#waiting for this album to come out was a whole fever dream

[emotionally-charged-arson]

Thinking about summer 2020 when I had heard like 30 total seconds worth of Talk of the Town via teasers and went "oh man Abby’s gonna rip this guy a new one Daniel does not have it in him" on vibes alone, and then the album came out and I was 100% correct.

[imabee-oralizard]

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.

[sweetbuckybarnes]

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.

[raconabhorrent]

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

|| 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

[wehadwildflowerfever]

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.

[gerogerigaogaigar]

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.

[andyjwaldron]

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.

[heliads]

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.

[calumxkisses]

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?

-----

[ladyanaconda]

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!

[theskeletoninthepiano]

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 

[ateezaligned]

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

[t-o-m-hollands]

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.

[ineloqueent]

Starstruck: Part 14

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 14 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 13 / Part 15

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.  

Warnings: angst, mentions of drinking, swearing

Historical Inaccuracies: N/A :)

Word Count: 4.5k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

My birthday had been an absolute disaster, to say the least.

It hadn’t started out as a disaster, waking up with the morning sun warming my face. I normally hated to be woken up that way, because it meant that the dawn had broken into a new day when I’d only just managed to fall asleep. My thoughts kept me awake most nights, and when on a rare occasion they left me alone, the sounds of parties or sloshed band members took up the torch.

But I’d fallen asleep before the dawn on my twenty-seventh birthday, and had awoken with a rather lovely girl in my arms. Sure, I’d woken up with lovely girls before, but that had usually been after a drunken round of bedroom pleasantries, ones that became very much unpleasantries as soon as the night came down.

This had been different.

For one, I hadn’t taken her to bed, but for another, what had been beautiful in the nighttime remained so in the light of day.

She, usually alternatingly vibrant with talk and reserved with intelligent pensiveness, had seemed almost subdued where she lay in my arms. Her hair was messy, no doubt from my lack of usefulness as a pillow, and her lips, subtly pinkened, looked powder soft where her face was nestled against my chest. I felt afraid to move; she looked delicate in her unconsciousness, and my clumsy hand would only shatter her.

Yet I longed to touch her cheek.

Strange, this longing.

From my chest it ran to my fingertips and toes, and stole my breath away, like a thief who’d noticed that I’d purposely left my doors unlocked. Purposely, because I wanted this— I wanted to touch her cheek, to hold her in my arms. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d wanted something so terribly, yearning taking over the few thoughts that did not concern themselves with my general fears of failure in life.

And I wanted to hear her laugh, all the time, because, god, that laugh. I wouldn’t mind kissing her laughter away, stopping only to hear it again.

When I spoke, she listened, listened like she truly wanted to hear what I had to say, not like she was just being polite and waiting for me to finish so that she could leave and get on with her day. No. when I talked with her, my words were light and they flowed that way, stories I’d never told anyone spilling from my tongue as though I believed I had it in me to continue to trust her, forever. As though she and her familiar presence would stay with me forever, would always be there to welcome me home.

But I’d just about ruined it all only a few hours later, in telling her the only truth I’d ever feared to tell her— the truth that would push her away if she chose not to come with us on tour. And of course she’d said no, because her whole life was in London, in the city, and neither I nor anybody else had the right to take that from her. Deep down, I’d known that she would say no, but my naïve and wasted heart had still tried to convince me otherwise, and so I’d asked her.

Now there was nothing to do but to leave and to bury whatever nonsense I’d been carrying around my head for the past few years.

Years I’d spent gazing at her, first from afar, and then from such a closeness that when a sigh escaped her lips, it brushed mine. If anything had been meant to happen, it would have happened by now.

And now, as I gathered my things from around my bedroom at Ridge Farm, it was too late. Six weeks had gone by, and six weeks had brought me as close to her as I’d ever get.

Soon, this would all be a memory. A sickening memory and a fever dream that would keep me awake for many, many nights to come, restless and sleepless and full of regrets of not making something happen when I wanted it to, instead of fucking waiting around for some divine intervention to lead into my arms the girl with stars of lovingness in her hair.

I’d have waited forever if I could.

But life goes on. And if you don’t move, the world will pull the rug out from under your feet and let you fall.

I hadn’t moved, I’d waited. The rug had been pulled, and I had fallen.

Wasn’t that what they said about love? That you fell?

Not that this was love, but hell, it might have become it.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“Cheer up, Brian,” said Roger unhelpfully. “We’re going back to London to record an album, not attend your funeral.”

I continued to drink my coffee in silence, staring out the window. The sky was grey and the weather threatened rain. Just the thing to lift my spirits. Although, I supposed I was being selfish because the summer had been dry of late, and the farmlands needed water sooner rather than later.

But though the light outside was dim and the indoors were subsequently dark, there were no stars, no little pinpricks of light, to penetrate the gloom. At least in the night, I had that.

What would it be like if we could see beyond the Earth’s atmosphere, see the stars, during the day? she had asked me once.

I hadn’t said anything.

It’d be like looking into your eyes.

That was what I had wanted to say.

“Oh, Roger,” Freddie said, almost despairingly. “Can’t you see, darling?”

“No, Freddie. It’s all smudges and shapes.”

“You really must get that eyesight of yours sorted out. How can you even see the drums? No wonder you keep falling a beat behind.”

