#this boy found a band and was playing gigs within a month of first picking up an instrument

[the-punforgiven]

My brother pisses me the fuck off

[bettyfrommars]

Touch my cheek before you leave me, baby//Part 2

gigolo!Eddie x virgin!older!fem!Reader

(part 1)(part 3)

18+Only, mature content, intimacy smut, sweet!Eddie, nipple play, praise!kink, masturbation, oral (f receiving), protected p in v, toxic mother, self-esteem issues, alcohol consumption, implied self-loathing, pet names, implied sex with someone other than reader, paid sex. wc: 4.6k

summary: After that first night together on your 29th birthday when you lost your virginity to gigolo Eddie, he mentions, in his own way, that he'd like to see you again off the clock. Reader is an introvert dealing with self-esteem issues and invites Eddie to be our date for a wedding, but not before he invites us back to his place.

authors note: I never intended this to be more than one part, but it quickly became a favorite, and I had so many requests for more. Who am I to deny us more of sweet, gigolo Eddie?

All of your support means the world, and I very much look forward to your thoughts ❤️

pls no minors beyond this point

-------

You still couldn’t tell if it was real.  When he said he wouldn’t charge you if you ever wanted to meet up again. It felt sincere when he said it, but now, two days later, by the phone with gigalo Eddie’s number in your hand, you were convinced that it was all part of his game.  Maybe he was just that good.

He knew everything that would turn you on, everything you needed to hear, right down to the pet names and the missionary style, intimate sex. It had all been in the paperwork you’d submitted. It was nothing but a job to him, and you had totally fallen for it.  

Now you felt like one of those idiot, lovesick men at the strip clubs who always believed that the girls were really in love with them after they made eye contact a few times and tipped them for hours on end. 

You did your affirmations in the mirror that morning, trying not to look at yourself from the side in the full length mirror and pinch at the parts of your body you thought were gross.  Trying not to indulge in the morning ritual of hating yourself.

Even if Eddie had felt some type of real connection with you—which you now highly doubted—how would things progress between the two of you? From what Robin had told your friend Nellie, Eddie was a busy boy.  He was a respected gigalo within a 50 mile radius, and his list of regular clients was long; your evening with him was booked a month in advance.  On nights when he didn’t have clients, he was practicing with his band or playing gigs, and you were sure he could have any woman he wanted when he performed.

But then the phone rang as you were sitting there right next to it and you jumped, a shriek escaping your throat.

It was your mom, reminding you to pick up the dress for your cousin's wedding the following weekend. You weren’t going to be in the wedding party, but your mother had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want you to embarrass her with any of the styles of clothes you would’ve picked out for yourself.  

She exhaled a haggard breath.  “I suppose you still haven’t found a date? There’s a new boy who goes to our church. I think he might even like you, as long as you don’t bring up any of your strange conspiracy theories or serial killer statistics. Wear that special bra I got for you, and put a little makeup on.  Men like women who try to look nice for them.”

You wanted so badly to let your mother know that you’d recently paid for a gigolo to take your virginity, just to hear the horror and panic in her voice.  You were already a disappointment to her, why not put a cherry on top?

You put Eddie’s number on the table and stared at it while she talked.  “Actually,” you took a stiff swallow that felt like a marble in your throat.  “I do have a date.  For the wedding.  His name is Eddie.”

You relished the silence of shock at the other end. “Oh? What does this Eddie do? Not another jobless musician like the last boy you had a crush on, I hope?”

You winced at the way she brought it up.  Almost a decade ago, you had a crush on the brother of one of your friends, that is until you overheard him refer to you as “creepy”.

You knew she’d never drop it until you told her something; what a person did for a living and their social standing was very important to your mother.  “He’s, um,” you looked around, eyes landing on one of the cassette tapes on the shelf for the band Mike and The Mechanics.

“He’s a mechanic,” but you knew that wouldn’t be good enough.  “He, uh, runs his own auto body garage.” The lie—the fact that you even had to lie—made you squeeze your eyes shut.

She of course asked what the name of his garage was, and you told her he was from out of town and only coming in for the wedding.  She started badgering you with more questions and you lied and told her someone was at the door of your apartment and you had to go, hanging up the receiver before she could protest.  

A few hours later, after listening to music on full blast in your headphones and nearly pacing a hole in the carpet, you cracked open the nerve to call Eddie.

Your blood ran freezing cold as it rang on his end, and you glanced at the clock: it was just after 8:00pm.  You’d purposely waited until it was later in the evening, praying that he’d be with his band or with another client, and then you could leave him a message on his machine.  You were banking on this, actually.  If he picked up and you heard his voice, you’d probably hang up on him.

As luck would have it, you did get his answering machine.  Nervous as all hell, your voice was a tad squeaky at first, but then you cleared your throat. 

You decided you would present the invitation to be your date to the wedding as a job, one you would pay him for.  You let him know you’d had a great time the other night, and then made sure he had your phone number, and that you would TOTALLY understand if he was already busy that weekend.  You were about to hang up when you realized that you’d never said exactly who you were, and so you blurted your name out at the last minute, but it was too late because the recorder beeped and cut you off.

You went to bed that night convinced you would never hear from him again.  

Much later that night, after a long day, Eddie grinned down at the answering machine the second he heard your voice—he knew it was you right away.  He’d been thinking about you nonstop since that night you’d been together, but he never expected to hear from you.  He worried that he had put you on the spot when he said you wouldn’t have to pay him, and it had probably made you uncomfortable.  Flirting on the job was not something he had done before and it was very unprofessional of him. At the very least, he needed to apologize to you.

But there you were, calling him this soon as if you’d been thinking about him too.  

He tucked his hand in his armpit and nibbled at his lip when you asked if he was free this weekend to go to a wedding with you.

His heart skipped a beat.  He was thinking something more along the lines of dinner and a movie, but, sure, he would be your date—he had a tux. He’d have to reschedule one of his regulars, but she would understand. Other guys might’ve seen that as getting too serious too quick, but not Eddie.  He hadn’t had a girlfriend, or even been on a date that was not work related in over a year.  Women weren’t interested in taking a gigolo home to meet their parents.  They wanted his cock in all of their holes, but none of them ever wanted to know how his day went or what his dreams were.  

“So, just let me know…” you continued in the message.  “...if you’re available, and how much would you charge for something like that? I’d totally understand if…”

Damn it, he cursed to himself, sucking air in the side of his cheek.  He thought that invitation was sounding a little too good to be true.  

All the same, he called back the next day and left a message while you were at the local grocery store where you worked as an assistant manager, letting you know he’d be honored to be your date, and to tell him the where and the when.

But he did not give a price, and the omission was not lost on you.

—-----

You were so nervous, you could puke.

But it was still a day before the wedding, and you were in attendance at the post-rehearsal dinner at Enzo’s.  Although you were not going to be in the wedding, your beautiful, outgoing sister Judith was, and you weren’t entirely against a dinner paid for by your uncle at one of the fanciest restaurants in town.  

You were feeling the buzz of the wine and trying to play wallflower as the other four people at the table, including your sister and three of her friends, engaged in lively conversation and shared exaggerated stories from their college years.  You were sitting back in your chair, offering a chuckle to something that was just said, when you looked across to the main entrance and saw Eddie coming through the door.  

You were only looking in his direction for maybe five seconds before you looked away, but it felt like an hour.  There was an ocean in your ears as your heartbeat soared and your brain scrambled to make sense of what was going on. 

He looked particularly beautiful.  Hair worn down, framing his face, a crisp white button down, allowing for the dark designs of his chest tattoos to show, sleeves rolled up at the elbows, exposing his defined forearm muscles and tattoos.  

Eddie was not alone.  

Next to him, holding onto his arm, was a very pretty woman.  Shoulder length, brunette hair brushed back from her face, flawless skin, tight black dress and gold jewelry.  She might have been mid to late thirties, much shorter than Eddie. They appeared to be very cozy as they stood waiting to be shown to their booth, and when she turned to ask him something, Eddie answered, and then kissed the back of her hand.

You snapped your eyes back to the table, twirled the stem of your wine glass a few times, and then lifted it to your lips for a generous gulp.  Everyone at your table was just tipsy enough to not notice how flustered you got, cheeks blooming red hot.

Eddie saw you while he was escorting Lana to their table, but he wasn’t sure if you had seen him yet or not.  This was his fifth “date” with Lana.  Her husband passed away four years ago, and she’d decided that she’d never love another man again as much as she’d loved him, so she didn’t want any romantic attachments.  What she wanted was a man to take care of her once in a while: escort her to dinner, treat her like a lady, hold doors for, and then let her suck him off so he could cum on her tits the way her husband used to do.  He wore her husband's Old Spice aftershave and called her “Sugar” which had always been his nickname for her. 

He needed to focus on Lana, but as the waiter handed over the wine menus, Eddie kept glancing in your direction.  It'd been a week since the two of you had been together biblically, and he’d really been missing your face, more than he could even admit to himself.  He found himself drawn to you chemically in a way he hadn’t experienced since he was a teenager. 

You shot him a look over your wine glass, and he lifted his fingers in a small wave, but you ducked your head and tried to hide behind whoever was sitting next to you. 

If anyone there recognized him tomorrow at the wedding, and happened to connect the dots that he was with another woman on a date the night before, that would be bad. He made a last second decision to switch places with Lana in the booth so that his back would be to the people you were with, in an effort to hide his identity.  

“I think it’s time for me to go home,” you announced to the table, getting to your feet as you said it.

Your sister protested.  “But, we just got here? One more drink?”

You fumbled so fast for your jacket that your chair fell to the ground.  Even over the Italian music and plentiful conversations, everyone turned to look, including Eddie, and then you were rushing to get out of the restaurant, bursting into the fresh air and hurrying down the sidewalk.

Down at the corner of the building, you were catching your breath and feeling stupid as hell, when you realized Eddie was coming toward you with his hands in his pockets.  He had waited a few minutes, but eventually followed.

“Hey,” he said, catching up to you after a few slow, deliberate strides.  “I hope I didn’t make anything weird for you in there.”

You covered your eyes with your hand.  “No, I’m the one who made things weird,” you told him. “I’m just not a fan of crowds. I think I got a little claustrophobic.”

“I know what you mean,” Eddie had his head down, shuffling his foot, and you noticed how different his demeanor was when he wasn’t “working”.  

You huffed a laugh.  “You’re a natural with people, what are you talking about?”

“Maybe I just play a good game,” he lifted his eyes to meet yours, chin lowered. “On the inside I spend plenty of time curled in a ball in the corner, I promise you.”

A car horn blared in the distance, and then Eddie spoke again.  “You look really pretty tonight,” his hands stayed in his pockets, but he gestured with his elbow.  “Are we still on for tomorrow?”

“Of course,” you said quickly, praying he hadn’t suddenly changed his mind.  “I mean, if you still want to?”

“Of course I want to, sweetheart,” he cocked his head, but then he gestured toward the restaurant. “I need to get back in, I can’t leave her hanging.”

You started to speak nervously, something about “oh yes sure go ahead absolutely okay goodnight” as you walked away, but then he caught your arm.

He searched your face in the dark shadow of the street corner.  “Are you…busy later? Like, in a couple hours?”

Your heart tightened at the urgency of his question.  The way his eyes settled on you, they were full of desire, and you couldn’t remember the last time anyone gave you all of their attention like that.  

Eddie was really taking a chance with this one.  What woman in her right mind would want to spend time with him right after he’d been intimate with someone else?  This is where any dating situation he ever attempted came to a screeching halt.  He went home lonely more often than not.  

Your gaze flicked from his eyes to his beautiful neck, letting the gravity of what he was asking you sink in.  “Won’t you be…tired?”

He brushed his knuckles across your cheek.  “Not too tired.”

