#this is not the show for you louis gets the mic for like five minutes n he’s immediately going ‘so there’s this blond-’

[laniidae-passerine]

don’t get how you can watch iwtv and be a sincere diehard lestat hater. like the world’s biggest lestat hater is louis and that man can’t even commit to it for more than five minutes before literally hallucinating lestat wearing a wedding ring and talking pretty to him. this show is about louis and every road leads back to lestat for that man

[ericsonclan]

Evening ASMR

Summary: James records a video for his ASMR channel and settles in for the evening.

Word Count: 1702

Read on AO3:

“Evening, everyone,” James’ soft voice whispered, his mouth hovering over the mic. “Groggy and I hope you all had a good day,” His fingers lightly drummed against his rubber frog nightlight, the pleasant rhythm creating the exact sort of calming bliss that was James’ signature when recording for his channel. “My day wasn’t very eventful, but it was calm, pleasant. I’ve been drinking a new blend of tea today from Sarita’s Teashop - Evening Breeze,” James took a sip of hot tea then placed the mug on the table between both of his mics, his painted black fingernails continuing their steady, soothing rhythm, this time along the outside of the mug. “The offer from my last video still stands by the way: use the code Tranquilitime15 at checkout online for a 15 percent discount on your order from Sarita’s Teashop. Now let’s get to the main part of our video. It’s Tuesday so you know what that means. It’s time for Weekly Walk,”

Leaning back in his chair, James reached behind himself to pick something from his bag of finds. “Jesse and I went for a walk along the lake. Along the way I picked a few strands of grass since the texture intrigued me. Jesse told me it’s common reed grass. It makes quite a lovely sound. Let’s listen,” Lifting up the grass, James softly ran it along his mic, letting the equipment pick up the faint rustling sounds the grass made as it ran along the mic’s surface. James continued this motion for about five minutes, letting the moment last as he too became entranced by the sound the reed grass made. Finally he pulled his hand back, ready to share his next find.

“I also spotted another rock to add to our collection. The lines of white quartz running through it are really lovely,” James held the stone up close to the camera so his viewers could see the details themselves. “Into the rock bucket it goes,” With his free hand, James lifted up a small pale blue pail full of rocks and dropped his latest one in, running his fingers through the collection of stones in silence. There was no sound round him, only the soft rumble of the stones tumbling against once another. James was grateful there were no parties going on in the dorms tonight. Sometimes, even with the padding and soundproofing he’d done to his room, it was still difficult to find recording times where his surroundings were quiet enough to properly do ASMR.

Several minutes passed before James set aside his rock bucket and picked up his next find: a curved piece of driftwood from the lake. Holding the piece up to the camera, James turned it slowly so his audience could have time to admire it properly. “This was right along the shore near the end of our walk. I love the depth of color in it. Such a rich brown,” James’ fingers trailed along the branch, inadvertently tapping against it. It had become second nature for James to tap any object of interest he came across, always on the search for new sounds that he could bring to the channel that might give his audience the tingles.

As he tapped along the wood, James hummed softly, transitioning to another segment his viewers were especially fond of. The tune he chose this time was one Jesse had taught him, a Cherokee lullaby. Though James hadn’t been able to learn the words yet the tune was still fresh in his mind. Switching back to the reed grass, James softly hummed the lullaby, closing his eyes and getting lost in the moment. He could almost imagine that Jesse was here with him, sitting upon the floor and letting James brush his hair. The sound of Jesse’s hair would make great ASMR. James didn’t want to push him into anything he was uncomfortable though. He knew how much Jesse hated feeling as though he was performing for others. Perhaps that was a sound that was reserved for James then, one only he got to hear.

Finishing the tune, James picked up Groggy once more. Turning on the nightlight, James drummed his fingers along the little frog’s back, enjoying the bounce of the rubber under his fingertips. His ASMR wasn’t only for his audience. It calmed him as well. He looked toward the camera. “I went on a hike a few days ago with a couple friends of mine. My friend Clem brought her little brother. He was really curious to learn about what ASMR was exactly. He picked out some items on our walk for me to share as well. He wanted to be here himself, but it’s past his bedtime. Hi, AJ,” James waved at the camera, knowing Clementine would show the video to AJ as soon as it was posted.

Picking up the pinecones AJ had given him, James began to run his fingernails along them. The light scratching sound that produced sent a tingle up his spine. James smiled softly to himself as he continued, rolling the pinecones slowly in his hands then against one another. He then picked up a few of the countless leaves AJ had scavenged from him. These were drier and produced a hollow sound as James tapped upon them. He alternated between tapping and running his fingerpads along the leaves’ surface.

As he did, the memories of that day reached the surface of his mind. AJ had been so excited that day, running ahead of them on the trail despite Clementine’s warnings to stay nearby. He’d simply been too excited to remember to keep his word though whenever his promise did reach his mind AJ would freeze and look back guiltily. On the times when he didn’t remember, Clementine would have to barrel ahead to catch up with him, leaving James and Brody alone to chat. Brody would sometimes pause to grab a flower or other plant to press when she got home. She and James also kept their eyes open for interesting leaves that Clementine could use for leaf rubbing though AJ by far gave her the most finds.

Finally, James drew back. Setting aside the pinecones and leaves, he brought out Groggy once more. As his fingers tattooed a calming rhythm upon the little frog, James smiled warmly at his audience. “Thank you for staying with me tonight and hearing my stories. I hope you all sleep well and have a beautiful day tomorrow. Till next time, like, share and subscribe and I’ll see you next time for Tranquilitime,” With that James ended the recording. Cleaning up his workspace first, James then settled in to get the video uploaded. It was a bit of a process but one he was familiar with.

While the video uploaded, James poured another cup of Evening Breeze for himself and took a thoughtful sip. The tea had a clarity to it, a freshness that reminded him of being by the lake. He’d have to pick up some more next time he dropped by the teashop. He hoped the promotion was going well for Sarita. He’d only recently gotten his channel big enough to merit sponsorship and he’d wanted to start with a brand he trusted. Perhaps if this went well he could reach out to Tripp as well and promote his sweet shop.

His phone lit up and James glanced over to check the notification. It was a text from Louis. Hey hey! Just checking if we’re still on for this Saturday.

James set down his tea and texted back. Wouldn’t miss it. A few weeks ago on a visit to Ericson’s Diner when Louis had dropped by the table to strike up a conversation with James and Jesse, he and James had somehow gotten onto a tangent about Tokyo Ghoul. Louis had been wanting to watch it but was a self-professed wimp when it came to anything horror so he’d asked if James could be his watching buddy. Since then they’d VCed on Discord each Saturday afternoon to watch another episode. Louis had been loving the series so far though there had been several moments that had made him scream and James had enjoyed revisiting the series. Maybe if Louis had the patience for it James could suggest they buddy read some of the manga together next.

With some time left to kill while he waited for the upload to finish, James opened up a new tab to peruse Picrew. Maybe he’d make another chibi version of Jesse. His boyfriend was easy to make in most Picrews with his dark eyes and long, black hair. Finding a picrew he liked, James settled in to look through the different options. He hoped Jesse never stumbled across the Picrew folder on his computer. Though he’d sent Jesse a few that he’d made, the sheer amount of picrews of his boyfriend James had saved to his computer was downright embarrassing.

Finally the upload was complete. Powering down his computer for the night, James set it aside and headed over to his bed. He immediately faceplanted upon it before rolling up in the covers and letting out a content sigh. His phone lit up again – another message. James checked it and found it was a notification from Prisha this time. She’d finished her turn in Scrabble Go and now it was his. Opening the app, James pondered his options. He didn’t have a great selection of letters but he could make something of them if he found the right opportunity. After a few minutes he’d made his selection.

Sending it off, James closed the app then opened his music library. His selection was habitual by now. Nature sounds filled the room: the gentle rush of wind, the subtle flow of water and the faint call of birds as the grass rustled gently. James set his phone upon its charging pad and reached up to turn off the light. As he closed his eyes, he could almost picture that he was there on the walk with Jesse once more. Everything was calm, peaceful. Serene. A faint smile stayed on James’ lips as he started to drift off to sleep, walking once more in his dreams.

[reinvent-and-believe]

For the 5+ headcanons: geraskier (OR geraskefer, if you'd prefer) + Broadway/theatre AU! 😊

Okay, first of all, how dare you know me so well??? This is RIGHT up my alley and I am THRIVING, thank you so much omg. Second, I am SO SO SORRY, you did not ask for three pages of setup and YET HERE WE ARE

So, modern AU, obviously. Magic and monsters still exist, peripherally, on the outskirts of society; you occasionally hear of a murder that’s just a little too weird to be human that gets chalked up to various monsters, and there’s rumors of humanoid or humanoid-appearing creatures (dopplers, elves, certain classes of vampires) existing surreptitiously alongside humans, hiding their true nature. How much of that is true and how much is just paranoia is anyone’s guess.

Witchers, in theory, also still exist, but they have even less of a place in this world than they do in the canon setting. You’ll occasionally run into people who will swear up and down that a witcher fixed their aunt’s haunted attic or a witcher showed up and the random bizarre murders in their small town stopped or they once saw a witcher tracking blood footprints down an alley by the St. Louis arch, but witcher sightings are given about as much credence as UFO or Bigfoot sightings.

And so our young hero Jaskier is making his Broadway debut in a revival of Next to Normal, playing Gabe. It’s the chance of a lifetime; they wanted to go with young unknowns for the teenager roles, and he was discovered at a BFA showcase in New York and invited to audition. After half a dozen callbacks and a little over a month of rehearsal, here he is, just weeks away from previews.

And it’s kind of a big deal. Not only is this the first time Next to Normal has been revived, but he’s also playing opposite Tony Award winner Laura Benanti as Diana, for god’s sake (because it’s my headcanon and I can mix in real actors I really want to see play these roles dammit! 😂). It’s a huge deal.

Which is why it’s just completely unacceptable that Jaskier is being haunted.

He didn’t think he was being haunted, not at first. He glanced at some eerie green lights coming from the wings during their first tech rehearsal, and he assumed the crew was just experimenting with some new lighting angles, no big deal, and kept going with his song. When the number was over, the lights were gone.

But then little things keep going wrong. His white tuxedo jacket isn’t stage left for his quick change when he distinctly remembers putting it there. He can’t find his prop and the ASM is scolding him for moving things when he really, really didn’t. He misses a cue because the monitor in his dressing room is, apparently, lagging five minutes behind.

He’s freaking out. He knows how bad this makes him look to everyone he’s working with, and while he’s a little scattered sometimes, he is a professional when it comes to his craft and he would never be this careless.

It must be sabotage. And there’s only one person it could possibly be…

His archnemesis. His understudy. Valdo fucking Marx.

Valdo Marx has hated him since day one, it only makes sense he’s trying to get Jaskier out of the way so he can be the one with the triumphant Broadway debut at 22 instead of Jaskier. So Jaskier calmly, politely, non-aggressively (he’s a professional, dammit) corners Valdo and makes it very clear that he will stop sabotaging him ASAP unless Valdo wants his boyfriend to know he sucked Jaskier off in the bathroom after their second callback.

(He’s not a saint. It’s not like he’d resort to blackmail if Valdo weren’t trying to get him fired. Fair’s fair.)

Except, turns out, it’s probably not Valdo. Valdo couldn’t make the batteries in his mic pack die five minutes into every rehearsal even when Jaskier watches the sound engineering change them right before they start. Valdo couldn’t make the fly system break right as Jaskier crossed under it and make a piece of the house set hit Jaskier in the head. And Valdo Marx definitely couldn’t black out all the lights in Jaskier’s dressing room and make that unsettling green light appear behind him, a shadowy figure barely visible, hissing in a rattling voice out, out or perish.

And listen, Jaskier would normally welcome this fascinating turn of events; he loves an adventure. But this is his big break and he will be DAMNED if he lets this creepy green-light apparition ruins this opportunity.

So he talks to the stage manager, the director, then, for good measure, the Equity monitor. All of them tell him the same thing: surely someone else would have seen it if there was a ghost. It’s probably the stress. He should take a few days off, get some rest, and then come back when he’s feeling better. But he probably shouldn’t mention it to the other actors. Wouldn’t want to get everyone worked up.

But like HELL is Jaskier going to do that. He’s not stressed, except about the fact that he personally seems to be undergoing a haunting.

So he stays. And things are getting...pretty scary, all things considered.

Seeing his not-so-friendly ghost friend has become a pretty regular occurrence. It appears next to him when he’s standing in the wings waiting for an entrance. It’s sitting in the house when he’s onstage. It locks him in his dressing room. It’s just really not going great.

And then it puts its hands on him. He didn’t even know it HAD hands, much less a truly corporeal form, but there they are, really, really cold pale hands choking him in his dressing room after the run of the show. He stomps on its (also apparently corporeal) foot and books it out of the theatre and to the nearest bar.

He downs a shot then opens his phone camera. There on his neck, clear as day, are bruises in the shape of fingers.

He’s at the end of his rope. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s read about ghosts online, he’s tried to take protective measures but they all seem to be shit because they’ve done fuck all to protect him from his undead stalker.

He takes another shot, laughs at the absurdity of his situation, and tweets “if anybody happens to be besties with a witcher, hmu” before ordering another drink.

Three texts appear from an unknown number in quick succession.

what’s happening. is this why you can’t pull your shit together to get through a single scene?

or are you just tweeting bullshit as usual?

this is yennefer. i can help.

And. Well. Jaskier doesn’t have a problem with his costar Yennefer, who’s playing Natalie in the show, but she is more than a little terrifying, so they’re not particularly chummy.

But if she can help…

And that’s how Yennefer’s hunky cryptid not-boyfriend (“we fuck around but it’s casual”) witcher ends up helping Jaskier get rid of the wraith trying to steal his role.

(But there’s lots more)

(Lots more fun mystery stuff but also lots more cute threeway flirtations with theatre happening in the background)

(The three of them hook up and it’s unexpected and delightful)

(Geralt stands backstage on opening night with two bouquets, staring at them hopefully)

(And he doesn’t know shit about theatre but he sat in that audience transfixed and he’s pretty sure he’s in love with them both)

[lilyvandersteen]

Out of the Blue: Chapter 1

Presenting: my Blaine Big Bang 2020 story!

A huge big thank you to my beta @hkvoyage​ for her invaluable feedback and never-flagging encouragement, and to my artist @redheadgleek​ for the lovely cover art she made for this fic!

I hope you enjoy this story, and by all means, let me know what you think, I love hearing from you :-)

Links: AO3, FF.net)

Chapter 1: Plus One

Between him and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, in spite of a great opposition of character. -- Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the easiness, openness, ductility of his temper, though no disposition could offer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own he never appeared dissatisfied.

(An excerpt from Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen)

“What do you need a plus one for? A charity dinner?” Blaine asked, buttering a piece of baguette and taking a big bite. He’d been up and about since six that morning, and was too hungry to wait until his soup was heated up.

Cooper grinned. “A wedding. This Saturday.”

“Oh no, no, no, not again! Remember that drunk old man the last time who kept groping me? I’m not coming with you. No way.

Cooper put his arm around Blaine’s shoulder. “Now, Blainey, don’t be like that. We’ve always had good times at these weddings together, haven’t we? I love this new hobby of mine! Relieves more stress than a deep tissue massage. Touching ceremonies, good food, singing and dancing, and tons of people in the mood for some fun. Can’t fathom why I ever turned down wedding invitations before. Why did I? Oh yeah, probably because I worked 24/7. Glad I’m past that stage now. It’s way more fun spending money than making it. And everybody loves the gifts I show up with at weddings. Remember that time I bought the newlyweds a brand new Aston Martin? They were so happy!”

Well, it was certainly true that Cooper had worked his ass off to get where he was now. When Blaine was a child, his brother starred in so many ads that Blaine saw him more often on television than in real life. And then, Cooper had moved away to Los Angeles to start his own advertising business, and in a few years, his firm had become a household name. The flipside of that was that Cooper hardly ever came home for a visit anymore. He missed even Christmas, and though he sent amazing presents for Blaine’s birthdays, he never once showed up.

Cooper HAD been there when it mattered, though. When Blaine ended up in hospital after the Sadie Hawkins dance, Coop had dropped everything and flown to Ohio immediately, where he’d spent the next weeks entertaining Blaine by reading to him and singing with him and telling funny stories about shoots he’d done.

And when Blaine graduated high school and his father refused to pay for college because he wanted to study music composition instead of something ‘practical’, Cooper had smoothed the way at once. He had relocated to New York, bought a brownstone close to the NYU campus and invited Blaine to come live with him, ‘to keep him company’, and had paid him handsomely to help him out with work, doing odd jobs. In no time, Blaine had learned how to build sets, apply make-up, spray long hair to make it look enticingly windswept, arrange food on a plate in the most appetizing way and produce all sorts of sound effects. He’d even written a jingle or two – which made him money every time it was played on the radio and on TV!

By the time school started, Blaine had found out that Cooper had paid his NYU attendance fees and bought all his course books for him.

Cooper had waved away Blaine’s thanks. “You’ve worked hard this summer, and I know I’ll be able to count on you again when I need you.”

“Of course.”

And in the years that followed, Cooper did call on him from time to time, but he made sure not to overtax his brother, and to leave him alone when he had too much school work.

Yes, all in all, Cooper was an amazing brother. Blaine just wished he’d get another hobby. He hated being tagged along to a wedding where he didn’t know anybody.

Cooper shot Blaine a winning smile and turned his laptop in Blaine’s direction. “And these two have such INTERESTING things on their wedding registry list. Look! They’re asking for a Louis XV pet pavilion. And look at this Swarovski-studded cat flap! It’s all cat stuff. I don’t think there’s one thing on the list that’s for themselves. Isn’t that FASCINATING? Oh, I want to go!”

“So take your secretary,” Blaine suggested. “Or that leggy blonde that sneaked out of the house at five o’clock this morning.”

“Ew, no! They’d both think I was serious about them if I took them to a wedding.”

Blaine rolled his eyes at his brother. “Why don’t you go stag, then?”

Cooper pouted. “But it’s no fun turning up there all by my lonesome! I won’t know anyone!”

“What do you mean you don’t know anyone?” Blaine probed. “It’s not the daughter of a business associate this time?”

“Nope.”

“A friend from high school or a cousin twice removed who knows you’re filthy rich now and wants a piece of that?”

Cooper shook his head. “Nope and nope.”

“Ugh, don’t tell me you’re crashing a wedding you’re not even invited to? Not again! One day, you’re going to get in trouble for that, and you will only have yourself to blame!”

Cooper grinned and fanned himself with an ivory card. “Nope. Got the invitation right here!”

Blaine furrowed his eyebrows. “So what, you got a wedding invite from total strangers?”

“Weeell…” Cooper drawled, letting the sentence trail off with a shoulder wiggle.

“Well what?”

Cooper studied the photograph on the invitation and tilted his head to the side. “It’s possible I slept with one of the brides. The blonde one looks kind of familiar.”

Blaine side-eyed his brother. “Kind of? As in, you’re not even sure?”

Cooper shrugged. “Hard to keep track of them all.”

Blaine sniffed in disgust.

Cooper studied the card again. “But I’m 80% sure. And isn’t it sporting of her to invite me to her wedding? I don’t want to get married, but I’m all for other people tying the knot. And inviting me to the party.”

The microwave pinged, and Blaine got his soup out and started to eat, paying no more attention to his ridiculous brother.

Cooper left him alone for a few minutes, scrolling through the wedding registry and occasionally exclaiming about another idiotic cat accessory. Then he wheedled, “Come with me? Pretty please? With cherries and cream on top? I really want to go!”

Blaine glared at Cooper. “No. Find someone else. I have essays to work on this weekend, and I have a gig Sunday evening. An actual paying gig this time, not just an open mic thing. So I have to be sober and well rested. I want them to ask me back.”

Cooper pouted. “Ruin my fun.”

“Oh, I’m all for you having fun,” Blaine said, rinsing out his bowl and putting it in the dishwasher. “Just don’t expect me to tag along.”

He took his satchel and headed towards his room, but Cooper stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I’ll buy you a vintage Martin guitar like that guy from across the street has. I’ve seen you looking, that time he invited us for a barbecue. More hungry for that guitar than for the ribs and sausages Ted was grilling.”

“He doesn’t even PLAY it!” Blaine whined. “It’s hanging on the wall for show. Because it costs the earth. Why would you buy a guitar that sounds THAT good to just hang it on a wall?”

Coop nodded. “Exactly. You would never. That’s settled then. I’ll get you your guitar, and you’ll come to the wedding with me. Thanks, squirt, I knew I could count on you!”

And off he was, taking the stairs two at a time, whistling.

Blaine stared after him, then shook his head and chuckled. Coop always knew how to get his way. All right then, where was his grey suit?

[jenni42085]

Made in the AM <Three>

Ch. 3

Niall's POV

Wow! I quite impressed by Alex, she only left the group for thirty maybe forty-five minutes and was able to get a chorus and a verse written. At the rate she is going she will have an entire album written with in a  few days. Not really sure as to why Harry was treating her so poorly she seems like a sweet girl just really quiet.As we are walking to the dressing room I have a better chance to examine her. She isn't that fit but she is still pretty. I think if she toned up she would be the whole package.

"Thanks Niall. You didn't have to". She mumbles as we are about to enter the dressing room.

"I know I didn't have to but I wanted to. You didn't deserve that comment." I reply as I set the guitar she borrowed down on the couch. "Come here you need to meet Lou and Lux."

"Ok, I guess who are they?" She asks with a curious expression.

"Lou is our hair stylist and Lux is her daughter. They are quite awesome."

"Oi! Niall is this our little songwriter?" Lou says as she walks over to us.

"Yes, that would be me. Hi! I'm Alex. Nice to meet you." She extends her hand and Lou pulls her in for a hug.

"No need to be formal if we will be traveling together for a few weeks my dear. And that little angel passed out on the couch is Lux."

"Well ladies, I'll let you two get better acquainted I've got a show to do." I give them both a quick hug and sprint to the stage and take my mic. I know leaving her with Lou is a good idea, she'll be a great girl friend for her on tour, maybe someone who will help her open up to us.

*****************************************************************************************************

Alex's POV

Niall leaves me with Lou who seems like a pretty awesome lady. Little Lux is adorable, can't wait until she is awake and actually playing. I'm a great baby sitter.  "So what do you think of the guys so far?" Lou asks nonchalantly.

"They seem really nice minus one small glitch. But I can ignore it for this job."

"I assume you mean our young Harold?" I nod at her question. She pulls me into the make up chair and starts pulling out brushes. "Relax, I usually only do makeup and hair to do for the boys. Let me do a smoky eye and some other fun things."

"Ummm ok. Sure. I'll be your Barbie to play with for a bit." I state with giggle then relax myself into the chair. Never had anyone to do my makeup so this should be fun.

"Great! So anyways, Harry is just young and quite dumb at times. He is a great guy who gets a bad rap from the media but, he is a nice boy. Granted what he said was a douche bag move, he is really great with Lux."

"I understand but my greatest fear was coming here and someone saying that to me. Yes, Tori brought me on with her as a package deal to help but that was because my song writing skills are actually good sometimes stronger than hers." I state as she applies eyeliner to my eyes.

