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guitars-and-kaleidoscope-eyes · 22 days ago

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Anonymous Request:

hi! :D i adore your writing and i think your fics are so adorable!

are you still taking requests by any chance? if you are, do you think you can write something with george and dhani? maybe dhani is in a bad mood and george tries to cheer him up like the sweet father he is 🩷

Here The Whole Time

Author's Note:

So I got this request a while ago and forgot about it a little. Then I found it again and was trying to decide what to do with it. Then I remembered I had a cute/fluff type of Dhani fanfic in mind, but I wasn't sure how to do it. So I thought I would combine this already started fanfiction with this request. (Also, it explains why there's a bit more to the fanfiction than was requested.)

In this fanfiction, Dhani is staying with Jeff Lynne while working on George's album, brainwashed, when he becomes ill. Dhani is lying in bed missing George, when he receives a visit from him in a dream.

Beverly Hills, California

August, 2002

Dhani Harrison laid curled up in bed with a stomach ache. The fever he had developed felt like it had gotten hotter, but the rest of his body was shivering cold.

Dhani felt he was getting worse than he was this morning. When he had woken up this morning, he immediately felt something was off. His throat was sore and he had a dull aching feeling in his belly. And when he sat up in bed, he realized he had a headache. He almost thought about going back to bed for a moment, but decided against it. He was living with Jeff Lynne in his house while they were finishing George's last album, Brainwashed, and he didn't want to slow down the process of it.

He went down to the kitchen where Jeff was cooking breakfast. Jeff smiled at him and said good morning when he saw him walk in. Dhani sat down at the breakfast bar and said good morning back, but grabbed his sore throat when Jeff turned his head away. If he knew Dhani was sick, he'd make him take the day off.

After breakfast, Dhani only felt worse and when he was getting dressed in his room, he had to take a moment to sit on his bed when he felt nausea hit him.

He met Jeff in the studio and they immediately started to record. Things started out smoothly and Dhani hoped his illness would pass. Just when he felt it would, out of nowhere, an intense nauseous feeling filled him and he ran to the garbage can in the corner. He reached it just in time to vomit out the breakfast he had that morning. Jeff saw and ran over next to Dhani. He was taken by surprise by this, but right away took to comforting Dhani by rubbing his back. Once Dhani seemed to be done, Jeff helped him up and brought him to the couch he had in the studio. He ran to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. When he returned, Dhani was still as pale as he was when he left him. After Dhani finished his water, Jeff got him to talk and found out Dhani hadn't been feeling well all morning. Once he heard that, he told Dhani to take the day off from work to rest. Once Dhani headed up to his room, he changed back into his pajamas and got back in bed, where he was currently residing.

Just then, he heard a knock at the door.

"Come in." He said in a horse voice. The door opened to reveal Jeff.

"Hey, Dhani. I just came to check on you. I also brought a few things." Jeff said. It was then that Dhani noticed the puke bucket, a water bottle, and a thermometer. "How do you feel?"

"Worse." Dhani said.

"Let me check your temp." Jeff said, setting the bucket and water bottle down and sitting on the edge of the bed and putting the thermometer tip in Dhani's mouth. He waited until it went off, then pulled it out to read it.

"103.6. That's not good Dhani. Why didn't you tell me how bad you were feeling?" He asked.

"I didn't think it would get this bad. I also didn't want to slow down the album." Dhani said, feeling guilty for not telling Jeff sooner how he felt.

"Dhani, you shouldn't feel bad about telling me that. You know you and I come before work." Jeff said.

"I know, it's just that I'd feel bad if I didn't work hard on this. I don't want to feel like I need to take breaks or that I need to settle. Dad wanted this to be great, I wanted to make it just that." Dhani said, sitting up in bed a little.

"But your dad would also want you to feel well while you do it. That's the only way to ensure the songs will turn out perfectly." Jeff said. Dhani nodded, not entirely convinced.

Out of nowhere, Dhani felt nausea again. He began dry heaving and Jeff brought the bucket up to Dhani's mouth. Dhani clutched the edges of the bucket and vomited. After a minute, he was finally done and Jeff put the bucket down and handed Dhani the water.

"There you go Dhani. You did good." He said, patting his back gently. Once Dhani finished drinking, he laid back in bed, his eyelids growing heavy.

"Try to get some rest Dhan." Jeff said, tucking him in, "You'll feel better soon."

Dhani nodded and Jeff left the room. Dhani rested his head on his pillow, staring off into space with half closed eyes. He kept thinking about what Jeff said. He had been a great support to both him and his mum after his dad died. He treated Dhani like his own son and was always there to make him feel better. But this time it didn't seem to work. He wasn't sure if it was something Jeff did or didn't say, or if Jeff just wasn't enough anymore. Maybe his grief was just getting worse, not better.

Dhani closed his teary eyes. He wished his dad was here. He'd be able to make him feel better. He remembered once when he was five and had his first major stomach flu. His dad came to wake him up for school.

"Dhani sweetie, it's time to get up for school." Dhani groaned and opened his eyes.

"Good morning sweetheart." He smiled sweetly.

"I don't wanna go to school today Daddy. I don't feel so good." He whispered.

"What's wrong?" George asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

"My throat hurts and my head hurts and I have a tummy ache." He mumbled.

"Ohh, Dhani. I'm so sorry. Don't worry, I'll call the school to tell you you're not coming, then we'll spend the day making sure you get better." George smiled.

He went down to the kitchen to make the call. As much as he felt bad for Dhani, he did feel quite good that he wouldn't be going to school. He had never been a fan of traditional schools and felt they were trying to indoctrinate their students too much.

After George made the call, he grabbed a thermometer to check Dhani's temperature.

"Ok Dhani, I just need to check your temperature. Now just hold this under your tongue and keep your mouth closed until it's done. It should only take a minute." George said. He put the thermometer under his son's tongue and waited. Dhani looked up at his daddy with sick and tired eyes. Once the thermometer was done, George removed it.

"Well, Dhani, you have a 101.2 degree fever. That isn't very good, so I'm going to get you some medicine." Dhani panicked a bit when he heard the "m word".

"But I don't like medicine!" Dhani said.

"I know Dhani, but you need some to feel better." George said. "I'll tell you what, I'll get you some orange juice to take with it. That way you can get the taste out of your mouth right away."

"Ok daddy." Dhani said. George patted his knee and left to get the medicine and juice.

"Alright Dhani, just drink this quickly and you can immediately have orange juice." George said, handing him the cup of blue liquid medicine.

Dhani drank the medicine until the last drop was gone, then cringed at the gross taste.

"There you go Dhani, good job." George said, handing Dhani the orange juice.

"I don't feel good, daddy. My tummy really really hurts." Dhani said.

"Do you need to throw up Dhani?" George asked.

"I-i don't know!" Dhani panicked.

"Here, come with me." George said, guiding Dhani to the bathroom. He had Dhani kneel down next to the toilet.

"Try to throw up, Dhani." George said, "You'll feel better."

"I don't know how." Dhani said.

"Well, when your body's ready, it will just-" George was cut off by Dhani dry heaving.

"Right in here, Dhani." Dhani threw up the medicine and orange juice he just took. George rubbed his back soothingly.

"Good job Dhani." George said, using a tissue to wipe his mouth.

Dhani hugged George, sobbing into his chest. "Shh, it's ok love. You did good."

"Do I need to take the medicine again?" Dhani asked.

"No Dhani. That might make you more nauseous." George said. "Would you rather just cuddle on the couch?

Dhani nodded into George's chest, still hugging him. George smiled.

George and Dhani spent the rest of the day cuddling on the couch watching Star Wars films until they both fell asleep. By the next day, Dhani felt much better.

Back to the present moment, Dhani hadn't been sure how long his eyes had been closed, or if he had fallen asleep while thinking about when he was younger. But suddenly, he felt someone's fingers running through his hair. He wasn't sure who it was, but the cool feeling through his hair felt good. Just then, he felt the feeling of the person's fingers stroking down his cheek.

Normally he'd feel unsettled, but instead he found it strangely comforting.

Familiar...

Dhani opened his eyes to see none other than his father, the late George Harrison.

Dhani stared up at his father, lost for words. Without thinking, he just said the first thing that came to mind.

"Where've you been?"

"Here the whole time." George replied simply.

"Oh dad!" Dhani cried, sitting up in bed to hug his dad, who was sitting on the edge of his bed. George immediately returned the hug. He wrapped his arms around Dhani, one hand firmly but gently holding one of Dhani's shoulders, while the other hand rubbed his back. He kissed Dhani's head as Dhani buried his face in his dad's shoulder just like he used to.

"Oh daddy, I've missed you so much!" Dhani said, "I've been so sick and I've been missing you so much! I want you to stay with me forever!"

"Oh Dhani, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'll have to go once you wake up." George said, stroking his son's dark shaggy hair.

"But I don't want you to leave!" Dhani said, now realizing he was crying.

"Shh, shh. Don't cry Dhani." George soothed his son. "It's alright. Please don't cry love."

George saying this only made Dhani cry harder. But George continued to silently comfort him until Dhani's tears finally stopped. George gently pulled his son away and cupped his face in his hands to turn him up to look at him.

"I want you to know Dhani, that I'm very proud of you, Jeff, and your mum. I've been with you the whole time and I'm very proud of everything you've done." George said. "I won't be leaving you permanently once you wake up. I'll still be with you the whole time, you just won't be able to see me. I'm still here, just not in my physical body. You know we are not these bodies, don't you Dhani?"

"Yes." Dhani said, nodding. "I do. I just wish I could see you too. I miss being with you."

"I do too, Dhani." George replied. "But we'll meet again. We can't be together now, but we will one day. We're just souls having a bodily experience, then we move onto better things. Oh Dhani, if only you could see it. It's just so beautiful!"

"I love you dad." Dhani said, hugging his father tightly again.

"I love you too, Dhani." George said. He held his son close to him, cherishing this moment with his son. He looked down at Dhani, whose eyelids were starting to droop. He slowly and gently laid his son back down in bed. He took a moment to look at his son before stroking his cheek and gently kissing his forehead as Dhani went back to sleep.

Dhani's consciousness slowly started to return as he felt a cool damp rag being placed on his forehead. He felt much better than he did when he first went to sleep. His mind felt peaceful and soothed. Like he'd come out of a long meditation session. His flu symptoms were still present, but they were much milder than when he first woke up in the morning.

Dhani opened his eyes to see Jeff sitting on his bed just where George was sitting. That's right. His dad had come to him. What was it that he said? Here the whole time? And he had held him and told him that he loved him and was proud of him.

"Hey Dhani." Jeff said, sweeping some hair out of his eyes. "How do you feel?"

"Better than I felt before. What's this?" Dhani asked, feeling the rag on his forehead.

"Just a cold compress to help bring your fever down. I came in to check on you and you still felt a bit warm. That was maybe fifteen minutes ago. You were sleeping pretty deeply the whole day." Jeff said.

"Yeah." Dhani said, sitting up in bed and removing the compress to leave his bangs wet and matted. He was quiet for sometime until Jeff spoke up.

"Alright Dhani? You're a bit quiet."

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine." Dhani answered.

"You sure? Did something happen?" Jeff asked, being able to see right through Dhani.

"I uh, I had a dream. About dad." Dhani said quietly.

"Really? What was it?" Jeff asked, obviously intrigued.

"Well, he was sitting where you're sitting. I asked him where he'd been, he said "Here the whole time." I hugged him and told him how I'd missed him and that I wanted him to stay with me. He told me that he also wanted to but would have to leave when I woke up. I started crying and he comforted me until I stopped. Then he told me how proud he was of you, me, and mum and that he wouldn't be leaving me forever and that we'd see each other again one day and how we're just souls having a bodily experience. Then he hugged me again and I fell asleep." Dhani said as Jeff smoothed Dhani's untamed hair a bit.

"Wow, that sounds really amazing." Jeff said. Dhani nodded, his face looking blank.

"What's wrong?" Jeff asked. "I thought you'd be happy."

"No, no. I am. It's just... I dunno. I've been feeling weird lately." Dhani said. "It's like, I thought I was getting better, but then the things that always made me feel better when I was down started not working. Then I thought my grief might be getting worse. Not better." Dhani said. "Then I started thinking about how I wished dad was still here and how he would make me feel better."

"That's probably why he came to you in the dream." Jeff said. "Dhani, do you remember how, about a month before he died, I came to visit you all?"

Dhani nodded.

"Well, we were sitting in the studio and he was telling me about how he wanted the songs done and was telling me about anything else I'd need to know before he died. One of the things he wanted me to do was to look after you. He was saying how you still needed a father figure even though you were twenty three. He wanted me to look after you still. I told him that I'd always be there for you and that I'd take care of you. I know you miss your dad. I miss him too. But just know that he's always here. Even if you don't feel it, just know that he is. He went out with everything done. There was not one thing he forgot to do. He made plans for everything in his name and he made sure that you would be ok. He loved you Dhani. Just remember that. He loved you so much."

Dhani smiled and hugged Jeff tightly. He buried his face into Jeff's shoulder and closed his eyes, taking in this moment. Jeff held Dhani tightly, like he was holding one of his own children. But in a way, he felt he was. He had known Dhani for sixteen years ever since was seven years old and he had grown to love the young lad.

"I loved him too." Dhani said into Jeff's shoulder.

"So did I." Jeff said, looking down at Dhani and holding him just a bit tighter.

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imabee-oralizard · 8 months ago

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This is pt.1 cause of word count.

