#anon i have listened to a single band with only three albums for well over six months

[cluster-b-culture-is]

I would love to hear your opinion on Stray Kids latest album, 5-Star. The lead single is S-Class, but I recommend starting with Super Bowl!

What

[works-of-fanfiction]

“He’s the Best.” - 90s!Graham Coxon x Reader

Summary: Graham struggles with his self-esteem within the band and the reader tries to cheer him up.

Requested by: Anon. I hope you like this <3

Warnings: Swearing (literally once).

Word Count: 3.3k - a bit of a longer oneshot from me! I didn’t mean for it to be this long.

A/N: I’ve been writing this and putting it off for days because I just don’t know if I like it, but I don’t want to restart it. Argh… I hope someone enjoys this cheese fest.

* Gif credits to the linked creator

_______________

No one in this life is born ‘better’ than anybody else. It’s not a competition or a game of comparison. Every single human on this planet has their own unique qualities that make them interesting and most importantly, worthy. However, humans sadly aren’t wired to see those qualities in themselves. They spend the majority of their lives obsessing over others; wondering if they’re as talented as the next man, or if they’ll ever look as good as whatshername. Sometimes, it gets to a point where even the deepest of friendships can become strained due to one or more parties comparing themselves to another’s achievements.

And seeing Graham go through exactly that, has been killing me. There was a time when everything Graham and Damon did together, was truly that - together. Every single melody, riff, lyric - it was theirs. Neither one did more work than the other, neither was more musically talented. They were both kids crammed inside a Portakabin with their very first instruments, strumming and plucking and making probably rather bothersome noise. They had no idea what was to become of their lunchtime jam sessions and after school practices. Both were just excited to have a friend that liked the same things as them, and enjoyed the noise the other was making.

But Graham has since become a shadow of who he once was around Damon - he’s become Damon’s shadow. Or so he thinks.

Being in a band with a boisterous frontman like Damon was bound to become hard work for the other members at one point or another, but I never thought it would affect Graham like this. It’s getting harder to communicate with him, and I know it’s not his fault but I’m running out of things to say to fill the silences. There’s only so many times I can ask if he wants a cup of tea, or tell him about the encounter I had at the bus stop earlier that day. I’m sick of hearing my own voice, so I can’t imagine how he must feel. The silence seems to be the only thing he wants; he doesn’t write anymore, he hardly plays guitar outside of work commitments, and he hasn’t picked up his sketchbook in weeks. He just seems to stare at the TV or sit on the sofa with his head buried in a book that’s stuck on the first chapter. I watched him the other day and in forty-five minutes, he turned the page once. I bet if I asked him about the story he wouldn’t be able to recall a single character’s name, never mind the plot.

Watching him struggle with his self-esteem is crushing, and I don’t want him to live another second feeling the way he does. I know it may take a while for him to find himself again, but if I can do anything to help move things along, it’s worth a try. I’d drop everything for Graham in a heartbeat.

“I dropped those music stands off today. Did you get them?” Dave asks, his voice a little crackly on the other end of the phone.

“I did, thank you!” I chime, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I assemble the very same stands.

“Oh, good. I was a little worried about leaving them outside. I thought somebody would take them… What do you need them for anyway?”

“That’s something for me to know and you to find out, Dave.” I laugh, tightening one last knob on the second stand and straightening it out. I stand back and admire my handy work, smiling at the prospect of what they are to become.

“Alright, alright. Well, I hope they come in handy! I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks again. See you next week!”

We both hang up and I grab the stands, climbing up the stairs and into the spare room, placing them in their desired places. Grabbing two pieces of sheet music, I slot them onto the stands neatly and adjust them until they’re perfect. With one last thing to check, I turn on the projector I borrowed from an old university friend and let the film play out on the blank wall opposite. I mess with the sound a little, making sure it’s loud enough before rewinding the footage to the beginning and turning it off until later.

Standing in the middle of the room, I turn around and admire everything on the walls. Everything from lyrics to old album art concepts, to still life paintings from Graham’s time at Goldsmith’s. Beside the music stands, there’s crates filled with records, decorated with lyrics scribbled onto scraps of paper, some in Graham’s handwriting and others in mine. I of course, couldn’t resist writing them out in various colours and covering them in star-shaped stickers. The finishing touch is a large beanbag against the wall for us to sit and watch the projector from. I fluff up the beanbag for the thousandth time before heading downstairs to wait for Graham to get back.

It takes around two hours for Graham to arrive home. As soon as I hear his taxi pull up outside, I jump up from the sofa and head into the kitchen to flick the kettle on. Nerves bubble through me as I anticipate his entry. It’s impossible to predict how Graham’s going to be feeling on any given day. He could come through the door and speak to me as normal, or he could disappear into his studio until he’s tired enough to head to bed. Through the rumbling of the kettle I listen out for the door, fingers impatiently tapping on the counter as my gaze fixates on a magpie outside, shakily balancing on the washing line. A second joins it and I smile, muscle memory taking over as I pour the boiled water into two cups, not taking my eyes off of the birds.

“Hi.” Graham’s voice peeps behind me. Putting the kettle down, I turn around with a warm smile on my face. Despite everything Graham has been going through, seeing him come through that door every day is still my favourite sight. Having him come home to me will simply never get old. I don’t know what I’ll do when he has to go out on tour again in a few months.

“Hey.” I breathe, the sides of my face already beginning to feel sore from the ridiculous grin stuck on it. He smiles back, the expression not quite reaching his eyes but I know he means well. He’s trying. “You go and sit down. I’ll bring these in.” I gesture to the brewing teas on the counter and he nods, hanging his bag on the nearest kitchen chair and leaving the room without another word. I finish the drinks as quickly as possible, grabbing the stack of takeaway menus from the junk drawer and bringing them with me, the pieces of paper clamped between my teeth as I concentrate on carrying the two steaming hot cups in my hands.

Setting the cups down on the coffee table, I toss the menus onto the sofa next to where Graham is very aggressively, trying to pull his Docs off. “Need a little help?” I ask, laughing as I kneel down and bat his hands out of the way. “It would help if you untied them.”

“It’s easier to leave them tied.”

“Oh, really?” I scoff, gesturing to his feet still stuck in the cherry red boots. The laces are a complete mess with three bulky knots in them. I sit down cross-legged on the carpet, carefully plucking and unravelling each knot whilst Graham buries his head in the takeaway menus. “How do you even - “ I struggle, pulling at the frayed shoelace whilst trying not to damage it further, “- get these things on?” With one last tug, the first lace loosens and I’m able to slide the boot off with ease. Graham’s face pops out from behind the menu, a side-smile plastered onto his lips and a cheeky glint in his eyes. I know he wants to laugh.

“Shall we get Indian tonight?” He changes the subject, flipping over the tatty piece of bright orange paper as he squints at the options. He always orders the same thing, yet still insists on reading the whole menu front to back. He does it for every restaurant.

“Indian sounds good.” I nod, pulling the second boot off and shoving them to the side. “I’ll call them now.” Jumping up to grab the phone, I type the number in from memory and hold it up to my ear.

“What’s the rush?” Graham mouths and I hush him when somebody answers. I order the usual along with some extras and give them our address, despite them not even really needing it anymore. The phone call is no longer than a minute and Graham sits staring at me, nose scrunched in confusion. “Are you going to tell me what’s going - “

“Follow me.” I blurt out, stretching my arm towards him and rising onto my tiptoes out of excitement. He stands slowly, shrugging off his jacket and leaving it on the sofa. “I was going to wait until we’d had our food, but I have to show you now.”

“Show me what?” He asks as I grab his wrist and drag him up the stairs. We squeeze up the narrow staircase, almost tripping each other over a couple times until we stop on the landing, feet overlapping one another’s on the small square of carpet.

“I know you haven’t really been yourself lately.” I start, my fingers slipping from Graham’s wrist to entwine with his. He looks down, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes watch our hands as I lightly stroke the back of his thumb in an attempt to relax him. He has a habit of tensing up whenever I broach the subject. “So I wanted to remind you just how great you are.”

I watch his face intently, the corners of his mouth twitching and trying to smile. With my free hand, I open the door and flick the light on, pulling Graham into the room with me. His hand slips from my grasp and I back up to stand against the wall, watching as he takes in the room around him and everything in it.

He walks to the music stands first, fingers tracing the notes on the pages, flipping them over then back again. He walks towards the canvas on the back wall - a woodland painting he’d won a prize for back in college - running his hand over the textured patch of paint that forms the trees. I nervously bite the back of my thumb as he kneels down to sift through the records in the large black case below, flicking through every Blur album and single released to this day. My favourite lyrics are scattered on sheets of paper all over the ground, and he picks up the second verse from Coffee & TV. “You’ve always loved this one.” He says, turning to me and smiling.

“I happen to really like the guy who sings it.”

“He must be pretty good then.”

“Oh, he’s the best.” Resting my foot against the wall, I kick my body forward and stand straight, joining Graham beside the projector.

“What’s this for?” He asks, hands hovering near the buttons but not daring to touch anything. I take his hands in mine and give them a loving squeeze.

“Sit down and I’ll show you.” I chirp and he sinks down onto the beanbag. I mess with the projector until the sound starts to creep in, stretching over to switch off the light. Graham shuffles to the side to make some room for me on the beanbag and I flop down beside him, nestling into his side.

The image from the projector is surprisingly clear against the wall, although could’ve been improved had I borrowed a screen from somewhere. A variety of different clips play out in front of us, ranging from Graham performing onstage to snippets of his band members talking and praising their guitarist. I try my hardest to focus on the film in front of me, but I can’t help glancing over at Graham to see his reactions. His brows are furrowed, but not necessarily in a bad way - he’s focused, fully concentrating on everything he’s seeing and hearing.

I fidget with my hands, twiddling my thumbs and quietly cracking my knuckles. Graham notices this and grabs my left hand, squeezing it tightly and bringing it over to rest in his lap. Laying my head on his shoulder, I press a kiss onto his sleeve, rubbing my head against him and breathing in his familiar scent. He lays his head on top of mine, but never looks away from the video playing on the wall. Absentmindedly, his fingertips dance on the back of my hand, the drumming following the beat of Song 2 as it plays from the projector. I too can’t help bopping along to the beat, my foot tapping softly on the carpet.

The video closes with one final clip, a message I recorded for Graham. Too embarrassed to watch myself, my focus stays on him as I squeeze his hand a little tighter and snuggle up as close as possible. The picture begins to fade and the sound plays out until there’s no footage left, and the whirring of the projector becomes background noise in the room. Graham doesn’t say anything at first, but as I try to stand to turn the projector off, he pulls me back down onto the beanbag and rotates his body to face mine.

“Hey.” I whisper, my right hand supporting his cheek as he leans into me, his eyes closed and lips pressed into a line. Our bodies slot into one another’s on the beanbag, the very little space between us growing warmer by the second.

Graham releases a deep breath, his eyes slowly opening again with a small smile spreading across his face. It’s hard to see him properly in the dimly lit room, but I could never mistake those big brown eyes staring at me. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.” He says, his voice low as he leans in close to speak like we’re the only two people who matter inside a crowded room.

“I wanted to show you how incredible you are. You’ve been so hard on yourself and I just - “ As I speak, tears start to well up in my eyes and I look up to the ceiling to try and stop them from falling. I’d already told myself earlier that I wouldn’t cry, because I don’t want Graham to think he’s upset me. I press at my eyes lightly with my fingertips in an attempt to push the tears away. “I can’t stand seeing you this way because you don’t deserve to feel like this. If it wasn’t for you, Blur wouldn’t exist! Everything you’ve all achieved wouldn’t have happened.” My voice begins to shake and I feel Graham’s hand on my arm, rubbing it gently to try and calm me down.

“Y/N.” He starts, before reaching up to turn on the light. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, before my gaze falls to the ground to avoid his. If I look at him properly, I know I’ll start bawling. “Look at me. Please.”

“I can’t. I can’t because I’ll cry, and then you’ll get upset and I don’t want to make you feel any worse than wha - “

“You won’t upset me. Y/N, I’m sorry I’ve - “

“No, Graham. Don’t apologise.” I grip onto his shirt tightly, my fingers tangling in the fabric. Graham bows his head and nudges it against mine, edging closer until he pushes my head up with his and our noses are almost touching. We both open our eyes, our faces too close that my vision is distorted and I’m seeing double. I pull back, sniffling once and dabbing at my eyes again, still not allowing any tears to actually emerge.

“I’m sorry,“ he starts and I sigh at his words, but he hushes me by holding his finger up to my face, “for putting you through this. I was so caught up in my own head that I didn’t realise how it was making you feel.”

“Graham, this isn’t about me.”

“But it affects you. Bloody hell, if I had to live with this miserable twat - “ he points to himself and I scoff, slapping the back of his hand playfully. “ - I’d have given up by now.”

“I would never give up on you.” My voice is barely above a whisper, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. Graham goes silent again, staring down at our joined hands and moving his thumbs around. I nudge his head with mine in the same way he did previously and he sniffles, his chest rising and immediately falling again. “Graham?” I bring my hand to his chin and push his face up to find his eyes watery, and cheeks significantly more red compared to a moment ago.

“God, look at me. What the hell are you still doing with me, ay? I’m a bleeding mess.” He sniffs, roughly wiping tears off of his cheeks with the backs of his hands.

“Because I wouldn’t want to be with anybody else.”

“Not even - “

“Ah! Stop right there. There’ll be no more of that.” I take his hands away from his face, holding onto them loosely. “Graham Coxon, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. And I’ll give you a free pass to slap me silly for being so cheesy.” I laugh, his grip on my hands tightening as he awkwardly slides closer on the beanbag, his body sinking into it at a strange angle and pulling me with him. “I love you.”

Within a second, Graham’s hands are on both sides of my face, pulling me in for a kiss; the kind of kiss that feels like the person is pouring their entire heart out to you. Like the kiss between the main characters of a movie, when they’ve just ran across a field or a busy road to collide with another at the centre. His lips messily press against mine and I can feel the stray tears running down his face as they dampen my cheeks. My hands rest on his legs, holding on firmly as his thumbs dig into my face a little. It doesn’t hurt, but he soon pulls away and swipes at my face softly as if to apologise for it. He uses his sleeve to dry my face and I do the same for him, small gasps of laughter exchanging between us.

“Thank you for doing this. If you can’t tell, I really love it.” He says sincerely with a genuine smile, the biggest smile I’ve seen from him in weeks. The expression is infectious and I can’t help mimicking him as I grin back like the Cheshire Cat. The faint sound of knocking from downstairs pulls us out of our romance film-esque daydream and we both clamber to our feet.

As we approach the stairs, Graham stops and spins me around, pulling me into him. I land against his chest with a huff, before adjusting my hair and looking up at him. “After we eat, can you show me the film again?” He asks, his hand meeting mine to help me fix the loose hairs falling in my eyes.

“We can watch it as many times as you like.”

[suchalonelysunflower]

Take Your Feelings, Put Them Into a Song (A.I)

Pairing: Ashton Irwin x Wallows! Fem! Reader

Requested: yes!

Summary: Y/N Sixx, bassist from the famous band Wallows, is helping 5SOS write their latest album CALM. If only she could keep her crush on the drummer under control…

Warnings: Fluff. Language. Some grammatical errors (English is not my first language, I’m sorry)

Word Count: 4.6 k

Author’s Note: IM BACK! Remember that Reblogs, Likes, Comments and Feedback are very important! You have no idea how much they help 💕 Hope you like it and Happy Reading 🦋🌻✨

My materialist // wanna be part of my tag list?

anon: Can you do a one-shot where the reader was born on 1996 and she’s the daughter of Nikki Sixx and Brandi Brandt and it’s the bassist and songwriter of Wallows (…) and she helps 5sos write songs for the album CALM and starts dating Ashton and the fans go nuts (in a good way) with shipping? There’s no drama like it was in EUH

It was another boring day in the studio and you would literally prefer to do anything else than to listen to Cole talk about the last date he had instead of working on your new song. But inspiration was lacking between you and your bandmates and you really had no other choice since you already took that time on the studio’s schedule.

One would believe that you would be used to dull times in the studio, having spent a lot of time on them while growing up with your parents, but boredom was a cruel crime inside your head and today your patience was running thin.

