#trap drum kit

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[audioloops543]

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[sosouthernsoundkitsonline]

Trap Essentials Drum Kit Online

Trap Essentials Drum Kit Online

Buy Trap Essentials Drum Kit Online from Sosouthern Sound Kit, CONTAINS, UK / NY DRILL SOUNDS TRAP SOUNDS ONE SHOTS SAMPLES VOCALS MIDI MIXER PRESETS EXTRAS Trap Essentials Drum Kit

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[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 17

part 1 | part 16 | ao3

Heat rolls through Steve’s gut; low and quick, a vicious flare, and then he coughs and looks away. “Jesus, man," he splutters, "learn to take a joke.”

“Mmm-hm.” Eddie's smug smirk spreads wide, grows teeth; gotcha bitch, and Steve’s about to tell him to fuck off when he claps his hands to his thighs and abruptly stands up. Does a big stretch, swinging his arms out side to side, reaching overhead until his back makes a noise like a twisted sheet of bubble wrap.

“Holy shit!” Steve frowns. “You’re gonna break your spine.”

Eddie gives him a flippant smile. “That's the idea. Anyway...” He pretzels himself up again, groaning as his neck and shoulders pop. “Seeing as we’re trapped in here for the foreseeable future, you wanna do what the little psychos asked? Play twenty questions or have a heart-to-heart or whatever?”

“Seriously? And just give them what they want?”

Eddie shrugs. “Seems like the fastest way out of here, so yeah.”

“We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“Please. You negotiate with them all the time." He folds forward at the hips, looking at Steve upside down between his legs, and twists a curl around his pinky. "Those kids have you wrapped around their grubby little fingers."

"They do not!"

"They totally do. Besides," he swings back upright, "I’ll negotiate with anyone if it gets me back home to my girl.”

"Oh." Steve stumbles at that. "Didn't know you had a girlfriend.”

Eddie laughs big and bright, shaking his hair all over the place. “Yeah, Harrington, I have a girlfriend. You're funny. Y'know, Henderson could have saved us a lot of time here if he'd just told me you were fun—”

“Okay, then who’s your girl?” Steve interrupts with a huff, because Eddie’s just hopping around in circles while he laughs like Steve's a fucking moron for making a totally reasonable assumption, and he doesn't understand what's so goddamn funny about it.

“My girl, Harrington,” he all but coos when he collects himself, “is my guitar.” He bites his lip and mimes playing a riff; Steve doesn’t know shit about guitar, but he knows that Eddie’s fingers are quick, nimble and impressive as they jitter through the air. “We’ve got a show this weekend. Like, a real one this time, not just playing to three drunks at the Hideout.”

“Cool,” Steve says, looking away from his rings. “Congrats, man. You any good?”

“You could say that.” Eddie’s mouth goes smug and pleased, genuine pride shining in his big eyes when he rocks back on his heels. “The frat that booked us seems to think so, anyway.”

“Oh, shit!" Now Steve's impressed, because it's the weekend before Halloween, and that means, "College costume party.”

“Of course you’d be excited about that.”

“Hey, great place to get laid,” Steve shrugs.

Eddie chokes on his own spit. “You’re kind of a slut, you know that?”

“Rude,” Steve says mildly. He's not a slut; he's an opportunist.

The ground's starting to hurt his ass, so he stands up to join Eddie's impromptu yoga session. Eddie leans a hip against the workbench, folding his arms over his chest and giving Steve room to move.

His eyes flit to his hemline when it rides up on a stretch. "Would you..." he clears his throat. "Would you want to come?"

"Huh?" Steve twists around.

"To the show," Eddie adds, ducking his head to hide his face behind his hair. "You'd have to cram into the back with Frankie and the drum kit, but uh..."

Steve lets himself picture it for a moment, some alternate dimension where he's allowed to say yes: the winding highway to Indy, a van full of dudes cracking jokes and fighting over who gets to pick the music next, losing himself in the thrum of a crowd while he drinks and dances and watches Eddie on stage.

His throat feels tight, suddenly. He reaches for the flask and takes another sip of whiskey. "Don't all your bandmates hate me?"

"I mean... not any more than I do." Eddie's answer is quiet, his eyes swimming with candlelight; Steve doesn't know when they moved closer, when a hush settled over the room, but it feels like...

"Yeah?" he hedges, his voice barely above a whisper. Then he steps out onto the ledge; icy cliffside, slippery holds. The mountains are so much scarier than the deep sea. "And how... How much is that?"

His pulse kicks in his chest. Echoes down to his wrist, a nervous current beneath his skin. Eddie's eyes are so soft. Big and brown and dark. Dark like the deep woods; endless; sort of mesmerizing.

"Steve, I—"

The cellar doors shriek on their hinges.

—

part 18

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[tozettastone]

Maddie & Kakuzu (& Hidan) ficlet that's not really an actual part of the series but which I wrote anyway

---

Buying an actual house changed Maddie's relationship with her father slightly.

"So... Do you want me to make one of those rooms a guest room?" she wondered, leaning heavily on the door frame as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "Like with a bed?"

Kakuzu's chakra signature hadn't woken her up when he'd arrived — whenever that had been — and neither did Hidan's much more obvious one. But once she got up, their presence did make her choose to put on pants before coming out here. But that was the sum total of her accommodations.

Her furniture included a massive claw-footed tub, a table that could seat four but for which she'd only got one chair, and a second-hand couch that absolutely did not fit all of Kakuzu's tall, broad body. Or Hidan's. Definitely not both.

"No. The couch is fine."

The couch was obviously not fine.

It wasn't so much that it was ugly and old (although it was), for Kakuzu prioritised utility over aesthetics and, because he was a shambling ragdoll monster in human skin, he had no need to baby his aging joints. Rather, the problem was that he obviously did not fit on the ugly old couch. Currently he was pinned in place upon it by Hidan's sprawled, dozing body, and both their feet were hanging far off the end.

Kakuzu also had one heavily muscled forearm thrown over his own eyes, because he was flat on his back and she hadn't bothered with curtains in the main room. When the sun came out, the light was inside.

"Uh-huh," said Maddie, heading into the kitchen area with the little pat-pat-pat of bare feet. "Can I ask a different question?"

She didn't have an electric or gas stove, but she did have a venerable black iron one. She couldn't, like, make candy or anything that required a really specific temperature, but she'd been cooking over a fire for years. It was easy to just shove some wood in and light it up with a little chakra trick — her lightning-affinity heart gave a deep thump as she coaxed a crackle of elemental chakra from her fingertips.

"Asking is free," Kakuzu said. There was an implied warning in that statement: asking was free, but answers might cost you.

The house had clean running water. She filled her kettle and put it on the stove to heat.

"Do you plan to visit often?"

There was a short silence. "No. Don't mistake anything," he added repressively, because he was a mean old bastard, "I'm here because it's convenient."

Uh-huh, she thought, turning to lean against the table and look at those dangling feet, but will it be 'convenient' often?

"Well, I plan to visit all the fucking time," said Hidan, voice thick and deep with sleep. He didn't move his face from where it was crushed into Kakuzu's chest. He could probably hear, like, a whole drum kit in there. "You went from a camp in a cursed swamp to a permanent beach house."

It really was pretty idyllic here on her little stretch of Wave, in its way: forest on one side, massive stretch of of beach on the other. She even had Barry's cutting, Barry the Second, taking root right in her back yard.

"Right. Okay." She looked around. At least the floors were stone and not wood. They'd clean well, which was a perennial consideration if Hidan visited often.

That morning, Maddie endured the spectacle of Kakuzu's tooth-grinding impatience to leave while his partner tested his temper. He loomed like a storm cloud while Hidan made his own breakfast, consumed it at an obnoxiously leisurely pace, and prayed for a solid half hour, apparently just to try everyone around him.

Then, at last, they were gone and Maddie was left in peace, sipping her tea and considering the cheapest place to get a futon for Hidan's — apparently inevitable — visits. She checked her traps and surrendered a crab to the clumsy grasping of Barry the Second, which was growing like a weed now that she was feeding it so regularly.

There was, of course, no work in town, so she didn't have any of that to do, and there was nobody (yet) to whom to rent her second property. The economy sucked and nobody wanted to move here. But the beach itself was lovely, the fresh air was nice and the local hunting was good, so Maddie was perfectly content to wait for Tazuna to get his bridge-building act together.

She did get Hidan a futon, though. It was second hand, which meant she didn't really want to contemplate what might have been soaked into it over its life. But given the kinds of fluids Hidan rolled around in, she didn't think he had any room to complain.

There wasn't any need to commit to dressing up an extensive guest room or anything, but she figured the futon just seemed prudent.

Then, of course, the following month opened with Kakuzu embarking on a mission in Mist, just across the water, and therefore fetching up on Hidan's futon — obviously, right? Maddie's house was cheaper than an inn and way more convenient than camping.

"Thought you didn't need a bed," she mused, peering into the guest room.

Kakuzu had appeared overnight without a sound, and she'd only known he was there at all because of his chakra signature. Kakuzu alone was a much quieter affair than Kakuzu and Hidan. But... she'd also left the windows unlocked.

"I don't need anything," he said flatly, without even opening his eyes. He said this less, she thought, because he didn't want to inconvenience her and more because he rejected the idea of permanence in another person's home. "But it's stupid not to use it."

"Right," said Maddie. "I'm making myself a pot of tea, and I guess if you so happen to show up near the pot, I'll pour you one."

Kakuzu cracked open one sinister green eye just to glower at her, but she closed the door to leave him to his rest.

[velarisdusk]

Rushing or Dragging

Drummer! Azriel | Angst

word count: 317 content: | self harm, mental health issues, self-hatred, blood | summary: Consumed by self-doubt, a driven Azriel pushes himself to the brink in a relentless pursuit of perfection, trapped in an endless cycle of practice and pain. author's note: I've never written angst before so any and all critiques are welcome. Inspired by my rewatch of Whiplash (2014), watch it if you haven't, I think it's a great movie. ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The drum kit loomed before Azriel in the cramped practice room, a monument to his obsession. The drums beckoned, a siren's call of self-destruction. With each step closer, their siren song twisted, distorted, until what once was melody became cacophony. By the time he sat before them, they no longer sang; they screamed.

