#when I was listening to the full album today it just struck me again how SAD it is

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

You don't really read into my melancholia / When my depression works the graveyard shift all of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room / Sapphire tears on my face, sadness became my whole sky / It only hurts this much right now was what I was thinking the whole time / Ask me what I earned from all those tears / My sadness is contagious / I vowed not to cry anymore if wе survived the Great War / Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness / You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough / The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign / All I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier / Never take advice from someone who's falling apart

[asphalt-cocktail]

Hear me out..kay?

'70s John Lennon with younger female home assistant reader getting into a lil dispute because John thinks he let himself go after the Beatles broke up, but the reader believes otherwise and it ends up in the two of them having passionate/slightly rough sex because he's more or so angry with himself than anything? And the two of them are really close too, like John allows her to watch Julian and Sean when he's at the studio or on business trips?? And the two boys genuinely like her???

(a universe where he isn't married to yoko ((no hate intended)) and is single and happy that way..)

Oh my god, I love this idea! 70s john is so pretty. I love how he looks as he gets older. it’s like fine wine. Some of the ages might not add up but we’ll call this an AU for the sake of consistency!

Warnings: Some smudges of angst, smut, insecurities, language

Also it got WAY longe than I expected so i got a little carried away. 

As John slept, he dreamt he sat perched on a throne made bones. It overlooked a high cliff that faced the ocean where the wind burned his face and he could hear seagulls screaming in the background.

He was alone. For once he wished he had the screaming crowds and bandmates calling his name. But only the shrieking gulls filled his ears.

The dream seemed to go on for two lifetimes and the atmosphere felt staticky as the waves repeatedly crashed against the shores and hit the rocks. At times he could feel the soft kiss of saltwater sprinkling against his face.

He blinked for the first time in what felt like ages and suddenly his throne of bones began to collapse, he grasped at them panicked as he desperately tried to prevent himself from falling. Just as his footing slipped John shot up in his bed breathing heavily. He blinked to clear the bleariness that had settled from sleep and palmed his bedside table for his glasses and crudely wiped them on his sheets to clear the fingerprints before slipping them on. 

Suddenly the room was clear, and the sound of gulls was replaced with Sean’s squealing laughter. It helped John feel grounded in his brief moment of panic. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, Christ, what did he have to do today again? John ran his fingers through is knotted hair and slipped out of his bed. Right, he had to do several interviews to promote his new album and single that was just released then he had a dinner party. He grimaced at the thought of having to sit for several hours with a group of yuppies and pretend to enjoy their conversation.

As John walked through is bedroom he slipped on a pair of slippers and his dressing gown before stopping in front of his full length mirror. He gave his belly a firm pat, he’d lost a significant amount of weight in the last five years, mostly from depression, but it was still a small victory in his eyes. Atleast he had that going for him.

The bedroom door open and John found himself lured to the kitchen by the smell of syrup and pancakes. He flashed you a tight-lipped smile, “You’re early.” He greeted you.

You shrugged your shoulders, not looking up from the batter as you poured it into the skillet, “I know I thought my exam was going to take much longer than it did.” You said sheepishly. John had been gracious enough to accept you as his assistant and sometimes nanny. He was nice and the job helped you learn a lot about public relations and management, which is what you had hoped to do after you’d graduated from university. 

“Do you want some pancakes? Sean helped with them.” You said waving the ladle towards John.

He shrugged, still groggy from sleep. He really didn’t want any, but the way Sean stared at him with his big black eyes begging changed his mind. He sighed after his idle moment in thought and nodded his head, “I suppose I should see what the little chief has made for us.” He smiled and ruffled the kid’s hair.

After breakfast John rushed to get ready, “And you’re okay with taking Julian to piano lessons? Remember Sean still needs to finish that cough medicine from his cold earlier last week, and they can’t stay up past-” he rushed out his of things that he now only worried about due to having children.

You placed your hand on John’s arm and gave him a look, “John I’ve worked with you for almost three years, I think I can handle a day of babysitting. Julian will get to piano lesson on time and Sean will get his medicine; and don’t worry I won’t give them any sugar past 6pm.” John chose to ignore the little wink you gave Julian and Sean from the other side of the room.

He let out a sigh and his shoulders relaxed, “I know, I just” Worry I’m not good enough, his intrusive thoughts echoed in his mind and he shook his head before sharply inhaling, “I just worry about them, you know how it is.” You didn’t, you weren’t a parent. But you understood a little bit with where he was coming from.

You gave John a sympathetic nod and patted his shoulder, “Go on, you’re going to be late for the interview.” You said and turned him, pushing him towards the door.

A small smile settled on John’s face, it didn’t matter if he left for 8 hours or a full week, he still gave you the same reminders and the same list when Yoko or Cynthia couldn’t take the kids. John rushed out the door and you turned towards the boys and grinned at them. They were both nice, Julian had a wee bit of an attitude, but you chocked it up to him being in double digits while Sean was a curious and surprisingly even-tempered boy.

You made sure Julian got to and from piano lessons okay and wrestled with Sean to take the last dose of his medication, bribing him with some cookies. The remainder of the afternoon and evening you watched a movie with them, walked in the park, and drew pictures of the cats.

At lunch time John called to check in on the boys and to let you know it was going to be a late night, after reassuring him everything was fine you resumed your conversation with Sean about some fabulous story he was making up.

John sat at the dinner party, poking at his food and listening to his scientist friend tell them about a fancy new machine they got at work. The autoclave used immense amounts of heat and pressure to sterilize items, nothing survived the autoclave. In that moment John decided he saw some of his own likeness in the machine. As the voices turned to mumbles and John fell deep into thought he found that his own heart was harsh an inhospitable, much like the machine. That was why he was mostly alone in his 17-room apartment in New York City. His two wives couldn’t even make his home their home, and when he received a phone call from Cynthia or Yoko saying they were coming to pick the children up or to send them home on the morrows next fight he couldn’t say it struck him by surprise.

As the evening grew late you put Sean to bed and then an hour later you sent Sean to bed, much to your surprise neither of the boys fought with you tonight over why it was unfair they had different bedtimes or how they should be allowed to stay up later because it was summertime.

Infomercials from the television droned in your ears and lulled you to sleep as you sprawled out on the couch. A hand touching your shoulder caused you to jump and you blinked before John came into focus, “I’m home, you can stay the night in the guest room. It’s too late for you to go home alone.” He said kindly.

You rubbed your eyes and groggily sat up, “How did the meetings go today?” You asked after a deep yawn.

John’s face scrunched up, the way it did when he was frustrated and deep in thought, “It was alright.” He shrugged.

“What do you mean alright? You just released a new single, no one had an opinion on it?” You asked as you made your way through one of the many long hallways that made up his Dakota apartment.

John followed you, hoping for conversation and company, “I don’t know, I must have termites in me brain or something.” He frowned leaning against the door of the bathroom and watching you rummage through the cabinet for your spare toothbrush. Your movements moved on memory and you pushed aside the antacids and ibuprofen to get to the toothbrush you kept in the back of the medicine cabinet. The familiarity in your actions made John feel comforted.

“what do you mean?” You asked before you began brushing your teeth. You watched as John shifted, leaning against the door jam. He felt uncomfortable. You could tell.

He looked away from you, “I’m washed up I suppose.” He dug his shoe into the grout of the bathroom tile, “No one wants to listen to a former Beatle without the other three.” John wanted to open up to you but his body felt like an unstable bag of foam and bones and his ability to speak clearly vanished.

You spat out your toothpaste and wiped the remainder off with the towel that hung on the wall, “Oh come off it,” You scolded him, “You don’t mean that do you?”

Now it was your turn to follow John as he walked through the house, kicking his shoes off and tossing his jacket to the side, “That’s how it seems.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, “Every time I talk to one of these hokey television people, they just rub it in me face how successful Paul or George are doing.” He frowned, “And I’m just sitting here, a one hit wonder. No songs in the last five years.” He tugged open the door to his wardrobe and pulled out sleeping cloths and tossed them onto the bed, “Paul’s got his 87 children, and his new better band. What do I have?” His cheeks started turning red and his thick brows furrowed.

You listened to him complain about his imperfections, he obviously needed to get them off his chest, “John,” You said softly interrupting his monologue, “You don’t mean that.” You bluntly said.

John looked away from you and huffed loudly, “First I get called the fat Beatle, then I get torn to shreds for saying one thing about Christianity and now I can’t even write a damn song anymore.” He angrily pulled his shirt over his head, “If I can’t even write a damn song what use am I?” He continued to mumble to himself and tug the thin and worn sleep shirt over his head and stuck his arms through the hole.

You walked forward and boldly grabbed John’s wrist as he reached for his lounge pants, “Stop it,” You said in the same tone of voice you used to scold one of the children, “I don’t want to hear you say bad things about yourself that aren’t true.” Your brows knit together as John turned to look at you.

His eyes narrowed to little slits as he studied your face. John felt as though the throne of fame he once sat upon was now crumbling, much like in his dream “You’re just an assistant, you don’t know anything.” He said coldly and shrugged you off.

You know he didn’t mean it, but the words stung, “Yeah, I’m just your assistant who watches your kids, and takes them to piano lessons, and does your laundry, and brings you take away when you are too sad to leave your room.” You shot back.

Your words hit John like a 10-ton truck, and he looked at you shocked, none of his assistants had ever been this bold before. They all cowered beneath the mighty John Lennon, but you were different. Your tongue was just as sharp as his, and he hated to admit it; but he liked the way your brows furrowed, and your eyes ignited with fire every time you argued back at him. He wanted to get a rise out of you, so he pushed you, “I pay you for it, don’t go around thinking you’re special. I could post your job in the paper and have hundreds of college kids lining up to work for me.” He hissed stepping towards you.

You were backed into a wall, literally and figuratively, you felt at a loss for words. John was right and you both knew it, what was the worst that could happen if you pushed back a bit? “Do it, I dare you.” You scoffed and moved to push past him, “Surprised anyone would like to work for a washed-up Beatle.” You mumbled under your breath knowing that he would hear you.

John brought his arm up and pushed you back into your spot between the wall and pushed his lips against yours. It was hard and messy; your teeth clicked together, and your noses knocked. It took a moment for you to realize what was happening until John roughly shoved his knee between your legs. You let out a whimper feeling him pull away and start leaving hot open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and trailing down to your neck. Your chest heaved against him and you swallowed thickly, and you desperately tried to focus as he continued to latch onto your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin, “John.” You whined and ground yourself against his thigh.

He loved how you practically purred his name as you spoke. John’s hands pushed down on your hips, helping you as you slid against his thigh with wanton need. Your breathy sighs sent a shiver that crept down his spine and settled in his belly, “We can stop, just say it and I’ll stop.” He said rubbing his nose along your jaw.

You swallowed thickly, “Please don’t,” You didn’t want to go back now.

John pulled away and pulled you by your wrist before pushing you back onto the bed. You bounced back against the plush large mattress and laid against the pillows and watched as John knelt between your legs. He rubbed his hands along your thighs and kissed you’re the skin that had become exposed from your shirt riding up and pushed it up more. He sucked and left kitten licks as he exposed more of you stomach and chest, kissing between your breasts and sucking at the soft skin on the sides.

John peeled your shirt off and in one swift movement your breasts were exposed and your top and underclothes tossed aside. He dove against your neck again, deepening the marks he’d already left prior and adding new ones, nipping at the skin and inhaling your scent. You reached your fingers and laced them in his soft long hair. You’d always wondered how it felt and how it smelt. You found yourself burying your nose into the side of his head and breathing deeply. He smelled like stale smoke, the gum he always chewed as a nervous habit, and like his eucalyptus shampoo. It made your brain feel dizzy.

Your legs wrapped around John’s narrow hips and pulled him flush against you. He groaned feeling your heat against his awakening erection and ground against you. he felt like he was 18 again, sneaking home some blurry faced bird through the back door at Mimi’s after coming home too late. But this felt better, it wasn’t some random company for the night; it was you.

The assistant he hired on a whim because he needed someone to watch Sean while he flew to LA for recording, the same person who folded his laundry, the first person he told of his divorce from Yoko. Even in his dream as he stood alone on the edge of the cliff as his throne collapsed, he knew if he called your name you would come.

Now, here he was; swallowing your moans eagerly in his mouth and listening as you left ragged breathy gasps in his ear as he ground against you. His hands fumbled with the buttons on your pants before he finally gave up and pulled them open, the small button popping off and bouncing to the other side of the room. John kissed your hips and along the lower half of your stomach and it twitched.

You squirmed, looking down and seeing his intently focused face as he yanked down your underwear and jeans and carelessly tossed them aside. You suddenly became aware of your nakedness as you stared down at John, fully clothed in a loose sleep shirt and the pants he wore today. Your eyes trailed his body and you sat up, tugging at his shirt. Your movements were hesitant and less confident than his. John’s hands guided his shirt up and he tugged it off, throwing it to join the rest of your discarded cloths and you ran a hand along his chest. Admiring the freckles and imperfections that made him distinctly human. He pulled back and shrugged his pants off and resumed his spot between your legs, pushing you back down.

John kissed the sides of your knees and made his way up your thighs, “Is this okay?” He murmured.

You shivered feeling his lips moving against your legs and nodded your head, urging him to continue. The pit of nervousness that settled in your belly violently vanished as you felt John’s hot tongue swipe between your folds and lap at you, “Jesus Christ,” You gasped out.

You could feel John smirk as he hooked his arms under your legs and pulled you close. He spread you apart, groaning and rubbing your clit with his thumb, “Has anyone ever done this to you before?” He asked glancing up at you.

You swallowed thickly and shook your head, “N-no,” You choked out.

John hummed acknowledging your answer and licked at your core again, taking his time to trace lazy shapes around the bundle of nerves. It sent a tingle that rang through your whole body, from the tips of your toes to your fingers and you desperately reached for John’s hair to keep him in place.

Your toes curled and you pressed John’s face closer against you and bucked your hips, grinding against his face. He groaned and pressed back, pulling you closer against his face. The plug between your brain and mouth disconnected and your mind felt like it was swimming. The string in your stomach tightened as you continued to grind against John’s tongue as he lapped at you. Your soft breathy sighs climbed in pitch before it snapped and your hips squirmed against him. John firmly held you down and he harshly rubbed your clit. The burning sensation caused your toes to curl, your eyes to blissfully shut, and made your legs shake. Your hips tried to jerk away from his hand, but he held you down, watching you writhe, jaw hanging slightly ajar.

“St-op” You choked out and gripped his wrist, letting out a sob as he pushed you to your peak once again. Your chest heaved and your legs shook as it washed through you. You curled into yourself and your face scrunched up.

John left you no room to breathe as he pulled your face close to his and captured your mouth in an open mouth. His tongue explored your mouth and you could taste yourself. You gripped at his forearms and pulled him back down, thumbing his briefs and tugging them down. John smiled against your mouth as he wiggled out of them, twisting his legs and shifting before he finally gave up and broke your kiss for a moment to tug them the rest of the way down.

You reached to kiss him and frowned as he pulled away, settling between your legs and rubbing his cock teasingly between your wet folds before he pushed in. You gasped, feeling John stretch you as his pelvis pushed against the back of your legs. He sat there for a moment and his face reached up and cupped yours as he hovered just inches away from your face.

You brought your hand up and placed it on John’s, his thumb traced your bottom lip and he slowly moved his hip, pushing deep inside you. Your mouth fell open and you let out a soft moan. John eagerly took the opportunity to slip his thumb into your mouth and pushed harder into you as your lips wrapped around it.

John’s hands gripped your hips as his picked-up speed, pulling them against him and making your skin slap together. He fell over you and you wrapped your arms around him pulling his body close to yours. His head fell next to your shoulder and he messily kissed up your shoulder and up to the side of your mouth before you captured his. Your kiss lacked tact and was only motivated by wanton need for each other. Your teeth clanked harshly together, and you clung to John as though he would vanish from you in an instant.

John broke the kiss and latched onto your neck once again, nipping at the skin and leaving a lingering and dull pain as he continued his trail before settling near your ear. John’s grunts and soft breathy sighs were perhaps the best sound’s you’d ever heard. In that moment you didn’t care that your bodies stuck together with sweat, or that your head kept bumping against the headboard.

You found yourself reaching for John and whimpering as he pulled away and hooked his arms under your knees and brought them up, leaning onto you and pushing deeper inside you. Your back arched off the mattress as he pulled back and began to slowly rut deep inside you.

John clenched his teeth together and hissed, feeling your walls twitching around him as he continued his languid pace, “Please,” You said softly, your brows knit together and your eyes looking helplessly up at him.

His lips spread into a knowing smirk, “Please what?” His voice sounded ragged and strained as he continued to tease you.

“More please,” You barely recognized the whiny tone of your voice.

“Yeah?” He asked and harshly snapped his hips against yours, “Like that?” He asked snapping them again. The headboard lightly tapped the wall as John’s thrusts grew harder and faster while your staccato moans followed jointly. John watched you, your mouth hanging open and skin shiny from the combination of his and your sweat that coated your body. He felt more human in this moment than he’d felt in a long time.

John’s brows knit together, and his thighs clenched, he didn’t want this to end. You pulled his arms and pulled him close to you, not caring if it seemed like you were being clingy, “Come inside me,” You breathed out next to his ear.

John’s body seized up and he huffed out a shaky haggard breath before he came, holding you close against his body and riding out the high that fogged over his senses.

For a moment he laid on top of you, softening inside you but enjoying the intimate closeness the two of you shared in your post coital haze. John kissed your shoulder before pulling back and kissing your lips. He pulled back and the two of you smiled at each other.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

You couldn’t help but turn your head and breath out a small laugh before John rolled over to your side. The two of you laid on top of his wrinkled duvet staring at each other. You pursed your lips and remembered what you said earlier, “I didn’t mean it, what I said.” You said sheepishly looking away.

John’s expression was soft as he looked at you, “I’m sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it either.” He said his arm now resting on your shoulder. He pulled you against his bare chest and you pushed your knee between his legs, entangling your bodies together as John held you. 

[dyingrosesandwriting]

Home (Yandere x Reader)

Word count: ~2100

“I can’t believe I wrote this.” Muttered a quiet voice in the dark.

“I mean, this is so repetitive and boring!” Exclaimed the figure in the dark, obscured by a blanket thrown over herself, light from her device creating a silhouette visible from the window. Not like anyone would see, or at least that was what you thought.

However, you were very wrong, as unbeknownst to you, a male sat right outside your window. He was cloaked in shadows and a hoodie, while wearing a grin on his face. As the unknown male peered through your window, you got out of the tent of sheets and walked out of your room to the hall.

“Now’s my chance” muttered your stalker with a chuckle, as he started picking the your window lock.

You stood in your bathroom, brushing your teeth, when you heard a noise come from your room, shaking, you put your toothbrush back and went inside to investigate.

“Hello?” You called out, your voice cracking. Your feet felt like they were freezing on the floorboards.

“I have a weapon you know!” You shouted, trying to intimidate whatever had intruded your house. You did in fact have a weapon,  which meant if worse came to worse, you could probably fight back.

You opened your bedroom door, heart pumping so hard it resonated through your whole body, only to find... Nothing unusual.

You searched through any places that an intruder could hide, behind your cabinets, behind your door, under your bed, and now your closet, the only place left, you had already armed yourself with a kitchen knife and a torch, and with a deep breath you swung open the tall door.

You gasped as you saw a man in front of you, he gave you a smile as you froze up, and spoke with a sickly sweet voice,

“Aww, you found me, babe!” He stepped out of your racks of clothes, revealing his tall, looming figure and something in his hands.

You tried to run, use your weapon, do anything, but fear had petrified you to your spot, and now you were being held down by the man as he held that thing in his hands to your mouth. You realised only too late that it was a chloroform rag as you started to fall unconscious. “Shhhh,” He hushed.

“It’s going to be alright...”

///

“Hey baby, I was wondering when you’d wake up!” Exclaimed a voice from... somewhere.

Yoy couldn’t seem to see until you had blinked a bit, but even then you disregarded the voice and tried to stretch your arms, trying to shake off the tendrils of sleepiness. But to your horror you couldn’t move your arms much at all. You looked around to try and find the cause of it, when you spotted that man from last night sitting at the edge of what was definitely not your bed.

"Did he actually kidnap me?" You thought, your mind started racing with questions, "What’s he going to do to me?" "Am I going to die?" "Why me?" Your thoughts were cut off though as he spoke again.

“Are you ignoring me babe?” He asked,

“You know that won’t end well. For either of us.” He whispered in your ear, causing goose bumps to erupt over your neck.

“Why am I here?” You squeaked out, holding back tears. The man noticed your fear and started rubbing your cheek despite your obvious discomfort, “You’re here," He paused, "Because I love you.”

“W-what?” You gasped out.

“I have loved you since we first met, in seventh grade, you helped me out all the time!”

“Remember?”

He stared at you expectantly, but you couldn’t remember him, you graduated a year ago, but you'd suppressed those memories long ago.

The man looked familiar though, not with a comforting sense of familiarity, instead with a deep seeded fear, like he’d been responsible for the ‘incident' at the end of seventh grade.

“You don’t remember me?” He asked her, his voice shaky and uneven. You were just about to answer when he’d started screaming,

“You fucking bitch! How could you forget me! We’re soulmates, or are you too much of a whore to remember that?”

All of his shouting had driven you to the point of tears, not like you weren't probably already going to cry. You had tried to hold them back but they flowed across your cheeks as you sobbed quietly, willing your captor to not notice them in fear of being hurt.

“I’m sorry...” He stated calmly, although you could hear his heavy breaths, and stared into your eyes as he started to stroke through your hair. You thought of slapping his hand away but thought of the consequences, and that you couldn’t move your hands.

“I should of known you'd forgotten, seventh grade was pretty traumatic." He sighed, but you felt like he was involved in that trauma.

“I guess I should reintroduce myself then,” He added, with a peck to your blotchy red cheek.

“My name’s Blake.”

“And you babe, helped me out when no one else would!” He shifted off the bed and grabbed a photo album, “Every single day I was tormented by those fucking bastards,” He seemingly struggled to keep his voice level.

“But you always saved me afterwards!” He added with a wide smile and opened up the album to a page full of photos of you, some were from behind, some were seemingly consensual, and others had been taken while you were asleep, and all of them made you incredibly uncomfortable.

You decided to just nod along.

“Did you ever even question why everyone hated me?”

“N-no.”

Blake chuckled and answered. “All of them made a fit just because I followed you home one day,” You felt bile crawl up your throat as your stomach began to turn.

“I was only following you to protect you from those creeps!”

“But, y’ know I taught them all a lesson babe.”

Blake's words had proved exactly what you were dreading.

He’d been responsible for the 'incident' in seventh grade.

///

I stood in front of the school bathroom mirror, freshening up before I’d head out with my boyfriend, or whatever we were now.

I'd confessed to him yesterday and he said he’d liked me too, although not as long as I had, so we'd decided to date.

After about five minutes I finished brushing my hair for the third time today and headed outside the main gate to meet him, but he wasn’t there.

After standing there and looking in every direction, I checked my phone; nothing.

I sent him a text:

where r u???

Sent

I waited ten minutes for a reply, but nothing, not even a ‘seen’. I started to search around, asking the kids who where still hanging around if they’d seen him. A group of them said they’d seen him following another dude through the hall,

“Great,” I thought, “he’s just gonna cop out on me before the first date.”

I figured I should at least find him and tell him my frustration if he wasn’t going to read my texts, so I headed towards the gym, presumably where one of his team members had probably dragged him off to.

As I walked through the hall towards the gym I heard a strange noise; Something muffled.

I quietly stepped towards the door it was coming from, the storage closet, and listened.

“So what did you drag me here for?” Someone asked.

“You took something from me,” Someone else answered back.

“What did I take?” The first person asked, the smugness feeling very familiar.

“YOU FUCKING KNOW!” Roared back the other person. Fearing things were gonna get ugly, I tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. I looked around for anyone, but the halls were empty. It must’ve been way past the end bell now so the only people left were in their clubs.

I had one choice: to try stop this while I could.

I prepared myself and rammed the door with my shoulder with all my strength.

First try; it didn’t budge.

Second try; Something smashed in the closet.

Third try; if this didn’t work I’d need to go get help.

But thankfully, it did.

But I wouldn't be so thankful soon.

Just as the door busted open, I saw it. The beaten body of my boyfriend and a tall, dark figure grasping a baseball bat hunched over him.

I tried to reach out to him but the man grabbed my wrist, twisted it, and pushed me to the ground. Through the pain I held back tears as I tried to get up, but what I saw next had me begging for the blurry censorship my tears provided.

I got up, but before I ran for someone to break this up, I tried to punch this psycho while he resumed to beating my boyfriend to a pulp with his bat.

Instead however, he turned right around as my fist collided with his back and struck my shins with his bat, the residual pain keeping me on my knees after the initial strike.

“No, no, you’re gonna watch this,” A voice too deranged to recognise muttered.

He continued to senselessly beat the barely alive mess of flesh, blood and bone that was once my boyfriend into a pulp.

“It’s all for you after all.”

///

“No! No no no no no!” You cried in shock and terror.

“Oh, but yes!” He replied in a mockingly jolly tone, “You have no idea how fucking great it felt to crush that insect of a boyfriend!” He added, licking his lips and thinking with a nostalgic look on his face.

“Just... Why?”

“Why? Isn’t it obvious?”

“I told you already; I love you.”

“I just want you all to myself, tied up and away from all the fucking perves that want you for themselves.” Blake held you tightly in his arms, you knew better than to squirm.

“S-so you wanted them to hate me?” You cried in confusion.

“Well...  It certainly wasn’t part of the plan, but how could you have a relationship if everyone thought you killed your last boyfriend?”

“How could you not fall for me? The clumsy but charming guy of your dreams, who was always there?” He asked staring deep into your eyes.

“I mean seriously, how couldn’t you?!” He raised his voice, “I WAS ALWAYS THERE, BUT ALL YOU DID WAS IGNORE ME AND PLAN ON LEAVING THIS ‘DUMPSTER OF A TOWN’!” he continued, voice now booming in the small room.

Your eyes immediately dilated and your palms began to sweat, tears pricking at your eyes once again.

“YOU'VE BEEN TRYING FOR YEARS, FUCKING YEARS, TO LEAVE ME!”

“W-why?” He’d finally calmed down, and started almost crying himself, the sight made you feel an uncomfortable mix of smug and sorry.

No.

He's a murderer.

“I couldn’t live with the harassment anymore.” You started calmly, hoping you wouldn’t flare up his anger.

“Didn’t you want me to be happy?” You asked.

“But I need you to be happy.” He responded weakly.

You remained silent and decided to take a closer look at the room you were stuck in.

You were currently laying on a queen sized bed, with three layers of blankets and plain blue sheets.

The walls of the room were painted the same blue as the sheets, though it was hard to tell at first due to photos of you and posters covering most of the area.

"The room must be Blake's," You thought. "Which means..." Your stomach turned at the thought.

You'd have to sleep with this psycho.

And then what would happen?

He would push himself onto you, and you'd either have to accept it, or... You didn't want to think about what he'd do to you.

His threats when you didn't acknowledge him, the fact that he broke into your home and kidnapped you, and...

What he did to your boyfriend.

And how he enjoyed the aftermath of fear and bullying towards you. He stood by as people made your life a living hell. Because they thought you were a criminal, a murderer that was about to get what they deserved.

Maybe they were right. You did kill him. Who knows how many other deaths you were responsible for?

No.

He killed him. Blake did.

And all of this, that's what'll clear your name once you escape wherever this psycho is keeping you.

"W-where are we?" Your voice came out softer and meeker than you'd like, but maybe that would help. Get him to believe you were just scared and worried, though you really were.

The male sat in front of you, shaking a small amount.

"Home."

Uh, so this is kinda old, but then I added onto it and rewrote it to be x reader. I was mega hyped for this blog when I started writing this, even making a Pinterest board for this character, but I never actually described his appearance, and personality wise he is a pissbaby.

Bruh, my first draft on this account made realise I changed his name from Joey to Blake.

Edit: I fucking forgot to change his name once and used third person phrasing instead of second person in one part. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

[hankwritten]

Long Time Listener, First Time Caller

Demoman/Soldier, 2k

Request for @tokyotrain, Music

1. Reveille

There had never, ever, in the history of time or space, an instrument Demo hated more.

The bugle reverberated through the open window that someone had conspicuously left open, just in case the man in bed wouldn’t have been awakened by its bellows piercing through the glass. Not that that would ever happen. Demo was pretty sure he could’ve heard that damn instrument all the way in Hell, and grasped blindly for the pillow he could smother his own face in. It didn’t help. He shouldn’t be able to taste the cacophony the bugle was making, but there was the sting of copper on his tongue, as though his gums were bleeding in revolt.

“I’m going to kill him,” he muttered into the three layers of feathered pillows.

By the time he stumbled down to breakfast, there were bags under his eye, diluted homicidal intent on his face, and his fluffiest robe around his shoulders.

“And he’s finally up,” Mum said, and sipped her tea. Usually she’d be giving him an earful about his lazy behind tarrying in making her morning cup, but since she was smirking at his disheveled state, Soldier must have brewed it for her.

“Grrnn…” her son replied.

Coffee was the only thing that would make this morning better. Thankfully, there was a pot already brewing; Soldier wasn’t that heartless.

