#instead of the chorus cut in the music shop

[annwrites]

exactly what he needs, pt. 3 ♡ ⋆｡˚

— pairing: nate jacobs x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: nate takes you shopping at the mall, to dinner, then bowling, before dropping you off at home.

— tags: having a great day with nate, even if he has ulterior motives

— tw: dollification, objectification, sexualization, emotional manipulation, pushing boundaries, guilt-tripping, drinking, eating

— word count: approx. 6.4k

— a/n: i have never been inside a nordstrom in my life, so i have 0 idea what their changing rooms actually look like. | baby-doll dresses | tennis skirt | blush | necklace

GIF by msgorillagripcoochie

Once you and Nate are on the road, he decides to offer you full access to his car's stereo once again—he has an aux cord stored away in the center console, which he'll only offer if you can't figure out how to pair your phone through bluetooth.

There's just something about the idea of his truck being saved in your phone that appeals to him. Hell, maybe he'll get lucky and you'll fuck up, letting it read your calls and texts, too. He wouldn't mind finding out who all you're talking to.

If he's lucky, it'll be people he knows. People he can spin stories to you about to get you to cut them out of your life.

He'd made the mistake with Maddy in letting her have friends. Like Cassie—he didn't need to list the problems she'd caused. Then there was Kat, always her enabling little sidekick. Even Lexi to an extent, who he knows you're also friends with. He supposes as far as female friends to have goes, Lexi is the better one to keep company with, but she's still Cassie's sister.

He knows he'll, in time, need to figure out a way to get rid of her. But that's a problem for future him.

"Would you like to play some music?"

You smooth out the skirt of your dress. "Sure. Do you have a uh-"

"It has bluetooth."

"Oh."

Great, you think, I get to spend the next fifteen minutes looking like an idiot as I fight to get the thing to pair with my cell.

Surprisingly, however, you get it to sync up rather quickly. You scan through your music, now sweating, wondering what song to choose. What if he thinks your taste in music is stupid? Then, you mentally shrug. He can take over at that point if he thinks so.

Eventually, a soft melody begins to drift through the cabin, low enough that it serves simply as pleasant background noise, until Nate reaches over, turning the volume up, making you shrink back in your seat.

You turn the room a shade heaven, and learn my name.

You flush. You shouldn't have chosen a stupid romantic song. You should've chosen anything else.

You look out the window, refusing to sing along like you normally would as the chorus starts.

No one ever will love me better than your everlasting love. I found only one way in and no way out...

You fold your hands in your lap, waiting for the damn song to eventually end.

Finally, once the tempo has faded, Nate turns the radio down.

"Is that one of your favorite songs?"

You glance at him, nodding.

He can tell you're embarrassed, but can't understand why. He thinks it sweet: one of your favorite songs being one about love.

He then wonders if you sing. Perhaps, if so, you'll do so once you're more comfortable being around him like this.

"I liked it."

"Oh, good," you say, still flushed.

He likes how easily he has that effect on you.

"So, where are you wanting to head to?"

You shrug, fumbling with your phone and turning some lofi music on instead now. Nothing with lyrics.

"Wherever you want to go is fine with me."

He likes that: you letting him choose for you. Letting him make a decision for the both of you.

He enjoys how easily agreeable you are today.

He hopes it's due to you feeling comfortable enough with him that you trust him to do so.

"Do you want to eat first, or would you like to go to the mall for a bit?"

You glance at the clock and see that it's only a few minutes past four. "I can wait a couple more hours to eat."

He nods, heading in the direction of the East Highland mall.

Once Nate has parked, he comes around to your side and you nearly slip on the running board, falling against his chest.

He catches you, helping you down.

You look up at him, your face a shade of red. "Sorry. Thanks."

Stupid klutz—should've worn boots, you think.

He shuts the door behind you, quickly locking the vehicle before placing his hand against the small of your back. "No problem."

As you enter the mall, a pair of men leave, glancing at you. Admiring you, from Nate's perspective.

His grip tightens imperceptibly, pulling you the least bit closer to him as he gives the men a nasty look.

Meanwhile, you're oblivious, instead overwhelmed by the sights and sounds and smells, the awful florescent lighting overhead. God, you hate crowds.

You look up to him, just wanting him to pick a store to get you out of the way of everyone milling about. Coming here on a Friday afternoon was a bad idea.

He looks down at you. "Where to first?"

He can see that you're nervous. His brows furrow. "Do crowds make you uneasy?"

You nod, your eyes staring into his, practically screaming for him to get you out of here.

He lets his hand drop to his side, then speaks again. "Do you want to hold my hand?"

You blanch.

Having something—someone—to ground you and lead you through the throngs of people surrounding you sounds nice enough, but what if someone from school is here and sees you? And won't it seem a bit childish? That you're that easily overstimulated that you have to hold another grown-person's hand in a shopping mall?

Just as you're about to tell him no—that you're ok—someone bumps into you, shoving you into his side.

Your hand quickly latches onto his.

Nate twines his fingers between yours.

You don't see the smirk on his face.

Nate leads you into Nordstrom, a store you've never been in before because you know it's far, far out of your price-range, but you don't object as you step inside, the crowds behind you fading away as quiet pop music plays overhead, only a handful of people browsing the racks of clothing.

You look up to him, suddenly unsure of yourself.

"You can look around, if you want."

You release his hand and he already hates the feeling of his palm being empty.

You step over to a rack of midi dresses and your eyes widen when you see a price tag for $120.

Nate keeps close to your side. "Do you like that one?"

He knows he doesn't—hates midi and maxi dresses—but he wants to buy you something today. Anything. He just wants to give you your first real present from him.

He doesn't count him bringing you breakfast everyday for the last week—despite your objections, even if you did always finish it with a grateful 'thank you'—as as much.

You place the dress back where it was hanging, shaking your head. You look up to him. "That dress it over one-hundred dollars. Nate, I can't afford to shop here."

Not unless they have a clearance section, you think. But even then...

Nate steps away from you for a moment, his attention now stolen away by a white babydoll dress with puffy sleeves. Fucking perfect, he thinks.

He grabs it off the high hook which it hangs from—something you'd never be able to reach—and goes to hand it to you.

"Try this on."

You hesitantly take it from him, a confused expression on your face. "Why?"

He shrugs. "I just think it'd look nice on you."

You hold it up to yourself, not liking that it comes up well-above your knees.

"I don't thi-"

"The changing rooms are this way," he says, nodding his head in the direction of the back of the store. He doesn't care to hear you argue. You're trying the dress on. He needs to see it on you.

He'd been picturing you wearing—essentially—that exact dress for over a week now.

He places his palm against your back, leading you to the desired destination.

Once you've reached the back of the store, Nate opens a wooden door to one of the changing areas and just stares at you, waiting for you to enter.

Finally, you sigh, stepping in.

"I'll be waiting right out here," he says before closing the door behind you.

You stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment, realizing just how different—how little—you look like yourself right now. But you consider it, perhaps, a good thing: forcing yourself out of your comfort zone, even just a little.

You'd been considering finally wearing the sundress that Nate had picked out for you for a few weeks now. It was nice of him to compliment it—you. You aren't entirely sure how you feel about your hair being down, however.

Finally, you hang the dress up that he'd handed you, deciding to get undressed. The sooner you've tried it on, the sooner you can be out of this over-priced boutique.

Nate sits in a chair directly outside of your changing room, watching your legs shift from one foot to the other, until, finally, your sundress pools at your feet.

His cock hardens, knowing just a few feet away is your half-naked body. He leans back, waiting a minute, then two, then he stands.

He gently knocks on the door and you jolt in surprise.

"Y-yes?"

"Do you have it on?"

"Yes..."

"May I come in? I'd like to see."

You balk. He wants to come into the changing room with you? Is that even allowed?

"Isn't that against some sort of policy?"

He likes how much of a good girl you are—no, fuck it, loves it—but in this moment his patience is wearing real fucking thin. "No one else is out here," he replies as gently as he can.

A beat of silence, and then the lock on the door handle clicks.

He quickly enters the changing room, promptly taking in every inch of you.

You look just how he had imagined you would.

You don't meet his eyes. "I look so stu-"

"Perfect," he interrupts.

You look up to him. "What? Really?"

He studies you for a moment, your wide innocent eyes staring up at him, waiting for him to answer.

He runs his fingers through the hair draped over your shoulder. He then runs his hand along that same shoulder down your upper arm, where it comes to rest. "Yes. I just wish you could see what I do."

You blink up at him, then sniffle.

"Are you crying?" He nearly cringes. That question had come out a bit more harsh than he'd meant for it to. He'd wanted you emotionally vulnerable numerous times for the last week so he could finally find a way in, and now here it is. He prays he didn't just fuck it up.

You nod. "I'm sorry. I'm just...no one has ever been this nice to me."

He almost breathes a sigh of relief. He hadn't hurt your feelings.

So that's all it's going to take with you: a few kind gestures, some nice words, a few soft touches, and you'd be like putty in his hands. His to mold as he pleases.

This was what being alone for so long had done to you: made you desperate for affection—of any kind.

You step a bit closer to him, unsure of yourself, unsure what you're doing or even why.

When he doesn't move, you press yourself against his broad chest, taking him completely by surprise.

Fine with being alone his ass. That entire statement had been utter bullshit. Not even you understand just how lonely you are.

Finally, he wraps one arm around you, holding you close, his other hand slipping into your hair, massaging your scalp.

You remain quiet, just focusing on his breathing, the beat of his heart, his warmth. When was the last time someone had held you like this? Hugged you? Shown you any form of affection or attention?

You'd truly thought you were fine without it.

Meanwhile, Nate's head is racing. God, you'd shown him just in this action alone just how easy it was going to be to manipulate you. A couple of compliments had nearly brought you to tears? Just wait until the two of you are in a relationship. No, starting tonight he'll begin pouring it on heavier.

But once you two are together? He'll fucking suffocate you with gifts and attention and love. And above all: sex. That will be his weapon. You're inexperienced. Know nothing about it. A few orgasm denials and Lexi will be long-gone from your life.

Then he'll no longer have to worry about the risk of her relaying stories of he and Cassie, or he and Maddy to you. Won't have to worry about his occasional shitty behavior toward them coming to light, driving—no, taking—you away from him.

If you ever find out about the choking incident...it'll be over before it ever begins.

He feels you snuggle the least bit closer to him and he briefly glances to the mirror to the side of both of you. He sees that your eyes are closed and your cheeks are flushed.

Finally, he pulls away and you look up at him, shame filling your features. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I-"

He gently grips your chin. "I didn't mind."

"Oh." It's the only reply you have. It feels inappropriate—being here with him like this. You're in a changing room together, for God's sake. You'd tutored numerous people before and never had you ever spent any amount of time with any of them outside of school.

But Nate is different. You tutor him in private, whereas all the rest had been at school or in public. There'd never been a chance at friendship with any of them. You'd convinced yourself that it was something you didn't need in the first place anyway. Told yourself you were better off alone.

High school is temporary, along with the friends that come with it. No point in getting attached to someone who won't be sticking around.

You know all too well about abandonment.

Nate will probably be just like all the rest.

You take a step back. "I should probably change."

"I never got to see the whole dress. Can you turn for me?"

You pause. "Like... Twirl?"

He crosses his arms, just staring at you.

Finally, you begin to slowly turn until you're facing him once again. "Ta-da,"you say nervously.

He turns toward the door, placing his hand over the handle. "It looks really cute on you, just so you know."

While you're busy changing, Nate quickly returns to the rack from earlier, grabbing the same dress you were currently taking off, along with another one, but in light blue. He then spots a pink tennis skirt and grabs it as well, with a matching flowy top. He takes all the items up front, to a register.

When you exit the changing room, you see Nate straight ahead, standing just outside the store.

You come up to him, glancing down to the shopping bag in his hand, then up to him with a concerned expression. Surely he didn't...

He shrugs. "Just something for my mom."

You smile, feeling relieved. "That's very sweet of you, to get something for her."

He just offers you his hand again, which you take after a moment.

As the two of you wander around, mostly window-shopping, you try to ignore just how nice it feels to be holding someone else's hand. To be touched at all. You briefly wonder if he thinks you pathetic now, after what happened in the changing room.

You glance up to him. "Nate?"

"Hm?"

"You're sure it didn't bother you?"

He doesn't need you to elaborate to know what you're referring to. He likes that you're insecure and emotionally fragile. Broken pieces in the palms of his hands.

That had been another issue with Maddy—she'd been too independent, too confident, too secure and comfortable with herself. Whereas Cassie had known what he wanted and had tried to mold herself into it, all in some attempt to keep him interested.

But you? You're clueless to the ways of men. You're just...you. Intelligent, but only in a book-smart sort of way. Sweet—so fucking sweet it makes his teeth ache. Quiet, and reserved—prim and proper and meek.

And he'd thought it before and would again—so. fucking. innocent. You have no idea the power you already have over him. And he wants it to stay that way. Wants to be the one in complete control this time around, without being given permission to be, like Cassie had given him.

She'd told him what she had wanted: him to choose her clothes, what she eats, to decide who she could talk to—the list went on and on. Because she had clocked him from day one—the type of guy he was—that he was desperate for control.

With you, it will be gradual, insidious manipulation until he's all you have left in your life to turn to. Until, one day, you look up, and everything is different and you have no goddamn idea how you've gotten to where you are.

He stops walking, still keeping your hand firmly in his, incase you decide to wander. "Not at all."

"I don't..." you shift nervously. "I don't know what happened. I'm not usually like that. I don't get emotional in front of other people, like, ever."

He gives you a kind smile. "It's ok, really. I just don't think you're used to it."

"What?"

"Kindness. Someone wanting to give you their attention and time. You don't have to worry, I still like hanging out with you."

You look down and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

"Good," you reply.

The two of you stop in at Sephora, and while you browse their lipglosses, Nate steps away, looking through their selection of blushes, until he finds a soft pink shade that he likes and he takes it up, quickly paying for it, and placing the small bag within the larger Nordstrom one. One more gift for you.

When you leave the cosmetic store, you excuse yourself to the restroom, and he goes into the Tiffany store next door, browsing their necklace collection, until he spots one that he deems perfect for you: silver, with a small diamond pendant hanging from it. He doesn't even bother looking at the price tag when he asks an employee to retrieve the item from a glass case and box it up for him.

He's waiting for you when you exit the restroom.

He takes your hand in his, not bothering to let you make the gesture this time.

"Hungry?"

You nod.

Nate, though he doesn't want to, bothers with asking where you'd like to go to eat as he watches you buckle yourself in—wishing you'd let him do that himself, but knows him taking such an extreme measure for your safety this early will do nothing more than freak you out.

You shrug. "I don't go out much, so I'm not sure what all is around here. You can choose, if you'd like?"

He smiles, unsure the last time he felt so happy and in-control as he shuts your door.

Nate takes you to a rather expensive bistro, perhaps twenty minutes away from the mall, his right hand itching to wedge itself between your bare thighs as he drives, but he doesn't dare touch you. Not yet. The only thing he has to keep himself in-check right now is the surety that, soon enough, you'll be all his to do with as he pleases.

Every inch of you.

When Nate comes around to your side of the truck, after he's opened your door, he takes things a step further this time, gripping both of your hips, helping you down. As he sets you on your feet again, before you can say a word, he speaks. "Didn't want to risk you tripping again."

He adjusts your dress and your hair, then takes your hand firmly in his as he leads the two of you inside.

You immediately feel regret in him bringing you here. You should've told him literally anywhere else, so long as it was cheaper.

The rustic décor alone screams pretentious. And you know the menu will be even worse.

But just as you think to tug on his arm and ask him to take you elsewhere, a hostess greets the two of you, leading you to a table in a corner near a window.

Nate pulls out your seat for you, scooting you in, then seating himself.

You both pick up menus, and you're thankful your face is hidden by yours when you see the outrageous pricing.

You can barely afford a small salad here.

"Have you been here before?" You ask, still hidden by your menu.

"Mhm, their food is pretty good. I thought you might like it."

Unless it's dipped in gold, it can't be worth what they're charging is what you want to say. Instead, you remain silent.

Finally, your server arrives. An older woman, with red curly hair, freckles, and a curvaceous figure greets the two of you with a smile. "Do you two know what you'd like to drink?"

Nate looks at you.

"Water, thank you."

She nods.

"It'll be one check, and a diet coke."

She nods again, leaving the two of you to each other.

You look at him, now panicking...just a bit. "You don't have to pay for me. It's fine, really, I-"

He lifts his menu, glad that it apparently works in getting you to be quiet about his spending money on you. Again.

You'd already freaked out enough over him bringing you breakfast for three days in a row, until the fourth when you finally ate in silence.

"I told you I was taking you to dinner. It was my idea to bring you here, so it's only fair that I pay."

You cross your legs at the ankle, unsure how to feel about that.

You simply lift your menu again, now even more unsure of what to get.

He sets his menu down, seeing that you're now hidden behind your own once again. "I know their choices can seem a bit overwhelming the first time you come here. Would you like me to order for you?"

You lower your menu. "You're sure?"

He gives a slight nod of confirmation.

It's then that your waitress returns with your drinks and you stay silent, sipping on ice water as Nate orders dinner for both of you.

As you wait for your penne alla vodka—all you know is that it's some sort of pasta—Nate stretches out his long legs under the table on either side of your chair.

"I've had a really nice time with you today," he says, a soft look in his eyes.

You wrap your sweaty hands around your cold glass. You smile. "Me too."

He crooks his head slightly to the side. "Would you like to go bowling after this?"

Your brows raise. "You want to?"

He nods. "I do if you do."

You glance out the window for a moment. "I'm not sure the last time I went bowling. I think when I was really little."

He leans forward, foot brushing against one of yours completely on purpose, so as to pull your attention back to him. "So is that a yes?"

You blush. "I guess so."

Nate glances up to you every few moments from his steak and rice, watching as you take small bites of your pasta.

"Do you like it?"

You quickly grab your napkin, wiping your lips. You nod, swallowing. "It's really good. You chose well for me. Thank you."

He smiles, his foot "accidentally" brushing against your leg again. "You're welcome, sweetheart."

You grow quiet again at the pet name, taking another bite of your meal.

Once the two of you have finished your dinner, Nate pays the check from his phone before standing, throwing two twenty-dollar bills on the table—you're impressed that he tips so generously—then pulling your chair out for you.

He twines his fingers between yours before leading you back out to the truck.

Once Nate has paid for a game of bowling for the two of you, you both go to your designated spot. You sit to put on the pair of hideous bowling shoes you've been given, until Nate sits on the small table in front of you, grabbing your foot and resting it atop his knee as he slips the shoe on your foot, tying the laces.

You laugh nervously. "I can do that."

He merely glances up to you, before doing the same with your other foot.

Once you feel well and truly like you have on a pair of clown shoes, you go first...and miss every single pin.

Nate stands behind you laughing. "It was a good try."

He'd not actually bothered watching you play, he'd instead watched as you'd bended over slightly, getting a brief flash of your pink panties before you released the heavy bowling ball.

You go to sit down. "Shut up," you say, clearly embarrassed.

Nate goes next...and of course gets a strike on the first try.

You tell yourself not to pout; that you're not a competitive person by nature.

"I'm just rusty is all."

"Mhm," he replies with a knowing smirk before leaning down, hands planted on either side of you. "I'm going to get a drink. Want anything?"

You glance behind you at the concessions, looking over their menu. Meanwhile, Nate looks you over. Your neck, which he wants to lick and kiss and leave hickies all over to mark you as his. Then down your dress at the swell of your breasts...which he wants to do the same to. Then your thighs that he wants to shove his face between.

When you finally look back at him, you jump, seeing that he's still looking right at you. "Oh, uh, maybe just a water?"

He reaches up, brushing some hair out of your face. "Not hungry?"

You shake your head. "I'm still full from dinner."

Right. Dinner.

"I thought at least some cotton candy," he replies, before walking away.

You're left sitting there, wondering what that was supposed to have meant.

When Nate returns, it's with two Budweisers and a bottle of water, which he hands to you.

You stare at the extra bottle he sets on the table as he twists the top off of the other one, taking a swig of it.

"Is that smart?"

