#producer george and ta matty fic

[lookedlikethebins]

i'll say it twice

Finally! The long awaited Valentine's Day producer george x TA matty oneshot! I'm so sorry for taking as long as I did. Thank you for being patient AND a big thank you to the anon that inspired this fic with the prompt about matty coming to a club/one of george's dj gigs! [set ~6 months since meeting each other] ~5.8k words xo side note: i know nothing about being a DJ but a lot about cyclical anxiety and epic poems so i compensated xo

George had been semi-confident—and a bit overprepared—in his upcoming set, until Matty showed George the readings he’d suggested for the next week of class: Lover’s Discourse. The date of his set hadn’t registered until that moment, sitting with his arm around Matty and feeling embarrassed by his own obliviousness.

Valentine’s Day. Of course, the club wasn’t just holding an event to sell more drinks on a cold, mid-February Friday night; they were hoping to max their margins for the first quarter. For every one patron, there would undoubtedly be another—their date. George included.

The set had to be a bit beyond perfect.

For the next two weeks, each time Matty stopped by after his classes and office hours, George had been closed up in his studio. He would've been there most of the day, starting early in the morning (right after Matty left, if he’d stayed the night) and blowing past every mental stopping point in favor of fixing just this one last thing.

After Matty was left waiting outside for the third time, knocking and trying to ring George—phone on silent and face down on his desk—George gave him the spare key. Each time, Matty let himself in with a loud shout, letting the door slam shut; they’d learned George startled easily when he was working. When he was worried.

While Matty shouldered off his bag—as well as coat, scarf, sweater, and unbuttoned and rolled his cuffs—George would unplug his headphones and continue his work out loud. Matty often settled onto the loveseat beside George’s desk and leaned forward to best see George’s screens without hovering over his shoulder. Despite sometimes getting up to dance, Matty would never grow (outwardly) irritated when George would have to stop and adjust, redo, or take note of an idea for later. The only time Matty spoke during George’s work was to exclaim that a certain part of a song was his fucking favorite.

Most times, Matty’s excitable commentary was the reason George had to stop and make slight changes.

It would be Matty’s first time coming to see George work. Matty had asked if he could before—about other gigs and recent shows George was playing with the boys too—but George struggled to say yes. And thankfully Matty never pushed back or took offense when George stumbled over his answer. Granted, George had taken Matty to his label’s holiday party—and he’d been a hit—but his club set wasn’t for a closed group. There would be a room packed with people looking for the smallest pinhole in George’s quiet (misunderstood to be “stoic”) exterior, hoping to peep in on his private life.

But, even with all that fear and discomfort with the unfamiliar, it truly was sort of time for it, wasn’t it?

---

“Oh, fuck,” Matty said with a burst of laughter that seemed to surprise even him. “it’s loud.”

They had entered the club through the back entrance meant for employees. George made sure to pull around to the parking lot purposefully obscured by bins and out-of-place planted shrubs. They used the side streets and alleys of nearby buildings to get in without being seen by the group of patrons lined up outside, waiting to get in.

While George had been getting his bag out of the car, Matty stood by the hood, tapping his foot to the muffled beat sneaking through the club’s opening doors and sparse windows. But now, inside and standing on the farthest edge of the dance floor, Matty didn’t need to move his feet to the music; the floor was nearly moving for him.

It was what George loved the most: how the room, the physical space, came alive when music was loud—almost too loud. The air felt like it was breathing on its own from the shear pulse of the speakers.

It terrified George to think Matty might not like that feeling. The encasement of music. The ever-shrinking proximity to other people, while verbal communication became impossible and almost moot. All George ever had in those moments was the same unavoidable and inarguable beat moving him to keep time with the other bodies around him. That feeling of sharing the same heartbeat. He could live in the same suspended moment with someone, just a few minutes at a time.

“Is that… okay?” George said. He had steered Matty toward the back lounge for the invited guests and hired talent. Once George closed the door behind Matty, the wall of sound became a void, ringing white noise. “Do you want earplugs or something? I, uh, I probably have a pair somewhere. I’m sure I do.”

“No, no—I don’t mind that it’s loud. Just sort of forgot. Can’t tell you last time I’ve been to a proper club.” Matty placed his hand on George’s arm, gently squeezing it, before leading him further into the room and away from the door.

“Not a fan?” George asked. He immediately grabbed a bottle of water from the oblong coffee table. He twisted off the cap and handed it to Matty. It was Friday; he’d had his early and late classes.

“Just prefer a place I can sit down,” Matty shrugged. “And if I’m feeling wild: hear my friends talk.”

“You’re really not supposed to chitchat at a club.”

“Name another time I’ve been quiet that long, George.”

George paused. “Okay, so you might actually hate it here.” He was trying to tell a joke, but his chest tightened and twisted into a knot. Like he forgot how to create a laugh. He couldn’t.

“George, love, stop fretting—please? I’m starting to think I’m making you worse.” Matty swung his hand out to playfully hit George on the arm. The open water bottle made a small damp spot on his sleeve; luckily, he was only wearing a short sleeve, cotton shirt. “Pretty sure you’ve been doing all this before I ever showed up. You know what you’re up to—you’re very talented. I’m just here to listen, take a vow of silence, have a drink or two.”

“Oh, I should go get you one, shouldn’t I?” George muttered, looking at his watch and then the clock on the wall—they were a minute apart: George’s watch a minute behind. He was already floundering. The first time he brought Matty—any boyfriend at all for that matter—to one of his shows and everything felt like it was developing into a disappointment. A stumble. Two left feet. George could hear the music muffled in the other room; he just wanted to stand submerged in it.

“That—No, George. That’s not why I said that. I’m not angling for you to go and—Look, I just want to drink after I had to listen to someone wedge Ecstasy of Influence into our discussion for the third class in a row.”

“But I should go get them—they won’t charge me.”

“Oh, so it’s about showing off, not chivalry…” Matty said, offsetting his jaw as he crossed his arms and smirked at George.

“No! I—Matty, it’s Valentine’s Day," George said, taking out his phone. His phone matched his watch but not the wall clock.

“And you’re already going to get laid. I’m not sure why you think you have to butter me up—"

George sputtered in surprise and embarrassment as he heard someone talking just outside the door. “I meant, it’s Valentine’s Day so they’re going to be up-charging, I’m sure. Let me get you a drink. They don’t charge the people they hire.”

“You must not know what happens when a cute guy like me goes up to most bars,” Matty said, lifting one eyebrow. “I won’t pay for anything; Fuck, I’ll barely even need to be paying attention.”

George had never considered how Matty was as a single guy. He’d never really told him. Or maybe George had never asked. There wasn’t much for George to tell Matty, so maybe he’d forgotten people had dating histories that weren’t accidentally shallow or convenient. Had first loves before their late twenties.

The club owner opened the door while still finishing the tail end of his hallway conversation. “—on in twenty, okay? Yeah—George! Good to see you, early as always. What I like to see. JJ walked in five minutes before she was supposed to go on. Again.”

“She likes the spontaneity,” George said with a shrug, placing his bag down in one of the mismatched armchairs. “I can’t argue her style. She’s always great.”

“I just wish she could be spontaneous and not raise my blood pressure,” he said. “You ready to go on in half an hour?” George nodded, checking all three times again. “Great. Anything you need—you can go out and float around JJ when you’re ready. Get either of you a drink?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” Matty said. He placed a hand between George’s shoulders as he hunched down to look in his bag. George’s nervous energy was never something Matty could ignore. “George, did you want something? Or do you want me to get it for you.” Matty was teasing, probably feeling the tension in the muscles of George’s back. Maybe hoping for a laugh.