“I see you have acquired your morning cup of Joe!” Soldier said when he finally retired from his routine, sweeping into the kitchen on a wave of wholly unwelcome cheer. Beyond him—since the mansion didn’t have a flagpole, he’d found ways to make do—a rake was shoved into the lawn with a Stars ‘n Stripes bandana tied around it. This he erected every day at dawn. “Excellent! Now that you are refreshed and full of energy, you are capable of participating in post flag ceremony drills!”

Demo skipped the not on your life and went straight to, “I’m going to take that bloody thing and re-twist it until you can hang yourself with it.”

Mum laughed, and Soldier grinned jubilantly, confident in the knowledge that he would always win mornings.

2. Taunt

“Whomp whomp whaaaa,” the stupid bloody trombone played at him.

Half delirious from blood loss, Demo bared his teeth at the smug BLU above him who, as soon as he finished taunting, promptly executed his unwilling audience with a shotgun blast to the head.

This was the fifth time this had happened today, and Demo was pissed. Where was Soldier even keeping that thing? Every bloody time there was no sign of the instrument whatsoever, then as soon as victory was assured he reached into hammer space and pulled out five feet of tubing! It was ridiculous to drive a man crazy under the best of circumstances—but having it be your partner was something that garnered a certain degree of necessary revenge.

Demo had had enough. It was about time he did some stooping to Soldier’s level.

The next day, Demo managed to shove Soldier off Upward’s scaffolding with a well-timed shield bash. He couldn’t have hoped for a better opportunity, perfectly executed so Soldier hadn’t even gotten a kill on him that day, which might have ruined the ‘surprise’. He stood, one foot on the Soldier-shaped hole in the wood, and leaned on his knee.

“Nice of you to drop in!” he called.

“Eugh,” Soldier grumbled, impaled haphazardly on various bits of wood.

“As long as we’re both taking a breather, mind if get a bit of piping practice in?”

Not waiting for a reply, Demo pulled out the bagpipes that had been eagerly awaiting their time in the sun. Sitting as they had been for the past five years in the attic, derelict ever since he’d purchased them on a lark, he didn’t blame them. When he flexed the bag, dust came out the mouthpiece.

“Oh no,” Soldier said.

“Oh yes!” Demo disagreed, and began to play.

Soldier was in a very unfortunate situation, arm broken the exact wrong way to keep him from covering his own ears. Thus he was forced to listen as Demo played out a belching and eardrum-bleeding anti-tune, rippling the open air above the drop off with painful ineptitude.

“Never played a day in me life,” Demo said cheerfully as he ceased blowing into the bellows.

“And you should never do so again!” Soldier accused. “The only positive thing I can say about your first attempt is that thank God it is over!”

“Over?” Demo smirked. “Nah, there’s another four movements to get through.”

Soldier’s head flopped back in defeat, helmet rolling off into the abyss and eyes pointing at the sky. “Jesus and Thomas Edison, please give me strength.”

This was not heard over the resuming of what only the foolish and the damned would refer to as ‘music’.

3. Radio

“Do not touch that dial, maggot!”

“I’m shotgun, I get radio privileges.”

“Guh,” Soldier complained as Demo flipped until the NMDX began to flow from the box, polluting the airwaves with its electronic beats. “What even is this hippie garbage?”

“It’s disco, laddie!”

Demo was already grooving in his seat, dead set on enjoying the new wave in direct defiance of his partner’s annoyed twitch. Or, perhaps, maybe because of it.

Soldier grumbled. “Doesn’t make any damn sense! What’s a duck doing at a disco in the first place?”

“He wasn’t a duck when he went there,” Demo scoffed. “It’s like you’re not even listening to the song.”

“I’m trying not too.”

“Fine then! What do you like to listen to in the car?”

Soldier hummed quietly for a second, the fading carols of Rick Dees and His Cast of Idiots catching on the notes and escaping into the hum of the highway. After a moment of contemplation, Soldier peeled his eyes from the road and began to rummage about in the center console. This caused him to swerve wildly along the highway, other cars blaring their horns as the blue Camaro glided over the dotted line. Demo watched these events with mild interest.

“Aha!” Soldier exclaimed, emerging with an 8track clasped triumphantly in one hand. “This’ll get us to Springerville without all that play-it-backwards-to-alter-your-brainwaves nonsense!”

He slid the track into the Camaro’s player.

“…Welcome to the audio edition of the Farmer’s Almanac, for the year of our lord, 1972.”

“Oh god…”

“Hah!” Soldier brightened. “Now this is what I am talking about!”

It was going to be a long four hours.

4. Folk

Demo didn’t mind Soldier’s record, to be honest.

It seemed to be about something at least, more than he was used to the things Soldier liked being ‘about’ anything that wasn’t unquestioning patriotism. Sometime he wondered why, of all the folk records in the world, Soldier had decided to settle on Dust Bowl Ballads as his fixation in the realms of music. Americana of all kinds of blended together in Demo’s opinion, but despite the repetitive twang of the banjo and the stifling trite melody, even he could tell there was a story of deep melancholy to be found between the harmless little tunes.

So it wasn’t the fact that Soldier had a record. It was the fact that Soldier had a record, singular.

The idea that a person might purchase multiple albums over the course of their life and play them at different times when the mood struck them never seemed to have been explained to the Soldier. His concept to the record player was this: play the first side. When it was finished, flip it over and play the second side.

Repeat.

For hours.

No matter how sweet Woody Guthrie’s crooning was, having it repeated over and over again day in and day out could give anyone’s otherwise delightful performance all the dulcet notes of prison moonshine. It didn’t bother Soldier one bit it seemed—he would hum to himself merrily as he sat on the chaise, perfectly content to dissemble his shotgun on the coffee table while the same fifteen songs played.

“Y’know love,” Demo tried. “The reason records don’t come glued on to their players is because you can put other ones on. Look.”

He delicately switched out Ballads for something from his own collection, setting the needle so it could fall where it willed.

Soldier eyed the player dubiously as an entirely different style began to fall from the trumpet’s maw, grease rag in hand.

“I don’t get it,” he said as the first refrain came to a close. “You can’t understand a word she’s saying. What’s the point if you don’t know what’s going on?”

“You can’t understand it because it’s in Gaelic, lad.”

Soldier furrowed his brow. “Are you being vulgar at me right now, maggot?”

“Ach, no! I…” Demo sighed. Sometimes why he wondered why he even bothered. “Gaelic’s the language. It’s rare that anyone’ll make records in traditional tongues, but I had a few and I just thought…ah never mind.”

Gently he slid the record back into its sleeve and put Ballads back on.

“…Okay,” was all Soldier said, still frowning as Demo exited the room.

Demo wasn’t so callous to admit he hated the damn thing aloud, not when he could tell it made Soldier honestly, genuinely happy. They’d rib each other for their interests all the time, but not for something this important, and he resigned himself to having Woody as an unwanted houseguest for the rest of time.

That was, until a dreadful cold found him alone in the living room and unwilling to move.

The sickness (and Mum) had demanded he get plenty of bed rest, but he was just so bloody tired of spending all his time between the same four walls and occasionally the bathroom. He’d thought, well, there’s no harm in a quick trip downstairs, only to discover that once he’d gone horizontal on the couch, he lost all motivation to go back up those stairs.

That was how Soldier found him, cocooned in every blanket in the living room, blinking up pitifully as sniffled at his partner. To his credit, Soldier didn’t chastise him for sneaking out of bed; he simply sighed, moved the tissues box closer, and got Demo a cup of tea.

This was all unsurprising, if sweet. What was surprising was—as Demo lay with his back to the majority of the room—the sound of a record sliding into the player. A moment later the room was reendowed with Fear a Bhàta, the song flowing over his senses as he huddled for warmth under his blanket pile. He lifted his head to look at Soldier, who merely shrugged. That was all. Then he sat down on a chair near his Demoman and opened up an issue of Guns & Haircuts.

After that, sometimes Demo would come home to find a piece from his library playing, wafting through the mansion’s halls with no objection from its audience. If Jane had truly changed his mind, or was just doing it for Demo’s benefit, Demo couldn’t tell, but he appreciated the gesture all the same.

5. Piano

“Nothing?” Demo asked as his hands stilled across the keys, the last notes echoing in the music room to the resounding absence of symphony. The only thing left to fill it was the painfully normal sounds of two people simply being alive. “Not a single word of complaint?”

Soldier grinned, and shrugged. “Maybe we found something we can agree on.”

“And that something so happens to involve me doing all the work.” But despite that he grinned, taking Soldier’s hand and rubbing a thumb across the bones along its back, a private concert undergone and concluded. “You should help out. Grab a microphone, lay sultrily across my piano. That’d jazz up the performance.”

“Sounds like a good way to break a piano.”

“Excuses excuses.”

Soldier leaned down, capturing Demo’s mouth in a kiss, knees pressed against the back of the bench, hand still in Demo’s. When he they parted, Demo thought of how he always tasted like gunpowder, no matter how long it’d been.

Soldier smiled against Demo’s lips. “Play us another?”

“So demanding,” Demo smiled, and put fingers back to ivory.

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar 2020 🎄

By @littlelonghairedoutlaw​

This year, the Christmas Season begins on 28 November.

That is the day Erik meets Doctor MacAndréis from the Department of Modern Irish leaving Costa with a Terry’s chocolate orange latte in one hand, and a miniature Christmas tree in the other.

Erik considers it best not to ask any questions.

MacAndréis gives him that grin he wears with just a touch of mischief, and winks behind his glasses. Then he is gone, and if it was anyone else then Erik might almost think he was hallucinating. But MacAndréis is MacAndréis, and is merely an eccentric like himself, and so this encounter is the thing that encourages him to finally cave and order himself a black forest hot chocolate.

He’s been putting this day off for weeks, but if MacAndréis has acquired a tiny Christmas tree, then it’s time to concede to the season.

Clíodhna will be delighted to hear it.

(He suspects she has her letter to Santa half-written already.)

*

The day Erik sits down on the couch and pulls Clíodhna onto his lap to ask her what she wants from Santa, it is 30 November and Christine has only just gotten Andriú settled in for his nap. He has just turned eight months old, and is sleeping better than he was, but she will not have him disturbed for the evening, so when Clíodhna comes rushing up to her, “Mammy, Mammy! Daddy says I can write my Santy letter!” Christine shushes her little girl so she will not accidentally wake her brother.

“Can I, Mammy?” she whispers, and it’s a loud whisper but Christine doesn’t have the heart to shush her again. She looks to Erik, still sitting on the couch, as if he is not the one who has just caused their daughter’s rush of excitement, and finds him nodding vigorously, so she turns her attention back to Clíodhna, and nods.

“You can,” she whispers, and Clíodhna grins, her blue eyes bright and shining, before she throws her arms around Christine’s legs and hugs her.

And then there is paper, and pens, and a very enthusiastic five-year-old sitting in her lap and demanding for words to be spelled.

Erik kisses her forehead, before he goes to put the kettle on.

“I met MacAndréis with a Christmas tree,” he says, as if that is the most sensible explanation in the world.

*

“And are you going to ask Santa to bring something for Andriú?”

“A dinosaur!”

The effort not to laugh. “I think Andriú is a bit small for a dinosaur.”

*

There is, as far as Erik is concerned, nothing quite like the experience of hearing ‘Daidí na Nollag’ sung by a five-year-old as she winds silver tinsel around a miniature tree.

He is not saying it out of any sort of bias, but Clíodhna is an excellent little singer.

He adjusts his grip on Andriú, who has somehow fallen asleep against his chest, even with the singing, and shushes her slightly. “And where are the réaltaí?” he asks, and Clíodhna points to the sky. “Sa spéir!”

Christine is shopping, and it is his noble duty as babysitter to look after both the sproggle in his arms and the beanie sprout who insists she is “practicing for my play!” with her bouncing dark curls.

She is an angel this year, not Mary, but she is determined to sing every song as if she were the star of the show.

“What about ‘Silent Night’ next?” something quieter than another thrilling rendition of ‘Daidí na Nollag’.

She bobs her head, and finds a small star to set on top of the little tree.

“Siii-lent night…”

*

When Christine gets home she finds Erik asleep on the floor, Andriú asleep on his chest and Clíodhna tucked in asleep beneath his arm. The floor is littered with tinsel and baubles, and there are two small trees sitting decorated on the coffee table. Christine snaps a photo of her husband and their babies, and then stoops down and gently scoops Andriú out of his arms. Erik snuffles, his eyes flickering open. “Are you long back?” His voice is groggy.

She smiles. “Only just. Wake up a bit, and I’ll put the kettle boiling.”

Time enough, later, to smuggle in the surprise she has gotten him, hidden deep in the car.

It’s a present for both of them, and she can hardly wait for the day to arrive that she’ll give it to him.

*

It is 5 December when he meets Éilis ní Cuana for tea. Éilis is MacAndréis’ wife, as far as Erik knows, but at this point he’s a little embarrassed to ask. MacAndréis wears two wedding rings and refers in equal terms to his wife (Éilis) and his husband (Seán MacAlisdair), and while Erik is certain that the man cannot legally be married to both of them, he’s reasonably (about 95%) certain that it’s a polyamorous relationship, like what John Henry has with Kate and Morgan, and that’s good enough for him.

Erik meets Éilis, today, for two reasons. The first is that she’s writing a hybrid-play about Terence MacSwiney, and he has been working on a score for it since the summer. This has involved not only reading what she has written of the play, but also making several trips to Dublin to read MacSwiney’s letters (the man’s handwriting was devilish) and raiding Christine’s collection of books for Items of Interest. This increased familiarity with Christine’s collection of books is the second reason he is meeting Éilis – he has no idea what to get his wife for Christmas.

This is their sixteenth Christmas. He feels like he ran out of good gift ideas years ago.

Fortunately, Éilis is a librarian and an archivist. She is a woman who Knows Things, and if his theory is right about the relationship she has with MacAndréis and MacAlisdair, then so much the better. MacAlisdair is a medical historian, and while Christine is a political historian, that means Erik and Éilis have something in common. Namely, loving people who make whole fields of study out of areas that seem boring to most.

(He has never found Christine’s work boring, never mind half the time he can hardly keep up with her.)

Éilis unwraps a ginger biscuit. “What’s her topic at the minute?”

“Underground resistance against authoritative regimes in twentieth-century Europe.”

Éilis blinks slowly. “And I thought listening to the prevalence of chloroform addiction among nineteenth-century doctors was a fun time.”

Erik almost chokes on his tea.

*

“You could get him a replica chloroform bottle...”

“You could get her a necklace with No Pasarán…”

*

How Andriú sleeps through their laughter Erik will never know.

*

Meanwhile Christine is in Tower Records on O’Connell Street, trying to decide what to get Erik for Christmas. She has expert assistance in the form of Clíodhna, who is very adamant that what “daddy would want” is an album of Christmas songs in Irish. Christine suspects her wayward daughter picked it because it has ‘Daidí na Nollag’ on it.

Considering Christine herself is tempted to buy him a vinyl of old rebel songs to tease him about his new interest in Terence MacSwiney, she is not sure she can comment.

Besides, the Secret Surprise she has gotten him will do that well enough.

(A replica Irish Volunteers uniform, complete with slouch hat, and she has half a mind to give it to him on Christmas Eve, when Clíodhna and Andriú are tucked up in bed.)

(“For inspiration,” she will say, “while you’re composing,” and she will kiss his cheek and he will go off and change into it, and when he comes back her throat will be dry at the sight of him in those high boots, that coat, the hat tilted low over his eyes, and there will be a touch of mischief about him as he will ask, “Are you going to search me for weapons?”)

She’s fairly certain he has all the music he actually wants, so she’s not sure why she came in here except that she always likes to when she’s present-hunting. That, and she wanted to show Clíodhna around. Clíodhna has gotten very interested in music lately and Christine has half-decided to start her on tin whistle lessons in the New Year. Christine didn’t tell her where they were going, only that they were “shopping for Daddy”, and when Clíodhna realised they were in a shop full of vinyls and retro tapes and cds and posters, she was struck silent for the first few moments, her little hand holding on tight to Christine’s own.

“Is this a real shop?” she whispered, and Christine nodded and grinned down at her.

“It is. And it’s Daddy’s favourite shop.”

And Clíodhna shrieked so loudly it almost blew out Christine’s eardrum.

She is resigned, now, that she will not find Erik’s present here, but no matter. Clíodhna is delighted with the place, and that is enough for Christine.

“Do you want to get Daddy that album?” she asks, and Clíodhna nods.

“Yes!”

*

Clíodhna is sworn to secrecy about her “present for Daddy”, and also about the vinyl of Taylor Swift’s folklore that Christine decides on a whim to get him. And when they go to a toy shop, Clíodhna comes back with a small reindeer teddy.

“For Andriú!” she says, and Christine’s heart swells.

*

They have dinner that Sunday with Lilly, and afterwards Erik plays with Andriú on the floor, rolling a ball to him for him to roll back, before Andriú takes a fit of giggling and tries to crawl away. He’s gotten to be an active little thing, and the next time Erik rolls the ball to him he throws it at the couch. Christine snorts watching the two of them, but if Erik notices he doesn’t show it, doesn’t even look away from Andriú as he reaches behind him for a second ball. That one, too, gets flung at the couch, and Lilly is grinning while she spoons the Christmas cake mixture into a tin. Clíodhna is watching very intently, singing ‘Away in a Manger’ to herself, and when Lilly almost has the bowl empty, she hands both bowl and spoon to her. “Do you think you can clean the last of it out, Madame?”

“Yes, Nan!”

The mixture ends up on her hands and her sleeves and in her hair, but she’s laughing as she scrapes the spoon along the side of the bowl, and the smell of the cakes is warm in the air, settling in Christine’s chest.

Warm, and safe, and like every Christmas she can ever remember, the evening dark and the windows fogged up, the echo of her father playing his violin… And it’s been more than twenty-two years, but the smell of Christmas cakes always reminds her of him, and she wonders will it be something that Clíodhna remembers, in the far-distant future, an evening like this, and the warm aroma in the air…

*

This time Erik is the one leaving Costa when he meets MacAndréis, who has a sprig of holly behind his ear and a gold ribbon tied around his wrist. And the man must be in his mid-thirties, but he seems younger and younger every time Erik sees him and this time is no different. He earns himself one of those bright grins and, “the new recording sounds great”, and he’d stop to ask more about what MacAndréis thought of the latest piece for Éilis’ project, but he’s due to meet Nadir in his office to go over his will. The annual updating, and it helps to have a barrister for a best friend, who can tweak these things without any hassle.

Not that there’s much to change in it this time, because he updated it in the spring when Andriú was born, but he likes to be sure everything is just so. It’s a little bit of peace, to not have to worry about that. Nadir has scheduled him in for an hour, and it’s a chance to have a chat as much as anything. They’ve both been so busy lately, between Nadir’s cases and with his lecturing and this play, never mind the full-time job of being a father, and Nadir knows about that too with little Aisha, and this is as good an excuse as any to settle in and have a cup of tea with him.

It sounds ridiculous, but he’s been looking forward to updating his will for weeks.

Next time he’ll talk to MacAndréis. Next time.

*

Two days later the weather is what Christine calls “Jack the Ripper fog”, and when Clíodhna gets home from school it seems as good a time as any to put up the proper Christmas tree. It feels more like November than December, but it is definitely December, and Erik settles at the piano, playing softly, while Clíodhna sorts the baubles and Andriú naps upstairs. The baby monitor is turned up and sitting beside Erik on the piano bench, in case the baby wakes, but all is quiet from upstairs and Christine hums along with the melody while she fixes the lights into place on the higher branches.

Last year, they didn’t put any angel onto the top of the tree. She was six months along with Andriú, and Erik was still recovering from the emergency surgery on his aorta, and they both decided it was safer if neither of them stretched to the top of the tree. This year he could put the angel on himself, or lift Clíodhna up to do it, but even though he had a clear scan only a month ago it still feels like too much to risk, so Christine scoops up Clíodhna and lifts her, and her daughter is heavier than she looks, but she fixes the angel into place and Christine sets her down again before her arms buckle.

“You’re getting big,” she says, and Clíodhna beams.

*

They’re promised snow, but all they get is grey slush, and this time it is Erik’s turn to take Clíodhna present-hunting. He still has not decided what to get Christine for Christmas, but he takes Clíodhna with him into the bookshop, and watches as she makes a beeline for the first book she sees with a cow on it.

“This, Daddy?”

Christine? Reading a book about cows? He almost wants to see it, but he shakes his head. “Maybe we’ll get that one for Uncle Al.”

And Clíodhna needs no more encouragement to push the book into his hand. “Hold.”

“All right, my lady.”

*

They come away with a book of photos of notable sculptures, and he’s beginning to think he might need to experiment more with presents.

At least it’s not another collection of Tennyson.

(There’s also a cloth book with different fabrics and pages that make music, for Andriú, and Clíodhna is pleased with herself for finding it.)

*

By the eleventhh it still doesn’t feel like Christmas but things are distinctly more festive than they were. Nadir and John Henry between them hung a string of lights along the gutter so Erik wouldn’t have to climb the ladder, and with the Christmas tree set up (and the two little ones) and paper snowflakes that Clíodhna made in school, the house is at least decorated. Lilly has supplied them with a Christmas cake, and Erik’s mother Marina has promised them a Christmas pudding when she arrives closer to the day itself. Uncle Al has sent them a box of mince pies that a “good friend” of his made, and Erik suspects that his dear old uncle has found himself a boyfriend that he’s keeping under wraps. Erik would die of embarrassment if he suggested it to him, but he mentions it to John Henry who laughs and claps and says, “good on the old man”, and Erik knows Al will be bombarded with questions when he, too, arrives at Christmas.

They haven’t made it down to Sligo since the Halloween midterm, but Erik knows Clíodhna is excited to see her granny and granduncle and “grandad Bill” again.

(It will never not be wild for Erik to hear his stepfather called “grandad Bill.”)

*

It is when Christine is having coffee with Seán MacAlisdair that it occurs to her what might be nice to get Erik for Christmas.

She had questions for MacAlisdair about how bullet wounds might be treated by fugitives in the 1920s, and as he wrote out some suggestions of sources to check he mentioned offhand that he had gotten a pocket watch for “Ruairí”. It took her just a moment to remember that Ruairí is in fact MacAndréis, and by then MacAlisdair was telling her about the engraving he’d gotten put on the inside of the watch.

“I arise from dreams of thee,” he says, and smiles, “it’s his favourite Shelley poem.” And then he laughs. “I’d have had it translated into Irish for him but I was afraid it would lose its cadence.”

“I’m sure he’ll be delighted with it.”

“I reckon he will. And there was a dealer selling original newspapers from October 1920, so I got them for Éilis…”

And she lets him talk, but all the times she’s wondering what sort of engraving she could get put on a pocket watch.

*

On the day that Erik and Christine head to Dublin to get gifts for Clíodhna and Andriú, the “Santa gifts”, John Henry and Kate are left in charge of the “two beans” as John Henry calls them. Morgan is delayed at a conference in London, but he’ll be home in a few days, and Erik intends to pick out a fancy bottle of wine for him.

In hindsight, perhaps it would have been better not to have left the shopping until the two weeks before the day itself, but it’s never felt right to Erik to start Christmas shopping in November and frankly he isn’t keen on how terribly capitalistic the whole holiday has become. He knows Christine feels the same, and that’s why they prefer to buy Irish-made from small businesses as opposed to anything else. There are only so many places around Maynooth, and to be fair they do have a few nice bits gathered up, and so the trip to Dublin is to put the finishing touches to the gift gathering, and to spend the day with each other, without a wriggling eight-and-a-half month old and an excitable five year old. And there are crowds of people but it’s quiet, walking down the street holding Christine’s hand, the faint touch of frost on his nose, her fingers warm threaded through his.

They stop for hot chocolate, with cream and cinnamon, and he kisses the taste of it off her lips as she smiles into his mouth, and it’s almost like they are students again, hardly knowing each other, only knowing that there was something there, something different than there had been before, and she smooths her fingers over the back of his hand and sighs.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his voice low, and she shrugs.

“Nothing in particular,” but still she’s smiling, and this time she presses the kiss to the bad half of his cheek, and he cannot feel it beneath the mask.

(The mask is warmer than the make-up, in cold weather like this.)

*

Clíodhna and Andriú are both asleep by the time they get home, tucked into bed, and John Henry is asleep too on the couch, a blanket thrown over him. It’s not all that late, but Kate is the one sitting up waiting for them, and she smiles when they finally walk in the door.

“Did you have a good day?” she asks, and Erik nods.

“Very.”

*

(When Christine is out of earshot, he has half a mind to ask her what she got John Henry and Morgan for Christmas, but he is almost afraid of the answer.)

*

They set up a little Nativity scene near the tree, with the three wisemen and two shepherdesses (who Christine has named Meg and Jammes, and who she has decided are lesbians), and a whole collection of little sheep. There’s the traditional cow and donkey, and Joseph and Mary, and the little manger is left empty but when Clíodhna sees it her eyes widen.

“Can we put Andriú in the manger?”

Erik snorts. “I think he might be a bit big.”

(Andriú is mesmerised every time they turn on the Christmas lights, and could stare at them for hours. It’s bad for his eyes, so they only light it up sparingly.)

*

It’s the sixteenth by the time Erik finally sits down with MacAndréis in Costa. They have ridiculously expensive fajitas, and Erik goes for tea while MacAndréis has coffee. This time the man is dressed all in black which brings out how dark his eyes are, and if Erik were not happily married and very in love with Christine he might almost be attracted to MacAndréis, but as it is he can look at him and appreciate that he is a very fine looking man.

And it’s okay to say that, because Christine has said the same.

MacAndréis’ wedding rings shine bright on his left hand, and Erik might almost ask, but even now he hardly knows how to form the words. So instead he asks what he thinks of the music for Éilis’ project, and MacAndréis grins.

“That last one you did, ‘Bromyard’, for the wedding scene, I keep listening to it on repeat.”

Erik smiles. “I’m one of the pieces I’m happiest with so far.” I was thinking of my own wedding when I composed it, he thinks but does not say.

“It’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you, actually. She wants me to write a section as Gaeilge, and I was wondering if it would be a problem for you trying to score it. I’m not sure what your Irish is like and I don’t want to put you under pressure trying to get the meaning across. Like I could write out a translation for you if you want, to try and get the music right. It’s what she wants but that doesn’t mean we have to do it if it’s too awkward or anything…”

And it’s only then that Erik realises that MacAndréis is nervous. Nervous! Talking to him! This man who swans around the place as if nothing could touch him, giving off so much queer energy he could nearly put John Henry to shame, and he’s nervous!

It’s—it’s extraordinary.

“I—” Erik sips his tea and swallows. “Whichever would be handiest for you. If you want to write a translation then—then go ahead.” The thought! That anyone could be nervous of him.

He’s hardly that terrifying looking, even with the mask.

MacAndréis blinks, and grins. “Ah grand!” And laughs, “I know nothing about writing plays! Or music for that matter.” He nods at the cup in Erik’s hands. “Let me get you more tea.”

And like that, Erik knows he was daft to be worrying about his face.

(Old habits die hard.)

*

Christine collects the watch from the jewellers’ and it’s perfect. An ornate floral design on the outside, and when she opens it the engraving is inside the lid.

“Between the past and future tense”

16 Christmases

She closes it and tucks it into her pocket.

There’s a perfect place in the wardrobe to hide it.

*

They take Clíodhna to see Santa, and the whole way she tries to persuade them for Andriú to see him too. Erik has to tell her that Andriú is far too small, and she pouts a bit and grumbles.

“He’s always too small.” But then she brightens. “Can I ask for a present for him?”

Christine winks at Erik, then smiles down at her. “You absolutely can.”

* Clíodhna gets shy as they reach the head of the queue, and holds on tighter to Erik’s hand. It’s strange, with how excited she’s been, but Erik supposes it was bound to hit sometime. Christine is pushing the buggy and Andriú is asleep, wrapped up in his coat and blanket and hat, and Erik wonders if maybe that was why she was asking if Andriú could see Santa too, so she’d be less nervous.

He wants to scoop her up and hug her, his condition bedamned, but they’re through the door now into the grotto and Christine is right behind them with the buggy. Clíodhna’s hand slips from his and she rushes for Santa, who’s a black woman this year (they’ve explained to Clíodhna that Santa sends his helpers around to visit children for him and they’ll send the messages back to him because he’s too busy looking after the young reindeer), and all her shyness is forgotten when she starts chattering that she “wants a dinosaur and a cow and a baby reindeer and some books and a guitar and a surprise” and that she wants “a nice teddy for Andriú because Daddy keeps saying he’s too small for anything else.” Erik nearly chokes, and Christine is fighting a grin, and then there are two little packages pressed into Clíodhna’s hand, one for her and one for Andriú, and she is jumping off “Santa’s” knee, a wild ball of energy again.

He missed the photo being taken of her, the instant camera, but it is given to him then and of a sudden it strikes him what would be perfect to get for Christine.

She loves taking photos.

*

There’s a dress to buy and some fairy wings, for Clíodhna to make the best little angel. The dress is white and patterned with flowers, and while most of the girls will be going for plainer dresses, Clíódhna is insistent that this is “the best one, Mammy”. Erik grins at Christine and takes the buggy, telling her he’s just bringing Andriú for a walk, but she knows that look in his eye and knows there’s some sort of mischief afoot. No matter. It leaves her to focus on Clíodhna and her big pleading eyes.