Each strike echoed off the soundproofed walls, a confession bouncing back at him. Every rhythm was an indictment of his inadequacy, amplified in the claustrophobic space. The music—once his salvation—had become his prison, bars forged from broken dreams and shattered confidence.

His mind spiraled, a tempest louder than any beat he could produce. Worthless. Fraud. Failure. The words pulsed in time with the metronome's unforgiving tick, a relentless mantra of self-loathing.

Memories assaulted him: his father's disgust, his brothers' pity, the crushing silence after his greatest performance. No applause. No recognition. Just the deafening roar of his own inadequacy.

Blood slicked the sticks, each impact a punishment for daring to dream. The pain was a reminder—of his limits, his flaws, his eternal shortcomings. Azriel embraced it, craved it. In agony, he found purpose.

As darkness crept at the edges of his vision, Azriel wondered if this would be the day the music finally consumed him whole. Part of him hoped it would.

Tears mingled with sweat, blurring his vision. The world faded, leaving only the punishing rhythm and the void in his chest where hope used to reside.

In this purgatory of endless, meaningless repetition, Azriel realized a terrifying truth: the music would never let him go, and he would never be enough.

The last note faded. Without pause, Azriel reset the metronome. Again. And again. And again. Hours stretched before him, an eternity of self-inflicted torment. In this windowless room, time lost all meaning. There was only the next repetition, the next chance to fail, the next punishment.

And Azriel played on.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

[your-girl-nina]

So uhm, I'm drowning in about six fanfics and I'm trying to figure out how to transfer some things on Tumblr onto ao3. Anyways enjoy bartylus fanfic.

Word count: 10, 486

Tw: cheating and low self esteem I guess? Used the same excuse as my father to make it legit.

English is not my first language don't crucify me please.

Title:Bandaids and suture kit.

Regulus Black had never considered himself a particularly lucky man. Life had taught him that he was better off alone, that love was a mirage, forever out of reach. Yet, somehow, James Potter had managed to slip past the barriers Regulus had carefully constructed around his heart. With James, he had felt warmth for the first time, a sense of belonging he never knew he craved. But now, as he approached the apartment they shared, that warmth felt like a distant memory, replaced by a gnawing unease.

The evening was draped in twilight, the fading light spilling through the windows like molten gold. Regulus carried a grocery bag filled with James's favorite snacks, the ones he bought every week in a small attempt to ensure the moments they shared together were special. He hummed a tune under his breath, thinking of the smile that would greet him as he walked through the door. His heart swelled with anticipation as he twisted the doorknob, blissfully unaware of the heartache that awaited him.

As he stepped inside, a faint sound caught his attention—laughter, bright and carefree, echoing through the hallway. Regulus paused, his brow furrowing. He hadn’t expected to hear laughter from the living room. That was their space, their sanctuary, a place where warmth and love enveloped them. It sounded like… another voice.

He placed the grocery bag on the counter, the soft thud barely registering in his mind. With cautious steps, he made his way towards the sound, curiosity edging out any suspicion. As he neared the living room, his heart began to race, a drum echoing in his ears, each beat resonating with an unfamiliar dread.

The door was ajar, and he could see shadows dancing inside, two figures illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp. He took a deep breath, willing himself to push the door open. But as he did, the scene before him shattered his world.

James was there, his back to Regulus, and in his arms was a woman with cascading red hair—Lily Evans, James’s ex-girlfriend. Regulus felt the air leave his lungs, the ground shifting beneath his feet. The laughter that had once sounded so innocent now clawed at his insides, each peal a jagged knife twisting deeper into his chest.

“James, I missed you so much,” Lily purred, her voice sweet and sultry. Regulus’s heart plummeted as he watched her lean into James, her hand resting possessively on his shoulder, a smile lighting up her face.

Regulus’s vision blurred, hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He wanted to scream, to confront them both, but the words lodged in his throat, heavy and suffocating. Instead, he stepped back, retreating into the shadows, every pulse in his body screaming at him to leave.

How could this happen? His mind raced, replaying every moment, every laugh they had shared. He had trusted James with his heart, believing that he was worthy of love, finally feeling whole for the first time in his life. But here was the truth, stark and painful, shattering the fragile illusions he had clung to. He was wrong. He was unlovable, just as he had always believed.

Regulus stumbled back into the kitchen, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a trapped bird. The grocery bag slipped from his fingers, the contents spilling across the floor in a chaotic mess of wrappers and snacks. He felt sick, his stomach twisting violently as he braced himself against the counter for support.

As he tried to steady his breath, the sound of footsteps approached. Regulus's heart raced in terror; he couldn’t bear to face James, not now, not after this. He could feel the heat of shame creeping up his neck, mixing with the anguish that consumed him.

“Reg?” James called, his voice bright and carefree, completely unaware of the devastation he was about to unleash. “Is that you? I thought I heard you come in!”

Regulus’s heart shattered into a million pieces, each fragment cutting deeper into his soul. He pressed a trembling hand to his mouth, desperate to silence the sob that threatened to escape.

When James entered the kitchen, his expression shifted from joy to confusion as he took in the scene before him—the grocery bags strewn across the floor, Regulus standing pale and trembling against the counter. “Reg, what’s wrong?” He stepped forward, concern flooding his features.

But Regulus couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t bear the sight of the man he loved so fiercely, the man who had broken him so completely. “You… you were with her,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “With Lily.”

James’s face paled, and for a brief moment, he looked genuinely remorseful. “Reg, I—”

“Save it,” Regulus spat, the pain twisting into anger. “I can’t believe I was foolish enough to think I mattered to you. I thought I was worth loving, but clearly, I was wrong. You’ve shown me how little I mean to you.”

“Regulus, please,” James said, desperation creeping into his voice. “It’s not what it looks like! I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Regulus interrupted, his voice rising. “To betray me? To run back to her? I thought I was special to you, but I guess I was just a placeholder, weren’t I?”

“No! That’s not true!” James took another step forward, his eyes pleading. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. I was just—”

“Just what?” Regulus cut him off, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Just confused? Just wanting a little fun? You think that excuses it? I thought you were different, James. I thought you were better than this!”

“Reg, please…” James reached for him, but Regulus recoiled, stepping further away. The hurt in his heart turned into an all-consuming void, swallowing every ounce of the love he had once felt for James.

“Don’t touch me,” Regulus choked out, feeling raw and exposed. “You don’t get to pretend that this didn’t happen. You don’t get to take my heart and shatter it, then ask me to forgive you like it’s nothing.”

James’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and for a moment, Regulus saw the man he had fallen in love with—the one who had made him feel seen and cherished. But the image was tainted now, distorted by the betrayal that lingered in the air like a thick fog.

“Reg, I’m so sorry,” James said, his voice trembling. “I messed up. I never wanted to hurt you. Please, let’s talk about this.”

“What is there to talk about?” Regulus asked, his voice trembling with a mixture of hurt and anger. “You’ve made your choice. You want her. You always wanted her. I’m just the fool who thought he could take her place.”

“Regulus, no! You don’t understand!” James pleaded, stepping closer. “It was a mistake. It meant nothing!”

But the words rang hollow in Regulus’s ears. “If it meant nothing, then why are you here? Why are you still standing there, pretending like this is all okay?” The despair in his voice echoed in the silence of the kitchen.

James opened his mouth to respond, but Regulus didn’t give him the chance. He turned on his heel, the sobs clawing their way up his throat as he fled the kitchen, each step feeling heavier than the last. He stumbled into their bedroom, the place that once held their laughter and shared dreams now feeling like a prison of memories.

Regulus fell onto the bed, burying his face in the pillows, muffling the sound of his anguish. He had given James everything, his heart, his trust, and in return, he had been given betrayal. The realization weighed down on him, crushing him beneath the weight of despair.

He had always felt unlovable, a burden wrapped in shadows, but for a brief moment, James had made him feel like he was worthy. Now, that flicker of hope had been extinguished, leaving nothing but darkness in its wake.

He could hear James’s footsteps behind him, the soft, desperate calls of his name, but Regulus couldn’t bear to face him. Not now. Not when every word was a reminder of the love that had been ripped away, leaving only the jagged edges of a broken heart.

“Reg, please…” James’s voice cracked, full of emotion, but Regulus couldn’t listen anymore. He was drowning in his pain, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find a way back to the surface.

As the night wore on, Regulus lay curled up on the bed, the silent tears soaking into the fabric. His heart felt like a heavy stone, each beat a reminder of the love that had slipped through his fingers. In that darkness, he let himself feel the ache, the loss, and the bitter taste of betrayal.

Regulus Black had learned one thing that night: love could be beautiful, but it could also cut deeper than any knife. And now, as the shadows of doubt closed in around him, he was left to wonder if he would ever be whole again.

The next morning dawned gray and heavy, the weight of unspoken words hanging thick in the air. Regulus Black lay curled in a ball under the covers, his heart still raw from the previous night’s revelations. The light filtering through the curtains felt invasive, a reminder that the world kept moving even as his life had come to a standstill.

He had spent the night grappling with his feelings, the memories of laughter and shared dreams now tainted by betrayal. How could James do this to him? The thought echoed relentlessly, a mantra of pain that replayed in his mind. Each time he recalled the image of James and Lily together, a new stab of hurt pierced through the fragile veneer of hope he had clung to.

Regulus took a deep breath, trying to summon the strength to face the day. He could hear James moving about the apartment, the sound of dishes clinking as he prepared breakfast. A part of him wanted to crawl back into the warmth of the blankets, to hide away from the reality of their situation, but another part knew he had to confront this—had to confront James.

With a heavy heart, Regulus pushed the covers aside and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet brushing against the cold floor. He felt exposed and vulnerable, like a fragile leaf caught in a tempest. Gathering himself, he stood and took one last look at the chaotic remnants of last night—the spilled grocery bag, the remnants of a life they had shared. It all felt like a cruel joke now.

As he made his way into the kitchen, the smell of bacon and eggs hit him, a stark contrast to the tumult in his heart. James was standing at the stove, his back to Regulus, humming softly to himself. The sight should have brought comfort, but instead, it twisted the knife deeper.

