Jackson hadn’t caught us and then said that he would never invite us to his parties again if he had to see us like this all the time.” Jimin couldn’t help but laugh at the memory.

“I remember you froze up; apart from the band no one else knew of us. But we were okay. Jackson didn’t really care. I remember how nervous we were when we decided to come out to our parents. I thought you and I were going to pass out. And although it probably did take time for them to accept it, they most certainly have.”

“A few months ago, I asked your parents for permission to marry you, and they said yes. I even asked the boys in the band, and they all said yes, although Tae might not like me for the next couple of days. Even Bang PD said yes.”

“Jimin, you’ve been with me during all my highs and lows. From the time when I had depression, and you would motivate me to do something, to when we got a number 1 on the Billboard Charts in USA and I was so happy that I couldn’t even sleep. I want to wake up and go to sleep with you everyday. I want yo to hear all the bad, good and mediocre songs I write. I want to be there to wipe your tears when you cry, and laugh with you when you are happy. I want to spend starry nights on picnic blankets in the countryside with you. I want to see you learn English and see you learn new words and stumble across words you don’t know, but you’re okay with that because it helps you grow. I want to watch every movie you like, even if I don’t, because I love your smile, fuck that, I love everything about you, from your smile to your personality to your fucking flaws, because they make you the Jimin I love. I want to love you for the rest of our lives. And I want to know if you want to do all these things with me as well.”

Namjoon went down on one knee, tears starting to pool into his eyes. Jimin was crying right now, and Namjoon resisted the urge to wipe his tears away, because he hadn’t even asked the question yet. He pulled out the ring box, and Jimin lightly gasped.

“Park Jimin, will you do the honor of marrying me?” He opened the ring box. Inside was a rose gold band with a diamond in the middle. Simple, yet it was elegant.

“Yes, Namjoon. I would love to be your husband someday.” Jimin answered in a thick voice in flawless English. Jimin got down to knees and tightly hugged his boyfriend-no, fiancé- as they both cried into each other’s necks.

“Kim Namjoon, my fiancé.” Jimin muttered.

“You haven’t even worn the ring yet, pabo.” Namjoon joked. Jimin laughed, in a way only Namjoon could make him laugh. Namjoon slid the ring onto Jimin’s left ring finger. Jimin looked at the ring in awe.

“It’s beautiful, Joon. It’s like something I would buy for you.”

“Well, I am wearing a ring that you bought for me.” Namjoon had started wearing a ring, a symbol of his relationship with Jimin. And it was a hot topic of fan speculation, but Namjoon couldn’t care less. He kissed his husband-to-be with all the love that he had in him, and it registered in his mind that this was their first kiss as fiancés, and both of them tasted like the alcohol that they had.

Jimin got up first, and then helped his boyfriend up, who, managed to trip while doing so, nearly causing both of them to fall.

“Of course, your no-klutzyness charm could only last for so long.” Jimin joked. “I honestly thought you’d break the ring box.”

“Well, be glad I didn’t.” Namjoon playfully retorted. “Anyways, I’m pretty sure the boys will be downstairs by now, ready to pick us up.” He could already hear the others cheering for the two fiancés, alongside the inevitable question: ”So is it Kim Jimin or Park Namjoon?”

As they left the bar and headed to the lift, which was gratefully empty, Namjoon lightly kissed Jimin again. “In English, the word serendipity means ‘an unplanned, fortunate discovery.”

“I know, Joon. In case you forgot, I sang a song called ‘Serendipity’ for one of our albums.”

“I know that. I just wanted to say that our love is true serendipity. Neither of us really thought that we’d ever be in love, but yet, it’s the best thing that’s happened to me, to both of us, guessing by the way you cried when I proposed.”

“You mean so much to me. And every word you said, I want it too. And I’ll even watch all the movies you like, even if I don’t, because your happiness makes everything worth it.” The smile on Jimin’s face was worth more than a million dollars.

And then Namjoon knew, that even in this messed up world, there was still hope. And it was in his fiancé, his husband-to-be, Park Jimin.

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baddly-well-done-translations · 4 years ago

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Who is (and who was) who in Marilyn Manson | by Lala Toutonian (Madhouse magazine N°84, year 1997)

A very normal family

Stop with the Reverend, for Satan’s sake! It’s the turn of the rest of the band, those relegated who maintain a lower (although not less controversial) profile. It’s difficult growing behind the shadow of such a character as Marilyn Manson, because of that is essential to maintain a spiritual strength and a fire-proof constancy. Here, an article (with the most solicited data) about the members and opus of the group which has most given to talk in this time.

Twiggy Ramirez: androginous (but sexual)

The second place in the category which refers to a visual phenome, is undoubtedly for the androginous bassist. Twiggy Ramirez is only one step away from taking the name of Antichrist Superstar, as his mentor.

“I pretend trying to break that barrier between what’s femminine and masculine” says the one who insists with dresses; “I think I had my first erection the day I put on my mother’s undergarments. It’s a part of me which feels comforted with that, as so many other people. Obviously I’m not a hermaphrodite, although people believe so. There’s a very thin line between hetero, bi, and homosexual”.

His thing is terminant. “We’re here to change today’s mainstream because it’s very mediocre. There was a time in which music wasn’t exciting anymore, there wasn’t a single one rockstar, it depressed me. I’m proud of being part of the mainstream now, somebody had to change it, turn it more exciting”.

He asegurates his thing was there since his mother’s womb. “She danced in a cage for the Kinks and Leslie West’s band”. His father could be the legendary guitarist West or Ray Davies from the Kinks: “I grew up surrounded by music. I lived with an aunt who was a groupie and very friend of the Ramones. I remember she hung up with one from the Bee Gees too”. If he hadn’t got success with music, he assegurates he’d be a prostitute.

And he continues with polemic themes: “I was raised without religion, I’ve never been cristian or satanist, I’m nothing”. He’s a rockstar: “Our music is so straight forward… There’s a group of idiots who simulate they don’t want to be rockstars, like if they felt pity for themselves. We’re the exception. The last time I talked with my mother, she told me little boxes with pubic hair were arriving at the house. I thought it was spectacular. Someone has to raise and care for those children. If their parents raise them, they’ll be just like us”.

Twiggy’s musical career started in primary school. He started playing violin because of a Star Wars film. In secondary school days, “Shout at the Devil” by Mötley Crüe and “Stay Hungry” by Twisted Sister were the albums which had most amazed him and the ones which ended up being decisive in his career. “Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show” was his first band: “A blend of country-wester disco with rockabilly bits”.

Ramirez met Manson in a Shopping Mall. “We had a band called ‘Mrs. Scabtree’ in which I dressed up as a black woman and sang. Then we started ‘Satan on Fire’, christian death metal group. I also sang and played guitar while Manson played the bass there. All these projects were while the creation of Marilyn Manson was taking place. He (Manson) played drums and bass, mostly so I could improve with guitar”.

Attracted by most dark metal genres “because of its message and rage”, Twiggy realized there was a lot of limitation, you couldn’t go further and the audience was minimal in this type of events.

He was invited to join the band after the recording of “Portrait of an American Family” and after two rehearsal weeks, they went on tour. “First album was recorded as a live band. In ‘Smells Like Children’ most of the material were covers. Scarcely in the song ‘Scabs, Guns and Peanut Butter’ I could give my own musical idea”.

Until that moment nothing could prevent the path the “Antichrist Superstar” would take, although the creepy version of “Sweet Dreams” deatheached a rotten smell. Ramirez assegurates that while in the “Smells..” tour, Marilyn and him had the same dreams, so they started composing together because it seemed that inspiration had the same start point in common: “In those days we talked about telepathy. We knew what the other was thinking and what we pretended for every song”.

The recording process of “Antichrist Superstar” ended up being pretty stressful for Twiggy since the moment in which Daisy was fired out of the band: “I don’t really know what was up with Daisy, but I was feeling alone, I wasn’t contributing in anything. I was lucky that there was Trent (Reznor)” Twiggy, with Marilyn Manson, plus Madonna Wayne Gacy’s contributions, were some of the pillars that helped “Antichrist Superstar” being the success it is.

God’s chosen one

The last thing the group’s members needed after the recording of Antichrist Superstar was having to search for a replacement for Berkowitz. But in the face of Daisy’s inability to get into the Manson family, they had to search for a six string player. This was in May 96’, and after a year they crashed into Zim Zum. While dozens of musicians paraded around Treznor’s house, the trio Manson-Ramirez-Gacy was acting as a judge while watching auditioning aspirants.

Although his name doesn’t derivate from a sex simbol and a murderer, the nickname has a particularity worthy of emphatize: the idea was taken from Hebrew. Zim Zum was the angel God had chosen to do the dirty work at the start of times; the same function was given to him by Mr. Manson while including him in the band. There are other dark sides in his ambivalent personality too: Tzimtzum refears, in cabbalistic terms, to the place God left for giving place to humanity. Also his name could be attributed to the serial assassin from the 60’s, called Raymond Zum.

From Illinois, Chicago, he worked for a long time in a guitar factory (In fact, three guitars of his are self-made). Apart of LSD (Life, Sex and Death), he had never participated in a band before. He debuted recording the live version of “Irresponsible Hate Anthem”.

A simple guy: Olivia Newton Bundy

Brian Tutunick is an original member of the Spooky Kids, after the initial project of Marilyn Manson, he continued his career in Collapsing Lungs and now he plays in Nation of Fear: “Nation of Fear started in 1995 after the dissolution of Collapsing Lungs. This project really was in my plans before that Marilyn Manson thing, as something more industrial. But some members of the bands preferred hip-hop. Then I met DJ Grinch, who was a Collapsing fan, and we started Nation together”. He assegures his thing is industrial, goth, alternative and a bit of rap and hardcore, everything blended with computers.