“Okay, honey, we’ll get the dress.”

*

Luckily for Erik he knows exactly where to find a Polaroid camera. He cannot count how many times he has passed them on the stand in the pharmacy when he’s picking up his prescriptions. The Polaroid cameras, the instant film, and it is the work of minutes to pick out a nice small blue camera for Christine, and several boxes of film, both colour and black and white. Andriú is still asleep as he wheels the buggy up to the counter, and after he pays he secrets the boxes of film deep in the pockets of his coat. The camera itself he stashes in the pouch in the back of the buggy, and a mere seven minutes after leaving Christine picking through dresses his mission is accomplished.

(He does not know it yet, but the first photograph she will take will be of him on Christmas morning, wrapped in his dressing gown and wearing the hat from the uniform she will have given him, tilted at a rakish angle. His arms will be full of Andriú, shredding wrapping paper between his baby fingers, and he will not even know she has taken it, until he sees it, pinned to the fridge, and he will marvel at the fact that he looks almost handsome.)

(How she sees him, rendered in an image, perfect.)

He turns the buggy around, feeling inordinately pleased with himself, and wheels it back out in the shopping centre, with the good intention of going back to Christine and Clíodhna and seeing how they are getting on. The good intention, that is, until he wheels Andriú past the jewellers’, and out of the corner of his eye a shine of gold catches his attention.

He stops, and looks, and there it is. A gold necklace, with an ornate Celtic cross.

Christine absolutely deserves two presents for putting up with him.

*

“Are you going to search me for weapons?” he will ask, wearing the uniform for the first time, and she will get that gleam in her eye and he will know that she got him the uniform less as inspiration for him and more because she wanted to see him in it, and when her hand reaches into his pocket, she will pull out the necklace, and cock a brow at him.

“I think we need to search each other very thoroughly,” she will say, and grin.

*

When Erik returns to their side with Andriú and the buggy, Christine and Clíodhna are just leaving the shop. Erik’s grin is bright, and she knows he’s done something, but she knows him well enough by now to know it’s best not to ask him what that something might be. Instead she kisses his cheek, and takes back over the buggy, and listens as Clíodhna tells him all about the dress.

*

There is just a week, now, until Christmas. A week, and this week is taken up with all the last preparations. The winding up of the university semester, and Christine is still on leave so she doesn’t have to worry about that but Erik is busy organising his research students and the work they need to do over the break. Clíodhna’s upcoming play results in much singing of ‘Daidí na Nollag’ around the house, to the extent where Andriú is even gurgling along with it. Erik has completed the draft of another piece of music for Éilis’ play, and this one he calls ‘The Third Arrest’. And on top of all of this there’s the wrapping and planning that needs to be done.

Christine has designated herself the Santa Gift Wrapper this year, and her office is kept locked so Clíodhna will not find her in the middle of it. To entertain Clíodhna for a little while one evening, Erik sits her on his lap while he works in his office, and together they wrap the gifts they picked out for Christine and Andriú. He has both the camera and the necklace hidden away to do in his own time, but they do the books they bought them, and while he folds the wrapping paper into place, she cuts the tape with a safety scissors, and chatters happily in his ear.

“And what is this called in Irish?” he asks, to keep her on a flow.

“It’s a leabhar, Daddy.”

“Yes, that’s a book but what is it if it’s a present?”

“It’s a bronntanas!”

“Yes, okay, you get a sweet…”

And then he delegates her to carry the presents out to under the tree, where they will sit beside the ones Christine has already wrapped for him, and the ones that John Henry and Kate brought (and Morgan when he came home), and the ones from Nadir and Michelle and Lilly. A gathering of presents under the tree, and still the Santa ones to be added and the ones from his mother and Uncle Al and Bill. Every so often he catches Clíodhna sitting close beside the pile, as if staring at it long enough will reveal all its secrets to her, but she knows she must wait until Christmas Day before she is allowed to open anything.

What will it be like keeping Andriú out of trouble too, when he is old enough to have learned about these things?

Erik is not sure he wants to think about it yet.

*

It’s a damp day when Marina, Al, and Bill arrive from Sligo. They’ll be staying with Lilly – an idea that Marina and Lilly cooked up between them – and Christine will admit she’s a little relieved not to have to find space for them in the house.  She has not told Erik that, but she suspects he feels the same. For all that he’s delighted to see his mother and uncle and stepfather, he still hasn’t regained all the stamina he lost when he was so ill last year.

She prefers not to dwell on thoughts of it.

But there are hugs, and presents added beneath the tree, and the promised Christmas pudding, and Andriú is content to sit in Al’s lap and babble while Clíodhna does a “dress rehearsal” of the songs for her play.

There are five days, now, until Christmas, and tomorrow is the big day.

Clíodhna is so excited that it takes an hour of Marina telling her stories for her to fall asleep.

“She’s just like Erik at that age,” Al says, and Erik flushes to the tips of his ears.

*

And the next day Clíodhna makes an excellent angel, not that Erik is biased at all. He records the performance on his phone to remind her of it in years to come, and even with the round of applause at the end for all these little children, the highlight for Clíodhna is the bag of jellies she gets, and the fact that Christine lets her eat them then instead of saving them until Christmas Day like so much else.

Oh to be five years old and so easily entertained again!

Erik makes her hot chocolate as a treat, with cream and marshmallows, and tries not to laugh at how meticulous she is, scooping out each tiny marshmallow as it melts.

(A handful of hours later she falls asleep on the couch watching Shrek, and he watches as Christine turns off the television, and carefully picks her up, and carries her to bed.)

(These are the moments he will always remember.)

*

There is not even the promise of snow this year. Just rain and more rain, and two days before Christmas a storm comes so bad that the electricity is knocked out.

Andriú is crawling on the floor when it happens, and lets out a startled little yelp at the sudden darkness. Erik finds him with the light of his phone, and scoops him up, his little face damp with tears tucked in against his neck. And he shushes him, and whispers to him, and rocks him, and Clíodhna cuddles close, her eyes wide and worried, as they listen to the wind howling outside, and Christine rummaging for candles.

“Found them!”

They’re battery-operated for safety, and she carries them into the sitting room, and sets them up on the table, and in the soft glow they create Erik passes Andriú over to Christine, and pushes himself to his feet.

If they can’t have anything else in the darkness, they can at least have each other, and some music.

*

Clíodhna has wrapped herself in a blanket by the time he gets back, and he settles himself on the floor beside her, and lifts his violin out of its case. In the candlelight he checks it that it’s tuned, and Christine smiles at him, adjusting her grip on Andriú, as he takes the bow, and straightens himself.

For months he could not play it, while his chest healed from the surgery, and even now he finds the piano easier to manage, but on this night he will play for them, their own little carol service, and he is just a little rusty, but when he sets the bow to the strings, the notes come tripping back to him, familiar, and warm, and always ready.

Clíodhna tucks herself in against his side, and he closes his eyes, and lets the music come.

Tomorrow will be busy, in all the little ways that Christmas Eve is busy, but tonight they can have this.

*

(By the time the power is back, their babies are both asleep. Christine blinks her eyes open, and smiles at him, and her fingers are gentle, tucking a lock of hair back from his face.)

(He has half a mind to knock the power out every year.)

*

And then it is Christmas Eve, and Marina takes Clíodhna off their hands for a few hours, delighted to spend some time with her little granddaughter. While Christine preps the turkey to have it ready to go into the oven in the morning, and makes the breadcrumbs for the stuffing, Erik chops the vegetables, swaying slightly to the music playing off the radio. He puts them in water to preserve them, and peels the potatoes as Christine makes scones, and neither of them speak but neither of them need to, really, not then.

In the evening they take Clíodhna to Mass, and Erik is still not sure what he does or does not believe, but it doesn’t matter, not really, not when sitting there in the church with his little girl beside him he can close his eyes and feel the music around him, feel Christmases past and present and faded memories, and whatever about the symbolism of the season, whatever about the religion and the belief, maybe the thing that makes it important, the thing that gives it meaning, is the connection. The connection through time, through space, through the notes and the words and the readings, to all that is and has been and all that will be. A continuum or an ouroboros, endless, circling, moments and flashes and flickers like a web of spreading light, glowing through the darkness.

He feels it warm in his chest. The smell of pine and incense, the singing voices up in the gallery behind them, and how his lips shape the words to sing along…round yon virgin mother and child…Andriú smelling like powder, chubby in his red and green baby-gros, Clíodhna’s eyes bright as the sky, the red bow standing out in her black curls. What Christmases will she remember best, or will this be one of the first? A collection of little pieces tucked up in her head, and someday the smell of baking Christmas cakes might bring it back to her, the taste of marshmallows in hot chocolate, and he thinks of the little connections these things will make for her and wants to give her them all, to have them, and keep them safe.

He blinks his eyes open, a little damp, a little misted, and sees her watching the circle of Advent candles at the altar, and hopes that whatever she might one day believe, that she will always have these memories to look back on, and fill her with warmth.

Christine’s fingers are slender, threading between his, and he squeezes her hand.

The brush of her thumb is soft, and filled with promise.

[our-chaotic-beginnings]

Can I request bakusquad on a first date?

The long awaited request has been filled! Hopefully tungle.hell doesn’t kill be with word count caps. I hope you enjoy!

Mina Ashido

She’d take you out on a first date to the mall! A lighthearted day of shopping (or window shopping if you’d prefer) and hanging out is her idea of a great first date!

Your first stop would be to the local caf�� to grab some much needed caffeine to keep your energy up throughout the day. She always orders drinks with caramel and chocolate to keep her sweet tooth happy, and she’ll gladly offer to pay for yours if you’d want.

Your next stop is to your favorite store! You’ll both have a day at trying on outfits and finding the best styles for each other. She loves thrifting as well so you may find yourself bouncing from shop to shop, hand holding her tightly to make sure you keep up.

Whenever you feel your bellies rumbling, you make a beeline for the food court. If you surprise her by tugging her to your favorite fast food station, she’ll let out a laugh lighter than air and give you a small peck on the cheek. She’s happy that you’re able to keep up with her energy.

After you’ve eaten to your heart’s delight, you’re off to the arcade! Mina bets that you can’t beat her at Dance Dance Revolution, and you’re not one to say no to a challenge. You spend hours dancing at this machine, drawing a crowd around as you do your best to gain the upper hand. When you manage to get a perfect score on a song, she rushes over to you to give you a high five and the biggest hug she can muster.

“That was awesome! You’ve gotta show me how you got so awesome at this game! I’ve got Just Dance in my room, wanna see if you can beat me there?”

Katsuki Bakugou

As loud and brash as he is, Katsuki isn’t the one to instigate your first date. All of BakuSquad could see how he wasn’t as harsh with you, so they decided to set him up for a first date with you. So when he found himself at the meeting spot just outside an amusement park with you frantically checking your phone and looking around for someone, he knew that you’d both been set up by your friends.

He marched up to you and let out a groan. When you had noticed him, you came to the understanding that his friends were meddling with you. However, you shouldn’t let these free tickets with all day passes go to waste, right? With hands in respective pockets, you entered the park side by side.

While you both were fairly uncomfortable and awkward in the first hour of hanging around the park, once you two got onto a ride, you both warmed up to each other. You were riding one of the faster coasters, one that slowly pulled you atop a hill onto to launch you downward and through loop-de-loops.

While you were screaming your head off on the drop, Katsuki was giving a full-hearted laugh that ended with a smirk. A smirk that quickly morphed into a small ‘o’ of surprise when you grabbed his hand. His face flushed as he glanced between your hand gripping his for dear life and how your eyes were squeezed shut. The shock from your boldness faded from him, face returning to his normal hue (albeit dusted with a soft pink blush), and he squeezed your hand back.

Minutes later, the two of you were exiting the ride, and he escorted you, hands still together, over to a shaded table for you to calm down after the ride. Realization hit you that you were holding hands and you tried to pull away, but Katsuki just smirked and squeezed your hand tighter.

“Trying to run away from me now? Tch, you could’ve told me you don’t like the faster rides, dumbass. Let’s go find something more your speed. I can’t be the loser that lets his date feel uncomfortable.”

Kyouka Jirou

As the daughter of two music lovers, her idea for a first date is to a concert. She branched out to a genre that wasn’t her style, more of yours actually, so she knew you’d love it. With a few of her mom’s connections, Kyouka managed to score a couple of front row seats for the two of you.

During the breaks of the opening acts, she makes her best attempts at small talk. When the awkwardness washes over, you chuckle and give her hand a squeeze. You know she’s out of her comfort zone, so you try to ease her nerves by talking about what you liked about the music. You’ve struck a chord with her then, and so when you both aren’t vibing with the music you both chat about how good the guitarist’s riffs were or how you could see how much fun the lead singer was having as she flitted from one end of the stage to the other.

Your attention’s drawn to the stage when the main act appears, Kyouka’s fingers interlacing with yours as she anticipated the first strum of the base for their opening song.

Melodies and choruses passed, and it felt like time had stopped until the band was announcing their last song of the night. However, Kyouka could barely focus on the stage; her eyes were glued to you, taking in your overflowing enjoyment. With every song, you were energetically performing in your seat; you were far more captivating than the girl adjusting the mic on the jumbo screen.

Contrasting to the upbeat, fast paced songs that they had started their set with, a soft tune floated through the venue. The guitarist had exchanged his normal electric guitar for an acoustic guitar. Cliché and mushy words accompanied the gentle music, and Kyouka could feel her heart pound. The band was ending the concert with a love song, a preview of their new album if she remembered the earlier announcement correctly. The singer’s voice gradually built up from a whisper to a resounding belting that echoed through the silent crowd. A split second of silence followed as the singer took another breath; you followed suit to prepare for the next verse, unaware of what Kyouka planned. You turned to check how she was feeling about the song only to find her lips on yours.

“I know that this band was the headliner tonight, but you were the real star of this show. Wanna listen to all their albums on the way back tonight?”

Denki Kaminari

Denki’s idea of an ideal date is just inviting you to hang out with his friends. Some may see it as awkward, but he sees it as the best way to introduce you and to get to know you in a group setting. Today, he dragged you along to his squad’s gaming day, with today being a MarioKart tournament.

Before you even said a word, his friends (with the exclusion of the feistiest member of their crew) swarmed you. They asked who you were, if you had a quirk, and how you’d managed to agree to date their goofiest friend. You laughed and answered their questions with ease, pulling the flustered blonde closer to your side as you joked about accidentally getting shocked by him during your first meeting with him.

Any awkwardness subsided once a controller was in your hand. The unofficial leader of their group pushed a black controller to you, almost a challenge to see if you were good enough for Denki. Everyone was competing in this grand prix solely made up of Rainbow Road at the highest level of difficulty. You agreed wholeheartedly and set out customizing your bike (as you preferred them to the carts) to create the ultimate racer.

The first of the four rounds started off with a blast, with you managing to blow out as you got used to the controls. You ended up way back in 6th place, with only Hanta falling behind you at 8th with NPCs littering the places unoccupied by the other players. The next two rounds fared better with you placing 3rd in the second round and 2nd in the third round. With the final round seconds away, you were shocked to find that your points were tied with the hotheaded Katsuki. This last round would determine it all.

Denki massaged your shoulders during the brief break before the final round (as he was eliminated in the second round with an unlucky last place), whispering encouraging words to hype you up. He was worried about Katsuki’s verbal beating he’d give if he didn’t win; the blonde had been at the receiving end of many of those. Those worries all melted away as he saw the way you were weaving through the NPCs, using them to shield yourself from the explosive boy’s neverending supply of shells. You were neck and neck; in first and second place for the majority of the round. Tensions were high, the room making the group’s chants of your name echo into your very soul. You didn’t even realize you had managed to win; as soon as you crossed the finish line, Denki had you pulled into your lap and was pressing his lips lightly to your cheek.

“You did it! You beat our reigning champ! You’re definitely a keeper if you can even beat Mr. Hot Head himself! You want to do this again sometime, maybe one on one?”

Eijirou Kirishima

As health conscious and ‘manly’ as he is, Eijirou offered a simple walk in the park as your first date together. He would’ve offered to work out together, but some of his other friends (namely Mina and Denki) vetoed that. He chose a weekend that was expected to have a sunny forecast and chose a park that was more than just grass and pathways.

You both met up by the vending machines, him buying you your drink of choice and grabbing himself a bottle of water. Eijirou kept the conversation light, discussing the recent class you both had about team tactics. He had been absolutely enthralled watching how you effortlessly pulled off a combination move with Momo and Tsu. His hand casually reached for yours, grinning wide to show off his pearly teeth as your cheeks bloomed with a pale pink.

Soon you came upon a mostly deserted play set with three sets of swings. You both came to an agreement to swing in the shaded area as a short reprieve from the sun. The conversation shifted from tactics to inspirations as you recounted your first experience with a pro hero: a pro hero from your hometown had taught a general safety course and ended up rescuing an eight-year-old you from flying away when a friend’s wind producing quirk accidentally activated. You recounted your amazement about how she jumped up a few meters to grab you and gently returned you to your spot without making a huge scene about scolding your friend. Her calm attitude and quick reflexes really inspired you to strive to be a hero, especially a hero with attention to handling cases with children involved.

Eijirou relaxed into the swing, swaying as he explained how Crimson Riot’s manly ideology and willpower to confront danger without any hesitation brought himself out of a dark time of self-doubt.  The pro hero turned into an idol, influencing the boy to take on his well-known red hair and paying homage to the Crimson Riot with his own hero name Red Riot. Her further went on to explain that while he admires the manliness of the hero, he doesn’t mean that he admires the masculinity aspect of the word.

He knows the courage and determination of manliness comes in many forms; he exclaims that you exemplify that manliness, especially after learning about what happened during your training at a hero agency based in Hosu City. You had managed to hold off two villains twice your size on your own while waiting for reinforcements to arrive during a small hideout raid. Eijirou was so caught up in explaining his admiration that he hadn’t even noticed that he was slightly pulling you both towards the edge of the raised walking path. He made one wrong step and started falling towards the ground, only to have you grip his hand tightly and yank him back onto the walkway and directly into you. With a blushing face that rivalled his hair, the boy recovered from his blunder with a full-bellied laugh.

“I know I’ve been going on and on about how manly you are and how awesome your training is going. After this, I think I’m really falling for you. You’re my hero today!”

Hanta Sero

A laidback date for a laidback guy, Hanta decides to do a casual movie at home for your first date. He first takes you to the convenience store to pick up all the snacks that you’ll need for the movie marathon. He scored some copies of a childhood classic series that he knew you liked, so he wanted to make sure you both would have enough to last the eight-hour binge.

While you grabbed the popcorn, he snuck over to where the dried fruit were. Despite all of his friends’ eating habits, Hanta favored the healthier options. Although he wouldn’t mind a little sugar now and then if it were you giving it to him. Little did he know that you were lurking around the candy aisle with a specific target in mind. After a few minutes of browsing the shelves, the black-haired teen settled on a large bag of a mixed variety of snacks and met you by the checkout counter.

Hanta paid for your goodies and you walked hand in hand back to his room. After situating the hammock into place and gathering any pillows or blankets you needed, you settled in next to each other and turned on the first of many movies. You both lay there cuddling, him being the large spoon so that he’d have more room to maneuver his elbows so that they wouldn’t dig into you.

Time sped by as you both lay there and enjoyed the corny visual gags that seemed like it was just yesterday that you were watching for the first time. In between laughing your hearts out and stuffing your cheeks with popcorn, neither of you could feel the beating of each other’s hearts against one another nor the warm mood settling about the two of you. The snacks were dwindling, only one bag left unopened as you two reached the final film.

He was the one who grabbed the bag, eyebrows quirking up as he read the contents. Sugar coated orange slices; something Hanta hadn’t eaten before. He asked why you got these instead of anything else. You blushed and gingerly took one out of the bag, mumbling a response along the lines of thinking he may like them. He chuckled and pushed into you, shifting just enough to where he could snatch the treat from your hands with his lips.  

“Well what do you know, these are pretty good. If these are halfway as sweet as you, then I’m in good company!”

[emy-loves-you]

Wrong Numbers and Useless Gays Chapter 15

Sandwiches and Self-Jealousy

Chapter 14 | Masterlist | Chapter 16

Warnings: Jealousy, half-lying, mentions of abandonment issues

Virgil shot up, surprised by Janus slamming the door upstairs. He stared at his phone. What was he supposed to do? He’s been flirting with his 3 crushes as Anxiety, and they don’t know that he’s Anxiety. Virgil sighed, gathering up what courage he had left. Might as well gather intel.

V- (1:10 PM) You’ve been flirting with THE Anxiety?!?

L- (1:10 PM) More like he was flirting with us.

P- (1:11 PM) You know Anxiety, Kiddo?

V- (1:11 PM) Yeah, I’m a fan of his

V- (1:11 PM) Are you sure that he’s flirting? Last I heard he was dating his bandmates

L- (1:12 PM) He said that he was flirting with me, but I don’t think he means it as a romantic gesture. He seemed more interested in my consent than my unavailability.

V- (1:12 PM) Wait, why were you guys okay with each other flirting with strangers?

R- (1:13 PM) We might all have the teensiest tiny crush on him

Virgil felt his cheeks heat up. They all had crushes on Anxiety? What was Virgil supposed to do with that information? Should he ignore it? Or should he try and be more serious with them as Anxiety, to see if he has a chance as a rockstar instead of a faceless friend?

Virgil suddenly felt something stirring in his gut. It took a few moments to recognize the feeling: Jealousy. Virgil had been pining after his crushes for months. He was not losing his chance to a person they’d only known for a week. Sure, that person was also Virgil, but it was the principle of it, Dammit! Virgil thought about it. While it would be easier to date them as Anxiety, he’d much rather date them as Virgil. Maybe I can give myself a leg-up through Anxiety. Virgil thought about it for several more minutes. This could work. Finally smiling, Virgil turned back to his phone.

V- (1:20 PM) Okay, you guys wanna get closer to Anxiety?

V- (1:20 PM) How does VIP tickets to their next concert sound?

R- (1:21 PM) SERIOUSLY?!?

R- (1:21 PM) YES PLEASE!

P- (1:22 PM) You don’t have to, Kiddo!

V- (1:22 PM) The concert’s on February 17th. Consider it a Valentine’s Day gift from me to you guys.

L- (1:22 PM) The concert is in less than 3 weeks. How do you have VIP tickets? Were you intending on using them, Virgil?

V- (1:23 PM) No, I just know a few people

V- (1:23 PM) By the way, where did you find that album, Lo?

L- (1:23 PM) I am at home right now due to nasopharyngitis. A coworker of mine dropped this off as an early birthday present. He said that I might find it useful. I assume that he saw Anxiety visiting me at the library and recognized him.

Virgil sighed. He’d have to pay more attention. He’d dropped his guard down when interacting with them. He didn’t want anyone else recognizing him.

R- (1:25 PM) Well, I must take my leave. I have lunch with Anxiety today, so I will inform him of our situation.

P- (1:25 PM) DON’T TELL HIM ABOUT OUR CRUSH ON HIM!

R- (1:25 PM) I WON’T!

Virgil swore, getting up. He’d completely forgotten about his lunch with Hottie/Roman. He quickly grabbed his stuff before running out the door. He sent a quick text to Janus, telling him that he had left. He speed-walked to the sandwich shop that Roman liked, ordering the same sandwich that Roman ordered every time, as well as one for himself. Before he knew it, he was standing outside of the theatre, sandwiches in hand. He sat there, remembering what he wanted to say to Roman. Roman soon walked out, a nervous yet somewhat awe-struck look on his face.

Flirt Mode: Activated

“Hey, Hottie. Ready for sandwiches and banter?” Anxiety held out the sandwich, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“We need to talk.” Anxiety startled slightly. He knew that Roman wanted to talk to him about his identity, but he didn’t think that he’d be this direct.

“Sure, mind if we sit down? My back is killing me.” They sat down on the sidewalk, uncomfortable silence between them. Anxiety opened his mouth to break the tension. “So-”

“I know you’re Anxiety.” Roman’s voice was soft, softer than Anxiety ever remembered it being. He stared down at the concrete. “And I know that I’m not the only person that you’re flirting with. You’ve actually been flirting with my 2 boyfriends. I just thought you should know that I knew before we continued anything. I don’t want to trick you or lie to you.”

Anxiety felt a wave of guilt overcome him. He shouldn’t be leading them astray like this. But what could he say? Hey, I’m also the guy that’s been texting you for the past 7 months. Hope this doesn’t pressure you into liking me. Anxiety mentally shook his head. No, he couldn’t do that. But he also couldn’t fully lie to them. Maybe some half-lies would make it better?

“I already knew.” Roman’s eyes shot up.

“How? We just figured it out today!”

“Apparently you told my friend too. Unless he made up the exact same story when he asked for the VIP tickets?” There, Virgil can be Anxiety’s friend. Close enough to where it would make sense for Anxiety and Virgil to know things that they shouldn’t, while far enough to draw away suspicion.

Roman’s jaw dropped. “You know Virgil?”

Anxiety nodded, taking a bite out of his sandwich. “Mmhm. He’s a good friend of mine. He sometimes goes on tour with us.”

Before Anxiety could even blink, he suddenly had a face full of Roman. “What’s he like?”

Anxiety stared, dumbfounded. “What?”

Roman huffed, the light never leaving his eyes. “Virgil. What’s he like? I’ve been talking to him for months, but we’ve never met face-to-face. So, what’s he like?”

It took a few moments for Anxiety to talk again. He wanted to know about Virgil? Not the literal rockstar in front of him? “Well, he’s sarcastic, for one (yep). He likes to spend money on people he cares about (you, Logan, Patton). He bounced around the foster system for a while, but I don’t know why (why didn’t anyone want me?). He has really bad anxiety (hence the persona), so he doesn’t go to any of my concerts (not as Virgil). He talks about you a lot (I can’t stop myself. I bring at least one of you up in every conversation I have with J and Re).”

“He does?” He looked so… happy? Hopeful? Unsettled? Virgil couldn’t tell.

“Yeah, he’s always blabbering about what you said that day or what he’s planning on getting you (not a lie). So, now that you know what I think of him, now it’s your time to spill. Who’s Virgil to you?”

Roman suddenly had a strange look on his face. Anxiety couldn’t name the emotion in his eyes. “Virgil is… different. He has such a cynical view of the world, yet he still makes lighthearted puns. He’s doesn’t want to meet us in person, yet he spends so much money on us. He can’t bake for shit, and he sends adorable apology chocolates when he thinks we’re upset. He loves Halloween and Disney. He listens when we need someone to talk to, and he rambles off random facts when we need a distraction. He comforts Patton when he’s sad. He makes Logan laugh after a tiring day, even if Lo plays it off as exasperation. He calms me down when I think that the world’s against me.” He sighed. “I wish he trusted us enough to let us meet him. I respect his wishes, but it’s hard, y’know? Trusting someone that you’ve never met.”

Anxiety felt another wave of guilt, this one even stronger. He opened his mouth before thinking. “I’m sure he’ll open up to you soon.”

“Really?!” Roman looked up, with so much… joy, and hope, and that same emotion that Anxiety couldn’t name. He recognized it somewhere, but he couldn’t remember where.

Anxiety smirked, internally screaming. “Of course. You think I’d lie about something like that? He just needs to build up his confidence first. Once he does, he’ll be dying to meet ya.” His smirk softened to a half-smile. “And from what I’ve seen so far from you, Angel, and Starlight, he won’t be disappointed.” Anxiety checked the time on his phone. “Well, your lunch ends in 2 minutes, and I’ve gotta go. See ya later, Hottie.” And with that, Anxiety stood up and walked away.

Virgil was surprised that his comment about opening up didn’t make him feel guilty. Instead, he felt… relieved? Hopeful? He couldn’t tell. But it felt like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. I do have to tell them eventually. Might as well promise it. Pressure myself into actually doing it.

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

Taglist: @bisexualdisaster106 @self-taught-mess @itawalrus @arodynamic-enby @sanderssides-angst

[mhdiaries]

Monster Exchange Lorna McNessie Passport

5-30

So this is how ma day started: “Lorna McNessie, please report tae the Dead Master’s office.” Uh, oh. It’s usually nae good when you hear your name vibratin’ oot of a classroom speaker. As I left the room I could hear ma classmates giggling behind me; this nae bein’ the fiercst time I’d made the long walk tae the office. I was pretty sure this time it must be aboot me photo bombing the faculty fearbook picture. I just couldna help ma self; there they all were in their robes and finery, looking all stern and teacher-like, and there was that window behind them. I was drawn tae it like a werewolf tae a full moon, and even then I only stuck ma face in for one snap... or two... so I didna think it would cause a fuss. I stood outside the Dead Master’s door, drew a deep breath and got me, “Yes, I should have known better” apology ready. Then I knocked and stuck ma head in. “You wanted tae see me, sir?” He was on the phone and he waved me in and pointed tae a chair. I sat down while kept talkin’ tae the monster on the other end. “Ay, academically strong.” He just listened for a moment and then laughed himself tae tears. “Nae, nae, ‘twas something ye said struck me funny. I can assure you that self-confidence will nae be an issue with this one, Headmistress Bloodgood. Thank you for yer time, as well, and I’m sure we’ll speak again soon. Goodbye.” The Dead Master hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. “That was Headless Headmistress Bloodgood from Monster High. She’s accepted you application for the monster exchange program.” I couldna believe it, which seemed tae be an opinion shared by the Dead Master. I asked if that was the reason he called me tae his office. He said, “Nae - ‘twas merely a happy accident. But since you’re here, I suppose I shouldna have tae tell you that you’ll be representing our school, and I’ll expect you tae be on your beast behaviour.” I told him that, of course, I would, and that I would make the school proud. “Very good. Now let’s have a little chat aboot the faculty fearbook photo, shall we?”

