#genuinely just wanna get a job in a pub or something and sing&play in bands. thats the dream

[eowylesbian]

i picked such hard, high effort subjects in school just to turn around 2 months into fifth year and realise i probably won't even go to college because what i really want to do after school is just. sing in punk bands

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

The Excuse: Donny Donowitz x Reader (Postwar AU)

requested by the homie @struggling-bee :' )

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines @tealaquinn @struggling-bee @frozenhuntress67 @kwyloz @sodapop182 @marlenemarauders @what-the--curtains @taikawho

Let me know if you wanna be added to the IB or OUATIH taglists! :)

_____________ ***January, 1946*** Donny was walking through his neighborhood, just like he had every afternoon since he got back from the war. He never did that before... He was tired, but he could never sleep. He was angry, but there were no nazis he could (legally) scalp.   He couldn't seem to settle back down. Things in his mind didn't quite quiet down. Sometimes, it seemed like the war was still on. Donny was the man that killed Hitler, after all. It was hard to go back to being just Donny, Sy Donowitz' boy. He couldn't even seem to find someone to talk to. All the guys he used to go to school with, or play baseball with were either busy buying houses, busy with a baby or two, or busy with a brand new business. Some of those guys had bum knees now. Some of them just never came back... And the girls they all used to hang around with had 'just married' signs on their cars, or busy fighting to keep running the jobs they had the keys to during the war. They weren't the same kids sneaking into bars, playing ball, and dancing to brass bands. They were soldiers.