Instead, Matty’s kind and gentle smile—eyes following George’s hands as they continued to jostle everything in every pocket—was distracted by the owner’s follow up question: “I’m sorry—and I mean no disrespect—but who are you again? George, if this is a new label rep, I’m sorry I’ve forgotten again—”

“Label rep?” George turned toward Matty, who was still touching his back with one hand and had begun to hold his bicep lightly with the other. It was certainly no way to represent a professional relationship.

Matty looked down at himself. “I just came from teaching—Dammit, George, why didn’t you tell me I look like a corporate drone? Is it the tie? It is, isn't it?”

Finally, George smiled. The plane of his back under Matty’s hand relaxing as he laughed, shaking his head. “You don’t look like a drone, okay? And Matty isn’t my PR guy. He’s—” George had never actually called him his boyfriend in front of anyone before; at the holiday party, the moment everyone saw Matty walk in with George, they knew this was The Date George had after studio sessions so often. “He’s just here with me. No business.”

George couldn’t hear the music as clearly anymore, blood rushing in his ears. Matty moved his hand along George’s shoulder blades, slowly and soothingly. Finally, George’s fingers found the loose pair of foam earplugs in the front pocket of his bag. The last place left. He righted himself and held them out to Matty. He ignored the conversation he’d left paused with the owner for as long as it took Matty to tire from arguing he didn’t need them. He dropped his hand from George’s bicep to take them, his other hand not leaving George’s back.

The clock on the wall kept ticking, faster than the one on his wrist.

“Matty’s going to uh… he’s going to be up there with me.” George pointed loosely toward the door; he didn’t know what was out there, technically. Without being sure where the music was coming from, without being able to feel it faintly pulsing in his chest, he didn’t even know where the dancefloor was.

“Up where?” Matty asked.

“The stage. When I’m doing my set.”

“I didn’t think I would be allowed.” Matty shot the owner a quick look before adjusting his tie.

“Of course you are! But only if you want to. I won’t be offended if you’d much rather... not.” George wanted to give Matty the option to pick how he wanted to spend his evening. How to make it better without George intervening, even by accident, and making things worse—

“George,” Matty said softly. George blinked and realized the owner had already left the room; no commotion, no remark, no insistence Matty become part of the monolithic, pulsing, impersonal crowd. No pushback. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m not a fucking idiot, you know that, right?” Matty said. He stood in front of George and placed both hands on his shoulders, as if keeping him planted on the ground. George didn’t know he’d been feeling an urge to pace until then. Until he couldn’t. “What’s got you this upset?”

“I always get nervous before I perform anything. You know that. You know me.”

Matty had been sitting on that studio couch every day for those two weeks. He’d been over when George accepted calls for other gigs and immediately interrupted his own train of thought to jot down his immediate thoughts and plans—afraid he’d forget the “genius” of the impulse. Afraid his instincts weren’t really instincts at all, just moments when inspiration would take pity on him.

While talking about his students’ coursework, Matty had told George about the idea of ancient Greek poets praying at the beginning of their works. Of asking the gods of inspiration—the muses, actually; George remembered feeling embarrassed by his own surprise and sense of clarity by this fact and connection—before embarking on their epics. The invocation, Matty had called it with a flourish of his hand.

Matty described it as if the idea was antiquated; no one thought creativity or inspiration was so out of their hands that it had to be requested at the beginning of every project. But sometimes, when George could feel expectations compounding and very separate things interconnecting into one daunting and terrifying moment, he wished there was someone he could hand things off to. Trust he had solid instincts when he was mid-set and suddenly becoming aware of his own hands and expression and body and position with the person next to him—the new DJ that just arrived and hovering too close and asking too many questions, but being so polite and was someone George should be very eager to show the ropes because he never had that... To trust he would have no need to second guess, critiquing himself for too long and missing the window to execute his plan. The swing of his set broken while George was left standing in horrifying, reverberating silence and—

“This isn’t nerves, George. You look like you might pass the fuck out. Or throw up. Maybe both.” Matty ran his hands across George’s shoulders and laced them together behind his neck, pressing their foreheads together. “It’s not me making you this anxious, is it?”

“No, of course not,” George said quickly. “I just want everything to be perfect—”

“Well, it can’t be.”

“I-I know. I know. Nothing can be perfect,” George mumbled, trying to echo Matty’s frequent and always kind encouragement. What George tried to remember when he was feeling his anxiety bind tighter with the feeling things were slipping out of his control. George had invoked Matty’s words a lot in the past week in particular. “Best-case scenario, then. I want the very best-case scenario. For you. I want you to have a good time and—”

“Do you not think I’m having a good time?”

“My set isn’t for another,” George looked at the clock on the wall only. “fifteen minutes. We’ve just gotten here and… literally stood in a room while I’m…” trying not to freak out or throw up or just blurt out that I— “That’s nothing very exciting.”

“Hey, that’s not all we did today; you picked me up from class, we had dinner, you let me read to you that botched essay intro, you told me about that tour invite and the boys, you invited me to see you do your job. George,” Matty stopped to reset his worried expression with another warm smile. “George, you do know you’re the reason I came, right? Not to experience the best DJ set of my life or have one too many and convince your band to dance with me, or even know any of the songs you’re going to play. I just came here because it meant spending time with you. And that’s why I’m having a good time. That’s it. This isn’t a performance review. I am not qualified for that in the slightest.”

“But—”

“George,”

“I’m not trying to argue,” George said. Matty nodded, moving both of their heads. Matty carefully ran one hand up and down the back of George’s neck, encouraging him to continue. “But… this is sort of your first… event with me. Next to me. Associated with me.”

“… And? We talked about this, right? It’s not industry people who know you, so I’ll have to be more… aware of what I’m doing. But just at first, like you said—I get it, George. I really do.”

“No, no. It has nothing to do with that… Or maybe it does. Fuck,” George stopped to take a breath, forcing it out through his pursed lips. “I want to do something you can be proud of. Be someone you don’t mind admitting is your date. I don’t want to embarrass you—"

“Embarrass?” Matty repeated with a soft but tense laugh. He cleared his throat and George could hear a sudden wetness sink his words. “What a preposterous fucking idea. And, actually, even more so: the idea I didn’t come here already proud of you. That I’m not already more than willing to walk out there and tell everyone who’s even remotely paying attention to me—free fucking drinks or not—” Matty gave them both the chance to laugh, the thickness falling away from Matty’s voice and some of the weight shaking off from George’s shoulders. “That I came here with you. I’ll go anywhere with you—anywhere you’re willing to have me.”

George dipped his head down to kiss Matty, quickly and without invitation for any lengthier response, considering the moment and environment. He wanted to say it. He wanted to tell Matty right then—without the expectation of anything in return. Just simply say. But that was sort of the point of the set. George hoped he could say it without the words; without the direct chance of rejection.

Matty kissed George on the cheek, hands sliding from his neck to smooth his collar and flip his silver earring so the engraving of the dagger’s hilt faced outward. His knuckle grazed George’s jaw as he stilled the jewelry from swinging.

“You’re going to be incredible—as you always are.” Matty said, holding the sides of George’s face. “Like, that’s not me setting a ridiculous bar. That’s actually sort of the baseline for you. Anything beyond that will just be genius—which, also very possible, I’m finding.”

George leaned against one of Matty’s hands—warm and firm and unflinching from the request for support—and sighed, a sense of relief hitting him.

George remembered what he was doing there. He could feel the music in the other room. He smiled. And Matty, the central reason for the tailoring of the next hour of George’s night, smiled back.

They waited in silence, George not trusting himself to say anything else. Not wanting to spoil it.

---

The music was too loud. But that was sort of the point. George was up on stage, feeling the rolling pulse of the room and the music, and didn’t have the space or sense in his head to hear himself think about anything other than just that.

The lights, flickering and flashing and swirling.  The faces in the crowd—at least those he could make out—lighting up and excitedly reacting to the change in song, speaking to the person beside them—the only person who could hope to hear them.

