#top-drawer songwriting

[weaversweek]

9 "Take a chance on me" - ABBA

writers Benny Andersson, Björn Ulvæus

A toe-tapping tune, a simple, sing-a-long lyric. Short and direct. That is the ABBA sound.

Part of the UncoolTwo50 project, marking the best singles from 1977-99.

ABBA at their most energetic, forceful, and ubiquitous. "Take a chance on me" came out in early 1978, and followed "The name of the game" and "Knowing me, knowing you" to the top spot.

The rhythm is at a pace like someone jogging, which is good because it was inspired by Björn's keep fit regime. 107 bpm is a good cadence for a serious jogger, and the "tsh-tsh-tsh" of trainers on damp city streets quickly became "take a chance, take a chance".

Production is immaculate, even by ABBA's standards. The lads created a wall of sound: polytracked vocals, guitar bass and drums, all layered to get in your ear and stay there. And the film clip, of the various members of the group flirting with each other in a split-screen.

Although the group was evolving, growing up, maturing, there was still a place to be playful. There was still a market for catchy and upbeat love songs, as the Grease soundtrack would prove later in the year. They were massively popular - could have filled the Albert Hall 300 times over

Because it's such an insistent and happy song, it became a staple on radio, and the obvious target of Erasure's affections on their 1992 "Abba-esque" ep (on my longlist of 500, redundant to the originals). The song has a disposable part in the musical Mamma Mia!, sung by comedy sidekick Rosie as she seeks some company. It's been covered by The Chipmunks, James Last, Awolnation, and many many more.

It's the song construction that wins me over. Benny and Björn compose and arrange their songs at the same time, they bear comparison to Burt Bacharach and Irving Berlin. The songs are like those really expensive analogue watches: sure, you can dismantle an ABBA song, but it only works again if you put it together in the same way.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Can I lick your candy, sensei?

Roger and Anita cameo? :0c

If he doesn’t scare you, no evil thing will.

Crewel’s mouth lifted into a smirk, a quiet scoff escaping from the corner of it. He stopped stirring his tea and lifted his stick, pointedly jabbing it in your direction. A glob of something sweet, gray, and half melted glistened at the end of that utensil.

“I don’t know. Can you?” There was a taunting lilt on the one word. “I thought I had drilled better manners into you than that, pup.”

“May I, sensei?” you corrected yourself.

“How obedient of you. Could it be that you’re desperate to receive my praise?”

“Well, you gave Grim a piece of candy for studying the other day, so… I want one too.”

Crewel chuckled as he set his stirring stick on his saucer and next to a spotted tea cup. “Very well. Because you’ve requested it so politely—and, moreover, performed well on our last exam—I will reward you with a treat.”

He reached for a drawer and, pulling it open, produced a lollipop wrapped in cellophane. The sugar had been colored gray and was shaped into the head and neck of a Dalmatian, complete with dark detailing for a nose, collar, its ears, and spotted fur.

You blinked as he deposited the sweet in your hands. “I didn’t realize you kept so many candies on hand.”

“Not many consistently earned,” he replied, his tone slightly sarcastic. “No, I initially stocked up on these thanks to my meddlesome neighbors back in the Queendom.”

“Your neighbors? How do they fit into this?”

“They’re a couple, the overly loving sort. I believe the husband is a songwriter. The wife is an old colleague of mine from my days in the fashion industry.”

Crewel shook his head disapprovingly. “I keep telling them to not gift me things, but it’s in the ear and out the other. The latest item I received was a silicone candy mold. They said the shape of it reminded them of me.”

You held the lollipop up. At this angle, you could better appreciate the details in the design or the dog, and how the sunlight looked when filtered through tinted sugar.

I can definitely see why they thought that. Crewel-sensei loves dogs.

“I hadn’t intended to seriously use it,” Crewel continued with a sigh, “until I realized a ‘candy’-like form is good to take with tea.

“Sugar is loose and grainy, honey is sticky. Both can be deleterious for one’s clothes—but suppose you prepare a sugar syrup and let it to harden with a stick. It results in a lollipop, but it also doubles as a mess-free and reusable method to sweeten one’s tea.”

So that’s what he was doing.

“I guess you owe your neighbors a thank you,” you teased, this time pointing at Crewel with your own sugar-topped stick.

“Perhaps I do.” He reclined in his chair, lips thoughtfully hovering at the rim of his tea cup. “Hmph, now if only they would listen to me for once…”

“No such thing as a dog that can’t learn new tricks,” you joked with a shrug. Off came the cellophane wrapping, and you popped the lollipop in your mouth. “And if anyone can do it, it’s you, Crewel-sensei.”

“Hah. Glad to know that I have your faith, pup.”

He lifted his cup to you—a toast. Then he drank heartily, the tea tasting like triumph.

[whumpsmith-participates]

AI-less Whumptober 2024

Day 17 - Zombies (alt prompt)

Tags/CW: handgag, tapegag, jumpscare, uhhh nurse in distress? Idk man...

Ryan Marz was a hard worker. Between nursing school, singing- and songwriting, his best friend's drinking problem, his mother's debilitating disease, his band suddenly becoming insanely popular, graduating nursing school, touring the United States, his affair with his best friend's boyfriend, unplanned fatherhood, and wanting to maintain his nursing license — it was a miracle Ryan hadn't burned out yet.

He probably would have, if he didn't manage to get so much energy from his fans, as well as his patients. But even with that, he did nearly burn himself out when his one year-old daughter went missing.

The band had been hired to play at a New Year's party, and the two band-babies — as two members' kids were lovingly called — were looked after by their unofficial grandmother. However, tragedy struck when both children were kidnapped violently, leaving their grandmother injured, and the members of the band incredibly worried.

Being unable to sit still, Ryan continued to work. The small clinic was exclusively for the superheroes of the city and their family, and because Dr Slade liked to run a particularly tight ship, they were constantly dealing with a staff shortage, since only few could keep up to his high standards. So between wanting a distraction and not wanting to let his employer down, Ryan donned his scrubs and went about his usual tasks.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring himself to smile while tending to the few patients on the ward, or when greeting people at the reception desk. So when a call came in about the suspicious death of a suspect at the precinct, Slade jumped at the opportunity to occupy Ryan in their morgue in the basement. Asking him to prepare the body for an autopsy while he finished up with a minor surgery.

Ryan couldn't blame him for the sudden change in tasks, and he was glad to get a bit of a break from the "Are you okay?"s he'd been getting from everyone. At least the dead didn't tend to talk back...

He waited for the coroner by the door, holding it open as they brought in a gurney with a black body bag on top.

"That the John Doe from the 124th?" Ryan checked, still wanting to be diligent despite his exhaustion.

"Yup. Sign here, please."

The coroner handed him a clipboard, and Ryan looked it over before signing it and handing it back. Then he took the gurney and began wheeling it towards the elevator.

"Okay, let's get you taken care of, buddy." he said, believing the dead deserved the same kind of attention as the living, "The doctor will be right with you, and then you can rest for good."

Once downstairs, he started preparing the morgue, quickly wiping down the exam table before gently laying the body on it. The young man looked rather sickly, even for a fresh corpse, his black hair just about falling over his eyes, so Ryan gently brushed it aside. His clothes reminded him a bit of Dr Slade, but he was too tired to really wonder why that would be.

He turned around to get the doctor's tools ready. Opening a drawer that was supposed to hold pretty much everything, only to find a couple of items missing. Ryan had always sympathised a bit with Dr Slade's high standards, and today that sympathy reached a peak.

While it was great that they were even able to find temporary staff to fill in on occasion, it annoyed him deeply that they never even seemed to bother to at least try to do things correctly. Like placing a bone saw back where they got it from.

It was an expensive tool specifically designated for the morgue, because no one wants to be operated on with tools that have touched a dead person. So why wasn't the saw in its designated spot inside the drawer?

"Why is the saw not where it's supposed to be?" Ryan said, beginning to look through the other drawers and cabinets, "Where'd they put it? Damn temp nurses..."

When he pulled open the third cabinet, he finally found the saw, thankfully in good condition. He got up, closed the cabinet and turned around to put it on the tool tray with the rest. He noticed his patient was now sitting up, his legs swung over the edge of the table, and gave him his best reassuring smile.

Wait...

Ryan's head jerked back at his 'patient' - the corpse that was not supposed to be able to sit up like that...yet there he was. Sitting. Breathing. Blinking. The works. Ryan promptly dropped the saw, alongside with his jaw, the colour draining from his face as he tried to process what was happening.

The former corpse suddenly leapt off the table, stepping right towards Ryan and clamping a hand over his gaping mouth before he could scream in horror.

"Sorry, sorry!" he said, "I don't want to scare you, but can you please promise not to shout? I can explain everything."

Ryan blinked, his tired mind had already settled on shouting and in the delay there was no room to change his mind.

"WHMMT TMM FMMM?!"

"That is shouting." the ex-corpse said, "But it's okay. Just shout everything out now and when you're done, I'll let you go and we can talk this over properly."

Ryan blinked again, before shouting some more, gesturing wildly at the body bag and at the young man, before trying to push his hand away. The revived young man tightened his grip in response.

"I'm terribly sorry, but I can't let you go until you promise not to shout. Can you do that, please?"

Ryan caught his breath a bit, taking a shaky deep breath in an attempt to calm down, before nodding. The young man warily lowered his hand a bit, giving Ryan a chance to speak. He opened and closed his mouth for a good five seconds, as if searching for the right words to say, before settling on shouting after all.

"WHY AREN'T YOU DEAD—"

The undead young man quickly clamped his hand back over his mouth to silence him again, before his yelling would attract any unwanted attraction.

"You said you wouldn't shout."

"Ymm wmm dmmm!!!" Ryan stubbornly countered, gesturing at the body bag again, before trying to shove the young man off of him.

"I know, I know, and I can explain," he replied, stepping closer and trying to pin Ryan's hands to his chest with his free hand. "But I really need you to stop shouting."

But Ryan continued to try and squirm out of his grip for a good moment, before settling down a bit to catch his breath. The young man chanced it again when he stopped, carefully lowering his hand once more.

"Are you quite finished now?"

"Th-this is a dream," Ryan stammered shakily, "a-a-a nightmare! I fell asleep at work and I better wake up soon— I-I should've listened to Iggy and just stayed home..."

"I fail to see what the big deal is. This is my eighth death...I think." the young man said nonchalantly, "It's comparable to a long nap."

Ryan groaned as he turned away, leaning on the counter, taking deep breaths.

"I need to wake up," he said, "oh my god what if I'm hallucinating? This is the last time I'm listening to Marnie's movie recommendations. All that zombie talk..."

"I assure you I'm real," the young man piped up.

Ryan reluctantly turned back, disappointed to see the re-animated corpse was still there.

"Y-you're real?" he said, "I'm not going crazy— Isn't that just what a hallucination would say? People don't normally get up after dying, except my boss maybe—"

He suddenly gasped, eyes widening as he finally managed to make somewhat sense of the situation.

"Are you a vampire? Or a healer?" he asked.

"No. I am neither of those things," the young man unfortunately said, "I suppose I am what you would consider a zombie, since I have been raised from the dead. I will allow one more question and then I would like to make a request myself."

"Z-zombie?" Ryan sputtered.

"...that's a poor use of your question." the young man deadpanned, "Anyway. Again, really sorry to ask this of you, but I cannot risk you alarming the rest of the staff until I am safely away, so I must tie you up and hide you away. Please, do not resist."

"W-what?!" Ryan said, "No, no no no, y-you can't just walk out! Don't you at least need a check-up? I'm sure Dr Slade knows how to handle...all this!"

He gestured at the young man, smiling awkwardly.

"And maybe please don't hurt me...."

"I won't hurt you, but my mission is too important." the young man said, spotting a roll of medical tape on the counter and picking it up, "Now, hands behind your back, please."

"No?" Ryan said, trying to step away, "S-surely there's a better way to resolve this?"

"If there was, we would be doing that," the young man said, grabbing the nurse's arms and twisting them behind his back to tape them together.

"Ow! Hey, c'mon!" Ryan protested, trying to buck the young man off of him, before suddenly crying out for help. "DR MARKOVITSJ HELP!!!"