Palaye concert 4/11/24

Mom and I woke up at 11:30am and started getting ready. Had to do moms hair so it took li her than planned. We left from the apartment at 3pm. Cause of the traffic it took almost 3 hours to drive and we got there at 5:40. Luckily vip hadn’t went yet. Once we all went in we got a signed poster and then waiting to take pictures. Mom got a picture on her phone and I got one on my Sony camera. Palayes friend dude Austin couldn’t figure out how to get to the camera on mom’s phone so I went over to get to the camera. Then he couldn’t figure out how to get my camera on so I turned it on. A lady photographer came over to take the photo on my camera since she knew more. As soon as I went to Palaye Emerson and Remington right away went ‘it’s great to see you’ and Emerson gave me a hug first, then Remington, and Sebastian. But they said that and hugged me like they remembered me. I also gave Remington the letter I’d written. I stuck my hand out and said ‘can I give you this’ while just like staring at him. He took it and said ‘of course’ then slid it into his pocket. It’s the one from the previous concert in September but I added to it and still gave it to him since I wanted to tell him how amazing he is. I stood in between Emerson and Remington for the photo and mom was in between Sebastian and Remington. We also got some of the Fever dream vinyls signed along with the Palaye cd’s and the bastards cd. Then during the concert mom added memory so we didn’t have to worry about photos. I was gonna take some with the Sony but it automatically has a red flash so i didn’t use it. During the concert though I made eye contact with Remington multiple times. He never came over to me to like reach out like he did other people though. But at one point we came over and stood onto the ledge table area that I was standing right next to! He was going to step onto it and I’d moved mom and is hoodies real quick so he had room also since they were black. Had bought them at the concert. They have the picture of Remington with a cigarette in his mouth and the ‘sextape’ over it. Good thing I moved it to because Remington was gonna step right by it and he’d hesitated for a second until I grabbed them. Then he stepped right in front of me! Literally right in front of me. I almost died. Then he went back to the stage after max a minute. Also Sebastian looked at us and the came over to our side of the stage and was posing right in front at the perfect angle so I got some photos of him that I’ll have to edit and they’ll be great. The venue was super small so we were super close to the stage. No hates or anything. Mom and I were in the second row. I couldn’t see Emerson like the whole time cause the angle. I could see him more than mom could but not much. At one point he got up and started playing the guitar but I couldn’t see him aside of the other guitarist being in front of him. I also told the guy to move so I could see Emerson. After that song he went back to the guitar. The last song they played was lonely I think. Got a picture of the set list at the start also. During the concert Remington came out to be there for the pit. He also climbed on top of people. Then he also hung upside down and then sung on the ceiling. I yelled to Emerson but he didn’t look over. He also didn’t answer much during the vip question and answer. Was told by someone that he was sick. They did say that they have a new album coming out in June and will be back over here this fall. After the concert we got some posters off the wall along with two guitar pics from the workers. Then we went outside and I got a picture with Remington and a signature on the sign. Also got the same with Sebastian. I know mom took bad photos. I also asked her to take a photo on my camera and she somehow got that blurry. I have no clue how because it’s hard for me to get it blurry. Sebastian heard her say it was blurry though and he said he’d retake the photo in second. We did but she just took it on her phone instead. Didn’t see Emerson sadly.

#kylie rambles #palaye royale #palaye concert #Palaye concert 4/11/24 #concert

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sweetbuckybarnes · 11 months ago

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The Eras Tour: 03. Act I: Lover

Pairings: Colin Bridgerton + Penelope Featherington, Anthony + Kate Bridgerton

Polin Masterlist | Series Masterlist

May 5th, 2023

Once the Bridgerton family plus Penelope, got themselves into Section 113 and prepared.

Penelope looked over at Benedict, who was currently sitting to the left of her. "Can you record the concert for me, please Benedict?" Penelope asks her, handing her fully-charged phone to the second oldest Bridgerton.

"Sure," he tells her, taking her phone from her outstretched hand.

Eloise Bridgerton, who was sitting on the other side of Benedict, looked over at her best friend. "Make sure you get your phone back from him at the end of the night."

Benedict looks over at his little sister and simply thumps her with his thumb and forefinger right between her eyebrows.

Penelope rolled her eyes at the bickering Bridgertons, as did Gregory sitting to her right, Violet and Daphne sitting at the end of the first row of five Bridgertons and Penelope, as Hyacinth sat behind Daphne - followed by Francesca, Colin, Anthony and Kate.

Penelope looked down at Gregory (however, she didn't have to look down too much as he was now up to her shoulder), smiling at the second youngest Bridgerton. "Are you ready for your first concert Greg?"

He was slightly terrified, and he reached his hand over to hold tightly of Penelope's. "l am a little bit scared..."

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Penelope cooed, bringing him closer to her side. "You have me, and who knows - maybe by the end of tonight, you might be a Swiftie!"

Whilst the Bridgertons had been talking amongst themselves, the timer had been ticking down.

It's Fearless, (It's been a long time coming), big reputation (It's been a long time coming). And they said Speak Now! (It's been a long time coming), into folklore, (It's been a long time coming), I’m Taylor! And I was born in 1989! (It's been a long time coming), evermore (It's been a long time coming), loving him was Red, (It's been a long time coming but...)

As the Lover House was shown on the big screen, people were walking out a door with the colours of Lover on big upside-down capes. That was the only way Penelope could explain them as they walked along the stage.

"It's been a long time coming but, it's you and me. That's my whole world!" When they lifted the sheets - there she was the one and only Taylor Swift.

Penelope's eyes widened. She looked over her shoulder to look at the eldest Bridgerton. "Anthony, you are my favourite! I know I've already told but it deserved to be said again."

Anthony smiled down at Penelope as she started dancing in the aisle in front.

"She's so happy," Kate looked up at her husband and caught his smile. "You old softie."

The whole school is rolling fake dice. You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes. Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince, we're so sad, we paint the town blue. Voted most likely to run away with you.

Before Penelope even knew what was going on, the notes from Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince turned into Cruel Summer.

"Fever dream high in the quiet of the night, you know that I caught it. Bad bad boy, shiny toy, with a price. You know that I bought it. Killing me slow, out the window, I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below. Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes, what doesn't kill you, makes me want you more."

Colin watches from his spot on the row above as Penelope started to sing from the top of her lungs. Dancing in her spot, a large smile on her face.

Francesca looked over at Colin. "What's with your face?"

"Nothing is wrong with my face, thank you very much!"

"Mhmm."

Cruel Summer was followed by The Man and You Need to Calm Down, which Gregory knew both of - the pair sitting in the front row singing as loud as their lungs allowed them.

"Welcome to the Eras Tour!" Taylor announced, then she sang the third single from her seventh studio album of the same name, Lover .

"We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January, and this is our place, we make the rules. And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you dear, have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years? Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close forever and ever? And ah, take me out, and take me home, you're my, my, my, my. Lover."

When Lover was first released in 2019, there was so much more love and happiness as she sang it, but now she was singing it for her fans.

And the final song was The Archer , which had a chance to send both Penelope and Violet Bridgerton to tears.

"I've been the archer, I've been the prey. Screaming, who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay? I see right through me, I see right through me. 'Cause they see right through me, they see right through me, they see right through."

And with the final song, Taylor Swift disappeared and she completed Act 1: Lover.

#polin #polin fic #colin x pen #pen x colin #penelope x colin #colin x penelope #anthony x kate #kate x anthony #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #daphne bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #francesca bridgerton #gregory bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton #penelope bridgerton #kate bridgerton #Spotify

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raconabhorrent · 1 year ago

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"thoughts of a dying atheist" by muse is so bachelor-coded actually

youtube

|| patho2 marble nest spoilers btw ||

like, the whole song is about a person who doesn't believe in anything after the end waiting fearfully for that end to come . is that not marble nest summed up in it's entirety?????

AAAAA it describes the moment when the bachelor realizes that this one day he's been reliving over and over is simply a fever dream of him trying in vain to stop the plague while he fights against his own death !!!

i think this one specifically exemplifies daniil in marble nest not only because of the themes of death and dying ("the end is all i can see") BUT ALSO because of the idea of being scared of death ("and it scares the hell out of me"). daniil, as a thanatologist wants to conquer death, and seems to be fearful of it, as one of the herb brides in the camp near the Cathedral tells him ("We fear neither pain nor death. One is immortal while the kin lives. You wouldn't understand."), aspity telling him to "Go without fear", and him admitting to aspity that he's scared.

the emphasis on atheism doesn't exactly line up, as the bachelor is shown to at least conceive the concept of a higher power, but his entire life goal is to take his own life (or more importantly his death) into his own hands, showing a distinct lack of faith or trust in said higher power. using the idea of "atheism" more loosely, you could use it to describe the lack of sympathy and understanding he has for the people of the town on gorkhon and the steppe people, as well as his disbelief in artemy's methods as a menkhu (though he seems to be tolerant of the haruspex as a healer due to his surgical education in the capital) and clara's miraculous ability

as an outsider and as a strict follower of logic, daniil has no tolerance for the spiritual belief systems and traditions that artemy has knowledge of as a member of that community, so the lack of belief could also make him an atheist in this sense

idk i just felt his presence very strongly when listening to this song. the entire album is actually complete pathologic vibes too <3

#pathologic #pathologic 2 #marble nest #мор утопия #muse band #pathologic spoilers #the bachelor pathologic #daniil dankovsky #character study #he's a silly guy :3 #a piece of shit for sure #but definitely silly #thanatology #Youtube

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faithfromanewperspective · 1 year ago

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Religious hurt, ministry burnout and all in between set to 5sos5 // Prologue: You don’t go to parties

I realise this is a rather strange thing to do, what I’m doing. I realise most listeners to songs don’t apply them to the things that I do. But I went through a lot, and this album is like none I’ve heard before: it celebrates and laments and everything in between the power of simple human connection and I won’t lie: it changed my life. It gave me back the pieces and tools to take my life back from a rogue machine of parts that was sucking me dry yet I couldn’t find head or tail of nor differentiate it from the hand that was feeding me, keeping me alive. In some ways, I owe it nothing: the $19.99 I fully paid on my debit card to iTunes that probably gave the four dear humans who created this album maybe a dollar each. In some ways I owe it everything. And so this letter is for you, the strange conglomeration of fandom and random humans I’ve connected to and who don’t know my face or my real name but I enjoy baring my whole heart to. It’s the mark of an artist I suppose. It’s the early symptoms of the fever dreams that allow practical neighbours with my childhood to come up with the visceral imagery that makes up these masterpieces: four voices, and a handful of instruments. I don’t have something nearly as brand-new and original, but this is my voice. And this is how YDGTP gave back my life.

Picture this: it’s 5am. Somewhere, certainly not where I am, but it might as well be when I’m far too tired for 10, 11pm when I’m barely over 20. I’m feeling stuck, overwhelmed, unable to go home, clock off, head to bed. I’d say I’m on my couch but that’s an optimistic statement to assume I have the ability to make it to something soft to lay down my head. I don’t even own a couch.

I’m supposedly somewhere that’s home to me, but if I had any sense in my head I’d kick me out. Out to where? I have no idea.

I wouldn’t even admit it to myself then, but I knew somewhere that I was happiest when I got up before the sun. 5am, after seven to eight hours of sleep. Maybe more, when I’m so tired and drained. In the early hours of the morning (and I feel like I’m betraying this song by saying it) before the world has risen with its expectations, if I can get my life together then, I’m prepared for when I have to interact and feel their energy. I’m also prepared to get my needs met, which they obviously aren’t, or I wouldn’t still be here now.

How am I feeling? Don’t get me started on that. I’m starving, empty, longing for something I haven’t felt satiated in for quite a while. Longing for a bygone time that wasn’t any good, because if I could go back now I could do better with the information I have now. And yet, the world is moving past, the people from that era drifting further and further away. Whatever it is I’m holding my breath for, is starting to feel like I’m waiting at an intersection where the gaps between the cars are getting smaller and smaller and each time I see one I could maybe go in I don’t. I wish I had gone in the previous one, because it was much safer compared to this. That’s basically what my life’s like. I’ve got the last five years running out my mouth. Won’t you relive it with me? Won’t you fix them with me?

Because I still think about the times we were heavy. It sucked, but at least there was connection, something that I’ve run completely dry on now. Racehorse tripping on the dirt that you’ve got on me. I never felt included, loved, but sometimes being insulted is just as good as it means I’m part of the gang. They don’t do that anymore: is it because I’m too fragile now, or because they’ve moved on from me? Vulture circling above of what’s left of me. Because I’m a carcass in the hot sun, at least that’s how I feel. Slowly, not slowly at all actually, rotting.

We go stupid every night, and it was meant to be fun. But.

What a tragedy. Because I’m still here in the darkness, back where we started. It set everyone else up to move on, why can’t I? Everyone else goes home and goes to bed and doesn’t suffer the consequences of the night disabling them forever, going back to the start again and again and re-living it and changing what they’d do because I know better now than I did then, time ticking by me and getting more and more behind. I can’t help the fact that I’m behaving the way that I am.

You make me a heartless monster.

So set this to a fun beat and go dance. Everyone I ever knew is standing in my house. (Are they real, or are they ghosts of people I feel like I failed, when I was never given the resources to be everything they needed?) Maybe I’ll be alright, maybe I’ll be able to put together whatever makes me feel better, maybe, maybe, I said as I invited them, filling up my heart again and again with relational one-night stands and superficial connection just to feel the high for a little while, it’s kept me going for decades. Kept me moving so I can forget that I had it the way I liked it once and I never appreciated it, I didn’t know that I had to. I didn’t know how much it meant until I lost it. I thought I was just fielding distractions, fatal attractions, but maybe the only attraction that was fatal was the one to the world of ableism and the solutions that they said worked for them when I know I need more connection than this superficial world, even one that says they worship something else, lives for something more, can offer. I wonder who I’m looking for.

But you got out. You don’t go to parties anymore.

It’s easier to get manic than depressed sometimes, maybe because I’m already depressed and I learned from young to act like I’m not feeling it. To think of others, think of ways I can help, prioritise hope and isn’t this what I’m doing here? Working towards solutions, why oh why did it go so badly? So I focus on the ideas, I let them stack up in my brain like a tap that’s running at full blast into a tiny plastic cup and when it drowns me just for a little while I get high and life is exciting and come up with good ideas of the world I imagine could be where I’m not alone, up in the clouds I’m not the only one dreaming of this dream. All my friends are up on mars. We’ve been travelling. It’s such a simple explanation and so exciting and it’s exactly how I should be feeling when I’m pouring myself out into something I care so much about, something centred on helping people, as if in a divinely inspired book we have all the solutions for all the world when we read it through a lens of science and adaptive management that constantly re-evaluates the fruits of what we’re doing and doesn’t let silly traditions that sap our energy get in our way. Shoot for mars. Why, oh why, does no one else stand with me here? Why am I still longing for that kind of teamwork, belonging, purpose?

