#yeah the guitar solo is juts not it

[walking-circles]

getting an unimaginable headache from this but . i need you all to hear this version

[stonyponyofficial]

aw sweet! see what it says on the calendar?summer has sprung, it seems! some might say its time to show u sillies some songs for the season!

spotify link :3 :: yt link :3

full list + notes under the cut ^w^

Aluralura - Sweet Trip: this somg is soooooo fucking smooth. and cool. using the strictest definition of cool i can. perhaps cooler than cool. dk what ud even call that but this is it. sounds like i should be cruisin down the information highway to this straight up. feels like im being hit with a million little lightning bolts in. a good way? that doesnt sound good but it is. ull get it just listen pls just li

Babe of the Abyss - Girls Rituals: UGH devi.. i was so sad when this was pulled from streaming for a bit like some of the other singles from the upcoming girls rituals, but thankfully it did return :3 unlike the rest of those songs :/ eh this one is good enough to make up for it! so glittery and clicky and kinda unlike a lot of other songs devis done but it's v unique like that :3 the cover is interesting to me too bc it looks ai generated and it reminds me of a video devi made explaining her songwriting process a bit and after setting an arpeggiater (dk if i spelled that right lmao) to random she said she likes the collaboration between her and her computer and letting the computer decide some things like that :3 idk just a neat little factoid for ya

BALD! - JPEGMAFIA: was gonna put one of the tracks off scaring the hoes in this spot but, after deciding to go through peggys solo stuff a bit i liked this one even more than those ones :3 he has a very interesting and wide ranging sound tho so im really excitied to listen to more. uhh nothing else to say really. juts good song 👍

Cops and robbers - underscores: new underscores era hello anyone rockin wit it???? ME im rocking with jt thank u very much!! that one song count of three (you can eat $#@!), which ive heard is very good :3, was the end of the fishmonger era for them, where the "thing" was apparently that underscores wanted guitar on each track. still trying to find The thing about this eras sound, and maybe its the deeming it "the Wallsocket era", but to me everything just feels very buzzy, very electrically alive idk. like theres just this CRT/fluorescent light hum that backs the bass at the beginning. and the middle section just sounds like im listening to a fucking tesla coil make a pop song. shit Rocks. and Fucks. i give this one the Makes Violet Sing And Dance Around In Her Room Alone award this season, which is something i will absolutely be doing from now on and will not forget for the fall hehe :3

Dariacore Song Tutorial - leroy/Jane Remover: wait i thought there was YEAH there was dariacore on the last one, but as ive seen it so elegantly explained, this is a jane song more than a dariacore song. i mean obviously sonically right, no memey hyperpop mash up font, just some loud ass guitars n drums, but its good!!! jane literally incapable of missing.

Dress Down - Kaoru Akimoto: one of my many music moments recently has been getting into city pop more! i kiiinda only know the hits, of which this is definitely one of them, but ive seen my way around a bit B) (my cool sunglasses guy do not steal.) and even after my journey round the city.. pop, this is still one of my faves.

FELL - Varg^2™️ (im toolazy to make it superscript sowwy) & Bladee: since i began my drain journey i thought id listened to most if not all of bladees stuff besides like really old stuff that actually isnt good. like, bladee isnt good, but u get used to it as the saying goes and u kinda get to see his artistic vision unfold as he releases new stuff. but old bladee really isnt good. anyway imagine my delight and splendor when i see theres another Varg^2TM, Bladee collab... besides ecco and the rest of drain gang varg is probably my favorite bladee collaborator. in fact i almost put SHINIE, another collab from them, on some spring songs but it didnt make the cut unfortch. glad i could find something new from them to dig into mm yummy bladee :3

!¡! find the answer ¡!¡ - six impala: holy FUCK i am listening to six impala!

光の中へ (hikari no naka e)- Kessoku Band: yeah yeah i know there was kessoku band on the last one BUT THEY MADE MORE SO I LISTENED TO IT. they have such good push and pull with their tunes. like the moments of silence/slowing down before going all out. the quick drum interjections to pick things back up again. like nijikas fuckin getting it!!!! actually i read something recently about the critical reception to kessoku band, the self titled album, that makes a similar point. they were saying that although the album is just good j-rock on its own, the strength of the individual instruments and the texture of the songs themselves embodies the characters in your mind. like i listened to the beginning a bit closer one time and heard the little shreds the guitar was giving at the top and it instantly made me think like "oh shit bocchis fucking tearing it up!" soooo good instantly one of my faves from them.

It Was A Good Day - Ice Cube: fuuuuuuck i cant fucking find it i wasngonna put it here bc its the reason i added it to my playlist and have been listening to it so mch recently but. i cant find it. it was a top text bottom text cat meme edit of this song, in the same vein as that one of death grips' hacker. a very good morning walk song btw, cuz even tho it would be very easy for that situation to feel trite, im like shit. mama cooked the breakfast with no hog! todays gonna be a good day. it usually isnt with where im heading on my morning walk but. eventually itll be a good day! and the iced cube told me that.

Les Os - The Unicorns: sooooo this song is extremely horny to me sorry. also very kinda toxic t4t core but thats juts meeeeeee :3... + the singers voice is very similar in register to mine when in singing so it makes it v easy to project who daid that.... uhh anywag in the ol violet amv machine (what i call my brain) i imagine the singer with the mic stand tilted back between their legs, perhaps a cheeky little leg wrap around like sexy singers tend to do, as they stare down from the stage into yuor eyes specifically. asking u directly, out of everyone. tell me bout ur love affairs.. tell me bout ur moral resignations... so then u meet after the show and [transmission lost]

LOU - whoTF (Folie & Forget Basement), Fraxiom: [transmission regained] and from the production stylings of new hyperpop ish duo whoTF comes another lyrical miracle from the mind and pen of fraxiom music!!! includes such bangers as "I’m blowing up your car/I see Mercedes boom/I’m off four drinks of alcohol/Pissing in the ladies room!" rhyming "you can watch a youtube video" with "get your fitted tutu biddie hoe" (LIKE?) and also the amazing outro from which i could just paste the whole thing but this part resonates especially "I need to become alive, in the morning, like a rooster!/Don't talk to me until I've had my coffee and foodstuffs"..."Estradiol, finasteride, adderall, and thc im juiced up!" making rooster rhyme with foodstuff and juiced up and also everything else in that part god. they dont call them fraxiom fucking music for nothing. um but also whoTF is v good, for one without frax that is still good listen to cigs up as well :3

Natural Disasters - Enon: love me a song with a strange guitar hook! ive heard this bands like top 2 songs (which include this one) bc it was just a night of spotify surfing, but those two songs are quite good. very boucy, good energy. makes me wanna do the bounce in place dance and flail my arms as i sing only the chorus and maybe try to approximate the sounds of the lyrics i dont know. sounds like a good time to me!

Overflow - Een Glish, Tyfty, Ben Glish: eek! so ai voiced songs specifically rap is very good to me. that family ties edit with spongebob and patrick is probably one of my favorite pieces of music. but this artist is v interesting to me :3 een glish is a vocaloid (? not sure if entirely correct but u get what im getting at) made from the google translate ladys voice. and its GOOD this one specifically is very catchy but she has bars too!!! check out rap game bob ross too, and also the remix with bars from SONIC HELLO? im giving this one the Sound of the Summer distinction bc not only is it a very summery jam, but it is the one im really telling u to check out if u get the chance. lots of good jams here.

Scatman - Scatman John (DJ Kadozer 2003 Remix): (why did i accidentally type out 'evil remix' at first?) sooooo i was having a bit of a scatman moment recently, as was documented in THIS other epic music post u should go check out if u havent already hihhii :3 tho she TOTALLY STOLE the one i was gonna do, Scatman's World, cuz everyone knows scatman right? skabadaba bweebopbopbadop bop? bopbop badop bop? yeah that one! but.... have u ever heard scatman. like this???? probably not... all im sayin... scat vocals/eurobeat foundation translated to this stabbing edm remix.. its quite good. good enough that the first few seconds alone get me to smile big like this :)

Shop - Toby Fox: songs to order a You. Pick. 2... to...... haha but seriously guys this ones just a really chill one :3 i can alwasy hear the you. pick. 2. part in the song bc theyre punctuated exactly the same way its kinda hell. im chillin. like usual. listenin to undertale musicand then how boutta You. Pick. 2. with some brawwwcolli cheddah. onsecond th... and then were done with that and back to the normal undertale song! like an angle in the knight.. or tiers in the reign...... here and then gone forever. truly, ephemeral..............................

The Flag Is Raised - Asian Glow: in case we couldn't drain enough this summer, asian glow put out this really neat interpretation of one of my faves off bladee and ecco2k's recent masterpiece, Crest. follows in the footsteps of many a bladee cover for me where the cover often plays over the actual song in my head. like i expect certain isntrumentation when i listen to the original that is only present in the cover but that just means theyre both good ! the guitars and the cymbals all over this make this version feel so shiny... aww and they use the little sigil ring from Crest on the cover for it too :"3

THE FLIES - Operation Sodasteal: think i mentioned this in the tags of a post that im sure uve all read before coming to class today, but ive been listening to a lot of these guys recently! just some furry emo nightcore rock that sounds plucked right out of 2007. the one vocalist, slaney(in)famous i think? im not confident which is which, has such a good voice for it too like they have all the good vocal inflections of ur typical lead pop punk vocalist, and i usually just end up singing the lyrics like them bc im just a silly little mirror huh?

This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody) - Talking Heads: ooobh i got plany off time....... yeag ive been getting down with this jam recently :3 another good morning walk tune. been trying to get into talking heads a bit more too bc every song i hear is soooo good. like i almost put the girl wants to be with the girls here bc of that OTHER meme edit i actually dont remember if it was lolcats again. it was specifically the "girls are getting into.. abstract analysis!" OHHBB it was a rose homestuck thing bc i memba her sitting at her lappytop :3 doin some fuckin abstract analysis i suppose..

Tin Man - feeble little horse: this is another single turned favorite-song-on-the-full-album-bc-i-took-too-long-making-this-list-again-lol. i love what theyre doin to these guitars maan theyre really fuckin em up in there..... also i love that this band just calls its music guitar music. its fuckin true.

Vicinity of Obscenity - System Of A Down: songs that have done irreversible damage to my psyche and syntax. i will bust out a banana banana banana terracotta banana terracotta terracotta pie when the fuck ever just let me know the time and place my man. it is such a vocal stim for me. this whole song is honestly. some of the silliest nu metal u can get ur paws on i checked (she is lying to u again tho it is quite silly with it 😳) + had to go with the 2008 youtube editor lyric video for the youtube playlist obviously.

ahmmmmm so thanks u all once again for enjoying some more songs with me (summer edition)!!!!! <3333 see yall...... in the fall.. with some more songs hehe (or perhaps for summer......2! who knowce :3 the summers still got plany off time as some might say)

[novantinuum]

Tides of Renewal (SU one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (Mild TW for vague allusions to past suicidal thoughts.)

Words: 2500~

Summary: Now twenty years old and living on the other side of the country, Steven spends his morning relaxing on the beach, musing about his past, and having a chat with his dad.

Hi folks! This is actually my two-months-late “Happy Birthday, Steven” fic, ahah- amusingly, posted two months late to the day. I’m quite happy with how this short turned out.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Tides of Renewal

Steven rises alongside the sun, but not by choice.

As he abruptly stirs, jerking onto his side under his tangled blanket, he soon realizes that he has little lingering memory of the nightmare that shook him from his slumber. Nevertheless, his heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s hanging in his throat. There’s feelings, faint impressions— someone’s blood (his, or hers?), Connie’s screams, a bubble of terror boiling from within— but that’s all he’s left with. The young man clutches at his sheets, struggling to catch his breath as is the norm most mornings. Dim light sneaks in between the edges of the curtains, offering a rough estimate of the time.

Once it’s clear his chances of sleeping in have become null and void, he entices himself out of bed with the promise of buying himself a muffin at the local coffee shop later today, a birthday treat. His routine is sluggish, but precise. He uses the bathroom, throws on his swim trunks and a thin cotton shirt, downs the pills he forgot to take last night with a quick swig of water, carefully runs his fingers through his long curls to work out the tangles, and slips his feet into the flip flops he always leaves lying right at the foot of his bed.

The young adult only takes his guitar, phone, and keys with him as he walks the mile distance from his humble studio apartment to the public beach. Around him, the world is at peace. The only sound intermingling with the gentle ebb and flow of the Pacific at this hour of the morning is the chattering of puffins that nest on the large rock outcroppings in the tide pools nearby. The edge of his lip quirks up when he finally crosses that sacred boundary— the sidewalk meeting the shore— and removes his sandals, reveling in the satisfying, grainy texture of sand squishing between his toes. Hah... the beach. Funny, that. All his traveling these past years, from mountains, to prairies, to sprawling suburbs to wooded forest towns, and it only succeeded in deepening his childhood love for the familiarity of saltwater air and tourist-filled boardwalks. Still, the secluded, rustic charm of Haystack Cove is a far cry from the Beach City he grew up in. Different people, different sights, different types of seafood sold at the markets. This place feels like a home all his own, appropriately distant from the Gem influenced settlement he’d left behind.

He crosses the fine grained sands towards his favorite sitting spot, a hefty stone jutting out from the ground, its surface buffed to a glossy finish over the years by the high tides. The water’s still distant this early in the morning, glimmers of sunlight sparkling off of the foam and spray. Yawning, he plops himself down on the stone and lifts his guitar into his lap. He strums a few random chords as a warm-up before settling into an experimental melodic sequence.

As he plays, the early morning breeze teases at the ends of his shoulder-length hair, untied and let free in all its curly splendor. It’s still quite chilly, but with the sun peaking over the horizon behind him and not a cloud in sight, the air’s bound to heat up in no time. Steven inhales deeply, soaking in the salt and light and pushing away the shadows lurking at the periphery of his mind, that twitching, exhausting anxiety that never quite seems to leave him alone these days. Unfortunately, functional does not mean carefree. While far fewer in number then when he was a teen, he still runs into plenty of moments where he’s struck blind by particularly painful reminders of his past, his gem snapping into overdrive in an instant. He’s a bit better at coping in these moments now, and walking himself down from panic attacks, but deep-rooted traumas don’t simply melt away. With that in mind, at this point he suspects he’ll likely have to deal with a mixture of therapy and meds for the rest of his life. That’s fine, though. If that’s what it takes to be at peace. He’s thankfully reached a point in his recovery where he’s more than willing to work for it.

Startling him out of his roaming thoughts, his phone chimes to life, touting the same cheery ring tone he had as a kid. He gently sets his guitar down in the sand and fishes his cell phone out of his pocket, a silent bet as to who’s calling rising within his mind. Sure enough, his dad’s contact photo proudly greets him. Hah— he called it. Steven stifles a giggle as he hits accept and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Dad!”

“Hey, Schtu-ball!” his father chimes from the other side of the country, three hours ahead. He hears a faint shuffle over the line, and then the beginnings of guitar accompaniment as the man begins to sing:

“Happy birthday to you~!”

Dad ends the line with a resounding vibrato, and a few extra jazzy chords for good measure.

“Heh heh, thanks,” he says, bashfully blushing at the attention, and gazing across the loose sands as if ensuring the secret of his birth hasn’t swelled into a nauseatingly public affair like half of his birthdays had since the start of Era 3. “Gotta say, the impromptu guitar solo pushed that to a whole new level. You just get up?”

“Yep! Bright and early. Garnet said you’d probably be awake by now, so I figured I’d call and give ya’ a good greeting to start the day. Lemme guess, you’re down there at the beach already? I think I heard waves.”

Steven’s glance lifts to admire the slowly rising tides, and the promise of each tomorrow that lies beyond. “Hah, you know me,” he says softly, taking a deep lungful of that precious salt-touched air he’s always adored. “I live for the water. Might force myself to go for a swim later before all of you come. Not sure yet,” he says, shrugging as he turns and squints in the wake of the steadily rising sun. “But my therapist said I should probably keep as active as po—“

“It’s your birthday. You do whatever makes you happy, bud,” his dad promptly reminds him, slight concern sticking to his voice. And yes, it’s practically a father’s job to worry, but his chest tightens with lingering guilt for pressing that upon him anyways. Ugh, this is because he said ‘force myself,’ isn’t it?

“Doing my best to,” he lamely offers, hoping it’ll at least end that segment of conversation. He twirls a stray strand of hair around his finger as he scours his memory for something new to offer. Thankfully, his mind quickly lands on the exciting email he received last night. He grins, knowing for sure his dad’ll love this. “Oh, uh- topic change, but I got that last job I applied for, by the way.”

“Oh? The taffy shop one?”

“Yeah! I start on Tuesday.”

“Wow, that’s- that’s awesome! They responded fast, then.”

“Yup,” Steven nods, popping the ‘p.’ “Honestly, it’s nothing much, just stocking and working the register, but it’ll give me some cash to work with.”

Some cash to finally pay for his own food instead of continuously bumming money off his dad. There’s no way he can handle full month’s rent on his own with this minimum wage job, (who on Earth could in this economy), but it might be enough to cover the smaller things. Groceries, electricity, internet. That sorta stuff. Fidgeting on the edge of the stone outcropping, his bare toes dig narrow lines in the sand. He hasn’t really had this discussion with Dad yet, but the mere concept of being wholly reliant on other people steers his mind uncomfortably close to the I’m a Burden Zone. He’d far prefer to feel like he has a stake in the game.

“I know you said you don’t mind supporting me,” he continues in a hesitant tone, twirling his finger through one of his curls, “but I still feel kinda bad—“

“Don’t. I’d rather you not have to stress yourself to the bone about money like I did when I was your age.”

The line shakes for a second. He’s pretty sure he hears the faint clink of a bowl meeting the counter from his dad’s side.