“Hey, peanut!” Dylan called your attention “Everything good there?”

You were laying on the sofa, looking at the ceiling for some kind of saving grace, but Dylan’s voice brought you back to your reality.

“Are we going to get something done today?” You asked with a sigh, with your eyes still glued to the ceiling “Cause we are really just wasting time by now and I don’t think Cole’s last fling will bring any kind of inspo into our little group”

“Hey!” Cole protested, earning a chuckle from Braeden.

“Whatever,” You said, already getting up from your spot “I’m going to take a walk”

You took a deep breath once you closed the door to your private room. You loved the guys, you really do, but sometimes people can be too much, especially people who you spend every single day and hour with.

Memories from the past year started to fill your mind and you smiled when thinking about how much your little band has grown. Wallows was now everywhere, you created a name for yourself without using your parent’s influence and you were so damn proud of that, yet when moments like these come around - the moments where you just need to breathe to escape the reality for just a while - you start to reflect on every choice you made and if they were the right ones.

It’s the overthinking that got you to write those first lyrics in the first place, the ones that were put into songs and now were, somehow, all over TikTok with thousands of people relating to them. So maybe, overthinking now might not be such a bad idea after all.

“It’s a terrible idea if you think about it for more than one minute, mate”

You stopped in your tracks when you heard that voice, thinking that maybe you were finally going crazy or someone could’ve read your mind. But it wasn’t until you heard someone else answer that you realized it was a conversation.

“Well, I don’t know what to do with it anymore!”

You turned your head to the left and smiled when you saw the little sign that said “5SOS now in session. DO NOT DISTURB” And realized that your other favorite boys were back in town.

Of course you ignored the sign and knocked on the door a couple of times before opening it shamelessly.

“Well, well, well…” You said with a teasing smile as you leaned over the door frame “If it isn’t my second favorite Aussie band”

The faces of two of the members of said band light up once they realize it was you, quickly getting up to wrap you in a hug.

“Mini Sixx!” Calum said, ruffling his hand through your hair “About time you came to visit us”

You pushed him and Luke away from you “And you should’ve told me you’re back from your break! I could’ve escaped Dylan and the other minions earlier”

“Rough session?” Luke asked, seating down and patting the place next to him for you to sit on.

“Oh, you have no idea”

You loved the 5sos guys, it was impossible not to. Ever since you met them at a label party in 2015 when you were introduced to them because you were the same age as half of the group, you knew that they were made to be on the stage.

It was easy to become their friend, given their welcoming attitude and easy-going smiles even before they found out who your parents were. It was nice for a change not to be Y/N Sixx, daughter of the famous bassist of Mötley Crüe and famous Playboy doll Brandi Brandt, for a moment and just be Y/N, a bassist that had a lot to give to the world. And with the boys you didn’t even have to try to be someone you were not, with them everything was just so… real.

Just like now, where you were allowed to complain about your lovely bandmates to them and they would complain just as well, with no judgment nor responsibilities, just three friends letting out some steam due to the stress of your careers.

“-And basically we don’t know what else to do with the song” Luke finished his rant on the missing piece of their new song for their next album.

“And you have the lyrics ready?”

“Yeah, me and my girl wrote it a few weeks ago but the melody is just…”

“It’s missing something” Calum finished for him with a sigh.

You hummed “Can I see it?”

The two Australians got to work, playing the song with the piano and the guitar and you came to the conclusion that they were right: there was something big missing.

“So it’s a ballad,” You said, thinking of ways to fix it.

“Technically yes, but when you play it like that it sounds incomplete and the lyrics won’t work with another type of rhythm” Luke sighed “We’ve been at it for days now.”

You stayed quiet for a while, reviewing the lyrics and melody more carefully now, analyzing the situation with different approaches but without getting anywhere. It was a beautiful song, it truly was, but it needed something else, something that could create a “boom” sensation for whoever was listening.

Something like…

“Hey guys, have you finished with the- Oh, Hey, Y/N/N!” Ashton said, opening the door and finding you with his bandmates in deep concentration.

Bingo.

“Uh, why are you smiling at me like that?” Ashton asked you with a chuckle, but you didn’t even address him as you turned to Luke and Calum.

“It needs drums”

“What?” The three men said in unison. You rolled your eyes and snatched the notes from Calum’s lap and started to sing the melody.

“Here!” You pointed out “In this part, before finishing the first chorus: I already made, already made that…” And then you started to make drum noises and movements with your arms for them to get the idea.

In a matter of seconds, Luke got up from his seat and walked towards you, taking the notes from you and reviewing them with new eyes, smiling as he got the idea.

“Ha!” He laughed loudly, “You’re a fucking genius!”

“Thank you,” You said with a smug smile as you, Calum and Luke started to discuss the arrangements.

“Wait, hold up” Ashton interrupted the chatter “Y/N, I appreciate you trying to help and no offense and all but I think this isn’t your place to just decide something like that,” He said, pointing to the three of you.

You rolled your eyes. You’ve dealt with stubborn people before, but Ashton did take a spot on your top three and you knew just how to handle him.

“Wow,” You said sarcastically with a teasing smile “One would think that by being half of the rhythm section you would have more… I don’t know, rhythm?”

Ashton crooked an eyebrow and you and you knew you had him in the bag “I just don’t think-”

“You don’t think?” You said, getting up from your chair and walking up to him to be almost chest to chest. You looked up to his eyes and challenged him “Or you just can’t handle the fact that I might’ve had a better idea than you”

You could see by the sparkle in his eyes that he has taken the challenge to heart. He took a step closer to you, almost pressing his body completely against yours, and smirked.

“Want me to prove you wrong, princess?” He teased but you didn’t back up.

“I’d like to see you try, darling”

Ashton’s smirk widened as he took a step back, turning his head towards Luke and Calum who were watching the scene with intrigued eyes and knowing smiles “Get your asses back in the recording booth”

He followed them as they walked into the big recording space they had, but not before sending you a wink seconds after he closed the door.

You were thankful he didn’t see you blush.

Once they were all set with their instruments - Calum on the keys, Luke on the guitar, and Ashton behind his drum set - You pressed the buttons of the console that would make it possible for you to hear them at the other side of the mirrored glass.

“Okay boys, show me what you got”

*

You became an official 5SOS songwriter after that day and even Ashton had to admit that you were adding so much more to the band lyrics and melodies since you started to work with them.

Every day you would find yourself walking towards their studio after your band’s session and you start to work wherever they left off. It was a simple dynamic that worked wonders for everyone and after every session, you would get even more inspired to write your own music for Wallows, so it was a win-win situation, not to mention, spending time with your new co-workers; especially a particular drummer that grew closer to you that you would’ve ever imagined.

When you first met the band you hit it off pretty quickly with Luke and Calum, them being the same age as you and having pretty much the same interests; then came Michael that shared a similar sense of humor with you and with whom you discussed videogames with. But Ashton was always the one that you consciously tried to not get too close to.

In all honesty, he intimidated you but not in a bad way. He was smart, talented, and super funny, not to mention also ridiculously handsome. But he was also stubborn, a little bit egotistical, and the only one that could keep up with you in a battle of wits, teasing, and sarcasm. And you knew that if you mixed that all together it might mean trouble, especially when he smiled at you like that.

Of course you had a crush on him, who wouldn’t? But the fact is that you know what it is like to date in the industry and having feelings for a member of another pretty famous band might bring some tension to the table, so it was safer to play the crushing card and just stay friends. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself every day since you started to see him regularly and spend more time with him than with any other of the two bands.

Speaking of…

“Earth to Y/N?” Called Braeden waving a hand in front of your face “Is anybody there?”

You blinked a few times before pushing his hand away with a scoff “Very funny, B. What’s up?”

“You spaced out again” Cole added, fidgeting with his drumsticks “Just when we were going to start complimenting you on that bass line you wrote the other day…”

You smiled as you threw a pillow at him that he was able to easily dodge “Sorry, I was just-”

“Thinking about a particular drummer again?” Dylan teased, to which Cole added.

“I knew it wouldn’t take long for you to fall in love with me”

You searched for other pillows and started to throw them at your band members, giggling as they started to throw them back at you and starting an improvised pillow fight in the middle of the recording booth.

“Hey, Y/N/N! I was wondering if you-” Ashton’s sentence was cut short as he opened the door and took in the scene that was in front of him.

You were so busy chasing Breaden with a pillow on each hand and a devilish smile that you didn’t even notice when the door opened or that Ashton was standing there, smiling at you with his arms crossed as you aimed at your bandmate's head.

“Oh look, peanut!” Dylan said teasingly “You knight in shiny armor is here to-” But before he could say anything more embarrassing, you threw a pillow directly at his face to shut him out.

You quickly turned your head to Ashton who was fairly amused by your battle skills and smiled at him.

“Hey!” You said breathlessly after chasing down the others.

“Hi,” He smiled back “Am I interrupting something or?”

“Nah, you’re good,” You said, throwing one last pillow at your three friends that stood in a corner blowing teasing kisses and puppy eyes at the two of you “These assholes and I are done for the day” You commented before said assholes started to pout and complain, but you were already out the door before they could say something embarrassing again.

“So…” Ashton trailed off, starting to walk alongside you with his hands in his front pockets.

“So,” You said, drifting your eyes from him and praying to the universe that he didn’t hear anything or else it would make the blush on your face even pinker “You needed me for something?”

You wanted to get the topic of work right there in the open as soon as possible, not wanting him to notice how nervous you got when you were alone with him. At least when you were talking about work you leveled the ground in some parts.

“Actually, I’m going home early today” He smiled softly “Luke and the guys are working on a love song that’s just way too happy and butterflies - in - your -stomach like and I didn’t think they needed me there if I can’t bring nothing to the table”

“You’re not a lovey-dovey feeling kinda guy?” You teased by bumping your arm with his, earning a “hey” from him “I actually get it, I’m not that kind of person either”

“It’s not like I don’t like it, it’s just that-”

“You process your emotions differently, and it’s easier to write those when you think of love in other stages and/or mixed with other complex emotions because-”

“Love is not just one-sided! Yes!” Ashton celebrated, amazed that you could understand what he was saying “I knew you would get it”

That comment made your cheeks heat up as you looked at him, all dimpled smiles and light chuckled as he looked at you with sparkly hazel eyes. Oh no…

“Well,” You said, breaking that little moment “If they are going to work on that all day then I guess I would head home, too. I don’t think I’ll be able to provide anything else either”

“Actually,” Ashton said as he stopped in the middle of the hall leading to the exit, making you stop as well and turn to him “I was wondering if you would want to get some coffee with me now that we are both free. Of course, if you really are free and have nothing else to do and want to actually drink coffee or tea… or maybe not and you’re not that type of person and-”

“Are you asking me out?”

Ashton stopped his rambling and looked at you with an incredulous smile and lightly blushed cheeks.

“I- well, yeah,” He said shyly “Yeah, I am”

You smiled and softly chuckled “Look at the famous drummer all nervous” You teasingly took a step closer to him, not knowing where this confidence was coming from, and he did the same “It’s just me, you know?”

“And that’s exactly the reason why”

“Do I make you nervous, darling?”

“Let’s say that if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have rambled like that, princess”

You pressed your lips in a thin line and smiled as you looked away from him, blushing like a teenager on her first date.

“So…” You trailed off.

“So?”

“Lead the way”

*

From that moment both of your routines changed once again. Now you took time off the studio at least two times a week to go with Ashton on those small friendly dates as he took you out for coffee or just simple but meaningful talks.

Soon enough you lost all the doubts that made you nervous around him, seeing how easy it was to talk to him and how much you had in common in more aspects than just music. You became more comfortable around him and your level of teasing and playing grew alongside your relationship, not to mention the level of teasing and playing you received from your band members and the other 3 Aussies who joined in on all the fun.

You were used to blushing and dismissing comments about your - undeniable - crush on the drummer, but Ashton didn’t seem to be affected by them at all. On the contrary, Ashton played along and even seemed like he was enjoying it. Like in one particular occasion where you were working on a song together and Michael said:

“Oh my god, date her already!”

Ashton didn’t blink an eye before responding “I’m trying! But she just wants to focus on the harmonies”

And you’d be lying if you said that didn’t put a smile on your face.

Yet, you kept it all professional while being in the studio; no need to mix your personal lives with whatever was going on down there, that’s why those coffee runs were your favorites.

It was an unspoken rule between the two of you that “work-talk” was forever banned from those outings.

“So what are we going to talk about?” You asked him the first time you went into his favorite coffee shop.

“Us” He simply answered, unaware of the butterflies he just set in your stomach.

“Us?”

“Yeah, I want to get to know you better, princess. Who is Y/N Sixx?”

“Who is Ashton Irwin?”

“I asked first”

“I asked second” You countered

Ashton smiled widely “You think you’re clever…”

“It doesn’t matter what I think” You answered, casually sipping on your coffee “I know I’m clever just like I know you like me that way”

You were testing the waters back then, hiding the shaking of your knees under the table as you longed to know how he felt about it. But the way he smiled and how he blushed a little bit made all your fears go away.

“Yeah, that I do”

Your cheeks turned red whenever you reminisced about that moment - or any moment that you spent with Ashton for that matter - which gave you the perfect idea for a song.

“I don’t want to kill my time with somebody else…” You hummed to yourself as you wrote down what you think is the chorus to a new song.

You told Ashton that you were not the type to write silly love songs or very uplifting songs; but there was something in that memory, something in that feeling that you couldn't ignore or just let it be without doing something about it. So, you started to write it.

You couldn't separate the feeling from the art, after all, feelings were what led you to dedicate your life to music. People would say it was because of your parent’s influence but they had little to nothing to do with your decision. This was you, the authentical you writing whatever came to mind and then sharing it with the world and only a few people will get it in its entirety. And surely Ashton was one of them.

“Dadadada something, want you all to myself”

“Wacha doing there, princess?”

Speaking of the devil.

Ashton smiled at you as he hunched over the table you were working on, trying to peek at what you were writing. You lifted the notebook and pressed it against your chest faking offense as he giggled.

“Didn’t your mother taught you not to sneak up on people, darling?” You asked as he walked around your workspace and sat himself down on the chair next to you “Besides, you’re late. You were supposed to meet me here like half an hour ago!”

“Aww, sorry Sixx” Ashton pouted “But there were no chocolate chip cookies left in the shop so I had to go around town to get you some” He then put a bag of freshly made cookies on top of the table with a cup filled with coffee.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know?”

“Of course I did! You always only eat chocolate chips cookies in the afternoon”

He started to giggle again, ignoring the way you were looking at him “How did you know that?”

“C’mon, Y/N/N, every time we go for coffee you order two, one for the coffee and another one for the road. And every time we cater something you never touch anything but those cookies”

“I never knew you were so observant”

Ashton shrugged “I just pay attention if I like what I see,” He said nonchalantly with a wink, making you blush instantly, but you covered it up with an eye roll.

“God, you’re terrible” You scoffed.

“I’m honest!” You shook your head and went back to writing, but Ashton was not going to let that go so easily. “Look, how else could I know that you always put an extra bag of sugar in your coffee?”

“‘Cause I always drink the same thing,” You said without looking up from your notebook.

“Yeah, a mocha latte with extra chocolate drizzle and no foam. Honestly, how can you handle that much sugar?” You were about to answer but he caught you off. “But that’s not all you drink, whenever you have a bad day you always order a cup of mango and ginger tea because that’s your mother’s favorite drink and it helps you calm down. You also don’t want anyone to know that you’re having a bad day but the minute someone looks away your smile starts to flatter until you’re back in the conversation”

You stopped the writing completely as you turned to him, suddenly feeling how your heart started to jump all over your chest as he kept talking, eyes never leaving yours as he gave you a soft smile, almost as if he was remembering all those moments with you.