So I lost my limit. It’s hard to find it when I’m so perpetually starved for the thing I need, that I try to make sure everyone around me gets. I’m dumb and I’m passionate. I care. And what’s the sacrifice of one person in the scheme of things? It’s not an accident. I was the one who took my foot up off the brake. Another lonely night.

It’s easier to put a smile on my face and go through the motions to this happy beat, yearning, pouring out the passion and love I wish I received on others.

Fill it with the best country drum solo I ever heard.

And remember where I am. Longing for connection. Where are you? Where is the one who I’m looking for?

But I know. You don’t go to parties anymore.

And that’s why I need to leave.

#personal mental health tag #burnout #ministry burnout #bipolar awareness #ydgtp #you don't go to parties #5 seconds of summer #5sos5 #if you're here because of the 5sos tags try not be too weirded out #i kinda can't believe i did this but it's a whole thing. more to come #youth ministry is actually just a party #that is built to be supportive #until you're giving of yourself i guess and that was me

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wehadwildflowerfever · 2 years ago

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So it’s both “Mermaids” release day and the day I can finally unwrap my “Daffodil” tattoo.

I’m staying up until midnight to hear this last Dance Fever song, so I’ve spent a large part of today thinking about the whole album.

I’ve worked through a lot of it academically this year, but I haven’t really let myself sit down and think about what it means to me personally. I saw someone write that the build up of “Mermaids” feels like a scream waiting to be released (@veronicaofosea), and that’s so close to how Dance Fever as a whole feels to me. Listening to it has felt like letting out multiple screams that have been building up in my body since girlhood.

Florence isn’t close to the first artist to remind women that we don’t have to be good, seek approval, be desirable, and keep the peace. Within my own pantheon of favorite artists/musicians/poets, I have heard it so often. Mary Oliver has told us (“You do not have to be good / you do not have to walk on your knees / for a hundred miles through the desert repenting”). Tori Amos has told us again and again in more ways than I have room to write down (“She’s been everybody else’s girl/ Maybe one day she’ll be her own”). Each instance has felt like a small revelation to me. An idea I could intellectually know to be true, but couldn’t feel in my body when needing to go out into the world to assert myself. My voice is always quieter than I mean it to be. I apologize for myself when I don’t want to. I have a really hard time making eye contact. Dance Fever marked the first time that I could fully hear this truth. Right now. In my late thirties.

I don’t know what did it, exactly. I think part of it was lockdown and being on my own so much. Probably having the space to retreat into myself, being responsible only to myself and my partner. Having very few external expectations placed on us. And then coming out of that, Dance Fever was the first piece of art to shatter my grief-induced numbness.

“Oh bring your salt, bring your cigarette. Draw me a circle and I’ll protect…” The ferocity of the circle drawn in “Heaven is Here.” The dark magic and intentional monstrosity of it. How it made a protected space for our rage and mourning and reclamation of self.

The tender, funny anger of “Girls Against God.” (Which actually made me feel conflicted at first. Growing up going to an Orthodox Hebrew school, we didn’t write God’s name on anything that wasn’t sacred and meant to last, even in English. Writing down that title was literally the first time I spelled out “God” which was scary but also powerful.) The permission of being able to own our anger, even if it’s just us, in our pajamas, alone in our bedrooms.

And it took me a while to notice what was being sung during the “Dream Girl Evil” bridge, but once I figured out that it was a reversal of Yeats’ “The Second Coming,” I couldn’t stop thinking about it. What does it mean to look at our world on the verge of collapse and respond-- at least for a moment-- by essentially saying well fine, this wasn’t a world built for us. If it’s dependent on women being the world’s angels and dream girls, just let it all burn. “I am nobody’s moral center / it cannot hold.” Again, this intense permission to claim our rage and independence.

The part of the album that has probably made me cry the most is a lyric I still don’t fully understand. It’s toward the end of “Choreomania,” when the music slows down a little and Florence sings, “And do they speak to you? Because they speak to me, too. The pressure and the panic you push your body through.” I’m not sure who “they” are for her, but there is something so comforting in how the fourth wall breaks down here, how she sings “they speak to me, too.” The vulnerable confession that we all carry unwanted voices with us born of mental illness, or intergenerational trauma, or gendered social expectation, and the recognition of what those voices do to us and our bodies. The anxiety and the panic attacks.

This album feels like a release of those voices or an attempt to live with them in a way that allows us to fully reclaim ourselves.

Even just posting this feels like something I wouldn’t have done before. I would have checked with multiple people to make sure it wasn’t too much, or too pointless, or too intense, but I think of “Restraint” and post it anyway. “And have I learned restraint? Am I quiet enough for you yet?” Saying “yes, but I’m unlearning it” feels like a source of power.

#florence and the machine #music tattoo #florence welch #dance fever

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gerogerigaogaigar · 2 years ago

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Yeah Yeah Yeah - Fever To Tell

A perfect trio. Karen O's fuck me or go fuck yourself attitude, Brian Chase's frenetic drumming, and Nick Zimmer's nasty riffs make for the exact album that the burgeoning post punk revival scene of the 00s needed to stay fresh. If only other bands had followed their lead 😑 I digress though. The willingness to delve into the territory of noise rock only to always pull it back into more palatable garage rock/post punk territory is masterful. Like musical edging they keep it tastelessly sexual for almost too long. Up until the last few tracks which allows for an emotional release that helps pull the whole album together thematically.

Neutral Milk Hotel - In The Aeroplane Over The Sea

If it were me, hear me out now. See, if it were me, I would keep my Anne Frank sex dream to myself. I wouldn't write one of the most cryptic and beautiful albums of all time about it. I would not have combined indie folk and alt rock into a psychedelic melange of dreamlike wandering. I would have just kept that to myself. But I've made exactly zero of the greatest albums of all time so what the fuck do I know? This album is so completely sincere so please treat it gently. And ignore it's status as hipster holy grail. Listen to it on its own merits, for me, please?

Green Day - Dookie

Pop punk is maybe not the most well respected genre, and I get why. I don't think a lot of adults want to hear nasally privileged teens singing about jacking off. If Dookie, or any album like it, was a part of your childhood then you probably already know if you'll like this album. And if it wasn't then you probably already know you won't. But if you are at all curious where the 90s pop punk scene started then you have to listen to this, at least for the historical significance.

Robert Johnson - King Of The Delta Blues Singers

Robert Johnson, by god how am I supposed to review Robert Johnson! There were other earlier bluesmen but they didn't have the exact influence on rock music that Robert Johnson did. Not only did his blues stylings influence the original.batch of rock n rollers of the 50s but this very compilation reintroduced him to the artists of the 60s. It's not hard to see why he was so influential. Despite, or most likely due to, the stripped down performances Johnson's guitar work never overshadows his haunting vocals and vice versa. And that guitar work! Johnson may not have been the first blues musician to have supposedly sold his soul in exchange for musical talent (he isn't even the only blues musician with the last name Johnson to have that rumor attached to him) but it's easy to see why it stuck to him. He bounces around the fretboard effortlessly and lays down harmony and counterpoint all in one take while singing to boot!

Isaac Hayes - Hot Buttered Soul

In the wake of Otis Redding's untimely death Stax Records had to do something quick. They pushed for a slew of new albums to be completed quick including a follow up to an unsuccessful debut by up and coming session musician Isaac Hayes. Hayes demanded full creative control over and the Stax execs were in no place to argue. The result is a four sing album with three out of four track passing the ten minute mark. It's also really horny. Hayes has one of those voices where everything he sings just becomes sensual. I mean that was the entire joke of him being in South Park. On this masterpiece of a record though, oh man do the instrumentals know how to match his energy. Sloppy, funky bass and lush orchestral arrangements perfectly match Hayes's soulful, lonesome longing. This is such a perfect fuck album that I think it would be too on the nose to actually put on during sex.

Big Brother & The Holding Company - Cheap Thrills

Janis Joplin's voice is probably the most irreplaceable loss that the music world ever suffered. Wait nah I'll save this bit for when I review Pearl. They better put Pearl in this fucking list.

Janis Joplin was active for four years put out four studio albums had three bands and two distinct phases to her career and then dropped dead at the age of 27. She currently holds the 100% completion speedrun for being a rock star. And Cheap Thrills is definitely the most 'rock star' of all her albums.

The Temptations - Anthology

Hitsville USA: The Motown Singles Collection 1959-1971 is exactly what it says in the tin. A collection of every single released by Motown during their golden era. And looking at the track listing it's easy to see why the studio was nicknamed Hitsville USA. Five hours of runtime and nearly every song on here is an instantly recognizable classic. Even some of the deeper cuts are still just amazing. You would think that sitting through five hours of this might get tiring but I've seriously put this on and by the time it ends I'm like "wtf that wasn't five hours?" If you only have room for one comp in your collection make it this one. And if you want recs for a fucking Temptations record then listen to The Temptations Sing Smokey, Cloud Nine, or All Directions instead of another unnecessary compilation.

#500 album gauntlet #yeah yeah yeahs #neutral milk hotel #green day #robert johnson #isaac hayes #big brother & the holding company #the temptations

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andyjwaldron · 1 year ago

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ANDY WROTE ABOUT GOOD ALBUMS FOR HIS JOB

End-of-year list season is a big stinkin' deal over at Rough Trade. Listening back to the previous twelve months' worth of releases not only became a clear delineation of time passing (especially during the pandemic that kept us asking, "Oh, wait, what month is it again?") but it was also great for Andy when he worked there, as staff were asked to write about a few albums that really stuck with them.

Plus, it's always refreshing for a record store employee to provide a solicited opinion, rather than the usual unsolicited comment while ringing you up.

Here are some blurbs Andy wrote for Rough Trade about LPs from SASAMI, Bartees Strange, Little Hag, Mitski, and Illuminati Hotties:

SASAMI - Squeeze

In the same way one realizes working retail can seem like you're creating sand mandalas (i.e., organizing LPs in the morning), knowing full well how ephemeral they can be (finding Sheryl Crow in the Metal section at night), the turbulent start to the 2020s has proven that, despite the best efforts to make sense, everything is messy now. I've held onto SASAMI's Squeeze in the same way we grasp for something steady when the boat starts swaying.

In a little over a half hour, hard truths are thrown down (the systematic aggression detailed in "Skin a Rat") and then processed ("I tried to understand," "Don’t wanna agonize, just say it") and met with earned affirmations ("I want you to know you're not alone…you can always call me home"). The guitars that accompany these sentiments shred, strum, and surround the listener – almost swallowing us whole. By the time "Not a Love Song" arrives, the waves of distortion become still enough to see ourselves in the reflection.

Writer Michelle Hyun Kim put it best: In "[bringing] seemingly disparate elements together, finding slippery ways to be both/and, neither/nor, between/outside in all categories," SASAMI meets a messy world with messy creation – gleefully collapsing genre with artists who know a thing or two about frustrating binaries (Patti Harrison, No Home, Rin Kim, Vagabon, Mitski, Andrew Thomas Huang). Squeeze recognizes those who've worked hard on themselves and the world around them and gets drinks with them afterward to celebrate: a beautiful, beautiful sight. (x)

Bartees Strange - Farm to Table

Building on the promise of his first album, Live Forever, our On the Rise artist Bartees Strange carries a fiery ambition throughout his next chapter, Farm to Table. It lights up the dance floor on "Wretched" and "Cosigns" and powers the fanfare of my personal song of the year, "Heavy Heart." It becomes a campfire that warms the quieter second half, carrying the heartbreaking ode to Gianna Floyd ("Hold the Line") to the closing, cyclical singalong, "Hennessy."

It's been exciting watching artists of my generation make work reflective of our fickle upbringing; the way we've watched genre break down, earnestness break through, and connection rise above all other priorities. And while Farm to Table may seem like a 4AD fever dream (from the belt and croon of TV on the Radio's Tunde Adebimpe to the inertia of The National's most anthemic moments), make no mistake: Strange's first LP with the storied label marks a young, bold new moment in capital I capital R Indie Rock™ – one whose flame won't go out anytime soon. (x)

Little Hag - Leash

Take a heaping spoonful of Liz Phair's down-to-earth humor, a touch of Elvis Costello's cutting attitude, and a splash of Jeff Buckley's killer vibrato, and you get Little Hag's Leash, one of the most exciting releases to come from Bar-None Records in recent memory. Avery Mandeville, the NJ-based songwriter behind Little Hag, may be one of the legendary indie label's newest signees, but she's been honing her unique knack for catchy and sardonic tales of her self-described "absurd and profane occurrences of being a woman" for the better part of the past decade. Her lyrics deliver the anthemic quality from other accomplished musicians who have emerged from the Garden State. However, the power that drives them is less "We gotta get outta here!" and more "I'm stuck here… now what?" While their other digital-exclusive releases that came out in the past year (Whatever Happened to Avery Jane? and Breakfast) are worth adding to your playlists, Leash, their first album full of new material for Bar-None, is next level for Little Hag. Stories bearing weighty text messages ("The Whole World," "Cherry," "Red"), dangerous and disappointing men ("My Last Name," "Get Real!"), and self-defense weaponry ("Brass Knuckle Keychain") are conveyed with an urgency matched by a skilled rhythm section that rips. Sure, these eleven tracks are told by a singular voice, but the universality of both the shit that they’ve gone through and how she's powered through all of it makes a vital promise for anyone who listens: crank this up, and you'll feel less lonely. (x)

Mitski - Laurel Hell

The new wave nods of Mitski's Laurel Hell come in spades; not just in its production (where uptempo numbers like "Should've Been Me" navigate the liveliness of ABC and moodier tracks like "Working for the Knife" find kinship with Peter Gabriel's self-titled era) but also the paranoia and devotion beneath the sheen (the album starts with "Let's step carefully into the dark / Once we're in, I'll remember my way around" and nearly ends with "I'm standing in the dark / Looking up into our room / Where you'll be waiting for me").