The young man thought quickly, pulling a handkerchief from his chest pocket and stuffing it into Ryan's screaming mouth.

"Please— Hgn... Please do not resist. I don't want to hurt you!" he hissed.

"Lmm gmm!" Ryan just grunted, still resisting.

"Please just stop," the young man said.

It almost sounded like he was begging, yet he continued wrangling the nurse's arms behind his back so he could tape his wrists together. Ryan just huffed a curse in response, though he was running out of steam again, allowing the young man to finish restraining his wrists.

With Ryan's wrists secured, the young man then stuck the end of the roll of tape on his cheek and began wrapping it around his head to secure the handkerchief inside his mouth. Ryan desperately shook his head, but that didn't seem to slow the young man down at all, switching to wrapping the tape around his eyes next.

"Again, I'm really sorry about this," the young man said, turning Ryan around and guiding him to take a step to the left, holding onto his arm as he bent over to open one of the lower cabinets.

"Whm? Mm!"

Ryan wasn't even sure what he was trying to say anymore as he was being pushed to his knees, hearing the contents inside the cabinet clatter out as he was being pushed in.

"Someone will come free you soon, I'm sure."

Tape was now being wrapped around his ankles as well. The young man seemed to be using up the roll, before closing the cabinet door on Ryan, leaving him to...hopefully be found soon.

@ailesswhumptober

The corpse™ belongs to @illustriousshadow

Masterlist

Main account

Uhhh idk what to say here. Hope u enjoyed?

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Roses are red

Violets are blue

This doesn't rhyme but

Legacy discovering the wip drawer of a songwriter s/o and volunteering to help them finish the songs together 🥺

oh my goodness i was just listening to La Vaguelette, this is PERFECT

your work-in-progress drawer is filled to the brim with papers old and new; full sheets, folded pages, and torn corners scrawled with ink, the newest drafts on the top and the old, discarded songs that you'll never finish buried at the bottom, never seeing the light of day. it's the one drawer in your office not related to your day job, yet Foul Legacy still sees you spending hours poring over the papers, writing and rewriting and crossing certain words out with a frown. occasionally you'll grin and put down your pen, picking up the parchment to stare at the lyrics in satisfaction, a proud glimmer in your eyes, and other times you'll crunch the paper into a tiny ball and shove it into the drawer, almost like you're ashamed

the next time he catches you with a crumpled paper in your hand he gently catches your wrist, cooing softly and nudging his forehead against your shoulder, urging you to smooth out the parchment. his crystalline eye reads the smudged words written there, clicks and trills falling from his fanged maw as he does, and you tilt your head in confusion. isn't the song awful? aren't the words clunky and jagged, like a patchwork puzzle that no one wants to complete? but Legacy simply chitters, placing the paper into your hands and pushing your pen towards you. as you slowly begin to write again, he hums a tune, voice low and rumbling, chin nestled against your shoulder as he watches a lovely song take form in the ink and a small smile spread across your face again

you offer to sing it with him later, once it's complete, and your two voices fill the house in peaceful harmony

[myloveforhergoeson]

His Girl Friday - Scene 2

Scene 2 - So Superficial, So Immature

Of the many ways one could choose to be woken up, James much preferred the soft, soothing alarm on his phone to the obnoxious ring of the alarm clock his new roommate, Kendall, seemed to love. 

They’d only been in Los Angeles for a few days and those few days were the first time James had ever had to share a bedroom with someone. Safe to say he hated it; Kendall was messy, inconsiderate, had poor taste in decoration, and snored louder than a freight train. All of these factors in combination lead to James not getting his full eight hours of beauty sleep since moving to California and it was beginning to make him more irritable than usual. 

So, he’d brought up the alarm clock thing at dinner last night - baby steps to transform Kendall into the perfect roommate, he figured - and when he awoke to the soft tune of “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” this morning, he figured Kendall had made the shift to be more accommodating. 

A win is a win.

Slowly stirring from his slumber, James rolled onto his back, eyes still shut as he waited for Kendall to turn the alarm off, and recounted the wonderful dream he’d been having. Red carpets, designer clothes, hot dates, endless glasses of champagne… It had been a good one, one that had recurred on and off the last few years honestly, letting him know he and his friends had made the right choice to move west together and form the brand new boy band Big Time Rush.

They’d even made a new friend along the way, a writer they’d met at the Paramount Theater back in Duluth. Logan had dragged her into the mess they’d created of their auditions, and then Kendall shattered her dream right in front of her. In an effort to make it right, it had been his idea to form the band and take Roxanne to L.A. with them which thankfully paid off in the long run; She’d managed to write them a killer song which convinced Griffin to keep them all around after Gustavo fired them.

Running a hand down his face, James wondered what kind of morning person Roxy was. A night owl or an early bird? 

He’d traveled enough for hockey and shared enough hotel rooms with Kendall, Carlos, and Logan, to know they were all morning people, just like he was… Granted he got the proper amount of rest.

Rest which was still being interrupted by “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go.” 

Had Kendall managed to sleep through his alarm?

In an attempt to help, James pulled one of the two pillows he slept on off his cotton sheets and threw it across the dark room, onto his friend’s sleeping form. “Turn it off, Kendall. I’ve got another…” 

It occurred to James he didn’t actually know how much longer he had to sleep, but if he didn’t have some peace and quiet soon he wouldn’t get the right amount he required. As Kendall startled awake, James glanced over to the clock on his nightstand. The eerie red numbers stood out against the inky black of their bedroom. 5:03. 

Is he getting up this early to go to the gym?

James had 3 hours left before he was supposed to get up and head down as well. To him, there was no better way to start the day than with gains. 

“S’not me…” The blond replied, voice still thick with sleep, and James heard him shuffle around under his covers, “S’next door.” 

The boy jumped when he heard his roommate aggressively bang his hand on the wall in what was likely a weak attempt to alert their new neighbor, Roxy, that it was far too early to be making that kind of racket.

However, that did answer his question. Their new songwriter-assistant was proving herself to be more of a morning person than any of them. 

Too bad her routine happened to be interrupting his. Still irritable from not sleeping well enough the night before, and now knowing his precious three hours would only continue to be lost if no one did anything, he pulled himself out of bed, flipped on the light, and dug a tank top out of his dresser drawer. 

“Dude, what the hell!” Kendall hissed, reacting to the light as though he were a vampire. Pulling the covers back over his head, he attempted to hide from the intense brightness of the Palm Wood’s harsh LED lighting. 

But, obviously, James wasn’t going over to Roxy’s alone at five in the morning. How would that look to her? An almost stranger appearing at her door first thing? 

So, he crossed the minuscule amount of space between his twin bed and Kendall’s - apparently Gustavo couldn’t afford an apartment big enough to let everyone have their own room yet - and grabbed the duvet, pulling it off. “Let’s go get Carlos and Logan.”

“No-”

James almost grabbed his ankles and physically dragged him out of the room as the song from the other side of the wall continued to play. “It’s not going to stop and I can’t sleep. And if I can’t sleep, I’m going to make it so you can’t sleep.” 

The noise Kendall made into his pillow was halfway between a scream and a groan. “I know I should have bunked with Logan.”

A short while later, Kendall was up and out of bed and the two made their way down the hall to grab Logan and Carlos, who both were unexpectedly wide awake. 

After a soft knock, Logan’s voice beckoned them inside and they found him reading the mystery novel he’d been tearing through recently, and Carlos was busy playing one of the online games on his computer he was so fond of. 

A quick explanation, because from their room they couldn’t hear anything, and soon they were standing together, still PJ-clad, in front of Roxy’s apartment door.

“No, James, you knock,” Logan poked his friend in the ribs after James had suggested he grab her attention, a clear sign of his displeasure with the entire situation. “You’re the one complaining about your beauty rest. You didn’t need to drag us out here at 5 am.”

He shot some nasty side eye back at his friend, “Roxy gets along better with you.”

His three friends noticed a hint of bitterness in his voice but no one made any attempts to respond to his statement. They knew better than to engage with a crabby James.

And it did annoy him, just a little bit, the instant connection their new friend seemed to share with Logan. The two had known each other all of five minutes before he’d convinced her to sneak into James’ audition and it landed her a fancy, new residence in California and a job at Rocque Records. Just the same as the four of them. 

With an exaggerated eye roll, the boy took a step forward and reached his hand up to knock, before the white door flung open. 

“Hello, boys!” Roxy greeted them, incredibly cheerful for the early time. She was still in her pajamas too, barefaced, but somehow wide awake.“To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

There was a moment of silent shock; James stood frozen in her doorway at her perfect timing before he managed, “Turn. The music. Off,” between a few yawns.

Still coming off his irritation with Logan, James knew he shouldn’t be so demanding right off the gate, but he was far more focused on getting back to bed. 

A look of guilt flashed across her face for a moment before she ran a hand down the doorframe, “I did, I did… I heard you four bickering in the hall so I figured I’d woken you up. Sorry. ”

Boom, problem solved. James was ready to turn right back on his heels and head back to 2-J before she continued. “Want to come in for some tea? I’ve got a kettle on.”

Carlos, Logan, and Kendall looked between themselves, then back to their assistant. 

No… They seriously can’t be considering-

The three of them shrugged and walked into 2-H, leaving him no choice but to follow, making a beeline for her couch in the living room. Unfortunately for them, it was cluttered up by a host of moving boxes Roxy had yet to unpack.

As James looked around the room, he noticed little boxes just about everywhere. For one person, she’d managed to bring so many things, and it appeared as though she hadn’t had the time over the last few days to get everything out of the bins. He said a silent prayer for Mrs. Knight - one woman unpacking army - who had tasked herself with making their apartment as nice as possible, even with all its faults.

Carlos was the first to make a move, moving a few of the boxes to the stained carpet before plopping down and examining the contents. 

“Is everything you own red?” 

As his friend held up a stack of bright red hangers, James held back a scoff. He had a chance to be going through a girl’s things and the first item he’d picked was hangers? 

In response, Roxy just smiled, evidently relieved to have some help in getting her apartment in order, “Of course, it’s my favorite color, plus, it’s super lucky.” Crossing the room to take them from the boy, she said, “Thanks for your help, I was looking for those,” before heading toward her bedroom. “Does anyone else want to help me unpack so you can relax sooner?”

There it is… First Roxy’d woken them up at an ungodly hour and now she was asking them to help her put away her things? How much bolder could this girl get? 

“Did you have to bring all of Minnesota?” James complainied, not moving toward any of the boxes like his friends were, crossing his arms. 

To his surprise, Roxy snorted, leaning against the frame of her doorway with the hangers still in hand. Her gaze flickered toward him as she pointed to hangers at their shared wall and he felt something of a shiver climb up his back. Weird. 

“I walked into the bathroom in 2-J the other day and the entire counter space was taken up by your hair and skincare products. I don’t even want to imagine what your closet looks like.” 

Either she didn’t know not to trash talk with a hockey player or she was trying and failing to compliment him on his impeccable wardrobe. Maybe if James had gotten enough sleep he’d be better at deciphering just what his assistant was getting at. 

“It’s very organized, unlike this place, for your information.” 

He watched her nostrils flare and a small ounce of pride swelled in his chest. If she wanted to ruin his morning, she’d have to deal with the consequences; Now she was just as bothered as he was.

When she opened her mouth to respond, James found himself leaning in, ready to roll with whatever punches she was about to throw when Logan cleared his throat and placed himself inbetween the two. “I’m going to go grab some dishes, eggs, and bread from next door so we can have some breakfast. James, would you like to join me?”

Unfortunately for James, Logan was deceptively strong, managing to pull his yawning friend out of 2-H before he was able to agree. 

The journey back to their place next door wasn’t long, but the tension he felt radiating off his friend made the air uncomfortable when they managed to step back into 2-J. Another downside to Logan and Roxy being so close: He was beginning to be awfully protective of her. 

I wonder if he likes her.

James was snapped out of his train of thought as Logan trudged over to the kitchen and noisly pulled five plates down from the cabinets Mrs. Knight had filled with their dishes the previous day. “What’s your problem?” 

A bold question, one he presumed was likely a trap for Logan to scold James for his behavior toward their assistant. “Nothing, she just interrupted by beauty rest, that’s all.” 