The person beside him, waiting until George lowered his headphones to lean in to talk to him. Both of Matty's hands gently holding George's forearm. Matty's chest pressed against George's bicep and shoulder as he leaned in, trying to shout in his ear over the music coming from the speakers on all sides of them.

“I’m going to go get a drink, okay?” Matty said. George only understood when Matty pointed at the blue backlit bar directly across the dance floor. He’d been standing next to George for the entire first half of his set, enthusiastic and smiling. Bouncing and dancing. Trying to get George to do more than his usual simple sway to the music—Oh, come on! I know you know how to move your hips a bit better than that, love.

George gave him a thumbs up and a smile. Matty held up two fingers and lifted his eyebrows. He pointed to George’s empty glass resting on the low railing surrounding the raised stage platform. It had been a vodka soda that, thankfully, had barely had much of the first ingredient. George shook his head and nodded toward the bar with his continued smile.

Matty stepped down from the platform and began weaving his way around the dance floor. He avoided all the clueless drunk dancers, almost bodies possessed by the music, and nosey patrons that bothered to look up at the DJ and see the new face now walking among them, but managed to bump directly into Adam. Which meant within seconds, and a silent cheer of surprise, Matty had also found the rest of the band that had come: Ross, John, and Polly.

As if discussed beforehand, the moment they all saw Matty they collectively looked up at George and waved. As if they knew George would be watching Matty from the slightly higher vantage point. Because of course George was. He answered them all with a quick grin so they would turn away again. After a moment of gesturing and over-enunciated (but mostly unheard) sentences, Ross walked with Matty to the bar. The other three migrated to the side of the dance floor with a cementing nod and lift of a hand: We’ll wait right here.

Watching Matty struggle to get through the crowd to the bar, George quickly rearranged his mental lineup of songs. What use was Matty knowing—dating—the DJ if George played all his favorite songs while he stood in line, cramped in his reach for the bartender between Ross and the back of a guy with shoulders practically as wide as Matty was tall.

For a moment, being able to see Matty from a distance was sort of romantic. It was a thrill to be able to take all of Matty in at once—when most of their romance typically happened up close, barely enough distance for George to see the lips he was about to kiss. From his vantage point, George could watch Matty lean forward on the bar, his weight shifting onto his left foot with his right hovering just above the ground. Could watch as Matty began bouncing his foot with an unknown pulse of anxiety, impatience, or anticipation; George couldn’t see Matty’s expression to know.

George looked back at the decks, needing to focus to ensure his secondary ordering of songs transitioned smoothly. He looked back up at Matty—to see if he’d have to sub in another song before he was back on the dance floor—and saw him angled back toward the rest of the room, smiling and chatting, his face more in view. The only face George couldn’t see was that of the man talking to Matty, one hand braced against the bar railing and the other quickly—and so smoothly George barely noticed—fiddling with the end of Matty’s tie.

George checked his watch, trying to give himself somewhere else to look. He lowered his head and gave himself the chance to hide his flushing and crimson embarrassment. He didn’t mind someone else flirting with Matty—George couldn’t be upset with other men that fell under the very same spell he did after their first introduction. No, George felt embarrassed he’d seen them, that he had been watching at all. That he was observing when maybe Matty had no such idea. Exposing a moment perhaps Matty would rather not have George see; invading Matty’s privacy and knowing something Matty would always think George didn’t know. What a terrible basis for lo—

Finally, George looked back up. Resisting to do so almost like telling himself not to think of something—and only prompting further rumination. George saw Matty shaking his head, hand resting on his own chest, as if holding his heart. When the man nudged Matty’s foot with his own—yet something else George felt he should never have seen—Matty lifted his hand to point at George.

Four sets of eyes were now on him: Ross, Matty, the stranger, and now the bartender returning with Matty’s drink. George froze. He didn’t know what Matty had said about him in their conversation; he didn’t want to betray his point by doing the wrong thing. George had told Matty to keep things lowkey for the night while George acclimated to (very subtly) exposing his personal life, but with someone flirting with him why else would he be pointing at George? Surely, it was romantic sort of point—literal romantic gesture—right?

But how could George ensure Matty knew it was okay he brought it up, that he was happy and so proud to be up there but if only because it meant Matty could turn and point and mouth something that looked a hell of a lot like: that’s my boyfriend.

Before George could short-circuit much further, Matty put his fingers to his lips and blew George a kiss. He then folded his hand at the knuckles in a flapping wave. Almost like a joke. A tease. A giddy gesture that had George feeling like he was growing sunburnt under the minimal, flashing lights. A youthful, almost teenage, motion done with complete honesty and infatuation. For a moment, George felt relief, felt certain for a moment that his very ridiculous and overthought plan would work...

With his drink in hand—and small black straw between his lips—Matty started going back toward the rest of the group. His eyes were busy searching each face he passed for Adam or Polly he didn’t look back up at George at first. It was just as well; George was already so anxious, he was sure if Matty looked directly at him as the next song started, his entire heart would’ve dropped into his shoes. Maybe bruised, maybe shattered, maybe resilient enough to bounce back up.

Although, as the song started, George felt like his heart had stopped. Its internal pulse absent from his ears as the beat around them took over, pounding against his chest, ribs, temples. George dissolved into the music; hoping that the joy and repeatedly expressed excitement Matty had shown listening to it in George’s studio would appear on the dance floor in front of him.

Just one more time, George. Play that part just one more time… For me?

After a deep breath, George forewent any subtlety and made no effort to hide he was watching for Matty’s reaction. He pulled his headphones down around his neck. The sound diluted into the vastness of the room, in comparison to being fed directly into George’s ears, but he preferred it. He wanted the space and breathing room. At least for the moment.

Matty stopped his gesticulating and conversation with John, pausing as he registered the song. His pivot from speaking to emphatically starting to sing along was split-second. Adam stood sort of confused, amused, and dumbfounded as Matty’s apparently dire point faded away and he started dancing: swaying mostly his hips with the beat and holding his one arm up, while the other steadily held his drink in front of him.

Matty lowered his arm and went to take another sip just as the chorus was about to hit again, his usual stopping point when listening with George, but the song swung back around to the start of the verse. Just that part, one more time. For him.

Matty’s declared favorite, all over again. Right on time—jumping to that exact thump of the brutally danceable kick drum. George wasn’t sure Matty would even notice; he probably hadn’t heard the song that many times to know its structure the way George had to. Oh, maybe it was all a bit ridiculous to think—

But Matty had stopped dancing. His lips still moved along to the lyrics, but now like trying to whisper across the cacophony to George. The lyrics almost being stripped and returned to its poetic form. Spoken with slight disbelief.

While everyone else seemed slightly confused—feeling more betrayed by their memory than upset about any music decision or direction—Matty continued to melt right back into the song. Dancing just as he had, holding the back of George’s chair with gleeful distraction.

As George began to fade between the songs—no threat of the verse cycling a third time—Matty pushed his empty glass into Ross’s hands and began hurriedly snaking back through the crowd to the platform. Despite his evident excitement—shifting and shuffling his feet while he pulled at his sleeves—Matty still stood and waited for George to give a cue he was finished with his task at hand.

Admittedly, George wanted to stay in the momentary reprieve between his gesture, the reaction, and his direct confession—the purpose of it all. In that moment, he could only be relieved that he’d done it in the first place. He hadn’t yet had enough time to worry or feel embarrassed by his own ornately constructed vulnerability.

But if George stayed in that moment forever, he’d never hear Matty’s reaction. Good or bad, it would still be Matty. And that sure as hell beat a solitary moment of acquiescing to fear.