“Dad...?”

“Sorry, bud. Just putting ya’ on speaker. Figured I’d make myself some instant oatmeal,” he says, his voice sounding a bit further away from the microphone. “Goodness, though. Twenty years. That still boggles the mind.”

He gives a soft laugh. “You’re telling me. Could’ve sworn I was twelve just yesterday. And to be honest, it’s... it’s kinda weird sometimes, you know?”

“What is?”

“Being another year older. ‘Cause... well, uh...”

Steven grits his teeth, searching for the most delicate manner in which he can discuss these emotions. The feelings of his past are a really hard topic to dwell on sometimes, even in therapy, and even though he and his dad have long since had scattered discussions about what a poor mental state he was in then, he doesn’t wanna upset him too much.

“There were definitely days I assumed I wouldn’t have a future, or didn’t want one to begin with,” he continues, throat thick. “Back during all the conflict, before Homeworld reformed. And even after that, when I was... you know. And things are better, now, they’re definitely a lot better. But the idea of a ‘future’... even if I’ve got a job, a home, a girlfriend... it’s still weird to think about, I guess.“

There’s a brief silence on the line as this vulnerable admission sinks in.

“Yeah,” Dad replies eventually, clear sorrow in his voice despite how careful he thought he was in phrasing these matters. “I hear ya’.”

With a quick nervous laugh, he scratches at the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing against the thin, wispy strands of hair growing back there. “Geeze, sorry for bringing the mood down so quick. Didn’t even know I had all that on my mind until it spilled right out.”

“No, no! No need for apologies, I’m always here to listen. And in any case, I’m glad you’re in a better place now.”

Steven nods his head to himself in full agreement (momentarily forgetting that his dad isn’t actually here in the flesh to see this response). Sixteen and seventeen really, really weren’t good years for him. And even though he’s put lot of work into himself since then, he can’t help but constantly fear the possibility of relapse. His therapist told him a few sessions ago when he expressed this worry that... relapses into old thinking patterns can be common for people living with C-PSTD, and that it’s important for him to be cognizant of any unusual changes in his patterns and routines so he can quickly intervene with his box of healthy coping tactics, but... geeze. The dark, traumatic destinations his wandering thoughts end up stagnating in when the concept of relapse brushes his mind aren’t fun to acknowledge. It makes him yearn with deafening hunger for a simple switch he could flip, some magic cure-all for his brain that would stop him from having to deal with any of this awful shit in the first place— but of course, cruel universe this can be at times, those don’t exist.

“Speaking of that,” Dad speaks up again after clearing his throat, “how are those new meds treating you? You said last call your doctor was gonna change them, yes?”

“Nah, not change. There’s no need to change types,” he shrugs. “It’s just a dosage shift. And it’s fine, I think. I’ve been on ‘em for a few days, and there’s no problems so far. Brain's been treating me a little better.”

Nightmares aren’t quite as bad.

His energy isn’t totally zapped by noon.

The whirling, panicked trajectory of his thought patterns is a little easier to wrest control of.

All in all, nothing’s perfect, but he certainly feels a good deal more stable than before. Now, if only he can remember to consistently take his meds before he goes to bed like he’s supposed to instead of totally forgetting like he did last night and having to scarf it down when he sees that forsaken capsule in his pill box the next morning. Tsk, tsk.

“That’s real good to hear,” his dad responds to his news.

He flexes his knuckles against his lap, gaze reflexively drifting back towards the welcomed distraction of the tides. “Yeah.”

“Anyways, I, uh...”

“So, party logistics,” he cuts in with an overly cheery tone, changing the topic from his boring mental health crap entirely. “We should probably hash this out now. I know Connie’s planning on dropping around about noon. What’s your guys’ plan? She can probably send Lion to you after she gets here, if you want.”

“Yeah, that’d be best. Pearl said there weren’t any convenient warps nearby. Well, there’s one- but apparently it empties out into an active lava tube. And that’s not exactly Dad-friendly.”

“Aww, you mean you’re not filled with the intense desire to dip your hand into molten lava and shlorp it up like it’s soup?” Steven retorts, only barely holding back his laughter as he thinks of this absurd text thread he had going with Connie a few weeks back, wherein she sent him a video of some volcanic flows and told him, verbatim, that 'despite all logic and reason sometimes I can’t help but look at super viscous lava and think... forbidden s o u p, mmmm.’

“Not particularly, no,” his dad says, sounding thoroughly confused. “I’m- why are you laughing? Is this some sort of weird internet thing I’m not familiar with again?”

He wipes tears from his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “You, ah- you kinda had to be there, sorry. Anyways, yeah. I’ll have Connie send Lion. I’ll text you right before, how’s that?”

“Sounds great! Can’t wait to see ya’, bud. I’m gonna let you go, now, okay? I can talk your ears off later. Go enjoy your morning. Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad,” he says, grinning. “Bye.”

“Buh-bye.”

Once his dad hangs up he sets his phone beside him on the rock and takes a deep, steady breath, trying to capture the full nuance of each diverse scent in the air. He may just be imagining it, but he swears he’s able to pick out the faint scent of taffy intermingling with the ocean saltiness and the hint of cedar from the nearby state forest. In the end though, whether it’s real or not it’s a welcomed reminder of all the possibility the future holds for him.

He’s twenty now. It’s a brand new decade of life. He’s got a new job lined up, a stable and loving relationship, a supportive family, and plenty of courage in facing the shadows of his past. Sure, so maybe he’ll never know with certainty what will happen— maybe he’ll relapse a little, maybe he’ll still have some bad days sprinkled amongst the good ones— but as he watches the tides flow in to greet him, he smiles... and resolves to just take this year as a renewal of his vow to care for himself as best he can.

[anywhozits]

All I Really Want: Chapter 2

Rating: T

Pairing: Kristanna (at some point lol)

Verse: 90s High School AU / frozen retelling

Read on AO3

This wasn’t Anna’s first rodeo. During her freshman year at Arendelle Prep; hell, even during eighth grade and if she were drunk enough to admit it—that one time halfway through 7th grade when she really, really wanted to smooch Charlie Blower that 9th grader who she ran into in the hallway, she went to these kinds of parties.

The classic Arendelle Prep rager. Rich parents out on some kind of business trip. Way too much vodka. Cheap beer. Hot tubs. Silly games. Maybe a bonfire or two which like, totally wasn’t dangerous at all.

This night was the same as others before it. Bebe Shelley’s parents were out in Cabo for some reason with the “law school buddies” or “law firm buddies” or whatever her gross-ass dad called the ring of people he did lots of coke and called up prostitutes with. Well—not like that last part would happen with the wives present. Or would it.

Anna shuddered—literally—at the thought.

Gross. No. She didn’t want to think of any of that super messed up shit. She couldn’t believe Ashley even told her all of that. But maybe it was a coping mechanism or something.

Her driver, the most illustrious Kai, her aid in everything mischievous she had been up to ever since that 7th grade party where she had succeeded in smooching Charlie Blower, pulled the car up to Bebe’s house.

She took a deep breath. She was nervous for some reason. Probably because she knew Bebe’s sister Ashley would’ve invited the entire junior class and Anna had an inkling she super wanted to smooch tonight, too. And the juniors were the most totally hot grade in the upper school right now. Like, everybody knew it. Even the teachers. She’d heard Mrs. Adamson talking about it in a hushed voice with Mrs. Ingalls at convocation last week.

They were hot. Smoking hot, really. Like, smoking hot period.

And it helped that these were the boys who already were super into freshmen like her. Their first dance of the year, glowdown, was filled with her and her friends finding any way to grind on them. And they liked it too. Clearly. Anna felt that they liked it.

But somehow she made the stupid mistake of starting a grind off with Bebe that distracted from her goal. Sure, she’d won. Twenty-four guys compared to Bebe’s seventeen. But she hadn’t done anything else with them.

So she hadn’t secured herself that man she told herself she wanted since high school started. High school meant romance and drama and maybe a little bit of learning or something, too. But she wanted a high school boyfriend. She wanted someone to light up her life and her heart and she wanted everything that came with having that. She just wanted… someone. She wanted love. She wanted someone to love her.

The car came to a stop. Kai gave Anna a knowing ‘see you in the morning’ nod before ushering her out of the car. She opened the door slowly but slamming it suddenly, confused as to why she didn’t hear the familiar sound of the door banging closed behind her until she remembered that her best friend sat in the seat next to her.

“Wait! Kristoff—sorry. I forgot—” Anna shook her head. “Nevermind. Are you ready?” Anna was just so used to arriving to these kinds of house parties alone. Kristoff usually avoided them, unless Anna was the host, of course, but tonight Anna had begged and begged him until he finally gave in. All she had to do was jut out her lip and give him those classic puppy dog eyes. Rest assured he would do whatever she asked.

“Yeah. I’m ready.” His face was morphed into an extremely dissatisfied pout. Anna imagined he probably regretted agreeing to this whole situation, but she was thankful he came anyway. If this night didn’t go the way she planned, then she’d be happy to instead spend the night with him jumping on trampolines and running around to beat of the Smashing Pumpkins’ guitar riffs.

Kristoff’s drunken air guitar talents were legendary. Every time.

“Um… you sure?” Anna had tried to walk a few paces ahead of him but Kristoff remained firmly planted on the driveway. “You’re not moving at all.”

“Right,” Kristoff said. “Moving. Gotta… move.” Eventually he picked up his pace, shuffling his feet to catch up to Anna. She turned to face him, then, smiling wide at one of the people who consistently lit up her world.

His black Offspring skull t-shirt billowed a little bit in the slight wind of an Orange County January. Anna noticed a little hint of his sketchily acquired Nirvana tattoo sticking out from the sleeve of his left arm. But literally just a glimpse. The curve of the smiley face’s chin.

She thought it was damn awesome that at sixteen years old he already had two tattoos. Like he somehow had the balls to sneak out and find someone who would do that to minors. Someone he ended up befriending, even. He had a connection.

Naturally she’d debated getting one herself, but she still felt too young. Yeah, Kristoff and Anna were in the same grade, but he was basically two years older than her. Somehow, she was only reminded of this when she caught sight of his tattoos. What Anna deemed the ultimate symbol of maturity. Of… advanced age. Of those two years between them.

When Kristoff reached her, Anna grabbed hold of his hand, and they walked hand in hand to the intricately carved mahogany door of the Shelley household. Anna pressed the doorbell, hoping the chime would ring over the S Club 7 blasting through the surround sound.

Thankfully, Ashley pulled open the door. “Ohmygod, Anna!” Ashley bounced up to Anna and hugged her with such force Anna thought she might burst. She could feel the stark, well—hard proof of Ashley’s boob job. A sixteenth birthday present that had set off an endless stream of gossip. “And you brought your friend… Christopher, was it?”

“Kristoff.”

“Right. Well—welcome, Kristoff! Glad you could make it.”

Anna shrugged and clapped her hands together. She felt a jolt of excitement shoot through her. A party! A party was just what she needed to forget about her shit week. Elsa hadn’t called back after Anna had left her at least twelve or thirteen messages and her parents had done nothing but ignore her. But what else was new on that front…her parents were a lost cause. But Elsa. Elsa was busy, though. At her boarding school. Studying hard, probably. And there was also the three-hour time difference. Anna knew that. There were loads of reasons why Elsa didn’t call back. She couldn’t be disappointed.

She wouldn’t be.

So, Anna smiled through it. She tried her very best to swallow the tremble in her voice. “I need something to drink.” Not one crack. Not one break. She always did such a great job hiding.

“You know where to find those,” Ashley added with a wink. She ushered Kristoff and Anna to the kitchen and made a beeline for what appeared to be the dance floor.

Anna skipped—literally skipped—to the kitchen, Kristoff stumbling behind her and nodding nervously when she handed him a shot of vodka. He took one whiff and scrunched up his face. He wasn’t usually a shot guy but Anna brought it out in him.

She knew he had some stuff he wanted to forget, too.

“Threetwoone!” Her countdown was decidedly not a countdown. Both Anna and Kristoff grimaced intensely when the liquid stung their throats and then chased the vodka heavily with some Sunny D.

“Another one?” Kristoff asked, feeling nothing. What a heavyweight. Anna remained incredibly jealous. A couple months ago, Olaf told Anna that she could never go shot to shot with Kristoff and her own stupid dumb naïve stubbornness made her do it. That night had ended so poorly. Probably. Well—no way it could have ended any other way. Anna didn’t remember anything past shot number nine. Her throat burned for days from all the barfing she did.

But tonight, she figured she’d keep to a limit. A few drinks behind Kristoff at all times. Except for now… “Let’s do it!”

So they did. Switching to a chaser of Hawaiian punch this time. Kristoff had definitely poured at least a shot and a half into their red solo cups, but Anna was grateful for it, honestly. Now she felt the perfect amount of buzz for her Junior Boy Hunt. That sounded like an okay name for this quest. Junior Boy Hunt. Had some mediocre ring to it.

She’d keep it for now.

Kristoff took one more shot and then grabbed himself a beer but not before pouring Anna a vodka cranberry.

“Thanks, Kris,” Anna said. “I’m going to take a lap, I think.”

“Okay. I’ll be here, probably. Or… looking for Olaf. I think he said he might come.”

Anna nodded and smiled at him, thinking to herself that this was where and how Junior Boy Hunt began. She held the red solo cup so tightly her knuckles started to turn white. She massaged her lip between her teeth in sheer resolve. Her eyes roamed over the crowd of people on the dance floor.

They all seemed mostly paired off.

Then she looked at the living room. Also pairs.

Jesus. Was this some kind of a hook up party and she didn’t get the memo to arrive early enough to secure her place?

Whatever.

She pivoted in her Vans to run outside, but right as she did, she bumped straight into someone and the entirety of her vodka cranberry spilled all over the front of her shirt. “Ooof!” She yelled, laughing just as she always did when she did something clumsy. Because. Classic Anna, let’s be real.

“Whoa!” The mysterious human wall grabbed her shoulders to stabilize himself. But then he ran his hands along her arms and held onto her hands right as he stared into her eyes and then Anna realized oh shit this human wall was a guy who was actually really, really hot and maybe this was, like, fate or something because hot DAMN. He wore a pink Lacoste collared shirt which seemed to make his bright red hair sparkle. His most striking feature—by far—was his eyes, filled with a beautiful, engulfing green that swirled in a shocking mixture of mischievousness and confidence. She’d never in her entire life seen eyes that color. Like… an emerald. It captivated her. She didn’t want to move. “I’m sorry about that… oh, fuck. Your drink… on your…” His eyes drifted down to her white tank top. He was definitely staring at her cleavage. Anna puffed out her chest a little bit in response.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I get distracted by—um, I run into people a lot. I mean, I’m really clumsy. I guess. It’s not because you’re hot or anything. Well, you are hot, but I don’t… that’s not why I ran into you, it’s more just because I wasn’t looking—I didn’t notice you were hot until, well, right now, and—”

“I’m Hans,” he said and Anna exhaled. So she hadn’t made a complete fool of herself with her rambling. Those little blessings. “Westergaard.”

“Anna Larsen.” There was a slight twinkle in his eyes when she said this.

“You go to Arendelle Prep?”

“Yeah. I’m in Bebe’s grade.”

He chuckled. “Fresh meat.”

“Yup! And you’re a…?”

“Junior. Ashley’s my good um… friend.” Except the way he said that made Anna think maybe they were something more than friends and it made her nervous. “I’m sure she could give you a new shirt.”

“Oh, I don’t really care about the stain.”

“It’s a little see-through.”

Anna blushed. Hard. She definitely had cheeks the shade of ketchup and it only made it worse that he still held onto her hands. Thank the Lord she had bought a new metallic green bathing suit last week.  

“You know, I think I recognize you from somewhere,” Hans said. “Are you on the volleyball team?”

She blushed again. “Yeah. I am. Volleyball, basketball, and track, actually.” Technically track season hadn’t started yet, but she found it important to mention anyway.

“My friends and I… we like watching the volleyball games.”

Anna laughed nervously. She could feel it… now was the time to be bold. Now was the time to really put the Junior Boy Hunt plan into action. “So, um… wanna get me a new drink? And you can… um—meet me outside?” Anna tried her best to be assertive. She wanted him to know she was interested and more than anything else she needed him to know that she was mature. She was a freshman, sure—fresh meat or whatever he had said earlier, but this wasn’t her first party, and this wasn’t her first time making out with somebody the first night she met them.

“Vodka cranberry?”

“Make it a vodka soda this time. Don’t wanna ruin any more clothes.”

He laughed at her and she went giddy. Her heart fluttered a mile a minute. Okay. Not too shabby. Junior Boy Hunt was already a resounding success. She spun around to watch him walk to the kitchen and stared longingly at the way he poured her drink. Kristoff had disappeared somewhere, probably looking for Olaf. She’d meet up with him later. No worries.

So, then Anna skipped excitedly outside, finding a perfect spot next to the fire where she could see herself spending the rest of the night with Hans. What a thrill. She couldn’t wait.

She discarded her tank top, pleased enough to have a solid vodka-cranberry soiled excuse to show off her new bikini, fixed her braids, and pulled down her jean cutoff shorts. Biting her lip while she tried to determine how much of her abs would peek through while sitting on this chair.

Laying herself out in as Barbie as a pose as she could, Anna found her footing. Her body glistened in the light of the crackling fire, her freckles on display. Her shorts low enough on her hips to showcase her small waist and her voluptuous booty. Well. Not that he would really be able see her booty since she had to use it to, like, sit on. But still. She looked enrapturing like this and she knew it.

She counted down the seconds until she figured he would come back with their drinks and see her like this. Thrilled.

But then.

“Oh, hey, Anna,” Kristoff said, sliding into the spot next to her on the patio couch.