"You have flawless skin I swear. I'm so use to applying concealer to the boys and for you I'm just getting to dive into eyeliner and the fun stuff.  You were picked for a reason.....Talent don't let anyone take that away from you."

"Thanks. Atleast something is flawless about me. Still working at getting everything else together." I reply sighing.

Lou's finishes adding eye liner and steps back. "You don't give yourself much credit do you? You are beautiful."

I cut her off with out thinking "I'm just struggling with my weight. I want to be beautiful inside and out."

"I understand but honestly it just looks like you need to tone and lift weights. What have you been doing?"

"Zumba and yoga."

She goes back to applying lipstick to me, "That is your problem you need to tone. I can help out if you want me to." Already I like her, she reminds me of Tori with always being positive.

"That would be great. Thanks."

"Now, let's have a look at you. What do you think?"

I focus my attention to the large mirror. "Wow." Was all I managed to get out. She really did an amazing job. My eyes are really popping and the bronzer she put on me gave me a J.Lo glow making my skin looks like brown silk, she did this all with out putting a truck load of make up on.

"You like?" She asks.

"I love!" I jump out of the chair and give her a hug feeling more confident. "Thanks. Let's see how they rock this out."

As much as I hate to admit it their show was pretty awesome. They don't sound half bad live. But they are slightly corny granted they are trying to appeal to teenie boppers so I guess I understand. When I heard their version of "Teenage Dirtbag", I couldn't help but sing along to it. Periodically all the guys except Harry would either wink, smile, or flash me thumbs up while performing.

After the show the guys were busy with the meet and greet while I gathered my stuff and headed towards the van. I've had enough screaming/crying girls for the day. One of arenas security guards open the door and a cold breeze comes in. I walk back into the dressing room while the guys were changing.

"What's wrong love?" Liam asks with a worried expression.

"Nothing is wrong, just kind of chilly outside. Can I borrow a thicker hoodie or a blanket?" I ask shyly.

Liam looks around and pulls a hoodie off the rack. "Here you go, this should keep you warmer than that thin one you have on."

"Thanks". I start back out the door.

"Hey are you not going to wait for us?" Louis asks while putting his shoes on.

"Ummm I guess I can."

He walks back over to me putting his arm around my shoulder. "That's a good girl." I shoot him a dirty look as he chuckles at me.

"Real funny. Bossy." I shoot back him rolling my eyes.

"Nah, not bossy just trying to be helpful, plus you did steal my hoodie."

"How so?"

"Well, we don't anyone kidnapping our songwriter." Niall says with a smile.

Again I roll my eyes then sit Indian style in the large plush chair. I'm feeling ready for a nap I just want to go back to the room. I pull out my notepad and look over my lyrics and keep thinking about what else I'm missing this will eat at me until it is done.

"Alexandria, we are about to leave. Come on." Liam holds his hand to me and pulls me up effortlessly.  How strong is he?

"I'm coming. And again it is just Alex." He nods his head in understanding.

We start to head down the hallway to the outside and I can already hear the fans screaming. I feel anxiety wash over me, I've already had one person be mean to me I don't need their fans going nuts on me either. I've seen how their fans act.  "You ok?" Liam asks me again. He is definitely a caring person.

"I don't know, I'll let you know once we make it through the crowd."

Without further conversation he grabs my hand tightly then looks at me with an intense stare, "Don't let go because you might get lost."

I can feel my eyes getting larger with concern. "Ok." I say so low that is comes out as a whisper.

As the door opens the cool night air hits us. The girls and the paparazzi are screaming and asking questions. "Liam are you dating her?" "Who is she?" And so forth and so on. I was expecting the grip Liam had on my hand to weaken but he held on tight to it.

We finally get into the van and I breathing calms down a bit. "That was intense. Your fans are just wow."

"Aye! It happens but that wasn't too bad. By the way did Lou get ahold of you? I don't remember you wearing any makeup when you got here. You look beautiful either way."  Niall says.

I blush at his comment "Yeah, Lou got to me. She did a great job."

Niall places his head on my shoulder. "I knew you would love her!  She is great with makeup and hair, plus she is an awesome person to hang out with."

"Agreed" we state in unison. The rest of the ride was pretty quiet until. "So Alex has already come up with a song." Three sets of eyes are focused on me even though the car is dark.

"Seriously?" Louis asks as he turns around in his seat.

"Yeah, but I only have a chorus and a verse nothing really special."

"Nothing special? Mates, she sounds great!" Niall says. I honestly wished he would shut up.

"When can we hear it?" Harry states so low that you almost didn't hear it.

"Not tonight maybe tomorrow, after I have more or it is atleast finished." I state in a flat tone.

We pile out of the van with out any issue. I really want to finish this song and maybe work out. I need to get rid of this gut. I decide to change into my work out clothes then listen to more music to get some more inspiration.  I know it is kind of late but listening to more music might help me finish this song.  

"Are you going to bed already?  The night is still young love."  Niall states when he sees me almost sprinting to my room.

"Not exactly, I just have some work I'd like to finish up."  I really want to finish this song on my own and without anymore distractions.  

"Ohhh, well if you change your mind you can come to my room and hang out."  Niall replies as he pulls my phone from my hands, "Here's my number."

"Thanks.  I'll keep that in mind dear."  I take my phone back then go into my room.  It takes no time for me to change into my work out gear.  I grab my phone, headphones, and room key then head to the hotel's gym.  I figure since it was so late at night no one would be in there.  After thirty minutes of being on the elliptical I have more to the song.....almost.  I take a break so I start stretching.  

I have an odd feeling that someone is in here with me, so I turn around towards the door and see Liam only a few feet from me.  He walks closer to me with a towel over his shoulder dressed in a  plain white tank top and black basketball shorts.  "Hey what are you doing down here?" he asks casually as he walks over to the bench press.  

"Sorry Liam, I didn't hear you come in.  I guess my music is a little too loud."  I reply pulling the earbuds from my ears then pause the music. "I'm trying to work out and such."

"Ohhh ok.  But why?"  

Was this guy serious?  I cock my head to the side and give him a confused look.  "Liam, have you even looked at me?  I'm fat.  I'm . . ."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa.  You aren't fat.  I'd say you are thick which isn't a bad thing.  What are you trying to achieve?"

"I want to be sexy.  I want to feel completely beautiful.  Nothing fancy."

"You do realize beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  I think you are beautiful, I mean if you want to do anything and please don't take offense but, you can always tone up."  Liam starts his stretching.  "How about I work out with you.  I always need an outlet so I work out sometimes after a shower then before we leave I usually box with my trainer."

"Are you sure I won't hold you back?  I'm not really in advanced in any work out routine."  

"That's ok we can modify it to where you are comfortable."  he puts his hand up for a high five, "Plus what is the worst that can happen?"

"Well ok then, you have a work out buddy."  I meet his hand for a high five.  This might actually be good for me.  We start by doing some stretches with some music playing.  The conversations is at a minimal aside from him showing me what work out we are doing next until he gets to the bench press.  He is piling on atleast 200lbs.  "Umm dear heart, I know you know your limits but, are you sure you can lift that?  That is more than what I weigh."

He stops putting the weights on then looks at me with his hand on his hip. Without saying a word he picks me up like he is going to carry me over the threshold, "Alex, I've got this.  You aren't heavy at all".  My body is slightly tense in his arms because I have a HUGE fear he is going to drop me. "Quit tensing, I won't drop you.  If I do I'll buy you what ever you want."  He chuckles as he moves around the gym with me in his arms to prove he is more than capable of handling my weight and the bench press.

"Ok.  You have proved a point.  You can put me down now."  I say giggling at him even though I didn't want to put me down.  His arms feel like a safe space.  <sigh> Don't fall for him, you know he is a celebrity and will only hurt you. Oh well, a girl can dream.

*****************************************************************************************************

Liam's POV

I didn't plan on working out tonight, but really glad I did.  Having this time alone with Alex is really nice, I knew when we first met she was a person with low self esteem, but I didn't think it was this bad.  I wonder who told her she was fat.  She isn't skinny by any means, but who wants a bean pole?  Her body type is just thick, I wouldn't kick her out of bed by any means.  My goal is to build her up so that she knows she is beautiful.  

It has been a while since I've seen a girl who is comfortable enough to walk around in public without any make up on.  I think that is she lost too much weight she wouldn't look right.  Her ass in the yoga pants is mind blowing since they hug her ass like a glove.  The tank top she has on has a low scoop neck and shows off a great amount of cleavage.  I already know what I'll be doing after working out with her.  Rosy Palmer and her five friends have been my best friend lately, and frankly Alex is adding images to my mind.  

"Liam are you listening to me?"  Alex snaps her fingers in my face.  Right now, I need to focus on her emotions not on little Liam.

"Yeah, sorry.  I was zoned out.  What were you saying?"  

"I asked if you play any instruments."  she looks at me with a funny expression then shakes her head.

"I play the piano and have been learning the guitar but nothing crazy yet.  Speaking of music....  when can I hear the song you wrote today?"  I haven't forgotten that Niall said she wrote something so quick but, I think she is still nervous about displaying her talents even though that is what she is here for.  Hesitation washing over her face. "Don't be shy love, it's just me."  I flash her a bright sweaty smile.

She nibbles on her lip ring as she is thinking things through, she inhales a deep breath, "I guess after we work out I can play it for you.  It isn't finished yet though."

"Maybe I can help you finish it.  Ok?  Three more and we are done for the night."  After we finished working out, I walk her to her room and agree to meet back in thirty minutes giving her plenty of time to shower and work her nerves out.  I'm really excited to hear what she has so far I feel like her songs might help make this album be great since Zayn has left. I really do miss my best mate.  <sigh>  Ohh well.

I knock on her door and wait for her to let me in.  Her freshly washed face is glowing with red cheeks, guessing she didn't have to take a cold shower like yours truly.  She is in oversized sweatpants that are rolled down with a cami.  I have a feeling that all her clothes make her look sexy even though she doesn't realize it.  "Are you sure you want to listen to it?"  

"Yes Alex, let's hear what you have so far."  I sit on the edge of the bed while she has her back against the headboard with a fascinating acoustic guitar in her lap.  I can tell she is a focused song writer because she has papers scattered across the bed along with her MacBook and various other pieces of  recording equipment.  She takes a deep breathe and starts singing, her voice is really quite beautiful, I wonder why she didn't ask for a recording contract.  "Wow!  Niall said the lyrics were great but wow.  You are quite talented.  What prompted the song?"

"Harry hurting my feelings then calling Tori to remind me to never let anyone drag me down."  She states simple with a half smile on her face.  "Plus listening to Maroon 5 gave me inspiration regarding the melody and etc.  My mind is a musical playground at times."

"Well what all do you have in mind for instruments?" Her mind is a musical playground that I want to play on.  I wonder what else we can do.  "So you need a hook to build up to the chorus?"  

"Yeah, I've been working on it but I'm not sure how it should go.  So far I've been thinking about if I didn't have them I wouldn't be something."

I inhale deeply and think on her ideas, then it hits, "How about:

If I didn't have you there would be nothing left

The shell of a man who could never be his best

If I didn't have you, I'd never see the sun

You taught me how to be someone, yeah"

"I like it!  It would be great after the first part of the verse.  I was thinking instead of a different verse make it repeat itself to reenforce the feelings of the song.  Saying you are strong and never leaving."  She looks so passionate about this, I can look at her and see all the wheels turning.  This union of her working with us might be great.  "I'm thinking that after the chorus it should be:

Nobody, nobody

Nobody can drag me down

Nobody, nobody

Nobody can drag me.

I want it to feel like a slight rock anthem, you know?"  she simply states.

"I think we already have a song, you are a genius!  Simon was right about you."

"Thanks, so do you want to help me figure out some instruments while you sing the demo version?"  

"Since it is your song, how about a duet."  I want the guys to not only see her talent in the lyrics, but I want them to hear her voice.  She bites her lip ring again, indicating she is nervous.  "Come on don't be shy, it'll be ok."

"Fine, I'll do it.  I swear you and Niall keep suckering me into doing things that are totally out of my element."

"Is it such a bad thing?"

"No, it just gives me slight anxiety.  I've been working on breaking out of my shell and just being more happy but most importantly, not worrying about what everyone else thinks."

"Anytime you feel like you are going to freak out just tell me, I'm a great listener."  I rub her leg in a comforting manner she returns a small smile, "Now that we are done with the sappy moment lets see if we can figure this out."

We start putting the instruments together in a crude band set up, it would be better if we had all the actual instruments here but, it works for now.  Maybe we can get time with a proper recording studio or at the very least get the band to play it.  Last time I look at the clock is 2 am and even though her eyes are getting heavy she is still trying to arrange the music like she hears it. This is what I call a true musician/songwriter/producer.  I'm impressed.  

[breg21]

Ladynoir Month: Waiting On You

@ladynoirjuly2019

Ao3 FFN

Husband's Background Music Recommendation: "Wild Roses: Of Monsters and Men"

I can't believe this is it. It was so hard to write, to say goodbye.

But nothing golden can stay, now can it?

I really hope you guys enjoy.

"Madame Agreste! Madame Agreste!? Has anyone seen Madame Agreste anywhere!? I can't find her!?"

Adrien chuckled as he watched the assistant run around like a chicken with its head cut off, almost yelling into her earpiece, looking for his wife. Even at twenty four, and being the owner of Gabriel's fashion empire, not to mention being Ladybug, Marinette still had trouble being punctual.

Like now for instance, right when her show was set to start in ten minutes and no one could find her. With every minute was ticking down till the start of the show. Everyone was running around trying to make heads ort tails of where the young designer could be.

Models were in distress, needing last minute touch ups that needed to be done by Marinette, the setup crew was growing more frantic with each passing minute, and words were being drowned out by the sea of people yelling at the top of their lungs.

Yep, gotta love fashion week. Adrien was thankful he only modeled for Matrinette's line, well only from time to time. He never wanted to be a full time model ever again, but for her, there would always be an exception.

And just when everyone thought all hope was lost that they just couldn't reach her, she miraculously— he loved to fit in a good pun whenever he could— appeared.

"I'm here! I'm here!"

They all turned to see Marinette running up in six inch heels, hair piled up in a messy bun, grey skirt, red blouse, and a blazer that matched the skirt hanging perfectly around her shoulders. She was gasping for air, as if she had just ran a marathon, and knowing Marinette, she probably had just to get there in time if her beaten red face said anything. "I-I'm here."

The whole room seemed to have sighed in relief at her appearance.

Adrien laughed some more. That was definitely his princess. And he wouldn't trade her for anything in the world. He pulled her into his arms before hair and makeup could whisk her away, and pressed a small kiss to the middle of her forehead. "Look who finally decided to show up." He teased.

She huffed, lower lip turning out into a pout. "My… alarm may've or may not have gone off this morning."

He knew his eyes were dancing with mirth. "And that's why I was trying to drag you out of bed." He had. He had even pulled the sheets that she tried to hide under, to no avail. She just wouldn't budge. "We're just waiting on you."

She rolled her eyes, but nevertheless, followed the director and makeup artist to her dressing room before the show began.

Adrien smiled. She had, after all, been late to their own wedding. She was always fashionably late. Even with how chaotic everything was, he never minded waiting on his wife.

He always would.

"Emma, do you know where your mother is?"

The ten year old glanced up from her drawing tablet to look at the director of the show, giving a shrug of her shoulders. "You know how she is, Mr. Rue. My auntie's and Dad are out in the crowd if you wanna see if they know. You'll be able to spot dad a mile away when you look for two screaming toddlers. Louis and Hugo can get quite loud."

The man sighed, pressing a button on his earpiece to mumble some instructions to the person on the other end. Mr. Rue looked exhausted, to say the least, and Emma couldn't blame him. Her mother didn't always have the best timing, never did. "Between your mother and your father, I'll never understand how you're on time for things."

Emma threw her head back and laughed. Because, he was right. She wondered that sometimes herself. "You're not the only one, Mr. Rue. You're not the only one."

He smiled and ruffled her head, before disappearing off into another section of the backstage. Chuckling to herself, Emma went back to the task on hand.

That was, before black high heals appeared in his vision. "Hey, kitten. How's it going?"

Emma looked up to see her mom standing there, all bright smiles and soft eyes.

Emma was indeed a daddy's girl— she was almost a carbon copy of him, what with her blonde hair, green sparkling eyes, and tanned skin, though she had her momma's freckles— but no one could deny that she was her momma's world. "Hey, Momma. Almost late to your show. Again." She snickered as her mom sent her a playful glare. "They're all waiting on you."

The older woman rolled her eyes, but took the tablet from her daughter's hands and moved it aside in favor of pulling her up off her seat and into her arms for a bone crushing hug. "You're too much like your dad sometimes, kitten."

Emma returned the hug without thought. "I know, you've told me so many times."

A soft kiss was placed on the crown of her head and her heart almost purred like the animal she was nicknamed after. Her momma's hugs were always one of the best. "You know, I gave birth to you for nine hours straight, and you came out looking and acting like your father."

Emma pulled back, and reached up to boop her mother on her nose. "Au contraire. Papa says I'm so like you that the reason I look so much like him is so that I could have all your personality. Auntie Chloe, Alya, and Kagami agree." She stuck her tongue out as if to solidify her point.

Her mom shook her head, but a pleasant smile gave away the fake annoyance that she had been going for. "You are too much sometimes, kitten."

Clasping her hands together, she popped her leg just a bit behind her and gave the cheesiest grin she could muster. "I know." She glanced at her watch and saw that it was only five minutes until show time and started to push the older woman onto the stage. "Now, go. Don't wanna be late for your own show. Papa's probably waiting anxiously."

Marinette was nearly onto the stage when she poked her head back in through the curtain. "When did you become so grown up?"

"Easy." The pre-teen answered, not missing a beat. "When you have amazing, caring parents as I do, you pick up on a few things."

If any of the pictures later on from that show displayed her mom with tears in her eyes, Marinette contributed it to allergies.

But Emma knew better.

As Marinette strolled down the catwalk, looking to every possible camera that she could, she smiled with unabundant joy as she made her way to the podium. It was the final sho for the Ladybug and Chat Noir line, and it was a full house. Something she was undoubtedly grateful for.

Clearing her throat, she spoke easily into the mic. "Thank you all, for coming today, to the last showing of my Ladybug and Chat Noir fashion line."

The cheering and clapping boomed throughout the building, growing louder and louder by the second, and it made her smile all the more. "It's an honor to see what this line has brought to you all. It also was an honor and I'm ecstatic to pay tribute to Ladybug and Chat Noir."

It all felt so real. So much time had passed, so much of what she and Adrien did together, the life they had built, and it all lead to this, and she couldn't even imagine what more the future might bring.

She looked out onto the crowd to see her family there, all cheering her on. Her two boys waving frantically at her from their papa's lap.

And when she saw the sweet smile her husband sent her, it somehow made her heart all the more calm and rapid at the same time. It was all the encouragement she needed to continue.

Gosh, did she love that man. "A lot of things have been said, a lot has been done fo the city. Things have changed. Grown. They've paved their own ways as superheroes and without them, we wouldn't be where we are today. They have so much that has helped them through and made them who they are. But one thing is for sure."

"Your parents are something else, Emma."

Backstage, said girl gave a long roll of her eyes, arms crossed over her chest, before looking to her best friend, sarcastic attitude in full swing. "Trust me, Anna. You, auntie Kagami and uncle Luka may see what they're like in public, but it's nothing to what they're like at home. Twenty years of marriage and they still act like love sick teens— and that's something coming from a teen."

"They wouldn't be who they are— they wouldn't be Chat Noir and Ladybug, or come as far as they have through the years— without each other."

Even so, Emma smiled at her momma's words. They definitely wouldn't be. While she liked to complain about the public display of affections, she knew it was amazing to see. It was amazing to see two people still so incredible in love with each other after so many years. Not many people had that.

Anna laughed as Marinette finished her speech. "Say what we want, but if I'm being honest, they're the kind of love I look up to. A love to model after, you know? I know every love is different, but because of them, I know what to look for when love comes my way, if it's real, it'll be worth it in the end. It's okay to be patient, that's what love is— to make sure you're ready and not to let others tell you when it is. Only you know when it's real."

"That's it for tonight's fashion line, I hope you guys enjoyed. Please, give another round of applause for the models. I'll see you all at the next debut."

"Yeah." Emma agreed softly, clapping along with the audience as her mom made her exist. The young teen laughed hard. "I owe then a lot. More than I give them credit for. Because of them, I've learned about something from an earlier age, that most people can't grasp no matter how old they get, something that I will always believe in."

The dark haired teen looked to the blonde, eyes twinkling with curiosity. "And what's that, Em?"

Emma's lips curled into a soft smile at the thought of her parents. "I believe true love exists for those that fight for it. They fight so hard everyday. For the city, for everything they've accomplished, and especially for each other."

A love she wouldn't mind having one day.

Anna nudged her shoulder in play. "Your parents are the embodiment of what working hard and working together really means, together until the end, huh? No matter what they do, they do together."

Emma nodded, a fondness shining on her face. "And for that, they will always be partners."

Husband's note: Not sure when we will be writing this constantly again. So that being said I want to say thank you to the people that have given our stories the time to read. Seeing so many people comment, especially about my random bits of gibberish, is really surprising and as hard as things get I never get used to the surprises.

Wife.: Seriously you guys, thank you. From the bottom of our hearts. I have several one shots running around in my head, so be on the lookout for those as well. Until nets time, always lots of love!

[jlf23tumble]

1D Day, Hour Two

The file I’m watching on YouTube is much shorter than an hour (44 minutes!!), but that’s because the poster kindly removed the “VT” (shudder) from random countries (it always boils down to [insert country’s name’s] fans wilding, and there’s only so much of that I can take).

Still, hour 2 is fucking ICONIC for many reasons, the biggest being Harry’s barely constrained rage. Yes, Louis’s “done with it all” demeanor on 1D Day is (justifiably) legendary, but Harry’s right there with him (twin flames, y’all). I can’t tell if he’s coked up, genuinely angry, or just passive-aggressively petty because someone told him he had to speak more quickly, much more loudly, and with some enthusiasm, for chrissakes. Oh, he delivers, all right, so much maniacal shouting. Deets under the cut.

Hour 2 is all Lirry, and I, for one, love Lirry, so it’s 44 minutes well spent. Liam tells us, “We’re kicking it off with VT from  France, give it up for France!” (“FRANCAIS!” Harry yells), and after the missing bit of French VT, we’re back to Lirry, with Harry vacillating between murdering the French language (“Mercy boo coo to France”) and shouting “I ATE SNAILS” as his contribution to what they did in France last time they were there (Liam played football with some guys near the Eiffel Tower, fwiw).

The first guest is Dynamo (or, “DYNAMO, EVERYBODY” if you’re Harry), and he’s here for card tricks and more (“OH, SNAP” is Harry’s response to Dynamo nearly twisting his own finger off, and god, it’s horrifying). Harry’s fairly manic through the entirety of the card tricks, but I love Liam because he’s me in every card trick (“I’m glad mine’s easy to remember because I’d probably forget,” which is true of any card you take, like, ever???):

“WHO LOVES MAGIC!” Harry shouts, and there’s a needlessly complicated special interactive trick that gets introduced here, with Dynamo saying that he wrote a prediction on a piece of paper and sealed it in a box at the beginning of the day, so he needs to Harry to keep the key safe. Points if you correctly assumed that Harry will stuff that key right in next to his dick as a joke.