How was his history in Marilyn Manson? “Perry (Zsa Zsa Speck) and I were working on the Collapsing thing, and we were very friends. We had never made music before, but we wrote a lot of poetry. He started hanging out with Scott (Daisy Berkowitz) and recorded something like six tracks. That way they started Spooky Kids and I was asked if I wanted to be part of the project. I joined them, although I always pretended returning to Collapsing. Everyone gave ideas about performance and the visual part, but Manson already knew what direction we had to take. Between 1989 and 1990 we had only five shows. Madonna was bizarre. When we quit off the band because we wanted to keep up with Collapsing, we told him to take charge of the samplers. He was an encyclopedia of bizarre acts”, tells Olivia.

“I basically left the band because Manson and I have our own messages, someones in common, others not (...) I’m not on the musician's side. I hate musicians. I’m with entertainment, because of that I have more in common with a stripper than with Billy Joel”, concludes Wayne Gacy like if he wanted to make clear his mental lucidity.

Olivia practically doesn’t see the members of Marilyn Manson anymore, unless they met in a club or pub in the city. “Marilyn Manson is a shock rock band. They’re what they’re because they’re very controversial. There’s a thing I find particularly funny: religious groups which attentate in it’s shows. I consider that threatening a stadium full of kids with a bomb is a lot worse than a simple guy who’s trying to play his music”. Simple? Guy?...

Leafing the Daisy

When Daisy Berkowitz said goodbye to his peers in the middle of Antichrist Superstar’s production, fans were left totally shocked. After desperate searches by the press hand, he finally appeared, only to present Three Ton Gates, his new aggrupation. Now he’s heading towards the trial Manson initiated because of his composition’s rights.

“I wasn’t fired. I felt like I didn’t have credit for what I was doing and certainly not the opportunity of doing my music, while that was all I did between the first album and Smells Like Children. Manson didn’t accept any of the compositions I had for Antichrist Superstar. He only wanted ‘Wormboy’ and I felt deceived. He didn’t respect me. He changes opinions every five minutes, I’m not exaggerating. He was always searching for a sonorous personality and I contributed a lot in that field. When you write, you cannot simply transmit what you have in your head. He isn’t a musician, so he doesn’t understand that. He never appreciated my effort in creating a big sound unity”.

He assures Manson wanted to work with Twiggy and not with him, because the bassist took charge of the guitars after Daisy’s departure. “When I noticed I had only participated in a third part of the album, I decided to go away. They didn’t even include lots of guitars! They literally didn’t let me enter the studio, I only entered two times per week to do the basics with guitars. I played in five tracks: ‘Warmboy’, ‘Tourniquet’, ‘Mr. Superstar’ and ‘Antichrist Superstar’. Then they told me ‘Now you can leave’ and they hadn’t even ended the album. I realized I had to leave...“ laments Daisy.

He criticises the Reverend saying he had never had a band before and he doesn’t know what professionalism is. He doesn’t hang out with any of the band members now: “Nobody has even invited me to a show”. What does not being “Daisy Berkowitz” anymore feel like? “A bit better”, he tries to convince us.

The ones who want to contact the ex-Daisy, can do it at http://www.spookykids.com/threetongate (It’s a magazine from the ‘97, I hardly believe the page even exists now)

#marilyn manson #90s aesthetic #translation #the translation is mine #give credit #big balled idiot #old magazines #old everything

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peace-coast-island · 4 years ago

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Diary of a Junebug

A visit to Coral Beach

What a fun time at the beach! Coral Beach is such a lovely place - from the clear blue waters and colorful mosaics scattered throughout the boardwalk, it's one of those places ideal for vacationing based on appearance alone. No photoshopping necessary when it comes to taking pictures here!

I'm surprised that I haven't visited the beach sooner since it's about an hour away from the camp. In fact, there's still so many places nearby that I haven't been to yet. The trip was kinda a spur of the moment kind of thing Pancetti, Audie, Snooty, Lyman, and I planned at the last minute. By chance I ran into an old friend who's vacationing there too and now she's coming back with us.

So we spent a couple days at Coral Beach exploring the sights and enjoying the resort and then tomorrow we're heading back to the camp. Of course, I also spent the time catching up with Desi, who's been enjoying the seaside scenery.

Desi Rivera's an aspiring singer-songwriter who hopes to make it big one day. Right now though, she's jumping off the ladder and starting from scratch. It's a risky move, but I think it's a necessary one. Given her talent and ambition, I know that Desi will come out stronger than ever.

I met Desi at summer camp years ago. Even though we only spent one summer together, we kept in touch for a while after that. The summer camp thing was something our parents made us do and to be honest it wasn't really our thing so they didn't push us when we told them that there wasn't going to be a next summer. The experience wasn't terrible - I did make a friend after all - but summer camp and I just didn't click at all. Now that I think about it, it's kinda interesting that as an adult I'm running a camp right now - though this and summer camp are totally different.

Since Desi lived in the town nearby we often ran into each other. As we got older contact became sporadic but we occasionally said hi to each other when our paths crossed. Then as adults we regained contact on social media and have been keeping up with each other since then. Desi often posts covers and original songs, which is how she got her online following. She could've easily made it big if it weren't for certain people.

Desi's journey as a singer-songwriter is sure to become an interesting one. Ever since she could talk, Desi knew she wanted to be a singer. She always had a nice voice, one that became more refined as she got older. Talented songwriter too, with an honest and poetic way with words. And it's a damn shame that her talent has been consistently overshadowed and sidelined for white mediocrity.

Yup, I said it - mediocrity. No disrespect to Meghan Tyler and Too Cool - I mean I can see their commercial appeal, but for the most part, their music is bland and forgettable. Music tastes aside, it is pretty impressive that Desi was in the same circles as people like Meghan and Joe of the Shayne Brothers.

Desi first met the two at a camp for aspiring musicians, the well known Camp Music. She was one of many talented nobodies who wanted a glimpse at stardom. Meghan Tyler is the daughter of pop star Ann Tyler, and it was her who ran the camp, the typical queen bee. I happened to cross paths with Meghan and her friends online (unrelated reasons) and they always gave me a vibe of a high school clique. I interacted with her indirectly a couple times but then actively avoided her when her friends stirred up drama. It's one thing to vagueblog about an ex-friend who screwed you over, it's another to ruin someone's reputation by claiming that they faked their trauma just because you had a petty falling out with them.

Then there's Joe Shayne, best known as the lead singer for the Shayne Brothers. He was amazed by Desi's voice and took an interest in her. The two started off kinda rough with Joe pushing his boundaries and Desi rightfully calling him out on his entitled behavior. The whole thing was kinda like a Cinderella story with Joe trying to figure out who was the singer he overheard while passing by while Desi tried too hard to impress him after realizing who he was. By the end of the summer, they began dating, becoming regulars at Camp Music for the next several years.

Despite what the others were saying, Desi and Joe were going strong for eight years. Desi was associated with the Shayne Brothers, which was a blessing and a curse. As much as she liked Joe and his brothers, she didn't want to be known solely because of her connection to them. They were going to get engaged until last year when Desi broke things off. According to her, things had been kinda rough for a while but they tried - probably a bit too hard, in her words - to stay together. They're still friends but Desi thinks in a year or two they'll drift away, which I think is what she wants.

On one hand it's kinda sad since they've been together for so long. And from what I've heard about Joe, being with Desi helped him a lot as before he met her he was on his way to becoming a short tempered almost has-been. Basically, she made him shape up and consider his future seriously. But aside from their love of music, Desi and Joe were from completely different worlds. In the years since they got together, they've grown into two different people. The two have spoken openly about their breakup and it seems like it's for the best. Sometimes things just don't work out in the end and that's okay.

As for Meghan, Desi always had a complicated relationship with her. Being the fish out of water, Desi tried to impress Meghan, even if it meant dumbing down herself to please Meghan's ego. There was always some sort of competition between them with Desi constantly feeling like she has to prove herself. While Meghan did help Desi out with her connections and fame, Desi never felt she earned her recognition, another reason why she wanted to start from the ground up.

For years Desi was part of Meghan's band, Too Cool. While Desi occasionally had some solos that charted, she and the other members were always overshadowed by Meghan. She considers the whole experience a mixed bag, one that started out exciting but in the end the bad outweighed the good.

A few months ago, not too long after leaving Too Cool, Desi did an insightful interview for a magazine where she spoke honestly about her ups and downs with the band as well as her breakup with Joe. I always felt that she deserved better than Too Cool, especially after reading the interview. From being constantly referred to as "the Mexican one" even though she stated multiple times she's Cuban, to being told to sing slightly off key in order to make Meghan sound better - no wonder she wanted out. It's an eye opening read on the ugly side of the music industry, particularly on how WOC artists are treated.

Following her departure, another member and longtime friend of Meghan, Maria Silva, also left the band for similar reasons. She too had also spoken out about the racism she experienced, having been constantly referred to as "the Chinese one" despite being Filipino. I don't know Maria too well but she comes across as genuine and I wish her well on her solo endeavors.

Right now Desi's taking a break on music, though not entirely. She's been writing songs and making demos but it'll be a while before she releases something. For now Desi wants to celebrate her freedom, starting with a long, well deserved vacation. Then once she's had enough rest and relaxation, she plans to jump back into the music scene with a bang, this time on her own terms with her calling all the shots.