He walked with his hands in his coat pockets, looking down at the pavement. His shoes over the concrete were a stark contrast to worn down boots over snowy forest floors and enemy bones. He shut his eyes, wondering where the boys were now? Of course, he knew Aldo was in Tennessee....but where? Was he sitting up in his cabin? Was he visiting his sister? Telling his nieces and nephews stories they wouldn't believe till they read their history books? And Hugo? He'd moved to a quiet, small, almost impossible to find town in Connecticut. Was he finding the heart to talk to the girl at a corner store? Smitty?  Smitty lived in New York. He'd promised Donny he'd go back to school. He made it into NYU, was he in class right now? Was he visiting his grandparents? And Hirschberg? Was he out with his girl? Was he finally looking for a ring? And Omar? Wicki? What were they all up to? Were they all having a hard time going back to the way things used to be? Donny glanced at his watch. 5:47 PM. A year earlier this time, they'd be camped out somewhere between France and Germany, listening to Aldo telling stories. Hugo would be sharpening a knife.  Omar and Donny would be fighting about baseball. He sighed, walking around the corner, finding his street. He heard a dog barking. An old, half-blind, but excited pitbull trotted up to the fence. "Hey Bugsy! Hey girl!" Donny smiled, as he crouched by the fence and reached through, petting Bugsy. His neighbors had that dog since he was in high school. Bugsy belonged to the kid next door, Andrew. He went to school with Donny. He played ball with Donny. He went to war with Donny. He was a marine. He never came back. But, ever since Bugsy was a puppy, she'd always seen Donny and Andrew walk down the street together, after school, after practive, after games. Ever since Donny came back from the war, and walked down the street, back to his home, with his uniform on, Bugsy whined and cried excitedly, thinking Andrew was following. And every time Bugsy saw Donny, she'd bark and whine, happily thinking Andrew wouldn't be long. Donny sighed, as he patted her head, "Sorry Bugs. He ain't comin' home today either." He started to get up, and she began to whine. He sighed with a soft smile, "I know, Bugs... I miss him too." She sat, putting her paw up against the fence. Donny chuckled a little, "I'll be back tomorrow. Promise," as he walked over to his home, just next door. He shuffled through the rest of the day blankly, as he did most days. Soldiers... He sighed, Most of them seemed to be perfectly happy, somehow settling back in seamlessly...At least, it seemed that way to Donny. He was happy to be back in his dad's barbershop again, but...he'd often look out the window with a quiet sigh, missing some things he'd left behind. Like the basterds. Life seemed to move ever so slowly now...And there was no one he could share it with. Night bled into morning, and he was working again. He was sweeping up his dad's shop, just before opening. He smelled coffee, and remembered the day after the war ended. The basterds woke up in a tavern, somewhere in Paris they hadn't been before. Covered in streamers, with headaches, and a flight home, they all drank some coffee to ease the aftermath of the last night's celebreation The bells at the shop's door rang, and he turned around, snapping out of that distant memory of a small pub in a forgotten corner of Paris. It was afternoon now... "Mikey!" Donny grinned, seeing his kid brother standing there. When Donny left, he was just a sweet kid, somewhere in the middle of that awkward middle-school age. He was halfway through high school now, following in Donny's footsteps as a star on the baseball team, and almost as tall as him, too. Time felt so slow now that he was home, but it seemed to have gone by in the blink of an eye when he  was gone. "Donny!" He seemed as though he had the secrets to the universe in his hands...but Donny, and everyone in their lives, frankly, was getting used to that. He was beginning to take a psychology course...and...he thought he had half the damn neighborhood figured out. He went on a million-word-per-second kind of rant, but Donny picked out a few things. Something about war, veterans, sleep, and emotions. "I'm fine, kid." Donny shook his head, grinning. "You worry too much." He stopped for  a second, and looked at him. "You're like ma, y'know." "Very funny, look!" He shuffled through a folder, and dug out a diagram, and all the symptoms that matched what he saw in Donny. At the very top, underlined, highlighted, and pointed out in arrows were  three words: Thousand-Yard Stare. "Mikey! Your mother's been looking all over for you!" Sy Donowitz, their father, emerged, half saving Donny from his brother's persistence, while saving himself from his wife's wrath. "Alright pop..." Mikey sighed, though he glanced at Donny. Donny was red in the face, frustrated. To him, it was like Mikey airing out his dirty laundry, so to speak. "He means well, Donny." His father patted him on the back. "Yeah, I know." Donny sighed, now feeling guilty for feeling angry, and angry for feeling anything and everything. And then nothing. He sighed, as he sat on his bed after work, muttering "Fuck a duck." Something crumpled beneath him, and he stood up. It was Mikey's diagram, along with a school report. Mikey's first draft for a psychology paper, and he chose to write about veterans. Donny read half of it, and had to put it down. He knew he needed some help, but he wasn't sure where to begin. He walked downstairs, and went out for a walk, as always. Only this time, he went farther than usual. Halfway across town. In fact, he made it downtown. He couldn't get his mind off of the essay. He knew Mikey meant well. Donny wasn't sleeping much, he couldn't get his mind off war. He just couldn't go back to being Donny. His mind suddenly snapped back to Boston, to 1946, to the present. He saw you, on the ground, right in front of him, trying to pick up some papers. He'd literally run into you. "Fuck a duck," He leaned down, helping you pick some of them up. His hand brushed against yours, and you looked at him for the first time. "Say..." Your heart skipped a beat, and you smiled a little, "You're Donny Donowitz." "That's me." He smiled, though he sounded a  little exasperated. You stammered, a little star struck. After all, it's not every day you meet a war her like that....Well, it's 1946, you do... But it's not every day you meet one of the basterds. He'd picked up on that, and chuckled a little, used to it. "Nice to meet ya..." "Y/n." It took you a moment to remember your own name. "Y/n," he repeated with a kind smile, slowly handing over the papers he picked up. He spotted pictures of dogs on different sheets, and realized they were some sort of records. "What's that?" He seemed genuinely curious. You sighed, shuffling the papers back in order, "Records of the dogs' vaccines, just updated them. Gotta bring them back to the-" You laughed a little at yourself, realizing he had no idea what you were talking about. You took a breath, starting over, "I train  therapy dogs." "Really?" His face lit up a little, and you didn't quite catch on to why just yet. You nodded with a grin. Even thinking of your work made you feel happy. "It's been real busy for a year or so. Lots of veterans have been looking into it." He smiled, "I might, too." "Everyone's gone home for the day...maybe...you'd like a private tour?" You winked, and he asked, "You won't get in trouble for it, will ya?" You laughed, "Ah, fuck the rules." He smirked, knowing you'd get along just together just fine. He followed you to your work,  you brought him out to see the dogs. You left for a minute to go file away the papers, and came back to find Donny sitting on the ground, playing with all the dogs. One dog in particular seemed to instantly be attached to him. "Hey boy!" Donny laughed as he petted a border collie. You crouched by, smiling "His name's Charlie." "He's fucken adorable." Donny kept playing with the dogs, though that one in particular melted his heart. "Isn't he?" You chuckled. You'd realize that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Donny came by every day, just after closing time to spend time with Charlie. (There was a little more to it than that, but  you didn't catch on yet) You didn't mind staying a little late. You liked Donny's company. And...it made your heart sing to see him so happy around the dogs. A few months passed. You realized there was an empty spot, and your heart dropped. Charlie had been adopted. "Oh no..." You sighed, knowing someone needed and deserved a dog like that. It was going to happen eventually, after all. You'd told Donny there was a big demand for therapy and service dogs lately. So...why did it hurt so much? You were always a little down when a dog was adopted, but never this much. You sat by your desk, and slumped a little as the day went on. You got frustrated with yourself, denying the reason you were so upset. With Charlie gone, maybe Donny would stop coming by. You shook your head, denying that was what upset you. But...you weren't much of a liar. "Maybe just a little..." You sighed, watching the hours go by, knowing at the end of the day you'd have to break the news to Donny.