He looks at you with a raised brow. "Hm?"

"Drinking...since you're driving?"

He smirks. "It takes a lot more than two beers to get me drunk, Y/N. But if it makes you that uncomfortable, you can always drive us back."

He's not sure how he feels about letting you drive his truck, in truth. He'd never let Maddy, and sure as hell not Cassie behind the wheel. He was more-so offering to see if you'd let on whether you know how to drive or not.

And he gets his answer, just like he was wanting.

"I...I don't know how."

He sits on the same table from earlier, your legs between both of his knees.

"Not at all?"

You shake your head, feeling a bit ashamed of the admittance. "No one has ever exactly been around to teach me."

You're no longer looking at him now, so you don't see the frown on his lips.

"I could teach you."

Your head jerks up. "That's probably not a good idea."

He takes another sip of his beer. "Why not?"

"What if...what if I hit something with your truck, or damage it?"

"I have insurance."

You nearly roll your eyes. "Ok, what if I hit a person?"

He notices your lip twitch, trying to fight a smile.

He grins. "It has a big bed."

You laugh and so does he. God, being with you is so easy.

He holds out the bottle to you. "Do you want a drink?"

You consider it for a moment, then of course shake your head. "No, thank you."

"Have you ever even drank before?"

You don't want to give him the answer to that either. "No."

"Really?" He asks, a bit of surprise to his tone—even if he isn't actually surprised at all. If it's 'bad' for you, he's sure you've never done it before.

You nod, feeling like a total fucking square. "How did they even give it to you in the first place?"

He stands, briefly removing his wallet from his back pocket and he hands you his fake ID.

"Oh."

"I can get you one made, if you want?"

You shake your head, handing it back to him. "I'm ok."

He likes you innocent and unknowing, but he isn't used to someone being so...within the lines. He can't tell whether he wants to corrupt you or not. Perhaps he'll just start with doing so in bed and go from there when the time comes.

Once he has you daydreaming about his cock, he'll move onto bigger targets.

He puts his wallet back away, then jerks his head back toward the bowling alley. "Your turn, sweetheart."

Halfway through the game, you get your first strike and you squeal in delight, causing a smile to breakout across Nate's face.

You jump up and down, then run toward him and he catches you in his arms just in time as you wrap your legs around his waist, only spilling a little of his beer. "I did it!"

He laughs, loving seeing you so fucking happy for just one moment.

"I see that, baby."

You're so pleased with yourself that you barely even catch the new term-of-endearment he's given you.

You look down at him, your hair falling over his face as he looks up at you. "Sorry, that was exciting," you say with a laugh.

One arm firmly holds you up, under you bottom, while the other comes up to cup your cheek. "I like seeing you happy like this. You don't smile nearly enough."

He should really make more of an effort to get you drunk before the two of you leave. He has a feeling you're a happy one, and if he's extra lucky—all the alcohol will go straight between your legs.

You beam at him again, trying to prove him wrong, and all he wants is to kiss you until you can't breathe.

Finally, he lowers you back to your feet and you sit, now excited, as he takes his turn again.

You skip through the parking lot, your hand in his, completely elated at having won.

And to your knowledge, it was fair and square.

Even if Nate knows otherwise.

He'd offered to buy another game, but you'd told him you were starting to get tired, so he'd agreed to take you home, even if he wanted to stay out with you all night. Preferably in the back seat of his truck with your clothes off and lying underneath him as he explores your soft, sensitive body.

Instead, you sit in the passenger seat, all smiles and giggles as he drives you back home.

He's in enough of a good mood himself that he turns up the radio, some song with thumping bass coming through the speakers, as he rolls the windows down, the warm summer night air blowing your hair.

Nate, now actually nervous—afraid he's about to ruin everything—reaches over, resting his palm over your bare knee.

You don't push it away. Instead, you simply glance at it for a moment, feeling something...something you're not sure how to describe at the sight of him touching you like that, and then lean back, content to leave his hand right where it is.

And so he does. The entire drive back to your place.

It doesn't matter how desperately he wants to, he doesn't move it any higher.

Once he's pulled into your driveway, he removes his hand, your leg now feeling cold, and kills the engine. You unbuckle yourself and turn toward him. "I know we said it earlier, but I had a really nice time tonight. Thank you, for dinner and bowling and just...today."

He reaches up, running his fingers through your now-tangled hair. "It was my pleasure. Maybe we can do it again sometime?"

You nod, smiling. "I'd like that."

He wants to lean across the console and kiss you, but once again tells himself no. Something he's quickly tiring of having to do.

He glances out the windshield. "I'll walk you to the door."

He retrieves the Nordstrom bag from the backseat before coming around to your side, holding it behind his back as he offers you his hand to help you down.

Nate walks you to your door, watching as you unlock it. He wishes you'd just come back to his house instead, but doesn't dare suggest as much. He'd rather you sleep in his bed with him than stay in this empty house where you're not safe on your own.

Even if he'd made sure you were a couple night this last week when he parked across the street, a couple houses down, pistol in his glovebox. Just incase.

You look up to him with a shy smile. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he replies, handing you the shopping bag.

Your brows furrow. "I thought this was for your mom?"

He shrugs. "I lied. I wanted to buy you something all day, but knew if I asked, you'd tell me no. This way was easier."

You're not sure how to feel about the fact he'd lied to you so easily. Had made—most likely, if the brand-name on the bag is any indication—a rather expensive purchase for you. You're just not sure why.

Before you can bother asking, he plants a quick kiss to the top of your head. "Hope you like it," he says before heading back to his truck.

Once you're inside and in your room, you immediately start pulling out the contents from the bag and setting them on your bed. Your heartrate only rises with each item. A small bag from Sephora, another one from Tiffany, and four clothing items from Nordstrom—one being the dress he'd asked you to try on.

You feel lightheaded at the price tags on the clothing. But when you look in the Tiffany bag—pull out the jewelry box and open it, you sit down on the edge of your bed.

A diamond necklace.

"Nate..." you whisper to yourself in a panicked voice, wondering what had gotten into him to think that this is ok.

Surely...surely this item is meant for his mom. He'd just accidently thrown it in with everything else.

You pick up your phone with shaking hands, drop it, then pick it back up once again and call him.

"Hey, everything okay? I'm not too far away. I can turn back arou-"

You shake your head, despite the fact he can't see it. "The...the necklace for your mom, you accidentally put it in with-"

"I didn't get it for my mom. Everything there was purchased for you."

You go quiet suddenly, forcing Nate to check that you're even still on the line. He waits for you to respond.

"Nate, I don't know that I feel comfortable with this."

He slams on the brakes, pulling off to the side of the road, throwing the truck in park. "With what?"

"It...it'd be one thing if you'd bought me some cheap keychain or t-shirt or something. But all of this...do I even want to know how much this necklace costs?"

"Probably not," he replies, nonchalantly. Even if he wants to tell you that it was over a grand.

You hang your head, pinching the bridge of your nose. "You don't need to buy me stuff to try and repay me for tutoring you. I do it for free because I like helping people."

"I didn't do it for that."

"Then why?"

How to say, without alarming you: it makes my dick hard spoiling and spending obscene amounts of money on you?

"I just wanted to give you a few nice things. That's all."

"Nate, I don't-"

"Listen, do you want to repay me?"

You go quiet again. Meanwhile, he wants to say, if you say yes: then do it in sexual favors, starting with letting me wrap you hair around my fist as I face-fuck you.

"How?"

"Enjoy it. Wear the white dress and necklace to school on Monday." He wants to throw in the blush, but doesn't, hoping you'll decide to use that all on your own.

You lay back on your bed. "It's all very nice and pretty, and I appreciate it immensely. But-"

"Do you want me to turn around and come get it?" His tone is now the slightest bit annoyed. "If you don't like it, you can tell me. You're not going to hurt my feelings. I'm sorry, I guess I fucked up."

You feel guilty now somehow. Like you're being ungrateful. Even if you hadn't asked for any of it. Maybe...maybe this is what Nate thinks you have to do to make friends: buy their affection?

When you grow up wealthy like he has, you reason, it makes sense.

"No, I'm sorry." Your voice is soft and gentle and feminine now, and he relaxes, his grip on his phone loosening.

You don't even realize it, but his sudden shift in mood had been so imperceptible that it had scared you.

All you do know is that you somehow feel wrong, but you're not sure how, exactly. So, you just brush it off and blame it on being tired. Blame it on anything but him.

"I'm just...I'm not used to people buying me gifts. It's very sweet of you. Thank you," you say as you lightly run your fingers over the soft material of the white dress he wants you to wear in a couple of days.

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

You're not sure how to feel about the pet names, either, but don't want to hurt his feelings again, so you ignore your discomfort.

"I'm going to go take a shower and throw my new clothes in the washer. Be safe driving home. Goodnight...again," you say it with a small laugh.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

[chainsawseesaw]

Chapter Two

A Messy Weekend

❥❥❥

The sun slips in rays through my black curtains as prime dips above the horizon. Normally on an Extou I would sleep in as I don't work weekends, but the light seems to wake me early anyhow.  

I slip my bra over my shoulders and clasp it behind me as I make my way downstairs, starting the kettle and making my breakfast. Two eggs into a shot glass, whatever meat I have available into a pan, and coffee from the kettle into a mug. 

Creaking stairs greet me as I make my way back into the bedroom, setting down my meal on my dresser as I pull open my closet. I flip through my options before I decide on something simple, slacks, a red turtleneck, knee socks, and boots. 

Swigging back the shot glass of raw eggs, I feel the slimy texture greet my throat. I used to find it disgusting, but I’ve grown accustomed to the feeling. I slip a white trench coat over my outfit and tie my boots as I open the door and step out onto the porch. Abandoning the rest of my breakfast in favour of heading to a nearby cafe. 

The wind runs a chill through me, and the trees rattle, sending red leaves down across the yard. My fingers trail along one of the decorative pillars on my porch as I make my way down the stairs. My notebook tucked beneath my arm, and my cassette player tucked into my pocket. One earbud hangs around my pointed ear. 

The neighbourhood is quiet as I trail my way through it, walking slowly so as to breathe in the air of mid fall. My eye follows the horizon up into the clouds, prime barely making its way into the middle of the sky, showing me that folks should start to rise any moment now. Mesis should be making its appearance in the sky as I walk. Abandoning the neighbourhood and following the dirt trail instead of the more favoured paved path that cuts through town.

 The scenic route calls to me today, and as I duck into the familiar wooded arena, I lose sight of Mesis, hoping that when I emerge, I will find it no longer kissing the horizon.

 I begin to ignore the music that plays softly through my head as the birds and animals make their own chorus known, and I pause to simply take it in. I don’t get much time to myself to think anymore. Not since I've thrown myself into work full force. Since I lost enine, I-

My fingers dance around my wedding ring, worn on my right these days instead of my left. It’s been a few years now, and I still find my chest aching. 

Carrying myself off the dirt path and onto the main road, I find more stirring than I did before, a few waggons here and there, and a few other folks, not unlike myself, woke earlier than expected and took this morning for themselves. 

Few shops open before our second sun meets the second quarter of the sky, but my favoured cafe does, and for this I am deeply grateful. I find it funny that the place calls itself Jumpstart when it is often empty. Or home to folks like me who have trailed in before the day has started. 

Either way, as I make my way in, I am greeted by the usual quiet; however, I don’t recognise the barista as she calls out to welcome me. Must be a new hire. I take my usual seat at a table near the back bay window. 

I lay my notebook out on the table and start to note down the happenings of the week. Most of it passed by in a whirl that I barely remembered. Simple cases, simple days. 

A stolen horse was the biggest standout, aside from him. The vampire. It floods me for a moment—the memories of the hunt that I swore I could have finished if he wasn’t a damn shapeshifter. 

“This one is going to be difficult.” I mutter as I flip through my logs for the week before happening on a blank page. My thoughts blaze faster than I can write, and I once again find myself caught in the flurry of ink and paper as I tear through frantic page after frantic page. 

When my recount is complete, I find my wrist aching, and I lean back into the cushions nestled into the window nook. I glance around, noting that the other patrons seem to have both ended up here to read. Sipping lightly on cups and mugs, lost in their own worlds, unaware of the danger that prowls just below their noses. 

Steady cloud cover coats the suns outside the window, painting the rest of the morning in a dappled grey that makes me shiver. Longingly gazing out the window is doing me no favours at all, so I stand and make my way over to the counter. 

“Hi! What could I do for you?” The barista greets me in a singsong voice I don’t recognise, though it's uncanny how familiar it feels. 

“Um,” I glance her up and down for a moment. Her green eyes are just a bit too large for her face, and they seem much too vibrant. Looking at her makes my head hurt. "Sorry." Glancing down, I shake my head. “I just got the most odd feeling of deja vu.”

“Mmm,” The woman purrs a soft tune as she takes in my words, and as the vibrations hit my ears, I feel my feet shift back and forth. She purses her lips as she looks me up and down before shock threads its way through her features, though in a flash it disappears. “Odd.” 

“Yeah, um,” As I look up at the menu, I feel her gaze trail upon me, and my stomach spirals. “Can I just get an Americano? No, no food for me today.” The floor below me swims and threatens to knock me off my feet. What is wrong with me? 

She nods enthusiastically and responds with a simple “Mhm!” Her voice alone makes me queasy; something is off about this woman.

“I’ll bring everything to your table when it's done, alright?” She smiles just a tad too wide, and I take note of her razor-like teeth. 

“Thank you,” Before I can finish speaking, she giggles softly and walks into the back, leaving me alone with my strange unease. 

Sitting back down, I find that my nerves have already calmed. I find my pen back in my hand and start sketching, sketching down this odd woman. Though the lines pass in a blur, my hand carries itself without input from my brain as the face takes shape. The slender shoulders, the long ringlets, the sharp nose, the piercing green eye. He’s too similar to her, too odd. His face takes shape on the page instead of hers.

I sketch the woman out too, putting their faces side by side to confirm my suspicions. Same flex of the jaw, same barely pointed ears, same lips, same goddamn eye. Though the pair of them seems odd, could he really change his whole appearance like that? I suppose I shouldn't doubt his abilities. I’ve never dealt with a shapeshifter before. 

The barista makes their way over to my table and hands me my mug, but as I glance up, I realise it's a different person. The man I’m used to here. His long dreads tied behind him in a ponytail. 

“Hey, Ash.” 

He simply nods in return. 

“When did that new girl get hired?” 

“Oh, just a few weeks ago. She’s a real oddball, that one.” He responds, not really making eye contact with me as he gazes out the window. 

“She made me feel so uneasy.” I say, my voice wavering slightly. 

“Yeah, almost everyone here feels that way. She’s uncanny, always smiling.” He started. “Marissa in the kitchen says that she swears she sees Sam fluctuating, if that makes sense? Like her form changes. Though no one else has seen it happen.” 

I feel my brow furrow as I look back down at my sketchbook. “Can I talk to her?” 

“She just went home." Ash glances at my notebook, and I see him chewing on his cheek. “I’ll have her visit you.” 

I nod as he walks back into the kitchen, not remembering to mumble him a thank you as I shoot back my coffee as fast as possible. Packing up my things quickly, but not trying to draw attention to myself. 

My mug clinks as I slide it back onto the counter and make my way out the door and onto the street. A few people are still wandering about, umbrellas propped on their shoulders. I have no hood to protect myself from the rain, and instead I feel the water dribble down my neck and back. I’m thankful for my trench coat, though, as it keeps my notebook from getting wet as I tuck it into my chest. 

Fumbling with my keys makes me realise what a silly hurry I'm in. There’s nothing wrong; nothing has happened. But despite how easily my nerves calmed in the coffee shop, I now feel like every part of me is on fire. 

Slipping the key into the lock and twisting it with a click helps my heart just a little to be safe inside my home. I drop my notebook onto the counter and sit down on the couch, waiting for Marrisa and for Monday, when I can finally tell Duck what I saw. 

❥❥❥

A knock at the door startles me awake. My coat rests over my body like a blanket. As I sit up,the knock rattles my door again, and I make my way over to it. The woman who stands on my porch is short and stout. Her dark fawn hair slung over her shoulder in a thick, messy braid. I know this woman to be Marrisa, the cook at Jumpstart. 

“I didn’t expect you to be here today." A small chuckle escapes my lips. “Come in.” 

“I’m sorry, officer. I thought we were in a rush; Ash made it sound that way at least.” She said, fidgeting with her hands. 

“I’m not on the clock; you don’t need to be formal with me, and as for the rush, I guess you could say so.”

She glances around nervously for a moment before stepping over the threshold of my home and settling herself in my entryway. 

“Could I get you anything before we get started here, maybe tea?” 

She nods. “Tea would be great.” 

“Feel free to get comfortable as I put the kettle on.” I say as I make my way through the open entryway into my kitchen. 

Marissa nods and walks over to my couch, settling in and taking off her coat. She seems so distraught. It’s odd, to say the least. This case isn’t well known yet, but I wonder if my suspicion is correct and she’s been working with this monster. 

She takes the cup of tea and smiles softly, taking a slow sip before setting her cup down on the coffee table. 

“So Ash was telling me you've seen some strange things from your new coworker, Sam?” 

Her eyes flit around the room, out the window on a rainy day, at the archway to the kitchen, and then back to me. “Uh, yeah. It’s hard to explain.” 

“Just start with the first odd thing you saw.” I say, flipping through my sketchbook to the page with the newest sketches. 

“Well, when we first hired her, she was fine, though she did make most of the staff a bit uneasy. Her smile is just too wide.” 

Ink flows down onto my page as she talks. I attempt to write down everything she says word for word, and since she’s speaking rather slowly, I find the job quite easy. 

“As you already know, I work back in the kitchen; usually I’m the only one back there as Viv has a pretty spotty schedule. I’m used to it, though. Anyway, the first odd thing I saw was when Sam was on break. The break room is right next to the kitchen, and usually we keep the connecting door open so that it's easier for us to come and go. She was sitting around the table that we have in there; her back was turned to me, and it looked like she got taller? Like her body stretched out to how it was supposed to be.” 

My brow knits as she says this, and I find that she seems confused as well, though I assume it's for a different reason than myself. “How tall would you say she seemed to be?” 

“Um, around seven feet?” She ponders, tapping her foot on the floor. 

“Interesting.” I add in, thinking back to the height of the man in the forest. There’s no way these aren’t the same people. “Any other odd occurrences?” 

“Well, I have seen her face change, though it's always very minor.” She went on. “One of her eyes will be closer to her nose for a moment and then move back, or her neck will seem to get longer and shorter. They are all little things, but they are still noticeable. It's freaky. I don't want to work with her any longer, but she hasn’t technically done anything wrong, so it's not like we can fire her. We are just kind of stuck until she decides to leave on her own accord.” She glances back at the door again, still tapping her foot. 

“I think that's all I need from you, but I'll keep in touch if that's okay?” 

"Yeah, that's fine. Sorry if I seem a little peeved. I'm just glad someone else noticed this. Is it for a case?” 

"Well, it's not exactly public knowledge yet, so I can’t really tell you much, but yes, it's for a case.” 

“Good, I hope we can fire her.” She chuckles and stands up. “Well, I'll get out of your hair now.” 

I stand too, walking her to the door. “Take care of yourself; things are tough out there right now.” 

“I know, I know. We are all doing what we can.” 

I lean down and wrap my arms around her, and she does the same. We wave simple goodbyes as she leaves my home, and I head up to my study, hoping to make sense of what she’s told me.  

I find myself working much past my usual hours; the ticking clock is my only company. But I'm determined, despite my drooping eyelid. 

The matches strike with a familiar sizzle as I light a candle next to my work station, illuminating my papers and wax. God forbid that I fall asleep as I work. 

Firelight greets my eye as it flickers back open, taunting me as I struggle to rise from sleep. I wipe away the ink from my stained face in a futile effort and continue to write. Attempting to finalise what I want to say to Duck has been a pain, but I know I need to finish it in time for the sunrise, which I can already see slipping through the curtains. Time passes too quickly when you have a deadline. 

I struggle through paragraphs, wiping my tired eye, hands covered in ink. It's awful working this way, but it’s the only time I’ll have this weekend. My pen shakes in my hand as  I finish off the final sentences, thanking the gods that I can finally find some rest. 