—----

He called from the payphone at Enzo’s and left his address on your answering machine, just like he said he would, and so there you were, in your car in the driveway of the adorable light blue house he shared with a friend named Steve, who was supposedly also in the gigolo business. Steve was out of town for a few days, though, and inside your head you were screaming; you couldn’t believe this was happening.

 It was one of the better maintained houses on the block; lawn perfectly mowed and trimmed, a flower bed with purple pansies along the sidewalk.  There was the husk of an old muscle car in the garage though, and an engine weeping oil on the pavement.  The lie you’d told your mother wasn’t too far off, and a grin kicked up one side of your mouth thinking about how Eddie’s strong hands had some black stains in the crevasses from working on cars, even though he scrubbed them constantly.  

Eddie had no idea what he was doing.  The good thing about being a gigalo was that he could control the atmosphere and the outcome: he never had to worry about getting hurt because it was just a job.  

You could tell he’d just come out of the shower when he answered the door in a plain white tee and jeans exposing the tattoos on his arms, hair wet down his shoulders, skin warm and soft when he hugged you in the doorframe. 

The hug lingered, and when you stepped back, your chin was down, your eyes trying to avoid him at all costs. Sure, you wanted to be there with him, but also, your body was in fight or flight mode.  You could hear your mother’s voice in your head then, telling you there’s no way a guy as good looking as Eddie would be interested in a girl like you. She’d insist he was using you for something.

“Hey,” Eddie caught your chin and brought your attention back to him. He ran a thumb across your mouth.  “I’ve been dreaming of these lips.”

It made you snort a laugh, and Eddie laughed too, squeezing one eye closed.  “Sorry, was that too cheesy? Occupational hazard.”

“I like cheesy,” you beamed, parting your lips to accept his kiss, opening your mouth to take him deeper, working your hands up the front of his chest over his shirt.  You tried not to think about the woman he’d been with just an hour earlier, and the things they’d possibly done together.  If he could accept you and still find you desirable, even when you didn’t even like yourself, you were willing to have an open mind about his profession.  At least for now.

You found out he had an episode of Elvira’s Movie Macabre on the TV, and told him it was one of your favorites.  This made Eddie like you even more.  He sat back on the couch, legs long, and beckoned for you with a few eager flaps of his wrist to come and sit flush with your back against him.  “This is what I needed,” he said as you got comfortable between his legs.  He kissed the side of your head, intertwined the fingers of one of his hands with yours, and you could barely concentrate on the show with the way his closeness made your pussy pulse.

“Is this okay?” He whispered.  Both of his thumbs slid down the front of the blouse you were wearing to graze the hard nubs of your nipples, while he kissed the outer ridge of your ear.  

You could only make a needy purr in the back of your throat, pushing against him at the need for more.  

“Are your nipples this hard just for me, sweetheart?” He hushed, nuzzling your ear.  You squirmed a bit more, nodding, exposing the side of your neck to greet his mouth.  He unbuttoned your shirt and pulled down the front cups of your bra to pluck at your tender buds, making you whine.  He found your pulse point on your throat and sucked there, continuing to work your nipples in a way that had your underwear immediately damp with arousal.

“You getting wet for me so I can taste how good I make you feel, baby?”

Indeed, your body was letting him know loud and clear that this is what it wanted.  

He licked his fingers to wet your nipples, and you felt like you might be able to cum from his finger twisting alone.  You undid the zipper on your trousers and sank your fingers into the wetness there, working your slippery clit.  You slid your digits down a little further and dipped them into your hole; it gripped around you, begging to be filled.

“Let me taste it,” he told you.  You presented your two glistening fingers up and he sucked them into his mouth, licking them clean, making you tremble at the way his tongue flicked between them.

“Keep touching yourself,” he encouraged, milking and twisting your nipples with a bit more force now that they weren’t as sensitive, causing zings of pleasure to rock through your body.

“Eddie,” you whimpered, finding your clit again, working your wrist.  “You’re going to make me—”

But then it was already happening, a pop of velvet streamers liquified at your core, pulsing, throbbing, making you go blind for a second.  

Eddie’s cock bucked hard against his denim.  You turned to kiss him in the aftermath, and he slid out from under you to get on his knees, pulling your pants off the rest of the way.

“I need to taste it,” he breathed, hiking your knees up over his shoulders so he could bury his face and lick you clean, lapping up your gift, groaning and rocking forward on his knees as he did so.  

You grabbed onto his hair.  “You like how hard I cum for you, don’t you baby?”

You were learning to be more verbal, and it made his hips twitch against the couch, he wanted you so bad.  Once he devoured the sweet  nectar of  your cum, he worked his way up your body, kissing your breasts, and then finding your mouth.  He sank two fingers into your aching hole, and your pelvis flexed eagerly up to meet his hand.  

“Hey,” he brushed his lips over yours, hovering there.  “I don’t ever go down on...clients,” he admitted to you, eyes finding yours, fucking his fingers slowly in and out, curling them up once they were deep inside of you. “You are special, I just thought you should know.”

“I like knowing that,” you said with a quiver in your voice, holding his face. “I want you inside of me.”

There was a condom in his wallet and he helped you guide it onto his cock after he pushed his jeans down, every bit the teacher.  You slid your shoulders down the couch, legs spread wide, exposing all of your holes for him.  Gripping your hip, he teased the tip at your entrance, eyebrows pinching together at the sensation.

“Without a condom, I’d probably blow a hole through you, baby, you’ve got me so hard.”

Your pussy was soaked, dripping from your folds down the condom on his cock.  “You’re the only one I want inside of me,” you were merely stating a fact, but it was just what he needed to hear, and he rose up on his knees, pulled your ass a bit further off the couch, and buried himself balls deep with a hard gasp.

He leaned forward to brace his forearms on the cushion at either side of your head, kissing you, thrusting in a few times as deep as he could go, skin smacking, your wetness now shimmering on the curly hairs at the base of his cock.

You were amazed at how your body knew how to respond, even though you had absolutely no clue what you were doing.  Bucking your hips up to meet him was your favorite, and then every now and then, he’d swivel his hips, holding your legs out.  

“That was a fancy move,” you breathed against his lips. 

“I save all my fancy moves for you, sweetheart,” he chuckled.

He brought his thumb in to play with your clit.  “I want you to cum with me.”

You didn’t know if that kind of tandem miracle was possible, but you were willing to try.  You brought your fingers in to work your slick juices over just the right spot, and Eddie sat back to watch you. He was observing and taking notes.

“You stretch me out so good,” you whined, getting into the swing of things, swiping your fingers faster, not phased at all by the way the parts of your body you hated were all hanging out for him to see.  

“Shit,” Eddie bucked. “You’re gonna make me cum right now if you talk like that.”

“You’ve ruined me for everyone with your big cock, baby,” you continued. “No one will ever fill me up like you do.”

“Fuck, you’re so tight, holy shit,” Eddie cried out.

You could feel the peak approaching but then Eddie pushed in a bit too eagerly, and his cock slipped out and dove up into the folds of your pussy.

“Oh, fuck, right there,” you called out, clutching his shoulder, begging him to work the head of his cock on your clit.

“Fuck baby fuckkkkk,” he hissed, thrusting his hips, fucking your folds with the underside of his cock.  “I’m gonna cum, baby.”

And then, it was you who was cumming, babbling, riding the wave as Eddie cock dipped back inside, needing to feel like he was pumping it inside of you, worshiping you from the inside with his seed.

In the aftermath, his head lowered, hair hanging down, he enjoyed the slip of your cum, feeding you the shaft a few more times. 

Eddie was about to pull you against him to watch Movie Macabre for real this time, but when you came out of the bathroom, you were fully dressed with your bag over your shoulder and a distinct look of goodbye on your face.

“I should get going,” you announced, picking at some loose skin around your cuticle.  

Eddie stood from the couch, fixing himself, making sure the zipper was up on his jeans.  He didn’t have a shirt on, exposing the cut lines at his hips and trail of hair below his belly button.

“Sure, sure, um,” he looked around, hands on his hips.  “You don’t have to go.  I mean, you could even stay here, if you wanted. I could set my alarm if you have to get up early.”

You wondered what he charged for overnight stays.  Would you receive a bill on Monday for two full days worth of gigolo time? You had no idea what his rates were, and you still knew you couldn’t afford it.   The voices in your head were telling you what a gullible, cock drunk fool you were. While in the bathroom, you realized that everything he said was way too good to be true.  No man had ever wanted you this bad, nor would they ever.  A part of you was even harboring some anger towards him for being deceitful and making you feel things you’d gone 3 decades without.

“Thank you,” you cleared your throat. “For this.  I have a big day tomorrow, so,” and then you turned without another word, headed for the door.

Eddie hustled after you.  “Okay, so, I’ll pick you up at your place tomorrow, yeah? We’ll go together?”

“Actually,” you gave him your profile.  “I think it would be better if  you just met me at the venue.”

“If that’s what you want,” he said quietly.  He was having a hard time reading you. “I’ll be there.”

“Okay, thanks again,” you said in a rush. 

“Hey, wait—-” but you were already out the door and hurrying down the driveway to your car, afraid to look back.  

---------

Thank you for reading!

[creativeashproductions]

If I Stay Part One // Luke Patterson

Summary: A beautiful day Luke visits a record store to relive the times he would buy an album, but he finds more than memories. He meets you and a connection blossoms between you two and then Reggie and Alex as well. All is well until Julie discovers something.

Warning: Swearing, talk of death and car accident!

Words: 2.6k

A/N: This is based off the movie If I Stay and the movie Charlie St. Cloud. Sorry for not posting sooner, my sister in law along with my three nieces were in a car accident. Thankfully the kids are okay but my sister-in-law in currently in hospital due to minor injuries thus far.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

So, Julie’s life changed dramatically in the lost year and few months, firstly her family lost their mother. Secondly, Julie’s love for music faded until the melody and lyrics were haunting memories. Thirdly, after losing her place in the music program, she had to question her sanity. For in her garage lived three teenage ghosts to her disbelief and horror quite frankly; the ghosts grew on her so much she was in a band with them.

In the hours that Julie was attending school, the boys tended to tour the entire city. They enjoyed seeing the changes that had happened for the two and a half decades. Reggie really enjoyed the western-themed stores, even scaring a little girl with a floating cowboy hat that disappeared once on his head. Alex adored learning about the drastic changes within in the LGBTQ+ community, he had plans for when 2021 LA Pride came in June. Luke, of course, would go anywhere that had music such as music stores, record stores, concert venues and even followed a rock legend once.

“Ooh.” A voice spoke in the record store, “This would be the perfect gift.”

Luke turned to see you gazing at the Rock N’ Roll records with a passion in your eyes and an adorable smile that melted his heart. He couldn’t help but walk closer even if he had no clue if you could see him or not.

“Def Leppard? Definitely one of my favourite bands.” Luke spoke anticipating the usual one-sided conversation. His speculation shattered when you turned to face him with big eyes, “You can see me.”

You nodded your head, pushing your hands into your faded blue jeans glancing around the store, hoping the owner didn’t notice. To your relief the man was oblivious, Luke glanced over before stepping closer.

 “You’re alive?”

“Mhm.” You spoke, removing a single hand to play with your burgundy jacket that cinched at the waist to give form. It was open to reveal a plain black shirt that left an inch of your midsection free, “I always wondered if ghosts were real. I got my answer.”

“This is so cool! My friend is the only person that can see my friends and me.” The grin was breathtaking on the teenage ghost. There was a connection between the two that was immediate and intense.

“At least you’re not alone.” You supplied turning to pick up the record, turning it around to read the tracklist. In the end, you decided you didn’t feel like buying it, replacing it you started for the front door.