Desi's been teasing me and the campers with what she has in store. In light of the racism she experienced with Too Cool, Desi wants to embrace her Cuban culture more than ever, starting with the music. Mainstream pop radio hits aren't her thing anymore, so she's going for a new sound inspired by her Cuban roots along with her usual pop rock style she's got going on since she began writing songs. She's also considering the idea of doing an album in Spanish, though that'll depend on a lot of factors.

It's nice to see her so excited and passionate about her music - that's one of the things I love about her! Like I said, Desi's got talent and ambition, and I know that she'll successfully make a name for herself without Meghan or Joe's shadows. I mean, the demos I've heard already sound a million times better than pretty much everything Too Cool has done - imagine how the final product will be! Once the album comes out, I'll be one of the first in line to buy and download a copy.

We met up with Desi by chance at the hotel, her room being upstairs. She's been traveling around, crossing off places where she always wanted to visit. So far she's crossed off four places from her list. After Coral Beach she was debating on Hero's Tunnel and Swan Park since they're right next to each other. Since the camp's along the way, I invited her over and hopefully during her time there, she can make up her mind on where to visit first. I know she'll enjoy the camp, especially Saltwater Shores since she's a beach gal.

Coral Beach is such a beautiful place. One of the first things we did when we got there was to pose in front of the fountain and toss a bell in for a wish. Then we checked into the Coral Beach Hotel, where we got a lovely view of the ocean and fountain.

The architecture of the hotel is so pretty, it reminds me of an old village on a tropical island. Along the boardwalk are charming little shops and cafes where we got to enjoy shaved ice and fine handmade souvenirs. I got a set of cute floral teacups, a dot grid notebook with a pretty mosaic cover, a gorgeous seashell necklace, and a painted ukulele.

We went swimming and snorkeling in the ocean, where we got to see the pretty coral the place is known for. Nature can be so fascinating sometimes - the coral really does look like fancy lace! I also collected a bunch of pretty seashells like pearl oysters, which are pretty rare, as well as pink oyster shells and obsidian shells, something I've never seen before. Desi suggested that we go parasailing - her new favorite activity as of recently - so that's what we did and it was a lot of fun! We also went surfing, watched a performance at the theater, shared cocktails during happy hour, and explored the gardens.

Today we went to a mosaic workshop and made some cool decor. Then we went to a ceramics shop where we watched how bowls were made, which was pretty cool. After that we had a late lunch at Sash, where we had poke and butter mochi. Next door was a bookstore where we browsed for a while and then we spent a couple hours at the beach before heading to the hotel for dinner.

Since we aren't leaving until tomorrow afternoon, we had some time to kill so we spent it at the pool, lounging around. Desi says she's looking forward to seeing the camp and meeting up with Daisy Jane. It's so good seeing Desi relaxed and having a great time, especially after what she had to put up with during her time with Too Cool.

It's getting late now and I still have a little bit of packing left to do. The ocean's so pretty at this time of night, the way the light of the stars reflect on the water like sparkles. I can't wait to come back in the near future.

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

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harryimaginestuff · 5 years ago

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Never Love Again

Anon: Can you do one with harry being a dick/asshole and is really mean to y/n hurts her feelings(they arent dating) and harry tries to win? her back major angst please :)))

The song lyric used in this is from ‘Never Love Again’ from ‘A Star is Born’.

The one where Harry’s never been meaner (acquaintances!harry&y/n)

Genre: Angst

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: Mentions of death

You’re thankful for the radiators on blast, their artificial heat hugging you allowing you to release the strong grip you had on your coat as the clear door slams shut behind you thanks to one of many strong gusts of wind.

Wiping your feet on the carpet you wave animatedly at Jess, the receptionist, hurriedly taking off your scarf and coat hanging it on the pegs provided. Coming here had become a regular for you over the Summer, the prime time of music writing for musicians, so now in the freezing month of December getting ready for a writing session in one of London’s most famous recording studios had become second-nature to you.

Jeff Azoff had contacted you years ago after hearing about your impeccable talent for song writing and admirable professionalism, something that he himself revered because he knew first-hand how frenzied operating within in this industry could get. So, when one of his father’s clients – John Mayor if we really feel like name dropping – had rambled on profusely about your undeniable talent he had no choice but to check you out. And that was almost 4 years ago. From then on the two of you had formed a close bond, tagging along on family holidays, being invited to the fanciest of parties and being the resident ghost writer for Full Stop Management.

And today just like most days you were called into the studio to aid with the writing of yet another global superstar and according to the vague text that Jeff had sent you that morning, said artist was Harry Styles.

Now, you weren’t completely unfamiliar with the man, after all having a friendship with Jeff automatically meant that you would constantly be in Harry’s presence, however you wouldn’t go as far as to call yourself friends. Your relationship with him had always been low-key and mediocre, chatting occasionally, and for lack of a better word, the two of you were merely friendly. Nothing more, nothing less. You had absolutely no issue with this of course, it wasn’t as if you both would never talk, you would exchange formalities, have light-hearted conversations, and his gentlemanly behaviour was evident from when the two of you had first met. You had always admired him, even in his boyband days, loving how he was never afraid to just be, respecting how he had the kindest and most gentle soul. You had no issue with admiring him from a distance.

As you entered the recording booth you were greeted with warm smiles weirdly from everyone sans Harry it seemed. You shrugged off his odd behaviour, excusing his cold greeting with the fact that he has been stuck in here for hours, the stress from making a song stealing all of his attention as the deadline for his next album fast approached.

“M’so sorry I’m late guys, got caught up at home.” You sheepishly mumbled an apology plopping yourself on the coach beside Mitch as you pulled your notebook out of your bag. You almostmissed the look Harry gave you, his face screwing up in distaste as he rolled his eyes. Almost.

“No worries Y/N.” Jeff’s American accent ran thick, “You’re the one doing us a favour.” You ignored the sound of Harry huffing across the room, instead choosing to focus on finding the piece you thought would be best for Harry. “We’ve been stuck here for hours,” Mitch groaned beside you, his head leaning back as he closed his eyes, “please tell me you have something for us.”

You chuckled lightly, “As a matter of fact I do, it’s not much but it should be enough to kickstart a few gears,” reaching over you gently patted Mitch’s head to which he smiled brightly up at you.

“Think I’ll be the judge of that thanks.” Harry finally spoke up; however, he was still huffing and puffing, “S’my album.”

You ignored Harry’s harsh tone, instead choosing to smile brightly at him handing over your open notebook to which he took without even a whisper of a thank you.

You watched on with nerves, your fingers fiddling on your lap as you Harry’s eyes skimmed over the pages covered with your hard work.

However, rather than receiving the praise you thought you would get you were met with another scoff as his judgemental eyes turned to you.

“S’supposed be prepared aren’t you? That’s why Jeff pays you.”

“Harry!” Jeff shouts, yet the volume of his voice falls flat once it reaches Harry’s ears.

“First your fucking late, s’not very professional is it? And then you hand me your supposed ‘chosen’ piece and it cannot be any further from what I am.” “Don’t doubt my ability to write when I’ve been successfully for other artists for years.” You huffed, crossing your arms and leaning back into the leather sofa. “M’ not doubting your abilities to write s’just even a basic amount of research would’ve been evidence that what you’ve just shown me is not like me.”

Your heart beats erratically and your hands clench in an attempt to keep the rapidly growing irritation at bay. Reminding yourself repeatedly that it would not be okay if you were to kick him in the shins.

“Like you said Harry, it’s your album you do have the final say,” you said through gritted teeth. “A ‘no thanks’ would’ve sufficed too though.” Reaching out your arm you grab your abandoned notebook carefully turning to the page that had the other page with a post-it note hanging out. “I’ve got another one that I thought we could use.”

Before coming you were sceptical of whether you would want anyone to look at these specific lyrics you had written, along with a couple others, you held these lyrics closest to your heart. However, it was this particular one that stood out to you as you had browsed through your book as soon as you received Jeff’s message. Maybe these lyrics could mean something to someone as much as it did to you.

Please be gentle. You thought, once again handing the notebook back to Harry praying that he wouldn’t be as harsh with this one.

Once again you were watching on, your body full of nerves more so than the previous time. But rather than receiving a death glare you were met with a breathy laugh as Harry read over the lyrics you had given.

“Fucks sake,” you heard him mumble causing your heart to drop. “Have you ever even been in love?”

“Wha-” you asked surprise ringing clear in your voice.

“S’literally the most two-dimensional thing ever. S’not captured anything at all. And apparently you’re of the best writers today.” He complained. “Fucking lie s’what that is.”

“Harry what’s wrong with you!” Mitch jumped to your defence, completely in shock at his mate’s behaviour.

“M’just telling the truth, nothing wrong with that.” Harry pauses taking the time to read your work only to dissect it right in front of you. “Like seriously ‘Don’t wanna feel another touch’, pretty basic Y/N at least write something you have experience with.”

Harry’s words were snarky and had no issue with cutting deep right to your bones.

You sat there staring at the man across from you, completely dumbfounded with how your day had turned out. You never expected to be sitting across from Harry Styles, someone who had been nothing but nice to you since you first met and yet here you were, being ripped to shreds by the exact same man. Your throat was tight as if being strangled with thorns, the words coming of your mouth strained as you fought the tears that were already threatening to spill. “You don’t even know me Harry.”

“Yeah and I don’t need to to know what you’re like.”

“I don’t know what’s warranted you to act the way you’ve been. M’just trying to help you get out of the funk that you’ve been in all day. No need to drag me through the mud.” You stood up, clutching your bag in your hands, shooting Harry one last look. “I’m going home I don’t feel too good, but feel free to browse through my book to find at least one thing that’s worth your time.” You ignored the calls of your name from both Mitch and Jeff only sending them a small wave and a tight smile as you exited the room. You didn’t care if your actions seemed ‘unprofessional’ or ‘childish’ there was just no way you would allow yourself to break down in front of anyone.