Because nobody rehearsed or prepared for this epic full-day live event, there are all kinds of problems with the cameras, and if you want a fun drinking game to get you hammered within 45 minutes, take a shot every time you see a variation of this (Liam looking vaguely concerned while Harry aggressively points at the sky or the camera while shouting):

A horrifically bad segment that’s a poorly disguised advert for Google Hangouts (lmaoaoaoaooaoaoa) kicks off questions from all over the world (the audio is bad, none of the visuals syncs), but we get some iconic answers to deeply important questions, like, “If you were in the Hunger Games, who would  survive the longest?” Liam says he’d hide and then kill passersby (yikes), and Harry says he’s more of a lover than a fighter, so he’d hide in a tree until it all blew over. Liam: “Oh, yeah, you’re definitely more of a lover.” Harry: “Easy there, Piers Morgan.”

The next question is from a group of girls wearing Christmas sweaters, which annoys Harry because “it’s a whole month and two days early,” but I think his issues are bigger than jumping the gun on holidays (and honestly, the UK doesn’t have the twin buffers of T’day and H’ween, so you KNOW this is just part of his general rage). Anyway, they want to know what other careers these two would be involved with, sans the D, and because they’re five, Liam says spaceman and Harry says baker.

After a series of horrible glitches, the next question is about which superhero they’d be, and me as Harry, blowing a giant raspberry as he ponders this important question with the level of exhaustion he surely must feel, three years into this band/interview technique. Liam can read the room, so he picks this one up and says he’d be Kung-Fu Panda, which makes it easy for Harry to say Hong Kong Fuey (!!!) or Top Cat.

With that mess done, it’s time to “ROLL THE VT!” (according to Harry) for Switzerland, and because the producers here are nothing if not cliché lovers, that means tiny cowbells for Harry to play with when we come back. He quickly tires of this, throws the cowbells off stage, yells “WE NEED A CAMERA,” and walks straight into the call box with the overwhelmed girls from hour 1. These girls are still weeping, but Harry says, “Thank you for listening to the album, you’re getting kicked out, sorry,” in the flattest voice possible, so good cop Liam hurries over to ask the weeping girls which song they liked and usher in two new people.

“Happily” is debuted, but we don’t get to see it, boo, but we do get ushered over to a theater with some contest winners. Or as Harry says, “We’re here backstage to meet some fans who have won a chance to be here…SHUT UP…in our VIP cinema,” and then, “You’re crying…is that because I told you to shut up? I didn’t mean it.” Liam is there again to save the day, but there are lots of sound problems, so it’s hard to tell what’s happening, tbh.

Anyway, these fans get to ask some iconic questions, such as, “What would we find in your fridge?” which gives us this classic from Harry: “I DON’T LIVE ANYWHERE, SO NO FOOD,” as the audience says, “awwwwww” in the background.

There’s a question from a lady on the screen, saying that she’s in front of the X Factor studios, and she wants to know what they would change their audition song to, if they could go back in time, and because Harry’s well aware of his various stalkers, he says, “I saw her the other day at the X Factor studios, 100 percent” (fwiw, Harry would do “Wrecking Ball” with props, and Liam would do “Mirrors”).

The last question is what they would change if they could go back in time, and Liam says probably his older haircuts, and Harry says that one day in April (and he mentions April again later in the hour, so someone investigate), he had a dodgy breakfast burrito, so he’d probably change that (he also had a dodgy batch of prawns one time, too, but that’s a different story, and god, he’s an underrated comedian). The sound is for shit, but Liam doubts this, prompting Harry to scream, “DON’T JUDGE ME, LIAM, I’M TRYING MY BEST,” and whyyyyyy is he so on fire (and why do I love it so much):

We get back to the studio with an inexplicably breathless Scott Mills (he says he ran…but from where, lmao) and do another spin to figure out who the official 1D account (????) will follow on twitter. Harry starts cheating before people start yelling at him to stop, which is a shame, really, just follow all of these poor bastards, honestly!

We don’t get to see the VT from Germany, but we do get to see Lirry bickering about camera problems and stolen lines, plus an exhaustive rundown of all the thrilling things to come, and I’m so thankful to the person who made this moment a Dua Lipa meme all those months ago:

One of my favorite segments has a really awkward setup, but tl/dr/dw, Harry brags, “I’m a bit of a chef myself, and if I’m honest, Liam, I’m pretty damned good at it,” so we get a “ROLL VT!” and an aggressive finger point, both from Harry, and a silly but charming cook off with the tour chef, who seems like a lovely lady (p.s. look at how glorious his hair was under all those tablecloths…also, he’s chewing gum in a gross way, but this whole bit is worth watching in full):

The cook off is genuinely funny and results in a beautiful pavlova from Sarah and a basic sandwich (with pickle and paprika) from Harry, judged by Mark Jarvis, Gemma Styles, and Lou Teasdale, all of whom Harry bribes. I’m more fascinated with this ring, and my head canon has it either saying ILY or JEN (both of which make me smile):

With that bit over, we move on to more rapping of random tweets, and it’s embarrassing, so I won’t get into that. But the VT of Liam surfing is something special, not only because he looks so obviously happy while he’s doing it, but also because he says some very profound things in the interview around it: “I get followed a lot, so it’s quite nice to get out in the sea where nobody can follow you […] it’s so nice and peaceful […] it doesn’t matter what you look like, you can just have a good time, it’s a bit of an escape,” and ouchhhhhh, that’s some real talk.

We head back to the studio for a fashion segment with Louise someone; a handful of lucky fans in Sweden won a t-shirt design contest, and Lirry are gonna do some modeling. Louise is happy that Harry knows where Sweden is (Harry:  “I got a B in geography…might have been a C, can’t remember”), and some poor shlub working on this trainwreck in the shadow gets dragged out on camera because he’s wearing green jeans, but he’s not there for long (Harry: “GET OUT” *shove*). Louise describes the fashion show to come, and Harry says that he’s quite good at walking in straight lines, but Liam reminds him that he tends to fall over a lot on stage and that the tiny catwalk is actually pretty shiny (god bless Liam for being so responsible).

Luckily for all of us, professional model Cindy Crawford is there to help with some tips (she’s introduced as “IT’S ONLY BLOODY CINDY CRAWFORD” by Harry, and I die with Cindy’s “Hello, boys,” and Harry’s “Hello, Mrs. Crawford”…followed swiftly by Cindy’s, “Please don’t call me Mrs. Crawford”). There’s some sexi modeling, and even though he only wears two shirts to Harry’s three (*and* Harry gets down on the ground to pose), Liam wins, according to the Swedes. He requests a model  off with Cindy as his prize, and he’s surprisingly good?

The last segment is with Dynamo, the magic man, and for some reason, Harry’s weirdly agro about his own shirt mic, like, unnecessarily so, ripping it off to speak with Dynamo before gently putting it back where it belongs. Maybe he’s just frustrated about how they have to use Google+ (lololololol) for a totally convoluted imaginary concert that ultimately doesn’t work (me as him, tbh). 

While Liam does tech support live on air (!!), Harry asks Dynamo to do some card tricks to stall for time after literally nobody says a word when he monotones, “We’re having a technical difficulty…does anybody know any jokes.” Harry pulls a card as directed, but then, for seemingly no reason, he suddenly starts yelling, “THIS ISN’T WORKING, SHALL WE SEE SOME HIGHLIGHTS? HIGHLIGHTS!!! ROLL HIGHLIGHTS [aggressive pointing]!!” and the highlights are truly awful, and I hope he’s enjoying his smoke break for hour 3, jfc.

[phanlight]

The Boy on the Blue Moon Dreams of Sun

prompt: dan is a theatre kid who hasn't had his first kiss but has to kiss someone for a show. he doesn't want his first kiss to be wasted so he tries to get it done properly beforehand & he meets phil and w/e you can take it from there!!!

““Tell you what,” Phil leans into him, and Dan can smell his cologne. “We’re gonna come back up here again, okay? And you’re gonna tell me about yourself. Properly, this time.

Dan frowns. “Isn’t that what we’ve spent the past ten minutes doing?”

“Yeah,” Phil says. “The only difference being next time we do this, I’m going to ban you from saying the word ‘acting’. So I can hear about you, the real you, and not whoever you pretend to be for a living.”

-

GUESS WHICH BITCH IS BACK AND WRITING AGAIN (spoiler: IT ME)

I thought it was about time I branched out a bit and tried my hand at a theatre au. This was so much fun to write (albeit kinda hard as despite being a literature student my Romeo and Juliet knowledge is a little subpar lmao lets hope I at least sort of did it justice tho) and deffo has more than ur daily dosage of angsty teenage actor!dan so look forward to that. thank u to the lovely anon who prompted me with this! (also yes i’m still relying on ptv lyrics for my song titles after 3 years sh)

Also I’m sorry if the writing in this is a lil inconsistent. I started this fic literally over a year ago and abandoned it for ages before finding and continuing it again. The first half was written in literally like mid 2016 (from which point my writing has obv improved a lot) and since then I’ve been working on it sporadically so if it feels like halfway through my writing style suddenly changes then that’s why OOPS soz

This was not supposed to be this long im so sorry wtf 13k ??? fuks sake

It’s the first time Dan’s ever been pissed off with being cast a lead role in a play.

He usually loves it – he loves the attention, loves having a ripped up script full of highlighted lines and more soliloquies to memorise than he can even keep count of. He shines under the warmth of the spotlight, lapping up the attention like a hungry cat, and when the applause ripples throughout the audience at the end, he can’t get enough of the sound.

It’s just- well, there’s one problem with his part.

It’s nothing he has against Romeo, not necessarily, and the piece itself is okay – Dan’s copy of the popular play in question is already crumpled with annotations; small post-it notes spilling fluorescent colours out of every crease (studying English literature alongside Drama always comes in handy as far as Shakespeare is concerned) and Romeo has a decent amount to say.

The problem is, he’s going to have to kiss someone.

Dan Howell, the one who snaps up almost every single role he auditions for, the one with a clay personality that can be moulded perfectly into whatever role he’s going for next, the one who lives the stage and breathes the lights, who was once described as ‘the heart and soul’ of the local theatre, is going to have to kiss someone.

And believe it or not, Dan Howell, the same seventeen-year-old who breezes through auditions leaving a flutter of girls at his feet, the same guy who was once rumoured to have made out with three people at the Les Miserables afterparty and the same guy who once had to reject two people in one night, has never actually kissed anyone before. Not properly, anyway.

Granted, he’s been extremely close to it a fair few times – having been in and out of auditions and callbacks since the age of about five, he’s come into contact with a considerable number of roles that involve love interests; only last month was his character Eddie supposed to kiss the love of his life, Alexandra, in the back of a car at a drive-in cinema. It was a play that one of the drama students had written; set in the fifties, all red-and-white ice cream parlours and hand jives and high school dances and Marilyn Monroe posters. Dan had enjoyed playing his part, and not just because it was the only opportunity he’d get to sport a black leather jacket (though he did decide leather looked really quite hot on him after that play. It’s almost a shame he’s vegetarian), but because the minor obstacle could, like every single other time, be solved with a stage kiss. Just a few seconds of his back to the audience, being agonisingly close to someone else’s lips, before pulling away and raking though his mind to try and remember the next line. It’s always worked for him, every time.

Except for this. Because the director, a Lucy Howcroft with a loud voice and a bossy personality, has only gone and booked them the Round at the Old Vic theatre. Which would be fine, of course it would; it’s one of the most popular theatres in the city and the theatre group is going to get a huge reputation for this afterwards, but it’s not so handy as far as stage-kissing is concerned. When you’re being stared at from every angle three-hundred-and-sixty degrees around, there’s no way you can get away with only partially leaning in to kiss.

“Are you sure there’s no way around this?” Dan had insisted when he’d stolen a moment after rehearsal to talk to Lucy. She’d been clearing her desk – a papery mountain range, and had looked a bit too busy to talk, but Dan would rather discuss this with her one-on-one instead of having to voice his feelings with twenty other pairs of eyes staring at him.

“For someone who just bagged yet another lead role, I would’ve thought you’d be a little more gracious than this,” Lucy had muttered, snapping a file shut. “I didn’t have to cast you, y’know.”

“It’s not- I am grateful, you know I am, it’s just-“

“Is there a problem with the casting of Juliet?” she’d offered, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Dan had insisted. “She’s fine.”

“The costume, then?” she’d tried. “I’m not a bloody mind reader, Dan. Help me out a bit here.”

Dan had shut his eyes and taken a deep breath, trying to comb the tangle of words in his head into some kind of coherent sentence.

“I mean- I just- the venue,” he gulped. “It’s- there’s a bit of a problem.”

“What about it?” Lucy sighed, irritation tracing the edges of her tone. “I fail to see what’s so problematic about getting a slot at the Old Vic of all places, but if you have any objections, then do enlighten me.”

“It’s not that, it’s just-“ Dan gulped, not really too sure how far he’s going to get with this. The bitterness already in her tone didn’t sound at all promising. “I don’t know. Do we have to perform in the round?”

“Christ, is performing in one of the most popular theatres in London that much of a chore?”

“No, no, I just-“ he gulped, trying to work out how the hell he’d word this without sounding like a twat. “I’ve never really… you know. Performed in an environment like that before.”

“You’ve been acting for twelve years,” she said bluntly. “I’m sure you have enough experience to be able to deal with a round stage instead of a rectangular one.”

“But- like, isn’t the round meant for- like… you know, Greek plays and shit?”

“It used to be,” she’d said, taking care to apply extra emphasis on the past tense. “Since when were you so hung up on the traditions of theatre, anyway?” she’d added after a pause. “Only last week were you totally in favour of the idea of having a rap battle in the middle of Othello.”

Dan had frowned, because that wasn’t really fair – sure, a rap battle isn’t exactly a common feature of Shakespeare’s plays, but no one could deny that Louis, playing Iago, was pretty good at freestyling whenever a mic was thrown in his direction. Despite not adhering to the conventions of traditional English theatre, it certainly made the play more entertaining.

“It’s just gonna be- you know. It’s gonna take some getting used to,” he’d mumbled instead.

“You have three months to get used to it,” she’d pointed out. “I’m sure you and the rest of the cast will have familiarised yourself with it by the time the production comes around.”

“But- the round is traditionally meant for-“

“Look, if you’re going to get so archaic about it, I can always build a time machine, book the open-air Globe for, like, sometime four-hundred years ago, and you can spend the next three days picking rotten tomatoes out of your hair,” she said. “Does that sound better?”

“They only did that to bad actors,” Dan had pointed out. Lucy rolled her eyes.

“And you know what makes a good actor, Dan?” she retorted. “Flexibility. The willingness to branch out of your comfort zone.”

Dan had sighed. He’s not going to get anywhere with this, is he?

“You know what?” he’d finally shaken his head, defeated. “Forget it.”

She watched him turn on his heel with a raised eyebrow. “See you Tuesday, then? First read-through of the script is at eleven in the morning.”

“See you then,” Dan muttered, not even bothering to turn around.

He let the door slam behind him.

It’s not that Dan doesn’t want to kiss anyone – (quite the contrary, really. He loves the idea of it, loves the thought of someone’s lips pressed up against his, the world slowing down around them and his heart feeling like fire. He’s always tried to incorporate that feeling into his acting, letting his passion leak into every character he’s cast, but when the stage lights are off and the curtain is down, his attraction to his colleagues ends there) – it’s just- well, he doesn’t really think he’s found the right person to share the real experience with, yet. His fellow actors and actresses aren’t unattractive by any means, but he doesn’t look at any of them and find himself struck by the desire to taste their lips and whisper incoherence into their ears like Eddie was supposed to do in the back of that car.

Seventeen, and still hasn’t had his first kiss. Still doesn’t want to waste it, at that.

Pathetic.

-

Technicians don’t get paid enough, Phil thinks.

He’s spent the day holed up in the trap room, devouring what was left in the back of the fridge (including a half-opened pack of Doritos that tasted like they expired about five years ago) and puzzling over this fucking broken light board that everyone had very kindly left him to take care of. It had already taken him over half an hour to get one of the chunky old Mac laptops up and running again (seriously, who in this day and age is still using an iBook?) and even then it only really half-functions – a handful of keys are missing, the trackpad only ever seems to work when it feels like it, and there’s a huge hairline crack right across the screen. Phil’s spent so long cursing through gritted teeth and smacking the table in frustration every time the damn thing freezes that it wouldn’t come as a surprise if he ended up contributing to those cracks by the end of the day. Maybe that’s how they ended up there in the first place.

“You alright?” the door suddenly opens and a voice – Nick, Phil presumes, breaks the aching silence that the room has been blanketed in for the past four hours. Finally, Phil sighs, feeling a pinch of anger melt away. Human company.

“Been better,” Phil mumbles, popping a couple of grapes into his mouth. Been better, he scoffs to himself. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t been worse.

“Chuck me a coke, will you?” he pulls up a chair and puts his feet on it, perching on the edge of the table. Phil heaves out a sigh – that involves getting up – but musters up enough energy to lean over and yank the fridge open. He tosses him a can, and Nick catches it expertly.

“Nice of you to show up,” Phil rolls his eyes. “Only four hours late this time. That’s an hour and a half off your personal best.”

“They said they didn’t need me here ‘till three,” he protests, popping the can open and taking a few gulps. “They said you had it all under control.”

His sentence is punctuated by a burp. Phil grimaces.

“Under control,” Phil snorts. That’ll be the fucking day.

“What did they leave you here to do?” he frowns.

“Only fix this entire fucking thing,” Phil nods over to the stupid light board. God, he’s sick of the sight of it. “Beats me what’s wrong with it. I’ve only just managed to get this dinosaur up and running,” he gestures to the corpse of a laptop in front of him, “let alone look at that.”

“Fuck me, man,” Nick sighs out a heavy breath. “If I knew, I could have come in earlier to help you out a bit. You should have texted me.”

“It’s fine,” Phil sighs even though- well, it’s not, really. There’s only so many hours of broken technology and out-of-date food one can take. “It’s not your fault,” he adds truthfully.

“They’re twats sometimes, aren’t they?” Nick lowers his voice, despite the fact they’re literally underground here, beneath the earshot of everyone.

“I’ll say,” Phil widens his eyes, trying to click something and- nope, it’s fucking frozen again. “For fuck’s sake. They’re all bloody loaded, too. You would have thought with the money they have, they could fork out a little for equipment that at least half-functions, right?”

“Yup,” Nick sighs. “Guess bookings for overpriced fancy-ass theatres are higher up on their agenda, though.”

Phil can’t argue with that. Apparently they’re going to have to wire up something in the Old Vic, of all places, next week. Phil dreads to think how much hiring that place out for even a few hours is going to cost, let alone booking it for three nights.

Probably more than enough to buy a better fucking laptop.

-

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.

Be not her maid since she is envious.

Her vestal livery is but sick and green,

And none but-“

“No- no,” Lucy holds up her hand. “Come on, Dan. More emotion than that. You’re telling the love of your life that even the moon is envious of her beauty. At least pretend to put some passion into it.”

Dan rolls his eyes – only the fourth time he’s had to repeat this fucking soliloquy in the past fifteen minutes. He’s pretty sure he’s only one “no, no, it’s too (insert adjective here)” away from giving up with this whole thing altogether. He’d rather have played Benvolio anyway.

“Come on,” Lucy continues. “We’ll take it from Be not her maid…”

Dan shuts his eyes, scrapes up the remaining traces of his sanity, and takes another breath.

“Be not her maid since she is envious.

Her vestal livery is but sick and green,

And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off!

It is my lady. Oh, it is my love.

Oh, that she knew she were!

She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?

Her eye discourses. I will answer it.—

I am too bold. 'Tis not to me she speaks.

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,

Having some business, do entreat her eyes

To twinkle in their spheres till they retur-“

“No, no-“ she interrupts him again and for fuck’s sake, at this rate, Dan won’t even need to spend any time in his bedroom going over his lines. He’s pretty sure he’s memorised half of the monologues already just from recapping in rehearsals alone.

“Come on, really feel it,” she pleads. “You can’t say something as romantic as that with a face like yours – you’re literally saying that two stars in the sky have gone away and they’re asking Juliet’s eyes to shine in their place until they return.”

Dan balls his fists, ready to snap back that yes, he’s fully fucking aware of what’s going on in the play thank you very much, in case she hadn’t forgotten he did actually study it for three separate exams and subsequent exposure to the text in question has made him rather familiar with the occurrences currently taking place, but they’re all interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Lucy huffs, mildly irritated.

The door knob jitters, then twists.

“Hiya,” a black-haired boy nods tiredly, pushing through the crack in the door. Dan immediately recognises him – one of the tech guys, he thinks, but he isn’t entirely certain. He’s never really spoken to any of the crew before; they tend to keep well out of the limelight (they’d rather control it instead).

“Everything okay?” Lucy asks, before turning to Dan and Alexandra (his Juliet). “You two, take five. Be ready to take it from the top.”

They both relax and take a seat on one of the upturned wooden boxes. It isn’t until Dan takes the weight off of his legs he realises how much they’ve been aching – fuck, he really needs to get back to that gym.

“Any luck?” she says to Mr. Black-Hair. He’s holding a laptop that looks as if it’s seen better years, never mind days, and a long cord of wire that snakes around his fist.

“Nothing at all,” he sighs, flicking a strand of his fringe out of his eyes. His hair looks as if it hasn’t seen a hairbrush for days, but there’s something about the way it sits shaggily on his head that kind-of suits him (Dan wishes he could pull off messy hair – he only attempted ditching the straighteners once and spent the rest of the day wondering if any birds had mistaken his head for a nest).

He doesn’t realise he’s been staring until he catches the tail end of Alexandra’s sentence and realises he hasn’t actually been listening for the past minute or so.

“What was that, sorry?”

“I asked you how you were finding Romeo so far,” she repeats.

“Hm? Oh yeah, yeah- he’s fine,” Dan says, not taking his eyes off of Mr. Black-Hair. He’s lost the thread of their conversation (he’s no lip reader) but by the looks of it, it seems as if there’s a problem with one of the laptops.

“Are you sure?” Alexandra frowns. Dan looks at her, but his glance is soon pulled back to the technician.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

She shrugs. “You don’t really- I don’t know, you just don’t seem to be… you know. That into it, y’know?”

“Wait-“ Dan shakes his head, trying to focus on their conversation instead of the one a few metres away from. “Hang on- what? What makes you say that?”

She raises her eyebrows, as if to say ‘really?’. Dan’s expression remains carefully blank.

“Come on, Dan. We wouldn’t have had to repeat this stupid scene like, five times if you were actually into it. I’ve seen you do way better than this.”

“Oh, not you as well,” Dan groans, deflating. He’s pretty sure that exact sentence had fallen from Lucy’s lips not so long ago. He’s sick of hearing it, sick of having to sit and listen to people tell him that he ‘can do way better’ and ask ‘is everything all right, Dan? Nothing bothering you, is there?’ because he’s just ‘not himself’ at the moment.

That’s the most ridiculous one, he thinks, because for Christ’s sake, he’s an actor. He’s never himself.