6-5

Ma parents are understandably cautious aboot me leaving the loch tae attend Monster High. I don’t blame them, though; it is in their nature tae be so. Sometimes they look at me like I’m an alien when I tell them aboot ma latest photo bomb adventure, and then they just roll their eyes and say, “Just like your Gran.” I take that as a compliment, sine ma Gran is the scaly coolest monster ever! I went tae see her today tae tell the news that I’d be going to Monster High, and I think she was even more excited than me. She has a whole album of ma pictures, at least the ones I could get copies of, and she loves the stories behind them. She’s feisty, funny, and is an amazing storyteller. She can even make the ones I’ve heard a hundred times seem as new and exciting as the first time. Her stories aboot being a young ghoul in the loch are so funny, they make ma fins hurt. But one of her best tales is aboot the time I took her aboot on a photo bomb expedition. There is this bird that lives around the loch called the Three-Eyed Dusky Dragon Owl. They’re as rare as slug hair, and you mostly hear them rather than see them, but every so often a pair will build a nest some place near tae a road, and then monster bird watchers flock in... hehe... by the busload. Now it just so happened that the nest was at the bottom of a very steep cliff and on a branch that hung aboot over the water. I suggested tae Gran that we swim under water and pop our heads aboot as soon as the first birdwatchers started snapping photos, but Gran said, “Where’s the fun in that?” She didn’t want tae be in ONE picture, she wanted tae photo bomb them ALL. That’s why there is now a framed magazine cover over her mantel from the monster world’s most famous nature magazine. It features a nesting pair of Three-Eyed Dusky Dragon Owls, and two pieces of driftwood floating in the water behind them. If you look close enough you can almost see the driftwood giggling. 

6-15

I’ve been getting tons of messages from different ghouls at Monster High saying they are looking forward tae meeting me. Then tonight I got tae video chat wit Howleen and Twyla. Howleen was super bouncy, and Twyla seemed shy but funny. It seemed like they had as many questions for me as I had for them. I was especially curious tae know if Headless Headmistress Bloodgood had a sense of humor or nae. Howleen got an odd look on her face, then started tae say something, but didn’t. Twyla actually laughed oot loud. “That depends,” said Twyla, “on whether or not her office gets filled with packing peanuts on a day when she’s giving foreign digniscaries a tour of the school.” I started laughing and asked Howleen if she got into trouble for the prank. “I had to come in on Saturday, and she made me clean them up by hand one peanut at a time. It took all day.” I said it sounded like she was no fun a’tall. “Wait,” said Twyla giggling, “you have to hear what happened next.” Howleen leaned back, and with a smirk on her face said, “When I got to school on Monday and opened my locker, I got buried in a flood of packaging peanuts.” At this point Twyla fell off the chair she was sitting on, and I could hear her cracking up on the floor. “It wasn’t that funny, Twyla,” huffed Howleen. “Yes. It. Was.”   “Okay, Lorna, we’re going to go, now. Twyla has apparently lost her mind, and we’re going to need to try to find it.” I think I’m going to like Monster High, and with friends like these it’s nice to think I won’t have tae be swimming down stream like a lost salmon when I get there.

6-30

Got another surprise call tonight from a ghoul named Marisol Coxi. She’s a bigfoot from Monster Picchu, and she’s going to be at Monster High at the same time I am. She told me that Headless Headmistress Bloodgood gave her my number and said that we should get acquainted. Marisol is a bit larger than unlife, and I had tae turn down the volume when she was speaking tae me. At fiercst I was a bit taken aback, but her energy is so infectious, I couldne help but like her. We checked our schedules, and we’ll be arriving around the same time, so it’ll be nice tae have another new ghoul tae hang aboot with. I’m also hoping she’ll give me some pointers on how she does her nails. They were fabulous.

7-1

Mum and Gran made a monster dinner tonight and invited the whole family for ma going away party. All ma brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and aunts and uncles and cousins were there tae celebrate. The table was full of ma favorite foods. There was Cullen Skink, Eyemouth pales, Kippers, tatties and herring, rollmops, smoked salmon, rumbledethumps, black puddings, and the grandest haggis you’ve ever set your eyes on. Then Mum brought aboot coffin berry scones, and of course the best shortbread in Rotland. Then the pipes and drums came oot, and we played and danced intae the wee hours. We even took a family photo, and for once it was a picture I didna have tae sneak intae.

7-5

Had ma last swim aboot the loch this morning, and it was pure magic. I love ma home, and even though I’m excited aboot going on the exchange tae Monster High, there’s nae danger that that I’ll ever want tae live any place else. I also saw a boatload of normies casting aboot for a chance tae take a photo of the “mysterious” creature that lives in the loch. All the grown folk were on one side of the boat with their cameras, and there was a bonnie wee lass on the opposite, just starin’ down intae the loch. So I swam up, stuck my head oot of the water and waved tae her. She smiled and waved back, and then I was gone. I imagine she’ll still be tellin’ that story when she’s a gran herself. 

[larryfanficwriter98]

Chapter Seventeen

**Have some supportive boyfriend Louis fluff**

"Did you have a favorite?" Louis frowned looking over at Harry, "song. Did you have a favorite song?"

"Oh…yeah of course I did. I have two tied at number one."

"Which ones?" Harry asked sitting on the edge of the full-size mattress that was tucked in the corner of the room on a small wooden frame.

"Dive and All of the Stars. I love them all, but those two made me cry and All of the Stars obviously was when we were long distance and applies to the future when you go on tour again. Then Dive tells me about your doubts and worries when we were dating but not labeling it." Louis said as he sat himself on Harry's lap wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, "I love them all though, but those two are incredibly open. Then obviously I'm biased with If I Could Fly. What about you? Which one is your favorite?"

"Who says I have one?"

"I do."

"In this album it's Strong because I wrote it when I was back here, and we had all these months together and you've...made me want to be me." Louis ran his fingers through Harry's hair

"You give me too much credit, you and your fans both do. I didn't do anything except love you." Louis said, "what's your favorite on the other album?"

"It's a song that I haven't decided if I want to keep yet or not. It's not on the CD, but it's on my phone."

"If it's your favorite then why not keep it?"

"Because it's not...me " Louis rolled his eyes grinning as he stood up

"Harry you have worn a large button up and loose pants, you have worn a pink tropical flamingo shirt with black skinnies, you have worn thigh hugging black velvet bell bottoms with a vertical striped black and white shirt, then you wore waist high white pants with a sunflower shirt tucked into them, and lastly today you wore all Gucci. So, tell me what image you're going for exactly." Harry blushed looking away but Louis made him look at him, "and for the record you have looked amazing in all of it, I just don't think you should limit yourself to one image when it's not you. I think you can be such an amazing role model of young people who stands out and breaks gender roles in clothing when you're ready to. I will hold your hand while you wear a suit and tie and while you wear a dress and heels. Whatever you want to wear I'll be the proudest boyfriend to hold your hand and whether that is tomorrow or in five years, I will be there for every messy step to every high wall we come across. If this song is something you can't let go of then don't, don't make yourself stick to one genre for the comfort of the world."

"I love you so much." Harry said staring at Louis

"And I love you." Louis said, "can I listen to it?"

"If you can find it you can listen to it. You'll know it when you hear it." Harry said as he stood them up and pulled the covers back. "Good luck."

"I'll find it when you least expect it." Louis said as Harry crawled into the bed with his back against the wall, louis followed him and laid down, so they were facing each other. "Goodnight darling."

"Goodnight."

*********

Louis scrolled through Harry's songs for the third time since he took the phone and hid inside the bedroom a few minutes ago. Louis thought it was Sweet Creature at first, but that turned out to be a sweet song about him and was considerably Harry. So, he continued his search for anything that struck out to him when he found it. It was a song with 'Kiwi' as the title and when he clicked on it was a new type of music and nothing like he had worked on before.

"Louis?" Louis jumped and turned to the closed door then looked down at the phone realizing thirty minutes had passed and he had been listening to the same song the whole time.

"Yeah? Yes? What?" Louis asked

"You alright?" Harry asked

"Yeah...yeah I'm great...I'm great. Why?"

"Because you've been in there for thirty minutes?" Louis opened the door just enough to pull Harry into the bathroom where he immediately pressed him against the door and kissed him passionately. Harry made a shocked hum sound before he moved them, so Louis was against the bathroom counter and Harry was pressing against him. Louis ram his fingers into Harry's short hair gripping it tightly.

"Wait...what did I do to get this." Harry asked pulling away

"You have to do something to get kissed?" Louis questioned

"No but you sort of did jump me and you were hard before we even started kissing. Wait were you wanking in here? Did I interrupt something?

"Oh you interrupted something but it wasn't my hand down my pants...yet. Now shut up and let's snog in a bathroom like teenagers and maybe get each other off without our families noticing our absence."

"What? No. Louis I can't do that to your mother not to mention that my mother would kill me."

"Fine." Louis said sighing as he gently pushed Harry away, "you're lucky this time." He said as he unbuttoned his jeans then shoved his hand down to adjust himself, so he was less obvious.

"Do you know where my phone is? I was looking for it earlier, but I couldn't find it." Louis grabbed the phone from his back pockets and handed it to him before looking down to button himself not noticing the frown that appear on Harry's face.

"There...alright... let's go." Louis opened the door and made sure  no one was lurking before he left. Harry joined him outside but instead of joining Louis he headed to where Gemma was. The rest of the time leading up to the meal was tense. At the table Harry sat on the other side of the table and on the other end when there had been an empty seat beside Louis. It made everyone look between them and sense the tension suddenly there.

"You and Harry okay?" Harry's mother whispered to him questioningly

"I thought we were." Louis told her before he stabbed a few green beans with his fork and shoved them into his mouth. The dinner was strained but it did end eventually just not without a few looks between him and Harry and weird silence.  After the dinner Louis got up and gathered the dishes then headed into the kitchen.

"Are we okay?" Harry asked setting the serving plates down on the counter beside the sink, "look if you found something then tell me and I swear to you I can explain because I'd never do anything to hurt you. I don't know what you could of possibly found but whatever it is-"

"What? Harry what are you talking about? Louis asked turning to look at him and ignoring the fact that their families are most likely listening in outside the doorway leading into the kitchen

"I'm talking about whatever I did to make feel so insecure in our relationships that you took my phone without talking to me first like we've always done whenever we had problems. I don't care that you took it I care that you didn't talk to me before and after the fact and I've been trying to think what you could have possibly found and I can't come up with anything because I haven't-"

"Harry no. I didn't go through your phone. I have no reason to go through your phone nor do I want to. The only time I've gone through was to find that picture when asshole and I were arguing on Twitter and it was only your cloud which you knew about. You told me where to look and I went to the month. That's it."

"Then what were you doing with my phone in the bathroom for thirty minutes because I'm not even on my phone for thirty minutes unless I'm doing something on my studio app."

"Well first I didn't tell you I had it because it was on the bed and I was going to give it to you but I just never did because we were both away from each other with our families. Secondly if I felt so insecure in our relationship that I had to take tour phone and lock myself in a different room to go through it I'd break up with you first. I don't want that type of relationship and neither do you. Thirdly I didn't tell you I was going to go through your phone because I didn't want you to be nervous the whole time it took me to find what I was looking for. Fourthly I went through your music I was in bathroom for thirty-eight minutes trying to find the song you weren't sure about. You were nervous the whole way up here when you knew I was listening to an album that you were proud of that you nearly missed the exit. So since you were nervous just mentioning this song I figured you not knowing I was going to look for it, which I told you I would last night and you told me good luck. I figured this way I could tell you after I found it. When you came, I was on my tenth repeat and the way that you found me should be some indication of what I thought of it."

"A song did that?"

"We both know he's an overachiever, he gets interested watching you stretch so yes listening to that song woke him up. Look I'm sorry Alright. If the roles were reversed and you were the one with my phone in the bathroom I'd think the same thing and I'd probably break up with you at the end if the day if it turned out you had been looking for something. It's not about trust to go through each other's phone it's about trust to not go through it and instead talk about it, which we always do."

"I figured we'd talk later, that we were waiting to not make this day weird."

"It became weird when you sat in the other end of the table."

"Phoebe asked if she could sit beside you and I said of course so I sat beside my sister. I didn't realize me sitting away from you for one meal would cause such a catastrophe, I'm be sure to never do it again and will elbow your sisters for the seat beside you next time. So, to be clear I didn't do anything?"

"I don't know, did you? Should I have went through it?"

"I don't think so. I mean I'm with you like all the time and most of the time-"

"I'm joking. No, you haven't done anything."

"So, we're okay?"

"Yeah we're fine."

"Well don't say fine...fine is what you say when you're still mad about something and-"

"Harry." Louis said laughing as he grabbed his face and made him look at him, "we're great. I didn't explain to you why I had your phone because I didn't think how the situation looked and you didn't ask because you assumed, we'd talk later when we were alone. We just didn't communicate that's all, but we're fine. I promise."

"Okay because the only think I could think of was Zayn's nude he sent on accident that I haven't deleted because I don't want to look at it again. But you were with me when I got it but I hadn't deleted it yet, so I don't maybe you were thinking-"

"Harry stop thinking." Louis said grinning as he looked at his boyfriend, "for the record I think the song is perfect and I think you should definitely consider adding it." Louis told him as he wrapped his arms around the back of his neck, "I love you."

"I love you too." Harry said kissing him sweetly, "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for Harry. I honestly didn't even think how it would have looked especially considering how your past relationship was. We're okay though I promise. I'm not upset, you're not upset, we're fine. You think too much sometimes."

"I don't like leaving things unresolved."

"And it's not unresolved, we've resolved it. We talked about it and I don't know what else could be said about it honestly."

"Can we drive somewhere and talk about it?" Harry asked

"Harry, we have. We've talked." Louis told him confused

"But I don't feel like we have."

"Harry there is literally nothing else to talk about regarding this. It's been resolved." Louis said exasperated

"No, it hasn't Louis." Harry snapped taking Louis by surprise as during all their arguments or disagreements Harry was usually always very calm and controlled. Louis was usually the one that started to snap and yell first.

"Okay. We are not going to argue here if that's what is about to happen."

"Is there somewhere else you'd like to argue you at?"

"Use that tone with me Harold and you are sleeping in your car. Now let's go get a tub of ice cream or something and resolve whatever this is."

"Okay." Harry said quietly before walking out of the kitchen. Louis followed behind him noticing their families were still at the table.

"We'll be back in a few minutes." Louis told the group as he watched Harry head straight out the door after grabbing his keys.

"Are you two okay?" Anne asked

"Yeah I think Harry just doesn't want to say everything he obviously needs to say with so many ears around. We'll talk and get a tub of ice cream on our way back. Harry's been stressing about things he really doesn't need to be stressing about so I think it's getting to him. We'll be back in an hour. We're fine though, really."

"Okay dear." Louis left the house and got into the passenger seat looking over at Harry seeing tears in his eyes, "hey come on...let's just find a private spot and talk okay?" Harry nodded silently before starting the car and backing out of the driveway.

******

Louis followed Harry into the hotel room.

"I didn't want to risk us being overheard in the car or photos be taken." Harry explained

"I figured. Louis said sitting on the bed, "what's wrong?"

"I don't know. I feel like I broke your trust by assuming you went through my phone and making a big deal out of it."

"Harry you didn't make a high deal out of it and you didn't break my trust. I told you I understood considering how it looked. Come on say what you're avoiding."

"I'm not-"

"Yes, you are. You're not saying something." Harry closed his eyes and sat down on the other bed, "I don't know...I've been feeling frustrated for a few days now and I don't know why."

"Frustrated how?" Louis asked gently

"I don't know. I feel....trapped...stuck. I feel stuck and it's pissing me off and I can't get out." Harry said tears filling his eyes

"Is it us? Our relationship?" Harry immediately shook his head

"The only thing I'm sure of is that I love you and I don't want to lose you." Harry said

"Well maybe the only way to make sure of that is for us to step back a bit. Maybe you need to find yourself before you can be with me." Louis said

"You're the reason I'm finding myself. Louis trust me it's not us...it's my head or I don't know, but it's not us."

"Okay. Then tell me what makes you so frustrated...tell me even if it doesn't make sense. When did it begin?"

"This week I think, and it got worse as the days gone on. It's going to sound bad but it's you...you make me frustrated and I don't know why and I'm mad at myself for getting annoyed at you for literally putting the dishes away. But I'm not mad at you or anything I'm-"

"Frustrated." Louis said grinning now which made Harry glare

"What's so funny?"

"Harry you're frustrated."

"Yes, I know I told you this already and I don't know why."

"No Harry." Louis said standing up to straddle Harry's lap, "you're sexually frustrated...when someone doesn't orgasm for long periods of time, they get pissy and snappy. Single people masturbate or have one-night stands or have toys to satisfy urges. However, when someone is in a relationship with someone their partner usually pisses them off by doing normal things like putting the dishes away. Usually the pissy one just tackles the unsuspecting boyfriend on a friend and has their wicked way with them, however if it's their first time experiencing this frustration it can confuse. It confused me my first time."

"Wait people get angry because of that?" Harry asked

"Yeah both male and female and considering we haven't had any bedroom activity in 10 days I'm not surprised you're pissy." Louis said, "next time just tell me you want a blowjob."

"But I don't want a blowjob." Louis jerked his head back from where he was about to kiss Harry, "no I mean...I've been meaning to bring up the topic but its not really something you say over dinner."

"Okay well say it now."

"I want your honest answer, I'm already expecting it to be a no so just a honest answer."

"Of course. Harry I'd never lie to you especially about something as serious as sex. Now hurry up because I'm getting hard just form the anticipation." Harry leaned back on his elbows while Louis stayed straddled on his lap

"Would you ever consider bottoming? Like...just once?"

"I have bottomed, multiple times. My last boyfriend preferred topping so most times I bottomed. He'd bottom every now and again, but -"

"No, I know you've bottomed. I meant with me. Would you ever bottom with me topping?"

"Yeah of course." Louis said immediately still confused as to why this was even a question in the first place

"You would? Just like that...you're not even going to think about it?" Harry asked shocked

"Why would I have to think about it? Harry of course I would bottom for you. I mean I'd want to top eventually but it wouldn't have to be frequently if you didn't want it to be. I love to bottom, and I love to top. Why wouldn't- Dickhead said he'd never bottom for you didn't he."

"He mentioned it briefly. We didn't talk about it, but he mentioned my size being an issue for anyone." Harry said

"Well I would probably have to be on top the first few minutes so my body could adjust at its own pace, but after that it would get easier with time. The first few times will have to be careful, so I don't tear but once my body is used to you I won't need as much preparation.  You're above average Harry, but you're not abnormally large. Your ex was just an insecure douchebag who probably had a smaller than average  cock and was made fun of for it in school. You have nothing to feel weird about when it comes to penis sizes." Louis explained, "now is this something you want to do? Have sex? Or is it something you want to talk about now, so you know later?"

"I wanted to take you out to a nice dinner tonight before I cancelled the plans to come here. Then I was going to let you listen to the songs either in the studio or in a nice warm bath. I was going to get rose petals and just throw them all over our bedroom and whether it was just a really nice cuddle, or we just explored the other's bodies or whatever we did I would know that you knew I meant every word and that I love and trust you so much."

"I already know that."

"I know you do, but I wanted to show you, but I don't know how to do that or if you want to do thar or if I'm even ready to bottom. It's not that I don't trust you because I do, and I love you and I want to share that with you. I just don't know what to do. I mean obviously I know what to do I just-" Louis cupped Harry's face and kissed him

"First step is to talk to me." Louis told him watching as Harry rolled his eyes grinning

"Obviously, I was going to talk to you. I had a speech all planned for when you came into the bedroom. I was going to tell you how much I love you and you were going to make a joke about me proposing too soon and to hold off and I was going to tell you to shut up for five minutes so I could talk." Louis laughed nodding

"Sounds like us. What else was going to happen?"

"I was going to tell you how amazing you are and how much you've helped me find myself and how much I wanted to spend my life with you. Then you'd interrupt and tell me if I get down on one knee, you'd say no just to spite me. I would look at you...probably the way I'm looking at you now." Harry said softly as he stared at Louis with love and tears shining in his eyes.

"I like this look." Louis said swallowing heavily, "what would you tell me you wanted to do?"

"I want us to go further, but I don't know how far I was comfortable with. Maybe all the way or maybe half. I want us to go as far as I or the night allows." Louis didn't know why he had tears in his eyes or even when they got there, but he cupped Harry's face and kissed him pushing down on his back.

"And we will...next Saturday night. I will wine and dine you and I will throw petals all over the bedroom and we will find out where the night stops and I will bottom or top. Whatever feels right and you can stop anytime. I promise."

"I love you." Harry said looking at him

"I love you too." Louis said, "unfortunately if we are gone any longer our families will get suspicious. We'll leave tomorrow morning and spend all day in bed getting all of that frustration out of you. Come on."

[melonkooky]

bts trying to get their ex back

requested

word count: 1275

genre: more angst than fluff, but they all should have relatively happy endings

author’s note: this, if it isn’t obvious, is just my opinion and interpretation. i don’t know these boys personally (i’d love too tho) so of course, i could be wrong... but that doesn’t matter. also, i know this is very different from what i normally write and the format is different, but i still hope you guys like it

please do not copy my work. but please like and reblog it. thank you!!!!

kim seokjin

for starters, i don’t really see bts going to great lengths to win their ex back, nor becoming excessive or obsessive about it, if that makes sense

i think that if they were to break up with someone, it would most likely be a mutual break up, something that would be for the best, like maybe scheduling conflicts

but for the sake of this request

i think jin would try to win his ex back by asking them to go on a date with him, one last resort

he would be missing them a lot and he noticed that it was really affecting him

so, he texted his ex, “i know we are just friends, but please go on one last date with me.”

he was relieved when they texted back saying they agreed

he prepped all of their favorite food, spending all of his morning making sure everything tasted right, making sure it looked delicious, even arranging things to look aesthetic and cute

today, he said to himself, he was going to win their heart back

min yoongi

i see min yoongi as the type to hide his thoughts about his ex as well as how he still has feelings about them

the members knew about the break up and even though yoongi tried his best to be happy, the members could see it

sometimes, even the one’s who typically give the advice and help others also need help themselves (i tried to sound super wise but i worded that sentence really weirdly)

the members suggested talking to his ex again, and although yoongi waved away their advice saying that it was for the best, his mind pondered that thought

he texted their ex; immediately afterwards, however, he felt extremely nervous and began to regret it

his mind tortured him, telling him he should have said something else, should have said this instead of that, or just had not texted them at all

yoongi focused his mind on composing and writing music (writing a bomb ass song about love)

when you texted back asking if he had time to come over for chinese takeout, he had never moved so fast

jung hoseok

i think with hoseok, it would be clear between his ex and himself that he hadn’t gotten over his feelings

like, him and his ex most likely parted ways, not because they were falling out of love, but something else like i said earlier, perhaps scheduling conflicts and not having time for each other

there was still a very very very likely chance that his ex and him were in love

him and his ex still talked a lot, as friends, that part of the relationship was still strong

but it saddened the both of them that they couldn’t be more

that is until hoseok couldn’t take it one late night, nearly two in the morning

he texted his ex, telling them everything that he was feeling; his head felt clear after, but his stomach was somersaulting and forming crazy knots

his ex was asleep but when they saw his text, they practically leaped out of their bed with joy, relieved that he wanted to get back together

kim namjoon

namjoon would try his best to go about his life, trying to find peace and happiness once again

i think during the first few days/weeks after the breakup, he’d find comfort in writing and composing love songs

sure they were cheesy sometimes, but they were based off of the moments he shared with his ex; although there also were a few breakup ones

an album was produced soon enough and it was very different from his other songs and albums, a different point/theme

soon, his ex was binge listening, knowing and understanding the album that namjoon had put his heart and soul into

and namjoon was hoping that his ex were listening, hoping that they were feeling the same exact emotions as him; he missed them, longed for them

soon, his ex was ringing namjoon, maybe even shedding a few tears

they talked all night, reminiscing the good times, reigniting feelings

park jimin

after he and his ex broke up, jimin put all his anger and sadness into dancing

he would go on for hours on end, and i think he would do this as a way to let out his emotions while also trying to distract his mind

he was still in love with his ex and he would hate how they ended things, and for the reasons as well

at night, jimin found his thumb hovering over his ex’s name, debating on texting them; but he was nervous, as if he and his ex had never spoken before

sometimes he imagined himself confessing to his ex again, he and his ex falling in love again, making up and pretending that nothing ever happened

the members would see how jimin was feeling, he didn’t mean for it to affect his everyday life

finally, jimin sent his ex a text, asking if they could talk; he really needed it

and it seemed his ex needed too so they facetimed, talking quietly as to not bother anyone

it was awkward at first, but before he knew it, he and his ex were laughing and brought back together

kim taehyung

i honestly think taehyung would be in some form of denial at first, like, yeah he and his ex broke apart, but he didn’t want it

it was a mutual decision, but it was because of his ex, he just wanted to make them happy, but taehyung wasn’t happy

he and his ex often talked, mainly it was small talk; “how are you?”, “what did you do today?”, “did you eat?”

it was evident that he wasn’t too keen on letting his ex go, especially under the circumstances

say taehyung was about to leave on a long world tour; he was excited, yes, but his ex preoccupied his thoughts

before the plane ride, he wrote a long ass paragraph to his ex explaining everything, his feelings, his thoughts, what he wanted; then he turned off his phone

he spent the flight sleeping or talking to the members, watching movies on their phones

when taehyung landed, he turned his phone back on, not expecting a reply from his ex, but there was one, and his ex was missing him and claimed they’d wait for him to come home

jeon jungkook

this little maknae was definitely sad about parting ways with his ex; it was his first (or one of his first) serious relationship and he loved them a lot

i think he’d try not to think about it often, but it was hard; every little thing would remind him of his ex

he was shy, too nervous to say anything to his ex

the members all offered various pieces of advices; “talk to them, you need closure”, “i think it’s best to not think about them”, “maybe you and them need a good conversation”

jungkook tried to listen to them, but his heart was saying another thing

one late night, when jungkook couldn’t sleep; he was exhausted and he had plans the next day

but after wandering around on social media, an idea struck him

he opened a recorder app on his phone and sang a mellow and acoustic version of euphoria

when his ex received it, they started to cry, their head and heart full of emotion

it took a few days to muster up the courage, ever after he had sent them the recording, but he asked if they would ever take him back

and he smiled with tears

[quickspinner]

Second Chance - Ch 7 Why Wait

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

“Luka.”

“Nngh.” 

“Lukaaaa.”

“Hnh?” 

“Wake up so I can kiss you goodbye, you jerk.”

“It’s the weekend, where are you even going?” he mumbled. 

“Brunch with my parents. Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

“Marinette,” he moaned. “Your parents are amazing, you’re amazing, you’re gorgeous, I’m so in love with you, but that concert last night killed me. I’ll beg their forgiveness later, but please, please, please just let me sleep.”

He couldn’t see her pouting, but somehow he knew she was. Too tired to question whether one could hear a pout, Luka raised up with only one eye open, pressed a kiss in the general vicinity of her mouth, and then buried his face in the pillow with a groan. Even so, he smiled as he felt her soft lips on his bare shoulder.  

“I love you too, vampire boyfriend,” she teased. 

“Love you,” he muttered as he pulled the blanket over his head to hide his grin. He was too tired to be this happy, damnit.

***

Having Marinette there when he woke was one of Luka’s favorite things about the weekend, so he may have done a little pouting himself when he dragged out of bed. Luka had tried adjusting his hours a bit to make more time with her, and had been moderately successful until his next round of scheduled performances, which quickly put him back on night owl hours. 

Still, they made it work, and the last few months had seen a great deal of improvement in Luka’s life, even with Marinette now working more standard hours. She’d declined to work with Adrien at Gabriel, and had negotiated a very favorable contract with another major design house, but she still had to work when everyone else was working. Luka had plenty to fill his time when she wasn’t around, especially with tour season quickly approaching, but he’d also taken Marinette’s advice and devoted more time to his personal life outside of her.

He’d started getting together with Ivan every few weeks, and he’d been drawn into Marinette’s circle of friends as well. Adrien has been by to see them a few times with minimal awkwardness. They’d had dinner several times with Alya and Nino, and as Nino also had a career in music that frequently meant he worked odd hours, he and Luka had struck up the beginnings of a friendship outside of their girls. Anarka was back in Paris, and she always had time to see him when he was bored or frustrated, or when he just wanted to get away from the reporters who’d been dogging him ever since his relationship went public. Luka secretly loved watching his mother tell off the paparazzi who had the audacity to set up around her boat, just before she cast off and left them on the bank as she sailed them out of reach, her booming laugh echoing across the water. 