A college-aged person walked in glued to the screen of the phone not replying as you mentioned a thank you before the door closed. Luke rushed to follow your steady pace in black hiking boots.

“Where are you going?” Luke questioned coming to the same stride as the girl that had taken his attention quickly. His interest had grown when he found he could hold a conversation with her.

“It’s a nice day. I thought I would go for a walk.” You replied, stopping to look around the street with curious eyes. Luke yearned for those eyes to look in his again because he swore he saw a galaxy in them, “Would you like to join me?”

Luke’s head was nodding in response with a new pep in his step as you walked down the street filled with all different kind of stores. Luke recognized Family Living Grocery store as the one that the Molina got their groceries, he and the guys had joined Julie on a trip once. It was one of his worst memories as a ghost, surrounded by snacks and food he couldn’t indulge in.

“So, what’s your story, Caspar?” You questioned stopping to look as at a beautiful dollhouse, “My cousin had one. We actually renovated it a while back for her unborn niece.”

“Caspar?” Luke teased, watching the nostalgia faded from your expression as you continued on the walk. His hazel eyes, greener at the moment, glittered at the different banter he had with you than the guys or Julie.

“Well, I don’t know your name!” You exclaimed turning the corner at a parlour with gorgeous stencilled artwork on the glass.

“Luke. My name is Luke. Hey! I know this shop!” Luke beamed, stepping back to take in the storefront. In the twenty-five years since he last saw it, the blue faded into a teal, but the door was still the same as it always was.

“You have a tattoo?” You asked, scanning his arms bare in the cut off shirt he wore. You couldn’t see any ink on his skin. Luke couldn’t help the smirk on his face at the blatant heated gaze.

“No. It was 1994. We just played our biggest gig at the time, and Bobby decided we should get tattoos.” Luke’s mouth twisted at the mention of his former friend, “Of course we were sixteen and Alex just about fainted in the shop. The guy took one look at Reggie and laughed at our fake IDs. Told us to come back in a few years.”

One of the few memories that weren’t tainted by the betrayal that Trevor Wilson had gone on to do a year after the tattoo fiasco. It was more than not being credited or his songs being stolen, but it was also that someone he wholeheartedly trusted turned his back on them. Luke frankly didn’t care how Bobby coped after that fateful night. Still, he changed his name and refused any mention of his previous music experience. That hurt a lot.

“So, you’re a ’90s kid.” You raised an eyebrow coming to a stop on the edge of the street, pressing the button to cross.

“Technically a ’70s kid. We died in ’95 a few hours before a life-changing gig.” The mood turned sombre as Luke thought back on that one night that life decided to raise both middle fingers at his dreams, “Death by a hot dog.”

The snicker fell from your mouth before you do anything about it but sobered up quickly in the view of his painful admittance.

“So, you’re seventeen?” You asked crossing when the crosswalk light flickered on. Your attention focused on crossing while listening to the teenager.

“Forever seventeen but I would eighteen physically, but if I had survived I would be forty-three.” Luke mused shoving his hands into his staple black jeans with the chains and his constant accessory of a blue rabbit’s foot.

“Oh, damn. I’ve seventeen as well.” You replied dodging pedestrians before humming a to a song you had heard recently but where you did was unknown. You didn’t want to bump into anyone.

Luke glanced down at his watch, somehow even in death it worked, noticing that it was around the time rehearsal would commence. The thought barely ended before a flash of light preceded Alex’s presence. You slightly jumped in response.

“Luke! Julie’s wondering where you are. We have rehearsal.” Alex was surprised that Luke wasn’t already at the studio. He was always the first one holding his guitar for the rest of them.

One glance at the girl beside Luke cemented a reason for his tardiness. Alex could see that you were the reason and a pretty reason too. Alex wished he had your jacket with such a beautiful colour, but the music was more important.

“Oh, man!” Luke panicked fearing that being late would cause Julie to leave the band after the whole school dance fiasco.

“So, Luke. I like your name by the way. I’m Y/N.” You greeted holding back from offering you a hand, your theory would have been proven correct. Ghosts can’t touch other people, all the movies portrayed that.

“Nice to meet you! I’ll find you soon!” Luke shouted seconds before Alex poofed them both away with a single hand on his bandmate’s shoulder.

A content smile appeared before you continued on your way, unaware of the lack of acknowledgement from people on the street.

The next few days, Luke would find you either in the record store or just out front during his free time. He hadn’t realized how lonely he was touring the music entertainment spots until he had your company. Soon you were joined by Alex and Reggie every once in a while.

The three were planning outings with their new lifer friend as Julie grabbed her songbook from her room. She was amused when the three wouldn’t shut up.

“What are you planning?” Julie questioned scanning their animated expressions, even taking in the slight change in Alex’s appearance.

Alex had a braided bracelet of the rainbow on his left wrist that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday. He even seemed calmer and less anxious, as well.

“What happened to Alex?” Julie questioned with a small smirk, “Did you bump into Willie?”

Alex shook his head, “No, Luke met this girl at a record store and then Reggie and I met her. She’s cool! There’s this app she showed us, and it had videos of anything you could imagine!”

Julie’s teasing smile faltered at the mention of Luke meeting someone before it returned once more. She pushed the feeling away as this girl had brought peace to the drummer.

“What’s her name?” Julie asked, pushing the songbook away to listen intently to the new piece of the boys’ afterlife. The three burst into stories of the girl.

“She took me to this cool place nearby where people store their horses!” Reggie burst out, clapping his head, “I already have a country song started! This is so a hit single for our future country album!”

Alex only released an exasperated sigh at Reggie’s idea that he voiced every single day since the beginning of the band. Luke was just used to finding sheets of songs from Reggie around the studio and often his songbook too.

“She also brought me a bag of clothing she had in her house that she let me go through. Apparently, her house is the place where cousins take their old clothing.” Alex supplied striking a pose in his new white sweater with a rainbow logo on the front.

Julie grinned at the positivity radiating off the two boys.

“Is she a ghost?”

Luke shook his head, “No. She’s alive.”

A spark of happiness flits itself inside of Julie before it dissipated because Flynn had already gently let the girl down about Luke.

“What’s her name! I’m gonna find her Instagram!” Julie took out her phone waiting as Alex supplied her the name. Her thumbs froze before she could type staring down at the black screen.

The name was familiar.

Laying on a bed on San Pablo Street was a girl with her eyes closed and a serene expression. This bed wasn’t just any bed in a home. Instead, this bed was one no one wished to be in. A bed with machines surrounding and right in the middle of those machines was Y/N.

The very girl that had met Luke, Reggie and Alex were in fact in the ICU of a hospital recovering in a coma.

“Why do you look like that?” Luke demanded as the colour drained from the lead singer of their band.

“Are you sure it was Y/N Y/L/N?” Julie gulped dread filling her veins as each boy nodded their head and the girl slumped, “I go to school with her. The thing is she’s been in a coma for two weeks now.”

You were outside the record store once more as the three ghosts appeared in front of you each looking the worst you had ever seen them.

“Did you lie?” Luke questioned stepping closer to the teenage girl that furrowed her brows in confusion, “You said that you are alive. Why did you lie?”

“Lie?” You asked, taking a step back from the odd energy the boys had. A look of distraught on each face, “What are you talking about?”

“Why are you here every day at this exact time. Never late, never early.” Alex questioned sick to his stomach as your brows came together.

“I- walk…” You trailed off thinking of the last week in deep thought paling as you had no recollection of going home or getting to the store. It was like you blacked out each time.

Actually, the last time you remember not being with the guys or at the store was two weeks ago.

“I don’t re…member.” You whispered, “I haven’t seen my family since…oh my god.”

Luke stepped closer, terrified as he reached out, hoping with his entire being his hand would go through you. It didn’t. Luke’s hand rested on your arm, still wearing that burgundy jacket. Your eyes flickered between his solid hand and the same outfit you wore for weeks now. Why would you be wearing a jacket and hiking boots in Los Angeles?

“My cousin had been saving up for a trip for her eighteenth birthday. She wanted to go skiing, so we split the cost between our families.”

As if a wall broke, you realized with horror that the college boy that hadn’t held the for you like you first thought. He hadn’t seen or heard you because in his world you weren’t there. No one had acknowledged you because they couldn’t see you just like they couldn’t see Luke.

“What else do you remember?” Reggie spoke up next, noticing that Luke was getting more upset. His eyes going so light the green appeared to be blue and glittered with tears and his heart dropping.

“My parents, my cousin and I were driving up the mountain in the rented car. There-“

Two Weeks Ago

Your head leaned again Lou’s head sharing the headphones connected to your phone blasting the carefully curated playlist. Lou had been living with your parents and you the last six months as her parents were travelling for work. It was a dream because she was like a sister already and vice versa; Lou as a surprise baby with her older sister being ten years older.

“We haven’t been to the slopes since we first got married.” Dad said glancing over at your mother in the passenger seat, “Didn’t we conceive-“

“Dad! Gross!” You shouted, wrinkling your nose as he glanced in the rear-view mirror to smile at your antics. Your mother’s laugh was probably one of your most favourite sounds in the world, it was warm like hot chocolate on a cold day.

“Did you see that video of the hologram band?” Lou asked, not paying attention to your family’s antics, “It’s super cool.”

“We still have half of our playlist to go through. You should show me when we get to the cabin.” You replied, “We could put it on the projector with the others.”

The others being your extended family, including the surprise of Lou’s parents. Your mother pointed out the snow on the mountain gaining everyone’s attention. It was beautiful compared to sunny Los Angeles.

Lou’s thumb was just about to click the video of Julie and the Phantoms against your wishes. You felt the fear before the yell, snapping your head up you watched as a pickup truck hit ice swerving into your lane. The screech of tires preceded the crunch of the vehicles hitting each other. Throughout the surrounding area, the echoes of the crash bounced off the mountains scaring birds away. Miraculously Lou’s phone survived the crash and played the electric video of ‘Edge of Great’ by Julie and the Phantoms. A song you would hum under your breath during your walks meeting the guys.

The snow turned red under four of five bodies. You lay nonconscious a stark difference in the burgundy jacket and black shirt you had painstakingly chosen that morning.

If I Stay Part Two (Final)

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED!)

@safehavenmuse @siennanoelle01 @whiterose291 @mell-bell @blackhood5sos @ficrecsideblog @ifilwtmfc @deadpoolgirl23 @crappy-unicorn @sunsetcurve-h@elioelioeli0 @lovesanimals @popcrone818 @lolychu @deepsleepnat @tenaciousperfectionunknown @aunicornmademedoit @just-a-writer-here @simp4reggie @parkeret @faithiebrock01 @overlyhypedup @differentsoulrascalsalad @aesthetic-lyss @versaceapa​ @carleywhittaker​ @lostgirl219​ @itsalexx21​ @elllaoo4 @merxxleighann​ @mediocremunge @fantomlovesjuke4ever @dpaccione​

[parkerslatte]

See You Again

MASTERLIST

Platonic!Alex Mercer x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Bit of a crappy ending?

Word Count: 1.6k+

Summary: (Y/N) was best friends with Alex before he, Luke and Reggie died. Twenty-five years later, (Y/N) is friends with Julie's dad, Ray. She goes with him, Carlos and Victoria to see Julie perform at the Orpheum. That's where she see's her best friend again - but he looks alive and seventeen.

A/N: I would say that this is kind of and AU where the boys never go to Caleb and never get stamped but Julie can still touch them as it makes more sense with the story. :)

*****

Growing up, (Y/N) could always rely on her four best friends in the entire world - Alex, Luke, Reggie and Bobby. She could go to them for anything. If she was sad, they would cheer her up. If she was feeling lonely, they would stay with her to make sure that she didn’t feel that way anymore. However out of the four boys, she had always had a special connection with Alex - as soon as they met the two of them clicked. 