It was closing time, your coworkers left one by one, and you sighed, "Fuck..." You realized in that painfully long wait that you were hopelessly in love with that basterd. There was a familiar knock on the window. You turned around slowly, and your heart broke, seeing how excited Donny seemed. Even more so than usual... All the more heart breaking You opened the door, about to break it to him... Rip the bandaid off, really. But before you could say anything, you realized Donny was holding on to a leash. "It was YOU?!" "I adopted Charlie!" He laughed, though he seemed happy, there was one more thing he wanted. "Are you...busy?" He smirked a little, already knowing the answer. Now that you didn't have to sneak Donny into work, your schedule was wide open... He knew that. He'd have to find new excuses to come see you. But, for now,  as you walked with him through town, and his arm wrapped around you gently, but protectively, you both knew it was the beginning of something more.

[angrylizardjacket]

insufferable {Joe Mazzello}

Summary: Joe is the star of the college musical you’re lighting, and all he seems to care about it goofing off, which irritates you to no end. Maybe he’s just an asshole for asshole’s sake... maybe not.

A/N: 2390 words. College AU. No pronouns for reader. Friends, show week fortnight is OVER, so many things in my life have changed in the past two weeks, I have a 3000 word essay due tomorrow, and this literally took me over a week. I’m sorry it took so long, I hope you enjoy it. As always, feedback is appreciated!! Also @sitonmyhot-seatoflove, @cosmicsskies, and  @borhapbxtch 😘

Joseph Mazzello III (or as you liked to refer to him as; Junior, The Second) was the lead of the musical one of your friends had written. For your part, lighting an original, college musical wasn’t exactly how you wanted to spend two weeks of your life, but a promise is a promise, one that you were rapidly regretting with every moment you spent in that little theatre.

The most irritating thing about Joe wasn’t the fact that he could never seem to find his light, or that he liked touching the buttons on the fog machine, or that the director seemed to adore him, it was that he was genuinely talented. The second most irritating thing about him was that he couldn’t seem to shut up for five minutes.

You’d met him at the first script reading; Ellie, the director and another friend of yours, had gathered the whole cast and crew at her little shoebox apartment for dinner, and to familiarize everyone with the script. Joe had caught your eye where he was tucked up against one end of the sofa, eating party pies like his life depended on it. He’s pretty, has a certain aura about him like he’s got some sort of magnetism about him, and everyone speaks fondly about and to him. When he smiles, something about it has your heart beating unexpectedly faster. 

And then he starts speaking.

That’s not to say he’s annoying first off, actually he’s quite funny and charming. He’s the leading man, and with good reason. He gives a good cold read, humming along when Ellie pulls out her guitar to give demos of the songs she’d written, and bantering easily with the other cast members every so often if it fits the scene. He’s warmhearted, well-spoken, and completely affable.

But he also turns out to be a fucking pain to work with.

Maybe it’s that he’s too good with people. You adored watching him in rehearsals, loved hearing him sing along with the band, and enjoyed his company well enough when you hung out with the group. 

But right now, it’s six at night, you’re only halfway through the lighting plot after an already long day, and he’s got the stage manager on his shoulders, chicken fighting his costar, who’s got the AV designer on her shoulders. This is the fourth time you have had to break out the God Mic in the last hour; Ellie is too tired to reprimand her cast and crew for their behavior, not that she would, she hates playing the bad guy.

“I’m sorry,” your voice is absolutely harmless and sweet as you death glare the cast and crew from bio-box where you’re operating the lights from, “am I interrupting you?” You ask, tone sharp, eyes tired.