“Good morning,” James said, turning around with a bright smile that faltered when he saw Regulus’s expression.

“Morning,” Regulus replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He shifted on his feet, avoiding James’s gaze, afraid of what he might see reflected back.

There was a moment of silence, heavy and thick, punctuated only by the sizzling of the bacon. Regulus could feel the tension crackling in the air, an invisible barrier stretching between them. Finally, James broke the silence, stepping forward. “I’m sorry about last night, Reg. I didn’t want you to find out like that. I—”

Regulus cut him off, the words bursting out before he could stop them. “You didn’t want me to find out? You mean you didn’t want to get caught.” His voice trembled with suppressed rage and pain, the hurt spilling over like a broken dam. “You didn’t want to break my heart, but you did anyway. You chose her, James. You chose Lily.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen, I swear!” James protested, his hands raised in defense. “It was a mistake. I never wanted to hurt you!”

Regulus felt his heart clench painfully at those words. Mistake. The word echoed in his mind, a bitter reminder of his past. How many times had he been called a mistake? How many times had he been told he was a burden, unlovable, a waste of space? It was all coming back, the memories of his childhood suffocating him. “So I was just a distraction, then? A placeholder until you decided you wanted to run back to your ex?”

“Reg, please, listen!” James took a step closer, desperation in his eyes. “It wasn’t like that. I love you. I really do. But Lily… I didn’t want to break up with you to get back with her. I thought I could manage both. I thought—”

“Thought what? That you could have your cake and eat it too?” Regulus snapped, his voice rising, anger mingling with hurt. “You don’t get to keep me on the sidelines while you play house with someone else!”

James’s face fell, pain flickering across his features. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Regulus. You have to believe me! It was a mistake, and I’m so sorry. I was confused. I thought we could—”

“Confused?” Regulus echoed, disbelief flooding through him. “Confused about what? I made it clear how I felt about you. I thought I meant something to you, James! But apparently, I was just a stopgap, a placeholder while you figured things out!”

James took another step closer, reaching for Regulus, but he flinched back, the action sending a pang of regret through him. “Don’t touch me,” Regulus said, his voice cold, a protective barrier rising between them. “You’ve already taken so much from me. I won’t let you take my dignity too.”

“Reg, please!” James’s voice cracked, filled with emotion. “I didn’t want this! I thought I could figure it all out without hurting you, but… but I messed up! I cheated on you, yes, but I was never going to leave you!”

Regulus stared at him, his heart breaking all over again. The man who had made him feel seen, wanted, was now the one causing the deepest wounds he had ever felt. The love that had once been a refuge was now a battlefield, strewn with the debris of their broken trust. “You don’t understand what this feels like, do you?” he said, his voice trembling with raw emotion. “You don’t know what it’s like to feel worthless, to feel like you don’t deserve love or happiness. I thought I finally found someone who cared. But here you are, proving that I was right all along. I’m just… broken.”

“Regulus, you’re not broken,” James said softly, stepping forward again, pleading in his tone. “You’re worth so much more than you realize. I—”

“Don’t you dare say that!” Regulus interrupted, anger flaring within him. “You don’t get to define my worth, James! You’ve made it clear what you think of me. I’m just someone you can hurt and then come back to when it’s convenient.”

The hurt in James’s eyes deepened, and for a moment, Regulus thought he saw the flicker of understanding. But it quickly faded, replaced by desperation. “I love you, Regulus. I never wanted to lose you. I don’t want to lose you now. Please, let’s work through this together.”

“Together?” Regulus laughed bitterly, the sound laced with pain. “How can we possibly work through this when you’ve already chosen someone else? How can I trust you again? You’ve shattered everything we built together.”

James’s expression crumpled, and for a moment, he looked lost, like a boy who had wandered too far from home. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I could manage it all without breaking us apart. But I was selfish. I know that now, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you!”

“Your feelings don’t change the fact that you broke me,” Regulus said quietly, the fire in him dimming, replaced by a deep, hollow ache. “You don’t get to decide that I’m worth loving now. You’ve already shown me what you think of me.”

“Regulus, I—” James started, but the words faltered on his lips as Regulus turned away, unable to face the truth any longer.

“Just… go,” Regulus whispered, the finality of the words shattering the fragile facade he had tried to maintain. “Just leave me alone.”

James stood there for a moment, the weight of the world hanging between them, but finally, he nodded, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’ll give you space,” he said quietly, his voice filled with regret. “But I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk.”

Regulus couldn’t respond. Instead, he turned away, tears streaming down his face as he heard James’s footsteps retreating. The door clicked softly behind him, and in that moment, the silence swallowed everything.

Regulus was alone.

As the reality of it sank in, he sank to the floor, the weight of his past crashing over him. He felt like that same frightened boy again, lost and unlovable, convinced that he was nothing but a burden. Tears flowed freely as he allowed himself to grieve the love he had thought he’d found, the light that had flickered so brightly before being extinguished.

He had trusted James with his heart, believed he was worthy of love, but once again, he was left standing in the ruins of his own insecurities. And all that remained were the echoes of pain and the haunting reminder that he might never truly belong to anyone.

It takes what feels like forever though a few minutes stretched for his tears to stop falling and for his heart to die down.

Regulus sat on the floor, tears still wet on his cheeks, the remnants of his heartache pooling around him. The apartment felt suffocating, filled with echoes of laughter that now seemed like mockery. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt, the warmth of his tears replaced by an unsettling chill.

As the silence pressed in, he felt the weight of loneliness creeping back in. The past few months had been a fragile refuge, a moment of light amidst the darkness of his childhood. James had been the anchor he never thought he needed, the person who made him feel like he belonged. But now, with everything shattered, the loneliness threatened to swallow him whole.

In a moment of desperation, he reached for his phone, fingers trembling slightly as he scrolled through his contacts. Barty’s name stood out, a flicker of hope amidst the despair. Regulus had never thought he would need to reach out to him again, but here he was, seeking a lifeline.

He hesitated, anxiety swirling in his stomach, then finally typed out a simple message: “You busy?”

The seconds stretched on as he stared at the screen, every moment amplifying the weight of his loneliness. Just as doubt began to creep in, his phone buzzed, jolting him from his thoughts. “Never too busy for you, fucker. What’s up?”

Regulus felt a small smile tugging at his lips at Barty’s reply. The familiar teasing tone was a comfort, a reminder of their bond forged in laughter and chaos. “I need you.”

He took a deep breath, guilt swirling within him. He knew Barty would drop everything for him, and while he appreciated the unwavering support, the thought of pulling him away from his life felt heavy. But right now, he needed a friend—he needed Barty.

“Be there in 15,” Barty replied almost instantly, the speed of his response sending a rush of warmth through Regulus’s chest.

His breath hitched at the thought of seeing him. It had been too long since they’d had one of their late-night conversations or shared a drink and let the world fade away. “Don’t speed up too much. Take your time.”

With that, he turned off his phone, pushing himself up from the floor. Regulus dragged himself toward the bedroom, the space around him still echoing with the shadows of what had just happened. He moved mechanically, the need to prepare grounding him even as his heart felt like it was being crushed under the weight of loss.

As he packed a small bag of necessities, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt wash over him again. He was dragging Barty back into the chaos of his life, into the remnants of his broken heart. But as he folded a few items of clothing and tossed in a book he had been reading, he knew he couldn’t face this alone.

Regulus found a small bottle of his favorite cologne, a scent that reminded him of warm nights and shared secrets, and slipped it into the bag. He paused for a moment, staring at the collection of items that felt both necessary and overwhelming. It was all a patchwork of his life that had suddenly gone wrong.

Taking a deep breath, he closed the bag and sat on the edge of his bed, his heart pounding with anxiety and anticipation. Barty would be here soon, and with him came the promise of comfort, the reminder that he wasn’t alone in this chaos. Despite everything, he could feel a glimmer of hope starting to flicker deep within him—a flicker that told him maybe, just maybe, he could find his way through the darkness with Barty by his side.

With that thought, he settled back against the pillows, trying to calm the storm within him as he awaited his friend.

Laying back against the soft pillows, Regulus closed his eyes, letting the silence of the room wash over him. The darkness felt heavy, but it was a comfort, a safe cocoon where he could hide from the world outside. In the stillness, memories flickered behind his eyelids like a broken film reel—James's laughter, the way his eyes sparkled when he talked about his dreams, the moments of quiet intimacy that made Regulus believe he was worthy of love.

But as the memories played on repeat, each one only deepened the ache in his chest. Regulus couldn’t bring himself to hate James, no matter how much he wished he could. James had been the sun in his life, brightening every shadowy corner, chasing away the lingering doubts and insecurities that had followed him like a relentless shadow. He was the light that pierced through the fog of Regulus's past, making him feel seen and cherished for the first time.

But now, lying there, Regulus felt like the fuck-up he had always believed himself to be. How could he not have seen it? How could he have been so blind to the cracks forming in their relationship? James had found solace in someone else, someone who wasn’t a mess of scars and insecurities. Regulus had always thought of himself as a burden, a weight that James had to carry, and now, more than ever, those thoughts seemed insurmountable.

“I wasn’t enough,” he whispered into the silence, his voice breaking under the weight of his self-recrimination. He replayed the scene in his mind: walking in to find James tangled in Lily’s arms, their laughter echoing in his ears like the cruelest of taunts. It was as if the universe was mocking him, reminding him that there was always someone better out there—someone who could be everything he couldn’t.

Regulus felt the sting of tears prick at the corners of his eyes again, but he fought them back, unwilling to let them flow freely once more. He wouldn’t cry for James; he wouldn’t give into the pain any longer. Instead, he turned the blame inward. If he had been less selfish, less of a loser, less of a mess, maybe James would have never strayed. Maybe he would have felt secure enough to stay.

The thought clawed at him, raw and relentless. Regulus had spent so long wrestling with the idea that he was unlovable, that he was a waste of space and time. And now, with this betrayal burning in his chest, that belief felt more solid than ever. How could he have hoped for anything more when he was the embodiment of everything wrong in his own life?

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, feeling a desperate need to apologize to the very air around him, as if it could somehow ease the burden he carried. “I’m so sorry for being who I am.”