“You draw flowers on the corner of your notebooks whenever you feel bored. You love the sad songs on the radio and you know every single word to Lorde’s Melodrama, yet every time you have to choose a playlist you put 2000’s pop and R&B songs because it hypes you up. You hate awkward silences unless you are the one being quiet. You help Dylan dye his hair every time he asks you to because you would trust each other with your lives, you give Cole relationship advice because you care about him and he always appreciates your advice more than anyone’s and Braeden is your best friend because you always say that he is one of the few people that could make you laugh in a bad day and you have no idea how much I want to be included in that list”

“Ashton-”

“You write better with dim light, it helps you concentrate on your work. You say you don’t believe in astrology yet you check your horoscope every day. You want to make sure that everyone has a good time and feels included, that’s why you always make conversations with Micahel about games you never even heard before or let Luke braid your hair when he’s bored or how you switched topics when you noticed that Calum was not engaging as much in a conversation. You literally take care of everyone but you never let anyone take care of you, and when we do you get all shy and you blush as you say thank you and you have no idea how fucking adorable you look”

You sat there speechless as he spoke. You felt the back of your throat dry as you tried to find the right words to answer all of that.

It was too much. The fact that he knew all of that and how he said it like he was just talking about his favorite things in the world, it was just too much but at the same time, you want to hear him say that again.

A weird sense of joy and shyness came over you as he set his hazel eyes on yours. You gave him a small smile as you averted your gaze to the floor.

“Wow, I-” You started “I never thought someone noticed all that”

“How could I not?” You heard him say “You’re all I can think about and to say that I don’t notice you is like saying I don’t notice the sun in the sky or the stars at night. You’re the brightest light out there, Y/N, you shine everywhere you go”

You noticed how he pulled his chair closer to you and suddenly you felt how your chair started to slowly turn his way until you were face to face.

Ashton carefully placed his fingers under your chin and tilted your head until you were finally looking into his eyes again.

“There she is!” He smiled when he noticed your blushing cheeks and gleaming eyes.

“What do you mean when you say I’m all you think about?” You asked expectantly, curling your fingers nervously on top of your thighs.

Ashton chuckled. “Well, if you didn’t notice, I really fucking like you, Y/N”

You looked up at him, smiling with hopeful eyes and feeling as if a weight was lifted off your chest thanks to the joy you were experiencing while hearing those words.

“You do?”

“Unless you don’t like me back and I just spilled my feelings for nothing-” You smacked him playfully in the arm “Ouch! I’m kidding! Of course I like you! Fuck, Y/N I’ve been falling for years now and I thought I was being pretty obvious”

You laughed “I thought you were just playing!”

In an instant, Ashton pulled your chair closer and grabbed you by the hip, lifting you up and making you sit on his lap as he hugged you by the waist and you placed your arms around his neck.

“I’ve never been more serious in my life,” He said, “I’ll do anything to prove it”

“Well,” You said, pressing a kiss to his cheek and knocking your forehead to his “How about you help me finish this song and then you take me on a date? Cause I’ve been falling for you, too and I don’t want to waste any more time”

Ashton hummed as he nuzzled his nose against your cheek, kissing it softly as he murmured “Will I get to kiss my princess at midnight?”

“Maybe… or you can take your chances now if you’d like”

He smiled.

“I like those odds”

And just before you know it, he softly pressed his lips against yours; finally creating a happy beginning for the two of you.

Instagram Posts

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tags: @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @mystic-232 @talksoprettyjjx @theshyspy @hoodhoran @flaneurcth @notinthesameguey @bubblegum18 @irwin-fletcher-ash @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @1980holland @wiiildflowerrr @hoplessromantic727 @fivesecondsofonedirection @another-lonely-heart @aabc5sauce @dudethisiswhyyoudonthavefriends @major5sosstan @5sos-imagine @SunflowerAngel2123 @perfectnouis @in-superbloom @lukeisstillapenguin @sadcupofcoffee @superstarmarvel @personalmuyverypersonal @ashtonsunflower @nicebasscalum @calumspupils @secretsicanthideanymore @the-ghost-of-luke @alltimesos @girlwhosimps @wontlastimokwiththat @ttinahood @lukespitinmymouth @perfectnouis

[stopeatingwhales]

vinyl searching (pt. 1) x graham coxon

okok i'm so sorry i haven't posted in such a long amount of time, but i'm back! (and hopefully for much longer this time haha). this was requested to me a very long time ago and i fell in love with the entire concept immediately - i'm sorry it took so unbelievably long to post it!! i might make a second part to this as i felt like i haven’t properly put the story to an end so look out for that!

Pairing: 1999 graham coxon x reader

Warnings: nothing!

Word count: 3.421

part two

Requested by anon (I’m so sorry this is so late) x

༉‧₊˚✧

Cutting open my last box of new vinyl, I quickly scanned through the contents, figuring out what genres it had consisted of. I discovered a brimmed box of popular 80s vinyls ready to be organised as I allowed my nimble finger to slowly caress every bump that was conveyed whilst it went through every single record. Working in a record shop was often tiring due to the amount of physical labour you have to commit to doing (it really takes a toll on your back sometimes), but it overall was a magical experience, with a lot of perks: free vinyls every once in a while, the ability to snatch a first copy of a highly anticipated album before it got sold out, and ultimately being able to be surrounded by art constantly. It was a genuine blessing to be able to work in a shop that abides and requires your whole passion, because it can never go to waste. What was beautiful about music was that, regardless of personality, fashion or who you genuinely were, everyone can connect to some form of it, whether it be rock, pop, hip/hop, rap, anything. A simple strum of a guitar or mumble of a lyric can manipulate one’s mind so diligently that you become so enthralled by that rhythm to the point it consumes and dictates your entire outlook on existentialism and surroundings of life. You are free to interpret what you like from either lyrics, melodies or even music videos; music is there for one form a bonding with it, not to be told specifically what this or that means, otherwise it loses its enchanting wizardry. Unsurprisingly, you are never able to free yourself from the affiliation that you receive from music, as it is infinite, absolute, limitless without end. Every day, every hour, every minute, there is either a small group, or just one person, attempting to create melodies and cadences that can resonate with people for the rest of their lives - and once they’ve cracked that specific coding, that in which takes overwhelming amounts of dedication, you have created something that is unforgettable to maybe a nation, or a couple, or just one single person. Regardless of the amount, with such ability, you carry the ultimate power that no grade, mark or report card, can ever prove to show. 

Exhaling, I began to stock up the few crates that were beginning to gain empty space in between the few vinyls that embraced them. Attempting to organise them as quickly as I could, I hummed along to the soft music that was escaping out of the radio. Usually, during the day, there wouldn’t be much activity in the store, so having to care for the place by myself wasn’t something out of the ordinary. The shop tended to be more of a second home to me; it never became excessively stressful, and being able to conversate with customers about opinions on specific albums or ‘which album by this or that artist is their best?’ was always an enjoyable part of the day as it simply felt as if it was a random conversation instigated in a bar. Almost as if you’re discoursing with a long lost friend; you gain this sort of connection between specific albums that both mean something to you, and despite the fact that it could mean completely opposing ideas, you were both able to share that connection the music was able to provoke. The shop was moderately small, with 6 rows of 5 crates (two on either side of the wall) aligned neatly, three quarters of a metre separating each in order to allow those to walk around. Having the space quite compact yet overflowing with all sorts of music was what made the space so enthralling. You could have your favourite album of all time sitting there, patiently lingering for your grasp and attraction to seep in, and eventually your purchase - all you seemingly had to do was rummage for it. That in specific is what makes record searching so entertaining, simply scanning through crates of records until you find something that appeals to you. And although you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, if a band has put enough effort in their covers, it would appeal to people more, and therefore allow more sales to seep through. Situated on the end of a high street which had countless amounts of civilians walking into multiple stores each day, only a few customers had come in every so often as it only sold vinyls, and CDs were becoming more of an attraction these days. It didn’t bother me all that much - I definitely preferred having only a few customers in and out every couple of hours in comparison to groups of screaming teenagers begging for the chance that I might have the Californication vinyl by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. 

Once I had completed distributing the vinyls to their designated boxes, I put the large - now empty - cardboard box behind the counter to place in the rubbish after my shift was over. As if on cue, I was met with the light ringing sounds that escaped from the bell at the top of the clear glass door, indicating that someone had arrived in the shop. Swiftly turning my head to figure out who it was, I was met with the sight of Graham Coxon, a usual customer, and an amazing lead guitarist in one of the most known bands in Britain as of this moment due to their latest album titled 13, Blur. News had surfaced that the band were having troubles between each other, and it became apparent that Graham hadn’t played on the album that much. He looked a little scruffy, his short hair untidy but that didn’t make him look horrible, it suited him very much. There were small dark circles forming on his eyes, exposing ideations that he may not have slept, or been able to sleep, which played on my heart strings a little. Although he was a heart-throb of many young girls over the coming years, especially during the height of the Britpop era, he had the demeanor completely contrasting against those projected to the nation by his other bandmates. Graham was quiet, reticent, composed, and it was obvious that the entire Britpop era didn’t work to well for him - being put up against Oasis to fight for the supposed ‘king’ of a genre proved its mental strains on him, to the point he had began drinking to escape his struggles. Me and Graham had become quite good friends over the months that he had been visiting the store, so a shocked face and beg for an autograph was something that by no means would be happening in this given moment. I always felt that because of Graham’s restrictive attitude, it caused him to be quite secluded from maintaining a lot of friendships - although that may just be an assumption. “You alright?” I asked sweetly, putting on a soft smile as I made my way over to the counter. 

“Yeah, fine thanks. You?” He replied, exchanging the same smile which caused my heart to patter in an unsteady rhythm as he paced over to one of the crates, beginning his search for something new. Over time as mine and Graham’s friendship had bloomed, I felt myself forming a sort of tenderness for him. The way he stared at the ground whilst speaking to someone; the way he ruffled through his dark coloured hair ever so often; the way he bit his lip when conflicted against what album he should buy, were all things that I had taken into note after I had caught my eyes staring at him repeatedly, every single time he had entered the shop. And of course, he was immensely good looking, which only added to the long list of things that made me so captivated by his presence. Sometimes he would meet my eyes, to which I would instantly look away, hot flushes forming on both my cheeks over the sudden embarrassment I would receive from being caught admiring someone. Then again, would you not continue to stare at someone who carried an undeniable amount of beauty, that they were so oblivious to understanding that they had?

“I’m alright, we’ve got a couple new 80s records in the crate over there if you’re interested.” I said, exiting the counter as my finger pointed towards the freshly updated crate. Whenever Graham had come into the shop, he tended to spend a good chunk of his time in here, which made me almost addicted to his presence there constantly. We would talk about a lot of things, bridging from best albums of specific decades, to what our favorite candy was. It was a joyful experience, talking to someone that you would have seemingly looked up to for such a long period of time, watching them grow musically, but also physically. In ‘91, all the boys from Blur had charmed themselves with tattered bowl-cuts, which indirectly emphasised their innocent-yet-psychedelic look. Now, his hair was in a much different state, almost completely short yet there was still a small chunk of hair covering his forehead. I much preferred this look of his, though. He looked mature, and pairing with his personality that I have come to be somewhat close with, it boosted his attractiveness. Whenever he left the shop, I would be accompanied with such boredom and sadness right afterwards. I seemingly wanted him here, all the time, adding to the fondness that I had formed for him. 

Shifting his gaze to interlock eyes with mine, I felt my heart begin to form into the same unsteady pattern it composed when he had reciprocated my smile. “I’ve pretty much listened to everything that had appealed to me from that decade, it was when I was growing up you know.” He chuckled, which caused my cheeks to heat up a little at the sound of his lovely laugh that I sadly didn’t hear so often than I would’ve liked. 

“Well, what have you been coming in here to search for then?” I questioned, slowly making my way to stand next to him as I analysed his actions, his index finger grazing over each album name, mirroring how I was earlier when scanning through the vinyls I needed to unpack. I was able to gain a whiff of his aroma standing near him - he smelled like cigarettes and cologne, a combination that when mixed would sound quite disgusting, but they somehow complimented each other. I attempted to edge my body closer to his, to take a greater look at what exactly he was doing, without it coming across as suggestive. I would have no courage to do something that evocative, anyways.

I allowed my arm to rest on the other crates as my hand held my face. I felt Graham’s stare switch from the vinyls to quickly take a look at me, noticing my new positioning. A very short silence was shared between the pair of us, almost as if Graham was trying to find the right words to say, whilst the music from the radio had continued on playing. “Not too sure, just want to find something to listen to,” he began, slowly trailing off his sentence as he pulled a record out and examined its cover. “I’ve worn out all of my records at this point so I’m practically desperate for something else.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place!” I grinned, making eye contact with him for a short second, before switching to look at the album he was looking at. He was holding up Pavement’s 1997 album, Brighten the Corners. The cover was quite colourful and artsy, almost as if it had come straight out of a cartoon. “Play that on the record player, see if you like it.” 

Moving over to the record player that was situated by the cashier, he took the record out of its sleeve, placing it on the turntable as carefully as possible. I turned my body around to watch him place the stylus on the grooves of the record, my body fixated in place. Every so often I would glance at the walls of the shop, which were decorated messily with band posters and tour-dates of multiple bands that you were able to purchase in-store. Although it was untidy, it added to the sensation of music; you don’t need to be the smartest, the most organised, the most put-together person in order to make an amazing album. All you could have is three chords that you are unaware of the names, and you’ve got a song. The Sex Pistols done it, and the message they portrayed was that no matter who you are, you can make music. It’s universal. Sometimes my gaze shifted to look through the window that portrayed the cars passing down the road, with the occasional person walking past. The comparison of outside, where it professedly looked very dull and unhappy, and the liveliness of such a small shop, is what proves the power of music. Life is tedious without some colour in it. Regardless of anything though, my eyes would always trail back to Graham, whose back was resting on the counter where the cashier was, intently listening to the music draining from the turntable. The sweet sounds of pop songs that were once splashing out of the radio were now inaudible; the record player emitted music that was much louder, so it was now the only thing you could hear inside the closed space. By the look of Graham’s expression it seemed that his desperation to listen to something new was much needed than I had come to expect; it was almost as if he depended on the new music to soothe him away from whatever thoughts, or distressing moods that were battling his mind. 

Once the song had ended, I decided to ask for his opinion on it. “What do you think?” 

I watched him intently as his eyes fluttered back open, examining his facial features slightly. Our eyes had met, and they stayed fixed in place as I began admiring his honey-like orbs. “It was good, might as well get it to hear the rest of the album.” He answered, sighing slightly at the end of his sentence. It was quite obvious, to me, that he had been going through something that he wasn’t able to quite mention or bring up to anyone - especially me, as I am only just a worker he knew quite well inside a record shop. It enthralled me slightly, how mysterious he was, although he was completely projected to the limelight of Top Of The Pops and many interviews countless amounts of times over the years. The thought of asking him how he was always played in my mind; his reaction however, frightened me to the point of me avoiding the topic. I didn’t want to come across as patronising, I simply cared for him, for someone I didn’t even know all that well, too much. 

Graham placed the vinyl back into its sleeve gently, and then made his way to where he previously stood - next to me. Although our bodies weren’t touching, I felt as if my skin was entering the gates of hell due to the amount of heat that had been emitting from my skin. He began looking through the same vinyl crate that he did before, whilst my eyes inspected his hands, allowing my thoughts to randomly drift on the feeling of his hand in mine. How soft his palm may feel, how warm it would be - like a hug from a loved one when you needed it most, their touch, caressing, having so much impact that it completely changes your entire mood for a short period of time. How they could perfectly merge together, his and mine. Or not, though either way it would release a sensation of my teenage-girl like self, squealing inside over the fact that a boy that I've seemingly fallen for is in grasp of my palm. I doubt that he was feeling the same things that I was, but in moments so silent but loud, exactly like this one, it was all I could muster a thought about. “You have lovely eyes.” 

I noticed Graham pause in his movements once those accidental words slipped off my mouth. Mentally cursing myself, my gaze was fixed on him. The air was a little tense, the pit in my stomach completely empty from my unneeded slip-up of words. “Thank you…” He replied, shifting his gaze over to look at me. He seemed taken aback to my sudden compliment, which made me feel a little embarrassed, causing my cheeks to heat up slightly. “Yours are lovely too.”  

My heart fluttered slightly towards the compliment he passed back to me, my lip sinking into my teeth in anticipation towards where the conversation was headed. Graham’s awkward self carried on searching through vinyls, and began walking over to different crates in search for something else. I moved to position myself behind the till, where my gaze followed him as he preoccupied himself in the cover art of multiple vinyls he had taken out, admiring them or looking perplexed by them, then putting them back into their original place if they weren’t appealing to him. I began humming along to the new song that began playing on the radio, as I played with my fingers, deciding on forwarding the conversation to something else. “What are you up to this week?”