(Y/N) and Alex knew each other extremely well - or too well some may say. The pair of them practically spending every waking moment together. (Y/N) was the first person Alex ever came out to. (Y/N) remembered that day clearly. 

......

Fifteen year old’s (Y/N) (L/N) and Alex Mercer were sprawled out across (Y/N)’s bed. It was raining outside so the two friends couldn’t do anything so they were cooped up inside. They had tried to watch a movie but both of them got bored within the first fifteen minutes. The room was silent.

Alex fiddled with his thumbs while staring up at (Y/N)’s ceiling. He wanted to tell her but he was scared. What if she didn’t accept him? What if after he told him she hated him? These thoughts had been running through Alex’s mind for the past ten minutes. Alex knew that if (Y/N) was truly his friend then she would accept him no matter what. But he just couldn’t help but feel this way. 

“(Y/N)?” Alex’s voice broke the silence. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?” (Y/N) hummed in response. Alex cleared his throat before asking, “Would you be my friend no matter what?”

(Y/N) turned to him before sitting up in the bed, “Of course I would Alex! Why wouldn’t you think I wouldn’t?”

Alex sighed while sitting up, “Well it’s just, I don’t like-” Alex cut himself off looking around the room. He didn’t understand why this was so difficult for him.

(Y/N) reached forward and took Alex’s hand in hers giving it a gentle squeeze, “Whatever it is, you can tell me.” 

Alex looked down at her hand for a moment before moving his gaze up to meet her eyes, he took one finale exhale before saying, “I don’t like girls. I like boys.” It felt as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. 

(Y/N) looked at her blonde friend for a moment longer before a smile broke out on her face, “I’m glad you told me Alex.”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad? You like boys, what’s the big deal? Alex, you’re my best friend and I’ll still love you regardless of who you love.” (Y/N) brought Alex in for a hug and the boy hugged her back, trying to prevent the tears that were threatening to fall.

“Thank you, (Y/N).”

...

Of course being friends with all four members of Sunset Curve had its perks. (Y/N) was invited to every gig they played - including their biggest one they ever had. The Orpheum. Of course (Y/N) was extremely excited for the boys and wanted to spend every moment with them up until the performance, until Alex, Luke and Reggie opted to go out and get street dogs. (Y/N) obviously stayed within the Orpheum with Bobby - who had taken the opportunity to chat up the waitress. 

To say the night hadn’t gone as planned would be an understatement. When she woke up that morning, (Y/N) never realised that she would be crying her eyes out over the death of her three best friends. All because they had gone to get those stupid street dogs. (Y/N) had to go to three funerals in the span of a week. 

Of course, for a few years after the death of Alex, Luke and Reggie, (Y/N) had Bobby. The two had gotten through their darkest moment in their lives together. (Y/N) always thought that she would have Bobby by her side until he decided to unexpectedly move away, cutting off most contact. For a few months, (Y/N) was distraught, losing the last piece she had as a reminder of the band that never made it big, but after a few months she met a man named Ray.

The two became friends and (Y/N) became friends with his fiancee, Rose (who (Y/N) realised was the waitress from the Orpheum). She was even a bridesmaid at their wedding. It was also at their wedding where (Y/N) met her future husband, Chris. (Y/N) and Chris were married in 2007 and they welcomed a child a few years later. 

When Rose died, (Y/N) tried her best to help the Molina family through it. (Y/N) had lost three people who she considered her family years ago, so, in a way, she knew what the family were going through. (Y/N) also tried to help get Julie back into music however she failed. (Y/N) thought that Julie was never going to play music again, that’s why she was extremely proud of the girl when she told her that she was playing music again. 

(Y/N) was given a VIP pass for Julie’s performance at the Orpheum. The woman had never gotten the chance to see Julie perform at the Molina’s since she was working and she hadn’t gotten around to watching the video Ray had put on YouTube. She was excited to hear the talented young girl sing again. 

(Y/N)’s heart swelled with pride as the girl she had watched grow up stepped out onto the stage of the Orpheum. When she began to sing, a wide smile stretched across the woman’s face. However, that smile soon fell as the drummer of Julie’s hologram band appeared on the stage. Her eyes widened as the bassist of Julie’s band appeared on the stage and she nearly threw up as the guitarist of Julie’s band appeared on the stage. It couldn’t be, (Y/N) thought to herself.

While everyone around her cheered and clapped along to the song, (Y/N) was standing there in shock, not moving. Her best friends - who were meant to be dead - were performing on stage with Julie and they still looked seventeen. The song ended and everyone cheered. The band walked to the end of the stage and bowed. as soon as they bowed, Alex, Luke and Reggie disappeared and poofed back to the studio. 

After the performance, (Y/N) called her husband asking if he could go and pick up their son from his friend’s house since (Y/N) had something to do and couldn’t get there on time. Of course he agreed. 

(Y/N) drove to the Molina residence and parked outside the house. Knowing the young Molina girl well, (Y/N) knew that she would be in the studio so she made her way there as soon as she shut her car door, not even bothering to lock it. 

“Julie?” (Y/N) called out as she approached the studio. 

“I’m in here.” The Molina girl called back.

(Y/N) wandered into the studio and found Julie standing by the piano, but that wasn’t all she found. (Y/N)’s face dropped as Alex Mercer, Luke Patterson and Reggie Peters stood around Julie. 

“Hey, (Y/N), what’s up?” 

(Y/N) didn’t answer her gaze was locked onto her three former best friends, specifically Alex. Julie followed (Y/N)’s gaze and her eyes widened.

“You can see them?” (Y/N) didn’t respond to Julie, she continued to look at Alex in shock. 

“(Y/N)?” Julie asked, concerned about the older woman.

“Alex?” (Y/N) said. 

A look of realisation washed across Alex’s features, “(Y/N)?”

“How? You- you were- are dead?” (Y/N) said, her voice wavering.

“We- we still are.” Alex answered his best friend. Alex now realised that she hadn’t changed, only gotten older. 

“But, how- how are you here?” (Y/N) questioned, her gaze scanning over Luke and Reggie who had taken a step closer to her.

“We don’t know.” Alex answered, his voice cracking. 

“I missed you guys.” (Y/N) said, tears falling from her eyes. 

“We missed you too.” Alex answered, although it had only felt like a few weeks since he had last seen (Y/N) but he understood that for her it had been twenty-five years since she had last seen him.

Without thinking, (Y/N) flung her arms around her best friend. Alex, expecting her to go right through him, was surprised when he felt her. (Y/N) buried her head into his shoulder as he wrapped his arms back around her. 

Julie, who was watching the scene unfold, looked at the two confused. 

“(Y/N) was our best friend growing up.” Luke said, noticing Julie’s confusion. 

Realisation dawned on Julie, “This was the (Y/N) you kept mentioning?”

Luke nodded and turned his attention back to (Y/N) and Alex who had broken away from their hug and (Y/N) had moved on to hug Reggie, then finally Luke. (Y/N) wiped her eyes after she had pulled away from Luke.

“I can’t believe you’re really here.” (Y/N) said.

“So, (Y/N) what have you gotten up to in the past twenty-five years?” Luke questioned.

(Y/N) cleared her throat, “Well, I got married and I had a son.”

“What’s his name?” Reggie asked.

(Y/N) turned her gaze to her blonde best friend, “Alex. My son's name is Alex.”

A smile spread across Alex’s face at (Y/N)’s answer, “You really named your son after me?”

“Of course I did, how could I not?” (Y/N) answered.

Alex smiled at his best friend, she might be older now but she was still the same person who had loved him and accepted him when other people didn’t and he was happy that he could speak with her again.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter twenty nine: drink your poison

“your heart beats faster, you cannot breathe; you're feeling nervous inside. you feel the passion, it makes you seethe; you feel the temperature rise!” -”deadly nightshade”, joey belladonna

All summer long, Sam traded in between hanging out with Alex and Joey. That whole tour between both bands proved to be one of the best she had been on before: the one with Stormtroopers wasn't nearly as eventful as those three months. They not only had showers and rooms of their own courtesy of the record label, but so much more was happening between herself and the two of them.

It all hinged on her riding with either band to the next stop. If she rode with Testament, she stayed the night with Alex; if with Anthrax, she hung out with Joey. She dared not swap rooms with either one, either, given Alex was always there by her side and Joey was a night owl now with the booze mostly out of the picture.

Meanwhile, there was the artistry. As far as she knew, Scarlett was a patient lady. But she always made art whilst next to either of those two men and among either of the quintets, with either her journal or the canvases she bought back in Raleigh. Charlie kept those old ink drawings she had made for them on the previous tour at the front of their van so everyone saw them upon the drive by.

She made paintings of all five men from Testament along a string of five days in between gigs in Oklahoma City and Kansas City, in which both bands didn’t play a show. She completed the painting of Louie literally five minutes before they had to go on in Kansas City, but he had insisted on taking it out there onstage with him. Prior to the curtain lifting for them, he picked it up and, careful not to make the still wet acrylic paint that made up his hair bleed onto another part of the canvas, he carried it flat in both hands as if it was a tray of dinner. Sam and Alex watched from the back of the van at his running all the way to the back doorway, to which one of the stagehands held it open for him.

The two of them glanced at one another once he went inside: by the time she stood there off to side, she realized what he had done to the painting and propped it up right behind the drum kit with a camera pointed down at it. Every so often during that gig, the display behind them switched over to that camera and Sam’s painting was showcased for everyone in there to see. Indeed, over the next string of shows there in the Midwest, the five of them had put their paintings right behind their respective places on stage: Chuck kept his portrait as well as the drawing that Marla had made for him for Christmas on a stool right next to him.

Even when they head banged, they made sure those pieces of art never moved out of their places.

All the while, if there was one band whom she missed, it was the Cherry Suicides. As the Midwestern stint came to a close in early September and they headed out to the Pacific Northwest in time for Alex's twenty first birthday, Sam realized she hadn’t heard a word from Zelda or if the four of them were even still together. All she heard about was the new album named for her but that was where it all started and ended.

She never saw them there at any show up to that point.

But if anything, she and Belinda met a whole other myriad of people along the way, especially Overkill and Vio-lence. They all seemed to be on the fringes of music as well: whenever they had a stop somewhere, some other band was playing that night and they were filling out full arenas with their makeup and enormous hair. There Sam and Belinda walked about the streets of Des Moines, Iowa in their ponytails and their dark clothes compared to the literal look of modeling there up on stage. There was one band that the two of them had developed a fancy for, Skid Row, all because they seemed the least dolled up out of all of them: front man Sebastian stood there at the stage with his black jeans and long luxurious blond hair with a powerful voice that could be heard from clear across the vast floor. But it all felt so alien to the both of them, and they sought comfort in their friendships with the thrashers.

There came a point, when the whole circus headed back out to the West Coast and she had difficulty believing that the whole thing was in fact real given the sheer extent of everything, especially once she found out Slayer was on the tour with them that all of it was in fact happening. She and Belinda finally met them after what felt like an eternity: these four men wrapped up in rich black leather and with longer hair than Anthrax and Testament themselves put together.

The bassist Tom was a big chunky Hispanic boy with long inky black hair and a big goofy smile plastered on his face.

“Heard a lot about you girls,” he told them both as part of his greeting to them. “You girls and those other crazy girls from Rhode Island, is it?”

“Yeah, the Cherry Suicides,” Belinda had said.

“You’re the artist, right?” he asked her. “The girl who made the paintings of Testament and the drawings for Charlie?”

“I’m an artist but no—“ Belinda gestured over to her right behind her. “—those were all from my lady here, Sam.”

Sam herself leaned forward and Tom flashed her a wink as a result.

