listening to in the aeroplane over the sea again. i forgot how good but weird these lyrics were like tf you mean "the communist daughter standing on the seaweed water, semen stains the mountaintops," that's not a sentence jeff that's just words???? strange words at that

Treat People With Kindness (The BAU)

Summary: Garcia gets Reid into Harry Styles and everyone subsequently loses their minds over it.

Content: Honestly just funny I’m not sure what to call it

MC’s name/pronouns: No alternate main character, just Spencer.

Word Count: 1706

A/N: This whole fic was inspired by the fact that a fan gave Matthew Gray Gubler a Treat People With Kindness pin, which then sparked my friend Emily and I to theorize that Spencer Reid would absolutely be a Harry Styles stan. So yeah, this is literally just the product of one fan interaction lmao

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

“I got a good feelin’.”

“... What’s he doing?” Emily leaned over and whispered to JJ, who just shook her head.

“I’m just takin’ it all in.”

“Ok, what happened to Reid?” Morgan joined them, and they both shrugged, watching Spencer walk through the doors of the office. 

“Floatin’ up and dreamin’.”

“You know, maybe I need to add him to my drug test list too.” Hotch had stepped out of his office, trying to hide his grin as they saw Spencer making his way to his desk, headphones in and practically dancing over to his seat, mouthing every word of the song he was listening to. He plopped down in it with a little spin, opening a file on his desk without ever taking his headphones out. 

“Try ‘Dancing with the Stars,’” Emily laughed, and JJ broke away from their group, heading over to his desk. 

“Hey Spence,” She rested her arms on the divide between his desk and Emily’s, tapping on it to get his attention. 

“Maybe we can find a place to feel good.”

“Spence!” She tapped his arm this time, and he practically jumped out of his skin, turning to face her.

“And we can treat -”

He quickly tore the headphones out of his ears, setting them down on his desk and looking up at her, clearing his throat.

“Sorry. I was listening to something.” He gestured to the headphones still connected to his phone, as if that wasn’t already obvious. 

“Yeah, I noticed,” JJ laughed.

“Do we have a case?” 

“Nothing yet, you’re good.” She tried fruitlessly to hide her grin, and he gave her a strange look.

“Ok…”

“So,” She plopped down in Emily’s chair, rolling it over to sit near him, “What were you listening to?”

“Oh!” His face lit up, and he grabbed his phone, holding it out for her to see. She put the headphones in her ears, hearing the final moments of the song he’d been jamming to.

“And we can treat people with kindness, find a place to feel good.”

“Harry Styles?” JJ laughed incredulously, handing him back his phone. 

“You’ve heard of him?” He asked, taking the phone and sitting it back on his desk and turning back to her.

“I’m pretty sure most people have heard of him, Spence.”

“Ok, well, I hadn’t. But on Saturday I was speaking at the University of Mary Washington with Rossi, and one of the girls gave me this, after the lecture,” He grabbed his bag off the back of the chair, pointing to a round pin clipped on the strap. It was enamel, with light pink on the inside and a red rose in the center, encircled by the phrase “Treat People With Kindness” in black lettering. “And you know, naturally I thought it was a good message so I put it on my bag and I thought that was all it was. But then I ran into Garcia.”

“Oh god.”

“I was walking in yesterday and she saw it and kind of freaked out a little bit, and pulled me into her office and played me the song - the one you just listened to - and it was amazing and so I told her I thought it was amazing, which made her freak out even more and then you called with a case so I left, only to receive a a YouTube playlist a few hours later that she told me I had to watch every video on or she’d stop printing the case files for me.”

“You know she loves you too much to actually do that, right?”

“I mean, the odds were low, but I wasn’t going to risk it. Either way, I sort of listened to every single song on Fine Line and Self-Titled in one night and also a whole bunch of interviews that she sent me and he’s really funny and his music is great and the moral of the story is I kind of love him.”

JJ sent back in her chair, dumbfounded. “Dude… you mean to tell me Garcia made you a Harry Styles fan?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“I - Penelope!” JJ left without another word, making her way into Garcia’s office. Spencer just shrugged, returning to the file he was looking at - and his music - as Garcia spun to face JJ.

“Jennifer, my love, to what do I owe the pleasure? New case?” She asked. JJ just shook her head.

“You broke Reid.”

“I did not break Reid!” She defended with a grin. “I merely helped him reach his true form.”

“He willingly used technology, and he came into the office today practically dancing to Treat People With Kindness. So yes, you did break Reid.”

“JJ, dear,” Garcia got up from her chair, taking JJ��s hands in the doorway, “Do you remember when Reid got that adorable little shaggy haircut?”

“Despite the fact that he changes his hair like every month, yes, I do.”

“And do you remember what Hotch said?”

She thought for a moment, then her eyes widened in shock. “You did all of this… because of the boyband joke?”

“Like I said: true form.” Garcia returned to her chair, spinning around with a laugh. “In my defense, I didn’t know he was going to get a Harry Styles pin. I just took advantage of the opportunity when it presented itself. I already failed at teaching him to worship Lady Gaga, I could not miss another chance to try and pull him out of the dark ages.”

“You are ridiculous, you know that?”

“That’s why you love me!” 

JJ laughed, leaving Garcia’s office and heading up to hers, ruffling Spencer’s hair on her way by.

“You should grow your hair out again.”

“You think so?” He reached up and fussed with his hair, just as Garcia emerged into the main room. 

“Spencer Reid, my beautiful boy genius, did you do what I asked?”

“Garcia, I figured out how to download music to my phone because of you. So yes, I did what you asked.”

“You are officially my new favorite person.”

“Hang on, what is this all about?” Emily asked. Garcia grinned, hardly able to contain her excitement. 

“I’m finally bringing the lovely Dr. Reid here into the 21st Century.”

“Penelope,” Emily raised an eyebrow at her, “What did you do?”

“Garcia thinks she did something revolutionary by getting me into Harry Styles’ music,” Spencer clarified. Emily immediately clapped her hand over her mouth, about to respond before Derek piped up from his desk.

“Oh, she converted you too?”

“‘Too’ - you mean to tell me that you, Derek Morgan, are a Harry Styles fan?” Emily was looking between the three of them now, practically in shock. Derek just laughed, holding up his hands.

“What can I say, the guy’s got an incredible voice.”

“And the make up of his songs is so interesting as well; I mean, when you look at the music he’s produced in the last few years in comparison to what he performed while he was a part of One Direction -”

“Oh my god please tell me you’ve also listened to One Direction,” Emily said, laughing when Spencer nodded. 

“I don’t understand why you guys are making such a big deal out of this. He’s a singer, it’s not like he doesn’t have fans,” He defended. 

“Reid, two months ago you didn’t even know who Lady Gaga was. This is kind of a big deal.”

“Conference room in five,” JJ walked through the group, heading upstairs as everyone else got up to follow her. 

“Do not think I am dropping this,” Emily pointed at Derek and Spencer before jogging to catch up with JJ. Derek laughed, falling in step with Reid. 

“So, what all did Garcia make you watch?”

“Oh, just a bunch of interviews. I did some of my own reading though -”

“Of course you did.”

“- and what I found really interesting was One Direction’s actual rise to fame. Because the thing is, they didn’t even win X-Factor. They came in third, and yet they became the most famous group to come from that season of the show. In Forever Young - their book - they talked about their time on X-Factor, but it was so strange to me because their first album - Up All Night, that came out not even a full year after they finished the X-Factor live tour - sold 4.5 million copies within the first year. And they just kept growing… Morgan why are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry,” They’d walked into the conference room by now, sitting down next to each other at the table while Derek tried to stop himself from laughing, looking at Reid in disbelief, “You read their book?”

“And their Wikipedia page - I told you I did my own reading!”

“You said you did some of your own reading, you didn’t say you’d memorized everything about their career!”

“Eidetic memory, remember?” He tapped his forehead, and Derek rolled his eyes.

“You never let me forget. I’m assuming you know everything about their solo careers as well?”

“Well I got into Harry’s stuff first, but I ended up reading all of theirs since I didn’t have anything else to do last night. It’s just so interesting to think about what One Direction’s situation reveals about human nature and celebrity culture. I mean, a lot of their fans are dictionary definition erotomaniacs, and yet -”

“I shouldn’t even be surprised that you read this all in one night.”

“Like I said: didn’t have anything else to do.”

“As much as I’m glad you boys are bonding, we have more important things to worry about than Reid’s newfound love for a British boy band,” JJ interrupted.

“Niall Horan’s actually Irish -”

“Spence. The case.” She pulled up the photos on the screen, and Spencer nodded, opening the case file in front of him as JJ began to review everything they needed to know. She finally closed out, and Hotch grabbed his tablet and rose from the table. 

“Alright, wheels up in thirty.”

Everyone nodded, gathering up their things and vacating the room. Spencer and Derek trailed out after everyone, Spencer picking up the conversation as soon as JJ finished. 

“You know, I’m considering learning how to knit - there’s this cardigan that Harry wore...”

Weasley Love: Part 8 - And in the end...

Chapter summary: the aftermath of a war is always hard. For all the Weasleys, the loss of Fred was too painful, but for George was much worse. But he wasn't alone and, even though he would never be the same, the wound scars bit by bit thanks to his family and (Y / N), the woman who he once protected from a bludger and she protected his heart from then, helping to build a path for them both filled with love.

> previous chapter   //   SERIES MASTERLIST

*****

(Y/N) took out the bottles from the box with care and put them on the shelf with the rest of them with a small smile. With a sigh, she looked around to the just cleaned shop that George and her were filling up again with the products. George hadn’t decided when to open the shop again, but in the last week, he wanted to make a start.

The last year hadn’t been easy on any of the family, but they all knew they had to keep going on, honoring Fred’s memory by keep living. George also knew that, but his process of mourning and accepting the sad reality, took a lot of time, tears and nightmares that the redhead suffered in the arms of the young woman who let him have his space and have his grieving without pressing him to move on. She knew he had to go through that process, as long as it would take.

George appeared from the back room of the shop carrying a box with him that he left on the counter. He wanted to do it all without magic, letting him enjoyed as he could that moment. (Y/N) observed him and approached slowly.

“What do you have there?” she asked softly sitting on the counter next to the box and peering inside.

The young man sighed and took one of the products with a sad smile “I think it was one of the last inventions of Fred…” she looked up at him surprised he hadn’t stuttered saying his name “I read the other night about it in his notebook. Although I don’t know if he ended it…”.

(Y/N) bit her lip and looked away trying to contain her emotions, as she had done a lot of times in front of George. He realized and took a step to the side, standing between her knees “hey…” he took her face and kissed her forehead “you don’t have to hide your tears for me, you also have to…” he cleared his throat “mourn him. I think you haven’t done it properly”.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing him to her so their torsos were touching and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Thanks to his height, she leaned her forehead on his with closed eyes “don’t worry”.

“But I do because you’ve been so attentive and caring of me, this broken man…”.

“Don’t you dare say you are broken” she interrupted him abruptly, pulling away her forehead with a frown “I’m not going to let you say and believe that. What you’ve lost, I can’t even begin to imagine what it is like, but you are not broken, George”.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and (Y/N) caressed his cheeks, kissing his forehead and nose. George sighed and squeezed her waist “but I’m afraid you’ve lost yourself a bit, so focused on me and my wellbeing. You’ve put your life on stop for me”.

“George, darling….”

“I love you” he interrupted her with a small smile “and I don’t think this emptiness will never completely go away” she smiled softly “but we both need to keep going on. I… I need to learn to get up and breath without hurting, smile and laugh without feeling bad about it or make love to you and truly enjoy it…”.

She sighed remembering the deep talk they had a few months back about their intimacy and how he confessed that he used it as a way to cope with the reality, a conversation that hurt but that it was necessary for them to keep their relationship healthy. The young woman nodded and leaned in to kiss him softly. He sighed against her lips and put one of his hands on the back of her neck to deepen the kiss. (Y/N) kissed back in kind, smiling slightly against his lips before pulling away.

“I’ve been looking for a job in the ministry, the teacher of the course before the war has helped me” he looked up at her “I have an interview in three days. I haven’t told you anything in case it didn’t work. So don’t keep worrying, okay?”.

“That’s great!” he smiled, truly, happy for her “I’m sure you will get the job”.

“Don’t get your hopes up and let’s see how it goes” she said caressing his cheek.

“We should celebrate it, maybe you could send an owl to your grandma and ask her if her invitation for dinner is still up? I know she’s been asking for two weeks”.

“Are you sure?”.

He nodded with a smile “I want to have dinner with your dad and grandma, it’s been a while since we have last seen them. And your family needs you too, you know?”.

The young woman looked at him with sweetness, caressing his cheek softly while whispering “I love you so much”.

He chuckled softly and took her hand, kissing the palm of her hand with tender.

*****

“Hey, Ron”.

The named redhead turned to see (Y/N) stepping into the already closed shop “hi, (Y/N)!”.

The young woman smiled at him and approached to kiss his cheek briefly “is everything okay? It’s early to have the shop closed, isn’t it?”.

“Well…” he laughed nervously and looking away “the reason is not bad, you should go up home. George is waiting for you there”.

She frowned looking suspicious at him, making him laugh. Ron and (Y/N) had gotten close since the youngest brother had started working in the shop with George a few months later after the reopening. He was enthusiastic and had good ideas for new products, but which she appreciates the most was his caring nature. His dynamic with Ron helped George to start his teasing and even pranks, although much softer on Ron than the ones he used to do.

“Come on, go up. I’m almost finish here and I’m going to pick up Hermione from work, she will be surprised”.

“And delighted” the young woman added with a small smile “thank you Ron, really” he shrugged and she chuckled giving him a small hug “see you tomorrow then”.

(Y/N) smiled once more and went to the stairs that directed to her home with George, missing the small whisper of Ron “see you in a week”.

When she stepped into the house, she found George smiling at her with two big trunks next to him. She smiled confused but approached him, receiving a sweet kiss on the cheek.

“And… I guess this is the reason why the shop has closed earlier than it usually does…”.

“Exactly. You and I are going to that little village in Italy your father and grandma have told us about so much”.

“Really?” she asked while her eyes widened with joy.

George nodded and wrapped his arms around her waist “Ron has accepted to take over the shop these days for us. I might give him holidays after it though” the young woman laughed and he smiled “so, I’ve prepared the luggage for the both of us and we have to take a portkey in an hour and a half”.

“I’m sure this have required a lot of planning, how you’ve done it? You’ve been really busy with the expansion of the shop…”.

The redhead shrugged “these last months have been… Good to be honest” he smiled “our jobs are doing amazing, we are doing really great and I’m feeling quite alright. It was just a matter of organization. I’ve already talked to your boss, by the way, so don’t worry”.

(Y/N) nodded appreciatively and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his lips softly “so… An hour and a half, I have time to take a shower and make sure you’ve taken all we need”.

He laughed and let her go to the bathroom with the brightest smile, excitedly for their trip.

Almost three hours later, the both of them were leaving their things in the wardrobe of the cosy and wonderful room they were going to stay in.

“This is so beautiful” she said sitting on the bed and looking around “and the owner was so nice! Can’t wait to explore tomorrow”.

George smiled at her and kneeled in front of her, taking her hands and kissing her fingers “are you happy?”.

She shook her head and pulled away her hands to take his face “I’m always happy when I’m with you. It doesn’t matter where. Or how. I just need you, as cheesy as it sounds”.

He licked his lips and leaned up to kiss her, pushing her softly until she was laying on the mattress with him above her body. When he pulled away, he cupped her jaw looking at her ardently “same here, love” (Y/N) took him back to kiss him again.

That night they made love slowly, softly, intimately, passionately. Their touches, their kisses, their whispers, their moans… They felt every little thing with intensity.

They stayed awake looking through the window to the beautiful town under them illuminated by the stars above. George hugged her from behind, their naked bodies covered by the sheet from the unmade bed. He sighed breathing deeply into her hair “love…” she made a sound of recognition before he turned her around to be face to face and kissed her nose softly “marry me”.

“I will” she answered in a blink of an eye. George smiled brightly and she chuckled kissing his cheek before looking right at his eyes “yes, I will marry you, George Weasley”.

The young man laughed and let the sheet to fall around them, taking her into his arms and kissing her, pushing her against the cold window that made her gasp into his lips. They both laughed softly and kissed slowly, looking at each other with goofy smiles, feeling their lives were taking a turn they were eager to explore together.

*****

“I’m home!” George yelled once he went through the main door.

But when he didn’t receive a response and, in its place, he heard sniffing, he ran towards the living toom where there was light. There he found his wife crying softly while going through an album of pictures.

The redhead sighed softly and leaned on the doorframe of the door, looking at the woman sobbing to herself. It wasn’t a strange situation for them lately, the pregnancy was doing weird things to her mood and the mood swings could go from crying to laugh to fell asleep in matter of minutes.

He analysed her with a smirk, her hair was into a dishevelled pony tail, one of his biggest t-shirts as a dress and her naked legs revealed her swollen ankles. And he couldn’t find her more beautiful. George left his suitcase on the coffee table and took her legs softly to sit on the sofa, putting them on her lap and massaging softly his aching feet.

“What are you looking at?” he asked softly.

(Y/N) looked above the album at him with red eyes “our wedding pictures”.

George chuckled “love, you get emotional even without being pregnant going through that album, why are you doing that to yourself?”.

“Because I found the bracelet your mom gave me for the day and I wanted to remember how happy and beautiful I was that day”.

“You are beautiful all days, darling”.

She rolled her eyes and covered her face with the album again “you say that because you have to, I’m your wife, but I’m a whale right now and I’m so bloated…”.

“Hey…” George left her legs and he leaned down to rest his head gently on her baby bump “you really are beautiful all days, I’m being honest here, and you have such a glow in the last months. Love, you are gorgeous”.

(Y/N) put away the album and left it on the coffee table with a small pout “why are you so incredible adorable?”.

The man chuckled and moved himself to lay next to her on the sofa, taking her in his arms before kissing her temple, her nose and lastly her lips. She sighed comfortably and snuggled to his side.

“How’s been your day?”.

“Great, Ron is going to come tomorrow for breakfast, he’s had an idea for a new product”.

“Oh! We might invite Hermione, I miss female company since I’m here because of the doctor orders”.

“You know is the best for the baby and yourself but don’t worry, I will write an owl to the couple about it”.

“Thank you” she mumbled kissing his jaw.

George looked at the album laying opened on the coffee table and chuckled, making her to look up at him with a questioning frown. He shook his head and caressed her cheek “I was remembering my mom, I think she cried during all the ceremony”.

(Y/N) laughed too and nodded “poor Molly, I don’t think she was ready for such an intimate ceremony”.

“If it had been her way, we would have had hundreds of guests. Good thing my father managed to convince her to let us do a small ceremony. Just with our closest families and friends, nothing to invite out of commitment” he rambled caressing her bump, receiving an answer from his son in the form of a small kick.

They smiled at each other and she put her hands over his, pressing it softly against her skin.

“Yeah, it was perfect” she whispered and kissed his lips slowly.

When they pulled away, George looked ahead of her with a melancholic look and she knew right away that Fred was present in his mind. She caressed his cheek taking him back to the reality and he smiled “he would have laughed at me so much that day, I couldn’t keep my eyes or hands off of you”.

The woman nodded with a small smile “he would have made fun of how smitten you were”.

“And still are, love” he kissed her forehead “and I can’t even imagine how this little one will have me wrapped around his finger”.

“Fred Jr. will be so lucky to have you as a father” she reassured with a bright smile.

In the moment they knew the baby was a boy, they didn’t need to discuss about names. It would be Fred, no question about it.

George sighed and hugged her to him, both kissing softly while feeling the baby kick against them, reclaiming attention even from the womb.

*****

George and (Y/N) were walking hand in hand through the streets of London after a meeting they both had just had with some investors from America who were interested in some Weasley products.

“What we should buy for Ginny?” the woman asked with a small frown.

“We sent her a bouquet of flowers as a congratulations”.

“I know, but you don’t win the Quidditch championship every day. I think we should buy a gift”.

“Well, we have all afternoon to think, Harry and her doesn’t arrived until tomorrow night”.

She nodded and sighed leaning her head on his shoulder. George looked down at her, knowing what she was thinking about. Since their two children were in Hogwarts, they had all their free time from work for themselves and the both of them felt quite strange by not having the kids running around, laughing with George’s laughed that filled the house with warmth.

The redhead smiled and kissed her temple, making her to look up and smiled back “I miss them”.

“Me too, love. But we know they are both doing great back at Hogwarts. Think how great our years were, theirs are going to be even better”.

I’m not sure if their years in school are going to be better than ours” George frowned and she stopped walking, taking his hands in hers with a bright smile “I found the love of my life. They might fall in love too but, nothing can compare what we two created there”.

“Aren’t you a romantic?” he chuckled wrapping one of his arms around her waist, his other hand going to her cheek.

Small wrinkles peeked out at the sides of the woman's eyes, a sign of all that she had smiled and laughed at despite their bad years. George smiled and kissed those wrinkles making her laugh, he used to do it often.

“Well, I have to be the romantic one from time to time, you can't take all the credit for that in this relationship”.

George laughed, his head tilting back slightly, and she couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. There was a time in the past when she was worried that he would never laugh like that again. They both knew that the wound of losing Fred would never heal, it was something she could not heal, but George had been able to find happiness again. Next to her. Along with their children.

“I love you so much” she whispered once he calmed down.

The man leaned in and kissed her lips before answering back “I love you too, so much, and to celebrate how romantic we are in our marriage, why don’t we eat out? We don’t have to open the shop for two another hours”.

(Y/N) giggled and nodded, the both of them walking again. They went back home to take some things before going to eat together. When they were in the street again, a couple of young men, likely recently graduated from Hogwarts, approached George to profess their admiration for his work. She observed a few steps aside, basking in the moment while George seemed delighted about that kind of attention.

“I’m so proud of you, George Weasley” she said once he went by her side again. He blushed with a small chuckle and she took his face between her hands, her fingers brushing slightly the place where his ear once was “you are an exceptional man”.

He kissed the inside of her wrist and caressed her hand over his cheek, both looking at each other with a kind of love that never faltered.

Life hadn’t been easy but they had each other, through everything. And they knew that what they had was special. A Gryffindor boy and a Hufflepuff girl who would never let go of the other’s hand.

Tag list: @the-romanian-is-bae​ @allaboutsml​ @girl22334​ @nikkipea​ 

Notes: Well, this is it. Again, sorry for the delay in this last chapter, but I really hope you all like the end of this story written with so much love. Thank you to all that had spent their time in reading it. Much love! xx

Where you should be

7. Habromania

Genre: Hobi x oc

Warnings: this series contains stalking, blackmail, and similar stressful/fear inducing situations. Also unrequited love, which is perhaps the most terrifying of all.

Word Count: 3.2k

a/n: A song you might want to be familiar with for this chapter is ‘Puma’ by TXT. First off, because it’s a freaking bop. Secondly because Sunny has a bit to do with it and it sets some of the tone for the second part of this chapter. Thanks guys! And, as always, feedback/questions is always welcomed and encouraged!

Habromania (n.) delusions of happiness

“We can be sneaky, can’t we?”

I snort at Hobi’s question. “I can, not you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” He feigns offense, stealing his hand away from mine as he clutches his chest. It doesn’t take long before its back, though, running his fingers over my knuckles. The other hand remains on the steering wheel.

“You’re horrible at being sneaky. Imagine having to be sneaky around your boss.”

Hoseok sighs. “You’re probably right.”

“...but?”

He glances over at me before turning his attention back to the road. “But, I think I can do it. It’s important. Sure, it’ll be hard. But worth it, don’t you think?”

Giving his hand a tight squeeze, I smile out the window. “Yeah.”

As soon as we left the small restaurant, the both of us received a text from Bang PD instructing us to be extra careful and keep our distance from each other. The last thing we need are more photos.

Which left us with one question: what now?

“I feel kind of cool,” Hobi says, his heart-shaped smile making me grin. “Like we’re secret agents or something.”

I chuckle. His idea was to essentially have a secret relationship. I agreed to it, not seeing any other options, but only after Hoseok told me again and again that he had a plan and that this secrecy would be temporary.

“I give you less than two weeks.”

“Really?” The car begins to slow as we reach my apartment building. It’s barely 1 in the afternoon, but Hoseok did tell Bang PD that he was going to take me home. It’d look a little strange if we strolled back inside the Bighit building.

I give him a long look, delighting in the way his lips form a little pout. I force myself to look away before I can lean over and kiss him. Knowing him, he’d probably crash the car.

“Maybe three weeks.”

Hobi laughs as he turns into the parking lot. “How generous. And what? You think that you can do better?”

Winking at him as he parks the car, I slowly take my seatbelt off. “Oh, without a doubt.”

It’s quiet in the car as I contemplate getting out. Even though I know that I’ll see Hobi at work, I don’t know when I’ll get to be with him again like this. He seems to be thinking the same thing, killing the engine as he sits back with a sigh.

“What are you going to do with the rest of your day?” He keeps his eyes on the building, but I know what he’s thinking.

“Come inside.”

He blinks at me. “Wow, so forward!”

Groaning, I hit his shoulder. “You know that’s not how I meant it!” Hobi’s laugh only makes me more embarrassed as my cheeks heat up at the insinuation in my words. “Yah! Not funny!”

Taking both of my hands in his and placing a delicate kiss atop them, his laughter finally subsides. “I can dream, can’t I?”

I’m pretty sure my eyes are popping out of my head as I throw the door open, internally screaming and making a beeline for the entrance. Hobi gets out of the car as well, trailing after me and chuckling darkly.

By the time we make it up to my apartment, I feel like I may melt through the floor at any given moment from the way Hoseok’s eyes are practically undressing me. His fingers dance along my shoulders, getting lost in my hair as he peppers kisses along my jawline.

Fumbling with my key, I silently curse myself for feeling as giddy as a teenager with something so simple as Hoseok’s eyes. I don’t miss the way he smiles against my skin, making me huff in annoyance.

Since when did he become so bold?

I practically slam the door shut as we enter my apartment, Hoseok breaking away from me to look around the room in awe. I can’t help but laugh at his reaction.

“What, have you never been inside a girl’s apartment before?”

He rolls his eyes. “This is...this is your apartment.”

“So?”

He shrugs, wandering back over to me. “It’s nice. I like it.”

I frown, looking around the apartment. It’s a decent place to live; I’ve tried my best to make it look like a home. But in comparison to the immaculate place that Hobi calls home, I hardly see anything to marvel over.

“Why?”

Standing in front of me and looking over every square inch of my face, he gives me a smile so soft that I find myself sighing in contentment.

“It feels like you.”

♟

April 2020

Work falls into a familiar pattern. Granted, I have to avoid Hoseok like the plague, but Bang PD keeps everyone busy enough that it isn’t too difficult.

That, and the meetings we hold every day in Bang PD’s office, trying our best to sort out the entire situation.

“You’re telling me he wants either 1 billion won or a position here?” Bang Si-hyuk sputters out, looking absolutely appalled. “This...this is blackmail!”

Hobi chuckles beside me, Namjoon sitting on his other side and looking none too happy to be a part of this meeting. However, he is the leader of the group.

“Yes, well, I think he did actually state that this was blackmail,” Hobi remarks. “Are you really that surprised?”

Fixing him with a glare, Mr. Bang’s veins look like they’re about to burst. “You’re one of the people that got us into this mess, Hoseok. I’d save the snide comments for later, if I were you.”

These meetings have been going on for a couple of weeks now, and everybody's reaching the end of their patience. Any time we attempt to negotiate with Jihun, he spirals out of control and comes back with a higher demand.

It’s becoming rather tedious.

“Why can’t we just give him what he wants?” Namjoon asks gingerly. “At the end of the day, as long as he leaves us alone, it’s fine, isn’t it?”

Mr. Bang shakes his head. “No. There is no way I’m giving him that much money, and we all know that I would never let him be employed here. He’s a pimp. We don’t do business with his type.”

I stare down at my hands as I wince at his words. While I’m grateful that he isn’t considering giving him a job here, I can’t help but pity him. If what Jihun told me was true; I’m part of the reason his marriage failed.

“He has a daughter,” I mumble under my breath.

“What was that?”

I blink up at Mr. Bang. “He has a daughter.” When he just continues to stare at me with a confused expression, I do my best to articulate my thoughts. “He’s a human being. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he freaks me out. I don’t support any of this, but he’s desperate for something to help him and his family survive. We shouldn’t be making him into some sort of monster-”

“As the two of you made clear to me, this is my company that’s in trouble, so I will treat this threat as I would any other.” Bang PD sits back in his chair, squinting at his computer screen. “Or have you forgotten that your job is also at stake here?”

Clenching my jaw, I see Namjoon laying a hand on Hobi’s shoulder. “Then fix this.” Rising from my chair, the strict tone of Mr. Bang’s voice stops me.

“What?”

Turning to face him fully, I struggle to keep my voice level. “Fix this. Quit talking about it so much and do something. I have work to do.”

Striding out the door, I barely catch Bang PD’s incredulous words. “It’s a good thing she’s talented-”

Namjoon cuts him off. “So what’s our plan of action? Sunny’s right, this has to end.”

♟

I’m staring at the monitor in front of me, only half-listening to what Yeonjun is saying to me as my blood boils.

Or have you forgotten that your job is also at stake here?

I have to fold my arms in order to hide the fact that my hands are currently clenched into fists. Yeonjun and Soobin are talking to both Pdogg and I, going over a track that we’ve been preparing.

“I really like the feel of this all so far, but I feel like we need something a bit more...edgy?” Soobin frowns, looking down at his phone where he compiled his notes. “We really want to have a sharp album, you know?”

I nod, finally returning to reality. “Has anybody come up with any ideas? Lyrics, melody?”

Yeonjun shakes his head. “Actually, I was going to ask if either of you wanted to help us come up with something. I know that we’re dropping the album in May, but-”

“I can do it.”

Pdogg and Yeonjun raise their eyebrows. “That was quick.”

Pdogg shakes his head. “I think Yeonjun is talking about creating a track from scratch, Sunny. That means that after you finish the music, you’ll need to write the lyrics, too. Right?” He looks to Yeonjun for confirmation.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Honestly, if you want to do it, I won’t stand in your way. I’m just happy that you want to with such short notice.”

“You think you can crunch it? This is your first time through the entire process, it’s ok if you want to try the next time around and have more time.” Pdogg reassures, still looking confused at my sudden change in attitude.

I shake my head. “No, I can do it. I need to.” The thinly veiled threat on my job pushes me forward, desperate to show Bang PD that I’m not the kind of person that runs away under pressure.

“Alright,” Soobin says, looking at Yeonjun with a shrug. “I guess...do you need us for anything? When can we expect to come in and take a look at the song?”

Ignoring Pdogg’s stare, I glance at my calendar. “Soon. Give me the rest of the week?”

♟

My desk is a flurry of notes, post-its, and discarded ideas. After a brainstorming session, I consulted Pdogg in the next step of the song process. He helped me solidify my idea, offering a couple of tips and pointers.

He’s in the middle of saying goodbye when there’s a light knock on the door.

“I’ll grab it,” he says. I turn back to my monitor, trying to make sure I get everything put together before I forget it.

Muffled voices at the door don’t bother me as my fingers fly across the keyboard. Line after line appears, forming the first verse of the song.

“Hey.” Hobi grabs the chair that Pdogg just vacated. “What’cha working on?”

I glance at the clock, realizing with a start that it’s already 8 o’clock. “New song for TXT.”

“Hm.”

We sit in silence as I continue working, Hobi knowing better than anyone not to interrupt my creative process. He knows how hard it can be to get back into the zone.

It isn’t until nearly nearly thirty minutes later that he finally breaks the silence, but not by speaking. Bringing a gentle hand to rest atop my own that has stilled over the keyboard, he intertwines our hands together.

I lean back against my chair, sighing. Hobi chuckles lightly beside me, completely understanding the feeling.

“It looks like you got a lot done,” he mumbles, using his other hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

“I think I did,” I whisper, still unable to tear my eyes away from the screen. I’ve been completely sucked in, my mind loud with the sound of the beat and the lyrics I’ve written down.

“Should I take you home?”

I shake my head. “No. I’ll take the bus.”

Silence. He raises my hand to his mouth, dusting light kisses over my knuckles. “We’re paying him off.”

Startled, I finally shift my gaze to Hobi. My breath falls short as I see his hair swept back, styled to make him look like some sort of CEO. He must have had a shoot today that I forgot about.

“Really?” I breathe out. He gives me a soft smile, pressing one more delicate kiss atop my knuckle before lowering my hand and enveloping it in both of his.

“Really. Bang PD will just have to swallow his pride.”

I chuckle lightly, shaking my head. “How’d you convince him?”

He shrugs. “I can be persuasive when I want to. We won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

While his words are intended to give me comfort, I find myself doubting them. Something tells me that this mess is far from over, but I smile at him nonetheless. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Hobi gets up from his seat, embarrassed as he starts heading toward the door. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”

I look back at my screen. “No, I think I’ll stay here for a little longer.”

“Oh, well then I’ll st-”

“Go home, Hobi,” I turn my chair around to face him. “Don’t worry about me, I just want to finish some of this up. I won’t be long.”

“Good. That way I won’t have to wait long.” Stubborn as ever, he sits back down. “Should I order some food?”

Giving him a long look, I fight the guilt gnawing at me for making him stay even longer. But I really just want to get as far as possible with this project…

“Let me split the cost?”

Laughing darkly as he holds his phone up to his ear, he winks. “In your dreams.”

♟

“I really, really like it, Rin-ah.”

Fidgeting with my hands, I chew on my lip. “Really? Is it too much? I don’t what to overwhelm-”

Cutting me off with an incredulous look, Hoseok shakes his head before pulling my chair away from the computer. “Yes. Positive. They’ll love it. I mean, it’s such a cool idea. You said it was based off a true story?”

I nod, reaching in vain for the desk, I groan as Hobi keeps pulling my chair away. He laughs at my expression.

“Do you have a title idea?”