You weren’t ready to go back into the cold, not when you felt as if there was no more warmth left inside you. Who did he think was to say any of that to you? He had no clue what you’ve been through, what you’ve felt.

You may have only been 18 at the time but heartbreak was still heartbreak and death was still death.

You always struggled to think back to a time where he was there, when the dull ache in your chest hadn’t been torturing you for months on end. When you had felt free and loved.

But one night he had been ripped from you, pried from your loving grip and taken away without so much as a last goodbye from either of you.

It was a drunk driver. A tragic accident. One that you would never allow yourself to forget. He had been on his way to you that night, after you begged him to come over to keep you company.

He was there until he wasn’t. And you hated yourself for a while because of it.

Over the time your self-hatred had evolved to sadness, anger until finally peace. The first time you had ever felt such content was when you were sat at your desk, an untouched notebook resting in front of you, your hands moving before your mind could even process. Until hours later you finally stopped and what was once untouched was now full of words, lyrics and songs about what you felt, ups and downs and all.

And now the same notebook rested on the small coffee table, ready to be dissected even further by a man who knew nothing.

There was only one thing that could get you out of the hole you had sunk into. That night you found yourself sitting at the same desk, paper in-hand, where you wrote yourself to sleep, dreaming of a green-eyed man and a fatal collision.

It was a loud and startling knock that jerked you out of your slumber. Glancing at the clock you huffed in both confusion and annoyance, who would be here at 7am in the morning? The incessant knocking forced you to hurriedly walk to the door, calling out only to receive no answer, the sound of their knuckles overpowering your voice.

And of course, the culprit behind the door would be none other than Harry Styles. After all who else would be up before 7am dressed in running gear, hair sweaty, a tell-tale sign that your place was a stop off after his morning jog. “Harry?” you asked, confusion lacing your voice. “What are you doing here?” Harry gestured to the door smiling shyly to which you nodded with a roll of the eye, swinging the door open he stepped in. “Nice.” He hummed, his eyes scanning the room.

“Hello? It’s 7 in the morning Harry. Never mind how you even knew where I live but what are you doing here?”

“Jeff.” He remarked still preoccupied with taking in your clustered flat. “I mean Jeff told me where you lived and I came back to give you your notebook.” “Pretty sure Jeff’s not allowed to give out a client’s personal information.” “He’s not.” Harry agreed, finally turning to look at you. “But I begged and s’more so to mend a friendship.”

You shrugged your shoulders perplexed at the supposed friendship Harry claimed the two of you had. “Never aware we were friends to begin with.” You were quick to cut off Harry’s reply, his mouth opening and his eyes shining with guilt. “I can see this conversation is going somewhere. Just give me a few to freshen up yeah? Just woke up.”

Once you were in the safety of your bathroom, you let out a breath you weren’t aware you were holding and took your time to freshen up.

“The fuck.” You mumbled looking at your scruffy complexion. “This man gives me a headache.”

Hyping yourself up in the mirror, you finally deemed yourself ready to come face-to-face with the man who had hurt you the night before.

“I didn’t know.” He said as soon as you walked in, almost as if he had sensed your presence. At first you were left confused by his words, but that was until you saw the frame he was gripping in his hands.

“Of course you didn’t, why would you?” You spoke after a moments silence, gently prying his fingers off of the photo and placing it back where it belonged. “Mitch knew.” you raise your eyebrows in question and what this had to do with anything. “You met Mitch years after me, but Mitch knew.”

“Can you blame me? We were never that close Harry, but I got to a point in my friendship with Mitch to feel comfortable enough to open up and for him to recognise when there was something wrong with me.”

Harry huffed; his eyes downcast so to not meet yours. “S’my point! I’ve known you for almost four years now and I could never see beyond the front you put on. I couldn’t see that you were in pain.”

You were shocked at his broken confession, but it only did so little to cure the damage he had done yesterday when he had verbally ripped into you and your hard work. “You really hurt me yesterday.”

At your words Harry looked up at you, taking your hand in his he gently pulled you to your sofa, his hand still on yours even when you sat down. “I can’t even express to you how sorry I am.”

“You can start with why maybe. I may not know you well, but I know you enough to know that outbursts like that always have a meaning behind.”

“I was just so frustrated.” Harry paused with a slight shake of his head as if to get rid of the memories he had made the day before. “Not at you, at myself. The deadline is so close, and I’ve not even got half of the songs ready. And then Jeff called you in to do my work.”

He let out a breathy laugh, his hand only leaving yours to be raised over his head in exasperation. “I mean I’m supposed to be one of the top artists of my generation and I don’t even have the brain capacity to write enough decent songs to make an album. I was so embarrassed that my manager thought I needed a ghost writer, someone who’s work I would take credit for, to write my songs for me. And then to make matters worse you had this book full of these amazing songs and it just made me question where I stood in the music world. God I was so jealous. And I know none of this excuses my hateful words, but I just needed you to know where they came from.”

“Not any concealed hate I have for you and not because I genuinely thought your writing was shit. It was just ‘cause in that moment I was an insecure little boy who couldn’t handle someone being better than him.”

“You absolute idiot!” you all but shouted causing his eyes to widen in shock, “First of all, you’re a jealous prick. I can’t believe you ripped into me so bad and embarrassed me in front of everyone because you couldn’t admit to yourself the fact that you needed help. Second of all you I don’t know if you’re aware, but you have an album full of amazingly written songs, something that you took a huge risk and then succeeded regardless. Third you know I don’t want to be known for anything until I’m ready, so enough with that taking credit bullshit and fourth thanks a lot for ruining my first writing experience with you I can’t even begin to tell you how long I was waiting for someone to ask me.”

“Oh and fifth! I forgive you. But you better not pull that shit with me again. I can take criticism but only if its constructive and not used to attack me.”

You mumbled in surprise as Harry’s arms wrapped around you pulling you in for a tight hug shivers running over your body from his whispers of what an amazing person you are against your neck.

“Well are you ready now?” Harry smiled slyly pulling away from the hug, the almost-creepy look on his face starting to freak you out.

“Ready for what?” You asked with caution, unsure of where Harry was taking the conversation.

“Want you to help me write tha’ lovely song you showed me ‘nd I want you to be put down as the co-writer.” Harry beamed at you. “If you’re ready of course, just thought if you wanted maybe it’s time for the world to see how talented you are.”

Your mind was reeling as you contemplated your answer, you knew that somewhere down the line you wanted to be recognised for the work that you did. You just had never decided when, but as you looked at the man sitting beside you, you finally reached your answer.

“I’d love to.”

#Harry Styles #harry #styles #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst

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nat-roman0ff · 5 years ago

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lover - pt. 1

lover, pt.1 - the first wedding there’s a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear. -- words: 2k warnings: fluff, weddings and string lights

There was always something about a wedding that was just plain magical. The mix of love in the air and an open bar brought out the best in you. It was a cool early October evening when your childhood best friend married the love of her life. Crisp red and orange leaves lined the picture perfect vineyard as you watched her walk down the aisle. The air was just cool enough to prickle your skin when a breeze ran through, causing the hairs on your arms to stand at attention.

It couldn’t have been a more perfect day for the occasion; the weather was flawless, your shoes surprisingly weren’t killing your feet, and you found the perfect shade of lipstick at the last moment that matched your burgundy bridesmaids dress. The ceremony went off without a hitch, and as the glow in the sky faded into the horizon and tiny nighttime stars popped up in their place, shining down on the couples dancing you were strikingly reminded of how single you were.

The other bridesmaids all brought their significant others, and you were stuck at the table with the groomsmen you’d walked down the aisle with. You weren’t unfamiliar with him, of course, he was, after all, one of the most famous popstars on the planet currently. But to you he was just the cousin of the dude marrying your best friend. He sits across from you at the circular table, his navy suit jacket unbuttoned, tie missing from around his neck and the first few buttons of his black shirt undone. You swipe your bottom lip with your tongue as your eyes trace the chest hair that peers from above the collar of his shirt.

“Are you drunk or checking me out?” He asks.

You snap back to reality, cheeks immediately flushing, “both?”

Shawn chuckles and washes back the last of what’s in his glass, “good, because so am I.”

“Checking yourself out?” You jest.

“Clearly,” he scoffs.

Shawn stands and moves to the chair beside you, “so you’re the bride’s best friend, right?” He asks.

You nod and fold and unfold the place card in your lap, your mind was always calmer when your hands were busier. A terrible trait to have, really.

“Shawn,” he thrusts his hand towards you to shake, “sorry we didn’t get to hang out much before the rehearsals and stuff. Work has been crazy.”

“I can only imagine,” you pip, “almost done with a world tour, eh?”

He smiles and scrunches his nose in that way that makes you sense his discomfort, “yeah, almost there. Always fun being on the road but always better coming home.”

“I couldn’t do it,” you sigh, “first of all I couldn’t bear being away from my cat for that long and secondly...aren’t you tired? When’s the last time you slept?”

“Probably 2015.”

You snort, “sounds like you need a nap,” you fold your arms across the table and rest your head on them, closing your eyes.

“What are you doing?” Shawn asks.

You yawn, “taking a nap. Try it. It’s cathartic.”

He looks around to see if anyone is watching.

“Don’t worry about anyone paying attention. They’re either too busy being drunk or too busy trying to get laid.”

Shawn follows suit and rests his head against his arms on the table, his face just inches from yours, “and where do you fall in that?”

You ponder for a moment, “somewhere in the middle.”