He rolled onto his side, wrapping his arms around himself as if he could hold the pieces of his heart together. With every passing moment, the realization sank deeper into his bones: he was a mess, and that mess had driven James into someone else’s arms.

As Regulus lay there, suffocated by the weight of his thoughts, he wished for a moment that he could be someone else—someone worthy of love. Barty was on his way, but even the thought of his friend couldn’t chase away the demons whispering their taunts in the back of his mind.

If he were less broken, if he could somehow be the person James deserved, then maybe—just maybe—things would have turned out differently. But as he lay in the dark, he felt the truth clawing at him: he would always be the fuck-up, the one who let love slip through his fingers.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

The comforting roar of a motorcycle cut through the heavy silence of Regulus’s apartment, a welcome sound that broke him from his spiral of self-loathing. He hadn’t even heard Barty approach, but the rumble of the engine felt like a lifeline being thrown into his tumultuous sea of despair. Before he could even process the noise, the front door creaked open, and there stood Barty, his presence both grounding and electric.

Regulus didn’t move, frozen in his place on the edge of the bed. Barty's eyes scanned the room, landing on Regulus’s crumpled figure, and the air shifted. Without a moment's hesitation, Barty crossed the room in three swift strides and enveloped him in his arms, pulling Regulus closer against his chest. There were no questions, no demands for explanations—just an instinctive understanding that Regulus needed him.

As Barty held him tight, something inside Regulus finally snapped. The dam broke, and he unraveled completely into a sobbing, incoherent mess, every sound of his anguish piercing Barty’s heart like shards of glass. The rawness of Regulus's pain was a visceral thing; each tear that fell from his silver-grey eyes felt like a knife twisting deep in Barty's chest.

“Shhh,” Barty murmured softly, his voice steady even as his heart seethed with anger and sorrow for his friend. He stroked Regulus's hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, offering comfort without expectation. “I’ve got you. Just let it out.”

Regulus clung to Barty as if he were a lifeline, inhaling the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and peppermint that wrapped around him like a warm blanket. Memories of teasing Barty about his candy-cane smell flickered through his mind—a brief, sweet distraction from the pain that suffocated him. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to drown in that scent, to lose himself in the comfort of his best friend’s presence.

Time felt meaningless as they sat there, Barty’s arms a sanctuary against the storm raging inside Regulus. The minutes stretched into what felt like hours, each heartbeat synchronizing with the sobs that shook Regulus’s frame. With every breath, Barty focused on keeping Regulus anchored, a calm presence amidst the chaos.

Eventually, Regulus’s tears began to subside, though the ache in his heart remained. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at Barty. What he saw tore at Barty’s heart: Regulus looked utterly wrecked. His silver-grey eyes were bloodshot and puffy, lips swollen from the relentless pressure of his grief, and his face was blotchy and red, a map of his heartbreak.

Barty’s stomach twisted at the sight. If he could, he would burn the world to ashes if it meant he’d never have to see Regulus in this state again. The thought made his blood boil. Someone had hurt Regulus, and the rage simmering within him was focused entirely on the unknown source of this pain.

“Reg,” Barty whispered, his voice barely above a murmur as he searched his friend’s eyes for some glimmer of the boy he had known for so long. “You okay?”

Regulus opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he leaned into Barty's chest, seeking the warmth and strength that was so inherently Barty. He didn't want to talk, not yet. The pain was too fresh, too raw, and he couldn't bring himself to articulate the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to consume him.

“Just breathe,” Barty urged gently, feeling Regulus’s heart racing against his own. He wanted nothing more than to shield Regulus from everything that had hurt him, to take away the pain and replace it with the laughter and joy they had shared in their years of friendship.

As the two sat there, the weight of their silence spoke volumes. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them, wrapped up in each other—a fragile connection that felt like it could shatter at any moment. Regulus was safe here, in Barty’s arms, and for now, that was enough.

A few minutes go by in silence. Regulus turned his head slightly, trying to catch Barty’s gaze through the curtain of his hair. “Bee—”

“Yeah?” Barty replied, his voice steady, as if he could anchor Regulus just by being there.

“Take me with you,” Regulus said, his voice a whisper laced with desperation.

“Anything you need, Regulus.” Barty's heart swelled at the raw vulnerability in Regulus’s request, but it also tightened with concern as he noted the pallor of Regulus's skin, the way his cheeks were sunken, and the deep dark circles under his eyes that told stories of sleepless nights filled with anguish. Regulus looked fragile, and it sent a wave of protectiveness surging through Barty.

With gentle urgency, Barty helped Regulus to his feet. Regulus wavered slightly, his balance unsure, and Barty's heart clenched at the sight. “Easy there,” he said softly, wrapping an arm around Regulus’s waist to steady him.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Barty grabbed Regulus’s small bag, tossing it over his shoulder as they made their way to the door. There was a single helmet resting on the hook by the door, and before Regulus could protest, Barty picked it up and placed it on Regulus’s head. “You’ll need this,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he adjusted the fit.

Regulus opened his mouth to argue, but he quickly found the words escaping him. The helmet felt heavy, but the gesture filled him with warmth—Barty always looked out for him. Instead of voicing his discomfort, he surrendered to the moment, a sense of calm washing over him as he followed Barty out the door.

As they stepped into the night, Barty's motorcycle loomed in the driveway like a beast ready to take them away. Barty secured Regulus on the bike, and he climbed on behind him, instinctively wrapping his arms around Barty’s waist. The warmth radiating from Barty’s body seeped into Regulus, chasing away some of the cold that had settled deep within him.

With a deep breath, Barty started the engine, the roar of the bike drowning out everything else—the pain, the betrayal, the heartbreak. He could feel Regulus pressing against him, seeking solace in his presence, and it only fueled the simmering rage inside him. Barty gripped the handlebars tightly, his knuckles white, but he remained calm on the surface, focusing on the road ahead.

As they sped off into the night, the wind whipped through Regulus’s hair, the world around them blurring into streaks of color. He relished the warmth of Barty against him, feeling safe for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The engine’s growl was a heartbeat beneath them, steady and strong, just like Barty.

Regulus pressed his forehead against Barty’s back, closing his eyes. The city lights flickered past, but he was content to focus on the sensation of being wrapped in Barty’s embrace. It was an anchor, pulling him back from the edge of his spiraling thoughts.

Barty’s heart raced, not just from the thrill of the bike but from the protective instinct surging through him. He would burn the world for Regulus if it meant he’d never see that broken look on his face again. For now, all he wanted was to get as far away from the memories of pain as possible, to remind Regulus that he wasn’t alone.

“Hang on tight,” Barty called over the roar of the engine, and Regulus squeezed him a little tighter, feeling the warmth of Barty’s presence seep into his bones. They were leaving behind the hurt, if only for a little while, and as they rode through the dark, Regulus allowed himself to believe, even if just for a moment, that everything would be okay.

As Barty guided Regulus into his apartment, the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and something sweet wrapped around them like a cocoon. Barty’s space was cluttered yet inviting, filled with the remnants of their shared childhood memories—posters, photographs, and remnants of late-night gaming sessions. It felt safe here, a stark contrast to the turmoil Regulus had left behind.

“Just hang tight,” Barty said gently, leading Regulus to his bedroom. “I’ll be right back.”

Regulus nodded, his heart still racing but soothed by the warmth of Barty’s presence. He settled onto the edge of the bed, the soft mattress a welcome reprieve from the heaviness in his chest. The silence was comforting, but soon it was broken by the sound of muffled voices in the kitchen.

“Hey, Marls?” Barty called out, his tone casual but laced with an underlying urgency.

“It’s Marlene for you, you mister. Only my girlfriend calls me that,” Marlene shot back playfully, and Regulus could almost hear the eye roll in her voice.

“Okay, fine—Marlene,” Barty replied with a hint of exasperation. “Think you can stay with Cas for a while? I’m gonna need your room...”

Regulus’s breath hitched, and he instinctively moved closer to the door, trying to hide himself as if he could disappear into the shadows. The idea of being found, of having to explain himself, was suffocating.

“What will I get in return?” Marlene asked, teasingly.

“Whatever you want,” Barty replied, the desperation creeping into his voice, as if he expected her to refuse.

“I’ll think about my reward later,” she said, and Regulus could picture the sly grin on her face. “You’re lucky my girlfriend has a big house, Crouch.”

“You’re the best!” Barty exclaimed, relief flooding his tone.

“I know,” Marlene replied, and Regulus felt a flicker of warmth at the camaraderie between them, a bond forged over years of friendship.

Regulus shifted slightly, straining to catch a glimpse of Barty as the conversation continued. He felt a mix of gratitude and guilt washing over him. Barty was going out of his way for him, making sacrifices without a second thought, and the weight of that kindness made Regulus’s heart ache even more.

“Thanks, Marlene,” Barty said, and Regulus could hear the sincerity in his voice. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me a few, actually. Just don’t mess this up,” Marlene replied, her voice teasing but with an underlying seriousness that Regulus found comforting.

“Promise,” Barty said, and Regulus could imagine him flashing that easy smile that always lit up the room.

As the voices faded into the background, Regulus felt a swell of emotion rise within him. He didn’t deserve this kindness, this care. He was a burden, a waste of space and time, and yet here Barty was, willing to sacrifice his own comfort for Regulus’s well-being.

Barty returned moments later, his expression softening when he saw Regulus still sitting on the bed, the shadows from the night cloaking him in a vulnerable light. “Marlene’s gonna stay with Cas for a bit. You’re all set,” he said, crossing the room and sinking onto the bed beside Regulus. “You okay?”

Regulus forced a nod, though he could feel the cracks within him still spreading. “I didn’t mean to intrude,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Reg, you’re not intruding. You’re my best friend, and I’ll always have your back,” Barty reassured him, the sincerity in his voice igniting something within Regulus. “You’ve got a place here as long as you need it.”

Regulus’s heart ached at the truth in Barty’s words. It was a lifeline, a flicker of hope in the darkness that threatened to consume him. “Thank you,” he breathed, feeling the weight of his pain lift just slightly in Barty’s presence.