I shrug, finally giving in and allowing myself to be pulled away. “I’ll probably just keep it simple. Like, ‘Puma’ or something.”

Hobi throws away all of our food containers, nodding to himself. Tossing me my coat and making sure everything is saved and shut off, he opens up the door. “They’ll think it’s amazing.”

Shutting off the lights, Hobi makes a show of double checking that the hallway is clear before grabbing my hand and making his way toward the elevator. It’s only when we’re in the confines of the elevator that he asks me a question.

“What made you want to do it? This usually isn’t your style.”

I let out a long breath, instantly remembering my outburst with Bang PD earlier in the day. “I want to be good at everything. I…” I lean back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. “I know that sounds stupid, but after Bang PD said that about my job, I felt like I had to do something more. Prove myself to him.”

“Mm.”

“It was time for me to expand. Try something new. And I was already pissed off, so when the boys asked for a more edgy track, I felt like I could do it.”

“Well, you’ve done very well with it.”

I see that Hobi also has his head angled upward toward the ceiling. From this angle, I wonder how I can see him so often and still feel like it’s the first time I’m looking at him.

He looks golden in the dim elevator, the lights picking out the paler shades in his hair and setting them alight. With his hands clinging to the railing at his back and his eyes falling closed, I wonder for a moment if this is right.

“How did I get so lucky?”

I ask the question more to myself than to him, but he hears me nonetheless. Ears perking up and tilting his head to look at me almost with the same mannerism as that of a golden retriever, Hoseok shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t call this luck,” he murmurs. “We’ve fought for this, haven’t we?”

At his words, I feel the exhaustion of the past few weeks sinking in. Sneaking around and hiding our relationship from everyone hasn’t been easy. Trying to navigate a brand new relationship without being able to actually spend much time together is tricky, especially when we are still healing from the hurt we’ve caused each other over the past few months.

Closing my eyes against the reality of our situation, I tuck the image of golden Hoseok in the elevator into the corners of my mind. “Do you think that we’ll ever get to rest?”

It’s quiet for a long moment as Hobi ponders my question. We both know what I’m really asking: will we ever stop hiding?

“Someday.” His voice is solid as he answers me. “For now, I think the seconds between floors 8 and 1 are enough to keep me pushing forward.”

For now, standing side by side and quietly speaking on the elevator, basked in golden light and listening to the whir of the machine are all we need.

However, will there ever come a time when this is no longer thrilling? When Hoseok decides to just leave early rather than hanging around with me?

What if I’m not enough?

Indeed, peeking over at Hoseok who currently resembles some sort of fallen deity who’s basking in the golden light, I can’t help but wonder what it is that keeps him coming back.

Now that I’m finally giving in to his pursuit, will it be over?

The ding of the elevator reaching the ground floor does little to pull me out of my daze, and it isn’t until Hoseok is looking back at me from the other side of the doors that I push off the wall and follow him out into the night.

That night as he drops me off outside my apartment building and pulls me in for whispered ‘I love yous’ and stolen kisses, I can’t find it in myself to bring it up. How do I begin telling him that I’m not sure I’m worth the trouble when he’s sure to write it off as some sort of crazy idea?

As I go to open the door, he grabs my hand, looking at me with a concerned expression.

“You sure everything’s alright? You seem...off.”

I lean across the console, watching with delight as his eyes widen. Swooping around, I kiss his cheek before retreating, laughing a little at his deflated expression.

“I love you.”

He gives a contented sigh. “I love you, too.”

Walking into my apartment building, I hope that he doesn’t realize that I completely avoided his question. I kick my shoes off with a sigh as soon as I enter my apartment, turning around to flick on the lights and lock the door. Making my way toward my bedroom, I don’t see the dark figure resting on my couch until their dark chuckle reaches my ears.

“You were out late tonight.”

Whirling around and stumbling backward until my back hits the wall, I stare in horror as Jihun turns on the lamp beside the couch. He holds up a wine glass, giving me a saccharine smile.

“Come sit down.” Filling the glass to the brim with red wine, he extends it to me. “We’ve got a lot to celebrate.”

Previous - Next

taglist is open!

taglist: @taylorroe3​ @dreamcatcherjiah @diorhoba @eusticenatalie @ddaeng-i-need-help

My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: Any recognizable elements belong to Attack on Titan.

NOTES:

Thursday January 7th

song mikasa is singing: my tears ricochet- taylor swift 

chapter thirteen: hear my stolen lullabies

“It’s stuck!” Floch yelled.

“I told you to lift your side higher!” Niccolo shouted back.

Today was another moving day at the old Jaeger house. Most of the things would be loaded up into the moving truck.

Eren had caved and packed up his bedroom early this morning before everyone else arrived. Niccolo and Floch had been in charge of getting the wrap around couch in the basement out in sections. They had been having issues this entire time.

Now a section couch was stuck in the doorway to the basement. It was at a strange angle so that the back and the front were both tipped up. It almost looked like the couch was floating.

“You two are fucking idiots,” Zeke said as Eren helped stabilize the refrigerator on the dolly.

“Zeke, help us!” Floch whined.

“Moving a fridge right now,” he grunted as he tipped the refrigerator back.

“I’m going to be stuck in the basement forever,” Floch muttered.

“Oh you can finally improve on your bass skills,” Niccolo laughed.

“Ha ha ha. That joke was only funny the first ten times you said.”

“Oh no, it’s still funny. Just not to you.”

Suddenly, a group of people had descended on the couch.

Two girls went under the floating couch to the other side.

“Move,” Mikasa said as her and Historia grabbed onto the side Floch was holding.

Ymir and Sasha were on the other side, ready to lift.

“On three!” Sasha yelled. “One! Two! Three!”

The couch was free.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Niccolo muttered.

They carried the couch outside and onto the truck where Zeke and Eren were waiting for them.

They placed the couch down.

Zeke and the rest of the group exited, leaving Eren and Mikasa alone in the moving truck.

“Hey,” Eren said.

“Hey,” she said simply.

He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, “thanks for coming.”

“Of course. It gives Annie and Armin some alone time before he goes back to campus.”

“Levi not there?”

“Oh no, he’s there. He’s just got his earbuds in and he’s cleaning the entire house.”

“He didn’t make you help?” Eren raised an eyebrow.

“We tried to this morning and he ended up just getting frustrated with us. Besides, he’s really picky about how the Christmas decorations get put away.”

Eren laughed, “sounds like Levi.”

“Can you two go flirt somewhere else? We’ve got another piece of the couch,” Ymir said as she e ntered the moving truck holding one side of the couch.

“Ymir! Be nice to them,” Historia said as she held the other side.

“We’ve got the next piece!” Sasha called from outside the truck.

Moving went much faster than Eren had thought was possible. The girls were like a finely tuned machine. Even though he had seen them like this for years, the way they anticipated each other’s next move was still impressive to Eren.

They took a break for lunch. Everyone sat on the floor with their own carton of Chinese takeout.

“So how far are you going to be from us, Eren?” Sasha asked before taking another bite.

“A little over an hour. I’m fifteen minutes from the club we were at on New Year’s Eve.”

He couldn’t pretend not to notice Mikasa looking down into her takeout carton. He knew he was thinking the exact same thing. They had just got one another back in their lives, now he was leaving again.

“What’s your place like, Zeke?” Historia asked before she gave Mikasa a small pat on her knee.

“Well, there’s a lake. I’ve done quite a bit over remodeling the past few years since our grandparents died,” Zeke answered.

“Wait, your grandparents just died?” Ymir asked.

“Ah. Yes, our father lied about that too. While I was kept a secret from Carla and Eren, Eren was kept a secret from our grandparents.”

“What a piece of shit,” Ymir said before taking a bite.

“Zeke’s house is really nice. If you get the chance, you should come sometimes for band practice. The lake is awesome in the summer,” Niccolo chimed in.

“You can’t just invite people to Zeke’s house,” Floch said.

“It’s fine. They’re welcome too. Besides, Levi has an open door policy so I might as well too,” Zeke said before eating.

“Do you like being a psychologist?” Historia asked.

“Yes, I find it fulfilling. It’s nice to help someone improve their own life. It’s very rewarding to see someone take control back. There are also those that come simply to talk and it’s nice to be the person they confide in.”

“So what about you, Floch? Do anything interesting since high school?” Sasha asked.

“Joined a band. I’m in my last year of college. You know, normal stuff,” he said with a shrug.

“Wow, as normal and boring as ever,” Ymir remarked.

“Hey!”

“So Niccolo, are you ready to get grilled with questions?” Ymir smirked.

“Uh, sure. No, not really,” his face went red as he looked down into his container.

“Hmm, I don’t know about this one, Sasha.”

“What? Wait, you can ask me anything. Just not too personal. I mean I don’t have anything to hide. I….I’m in culinary school. I’ve played drums since I was five. I work as a bartender and at a restaurant. I’ve only had like two girlfriends before Sasha. And I really like your friend,” his face began to turn red.

“Oh you’re going to be fun,” Ymir smirked again.

“If they don’t tease you, you should be worried,” Mikasa spoke up finally.

“Oh. Good to know,” Niccolo replied.

The house was empty by 4:00 pm.

Zeke wanted to leave to make sure that he would make it back before sunset. Floch and Niccolo were following him back while Sasha took all the girls, besides Mikasa, back to Levi’s house.

So Eren and Mikasa were left alone in the old house to make sure everything had been cleared out.

“You’re not ready to say goodbye to this place, are you?” She asked as they stood in the basement.

“No, not really. It still hasn’t sold yet so Zeke will have to come by every so often to make sure everything is okay. We’ll be starting regular band practice again soon. It just makes sense for me to be there.”

Mikasa simply nodded.

“Looks like down here is all empty. We can check the rest of the house.” He grabbed onto the long sleeve on her shirt and gently tugged it.

She gave him a smile before nodding again. They walked upstairs, not once did Eren ever let go.

“You know an hour is not that far away.”

“I know.”

“And I’ll be back sometimes.”

“I know,” she repeated before looking down.

He let go of her sleeve and cupped her face with his hand. “I’m not giving up on this. I’m not giving up on fixing this. You gave me another chance. I can’t promise that I won’t fuck up again but I promise that I’m not giving up on you.”

That made her cry. He used his thumbs to wipe away her tears. He stared at her lips for a brief moment. He couldn’t put into words how desperately he wanted to kiss them again. He knew he shouldn’t so instead, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. He took a step back from her. Mikasa went over to his backpack that was sitting in the corner and swung it over her shoulders before grabbing Eren’s sleeve.

“Let’s go home,” she replied simply.

---------

“Why would you name your child Anchovy?” was the first thing Mikasa heard as she entered the house. Ymir and Sasha were watching tv together.

“It’s a very delicious fish,” Sasha chimed in.

“Oh gross,” Ymir replied. “It’s a dumb name.”

Mikasa and Eren looked at one another before they took their shoes off.

“Is Annie naming her kid Anchovy?” Eren asked.

“No, at least I don’t think so. If she does, I’m going to tease her forever. It’s this dumb movie. Apparently, the couple is naming their child Anchovy,” Ymir said as she pointed to the tv.

“Where do you find this stuff?” Mikasa asked.

“Well, this one is on Hallmark. I guess they ate anchovy pizza the first date they went on. It’s dumb as hell.”

“House empty?” Sasha asked.

“Yep, we checked everything. Nothing left behind,” Eren answered.

“Good.”

“Thanks for helping, all of you.”

Ymir waved her hand, “it’s what friends do. Besides, Zeke bought us food. That makes it even.”

“Where’s Historia?” Mikasa asked.

“On the phone with my dad. She’s going to work at the indoor farmer’s market with us if she likes what he has to say,” Sasha replied before stretching.

“I got a job at the bar. I knew having an alcohol license would come in handy,” Ymir said.

“What about you, Mikasa? Got any jobs lined up?” Eren asked as he sat down in Levi’s chair.

“Oh! He doesn’t know!” Sasha exclaimed.

“Oh, right. So you know my mom’s tattoo that I got?” Mikasa asked, “the one for her family?”

“Yeah, I went with you.”

“Um, well. I guess I had a great aunt alive. Mom had her put me on the trust when I was born and she recently passed….”

“And now she’s loaded!” Ymir exclaimed.

“Well, not yet. Because of the holidays, things got slowed but it should go into my bank account any day now,” Mikasa sat down in between Ymir and Sasha.

“But Mikasa is boring and responsible so she won’t be doing anything fun with the money,” Ymir s coffed.

“That’s not true. I just...don’t really want much. I want to record an album but there’s not a studio space around here that’s easily for rent. I’ve been looking into it,” Mikasa replied.

“You could buy yourself a car so you could go visit him every week,” Ymir nodded her head in Eren’s direction.

“I..uhh…” Mikasa’s face went red.

“Sasha, I forgot how nice your dad was,” Historia said as she entered the room.

“So are you working with me?” Sasha asked as she took her phone back from Historia.

“Yeah!”

“Yay! It’ll be so nice to have you working with me. I get so bored sitting there by myself. I just end up drumming on the stand and driving all the other vendors nuts,” Sasha laughed.

“Speaking of which, are we practicing today?”

“As soon as Armin and Annie get done. They’re still looking at doctors,” Historia said before leaning on the back of the couch. “Eren, you want to join us?”

“Thanks but I’m going to get Armin into gold today. You said we could use your console, right?” Eren asked Mikasa.

“Yeah, it’s in my room.”

“Good luck with that. He got me killed multiple times last time I played with him,” Ymir scoffed.

“I’m carrying him but it should be fine. I’ve done it before.”

“....any chance you want to help me get back up in the ranks?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m staying here until Saturday. So I should have plenty of time.”

“Awesome!”

Mikasa smiled to herself. She had missed this, all of her friends together, happy.

Historia played with the back of Mikasa’s short hair so she leaned back.

“Want to go work on a song?” Historia asked, “oh I forgot you have such pretty eyes, Mikasa.”

Mikasa flushed, “thanks.”

“Let’s go work on lyrics,” Historia smiled.

“Okay,” Mikasa replied before going to the sun room with Historia.

Silence filled the living room besides the Hallmark video playing for a brief moment. Then the piano music began.

“You can go watch if you want,” Ymir finally said before resting her feet up on the table.

“No, I know how Mikasa can get sometimes with her lyrics,” Eren turned his attention towards the tv.

“Oh, that’s right. You haven’t seen her and Historia write. You’ll be lucky if they acknowledge your existence sometimes. They just get into this zone.”

“It’s like they can read one another’s mind.” Sasha added.

“Or they’re already seen the song in the future or something,” Ymir said before standing up.

Eren and Sasha followed her towards the sun room.

The music got louder as they walked.

“Their roles switch. It’s so interesting,” Sasha said, “Historia plays and Mikasa sings.”

And sure enough, Mikasa’s voice began to fill the air just as they reached the doorway of the sun room. Mikasa and Historia were sitting next to one another on the piano bench in front of the keyboard. Mikasa was writing down lyrics as she sang.

“[lyrics redacted].”

Eren been the one to say that to her. He recognized the words as soon as he heard them. Ymir walked over and lounged in one of the chairs. Sasha sat down at her drum set.

“Grab a chair, Eren. They aren’t paying attention.”

“ [lyrics redacted] .”

If Mikasa and Historia did notice them, they sure didn’t act like it. They were both clearly lost in the music.

“ [lyrics redacted] .”

Mikasa’s eyes met Eren’s for a moment.

“ [lyrics redacted] . ”

She looked away.

He was starting to think Ymir and Sasha had been wrong.

Both Historia and Mikasa clearly knew that people were there.

They just chose to ignore them.

Except Mikasa didn’t ignore Eren.

When had either of them been able to ignore each other?

“ [lyrics redacted] ”

Historia finished playing the song.

“Oh I liked that!” Historia beamed.

“Me too. It still needs work. I mean the whole first verse doesn’t exist. I think we could add more to the bridge.”

“Oh! What if we had rotating pieces to the chorus? Like we use similar lines and then change them. I really like ‘ [lyrics redacted] .’ I worry though if we repeat it, it’ll lose its meaning.”

“How high of a note can you sing again?”

“Why?”

“Because I think there needs to be something between ‘ [lyrics redacted] ’ and ‘ [lyrics redacted].’ I think whatever we put here, it needs to go up a few octaves so that it’s impactful.”

“Oh! I like that. Maybe we can have Annie or Ymir sing those two lines and then I’ll sing whatever the other two new lines are.”

“That works.”

Ymir had been right about their level of working together. They bounced ideas back and forth between one another. Though he and Mikasa had worked similarly to this, the way Mikasa worked with Historia was perfect. He wondered if leaving her had actually given her the push she needed. She wasn’t self conscious with Historia. She didn’t seem to care who heard her sing.

Maybe he was the problem.

No, she was just nervous because it was him, Eren corrected himself mentally.

Mikasa worried what he thought.

It wasn’t anything more than that.

Wasn’t he the same way?

Annie and Armin came into the sunroom.

“I thought I heard music,” Annie said with a smile.

“Pick a doctor?” Sasha asked.

“We picked a top three. I’ll start calling tomorrow. It’s kind of late for that now.”

“You up for band practice?” Ymir asked.

“I’m pregnant, not dead. Of course, I’m ready,” Annie scoffed as she walked over to her guitar and began tuning it.

Sasha laughed, “what song are we doing?”

“We should do another livestream soon. So maybe we’ll pick a song to do for that?” Historia suggested.

“What about that one summer song? The more recent one,” Ymir suggested.

Mikasa nodded, “it’s upbeat. I think that’ll be good.”

Levi entered the sun room with Sawney and Bean following him. “Not so fast. Ymir, you put your feet on my table. You get to clean it.”

“How do you know it was me?” Ymir asked.

He just stared at her.

“....Fine. I’ll be back.”

“Ready to go for gold?” Armin asked Eren.

“Yeah, let’s go. Have a good rehearsal,” Eren smiled.

Mikasa couldn’t help but smile back.

-------

“You’re in love with her still. Maybe even more now,” Armin said as he walked over and turned the console on.

Eren groaned, “don’t remind me.”

“Is it that bad?”

“I see her and I want to kiss her. I want all of her, emotionally, physically, and I had all that and I fucked it up. So now I get to sit here and wish I could go back to the way things were.”

Armin handed Eren a controller before he grabbed one from the charging dock Mikasa had.

“So why not just give in?” Armin asked as he sat down on the floor next to Eren.

“Can’t fuck it up this time. She gave me another chance. I have got to do things right. That’s why I came up with that plan the other day.”

“You’ve come a long way in this last year. Not just giving into everything you want to do and actually thinking things through for once.”

“Well, I did almost have sex with her that day after the graveyard.”

“Yeah, she told me.  How did that happen?”

“I don’t know! She’s just standing there being herself and I missed her and...she was saying all these things about not wanting to leave me. How she wants to share my burdens. I just sort of….got caught up in the moment. I’m sure you understand that,” Eren smirked as the game loaded up.

“Yes...but probably a good thing you didn’t.”

“But I still wanted to.”

“Wanted?”

“Want. It’s only her for me, you know? This time last year, I was sure I would never see her again or you. Then she happens to be at my concert? She walks back into my life and all I want to do is keep her here and make up for my fuck up. That’s all. So if that involves a lot of cold showers for a while, I’ll deal with it.”

Armin looked over at Eren and smiled.

Interview With Robert Plant 1977: https://www.interviewmagazine.com/music/new-again-robert-plant

You can find the interview in that article but I cut it down to just the interview.

[April. Late afternoon. On a double bed in Swingo’s Celebrity Hotel, Cleveland, Ohio.]

ROBERT PLANT: [gazing out of the window at a parking lot] Oooh! Is that a Mark V? That is one isn’t it? It’s very nice, I like that. Can you get those in New York? [Shouting to a man with a camera on the street] It’s not worth the pictures! It’s not worth the pictures—forget it!

VOICE: [from the street] You think so?

PLANT: [laughing] Nah—

VOICE: Then I’ll get some tonight at your show.

PLANT: Never heard of it. I’m not going.

VOICE: No?

PLANT: I hear they suck. [to me] So what is your story then, Sir? Or in fact—

MARK GINSBURG: I want to know what yours is…

PLANT: I have no story. My story goes from day to day.

GINSBURG: Okay. What’s today’s?

[silence]

JENINE SAFER: [publicist] Seven Up is great for hair management!

PLANT: Mmm. Well, I just found out that Seven Up left in the hair for 12 hours is the greatest hair conditioner. I mean all this shit on the TV that you see—I don’t believe it at all.

SAFER: But it has to be applied properly by John Bonham [alias Bonzo, Led Zeppelin’s drummer]

PLANT: Where are you going to be?

SAFER: I’ll have to get a schedule off you. Then sit down with Jonsey [John Paul Jones] as well because we’ve got to do the plan. [mumbles]… got to do the plan.

GINSBURG: What’s the plan?

PLANT: Well… discretion is the better part of valor. How to let the family have a wonderful time without knowing it’s all programmed. I might as well tell you that there’s not a lot of towns that I can go to and take family—too many incongruous knocks on doors—”Hello, honey. Have you missed me?”

GINSBURG: So where do you go then?

SAFER: Not Dallas!

PLANT: North Bend, Indiana is rather scenic in August.

GINSBURG: North Bend, Indiana?

PLANT: Ah, well you see I know a lot about the colonies.

GINSBURG: Who colonized them?

PLANT: ‘Twas us! We Redcoats.

SAFER: [after a pause] Last night was so much fun.

PLANT: My jaw’s hurting from just giggling. Now that’s a good sign young man after nine years of rock-‘n’-roll. That you can still laugh at each other for about eight hours ’till you have to go to bed holding your head.

SAFER: [leaving room to re-sew the spider-web design on Plant’s concert shirt] Same time next week—

PLANT: Well, it’s going to be the big one tonight. Now, did you come to another town? I was supposed to see you in Chicago, right? What happened?

GINSBURG: Do you really want to be reminded?

PLANT: Yeah.

GINSBURG: You had a strange afternoon…

PLANT: [screams] Ohhhh! There was nothing strange about tit. It was regular, but…

GINSBURG: Typical strange afternoon, then. It all depends on your point of view—

PLANT: …which angle you lie.

GINSBURG: Right. Well then, what would you like to lie about?

PLANT: No! I was meaning “lie” as in what I’m doing now—lying down.

GINSBURG: And get high?

PLANT: No. I made a vow after two years of not working, because of the accident, that I should, uh, take care of my health 100 percent. With two years of living not quite sure whether you’re going to rock-‘n’-roll again, the build-up to this tour was tremendous. The inspiration was flowing, ’cause when I knew that I could go back onstage again with my foot, I just said, “Right. Now, if I am going to do that, if I’m going to dance again, perform again, then I’m going to sing better than I’ve ever sung before. There’s nothing that’s gonna stop me.”

GINSBURG: You would not have settled for remaining in the studio rather than onstage?

PLANT: Oh, no. When I started all I wanted to do was get out in form. I just wanted to sing. A simple thing. I loved the feeling of letting fly, of pushing as far as I could go with my voice. The only way you can really graduate how you do it is by doing it regularly to people who don’t have to be super impressed. You can do it in the studio all day long but you don’t get the flashback that you get onstage.

GINSBURG: Do you still get the flashback as much each time?

PLANT: More now. Much more now, this tour.

GINSBURG: You realized you’d miss it then.

PLANT: Oh, essentially there’s a very serious aspect underneath everything now for me. Well, not serious but one of relief, I guess. There is nothing that will stand in the way of the fact that I’m going to put out 199 percent every night. So, I’ll leave the pot alone for a bit, ’cause it only clogs up my vocal cords, anyway. You get tar up them. [demonstrates hoarse sounds]

GINSBURG: Any favorite Zeppelin albums?

PLANT: I don’t have any favorites. Each album comes from definitely a different period in the evolution of each of us individually as creators and the role that we take in life. The external stimuli changed… so the songs are full of lots of different meanings. Each album has a different atmosphere. The third album and Houses of the Holy seem to be the two albums that people didn’t get off on quite as strongly as the other ones. But I think they contain the basic ingredients for the further pursuance of what we’re doing… the turning point to relieve the tedium of repetition.

GINSBURG: Presence seems to be a turning point, too.

PLANT: Presence was our phoenix.

GINSBURG: Yours mostly?

PLANT: Well, I know I’m talking so it’s coming from me, but when you sit in a wheelchair and sing the whole album, the very fact that you’ve sung it is fantastic. But for everyone, in that we got it together in such a short space of time under such odds not knowing what the outcome was going to be—not of the album but of the future of the band.

GINSBURG: Why not knowing?

PLANT: Because the doctors could never really quite tell me, all that time, about how inactive I might have been left from the accident. So we were just kicking it from the very depths of our determination.

GINSBURG: Could you have stayed on top without performing live?

PLANT: Oh, I don’t think anybody would have want to. I guess we could have made it cutting studio albums, but it takes shows and tours for, uh—

GINSBURG: Energy?

PLANT: Yes, and inspiration! Events like last night. Silly times, and….

GINSBURG: You used to sing on rather simply about a girl—always one that you couldn’t have but wanted badly, for instance. Now the description is more colored, complex.

PLANT: Sure. Well, I’ve tried to do that on things. Like with Celebration Day, going back: “Her face is cracked from smiling” and that sort of thing. The impression of a free world all the way through. It could still have been greyed but it could have also had that natural effect that time gives it.

GINSBURG: But everything you sang about early on—the open spaces, the beautiful women, the dreams—aren’t these all things you’ve now had—goals you’ve reached?

PLANT: I’ve touched, that’s all. You have nothing. One should never allow themselves to think that they have, one can just touch—to have is to lack appreciation, to touch is to want to touch again.

GINSBURG: So some things are still inaccessible to you now?

PLANT: Definitely. I’d like to think that’s the way it should be. That’s what keeps me going on and on and on. Like that bit in our movie, [The Song Remains the Same], the princess thing. Everybody thought I was out to… well, “There’s Plant after another chick…” But there, the whole thing is that in the end the chick disappears before my eyes. You must just get in reach so that you know you’ve made the effect—the primary effect. And you mustn’t grab it too hard… so the most basic things can still remain a pleasure.

GINSBURG: Ten years ago did you want to become a rock star?

PLANT: Well, I didn’t look at it like that. I just wanted to sing. Nobody ever looks at it like that. Didn’t even know what one was then. Still don’t.

GINSBURG: Well what happened?

PLANT: I’d already played with people who’d got the same amount of adrenaline and drive as I’d got and it just so happened that Jimmy [Page—LZ’s lead guitarist and former member of the infamous Yardbirds] had got more than I’d got. He could channel it. He knew which way to let it go. And that was the best thing that ever happened to me, musically. I’d found someone whose tastes were basically along the same lines. Who’d got the patience to allow me to—it’s like dangling your foot in a swimming pool to see how deep it is or how cold—accustom myself to everything that would come along that he was already aware of from the Yardbirds. Perfect relationship.

GINSBURG: Has it changed much?

PLANT: Yeah, because I’ve grown up. My experiences of course now come up to the same ones as his. I guess we’re both sort of trotting together rather than him showing me the way as he did in the early days.

GINSBURG: Where are your musical roots?

PLANT: In anything that’s done wholeheartedly from Edith Piaf through to Howlin’ Wolf. From anything that comes from that point. Some people say I sing from the groin. In the early days it was Howlin’ Wolf and Muddy Waters, Ray Charles, Drown My Own Tears—stuff that was ultimately sincere. And some wild, wild rock, too: Little Richard, early Presley stuff—before he went into the Army. Presley was definitely a great inspiration to every guy who ever had a hard-on in the whole of the Western world, I should think. He shook everybody well and true, and we just kept on shakin’. But he started it.

GINSBURG: And now, Led Zeppelin is left to carry the ball…

PLANT: I don’t know… I’d like to go to more concerts to see the overall effect of an audience because I like to see excitement. But I like the excitement to be contained. In the early days when we used to play everybody was bangin’ their heads on the stage and going completely crackers. Now they sit down and absorb. There’s a sort of transfixion between ourselves and the audience, which is wonderful. It’s a great level to have reached with people who you don’t know by name. That is my idea of the ultimate sort of communication level.

GINSBURG: How far away do you feel from an audience when there are tens of thousands of people watching you? How can you see or hear?

PLANT: You pick it up without sight or sound. I suppose for a vocalist it’s super built-in because if I talk, I do the talking. I think I can feel better than I can see.

GINSBURG: What music do you listen to at home when you listen to music?

PLANT: Uh, I like Little Feat, Fleetwood Mac—obviously. That little lady ought to come and sing on one of our albums. If she were to come sing on one of our albums—it would…What’s her name?—Stevie…

GINSBURG: Will you or any LZ member play onstage or record with anyone else?

PLANT: Well, no, I think it would only be impromptu. On other albums maybe just guesting for a track—on a very light-hearted level. I can’t see any serious turn one way or another. We just enjoy playing with each other. I wouldn’t like to go and sing with anybody else at all.

GINSBURG: Why not?

PLANT: I just don’t. When you’re singing we all phrase each other in the most remarkable ways. I might hit some sort of thing I’ve never done before—some vocal pattern. Bonzo will pick it up—he’ll phrase with me instantly and then Pagey may join in or start some other phrase—it’s like a quadrant.

GINSBURG: Where did Kashmir come from?

PLANT: The rhythm came from Bonzo. The sort of striding majestic element really came from Jimmy’s and my leanings toward the East. I wrote the lines after driving into the Sahara Desert because I knew that I was on my way to the Spanish Sahara and there was the war on between Morocco and the Spanish. I kept bumping down a dusty desert track—nobody for miles except, occasionally, a guy on a camel, waving his hand in the most nonchalant Arabic way. And I thought, “Well, this is great but one day—Kashmir.” And the sun was beating down upon my face…

GINSBURG: So your ideas spring from place you’ve been or want to go?

PLANT: Well, Kashmir is my last resort. I think, if I truly deserve it one day, I should go there and stay there for quite a while. Or if I really need it at any point, it should be my haven, my Shangri-la.

GINSBURG: Any place else?

PLANT: Well, the whole point of “Achilles’ Last Stand” is that, though the story builds, it’s centered around one spot on the top of the high Atlas Mountains. One tiny little spot on the side of a track 10,000 feet up—looking down over half of Southern Morocco.

GINSBURG: “Achilles’ Last Stand”—I would have thought the title had something to do with your accident.

PLANT: It did. It did because I fell over when I was singing it in the studio and I was rushed to the hospital. They thought that I had fucked it for good. [moves his leg up and down in the air] So I spent two week yet again with it up in the air. I still hadn’t walked—which is after four months without walking and I’d put all my weight on it—went down, bang! Pagey virtually carried me to the hospital. And when it got to a point where I could lower it gain off the bed without touching the ground, I was wheeled to the studio while the others were asleep and did the whole vocal track all over again from start to finish. I said, “Right from the top, I’m going to do it again and I’m going to call it that.”

GINSBURG: What about the song “For Your Life?”

PLANT: That’s a sarcastic dig at one person in particular that I know, who was a really good person but got swallowed up with the whole quagmire of the downhill slide, the L.A. syndrome. You know the sort of thing. “Hung on the balance of a crystal pane through your nose…”

GINSBURG: But you must see so much of that—

PLANT: Yeah, but when it affects people who I love then I sort of snap back at them—”Don’t you understand that you are now immortalized—The parody of it all… is there for you to behold.”

GINSBURG: And why do you think that happens to people?

PLANT: It’s the way… these aren’t people in the immediate surroundings but they’re people who come and go who we know—usually of the opposite sex. People get carried along with the whole momentum and the adrenaline of a rock-‘n’-roll band. We’re in one that’s been going for nine years, ’cause we can still shake it better than anybody else. Then when you leave people behind in a situation you say, “Bye, see ya next time…,” and they sort of slide into the L.A. syndrome, and New York. You come back, and they don’t look as well as they should do, you know, the smile has changed a bit. And this [“For Your Life”] is sort of waving your finger and saying, “Now you watch it.”

GINSBURG: You think they put too much stock in it all?

PLANT: Well, I think it carries them away.

GINSBURG: It wouldn’t carry you away?

PLANT: It carried me away but I carried me away, because we are it, the thing that rolls.

GINSBURG: So then where can you get carried away to now?

PLANT: Well, it’s entirely up to me how far over the top I want to go, you know.

GINSBURG: Have you peaked?

PLANT: I don’t think there is such a thing as peaking. Because if there is so much change, then how does one know when one’s reached the pinpoint?

GINSBURG: How do you measure your success?

PLANT: By my own satisfaction. If I doubt what I’m doing then I’ll go about putting it right—readjusting. Time is too precious to… dance with half-measures.

GINSBURG: You have kids?

PLANT: Yep. A boy and girl and there’s no compensation for children. You can never compare any elation at all to watching a child… because the child is only the reflection of yourself and those of the people who surround it. So really I guess I prefer to be with them. But, you know, when you can’t take this out of your blood…

GINSBURG: What do you do, more or less, when you aren’t singing?

PLANT: [smiles] Wish I was… I don’t know… I have a great love for the more atmospheric parts of Britain. The parts that contain true atmosphere. The days of Albion, the Dark Ages, if you like.

GINSBURG: You must have a more manic side, too.

PLANT: Oh yeah. I’m a total soccer freak. I total soccer freak. Absolute total.

GINSBURG: Will you be able to start up again, at all?

PLANT: I can’t play anymore. I can play touch soccer where I could tap the ball around and do tricks and things like that. But I couldn’t go in, or tap hard. I spend every weekend, every possible moment with the soccer team that I support. Get involved with them, goin’ to see them and having sort of discussions with the management and chairmen how to project a soccer team in the ’70s—on a parallel on how to project rock-‘n’-roll, I guess.

GINSBURG: Any projections for rock ‘n roll?

PLANT: Yeah. Do it good. And do it so nobody’s going to forget it—and that’s what I say to them—play like fuck and people will never stop talkin’ about you.

GINSBURG: We are so stepped in technology. Someone can listen to a studio record, then go to a concert by the same group and expect the music to come out the same.