He laughs and stifles it in the crook of his elbow.

“You laugh at me a lot, I’m really not that funny. So thank you for inflating my ego” you say.

Shawn lifts his head to rest his cheek back on his arm, “but you are funny. Not with what you say but how you say it. I don’t know how to describe it.”

You roll your eyes, “I think you’re drunk.”

“I’m most definitely drunk,” Shawn says, “but I’m also right. Fuck - this is the first normal conversation I’ve had in months.”

You snort, “this is normal conversation? Shit, I am so sorry for you.”

Now it’s Shawn’s turn to roll his eyes, “you know what I mean. It’s hard to be me and still talk to normal people about normal things without it turning into an interview.”

“Ah yes, the peasants shalt dare not speak to thine King Mendes.”

He rolls his head to rest his chin on his elbow and glares at you, “you’re simultaneously the best and the worst at the same time.”

You follow suit, moving your head a little too fast and blinking the stars away, “I jest. I get it, you write mediocre pop songs for the masses and now all anyone cares about is who you’re dating this week and when your next album comes out. It all must be incredibly boring, especially when you’re rubbing elbows with Taylor Swift.”

Shawn’s eyebrows furrow, “I take that back, you’re the worst,” he says, shifting his body away from yours and turning his head to the other side of the table, “let me nap in peace. Maybe I’ll dream up some more mediocre songs.”

You ruffle his hair, “I’m kidding, Shawn. Your songs are lovely. In fact, I go super hard to ‘There’s Something Holding Me Back’ in the shower.”

He turns to look at you and glowers.

“I’m still fucking with you.”

“And you’re still the worst.”

You laugh and punch his shoulder, “c’mon, let me buy you a drink and I’ll make it up to you.”

Shawn sits back up and presses at the wrinkles in his shirt, “it’s an open bar.”

“Two drinks then!” You exclaim, standing and pulling at his arm.

Something happens when he holds your hand and you can’t quite explain it. Your fingers fit and lock like your hands have been searching for each other your whole life and there’s a warmth that spreads inside of you like the way a lava lamp ebbs and flows under the glass. It’s all warm and blobby and all over the place and you can feel the heat rise in your cheeks when Shawn notices it too.

“Two drinks still makes it an open bar,” he says, breaking the tension.

You tug on him to follow you, following the zigzags of the threaded bulb lights against the murky midnight sky. You weave him through crowds dancing, reminiscing, taking selfies. Past the low orange leaved trees adorned with dimly lit lanterns. The hazy warm glow of everything masks the pinks in both your cheeks but can’t hide the wonderment behind both your eyes. Perhaps it’s the promise of something different, or the universe telling you this was the beginning of something new, but all you did know was that this wasn’t the first time you’d be crossing Shawn’s path again.

---

After too many drinks, three rounds of karaoke, two dance offs and one sloppy makeout session in the mens room, you and Shawn found a quiet place to be. Now, your lipstick was worn off (mostly evidenced by the smears of burgundy across his neck and chest that he had no interest in hiding), his suit jacket long gone (now wrapped around your shoulders) and the sleeves of his button up rolled to his elbows.

The reception seems to go on forever, and you’re not complaining. It’s reached a point in the night where everyone stops looking at the clock, and the party lives in its own timeless bubble where the sun never rises and everyone was effervescent in their own beautiful existence. The night was free to be whatever it wanted to whoever it wanted.

It’s an abandoned little area, where you’re at. It had been the spot of the cocktail hour after the ceremony and now had about a dozen or so high top tables adorned with wispy white tablecloths that blew in the night breeze. The tiny bulbed lights thinned out here, and it was almost too dark to make out the strong features on Shawn’s face, but you do your damndest to memorize them in the darkness as he sits beside you on the grass.

“Okay, give me your worst.”

Shawn takes a deep breath, “violets are red, Roses are Blue. Guess what? My bed has room for two.”

You choke on your lost count of a gin and tonic, tucked somewhere in the back garden of the venue. The music from the reception is faint and overpowered by the booming laughter coming out of your chest.

“Something in that is wrong,” you manage, “and violets are blue, dumbass.”

“Hey, I’m drunk, I’m trying here,” Shawn slurs, leaning in, his face getting almost too close to yours.

The smell of gin radiates off of him, his pink cheeks liken him to a sort of porcelain doll and the string lights in the trees around you reflect off the glassiness of his hazel eyes, “that has to be the worst joke I’ve ever heard. It doesn’t actually work does it?”

Shawn moves closer and brushes his nose against yours, “you tell me.”

You gasp, clutching your chest and leaning back away from him, “you’re fucking brilliant,” his face cortorts in confusion, “it wasn’t the joke at all that you use as the pickup line - it’s the follow through.”

He grins wide and takes another sip of his drink, partially missing his mouth as a dribble falls from his chin and soaks into the collar of his shirt, “you caught me,” he opens his arms out, “I wouldn’t say I’m a master, but I’m pretty goddamn good.”

“You’re tricky,” you swirl the liquid in your glass, “and you’re deceiving.”

He scoffs, “I’m deceiving. You’ve been playing all night like you haven’t been checking me out, bought me a drink at an open bar and you touched my butt. Twice.”

You purse your lips, “the second butt touch was an accident.”

Shawn narrows his eyes, “you’re a terrible liar.”

You shrug, “maybe I am.”

A breeze rolls through and chills your spine and kicks up the leaves around your feet. You look at Shawn, all faded out and glossy eyed. His lips are pressed a little too hard together into a wet pout and his half hooded eyes stare right back at yours.

It’s quiet like this for a while, the crickets chirp along to the faded big band music from the reception and you find yourselves in a comfortable fog. Shawn’s fingertips play with yours as you try and busy your fingers to slow your brain. His face droops slowly with the mixture of drunkenness and sleepiness.

You reach out, running your fingers through his hair, “what are you thinking about?” You ask.

Shawn leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, interlocking both of your fingers together. His lips brush past yours softly like you hadn’t been biting and tugging on them barely an hour ago, “the rest of my goddamn life.”

He presses a kiss against your lips but as soon as it starts it fades and his head drops to your lap with a soft thud. Tiny snores emit from his lips and you chuckle to yourself as you play with his curls, twirling the soft strands of hair around your fingertips.

You let your fingers trace the sharpest points of his face; chin and jaw. But you also make it a point to reach the softest, like the dulling blush high on his cheekbones or the softly etched scar on his cheek. It’s not until you’ve run out of canvas on his face that you realize his hand is still holding yours tightly. Shawn moves ever so slightly when you shift, but nuzzles himself closer in.

There’s a creeping gnawing feeling coming on and you know this has to end eventually. Soon the party will be over, everyone will go home and the sun will rise to a new day and this encapsulated bubble of love and warmth will be nothing but a memory on Instagram feeds and yearly anniversaries. Frankly, it makes your heart sink into your ass and your overwhelming warmth is replaced with overwhelming sadness. It’s the high of happiness and a surge of endorphins followed with the crash and burn of the reality of tomorrow.

Even though you hadn’t realized it yet, that was the very first time you ever felt the pang of missing someone who was right in front of you.

But it wouldn’t be the last.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes fic #lover

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xialing-gf · 5 years ago

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the benefits of working in a music store

summary: meeting mj, who also happened to go to your high school, at the music store was the best coincidence in your life, ever

(Week 3 of my 30 weeks of writing prompts challenge: music store)

wc: 1347

read on ao3!

MJ detested many things: gender roles, smelly shoes, war, and most of all, store employees who tried to make conversation. She absolutely hated employees who were overly friendly and tried too hard to get her to buy whatever they were selling with their charm.

One time, MJ was at retail store with her mother and she picked up a bottle of perfume because it was decorated elegantly and suddenly, a store employee popped out of nowhere with a giant grin on his face and began complimenting MJ’s hair before proceeding to tell her how she would smell wonderful with the lovely lavender perfume she was holding. MJ freaked out and almost chucked the bottle at him, but luckily, her mother stopped her before she could.

She never imagined that she would work at a retail store but she realized that all the books she wanted all were in hard-cover and extremely expensive. While MJ’s mother always bought her books, MJ knew that her mother wouldn’t buy her all the books on her wish list and decided to find a job. Since she wasn’t legally an adult yet, most of the jobs available to her were related to retail.

Fortunately, there was a music store that sold vinyl records and CD’s offered jobs to people over the age of 16 so MJ got a part-time job at the store. She was taught to be friendly to the customers and smile more, which she did, only when the customers were looking. MJ didn’t try to coerce customers into buying records as she knew from first-hand experience how annoying it was.

MJ had been doing a pretty good job of being a mediocre store attendant until you walked into the store one day. When you walked in, MJ didn’t notice at first as she was reading a book about the history of advertising but she heard the sound of fingers against shrink wrap and she looked up to see you browsing vinyl records.

You were one of the prettiest people MJ had ever seen and she stared at you for a solid half-minute before returning to her senses and putting away her book. MJ watched as you flipped through the vinyl records, occasionally stopping on one here and there but not picking anything up. After a minute of browsing, you suddenly pulled out a vinyl record with a small smile on your face.

“Good choice. Not a lot of people buy vinyl records anymore, much less the first Panic! At the Disco album,” MJ remarked from her position behind the counter and you looked up from the record you were holding, noticing her for the first time. You weren’t the only one who was surprised as MJ was shocked she found the courage to speak up first.

“Yeah, it’s their best and most underrated album. I also just got a new record player so I need some new vinyls,” You replied as you continued to browse through the vinyls and MJ walked out from behind the counter to stand next to you. This was the second time she had left the counter voluntarily, the first time being to help a customer figure out how vinyls worked. She took out a record from the shelf next to where you stood and handed it to you.