Anna shot to attention, emerged from her Barbie pose, and scooted a little bit away from him. “Oh. Kristoff. Hi.” Her eyes darted about, trying to see if she saw Hans anywhere. She didn’t want him to be turned off by the fact she now spoke to a guy like twice his size. Hans didn’t know that Kristoff was just a friend. And what if, seeing her here… he thought that it meant she found somebody new. That she didn’t want him. Because that wasn’t the case. Like, literally at all. Obviously. Anna had… maybe a couple times considered smooching Kristoff. Maybe a couple. Well, technically handful was the better word to describe how many times she’d had that thought. But that didn’t mean she liked him liked him. She just liked him as a friend. And sometimes it was hard to separate friend feelings from romantic feelings and… besides.

He definitely thought of her has a friend. A little sister he had said once. And it still made her stomach sink even thinking of the night he said those two words.

“You couldn’t find Olaf?”

“I’m not so sure he’s here. I looked all over.”

“Oh, well…” Anna started panicking a bit. She knew Hans had to be on his way, and if her big brother or best friend whatever the heck he was to her cock blocked her like this she would be pissed. Her eyes beat back and forth and back and forth. She didn’t see the flash of Hans’s red hair anywhere. For now, she was safe. But only for now. “Listen—”

Kristoff smiled softly. “Have I ever told you how cute you look in braids?”

The comment made Anna blush and momentarily forgot her mission. “No.”

“Well, you do. You—”

But then she saw Hans walking through the sliding glass door. And she got desperate. “Kristoff, um… I think it’s best—I need to—”

“Anna!” Hans somehow squeezed his way between the two of them on the couch. Kristoff recoiled and exhaled in a pout. “Got you these.” He handed her not one but two vodka sodas. For himself, he had chosen some generic looking beer bottle. “Thought you looked thirsty.”

Anna was happy to double fist. She felt like she needed some added liquid confidence for this next part of her quest.

“Who’s this guy?” Hans said this in a way that made it seem like Kristoff didn’t sit so close to him that their thighs rubbed together.

“That’s Kristoff. He’s my friend. Um…He was just leaving.” She’d explain everything to him later. But for now she felt bad.

Kristoff slouched, and his eyes shot to the floor. He looked so dejected that guilt churned within Anna’s stomach. But slowly he got up, nodding, not quite looking into Anna’s eyes when he said, “Yup. I need to… um. Bye.”

Anna exhaled slowly. Everything would be fine once she explained it to him. He probably already knew what the deal was.

So, she tried to put that thread of guilt out of her mind.

“Sorry about that. He’s great, I promise. He’s just… he gets overwhelmed at parties like this.” Anna moved in closer to Hans, trying to recreate her earlier pose. She took a sip of one of the drinks, placing the other one carefully on the floor. It was strong. Hans had blessed her with a heavy pour. She took a couple more gulps of the vodka and then cleared her throat. “So… where do you live?” Anna mentally kicked herself. What kind of a way to start the conversation was this?

“Newport.”

“Oh—um. Beach or Coast? I live in Newport Coast.”

“Beach. Port streets.”

“Awesome,” Anna said, exhaling. Trying to decide what her next move was. She took a few sips of the vodka soda, thankfully feeling a bit more buzzed. He had to have put at least two shots in it. “I—um—my family has a beach house on the Peninsula. Not too far from the Fun Zone, um. If you’ve ever been.”

“The Fun Zone?” His whole entire face lit up and he instantly became even dreamier. “Sure I’ve been. First ferris wheel I ever went on.”

Hans’s hand found Anna’s upper thigh and she instantly felt both a pressure down below and a heart heaving thrill of excitement the second he did. His eyes fell to her bikini again.

And then. Right then.

Anna knew she had him in the palm of her hand. She didn’t feel nervous anymore.

“The ferris wheel is great,” she laughed, effortlessly. “We used to go there all the time when I was little. My dad spun me too hard on the Drummer Boy and I threw up next to the trash can. Like, I was so close to making it an elegant barf that nobody had to clean up or anything but nope. I failed. Literally… adjacent to the trash can.”

Hans laughed now. Heartily.

Yes. Nice work, Anna. You’re funny. You’ve got this. Two points to Anna in the Junior Boy Hunt. And then, while still laughing, he moved his hand a little further up on her thigh. Two more points. “My sister made it to the bathroom. Barfed in the toilet. And I think that moment really set us on our life trajectories. Class Act Elsa and Hot Mess Anna.”

He laughed again. She had to give herself at least five points for that one.

“Elsa’s your sister?”

“Mmhmm. She’s like a super genius. Goes to this uppity boarding school in New England and will probably end up at Harvard or something after she graduates in May,” Anna said cheerily, chugging her drink. Willing herself to forget those unanswered phone calls. “And… meanwhile here I am.” She sipped—more like slurped—her drink at least thrice. “Hot.” Sip. “Mess.” Sip. She gulped. Time for a redirection. “Do you have any siblings?”

“Twelve.”

Now Anna laughed. “You’re joking.”

“Nope. I’m the youngest of thirteen. All brothers.”

“I’m jealous,” Anna said. Meaning it wholeheartedly. She’d love to have a house that full. But then she noticed Hans looking at her sideways and she recoiled. “Is that weird?” Hans didn’t answer her, he just ran his hand along her cheek. So slowly, so delicately that Anna felt herself shiver. “Must’ve been chaotic, then. Going to The Fun Zone as a pack of thirteen kids.”

“Yeah, my brothers were assholes about it. Always trying to force me on Scary Dark Ride.”

“What? You’re telling me you were scared?” Anna cackled. Literally cackled. “That ride’s so lame! Like, totally not scary. At all.”

Hans’s voice got lower, edging on husky when he said, “Maybe I’ll let you force me on it sometime.”

Anna’s heart almost stopped right there. He wanted to go out with her, like, on a date? Probably? That was a date, right? He meant this as a date? The two of them going to The Fun Zone. Maybe he meant in a group. Like a group of them would go and a group of them ride the ride and then get some ice cream and hang out at her beach house or something. But then Anna took a few more horrid burning sips of her drink and decided… fuck it. “You mean like a date?” She scooted even closer to him somehow and pushed her upper arms against her top. She didn’t have the biggest boobs. Well, definitely not compared to Ashley and her fake-ass ones, but she still knew how to show them off. And Hans seemed interested, so…

She tucked a loose strand of hair around her ear and chugged the last bit of one vodka soda as she waited for his answer.

But it never came.

Instead, she felt the warmth of his lips covering her own. His arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her on top of him, so she straddled him with ease.

“You’re beautiful,” he said between kisses.

Her heart fluttered at those words. Damn did it feel good to be complimented like that. To feel, even if only for a few minutes, that she was the center of somebody else’s world.

Anna could say nothing but, “You’re really hot. Like, really hot. Hot damn hot.” She laughed. Rambling again. “Okay I’m gonna stop talking now.”

She grabbed onto the back of his head and pulled him in closer, so they kissed deeper, tongues fighting for dominance.

He was by far the best kisser of the maybe seven-or-so people Anna had kissed in her life. There was something startling about it, honestly. Nobody else could measure up.

Hans knew what he was doing. He really, really knew what he was doing. And as his hand squeezed her ass, Anna let out a delighted moan. Shit. Yeah. This guy knew.

Eventually they transitioned to the porch swing, and then to the hammock, and then to a patch of grass by the hammock, and then the trampoline, and finally the hot tub. Both vodka sodas were finished now, the empty cups sitting by the fire, next to the pile of their discarded clothes. Anna still straddled him, kissing him deeply, thoroughly enjoying the new sensation the hot water provided.

It seemed the rest of the party-goers had cleared out of the backyard. Only the sounds of TLC kept them company. And maybe it was all the alcohol or maybe it was the sense of utter euphoria she felt after these hours with Hans, but damn kissing Hans almost felt like chasing waterfalls…. And that definitely meant that she had at least one million points in the Junior Boy Hunt.

But she wanted to take it a little bit further. To secure her spot. Maybe she needed a billion points to win her own game. “Um… are you sleeping here tonight?”

“That was the plan,” he said, crooning. “Are you?”

“Yeah. Duh. Always.”

“Your parents don’t want you back home?”

Anna laughed in spite of herself and rolled her eyes. “My parents are happy I’m not there to bother them.”

Hans grabbed hold of one of her braids and twirled it in his fingers. “Can I say something crazy?”

Anna nodded.

“I think I love you.”

Her jaw dropped. In a totally unladylike way as her mom would say if she even cared enough to criticize her daughter. Anna did a double take. “Wait, what?”

“I think I love you, Anna,” he repeated. His eyes sparkled in the moonlight. Those absolutely brilliant green eyes. Her heart skipped a beat and what she felt in that moment—that pure, raw, unadulterated pull toward him and only him… it must have been love.

“Oh—wow. I… um—” She blushed, slowly growing more confident. Love. Yes. This was love. “I think I love you, too.”

Their lips met again, more passionately, more purposeful. She felt hot all over and not just from the… you know—hot water of the hot tub and all that.

She had certainly received a billion points. No doubt about it.

And they stayed outside for the rest of the night. The two of them. They moved from the hot tub and back to the grass, back to the couch, back to the trampoline. They watched the stars, they split a bottle of wine, they made s’mores.

They fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

And Anna knew this was love. This was exactly what love felt like.

To be someone’s world and someone’s rock and someone’s other half.

She loved love. She loved Hans.

This was the best night of her life.

[p4nkow]

Happier - part I

Hey hey hey! As I had announced here it is my new Roger fic. As always let me know what you think, I’d really appreciate that. 

It can also be read as Ben!Roger

Summary: you work as an assistant at EMI and you meet Roger while organising Queen’s gig at Hyde Park. lots of fluff but then, after months of relationship, Roger admits something that breaks your heart and the two of you break up. You try to move on and so does he, but after two months of being apart you meet at a pub and you both have a date. What will happen? But most importantly, will you and Roger fall in love again after being forced to see each other everyday?

Warnings: none? it’s just an introductory chapter so even if a lot happens there are no warnings - not even Prenter!

You had first met Roger during the prep of Queen gig at Hyde Park. He was stunning with his long, blond hair and his bright smile. He did really look like a rockstar. At the time you were working as an assistant at EMI and you were giving a hand to organise the event. Since the first moment he spotted you he hadn’t been able to leave your side.

“You sure lights won’t cause any trouble in that corner?” He asked you, pointing at the spot with his finger. You took a deep breath and tried not to freak out. He had already asked you that question at least four times.

“Yes, they’re just fine right where they are.”

He looked at you with the corner of his eye, taking off his sunglasses. “And everyone’ll be able to see us. Even from behind?”

“Yes, the view is pretty good even from behind.”

You took a look at the list of things to do, trying to figure out what would be your next move, but you couldn’t focus— Roger was staring at you. You raised your gaze and you met his blue eyes. You raised a brow, confused by his behaviour.

“Is there something I can do for you?”

He shrugged as a little smile appeared on his face. “It’s Y/N, right?”

“Yeah” You replied, not really sure where he was getting at. You pulled your notebook close to your chest, staring at him with curiosity.

He slowly nodded and crossed his arms, looking at you with narrowed eyes. “I’m Roger.”

You chuckled at his words, looking away for a few instants before replying “I know, I’ve been organising your gig for a whole month by now.” It was a lie. His name was the only one you had memorised while organising the concert.

A girl passed by the both of you and she gave Roger a mischievous smile. He smiled back at her and followed her movements closely until she was jut of his sight.

You eye rolled at that behaviour and you were about to walk away when he said “We haven’t thanked you yet.”

“It’s nothing, actually it’s my job.”

A sound technician passed by you and gave you a nod. You gave him a little smile before turning again towards Roger.

“Are you gonna be there tonight?”

“Yeah, I have to make sure that everything’s going it way it should” You said with a shrug. You weren’t sure of the amount of spare time you had left so you tried to enjoy that little chitchat.

“You should take a break” He suggested and you laughed.

You shook your head in disbelief, murmuring “That’s not possible. I still have to check a lot of things, including your own drum set.”

He gave you an apologetic smile and gave a quick look behind his back. “C’mon, your boss isn’t even around. Just one drink, I promise. My drums will be just fine.”

You were about to give him an answer — which would have been negative, considering the fact that you didn’t want to get involved with rockstars and their odd behaviour, especially with someone like Roger — when you’ve been interrupted by one of his band mates. Barry? Brad? You couldn’t remember his name. “Hey mate, time for sound check!”

“Yeah, Bri. Coming!” Roger shouted back at him. Bri— Brian! That’s what it was.

“It looks like you’re pretty busy, too” You teased him and he took a deep breath.

He started to move back but his eyes were still locked on yours. He pointed a finger towards you and said “Don’t disappear — please? Stick around.”

“And where the hell am I supposed to go?” You murmured in response, going back to your duties.

That evening everything went just fine, no troubles with the lights or sound, the band seemed satisfied with your work and so was your boss. That’s exactly why you took a few moments to yourself to properly watch the show. The lead singer, Freddie, was the most flamboyant artist you’ve ever met. He just couldn’t stay still and he danced and sang all around stage. He constantly interacted with the rest of the band and he genuinely made you smile.

The guitarist — Brian! — was having for sure a great time, even though he seemed pretty focused on playing. Freddie was always dancing around him, accompanying his guitar solos with his dance moves.

You heard the others call the bassist ‘Deaky’ but you were pretty sure that wasn’t even a real name. He seemed to have a lot of fun on stage, showing off his disco moves while playing nonchalantly his bass. You just loved his platform boots.

It was hard for you to give a proper look at Roger— his drums were obstructing the view, but you had the chance to do it when he joined the rest of the band at the front of the stage. The white shirt that he was wearing brought out his blonde hair and blue eyes and you raised your brows at that sight. Almost angelic you’d say if you hadn’t known him.

“This is a song called ‘39” Brian announced to the crowd right before he started playing the guitar. He gave a look at Freddie, who said at the mic “C’mon, sing along!”

Roger was standing between Deaky — his name was still a mystery — and Freddie and he put his tongue between his teeth as he smiled. He rolled the tambourine on his hand, slowly turning his head towards the backstage. He immediately spotted you and you shyly waved at him. His smile grew wider as he gave you a nod before turning back to the crowd and start to play, singing along with Freddie and Brian.

You raised your brows by hearing his falsetto, genuinely impressed by that skill. He had caught you off guard but you were positively impressed. You realised you were still staring at him and you quickly cleared your throat, looking away from him as you said to the technician right next to you “Get ready to get those instruments off. And please don’t stumble on the mic’s wire.”

Even before you could notice, the gig was over and that’s pretty much when your real work started.

“Hey, be careful! Instruments need to be packed carefully” You said as you walked on stage in order to give directions to break all down.

“Alright folks, the only thing I wanna see left in this stage is the stage by itself. Be careful with the wires, the power’s still on. Can someone please shut the power off?”

“Wow I like you bossing around.” You turned towards Roger as you tried to keep under control all the dismantling, giving him an amused smile.

“‘m not bossing around, I’m just doing my job.”

“Yeah, you’re bossing around and it’s kinda hot, actually.” You immediately looked away, trying not to show him that you were blushing. You weren’t used to flirt with rockstars, most of the times they didn’t even pay attention to you, so it was all kinda new to you.

He wasn’t wearing his stage clothes anymore. He was now wearing a denim shirt which he left unbuttoned to show his bare belly and a pair of leather pants. When you looked down to his shoes you raised your brows in disbelief.

“Are those—” you cleared your throat, trying to sound as polite as possible “are those glittery pink... Converse?”

Roger followed your gaze and chuckled. “Yeah, what’s wrong with them? They’re pretty comfy.”

“And glittery” You added and you momentarily forgot about your duties.

“They make me look like a proper rockstar” He explained, pushing a stray lock of his hair out of his face.

“And why pink?”

He shrugged and you softly laughed. “Pink’s cool.”

“Yeah, right. Hey! Watch out or you’ll fall and break your neck!” You said as to warn one of the technician which was removing the stage lights without any sort of harnesses. Roger gave you an amused look, teasing you by saying “So you’re not bossing around, huh?”

“I’m just trying to avoid injuries. ‘kay, maybe I am bossing around but that’s because—”

“Hey, hey, hey. Slow down. I’m joking” He said softly, placing his hands on your shoulders. His eyes were right in front of yours. “You still owe me a drink, miss.”

You bit your lip as you thought about it and yeah— you still thought it wasn’t a good idea. It was nevera good idea to get involved with rockstars.

“I’ll think about it, Taylor.”

“So you’re making it hard, huh?”

You shrugged as you took a few steps back. With the corner of your eye you spotted his band mates waiting for him as they chatted. “It seems like you gotta go.”

He shot a glance towards his friends and sighed, saying “I’ll see you around?”

“I guess you will.”

-

And he did. He had courted you for almost two months before you’d actually change your mind about him and give him a chance. He’d asked your boss for your phone number and he had phoned you a week later. You’ve been in a few dates, nothing serious at all, but then you started to feel something for him. His charm had caught you. You had even followed him in the US!

“Roger, please don’t move.”

“Love, don’t take it bad but you’re pulling my hair. Ouch.” He winced and you gave him an apologetic smile through the mirror. “‘m sorry, I’ll try to be more careful.”

“‘s okay” He replied. “I was thinking...”

You raised your gaze from his hair, giving him a quick glance before nodding at him. “What?”

“We should take some time off after the tour. Just the two of us.” He was looking at you with... hope, maybe?

You bit your lower lip as you tried not to smile, thinking about his proposal. “You wanna spend it cuddling all day?”

“I was thinking of something different. Cuddling’d be included, of course.” You could tell he had something in mind.

“Like what?”

His smile grew wider as he replied “Like a trip.”

“A trip? Where?”

He shrugged and met your gaze through your reflection. “Around Europe. You always mention Paris and how much you’d like to visit the Louvre. We could also visit Venice, or Rome! Bloody hell, I could also take you to Antarctica if that’s what makes you happy.”