He’d found more of a balance, just as Marinette had suggested, and Luka felt much better for it. Lucille took the dip in his efficiency in stride, even though it made managing his schedule more work. “You couldn’t keep the pace you were on forever,” she’d said briskly when he’d apologized. “It’s fine for you to be human, especially if it means you’re writing more songs.”

He was, he had almost a full album’s worth of tracks at least partially written, and the ones he’d demoed for the producers had been well received. At home, Marinette had helped him turn his apartment into something more personal and comfortable for them both. The windows now sported curtains Marinette had sewed herself, dark blue in his bedroom and cheerful red in the living room. There were throw pillows on the couch and leafy, living plants here and there (Marinette promised to help him keep these alive). A knit blanket lay over the back of the couch whenever they weren’t wrapped in it. Framed prints of Luka’s album covers were artfully hung in the living room, and pictures of friends and family were scattered on the walls of the hallways and bedroom. 

Technically, Marinette didn’t live with him, but the distinction at this point was a fine one. His spare bedroom was littered with her projects. The clothes she wore most often were in his closet and dresser. Her cosmetics competed for space with his in the vanity and there was a neat row of sweet-smelling bottles with pictures of flowers and fruit on them lined up along his bathtub. His kitchen cabinets housed at least half her collection of mugs that she had picked up in the various places she had visited, most handmade or hand painted and all far more colorful than anything he owned.

Most importantly, Marinette slept in his bed almost every night, allowing them to take advantage of every mutually convenient moment in their very different schedules. Maybe he couldn’t wake up with her and maybe she was almost always asleep when he came to bed, but Lucille worked his schedule to keep their overlapping hours open, or at least booked with tasks he could do at home. 

Luka sank down on the couch, leaning back into the soft blanket, and tried really hard not to think about the tour starting in...crap, it was barely a month now. He sighed and let his head fall back with a little groan. He got homesick on tour at the best of times. It was going to be even harder now. He smiled at the ceiling. At least he’d have something really worth coming home to.

Luka perked up at the sound of a key in the door.

“You haven’t even gotten up the energy to make coffee yet?” Marinette teased when she saw him. “You really are tired. Fear not, your savior has arrived.” She waggled a large to go cup at him.

“God, I love you,” Luka sighed, reaching his arms toward her. She came to him and perched on his knee, kissed him, and offered him the coffee. 

“I have pastries too if you’re hungry.”

“Mm,” Luka took the coffee, but nuzzled into her neck. “I’d rather have woken up with you, but I’ll take it.”

“I gave you the chance to wake up with me and you begged me to let you sleep.”

“You know what I meant. How are your parents?”

“Same as always,” she smiled brightly. “How was the show? You were too wiped out when you got home to tell me. This was the benefit show for the children’s hospital, right? The one Rose works with?”

“Yeah. It was amazing,” Luka shook his head. “So much energy in the crowd, it felt fantastic. Pretty emotional, though, with the speakers and all, so I really just had nothing left when it was over.” He sighed. “Those people are amazing. There was so much strength—“ he stopped, choked up, and cleared his throat. “It was a lot,” he finished thickly.

Marinette kissed him softly, giving him a tender look, and then got off his lap, heading for the kitchen. “We can take it easy today if you want. Do you have to work?” 

“First weekend of the month is fan mail weekend,” he reminded her, accepting the plate and napkin she brought him. “So, yes, but I can work around whatever else we decide to do.” Marinette put the box of pastries on the coffee table near him, and then pulled out her sketchbook. She settled with her back against the arm of the couch and her feet in his lap. 

“I don’t mind. You know I think it’s great that you make time to answer your fan mail.”

How is this my life? Luka wondered as he selected a pastry and put it on his plate. It was good, it was comfortable, it was right, and Luka was suddenly struck by the thought that he never wanted it to end. 

Luka didn’t realize how he was staring at her until Marinette spoke. 

“What are you thinking about so hard?” Marinette asked him without looking up from her sketchbook.

“I want to marry you.”

Marinette straightened and set her pencil down to look at him. She didn’t whip her her head up and stare wide-eyed, which he took as a good sign, so he set his plate down on the coffee table and continued.

“I love you and there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re the one I want to be with. I want this—“ he motioned between them, “—all the time, forever. So I’d like to know how you feel about it. If it’s something you think you might want someday too.”

Marinette rapped a fingernail on her sketchbook. “Someday?”

“Or today.” Luka quipped with a shrug. “I’m sure we could make that happen.” He was mostly kidding, but his eyes widened slightly as Marinette frowned and pulled out her phone. He waited, a weird feeling curling in his stomach as she swiped and scrolled and chewed her lip. 

Then she looked up at him and his pulse shot up so rapidly that he nearly didn’t hear her over the pounding. 

“I’m sorry, can you say that again?” he managed. 

“I said I don’t think today will work, but we can do next Friday. I think everyone we’d need is free.”

Luka could barely breathe as he stared at her. “You want to get married next Friday?”

Marinette smirked at his expression. “Yep.”

Her smirk softened at the smile that bloomed on his face. Luka leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “Who are you and what have you done with Marinette queen-of-overthinking Dupain-Cheng?”

She mimicked his pose, leaning in until her nose was nearly brushing his. “She doesn’t live here anymore. Meet the new resident, Marinette not-stupid-enough-to-miss-her-second-chance Couffaine.” 

He nearly tackled her in his enthusiasm to kiss her. Marinette shoved him off, laughing. “We don’t have time for kissing, we’ve got phone calls to make.”

“Right.” He whipped out his phone. “Lucille! Hey, listen, Marinette and I are getting married next Friday. Call her in an hour and whatever she wants, you make it happen. If you get stuck on anything, call Penny. In fact, call Penny anyway and tell her she and Jagged are invited.”

“Oh,” Lucille said blankly, and then “Oh! Yes, okay. Um, budget?”

“Break the bank, I don’t care. Just don’t kill anyone, don’t get anyone fired, and try not to make too many threats. Okay?” He grinned at Marinette, who had her own phone to her ear but still heard enough to wrinkle her nose at him.

“You take all the fun out of everything.” Lucille drawled.

“You’re the best, Lu, I’ll call you later and check in.”

“How much does she hate me?” Marinette asked in a whisper, holding her own phone at arm’s length while Alya screamed. 

“She wasn’t even phased. She lives for stuff like this.” Luka grinned. “It’s good for her resume. And I’ve been so low maintenance that I’ve earned a few outrageous demands.” He kissed her temple. “I’ve gotta go.” 

“What? Where are you going?” 

“Gonna grab Juleka and go find a ring.”

“What? Luka, you don’t have to do that, it’s barely two weeks, I don’t need a ring.”

He leaned in and kissed her, caressing her face tenderly. “I’m gonna do it anyway. Unless you want to come pick it out?”

“No,” Marinette said faintly, “No, whatever you pick is fine, just—don’t go overboard.”

He kissed her again. “Okay. But when Lucille calls, you tell her what you want and don’t worry about the money.” Another kiss, and Luka giggled against her lips. “I’ve never been able to say that before. I want you to have the wedding of your dreams even if it is on short notice.”

“Isn’t there anything you want?” Marinette asked, looking concerned.

“I want you, Marinette,” he breathed, and then grinned. “I want to dance with you. I want my guitar and an amp handy. I’d really like to not wear a tie, I hate those things. But mostly I just want you there and as happy as you can possibly be. Everything else is negotiable.”

“Oh my God, girl,” Alya screeched over the phone. “I take back everything I just said, marry that boy pronto.”

Luka laughed. “Hi Alya! Bye Alya!” He kissed Marinette one more time, grabbed his jacket, headed out of his door and straight over to Juleka’s, and pounded a little more forcefully than was probably necessary. Rose opened the door, looking surprised. 

“Luka, what's going on? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Rose,” he said, smiling like his face would split. He leaned past her and hollered, “Jules! Get decent and get out here, I need to go buy Marinette a ring and you’re coming with me.”

Rose squealed, covering her mouth with her hands. Luka winked at her. “You’re welcome to come too, Rose.”

“That’s amazing Luka, I’m so happy for you!” She threw her arms around his neck. “Oh! Have you planned how you’re going to ask her?”

“Already did. We’re getting married next Friday.” His brow furrowed. “Shit, I better call Maman.”

Rose just gaped at him with her mouth open. Then she screeched and ran back into the apartment, screaming for Juleka. Luka chuckled and stepped inside, shutting the door. He pulled out his phone and called his mother. Anarka sounded simultaneously exasperated and delighted, but she promised to be there and that was all Luka cared about. By the time he was off the phone with her, Juleka had emerged, dressed in nondescript black without her usual lace accents, her hair pulled back in a knot that hid most of the color and her purple tipped bangs tucked under a hat. She said nothing, just wrapped her arms around him. He folded around her and returned the hug. When they separated, she reached up and smacked the back of his head, then walked out the door without looking back to see if he and Rose were following.

“The press is going to be all over you,” Juleka mumbled as they got in the car. “They’ve been staking out the building ever since that premier. They’re going to follow us.”

Luka made a face. “Yeah, I know. I’m hoping we can make it look like we’re shopping for you, but if they do, they do. Lucille will have to find a way to keep them off my back.”

“With the tour about to kick off, they’re going to say it’s a publicity stunt,” Juleka persisted, looking sideways at him.

“I don’t care what they say, never have.”

“They’ll probably dig up whatever they can about Marinette. Probably your old girlfriends, too.”

Luka shrugged. “Everyone has a past, it doesn’t matter. As long as none of them show up at the wedding I couldn’t care less.”

“Marinette might care.”

“I’ll talk to her about it when we get home.” He hesitated. “Although I guess we didn’t really talk about—” he stopped and pulled out his phone.

Marinette picked up immediately. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replied, unable to help smiling at the sound of her voice. “Listen, before I do this I just wanna make sure, you know the press is going to get wind of this right? Even if I manage to cover up what I’m doing, something is bound to leak if we do this in a hurry.”

“I suppose you’re right, but at least they’ll only have a couple weeks to freak out. Better than planning a wedding for months under that kind of scrutiny.”

“You’re right. We should probably just make a statement,” Luka mused. “I’ll talk to Lucille about putting one out once you’ve talked to everyone you need to. I just wanted to make sure you were okay with everything because the second I walk into a jewelry store, there are going to be rumors, even if we try to make it look like we’re shopping for Juleka.”

“I told you you didn’t have to.”

“You’re not cheating me out of getting to do this just because you’re impatient,” Luka told her, laughing. 

“I didn’t expect you to be so traditional,” Marinette giggled. 

“I’m not,” Luka chuckled. “Keep the traditions that make you happy, throw the rest out, I don’t care. But this one makes me happy, so I’m doing it and you can’t stop me. I mean, I guess you could decide not to wear it, I’d survive. But I still want to pick one out and give it to you. If you don’t want to wear it I guess we could frame it and hang it on the wall or something.”

Marinette’s laugh was rich and full and brought a dopey grin to his face that he knew he would catch hell for later. “I’ll wear it,” she giggled. “I will. Whatever makes you happy, Luka.”

“You make me happy,” he told her, ignoring his companions as Juleka made gagging noises and Rose shushed her, giggling.

***

When Luka got home carrying a tiny pretentious bag full of fancy tissue paper, he found Marinette waiting on him with a strange looking box on the coffee table and a “we need to talk” expression. His excitement turned to ice in his stomach and he came into the room a little warily. “Hey. Something up?” 

Marinette smiled tightly. “Nothing disastrous. Just a conversation we need to have before we go through with this whole thing. I figured we’d better do it now before we let Lucille loose on Paris.”

Luka frowned. “Okay. You know, I’m ready any time, but I can wait, we don’t have to rush into this if you’re not—”

“I am,” Marinette interrupted him. “But I need to make sure you are too, and that can’t be true until we’ve talked about this. Come sit down.” She patted the couch next to her.

Luka sat, eyeing the box on the table. “Please tell me these aren’t the ashes of your enemies. That would be a little creepy.”

Marinette laughed and patted his hand. “Not hardly.” Marinette leaned forward and did something to the box. A series of compartments opened seemingly on their own, revealing...jewelry? He glanced at her, still puzzled, until she lifted a familiar green bracelet from the box and his eyes widened.

It had been nearly seven years since the defeat of Hawkmoth—not a terribly long time in the span of global history, but Luka found now that trying to remember those days was like trying to remember a dream. The bracelet Marinette held was the one point of clarity. Luka remembered what it was and what it did, but had a hard time remembering why it mattered.

“The Miraculous magic,” Marinette told him matter-of-factly, watching his expressions shift. “It doesn’t actually erase anything that happened, or any record of it happening, it just makes it hard to think about. If you tried hard enough, and long enough, you would still remember everything.You’d just be easily distracted and constantly wondering what the point is of trying to remember. It’s been a real blessing for people whose akumatizations were especially difficult, and even more so for Adrien.”

Luka blinked at her for a moment, and then gasped. “Adrien’s father was Hawkmoth.” 

Marinette nodded, and then shrugged. “Thanks to the magic, people forget. Or rather, as I said, they just don’t think about it. He hasn’t faced nearly as much persecution as he would have otherwise. Here, it’ll be easier to have this discussion once I give you this.”

She put the bracelet in his hand and he was nearly blinded by a flash of blue-green light. The slight fog in his mind cleared instantly, the clarity suddenly flooding back into his thoughts. Luka remembered everything now. He blinked away tears from the light and the rush of memories and stared into familiar yellow eyes. “Sass,” he breathed.

“Ssssalutationsss, Luka,” the snake kwami smiled, showing his tiny fangs. “My how you’ve grown. Humansss change ssso quickly.” He put his flipper hands on Luka’s finger. “It isss good to sssee you, my friend.” 

“Luka Couffaine,” Marinette intoned quietly. “I present to you the Miraculous of the snake, which gives the power of Second Chance. You will use it for the greater good, and for the protection of the Miracle Box and its Guardian.” She smiled and shrugged. “That would be me.” 

Luka looked up from the bracelet in his hand. “Thank you, Ladybug.”

Marinette’s smile widened. “You knew the whole time, didn’t you?” 

“I guessed,” he admitted. “I wasn’t ever totally sure, but I figured it was safer that way.” He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know how I’d forgotten until now.”

Marinette raised her hands slightly. “Magic.” 

“Right.” Luka shook his head. “Weird.” He slid the bracelet over his arm, watching in mild surprise as it flashed and turned into a silver band decorated with Celtic knotwork. “It’s different,” he observed.

“The disssguise adaptsss,” Sass agreed. “You are different now, so the disssguise isss different.”

“Huh. That design, though, it’s almost as if—.” Luka reached into the little bag full of tissue paper he’d left at his feet, and pulled out a small box. Marinette’s eyes widened, and, regaining some of his earlier enthusiasm, Luka felt a goofy, lovesick smile spread over his face as he opened the little box, and held the wrist bearing the snake Miraculous up next to the ring. The little platinum ring had a repeating Celtic knot pattern around the band and a small but beautiful channel-set sapphire in the center. The Miraculous bore a similar knot pattern repeating across the bracelet.

“Oh,” Marinette gasped lightly. Luka took the ring out of the box and took Marinette’s hand. 

“May I?” he asked tenderly, and she beamed at him. 

“Yes.”

Luka slid the ring on her finger. “I thought you would prefer something flat.” He grinned at her. “See, I’m not as traditional as you think. I liked it so much that I had them reserve the matching wedding bands for us, but you don’t like them, we can go pick something else together.”

“It’s perfect, I love it,” Marinette breathed, smiling up at him. “And this is a good thing,” she added, picking up his arm to look at the bracelet, and then holding her own hand next to it to compare it to her ring. “Since it matches, if anyone asks, it was my engagement gift to you. That gives you an excuse to always have it on you.” She smiled. “It’s sort of true, anyway.”

“Sort of true?”

“Well, like I said, I figured I needed to talk to you about this before we really went through with things,” Marinette sighed. “And Tikki and I agreed that if we’re going to make a home and a family together, you should be protected, and empowered to protect us, so...” She waved a hand at the bracelet.

“Tikki?” Luka asked, feeling rather overwhelmed.

“Tikki,” Marinette called, and a tiny red kwami zipped up from her side to haven between them. “Luka, meet Tikki, the kwami of creation,” Marinette gestured. “She’s the source of that energy you kept noticing, by the way.”

“That’s only partially true,” Tikki interjected. “Marinette has a strong creative spirit on her own, which makes her very well suited to be Ladybug. The resonance you feel is because we’re so closely attuned.” She smiled, zipping close to examine Luka’s face. “You wouldn’t be able to sense it at all if you weren’t a true creative spirit too.”

Sass hissed a quiet laugh and perched on his shoulder, tail curling around Luka’s neck. “Don’t get greedy, Tikki. Thisss one isss mine.” Tikki rolled her eyes, giggling, and zipped back to Marinette.

“So, if you haven’t changed your mind after learning about all this unexpected craziness that comes attached to me,” Marinette was trying to be positive, he could tell, but there was still an edge of apprehension in her smile. “The bracelet is yours.” 

“Of course I haven’t,” Luka exclaimed, putting his hand on hers. “I mean, I’m not saying this all isn’t kind of heavy, and it makes me nervous that we’re—that I’m in the public eye so much. But if you’re okay with this, then so am I. I trust your judgement.”

Marinette flipped her hair. “I plan to be famous with or without you, mister rock star, so don’t go playing the martyr.” She smiled at him and squeezed his hand. “We’ll make it work. Just like everything else. The butterfly and the peacock have been recovered and repaired, there’s no reason for anyone to come after the Miraculous now that the magic is nudging people’s thoughts away from it, and no one but Adrien knows I was Ladybug, so no one would even know where to start looking. We should be fine, this is just a precaution.”

Luka blinked at her for a moment, putting things together. “Adrien is Chat Noir,” he said after a moment. Sass chuckled from his shoulder. 

“Yep,” Marinette smiled. “It’s the only Miraculous not in my possession. I couldn’t bear to take Plagg from him after everything that happened. Most of the kwamis prefer to stay in the Miracle Box unless they have a bearer, but sometimes they like to come out and have a chat and they’ll probably all want to meet you sooner or later, so just be prepared and try not to scream.” She narrowed her eyes slightly and pointed a finger at Sass and Tikki. “And you tell them the bedroom is a kwami-free zone, got it? Divine being or not, the first kwami that interrupts us is going to find themselves sealed in their Miraculous and dropped to the bottom of the Seine.”

Luka blushed as the kwamis tittered.

“So, uh…” Luka rubbed a hand through his hair, dropping his chin to his chest as he tried to process. “You got any more bombs to drop on me?”

“This was the big one,” Marinette giggled. “Nothing else but the usual stuff left. Money, living arrangements, future plans, kids.” She paused. “You’re okay with kids, right?”

Luka’s head snapped up and he stared at her, wide-eyed. “You want to have children...with me?”

Marinette sat back slightly and she blinked at him. “I mean, not right now, but in a few years, yeah. Is that...not something you want?”

Luka was having trouble processing. “It’s...honestly not something I thought I could have.”

She tilted her head. “Why not?”

“I’m...I didn’t...I mean, I haven’t exactly had the best example. Or...any example, really.” Luka rubbed a hand through his hair sheepishly. “I mean it sounds kind of stupid when I say it out loud, but I guess that’s always how I felt in the back of my mind. I guess I’ve never been serious enough with anyone to give it any real thought.” 

Marinette relaxed a little, and though there was still tension in her forehead, her eyes were soft. “Why wouldn’t anyone think you’d make a great dad? You’re kind, thoughtful, committed, gentle, respectful, supportive, protective. I could go on. Any daughter would be lucky to have you for a father,” she said, taking his hand and squeezing it. “And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have teaching my sons how to be kind, compassionate, respectful men.” 

Shit, he was going to cry and he still couldn’t look away from her. 

“And if it helps, you’ll have a father now. My father. I know he’d be thrilled if you asked his advice. Most importantly,” she said, leaning in, “You have a huge heart and so much love to give. I know you’ll be fine. And when the time comes, we’ll figure it out together.”

Luka was reminded of his own words to Ivan and smiled faintly.

“But is that what you want, Luka?” Marinette squeezed his hand. “That’s kind of an important question.”

“I—yes, absolutely,” he breathed. A little girl with his eyes and Marinette’s smile and a too-big guitar in her arms, or a little boy covered in flour as he learned how to make bread from his grandparents—he’d never thought about it before but now that he had, he absolutely wanted it. 

Marinette relaxed, and her smile turned blinding. “Good.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other, and then Luka took her face in his hands and kissed her—or started to, before realizing his abrupt movement had tumbled Sass off his shoulder. Luka had completely forgotten the kwamis were there. He’d also forgotten they could float, he nearly knocked Marinette in the face as he scrambled to catch Sass, who caught himself and levitated, chuckling at Luka’s floundering and apologies.

“He’s fine,” Marinette reassured Luka, laughing, and then she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him back to her lips. “And so am I. Come back here, already.”

The tittering kwamis made a discreet retreat as the newly engaged couple embraced.  

***

The rest of the day was consumed with phone calls and a lot of screaming. The next day, Marinette wasted no time getting moved in for good. Luka had a stupid grin on his face the whole day and didn’t make even the slightest effort to hide it.

“I don’t know why you’re so excited,” Marinette giggled. “I practically lived here anyway. The only real difference is now I have to find somewhere to put all my crap.”

“It’s an important difference,” Luka protested. “And I know even though I told you to feel at home, you still think of this as my place.”

“It is—was your place.”

“And now it’s really our place, and that’s why it matters,” Luka told her, and then he sighed. “I almost wish we could get a new place that we picked out together,” he mused. 

“Luka, this apartment is amazing, it’s perfect for what you need, and you love it,” Marinette said practically. “I’ll fit myself in, you’ll see.”

“You shouldn’t have to fit yourself in around me, though.” Luka rubbed the back of his neck. “It doesn’t seem fair.”

“Stop worrying about it, Luka,” Marinette told him, picking up a pile of clothes and carrying them into the bedroom. “You’ll be gone on tour for months, remember? That’s plenty of time for me to get rid of your stuff.” 

Luka huffed a laugh at that. Nope, there was no wiping the stupid grin off his face and it was pointless to try.

A knock on his door startled him, and he and Marinette looked at each other. 

“Juleka?” Marinette suggested.

Luka shook his head and got up to answer the door. “She’s shooting a new cosmetic ad this week, and Rose always goes with her when she’s got to be on camera. Maybe a delivery? Usually security calls me first though.”

Marinette shrugged and picked up another pile of clothes to carry to the bedroom. 

Luka opened the door and blinked, momentarily speechless.

“Hey,” Adrien grinned, hands in his pockets. “I brought Marinette a wedding present.” There was a small knot of people behind him with expressions of longsuffering and a bright red ribbon tied around the whole group with a big bow. Luka glanced over them in puzzlement, and then, recognizing a couple of faces, he turned and called into the apartment.

“Marinette? I think you’d better take this delivery personally.”

“What?” Marinette’s voice came from his bedroom. 

“Come on out here.”

She came, but pouting. “Luka, I still have so much to do.”

Luka just stepped aside and opened the door wide. Marinette stopped and went pale as she took in the scene. Then she looked at Adrien. “What did you do?” she asked flatly.

“A little bird told me you were making an exception on your stupid polciy about wearing your own designs for the wedding,” Adrien said with a flicker of a smile. “I thought you might need a little help with your dress, given your frankly insane timeline.” Marinette stared at him, and Adrien quickly added, “And before you go off on me, I’m paying them, and they volunteered.”

“They won’t even all fit in here!” Marinette gasped, and Adrien chuckled and tossed her a key. Her hand snapped up to catch it, proving her superhero retirement hadn’t diminished her reflexes in the least. 

“They come with a workspace,” Adrien said smugly. He raised a cautionary finger at Luka. “You’re not allowed. No peeking before the big day.”

“I think I can handle it,” Luka said wryly. He smiled at Marinette’s still gobsmacked expression and kissed her cheek. “I’ll go in the bedroom so you can haul out all those supplies I know you bought without me watching.” He held out a fist to Adrien. “Thanks Adrien.” 

“Congratulations, Luka.” Adrien bumped his fist with a bittersweet smile that Luka couldn’t really fault him for.

Luka looked at Francis in the middle of the group. “Make sure she takes breaks to eat for me, okay?” Francis nodded vigorously.

Marinette made a few more inarticulate noises that ended in a huge hug for Adrien and as Luka retreated to the bedroom, he could hear her giving orders to get that stupid ribbon off those poor people, what is wrong with you, you big dork?

***

The next few days were...weird. Luka was walking on a cloud most of the time, going through the motions of his everyday routine with giddy disregard for what he was actually doing, only really tuning in to answer questions periodically from Marinette and Lucille about wedding arrangements or preferences. Even the press mobs didn’t bother him as much as usual, as tedious as it was to have to have his bodyguards follow him around everywhere he went just so he could get in the door. He made time to have dinner with Marinette and Tom and Sabine, letting the warmth of their happiness flow over him. He took Marinette to have breakfast on the boat with Anarka, too. They got on as well as they ever had in that ‘live and let live’ way that both of them shared. 

However, having little tiny flying creatures pop up at random was a little unsettling even when he knew it was coming. Most of them were perfectly pleasant little...god-things. Some of them were more eccentric than others. The ones who hadn’t gotten out of the box much were zipping all over the apartment, fascinated especially with Luka’s music gear. He shared a cup of tea with Wayzz and Sass, and Wayzz answered some of his questions about what it meant for Marinette to be the Guardian. Trixx was perfectly pleasant to speak to, but rearranged Luka’s pick collection while no one was looking. Duusu popped up in his studio and they had a little jam session, Duusu dancing manically in the air while Luka shredded. Kaalki examined Luka’s album covers and awards and proclaimed him sufficiently exceptional. Sass and Tikki together had to chase Xuppu back into the Miracle Box, and that was a trip and a half, watching them zip around phasing through anything in their way, before Tikki had sufficiently intimidated Xuppu from causing any further chaos. One afternoon he opened his eyes from his meditation and found a small circle of tiny gods gathered around him, mirroring his meditation pose.

“They like you,” Marinette confided in him one night, sliding behind him on the couch and draping herself over his back. “They say you have good energy, and they like your music. Kwamis sing, you know?”

“Really?” Luka lifted his eyebrows slightly.

“Yes, when they’re separated, they do some kind of magic singing to connect with each other.” She nuzzled his neck affectionately. “The novelty will wear off in a while and they won’t be around so much.”

“I don’t mind,” Luka said, picking a few notes thoughtfully on the guitar. “They’re cute, and mostly they’re just...there. It’s a bit strange, but I’ll get used to it.” He leaned his head back to press his cheek against her hair. 

He’d grown to love playing with her wrapped around his back. Sometimes he played whatever she requested. Sometimes he played her the sappiest love songs he could think of, until they lost themselves in laughter and kisses. But her song was still his favorite, being tuned in completely to her, playing for the sheer joy of it, with her pressed close against him, silent and still except for her quiet breath and soft touches against his skin.

“I love you,” he said softly, smiling as he played.

“I love you too.”

“I’m gonna marry you, weird entourage of tiny god-fairies and all.”

“I’m so lucky,” Marinette sighed, and he sensed the shift in her emotion even before he heard her voice go rough and her arms tighten around him. “I’m so lucky, Luka. I love you so much. I almost wish I could just marry you in the morning, but my parents would kill me and Lucille would probably have an aneurysm if we changed the plans at this point.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Luka sighed contentedly, turning his face to nuzzle and kiss her cheek. “We can make it.” 

***

The next day, Sass was asleep on Luka’s amp in a small nest of soft fiber scraps pilfered from Marinette’s workroom. The snake kwami found the vibrations soothing, which was convenient, Luka thought, since he spent so much time playing. Suddenly Sass stirred and sat up, and gave a smile that was somehow gentle despite the fangs. “Nooroo. Welcome, friend.” 

Luka looked up but saw nothing. 

“There isss no need for fear,” Sass said soothingly. “Pleassse join usss.”

A small purple face peeped around the door frame. The kwami eyed Sass, and then turned his eyes to Luka. He shrank back behind the door when he saw Luka’s gaze on him. The edge of a butterfly wing visible over Nooroo’s shoulder explained a lot, and Luka’s eyes widened slightly.

“Hello,” Luka said as gently as he could. “You can come in if you want. You’re very welcome here.” Nooroo didn’t move, and Luka went back to his guitar, playing something soft and soothing, watching out of the corner of his eye but trying not to be too obvious about it. 

“I know you can sssensse him,” Luka heard Sass say. “You know you have nothing to fear. But if you are not ready, we will not take offenssse.”

Another moment, and the butterfly kwami slipped inside, skirting the wall toward Sass’s nest.

“He feels gentle,” Nooroo said, very quietly, as he settled next to Sass.

“He isss,” Sass soothed, curling his tail protectively around his friend. “Ressst, if you like. You are sssafe here.”

Nooroo cuddled up next to Sass, his tiny expression enough to break Luka’s heart. “Safe,” he murmured, a little doubtfully.