PLANT: Well, I don’t know whether they do or not. I know that I go about with the voice, which is the hardest thing to sort of play around with and yet the most enjoyable, obviously, because I’m a singer. I have my little machines that I like to play with. I like to make my voice sound like a piece of tin that’s been stuck on the side of a chair, lifted up as far as it would go and then let to spring—”doooiiinng.” I like to make it into a piece of metal from time to time and I can do it, both with the movements in my throat and with, uh, my little toys… So I like to take it beyond just a voice, more into the realms of a weapon.

GINSBURG: A weapon?

PLANT: A sharp spear.

GINSBURG: Do you care at all what the concert critics and writers get printed up in the papers?

PLANT: Not really, because the proof is in the pudding. I mean the people who come are the people who care.

GINSBURG: And the people come!

PLANT: And if they come and I see a smile on their faces, I know that it’s all right.

Day Four: The One With The Metaphors

More wish fulfillment! I love this one, obvi- I love a metaphor. Anyway! Thank you so much to @dirtystyles for the read through and screams!

Send me screams! Reblogs are definitely love!

I’m starting a tag list as well for when I post- if you’d like- send me a note to add you! Thanks @awomanindeniall for the suggestion!

Elise woke up aware that something was wrong.

Amiss, that was a better word. Nothing hurt and she was supremely comfortable and warm, but something was off. It took a moment for her to puzzle it out.

The sun was high through the window, so at first she figured it was that she had slept in so unbelievably late. She'd been up to the wee hours last night. Elise could remember the clock on her iPhone saying 3:30am, lying in was not surprising, but a consequence. Her room was still, only her knee joints cracking when she stretched broke the silence.

The house was quiet too, but Harry had been a quiet housemate for the three days they'd been quarantined. He usually skulked about quietly in the morning to avoid waking her, and when she went down, he set about treating her like a treasured guest instead of the chick he sneezed on. Making her breakfast or doing her coffee immediately, like the world's best waiter.

Oh! That's what felt weird about today! She'd woken up in this stranger's bed in this stranger's house and didn't feel weird about it. There was none of the disorientation and then fear she'd got on the other mornings. The first one, she'd realized it wasn't her bed. Her bedding was an ombré of blues and purple, and while she liked the sheets, thought they were comfortable, she knew it would be hard to go back to them now. Harry's bedding was like the very plush stuff she had encountered when she went to see her one and only concert, by invite, of her friend Daphne. Elise wouldn't name the band. They'd stayed at a high end hotel. She'd been afraid to sit on the couch. She'd adopted an air of whatever by the time they made it to the bedroom, because she didn't want Daphne to notice how impressed she was. The friendship had petered out in high school, but they were buddies for a time. And Elise got used to her lifestyle, but never comfortable. She remembered the comforter in the hotel was down and over stuffed, and the sheets felt like a billion thread count. She doubted a cloud could feel better.

Harry's was better. In his guest room. Imagine what he had on his own bed! No- she wouldn't!

In any case, it was a glaring difference. On day one, or two, she'd need to nail down how to count the days, she realized, the blankets had caused a domino reaction. She'd reached behind her immediately and sighed in relief when she felt no body behind her. But they could have gotten up for the bathroom, maybe that's what had initially woken her.

So the next step in freak out containment was to smooth her hands down her body and confirm she was clothed. One night stands were not her style. It had happened once. Their sheets had not been this nice.

They had not been as nice as Harry in any way.

What would it be like to wake up, do her checks, realize she was in another's bed, and find it to be Harry. She giggled while she skipped down her own mental path. Waking up with Harry Styles, his actual bed, not the guest room one. That would have been a shock in every sense of the word. A pleasant shock, you might even do the walk of no shame from. In any case, this morning was different, but not that different.

Today, it just felt like this is where she woke up now. Her giggle broke the cold air, yeah, this was not a life she'd let herself get used too.

Poor international student and desert rat were still her bylines.

The plush bathroom was also amazing though, and she lingered over the heated floors. Just because she couldn't have them forever didn't mean she shouldn't appreciate them while she could.

It was 11:30 by the time she made it downstairs.  In truth, maybe she was stalling.

She didn't want to tell him she disliked his favorite book.

Well, dislike was a strong word. The book was alright, but Harry loved it. Elise felt like he would want her to love it too. They'd found things in common yesterday and it was lovely and thrilling. His face would light up in a way Elise wanted to be the root of, but they didn't have this new thing in common. He made this happy puppy face, full of energy and youth when they hit upon a movie they both spent hours rewatching, or bands they loved, listening to albums on-repeat in adolescent bedrooms. She hated to tell him it didn't expand to Norwegian Wood. She'd even worked on a line to soften the blow.

I like the prose, but not the protagonist. That's what she would say.

Did Harry see himself as the protagonist? Did you have to identify with a main character to love a story? Maybe you did, though she didn't see herself as a swamp girl, like the main in the book she had recommended to him. She did feel like an outsider, she supposed. She suspected everybody did a little.

Did Harry feel ordinary, and torn between melancholy and merry? He seemed bright to her- like a little firefly in the dark, with his bright shiny teeth and crinkly eyes. She'd listened to his first solo album, it had been serious to say the least. Wistful, nostalgic, sad in mood, ultimately hopeful. Maybe that's what he was like inside, and he just wore an upbeat face. Was it a mask?

But Harry was anything but boring. He was extraordinary. She believed that long before she was stuck in a house with him. It had just been confirmed by proximity.

Elise felt like she should listen to his new album right now to get a handle on where he might be at the moment, or closer to the moment. She almost pulled it up of her phone.

Shaking her head, she existed out of Spotify, she'd have to listen to his new album tonight. Elise knew if she stayed up here much longer, her temporary housemate would be at her door. Probably with coffee, just as she liked it, and maybe even toast. Oooh, that sounded delicious, maybe she would wait.

She wouldn't.

Elise took light steps down the stairs, she had it in her head to startle Harry. It was a strange impulse, people always did it to her, and she always jumped a foot. Apparently, everybody always found that hilarious. She didn't. Must be being on the wrong side of it.

She was about to find out.

Except Harry wasn't in the kitchen where she had come to expect him in the mornings. Though there was hot coffee in the French press with her cup next to it. The mug that said more joy. She'd liked the sex one, but it made her blush a little, she avoided it.

He'd noticed her pink cheeks, given her the joy one, and sipped from the other, his green eyes over the rim, dancing at her reaction to every sip. She shook off the memory.

The first sip was hot and everything she loved about the break of day. Rich in smell and possibilities and full or flavor and energy.

Elise drank three more gulps before she set off to scare Harry. She poured carefully and was proud enough to do a tiny happy dance when she didn't spill any.

"Yay! Why are we twirling?"

That time she did jump a foot into the air, and she was glad she wasn't holding the mug to warm her hands like she usually did. It would have shattered on his beautiful floor, and she was sure it cost a million pounds. The floor, though the mug was designer, she knew. A mug couldn't cost a million pounds right?

"Jesus! You scared me!" Elise had a hand to heart, coffee dribbles on it.

"Sorry!" He didn't look contrite in the least. The purse of his lips trying to flatten them into a rubber band. How did he not know better? They didn't flatten, not effectively, ever. His lips weren't juicy persay, but they did seem a little overfilled, like an exuberant cupcake. This morning she noticed they were framed by extravagant scruff, it had been sprouting for a day or so, and honestly she thought it made his face look a little dirty, but today it was filled in, darker, and the frame around the fruited hues of his lips was distracting. As was the beautiful hazard of his curls on his head. All of it was better than the horror of his eyes.

When she was younger, and she'd jumped from Liam as her girlhood crush to him, it had been the green of his eyes. Later, when Taylor sang about them, Elise could totally understand.

She was a little breathless, from the scare, and there was still coffee to clean up. She shifted her eyes and grabbed paper towels.

"Well," he cleared his throat before he spoke. "I feel I owe you breakfast because I gave you a fright. You had a full English yet?"

She hadn't. "Isn't that a lot of trouble though?"

"Well, it takes a bit, I'm thinking we have the time though. And I wouldn't call it trouble, and we both have to eat, yeah?" He said this from the fridge where he was already pulling out the necessary articles. "And it's late enough that we should call it lunch too. You slept in today."

"I did." She nodded.

"Just exhausted, or?" He was slicing tomatoes. She was watching him. He had really long fingers. They curved around the tomato in a way that made her sad. Or curious.

"What?" He was really distracting today. She'd have sworn she was over this crush ages ago. She supposed the real person was different to the images she looked at and created in her mind.

"Why so tired today? Up late?"

Oh, he wanted to know about the book. "Yeah, um, I was finishing Norwegian Wood."

"Did you like it?" He was smiling like he knew the answer.

"Um, I liked the prose." She dissembled, left out the protagonist part to avoid offense.

He frowned over the bacon he was laying in the skillet. Round bacon still threw her off.

"The prose? But not the book?" He guessed.

"It was alright. I didn't really like Toru. He frustrated me."

Harry went to run his hands into his hair, and maybe it was the cooking, which she was thankful for or the new worldwide obsession with hygiene, but he stopped himself. "Oh, I quite like Toru. I think he is like, like most guys. And because you are in his head you kinda get why."

She wanted to tell Harry he was nothing like Toru, way more interesting, and for someone who apparently thought they were indecisive, he was really in charge of his life. That it wasn't a fluke, or luck, not entirely. That it was him. She wanted to tell Harry he was special.

"Did you like my recommendation?" She asked.

He made a funny face. Oh? He didn't. That miffed her a little and she suddenly understood his upset.

"Can I say the opposite? I like the story, and the characters, but not the prose." Oh she'd loved the prose style. The lyrical quality. Way more lush than his pick.

"We must just like different styles."  She tried to shrug it off and was totally unclear why she couldn't. "I like my books to almost sound like they are lines lifted from a song."

"Oh, I kinda like minimalism, in songs too." Why did they both seem sad about it.

Breakfast was delicious, and it distracted them for a while.

When Harry was finishing up his last piece of vegan bacon ( he'd broken that to her after she'd praised it), chewing thoughtfully as a beaming smile lit up his face.

"I know- you find a song or album you feel like is exactly what you love, and I will too, and we can share. We may not ever like each other's books, but music, well I like all music." He was grinning and she thought the term firefly wasn't as apt as lightening bug.

"That's a great idea. Let's brainstorm and meet up in an hour." Her literal first thought was 1989, but she would not go there.

Nope.

Two hours later, she had a list of three albums, and trotted down the stairs to find him.

"Alright Styles, show me what you got!"

He looked up from the notebook he was scrawling in and he tried to smile.

"Hey, this is supposed to be fun Harry! It doesn't look like you are having fun."

He went to put the end of the pen in his mouth and moved it down to his chin. "This is harder than I thought. Only three? And I'm trying not to be too predictable."

"Just be honest," she shrugged, and plopped on the carpet next to him with her legs pretzeled, her air pods and her phone.

"I'll do one first. Are we doing the whole albums, or like songs that are great examples?" She asked as she opened her Spotify.

"Whole albums! What else do we have to do?" He quirked the more masculine side of his face and she realized she'd chosen to sit really close to him. It wasn't really necessary with the air pods, but he didn't seem to mind, he was leaning towards her.

"Alright, well let's go. I'll show you mine, then you show me yours, then again. Til we're done."

"Or naked!" He chuckled and she blushed, tried to hide it. He sobered and got back on task. "Can I have some honorable mentions?" He asked.

"Yeah, but those you gotta pick a song!" Elise nodded at her brilliant allowance.

"Deal!" He put out his hand and they shook. Then she placed an air pod in his hand.

"Let's go!" She pulled up the first album she had in mind. "This one is Oh Wonder's self titled."

"Oh, I know them a little."

By the end of it, Harry had scrawled his favorite songs, and downloaded a few.

"Good?" She asked.

"Yeah, they sound great together, and lots of metaphors."

"That's what I like!," she said.

"You'd like Arctic Monkeys, specifically AM." He told her, so she made a note of it. He'd already mentioned he liked them when he was younger. She knew of them, but they must have been much bigger in Britain or something, she'd download something.

And then he played her Astral Weeks, and they wound up laying back on the floor with the cord of his ear buds laying slackly between them. And she got what he meant about minimalism. She usually liked it wordy, got her emotion from lyrics, but she still felt a lot, even without the words.

"Alright, I feel like you are bringing the oldies, Styles. All of mine are this decade."

"Yeah, I thought about that, but I only have one from this decade."

She laughed, "I'll allow it. This one I'll bet you know."  She put on Hozier and if she thought sitting so close had been overwhelming, him singing in his lower register, essentially in her ear was wholly distracting. He knew most of the songs.

"I feel like it's not my favorite, but it's clearly amazing!" He said when it was over.

"Well, what's your favorite?" She sat up with him and they were facing each other, their knees were touching and her yoga pants were hot all the way up her thigh.

"This one." He spent a moment looking for his ear phones snake like cord and turned back to her. She was glad when he arranged them side by side before Harry Nilsson started to play.

"Like it?"

"Yeah-!" She butted into him with her shoulder. "He uses some figurative language." She raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose he does."

"But he does that sound thing you like." She mused.

"How do you know I like repeated sounds?" Oh, he looked amused.

"I like your first album." She confessed.

He bit his lip and dimpled and Elise had to turn away. This was normal. He was the only person she'd seen in days, and well he looked like, was, him. She was gonna forgive herself the butterflies. "Um," she picked her phone back up. "Do you want to get a snack? Or keep going. I need some water at least."

He was spooling up his cord and standing. "I got an idea." And he was gone before she could follow him. Elise sat for a moment. Should she follow him? He didn't really invite Her. Did you have to be invited to follow your de facto housemate? She supposed she'd just wait.

But that was an awful decision, because she just sat there and thought about how this quarantine day felt like the best date of her life. Dammit. She was gonna wake up tomorrow sad she wasn't in his bed. She could just tell. She was also probably going to have to touch herself to sleep. She knew exactly what she'd think about. It would be when she turned to her side and watched his mouth form around the deathless death lyric in Take Me To Church.

Elise was actually fanning herself by the time Harry came back in.

"Is it hot in here?" He asked.

"Oh, no, I was just dancing a little." God she was lame.

"Oh! Hold that thought for my last album. And I've brought provisions!" His eyebrows were so high and perfect. She liked his proud face.

He'd brought alcohol. That was exactly what her libido needed. Shit.

"Pick your poison. I have an excellent red, or we can just skip to the party with tequila shots."

"Yeah, no tequila, sun's still out."

"Oh, is this a rule of yours? No tequila until sundown." Why did he look like he found that hilarious?

"Not if you want me to keep my clothes on!" She resisted the urge to slap a hand over her mouth.

"Right!" he crowed. "Tequila it is!"

"No, no, I'll take wine." She pulled his hand down from opening the bottle of amber liquid and started on the darker bottle.

"You are a party pooper!" He laughed.

"Can we plan the tequila party for another day?"

"Oh, we should do that. I have a pool! We can make margaritas and lounge."

"Harry, it's March! In London," she added. Because it was definitely pool weather in Arizona.

"Well, I have a hot tub."

She swallowed and focused on getting the bottle opened. "Are you having what I'm having?"

"Yeah, I guess. But in a couple days, we are opening the other bottle, deal?" He handed her the waters he'd brought in too. She needed to drink that first, and between, and after. To slow her intake down.

"What's with you and hand shakes?" She laughed and handed him his glass instead of taking his dangerous palm.

"I dunno, gotta seal the deal!" He shrugged. "So what's next?"

"Right!" She scrounged to find both earbuds and they cheesed to the beginning notes of 'Red.'

"I already said you love her. Typical! And well, I can't blame you." He mused towards the end.

"Why?" She felt like that would be a slight, but he didn't say it like one. Typical stung just a little. Basic Arizona bitch sounded in her head.

"Just you like lyrics, and she is so clever and relatable, and I'm not an American, or a girl, but I imagine it's more specific to you." He titled his head.

That made her feel better. Was kinder than she'd been to herself. "Yeah, yeah, I've liked her since I was way younger. I saw her at a county fair really early on and fell in love."

"And you like this one better than her newer ones?" He asked. "I haven't gotten around to listening to Lover yet." He had a look that meant he may never. She wondered about that but decided to pull him from his dip in mood.

"Well, actually, 1989 is my favorite, but I thought it would be too weird to listen to that with you."

"Ha!" He burst out laughing at that, and they giggled helplessly, aided by the bottle of wine they'd finished. "Well, I'll thank you for that thoughtfulness. We need another bottle." He started towards the door. "But it's my favorite too!," he threw back over his shoulder as he got just around the door.

"I'll bet." She said to herself.

His last album was a surprise.

"I'm surpirsed it's not Stormzy Everybody here talks about him all the time." She mentioned when they started.

"Nah, though I love him, and his music, he's very clever. But Kendrick is more honest." They danced to the upbeat songs and Harry shocked her when he pulled her close and danced up on her a little. She tried to chalk it up to the wine, but the feeling of his thighs cradling her ass was gonna follow her into her bedroom, into sleep, and maybe forever.

By the end of the second bottle, they'd gotten the munchies and were raiding the fridge.

"Should we do take out?" He asked.

"Nah, let's cook something." And they spent an hour making squash stuffed with quinoa scented with maple syrup. He was a good cook too. Fucker.

"Can we do my honorable mentions now?" He asked after they had popped the third bottle of wine and were sleepy and full and a little wine drunk.

He was on the couch and she was sure her jaw was gonna unhinge when he stayed stretched out and opened his arms like he wanted her to come lay with him.

"Do you want to?" She made some idiotic motion between them.

"Yeah, I sat my headphones down in the kitchen and can't be fucked to go get them. We can just play it out. Come cuddle me."

How could she say no to that. Should she disclose her ear buds were nearby? What didn't he have ear buds? She went to him and laid down. Because the opportunity was too compelling.

They listened to Dark Side of the Moon, well he did and she mostly listened to his heart.

When he put on Otis Redding, well, she already thought she was in trouble. She was hoping he hadn't given her coronavirus, but if he kept acting like this, she was gonna have caught more than a bug, and she was sure it would last more than 14 days, or three weeks, or however long the world was on pause.

Feelings didn't have a pause.

She was trying to figure out if she was too tipsy to get herself off him gracefully, when she realized he was asleep. She looked up at his smooth face, all gorgeous angles and bright spots.

She was infected.

Elise was steady on her feet while escaping up to her room. She was less steady as she revisited her morning musings. Harry wasn't a Toru, he wasn't an Everyman, he wasn't like anybody she'd ever met.

He was lightning in the night.

Elise was surprised she hadn't gotten anxious yet? Normally she would be itching to go, do. She wasn't even missing the parks she had on her list of things to do. She felt content.

It must be that she felt excited most days to go downstairs, to see what she and Harry would get up to on any given day of their quarantine. She had loved dance time tonight, and she'd plug in headphones and share conspiratorial smiles over Harry Nilsson with Harry Styles any day.

There was a part of her that wanted to listen to this with him. Have him explain it to her. She'd liked it the time she had listened. Liked the singles enough to stream and download them.

Elise imagines laying next to him on the couch as the"dun-dunnnunas" started playing in her ears.

She didn't think much at any sensations for the next forty minutes, she let herself drift away on Harry's Fine Line. She had to listen again to answer her earlier question about whether Harry was melancholy or merry.

He was both, she decided.

Maybe he just needed to see that he was a fine line too. And the duality between sad boy and pop star was what made him everybody's favorite fixation.

Elise knew she was a fine line as well, she hoped she ended up alright.

LZZY HALE And AMY LEE Team Up To Record New Version Of HALESTORM's 'Break In'

HALESTORM's Lzzy Hale and EVANESCENCE's Amy Lee have teamed up to record a new version of the HALESTORM song "Break In".

The reimagined version of the track, which originally appeared on HALESTORM's second album, 2012's "The Strange Case Of...", was recorded last October at a Nashville studio with producer Nick Raskulinecz, who had previously worked with both bands.

The new version of "Break In" will be released in August, presumably as a standalone single.

On Friday (May 8), Lee was a guest on Hale's Internet show "Raise Your Horns With Lzzy Hale", where the two also performed a quarantine rendition of "Break In" from their respective homes.

Speaking about the collaboration, Lzzy told Amy: "What I love about dueting on that song with you is that it started out as as love song that I wrote for my significant other" — referring to HALESTORM guitarist Joe Hottinger — "but when we sing it together, it's this act of unity, especially with the two of us being women and being women musicians. It's like we have each other's backs. And the lyrics mean something completely different when I sing it [with you]."

Regarding the way the new version of "Break In" was recorded, Lzzy said: "We did it performance-style, literally next to each other in the same room — from beginning of song to end of song, singing with each other.

"I've never done anything like that, but especially with a female singer of your prowess."

Amy added: "Nick always gets the challenge and gets the most out of me… So he made us stand there in the room and sing it live together a bunch of times. What that really means is that editing, you couldn't use when you did something cool but I messed up; it would have to be that we both nailed it for it to make the cut. So to do it in that way was really challenging and it was really cool and it fits the song so well.

"I remember you saying, and we both were saying, when we were listening back, it's really weird, at times — I know my part, but you can't pick out whose voice that is in that one particular moment, 'cause we started matching each other, 'cause it was on the spot. It's really cool how that happens.

"It feels like a match. It doesn't feel like any one person is pulling the other person along a little bit or leading the train. It really felt like an evenly matched dance."

Lzzy and Amy originally performed "Break In" together in 2012 during the "Carnival Of Madness" tour, which was headlined by EVANESCENCE and featured HALESTORM in the support slot. At the time, Hale told Zoiks! Online about how the live collaboration came about: "It's funny. We had talked in the beginning of the tour, 'Oh, we should do something.' What would we do? Do we do a cover? Do I come out during her set? She came up to me, I think it was two weeks in and said, 'I'm obsessed with your song 'Break In' right now.' I was like, 'Thank you so much.' Then she said, 'I know all of your parts, all the backing parts and everything.' I was like, 'Sweet, that's awesome.' Then she said, 'This is going to sound really weird and please feel free to say no, but do you think I could come up during that song and sing it with you?' I'm, like, 'Of course. This is awesome.' We didn't have a whole lot of time to rehearse. We literally ran through it once before our show in El Paso, right before the doors opened. It was perfect. I told her, queue insane crowd noise. She was like, 'Oh, I don't know.' 'No, seriously — they're going to freak when you walk out on stage.' ... [And] they did. We couldn't hear each other for the first four lines."

EVANESCENCE's long-awaited new album, "The Bitter Truth", will arrive this year. The disc's first single, "Wasted On You", came out last month and is the first in a series of songs that the band will make available from "The Bitter Truth" incrementally, culminating in the release of the full album.

Lzzy said in a recent interview with SiriusXM's "Trunk Nation" that she is using the downtime during the COVID-19 lockdown to keep working on material for HALESTORM's fifth studio LP.

HALESTORM has been writing and demoing material since January, with Hale saying she can record almost everything except drums in her home studio.

The next HALESTORM album will follow up 2018's "Vicious". The band has hinted at recording one or two EPs in the interim, but have not revealed any further information on whether they've been completed or what they contain.

Sleep Tight For Me...I’m Gone

Lately I’ve been writing these Better Days Are A Toenail Away™️ posts in Microsoft Word, selecting all and changing the font to Garamond, which is so readable and beautiful, and posting the Word docs, paragraphs by paragraph, inside these Tumblr drafts. It makes things look nice, to my old fashioned sensibilities, but fixing errors is a time-consuming and needlessly convoluted four-step process.

First, I have to copy, then delete the paragraph containing the error. Then I open the doc. and paste the error-ridden paragraph back into Word. After I find and fix the error, I need to save it and copy and paste it back into the post. It's time-consuming because I’m not just copying a paragraph. As you can see from more recent post, what I copied looked more like a photograph of the paragraph, not the words themselves written in Tumblr’s default font Arial. For an example of this, see below. I like the way it looks like old newspaper clippings. I posted an article about how my fent dealer John Smith kept getting robbed, and had resorted to putting a machete in front of his front door as a way of preventing this, a lever of sorts, which is plainly visible in the video I posted,

So today I’ve given up on trying to make my posts look like books or zines, and have given into the Tumblr font, which is about as pretty as a horse with his snout shot off.

There are two much longer posts I’m working on right now, one about Nirvana and one about Soundgarden, respectively, and how both bands were very unlike their public perception, but those posts are taking a lot of work so I’m putting them on the backburner because today is some dumbass corporation’s day where it tries to synthesize mental health and profit and the end result is as baldly capitalist and clumsy as you would expect. 

I’m not gonna name the company, or repeat their stupid fucking slogan. As far as I can tell (which isn't very far), talking about my trauma has never made me feel better. And in fact it has sometimes made me feel worse, because in telling you what hurts and scares me, I’ve given a part of myself away that I can’t get back. When you’re like me, and you’ve lost everything multiple times, sometimes the only form of power you have is how you choose, or do not choose, to tell your story. And in a world where everybody wants to tell “their truth,” silence is power. 

You don’t get to know me, sorry. I’m not gonna hand you my life, both my bad and good experiences, and conclude: “Welp, that’s why I’m so fucked up. Case closed.” 

Honestly, I used to be a little confused, or miffed that my former partner (who is an amazing person btw, in every respect) almost never spoke about some of the traumatic things she’d experienced in her past. I took it as a sign that she either didn’t trust me, or she didn’t think I would be a sympathetic listener, or the mere fact of my gender precluded her from sharing because I couldn’t truly understand what it was she had gone through. It’s not like I ever asked her to talk about it, but I did say, once or twice, “hey if you ever wanna talk about that stuff, I’m around.” She never took me up on it, and I let it go. 

But as I watched her, and saw her life unfold, over the years we spent together, I began to realize I wasn’t exactly in any position to be telling her how to live her life or how to be mentally healthy. After all, she has found success in a number of avenues, both creative and occupational, and I’ve found neither. I'm not saying the fact that she didn't talk much about her trauma is the reason for her success. I'm saying that she's forged a better path through life than I have, and maybe I should take a cue from that.

She never told me what to do, per se. It was more like living by example. But because I’m pretty dense, and a severe addict, our time together actually sorta reminds me now of that Cornell lyric from his first record: She’s going to change the world. But she can’t change me.

I have certainly found that talking about how shitty my life is only makes me feel more shitty, not free, or unburdened, or better. If you wanna talk about your problems, and you find it helpful, more power to you. Just don’t wait for a corporation to tell you it’s okay to not be okay. 

When Chris Cornell died I was so shocked. Of all the grunge icons he seemed the most stable, and he'd survived the rise and fall of two major label rock bands. If anyone had survived the media machine that chewed up and spat out Staley, Cobain, and to a lesser extent Andrew Wood and Shannon Hoon, it was Cornell. He would be the last guy to support hashtag activism like #StarbucksMyLifeSucks. Chris Cornell actually loved to fuck with the best laid plans of corporate rats. Molson once had a few promotional concerts in Tuktoyaktuk, Northwest Territories, called Molson Canadian Rocks Arctic, with both Hole and Soundgarden playing to a crowd of flown-in grunge fans and bemused locals. But the whole anti-corporate thing grunge was known for actually came through when Courtney Love told the crowd she “use[d] Molson Canadian to douche.” Lol. Here’s a photo of Love arriving in Tuktoyatuk.

Cornell told the same people “so we’re here because of some beer company? Labatt’s?” Both artists’ jabs are funny. Cornell’s was a bit more subtle, but that’s what Cornell was like. 

So today’s post is about Chris Cornell’s suicide, more specifically the media’s reaction to it. For whatever reason, when Cornell died, every single news outlet, from CNN to Fox to CBC, posted “Black Hole Sun,” as if it’s the only song he ever fucking wrote, or – and this is far worse – the only song he wrote that’s worth hearing. The problem with this is more than twofold or threefold. It's fucking hydraheaded. 

Not only is “Black Hole Sun” a mediocre piece of music, it’s a complete misrepresentation of Soundgarden’s sound. 

Now, I’m a huge fan of the A.V. Club series HateSong, in which public figures gleefully talk shit about the one song they hate more than any other song in the world. The Max Bemis (Say Anything) one where he talks about Nirvana’s “Rape Me” as a terrible rewrite of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” is terrific, but comedian Anthony Jeselnik’s HateSong takes “Black Hole Sun” apart, and I love it. I think the best line is: I think the more I hear it, the worse it gets. AVC: After the song became a huge hit, Chris Cornell said that he’d written it in about 15 minutes. AJ: I totally believe that. I don’t believe that Soundgarden likes that song. Like, I remember Eminem once said that he knew his song “My Name Is” was going to be a huge hit because the first time he heard it he was annoyed. It’s something about an annoying song that just grabs onto people. But I don’t think that anyone likes “Black Hole Sun.” I’ve never heard of anyone who likes it. I don’t understand why it gets played so much. It’s become a summer jam, and it’s not a summer song at all. Jeselnik is right that Soundgarden didn’t think much of the song. Guitarist Kim Thayil wasn’t kidding when he disparagingly called it the “Dream On” of their live show. And Cornell himself, known for a meticulous approach to his songwriting, had admitted that with “Black Hole Sun”was “probably the closest to me just playing with words for words’ sake, of anything I’ve written. I guess it worked for a lot of people who heard it, but I have no idea how you'd begin to take that one literally.” I mean it’s obvious from the opening lines that Cornell is just playing with words and how they sound: in my eyes/indisposed/in disguises no one knows What songs would have been more appropriate for Cornell’s untimely death? Glad you asked! Cuz there’s like…fucking at least ten that would have been better. I’m not tryna be one of those “the deep album cuts are better maaaaaan,” but with Soundgarden, it happens to be true. With some bands, the single are their best work. With other bands, the singles are the hors d’oeuvres for the entrees. So what deep cuts would have celebrated Cornell’s death a bit better? Well, to begin with, Superunknown’s strange and stately closer “Like Suicide” would have worked, for obvious reasons.

“Tighter and Tighter,” a song that is actually about the moment of death and what it might feel like, is one of my all-time fav Soundgarden songs. Not only is it a creepy and prescient prediction of what Cornell’s death by hanging himself may have felt like, it’s opening line is a good description of the personification of death: Shadow face/Blowing smoke and talking wind

Another sample lyric: “A sucking holy wind will take me from this bed tonight/and bloody wits another hits me and I have to say goodbye/sleep tight for me, I’m gone/and I hope it’s  a sweet ride/here for me tonight/cuz I’m feel I’m going/feel I’m slowing down.” 

The morning after Cornell’s death hit the news my buddy and bandmate James told me that en route to work his phone, which was playing music randomly through his car speakers, landed on “Tighter and Tighter” and he had to pull over because he was tearing up. 

“Fell On Black Days” is another song about depression and mortality. Cornell had the following to say about the song: “Fell on Black Days” was like this ongoing fear I’ve had for years ... It's a feeling that everyone gets. You're happy with your life, everything’s going well, things are exciting—when all of a sudden you realize you’re unhappy in the extreme, to the point of being really, really scared. There's no particular event you can pin the feeling down to, it's just that you realize one day that everything in your life is fucked! 

Now, if that’s not a cogent and even-tempered explanation of suicidal thoughts, what is? Why else would Cornell have admitted to being “really really scared” by his depression unless he knew what that depression could ultimately leasd to? Here’s some lyrics to “Fell on Black Days.” Dig the high literary use of “whomsoever” and “whatsoever.” Whatsoever I’ve feared has come to life Whatsoever I fought off became my life Just when every day seemed to greet me with a smile sunspots have faded and now I’m doing time cuz I fell on black days

Whomsoever I’ve cured I’ve sickened now Whomsoever I’ve cradled...I put you down I’m a searchlight soul they say but I can’t see it in the night I’m only faking when I get it right I sure don’t mind a change but I fell on black days how would I know that this could be my fate?

Eagle-eared listeners might think this version different from the album version. They are right. The rendition in the video was recorded live off the floor @ Bad Animals, the Seattle studio owned by Heart, where Soundgarden would record Down on the Upside. 

“Boot Camp” is a scary meditation about loss of agency that for years was tied with Zeppelin’s “I'm Gonna Crawl” for Creepiest Song to Cap a Discography, until Soundgarden reunited and released King Animal.

“Taree” is about ghost light, influencing events after dying and features Cornell’s most exhausted, convincing “yeah” @ 2:57.

“Applebite” is a Matt Cameron-penned ponderous clunker about Adam’s original expulsion from Eden. Doomy and death-laden.

“Let Me Drown” is a song about letting someone die.

“The Day I Tried To Live” is frequently cited as Soundgarden’s finest achievement, its odd time signature somehow sounds straight, thanks to Matt Cameron’s brilliant time keeping.

“4th of July” is a song about a post apocalyptic urban landscape, where the speaker isn’t sure whether he is seeing fireworks or bombs. 

“Limo Wreck” is a cool death song and has an eerie 9-11 prediction. “Building the towers belongs to the sky/when the whole thing comes crashing down don’t ask me why.” 

ANY of the above songs would have been better than that fucking asinine dirge-like major key fuckaround that has somehow not just become Soundgarden's signature song...but their ONLY song. 

Does nobody remember Johnny Cash covering “Rusty Cage?” 

“Outshined?”

“Burden In My Hand?”

“Blow Up The Outside World?”

Did none of these other songs get stuck in the electric head? (The electric head is Rob Zombie’s term for the technologically advanced culture we have found ourselves enmeshed in, or imprisoned by. It was the subtitle for White Zombie’s 1995 hit album Astro-Creep 2000: Songs of Love, Destruction, and other Synthetic Delusions of the Electric Head.)

For my money (which ain’t much honey), the song that best fits both Cornell’s artistic integrity and the sad circumstances of his suicide is “Tighter and Tighter.” I once wrote a whole article on the way artists use “yeah” as a placeholder or as a way to convey emotion when words themselves aren’t adequate. Dig that tired, world-weary exhausted “yeah” at 5:35 of “Tighter & Tighter.”