“No, I don’t mean it like that,” Alexandra says, backtracking. “You know I don’t. I just- I think I overheard Lucy say you had a problem with something or other last week?”

“Did you,” Dan mumbles, unable to keep the bitter sarcasm out of his town. Alexandra remains unfazed.

“What was that about, though?” she remains unfazed. “Nothing to do with the casting, is it?”

“You really think it’s to do with the casting?” Dan stares at her in disbelief, before scoffing. “Yeah, like, I’m gutted to have bagged the lead role alongside you at one of the best theatres in the country. How am I going to cope?”

Not entirely truthful, but not a complete lie either.

“Just making sure,” a grin tugs at her lips, and she flicks a curl of red hair behind her shoulders. “I don’t have much of a problem with it myself, to be honest.”

“That’s reassuring,” Dan smirks sarcastically, but his tone is fairly benign. There’s certainly no denying she’s fucking gorgeous and it’s really no wonder she’s Juliet – she has hair the colour of a sunset falling down her back in ruby curls, emerald eyes framed by a curl of long eyelashes and cherry red lips that stretch into a wide smile whenever Dan cracks a joke, giving way to a small dimple on the side of her cheek. Her skin is pale, the colour of moonlight, almost, and he idly thinks, just for a fleeting second, that the moon probably would be jealous of her. She’s beautiful.

“Certainly don’t have a problem with getting to snog you in front of a thousand people, I must be honest,” she adds, and Dan’s stomach drops and his grin vanishes. Shit.

He wrings out a laugh, internally wincing at how false it sounds. “Yeah, I- um-“

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” someone mutters a few footsteps away from them. He snaps his head up, and Lucy plus Mr. Black-Hair are hunched over the desk, clearly getting nowhere with the absolute disaster they call an iBook.

“Wait- what’s the problem?” Dan suddenly gets up. He feels a little bad for leaving Alexandra so abruptly so he throws her a little apologetic ‘be right back’ glance, but he can’t help it – he might actually be able to help, here.

He shoves down the other voice in the back of his mind, the ‘or rather you’re just grabbing at any opportunity to avoid any potential conversation about the kiss you fucking wimp’

“It’s okay, Dan, sit back down. I’ll be with you both in a second,” Lucy calls over her shoulder.

“No, really,” Dan insists. “I know a thing or two about Macs. I have one myself, and-“ he catches Lucy drawing in a breath, ready to protest, and he regrets the spill of words almost as soon as they come out – fuck, why can’t he just keep his mouth shut? – but Mr. Black-Hair turns around, an eyebrow quirked upwards.

“Really?” his stare is the colour of ice, the sky on a December morning, but it’s weirdly warm at the same time.

“I- uh, yeah,” Dan stutters when he remembers how to talk again. “I’ve always had Macs. They’re great when they decide to work, but they can be a bitch when they begin to act up, and-“ he cuts himself off with an awkward shrug, “yeah.”

“Tell me about it,” the technician smirks. “This bastard-” he nods to the chunky white rectangle in his arms, “took me like, half an hour to boot up alone. And now it’s been frozen for like- twice as long as that. I’ve only had chance to type in my password so far.”

Lucy’s still standing in the middle of them and it’s getting a bit difficult to ignore the stony glare burning into Dan’s peripheral vision right now and even harder to avoid eye contact with her, but it doesn’t stop him from offering some help, albeit rather inappropriately timed.

“I- um, have my MacBook with me if that helps?” Dan offers, trying not to feel the heat of his blush when Mr. Black-Hair looks straight at him. “I mean- if you don’t need it that’s fine, but like- it’ll function a bit better than that thing,” he shrugs. “I dunno. It would probably save you a lot of time.”

“Really?” he raises an eyebrow. “Like, with you right now?”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “I mean – I haven’t got my charger on me, but it’s on, like, eighty percent. Should be fine.”

“I mean-“ he throws a permission-seeking glance, towards Lucy, who Dan is pretty sure would be having steam coming out of her ears would it be humanly possible. She fixes Dan with a hard stare, a real ‘go on; be my guest’ look that’s always comes across as more of a dare than permission, a challenge for his conscience, but he can’t help an apologetic smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s cool with you, right?” his lips say before his mind catches up.

Lucy rolls her eyes in defeat. “If you absolutely must. But only- only because I could do with the extra time to independently go over one of Alexandra’s soliloquy.”

His face breaks out into a grin, and he’s not that sure why. “Thanks, Luce. I owe you one.”

“Don’t you make a habit of this, though. Remember; this is your own rehearsal time you’re sacrificing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dan calls over his shoulder, trailing off. Mr. Black-Hair holds the door open behind him, and suddenly they’re out of the rehearsal studio and walking in a weird mutual silence sitting in a strange middle ground between comfortable and uncomfortable, across the car park and over to the actual theatre.

“Are you alright to do this, yeah?” Mr. Black-Hair (Dan seriously needs to come up with more imaginative mental nicknames for people) breaks the silence on their walk down to the trap room.

“It’s no problem at all,” he smirks as another wooden step groans under his foot. “Anything to get out of rehearsal.”

Dan’s never really been here before, never touched the underground territory where the technicians lurked, but there’s something about the atmosphere of this place that grips him.

-

Half an hour passes, and Dan couldn’t really tell you why he’s still sitting down here, still sitting on a revolving chair with a rip in the upholstery, under half-broken beams, tables that look like they’re seconds away from collapsing, and a lot of weird technology that he’d never even attempt to get his head around (seriously – do they even need this many buttons?). He’d given his laptop to Black Hair to receive a very emphatic ‘thank you, like seriously you’re a fucking lifesaver if I spent a second longer with that piece of shit I really don’t know what I would have done’ and the job had been done in seconds. Since then, a casual conversation had been struck up and Dan finds he doesn’t actually want to go back upstairs just yet.

“You two sounded really good in there,” Black Hair comments. They’d been talking about the play. “From what I heard, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Dan says, trying to ignore the quiet blush that warms his cheeks. There’s nothing quite like someone complimenting his acting. “Clearly not good enough for Lucy, though.”

“Few things are, Dan,” he sighs, and Dan only finds it half-weird that this guy knows his name, but Dan doesn’t actually know his. It’s unnerving, sure, but nothing he’s a stranger to. “She’s been on at you all morning.”

“Yeah,” Dan pauses, before adding an apologetic “sorry, I- um, I don’t think I caught your name?”

“It’s fine. I’m Phil,” he grins, and Dan thanks his lucky stars there’s finally a name to put to the face.

Dan studies him briefly, and frowns. “You do look familiar, actually.”

“Yeah – I do all the donkey work downstairs,” he grins. “You may have seen me emerge from the cave every now and then.”

Dan chuckles, deciding there and then that he likes Phil.

“Doesn’t it get lonely?” Dan asks, studying the square lights looming above them, one of which he notices is stuttering slightly, flickering on and off every now and then.

Phil shrugs, not taking his eyes off of the screen. “Kinda. But I mean – I have my little crew down here, y’know? There’s five of us. We just like- keep each other company. Help each other whenever we need to,” he glances at Dan. “Oh, and sneak up to the theatre and watch you guys every now and then.”

Dan giggles. “Brilliant. Must be a nice little community, though.”

“Yeah, it is,” Phil hesitates. “Or perhaps ‘support group’ might be a more appropriate term. For the poor sods who have to put up with shitty laptops and gross food.”

Dan laughs, and helps himself to another Dorito.

-

“Okay, right- Dan, sorry if this sounds a bit weird because- like, we’ve pretty much only just met, but like- um- I was wondering if you wanted to-“

“Phil,” Dan cuts him off. As an actor, there’s something about hearing people stutter and ramble without really saying anything that tends to grate on him. “I’d love to.”

“Really? Well, I-“ Phil stops and frowns. “Hang on a second. How did you know I was gonna ask you to hang out?”

Dan shrugs like he hasn’t spent the last thirteen years mastering the sciences of body language and speech and how they can be applied to the acting world. “Lucky guess, I suppose.”

Phil smiles. “I mean- would you? Like, really?”

“Of course,” Dan says.

“Well yeah, like- I don’t have to be home for a while yet, and I have a car so we could just like- drive around for a bit? Go to town if you want?”

Dan smiles, and repeats what he said before he even knew what Phil was going to say.

“Yeah. I’d love to.”

-                                          

It’s a bit of a weird result to come out of lending his laptop to a stranger for a while, but it’s how Dan finds himself spending the evening sat in the passenger seat on the top of a car park roof, blasting some weird indie song from the depth of Phil’s Spotify and watching the sun sink further behind the buildings, painting the sky warmer with every slow minute that passes on the dashboard clock.

They’d had a drive around the city together, sometimes talking, sometimes letting lulls in the conversation give way to thoughtful silences, both of them tapping away to Phil’s music taste, but Dan thinks it’s been about fifteen minutes since either of them last said anything.

“So,” Phil is the first to break the silence. He flicks the last of his cigarette out of the window (Dan had insisted on rolling down the windows before he did that – there’s no way he’s going home stinking of an ashtray). “Tell me about yourself.”

Dan looks up from his phone at that, his heart thudding.

“You what?”

“You know,” Phil’s gaze doesn’t move, his eyes fixed on the view in front of the windscreen. They’d picked a spot at the very top of a multi-storey car park overlooking everything, leaving the city a pool of lights and colours and life far beneath them. “I don’t really know you. So tell me about yourself.”

“I- um-“ Dan gulps. This wasn’t really a question he came prepared for. He shrugs. “I don’t really know what there is to tell, if I’m honest.”

“Oh, now come on,” Phil presses. “Just- anything. Your hobbies. Your life. Your dreams. What you want to be when you’re older.”

“I feel like I’m in a bloody job interview,” Dan chuckles. Phil’s lips quirk upwards in response.

“You are. I’m interviewing you to see if you’re fit for the job of being mates with me.”

“The ‘job’?” Dan frowns. “Like it’s a chore?”

“That’s for you to decide,” Phil grins. “Now, come on. I wanna hear about you.”

Dan gulps, silence falling for the first time in a while.

“I- um, well I think my hobby is probably pretty obvious, for a start,” Dan begins. Phil rolls his eyes. “And what I wanna be when I’m older, too. I’m gonna do a degree in Drama, I reckon.”

“What else are you into, then?”

Dan stops for a second. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on,” Phil presses, flicking his lighter and sparking up another cigarette. “You must have other interests besides acting. You got a girlfriend?”

Dan clams up. “Um- no.”

“Oh. Boyfriend, then?” he quirks his eyebrows, and Dan shakes his head miserably.

“Afraid not.”

“Glad we established that,” Phil smirks, but Dan doesn’t really smile back.

He chews on the inside of his lip, having a staring contest with a pair of headlights sliding across one of the roads beneath them.

“What music are you into, then?”

Dan swallows, trying to think. It’s like someone’s scraped over his mind with an eraser, rubbing out his interests and his life and his personality, all pencilled in with weak lines.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs. “This and that. I like whatever this is,” he nods to the Spotify track on Phil’s phone. “Bit of Indie, it’s good. Oh, and I love- what are they called? Pink Floyd?”

“Floyd’s good,” Phil agrees. “And Nirvana.”

“Yeah,” Dan gulps, feeling another silence probe the conversation.

“You into the Smashing Pumpkins?”

Dan shakes his head.

“Oh, okay. Slaves?”

Dan shakes his head again.

“Genesis?”

“Never even heard of them.”

“Cobalt Night?”

Dan shakes his head again

Phil cackles. “Oh Christ. You do realise I made that last band up?”

“Oh god,” Dan can feel his cheeks burn peony. “I’m not doing myself any favours here, am I?”

“Don’t worry, I’m only messing with you,” Phil says. “I think it would be more embarrassing if you said yes, to be honest.”

“True,” Dan shrugs, feeling Phil’s stare burn into his side profile. He sits back further in his seat, keeping his stare.

“You’re not really into much, are you?

Dan shrugs.

“I’m more into Musical Theatre, really. Ever since we did a production of Hamilton I haven’t really been able to get that rap out of my head,” he chuckles.

“Right,” Phil sits up a little bit and clears his throat. “Well we’ve established your music taste and your hobby. Who are your favourite actors, then?”

It’s like someone’s flicked a switch inside Dan. His eyes light up.

“-and Leonardo DiCaprio, oh my God, don’t even get me started on him. I mean- who wouldn’t fuck young Leo? Have you even seen him in Titanic? And Romeo and Juliet too, Jesus Christ he’s gorgeous. He’s so fucking gorgeous. I’m not gonna do Romeo’s role any justice when he’s my competition, am I?”

Phil just nods and says the odd ‘hm’, listening to Dan’s stream of consciousness.

“-and Helena Bonham-Carter, what a fucking legend, man. She’s just- her character is just so versatile, you know? I mean- there’s a good reason she’s in literally everything, and that’s because she’s fucking amazing- have you seen Fight Club? You must have seen it, it’s incredible. She’s incredible. It’s a bit of a mind fuck if I’m honest, what with the split personality thing and everything, but- oh God, Brad Pitt is so good in it too. And he’s pretty hot, I’m not gonna lie. Well, until he grew out his hair and looked a bit like a farmer. But- where was I? Oh yeah, Helena Bonham Carter-”

“She was good in Sweeney Todd, too,” Phil comments, and he’s off again.

“-like, that was the first time I ever saw Johnny Depp act, and by Christ that film creeped me out. I mean- I was only like, seven when I watched it so of course it was gross, like, what seven year old watches people do- you know, that, to paying customers? I feel sorry for the poor sods who just went in there wanting to give their beards a trim. But- yeah, they were both really good in Sweeney Todd. I had a bit of a crush on Helena- and Johnny too, for that matter, I mean come on, who didn’t? But then I found out Johnny Depp is a bit of a dick in real life so I went off him after that. But Helena’s still cool, obviously.”

“She’s good, yeah,” Phil nibbles at a protruding hangnail on his thumb.

“And- oh god, who’s another good actor? Oh, don’t even get me started on Morgan Freeman. Absolute fucking legend. Like, oh my god. Him and that other one- god, what’s his name? The guy from Donnie Darko?”

Dan’s brain is moving far too quickly for Phil to keep up and he has no idea what the correlation between Morgan Freeman and Donnie Darko is, but he gives it a shot anyway.

“Jake Gyllenhaal?”

“Yes. Yes, oh my god, that’s the one,” Dan’s face breaks out into a grin. “Fuck, Donnie Darko. What a film, man. My friend has a tattoo of it, and-“

It continues like this, Dan chatting nineteen-to-the-dozen and Phil counting the glitters of passion in his eyes, before they’re both interrupted by a buzzing on Dan’s lap.

“Oh shit,” he grabs his phone. “It’s my mum.”

Phil doesn’t know what she’s saying on the other end of the line, but judging by Dan’s apologies it sounds like he’s stayed out here for a little too long.

“Sorry,” Dan mumbles, tugging on his seatbelt. “Lost track of time a bit, there.”

“Clearly,” Phil grins.

“This was good, though,” Dan says. “Like, really good. Thanks for, you know. Suggesting this.”

“Tell you what,” Phil leans into him, and Dan can smell his cologne. “We’re gonna come back up here again soon, okay? And you’re gonna tell me about yourself. Properly, this time.

Dan frowns. “Isn’t that what I’ve spent the past like- hour doing?” he glances at the clock and shit, has it really been that long? It’s pitch black outside, the only light coming from the glitter of the city beneath them (shit, it really is beautiful from up here) and he was supposed to be home forty-five minutes ago.

“Yeah,” Phil says, starting up the engine. “The only difference being next time we do this, I’m going to ban you from saying the word ‘acting’. So I can hear about you, the real you, and not whoever you pretend to be for a living.”

-

The next few days pass in a blur of line-learning, enduring Lucy’s lectures about how he just ‘isn’t putting enough ‘oomph’ into it, come on now, we’ll take it from the top one more time’ and Dan has to act like he actually gives more of a shit about what Romeo’s saying right now than what Phil had said in that car a few days ago. He has to act like it isn’t what he’d been reciting over and over in his mind, the words digging grooves into the back of his mind and making themselves at home.

He has to act like there’s more to his fucking life than acting.

-

The next time Dan sees Phil, they’re both cooped up in a control room eating lunch in a companionable silence; Dan going over his lines and Phil puzzling over these two wires that are, according to him, sly bastards that won’t fucking go in these holes Jesus Christ, to which Dan had shut his eyes and prayed to god no-one outside the room had caught that out of context. There’s a huge control panel, rows and rows of buttons and sound mixers and, as Dan had very accurately christened them, “slidey-things” in front of them. He has no idea what any of this stuff is, no idea what a “cross-fader” is or what the hell a “submaster” is supposed to do, but every now and then Phil will casually lean over and flick a switch or press a button and a stage light beneath them will change.

“What’s up?”

Dan looks up from his script. He’s been poring over his lines for so long he’s pretty sure stripes of yellow highlighter are now permanently inked into the back of his mind, now.

“What? Nothing.”

Phil swings his legs off of the bar they’d been resting against. They’re halfway through sharing a KitKat (Dan had taken a trip down to the Co-op at the beginning of the lunch break and returned with a bag so heavy with food it had left a dent in his hand, insisting Phil can’t be living on stale crisps his entire life) and watching a rehearsal, one Dan doesn’t have to be in for once, through a pane of glass.

“You’re going to have to do better if you want to convince me, Mr. Theatre Kid,” Phil reaches over to the bowl in front of them and plucks a grape from the stem. “I thought you were good at acting.”

“What do you want me to do; leap up and perform a jig?” Dan turns a page, the paper rustling a bit too loudly. “I’m fine, Phil. Stop reading into things too much.”

Phil stares at him. “You’re sat there with a face as long as my leg, and I’m reading into things?” he quirks an eyebrow. “Be careful. If you stare at that page any longer it’ll probably burst into flames.”

“Shut up,” Dan mutters, the edge in his voice a little too sharp for it to slip by as a joke.

Phil does.

Dan sighs. “Sorry, I just-“

“Rehearsals getting to you?” he suggests softly. Dan doesn’t plan on letting the real problem slip; Christ, he can only imagine the havoc that would ensue if it got around that as well as obsessing over acting he’s also never actually kissed anyone, so he quickly takes Phil up on that.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I mean- Romeo’s a good character to play, I guess, but he does have an awful lot to say.”

“You’ll be okay,” Phil reassures him. “You still have months of time left to memorise your lines. When’s the play?”

“Seventh of February,” Dan says. Two months from now.

“There we go,” Phil says. “You have plenty of time yet.”

“I guess so,” Dan shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You’ve done this millions of times before,” Phil says. “You’ll be fine; I know you will. You’re a natural.”

Dan wishes he knew the half, he really does, but there’s just something about Phil’s smile that makes him almost want to believe him.

-

Dan manages to tell Phil a little bit more about himself next time they’re on the roof together, and in return, he learns a bit about Phil too.

“Well, when I was acti-“

“Nuh-uh,” Phil interrupts him. “No acting talk, remember?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “It’s relevant to what I was gonna say. It’s an important part of the story.”

“Wherever the hell you can fit acting into a story about you and your friends getting drunk and stealing a supermarket trolley because you couldn’t afford a taxi, I’d be very impressed.”

“You’d be surprised,” Dan grins, and that was the only time acting came into conversation that night.

-

Dan learns Phil is eighteen, that he’d failed his driving test three times before passing because he was driving on the wrong side of the dual carriageway, and swears he’s going to give up smoking next year, he promises. He learns that his favourite colour is blue because he likes the way the colour skates across the ocean water in the summer, and that he used to be scared of dogs before his parents got him a puppy for Christmas, a bouncy Labrador called Daisy with a love for the sun and walks down to the beach.

“I fucking love dogs,” Dan beams.

“So do I, now. Took me long enough,” Phil agrees, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Daisy’s so cute, oh my god. You will love her.”

Dan doesn’t say anything, but there’s something about the definite use of ‘you will’ that he likes.

He, in turn, finds that he does have some thoughts and feelings and dreams hidden away in there, beneath the façade of scripts and stage lights and acting. He finds he does have stuff to say, stuff that isn’t always attached to a web stringing back to the theatre. He tells Phil all about his cat, Ozzy (a little shit who takes great pleasure in knocking all his belongings off of his desk and sleeping on his laptop, but he loves him anyway) his annoying next-door neighbours who don’t seem to see any problem with blasting ABBA at three in the morning, and they manage to find common bands they both like. Oasis is playing when the sun sinks, the sky darkens, and the city lights up beneath them.

“God, I love this one,” Phil mumbles, his speech obscured by the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “Don’t Look Back In Anger. It’s one of their best.”

“Oh god, yeah,” Dan agrees, tapping along to the chorus. “That and Stand By Me. Oh god, and Champagne Supernova, too.”

Phil grins at that, and leans forward, picking his phone up from the dashboard. Before Dan has a chance to question him, the chorus stops dead in its tracks, and an acoustic softness follows the sudden silence, a series of guitar chords that are just that bit too familiar. He grins.

“I always think the intro sounds a bit like Wonderwall,” Phil comments, putting his phone down and leaning back in the seat.

“Yeah,” Dan sighs, leaning back in his own seat and turning his gaze to the city beneath them, staring at lights and roads and buildings until they pool into a hazy amber blur in his vision.

How many special people change,

How many lives are living strange,

Where were you while we were getting high?

Slowly walking down the hall,

Faster than a cannonball

Where were you while we were getting high?

 Someday you will find me,

Caught beneath the landslide,

In a champagne supernova in the sky.

Someday you will find me,

Caught beneath the landslide,

In a champagne supernova;

A champagne supernova in the sky.

They don’t say anything, instead letting Liam Gallagher do the talking, but sly glances are exchanged from under brown fringes and black eyelashes.

-

“Nice up here, isn’t it?”

It’s only until Phil breaks the silence they’ve lapsed into that Dan realises the song has drawn to a close. He slides his gaze from the city and over to Phil, over to his thoughtful stare skating along the skyline, the ruffled sweep of black hair coating his fringe, and the orange glow of a cigarette tip poking out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes flicker over to Dan’s.

Dan looks back over to the city.

“Yeah.”

“I always come up here.”

“I can see why.”

“Yeah, well. Sometimes a little look over the city is just what you need to clear your head. It just puts everything in perspective, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Dan swallows. “It really does.”

There’s a litter of thoughts and worries in his mind, buried deep and multiplying with every day that drags past, every day that pulls him closer and closer to the production, to the hundreds of burning stares in the audience seats, to his colleague’s lips. He’s been longing for a break from it. Just a few hours of silence, a few quiet moments that don’t have to be spent combing over every single thought in his head, thinking and thinking until it inflates into anxiety, spilling into the pit of his stomach and clawing at the edges as it goes.

And the more he counts the city lights, the more he feels the cold night air stroke his cheeks and the engines reverberating around the car park levels beneath them, the more he reckons a more few nights up here. It’s the remedy he needs; just him, Phil and the lights.

Their eyes meet seconds after, and Dan can feel the question he’s vowed to ask Phil before the end of the night already beginning to rest on his lips, on the cusp of speech.

“When can we do this again?”