Joe’s actually the first to look to where you were, and is quick to lower the stage manager back to the ground.

“No, you’re fine Y/N,” he says with a laugh, and that boyish smile that you’re too irritated to enjoy right now, “we were probably interrupting you-”

“Joe,” you cut him off, lips against the microphone for emphasis, “that’s the joke.” You tell him absolutely humourlessly. He obligingly shuts up. For about five minutes.

It’s the most painful lighting plot you’ve ever done; between Joe and the rest of the cast goofing off, the stage manager not writing down cues and having to borrow your copy of the script at the end of the session, and the director not knowing exactly what she wanted but that she’d know it when she saw it (which she didn’t, she just liked whatever you did, and made indecisive noises whenever you asked her opinion), you needed a damn drink.

It seems the rest of the cast and crew have the same idea, however, and they invite you along. You don’t want to seem rude and say no, but if Joe doesn’t shut his damn mouth you’re gonna punch him. He’s not even talking about anything irritating, you’re just sick of hearing his voice.

You found yourself coming to hate Joe professionally, and it seemed that that was starting to bleed into your personal opinions of him too. You made sure to stay well away from him at the bar you all headed to, a few blocks away from campus and within reasonable walking distance of your home.

It's a nice enough night, all of you excitedly discussing the development of the show, all crammed together in a little booth at the back of a poorly lit pub. You've got the director on one side, and you're practically falling out of the booth on the other, but you don't mind too much. Joe, from where he's sitting in the middle of the seat opposite you, will occasionally give you a scrutinizing look when he thinks no-one else is looking, and he's always quick to look away, crack a joke, when you catch him.

Call time for the actors for the tech run the following day is ten. You're there at nine, your phone plugged into the aux cord and blasting your favourite album through the speakers as you refocus a light diligently. It's where you feel most at home, on top of a ladder, on top of the world. 

“You really know what you’re doing up there, don’t you?” There’s something almost awed in the voice that greets you, though it comes as a surprise, and you have to grab the bar you’re rigging the light on to steady yourself when you jump. It’s Joe, leaning on the stage, bag slung over one shoulder. You bite back the first sarcastic response that comes to mind, and you smile, tired.

“Of course, that’s why they pay me,” you laugh, a little put out for being thrown off your rhythm, despite the music still playing.

“We’re not- you know we’re not getting paid, right?” He asks, a little confused. You roll your eyes.

“It’s a joke,” you replied, going back to your work.

“I feel like we have different definitions of joke.” 

“Why are you here so early?” You were quickly losing patience with him, pulling the gates of the light by the bulb out to widen the beam of the light. There’s a moment of silence, of hesitation, and when you look to Joe, he’s looking over the set. “No reason?” You prompted, and it snapped him out of his thoughts enough to look at you.

“Came to go over choreography before the run,” he admitted. That does get you to smile a little, he’s nothing if not diligent. “You?”

“Just fixing a light.”

He’s stretching and warming up, earphones in while you struggle to put the ladder away, and that quiet moment in which you thought he was diligent evaporates.

“I will fade to black in the middle of his solo.” You growl, sitting by the window of the on-campus cafe, watching the steam rise from your drink on the morning of opening night.

“Please do not,” Ellie sighs around her mouthful of granola. You make a face, but she holds up her hand for silence, chewing and swallowing before she speaks again, “listen, if you two could stop bitching about each other for five minutes you’d see that-”

“He’s bitching about me? I’m just doing my job!” You cried, and Ellie looked like she regretted even opening her mouth, not that you really cared; it felt as though your blood was boiling. “I’ll cut the lights before he comes out for his bows, I don’t give a fu-”

“I know you’re joking, but honestly I don’t have the energy to talk you out of it,” Ellie tells you, and she leans back, out of the conversation, her gaze turning to the window as you fume quietly. She’s right, you wouldn’t actually do anything to jeopardize the show, but something about Joe just got on your nerves.

Each show goes off without much of a hitch, and for the sake of the sound operator and stage manager, who are sharing comms with you, you keep your complaints to yourself and focus on your job and enjoying the show. For the record, it’s very easy to enjoy the show; Joe’s even entertaining enough on stage that you forget how much he irritates you. He’s a wonderful singer, an exuberant performer, and the crowd and the rest of the crew love him.