In meeting acrobatic arrangements with clear lyricism across five records, the 32-year-old songwriter has proven to be one of her generations' strongest craftspeople. The difference now on her sixth is how a wide-eyed weariness emerges in a familiar fashion to the era Mitski references, how the push-and-pull between partners can stand in for the heart and mind… or the artist and the consumer: "I give it up to you / I surrender." (x)

Illuminati Hotties - Let Me Do One More

At times in-your-face like an unexpected conversation from a hilarious stranger at a dive bar, while at other times contemplative, standing beside you and huddling for heat during a smoke break, Let Me Do One More was the perfect buddy to have during a year of bumpy restarts. My favorite albums have historically become teaching moments, usually by artists getting by despite constraints both internal and external, and this album finds the endlessly-talented Sarah Tudzin doing her best in trying relationships with the personal ("Growth") and political ("Threatening Each Other re: Capitalism"). These songs truly helped me find warmth through the uneven sway of 2021. (x)

***

You can go back home by clicking here.

#does.a.lot #rough.trade

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heliads · 4 years ago

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Forever Separated

Based on this request: “Reader is Luke’s girlfriend in the 90’s and is at the gig at the Orpheum and hit by a drunk driver and dies instantly. She and the boys come back as ghosts 25 years later. She’s there for everything that goes down with Julie, Willie, and Caleb.”

masterlist

Your fingers tap absentmindedly on the steering wheel as you careen through the streets. It’s late now, the beacons of headlights guiding you down the asphalt. There’s a grin on your face that won’t seem to go away- your boys are playing at the Orpheum tonight. The Orpheum. That’s been their dream for what feels like forever. It doesn’t even seem true.

By your boys, you mean Sunset Curve, of course. The motley collection of four teenage boys with dreams bigger than the world and the need for a chance to prove themselves. You stumbled across them at a small jazz club, at what had been one of their first performances. It hadn’t been long after that when you had become a friend of the bandmates, and an even shorter time before you fell in love with Luke. When you started dating, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

You had always known that they would make it, even when they seemed to doubt it themselves. You knew they had gathered regrets over the years- Reggie with the fracturing of his family, Alex with his parents’ lack of acceptance of him, and Luke with the way he’d run out on his mother. You had seen it in their faces- if their band never got off of the ground, they would continue to doubt themselves for the rest of their lives. There had been times when you thought that it might be over for good, that they’d be done for before they even got the chance to get started. Yet here you are now, driving towards their gig at the Orpheum.

You’re only a couple of streets away. You’re practically shivering with anticipation at the thought of it- all of their dreams and hopes, finally come to fruition. You, however, are running a little late despite your best interests, and so your foot involuntarily presses down on the gas. You’re not speeding, always careful to follow traffic laws, just making sure you’re not going to be as late as you fear.

It only seems fitting that something would go wrong on this night of nights. Thinking back, you’re almost glad it happened to you and not someone else. You had this awful feeling that something was going to happen to ruin this gig, and maybe if it happened to you it would protect the boys and let their show run on uninterrupted. When you pass through the intersection, this thought may have protected you.

When you see the truck out of the corner of your eye, you continue driving. You know it will stop, it has to. Maybe it’s the way you’re eager to see your boys again, or the fact that the light has been green for a long time now and there’s no way the driver could miss the glaring red in front of him. Maybe it’s just because you feel sheltered by this bubble of hope that comes with seeing the boy you love play at the Orpheum. Regardless, there is nothing you can do to avoid the truck, and you keep expecting that it will stop until it is inches away from you. Then you finally realize that there’s no getting out of this, and it is only then that it is too late to act.

You’ve seen car crashes in the movies. They’re always a blazing whirl of headlights and screeching tires, a hailstorm of broken glass that reflects the light in the most beautiful arc around you. It will be slow, like time itself crawls to a stop, just in time for your head to fly back in a graceful motion. Then it will speed up again, and just like that it will be over.

This is nothing like that. It is over an instant, no beautifully devastating moments. You’re not a marionette to be hung delicately in the air, your strings are cut within seconds. You do not have time to see the poetry in your last moments, they’re already over. All you manage to see is a quick glimpse of a bottle resting in the driver’s hands, a tremendous impact like the very shaking of the earth, and then there is nothing at all. No orchestras reach a momentum, no lens flares pierce the night. There is everything, and then there is nothing. It is painfully ordinary.

There is one feeling that seems to surround it all. A pain, numb at first and then growing to a fever pitch. You don’t know when you wake up, only that it is much later. There’s someone dressed in a paramedic’s uniform standing over you, the piercing din of an ambulance somewhere behind you. You want to form words together and ask who it’s for, but the answer comes to you the second you realize you can’t move a muscle. It is for you. You are the one in need of saving.

The paramedic is standing over you, shouting something about a drunk driver and two casualties, the driver and the girl right here. You want to stand up, to shout to the world that you’re alive and fine. But for some reason, you can’t move at all. You can’t say anything except feel the last of your pulse die from your veins. Distantly, you feel a raw anguish creeping up in your throat. Luke and the others are still waiting for you at the Orpheum. Who will tell them that you’re gone?

It should have been over then. You died, certainly. You bled out on the streets and ceased to draw breath. Indeed, you had the classic fading of color and acceptance of the darkness just like everyone else. It appears that you will only have access to the clichés of the stories in death. It’s oddly fitting. Regardless of the beauty of it, you died. End of story.

Or at least, it should have been the end. Yet, you find yourself standing again, waiting at the back of a crowded room. You stare at your hands, at your body, which appears unharmed. Your eyes travel from yourself to the people in front of you. Your parents sit in chairs, their backs to you. They’re looking over a photo album, crying softly. “She was so young. She could have done so much more. I miss her, even though it’s been so long.”

You step forward, but the ground makes no sound underneath your feet. “Y/N wouldn’t want you to be sad. She would want you to remember her with happiness, not with tears, right?” Your mother nods sadly. “I can’t seem to help it, though.” An icy chill runs through your veins as you realize what’s happened. All you can think about is that you need to get away from here, somewhere where you won’t be surrounded by people mourning your death.

And then you’re gone. One minute you’re in your home, the next minute you’re standing on the sidewalk outside. Although you look around frantically, no one notices your sudden appearance. No one, that is, except one boy. He’s riding a skateboard, long dark hair tucked underneath a helmet. He stops suddenly, staring at you. “Hey, you just poofed here out of nowhere. You’re a ghost?”

You stare at him. “You can see me?” He nods. “You must be new to this ghost business if you’ve got questions. I’m Willie, by the way.” You smile weakly at him. “Y/N. I guess I would have to be a ghost if I died in the accident.” Willie winces. “Ooh, accidents. Those hurt. I died around the early 80s, a couple of decades ago, so I know what you mean.” You stare at him. “The 80s weren’t a couple of decades ago. They were recent.”

Willie shakes his head. “Sorry, man. You must have only been brought back as a ghost recently. It’s the 2020s right now.” You shake your head slowly. “That means it’s been 30 years since I died. How is that possible?” Willie places a hand on your shoulder, and for some reason the gesture is surprisingly comforting. “Hey, not a whole lot about the ghost stuff makes sense. If you want to talk about it, though, I’m here.” You smile at him. “I’d like that a lot, actually.”

Willie ends up becoming a fast friend. He explains everything there is to know about ghosts, and the two of you have fun messing around with your ghost abilities, whatever those are. It’s nice to have someone who understands about the ghost business, and you find that in leaps and bounds with Willie.

One day, you’re lying on a grassy hill admiring the clouds when Willie poofs into existence next to you. For some reason, he looks almost flushed with excitement, cheeks pink with thrill. “You won’t believe who I met. The cutest guy. He’s a new ghost, too.” You grin over at him. “Already making moves? You’re unreal.” Willie rolls his eyes. “I played it safe. We had a nice chat. He seems very cool, in a band or something. I think he plays the drums. Alex, was in a band called Sunset Curve. I think that’s a good name for a band, and I’ve heard a lot of bad ones.”

You sit up suddenly, all thoughts of the bright afternoon sun quickly abandoned. “What did you say? About Sunset Curve?” Willie frowns. “That’s the guy’s band. Or, it was until he died. He’s about our age, played in a band called Sunset Curve.” You shake your head slowly. “That makes no sense. They should have grown up a long time ago.” Willie still seems confused, so you clarify. “I know Alex, and I know the rest of his bandmates. I was friends with them until I died.” You fix him with a sudden purposeful look. “I need you to bring me to meet these guys.”

Willie has to ask around, but eventually he finds Alex and discovers that they’re staying in their old studio, now inhabited by the Molina family. You thank him, setting off as soon as you can. As you stand outside the doors to the studio, you find yourself suddenly nervous. Will they want to see you? Will they understand what happened?

The faint sounds of music drifting out from the doors is what convinces you. It sounds just like them, like this is another afternoon from the 90s when you’re meeting up with Luke and the others. You gather your courage and knock twice on the doors, then push them open. You stand for a moment in the doorway, staring. The boys stare back at you. It’s funny- everyone looks the exact same, even though everything has changed.

Then there’s a voice from the back of the room. It’s quiet, as if he’s afraid to say anything lest the moment be fractured away into nothingness. “Y/N?” Luke steps forward, disbelief warring with hope in his eyes. You nod slowly. “Luke?” Luke stands still for a moment longer, then runs forward, wrapping you in his arms and pulling you close. You tuck your head into the space between his head and his shoulder, letting yourself relax once more.

After what could be ten seconds or ten minutes, Luke reluctantly pulls away. He cups your face in his hand, just staring with awe. “How are you here? We died- you weren’t at the Orpheum-” You laugh bitterly. “I died too. There was a drunk driver on the road, he hit me when I was just a couple of blocks away. I was so close, that was the worst part.” Luke nods slowly. “I remember hearing sirens. I didn’t know it was you.”

Something like guilt passes over his face, and you hurriedly shake your head. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. I guess you died some time after that?” Luke nods. “Just before the show. We never got to play.” A sad sigh rips from his chest, and you pull him close again. It isn’t fair, not at all. He shouldn’t have died, you shouldn’t have died. He should not have been robbed of this chance to live the dream he always wanted.

There’s the sound of a throat clearing from across the room. “You know, we’re here too. Not just Luke.” You look up, laughing. “Sorry, Reggie, Alex. Love you guys too. I’m glad we can all be dead together.” Alex flashes you a thumbs up from across the room. “Me too, Y/N. Me too.” Luke laughs now, albeit reluctantly. You squeeze his hand one more time, then step into the room, greeting the other boys.

Your gaze falls upon a figure you don’t recognize- a girl, about your age if not a year younger. She has dark, curly hair and a fascinated smile. “Hi, I’m Y/N.” The girl startles. “Julie. Julie Molina. It’s nice to meet you- you must be the girl Luke keeps talking about.” You toss a grin Luke’s way. “You’ve been talking about me?” Luke moves to deny this, but Reggie speaks up loudly. “So often. You have no idea. He’s been very sad.”

Luke glares at his friend, but you just grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Well, it’s nice to feel wanted.” Luke beams at you, still thrilled that you’re here again. “Trust me, you are. I can’t believe you get to stay with me.”

Neither can you, actually. Somehow, despite the fact that you died and came back again, Luke did the same, and you can be with him again. You’ve lost everything- your family, your future, your life, but you still have him. It feels impossible, but it’s true.

This isn’t to say that life is smooth sailing from here. It turns out Luke, Alex, and Reggie have gotten themselves tangled in the mess that is Caleb’s club, and they’ve got the stamps to prove it. You find yourself holding Luke close while he spasms from jolt after jolt, forcing smiles to pretend like it doesn’t kill you every time he’s in pain. You also have to defend Willie to the rest, as he’s been your friend for a while and would never knowingly betray them. You have a feeling that Alex is pretty happy to hear this.

At last, you find the way to save Luke and save the boys- another performance at the Orpheum, this time as their unfinished business. Standing outside the building, staring up at the blinking neon signs, you can’t help but feel some strange feeling in the pit of your stomach. This feels like a sick twist of deja vu. This is how you died- waiting for the boys’ performance at the Orpheum. Staying here now, in the same position but after you’ve died, feels somehow wrong.

You try to shake the thoughts from your head, slipping inside the building to go find Luke, Julie, and the others. This isn’t like that night, you can’t die twice. Everything is going to be fine. Yet when you walk in the dressing room and catch sight of a panicked Flynn trying to calm a visibly shaken Julie, you have a feeling that things aren’t exactly smooth sailing.

Julie looks up when she sees you appear in the room. “Y/N, it’s good to see you. Have you seen Luke and the boys?” You shake your head, a crease forming between your brows. “No, not since I left the studio to let you say your goodbyes. Have they not shown up?” Julie sinks back down in a chair, hands pressed to her temples. “Not at all.” You slump against a wall. This feels like history repeating itself again- you dead, the boys not showing up to their performance at the Orpheum. No matter how many times you tell a story, it tends to end the same way.

Distraught, you wander back through the building to attempt to find the boys, but your search is to no avail. They’re nowhere to be found. You stumble through the auditorium just to see Julie taking the stage. You have a brief, wild hope that she’s managed to find them, but then you see the red rims of her teary eyes and hear the goodbye she issues to the crowd. If they haven’t shown up, then that means-

You try to distract yourself by listening to Julie sing. It brings a smile to your face in spite of yourself. Julie is a bright firecracker of a girl, and it’s been wonderful to get to know her. At least you know you have her at the end of this. Yet when the beat drops, Alex appears in a flash of sparks. You stand up, pressing forward through the crowd as if your proximity will do anything more to bring them back. Yes- there goes Reggie, and there’s Luke struggling to flicker back into existence. You send out a silent plea: bring him back, please. You can’t do this without him.

Then he’s back again, and you feel like your heart might burst. He flashes you a grin, as if to promise that nothing could separate you again. You smile back at him, finally letting yourself relax. He’s here, it’s okay. It’s all okay. When the song ends, you watch through joyful eyes as the boys stand next to Julie, clasping hands before taking a bow. There’s something wrong, though, something wrong when they disappear. Usually, you can loosely sense them when they poof away, but this time there’s nothing. Nothing at all. It’s like they’ve been erased away from the song of their lives.