-

The late nights begin to pass more frequently in a spinning blur of city nights, passenger seats and conversations, all whispers and cold air and stolen glances. Dan can feel himself unravelling like a threadbare blanket, his carefully constructed personas and characters fraying at the edges with every hour spent up on the top of the city with a boy whose lips spill truths like water, and it isn’t long until Dan finds cracks in his paper personalities and begins to feel more and more honesty begin to seep through. He finds that no, he doesn’t have to spin false anecdotes like cotton and lie about his interests and find a way of linking everything back to acting, hooking every little quirk and element to his personality back to the stage. He doesn’t have to impress Phil with his knowledge of Hollywood throughout the years and he doesn’t have to act like he loves things he’s never actually heard of and he doesn’t have to lock his feelings away and throw away the key.

He doesn’t have to pretend.

-

It’s all okay until they fall onto the topic of previous relationships.

It’s been a good night. They’d visited the car park again, but this time without the car (it was warm enough to leave it in the driveway and make their own way up the concrete staircases, glass bottles in plastic bags clinking around their legs). They’d situated themselves in the very same parking space, the one second to the right and next to a beacon, but they’d traded car seats for a picnic blanket, headlights for phone torches and gear sticks for bottle openers.

“Yeah, like- fuck, she wasn’t a good kisser at all, was Mary. I mean- we were in year nine and she tried, bless her, and God knows so did I. But you know, with that as my first impression of kissing, when it was over I was like ‘what the fuck is all the fuss about?’” Phil chuckles, and Dan pretends to grin.

“Yeah, I mean-“ he shrugs, staring down at his lap. “I’ve had my fair share of bad kisses in my time.”

The ease with which the lie rolls off of his tongue almost takes him by surprise. It’s been a while since he’s lied about himself to Phil, and it feels strange.

“I can imagine,” Phil says, before frowning. “But you’re an actor. So you must be an excellent kisser, right? What with all the practice you guys have.”

Dan frowns, looking up from his bottle. “You what?”

“Oh come on. I saw what went on in the back of that car last term. Eddie and Alexandra. That play involved more lip-on-lip action than the fucking Notebook.”

Dan smiles at that, remembering the play adaptation they actually did of that when he was in year ten. He doesn’t quite know whether to laugh or cry over the sheer amount of starring roles he’s had that are heavily eloped in some kind of romantic storyline.

“Us actors have our techniques,” he says carefully.

Phil’s eyes widen at that. “You do? Like what?”

Dan shrugs, taking another sip of beer. “Oh, you know.”

“No, I don’t know,” Phil shuffles closer, a flicker of eagerness in his cerulean stare and shit, Dan’s beginning to regret opening his mouth now. “Come on. What techniques do you have? I could use a few tips myself.”

Dan raises an eyebrow, his eyes firmly locked onto the spread of amber lights in front of them.

“I doubt you’d ever want to use these kinds of techniques on anyone,” he says, a hint of humour drying his speech. “I imagine stage-kissing on a real date would be quite a deal-breaker.”

“Stage kissing, huh?” Phil widens his eyes. “How does that differentiate from a real kiss, then?”

“Well,” Dan takes another sip of his drink, his vision beginning to slow down. “First of all, it’s not really a kiss at all.”

“Huh?” Phil frowns.

“I mean- not usually. There are different kinds of stage-kisses, but most of them don’t involve, you know,” he smirks, reusing Phil’s rather vulgar term of “lip-on-lip action”.

“So you guys don’t actually kiss?” Phil asks.

Dan shakes his head. “Nope.”

“But-… how does that work?”

Alcoholic courage swims through Dan’s veins at that. He glances at Phil.

The words are a whisper, a dare almost, and it isn’t until Phil nods that Dan realises he’s actually said it out loud.

“Want me to show you?”

“Yeah, go on,” Phil’s tone is casual, soft almost, but his eyes are glittering.

“Okay, well- come over here,” he beckons.

Phil does as he’s told, shuffling up on his knees until he’s facing Dan.

“One of the actors needs to have their back to the audience,” Dan says. “So, let’s say the wall over there is the audience,” he nods over Phil’s shoulder to the stretch of concrete watching them.

“Alright. The wall’s the audience. Now what?”

“Now,” Dan gulps, feeling his heart begin to pick up the pace because shit, this is really happening now. “So, what you do is, like, just lean in normally for a kiss, but stop just as your lips are about to touch.”

Phil scoffs. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Look, do you want me to show you or not?”

“Nah, nah, I’m kidding,” Phil says. “C’mon, then. Show me how it’s done in Hollywood.”

“You dick,” Dan mumbles, but he’s leaning in.

Phil gets closer, his face begins to crawl up to Dan’s until their noses are brushing and his fringe is a tickle on Dan’s cheek and his breath mixes with Dan’s own, warm and languid through parted lips and fuck, Dan’s heart is really thudding now. His legs feel like jelly and his lungs feel like fire and there’s something warm and fiery swirling in the pit of his stomach, something alien, something that he’s certainly never felt before with any other colleague he’s come this agonisingly close to kissing.

They stay there for what feels like minutes, lips hovering, warmth tingling and the city still thundering beneath them, and it’s Phil who pulls away first.

“Impressive,” he smiles, eyes glittering with nonchalance. “Frustrating, but impressive. Is that your go-to one, then?”

It takes three swigs of beer to calm Dan down before he can speak again.

“I mean- um, yeah. Though sometimes if you’re, like, sitting really far over to the side in the audience you might be able to tell that they’re not actually kissing, so,” he shrugs. “It just depends on the stage, I guess.”

“Right,” Phil nods, swigging from his own bottle. “You, er- you mentioned a few other types, right?”

The thought of coming that close to Phil’s lips again sends the strange flame of warmth flooding back into Dan’s stomach. He all but chokes on his mouthful of drink.

“Er- yeah,” he stutters. “There are a few others,” he gulps again and shit, what’s up with him?

Dan doesn’t really know what’s happening, doesn’t know why being within a metre radius of this guy is already making him feel far more than he’d ever felt with any colleague, kissing or not, but it doesn’t stop him from beckoning the older boy over and showing him kiss number two, their lips locked together with nothing except Dan’s thumb in between them. He can feel the warmth of Phil’s mouth against his skin, the hot movement of Phil’s breath through his nose and the tickle of his hair against his cheek again. When he parts his mouth, Dan feels the tiniest touch of lip against his. It’s only the very corner and can’t have lasted for longer than a millisecond, but the feeling comes back like a spark to a flame and he’s beginning to find it difficult to balance and oh, shit.

They break apart, eyes searching each other’s, and it’s the first time Dan’s feeling like this post-‘kiss’ without having to throw on a character like an old shirt. He doesn’t have to follow anything up with someone else’s speech, with a fake accent and a stupid costume and a mannerism that doesn’t quite fit.

For once, he doesn’t feel like he has to act.

Phil narrows his eyes after a few silent seconds, fighting back a smirk.

Dan frowns, the post-stage kiss high beginning to melt away.

“What?”

“Is that seriously it?” Phil says.

“Yeah,” Dan moves away, trying to ignore the surge of electricity he had felt upon edging within a few millimetres of the other boy’s lips, the city a roar beneath them.

“I don’t know why I feel so disappointed,” Phil smirks. “From where I sit, looking at you lot doing all your stuff down on the stage, it looks a whole sight more realistic than that.”

Dan looks back out to the city.

“Yeah, well,” he says, feeling his heart slow down. “Acting isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

-

“So. You and Alexandra, eh?”

Dan glares at him. Dawn is beginning to throw pastel colours into the blackness of the sky. It’s still dark enough to see the stars, fainter twinkles against the sweep of indigo above them, but it’s light enough for them to see each other, to make out feint outlines of faces in the low pre-sunrise light, eyes half-lidded and shadowed from the sleepless hours. It must be pushing four in the morning, and they’ve been here since eleven o’clock, leaving their parents with promises that they’re spending the night round each other’s houses to make a few preparations for the play.

(If reciting Romeo’s Balcony Scene soliloquy through giggles and slightly drunken slurs counts as preparation, then at least half of that promise is true).

“We’re not an item,” Dan mumbles, taking a drag from his cigarette. It tastes strange, kind-of like dirt and ash and tar and he’s not a smoker and probably never will be, but Phil had offered him one and- well, fuck it.

“I know,” Phil says. “But you guys are performing in the round, aren’t you?” Phil narrows his eyes, and Dan swears he leans an inch or two closer before whispering, “your stage kisses won’t work from that angle, I’m telling you.”

“Don’t remind me,” Dan shuts his eyes. So far he’d been doing quite a grand job of pushing that worry to the back of his mind, burying it deep into his consciousness. The whole reason he’s up here altogether is to escape it.

Phil hesitates.

“What?” he asks. “Don’t you want to kiss Alexandra?”

Dan gulps, the taste of alcohol souring on his tongue a little.

“It’s not that,” he says. “I mean- a kiss is a kiss, right? It’s all part of the job, and-“

“But you don’t fancy her,” Phil says.

Dan frowns. “Well- no, of course not. She’s a colleague.”

“I know,” Phil says. “It makes a difference though, doesn’t it?”

“What does?”

“Kissing someone you don’t fancy. It’s weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Dan mumbles. It’s getting harder and harder to maintain this lie. “I- er, yeah. I usually stick to stage-kissing on the job, to be honest,” he shrugs. “It’s just easier than kissing someone you don’t really have feelings for.”

“Have you never, you know, properly kissed anyone before, then?”

Dan takes a deep breath. Lies can flow like water when he wants them to; he’s a master at concealing the truth behind a blanket of fabrication and deception, but there’s something about talking to Phil that makes falsehood sour on his tongue.

He lets it out in a deep sigh, feeling his chest deflate and his heart thud. Fuck it.

“You know what?,” he begins. “No. I haven’t. I don’t know if you can tell, but- yeah. I dunno, I guess that’s why I’m so stressed about this shit with Alexandra. And like- I know that probably makes me a fucking loser for never having kissed anyone at the age I am now, and probably even more of a loser that I want my first one to be with someone special, but- fuck, I don’t know,” he swallows, feeling the knot of anxiety in his chest loosen a little. “No. I haven’t. Okay?”

Phil doesn’t say anything. He bites his lip and averts his eyes down to the neck of his bottle. He fiddles with the loose cap, letting it fall through the spaces between his fingers with a sharp clink.

Dan doesn’t like that, doesn’t like the silence. The knot returns.

“What?”

“I- er- that wasn’t really what I meant,” Phil finally says.

The knot tightens.

“What do you mean it’s not what you meant?”

“I meant have you properly kissed anyone on stage before,” Phil glances up. “Not in general.”

Dan’s stomach drops. Oh fuck.

He open his mouth, but no speech follows. No amount of words can haul himself out of his hole now. Shit.

“I mean-“ he finally speaks again after a silence, and there’s a tremor in his voice that he desperately tries to smooth over. “Oh, shit,” he deflates, feeling the pit of his stomach begin to churn due to the abundance of the night’s alcohol. There’s no point trying to clamber out of the hole he’s just dug himself. He’ll only deepen it.

“Have you really never kissed anyone?” Phil asks in a quieter voice, but he doesn’t sound surprised. Or humoured. Or any other emotion Dan had feared. Just… curious. “Like, at all?”

Dan gulps, the beer a sour swirl in the pit of his stomach. Maybe the sixth bottle was a mistake.

“Well there’s no point denying it now, is there?” Dan finally mumbles, his eyes fixed on a dent in the concrete not far from where they’re sitting. “No. I haven’t.”

The gentle thrum of city engines fills the silence between them, and the three seconds Phil doesn’t say anything for might as well have been days.

“Yep,” Dan breaks the quietness once it borders on unbearable. “There you go. You think I’m a fucking weirdo now, don’t you?”

“Not at all,” Phil replies, and his voice is unusually calm. Dan looks up, his eyes meeting a soft expression, and for some reason he really didn’t expect Phil to react like this.

“So-“ Dan shakes his head. “What? You’re not gonna take the piss? Laugh at me? Say I’m a fucking weirdo that only lied to you to try and look cool?”

The truth scratches his heart, but it needs to be said.

“Why the fuck would I laugh at you?” Phil frowns, and there’s something about the sincerity in his voice that, beneath the turmoil, Dan finds weirdly comforting.

“I mean,” Phil begins. “I’m surprised, don’t get me wrong. Only because you’re an actor and- well, let’s face it, you’re fucking gorgeous too, but-“ he shakes his head. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m the first to say I’d much rather make sure my first kiss means something. If anything, I agree with you on that.”

“You’re not pissed off that I lied to you?” Dan gulps down another mouthful of lukewarm alcohol.

“Of course not, you twat,” Phil says. “I mean, I get why you did, but there was no need to. Really.”

“I know,” Dan sighs, picking at the label on his glass bottle until the paper frays at the edges.

“Wanna know something?” Phil says, his eyes not moving from the soft sweep of stars above them, dimmed by the early morning light.

Dan takes his eyes away from the sky. “What?”

“If you’re a liar, then so am I,” Phil tells the stars.

Dan frowns. “You what?”

Phil’s eyes flick back down to earth, meeting Dan’s gaze. “I lied too.”

Dan gulps, his heart thudding. “About what?”

Phil forces a chuckle, but it’s drained of humour. “Do I have to spell it out to you? I haven’t kissed anyone either.”

The words ring in Dan’s ears moments after, Phil’s voice an echo above the roar of the city below.

“Wait-…” is the only word that passes Dan’s lips in the next passing minute or so. “But-…”

“Yeah,” Phil shrugs. “Turns out you’re not the only one, are you?”

“But-…” Dan shakes his head. “Why did you lie about it too?”

Phil just shrugs and says, “same reasons you did.”

Dan tries, he really tries, to comb through the tangle of confusion in his mind right now, but the best response he can come up with after a moment or two of silence isn’t the most articulate.

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Phil agrees, and they descend into quietness again.

“Shame, isn’t it?” Phil is the first to break the silence. “That we feel the need to lie about that.”

“It’s society’s fault for making us feel as if being over the age of about fifteen without having shoved a tongue down anyone’s throat is a failure.”

Phil grimaces. “I’ve never understood the attraction of that, you know. Like, I get making out and stuff, but why would you want to literally devour the person next to you? When I saw kissing scenes as a kid I thought they were actually trying to eat each other.”

“I know,” Dan takes a sip of beer, the alcohol slipping down with a little more ease now. “It sounds grim. I don’t know how people do it. At least with acting on stage you don’t have that problem.”

“True,” Phil mirrors his actions, pulling his drink away from his lips and tracing the rim of the bottle with the tip of his thumb, staring down the tube-shaped glass into the remains of the flat beer, swimming lukewarm and flat at the bottom of the bottle. Only when he glances up a few seconds later does Dan realise he’s been staring.

Dan smirks.

“What are you grinning at?”

“Just-…” he shakes his head and shit, he’s definitely had enough to drink tonight. He can feel the alcohol-induced honesty begin leaking through his parted lips and he knows he’ll probably end up saying something he’ll regret tomorrow morning but- oh, fuck it. “The thought of you having never kissed anyone. It just- doesn’t make sense to me like- look at you. How?”

He’s not really sure where the line between a compliment and a very sorry attempt at flirting is drawn but he’s pretty sure he’s fallen somewhere in the middle.

Phil’s gaze lingers a few seconds too long. “I could ask you the same thing. I mean- come on, look at you. A guy like you must have been drowned in opportunities.”

They’re both a bit too drunk, a bit too cold and there’s something about the atmosphere of an empty car park at fuck-knows-o’clock that warps reality just a little. Dan blinks and the city lights don’t unblur and he feels a bit like he’s in a dream.

“Yeah, I-…” he shrugs. “I’ve had my fair share of offers, I won’t lie.”

“I’ll bet,” Phil interjects, and Dan rolls his eyes.

“Oh, don’t act like you haven’t either,” Dan rolls his eyes, but he’s smirking. “I just-… yeah, I dunno. I didn’t really wanna waste it, but I never really found someone I liked enough.”

“That’s nice, that is,” Phil says, and though Dan scours his tone of voice for a trace of sarcasm or mockery, but Phil’s eyes glitter earnestly. “No, like, really. Most teenagers just, you know, dive straight into it. Slam their face against anything with a pulse that crosses their path. But the fact you care enough to wait,” he glances up, eyeing the boy beside him carefully. “That’s rare. Kinda admirable in a way.”

“Were you the same, then?”

Phil nods without any hesitation. “A hundred percent.”

Dan nods understandingly, taking another sip of beer, and the two of them watch the town sleep for a quiet moment before Phil speaks up again.

“Oh, come here,” he stretches out his arms. “You look like you’re seconds away from hypothermia, for Christ’s sake.”

Dan leans into his chest, closing his eyes and snuggling into the Topman denim of Phil’s jacket. “I don’t really think a car park roof is the most suitable drinking spot,” he mumbles, his speech slightly obscured by his rattling jaw.

“Not at five a.m. in December at least,” Phil says. “It’s a lot nicer in summer, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Dan says, and the indirect promise that they’ll come out here and do this again makes Phil smile.

It’s quiet, serene and blue, and Dan loses count of the minutes that drip by until he hears Phil’s voice again, shattering his trance dancing on the fragile edge of drunken consciousness.

“Dan?” it’s only a half-whisper, but it still makes him jump.

The younger boy turns his head, his brown hair tousling against Phil’s denim chest until they’re eye-to-eye.

Phil lowers his gaze, but this time his eyes don’t flicker back up to Dan’s. Dan parts his mouth in response, but before he can say anything, there’s a surge forward and a soft pair of lips on his.

A jolt of adrenaline, shock, and a general ‘holy-fucking-shit-this-can’t-be-happening’ feeling shimmers through his body as he kisses back, and despite his embarrassing inexperience when it comes to anything remotely romantic, his lips move perfectly in time with Phil’s, their mouths melting together in flawless harmony.

Phil’s the one to break away, and Dan misses his lips the second the cold morning air touches his mouth. He frowns, studying Phil’s expression half-hidden by his mop of black hair, but the older boy refuses eye contact.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came ov-“

“Don’t apologise,” Dan cuts him off immediately, his hand hovering over Phil’s arm in quiet protest. “Just-…” he gulps. “Do it again,”

Phil’s head snaps up, his eyes boring into the brown stare in mild confusion.

“Please,” Dan mouths, and Phil doesn’t need to be told twice.

They kiss for longer, deeper, slightly parted lips and slow breathing and the teal glow of 5am light and shit, this was certainly worth a seventeen year wait. Phil’s lips feel like warmth and taste like tobacco and he feels a gentle comb of shy fingertips through his hair and yep, he can definitely see what all the fuss is about now.

When they break apart for the second time, all blushes and broken breaths, they’re both grinning. Phil drops his gaze with a bashful chuckle.

“Well,” Dan breathes. He’s still sitting close, their upper arms touching but neither of them really wanting to move away.

“Well,” Phil says, almost in agreement. They’re bathed in silence once again, but this time it’s comfortable.

“I’m not gonna lie,” Dan begins, looking out over the city. “That was definitely worth the wait.”

Phil tilts his head down, their noses almost touching. “Yeah?”

“For sure,” Dan cranes his neck up a little and pecks Phil’s lips again. The other boy grins, pulling his jacket further over Dan’s shoulders.

“We’ll have to do this again sometime then, won’t we?” Phil’s eyes glitter.

Dan grins, glancing at the view spread in front of them. The sun is beginning to awaken and there are fewer streetlights illuminating the land below and it’s cold and wow, they should really think about heading home soon. Dan hasn’t checked his phone in hours and he’s sure it can’t be running on anything much more than a measly four percent.

“Definitely,” he says, then hesitates. “Although, well.”

“Well what?”

Dan flicks his eyes up at the boy above him, tired brown against weary blue.

“Perhaps next time we should choose somewhere a little warmer than a car park,” he says in a soft voice, before adding, “I can barely feel my arse right now.”

Phil bursts out laughing, and then a pair of lips are on his for the third time.

-

The next couple of weeks rush by in a flurry of rehearsals, meetings, crumpled scripts and weird costumes that itch around the collar. Dan and Phil spend most of their time three storeys apart, meaning secret rendezvous up in the control room or down in the trap room are often necessary. The closer the big day creeps, the hotter the atmosphere becomes with stress, so it’s nice to leave the tension with the stage and the equally tense co-workers and escape for a bit.

“For fear of that, I still will stay with thee, and never from this palace of dim night depart aga- oh for fuck’s sake, you’re not even listening.”

Phil looks up from his phone, a giggling smirk still lingering on his face. “Huh?”

“Come on, Phil. You said you’d go through this with me and you’re sat there playing around with bloody Snapchat filters.”

“Sorry, sorry – I am listening, it’s just-“ his eyes flicker back down to the screen in front of him. “That’s hideous. Who even makes these filters? I look like a toe.”

“Can unflattering photos of you not wait five minutes until I’ve finished this? We’re literally nearly done anyway. We only have, like, one more paragraph to g-” Phil interrupts him by flipping the phone around to face the other boy. A bald, rather unsightly version of Phil with weird eyes stares back. Dan’s eyes widen in horror. “Fuck, that really is hideous.”

“I know,” Phil shudders. “I didn’t even know my face could do that,” he glances back at the screen and pulls a couple of experimental faces. “Would you still be with me if I looked like that?”

“Nope,” Dan replies semi-seriously, rolling his eyes when Phil pouts.

“What about if I looked like this?” Phil turns the phone around. He looks a lot better this time, but a little bit too much like an animal. Dan’s never really understood the national attraction towards ‘dog filters’.

“Probably. The ears might get in the way a bit, though,” he chuckles, before urging, “now come on. We haven’t got long left now.”

Phil agrees, albeit reluctantly. He swings his legs off the table, grabs Dan’s battered highlighted mess of a script sitting in front of him and they pick up from where they left off, something about ‘worms that are thy chamber maids’, ‘everlasting rest’ and ‘inauspicious stars’ (whatever the fuck that adjective means). They last a grand total of fifteen seconds before Dan’s voice is interrupted by a shriek of laughter.

“Oh, fucking hell that’s bad!” Phil cackles. Dan groans, wondering for a fleeting second where the best place to launch Phil’s phone might be.

“That’s it,” he loses it, suddenly leaping across the table and swiping the irritating rectangle of interest straight from Phil’s hand. His smile vanishes in seconds.

“Aw, what?!”

“You have five seconds to put this stupid fucking thing away, or else it’s going out there,” he points to the window behind them. Phil follows his gaze, his eyes widening. They can see the majority of the town from up here. That’s a long drop.

He turns his head back around. They’re nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye.

“Fine,” Phil smiles, the tips of their noses brushing together. “But just so you know, seeing you angry just makes me want to kiss you more.”

Dan rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide his smirk. “Are you still gonna want to kiss me when your phone ends up on the ground?”

“What do you mean ‘when’? I’ve put it away now,” he points to the bulge in his back pocket.

Dan fixes him with a glare.

“Come on,” Phil leans forward as Dan leans back. “Just one?” he pleads, his eyes big and blue.

He shakes his head and pulls away, a grin curling at his lips. His eyes flicker back to Phil, a brown gaze that lingers too long.

“Afterwards,” he says in a voice like velvet.

Phil rolls his eyes, flopping back onto the chair. “Fine. Bloody hell, it’s like being back at school.”

Dan pretends not to hear that last comment. “Come on, we’ll take it from “world-wearied flesh…”

Phil’s phone doesn’t move once from his pocket after that. The promise of Dan’s lips after rehearsal is more tempting than any filter some dumb app has to offer.