“This band good is pretty good too. If you like Panic! At the Disco’s first album, you’ll like this album,” MJ smiled and she was internally screaming at herself. She had no idea what came over her that made her act so nicely but when you smiled back, her efforts were no longer considered wasted.

“Thanks! I think I’ll just get two today,” You remarked as you followed MJ to the counter, where she prepared the cash register for your purchase. You planned the two vinyl records down on the counter and MJ picked them up, scanning them and tapping a couple buttons on the screen.

“That will be fifty dollars and sixty two cents,” MJ read the total and you handed her the money. Another reason why vinyl records weren’t used anymore was because of how expensive record players and vinyls were. Most people used digital streaming services to listen to music or just stuck to the radio.

“Do I know you from somewhere? I feel like you look familiar,” You frowned as MJ counted your bills and calculated the change. MJ carefully counted the coins and bills as she handed you your change and handed you your receipt as well.

“Maybe. Do you go to Midtown High?”

“Yes! Wait, I think you’re in my sixth period physics class. You’re MJ, right? Our teacher called you out for asking too many questions once,” You laughed as MJ blushed at your comment. Placing the change in your pocket, you still stared into MJ’s hazel brown eyes as you spoke.

“Oh, right! Yeah, I remember you too,” MJ rubbed the back of her neck embarrassingly, glancing down at the counter as she prayed that her face wasn’t tomato red. She always had trouble speaking with insanely attractive people and this was the worst moment for her habits to kick in.

“Well, nice talking to you. I have to go home now but hopefully, I’ll see you tomorrow at school!” You tucked the two vinyls under your arm and waved as you left the shop. MJ waved back and for the rest of her shift, she couldn’t stop thinking about your brilliant smile.

MJ was lucky that it rained the next day because as a result, everybody ate lunch in the cafeteria, filling up all the tables. Of course, she sat in a secluded section of the cafeteria so she didn’t have to deal with any fights over space. But she was surprised when you walked up to her and asked to sit with her during lunch since all the tables were full.

You broke into a relieved smile when MJ nodded and you sat down next MJ. She had been reading a book about the theory of relativity and to break the awkward silence, you asked what type of books she liked to read. The conversation then moved from books to film adaptations of books and before you knew it, lunch was over.

The next day, there was no rain and the cafeteria wasn’t crowded but you still sat with MJ. This time, you two talked about music and you learned about MJ’s taste in music. She liked a variety of music and liked at least one artist from each time period.

One day, you decided that you wanted to listen to some new music so you asked MJ to make you a playlist of songs she liked. She spent all night crafting a perfect playlist of recommendations and when she watched you listen to it at lunch the following day, she was anxious to see if you liked it.

You absolutely loved it and it became a weekly tradition for MJ to make you a playlist with new songs. With each playlist, MJ got a little braver and added more love songs. She decided to take a leap of faith when she was making a playlist and named it “hidden message”. MJ chose her favorite songs and arranged them in order so that the first letter of each song put in together spelled “will you go on a date with me?”

Instead of showing it to you at school like she usually did, MJ texted you the link to playlist and waited for your response. You usually always responded to her text messages quickly but this time, you didn’t respond at all. MJ thought this meant that you were scared away by her but the next day, at school, she was surprised that you greeted her with a hug.

As you wrapped your arms around MJ, you whispered in her ear, “Yes. Yes, I will.”

It was safe to say that MJ’s choice of bringing you to a concert for you first date was one of the best decisions she had ever made in her life.

check out my mj x reader masterlist or look at my marvel page for more marvel fics! comment to join my mj x reader taglist!

Mj Taglist: @retrobhaddie @just-your-local-history-nerd @chickenstrips45

#marvel #mj x reader #mj imagine #michelle jones x reader #michelle jones #mj #mj x fem! reader #mj x y/n #michelle jones imagine #mcu #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #women of marvel #x reader #fanfiction #imagine #fluff #friends to lovers #sam's 30 weeks of prompts challenge

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radramblog · 4 years ago

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Linkin Park Retrospective Part 6: The EPs

I can’t listen to One More Light yet. Don’t have it in me to tackle that. So instead, we’re going to cover the two EPs released by the band, Collision Course and Songs from the Underground.

Collision Course

…who’s idea was this?

Apparently MTVs, as part of an “Ultimate Mashups” series, though their involvement seemed mostly hands off. A 6-track Jay-Z/Linkin Park crossover album isn’t an idea I would have tried to sell, but Mike and Jay seem pretty into it based on the snippets of studio chatter you get in between tracks. The album opens with that, in fact- Chester (?) going “I ordered a Frappucino where’s my fuckin Frappucino?” is certainly one way to start things off.

I’m just going to make it clear now that I’ve never heard most of the Jay-Z tracks being mashed up here, so I can’t really comment on that end. As these tracks are mashups with songs I am quite familiar with, though, I can at least give some degree of assessment. And unfortunately, I’d argue Collision Course compares unfavourably to Reanimation as far as crossover albums go. Largely speaking the remixes done to the Linkin Park instrumentals are uninteresting, though they do match the new vocals done over the top of them, and Jay-Z is basically fine but not overwhelming.

I think my biggest issue with this album is that a bunch of the songs just drop just about everything new about them and are just the Linkin Park track for the last like minute or so- Dirt off your Shoulder/Lying from You, Jigga What/Faint, and Points of Authority/99 Problems/One Step Closer are all pretty guilty of this. That isn’t to say that the rest of these tracks aren’t good, but this in particular is a sticking point I couldn’t ignore.

Track-by-track, then. Dirt off your Shoulder/Lying from You is the most straightforward track on the whole project, and probably the biggest sufferer from eventually just being Lying from You (seeing as that’s kinda the worst of those three LP tracks). I have no idea whats going on in the instrumental from Big Pimpin’/Papercut, but the Papercut verse on top of that sounds just sort of weird- Jay-Z’s verse fits better, but also, that’s probably the one written for that instumental isn’t it. Jigga What/Faint is interesting, with the first half’s backing being a heavily remixed version of the verse instrumental from Faint, but a minute in it’s just Faint oops. With that said, Jays bars over that instrumental actually does fit pretty well.

I don’t know rap that well, I can’t really comment on the flow or anything, but while the vocals are new recordings, they are the same verses from the songs being mashed up, so some originality is lost there.

youtube

Numb/Encore is the one single from this album, and it’s definitely one of the better ones, yeah. You’ve got Mike and Jay both working together in bits, the remixed Numb instrumental feels like exactly the extrapolation you’d want for a track like this, and that “what the hell are you waiting foooooor” is super satisfying. Unlike some of the other tracks, the final bit (with Chester, yknow, doing Numb) maintains that remixed instrumental, making it stand out a bit better from the original versions, which is nice. However, Jay-Z basically just isn’t on the latter half of the track, making it extremely awkward when he did a live performance of it after Chester’s passing.

For a song called Encore, however, it’s a bit weird that it’s not the last track on the album.

Izzo/In The End opens with this really bright instrumental and Mike, thanking a live audience like it’s a concert, sure. It’s just super odd that this is the same song with the In the End vocals, the emotions not really fitting the fun of the instrumental and previous verse. It is performed significantly more light-heartedly, but it still feels like an odd fit. To be fair, though, I’m not sure what Hybrid Theory/Meteora era track would have worked better there, so fair play. The album ends with Points of Authority/99 Problems/One Step Closer, ther first half of which I actually think is better than Numb/Encore. It’s got an actual fresh verse from Mike over Points of Authority, and him doing the cop bit from 99 Problems’ pull over bit actually works super well. Unfortunately, when the instrumental switches over to One Step Closer, the song gets a bit worse- the mix on Jay-Z’s vocals is way too low for a lot of it, being drowned out by the instrumental most of the time, and the last minute is just One Step Closer again but also Jay-Z is occaisionally repeating the 99 Problems line. It’s a weak finish to an otherwise solid song and album.

Songs from the Underground

Released in 2008, Songs from the Underground is a collection of tracks from Linkin Park Underground collated into an EP along with a couple of unreleased live recordings. Linkin Park Underground, or LPU, is the official fan club, which gets a yearly CD as part of membership that has assorted demos and live versions on it, which is where this EP pulls its tracks from- its also a set of CDs I desperately want to get my hands on but their limited nature makes their price obscene. I have managed to get LPU 9, which is the one I wanted most, but the remainder have eluded my grasp.

My precioussssssssssss

Side note, this album isn’t on spotify, and the only Youtube upload I could find was a shit recording, so you’re best off looking for each individually.

This compilation opens with Announcement Service Public (from LPU6), a pretty decent instrumental with Chester screaming unintelligibly in the background. This is more of a joke than anything- as the name suggests, it’s a PSA reversed, and reversing Chester’s vocals reveals he’s yelling a reminder to brush your teeth and wash your hands. I mean, I’ve been in an LP mosh once, and I can confirm that this was an announcement that needed making.

The second track QWERTY (LPU6), sounds like it wasn’t even written by Linkin Park, rather, one of their contemporaries. Allegedly, they wrote it on a long, long plane flight, which I could see- a non-studio environment leading to a more different track. Honestly, this could fit right on to Meteora, as much like Faint or Nobody’s Listening it’s a different take on the sound they’re known for. This one’s a lot of fun- the riffs are sick, and the chorus, if simple, is solid to sing along to. This deserves main album status.