Not bothering to change out of my day clothes, I lay down on my bed. The moment that the pillow meets my ink stained cheeks, I wink out, my dreams clouded with eyes and faces I don’t recognise but find familiar all the same. 

❥❥❥

“MayFord?” The sheriff utters, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Why are you here?” 

"Listen, it's urgent.” I urge, stepping forward towards him. “I’ve found new developments on the case, and you need to know now.” 

“Its late; you should,”

“Mesis has already risen.” 

Duck sighs and shifts to the side, letting me into his home. I take in a deep breath as I step through the entryway. His house is decorated like a beach house, and I figure it's to remind him of his home back in Argytos. 

He walks forward, his baggy pyjamas hanging limply off his frame as he sits down on the couch, gesturing for me to sit down across from him

His hospitality isn't great, but I suppose I should expect that from a man who has been woken in the early morning by a knock at the door. I’ve always had a bad habit of bothering him too early or too late, but this is a new low, even for myself.

“What have you brought in?” He asks, leaning back and turning to the side, letting a yawn escape his lips.

“I know where the vamp is working.” 

He turns back to me and leans forward on his knees, gesturing for me to tell him more. 

“I went out yesterday morning to take notes, and I saw him there, disguised, of course; he's smart.” Duck nods as I speak, his eyes scanning the space above me. I assume he is noting down what I tell him in his head. “He’s working down at Jumpstart. I talked to their cook, Marrissa, about what she’s seen. Apparently he’s been shifting on the job; if we could get anyone else's statements, we could maybe try to interview the vamp ourselves.” 

Duck looks sidelong at me for a moment before leaning forward once more. “Did you catch the vamp's name?” 

“Sam, though I'm sure it's an alias, there's no way it isn't.” 

He nods and leans back again, as though asking me to continue.  

“Sadly, that's all I have. Though I think it's a good start, I plan to go back and ask to talk to her. The only other thing I could think to mention is the odd feeling of deja vu he gives me, though I think it may just be a strange side effect of the shapeshifting.” 

“If that’s all you have to offer me, I would like it if you could leave my residence now.” Duck stands and walks towards his staircase, gesturing for me to leave. 

“But, aren't you going to write anything down? Shouldn't we discuss this further?” I retort as he walks up the stairs. 

“We can continue on Primtas when you come in for work; go take a break, Klara. I know you tend to overwork yourself.” He says as he walks upstairs, his back turning as he turns into his room and shuts the door, leaving me alone in his foyer. 

I stand and brush myself off, despite the complete absence of dirt, and I continue forward to the front door. Out on his porch, I take in a deep sigh and start my walk home. Deciding to take the rest of this weekend to myself.

[writerofshit]

For almost 3 years the crew doesn't know when Matt's birthday is. This is solely because he never brought it up and sometimes the crew thinks he might have sprouted, fully formed, in front of a computer monitor roughly ten years ago. He didn't. He does in fact have a birthday.

When the crew finally realizes this, Trevor takes one for the team in trying to figure it out. He makes a point to bring it up all nonchalantly, 'yeah, Lindsay says you do that because you're a Virg-....Aquari-... Gemini?' complete with arched eyebrows and wide eyes.

And Matt's an observant guy, yeah, but more so when it comes to patterns in bank transactions or when the local donut shop has his favorite donuts available. People, even friends, are another story entirely. So he just shrugs. 'what does me being a Gemini have to do with liking mustard on a hot dog?'

But Trevor doesn't have an answer for that, of course, because it was bullshit to begin with. Instead he mumbles something about stars and time and relish, scurries off to tell Jeremy what he's learned. Which isn't much, sure, but at least they've got a window now.

The entire crew spends a ridiculous amount of time dropping opinions on May and June dates. 'yeah I'd hate to be born on June 2nd. Wouldn't you, Matt?' and 'May 27th is my favorite date for sure. What's yours, Matt?' and 'i've never met someone with the same birthday as me, May 23rd. Have you, Matt?'

And again, yeah, Matt's an observant guy. Most people, in fact, are probably observant enough to notice when an entire group of criminals act really fucking weird about the calendar. But again, Matt's observant about things like tiny movements on camera feeds or that there's not extra onion on this burger, actually. So he shrugs and says 'yeah I knew someone growing up who was June 6th. We used to argue about who could have a party. I always lost.' like this isn't information the entire crew has been fishing for over the last month. They probably could have asked outright and Matt wouldn't have cared.

It's honestly kind of annoying.

The week his birthday rolls around again, they go all out. Big ass fucking party, invite everyone they can think of. Every old friend not turned enemy, crews they've talked about working with but never got around to, minor celebrities they know Matt will get a kick out of toasting in his honor. It might actually be the biggest party or event or goddamn crowd Los Santos has ever seen. All there for Matt. All celebrating this guy most people have never seen.

It's a kickass time. Matt gets hoisted up and sung to, then Michael, then Fiona, then someone Matt is sure he's never met. 'It's a cover.' Jeremy drunkenly yells in his ear. 'So no one knows who's really you.' It's a sentence that's not quite right, but Matt appreciates the sentiment. It's also probably not even accurate, given that he was the first up and they've made him cut a cake on a stage, for some godforsaken reason. It's the thought that counts, though.

All in all, Matt thinks it might be the most fun he has ever had.

Two days later, on his actual birthday, it's almost the complete opposite. In terms of scale, at least. It's just the crew, up in the old penthouse Geoff swore he'd sold. He hadn't, of course. Never could bring himself to pull the trigger on it.

It's pizza and beer and donuts and cupcakes. It's Mario Kart and Ultimate Chicken Horse and a game of Monopoly that's played in teams, somehow. It's stories that reach all the way back to an alleyway, three idiots pointing guns at each other because they had no idea what they would become, what they'd join into. Jeremy says they were 'pretty sure Matt had never held a fucking gun before that' and Trevor agrees wholeheartedly.

They try to pick their favorite 'Matt's playing music over the loud speakers during a fucking bank robbery' song. It's a tie between Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go ('because i knocked out that fuckin' guard and he thought it was funny!' Michael yells. 'who the fuck thinks of that?' and Call Me Maybe ('because god forbid i take one breath before I answer him. I wasn't even in the bank, i was across the fucking street playing lookout! I only heard it through somebody's earpiece.' Alfredo says, rolling his eyes.)

When the night winds down, and it's no longer Matt's birthday but they're still pretending it is, Jack brings out an apple with a candle stuck in it and Geoff cries with laughter. 'you're getting older, Matt, you gotta eat more fruit.' she says. Matt argues that he does eat fruit, he had a lemon lime flavored cupcake at the party.

There's one whole serious moment during all of it. Things get quiet, Geoff not quite meeting anyone's eyes. 'y'know, Matt, we all make a lot of jokes. We call you an asshole, tell you we hate the plans you make. I don't know how many times I've said I regret hiring you, or any of you, really. And, uh, yeah, sometimes it's true.' It earns him a chuckle from around the room, and he clears his throat. 'but seriously, you're, uh, you're one of the best fuckin people I know. All of you are. And we're lucky to have you. We love you, man.'

Nobody cries, because this is a group of hardened criminals who rob banks and blow up buildings and kill people, sometimes, so of course they don't fucking cry. They do, however, somehow all find themselves with a serious case of the sniffles, all wipe totally non existent tears from their cheeks.

No one says anything, for a long moment, not even Matt. He should be saying thank you, or telling them how much he loves them too, or hell, even cracking a joke. He can't seem to find the words, though.

Jack holds up her beer. 'to Matt.' she says. Around the room, various drinks go up almost immediately, and there's a not even close to in sync chorus of 'to Matt.'

No, tonight is not nearly as grand or extravagant as the party two days ago. There are no expensive cars being raced, no crowds of people shouting 'Axial!', no stages or celebrities or fireworks. This is just his family, together.

It is the best birthday he's ever had.

[blu-joons]

He Takes Your Child To The Studio ~ BTS Reaction

Jin:

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say as yet again Hobi had to cut the music after your son decided to walk into the middle of their dance routine, dancing away to himself.

“He’s in a world of his own,” Taehyung teased, capturing the tot as he whirled around, stopping him from getting dizzy.

Jin walked over and scooped his son up into the air, “I know this isn’t where you want to be, but mummy is busy, please stop giving me such a hard time.”

“Why don’t we just dance with him instead?” Namjoon suggested, sensing how helpless Jin was. “One day where we don’t work on the routine isn’t going to be the end of the world.”

Jin’s head snapped around, smiling appreciatively at his leader. “I can always just head back home if you want to work without me, I’d understand it if you didn’t want me here.”

“Don’t worry, we can dance with Y/S/N,” Hobi smiled.

“But no spinning, I don’t want to get dizzy like that.”

Jin smiled, placing your son back down. “All he does is spin around Kook, so if you want to dance like him, prepare for a fall or two.”

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.”

Yoongi:

“How can I take them like this?” Yoongi quizzed, staring innocently across at you as your daughter sobbed by his feet. “They’re going to cause so much hassle.”

“I can’t take them to my meeting,” you sighed, running your hands through your hair. “They’ll be fine once they’re at the studio.”

Yoongi’s head shook as your daughters crept back in your direction. “Is there not someone that can look after them at the office? It’s obvious they don’t want to leave you.”

“It’s a one-time thing,” you assured him, handing your daughters back across to him, “please just do this for me today. When I see the boys again, I’ll apologise for all the chaos.”

Before Yoongi could protest, you began to back away towards the front door. “You owe me a huge favour for this, it’s going to be impossible to get any work done today.”

“You’ll have a great time, I promise,” you cheered.

“That’s if I ever manage to stop them crying.”

Your shoulders shrugged, “just play some music in the car and they’ll be happy again in no time, you’re a great dad, don’t forget that.”

“Music? Is that really the answer to all my problems?”

Hoseok:

“Here he is,” Hobi cooed as he carried your son into the studio, instantly being crowded by the six other members who all wanted a peek of his child.

“He really is the spitting image of Y/N,” Jimin teased, smirking in Hobi’s direction as he glared across at him, shaking his head.

After a few moments, the boys began to give him a bit of space. “Y/N wrote down a list of his routine, so I know exactly what to do and when to do it.”

“How’s she feeling?” Jin asked him. Having fallen ill that morning, Hobi was left with no choice but to take your son to the studio to give you the space that you needed to recover.

His shoulders shrugged, “I’m hoping a day in bed without this little one to look after will help, she’s barely had an hour to herself since he was born, she’s with him constantly.”

“She’s probably exhausted,” Yoongi sighed, “maybe we should do more.”

“That’s why this one is with us today.”

Hobi’s head nodded at Taehyung’s comment, “I promise you guys won’t even know he’s here, I’ll make sure he sleeps perfectly.”

“We love having him here, don’t worry.”

Namjoon:

“Daddy!” Your toddler yelled as the song came to an end. Namjoon spun around to see your daughter running towards him with her arms opened wide for him.

“What is it?” He questioned, lifting her high up into the air. “Was time with Uncle Jungkook really that bad that you came back?”

Jungkook frowned as he followed behind your daughter, “the vending machine didn’t have the chocolate that she wanted, and apparently that’s my fault.”

“That’s because it is,” Hobi chuckled from the other side of the room, “why haven’t you gone to the shop or something to go and buy her chocolate? That’s what a good uncle would do.”

Namjoon’s head nodded in agreement, “I told you that she’s stubborn just like her mum, if you don’t go to the shop, she’ll never speak to you again. I’ve learnt the hard way.”

“You really want me to get this chocolate?” He asked your daughter.

“it’s my favourite, please Uncle Kook.”

His eyes rolled, glancing across at Namjoon. “How do you put up with this every single day? She really is demanding just like her mum.”

“I had plenty of practice from Y/N, that’s why.”

Jimin:

“Can I dance?” A voice whimpered from behind Jimin as the music came to an end. He spun around to see your daughter stood behind his legs.

“Why don’t we show everyone what we worked on at home?” He suggested, bringing her around so everyone could see her.

Taehyung knelt down to her height, “what have you been working on at home? Has daddy being trying to teach you some dance moves again?” He asked her.

“We were learning Dynamite,” she informed them, showing off the first move of the chorus that she’d learnt. “Daddy said one day if I practice hard enough, I might be able to dance with him.

“Why didn’t you say whilst I was gone?” Yoongi teased.

“We could have done with a seventh member with us.”

Jimin’s head shook across at both Yoongi and Jungkook, “MAMA couldn’t even give us proper dressing rooms, let alone allow a child to dance.”

“That’s true, there’s no way it would have happened.”

Taehyung:

“Look at this,” Taehyung smiled, guiding your daughter to the corner of the studio the boys had all set up to keep her entertained.

“We found all your favourites,” Yoongi smiled, taking a seat beside her, “we even found a new colouring book to try.”

Her head nodded, but as she looked around, her bottom lip couldn’t help but quiver. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d love all of this that we sorted for you?” Jin asked.

“I miss mummy,” she sighed, looking helplessly up at her father. “I always spend the day with mummy, and now she’s not here. Do you know when she’ll be home dad?”

Taehyung knelt down beside her, “in a couple of days when her work is finished. But until then, we’ll make sure you have the best time with us and try not to worry about mummy.”

“Can I have sweets if mummy isn’t here?” She asked.

“As long as you promise not to tell mummy.”

Her head nodded immediately, as her smile reappeared. “I promise not to tell mummy. Maybe being at the studio isn’t as bad as I thought.”

“We’ll have a lot of fun, don’t worry.”

Jungkook:

“What do we want to order?” Namjoon questioned as he sat down in the middle of the circle that the boys, and your son, had formed in the studio.

“Noodles,” your daughter squeaked before anyone else had the chance to talk. “Mummy makes noodles for lunch.”

Jungkook’s eyes rolled down at her, “you’re not with mummy today, you’re with daddy. Is there nothing else that you want to eat other than having noodles?”

“I want what mummy makes,” she instructed, looking to Namjoon to write it down. “She makes the best noodles, so we have to order from somewhere that is as good as her food.”

The boys could only sit back and laugh as Jungkook turned her around to face him. “What if everyone here doesn’t want noodles, maybe we could try some other foods instead?”

“But everyone likes noodles, so why not?” She challenged.

“Noodles aren’t great when we’ve been dancing all morning.”

Her shoulders shrugged, turning back away from Jungkook. “I want noodles, you can all get noodles with me too.”

“I think noodles might be the only option here.”

---

Masterlist

[astonmartinii]

lemonade and star-crossed lovers, p1 (JJ Maybank)

Warnings: none yet, swearing? all core characters are aged up to 18, Rafe is 21. 

JJ Maybank x kook!reader (super super slow burn) (this will hopefully be a series) 

WC: 4.0k 

Growing up, Y/N always heard jokes about how the eldest daughter was just the mum in a different font. She never used to believe it, but that was when she had present and dedicated parents. Now, it just seemed that with every addition to the Miller family, the less interested Kevin and Julie Miller became. 

So here Y/N was, practically a mother to her three younger siblings. 

Dylan is only a year younger than Y/N but is no less of a hassle, especially when his useless friends decide to crash at their place. But considering they had the most hectic house of Dylan’s friendship group, the Miller household was usually the last option. 

Then there’s Anderson, he’s in his rebellious phase currently, getting to that point where he’s figured out that acting out could maybe get the attention of his parents. Though Y/N wasn’t sure how well his plans were working out. 

Peach is the youngest and practically attached to Y/N’s hip. To an untrained eye, Y/N often looked like a teen mum as she took Peach with her to the grocery shopping. In fact, Y/N was sure that if the kooks in Figure Eight didn’t know her family, they’d sneer at her with the same ignorance that clouded their entire lives. 

Y/N woke up glad - it’s the last day of school. Summer break looms. The idea of boneyard keggers and hot (but equally clueless) tourons, excited the girl. But she knew her summer reality would be looking after Peach, bailing Anderson out of jail and swatting away the affections of Dylan’s stupid friends. 

—————————————

Dylan is already awake when Y/N comes knocking, taking extra close care to his hair. 

“Oh, you’re up,” Y/N said, moving to ruffle his hair and grab the empty plate on his bedside cabinet. 

“Jesus, fuck Y/N, was that really necessary?” 

“Hey maybe if you spent more time on assignments than your hair you wouldn’t have to take so many summer classes - oh yeah, mum might not remember, but I do, and you will be going.” 

“But it’s summer, surely it’s a violation to my human rights to go to school.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive, and maybe when you finally pass this year, you’ll thank me. Breakfast in 10.” 

Dylan just flips his sister off, going back to admiring himself in the mirror. 

Y/N next goes to Peach’s room to find her awake and rummaging through her draws. 

“Hey, princess, what are you thinking for the last day? Third grade finished already, you’ll be my age soon, wheeling me into the retirement home.” 

Peach erupts into giggles, pulling out a little pink summer dress and grabbing her pink sandals to complete the ensemble. 

“All pink, we love. Breakfast in 10, alright, don’t want you to be late for the last day.” 

Anderson’s room is last, Y/N doesn’t bother knocking on her parent’s door. Kevin is probably already down on Judy - his beloved boat. The room is typical of a 14 year old boy, it stunk, his weed paraphernalia was badly hidden and there was a lump of pillows under the cover instead of a boy. 

Shrugging, Y/N picked up the dirty mugs in his room and moved downstairs. She’d been awake nearly an hour now but was still unsure of what to make for breakfast. Opening the fridge gave her the only possible answer, leftover pizza from the previous night and maybe a porridge pot, though considering there were only two siblings to account for, it would do. 

Dylan and Peach joined her in the kitchen shortly after, each taking a slice or two of pizza. 

“No Anderson and pizza for breakfast? Watch out, we'll be calling CPS as soon as we’re outside.“ 

“You don’t know where the bug is? Why does that boy insist on giving me early onset cardiac issues?” 

“Don’t take it too to heart, I’m sure he’ll turn up by the second period.” 

“Okay, go to school now. Dylan, are you okay to drop Peach off, I’ll pick her up.” 

Dylan nods and ushers the youngest out of the door and to his car. Y/N lets out a sigh when she sees them leave the driveway and makes her way to the back door. Through the sliding door she can see her dad, Kevin on Judy instructing John B, the kid who worked on the boat, what to do. Y/N puts two slices of pizza on a plate and grabs an apple and ventures out to the dock. 

“Morning Y/N.” 

“Morning, John B, can I interest you in an apple? It’s all we have I’m afraid.” 

“No worries, any breakfast is breakfast when you’re a pogue.”

“Oh John B, you know I don’t believe in all that sub-par class warfare bullshit.” 

“Of course you don’t, but that’s very easy to say when you’re on the other side.” 

“Touche.” 

Y/N doesn’t say anymore, but moves to give her dad his breakfast. She liked John B and hoped he didn’t see her like the other kooks. Sure Rafe Cameron frequented her house, but she’s nothing like him. 

“Thanks, squirt.” 

Despite the nickname, Kevin was absent as ever, not moving to look at her. 

“You’re children are off to school, don’t worry.” 

Silence. 

“Oh thank you Y/N, I really don’t know what we’d do without you! You’re such a gem, you’re really unappreciated and we don’t deserve you! Thanks dad, I really needed to hear that. Are you coming later?”

“Where?” Kevin grunted, with pizza in his mouth. 

“My graduation? Did you forget that was today?” 

The awkward silence was enough of an answer for Y/N. 

“Sorry squirt, I promised to go to the mainland to pick something up for your mother.” 

With that, Y/N stormed off Judy, towards the house and into her room. When she sat down on her bed she could think about what just happened. She knew her parents didn’t care about her, but missing their first child’s graduation for a small errand to the mainland? 

Now that the house was quiet again, she could get ready - she was graduating today and as valedictorian she wants to look her best. Julie, her mum, is in Washington on some mysterious job venture, Y/N wasn’t told until she came down in the morning a few days ago and saw Julie with her suitcases. She guessed that one positive of her parents’ absenteeism is her ability to steal Julie’s expensive jewelry to wear. 