-

“How do I look?”

Phil eyes him up and down, a smirk playing at his lips. “Hot.”

The comment receives a soft punch to his upper arm.

“Behave,” Dan turns back to the mirror, twining a lock of perfectly sprayed hair that he was specifically instructed not to touch around his fingers. “Are you sure? I feel like I look like a-“

He’s interrupted by a pair of soft lips for a few seconds.

“That’s really not helping the nerves,” Dan breathes once they break away.

Phil grins. “You look fine. You know you do. Now quit playing with your hair before Alexa sees.”

Dan doesn’t think Alexa, the make-up artist, is capable of seeing anything that isn’t within a thirty-centimetre radius of her own face right now. She’s been hurrying around backstage all evening; powdering this, curling that, flitting from actor-to-actor so quickly it makes Dan out of breath to even watch her. She certainly hasn’t done a bad job though, he thinks, as he inspects his reflection. A slightly dishevelled, 15th-century version of himself stares back, all weird leather and burgundy velvet and wow, perhaps he should sport an Elizabethan tunic more often.

“Suits you,” Phil smiles as if he’d read his mind. Dan adjusts the collar accordingly.

“D’you reckon?”  

“Yeah,” Phil eyes him up and down again. “Most people here kinda look like twats in their costume, but you really actually pull that off.”

“Um- thanks? I think?” Dan smirks, frowning at his reflection. He doesn’t mention it has anything to do with his long-standing ability to morph into literally anyone he likes (he’d often been described by many make-up artists as having a “chameleon face” which he hopes is a reference to his adaptability to blend into multiple characters as opposed to resembling a lizard), and instead accepts the ever-so-slightly backhanded compliment.

“What are you doing down here?” someone with an updo the size of Jupiter asks Phil, sauntering past in something that really rather resembles a cupcake. Phil was right, Dan thinks. They do look a bit ridiculous. “They need you upstairs in five minutes.”

“Oh shit,” Phil glances at his watch. “Okay. Gotta go before Nick kills me.”

“Alright,” Dan smiles, pulling him in for a quick hug.

“Good luck,” he whispers into his shoulder. “You’ll fucking kill it.”

Dan tightens his grip around his arms. “Thank you.”

The word has multiple other meanings, and judging by the glitter in Phil’s eye when he pulls away, he thinks he understands every single one.

-

That night, Dan lavishes in warm spotlights and painted wooden sets resembling palaces and balconies, and he feels alive.

That night, the finest Elizabethan literature spills from his lips, flowing as easily as water, his voice shaping every monologue, soliloquy and duologue perfectly.

That night, there are another pair of lips on his; only this time painted red and totally professional. It feels strange, alien, and not a single trace of the spark in his heart that Phil’s lips ignite can be found, but it’s work. It’s courage.

And that night, someone up in the control booth watches through the pane of glass over all the light boards and buttons and wires, and smiles.

As if it’s been almost a year since my last oneshot??? Wtf this must CHANGE I’m getting back into writing (properly this time I swear) so there’s a lot more where this came from. Feedback is always appreciated whether it be good or bad so pls let me know how you found this! Feels so good to be doing this again u have nooo idea holy shit <3

[fieldfullofbangtan]

Idol’s Dream Chapter Five

☁️ au: idol!au

☁️ chapter word count: 1.6k

☁️ chapter summary: Kris is amazed by your skills and chooses to sign you.

✎ masterlist

The floor is a beautiful white marble and the walls painted a warm light gray. On the walls were huge posters of album covers that this label had created and Kris’ face was everywhere. Jess and I walked up to the reception and this time the receptionist was a lot nicer, probably because it was a dude.

“Walk down the left hallway and into studio 1” he gestured and smiled.

I bowed my head as a thank you and we started walking down the hall. Now the walls were covered in framed discs. There were not one, not two but SEVEN platinum discs for just Kris’ album Antares it seemed like those frames just went on all the way down the hallway.

“Woah… that’s a lot of platinums…” Jess said, her mouth open out of shock. “OMG what if you get one?”

“Ok let’s calm down Jess I’m not even signed with anyone yet.”

“Yea but I can always dream…” she says and goes to touch one of the framed discs but i swat her hand away.

Studio 1 was actually all the way down the hall and behind double doors. I knock on the door and hear someone say ‘come in’. I take a deep breath and open one of them. I see Kris sitting there with a guy I presume is a producer. The studio is a lot bigger than what I expected with a huge couch, a small bar and a producing area that could fit 5 people behind it. The mixing table faces the room beside it and through the window I can see that it’s a room with soundproof panels with a mic in the middle . Kris smiles like dork when he sees us and introduces us to the other person.

“He’s been bragging about finding you all day” says the producer who I now know is called Louis.

Kris hits him in the back of the head and nervous laughs.

“Lies.” I can’t help but blush, and also become so much more nervous.

Kris starts giving us a fast introduction to the mixing table and all the gadgets. I notice he’s explaining everything very simply and kind of dumbing it down so that we can understand but little does he know I’m fairly used to some of these things. At home I have a lot of these things, but just older, cheeper, crappier versions. They have the newest and fully updated version of a producing software that alone costs 1000$. One of their music mixers alone costs like 20 000$ and they have three.

“What does this thing do?” Jess asks as she points to a knob.

Without thinking I just answer “It controls the trebles intensity”.

Kris and Louis stare at me. “Ok I didn’t even know that” Kris says.

“You know this stuff?” Louis asks and looks almost amazed.

“A little, I have a super cheap mixing board at home” I answer.

“I did not know you produced…?” Kris says still looking dumbstruck.

“Well it barely counts” I laugh, “I downloaded a producing software from pirate bay and bought the only mixing board and mic I could afford. The quality is shit but at least I know the process now.”

“You probably know more than Kris then” Louis laughs.

Kris looks offended, “AGAIN. LIES.”

I continue to tell them the little that I know until Kris asks me if I’m ready to sing.

“As ready as I can be I guess”

They ask me to pick a song to sing and then Kris shows me into the recording booth and explains how far I should stand from the mic etc.. I’m about to sing into a 9 990$ mic in front of Kris Wu

and for some reason, I all of a sudden feel like this is what I’m meant to be doing. The nervousness disappears entirely when they dim the lights in the entire studio. The music starts to play in my headphones and the clarity through these are so much better then the ones I use at home that I get shivers. At this point I’m so immersed in the song that I totally forget the situation I’m in. I just sing my heart out.

When the song fully fades out I come back to reality and open my eyes. Kris and Louis just stare at me and I can see Jess’ eyes filled with tears. Ok I was kind of hoping for a happy reaction… I hear that they start the intercom system but nobody says anything.

“Ok I get why you bragged about finding her god damn” Louis says to Kris after like 1 minute of pure silence.

“This is the first time I hear her sing, I had no idea she had a voice like that” Kris replies to him wide-eyed. I guess they forgot I could hear everything?

“I TOLD YOU SHE WAS THAT GOOD” Jess yells happily, eyes still wet.

They turn off the intercom, signal me to stay and I’m left standing there in the quiet room. I see Jess taking a step back and just observing them. I’m not sure what they are discussing but after like 7-8 years of friendship Jess and I have no issues communicating with just our faces. She gives me the “they are talking about you face” and after 20 seconds she just smiles at me. She looks like she’s about to explode over the fact that she can’t tell me what they are saying but she just gives me the two thumbs up. After a few minutes they wave me out.

“(Y/N) you have some serious talent” Kris says as he sits me down on the couch. “And we are fully committed to signing you, if this is what you want.”

The moment is so surreal I feel like I’m dreaming. But before I can say anything Jess chimes in.

“We will need to see the contract before we verbally agree to anything.” She says with her head held high and acting like a lawyer. She quickly glances at me and shrugs like a “you can thank me later”.

I laugh at her but agree because she’s right. Like always.

Kris asks Louis to go get the papers that are on his office table. A studio and an office? I guess Kris really has a big role in this record label.

“How long have you known each other?” Kris asks us.

“7 years? 8 even?” Jess looks at me for confirmation.

“Yea that sounds about right” I say.

“Huh” He says impressed, “I surprised.”

“Why’s that?” Jess asks now a little hostile.

“You two just seem very different.” Kris explains.

“We are” I answer. “I think that’s why we work so well together.”

“Yup” Jess smiles at me. “As long as we stay off politics, we are the bestest of friends.”

Kris asks question after question and seems genuinely interested in our lives.

“Ok dude what's with all the questions” Jess asks after like the 10th one.

“Oh I’m sorry…” he says realizing he might have come off a little intrusive. “I just wanted to get to you since we could be working with each other a lot from this point on.”

“I don’t mind” I assure him and flick Jess on the leg for being rude.

Right then Louis comes back with a few pieces of paper. He puts it in front of me and Jess and they start to go through the contract together with us, something YH definitely didn’t do. The contract seems a lot more secure than YH’s and I can’t help but feel it’s too good to be true. After going through everything I just have a few questions.

“It looks good, but I just need to clarify some stuff…”

“What's up?” Kris asks.

“I still want to go to uni… how’s that going to work?” I answer, afraid he’s going to make me choose.

“There are ways to solve that, but you can’t be attending a normal uni if you become famous. You can attend one if you’re still fairly anonymous but otherwise your options are probably online school.” Louis answers. “We don’t have any problems with you attending uni but the schools might.”

“Ooh ok. Well that’s good to know. And my second and last question is about this... “ I point to a section in the contract, a little embarrassed to say it out loud.

Kris reads it and chuckles, “The no dating rule? It’s for your own good.” he says.

My own good? What’s that supposed to mean?

“Look. I know it sucks but when your career takes off it’s risky to be dating. First off you don’t want your fame to be based on a relationship, secondly you’ll have a lot less free time and we want you to focus on yourself when you have time off and not somebody else.” Kris says like he read my mind.

“Wait no boyfriend or no sex? Because the latter would just be cruel.”

“Who said no sex? Just no boyfriends or serious relationships.” Kris winks.

“Ok I can deal with that.” I interrupt their playful banter.

The boys light up. “So? Are you going to sign the contract?”

I look to Jess for confirmation and she smiles and nods. I guess this is it then. I pull the papers closer to me, flip all the way to the last page and pick up the pen. Everybody’s staring at me intensely and I feel my adrenaline kicking in.

I sign the paper.

Kris takes them, stands up and reaches his hand out to me to shake my hand.

“Congratulations. You just got yourself a music career.”

[pastpatientlywaitingforimagines]

All The Clouds Ch. 2 | Niall Horan x Reader

Warnings: mild swearing

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: BLACK AND WHITE

“There’ll never be another,”

As soon as you met Niall, you knew you wanted to be a part of his life.

Of course, he had no idea who you were. You were a budding sound engineer hired onto a gigantic tour production and he was… well, he was a rockstar.

All of the boys were charismatic and extremely talented, so it was no surprise that they had risen to fame so quickly. The tour manager, Tom, had pointed them out to you when he was giving you a tour of the production before your first sound check, but you never crossed paths until much later.

“You’ll be working with Annika Wilson and bunking with her as well. She’ll show you exactly what your responsibilities are. If you have any problems, report back to me. Any questions?” Tom asked as he led you to the side of the stage you’d be working from.

“Um, no,” you shrugged, feeling slightly overwhelmed. You weren’t exactly sure how you landed this job, but you also weren’t going to question it.

“Great,” he led you over to a sound station where a blonde woman was organizing cords and microphones, “Annika, this is the newbie I told you about.”

Annika was in her late twenties, tall, and intimidatingly cool. She looked up at you from what she was working on, dropping the cords and tightening her ponytail before reaching out to shake your hand, “welcome to the shit-show.”

You returned her handshake, immediately liking her. Tom shot her a glare but didn’t say anything before walking away. Annika must have had some seriously good job security to be making quips like that in front of the tour manager, you reasoned.

“He didn’t make this show seem like sunshine and rainbows did he?” Annika asked once he was gone, turning back to what she was working on.

“Kinda,” you rocked back awkwardly on your heels, unsure of what you could do.

“It’s not. This whole show is such a mess I’m surprised we manage to hold it together every time we run it. My job is to manage all of the microphones, for the boys and their band. Tom said you have experience sound mixing?”

“Yeah,” you stepped up to the sound board she was standing next to, “I was stage crew at the local concert venue in my hometown.”

“Perfect. We can tag team mixing until you get the hang of it for the show, then we’ll split it up. These,” she pointed to a box on her left, “are the boys microphones. Louis is blue, Harry is green, Liam is red, Zayn is yellow, and Niall is Ireland. Niall also has a headset mic, for when he’s playing the guitar. Since you’re just getting started, you’ll just be responsible for Niall. I can keep tabs on the other boys until you have your feet under you. Sound good?”

It took you a minute to realize she was serious. It was your first day, and she had already assigned you to the most technically complicated band member.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I don’t trust myself not to mess something up and I don’t want to get fired on my first day.”

Annika laughed brightly, shaking her head, “the best way to learn this stuff is to just do it, two feet first into the deep end. Don’t let the boys scare you. Working with them is the easiest part of the job, they’re really sweet underneath all of the chaos,” she smirked. You weren’t sure how much you believed her, the quick glimpse of them you had seen earlier involved a Segway and being chased by their security guard, Paul. You didn’t get to ask her any further questions before she started introducing you to the rest of the equipment.

The sound board you’d be working with was much like the one you were used to using at your job back home. The difference would be setting it up correctly and breaking it down quickly between shows. Annika kept reassuring you that it would seem less overwhelming the more times you did it, and with the list of upcoming tour dates you’d get lots of practice.

“Here comes trouble,” Annika mumbled to you shortly after sound check officially started. You looked up to the stage and saw all five boys heading your direction. “Boys,” she greeted them when they made it to the sound station, “this is (y/n). Be nice.”

“We’re always nice,” Liam smirked, though the way he winked at you said otherwise.

“Always,” Harry emphasized, taking his microphone from Annika. She rolled her eyes, handing Liam, Louis, and Zayn their mics as well. Instead of giving Niall his microphone, she gave it to you instead, nodding in his direction before going back to chatting with the other boys.

You walked up to him hesitantly, “um, Annika put me in charge of your mics.”

“Did she?” Niall glanced over at your coworker quickly with a lopsided smile.

“Mhmm,” you hummed.

“Well ya know what that means, don’t ya?”

“I don’t think I do.”

“Means we’re friends now.”

“Does it?”

“Absolutely. And you have to promise we’ll stay friends forever.”

“Why would I do that?” you couldn’t be too careful, you had to ask before you accidentally sold your soul. Niall looked a little taken aback by your question, eyes narrowing as he thought out an answer. Finally, he held out his free hand towards you. You cocked your head, but reached out and let him pull you onto the stage.

Normally standing in the middle of a stage made you feel small and insecure. You much rather preferred to be behind the sound booth, away from prying eyes and left to your own devices. Standing there with Niall though, you didn’t feel as small. There were rows upon rows of empty seats, and it was easy to imagine thousands of screaming fans filling the arena. It felt like a rush of electricity running through your veins. Standing up here, you felt like you could do anything.

“This is why,” he said smugly when you finally looked over at him, “this changes your life.”

“I still don’t see why that means I have to promise to stay friends with you though. I’ve know you for all of two minutes.”

“So what?”

“So I’m not promising anything until I know you better.”

Niall considered your offer slowly, dropping your hand to cross his arms, “fine. I’ll convince you, you’ll get it eventually.”

“Good luck with that,” as soon as there was space between you, the stage fright started to catch up to you, “I, um, I should get back to Annika.”

You turned on your heel and practically ran back to the sound board where Annika was waiting.

“He’s great, right?” she asked smugly.

“He’s alright,” you shrugged.

“Wait until you hear him sing,” she moved a slider on the sound board, then gave the boys a thumbs up.

You had to admit, she was right. The boys were amazing. Of course, you had heard some of their music before joining the tour, practically the whole world had at that point, but their live performances were something else. Each one had their own style and sound that melded together in a stylistic way. Their personalities shined through their music and their antics. It was impossible to watch them without a smile on your face.

It would be generous to say you fumbled through your first soundcheck and show, but Annika knew what she was talking about when she said you had to jump feet first into the deep end. Niall was more than forgiving when you dropped his mic while handing it to him during your first show, and completely forgot to bring his handheld when he switched back later that night. With every mishap, he laughed it off and told you that you’d get it next time.

Like Annika, he was also right, and by your third show you had it all figured out. Once you were more confident in your abilities as an employee, you started to enjoy the show as a whole and could spend more time appreciating the work that the boys were doing. Though at first it seemed larger than life, as the tour picked up speed you started noticing things that outsiders wouldn’t have even blinked over.

You finally asked Annika about it when you were leaving your hotel room in a new city to walk to the venue for sound check, “does the band ever get to go out when we go places like this?” It was a beautiful, sunny day and Annika had suggested going out to experience the night life after the show.

She shook her head, “they can’t. They’d be mobbed, fans and paps everywhere. Nobody knows who we are so we can get away with it, but the boys are stuck inside most places. Management doesn’t want them out causing trouble anyways.”

“Why would management care? Plenty of celebrities go out, and if they do get into trouble, isn’t it their management’s job to fix it? Why have management at all otherwise?”

“Not all celebrities are young attractive men that the whole world is obsessed with. You’re right, management is supposed to protect the talent, but here they’re just controlling.The boys are basically prisoners to their management. They can’t leave the hotel, they can’t say or do anything that could be considered scandalous, and they’re extremely overworked. Management has even asked me to turn down Niall’s mic during a show before. Honestly, the boys are great to work with, but the rest of this place is toxic.”

“You didn’t…” you felt a twinge of responsibility for the Irishman who had quickly become your favorite member of One Direction (though you’d never admit that to anyone).

“Of course not, I’d never betray the boys like that. My reputation with them is more important than my reputation with management, and I don’t hide the fact that I like them better than I like their management. That’s how it’s always been and how it always will be. If management decides they have a problem with it, they can fire me,” she shrugged.

Her words stayed with you all through soundcheck, but once the show started you pushed them as far back into your mind as possible. You had to focus on the task at hand.

You were more comfortable around Niall than you had been three weeks ago when you first started. There was an intimacy that you got to have with him every night while passing off microphones and guitars between you that easily fueled a good working relationship. At first it was mostly small talk, a comment here and there about the energy in the room or the water fight Louis and Liam had onstage. Small talk turned into tiny dance parties or riddles, but you didn’t think your relationship was any more complex than that until Niall posed you a question as you traded microphones.

“What’s been goin’ on in your head all night?”

“Just show things,” you brushed him off, not really wanting to talk about it in that moment.

“I can hear the whirring of your gears turning from the other side of the stage, and that’s with my in-ears. Harry’s got the crowd captivated for a minute, what’s wrong?”

“Have you always wanted to be a singer?”

Niall smiled softly, “I wanted t’ be a footballer for a little bit, but yeah, this has always been my dream.”

“What happens when you’re old, then?”

Niall laughed loudly, “old? I’ll still be able to sing when I’m old.”

“Right, but when you’re done touring and performing for millions of people around the world.”

“Well, I’ll just be able to enjoy my life at that point I guess. Maybe I’ll play golf more, have some consistency. I haven’t thought much about it but I’ll get back to you,” he flashed you a bright smile before bouncing back on stage to rejoin the band, leaving you holding his microphone.

Niall didn’t know the weight of your words because of how you phrased your question, but his answer told you everything you needed to know. He wanted consistency, because his life currently didn’t have much of it. He wanted control, and to ‘enjoy his life’. Those were his words. “I’ll just be able to enjoy my life at that point”. You went back to the sound station where Annika was perched on a stool watching the boys, oblivious to the conversation you had just had. You sat next to her, eyes landing on one blonde Irishman who was bouncing all over the stage. His smile said it all, he was living his dream. He was living his dream and having fun while doing it, but at what cost to him and his sanity?

You thought back to a few weeks ago, when you stood in the middle of the stage with him and he asked you to promise you’d stay friends. It meant something to him, and you chose not to do it. Knowing what you knew now, though, it made sense. Management controlled his every move. He was living his dream under somebody else’s thumb, and to fight it he was picking up friends at every turn.

It was the most Niall Horan thing you had ever heard.

If he was going to spend the rest of his career like this, though you really hoped he didn’t, you knew you had to be there to support him through it all. Nobody should have to go through what he was dealing with, and if he was asking for friendship you were going to be the best friend he had ever had.

You waited until the show was over to say anything else to him. As soon as he was in front of you handing you his mic, you plucked up the courage.

“Do you have a minute?”

“Yeah, do you have a minute?” he was still buzzing from the show, skin gleaming in sweat.

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t,” you stuck your tongue out at him, earning a laugh. You walked to the wings of the stage, peeking out from behind a wall to see if there were still fans in the audience. You waited until you were sure the coast was clear, then you waved for him to follow.

The stage crew was already breaking down the set, but you were still able to lead Niall to the center of the stage. You stood looking out at the now empty seats, not making eye contact before you spoke.

“You asked me to promise to be your friend.”

“I did.”

“You said I’d get it eventually. It took me a while to figure it out, but you were right, this changes your life. I get it now,” you finally turned to look at him and you were met with a cheeky grin.

“Is this going where I think it’s going?”

You rolled your eyes, “I promise we’ll stay friends.”

Niall whooped loudly, lifting you off your feet in a hug and spinning you around.

“Ew, you’re all sweaty,” you squirmed out of his grasp. He only grinned harder.

“It doesn’t matter. You still have t’ like me, we’re friends for life now.”

“If we’re going to be friends you have to put in effort too, you know. This isn’t a one way street.”

“I know.”

You thought it would be simple, being friends with Niall Horan. You were wrong.

“I promise that I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”

Chapter 3: DEAR PATIENCE Coming April 20th, 2021

[1dreality]

“I feel sorry for whoever’s sitting behind my dad,” laughed a young girl five minutes before Niall Horan took the Greek Theatre stage in Los Angeles.

There were a lot of dads in attendance on Tuesday night, but perhaps unlike most occasions in which fathers must escort daughters to pinups' gigs, these dads likely shared the enthusiasm for Mr. Horan's songbook. It makes sense, given the earnest American soft-rock songwriting that defined Horan's 2017 No. 1 debut album Flicker, which came along citing influences in The Eagles and Fleetwood Mac. Those are the daddiest of Dad Rock influences. Can you imagine the delight to all dads, suddenly given the green light to serenade their daughters with “Lyin' Eyes”? He played that well, young Horan.

This was the first of two nights for him and he wasn't shy in reminding the crowd how dreamy it felt -- particularly given he only lives up the road. He mentioned this twice, to deafening shrieks, of course. “It’s really handy 'cause I literally live 20 minutes away,” he said in his dad jeans and his dad short-sleeved shirt and his signature coif. “If you want, we could start some kind of a residency.” They would want that very much. Eleven months ago, Horan was here as a spectator, watching his former One Direction compatriot Harry Styles play for the opening leg of Styles' first solo tour. It was a month before Horan's own album release. Where Styles' record was front-loaded with promotion, the singles soon stopped coming. Horan, however, has played a steadier game. Horan is just steadier all around. The downside is that he doesn't have Styles' riskier swoon factor. Horan's safer approach won him “Slow Hands,” though, and an enormous U.S. radio smash, topping the Pop Songs airplay chart back in October. Had Styles bagged “Slow Hands,” perhaps it would have been game over.