She sat there on the plane on the way out to Seattle and she wondered where else she could go from there. Perhaps around the world for real that time. She had never really been to the Emerald City before, not even when Anthrax toured up there the first time around in the two summers before, especially since they had a curfew and the hotel was right outside of the city as well. Portland, she had been to with them, but never Seattle: only the outskirts and the inner part of Tacoma.

It would be the first time Slayer toured there as well, and Testament had gotten as close as Yakima and Spokane themselves. Seattle seemed like such a strange place to her, all tucked away in that particular corner of Washington. No one went up there unless they were willing to live within the rain and fly a plane. But apparently, there was a whole scene of music going down up there, one that reflected the entire thrash movement to an extent given it was all away from the world and radically different from everything else.

Soundgarden were a mere sliver of it all: Charlie had invited the two girls with him to see another band there, one who were about to release their big debut in the coming months, yet another quintet called Mother Love Bone.

They left the plane, followed by the airport, and the bunch of them stepped out to the cool afternoon: where it was still very much summer everywhere else despite it already being autumn, a fine gray marine layer courtesy of the Puget Sound sank over the entire region and beckoned an early season rain just in time for the evenin. Sam ran her fingers through her hair as she peered up to the gray sky overhead: Alex joined right next to her with his eyes squinted and his lips parted a bit. The color washed out from his face so he resembled to a ghost of sorts, a young spirit ready to walk the streets alongside the Puget Sound. A faint drizzle began to fall over them once a piece of cloud covered the sun overhead.

Slayer had already left for their hotel, but Greg and Eric joined the two of them there at the curb: their black clothes only added to their ghostly appearance. A cool breeze blew their hair back a bit so they resembled to the very wisps of clouds right over them. Sam thought back to the Day of the Dead ceremony back home in New York City, except they had no hoods over their heads; Alex turned to her with his eyes squinted a bit and his skin looking as milky as ever right there.

“It's utterly lovely here,” he said in a low voice as he adjusted the skull ring on his right hand.

“Yeah, even here right at the city's rim, it's just beautiful,” she added.

“I hope it rains even more tomorrow,” he declared with a little raise of his eyebrows.

“Hey, yeah! You can have a little Seattle rainstorm for your birthday, Alex.” She glanced about the deserted parking lot before them. Across the way stood all manner of tiny shops and places that made her think of the casinos back down at Lake Tahoe and in Reno.

“It kind of reminds me of Carson a bit,” she said, “in a sense that there's not really many people here.”

“Not nearly as wet and soggy there, though, I'd assume,” Chuck joined in from behind her.

“Nah, it's not even remotely close to being like this,” Sam assured him as she adjusted the strap on her overnight bag and on the courier bag Alex had given her.

“So who're you staying with tonight?” Greg asked her; and she realized that she still owed him an encounter just to satisfy the bet with Alex himself.

“I'm gonna be with the five dicks from New York,” she replied right as Belinda walked up behind her, and she gaped at her.

“Five dicks from New York, I'm calling that from now on,” Belinda said and Eric laughed out at that.

“And I assume we're the five dicks from California,” he cracked.

“And Bel and I are about to see five dicks from Seattle tonight, too,” Sam added on top of that, which brought a laugh out all of them.

“There's Charlie!” Belinda pointed up the sidewalk.

“Alright—we'll see you guys later—” Sam threw her arms around each of them as well as Louie as he came up right behind them; she held Alex a few seconds longer just to feel his softness a bit more. Even though it was his twenty first the next day, she hoped that he would take it easy on the alcohol when the time came for him. She wanted that softness to stay intact with him.

She then let him go and she followed Belinda up the sidewalk in order to meet up with Charlie and Frank, both of whom took them to their hotel at the base of Capitol Hill. A quick shower for both girls and a change into their clothes and both men knocked on their door once more.

Sam ran a hair brush through her hair as the two of them conversed about the whole scene there in Seattle right behind her.

“So where'd you hear about these guys, Char?” Frank started them off.

“Aurora told me about them,” Charlie replied, “she talked to me while we were in North Carolina about this band out of Seattle that would probably take the whole glam thing to the next level because they're just huge in their sound. Like they have some genuine soul to them. None of that cheese that we've been seeing a lot lately. She told me they're a little bit punk influenced, too—think that might have something to do with it.”

“Cool—what're they called again?”

“Mother Love Bone. She also told me that they're bit of a supergroup around here, too: formed from three other bands—I wrote them down because I wanted to check them out while we're here in Seattle, too.”

Sam turned around right as he took a piece of paper out from his back pocket.

“Green River, Skin Yard, and Malfunkshun—Malfunkshun spelled phonetically.”

“Sounds like they know how to party up here,” Belinda noted.

“That's what Aurora told me,” Charlie said as he tucked the paper back into his pocket. Sam brushed her hair a bit more and then she spritzed a bit of perfume onto her neck.

“I love that smell on you, Sam I am,” Frank told her.

“I got this when we were in Des Moines,” she said, “courtesy of Bel here.”

“It fits your body chemistry like a glove, Sam,” Belinda pointed out. “Like you just climbed right out of the shower.”

“So you girls ready?” Charlie asked them.

“Yessir,” Sam replied as she picked up her purse from the top of the table there and slung it over her shoulder.

They headed out of there right as the fine Puget Sound drizzle fell over their heads. Charlie led them over to the far end of the sidewalk when something across the street caught Sam's eye. She looked over at a guy in the cushions of the bay window of a coffee shop with his sleeve rolled up his arm, past his elbow. Belinda followed her gaze as well.

Frank sniffled and sneezed right then, but the sheer sight of that man there in the window only added to the thought that ran through her mind at the moment.

The shine of the needle. The sticky darkness that resided inside of there. He gritted his teeth at the vile feeling through him.

“Holy shit,” Belinda muttered right into her ear.

It was right then Sam knew that they were in deep from that point onward.

They crossed the street, away from that coffee shop and up the pavement to where the band in question was playing that night.

Frank continued to sniffle and sneeze a bit as they made their way inside of there. The four of them congregated on the edge of the room because everything else before them had a dark veil over it and no way out of there in one piece. Something smelled of burning iron and a chemical but nowhere in there was a fire place.

“There's a lot of drugs around here right now,” Charlie noted as they backed up towards the doorway.

“Yeah, it's making me sneeze like crazy,” Frank said as he rubbed his nose.

“What's that smell?” Belinda asked them as they nestled together in that only safe spot of the room, right near the door and within the stream of fresh air: the one place without a trace of drugs to be found.

“Someone smoking cocaine, I think,” Frank said, “I would know because I tried crack recently. It smells just like someone burning up metal—meth and heroin both smell like that, too.”

Lucky for them, Mother Love Bone took to the stage up front there. Even from clear across the room, Sam could make sight of the five of them: the two guitarists near the edge of the stage. One with long smooth hair down past his shoulders and soft features, and the other with his face hidden out from view. The former made her think of Alex in a subtle fashion, from the depth of his eyes to the shape of his nose: he missed that gray stripe and he lacked Alex's sensual edge as well. The bassist strode up behind them with a big bright purple crushed velvet cap with a lacy ribbon wrapped around the crown there and a plain white sleeveless shirt. She couldn't see the drummer and she didn't have to, either, not with that big bold frontman there at the front, with his long blond hair down to his waist and streams of glitter all around his eyes.

“Hello, Seattle!” he declared into the microphone. “This first song is for all you people! All you people there at the back there!”

Sam and Belinda glanced at one another in surprise.

“We are Mother Love Bone! I am L'Andrew the Love Child and this is quite the cornucopia of delights up here—love rock awaits you, people!”

It hit both girls like a tidal wave, more so than the very stench of the burning cocaine and heroin before them: the vents on the ceiling took the whole cloud on the floor there so they could breathe better. Where every other person before them burned those drugs away into their lungs, the four of them stood there in the doorway and relished in the fresh air that came in from behind them and the music before them.

His voice seared into their minds, much like how Joey's voice stayed with them. Almost immediately, she thought of Joey himself. The whole band reminded her of Joey and Alex, from the powerful, extravagant voice to the rich and strong guitar work. Their songs wormed their way into her mind as well: she knew she would be hearing “This is Shangri La” in her head for days on end from that point onward. The stench of marijuana caught their noses, which in turn made Frank cough more, but it came as a relief to both Sam and Belinda, especially with the rain outside picking up into something one step beyond a drizzle.

“They're fun as hell,” the latter remarked.

“I know, right?” Sam said right into her ear.

He threw his blond hair forth as if it was a genuine mane and then he lifted his head to show off the glitter underneath his right eye.

“Zelda would like them,” Sam told her, to which Belinda nodded her head with her eyes wide.

“Kinda like how she would like Skid Row, too,” she added, and Sam nodded.

Even though it was a tough crowd before them, both girls found themselves dancing a bit at one point. There was that one song at the end “Heartshine”, where Sam pictured herself nestled in between both Joey and Alex. Her love and her friend with benefits. Both of them had her heart.

There was no way she could pick and choose between the two of them because it wouldn't be fair to either of them.

She thought of herself dancing for both men: her hips about in a circle for them both and her breasts high and perfect for them as well. Their hands on her skin to top it all off, too.

The four of them were practically outside in the rain at that point because it was all too much for them to bear in there. But lucky for them, that was the final song and Andy bode the delirious crowd before them a big hearted and jovial good night: at that point, he had put on round white glasses with purple lenses and a big tall dark blue hat upon his head as if he was Mickey Mouse.

“That crowd was just awful,” Charlie said, “but I really liked them, though.”

“I did, too!” Sam added as they began on back down the street towards their hotel. The rain had waned back into a fine drizzle at that point and albeit with the incoming darkness.

“I'm gonna need another shower after that,” Belinda confessed.

“Yeah, that was insane how much drugs were in there,” Charlie agreed with her, and he turned to Frank. “How're you doing right now?”

“A sniveling sneezing mess,” he replied as he rubbed the tip of his nose.

“We'll all clean off and then have dinner,” Charlie declared as they crossed the street yet again. They passed the coffee shop on the other side of the street once more: the man who shot one up his arm was still there in the bay window, except his eyes were closed and even through the dim evening light, Sam could see his pale complexion.

It took them a full hour to shower off, one after the other, and at that point, it was almost nine o'clock in the evening.

“Happy birthday, Alex,” Sam declared as she dried off her hair and let it hang over her shoulders.

“Happy birthday, little man!” Frank proclaimed. “He's finally old enough to drink now.”

For the rest of the evening, she thought about what to do for him that next day, especially since they had to play a show there in Seattle right after Anthrax and Slayer's sets in that respective fashion. Belinda didn't have her leather working tools onhand, either, but that strap that the two of them had crafted for him held up well in the last two years however. Neither Scott nor Dan had any ideas as to what to do for him other than give him a cake after the fact, either: and Joey was out of the question at that point himself.

At one point she caught Anthrax's set and Joey held that white Flying V guitar upon his body once again as if it was a complete extension of him. That time around, he wore a black billed hat with the word “Injun” scrawled on the inside there. She hadn't even seen him all day at that point, either: to see him there made her wonder if he had an ace up his sleeve at the time. At the end of their cover of “Antisocial”, he glanced over at her and showed her and Belinda both that definitive lopsided grin.

They rounded out their short set with an extra large and loud rendition of “Gung Ho!” that ended with a little dual solo from Joey and Dan both, and someone in the audience throwing something at Scott. He ducked down as the jug landed on the stage right next to Charlie's drum kit.

As they left the stage, Joey leaned forward into the microphone.

“Don't be throwin' cider at our man Scott, now,” he taunted the person there and a few people in the crowd clapped at that.

He then padded off of the stage last and greeted Sam with a big open lipped kiss.

“Whoa,” Belinda breathed, and Joey laughed at that but he dared not let it get to him.