Luka swallowed hard. He couldn’t imagine what the kwami suffered at the hands of Hawkmoth. Luka was empathetic by nature and practice, and that could be painful enough in the wrong situations, but Nooroo literally sensed emotion. To be forced to feel out the worst emotions he could find day after day must have been incredibly painful. Not to mention serving Gabriel Agreste was no picnic. One only had to look at Adrien’s issues to imagine how much worse it would be for a creature Gabriel believed to be nothing more than a tool. No wonder Nooroo had preferred the quiet, passionless world of the Miracle Box for years after Gabriel’s defeat.

Luka wondered if the kwami could feel his pity, and tried to decide what would be the most soothing for him. After a moment of thought, Luka began to play an old Scottish lullaby from his childhood, one that he associated with warmth and safety and his mother’s boundless love. He darted a glance at Sass and the little snake gave a tiny nod of approval. 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been playing before Marinette appeared in the doorway, looking concerned. “You okay?” she asked softly. “You usually play that when you’re upset.”

“Fine,” Luka smiled at her. “Just felt like relaxing a bit.” He flicked his eyes toward the kwami nest. She followed his gaze.

“Nooroo,” Marinette said, face lighting up. “I’m glad to see you.”

Nooroo shrank into himself a bit. “Thank you, Guardian. I felt it would at least be polite to meet your intended.” He paused, looking between Luka and Marinette with a thoughtful expression. “I have seen great love twisted into selfishness and isolation,” Nooroo said solemnly. “But this is a soft love, a...generous love. It makes room for many. It is...good.”  

Luka smiled. “There’s room for you too, Nooroo, whenever you feel the need of it. You’re always welcome.”

Nooroo nodded. “Thank you.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Marinette smiled, and blew him a kiss. Tikki slipped around her to join Sass and Nooroo. Tikki hugged the butterfly and Sass patted his friend gently. Between the two of them, he seemed to relax a bit more. Luka smiled to himself. 

Yeah, it was a little weird, but when in his life had he ever been “normal” anyway?

***

The two weeks somehow went slow and fast all at once. Luka remembered the feeling well; he’d felt the same in the last few weeks before his first tour. 

Friday morning saw their apartment invaded by a horde of women. Alya, Sabine, Rose, and Juleka took Marinette over to the girls’ apartment to get ready, leaving Luka to the tender mercies of his mother to make sure that he was ready and presentable on time. Luka rolled his eyes and refrained from pointing out that it was Marinette who had the reputation for chronic lateness, and that Anarka was the last person he would have picked to enforce order.

Still, he was glad Anarka was there. She went straight for his music studio and picked up his guitar, playing old tunes he remembered from his childhood. It soothed his jitters a little bit. It wasn’t that Luka was nervous or afraid exactly, he just...wanted to get on with it. He wanted to marry Marinette.

“It’s my wedding day,” he said softly to the mirror, just to make it real. “I’m marrying Marinette today.”

“You are,” Sass agreed, hovering beside him. “Are you ready?”

“So ready,” sighed Luka. “More than ready. Why can’t we already be married ready.”

It still felt surreal as he mechanically dressed himself. His suit had been provided by Marinette’s employer, as a bribe to let Marinette off work early for all the things that had to be done over the last couple of weeks, and for the wedding today, but Marinette had done the fittings herself, so it looked impeccable on him. It included a vest, but as he had requested, no tie. 

“All right, let’s have a look at ye,” Anarka said, stumping around him. “Can’t be having you looking sloppy for yer bride, eh?” When she had circled him twice, brushed some imaginary dust from his shoulder, she sighed and said, “Well, I guess yer grown up after all, me boy.” 

“I love you, Maman,” he said, smiling fondly at her, pretending he hadn’t seen her eyes watering behind her glasses. She returned the smile in kind, and then hugged him tight. 

“Come on,” she said. “Play with yer old Maman for a bit. Those girls’ll be forever getting ready, and you’ll just fret if ye do nothing.”

“That sounds great, Maman,” Luka said with relief, going to retrieve his old guitar.

They played duets until Juleka came to tell them that Marinette and the car were ready. The original Couffaines indulged in a quick group hug, and then Luka hugged them each individually again. 

“You’ll get wrinkled,” Juleka chided in a mumble. She looked up at him and he looked back at her and for a long moment they were silent. She didn’t need to speak for him to know how happy she was for him, and how relieved, and how much she wished for his happiness. He didn’t have to say anything for her to know how much he loved her and that he would always take care of her and that she would always be his sister.

“Come on,” she said at last, voice thick. “Let’s go get you married.”

Lucille took a step forward from where she stood by the door, clipboard in hand. “I sent everybody else down to the cars already so you two can have a moment. We’ll be waiting for you downstairs.”

For practicality’s sake, the couple and their witnesses were all going to City Hall together in the limo, while the others went ahead to the reception. Lucille ushered Juleka and Anarka our and to the elevator, leaving Luka alone. 

Well. Not quite alone. Suddenly there was a small floating rainbow of tiny gods stretched across his living room. “We give you all the blessings we can bestow on this day,” Wayzz spoke for them.

“Oh, it’s so beautiful!” cried Duusu, darting back and forth in her excitement. “Love is so beautiful!”

“Thanks, friends,” Luka smiled. “Really.” Wayzz nodded, and the kwamis zipped back out of the room, except for Sass, who took his place in Luka’s pocket.

Luka crossed the hall to Juleka’s apartment and stood there for a moment, just trying to breathe, outside the door. 

“She isss the sssame woman you loved yesssterday,” Sass said quietly, peeping out from his pocket. 

“Yeah,” Luka said with a lopsided smile. “But now she’s all dressed up and we’re getting married.”

The kwami chuckled. “Indeed.”

“Okay,” Luka said, feeling his breathing speed up in spite of himself. “Okay, here we go.” He knocked on the door, and then let himself in. 

“Marinette?” he called softly.

“In here,” she answered, and he went a little further into the apartment. She was standing in the light of the living room window, nearly glowing in her fitted white dress, her modest train artfully arranged behind her. Her hair was elaborately piled up and adorned with a tiara that he recognized as Rose’s. Her miraculous was in her ears, of course, and the blue seaglass pendant lay against her collarbone. 

Marinette smiled with trembling lips. “They posed me like a statue and made me promise not to move until you came in.”

“You look stunning,” he told her honestly. “I’m almost afraid to touch you.” 

She held her hands out to him and he quickly crossed the room to take them. “You’re shaking,” he observed.

“I’m going to lose my mind if we don’t do this soon,” she admitted, and they laughed together.

Luka raised her fingers to his lips and kissed all of them reverently. “Then let’s go, before we both fall to pieces,” he said, offering her his arm. 

***

The ride to City Hall was a blur. All he remembered was Marinette’s fingers gripping his as tightly as he held hers. 

Once they stepped inside, everything seemed to go in fast forward until he heard the mayor say, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” 

The words gave Luka a swooping feeling in his stomach and his knees went weak. He looked at Marinette and she met his eyes with the same awed look on her face. Then they both broke into huge smiles and threw their arms around each other. Luka sighed deeply as he hugged her, the butterflies in his stomach disappearing into a profound sense of relief that felt like stepping into his apartment for the first time after a three-month tour. ”I love you,” he whispered into her hair, and felt her snuggle closer. Then she lifted her face and he kissed her reverently. The mayor had to clear his throat before Luka could manage to let her go. As soon as he did, she was enveloped by her parents. Luka wiped his eyes discreetly as Lucille shuffled them off to another room, and chuckled when he saw Juleka doing the same. 

Heaven help them if the world ever found out what a bunch of softies the Couffaines were under their punk-goth-pirate exteriors.

Juleka hugged Marinette and gave Luka a wicked smile over his new wife’s shoulder. “Marinette’s my favorite,” Juleka told him smugly. Luka just laughed and put his arms around the both of them, kissing each on the top of her head, and then turned to give Rose the same treatment. The moment he turned away from her he was caught up into the most epic bear hug of his life courtesy of Tom. He’d have laughed again if he could get enough air. Sabine pounced as soon as Tom set his feet back on the ground, and damn if the small woman didn’t hug him almost as hard as Tom. 

“Whew,” Luka put his hand on his chest when Sabine released him and grinned at Marinette. At his wife. “I’m going to have to step up my hug game now that I’m part of the family.”  

Marinette giggled and moved toward him, but Juleka caught her arm. “Nuh-uh. We’ve got a party to get to and if you go over there now it’ll take a crowbar to separate you.” She spun Marinette towards the door. “Let me remind you that Maman is waiting, and keeping Maman waiting with nothing to entertain her is unwise.”  

Rose gasped and Luka winced. “She’s right, we better go,” he admitted, offering his hand—to his wife.   

“If we must,” Marinette sighed, but she was smiling brightly as she put her hand in his. “I suppose your adoring fans and annoying followers are waiting for us too.”

Luka grinned at her. “Just this once, shall we give them what they want?”

Marinette flashed him a grin. “Lead the way, husband.” He had to grab her up and kiss her for that, much to Lucille’s frustration, and it took another minute to get her smoothed back out and camera ready. 

Luka didn’t make the least effort to hide his joy or his love for Marinette as they emerged from City Hall into the bright morning light and cascade of camera clicks together, hand in hand. He wanted everyone to see it. They smiled and waved, and Luka bent Marinette back (not into a full dip this time, just enough to make the folds of her dress fall in elegant points toward the ground, like they’d practiced) and kissed her tenderly. Then he bent down and she jumped on his back, the two of them laughing as he piggybacked her through the path their security team cut to the limo, trailed by the long-suffering Lucille and the rest of the wedding party. 

Luka waved everyone else into the limo before him, and then turned and waved one more time to his fans, though he couldn’t see much past the cameras. Then he slid into the car next to Marinette and locked their fingers together. 

Somehow Marinette and Lucille had conspired to rent them a boat instead of a party hall. The Liberty was too small to hold all the guests, but Lucille had found them a boat with a stage and a largely flat deck made for dancing. It had the benefit of letting them have their wedding outdoors while keeping them secure from party crashers and reporters. The Seine had always been a huge part of Luka’s life, and he was glad to be on the water for such a momentous occasion. 

Most of the guests were already on the boat, and Luka made his grand entrance over a gangplank decorated in flowers and ribbons with Anarka on his arm, trailed by Juleka and Rose, and then Marinette’s parents escorted her across. 

The ship cast off and everything was a whirl for a while. They exchanged rings on the stage and spoke simple, sincere vows in front of all their gathered friends and loved ones. Luka danced with both his mother and sister, a three-person Scottish reel they’d danced together since he was a child, performed this time with so much gusto and at such a tempo that it left all three of them laughing and breathless (he had no idea where Nino had dug up that track but he was going to have to get a copy). Tom waltzed Marinette around the room with such enthusiasm that Luka wasn’t entirely sure her feet actually touched the floor at any point. 

Then Marinette was in his arms again, and he was so lost in her eyes that he missed Jagged beginning to play at the piano until her smile turned teasing and her eyebrows lifted. Luka wasn’t the best dancer, but it didn’t matter; all he wanted was to hold her close and let the music move them. Marinette seemed to feel the same, resting her head on his shoulder with a little sigh of contentment as the rest of the party was invited to join them on the dance floor. 

Luka gave her up to Adrien for a dance with only a little reluctance. Luka understood now better than he ever had how deep their bond ran. Before Adrien took Marinette to the dance floor, he leaned close to Luka and held open his coat for a moment. “Plagg wants to talk to you,” Adrien whispered, and a black blur shot from his coat to Luka’s. “Better find somewhere private, he’s not patient,” Adrien warned. 

Luka excused himself at the first opportunity to the men’s room, which was thankfully empty, and the black blur popped out of his coat and hovered in front of him, looking unimpressed. “So,” the little cat kwami said, more intimidating than anything that cute had a right to be. “You married my Guardian.”

Luka nodded warily. “I did.”

“I know Sass is all about second chances and that crap,” Plagg said, rolling to float on his back for a moment, and then sitting up to hover right in front of Luka’s eyes, his own cat-green eyes narrowed. “I’m just telling you now, I don’t go for that. I’m destruction, you got it? There won’t be any second chances with me. So you better take care of my Guardian, understand?”

Luka lifted his eyebrows. “Did you have this talk with Adrien?”

“One, that’s none of your business. Two, my kitten has extenuating circumstances. Three, you bet your ass we had words about what went down before. But I like him, so all I did was give him shit luck for a few months. You can ask him how much fun that was.” Plagg narrowed his eyes again. “I don’t like you. I don’t know you. If I hear from Marinette or Tikki that you stepped one single toe out of line—”

“Are you quite finissshed?” Sass popped his head out of Luka’s breast pocket. “Enough posssturing, cat. You made your point. The Guardian isss resssponsssible for much greater decisionsss than this. Do you trussst her judgement so little?” Sass huffed, and Luka would have said the kwami stuck his nose in the air if he’d had one. “Or mine?”

“Yeah well I’ve been around for a few thousand cycles longer than you, fangs, and even smart women can be stupid about the men they love,” Plagg spat. “So there’s no harm in making things clear from the start, right?”

“Fine,” Sass huffed. “You have done ssso. Now return to your bearer and leave mine to me.”

The little cat folded his flipper arms and did stick his nose in the air. Before the cat could say anything else, Luka interrupted. “Plagg—Thanks. For everything you and Chat Noir did back then. For all that I’m sure you do for Adrien now. And especially for looking out for Marinette. I really appreciate it.”

“Didn’t do it for you,” Plagg mumbled. 

“Even so. Come on, let’s get you back to Adrien. I want my wife back. No offense, but I don’t think this was a fair trade.” Luka grinned.

Plagg made a noise that might have been a chuckle if he weren’t trying to act tough, and zipped back under cover.

“Charming friend you’ve got there,” Luka commented as he found Adrien.

“Sorry,” Adrien shrugged. “I hope he wasn’t too awful.”

“It was fine.” Luka stepped close for a moment to let Plagg slip back, and then moved away. “All the same, I think you can keep him and I’ll go find my wife.”

Adrien grinned. “She had her ‘up to something’ grin on, so good luck with that.” 

“Oh boy,” Luka sighed, but he was grinning as he said it. He hunted through the crowd, stopping for handshakes and backslaps and congratulations. Really, considering the short notice they’d given, a surprising number of people had been able to attend. There were a fair number of industry people here that Luka had felt kind of obligated to invite, but the crowd was mostly friends and loved ones of friends, and that was perfect.

He finally found Marinette conspiring with Nino. “Now what are you up to?” Luka asked, slipping an arm around his wife. 

Marinette grinned up at him. “I just think we should take a quick peek back at where all this started.”

“Oh my God,” Luka laughed, as the big screen over the currently empty stage lit up and a familiar kittycorn logo flashed up on screen. “You didn’t.” 

“Of course I did,” Marinette giggled, as Kitty Section’s very first music video played, the one they had sent to Bob Roth’s contest all those years ago. 

“Wow, that brings back memories,” Luka sighed. He looked at the stage, and then spotted Juleka moving through the crowd near him. “Hey Jules,” he bellowed, more than loud enough to get her attention. She turned toward him with an exasperated expression and Luka nodded at the stage with a grin. “What do you think?”

Juleka grinned back. “I’ll get Rose.”

“Nino, tell them to get the mics live up there,” Luka instructed, and then he kissed Marinette’s cheek and headed for the stage. Juleka and Rose were right behind him as he picked up his guitar and slung it over his shoulder. He stepped up to the microphone and tapped it. “Turn me up guys,” he hollered, waving at the sound techs. They jumped to it and the microphone crackled to life. “There we go,” Luka grinned. “Adrien, come on up here. Hey Mylène,” Luka called. “Can I borrow Ivan for a minute?” Mylène smiled and shooed Ivan toward the stage. “Come on up here big guy.” Ivan rubbed the back of his neck, smiling shyly, but the way he spun the drumsticks between his fingers told Luka he wasn’t too out of practice.

“All right,” Luka surveyed his former bandmates, every one of them grinning widely, even Juleka. “You ready, Rose?” At her thumbs up, he grinned back at Ivan. “Count us off, man. No, wait,” he held up a hand, and turned back to the crowd. “We’re still missing somebody. Marinette, get up here, baby.” He grinned. “You’ve always been my unicorn.” There was a chorus of “aww’s” and a few laughing “eews” as Marinette made her way to the stage. She came to stand beside Luka, and he put his arm around her waist and kissed her temple. “All right, let’s do this. Go for it, Ivan.” He released Marinette and slid his guitar into position. 

“YOU KNOW I LOVE UNICORNS,” Rose belted, proving the years had not diminished her lung capacity in the slightest. Luka joined in, improvising a harmony to the old but familiar vocals as he sang to a laughing Marinette. It wasn’t a perfect performance, they were all a little rusty, but it was more fun than Luka had had in years. 

Afterwards, Adrien and Ivan relinquished their places to Luka’s regular backup, and he had someone bring up a stool for Marinette so she could be comfortable. He wanted her close to him. She put her hands over his mouth in surprise as he played the opening riff he’d been working on, and he winked at her as he stepped up to the mic. This was his first ever performance of Lightning on the Water and he wanted it to be perfect. Luka knew how to play an audience, but this one time, he ignored them and sang just for Marinette. The crowd of guests was nearly silent as his guitar mimicked sparks dancing over the water, and he sang in low, smokey tones about the draw of deadly beauty, buzzing over his skin, the desire to dive deep and never come up again.

The silence lasted for a long moment after he finished.

He was still staring into Marinette’s eyes when a whoop came from the crowd that he immediately recognized as Jagged. “Now that’s a hit, kid!” the older rock star hollered. “I’m pissed I didn’t write it myself!”

Everyone laughed, and the atmosphere lightened. “You can go down if you want,” Luka whispered to Marinette, and she shook her head.

“Just this once, I want to stay up here with you for a while,” she whispered back, squeezing his arm. 

“Kiss her!” someone screamed (Marinette’s grandmother, Luka thought), and laughing, Luka did. 

“What do you want me to play next?” he asked her, and she pulled him down to speak in his ear. “Yeah, I can play it,” Luka chuckled. “Too bad Clara couldn’t make it, but we’ll make do.” He stepped back to the mic. “You guys remember this one, right?” He played the opening to Miraculous.

The guests remembered the song and the dance that went with it, and Marinette danced beside him as they belted the lyrics into the microphone together. Luka had to catch the stand once when she knocked into it, but he was well versed in keeping things rolling over those kinds of incidents, so aside from a little laughter, the show went on.

Luka hadn’t planned a set list, hadn’t exactly planned an impromptu concert at all, but this was who he was, and this was what he did. When his heart got too full, it overflowed in music, and it was pouring over today. And this wasn’t like the concerts he was used to playing. This was his friends and the people he loved, a party just like they used to have in the old days. They rolled through song after song, some he’d written and some of their old favorites from other artists, some that came to his mind and others shouted at him from the crowd, and he let his happiness and love shine through in all of them. He bounced with the drumbeat pounded behind him as he belted, “I don’t care what people might think, I got your name in permanent ink—” Marinette leaned up to sing the next line with him. “Baby this ship ain't never gonna sink!” they hollered into the mic together, and he went on as Marinette laughed, dancing with her hands over her head and the beads on her white dress sparkling in the sun, “Just kiss me like nobody’s watching! Yeah people are talking, it doesn’t matter what they say. Just kiss me in the middle of the street to let the whole world see that there’s nobody else for me!” 

Of course Jagged couldn’t stay out of things for long, but by the time he leapt up on the stage, Luka was ready to let him take over. He held his wife’s hand as they went back down for more dancing and hugs and congratulations, but it was all a haze to Luka after that. Playing had finally drained off all that excess buzz he’d been carrying around all day and tucked his soul back into his body, and he just felt...peace. Peace, and maybe a little bit of impatience to be back at home with the love of his life and the weight of this day.

Jagged relinquished the stage at last to Anarka, Juleka, and Rose, who sang a beautiful three part harmony of The Parting Glass as the ship came back into dock, and then it was a long string of goodbyes and la bise before they finally found themselves alone in the car back to Luka’s apartment—their apartment.

It felt intensely quiet after all the excitement, and Luka found himself grateful for it. He slipped his arms around Marinette’s waist and she lay against his chest. They cuddled in silence all the way home. As soon as they were out of the limo, Luka scooped her up. Marinette protested, laughing, as he carried her into the building, up the elevator, and all the way up to the apartment.

“You’re wearing yourself out for nothing,” Marinette told him as she dug through his pocket, looking for his keys. 

“All that time at the gym might as well be good for something,” he said as she unlocked the door for them. “You’re heavier than you look with all that superhero muscle, but you’re still pretty light.” Marinette pushed the door open, and he carried her inside.

Luka set her down gently on the couch, and then sank down beside her, stroking her cheek tenderly. They kissed softly for a moment, and then curled together again. Sass and Tikki zipped out of their hiding places, and with a quick cheek cuddle for each of them and a whisper of congratulations, the kwamis made themselves scarce. The hem of Marinette's dress was grey with dirt, her hair was coming loose, and when she smiled up at him he could see the exhaustion on her face. Luka smoothed the loose hair away from her eyes. “We’re married,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” she smiled up at him.

“Now what?"

“I don’t know,” Marinette put her hands under her chin on his chest and blinked up at him. “Never been married before. It was fun but I’m kind of worn out. Maybe you can help me get out of all this stuff and we can go take a nice warm bath and relax, and we’ll see how we feel after that.”

“That sounds amazing.” He nuzzled her temple. “My wife is a genius.”

Marinette giggled. “My husband is a sweetheart.” 

“God, say that again,” Luka breathed, putting his arms around her. 

“My husband,” Marinette murmured, smiling.

“My wife.” 

“Marinette D.C. Couffaine.”

“I love it.” He kissed her softly, and then couldn’t make himself pull away until he was out of breath. “Let’s get the bath running, and then I’ll help you get rid of all this stuff.” 

Marinette giggled. “I should warn you there are about fifty thousand pins in my hair. It might take a while.”

“Then the bath should be full by the time we’re done.” He cupped her face and kissed her. “I love you so much, Marinette.”

“Don’t make me cry before we get the makeup off, Luka,” Marinette smiled shakily. 

“You know I don’t care,” he scoffed. “Come on.” Luka pulled her up gently.  

Luka sat her down at the vanity, turned on the bath water, and then crouched beside her and helped her clean the makeup from her face. Together they found and removed all of the pins in her hair, and Luka brushed it carefully. One by one he unhooked the seemingly unending line of buttons down the back of her dress and helped her out of it, and he quickly became distracted with kissing and touching her, until she pushed him away, giggling, to turn off the bath before it ran over. Marinette slipped on a robe and left him, pouting slightly, to get undressed on his own. He forgave her though when she came back with two glasses of champagne and slipped into the bath with him. 

“I don’t think I told you with everything else that was going on,” he commented as she leaned back against him, “My album proposal was approved. They loved the demo tracks I did.”

“Of course they did,” Marinette sighed, laying her head back on his shoulder. “What are you going to call it?”

“Second Chance,” he told her with a smile. 

Marinette craned her neck to smile back at him. “Perfect.”

[strangenewfriends]

During a pivotal year of his solo career, Harry Styles has notched another monumental achievement: his first No. 1 single on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.

As “Watermelon Sugar,” the standout track from Styles’ sophomore solo LP Fine Line, lifts 7-1 on this week’s Hot 100 tally, Styles tops the chart for the first time, after previously reaching a No. 2 peak as a member of One Direction. After starting his solo career with his classic rock influences on his sleeve, Styles has become a fixture at pop radio in 2020, with both “Watermelon Sugar” and “Adore You” becoming ubiquitous top 10 hits this year.

How shocking is the ascent of “Watermelon Sugar”? And what could the song mean for Styles’ future at the Grammy Awards? Billboard staffers answer these questions and more below.

1. On a scale of 1-10, how surprised are you that “Watermelon Sugar” is the song to finally give Harry Styles his first Hot 100 chart-topper?

Andrew Unterberger: Three months ago, it would've been a 10 for sure. Types of songs that don't usually go to No. 1 in 2020: fourth official singles, songs that have already dropped off the Hot 100 for multiple months after debuting, rock (or at least rock-based pop) songs. "Watermelon Sugar" was each of 'em, and even as recently as last week, I'd have been, like, an 8 about it going all the way to No. 1 -- even with a viral video, good audio-only streaming numbers and huge radio support, it seemed to have hit a ceiling outside the top 5. But a concentrated fan campaign and some good chart timing have put it over the top, and maybe I shouldn't be so surprised by that in 2020 after all.

Jason Lipshutz: I’d give it a 7 -- not because of any deficiency or quirk with the song, but because of its circuitous route to the top of the Hot 100 chart. Styles performed “Watermelon Sugar” for the first time on Saturday Night Live on Nov. 16, 2019, and released music videos for three other Fine Line songs before finally returning to it in May. That’s an incredibly slow burn -- to provide some context, “Watermelon Sugar” was released the same weekend as the ill-fated Charlie’s Angels reboot! -- and an unlikely path to pop ubiquity, to say the least.

Joe Lynch: I guess 9? It's super catchy and easy to get into, but it's just not the vibe of most 2019-2020 Hot 100 toppers – although given that Taylor Swift's "Cardigan" cozied up to the top slot last week, perhaps we're at a point in the pandemic where people are specifically turning to something that's a far cry from the top 40 norm for a break in monotony.

Lyndsey Havens: I'd say a 6. Three years ago (and still today) I thought that "Sign of the Times" could have and should have topped the chart, and then I thought that "Adore You" might finally do the trick. But people do say "third time's the charm" for a reason, and it makes sense that, after two strong top 10 singles, the continual growth of Fine Line well into 2020 and the strong promotional push, that this summer-ready, breezy pop-rock track has claimed the chart's top spot.

Stephen Daw: I'm clocking in at a solid 5 — it's surprising (to me, at least) that it took Harry Styles this long to log his first No. 1, but as soon as I heard "Watermelon Sugar," I was confident that, if a song off of Fine Line was going to reach the top of the Hot 100, it would be this one.

2. The success of Styles’ second album, Fine Line, has been one of the biggest stories in mainstream pop this year -- the album is still in the top 10 of the Billboard 200 chart eight months after its release. Why do you think Styles’ sophomore solo LP has resonated so well this year?

Andrew Unterberger: I wish I knew -- as do record company folks around the world, I imagine. It's a very good album and Harry is an extremely likeable star, but nothing about an album that feels largely like a tribute to '70s pop-rock and post-peak Paul McCartney would've struck me as an album to take him to that next level of stardom. He's just a star -- one with a big-enough gravitational pull to bend the mainstream to him -- and I won't underestimate him so easily again.

Jason Lipshutz: In 2020, artists like Dua Lipa, Lady Gaga, Selena Gomez and 5 Seconds of Summer have all released top-notch pop full-lengths... but I have returned to Fine Line more than any of them. Part of that has to do with its sense of uplift and enthusiasm during a particularly trying year -- shout-out to “Treat People With Kindness” for snapping me out of some grade-A funks -- but Fine Line’s songs are stronger than those of Styles’ self-titled debut, the pacing is immaculate, the hits are far more effective and Styles is more comfortable in his own, ‘70s-pop-channeling skin. Fine Line is part throwback, part comfort food, part magnetic artistic presence, and remains an excellent front-to-back listen.

Joe Lynch: I think he's in a great spot in his career: not only has his 1D fan base embraced his maturing sound (which, to be fair, isn't a tough sell – this is very accessible pop-rock), but his gender-bending, classic rock-worshiping fashionista persona has expanded his listenership beyond the realm of card-carrying Directioners. Plus, it's an album that's crafted to last: this is meticulous studio pop that mostly eschews the tiresome trends and tricks most producers feel obligated to slap on a recording to make it feel “contemporary.” Fine Line occupies its own lane instead of competing against two-or-three new sound-alike albums a month.

Lyndsey Havens: Harry is the "perfect" pop star: his One Direction past earned him a built-in (and very dedicated) fan base, he’s mysterious enough but generous with his content, queen Stevie Nicks has become his number one fan, and, of course, he delivered an album filled with fantastic pop-rock hits and ballads. When Harry Styles arrived, fans had to adjust to Styles' sonic pivot. But by the time he delivered Fine Line, both Styles and his fans had matured -- and those pop-rock roots he planted years prior were in bloom. There was no adjustment period, and in my opinion, that allowed Fine Line to be immediately and repeatedly consumed.

Stephen Daw: There's a lot to be said for Harry's massive, mobilized fan base, and for his status as a burgeoning pop auteur in the modern era. But I think both of those facts only help uplift the fact that Fine Line is simply a great album. The songs aren't pigeonholed into one specific sound, yet they retain this classic, pop-rock finish to them that passes the minivan test; there's something for parents and kids in all of these songs.

3. Styles’ other Fine Line hit, “Adore You,” peaked at No. 6 earlier this year, and comes in at No. 12 this week. Are you a “Watermelon Sugar” person or an “Adore You” person?

Andrew Unterberger: I think "Adore You" is the better song, but I'm glad that "Watermelon Sugar" was the song to get him to No. 1. "Adore You" was the dead-center top 40 single -- and even "Falling" could've caught some post-"Someone You Loved" radio spillover -- but "Watermelon Sugar" is just pure Harry. He couldn't have asked for a better, more validating single to affirm his superstardom.

Jason Lipshutz: Hard to pick one, but give me “Watermelon Sugar” for the higher sing-along quality. Watching Styles perform Fine Line in its entirety at the Forum in Los Angeles last December included an arena of fans shouting “Watermelon sugar, HIGH!” -- and this was before the song was a chart-conquering hit. I suspect “Watermelon Sugar” is going to be a euphoric live staple in the coming years, which gives it the edge for me.