Or the creepy line going into the first chorus: remember this...remember everything’s just black or burning sun. Not that I agree with such a bleak worldview. It’s a writer’s line. And Randy Bachman has said, “when you’re a writer, you’d step over your own mother.” That’s the Cornell I want to remember. Not that he would step over his own mother. By all accounts he was a committed family man. I mean, I want to remember the Cornell who created strange atmospheric sonic worlds, who explored the dark side that sadly, eventually won out. His otherworldly beautiful music is what I choose to remember about Chris Cornell, not his estate tastelessly exploiting “Black Hole Sun” by using a line from the song to title a posthumous Cornell album of covers No One Sings Like You Anymore. Sigh.

First Cornell’s widow said this was “Chris’s last album.” Okay. What about the Soundgarden songs he recorded vocals for before he died? Kim Thayil was pretty diplomatic about it when asked recently. Cornell did record vocal tracks for the follow up to King Animal.

Kim Thayil: “Given our love for Chris, I do not see us reconfiguring without him.”

But he makes it clear in this interview that Cornell’s widow Vicky has those tracks and won’t release them to the band. Maybe because she blames the band for Chris dying that night? She’s not wrong to believe that they would have known, and seen, what kind of shape Cornell was in, at least at the venue, maybe not later at the hotel.

Kim Thayil: “It’s entirely possible that a new Soundgarden album will be released. Certainly. All it would need is to take the audio files that are available. I tighten up the guitars. Ben does the bass. We get the producers we want to make it sound like a Soundgarden record.”

Interviewer: “Is there an obstacle stopping that?”

Kim Thayil: “There shouldn’t be. There really isn’t. Other than the fact that we don’t have those files.”

Interviewer: “They’re not under your auspices?”

Kim Thayil: “Right. It would be ridiculous if [the record wasn’t made]. But these are difficult things. Partnerships and...property.”

You’re just gonna keep those wav files? And why title his covers album Volume 1 if it’s his “last album?”

Oh right. $$$

No one does sing like Cornell, but is “Black Hole Sun” really the best thing he ever did? The best song he ever sang? Should an album of covers be the last thing he gives to the world?

The only honest answer is no.

Sleep tight Chris. You’re gone.

My November playlist is complete from Aretha Franklin to Blood Incatation, and I guarantee there’s at least something in here you’ll love. Thanks for listening!

If you’d like to get these playlists emailed to you instead of having them appear randomly on your dash, please sign up to my tinyletter.

listen here

Don't Start Now - Dua Lipa: Dua Lipa said disco lives. I absolutely love this song, it’s rock solid disco without being throwback or ironic about it. The way this song starts with the first line of the chorus and then launches into the verse and only gives you the full chorus later feels like that thing movie trailers do now where they give you a little trailer before the trailer for some reason. It’s also something I’ve never heard before, and it gives the song a very fun structure in the intro where it has two different levels of elevation it can drop down to before the bass properly drops in. I think Dua Lipa understands something fundamental about being a pop singer: literally the only thing you have to do is make bangers. She has basically zero personality and was criticised massively around New Rules for having zero stage presence (which she's definitely gotten better at since) but I kind of like it like that - she's just an unknowable blank canvas that's not particularly interested in any kind of narrative, she just makes bangers.

Mirage (Don't Stop) - Jessie Ware: Jessie Ware has been putting out some extremely good singles since her last album and this song is another. It’s the kind of smooth neo-soul that Jungle is pioneering but the way this song is structured is really beautiful; it gives the ‘don’t stop moving’ part a lot of space early on before it really gets to take hold and take over the second half of the song - it gives the whole song this feeling of disco evolution and the song going on and on and changing rather than static pop.

What A Fool Believes - Aretha Franklin: I can’t believe I’ve never heard Aretha’s version of What A Fool Believes before. It’s amazing. It’s the best kind of cover where you just basically do the song exactly the same but better in every single way. Push the tempo slightly, put big brass in it, make the bass hot as hell, sing the hell out of it, add a sax solo obviously. She takes such liberty with the rhythm of the vocals and it gives this whole song this great swooping and diving energy that just uplifts in such a beautiful way.

Walking Into Sunshine (Larry Levan 12” Mix) - Central Line: Something I love about this song is the crowd noise that breaks in with a ‘woo’ near the beginning. It’s such a strange little detail that instantly injects so much life and love into the track. It positions it at a party rather than a studio from the outset and somehow that mindset carries through the whole rest of the song even though the crowd noise only lasts a couple of seconds until they reconvene right at the very end.

Freedom - Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five: There was a time in the history of rap music where some kind of government mandate demanded that every song go for at least 7 minutes, so you ended up with great songs like this where they spend a good couple minutes in the middle killing time by going through everyone’s star sign and then asking the crowd their star sign too. Also they appear to have recorded their own kazoos on the track over the kazoos in the sample, which is a lesson in good production everyone take.

Freedom Funk It Up Freedom - Freedom: I was looking up where the sample on that Grandmaster Flash song Freedom was from and it turns out it’s from this band called Freedom. Easy enough. This isn’t the song Freedom samples though, this is Freedom’s other song Freedom Funk It Up Freedom. It’s fucking hot and contains maybe the livest crowd I’ve ever heard, they are just going absolutely nuts the whole time and it only helps the energy of the song which is already off the charts.

Set Guitars To Kill (Live) - And So I Watch You From Afar: For the 10th anniversary of their debut album, And So I Watch You From Afar just played the whole thing front ot back and put it out as a live album, and it’s amazing. They’re an instrumental band that’s always emphasised the rock part of post-rock, in the same space as bands like 65daysofstatic and Russian Circles but not so self-serious about it, just big honking rock and roll tunes with a surprising depth and complexity to them that never get bogged down in ambient buildups or the other space-making trappings of post-rock. Their debut album has always been my favourite of theirs because it felt the most ‘live’ and wasn’t as cleanly produced as their subsequent releases (which are still very good), and so this live version feels sort of like a definitive version for me, like this is how it was always meant to sound but they didn’t have enough fans to do the ‘woo!’ part properly yet, which is one of the most purely joyful moments in music.

Bullet The Blue Sky (Live) - U2: I saw U2 this week for the second time in my life and guess what: they’re still great. Even though they’re old as fuck and Bono is getting stranger and stranger they’ve still got it. They have a very good bit of stage design going with this current tour where for a big chunk of it they’re out on a little platform in the middle of everyone with no screens or fancy lights and it’s one of the most effective ways I’ve seen of making an arena show feel like an actual intimate experience. I was a million miles away and Bono looked like an ant more than usual but the energy still came across. Then, when they do the Joshua Tree Start To Finish part of the show they have big visuals for every song but it’s still pretty light on actual cameras on the band, which I think works really well - a sort of best of both worlds where you get the arena show but the actual band performance. This song was a highlight for me, and they’ve somehow managed to make it even more ferocious now than ever before. It got extremely noisy, far noisier than you’d ever expect from U2 at least and really amped up the swirling energy that I’ve always loved about this song. People accuse U2's politics of being too wide ranging, and it's well founded they're the prototypical 'heal the world' rock stars - even in this song and the way they've repurposed its messages to fit various political causes over the years they've tried to dilute it, but this feels to me like a song that you can't wash the meaning out of no matter how hard you try. It's one of the best and most direct criticisms of American evil put to song, and it's an arena song that doesn't particularly have an arena melody to it. Especially in the Joshua Tree/Rattle And Hum era, U2 have always been captivated by the American mythos but have never been able to completely ingratiate themselves as an American Rock Band because they're not and I think that point of difference in identity has them uniquely positioned to criticise the American mythos as well. They can have it both ways because they can't fully have it, so in this song the circle of American violence is complete in the women and children who run from the American fighter planes into the arms of America as refugees. Bono's actually mad, which is a nice change of pace from love healing the world.

Gingerly - Enemies: I love this Enemies album so much. A sweet spot between post-rock and midwest emo math guitar, and listening to it now this song really stood out in a way it hasn’t before. It turns up at a good spot in the album just as you might be getting tired of the twinkly clean guitars that characterise the rest of it and burns a hole in the speaker with that distorted bass and siren guitar sound.

You Look Certain (I’m Not So Sure) - WXAXRXP Session - Mount Kimbie: I think every band should get the chance to re-record their album a year or two after they’ve put it out, once they’ve had a chance to really sit with the songs for a while and figure out exactly how they work because this version is just so much better than the album version (which was already great!). The guitar sound is so much bigger, properly leaning into the post-punk idea they were only exploring on the album, and the vocals are so much stronger and more up front which makes it feel so much more like a full song than an experiment. This whole Warp Session EP is fantastic and I’ve been listening to it on repeat, it’s so great that they’ve morphed from this insular electronic duo into a proper band over the years and I'm excited to see where they'll take it next.

Peace To All Freaks - of Montreal: The new of Montreal single is great. Embracing an 80s dance vibe and immediately turning his back on it in the opening lines and not going out because he needs to educate himself instead. I love this song, an unironic and non-cheesy rallying against negativity which is a lot harder to do with earnesty than they make it sound here.

Taipei - Social Climbers: Thankyou to my friend and yours agrifuture for this recommendation. Social Climbers played an odd and paranoid version of art rock in the early 80s that on this song at least sounds more like modern opera trying to fit itself to a rock band than anything else. I can also say with confidence this is the only song I’ve ever heard where someone sends a quiche back in the middle of it.

Mad Eyed Screamer - The Creatures: I’ve never gotten much into Siouxie And The Bashees, they're probably somewhere on my list of bands to have a deep three week long obsession with somewhere in the future, but for now my biggest exposure to them is the time The Weeknd sampled them. I am, however, deeply interested in this drums and vocals only side project that Siouxie Sioux formed with her then-partner Budgie. I’m a big fan of any kind of restricted composition like this and I love this song. It’s so busy and the amount of reverb and extra percussion going on makes for this extremely chaotic, noisy vision of what is essentially a folk song in its lyric and melody.

Black Magic - Jarvis Cocker: I found out that the main guitar part in this song is sampled from Crimson & Clover by Tommy James and The Shondells. Which is something I don’t think I’ve ever seen before, a rock song like this built around a sample. Not exactly sampling in order to recontextualise across genres or approaches but sampling to recontextualise in a lateral, parallel approach. I love this song because his delivery is so feverish and impassioned it really does feel like he’s seen beyond the veil and come back without the language or capacity to explain what he saw, only the passion.

Year In Pictures - Dick Diver: Every year since this album came out it's shown up somewhere in my Spotify most listened list at the end of the year. It's surprising because I don't think of it as one of my all time favourites when it definitely is, it's such an easy listen that it just comes and goes pleasantly. This song is kind of about that feeling I guess, of things just happening and time just passing pleasantly enough year on year, everthing in its own time while the past disappears and doesn't matter anymore. "Whatever happens, I think everything will"

Heart - Bertie Blackman: I love the percussion in this song, the same propulsive clapping-centred beat that makes Single Ladies so good with the dark grinding bass underneath it that just pulses malevolently until the gearshift of the chorus where it morphs immediately into this 60s soul version of itself, with the ooh la la backing vocals and everthing, and that disonnance between the two styles drives the song for me. Where the verse lays out the evil plainly and the music matches, the chorus accentuates it in wide eyed irony "I know there's something sick with what I've been sold" sung with a smile and showgirl backing vocals.

Love Lockdown - Kanye West: Something I think we’re all learning as Kanye loses his mind completely on the world stage is that Kanye has always been insane. He has always had an unnervingly powerful self-belief and unwavering vision that has up until recently been what made him such a unique and era-defining artist. After the radical directions of MBDTF and Yeezus it’s sort of hard to remember just how radical 808s And Heartbreaks was at the time because unlike the self aware harshness and strangeness of the other two it was also so pop adjacent, because of its 80s synthpop influence but also because of the way it (and T-Pain) impacted all other pop music of the time. The instrumentation on this song is still so staggering, even just the pitched kick at the centre I could listen to on loop forever I think.

It Might Be Time - Tame Impala: Absolutely cannot wait for the new Tame Impala if this and Patience are any indication. The absolutely huge blown out drums on this are so good and remind me of something I’ve been trying to place for weeks and can’t. Maybe a Chemical Brothers song or some kind of big beat era thing. I think of Kevin Parker and Adam Granduciel from The War On Drugs as the same kind of guys, absolute craftsmen studio nerds that are completely obsessed with sound but unlike most other guys of that genre are actually great songwriters as well. Long haired studio hermits that emerge every few years to bless us all.

Never Again - Kelly Clarkson: I’ve been trying to decide whether this or Since U Been Gone is a better song and I’ve settled on this having the superior verses and Since U Been Gone the better chorus. The absolute venom in the lyrics is incredible. “I hope the ring you gave to her turns her finger green.  I hope when you’re in bed with her you think of me” is like.. the most metal opening I’ve ever heard. She literally sings “You’ll die together, but alone” in the second verse, jesus christ.

Giant Swan - The Blood Brothers: I found out recently from reading the wiki article on screamo (which like almost all wiki articles about music genres is about 60% artists claiming that genres are fake and critics coining new genre names half in jest) that The Blood Brothers were apparently part of a screamo subgenre called Sass, which is a term I have never heard before in my life and certainly never heard in the heyday of the style. You learn something every day I suppose. “It originated as an opposing style of hardcore punk to the machismo in heavy hardcore scenes. It takes influence from genres such as post-punk, new wave, disco, electronic, dance-punk, emoviolence, grindcore, metalcore and heavy hardcore. The genre is characterized by often incorporating overtly flamboyant mannerisms, erotic lyrics featuring sexual tension, and a lisping vocal style. The genre is also noted for its "spastic edge", blast beats, chaotic guitars, danceable beats and the use of synthesizers.” My understanding is that when emo went mainstream and the split between ‘emo’ as a music and ‘scene’ as a fashion occurred, this is the music that emerged from the middle ground. Turning against the masculinity of their screamo forebears and toward the queer aesthetics of scene, the resulting style was still furious and violent but furious with a light cabaret (but like, if cabaret was good and not just a guy in a top hat emoting, a different style of emo that Panic! At The Disco famously pioneered) and violent in a psychedelic, surreal way that set it apart from the depressed and black aesthetics of the rest of emo. I love The Blood Brothers and have never found another band like them in terms of lyrical inventiveness and sheer vocal insanity, the characteristic shrill falsetto that sporadically turns to screams is an amazing choice that’s incredible it works at all. This song especially stands out as unique even amongst the chaos of their discography. The loping lounge feel in the first half, coupled with the properly surreal description of the giant swan in the lyrics establishes such an strange and dark cabaret mood that makes this song so oddly singular to me.

The Ripper - The Used: I really appreciate the production on this whole album, it is so overdone and hyperactive that it creates this irrepressible momentum because something is always happening. The songs themselves are incredibly compressed in structure and extremely hook heavy, and it feels like to counteract and complement that approach they‘ve been gone over bar by bar finding every possible spot to add interest. Dynamics shifting, drums filtering and then revealing themselves, choirs appearing from this air for two lines. Guitar squeals fly in and out in the background and the bass suddenly becomes extremely chunky in parts. The whole mix gets sucked down a black hole and then a little glockenspiel outlines the vocal melody in the background for a second leading back into a huge chorus. Everything happen in this short song. It’s an interesting approach that can be overwhelming, but it has undeniable results.

Ilana - Mdou Moctar: Mdou Moctar rocks because he takes a big power chord riff like the one at the start of this song that could just as easily start a Thin Lizzy song and then immediately discards it and twists a melting solo that crosses time and space for the rest of the song instead.

Ancestral Recall (feat. Saul Williams) - Christian Scott aTunde Adjuah: The press release for this album says: “In its inception, Ancestral Recall was built as a map to de-colonialize sound; to challenge previously held misconceptions about some cultures of music; to codify a new folkloric tradition and begin the work of creating a national set of rhythms; rhythms rooted in the synergy between West African, First Nation, African Diaspora/Caribbean rhythms and their marriage to rhythmic templates found in trap music, alt-rock, and other modern forms. It is time we created a sound that dispels singular narratives of entire peoples and looks to finally represent the wealth of narratives found throughout the American experience. One that shows that all forms of expression in sound are valid, as all people are." All that and a bit of spoken word at the start that sounds like Hannibal Buress’ Morpheus Walruses rap and I’m sold. I’m such a fan of jazz like this that purposefully opens itself up to the influence of the modern world and modern tradition, and the percussion work across this album in particular is so unique and really does what he set out to do in my opinion, bringing the rhythms of tradition into a modern context seamlessly.

Spider Hole - Billy Woods & Kenny Segal: I only found out about Billy Woods this month and I’m surprised I’ve never heard of him before because he feels like the middle of the venn diagram between Earl Sweatshirt, Aesop Rock and Death Grips. This flat out sounds like a Death Grips song played at half speed. The justified paranoia and anger that runs through this whole album is palpable and jumbled, centring around a feeling of lashing out in a moment of hopelessness because you don’t know what else you can do. "4 million USD hovering over some mud huts, it's nuts, it's not the heat it's the dust" is one of the most evocative lines of the year for me.

El Toro Combo Meal (feat. Mavi) - Earl Sweatshirt: When this new earl EP came out I listened to it 4 times in a row because it is just so compulsively brilliant. He’s refining his style more and more with every release and he’s honed it to this fine point now where every song is so super dense in its lyrical content and production that a full length release would almost be too much. There’s just so much to absorb here. Mavi’s verse is incredible too. I’ve never heard of him before but I’m a big supporter now. The beats too, through this whole EP are the kind that sound like a radio stuck between stations - looping snatches of vocals and drums drowned out in tape hiss where the beat is only a suggestion that Mavi and Earl both glide over on some sort of metric modulation and only land every now and then just to take off again.

Drug Dealer - Slowthai: Slowthai is so full of fire on this song it's scary. Facing a dead end future down and screaming that something's gotta change, and that he's the one to do it.

Lighthouse (feat. Rico Nasty, Slowthai and ICECOLDBISHOP) - Take A Daytrip: I have never heard of Take A Daytrip before this song but doing some research it turns out I have heard them, because they produced Panini by Lil Nas X. I have also never heard of ICECOLDBISHOP before but the way he brings an absolutely deranged verse on this song has made me an instant fan. I love this trio of features: three out there, huge personality voices at the outer limits of mainstream rap that in their oddness complement each other perfectly.

Rich Girl - Michie One & Louchie Lou: Something I learned this month was that Rich Girl by Gwen Stefani isn't a direct rip of If I Were A Rich Man from Fiddler On The Roof, it actually samples this song which acts as a sort of bridge between the two, and I think there's something interesting in the transfer of intention between the three songs, lyrically and musically. In the original his conception of a rich man is someone who can afford to have lots of ducks and geese, eat well and have enough time to pray because he doesn't have to work, then in the Michie One & Louchie Lou version rich is being able to feed your family and start a school (as well as play the horses and never lose), and in the Gwen Stefani version rich is having a house in Hollywood and London, clearing out designer stores, and buying four Harajuku girls and naming them Love, Angel, Music and Baby. It spirals up mercilessly from geese to, I guess, human trafficking. Musically there's a transformation as well, where the jewishness of the 'daidle daidle deedle daidle dumb' in the orginal is changed to a 'na na na na na' in this version and only a part of the original melodic lilt remains, a part that is completely ironed out in the Gwen Stefani version's 'na na na na na's. The downsides of wealth morph too, in the original it's simply not a part of God's plan, in this version it can't buy love, is the root of all evil (is a  worldwide thing / rich is getting richer while the poor are getting stink) and only leads to more trouble (you reap but you never did sow / rich today you could be poor tomorrow / mind your back and watch your enemies grow) but in the Gwen Stefani version being rich is amazing on its own and the only thing that can top it is your love.

Santa Teresa - EOB: Tricked into enjoying ambient side projects once again. Ed O'Brien from Radiohead's new side project came up on my Discover Weekly without me realising it was him and I absolutely loved it. It’s expansive and cinematic and nice in a way that feels rare in ambient experimental stuff like this, to not be morose or depressing and gloomy for its own sake. It’s sharp and angular, or as sharp and angular as a song as slow moving as this can be and reminds me in part of HEALTH’s Max Payne 3 soundtrack, and Emma Ruth Rundle’s Electric Guitar One which are both masterpieces on their own.

Rough Sleeper - Burial: Reading Mark Fisher’s Ghosts Of My Life I was pleasantly surprised to see his Burial interview in there that I remember reading years and years ago before I knew who Mark Fisher was. I’ve thought of parts of that article here and there ever since and finally placing it in the wider context of Mark’s work was very satisfying, it’s funny how people come back to you in different forms over your lifetime. I don’t listen to Burial much now, or at least not as much as I used to at the height of my depression a few years ago where he was on near constant repeat and as a result his music became completely waterlogged with the feeling of that time and I couldn’t listen to him at all for a while without the memories completely marring any appreciation. But time passes as it does and it’s a nice feeling to finally be able to listen to Untrue again and not have it be so permanently soaked with memories of the worst time of my life, and now with a different mindset and viewpoint I can really see different sides of his music. Where before all I could hear was the bleak and empty future haunted by the ghosts of the past, now new colours appear - a warmth of hazy, pleasant memory and imagination. Reds and oranges creep into the black and grey and this song can feel like staying under covers while it storms outside instead of standing in the rain.

Night MXCMPV1 P74 - Venetian Snares & Daniel Lanois: I really don’t think I’ll ever hear another album like this in my life. The push and pull of the humanity of Lanois’ pedal steel and the digital nightmare of Venetian Snares percussion is just so engaging, and the moments where they overlap and move together in harmony contrast so beautifully with the times they feel like they’re playing two different songs altogether. Then they overlap, the effects overpower the steel guitar and it moves into a leaping angular digital realm and the percussion coalesces into an altogether human rush, or as human as Venetian Snares can be.

Were You There When They Crucified My Lord - Marisa Anderson: I can't find the quote but somewhere when she was doing interviews about this album Traditional And Public Domain songs, Marisa Anderson said part of the reason she likes traditional songs so much is because when she was coming up and playing in cafes around town she mistakenly thought she'd have to pay royalties if she did covers of popular songs, so she only did public domain songs instead.

Were You There When They Crucified My Lord - Johnny Cash: Another side of Were You There When They Crucified My Lord, one that expands magically into an amazing many-layered harmony led by June’s high and lonesome howl.

See That My Grave's Kept Clean - Blind Lemon Jefferson: Jefferson was buried at Wortham Negro Cemetery in 1929. His grave was unmarked until 1967, when a Texas historical marker was erected in the general area of his plot; however, the precise location of the grave is still unknown. By 1996, the cemetery and marker were in poor condition, and a new granite headstone was erected in 1997. The inscription reads: "Lord, it's one kind favour I'll ask of you, see that my grave is kept clean." In 2007, the cemetery's name was changed to Blind Lemon Memorial Cemetery, and his gravesite is kept clean by a cemetery committee in Wortham.

The Giza Power Plant - Blood Incantation: What I find so appealing about Blood Incantation is how dedicated they are. Zealots to the cult of being long haired death metal guys who wholeheartedly and sincerely believe in interdimensional aliens and the pyramids being the remnants of an ancient advanced technology. The dedication extends to them being maybe some of the best players in the genre I’ve ever heard, and them recording this whole album analog live in studio is such a feat of performance that adds another layer of intensity to this already extremely intense music.

listen here

IDOLiSH7 Part 1, Ch 6.5 side story

Side Story: The Rhapsody of the Launch

(other parts in the directory)

Translation under the break.

-

(Tsumugi: IDOLiSH7 was a huge success! Even with the sound cutting out, they connected Tamaki-san's dance break to Sogo-san's solo!

Tsumugi: After the concert, they were all congratulating each other on a successful performance!)

Mitsuki: That was awesome! You looked really cool, Tamaki!

Tamaki: Did I get on TV? Did I?

Riku: Sogo-san's timing was perfect too!

Sogo: Thank you. I'm glad I didn't mess it up.

Yamato: OK! Should we stretch out our legs for a bit and have a party tonight with a few drinks?

All: Yeah.....!

Iori: ......a few drinks? Some of us are underaged and can't drink though.

-

Nagi: OH..... Why did Tsumugi already go home? It feels empty when there's no party flair.

Iori: The president called her home so that we could "celebrate with just the guys." Well, I'm sure he would be worried about his daughter in this situation.

Mitsuki: OK. The food is ready! You guys get yakisoba.

Iori: Thank you. Nii-san, you went drinking with Nikaido-san and Osaka-san before, right?

Mitsuki: We did! It was fun! I can't really remember though!

Iori: ………...

Sogo: I don't remember much from that night either... The only thing I remember is waking up in my room.

Iori: Will you all be okay tonight? With the drinking...

Tamaki: Yakisoba! And fried egg! Super fancy!

Riku: Tamaki, we have to wait for everyone!

Tamaki: The yolk is mine!

Yamato: Your onii-san remembers everything from that night. Sou was guzzling down any cocktail or liquor that he could remember from song lyrics.

Sogo: Ah, that's right. I've always wanted to know what some of those drinks tasted like. It was nice to finally be able to have them.

Sogo: Since then, I've been gathering cocktail making tools to try making some myself.

Yamato: Really....? Well, just don't drink too much.

Mitsuki: Old man, don't be so stingy. What's the big deal?!

Yamato: You got drunk before him, so you don't have a say.

Mitsuki: Yamato-san, you were the one whose face was all red! Fine, how about starting with beer?

Yamato: Thanks.

Mitsuki: Everyone, pass your glass over. If you're underaged, you can't drink though!

Iori, Tamaki, Nagi & Riku: Okaaaay.

Riku: What do you want to drink? Orange juice, soda, or oolong tea....

Iori: Since it's yakisoba, it has to be oolong tea.

Tamaki: I want juice! The carbonated one!

Nagi: I'd love to have a glass of wine, but I'm following Japanese rules. Maître, something that goes well with yakisoba. [1]

Riku: Orange juice!

Iori: Oolong tea.

Tamaki: Soda!

Nagi: No....! Don't pull on me all at once!

Mitsuki: Does everyone have their drink? Alright, cheers!

All: Cheeeers!

Riku: Sogo-san, what are you drinking?

Sogo: It's a rusty nail.

Sogo: It's in the lyrics of the third song of the second album of that band that lent to you before. I also want to try a Lucien Gaudin that's in the fifth song on that album, but I heard it was sweet.

Riku: It's a drink that shows up in the song's lyrics!

Sogo: That's right. I was thinking of trying a gimlet, a godfather, and a Whisky Mac today.

Riku: That sounds so cool! I can't wait until I can drink with you too. But, Sogo-san, you're not drunk at all.

Sogo: I guess not.

Yamato: Sou, can you come over here for a second?

Sogo: ............? Alright.

Mitsuki: Yamato-san, it seems like you're trying to pressure Sogo! Don't use younger people like that.

Sogo: Haha.. I don't mind.

Yamato: Can't you see that I'm about to become a human sacrifice in the spirit of Princess Andromeda?

Tamaki: Sou-chan! I want to try this one! The one that sounds like kacha-kacha!

Sogo: A cocktail shaker? Of course. But, Tamaki-kun, you shouldn't drink.

Tamaki:  I know! Hey, Nagicchi. How do you do this one?

Nagi: Why are you asking me?

Tamaki: It seems like you can do it.

Riku: Ah, I know how! I can shake it like a bartender!

Nagi: Sorry. I only specialize in drinking what's served to me. Iori, do you know how?

Iori: I don't.... But don't you just put liquid in a container like that and shake it?

Tamaki: Liquid? Is anything okay?

Nagi: If it's Sogo's cocktail, shouldn't it be what Sogo likes?

Tamaki: Tabasco....?

Riku: It would have to be tabasco, right...?

Iori: If it's only tabasco, there's no reason to shake it. You have to put alcohol in it too.

Tamaki: Beer and... this should be good.

Riku: What did you put in?

Tamaki: V-O-D-K-A..."bodoka"? ......

Nagi: It's vodka.

Nagi: You made a beer buster. It's better stirred and not shaken. This goes without saying, but if you shake up beer...

-Boom!-

Tamaki: Waahhh...!

Nagi: Shit.......!

Tamaki: It's cold! It exploded....

Iori: Here, both of you, wipe yourselves off with this!

Riku: ........

Iori: What's wrong?!

Riku: I remember! His name was Wada-san. The bartender from my Dad's place.

Iori: Nanase-san, you sure are free from worries.

Iori: Are you talking about the show club your parents used to run?

Tamaki:  Hey. I've been meaning to ask, but what is a "show club"?

Riku: Hmm, it's kind of like a cabaret?

Tamaki: What?! Isn't that the X-rated one?

Riku: No, no! Um.....

Riku: ........ow!

Mitsuki: Tweet-tweet!

Mitsuki: Yellow card!

Riku: .........?

Mitsuki: You can't do that! Kids should be kids and talk about wholesome things!

Mitsuki: Who's in charge over here?!

Iori: In charge...?

Nagi: Mitsuki, are you drunk already...?

Mitsuki: You're the one!

Nagi: Ouch!

Mitsuki: You're the oldest over here! Line up by age! Number off! Starting with the youngest!

Tamaki: One.

Iori: Two.

Riku: Three.

Nagi: Four.

Nagi: .......OH! I am the oldest!

Mitsuki: Right! You're the team leader?!

Nagi: I'm head honcho! I'll do my best to be in charge, Mitsuki!

Mitsuki: Great! As you were!

Tamaki: ......Mikki, your face is super red....

Iori: Nii-san has a habit of getting in your face when he drinks. Nii-san is such a good communicator. He even lets you know clearly when he is drunk.

Riku: Hey... I'm not sure if I should, but can I say something?

Iori: What?

Riku: You're pretty much a bro-con, Iori.

Iori: What? I'm just giving my objective analysis. Your case is different.

Riku: What?! I think I'm just as good as being objective as you are...!

Tamaki: No fighting! Let's go back to what we were talking about before. What was it again? Something about Rikkun and X-rated...

Nagi: Stop...... I'm going to get scolded. Instead of that word, you should use a code.... Let's use a cipher.

Tamaki: OK. Rikkun's X..... FSC.

Riku: Oh, that really big company! You can use "FSC" instead. Um.....

Riku: Our place wasn't FSC though. We had live bands and small shows.

Tamaki: That's it? There weren't any FSC girls there either?

Riku: There were people who wore like FSC-looking clothes, but I was just a kid. I hid with Tenn-nii under a skirt.

Tamaki: That's super FSC!

Riku: I was a kid!

Iori: Even if you say it's not FSC, if it's FSC, it is FSC, Nanase-san...

Nagi: Now, now. Everyone has memories of the charm of the FSC.

Nagi: Even Sogo, for example, will have some FSC memories.

Sogo: ..........!?

Riku: Sogo wouldn't be involved with FSC.

Tamaki: Yeah, I don't think Sou-chan would be FSC.

Nagi: He doesn't look like it, but he is FSC.

Iori: Kind of like, he's unexpectedly FSC....

Sogo: .......um...... Uh.... I......

Yamato: What's the matter? Your face is really pale.

Sogo: I'm okay. It's nothing.... .......gulp......

Yamato: You drank that in one shot. What are you drinking?

Sogo: Godfather.

Yamato: That's a pretty strong drink... I'll drink yours. Sou, you should drink a glass of water.

Sogo: I'm not drunk. Yamato-san, you should watch how much you drink today too. Last time, you got red immediately.

Yamato: Ah, but you really can't tell if Sou is drunk... That is until the switch is flipped.

Sogo: Switch?

Yamato: That's right.

Yamato: You're so cute when your enjoying your drinks. I don't want to ruin the mood. But then, of course, I have to take care of you until the end of the night.

Yamato: So, if you start feeling it set in, make sure you tell your onii-san as soon as possible.....

Sogo: ......fufufu......

Yamato:  Did the switch just flip?

Sogo: I want whiskey.....

Yamato: You can't.... At least, do something weaker. Why are you always drinking the hard stuff.....

Sogo: If it's not whiskey, it's not rock 'n' roll.... fufu....

Yamato: I'm going to debut in a rock band and write lyrics like, "Non-alcohol! Yay! Yay!" so you should drink beer that even kids can drink....

Iori: ......? What's going on over there? Nikaido-san and Osaka-san are acting real strange, don't you think so?

Riku: Hm, I don't know, it's weird... It's kind of like when the person next to you on the train is sleeping and then slouches in front of you.

Iori: That doesn't really happen, does it?

Riku: It does. You were like that before. I could even see your scalp on the top of your head.

Iori: Stop messing around!

Tamaki: Sou-chan, are you drunk...? I forgot to give it to him, but it's probably better not to give him the one I shook up, huh?

Nagi: OH.......... Under the current circumstances, it's not a beer buster; it would be a Sogo buster.

Riku: Oh, Sogo-san is looking at me!

Sogo: …….

Tamaki: He's laughing and making a zombie pose.... I'm scared....

Riku: Zombies have their hands facing the other way. This pose if more like, "Take this feeling with you!"

Nagi: It's the same pose as Magical☆Crush!

Iori: Usually, that would be the gesture for "please." Are you sure he isn't just asking for a refill?

Sogo: Iori is right....

Iori: ........!?

Tamaki: Iorin......?

Nagi: Sogo, what's wrong?!

Riku: Oh, Yamato-san covered up Sogo-san's mouth!

Yamato: This guy...! This moron....! If the kids find out your drunk, you're gonna feel bad tomorrow!

Sogo: Fufu...... Feel bad......

Yamato: Right?! Fine, let's go to bed now. Your onii-san will go with you....

Sogo: Ah......!

Yamato: Wh--what's wrong?

Sogo: Um..... Today, there was lightning......

Yamato: Yeah, lightning did strike today...

Sogo: I'm glad I didn't mess up.....

Yamato: Yeah, you did good....

Sogo: Fufu......

Yamato: OK! Bed time......

Yamato: Ah, ow!

Mitsuki: Tweet-tweet!

Mitsuki: Yellow card!

Yamato: .......what?! Your onii-san didn't do anything wrong!

Mitsuki: We're all having a good time, but you're going to bed! Geez, Yamato-san! Such a sneaky boy!