“That’s ridiculous. I could play the drums in the dark and you know it, Fred.”

“Brian?” John’s hand fell to my shoulder.

“Hm?” I looked up from my coffee.

Deacy was frowning.

“Are you quite alright, lovie?” asked Freddie, sweeping around the kitchen counter to sit down across from me. Roger wriggled the coffee cup from my grasp before pouring me another mugful, his expression far too concerned for my liking. Attention wasn’t something I relished. Particularly not when it involved having my picture taken. I took all the pictures, I didn’t look good on camera. I didn’t look good being looked at. It was a wonder I’d made it this far in the world of stage business at all.

“You’re moping,” Freddie remarked when I again neglected to answer.

“No, I’m not,” I muttered finally, figuring it would put him off.

An absurd notion, really. Nothing in the world put Freddie off.

“You are,” he insisted. “You’ve been moping ever since your birthday. You were fine in the morning, but then cranky in the afternoon and every day after.”

“On and on like a broken record,” Roger put in. “If I’d had wanted a broken record, I’d have scratched one myself, not asked for you to bloody become one.”

I sighed, feeling too tired to make a proper reply. Perhaps all those nights of staying awake were finally catching up with me.

“You’re all just as blind as Brian himself,” John tutted, passing Roger a couple of sugar packets so that he could get his one-and-three-sevenths.

Freddie narrowed his eyes at me, crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, as though he knew exactly what my problem was. He probably did know. I wouldn’t put anything past him. “Ah. So what now?”

I sipped my coffee. “So, what? We’re leaving, her life is here, ours is out in the world of never staying the same place twice—”

Roger smirked. “I see.”

“Said the blind man,” Deacy laughed.

“See what?” I snapped. “What is it you all claim to see? There’s nothing to see.”

“Darling, no one mentioned Y/N, and yet you jumped to the conclusion that we were talking about her. I’d say it’s all fairly obvious.”

My fingertips brushed the side of my nose in a nervous habit I’d had for years. It always seemed to make an appearance at the mention of one name in particular.

“And there’s the nervous tic,” Roger tapped the side of his own nose, and I hid my hand under the table.

“I was the same way around Veronica,” Deacy said with a smile, stirring his tea. “Any mention of her and my legs turned to custard.”

Roger snorted.

“We know, Deacy,” said Fred. “We were there.”

“Mmyes. I seem to quite forget the world around me when I’m around her.”

The conversation seemed to refocus on more unpleasant matters as all three of them stared me down.

“So did you tell her?” said Roger.

I sighed again. “Tell her what.”

“Not moping, bollocks to that,” Roger muttered. “Did you tell her how you feel?”

“No.” That was all I would allow myself. One word on which to dwell. No more. I would not dwell.

“We’re leaving, and you asked her to come with us, but you didn’t tell her?” Freddie leaned toward outrage.

I set down my coffee cup, a sudden anger slipping into my hands as the porcelain smacked the tabletop just a little too hard. The coffee sloshed over the cup’s sides.

“She said no, in what fucking world would I tell her?”

“In a better one,” remarked John.

“Oh, shut up,” I seethed. “You all act so superior, like you’d have done any better in my place.”

Freddie’s expression had turned sour. “You’re the one who’s acting superior!” he cried. “All moody and ooh, poor me, I’m the only one who’s ever had to cope with such a terrible thing as this.”

“Piss off, Fred,” I growled. “You’re dramatic enough for the four of us.”

“Says you! Pull yourself together, Brian. We wouldn’t be here arguing if you had.”

“Both of you, pull yourselves together,” Deacy berated. “We haven’t even begun recording yet and you’re already neck and neck!”

“Oh that’ll be fun,” I muttered.

“Not really, if you’ll be pining after some girl the whole time,” said Roger. “Should’ve tried that when you were writing songs instead.”

At that I stood up. “Some girl?” I scoffed. “Oh, don’t be so fucking ridiculous! Roger, she’s the only reason we’ve got our manager, she’s the only reason we’ve had this place to clear out heads and write our songs, and she’s the only reason I’ve written nearly four songs for the bloody album and not just two and a half.”

Not one of them said anything.

Then Freddie shook his head slowly. “You’ve got to tell her,” he said. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

Drained of energy, I sank back into my chair. “And yet, it’s been going on for years.”

“Years?” said Roger disbelievingly.

I gave a rather pathetic shrug.

“Years?” he repeated. “You’ve been fucking pining for her, for years?”

“Yes, Roger, years,” I said mockingly. “Why do you think I wrote ‘White Queen’?”

Roger’s mouth fell open. “You— you wrote ‘White Queen’ for her?”

“Brian,” Freddie’s expression was contorted, “that was in ‘68.”

“Yes,” I said, feeling my chest tighten. “Why is that so hard for you all to understand?”

John shook his head. “Not for me, it isn’t.”

I looked over at him questioningly, a dull ache that made me wince spreading beneath my skin.

He glanced at us each in turn, then smiled pityingly.

“None of you have ever been in love, have you?”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“I’m not in love,” I’d spat, my anger replenished.

Love, such a fickle thing. You expressed it too often and you were deemed careless, in-genuine. Too rarely, and every sign of sadness was dubbed heartache. Was it so wrong to simply be sad for the sake of being sad, to feel empty instead of restful when you closed your eyes, to feel your spirit leave you a little with each breath on a rainy day?