“Well, knock it off,” Logan continued, now opening the fridge to grab some eggs and butter, pointing to the silverware drawer at a hint for what he needed James to get. “She apologized already. If you don’t want to help her unpack, just stay here and go back to bed.” 

The taller boy rolled his eyes, quietly stepping over to the silverware drawer and picking out the necessary forks and knives before reaching into the cabinet above and pulling down a sliced loaf of bread. Logan knew full well James’ famous FOMO wouldn’t allow him to do that. 

“Besides, I thought you two were getting along? Wasn’t she the first one who comforted you about the audition back Kendall’s? And you pulled her out of the pool when Katie pushed us all in.” 

Turning one of the knives in his hand, James remembered the heat of her skin as he’d held her, making sure she was able to swim before he let her go. He didn’t like where this conversation was going, especially if Logan was trying to dig for information about his feelings toward her. 

“I’d much rather hang out with girls who are actually famous, like the Jennifers. They’ve already been in a ton of movies - Being seen with one of them is just a step closer to stardom.”

“And hanging out with the girl who’s writing our songs isn’t?” 

Though the other boy had his back turned as they made way for the door now that they had gathered what they needed, James knew the look on Logan’s face. His eyes would be narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. Disappointment, a hint of annoyance. Just like he always looked when I talked about stardom back home.

“Dude, think about it. We’re about to be one of the biggest pop bands in the world. Stupid rich and stupid famous. If I date one - or all three - of the Jennifers that’ll solidify my spot as one of Hollywood’s hottest teen heartthrobs. But there’ll be girls for you guys too - Kendall and that Camille girl seem to have a thing-”

“They what?” Logan coughed, whirling around to look at his friend with brows practically glued to his hairline. “Did Kendall tell you that?” 

There was something else, James noticed as he was taken aback by his friend’s reaction. Logan’s cheeks were quickly turning a pale pink. 

Interesting. That rules out my Logan likes Roxy theory.

Deciding not to tease his friend, James went on, “No, I just assumed. But like I was saying - Famous people date famous people. They don’t hang around with the people who work behind the scenes, get it?” 

Logan blinked, taking in the statement his friend had just produced as they reached the door to 2-H. “You’re such an asshole when you don’t get enough sleep.”

As they stepped into the apartment and set their items down on her small kitchen table, they heard a bit of commotion from her bedroom.

“-Looks like Roxy’s boyfriend made her a special mixtape!” Kendall’s voice rang out.

Before either of them realized it, they were rushing toward the room, getting wedged in the doorframe as both of them tried to enter at the same time. 

“You didn’t mention…” James huffed in his assistant’s direction, shoulder squeezed against Logan’s as he attempted to step into her bedroom first.

“...That there was a boyfriend!” Logan finished, somehow managing to slip off of his side of the doorframe and get inside. 

But, of course, James couldn’t care less if she did or didn’t. He was just seeking new things to annoy her about the next time she managed to wake him up far too early. He already decided he had some prime material as he glanced around her room, taking in all of the posters she had taped up to her walls. Despite their similar taste in celebrities, he was spotting a few bands he could poke fun at her for liking. 

The tape Kendall was holding was hastily put in her tape player and began to roll. 

As a man’s voice filled the room, he noticed a flicker of movement from where his assistant stood. Her arms wrapped around her torso, color draining from her face as the recording rolled, “Hi, Rox, it’s Mag. I can’t thank you enough for all of your hard work you’ve been pouring into our band these past few months. So, I thought I’d make us all a CD - well, in your case, a cassette tape - that we can listen to to remember all of our favorite songs whenever we need some inspiration. This is yours, I’ll make a copy for myself and one for Dani to have, and that way we can all stay connected no matter where we are! Thanks for all the hits you’ve written us! Here’s the first song - my favorite song, please enjoy.”

It appeared as though Roxy had been in a band before coming to work for Big Time Rush. Did she decide to leave them behind to come and work with us? 

If James were her boyfriend, he certainly wouldn’t be too happy with her if that were the case. Especially if they were in a band together. 

Besides, long-distance relationships didn’t work out anyway - At least that’s what Kendall and his freshman year girlfriend, Bella Saltzman, had decided when he travelled to much for hockey games. 

This tape seemed far too personal for them to be hearing, but James didn’t think it give off any romantic vibes. Something about it bugged Roxy though, he could tell as she stood paralyzed listening to it, until the guitar chords of a song he’d heard on the radio came from the speakers. 

The four of them watched as Roxy made her way to the player, popping the tape out. 

“You didn’t rewind my wake-up songs, jerk,” She grumbled in Kendall’s direction, lightly shoving him out of the way with her shoulder. 

The way she thought she’d be able to shake him was slightly cute, James decided, watching with interest as she shoved the back of a pencil into one of the two holes on the tape and wound it back up. 

“Also, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Hard to believe, the boy told himself, running a hand through his hair as the five of them tried to move past the awkwardness of the moment together. But something about that guy seemes to bother her more than she’d like to admit.

Which, as cruel as it sounded, was good for him. The more concerned she was with Minnesota guys, the more he didn’t have to worry about her tapping into his pool of potential matches in Los Angeles.

[mywifeleftme]

304: Guy Clark // Better Days

Better Days Guy Clark 1983, Warner Bros.

I realized two things listening to Guy Clark’s Better Days today. One, is that I’m partial to lyricists who tell me about finding things they’d shoved in a drawer and forgotten about. It suggests they’re old enough to have possessed a drawer for a long time; that they prefer to use concrete imagery to tell me the things they’re repressing instead of blathering about abstractions or using therapyspeak; and that their writing’s concerned with memory and how it’s kept. Guy Clark’s lyrical universe is almost unparalleled in its collection of drawers, work benches, knives, hammers, bolts, and wrenches. He has a song called “Stuff That Works,” and it’s just a list of what it says on the tin.

The other thing I realized is that I’m more game for what I’ll simply refer to as “Jimmy Buffett Shit” than I was ready to admit before I took on this project. My favourite song by forty knots on this consummate songwriter’s record isn’t anything writerly—it’s the marinacore pop rocker “Supply and Demand.” We open with a flip-flop tapping take-off of the “Jack & Diane” intro, interpolate a little Chuck Berry, gloop on some AOR lead guitar, and put anchor in Margaritaville for an easy-drinking near-nonsense chorus that absolutely will not leave my head. It rules. Clark’s always had this gear—the song feels like a throwback to his slightly-underrated second record, Texas Cookin’—and it turns out a lot of my favourite songwriters have it too, from honorary Parrothead Jerry Jeff Walker to lupine Californian Warren Zevon. The problem was always Jimmy himself, it turned out. I’m absolutely down for hedonistic goof rock, but Jimmy was a hack.

Anyway, Better Days will top few Clark fans’ personal rankings, but I’ve never heard a record of his that was a complete miss. Better Days is one of his swings at pop country (1983 style), so there’s a fair amount of varnish on the carpentry compared to rustic Americana-era efforts like Dublin Blues (which contains a superior take on the best song here, “The Randall Knife”) or My Favorite Picture of You, but the craftsmanship is true. Clark offers a gently rollicking version of Townes Van Zandt’s sly “No Deal,” while “Uncertain Texas” finds Clark dueting with sideman Vince Gill, who sounds ready for the stardom he was still a few years off from. “Tears” is probably the most traditional honky tonk Clark ever cut, and “Homegrown Tomatoes” remains a nice little back porch retread of his debut’s standout “Rita Ballou.”

Add this one to Clark’s long list of working stuff.

304/365

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Small Stories Hour: Partners

Requiem in Amethyst

↳ "Well I can't just ask Denny to book me if he's got the house full," Ben said, perching the phone receiver between his shoulder and his ear. He swiveled in his chair, facing his desk with a pen poised over a notepad to jot down important numbers. "I don't wanna overshadow the other acts there. No, I'm not gonna push anyone out of their slot, get over yourself. Get me a date when he's free, and I'll—"

A gift bag dropped onto the desk in front of his face, and he stared at it, silent. Glossy white with rich navy tissue paper sticking out in a perfect triangle over the top. The handles flopped down at the sides.

"…Mickey, I'll call you back."

"No, you won't," Mickey chuckled before hanging up.

Reagan grinned upon dropping onto the couch beside the desk. He gestured to the gift. "Open it."

"How'd you get in my office?" Ben asked.

"Well," Reagan sighed, scratching the bit of rare stubble on his jaw. "I knocked on the front door of your house, your wife answered, and I asked real nice if I could come inside. I think she said yes. Then I walked up the stairs, and here we are."

"I need to hire better security." Ben tugged a handle of the bag to pull it slightly apart. "What's the occasion?"

"I love you."

Ben cautiously tilted the bag toward himself and pried it open. "Gag me, that's all the excuse you ever need, isn't it? What…the hell, Reagan…?" He removed a small designer box from the bag, running the tip of a finger over the embossed gold lettering of the logo. His nose immediately scrunched. "Oh, god, Is this your way of asking me to produce your next film?"

"I know I spoke plain English just now." Reagan tapped the logo. "Open the goddamn box, Benny."

After a suspicious glance at Reagan, who winked conspiratorially at him, Ben opened the box. Sat on a tiny gray pillow within was a pair of amethyst and platinum cufflinks with gold embellishments, sparkling at him under the lamplight of his home office.

Reagan silenced him before he could even say anything. "It's your birthstone. You needed a bit of color—you only own neutral suits these days. And I know blue's your favorite color but, personally, I think it washes you out, and you're already getting paler by the minute."

He looked, at that moment, to think he was a complete genius for the thought he put into the gift. He watched Ben expectantly, yet Ben knew by peering into his face and possessing almost forty years of friendship under his belt that Reagan wasn't expecting a thank you or any kind of praise, but some kind of clinical confirmation that he remembered a couple of details about his best friend correctly.

And he always did.

"They're beautiful." Ben propped an elbow on the desk. "I'd pointed the diamond ones out to Faye a couple of months ago, before my birthday."

"I know. You told me about them and I waited for her to get them for you." Reagan cleared his throat and twiddled his thumbs over his crossed knees. "…She really dropped the ball on that one."

"It's not like she had the time or the opportunity, jackass," Ben admonished. "Besides, it's material, and…" He caught the light on a facet of the amethyst. "Who am I kidding; they're gorgeous."

"She can still get the diamond ones for you."

Ben closed the box again. "Yeah, yeah." He smiled at Reagan. "Quit tryin' to seduce me with shiny things and sing my fuckin' song already."

Reagan hummed his amusement. "I've recorded, at the very least, eight hundred thousand of your songs. At this point, you're my songwriter at the exclusion of all else. Let me give some other people a chance, hm?"

"Sure. I wasn't informed that you'd given up on your career, but sure."

"Well, it kinda makes it hard for our professional split to remain credible when you're constantly working with me, doesn't it?"

Ben halted in the midst of tucking the box away in the drawer of his desk. His eyes fell onto the logo of the high-end jeweler once again and he was hit with a sudden and unexpected wave of sadness. Shoulders slumped, he refrained from reminding Reagan that he never wanted Gilmore and Murray to split in the first place—a fight for twenty years ago, not today. Instead, he nodded.

"It's alright, I'll hold it for you. It's not goin' anywhere." He smiled again, genuine, and shut the drawer. "Faye and I were gonna go out to eat later, did you wanna come?"

"Yeah, actually. Maura flew out to New York last night so I'm operating alone." Reagan stretched an arm across the back of the couch. "She challenged me to take an older woman home with me this time. I said I could probably do that."

Ben lifted his eyebrows. "Older than you? So…dead."

"It's not—fuck you." Reagan laughed. "Does being friends with the head of a massive crime syndicate mean nothing to you anymore?"

"Oh, don't threaten me with a good time, you Celtic bastard," Ben grunted, standing from his chair. "Let's go. I'm paying this time."

"It's about time you paid me back for all the years I've wined and dined you, cheapskate."

Ben slapped the back of Reagan's head on his way past.