Yamato: I'm not! Sou is passing out, so I'm just....

Mitsuki: Are you passed out?! Sogo?! Are you drunk?!

Sogo: I'm not drunk.

Mitsuki: See! He's not drunk!

Yamato: You're drunk too!! Here, have a lemon....!!

Mitsuki: Mmmph...!

Iori: Hey! What are you doing to Nii-san?!

Nagi: OH! Mitsuki! I'll rescue you! Lie down! ......AED!

Mitsuki: MMmmph....!

Iori: Rokuya-san....! Doctors don't mount the patient!

Tamaki: Sou-chan, you guys, calm down! Adults shouldn't act so crazy! Especially you, Sou-chan!!

Sogo: ………….

Sogo: Riku-kun..... Hey, come over here.

Riku: What is it? Hm...? My ear...? You want to ask me a question?

Sogo: Yeah.....

Riku: ………...

Tamaki: ………….

Sogo: ........Tamaki-kun is always quick to yell.....

Tamaki: Are you whispering about me?!!!!

Sogo: Ow.

Riku: Sogo-san is so funny tonight!

Sogo: Yay.

Riku: Do you want to lean on me? I'm used to seeing the tops of people's heads, so it's no problem at all!

Sogo: Riku-kun, sing.

Riku: Okay!

Sogo: Yay.

Nagi: Great! The operation was a success! I have removed the lemon-yellow tumor!

Mitsuki: ..........cough........! Oh god.....! Why didn't you get it out faster?! I didn't need the chest compressions!

Nagi: That was a special service for you. I'll also add a wink. Ciao.

Iori: Well, it's Nikaido-san's fault anyway! Don't do things like that to my drunk and defenseless brother!

Yamato: Who was defenseless?! He was all offense!

Iori: Nii-san was looking after everyone, wasn't he? How could you do that....?!

Iori: .........Mmmmph.....!

Yamato: Then you can have your brother's lemons!! From now on, I'm gonna call you two the Lemon Brothers!

Sogo: What? There's a new band?

Riku: Do you want to sing a Lemon Brothers song?

Iori: .......ah, sour.... ah, so sour.....

Tamaki:  Ah!!! Enough! You drunks are so loud!! Quiet down or you're gonna get it!

Mitsuki: Tamaki....! It's not polite to stand on the table! And, what's that you have in your hand....

Nagi: No....! Tamaki....! You mustn’t shake the beer!

Tamaki: Take this....!

Riku: Gaaaah.... it's cold........

Nagi: .........hn......oh my god....! There's beer and tabasco in my eyes....

Mitsuki: Ah, it's sticky! What is this...?!

Sogo: ......hn..... It has a bite, but it's delicious......

Tamaki: ............!? Ah! Guys, this is a big problem....!

Tamaki: My eyes hurt! I can't open my eyes! Oh my god! Oh my god!! Somebody get a towel...!

Iori: Did you hit yourself with it?! Are you stupid?!

Tamaki: But....!

Yamato: ………….

Yamato: .......This was a big win for glasses.

Tamaki: My eyes hurt!

Sogo: I want another one.....

Yamato: A big win!

Mitsuki: Shut up! Go get some towels!!

To be continued...

-

Placeholder: next chapter

-

T/N:

Nagi uses the French word “maître,” as in a master of the bar who preps drinks.

Please do not use my translations without my permission.

Out of this world.

Summary: When Brian is with you, you take him out of this world...but then he soon finds that you really are out of this world.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, angst, teeny tiny suggestive bit but it's like one line.

A/N: Just a little idea I had because I am a sucker for space and Brian so I mashed them together and thus this fic was created. (Plus how angelic and otherworldly does Bri look in that gif??? 😫👌😭) Enjoy! 💖

Roger and John shot each other a knowing glance and began to close in on Brian. "Good weekend, Bri?" Roger asked. "Did you get up to much?" He pried "Only John and I popped round to your flat and you weren't in..."

Brian glared at the patch of bare wall in front of him and huffed "Yeah, I was out of London for a bit. I told you all that." He grabbed his guitar before smiling to himself.

"Ohhh I know that smile!" Freddie teased with a grin "That's a 'I spent time with a girl' smile! I always notice that smile on you these days!" He nudged Brian and the guitarist quietly groaned.

"So, who is it?" John asked "And there's no point denying it. We know you're seeing someone and you've being seeing this person for a while too..." he added "We've noticed a shift in your mood for a long time now."

Brian sent his bandmates a deadpanned expression, trying his best at a poker face. "Well their first name is Noneofya and their second name is business."

John rolled his eyes while Roger looked puzzled. "That's such a strange...ohhhh..."

"Can we just get back to focusing on getting this album done?" Brian was reaching the end of his tether "And for the record...I'm not seeing anyone!" The three boys sent each other an unconvinced look while Brian turned his back to them while he tuned his guitar. He let out a defeated sigh under his breath and glanced out of the window up to the blue sky above. "I'm not seeing anyone for a year..."

•••

Brian felt a force crash against his chest as he strolled through Hyde Park one chilly Saturday afternoon. "Oh I'm so sorry!" Someone was trying to catch their breath in front of him, a cloud of condensation from their breath floating around him. Brian looked down at you clutching your stomach.

"It's uh...it's alright. Are you okay?" He asked.

You looked up and softly smiled at the stranger "It should be me asking you if you're alright since I was stupid enough to run right into you!" You laughed and Brian chuckled "But yes, thank you, I'm alright. Are you okay?"

He waved off your concern "Ah I'm fine, don't worry about it..." he waited you to finish his sentence with your name.

"Y/N." You shook his hand "I'm Y/N Y/L/N."

"Brian May. You want catch your breath over a tea or coffee or something stronger?" He motioned over to the row of cafes and bars that lined the park.

"Coffee is good, I can't drink while I'm training." Brian raised an intrigued brow as the two of you made your way to a cafe.

"Training?" He repeated.

"Uh, yeah. Lots of running!" You cracked a smile "What can I get you?" You asked when you entered the coffee shop.

Brian held out his hand "Oh no, this is on me! I insist!" He ordered and picked up the coffee while you grabbed a table. "So what are you training for? London marathon or something?" He asked making general chit chat.

"Uh no..." you played with the napkin under your coffee cup and nervously laughed. "I'm actually in the middle of my astronaut training."

Brian choked on his coffee "I-I'm sorry," he wiped away the dots of coffee on his chin "Did I just hear you right?"

You nodded "Yeah," you widely smiled and wiped away a bit of foamy coffee he missed. "You did."

•••

"It's always good having you stay the weekend," you snuggled closer to Brian, your cheek pressed against his chest. "Six days feels like forever when you're not around. Especially after all that training- I think I've pulled every muscle in my body this week!" Brian chuckled and tapped your shoulder for you to sit up. He sat behind you and began rubbing your shoulders and peppered kisses along your neck and the top of your back. He knew how hard you were working, you called him every morning and by the time you called back again at night you were drained. He looked at all your textbooks on the dresser that contained words with ten letters or more that he could barely pronounce. Even though he was an astrophysicist, astronaut terms were very different- especially as most words were in Russian. You spent most of the week in Europe, mainly flying between Germany, where you trained, and Paris, where the European Space Agency was before heading back to London.

Four months after you bumped into Brian in Hyde Park you officially started dating. You knew a bit about the band he was in but he mainly spoke to you about space and other galactic wonders. He was happy to have met someone that was on the same wavelength as him- that you understood what he was talking about. That was almost two years ago now and the both of you had completely fallen for each other. He hadn't mentioned you to the band yet, he wanted to introduce you to them in person but you had barely any time to spare so hadn't met them yet.

You loosely took his hand when he stopped massaging and took him outside, grabbing your keys to your car on the way. "Where are we going?" He asked.

You smiled and tapped your nose and drove out of London for what felt like hours to Brian but it was only about half an hour. It was pitch black where you took him- there was no light pollution from the city. The only source of light came from the moon and stars above. When you turned off the engine, stepped out the car and opened the boot. The two of you sat in the back and looked up to the sky. "There's Aquila, that constellation there." You pointed it out "Can you believe it contains the star Altair, one of the closest stars we can see with the naked eye to earth."

"Yes I can believe that," Brian grinned at your overly enthusiastic tone and wrapped an arm around your waist. "Because I know about this stuff just as much as you do."

You smiled and turned your head to him, your smile faltering slightly as you grabbed his hand. It felt like your throat was concaving in on itself. You squeezed his hand tightly, capturing his attention. "I'm leaving," you whispered.

Brian's brow crinkled "London?"

"Earth."

Brian swallowed hard and looked up to the sky again. A long spell of silence followed. He knew this would eventually happen, he just wished it was further away. "When?" Was all he could say.

You pursed your lips slightly "Soyuz capsule is ready in three months, after tests and checks...five. I'll be leaving in five months for a year to go to the space station and...do my thing, I guess." You weakly smiled.

Brian engulfed you in a hug "I'm so proud of you," he mumbled into your neck "So proud."

"We still have lots of time before I leave," you reassured "And plenty of time when I get back and I'll be able to contact you from the station!" You placed a hand on his cheek and stroked it with your thumb. "I love you, Brian." He looked down at you with tears pricking his eyes "More than anything in this universe..." you wiped away the stray tear that was on his cheek.

"I love you too, Y/N," he rested his forehead on yours before he gently kissed you. The pair of you then looked up to the stars once more, keeping each other close.

•••

The final week you had on earth you spent in Germany at the astronaut centre in Cologne. Brian came with you, he made an excuse to the band that he was visiting family for a bit. He didn't want to tell the boys about you, especially now, because he knew how much they'd tease him about you- he didn't need that when you were going to be leaving. Hearing your name mentioned would break his heart. After introducing Brian to your two fellow teammates and having dinner with them and their partners, you managed to spend some time alone with him in your room at the centre. "What are you most looking forward to?" He asked, trailing his fingers up and down your arm as you lay against him in bed.

"I'm going to be doing a spacewalk so that's the biggest thing I'm looking forward to!" You ecstatically grinned. "Putting years of learning Russian to good use!" You joked and looked up to Brian who was chuckling away. "And coming home, to you." He sent you a lopsided smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, he knew in the back of his mind that there was always the possibility of complications with these things. Especially venturing up to a place that humans barely understood yet. "Hey," you became serious when you saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "I'm coming home. I promise you. You just better wait for me!" You playfully nudged him.

"For you? I'd wait forever," he kissed you. "When you come back...why don't you move in with me?" You raised a brow "I mean you don't have to but...I know you'll be doing a lot less traveling back and fourth to Europe so you wouldn't need to keep renting that expensive flat. It is very expensive- too expensive for one person. You could just move in with me and-" you cut off his rambling with a kiss.

"Yes I'll move in with you," you smiled against his lips. You sat back a little "I'll come home, and I'll move in with you, and I'll meet your bandmates- finally! And go to your concerts- at last! And we'll talk about the stars every night until we fall asleep." You soothingly stroked his cheek with your thumb. You'd rather have him live in hope than in fear. Brian placed his hands on your hips. "This is the last time you'll be able to touch me before I go into quarantine..." you whispered.

Brian looked into your eyes, that niggle of doubt being drowned by lust. "Well, we better put this time to good use..." You let out a giggle as he flipped you onto the bed and peppered kisses on every bit of skin he could see. It was the last chance either of you would get- for a while at least. Over the next few days Brian watched you from behind glass as you and your teammates held press conferences. He could feel his heart crying out for you, it was trying to burst out of his chest and break down that glass that kept out the outside world. It pained him having you so close yet so far. A thick pane of glass separated you both for five days. Brian had only spent two out of seven days actually with you and not behind a window. "Big day tomorrow," he smiled and pressed his hand to the pane of glass, you were doing the same on the other side as you spoke to him through the phone.

"I know," your voice was tight, nerves laced in between every word. "We fly to Kazakhstan tonight and then leave tomorrow morning. I think someone said it would be on BBC news if you want hear my song that each of us get to pick and then listen to while we wait for launch- might pleasantly surprise you," you winked, leaving Brian curious. "You can also catch me causally flying out of the atmosphere at an average of 25,000 kilometres per hour," you played it cool before laughing. "After around ten minutes gravity is going to be so overrated," you joked and Brian cracked a smile. "I've got a photo of you in my spacesuit," you smiled and Brian's eyes lit up, his heart lept at the gesture. "They also said I could keep the patches off of it when I get back. I'll let you choose ones you like." You let out a huge sigh. It was starting to sink in what you'd be doing tomorrow. Where you'd be going. "I'm so nervous, Brian."

He knew you meant scared, he could see the worry and fear all over your face. He wanted to do nothing more than break down the glass and hold you in his arms. But Brian knew you told him you were nervous because you didn't want to worry him- he loved that you always considered him first. "You have nothing to be nervous about." He assured. "You are going to go up there and live the absolute dream and you'll be able to phone me and I'll quiz you about astrophysics-"

You cut him off with a playful groan "No!Cosmology is my forte! It's not fair when you're an astrophysicist! You'll ask me difficult questions!" You laughed and then bit down on your lip. "I'm going to see the Earth this time tomorrow. I'm going to be looking down on it and thinking; 'That's my world down there,' only I won't be thinking about the planet." You looked deep into Brian's eyes, your fingers twitched against the glass as you tried to claw away at it and intertwine your fingers with his. You both didn't realise how touch starved you were until you were so close but couldn't get to each other. "My world," you whispered and a tear fell down your cheek as quick as a shooting star in the sky. "Right in front of me."

"I love you," Brian said as soon as a bell went off, indicating that it was time for you to go.

"I love you, too." You smiled and you both kissed the glass before Brian watch you disappear behind the door. His head hung low and he wiped away the tears with his forefinger and thumb. He hoped that wouldn't be the last time he saw you on earth.

•••

Brian arrived in London early the next morning, by the time he got back from Germany he knew you'd be already on the spacecraft- patiently waiting in a cramped Soyuz with your Russian and Parisian teammates. As soon as Brian arrived home he turned on the news to watch you. He sat on the table hunched over, his eyes glued to the box in front of him. His fingers were trembling and his mouth was going dry. "And now we can see a live feed of inside the capsule," the newsreader said and Brian let out a sob with a small smile on his face seeing you in your spacesuit pressing buttons and going through final checks. "On board we have Russian commander and cosmonaut, Yuri Gidzenko and French flight engineer, Patrick Baudry and British flight engineer Y/N Y/L/N." Brian kneeled down in front of his tv, tracing his fingers over your face. He heard you say something in Russian before you pressed a few buttons and you all sat back waiting. Brian's heart was almost bursting he was so proud of you.

Brian heard two songs play, the sound of the tv filled his empty, quiet flat. He noticed your commander, who was sitting in the middle, playfully nudge your arm before your song of choice came on. Brian let out a watery laugh hearing 'Don't stop me now' come on. He could see the two men in the capsule tease you about it but you just smiled and softly sang to yourself. "Will he be watching?" Yuri asked in Russian and you nodded with a wide grin. "Let's give him a wave!" He pointed to the camera and the three of you waved.

"Oh they're giving us wave!" The news reporter laughed "Seems we have a Queen fan on board...fitting song!" Brian wiped away the tears of sadness and joy rolling down his cheeks seeing you dance and bob along to the song- a song that his band had created. Before either of you knew it, final countdowns were being said and you were being hurled through the air. Your eyes shut for a moment, your whole body trembling from the force created by the shuttle. You pressed a few buttons and Brian watched you intently, his heart swelling with pride. He saw a pen dangling in front of you but when he blinked, it was gone. It was floating. Your arms unintentionally raised as weightlessness surrounded you all, you turned to your teammates with a beaming smile and shook hands with them all with you reached zero gravity- it was one of many milestones for you all. The feed cut off when you reached a certain point and Brian sighed, his hand dismally dragging down the tv screen.

He didn't move from the same spot all day until the phone rang late at night. "Hello?" he groaned and rubbed his face, the lack of sleep and jet lag was catching up with him.

"Brian?" The line was a little crackly but he knew it was you. He let out a lungful of air and laughed down the phone, relieved to hear you. "Brian...the view," he could almost see your smile. "I've barely remembered to breathe, it keeps taking my breath away. I think I've died and gone to heaven!"

"It's so good to hear your voice, how was the trip?"

"Long! But worth every second to be up here." You paused for a moment "I'm floating, Bri. It doesn't feel real. It's like I'm underwater in a swimming pool but I can breathe- when I remember to!" You both laughed. "I feel so light and free." You paused and looked out the window, like you were trying to spot Brian. "But it's nothing compared to the way you make me float...it's like you steal all my gravity when your hands are on my skin or when your lips are on mine..." he heard you sniffle. "I can't cry too much because my tears float off my cheeks and get sucked into the vents- could cause a fire!" You let out a watery chuckle and so did Brian. "Did you like my song choice?"

"I did, my supersonic woman" you giggled, bashfully and Brian picked up the phone to sit on his window ledge, looking up at the starry sky. "You really are up there aren't you?" He murmured in amazement and disappointment. He wanted you on Earth with him.

"Afraid so, love," you sadly smiled. "But I'll be home sooner than you think. The time will fly in and when you look up to the sky, know that I'm looking down on you with a smile. Always. I have to go, I love you."

"I love you too," with that the line went dead and Brian slowly placed the receiver down.

He counted down the days until you were back with him. Your weekly phone calls always brightened his day and knowing that you were up there thinking of him and having fun made the time he had to wait to have you in his arms again a little more bearable. You even called when the space station was going to be over London and Brian sat up for most of the night with his telescope looking for it out the window. He noticed it zooming passed- you were on the phone to him at the time and told him you were waving down. He waved back was tears streaming down his face and neck. Brian then watched you one afternoon on tv while you did your spacewalk. He was a blubbering mess seeing you walking in space with the biggest smile on your face singing 'space oddity' to your crew- blissfully unaware that it would be shown on the news later that day. He caught a glimpse of himself in your spacesuit, a photo of him there just like you said. He once said that you took him out of this world, lazing in bed with you after a hot and heated shagging session, but now you had took Brian out of this world literally.

•••

It was the final night for the three of you on the space station. You had all built up a huge collection of photos, leaving one behind in the station of the three of you with earth in the background. You couldn't wait to show Brian all the ones you had taken. You packed your stuff in the Soyuz and then called Brian before getting some sleep. "I can't believe you're home tomorrow, it's went in so fast but it also feels like forever." You could hear the anticipation in his voice.

"I'm going to miss it up here," you smiled looking around. "Do I really have to come home?" You teased him.

"Yes! Yes you really bloody do!" Brian laughed. "I better let you get some sleep, I'll see you in a few days okay? Take care and come home in one piece. Be safe, blow a kiss to the earth for me, and remember that I love you."

"I'll do all those things for you. She's an absolute beaut, Bri. I wish you could have been up here with me to see it. The colours, the clouds, the northern lights, the thunderstorms and bursts of lightning...It's our home. And it's beautiful. I have so many photos to show you." You sniffled and softly smiled looking down at the hazy blue band of atmosphere. You'd miss seeing that every day. "I love you. I'll see you when I arrive back in London in a few days time." The line went dead and Brian widely grinned. He was going to see you in the flesh again. Not see you on tv or in a newspaper. He was going to have you in his arms.

Brian watched the news the next day waiting to see you and the crew on the screen. You had undocked from the station and were on your way back home. He made a cup of tea and went into the living room again. Brian brought the cup to his mouth and then his hand suddenly released it- his whole body going numb. "Some breaking news," Brian walked right through the shattered mug and kneeled on the floor next to the tv. "It's been reported that the crew of the Soyuz capsule are experiencing some complications on their journey back to earth." Brian turned up the tv with shaking fingers. This wasn't happening. You promised him. "We're getting reports that the capsule was hit by a small rock and has created a breach in the capsule. The director of the ESA joins me now via satellite link," the news reporter turned to the director who was on a screen. "What is happening?"

"Well, the rock that hit against the capsule has cut through one of the main lines that supplies the oxygen to the astronauts. They have about an forty minutes left of their journey and the oxygen is running out." They said and Brian felt tears steaming down his face like a waterfall. "We have some live images now," Brian let out a loud sob seeing you and your crew trying to frantically solve the problem. He could see the look of fear on your face but you still remained unbelievably calm.

"So what you're technically saying is that they could suffocate in the cabin before reaching the earth's surface?" Brian was slowly crumbling inside- you didn't deserve that. None of you did.

The director sighed "Or...the capsule could overheat and burn up upon re-entry. We don't know what their chances will be but the crew are highly skilled. They will do everything possible to get home safely." Brian tried ringing through to the ESA headquarters- you had left him a number before you left but he couldn't get through. He was watching you and your crew losing air in front of his eyes.

As the three of you went through the process of re-entry, you all tried to fix the issue as best you could. The heat was becoming unbearable and it felt as if there was a weight on your chest as your lungs struggled to accept the dense atmosphere that was getting worse. "ETA- 5 minutes," you breathed out, starting to lose consciousness as fast as your teammates. "Oxygen- one and a half if were lucky." You all tapped frantically away at buttons. "Almost there boys," you looked at Yuri and Patrick- their eyes shut and heads bowed slightly. "Control- Gidzenko and Baudry are unconscious," you gasped for more air. "I need...I need to land the capsule myself." You groaned and struggled to keep you eyes open, there were people shouting at you through the coms but all you could hear was static and the rushing air outside. "I can't breathe..." you gasped holding and clawing at your chest as your eyes began to flutter shut. Your lungs couldn't cope, your breath had been taken away and not in the good way. Not like the way Brian took your breath away and made you see the most wonderful stars, not like the kind you had been looking up to all your life. "I can't do this..." you felt a tear slip down your cheek, your eyes opened and then you saw the photo of him. Brian. Safely tucked away in your spacesuit. "I promised," you groaned, stretching across to push a button. A loud ringing filled the cabin and your two teammates groaned, moving a little but still not waking up- that ringing meant the oxygen had ran out. "Okay I can do this...I can...supersonic woman, c'mon Y/N." You checked the clock you had a minute to land. You couldn't give up now, the last ten seconds were crucial for a safe landing. You had to manually engage the thrusters and then land. When you did, it felt like you had put yourself through a car crash twenty times. Dots of black began to cloud your vision, your breaths becoming a lot shorter before you completely blacked out.

•••

Brain didn't even realise he had fallen asleep until the phone rang and woke him up, his eyes heavy from tears. "Hello?"

"Brian? It's Y/N..."

He was now wide awake, almost dropping the phone "Y-you're alive?! Oh god!" He cried down the phone "I thought you died!" He sobbed "I thought you-"

"Shhh," you tried to soothe him over the phone bit you were crying just as much. "I'm okay. I'm here. I promised you I'd come back home didn't I?" You had to have someone help you wipe away your tears- your muscles were still adjusting to gravity. "I'm in the hospital but we're all okay. I'm going to be home in a few days and I swear to you I'm going to give you the biggest hug I can!" You let out a watery laugh. "I'm home, Bri. I made it. We all did."

•••

Brian was staring at the front page of the newspaper John was reading a few days later. Your face was on it along with photos of your teammates being pulled out the craft and photos of you all in hospital with your thumbs up. "Remarkable isn't it?" John murmured. "She saved their lives apparently. If no one could have enabled the landing sequence they would have died." Brian shut his eyes- he hated being reminded of that fact. "They're calling her a hero," John smiled and Brian tried not to let any tears slip down his cheeks.

"Didn't she play 'Don't stop me now'?" Roger hummed and Brian nodded. They were at the BBC news centre to do an interview with a radio station that was in the building. Brian would have rather have been at home talking to you- it had been four days since you arrived back on earth and he still hadn't seen you. He knew he would in a few days though- that kept him going. "Well we better head on through for this interview!" Roger clapped his hands together and they all made their way into the booth.

"The whole reason I requested to come home early was to see Brian and you're bloody forcing me to do this stupid interview! I don't see why I can't do it tomorrow or the day after! Plus I've already took part in an official press conference with my two teammates back in Germany! I don't want to do this!" You complained as the assistant the ESA had sent home with you, Jessica, walked you through the news studio. She picked you up at the airport and explained that the BBC had asked for you to do an interview- that it would only take a half hour. You even had to wear your bright blue, patch covered astronaut jumpsuit that made you stand out like a sore thumb. "Can I just go home?" She sent you a sympathetic look and shook her head no. You groaned "Fine! Half an hour and then I'm done for the day- I'm going home. Finally." You walked along endless corridors and tightly smiled as people clapped as you entered the studio. You shook hands with the presenter and sat down on the couch. 'Half an hour' you said to yourself 'Half an hour and you'll be on your way home to Brian.'

Jessica had left you to see out the interview on your own. You had barely made yourself comfortable on the seat when you flinched hearing the presenters voice loudly boom. "Today we have the remarkable astronaut and flight engineer, Y/N Y/L/N who managed to safely return to earth despite a breach in the Soyuz capsule she was in with two other crew mates." He turned to you with a wide, almost forced, smile. "You saved their lives!"

"I was just doing my job..." you softly replied. You didn't like everyone calling you a hero- you were only doing what you had to do. The reporter said you were too humble but you were so exhausted you didn't argue back. They asked you about space, what it was like and what you got up to while you were on the station. They then asked you what it was like being in such a near death experience. You hadn't answered that question before, only because you hadn't been asked it before. The official press conference you had to attend with the two others mainly focused on what went wrong. No one has asked you to discuss the fine line you experienced between life and death. You forced a smile "You know, the view you see from up there is unprecedented. Unlike anything you could possibly imagine." You avoided his question slightly. "There's slabs of ice bigger than some countries, the seas are so much bluer than you think and sand looks like molten gold." You stared off into the distance "It's only then you realise how important your world really is...how significant he is...even though he never thinks so." You were whispering towards the end, a tear streaming down your face. You blinked out of your Brian induced trance. "I'm sorry, what was the question?"

Brian fidgeted with the earphones as he tried to get them on over his hair. He let out an irritated sigh and shut his eyes for a moment. He heard your voice in his head and smiled. When he opened his eyes, he still heard it. At first Brian thought he was dreaming seeing you on the tv just outside the radio booth. "Is...is that live?" He asked pointing at the tv.

The radio talk show host nodded "Yeah! They film just down the hall actu- where are you going?!" He screamed when Brian ran out. The boys called after Brian before eventually trying to catch up with him. Brian ignored them and burst into the studio, earning some strange looks from the floor staff. You were still too engrossed answering questions to notice.

The presenter asked why you chose a Queen song. "Well I thought 'Don't stop me now' was quite fitting- plus I was being a supportive girlfriend," you lowly laughed. The presenter intently narrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "You see-" you began and glanced up just enough to see a tall, curly haired man with tears streaming down his cheeks staring at you. Tears welled in your eyes and you subtly pinched your thigh to make sure that you hadn't died on the way back home and that you weren't in your version of heaven. "Brian...?"

"Y/N!" His smile spread from ear to ear. You were real. You were right in front of him. The presenter shot his producer a glance and they just shrugged their shoulders. You stood up and walked towards him- completely forgetting the interview. You chest was heaving and you broke down when you reached him and his loving embrace. "I thought I'd never get to hold you again," he sobbed into your hair and held you against him so tight that his arms we're getting sore- he didn't care, he was just happy to have you in them.

"I promised you." You pulled back with glossy, red eyes and a smile. "I promised." You cupped his cheek before he leaned forward to kiss you. A kiss that was broadcasted to the rest of the nation. "Um," you cleared your throat and then realised that you were still in the middle of an interview. "I uh..." you found the camera on you both "I really missed him." The people in the studio started laughing and then began clapping you both, Brian held you against him as your cheeks flushed bright red. He softly tapped your arm and silently motioned you to go back and finish your interview. You hated leaving his warm embrace, but you knew as soon as the interview was over you'd get to hug him for as long as you wanted. "I'm sorry about that," you sheepishly smiled at the presenter who's mouth was wide open with shock. "I haven't seen him in so long!" You ecstatically grinned and looked over to Brian again who was crying with joy. "Almost dying has made me release how much I want to live my life with him." Brian quietly choked on a sob at your words.

The presenter snapped back into reality. "I...I understand," he lowly chuckled "It's just come as a surprise to myself and everyone else that you're with the guitarist of Queen."

"And astrophysicist!" You added and glanced over to Brian "Although he asks me far too many questions on the subject and just because I'm an astronaut doesn't mean I know everything about it!" You giggled "Cosmology is more my area."

"I'm sure dinner parties with the two of you are thrilling!" The presenter joked. "Brian!" He called him over "Join us." You scooted over a little and as soon as he sat down next to you, you grabbed his hand and held onto each other tightly, sending one another a beaming smile. The presenter asked you both dozens of questions and you pair of you answered them with a a constant smile on your faces. He then asked you one final question before you left. "Now I heard that you were rumoured for a very interesting mission! Now after that incredible act of skill and bravery, NASA are sure to include you on the team for the next Apollo expedition!" Your smile faltered slightly. You hadn't told Brian that before you left you had been shortlisted for the next mission to the moon. You hadn't told anyone. When you arrived back- you had earned a spot. You could feel Brian's eyes burning into you, and the rest of the nation as they awaited an answer.

"Uh...I haven't actually heard anything so there's nothing more I can say about that! Thank you for having me...thank you for having us." You looked at Brian and softly squeezed his hand.

When it was clear to go you turned to Brian and gave him another kiss. "So when were you going to tell us you're dating a fucking astronaut, Brian?!" Roger shrieked. You and Brian both jumped and looked up to the band who were looking at you both with wide eyes.

Brian gave you all his attention and smiled before properly introducing you. "Well...guys this is Y/N." You stood up and shook their hands. "I didn't want to tell you all until she came ba-" he hesitated for a second before he realised that you were standing beside him. That you were okay. That you were safe here on earth with him. "Until she came back." He managed to finish. "We've been together for a while, but I knew if I told you all about her before she left, all you would do is talk about her and I'd miss her even more than I already did." They hummed understandingly and asked you millions of questions until it dawned on them they still had a radio interview to do. "You want to come with us? Shouldn't take too long and we can go home right after." You were happy to hang around until he was finished. "Plus I don't want to let you out of my sight." He added with a laugh and pulled you in for a hug. "When do you leave?" Brian whispered into your ear, you could hear the sad undertone in his voice. Of course he'd know that you were going despite saying what you said to the presenter.

You pulled back a little and sent him a thin smile "Five years. We have lots of time together before-"

"Before you leave for the moon." He said, sounding a little more amused. "I'm proud of you, my supersonic woman." He kissed you again with a wide grin on his face. Brian took a deep breath and cupped your cheeks. "Just...don't almost die, alright?"

You nodded, giving him another kiss. It felt like he was taking you out of this world every time his lips were on yours. "I promise."

———————–————

Tags- (Tag list is open! Just let me know if you want to be tagged or not or if I've forgotten to tag you!) @rrrogah-tayluhh @rogerofmylife @phantom-fangirl-stuff @pyrotechnic789 @deacytits @mercurys-bike @happy-at-home @mhftrs @dannydelay @queenismylifenow @whitequeen-blackqueen @stateofloveandvedder @blondyfel @mespetitestortues @trickster-may @xtrashmammalstefx @the-garnet-rain @makapaka11 @killerqueenbucky @hodgepodge-of-rog @fredthelegend @killerqueen-gunpowdergelatine @bowiequeen @princessleiaqueen @okdeaky @mizzallfandomz @fangirlofeverythingme @ellee677 @the-killer-queenie @bucket-of-kittens @jamiethewallflower @rogernroll @queen-irl-af @freddie-malek @deakysgirl @little-miss-queenie

Cornelia Street (7/9)

A/N: oh my god they were quarantined

yes. It’s one of those fics.

AU, obvs

I’m posting as I go and idk how many parts this is going to be, likely won’t be very long but I literally don’t know what I’m doing and should i be starting yet another WIP? definitely not but fuck it lets fucking go

Title is from T-swizzles Lover album, I’m OBSESSED

Summary: Three years ago, Kurt and Blaine went on a disaster of a date and never quite got off on the right foot. Now, just before they graduate from NYADA, there’s a national outbreak and they’re both self-quarantined in a mutual friend’s apartment.

Read On AO3

On Tumblr: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Part 7

Kurt runs his hands through his hair, shaking off the last suds of his shampoo out of it before shutting off the water. Sara Bareilles’s voice is still leading him to thoughts about Blaine, and how he led him in the dance yesterday with the gentle swing of his hips. 

It had been nice, to say the least. Dancing with Blaine in his arms had felt like he’d finally found the missing puzzle piece he’d been searching for his whole life. Waking up next to a still sleeping Blaine should’ve been awkward, but only felt like the most normal thing in the world, a routine that was way too easy to settle into and—

Shit.

He is in way too deep and he hasn’t even kissed Blaine yet. 

Woah, yet? That’s a little presumptuous of you, isn't it? 

If he’s going to. If Blaine even wants him to.

Kurt needs to stop thinking about Blaine ASAP, but his brain has made it clear that that’s not quite an option at the moment, so instead, he just turns the cold knob on the shower.

He heads to the kitchen when he’s done, and he’s met with the sight of Blaine humming along to Despacito while he finishes cleaning the dishes they’d used for dinner last night. Kurt can’t keep from cracking a smile.

“Having fun?”

Blaine, obviously a little surprised by Kurt’s presence, lifts his head and his mouth twitches up into a grin. “Actually, yeah. I used to hate doing the dishes when I was a kid, but then I got this job at a fast food pizza place. I realized that as long as I was washing dishes, I didn’t have to deal with customers. It sort of pavloved me into liking it.”

“God, that's such a mood.”

“The other explanation is that I’m training to be a fifties housewife.” Blaine shakes his head and makes a face, placing a plate on the drying rack. “Sorry, that was dumb,” he mutters.

“No, it was funny,” Kurt raises an amused eyebrow. “And if we’re going by the fifties’s standards, I suppose that makes me the workaholic husband.”

“Well, have fun at work, honey!” Blaine calls out, face twitching up into a grin as he holds back a chuckle.