What am I going to tell my father?

That was what was bothering me at the moment, not her. Not Y/N.

I touched a hand to my cheek, feeling the warmth that flushed the skin there.

God, I couldn’t even think her name without my shoulders tensing or my face colouring. It was like I was back in the body of my fourteen year-old self, skinny and awkward and shy and riddled with holes of innocence that experience had yet to fill.

How was I going to tell my dad that I was giving up my perfectly good chance at a stable career for a full-time gig as the guitarist for a band that was barely known?

But there was no changing my mind now. Not because it was too late to re-register as an astrophysics student for the start of term in autumn, but because I was tired of neglecting my dream. Could I not have more than one dream? Why did everything always have to be so single-minded?

I loved music, I loved feeling the melodies form beneath my fingers, drawn from nothing by my imagination and the thin air. I loved working with Freddie and Roger and John, I loved what we became when we were Her Majesty, Queen.

I wasn’t willing to give that up. I realised that now.

And so I avoided Y/N for our final week at Ridge Farm, because she made me want to change my mind.

For the first time in months, I missed her Thursday night guitar lesson again.

Then the sun rose on our final day in Surrey, and as I opened my eyes to the sunlight despite having only just fallen asleep, a sickly feeling skittered about in my stomach, the wings of butterflies fluttering against my abdomen.

I’d spent the entire night thinking about the fact that after today, I would probably never see her again.

I sighed, closing my suitcase and sparing the room a final glance. I had not slept much here, but still I had dreamt, faraway sentiments that would never be requited.

I pulled on my jacket and smoothed down the velvet, squinting at my reflection in the small mirror that hung on the wall above a nondescript dresser.

I didn’t look particularly tired, though I might have felt it. Sure, there were smudges of shadow beneath my eyes and little bits of stubble clung to my jaw, but my shoulders did not sag, and tanned skin and rosy cheeks had replaced my usually pale complexion, my hair bore little streaks here and there that were lighter than the rest.

In a way, Ridge Farm had refreshed me. The quiet of the countryside had eased the tension etched into my muscles by the rush of city life, and I’d enjoyed being able to see the stars properly at night.

I’d enjoyed watching them with Y/N.

Who would watch the stars with me, and indulge my silly ramblings?

Who would stand up for me even when my opinion was ridiculous, or tease me when it was perfectly sound?

Who would leave me with a theory or a quip that would resurface in my memory when I felt uninspired or glum? Who would leave me with something to smile about when darkness hovered too close at the edge of my vision?

Who would be there to banish it all from my wretched mind?

With each thought, I felt dizzier at the prospect of just leaving, without… Well, without anything.

She deserved to know, didn’t she?

And yet, I deserved to keep my secrets, did I not?

I could allow myself a little dignity, at least.

What would I tell her anyway? That she both grounded me and made me feel like I was flying? That I would take her with me to space if I was to go alone, because I didn’t want to be alone if it wasn’t with her? That I felt my soul became made of stardust when she walked into a room?

People didn’t say such things, and without saying such things, I couldn’t tell her what it was— whatever it was— I felt for her, if I felt anything at all. It was hard to tell whether her presence terrified me or comforted me. I didn’t understand how I felt about her, really, and that was my problem.

“Brian!” Freddie shouted for me like it wasn’t the first time he’d called.

“Coming,” I muttered to no one but myself. I picked up my suitcase by its wooden handle and slipped my socked feet into my wooden shoes. I looked about once more, then went into the hall, closing behind me the door to this part of my life.

Mistress Melancholy settled herself into my bones, and she unpacked her bags, here to stay.

Down the stairs and into the living room, and there they were all standing.

Freddie and Roger and Deacy and Veronica and John Harris and Crystal and Heather and Mary, and… And Y/N.

Take my breath away, why don’t you?

But her parents and her brother were there too, and I squared my shoulders as I approached. Her dad had only warmed to me as of late, and if he took even a singular glance at the expression on his daughter’s face as I made my way toward her, he would have been right to throw me to the ground in a blind rage.

She did look tired. Beautiful, but tired. Mouth set grimly, her shoulders stiff.

Yet, the sparkle in her eyes had not dulled. And she shone, even in her weariness.

My evening star.

Our two roadies, Mary, Heather, and Veronica were the first to say their goodbyes and go outside to savour the last of the country air, Ronnie carrying little Robert in her arms. Roger would first ferry Crystal, Roadie-John, Freddie, and myself to the train station, then return to take himself and the others back to London via his beloved Alfa.

Hugs and kisses and generally well-placed sentiments of gratitude and affection were shared all around, between thanking Y/N’s parents for their hospitality and telling Y/N that she would be sorely missed in the days to come.

Freddie, Rog, Deacy, and I stuck around to say our own final goodbyes, with Y/N’s parents naming us family and welcome at any time, and everyone reminiscing about our time at Ridge Farm.

Y/N was mostly quiet, and I was silent altogether, my eyes only leaving her when her gaze flicked in my direction.

I wondered what she was thinking, if she would think of me, as I would think of her, when I was gone.

Roger excused himself to go to the car, no doubt fearing that the others would have trashed it in his absence.