But then comes the afterparty.

You’ve been drinking. He’s been drinking. You’ve had to listen to drunk, emotional Ellie gushing about how he ‘saved the production’. It’s more malicious than you intended, when you spit that he’s an entitled asshole.

“He’s not an asshole! That’s why people love him, okay?” Ellie fires back, expression defiant. She won’t remember this.

“Is that why you’re constantly defending him? Because you wanna bang?” You asked, scowling. Ellie’s expression fell, avoiding your gaze; she’s picking at the label on her cider, because she hates beer.

“I’m defending him because he’s transferring to this course next year, and I don’t want you scarring him off.”

Oh.

You find him by the bonfire, poking at it with a stick, expression contemplative. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence as you stand opposite him, by the fire.

“How was your first show with us?” 

“Do you mean like, with the course?” He asks, frowning, “You’re not even in it, though.” He wasn’t even pretending like he wanted to make small talk with you.

“Yeah,” you forced a smile, “but the course is good, from what I hear, and I just-”

“You don’t need to make small talk, you can tell Ellie and the rest of them that I’m still joining the course. I know you don’t like me.” He added, and your mouth snaps closed, tone turning defensive.

“I don’t not like you-” but you’re cut off by his gentle laugh.

“Dude, do you think I’m an idiot?” He doesn’t let you answer, which your drunk brain wants to. He drops his stick into the fire and finally looks at you. “Don’t answer that; I know you don’t like me; that’s no skin off my nose. The show’s over.” 

Silence hangs between the two of you; his gaze is so intense in the firelight, and for a moment you remember how handsome you’d thought he was at that first table read, before you’d known him.

“You’re talented, but disrespectful.” Tumbles from your lips.

“I’m fun, you’re just too uptight.” He laughs, but he doesn’t look particularly hurt by your words. In fact, he’s smiling. “You know this isn’t a professional show, right?”

“I- I’m used to-”

“No, I know,” he nodded, with a smirk, “I can tell. The way you hold yourself- you know you sound demanding when you’re working, right? Like you expect everyone to be on the same wavelength as you without even trying. They’re not. I’m not. This is fun; we’re not getting paid. We’re just trying to have fun.” He shrugs, before picking up the bottle of spirits he had by his feet that you hadn’t been able to see. “You should learn to have a little more fun.” He muses, before taking a swig of the alcohol, and offering it to you.

“I am fun,” you huff, taking the bottle from him and having a swig. It’s rum, cheap rum, and it burns, but you swallow it.

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” he nods with a faux seriousness that makes it clear that he does not believe you in the slightest. You scowl, but take another sip.

“See, you’re still being an asshole.”

“You’re fun to rile up.” He shrugged, before grinning, “but I don’t mean to be an asshole... mostly. You just don’t like me, so everything I say-”

“I did like you, but then I had to work with you.” You pass back the bottle, and Joe actually laughs, and it’s such a genuine and lovely sound.

“Well then, maybe we shouldn’t work together again,” his smile now is much more genuine, and you feel your cheeks heat up, which you can’t entirely blame on the fire, “because I don’t like having you hate me.” He’s making his way around the fire now, standing beside you, looking at the flames as they’re beginning to die down.

“I don’t hate you.” You admit, bumping your shoulder against him. Joe laughs.

“I know.”

“God you’re cocky-” you scoff, turning to look at him, but he’s looking back at you, expectant grin on his lips.

“Yeah, but I’ve seen how you look at me.”

“With loathing?” You deadpan.

“Sometimes.” He agrees, laughing a little. Your heart beats a little faster, with the endeared way he’s smiling at you. “It’s so hard to make you smile when you’re in like, work mode, you know?” He muses, “you just think I’m an asshole.” That you have to agree with. “But when, like, a light hits just right, or someone mentions how hard they’ve been working, or-” he actually flushes a little as he ducks his head, “someone comes in early to practice, say, choreography on their own time? You smile so big, so damn big.” And the fact that he’d noticed, your expression turns surprised. 

Oh. Everything he’s said or done over the past three months suddenly shines in a new light.

“You like me? That’s what all this was about?” You can’t help but laugh, wrapping an arm around him, and Joe snickers, nodding a little sheepishly. “Wait, does Ellie know? Is that why-?”

“Unfortunately she has had to listen to me complain about every time you give me a dirty look in rehearsals,” he sighed, and you feel embarrassment well up within you.