Joe Lynch: Definitely "Watermelon Sugar,“ a perfect, laid-back summer jam that gently uplifts without ever demanding attention. "Adore You" is solid but tailored for a specific topic, whereas "Watermelon Sugar" is the kind of softly buoyant treat that floats well in a variety of contexts.

Lyndsey Havens: I find it interesting that the two songs off Fine Line to stick around the chart's upper echelon are a bit similar-sounding. One of my favorite things about Styles is the risks he'll take, best evidenced by his debut solo single "Sign of the Times,” but also by Fine Line tracks like "Lights Up," "Falling" and "To Be So Lonely." But that's exactly what makes me a Harry Styles fan -- he's no one trick pony (insert joke about him heading in more than one direction), and while "Adore You" and "Watermelon Sugar" may not showcase his range, they've both become Styles standards for me. But to finally answer the question, I have to go with "Adore You" for the lyrics alone. I mean.... how can you compete, or argue, when he pleads like that?

Stephen Daw: They're both excellent songs, but if I had to pick, I'm partial to "Adore You." Sonically, the groovy bass line and stylized guitar riffs hit me right where I live. Lyrically, I respond a lot more to the "strawberry lipstick state of mind" than I do to something that "tastes like strawberries on a summer evening." But they both have strawberries in there, so it's a win either way!

4. Styles is now the second member of One Direction to score a solo No. 1, following Zayn with “Pillowtalk.” If you had to choose one of the other members -- Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson -- to someday score a No. 1 single, who would you put your money on?

Andrew Unterberger: Can't say the prospects for any of them reaching the Hot 100's peak are looking particularly robust right now, but if I had to choose one, I guess I'd say Liam. He has connections throughout the pop world that could result in him finding his way onto the right collab -- with buddy Post Malone, perhaps -- to find his way back to the top. Rooting for Louis, though! Go Louis!

Jason Lipshutz: I’m going to zag a little and go with Liam Payne, who scored an unexpected top 10 hit with the Quavo team-up “Strip That Down” and has been trying to recapture that magic in the years since. Payne’s solo debut didn’t offer any other standout singles, but he’s proven capable of headlining a rhythmic pop single that sticks around at radio, and I wouldn’t be shocked if he does so again over the next few years.

Joe Lynch: That's a tough question, because I could see Liam or Louis hopping on a track as a featured artist that goes all the way to the top. But if we're talking primary credited artist, it's gotta be Niall Horan, who has demonstrated probably the most solid catalog and sonic cohesion thus far of those three. Not saying it seems likely, but then again, when Fine Line dropped, who thought "Watermelon Sugar" would sweeten up the top spot on the Hot 100?

Lyndsey Havens: Justice for Niall's "No Judgement"! I played that song a lot when it first came out. But I actually think it's a smarter financial move to bet on Liam Payne, considering his strategy of collaboration. He's worked with Zedd, Quavo and Alesso, among others, and I wouldn't be all that surprised if in another year or so he lands on a track -- or a remix -- that shoots to No. 1 for the star power alone.

Stephen Daw: While Liam is the only other member to get one of his songs into the Top 10 of the Hot 100, I'm putting my chips down on Niall. Heartbreak Weather turned out to be a pretty fun record, and I remain convinced that "Black and White" is going to have a second life (much like "Watermelon Sugar”)!

5. Finish this sentence: at next year’s Grammy Awards, Harry Styles’ “Watermelon Sugar” will __________.

Andrew Unterberger: ...be shut out. It may score Harry his first nomination or two -- either solo or with 1D -- but considering how the Recording Academy has given him the cold shoulder so far, and seeing how overlooked he was even among this year's VMAs nods, I don’t know if I see him taking home his first Gramophone for it. (Uh-oh, looks like I'm easily underestimating him again -- never mind, I say the song sweeps.)

Jason Lipshutz: ...be nominated for record of the year, and Fine Line will be nominated for album of the year, and justice will have finally been served to Styles, who has yet to garner a single nomination over the course of his career. Will either win? It’s too early to say, but I like Fine Line’s chances at this point.

Joe Lynch: ...sow seeds of discontent; the Grammys will continue to ignore Harry Styles, and the fans will unleash their exasperation on Twitter with the machine gun-rapidity of a cartoon character spitting out watermelon seeds.

Stephen Daw: ...probably get nominated for record of the year. It would be worthy of a spot in the song of the year and best pop solo performance categories as well, but something tells me that if one of his songs were to be nominated for those categories, "Adore You" stands a better chance. While it would be great to see Harry win, if he were nominated in this category, he'd likely be going up against the likes of Dua Lipa, Taylor Swift, Lady Gaga, The Weeknd and/or Megan Thee Stallion, and I just don't think he'd be able to clinch the ROTY win with that kind of competition.

Lyndsey Havens: ...still taste like strawberries on a summer evenin’.

[parasighting]

Top 20 albums of 2020

New place for Parasighting (here you can find the old blog), as it seems that Facebook and several social media platforms in general don’t very much agree with Blogger. Oh well, if we don’t change we die, isn’t that what they say? So, this will be the new place for posts from now on, including the Rodon Underground playlists (that is, if I manage to wrap my head fully around how Tumblr actually works). For now, and as a fitting starting post, here are the best 20 albums of 2020, always in my opinion and always in a mood for fisticuffs:

1. Fontaines D.C. - A Hero's Death

This normally shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it’s not like we haven’t had our fair share of scares in our lifetime when we’re dealing with a sophomore album following after an explosive debut. Last year’s Dogrel gave everyone what they wanted/expected, since basically it was, more or less, a gathering of all the great singles Fontaines D.C. had released in a 2-year period prior to that. As it seems, we are indeed dealing with an absolute gem of a band that, this time around, did anything but staying safe with an already tried-out and successful formula. Instead, they chose to give all weight to feeling, proving their songwriting genius at the same time. A Hero’s Death doesn’t contain intended typical radio hit songs (although it plays a lot on today’s radio, something hopeful for the music industry in general), instead it’s full of meaningful introvert compositions saturated in melody and atmosphere, while Fontaines D.C. themselves, despite their huge and abrupt success the last years, keep a low profile and support their material exemplary. This record is music history, and one to be mentioned for years or even decades from now in music in general.

Listen to A Hero’s Death

2. C.O.F.F.I.N. - Children Of Finland Fighting In Norway

Many have wondered about the air in Australia. Or the water. Or maybe it’s the crazy wildlife that makes one either to be on their toes all day or to “yolo” it like there’s no tomorrow. These lads right here sure seem to be the latter. It would be futile to try and get right now into the history of Australian music and what this country has offered the world, especially when it comes to garage/punk. So, it shouldn’t surprise us that C.O.F.F.I.N. have released this record this year but, then again, uncontainable excitement gets usually mistaken for surprise. It’s not that they had been under the radar or something until now, but Children of Finland Fighting in Norway is the flag all Turbojugends around the world should gather behind this year. This album is the Apocalypse Dudes of the band and, mind you, I’m not talking about copying Turbonegro or anything like that. I’m talking about the spontanity and the pure energy that is emitted here throughout. The band, although they surely step on the foundations of (especially the scandinavian) rock ‘n’ roll history, the final result can’t be mistaken with any other band. A look on the videos the band has put out will give you a total idea that here we’re dealing with original Aussie craziness, and that is something not to be messed with, if you ask me.

Listen to Children of Finland Fighting in Norway

3. Napalm Death - Throes Of Joy in The Jaws Of Defeatism

I don’t think that the name Napalm Death needs much introduction, even to those who have little contact with the extreme sound in general. Pioneers of hardcore punk, grindcore and so many sub-genres at their birth, they have been shaping much of the contemporary extreme music scene through the years. And, in order for this to be achieved, it couldn’t be without constant musical unrest and experimentation. Shane Embury & co returned in 2020 with their 16th album, in which they push their (and music’s in general) boundaries to new territories. Of course, this in no way means that it is a soft or mellow record, even for Napalm Death standards. Instead, the band incorporates even more diverse elements from bands that one could say have been their followers, only to prove once again that they are the true pioneers. Throes of Joy in the Jaws of Defeatism is a full record where something exciting happens each minute, and this is the chance for any listener that (maybe has been living in a cave up until now and) hasn’t yet captured the grandeur that a band like Napalm Death exhales.

Listen to Throes of Joy in the Jaws of Defeatism

4. All Them Witches - Nothing as the Ideal

What is “rock” anyway? If there was a faceless recipe, then everyone would be able to just follow the rules and do it. Instead, through the over-production in today’s music, it’s damn hard to find something original and spontaneous, as most bands can’t do anything better than copying a “recipe” or reverse-engineering their idols, at best. And this is why bands like All Them Witches shine brightly and justly from within the pile. Nothing as the Ideal elegantly showcases that this band basically carries a significant amount of all the weight of today’s rock music. Yes, they started off having been labeled as “stoner” or “desert” or whatever, but the signs were always there. Dying Surfer Meets His Maker was the first blast, but, with this one, All Them Witches establish themselves among the leaders. After all, how can you go wrong with a band that sounds better playing live than on their studio recordings?

Listen to Nothing as the Ideal

5. Hurula - Jehova

It’s safe to say that the name Robert Petersson is nothing short of a landmark when it comes to Swedish punk. Showcasing some fine moments of hardcore skate-punk with Epileptic Terror Attack, hardcore rock ‘n’ roll with Regulations, melodic punk with Masshysteri (among others), finally Hurula is his personal musical vehicle, where he is in absolute command of everything. And, although this is already his fourth full-length release and, thus, it’s not like we had no idea about the potential, Jehova proves to be his grand opus so far, in a sort of unexpected way. The general orchestration remains “rock”, but the multiple melodic layers all over make for a unique experience for the listener who is not limited within specific musical genres or styles. The Swedish lyrics throughout might make it a bit unaccessible to many, but don’t let this minor detail keep you from discovering an incredible record.

Listen to Jehova

6. Wailin Storms - Rattle

Wailin Storms are a “where had they been hiding up until now?” case. Although they released their debut album not before 2015, Rattle is already their fourth one, and what a kick in the head it was for me discovering them last year! Going through their discography in retrospect, one should not be surprised, of course. The North Carolina rockers always carried their certain and specific type of lyricism amid their heavy and, at times, almost noise/sludge guitars. Fitting all this alongside the mystical atmosphere and Justin Storms’ agonizing vocals, the speakers exhale a strangely attractive as well as condemning dark beauty through the speakers. Many things come to mind as to what one could say Wailin Storms sound like through their definitely personal identity; in my ears, it’s kind of like the Black Angels jamming with Unsane and smoking whatever Electric Wizard passed them through. If this doesn’t make you want to check out Rattle, I have no idea what could.

Listen to Rattle

7. The Hawkins - Silence Is A Bomb

All those that know me, also know what a huge sucker for swedish rock ‘n’ roll I am. But, ever since the great scandinavian rock ‘n’ roll revolution by Gods like the Hellacopters and Gluecifer started to happen, a lot of things have also happened in the meantime. Especially to the younger rockers, the aforementioned bands now carry a “classic rock” label, but then again that kind of makes sense if you were born around the years Supershitty to the Max! was released. Time for the new generation to show what they’re worth, then. Through the flood of copycat and mediocre bands (justifiably, in a way), luckily from time to time there will be one or two cases to stand out, and these four kids from Arboga, Sweden surely make the cut. Although their debut album three years back was definitely a beautifull high-energy record, Silence Is a Bomb is what adds a special kind of maturity in rock ‘n’ roll, while still maintaining its edge. The Hawkins take their Hellacopters, but they also add several doses of Queen in them, maybe making the final mix too soft for purists; but who cares about them anyway?

Listen to Silence Is a Bomb

8. Chubby & the Gang - Speed Kills

It feels like nothing short of a fresh breath of life, a feeling that there is still hope in this damn world, when debuts like this one right here appear out of nowhere. Chubby & the Gang are just some kids from West London who, with Speed Kills, give you, if not something else, a feeling that here we’ve struck pure gold. Carrying a hardcore tone, apart from that they’re just a bunch of absolutely fresh and fun punk rock ‘n’ rollers, and, if this is not exactly what we need these days, I just don’t know what is. With gang vocals throughout the whole record and with the average running track time below two minutes, this band has automatically climbed near the top of my bucket list of bands I want to see live at first chance.

Listen to Speed Kills

9. This Is Nowhere - Grim Pop

Plainly put: In a fair world, This Is Nowhere would be globally greeted as one of the greatest bands of today’s psychedelic heavy rock; and this is not an exaggeration. Then again, them being from Greece and their members being scattered in three different countries are not factors that objectively help. Even at that, it’s astonishing how they’ve obviously achieved a certain chemistry between them through the years in order to achieve such a feat, like Grim Pop definitely is. Their two previous albums contained a significant amount of all the mystical energy the band emits on stage, but, if you ask me, there was always something missing; something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Well, with Grim Pop, it’s like everything is finally falling into place. This Is Nowhere have irrevocably and definitively left terms like “stoner” or “psychedelic rock” behind; instead they have unrepentantly dived into the ‘60s, distorted everything they found there through their personal prism and created an inviting sound vortex ready to suck you into its very own black hole. Who cares if we never return?

Listen to Grim Pop

10. Στράφι (Strafi) - Παραδομένοι στη Γιορτή (Paradomeni sti Giorti)

If you asked me some years back, I could never imagine myself including a street punk record in a yearly music list. I have to admit that Strafi being from my hometown Larissa played its role; but this role played a part only for me to take note of them. Because genre-wise, the band’s sophomore release is just perfect. Having gone over the somewhat general “shyness” of their beautiful debut album, here the band presents an absolutely confident and sturdy face. The sound production contains no faults, the compositions are meaningful and inspired, the lyrics carry a level of poetry rarely found in the genre (and yes, one would have to speak Greek in order to enjoy them, unfortunately for many). Really, this is one of the cases that there’s not much to be said, as music takes over all the talking. We need more music coming straight from the heart, and Strafi are here to deliver exactly this.

Listen to Παραδομένοι στη Γιορτή

11. Minerva Superduty - In Public

Another Greek entry, one that the world definitely has to discover. I find it a bit strange how Minerva Superduty started their discography, which was with an instrumental metal record that, amid its creativity, left the listener with a somewhat lack of closure and fullness. 2016′s Gorod Zero came to showcase a new potential for the band, and In Public, coming just days before last year’s end, fulfilled this potential to the fullest; well, until their next album, at least. Minerva Superduty merge their mathcore foundations with Converge-like hardcore and, under just 20 minutes, they deliver the absolute soundtrack for the chaos 2020 has left the world with. Do not let this gem pass by.

Listen to In Public

12. Yovel - Forthcoming Humanity

Blackmetal is a genre that has been through a lot. Of course, through its extremity, it has given way to experimentations that could never have taken place within other kinds of music but, on the other hand, this very extremity has always served as a twisted fortress for far-right and generally fascist ideologies. Yovel emerged in 2018 to rectify this problem and restore part of blackmetal’s infamy. Hɪðəˈtu had made clear of these intentions of the band, but Forthcoming Humanity drops like a milestone to declare that this was anything but a one-time wonder. Yovel take blackmetal forms and orchestrations but add atmospheric (not shoegazey) elements borrowed from folk music and create a concept album that speaks loudly against racism, fascism, bigotry, oppression. Interludes dressed with poetry and melody give place to wrecking sound outbursts and, if there is one thing they do, that’s passing on the message clearly and successfully. Yovel are here to stay, and that’s one encouraging thing about extreme music today.

Listen to Forthcoming Humanity

13. Oily Boys - Cro Memory Grin

Ahh Australia again. And a debut that has surely turned heads. Oily Boys come from Sydney and this is their hopeful debut, that being an understatement. This new band delivers an outburst of a record, bringing to mind New York hardcore at one time, taking you to sick psychedelic noise rock at the next. It all feels so cold and unhospitable in here, yet something urges you to look at it straight in the eyes. Of course, there are a lot of Converge elements in here, but this never stays in that place, as, before you know it, it jumps to post-punk and to other experimental lengths, always maintaining a chaos that may be baffling but, then again, you don’t exactly want for it to fall into order. Fans of Old Man Gloom will also find many things they like in here. Bizarre listen for bizarre times. It’s an uncomfortability we just cannot ignore.

Listen to Cro Memory Grin

14. The Good the Bad and the Zugly - Algorithm & Blues

The Norwegians with the funny and long name (one can only wonder after how many beers it was conceived) struck for the fourth time in 2020. Although their debut Anti-World Music in 2013 made an impact in the scene breathing Turbonegro with a hardcore twist, personally I can’t say the same for the next two albums; it always felt to me that something was amiss. Maybe it was that humor was taking over a bit too much or something. Mind you, the Good the Bad and the Zugly are not a joke band by any chance, but the playful sarcastic elements were always a basic ingredient in their overall sound. Coming on to Algorithm & Blues then, I think this time around thay have managed to balance it all out perfectly. With Ivar Nikolaisen being the lead vocalist of the mighty Kvelertak for a couple of years now, this might be a factor that has made the band mature compositionally. Algorithm & Blues is more melodic, more substantial, more sing-along-y, but it never loses its humorous charm, preserving the band’s identity. And with song titles like “Fuck the Police” and “The Kids Are Alt-Right”, you know they’re also on the right side.

Listen to Algorithm & Blues

15. Pallbearer - Forgotten Days

One of the most tired genres of extreme music is definitely doom metal. Ever since the “stoner” plague came into existence, the world has been saturated with kids that, discovering the pentatonic scale, thought they were the new messiahs drowning us in a sea of boredom. It was not all bad of course, but, having to surf through oceans of mediocrity in order to find something that stands out, can be quite tiresome. Pallbearer from Little Rock, Arkansas surely did stand out at the start of the last decade but I think it’s taken them a while to perfect their craft. Alas, Forgotten Days. The monster riff that starts off the opening title-track is more than enough to set the mood straight. Black Sabbath riffology, Candlemass atmospheres, even Electric Wizard and Cathedral hooks; all done in a modern manner breathing life into the genre which, with bands like Pallbearer, can look hopefully into the future. The incredible cover artwork and the lamentful lyrical themes revolving around family loss surely add to the big picture. This is the definite release of 2020 for doom fans.

Listen to Forgotten Days

16. Video Nasties - Dominion

Another debut of another band to definitely watch out for. Video Nasties from UK start off looking like they know exactly what they’re out for. The whole image is brought out from ‘80s horror video tapes and this is enhanced by the movie samples all over the place paying homage to John Carpenter. Musically, here we have some exceptional death/black ‘n’ roll, and what a pleasure it is when done right. Yes, the band takes a lot from Swedish melodic deathmetal but, to my relief, they surely sound like they detest metalcore and its sub-genres as much as I do. Dominion is an absolutely enjoyable record that flows beautifully, always maintaining its theme and atmosphere and calling for repeat plays. Fans of death, black, thrash and extreme genres in general will surely feel at home here. Sometimes it’s as simple as that.

Listen to Dominion

17. The Frights - Everything Seems Like Yesterday

The Frights from San Diego, California started in 2013 as garage surf punks carrying their own distinct feeling and melody. They were always enjoyable with the lyrical themes being more esoteric, something that set them apart from the usual stuff in the genre. At first, the songs of Everything Seems Like Yesterday were intended to be released by the band’s main man Mikey Carnevale as a solo effort, but something apparently changed his mind. Many were obviously surprised by this new acoustic direction the name Frights has taken, but, setting aside specific expectations, the best thing one has to do is appreciate the artistic worth independently. And how rewarded they’ll be doing that with this album! Everything Seems Like Yesterday is a beautiful introvert, substantial and entirely acoustic album, ideal to keep you company after a hangover or through many types of hard times. It’s one of those times that this type of quiet sounds just liberating.

Listen to Everything Seems Like Yesterday

18. Umbra Vitae - Shadow of Life

With Jacob Bannon from Converge and Jon Rice from Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats on board, here we’re dealing with nothing short of a super project. And especially when Bannon (apart from all his many other musical projects) decides to venture into death/black metal areas, this is absolutely something you don’t want to miss. Shadow of Life is anything but your average deahmetal fix, and it demands your undivided attention throughout. Explosive in its grim and dark temperament, and with stunning artwork dressing it perfectly, this is an album that grabs you by the throat. Not that you haven’t offered it willingly in the first place.

Listen to Shadow of Life

19. Idles - Ultra Mono

Unless you’ve been living under a rock for many years, there is no way that you’re ignorant on the Idles phenomenon. After Brutalism and Joy as an Act of Resistance, I don’t know what we all expected from them. It’s not the easiest task to surpass two albums that have set new standards in today’s punk music (”punk” being used as broadly as possible, as a term). And, to put it bluntly, Ultra Mono doesn’t do anything like that, like, it would be something impossible, especially so soon. Then again, Idles are a band just incapable of releasing a bad record and, although it didn’t make it to the top spots of 2020′s list, Ultra Mono is an Idles-trademarked sharp and edgy album (musically and politically) that preserves them at the top where they indicate to the rest of the world where music is going.

Listen to Ultra Mono

20. Protomartyr - Ultimate Success Today

Protomartyr from Detroit have always served their unique blend of post-punk. In Ultimate Success Today, they continue their gloomy journey in symphony with this dark world. Joe Casey, always carrying a Nick-Cave-like vibe in his tone, delivers his grim lyrics atop the heavy basslines, the strange drumbeats and the almost free-jazz saxophone. Always melancholic and dystopic, Protomartyr is the band this world needs and deserves.

Listen to Ultimate Success Today

[zwiezraczek]

Hellooo!:) can you do 5, 8, 9, 11 &19 with Ben pleaseee? Smth really angsty with fluff at the very end? and don’t worry, take your time:D loove your writing💚

You Should Be Sad [Blurb]

5. “Look at me love, please.” 8. “... Why are you doing this to me?” 9. “You are definitely drunk.” 11. “You're driving me crazy, you know that?” 19. “I spent all my years praying for this moment to come!”

~~~

Dating Ben was probably your biggest mistake from the very beginning. But the best decision album-making wise. The rage he had woken up inside of you fueled every song you wrote for this album, every word, everything. All about him – but you refused to admit it. Everywhere you went, you were reminded of him, of your relationship. Of your love. Something long gone now, it has been almost six months. Six long months, of crying, cursing and desperately wanting him to come back. You were so over this now, at least you thought, you tried to convince yourself you were.

“Y/N, this album is absolutely amazing, and contains so much energy,” the interviewer said, as you sat legs crossed on the red couch with a smile on your face.

“Thank you, I'm glad you like it!”

“But as you know, a question is on everybody's lips as they heard one particular song,” they said, as you already knew what question it would be. The same question you were facing everyday, trying to hold back tears and pride. “'You Should Be Sad', this country inspired song, is it about a past relationship of yours as we all believe it to be?”

“Well, my dear, I will say yes and no,” you lied, you absolutely did but for the greater good. You remembered how the media dragged you down after your breakup, catching pictures of you wearing a black hoodie, puffy eyes and in a mental hell. They stole your privacy, they stole these moments of intimacy you only 'wanted' to share with the ones you cared about, you wanted them to see you like this, and only them. Not your fans. No the media.“It's heavily inspired by what had happened to me a few months ago, with somebody I won't mention in this interview because it's unprofessional, as my manager told me, and it deals with my self-esteem issues that I try to overcome. Because I feel sorry for him letting me go, but it's a hard life as they say.” You smiled, your nails drumming on the armrest of the red couch looking carefree but deep inside, you tried to not break down. Not again.

~~~

You enjoyed yourself, dancing to the beat of the music with Ben, but not only him, Ben and his friends coming especially to London to celebrate the premiere of the movie he got the main role in. The premiere was yesterday, and today you were partying, you, Ben, Joe and Lucy. The others, Gwilym and Rami were quite busy and only came to the premiere yesterday, on which you appeared holding Ben's hand in this long peach puffy dress and a smile on your face because he did it, your boyfriend did it and you couldn't feel more proud about his achievement. A boy you watched on Eastenders a few years ago was holding your hand right now, kissing it gently under the flashes as he held you closer and you burst into a pure laughter. You felt happy and alive. You couldn't know that these were probably the lasts moments of your peaceful love affair.

Joe was your soulmate, and so was Lucy. Both of them knowing how to party, as much as you did. The songs in the club made you ecstatic, pulsing and carefree. Ben danced with you too, but he mostly stayed at the bar, a beer in hand and sometimes went out to light up a cigarette while you still danced with Joe or Lucy. At one moment, he came back, his hands wandering on your hips and his alcohol scented breath warming your neck as you giggled.

“Mr. Jones is dancing? What a surprise,” you said into his ear, facing him with both of your hands on his shoulders. You could forget about the world all around you because he was your world.

“Because you're driving me crazy, you know that,” he asked and you quickly kissed him before nodding.

“That's what your local singer is here for, Benny. To drive you crazy even more than anybody would.”

“Is this allowee? Disgusting,” you heard behind you, Joe. Joe stood there, looking at both of you while tapping Lucy's shoulder.

“I agree,” she replied, making a funny face before Ben turned back to look at them and sighed.

“Killjoys,” Ben said before leaving a kiss on your cheek, “I'm going out for a cigarette.”

“Yeah, go out and smoke, your lungs will thank you later,” Joe shouted as Ben just rolled his eyes before disappearing in the crowd.

But he seemed to never come back, which began to annoy you. And so, you left Joe and Lucy at the bar to go out and look for your boyfriend. The biggest error of your life. You pushed the door leading to the smoking area, and what you saw you couldn't unsee. Ben was facing a girl, her back against the wall as he blocked her with his right hand, his forehead against hers. She smiled, seeming to enjoy the moment. And the next thing you knew, she kissed him. You couldn't tell if he was fine with it, if he was too drunk, or if she was responsible for all of that. But all you knew was that he was, right in front of your eyes, cheating on you.

“What the fuck,” you blurted and they stopped kissing immediately. She still had her hand on Ben's cheek as he looked at you, frightened, understanding now what he had done to you, to your relationship.

“Y/N,” he began, taking off the girl's hand from his cheek.

“Fuck. You,” you replied, pushing the door again and making your way outside the club, running towards the cloakroom where you left your purse and going out the club. Tears began to run down your face as you thought about what he did to you, how much he hurt you by kissing somebody. You were in pain, under the sky full of stars. You walked slowly, your bag against your side, sobbing delicately and hoping that no paparazzi would catch thismoment. You couldn't hear the footsteps behind you, and it only struck you when a heavy hand landed on your shoulder and you turned back to face him. Ben. You looked at him, eyes full of rage as he tried to prevent you from walking.

“Look at me love, please,” he whispered and you did what he asked for. But without any trace of love in your eyes, you felt rage and anger. You wanted to kill him, you wanted to kill that girl, you wanted to be at peace.

“I'm looking at you now, so? Tell me something to amuse me,” you wittily replied, but it hurt so much.

“I'm so sorry, y/n, I don't know what happened to me I just,” he began to explain himself, but you couldn't hear what he was saying, the image of him kissing her coming back in loops in your mind.

“Why are you doing this to me,” you asked him, cutting him off mid-sentence. “I'm not enough? I'm not filling the hole in your fucking heart, I wasn't enough? You needed some adrenaline and to kiss a girl?”

“It's not that, y/n, I...”

“You liked it,” you asked, your eyes shinning with tears as he remained silent. “Did you like it?” You repeated more violently this time. “Is she a better kisser than I am? Will she be herefor you? I hope she'll be fucking better than me in bed, Ben. I truly hope you'll have a better life without me.”

“Without... You,” the surprise was covering his whole face. He couldn't understand the words you told. He refused to understand. But you were clear, even if it hurt.

“You'll be able to live without me I guess, I'm packing my things and leaving tonight.” It was your decision, you didn't want to hear his excuses, you didn't want to hear his voice begging for forgiveness when he would sober up a bit.

“You can't leave,” he whispered, his hand slowly slipping from your shoulder.

“Yes, I can. Goodbye Ben.”