[bitcoinprophets]

Blake Shelton - Bible Verses (Lyric Video)

oh my Lord, what a great song! i know my lyrics and these are top drawer! I ain't ever worn a haloDon't suppose I ever willAs far as savin' me goesIt's a battle up a hillBut I keep climbin', tryin', fightin' Got a King James in the dresserAnd I take it out sometimesBut Lord knows, I ain't measured up to what's insideThey say, but that's okayBut I keep prayin' for the day That I can open up that good bookAnd Heaven don't look like it's out of reachWhen it feels like those apostles are giving me the gospelAnd not the third degreeI just want it to readLike Bible verses and not the Bible versus me I woke up in last night's clothesAnd it's whiskey on my lipsIf God's lookin' down, I knowHe's really lookin' down on thisBut I have faith that I can changeI keep prayin' for the day That I can open up that good bookAnd Heaven don't look like it's out of reachWhen it feels like those apostles are giving me the gospelAnd not the third degreeI just want it to readLike Bible verses and not the Bible versus me I'm just tryin' to give myself a little grace'Til those words and me get on the same page And I can open up that good bookAnd Heaven don't look like it's out of reachWhen it feels like those apostles are giving me the gospelAnd not the third degreeI just want it to readLike Bible verse and not the Bible versus me Source: Musixmatch Songwriters: Joe Fox / Andrew Peebles / Brett Sheroky Bible Verses lyrics © Situation Songs Read the full article

[ptolomeas]

 “ well, a lot of things have changed, piper. ” bunny half watches ( to make sure things go where they belong, certainly not to observe piper — a study in girlhood torn apart by their own teeth, something to do with never being able to put a shattered vase together perfectly because the cracks and the glue will always be visible ) and half works, biting the inside of her cheek while she gathers abandoned glitter pens sprawled throughout the arts and crafts center, bending at the knees to pick up the ones scattered on the floors and counting the ones in hand. “ it doesn't matter. ” her jaw, for a moment, remains hung, lips parted as if there's something more for her to say, but she swiftly shuts it. piper is right, after all —  five minutes is too long. when the pens are gathered, she places them in the correct drawer and starts to organize the construction paper by color. ROYGBIV, red goes on top, violet on the bottom. with a shake of her head, she says, changing her mind, “ the thing that changed is that we used to be friends and now we're not  ...  i never voluntarily spent time in here, not really. ” no, she would accompany piper here, mostly, or come when she felt creative. her first few months at camp, letting out her paranoia and her anger and her sadness creatively because her best friend was a creative. when loving someone, bunny becomes them, consumes them, takes their loves and their interests and devours them to understand their passion for it — and with piper, the task wasn't ever too difficult; a songwriter and a theatre actress are both performers, they both tear at their souls to produce something that can carve a chest open. it was never difficult with piper, not at the beginning. bunny takes the construction paper and puts it back where it belongs.

IT WAS EASY TO SEE THE PAST versions of them juxtaposed across the people they were today. piper, a pen in hand. bunny, holding the page up so that she could scrawl on it. chiron, disapproving. there had been a certain relief in his expression when their friendship had fallen apart — it had quickly faded when he realized that by herself, piper's only use was decorative much like the paintings, tapestries and other objects littered throughout the camp. her lips are still pursed, head tilted almost petulantly. she knows that bunny is lying. they both know where the majority of this stuff goes: it comes from being two halves of a whole. piper, of course, is still intimately familiar with the children of dionysus. ( although, really, that could be explained away by her proximity to xander. ) " five minutes is far too long, " she agrees, her censure as scorching as the sun. she peers at her coolly for another brief moment. " let's keep it under three and we'll be stellar. " turning away, she moves to pick up one of aforementioned glitter pens. " these go in that drawer over there. " it's easier to look at her out of the corner of her eye. " you used to know your way through here. what changed ? " maybe nothing, perhaps everything. piper could never leave anything well enough alone.

[ramseyesscom]

Issue One Hundred and Thirty Seven

Subscribe to Sincere, Positive Things if that’s what you really want to do!

There are some songs that are hard to imagine being written. Some songs have just always been in the air. Somebody didn't sit at a desk and try to figure out how to rhyme "stand beside her" with "guide her," did they? Turns out somebody did. And that same guy also put pen to paper on "White Christmas," "Puttin' on the Ritz", "There's No Business Like Show Business", “Anything You Can Do (I Can Do Better)", "Happy Holiday", "Cheek to Cheek" and somewhere in the neighborhood of 1,500 more. Irving Berlin: New York Genius is a fantastic biography of the author of those songs that's actually been out for a few years now but just made it on to my nightstand. The book chronicles the 101 years that Berlin lived which saw him writing music through two World Wars, the birth of recorded music, radio, movies, and television. And through it all, he was constantly pushing, still trying to prove that he had it in him to top himself and create that next big hit. So driven to continually produce, Berlin refused to listen to anyone else's music, shutting car radios off immediately after hoping into them. Long after he had given up chasing that next hit song, he still maintained an office that he reported to at least three times a week. Berlin was devoted to music and the public were devoted to Berlin.  If the story of this songwriter sounds at all interesting, I have even better news for you: the author who tells his story in New York Genius is James Kaplan, a biographer who has a truly unique way of delivering facts and data without making it sound like an infodump. His two-volume biography of Sinatra moves around at a clip, and does an incredible job of putting you right next to Frank at every turn. It can be a little tougher with Berlin, with records from the 19th century being a little spottier, but you’ll never notice as Kaplan fills in the gaps of those early years with superb analysis of his earliest published songs. Irving Berlin: New York Genius is an inspiring, lively journey through one of America's most important songwriters and a reminder that there's always somebody there behind those tunes we take for granted. New York Genius

I guess I'm not... sad that the iPod has been discontinued, but I am feeling something. There were many, many items that I asked for while growing up, some were cool (Boba Fett's Slave I), some were incredible (Tiger Deluxe Talkboy being a real standout) but of all the things that were put on Christmas lists and saved allowances for, I've got to say, my first iPod is probably the thing that most lived up to the hype. It truly changed everything about the way I listened to music, and broadened my knowledge of music, more than any other thing. I also played hours of that stupid Breakout game. I recently found my last iPod, a 5th generation one, in my sock drawer of all places. I dug up a cord and plugged it in, and lo and behold, it still worked. It now sits in my car as an external music hard drive, where it will live out the remainder of its days until it stops working some day. What a nice little gadget. Apple's official goodbye is linked below.

GOODBi

[gameofdrarry]

Wizards Hearts Smut Recs: Semi-Public Sex

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here. Players could opt in to an additional suit of 13 cards, all themed around various popular smut tropes.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 (We'll Call This Fixer-Upper) Home by phdmama Rated:  Explicit Words:  52520 Tags: Rock Star Draco Malfoy, Artist Harry Potter, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post Traumatic Growth, mental health, Original Character(s), Original Character Death(s), (all those are in the past), Recreational Drug Use, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Hooking up, Dating, Semi-Public Sex, Growth and Healing, Mention of Suicidal Ideation, Getting Together, Boys Kissing, Falling In Love Summary:  Draco Malfoy hasn’t set foot on English soil in ten years. After the war, he fled to America, where he found himself in a community, and healed himself through following his heart into music. He’s now the lead singer and songwriter for an internationally known band, who have come back to headline the Wiltshire Music Festival. But as Draco is about to learn, his past isn’t as far away as he might have believed, and his future may hold more than he ever could have dreamed. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Under the Cover of Darkness by manixzen Rated:  Mature Words:  2046 Tags: Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Making Out, Snogging, Frottage, Clothes On, Post-Hogwarts, Party Games, Seven Minutes In Heaven Game, Sort Of, Minor Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley, HP Kinktober 2020, One Shot Summary:  Thanks to Pansy, Draco's stuck at a party with a whole bunch of drunk Gryffindors. And now they want to play party games. If only Draco can slip out unnoticed before this gets any worse. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Starkissed by Zigster Rated:  Explicit Words:  32631 Tags: Digital Art, Fated Markings, Tattoos, But Not Tattoos, Italy, Venice, Vacation, Beaches, Crashing Waves, Deception, Intrigue, Carnevale di Venezia, Muggle Photography, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Body Worship, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Rimming, Enthusiastic Giving of Head, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Tattooed Harry Potter, Pining Harry Potter, Harry Potter is Obsessed with Draco Malfoy, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy With Pink Hair, Original Characters as Draco's Flatmates, They Have Lots of Plants, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, H/D Sex Fair 2020 Summary:  “Your tattoos!” The intruder says, boldly stepping over Ron’s chaise and crossing in front of Hermione to get to Harry, eyes wide and hungry. Harry immediately sits up, pulling the towel draped across the back of his chair down over his shoulders. “No! Don’t cover them. They’re beautiful.” Harry hopes an indulgent trip abroad will help shake him out of the doldrums of his life. What he finds once he gets to Venice is more than he ever expected. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Ardour of Karma by XxTheDarkLordxX Rated:  Explicit Words:  17118 Tags: Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Auror Harry Potter, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Getting Together, Cursed Harry Potter, Scents & Smells, heightened sense of smell, Porn With Plot, Erections, Inappropriate Erections, Sexual Fantasy, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Mutual Masturbation, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Switching, Face-Fucking, Dildos, H/D Erised 2019 ,Office Sex, Desk Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Comeplay Summary:  “Malfoy knows something is going on with you and unless you both want to go back to fighting and death glares, you should fix it.” “How do I do that? Just waltz up to him and say, ‘I know I’ve been a prat but your scent makes my dick swell. How’s your day?’” “Mind repeating that?” The familiar drawl had Harry’s throat clamming up as his blood ran cold. Oh no. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Brighter than the sun by migrating_coconut Rated:  Explicit Words:  3490 Tags: Humor, Fluff and Smut, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Together, Harry Potter in a swimsuit, Gay Disaster Draco Malfoy, Semi-Public Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Inappropriate Erections, HP Drizzle Fest 2020, Community: hp_drizzle Summary:  Draco was promised a relaxing day at the beach. This was certainly not it! ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 the best treasure is up Harry’s arse by bafflinghaze Rated:  Explicit Words:  2891 Tags: Established Relationship, Smut, Consensual Somnophilia, Anal Fingering, So Much Fingering, Top Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Potter, Light Dom/sub, Prostate Milking, Anal Plug, Light Dom Draco Malfoy, Bratty Sub Harry Potter, Sassy Harry Potter, Post-Hogwarts, H/D Sex Fair 2020, Porn with Feelings, Dirty Talk, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot Summary:  Harry and Draco probably had a tumultuous time getting together, filled with angst and denial and pining and brooding. However, this is not that story. Here, Draco makes Harry come (more than once). ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Touch Me Fall by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill) Rated:  Explicit Words:  23380 Tags: Rentboys, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Shower Sex, Top Draco, Switching, Exhibitionism, Barebacking, Prostitution, Foot Massage, Atrocious Texting Summary:  Malfoy was such a ponce. And he was a complete snob. And he was so fucking fit Harry wanted to jump him where he sat. It would be too easy to forget his objective tonight: to really, really, really get Malfoy out of his system. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 I guess that's just me, honey, I guess that's how I'm built by crimsonheadache Rated:  Explicit Words:  4048 Tags: formal wear, Semi-Public Sex, Sub Harry, Dom Draco Malfoy, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Getting Together Summary:  The way they adorned Potter’s body like they were made for him made him want to kiss his seamstresses’ feet. The lines, the colors, brought out his skin tone like nothing ever could. Well, except perhaps the ropes Draco keeps in the bottom drawer of his bedside table. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Catching the Niffler by  keyflight790, tsundanire Rated:  Explicit Words:  10377 Tags: Party, Party Games, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Accidental Voyeurism, Flashing, Fellatio, Fellating an Inanimate Object, Frottage, Orgasm, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Simultaneous Orgasm, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Girls Kissing, Everyones Kissing, Masturbation, Public Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Public Hand Jobs, Public Sex, Rimming, In Public, Everythings in Public in this Fic, Top Harry Potter, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Cunnilingus, Dry Humping, Anal Sex, Second Base, Neville makes it to Second Base, We're so proud of him, and Hannah, Boys In Love, eventually, Happy Ending, more than one, wink wonk, Friends Writing Together, This is what happens when BFFs write together, we make no apologies, except for Terry Boot, sorry Terry, eighth year Summary:  “Tonight, we’re going to play Catch the Niffler.” Harry heard a couple of squeals from around the room and he let out a breath. Last week they had played Spin the Bottle, and Harry could count on more than one hand the witches that had spelled the glass to point to him during their turn. Harry had tasted enough sticky lip balm and cherry chapstick to last a lifetime. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 in and out by M0stlyVoid Rated:  Explicit Words:  2217 Tags: Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Semi-Public Sex, Coming In Pants, Politics, Hand Jobs, Anal Fingering Summary:  The exact nature of Harry and Draco's relationship might not be public, but that doesn't mean nothing about it is. You just need to know when to pay attention. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 knickers in a twist by technicolourbeat Rated:  Explicit Words:  86461 Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Reconciliation, Smut, Crossdressing, Boys in Skirts, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Semi-Public Sex, Riding, Topping from the Bottom, Draco Malfoy in a Skirt, Rimming, Lace Panties, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Secret Relationship, Fuckbuddies, Shameless Smut, Sexual Roleplay, Fluff and Humor, Porn With Plot Summary:  Draco loses a bet to Pansy and Blaise which leaves him wearing a skirt for a whole week. Harry discovers something about himself. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 To Change the Subject by gracerene Rated:  Explicit Words:  1252 Tags: Established Relationship, AurorsAuror Partners, Auror Harry, Auror Draco Malfoy, Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Office Sex, Face-Fucking, POV Harry, Post-Hogwarts, HP: EWE Summary:  Harry comes up with a more enjoyable alternative to arguing. ❤️ Read on AO3

[mashup-writing]

Red Velvet Making Up For Slapping Their S/O

--------------------------------------------------

Requested? ☑

"Looking back on the things I've done."