“Come with me,” he beckoned both girls, and he led them into the backstage area.

“Eric!” Belinda called out right then; thus she ducked away from them but Joey led Sam onto his dressing room. She left the door slightly ajar but he was quick to bring her to the corner behind the door. Slayer were taking to the stage as he slid his tongue into her mouth and his hands up the curvature of her back.

“I've treated you so poorly,” he said to her in a low enough voice for her to hear over Slayer's intensity.

“No you haven't,” she vowed to him. “You just have a little problem with alcohol is all. I don't want you anywhere near it ever again.”

She took the hat right off of his head and placed upon her own.

“Adorable,” he complimented her as Tom let out a high pitched shriek that made her stop right in her tracks. It made her think of hell on Earth itself.

“Tommy screams like a demon sometimes,” Joey told her, nonchalant.

“If you're the Devil, I'm proud to be a part of it,” she said.

“Nah, Sam, you know us. We're not really into the whole Devil thing—they just seem that way is all.”

“But still. If you're the Devil, I'm proud that to be a part of the whole thing.”

Joey's bottom lip trembled at that.

“Make love to me,” he begged her in a low voice. “Make love to me—please.”

“I'll do something even better for you,” she told him as she put her lips onto his, and then she moved down his neck to his collar bones. Joey held still as she moved down his hot body, all the way down his chest and towards his waist. He shuffled around and pressed his back to the wall: she lifted the bill of the hat from her forehead so she could have a better view of what was there.

She tugged down his shorts and gave him a gentle soft kiss right underneath his waist. She thought of giving him a vampire bite like she did with Alex, but he appeared to enjoy the feel of her lips there more than anything.

“Yeah, that's the spot right there,” he breathed at the soft delicate feeling under his belly button, “—ooh yeah—yeah, right there.”

She tugged his shorts down a bit more. Her tongue on his skin and within her mouth would do him justice.

She could tell he wanted it.

She started out small from the head and then she moved inward to his body, as far as she could stand it. But of course the tip reached the back of her mouth and she coughed and gagged at the feeling. She let go of his firm skin and coughed better.

“You alright?” he asked her.

“Yeah—it’s just the first time I gave a big ass blowjob standing up like this.”

Joey chuckled and he tucked his hands behind his curly head. She looked up at him with her eyebrows raised.

“You look like you’re about ready to sing some lounge stuff,” she told him.

“Lounge—I lounge around and kiss asses all day is what I do best,” he said. She tried it again and that time she got it for real. Joey groaned in his throat as she fondled the smooth curvature of his hips and his thighs with the tips of her fingers. He tipped his head back and gave her yet another soft pleased little groan.

“Yeah, nice li'l deep throat there,” he muttered, “yeah—yeah!” His chest heaved at the feeling and he treated her to soft little whimpers as a result. She was blowing him on Alex's birthday. Something about it gave her a feeling that she could do literally anything from that point onward.

She ran her tongue along the taut skin when she noticed Joey was about to come right there. She held onto him and he gasped at the feeling.

“Fucking hell—you're—you're—you're gonna kill me!” he stammered.

“Not if you can help it, big boy,” she teased him. Joey came right in her hands right there and he fell down onto the seat of his pants, out of breath and dizzy. He fell onto his side and Sam shook her hands about to get it off of her skin.

“Joey?” she called to him. He was out like a light right there.

She bowed out of that room in search of a bathroom just to wash her hands. Right there at the other end of the backstage area, she spotted that door and she ducked in there without a moment's hesitation. She washed her hands with that soft smelling soap and then she ducked out of there once again, only for her to run into Alex and a little brown bottle of Seattle's own in hand.

“Hey!” he greeted her with a mischievous grin.

“Hey!” she retorted back to him.

“Where you going?”

“Back to Joey's dressing room. But it is your birthday after all.”

“Indeed it is!” He took a sip of beer and the crowd erupted into applause for Slayer.

“How was your day?” she asked him once the noise out there died down a bit for them to hear each other.

“Oh, it's been fun! Chuck and Tiffany took me out to lunch at the top of the Space Needle and then we went to this one place right outside of town... did you know there is an actual sound garden up here?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it's this big metallic sculpture that's fenced off but they took me to it. I don't think it might be open tomorrow because it's Saturday. But—it's definitely another thing we gotta do together when the time comes, Samantha.” He took another sip from the bottle. “Come on, I'll take you back to Joey's room.”

He took another sip before he walked in there with her, and he spotted Joey on the floor right behind the door.

“Is he alright?” Alex asked her.

“Oh, yeah. He just—had one too many is all.”

“Oh, shit.” He tipped the bottle back into his lips.

“By the way, how's it feel to legally drink now?”

“Excellent,” he confessed. “I dunno if I'm gonna do it a lot tonight, though, especially since we're going on after Slayer.”

“How many so far?”

“Just a couple,” he told her with a wave of his hand. He kicked back the brown glass bottle and took a big swig of its contents. He set it down before his body and showed her a little smile. Even though he stood still, she could tell that he had had a few at that point.

“Alex,” Sam said in a low voice: she could see it in his eyes as they drooped a bit.

“Samantha—Samantha? Samantha.” He bowed his head a bit and continued to show her a smile.

“Just exactly how much is 'a couple', Alex?”

“It's enough, I can tell ya that.”

“Alex.”

“Samantha.” He let out the biggest belch right there, one that made her retract back a bit.

“Your ancestors back in the home country felt that one, Alex,” Greg called from right outside the door.

“Oh, no, pardon me—that came right outta—outta my ass.”

She giggled at him and he giggled back at her. She moved in closer to him. Joey was unconscious right there but it didn't stop her from moving in closer to Alex.

“You gonna—you gonna—you gonna—what're you gonna do?”

“Kiss you—”

Her lips grazed up against his; he held the bottle out from his body so she could have more space for him.

“That's good, yeah,” he said in between embraces.

“We might have a cake ready for you, baby,” she whispered to him.

“This is better than any cake, my dear artist,” he retorted back to her as she put her hands on either side of his face. “Hell, yeah—hell yeah! Hell to the yes! Fuck—fucking hell—”

He pulled back and shook his head about a bit. Slayer picked it up once again out there; Sam eyed the pale washed out look of Alex's skin and she thought of that man in the coffee shop on the way to the Mother Love Bone show.

“You're not going to puke again, are you?” she asked him, concerned.

“Nah,” he assured her. “Well, I might but I won't do it on you, though. I promise. I promise, I promise, I promise.”

She giggled at him and the droopy look of his eyes.

“Alex—you're so cute when you're a little bit tipsy,” she told him.

“I'm—I'm—I'm as loose as a pussy when I've got a few in me, lemme tell ya...”

She giggled at him.

“Let's see—you're going on in a bit. There has to be a way to rid of the booze without you barfing it up.”

“I'm probably gonna have to barf anyways,” he told her. “There is some bread over there.”

“Bread and crackers under the vanity mirror,” she said as she made her way over to the mirror in question.

“Bread and circuses,” he said with a hiccup. She handed him a handful of oyster crackers as he took a seat on the small dusty couch on the other side of the room, away from the door and away from Joey's unconscious body.

“I wanna have fun with you,” he confessed with a hiccup.

“We are having fun, though,” she pointed out. “It's your twenty first birthday, Alex. It's all about having fun! You only turn twenty one once in your life after all.”

“That's right, right? You only turn—” He swallowed. “—a certain age one time, don't ya.”

He let out a whistle and looked on at her, dazed.

“You alright?” she asked him.

“Yes! I feel like I'm about ready to fall right to sleep, though.”

He took another sip from the bottle and then another bite of oyster cracker. He practically swallowed it whole.

“Well, chew it, Alex,” Sam was scorn.

“Just melts in your mouth,” he pointed out with his mouth full, and he took another couple for himself.

“Keep eating it, though. It should absorb it up inside you. You're gonna be on soon.”

“By the way, we're gonna make another album for you, my darling artist,” he said in a broken voice once he swallowed it down.

“We will, too,” Joey blurted out right then, and Sam and Alex looked over at him. He was still unconscious but by some sheer magic, he had said that out loud without a shred of irony. The two of them looked at one another: Alex rubbed the exhaustion out of his eyes.

“What's Testament's new one going to be called?” Sam asked him.

“'Souls of Black',” he said in a hushed voice. “At least, that's what Eric told me. He wants us to play on Clash of the Titans. Like if we get it done in time, we can get it there.”

“And when's that supposed to be?”

“Uh—next summer, I think? I think? I dunno. I can't really think about things too much.”

“Well, you boys better get on it soon,” Sam encouraged him.

“Yeah, that's the plan anyways,” he told her. “Once we're done here, we mosey on into the studio and run like hell. I think it's gonna be formidable, Samantha. We're as tight as we've ever been.”

“Tight like a tight pussy?” she joked to him.

“Tight like a tight pussy, yes!”

He popped more crackers into his mouth.

“You ought to record something after you've had a couple,” she suggested, “you know just to see what you can make out of it. It'd be true psychedelic metal right there.”

“I don't really know if I can, though,” he confessed with a soft chuckle. “I don't know if that's not really something you can do when you're off your rocker and three sheets to the wind.”

“What about three sheets to my wind?” she asked him as she crawled closer to him and hovered right above his body.

“Oh, my, Samantha—”

“Was that 'oh, my' said in amazement or were you calling me yours?”

“You're good,” he remarked with those eyebrows raised up again. She put her lips onto his, and she tasted the salt from the crackers as well as the hops from the beer.

“I'm gonna need a drink after this,” he confessed to her.

“You are drinking, though,” she insisted.

“No, drink of water,” he corrected.

“I see. Well, drink your poison, baby.”

“Drink your poison and get nasty wit' it,” he cracked and she giggled some more.

“Alex!” Eric's voice floated from outside of the room.

“Oh, shit, I gotta move!” he said as he stood to his feet and rubbed his eyes. “Thank you for the bread, too—that actually helped me out a bit.”

Sam stood up herself but then Alex stopped her right in her tracks.

“Samantha?”

“Yes?” She turned her attention back to him as he lounged there in the doorway with a lax look to his deep eyes.

“Tonight—go to bed and dream of a beautiful gray stripe,” he said as he ran his index finger over that little tuft on the crown of his head.

“I always do, baby,” she assured him with a wink. “Go give 'em hell.”

He ducked out of there and back to his band: he still had his balance right then. She hoped that the bread really helped out and he would keep it together that evening as she made her way to the spot behind the door. She adjusted the bill of the hat and stooped down for him.

“C'mere, Joey—c'mere, baby—” She scooped him off of the floor and lifted up his head for a better look into his face. She set a hand on his forehead and pushed the hair out from his eyes. He opened them a bit and showed her a little dimpled grin.

“There he is,” she said with a smile herself; with her free hand, she took off her hat and set it upon the dark curly crown of his head. “There's my little Injun boy.”

[agentsofsupernaturalmarvel]

Waves On A Beach // Joshua Bassett

IN WHICH: Josh listens to the story of a woman healing from a deep loss and beautiful love story unaware of how his listening would affect his life. It all started on a beach taking a chance on a forlorn girl holding a guitar.

Characters: Joshua Bassett x Reader, OMC!Peter Everett, HSMTMTS Cast (mentioned)

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: Swearing, cancer, death, love, angst and fluff. (it’s a doozy)

A/N: I watched I Still Believe and all I could think about was writing a fic about it but I couldn’t decide between Josh or Tom Holland. I decided to write without thinking and Josh was picked subconsciously. But there are tiny easter eggs to Tom Holland, two infact if you can name them.

YOU CAN REQUEST FROM ME AS WELL!