George lowered his headphones again and turned to Matty with the very best look of neutrality and obliviousness he could. Matty was looking back with that minute, timid smile: the one meant for George and almost undetectable by onlookers. A glimpse at the joy thrumming inside of him; almost too full to even attempt to express; settling for an undersell rather than falling short.

“Need something, Matty?”

“I love that song!” Matty leaned in toward George’s ear. His hand gently curled around George’s hanging safely under the table and out of view. He tugged and pulled George toward him, able to slightly lower—soften—his voice. “You know I love that song—thank you.”

“I-I wanted you to have a good time! A chance to know some songs—your favorites!”

“You didn’t have to do that—what about everyone else here?”

George pulled back to better see Matty’s entire face. “Yeah? What about them?”

Matty’s smile faltered as he lowered his eyes to George’s earring, now swinging in the air after being pressed down by his headphones. His lips parted as if he was going to speak but then pressed them back together.

“Matty,” George said, although not loud enough. “I’m really glad you came tonight.”

“Hm?” Matty moved his fingers behind his ear—as if his hair was even remotely long enough—to politely hint he couldn’t hear George.

“I…” George cleared his throat, hoping it would still be there even if he couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t hear anything but the music flooding his body just like the flush creeping up his chest and over his cheeks. “I love you.”

“What?” Matty cupped his ear and leaned forward toward George.

George found himself repeating the sentence, but far softer. “I—I love you.”

Matty lowered his hand and looked at George with a furrowed brow. “I-I’m sorry, George. I can’t hear you!” He gestured toward his ears with splayed out hands, mimicking the pulsing, pounding soundwaves thudding against him from the surrounding speakers. “Don’t forget though, okay? Tell me later?"

George nodded, smiling. Like he could ever forget.

"Sure, yeah. Later!"

Like he was ever thinking about anything else.

---

After his set, despite the band congratulating him and offering a few rounds on them, George wanted to go home. Wanted to get out of the noise. He was beginning to feel spoken over, crowded, and pushed out by the thumping music—then even more so when it was no longer him behind the decks.

Thankfully—and once again forgetting the holiday—no one teased George for turning in earlier than them. He and Matty were able to be back in his car, sitting in the parking lot, thirty minutes after his set finished.

“George, you’re incredible, you know that right?” Matty was speaking too loudly, but George didn’t mind; his ears were ringing too. And it also meant Matty laughed a bit louder than he usually did, too. “I don’t think I’ve had that much fun in a very long time.”

“I’m glad you came,” George smiled, his own laugh sounding muffled to his ears but feeling stronger in his chest. Matty lifted himself from his seat to lean over the console and kiss George, quickly but firmly.

“Thank you for inviting me, George. I was happy to be there with you not on business,” he said. “Happy to be your date tonight. Proud to be—even if we’re still the only people here that really know I was.”

George thought about saying it again—a third time—but he didn't think he could stomach the trade of an oblivious, neutral response to his intended confession for open, undeniable, almost amplified (possible) rejection.

Instead, he kissed Matty again. He braced his hand on the console and caught Matty's lips again before he moved all the way back into the passenger seat. Matty broke the kiss—without pulling away—with a near-muffled, definitely mumbled confession of his own:

“I heard you, you know,” Matty said when George inquisitively pulled away at the sound spoken against his lips. “After you played my song—what I told you not to forget; I heard you. I-I just wanted to see if you’d say it again. If you wanted to—If you meant it.”

“Do—would you like me to... say it again?” George asked. It was a nicer response than quietly pleading, please don’t break my heart. I’m sorry if I—

“No, no, you don’t owe me another one," Matty held the sides of George's face, anticipating his emotional and physical retreat and apology. "Especially since I still haven’t answered.”

“You don’t have to right now. Let's just go home and—"

“George, I think I should tell the man I’m in love with that I do love him, don’t you? Seems like a reasonable thing to do.”

George reached for Matty's face, holding him and trying to get a good look at the man in love with him. Trying to spot the moment Matty would break, would maybe lie and soften what he'd admitted to. Matty held his joyful—and increasingly teary—look at George.

"You do?"

"Yes! Yes, George. I love you! Of course I do." Matty laughed and pulled George in again. His hands dropped from holding George's face to rest flat on his chest. Feel the beat of his heart.

"Wait," George muttered, turning his face to break the kiss but not pull away. "Say it one more time... For me?"

[allylikethecat]

l 🍍 🫐 🍋

Yesss another fruit emoji ask game for fic writers! Thank you so much for being the BEST and sending this my way (I'm also making the executive decision to also count it as Talk Shop Tuesday lol) if anyone else want to send a fruit emoji ask, OR reblog it themselves the list can be found HERE.

🍍 What kind of AUs do you like? Are there any AUs you hate or just generally have beef with?

Hmmm I tend to like any AU that take place in a world that you can tell the author is extremely passionate about / knows a lot about. For example I LOVE Poses by @vinylandcoffeecollection (sorry not sorry for shouting out this fic again) which is a teacher AU, and I also LOVE The Producer George / TA Matty AU that @lookedlikethebins has been sharing snippets of for this same reason. I LOVE horses and compete in show jumping as an adult amateur, so I'm writing and Equestrian AU. The only AUs I don't like are when they feel half assed or like the author doesn't fully believe in the setting. Luckily, I can't think of any of those in this fandom everyone is so talented!

🫐 What’s your favorite underrated thing in your fandom? (A ship that only you seem to write for, a character there’s almost no fics about, a trope that criminally hasn’t been written yet, etc.)

Ooooh this is hard. Can I say omegaverse / mpreg because I went looking for both of those tropes, couldn't find it, and then had to write it myself? If anyone else wanted to write either of those things I would be SO EXCITED and read it SO FAST and would also LOVE YOU FOREVER, just saying.

🍋 What’s your favorite spicier trope to write?

I am notoriously awful at writing spicy things. I'm going to need all the well wishes / emotional support for the upcoming On a Friday chapters and I apologize in advance for the disappointment. However, I really like when the power and size dynamics come into play, and things get a bit mean.

Thank you SO MUCH for reading and for sending in this fun fruit ask!! I hope you continue to enjoy my works (I can't wait to hear your thoughts on this week's On a Friday update!) and I hope that you are having a wonderful week!

❤️Ally

[lookedlikethebins]

holiday party (plus one)

surprise! have a (belated) holiday oneshot written on a whim because i was thinking about our producer george x TA matty this past break! just wanted to write something fun, something sweet, and see what came up! enjoy this little glimpse! [set ~4months since meeting each other] ~3k words xo

Technically, where Matty lived was considered student housing. He could have friends over for parties, could bring boyfriends back after dates—had brought quite a few boyfriends (and a few one-date-only boys) back—without issue. Matty just couldn’t bring George back after any of their dates. The new hire in the archeology department was more of a local celebrity—known for being the youngest professor on faculty, just a year older than Matty—and not the same as the international kind. Matty had assured George that it wasn’t particularly personal. Simply put (although few things Matty said were to George) if George wanted any bit of his private life to remain within his own control, be his story to tell, he couldn’t be seen wandering around campus, alone or with Matty.

With Matty’s flat off-limits, naturally, George never found it presumptuous when Matty would text George after his evening class to see if George would help grade papers that seemed to show a negative correlation between level of coherency and number of words. Actually, George sort of counted on it. He liked that Matty would invite himself over; never asking if it was okay if he spontaneously dropped by, instead wondering if George simply wanted to keep him company—to which the answer was always yes—then arriving an hour later and knocking on George's front door with said papers and a bottle of wine.

One night in mid-December, George was impatient waiting for Matty’s post-class text. He was nervous Matty would be too exhausted to come over and George would have to figure out another way, and fast, to ask Matty to join him his label event the following night. He didn't think he could face it alone—

But Matty texted, as he always did: last student just left. forgot something in my office but then i’ll be over? x

Matty arrived within the hour, standing outside his door with twice as many papers and wine bottles.