--------------------٩(◕‿◕｡)۶--------------------

Tick tock, tick tock.

"That damn clock has never been this annpying before." She says to herself as she stands up from her seat on the couch. It's 4 in the afternoon and you're usually home by this time, maybe you got caught up in traffic or maybe something held you up at work or maybe you just don't want to see her.

She shakes her head, starting to pace back and forth infront of the coffee table. Thinking negatively won't help her now, although it's difficult not to when the two of you wouldn't be in this situation had it not been for her failure to keep herself in check. She hopes that you'll come home today, instead of some other day within the week, it has been three days after her mistake however she doesn't blame you if you decide to take more time away from her. At her constant pacing combined with her lack of attention, she ends up accidentally bumping her leg on the side of the table and it makes her sit back down. As she nurses her leg which she's sure will bruise some time tonight, her mind is brought back to how she's spent the past three days preparing her apology.

Bae Joohyun/Irene:

Unsure

Irene spent the last three days taking her stress out on the apartment. Doing laundry, mopping the kitchen, dusting everything, sweeping everywhere, washing every single dish that ends up on the sink instead of stacking them up. She figured you'd like time alone so she refrained from picking up her phone and spamming you with apologies.

She's made dinner, recalling how you used to tell her that you loved her cooking so much so that you'd always choose eating at home instead of outside whenever Irene felt like making things.

She's never been great at talking, and although she's surely apologize verbally she hopes that her gestures can do most of the legwork for her. Irene fidgets on the couch once more. Glancing at the clock on the wall.

5:00

As the sound of jingling keys reaches her ears, Irene smiles in relief and her eyes tear up, glad that she has a chance to make up for her wrongdoing.

Kang Seulgi:

Gestures

She had gone out and gotten ingredients for your favorite smoothie and meal, as well as a bouquet of flowers. She's not as great as her group leader when it came down to cooking but she does her best as it's the thought that counts in her mind. The bouquet, because she's unsure what says "I'm sorry." other than words and she didn't want the apology to feel as if she hadn't given thought to it.

Because for the past three days, all she's done is think about how she can apologize without getting sidelined and talking your ear off. She figures she'll wing the apology speech.

But as the clock reads 5:00 and the lock to the front door starts to turn, all that Seulgi's mind seems to come up with to say is a panicked "I'm sorry!"

Son Seungwan/Wendy:

Paper

Wendy knew she wouldn't be able to face you and keep her thoughts in order long enough to say a coherent apology while looking you directly in the eyes. So the songwriter did what she does best for the past three days she wrote and wrote and wrote.

She wrote down all the apologies that came to her mind whenever they came to her mind, she wrote the things she wanted to say to you for the past three days only to find out that you weren't there with her, and she's kept the letters neatly stacked on the top drawer of her nightstand.

As the sound of the front door opening reaches her ears, Wendy hurriedly scrambles to the bedroom to grab the letters from her safe keeping place.

Park Sooyoung/Joy:

Determined

Sooyoung is quiet in her solitude, but more determined than ever. She refuses to give up without a fight, not when you're her one in a million. So as she's left alone she does her research on how to not act so impulsively in heated situations, talks to her group members, asks them for advice, does her best to keep her solo schedules scheduled so that you'll have more time together should you decide to take her back- She desperately hopes you will.

She's never been a great cook, she's not even on the level of a good cook if she's being honest, but she does know how much you love food and so she's kept her ordering app on hand, non-stop for the past three days, always ready to hit "Place Order" once she's sure you're coming home.

As your eyes meet from across the room when you step foot inside of the apartment, Sooyoung falters with the phone as her eyesight turns blurry. As her chest starts to constrict with emotions she doesn't know how to process, she can't help but feel as if she's the one who has come home as she feels your presence from the other side of the room.

Kim Yerim/Yeri:

Stuck

The past three days felt like a torturous breeze to Yerim. The events had never left her mind and every time she walks into the bedroom, the sound of the slap and the sound of the shutting door rings in her ears. She tries to get on with life as normally as she could, doing her utmost to take care of the apartment and herself because you always did chastise her workaholic self for her neglectful habits.

Yerim knows she'll apologize, she's been wanting to ever since the second she made her mistake. But she doesn't know how she's going to do that, she's unsure as to what sort of gesture can convey tht she fully regrets what she has done. She's spent the days trying to come up with a plan but none of them felt natural. Planning never was her thing, she was always more spontaneous than the rest of her group members. As she takes this detail into account, she couldn't help but scoff bitterly at herself as that spontaneity is what led to this situation in the first place.

But all that's in the past, and what matters is the "Now" Especially when you're no less than an arm's length away from her. Yerim has trouble meeting your eyes and she struggles to say the two words she wants to say. As she feels your arms tentatively wrap around her, engulfing her in that feeling of safety she's missed for what felt like a lifetime- Yerim lets the tears go as she whispers countless apologies into your shoulder.

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[sprnklersplashes]

songwriter!janis fic (unrequited crush, no-very-happy-ending) 

also on ao3

It all started because she loved Taylor Swift when she was in middle school. Who is she kidding, she still loves Taylor Swift, but that’s where all this began. A middle school girl’s obsession with Taylor Swift. A confused, sad girl with a broken heart and smudged black eyeliner, finding refuge in lyrics about loneliness and anger and revenge. They became anthems for her, mantras to mutter when the warzone of middle school became too much for her.

“Someday, I’ll be living in a big old city, and all you’re ever gonna be is mean.”

“Cause I knew you were trouble when you walked in.”

“I can still see you, this ain’t the best view.”

It amazes her. It’s honestly as if Taylor Swift has managed to look into her life and given her a bundle of songs for whatever she needs. For when Regina has thrown her one too many snide looks, for when she’s standing at the door of North Shore High on her first day, for when she eats lunch alone, for when her mom is the best mom she could have asked for, for when she and Damian are lying on the grass in her backyard, staring up at the sky, laughing at absolutely nothing. The songs become the soundtrack to her life, the chords and those raw, honest lyrics an emotional outlet she so desperately craves. Taylor, and her songs, become a confidant, almost a close friend who always knows what to say.

With all that in mind, perhaps it was only a matter of time before she asks for a guitar for Christmas. She’s fourteen, braces and a slight lisp, and jumps up and down like a mad woman when she sees it under the tree.

She practices for three days straight, until her fingers bleed, but Should’ve Said No is the first song she learns off by heart. She yells the lyrics with maybe a little too much passion, but her parents applaud her nonetheless.

Like she said, that’s how it all started.

Because that same Christmas, she realises that screaming her feelings while playing guitar actually feels pretty cathartic. And that if it worked for Taylor Swift, it could work for her. So she writes stuff down, plays around with chords and strumming until the beat on the guitar matches the one in her head. She grabs a page and a pencil and writes and re-writes her innermost thoughts and feelings on the page until they sound the way she wants them to. She plays around with rhyme schemes and structure and everything she’s been taught about in English class, and a thrill runs through her as she does so. It’s the same breathless high she feels when she paints or draws, the rush that comes from creating something.

Her parents sit on the other side of her bedroom door, no doubt exchanging worried glances as she repeats the same verse, same chorus, with only a word changed. She watches them when they think she can’t see, peering through the crack in her door. The conclusion they seem to come to is ‘well, as coping mechanisms go, it’s pretty good, and she’s happy, so who are we to stop it?’.

It takes her four days to finish her first song. And it sucks. But she keeps it, writes down the lyrics and chords in one of the few empty notebooks she has, and there’s no going back from it now. She writes, and she writes, and she writes, near enough every day. She likes to think she gets better with each one. She learns more chords, buys a cheap ukulele the summer after freshman year, tries her hand at piano during a particularly difficult few weeks. She doesn’t plan on doing anything with them. They’re just her little pieces to hold on to. Her therapy sessions outside the carpeted office.

No-one knows about it. She has a reputation to keep up, after all. The loner-by-choice, too-cool-for-school, aloof art freak. Everyone has their roles to play in the ecosystem that is high school and, much as she hates the entire system, that is hers to play. And she plays it well, if she may say so. The fact that hardly anyone knows her past that facade suits her just fine. After all, if people think she doesn’t care, she can’t get hurt. No-one needs to know that Janis Sarkisian actually has feelings.

Even less need to know that she writes songs about said feelings.

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By the time she reaches her junior year, she’s onto her third notebook. She keeps them tucked away in her sock drawer, expertly hidden so only she can find them. Damian teases her about it, calling her “the protagonist of a Disney Channel Original Movie”. She just rolls her eyes and reminds him that “if either of us is gonna be Disney’s first openly gay character, it’ll be you”. He can’t argue with that.

It should be noted that when Janis said that no-one knows about her songwriting, Damian was the obvious exception. He found out just weeks after she started. There’s no keeping secrets from him.

Between all her notebooks, she’s written around forty songs.

Then she meets Cady Heron one day. The human embodiment of a labrador puppy, complete with wide, lost eyes. She likes her instantly, decides to take her under her wing because Lord knows the girl needs it. Cady’s smile is infectious, her laugh like a summer breeze. She has dimples and caramel-coloured hair and really likes maths.

She meets Cady on a Monday.

By that Saturday, song number 41-titled “Dimples and Curls” is more or less complete.

She plays it for Damian, hands only slightly shaking as she changes chords, the strumming short and upbeat, the melody strangely happy for such a bittersweet song.

He applauds her, but the subject of the song hangs in the air even after she’s played the last chord and the music fades. Unsaid, but not unknown. Just like her songwriting, Janis couldn’t keep a crush from Damian if she tried.

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“Hey, check it out.”

Cady drops onto the seat across from Janis, the whole table shaking as she does so. Like a small meteor just hit Earth. Janis looks up from her lunch, pretending like she had been doing her own thing and not watching the door until Cady came in. Pretending like her stomach doesn’t do little flips at the sight of her crossing the cafeteria. She pulls the flyer towards her and hums in amusement.

“The winter talent show,” she reads before chomping off a carrot stick. “Oh, is it that time of year already?”

“Seems like only yesterday we was welcoming the young’uns into this brave new world during the harvest season,” Damian sighs, putting on a delightfully over the top Southern Belle accent, no doubt influenced by their reading of Streetcar Named Desire in English class. Janis cackles, and nearly chokes on her lunch as she does.

“And now the cold winds of winter are descending upon us,” she replies, her accent equally heavy. She bats her eyes for good measure, because she can and because it makes Cady laugh. “Oh but I pray the children will survive this season, it is often rough for them.”

“I am never showing you two anything winter related ever again,” Cady says.