Kurt walks up to the door as if he’s going to head out (which, they both know he can’t actually do) and pulls a coat still hanging on the rack by the frame of it. He drapes it over himself and waves to Blaine. “I will, make sure to pick up the kids early from school today!”

“Oh yeah, little Feta has a soccer tournament this afternoon, doesn’t he?”

“Feta?” Kurt raises an eyebrow. 

Blaine shrugs. “Yeah, like fettuccine Alfredo? Alfredo is a valid name.”

“Okay, if you get to name our son that then I’m naming our daughter Audrey, as in Audrey Hepburn.”

“I support that.”

“Now that our kids have proper names, I suppose I should be getting to work, huh?” Kurt asks. “Those taxes aren’t going to file themselves. And I have a long commute from here to the computer.”

He turns to leave, but Blaine laughs and quickly grabs the nearly empty box of cereal on the table and holds it out towards Kurt. “Wait! Don’t forget your briefcase!”

“Silly me! How could I forget, thank you!”

Kurt doesn’t even think about it—he’s too into this strange and weirdly fun game they’ve set up. As Blaine hands him the cereal box in lieu of a fake briefcase, Kurt tucks it underneath his arms and leans forward to press a quick peck to Blaine’s lips. Blaine reciprocates, lightly placing a hand behind Kurt’s neck. 

It isn’t until they pull away that Kurt realizes what he’s done.

They go absolutely still for a moment, eyes locked, neither daring to move any closer or further from the other.

Kurt wonders for half a second if he accidentally crossed a line he shouldn’t have.

And then the next half of the second Blaine’s lips are on his, hands grabbing desperately at his waist, so sudden and intense that the momentum sends them stumbling backwards a little. They don’t stop until Kurt’s back hits the table, and he sinks his hand into Blaine’s satin soft curls. 

The gesture elicits a small gasp from Blaine, who slides his hands down Kurt’s back and tugs so that their bodies are flush against each other’s. Kurt reciprocates, pulls him closer, kisses him harder until they’re just this chaotic bundle of bumping noses and roaming hands.

They finally pull away, Kurt’s blue eyes wide as a prairie because he had wondered if Blaine was picking up on the same thing he was and… well, he certainly doesn’t have to wonder anymore.

“Sorry,” Blaine mumbles, shaking his head with a sheepish smile on his face. “I uh, don’t know what came over me.”

Kurt doesn’t hesitate to pull Blaine back in for another embrace. “Me neither,” he breathes. And in all honesty, he doesn’t really care. All he knows is that this quarantine thing just got a lot more bearable. 

*

“I don’t think you’re playing this right.”

“Nonsense, I used to play this every day at lunch with the New Directions. Cards were easily the best way to pass the time. Santana even showed us this one game called Chingasos… which is surprisingly violent for a card game…”

After making out for… quite a long time (like, a really, really long time, not that Blaine’s complaining), they’d set some blankets down in the living room floor and exchanged card games. 

Kurt is currently sitting across from Blaine, cross legged and explaining the rules of Spits as they play. There are two piles, and the point of the game is to get rid of all your cards by placing them on top of either pile, but only in numerical order. If both piles have the same number card, you could slap the top of the piles, say “spits”, and the opponent would have to take all the cards.

They both place 2s on either piles of cards, and Blaine jumps to press his hands flat on top of them. Kurt has been playing this game for years, though, and is too quick for Blaine, so his hands land on top of Kurt’s instead of the cards. 

“Eat ‘em and weep,” Kurt says with a cocky grin, shoving the pile of cards towards Blaine.

“Isn’t it read ‘em and weep?”

“You’re stalling.”

Blaine mocks a scoff, mostly because he is. “Are you implying that I’m causing a distraction in order to prevent my loss?”

“Okay, nobody talks like that, you’re definitely stalling.”

“No, this is stalling,” Blaine says. He tugs Kurt’s hands and rolls backwards on the blankets, pulling Kurt on top of him and leaning up to kiss him and abandoning their card game. He can feel the smile in Kurt’s lips and can’t contain a grin of his own. 

When they finally release each other, Kurt lets out a contented sigh and rests his head on Blaine, draping his arms over his body, fitting in in every space Blaine didn’t even know was waiting to be filled.

“This is gonna sound weird, and kind of random… but I feel really safe with you,” Kurt says.

Kurt’s head, resting on Blaine’s chest, lifts when he laughs. 

“Heard that, coronavirus?” he jokes. “Actually,” he continues, starting to absentmindedly trace shapes on Kurt’s back with his finger. “It’s funny that you say that, because you kind of make me feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff.” He realizes that may not have come out exactly as he wanted it to. “I mean, like, in a good way. Not in a I’m worried you’re going to push me off way.”

“You’re probably just about the only person I can stand in a ten mile radius, currently, so I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

“What about Adam?” Blaine finds himself asking. His heart is a canon in his chest, and he wants to pretend he doesn’t know why he asked that question, but he knows exactly why. 

He’s falling fast and hard for Kurt, and if he runs back to Adam the moment Blaine stops being his only choice, again, it’s going to suck. He’s heard stories about people who got stuck in elevators for twelve hours and then eloped the second they were rescued. And then the inevitable divorce that followed.

Blaine doesn’t want Kurt to want him because he’s bored; he wants Kurt to want him the same way he wants Kurt. 

“Adam and I over for a reason,” he finally replies calmly. 

The urge to just stupidly blurt out Which is? is so strong, and Blaine’s honestly surprised he doesn’t. Apparently, though, his silence is enough of a cue for Kurt to continue.

“I—and feel free to stop me… if it gets too weird or too–if you don’t want to hear this.”

“You can say anything to me,” Blaine answers without hesitation. Kurt’s cheeks pressing harder against Blaine’s chest tell him that he’s smiling.

“Okay… I think I just got swept up in the idea of finally being in a relationship, or of finally having someone who wanted me that I didn’t care if we weren’t necessarily right for each other. I mean, at the time I certainly didn’t have enough experience to know that it wasn’t right.”

Blaine hummed in encouraging agreement, urging Kurt to keep going.

“I think we were both hoping the other would evolve into the person we wanted them to be, if that makes sense. Like, I’m… I’m pretty naturally guarded. I don’t always wear my heart out on my sleeve and I think that bothered him.”

Blaine nods. Though he doesn’t feel like Kurt is particularly withholding around him, he can see why people would think that. Kurt has told Blaine all about what he endured during high school. That would be enough to make anyone a little wary of the world.

“And I don’t know if there are just parts of me I wasn’t willing to share because I’d be sharing them with him,” Kurt continues. “But there were parts of my life—little things, I’m not in like organized crime or anything—that were just for me. I’m fairly social, but if I needed an hour alone after he had friends over, he took it really personally.

“On the other hand, I always thought he took life way too seriously. Every single show or song we listened to had to have some sort of profound deeper meaning or else he labeled it as trash. What an exhausting way to live!”

Blaine chuckles. “I know what you mean. I dated Sebastian for a while, and he would constantly talk about his summer trips to Europe, which was interesting at first but after a few weeks I realized that that seemed to be the entire focal point of his personality.”

Kurt laughs. “Yeah…”

“Anyways, you were saying?”

“Oh, right... well, back in December I was watching When Harry Met Sally with Rachel and it was that scene where Sally says “We never do fly off to Rome at a moment’s notice”. And I just… realized. I went to get things from his place that night and applied to live in the NYADA dorms again for the next semester.

“I guess it was just never right with Adam. It took me way too long to figure it out. I think I might’ve figured it out sooner if we’d finished our date,” he mumbles absently, like he’s just thinking out loud.

Blaine has to bite his cheek to keep from smiling so damn hard.

They lay in easy silence for a moment, holding each other until a high pitched tinny noise interrupts them. Kurt whips out his phone and Blaine sees the Snapchat notification.

“Oh my god,” he sputters out incredulously.

“They really made a Quarantine filter,” Kurt says in awe.

Kurt unlocks his phone and presses the button to access the filter. It’s greyscale, with a blinking red dot in the corner, like it’s supposed to mimic a found footage movie. At the bottom of the screen is written “Day ___ of Quarantine”.

“Come on, let's take a picture,” Kurt says, casually hiking an arm behind Blaine’s neck and settling his head higher up in Blaine’s chest. He quickly snaps the picture of them cuddled up together.

Blaine watches Kurt, grinning when he types out the caption in two separate blocks of text.

Do you have your quarantine buddy? 

Yes, I have my quarantine buddy.

Part 8

IAC Reviews: #009: Extreme Life & Death: The Blair Witches of Shockumentaries: Part One (2000)

Warning: The following film contains graphic imagrey that’s considered NSFW/NSFL, and should be avoided by those who are faint of heart and don’t like the sight of real death media and violence. While the following review delves into such topics, it contains no stills from the film and is marked as safe. If you wish to view it to judge for yourself, it’s readily available online to view via Archive.org.

________________________________________

After disappearing for 84 years, I’m back in the saddle to bring in something new...or old rather. So, what’s a better way to mark my return than with a genre staple of my morally questionable childhood? We’re back in action with another shockumentary title, and this has been one of the more elusive titles thus far.

Extreme Life & Death: The Blair Witches of Shockumentaries is a three-part series akin to others of its kind; bringing us highlights and reels of death, mayhem, and tragedy caught on film. This includes the usual suspects like vehicular accidents, terrorism, natural disasters, and fantastical human feats and achievements - thus the name, Extreme Life & Death.

There’s very little information about the company, DMP Entertainment, out there as the IMDb pages for these entries are barren with nothing to them beyond their tags to explain what they were. You can find a company called DMP Entertainment online, but whether or not they’re related is hard to tell for sure. However, the cover art for Part Two bears a striking resemblence to the artwork for Death: The Final Journey, an expansive seven part series that touches on the same topic, released by Wayne Enterprises and DMN Productions around the same time. Given the similarities, my guess is that DMP Entertainment and DMN Productions are the same company - and oddly enough, both appear to be currently active with their main focus being on music production. Interesting. So, much like the legend about the Blair Witch herself, it’s tough to find solid answers as to the mystery behind these strange titles. While they may not be the most obscure or even potentially sought after, they do raise a brow as to what the hell you’re in for.

Extreme Life & Death; Part One in One Gif:

Hmm, okay, let’s try to talk about this one because I had a hard time doing so elsewhere. Also, I apologize for the strange choice in a photo since I wasn’t able to find a stand alone VHS scan of the tape for some reason. So, shout out to /u/Str8Jeffin over on the VHS sub for being lucky enough to find this. The comments on it are either those who haven’t heard about either film, or applaud him for finding two rarities in the wild - and yeah, I’ll get to Zombie Bloodbath eventually.

Now, the part I’ve been dreading when it’s come to getting to writing this is figuring out how to. As I said previously, this has been a very weird film to dig for and I wouldn’t have known about it if it wasn’t for the few shockumentary lists on IMDb that even acknowledge it and other oddball titles like Traces of Gore, More Than Smashed Pumpkins, and Snuff R73. Much like some of those titles, this applies to even production credits or cover art to confirm the validity of their existence. I wasn’t even sure if I’d be able to do much in terms of potentially reviewing this or not at all, but someone managed to find all three films on a Spanish or Portuguese website and saved them before the site went under. So, if you want to see these, I’ll provide a link at the end for you to get a taste of the action.

Now, onto the first installment...

________________________________________

Judging from just the release dates alone, my guess is that it tried to follow the train of titles of the 1990′s and the dawning of the new millenium; so Traces of Death, The Many Faces of Death, and Death File. There’s a bit of a saying that once you’ve seen one of these films, you’ve seen all of them, and in a way it’s true.

A good portion of shockumentaries are just recycled and repurposed clips and archived footage from other shockumentaries and documentaries, and after one uses something fresh to bring to the table, it’s dead on arrival and bloated up the river by the time it gets in the hands of others to spread around. For some, this can kill the mood and experience if you’re seeing rehashed films you’ve already seen before and you know what to expect. For others, they don’t necessarily see it as a bad thing or wholly disappointing. But, hey, to each their own I suppose. I guess that’s up to you with where you sit on the matter. This also rings true for the topic of narratiors and whether or not they add to the scenes or take away from it, with a sort of set in stone range from traditional documentary style narrations by Dr. Francis B. Gross and Dr. Flellis of the Faces of Death series and the brutal, in your face of Darrin Ramage and Dr. Vincent van Gore of Traces of Death and Faces of Gore, respectively.

I bring this up, particularlly the topic of narrators because you won’t find that here - well, sort of, and it goes hand-in-hand with the old saying.

_________________________________________

Exteme Life & Death: Part One is as simple and bare bones as they come, which is strange to say for a niche subgenre where the raw heart of the matter is just a showcase of death, carnage, destruction, and the like. I say that because others of its kind have more, I guess you can say, substance to them in the form of a soundtrack, narration, or chapters to help steer things along to be more organized. However, these things are noticably abscent from the film if it wasn’t previously supplied with the archived footage.

In a similar manner to how I talked about The Act of Seeing With Ones Own Eyes in my review of Le Poéme, this will either make for a rather boring watch or something more intimate and direct with the viewer because it throws you right into the heart of it with no filler. On the other hand, this can also make the film appear to be more a more cheap, thoughtless, and lazy cash-in with it’s rough, copy-and-paste style of editing. It’s really just a matter of preference for what you’re into, I suppose. While I can understand not providing either for emotion or context as a means to just push the viewer into the chaos of the scenes, I don’t get having the ability to do so out of being cheap or incompetent - which feels to be more of the case, at least in my opinion.

My process for coming to this conclusion comes in the form of many of the scenes provided, which have been recycled from previous shockumentaries of times gone by. While those films provide exposition for their origins, this film uses black and white captions to tell the limited background information instead. For example, one of the more notable scenes comes in the form of firing squad execution footage that was smuggled out of Iraq sometime in the early 1990′s. This scene has been repurposed and reused in other films with exposition, but this time around we just get a similar copy-and-paste style method of explaining what’s going on. Whether or not this cheapens or degrades the experience is up to you, because, then again, there’s the crowd that found the narration and delivery method for the early Traces of Death films to be so boring that Damon Fox was told people would just mute the film and blast their death metal albums over it.

So, enough on this topic. What can one expect if they want to see this?

I feel that the opening sequences tells you what exactly we’re in for as far as quality goes, which is that of a woman walking around a cemetery sobbing as she throws herself onto the tombstones to mourn. It feels rather cheap and forced, which doesn’t really help it that much at all. The editing style feels rather sloppy as the scenes don’t really have much direction for them as far as how they’ve organized things. To go back to Faces of Death, we have general chapters that attempt to string things along in a seamless transition; with natural disasters, animal cruelty, capitol punishment, and human atrocities being served up. Here, it feels like there’s no rhyme or reason for the direction things want to go. So, it’s not out of line to see air show disaster footage one moment and then something unrelated the next with no explanation. The footage in question isn’t particularly graphic either and is relatively on the tame side compared to other films; with some of the more gruesome scenes being that of a city block after a potential bombing, a corpse discovered in the jungles of Nicaragua, and last rites given to a man who was fatally hit by a truck.

_________________________________________

So, with all of that being said, what do I think about this one? Honestly, I don’t know. In a way, it does try to hold up on its own with trying to stand out compared to it’s bloody brothers and sisters, so I can’t say it didn’t at least try. Well, maybe “try” is a bit generous.

I’m not sure.

There’s a part of me that thinks it did it’s job alright, and there’s another that feels like it didn’t want to bother putting in the additional effort to really push things to the limit or reach it’s full potential - plus, the title alone can give you an impression as to what it’s trying to do and whether or not you feel that’s a good thing is up to you. I want to say that if the makers went there to at least give us something a bit extra (as a treat), like music or even a mediocre narrator, this could have been more of a recognized name...even if that in of itself is weird enough. It makes me wonder how many people followed in the steps of early Traces of Death viewers and just flipped on their goregrind albums to add anything at all to the experience.

Now, it’s up for you to decide what to make of this. If there’s enough interest, I can attempt to do reviews for the other two parts, even if it means repeating myself. If you want to get a glimpse of what I was talking about, you can view all three parts over on the Internet Archive that got added back in September 2019. If you’re into shockumentaries, then I’d say to give it a watch at some point, even if it’s just to say you’ve officially seen everything. For those who are new to the subgenre, then I’d say you would be in good hands to start with something like this if Faces of Death is too much for you - even if a good chunk of the franchise is recreated footage. However, if you’re into shockumentaries and this hasn’t swayed any opinion you have, then don’t fret because you won’t lose much sleep if you pass on this one.

RATING: 3/10

we stumbled in the dark; I knew we’d be alright (part twelve)

a shawn mendes rpf fic ratings/warnings: contains descriptions of a panic attack. and angst. notes: I’M ALIVE. thank you everyone for waiting so patiently; these last few weeks have been a lot busier than I was expecting. to make up for the long wait, this part includes links to ten photos from my personal instagram to give you guys a sense of Ellie’s London adventure, and clocks in at a whopping fifteen thousand words.  and in other news, I have an ending. part thirteen will be the final part of this fic, and part fourteen (cause I like even numbers) will either be an epilogue or various outtakes – depending on what happens. thank you everyone for all your support! you’ve been amazing.  (previously; start at part one here; find all parts here) manchester; now You’re not sure exactly what wakes you, but two thoughts slam forward when you blink your eyes open into a dark room. The first, accompanied by a split second of panic, is that you don’t know where you are. Memories flash quickly: the show, the video. Shawn. 

The second, when you’re aware enough to take stock of the rest of your body, is that you can’t remember the last time you were ever really held. You and Shawn clearly shifted in the night; you’ve ended up on your side, facing the window out to a still-sleeping city, while the arm he’d tossed over your waist is now hooked around your ribs, which Shawn had apparently used to pull you firmly into the open curve of his chest.

His breath is warm over the back of your neck, and Shawn’s nose is buried in your hair. He’s holding your hands. You feel like crying, inexplicably. The temptation to close your eyes and fall back asleep is so strong that you’re almost all the way down before you flinch. You fell asleep in Shawn’s bed. You’ve been here all night. You nearly jerk upright, remembering Shawn at the last moment, still breathing even and soft against your skin. You’re half-afraid he has too tight a grip, but as you slide carefully away from him, Shawn doesn’t move. You’re so cold, all of sudden. You drag yourself to the edge of the bed, allowing yourself exactly eleven seconds to stare at him over your shoulder. His face, half hidden in the pillow and his wild curls, is untroubled in sleep, and as you watch Shawn’s body curls forward into the space you’ve just left. It feels like a strange sort of privilege, to see him this way. You didn’t know it was possible to want someone this much. You get up. The journal you bought him over a year ago sits on the bedside table with his prefered brand of black pen. About half the pages are discoloured at the edges and worn with use; you flirt briefly with the idea of leaving a note, loath to let Shawn think you just abandoned him as if this were straight off the album. But you don’t dare lay your hands on one of his most private possessions. A text will have to do. You tiptoe carefully across the room to the adjoining door.  Ava is gone.  Fuck.  “How’d you sleep?” You jump, a shriek and a curse both lodged in your throat, but you shove them down. Your sister leans against the bathroom door with her hair twisted up into a towel, one perfect eyebrow raised. Is she judging you? Laughing at you? Your inner hysteria makes it hard to tell.

“Fine,” you choke out. The truth is though, that you’re exhausted. Ava lets you flounder for another half second before she laughs quietly, shaking her head. “Relax, Lenny. I know you didn’t get laid last night.” You can feel yourself turn pink. “How…?” She points at your phone, left behind on your bed. “Figured you hadn’t gone far. Opened the door when I got up and saw you, both fully clothed and on top of the covers.” Pink turns into red. You’re not embarrassed, exactly, nor are you upset that your sister made a logical guess in looking for you. But something in you flinches anyway at the thought of being seen a second time. “Nothing happened,” you say, unnecessarily if not for a silent it could have. “He just... needed me.” You will your voice not to shake. You won’t apologize for it. Ava meets your gaze steadily.

“Okay.” Her lips purse, just a fraction. “You filled your prescription before we left right?”  Your next inhale is a wheeze. “Fucking hell, Ava.” She just raises the other eyebrow. “Yes, now can we please never talk about it again?” Your sister really does laugh at you now. “Doubtful. But consider it dropped for the time being.”

You suppose it’s as good as you’re ever going to get. Mostly, you’re grateful that Ava isn’t currently trying to give you The Talk, that she has not immediately jumped to a place of reservation or shame when it comes to the idea of you and Shawn being...intimate; she’d never do the latter, and the former well– she’s too late to the game. (She had, however, taken you to the doctor’s for birth control just before your fifteenth birthday, after you’d spent a large percentage of your last period lying on the bathroom floor in absolute agony, tearful and nauseous yet unable to even lift your head high enough to vomit. Pain of that magnitude had never occurred before and hasn’t since, and as you stood in line at the pharmacy she’d said, “It should help even you out. And you know, with other stuff. Whenever that happens.” You’d nodded, trying to blush too deeply in front of the elderly gentleman just behind you, holding a pill bottle in his veined and knobbly hands. “Right.” That had been that. Over a year later, after you’d exhausted yourself crying over an ending that included an important beginning, she doesn’t ask you if you were safe. It’s the first time you’d ever felt Ava truly treat you as something besides her little sister – a responsibility. Even though you suppress everything else about that spring, you’ll never forget that feeling.) “Did you know?” you blurt now. “That Shawn was going to ask me to come to New York?” Your sister nods. “He ran it by me, in Dublin.” Ava tilts her head. “Why? Do you not want to go?” “No, I do.” You can’t decide if you’d rather her be concerned or encouraging right now, which one you want versus the one you probably need to hear. “I’m just…” You trail off, remembering how you’d felt only minutes ago waking up in his arms, realizing your fear from Paris has compounded into something deeper. This thing between you and Shawn is real now, and you don’t know if you’re quite prepared to hold it up to the light and see all the ways it could be torn apart. “He’d understand,” Ava says gently. “If you’re not ready.” You shake your head. If he can be brave, you reason, so can you. “I don’t want to disappoint him. We agreed to just give it a try.” You muster a grin. “Besides, how can I pass up New York? There’s so many things I haven’t seen yet.” She laughs lightly. “Fair enough. Do you know what happened to the blow dryer?” You open your mouth to reply; a knock at the adjoining door cuts you off. You have the ridiculous urge to race your sister to the doorknob, but of course she doesn’t move as you answer it. You know it’s Shawn, and yet some part of you is still surprised. It’s too early. I’m not ready. I haven’t put myself back together yet. 

He's pulled a hoodie over last night’s t shirt, the hood half-caught around one of his ears as he smiles down at you, still blinking a little sleep from his eyes. “Did I hear something about a blowdryer?” Shawn’s holding one of your constant tour companions, purple like Pablo, in one hand, his toothbrush in the other. “My saviour,” Ava says, crossing the room and taking the dryer. “All packed, kiddo?” Shawn nods. “You guys need help with your bags?” “Nah, we’re fine, thank you. Why don’t you both get dressed and we’ll meet downstairs in ten? We’ll grab some breakfast on the way to the airport.” Ava bumps you gently with her hip on her way to the bathroom. “Do a last toiletries and charger check for me before you close your suitcase, yeah?” “Sure.” Your sister disappears. Moments later, the roar of the blowdryer effectively drowns out anything that you or Shawn might say to each other in the next room. Even so, you’re strangely nervous to meet his eye in approaching daylight. “Morning El.” Everyone seems intent on inwardly laughing at you before you’ve even had a chance to wash your face. “Hi,” you say weakly. “Sorry for uh,” He’d put it well last night. “freaking out and ditching you.” Shawn’s lips twitch. “Don’t worry about it. But...” He leans down and tugs very gently at the hem of your t-shirt. “You should wake me up, next time. Before you go.” Your insides squirm at the idea of next time. “You sure? Even if I can’t stay?” He nods, tightening his grip on the pale pink fabric and using it to pull you forward. Shawn seems to like this, you’ve noticed, the ease with which he can draw you in and keep you. Not, of course, that you ever really resist. He drops a minty kiss on the crown of your head. “I like the idea of waking up to you.” Before your stomach can stop swooping, Shawn leans down further, and only at the last moment do you have enough presence of mind to pull back. “Shawn…” “Just one?” he murmurs, close enough that you can feel his breath against your face. Your stomach swoops again. “Av’s busy.” “I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet,” you complain. You’ve got your hand on his chest to bar him from further movement, but even that feels like too intimate a touch, feeling the broad firmness of him beneath the soft layers of his clothes, still warm from sleep. Shawn presses a little against your fingers. “Don’t care.” Shawn bends until you really have no choice but to bend yourself back – an almost reflection of the shape you’d both made on the bed –  tilting his head so all that’s really required is for gravity to pull him down. You roll your eyes, lift your chin, and the curve of his smile touches your closed mouth. “Happy?” you ask, biting the inside of your cheek so you don’t giggle. “Very.” He likes making you blush too much for you to ever be able to really stop. “You’re a goof, you know that?” Shawn’s smile is a little crooked, a lot pleased. “You like me anyway.” He’s not wrong.

*

Moments after boarding, Shawn coughs exactly twice. Everyone in the cabin exchanges looks, and Andrew declares immediate voice rest for everything that isn’t the BBC breakfast show, where Shawn’s due in two hours, and the following two nights of tour. Ava pulls out the air filtration mask, and Shawn proceeds to make silent faces at you for the next thirty minutes. You don’t mention the planned adventure with the gang, on your technically first day and night off since Germany nearly a month ago. You can tell without asking that he’s already thinking about it. At altitude, you’re proven right. shawnmendes: I can’t believe I’m missing tonight. lennysinclair17: You can’t come and just...not talk? shawnmendes: Doubtful. lennysinclair17: We can hang out instead if you want. Watch a movie. shawnmendes: No way. We’ve been talking about it with everybody for ages. You owe Brian tequila remember? This is true. You glance up, where Shawn is looking pointedly at you with only his eyes and eyebrows. 

lennysinclair17: I hate the idea of you stuck in the hotel by yourself. shawnmendes: I’m used to it El. It’s fine. You’re going. You’re not missing out on London because of me. The girls have a million things planned.

This is also true. Everyone is meant to head for breakfast while Shawn is at the BBC, and when he returned the plan was to carefully mislead the legions of fans in the city about where you are and what you’re doing. When Shawn balked at the deliberate unkindness, Geoff had just leveled a look and said, “You want a repeat of your birthday?” There were no more objections after that. And now well – now Shawn couldn’t even speak his unhappiness if he wanted to. shawnmendes: I expect you to bombard me with photos. He looks at you again, and it aggravates you to no end that he knows he’s won the argument. shawnmendes: Do a shot for me. 