There’s something pounding in the back of your heart, and you poof away to Julie’s rooms backstage. She appears there seconds later, as if she’s been expecting you. She runs over to you, stopping a few feet away as she remembers she can’t touch you or hug you as a ghost. “Tell me they’re still here. They didn’t just cross over.” You shake your head slowly. “I can’t feel them. They’re not in the building anymore. Julie, I think they’re gone.”

She nods slowly, fighting a losing battle to keep the tears at bay. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. So sorry. You just found Luke again, and now he’s gone.” You force a smile. “It’s alright. We’re just ghosts, remember? We’ve been running on borrowed time all along. I’ll meet you at the studio, alright? We can say our goodbyes.” Julie nods. “I’ll see you then.” You give her one last wave, then poof out.

You reappear outside the doors of the studio. You can’t quite bring yourself to go in, to face the empty stillness of the studio and know that the boy you love isn’t there. What are you supposed to do now? You have no idea what your unfinished business could possibly be. Most likely, you’re going to live out your endless days as a ghost, not noticed by anyone except Julie and Willie and whatever other ghosts you manage to find, forever haunted by the knowledge that the one person you’re looking for the most will never appear around the corner, never be waiting for you again. It’s like you’re back to that car crash, knowing you’ll be separated by death once more.

You hear the sound of a car pulling into the driveway and straighten up. Seconds later, Julie appears down the path, and you nod at her slowly. “Are you ready to do this?” She sighs. “It seems fitting to say goodbye, even if they aren’t here.” She pushes open the doors, letting the darkness wash over the two of you. She looks over at you. “I don’t know what to do.” You smile gently. “There’s no script. I have a feeling they’ll be able to hear you. Just say what you wish you got to say before they left.”

Julie nods. “I’m glad I got to meet you guys, and grateful to you for everything. You got me back into music, and I’ll never be able to let go of it again. I thought I’d never play after my mom, but you convinced me that I could. Thank you.” There’s a muffled voice from the back of the room, one that’s quickly shushed by two annoyed boys. “You’re welcome.” You stare. “Reggie?” You’d know him anywhere- you’ve heard that voice in band practices for the last couple of decades, even if it doesn’t feel that way.

Julie runs over to turn on the light, and your hand flies to your mouth as you see the boys crumpled in a heap on the floor, in obvious pain. “Did it not work? Did you not cross over?” Luke shakes his head, gently extricating himself from the heap of band members on the ground to stumble over to you. You catch him before he falls, holding him upright. “We won’t play with Caleb, that’s a promise. It’s not worth it like that.” You cup his face in your hands. “I don’t want to let you go. Not yet.”

Luke laughs quietly. “I’m not sure we had a choice. I love you, Y/N, no matter what. You know that, right?” You nod, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “I know.” You feel one last jolt rack his body, and somehow you know that this will be the last. This is it, the moment when he truly dies. You fling your arms around him, holding him close one last time. If you can’t have the future with him you had always planned, you can at least have this moment.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, waiting for the moment when he disappears from you forever. Yet it doesn’t come. You open your eyes carefully, then stare at him. “Luke, you’re- I think you’re glowing.” Sure enough, he’s surrounded by this golden haze of light. He smiles at you, chuckling slightly in awe. “I feel good. Strong, like I haven’t felt in a while.” Alex stands up too, as does Reggie. “Actually, I feel better too. I think you saved us. Both of you.”

You laugh incredulously. “Really? You’re not going away?” Luke presses a kiss to your cheek. “Never again. I’m not leaving you ever again.” You beam at him. “Good. I don’t intend to be with anyone else.” He laughs at that, pulling you in for a kiss. For once, you know that he’s here to stay.

#luke patterson #luke patterson imagines #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson oneshot #jatp #jatp imagines #jatp x reader #jatp oneshot #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms imagines #julie and the phantoms x reader #julie and the phantoms oneshot #jatp luke #jatp luke imagines #jatp luke x reader #jatp luke oneshot #julie and the phantoms luke

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calumxkisses · 4 years ago

Text

I Can’t Make You Love Me | c.h.

pairing: calum hood x reader

genre: angst (i’m sorry)

summary: part three of ‘Take My Breath Away’ (part 2 here)

a/n: hello everyone! here I am with part three! i made a promise, i know, and i honestly have no excuses for another angst part. in my defense, there’s going to be a last part, so we’ll see what is going to happen! please, let me know what you think about it and i hope this doesn’t disappoint your expectations. love you all! i also wanna say thank you to the anon who suggested the two songs, they were essential to the creation of this new part.

songs for this part: can’t make you love me ; whiskey and you ; i love you (choose your fighter)

♡♡♡

Calum was not used to believing in the signs of fate; of course, in everyday life, coincidences used to happen, but he had always stopped to call them that: coincidences. But maybe he was wrong, maybe there really were signs, and one of the certainties he had always carried with him was now crumbling.

First the fever: he hadn't been ill for years, a few colds every now and then, but never anything overly serious. Instead, this time he was hit with a bad flu, one that leads you to take too many medications to say "I'm fine" and that leads you to spend three weeks in bed. Three weeks, right around the time the wedding was planned.

Then, the wedding dress was lost. It was made by a stylist, his girlfriend's favorite, and it came straight from France. She had gone to choose it, try it out, customize it, and then never receive it. Apparently, someone had stolen it and they had to postpone the wedding: her grandmother wanted to give her the dress of her dreams (“After all, you only get married once in a lifetime!” The old lady's said) and so they had been forced to make another one from scratch, postponing the wedding.

And then the wedding rings had come in the wrong size, the church had been booked by another couple, everything seemed to prevent the couple from getting married.

She was exhausted, but she was still convinced to marry him.

Calum, however, was starting to think again: Michael had told him it was normal to feel stressed and unsure about the wedding before the big day, but he knew there was so much more. Or much less, when viewed from a different point of view. Something wasn't right and he had noticed it more and more.

The truth is, things haven't been going well for a while. The relationship was beautiful, spectacular from the outside, but in his dreams, things were different; he felt it, tried to reject those thoughts, but it wasn't easy.

So Luke had decided to throw him a party. A small party, without too many guests, to try to calm the bassist's nerves. He had invited their old group, the friends with whom they had been in the mountains to celebrate several New Years, with whom they had traveled to Bali more times than they wanted to admit and with whom he had spent happy moments. He wanted to remind him that despite everything, despite the new life that was about to begin, they would be there, by his side, ready to live this new adventure with him.

Calum absolutely didn't want to go to the party. He was obviously grateful to his friends for everything they had and were doing for him, but the only thing he wanted to do was stay home, under the covers, waiting for this to pass quickly and for it to finally be his turn to be happy. He was happy, but it didn't seem like the right happiness, he was experiencing someone's happiness. Of an old version of himself, probably.. but when had all this changed?

It was a question he had often been asking himself lately, usually accompanied by a few glasses of Whiskey. He did not even like that Jack Daniel's, but it seemed the ideal solution when all the weight of the world seemed to rest on his shoulders, giving him a very strong headache, accompanied by the thousands of doubts that assailed him every day.

But she was always there, ready to close the bottle of alcohol and embrace all his insecurities, accompanying him to bed and hugging him in the dark of the night. She was an angel, and Calum knew it, she was ready to help him whenever he fell.

The room was crowded, although only few people showed up for the party. The place had been decorated with small colored lights, a recurring decoration at their parties, and on the tables there were all kinds of snacks: chips, popcorn, candies, pizza, any food that could have become a craving created by the alcohol.

The music played pop and rock hits, great classics that would please any music lover and that would be the ideal base for any type of dance that occupied the floor.

The girls were by the window, a beer pong table divided them into two teams, and little laughter spread throughout the room with each missed basket.

His girlfriend was talking with her friends while sipping sub-branded beer at every point of the other team, a smile was on her face as she told everyone about the different ideas she had for the ceremony.

Ashton and the others were a few feet away, their bodies forming a small circle, everyone seemed to be having a good evening commenting new albums and laughing at old jokes and moments spent together.

Calum didn’t belong to either group, he was on the sidelines of all the others, with a glass of alcohol in his hand, with his body in that room and his mind in a completely different universe. He was not in the mood, he was tired, he kept repeating to anyone who asked him the reason for this behavior and no one suspected anything or investigated in depth, because everyone knew that the preparations for a wedding were not easy, that having just released an album and preparing for a new life was tiring. Everyone understood and left him there, keeping him company only occasionally, when his eyes closed or became too glossy.

He was happy and he was really tired. Things had not gone according to plan and everything seems to be more difficult than he expected. He knew it, and he didn't blame himself for it. Everything would be fine, he would be happy and this would be the last climb before a big view. He would marry a beautiful woman, raise a family, all while pursuing his dream as a musician. Everything would be perfect, fine.

“What are you doing all alone here, loser?” A voice said at his side, a voice he hadn't heard in a long, long time, and that had missed like water in a desert. A familiar voice, which would have saved him from every bad thing.

Luke had called you just a few days before, finding you had been difficult given your continuous travels, but he knew that your presence was essential and he would have traveled the whole world to find you, pick you up and take you there. And not only because the curly-haired boy needed it, but because everyone missed you, because the concerts were no longer the same without you waiting for them with pizza and compliments for all of them.

Ashton had met you a few months earlier for a coffee in San Francisco because your absence had become painful for him too, he who was used to talking to you on the balcony of some hotel, under the sky of any city was hosting them.

You left, everyone knew you were going to, and no one had tried to stop you. You needed it. You were broken, you no longer had a certain future and you needed to find yourself, your peace, your happiness.

You didn’t know where you would find these things, so you decided to travel the world with the money you had saved and in the end you were able to find serenity, returning to yourself and the world no longer scared you.

You had missed Calum deeply and there had been so many times where you had found yourself with your cell phone in front of your eyes, with his contact on the screen, ready to call him.

And it had happened a couple of times, as the sun was rising where you were and setting where he was, and he had answered you, reassuring you that everything was going well. And you told him about the beautiful places you were visiting, about the cultures you were getting to know, and you found yourself laughing at the foods he would have never tried, but that you swore he would have loved.

Despite everything, as he promised you, he remained by your side and cared for you and that helped you to move forward. You still felt so much for him, and part of you would always love the boy with the pink mug and messy hair, but maybe now something had changed. Now your heart no longer hurted so much at the thought of a future without him by your side, and you really felt happiness when you thought about their wedding.

Sure, occasionally a few tears still fell, but the important thing was that you and Calum would be happy, even if not together.

“Doll.” It was the only thing he was able to say before hugging you tightly, with a huge smile on his face and his heart ready to explode with happiness.

And you knew that that 'doll' was worth more than the memory hidden behind the word, your badly done Halloween dress and the piece of paper stuck to your chest with your disguise written on it to help others understand.

That 'doll' carried with it all the moments you hadn't spent together, all the movies you hadn't seen together on the sofa, all the moonlit walks with Duke, every Sunday at your family brunches - the family you created with all your friends, which hasn't been the same since you left.

Calum broke away from the hug and his eyes were wet, not from the hours spent awake at night but from the emotion he was feeling in seeing you. And all of a sudden, the room was empty and your presence was the only one that mattered.

Your hair had been cut to help your new start, but it had grown back and your skin sparkled like your eyes, full of life and happiness.

You were simply gorgeous, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. And beautiful not only for your appearance, but for the light you radiated. You had brought back the light into his darkness and there was nothing he had needed more.

On the other hand, you couldn't say the same. Of course, he was as beautiful as the sun and that hadn't changed, but that sun wasn't shining anymore. His eyes were dull, his dark circles were darker and his face looked paler. His body no longer gave off joy, but it was just there, a normal body.

But you loved him all the same, because he was your Calum and you knew that it happened every now and then, that his world got darker, that his happiness was rarer, and you knew that you would do anything to make him feel better, to show him how much beautiful the world was thanks to his presence.

Because the world was a better place with Calum Hood in it.

“How are things going?” you asked, although you already knew the answer. Michael used to send you messages in which he updated you on their life without you and among the thousand news, he never forgot to tell you about Calum, how his life was progressing and how marriage was destroying him before he even got married.

“Harder than I thought, honestly. I'm a little stressed out, that's all.” He lied. You knew he was lying and he knew you knew, but that meant he didn't feel like talking about it right now, and that was okay. You didn't want to force him, he would open up when he felt the need and you would be there, because there was no reason to run away again.

“You stressed out? I would have never said that. You usually never take anything seriously.” You said giggling and giving him a friendly pat on the arm. He smiled and your heart skipped a beat.

“How are you instead?” He asked softly, ready to hear you talk again for hours, never getting tired of your voice. A voice that had become a habit over time, which in the darkest nights he heard repeatedly listening to the voice messages you left him.

“I'm fine, honestly. I liked Thailand a lot, it's really special. In the hotel in Bangkok there was a little black elephant walking around and I think I spent half my vacation petting it and the Thai culture is so beautiful, Calum! And Santorini, what a dream! I’m pretty sure that’s how heaven looks like.”

You kept talking, remembering the Asian sun on your skin and the taste of Greek sea water. It was a dream to be able to travel, visit places and cultures that you had imagined since childhood, totally different from what you were used to. You had missed not having someone by your side in exploring these wonders, but traveling alone had helped you, it had made you a different woman. And there would still have been the opportunity to return in the future, accompanied by anyone who wanted to have an adventure with you.

Calum paid attention to all the words that came out of your mouth, noticing the happiness in your eyes in remembering everything you had experienced. You had been happy, the broken heart had been replaced by so much joy.

He was really happy for you but, selfishly, he longed to see you again with a broken heart, because it would mean that you still loved him.

But Calum was careful to chase away certain thoughts from his head, after all it was he who didn't stop you, it was he who let you go because you needed it, because he broke your heart and you couldn't look for help in him.

“There is this pizzeria in Naples that makes the best pizza in the world, you should try it. Nothing compared to that kind of pizza we used to order during our Friday nights, it’s way better. And Rome by night is magical. I threw a coin in the Trevi fountain, you know? I know we don't believe in these things, but I wanted to make a wish anyway, you never know that magic really exists.”