“Nothing much… I’m probably going to stay at home. There’s not much to do these days.” He answered, his eyes glued onto the vinyls he had now found. My heart sank after those words left his mouth, almost in pity for him - he didn’t seem like he was fully okay, then again no one is, but it came across as if he had been struggling quite a bit mentally and that he needed someone to be there for him, yet he didn’t know exactly how to ask for it, or maybe he felt cowardly to ask. He began to walk over to the cashier, instigating the fact that he had found the records he’s decided to buy - filling my stomach up in an unusual mix of sadness and anticipation. I wanted him to be here, all the time. 

“So I assume you’re not doing anything tonight?” I questioned, taking the vinyls from his hand in order to scan them and place in a bag. I avoided his stare whilst asking, though I could feel the burn of his eyes intently staring at every move I made. 

“Yeah, the most I’m going to do is probably listen to these vinyls at home.”

With the little amount of courage I had spared inside, I decided to take a big leap of my conscience and ask him a question he’s undoubtedly been asked so many times before. Lifting my gaze to connect eyes with him after I had finished neatly placing everything into a plastic bag, I handed the vinyls to him. “Do you want to go out tonight?”

“I mean I’d like to go out.” He responded, completely oblivious to what I was egging towards, which only bubbled the apprehension inside me even more. I began to second guess the idea of me asking him out to do something together.

“Graham.” I sternly responded, a hint of annoyance laced between my voice when I spoke his name. 

“What?” 

Sighing to myself, I realised that his oblivion wasn’t on purpose, which brought the same feeling of a sinking heart in my body. I came to realise that Graham had been so isolated, so deserted from society, that he was completely blind towards someone taking an interest in him. Inhaling sharply, I asked, with my sweetest smile. “Would you like to go out with me tonight?” 

Graham’s expression had completely changed from his delirium to shocked. His eyes widened, a reddish tint forming on his cheeks as his lip sank into his bottom teeth. A couple seconds were shared between us staring closely at each other's eyes, as I tried to decipher what was going through his mind. “I- Uh- Yes, sure.” 

The little stutter that rolled off his tongue warmed my heart as the beam on my face began to widen. I noticed a small smile starting to curve at the bottom of his lip. “That’ll be fifty pounds, please.”

[monkberries]

They dealt with all of the above. Ringo was treated as a joke for pretty much everything, especially since this was the era of prog rock. His personal life was also tabloid fodder. George was derided as being a dour spiritual nut who was out of touch. He along w/ Ringo didn't get the respect he deserved as a guitarist bc his style wasn't in at the time & people knew little about his role in The Beatles. All credit went to Lennon/McCartney. 1/2

John had the benefit of having the rebel genius image, but even he became a source of ridicule with all the stunts he pulled with Yoko and the way his career declined after Imagine. He wasn't deified to the degree he was in the 80s. I'm not trying to say Paul never had a hard time, but the way this fandom talks as if he is the only one who faced extreme criticism or disrespect just tells me they haven't looked much into the other Beatles' lives. The man is more admired than most musicians. 2/2

(IDK if this screenshotted anons were from the same person or not, but I’ll just answer them in this one since it’s all the same subject.)

Here’s what I think is valid, as I see it: Paul fans are upset by the way his music was treated by the music press, especially in the first few years of the 70s, while the music of the other three were generally given at least the benefit of the doubt. They’re not upset about the tabloid gossip, the purely personal stuff – they are upset, specifically and with good reason, at the way Paul’s music was treated and the way the music world’s personal dislike of him seeped into their music reviews. I’m gonna focus in on 1970 through the end of 1974, since this is where a lot of the complaints spawn from, and things start to shift in a big way in 74. You didn’t ask but contemporary writings about their early solo music is something I’m fascinated by anyway and you turned the wind-up toy key in my back, so. Off I go. This is gonna be so, so long.

At different points in the decade, all of them were subject to a sullying of their personal reputations. That is where I do agree with you: all of them were subjected to that by the press, to varying degrees, at varying times, and for various reasons for each of them. That is just what happens to public figures the longer they are public figures. Tabloids mess with everyone no matter how beloved they are. 

However, that’s not what I generally see Paul fans getting upset about. What I see is that they’re upset at the way the much more legitimate and widely respected music press approached Paul’s music and talent in general. It is widely received knowledge now that the critics treated Paul’s music differently than they did John’s and George’s and even Ringo’s; the trashing was not “equal.” They came at John and George with the assumption that their talent was real and ongoing outside of the Beatles, their genius unquestionable, their motives pure and well-intentioned and honest. Paul was not afforded these assumptions. Some examples to show what I mean, most of them found through wikipedia, rocksbackpages, or rollingstone.com.

John

Plastic Ono Band was Robert Christgau’s number one album of 1970 in The Village Voice. from Creem’s review: “John's record, of course, has been righteously raved over ever since its release, justifiably. It's interesting and even enlightening to see a man working out his trauma on black plastic but more than that, it's totally enthralling to see that Lennon has once again unified, to some degree, his life and his music into a truly whole statement.” From High Fidelity’s review: "a tremendously exciting listening experience, perhaps the best any Beatle has ever offered." In their Imagine review, Rolling Stone called POB “perfect.” A couple reviews in the mainstream were more mixed, put off a little by the rawness of it, but overall the rock world quickly grew to see this album as a work of genius.

Imagine was even more widely well-reviewed, despite a mixed review from Rolling Stone (John fell out with Jann Wenner around this time, curiously). Here’s a passage from rateyourmusic.com: “Imagine was actually one of the most critically acclaimed albums of the year, aside from this tepid review in Rolling Stone. Indeed, much of the rock press seemed palpably relieved that the former Beatle hadn't gone completely off the deep end. ‘It's the best album of the year, and for me it's the best album he's done, with anything, or with anyone, at any time,’ Roy Hollingworth wrote in the 10/9/71 issue of Melody Maker. ‘The album is superb,’ Alan Smith agreed in the 9/11/71 issue of NME. ‘Beautiful. One step away from the chill of his recent total self-revelation, and yet a giant leap towards commerciality without compromise...I have no criticism at all.’”

Some Time in New York City was admittedly John’s nadir, and the press was vicious about it, both personally and musically, deeming the album egotistical, lacking in energy, and devoid of sincerity. However, many maintained a reverence for the genius that came before it and hopeful encouragement for the future. Rolling Stone said that “The Lennons should be commended for their daring;” Creem said it wasn’t half bad; and even though NME’s article was scathing, it ended with a plea for John to return to form, saying, “Don't rely on cant and rigidity. Don't alienate. Stimulate. You know, like you used to.”

Mind Games, though reviews were mixed, fared far better in comparison. Again, there is a hopeful tone to the reviews, a sureness that John can do better. From Rolling Stone talks about the music being a return to POB form, but the writing is his worst yet; however, Landau qualifies this by saying the lyrics aren’t “offensive, per se, just misguided... [John Lennon’s admirers] might even be able to withstand something more challenging” and then praises John’s voice, his production, and a few individual songs. In Melody Maker, Ray Coleman says, “if you warm to the rasping voice of Lennon and, like me, regard him as the true fulcrum of much of what came from his old group, then like any new Lennon album, it will be enjoyable and even important.” Christgau is more middling but also says, “Still, the single works, and let's hope he keeps right on stepping.”

Walls and Bridges seems confusing to reviewers in retrospect. They couldn’t seem to come to a consensus on it. The musicianship was widely praised, for the most part, though Rolling Stone criticized the first side on this front; reviewers alternately said it was “the latest chapter in John Lennon’s Identity Crisis” (Creem) and “truly a superb album by any standards” (Melody Maker). Throughout the Rolling Stone review, the author is able to thoroughly critique the songs, for better or worse, with a neutral affect and without resorting to insulting John personally. He ends the review on a positive note: “When one accepts one’s childhood, one’s parenthood and the impermanence which lies between, one can begin to slog along. When John slogs, he makes progress.” Again, even though the reviews aren’t all positive, we can see, especially and most importantly in the most influential rock magazine of the time, the acknowledgment of his talent, a sense of excitement for what John will do next, and a belief that his work is authentic and honest.

George

All Things Must Pass, I mean. Apart from a couple of outliers like Christgau in The Village Voice (he called it “overblown fatuity”), it was incredibly, almost universally beloved by the music press when it came out. There was quite a bit of surprise that such a talent had been under everyone’s noses all this time, but I don’t think anon is quite correct that all the credit for the Beatles went to Lennon/McCartney. For example, Ben Gerson in Rolling Stone recognized George’s talent within the Beatles like this: “Up until now, George has been perhaps the premier studio musician among rock band guitarists. From the electronic whine which began “I Feel Fine” to the break in “Hard Day’s Night” to the crazed, sitar-influenced burst on “Taxman,” George exhibited an avant-garde imagination and a technical flawlessness, as well as the ability to stay within the bounds of a song, which has remained unparalleled.” In Melody Maker, the feeling of journalists was summed up thusly: hearing the album was “the rock equivalent of the shock felt by pre-war moviegoers when Garbo first opened her mouth in a talkie: Garbo talks! – Harrison is free!" The personal nature and honesty of the lyrics were praised as well; Time described it as an “expressive, classically executed personal statement.” Ben Gerson did call his proselytizing offensive, but in the next sentence says that George redeems himself from that with the personal plea in Hear Me Lord.

Concert for Bangla Desh - again, some cynicism from Christgau in The Village Voice (must have woke up on the wrong side of the bed that day) and of course tax issues dogged it later, but overall, for the rock press at the time, this was a crowning achievement that George pulled off. He was praised all over the press, countercultural and mainstream, for his live musical talent, the group of musicians that joined him, the lack of political motivation, the sincerity and goodwill, and George’s ability to bring back  "a brief incandescent revival of all that was best about the Sixties" (Rolling Stone). To this day he is credited with creating the model for future charity concerts. 

Living in the Material World - Nothing could have topped the one-two punch of ATMP and the Concert for Bangla Desh, but honestly, LITMW came pretty close for some journalists. Rolling Stone again praised George’s honesty and authenticity: “ Despite the occasional use of “psychedelic puns,” Harrison’s lyrics are so guileless they convey an extraordinary sincerity that transcends questions of craftsmanship. Similarly, the devotions we are called upon to share with Harrison, though they communicate no specific, private torment, do have the authenticity of overheard prayers and are therefore sacred.” Melody Maker said, "Harrison has always struck me before as simply a writer of very classy pop songs; now he stands as something more than an entertainer. Now he's being honest." The pushback against his pious attitude and lyrics picked up some steam with this album, particularly with Christgau (again) and Tony Tyler of NME, who called it “so damn holy I could scream.” However, it was far from the consensus opinion at the time, and with the biggest rock magazine in the world at your back, you can withstand quite a bit.

Dark Horse, oof. That poor man. It did get some positivity in Billboard and Melody Maker, but my god, the reviews for this album and its subsequent tour were so cruel. I suspect when these anon(s) talk about the others being treated terribly by the press as well, this, along with John’s STINYC, is one of the examples they would give, and they’re not wrong about that. This was the point where George’s piety and what they perceived as a sanctimonious attitude finally started really getting to everyone, and the album plus the tour was the perfect opportunity to dogpile on him. I guess it was to be expected; no one can ride that high forever, and the press loves to knock people over and kick them while they’re down. Rolling Stone called it “disastrous,” “shoddy,” and called his guitar work “rudimentary,” eventually declaring that George had “never been a great artist.” This from the same magazine that was practically worshipping at his feet the year before. Yowch.

Ringo

Sentimental Journey - The less that’s said about this album, the better.

Beaucoups of Blues was actually quite well-received. No one called him a genius for it, and it wasn’t a serious personal record and therefore wasn’t treated that way, but journalists seemed uniquely able to let themselves enjoy this record despite the serious/political/personal tone of most musicians at the time. Melody Maker believed Ringo had  "conviction and charm" and that because of that, the album stripped away the serious “hip posturing” and let you just enjoy the music on its own terms. The Village Voice said that Ringo was “good at making himself felt.” Although Rolling Stone’s tone was a bit more cruel than other magazines (there was a crack somewhere in there that Ringo wasn’t as smart as John), it also called him lovable and the record “a real winner” where the songs “sound terrific.”

Ringo was a total smash and I think people forget this. It’s remembered only because it’s an album that was worked on by all four Beatles, but actually, the critics fuckin loved it. Ringo was praised in Rolling Stone for his unpretentiousness, sensibility, and essentially collaborative nature: “Ringo was always the figure of conciliation within the Beatles, undoubtedly the most genial, conceivably the most sensible, and the one with the smallest musical axe to grind. His very lapses bespoke the esteem in which the others held him; had they not liked him so much, those perfectionists would never have allowed him to sing. Perhaps because as the drummer he stood outside the process of creation, he had the best perspective from which to see the Beatles as a unity. Ringo has never had any pretense of self-sufficiency. Once he had gotten his special projects out of the way (projects for which John, Paul and George's talents would have been unsuited anyway) Ringo was ready to call upon the three most obvious people to assist him with writing, singing and playing. As Starr's first "pop album," Ringo signifies a homecoming, not just of family, but in musical style as well.”

Goodnight Vienna was kind of a minor album for Ringo, but still, reviews were pretty good. Rolling Stone praised his “unalloyed sincerity which is his trademark and trump card.” Yet again, we see the theme of authenticity popping up in these reviews - if you are perceived as authentic, honest, and sincere, that takes you a long way with music reviewers in this time period, and Ringo was nothing if not wholly, completely himself.

Paul

McCartney - One of the main complaints of Paul fans is that Jann Wenner forced Langdon Winner, the author of the review for this album in Rolling Stone, to rewrite his article and put a more negative spin on it. The result is that Winner praised most of the music but totally undermined his own praise by questioning the authenticity of the tone and deriding the press release that came with the album as much as he praised the music. He ends the article like this: “I like McCartney very much. But I remember that the people of Troy also liked that wooden horse they wheeled through their gates until they discovered that it was hollow inside and full of hostile warriors.” This was a huge blow at a time when personal authenticity and substance were considered paramount. Melody Maker also questioned the legitimacy of his genius, saying “With this record, [McCartney's] debt to George Martin becomes increasingly clear.” Most other reviews weren’t any better.

Ram, I mean, Jesus Christ the reviews for this. It’s a widely respected album now, even made the RS top 500 albums of all time list last year, but at the time people were still so angry with Paul for supposedly breaking up the Beatles that they were still taking it out on his music a year later (imo). Landau in Rolling Stone called it “emotionally vacuous” and said it lacked conviction, saying also that it was “so incredibly inconsequential and so monumentally irrelevant you can’t even [hate it]; it is difficult to concentrate on, let alone dislike or even hate.” NME called it “the worst thing Paul McCartney has ever done.” Threaded through these reviews is a belief that the songs are devoid of meaning and that Paul’s happy domestic front is just a frustrating lie; Christgau in The Village Voice said he was “infuriated by the McCartneys' modern young-marrieds image” - infuriated because he clearly doesn’t believe it, rendering Paul dishonest and his music inauthentic. Once again journalists are unable to review Paul’s music without sniping about him as a person.

Wild Life - Though the situation remains largely the same - reviewers refuse to take him seriously, believe anything he says, or treat his musical talent as anything but vacuous fluff - the reviews aren’t quite as bad as they were for Ram and a bit of positivity begins to stir. It’s evident especially in the Rolling Stone review, where Mendelsohn wonders if Paul is making crappy fluff on purpose to piss John off because it will sell just as well anyway. It’s not much, and on top of the fairly strong criticism there is almost no hope for future Paul releases: “My own conviction is that we'd be foolish to expect anything much more earth-shaking than Wild Life out of McCartney for a good long while... In the meantime the reader is advised to either develop a fondness for vacuous but unpretentious pop music or look elsewhere for musical pleasure.” But it’s something.