Y/N looked in the mirror, she did clean up nice when she wanted to. Her lengthy hair is in a half-up, half-down style, with minimal makeup and a red knee-length dress. The dress hugged her figure and complemented her graduation gown perfectly. Too bad none of her family would be there to see it. She knew deep down that Peach and Dylan would’ve attended if possible, and Anderson would maybe even make an appearance, especially if there was food involved. 

Y/N put her matching red heels on and grabbed her cap from her closet. After one final look in the mirror and putting her printed speech into her bag, the young girl made her way down the stairs. 

To her surprise, none other than John B sat in her kitchen drinking a glass of water. 

“You clean up nice kook,” said John B, a smug smirk on his face. 

“Thank you, John. Don’t you have graduation today?” 

 “Eh, yeah. I’m just going for the food though, school isn’t really my thing…” John B looked closer at her cap. “I’m practically the opposite to you Miss Valedictorian”. 

“Hmm, well at least someone in this house noticed, thank you John B. I’m going now, I didn’t notice your van out front, you need a lift to yours?” 

“Is that really on your way, wouldn’t want Miss Valedictorian to be late to her own event, you got a speech ready?” 

“I do as a matter of fact, but I want to be just on time, minimise the time people have to ask about the whereabouts of my parents. So, do you want a lift or not?” 

“Sure thing, Miss Valedictorian.” 

Y/N doesn’t acknowledge the nickname, but secretly loved it, it was a joke, but at least someone was appreciating her achievements. Peach would, she knows, but she’s not really at the point of understanding what it means and the others really are wildcards.

She led John B out to her small car, a baby blue Beetle. The boy smiled at her choice in car, 

“I’m sure that a kook like you could afford better than this.”

“Don’t insult Shelby in her presence, weren’t you ever taught manners? Now get it and give me directions.” 

The drive was fun, not that John B would tell Y/N that. He enjoyed her music choice, Mac Miller blasting from her speakers and the windows were fully rolled down, damned be her hair. 

Y/N neared the chateau and came to a stop. There were a few people sitting on the porch, looking over in confusion. 

“Yo, what’s with the kook-mobile, John B?” The blonde yelled from his seat on the beaten-up couch. 

When John B only turned to Y/N to say thank you, the interest peaked on the porch. The little gang of pogues moved towards the car. 

“John B, I didn’t realise your job came with a taxi service, why did I have to drop you off this morning?” The blonde, once again. 

“Lay off JJ, this is Y/N Miller, she’s the daughter of Kevin, the guy whose boat I work on. She’s on her way to her graduation and offered me a lift.” 

“Since when are kook graduations on the Cut?” The other boy interjected. 

Y/N decided to speak up, “if I knew an act of kindness would cause so much strife, I’ll just let you walk home next time. Now, I do have somewhere to be, so it was nice to see you, John B. I'm sure I’ll see you again this week.” 

“Bye Miss Valedictorian, good luck with your speech,” John B said, getting out of Shelby. 

“You’re the valedictorian?” Kiara finally spoke, face shocked. 

“Yeah, surprising what happens when you show up for school right?” Y/N snapped, angrier than she intended. 

“Oh yeah, sorry. I guess I thought that maybe Sarah would get it, especially if Ward has anything to do with it.” Kiara grimaced, she didn’t mean to offend the Miller girl. 

“You can’t buy the valedictorian title, well I’m sure you could, but not to flex, but my grades were miles better. If we’re being really ironic though, Ward technically does pay for the valedictorian,” Y/N said with a smile, not meaning to brandish her academic success in their faces. 

A chorus of “huhs?” from the pogues surrounding her car told Y/N that they weren’t catching her drift. 

“I’m Ward Cameron’s assistant. Sorry, I didn’t make that very clear.” 

“You have a job, but you’re a kook?” the blonde, JJ, said. 

“Yes, blondie, some of us do have to look out for ourselves, didn’t your parents tell you not to judge a book by its cover. I’ll see you around. Bye John B.” 

Y/N backed out of the road, heading back to Figure Eight, with her graduation starting in 10 minutes, she had massively overstayed her welcome at John B’s. If she weren’t so busy, Y/N always thought she’d like to be friends with John B and his crew, they had an unmistakable family bond that Y/N craved. She loves her siblings but they are still grappling with the idea of give and take, mainly fixating on the taking aspect. 

Y/N pulled up to school, and took out her phone, dropping a text to Anderson pleading with him to at least make it to two classes today. Even with her phone safely away in her bag, Y/N couldn’t quite bring herself to get out of the car. Happy families surrounded her everywhere she looked, she couldn’t handle the stares when she walks in alone. Well, it’s now or never she says to herself. 

Walking isn’t as bad as she suspects, Mr Morgan, her English teacher, meets her at the door and takes her to her seat, explaining the mechanisms of the ceremony and when she’ll make her speech.  

The hall, however, is the reminder that Y/N was dreading. The two seats she had booked for her parents sat empty, standing out like a sore thumb in the packed hall. She made her way to the student section with her head down. However, before Y/N could sit she was apprehended by an excitable Sarah Cameron. 

“Y/N! Hi! I heard you’re valedictorian, well done! I don’t know how you managed, with all the work and your siblings, you really are amazing.” 

“Thanks, Sarah.” 

The words sting, despite their pure intentions. She’s a kook, she shouldn’t have to work, and she should have parents who care for her and her siblings, but some things just aren’t meant to be, clearly. Y/N sat in her assigned seat and willed the ceremony to go fast, though she wasn’t looking too forward to her speech. The diversion to the chateau meant that Y/N had no time to look over it again. 

The ceremony started and the hall quietened down. Principal Stoney started her opening speech, basking in the spotlight when the hall door bursts open and interrupts. In the doorway stands Anderson. His hair is disheveled and the clothes are torn, probably from the nightly activities with the skateboard he held in his hand. The boy scanned the hall, eyes falling on the empty seats with the name Miller and then Y/N herself. He gives her a small wave and pushes past the Figure Eights families to the seats. 

Principal Stoney just restarts, a slight bewildered look on her face. 

When it was time for her speech, Y/N didn’t even feel real, like she floated to the stage and was possessed. Her speech went well from what she could gather, Mr Morgan gave her a thumbs up and Anderson hollered, much to the dismay of the families around him. But he was even worse when she received her diploma. 

As families spilled onto the field for fancy food and photo opportunities, Y/N wrangled Anderson to the side before he could raid the food stalls. 

“Anderson, what the fuck? First you didn't come home last night and then crash my graduation?” 

“Hey, I’m sorry about last night, me and the boys got carried away skating and I crashed on Oscar’s couch. I’m sorry, I should’ve called. And as for now, you think I’m going to let my smart-ass VALEDICTORIAN sister graduate without anyone being here to holler? You’re dead wrong.” 

The sentiment fills Y/N’s heart with joy and tears threaten to spill. Anderson’s never been good with feelings, it was nice to know that he did care. 

“Mum and dad can go fuck themselves, if they don’t see how great you are then they’re blind.” 

“Thanks, bug. It means a lot. Now don’t eat too much, people are probably already annoyed that you’re here.” 

Anderson shrugs, he couldn’t care less what they thought, he was here to eat and show off his sister. 

“Congratulations Y/N!” 

The voice of Y/N’s boss, Ward Cameron, was easily identifiable. Y/N puts on her confident face and turns to see the whole Cameron brigade, minus Wheezie. 

“Thank you, Mr Cameron.”

“You know, I just don’t know how you get it done, working for us and dealing with your siblings…” Rose says, the last part fading out as she watches Anderson walk back to his sister with his arms piled high with fancy horderves. 

“It’s tough, yeah, but what wouldn’t you do for your family?” 

“Of course, of course, sorry for any implications, where is the old man, I know Julie is off on business, but Kevin has to be proud, I didn’t see him in the hall?” Ward’s voice feigned sincerity, but the Miller siblings saw right through it. Before Anderson could respond, Y/N replied. 

“Dad is also doing business on the mainland, at the last minute. He’s devastated, really,” it's not convincing, even to her. Y/N can tell she hasn’t convinced the Camerons either. Sarah gives her a sad look, Rose attempts to mirror her step-daughter but fails, Ward looks slightly smug, like he’s trying to hide it but Rafe doesn’t even try to hide it like his dad, a massive smirk on his face. 

“What are your plans for the summer Miller?” Y/N is surprised when it’s Rafe who asks the question. 

“Well, I’ll be working for your dad, if he’ll have me, I still have my volleyball coaching in the tourist season and there’s never a dull moment with these around,” Y/N puts her arm around Anderson. 

Looking for a quick exit, she looks at her watch. 

“Oh, if we go now, you can still catch your last two periods. Kids, am I right?” She gestures at Rose and Ward, “we’ll be off now, I’ll see you next week?” 

The Camerons nod as Y/N pulls Anderson away and towards the car park. But before they can fully escape, they’re stopped by Mr Morgan. 

“You think you can leave without a photo and a proper goodbye, I didn’t think you were that kind of girl, Miller.” 

“Of course not, Mr Morgan, here,” she hands Anderson her phone, “take a picture please.” 

Anderson does so, taking about 50 at once. 

“Okay, okay, let's get one of you two, you can’t not have a proper graduation picture, especially not when you’re valedictorian.” 

Mr Morgan takes the phone and smiles at the siblings. When the impromptu photoshoot ends, Y/N is glad, despite it pushing back her escape. 

“Y/N, on a serious note, you are always welcome in my classroom, you’ve been a pleasure, and don’t tell anyone, but you were my favourite. And you, I hope you’ll be just as good next year sir,” he says turning to Anderson, “although considering you’re here and not in class doesn’t bode well.” 

“Thank you, sir, really. But you are completely right, and that’s why we’re bouncing now, so he can get two at least two periods.” 

Mr Morgan smiles at the two when they start to run to the car. He’s always felt sad for the eldest Miller, and her parents absence did not go unnoticed. 

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

“I’ll see you later, I know you guys will probably crash a kegger, but at least come home before you go?” 

“Yeah, yeah, okay, who knows maybe I’ll see you there?” 

Anderson laughs and gets out of the car, he knows his sister won’t especially when Peach will be home. Y/N watches him go into the building and stays a couple minutes to make sure he doesn’t sneak back out when he thinks she’s gone. 

But Y/N barely gets time to breathe, as she’s down to the elementary school to pick up Peach. The girl in all pink is waiting with a gaggle of friends and shrieks when she sees the blue car. 

“Y/N! Y/N! I got the “most improved” in drama!” 

Y/N opens the door and picks up Peach, spinning her round and congratulating her. 

“Well done, bubs. This calls for a celebration, it’s the first day of summer and the boys won’t be out for another couple of hours - what do you want to do?”

Peach doesn’t even need a second to think. 

“Lemonade stand!” 

Huh? Y/N was prepared for an answer closer to maybe a princess party or surfing lessons, but a lemonade stand? 

“Are you sure?” 

“You said we could do whatever I want!” 

“Okay, okay, let’s go then we’ve got a lot to do.” 

Satisfied with getting her way, Peach got in the car and demanded that the next stop was the craft store. 

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

The next 90 minutes were gruelling. Peach spared no expense, Y/N was lucky that she still had the credit card Julie gave her. But she knew it would all be worth it. And it was. 

Peach chose a spot right in the middle of the beach and the stall was already making a profit. Y/N knew kooks just couldn’t resist the temptation to look good and what was better than giving a generous tip to a child’s lemonade stand? 

But with a successful kook-trap came the kook assholes. Namely Rafe, Topper and Kelce. 

“Three lemonades please. Apricot, right?” Rafe said with a smirk. 

“You know it’s Peach asshole.” 

“That’s a bad word, Y/N,” Peach mumbled, clearly upset about being called apricot of all things.

“Yeah that’s a bad word, Miller, you should listen to Apricot a little more.” 

“Maybe, you should listen to your college professors, oh wait, you dropped out, my bad, must be a bit of an open wound judging by the look on your face. I bet daddy wasn’t impressed.” 

“Excuse me, you bitch, how dare you talk to me like that.” 

“Run along, lap dog, we don’t need your money.” 

Rafe goes to say something but Topper and Kelce hold him back. 

“Bro, don’t get it shit with your pops over a fucking lemonade,” Topper warned. 

With a final “fuck off”, Rafe Cameron stalked away to his car, his gang of cowards following, but not without Topper placing a crisp $20 bill in the tip jar. Peach mumbled and thank you and Y/N just nodded to Topper, too tired to say anything more. 

And if her afternoon couldn’t get any worse, the prickly blonde from this morning strolled over to the stand. 

“I’ll have four lemonades please.” 

Peach gasped and accepted his money right away, getting to work on the drinks. 

“I’ve seen many a kook-trap in my time, Miller, but not many operated by Kooks themselves. Impressive ingenuity.” 

“Thanks - JJ, was it? Peach here won “most improved” in her drama class and this is what she wanted to do in celebration” 

“Cute, Miller, didn’t take you as a softy earlier.” 

Peach announces that she’s finished with the pogue’s drinks, he puts another $5 in the tip jar and grabs the drinks. 

“Miller, there’s a kegger at the boneyard tonight, wanna come? I’m sure at least one of your brothers will crash.” 

“Sorry JJ, someone’s gotta look after the little one, maybe another time, if you can stand being around a kook for that long.” 

“I think I can make an exception, especially if they look like you Miller,” he winks, “boneyard tonight, if you change your mind.” 

Y/N blushed, but she knew she couldn’t, she couldn’t leave a nine year old at home, even if Kevin was there, there was no guarantee that Peach would be fed and given adequate attention. 

“He’s pretty, you should go.” 

“Peach, honey, you know I can’t, I can’t leave you at home.” 

“But I could go to Jenny’s, she’s having a sleepover tonight, I forgot to ask earlier, I got too excited about the lemonade stand.” 

“Okay, you can go to Jenny’s, but promise not too much candy?”

“Only if you promise to go with him tonight.” 

Peach was proving to be just as mischievous as her brothers. 

“Okay fine.” 

“Go tell him then.”

“Huh?” 

“I won’t believe you unless you go tell him now that you'll be there!”

 Y/N groans, but gets up to follow the blonde. As she nears, she shouts, 

“Hey JJ! I’ll be there tonight, at the boneyard, I’ll be there.” 

“Didn’t take too long for you to change your mind then, am I just that irresistible?” 

“No? What? Of course not! It’s just Peach - she’s a master manipulator, and she’s only nine!”

“Sure, Miller, if that’s what you want me to believe, I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

Y/N turned, she should cringe, but she finds herself blushing as she walks back to Peach. 

“Don’t say anything, missy, you’ve done enough, let’s pack up and get you ready for Jenny’s. You young ones are such troublemakers, damn.”  

A/N: I am not American, so I hope that the graduation stuff makes sense, from someone who has no real clue what happens there lol  

[haikyuuuuuhypeeeee]

Noise Complaint

Kuroo Tetsuro x Reader (1.2k wc)

Inspired by: Back Against The Wall by Cage the Elephant, Take It or Leave It by Cage the Elephant, Indy Kidz by Cage the Elephant

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending

You know, yeah, you’ve got my back against the wall.

Kuroo Tetsuro cuts the engine to the car and the music ends. In normal circumstances he’d marvel at his timing, pulling into the driveway while the song was ending. It’s as lucky as finding money on the ground or discovering someone had paid for his coffee at the coffee shop.

He’d for sure want to brag to you about it but that would be a bit awkward, seeing how he hurled those same exact words at you just over an hour ago.

Serendipitous, he thinks sourly.

Kuroo sighs and rests his head against the steering wheel. He didn’t mean to shout at you. What started as playful banter spiraled into a shouting match with you yelling at Kuroo and Kuroo…

Well, it was a disaster.

He didn’t mean to say you were always nagging him. He didn’t mean to accuse you of looking for problems that didn’t exist. He didn’t mean to say he felt trapped with you.

But he did. And instead of staying behind to apologize and talk it through like adults Kuroo stormed off. He slammed the front door shut behind him, stomped to his car, wretched that door open and sped away. But not before queuing up his Angry Music Playlist and blaring the music as loud as his speakers could go.

It’s reckless, dangerous and stupid. But it’s cathartic as hell. Kuroo can scream along to the lyrics, feel the anger simmering in his blood and immerse himself in his fury. And while it’s not the safest thing to do in the world to deal with his anger, just sitting in a chair with his headphones popped in doesn’t have the same effect. And he’s can’t blast the music in the house unless he wants to deal with a noise complaint from the neighbors.

So Kuroo drives around and screams his lungs out. And with every song that concludes he feels his anger seep away, like a bag with a small leak. And soon enough, he’ll be depleted of all ill-will. Sometimes it’s a quick jaunt around the block and a max of four songs, like when he gets passive-aggressive emails from his co-workers. Sometimes it’s playing his two-plus hours long playlist on repeat again and again while he drives in circles again and again, similar to when his deadbeat father had the audacity to reach out to you through social media (Kuroo remembers not being able to speak for a week after that debacle, his throat was so sore.)

But today it was only an hour of driving, just under halfway through his playlist. And while all the anger has ebbed away the lingering guilt remained, hot and heavy in his gut. And he knows the only way to get it out is to sit down with you, apologize and have a mature conversation.

Kuroo opens the door to his car, getting out of the vehicle and locking it up. He begins the trek inside, thinking of how he can properly formulate his thoughts when a familiar chorus plays faintly.

Take it or leave it.

He looks up, puzzled. The sound seems to be coming from the house…

Baby please, oh baby please,

Stay with me, or cut me free,

It’s killing me.

That song, from Kuroo’s own Angry Music Playlist, is coming from inside the house…

Oh why, won’t you make up your mind,

I think I must confess,

I’m starting to unwind.

Kuroo opens the front door gingerly, and is met with a blast of sound.

I’ve been tripping over you,

So tell me something new.

Over the racket (that will definitely bring a noise complaint to your and Kuroo’s shared mailbox) Kuroo can you hear singing along to the lyrics.

Well, not so much singing as yelling.

“Take it or leave it!” You round the corner from the kitchen, hip-checking to the beat. Your voice echoes in the genkan, where Kuroo stands enraptured. “Take it or - oh!”

Kuroo watches you flinch in surprise, a hand coming up to your chest. The song ends, leaving behind a ringing silence.

For a few seconds you stare at Kuroo, and he keeps his eyes on you. Besides being enamored by your mini-solo, Kuroo is carefully watching you. You don’t look nearly as mad as you did before he left but it doesn’t ease the guilt he feels.

He opens his mouth to properly apologize, but he’s cut off by the shrill guitar intro on the next song.

“Oh fuck.” Kuroo can barely hear your swear as the music quickly overwhelms and takes control of the house again. You rush back to the living room to presumably stop the music. Kuroo ambles in behind you, his mood lifting slightly. As soon as the music cuts out he chuckles. “You do know that we’e going to get a noise complaint, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You press a few buttons on the sound bar, clicking it off, before turning back around and facing Kuroo. “I’ll deal with it.”

Kuroo hums, taking in your carefully blank face and cautious tone in your voice. You don’t give any indication to how you’re feeling but Kuroo knows you well enough that you could be hiding your true fury and anger with a perfect veneer of aloofness. He opens his mouth again to apologize.

“I’m sorry.” It’s not Kuroo that speaks but you, beating him to the punch. “I think I was feeling a bit more sensitive today, and I know you were just joking. I shouldn’t have freaked out.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Kuroo insists. “I said some stupid shit and I didn’t mean any of it.”

He steps forward and pulls you to his chest. You go eagerly, and Kuroo feels the tension in the room evaporate as a wave of calmness washes over him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask quietly.

“Later,” Kuroo murmurs. Because this may have been a little spat that you’ve both forgiven each other for, but that doesn’t mean that you and Kuroo can’t talk it over. Kuroo loves open communication and he’s grateful that he’s found a partner who is just as eager to share. The argument from earlier stems from a breakdown in that communication, and it needs to be rectified before they can both feel better. But for now all Kuroo wants is to bask in your warmth and recharge.

“‘M sorry about the noise too,” you say, voice muffled by Kuroo’s shirt. “I know who’ll complain, and I’ll just bake them some cookies.”

“Okay, kitten.” Kuroo kisses the top of your head. “Do you want me to help?”

“Last time you tried to help I had to get the fire extinguisher.”