It was show time at the Greek, and the screams for Horan were not as deafening as those for Styles. But it was a loud, unified whistle of stress and elation nonetheless. A blue light filled the stage and Celtic strings rang through the naked humid air as the Irishman sauntered on, a gorgeous red guitar strapped around his cheery frame. Horan has often been considered the “musical one” of his former boy band. He is always behind an instrument, usually a guitar. On Tuesday night, he switched to piano at one point for the non-album track “So Long” to show some variation. For the opener, though, he was all electric, fingering the strings and screwing his face as he belted out single “On the Loose.” That's a song that wears its Mac influence on its sleeve, yet falls more on the side of The Corrs (which is truly no bad thing).

When Horan auditioned on The X Factor eight years ago, Simon Cowell ridiculed fellow judge Louis Walsh for saying “people will like him because he's likable.” Walsh was right: Horan is so likable. Maybe too likable. As likable as an apartment with perfect air conditioning. You can't not like him. Despite his likability, he is not a natural solo star. He’s a player. Onstage, he shone most when pandering to the great chemistry he had with his merry band of English and Irish men, including a violinist and a pianist. You can see that he might be the member of One Direction most ready to get the band back together. His impetus for performing seems tied to the idea of sharing, not owning. Of course, the crowd weren't thinking about that. They knew all the verses and all the choruses and all the guitar solos too, relentlessly jumping up and down in the floor section and heeding to Horan's clap-along instructions.

The songs on Flicker fit him like a glove. They're natural and unforced, rendering him the one solo star post-One Direction who makes it look like it's no biggie. “Well good evening, Los Angeles, California -- holy shit!” he said by way of introduction. “You sold this one out for me. You’re absolute legends! Lovely stuff! All right.” Horan shares Styles’ provincial authenticity, seeming remarkably unaffected, considering the roller-coaster ride that must have come with being in one of history’s biggest pop machines. His sense of self remains intact. It may sound schmaltzy at times on the likes of “The Tide” (recalling peers such as James Bay or Shawn Mendes) and “This Town,” but it also sounds like Irish folk rock and childhood nostalgia. It sounds like the music Horan genuinely loves and has always loved.

His oeuvre isn’t very diverse, but it’s consistent and comforting. Vocally, he’s improved his transatlantic croon to a point where he can carry a full band. When he dedicated the first of two covers to his “favorite singer of all time” Bruce Springsteen and strummed out “Dancing in the Dark” onstage alone, it was a sweet moment -- but it was not an interpretation of a classic, rather an appreciation. The second cover was Tom Petty’s “Won’t Back Down.” Horan plays music because it makes him feel happy. Watching him enjoy it is like stumbling upon an open-mic performance and feeling glad for the singer.

Aware of the need to pull out some showbiz stops too, the evening called upon Texan support act Maren Morris to duet on country-tinged pop song “Seeing Blind.” They had an impromptu giggle onstage together -- evidence that Horan's show isn't compulsively over-rehearsed. Similar to Styles, Horan also brought out One Direction numbers of his own choosing: an acoustic version of “Fools Gold” and a souped-up electric spin on “Drag Me Down.”

For Horan, headlining here was a “bucket list” moment. “Playing under the stars in the hills of Los Angeles,” he said, romantically. “Thanks for making this little Irish fella’s dreams come true.” His is a casual intimacy. When talking up his favorite album track -- the title song -- he said he wrote it fast. “They don’t usually come that quick, not gonna lie,” he laughed. Asking the crowd to stick their phones in their pockets, he appealed for them to “go to that place in your head where this song takes you, and if you need to cry, do it now.” A fan screamed: “YES! I LOVE CRYING!”

Unlike Styles, Horan doesn’t have any preciously topical slogans (i.e., “treat people with kindness”), just this endless pit of inherent niceness. It feels less protected, somehow freer. The crowd needn't be told to be whoever they want to be; they just are, singing their hearts out when Horan cued them. It's during “Drag Me Down” that you realize he’s the One Directioner who’s tied his solo career seamlessly to the group's back catalog. Maybe he was always the truest of them all. Earlier in the show, he talked up his Californian influences. The first concert he went to was The Eagles at the age of 4. He doesn't know for sure, but he said he figured those guys have played here too. (They haven't, but Don Henley and other solo Eagles have.) “That’s why I moved here,” he said, before leaving the stage for that 20-minute journey back to his house.

[blitherandblather]

The Eternally Hungry Monster

Once upon a time, I had aspirations of being a rock star. I had a band, I could play a few instruments and I had a modicum of talent when it came to stringing one chord after another. I was a teenager, full of teenage angst, so no shortage of material to work with when it came to subject matter either, dad. Nothing ever came of it because of course it didn't, but I had fun while it lasted.

A big part of that fun was the struggling. Getting a gig, which is what musical types call a job, is a tough ask. Especially a first gig, when the only people who have ever heard your band play are the members of the band itself, and whose opinions are therefore biased, although I did once hear our bass guitarist tell a publican we were “okay; nothing to write home about”. You essentially walk in and tell the owner you're great, and they either take your word for it or they don't. Hi, we've never played live before, but we want to play here. On your busiest night. And we want you to pay us to do so. No, we don't have a demo tape, the nineties are dead.

You get used to rejection fast, or you don't and you never get that first gig. Six months down the line, if you're lucky, the tides turn and venues call you, asking if you're available to play that weekend. It's an amazing feeling building your army of fans, living off the thing you enjoy doing most and doing the thing you enjoy second-to-most with certain members of your army of fans. Some of my happiest memories revolve around acting like a dickhead on stage in some dive bar, the air thick with hope, dreams and Lynx deodorant. Then drugs entered the equation and there were fights, traumas, Jimmy quit, Jody got married and I died of an overdose on the toilet. Great days.

That part of the journey fuses a band together, even when you inevitably split up and never speak to each other for the rest of your lives. It's important and integral to your growth as a performer. And it's not just bands; stand-up comedians have to slog their way through hours upon hours of open mic nights, honing their craft to a perfect five-minute routine before getting a sniff of a paying gig. Magicians will give away a million free demonstrations of their skill before earning a buck and those folk who do dance routines with their dogs are a waste of everybody's fucking time, so who cares how they get where their going?

Or... you could just turn up an audition on TV and get famous instantly. What do shows like The X-Factor, Britain's Got Talent and The Voice all have in common? The answer, of course, is that I can't tell which one is which. These vacuous, pseudo-talent shows that cost nothing to make and rake in billions in revenue are the fast track to stardom for many up-and-coming acts, and they all get to prove Andy Warhol right, the bastard, and grab their five minutes of fame. I mean, the really good ones and the really bad ones. There's a surprising lack of just average performances, when you think about it. It's either pure shit, or it looks like it's going to be pure shit but then turns out to be quite good. Not amazing, because if it was amazing they wouldn't touch these rehashed Gong Show atrocities with a bargepole, even if that was their act, but quite good. Good enough to get the braying masses in the audience on to their feet, anyway. The audience always seems so shocked at the revelation of someone turning up to a talent show with a modicum of talent. The constantly shocked by it. Four of five times an episode, in fact.

If you get three votes, or a golden button or a full sheet of stickers or Yahtzee or whatever it is that lets you know you've done well and that you can now tell everyone your tragic backstory, you go on to round two, which is exactly the same as the first round, except the shit has been filtered out so the viewers at home who only watch perversely aren't watching anymore. Oh, and you have to come up with something new to impress the judges.

That's the thing, though, isn't it? Eh? Isn't it? Simon Cowell and his peers aren't try to kickstart anyone's career, no matter what they claim. They're there to sustain careers; theirs. The acts on Britain's Got Talent aren't moving on to better things after the season ends, they're the content for the season. They're allowed to perform on stage because the show needs performers. Once the season is over, nobody gives a flying fuck what happens to any of the acts. They've served their purpose and kept the ratings high enough to justify salaries all round and another season next year. The acts live in this bubble of fame for a confined amount of time, from their first “audition” to the closer. Sure, they might get some “As Seen On Pop Idol” work in WMCs across the land, and maybe even make a living for a few years following their brief moment in the sun, but we're not going to discover the next Rolling Stones queuing up for an open audition at the Birmingham NEC. We'll be lucky to find the next Leon Jackson, whoever the fuck he is.

These shows are junkies hiding behind the mask of promotion. The acts are sacrifices on the altar of novelty; give us more, give us new, give us more newer. A traditional comedian can keep going for months with one routine; a music act can live off a single set list for years, if they're lazy enough. Which we were. But these poor bastards, dragged out in front of the spotlights and the judgemental eyes of an impatient nation have to come up with a new routine every week. Your act has to be new and unique and better while, at the same time, being recognisable to the thing we're pretty sure you did last week. It's hard to say, we've seen a billion other acts since then. Which one are you again?

Like talent vampires, our judges sit in front of these poor hopeless hopefuls, grinning inanely, offering sound-bite snap-judgements and contributing nothing to the show itself. Replace Cowell, Louis Walsh and the other one with dog in front of two sausages; if he goes for the keilbasa, you're through to next week's show. If the dog prefers the bratwurst, that's your too bad. Better luck next time. The eventual outcome of the show will be exactly the same – nobody wins – and the dog gets to eat sausages. That's a win-win for everyone except the acts, and, honestly, they've kind of brought this all themselves, right?

Fame Academy started in 2002. Winning that show was so pointless, not only has nobody heard of any of the acts since the show ended, but you yourself had forgotten there even was a show called Fame Academy until just now. Who is going on these shows in the sincere belief they'll be at Wembley next year in any other capacity than the audience? The desperate, the deluded and, above all, the sustenance for the eternally hungry monster that is reality TV.

[hazzamylouworld-blog]

Full

"You wake him." "What? No way! He's your boyfriend, YOU wake him up." "Liam? Hey Liam! Why don't you wake him up?" "Louis, I'm not waking your boyfriend up. You're a grown man, just wake him up. He's going to be even more grumpy if he's not able to eat before the show." Louis sighs, feeling rather betrayed by his other two bandmates. His curly headed boyfriend sleeps soundly on the couch before them, curled in on himself and looking oh so at peace. And Louis just doesn't have the heart to wake him. He hasn't slept well the past few nights and waking him feels like the most evil thing he could do to him at the moment. Because he's sleeping SO good. He even has a soft smile on his lips as he snores away and HOW COULD LOUIS' BANDMATES DO THIS TO HIM? He knows waking him is inevitable. There's only about fifteen minutes until show time and the other four boys have already eaten and got their hair done. Harry's hair is already fixed but by how hard he's sleeping, Louis knows Lou will want to fluff it up before they go on stage. And Harry hasn't eaten since early this morning so Louis knows he must be starving. "Alright FINE. I'll do it, ok? But just know that if he asks I'm telling him YOU three forced me to do it." "Whatever gets him up and moving to that stage." Liam says with a shrug. "Hazza babe?" Louis calls softly, pushing Harry's messy quiff of curls back. Harry sighs sleepily and turns over on his side, away from Louis' prodding fingers. "Babe? I'm so sorry but you've got to get up. We only have a few minutes until show time and you haven't eaten yet." Harry lets out a soft whimper but Louis feels him start to stir. He finally turns over and sits up, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "That's it, lovely. Want some dinner?" Harry nods, standing up and heading toward the food table. He piles his plate high, starving from only eating a bit this morning. Louis watches with a soft smile as he goes and sits down on the couch, scarfing down his food. Lou comes up behind him, just like Louis knew she would, and tousles his hair about, spraying it with all kinds of different sprays and gels. "FIVE MINUTES!" A stage hand calls and Harry curses quietly, stuffing more food into his mouth. The whole plate is clean within the next two minutes and Louis stares at his boyfriend in utter amazement. "Wow babe, that was quick." Harry lies back and places a hand on his stomach with a deep exhausted exhale. "I'm so full..." "That's good, babe! Loads of energy before the show." "Are we going to have to roll you out on stage, Styles?" Zayn asks with a laugh, looking at the stuffed boy. Harry scrunches his nose and furrows his brow. "My stomach kind of hurts.." "You probably ate too much. I'm sure it'll go away once you're on stage." "TWO MINUTES! Please get ready to head out." The stage hand calls again. "Can you help me up?" Harry mumbles, leaving on hand on his aching tummy as the other stretches out toward Louis. Louis laughs. "Of course. That's what you get for napping." Louis jokes, pulling his boyfriend up off the couch. Harry groans and grips at his stomach once he stands and puffs out a large exhale as they walk toward side stage. The other four boys jump up and down, adrenaline pumping through their veins at the sound of their fans' screams. Harry lies up against a wall, rubbing a hand over his stomach. Louis rubs his arm and frowns. "Are you alright babe?" "I just ate too much too quickly...my stomach's hurting..." "Oh love. I'm sorry. Maybe it'll pass once your adrenaline kicks in." "I hope so.." Harry mumbles miserably, as his stomach rumbles uncomfortably beneath his hand. The band hears the last few seconds of the intro video before they are lifted onto the stage. The first song begins to play and Harry takes a deep breath, ignoring the pain gripping at his stomach and begins singing his lines, keeping a steady hand on his stomach. The fans certainly don't notice Harry's discomfort (at least he hopes they don't), but the boys do. Especially Louis. Louis keeps giving him small glances and soft touches whenever he can but it does little to help. The heat from the lights beaming down on him coupled with all the singing and moving around he has to do, makes him feel quite sick to his stomach. He hears the intro to Rock Me just as his stomach rolls and he involuntarily heaves, letting out a sickly burp. He looks around wide-eyed before his stomach tosses again and he quickly rushes backstage. Louis thrives on the energy of the crowd and Rock Me is one of his favorite songs which is probably why he doesn't realize Harry's absence until it's Harry's turn to sing and his voice isn't there. Louis looks around the stage and his eyes bulge. Because Harry's gone. Niall successfully butchers Harry's line and Louis is quick to cover him, singing the correct line behind him. All four boys begin singing but it seems so wrong without the curly headed lad. Louis watches as Zayn, Liam, and Niall all look around in confusion and knows he must look the same as them. He passes Liam and cups a hand over his mouth as he mimics playing the guitar. "Where's Harry?" "Sick." Liam mouths, gesturing toward backstage. Louis peeks behind the stage and catches a flash of white t-shirt hunched over. His first instinct is to go running to him but they're still in the middle of a song so he can't do that obviously. His hand shakes from wanting to go to him but he continues to sing through the song that has never sounded worse to him. Harry heaves again and a small amount of his dinner lands in the garbage can below him. His stomach aches horribly and he places a hand beneath his shirt with a groan. Someone places a water bottle and a towel beside his feet before quietly walking away again. He's glad they had the decency not to stick around. Not only is he mortified that he's throwing up mid-concert but he feels like any extra crowding would make him feel sicker. He takes a sip of water and wipes his face off with the towel. His stomach still feels terrible and he squats down, spitting on the ground below him and taking a deep breath. He wets the towel and places it around his neck, inhaling through his nose and exhaling deeply through his mouth to try and settle his stomach. He hears the voices of his confused bandmates attempting to make it through a song without him and feels so guilty. Thankfully they have a break coming up so once he's done puking his brains out, he'll only have to sing a song or two before he can come back here and probably throw up again. The song ends and he takes a deep breath standing back up. He still feels nauseated and his stomach hurts but he knows he needs to get back out there for his bandmates and their fans. He stumbles back out on stage, earning concerned looks from his bandmates and extra loud screams from his fans. Louis scoots his way over to him nonchalantly as Liam talks to the crowd. "Are you ok? What happened?" "My stomach..." is all Harry mumbles in his ear, shaking his head and placing a hand to his stomach. Louis frowns and rubs his elbow comfortingly. Harry shakes his head and puts the mic up to his mouth as the next song starts to play. He makes it through the whole song but it isn't easy. His stomach tosses and turns and aches beneath the hand that stays steadily lying on it. Finally the ending cords play and the five boys make their way to backstage. Harry's crowded immediately and he groans, sitting on the couch and placing his face into his hands. Louis places a hand to his back while Niall places a water bottle in front of him. "What happened mate?" "Are you ok?" "Do you think you can go back on?" "Can you please not crowd me?" He mumbles, barely audibly. Louis swats his hand and the other three boys back up a bit. "Are you ok?" Louis asks again, hand rubbing a comforting line on his back. "I'm really embarrassed. I just threw up in front of so many people.." "Don't be embarrassed, Haz. You aren't the first singer to do it. And I don't think most of the fans even saw you.." Liam supplies, feeling bad for the ill boy. "My stomach is killing me. I really don't know how I'm going to finish. Every time I get out there I just...ugh..." Harry moans, placing a hand beneath his shirt again. "Oh love...why don't you just rest back here and we'll take care of the show?" Harry groans and shakes his head. "No. I'm not doing that to the fans. They paid to see all of us, not just four of us." Louis sighs but Niall smiles. "You're a legend, mate." "One minute!" The stagehand calls. Harry groans and buries himself into Louis' side. "My poor baby...it's alright. Only a few more songs and we can go lie down, yeah?" Harry takes a deep breath and nods. "Ok..." He makes it through a few more songs before his stomach begins feeling really bad again. He sings his lines in "Teenage Dirtbag" and tries to look as if he's having the time of his life. But once his last line is sung, he gags and turns to go backstage. He gags once more, still on stage, and rushes back behind it. If the fans didn't know he had an upset stomach before..they do now. He nearly knocks Dan over to get backstage but he makes it. Someone shoves a trash bin beneath him and he grips onto it, heaving and gagging until more of his dinner rushes up from his stomach. He groans and closes his eyes as more vomit pours from him. It's unfair really as throwing up should be making him feel better but it isn't. He finishes throwing up and pours water on his face to cool down before once again making his way back onstage. He barely sings the rest of the concert and tries to move as little as possible, sitting down whenever the chance arises. The concert finally ends and he feels like crying both from how ill he feels and how terrible of a performance he just put on. He makes his way backstage far in front of the rest of the boy and rushes to get his things together, slinging his bag over his shoulder and making his way to the tour bus. He hears Louis' pounding feet behind him but doesn't turn around. He finally makes it to the tour bus and throws his bag down, curling into his bunk. "Harry?! HARRY?! WHERE ARE YOU?" Louis calls. Harry doesn't answer, trying to focus on keeping his stomach in place. He hears the other three boys step onto the bus and call his name too. The nausea soon becomes too much and he jumps from his bunk to rush to the bathroom. He slams the door but Louis still finds a way in, rubbing his back and whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Once he finishes, he sobs and falls into Louis' chest. Louis gasps in surprise and rubs Harry's curls gently. "Oh baby...are you feeling that bad?" Harry nods and sniffles. "A-and I let the fans down. That was such a shit performance. They knew I got sick." "Harry.....hey, Harry! Listen to me." Louis pulls his face up until the two are looking into each other's eyes. "They love you, Harry. And I'm almost positive most of them didn't notice but even if they did, they'll only be worried about you, not judge you." Louis hums. He helps the boy up and Harry brushes his teeth shakily. He then stumbles out to the living area where the other boys are waiting anxiously. He curls in on himself on the couch and moans. Louis walks to the kitchen to get him a Sprite to settle his stomach and the other boys watch him in concern. Zayn comes over to him and rubs his back softly. "You ok mate?" "Just tired...and embarrassed." "Don't be, Haz. Look, the fans know you got sick and they've started a "GetWellSoonHarry" hashtag. You're trending worldwide." Harry smiles softly. The boys all give him reassurances and cuddle him up, all piling onto the couch together. They turn on a movie but Harry can hardly keep his eyes open. His stomach still feels iffy but he knows his boys will take good care of him. And he knows the fans still love him. So despite feeling shit, he's happy.

[chicagoindiecritics]

New from Jeff York on The Establishing Shot: THE PREVAILING OF “PARASITE” ADVANCES THE OSCARS

Record-tying Oscar winner Bong Joon Ho of PARASITE.

Sometimes the Oscars get things spectacularly right. Last night was one of those times. They had a lot to be proud of in both the awards they doled out as well as the show in general. And in recognizing PARASITE with four big Oscars, most notably Best Picture, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences furthered its reputation more than they’ve done in years.

Filmmaker Bong Joon Ho, the director, co-producer, and co-writer of PARASITE set a record last night with his four awards in one night, tying the record previously set by Walt Disney back in 1954. His dark comedy, about a poor family of four conning its way into the home and lives of a rich family of four, made further history as well. The film was the first South Korean film to be nominated in the Best International Feature category, the first to win it, the first South Korean director to take the Best Director prize, and most significantly, the first film in a foreign language to win the Academy’s top of prize of the best film of the year.

And PARASITE was wholly worthy. It was the best-reviewed of all of the films up for Best Picture this year. It won a slew of critics’ awards the world over, including my group’s pick for Best Independent Feature at the Chicago Indie Critics’ Awards this past January. Plus, it was clearly the strong favorite of the Hollywood community, if the deafening applause in the Dolby Theater was any indication. The film received a similar ovation when it nabbed Best Cast at the SAG Awards last month too, clearly foreshadowing the support the movie had.

Often times, the Oscars play out more like a popularity contest. Other times, the awards seem more like make-up prizes for ignoring an artist’s work in previous years. This year neither was the case. Most every winner could easily be argued was worthy, and very often, the most so in their category. Granted, the Academy always ignores a slew of worthy nominees in the nominating process, but this was the first time in a long time where there weren’t any truly cringe-worthy nominees.

The WWI film 1917 was expected to prevail in the category of Best Picture and Best Director after winning at the PGA, DGA, and BAFTA, but the Academy voters went their own way this time. As good as 1917 is, PARASITE certainly was more reflective of our modern world. War films are always relevant in one way or another, but other than its technique of making the film look like it’s all one take, it didn’t feel any more immediate than many of the other war films that have prevailed in the past. PARASITE, with its themes of economic disparity, class systems, and the gulf between the 1% and everyone else in the world, couldn’t have been timelier.

Still, most importantly, PARASITE was a masterfully-done film, full of twists and turns, great acting, not to mention precise editing and cinematography. It was funny, tragic, sad, and harrowing – – it played like a comedy of manners until it turned into a horror show. Few films were as surprising this year, even with Quentin Tarantino’s rewrite of the Tate murders at the end of ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD. And for all those worthy reasons, the film won on a preferential ballot that awards nominees that have broad support across all branches, from the actors to the editors to the writers to the costumers. PARASITE prevailed with all of them, and in doing so, the Oscars became more immediate, relevant and even cool. Expanding Academy membership a few years back to include newer voters to shake off some of the dust of traditional tropes proved last night that it’s working.