“Final essays.” Matty answered the question George hadn’t yet asked. He pecked George on the lips—George’s preferred form of hello, if he was being honest—and hurried inside from the cold.

Matty looked exhausted, as he had the past few weeks of the term, but at least he’d recently shaved. George was beginning to worry—not only about his general well-being, but Matty’s ability to grow the patchiest beard but the most solid moustache. Meanwhile, George had success with neither and was losing his own ability to grow hair on his head before thirty. Some guys just had all the luck: the looks, brains, sense of humor, charm—

“Which class is this for again? You had three of them.” George said, shutting and locking the door. He flicked off the porch lights, expecting and inviting no other visitors now that Matty was there. He followed after Matty.

Matty was back in his usual spot at George’s kitchen counter, placing one wine bottle down between the barstools before shouldering off his worn, nearly-beaten, leather briefcase onto his seat. Matty always claimed the stool closest to the wall. He began leaving—most likely forgetting—pencils and pens on the lip of the counter that extended up the wall. Even though they’d only been seeing each other for four months, George figured it wouldn’t be too much of a gesture to wordlessly replace his napkin holder with a pencil cup.

“This was the intro class. Other classes finished last week.”

“Right, right.” George nodded. This classifier helped him very little; every class Matty described to George felt introductory. Made him feel like he was sitting in the desks himself, green and confused, just trying to scramble together some foundational understanding.

“I told them: short and succinct. Six pages maximum. They don’t have to show off—I’ll know by how they write it if they are copying, bullshitting, or absolutely clueless. I took the same class—same professor—during my very first term. I know the subject and am their intended audience. I told them seven times last week the only person they were writing to was me. Not Dr. Wriley, not even each other; just me. And you know what they did?” Matty exclaimed. He threw his one empty hand up in exasperation as he looked at the top-most essay in his other hand. “They all wrote me dissertations on Euripides. Which means that I will have no time to work on my own. It’s like they heard I cancelled my trip home and thought I was just planning on fucking about.” Matty rolled his eyes. He paused, lifting his eyebrows in consideration before scowling again. “George, I swear, they gave me so much to read, I’m going to have to call my optometrist again by New Year’s. I'm going to be blind before I graduate."

“I’m sorry, love.” George said, trying to translate the regretful, apologetic look on his face into his voice; Matty hadn’t looked up at him since they greeted each other at the door. With every second that Matty stayed distracted and frazzled, George began to think his entire plan that evening was not a good idea. Not what Matty wanted to be asked after such a taxing day. "Is there anything I can do—”

“—and I know there’s no way you’ve studied the Murray and Woodruff translations so I can’t exactly ask you to read any of these for me so…” Matty paused and grumbled away alternatives to his sentence. “It’s just going to be a very long night. You can help by keeping me awake.”

“Do you have to read them all tonight? Pretty sure you can let yourself have an hour of sleep. Maybe actually have dinner with your boyfriend,” George said. “Think I can convince you of at least that?”

Matty let the full stack of essays thud onto the counter and sighed. His shoulders fell with his exhale as he finally looked back at George. Before he could respond with his usual, quick-witted quip his eyes fell from George’s face to his clothes: his pristine, pressed shirt and polished belt buckle visible just above the countertop; his necklace resting in the gap left by his intentionally neglected shirt buttons; his rings dressing the fingers wrapped around the two stemmed wine glasses; the silver earring George had accidentally taken from Matty’s spot at his bathroom sink—he only ever wore one of them anyway.

“Wait. You’re all dressed up.” Matty seemed startled by the realization. He looked down at his own clothes—a sweater, slacks, and polo combo he wore frequently when he was running on little sleep; comfort and professionalism without having to think too much—and looked back up at George with a look of panic and apology. “You’re all dressed up and I—”

“Look very handsome.” George assured him. He placed both glasses down before grabbing a bottle of wine. They were two different labels: end of term gifts from faculty or perhaps an older, friendlier student. “As you always do—usually I’m the one in slippers and joggers when you come over. Your jumper’s got buttons on it. That’s pretty sophisticated for this place, you know that.” George was hoping Matty would laugh, but concern kept his expression tight and furrowed.

“Are you supposed to be going out—am I interrupting something? Fuck! Oh, shit. Is your stupid little elbow-rubbing holiday party tonight?” Matty gasped as he looked at his watch—before gasping and swearing again. “Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s not stupid, George. I didn’t mean it like that—” His words began to gain speed and George held out a gentle hand to hopefully slow him back down.

“Don’t be sorry. Label holiday dinner parties are stupid little elbow-rubbing events. You’re completely right. Per usual.” George laughed. “But, if it makes you feel better, it’s tomorrow. I didn’t skip anything. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

“Oh. Okay.” Matty nodded.

George knew what Matty looked like when he understood something—his face relaxed and he slightly offset his jaw while he dipped his head in slow, steady nods, blinking each time. Standing in his kitchen, Matty’s eyebrows were still knitted together; his eyes were looking between his papers, his keys, his bag, and the door; and he was pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth so harshly George was afraid he’d draw blood.

“Let’s try another one: would you believe I was waiting for you?” George chose to focus on the corkscrew in his hands rather than Matty’s face as he spoke. George was being sincere and he had been waiting for Matty’s arrival since he’d texted him about his first class around noon that day, but George wasn’t sure he was ready for the look on Matty’s face when he admitted the gesture—or if he knew how to minimize the look on his own face in case the act was too much or too soppy when really Matty just wanted to come in and have a quick rant and a hasty glass or two of wine, before sinking deep into his work. George's only job then would be to make sure by midnight Matty was at least no longer in creased trousers and a belt, lounging next to George in bed while he continued to read.

“You didn’t have to do that, George. It was an exam day—and that’s always a crapshoot as to when the students all finish, you know that.”

“But exam day means end of the term, right? Well, minus the grading.” George winced as he waved the removed cork toward the stack of essays. “But that’s something to celebrate, right? You’re free—for at least a little while.”

“Oh, I see. Celebrate, huh?” Matty caught George’s attention again with a short, low laugh. He looked at George with lifted eyebrows. “You know, I’ll never understand your pretense to get dressed up when your main goal is to get undressed. You keep doing it, George. Just answer the door with about fifty percent of an outfit and I’ll get the idea a lot faster. I’m a smart man. I can handle it.”

“Yeah, because you come over after an exhausting day of teaching and dealing with end of year administrative hoop-jumping and the first thing you want to deal with is me practically steering you right to the couch.”

Matty seemed to mull the idea over. “You know, I wouldn’t hate that… But, I guess you’re right. Maybe answering the door fully clothed is a better idea. Perhaps you are sensible, George. I keep forgetting. Thank you.” Matty reached over to touch George’s forearm holding the wine bottle—and about to pour the contents all over the counter. Matty was looking at George with an expression that always took him by surprise. Made him freeze in place and thought. Made him feel in awe, for a split (hopefully) undetectable moment, of the life he’d found himself in.

Matty’s eyes were locked on George’s, not moving even as their moment of connection drug on into an extended silence while George scrambled for his next charming response—just trying to keep up. Matty’s smile was subtle, almost timid, compared to what George knew to be his full, squinted grin. It was all in Matty’s cheeks, in the subtle roundness at their peaks, just under his eyes. A small hint for George; the single location that was a giveaway to George, in an otherwise seemingly neutral expression to everyone else, he was being seen in a startling private and intimate way, even when they were alone.