And One is one of the tracks on this album that’s actually a rerecording off of the EP made by the band when Hybrid Theory was their name and not just their first album (though the EP was self-titled, so it’s pretty confusing). This album would later be rereleased as the first LPU, and then again (with an official video) along with the 20th anniversary edition of Hybrid Theory. And One is interesting, as it’s the first track recorded after Chester joined the band back in the day, and it’s so fucking edgy holy shit. I think it’s pretty decent, but unlike with QWERTY I’m kinda ok with this being a little by the wayside. With that said, I really like the little breakdown at the end, and the verse Mike is doing over it.

Sold My Soul to yo Mama (LP4) is a real track, huh. It’s a short, heavily electronic piece, ganking lyrics from Points of Authority and Papercut, but like, it’s mostly just Joe Hanh fucking around for 2 minutes. Not a huge fan of this one.

Dedicated (LP2) is another of this album’s better songs. It’s very Lose Yourself, that sort of emotional rap track about doing a rap track, and while obviously it’s not at the same level as that one it’s still excellent on its own. This is just such an excellent demo, one of Mike’s best performances- and considering he’s carrying it on his own (I’m not sure Chester’s even on this, unless those background aaaahs are him) that means a lot.

The next track is Hunger Strike, actually a live recording by Chris Cornell (of Soundgarden and Audioslave fame) with Chester as a feature. They were good friends, which is going to come up tragically when we get to One More Light. To be honest, though, this track kinda sucks dick. It is far from Chris’s best performance, nor Chester’s, and the instrumental is fucking boring. It picks up around the two minute mark, but at that point it just sounds like a bad Audioslave song, and I’m not really down for that, yknow. Just go listen to Like a Stone or Black Hole Sun again.

Another live recording is next, My December (a B-Side from One Step Closer, also on LPU2). My December is far from my favourite track- I think it’s kinda overdone, and this live version is so much worse. Look, it’s just Chester singing over someone (maybe him?) playing the song on piano? It doesn’t work, man. Not a fan.

The album’s final track is called Part of Me (HTEP/LPU1), and feels a lot like a better version of And One, if I’m honest. Mike’s actually going hard here in the verses, especially in the pre-chorus, and said chorus is actually pretty solid, even though the instrumental there is a little weak. It’s a slow, chugging song, heavily affected through Hahn’s DJing, that does do a nice little build to the track’s ending.

Except it doesn’t end, because there’s a hidden track in it. I don’t think this one has an official name anywhere, but it’s an electronic instrumental. It’s basically ok. Tangent, but I remember thinking when I was younger that if I was ever in a band, I’d want to write an electronic instrumental named Oxymoron- because of course, it wouldn’t have any real instruments in it.

That closes out Songs from the Underground, and I’ve never really broken it down in my head before, but it’s a lot more mediocre than I thought. The live songs are not good, and several demos or rarities that should have been on it absolutely weren’t- Across the Line, Drawing, A6, and where the fuck was High Voltage? Honestly, more of a miss than I remember. If I’m low on ideas, I might break down LPU9 individually, but I probably won’t spend any other time on LP demo stuff- I’m sure you’re sick to death of me talking about Linkin Park by now.

#ramble #linkin park #music

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glumvillain · 4 years ago

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GlumReviews #10

If you’re like me then the year 2001 was just a shitty year to be alive. George Bush was president, Now That’s What I Call Music was on it’s 7th volume, Freddy Got Fingered and Bridget Jones’ goddamn Diary. The internet had transformed the landscape of music and the industry was pivoting to serve a customer base that no longer wanted to pay for the music they so enjoyed. Pandora internet radio would not be a public option until 2005. The ancient technology known as just the plain ol’ radio was a large factor in determining one’s career success. Yes, you could spend years touring on underground circuits garnishing a cult following from small town to small town, but nothing quite beats a radio single that can be played simultaneously for an entire nation. In other words, the general public still played a determining factor for your determined breakthrough.

It is with this in mind that I present to you the case for Nickelback’s 3rd studio album Silver Side Up. One cannot deny the societal connotations that come with just mentioning this band, and in my opinion, that horse has just long been laid to rest and I invite you to open your mind musically for just one second, as I have forced myself to in this series of truly eye-opening reviews. Taking the title as Canada’s most commercially successful band among many many other prestigious honors of a similar nature. Surely an entire generation doesn’t consider this band laughable and just a shitty shitty representative of rock music, especially in the year of our forsaken lord 2001?

Is Nickelback a prime example of male mediocrity failing upwards into superstardom? or is there a valid claim for their status as a “pussy band” (which sounds kinda cool to me tbh) among rock n roll aficionados and real cool dudes in the scene? We plumb the depths of a road at least 10 million have previously plumbed.

1. Never Again

I’m gonna have a difficult time saying this is a “shitty” band whenever their first song addresses something that (excuse the pun) hits so close to home. As an intro track they open up with a pretty heavy song about domestic violence “He’s drunk again, it’s time to fight/ She must have done something wrong tonight/ The living room becomes a boxing ring”. Told from the point of a view of a child growing up to see his mother abused at the hands of his drunken father. It’s a heartbreaking song that has a satisfying ending for those of us who don’t like to dwell too much on the downsides of life. Especially if one chooses to escape through music, but sad music in sad times is a personal habit I partake in. This is a great song, content wise. Kinda weird to have it set to such an upbeat sounding song but I guess it goes to serve the rage of a child being helpless in the face of his abusive father.

2. How You Remind Me

Does the lead single of this album really need a review? Yes, because this review is about taking a second look at shit you take for granted. This song is just poetry. In the fact that it’s just a perfectly executed song, lyrically. Being non-cryptic and just flat out honest about ones feelings. There’s thousands of songs about being down in the dumps or heartbroken and I can see why this is easily one of their biggest hits. It’s a song that doesn’t care about your preconceived notions of masculinity or what rock music should or shouldn’t be. Some people were put on this planet to make one song to connect the world to each other, and I think this is Nickelback’s song.

3. Woke Up This Morning

Now I wouldn’t exactly call this metal, but it’s too heavy to be pop-rock. But it easily straddles these fine picket fences of being almost too heavy for their own lyrics at times. There’s noticeable flavors of southern rock sprinkled throughout the album which I can see having a blue collar/WWF crowd appeal. Again another song consisting of being absolutely honest with the listener “I felt like shit when I woke up this morning, I’ve been a loser all my life I’m not about to change”.

4. Too Bad

With the events of Track 1 in mind, this song takes a remorseful shift into the story of the father. Now racked with guilt, the song title lays it out pretty evenly. It’s too bad. It’s too late. Despite the behavior of an antagonistic and toxic father, they made it out on their own without the breadwinner of the family. At the expense of the mothers time and love, at least they still had clothes on their backs and food to eat. Another heartbreaking but heartfelt song that is one of the first songs that I’ve reviewed in this series that actually gave me chills.

5. Just For

This is the typical male violent fantasy that could lean either way. It’s either about a girl he lost to another man, or given the past material in the album being about his mom, it could be pertaining to his relationship with his father. However you feel personally about this band, understand that lead singer Chad Kroger opened his soul up on a record which is rarely an experience put forth in an album. Now arguably you could tell me that’s what all bands do, and yes I’m inclined to agree. But it’s rare that it’s not wrapped up in sarcasm or a false sense of confidence. Usually such displays of anger and torment are disguised with metaphor and mystery. There’s none of that at play here. And usually I’d call that dumb music for a monkey brain audience. But this is just some of the most sincerest lyrics you could listen to.

6. Hollywood

Now listen I know I said all that stuff about his lyrics being pretty straightforward? Well I’ll eat my own words on this song, as I can’t really pickup the metaphor he’s laying down...correct me if I’m wrong but is this song about being in a mental hospital or going to a methadone clinic? Don’t beat yourself up if this track isn’t your cup of tea, I didn’t really vibe with it like other tracks.

7. Money Bought

Pretty straightforward song about a woman whose living off of her parents just being an all around Samantha . Songs like this I could really do without, heavy strong riff but if there’s one production complaint I have is that alot of the mixes are too guitar heavy and the drums get washed out.

8. Where Do I Hide

Feels like a continuation of the previous song with the too loud guitar mix, the lyrics themselves are pretty boring and not really worth going over as I can’t figure out if he’s making an outlaw fantasy song or something about his dad again. There’s a decent little guitar solo but I wouldn’t say to go out of your way to listen to this song.

9. Hangnail

I’ll give them this, they can kick out some pretty good riffs. But like good standard rock riffs. I couldn’t tell you they have their own sound musically. I think their sound is largely wrapped up in the lead singers voice. You could convince me it was 3 different bands if 3 different singers sang their songs. This song feels like a weak follow-up to “How You Remind Me”, and if that’s the case it really missed a mark in my opinion.

10. Good Time’s Gone

Nothing says “album closer” like acoustic guitar strumming away into a swaying jam. Definitely leaning more country western than most of their songs, but with a hard rock kick to it. It’s a nice revamp of energy from the previous couple of songs that just felt to get a little weaker as the album progressed. Kroger gives a powerful vocal performance to lead us out and I can’t help but think to myself, dear god I just listened to a Nickelback album several times today.

So where do you land on the spectrum of hate for Nickelback? For me, personally I see absolutely no reason why Nickelback is more hated than say Three Days Grace or Papa Roach, both of which have garnished their own cult followings respectively. No, I believe this to just be a meme that society has taken and ran with it by constantly making Nickelback be the butt of some non-existent joke. Are they the best band ever? Fuck no. Should people be mocked or made fun of for listening to bands they enjoy? Double fuck no. Because music becomes your personal experience, and we should let others bask in what little, small things bring them joy. Why gatekeep listening to music? Music is supposed to connect others and bring about the feeling of belonging, the act of belittling others for their choice in music isn’t only pointless, it’s just downright disrespectful of a persons identity and personal choices. And with that being said, Five Finger Death Punch is REAL garbage music.