Red Rose Speedway Paul continues to be lambasted by a lot of the press on this album for being lightweight and having no meaning behind his songs (at this point it’s just repetitive to quote the articles, just trust me that they say basically the same thing they were saying for the past three albums too), BUT I think a nuance that gets forgotten in all of this is that Rolling Stone gave it kind of a decent review. It seems like they finally quit gatekeeping and realized that songs don’t need to have some deep personal meaning to be good. Kaye is still not very nice about Paul’s lyrics but he recognizes that he doesn’t have to take Paul’s music on the same terms as he takes John and George. Paul’s music is less personal, but that doesn’t make it unworthy. He calls it “pleasant, accessible without concentration” and praises Paul’s voice and arranging skills. It feels like for this album, Rolling Stone took the stick out of its own ass when it came to Paul and finally relaxed enough to receive Paul’s music on his terms rather than theirs. Which, imo, primed the rock world for...

Band on the Run, Paul’s comeback. Even though Christgau in The Village Voice remained unconvinced (he called it “a pleasant piece of hackwork”), almost everyone else adored it. It seems weird to us now, but the general sentiment seemed to be that people were surprised by how good this album was. NME said, “The ex-Beatle least likely to re-establish his credibility and lead the field has pulled it off with a positive master-stroke”; and although Landau’s review in Rolling Stone overflowed with praise, he also said, “I'm surprised I like Band on the Run so much more than McCartney's other solo albums because, superficially, it doesn't seem so different from them.” 

I hope I’ve been able to demonstrate a general trajectory with the musical reputation of each Beatle here. John starts off on two incredible high points, crashes and burns, and then works his way back up. He DEFINITELY missed with STINYC, but even when he followed it up with Mind Games, there was still a hopeful tone to the reviews, sort of like, “Ah, well, the last two weren’t great but we’re still looking forward to what John will give us next.” Until the Dark Horse tour/album, which did sour the press on poor George, the music press adored him. It was hit after hit with him. He could not miss. Three high points, one after the other, then a monumental crash. Ringo seems to stay fairly high, even if the records aren’t serious records. All three of them start out incredibly well, and the music press was able and willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Paul was given none of that. Perhaps because he was out of step with the attitudes about music at the time, perhaps because journalists hated him for breaking up the Beatles, perhaps because they believed John when he painted Paul as “establishment,” perhaps a combination - whatever their issue was, Paul was given no benefit of the doubt to start with, no faith in his genius, and no belief in his authenticity. He was just a hack to the music press for the first few years of the 70s; he started at the bottom and was forced to work his way up, unlike the other three. It started, imo, when Wenner forced the journalist who wrote the McCartney review in RS to rewrite the article, and it spiraled from there. He was seen as hollow and uncool, as one of the anons said, “straight” in the parlance of the time - straight meaning “establishment.” This is kind of where I do start to roll my eyes a little bit at stans, when they get upset at people calling him “establishment” and trying to prove that actually he was so anti-establishment that people couldn’t handle it or whatever, without trying to understand what the word “anti-establishment” meant at the time. But there are also really substantive arguments you can make that say Paul’s music was not taken seriously because of a personal grudge against him.

I’m not saying that all of them didn’t have run-ins with the music press. I’m saying there is nuance here that I don’t think these anons are allowing for in the first few years of that decade. They came at George and John and Ringo with a positive, or at least neutral, slant most of the time. They came at Paul with a negative one. Case in point are the reviews of Band on the Run that were surprised at how good it was. That stuff gets people’s hackles up. The others didn’t have positive reviews rewritten to be more negative. The others didn’t have albums savaged that are now on the Rolling Stone top 500 albums of all time list. I do agree that John, at least, and George post Dark Horse, had a harder time with the music press than people generally remember or care to think about – deification is retroactive, I guess, and as Paul fans we should definitely recognize that Paul wasn’t the only one who went through a rough time with the press. But I do think Paul’s situation was made uniquely and unjustifiably difficult for those first few years.

I mean, at the same time, I cannot stress enough how much this did not affect his bottom line. Despite the horrible reviews, Ram still made a ton of money, McCartney made a ton of money, Band on the Run and Wild Life and Red Rose Speedway all made a ton of money. He had a fanbase, a huge one, that followed him loyally and faithfully through the early 70s as he was getting savaged by the press, and through the middle and late 70s when he was touring. At some point, you have to step back and go, wait. Why does any of this matter? This was 50 years ago. He was a multi-millionaire then and is a billionaire now. And you are right; whenever people over-generalize and try to make the case that Paul was always badly reviewed and the others were press darlings, I tend to get annoyed because they’re totally missing the actually interesting nuances of the situation (that can be easily found online! I found most of the music reviews through snippets on Wikipedia!) In conclusion, I guess my point is that both “Paul was vilified while everyone else wasn’t” and “everyone was equally vilified” paint the events of the early 70s with brushes that are too broad and miss the nuance that was evident in the way the press interacted with their music.

[clumsyclifford]

so i’ve lurked on ur blog for a while for the atl content but seeing that you’ve been appreciating ross lynch felt like my worlds colliding. also saw in the tags of ur last reply you’ve been listening to louder by r5 and lemme tell you. r5 was like the first band i was ever genuinely in love with. i was literally like 11 and bought louder the day after it was released. proceeded to have r5 consume like three years of my life. i saw them live Four Times as r5 (the last time being back in 2016 when i met them. gah i can’t believe it’s been that long). i was supposed to see the driver era last april before the world shut down. anyways seeing you appreciating ross and the rest of r5 just felt like very opposite interests of mine coming together. and i know so much useless info about that band. also sometime last night is def the superior r5 album, louder holds a place in my heart solely for the nostalgia but it definitely is not a like. amazing album for me at this point oops lmao. BUT the bonus track wishing i was 23 is my fav off of it!! and some of the last stuff they did as r5 (the new addictions ep & their Last Ever Single, hurts good) shows their growth and u could tell they had a lot more control over their music at that point. and what ross & rocky have been doing as the driver era is also really good!! anyways i appreciate ur blog and ur blog appreciating the first fandom i was ever part of. and i’m always excited to talk about how proud i am about how far ross & rocky have come with their music. apologies for dumping all of this here but. u talking about ross & r5 & the driver era made me v excited.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HELLO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’M VERY EXCITED THAT YOU’RE HERE TO TALK TO ME ABOUT ROSS LYNCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

damn okay you are IN IT i respect the hell out of that also this ask made me realize i stopped listening to louder literally in the middle of a song so i’ve now come back to it and one last dance is just finishing and wow this song is pretty????? anyway i got into driver era during quarantine times but i would LOVEEEEEEEE to see them live now i fucking love ross’s current vibes he’s like if a frat boy and a philosopher had a kid. i can’t really explain that but i stand by it

yeah well i’m only listening to louder because it’s their first album and when i want to get into a new artist i try to listen more or less in chronological order? but i’ve heard a few songs from sometime last night which i really enjoyed and i can also def see how this album (louder) is like.......it’s really fun but i wouldn’t say it’s super profound. like it’s pop music! and i really love it! and it has ross lynch singin on it!! that’s all i have to say about it !!!! that’s all you need sometimes :) i am looking forward to getting deeper into the discography and hearing the more recent stuff because even just from like the album art it seems like they did have more control or at least that they just grew and matured and that’s always sexy to see. i’ll keep you posted i don’t know when i’ll listen to sometime last night cos new music always a little difficult especially these days like this is the first new music ive listened to in maybe a week 

you KNOW WHAT. wishing i was 23 is not on spotify. what the fuck kinda CRIME???? why would they release a deluxe version of the album but not include the bonus tracks!! so maybe if i get around to listening to it on youtube or something ill let you know

however i am REALLY into the driver era (actually i have @cakelftv and @glitterblazercalum to thank for getting me into them but man am i glad they did) can i ask what your favorites are anon!! at the moment mine are preacher man, scared of heights, a kiss ?? i think? and welcome to the end of your life?? yeah

anyway i appreciate YOU coming here to validate my ross lynch infatuation i’m so glad that austin & ally has brought us together anon it really is all thanks to me just binge watching the whole show in about two and a half days also if you wanna drop more r5-related information i am always open to hearing about it i just watched both of rydel’s sibling tag videos that was some good good shit god i love the relationship the five of them have (i know ryland wasnt in r5 but like. you get me you know what i mean)

[stormtrprinstilettos]

Fun’s For Free - Chapter 4 (Roger x Reader) (smut)

Summary: It’s 1978 and you’re assigned to follow Queen on their North American tour to promote their new album. Only problem is the magazine you write for has not been kind to the band in the past, and someone has a hard time letting go of that fact.

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3

In this “episode”: It’s just too good to resist.

Word Count: ~3.5k

Warnings: Language, smut 18+

A/N: Well this is just filth. I also want to take the time to thank @sunshine112 for this series idea. You really have no idea how fun this is to write. And anon who suggested this smut scene: hope this is what you wanted.

November 8, 1978 – somewhere in Pennsylvania Maybe things should have changed after what happened in New Orleans, but they didn’t. If anything, the tension between you and Roger only grew. The two of you weren’t constantly arguing, mainly because you’d avoid him as much as you could, but when you were around him, it was almost guaranteed that something would set the two of you off.

Just as he predicted, it did happen again since that night in New Orleans, this time in the bathroom at the venue in Landover after the show a few nights ago. After enjoying an abundance of alcohol, just like the first time it almost happened and the first night It actually did, the two of you started to argue again about how impossible and annoying the other is, away from everyone else. You instigated it this time, having pushed him against the wall of the bathroom and locking the door behind you. It wasn’t one of your prouder moments, getting fucked while leaning over a bathroom sink with his hand covering your mouth to keep you quiet. You weren’t proud of any of it, really, and you absolutely hate the fact that you loved the sex. Loved it. You can’t stand him, and he can’t stand you, but it was the best sex you ever had.

“That is absolute bullshit!” Roger yells. “That album was terrible!”

You roll your eyes and glance at Freddie. “When this is over, I’m going to need therapy,” you say. “I won’t know how to handle not having stupid arguments every single day.”

“You should get therapy regardless,” Roger mumbles.

You chuckle. “If anyone on this bus needs therapy…” You stop yourself from finishing. “I’m not… You know what?” You’re so frustrated you can’t even think of something to snap back with, instead opting to roll your eyes and stop talking before walking to the back of the bus.

“Good,” he mumbles. “I’m tired of hearing you yap anyway.” Freddie smacks Roger on the back of his head as you walk away, and they start fussing at each other, but you’re not listening. You’re tired of hearing Roger yap, too. Judging by the time, you’re assuming you have six hours left in this tin can with that jackass, so you’re not wanting to start today’s requisite argument now. You throw yourself in a seat away from everybody, angry. Not angry because of what he told you. You’re angry because all you can think about is how you want him to fuck your brains out right now, and you’re completely sober. Usually when you want him this bad you’re drunk. But for some reason, right now, all you want is for everyone else to disappear so you can get it.

Roger, on the other hand, is wondering why you didn’t argue with him. It’s not normal for you to walk away from an argument. He loved getting under your skin – he loved knowing that he drove you crazy, and he knew the sex would be better for it, because he knew it would happen again. No matter how hard the two of you resisted – especially you – it was going to happen again. What was making him angry was that he didn’t know why you have such a hold over him. Nothing was normal anymore. That girl in Dallas? He didn’t have sex with her. That girl in Miami you saw him with? He didn’t even touch her. He only picked her up to piss you off, but it didn’t. Hundreds of girls threw themselves at him every single night but he didn’t want any of them. All he wanted was you, and it frustrated him as much as you do.

November 9, 1978 – Detroit, Michigan Tonight you can lock yourself away. They have two shows here in Detroit, so skipping tonight’s show and staying in your room, out of sight from any of them for at least 24 hours, is a great idea to you. You’re trying to concentrate on writing, but you can’t get him out of your head, and it’s frustrating. You’re not thinking about the arguments or how annoying he is. You can’t stop thinking about the way his eyes pierce through you, how his hands feel when they grab you, how good he feels when he’s inside of you. You try to snap out of it, but it isn’t working, so you decide to get out and find someplace to go.

You end up walking around for a while, clearing your head. You have no particular destination so you wander around, finding nothing particularly interesting, but it helped take your mind off of him, so you kept walking. You eventually stumble upon a dive bar close to the hotel, so you decided to stop in and have a drink or two, or three… You lost count. You didn’t care, because he was out of your head.

But you see him when you get back to the hotel. You see all of them, actually, and you tried to ignore them, but Freddie wasn’t going to let that happen. “There she is!” he exclaims as he sees you walk by. “How did you enjoy your night off, doll?” He wraps an arm around you and pulls you in for a one-armed hug.

“It was alright,” you reply. “How was the show?” He keeps his arm around you as he walks to the hotel bar and insists you have a drink with him. John and Roger joined you at the bar, and, of course, you and Roger start bickering, much to John and Freddie’s amusement.

“So you spent the entire night alone?” Roger sarcastically asks. “Even when you were off drinking?” You shoot him a glare, silently begging him not to start his shit, but he can’t help himself. “No one in this city good enough for the lady?”

You take a slow sip of your drink and put it down. “Maybe the last guy I had sex with was so bad it turned me off of it for a while.” He shoots you a smirk, because he knows damn good and well you enjoyed it. “So what about you? No one good enough?”

“Mmm,” he mumbles. “I do have my standards,” he smirks.

You start to laugh. “Yeah, I saw the one in Miami. Such high standards.”

John jumps in to try and stop any really big argument from happening. “So, Y/N, I read your review of our Dallas show,” he says with a huge grin. “Did you read it, Rog?”

“Why would I?” Roger chuffs. “If I want to know what she thinks I’ll ask her myself.”

You take the last sip of your drink and stand up from the table, feeling too drunk and too tired to deal with his crap. “I’m going to bed,” you groan. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

When you get back to your dark hotel room, you take off your pants, change into a trusty tank top and climb into bed. As soon as you get comfortable, he’s right back in your head again, and you cave and accept the fact that he won’t be leaving any time soon. You consider turning on the television to find a distraction, but you’d rather lay there in the dark. And your brain starts to swirl, and you start to feel him even though he’s not there. You feel his fingers rubbing your clit like they did that time. You hear his voice, you smell his scent, and you can’t resist anymore. Your fingers glide down underneath your panties and you start to rub, close your eyes and bite your lip, recalling every single movement and every single breath he made. Maybe, you thought, this was the only way to get him to leave your thoughts.

You’re interrupted by someone trying to get in your room, startling you and snapping you back to reality. “Wrong room!” you yell, but still, whoever it is keeps trying to unlock your door. Frustrated, you jump out of bed and storm to the door, not realizing that you’re only wearing your tank top and underwear. You throw open the door and yell, “I said, wrong room!” Once you see who it is, your mouth drops open, as does his.

“Why are you in my room?” Roger asks, pushing you aside as he walks in. “How did you get a key?” He falls down on the bed, clearly a little drunk, not that you’re fully sober either.

“This is my room,” you sneer. “Get off of my bed.” He doesn’t move, instead choosing to stay laying there, turning on his side and propping himself up on his elbow. “Roger!” you yell, but he just stays there, looking at you with a smile.

He starts to chuckle. “Dressed just for me?” he asks before he starts to look you up and down with a smirk. “You missed a good show. We were great. The crowd was really…”

You don’t even care that you’re standing there with hardly any clothes on. He’s seen everything anyway. You’re more worried about getting him out of your room. “Roger, get out!” you yell again, interrupting him, walking over to the bed and pulling on his arm as you try to make him get up.

Only he grabs you and pulls you to the bed and rolls you on to your back as he hovers over you. You try to wrestle out of his grip, but you can’t, not because he’s overpowering you, but because your mind is telling you not to. “You know you don’t want me to leave, Y/N,” he chuckles. He runs a hand down your chest, to your stomach and down your thigh before moving his fingers over your panties and right to your mound. “Oh?” he asks as he feels your wetness that’s soaked through. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Yeah, you did,” you answer matter-of-factly. “So can you please leave?”

“Show me,” he growls. “Show me what I interrupted.”

You scoot back on the bed and lean against the headboard, sliding your panties off, resting your feet in the bed, bending your knees and opening your legs. You look at his eyes as you run your hand down to your flower and start to rub your fingers over your swollen lips. His eyes dart down and he takes a deep breath as he watches you play with yourself. He moves closer to you and starts to reach out his hand, but you slap it away. “I didn’t say you could touch me,” you snip, raising a brow. He stands up from the bed and takes off his shirt, then his shoes and pants, and climbs back on the bed. You watch him watching you and bite your bottom lip. “Let me see how hard you are for me,” you tell him. He slides off his underwear and grabs his cock, stroking it slowly. “Do you want me, Roger?” you snarl.