“Let’s just take it one step at a time, alright?” Barty suggested, leaning back against the headboard and patting the space next to him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

With a hesitant smile, Regulus moved closer, settling beside Barty as they both stared at the wall, lost in their own thoughts. It was a small moment of peace amidst the chaos, a reminder that he wasn’t alone—no matter how broken he felt inside.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft orange glow through the windows, Barty took Regulus’s hand and led him through the apartment, his voice brightening the atmosphere with lighthearted commentary.

“This is the living room,” Barty said, gesturing to the cozy space with mismatched furniture and an array of gaming consoles strewn across the coffee table. “Marlene and I have movie nights here. You know, all the classic horror flicks. We can binge-watch whenever you want.”

Regulus forced a smile, appreciating the warmth of the room, even if it felt foreign to him.

“And this is the kitchen,” Barty continued, leaning against the doorframe as he pointed out the open layout. “Marlene’s the chef, but I do my best when I have to. Just don’t ask me to bake anything. Last time, I set off the smoke alarm.”

Regulus chuckled softly, the sound feeling almost alien coming from his throat. The familiar banter they shared was comforting, a reminder of the bond they’d always had.

Barty opened the door to his bedroom, a sanctuary filled with chaotic charm. Posters of their favorite bands plastered the walls, and books lay scattered across the desk. “And here’s where the magic happens,” he said with a smirk. “Well, the gaming magic, anyway.”

Regulus stepped inside, taking in the space that felt like an extension of Barty himself. “It’s nice,” he admitted, the remnants of his earlier turmoil swirling in his chest.

Barty dropped Regulus’s bag on the bed, glancing at him with a mix of concern and curiosity. “You can stay in here while I crash at Marlene’s. I hope that’s okay,” he said, his voice softening. “I want you to feel comfortable.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Regulus replied, though uncertainty flickered within him. He hadn’t planned on needing a place to stay, but being here with Barty felt like a small victory amidst the chaos of his emotions.

As they settled into the room, Barty shifted slightly, his demeanor becoming more serious. “Reg, can we talk about what happened? You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready, but I’m here for you,” he urged, his gaze unwavering.

Regulus felt his heart race, the weight of the question heavy in the air. He hesitated, searching for the words to explain the depths of his pain. “It’s… complicated,” he finally managed, his voice trembling.

“Take your time,” Barty reassured him, sitting on the edge of the bed, the concern etched into his features.

Regulus took a deep breath, memories flooding back—the hurt, the betrayal, the suffocating fear of being unlovable. “James… he was cheating on me,” he whispered, the confession hanging in the air like a dark cloud.

Barty’s eyes widened in disbelief, and his jaw clenched. “With who?” he asked, anger simmering beneath the surface.

“Lily,” Regulus replied, his voice barely a whisper. “His ex.”

Barty’s expression shifted, an emotion Regulus couldn’t quite place flickering across his face. “I—” he started, then stopped himself. “I’m so sorry, Reg.”

Regulus felt the tears prick at the corners of his eyes again. “I should’ve seen it coming,” he murmured, guilt swirling within him. “I always felt like I wasn’t enough for him, you know? Like I was just… a placeholder.”

“No, you’re not a placeholder,” Barty said firmly, his voice cutting through Regulus’s spiraling thoughts. “You’re amazing, Regulus. James was a fool to think otherwise.”

Regulus swallowed hard, the anguish rising within him. “He didn’t want to hurt me, he said. He just… he wanted to be with Lily again. But he didn’t want to break up with me either. It’s like I was just something to fall back on.”

Barty’s eyes darkened with a storm of emotions, the fury at James evident in his gaze. “That’s not fair to you. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are, not someone who just uses you when it’s convenient.”

Regulus nodded, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. “I thought I was doing better, that I could finally be happy. But then… this happened. I thought he loved me.”

“He should have loved you,” Barty said, his tone low and fierce. “You’re worth so much more than he gave you. You’re worth all the love in the world.”

Regulus looked down, ashamed of the vulnerability spilling from him. “I always felt like I was just a waste of space, and maybe… maybe this just proves it.”

Barty’s expression softened, and he moved closer, resting a comforting hand on Regulus’s knee. “You’re not a waste of space. You’ve fought through so much, and you’re still standing. That takes strength. You just need to believe it.”

“I want to,” Regulus said, his voice breaking. “But it’s hard. I’m scared that I’ll never be enough.”

Barty’s hand squeezed his knee gently. “You are enough. And I’ll be here to remind you of that every single day, no matter what.”

Regulus looked up, meeting Barty’s gaze, and for the first time since everything had shattered, he felt a flicker of hope amidst the pain. In this moment, he wasn’t alone; he had Barty, unwavering and steadfast, ready to help him pick up the pieces.

As night fell, the apartment was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a few scattered lamps that cast a warm glow around the room. Regulus sat on Barty’s bed, wrapped in a blanket, his heart still heavy from the weight of his earlier revelations. Barty had pulled out some snacks and a couple of video games, trying to lighten the atmosphere, but Regulus could sense the tension simmering beneath the surface.

Suddenly, Barty’s phone buzzed loudly, slicing through the silence. He glanced at the screen and saw James's name flash across it. A knot twisted in his stomach, and he didn’t hesitate to answer, gripping the phone tightly.

“Potter,” Barty said, trying to keep his voice steady, but it dripped with uncontained irritation.

“Barty! Thank God, it’s you. Is Regulus there? I’ve been trying to call him, and he won’t pick up!” James’s voice crackled with worry, but Barty could hear the undertone of guilt lurking behind it.

“Yeah, he’s here,” Barty replied, his tone flat. “Why? What do you want?”

“Listen, I need to talk to him. It’s important,” James pleaded, desperation creeping into his voice.

Barty could feel the anger rising within him. “You think he wants to talk to you after what you did? You think he wants to hear your excuses and half-hearted apologies?”

“What do you mean? What happened?” James asked, his tone shifting from concern to confusion.

Regulus, sensing the tension in Barty’s posture, turned to watch as Barty paced back and forth, the phone pressed to his ear. He could see Barty’s jaw clenching, his fingers tapping against the phone in agitation.

“Regulus found out about you and Lily,” Barty said, the words spilling out like venom. “He’s here, trying to pick up the pieces of his heart while you’re busy playing the hero. He deserves better than this.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before James responded, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never meant for it to happen. I thought I could fix things without hurting him, I swear. I just… I just didn’t want to lose him.”

“You already lost him, James!” Barty snapped, his patience wearing thin. “You think this is some game? You broke him! You shattered him into a million pieces, and you think you can just waltz back in and act like nothing’s wrong?”

“Barty, please,” James begged. “I didn’t want to hurt him. I was confused—”

“Confused? You were fucking cheating on him!” Barty shouted, his fury bubbling over. “You’re a coward for doing this to him, and now you want to act like the victim? You don’t get to play both sides, Potter.”

“I never meant for it to be like this,” James insisted, his voice trembling. “I love him!”

“Love? Love doesn’t betray. Love doesn’t leave someone feeling worthless!” Barty roared, gripping the phone tighter, his anger radiating off him in waves.

“I’m sorry, okay? I just thought I could… I thought I could fix it all,” James’s voice cracked, genuine regret seeping through his words.

Barty felt a moment of satisfaction at James's admission but quickly pushed it aside. Regulus needed more than that. He deserved more. “You don’t get to fix things just because you want to feel better about your mistakes. Regulus is in pain because of you, and he needs time away from your bullshit.”

“Just let me talk to him!” James’s voice rose in urgency.

Barty shook his head, glancing at Regulus, whose eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of dread and longing. “No. Not now. He’s not ready. You don’t get to barge back into his life because you feel guilty. You don’t get to make this about you.”

“Barty, please! I just want to make sure he’s okay,” James said, desperation now pouring from him.

Barty took a deep breath, his voice low and dangerous. “You want to make sure he’s okay? Then just you wait, Potter. Just you wait. You’ll see what happens when someone who actually cares about him is in his life.”

Without waiting for a response, Barty hung up, the sound of the call disconnecting echoing in the charged air. He turned to Regulus, who had dropped his gaze, his expression a mixture of pain and gratitude.

“Reg?” Barty asked softly, stepping closer.

Regulus looked up, his silver-grey eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “What did he say?”

Barty sighed, running a hand through his hair, still feeling the remnants of his anger. “He wanted to talk to you. He sounded worried, but he also… he didn’t really get what he did to you.”

Regulus nodded, biting his lip as he processed everything. “I just… I don’t know what to feel anymore.”

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Barty said gently, his voice steady. “I’m here, and I won’t let him hurt you again. Not now, not ever.”

As Regulus took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of Barty’s unwavering support, he knew that maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to heal—one step at a time.

The weeks that followed Regulus’s emotional unraveling were a delicate balance of healing and uncertainty. Barty took it upon himself to be Regulus's anchor, fiercely protective and annoyingly jealous at times. He didn’t care if Regulus had to be away from James for a while; all he knew was that he would be the one to help him pick up the pieces of his shattered self-worth.

Every night, Barty made sure Regulus was surrounded by friends who cared about him. Their first outing together was to a club where Barty had made Marlene promise to keep an eye on Regulus while he stayed close, his body a wall of protection against the world that had hurt his best friend. As the music pulsed through the air, Barty stood beside Regulus, his presence a comforting weight that pushed back against the loneliness he felt.

“Just be yourself,” Barty urged as they entered the club, a confident smile plastered on his face that was so unlike the Regulus who had walked in. “And if anyone gives you trouble, just look at me.”

Regulus felt a flicker of warmth at Barty’s words. The thought of being in the spotlight was daunting, but Barty’s unwavering gaze bolstered his courage. He moved into the crowd, the bass reverberating through his body. As the night wore on, Regulus began to feel more alive, more like the person he had once been before James’s betrayal.

At the bar, while Barty ordered drinks, Regulus caught sight of a group of guys across the room who were eyeing him. An old familiar anxiety coiled in his stomach, and he instinctively sought out Barty’s gaze. Barty caught his look and immediately frowned, stepping between Regulus and the onlookers with a protective stance.

“Hey!” Barty barked, casting a fierce glare at the group, who promptly looked away, sensing the storm brewing.

Regulus stifled a laugh, a strange warmth blossoming in his chest at the possessiveness of it all. “You don’t have to scare everyone away.”