You turned back, silently crying as you walked down the street. It was all over now.

~~~

And you broke. Again. Once you reached your apartment, you began to cry. The decision you made on that night pained you immensely. And everytime you tried to put together all the feelings you had towards what had happened, the remaining feelings you had for Ben, you had to cry. You would sit under a blanket, looking at the white ceiling as you tried to not cry and to think about something else. And everytime you grabbed your phone, you sawpictures of you and him. Your Instagram's timeline wasn't better than your storage, neither the tweets talking about wanting the two of you to be back together. You wished all never ended like this, you wished you listened to him instead of fleeing. You wished so many things... You were only thankful for Lucy being on your side while talking with you, she called you often to know how you were feeling, and often, you lied. Joe called sometimes too, you lied too. You thought you could feel better after some time, after parties, after writing your album and pouring all your emotions into it... But it all made it worse. You blocked him on every social media, and his phone number, but you caught yourself looking at his account more often than usual, smiling when Joe posted a picture of both of them on vacation. You wished you could be part of his life, but you didn't let him be, you refused any explanation. You refused this, only to be sad. You wished he was sad, but you were the one suffering instead.

Your telephone rang, an unknown number. You wiped the tears away and picked up.

“Y/N,” the voice you perfectly knew asked faintly.

“What do you want,” you said strongly, faking the confidence you lacked. It was easier through this device.

“I can't live without you, I can't,” he complained as you heard the tune of his voice: he was drunk.

“You are definitely drunk Ben, don't call me while you're drunk. Don't call me at all.”

“Y/N,” he cried out to not let you hang up, “please, let me tell you something and then I'll leave you forever if you wish. I promise I'll leave you,” he whispered and you hummed to let him speak. “I don't know how many times I told you that I'm sorry, but I have to tell it again. I'm sorry, y/n, I'm sorry about everything I did to you, about the pain I caused to you, about everything. I was drunk, but that's no excuse, I'm drunk right now and I know that's not an excuse, I just... I lost it all. I lost everything on that night. I lost you. I already told you that, but I've felt empty for the last six months, I felt every hour passing by, without you. I'm not half the man I think I am, I'm not worth of your attention, I probably never was in the first place. I wanted, and still want to marry you. I spent all my life praying for this moment to come! To find my wife! And I screwed it up,” he whispered after pouring all of his emotions into your ear. “So I beg you, with my whole heart, I beg you, can we talk, can we meet? Tomorrow? Tonight? Whenever you want, I want to apologize for everything in person because I couldn't, because I am coward because...”

“Tomorrow, in the studio. There will be nobody around noon, so come if you wish,” you said, before hanging up. Then, you burst into tears. And you couldn't put your finger on the emotions you felt.

~~~

You sat in the studio, all by yourself, with a large sweater on you, curled up on the couch. You waited for him to show up, and the first thing you saw when the door in front of you opened, was a great bouquet of flowers. The biggest you ever saw, the most beautiful bouquet you saw in your whole life. And then, you saw him and his eyes. These beautiful eyes, tired, looking at you apologetically. You straightened on the couch, sitting properlynow and waited for him to sit next to you, but instead he knelt in front of you, offering you the bouquet, his head looking down.

“No apologize will be enough, nothing will be enough to repair my fault, not this apologize neither the ones I presented to you before.” And indeed, these were countless, but you always refused. And he gave up, for almost two months before calling you yesterday. “I am sorry for hurting you, I never wanted to cheat on you, I never intended to break the relationship we shared. I am so sorry, y/n, I hope you will forgive me.”

“Ben, I...” You started, but you couldn't finish your sentence properly, crying already as he rose his head to look at you. You saw all his features, blurry, through the curtain of yourtears. “I miss you so much, I miss you so much Ben... There is no day on which I don't think about you, and even that stupid album I made... I wanted you out of my life with this album, but singing about you made it even more difficult Ben, believe me...”

“I can only imagine what you felt,” he said, putting the bouquet next to you and grabbing your hand, hesitantly. But you didn't took it from his. “I can't live without you, without yourvoice and your songs, I can't live without you humming as you were trying to cook something in the kitchen, I can't live without your smile... And yes, I was sad as I should have been, I felt pain and anger towards myself and I regret everything I did. I missyou, and I still love you, y/n.” He kissed your hand gently. And you caressed his cheek. “Will you forgive me one day,” he asked, unsure of anything.

“I'm already forgiving you Ben, I'm already doing it...”

~~~

(Tumblr refused to let me put these tags and to show my post in the "ben hardy" tag so... Well... Here I am)

[kingstylesdaily]

Five Burning Questions: Harry Styles Earns His First Hot 100 No. 1 With 'Watermelon Sugar'

During a pivotal year of his solo career, Harry Styles has notched another monumental achievement: his first No. 1 single on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.

As “Watermelon Sugar,” the standout track from Styles’ sophomore solo LP Fine Line, lifts 7-1 on this week’s Hot 100 tally, Styles tops the chart for the first time, after previously reaching a No. 2 peak as a member of One Direction. After starting his solo career with his classic rock influences on his sleeve, Styles has become a fixture at pop radio in 2020, with both “Watermelon Sugar” and “Adore You” becoming ubiquitous top 10 hits this year.

How shocking is the ascent of “Watermelon Sugar”? And what could the song mean for Styles’ future at the Grammy Awards? Billboard staffers answer these questions and more below.

1. On a scale of 1-10, how surprised are you that “Watermelon Sugar” is the song to finally give Harry Styles his first Hot 100 chart-topper?

Andrew Unterberger: Three months ago, it would've been a 10 for sure. Types of songs that don't usually go to No. 1 in 2020: fourth official singles, songs that have already dropped off the Hot 100 for multiple months after debuting, rock (or at least rock-based pop) songs. "Watermelon Sugar" was each of 'em, and even as recently as last week, I'd have been, like, an 8 about it going all the way to No. 1 -- even with a viral video, good audio-only streaming numbers and huge radio support, it seemed to have hit a ceiling outside the top 5. But a concentrated fan campaign and some good chart timing have put it over the top, and maybe I shouldn't be so surprised by that in 2020 after all.

Jason Lipshutz: I’d give it a 7 -- not because of any deficiency or quirk with the song, but because of its circuitous route to the top of the Hot 100 chart. Styles performed “Watermelon Sugar” for the first time on Saturday Night Live on Nov. 16, 2019, and released music videos for three other Fine Line songs before finally returning to it in May. That’s an incredibly slow burn -- to provide some context, “Watermelon Sugar” was released the same weekend as the ill-fated Charlie’s Angels reboot! -- and an unlikely path to pop ubiquity, to say the least.  

Joe Lynch: I guess 9? It's super catchy and easy to get into, but it's just not the vibe of most 2019-2020 Hot 100 toppers – although given that Taylor Swift's "Cardigan" cozied up to the top slot last week, perhaps we're at a point in the pandemic where people are specifically turning to something that's a far cry from the top 40 norm for a break in monotony.

Lyndsey Havens: I'd say a 6. Three years ago (and still today) I thought that "Sign of the Times" could have and should have topped the chart, and then I thought that "Adore You" might finally do the trick. But people do say "third time's the charm" for a reason, and it makes sense that, after two strong top 10 singles, the continual growth of Fine Line well into 2020 and the strong promotional push, that this summer-ready, breezy pop-rock track has claimed the chart's top spot.

Stephen Daw: I'm clocking in at a solid 5 — it's surprising (to me, at least) that it took Harry Styles this long to log his first No. 1, but as soon as I heard "Watermelon Sugar," I was confident that, if a song off of Fine Line was going to reach the top of the Hot 100, it would be this one.                               

2. The success of Styles’ second album, Fine Line, has been one of the biggest stories in mainstream pop this year -- the album is still in the top 10 of the Billboard 200 chart eight months after its release. Why do you think Styles’ sophomore solo LP has resonated so well this year?

Andrew Unterberger: I wish I knew -- as do record company folks around the world, I imagine. It's a very good album and Harry is an extremely likeable star, but nothing about an album that feels largely like a tribute to '70s pop-rock and post-peak Paul McCartney would've struck me as an album to take him to that next level of stardom. He's just a star -- one with a big-enough gravitational pull to bend the mainstream to him -- and I won't underestimate him so easily again.

Jason Lipshutz: In 2020, artists like Dua Lipa, Lady Gaga, Selena Gomez and 5 Seconds of Summer have all released top-notch pop full-lengths... but I have returned to Fine Line more than any of them. Part of that has to do with its sense of uplift and enthusiasm during a particularly trying year -- shout-out to “Treat People With Kindness” for snapping me out of some grade-A funks -- but Fine Line’s songs are stronger than those of Styles’ self-titled debut, the pacing is immaculate, the hits are far more effective and Styles is more comfortable in his own, ‘70s-pop-channeling skin. Fine Line is part throwback, part comfort food, part magnetic artistic presence, and remains an excellent front-to-back listen.                                

Joe Lynch: I think he's in a great spot in his career: not only has his 1D fan base embraced his maturing sound (which, to be fair, isn't a tough sell – this is very accessible pop-rock), but his gender-bending, classic rock-worshiping fashionista persona has expanded his listenership beyond the realm of card-carrying Directioners. Plus, it's an album that's crafted to last: this is meticulous studio pop that mostly eschews the tiresome trends and tricks most producers feel obligated to slap on a recording to make it feel “contemporary.” Fine Line occupies its own lane instead of competing against two-or-three new sound-alike albums a month.

Lyndsey Havens: Harry is the "perfect" pop star: his One Direction past earned him a built-in (and very dedicated) fan base, he’s mysterious enough but generous with his content, queen Stevie Nicks has become his number one fan, and, of course, he delivered an album filled with fantastic pop-rock hits and ballads. When Harry Styles arrived, fans had to adjust to Styles' sonic pivot. But by the time he delivered Fine Line, both Styles and his fans had matured -- and those pop-rock roots he planted years prior were in bloom. There was no adjustment period, and in my opinion, that allowed Fine Line to be immediately and repeatedly consumed.

Stephen Daw: There's a lot to be said for Harry's massive, mobilized fan base, and for his status as a burgeoning pop auteur in the modern era. But I think both of those facts only help uplift the fact that Fine Line is simply a great album. The songs aren't pigeonholed into one specific sound, yet they retain this classic, pop-rock finish to them that passes the minivan test; there's something for parents and kids in all of these songs.                                

3. Styles’ other Fine Line hit, “Adore You,” peaked at No. 6 earlier this year, and comes in at No. 12 this week. Are you a “Watermelon Sugar” person or an “Adore You” person?

Andrew Unterberger: I think "Adore You" is the better song, but I'm glad that "Watermelon Sugar" was the song to get him to No. 1. "Adore You" was the dead-center top 40 single -- and even "Falling" could've caught some post-"Someone You Loved" radio spillover -- but "Watermelon Sugar" is just pure Harry. He couldn't have asked for a better, more validating single to affirm his superstardom.

Jason Lipshutz: Hard to pick one, but give me “Watermelon Sugar” for the higher sing-along quality. Watching Styles perform Fine Line in its entirety at the Forum in Los Angeles last December included an arena of fans shouting “Watermelon sugar, HIGH!” -- and this was before the song was a chart-conquering hit. I suspect “Watermelon Sugar” is going to be a euphoric live staple in the coming years, which gives it the edge for me.                                

Joe Lynch: Definitely "Watermelon Sugar,“ a perfect, laid-back summer jam that gently uplifts without ever demanding attention. "Adore You" is solid but tailored for a specific topic, whereas "Watermelon Sugar" is the kind of softly buoyant treat that floats well in a variety of contexts.

Lyndsey Havens: I find it interesting that the two songs off Fine Line to stick around the chart's upper echelon are a bit similar-sounding. One of my favorite things about Styles is the risks he'll take, best evidenced by his debut solo single "Sign of the Times,” but also by Fine Line tracks like "Lights Up," "Falling" and "To Be So Lonely." But that's exactly what makes me a Harry Styles fan -- he's no one trick pony (insert joke about him heading in more than one direction), and while "Adore You" and "Watermelon Sugar" may not showcase his range, they've both become Styles standards for me. But to finally answer the question, I have to go with "Adore You" for the lyrics alone. I mean.... how can you compete, or argue, when he pleads like that?

Stephen Daw: They're both excellent songs, but if I had to pick, I'm partial to "Adore You." Sonically, the groovy bass line and stylized guitar riffs hit me right where I live. Lyrically, I respond a lot more to the "strawberry lipstick state of mind" than I do to something that "tastes like strawberries on a summer evening." But they both have strawberries in there, so it's a win either way!                                

4. Styles is now the second member of One Direction to score a solo No. 1, following Zayn with “Pillowtalk.” If you had to choose one of the other members -- Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson -- to someday score a No. 1 single, who would you put your money on?

Andrew Unterberger: Can't say the prospects for any of them reaching the Hot 100's peak are looking particularly robust right now, but if I had to choose one, I guess I'd say Liam. He has connections throughout the pop world that could result in him finding his way onto the right collab -- with buddy Post Malone, perhaps -- to find his way back to the top. Rooting for Louis, though! Go Louis!

Jason Lipshutz: I’m going to zag a little and go with Liam Payne, who scored an unexpected top 10 hit with the Quavo team-up “Strip That Down” and has been trying to recapture that magic in the years since. Payne’s solo debut didn’t offer any other standout singles, but he’s proven capable of headlining a rhythmic pop single that sticks around at radio, and I wouldn’t be shocked if he does so again over the next few years.                                

Joe Lynch: That's a tough question, because I could see Liam or Louis hopping on a track as a featured artist that goes all the way to the top. But if we're talking primary credited artist, it's gotta be Niall Horan, who has demonstrated probably the most solid catalog and sonic cohesion thus far of those three. Not saying it seems likely, but then again, when Fine Line dropped, who thought "Watermelon Sugar" would sweeten up the top spot on the Hot 100?

Lyndsey Havens: Justice for Niall's "No Judgement"! I played that song a lot when it first came out. But I actually think it's a smarter financial move to bet on Liam Payne, considering his strategy of collaboration. He's worked with Zedd, Quavo and Alesso, among others, and I wouldn't be all that surprised if in another year or so he lands on a track -- or a remix -- that shoots to No. 1 for the star power alone.

Stephen Daw: While Liam is the only other member to get one of his songs into the Top 10 of the Hot 100, I'm putting my chips down on Niall. Heartbreak Weather turned out to be a pretty fun record, and I remain convinced that "Black and White" is going to have a second life (much like "Watermelon Sugar”)!                               

5. Finish this sentence: at next year’s Grammy Awards, Harry Styles’ “Watermelon Sugar” will __________.

Andrew Unterberger: ...be shut out. It may score Harry his first nomination or two -- either solo or with 1D -- but considering how the Recording Academy has given him the cold shoulder so far, and seeing how overlooked he was even among this year's VMAs nods, I don’t know if I see him taking home his first Gramophone for it. (Uh-oh, looks like I'm easily underestimating him again -- never mind, I say the song sweeps.)

Jason Lipshutz: ...be nominated for record of the year, and Fine Line will be nominated for album of the year, and justice will have finally been served to Styles, who has yet to garner a single nomination over the course of his career. Will either win? It’s too early to say, but I like Fine Line’s chances at this point. 

Joe Lynch: ...sow seeds of discontent; the Grammys will continue to ignore Harry Styles, and the fans will unleash their exasperation on Twitter with the machine gun-rapidity of a cartoon character spitting out watermelon seeds.

Stephen Daw: ...probably get nominated for record of the year. It would be worthy of a spot in the song of the year and best pop solo performance categories as well, but something tells me that if one of his songs were to be nominated for those categories, "Adore You" stands a better chance. While it would be great to see Harry win, if he were nominated in this category, he'd likely be going up against the likes of Dua Lipa, Taylor Swift, Lady Gaga, The Weeknd and/or Megan Thee Stallion, and I just don't think he'd be able to clinch the ROTY win with that kind of competition.

Lyndsey Havens: ...still taste like strawberries on a summer evenin’.               

source: Billboard

[jawnjendes]

can’t see in the stormy weather | shawn mendes

university au, shawn x goth gf

NOTE: this is NOT the new series. this is a one shot that takes place during the early stages of their relationship... you’ll find it in the Season 1 section of the masterlist :) 

goth gf playlist | masterlist

When Shawn asked me to make a playlist describing who I am, I almost threw myself back to California. I don't know what it is about people wanting to know things about me, but it's annoying. I detest it.

It's not like he made me a playlist full of sappy love songs. He just wanted to hear songs I identify with. That was borderline terrifying because Shawn is a musician. He lives and breathes music and analyzing lyrics and melodies. What's he going to think if he finds Halsey's "Without Me" or 5SOS's "Invisible?"

Oh yeah. I deeply project whatever bits of me I discover onto songs. Then I stick to those songs and keep them on repeat and I make sure no one knows about them because then people would know things about me. It's irrational and unrealistic but that's how my stupid brain works. Anyone who's ever known me needs to disappear! They can't have the luxury of knowing me and all my secrets! What the fuck would I do if Shawn and I broke up? I'd have to kill him, that's what.

"What, are you gonna kill me too if we stop being friends?" Stella asked. "Seriously, it's just a playlist. It doesn't have to be that deep."

"I told you what the prompt was, right?" I replied.

"Yeah. And that is because Shawn knows you don't verbally express yourself about… anything. So he gave you a different outlet."

Fuck, I thought I was the psychology major here.

Yes, it was easier to let Shawn in through ways where I didn't have to say things out loud and explicitly. I had to admit that. But he was still going to find out things I had yet to tell him. Important things apart from the anxiety and semi-regular therapy sessions.

"Why don't you just pick generic songs you like, and not the ones that reveal too much?" Stella suggested.

I scoffed. "I'm closed off, I'm not a liar."

"It's not lying. Everyone's favorite song means something. I was listening to Big Time Rush when I touched down on Toronto for the first time. Everytime I hear Boyfriend I think about how I successfully made it out of my parents' house."

As nice as that sentiment was, I couldn't bring myself to find ways around the prompt. I had to do what Shawn said: compile a bunch of songs that I feel represent who I am. Besides, making playlists is… really fucking fun.

~

It took an hour of adding, removing, and very specific placements, but I was happy about my playlist to the point where I was nervous. I sent the link to Shawn the next morning when I knew he was on the way to the gym. Figured he’d listen to it during his morning workout and get it overwith. But no.

No.

Basically, I’m a fool who forgets she’s dating a musician.

So here I was, thinking that Shawn would make of what he will about the songs I chose and we would never talk about it. Wow, was I fucking wrong. How did I not expect Shawn to want to know the why?

He was a little sneaky about it too. Shawn invited me over to his place after my classes, and why the fuck would I say no to that? Of course I went over, internally cursing myself for not shaving my legs the night before. He usually had the TV on and a steaming mug of chamomile ready for me whenever I came over no matter the circumstance. Today there was only tea, and a stupidly excited Shawn.

“We have music to listen to you today!” he said when he had me on his couch.

He knew I wouldn’t play dumb either. And because of the fact that I was looking at his stupid beautiful face, I couldn’t move away from this topic.

“Cool…” I said stiffly.

Jet Black Heart - Live

He pulled up the playlist, which I had titled with the black heart emoji, and hit shuffle. Completely going against the very intricate order I put each song in. He was surprised to hear an audience screaming at the first song, but he recognized the tune that came shortly after.

“Why’d you pick this one?” he asked, his arm going around the back of the couch, watching me with his stupid pretty eyes.

I chuckled. “It’s a goth joke! Everything about me is dark, even my heart!”

“And there’s a hurricane underneath it?” Shawn guessed. He really was going to pick apart the lyrics and apply them to me, huh? “Any reason why it’s the live version?”

The answer wasn’t anything too telling or cheesy. It was still hard to maintain eye contact as I explained. “Stella introduced me to this band. She dragged me to a 5SOS concert and now it’s our tradition to see them whenever they tour.”

“Is this your favorite song?”

“Live, yeah. It just reminds me of feeling so alive. Concerts are the only times I feel that way.”

Shawn grinned at the sentiment. He seemed happy with that answer and sang along to the rest of the song.

“And there’s your deep shit of the day,” I said when it ended.

“I want more.”

What I’m Made Of…

I felt a tiny pit in my stomach. I knew this song, and I knew that Shawn did not know this song. He was looking down at the album cover on his phone, thinking to himself. Then, he turned to me expectantly.

“So…?”

“Just enjoy the lyrics and the sick guitar solo.”

He was quiet for a minute. “Well, I do get your vibes from it. But you’re also reluctant to show me what you’re made of.”

I hesitated. “It’s uh, a battle song. I’ll fight someone for trying to forcibly take anything from me.”

“Like if somebody jumped you?”

“Physically, mentally, emotionally. Yeah.”

Again, silence. “You gonna fight me?”

I knew he was joking, and I cracked a grin. “Jury’s out.”

“Any reasoning behind this soundtrack?” He showed me the cover, and I internally tried not to panic.

I had plucked the song off the wrong album, and now Shawn knew I was a fan of a certain speedy blue creature.

So much for being cool and mysterious. I’m just a fucking nerd now.

“Nah, not at all,” I casually replied.

Honestly, I enjoyed this song. I love this song. Why else would it be on this playlist? But just this once, I wanted to skip to the next one.

And when the next one came, I wanted to skip again.

I Am… All of Me

“Do, do you kin a certain hedgehog?” Shawn asked, once again amused by the album cover.

“No…” I resisted rolling my eyes.

“This song definitely sounds like you. Tell me, am I dating a hedgehog?”

Suddenly, this felt less nerve wracking and more annoying. I sighed heavily.

“I thought you wanted to know more about me.”

He chuckled. “Hey, I’m trying. I’m interpreting all these songs in whatever way I can because you won’t explain them to me. Plus, this song is from a video game.”

“Did it occur to you that maybe I like the game this song came from? Maybe I casually like this whole franchise because-” I stopped myself upon seeing Shawn’s face light up, like he wanted me to go on.

But no, he made fun of me. This song is now void, and he will not get an answer.

“Because?” he coaxed.

“Because nothing.” I grabbed his phone out of his hand and skipped to the next song.

Without Me

“Oh, who hurt you?”

“You already know that story. Next!”

Wilson (Expensive Mistakes)

I’ll stop wearing black when they make a darker color.

Shawn looked at me for a moment, still trying to analyze the fuck out of my song choice. “I gotta say, I was expecting more goth music. You listen to a lot of mainstream artists.”

“There’s no rule saying I can’t. Mainstream artists are popular for a reason.”

“Touche. So why this song?”

“It’s what people think I am. Grumpy, bitter, always in black.”

"But that's not all you are." Shawn held his hand out to me, and I took it. He looked down at my chipped polish, running his fingers over my nails. "I mean, you are grumpy. Bitter? No, I'd say realistic. Always in black? Yeah, and you look beautiful all the time because you feel good in it."

That last part struck me. At least I didn't look odd to him. He didn't fall for the tough exterior I've built for myself. That little fact was both touching and terrifying.

"I know there's more to you than the way you dress yourself. It's why I like you so much." He grinned.

Cry With a Smile

"There's the goth metal you were looking for!" I exclaimed.

"Mm, your sense of belonging, as you put it. I know all about this already."

And he skipped to the next song.

A Little Too Much

Shawn perked up a little bit, a smile growing on his face. Then he looked at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Is that me?"

Now my cheeks burned. "Yeah. This song feels like a callout."

"Babe…" He was still smiling as he leaned in to cup my face and kiss my forehead.

"Yeah, can you believe? I get tired of being a hardass sometimes." I was only half joking.

Not a lot of people knew my deal with anxiety and depression, much less why they intensified over the last couple of years. The urge to tell Shawn everything was beginning to form in my throat but I kept pushing it down. He looked too happy, and I didn't want to bring that down.

"You don't have to be a hardass around me," he said sweetly. "Actually, please don't be a hardass around me, okay? Everyone has their limits."

Then, he skipped to the next song, because he was sick of his own voice.

Fist Bump

Shawn looked at me once again, a grin on his face. Here we go again.

“I’m noticing a trend here.”

“I like this franchise, okay?”

“Okay, kinnie.”

I rolled my eyes and sat back, scrolling on my phone to diffuse the frustration. What was the point if he was just going to make fun of me?

“Hey.” Shawn gently placed his hand over my phone, getting me to put it down. “I’m only kidding. You can laugh.”

My eyes narrowed.

“I’m serious! Look, maybe if you just tell me what these songs mean to you, I’ll understand better. Just give me a chance.”

His eyes didn’t show any bit of deceit… But that’s how they all are. And everytime, I’m always a fool. So I sighed and tried not to cringe at my own words.

“It’s lame… and stupid… and really stupid. But all those silly little video game songs? They…” I exhaled, and chipped at my nails. “You know I deal with… anxiety and everlasting sadness…”

“You mean depression?” Shawn corrected.

“Yeah, whatever,” I went on. “The world is full of some real shit, and, and the songs and the games…” I made a face and looked down. “They’re comforting.”

It was silent for a minute before a hand went and cupped my chin. I was met with Shawn’s eyes and glowing smile. But then he opened his mouth and the most baby baby voice came out.

“Does Sonic make yew feew bettew?”

I smacked his hand away. “I swear to-”

But I didn’t finish that statement because he tackled me in a hug.

“Kidding, kidding! I’m sorry, baby, that was the last one, I promise!” He kissed the side of my head before leaning back to look at me. “I think it’s really cute you like this series.”

“It’s not cute, it’s self care,” I mumbled.

Head Above Water

“Finally, a song I know!” Shawn exclaimed, and he dove into singing along.

I forgot I put that one on the playlist. I meant to take it off. It only made me more nervous that Shawn already knew this song. He was one step closer to unlocking the big one.

He sounded beautiful as he sang, lost in the melancholy melody. I watched him, trying not to give anything away through my face alone. It was getting harder to keep it together, just from the little things I had already told Shawn.

And so came the inevitable expectant look. “So? Depression? Religion?”

Part of me wanted to let him think that. Depression is common, it’s easier to explain than the real reason. Besides, it’s not a lie. I do have my dark days, and even darker periods. But depression isn’t the reason for this song.

“Nope,” I replied.

“You know, Avril Lavigne wrote this when she was really sick.”

Dammit, he does know what this song is about.

I sighed heavily. “How do I put this in a way that doesn’t sound scary or pathetic?”

“You’re sick,” Shawn guessed with a chuckle. But the look on my face changed the mood, and he went serious. “How bad are we talking?”

“I get sick… every so often,” I explained. “It’s nothing scary, it’s just… chronic IBS. I can manage it, I just have to be careful with what I eat.”

He nodded as he listened. “So it’s not that bad, but it’s enough for you to have a whole song about being sick?”

I hesitated. “There’s another song, actually.”

“Two?” Shawn shifted in his seat. “So that must mean it’s a bigger deal to you than you’re making it out to be.”

And he thinks he doesn’t know me well enough.

I didn’t like talking about my health problems, unless it was with my doctor. I didn’t talk about how annoying all this shit was outside my therapist’s office. Anytime I felt frustrated about food, I talked myself down because it could literally be worse. Why would I whine about something so mundane?

“You know you don’t have to tone it down for me,” Shawn added when I stayed quiet for too long. “And, if it helps… now I understand why you read restaurant menus so carefully.”

“Like I said, I have to be careful.” My voice went thick for a moment, so I coughed. “I eat the wrong thing, and I end up sleeping in the bathroom til the wrong thing is out.”

“So it’s frustrating to deal with this all the time?”

“Yeah… and I spent two and a half years not knowing what was wrong with me, two and a half years going to the doctor more times than a young adult should for their age… two and a half years thinking I might die…”

Shawn’s eyes widened. “Years?”

“We went to a doctor in Mexico, and he finally diagnosed me with IBS,” I explained. “But that was after the words ‘lymphoma’ and ‘tumor’ were thrown into the mix. It’s not really something you forget. Oh, and I hate vomiting. I hate it so much that I can’t be in the same room as someone who might be queasy. So that’s annoying.”

“Wow…”

I suddenly felt a little self conscious. “I know it’s stu-”

“If you say stupid one more time,” Shawn cut me off. “This is the least stupid thing you could be talking about right now.”

“My anxiety links back to food, too. Think that’s important to mention.”

“Is that why you always want to go back to your dorm after a dinner date?”

Oof, so he noticed. I stayed quiet, so Shawn continued.

“I can take care-”

“No,” I said immediately. The last thing I needed was my boyfriend seeing me have a meltdown because I ate something spicy. The last thing I needed was for anyone to see me have an anxiety attack after vomiting. “It’s not your job.”

Shawn reached over to cup my cheek. Only then did I realize I had been tearing up, and he was wiping it away.

I turned my head away, dabbing at my eyes with my sweater sleeves. I didn’t want to look pathetic and I failed.

“I have to ask,” he said after a moment, “have you gotten sick at all since we started dating?”

“It is a chronic illness that I have.”

“And you just… you just took care of yourself? While you were sleeping in the bathroom?”

“Like I’ve always done since I left home.”

“Impressive. I always call my mom when I feel sick, and she comes over every time.”

I was honestly surprised. I was expecting him to be upset because I never called him in my time of need. And that alone, made more tears well up in my eyes.

“Hey,” he said, scooting closer to me. “It’s okay. You probably went through a lot before you got diagnosed. It’s frustrating, I can see it weighing on your shoulders. Just tell me if there’s anything I can do for you.”

I could feel him looming over me, waiting for me to fall back in his arms. The song had long since ended, and it wasn’t about the playlist anymore. Shawn was just waiting for me to do something. I couldn’t bear to look at him, because his kindness and understanding would make me break even more. He really was too kind, far more than I expected.

Even when I said nothing, and he took out his phone. I thought he got bored, but his next prompt made me look up at him.

“Okay, so that barbeque restaurant we went to the other night, we had spicy buffalo wings for an appetizer, so we won’t have those again. Any other food that might make you sick?”

I stared for a moment before I caught another tear with my sleeve. “Um… can we skip that whole restaurant? Barbeque and my stomach don’t mix.”

Shawn typed, and the only sound in the room was his clicking keyboard. “Got it. No more barbeque. Any other place or food to avoid?”

“It’s a long list…”

“That’s why I’m writing it down.”

_______

goth gf taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @ilsolee @mendesromano @kitykatnumber @strangerliaa @iloveshawnieboi @someoneunimportantxx @goldenmndes @ruinhoney @calyumthomas @shawnsunflower @shawnvvmendes @parkeraul @havethetimeeofyourlifee @chillingbythesea @wronglanemendes @softmendesss