Masterlist

Every year without fail, you managed to find yourself on the beach staring out into the vast unknown looking for something. Something that would confirm that somewhere Peter Everett was okay and not in pain anymore. Life had a way of ripping something sweet and perfect from people’s hands at the very moment they need it most. Often you found yourself in a pew in a church struggling to understand how you had the honour of meeting Peter and then losing him within two years.

A foot behind you was an unopened guitar case that had been hidden in a closet for months now. Untouched from hands that had once itched to pluck the strings. Fingers that had learned chords to countless songs for Peter’s entertainment since you worked up the courage to approach him after working as a stagehand for an infamous local band.

For the first time in two years, you had dragged the guitar to the beach trying to build up the courage to play. Without a second thought, your hands found the familiar vegan leather guitar case holding something so beautiful. Breath taken away from the beautifully designed acoustic guitar with a quote by Peter inscribed on the back. He knew rage would claim the previous guitar that ended in pieces mere days after your parents had to come to Peter’s hospital room to remove you.

Sitting cross-legged on the cold sand just out of the ocean’s reach you strummed a familiar song that Peter had adored since he first heard it.

THEN

The local park the university built was often filled with students trying to relax, but you often found inspiration on lyrics. Your eyes were closed as you sang under your breath to a tune you had discovered early this morning over your cereal.

“You’re really good.”

The deep voice spoke from above to the side of you. Your eyes snapped open to see a male with a kind smile and blue eyes staring down. Your lips opened in a gasp at the newcomer you had made eye contact with and briefly spoken to at that concert.

“Uh, thank you.” You smiled feeling nerves build-up, but you shouldn’t take your eyes off of him, “I’m not overly good.”

“No, you are really good.” He spoke, “I’m Peter.”

“Y/N.” You replied, clenching the neck of the light brown guitar tight. It wasn’t every day some guy you embarrassed yourself in front of willingly starts a conversation.

“Are you busy tonight?” Peter asked, glancing over his shoulder to wear his best friend was scanning his phone.

“No.”

“Meet at the side of the pier. Bring the guitar.” Peter was gone as quick as he had appeared in your sight. A tiny smile tugged at your lips, leaving you to know that this had to be a date.

Oh, how wrong you were. At the pier it was a small group collected around a small fire, at Peter’s side was a brunette girl. Little inquiry brought you that Peter had a problem disappointing people and included the girl hanging onto his every word.

NOW

So, wrapped up in the memories of your love, you had no clue that someone had sat beside you with a friendly smile.

“Hi.” The voice made you jump in surprise, bringing your attention to the side where a curly-haired brunette was sitting. His eyes went to the guitar with a broad smile, “You play?”

“Yeah.” You kept quiet surprised at the zing of attraction you felt at the newcomer. Your solemn expression bringing the boys attention.

“Am I intruding?”

“No. Just stuck in some memories.” You replied, continuing to strum returning your gaze to the horizon, “I keep looking at the beautiful sky and wonder how someone can create something so otherworldly but cause suffering as well.”

“Nothing would be beautiful if there wasn’t anything ugly. Vice versa.” The stranger spoke, “I’m Joshua Bassett.”

“Y/N Everett.” Your smile dipped at the last name before your eyes fell to the simple band encircling your finger.

Josh’s eyes followed, feeling a ping of disappointment, seeing that this subtle beauty was taken.

“Married?”

“Was.” You sighed, stopping your fingers from delicately moving on the strings, “A sad story belonging in a novel.”

Josh’s brown eyes blinked at the sad words bumping his shoulder against yours with words sending you back into a memory, “Would it be too forward to ask what happened?”

THEN

So maybe kissing Peter after singing an impromptu song simply stating you loved him was too much especially when Paige saw it. The girl from the bonfire Peter struggled to let down. That led to whatever between you and Peter shattering. Fall turned into winter and with winter came the holidays where you retreated to.

Your dreams were indescribable, and it didn’t matter when your father, Gary, roused you from sleep in your childhood bed. Bleary eyes grasped at the phone mumbling a greeting of some kind at 2am.

“Y/N? It’s Jacob.” The unmistakable voice of Peter’s best friend was confusing to hear, “Peter’s in the hospital. His sister called me, and it’s bad.”

Time didn’t matter as you scooped up every item into the duffle bag and half-assed brushing your teeth or hair. Gary handed over his station wagon keys to his eldest child receiving shock while his partner was demanding a text when you arrived back in the city.

“Drive safe. It’s a long drive.”

You nodded before you spent the night number of hours on the road only stopping to refuel and use the bathroom. Empty snack bags on the passenger held you over as you arrived at the hospital address sent from Jacob.

A power nap in the waiting room before visiting hours was spent restlessly just before a hand nudged you awake.

“Hey Y/N.” Standing in the flesh was Peter’s sister Heather who you had briefly met on Skype in the early ages of the relationship.

“Hi, Heather.” You sighed blinking, “How is he?”

Heather hesitated debating if it was her place to answer the specifics on why the Everett family was at the hospital. In a moment of clarity, Heather decided to bring you to her brother’s room where their parents had congregated. Sitting up against the pillows in a gown was the handsome honey blonde man.

“Y/N.” Peter breathed surprised to see someone he had hurt with simple words on not wanting to hurt Paige. Now facing the unthinkable Peter wanted to hold your hand forever and proudly declare his love.

“Hey, Pete.” You half-smiled sitting on the edge of his bed while the room emptied, “You gave me a scare.”

“You were at your parents? Isn’t that hours away?” Peter questioned taking in the pale blue bruises under your eyes. You nodded in response, but it sent a warmth brought Peter’s body. His fingers grasped yours tightly.

“You’re worth the drive.” You simply replied, squeezing his fingers.

“Jacob was crashing at my dorm. He called for an ambulance when I was wrenching myself around my bed. Indescribable pain that ended with the surgeons removing a tumour the size of a plum from my stomach. The docs found it spread to my liver. Odds aren’t in my favour.” Peter revealed still holding that smile that drew you in initially.

“You aren’t getting rid of me.” You breathed.

NOW

“So, he has cancer?” Josh asked, turning to give you his full attention as you delved into the story that you had spoken about since that first appointment with the therapist.

“It was first in his stomach and then the liver. The last masses were found in a testicle.” You spoke tapping your fingers reliving the proposal in the hospital chapel and response from your parents, “He did chemo, radiation and finally the last resort was surgery. It was upsetting because Peter wouldn’t be able to have children.”

“It was only one right?”

“The chemo and radiation would deplete the chances of conception.” You medically recounted the words from the doctor, “Peter grew up active in church, and everyone prayed for him. From the people at the gigs I did to the listeners to the radio shows I appeared on.”

“Famous?” Josh questioned, but he only received a shrug in response. He kept quiet as you continued on with your story.

THEN

Heather and you held steadfast in Peter’s hospital room, you had walked holding his hand to the point where you couldn’t continue. He went into the operation room, and you returned to his empty bedside. Heather was your confidant and vice versa. Sleep was pulling when the screams of Mrs. Everett broke the silence.

“Heather! Y/N!”

The two girls scrambled to where a shaking couple stood blinking shocked at having heard the news. Right in the OR despite scans showing a mass when the surgeon opened up their son, there was not a speck of anything not meant to be there.

“It’s gone. There’s no cancer.” Mrs. Everett had no clue, but at that moment, all the hopes and dreams of Peter and you rebuilt themselves, “A miracle.”

A miracle that ended with Peter standing firm at the end of the aisle on the beach you swore you fell in love with him. Your dress was as simple as the wedding where you left to spend your honeymoon at the Everett’s family cabin for the weekend.

“I love you.” Peter breathed, pressing his nose against the edge of where your hairline started. The words flooded your system with love so deep you knew you had a lifetime to feel.

You chuckled seeing a mirage of the wedding party just up the beach from where you were sitting.

“We had a good weekend, but Monday came and so did seeing the oncologist. Peter refused to tell me if he had felt off at the wedding or the honeymoon. He was re-diagnosed, and we spent the week learning how to inject medications, the dosages and the times to do it. It was fine until the end.

You stared out the window of the full hospital room where Peter slept soundly with the IV of pain medication. A slight grimace moved over his face every once in a while, but you couldn’t sleep. Not with the news that Peter’s cancer had returned with a vengeance not even a few weeks after your wedding. Your dress still hung up in your apartment closet next to his tux that you hadn’t been able to return after renting.

“Hey. Mrs. Everett.” The groggy voice brought your attention to the dimly lit hall. Standing in the entry was Dr. Johnson with a solemn expression. You left Peter with a napping Heather as you slipped out of the room.

“Dr. Johnson.” You replied, clasping your hands on your arms, “How is he?”

“Peter’s scans gave me insight. The cancer spread throughout his body.”

“Okay, so are we starting chemo?” The doctor’s expression brought you to the answer is that it wasn’t an option, “Radiation?”

“No.”

“Surgery?” You got more frantic unaware that Peter had woken to see you struggling to take the news. The slight shake of Dr. Johnson’s head, “There has to be something!”

“We can make him as comfortable as we can, but I’m sorry to say we’ve done everything we can.” Dr. Johnson wasn’t surprised as you hugged him out of Peter’s view. This often happened when Dr. Johnson broke the news to people.

NOW

“The rest of Peter’s life was spent at our home until he was rushed to the ER vomiting blood. It was short. Maybe a week at most before he passed away without pain, but I believe his pain was shifted to me.” You finished deciding not to go into the grief that almost drowned you. The apartment had sold after a month as you fled to your childhood home.

“I’m sorry that happened.”

“I’m not.” You replied, smiling, “I got the honour of loving a wonderful man for two years of my life. I married him and lived with him. Do I wish he was still here? Sometimes but he was in too much pain. He always told me that the pain was worth it, he was able to touch the lives of people. He made his mark on the world.”

Josh was quiet as you strummed the guitar into the song that Peter had adored and asked to be played countlessly. The song was created by a Christian musician after losing his wife to cancer at an early age. Their story and your story had been so similar that the man was happy to help you move passed the loss into music.

The beach hadn’t changed in the time you had been away, but something sure did. Behind you was the sound of a small group, you had become close with overtime. The breeze was combated when a blanket was wrapped around you.

“You looked cold.”

The corners of your mouth curved at the concern in words coming from Josh. His arms wrapped around you next taking in the beautiful view. A view you only saw on the same day every year, but instead of being alone, Josh was always there.

Another change was your name. At age twenty-three you had had three last names, first the one you were born with Y/L/N, then Everett and now Bassett. Peter and Josh were physically the opposite of each other but both gentle souls.

“Did you think this would happen? That we would meet and fall in love?” Josh asked, pressing a lingering kiss above your ear as he took in the sunset.

“No, but I have a feeling someone knew I needed you.” You softly replied, “Didn’t think it would be an actor, though.”

“Are you coming? We want to hear you sing!” Heather called from the bonfire where your family, the Bassett family, the High School Musical: The Musical: The Series cast and even the Everett clan were stationed.

Was it weird your first husband’s family was spending time with your current husband’s family? Maybe, but cancer and loss created a bond indestructible. Besides, it was the Everett’s that pushed you into a date with Josh, and it ended perfectly. How beautiful was it to have the joyful ability to fall in love twice?

ASK TO BE TAGGED!

SEND IN REQUESTS!

[buttered-ghost-toast]

OC background story//Secondary Characters

1: i’m aware they’re sorta boring in a sense (literally all 3/4 profile busts lol) but I couldn’t be bothered to get super detailed about them yet. I was trying to work out a look, and this is the quickest way lol. Lots of mistakes here, don’t focus on that. Just...jive with me.

2: idk that anyone is going to be interested, but i’m happy with my little babies! :) This kept me busy lol. 

Long post ahead!