“You know I fucking want you, Y/N,” he snarls back.

You smirk and call him closer to you with your finger. When he gets close to you, you move your fingers from your wetness and put them up to his mouth, and he opens and takes them in. “Hmm,” you mumble as you take your fingers out and put them back down to play. “I don’t think you want me bad enough.” You bite your lip again, looking deep in his eyes as you rub yourself. Seeing the sheer desperation in his eyes is turning you on even more than knowing he’s sitting here, watching you pleasure yourself as he starts to stroke his cock again. “It’s a shame too,” you whisper as you slowly close your eyes. “Because I’m about to cum, and you have to sit there and watch it happen.”

“What a dirty girl you are,” he whispers. “Let me help you.”

“I will,” you giggle, your eyes still closed and your fingers rubbing even faster than before. “You’re not allowed to cum, though. Not yet.”

He moves his hand away from his cock and leans next to you against the headboard, making sure he can whisper in your ear. “If you only knew how hard I am right now watching you,” he says. “Fuck, Y/N.” His tone was pleading, almost an agonizing pleading that let you know you’re doing everything right.

“Is that why you came here?” you ask. “Because you want me so bad?”

“Every time I see you, I want you, Y/N,” he breathes in your ear.

“You like what you see, Roger?” you tease. “You want to feel your cock inside of me?”

“Jesus, Y/N,” he groans. “I want to feel you cum all over my cock.” You open your eyes and look over at him. “Let me taste you again,” he pleads. You move your hand away and divert your eyes down between your legs before looking back at him. He took the hint and moved in front of you, parting your legs and running his tongue slowly up your slit before reaching your clit. His hand slowly drifts between your legs and he nudges two fingers inside of you. Poking his fingers deeper, he rotates them gently then starts to slowly work them in and out as his tongue slowly makes its way over your wetness, and you start to moan. He can feel the tension building in your body, your muscles straining and your cunt squeezing his fingers. "Is this what you want?" he asks, moving his mouth from your flesh. “Is this what you like?”

You look down at him, but your answer disappears in a gasp as his tongue finds your clit again. You start to wiggle on the bed, and he fights to stay with you. "Cum," you manage to say with ragged breath. "I'm gonna cum." Roger curls his fingers inside you, making the come here sign, massaging your G-spot. Your body stiffens, arching off of the bed as an orgasm rips through you. "Fuck," you grunt, loudly, fighting for air. You stare into his eyes as he thrusts his tongue into your pussy, holding it there as you quiver. He kneels up in front of you, his cock hard and completely erect now. “You gonna give me that?” you ask in a whisper.

"Not yet," he said. He leans over you, pushing his tongue against yours in a kiss and you taste yourself on his mouth. You try to sit up, but he forces you back down before he backs away. His hand glides over your skin, tickling your side before slipping back between your legs. His fingers enter you again, sinking deep as his thumb finds your clit. You moan loudly as he rams two fingers into you, rubbing your clit hard and fast. You start to squirm, begging him to make you cum again. It didn't take long. You constrict around his fingers, inhale deeply and cry out. He watches as you cum, a grimace of pleasure and pain on your face. "That's right," he urges, "you know you want to cum again.” Your second orgasm fades quickly and your eyes open, seeing him looking at you. You turn and try to bury your face in the rumpled covers of the bed, and he smiles at your sudden shyness. "You're very pretty when you cum," Roger whispers.

"Fuck you," you mumble with a giggle. He lets his fingers slip from you and you groan.

"Not very ladylike, are you?" he asks sarcastically.

"Would you rather I play the damsel in distress?" you sneer.

"Clean them off," he orders, ignoring your question. Your lips part, taking his fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them. You nibble him gently when you finish, and he pulls his hand away from you.

"Is that all I get to suck?" you ask with a smirk. Without responding, he lowers himself to the bed and lays on his back. You roll over and look into his eyes, wink, and begin sliding down his body, planting kisses as you go. You open your mouth and surprise him, taking the head between your lips. Sucking hard, you flick the tip with your tongue.

"Fuck," Roger exhales, his hips rising slightly. Your mouth doesn’t leave his cock, instead taking half his length. Even as he fights for his breath, he can hear you inhaling deeply through your nose. Over the next minute, you manage to take him all, letting the head slide into your throat. Suddenly, you pull away, releasing him from your mouth. He tries to grab you back again, but you avoid him and sit back on your haunches.

"Are you gonna fuck me?" you ask as you crawl over him. Wrapping his hand around his shaft, he guides himself to your slick lips. You lower yourself and the head slips inside you. You both gasp as you sink down, enveloping him in the silky walls of your moist pussy. Roger’s hands rise up to cup your breasts as the rest of him fills you. Your head tilts back and you begin shifting your hips back and forth, rocking on top of him. "Oh, God, yes," you purr. "That feels so good." He squeezes your nipples and you nearly scream, stiffening atop him. "I need you to fuck me, Roger," you say. Needing no more encouragement, he rolls you over, his cock leaving as he does. You let out a small cry as his full weight comes down on you.

He pauses a moment and you nod at him. Advancing, he steadily fills you, groaning as he does. Roger pulls back until only the tip remains inside you, then shoves his hips forward, propelling himself into you. You groan and he repeats the action. “Such a dirty, dirty girl,” he grunts.

"Fuck me hard," you demand, and he does, increasing the force – but not the speed – of his thrusts. Sliding his arms under you, he reaches up and grabs your shoulders, pulling you toward him as he rams his cock deep. You cry out each time he plunges into you, and he watches intently as you face twists in erotic frenzy. "Right there!" you yell out. "Don't you fucking stop!"

He moves faster, pistoning in and out of you as your fingers claw at the sheets, trying to hold steady as he pounds into you. Your mind is awash in ecstasy, and you tremble beneath him. Roger feels the familiar ache growing in his balls, and knows he can't last much longer. Opening his mouth, he was about to warn you when you speak first. "I'm gonna cum!" you yell.

The words had barely left your mouth when your pussy clenches and powerful spasms rip through your body. Your body arches into the air, lifting Roger slightly. Your reaction, and the sensation of you wrapped around him, pushes him over the edge. He erupts, shooting his warm load into you, as he groans loudly. He collapses on top of you before laying against your left side. Neither of you speak for several minutes as you breathe deeply, riding out the aftershocks of your orgasms.

"Jesus, you stink," you say, breaking the silence.

"What?" he says, shocked. "You came, didn't you?"

You laugh loudly, the sound echoing off the walls. "Three times," you smile. "What I mean is, you're all sweaty."

"Well, I’ve been busy," he says, defending himself. "Haven’t had the chance for a shower."

"Mmm hmm," you mutter, still giggling.

"You remember I had a concert earlier, right?" he asks.

"Yeah, drummer boy, I remember," you laugh.

"Why don't we go take that shower?" he suggests.

"Maybe we should wait a couple minutes," you say. "I don't think I can walk yet."

"You don't exactly smell like a bouquet of roses right now, you know," he teases.

"Asshole," you jokingly blurt as you nudge him away from you. His eyes linger on your naked body, and he looks back in your eyes and smiles. “Like what you see?" you ask, your eyes meeting his.

"Very much," he says. "You are so beautiful," he whispers, leaning in close and giving you a soft kiss, your eyes closing so you can feel the entire sensation.

Your eyes open and you start to giggle. "I'm a mess," you say, rolling your eyes.

"That's not always a bad thing," he assures you with a soft smile, "especially right now."

You prop yourself up on your elbows and gasp with playfulness. “Are you being nice to me right now, Blondie?”

“I can ask the same of you,” he chuckles. “Don’t worry. I can go back to being a right cunt tomorrow.” He leans up and gives you a quick kiss. “Now what about that shower?”

November 10, 12:30pm – Detroit When you wake up he’s gone. You didn’t feel or hear him leave, but he’s gone, and you feel like shit – physically and emotionally. But you can’t wallow in any of it. You have to get yourself together. You have a job to do, and since you were pretty worthless at it last night, you need to focus today. Last night when you were wandering around you noticed a park nearby, so you decided to go spend some time there and do some writing after throwing on some clothes and making yourself somewhat presentable.

You see him when you get to the hotel lobby, chatting and smiling with a few girls, as usual. He sees you, looks you straight in the eye and quickly turns his attention back to the girls. You were already upset, but now you’re raging inside. You don’t know if it’s anger or jealousy - probably a mix of both. What you do know is that you feel like an idiot.

“Hey, Y/N!” He calls you, but you ignore him and keep walking. “Hey!” He runs up behind you and grabs your arm. “Y/N…”

You quickly turn around. “What, Roger?”

He starts to chuckle. “I’m sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. You were sleeping so good and I didn’t want to wake you.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay? And?”

His demeanor changes in a flash and he lets go of your arm. “And I wanted to let you know I don’t see you as some two bit whore but never mind,” he snaps.

“That’s why you’re busy making your plans for later?” you snip. “Go on. Go finish talking to them.” When you turn to walk away he grabs your arm again and pulls you back. “What do you even want from me?” you yell.

He lets go of your arm and gives you a longing look. “More.” He clears his throat and you gulp, feeling a bit lightheaded, his words sending a shock through you. “I want more.”

Permatags: @clogwearingspacepoodle @briansfatbottomgirl @culturefiendtrashqueen @jennyggggrrr @shutup-sorry @dontstopmemeow @letmelivetaylor

Series tags: @toomuchlove-willkillyou @sunshine112 @ohtheseboysilove @luvborhap @painkiller80 @hannafuckingsucks @itsametaphorbriansblog @biscuit-barrel @capsparrowtara @asquiresofftime @aridrowse @geek-and-proud @a19103 @nicholeh7 @caborhapch @catch-a-deak @thebelgiancompanion @ultrablackwidower @maggieroseevans @protectrowanwhitethorn @mercurycrowley @amy-brooklyn99 @bellas2silly @rogxrtaylxr @gylfsz @amagicmess

[painandpleasure86]

Burned all my energy (BreakyWeek2k19)

Author’s note: Hi ppl! This was for Day 4, but this last Thursday and Friday were so frenetic... I couldn’t post this before! Probably I’ll post for the last day... Thank u @runningfortocome​ for hosting this special week for this underrated ship and for supported me last Tues for the hateful anons.

Prompt for Day 4 that I choosed: “Back Chat/arguments in the studio”

Warnings: Angst and fluff.

Word count: +2.0k

Tag list: @warriorteam1924  @runningfortocome​

They love to each other. So much. But also argue a lot. Both have a big pride about their own opinion and that didn't helped at all. Not only in the studio, but also in the intimacy. At least in the last one scenario was always a lot easier to fix the things. Nothing like a special meal or something sexual couldn’t fix.

Record an album always was a challenge for the group. The four of them have different points of view about what to do. But the two of them were usually the worst. Fred always mediating, Roger always mocking to the couple. 

Around 1979, John showed to the group Another one bites the dust. He recorded bass, guitar, synths and claps as a demo. Meanwhile the group was listening it in the studio, Bri and Roger started to feel in disconform, mainly Roger. 

In a whisper, Roger told to Brian “please, if you want to say your disagree, be careful... despite that it’s so funny mocking him, i’m quite tired of both of you arguing”. Brian nodded.

Once the demo ended, Bri said to John with a kind smile "Nice song really, but..."

The youngest one started to feel the anger. Still in his chair, turned to them and he watched right to the hazel eyes of his man. Said sighing “ah shit here we go again ... always but. Nothing that I make likes you!”

Fred, half turned to Brian and John. Trying to calming the atmosphere, said with a cheeky face “You mean musically darling no?”, while winked and made some sexual gestures with his hands.

Brian watched at him pretty disgusting.

"That stuff it's irrelevant here" he said.

"It is Bri. Thanks to the gods that you're happy at bed, hehe." His blonde friend winked an eye. "If not, more hysteria. And the three of you are drama queens. Despite that's quite funny, sometimes it's tiring to see the three of you always discussing" throw Roger.

Bri, pretty done, almost screamed "oh okay, look at you, calling to us drama queens when you made a number for your song of the car some years ago!”

Roger started to be really irritated.

"That's your only argument! Change your cassette Bri!" yelled the blondie.

Fred stand up of his chair and puts between Bri and Rog, separating them with his hands. John just was covering his face trying to not say nothing. "That childish fight again…" he thought.

"Guys, quiet." said so calm.

They still watched to the another pretty upset.

"Relax, guys." continued the singer.

Looking at Roger, he said "the four we're hysterical queens in a some way… But just a real one, ha!" Roger smiled. 

Fred turned his face now to Bri.

"Now you can continue with your opinion about John's song."

Bri started to talk, but Fred interrupted him.

"First, something more Bri". His hands leaved the chest of his friends and walked near John to grab his shoulders, which was on one side watching all the scene. He ducked his head in direction of the face of the bassist.

"And you, darling… don't interrupt to Brian and start to argue again. Let the man speak".

Deaks looked at his friend and sighed deeply.

"Okay, Fred."

Looking at his lover "I'll not yell this time, love." He stand up of his chair. Fred was behind John now. The bassist walked to his man and hugged him with his left arm. Watching to that hazel eyes and caressing the cheeks of the guitarist, continued speaking. "Go ahead." And he kissed him in the cheek. 

Brian watched at the bassist and smiled, slightly blushed.

The environment it's relaxed again.

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A couple of months later, The Game album was released. Another One Bites the Dust it's the most selled single. Bri and Roger should to recognize the ability of John there. And that was right  heeding to Michael Jackson that suggested to release that song as a single.

That album gave them tours for common lands to them like Japan, and visit for the very first time places like South America; where the band had an excellent and very warm reception from the fans. Where Another one bites the dust sounded in the discos and a lot of people enjoyed that funky vibe in the dance floor.

Even that song won the prize as Best Pop Single. Deaky and Rog were there to receive the prize. John, very happy. But Roger, pretty deceptioned "we are a rock band and we won a prize for best pop single? For God's sake…" he thoughts while they’re receiving the prize.

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Flash recording. Releasing. And now another recording, the album that would be named Hot Space. Now have even more argues and problems, the sound of this album its pretty away of the rockish sound of  the band. The experiment with AOBTD was successful, so, the funky and the (slowly dying) disco music took over the album concept. Even of that way, Brian and Roger could insert rockish songs or at least with powerful guitar riffs. Deaky and Fred must accepted that after a lot of argues, for maintain the good environment in the studio. Specifically, Deaky didn't wanted to have problems with his lover. They have already problems pretending being straights, until decide get out of the closet. He often just sighed deeply, pretending that everything's okay. But his patience was reaching it limit.

One night he couldn’t sleep. Changed a lot of time his position in bed. Deep breath didn't worked in him. He have a lot of angry inside. He needed to vent thru a song. 

He get up of the bed so quickly and was to the studio where he write his songs. In that studio he haves books that covered almost an entire wall, having infront a comfy couch. Next, the window and in front the desk. To the right side of the window, lied his Fender Precision Bass 1968, a keyboard and an acoustic guitar.   

In the studio, he grabbed paper, pen and sat in front of the desk to start to write. Isn't that often that him haves a suddenly inspo to write a full song. But that night was one of the examples. Back Chat born. Reading the paper, he though “I love you… but i’m tired of you complaining about my things and talk behind my back, my dear”.

Trying to not make a lot of noise, he grabbed his bass that are there. He connected to an amp and started to play a bassline. Meanwhile, he thought “I’ll be so funky, more than another one bites the dust… and you will not have your solo. If i can’t modify your arrangements, you will can’t modify this. Eat from your own medicine. I’m so patient, i’m so kind with you, but i’m also done.”

Next day at the studio, he came with that paper in one of his pockets. They entered like any day, but he have a little surprise…

Fred asked finally to him “well darling, do you have something to the new album?"

He extended the sheet to the singer. He has read. The face of Fred was a mix between laugh and confusion.

"My dear, who made you that damage?" finally said watching at the greenish eyes of his friend, curious.

He crossed his arms and "posed". That pose. That face. That smile.

"Don't matters" he said with a ironic voice, and his eyes focused in his lover. Bri watched at him so confused.