“…….Good point. I’ll leave you to it.” He feels a small huff of air on his chest from your laughter and he smiles. But it soon turns into a smirk as he remembers your choice in music. “Didn’t realize you stole my playlist.”

“It’s a good playlist.” You mumble.

Kuroo can’t help but agree - it’s loud, angry and only meant to be brought when Kuroo (and now you) are really mad. But if it brings you both back together, he won’t hesitate to use it again.

END

A/N: Hands up for everyone who has an Angry Music Playlist 🙋‍♀️ Drop your fav tracks if you want! Thank you for reading! 💖

Taglist: @psycho-nightrose @camcam1617 @kamalymaly @toobsessedsstuff @shookykookie30 @ara-mitsue @meianshugoswife @amarinthe @savantsoulfinder

[seungmoroll]

My Best Friend’s Best Friend | Park Jinyoung

Word count: 2.3k

Genre & warnings: enemies to lovers, slight curse words, 

Requested: yes

A/n: one of the scenes in this was high inspired by Jackie & Kelso from That 70′s show. once you read it, you’ll know. thanks anon for sending in a request! hope everyone likes it!

           Barging into Jaebeom’s apartment, you get ready to complain to him about the horrible day you’ve had, until you see something, more like someone, that just makes your day even worse. Sitting on Jaebeom’s couch, in your specific favorite spot, is someone who you would call the bane of your existence. Not bothering to address him, you turn towards Jaebeom, who just walked out the kitchen, with a glare and ask, “What is he doing here?”

           Before he could respond, Jinyoung butts in, “I,” motioning towards himself, “was invited here, unlike you, who barged in uninvited like a caveman.” Grabbing the sandwich from out of Jaebeom’s hand, you launch it towards Jinyoung. He manages it dodge it, but this causes for Jaebeom to whine, “Y/n, I just made that sandwich!”

           “Oh boohoo, I’ll make you a new one while I tell you about my horrible day.” Dragging Jaebeom back into his catching, making sure that Jinyoung sees the glare you give him. Getting the ingredients to remake Jaebeom’s sandwich, you start to tell him about your day. “You will not believe the audacity that some of these customers have. I had to remake this women’s drink 3 times, only for her to get the manager to make it the exact same way I did those three times, and then she proceeds to tell me that that’s how her drink is supposed to be made and that I should be fired because I don’t know what I’m doing.” Angrily slapping the bread onto the plate, you hazardously spread the condiment on. “Then I had another customer who cut in front of the long line demanding we make their drink first, and when we told them that they would have to get in the back of the line, they threw a tantrum and started trashing the place.”

           “You done ranting?” Jaebeom cautiously asks you ask you throw his meats and vegetables into the sandwich.

           “Oh no that’s just the beginning of it.” While you continue to angrily make his sandwich, you go on to tell him that on your bus ride here, some creepy old man wouldn’t stop bothering you. “He only stopped when I threaten to cut off a certain appendage with my box cutter.”

           “Wow, Y/n,” Jinyoung starts as he steps into the kitchen, “I’ve received plenty of threats from you, but none as harsh as that.”

           Sending Jinyoung another glare, you slide Jaebeom’s new sandwich towards him, and grab the butter knife you used for the spread, and point it towards Jinyoung, “Don’t try me Park.” Jinyoung raises his hands up in surrender.

           Mouth full of his new sandwich, Jaebeom says to you, “C’mon Y/n, I’m sure today’s going to get better for you.”

           You couldn’t believe you were saying this to yourself, but Jaebeom was right. Your day did get better. Bryan, a barista at the local coffee shop you frequent, had called you later on that night and asked you to go out on a date with him to the movies later on that night, and of course you had said yes.

           The two of you had decided to meet up at the movie theatre, so when you had got there, you made sure to keep an eye out for him. However, once it was 10 minutes after the agreed time, you started getting concerned. You had messaged Bryan, but no response was given. You even tried to call him, but all you got was his voicemail. That’s when you realized that you’ve been stood up.

           Sitting down on the sidewalk, you pick up your phone, and call the one person that you know could make you feel better. “Hello?”

           “Jaebeom…”

           “Y/n? Why are you calling me? Why do you sound upset?”

           “He stood me up, Jaebeom,” you sadly admit to him.

           “Wait, what?  He stood you up? I’m going to ki-“

           “Beommie, can you please pick me up? I just want to go home.”

           “Of course, I’ll be there in 15. Please don’t be sad Y/n. Don’t be sad for an idiot, okay? I’ll see you in a bit.”

           Hanging up the phone, you drop your head into your lap, not wanting anyone to see your miserable state. As you wait the for the next 15 minutes to pass by you try to distract your mind by thinking of happy thoughts, but to no avail, nothing could stop you from thinking about this disaster of a night.

           Sensing a car stop in front of you, you look up, expecting to see Jaebeom, but instead you are met with the sight of Jinyoung. Scowling at him once he rolls the passenger window down, you ask him, “What’re you doing here?”

           In a monotonous voice, he responds, “It’s not like I want to be here. Jaebeom asked me to come.”

           Annoyed by his answer, you curse Jaebeom in your head, “Why couldn’t he come and get me like I asked him to?”

           “He was doing something important when you called, and you know he can’t just say no to you, so he had me come in his place.” You begin to curse both boys in your head. Jinyoung because you knew he was right. If you were being honest, you would rather Jaebeom tell you that he couldn’t pick you up rather than deal with Jinyoung while you’re a complete mess, “You know what, you can just go, Park. I’ll just walk home.”

           Jinyoung looks at you as if you are insane, “You aren’t serious Y/n. It’s like an hour walk to your house. Plus, it’s freezing cold. Jaebeom would kill me if I let you walk to your house like this.”

           “Better that than getting in the car with you.”

           Becoming more annoyed by the second, Jinyoung asks you, “Are you serious right now, Y/n? Do you hate me that much that you won’t even get in the car with me?”

           Not bothering to look at him, you say to him, “Uh, yeah, I do.”

           “Get in the car, Y/n.”

           “No, I refuse to get in the car with you.” With that being said, you begin the trek back towards your house. However, unfortunately for you, Jinyoung slowly drives up next to you, window still rolled down, “C’mon Y/n, don’t be like this and just get in the car where it’s warm.”

           There was no way that you were going to get in Jinyoung’s car, “No, Park. Just go away.”

           “You know I’m not going to do that.”

           “And you know that I’m not getting in your car with you.”

           “Fine then, be that way, but just so you know, I’m gonna drive right next to you all night until you beg me to let you in or until you make it home, and I doubt you’ll do the latter.”

           You couldn’t understand why Jinyoung wouldn’t leave you alone. His presence alone, made you feel even worse about yourself. “You can do whatever you want, Jinyoung. I don’t care.”

           15 minutes into your walk and you’re already tired, and Jinyoung is still driving next to you. “You know what? I’ve had enough of this,” Jinyoung says aloud. Rolling up his window, he begins to drive away from you. Hot tears begin to roll down your face as you watch as his car drives further away from you. However, you don’t expect to see the brake lights on, and then for Jinyoung to put the car in park and get out of his car. Angrily stomping up to you, without saying a word, he throws you over his shoulder. Attacking his back with your fists, you yell at him, “Yah, Park! What the hell do you think you’re doing!”

           “I’m not letting Jaebeom get mad at me that’s what I’m doing.”

           “I swear if you don’t put me down-“

           “Then you can swear all you want, I don’t care. I’m getting you in my car and I’m going to drive you home so I can go back to my home and relax.” Too tired to even fight back with Jinyoung, you let him carry you to his car.

           When he places you into the passenger seat, he attempts to buckle up your seat belt, but you being you, you smack his hand off of it and buckle it yourself. Once Jinyoung gets back into the driver seat he silently starts to drive.

           Neither of you say a word to each other for the first ten minutes of the drive. Annoyed by the silence in the car, you turn on the radio to cover up your sniffles. However, before the chorus of the song hits, Jinyoung turns off the radio. Glaring at him, you turn it back on, only for him to turn it off again. Gritting your teeth, you ask him, “What is your deal?”

           “My car, my music, and right now, I don’t want music.”

           “Yeah? Well, your breathing is too loud for me and it’s annoying, so the music stays on.”

           “Why do you hate me so much?” Jinyoung asks as soon as he pulls over on the side of the road.

           Not bothering to answer his question, you ask him, “I thought you were taking me home, this isn’t home.”

           Having enough of your attitude, he says, “Just answer my question Y/n.”

           Sighing, you uncross your arms and turn to face him, “I don’t hate you.”

           Rolling his eyes, Jinyoung chuckles at you statement, “That’s a load of crap. Every time you see me, you look at me in disgust, like I spat in your coffee or something.”

           “That’s not true.” The look that Jinyoung tells you otherwise. “It’s not like that. I-“ Taking a moment to collect your thoughts, you continue, “I act like that towards you because, because you took my best friend away from me.”

           “What’re you talking about?”

           “I’m talking about Jaebeom. You stole him from me. I was his best friend first, but then you came into the picture and had to ruin everything. We never get to hang out as much as we did before because every time I ask if he wants to hang out, he’s already hanging out with you. I feel like I don’t know him anymore. And I know it sounds like I’m his girlfriend or something, but if you’re thinking that I’m in love with him, that’s not it. It’s just that we’ve been each other’s day one since we were babies, and now I feel like I’ve been replaced by you. Now will you please get back to driving me home so I can cry in the comfort of my bed Park?” Turning away from him, you face your body towards the car door, not wanting to see the look on his face.

           All Jinyoung can do is stare at you in disbelief. Quietly, he puts the car back into drive, and starts driving again. Along the drive back, Jinyoung turns on the radio, and lets the music fill up the car.

           Once the two of you reach your apartment complex, Jinyoung shuts off his car. You make a quick attempt to leave the car, but Jinyoung speak up before you can open the door.  “I didn’t know that was how you felt. I want you to know that it was never my intention to “take” Jaebeom away from you. It’s just that- it’s just that he was the first real friend I made when I moved here, and I didn’t realize that I could have possibly hurt you. I’m sorry Y/n.”

           “You think I don’t know that? Don’t you think I feel bad for hating you for such a stupid reason? I know it’s childish of me, but I just can’t help it. I don’t like the thought of losing my best friend.”

           “You’re not losing him Y/n. You don’t know this, but every time me and Jaebeom hangout, he always talks about you. Yeah, at first I found it annoying, but then eventually it made me want to get to know you.” Jinyoung’s confession surprises you. You didn’t know any of that information, and it made you feel even more worse than you felt before.

           Hitting your head on Jinyoung’s car, you say aloud, “Great, now I seem like an even worse person for being such a bitch to you.”

           Eyes softening at your figure, Jinyoung catches you attention again, “Let’s start over and forget about everything that’s happened before this,” Stretching a hand towards you, Jinyoung says, “My name’s Jinyoung, it’s nice to meet you.”

           Taking his hand into yours, you give him a genuine smile, “Y/n.”

           6 months later.

           “Really? On my couch?”” Jaebeom asks as soon as he walks into his apartment.

           Pulling your attention away from what was keeping you busy, you throw a pillow from the couch at Jaebeom. “Will you stop throwing my stuff at me?”

           “Not until you stop being you.” You attempt to focus on your task before you were rudely interrupted, but Jaebeom interrupts you again.

           “Did you at least bring me lunch?”

           “It’s in the kitchen, you doofus, now will you let me get back to making out with Y/n.” Jinyoung says in an irritated tone. Before he could kiss you again, Jaebeom says, “You know, when I said I wanted you guys to be civil, I didn’t mean like this. At this point, I’d rather have you guys trying to kill each other.”

           After that disaster of a night at the movie theatre, you and Jinyoing had begun to get along with one another, which Jaebeom had found weird at first, but was happy to see his two favorite people getting along with one another. However, much to his dismay, the two of you began to get too close, resulting in Jinyoung asking you out on a date, and the rest is history. So now, here the two of you are, making out on Jaebeom’s couch, well the two of you were making out.

           “It’s too late for that now Beommie, it’s now become our job to annoy you with our love,” you say to Jaebeom, sticking out your tongue at him.

           “Wow, I find it so hot when you annoy Jaebeom.” Giving you a peck on the lips, the two of you hear Jaebeom retching in the kitchen, causing for the two of you to bust out in laughter.

A/n: im finally done with the semester, so I am now able to finish up all my requests and then I'll be starting a new series. also don't be afraid to tell me what you thought about this, feedback is always welcomed!

masterlist

[sly-merlin]

be my shield | j.suh

Rainodanna requested : Simmiiiiiiii~ how about mafia Johnny coming home covered in blood and you have to patch him up 👀

Words : 1k

Warning : mention of blood

Genre : mafia, worrisome fluff?

Maybe poorly written bcs it's 4a.m and my brain makes mistakes and i couldn't find a beta reader

   

20:45

Bouncing on the tunes of your favourite music, you entered your sweet home, letting the emptiness greet you. You stopped abruptly in the hallway to jiggle your hip to the chorus and whilst giggling at yourself, danced your way to the kitchen. Tossing the large grocery bag on the counter and going through the ingredients, you decided to cook something nice for your fiance as a surprise.

 Johnny, your not so conventional lover, was addicted to many foul habits and the most distasteful for you was him going missing in action for days. Of course the others weren't bearable either but when you fail to ignore something, you somehow manage to live with it. When even after knowing Johnny's job you couldn't unlearn to love him, you decided to gulp down the tainted reality that embraced him. The day you came back to his house was the very day he had vowed to make sure you'd never see the darker side of the moon that he operated in. To minimise your involvement with the black neos, he met you only on certain days and today was one of those special occassions and the exact reason of your shopping spree. Earlier in the morning, he had called you through the symbian phone, confirming his attendance for the whole upcoming week. Hence, you were standing in the kitchen, ready to cook a late night dinner.

Just one more song, you told yourself before turning around with the jute bag to stack the surplus. When you finally unplugged the earphones, you unconsciously expected to be met with the silence that surrounded the premises whenever you were alone but instead uneven grunts startled you. Stumbling upon your feet, you tried to follow the painful voice, praying that your eyes would not meet the scene your mind had conjoured right after hearing the voice. Finding the bedroom void of any existence, you took careful steps towards the connected bathroom and a loud gasp escaped your lips as your gaze fell on the bloodied handle. With no intention of touching it, you pushed the already ajar door with your elbow only to face the dread itself. By the bathtub laid Johnny's limp figure, shirt torn apart showing the severely injured abdomen. You were quick in your steps as you approached him and snatched the rubbing alcohol from his hands with which he was trying to fix himself. Trying!

"Jo-john wha-how did this happen!" You stuttered in worry laced voice. Upon mere physical examination, anyone could say that the now stiffening cut was caused hours ago and that only meant that johnny had resisted against the medics for help. It wasn't your first time seeing him in the excruciating pain but like everytime, watching him damaged didn't hurt any less.

He winced at the pressure of the liquid against the wound and his trembling hand caught yours before you could clean it further. That's when you noticed the stream of tears ruining his face and his pain opened the route of yours too. 

"Please let m-me do it." Squeezing his hand reassuringly, you started patching him up. Whenever he cried in anguish, you shushed him with soothing words. With blurred vision and almost forty minutes of labour, you managed to stitch the knife cut. You helped him out of his reddened clothes and slowly assisted him to carry himself to the bed for the much needed rest. Infinite questions ran through your head but you decided to save the confrontation for some later hour when he would be in actual position to answer.

**

"It's sour! I don't want to eat this!" 

"Baby are you getting a fever?" You questioned, palming his forehead for the taste of the soup, a few minutes ago, was very much sweeter. He wasn't warm but still looked exhausted. 

Johnny was more than what could be described as strong but he was a mere human in the end and it didn't happen very frequently that the great johnny suh could be caught crying like a baby.

"No y/n. I'm alright. It was left open for too long maybe that's why it was hurting too much or maybe i was just being dramatic" he choked out a painful chuckle, wimpering slightly at the stress it caused on his lower body. 

"Where was your bulletproof jacket johnny? You are supposed to wear it. It's given to you for a very specific re-

"Hey. I'm fine now. Besides it was meant to be just a simple pistol exchange! Who knew they were not the giving types." 

 your eyes remained transfixed on his troubling expressions. He was clearly not fine and you couldn't point out what was more painful, him acting strong for you or him trying to divert his eyes so you won't read the truth from his face. 

"What about xiaojun and renjun? Why didn't you go to them? They are the medics John. And how did you even reach her-

Inching forward, he cut your word supply by covering your lips with his hand, leaving you perplexed.

"They were behind me so i dodged them and waited out for the sun to get down so i won't be followed back home " he explained as his fingers brushed your lips to cup your cheek. Leaning your face against it, you kissed his palm, showing your unwavering concern. He knew there was no way he could stop you from worrying and the least he could do was make sure you were convinced. 

"Come here" he said, squeezing your jaw. You crawled over his legs to reach the left side so your touch won't put a strain on the injury. Once settled and tucked under the covers, he let out a content sigh, relishing the much needed company. 

"Promise me next time you won't go out without backup and would be more careful." You requested warmly, snuggling little more into his neck. He softly kissed your hair in return and tugged you closer like it was even possible.

"Yeah. I've to" he mumbled, knowing he didn't need more words to explain what he really meant.

I have to because that's the only way i can shield you.

[dustedmagazine]

Carl Stone — Gall Tones (Unseen Worlds)

Gall Tones by Carl Stone

Landing in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Hospital hospital for one week in 2021 with complications from a gall stone attack, composer, bon vivant and all-round sampling wizard Carl Stone spent his time in bed productively, seeking respite from the boredom (and, one assumes, the discomfort) of his recuperation. Of the five relatively brief tracks on Gall Tones — and the title practically demands from the listener, How dare you Carl? What gall! — four were composed in bed on a laptop he had a friend smuggle into his hospital room.

Aside from the out-of-the-ordinary circumstances surrounding this release, the music itself defies expectations, with the idea of a gall stone hospital stay perhaps suggesting music of a more tortured, moribund nature. Instead, Stone brings us five tracks that would  burn a hole through any dance floor. The sheer volcanic exuberance of these pieces couldn't be further removed from the notion of hospital confinement.

Stone's modus operandi revolves around a rather intricate process of splicing and cutting and generally just sending his sonic material through a succession of chaotic blending procedures that might leave one more than just a bit disoriented after listening. Not far removed from the work of DJ Screw, though perhaps mirroring a different motivator of choice than codeine (in Stone's case, one assumes ample supplies of coffee), the music often reaches a fever pitch intensity of psychedelic proportions. Growing up in Los Angeles during the 1960's, one might wonder if Stone has transposed the synesthetic spirit of that age to the conflagration of data we live in today.

The music's common denominator lies in Stone's audacious sense of humor and fearlessness in the face of kitsch and refuse pop culture, which he gleefully harvests to give each track a readily definable atmosphere. The opening piece, Sumiya, would not sound out of place at a Goa rave, though the rhythms keep shifting ever-so-slightly out of sync and would easily send this dance party into a precipitous meltdown. Mouram follows and throws us into a kind of remix of Okinawan folk music, powered along by what sounds like some gnarly square wave clarinets or the cheesiest distorted midi guitar riff one could imagine. Tokiwarai conjures up images of The Sir Douglas Quintet caught between dimensions at some party where their drinks have been spiked with LSD and methamphetamine. Fanfare trumpets, decimated vocals and a down-tempo beat define Vatanim — court music for the king of a shopping mall somewhere out on the nether reaches of Tokyo's suburban sprawl. And finally, Tou Tou closes out the set with a deeply reconceived look at what could be construed as Norteño but which, naturally, in Carl Stone's hands devolves into this hyperventilating cascade of guitar, Farfisa organ, sloppy drumming and a final chorus which might be mistaken as a nod to La Bamba, but perhaps it's best not to go down that road. This is the kind of music we might expect to hear as soundtrack to a Philip K. Dick novel, utterly defying space, time or any dog-eared notions of propriety. And it will definitely put a smile on your face and make you grateful for Carl Stone's gall stones.