“You’re in love with that car,” I said, sighing.

Roger shouted, “BETTER THAN WITH YOU, you nErD!”

Then Y/N laughed, and upon instinct, I smiled.

How lovely it felt, to smile. I should smile more often.

“I’m going to make sure he doesn’t get up to other things out there,” said Freddie, going after Roger. “Au revoir, darlings!”

“Au revoir,” Y/N’s parents responded.

Deacy left as well, offering a smile as a parting gift.

I cleared my throat.

“Thank you again for having us, Mr. and Mrs. Andrews,” I said, and when Mrs. Andrews held out her arms to me, I embraced her.

“Anna, dear. Please call me Anna,” she smiled as radiantly as her daughter. “It was so lovely to have you here.”

Then, to my surprise, Y/N’s father addressed me. “And I’m Sebastian to you, son. You’re in good company. No need for formalities.”

“Well, thank you Mr.— Sebastian,” I cringed.

“Brian,” Frank nodded to me, and I returned the gesture.

“Frank.”

Then, before I realised what was happening, the three eldest members of the Andrews family had left the room.

Y/N and I were alone.

I racked my mind for anything, for what to do, what to say, but I came up with nothing when she smiled at me.

She turned my mind to a puddle.

“Time to go, I suppose,” she said.

“Yeah,” I murmured, unable to take my eyes from hers, “I suppose.”

She felt so far away, as though I was already gone and it was too late to reach for her.

And still, I said nothing, for what could I say?

“You’re the reason why I play, you know,” she said.

I furrowed my brow. “What?”

“Guitar. I never would’ve kept going if I hadn’t seen you perform. I was so close to giving up. But, and sorry to be sappy,” here she gave a little laugh, “you inspired me.”

I inspired her? Now here was a reversal of roles. ‘White Queen’ was hers, and so was ‘‘39’. It was all hers.

“Did I really?”

She laughed again, and I had never heard a lovelier sound, even if she presently was laughing at me. “You’re too modest, Brian, and you’re insanely talented. I’ll never be that good, even if I were to practice every minute of every day.”

Her words tore at my heart. I had never felt so… so appreciated, so admired, so loved.

“If you keep playing,” I said, “I have no doubt you will be better than me. Easily, in fact. I’m not exactly the world’s most technical guitar player.”

She peered up at me beneath her eyelashes, her lips parted softly.

I couldn’t stand it.

I reached for her, tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. My touch lingered on her skin, and I found myself drifting toward her. She held a pull over me that gravity could only have dreamt to replicate.

Then, realising the intimacy of what I’d just done, my fingers curled into my palm and I stepped back.

“Brian—”

I would not dwell. And I would not stay around to hear her ask me to leave.

“Until next time, Y/N.”

And that would have been that.

Except she just had to say my name again, didn’t she?

“Oh, dammit, Bri. Come here.” Her hand brushed my shoulder. I pulled her into my arms.

Her heartbeat fluttered against my chest, and I missed her already.

I didn’t— I couldn’t— hug her cautiously this time, the way I normally did, gentle and only just there, driven by the fear that she would disintegrate beneath my hands. This time, I embraced her as though it were the very last time, because it might very well have been.

And then words slipped from my lips, my heart in control of everything and my mind tossed out the window.

“I don’t think I can stand an entire summer without you,” I said. She nestled further into my embrace, and despite everything, my heart soared.

“Not an entire summer,” she replied. “Just half.”

“Y/N,” I hummed pathetically.

“Bri.” She too sounded anguished.

“May I come see you? Just me?”

She said nothing, only held on to me, and really, what more could I ask of her?

“Or let me take you out,” I murmured. “Somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere you want to go.”

“Anywhere?” she whispered.

“Anywhere,” I whispered back.

“I’d love that,” she said, and my breath caught. She’d love it. “Soon?”

I drew back from her, to see if the expression on her face was as genuine as the sound of her voice.

It was.

“Soon,” I promised, and I did not lie. I was already planning my return.

And then I leaned down, the thrum of my pulse far too loud in my ears to listen to reason.

I kissed her cheek.

Briefly, but kiss her cheek I did.

“Bri,” she sighed, and her hands wound around mine.  

“It’s difficult.”

She looked puzzled, but I didn’t elaborate.

It’s difficult. To leave you. But I must.

Mustn’t I?

I took my hands from hers and made for the door.

It’s not too late. You can still turn back.

Can I?

Could I?

No. I would not take her life from her in this way.

“Goodbye, beautiful,” I said.

I will not take her life from her, I will not take her life from I will not take her life from her—

Oh, but I wanted to be selfish.

For once in my life, I wanted something so badly that I couldn’t let it go.

I wouldn’t let her go.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You touched your cheek.

He was gone.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

And then he wasn’t.

In the doorway he was standing, the sun his backlight, a fallen angel who was still very much an angel.

“Come with us. Come with me,” he sighed wistfully, fingers wrapped around the doorframe so tightly that his knuckles turned to white.

You had rarely seen such raw emotion in your life, never known desperation so pure, outside of yourself.

But here was Brian, hanging onto the door as though it were his last hope to remain standing, and gazing at you like you were his only hope at all.

“You’re my best friend,” he breathed.

And then abruptly, it all became very clear to you. Utterly simple.