Roger, watching the scene and drinking a coffee, said "ha! Couple issues. That's fun guys… I love the drama between you! Thanks to God that I always haves some popcorn! That's better that any soup opera…

Despite the joke, the tension came back once again to the studio. And that just was the beginning. Because after that, Deaky specified that he will play also the guitar, keyboards and even a drum machine.

Bri and Roger started to be very upset. 

"Deaky, man, I love you… but trying to replace me? I'm the drummer! Despite all, I must to play that part!" said the blonde.

Bri, of course, reacted even worst. "Really… REALLY? What the actual fuck? Plus… YOU DON'T WANT A GUITAR SOLO? AND YOU WANT TO RECORD ALMOST ALL? Seriously, this isn't the way to speak about our problems!

Deaky watching to his face and yelling, said: "I'm so done of that attitude of you and more when we try to experiment new things… Always guitar riffs it's boring! Not always we should sound like rock music! Really… my patience it's done for today. Don't speak to me, even you Fred. I just want to be alone!!!"

He grab his things and started to leave the recording studio.

"You should to be alone for being so mean with me!" said Bri almost crying.

John sighed and turned back.

"Look Brian… we're a couple no? Learn to accept your part of the responsibility. I have patience, but isn't endless." he said in a serious tone.

He watched to Roger and Freddie.

"Guys, for today I don't want to work. I'll go to drink something perhaps. Don't try to catch me, please."

He sighed. "Sorry Fred."

And leaved the studio slamming the door.

The three of them tried to back to work. Brian couldn't really. He was crying and drinking a lot of beer. After some hours, he fell asleep in a couch, so drunk, so sad.

Similar scene was John. After a lot of drinks in a near bar and avoiding the occasionals fans trying to get an autograph, came back to the home where the four habits when they're recording an album.

Barely could close the door. His head hurts. His throat wanted to vomit. Walked as he could to the bathroom and threw in the toilet.

When he ended, he just wanted to go to bed.

Opened the door of the room… him was already in bed. And he almost started to cry, but he hadn't energies at all. Just gone to sleep, trying to not wake up to him.

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Next morning, first in wake up was the guitarist. And he saw to the another one sleeping so deeply, snoring. He kissed him in the forehead and whispered "I still love you, funky man". And leaved the bed and the room. Moments later, John woke up and he find himself alone, with a hard hungover. He rubbed his eyes and said “ugh why I need to get out of this bed, i’m feeling so terrible”.

He took a bath. After choose his outift for that day and dressing, go to the kitchen to have some breakfast. He found the another three having a nice chat while they were taking their breakfast, until he entered to the kitchen to prepare some tea.

The three watched at him in silence preparing everything to his breakfast. When put the kettle to boil some water, he turned to his bandmates and ask “Who’s died that you’re in silence?”

“Are you better, darling?” Finally Fred says to Deacon.

He sighs deeply. “Yes and not. From the anger from yesterday… fine. But i’m still having a hungover and i’m hungry.” he says, touching his forehead and after his tummy.

Silence again.

Roger, after sipping of his cup of tea, look at John and says to his friend “c’mon mate”

He was confused. “What?”

Brian without rise his sight and moving the little spoon inside the cup of tea, said “an apologize, perhaps.” He sighed deeply and rise his head. Turns around still sat in his chair in Johns direction. “ Sorry for being rude with you yesterday.” added the guitarist.

He watched at him with tears in his eyes. The bassist ran to hug him so tightly.

“no, I’m the one that should apologize”. He caressed the curly hair with his left hand. Being near of the right ear of the guitarist, whispered “you will can have your damn solo if you want. You always get your way, haha”. Watched right to the face of his man, both hands holding that smiling face. He’s smiling too. “I love you”. “Me too my grumpy bassist”, added the elder one. And both kissed softly.

Roger and Fred watched the scene so happy to see that two happy again, until Roger watched to the cooker.

“Fred…? I should say it?” asked sipping his tea, quite cold.

Freddie watched to Roger and shaked his head. “Let them be happy for a moment” and giggled a little.

The water from the kettle was boiling intensely since a couple of minutes...

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If you liked this fic, reblogs are highly appreciated! -Lily

[angrylizardjacket]

a process {John Deacon}

Anon asked: Could you write something where reader (possibly in the band) and deaky are totally in love with each other but both are too shy to say anything and oblivious to see the others feelings but at the end the get together and it’s 100% fluff? Thank u sm your fics are gold

A/N: 3169 words. If I recall, some people wanted some Deaky fic?? He’s so lovely and this was a lot of fun to write!! Again, this is the BoRhap!Deaky. Also I wrote half of this at work; this is university funded fic ladies and gentlemen.

“Alright, boys, jus’ letting you know we’ve got a new intern in today; Y/N, she’s going to be shadowing me.” The sound designer, Earl, a skinny gentleman who always seemed to be wearing black, denim shorts no matter the weather, announces your arrival over the microphone to the recording studio where the band was discussing what song to practice next. In the next moment, you have four pairs of eyes all watching you through the glass of the sound studio, and you give a nervous wave back.

“Hello.” You offer, awkwardly, and Earl leans in to the microphone on the desk.

“She says hello.” He informs the others, and you feel like an idiot. Fortunately, the men all wave back, giving quick greetings of their own, before going back to their discussion.

“They’re good.” Earl, pulled up a spare chair for you by the desk, checking the levels as they started up on a new song. From anyone else, the words would sound like a mild compliment at best, but from Earl, who you’ve known practically forever, he was a friend of the familys’, and he did not shy away from complaining about the ‘teeny bopper drivel’ he had to make sound half-decent, you knew it was closer to a round of applause.

“Intern? Does that mean you get us drinks?” They’re actually recording now, one at a time, while the rest of them lounged around on the other side of the room with you. You’re perched on the edge of your chair by the sound desk when the drummer, Roger, speaks to you. Their lead singer, Freddie was at that moment, currently in the recording studio, crooning into the microphone with his headphones on, and it takes you a moment to turn and consider what he had said.

“I mean… yeah, I guess?” Looking to Earl to either confirm or deny the request, he’s focused on the sound desk, just waves you off with a distracted affirmation. A grin stretches over Roger’s face.

“Bourbon, thanks.” And his grin only got wider at your sudden confusion.

“Water for him.” Pipes up the bass player, John, sitting against the wall with his ankles crossed, smiling up at you. “And one for me too, if it’s not too much trouble.” Relieved, you smiled back at him despite Roger’s protests. “You want anything, Bri?” John asked their guitarist, and you ended up getting drinks for everyone. Thankful that they kept fresh bottles in the break room, you returned as Freddie stepped out of the sound booth, and his recording was played back. His smile was stiff as you handed him a water bottle, though it was probably because he was trying to concentrate on the playback of his vocals than any malice towards you. Roger accepted the drink begrudgingly, and Brian smiled at you.

“I’m John, by the way.” Holding out his hand to you, you bent down to shake John’s hand where he was still sitting on the floor.

“I know,” you answered automatically, though he could see the regret on your face as soon as you said it, “I mean, we can hear you guys from in there, talking and everything,” you tried to explain yourself, still shaking his hand. After a long moment silence, he’s still looking at you with a bewildered, but pleasant smile. “I’m Y/N.” You finally manage.

“I know.” And he’s grinning at you, amused as you finally retract your hand to cross your arms over your chest. “You were introduced.” Pointing at Earl, you followed his gaze to the sound desk and the glass window, through which you could see Freddie setting up for another take.

“I’m Roger.” Roger offers from the side, and he seems to be splitting his focus between you and the singer.

“He’s Roger.” John muttered, much more quietly. How he was able to verbally communicate a fond eye-roll, you may never know.

“What does this one do?” Three weeks into your three month internship, and you’re minding the desk while Earl’s on break, slapping away John’s hands as he tries to get near the buttons.

“I don’t know.” You laughed for the fourth time in a row, pushing his hands gently from the desk.

“This one makes things loud, right?” His fingers edge towards one of the faders and you can see the grin he wears as he watches your expression closely, deciding if you’re going to slap him away from it again. The others have gone to get lunch and he’s keeping you company. He’s been doing that a lot recently, and you wouldn’t say you minded. John’s good company, unexpectedly sharp, and he always seems happy to see you.

“You probably shouldn’t touch that one; it’s for your bass.” You raised your eyebrows at him, lips twitching as you repressed a smile, watching him retract his hand to fold it in his lap.

“So that one’s for the bass, but what about the others?” He asked, nodding to the other faders, and you shrugged.

“Not sure.” Your response only made him smile wider.

“But you know which one the bass one is?” He asked, and you let yourself smile at him, a little more mischievous than was strictly necessary.

“Maybe I just told you that so you wouldn’t touch it.” There’s an unspoken challenge in your words, and his fingers danced along the bottom of the soundboard, just below where the masking tape labels for the faders have all worn away. There’s a moment, he’s hovering over one that looks like it’s labelled ‘Mic 2’ and you’re hand is already raised ready to knock him back, when the door bursts open and the others all spill in.

“Alright, out of my seat.” Earl pulls the rolling chair back with you still in it, and you obligingly hop out. “You didn’t touch anything, did you?” He asked, just like he had every single time since he’d first trusted you to look over it while he was gone.

“Yeah, Deaky, did you-” Roger’s wearing a shit-eating grin, but the bass player has hopped out of the seat that usually belongs to you, to make a beeline for the recording studio.

“Oh shut it, Rog,” he snaps, and though you can’t see the blush rising on his cheeks, he knows it’s there. “No.” He adds, and Roger’s exaggerated eye-roll, and the comment he had made, make you blush also, but you’re not entirely sure why, or at least, you won’t admit to yourself why.

“Okay, take, uh, take six? Take six of Killer Queen’s bass.” You stumbled over your words while speaking over the microphone into the recording booth where John waited with headphones on. He gave you a thumbs up, which you missed, searching for the button to play back the other accompaniment into his headphones. After a moment of fumbling, Earl pointed the button out to you, giving you a longsuffering smile as the music began to play back. The other band members quietly discussed the logistics of the song as you watched Earl gently adjust the sound levels every few moments. Sparing a glance to John through the glass, you get a little lost for a moment, watching his intense concentration as he worked his way through the song. He had an intensity about him, the utmost concentration that made you not want to look away. Finishing without a single note missed, he looks up to see you looking back at him, a little starry-eyed, and he grins back.

“Wow.” You breathe, before turning bright red, feeling someone over your shoulder.

“She thinks it’s great.” Freddie pressed down the button, speaking into the microphone by your shoulder. John chuckled fondly, a little flush.

“I- yeah, thank you.” After a beat, he recomposed himself. “And you guys?” His gaze finally moved from your face to look over the others, who were all looking at either you or John smugly. Freddie stepped back from the console, crossing his arms over his chest with a smile as he looked between you two.

“She’s right.” Roger called from the sofa, splayed across it, partially leaning against Brian. After a beat, John gave him a confused look, tapping at the headphones. “Oi, tell ‘im.” Roger urged you, and tentatively you pressed the microphone button, leaning in to it.

“They agree.” And you watch him let out a sigh of relief as he goes to put his bass on it’s stand, making room for Brian to step in and start with his section. When he comes back into the room, John makes a beeline for the sofa, only to find Roger’s laid himself across it horizontally, taking up as much room as he possibly could.

“Sorry, mate.” The drummer grins, clearly not sorry at all. Even Freddie, who usually didn’t go in for this sort of stuff, was using the armrests of the armchair he had draped himself in, giving the bass guitarist a knowing smile, and a sly look to where you were receiving a quiet lesson faders from Earl as Brian began making sure his guitar was in tune.

“You’re doing really good,” John muttered to you from where he leaned against the wall close to the sound desk. You’d just called to start the guitar track and he was keeping his eyes on his bandmate. Startled, you slid the headphones from your ears where you were listening to make sure Brian was hearing the same thing you were.

“What?” Voice quiet, you looked up at John, and he finally looked away from Brian, smiling fondly at you.

“The whole intern thing, you’re doing really well.” And the resulting smile you gave him made you glow with pride. You’d been so worried that it had seemed like you were stumbling through your tasks, because, well, at times you were, but even a slight affirmation had you thrilled. After a beat, you tried to school face into something more serious as you tried not to let the embarrassing crush on him that had developed over the past few weeks show. He was a musician and you were an intern, and it was just a little bit of a hero-crush, nothing to get too serious about. But he was smiling back at you, and it just made you feel warm; it didn’t have to be a bad thing if you didn’t let it.

Once the album is done, you still actually manage to see them around, at least for the first few weeks. You’d actually managed to score a job as an assistant from the internship, and they were in often discussing the plans of their tour. Every time they spotted you in the halls, the others would conveniently vanish the moment John asked how you’d been. It hurt a little, to think about how you wouldn’t see them, see him, for a few months, or perhaps even a year, but you thought perhaps it would be a good thing, letting your little crush die.

“I’ll really miss working with you.” But then he had to go and say that, smiling in that way that made everything seem alright, and he wrapped an arm around you in a hug. He’s not usually a tactile person, from what you’ve gathered, and it takes a moment for you to find your voice.

“I’ll miss,” the words get stuck in your throat a little, “working with you too.” He gives you a comforting squeezes, and you’re not sure what to do about the way your heart beats a little faster, so you let him leave. He hesitates for a moment, seems like he doesn’t want to go, or has something to say. You see something in his smile, maybe a little sadness, maybe something else you can’t quite place, and you both know it’ll be a while before you see each other again.

“Is Y/N going to be here?” John’s bopping slightly to the beat in his head as he watches Earl set up the sound equipment on the farm.

“She’ll be here tomorrow.” Earl doesn’t look up from his job while Roger yells at the same time, from the other room.

“No distractions!” And it’s accompanied by the thwap of Roger’s slipper hitting the glass of the window to the sound room, but he’s grinning at the bassist from where he’s sitting behind his drums. John refuses to read into that.

It’s been almost six months since you’d seen each other, and you’d jumped at the opportunity to join Earl and the boys a the farm, even if it is in the middle of nowhere, and you’d be sleeping on a sofa for a week. You arrived at the tail end of their stay, once the music was written, all that was left to do was record it.

He’s waiting out the front of the house, perched on the brick wall and eyeing off a large chicken who looked like it was ready to spook him, when Earl pulls up with you in the front seat.The noise of the van is enough to send the chicken scrambling in the other direction, but John waved at you, and there it was, that feeling in your chest that you’ve been trying to bury for six whole months practically leaping to life as you step out to hug him in greeting.

“Oi, Y/N, settle an argument for us.” When you walk into the kitchen in the morning, Brian is smiling despite the fact that he’s got bacon in his hair, Roger is hunched over eating the rest of the bacon, at least what wasn’t scattered on the floor, from the pan and refusing to share, and John was just smiling blithely into his coffee.

“What do you think of when you hear the phrase, ‘I’m in love with my car’.” John asked, not looking away from where Roger was glowering.

“Is it a nice car?” You asked, easily making your way around the kitchen to fix yourself breakfast, ignoring the way Roger perked up at the question.

“Like as a song, what do you think?” John’s smile as catty as you’ve ever seen it. When you ask what happened to the coffee pot as it lay on it’s side sink, John hands over his mug without hesitating, still waiting on your response.

“Well... is it a metaphor?” You asked, squinting between the three of them. After a beat, Roger slams the frypan on the table and throws his hands in the air.

“Yes, see she gets it!” And you’re pretty sure you’re on the wrong side of the table as John shakes his head.

“So you metaphorically are in love with your car?” You asked, rounding the bench to join John and Brian, who were now actively stifling laughter as Roger’s face fell. Resting against the bench by John, you’re close enough that he can lean his head against your shoulder in solidarity, taking back his coffee and having a pointed sip as your words set Roger off on another rant. If you lean into it a little, he doesn’t seem to mind, in fact, you don’t see it, but his smile widens.

When you hear John banging on the door of the farmhouse after you’ve finished helping pack everything up and Earl’s already locked everyone else out of the sound room for the rest of the night, it’s a shock.

“Tell her!” You can hear Roger’s shout on the other side of the door as John knocks louder.

“You really should just tell her.” Unexpectedly, even Freddie seems to agree with the drummer, though John shouts that he’ll catch his death of cold if they don’t let him in soon.

“Be an adult, John!” Brian tries to placate the bassist from the other side of the door where they’ve all teamed up against him. “Just tell her.”

“Be an adult?!” John parrots back, just before you get to them.