You chuckled at his words, placing your hands on his shoulders. “I don’t need and expensive trip to be happy with you, Roger.”

“I know, I know. Just thought it might be fun, playing the tourist just the two of us.” He was even more excited than you about that idea and you didn’t feel to say no to him. That’s why you slowly nodded, putting away the comb and moving in front of him.

“That sounds great” You murmured as you leaned towards him. He took you by your wrists and made you sit on his lap, causing you to chuckle. “Roger! The boys are here.”

“We’re doing nothing wrong” He whispered near your lips, sending shivers down your spine. You placed a hand on his chest and with the other you started to stroke his hair. “For now” He added and you parted your lips in disbelief.

“Roger! Besides you’ve the show in less than half an hour, it sound like you have to wait.”

“The things I could do to you in less than half an hour” He whispered and you giggled, shaking your head. You leaned your forehead against his as you felt your cheeks blush. “How do you say ‘I love you’ in french?”

“Je t’aime” You softly said, leaning back in order to meet his eyes. He touched your lips with his thumb, murmuring “Well then Je t’aime, dove.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“Never been more serious.” A shy smile appeared in his face. You shook your head as you caressed his neck, murmuring with your eyes locked in his “I love you too. I tell you this in english so that there are no misunderstandings.”

Roger softly laughed and replied “No misunderstandings at all” before gently kiss you.

-

You’ve had the best times with him— you’ve had your most sincere laughs because of him, you’ve experienced what love feels like. You also grew closer to the boys and their girlfriends and you always had a great time together.

You’ve spent the most amazing two years of your life as Roger’s girlfriend, but as the greatest love stories, it came to an end.

It happened almost two months during a huge fight you’ve had. Things seemed different during the last weeks of your relationship.

“You act like if the fault is only mine! You’re too busy with your stupid job to actually care about me.” Roger’s words were full of venom.

You parted your lips, shocked by his harshness.”My stupid job? We’ve met thanks to my stupid job, you moron! And it’s not only on me. You’be been choosing music over me for a long while by now.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He shouted, throwing his arms in the air.

You slipped your fingers in your hair in frustration, replying “When you’re home — which happens very rarely by now — we do nothing but talk about your music! And I am happy, I really, really am, that Queen are gaining all this success but God! It’s so frustrating!”

“Are you serious right now?”

You glanced at him with narrowed eyes. “Of course I am!”

He rubbed his eyes before keep shouting “Don’t you even dare putting all of this on me.”

“I am not!”

He shook his head, taking a seat on the couch right in front of you. He took a deep breath and his blue eyes were full of concern. “I’ve gotta tell you something.”

You crossed your arms in your chest, nodding at him as sign to go on. “In Oakland, during our last tour... we’ve been into this huge party. Fred’s friends.” You didn’t like the turn the fight was taking so you sat down in the armchair right in front of him. Your legs were like jelly.

“Go on” You softly said and he raised his gaze to meet yours. His hands were joined in front of him, covering his mouth.

He took a deep breath before keep talking. His voice was low and hoarse. “We were at this party and we drank a lot, all of us. There were plenty of girls and there’s been— fuck, there’s been touching and flirting and I...”

“Roger, what did you do?” Your words were nothing but a whisper when you spoke, your eyes becoming glossy. The thought of him with another woman broke your heart.

“No— nothing! For fuck’s sake, I didn’t do anything, I swear.” He quickly reached you, kneeling in front of your and taking your hands into his. His eyes were as glossy as yours.

You let out a sob before nodding, not entirely sure if to believe him or not. “Then what is it?”

He met your gaze breathing shakily, slowly caressing the back of your hand with his thumb. “I did think of doing it, though.”

You bit your bottom lip as you tried not to cry in front of him but you miserably failed. He placed both of his hands on your cheeks, wiping away all your tears. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Guilt was killing me. I cannot imagine doing something like that to you but—”

“But you always think of it” You ended the sentence for him and he slowly nodded.

“This isn’t working anymore, Y/N.”

-

And that’s how you broke up. You could experience that what they say around it’s not true. It doesn’t become easier with time, it hurts even more. You were used to wake up next to him, his cologne to be the first perfume you scented in the morning but now you were waking up in an empty, cold bed.

You were still in touch with the girls— Veronica, Chrissie and Mary. They’ve been by your side for entire days when it happened, trying to cheer you up. And they also pushed you to accept the offer for a dinner of one of your colleagues and superiors, Noah.

It still felt like you were cheating on Roger, and that’s exactly what you told them while picking a dress.

“Y/N, my love, you’re not together anymore. You’re not cheating on him, you’re moving on.” Veronica tried to change your mind as she rooted around your necklaces, trying to choose the right one for your dress.

Chrissie backed her up. “Yeah, exactly. Besides, didn’t Noah tell you he had an amazing news for you?”

“Yeah” You murmured as you looked at your reflection in the mirror. “Is it too much?”

“And you haven’t any idea of what it might be about?” Mary asked at the same moment Chrissie said “No, it isn’t. Don’t start to overthink.”

You turned towards them and Veronica approached you to make you wear a silver necklace. “Nope, he didn’t say much.”

“And that’s another reason why you have to go out with him. You have to find out what this is about.”

“Ronnie!” You replied in an amused tone and the girls chuckled behind her.

Mary laid on your bed, placing her head on the palm of your hand as she looked at you. “When is he coming to pick you up, by the way?”

“In five minutes. Please behave, we need to make a good impression.”

Chrissie nodded at Veronica, who chuckled and said “Right, the boss.”

“He isn’t exactly my boss” You objected but you bursted into laughter as soon as you noticed Chrissie mischievous look.

Mary was about to reply when the doorbell interrupted her. You froze but then Veronica helped you to grab your purse and your key. She fixed your hair while she pushed you to the door, murmuring “Go and have fun.”

“And don’t make anything I wouldn’t do!” Chrissie shouted from your bedroom, followed by Mary who said “You look hot, by the way. Fuck that moron, go and have fun!”

And maybe you would have listened to them. You weren’t going to think about Roger for the whole night.

Noah was breathtaking— he was wearing a white shirt, his brown hair was way shorter than you remembered and he had his sunglasses on, hiding his green eyes. He quickly took them off and he didn’t even try to hide that the was staring at you.

“Wow” He mouthed. “You look... amazing.”

“Thanks, you look good, too” You softly said. He cleared his throat and pinned his sunglasses on his half-unbuttoned shirt. “You ready to leave?” He asked and you quickly nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Let’s go then.” He offered you his arm and you held on it in order not to stumble on the stairway.

During the ride he asked you lots of questions about your life, your family and he seemed interested for real at your answers. You made your way to the pub in only a few minutes and you kept chatting as you walked towards the reception.

“Did he really forgot his own show?” You asked him, stunned. Noah quickly nodded and chuckled, saying “Yeah! We had half EMI looking for him and he was in a shitty hotel with an incredible hungover.”

You were still holding his arm as you waited for the receptionist. Unlike what you thought, your date had barely started and you were already having a good time.

“I can’t believe that. What happened in the end?”

“John tried to make him look as— hey! Taylor!” Noah’s attention had been caught by two newcomers. Your smile faded away as soon as you turned to see who they were.

Roger was standing across the hallway, his arm surrounding the hips of an unknown blonde.

taglist: @but-legendsneverdie 

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[ravenvsfox]

Hi I love your band au fic! I was wondering if or when you were gonna write the next chapter :3

(thank you so much honey, here’s chapter four!!)

Their first show goes badly. 

They don’t practice for long enough, just two weeks of lyric reworking and transposition, Neil trying to bring his technique back from the dead, Kevin spitting and tearing his hair out.

They find themselves onstage like a machine with five separate motors and all the bolts loose. Andrew watches the way Neil’s shoulders turn into water when the stage lights hit him, the seam of dark hair that splits his scalp becoming a winding red river. 

It's the stupidest thing, how he looks copy and pasted out of history, a magazine rocker back from when that meant something dangerous.

Kevin plays over top of Neil’s vocals. Bouncy bass lines that spit like oil in a pan, so out of place that Aaron stops playing, confused. Neil sings louder and his voice strains and pulls apart so you can see the tendons in it.

The audience screams and whispers, they're not sure if Neil is here to stay, they don't know what it would mean if he did. Do I stop buying their albums? They murmur. Is this them selling out? Mainstream, pretty vocalist on top of their band like a wedding cake topper?

And then closer to the stage, tuned in, pupils swollen, Neil’s voice speaks to some of them like an open fire, turns their faces red, opens them up.

Andrew watches them with a kind of gratification, though he's not sure if he’s thinking of the band’s success or the way he feels the same draw as them, warming his hands on something as nuclear as Neil.

They slice the end off of their set. They can’t get their sound all the way together, even when the 50 fans they'd really reached shout for an encore. The rest of the venue leaves in ecstasies of conversation: who is he? Who is he? Who is he?

Or maybe that's the sound of Andrew’s furious thoughts, drowning it all out.

Or maybe it’s the mushrooms he took before the show. It’s the kind of high that pries everything apart and make him feel like he wouldn’t be able to hide even if all the lights were off, even if he had a hand clapped over his mouth.

Neil spins and starts to gather his microphone cord, preoccupied. Kevin puts his bass down carefully in its stand and shoots whiskey out of the bottle. He always makes the same face after, like it only hurts narrowly less than it helps.

“What the fuck was that?” he asks.

“Yeah, what was it?” Neil returns, like he was waiting for it. The house lights are on now, and all the sweat that made him look waxy and feverish as if by candlelight is now dark on his t-shirt and slick as grease in his hair. “You forget what dynamics are supposed to sound like?”

“I was trying to compensate for your horrifying lack of skill and professionalism,” Kevin says.

“Oh yeah? So you thought you’d play badly enough to drown me out? Interesting tactic.”

Kevin steps closer and Nicky stands in between them, guitar jutting out like a gate. “Kev,” he says lowly. “We're still getting it together. No one thought our first show was going to be groundbreaking.”

“Then why did we bother having it?” he snaps.

“Practice,” Andrew says. “Like everything else.”

“Yeah, hey, I’ve heard it makes perfect,” Nicky jokes nervously.

“That’s not fair to the audience,” Kevin says. “We can’t be figuring our shit out on the stage they paid money to—“

“Oh, but it was your fault, wasn't it Kevin. Let's be honest,” Andrew says. “You decided Neil was going to fail before we stepped foot on stage, and then you made sure of it.”

Kevin looks gobsmacked, and Andrew hears Aaron muffle a laugh. Neil looks back and forth between them, strung between surprise and suspicion.

“I didn’t—“ Kevin stops, puts a steadying hand on his stool. “I wouldn’t sabotage our set to—what—prove a point?”

“Because you’re above that kind of thing,” Neil says sarcastically. “Except that your playing is always going to come before other people though, right?” He seems to realize halfway through speaking that he respects this quality in Kevin, and his voice softens.

Kevin doesn’t answer, but his eyes are needly. “So you’ve all decided to pin this on me?” He’s looking at Andrew.

“Sure have,” he replies cheerily. “Don’t do it again, hm?”

Kevin swallows and thumbs the tuning pegs on his bass, upset. “I fucking hate you when you’re high.”

“Are we supposed to believe he's the love of your life when he’s sober?” Aaron asks flatly. Kevin’s opens his mouth, teeth bared like he’s going to reply, but instead he shoves a sheaf of notes and music off of his stand and storms offstage. Andrew watches the paper flutter to the floor.

“I didn’t need your protection,” Neil says.

“So you keep saying,” Andrew says, and then he follows Kevin to the bar.

______

Neil comes up when you google him, now.

Wymack released a clipped statement on behalf of Palmetto that Neil is the fifth member of Ausreißer and that yes, they know it's unorthodox to change the line up halfway through a tour, but they’re excited to be working closely together on new music. He runs it by the band before turning it over to the press, and Neil frowns all the way through it.

They do a handful more shows on the east coast where Neil and Kevin don’t look at each other. The audience swells, curious or infatuated with the singer whose voice lays on top of the instrumentation like oil on water.

Neil has a wicked panic attack in the motel bathroom when Nicky shows him his wikipedia page, no picture or credits, just a line of text that links him undeniably to the rest of the monsters. He starts wheezing, then falling, and Andrew squeezes the back of his neck and tells him over and over again to come back to himself and cut it out. 

Nicky stands with his hand over his mouth and tears in his eyes until Neil gasps and breathes deeply.

At a show in New York, Neil starts experimenting, playing with the audience, his presence taking up so much of the stage that the air starts to feel thin and hard to come by. He’s still a little high from the afternoon edibles they took, and his voice is throaty and loose. 

He makes a bad joke about Kevin's tattoo, something about his solos being like labyrinths, and Kevin grins, does an open slide down the fretboard that might as well be a thank you. When music is their primary language, they never fight.

Neil’s all over the stage, twitching with music, eyes closed. Nicky takes his hands off his guitar to spin Neil into his body and then out again, and the momentum sends him over to the drum kit.

He sings into Andrew's microphone, silver tongue, yellow hair long enough to stick to his cheekbones. For a moment, he wants him so completely that it makes his drumsticks tangle, a few beats bunching together like a clot in the rhythm. Neil’s eyes open, right next to him, car crash blue.

Andrew doesn’t look away, and in his head, pieces of lyrics start to hatch, bloody. Inspiration never used to come as easily or painfully as this, like Neil took a screwdriver directly to his brain and pried the words out.

Neil drifts away again, singing about not wanting to be seen, singing about the way staying alive is different from being alive. He always speaks Andrew’s lyrics like they’re just now occurring to him, and it makes him almost jealous.

He spends more time on stage than off. His talent loosens and rolls out like well-worked dough, voice going so relaxed and syrupy that it seems almost involuntary.

Halfway through one of their sets he sits in the middle of the stage, in a snake pit of wires, and sings clunky hard rock like a ballad. The rest of the band and the audience all crane towards him, listening for him like a pulse.

In private, they eat burger king in the van, Aaron dips fries in the zesty sauce that's meant for onion rings, Kevin plucks at a guitar to hone his skill on a broader fretboard, and Nicky squats outside the open driver's side door and tries to beckon a street cat into his lap.

Andrew lights a cigarette and wonders if Neil is aware of how he arches into the smoke like it’s fresh air.

"What are you doing?” Neil asks, leaning over the seat between them to look at Andrew’s open notebook, the cigarette between his fingers instead of a pen.

“Writing.”

Neil looks sceptical. “Lyrics?”

“The great American novel,” Andrew says sarcastically.

“Read it to me,” Neil challenges.

“You are bored,” he says. A side effect of his increasing comfort on stage is a dullness everywhere else.

“I’m trapped constantly in a van with shitty company.”

“Great, this can be your stop, then," Aaron says, waving a fry in Neil’s direction. There's almost no heat though. They all know that it’s too late to cut Neil out without surgical intervention.

“I’m great company,” Nicky says in-between kissy noises. The cat has wandered almost close enough to touch. “And I’m squandered on you.”

“When we get back to Columbia, I’m getting a hotel room,” Neil says.

“With what money?” Aaron mutters under his breath.

“The secret rolls of cash in his socks, probably,” Andrew says. Neil glares.

“Well anyway, you can’t,” Nicky says. “We’re supposed to play nice with the illustrious Foxes while we’re home, and we need to keep tabs on you.”

Neil looks surprised for a fraction of a second, but his expression settles quickly back into annoyance. “Hotels have phones.”

“The house is close to the studio,” Kevin points out. “I don’t give a fuck about what you do with your spare time, but we still have work to do.”

“And dinner. At Abby’s. The whole Palmetto family,” Nicky interjects.

“Is that—“ Neil wrestles with words for a second, coming up with dirty hands and not much else. “Normal?”

“Not really,” Nicky shrugs. “But this isn’t an average label. Wymack basically hand picked all of us. We’re kind of—“

“Don’t say misfits,” Aaron interrupts.

“Misfits,” Nicky finishes, with relish. “But he had the good sense to separate the pop from the rock and roll. We don’t exactly lead compatible lifestyles. I still think we should’ve gotten Renee, though.”

“We don't need two drummers,” Kevin says sourly.

“She plays violin too,” Andrew says. “We could have swapped out a guitar.”

“You’d sell out your own family?” Nicky says, faux hurt. Andrew gives him a blank look.

“We don’t have the right sound for violin,” Neil says. “We’d eat her alive.”

Nicky’s gotten ahold of the cat now, a smudgy grey thing, and it’s grappling up his shoulder with its claws. Andrew watches the way Nicky lets it slice him to pieces just for the feeling of something in his arms. “Yeah right,” he says. “You haven't met her.”

______

He meets her—and everyone else—a week later. Andrew starts drinking at noon just to prepare himself for the spectacle of it, the way Abby’s house will inevitably suck Neil in just like the stage did.

They’re all dishevelled when they stagger up the path to her front door, and the blinds are pulled but Andrew can see the yellow living room light and hear the roll of laughter from inside. His stomach sinks.

Neil picks his way across the grass behind him, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His shoulders are up by his ears and his feet drag. Nicky passes a flask down the line and they each take a generous swig. Kevin raps at the door, and it swings inward almost immediately.

It’s Wymack, an over-full tumbler in his hand and sweat peppering his hairline. Andrew’s willing to bet that he was watching for them, on the outskirts of socializing, trying to keep an equilibrium between his Foxes and his Monsters.

“About time,” Wymack says. His gaze finds the flask that ended up with Neil at the back of the line. He rolls his eyes. “You all planning on being civil tonight?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Andrew asks, pushing past both Wymack and Kevin to get to the warmth of the foyer.

“Shoes off,” Abby calls from somewhere in the bustle spilling out of the kitchen.

“The liquor cabinet’s locked,” Wymack leans over to tell him surreptitiously.