You wanted to go with Queen, with Brian, and staying behind would only mean once more sacrificing your own happiness in the pursuit of pleasing others.

Brian made you happy, damn it, and you were tired of hopelessness. You wanted to be happy, and for once, you wanted your own happiness enough to realise what it was you had to do.

“And you’re mine,” you said.

Mine. No more than a word, and yet it brought such a sense of belonging, a swell of warmth through you that could have outshone Sirius in all its glory.

Brian’s face broke into a smile, and involuntarily, so did yours.

He knew, even before you’d said it, that you were coming with him.

And when you returned to the living room ten rushed minutes later with your suitcase packed, your parents were there to kiss you goodbye, even if your dad did so reluctantly. But you explained hastily what it was you had to do, and promised that you would explain in further detail as soon as you could. You were an adult; this was your choice to make.

The truth was, you had no idea what came next, not in terms of school or residence or anything at all, but what did it matter? This was the adventure of a lifetime, to run away to god knew where with a rock and roll band, and if a little of spontaneity was to dictate your life for a while, then so much the better. After all, what was adventure without an element of spontaneity?

You ran out into the sunshine of the late afternoon, and Brian was there to take your hand.

The others gave a raucous cheer as the two of you appeared in the driveway, whoops and claps echoing around the courtyard to be met with recklessly happy laughter from you, from Brian.

It would seem you had always been part of the plan.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

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Masterpost / Part 13 / Part 15

[does-it-need-saying]

For the person who made life so much better this year, and who I’d most definitely be a complete mess without. I hope this helps close out your 2020 on a good note, and that you have the happiest and best and most amazing 2021 possible! This one’s for you @loupettes ❤️🐀

Sick Week

“So how long will you be staying here? A day? Two?”

“And by you, you mean we, right?”

The Doctor and Rose were making their way over to Jackie’s flat. After a rather shrill call about not getting a visit in the last month, Rose had been particularly keen on making an impromptu visit home. Although the Doctor still hadn’t exactly seemed to accept it.

“Well she’s your mum, Rose. You don’t see me dragging you along to every single one of my affairs, do you?” Rose stopped them in their tracks and gave the Doctor that unmistakable ‘are you being serious right now?’ face. The Doctor sighed, very much in defeat, and tugged on Rose to continue on. “Fiiiiine, we. I meant we. How long will we be staying here? A few hours?”

Rose rolled her eyes now, choosing to ignore that last remark. “A week.” And feeling a ‘but Rose!’ rising in his throat, she quickly continued on. “I promised her a week so we’re gonna be here a week. And if you make a fuss about it, I’ll up it to two weeks. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he gave in.

Of course Rose didn’t really care whether he was a willing participant or not, but she was quite happy to see she still had him wrapped nicely around her finger. So with an extra hop in her stop, she smiled at him, looped her arm through his, and moved to give him a quick peck on the cheek. But upon feeling a fiery heat on his skin, she recoiled back. “Blimey, what’s wrong with you?”

“Oi! I give into your exact demand and this is the treatment I get? You are a bully, Rose Tyler! Nothing but a mean and hurtful tyrant!”

Rose waited a minute to see if he had any more dramatics left in him. “You done then?”

“Mmmmmm… I believe so.”

Rose chuckled. “Good then, you big baby. All I meant is you’re feelin’ awfully hot there, practically burned me to the touch.”

“Am I?” the Doctor asked, intrigued enough to touch all around his face.

“You mean you don’t feel that?”

“Ahh, that’s just my fancy shmancy temperature regulation kicking in. How else do you think I could survive running around in this giant coat all day? Or did you think I was just that impressive?” he asked with a sly smile just as they arrived outside the estate.

“Okay, but that still doesn’t answer my question. Are ya sick or something? ‘Cause if you’re about to be passed out in bed again I’d like a little heads up. In case another dangerous alien invasion comes up, ya know?”

“If I tell you I’m sick does that get me out of staying with your mother all week?” Rose just crossed her arms at him. “Fine, fine,” he quickly conceded as he opened the door for her and followed her up the stairs. “I’m fine, though. Just something that happens occasionally due to the whole aforementioned temperature regulation thingy. Always good to know when it happens, though, so feel free to let me know when you think I’m ‘hot’ anytime.”  

Rose could practically hear the grin spreading on his face, and she couldn’t help but smile herself. Though she was thankful she happened to be in front of him so he couldn’t see how extremely red her cheeks were now. “In your dreams,” she teased.

Following a few more flights of stairs and a couple pushes forward from Rose, the pair finally found themselves outside the flat.

“Any last words then?” Rose asked cheekily as she pushed her key into the lock.

“God help me,” the Doctor pretended to pray.

Rose just snorted back at him as she turned the key, but as soon as the door opened her attention shifted. “Mum!!! We’re here!”

“Well it’s about time!” They could hear Jackie shout from the kitchen and went to join her.

“Sorry Mum,” Rose tried to appease her with a hug, but it wasn’t quite working out.

“’We’ll be back in a week, promise. Just a week’,” Jackie tried imitating her daughter. “A whole bloody month it’s been! A bloody month without so much as a proper call to let me know how you are?! For all I knew you could’ve been dead! Or ‘ad joined some alien cult!!”