“Tell me what?” That shut them all up quick, and even before he turns to face you, you can tell he’s bright red. “I mean, I’m the only ‘her’ for what feels like a few hundred kilometres.” Smiling with confusion, you look to the door, and then to John. Someone whispers ‘tell her’.

“I want to see you again.” John lets the words tumble out into the world, hands out and open in front of him in some sort of ‘ta-da’ gesture, before looking over his shoulder. “Can I come back inside now?” 

“What? No.” You can hear Roger’s baffled expression in his words, and it’s joined by a hum of agreement from Freddie.

“He’s right, Deaky, that was a terrible declaration of lov-” John’s pulling you away by the elbow before you could hear the rest of Freddie’s statement, though you got the general gist of it.

“You know what, maybe we’re better off out here.” He huffs, unable to look at you as he tugs you towards the wall.

“Slow down, slow down.” Once at the wall, you tug free from his grip and lean against it, watching him fidget. “You like me?” You asked, half smile forming on your lips.

“We’re not high schoolers, Y/N.” He tried dodging the question with a self-deprecating smile. Taking a step forward, you finally got him to look at you. “You know, it was weird, caring about you so much after only three months.” He admitted, studying your features with an intensity you had only seen him get around music, it made you feel like the only person in the world that mattered in that one moment. “It was weird, looking up on stage and not seeing you in the crowd.” He paused for a moment. “And I don’t want that to be our only interaction, just recording music together, I wanna take you take you to all the sights I got to see, but just... just because I want to see them with you.” When his gaze dropped, it felt as if the moment had passed, but you didn’t want to leave it just yet. Gently, you took his hand, and when his eyes met yours, you were smiling, a bit pink in the cheeks, but so obviously full of joy.

“I’d like that,” and after a beat, you moved in to press a kiss to his lips, soft and chaste. “I missed you... so much more than I thought I would.” You chuckled softly, moving back just a little. “I honestly thought you wouldn’t-”

“No, I did.” He looked away, a little embarrassed, and you could see the flush of his cheeks. “The, uh, the boys will attest to that.” He admitted, and that’s when you remembered, feeling the biting chill of the night air finally begin to hit you.

“Do you think they’ve unlocked the door?” You asked, looking over his shoulder. His expression fell as the two of you began to walk hand in hand back to the farmhouse.

“It doesn’t actually lock, they were just all leaning against it.”

[yeswevegotavideo]

@thegrandwilde, I got inspired from our earlier conversation and you did say you like getting introduced to new music so… (Though actually, feel free to ignore this post entirely, I just like info-dumping about They Might Be Giants and this is a convenient excuse to do so lol)

Apparently it was three asks, maybe there were more I didn’t see, but these are the songs I’ve seen referenced in those weird ass tmbg asks (Spotify links):

The Mesopotamians

Birdhouse in Your Soul

Don’t Let’s Start

And really, those are great songs, but speaking as someone who has obsessively listened to this band for 32 (of 36) years, these are some equivalent or better ones under the cut. One from almost every album, actually.

(*Favorite albums)

Put Your Hand Inside the Puppet Head (They Might Be Giants, 1986)

Their least-refined album, being their first, but full of a lot of gems, actually.

Ana Ng (Lincoln, 1988)*

Much more polished than the first. This one’s hard to choose one song from, nearly every one is gold.

Your Racist Friend (Flood, 1990)

Probably their most popular album, at least from my era? Extremely popular among Mormons for reasons I’ve never really understood.

I, Palindrome, I (Apollo 18, 1992)*

Arguably my favorite album to this day, not just from TMBG, but generally. It’s actual perfection, is all. Next to impossible to choose a single song to feature.

No One Knows My Plan (John Henry, 1994)*

Their first album after adding more members/instruments, including some horns, which they would keep from this point forward. (Now they’re two Johns, two Dans, and a Marty). Arguably their first commercially viable album, and likely the thing that got them noticed by TV producers. (Soon after this, they wrote The Daily Show theme and have been more or less industry staples ever since. They wrote the Malcolm in the Middle theme song, as well.)

Pet Name (Factory Showroom, 1996)*

Another basically perfect album, next to impossible to choose a single song from. I only chose this one because it’s awesome and a bit more chill than a lot of their stuff.

Doctor Worm (Severe Tire Damage, 1998)

One of their better-known songs, from an almost entirely live album, but not a live song. I see people quoting this one semi-often and wonder where they heard it.

Reprehensible (Long-Tall Weekend, 1999)

The first full-length online-only album ever released by a major artist. Which is amazing. (They were also one of the first major artists, if not the first, to have an official online radio station, in 1999. Which is insane.)

This song is a good representation of a mainstay of TMBG: pairing perky pop melody with vaguely (or sometimes blatantly) sinister lyrics or subject matter. One of my most favorite musical tropes (gee, I wonder why? Lol)

My Man (Mink Car, 2001)*

Released around the time John Flansburgh started his electronica/hip-hop fusion side project, Mono Puff. I’m not wild about the project, but being in that headspace did wonderful things for this album.

This song is featured to demonstrate their extreme, general nerdiness (especially John Linnell’s, who is my preferred John). Insofar as they have managed to turn the 3 word phrase, “I am paralyzed” into a 3 minute song, without once using the actual phrase.

Experimental Film (The Spine, 2004)

A good, solid album, another one it’s hard to choose one song from. The video for this song was done by the Brothers Champs, creators of Homestar Runner. The story goes that they each found out the other were huge fans of theirs, collectively did whatever the middle-aged man equivalent of a fangirl-squeal is, and began collaborating immediately. They still do, occasionally.

The Cap’m (The Else, 2007)*

It took me a while to warm up to this album, but now I absolutely love it. While looking for a song to post, I realized one of the anon asks quoted this song.

The Lady and the Tiger (Join Us, 2011)*

A nearly perfect album marred by a couple of songs that I legitimately dislike. That is…not a thing I say about TMBG often. *shrug* They can’t all be Apollo 18.

This song baaaarely squeaked by ahead of You Probably Get That A Lot, When Will You Die?, and Cloissinné because the Bassline. Fucking. Slaps.

Money for Dope (Album Raises New and Troubling Questions, 2011)

Released as a companion to Join Us, including some songs cut from the album along with some b-sides, live tracks, & remixes. It’s got some good shit on it, including Marty Beller Mask, easily one of the most surreal songs they’ve ever written.

But I featured this song because it was the inspiration for my The Young Ones: Love & Mobsters fic: Dope, and because it’s one of their many songs that is literally just a list of things, which is very them.

Call You Mom (Nanobots, 2013)

Another solid album, but not one of my favorites. It might just be too new for me (she said of the 6 year old album), but it might just not be one of their best albums. *shrug*

They Might Be Giants has a very distinct sense of humor. This song is just about the perfect example of that.

Erase (Glean, 2015)

The first album released after they started their new Dial-A-Song project, which they turned into a song-a-week challenge. As a result, the album isn’t like, exceptional, but there are a lot of gems, actually.

This is my favorite song on the album because it’s about the creative editing process (yes, a rare TMBG song that is definitively about something) and I feel it on a spiritual level.

Bills, Bills, Bills (Phone Power, 2016)

I’m not familiar enough with this album to have much of an opinion on it, I don’t listen to it much. But I had to include this song because I legitimately fucking love TMBG covers, and this one was…unexpected, lmao.

Mrs. Bluebeard (I Like Fun, 2018)*

The first album released after the 2016 election, and it shows, with a strong thread of fears about aging, loss, vague despair/disappointment, and political anger (An Insult to the Fact Checkers is a blatantly anti-Trump song). I fucking love it.

This song is just really well composed, and also demonstrates a strong feminist sensibility, rarely seen in ostensibly cishet(?), white, male baby-boomers (young ones, but still).

(Yes cis, dunno if het? Neither are particularly effusive about their personal lives. They’re both married which, of course, means literally nothing.)

I mean, they’ve clearly always been liberal commie bastards (see Your Racist Friend above), but they’ve become more vocally so over the past few years.

[ephemeralem0tions]

Hi! I've read your summary of Levihan fanfic recommendations and I've noticed that you are fond of the concept "pretend lovers". I'd love to read your version of pretend lovers, if you don't mind. (or post your Levihan art if a story is too much.) Thanks :D

*Casually inserts self in a cameo in my own fics* Can you spot me? XD

Anyways, college will start tomorrow and I’m so anxious! But for the mean time, your wish is my command ;)

P.S. I stan Coldplay 

Impress (LeviHan - Pretend Lovers)

Theme: Pretend Relationship

Rating: PG

Warning: Curse Words

send your requests/anons here x.

For the thirty-sixth time around, he turned around to face her and gave her a big fat “NO”. His face was already evidently annoyed, and a frown was already forming on her lips after so much persuasion, only to face rejection.

“Oh come on Levi! I know you also want to go to that concert! You can have the other ticket! I’m not even interested in that band!” she pleaded, but it only made him groan. He’s been hearing the same statement for the past four hours and she was still at it. Admittedly, yes, the offer is tempting, but its her purpose he questions.

“I’m not helping you get tickets for your boyfriend four eyes” he hissed. Yes, she wanted those tickets for someone else, not herself.

“He’s not even my boyfriend!” she countered “Well, yet. He promised me he’ll give me a chance if I manage to get him tickets. You know I’ve already spent my allowance money on my experiments, so this is the last resort I have”

His eyebrows furrowed. She’s worth more than a concert pass. Whoever the douche was, he sure didn’t know how brilliant and amazing the woman was, despite her frequent freaky behavior.

“No” he repeated again, firmly.

“Please! All you have to do is appear in the event. I’ll already study everything and you don’t even need to lift a single finger” she was already using her big doe eyes, but he wasn’t falling for that trick. At least not yet. He had managed to set his personal best at resisting them today. Two hours more than the past record.

She started pulling out the big guns. Making her eyes wider, glassier and more persistent than usual. Those pretty hazel irises she knew he cannot resist.

“Remind me why I have to be there again?” he sighed, and she perked up hearing those words. He definitely fell into her trap. Like always.

“Because its a couples event. You have to pretend to be my boyfriend for that time” his frown became deeper. “But you just at least appear so they see I’m with someone”

“Alright shitty glasses. I get it” he replied.

“Yes! Meet me tomorrow at the entrance of the Central Stadium!” she yelled at him from across the hallway. He didn’t even notice she was already away till her voice echoed from the distance. She gave him one final wave, and a heart melting smile before she disappeared.

Great. He was going to be her boyfriend for a day, to impress a guy who wouldn’t even let her be his girlfriend for a day without compensation.

“So what is this game about again?” he asked, as he trotted beside her who skipped excitedly. As promised, they met up in front of the stadium and now walking towards the event hall. He sighed upon seeing that she even wore the band’s shirt even though she had no fucking idea who ‘Coldplay’ was. She sure was really trying hard to impress the guy

“Its a guessing game. It will most likely be their songs and I have listened to every single album they have released last night” yeah, she reeked of coffee again.

“Welcome! May I get your names please, and your team name!” a perky brunette greeted when they reached the registration desk.

“Hanji Zoe and Levi Ackerman” she replied for the both of them.

“Your team name please?” she asked again.

“Team Titans?” it came off more like a question than an answer. He gave her a glare with her weird nerdish innuendos. This is why people avoided her, because they don’t get her.

“No silly” the receptionist chuckled. “Our team name requirement needs to be a combination of both your names. Like a ship!”

They looked at each other. He as always, had a stoic and cold expression, but she was rather embarrassed in his opinion. Her cheeks were flushed red and she was speechless, mouth hanging agape as if her brain suddenly hanged. And those moments are really rare for an intellectual girl like her. Damn she was cute.

“Well since you two can’t think of one. I’ll name it! You are officially dubbed LeviHan” she brunette declared, handing them both one sticker each with their team name to attach to their shirts. Her ponytail bounced from behind her, a sinister smile plastered on her face which give him creeps. What the fuck was wrong with this girl?

They slowly backed away from her and made their entrance to the event hall, where people were already looming and trying to find seats in the busy room.

He scanned the area. Pairs of seats are placed at least a meter away from each other, so no team could cheat and copy answers. A tablet and touch pen laid on the table, where they could write their answers after the host up front on the stage shoots the question.

The music started to die down, and everyone was requested to find their respective places. They opted for a more low key position, down at the back corner, where no one would mind them that much.

“The mechanics are simple! You just need to write your answer on the tab in front of you in the span of thirty seconds. If your answer is correct, your tab will glow green and automatically move on to the next question. If you are wrong, it will glow red and your screen will be stuck to your last answer” the host started up. “Now ladies and gentlemen, please write your team name on the tab”

Hanji immediately picked up the pen and wrote in the messiest way possible. He was almost anxious that it couldn’t be read by the android, but silently whispered his thanks when the sides of the gadget glowed green and automatically emptied the screen.

“Great! I see everyone is ready and registered. To win this game, you must be the last couple standing after answering all our questions. Only the top Coldplay fanatic can pass this test” the host spoke again. “Now for the first question. What is the full name of the lead vocalist?” he heard his partner cuss from the side.

“I memorized songs not facts and background” she murmured, panic evident in her features. He sighed and stared at her, she will definitely fail if he would not help out.

“Christopher Anthony Martin” he whispered, sight directed up front so it looked like he didn’t care at all.

“What?” she looked at him with wide eyes.

“I said Christopher Anthony Martin. Now write it on the board before we loose time” he repeated, and she did what she was told to do so. Soon enough, green light emitted from their own tab, making her smile wide at him. They were going to win this game.

“What song featured Beyonće?”

“Hymn for the Weekend”

“Who in the band is left handed?”

“The bassist. Guy Berryman”

“In 1997, the band’s name was?”

“Starfish”

She gave him a weird look.

“What?” he raised an eyebrow at her.

“Who names their band Starfish?” she questioned him.

“Says the girl who named her team Team Titan” he rolled his eyes. “Quit talking and start writing”

“Whose death wake did they perform for?”

“Steve Jobs” she continued with her disbelieving look but he did not mind her anymore.

“For which three companies did they turn down contracts?”

“Coke, Gatorade and GAP”

“Who married first in the band?”

“The drummer. Will Champion”

They continued doing so, for the rest of the day. Hanji did come up with her own answers once in a while, when the questions were about ‘what’s the title of the song’ or ‘complete the lyrics’. She most definitely did her research.

“Yes!” she giggled, staring at the two tickets in her hand for the fifth time around as the walk away from the stadium. The setting sun definitely made her prettier from his view. Her unique nose, glasses, eyes, smile illuminated by the warm glowing light. He considered it a mission success in helping her and making her happy.

“So you can go to your shitty boyfriend now shitty glasses” he stopped and folded his arms over his chest. He honestly felt annoyed by the fact that his hard work will go to someone else when he did it for her. But whatever makes her happy, supposedly could make him happy too. Right?

“Oh Levi!” he took a step back, as she took him in one of her bone crushing hugs. On any other day, he would have shoved her away or avoided it. But perhaps the afternoon nostalgia made him a bit softer? Or was it that he was mentally tired after remembering all the facts about his favorite band.

A piece of hard paper was suddenly placed in his hand. The other ticket, as she promised was right in his grasp. She gave him a wide smile but he returned to it with a frown.

“Take it shitty glasses” he put back the ticket inside her palms. “Just go and have a date with your boyfriend or whatever” he ‘tsked’.

“No silly” she gave it back to him, and this time, encased it with his fingers. Now she was holding his closed fist with her warm hands which sent shivers down his spine. Her touch is so comforting. “I got this ticket for you, not for anyone else. Because I know you wouldn’t shell out money even if your favorite band went to town. I couldn’t buy you tickets so I decided to get you one with your help”

His mouth hung agape. She did all of it for him? It didn’t quite process in his mind yet.

“You tricked me? This is for me? But what about the other ticket? I thought this was supposed to be for your boy friend?” his forehead scrunched up with his confusion. She chuckled after all his questions.

“Yes I tricked you. This is all for you. I’ll meet you at the concert hall tomorrow night, the other one is for me to accompany you. And yes, it is for my boy friend” she left him dazed and frozen on the side walk, while she ran away from him.

“O-Oi! Four eyes!” he tried to call for her, but she was already waving at him goodbye from the other side of the street. Damn that stubborn ass unpredictable woman.