london; now  @TrackingSM: Shawn talking about the Manchester show this morning on @BBCRadio! [Shawn’s curls are only half-tempered by the enormous headphones covering his ears, the camera angle offering a full view of his shoulder and arms in a plain white t shirt. Greg James leans forward onto his elbows. “So tell me about Manchester last night,” he says. “Reports make it out to be a pretty emotional show.” “Yeah,” Shawn replies. “It was amazing. One of the most moving shows I’ve ever had. The crowd was phenomenal.” “I was hoping you’d put a bit of a rumour to rest for us Shawn. Twitter is all a flutter but video of the incident in question is pretty grainy and dark.” “Oh?” Shawn sits up a little, his pendant swinging with the motion. “What rumour is that?” Greg’s smile is gentle. “That you cried, during Youth. Fans in the front few rows swear it happened.” Shawn’s eyebrows fly up, scrubbing his hand up the back of his neck. “Do they?” “I thought you might like a chance to confirm or deny your sensitivity, just between us. It won’t leave this room.” “Oh but it’ll also be broadcast to millions of people?” Shawn and Greg both laugh. “But of course.” There’s a pause, and then Shawn shrugs good-naturedly. “I did shed a few tears last night. It was a pretty overwhelming moment. I’m glad to have shared that with everyone who was there.” “I also want to ask you about who you were spotted hugging after the show,” Greg says, “But sadly we’re out of time. There you have it ladies and gents: proof that Shawn Mendes is, in fact, just a bit like us mere mortals. Thanks for stopping by Shawn, and I hope you have an amazing two back to back shows in London tomorrow and Saturday. My sincere best wishes for the rest of the tour. Anything you want to say to your London fans?” “Thank you so much, Greg. Thanks for having me. And to everybody listening, I’ll see you very soon and I can’t wait to spend two nights with you. I love you so much.” likes: 703; retweets: 5] * There’s maybe half a dozen girls at the hotel by the time you and the gang head out for breakfast, who peer hopefully between Charlie and Brian and then lean back in disappointment; Ava and Paul will leave to pick Shawn up within the hour and sneak him inside through a service entrance. “Damn, Sinclair,” Charlie says as he watches you inhale a latte from across the table. “Preparing for a caffeine shortage?” You shake your head. “Just tired. I didn’t sleep much last night.” Brian raises his eyebrows. “Is that why Shawn’s on voice rest?” You promptly choke on your coffee; the boys lean away from the spray as you cough, your eyes streaming. Kristin tosses napkins on the table while Kelsey rubs your back, throwing dirty glares at Parker, Brian, and Charlie, who are all suppressing laughter. “Just because you haven’t gotten any in a year doesn’t mean you get to be disgusting at the table,” she snaps. Parker and Charlie howl. Even Geoff snorts. “I was kidding!” Brian objects, his ears red. “Jesus, Kels. You really gotta air a dude’s private info like that, huh?” Kelsey’s barely raised eyebrow is the most scathing silent expression you’ve ever seen. Apparently mollified, Brian mutters a “Sorry, kid” at you. You wipe your eyes and put down the glass of water Geoff had shoved across the table. “It’s fine, Bri. No worse than my conversation with Ava this morning.” Everyone at the table winces sympathetically. You just shrug, any embarrassment you had left long gone, especially with people who would never betray your secret. “Just fell asleep guys, perfectly tame. But we’re definitely not gonna make it a habit.” “Wise,” Geoff says. “But this is definitely the happiest I’ve ever seen him before the crack of dawn in a long time.” It’s your turn to blush. “Can we talk about something else please?” “Well we haven’t picked a museum yet, for after Big Ben and Buckingham Palace,” Parker  offers. You smile at him. “What were we between? Victoria and Albert and National Gallery?” “The V&A is a little more fun,” Charlie remarks, and you’re reminded of all the anecdotes he’s told you about his year abroad when he wasn’t that much older than you. “You didn’t want to see Natural History¹?” “Vetoed by the New Yorkers.” Parker casts a sardonic eyeroll at Kristin, who meets his eye entirely unphased. “It’s the principle of the thing,” she says. “Just can’t do it.” “I’m down with whatever,” Brian chimes in, “As long as tonight ends in a pint glass.” “V&A it is then?” Geoff, as ever, is the mediator. There are nods all around the table. “And after?” Ellie and I are off to the Kew Gardens for a couple of their limited exhibitions.” Kelsey stirs her own coffee as she speaks. “If anyone wants to join us. Otherwise, shall we all just branch off and meet up tonight for dinner and drinks?” More nodding. “We’d better eat quick guys,” Parker says as the last plate is laid on the table. “Sinclair looks like she’s gonna pass out in her potatoes.” * Brian’s arm lands, a familiar weight, around your shoulders at the last crossing before you’re back on your hotel’s street. You’ve journeyed further into Central London and seen a few major landmarks, and everyone has agreed on a rest before going out again. “You’re not mad at me, are you?” You cast him a bemused look, though half your attention is still on the traffic, backwards to everything you know, mesmerizing in its strangeness. “Of course not. Why would I be mad at you?” The bassist shrugs almost sheepishly. “What I said, earlier. Didn’t want you to feel bad.” You laugh, and a quick glance around reveals you to be the only people at the light, so you’re comfortable enough to say, “Truthfully, Shawn and I don’t have a sex life to speak of. And even if we did, you’ve never offended me with a joke, okay?” You lean into his shoulder a little for emphasis. The light turns in your favour, and you let Brian carry some of the weight of your tired bones across the bustling street. “Let me at least buy you another coffee,” Brian says. “Take it up, take a nap after, and we’ll all be good to go for tonight. I won’t have you tapping out before tequila, Sinclair.” “We’re almost back,” you point out. “We can just order one, can’t we?” Brian points further down, to a place labeled simply EAT. “Charlie’s been talking about a fucking matcha something or other for weeks. Says he got it out the train station every morning for like three months. You don’t wanna try that?” You laugh again. “If that’s the way you sell it, Bri. Let’s go.” He shakes his head, relinquishing you from beneath his arm. “You go up, say hi to the boy wonder. I’ll grab us a couple to go. You like you’re about to fall over.” You should be insulted, probably, but even though your body is somewhat used to the constant movement and changing time zones, the moment your mind said we don’t have a show tonight, everything in you is screaming for rest. “Thanks,” you say, relenting. “See you up there.” You’d lost the rest of the gang at the corner while you and Brian talked, and now coming up to the hotel entrance alone, you wish desperately that you hadn’t. The six girls from this morning has somehow already morphed into more than you can count, taking up the pathways on either side of the entrance, much to the both bemusement and annoyance of passers by. People across the street are gawking. Your heart thumps, harder and faster than it should, as you force your legs forward. You tell yourself that just getting to the door will probably be easier than loitering in wait for Shawn’s bandmate, who would definitely give you away. So you swallow and try to keep your head down. And that seems to work, as you move past the throng of young girls and boys whose blending, half-hushed voices are like the buzz of a hive. Until it doesn’t. “Oh my god.” A hiss cuts through your concentration, and you’re stopped by a hand. You look up to the face of a girl, her highlight beaming and her lip gloss glistening, even in a half-overcast morning. Perfectly manicured fingernails wrap around your forearm. “You’re on Shawn’s crew, aren’t you?” “I–” You’re suddenly aware of dozens of eyes on you. “I’m–” There’s a dawning in her expression; you look desperately for anyone you know. “Are you the girl from Manchester?” “Do you know when Shawn’s coming down?” asks another voice. Nerves stick your vocal cords together. “I don’t think he is.” “What?” The distressed murmur of the girl next to her echoes through the crowd. “What do you mean?” “He’s tired,” you say, knowing it’s the truth – the message burning a hole in your pocket – though it feels like a major breach to concede to even this. “He was on BBC One this morning, and we flew in so early–” “But we’ve been waiting hours!” the second girl wails, and the one holding your arm tightens her grip, narrowing her eyes. You want to wrench yourself from her hold, but the screaming instinct to protect Shawn from this mob and the constant shadow of your secret freezes you in place. The crowd presses in tighter. “How do you know?” You feel like you’re in first grade. “He’d say if he was tired, wouldn’t he?” demands someone else. A phone appears in your peripheral vision; panic overtakes the nerves, squeezing your lungs. “Please let go of me.” “I don’t believe you.” There’s something so insistent in this girl’s eyes, a demand you could never fulfill. “Shawn–” “Red!” To your eternal relief, even though it’s a name you’ve never been called, you know it’s Brian. Ignoring all the heads that turn in his direction, the bassist makes a beeline for you, holding a tray of coffee. His eyes zero in on the pink nails still keeping you captive. “What’s going on here?” “Amber,” someone hisses, and you watch long imprints leave your skin. Amber’s mouth drops open when Brian reaches for your elbow and tugs you closer to him. “C’mon,” he says to you now. You’ve never seen Brian look anything but cheery and warm; his eyes are stormy as he leads you gently forward. “Let’s go.” You’re too grateful for a friendly face to speak. “W-Wait!” cries another voice in the crowd. “Is Shawn coming down or not?” “No,” Brian snaps without looking back. “He’s on voice rest till tomorrow.” There’s more agonized noise, like he’s just told the mass of heads and phones that Shawn’s leaving London entirely and never coming back. Some people start to leave in a huff. Only steps from the entrance, you notice a girl who can’t be older than you, being shouldered aside by the person next to her, clutching an envelope in her hands and clearly trying to mask her disappointment. You think abruptly of Clara, so much so that it stops you in your tracks. “Are you okay?” you ask. The girl’s chin jerks up, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry about this.” “N-No!” she stammers. “I understand, he needs time to rest. I’m–” The envelope creases between her fingers. You step closer so she doesn’t have to raise her voice. “I’m fine, thank you. I um, didn’t even really want a picture anyway, but I couldn’t afford a meet and greet and I just...” She trails off, clearly just as uncomfortable as you at being the centre of the crowd’s frenzied attention. You nod your head at the white rectangle. “Did you want to give that to Shawn?” Her eyes are glassy. Your inexplicable urge to cry from earlier suddenly rears its head again. “I can take it for you, if you want.” Tears spill over her cheeks. You’re very glad, even more than you were moments ago, that Brian is still there, holding you up. The girl hands you the envelope, labeled simply with Shawn in careful block letters. “What’s your name?” You accept the offering with care. “Are you coming to either of the shows?” “Morgan.” Her voice hiccups. “I’ll be there tomorrow night. Thank you so much.” You manage a smile. “See you tomorrow. I’ll make sure he gets this.” “Red,” Brian says, not a shout but sharp enough that you know he’s done with this whole thing. Phone camera are surely still rolling. You nod, and wave at Morgan with the envelope in your hand. Brian holds the door open for you; people are shouting for him, but he doesn’t acknowledge them. He doesn’t let go of you until the doors swing closed. “Red?” you ask as you wait for the elevator, chancing a glance at his still thunderous expression. The bassist exhales. “Couldn’t exactly call you Sinclair, could I?” “Sorry,” you start, suddenly ashamed, hoping he doesn’t think you an absolute idiot. “I tried to just walk past–” “Hey, no.” Brian turns fully to face you. “That wasn’t your fault. We just wanna keep you safe, yeah?” You blink in the face of his intensity. “I–” You have to swallow a new knot in your throat. “Yeah. Thanks.” To your surprise, he follows you off the elevator and into the hall. “Where are you going?” “He’s gotta know about this,” The bassist says, and before you can stop him, bangs with the flat of his hand on Shawn’s door. “Hey kid!” “Bri, no!” You drag his arm back. “I’m fine. He doesn’t need–” Brian shakes his head, raising his hand again despite your best efforts. Before he can knock again, the door opens. Shawn only looks half-awake, back in the hoodie from this morning. He smiles, but you can tell that you’ve been too slow to hide the panic that hasn’t faded yet from behind your eyes. Pablo is plugged in and puffing cheerily away; you force yourself to inhale deeply. “Looked out the window yet?” Brian asks. Shawn shakes his head, but his attention is over his shoulder at you, a question, even as Brian practically hauls him over to almost floor to ceiling glass. You watch as familiar eyes nearly bug away from sleep-mussed curls. “We gotta deal with this,” Brian says. “Sinclair just–” “I’m fine,” you insist loudly. Shawn’s head whips around. You point at him, a lightning reminder. “You cannot talk.” You swing to Brian. “And it wasn’t a big deal–” “Someone grabbing you wasn’t a big deal?” You wince at the shout. “What?” Shawn’s voice is crackly from lack of use, but there’s no mistaking the alarm. You try to recreate Kris’ truly withering expression from breakfast. Brian, however, does not look sorry. “What would you have done if I hadn’t walked up right then?” he demands. It’s hard work to ignore the pole of Shawn’s eyes; you manage it in favour of glaring at his bassist. “It’s not like I wasn’t six feet from the door!” Brian points an imperious finger at the glass. “That girl laid hands on you. Did you see how many people are out there? Some of those guys were twice your size!” More knocking on the door cuts off your opportunity to shout back, though in all honestly you’re not sure what you would have said. You didn’t think Amber would have actually hurt you, but you can’t deny that even now, dozens of feet above the street, the memory of the press of the crowd still makes your heart race. Andrew sweeps an eye over the room. Shawn no longer looks like he’s the referee of a really uneven boxing match, but the tension in the room is palpable enough that Ava shoots you a bewildered look behind Andrew’s back. “You’re not going down there,” the man says. “This part of London is extremely busy. Paul and Cam can’t contain three hundred people without the help of police, and we don’t want to bother them.” He narrows his eyes. “And you’re still on voice rest.” Shawn swallows and nods, though he’s visibly frustrated by the situation. You sneak a last glare at Brian, daring him with your eyes. If he gives you up now, you probably won’t speak to him for the rest of the day. “We thought you could do an Instagram Q&A,” your sister continues. “You know, that question box feature? Then you don’t strain your voice and people sort of get to see you today.” Shawn picks up his phone from the bedside table; moments later, Andrew lifts his own. “No,” he replies aloud. “We don’t need to check your answers beforehand. You can just treat this like an Instagram live. Do it for however long you like.” “Get some rest, okay?” Ava smiles gently. “You look beat.” His lips quirk, but the smile doesn’t quite reach Shawn’s eyes. His management team departs, leaving the both of you and Brian as the points of a skewed triangle in the middle of the room. The bassist sighs and places a single to-go cup on the window sill. “I won’t tell them,” he assures you. You let your shoulders relax a fraction. “But only if you agree that you won’t go wandering around without one of us for the rest of the tour.” Part of you balks. Ava and Andrew – and everyone – are surely going to see your face online before either of you has time to tell anyone, and you resent the thought of being chaperoned like a child. But the rest of you knows he’s right. You’re shaken by what just happened to you, even if a streak of stubborn pride will never let you admit it. “Fine.” To your surprise, Brian crosses the room in two long strides before leaning down and dropping a dry kiss on your cheek. “I’ll tell Kels to give you an hour at least, yeah?” And then all of a sudden you’re alone with Shawn the first time since you woke up in his bed this morning. The door is barely closed before he’s reaching for you, his hands skimming up your sides and over your elbows like he’s looking for injury. “If you talk,” you warn, “I’m going to hang out with the girls right now and I’m going to ignore you all night.” Shawn rolls his eyes, but when he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze, you don’t need to hear his voice to understand what he’s asking. “I’m not hurt.” You wrap a hand around his wrist. You know that’s not what Shawn really means, but pretending is easy when he can’t dispute you. “You better get on–” He shakes his head, emphatic. It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but Shawn can be stubborn if he wants. He’s not doing anything until you tell him. “The girl recognized me, I guess, from last night, and–” His surprise is clear. You pick up your pace, anxious to get all this talk over with. “They wanted to know when you were gonna come down, and didn’t believe me when I said you were tired.” A flash of irritation casts a shadow over his expression, followed by something you can only describe as a protective glare; you’re startled to realize that it’s not for him, but for you. Shawn’s eyebrows crease now as he brushes his thumb over the bags beneath your eyes, another question. You shrug. “I could use a nap,” you say honestly. “But if I lay on that bed I’ll never get up again.” He seems to consider this, before pulling you towards the enormous armchair next to the window. You watch as he sits, takes a quick selfie, and gestures for you to join him. “You’re a giant,” you protest, and he just snorts and reaches for you again. Shawn seems determined, so you fold yourself into his lap, angling your legs across him and the arm of the chair so your feet are supported by the sill. The coffee Brian left is delicious, and you make a note to buy another when you can actually appreciate it, offering the rest to Shawn. It’s surprisingly comfortable, this armchair jenga: your cheek against his soft sweater, Shawn’s arm wrapped around your back so he can hold you there and type with both hands in front of your face. Hey guys, I just wanted to confirm that I am actually on voice rest until tomorrow before the show so I can be in top form to play for you all. I wish I could come down and meet you, but security is also really concerned about the size of the crowd and I don’t want any of you or my team getting hurt... Instead, I’ll be doing a story Q&A for you! Leave questions and I’ll answer as many as I can! Love you xx “Not hurt,” you remind him, a little more petulantly than probably necessary. Shawn just leans his cheek against yours, holding up his phone so you can see the text he’s pulled over his smiling mouth in two photos and the question box. “You’re good. No typos.” He brushes his mouth over your hair in thanks, and you watch him post the photos. Almost immediately, his story is inundated. Shawn takes the first about the Q&A and M&Gs, assuring everyone that they’re still on. You see at least three demanding who Red is. Shawn gestures at the question but doesn’t move to answer it. “Brian. Pretty genius, not gonna lie.” His huff of laughter is warm against your face. You find yourself relaxing, almost unwittingly, into this cozy little space Shawn’s created for you. You blink drowsily, until Shawn flicks the white envelope you’d almost forgotten, still dangling between your fingers. “S’for you,” you murmur. “Saw a girl outside, she looked a bit like Clara.” He stops typing. “She couldn’t do a meet and greet and she just wanted to give you this.” Shawn takes the envelope gingerly. You concentrate on the view of the South Bank outside the window as he slides a finger beneath the seal and pulls out a thrice-folded sheet of paper, torn from a notebook but carefully freed of frayed edges, and full of impossibly neat blue ink. You feel him tap your nose gently when you let your eyelids drop closed. “Not for me to read,” you tell him without looking up, lulled by the steady rise and fall of Shawn’s breath. “She’ll be there tomorrow though.” He hums, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Don’t let me sleep too long, please.” You burrow into him a little like a cat. “I really owe Brian that shot now.” Shawn breathes another laugh, but squeezes you gently in reply. A minute later, his hand slides beneath your chin again, and you smile with your eyes still closed when Shawn kisses you, slow and languid. Your heart starts to race again for an entirely more pleasant reason. “If you keep that up,” you say when he pulls back for air, blinking to find his smiling face shining down on you, “I might reconsider leaving at all.” Shawn shakes his head and kisses your forehead instead. His left hand reaches up, sliding gently to tuck your hair behind your ear. As you settle back against his shoulder, his fingers continue to glide through in a steady rhythm, like a gentle wave that eventually coaxes you to sleep. * In the end, after almost getting lost in the depths of all the exhibits at the Victoria and Albert Museum², the gang parts ways like this: you and Kelsey board a Richmond bound overground train to the Kew Gardens³; Parker and Kristin wander Hyde Park; Geoff, Charlie, and Brian trek up to Brick Lane. Remembering Shawn’s request, you snap photos of everything, from the MIND THE GAP yellow platform line to everyone posing in front of Canada House⁴ in Trafalgar Square. London on its own is possibly one of your favourite cities you’ve ever been to, but the fact is cemented when Kelsey leads you through the Gardens; you visit Palm⁵ House⁶, the orchid⁷ festival⁸, and the most breathtaking of all: the Life and Death exhibit by Rebecca Louise Law.  (Kelsey convinced you weeks ago to finally start posting to your still-private Instagram; she gets a particularly nice one⁹ on your third go round of the specifically marked path through the endless garlands of flowers, though Shawn also likes the slightly blurred one of you laughing too close to the camera.¹⁰ The exhibit reminds you of his desire to last, for his music to endure; you wish, like you’ve wished all day, that he were here.) A few hours later, Brian gets his wish. At a bustling pub maybe three-quarters full, one of the bartenders – an older Englishman with an impressive beard wearing a Star Wars t-shirt – patiently recommends the array of London beer available to the group. Geoff leans over the bar to shake his hand, insisting on his name so as to thank him properly. “Pete,” the man says. “It’s a pleasure.” Finally, you’re the last to order. “And for you?” You’re hyper aware of people leaning on nearly every inch of the dark wood, which runs in an enormous oval in the centre of the room. The only other bartender looks younger, though he’s as tall as Shawn; you can’t see much of his face through the thick crowd, but women in the room eye him with interest. “I’m not much of a beer person,” you admit, a little embarrassed. “Cider?” Pete offers, tapping the glossy label of the last spout in the row in front of him. “Sweeter, you know, made from apples and all.” “Sure.” “Pint?” He watches you consider the enormous glass in Charlie’s hand with trepidation. “Half?” “Half, please.” You smile delightedly when Pete produces a miniature version of a pint, shaped and embossed with the same cider name and text as the full-scale you can see dotted around the room. Geoff beats everyone to the punch paying for the round, and the gang snags a corner of benches and small stools on the far side of the pub, beneath a wall displaying twenty-five varieties of gin. Facing the bar, you have ample opportunity to people watch, dipping in and out of the flow of conversation; Charlie and Parker are currently debating the merits of pizza versus pasta in an ‘every day for the rest of your life’ context (you, for the record, choose pasta). The pub fills up quickly. The crowd seems to lean more towards elder locals, though as you sit there, a young woman, probably around Kelsey and Kristin’s age, snakes through the room, weaving easily around the throng to the end of the bar closest to you. She greets Pete by name and several clusters of people, taking a stool. When Kristin rises for another round several minutes later, you watch as the serious looking younger bartender looks towards the girl on the stool, but she nods her head at Kris instead, so he serves her first. When a half pint of cider is finally placed in front of her, the girl smiles warmly at him. He leans his elbows on the bar as they talk, familiarity between them though the pub is too loud for you to be able to make anything out. “He’s cute,” Kelsey says, more conversational than anything. You nod absently. You suppose it’s instinctive to compare this stranger to Shawn: this boy is similarly pale, though his hair is a lighter shade of brown and sticks up shorter where Shawn’s curls over his forehead. The other boy also has a more square face, and his eyes are a striking shade of blue. You think of Hannah. This bartender is exactly her type, right down to the eye colour (she’d lamented to you years ago about the boringness of brown eyed boys, though these days you couldn’t disagree more). If you were on speaking terms, you would have snuck a photo and sent it along with several suggestive emojis. But now you just let the thought pass with a dull ache. 

* “Hey. Sinclair.” Charlie’s voice tickles your hair in a familiar whisper as you lean on the bar some three and a half rounds later. You need water. “Be cool.” “Right,” you reply without turning your head. You watch him slide his credit card onto the bar, beneath your hand. “You’re going to order the first round of tequila with this card, and you’re not gonna let Geoff or Brian see. They’re getting air with the girls. I’m supposed to be in the bathroom.” “Because they already suspect you?” “Obviously.” “Obviously,” you echo, smiling. “Okay, done.” “My girl,” he says affectionately. Charlie murmurs the pin in your ear and slips away again. A minute later, the young bartender finally turns to you. He looks expectant and you’re momentarily at a loss; fuck his eyes are really blue.   “May I have a glass of water?” you ask, regaining your tongue, and he nods, lifting the spray nozzle in his hand. “And seven shots of tequila?” He raises an eyebrow at you as if to confirm he heard you right. “Seven?” His accent isn’t English, but you don’t have a good enough ear to place it. French, maybe? You flush just a little. “My friends are outside.” He nods again, exhaling like he’s holding back laughter. “Lime or lemon? Salt?” “Lime, please. And salt.” You watch him line seven glasses along the bar and fill them expertly. “Are you Canadian?” he asks, conversational. You blink in surprise. Most people assume the other side of the border. “Yes.” He smiles, a fleeting thing. “You sound like someone I know,” he explains, before turning away to slice a new lime on the centre island. Aware of eyes on you, you look up to catch three men with various shades of salt and pepper and silver hair, stealing glances down the bar at you and conferring amongst themselves. You look away, unsure of what to do. “Don’t mind them,” says a voice from behind you. You turn to find the girl from the end of the bar, her cheeks flushed. She lifts her chin at the men. “You’re new and pretty and they’re just being weirdos thinking you won’t be able to handle your liquor.” This must be the fellow Canadian. Some strange part of you is pleased. “Okay then,” you say slowly, and she smiles at you before sitting at an empty stool and turning towards the boy behind the counter. “Ben,” she calls, drawing out the ‘e’. He looks up. “May I have two shots of tequila when you’re done?” She glances over at your small fleet. “Or are you out already?” Ben shakes his head. “Got another bottle. You’re not having both are you?”

“Oh yeah, I’m double fisting it tonight.” The girl laughs. “One’s for Lex. She’s making friends outside, as usual.” The bartender nods his head at you. “Guess where she’s from?” From his tone, this seems like a well worn question. Her eyes light up as she turns back to you. “Canada?” You nod, and her smile is ridiculously wide. “Toronto.” You’ve never seen someone so delighted by your hometown before. “Amazing. Love it there.” “You?” you ask as Ben presents a small plate of seven nearly perfect wedges of lime. “Alberta. Oh sorry, how rude of me.” She reaches a hand out. “I’m Iris.” You shake. “Ellie.” “Nice to meet you Ellie. This is Ben.” Iris nods her head at the boy on the other side of the smooth, dark wood. “Who is terrible at introductions.” “I’m working,” he objects, depositing another two glasses in front of her as he says it. “You’re the one who likes talking to everybody.” You pay for the tequila with Charlie’s card. “And you talk to me, so we’re golden.” Iris grins at him, clearly pleased with her logic. Ben rolls his eyes, but there’s no real malice in it. He lays a wedge of lime over the top of each of Iris’ full shots and pushes the salt towards her. “You’re drunk.” “Not drunk,” Iris corrects. “Tipsy.” “How many have you had?” he asks. “Mm, four.” She squints at her shot. “No, five.” “Five?” Ben frowns. “I only served you three drinks.” Iris laughs. “Oh but Pete loves me, didn’t you know?” “Is there a magic number?” you ask, intrigued. She opens her mouth, but another voice says, “Seven.” From behind Iris another girl has appeared, though her accent is definitely English. In tow, somehow, is the entire gang. “Alex!” Iris hauls her friend forward. “This is Ellie. She’s Canadian.” “As are almost all her friends.” Alex gestures at the band and the girls. “Everyone, this is Iris, my tiny Canadian, who can only consume a specific variety of seven drinks in one evening before she’s pissed.” “Why is that always how you introduce me?” Iris complains. Behind the bar, Ben snorts. “Because it’s my favourite fact about you!” Alex winks at you. Introductions are made and shots are passed down. “Can I propose a toast? To Canada, for producing really cool people?” “Can we counter that toast with London for doing the same?” Brian asks, and Alex clinks her glass with his. “Here here!” You lock eyes with Iris last, who grins before tapping her glass on the bar and throwing it back. “Shall we take this back outside?” Alex suggests. Iris waves her off while the gang agrees.

“Gotta pee, see you in a sec.” You reach forward to help instinctively as Iris gathers all the empty glasses and discarded lime into a pile for Ben, who sweeps them off the bar and begins to serve again.

“Alright, Ellie?” Kelsey asks, and you nod. “I think I’ll hang here for a bit.” 

“You know where to find us,” she says, and everyone leaves you and Iris seated together. “Six?” you prompt. 

She nods, laughing lightly. “Six. Thankfully Lex lives literally three minutes down the street, so I don’t have far too go if we tip over the edge tonight.” Iris hops off her stool, proclaiming she’ll be back in two. You nurse your water, and watch in surprise as Ben reappears, sliding a steaming mug and saucer of tea across the bar in front of Iris’ empty seat. You can smell the peppermint from a foot away. He winks at you, lifting a finger to his lips. You blush before you can stop yourself.

Minutes later, Iris returns, staring at the tea as she sits down. “Did I order this?” You shrug. “Fuck,” she mutters. “Am I that sloshed already?” Iris furrows her eyebrows and leans forward to catch Ben’s attention. “Was this you?” He looks amused but doesn’t deny it. “I know you,” he says. “You’re drunk now, and you’re going to ask me for it.” Ben’s smile is teasing. “Only person ever to chase tequila with tea.”

Iris makes a face. “You know what, Ben?” But the question clearly doesn’t even have an answer; Iris just resorts to scowling and Ben’s laughter transforms his entire face. Oh, you think. I get it now.

“I hate you,” she mutters. “No you don’t,” he says matter of factly. Iris sighs, as if she’s long since resigned herself to the fact. But when she looks at Ben again her eyes are soft. “Thank you lovely.” Iris uses lovely like a noun, like a tender endearment.

You feel abruptly as though you’re intruding on something private. Ben shrugs a little. “That’s alright.” He glances down and then up again, smiling with one side of his mouth higher than the other – you’re reminded so viscerally of Shawn that it’s hard not to stare – before he’s called away further down the bar.

“He’s right though.” Iris laughs a little again. “I’m pretty much drunk now.” She runs a finger around the rim of her mug. “I’d better drink this.” Her smile is almost rueful. “Don’t become best friends with bartenders. You’ll start drinking way too much.” “Noted.” “So what brings you to London, Ellie?” You should lie, probably. “We’re on tour with a musician. He’s not here tonight.” “Oh yeah? Anyone I’d know?” The shot has loosened your tongue. But there’s something very warm in Iris’ gaze, something trustworthy. “Shawn Mendes?” Her eyebrows fly up. “Seriously? Holy shit! I love him. I wish I’d known he was in town sooner. I would’ve dragged Lex to go see him. Is everyone part of his team?” You nod. “And you?” “Um,” you say. “I’m not– I’m no one.”  Iris casts you dubious look. You swallow. “It’s complicated.” The older woman studies you for another moment, before she smiles gently. “You don’t have to tell me,” she says. “I’m just a slightly drunk girl in a pub drinking tea.” Iris takes a long sip. You don’t know why you say it; maybe you’re also more drunk than you thought. Maybe, like with Taylor, something in you knows that Iris is safe. Or maybe you can’t bear the weight of this truth anymore. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him.” Iris puts down her cup. “Oh honey.” It’s not a condescension, but an empathy. Before you know it, the story in its entirety comes pouring out. You tell Iris about your sister, the first tour across the States, about every correspondence over the long break between albums, about Clara and Hannah and Amber and Morgan. You tell her about the Twitter threads, popping up faster than Ava can even ask you about them, about Andrew’s iron fist, and about this strange fear of your own wanting whenever Shawn’s eyes go dark. “It’s the talk, that’s the worst.” you admit. “They’re all just speculating, and I want to be able to just ignore it, you know, but some fans are just…” You don’t dare finish your sentence. Iris nods thoughtfully. “Gossip can be pretty awful,” she says. “It can ruin a lot, if you let it.” You follow her eyes across the room to Ben, who is pouring with both hands and then impressively, leaning his forehead on a third spout to finish a set Guinness.  He makes a silly face at her over the row of taps and she smiles back at him, though when he turns away, there’s something very sad in it. Your curiosity burns but you don’t dare give it voice. “I know it must all feel like too much,” Iris continues. “But you know how Shawn feels about you.” She swivels to face you fully. “That’s more than a lot of us ever get. You took your chance before anyone could say anything about it.” She reaches for your hands and squeezes gently. “You deserve to be happy. And your secret’s safe with me, okay? I swear.” You’re going to cry, definitely. “I’m scared.” If you’re going to bare your soul tonight, you may as well go all the way. “I’m scared that all of this is going to ruin us before we even get started.” It could be the alcohol, but it looks like Iris flinches. You’ve regretted enough in your life to be able to see it, even distantly, in someone else’s face. “Don’t let people who’ll never matter in your relationship dictate your actions,” she says. You force yourself to hold her eyes. “You were that brave before. You can be that brave again.” She smiles, and that distant look disappears. “I know I’m not an expert in the business, but you’re such a sweetheart. And Shawn seems wonderful. Plus, you’re so young.” “I miss him,” you blurt, and she squeezes again. “Isn’t that stupid? I see him everyday.” Iris shakes her head. “Not stupid at all. You said you have tonight off right?” At your confirmation, she asks, “So what are you still doing here?”

Good question. “I’ll be right back,” you say now. Iris lifts her mug of tea in approval, her eyes sparkling as you rush out to the patio area. The gang is still chatting with Alex, who has her head on the shoulder of a handsome man as they sit amongst the low benches and chairs. “Kris?” The lighting expert looks up at you, her head tilting when she takes in your possibly wild expression. “I think I’m gonna go.” “Are you okay?” she asks, standing to give you a careful look. You nod. “I just…” You struggle to find the right words. “Want a little time.” Kristin’s gaze softens. “Sure. Let’s sort our bill and go, okay? We can Uber if we’ve missed the last train.” “You don’t have to–” you start, but she shakes her head. “Set up starts early,” she says, waving away your protest. Kris leans down to speak to Parker, who thankfully gives you enough grace to not even look up at you before he too, is on his feet.  “I think we’re gonna call it,” he says casually to the group. “And we have Sinclair. We’ll see you guys in the morning for breakfast?”  There are nods and goodbyes all around. As Parker and Kristin pay their tabs with Pete, you find Iris in the same place, accepting a kiss on the cheek from a short, older man with a weathered face and kind eyes. 