Janis just shrugs and runs her hand through her hair before her eyes go back to the flyer. Clearly, whatever sophomore they got to design it this year did their best; found the prettiest looking snowflakes on Google Images to put on the cartoon stage, decided to write in some swirling, slanted font rather than the start-studded block lettering they usually went for. It’s still the same as it is every year, meaning just as mockable, but she’ll give them points for tying.

“Well, anyone here going for it?” she asks. She looks from Damian to Cady and back again, a teasing smirk on her lips. “Last year and all that.”

“Not sure I can,” Damian sighs. “I mean, I’m booked up with Spelling Bee rehearsals and spring cabaret auditions happening next semester.” He drums his fingers against his throat. “Gotta give the little vocal chords some rest, you know?”

Janis’ response is to sing the lowest note she possibly can before turning to Cady and giving her a pointed look, the corner of her mouth quirked up.

“Who? Me?” Cady’s cheeks turned crimson and she shakes her head so much that the caramel curls bounced around her shoulders. “No way. Damian can take the stage, I’m fine with my calculators and textbooks.”

“You could always solve equations in front of everyone,” Janis says. “I could call out college-level questions from the audience and you solve them in under 30 seconds.”

“I think I’ll pass,” she giggles. She leans forward slightly, eyes glittering, and Janis does her best not to squirm. The effect Cady Heron’s eyes have on her should be studied by scientists. “What about you, Janis?”

“I don’t know.” She thinks back to when she helped on stage crew last year, as well as helping out (or taking over) with the set design. It had been fun, the kind of challenge she needed to keep her mind off the slowly-going-off-the-rails plan. And she was told it looked good on her college applications, because all people can think about apparently is college, college, college. “Maybe. They might need another genius stage manager.”

“And you’ll step in if they can’t find one?” She digs Damian in the ribs for that comment.

“But not performing?” Cady asks, and Janis freezes. Performing had never even crossed her mind before. She’s used to backstage, hell, she likes backstage. It’s not that she has stage fright or anything, and if she had, her stunt at Ms Norbury’s little healing session would have squished it. She had just never thought about it.

But Cady had, apparently.

“I-No, I-I don’t think so,” she stammers out. “Um, I might do backstage again, but not actually doing something, you know, talent related.” She bites her tongue and clamps her lips shut before anything else can come out.

“Okay then,” Cady replies slowly. She gets up from the table, her little empty water bottle in her hands. “I’m going to go for a refill, save my seat.”

“No problem,” Janis says, but Cady’s already jogging away.

She doesn’t know if it’s good or bad that Cady’s known her too long to think of her as cool, and so this kind of awkward babbling isn’t really surprising to her. Instead of thinking about it, she just sets her head on the table and lets Damian rub her back.

“You were nowhere near as bad as you think you were,” he assures her.

“Title of your sex tape,” comes her murmured reply. Damian chuckles and runs his fingers through her hair, like she’s his pet cat. It helps.

“So you’re definitely not going for the talent show then?” he asks.

Her first instinct is to say no, because of course she isn’t, because she never has before and she sees no point in breaking a three-year streak, but the answer catches in her throat. At the same time, something begins forming in her brain, pieces of a melody she’s already known, words filling in blank spots in her brain, and her fingers twitch involuntarily, playing the chords on an invisible guitar. Without a word, she grabs a notepad and pen from her bag and scribbles the words down before she forgets them, quickly becoming breathless just by sitting there. She forgets, for a moment, everything else, the talent show, Cady, even Damian next to her, and just revels in the task and the quick buzz she gets just from writing. Just like that she has one eye on the clock, itching to get home and put her notes into the rest of the song.

But with those notes came an idea, an idea so completely out of left field she almost laughs at it.

“Janis?” Damian asks, just slightly unnerved by her. If anyone else were at this table, even Cady (especially Cady), she would have had to excuse herself and run to the bathroom, or just hope the words stayed in her head long enough for her to get a quiet moment. “Did the Goddess of Music just possess you again?”

“Maybe,” is her response. He doesn’t know it, but she answered both the questions he asked in the past minute.

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She sits on her bed that night, her homework half-done and strewn across the desk, abandoned in favour of the guitar sitting in her lap and notebook open on her bed. She’s been working on his song for the better part of a week, inspiration and motivation seemingly striking and then fading whenever she gets a free moment. Abandoning it has crossed her mind-she’s no stranger to abandoning things that aren’t working-but for some reason she hasn’t quite been able to shake this particular song off.

Maybe it is Euterpe, the Goddess of Music, descending upon her because this song has to be finished, it has to be, Olympus willing it so.

Or maybe it’s because this song is one of the most personal things she’s ever written, a love letter she’ll never send, and the idea of it sitting unfinished drives her crazy.

She plays another chord and sings the line again, changing the ending slightly, and makes the adjustment in her notes.

She’s crazy. This is already crazy, her secret double life as a wannabe T-Swift, but now she’s gone beyond that. Thinking of actually playing it. On a stage. In front of people. She doesn’t care what people think of her, she stopped caring about that a long, long time ago, but holy shit what will people think of her after she does this? Life isn’t like the movies, she knows that much. It won’t be some pretty, softly-lit moment where the crowd sits with teary eyes, Cady runs onstage and kisses her and she’s offered a deal by some big shot producer, and they all live happily ever after the end. What could happen is people think she’s even more of a weirdo than they do now.

Or she gets tomatoes thrown at her head and she’s booed off the stage. That’s a possibility.

She calls Damian, because that’s the only way she sees out of her little thought cul-de-sac. She puts the phone on speaker and props it up against a pillow, keeping her hands free for her guitar and her pen. He picks up on the third ring, just as she’s strumming out a G chord.

“Oh, is someone prepping for her Grammy?” he asks. “You’re still taking me as your date, right?”

“Only if my dog can’t go,” she replies. She taps her nails against the wood, the rhythm too fast and frantic to just be a habit. Yes, she can tell Damian anything, and being nervous in front of him is laughable, but sometimes her body forgets that. “So, I was thinking about the talent show.”

“Oh? You’re going for stage crew again? Cool.”

“No-not exactly.” She knows he can’t see the smile creeping across her face, but she’d wager he can hear it through the phone. A small swarm of butterflies flutters in her chest, leaving her just slightly out of breath. “I… I. think I’m going to try performing in it.”

A burst of laughter comes through the phone, slightly tinged with static, and Janis wishes he were here so she could slap him. Even if it’s not malicious in intent at all, and she’s laughing right along with him. Slapping is kind of a love language for them.

“Okay, okay cool. What’re you going to do?”

“I’ll give you a hint,” she says, and then she plays the opening chords to her latest experiment. She doesn’t add in the lyrics, not yet. Still, she sits back and basks in his applause when she finishes, cackling into her hand. He might be one person, but he’s got enough enthusiasm to match a packed auditorium. “What do you think?”

“I’m into it,” he tells her. “So… that’s the one you’re doing?”

“Think so.” She tosses the pick between her fingers. Like he could feel her smile, she can feel his raised eyebrow through the phone, the elephant in the room poking her with its trunk. “Yes, I know.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought it,” she tells him, and he doesn’t deny it. She looks back over the lyrics she’s written and re-written. Despite some adjustments, it’s still in essence the same. Still about a girl with pretty hair who smells like vanilla and cinnamon, who has a boyfriend and is unknowingly breaking the heart of a girl with black eyeliner and paint stained fingers. Because her boyfriend is pretty and clean and smells like soap and can do math, and how is the poor art girl even meant to compare to that?

“Yes,” she says after a while. “It is about Cady.”

“Aw, my poor lovestruck songstress,” he sighs. He shifts then, and the air shifts with him. “You sure that’s the one you want to sing? I mean you have dozens of other non-Cady related songs. I’m sure Mr Duvall would love to hear Angry Teenage Lesbian Anthem.”

“First off, I gave that one a title, it’s called Shattered,” she reminds him. “And-” She freezes, the rest of her sentence catching in her throat. He’s right. She could perform one of her other songs, that are already finished and therefore removing the pressure to have this one finished, polished and stage-ready. And of course, it would mean she wouldn’t be standing in front of her entire grade and telling them all how badly she’s in love with her best friend. Showing her deepest secret to the people who have already driven her out of school once. It’s a far safer, potentially less traumatic option for her.

But…

“No,” she says. “I know it sounds crazy but I feel like… I feel like I need to do this.” She swallows thickly and picks softly at the guitar strings. “It’s like… like this way at least I’m telling her, you know? Even if she doesn’t know it.”

Of course, Damian gets it.

“That’s beautiful, babe,” he tells her. “So you’re actually doing this?”

“I’m actually doing this,” she replies firmly. “And tomorrow, I need you to make sure I don’t chicken out before I sign up.”

“Got it. I’ll just order you to do it as Senior Co-Chair of the Student Activities Committee.”

“That’s an abuse of power.”

“Then consider yourself abused baby.” He laughs and she laughs with him, and then she hears something on Damian’s end. “I have to go. A certain little sister of mine has a princess costume that needs attending to. See you later.”

“See you later,” she replies before he clicks off the call. She looks down at her paper, then at her guitar, and thinks about what she just committed to. “I’ve got some work to do.”

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The song goes through four rewrites in the weeks leading up to the talent show. The whole first verse is changed, the chorus scrapped and replaced with a new one, then that one is scrapped and she goes back to the old one. She sits hunched on her floor with a pencil in her mouth, wondering if what she’s written is too personal or not personal enough. If it’s too obvious that Cady, smart cookie that she is, will work it out and that’ll lead them down a new, scary path. She cuts some lyrics that give the game away, opting to replace one about love for numbers with love for learning, because that opens up the pool to half their grade. She writes about Cady’s blue eyes rather than specifically those double dimples that make her melt. Maybe she’s compromising her artistic vision, but it might be worth it if it’ll keep her crush a secret. She keeps the old lyrics tucked in the back of her notebook, just to have them.

Meanwhile, she’s also dealing with the fact that people know she has signed up for the talent show. That Miss Too Cool For School Loner Art Freak Janis is actually performing at a school event. And she doesn’t even get extra credit for it. They’re surprised, and curious, and none more so than Cady. The other girl appears at her side almost instantly after first period, skinny little arms wrapped around her bicep and blue eyes alight.

Oh, the things those eyes do to her.

“Janis!” she squeaks. “I saw-on the sign up sheet-your name! Oh my God, is this a joke? Did Damian put you up to it?”

“No, no, I signed up of my own accord,” Janis tells her. That only makes Cady bounce more, ponytail bobbing up and down.

“Oh wow, that’s amazing!” she says. She stops then, her mouth freezing in its place and her cheeks turning pink. Slowly, she comes down to Earth, like a balloon that had the air let out of it. Janis can almost hear the wheeze. “I mean um, it’s pretty cool, I guess.”

“It’s pretty grool,” Janis replies, and just like that Cady bounces back up again.

“Oh my gosh, what are you going to do?” she asks. “Or do you want it to be a surprise?”

“You think I have some secret knife-throwing talent?” she grins. She hesitates for a moment, looking down at Cady’s excited face, because even if this isn’t telling her… it’s telling her. “I’m… I’m going to sing.” She pulls on the strap of her backpack and avoids Cady’s eyes. “Something I wrote.”

“Okay,” Cady says. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

“Hey!” she laughs. “I can write stuff. I can be deep.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about it,” Cady says, bumping her arm against Janis’. “But for real, Janis, I can’t wait to see it. I know you’ll be amazing.”

Warmth spreads across her pale cheeks, a pink blush no doubt colouring her face, and she somehow manages to choke out a “thanks” as her brain turns to static. Her only thought is ‘Cady thinks I’m going to be good’, and it’s written in glitter pen across her brain.

“This is going to be great,” she goes on. “Oh, wait until I tell Aaron. He’s got a break in his schedule that week so he’s coming up to see the talent show! Isn’t that great?”

And just like that, Janis’ good mood falls. Her face stays the same, because she’s trained to do it, but everything behind it crumbles.

“Yeah, that’s great,” she replies. Cady squeezes her hand, oblivious, and drags her along the hallway, chatting away about some lion documentary she had watched last night.

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She finishes the song that night. She arrives home with a heavy chest, so full of complicated, messy feelings, and her conversation with Cady still so fresh in her mind, her ears still ringing from the emotional whiplash. Her parents barely get a ‘hello’ as she enters and bolts up to her room, her hands shaking, the thoughts swirling around her brain desperate to be let out.