“Like that’s ever stopped him,” Aaron scoffs.

“It better,” he warns. He looks at Neil again. “How you doin’, kid?” Neil nods noncommittally. “They pushing you around?”

“Trying,” Nicky says, smiling. “He won’t budge.”

“Good.” He reaches out as if to cuff his shoulder but Neil flinches away.

Andrew feels something in his chest, a sliver of rib or a ventricle wriggle away and dissolve. He pulls Neil away without thinking, just a brisk tug and a release. Wymack’s already looking away, but Nicky’s watching Andrew, mouth quirked.

“Hey,” someone calls. Matt, it turns out, tall and irritatingly affable as always, hair slicked almost vertical. He nods at the group, but beams and holds his hand out to Neil, who separates from Andrew to shake it. “Matt Boyd, guitarist for Foxes. You’re Neil, right?”

“Yeah,” Neil says. “Vocalist.”

“Man, finally,” Matt says. “I really thought they’d never find a guy. But anyone who’s survived the monsters this long has already impressed me.”

Neil shrugs keeping his eyes carefully forward. “They’re interesting.”

“Oof,” Matt says. “That’s one way to put it. No offence Nicky.”

Nicky shrugs. “Nah, I know what we are.”

“You gotta meet the girls,” Matt says, guiding Neil towards the kitchen. “Dan keeps trying to mother you and she hasn’t even met you.”

Neil looks uncomfortable, glancing back towards the band, but they’re all scattering, preoccupied with food and dishes, or talking shop with a reluctant Wymack, in Kevin’s case. Andrew moves silently with Neil, fingers numb from the booze.

The kitchen is loud, buzzing with fluorescents and conversation. Dan’s sitting on the counter, and it’s almost funny, the way her mouth hitches wickedly when she spots Neil, then deflates when she sees Andrew. Matt slips an arm around her waist, and she seems to find an emotional middle ground.

“Neil Josten,” Dan greets. “We’ve been talking about you all month.”

“Is that supposed to flatter me?”

“Your choice,” she says, grinning. “I didn’t tell you what we were saying.”

“Hello Neil. Hi Andrew,” Renee says sweetly, waving.

“Renee,” he says. It’s a relief to see her. Her face is even as snow.

“By the way, I’m Dan. Wilds. I dunno if you’ve heard our stuff? I never wanna assume.”

Neil nods. “A little. You’re the lead singer?”

“Also on keys, on a good day. This is Renee Walker—she fuckin’ ruins on drums. Allison Reynolds, our badass bassist. And you met our guitarist,” she says, leaning up to press her smile into Matt’s jaw.

“‘From the Top’ is a good track,” Neil compliments stiffly. Andrew can tell from his awkward, twisting hands that it’s the only title he remembers.

They all cluck and groan, and Renee laughs, “it’s always that song. Really not our best.”

“It blows,” Dan agrees. “They play it at last call when they want to clear the place out.”

“Oh, they’re self aware,” Andrew says, quietly enough that only Neil seems to hear. His mouth twists a little meanly.

“So you sing,” Allison interjects, stepping close enough to toy with Neil’s collar, but he seems unfazed.

“Apparently.”

“In the middle of all that noise?” she asks, looking meaningfully at Andrew.

“I manage,” Neil says wryly.

“She’s just used to being the most grating thing in a room,” Andrew drawls.

Allison looks at him sharply. “So are you sober or what, monster? We going to have to lock up the knives?”

“Only if you’re stupid enough to think that I’m not carrying any.”

“Not stupid,” Dan says tiredly, “hopeful.”

“Naive,” he corrects. He’s feeling a little separate from his body. If Neil weren’t so caught up in this orbit, he’s pretty sure he could rope him into hotboxing the bathroom.

“Seriously Neil, are you juggling all of this okay?” Matt says, forehead creased like some sort of caricature of concern. Andrew was right, of course. They’ve only just met Neil and already they’re preoccupied, worried, slicing off parts of their lives to offer him. “It’s a hell of a thing to jump into all at once.”

“I’m fine,” Neil says. “I’ve jumped into much worse.”

Matt scoffs. “I guess that’s fair enough. Let us know if you need a little stability, okay?”

“I can handle myself,” Neil says, eyes flinty, and Andrew almost believes him. He keeps insisting that he’s on top of things, even when that mask of his is oozing blood and history. “But to be perfectly clear, I wanted to be a part of Ausreißer the second I heard them play, and that hasn’t changed. At all.”

Andrew chews and swallows this. His heart lifts, involuntary, and he has to go through the whole production of catching and strangling it like a bird.

“He’s one of them,” Allison says dramatically. “It’s too late.”

Dan rolls her eyes, but smiles at Neil. “That’s great, Neil. They’re a hell of a band, I won’t fight you on that.”

“For real,” Matt agrees. “If Kevin wasn’t such a raging asshole I would pretty much pay to jam with him. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Doubt he would hear me from inside his own ass,” Neil says.

Matt’s smile brightens. “Love that attitude. Can we borrow him?”

“Good luck keeping hold of him,” Nicky says from behind them. “He’s slippery. Right babe?” He squeezes Neil’s cheeks and gets his hand slapped away.

“But you like ‘em slippery, right Nick?” Allison says.

“Guilty. And I’m not the only one,” he says, and Andrew sends Nicky a warning look just as he glances meaningfully in his direction. Renee looks between them curiously.

“Well,” Matt says. “I’m fucking hungry. Anyone else feel like they haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a hundred years?”

“God, yes,” Dan says. “All they ever give me to eat are salads with half a teaspoon of oil or lemon juice or whatever.”

“Vinaigrette,” Allison corrects.

“Vinai-shit. I need something so greasy that it makes me sweat.”

“Matt’s right there,” Allison says, and Matt flicks her in the neck.

They bicker amongst themselves until Abby ducks her head in to tell them it’s time to eat. “Go ahead and serve yourselves, okay? And there’s, uh, cider in the fridge. No hard stuff until you’ve all eaten.”

“Thanks mom,” Dan jokes.

“Oh, please, I might as well be,” she replies, waving her off.

“Does that make Wymack our dad?” Matt asks slyly, obviously fishing. Abby gives him an unimpressed look and bobs back out of the room without answering.

“Come on monsters, new and old. Lets pretend we can stand each other sober,” Allison says, pushing off the counter.

They filter out, and Andrew hears Nicky say, disbelieving, “you guys are sober?”

Neil lingers in the kitchen, so Andrew leans up against the doorframe and waits.

“You can go,” he says.

“Yes,” Andrew agrees.

Neil’s shoulders sag, and he covers his face with one hand. “I can’t remember the last time I—socialized.” It’s an unexpected piece of honesty, and Andrew purses his lips.

“It shows.”

Neil looks up, disbelieving. “What, do you think you’re the paragon of small talk?” He tilts his head, scrutinizing, and answers himself— “No. Too much like lying, right?”

“Ding ding ding,” Andrew says. “He misses nothing.”

“I can’t usually afford to.”

Andrew stares. Neil looks back, looking a little clammy, a little hyper-focused. “Or what? Something gives you one of those scars?”

“Did something give you scars?” Neil counters, nodding at his arms.

“Mm, no, still not a good enough trade.”

“Then I’m still waiting,” Neil says lowly, “for you to tell me what is.”

Andrew stares at a crack in the ceramic backsplash, feeling Neil’s gaze rove over his face. 

He suffers through it for an entire ten-count, then turns wordlessly into the dining room. Neil follows immediately, before Andrew can catch his breath.

The room is full, the usual healthy dose of tension curdling in the joy that people like Nicky and Renee and Abby can’t seem to help spilling everywhere. Andrew sits at the head of the table, and Kevin settles at his right hand. He nudges out the seat to his left with his foot, and Neil sits in it wordlessly.

Renee bows her head in prayer. Nicky reaches for a ladle full of potatoes and Andrew yanks his hand back until Renee smiles and waves them ahead.

“So Neil,” Abby starts.

“Don’t put him on the spot too badly,” Dan says, licking sauce off of her thumb and reaching for the iced tea. “We’ve done enough of that already.”

Abby raises her hands innocently. “I was just going to ask how long he’s been singing.”

Neil appears pristinely composed, accepting everything that’s passed to him. Every expression moves across his face like it’s designed to look like a certain emotion, one mask in a series. “As long as I can remember,” he says thinly. “When I had the chance.”

“Any professional training?” Her face is mild and pleasant, and it sets Andrew’s teeth on edge.

“He’s an amateur,” Kevin answers for him.

“More of a natural talent,” Nicky says warmly, winking at Neil.

“I see,” Abby says slowly. “How did you… I mean, how did the boys find you, exactly?”

“He was trying to steal from us,” Andrew says. Neil looks at him narrowly.

Matt guffaws. “What could they possibly have had that you wanted?”

Neil shrugs with one shoulder. “Whiskey.”

Matt laughs again. Wymack rolls his eyes. “They conveniently left that part out when they were pitching him to me.”

“Would it have made a difference?” Andrew asks.

“No,” Wymack replies easily. “But I would’ve double checked my locks.”

“I’ve never stolen unless it was absolutely necessary,” Neil says woodenly.

“Right, so with the whiskey you were what? Dehydrated?” Allison says.

“Ease off, Allison,” Dan warns.

“Broke. Homeless,” Neil replies, sipping water, pretending not to notice that he’s the stone causing all the ripples of stress in the room. “But it wasn’t really worth the guitar to the stomach, in the end.”

A wince shudders around the table, and Wymack squints in Andrew’s direction.

“Wasn’t it?” Andrew asks, thinking of the way Neil’s head had eased back when he pinned him to the ground, bright interest in his slitted eyes. “We gave you your stage. You’re halfway to a household name by now.”

He says it because he knows, he can tell, what that visibility is doing to Neil. There’s always a second, before he loses himself onstage, that he scans the crowd for something, and his face is unrecognizable with fear.

Those eyes find him again. “So you want me to thank you for the smashed ribs? Should I be thanking Kevin for the bruised windpipe too?”

“Would you?” Andrew says, faux sweet.

“Jesus, Andrew,” Matt says.

“Thank you,” Neil tells him, eyes dark, almost hollow. “Really. It’s almost like being at home again.”

He stares. There are people in Baltimore who want me dead. That’s what Neil had told him about his home. He’d torn out of the van like it was filling up with water when he woke up in Annapolis.

The look on his face was unforgettable. His panic was like a corpse thrashing with electricity, like someone had tried to animate a dead thing.

He can remember staring at the little brass Spears written in cursive over the mailbox, facing the slate grey front door, never knowing whether he would open it to find a home or a nightmare. He’s since realized that they can be precisely the same thing at precisely the same time, tempting as a hearth until someone holds your hands in the fire.

“Andrew,” Renee says, coaxing his gaze away from Neil, away from the whole smouldering pile of memory and obsession. She’s smiling gently. “Do you want some gravy?”

He nods slowly. Neil’s focus is on his food now, and Dan’s talking earnestly to Wymack. Dinner trundles on.

They bring out dessert before all of the main course is cleared away, and he eats the maraschino cherries first, licking syrup off of his fingers, then dissecting graham crumbs and whipped cream from the filling. He stares down at the creased, recently frozen base, the middle breaking apart without a foundation, the off-white cream.

He splits the crust in half and reassembles the cake as a sandwich. Dan wrinkles her nose at the mess. Neil folds his cherry into his napkin distastefully. Andrew suddenly craves a cigarette more than sugar, and even more than that he needs a way to get his thoughts out.

He stands, and ignores the way everyone lets their conversations go to look up expectantly. He brushes past the table, through the living room, and out the front door. 

The screen clatters behind him, and he lights up immediately, flicking ash at the porch when it withers in the wind. He thinks of Neil guessing, without trying, that small talk is a lie Andrew refuses to take part in. He hates him so viciously that he can feel it showing on his face.

He digs in his back pocket for a notepad and stubby pencil, breathing sour, woody nicotine.

pipe dream, he writes. pipe dream, pipe dream. He rips the sheet out and tears it to soggy pieces with his teeth. Then he writes:

I can always taste

salt and copper when I’m dreaming

took a pipe to my head,

but you’re the one who’s bleeding

breaking crime scene tape

to open the front door

invisible monsters

no one fights anymore

lying like a mouth on fire

we’ll go up in smoke if we get any higher

Salt and copper cocktails

rim the glasses red

better off dying than already dead

drink yourself home, the sting might kill you

pare back your skin, make it grow back new

just because you set my bones, doesn’t mean you own them

it’s never flower bouquets, always fists full of stems

you’ll have to kill me

if you cut me from this ground.

He puts the notepad upside down on the top step and grinds his boot into its spine. Then he paces down the front path and crouches in the grass, and when he puts his cigarette out in the frost, the fresh, cold air makes his chest seize.

He looks down at the ‘no’ tattooed on his hand, and he lets the word blur into a mantra in his head.

“What’s this?”

He wheels around, and finds Nicky leaning over the top step with his squashed book in his hands.

“Put it down,” Andrew says, moving quickly back up the path, watching Nicky’s eyes dart over the page and feeling his legs go rod-straight with anxiety.

“Oh, Andrew—“

“Put it down,” he repeats, “or I put you in the hospital.”

Nicky’s grip sags, and he struggles to stand upright. “You can’t just—are you honestly going to pretend this isn’t about him?”

He doesn’t reply, but he swipes for the book hard enough that he raises a pale line on the back of Nicky’s hand. He throws it to the side, out towards his parked car, and takes Nicky to the front door with a forearm braced at his throat.

“Fuck, Andrew, you can’t be serious,” he struggles to say.

Andrew starts to shake, rage and fear rising in him at once, twin tides.

“You’re writing songs about him?”

“I wrote lyrics for our new vocalist,” Andrew snaps, “because you requested it.”

“Not for him. About him,” Nicky says, a veil of sadness over his whole face. Andrew shakes him. “But Andrew, I don’t think he’s—“

“I don’t care,” he grits.

Nicky looks uneasy. “I think you do.”

“I didn’t ask for an opinion.” He hammers the flat of his wrist into Nicky’s neck, somewhere between a shove and a blow, then lets him go all at once. He sags into the doorframe, apparently more stunned than hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Nicky wheezes, and Andrew knows he’s not talking about the unsolicited advice or invaded privacy.

Neil’s face appears at the hall window, reacting to the noise of a scuffle before anyone else. His expression is difficult to parse, poised like a pen and furrowed like paper.

Andrew climbs down from the porch, gets into his car, and drives away.

[harryandmolly]

i could write it better than you ever felt it - eight

A/N: in my grand tradition of Not Writing Lyrics, Forefront’s songs are brought to you by Jack’s Mannequin.

summary: fuck growing up. this is freedom, this is life, this is youth – 2007 Warped Tour style.

warnings: Language, The Shit Hath Hitteth The Fan (TM)

word count: 4.9k

“Florida is so fucking disgusting,” Francis whines.

Shawn sniffs and nods, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. It doesn’t help, just spreads more sweat around.

“It’s a swamp, what do you expect?” Seth gripes, kicking at a patch of muddy grass beneath their feet.

The Forefront boys are fucking wiped. It’s the middle of July. Warped has dragged them through 14 cities in three and a half weeks, and they have five weeks remaining. They’re hitting the Warped wall, the one all the bands hit after about a month of slogging through humidity, through beer-soaked afternoons and hungover mornings, through crowds of kids with too many feelings whose resounding screams of familiar lyrics are what keep everybody moving.

“Can we borrow your fuckbuddy’s shower later?” Bobby jokes, kicking aside a smashed-in red Solo cup as they stalk toward Smartpunk for their 2pm set time.

The hair on the back of Shawn’s damp neck stands. He chews on his lower lip so his piercing juts out. A thousand responses fly through his head, some more aggressive than others, and just as he opens his mouth to let one out, Seth clamps a hand down on his shoulder and steps in.

“Val Moreno knows better than to let you anywhere near her bus.”

The rest of the band snickers. Shawn releases a tense exhale and casts a sidelong glance at Seth who lifts his eyebrows and shrugs, ever the willing mediator.

The trek from the van to Smartpunk feels long today and it might just be because Streets’ merch booth is on the other side of the Reynolds Park Yacht Center’s grounds. It gives him less of an excuse to happen to pass her and maybe get a kiss, or, if he’s really lucky, a quickie in a dirty bathroom somewhere.

They arrive at the backside of the stage. Andrew is leading the charge as usual as Shawn dreamily wanders at the back of the crew. He’s gazing around aimlessly, head full of lyrics ready to be written, so he doesn’t notice the commotion. He’s kicking at the ground and biting his lip ring again when Seth nudges him. He looks up and follows Seth’s eyes to where Andrew is talking very close to the face of the bulky security guy. Shawn frowns. He goes to nudge Francis questioningly when Andrew turns on his heel looking flushed and startled.

“Ok. Change of plans. You’re on Hurley.”

“We’re…” Bobby breathes, unable to finish.

“Hurley…?” Seth croaks.

“You mean Hurley.com?” Shawn guesses.

Andrew licks his lips and cocks his head at the band who all seem to have shrunken a few inches each. “No. Hurley.”

Shawn’s stomach lurches. They’re all tripping over their own feet as they change direction and head for a stage that’s two levels of clout above where they have any business playing.

That’s when Shawn begins to notice it. They’re being watched.

The glances, the whispers, if they were there before, they were invisible to him. They’re unignorable now as Andrew lifts his chin and leads them back the way they came, back past a confused looking Carter at what could generously be described as their merch booth.

The Hurley stage… well, for one thing, it has a roof. Shawn’s bad with dimensions but it looks like it’s at least fifteen or twenty feet longer and deeper than Smartpunk. They’ve opened on stages this big when they got gigs at Toronto clubs for bands like Streets and All Time Low, so they at least have the experience of spreading out a little. Shawn can feel the nerves though. Seth is finger drumming against a railing a little faster and less rhythmic than usual. Francis is texting on his Sidekick but looking around anxiously like he’s sharing state secrets. Shawn swallows and closes his eyes. He suddenly really wishes Val were here to like, hold his hand or something.