“I’ll scare them all I want,” Barty retorted, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Nobody gets to look at you like that. Not anymore.”

As the night progressed, Barty kept Regulus close, encouraging him to dance, to laugh, to enjoy the fleeting moments that came with being young and alive. They both drank and danced until the world felt like a dizzying blur of lights and laughter.

---

The next week, Marlene invited them to a movie night at Dorcas's place. As they settled into the cozy living room, popcorn in hand, Regulus felt an unfamiliar comfort wrap around him. They watched an old romantic comedy, and as the characters on-screen navigated love and heartbreak, Regulus couldn’t help but notice how Barty’s eyes would flick to him every few moments, searching for his reaction, almost like he wanted to ensure Regulus was feeling okay.

“You okay, Reg?” Barty whispered during a particularly funny scene, leaning in close enough for Regulus to feel the warmth radiating off him.

Regulus nodded, a small smile creeping onto his lips. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Good,” Barty replied, his expression softening. “Because if anyone in this movie does anything stupid, I’m ready to throw popcorn at the screen.”

Regulus chuckled, the sound light and free. It felt good to laugh, to connect with his friends without the heavy shadow of self-doubt clinging to him.

---

As they ventured further into the month, Barty and Regulus found themselves in Pandora's bakery, surrounded by the sweet scents of pastries and baked goods. Regulus had tentatively picked up a cupcake, eyeing the bright frosting like it was a treasure. Barty had insisted they take a box of treats home to share with the others.

“I can’t believe you’re eating that,” Barty said, half-joking, as he chose a slice of cake the size of his hand.

“I’m trying to rediscover myself,” Regulus retorted, rolling his eyes playfully. “Plus, you can’t tell me you don’t want to try this lemon meringue pie.”

As they indulged in their sugary feast, Barty watched Regulus, a content smile on his lips. This was a side of Regulus he had missed—the spark, the teasing. It felt like they were rediscovering each other, and Barty relished every moment.

---

But as Regulus began to flourish in the presence of his friends, Barty’s jealousy sometimes simmered just beneath the surface. During a night out at a bar, Regulus found himself chatting with a guy who had taken a keen interest in him. Barty’s stomach twisted at the sight of Regulus laughing easily, flirting back in a way he hadn’t seen in so long.

“Hey, Reg,” Barty interjected, walking over with a forced smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Can I steal you for a second?”

Regulus looked a bit surprised but nodded, following Barty away from the conversation.

“What’s up?” Regulus asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

“You don’t need to entertain every guy who looks your way,” Barty said, his voice low and tense, his eyes narrowed at the guy who was now watching them with a confused expression.

Regulus blinked, taken aback. “I wasn’t—”

“Just… you’re too good for that,” Barty interrupted, the protectiveness evident in his tone. “I don’t want you wasting your time with someone who doesn’t deserve you.”

Regulus’s heart raced, a mixture of embarrassment and warmth blooming in his chest. “Barty, it’s just harmless fun. I’m allowed to talk to people.”

“Yeah, but… I don’t want you to forget what you’re worth,” Barty replied, his jealousy morphing into vulnerability. “You mean so much to me, and I just want you to see that.”

Regulus softened at the sincerity in Barty’s eyes, a wave of gratitude washing over him. “I appreciate that, Barty. I really do. But I’m not going to forget it, not anymore.”

---

Weeks rolled on, and with each passing day, Regulus slowly rediscovered himself. With Barty’s unwavering support and the love of their friends, the layers of self-loathing began to peel away. They would venture to bars, clubs, and parties, always returning home together, laughing and teasing each other.

Regulus found joy in the little things—like cooking with Barty in the kitchen, where flour would fly and laughter echoed. Or the moments spent cuddling up to movies, surrounded by friends, feeling the warmth of belonging wash over him.

Barty’s possessiveness morphed into a protective shield, ensuring Regulus knew he was loved and cherished. He was there through every emotional storm, silently vowing to help Regulus find his way back to himself.

And with each shared laugh, every flirtation with newfound friends, Regulus felt a little less broken. He was beginning to understand that he wasn’t a waste of space or time; he was worthy of love, of laughter, and most importantly, of a future filled with hope.

As they strolled through the streets one evening, Barty’s hand intertwined with Regulus’s, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he was on the right path to finding himself again—one step at a time, with Barty by his side.

It was just another Tuesday. Marlene was visiting, she sort of adopted Regulus. The cheesy jazz music was grating on barty's ears but at least Regulus was smiling at Marlene who was still trying to figure out how to measure ingredients. Barty leaned against the counter, watching Regulus laugh with Marlene. The sound was like music, a sweet melody that lifted his spirits even on the darkest days. But beneath that laughter lay a fragility Barty couldn’t ignore. He felt a protective urge surge through him, a fierce instinct to shield Regulus from the world and its cruelties.

Who the hell had the audacity to cheat on Regulus? Barty thought, clenching his jaw. It was like a punch to the gut, the thought of James Potter treating Regulus like some sort of plaything. The rage simmering beneath the surface made his fists twitch, but he forced himself to breathe, to remain calm. He would confront James soon enough, but for now, he had Regulus to look after.

As he watched Regulus talk animatedly, his silver-grey eyes sparkling with the kind of joy that had been so absent lately, Barty’s heart twisted. Regulus had always been beautiful—hauntingly so—but right now, he was radiating a light that made Barty’s insides feel warm and full. How could anyone look at him and think he wasn’t enough? The thought of James glancing at someone else filled him with a strange mix of anger and disbelief.

Every time Barty saw Regulus's smile falter, a pang of guilt gripped him. He hated that he couldn’t wipe away the hurt James had caused, but he could damn well try. They’d spent countless nights watching movies with their friends, laughing until they cried, and yet Barty felt that he had to do more. Regulus was worth so much more than the way he saw himself.

A few weeks had passed since Regulus moved into his apartment, and Barty made it his mission to show Regulus just how amazing he truly was. They had gone to clubs, danced like idiots, and embraced life in a way that made Regulus's laughter almost contagious. Marlene had even taken them to Pandora's bakery, where they gorged on sweets and joked until their stomachs hurt.

Regulus was coming back to life, and Barty cherished every moment. He loved the way Regulus hesitated before cracking a joke, his eyes darting nervously. He loved how his laughter filled the room, like a song echoing off the walls. And most of all, he loved how, even after everything, Regulus still looked at him like he was the center of his universe.

Yet, in the quiet moments, when they were curled up on the couch with a movie playing in the background, Barty would catch Regulus staring into space, his expression distant and pained. Barty would feel a familiar anger bubble up, not towards Regulus, but towards James. How could he? How could he betray someone so deserving, someone who needed love more than anyone else?

It made Barty want to shake some sense into him. Didn’t James realize how lucky he had been? He’d been careless with the one person who would have given him everything, and it didn’t sit right with Barty. He wanted to protect Regulus, to show him that he was worth loving, worth fighting for.

One day, Barty promised himself, he would be more than just Regulus's friend. He’d be the one to remind him of his worth, to make him see that he was not a burden or a mistake but someone who could light up the darkest corners of the world. Every time Barty looked at Regulus, he saw the stars in his eyes, and he swore he’d do whatever it took to make sure those stars never dimmed.

As they sat together on the couch one evening, Regulus resting his head against Barty’s shoulder, he couldn’t help but smile at the quiet strength of his friend. The moment was soft and simple, but it felt monumental. Barty could almost see the cracks in Regulus’s self-esteem beginning to mend, and that was enough to fill him with hope.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Regulus’s forehead. “You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmured, feeling Regulus’s warmth seep into him. Barty wanted to scream it from the rooftops—Regulus Black was beautiful, brilliant, and worthy of love.

Regulus looked up, surprise flickering across his face, and for a moment, the shadows receded. Barty wanted to hold onto that light, to nurture it until it became an unquenchable flame. He was ready to stand guard against anyone who dared to extinguish it again.

Barty's heart raced as he leaned in closer to Regulus, anticipation buzzing in the air. The moment felt electric, charged with everything that had been left unsaid. He could see the conflict in Regulus's eyes, that mix of longing and hesitation that twisted something deep within him.

But just as their lips were about to meet, Regulus stopped him. “Don’t—just don’t.”

The words hit Barty like a cold slap, and his breath caught in his throat. “Why not?” he asked, his voice cracking under the weight of disappointment. He had finally dared to hope that he was enough for Regulus, that the shadows of James Potter were fading away. Regulus had seen past Barty’s chaotic exterior, and he thought, just for a moment, that he might mean something more.

“I can’t do this to you,” Regulus whispered, his voice barely a breath.

“Do what?” Barty pressed, a sharp ache blossoming in his chest. He had fought through the storm of his own insecurities, convinced that Regulus was ready to let him in, but now he felt his heart shatter again.

“Treat you like a rebound. You deserve better, Barty. You deserve someone to love you the way you love them. I don’t want you to feel like you’re just a replacement for James.” Regulus’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and it broke Barty’s heart all over again.

“How can someone so smart be so stupid?” Barty smiled sadly, even though the pain was throbbing in his chest.

“What do you mean—?”

“Do you not see it, Regulus?” Barty leaned in closer, pouring everything he felt into his words. “My heart aches for you. I don’t care if I’m a rebound or not. I don’t care if you use and discard me like a toy. I don’t care how you have me as long as you do.”

Regulus shook his head, looking more broken than ever. “I can’t do this to you.”

“Why?” Barty’s voice was barely a whisper now, trembling with vulnerability. “You’ll love me eventually, I think.”

“I already do,” Regulus replied softly, and that confession sent a rush of warmth through Barty, igniting a spark of hope.

“Then why not have me when I’m begging to be held?” Barty asked, his heart racing, desperate to close the distance between them.

“You need someone better,” Regulus murmured, but Barty couldn’t accept that.

“There is no one better,” Barty insisted, his eyes locked onto Regulus’s, searching for any sign of doubt. “I just need you. Lie to me, Regulus. Tell me that you love me and let me take care of you. I’ll take care of you and love you like no one can. I’ll understand you in ways he couldn’t.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken feelings. Finally, Regulus took a deep breath and whispered, “I love you.”