Jason Kahn

[ryuu-to-sobakasu-hime]

Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime (Belle) Novel | English Translation | Chapter 3

**This is a machine translation. I put it together by extracting text page-by-page from a .pdf version of the Japanese novel, and running it through Google translate. I have only minorly edited some of the more confusing lines to make it more read-able. It is still a very rough translation, but it’s good enough to understand what’s going on. If there is anyone out there who wants to properly translate the novel, I am more than happy to edit it, if you’ll contact me.**

———————————————

Chapter 3: Memory

"Mother."

"What is it, Suzu?"

When I called, my mother turned around and replied.

Eleven years ago. The house was still new. There was no garage yet, and potted flowers were lined up all over the garden. "Do not cut my hair."

I told her that and ran down the slope in front of my house. Mom walked down the stairs opposite her, resting her hand on her waist and waiting. I ran away in the opposite direction, bouncing, saying that I would never let my hair be cut. But I was taken back without a hitch. She was seated on a bench in the garden and dressed in a haircut cape. “I’m going to make you look cute, Suzu.” After cutting my hair, I don't like the tingling of my hair. She shook her legs and sharpened her lips. But when she held the scissors without hesitation, she cut my hair all at once. "Because you’re going to be an elementary school student," I hope the hair on both sides doesn't stick to my shoulders. The bangs were far above the eyebrows. Even when I went to school, my neck was tingling for a while.

I played a lot with my mother. I took a sumo wrestling on the lawn of the riverbed in the evening. I pushed her by force and my mother rolled on the grass. I won, I laughed happily. Mother also laughed. I asked why? Won’t she cry if she loses? Mom shook her head. “I'm glad that the weak Suzu has become stronger.” Dad was laughing while lying on the grass. My mother often made salted seared meat. She lightly sprinkles salt and roasts the bonito stabbed on a gold skewer from her lenticel over an open flame on the stove. I was staring from the top of the chair. Since the fat drips, the microwave oven will not get dirty if you bake it while sucking it with cooking paper. When it gets burnt, dip it in ice water to cool it, and then drain it. It was a style. So as a kid, I had a hard time holding a thick piece of salted meat with chopsticks, and I had a hard time putting it in my mouth. Mom was waiting for dad's return, holding a mug and watching my struggle.

My dad was a salaryman at that time, and he wore a tie and went out to the city every day. Perhaps because of that, we had some money in our house in the old days. Mother bought a state-of-the-art smartphone at the time. I decided to try out the performance of the on-board camera, and on dad's lap, I pointed my smartphone at my mom. I asked dad to help put mom in the frame and pressed the shutter. She is dressed in white.

The smiling mother, she was beautiful. The photo of her was printed on paper and is still at the house. I was a cheerful child running around, unlike now. I definitely liked playing outside rather than inside the house. If there were trees, I climbed, if there were leaves, I tore them, and if there were insects, I chased them. But it didn't burn in the sun. I must have been such a constitution. Instead, my face is freckled.

I was often injured. My knee was also full of scratches. In the woods, on the riverbed, on the slope in front of my house, I often stumbled and fell. My mother ran up in a hurry and she hugged me tightly, crying in pain. Mysteriously, it hurts somewhere. That's when I was happy. I don't know how many times I fell because I ran around vigorously and wanted mother to hug me. Every time mother rushed in as if it was a big deal for her daughter and worried. Every day was like summer vacation. I clung to mother doing the laundry and cleaning and played. After lunch, she opened the tatami mat, laid a summer futon on the tatami mats, and we took a nap together. The smoke of the mosquito coil was rising slowly. When I woke up, most of the time, I couldn't see my mother sleeping next to me, and she was busy doing housework. In retrospect, she never been told me that she is busy. She was always with me when I asked for it. Since my house was in the mountains, I rarely went out to eat somewhere, and instead my mother cooked any kind of food. One day she saw it in a picture book, and she said she wanted to eat yakitori. She had never eaten it before. My mother made yakitori by sticking chicken on skewers one by one. For the first time in my life, I saw yakitori with the naked eye. I didn't know how to eat it, so I couldn't do well by chewing the meat and removing it from the skewers. Dad and mom were staring at me. Never missing what her daughter experiences for the first time in her life. The place where we, who live in the mountains, go out to play is not an amusement park or a shopping mall, but a campsite further in the mountains from our house.

On a sunny summer day, my mom and I wore a wide-brimmed hat and crossed the subsidence bridge. Dad was carrying a lot of camping equipment. The water crystal pool in the depths of the Yasui Valley was a breathtaking blue color even for us living in the area. The water is so transparent that you can clearly see your shadow on the bottom of the river. I feel a little scared as if I were floating in the air. My mother was an advanced swimmer. She boasted that her mother, who was once a local kid, swam like a kappa every day in the summer. She knew all about the fun of the river. At the same time, she never let her swim in dangerous places on dangerous days. Mom wraps around me, floating. She dived into the water to show her off her skills. Still picked up by her, I became anxious and called out. “Mom, don't go.” But mom, she swam in the blue water, as if she couldn't hear me.

One evening, I was playing with my mother's smartphone and saw a strange app. I put it on. When you launch the app, you'll see white and black horizontal stripes lined up. I pointed to what this was and asked my dad who was next to me. Dad looked it and twisted his neck, calling mother, who was preparing dinner. After dinner, mother's hand fixed the smartphone I was holding vertically. I laid it down and found it to be a piano keyboard. As prompted, I pressed one of the keys. There was a "do" sound. I looked at my mother's face. My mother also saw my face, saying that she had come out. It's mom’s music production app. Only then did I look around my mother's room and notice. Old records, cassette tapes, and CDs are lined up on the shelves to the end. And if you set them on a record player or cassette deck and pass them through an amplifier, music will be played from the left and right speakers. The collection was a brilliant one that accurately captured the main points of the history of classical, jazz and rock. I didn’t know at the time, the value and meaning of such a lineup being packed in a room at the end of the world.

In that room, I pressed the keys of the app one after another and recorded. When played, each sound sounds in the order in which they are arranged. Even if you enter an insane scale, it will play back in a lawful manner. I was so happy that I bounced on my chair. My mother was laughing too. Warm incandescent light was illuminating us. After that, I was crazy about this app. I had my mother lend me a smartphone and I was playing around with it day, night and morning. The operation was intuitive and easy to use. There were words that I couldn’t read because it wasn’t a children's app. And there were many functions I didn't understand. But I was absorbed in that kind of thing. I was completely absorbed in the exciting new experience of writing songs. I composed a number of songs and previewed them in front of my mother. The mother who finished listening gave me advice in short words each time. If you do xxx, it will be better, or the trick is to do xxx. She sometimes took out some of the records in the collection and listened to them for reference. My mother is neither a musician nor a composer.

I think each piece of advice is accurate even if I look back on it now. Over and over again, she listened to my melody, and she said she noticed something, and she sang herself to make sure it was. When I asked, she said it wasn't bad. She said she was smirking at me as she said. I put the sound in a place that I wouldn't normally put it. I'm sure this song was a failure, and all the work I've done so far will be ruined. But as it gradually takes shape, it seems strangely cohesive, she said. I felt as happy as I wanted to. I'm sure it's my parents' favor, but even if my mother added, I was happy. For me, I'm not making it with the intention of letting someone else listen to it. It would have been nice if only my mother could listen to it. My mother sings along with the song I typed in. Take the tempo with her right hand and sing gently. The voice of mother, who was also a member of the chorus made by her friends, echoed and was transparent.

She listened to my weird songs many times. I was happy and sang along with it. Anyway, it’s a song that is as nice as my mother.

I couldn't. Happy memories of me and mother suddenly end here. And that August has come. After this, all I have is a painful, painful memory. The voice of a little girl crying and crying echoed in the riverbank. A girl was left alone on a sandbar. Is she 4 or 5 years old? She looked smaller than I was. It was so sunny just a while ago, but I noticed it wasn't a blue sky, and it was covered with overcast clouds. The beautiful and calm river was cloudy, flooded, driftwood-filled, and surprisingly fast. I can imagine that it is raining heavily upstream. Before this happened, there were people happily making noise on the opposite bank when the flow was still transparent. They are now staring at the girl on this shore. She wore colorful outdoor clothing that made it easy to see that she probably came from the city, not a local. The girls' clothes were also bright colors that I had never seen. Why did people from the city overlook the girls' flashy colored clothes? Why did she forget her existence and she came back to this shore? What to do with friends, their families, and those who enjoyed fishing and canoeing on the riverbanks.

It seemed that she couldn't do anything, and she had no choice but to stand and look like a stick. It's no wonder you're standing. The violent flow of the river separated the girl from the people. Everyone realized that it couldn't be helped. One of the adults was talking to someone on his cell phone. However, everyone can see that where the girl is, is gradually narrowing. Everyone is aware that it is very unlikely that the rescue team will arrive in time. Therefore, I have no choice but to stand up without being able to do anything. Is it just listening to the girl's crying as it is? At that time, someone picked up the red life jacket beside the canoe.

I went forward while staring at the girl. She was a mother. Mommy, and I hurriedly clung to the hem of her mother's clothes. She realized that what her mother was trying to do was too dangerous. She wouldn't have been anxious. She screamed and pulled hard, trying not to let her go. Mom crouched down and squeezed my hand, and she told me something. At that time I can't remember what mother said. Maybe I was screaming and not ready to hear the words. Mom stood up to shake off my chasing and ran, locking the buckle on her life jacket. I fell down on a stone in the riverbank trying to chase her. Still, I got up and shouted at mother's back. Don't go. I think mom didn’t hear my words. While checking the girl's whereabouts, I went around the river, went into the water, and got in the stream to help. It started to rain.

How long has it passed since then? Suddenly the surroundings became noisy. The girl was rescued from the river. Adults are pulling the soaked and tired girl out of the river. I was staring at while getting wet in the rain. People running up. A mixture of joyful voices and crying voices. Are you okay? Open your eyes. I'm glad I was saved ... The girl was wearing the same red life jacket that her mother wore. At that moment, I understood at once what was happening. Mom isn’t here.

"Mother ..... Mother .....!"

I looked left and right, searching for her.

Not anywhere.

"Mother ...!"

In the distance, I heard an ambulance siren. The girl was wrapped in a blanket.

Carried by many adults, she leaves the riverbank. Everyone is crazy about it and realizes that my mom isn't there.

She isn't.

"Mom!" Only I raised my voice and kept calling. Many times. Many times. Many times. I don't remember much after that. When I heard that my mother was found all the way down the river, it seemed like a lie. It wasn't long before I realized that the mug that mother was using was missing. Dad put a picture of mother, which he took someday, in a picture frame and put it in a corner of the kitchen. He had to add flowers every day next to it. Neighbors bothered to talk to me every time I met them on the road, listened to me in a friendly way, and encouraged me with tears. Meanwhile, the Internet was flooded with anonymous posts about the accident.

"It's a suicide act to jump into a river flooded by rain"

"It seems that she was confident in swimming, but it's different from the pool."

《It is irresponsible for my child to help someone else's child and die》

《If there is an accident, playing in the river will be a nuisance and annoying》

《Because helping people is a good person, this is what happens》

The person who wrote it probably didn't know anything about the actual situation, and the day after he wrote it, he probably forgot what he wrote. However, the person who wrote it keeps sticking in my chest forever. Immediately after the accident, an acquaintance told me with resentment that it was terrible when I saw this. In front of these words, I was too young to understand all the meanings. However, as I grew up and became able to understand the meaning of the words accurately, I continued to suffer from the unconscious malice contained in them. Losing mother.

How should I pass on these writings as a bereaved family, even though I still can't accept them, as if the mother who helped me was all bad?

Aside from me, my mother just smiled in the picture frame in the kitchen. From that accident, I think something has changed decisively from what I used to be. One evening, in mother's room, where dust began to build up, I stood on her chair, hoping to return to her happy memories. And I sang the song I sang with mother. But when I started singing, I realized I couldn't sing at all. My voice became stuck in the back of my throat and couldn't get out of my mouth. I was confused. Something in my heart was suppressing me from singing. Why can't I sing? Tears came out.

Hey mom. Why can't I sing?

It was clear that the reason why singing was so fun and necessary was because my mother listened to it.

However, just because you can't sing... You don't have to worry about anything. Even if you can't sing, no one will blame you. Life just goes on. I went to a local junior high school. The jumper skirt uniform was stuffy. Many of the elementary school classmates went to the town as they went on to school, and there were not half of the students remaining in the local area, so even in junior high school, it became a compound class. Therefore, the chorus practice was accompanied by the vice-principal teacher, and it was decided to sing in all grades. There were three people in all grades. Because there were only three people, I quickly realized that I was just lip-synching without singing. I was asked why I didn't sing, but I didn't say anything. I thought they would get angry, but they didn't get angry. It means that only I can visit from the next practice.

I sat alone in a corner of the music class and watched everyone practice. I may have looked like a lethargic girl who was just silent. But inside that, there are things that can't be translated into words.

I think it was swirling. When I left school and returned home, I irresistibly entered mother's room in the twilight. The twilight light was shining through the window. Cardboard boxes containing tableware and seasonal home appliances that are no longer in use are piled up on the table. It was completely turned into a storeroom. It's been many years since then. It has passed. I listened to the large number of records there, one by one from the edge of the shelf. Days, days, days. By listening earnestly, I managed to calm my rough feelings. But one day, there was a moment when I thought I couldn't bear it anymore. Upon returning, I entered my mother's room, sat down in front of the keyboard, quickly opened the report sheet, and began to write fiercely with a pen to spit out the incomprehensible feelings in my chest. I was almost suffocating if I didn't spit it out. I turned over the paper and continued to write forever. -Why did mother leave me in the river? Why did she choose to help the child who she didn't even know her name rather than live with me? Why am I alone? Why, why, why – I added paper, supplemented with post-it notes, and wrote long, long lyrics. The scale that springs up is notated long and long. Those that were neither were spit out as pictures. It was a swirl of many kinds. It was like a whirlpool floating on the surface, like a black hole that swallowed everything, and like a hole in the top of my head. The floor of the room was filled with pieces of paper with a mixture of lyrics, pictures and sheet music. But suddenly..... I returned to myself and stopped writing. Right now, I've noticed the worthlessness, meaninglessness, ugliness, and helplessness of the words, pictures, and scales I wrote.

What are you doing? I broke the paper. Everything I've written so far.

I threw it in the trash can without hesitation. The bundle of paper looked like a vomit that I had just spit out. Then I became a high school student.

I finally found myself worthless. The uniform tie was stuffy. I crossed the subsidence bridge while looking down and went to school. I took an exam and passed the exam at a junior and senior high school in the center of the city, and transferred from high school. There, I met my childhood friend Shinobu-kun again.

"Shizu.."

"Shinobu-kun ..."

Now that I was in high school, Shinobu-kun looked tall and shining, all different. On the other hand, I didn't seem to have grown at all since then, and I was irresistibly embarrassed and couldn't even talk. What have I been doing so far? I started a new life going to the city from the mountains, but I couldn't get into studying. Even though I had a hard time taking the exam, I just looked out the window during class. Knowing that this shouldn't be the case. Club activities didn't go anywhere. There were very few such students. On the way home, you can see the students devoting themselves to club activities. The track and field club is jumping the training hurdle in a line in the courtyard. The volleyball club is running on the ground. A percussionist in the brass band with a metronome in his ear is striking a stick in the hallway. The Naginata club sits upright in the martial arts hall with a good posture, and thank you for your cooperation, saying before the practice. The first-year students of the baseball club, who have not yet been numbered, stand side by side and watch as if they are digging into the practice of their seniors. I didn't belong anywhere, so I left school quickly. It was already winter. There is a river called Kagami River that flows from east to west in the center of the city. Since the flow is often gentle, the TV tower and buildings on the opposite bank are reflected like a mirror. When I returned to the station through the road beside it, the girls of the light music club carrying the "Chahahaha" musical instrument case overtook me with a light step while laughing. A cute cat-shaped stuffed animal attached to the school bag is shaking. Attached to my school bag was a cheesy plastic plate of "Gutto Koremaru". "Gutto Koremaru" is an egg-shaped character who can poke his hand against the wall and endure the pain. I have a crack in my head, probably because I endured it too much. Of course, it's not cute.

In a dark and narrow corridor.

I resisted, "I can't do it! Hey!", But I was pulled into the room, saying "OK." The soundproof door slammed behind me. Shinboku "Ah!" There was a flashy room in a karaoke box, and the pink and purple lights were spinning mysteriously. It smells of incense. Only for girls in the class.

I heard that it was a social gathering, but when I saw the frenzy of the girls standing on the sofa and shaking their heads, I thought that I could not get into this tension very much.

"Peggie Sue is cute"

"This is the one that is popular in" U ", isn't it?" On the monitor screen on the wall, the popular Az of "U", Peggy Sue, was seen singing in a black rubber dress. Purple lipstick that shakes silver hair. An eccentric beauty with red eyes. Peggy Sue? "U"? Az? Is it popular? I don't know anything. It's like an event in a different world from me. Then, Hitomi suddenly offered a microphone, "Yes." Sing, and so on. "Huh?" Puzzled. Neither the coat nor the muffler is taken off. But "yes" the microphone was pointed again. Why for a child like me who is at the end of a class?

"Sing together?"

"Hey, sing."

The shadows of the girls press the microphones. What do you mean?

"Are you not going to sing alone?"

"Isn't it a lie that you can't sing?"

I see, so it’s this situation.

Dozens of microphones are forced against my face one after another. "Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu"

"Sing"

"Hey, sing?"

"Sing"

Those voices sound like a threat.

"You're telling me to sing."

"Sing!"

"Sing!"

Ahh!

Immediately, the microphone popped off and fell to the floor.

The girls dancing on the sofa suddenly saw me. It's calming down as if I was taken aback.

"What happened? Suzu-chan"

The mic and the shadows of the girls disappeared like a phantom.

"No, nothing. I'm sorry. Hey ..."

Without saying anything, I pushed the door of the karaoke box open by force and went out like crawling. Someone might have heard and told everyone that I couldn't sing.

When I got off the bus, powder snow was flying. I almost slipped down the slope from the bus stop. Even in Kochi, it usually snows in the mountains, aside from the city. When I crossed the subsidence bridge, I heard a crackling sound of thin ice. The surface of the concrete bridge is frozen.

Cold. It's not dexterous enough to get used to everyone, and it's not divisible. On the other hand, I’m not strong enough to be alone, not prepared, and have no idea.

I don't do anything selfish. Rumors that you can't sing, that's a lie. I'm just not confident in myself for a while. I want to get along with everyone. Really. I know. Of course I know. So "Ah ... Ah ..."

In the middle of the bridge, I impulsively exhaled my voice.

"Ah ... ah ... ah ah"

As I breathed in, cold air sank into my throat. Still, I sang towards the river. "Ah..”

Did I sing? It didn't match a song. It's just a growl. The bag slipped off my shoulder. Will you forgive me if I sing? Can I get along with everyone if I sing? It doesn't help to sing alone in such a place. It's like a scream of a dead end before being crushed. Still, I sang that song with my mother with a squeezed voice. I was happy back then. It's different now. Powder snow was swirling in the flow of the river. Suddenly, in front of me it became pitch black. Nausea swelled from the back of my stomach, and I held my mouth with both hands.

"Uuuuu!"

I crouched on my knees. However, I couldn't stand the momentum of the backflowing gastric juice. I pushed my body forward and vomited towards the clear stream under the bridge. The vomit that was about to kneel and vomit fell to the surface of the water, creating a number of ripples. I spit out everything in my stomach and fell on the bridge. My hair is messed up and my mouth is smeared with gastric juice and smells. It's already spicy. I want to get rid of everything. Shivering and crying as if groaning. Drops of tears ooze on my cold cheeks and tingle. I wish I were gone.

I could hear the slight sound of powder snow folding and piled up right next to me. A notification came to the smartphone that slipped off my bag. It was a message from Hiro-chan.

<< Look at this, Suzu. It’s so amazing that I’m seriously laughing. >>

There is a link to somewhere.

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

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Dcx2NedPVBEdbfQaU-WC0pJMRmn20ASn7HSC0KY9R7E/edit?usp=sharing ~ Google Doc of the English-translated novel.

ryuutosobakasuhime.wordpress.com ~ English fan-site for Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime where translations, scans, and other content is posted.