George knew, once he handed over the full wine glass, he had a limited amount of time before his window of opportunity would close and the night would shift over to a blur of Matty growing chatty and trying to explain the faults of his students papers—and hopefully a few successes—while George gulped down his own wine and sounds of confusion; both of them giggling as the papers were forgotten and empty wine glasses nearly clattering to the floor as Matty climbed to sit on the edge of the counter, legs on either side of George and feet resting on the horizontal back rung of George’s chair; George only wanting to listen to the way his name sounded when being gasped and sucked in through clenched teeth—

“Actually," George began speaking before he could talk himself out of it. "there is a reason—there’s something I wanted to ask you.” George came around and sat down in his chair at the counter. Matty moved his bag and joined George, taking the other wine glass with a quiet thank you.

“Oh, yeah?” Matty kept the subtlety to his smile but let his eyes change from even and gentle to intense and direct. George was going to lose his courage—because he definitely didn’t have the will to resist Matty, sitting in his kitchen without any early classes the next morning, looking sharp and clever in his work clothes, freshly shaved, and looking at George like that without even a drop of wine in him. “What else is there you could ask me to do, George? If you’ve thought of it and I haven’t tried it, you’ll really surprise me.”

“Would you like to go with me tomorrow?” George said. He took a gulp of wine from his glass. “Be my date to my stupid little elbow-rubbing dinner.”

Matty’s confusion returned faster than before. “Wait—to the label holiday party? W-Work? You want me to go to a work function with you?”

“You asked me if I wanted to go to a faculty dinner the other week.”

“Yeah, because half the department is over sixty-five, doesn’t actually know my name, and hasn’t listened to any music that came out after the year they first started getting laid. They probably would’ve thought you taught there too! But your work… that’s a real dinner, George. Those are important people.”

“And so are you.” George said. He hated how immediate his response was, if only for how canned it sounded. He’d already thought of each of Matty’s arguments; he wanted to bring Matty to a party filled with people that pretended to know him best. If they were going to market him and his personal work (and personal life), they could at least know just who that involved. “My work is important to me, but you are too, equally so. I don’t see the issue. Sort of a natural combination, I’d think.”

“George,” Matty said with a quiet sigh of pity. “I barely knew who you were when we met. I-I should not be in a room with… with… pioneers of culture. I will make a fool out of myself, and worse, you.”

“You won’t make a fool out of me, Matty. You forget I’ve been attending these things for ten years. I used to bring ‘girlfriends’ with me. Absolutely no one has made me look more like an idiot than me at important, career-defining label functions, let me assure you.” George said with a laugh. He reached over to place a hand on Matty’s leg. “I know this is a big ask though, coming to something like this. But it’s a close-door dinner party—just, well, I guess they’re my co-workers. The boys will be there, definitely. But if you don’t want to—”

“I didn’t say that. Never said I didn’t want to go, but...” Matty placed his hand on top of George’s, his finger mindlessly tracing the ring on George’s pinky. “Am I really the person you want to bring along and introduce to... genuinely your entire social circle? Social and work circle? Talk about pissing where you eat, George.”

“Matty, I’m pretty sure everyone on the label being my friends is the example of pissing where I eat. Not bringing you to a party.” George said, shaking his head. “People asked me if you were coming, if you must know.”

“Probably because they don’t want me to be there—” Matty cut himself off with a long sip of wine.

“Matty,” With two fingers, George carefully grabbed the stem of his glass and eased it away from his mouth—without spilling it down the front of him. “First off, even if someone didn’t want you to be there—for whatever reason: you’re new, you’re not industry, you’re a man—I’d still like you to be there. Me. As my date. Not theirs... If you wanted, of course.”

Matty paused and began to bite his thumbnail. “Are you sure no one’s going to mind if I’m just… sitting there in the corner, awkward and quiet?”

“Babe, what do you think I do at these things?” George laughed. He waited for Matty to smile, his mouth preoccupied and unable to chew his cuticle, before using one finger to lower Matty's hand back down to his own lap, where George was holding his other hand. “It’ll be nice to finally have someone join me in the corner.”

Matty inhaled slowly, squeezing George’s hand before speaking again. “I’d love to go.”

“Yeah?” George’s relief—his joy—came out as incredulity. As the immediate questioning of Matty’s decision—and accidental chance to rescind his response. George held his breath but didn't have to wait very long.

“Yes! Yes, I want to go with you. Corner and all.” Matty managed to say before George kissed him.

In a breathless giggle, hands resting on George’s shoulders, Matty said he was very lucky there was a wall behind him.

[lookedlikethebins]

dh2 launch in ta matty universe!!! he is SOOOO proud

[oops! this accidentally turned into a little bit of a blurb...]

OH you bet that ta matty is dh2's biggest and most obnoxiously proud fan (when he is not on campus and required to be "professional" lol). by the time of the announcement george is just so relieved that it's Posted and Live and Official he feels a bit exhausted the day of, meanwhile matty is so proud and thrilled, standing behind george and holding him by the shoulders as they both are scrolling through comments and responses to the post. matty stops george every time he sees a positive one (which is often) and makes sure to read it out loud to make sure george hears it. (and every time a comment is a heart emoji, matty just squeezes his shoulders...)

george had been thinking about the idea for a while: an official imprint not only for his own music but all the other guys too as they slowly shift from studio musicians to touring backing band to all that plus solo artists with solo endeavors and passions. by the time george starts being serious about it, starts getting in meetings with execs and lawyers and marketing, he and matty have been dating for almost a year. george always valued matty's creative opinion on things, even if he was coming from a completely different, non-musical world of expertise, but now that they were all but living together (and matty had let george see him during two finals seasons) george felt like things weren't right unless he had matty's input. final decisions were george's of course, but he knew it wouldn't just be his life going into the label. it would, technically... hopefully... be theirs. matty's smile and nod, or thumbs up while downing another cup of coffee, was all george ever needed.

george finds matty, draft logo designs in hand, sitting on the floor with his elbows resting on the coffee table, fingers holding his head up by the temples. george loiters at the edge of the rug, waiting for matty to turn a page or stop to sip his coffee, before interrupting. eventually matty looks up at george, pinkies lowering his glasses on his nose (and making george laugh--the desired effect, george learns) and asks what he needs; he's busy but never too busy for george.

george sits down on the couch beside matty and begins to spread the pages out on his lap--because there is no room on the table with all of matty's work. matty rests his chin on george's knee and looks at the designs with a bit of confusion before asking what exactly it is that he's looking at. george hadn't told matty about any of the logo or naming/branding ideas and had waited to show matty the most complete and finished product.... which was this. which was now. which was what matty was making such a confused face about.

matty takes one page (the one george liked the most but had put at the bottom of the pile on purpose) and places it over his open book on the table. george still hasn't answered him but george also knows sometimes matty asks questions to indicate that he's thinking, not that he wants anyone to tell him.

"does your label's name have... roman numerals?" matty asks, laughing. he turns to look at george over the top of his glasses. again.

"i thought it would be more dignified than the number. or spelling it out. all the extra letters and space--"

"dignified... you mean pretentious." matty turns back to the multi-colored logo. george had asked for muted primary and secondary colors. something basic but not childlike. simple but so it was easy to remember. colors george felt were familiar to everyone. colors he knew were familiar to him. found easily around the house...

"i-i think i have one that doesn't--"

"are you kidding? george, darling, i love it. love it." matty says. george looks up from the other designs (beginning to wrinkle in his clammy palms) to see matty grinning. beaming. grabbing george's arm to emphasize his approval, as if pressing the praise into his skin. "it looks very smart. very, very clever. and you're right, there is a dignity to it. a sort of... classical antiquity to it, almost. it's brilliant."

george laughs at the sincerity of matty's compliment. the utter and (george thinks) ridiculous joy matty is clearly fighting to restrain: there is an full, open mug of black coffee surrounded (and resting on) piles of crisp white pages--and one very excited boyfriend trying to climb out from under the coffee table, without spilling a drop, to wrap his arms around george.