“Thank you,” Barty replied, tears welling in his eyes as he leaned closer, inching toward the kiss that felt so right. This time, Regulus didn’t push him away. Instead, Barty felt the tension shift, an unspoken understanding passing between them. It felt like a sinner tasting heaven, and he wanted nothing more than to drown in the warmth of Regulus’s embrace.

“Hey, Bee?” Regulus’s voice was soft, almost hesitant.

“Yeah?” Barty replied, his heart racing in the charged silence.

“I never lie.”

The sincerity in Regulus’s voice grounded him, and as he leaned in to finally capture Regulus’s lips with his own, he felt an overwhelming wave of emotion crash over him. It was everything he had longed for and more. The kiss was tentative at first, but as Barty pressed closer, he poured every ounce of his adoration into it. It felt like home, like a promise of what could be, and for a moment, nothing else mattered.

[forgetmenauts]

Howdy! Could we get a member introduction? I’d love to get to know y’all’s names and pronouns ^^

We actually did an essay and interview for the queer horror zine The Quiet Ones last year where we shared some fun intros! I've included screenshots of our intros here, but if you have a chance, you should check out the zine as well: it's run by a delightful group of queer authors and editors.

Here's the link to the issue with the Forgetmenauts feature: our bit starts on page 47.

(Fun fact: Kit is also an author and has had a couple of their short stories published in other issues of the zine, under their full name of Katharine Gripp. They're here and here if you want to check them out!)

Image text below the cut:

Walker Staples (they/them) Instrument(s): Guitar/Banjo/Vocals

Favorite scary movie or book: Let the Right One In.

Favorite cryptid: Jackalope. Who in the band is most likely to survive a horror movie, and why?: I think it's gonna be Tyler; most resources, best equipped for building booby traps.

Tyler Gary (he/him) Instrument(s): Clarinet, Saxophone, Trombone, Keys. Favorite scary movie or book: Recently I read Mexican Gothic and while it wasn't my all time favorite, it definitely captured some good haunting creepy vibes. Would recommend for the mushroom horror.

Favorite cryptid: The chupacabra. Who in the band is most likely to survive a horror movie, and why?: I'd be the second or third to die. “Quick everybody, I have a plan! All we have to do is...“ *Dies in a horrible dramatic way*. I think Abe would be last to die. He would disappear early on and we would think he's dead but he actually just went on a hike and came back at the end.

Abe Finkelstein (he/him) Instrument(s): Cello, un-mic'd backup vocals and banter, howling. Favorite scary movie or book: Oryx and Crake. And I listened to a great podcast about Midsommar but will probably never have the guts to watch it.

Favorite cryptid: The Baba Yaga house. Who in the band is most likely to survive a horror movie, and why?: Definitely Emma. She lives on a sailboat and is a great problem solver, and good at engineering. You might think I was on a hike but I was actually dead the WHOLE time.

Danielle (she/her) Instrument(s): Drums!

Favorite scary movie or book: I am scared easily and don't really watch horror movies! You

didn't ask about this, but my favorite scary-ish video games are The Last of Us and Dead Space.

Favorite cryptid: Loveland frog. Who in the band is most likely to survive a horror movie, and why?: Walker, they would out-maneuver the attacker/swarm/ pathogen/whatever the horror of the horror movie is.

Kit Gripp (they/she) Instrument(s): Mandolin, vocals.

Favorite scary movie or book: Sunshine by Robin McKinley (ok so it’s not that scary but there’s lots of blood and vampires, so it counts).

Favorite cryptid: Nessie. Who in the band is most likely to survive a horror movie, and why?: Probably Collin. If it were something corporeal, he'd knock it out with a baseball bat. If it were an angry ghost, he'd talk to it and de-escalate the situation.

Emma Williams Instrument(s): Bass.

Favorite scary movie or book: House of Leaves.

Favorite cryptid: Selkie. Who in the band is most likely to survive a horror movie, and why?: I think Walker would be the most likely to survive because they are very nimble and quick.

Collin (he/him) Instrument(s): Drums!

Favorite scary movie or book: Hard to pick a favorite scary movie! Maybe Let the Right One In (the original one). It's rare that horror films are at once so beautiful, disturbing, and sympathetic to the villain.

Favorite cryptid: Michigan Dogman. Who in the band is most likely to survive a horror movie, and why?: Kit survives the horror movie, for sure. Zombie flick? Kit decapitates the shambling hordes with lethal pirouettes. Teen slasher film? Kit distracts the villain with some concocted-on-the- spot YA fiction just long enough that he doesn't even notice he's walking right into his own poetic and ironic death. Vampire horror show? Please. Kit was the vampire. Kit was always the vampire.

[extraordinaryhistories]

#19 - 'Satan's Saxophones' (A Sun Came bonus track, 2004)

There is an album I quite enjoy by a German group named the Peter Brötzmann Octet. It’s called Machine Gun, and it is utter unhinged chaos. Most sources label it as a jazz album, and I suppose that’s true in a broad, methodological sense, but listening to it reminds one less of the works of Coltrane or Shorter and more of the works of Merzbow or Haino. Never has a title matched with its music so well – the album begins with a battalion of saxophones firing out notes at an astonishing pace, freed of all concerns for melody or consonant harmony. Everything is distorted, everything is blown-out, everything is furious. It is a very, very strong album and one that has been widely emulated since its 1968 release.

There is a song I don’t particularly enjoy by an American artist named Sufjan Stevens. It’s called ‘Satan’s Saxophones’, it clearly attempts to emulate Machine Gun with its free jazz trappings, and unlike Machine Gun, it does little more than hurt my ears. But just like Machine Gun, it certainly does suit its title!

‘Satan’s Saxophones’, strangely released as the closing track of the core album (???) on 2004’s A Sun Came re-release (but not on the original release), starts with one of the more disgusting Sufjan moments: a little interlude in the vein of ‘Siamese Twins’ and ‘Belly Button’ that uses vomit imagery to devastating effect. The dreaded high-pitch Sufjan who pops up (much to my, and everybody else’s, chagrin) in many places on A Sun Came is back here in fine form. No maggots in belly buttons here, though, or dated terms for conjoined twins. Baby Sufjan instead shares a delightful story about his mother vomiting all over the house – including, somehow, in the refrigerator –  and the family dog slipping on the vomit. I imagine that he intended this as some sort of provocative, Dada-esque inversion of Proverbs 26:11 (‘As a dog returns to his vomit...), but really I can’t give it too much credit beyond just being a horrible story weaponised here for shock value. That, and the dubious distinction of being the first Sufjan song to directly mention his mother. Your move, ‘Romulus’ fans.

The song then pushes boldly forward into a section that represents the feeling the spoken word portion invokes in me, which was no doubt intentional. Hilariously preceded by a four-count, a splutter of saxes dribbles aimlessly, tunelessly, onto the track, accompanied by what sounds like a drum kit getting pushed down forty flights of stairs. It is Sufjan’s sole foray into free jazz, and this is Free Jazz with a capital ‘F’. Even Machine Gun has a ghost of a rhythm; ‘Satan’s Saxophones’ has moments of silence interspersed with bursts of noise, but the playing is otherwise totally aimless, entirely random. Midway through this section, the drums cut out, along with most of the saxophones, leaving just two in their wake. This is probably the most musically painful moment on a Sufjan song. Sufjan makes those two saxophones absolutely beg for his mercy, and oh boy do they beg. It is a sound I can only describe as the dying groans of a factory as it slides down a cliff made of metal into a sea made of polystyrene. Satan’s saxophones, indeed. This one is quite the test of endurance.

The issue, of course, with ‘Satan’s Saxophones’ is that it lacks the deceptive level of care needed to make the best free jazz such an enjoyable listening experience. Machine Gun sounds heavier than some sludge metal songs. It has the low-end kick, high-end bite and mid-spectrum punch necessary to make the listening experience feel like a beatdown from a grizzly bear. And humans like that feeling. We’re weird like that. ‘Satan’s Saxophones’ unfortunately has a weedy sound typical of four-track recording that strips it of much of its brute force impact. There is no assault on the body here, only assault on the ears. It’s a production style that suits an album like Illinois just fine, but Sufjan is playing with an entirely different fire here, and all it can do is burn him.

But we’re missing the point here entirely, aren’t we? I may never – ever – under any circumstances – want to listen to ‘Satan’s Saxophones’, but I am very glad that it exists. It’s a song that comes from the height of Sufjan’s cross-eyed, scattershot songwriting nascency. He clearly did not know what style best suited his inclinations at the time, so he tried a bit of everything. He could very well have been good at free jazz; I mean, why not? He evidently wasn’t, but he could have been. I remain eternally grateful that Sufjan spent his early years ruling out the ‘could have beens’ en route to his true calling, and if ‘Satan’s Saxophones’ makes a casualty of our ears on the way, then so be it. It’s directly because of songs like this one that Sufjan would eventually write ‘Chicago’. Cut him a break.

Songs like this make me feel – momentarily – that a project like Extraordinary Histories is ridiculous. You can hear someone hysterically laughing in the background during the little breaks at various points in this song. He’s obviously laughing at the absurdity of the performance, because this is just some bullshit that Sufjan made for fun. And yet, as I sit here and write nearly a thousand words about ‘Satan’s Saxophones’, I find it hard to shake the unmistakeable impression that he’s instead laughing at me.

[kaddyssammlung]

I want to nerd out for a few minutes here:

In his interview with Drumeo II said about the process of coming up with drum parts for the music:

“Most, if not, all of the time, I try to pay close attention to the vocals and figure out any specific syllables that can benefit from accents on the kit. I sometimes use the vocal line as a guide of sorts to dance in between what's being sung to. Filling in those gaps. Typically speaking, songs don't start from a particular drum part. Although, this isn't necessarily deliberate. Another element I look for when writing are any specific syncopations that the drums must match. This could be a pattern on the guitar, a breakdown of some sorts or something electronic. But I feel this takes away a lot of the guesswork when initially writing parts and provides me with a clearer idea of the song in question.”

This made me think of something.

I once saw a video by Adam Neely. It was about something in American Hip Hop Music called “scotch snaps”.