He’s not crazy about that realization. That’s not what Val does. Despite his reaction earlier to Bobby’s comment, he’s right. They are fuckbuddies. They fuck in Val’s bunk, in the back lounge, in venue bathrooms, at bars she sneaks him into when they have a night off in certain cities. Yeah, he usually sleeps in her bunk with her, but that’s just because he’s like a giant human gravity blanket like she told him. He’s warm and heavy and doesn’t snore and she needs that kind of physical, human comfort for her insomnia. But it’s not, like, romantic.

He rolls his eyes at himself and knows very well all the flashes of imagery he’s ignoring -- when she wants his attention, she tugs at the back pocket of his jeans and kisses his shoulder. When they wake up together, he buries her face in his hair and sings her new music he’s working on and she helps him untangle some melodies and lyrics in his head.

It’s hard to reconcile it sometimes, the way they are 15% of the time, with the rest of it.

He’s startled out of his pointless examination by Bobby kicking at the back of his leg.

“Listen,” Bobby pants, wide-eyed and a little horrified by what he seems to hear.

Shawn narrows his eyes to focus. Then he gets it.

“How… how many people do you think are out there?” Shawn murmurs, scrubbing at the back of his neck.

Francis, for once, is stunned silent by the steady roar of the mass of humans waiting on the other side of the stage. From back here, they can’t see them and Shawn can’t decide if that’s better or worse. Bobby shakes his head and kicks at a spare riser to release some tension.

“Fuck,” Shawn croaks, folding his hands over his nose and mouth, exhaling slowly. He feels a hand on his arm. His skin jumps as fast as his brain does, right towards a false conclusion.

But it’s just Andrew wearing a sternly comforting look.

“You guys have done this before,” he reminds them gently, “They’re just… here for you now. Which makes it easier, not harder. You have no one to win over out there. You… you guys already did that.”

Shawn’s breath is shaky in his chest as they huddle up, swinging long, sweaty arms around each other, dipping their heads together to mutter hype words before they break apart and wait for the guy to announce them.

Shawn’s eyes close. This part, this is for him. He knows he has a band around him, he knows he has a family back home that loves him, he knows he has… an unknown number of people on the other side of a stage that came to see him. But these few seconds between the huddle and climbing up the steps to burst onto the stage, those are for him.

They’re for the hours he’s spent yawning through exhaustion, true bone-tired exhaustion, reaching for the right notes, the right words. They’re for the nights he spent facedown on his comforter back home in Pickering with headphones in listening to old Fall Out Boy and Yellowcard and Something Corporate feeling so inspired he thought his pounding heart would burst through his chest and splatter on the mattress. They’re for the times he felt like no one was there but him, like he needed something to believe in, so he drowned himself in pop-punk until he convinced himself he wasn’t so alone. They’re for the kid who pawned his hockey skates without telling his dad so he could buy his first shitty guitar.

When he opens his eyes again, his brain is turned off. Andrew hands him an acoustic and claps him on the shoulder. He ascends the steps behind the rest of the band, following them out to face the crowd.

There are easily hundreds of kids waiting for them, cheering as soon as they come around the side of the stage to take their places. Any lingering concerns Shawn had about the crowd realizing they’ve waited for the wrong band are gone. He locks eyes with a redhead against the barricade. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyeliner is a little runny, but she’s on her toes in battered old checkered Vans to lean over the metal gate to scream for them like she’s loved them for as long as she’s lived. When she realizes he sees her, she bounces up and down, elbowing the brunette next to her, reaching her arms out for him like she’s been waiting for this moment. He grins and tosses her a pick. She snatches it out of the air and gawps like a goldfish, jamming it into her bra before anyone can try to swipe it out of her fingers.

He plays the rest of the show for her, and for everyone like her that needs him as badly as he needs them.

+

“Just try it, come on!” Jack cries, wriggling so he can lift his shirt up to his chest, flexing his non-abs to make a point.

“It’s not going to work,” Val insists, smiling at the girl she’s handing $7.50 change to along with a size large Streets tour shirt.

She looks down at Jack Barakat, who has spread himself out across her merch table insisting she try to bounce a quarter off his stomach because he wants to prove to his bassist Zack that it will work.

“It is!” he whines, thrusting a quarter into her hand, wiggling again, “Come on!”

Val is about to give in and humor him when she catches sight of four very flustered looking teenage girls hustling around the crowds to head toward the larger stages.

“.... what time did the set start?” one barks.

“2!” cries another, raising their urgency.

“Oh my god, I am going to fucking kill myself if we miss Forefront playing on the fucking Hurley stage.”

Val’s jaw drops. She slaps Jack’s stomach for his attention. “The what? What did they say? Did they say Hurley?”

Jack cradles the welt forming on his skin and kicks blindly at her leg in weak retaliation.

“Yeah, they got the call up to the big leagues today. He didn’t tell you?”

Val frowns, a little insecure, “No. How did you hear?”

“Well,” Jack explains, sitting up and swinging his legs, “Alex told me but I think he heard it from Evan who was walking by the Paramore tent and Jeremy told him that he heard it from Josh who was told by--”

“Ok,” Val interrupts, mind blank as a sheet, “You have to stay here. You have to watch my table.”

“I can’t, we’re on in twenty minutes.”

“Fuck!” Val mutters, frantically looking around the stragglers by her booth. Just as she’s about to say ‘fuck it’ and abandon the table altogether, Greg comes swinging out of the bus with a truly horrifying microwaved hot dog in one hand and his Virgin Mobile flip phone in the other.

“Oh, thank god,” she breathes, springing out from behind the table to grab his arm and yank him into her place, “You have to watch the booth.”

“Are you ok?” Greg chuckles, lifting his eyebrows at her.

“I’m fine!” she cries, “I owe you one! Bye!”

Twelve years of competitive soccer have sharpened her sprinting and dodging skills. She bobs and weaves easily around liberty-spiked hair and enormous puddles of mud with a singular goal.

The Hurley stage. How did that even fucking happen?

She’s trying not to focus on the fact that he didn’t tell her this, because he knows as well as she how fucking big a deal it is, and he could’ve mentioned it at some point this morning between sucking her orgasm off his fingers and muttering “fuck, yes, fuck, that feels good” when she let him come in her mouth. But he didn’t.

Instead, she focuses on getting there to witness it. She sees the stage a few hundred yards away and from this angle, she can see the crowd. It’s a far fucking cry from their usual draw -- that AP Mag article definitely caught some attention. Her heart swells with pride until she remembers, just after she flashes her pass at Bucky the guard and begins to run up the steps to sidestage, that that pride isn’t hers to feel.

He’s not her boyfriend. He’s her… friend. With benefits. The benefits are really great, especially after a few weeks of practice. But any emotional attachment she feels to his accomplishment of his is… misplaced.

She drops her hand from the railing and steps back from the stairs. As her chest heaves from the effort of racing there, she takes long, striding steps backward, past Bucky’s curious gaze. She swallows, frowns a little at the pang in her heart, and walks around the edge of the crowd to stand somewhere in the back.

Somewhere in the back lands her beside Paramore’s merch tent. She smiles politely at their merch guy Max and props up on their tent leg to take it in.

They’ve just finished “Holiday from Real” and Shawn’s setting up at the keyboard, striking out the first few notes of “Dark Blue.” She has good timing -- it’s her favorite off Joy Ride, she thinks.

He’s wearing a soft smile like he doesn’t hear the booming cries of his audience as they begin to register what he’s playing next. He’s smiling like he’s playing for himself, by himself, for no other reason than because he has to to feel real.

“This was recorded on a grand piano,” he begins, licking his lips, waiting for the shrieking of excited girls to quiet before he continues, “So it sounds kinda shitty on the keyboard. But we’re poor and can’t bring a grand piano in a truck for Warped Tour so we work with what we got. You should buy the album because it sounds better on there, I promise. Anyway, this is Dark Blue.”

Val grins, chuckling as she steps aside to let some fans through to the merch table. She’s bobbing her head, lost in the way his face scrunches as he dips in and out of his falsetto, when she feels a brush against her arm. She turns her head and grins.

“Hey, you,” she laughs, opening her arms to shrug Hayley Williams into her shoulder, squeezing her gently.

“Come for a visit?” Hayley asks, stepping away to flip some shaggy fire engine red hair off her shoulders.

Val shakes her head and glances back at the stage. “Just watching, actually.”

Hayley nods her understanding and turns her attention in, biting her lip as she studies the performance. As the final notes fade out and Shawn stands from behind the keys to reach for the scarred blue electric Vince hands him, Hayley bumps Val again.

“They’re really fucking great,” Hayley quips. Val runs her tongue against her lower lip, watching Shawn toss a pick into the crowd and laugh at something Francis says that she can’t understand from this far back over the roar of the audience.

“They are.”

Val doesn’t hear herself answer Hayley. She’s lost.

But, as she stares up at him, watching his head bob and his eyes flutter shut, watching his heel tap the stage to the rhythm Seth pounds out behind him, smiling when he does at the crowd of people that came to see him today, she doesn’t feel lost at all. For the first time in months, she feels… found.

+

Val feels like a goldfish swimming circles around her bowl as she paces around the empty Forefront van. She’s kicking up mud all over the place and it’s clinging to her violet Bullhead skinnies that were already begging for a wash, but she hasn’t noticed. She wrings her hands, cracks her knuckles, untucks and retucks her hair behind her ears.

Val had turned avoiding Forefront’s sets into a goddamn art form. Yes, she caught one or two toward the beginning of tour when her heart didn’t feel quite so… full of him. When listening to him sing was easy and light and a fun new experience. He hadn’t asked her to come watch and she didn’t feel like that was by accident. She had a feeling maybe he had the same thought, that her watching the set was somehow a dangerous idea.

She thinks maybe her functioning human brain just shut down when she heard they were playing Hurley and that’s why the lizard brain took over and dragged her there to stand behind a sea of scene kids. That’s the only explanation she can think of. Rational thought was just… gone.

Now, as she turns crop circles around their 15-seater waiting for them to return from their triumphant set, she knows for certain why avoiding their sets was necessary.

Because now she’s certain that she’s so goddamn in love with him.

I mean, ok, it’s been a month. Maybe love is a strong word. Maybe she’s infatuated, maybe it’s as fleeting as Warped Tour itself. Maybe this time next year she’ll be laughing at the idea of Shawn Mendes. But right now, she slumps against his van and sighs, knees weak at the thought of him.

This was… not supposed to happen. She was supposed to take the summer to move on, to continue recovering and relax before she leaves in the fall. She’s supposed to be spending late nights talking to Bea and bonding with her brother and pranking Alex and Jack at barbecues and swallowing her last gulps of the scene before she leaves it behind for good.

But she knows. She has known it. And she knows it now when she hears his laugh coming up the hill overtop the voices of his rowdy band and crew. She turns and smiles, waiting for him to see her.

She knows it when he stops mid-sentence and races up to her, tackling her against the side of the van as he laughs into her neck, his skin buzzing with adrenaline, ignoring the teasing of his friends. She knows it when he pulls back to smooth hair out of her face and kiss her, so she opens her big, fat mouth.

“Do you want to stay with me in the hotel tonight?”

+

A hotel night with Val is just about the most perfect way to end a day like this, so why the fuck is he dreading it?

Hotel nights are for the lucky few on Warped Tour, bands who are signed to labels with actual cash and generally have been around the scene collecting a fanbase for awhile, a.k.a. not Forefront.

Streets has had two hotel nights so far, both of which Val made excuses to keep from inviting Shawn to. The first, she was “sick.” The second, Bea would be crashing in her room. The reality of both? It felt a little too… much.

There’s something about a hotel room with clean sheets and a view of the city and a shower that could fit them both at once that brings them both out of the grimy, slimy Warped Tour bubble and into a reality that’s a little harder to face. Val hasn’t been ready for that and Shawn hasn’t pushed for it because the longer they keep their heads buried in the fairground dirt, the better off they are.

He doesn’t even mean to say yes, really. But his mouth moves a little faster than his brain and trips right into a “oh fuck, yes.”

Now as he’s walking a little too slowly toward the Streets bus with his head down and hands shoved deep in his pockets, his whole body feels heavy and the buzzing in his brain gets louder and louder with every step.

It’s not that he doesn’t want it. God, he fucking wants it. A night alone with her in a real bed? Jesus. But… it’s going to be so much harder to keep things the way they are after something like this. Everything is changing so fast -- he needs the stability, the simplicity of Val as she is, a beautiful escape.

He looks up with a belabored sigh and spots the Streets bus as it covers the sun setting over the horizon. The whole band and crew mills about excitedly outside, but Val is still, looking up over the bus. Her hair is drawn down over her shoulders brushing the bare skin on her back where her Yellowcard tee has ridden up. He finds himself drawn to her, walking right up behind her to plant his hands on her hips and push his nose into her hair for that warm, familiar smell of citrus and her.

Val closes her eyes at the tenderness of it, placing her hands over his and rubbing her thumbs gently over his knuckles. They remain silent, buried in their own conflicting thoughts, somehow aware of the tumult in each other’s minds. Val cracks first, turning in his arms to press her hands to his chest and take a deep breath. She locks eyes with him and swallows sharply.

“Ok?”

“Ok.”

+

“Hey, what’s this little divot in your face?” she breathes, running her whiskey flavored lips over his cheek. He shudders at the feel of her breath and swallows.

“Cut myself trying to shave when I was like, nine.”

Val feels her heart scrunch up in her chest, trying to reject the image. She doesn’t want it. She has no interest in picturing him curly-haired and bright-eyed, a curious nine-year-old with a world ahead of him. She has no interest in the tenderness she feels for him now, ten years later, with that perfect little scar on his cheek that drew her interest.

She has no interest in loving him.

But, after a drink or two from the minibar, she can’t really fight it anymore. Her nails scrape against his scalp as he plods hot kisses down her stomach, smiling gently as her muscles contract. She curls her fingers into his biceps until he pins her arms over her head, stroking into her slow and deep until his heart physically aches. He fucks the tenderness away, sprinting after her orgasm until she’s clenching down around him, swearing in Spanish, breathing hot and hard in his ear. When he pulls out from inside her, his body screams at him to stay, but his brain knows better.

Val turns over with the sheets around her hips and sighs happily into her pillow, tucking her hands under her chin as Shawn stands to ditch the condom. On his way back in, he stops dead in the doorframe of the bathroom and stares.

On Valentina’s back is what is, without a shadow of a doubt, the most beautiful tattoo he’s ever seen.

It’s pretty large, about 8’ by 8’, a scene out a window in a cracked white frame. He stumbles closer, brushing his fingers over the incredible detail as she purrs at the touch of his fingers on her sex-flushed skin.

“‘S my bedroom window,” she explains sleepily, her eyes still shut under the weight of her crushing orgasm, “From my parents’ house in Miami.”

He’s nodding, lost in the way the palm trees frame the colorful neighborhood, the little kid on a bike riding away. It feels… warm somehow. He’s enamored.

“I designed it,” she whispers so quietly he almost doesn’t hear.

Shawn’s attention is lifted from the art on her back. “You what?”

Val turns her head and opens her eyes to blink at him. “I’m an artist. I designed the tattoo. My friend Erika did it over the course of a couple months when we first got signed. I wanted a reminder of where I spent most of my time when I was a kid, staring out my bedroom window, wanting a piece of the world. Now, though… I like it as a reminder of where I came from, not where I’m going.”

Shawn sniffs gently, seeing a flash of his own childhood bedroom window in his mind -- pine trees, a long driveway, ice crystals on every surface. A request bubbles up in his throat for her to draw it for him. He swallows it down.

He bends over her lithe body and presses a kiss to the setting sun in the center of her masterpiece.

He crawls in and falls asleep beside her without another word.

+

He feels a little better when he wakes up.

She’s exactly where he left her, facedown in the pillow beside him with her art on display. Her hair is a nest of wild curls around her since they showered together before bed. He finally feels really clean for the first time in weeks.

He considers their night together while he pulls on a pair of sweats he brought to be ready for the room service he ordered for them. He remembers the haze of anxiety he fought through to be with her, to really be with her, and he doesn’t feel it’s fully lifted, but sharing last night was, for lack of a better word, special.

He’s cursing himself for being the world’s worst lyricist, unable to think of a better word when there’s a knock at the door. He springs out of bed to bring the room service in himself because Val’s still naked under the sheets.

He accepts the tray from the guy with a smile and a small tip because he only has a couple bucks on hand. As he’s maneuvering his way back inside, Raf comes swinging around the corner with a bucket of ice. Shawn freezes, still uncomfortable with the obviousness of his and Val’s relationship around her twin brother.

A series of odd looks come across Raf’s face until it settles on eerily placid. He smiles stiffly.

“Hey, man. You ordered breakfast?”

Shawn nods, attempting a crooked smile that comes off as a grimace.

Raf bobs his head. “That’s nice. You got her French toast, right?”

Shawn nods again.

“Good, good. That’s her favorite. She’s always liked the fancy stuff. Guess that’s why she’s going back to school at Oxford in the fall.”

Raf’s eyes lift from the tray in Shawn’s suddenly very shaky arms. He fixes Shawn with a dangerous glance and sweeps back inside his hotel room to settle in with Bea until checkout.

Shawn stands there dumbstruck, his back holding the door open, until he hears the sheets rustle behind him.

“You got breakfast, papi?” calls a delighted, sleepy voice.

Shawn turns, not looking half as happy as she is. She sits up, sheets pooling around her hips, nipple rings glinting proudly in the morning light as she raises her arms above her head to stretch. She drops them and smacks her lips together before she notices his expression.