Your voice kept repeating itself in his ears and while you joyfully told him about the wonderful places you had visited, Calum could do nothing but listen to you and imagine himself there with you, admiring the Italian sea of Naples and dancing in front of the Colosseum at night, away from the prying eyes of people, on the melodies of some street artist. There was nothing he wanted more than being there with you, away from all those lies that surrounded him.

And as soon as he heard the sound of your laughter, his heart expanded and Calum knew that nothing was going right because what was missing was you. It was you who filled his days, who made sure that the sun shone even on rainy days, which made the stars jealous of so much brilliance.

It was you who took the joy out of his life as soon as you turned the corner of that old building that long-gone night of his birthday. That January 25 night he had not only lost his best friend, but he had lost what made him choose life above all his negative thoughts.

As you told him about your adventures, you were careful to tell him only the happy moments, so that he didn't know about the bad days. But the truth was that everything hadn't gone so well and more than once you found yourself at the airport, ready to take the first plane to go back to him.

There had been many days in which you were locked in your hotel room, hidden under the covers, crying over the loneliness that would accompany you.

You had spent sleepless nights imagining him in his tuxedo, with his hair tidy - as far as possible - and with his usual spectacular smile on his face, on the altar of a church or on a beach of Balì, the same beach where he was lying next to you to observe the stormy sea, holding you tightly while reassuring you that you would be fine.

And then the dream would become a nightmare, and instead of seeing you in the white dress, you saw her, shining in her wedding dress, approaching him with her makeup smeared with tears of joy, ready to promise him an eternity of love.

And you were there, sitting on some distant bench or standing at the back of the church, helpless while losing your soul mate.

At the end of your travel, you hadn't visited France. You refused to visit the Tourre Effeil, to walk along the banks of the Seine and to lose yourself in the architecture of Notre Damè. Paris was your dream since you were little, you spent entire afternoons planning your vacation in the French capital and at the age of 13 you promised yourself that you would visit Paris only with your soulmate, only with the one that would have treated you like a queen and that would have loved you like in fairy tales.

And despite growing up, you wanted to keep the promise made to your little, innocent you. And so Paris was left out and you thought it would be forever, because the only person who could make thirteen-year-old you proud was in love with someone else.

Then the words ended and as the stereo played Queen songs, your eyes were lost in his. The outside noises seemed to belong to a different space and the world really seemed to revolve around you and Calum. There was no one left but you two, lost in each other's minds. Your hearts had stopped beating, there were only two separate souls, ready to intertwine together. There was no longer just Calum or just you, there was you, together. Something was different, right.

Nothing mattered anymore and even the eyes of the boy in front of you seemed to have regained their brightness.

His hand stroked your face, gently bringing the wisps of hair on your face behind your ear, his touch was reassuring and you closed your eyes for a brief moment.

Calum took a step forward and you didn't move, his free hand took yours in his and you didn't pull it back, his gaze moved to your lips and yours to his, and neither of you moved. Neither of you wanted to leave, too caught up in the moment.

“Hey, I didn't know you were coming!” A soft voice said behind you, and the bubble created by you and Calum burst. You moved away, your hearts beating again. She was there, next to him, neither of you had noticed her coming, but her presence could no longer go unnoticed. It wouldn't have been fair.

In the end, he had chosen her. His heart was beating for another girl, whether you liked it or not. His feelings were for her and it was okay, it had to be okay. You didn't go around the world for nothing. Your heart was broken, but now it was healed. Things had to stay that way.

You were happy like that.

“How are you doing?” She asked in her sweet voice. Her arm intertwined with the boy's and her eyes were watching you intently, interested in what your answer would be. She was so kind, so innocent, and for no reason was she jealous of you. She was perfect.

“Good! Ready to go back to everyday life, you?” You answered smiling at her. There was no way to hate her, you couldn't. You could envy her, sure, but in no way could you hate her. There was no reason to.

“A little stressed out but I can't wait to get married. It was more difficult than expected but my dream is coming true, you know? I'm not giving up now.” A laugh escaped her lips and joy was visible on her face.

You smiled and looked at Calum quickly, making sure he was still there. His body was mainly turned towards her but his gaze was on you.

He would have never left you anymore, He had lost you once and he wanted to make sure that that would never happen again. An awareness was making its way into his body, his mind was realizing that something, someone was wrong.

Things were about to change, someone would suffer but someone else was going to be happy forever. Things would no longer stay that way. It was time for things to go in the right way and he knew it.

It had been your laugh, your presence or maybe even your absence, but Calum finally understood.

What he didn't know, though, was that yes, things were about to change, but not for the better. He would be the one to suffer this time.

“Wait, is that a ring I see on your finger?” The girl said pointing to your left hand and making a little cry of joy. Your gaze shifted to the ring that now occupied your finger, a small smile formed on your face but your heart didn't seem to reciprocate the feeling. The gaze of the boy was now pointed at your hand.

Something changed.

In Tokyo, precisely, an angel had come down from heaven and stretched out his hand to you. And the sun was shining again, the cherry trees were filled with flowers and life was less disgusting. Your heart was full and not even the return trip could make your mood worse, because you were not alone anymore. The days were full of color again and the world no longer seemed black and white. Your future was full of hope, love, happiness. And you wouldn't have been hurt anymore, maybe, for a while.

A stranger had suddenly arrived in your life, with a happy smile and open arms, ready to pick up all your pieces and show you that you were worth it. He had made you see that everything would turn out for the best, ending up filling your heart with joy and love. It had been sudden, like Calum's proposal, but this surprise had been positive.

Then he had given you a ring, a promise ring, not for a wedding - it was too early, although the feelings were growing fast - but to promise you that he would be there, as long as there was a chance. That he wouldn't hurt you and that he would take care of you. That he would love you, whatever love is. He promised you that everything would be fine.

“Yes, it's a promise ring.” You smiled thinking about it. You were happy, right? Yes, you were. You were happy, you had to be. Someone was loving you. Still, there was something different, but this wasn't the right time to think about it, after all, you still had to get used to this big change.

Of course, the feelings for the guy in front of you would always remain, for years you were convinced that he was your soulmate, but things had gone differently. And it didn't have to be a bad thing. Finally you would be happy, not together, but still side by side. There was no more reason to run away, you could continue being friends now, without excessive feelings or broken hearts.

Calum's world, however, had collapsed. It had rolled over, traveled at the speed of light and collided with his biggest fear, and it was destroyed. Not to mention his heart, reduced to thousands of bits that not even the strongest glue would be able to reattach together. His chest really hurted, as did his stomach and head, and the flu from several months ago seemed nothing in comparison. Even the mornings when he woke up with a hangover didn't hurt that much, because that pain passed. This, however, would never pass.

Calum was in love with you. Deeply, with all of himself. He didn't want to admit it at first,it would have caused a huge disaster, but he couldn't keep lying to himself, it wouldn't do him any good.

Sure, he had feelings for his girlfriend, but it wasn't you. And he had noticed it. He used to believe that the strong affection he felt towards you was just affection, but the months in your absence had been devastating, and it wasn't normal. He wouldn't have suffered so much for a mutual friend, but for you it was different.

He loved you, and how deeply he loved you. Just a few minutes before he was ready to kiss you, no guilt assaulting him and he was ready to throw away months of wedding preparations for you.

It was you now, however, who no longer loved him. And the pain he felt was probably what you had felt over a year ago when it broke your heart. It was his fault, however, that he had come too late to a conclusion that everyone had come before.

He loved you, but you loved another, and Calum knew there was nothing more to be done now.

You would have remained friends, sure, but things would definitely change now. Before, at least, there was a chance to go back. He would not get married and his kitchen would be filled with the smell of biscuits again, accompanied by the scattered flour and your dirty clothes, victims of food wars and laughs.

But now you too were engaging with another person and those moments seemed to drift further away and to belong to a distant, unattainable, unique past.

And while you and his fiancée - a name that no longer made him smile - happily talked about your news, Calum thought there was nothing more to be done.

He could have pulled back, but for what purpose? To spend a life alone? Maybe, one day his heart would start beating again for what would become his wife and in the meantime he would give her joy, because she deserved it. She would take care of him and he wouldn't spend sleepless nights in bed alone.

So Calum drank what was left in his glass in one gulp and apologizing to th two of you, he went over to the drink table and opened a new bottle. And as the alcohol dripped into his glass, tears streamed down his face, mixing with the drink he held in his hand. He didn't even bother wiping them, he was with his back to people and away from anyone who could see him, and he just stood there for a moment, hating himself and hating you, for being so damn beautiful and in love with another, for making his heart beating again just to break it,but the truth was that there was no way he could hate you.

He loved you too much and he was ready to sacrifice everything to see you happy, even himself.

“It’s gonna get better, mate.” Someone softly whispered behind him before hugging him.

Ashton had witnessed everything from afar, had seen his friends in love, ready to conquer the world together, and then he had seen them hurt themselves, destroy their happiness for each other, unaware that there was no reason to do so. And even his heart ached.

Calum continued to cry, trying not to attract attention and letting himself be held by his best friend.

Was everything really going to be better?

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#calum hood #calum hood imagine #calum hood imagines #calum thomas hood #calum 5 seconds of summer #calum 5sos #calum hood angst #calum hood x y/n #calum hood x you #calum hood x reader #calum imagine #5sos imagine #5sos imagines #5sos angst #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer imagine #5 seconds of summer imagines #angst

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ladyanaconda · 3 years ago

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Helluva Dad Vol. 5: Mom

Hey, guys! We'll start getting more info on Striker's wife and Jake's mother from here on out, though they'll mostly be tidbits. It might be a while before we fully learn what happened to her.

*HB*

The next morning, Jake awoke with a throbbing migraine. His body and joints were sore to the point he didn't want to move, but the acidic, bitter taste of vomit sent him on a beeline straight to the bathroom.

"Good, you're awake." His father was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. It's almost like he had been waiting for him.

"D-Dad…?" Jake threw up into the toilet again.

"You feel like shit, right? That's what happens when you drink a little too much."

"D-Drink..? What are you…?" Jake brought a hand to his head. "Ow, my head…"

"You and Moxxie got thrown inside a beer barrel during yesterday's job. Evidently, you two drank too much."

Jake shrank a bit. "Am I in trouble, dad?"

Striker's frown softened. After a moment of silence, he sighed. "Nah, it wasn't really yer fault this time 'round, pup." He watched as Jake threw up for the third time. "'Sides, I think the hangover is punishment enough. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Carefully, Striker undressed Jake and lifted him unto the warm bath he had previously prepared for this moment. Once Jake was fully clean and refreshed, Striker carried him back to his room to dress him in his pajamas and tuck him back in bed.

"Are you going to work, dad?"

"I'm leavin' ya alone in this condition, my boy. I took an absence for the weekend while you recover." Striker ruffled his son's hair. "Chill out, Blitzo and the others can survive without us for a few days."

Jake shivered. "I'm cold." Striker touched his forehead.

"Yer boiling hot, kiddo. You'll need lots of water to make up for the shit yer body is going through right now."

Striker left the room and returned sometime later with a tray, which he placed on the bedside table. Jake glanced sideways to see its contents: A cup of tea with a strong smell and a bowl of soup. Striker picked the cup and held it close to his son's lips.

"Drink." Jake took a small sip. His face scrunched up at the bitter taste.

"What's this?" He asked, sticking out his tongue.

"Ginger root tea. It ain't tasty, but it's good for hangovers."

It took Jake a considerable amount of willpower to actually drink the whole thing, forcing himself to swallow the bitter beverage despite the urge to spit it back into the cup. It left an awful bitter taste in his mouth, but his stomach had settled down somewhat and he wasn't as thirsty anymore. The soup, a plain and simple chicken broth, was more enjoyable. Jake couldn't help but feel like a baby, though. Dad would even tease him with the 'little plane' as he carefully gave him spoonfuls of soup.

"How're ya feelin', kiddo?" Striker once he was done with the meal.

"Tired and sore, but at least I'm not nauseous anymore."

Striker spent all morning dabbing Jake's forehead with a humid cloth to break the fever. Jake felt a little better by midday, though his head and body still ached. He didn't want to be stuck in bed all day, though.

"Dad, I'm bored," he complained.

"What are you complainin' about, boy? I'm doing all the work here." Striker said simply.

"Do I have to stay in bed all day? What if I want to pee?"

"Don't exaggerate, yer not disabled. But if you want to get better soon, you need to rest."

Jake shifted under the covers. "How long do hangovers last?"

"A day or so, dependin' on how much alcohol you consume and your age. In yer case, you should be as good as new by tomorrow if you rest properly."

With no other choice, Jake closed his eyes and did his best to fall asleep. Surprisingly, he managed to drift off after twenty minutes, in part because he was tired.

With Jake asleep for the time being, Striker took some time to himself and to do the chores around the house. The first thing he did was go to the closet near the doorway and open it; Blitzo, tied up and gagged, dropped out. The piece of cloth used to silence him slipped off his mouth.

"Come on, Striker! You didn't have to put me in there!" he protested.

"What did ya expect when I caught you about to sneak into my kid's room at three A.M. like a pedophile?" Striker murmured as he cut him free.

"I wasn't going to miss Jakey's first hangover! You only get to witness those moments once, you know."

"I'd thank you if you kept yer volume down, Jake is sleepin'."

Blitzo slipped a few envelopes from his pocket. "Oh, by the way, you got mail. Why didn't you tell me you got job offers? I.M.P. could get more clients!"

"Really? Now yer goin' to check my mail too?" Striker snatched all the envelopes from Blitzo's hands before he could pry any further. "Good thing I don't have a diary or you'd read it."

"Can you make one? Moxxie's diary is boring me and Loonie hid hers where I can't find it." Blitzo seemed to remember something. "If you'll excuse me, I have to change the bird's water!"

Striker didn't dignify Blitzo with a reply and instead focused on checking his mail. A few killing job offers, this month's light, and water fees, and… His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the seal on the envelope. Striker set the other envelopes aside for the time being and opened that letter.