“No wonder she was so ready to go to bat for you,” you murmured, a little horrified with yourself, before turning to Joe, looking both mortified and apologetic. “We can never work together again.” And he’s never agreed to something faster. “I really did - do - like you, I just thought you were being-”

“I know, I know; you’re too professional for your own good, and I’m a fan of goofing off, and that just doesn’t mesh well. Professionally.” He clarified, and then paused, finally looking back at you.

“Professionally.” You agreed, quietly. Your smile is genuine and wide as you lean in to press your lips to his.

[p4nkow]

Happier - part I

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

It can also be read as Ben!Roger

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there something I can do for you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s nothing, actually it’s my job.”

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

“Are you gonna be there tonight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And why pink?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll think about it, Taylor.”

“So you’re making it hard, huh?”

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

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

“I guess you will.”

-

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

“Roger, please don’t move.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

“A trip? Where?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you being serious right now?”

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you serious right now?”

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

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

“I am not!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This isn’t working anymore, Y/N.”

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[crowkingwrites]

Battle of the Bands (Ch.7)

fPairing: Robb Stark x Reader, Jon Snow x Reader, Viserys Targaryen x Reader, Ramsay Bolton X Reader

Summary: You just moved into the city for the first tie all by yourself. After you get your dream summer job working for a small magazine, you find yourself in the middle of the city’s rock festival: Battle of the Bands. Local rock bands throughout the city compete to win a record deal that could change their lives. Your job? Get close to them and write about them online.A single girl in the city surrounded by rocker boys during the summertime. What could possibly go wrong?

Words: 2394 // AO3 Link

Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four // Chapter Five // Chapter Six

The next day you didn’t go to work. You didn’t even bother with the fest. You woke up at a crisp 7am sun peeking through your room. A hot cup of coffee warmed your hand, but you greeted the day with some sobriety. You turned your phone off on purpose. You wouldn’t spend today flirting with boys and getting news stories.

Before you left Margaery, she instructed you to not visit her.

She remembered a time where she was hospitalized before, and all you did was check up on her every five minutes. Sure, this was still during your internet friendship, but it still annoyed Margie. If anything, Margaery has a great excuse to relax and enjoy her injury. Well, as much as anyone can enjoy themselves while they are in the hospital.

Margie’s pet bird sang when you went to go greet her. She sang sweet songs to you. Every sip of hot coffee tasted just as wonderful as the last.

You decided to do your own writing on your computer. Your toes curled up and relaxed as you opened a new word document. Words flowed out of you as unusual as it was. You wrote about Viserys and how his hips moved. How good it felt when he kissed you. Then you wrote about Ramsay. How much of an asshole he truly was, but he loved to flirt.

Then you wrote about Robb. Angry words broke away from the soft thoughts. He treated you like you were his. You belonged to no one. You didn’t have to answer to him or for him. Nastier thoughts started to unfold. What if he did hire you just because you were cute? What if he just hired you so you would date him? All of it left a bad taste in your mouth.

But, Robb wouldn’t do that. No, he proved how good of a person he was. Right? Sure, he was adorable to look at, and he worked hard for the music store and magazine he ran. Still, the darker thoughts clouded your mind. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to call him. You weren’t sure exactly what to do.

You texted Loras. Surely, your gay-pseudo-brother knew what to do.

You to Loras: [ Hey, I still can’t wrap my head around last night. ]

Loras to You: [Oh thank God! I was waiting for you to say SOMETHING. Margie couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Sorry sis.]

You: [I fucking knew it. She told you everything?]

Loras: [Everything. Did you quit or what?]

You: [No, but it hurts. Do you think he hired me so I would date him?]

Loras: [Hunny no. You are a talented and a hardworking writer. Anyone can see that.] You pushed away the computer and sat on the sectional couch. Gray clouds started to block the sun. Your fingers made busy work to Loras.

You: [Why does this all feel so weird then? Why do I wanna talk to him? I’m so mad at him! What if I lose my job?]

A panic started to rumble its way into your head. The questions came soaring afterwards. What if you did lose your job? What if you never got a chance to write again? This was your only chance, and you fucked it up and—

You had to stop. You hated panic attacks. As sociable and popular as you were, panic attacks left you defenseless. Your heart pounded against your chest. Things around you started to be louder and brasher. Margie’s bird singing became a screech in your head. The air you breathed tasted like sharp chalk. It hurt so bad.