Now she’s awake.

“What?” Val swallows, feels her heart begin to work a little harder.

“Raf. Just… he just told me…”

Val goes white as a sheet.

No.

“Papi, no, he just--”

“I…” Shawn begins, his brow wrinkling, “I think I need to go.”

Val watches him gather his clothes and slip out of the room before she can manage to think of something to make him stay.

+

That afternoon, after being on a low simmer all day, she storms up the steps to the bus and slams the door open, throwing herself into the front lounge. Raf looks up from his Xbox controller. Greg and Naveen know enough to scatter quickly.

Val steps forward and grabs the controller to toss onto the couch.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she barks.

Raf plays it cool, sighing condescendingly. “I don’t know, Val, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

“I don’t fucking know! I really don’t fucking know,” Val seethes, crossing her arms over her chest, “First you stumble back into bed with Bea like it’s fucking 2005 again, or the summer of 2004, or the fall of 2006, or whatever. And now this.”

Raf bristles, standing to confront her. “My relationship with Bea is none of your goddamn business.”

“Oh, is it not?” Val shrieks, throwing her arms out, “Coulda fooled me. Every time she stomps her tiny little feet all over your heart, you pour it all over me, ‘Val, you’re her best friend, tell me what she’s thinking,’ ‘Val, don’t let me call her again.’ Yeah, you’re right, you’ve definitely never made that my problem.”

“I needed your help!” he cries, “I needed you! Things were fucking bad and I needed my sister. But you pushed me away and made me feel weak and stupid. You’re always pushing me away, Val! We found one thing to do together, the one thing that made us feel like brother and sister instead of enemies, and you threw it away! Te necesité, me alejaste!”

Val’s eyes widen. “No! No, you’re not bringing this up again! Do not do this to me again!” she begs desperately, “I gave you everything I could. I could not give you my whole life, not for this. For this? To live out of a bus, to see our parents once every four months? To never be able to settle and build a life somewhere? I gave you that time, Raf! I had no more time to give. You keep punishing me for it! How long will you sabotage my life to remind me of what you think I owe you?”

Raf nods, dangerously quiet, “Sabotage your life, huh?”

He takes a step closer until he’s looming over her.

“You know what’s truly sick, Val?” Raf spits, using his height as his only advantage in this virtueless fight, “You don’t even know which secret I told him.”

Support my bad habits and buy me a ko-fi!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @stillinskislydia @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn​ @alone-in-madness​ @alone-in-madness @singanddreamanyway @accioalena @randi-eve @shawnitsmutual @embracehappy @itrocksmysocks @yslsaint

[airportmendes-blog]

a/n: here’s a cute little fluffy non famous shawn one shot that i wrote in like less than an hour, it’s definitely not my best but i wanted to post something so enjoy

It was Friday night and I was at the captain of my college volleyball team’s house. Our girls just won the state championships and we all decided to have a fun get together to celebrate, including the boys team. I knew practically everyone on both teams to some extent. But there was one in particular that made my heart pound. Shawn Mendes. I was hopelessly in love with him, but I had no intentions of ever telling him that. He was way too cool for me and I made a complete fool of myself anytime I was around him, which seemed to be a lot lately since he joined the volleyball team this season. Most of his friends were on the team and they had encouraged him to join, which was fine by me. I loved getting to watch him and cheer him on from the stands. How his hair bounced around, his curls perfectly framing his face and how his hands clung to his waist as he watched and waited for the ball to cross back over. Every time he scored, he’d get this huge goofy grin on his face and I could’ve sworn I caught him looking back at me a few times to make sure I was watching.

I was brought back to the present when someone stumbled into me, almost spilling their drink all over the place. “Oh my god I am so sorry, I should’ve watched where I was going I-I’m really sorry,” the tall figure gushed like a water faucet. I looked up to see none other than Shawn.

“No, hey, it’s fine,” I reassured him, “look nothing was spilt.” I opened my arms to show him the stain free outfit I had on.

“Good, I would’ve felt really bad if I had ruined such a cute dress.” He stated, finding my eyes. His cheeks were flushed pink and his lips curled into an inviting smile. My heart pounded and I looked around the room trying to not seem so awkward. “Thank you,” I smiled back.

“I was actually heading over to grab a soda, do you want anything?” His eyes scanned my face.

“Oh um, yeah, a Coke please,” I gazed into his eyes and struggled to not fall completely into them. He shuffled past me, his fingers brushing against the small of my back so as to not bump into me again. The feeling of his skin against mine sent shivers down my spine. I looked around hoping no one saw me blushing to myself.

He came back fairly quickly, two Cokes in hand.

“For the lady,” he shifted the drink into my palm, I giggled at the saying.

I thanked him once again and asked “So what brings you here?” He took a sip of his drink and looks at me. “Volleyball,” he said as he nodded. I mentally face-palmed myself. No shit. That’s why we were all here. I gulped down my drink to make sure I didn’t blurt out something else even more stupid.

Suddenly, the background music turned into some generic pop song and I saw Shawn’s head swing towards me. I turned to meet his eyes, which were filled with excitement. “Dance with me,” he commanded but it came out more like a question.

I shook my head. “No, no, no I can’t dance.”

“Everyone can dance. C’mon, please?” He jutted his lower lip out and my knees turned to jello. I couldn’t say no to that face. A smile slowly spread across my face and he grabbed my hand to drag me off to the living room. I set my drink down just in time for him to whisk me out of the kitchen.

He turned the stereo up and began bouncing on his heels, turning in circles and bobbing his head. I burst out with laughter at his moves, he was really terrible. He grinned in response and grabbed my hands, twirling me around. He let go to do an air guitar solo and finished off the song with one last spin and dipping me, even though this was not at all the type of song you spin-and-dip to. We both were holding our gut in agony from the laughter between us. The crowd from the living room erupted into clapping and whistles. Shawn grabbed my hand, nodded and we both bowed.

We walked back to the kitchen, still laughing from the events that just took place. He smiled at me, his whole face beaming. “You know, you’re really cute,” he licked his lips and glanced at me only to glance away quickly.

I racked my brain for something clever to say. “No, I didn’t know,” I replied. Why am I so bad at flirting.

He looked at me seriously, “Well you should.” This time he didn’t break eye contact. His chestnut eyes stared back at mine and I felt vulnerable. “Do you wanna get out of here?” he asked, looking around at our fellow teammates. I could tell he wanted more privacy and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to be alone with him.

“Yeah,” I smiled, “that’d be nice.” He headed towards the door and I followed. As soon as he shut the door behind us he turned around and grabbed my hand once again. He really had to stop doing that before he gave me a heart attack.

Whether it was from the dancing or the ego boost from the compliments, I felt bold. “Why are you talking to me?” I questioned him. “I mean, I know we’re acquaintances and all, but why the sudden interest?” He stopped walking.

“It’s not sudden,” was all he said. He turned his head towards me and let go of my hand, the air seemed to suddenly drop a few degrees. “I like you. I have for a while. The way you walk and talk and how you’re awkwardly cute, but still mysteriously cool,” he rambled on. “I probably sound like an idiot, I just couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. I want to get to know you and find out what you like and dislike and how your-“ I cut off his ramblings with my lips against his. I tangled my fingers through the back of his hair and I felt his lips separate so that his tongue could reach mine. His hands found my waist and squeezed me into his warm chest before wrapping them completely around my torso. His tongue glided against mine and he gently sucked on my lower lip before we separated. He leaned his forehead against mine, his breathe slightly labored.

“I like you too.” I finally replied. “And I want to get to know you too, and how you think and what you’re passionate about.” He looked down at me, his arms still completely wrapped around me. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth before he spoke again, “And I really want to keep kissing you.” A grin appeared on my face and I couldn’t help but pull him closer, his lips finding mine instantly. His warm breath mixing with mine.

[1dhomeroom]

Harry Styles' 'Carolina' Is the Song of the Summer Yes, we know, it came out last year. But Styles' laid-back glam-rock groove is finally getting its chance to shine on tour 4 hours ago Dymond/Thames/Syco/REX Shutterstock What makes a summer jam? Is it the sunniest chorus, the hottest beat, the most weeks on the charts? Do the lyrics have to be about beaches and barbecues, or is it a question of vibe? What if it's a song on your summer playlist and no one else's? We believe the answer is "all of the above." This summer, Rolling Stone's writers will celebrate the songs that are ruling each of their worlds – from huge hits to weirder, more personal choices. Check back soon for more summer songs, and hear all our picks in the Spotify playlist at the bottom of this post. Yes, I know – technically Harry Styles' "Carolina" came out last summer, and no, it did not climb the charts. But hear me out. This glam-rock groove practically screams summer romance. Last year, it was passed over as a single in favor of "Sign of the Times," a huge power ballad; the quiet, sensitive "Two Ghosts"; and the rowdy party song "Kiwi." But "Carolina," which hits the sweet spot between all three of those moods, deserves a turn in the spotlight. And as Styles' first-ever solo U.S. arena tour rolls on through the summer, the time has come for "Carolina" to shine. The song is supposedly about a girl named Townes, referenced briefly in the lyrics and discussed ever after by Styles fans. They only met once, but he can't forget her. The lyrics give us a few other details: She's from one of the Carolinas, lives on the West Coast, has a close relationship with her grandma. But the best parts of this song are universal. From the retro guitar riffs to the incredibly catchy la-la-las and "oh yeahs!" Styles describes a love interest whom we all want to be and/or meet. She's "a good girl" and "she feels so good"? What more could you want? It doesn't hurt that she "gets into parties without invitations" and "there's not a drink that could sink her" — obviously, both traits that come in handy for summer fun. On "Carolina," Styles captures the palpable mood that only sweaty summer nights can bring. Just like Styles, many of us will spend the coming months searching for our own Townes, and then spend some more months still thinking of them. It's not jut a song for this summer. "Carolina" is a song for every summer. https://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/harry-styles-carolina-song-summer-w521654

[rfsak2]

Cactus; Part XIX

I had a lot of fun writing this!

Cactus; Part XIX Summary: Daddy’s girl. The Styles and their brood Warnings: Some angst! (I know.. I didn’t think I could do it either, but I’m feeling angsty)

“My dear friends the Styles’ have invited me over to their house to join their weekly spa day, which apparently includes face masks and wine.” James smiled at the camera. “Watch this.”

Jamie smiled and waved at the camera. “Hey! Welcome to our house!” The camera panned up to focus on Harry behind Jamie, one massive hand on the door.

“Hello!”

James entered the house after the camera. “Hello, Styles’!” He pulled Jamie into a hug before hooking one arm around Harry and pulling him in to.

Harry giggled and Jamie pulled away to allow her husband to hug James fully. “Oh I’ve missed yeh, James!”

“I’ve missed you too.” James grinned and Jamie led the small group into the kitchen. “You two have been busy these past few months, haven’t yeh? Between the baby, the Back At It tour, which only ended three months before Evie was born, recording and now promo for Harry’s new album... Whoo-ee.” James made a face, “and Jamie, your band is also working on a new album. What busy bees, you are.”

“I’ll say.” Jamie nodded and sipped at her wine. “White or red, James?”

“Red, love. Thank you.” James smiled. “Do you feel all that busyness or are you able to kind plow through it?”

Harry shrugged and sipped at his own glass. “I mean, I’m not sure either of us knows anything different.” He looked to Jamie, who had passed James’ glass over and was passing out water bottles to the crew, for confirmation. “I don’t like being bored and it probably only took Jamie two months after she gave birth to start getting bored and fidgety.”

James nodded. “That’s right. Jamie, I know that technically you’ve just started recording the new album, but you personally started writing all of this almost a year ago then? Because you’re daughter is a year old now, yes?”

“Yes and yes… or well, just over. She’s fourteen months now.” Jamie smiled and shrugged. “I had a huge surge of creativity about two months after Evie was born. Half of that was funneled into Harry’s album-

“Including the new single, yes? There is an excellent guitar solo there, that the song, rumor has it, was written around.”

“It was so good!” Harry grinned. “I just ran with it and wrote down everything that it made me feel.”

“It’s a fun song, already hitting number one in the UK and here. The guitar work is absolutely amazing.”

“Thanks!” Jamie smiled.

“So it was easy to balance the busyness and all?”

“Not sure about easy, but definitely doable. There’ve been times where by the time we get home, we get Evie in bed and we collapse, but it actually hasn’t been too bad, right, baby?” Jamie shrugged as Harry nodded. “I mean we did all of it together anyways, I think that was why it worked.”

James smiled. “Evie goes to all of the recording sessions then?”

Harry smiled against the rim of his glass and motioned upstairs. “Yeah, well ninety percent of my album and so far all of the new Spike and Devil album have been done here.”

“In your home studio? That’s convenient.”

Suddenly there was a static-y, hesitant “Mumma?”

Jamie grabbed Harry’s arm as he began to pull away from the counter. “Nope. No sir. She needs to learn how to self-soothe.”

“But-”

“Dadda…”

Harry looked physically pained but Jamie shook her head. “She’ll fall back asleep all on her own. Stay strong.”

“But, love…”

“No. If you go in there now, it’ll take another hour for her to go to sleep.” Jamie pushed his hair behind his shoulder and braced against him to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t.”

Evie sniffled through the baby monitor.

“She’s crying, love.”

“Only because she knows Daddy will come get her if she sniffles a bit.” Jamie grinned. “She’s got to go back to bed on her own or she’ll never learn. She has to learn in order to have good sleep habits later on.”

“I know-”

“It’s true, Haz.” James nodded. “Give it a bit and she’ll be sleepin’ again soon.”

“Dadda…” Another pathetic sniffle and she cried for him again. “Dadda…”

Harry broke and made for the nursery.

Jamie smiled, exasperated at James. “He’s so soft for her. It’s alternately frustrating and absolutely adorable.”

“And incredibly attractive, yeah?” James grinned. “How long before baby number two?”

Jamie grinned. “At least another year, I’d imagine. We are really busy and I’m really close to quitting breastfeeding, we’ve been weaning her off of it for a couple months now. I’d like to have a bit of time where I’m not pregnant or breastfeeding...y’know?”

“I’ll give you another six months.”

“Screw you, then.” Jamie sipped her wine as James giggled.

“Oh look at those curls…” James walked over to where Harry and Evie were entering the kitchen. “How adorable.”

Despite the odds, little Evie had retained her mother’s platinum blonde hair and it fell in Shirley Temple ringlets against her ears. Her eyes, originally the baby blue of most infants had gradually started going more and more green every day and she still very clearly Harry’s mouth and dimpled smile.

In short, she was cute and she knew it. Harry was a goner, but then he’d been lost from the moment they found out they were pregnant.

It was up to Jamie to enforce the rules of the house because the puddle of Harry-goo on the floor sure as hell couldn’t.

Harry looked down at her, Evie’s face stubbornly pressed into his neck and shoulder. “Say hello to Uncle James?”

She shook her head but threw out a hand. “Mumma, hold hands.”

Harry tried not to laugh. “Angel, how are yeh supposed to ask for something?”

“Hold hands.” She sat up, noticed the camera and hid her face again. “Hold hands.”

Jamie shook her head and mouthed ‘spoiled’ at the camera. “Will you say please for me, Evie Stevie?”

She shook her head, one hand still held out.

“Then we won’t hold hands, I guess.”

“Pwease?” She sat up to look at Jamie. “Mumma, hold hands, pwease?”

Jamie smiled and reached for Evie’s hand. “Thank you, Evie-baby. That’s all Mumma wanted.”

Evie hid her face in Harry’s neck again.

“Say ‘thank yeh,’ angel?”

“Tha’ya.”

“Thank you.”

**

“So Harry,” The interviewer smiled briefly at the camera and then turned back to Harry and Jamie. “You’re wearing a Gucci suit, I presume?”

Harry grinned and shook his head, smoothing his free hand down the embroidered black silk of his smoking jacket. “Tom Ford, actually.”

“Really? Why the change?”

“Wanted to match with the missus.” He grinned down Jamie, resplendent in a dove-grey silk dress, the bodice embroidered and beaded in the same pattern as his jacket. “We’re both nominated, so we wanted to match.”

“So Tom Ford as well, then, Jamie?” The woman smiled sweetly.

“Yep.”

“And on the feet, you two? Harry’s shoes are as interesting as ever.”

Harry looked down, smiling, lifting one white snake-skin boot. “Hey…”

Jamie smiled. “I got these for him.. For our wedding.”

“Really for your wedding?” The woman looked shocked. “Did you two have a ceremony? I was under the impression-”

“No we eloped.” Harry grinned. “Supposed to throw a party for everyone but we never really got around to it, honestly.”

“So how did you know to buy these, Jamie?”

“When we first started dating or whatever you want to call it, he told me he wanted to wear white cowboy boots when we got married. He was joking obviously-”

“Was not!”

Jamie laughed. “He was joking, because we weren’t even really dating to be honest. A couple years later when I was sure that marriage is where we were heading, I visited a bootmaker in San Antonio. Figured I could ask him, but he beat me to it.”

“That’s so sweet!” The interviewer swooned. “Where are they from?”

“They are from Little’s Boots in San Antonio.” “And you’re wearing custom Louboutin’s?”

“Yep.”

The interviewer nodded. “How does it feel to be both be nominated this year?”

Harry smiled. “It’s good. Right, love?”

Jamie nodded.

“Jamie, I sobbed like a baby the first time I heard The Truth. Straight up sobbed. Like I Hope you Dance level sobbing.”

“Oh that’s sweet, thank you.”

“You wrote it for Evie, right?”

“We did, actually.” She squeezed Harry’s hand.

“Why isn’t it a duet? It’d be a lovely duet.”

Harry grinned. “I wouldn’t last five seconds, that’s why. I’d just fall apart.”

The interviewer smiled. “I’d bet she’s a daddy’s girl.”