[lookedlikethebins]

The pictures from the tape notes podcast are so DJ George a bit after releasing dh2. The first projects from the label are starting to be promoted and George is doing a podcast/radio show, is feeling a bit more confident and is just cheesing at the side stage where TA Matty is sitting. I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOUR🩷❤️🩷❤️🩷.

yes!! all this Solo George content (especially the tapenotes ep) is providing a lot of producer george inspo and it's been fantastic. [it's also just so nice to see him so smiley as of late!!!

~ ~ ~

Promo for the new label debut was supposed to be, at first, a short(ish) live interview, despite the fact George didn't like the rush and urgency of radio, of trying not to forget all his key marketing points he'd been made to study, repeat, and rehearse on the car ride over.

With the imprint announcement coming up, and the threat of live interviews closing in, George was on a video call with the manager spearheading the promo cycle, Adrian, and gently trying to wiggle his way out of the radio interview to maybe a print interview or something. Matty was sitting next to George at the counter—situating both his and George's tea cups and breakfast plates so he could put his books down—when he asked why couldn't the interview be recorded?

Like most ideas Matty has, he says it like he's suggesting they try a new type of tea next time they're out, or maybe they change out the really strong hand soap in the bathroom because it's giving him a headache: casual and non-committal, shaking his head to deny he'd ever made the suggestion when George stops mid-sentence to look at him.

Adrian is surprised by the new voice and asks, while smiling, if Matty is there with him. The change in lighting on her face tells George she's changed back to the video call window on her laptop from another, far more important tab. Matty moves his tea cup into frame with a quiet 'morning before going back to his revisions.

She asks George if he wants to to do a recorded episode instead; it'd be twice as long, but he'd probably be able to discuss more things—maybe even the intended first release project, if George felt it was finished enough to want to tease it. As she speaks, her face gets covered in a ghostly white glow again as she opens a blank page on her screen.

Since George knows she can't see his face anymore, can't see him nodding, he says yes more than once. He doesn't like to cut her off, but he wants to save her the breath. He's in.

Adrian laughs as she composes (and reads to George) the email she's sending to a podcast host that recently got in touch with the band, leaving an open invite to discuss any and all of their group or solo work. She sends it—and gets an enthusiastic yes! within fifteen minutes—and George won't stop calling Matty a genius.

So of course, Matty joins George for the recording. Matty dresses down for the event, after having been mistaken as a label rep on more than one occasion after meeting up with George after teaching. He's in a pair of blue jeans and a tie-dye shirt that looks big enough to be George's, but he can't remember where he would've gotten it. He has on his oldest pair of glasses (that are a few diopters off in either lens) and gelled curls from the previous day's meeting with his dissertation advisor. George is wearing a shirt he took from Hann who stole it from Ross, who actually, George realizes when seeing himself in the viewfinder, stole it from him when they were still broke studio musicians all living in the same cramped flat...

George can't believe they—the boys, their band—are anything but that. That they've gained recognition and momentum and status and confidence in their music, their bond, and each other. He can't believe he gets to sit across from someone that knows them, knows their work (with startling detail, actually), and gives George the floor to get excited about the future of 1975 music, shows, and solo projects being supported by the imprint. He can't stop smiling—can't stop cutting himself off with another detail he is so thrilled to be sharing, and to have listened to by such eager ears.

The interview goes well—really well, actually. As George takes off his headphones and gathers up the cord, he pretends he can't see (and hasn't been seeing) Matty grinning from across the room. It feels ridiculous—and George knows it—that despite Adrian holding him by the shoulders and telling him he did a fantastic job and she'd never seen him so comfortable in an interview, it isn't until Matty is quietly and incredulously laughing and whispering about just where George learned to public speak like that—about how he'd never seen George so confident and pleased with himself—that George feels the most proud, begins to feel a bit more trust settle behind his creative instincts and power.

[lookedlikethebins]

https://x.com/andfaced0wn/status/1779107776939151662?s=46 hot dj george and ta matty 😭

(x) the cardigan… are you joking?? looks like someone just finished office hours at 7 but had a producer bf to support at 8 lol

manifesting some more producer george and/or ta matty fashion inspo in the hiatus

[lookedlikethebins]

https://x.com/reasonczuchry/status/1768422637103943900?s=46 HOT PRODUCER GEORGE with his girlies!!!!

SO IT IS!!! SO IT MOST DEFINITELY IS!!! (x)

much to think about... so very much to think about... thank you for your diligent service, anon xoxo

[lookedlikethebins]

if fictional matty and george of the hot producer and ta variety had each other as lock/home screens, what photos would they use

hi anon!!! i love this question & idea-- thank you so much for asking it! the past few nights i've had late nights at work so this was the perfect Creative Break <3

for george: a picture of matty (one of the Boys took for him) sitting on the side stage watching george be a Magician with music. (and yeah, matty would probably wear what he wore to teach to the club... again; he didn't have time to change!)

for matty: a picture of george he has almost by accident; he was trying to take a picture of this one spot of the walking path by campus and george just conveniently walks into frame. (matty realizes that maybe the reason he does want a picture of it is because it's where he and george always walk after their in-between-class lunch...)

[lookedlikethebins]

ok intrusive thoughts alert but hot producer george having a pampering night with his hot ta boyfriend bc they have ben working soooooo hard and matty paints george's nails and they do a little face mask OH

taking a break from my proofreading project for some late night coffee and cereal and brief reprieve to scroll... only to see this and now i shall be running producer_george.exe in the background while i finish my section tonight...

because i think ta matty would be someone who does face masks or any kind of "self care" purely from a pragmatic standpoint: he can't go into an advisor meeting with dark circles under his eyes from having both a late class the night before and an early class the next day; he needs to look spry and attentive and worthy of more grant funding (please!). so matty has all his usual masks and things to make sure george looks less like he's been awake for three days (george doesn't tell him it's technically been four), but then also offers to touch up his roots for him and paint his nails. george invites matty to stay the night (or the next two nights) and cooks them dinner and they turn off their phones the moment matty comes over, and they are just left to be with each other and relax :)

anon, this intrusive thought is truly a gift... thank you xo

[lookedlikethebins]

filling a producer george prompt (👀❕) but i cannot tell you the last time i was in a club so i'm trying to get into the Spirit with charli's Lightning (on repeat) and this picture:

[lookedlikethebins]

i have a really important question

what is the hair sitch for hot producer!george

this is genuinely SUCH an important question!! and i'm so glad you asked it. So the hot producer!george that first meets TA!matty has a short cut (but not buzzed and not bleached):

i think the decision to bleach it would be something matty both instigates and helps do in george's bathroom after teaching his class on a random thursday. after the initial bleach, george is a Big Fan of letting it grow out and having some darker roots-- without it looking like frosted tips. additionally, with the bleached look, george gets The Tinted Sunglasses and our darling favorite: the Dangly Earring :)

[lookedlikethebins]

a morning routine (that starts at night)

|| part of my ongoing producer george & TA matty AU; based on anon-sent request: what is their typical morning routine? ||

Unlike George, Matty seemed to have no concept of a morning routine.

Not that he operated in an unprepared cycle being almost-late or always hurriedly buttoning his shirt and stepping into his shoes while rushing out the door with a goodbye kiss—which only happened once while trying to make the train home for his mother’s birthday. Much lower stakes than missing class, but George thought the priority was very endearing.

(He did make his train.)

Matty’s days alternated on a week-by-week, term-by-term, professor-by-professor basis. George admired Matty’s ability to pivot between routines—early Monday/Wednesday mornings vs. alternating Monday/Thursday and Wednesday/Friday afternoons.

Matty slept in when he felt, after that first alarm buzzer, he was going to be exhausted. He forewent his morning crossword (or mindless scrolling, whatever eased him into his day better) to try and save himself from the headache of being drag-dead tired by noon on a day that didn’t end until after sundown. He got up early if he felt overstimulated the night before and needed time in the quiet before he started his day, as either teacher or student.