[savemefrommysolitude]

Mischief movie night recap - 29 August 2021 9pm at Regent’s Park theatre

Spoilers below (obviously)

Paranormal ARGHtivity

Set on the SMS message.

Which then Jon accidentally calls the MSN messenger.

Opens with a song about swabbing the deck which keeps coming back as a motif but less coherent each time.

Josh as captain weathered, and a singing otter

Lauren as Janine efficient

Mike as a man with a broom

Harry as a man that walks in a circle

Sue as a crewmate who takes over captaining the boat

Sue to Josh “I feel like you’re the only sane man on this boat”

Nancy and Lauren get carried to the front of the stage, Jon then rewinds and plays again in slow motion.

A Disney musical number by Lauren and Nancy, featuring a ghost animal chorus. Jon then forces josh the “otter” to have a verse and he just sort of makes mighty throat reminiscent shouts.

Lauren accidentally making about ten innuendos coming on to Sue

Captain josh goes to the spa to relax and Nancy wraps him in seaweed and rubs his genitals?

Harry just appears half way through the movie, walks in a circle and leaves. This happens about 4 times and that was his entire character.

Sue and Lauren do a very impressive mirror copying scene. Hen lewis runs on and no one comes on as his reflection so he screams that he’s a vampire and runs off.

They then threaten to sword fight for control of the shop but end up doing a little jig instead?

Sue threatens to throw herself overboard and NO ONE tries to intervene, “don’t try to stop me loyal crew!”. Jon has to rewind.

Nancy then saves sue and pulls her into the titanic pose. Yshani starts playing my heart will go on with Lauren singing and the boys join as back up miming violins. Jon calls out Harry for looking more like he’s reading a newspaper.

Josh goes limp and Nancy drags him off stage. They both end up on the floor.

There’s a whole feminist vibe going on and josh suggests he should be a woman to be a good captain and mimes like he’s going to cut his penis off?

Missed how it happened but Lauren clinging on to Nancy’s boobs and Jon pauses to shout at them. Lauren kisses Nancy.

Sue “I can hear the mermaids singing” and then the cast get all the audience to be the mermaids and have a little singalong.

Also I forgot half the context but Lauren doing a female empowerment salute but it accidentally looked like a rude gesture. Sue is dying laughing and lauren realises what happened and repeats the rude gesture several times and more aggressively each time.

The show seems to end on the song and then jon calls it out for having 4 minutes left and it needs to continue.

Nancy and Lauren get married with “female priest Harry” who does a fake hair flick, gets called out for being offensive and then walks off to be replaced by sue.

After the vows Lauren and Nancy make more inappropriate gestures. Family friendly did not arrive tonight.

If anyone was there and remembers anything else please add!!

[margoslxix]

Incoming mini-essay/rant on Little Shop of Horrors because I can't stop thinking about the movie and the musical and the different endings and all of that. I'm on mobile, or I'd put it under a cut.

Anyway, I keep thinking about how the ending of the musical was also originally the ending of the movie, and the fact that test audiences hated it, they were upset and felt cheated by it. And most people either basically chalk it up to "people who watch movies are too unsophisticated to appreciate unhappy endings" which... ugh, no; OR the more widely-accepted theory, "this isn't a play, so there's no curtain call, no assurance the actors are alright, they've simply been taken away and audiences feel that's unfair" which... what? Are we assuming that these people do not understand the concept of acting and can't handle character death?

No, I don't think that's the case at all.

For years, I struggled with the movie's ending. I thought it was silly, too predictable, a neat little Hollywood bow on a Faustian tale. But then, the last time I watched the movie, I completely changed my mind. I actually think I understand exactly what those test audiences saw that they didn't like.

Okay, bear with me.

I think that most of the test audience hadn't seen the musical. That's... probably obvious. What they had seen, though, was the whole beginning and middle of the movie which, being a movie, made some minor changes that changed everything.

Here's what I mean:

In the musical, Audrey II can barely move. The puppet is usually cool, but generally, you get full jaw motion and maybe a couple floppy tentacles. In the movie, however, they're this gorgeous Henson Workshop puppet, with an absolutely ridiculous amount of articulation that just wouldn't be feasible on stage. This leads to three huge changes:

1. There is no need for Seymour to trick Mushnik into climbing inside the plant. In the musical, we see Seymour calculate the most effective way to get rid of Mushnik, calmly telling him that the money is hidden deep inside the plant, easily cleaning up the loose end of Mushnik's suspicions. It's cold, it's premeditated, it's the first actual kill Seymour makes (we'll get to Orin later). In the movie, however, Rick Moranis is panicking as Mushnik accuses him, unable to get a word in edgewise as the accusations come between lines of the Suppertime song. They head up the stairs, and Audrey II easily snaps Mushnik up. Rick Moranis looks on, horrified, not necessarily consciously cornering him against the plant. It takes the agency, the premeditation, the decision to kill out of Seymour's hands.

2. In the musical, Audrey simply comes to the shop because she couldn't sleep. She senses that something's wrong with Seymour, that he's been acting erratically, and she comes to check on him. Audrey II takes advantage of this and tricks her into falling into their mouth, ultimately leading to her death. In the movie, however, this bit of contrivance isn't necessary, and we don't see this thought process for Audrey. Audrey II directly manipulates the situation, calling Audrey on the phone to goad her into coming to the shop where they can easily grab and eat her. If the ending had stayed the same, this would have ended much the same way as in the musical, but with more manipulation by Audrey II and less concern for Seymour on Audrey's part.

3. Even with the originally-filmed Bad End, "Mean Green Mother" was an entirely new song and sequence added to the movie. It's a great showcase for both the beautiful Audrey II puppet and the singing talents of the legendary Levi Stubbs, who honestly would have been wasted without a big solo number. This is a thrilling, fully-choreographed fight scene that wouldn't have worked at all on stage, but it pits Seymour against Audrey II, and we watch Seymour's sad, hopeless attempts to destroy the creature he's created. We see him struggle and fight, not quite at the bottom of a downward spiral, but finally reckoning with the creature who's been manipulating him all this time.

Even aside from Audrey II's increased physical power and aggression, there are changes to the story. Like most movie musicals, several songs have been truncated or cut completely for time, and some of these are absolutely crucial to Seymour's fall as a tragic hero

First, there's "Now (It's Just the Gas)." In the musical, this represents Seymour being unable to kill Orin, but realizing that he doesn't have to, as he is about to asphyxiate. The whole musical number features an increasingly desperate Orin begging for his life, and Seymour responding with a sort of patter song about moral dilemmas. Orin is unaware that Seymour is trying to kill him, and does not stop begging for help.

It's the first time we really get to see Seymour calculate, see his lack of empathy (not that Orin necessarily deserved it, but still). It's the beginning of the end.

In the movie, the song is replaced with a scene in which Seymour confronts Orin more directly. Rick Moranis is clearly terrified the entire time, hand and gun shaking. Orin gets the chance to ask why he's doing this, and Seymour gets the chance to tell Orin exactly what he's done wrong, reminding the audience as well that this man is a villain, and that his death is justice. He asphxiates quickly and quietly, and Seymour barely has any time to think or process what's happening.

The other most important changed song is "The Meek Shall Inherit." It's long in the musical, and Seymour gets a soliloquy about his situation. At first, he resolves to kill Audrey II, only to talk himself out of it. He clearly states that what he's doing is wrong, he knows it's wrong, but he sees himself as so worthless that Audrey will no longer love him if he destroys the one thing bringing him wealth and fame. He then immediately, very clearly, asks "where do I sign," metaphorically sealing his Faustian bargain.

Movie Seymour does no such thing. The song has been shortened to a single chorus, sung at a frenzied pace compared to the musical's version, set to a rapid montauge of a distressed, confused, lost-looking Rick Moranis being herded around to various events and crowded by reporters. He barely looks like he gets any say whatsoever in this, his fame is a tide that he's utterly swept up in.

All of these changes utterly change the themes of the story. Seymour is no longer a desperate man who makes a deal with a being that is wholly dependent on him, consciously and coldly killing to sustain it, in the hopes of winning the heart of the girl of his dreams with money and fame, as he is in the musical. Instead, he's a poor, anxious man, helplessly being passed from an abusive father figure to a manipulative, dangerous, powerful alien who causes mayhem and violence around him.

For this Seymour, a tragic end is a slap in the face. It's a betrayal of the audience, who have been rooting for this poor guy to free himself of these influences in his life from the beginning of the movie. It would have been an empty, soulless ending for the musical, of course, but that's because the entire musical has been establishing the classic downward spiral of a tragic hero, while the movie really wasn't.

The thing is, I don't think any of these individual changes are bad, per se. I think that each one was pretty sensible to manage the runtime and spectacle of a feature film, as well as utilizing the cast to their potential. It just so happens that they all come together to make something that is fundamentally, incompatibly different from the source material.

And that's okay!

[blackberry-gingham]

wassup :) what abt a situation where john or paul is teaching you guitar or bass and you fall for them- like just the two of you alone in a room at a music store playing guitar- AGH... anyways, your writing is amazing love 🥰

DKDKSKSKSK you have chosen like the MASTERS of who would pull a move like that while giving the reader some "music lessons", honestly lmao.

Like literally both of them would do this irl, so I can't choose 😂 I guess I'll go with John for this one, so I hope that's alright! Also, I did a little interpretation of this ask. Welcome to the Beatles music store au! This can be read as either young or old John tbh, whichever you want, so I tagged for both.

Enjoy :)

---

The shop bell chimes merrily as you enter the Beatles': Music and More music store. It's a nice little place, owned by four best mates who know their stuff. You've been going for a few months now for guitar lessons, and you must say, it's been worth every cent.

Your tutor is none other then John Lennon himself, one of the four owners. He can be a bit harsh at times, but you've come to learn that teasing is really just his idea of fun. Rarely does he ever mean anything by it.

Besides, all his pushing has improved your skills better then anyone else you've taken lessons from, so you decided to stick around.

And, if all that isn't enough... Well, you must admit, you find him rather handsome. Not to mention he's charming and sweet under his prickly layers, a form of himself that very few get to know.

"Well if it isn't my star pupil!", John stands up straight from where he was leaning on the counter and exchanges some hellos with you. When the pleasentries are over, he nods towards one of the practice rooms and becones you on, "Come 'ed"

He holds the door open and you take a seat before breaking out your trusty old Fender Strat. John chooses the same old Rickenbacker he usually does and has a seat across from you.

"Now where did we leave off...", He tunes up the instrument while you do the same.

"Practicing riffs, right?"

John thinks for a moment, then remembers and agrees. Before getting to the main lesson, you always do a little warm up first. At first it was just chord progressions, but now that you're getting more advanced, you play a whole song or two together.

Sometimes he even breaks out a new one, just to switch it up, "You know, I think today we'll do one of Paulie's songs... It's rubbish of course, but the guitar part is easy enough. This one's called 'I wanna hold your hand', goes like this"

Hm, he seems to have a thing for learning love songs, you think. He's introduced you to quite a few these past weeks after all...

Regardless, you pay close attention as he does a run through of the whole song, then replays the chorus for you.

"There, think you can do just that part?"

"Seems easy", you nod and take to your Fender. With a bit of guidance on the note pattern, you make it through in one go.

"Well done! Ready to try the whole thing?"

You nod confidently, it's one of his favorite traits of yours. You never do anything half assed, and you don't seem to have any fear of failure. He loves that.

John plays through once, slowly, as you follow along to get the chords. There's a few slip ups, but nothing major. You do one more play through and then time for the main lesson.

You've been doing well on your little riffs course so far, so today John throws a tough one at you.

He plays the section again. And again. And again... But you keep messing up on the one particular chord sequence. Once again, you hit a sour note and John heaves a sigh, "No no no, like this. Here let me show you"

John stands up and puts his Rick aside before dragging his stool behind yours. He slips his strong, rough fingers over top of yours, "Now start strumming"

Your heart leaps into your throat at the whole ordeal, but you obey. As the chords come, John guides your fingers by moving his, just as though he were playing himself.

"Here, here, then here... Like that, you see?"

"Uh... Yeah, yeah I think so", you swallow and give it a try on your own. You pass through the first few hurdles fine, but from all the pressure from John's proximity, you slip up once again.

You stop playing and look ever so slightly over your shoulder.

"What's the matter, you nearly had it. Try once more"

"Actually, do you think you guide me through it... Like you just did? I-I want to make sure I have it"

Never in a thousand years would you think to ask something like that. You're normally so used to doing things on your own and John so use to you doing as you're told, especially when he says 'try on your own', that you're afraid of his response.

But, whatever you were expecting, it wasn't this...

John clears his throat and wipes damp palms on the thighs of his slacks, " 'Course", he mutters, leaning back in.

His solid chest barely grazes your upper back, and yet you can still feel his heart hammering beneath all the muscle. John's hand feels warm as it cups over yours once again, his heart continuing to flutter as he leads you through the motions.

"There... Beautif- Uh, I mean, good", John clears his throat and scratches his scalp, but nothing can distract from the blush creeping up his cheeks.

"...Are you alright?", You venture, trying to be polite, but... Well, it's almost too much to hope... It's just, you've been thinking about him an awful lot lately. More then in just your guitar tutor setting, that is.

So to even have a slight chance that he might fancy you back...

"Fine. Just need a drink... Take five, will you", he gets up abruptly and struts out of the room.

And just like that, your heart drops like a stone to the pit of your stomach. You've embarrassed him, surely. Oh why did you have to say anything! Now you've ruined everything, you must have.

True to his word, John leaves you with about a solid five minutes or so to ruminate on the debacle you think you've made. Just as you begin considering where you should go to find a new tutor, John walks back in holding two styrofoam cups of water.

You're both silent as he takes a seat, then, "Here", he hands you a drink.

You accept it, but you simply can't stand the awkward tension, "Mr Lennon, I'm sorry, I-"

John interjects, "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have walked out like that. And... also... I'm afraid I haven't been very forthcoming with you, and I can't keep it from you anymore. Er, I shouldn't, that is"

You give him a confused look, but remain silent as he takes a sip and licks his lips.

"I uh, this is very difficult for me to say, but uh... Well, over the past few weeks, I've been having some... Feelings for you... Now i'm sure you don't feel the same way, but I jus-"

Before he can go on, you hastily cut in to set him straight, "What? No no, I do!"

John snaps to attention, looking quite shocked indeed. You continue, a small smile gracing your lips. It feels good to get this off your chest, "I completely understand how you feel... I uh, I didn't want you to think I was strange or unprofessional... I was also scared you might not like me, but I understand, really! And, well, I... Have feelings for you too"

Now it's John's turn to smile, "Not like you? Who'd be daft enough to turn you away? All that talent and charm... Almost as good as me", he laughs, and you join him.

The tension has completely evaporated, and suddenly you feel as though you're hanging out with a friend instead of at music lessons, completely at ease.

John huffs one more chuckle at his joke, then looks shyly down to his hands. "Say... Would you like to, maybe...", He brushes his fingers over yours, touching ever so lightly, as though he might get burned, "Ahem, maybe... Get some real drinks? Down the street, perhaps?"

He looks up at you from under his brow, too nervous to sit up and face you in full, and he bites his lip as he waits.

Your heart absolutely melts. A second or so goes by as you rein in your emotions, and at long last you take a soft grip at his hand, "I'd love to!"

John peeks up immediately and rubs a few quick little circles on the back of your palm, although whether it's to offer thanks or to soothe himself, you don't know.

But when he holds your hand tightly, like a childhood sweetheart, as you both stand and walk out of the building...

When he chatters with you excitedly all the while you're on your little date, showing you a whole new, fun side to him that you're eager to get to know...

When he pays for your drinks, says to hell with it, and takes you to dinner too...

And when the night is upon you and he brings you back round to the store to grab your things, slips you his personal number, amd waits up with you to see you off in a taxi home...

All you can think of is, this wonderful man you feel you've just met for the first time. You can't wait to get to know him.

[cottegecorepanarabread]

you have a what?! pt.3

sorry this is so late I was making a hinata cake for my friend and then remembered I was planning to update today of well. thank you for the likes now enjoy 

chapter 3: body shots and body rolls

Daichi’s POV

Daichi was disappointed when he woke up without Sugawara close to him. He looked over to see Suga tightly holding his pillow and snoring lightly. Daichi decided that he loved both things just as much. 

It was lunch by the time everyone, even Suga and Kageyama, were awake. The all lazed around the kitchen or on the rear boat deck eating. Suga sat next to Daichi on the couch sipping a pink monster. Asahi and Noya made a salad in the kitchen for the group. 

“Hinata,” Asahi called, “will you being me another bowl.” 

Hinata went to get the bowl. On his way back, he got to distracted talking to Kageyama and dropped the bowl, breaking it. 

“Ah Suga I’m so so so sorry,” Hinata cried, “I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh don’t worry it’s totally fine.” Suga shrugged it off.

“Oi dumbass, why don’t you watch your step next time. Wouldn’t want you to break anything else.” Kageyama snapped.

“Don’t forget you were the one distracting me Bakayama.” Hinata snapped back.

Daichi wondered if he should intervene. He had before when their fights got too bad, but they argued so often he had learned to pick his battles.

“Well I wasn’t the one that dropped the bowl stupid,” Kageyama gave Hinata a small shove towards the kitchen counter.

Asahi quickly picked up the glass salad bowl, trying to prevent anything else from getting damaged. Daichi should definitely intervene. He didn’t want them to get cut on the glass.

“Take it easy Kageyama.” said Daichi.

“I will when he learns to not be such a fucking klutz.” Kageyama pinned him against the counter.

Hinata didn’t say a word. He kept his eyes fixed in Kageyama. Daichi stepped forward when Kageyama grabbed Hinata’s chin. Instead of hitting him, Kageyama kissed Hinata roughly. Daichi definitely shouldn’t intervene.

Kageyama and Hinata where now full on making out against the counter.

“Right in front of my salad,” Asahi deadpanned, “Jesus Christ.”

“Oh get a room!” called Suga.

Kageyama pulled back, remembering he was in public. 

“Sorry.” he said quickly and pulled Hinata off towards their room.

“Asahi will you bring me my salad on the deck? I don’t want to hear what’s gonna happen in there.” Suga lauged and Asahi nodded, “oh and everyone be ready by 4 for dinner, dress fancy.”

Noya, Suga, and Daichi had gone shopping as soon as the boat docked. Noya was dragged along because of his constant snacking. Daichi thought there was something so domestic about pushing the cart while Suga reprimanded Noya for sneaking snakes into the cart. Suga would ultimately give in after complaining it wasn’t on the list. At the checkout, Daichi and Suga were asked how long they had been together. They blushed as they explained they weren’t dating, and the girl apologized profusely.

“What is taking them so long?” Suga nervously tapped his foot. 

They were waiting on Kei and Tadashi to finish getting ready for dinner. It was a short walk, but Suga didn’t want to push it. 

“Suga,” Daichi said calmly, “they will be fine.”

Daichi reached out to hold his arm. He always did this when Suga was visibly nervous. Suga shuddered at the touch, another thing he did when he was nervous.

“Ok,” Kei walked out into the living room/kitchen, “if anyone days one bad thing I will kick your ass.”

Daichi was confused. There was nothing different about Kei’s appearance. He wore brown pants, a matching brown blazer, and a white turtleneck. Sure it was a little too warm for it, but it was normal Tsukishima attire. Then, Tadashi stepped out from behind him.

He wore a black, floral sundress paired with a leather jacket, combat boots, and earrings. He bit his lip, worried his friends might not approve. 

Suga’s eyes lit up, “Tadashi you look so cool.”

Nods and farther words of affirmation came from the rest of the group.

“Alright gang, time for dinner.” Suga turned to lead the way.

Tadashi took Kei’s outstretched arm and followed him out the door. 

Daichi and Suga walked side by side. He couldn’t stop staring at Suga. He always looked beautiful but there were some outfits that made him look even more beautiful, if that was even possible. This was definitely one of them. Suga wore a short sleeve white button up and well fitting black pants. His outfit left him breathless but the kicker was the fact that Suga’s shirt was mostly unbuttoned revealing sliver chains. 

“Daichi? Are you ok, you look a little red. We are almost there, I promise.” Suga smiled.

Yep, Daichi was gonna pass out.