"Ah, that's so much better!" Blitzo stepped out of the visitor's bathroom, a small piece of toilet paper stuck to his foot. "Maybe I shouldn't drink that much lemonade next time…" He trailed off when he noticed Striker's expression had darkened. "Strike? Are you okay?"

"I need to go out. Keep an eye on Jake while I'm gone."

Striker didn't give Blitzo an explanation or time to protest as he picked up his jacket and hat and walked out the door, whistling for Bombproof to come for him. Wordlessly, he climbed unto the saddle, clicked his tongue, and rode away in a quick canter.

*HB*

Jake woke up to a purring sound right above him. Shifting a bit under the covers, he opened his eyes and found none other than Blitzo's face inches away from his.

"Hi, Blitz." the impling said simply.

"Any interesting dreams?"

"Not really. Where's dad?"

"He had to go out for some errand and asked me to look after you while he's gone. We're going to have so much fun!" Blitzo rubbed his hands together. "Do you have any horse movies?"

Jake sat up. "Running Free and Black Beauty."

"Which version?"

"1994."

Blitzo's eyes lit up. "I love that one! Let's watch it!" Jake didn't quite understand why Blitzo was so obsessed with horses, but he didn't really mind. He, too, loved horses ever since he could remember. From what dad said, he'd learned how to ride before he could even walk.

Jake felt more alert and less sore, so he could walk downstairs to the living room. Blitzo made some popcorn and they spent the next hour and a half watching Black Beauty. Blitzo cried a couple of times whenever a horse got hurt, but he completely lost it when Beauty saw Ginger's dead body being carried away.

"Why, Ginger?! Whyyy?!"

"Have you read the novel? It's got more content that wasn't put in the film." Jake pointed out.

"Black Beauty is a novel?"

"No way, you didn't know?!"

"Jakey, the only things I read are Moxxie's diary and the Hellquine magazine."

Time went by. Blitzo sniffed around the house until he came across an old photo album. To Jake's chagrin, it contained baby pictures of him.

"Aww, you were so cute! Who would have thought your old man could take decent photos? Oh, look, you're with Striker and Bombproof on this one!" Jake groaned, trying in vain to hide in the cushions. "Oh, shit, what a big dick you had!"

"Okay, that's enough humiliation for a day!"

Jake tried to pull the album away from Blitzo, cheeks red. They fought over the album until something slipped out and fell down to the floor. Blitzo picked it up.

"Hey, this one wasn't in any of the pages." Blitzo couldn't contain a wolf-whistle. "What a lovely lady!"

Curious, Jake leaned in to take a look at the photo: a tall woman with dark red skin and gold-green eyes sat on top of a fence, running a hand through her long black hair as it was blown back by the wind.

"Is this your mommy, Jakey?"

Jake pondered on it, eyes fixed on the photograph. He's never seen that woman before, be it in a photo or in person. He looked through the album but found no more pictures of the woman. If this was his mother, why are there no signs of her anywhere?

The door swung open at that moment. "Blitz, I'm home."

"Hey, Strike, who's this pretty lady?"

Jake felt a shiver down his spine as he saw his father stop in his tracks, face pale. He knew what was coming. The shock became anger. But it wasn't like those other times dad had grown mad at Blitzo; this time, there was a darkness in his eyes as he stomped towards Blitzo, tail rattling, and wordlessly snatched the photo from his grasp.

"Where did you find it?!" he shouted, making Blitzo realize he had unintentionally reopened an old wound.

"It slipped from that album…" he stuttered, pointing at the forgotten tome.

"Why can't you keep yer bloody nose away from my privacy, Blitzo?!"

"D-Dad, calm down, he didn't mean to-!"

"Stay out of this, boy!" Striker hissed, startling Jake into stepping back.

"Whoa, whoa, there's no need to yell at Jakey! It's me you're pissed at, remember?"

Striker clenched his fists. "Get out."

"Wait, what?"

"Get yer shitty ass out of my house!" Striker didn't even wait for Blitzo to reply; he simply pushed him towards and shoved him out of the door, slamming it shut; Striker panted heavily for breath as he leaned against it.

"Dad, that was uncalled for!" Jake quickly regretted having spoken when his father shot him a frown. The rings around his pupils were thick, another sign that he was pissed.

"How many times have I told you not to look through my things without permission?!" he growled.

"I was curious, dad…!"

"That's no excuse, boy! You wouldn't like me to go look into your own stuff, would you?!"

"B-But dad…"

"I don't want to hear it, boy." Striker pointed to the stairs. "Go to your room, I don't want to see you for the rest of the night!"

Jake was close to tears now. "Daddy…"

"NOW!"

Jake didn't dare to talk back to his father this time. He ran up the stairs and into his room, tears in his eyes. The impling climbed into his bed, hid under the blankets and cried himself to sleep.

*HB*

He hadn't meant to yell at Jake. It's not him he's mad at, but… Seeing her photo in Blitzo's grasp and hearing him ask so casually as if he'd done nothing wrong really pissed him off... That, plus the rather unpleasant encounter from earlier… Great, now he'd have to apologize to Blitz when things calm down.

Striker couldn't sleep that night. There were too many things on his head, and he had to think of what he'd do now that Jake had seen the photo. There's no way he can weasel out of it now, the boy was too smart for that. And deep down, Striker wanted to tell his son about the wonderful woman who was his mother, the woman that he'd…

Striker closed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, trying to push the painful memory away.

He waited until the next morning until he was certain he had calm down to go upstairs to his son's room with a jam and peanut butter sandwich, Jake's favorite treat. Striker tentatively knocked on the door.

"Jake?"

There was no reply. Slowly, he opened the door and walked in. Jake was still on his bed, hidden under the covers. He had seen him shifting just before he peeked in, so he knew he wasn't really sleeping, but it was evident that Jake didn't want to talk to him either. Striker sat down on the edge of his son's bed, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"I… I brought you a sandwich in case you were hungry." He was met with silence again. "I know you're not really sleepin', kiddo." His suspicions were confirmed when Jake opened his eyes, but his back was still turned and he still did not speak. Sighing, Striker placed the place on the bedside table and ran a hand through his white locks. "Jake, I… I'm sorry for yellin' at you. I had a… complicated day and seein' that photo in Blitzo's grasp reopened an old wound, so I… I took it out on you."

"Who's that woman?" Jake asked curtly. Striker took a deep breath.

"...Her name was Jane. She's your mother."

Jake sat up on the bed this time. "That's mom?"

"Yes…" Striker slipped the photo out of his pocket, smiling forlornly as he stared at it. "She was a wild-spirited, passionate woman, my killin' partner, and the love of my life. We'd travel and take killin' jobs throughout the seven rings together."

Jake stared at the photo. The question that had been bugging him since Millie brought up the topic on Loo Loo Land left his lips. "What happened to her?"

Striker's smile vanished. That's the one, inevitable question that he didn't want to answer. But he had to tell him something, anything.

"...She got ill and passed away shortly after you were born," he told Jake. It's a half-truth, close enough to what actually caused her death. "You were just a baby, so it's normal for you to not remember her." Jake looked like he'd cry again at any moment now. Striker smiled sadly and wiped a lone tear trickling down his cheek. "But she left me the greatest gift she could give me: you, son."

Jake sniffled and threw himself into his father's embrace. "I wish I could have met her."

"She'd be proud of her little man, no doubt. You remind me of her quite a lot, my boy."

"Really?"

"You have her same spirit, the same fire in yer eyes, her determination." Striker smirked. "And her knack at gettin' in trouble, I may add."

"Hey!"

Striker laughed and pulled his son closer to playfully ruffle his hair. Sadly, the sweet moment was brought to an end as he caught a pair of yellow eyes peering through the window. With an annoyed grunt, Striker went to the window and tapped loudly on it, startling Blitzo into losing his balance and falling back with the stair.

*HB*

Blitzo should have started a stalking company, since he's so good at it XD-

Before I forget, I'd like to let you know that Helluva Dad has a TV tropes page now! Yaaay!

#helluva boss #helluva boss fanfiction #helluva dad au #helluva au #striker helluva boss #helluva boss striker #helluva blitzo #helluva dad

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theskeletoninthepiano · 3 years ago

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Playlist 3

Hey ya’ll, I’m a music director at my college radio and an aspiring musician/music industry/writing/idk who wants to get better at writing and strengthening my opinions on music. So I'm gonna start posting my playlists and justifications here. Thank you so much for checking this out :) Have a good day

This week I only chose ten of the twenty songs to be played on a heavier rotation.

Modern Love by David Bowie

West End Girls by Pet Shop Boys

Goodbye by Cannons

Tunnel of You by Cannons

Scar Tissue by Red Hot Chili Peppers

High and Dry by Radiohead

OPEN A WINDOW by Rex Orange County featuring Tyler, The Creator

high roller by Fana Hues

Borderline by Tame Impala

The Only Heartbreaker by Mitski

Highlight Reel

Scar Tissue- Red Hot Chili Peppers

To be honest, I do not listen to RHCP on a regular basis. However, I believe there are certain songs that are outstanding in comparison to the whole discography in a spectacular way. I overheard Scar Tissue while I was out and was instantly plunged into another RHCP phase. When you're in 40 degree weather consistently, waiting for spring to come, RHCP reignites the beat and excitement of the summertime. As the Mamas and The Papas say: “California Dreamin’ on such a winters day…”

Modern Love- David Bowie

I had not thought much of this song until I heard it while watching Frances Ha (Dir. Noah Baumbach) home alone sick with covid (ugh). Since watching it, I’ve had that song on repeat doing house chores, homework… you get the point. This song, as well as a lot of David Bowie’s work, are as thought out like a mathematical formula. Pure genius. Having an understanding of music theory makes the experience much more satisfying. An incredible song to get you through the week. It’s what they call a “main character song” (why oh why did I say that).

Goodbye and Tunnel of You- Cannons

I have been completely obsessed with the haunting, dreamy, ethereal soundscape cannons creates in their work. Both of these songs are of their latest album, Fever Dream, released in 2022. Seductive yet soothing, the siren-like quality of the LP has earned its place as my album of the week. I cannot recommend these songs enough. I feel so happy and beautiful when Cannons is on. If Cannons were represented by an object, it would be an enchanted rose quartz.

Additional songs and thoughts

I won't lie, both the Rex Orange County/Tyler, The Creator song and the Mitski song were thrown into the mix to just represent what's currently coming out. I am supposed to really focus and feature new music, even though I find most of it... unpalatable. I am big fans of all aforementioned’s older work. However, a lot of their new stuff just isn’t what it used to be (CMIYGL has exceptions). It’s okay for musicians to change their sound; but honestly, I was bored. These songs are good tho

high roller by Fana Hues is a beautiful song. I am not too familiar with the new album yet but I do believe this is a stand out song. Fana Hues gives me so much hope for new music. Great song, greater voice.

I put Borderline bc who doesn’t love Tame Impala.

Every song I didn't get specific about is because these songs are special to me in more personal ways. Going into detail would be unnecessary. These songs are all incredible songs worth checking out, old and new.

Thank you for reading :) please feel free to interact and discuss

#music #music review #radio #radiowaves #david bowie #pet shop boys #cannons #red hot chili peppers #rhcp red hot chili peppers #radiohead #rex orange county #fana hues #tame impala #mitski

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ateezaligned · 4 years ago

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ok so im a gay psychology student w adhd who ults onlyoneof!!

after reading the description box of libidO (check it out at 6 pm kst!) i couldn't help it but make a mini essay about the implications it may have!

okay so, the main character is The Boy Wearing cdg. This boy is in love, this love is fervent and unexpected, like a “fever in the summer”, there’s no way to escape it. He is still childish, and his infatuation is impulsive and capricious, despite how strongly he feels it.

they say the whole instinct is based on Freud's theories (some who are awful, others very interesting and accurate in some way). i wont get into edipus complexes and the phases, i'll stick to the basic premise: the human psyche is composed by three main parts Id, Ego and Super Ego. each one of this parts, no matter how much we despise any of them, is crucial to who we are as a person.

Ego is what we do and the way we interact with the outside world, translated more literally as I, the ego mediates between the Id and Super-Ego, trying to walk the line between them without falling to deeply in any of the sides of the spectrum.

Super Ego is basically our moral code, what we have learnt about society and its structures and what we need to do and the duties we need to fulfil to be worthy (translated as Super-I). the super ego is shaped not by our parents (or caregivers) themselves but by our parent’s own Super Ego, what they wanted to fulfil and be is passed down to us. most of the time, there’s a religious component in it, and guilt can be one of its main tools to keep us in shape.

finally the Id is what bring us to Instinct. The Id is the first part of us, we are born with it and we navigate life hearing it faintly, in the back of our heads. it’s the subconscious, and it can be dormant most of the time. until we want something desperately. here is were libidO makes its appearance. The libido, according to psychoanalytical theory, is not only a sex drive, but a full on life force, our energy comes from the libido under the principle of pleasure, which makes us look for everything that makes us feel good, it can be food, riches or a person, it doesn't understand waiting or patience, it only wants instant relief. therefore, the libido needs to be contained, for our own good, we cant only listen to it, because the Id is selfish and animalistic. Instinctual.

so, the Id and the Super Ego fight. a lot of the time, our desires are unavoidable, we cant escape them, but we can simply not act on them.

so, as the description box says, the Boy tries to ignore it and conceal his love and attraction. he tries to suppress the libido, do his part and what his moral and conscious tells him to do. but he can’t really help being in love, as he is young and therefore still deeply connected to his instincts, almost like a newborn. and what happens when you suppress something? It only sticks into your subconscious harder. dreams, according to Freud, are where our subconscious has all the power and we’re defenseless against them. so maybe the love story between the boy and his object of affection happens in his dreams, and dreams talk very loudly, deafening volumes, which will only make the boy craves this love more and more. so, finally, he gives up and lets his libido run wild.

but!! tear of gOd is another song in the album, and they tell us the Boy is having a talk w god in it (probably the woman in the sage mv?). god, at least in christianity, is the main source of a moral code, so in it basically the Boy will be answering to his own Super Ego about the whole giving into his instincts thing.

so yeah!! i said nothing new sorry if someone actually read all of this? lol ill probably edit this once the album actually comes out

#onlyoneof #kpop #instinct pt 1 #lyOn #rant #bad takes #libidO #religious trauma #i have a ton of hope that this will NOT be queerbait #fuck freud #not in a way he would have liked tho #english isnt my first language and i will bite someone if they correct me!!!!!!