Jamie nodded, rolling her eyes. “You have no idea.”

“So, this is a fun question to ask now:” She grinned. “There are six 1D babies… well soon to be six. Liam has two boys, Louis has one of each and Niall and his wife just announced that they were pregnant and of course there’s little Evie. Who’s child would you be most okay with your daug-”

“No one. She’s never dating anyone.”

“It’s the nun’s life for her then?”

“Yep. We’re cloistering her.”

Jamie rolled her eyes again.

**

Jamie checked on Annabelle in her carrier and then double-checked that Evangeline Stevie Styles was exactly where she told her to be. The nearly three-year-old had an awful habit of not listening to Mummy where Daddy was concerned.

“When’s he gonna be here, Mummy?”

“Soon, baby girl. His plane just landed.”

“But I miss him!” She stomped her little booted foot.

Jamie fought the smile off of her face and arched the dreaded ‘mom-brow’ as Harry had begun to term it. “Drop the ‘tude, little miss.”

“I want Daddy now!” She stomped again.

“We do not speak to each other like that, Evangeline. Do we now? What do we do when we’re mean to someone?” Evie kicked at the ground, ignoring her. “One, tw-”

“No, Mummy.” She shook her finger at Jamie. “No counting!”

“Uno…” Jamie sighed. “Don’t make me keep counting, m’hija.”

“Lo siento, Mummy.” Evie sniffled. “Just want Daddy. He’s been gone long time.”

He’s only been gone three days. Jamie almost laughed, she was just like her father. So dramatic.

“I know, baby. I miss him too but we can’t go around throwin’-” Evie crossed her arms over her chest and pouted and Jamie squatted so she was at her level. “Mírame, sweetie.” Lip still jutted out, Evie met her eyes and Jamie drew her closer into her arms. “Daddy will be here very soon, I need you to be patient, alright? I need you to be the big girl I know you are.”

“Haf’te set an… ‘xample for Bellie, right?”

Jamie nodded. “That’s right. She’s your hermanita, you have to take good care of her.”

Evie looked down at the baby carrier and nodded.

“Were you bein’ naughty, Evie Stevie? Is that why Mummy is givin’ you a talkin’ to?”

Evie’s face immediately brightened. “Daddy!” She launched herself at his leg, giggling as he swept her up into his arms and laid a bristly kiss on her cheek.

“Were you being naughty?”

Evie shook her head. “No Daddy. ‘Promise.” She held her pinky out.

“Oh? Yeh promise.” Harry grinned. “How much do yeh wanna bet that yeh weren’t listenin’ to Mummy?”

Evie considered this as seriously as an almost three year old could. “Two dollars!”

Harry pretended to be impressed by the grand sum. “Two whole daughters? I don’t know… I’m sure it’s against the rules to bet yourself…”

Evie frowned, confused, then giggled. “Not daughters, Daddy… Dollars!” “Oh…” Harry grinned. “Dollars. That makes more sense. Now were yeh being a good girl or not, poppet? Tell me true.”

Evie squirmed. “Just wanted to see you… Missed you, Daddy.”

Jamie smiled and Harry fought to not melt in the face of all that was Little Miss Evie Stevie Styles.

“Yeah, ‘know, angel, I missed yeh too, but you have to listen to Mummy.”

“Okay…”

Harry sighed and laid another kiss on her cheek before setting her down and reaching for Jamie’s hand. “Hello, my love.” He kissed her deeply. “Missed yeh.”

Jamie smiled. “We missed you too. Obviously.”

Harry grinned and kissed her again, deeper, as Evie pushed against his leg. “Daddy, I want another kiss!”

He nodded. “But first I have to kiss AnnieBellie, don’t I?” Evie nodded. “AnnieBellie, then me.”

“Then Mummy?”

Evie shook her head giggling. “Then me again!”

“So greedy.” Jamie pantomimed tickling her and Evie darted behind Harry’s leg. “You know what Greedy Gus’ get, dontcha Evie Stevie?”

“Mummy, no!”

**

Harry closed the front door behind him and rubbed at his face. He set the old-school digital camcorder high up on the shelf in the foyer, away from grubby, little hands and dropped his overnight on the hardwood. He sighed heavily and made for the kitchen.

Evie, now seven, was up on a chair trying to get one last bowl from the cabinet when Harry nabbed it from the shelf and set it on the counter next to the two she’d already managed, the cereal and the milk.

She jumped and almost fell, but Harry caught her as she turned and buried her face in his chest. “Where’d ya go, Daddy?”

Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat and settled a hand in Belle’s dark curls, the now four-year-old having launched herself at his legs. “I… I just had to get some work done, angel. Did you have a good sleep?”

She shook her head and Belle wailed into his jeans. “No! Bellie and Mickie cried all night after you left.” Her voice dropped into a whisper. “Mummy was crying too.”

Harry tried to breathe again and choked on it. “I’m sorry about that, angel, I am.” He squatted and drew Belle, still wailing, into his arms. Looking over at two-year-old Mickie who sat happily smashing his cheerios in his booster. “I’m sorry-”

“Oh…” He looked up suddenly and wished he hadn’t. Jamie had definitely been crying, swollen eyes set in a pale face. She swallowed dryly, little baby Robbie babbling against her shoulder. “Hi.”

He stood, hating himself for creating an awkwardness that had never existed between them. “I’ll take the girls to school, yeah?”

She nodded.

“Take Mickie with me, too? Just so you can have some quiet once Robbie goes down for a nap?”

“Sure.”

Harry swallowed and rubbed at his face again, before standing. “Let’s get breakfast sorted, yeah?”

He led Belle to her class first and then led Evie up the stairs away from the Pre-K toward the main section of the school.

“I don’t think Mummy feels pretty anymore.”

Harry almost jumped and gaped down at his eldest. “What’s that, angel?”

She shrugged, looking down at her uniform Mary Janes. “Don’t think she feels pretty anymore… ever since Robbie was born.”

He squatted so he was eye-level with his little Jamie Mini-Me, with her blonde spiral curls and her serious jaw, only to find his eyes staring back at him. He adjusted Mickie on his leg, the toddler close to passing out against his shoulder, and grabbed Evie’s hand. “Why would yeh think that, Evie?”

She shrugged. “I think Mummy is pretty. Don’t you?”

Harry nodded. “I do.”

“You should tell her that.” She nodded once like she had decided the answer to all the world’s problems. “Don’t you think so?”

“I do.” Harry swallowed. “I will.”

“Good! Because Danny said that his Daddy stopped saying that he thought his Mummy was pretty and now their div-” She shook her head. “Mummy loves you alot and if you still love Mummy-”

“I’m not leaving yer Mummy, angel.”

She held out her pinkie. “Promise?”

He smiled and let her wrap her tiny pinkie around his. “Promise.”

When he got home, he tiptoed into the nursery and laid Mickie down in his toddler bed. He paused to kiss both of his sons on the forehead and made his way to where his wife was sure to be.

He took a deep breath and opened the studio door. He’d honestly expected to see Jamie behind a guitar, working some of the stress and emotion out through music, what he saw broke his heart.

Head against her knees, she sobbed.

“Jesus, monster.”

She jumped, swivelling to look at him and then turning away to wipe at her eyes. “Oh.. Hey. Did Robbie wake up?”

He dropped on the couch next to where she sat on the floor and shook his head. “I’m sorry, love, I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

She shrugged and pushed to her feet, making for the door. He caught her hand and drew her in between his legs. “Don’t leave, please. Let’s talk.”

“About?”

He laid his face against her stomach. She flinched and he sighed. “I don’t want a divorce-”

“No you want a separation.”

He shook his head. “No I want you. I’ve always wanted you. I will always want you.”

She took a step away from him. “Then why did you tell me last night that you wanted a separation? If that’s not true, then why did you say it?” She sucked in a stuttering breath. “Why? I’ve been sobbing all night because I thought that my husband wanted to leave me. Because my husband left me at home with our four children and went off doing fuck all. So why?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuck that. Why, Harry? What was so bloody important last night, that you had to leave right then- after completely destroying me, I might add- to do? What?”

Harry sucked in a breath. “All I did was rent a hotel room for a night. I watched those sex tapes we made years ago and had a sad wank and slept what little I could sleep, I swea-”

“I don’t care!” She pulled completely away from him. “If you had had an affair… If you have been having an affair then at least I’d know where to go from here. As it is, I just want to know why?”

Harry frowned, standing and taking an almost aggressive step forward. “I haven’t been havin’ an affair. Why would you go there immediately, Jamie?” He was dangerously close to yelling now, tense and angry at the suggestion that she even thought he was cheating. “When have I ever given you cause to think I’ve been cheatin’?”

She shrunk away from him and shrugged. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had.”

Mummy doesn’t feel pretty anymore.

“Jesus, Jamie. I would.” Harry collapsed back against the couch and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I would. If I had had an affair, monster, I would hate myself. What out there is worth givin’ up what’s right here in front of me?”

She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t take the kids from you… I’m not-”

“You, daft woman. You. There is nothin’ out there that’s worth losin’ you. Nothing.” He held his hands out to her and tried to beckon her closer. “I love yeh, woman. With everythin’ I am and everythin’ I’ve ever gonna be. Yeh are the only person I could ever feel this way about and I was over meaningless sex years before I met yeh, love. There is no one out there capable of tempting me away from you. So tell me, why yeh wouldn’t blame me for cheatin’ on you? For breakin’ our family apart and killin’ meself in the process. Why?”

“You wanted a-”

“We’ll get to that next, love. Answer the question. Please.” He rubbed at the names inked into the skin of his forearm.

Evangeline Stevie. Annabelle Henley. Desmond Michael. Robin Hudson. The newest one was still fresh enough to itch a bit. The oldest stood out dark under his eagle.

He looked down and traced each name with a shaking finger

Each name had it’s match on his wife’s back. Each name trailed behind a little bee that wound it’s way across her shoulder toward the red and yellow poppies and bluebonnets that bloomed across her shoulder blade, down over her shoulder and toward her collarbone. The newest work added to a sleeve she’d had for over fifteen years now.

A sleeve that represented her family.

Red poppies for London and yellow for LA.

Bluebonnets for Texas.

Home.

And little bees for their babies. Bees that pollinated flowers and made honey.

Made life sweet, she’d said when she told him the idea seven years ago.

She sucked in a breath and he looked up at her slowly. “You said..” She swallowed. “You said that you watched the sex tapes last night…”

He nodded. “Brought the camera home, love. Don’t worry. I’ll put it back in the safe in a bit.”

“I’m not… I don’t look like that anymore.” She looked down at her feet. “I don’t look anythin’ like that anymore and if that’s what you want, if that’s the woman you love-”

“I love you.”

“If that’s the woman you love, then I wouldn’t blame you if you…” She sucked in a breath and wiped at her cheeks. “If you had an affair.”

“Yer still the most beaut-”

“Don’t.” She shook her head. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.” He shoved to his feet and made it to where she stood in a couple long steps. Framing her face, gently in his hands, he kissed her. “I’m not. You are the most beautiful woman I ever met. Period. End of. I love you just as much as I ever did and I’m as attracted to you as I’ve ever been, I promise.”

She bit her lip, sucking in another wet breath. “Then why? Why the separation?”

He swallowed. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore.”

She frowned. “What?”

“Ye’ve been shuttin’ me out since before Robbie was born. I.. I thought yeh didn’t want me anymore, that yeh might be angry that we had so many kids so fast, that yeh resented me.” He shrugged. “I mean we’re the only thirty-somethings with four kids I know. Most of our friends aren’t even married yet. I thought yeh were angry with me.”

She shook her head. “I’m not angry. I wasn’t angry with you until last night.”

He nodded. “I thought yeh could use a break… from me… from the kids.” She snorted and he glared at her. “What?”

“You thought I needed a break so you suggest a fuckin’ separation and then leave me with four kids by myself?”

His mouth worked wordlessly. “I see yer point… I panicked. Oh love, I’m so sorry.”

She nodded. “You dummy.”

He winced. “Do yeh still love me?”

She sniffled and nodded. “Of course I do. You’re not the only one who mates for life, Styles. There isn’t a single person on this earth who I could ever be like this with. You’re the only one for me. Always will be.” She smiled. “And yes… I get a little overwhelmed sometimes… when Bellie brings back the chicken pox and Robbie won’t sleep because he inherited a sensitive stomach from his bloody father and Mickie just wants to shove everything in his mouth and Evie is throwing the dramatics around but I love our family. All of us. I do.”

“Good. Me too.”

She took a deep breath. “I just hate the way I look now. I have a hard time imagining you wantin’ to have sex with this mess.”

“Don’t be daft.” He grinned. “I always want to have sex with yeh. Nine-months pregnant, covered in baby sick and mashed carrots, sick with the flu yer-”

“-husband gave your daughter?”

“Yes, that.” He kissed her softly. “However yeh are is how I want yeh. Always.” He sighed happily and kissed her softly. “I’m sorry for makin’ yeh doubt that and runnin’ like a coward.”

She nodded. “I love you and I’m sorry too… for not just talkin’ to you about this.”

“Love yeh more, monster.”

She smiled. “And baby?” He hummed. “Next time you think I need a break, arrange a babysitter and take me out… or maybe book me a spa day. Don’t ever pull this shit again.”

“Yes ma’am.” He kissed her again. “Think we have time for a make-up quickie?”

A Conversation Up Next: A Negotiation

[doclevisaturday-blog]

One Night In...

The TV was on, and I was staring at it through two beers.  I really wasn't paying attention to what was on; I couldn't  make heads or tails of it.  I wondered if anything important was on.  My studio apartment was a mess.  I had a sofa in the way of furniture, and that was about it.  It was hard for me to even find the egg crates for my table, which was just a plank of wood.  The TV was on the floor.

I remembered what my friend was telling me about Port Authority.  There was a bar there, and his band was going to play.  Well, a few bands. He wanted me to come.  I really wasn't a fan of the music, like pretty much the rest of America.  That was the one time you could say I was part of the majority.  But, yeah, I said I was going to go.

I drank a beer and looked things over.  Nasty, dirty, stinking; the whole place looked like it'd been forgotten about.  But I couldn't complain if I wasn't going to do anything about it.  If I was even able.

The bar was a real dive.  The bartenders were Russian girls in bikini tops.  They wore bikini tops so you didn't look at how tired their faces were.  They served water mostly, some of it liquor-flavored.  

I drank another beer.  My vision was pretty swimmy.  The lights weren't many, but the weird colors made me feel like I was splashing through a water-color painting.  I gave up on figuring them out, what the images meant.

I found my friend's band outside, arguing with another about who was going to play first.  No one wanted to play first; you want to play as late as you can, so you can blare music at at least ten people. After the order was decided (my friend's band was going to play third-to-last), I helped them move their equipment.  

I went and got another beer.  I needed to straighten out, badly.  

Beer should help.  It's pretty much the only thing I can count on these days.  I stepped over some stuff, it looked like clothes, maybe.

The bands started playing, and I really only paid attention to one other than my friend's.  These guys were decked out like it was still the eighties, and the singer was wearing tight leather pants, so tight, they were probably crushing the poor caterpillar trying to crawl out between his legs.  The singer was the only one who didn't notice it. His hair was frizzed out like he'd just been electrocuted in a cartoon.  It seemed to have been on purpose.  One of his wrists had some kind of leather bracelet with six-inch spikes jutting out of it.

I shifted around, trying to get into whatever cushion that was still firm.  It was the only sensation I had left.  The flashing lights and weird sounds bounced right off me.  I just wanted to switch it off, but I couldn't do that.  I finished the beer I had, and let the bottle drop and roll.

The guy's voice really got to me.  He was trying to screech like Rob Halford.  He was actually screeching like a dying rabbit.  I make that comparison because the sound was that terrible: a horrible, sickening noise you or your soul never want to hear.  But what he was saying got through—sort of.  I guess the feeling got through, or what I thought it was.  What it was to me.  I don't really recall any of the lyrics, but what I could make out was this:

"I'm on a stage!

Yeah!

I'm on a stage!

Makin' noooooiseeee...!

Awesooooooooooooooome!!!"

Try to have him do a wailing eighties metal scream on that last part, followed by a noodled guitar solo.  Anyway, like I said, that's not the lyrics verbatim.  Just what I made out of it.

I needed another beer right then.  I needed it to get through to the end.

My friend told me not to, because I'd be too out of it to pay attention to his band.  He seemed a little upset.  I said something to him, and I think I calmed him down.  

He isn't talking to me anymore.  He all-together stopped at some point, I don't remember when.  I managed to get up and get another beer, then sit back down.  It was tough going, but worth it.  I needed it. It wasn't going to make a difference anyway.  No matter what, it was going to be another long,  lonely night in... wherever I am.

[Goddamnit this is a double post.  Fack.  This is staying up here though because I cannot for the life of me find the other one...]

[shit-faced-potatoe]

Butttt anyways i gotta tell you how could would it sound if you got arrested. Ok so if you just got put into a tiny jail you can still say you where arrested cause you where so with that you would have to get a leather jacket super duper bad ass outfit and amazing boots and really cool shades along with a cigarette.  And them you can go a bar while itd playing like a guitar solo once you eneter and lights flash towards you while you enter the bar until you sit down. Then you ask for the strongest drink they ever have and you totally chug that down like if it was nothing. And all the motorcycle dudes drinking beer see what you did ad they would be like "yo check out this grrrrrll she's so hot dudes bros" and walk up to you and are all like "hey baby you come here often?" and you just straight up punch him in the face and step on his face saying "ive been to jail im the biggest mofo in town there is now!" and all the motorcycle dudes run away hiding under the tables. And then bar tender gives you a free drink pointing at me.  And you walk up to me all cool and all and juts say "im too cool for you" byt you give me your number on a tiny piece of paper cause come on its me lol. But yeah you'll be super duper cool