And let them out she does. She writes so quickly they look more like smudges than words, her fingers flying over rapidly changing chords, her voice broken and panting as she sings. The words almost write themselves, like the song has taken on a life of its own and she’s just along for the ride. She barely remembers to pause, to breathe, so wrapped up in the storm she’s created with just her guitar and pen.

It’s only when she finishes and falls back on her bed that she notices the tears in her eyes. She blinks them away and pulls herself up, her notebook in her hand. It’s done. The perfect blend of her own honest feelings and just enough smokescreen to keep people from knowing who it’s really about.

There’s no backing out now, she thinks. Her stomach drops, like she’s on the top of a roller coaster about to go down. A laugh bubbles up in her throat and leaves her breathless, her head spinning while she’s still laying there.

If holy shit were am adjective, she'd use it to describe how she feels. Because holy shit.

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Being backstage when she’s not on crew is a strange experience. She stands with her guitar slung around her body, in the middle of a current of students moving around her, half with the clunky microphones and walkie-talkies she’s used so many times before. She asks five of them if she can do anything to help-because they’re her people and she needs to do something to occupy her time-until she finally takes the hint and leaves them to it. Stagehands are the most efficient parts of any production, as she told Damian once. They’re a well-oiled machine at this point.

“Yo!” For a second, Janis thinks she imagined the whisper, just one in a jumble of backstage noises, until Damian appears at her side. A tiny ‘shit’ escapes her mouth, her body jerking. Barely anyone bats an eye at her, except him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.”

“Don’t worry. I think at this point a small breeze could knock into me and I’d crumble.”

“The great Janis Sarkisian gets nervous?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“Only when she’s doing something incredibly personal and scary in front of her entire grade,” she whispers back. She swallows past the lump in her throat. “Aside from that I’m a beacon of confidence and unshakable will.”

“Hey.” He taps his knuckles against hers. “Remember how scared you were at Norbury’s assembly?”

“You mean after I had my picture all over the school with the d-slur written underneath it?” she mutters. “Yeah, I was shitting myself.”

“And yet, look what you did there,” he reminds her. “You were amazing. And you’re going to be amazing here too. Once you get on that stage, all those butterflies are going to make you fly, kid.”

She smiles, her heart warm, and pressed her face into the crook of Damian’s neck.

She doesn’t know how she got so lucky to have him, but she knows better than to tempt fate.

“Janis Sarkisian?” She lifts her head to find a freshman girl with a headset around her neck looking at her. “You’re up next.”

“Okay.” It’s only now she becomes aware that the last minute of Fairytale Of New York is playing, the notes will soon fade out, and that’s her cue. She turns to Damian and lets him straighten her black cardigan and fiddle with the collar of her shirt. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it.” He drops a whisper of a kiss to her nose. “But good luck.”

She holds her half-heart necklace as he goes, the twin to the one around his neck. It’s as close as she can get to having him with her. Her chest tightens as she makes her way to the stage and she tries to breathe through it, because the next thign she knows, Mr Duvall is announcing her name, and she’s being greeted by a blinding spotlight that thankfully obscures most of her peers’ faces.

“Uh, hi,” she says into the microphone placed out for her. It’s just people , she reminds herself. Somewhere in that crowd, second row, seat 14, is Damian, and she breathes easier. And next to him is Cady, the girl this song is about, and for some reason that straightens her spine and irons out the shaking in her voice. She takes the pick out of its holder and tosses her hair back. “This is a song I wrote about being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back.” She blinks and hopes no-one sees the tears in her eyes. “So sing along if you get into it, because we all know it’s a shitty ass feeling.”

She plays the first chord, and then any and all doubts she had about this flee her. As cliche as it sounds, the song takes over her, and she blows through the nerves in the first verse. The experience becomes cathartic instead, like releasing a pressure valve on her soul. Even with the little diversions she threw in, she hasn’t felt this open and god damn free since last year, paraded on her peers’ shoulders with both middle fingers up. Except now she’s not flipping anyone off, or proving a point, she’s just finally telling someone how she feels, and holy shit, it’s amazing. Whatever the aftermath of this is, she won’t care, it’s worth it just for this feeling.

As she sings the last word, and that final note rings in the auditorium, her hands are shaking, her cheeks wet with tears and her hair sticky with sweat. She touches beneath her eye and her fingers come away stained black.  She hasn’t cried in front of people since middle school. She doesn’t care.

The cheers of her classmates ring in her ears, Damian’s whooping the loudest of all, and as she takes her bow, she hopes she’ll remember this moment for a long time.

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“Oh my God!” she’s barely into the auditorium when Cady launches herself at her, arms wrapped around her neck and legs circling her waist. Janis nearly topples over, digging her back leg into the ground just in time, and hugs Cady with the same ferocity. “You were amazing!” she yells into her shoulder, the sound muffled by Janis’ hair.

“Really?”

“Absolutely.” She sets Cady down, but the other girl keeps a tight grip on both her arms. Janis wonders if it’s to keep herself from flying away, given the amount of bouncing up and down she’s doing. “I can’t believe you wrote that! It was so good! You need to record it, Jan. Do you have any other songs?”

“Just a few,” she says. “And I don’t know if I’m in the business of making an album any time soon.” She swings her guitar case a little. “This might have been a one-time thing.”

“Well, even if it was, it was awesome,” she says.

“Thank you, Caddy,” Janis replies. “That means a lot.”

Her mouth runs dry as Cady smiles, all baby pink lipgloss and sparkling eyes and full cheeks. If this were a movie, she thinks, this would be the part where they kiss. No need for talking, or an explanation. Because Cady would have just known. The music would turn soft and twinkly, and the lighting would match it and it would look like they’re in a dream and they’d just kiss, and it will fix all of Janis’ problems. Maybe a single tear will run down her cheek. And then they’ll run off into their new lives as the end credits roll.

How sweet that would be.

But her life isn’t a movie. If she wants anything, she has to go for it herself.

And that includes-

“Caddy.” Her name is delicate on her lips, handled with care. Cady looks at her, giving a simple ‘mm-hm’ in response, and Janis’ heart beats out of control. “That song I just sang, it-”

“Hey, guys.”

Also if this was a movie, Cady’s sweet, lovely, nice boyfriend would not be barging in right now. He’d either be a douchebag who she doesn’t feel bad about hurting, or he’d be nonexistent.

Unfortunately, this is not a movie, and Aaron Samuels exists and is the human equivalent of a squishmallow.

“Hey Aaron.” He slings his arm around Cady’s shoulders, and she leans into his touch almost instinctively. “Janis, you were great up there. I didn’t know you wrote songs.”

“It’s a bit of a new hobby,” she says, her voice hoarse. She clears her throat, and finds a bottle of water being handed to-thrown at-her.

“Hydrate those chords,” is Damian’s greeting.

“This is what I get for being friends with a theatre kid,” she sighs before she takes a drink. She hadn’t realised how dry her throat was until now.

“Okay, so we’re all going for pancakes,” Aaron says. “I take it you two are coming?”

“How can I say no to pancakes?” Janis asks. “Uh, you guys go ahead, I have to get my stuff from the green room.”

“Okay, we’ll wait for you,” Cady says. “Aaron brought his car so he can drive us.”

“Grool.” Cady and Aaron turn around together, Aaron spinning his eyes around his finger and Cady lacing her fingers through his, talking about something she can’t hear. It’s like watching them through a sheet of glass.

Not a movie. Not unless it’s one of those really, really sad movies. Sad homophobic movies.

“You okay?” Damian asks. She snorts at the question. Nothing has changed, so of course she’s okay. But then, nothing has changed, so she’s not really okay.

“I did it,” she sighs. “It’s out there. I told her, unofficially. Whether or not she works it out…” She runs her hand through her tangled hair. “That’s something else entirely.” Damian hums in agreement, a sympathetic look on his face that soon morphs into a grin.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks Mom.” They snort, Janis caught between a laugh and a sob, and squeezes Damian’s hand. She’s not optimistic about any romance in her future, at least where Cady is concerned. She and Aaron are still rock-solid and she’s happy for them, whenever she isn’t angsting about it. It’s a weird combination to have.

And at least she’s done this now. Despite a future for her and Cady not being in the cards for now, she’s glad she did it. The secret isn’t out, not entirely. Just written on the walls in invisible ink.

“Come on,” she tells Damian. “I actually do have to get my bag, and you can use this as an opportunity to double check the ghost light is on.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cady and Aaron keep their promise and wait for them, waving off their apologies as they jog across the parking lot. Cady lets Damian take the front seat with Aaron and slides into the back with Janis instead. Janis frowns, confused as to why she isn’t taking her normal seat up front, and Cady rolls her eyes.

“There was a draw on the way here, and we lost,” she explains. “And now Damian has control of the aux chord,” She gestures with her head to the passenger seat, and Janis turns just in time to see him open his Spotify and scroll through his playlists. As the opening notes to Waving Through A Window fill the car, it’s met with three loud groans. Damian only turns it up louder, and adds in his own backing vocals.

“So, that song you sang,” Cady asks, leaning back in the seat. “Was it about anyone in particular?”

Janis looks down, her hands pressed together in her lap. If this is the moment the universe decided to give her, it’s a really terrible moment. Not only is Cady’s whole boyfriend sitting an arm’s length away from her, but she left her nerve back in the auditorium. Clearly, her and fate aren’t on each other’s wavelength.

“You wouldn’t know her,” she says. “She doesn't even go here.”

“Oh,” Cady replies. Her face falls, but she’s not too put out by it. Why would she be? She nudges Janis’ shoulder, a proud smile on her face, and squeezes Janis’ hand. “Well, if she has someone like you into her and she hasn’t taken the chance yet, then she doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Janis only thanks her, and quickly changes the subject.

Someday she might tell her for real, but for now she'll stick to the songs.

[spacetimewraithwrites-archive]

Small Stories Hour: Partners III

Requiem in Amethyst

↳ “Well I can’t just ask Denny to book me if he’s got the house full,” Ben said, perching the phone receiver between his shoulder and his ear. He swiveled in his chair, facing his desk with a pen poised over a notepad to jot down important numbers. “I don’t wanna overshadow the other acts there. No, I’m not gonna push anyone out of their slot, get over yourself. Get me a date when he’s free, and I'll—”

A gift bag dropped onto the desk in front of his face, and he stared at it, silent. Glossy white with rich navy tissue paper sticking out in a perfect triangle over the top. The handles flopped down at the sides.

“…Mickey, I’ll call you back.”

“No, you won’t,” Mickey chuckled before hanging up.

Reagan grinned upon dropping onto the couch beside the desk. He gestured to the gift. “Open it.”

“How’d you get in my office?” Ben asked.

“Well,” Reagan sighed, scratching the bit of rare stubble on his jaw. “I knocked on the front door of your house, your wife answered, and I asked real nice if I could come inside. I think she said yes. Then I walked up the stairs, and here we are.”

“I need to hire better security.” Ben tugged a handle of the bag to pull it slightly apart. “What’s the occasion?”

“I love you.”

Ben cautiously tilted the bag toward himself and pried it open. “Gag me, that’s all the excuse you ever need, isn’t it? What…the hell, Reagan…?” He removed a small designer box from the bag, running the tip of a finger over the embossed gold lettering of the logo. His nose immediately scrunched. “Oh, god, Is this your way of asking me to produce your next film?”

“I know I spoke plain English just now.” Reagan tapped the logo. “Open the goddamn box, Benny.”

After a suspicious glance at Reagan, who winked conspiratorially at him, Ben opened the box. Sat on a tiny gray pillow within was a pair of amethyst and platinum cufflinks with gold embellishments, sparkling at him under the lamplight of his home office.

Reagan silenced him before he could even say anything. “It’s your birthstone. You needed a bit of color—you only own neutral suits these days. And I know blue’s your favorite color but, personally, I think it washes you out, and you’re already getting paler by the minute.”

He looked, at that moment, to think he was a complete genius for the thought he put into the gift. He watched Ben expectantly, yet Ben knew by peering into his face and possessing almost forty years of friendship under his belt that Reagan wasn’t expecting a thank you or any kind of praise, but some kind of clinical confirmation that he remembered a couple of details about his best friend correctly.