Rose just stood there, choosing to take all of her mother’s anger now rather than wait for it to inevitably get worse later on. Meanwhile, the Doctor stuck himself as silently as he could to the doorframe. He was certainly entertained watching someone else getting the Jackie-Tyler-Talking-To for once, evident by the smirk plastered on his face. Or at least he was quite enjoying it until an inadvertent snort escaped his lips and Jackie’s wrath was immediately drawn to him.

“And what do you think you’re laughin’ about, then? You’d think after that year you stole my daughter for, you’d be a bit more careful about keeping up with the visits! But no, you’re just as much an idiot now as you were then!”

The Doctor stood up straight now. “Jackie-“

“Mum,” Rose quickly interrupted him. “We’re sorry, alright. I’m sorry. Just got the dates a bit messed up in my head, but I promise it won’t happen again. Okay?”

Jackie took a hard look at Rose, then at the Doctor, then back at Rose. She let out her breath, and any anger she had left with it. “Fine, then. But for letting you get off easy, I want another day with you here. Patricia’s havin’ a party Sunday afternoon and I never get to show you off anymore, so I reckon you owe me that.”

“Yes, Mum, of course,” Rose promptly agreed, taking Jackie back into a now fully loving hug, while daring the Doctor to argue with a slightly murderous glare. Needless to say, he chose not to fight it.

“Well, then, now that that’s sorted,” Jackie said, taking a step back. “Anyone up for a cuppa?”

---

“You’re puttin’ me on! There’s no way you just happened to run into the Paul McCartney on Abbey Road!”

“All the things we’ve told her about, and that’s the one thing she won’t believe?” Rose sighed to the Doctor.

“It does sound a bit unbelievable, I suppose,” he defended.

“Not you too!” Rose laughed. “She’s bad enough, but you were actually there!”

Unlike the first few minutes of their reunion, the rest of the day was going by quite well. They had spent hours catching up, laughing, and just having the best time. Even the Doctor had quickly dropped his stubborn façade.

“I’m not saying it didn’t happen,” the Doctor continued on. “I’m just saying, if someone had told me ‘oh you know what we did today? We met one of those famous Beatles on the same road of their famous album cover all by accident’- without any of the context, mind you- I might not believe it either.”

“Ha!” Jackie gloated. “I knew there was a reason I still put up with him!”

“Mmhmm,” Rose hummed, deciding to take the loss. She slumped back into her seat as she accepted a sly smile from the Doctor before he took a bite of his chocolate biscuit.

“Mmm, this is absolutely delicious! Did you make these, Jackie?” he asked with his mouth full.

“No, they were a gift from Susan. She just opened a bakery down the road, she did. Great little place.”

“Well, give her my compliments!” The Doctor reached for another biscuit as he was still finishing off the first one.

Jackie sighed at him, noticing all the chocolate smudges around his lips. “Ya’ know there’d be more for you to enjoy if you ate properly.” She licked the tip of her thumb and pressed it to the mess on his face, only to be surprised with his burning hot skin. “Oh sweetheart!” she practically jumped on him, taking him in her arms. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feelin’ well, love?! You’re burnin’ up!”

“No, Mum—” Rose tried.

“Jackie, it’s not—” the Doctor tried.

“Oh don’t you go trying to make up excuses. I don’t care what planet you’re from, a fever is never normal!”

“No, actually it’s perfectly normal. You see—” the Doctor tried again, but either Jackie chose to ignore him or wasn’t listening in the first place.

“Now listen, here,” she went on, getting up off the couch while pushing him down. “You’re gonna lie down right here for now and I’m gonna go make you some more tea. I’ve got a special recipe just for these things, works wonders! And when you finish with it, we’ll take you to Rose’s room to get a good night’s sleep. Rose, you can sleep on the couch this stay—”

“But Mum, he’s not even--!”

“Don’t you argue with me, little miss! You may be out travellin’ all of time and space, but I’m still your mum and you’ll do as I say.”

Once again, Rose slumped back in defeat. “Yes, Mum.”

“Good. Now, I still don’t know much about alien sickness, not exactly like there’re any books on it at the shops. But ever since that last time on Christmas Day, I’ve been stockin’ up, just in case ya’ know. So anything you might need, I’ve got it all. Vitamins, acetaminophen, fish oil, sugary treats, salty snacks…”

Jackie continued rambling on her admittedly quite impressive list as she made her way to the kitchen. Rose and the Doctor were left on their own, just staring at each other trying to figure out what they’re next move would be. But they were both coming up blank. They could take on Daleks, Cyberman, and even Satan himself any day, but a determined Jackie? Their only option was to let things take their course naturally. Of course, the Doctor seemed to be a bit happier with the situation than Rose. A few days of being fully taken care of for once? Maybe this stay wouldn’t be as bad as he feared it would be…

“…and of course loads and loads of tea, since that’s what seemed to do the trick last time,” Jackie finally concluded as she returned, setting down the fresh cup of tea. “Right then, I’m gonna go get some extra blankets for you. And Rose, why don’t you go tidy up your room a bit, yeah? It’s always a mess in there, make sure it’s all nice and comfy for when he’s ready to head in.”

“Yes, Mum,” Rose grumbled, getting up. And with all her willpower she refrained herself from giving a nice slap to the Doctor, who was almost begging for one as he waggled his eyebrows at her.