The way that we speak has something to do with the music that we write.

Here is some science stuff about what I mean. I took that from Adam's video which I will link.

This rhythm of a metrically accented sixteenth note followed by a dotted eighth note has a name. It's called the scotch snap, named because of its use in traditional Scottish song and dance, as well as the Lallans Scottish accent.

So why is this rhythm showing up so much now in American pop music?

Well, it might have something to do with how Americans speak English.

A foot is a basic unit of rhythm used in language.

A trochee is a foot that has a stressed syllable followed by a weak syllable. So, for example, Teenage, mutant, ninja, turtles. The stressed syllable in this case falls on what we might consider the musical Downbeat. In many dialects of English, the accented syllable is very short. One corpus study suggested that among European languages, English had the highest percentage of patterns with very short stressed syllables, many as short as100 milliseconds.

This number is significant in music making, because a hundred milliseconds corresponds to the length of a sixteenth note at 140 beats per minute. As L.A. Buckner on PBS Sound Field has mentioned, modern trap hip-hop tempos range from about 110 beats per minute to 140 beats per minute. So what this means is that by using the cadences of certain English trochees, we will naturally, in fact, tap trap rap Scotch snaps.

Now, the average distance between short and long sounds in a given dialect can be measured by something called the Normalized Pairwise Variability Index, otherwise known as the NPVI.

We alternate very quickly between short sounds and long sounds. Latin languages with lower NPVI, like Spanish, often use the foot of an Amphibrach, or a stressed syllable placed in between two unstressed syllables. For example, Lo siento, te quiero, el mundo, mañana. The rhythms used in modern Spanish rap follow that pattern, like in the song Mi Gente, which itself is an Amphibrach. (which leads to reageton) It would make sense that the rhythmic characteristics of languages would be reflected in the vocal rhythms of rappers and singers, right?

It just kind of makes sense.

But what's interesting is that those very characteristics might show up also in the music itself.

For example, consider the Dembo drum groove, characteristic to Caribbean-derived Spanish hip-hop and pop music. (reageton)

The English musicologist, Gerald Abraham, would write that the nature of a people's language inevitably affects the nature of its music, not only in obvious and superficial ways, but fundamentally. Some interesting new research has actually backed that up.

One study found that the NPVI of American jazz musicians and their speech patterns was reflected in their musical choices, how quickly they switched between different subdivisions.

Thank you very much Adam Neely.

I love his videos.

[cgtg]

another doseone-led band i found in the last couple weeks. anticon moment

god this guy is prolific. sry 4 the ramble incoming

reason i havent been rly doing music recs lately is bc ive jusd been fucking hardcore delving into doseone's music repertoire again r0fl. stumbled onto this album "for hero: for fool" & its a huge fav atm. ive been trying 2 find info about the instrumentation on these but all ive found for sure ( so far ) is that they used a roland TR-808 and jel's got his AKAI MPC 2000XL. both visible in live performances

the way jel plays in this, its so fuckin active & immersed & percussive i cant stop watching. the first song (middleclass stomp) is all on beat machine, then the second song (middleclass kill) also uses a drum set (thats jordan dalrymple behind the kit there, switches from guitar to drum on the second song.)

jel on the drum machine, he is insane, cannot rec him enough. he wos a producer on "center city", which is one of my fave sole songs & is in my junior spitfire playlist

the beat on "middleclass stomp" is amazing 2 me but this live version doesnt emphasize the *guitar* nearly as well tbh, which is maybe the most delicious part of the song, the way this song moves... peep it

they were rlly dead set on not being defined as hip-hop but its got all the trappings of hip-hop, or kinda is definitively a descendant of it. its a fucking amazing album dude. dose's ability 2 do such evocative & abstracted lyrics that are hard to follow but fucking. mesmerizing to dig into & tell such vivid stories. its unparalleled 2 me.

another fav from the album

rlly rlly nefarious sound i fucking ugh. evry time i listen to this song i start just bouncing like this guy does. esp when that "DROP THE GUTS" part hits

"he was spitting so casual"... teez mcgee points out how effortlessly he seems 2 just pump out bars & its so true . live on stage or in studio he is completely effortless, shockingly casual, all that in one take... & i cant even follow along w/o fumbling most words on my tongue, even when i know the lyrics well

this has been a rando certified autism moment if u read all of it... thanx u

[jellyfishdoodler]

I know I dont post fanfics here but I'd like to try? If yall arent into it I can move them to my general shitpoat blog 💛

Drummer Boy

Requested by @vanessasepticeye who wanted a oneshot of Jackie playing the drums to get his emotions/ anger out, similar to Gwen Stacy.

TWs: Angry Jackie, mentions of his dad, mistreatment of drumkit

Word Count: 1,226

A small thought in the back of Jackie's head wants to kick himself for leaving his window unlocked, but right in this exact moment he could not give any less of a shit. Vaulting into his bedroom from the fire escape, Jackie pulls back just enough of his strength to not hurl his patched backpack through the drywall.

A small thought in the back of Jackie's head wants to kick himself for leaving his window unlocked, but right in this exact moment he could not give any less of a shit. Vaulting into his bedroom from the fire escape, Jackie pulls back just enough of his strength to not hurl his patched backpack through the drywall. He tears the blue mask off his face so the elastic no longer digs into his skin, crushing the soft material in his hand as he stalks around the room. He finds his drumsticks on the cluttered desk and trades them for the mask with a pathetic and unsatisfying throw. The piece of fabric flops from the wall to the table without a sound and Jackie can feel a scream burning in his throat, so instead, he stomps towards his lovingly beat-to-shit drum kit. It was half duct tape at this point but it still worked, and it's not like Jackie could afford a new set anyway.

Patrol was an absolute fucking nightmare today. First he had to skip breakfast due to an early call for help across town, then he got chewed out by an old woman for breaking her potted plant and was harassed into buying her a new one- which he then had to stop the plant shop from being robbed by some jackass who thought he was hot shit with a switchblade. He lost the comic book he was saving to read on his lunch break to the sewer drain, got completely soaked by a burst fire hydrant, was sent on a wild goose chase to track down a missing dog in the park where he literally got chased by geese. And to top it all off, when he saved the day and rescued two teenagers from a burning apartment building, he was the one who was blamed for the girl's broken leg, even though it was literally trapped under a solid wood bookshelf before he got there. But the girl's parents just wanted someone to sue so they could make some fucking money back like all of this was a huge inconvenience and not like they almost lost their fucking kids to a fire. 

Jackie worked really hard to keep his composure until he got home. He has many years of customer service under his belt before he got powers and managed to smooth talk his way out of a lawsuit. But that encounter was the final straw for him. Jackie knew being a hero was a thankless job most of the time, hell he understood that those people were just scared for their kids, but everything throughout the day stacked on top of each other and he was left with a gross itchy feeling under his skin. He had to get it out.

Slamming himself down onto the spinning stool, the young man wasted no time taking his frustration out on the drums. Using the double petals on the bass kick to set a fast beat as he practically wailed on the set. He loved the feeling of the vibrations of contact traveling up his arms, it felt like clapping mosquitoes mid-air and off your skin so they dont drink more of your blood.

That same voice in the back of his mind reminded him he's gonna get another noise complaint from Mr. Smith upstairs, but right now Jackie doesn't care. The rapid beats of the snare matched the buzzing feeling rolling from Jackie's core down his arms and to his drumsticks, the crash of the cymbals almost dents the brassy metal as it covers his urge to yell in frustration. 

He focuses on the patterns of his rapid fire set, picking up more pace and forcing himself to go faster.

Faster.

Faster-

Everything abruptly stops when his right stick snaps in half. 

"FUCK!!!"

Panting heavily, Jackie just stares at the now uneven sticks in his white knuckled hands. Everything in the apartment is still and quiet aside from his heavy breathing. In the distance he can hear the neighbor's dog- Patty- barking up a storm down the hallway. 

Jackie finally allows his shoulders to slump down as he unceremoniously lets the drum sticks drop to the floor with a deafening clatter in the now silent room. 

He always hates getting this angry, he knows it's not good for his public image or for his own mental health. Fighting bad guys helps with most of it, but it still sneaks up on him sometimes when he's not paying attention. It scares him.

The hero gently rolls his neck and shoulders, letting air escape from his nose in a silent laugh at a memory flowing into his head.

 If his overall deadbeat dad was good for one thing in his damn life, it was teaching Jackie how to funnel his emotions, primarily anger, through playing the drums. His dad said he was part of a shitty rock band when he was in school and that's where he learned to play. 

One day, Jackie's teacher called his dad and told him about an incident on the playground. Jackie stood up for another kid getting picked on but broke another kid's nose in the process of defending them. That afternoon when he got home, instead of yelling at him like Jackie thought, the man sat Jackie behind the drum kit that sat in front of him today and taught him how to keep a steady rhythm.  

"I had a similar problem to ya, kid." He started when Jackie was getting the hang of it. "Always letting my anger get ahead of me." Neither of them say that he still does sometimes, and he continues, "If you use these to just, yaknow, get what you're feeling out of your system, this way nobody around you gets hurt. You don't… go punching anybody you don't like 'cause you kept it in for so long." Jackie wanted to protest that he was protecting a friend but let his dad keep talking. 

"You exhaust yourself playing these so you don't have the energy to let it boil in your stomach for later. On top of all that, the world gets to hear your heartbeat. It might not be pretty, but they get to hear it go strong and loud even if you can't say what you're feeling in your chest. Even if it's hurting. You use this as a way to help you let shit go. Because at the end of the day, if you let it be, if you let it fester, that pointless rage will rot you from the inside out." 

Jackie does not know what to really say to all that. His dad isn't the best at pep talks but he thinks he gets his meaning. Even if the man is a hypocrite. He just counts the beats in his head.

It's one of, if not the only kind-ish memory Jackie keeps of his father. The man was a dick his entire childhood, but he did give Jackie this one thing that was good.

With that memory of a good Tuesday afternoon nearly 10 years ago gently floating in his chest instead of what was there before, Jackie picks up the busted drumstick and tosses it in the trash. Heading to the bathroom to finally shower away the long day's grime.

Tomorrow is a new day.

[sosouthernsoundkitsonline]

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