You called Loras.

“Loras!” you shouted.

“Hey, hey now. You’re alright,” Loras reassured you. You felt a tear go down your face. Another one fell after it.

“I’m gonna get fired! I can’t get fired!” you told him.

“No, no, no. You are not going to get fired,” Loras told you in a calm, but firm voice. “And even if you did, no one will hate you for it.”

“I’m a failure!” your voice let out. Insecurities bubbled up to the surface. “Robb gave me my one chance at writing for a career! And I fucked it up, didn’t I?”

“No, you didn’t—

“I’m so stupid! Oh my god, I’m so stupid!”

“Y/N, you’re alright. It’s okay! Just—

You heard other noises and a shaking before you heard Loras’ voice again.

“Y/N, it’s gonna be okay. I can’t help you right now, but there’s someone who is on their way who can. I’m sorry. I can’t leave work. But someone’s on their way, ok? Hang in there for sis.” As Loras hung up the phone, you felt yourself collapse onto the ground. Your cries expelled out of your body as if you were having a fit. You felt your shoulders shake and your teeth chatter.

As the wood in your apartment creaked, you could’ve sworn you felt the room grow smaller. You heard your silly sobs and you wanted to punish yourself further. How stupid were you to think that you could do this? You wanted to find something. You had to punish yourself. This was your fault. It was your fault. It was you—

You heard someone knocking on the door frantically. A voice matched it.

“Y/N! Are you in there?” Jon said. “It’s me! Jon! Loras and Renly sent me here. Are you okay?” You picked yourself off from the floor and walked towards your door with a bewildered expression. After opening two of the three locks, your door creaked open to a worried Jon Snow.

His dark curls were the same, but you swore you’ve never seen his eyes this close. The sky was darkening and so were his eyes. No sunlight touched the brown color in them. Instead, a darkness colored them darker as if he had his own demons too. They were there in his eyes, just lurking in the background.

“Jon?” your voice creaked out.

“Oh, Y/N. Let me in, okay?” Jon nodded to the door. You stepped back and let him in. You quickly noted his backpack and a few grocery bags he had with him. Confusion replaced most of the tension, but you could still feel the tears come down your face.

“Jon, what are you—

“I heard you over the phone. Loras asked me to come, so here I am,” Jon explained. He set his things down and walked over to you. “What happened?”

You opened your mouth to tell him, but then conveniently remembered who Jon’s brother was. Your mouth closed so fast that you almost hurt yourself.

“I don’t know if I can tell you,” you quietly said.

“You can,” Jon nodded. You shook your head violently.

“I can’t,” your voice broke. Tears streamed down your face again. Without any prompting, Jon pulled you to him. His arms wrapped around you firmly. You felt him breathe calmly. Your nose caught his scent of cologne. He smelled much sweeter than you expected, but it calmed you. You found yourself breathing with him as your sobs were laid to rest. Jon let you out of his warming and reassuring hug while both of you sat on the sofa.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Jon said. He grabbed his bag. “But, I did bring something that could really help the problem.” You watched Jon pull out a small leather bag, a lighter, and a glass bong.

“You smoke?” you said, surprised.

“Yeah,” Jon nodded. “Nearly everyone in the family does.”

“Including Cat? Your mom?”

“She advocates for it, but she’s quiet about it, yeah,” Jon smiled. You watched him pack the weed gently and firmly into the bowl. Then, you watched Jon hit it. The smoke swirled up into his chest. He held it for a moment, and released it. Smoke left his mouth in a singular, long stream. As if he was one of those 1940’s mobsters who cut a good deal with the police.

Jon passed it to you. “It will calm you down. It helps.” You took the bong from him and hit it harder than you wanted. The burn in the back of your throat betrayed you. You ended up coughing much more than you expected.

“Sorry, it’s been a while,” you said. Jon shook his head and smiled, unpacking the grocery bags filled with all kinds of snacks. Cookies, salty chips and dip, and you spied a king-sized chocolate bar. Your eyes went wide.

“Oh, yeah, this one’s for you,” Jon offered it to you. You held the king-sized bar to your face, comparing the size. A genuine, hearty laugh left Jon as his eyes squinted. “Feeling better already?”

You took a big bite of the chocolate. “Well, you know what they say, eat this, you’ll feel better.”