---

Over the next few days, the Tyler residence had slowly turned into more of a resort for the Doctor. Jackie and (begrudgingly) Rose started waiting on him hand and foot, tending to his every need. And the Doctor was certainly milking the experience for all it was worth. Though the first few days he wasn’t exactly sure how to deal with this sort of attention, it didn’t take long for him to learn exactly how to be, what Rose continuously and emphatically was calling him, a man baby.

Admittedly, Rose had become a bit jealous of all the attention the Doctor was getting. Sure, it wasn’t like Jackie had shoved her aside whenever she got sick as a kid. But she genuinely couldn’t remember ever having been so pampered- and that was including her bout of appendicitis in the fourth grade. Still, she did rather enjoy seeing her mum and the Doctor getting on so well. When Jackie wasn’t ‘nursing him back to health’, Rose would catch them gabbing on about some reality show they started watching together, or laughing over the latest estate gossip. She always did suspect they cared more for each other than they let on, and it was nice to finally know it wasn’t just in her head. Even if it did mean having to take care of that perfectly fine twat of a Time Lord.

Finally, though, on the fourth day, the Doctor’s ‘fever’ broke and the magic spell he seemed to have over Jackie wore off. As quickly as she had dove into action, she jumped right back out. The days of automatically full cups of tea, bed side delivery of whatever either of his hearts desired, and a completely nurturing Jackie were gone. And though he wasn’t exactly proud to admit it, it did take longer than he would have thought to return to self-sufficient life.  

Not that that put any damper on the rest of their stay, though. The three of them immediately went back to having the same good time which was promptly interrupted that first day. Between movie marathons, wandering the town, a few competitive games of Monopoly (which Jackie somehow always won), and a load of chatting, there wasn’t a dull moment to be found. And when Sunday came along, it was actually the Doctor who seemed most excited to head off to Patricia’s party. His enthusiasm even seemed to rub off on Rose, who had grown tired of these estate get-togethers before she had even learned how to read. But it was nearly impossible not to have a good – no, great- time watching the Doctor fail miserably at limbo and pulling her to dance what seemed like every five minutes.

But eventually the party came to an end and Monday rolled around, bringing with it a sort of gloominess in anticipation of the Doctor and Rose’s departure. Where they all would have been sharing smiles and laughs just a few days ago, there was an eerie and awkward silence instead. Until finally the inevitable had come and they were all crowded together in the flat’s tiny hallway by the front door.

“Now, don’t go forgettin’ about me again, got it? I expect to see you two back here next week. And you better not be lookin’ 20 years older by then, either!”

“We’ll be back next week, Mum. And I promise I won’t have aged more than five years. Tops,” Rose tried joking.

Jackie gave a forced laugh, hugged her daughter, then turned to the Doctor. “And you- you better keep takin’ good care o’ her… and yourself.”

The Doctor only nodded in agreement, a small smile growing on his face. A week ago he probably wouldn’t have admitted to being touched by Jackie’s well wishes for him, but now he felt quite grateful for it. So when Jackie moved to give him a hug him, for once he embraced her back just as warmly.

“Well then…” Jackie started, taking a step back from them. But she couldn’t bring herself to actually say goodbye. And apparently neither Rose nor the Doctor could either as they stood in their own silence for some time.

“Ya know…” It was the Doctor who spoke up this time, scratching the back of his head. “I think we’ve got some more time on our hands. You were talkin’ about wanting to catch that special tonight on—err… the Arctic, weren’t you, Rose?”

“Mmm, yeah,” Rose caught on and quickly agreed. “I was just sayin’ earlier- remember?- how it’d be a real shame to miss it.”

“And I- ya know… if I head off alone I’m no good at getting out of trouble all by myself… So why don’t we both stick around an extra day?”

“Really?” Jackie couldn’t help but beam at the suggestion. Then catching herself, “I mean… if you want to… s’ppose I could reschedule dinner with Diane and Linda for another night- if it’s what you two would like.”

“That’d be great, Mum,” Rose smiled.

“Oh and I was thinkin’,” Jackie went on without missing a beat, already heading back to the living room. “It’d be awful fun to go down and take a ride at the London Eye! Haven’t done that since you were real little. Oh and then after that we could head over to Susan’s bakery and…”

The Doctor was just about to follow when he felt Rose tugging on his coat and turned to her.

“Thank you,” she smiled at him, and stood up on her tip-toes to give him a small kiss on his cheek.

“Oh don’t thank me, I’m just trying to trick you into owing me a favor for once!” he winked at her, then whisked himself off to the living room as well shouting after Jackie. “Oh! I forgot to tell you last night! You’ll never guess what Sid told me about him and Matthew!”

Rose took a moment longer for herself in the hallway as she listened to the two of them gabbing away. She’d had quite a lot of amazing moments over the past couple years, yet somehow this one week had blown them all away and she wanted to ingrain the pure feeling of happiness from it into her mind. Then, with a last little chuckle to herself wondering if she’d ever actually be able to pull the Doctor back to the TARDIS, she went to join them.

[words-for-holland]

The Songs In Our Life: A New Friend

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary : A simple city girl with a new job crosses paths with a thriving celebrity who’s extremely late for an important press interview

A/N: The long awaited first chapter. Sorry it took so long. First chapters are always hard for me and the writer’s block was real with this.