The steps in his morning routine were added and dropped as he assessed the day ahead of him: eating a heavier breakfast (which meant toast rather than just coffee) when he had a long sprint of classes and office hours and commuting and student conferences; looking at the weather every morning, but then thinking of what buildings in which he would be teaching, and if those classrooms had heaters that simply never turned off (then leaving his cardigan on the back of George’s dining chair); cramming in some reading while he sipped his coffee if he had even the tiniest inkling he’d be tired after his day and definitely not want to do it then...

Matty’s fluid—and notedly not frantic mornings—blended well with George’s structured ones. George was a constant no matter what Matty had ahead of him. Matty was a nice change-up, stepping around George stretching on the floor or knowing exactly when and where to find him in the house to kiss him goodbye, floral coffee mug and deteriorating leather satchel in hand.

It was when Matty started staying the night on weekdays, with class and work in the mornings, that George noticed instead it was Matty’s evenings that had routine.

Matty tried to be in bed by 10pm. It was very rare that he was, but he continued to set his schedule to it—adjusting as he went by circling and scribbling on his scrap paper to-do list(s) or rewriting later in his pocket-sized planner. If the urgent things were done and he was simply trying to ease the workload of the following day, he’d get in bed with his readings or editing work and prop himself up in the pillows beside George.

George usually went in and out of sleep when Matty was sitting and working in bed—he’d crack an eye open, check the time, then be sure to remind Matty (for the third time) he had a morning class. He would thank George with an endeared pat to his head, before shushing him and moving his hand to cover George’s mouth. His other hand traced where he was reading on the page, doubling his efforts to stay focused despite George's reminder.

Matty’s biggest obstacle, as far as George could see, was shutting himself off for the night. Matty’s routine was all an effort to get himself to go to sleep—and start the next day with all the pre-paved, pre-determined routes of an achievable day.

Nights when Matty would accidentally fall asleep reading and wake up not where he felt he "should’ve been" in his workload were rare, but then all the more disastrous.

George never knew what to do. He'd gently wake Matty as he got out of bed, taking the book from his lap to tell him he’d fallen asleep sitting up; it was horrible for Matty’s posture, and he’d be sore and grumpy and unfocused all day if he didn’t lie down. Matty’s response was always immediate and intense: surging up from the headboard, furious and scrambling for his glasses.

Although they were often useless. Matty unable to see through his hot, burning tears of frustration and disorientation:

“Fuck. Fuck fuck FUCK I can’t believe I was so stupid—I can’t be this fucking stupid. I shouldn’t have come to bed. I fucking knew I’d doze off. FUCK now I’m behind and have to read twice as much—FUCK FUCK FUCK.”

George would stand off to the side as Matty began immolating his morning—getting dressed hurriedly without checking any weather or considering any building maintenance issues; using his shaking hands to try and scoop coffee grounds and spilling them everywhere; unable to see what he was writing on his to-do list with his wet, blurry vision; inconsolable until he’d burned through all the energy he had stored in his body from his cramped, aching sleep in order to be “rightly” angry at himself and the seemingly endless supply of pressure applied to his shoulders, always pushing down.

George knew he couldn't do anything to pull the pressure off his back, or even understand what it was Matty did to suggest how to do that, but he could step in and put up mile markers and guiderails to Matty's semester-long sprint. The only he always survived, but also always told George he couldn't, not again. he just can't...

But the key to avoiding those mornings, the ones George witnessed as a useless bystander, was the proper quieting of Matty’s brain the night before, tabbed by the split nature of his schedules.

George’s reminder of the time was his role in that, as tiny as it was.

Otherwise, Matty made a list in his pocket planner for the next day. He outlined the work he had to complete so he woke up with the same knowledge of his day as he went to sleep. No surprises. He would make the list sitting under the bright lighting of the kitchen counter while George loaded the dishwasher and set the kitchen up for the next morning—for his favored routine.

Matty’s routine worked to tie up their days, tuck them in together, and be sure to be awake to say good night to George. While George’s routine was an effort to lift the claustrophobic pressure of thinning daylight hours, and be there to say good morning; have a good day—

[lookedlikethebins]

Fuckkkk I hadn’t thought about producer George talking about/with matty in interviews!! I’m so excited

Truthfully, I hadn't either until today!! I was originally thinking it would maybe at George's house (interviewing in his home studio/a magazine focused on his set-up and gear more than any Personal Profile) and the interviewer bumps into Matty just putting away laundry or doing dishes on their way back from the bathroom. Or someone writing a different piece is sitting in while George and another artist are working together and Matty comes in and gives the artist and George coffees—and the interviewer assumes Matty is the Coffee Boy for the studio and tells him their coffee order...

Either approach I think it would be fun to try and figure out TA Matty's blend of playing it cool for George's sake (while waiting for his cue) but also very much wanting it to be known he's not just Anybody.

[lookedlikethebins]

the cover of the instrumental album…my eyes need to see it please!!!!!! also SO excited for this fic && love that ur sharing the process of it .. its super fun to see & just making me more excited to eventually read it 🤍

hi love--thank you for joining in on the process and fun! one of my favorite things with fics that emerge from character concepts rather than specific plot beats is the exploration; the discovery of little ideas that i think could be compelling but simple moments, and then seeing what else i "feel" around it. For example, george reading something aloud to matty gave me a space to finally settle a floating idea i had about matty having semi-worsening eyesight (thank you anon)! so as far as i'm concerned you all are part of the process. and honestly this is some of the most fun i've had gathering ideas for a fic in a long time. we're all just pitching fun details and scenes and ideas for an AU that, as far as i'm thinking, is going to be overarchingly happy and sweet! we're all here to have fun and by god we are!

and, bc you asked so nicely, album cover under the cut because it was very much put together in five minutes and was more just trying to capture a general theme/vibe; i'm still searching to see if there's a better picture to use/different album title that calls to me but i like it for right now!! enjoy her x

[lookedlikethebins]

big ta matty vibes, especially the outfit https://x.com/healyinmymind/status/1780226057863368755?s=46

(x)

OH yes yes yes!!! how did i forget about this outfit in the initial fashion gathering for TA matty? this is very matty as a recent grad/newly masters student being interviewed for the student-run, shown-in-the-student-center-only campus news station. even though it's a few years old, the station will still run sound bites from it (with video) as a sort of PSA bumper before other segments and shows.

George is waiting on campus one day (Matty just had to run upstairs in the student center to get something printed out) and is sitting with his head and eyes down, across from one of the big mounted TVs. When suddenly... he hears his boyfriend (about five years younger) talking about making the human experience beautiful and unlimited and true empathy with the most sincere and intentioned look, staring right into the camera, and almost right at George. Matty comes back after his clip is over and it's moved onto the like, MTVU "Artist to Watch" program (for whom George is definitely not producing the new album). They leave the student center and get going on their day but "You don't need to care about what everyone thinks about you. You don't need to do it." stays with George all day....

[lookedlikethebins]

do ta matty and hot producer george have any pets? i know they are dog people, but please enjoy this matty with a cat footage

https://x.com/mattyhealy4ever/status/1777722150335754537?s=46

oh anon, the journey the matty + cat footage (x) has put us all on... we're all changed a bit, i think

producer george and ta matty don't have any pets! not for any other reason than ta matty definitely wouldn't sign on for any additional thing to take care of while completing his phd (the other thing being himself... which... sometimes is not top priority) and while george, in a bigger producer role/less traveling around for shows, definitely loves the thought of being home and with a pet more often, he wouldn't ask matty to take on that responsibility or stress just because he wants a dog. maybe after matty graduates and the idea of getting a Home together starts to enter reality rather than just a thing they're both looking forward to One Day :)