Jon relaxed on the sofa and dug into the chips. He squinted at the window. “Oh, well I guess it’s going to rain after all.” The gray clouds outside had blocked out the sun completely. A bit of rain started to drip onto the city streets. Luckily, you decided to not go into the fest today.

“You said Loras sent you here?” you said taking another hit from the bong.

“He did,” Jon nodded.

“Why aren’t you at the pub? You could be playing for another crowd of people who want to get away from the rain,” you pointed out.

Jon shrugged. “Didn’t want to. I didn’t have the energy. Besides, it was never about the crowds for me. I’m happy playing music for just one person.” You smiled to yourself knowing that you were in good company.

“Did you want to watch something?” you gestured with the remote in your hand.

“Yeah, anything you want. I’m here to hang with you,” Jon’s smile gave you a sigh of relief. You never knew what to think when someone helped you through a panic attack. Sometimes, your mind went to the absolute worst thoughts. Jon didn’t seem to mind. You clicked on another nature documentary and took another hit from the bong.

“So,” you began another conversation. The rain started to hit the window as thunder rolled. “How long have you been smoking?”

“High school,” Jon said. “On my sixteenth birthday, Uncle Benjen pulled me aside and introduced me to it. You seem really surprised?”

“I don’t know. You don’t seem like the type to—

“Straight edge. Like Robb, right?” Jon chuckled, and you almost did. You bit your lip and became very quiet. Jon moved closer to you. His fingers reached out to you. “You alright?”

Your continued silence gave Jon the hint.

“What happened with Robb?” Jon’s tone became very dark all of a sudden.

“Last night, I was with someone and Robb was really upset with me.”

“Is this about Margaery going to the hospital?” Jon asked. You nodded and continued.

“He called me over and over and over again. When he found me with someone, he got really angry with me and said some mean things to me and—

Jon held his hand up to stop you. “He told me his side this morning. I know what he said. I know who you were with and everything.”

You felt the tears come back to your eyes, but before you could cry too hard Jon hugged you again.

“I don’t like what Robb said to you. I especially don’t like what he was going to do about it.”

“He was gonna do something?”

“He was going to fire you,” Jon said. “Until I convinced him how horrible of an idea that was.” Jon sighed and rolled his eyes. He took a long hit for himself. The smoke still came out in a single stream. You weren’t going to lie. You were starting to like this Stark brother much more than the other.

“Why did you do that?”

“Because you’re my friend. And you’re a great writer,” Jon sat back. You joined him. “Robb wants to work with people he likes. That’s why he hires his friends, his family, and sometimes his girlfriends. When he’s mad with people, he holds their job over their head to get them to do what he wants. Robb’s my brother. I love him, but he’s fucked in that regard.”

“Ramsay told me about a girl named Robyn.”

Jon groaned. His hands slid down his face as more frustrated noises came out of him. “

“Robyn. Robyn was a mess. You’re different than her. Very different. Is that why you had a panic attack? You think you’re going to lose your job?” When you nodded, Jon hugged you even more. “That’s not going to happen. I promise you that won’t happen.”

“Do you think I’m a whore?”

“No,” Jon laughed, letting you go. “I think you are a very pretty single girl who just wants to make friends in a new city she just moved to. Anyone who tells you different can fuck off.” You hugged Jon. Letting your arms wrap around his middle and taking in every scent of him. Jon was so nice to you. From the moment you met him till now, he was always so sweet to you.

Which was why you kissed him on the cheek and then backed away very quickly.

Jon sat there, almost stunned. His smile didn’t disappear.

“So, you’re a little high, huh?” he laughed it off. You felt the relaxing notion of the THC take over a few minute ago, but it didn’t hit you until now.

“I guess,” you giggled. Your laugh faded into a big smile. “Thanks for coming over. It means a lot to me.”

“Believe me, I understand more than you think,” Jon gave you a half-smile. You jumped up and grabbed one of your homemade blankets from your room and brought it out to the living room. You tossed it over Jon and smiled. Jon fixated the blanket to give you both room under the quilt warmth.

“Do you wanna stay here all day and get high with me while we watch funny stuff?” you asked, hoping for a yes.

“I would absolutely love that,” Jon patted the seat next to him where you sat. Both cuddled up in a happy bundle while the storm went on.

Note to Self: Panic attacks are not ok. Getting help from good friends makes it all okay.

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