Inspired by: Friend - Kaitlyn Harner & Best Day of my Life - Robert Palmer

Album Description | Track 1 |

I’ll never forget the day I met Tom. My life had been so simple before him but the moment he stepped into my life, my world was filled with excitement and color. It was the day when my story had it just begun.

I had left my quiet hometown for the busy city life in New York, where I had just started my new job at Marvel Entertainment’s corporate office. It had always felt like a fever dream, never in a million years, thinking I would ever get the chance to work there as a lead developer for their website. Any other human being would be nervous, but I was terrfied from the start. A new job, a new home, everything was unfamiliar and the only thing keeping close to home was my best friend Kaitlyn.

Few months of adjusting to the New had passed, and life seemed to settle down, remaining static until that faithful day. I made it to doors of the Marvel Office, always arriving at the same time like clock work. A crowd of fangirls surrounded the area, which only meant that a press event was taking place at the office.

I paid no attention and headed straight to the I.T. Department, where I worked my ass for the next 5 hours, coding and testing new features. Eventually, I took a break and decided to walk around the halls. My thoughts started clouding around me, as I wondered who was coming to visit this time. Surely it had to be one of the actors from the MCU, but who?

“Oh..Im so sorry darling. Are you okay?” A frantic voice asked, steading my body with their hands. I looked up at the person I had just collided with, my eyes widening at the realization of who I just bumped into. Tom Holland. Of course, it all makes sense now as to why a fan girl army was barricading the doors of the office.

I shook my head and kept myself together. “Y-yeah. Im fine. Sorry it’s my fault I should have watched where I was going.” I smiled at him, smoothing down my plaid shirt, making very little eye contact.

“No, dont apologize.” Tom chucked to himself as he looked down as well. “I..uh..Im running a but late for an interview and well I wasnt watching myself.” He looked right back at me, smiling. I never found him that attractive before. I always thought that he was over hyped, but in this small moment he wasnt too bad. It was definitely the eyes..those dark brown eyes and that charming smile, but why did he make me feel so nervous?

“No, it’s fine. Are you lost?” I asked without thinking. The moment the words escaped my lips, I mentally smacked myself. Of course he’s not lost. The British dude probably has a whole team of people, making sure his life is in order. Why would he need someone from IT to help find his room?

“Actually I am” Tom chuckled, his cheeks showing of a tint of pink. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of company.”

I briefly look at the clock to make sure I had time before my break ended, and I thanked the Lord I did. “Yeah I’ve got time. Follow me.”

The walk to the conference room was silent, at least for the first few minutes. Our body language mirroring the other, hands pocketed, heads facing straight ahead. I tried to get myself to say something...anything but I didn’t know what sounded less stupid. “So...what do you do around here?” His voice snapped me out of my overthinking, breaking the awkwardness.

“Oh..I work as a developer. You know writing codes, fixing things people break, asking others if they tried turning their computer off and on?” I explain to Tom, giggling at my own joke. God, he probably didnt think it was funny because he doesnt know your job.

He looks my way, feeling his eyes on me. “That sounds lovely.” Tom responds laughing along. He nervously adds “In..in a good way. Im sure you’re fantastic at it.”

I looked at him with curiosity. Ive never seen him so nervous. Technically I’ve never seen him in any emotional state in person till now, or any man in general showing a sign of nervousness talking to me. Guess, I never earned that charm. “I’d like to think so. Probably not as success as you at your job. You’re practically a God around here.” Oh no..Im over did it.

“Lies.” He laughs. “Im sure you’ve just mistaken me for Robert Downey Jr.”

“You play Spiderman, don’t you?”

“One of many roles I’m known for.” He smiles, cheekily.

“Then Im pretty sure I know who you are.” I chuckle at my response as I lead him to the door. My heart drops a little as I lead him the door, knowing that Ill probably wont see him again after this. But why would I care it wasnt like I wad really that into him in the first place anyway. “And this is you’re stop.” I open up the door for Tom to enter.

“Ah...right.” His smiled drops as he reached the door. Was he just as let down as I was that our conversation was coming to a close? Tom looked to me and showed of that charming smile of his again. “Thank you.....” he prolonged his sentence, realizing he never caught my name.

“Y/N” I say confidently, only because I was 99.9% sure I couldnt mess that part up. “It was nice talking to you Tom.”

“Ah so she does know my name.” Tom joked around prolonging the moment.

“Yeah..well I have to get back and I dont want you to be any later than you need to be, so I’ll see ya —”

“Will I get to see you again?” He asked quickly, eyes filled with anticipation.

I was suprised by his response, my mouth dropping. “Uh...you want to see me...again? Like after this?”

“Yeah.” He said, assuming it was obvious. “I think you’re pretty cool and I’d love to hang out and learn more about you. Plus couldnt hurt to have someone show me some really good places to eat in the city.” Tom kept rambling, but I quickly took out a pen and impulsively wrote my number on his wrist.

“Im free tonight after work. We can meet back here if you want.” I smile as I quickly dash back to the IT wing.

“Can’t wait...Y/N.” Tom mumbles, trying hard to supress his excited.

Proceed to Track 2.

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