“If I were just forty years younger,” he says, and her lips quirk like it’s something she’s heard before. “I’d absolutely say yes, John.” Her smile widens when she catches sight of you. “Ellie! Headed out?” You nod, and it’s oddly wonderful to have a stranger seem proud. “It was so amazing to meet you.” Iris pulls you in for a hug. “Go get him,” she says in your ear, squeezing tight. You look back once at the door. Ben is wiping the counter on the far side of the bar, and glances up. You lift your hand in a wave, which he returns. From her seat, Iris throws her head back in laughter with the same man, the sound just a touch louder than the music and the hum of conversation. Ben looks over at her, smiles, and goes back to work. * Shawn looks so pleased to see you that you nearly blurt it out right then and there. But then his eyebrows lift in confusion, and he taps his watch. You’re back early. “It just occurred to me,” you say, feeling slightly breathless, “that this probably looks like a booty call. Do people still call it that?” Shawn looks like he’s tempted to laugh, but you stumble on. “But I don’t care. I wanted to see you.” He blinks. Sober you would blush beneath the warmth of his gaze. “I probably also sound drunk,” you continue. “Which I’m not, entirely. I’m a little tipsy. But still perfectly in control of myself.” More or less. He’s going to laugh at you again. Before you can drop too far into mortification, Shawn pulls you in by the wrist. You can feel the tequila warming you through, emboldening you. It’s freeing in a way, the fact that he can’t speak and you instinctively stop wanting to either; you say enough, you think, dragging Shawn down by the collar, and so does he, pinning your hips against the door with both hands. Your mouths meet in the middle and well– Talking’s overrated, isn’t it? (You have enough presence of mind to set an alarm, this time.) You tiptoe back to your room at 12:37am, when midnight became ten more minutes, and then ten more, and so on and so forth. It’s burned into your brain, that look in Shawn’s eyes, as he sat up against his headboard and you knelt between his open legs, pulling yourself up so you looked down on him in a thrilling flip of your height difference. You’re grateful this shirt doesn’t wrinkle and there’s no visible proof of Shawn’s fingers having found their way under it, ascending the tower of your spine and making you shudder nearly as hard as he did when you seized his curls and tilted his head back for a kiss. He bumps into the bottom of your bralette and not-quite-drunk you is glad that despite how nice it looks, it’s not so easy to get out of. You know, and Shawn does too, judging by his smile, that anything beyond his gently wandering hands is probably a bad idea. It doesn’t stop you from trembling as he traces the lace around your back, over your ribs, keeping your eyes the entire time and making no move to pull it off or touch you beneath it. Even though both the tipsy and sober halves of you want him to. You wish, slipping into your dark hotel room, that you’d been just drunk and brazen enough to simply yank your top off, like in one of those smooth movie moments, but of course you hadn’t been.   But that’s okay, you know, taking care not to drop the bottle of water Shawn had pressed into your hand between goodbyes at (against) the door. Tonight was not the night. You still have someday. * @stanmendes88: SOMEONE TRIED TO ASK HIM ABOUT RED WHAT THE FUCK. WHY ARE PEOPLE LIKE THIS??? [The horizontal video focuses mostly on Shawn, sitting with both legs dangling off the stage. At the edge of the camera, perfectly manicured pink nails wrap around the microphone. “I was wondering what your relationship with your crew is like?” “They’re the best,” Shawn replies easily, leaning back on his palm. “I’ve never worked with more hardworking and dedicated people.” “Anyone in particular?” the girl presses. He stiffens, almost imperceptibly. “I’m sorry?” Someone further behind the camera whispers, “Oh my god.” The girl is still holding the mic, even though her question is up. “People think you might be closer with certain members of your crew than others.” Heads are whipping back and forth like they’re watching a ping-pong match. The camera trembles as it zooms in on Shawn. “People think a lot of things,” he says, his tone measured. His eyes are flinty, the curve of his mouth frozen in place. “But considering this question doesn’t really seem about me, I think we should move on.” An audible murmur flits through the assembly of gathered fans. One face in view is shooting manicured girl an extremely judgemental look. “Hi Mr. Shawn.” Coos and ‘aww’s’ overtake the room as the camera turns to a little girl, no older than eight, as she smiles up at Shawn from the front of the room. Everyone’s attention turns to Shawn, who has hopped off the stage to crouch down in front of the new speaker. “Hi, sweetheart.” likes: 32; retweets: 6] * “Ellie, there you are.” You nearly drop the kit. Shawn’s manager looks strangely incongruous in the doorway of the spare dressing room, where all the extra, smaller pieces of fragile equipment are going to live over the next two nights. The O2 is one of the most intimidating venues you’ve ever seen; even tracing your steps back to this room for one of Kelsey’s lenses had been an ordeal. “Shawn’s two doors down,” you blurt, thinking he’s just mistaken, but Andrew doesn’t move. “I’m looking for you, actually.” Your stomach plummets. Dread takes root around your lungs, making it hard to speak. “Did you need something?” You haven’t broken any of the rules since you left Manchester. If anything, after news of the day’s Q&A spread, you’ve been avoiding Shawn entirely and he’s been giving you slightly forlorn, but understanding glances all day. But he’s due onstage in less than ten minutes so you’re in show mode now; some awful part of you is grateful for the distance. “No.” “Am I–” You scramble to put down the lens. It’s foolish to think he doesn’t know, this man who’s been part of Shawn’s life longer than anyone else on this tour. “Am I behaving unprofessionally?” He shakes his head. Your heart thumps in your throat. Andrew sighs. He looks tired, you think. You can’t imagine how much work it takes to manage Shawn’s success and all the wild layers that come along with it. “You’ve been identified on Twitter. You and Ava both, actually. Started sometime last night, confirmed just a little while ago.” You do drop the (thankfully empty) kit this time. Andrew steps further into the room as you manage to sink into the only chair without falling. “Do we–��� You can feel a knot pressing on the question, but you force it out. “Do we know who...” Did she tell? “No,” Andrew admits, like it annoys him. “Not yet, anyway.” You’re glad you managed to sit down; the room feels like it’s tilting. “I suppose two years was longer than anyone expected us to be able to pull this off,” he continues. You can’t tell exactly by Andrew’s tone whether he’s upset, nor can you work out how you feel. Should you be scared? Relieved? “Ava was busy with meet and greets, but I wanted to let you know as soon as possible so you were prepared.” Prepared? Prepared for what? Legions of girls (and boys) to eviscerate you? “Um,” you start, and then stop. You have no idea what to say. “Okay.” Shawn’s manager gives you a look, as though he can’t decide if he should be satisfied with this non-reaction. “We can talk about it more later,” he says. “Let’s just get through tonight.” Andrew’s almost out the door before you call, “Wait.” He turns, and you nearly lose your nerve. You remember what Iris told you, what she reminded you that you’re capable of. Be brave. “I feel like I should apologize. And possibly thank you.” For the first time, you see a crack in Andrew’s infallible professional veneer; his expression  crosses somewhere between confusion and laughter. You press on. “I know it hasn’t been easy, dragging me along all this time and keeping me a secret. I understand why it had to be done, to protect Shawn’s image. I’m sorry that you had to deal with so much. I’m sorry if–” You swallow. You can’t be sorry for having feelings, really. Nor would you be. “I’m sorry if our...our relationship caused you stress or difficulty.” “Ellie…” Is that remorse in his eyes? Is it even real? Does it matter? You muster a weak smile. “This has been the most amazing two years of my life. And I owe it to you, more than anyone. I just wanted to thank you, for this opportunity.” You gesture at the room. “And for allowing me to get to know him.” Andrew looks at you for a long time, long enough that you’re effectively brought back down from nervous confidence to plain old nervousness. “It’s my job,” he says finally, “to look out for Shawn.” Andrew levels you with a gaze that’s probably meant to be neutral, but feels cutting anyway. “What’s done now is done. This is nothing against you personally. I know you care about him, and I know he asked you to come to New York and Kelsey wants you on the rest of the tour, but considering what’s been going on…” Your heart sinks. “You need to think about what’s best for him. And his career.” Andrew leaves you sitting there, reeling. It’s not until your phone buzzes in your pocket that you remember you’re supposed to be getting back, but the buzzing doesn’t stop. Hannah wants to Facetime. Slide to answer. You almost drop your phone. But you don’t accept the call. * Shawn’s been anxious about the London shows since the dates were announced practically a year ago. The crowds here, he’s told you, are some of the best in the world. All he wants to do is to live up to their expectations. It’s why you push everything else out of your mind and make sure to take your spot, the same place you ended the Manchester show, so that you’re one of the last people to look into Shawn’s eyes before he hops over the last step onto the stage. You can’t even shout over the noise. You wish you could touch him but you don’t dare. You can do this. I believe in you. It’s going to be amazing. He’s a little nervous, still. But as Shawn turns away, you wouldn’t know it from the way he bounds up, guitar slung over his shoulder, to truly the most deafening screams you’ve heard yet on tour. After TNHMB and halfway into Lost in Japan, you know he’s alright. You can hear it in his voice. You should be with Mike on the floor; you can see Kelsey onstage, capturing, as she likes to, the first few moments of every show from as close as possible. But you only make it halfway up the catwalk, caged in on all sides by the press of bodies and the screaming and the waving hands. Your heart starts to race, your breath not quite coming as slowly as it should. Flashes of the crowd outside the hotel overtake you. You have to tighten your grip on your camera lest you drop it; the strap around your neck feels weightless, invisible. I can’t be in here. You can see Mike in a distance that’s only a few feet but feels like eons, staring at you. Your vision is blurring. Just don’t run. You manage a somewhat normal pace, spinning on your heel back towards mainstage. The walkie clipped to your hip crackles almost incoherent noise under the arena thrum. “–llie...catch her–” You brush past both Cam and Paul, past ground crew, weaving half-hazardly and miraculously not bumping into anyone, laying your shaking hands on the very back door just as someone calls your name. “Ellie!” Bursting into the static, mostly silent light of the backstage hall is so shocking you almost fall. “Hey.” Sam’s voice is alarmed. “Are you okay?” All you can do is shake your head. Sam wraps his hand around your arm. “C’mon,” he says, and leads you down the hall. You wonder where he’s taking you, until the guitar hand is shoving a door a open with his hip. Shawn’s cologne still lingers. Sam pries your camera from your hands. He is the only person besides the band that Shawn allows to handle his instruments. You should know him better, you think. From here, the din has faded to an almost faint white noise. “Just try to breathe,” he says, pushing you down gently onto the sofa. Pablo sits in his omnipresent place in the corner of the room. You point. “Can you–” you croak, gasping. Sam doesn’t ask questions. Soon enough lavender fills the air and you force as deep an inhale as you can manage, doubled over your knees and staring at the floor in an effort to get the room to stop falling in and out of focus. The dark, double knotted laces of his shoes appear in your field of vision. “Do you need a distraction?” Sam asks. You nod mutely. “Can you...can you name all the tour stops we’ve been on so far? In order?” “Lisbon,” you start, your chest heaving. “Barcelona. Madrid. Berlin. Brussels.” “Good,” he encourages. “Keep going.” You rattle them off. You stumble between Amsterdam and Stockholm. “And Oslo.” “You got it. Next?” “Montpellier. Paris. Dublin. Leeds. Birmingham. Manchester.” You don’t mean to wince, but it happens anyway. Your heart is still in your throat, but at least it’s slower now. “And where are we tonight?” “London.” You ease yourself upright and accept the bottle of water he offers you. “Thanks.” “Maybe you should sit this one out,” Sam suggests. You shake your head. “He’s been talking about these shows forever. I can’t miss it.” The guitar hand – he can’t be that much older than you, really, so how is it that you’re falling apart? – considers you for a moment. You meet his gaze. You didn’t cower with Andrew; you refuse to back down now. Sam glances at his watch. “At least hang here for a few songs. I’ll come get you before Bad Reputation.” You blink. Sam grins now, a little teasing. “You tell him you don’t have favourites, but we all know that’s a lie.” If you weren’t coming down off a panic attack, you would blush. “Okay,” you relent. “Thank you.” “You’re shaking,” he points out, and drags Shawn’s black Givenchy hoodie off the chair he’d left in on. Sam rolls his eyes at your hesitation. “It’s just me, Ellie. Come on. What am I gonna do, rat you out?” You wince again. His eyes are gentle now; what is it about your feelings for Shawn that makes you feel so scared? “You’re safe, alright?” He’s right. You know it, despite your trembling hands. You drag the sweater over your head, shivering in adjustment to the soft warmth of it, inhaling the even more concentrated smell of Shawn, beneath the cologne and the deodorant. You’re safe. “I’ll be back in a bit.” Getting up from the coffee table, Sam points at the bottle in your hand. “Drink all of that.” “Sam–” He stops. You hate how frail your voice sounds. “Please don’t tell. I’m okay. I don’t want anyone to worry.” He doesn’t pity you, thank god, but even his empathy feels like more than you can bear. “Mike called over the comm. I was just only person who managed to catch you.” Apparently you can still blush after all. “Oh.” Sam smiles. He, like Ben, is objectively very handsome. You would have thought in another life, but you can’t imagine one with Sam that doesn’t also involve Shawn. You’re stuck in his orbit; there would be no contest. “Just the crew channel,” he says, a reminder. “So you might be good, at least for now.” It’s a relief; the thought of Shawn being even momentarily distracted from the show is all Andrew needs to prove his – unspoken, yet crystal clear – point. Your stomach twists unpleasantly. Sam leaves you alone with Pablo and engulfed in Shawn’s hoodie, both of which give you comfort. The most fragile part of you wants to stay here. But Shawn’s out there. You finish the bottle of water, and turn off Pablo. Maybe fifteen minutes later, when Sam returns, you’re already on your feet. “Let’s go,” he says, holding his hand out for a fist bump. You hug him instead. * Shawn strums for what seems like a long time on B stage; Youth, Perfectly Wrong, and Life of the Party are all over and the crowd waits with bated breath to see which acoustic track they’ll receive tonight. “Before anyone accuses me of stealing,” he says, “Taylor told me to do this.” Laughter echoes. “She says that unique experiences have a singular power, and that every person who listens to our music has unique lives. Even though you probably all know the setlist and which guitars I use when, every crowd I’ve played on this tour has been different.” Shawn looks out at the arena, his smile brilliant. “And you, London, will always be one of the most incredible I’ve ever played for.” It’s a wonder that he hasn’t gone deaf yet. “So I wanted to give you something special. This song means a lot to me, and I’ve always been so floored when I get to learn what my music means to you. I’m truly humbled to be a part of your lives and to be there for you in tough times. Morgan, thank you so much for sharing your story with me. This is Hold On.” “No fucking way.” The girl closest to you clutches at her companion, true wonderment in her eyes. “He never does this live!” The sound of thousands of voices harmonizing with Shawn will never fail to give you goosebumps. You wish you knew where Morgan was in the room, but the feeling only heightens when you arrive at the last pre-chorus. And so I said Mo, stay with me Everything will be alright The O2 roars. The pause in the song stretches, as if he too is searching for the girl with the incredibly perfect handwriting. You blink a rush of tears from your eyes. “Morgan, what the fuck!” You whip your head around. It seems inconceivable; the O2 seats twenty thousand, and hundreds more are crammed onto the floor. But there she is, pressed against the barrier a third of the way down the catwalk. You have no idea how you missed her. Her stillness in all the chaos around her is striking. I don't know what You’re going through But there’s so much life Ahead of you So you just gotta hold on Kelsey has always let you have B stage; Shawn enjoys looking right into your lens at least once or twice a night, so pointing at Morgan from the bottom of the stairs isn’t quite as hard as you’ve have thought. He turns his head. All we can do is hold on, yeah Yeah, you just gotta hold on Just hold on for me Fans have fully embraced the tour aesthetic and taken to giving Shawn flowers as he returns to mainstage (your Instagram is now peppered with flatlays of his shirt and single stems from various tour stops), and tonight he accepts a bright yellow tulip from a shaking girl. You walk backwards carefully, stopping in front of Morgan so all you have to do is nod towards her when Shawn makes a beeline in your direction, Cam hot on his heels. The composure you can see Morgan’s been trying to hang onto wavers when he reaches over the barrier to pull her into a hug, lingering a lot longer than he’s meant to. You squeeze down on your shutter as tightly as you can tell Shawn’s holding her. You can’t hear over people screaming his name when he pulls back, but you can see the words on his lips as Shawn presents Morgan with the tulip and takes both of her hands in his. Thank you so much. He says something else, leaning close to her. She nods, her eyes wet and overbright. Unlike a lot of other fans he’s interacted with on the catwalk, she doesn’t reach for him when he peels away. Shawn has to take the rest of the stretch at a run, grabbing at hands and reaching for high fives even as he and Cam blow past you. Morgan has dissolved in tears into the girl next to her. You need to follow Shawn before you do the same. “Ready to dance, London?” he asks, sounding a little out of breath, and the band launches into Queen. You think you’re imagining a chorus of voices calling your name, but it keeps happening. “Ellie! Ellie!” You turn. Three young girls wave frantically from the floor. Stunned, your arm waves back without explicit instruction; they burst into screams, grabbing at each other in excitement. The world doesn’t end. No one is shooting you daggers with their eyes. This is fine, you think. I can do this. * “I can’t do this.” “What can’t you do?” Ava asks, leaning over. You lift your phone to show her the two hundred follow requests on your Instagram that have appeared since you decided to turn your phone off yesterday. Hannah won’t stop calling. It’s cowardly, possibly, but you’ve also realized that you have no idea what you’d say to her that isn’t an accusation, or anything you’re prepared to hear, especially if it’s a confirmation of her betrayal. “Holy shit.” “Hey,” you complain. “What happened to ‘language’?” Your sister just shakes her head. “I’m just surprised it took them till tonight to find you.” “That’s really helpful, thanks.” Ava shrugs patiently. There isn’t much to be done, really. Your account is still private, and no one can force you to delete it. You marvel internally at the perseverance of whoever initially discovered your account; you don’t use hashtags on your photos, and as Shawn pointed out to you last year, there are dozens upon dozens of ‘Ellie Sinclair’s on the app. And of course, you’ve never appeared on Shawn’s account (upon pain of death, as Charlie dramatically puts it). You sigh. “Well that was fun while it lasted, I guess.” Ava offers you a sympathetic look. While you haven’t left the hotel since returning from night one besides a trip to EAT with Charlie, Paul’s sudden desire for fresh air hadn’t escaped your notice. Thankfully, it was a lot easier to ignore people shouting at you when you were shielded by two hundred pounds of hulking, stoic muscle. Shawn didn’t go down to meet the crowd today either; Andrew insists on voice rest even more when you do multiple shows in the same city. But the second London show is over. Shawn had treated the entire band and crew to drinks in the hotel, and now you’re staring at your suitcase trying to figure out this nagging feeling that you’re forgetting something. “Don’t panic,” Ava says, toothbrush in her mouth. “We don’t fly out till tomorrow afternoon.” You don’t reply, too wrapped up in your thoughts.   “What’s up with you? I would’ve thought you would be out celebrating with everyone. First leg of the tour is over! You get five days off. In a row.” You haven’t told her – or anyone, for that matter – about your conversation with Andrew. And besides a few questioning concerned glances, no one has brought up you fleeing the arena to have a small panic attack in Shawn’s dressing room. You don’t know how long you can keep up the charade. “Just tired.” Though he’s respected the rules you’re still technically bound to (even the thought of hiding it now is laughable), Shawn definitely knows something’s up. You’d claimed exhaustion last night easily enough, but you can’t avoid him now. Not when everyone else conspicuously called it a night early, leaving you to follow your sister, who waved cheerily at Shawn as you left the hotel bar twenty minutes ago. There is no grand and drawn out goodbye; you’re meant to be getting on the same flight tomorrow. Your stomach twists when you think about it for too long. A text chime surprises you out of your reverie. Shawn: Hey El it’s me. You left a sweater downstairs. You: Oh thanks! I almost forgot you had my number. Are you on your way up? Shawn: Haha you gave it to me the night IMB came out, remember? I figured you didn’t want to deal with Instagram. I’ll be at your door in ten seconds. You stare. You forgot, sometimes, how in tune he is with any social media involving himself or his fans. It’s disarming, too, to know that he’s probably seen what you have, that your handle has been found. That the accusations are already flying. That so many people you will never meet seem to hate you already. (You hadn’t had any illusions about being immune to online vitriol, but it’s hard to realize you’re not as strong as you want to be.) Perfectly on cue, there’s a knock at the door. “Hey you,” he says with a smile. Despite the depth of your anxiety, Shawn will never fail to settle something in you. “Hi.” You can’t physically cling to a feeling, but you can lean into his space. Even without real touch, you’re safe. You have to keep reminding yourself. His smile is a little more crooked than usual. “Are you drunk?” you ask. Shawn shakes his head. “I wish. But I hate flying hungover, so I stopped after a few.” “How responsible of you.” He just chuckles and holds up one of your favourite green hoodies. You thank him and launch it in the general direction of your bed. You miss, of course. Ava gives you a curt thumbs down. Shawn’s smile widens. “Wanna hang out? I’m so excited to sleep in tomorrow.” God, he’s adorable. It’s so curious, how he can be the eye of your anxious hurricane one minute and the bright, warm sun that banishes your doubt in the next. “Yeah.” Shawn leans further into the room to flash a grin at Ava. “Okay if I steal your sister for a bit?” She rolls her eyes at him from her bed. “You guys are seriously making me feel like one of those really old rich grandmothers who needs to approve everyone her grandchildren dates. Stop.” “Does that make me Nick Young?” you ask, delighted. “Amazing.” “Who?” Shawn looks from you to your sister as you both dissolve into laughter. “I’ll explain later,” you assure him, patting him gently on the chest. He catches your fingers in his, holding them firmly. It’s the first proper contact you’ve had since the night before last and you both know it. You look away first; Shawn’s gaze heats your cheek as you look back at your sister. “Night. Love you.” “Hey Shawn,” Ava calls. He stops after having pulled your hand from his chest, holding it so he can lead you out of the room. “Congratulations. I know we said it already, but it bears repeating. This leg was amazing.” The flush of his ears will never cease to make you smile. “I’m really proud of you.” He blinks, and then twice more, his impossibly (annoyingly) long eyelashes brushing the swells of his cheeks like the beat of graceful butterfly wings. Shawn looks, just for a moment, overcome. You squeeze his hand instinctively. “Thanks Av,” he says, something gravely in his voice. Her smile is fond. “Night, kiddo.” Shawn glances down as if to double check you’re still there. You tighten your grip on his hand and together you step out into the hallway, making the short journey down the hall to his room in relative silence. “TV?” he offers as you step out of shoes. “A movie?” “Whatever’s fine.” You’re sure you won’t be able to focus on it anyway. E4 is playing a Brooklyn Nine-Nine marathon. You’re both caught up but it’s always an easy rewatch. By some unspoken agreement you sit pressed together in the centre of the bed, your head tucked against his neck and Shawn’s arm wrapped around your shoulder. It’s terrifying to remember that no one will knock on the door tonight, and that you have nowhere to be in the morning. Shawn gives you till the end of the latest Halloween Heist before he says, “Okay?” His gaze is as soft as his question, like you could lie right to his face and he’d let you. “You seem...” You brace yourself. “Far away.” You can’t lie, but you can’t quite say your manager wants us to – to what? Break up? Can you break up with someone you were never really with in the first place? “I think so,” you manage at last. “These past few days were just…” It’s your turn to pause. “A lot.” Shawn keeps your eyes for several moments before he sighs a little. “I don’t think I made it any easier for you.” Well that’s not what I was expecting. You shift up so you can look at him properly. “What do you mean?” Shame isn’t something you’ve ever seen cross his face. “The Q and A. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I feel like I made it so much worse. And the crowd–” “Stop.” You reach for his cheek so he has to look at you. “Stop apologizing to me, okay? None of that was your fault.” Shawn’s jaw sets beneath your hand, like steel. “It’s not my fans that made you so anxious that you had to leave the show the other night? That grabbed you in public?” You try to cover your flinch. But your fingers slip and land on the comforter. I can’t believe he saw. “You can’t blame them for me having a panic attack,” you retort. You realize your mistake too late when his expression goes from tense to wildly concerned. But you don’t let him interject. “And what was I going to do? Stroll down to your meet and greet and say, hey Shawn, this girl you’re taking a photo with grabbed me in broad daylight and demanded I produce you like a freaking magician? And wasted her Q and A question trying to be a nosy brat? What would you have done?” You didn’t mean to start almost yelling at him. Shawn looks, more than anything, a bit shocked. You want to reel back, abashed, but he catches you before you can go too far, his hand covering yours. “I’m sorry,” you blurt, unable to look at him. “That was so unfair of me.” “I mean…” His fingers twist your hair back. The understanding you force yourself to recognize just piles on your contrition. “I don’t think so. It probably didn’t help that I literally haven’t been allowed to talk for like three days.” Shawn’s lips quirk like he’s trying not to smile. It makes you want to lean forward and kiss him, which you know, wouldn’t probably be productive to this conversation. You’re both capable of being serious adults.   You still want to. “I can’t believe that girl,” you say instead. “Did she think you were gonna go, yeah her name’s Ellie and we kissed before breakfast this morning?” Shawn breathes a laugh. Tension unfurls a little in your stomach, though not enough that you can feel genuinely relaxed. “Okay,” he says, sliding his fingers up your wrist. “So maybe I couldn’t have done anything. But I still wish you’d have told me about it. Even if I couldn’t say anything.” His eyes have gone tender again. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to deal with all this–” Shawn lifts his phone, and then gestures out to London on the other side of his window. “by yourself.” Andrew’s words ring in your ears. You need to think about what’s best for him. “I didn’t want to distract you,” you admit cautiously. His eyebrows draw together. “These dates were so important to you and I...” You trail off, but Shawn seems resolute. “Tell me.” You cringe even as you say, “I feel like you have bigger things to worry about than some people calling me a clout chaser online.” He frowns. “You’re important.” Shawn ducks his head, drawing you in by the elbows. “You’re important to me. God El, you have no idea how badly I wanted to tell that girl to get the fuck out of the arena and tear her ticket in half.” You stifle a snort, shaking your head a little even as he presses his forehead against yours. “That’s a bit dramatic. And you would never. But thank you.” “Would’ve gotten the point across,” he replies, almost a grumble. Shawn sneaks a hand beneath your top and traces some indistinguishable shape against the bare skin of your hip. Before you can react beyond a shiver he shifts, twisting to open his body to yours and dragging you into him. Your nose bumps into the V between his collarbones as Shawn wraps himself entirely around you. “I’ll stop apologizing,” he says, “But I’m here now, okay?” You swallow a sob, breathing through it. But you still feel small when you say, “Kay.” Shawn tightens his grip and you feel your body go nearly boneless against him. You hook a finger over St. Christopher, laying against his t-shirt, and run the bend of your joint back and forth across the chain. For a few minutes you just sit like that, the tv still playing softly. “I can still hear you thinking,” he murmurs. In your pause, Shawn continues. “You don’t have to tell me. But I want you to know that you can.” You have to take a deep breath before you can force the question out. “Are you sure it’s okay that I come to New York?” “Yeah,” he replies. “Of course. We’re not doing promo till like, Wednesday so we have a few days to hang out.” Shawn leans back and glances down at you, seeming unsure for the first time. “I was thinking of sitting down with Andrew and telling him, you know, officially. Even though I’m pretty sure he already knows about us.” Your stomach lurches. “I figure he’d appreciate the gesture. I’m sure he’d want to like, strategize or something.” Shawn meets your eye carefully. “Are you okay with that?” You know you should tell him. But the last thing you want to do is ruin this. You can’t speak, so you nod. His shoulders relax. “So I have a question,” he continues. “Isn’t clout like, when you have a lot of power?” You nod. You watch Shawn turn this over in his head. “I don’t think I get it. Chasing clout? Do they think you want popularity or something?” You shrug. “I guess? I mean the last girl you were even sort of tied to is now engaged to Justin Bieber, so.” His face pinches until he sees your vaguely teasing smile. “Are you just using me El?” Shawn asks. You shrug again, enjoying the joke. “I can see it,” he says. You would never call Shawn cocky or pompous, but he knows how to pretend. His lips curl. “I’m a catch. You’re lucky.” “Shawn Peter Raul Mendes,” you gasp and he laughs, catching your wrist before you can whack at him. His (annoying, attractive) musician’s reflexes catch your other arm too. You wonder if he can feel your pulse thrumming beneath his palm. Shawn’s eyebrows lift, like a challenge. You attempt to wriggle away, but he holds fast – not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough that you’re stuck. You’re determined, suddenly. You’re not sure quite how you manage, but you bear all your weight forward so he has no choice but to lean down onto the bed. Your knees land on either side of Shawn’s waist and he stares up. You’re not sitting on him, exactly, but you’re hyper aware of the place where your hips would probably slot together. And even though he’s technically still holding you by the wrists, bracing you so you don’t fall, that smug little grin is gone. A flash of desire zips up your spine. “I should go,” you blurt. His grip on you tightens, just for a second. “Stay.” You can see that vulnerable edge, beneath the dark caramel. It occurs to you, with a jolt of feeling even deeper than wanting, that Shawn has possibly missed you these past few days as much as you’ve missed him. “Please stay.” “I should change,” you protest weakly. “And brush my teeth.” “You can borrow a shirt, if you want,” he replies without missing a beat. Shawn’s hand is ridiculously warm on your thigh. “And I have an emergency toothbrush in my backpack.” “You keep an emergency toothbrush in you backpack?” you ask, partly to distract yourself from his fingers moving up and down your leg. Shawn looks absurdly pleased to be pinned beneath you, which isn’t helping. “I keep two in there, actually. Just in case.” You roll your eyes. “What do you say El?” His smile is adorably small, like he’s trying to contain the boyish eagerness you can see crinkling around his eyes. “Want to make out and fall asleep watching tv with me? Want to call up room service in the morning and just laze around?” You’ve never wanted anything so badly in your life. You lean down, and Shawn releases you. You brace one hand next to his head to anchor yourself, and then rake the other through his curls. He leans into your touch even as you trace his cheekbone, his jaw, over his ear. You kiss him and you can feel him craning his neck when you pull back, still chasing you. “Yes,” you murmur. “I say yes.” (part thirteen)

The Best Good Parts of Ghostlights

As according to me

The second half of the story that began with The Mystery of Time, Ghostlights is a promise of similar bombast, excitement, and generally killer music that sure ghosts my lights. ... Is that anything? No? Whatever. Let’s get on to the part we all actually care about:

The spooky skeletons.

Or, you know, the music:

Storyline: The Antiquarian’s shop has burned down, the little clock is as enigmatic as ever, and Aaron Blackwell realizes that the scientists he’s found himself entangled with are really a cult set on controlling the passage of time... and the minds of all at its mercy.

Quick Notes:

Character name changes! The Nobleman is now the Magician, the Antiquarian is now the Mystic (I think he’s the same dude, anyway).

The story is a little harder to follow now, as we’ve done away with the journal entries. However, there’s still a good amount of character interaction, you can suss out a thing or two. What do you think?

There isn’t as much orchestration this time, but the trend of cool, time-themed sound design continues, so keep an ear open.

You know the drill. Official playlist. Stuff it in your earholes.

Mystery of a Blood Red Rose

The Meatloafification is complete. Literally: this song was written for Meat Loaf, who ended up passing on it despite initial positive reception. Ah, well.

This is also the song entered to Eurovision, putting Avantasia in the running to become the German representative. They did not win. Ah, well.

Those points aside, this song really rules. It’s upbeat, catchy, and has a lot going for it.

“Don’t have no TIIIIIME TO WAAASTE”

*choir* BRING ON THE NIGHT

...”while the HOUR DON’T WAIT FOR A BLINK TO CRAM THE PAST” (yes!... what?)

LET THE SCENT OF A POISONOUS ROSE TEMPT ME AWAY

“BOY REACH OUT FOR WHAT IS DUE!” legiterally thought was Bob Catley. Was Tobi. A+

....we’re OFF INTO THE MOOOOOONSHIIIIIINE

Let the Storm Descend Upon You

Big dramatic piece, soaring and mysterious with multiple vocalists... including the return of Jorn Lande as a spirit known as “Temptation”, or as I like to think of him, “Stupid Sexy Satan”.

“Light... breathe and sleep tight...” fakeout prechorus getting me hyped

“It may be your vault... NOW IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!”

“Oh that’s where I’ve been too... there’s nothing but a void over the sanity of foooools!”

Now the CHORUS FOR REAL: bright, almost gospel-esque 🤘😩🤘

“LIGHT... bring me the LIGHT!”

“I will bring uncertainty on a silver plate / like a mantlepiece / I will wipe out darkness!”

“Night! / BLESSED IS THE NIIIIIIiiIIIght!!!”

The “and I Will Make You Mine” lines first sung by Jorn and then Ronnie are both so wickedly ominous I love it

I said the chorus was fantastic in general but there’s something in particular about the last couple lines that musically always makes me go bonkers

THE BREAKDOWN

“For all the world will see it... tower to the stars...” Ronnie’s ACTING

“Let the storm descend upon me / let aurora fall upon me!” AARON...

Jorn does a Jorn thing, it’s badass, so it goes

The whole thing is badass, really.

The Haunting

Look out, Dee Snider is a spooky ghost on our next Sinister Theatrical Evil Guy song!

Again nailing the atmosphere. This is a “running through my mansion halls in a nightrobe holding a candlestick wailing as I’m chased by ghosts” song

S̺͚͙L̯̕E̞̞̼͙̤͝E̗P̟̖̣̟̣̝͉ TI͎G͖̥̭̦͈͉H̤̙̫̤͞ͅT̹͍̫͘ ̧̪͔̥͈S̫͕̱̼͖̮̞O̙̱̥͚̠͎͉M̤̥͔͠E̵̫̗͓̝O͙N̩̫̲E̞̯̱̩̞̣̟’͖S̵̺͖ ̺͍̼́A̖L̜̪WA͡Y͇̫͓̩̟̺͘S̝͇̬͇̟ ҉͓̘͍̯̣̗B͕͇̪͍̥͓͉̀Y͓̭̹͢ ̴Y̼O̰̥̯̭̻͍̖͠U͚̪̭̬̯R̘ ͈S͏̗̣̖̻͈̖̤I̸͎͎̟DͅE̮̺͍̠͙

“Don’t you waste your time to try / and understand this figment of the night” + crazy cool background instrumentals

This song is like if the Trans Siberian Orchestra’s thing was Halloween instead of Christmas

S̱͔̤̟̹̺͞W҉̭E̜̲̟̱̹͇ͅE͓̝̙͖ͅT̟̭ ̲͚̥̩͖͙͍D͔Ṛ̴͖̗̠E̬͝A̭͚M̖ͅS̴̪̲̙ͅ ̱̲͙̼̤S̲͎̖͈̝Ę̜̼̞̠̳̠͖E͙ ̺̗͎̞̞͍̫Y̛͖̭͔̠̭̜O̧̭̫͓̖͖̦U̘̯͘ ̳̦̼̯̘͉͝IN҉͔ ̡̥̯̥̳T̵͇͚͈̻̺H̶̫E̛̖ ̝̪̤̘T͚W̭I̛̼̦̣̘͉L̖̬̳̱̘̱IG̦͇̣̟͕̯H̤̱͎̦̳̝T ̜͕̻Z̠͍̣̩̥O͓̖̹̪̖͖ͅN̦͙̩̥͓͘E̷͓͓̬̮ͅ

😱: God I must contain my wayward fantasy!

👻👻👻: AHHH Ahhhh ahhh!

“I’m the spark they refuse to conceive...” DRAMATIC PIANO

Seduction of Decay

Hello, Geoff Tate. Welcome to Avantasia!

Cool instrumentation!

“You... m̠̻͉A̴̟Ý̳͖͍̱ ͍̦͠N͏̣̮O͇̘͕͖͈͘T̨̞̫ ̼̹̖̮͕̺F̞̩̼͇̯͓͎É͉̫͖È͖̞͎͇L͇̥͚̯̲ ҉̰I̘̰̪̪͓͖̱T͎̱͕̩ ”

This is a slower-paced one but it’s cool to chill out to when you’re in the right mood.

Ghostlights

Wait, we’re four songs in, it must be time for: the Michael Kiske power metal anthem!

“I don’t know if I’m right or wrong! I don’t know if I shall go on!”

“MINDS fly FREE when the gates fly open! Walk on through...”

⛈ “THUNDER AND RAIN AND THE WIND IN MY FACE” ⛈😭

“GHOSTlights DANCE will you HEED the TOKEN??? Blaaazing LIGHT...”

“BLINDING MY EYES GET ME OUT OF THIS MAZE!”

Time signature changes in the chorus... whew

“Fireworks surround me... wherever they GO THEY TELL ME always home!”

Sudden Jorn!

THEY. CALL. ME. HOOOOOOME

Draconian Love

You shed draconian love, you shed draconian love 🎶

Taking a hard turn into goth with Herbie Laghans, revealing to the world that he has a deep liquid chocolate voice apparently

“Tell me how should I embrace? / Like roses we’ll wither on the vine” 👀

HEY HEY HEY

The whole “infiltrate us with mercy” verse is Big Sexy

“Of an unbred cause / an unborn will / whatever THAT MAY MEEEEEEAAAAANN”

The last chorus and pre-chorus? Yes???

Seriously, does Herbie sing like this anywhere else ever?... Can he do it more?

Master of the Pendulum

There wasn’t a Sinister Theatrical Evil Guy song on TMoT so Ghostlights gets two

This one has Nightwish’s Marco Hietala, being crazy good at being a Sinister Theatrical Evil Guy (Ronnie also slays it in live performances)

SUPER cool atmosphere, the Watchmaker is wild.

“Tick-Tock Tick-Tock SOMEONE’S WATCHING OVER ME”

Catchiest chorus EVER

“That’s WHO I AM! I’m the MASTER of THESE haaaands...!”

��I feel your breath on my neck / I feel you behind my back / and as I’m turning around there’s just this frightening sound” 😱😱😱

“I feel it EVERYWHERE... oh I KNOW that you’re there....” 🕯👀

Alternating vocalists on the second run at the chorus!

The interlude with all the clocks ticking argh it’s SO COOL! SO COOL!! STOP BEING SO COOL!

MASTER OF THE HANDS THAT PUSH YOU!

Isle of Evermore

Sharon den Adel is here, it’s a sad ballad.

I like the weird quality to this one. The electronic quality to it reminds me of the intro to Savior in the Clockwork as well, it seems to be a way of representing dreamscapes in this duology, which is interesting.

Float away on Sharon’s voice... sail away through that opening door...

Babylon Vampyres

“A lot of good advice nobody’s keeping for themselves!” is a mood.

“The future ahead is not what it used to be” Tobi keeps using that line and it wrecks my shit every time

“BABYLON IS BURNING... SHINING FROM AFAR!

BABYLON IS BURNING... FROM SUNSET TO SUNRISE!

BABYLON IS BURNING AND YOU’RE GLOWING LIKE A FIERY STAR!

AND no one can tell... if we’ve been for real...”

Tobi and Rob’s tradeoff

The “Ever since I could remember...” passage

Lucifer

Beautiful mournful ballad, intense emotion, will melt some faces

Jorn as the embodiment of temptation is nothing new after The Wicked Trilogy but I think it’s interesting how his character takes a sympathetic turn in this one

“Morning star embrace me on these grounds” the plaintive desperation... INTO it

He WILL Take You Home Tonight

“I’ll make you fume with fury and rage / I’ll make you see what you’re made of tonight” 🤘😏

The last “TOUCHING THE FLAMES TONIGHT” dueting

Unchain the Light

That intro sounds like revving machinery. MUSICAL PICTURES. Have I said “this is SO COOL” enough yet?

The Kiske/Ronnie/Tobi tradeoff chorus is DIVINE

The second verse... I LOVE this character! Jesus CHRIST!

The “you look above to see inside yourself / and find time standing still” part... Aaron’s character turn...

“You turn this moment into what you think it ought to be / DEMYSTIFY THE DAAAAARK”

Great energetic climax. Just. 😭

A Restless Heart and Obsidian Skies

UGH THIS SONG. Again closing the album on a Bob Catley note, but this one is not 10 minutes long for once.

Beautiful beautiful denouement. 😭

The part after the first verse in the instrumental when you can hear time restart 😭😭😭

“Tender feet on stony ground” 🥺

“Sacred heart will you usher me now” 🥺🥺

The whole-ass chorus

“Wake to the SHADOWWW OF A DREAM / NOTHING’S what it seems!” 🥺🥺🥺🥺

“Ghostlights and matter / you know what is real / perception and facts all the same / truth’s what you feel” 🥺🥺😭😭

The whole “and the wind and the rain...” part

This song kills me based on what I think is happening in the story, the atmosphere, the melody, the everything

Cloudy’s “WE’RE UNDER OBSIDIAN SKIIIIEES” rip in the outro chorus 🤯

Bonus Track: Wake Up to the Moon

For a little bit of reference, I have “Wayward child / Wake up to the moon” tattooed to my leg.

This is a bonus track that seems to work as a thematically-related-but-out-of-character credits song, and yet is ALSO a sneaky Moonglow prologue! 💫

The driving melody in the verses... the continual Tobi/Jorn/Kiske/Ronnie/Bob tradeoff... 10/10

“Strange and magic, hear us CAAAAALL YOUR NAME” is a GOOD melody

And there we have it. The end... or the beginning? The past, or the future, or the present itself? Whatever it is, it’s fucking awesome. Thanks for hitching a ride with me, and see you next time!

Cast List:

Tobias Sammet as Aaron Blackwell Jorn Lande as Temptation Michael Kiske as The Mystic Ronnie Atkins as The Magician Robert Mason as Scientist I Geoff Tate as Scientist II Herbie Laghans as Eclipse Dee Snider as Nightmare  Marco Hietala as The Watchmaker Sharon den Adel as Muse Bob Catley as Epiphany