And he always did.

“They’re beautiful.” Ben propped an elbow on the desk. “I’d pointed the diamond ones out to Faye a couple of months ago, before my birthday.”

“I know. You told me about them and I waited for her to get them for you.” Reagan cleared his throat and twiddled his thumbs over his crossed knees. “…She really dropped the ball on that one.”

“It’s not like she had the time or the opportunity, jackass,” Ben admonished. “Besides, it’s material, and…” He caught the light on a facet of the amethyst. “Who am I kidding; they’re gorgeous.”

“She can still get the diamond ones for you.”

Ben closed the box again. “Yeah, yeah.” He smiled at Reagan. “Quit tryin’ to seduce me with shiny things and sing my fuckin’ song already.”

Reagan hummed his amusement. “I’ve recorded at the very least eight hundred thousand of your songs. At this point, you’re exclusively my songwriter. Let me give some other people a chance, hm?”

“Sure. I wasn’t informed that you’d given up on your career, but sure.”

“Well it kinda makes it hard for our professional split to remain credible when you’re constantly working with me, doesn’t it?”

Ben halted in the midst of tucking the box away in the drawer of his desk. His eyes fell onto the logo of the high-end jeweler once again and he was hit with a sudden and unexpected wave of sadness. Shoulders slumped, he refrained from reminding Reagan that he never wanted Gilmore & Murray to split in the first place—a fight for twenty years ago, not today. Instead, he nodded.

“It’s alright, I’ll hold it for you. It’s not goin’ anywhere.” He smiled again, genuine, and shut the drawer. “Faye and I were gonna go out to eat later, did you wanna come?”

“Yeah, actually. Maura flew out to New York last night so I’m operating alone.” Reagan stretched an arm across the back of the couch. “She challenged me to take an older woman home with me this time. I said I could probably do that.”

Ben lifted his eyebrows. “Older than you? So…dead.”

“It’s not—fuck you.” Reagan laughed. “Does being friends with the head of a massive crime syndicate mean nothing to you anymore?”

“Oh, don’t threaten me with a good time, you Celtic bastard,” Ben grunted, standing from his chair. “Let’s go. I’m paying this time.”

He didn’t even notice that Reagan hadn’t followed him right away until he heard his footsteps several seconds later.

[mywifeleftme]

204: Maria Dolores Pradera // Maria Dolores Pradera acompañada por Los Gemelos

Maria Dolores Pradera acompañada por Los Gemelos (AKA En homenaje a Colombia) Maria Dolores Pradera 1969, Zafiro

Maria Dolores Pradera was a beloved Spanish singer who specialized in the music of Latin America. I’ve seen the recordings that make up this 1969 LP released under a variety of titles, including Maria Dolores Pradera acompañada por Los Gemelos (the original), Cariño Malo (on Spotify), and, on my Columbian pressing, as En homaje a Columbia. That last title’s a bit of a cheap ploy; the local label bumped Columbian songwriter Efraín Orozco’s “Senora Maria Rosa” to the top of the track order, but most of the other songs were penned by Mexican composers. Regardless of the sequencing, these twelve ballads are splendid. It wreathes the act of quietly washing the dishes at night with dolorous romance, adds a sensual grief to drying utensils and placing them in the drawer.

Pradera has a deep, intoxicating voice and superb diction—even across the language divide, you can sense the masterly acting she brings to the lover’s lament “Pesares,” the bittersweet resignation of “A la orilla de un palmar.” The latter, written by Manuel Ponce, has a particularly lovely lyric:

“On the edge of a palm grove I saw a beautiful young woman, her little coral mouth and her eyes two stars. As I passed by I asked who was with her and she answered me crying: I live alone in the palm grove. I'm an orphan, oh I have no father, no mother, not a friend, oh come to comfort me. I spend my life alone I spend my life alone at the edge of the palm grove and alone I am entertained like the waves of the sea.”

Pradera’s accompaniment is minimal: her longtime sidemen Santiago and Julián López Hernández (Los Gemelos, literally The Twins) on classical guitar and Luis Gutierrez on bass. You wouldn’t want any more than that for these timeless songs of dignified longing.

204/365

[mouse-fantoms]

Wisdom Teeth

This is completely bc of @blush-and-books post, this is comepley your doing Julie gets her wisdom teeth out, Luke sticks around to help her, somethings are said

“What’s the plan for today boss?” Luke asked Julie when she came into the studio.

“Well,” she addressed her band, “looks like we’ll have the week off from practicing together since I have to get my wisdom teeth taken out.”

“Ick!” They all shared the same disgusted expression.

“Oh!” Even though one could not forget that her band mates were ghosts, it slipped her mind about their pasts. They did have lives before meeting her. They had become so improtant to her in the present that the past slipped her mind. None the less, whenever their past was mentioned, she was curious. “You guys have had them taken out?”

“Couldn’t do anything for about a week.” Luke groaned, remembering the experience.

“And Reg helped you ‘learn’ guitar because you thought you didn’t know how.” Alex input.

“Why’d you ‘help’ him?” Julie’s eyebrows knit.

“He was heartbreaken! I couldn’t just leave him to think he couldn’t.” He explained. “And then Alex was-”

“Oh if you think I compliment you all time,” Luke looked to Julie, “if Alex is under anesthesia oh he will not hold back.”

“I was out of it. My head was in the clouds.” He recalled.

“You still mean what you said about me having a perfect smile?” Luke flashed his said smile.

“Okay but I was nothing compared to what Reggie was like.”

“Oh come on guys.” He looked down, not wanting them to bring up the embarrassing memory.

“What happened?” Julie asked curious.

Alex explained, “We helped walk him out of the building and he started flirting with the cars.”

“...it wasn’t flirting.”

“You said ‘That’s a lovely shade of red, you should wear it more often’ to a convertible.”

“Okay all of us were pretty out of it.” Reggie concluded.

“Well, you guys won’t have to worry about me because Dad will be taking care of me.”

Her statement turned out to be particularly true. Julie however, might have topped Reggie’s ‘flirting with a car’ wisdom teeth story.

~~~

“How long as it been?” Luke wondered. “Since she left?”

“Please tell me you’re not going to do what I think you’re going to do.” Alex could tell right away.

“What?”

“She’s only been gone 30 minutes.” Reggie answered Luke’s previous question.

“And how long did ours take?”

“She’ll be out of it. She won’t be making sense.” The blond knew that wouldn’t stop him.

“I’m sorry that I’m concerned about the well being of our band mate.” Luke put a hand on his heart excusing his actions.

“Our band mate being Julie.” Reggie added how she wasn’t just any band mate.

“Fine you guys can sit on your butts while I go see how she’s doing.” Neither stopped him from poofing our because there would be no talking out Luke Patterson from checking on Julie Molina.

After poking his head in a few rooms, he finally found where Julie was after seeing two people in scrubs leave alongside someone in a white coat. He entered through the door just before they closed it. The chair was in the middle of the room, the back towards the door. He saw Julie’s head rested on her shoulder, she hadn’t waken up yet. There was a set of two chairs against the wall on the right. He took a seat in the chair that was closest to her.

Once he sat down, she started to move her head. The classic ‘I-probably-should-get-up-but-I-don’t-want-to-get-up-yet’ move. She moved her head to the center of the head rest and her eyes opened. Feeling the throbbing pain in the back of her jaw she went to feel it.

“You just got your wisdom teeth out, remember?” He reminded.

“Luke,” she said endearing, speech slurred, her head turning to him, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Wow. He was so glad Reggie or Alex weren’t in the room to see him blushing like crazy.

“Me too.” He finally found the words. “They probably went to get your dad. They’ll be back in a little.”

“It hurts.” She said in reference to her mouth.

“It should feel a little numb from where they had to take them out. You might be swollen later.” He remembered his experience. “But maybe you’ll get ice cream later that helps with the pain.”

“Ice cream!” She perked up. “Will you get me ice cream?”

It was hard not the resist the eyes that had stars in them. “I mean,” he breathed, “yeah if you... if you want me to.”

“I only want you.”

Wow! She must have been under some serious anesthesia. 

He hesitated, “You don’t,” he fidgeted in the chair, “mean that.”

It was just the anesthesia talking. Obviously.

“Of course I do.” She put her right arm down on the arm of the chair. “Why else would I decline a date with Nick?”

“...a what now?” His mouth a gap from shock.

“You and me connect in some many ways. Flynn has no idea what she’s talking about by saying you’re ‘just air’.”

He didn’t know whether to be offended or taken aback with the words coming out of her mouth, probably a bit of both.

THAT ANESTHESIA WAS REALLY TALKING!

“You and I dance way better than him.”

“...dance?”

“Yeah, when you came through the mirror when Nick and I were in dance class. Your hair all pushed back, looking goofy.” He couldn’t tell if her smile was from looking back fondly on the memory or laughing at him. “Our song was-”

“Our song?” Either the anesthesia was making her really really looping or he was hearing something he probably was never met to.

“I had to write it down considering how amazing it was. We truly are in Perfect Harmony. I put it in my dream box to get it out of my mind. Even though I don’t get why I would.” She laughed at herself.

Before he could ever find the words to say, the door opened and in came the specialists along with Ray. He poofed away into the garage feeling like he found out something he was never supposed to know.

~~~

It had been some hours later since Julie had gotten home from getting her wisdom teeth removed. It had also been a few hours since the anesthesia had worn off.

“Do you need anything?” Luke asked, hands in his pocket, at the foot of Julie’s bed.

“I already told you I’m fine.” She said, gauges in her mouth. “Dad told me to text him if I need anything.”

“But I’m asking you if you need anything. Do you want that ice cream yet?”

She blinked. “What?”

“You asked if I could get you ice cream later after I said that’s one thing that helps with the pain.”

She had a vague memory of seeing Luke when she opened her eyes.

“Just wanted to check and see how you were doing.” He excused.

“What else did I say?” She asked curious.

“Oh you know... the usually loopy things you say on anesthesia.”

“If you do get it will that make you stop asking if I need anything?”

His smile was her answer.

“Fine,” she rolled her eyes though smile appeared too, “I’ll take the ice cream. Make sure Dad doesn’t see floating ice cream.”

She watched as he poofed away. He poofed into the kitchen, first checking to see if anyone was nearby. Once making sure the coast was clear he opened the freezer and spotted the tub of ice cream, he grabbed it then opened the silverware drawer and took a spoon out setting it on the lid on the container.

However, before he poofed back to her room, he had a sudden idea. He poofed to the garage, ice cream in hand slightly forgetting about it. He set the tub down on the coffee table.

“Not for you,” he told Reggie who was sat on the couch, “for Julie.”

“So that’s where you’ve been.” He heard Alex say from his drums.

He didn’t respond to the comment and instead made his way up to the loft. “Do you mind if I look for something in your bag Reg?”

“...guess not?” He replied confused.

He watched as Luke took his black backpack and upzipped the small pocket. “Ah ha!” He exclaimed pulling out a comb.

Alex moved away from his drum set in order to see Luke up in the loft.

“Wow... a comb.” He said clearly amused.

They watched as he used it.

“How do I look?” He put down the comb and extended his arms for effect.

“Like a goof.” Alex let out.

“...interesting.” Reggie answered.

“Perfect!” He went down the ladder, grabbed the ice cream on the coffee table and poofed to Julie’s room.

“Voilà!” Julie saw the ice cream container be placed next to her on bed from the corner of her eye.

“Tha-“ she looked up to thank him but was caught off guard. “Luke,” she addressed, “what are doing?”

“Was just seeing something.” He played off as he russled his hair to return it to his forehead. As he did, Julie had a sudden thought.

“...you know about Perfect Harmony don’t you?”

“I may or may not know of the existence of a certain song that’s in your dream box.”

She put a hand to her head, not believing that she let it slip.

“Also perhaps may or may not know of you declining a date with that Nick guy.”

“Did I say anything else?” She wondered if she embarrassed herself even more.

“No that was pretty much it.” He said rather quickly. “Also if you could tell Flynn the ‘just air’ comment is a little insulting and I’d rather not be referred to as that.” He said before poofing away.

Something told her that the next songwriting session between them would be a little bit different to say the least.