I refrained from mentioning that this album was actually released on September 11th, 2001. Not wanting that to factor into my writing but it’s at this point that I argue the case that Nickelback was a relic of a time before shit got worse in America. Without 9/11 in the narrative of some of these tracks I feel like they don’t hit as hard and yeah, in some fucked up way I’m saying that if it wasn’t for 9/11 itself, I don’t think they would have had a breakthrough. As audiences scrambled to tune into something different I’m sure the radio offered some form of escape from a world ravaged by national news. I give the album:

⭐⭐⭐/5

This album begins pretty lively and begins to fizzle out about halfway with track #6, saved only by the ending track. This was a decent album and if you’re curious to check it out, I recommend tracks 1-5, then just skip to 10, the album makes more sense that way.

#music review #album review #nickelback #silver side up #rock music

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infiniteshawn · 6 years ago

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Since We’re Alone | 1

Phoebe Rose Bray wasn't a spontaneous woman. But when she drunkenly applied to become a seat filler six months prior, she hadn't been thinking about her internship or her god-awful boss, Margaret, or her starving bank account. She'd been feeling ambitious.

And that's why when she got the email regarding the Sixty-fourth Annual Grammy Awards, she huffed a rather annoyed sigh and silently accepted the invitation.

A massive turn of events, a tragic production slip-up, and a quick diversion led her exactly where she hadn’t intended on ending up: in front of millions of people, wrapped up in the arms of a pop sensation.

a/n: here it is. 1.6 k. new series, or so i think. we’re gonna see how this one goes first. feedback: appreciated

She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Phoebe Rose Bray gave herself a one-over in her hotel bathroom, smoothing out her satin dress with her carefully manicured hands.

It wasn’t often that she travelled out of the country and it was far less often that she travelled alone. But when she drunkenly applied to become a seat filler six months prior, she hadn’t been thinking about her internship or her god-awful boss, Margaret, or her starving bank account. She’d been feeling ambitious.

And that’s why when she got the email regarding the Sixty-fourth Annual Grammy Awards, she huffed a rather annoyed sigh and silently accepted the invitation.

Phoebe began to understand the fuss about Los Angeles traffic when what should have been a ten-minute drive to the Staples Center turned into an hour-long road trip. Thank God Uber provided snacks.

It was more of a process than a celebration—for Phoebe, at least—and she was more interested in being assigned a seat than looking around for the faces of her childhood idols. Relieved to be inside with air conditioning and away from flashing cameras and hollering paparazzi, she settled into her seat and prayed to her lucky stars for a mediocre night.

The show was uneventful, for the most part. For the first half. As soon as the big categories began to surface, the crowd got antsy. From her spot at the back of the floor, Phoebe zoned in on the A-listers sitting closest to the stage, and it was clear they were shifting in their seats. Something was coming.

That something was Record of the Year, she deducted. She tried her best to focus on Justin Timberlake’s never-ending monologue about finally being able to host music’s biggest night, but the headset-wearing woman equipped with a clipboard was inevitable, and Phoebe knew where she was headed.

“You’re next,” the woman spoke, hastily yet quietly, “get ready.”

Phoebe kept a trained eye on the tops of people’s heads because she hadn’t memorized where each artist was sitting and it seemed like the only way she could possibly know where to go.

People came out—Katy Perry and some guy—to present the nominees. Phoebe straightened her spine and firmly planted her stiletto, preparing to jump up at any second. She reminded herself of the importance in being stealth, avoiding taking away from the artist’s acceptance speech because while this was their big moment, she was also contractually bound not to disturb the audience. Names were called. Snippets were played. An announcement was made. And before she knew it, Phoebe was silently power-walking toward the front of the arena, sitting her ass down in Lizzo’s still-warm folding chair.

The crowd had settled and she was giving a very animated speech about the song’s significance, and all Phoebe could focus on was the pointed boot almost touching her strapped-in-toes.

She was positive that the row of seven-or-so people sitting next to her were there together. Most of them muttered to each other during Lizzo’s speech, but the guy beside her was dead silent. He stared straight forward, face aimed directly at the stage. Phoebe could feel his brown eyes on her. She wondered if he was suspicious of her, or frowning upon the idea of seat fillers because maybe he believed that general audience members had no place up front. She never considered that the warmth engulfing her body wasn’t from her own embarrassment, but was instead radiating off of him.

The crowd broke into applause and they, together, realized that they, too, should probably be clapping. So they clapped. The show went on. And though neither of them said a word to the other, they were very aware of one another’s presence.

So much that Phoebe’s brain was running in circles, dreading the moment “Shawn Mendes” would be called as the winner of Album of the Year because he’d somehow have to wiggle past her, and she knew that with her luck she’d probably fall over. Her heart raced as she began debating whether she’d be standing with them in applause or remaining seated, and if she’d be shown on national television. It was all very much very fast and she didn’t even notice that Shawn was muttering under his breath in her direction.

“Psst,” she heard, and she turned in his direction quickly enough to give herself whiplash.

“What?” she whispered in a more offended tone than she’d hoped for. She just wasn’t expecting it.

“I said,” he spoke lowly, leaning in a little closer, “if it helps, I’m nervous too.”

“I’m n-”

“Yes, you are,” he cut her off, shooting her the million-dollar grin that was plastered on every billboard from New York to Tokyo.

He was ethereal. Phoebe knew that celebrities were ridiculously idealized in the media, and with the help of round-the-clock makeup artists and photoshop and endless reserves of cash, they were almost always eternally beautiful. But even this close up, with that damn curl hanging on his forehead, Shawn Mendes was inevitably gorgeous. She avoided his gaze.

“All I’m saying is,” he leaned in a little closer, and she was pretty sure she could feel his breath on her neck, “you can loosen up a bit. Sit back. Look around, no one’s looking at you,” he paused, allowed her to finally adjust to her surroundings, “except me.”

If she wasn’t blushing before, she was bright red now. She figured he would be like this—a womanizer, for the lack of a better term—but she never thought she’d fall victim to any of his one-liners.

Shawn clammed up when a uniformed-producer announced the final commercial break, and Phoebe sat in silence, unable to avoid eavesdropping on the group to her right.

“I’m not sure, man,” Shawn mumbled, leaning toward the suited guy beside him. Both of them were leaning forward, and Phoebe was able to make out the label on his seat. Andrew Gertler.

“Relax, Shawn,” the man she assumed to be Mr. Gertler spoke, “we’ve been here before. They’re either gonna recognize that you deserve it or they aren’t, and in both cases you need to remember that there’s a camera on you. Regardless of what you’re feeling, I need you to really sell it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shawn nodded, “just happy to be here. I know.”

“Good,” the man said before taking a sip of his water, “I have a good feeling, kid.”

Shawn didn’t respond. He took a deep breath and sunk back into his seat, watching intently as the rest of his team had a muffled conversation about the afterparty.

Phoebe picked at her cuticles until Shawn rubbed his massive hands together and muttered, “Showtime,” and Timberlake came out once again, thanking everyone for coming and prefacing some montage video of past Album of the Year winners.

She nudged his knee with hers. Shawn’s eyebrows shot up a bit, silently asking if the contact was intentional or if she was just a bit twitchy. She nudged him again.

“If it helps,” she whispered, neither of them looking at each other, “I’m nervous too.”

She couldn’t help but notice the tight-lipped grin creeping up his cheeks in her peripheral vision, and she knew that was just what he needed.

But the wave of comfort and confidence that had overcome Shawn didn’t last long, because the video was over and Pharrell Williams was standing before them, hastily reading through a list of eight album names as if these artists hadn’t put their absolute hearts and souls into each body of work.

A name was called. Phoebe wasn’t sure who it belonged to, but it didn’t belong to Shawn Mendes. The sinking feeling in his stomach somehow translated to her because she, too, felt it. Weightless.

Something was happening, though. The split-screen of nominees hadn’t focused-in on the winner as it usually would, and by some work of the devil it was displaying a massive live-video of Shawn’s face. And the heartbreak-with-a-hint-of-anger written all over it.

Neither Shawn nor his team had caught on to the technical slip-up, and the few seconds they were all on camera felt like hours to Phoebe. She was thinking at a million miles a second, debating tapping him on the shoulder or just saying something, anything, to bring his attention to his very-public negative reaction.

She knew this would be the big headline.

Unless she could make an even bigger one.

Without thinking long enough to convince herself otherwise, Phoebe twisted in her seat and faced the man she’d been so intimidated by for the last half-hour. His distraught eyes met her determined ones, and before he could resist, she muttered something along the lines of, “Just go with it,” and lunged at him, kissing him with everything she had.

Shawn froze and Phoebe panicked—had he not hit on her, this wouldn’t have even been a thought in her mind—but quickly, he melted into it. The gears began turning and her words had convinced him that she had a reason, supported by the way she kissed him with such purpose.

Her hand was on his jaw and his were in her hair, and while he refrained from slipping her the tongue for the sake of everyone watching at home, he still kissed her wildly.

Andrew was jostling Shawn’s arm. The cameramen had sorted their shit out. And Phoebe was up from her seat and running out of the arena faster than any of it had even happened.

taglist: @shxwnmxndess @sunriseshawn @jollybonkpatroldonkey @jesuscheistkaren @casuallycoolcloud @sinplisticshawn @deafeningdeanhoagieturtle @rosieblondie @hannahlouiseee @change-perspective13 @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @calthesensation @livsalzy

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes angs #shawn mendes angst #shawn #mendes #mendesarmy #sm3 #shawn mendes x reader #shawn x phoebe

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