They all sat at a long table on a private balcony. Daichi scanned the menu of the sushi restaurant. Suga had said to order whatever they wanted, but something was wrong

“Suga?” He tapped the boy on his right, “Where are the prices?”

“What do you mean?” Suga laughed.

“Like the prices of the rolls”

“Oh they aren’t there.” Suga said like it was normal.

“But then-“

“Daichi, I said get what you want and I mean that. I really don’t care. My parents gave me their card for a reason.” Suga said, “Do you want me to order for you?”

“Or you could get a few things, and I’ll share.” Daichi really needed to keep his brain from speaking freely.

“That’s even better.” Suga smiled.

Daichi looked around the table at his friends. Noya and Tanaka caused chaos as normal. Kei stared lovingly as Tadashi talk on and on about a video game. Daichi had always thought they felt like his family. Not like they were his kids, no. It was more like he and Suga were the uncles that let the kids do whatever they want. Daichi liked things like this. He had really missed them since he, Suga, and Asahi had graduated. 

“Food’s here.” Suga’s voice pulled Daichi from his thoughts.

“This looks so good.” Daichi surveyed what Suga had ordered.

“Oh I forgot to tell you but there is a surprise for everyone when we get back on the boat.” Suga yelled.

Daichi swore he say Ennoshita smirk into his drink.

After dinner, walked out to the boat deck. Their mouths fell open.

There stood Yachi and Kiyoko by a large bar pulled out from the wall with Doja Cat blasting through the speakers.

“Go have fun everybody!” Suga called.

Daichi stood there awe struck.

“Did I not tell you the boat did this?” Suga laughed.

Daichi watched the dance floor. Suga, Tanaka, and Ennoshita jumped and sang along to kiss me more with Yachi. Kei stood bobbing his head while holding hands with Tadashi while swaying and slightly dancing. Kiyoko laughed as Noya tried to figure out how to do body shots off Asahi. Daichi perked up as Suga went to whisper something to Kiyoko.

Tanaka sat down next to Daichi, “bro I can’t breath, they can really dance forever.”

Daichi nodded as the long changed to the Tap In remix. Suga swayed his hits and Ennoshita followed his lead. Suga reached forward to grab his hips and pulled Ennoshita toward him. 

Daichi mouth went dry, “are they..”

“Dancing on each other,” Tanaka finished,” yeah.”

I’ll blow your fucking back out

At that line, Suga rolled his hips forward and Ennoshita leaned back onto him.

An electric shock ran through Daichi’s body.

“That was hot.” Tanaka muttered.

“Yeah...” Daichi whispered back.

The song changed to Skiing in Japan by Yung Gravy. Noya yelped and pulled Asahi to the dance floor. Suga let go Ennoshita and Daichi sighed.

Daichi couldn’t be more wrong in his relief as the song got to the chorus.

Lean back

Suga began to lean back cover a bit of his face with one had and slapping the hair in front of his stomach with the other, like he was pushing someone’s head.

Lean back, lean back, lean back bitch 

‘Shit’ Daichi though. This can’t be happening. He shifted uncomfortably as Suga repeated the movements. 

At the next song, Suga ran over and grabbed Daichi’s arm.

“Come dance.” Suga shouted over the music.

Daichi let himself be pulled to the dance floor. Hinata and Kagayama danced awkwardly with each other, not yet knowing were to touch or hold each other. Suga danced beside Daichi. He was very away of all of Suga’s body rolls and hip movements. 

He swore Suga was inching closer to him. This was in fact true but Daichi’s feelings were taking over. Suga made slight contact with Daichi’s body and a shiver went up his spin. Suga looked up at him, laughing, then bite his lip.

Daich snapped.

“Inside now,” Daichi leaned down to say in Suga’s here.

Suga followed him inside. Daichi didn’t know what he was doing. His body was moving for him, and he wasn’t in control.

As soon as they got inside and out of eyesight, Daichi pushed him you against the wall. 

“What are you doing?” Suga raised an eyebrow.

“What I should have done a while ago.” Daichi leaned forward, “can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Suga leaned in to close the gap. 

Daichi pulled back first.

“Bedroom?”

Suga nodded. Daichi grabbed him at the knees, and threw him over his shoulder.

“Hey, I can walk myself.” Suga fake pouted.

“I know but you are just so cute like this.”

“I love you Daichi and I have since first year.” Suga kissed the top of his head.

“I love you too.”

tune in next week for daisuga cuddling, more awkward kagehina, and more Tadashi/Suga/Ennoshita gossiping time

[passionate-reply]

This week on Great Albums: we are FINALLY talking about the Pet Shop Boys! They’ve only been my favourite band since I was, like, eight. Whether you want to understand the hype or you’re already Team PSB, come check out this video and hear all about 1990′s Behaviour. (Or read the transcript, below the break.)

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! It’s time for me to finally do a video on one of my favourite bands of all time, and the very first band I obsessed over when I was a kid: the Pet Shop Boys! Their fourth LP, 1990’s Behaviour, is considered by many to be their best work, and it’s also one of my personal favourites of theirs, so it seems like a great place to start.

The preceding Pet Shop Boys LP, 1988’s Introspective, was their deepest dive into densely-arranged, nightclub-ready post-disco compositions. Nowadays, people tend to praise it for its more experimental and baroque qualities, but it’s also very much a party album, blending synth-pop with house and rave influences.

Music: “Domino Dancing”

At the cusp of the 1990s, there was certainly no shortage of interest in upbeat, rave-y party music, and the so-called “Madchester” scene was in full swing. But the Pet Shop Boys’ follow-up to Introspective would take their sound in a different direction. They went to Germany to work with Harold Faltermeyer, best known for his instrumental synth smash “Axel F.” There, surrounded by Faltermeyer’s collection of analogue synthesisers, they would create an album that was...well, kind of a downer.

Music: “Being Boring”

Behaviour’s opener, “Being Boring,” is a track whose reputation probably precedes it--it’s one of the best known Pet Shop Boys songs, and over the last thirty years, it’s become emblematic of its era. “Being Boring” is a stark and pensive reflection on the tragedy of the young lives lost to the AIDS epidemic, and the uncanny strangeness of getting older while knowing a lot of others didn’t have that luxury. But at the same time, there’s something surprisingly jubilant and triumphant about the way that chorus rises up, almost like exultation at having survived, even though the verses feel more downbeat. Lyrically, the focus on “having never been boring” puts focus on having lived a vibrant life moreso than it does the silence of the crypt. Behaviour might be a somber album, but it’s not without a sense of hope or optimism; just listen to the track “The End of the World.”

Music: “The End of the World”

While “Being Boring” deals with the very adult gravity of death, grief, and survivorship, “The End of the World” asks us to imagine the petty romantic squabblings of teenagers, and their magnified sense of importance. While its title is a bit ambiguous, the song itself is quite clear: what is going on here is, by no means, the end of the world! Like I said, Behaviour is far from all doom and gloom, though it has sort of gotten that reputation. While acclaim for Behaviour is certainly as common among hardcore Pet Shop Boys fans as it is anyone else, I’m tempted to think that some of the praise it receives from relative outsiders is connected to this perception of it as the “serious” Pet Shop Boys album, that deals with real issues instead of being packed with fun pop songs. While I like gloomy, serious music as much as anybody, and personally prefer it to the more light-hearted releases, there’s no reason to predicate appreciation for the Pet Shop Boys on their being cerebral or high-minded. But that seems to be a common plague of a lot of music criticism, particularly of that rockist sort. The track “How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?” serves as its own sort of commentary on rock culture.

Music: “How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?”

In “How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?”, the titular question is posed to rock stars whose inflated egos make them think they have something meaningful to say about big issues like politics. The song’s rougher soundscape stands out against dreamier tracks like “Being Boring,” and perhaps kicks it slightly closer to sounding like a rock song. While I can certainly get behind a song that mocks rock and roll self-righteousness, it does seem a bit ironic in the context of Behaviour, an album that would see the Pet Shop Boys making a clear effort to tackle meaty, real-world issues. I suppose that any album released by artists who were already established in their career might be expected to include some consideration for the dilemmas that come with that territory. Another track that explores this theme is “My October Symphony.”

Music: “My October Symphony”

While never released as a single, “My October Symphony” is a popular track nonetheless. It was inspired by the life of the great Russian composer, Dmitri Shostakovich, and portrays the grave uncertainties presented to the artist by the collapse of Communism, and with it, the prevailing sense of mythology and moral values. Given the themes involved, many have interpreted it as a track that obliquely questions where famous queer artists like the Pet Shop Boys were going, in a world that had been devastated by AIDS. While it’s about a very different kind of musician, I certainly like to think it’s a track that “rhymes” with “How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?”, in that it also questions the relationship between artists and the values of the society around them.

Behaviour’s cover art recalls that of the Pet Shop Boys’ 1986 debut, Please, with a strong emphasis on empty, white space, and a small design in the center. While the relationship of its four panels is ambiguous, it could be interpreted as a representation of death--as a face turns away, the human figures disappear, leaving the still, unchanged inanimate objects behind. As children, we quickly learn that not being able to see something doesn’t mean the thing is truly gone, but nevertheless, we sometimes have a tendency to ignore things we wish would go away. Perhaps the cover of Behaviour is an allusion to the way world governments buried their heads in the sand, so to speak, regarding the AIDS crisis, hoping it would conveniently die down and vanish when it wasn’t being observed.

The title of “Behaviour” is perhaps even more mysterious and up to interpretation than the cover. There’s something very detached and clinical about that word--an impersonal ambiance. I’m reminded of the seemingly unsympathetic narrators of several tracks, such as “The End of the World” and “How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?”, that seem to cast judgment on the actions of others without taking an interest in their emotional internality. They discuss “behaviours” as cut and dry phenomena, and focus on the actions that people take. While neutrality can be cold and condemnatory, it can also be a welcome change when introduced to a subject traditionally treated with hostility. In that light, I’m tempted to think of the title as referring to homosexual “behaviour,” contextualizing sexuality as less of a fixed identity, and something that one intrinsically “is,” and more about an action, a decision, something that one “does”--a mentality that a lot of people find rather liberating.

In introducing Behaviour, I described it as an album that’s often considered the Pet Shop Boys’ best work. But their 1993 followup to it, Very, is also a strong contender for that title, in the hearts of many of their biggest fans. *Very* has a lot more in common with *Introspective* than it does Behaviour, going back to rich, dense productions and upbeat, poppy love songs. The fact that the Pet Shop Boys managed to pull off two very different, but both very acclaimed, releases back to back speaks volumes about why people love them as much as they do. Whether you like them or not, they’re undoubtedly one of those artists who some people can turn to in just about any mood, or any season of life, and that’s a powerful thing.

Music: “I Wouldn’t Normally Do This Kind of Thing”

My favourite track on Behaviour is its lead single, “So Hard.” It’s one of my all-time favourite Pet Shop Boys tracks, and almost certainly my favourite of their singles. With its wryly bitter narrative of two-timing lovers, and harsh, clattering analogue synthesiser soundscape, “So Hard” has a pretty different feel to the rest of the album--dark and ominous, without that wistful, sentimental aura. But that’s exactly why I like it. The Pet Shop Boys were among the first artists to deliberately adopt analogue synths for the subjective qualities of their sound, and this track employs them in a way that’s reminiscent of what artists tend to do with them nowadays. It’s punchy, with that clunky, mechanistic analogue quality to it. Not a typical Pet Shop Boys song, but a damn good one nonetheless! That’s all I’ve got for today, thanks for listening.

Outro: “So Hard”

[365days365movies]

February 19, 2021: The Phantom of the Opera (2004) (Part 1)

I love musicals.

Hands down, when talking cinematic adaptations of musicals, my favorite is Little Shop of Horrors. I’ve seen it MANY times, and will see it many, MANY more. And I’m not the only one. I mean, obviously, but in this case, I’m referring to my girlfriend. She’s chosen to represent herself with a GIF from her favorite musical, Hairspray. So, here she is:

Ravishing. Now, because it’s currently our anniversary, I let her pick today’s movie from my list. And so, she chose a musical that neither she nor I have seen: 2004′s The Phantom of the Opera. And some of you may now be saying, “What, this guy said he liked movie musicals, and he hasn’t seen TPotS? That’s like saying you haven’t seen Grease, or Singin’’ in the Rain, or, PFFT, West Side Story!”

...About that...

Yeah, yeah, I know! It’s insane, and I’m a hypocrite. I’ll be getting to the rest of those eventually, and one of them’ll be coming in the next couple of days, I promise. You can probably guess which one. Anyway, fact of the matter is that we’re gonna watch it tonight, and I’m looking forward to it. 

However, there’s another factor to this, and that’s the fact that this film...doesn’t have the best reputation amongst fans of the original musical. And, yeah, this should ideally be the Michael Crawford version, but the Butler version is the one I have access to, so we’re going for it. SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

Paris, 1919, back when the whole city was in black-and-white for a year. They lost the budget for color after World War I. Anyway, at an old opera house, an auction is taking place, and items found within the theater are for sale. One of these is a music box with a monkey on it, an item which sponsors a bidding war between an older woman, and an older man in a wheelchair. I’m sure we’ll find out who they are eventually.

Anyway, a broken chandelier is also up for option, and was involved in the mysterious disaster of the “Phantom of the Opera” fiasco. They turn it on with electric light, and as they raise it to the ceiling, the organist goes fuckin’ NUTS. The song’s so loud that it REVERSES TIME, and we’re now in color, in the year 1870 at the same opera house.

The theatre, managed by the soon-to-retire Monsieur Lefèvre (James Fleet), has just been purchased by Richard Firmin (Ciaran Hinds) and Gilles André (Simon Callow), who are there to observe. On stage, a rehearsal for the opera Hannibal is taking place, and the costume’s are already...like, a LOT, not gonna lie. The headliner for the show is soprano (and drama queen supreme) Carlotta Giudicelli (Minnie Driver), and is being funded by patron Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny (Patrick Wilson). 

The background dancers are instructed by Madame Giry (Miranda Richardson), and include her daughter, Meg (Jennifer Ellison), and her adopted daughter, Christine Daaé (Emmy Rossum). As the rehearsal takes place, an accident happens on stage, almost injuring Carlotta. Enraged, she leaves, and refuses to perform.

Meanwhile, Madame Giry finds a letter from the Phantom, who demands his normal monthly salary of 20,000 francs, as for Box 5 to be left open. While the new owners think that this is ridiculous, they also note that it’s pointless without a lead singer for their show. 

However, Christine is volunteered, and shows that she is indeed a talented singer. The show goes on, and Christine is a smash, much to Carlotta’s dismay. At this point, Raoul also discovers that this is his long lost childhood friend (and possibly long lost love) Christine, which she also noticed earlier.

But this is because of a mysterious teacher, who sings to her from the walls of the theatre. Meg comes in to congratulate her (through song), and asks who her tutor is. Meg responds...in song (”Angel of Music”).

Afterwards, Madame Giry also congratulates her, and tells her that the Phantom is pleased with her. Right after, Raoul also pays her a visit, and the two reconnect on shared memories of times in an attic in the summer. She tells Raoul that she is visited by an Angel of Music, and cannot go to the dinner that night with him. And the Phantom agrees, as he locks Christine in her room. YIKES. 

And as literally every person in the theatre except Christine leaves, the Phantom serenades her, angered by Raoul’s presence, and Christine’s potential dalliance with him (”Mirror”). And through the mirror, he takes her to a mysterious crypt beneath the theatre. And as they sing their strange duet in the form of the title song (”The Phantom of the Opera”)...I try to resist talking about Gerard Butler until later. And it’s hard. It’s SO hard, guys.

But, OK, he takes her away on a...sewer horse...how the FUCK did he get that horse down there? And wait, WAIT, does he put her on that horse to walk her, like, 20 feet to the gondola? Like...WHY DO YOU HAVE THE HORSE? That is...monumentally wasteful. Where do you keep the horse? Does he feed the horse? How much? How often? With what? Does the horse eat the sewer rats? Is there naturally growing sewer hay? Does the Phantom’s salary go towards buying food for the horse, or buying new horses when the original ones DIE OF STARVATION - WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH THIS HORSE?!?!? WHOMSTVE THE FUCK

And yes, I love this fuckin’ song (not the singers, but we’ll get there), but this is distracting me alongside the statues of naked men in the sewer, because...well, Joel Schumacher. What can I say, it’s kind of his aesthetic. Anyway, we get officially introduced to the Phantom of the Opera (Gerard Butler), a very handsome-looking man who likes wearing a half-mask.

I say handsome, because the Phantom in this movie, looks...fine. HE LOOKS OK. HE LOOKS LIKE A DUDE WEARING A MASK. What, did somebody throw a hot candle at his face once, and he freaked out over it and ran into the sewers forever...WITH A HORSE? NOT OVER THE HORSE SHIT.

Look, the Phantom is supposed to be HIDEOUSLY scarred. Famously, in one of the film adaptations of Phantom, actor Lon Chaney Jr. purposely distorted his own face using adhesive face in order to play the role of the hideously disfigured character. Now, other versions have just given him severe, and I mean SEVERE burn scars. But behind the mask, Butler looks...fine. HE LOOKS FINE GODDAMMIT. He looks like he’s wearing the mask because it looks edgy and shit.

But OK, what’s happening in the movie? Oh, right, more serenading (”Music of the Night”), with another song that I like quite a bit. This and the previous song were songs Id heard before, and that I’d already had on my playlist. They’re great, what can I say? Now is Butler doing it justice? Ehhhhhhh, we’ll talk about that in the Review.

During this song he kinda seduces her, or attempts to, and also shows her a wedding dress. She sees herself in it and IMMEDIATELY faints, Jesus!  Curtain falls on Christine while she’s in a bed, and we go back to her room, where Meg is looking for her. She finds the mirror, and is about to go back there, but her mother finds and stops her.

Meanwhile, stagehand Joseph Buquet (Kevin McNally) tells the chorus girls of the legend of the Phantom, and describes a physical description that doesn’t match him...even a little. We cut back to Christine, who wakes up in what my girlfriend refers to as a “bomb-ass HQ.” Which is fair, let’s be honest. Anyway, she heads over and tries to unmask her new masked lover (?).

He’s not the biggest fan of this, and he emos all over the screen (”Stranger Than You Dreamt It”). And then, as he puts his mask on, we suddenly (and I mean suddenly) jump to 1919, where the old woman, Madame Giry, bids farewell to...wait, that’s Raoul? HOW DOES HE LOOK SO MUCH OLDER THAN HER, WHAT???

Back in the past, inexplicably, the theatre owners and manager sing about the theatre and the Phantom’s demands ("Notes..."), and are soon joined by Raoul, who brings them a separate note, saying not to look for Christina any further. THEN, Carlotta joins them, delivering a letter of her own from the Phantom, warning her not to return to the theatre.

In his letters, he details how his theatre is to be run, threatening a disaster if Christine is not cast in the lead role, and if Carlotta is not cast in a silent role. However, the theatre owners and Carlotta refuse to obey, and Carlotta is cast in the role, as the owners try to appease her (”Prima Donna”).

That night, during a performance of Il Muto, Carlotta’s singing the lead role. Additionally, Box Five is full, and the Phantom is PISSED. So, like a Phantom do, it’s time for some good old fashioned petty revenge! He switches her throat spray, causing her to lose her voice on stage, and causing the audience to laugh when the show ends abruptly. They quickly and publicly recast the role, giving it to Christine instead. Well, mission accomplished by the Phantom! Guess we’re good without retribution. And then he hangs the stagehand.

Well...fuck, man. Realizing that the Phantom is EXTREMELY dangerous, Christine goes to save Raoul, who she...is in a relationship with now? Wait...wait, hold up, the fuck did I miss? I mean, yeah, he probably is gonna kill Raoul, but there is, like, NO lead-up to their connection before this point.

Anyway, as Christine explains that there is a Phantom when Raoul says he doesn’t exist...wait, WHAT? MOTHER FUCKER BUQUET JUST NOT MURDERED IN FRONT OF EVERYBODY WHAT IN THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN????? YOU LITERALLY HEARD THE...you know what? Break. BREAK. This is...this one’s tough.

See you in Part 2!