As for the actual show, it started out somewhat stridently, overcompensating for the lack of diversity in this year’s nominees. Janelle Monae gave the opening number her all, but with lyrics about “Oscars So White”, it started from a negative and wasn’t helped by some of the digs at the Academy by the stand-up of Steve Martin and Chris Rock that followed. Thankfully, the rest of the show, driven by the joy of the awards being handed out, turned the rest of the show into something positive and laudatory. Here were some of the highlights:

• Brad Pitt gave another great speech when he won Best Supporting Actor, as expected, for ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD. It was heartfelt, witty, and even managed to be political, as is his tendency. (He remarked that the Academy only gave him 45 seconds to say his piece, which was 45 seconds more than John Bolton received at President Trump’s impeachment trial the past week.) • Most of the comedy bits amongst the presenters were clever, from Salma Hayek’s embracing of fellow presenter Oscar Isaac and her remark about “Finally getting to hold an Oscar onstage” to the misread of two category meanings by Will Ferrell and Julia Louis-Dreyfus. • The music didn’t have to play anyone off this year, and almost all the winners were on-point and brief. • The Academy spread the wealth around with eight of the nine Best Picture nominees winning at least one Oscar. Only THE IRISHMAN went home empty-handed. • Even so, Bong Joon Ho called out that film’s director Martin Scorsese for his influence on his career. He also thanked Tarantino for championing his work and expressed a desire to take a “Texas chainsaw” to his director award so he could share it with all four of his fellow nominees in that category. • The Best Song performances were tight, simply presented by and large, and entertaining. • There was a lot of gorgeous fashion, without anything too egregious. Special praise to 82-year-old Jane Fonda for rocking her gray hair and a sequined red dress. • Showing extended clips of the acting nominees really showcased them better than in almost any other year, and it was nice to see the original score nominees get their own musical number as well. • There was diversity and cleverness in the pairing of the presenters all night. A particular standout was Brie Larson and Gal Gadot with Sigourney Weaver to represent heroines in action films. • Kudos to James Corden and Rebel Wilson for mocking their CATS catastrophe by coming out in assimilations of their film costumes. Their catty batting at the mic stand was particularly amusing. • Joaquin Phoenix gave a very political speech, one that raised a lot of good points about forgiveness, sharing, and entitlement, and he was self-effacing too calling out his own bad behavior and thank those who gave him second chances. • The show didn’t cut off bigger names from finishing their speeches, even if Elton John did go on a little too long, and Renee Zellweger definitely rambled. • The one silly technical move that could’ve been booed occurred when the show’s technical director started to dim the lights on the PARASITE producers’ speeches at the end. By then, the show was long already, so what are a few more minutes? Thankfully, the lights came up again in short order.F

Of course, the Oscar telecast can always be a better show and here are some necessary gripes:

• If you’re going to dress dancers up in 2019 film costumes to back up Monae in the opening number, they should assign one film to each dancer. We didn’t need five JOKER dancers and five MIDSOMMAR ones. • Billie Eilish did a wonderful job singing “Yesterday” during the In Memoriam tribute, though as always, the Academy managed to exclude some worthy mentions. Granted, they doubled up some of the slides, yet still managed to leave off Luke Perry, Sid Haig, Orson Bean, and Robert Conrad, among others. • As funny as Mya Rudolph and Kristen Wiig are, their bit went on too long. That’s especially egregious when you think about some parts of the show that could’ve used more time. • To that point, the biggest blunder the Academy continues to make is to not properly honor the recipients of the special Oscars at the Governors Awards that are held in November. There should be clips as every honoree there should be heard from. I’d rather hear what David Lynch, Lina Wertmuller, Wes Studi, and Geena Davis had to say than hear Eminem sing his Oscar-winning Best Song for EIGHT MILE from 17 years ago.

Incidentally, I correctly predicted 21 of the 24 categories this time out, my best record in years. I got Sound Editing wrong, as well as Best Picture and Best Director. I went with the numbers on those last two, predicting 1917, and couldn’t have been happier to be wrong. Heart and art prevailed at this year’s ceremony, not stats, and that helped make this year’s Oscars one to savor as well. Bravo, Academy, and kudos to PARASITE and all the other winners.

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Ramblings: Dobber reviews, team-by-team, an eventful Free Agent Frenzy (July 2)

Ramblings: Dobber reviews, team-by-team, an eventful Free Agent Frenzy (July 2)

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What a fantastic Free Agent Frenzy this year, highlighted by John Tavares taking a discount and the Sabres – Blues ending things with a blockbuster. Truly enjoyable, though I wish the latter trade was done three or four hours earlier, but that’s nitpicking.

We have the fantasy analysis of all the key deals with fantasy impact listed right here.

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Here are my quick one-off thoughts on how each team did overall yesterday…

Anaheim – I had always liked Anton Rodin as a prospect, but his bad luck with injuries derailed his development and the Ducks are too deep for him to crack the lineup, barring a couple of key injuries to top sixers and disappointing camps from top prospects. They also signed a good depth defenseman in Luke Schenn, and a No.4 goalie in Jared Coreau (I think Kevin Boyle is a promising prospect goalie who is probably a better option than Ryan Miller if he ever gets a chance to show it).

Arizona – Michael Grabner brings nice speed into the lineup as long as it’s used on the third line. The Coyotes already did their tweaking, so the main thing they did was officially sign Oliver Ekman-Larsson to his eight-year deal – not to mention keep him happy by signing his brother Kevin to an AHL contract.

Boston – Jaroslav Halak is a great backup, and as good as Anton Khudobin was last yer I think Halak is even better. I think their depth signings were solid (Joakim Nordstrom, Chris Wagner) and adding John Moore gives them five enviable defensemen plus two more good bottom pairing guys. The Bruins didn’t have to do much because their rookies did so well last year and now they have added Ryan Donato.

Buffalo – Well what can I say? The Sabres are no longer going to employ a bunch of AHLers to fill out the roster. Casey Mittelstadt has allowed them to trade Ryan O’Reilly, which injects three players into the roster in place of one. If you add in the Conor Sheary acquisition and the Rasmus Dahlin draft pick and I’d say the Sabres get the Gold Medal for most improved team over the past month. I’m not sure Carter Hutton is an upgrade to Robin Lehner, but at least he stays healthy – and I really like Linus Ullmark so I think the team will be covered in net.  And yes, I’ll be handing out Silver and Bronze today too, read on.

Carolina – Uh oh. Petr Mrazek? It’s a good thing this team did the Dougie Hamilton trade and already had a great group of young forwards, because their goaltending didn’t get any better.

Calgary – The Flames did a pretty good trade last week that re-jigged the roles of a few of their roster spots, and yesterday’s signing of Derek Ryan was supplemental to that. As you may have read in my “dark horse” breakdown, I thought that Austin Czarnik signing was a sneaky-good one and he could surprise. You know me – I’m always looking for the next Martin St. Louis or Cam Atkinson revelation.

Chicago – I feel like, in order for the Blackhawks to be serious contenders again, then they need to effectively replace the two rocks on defense in Duncan Keith and Brent Seabrook. So I’m not sure why Chris Kunitz was signed. I get bringing in veteran Cam Ward to help stabilize the net, which was a big issue last year. And Brandon Manning is just their usual low-minute defenseman signing that they do every year. But there’s no magic savior on defense in the free agent market. Their stuck trading for a solution. It’s a good thing Henri Jokiharju is coming soon – he’ll be a stud worthy of the top pairing. As I write this, Chicago has the least cap room in the NHL at about $2 million.

Colorado – I like what the Avs have been doing. Although it has been nothing earth-shattering, they didn’t really need that. Adding Philipp Grubauer to transition into being their future starter was a nice move last week. And signing the hustling winger Matt Calvert to play half the season on their third line was a good addition. I say “half a season” because he’s hurt for the other half, guaranteed. Ian Cole was a good depth defenseman add – and that’s what this team needed badly rather than using guys like Mark Barberio.

Columbus – Lots of tweaking, but nothing of substance. The Riley Nash deal was a good add, but if this team didn’t go deep in the playoffs in the spring, Nash isn’t going to change that.

Dallas – The Stars added a really good backup in Anton Khudobin, one who is capable of doing a better job than Kari Lehtonen did when Ben Bishop gets hurt (which happens often). Lehtonen had a nice bounce-back year, but I think Khudobin can do better and that should mean at least an extra couple of wins. And that’s how close they were to a playoff spot. Blake Comeau is an underrated two-way guy for the third line who can replace Antoine Roussel minus the penalty minutes. Valeri Nichushkin is a free addition.

Detroit – The Red Wings refuse to go into full rebuild mode, opting instead to tread water. Re-signing Mike Green and bringing back Thomas Vanek strikes me as pointless, though Vanek can be traded at the deadline for some assets. But Green? As for Jonathan Bernier, I think he makes a sneaky-good add because I think he can become Detroit’s starter by next year. In 2018-19, however, it’s hard to have a good starter when the team doesn’t win many games. But keeper leaguers take note – I feel that Bernier found his starting job, he’ll just have to outplay Jimmy Howard and prove it.

Edmonton – Anton Slepyshev reportedly signed to play in the KHL, but adding Tobias Rieder is a bit of an upgrade. Just don’t overrate him, he’s a checker often miscast as a scorer. Kyle Brodziak brings character and was a great add. The Oilers addressed the easy needs to address – but were unable to address the difficult needs. Defensemen. They don’t grow on trees, though.

Florida – Did absolutely nothing. Well, they signed a No.3 goaltender in Michael Hutchinson who now sits behind two Band-Aid Boys and in the end just might end up seeing the most starts! No, this Panthers team will basically be the same team you saw last year, except upgrade Radim Vrbata to Mike Hoffman. This team badly underachieved last year, so perhaps doing nothing yesterday wasn’t so bad.

Los Angeles – The Kings added Ilya Kovalchuk and extended their main guy – Drew Doughty. This team still strikes me as not deep enough, and a couple of pieces short…but then again the Washington Capitals just won a Stanley Cup that way so I can’t really count out the Kings. They just injected 30 goals into their lineup so their offseason is among the Top 10 just from that.

Minnesota – The Wild shed themselves of Tyler Ennis and shored up a lot of depth (Andrew Hammond, Eric Fehr, JT Brown, Matt Bartkowski, Matt Hendricks, Greg Pateryn). Nothing earth shattering.

Montreal – The Habs turned themselves into possible Cup contenders after I’m sorry I can’t keep going and keep a straight face. Habs fans: keep the faith. All big-league teams go through down times like this, just hang in there. Montreal brought back a fan favorite in Tomas Plekanec and added a decent depth winger in Joel Armia. I wouldn’t mind Kenny Agostino as a possible ‘next PA Parenteau’, except the Habs don’t have a John Tavares to turn Agostino into a Parenteau. So that AHL experiment doesn’t look promising. I do like Montreal’s draft selection of Jesperi Kotkaniemi, and their focus should be on prospects and picks. They should use the Ryan O’Reilly deal as a blueprint for what they should try to get back for Max Pacioretty.

Nashville – The Preds didn’t do anything beyond adding two wingers who could be called up when injuries strike – Rocco Grimaldi and Connor Brickley. This team didn’t need to do anything though, as they have a great roster and should already be adding Eeli Tolvanen.

New Jersey – This one’s a head-scratcher and I think I’ll give the Devils my Bizarro-Gold Medal for worst offseason. This team added nobody of substance, and let a fine prospect goaltender in Ken Appleby walk, while re-signing a proven-to-be-weak goaltender in Eddie Lack. Maybe team brass doesn’t feel as we do. Maybe they feel that this team didn’t just play over their heads. Taylor Hall is a superstar, but he’ll never be Hart-Trophy good again. And while getting Marcus Johansson back from injury will be nice, Will Butcher’s second half tells me a sophomore slump is on the way. If they make a few small trades going forward, they can be forgiven because then they’d be taking a page out of my playbook (i.e. skipping free-agent frenzy and address major needs via trade).

NY Islanders – I don’t blame the Islanders one bit for pushing until the last minute to sign John Tavares. He is a generational talent and they needed to throw everything they had at him. Ottawa should do the same with Erik Karlsson. After they lost him, there wasn’t much the Isles could do. Signing Valtteri Filppula and Leo Komarov  addressed needs, and Barry Trotz is a great coach. But they’ll never be able to fill the Tavares hole.

NY Rangers – The Rangers added Fredrik Claesson as a depth defenseman but did nothing else. As a team in rebuild mode, I don’t really mind this. It gives youngsters like Lias Andersson, Filip Chytil, Libor Hajek and Tony DeAngelo a shot at making an impression.

Ottawa – A great draft pick in Brady Tkachuk was mitigated by the panic trade of Mike Hoffman, which was exasperated by their not signing anyone of consequence on July 1st. They needed to throw fans a bit of a lifeline, and if they’re making a play on extending Erik Karlsson this certainly didn’t help matters.

Philadelphia – The Flyers added proven and reliable 30-goal man James van Riemsdyk and then they dropped the mic. Boom. The only other need they could address is goaltending, and they have two of them already in place as a stopgap until their prospect studs are ready. This team is my Honourable Mention – not quite in the Top 3.

Pittsburgh – The team shed salary in Matt Hunwick and Conor Sheary last week so they could sign…Matt Hunwick II? To me that’s all Jack Johnson is: a fringe defenseman who was getting scratched in Columbus late last season.  Then again, the Penguins turned Justin Schultz into a great Top 4 guy and Jamie Oleksiak looked damn good once he came over. So perhaps Johnson has a revival of sorts. Bringing back Matt Cullen was nice, and the Pens did well with bringing in depth pieces Jimmy Hayes and Stefan Elliott.

San Jose – Addition by subtraction by shedding Paul Martin’s contract. And Doug Wilson is, of course, a genius for how he handled the Mike Hoffman flip. But other than extending Logan Couture for eight years (no small feat there, though), the Sharks did nothing Sunday. They’re keeping Evander Kane and I think you should keep an eye on the free agent European they signed a few weeks ago named Antti Suomela, who I think is a better Joonas Donskoi.

St. Louis – The Blues were weak up the middle and they could have used another scoring winger as well as a backup goaltender. Check, check, check and…check! Chad Johnson is a career backup who is a decent, but won’t have any illusions about stealing Jake Allen’s job. So the Blues are all-in with Allen and are hoping that helps. The Blues also signed David Perron and Tyler Bozak, suddenly adding incredible depth to their forward corps. So then they took that depth and turned it into Ryan O’Reilly, shedding Vladimir Sobotka and Patrik Berglund to do it, but losing promising prospect Tage Thompson as well. However, this team now boasts Brayden Schenn – Ryan O’Reilly – Tyler Bozak up the middle. That takes them from one of the weakest teams down the middle to one of the strongest. My Bronze Medal winners, folks!

Tamp Bay – GM Steve Yzerman did nothing more than extend Ryan McDonagh for seven more years. The Lightning could use some help on depth lines, but those players can be signed at Yzerman’s leisure. This is Dobber’s playbook!

Toronto – I’m sure you figured out that the Leafs were getting my Silver Medal, and you’re right. They get that just for landing John Tavares. They also added depth players Josh Jooris and Adam Cracknell, plus an interesting project in Jordan Subban, PK’s brother. Jordan is small at 5-9, and he’s very weak in his own end. His offense has shown signs of coming around at times in the AHL, but he has yet to get over the hump. Back to Tavares. There are a lot of articles coming out right now about how the Leafs do not have to trade William Nylander because they can afford his projected $6.5 million salary next year and still have $3 million next year to play with. But those articles are wrong. Mitch Marner could very well top 80 points this season – do you think he’ll sign for $6.5 million after that while Auston Matthews signs for $11 million? You’re dreaming. If Matthews gets $11 million and Marner outscores him, then Marner is getting $11 million. Now re-jig your article with that small adjustment, Mr. Hockey Journalist. It makes more sense to just trade William Nylander next summer for a great return.

    Vancouver – The Canucks made some fantastic additions for their Stanley Cup run. What’s that you say? … They aren’t expected to go on a run for the Stanley Cup? Oh. Well then why did they sign character guys Antoine Roussel and Jay Beagle? By the time the Canucks are ready to truly need these types of players, their contracts will be up. They each signed for four years, so maybe during the fourth year they can help on a Cup run. Maybe Jim Benning was just thinking (way) ahead?

Vegas – The Golden Knights were deep on defense so it was easy to let Jason Garrison and Luca Sbisa go. Signing Nick Holden wasn’t even necessary, but it couldn’t hurt. Adding Paul Stastny was a big win but losing James Neal (who is reportedly still talking to them) and David Perron hurts. Solid depth minor-leaguers with NHL experience Daniel Carr and Curtis McKenzie were good adds.

Washington – The Cup Champs signed a bunch of depth guys (Nic Dowd, Jayson Megna, Michael Sgarbossa) and lost character guy Jay Beagle. They have just $8 million in cap space and still have so re-sign Tom Wilson and Madison Bowey, plus add another defenseman. And they can do that later.

Winnipeg – The Jets are being very careful about the salary cap and they also have, in my opinion, one of the three or four best rosters in the NHL. An amazing feat. This team has $27.5 million in cap space (leads the league) and just 29 contracts (an NHL-low). They’ll need to cough up $10 million I’m sure to re-sign Connor Hellebuyck, plus another $10-$12 to sign Jacob Trouba, Josh Morrissey and Adam Lowry. So their only move was to sign Laurent Brossoit to come over and be their backup goaltender. The Jets will be looking at small, short-term deals on the open market because after locking in the aforementioned key components, they have next summer to worry about (Blake Wheeler, Patrik Laine, Kyle Connor, Tyler Myers).

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This year, for the Fantasy Guide, I am taking user input as to which players I will dig deep and give my thoughts on for each team. Remember the feature “Dobber’s Lowdown on…”? It will be based on YOUR votes. Voting is taking place in the forum (right here), check in every day for a couple of new teams. And on Facebook we will take the first to players voted for each team – and have a final poll to determine the player I dig deep on. So like our Facebook page here to vote the second time. You don’t have to sign up for the forum in order to vote. So far it looks like Ondrej Kase and Brandon Montour will go to the Facebook polls for Anaheim, and Christian Dvorak and Alex Galchenyuk for Arizona…

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See you Wednesday – I’ll be back for my old day this week as Ian is away on vacation.

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-dobber-reviews-team-by-team-an-eventful-free-agent-frenzy-july-2/

[devils-gatemedia]

If you’ve got tickets for the Gun show, you ought to make it to one in their native Glasgow, and if it’s Glasgow, it needs to be the Barrowland Ballroom (or ‘The Barras’). A venue that any self-respecting music fan HAS to visit at least once in their lifetime, it truly is the stuff of legends. One such legend being when Bowie played the venue in 1997; one of the porcelain stars fell off the ceiling narrowly missing him. Caring not a jot, he simply picked it up and popped it in his pocket as a souvenir. The burgers on sale are also legendary… but for all the wrong reasons. It’s fair to say that Gun had been building up to this gig for some time, and it proved to be a little bit magical.

The job of kicking off the evening fell to Londoners Dirty Thrills, one of the many young British acts that have found a home with Frontiers Music. Blues-rock is very much the order of the day, but with a little dash of funk added just for the sheer hell of it. Not quite full-on Crobot-style funk, but pretty damn close to it, especially on the delicious ‘Law Man’. Vocalist Louis James is a hell of a frontman. At times, his mannerisms and movements reminded me of Steven Tyler (Tyler-isms?). He uses his mic stand as an extra limb and dances like no-one is watching. Dirty Thrills don’t look like your average blues-rock band. Drummer Steve Corrigan is the only band member to opt for the traditional uniform of jeans and a t-shirt, with the other three guys going for a more bohemian look. You would know that they were in a band though, even if you were totally unfamiliar with them. Time on the road with Black Star Riders has enhanced their reputation as a young band to keep an eye out for, ‘The Brave’ being a great example of the confidence within the band.

Another young band to keep an eye out for are Mason Hill. The local boys have been building up a head of steam, picking up plaudits wherever they play, be it a festival appearance or a club gig. Mason Hill t-shirts were in abundance, and while the place would have been packed regardless who Gun picked as special guests, it was a savvy move going with these five guys. For such a young band, they look very comfortable on stage, and it seems that playing in such an infamous venue doesn’t phase them at all. Most of the set is made up of tracks from the debut EP, but we are treated to a sneak peak of the forthcoming album in the shape of ‘I Don’t Care’. While it might seem unfair to single out individual performances, special mention has to go to the powerhouse drumming of CraIg McFetridge, and the heartfelt solos from lead guitarist James Bird. Proof indeed of how hard work pays off. 2018 is a crucial year for the band. Word of mouth has got to the stage that the debut album can’t come soon enough. Watch this space.   

The last time Gun played this venue, vocalist Dante Gizzi was a tad under the weather, and looked rougher than a camel’s arsehole in a sandstorm. Making the gig memorable for him for all the wrong reasons. Fast forward two years, and he’s out to make up for it, the look of sheer joy doesn’t leave his face the entire ninety minutes that he is on stage. Even the most stoney-faced of cynics would have been cheering his corner, as he looked so joyous in putting the nightmare of 2015 behind him. Humble as well, very humble, constantly taking out his ear-piece to soak up the crowd reaction like a open-mouthed kid walking through the gates of Walt Disney World for the first time.

Gun have a rather spiffing new album out there, and the set opens with a quick one-two from ‘Favourite Pleasures’. The album opens with the fast paced ‘She Knows’, and it transfers to the live setting perfectly. This is followed by the foot-stomping T-Rex infused glam rock of ‘Here’s Where I Am’, and the famous ballroom floor is getting a serious workout. It’s a big stage production with risers, piercing strobes, dozens of lights on posts, and a decent sized screen behind drummer Paul McManus. Gun mean business, and it’s a great reflection on the new album that so much of it is aired. The catchy title track sounds stunning live, as does ‘Black Heart’ and ‘Take me Down’. It looks like ‘Tragic Heroes’ is the fan’s favourite from the new album. Gizzi explains that the band collated all the responses about the album into a pie-chart, and this one came out on top. With so many quality moments from a lengthy career to choose from, Gun turn back the years with soaring versions of gems like ‘Don’t Say It’s Over’, ‘Welcome To The Real World’, and a belting version of ‘Steal Your Fire’.

2019 will herald the 20th anniversary of debut album ‘Taking On The World’, and it would be great to catch the band playing it in its entirety. The songs are as memorable today as they were when the band first broke onto the scene and found themselves playing stadiums, opening for The Rolling Stones. ‘Better Days’, ‘Money (Everybody Loves Her)’, ‘Inside Out’, and a glorious version of ‘Shame On You’ sound re-energised in 2017, partly down to the stunning dual guitar work from Jools Gizzi and Tommy Gentry. Looking like a healthier version of Sick Boy from Trainspotting, Gentry is impressive to watch, as he takes turns with founding member Gizzi to throw the requisite shapes while peeling off riff after riff. Trainspotting is back on the agenda as the screen flickers to life near the end of the set. The unmistakable sight of Archie Gemmill dancing round the Dutch defence to score THAT goal in the 1978 World Cup is played over and over again, “I haven’t felt that good since….”. Grainy footage of boxer Benny Lynch is also aired. The 1992 album ‘Gallus’ featured Lynch on the cover, and it’s touching to see the band paying their own tribute to a local hero. Cover versions play a big part in a Gun setlist, and although ‘Word Up’ is aired early on, the band close out the set with a raucous version of ‘(You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (To Party)’. This was one hell of a party, and if you are in the vicinity of Manchester on the 8th of December, or London on the 9th, get your dancing shoes on, and be prepared to bounce!

Review: Dave Stott

Images: Callum Scott 

      Live Review: Gun – Barrowland, Glasgow If you've got tickets for the Gun show, you ought to make it to one in their native Glasgow, and if it’s Glasgow, it needs to be the Barrowland Ballroom (or ‘The Barras’).