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t-o-m-hollands · 4 years ago

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Warning: Ever so slightly smutty at two parts, but only slightly. However if that’s not you thing at all or if you are too young then do not read.

Summary: You and Timmy were once an item. After a painful breakup you meet each other again at an award show.

Here’s how it goes. For being an actress you’re awfully shy. While in front of the cameras when you’re immersed in a role you can turn it all off, all of your doubts and insecurities dissipates, and you can turn all your focus on the performance at hand and forget about all the people in the studio or the camera catching your every expression.

Award ceremonies however are a special form of hell. The probing questions from the journalists, the flashing lights of the cameras, the noise of reporters all screaming at you to look their way. The constant watching and judging eyes, ready to tear you apart piece by piece on the internet.

It is not for you. Despite wearing a couture dress from a fashionable designer, you do not feel like you belong in this room, with these people, who all seem to know exactly what do to and say, who seem like they were born to be here. You feel like a fraud.

The afterparty is in full swing when you arrive at the venue. Loud music echoing across the room from the DJ booth, people clinking their glasses while wearing the finest clothes money can buy, and a never-ending stream of cold champagne being served by waiters in black. A few guests are dancing, some on the floor, some on tables.

You’re hiding. Out on the balcony, out of sight. If only just for a moment. Giving in to a temptation you’ve struggled to resist all night you try to lit a cigarette, but the damn lighter just flickers.

“Need a light?” he asks and the effect that voice has on you seem ridiculously disproportionate. You can however not deny that it’s happening to you. Your knees feels unsteady and your hands are shaking and surely the world is spinning too fast around you and surely you have a fever, and you want to blame it on the champagne, you want to blame it on the cold, you want to blame it on the hunger. But it’s him. It has always been him. Whatever it is about him, whatever magic quality that he possesses, that only he possesses, is entirely his own. And no champagne in the world has ever made you feel as light headed as he has. As he still does.

As he walks up to you the world seems to be spinning and you try not to breath. The scent of him is surrounding you and you don’t want to breath him in. Because he’s not here to stay and he’s not yours to keep and soon he will leave, and you can already feel the wound in your heart pulling at its seams.

He leans closer, over you, and he holds up a lighter and so you lean closer still with your cigarette. He then lights one for himself and for a while all you do is stand there, your back pressed against the wall and his body still leaning slightly over yours. You can hear the voices and the music from inside, the chaotic roars of celebration and delight. The pounding music. Down on the street the soft noise of never-ending traffic as cars drive by. And yet, you swear you can hear both of your hearts beat, even thought that must be impossible.

It’s cold up on the rooftop but you can feel the heat of his body, so close to yours. Then he bows his head, almost as if in defeat, and he rests his forehead against yours and he takes a shaky breath.

“Sorry” he mumbles against your forehead, but what he wants to say is – I’m sorry for the times I left without saying goodbye. I’m sorry I never stayed long enough to talk things out. I’m sorry I never told you how I felt, the way I still feel when you’re around. I’m sorry I was a coward when we met, I’m sorry I stayed when I thought it wouldn’t last. I’m sorry I left. God I’m so sorry I left. I’m sorry for the tear in your heart, but if you want to compare war wounds mine is yet to stop bleeding.

He wants to say – I kept having this reoccurring dream where I was lost at sea, unable to set ashore and unable to sail away and all I could see was the light of the lighthouse and it blinded me. I couldn’t turn away from it. The rest of the world didn’t exist anymore and everything else paled against the blinding light. There was no sun, no moon, no stars. I couldn’t feel the rain or the cold or hear the screams of the sea. But the point of a lighthouse is to warn sailors of dangerous and traitorous paths ahead. In the end, there was nothing but the blinding light and I had to get closer still, I just had to, no matter the cost. And so, I crash against the rocks and every night I drown, mon ange, every night I drown.

He wants to say – you are a force of nature and the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. the first time I saw you I didn’t know what to do with myself. It seemed impossible, you seemed impossible, like taken out of dreams I hadn’t realized I was having. And when you walked up to me I wanted to sound clever, make you laugh, impress you but I didn’t know, I still don’t know, what to do with myself when you’re around. So, I offered my hand for you to shake. And you took it in yours and you smiled up at me and I swear you’ve had my heart ever since. Like I’d handed it over to you in that handshake.

He wants to say – and when you told me you loved me back I got scared, because you were beautiful and clever and funny and bright as the sun and I was half a world away for weeks and months on end and I didn’t understand how that could be enough for you. How you could settle for that. How could I let you? And I thought that surely you would meet someone else, someone better and they’d sweep you off your feet and that there would be nothing for me to do but to watch it happen and wish you the best. So, I thought of it as ripping of a band-aid and I left. Before you could leave me and I’m sorry. I was young and dumb and in love and didn’t know what to do with myself and I’m sorry.

“Sorry for all of it” he adds, even though is seems heartbreakingly inadequate even to his own ears.

You look up at him, really taking in the sight of him for the first time that evening. Hair’s a mess, like he’s dragged his hand through it a million times tonight. Dark circles under his eyes so prominent you feel worried for him and his lips pressed tightly shut together, as if he’s trying to keep a stream of words back from entering the world.

“Let’s leave” your voice a soft whisper.

He blinks, “wha- really?”, and you almost want to laugh at his puzzled expression.

“I haven’t eaten all day in order to fit into this dress, I’m starving. Let’s go someplace where I can eat my body weight in fries, and then we’ll talk. Alright?”

“Alright” he repeats, eyes full of stars as he looks down at you. And then, as if he’s unable to stop himself, he plants the gentles of kisses on your forehead. You smile up at him before reaching out your hand for him to take, and he does. It feels right.

In silence you walk out of the hotel. In silence you stroll the streets before walking into a 24/7 open diner. It is nearly empty, but the few guests and the waitress inside all notice you when you walk in. The difference between the posh party you’ve just left and this rather dirty old diner makes you smile. You don’t know if they recognise either you or Timmy but you guess that your fine clothes give you away. Timmy leads you to the booth at the far back, away from the windows and from the staring eyes of the other diners. He then waits for you to sit down before sliding in beside you. It feels familiar. In the back of your mind there’s a nagging thought that this isn’t how it should be. Seeing each other again after nearly a year apart should surely be painful, be awkward, be difficult. This is anything but. This is the familiarity of coming home and sleeping in your own bed after having been gone for too long. This is re-watching your favourite movie from childhood. This is the smell of birthday parties as a child, cupcakes with vanilla frosting and strawberries and coffee in the air. This is a shower after a long day. Your favourite meal. A photo album from when you were young. Your most beloved song. It is bliss.

On the stereo you can hear “I want hold your hand” by The Beatles over the faint sound of chatter. The whole place smells of fried food, yet his scent is so clear to you and you want to just cuddle up beside him, breath in the familiarity of him. So, you move closer and he wraps an arm around you, a big smile on his face. He kisses your forehead again and you smile.

“And what are you ordering?” A waitress asks you both, tapping a notepad with her pen.

“Do you have champagne?” you ask, only half joking. You might not have felt like celebrating all evening, but you do now.

“No” is her answered, not amused.

“Oh, well, fries? And a milkshake, strawberry, please” You smile at her, but she doesn’t melt, just writes down your order.

“And you?” She turns to Timmy.

“Oh, I’ll have fries too, and a coke, thank you”. He smiles too but the waitress still refuses to be charmed. She does however jot down his order too before dutifully rushing off to the kitchen.

Timmy looks down at you, and the smile he gives you, you swear it is radiant. You swear you see stars in his eyes. You swear he looks at you so fondly you’re more than half in love with him again. But then you think, did you ever stop. Because sure, without him you were still breathing, you still functioned as you should. You still walked your dog, went to work, cooked dinner, showered. You still went out with friends. Still laughed. You went on the business of living. All the while you missing him. It was with you like a constant ache between your ribs. Sure, the first week after he left had been almost insufferable, like something vital had, without grace or ceremony, been ripped out of your body. But you had picked up the pieces of your life and you had dusted yourself off and you had gotten on with it. And here he was, smiling down at you with stars in his eyes. You don’t feel angry, but you wonder if maybe you should. For although he felt as familiar as a cuddly toy from childhood you needed answers.

“Why did you leave?”

His smile fades, he takes a shaky breath and leans his forehead against yours, as if to collect himself. Then, with an apparent effort he pulls himself together and sits up straight again, one arm still draped around you.

“I just” a long paus. “I just thought you deserved better, I suppose”. You sit quietly and think this over. “Was that not up for me to decide?” you ask, gently. He lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah” he agrees sounding bitter, and then, sounding almost embarrassed, “I got scared”. The way he says it sounds like a confession, and a fleeting though strikes you. He wants you to repent him for his sins. “What scared you?” Your voice is gentle and soft as a whisper. While you wait for his answer you find yourself absentmindedly painting little patterns over his hand. It seems to settle him.

“The intensity of it all, I guess” and again, he sounds embarrassed, almost shy, as he confesses this to you. He nuzzles up closer to you, seeking comfort. Leaning his head against yours as you both observe your intertwined hands. “It never happened to me, not like that” and then adding, sensing your confusion “love, I mean. It never happened to me in that way, like I’d been struck by lightning or something. When it happened before, if that even was love, it grew slowly and then slowly faded. But this felt like, like” he seems at a loss for words for a second “like being thrown out of my orbit and it scared me. Being with you scared me, like I’d do fucking anything for you, be anyone for you. It just got really intense, really quick.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Before the silence can drag out too long the waitress returns with your food which she places it in front of you before scurrying off. You untangle your hand from his grasp to grab a hold of your milkshake.

“Timmy” you start but he interrupts you, “no mon ange, please, let me explain properly first”. You can tell that the endearment slipped out without him having meant to use it, for it startles you both, and you can feel the wound in your heart pulling at its seams again. You then know that without realizing it a big part of you had just assumed that he was back in your life again, and back to stay. And hearing him call you his angel again in that familiar way, as if he had never gone made you question if he really was yours to keep. He realizes that he has made you tense up and he hurriedly tries to fix it, “shit, I’m sorry babe” and there’s the other one.

And a river of memories flows over you.

A white room, with white curtains flowing in the wind as sunshine streams through them. Laying on white sheets on the hotel bed as he moves above you. You are laughing and moaning and touching. Then, a shaky whisper that might as well have been a praying in your ear as he comes, dragged out in all its glory, “babe”.

In a cinema at a movie premiere and on the screen your boyfriend having sex with another woman. You know it’s all pretend but it doesn’t stop the sinking feeling in your gut as you watch them. Then, his warm hand grasping yours, leaning in to whisper in your ear, “it’s all pretend, mon ange, I love you”.

Fighting over a game of scrabble in your apartment “Babe, I really can’t help it if ‘squeeze’ is spelled with a Z and not an S!” “Alright, then you shouldn’t be allowed to spell ‘quickly’ with a CK!” Silence. Then “but that’s the correct spelling, that’s what it should be spelled like!”

“Fuck babe, you look amazing” his admiring eyes from across the room, and then his hands in your hair as he kisses you and you laughing into that kiss. “No, where going to be late!” “Fuck them”. Laughter again and then “No, fuck me”.

A telephone call in the middle of the night. Unexpected. You’re out on the balcony, hoping the cold air will make you feel less numb. “I’m sorry, mon ange, I just can’t do it anymore”.

And then you’re back to reality again. “Babe, are you all right?” Timmy’s worried voice in your ear as he leans over you, trying to pull you back from the memories. “Look at me, please look at me, babe”. You do. He has tears in his eyes, you can tell he’s not far from shedding them. “Let me explain, I didn’t mean for it to sound like that, all I meant was that, that” and he looks so frustrated at not being able to put words on his own feelings. “All I mean is that, is that it felt like, that I felt like I loved you so much that I” he stops again and you wish you could help him formulate whatever it is he’s struggling with. “It felt so intense and it scared me. I wasn’t ready for it to happen to me like that, love I mean. I wasn’t ready for you. It scared me. I was a coward and I’m sorry”.

You kiss him. Not passionately or fervently but gently and deliberately.

“Alright” you say before finally taking a sip of your now somewhat melted strawberry milkshake. It tastes heavenly, although kissing Timmy might just taste better. You look up at him, and he seems almost frozen in place, staring back at you with stars in his eyes again. “Wanna taste?” you ask, referring to the milkshake in your hand. He nods but doesn’t place his lips around the straw, instead he places them on your lips again. It’s still slow and gentle, but this time there’s a fever behind it. Like he wants to make up for all the time spent apart.

Eventually you move away, smiling. He’s smiling too. You both tuck into your food and suddenly you feel starving. He’s still got one arm draped around you and he’s playing with your hair. And your chatting with one another. About all the small but important things that has happened in the others absence. You talk movies and music and travel too.

Before you know its early morning.

And here is how it goes. You leave the diner, still arm in arm, and make your way out into the morning. The glitter on your couture dress sheen in the sun and your limbs feel heavy with sleep deprivation. He manages to get you both a taxi and you make your way across New York City. His hand is warm in yours. You nearly fall asleep against his shoulder. The sky is a clear blue outside and the sun is beaming, and the taxi driver is humming along to the radio. It is Sunday and outside people are eating breakfast alfresco, enjoying time with their loved ones. The whole world seems to be smiling with you today.

And then you are at his apartment. He helps you out of your dress and you help him with the many buttons in his dress shirt. Body’s exhausted you both lay down in his bed, naked naked as the day you were born.

And this is how it goes. He holds you. He says softly, voice hardly more than a whisper “I won’t be a coward this time, promise. Promise I won’t leave again. Not unless you ask me to”. You turn around and you kiss him. And you trust him. And you fall asleep holding each other.

***

This is a repost from my previous blog.

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