Okay, so the band, Adria was formed sort of by accident. None of the members thought they were really going to get anywhere and were mostly just learning to play instruments and jamming to escape the pressures of adolescent life. 

Niri--her parents were very strict and proper. “Yes, sir. No, ma’am.” type people who do what they can to keep up appearances. Her father is a police detective and her mother was a homemaker after the birth of her children, but was once an attorney. They expected the same level of success from their children, having picked out career paths before the kids were even a speck in the womb. When Niri and her older brother showed excellence in academics, they moved to a new city, enrolling them in an academy that was known for churning out high level success stories--Politicians, Judges, CEO’s of major corporations...you get the drill. They were happy to practically go into debt forever if it meant their kids would be successful. 

Year 1...Enter KOU. 

Kou’s dad was always business first. He expected his son to be the same. So much so that the day after the birth, he went out and bought a whole building to keep for his son, the future doctor, to house his practice. Being from an old money family, there was never a shortage of opportunities to rub elbows and make a way for this kid to be a success no matter what. Through years of primary education, he was a quiet kid, but there was something under the surface that loved to go against the flow of where his life was forced to travel. His mother passed when he was very young, but she was the reason he was able to have few moments of peace and fun. He and Niri were school rivals, fighting for the top spot on the scholar’s board, but...they wound up giving up the struggle when they realized they had a lot in common and neither really cared to pursue their parents’ dreams. They stopped attending after school programs and chose to graffiti and vandalize the building Kou’s dad bought while it was still empty. When they weren’t tagging, they were listening to “inappropriate music” and that soon became them teaching themselves to play the songs on instruments they bought...with Kou’s dad’s credit card. They didn’t sound bad after a while! 

One day, the pair skipped school altogether to avoid an exam they had not studied for. On their way out of the academy, they were tailed by someone they never expected would keep their secret so well...

KRISS

Kriss and Kou are cousins. Their mothers were twins, so the two share a few features, but their personalities couldn’t be any more opposite. Where Kou is a grounded, sensible person, Kriss is carefree and...kind of an idiot. His mother raised him on her own and as a very open, artistic soul, she taught Kriss to always follow his heart and his dreams. He’s basically never been told “No” in his entire life. He was a very energetic kid, so his mother urged him to try out the drums (maybe it would tire him out enough for a nap) which he ended up falling in love with. It’s one of the few things he ever really kept an interest in despite being pretty flighty with his pursuits otherwise. Once he realized what his cousin was up to, he set up a drum kit within a few hours and was glued to their side ever since. 

Kriss’s mom is the only person who really believed in the band from the start. She would be a big help through their early years and to this day has a reserved spot to watch them play shows whenever she wants (usually stage right). 

Did I mention Kriss was part of the percussion section of the academy band? Well, it was more of an orchestra, but still. He felt there was something lacking in their sound during jam sessions so after a few weeks, he called up a few friends. 

Vash

Vash is a complete wildcard. He’s the sweetest person you’ll ever meet, but it takes a while to realize that because his personality is quite...Sharp. He has no problem speaking his mind, never has, and he’s not afraid to call anyone on their BS. Does an expert job of providing entertainment with his outbursts. His first words when he dropped by the “clubhouse” were “so you expect me to play in this shit hole?” His mouth usually got him in trouble at school so he was somewhat happy to have something to occupy his mind so his mouth wouldn’t run so often. He’d been playing music for many many years, his parents both being famous musicians themselves, so he has mastered quite a few instruments and often provides backup vocals because “none of the rest of you dingbats can be trusted to stay on key.”

He is the glue that holds everything together and his honesty keeps everyone grounded. He expects everything to run smoothly and on time, so he was made leader of the band within the first hour. It’s effortless and he keeps his cool pretty well under pressure, but the one person who manages to make him snippy is Eri.  

ERI

Eri is a mess of a human being in the most endearing way. He’s a walking contradiction and he loves to push buttons. He and Vash have been neighbors and best friends since they were born. They’re the Yin to each other’s Yang and act like an old married couple, always  disagreeing on the most basic things. It has never been an issue and the others love to watch a match go down. Where Vash is hands-on and always on track, Eri is laid back and couldn’t care less if something goes wrong. That’s not to say he’s not passionate about their dream, he’s just more of a “Things will happen as they happen, just go with the flow” type. His easygoing nature lends him a very grounded and rhythmic personality...perfect for a bassist. His favorite thing is spending time with friends and being able to just do what his soul calls him to do. He does, however, absolutely hate attention. It makes him feel pressured to act a certain way or do a certain thing and it just clashes with his entire vibe. He broke out in a rash when they got their first major gig and had to do a meet and greet. He loves his fans, but...can they not want pictures all the time? “I look awkward when I smile.” He really does. The boy doesn’t smile, it’s always a grimace. 

Eri’s dad owns a very successful restaurant and often got the band small gigs like birthdays and weddings that he was hired to cater for. He doesn’t understand what they’re hoping to do, but hey, the kids play some mean covers of songs he grew up on. Besides, if his son is happy, that’s good enough for him. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- For the first few years, they snuck around and the others lied for Niri and Kou when their parents had questions. They couldn’t say they weren’t all hanging out together, so once things got real, they moved their practices to Vash’s house since his parents had all the equipment they needed and didn’t really care one way or another about what was going on, too busy with tours and things.

Once they graduated, it was harder to cover. Niri came clean to her father, her mother having found out shortly before but promising to keep it quiet if she just quit and focused on school. Her father was furious and demanded she cut ties with her “hooligan friends” immediately as she was set to go to college and become a lawyer like her mother. Niri refused and was kicked out of her home after being called a failure of a child. This only fueled her fire to pursue her dream. She called Vash, mostly to cry in frustration, but he met her at the front of her neighborhood saying “I just felt something was up with your dumb self so I came by to check. Good thing I did. Let’s go, you’re moving in with me til we figure all this out.” The two soon became three when they got an apartment with Eri two months later. 

Kou had a similar experience once he told his father he didn’t want to be a doctor and had no plans to attend his father’s alma mater (which he only got into after his father wrote a very generous check being Kou’s grades had slipped to an abysmal level) he was removed from the premises by security, cut off financially, and removed from the will within 2 hours. The only thing he managed to keep (for a while anyway) was his car, so he hopped in and drove over to his aunt’s house and lived there for a while with her and Kriss. 

During this time, they still had small shows coming left and right. One night after a few years of a rough grind with no money and shitty daytime jobs, while playing a local club (that didn’t even pay them by the end of the set), they met a small time producer who liked their sound and asked them to record a demo. The producer played the demo to a group of friends that called a separate group of friends and eventually their little song made it to the ears of a real band who had an unexpected opening in their roster for an upcoming festival tour. Adria got the call and had to scramble to get their set list ready. It wasn’t anything big, just a side stage gig, but the more stops they played, the bigger the crowds they drew. 

When they made it home after several stops, they were met by the producer who found them, asked to record a whole album and from there they filmed a very low budget MV and soon after their first single was playing on the radio. They were asked to appear on small time local talk shows. They spread like wildfire once their second single dropped, played on stations nationwide. More MVs and a headlining tour followed with a second album set to drop. Kriss and Niri were asked to be part of a 6 episode arc on a popular TV drama and a second tour.  It was a tough climb, but they’ve been at it for 15 years. Niri and Kou did go back home at one point and faced their parents, attempting to make amends and build a bridge. Kou and his dad are in a much better place now, the old building they used to play around in was transferred into Kou’s name and they now use it as their recording studio/ band headquarters. 

Niri’s family reunion was a little less of a happy ending, in fact, it’s still a work in progress. Her mother apologized and they cried a little over the years missed, but her dad is a very tough man to get through to. He acknowledged he was harsh in his actions but still feels justified in what he did. He says if it weren’t for his tough love, Niri wouldn’t have felt the need to work so hard to get to this place in her life. He did at least say thank you when Niri handed him a check to cover the hit her parents’ savings took when her brother went to medical school. She has weekly calls and video chats with her mom and her brother often makes it out to shows and sends her snaps when he sees her on TV or hears the band on the radio. Her dad sometimes texts her “Heard your new song. It’s loud.” That’s his way of saying he's giving it a chance and doesn’t exactly hate it.

[daggerzine]

Early DC hardcore gent Rob Moss tells us what it was like then....and now.

When I became friends with a Rob Moss on Facebook a year or so back I knew the name sounded familiar. Then, I’d heard he was a musician (as well as an author) and releasing a new record under the name Rob Moss and Skin-Tight Skin. Hmm….very interesting band name. I then began digging a little deeper and found out it was the same Rob Moss who had been in the Washington, DC-area pre-Marginal Man band called Artificial Peace and had later played in Government Issue for a time.

Apparently Rob hadn’t played music since those old hardcore days, but was now back in the saddle and living in Portland, Oregon (where he’s lived for several years). With Rob Moss and Skin-Tight Skin he put together an interesting concept, a different guest guitarist for each song. Some of the names you will definitely recognize from the punk rock days and beyond. It’s certainly a unique sounding record (and I reviewed it here on the site a few weeks back).

I wanted to ask Rob about the old days and have him bring us up to the present and everything in between. He was more than happy to oblige.

You’re on Flex Your Head and were in two iconic Washington, D.C. hardcore bands, were you born and raised there?

We moved from Boston to Wheaton, Maryland in 1966 – I was three – and to Bethesda a year later. The Bethesda I grew up in had a downtown of mostly old two- and three-story buildings, and there were cows in the field across from Walter Johnson High when I went there. I’ve not lived in the D.C. area since the fall of 1983.

Do you remember your earliest exposure to music?

My first memories are my dad playing records, like Edvard Grieg’s Hall of the Mountain King and Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf. I think he chose them because that kind of music’s so visual. In the mid 1970s I discovered WPGC, a Top-40 station. I had a Radio Shack cassette deck that I’d put up against the radio to record stuff like The Night Chicago Died (Paper Lace) and Blockbuster (Sweet).

How and when did the punk rock bug hit you?

The how and who was Marc Alberstadt (original drummer in Government Issue). We’ve been friends since kindergarten and went to Hebrew school together. We used to hang out at his house and listen to his older brother’s records. Like Can’t Stand the Rezillos, the first Generation X album and the Sex Pistols. The when was 1978 or ’79.

Back then, Kenny, Marc’s brother, would sneak us in to see bands at the Psyche Delly and at the University of Maryland. There were no underage shows then. We saw the Slickee Boys, the Bad Brains, Tina Peel, Sorrows – bands like that.

But as far as really getting bit by the bug, it was when I saw how much fun the Slickee Boys had on stage. I had to start my own band, even though at that point I didn’t play a guitar or anything. This was before the Teen Idles, Dischord, or any of that.

When did you first pick up an instrument?

Marc was already playing drums, and Brian Gay played guitar. They convinced me to get a bass. Brian and I started getting together at his mom’s place in 1979 to write songs. They were pretty crude, we were taking our cues from the :30 Over D.C. compilation album.

How did you meet the Artificial Peace guys?

Let’s go back further. I was away for two weeks in the summer of 1980. And during that time, Government Issue had formed with Brian on bass and Marc on drums.

Brian and I already had a bunch of songs, and he still wanted to play guitar. So we formed another band – he played in both. We knew Mike Manos from school and learned that his brother had a drum set. Mike didn’t really know how to play. Marc gave him some tips, the rest was on-the-job training.

But we still needed a singer. This new wave-looking girl, named Sandra something-or-other, appeared in our school. She’d just moved from New York. None of the other girls at school looked like her. We asked her to sing. We called ourselves The Indians – it was supposed to be ironic.

Our first show was at American University with the GIs, S.O.A. and Youth Brigade. But it got cancelled at the last minute. So everyone met up at Roy Rogers. Fifty, maybe seventy-five, punks walked into the place within a few minutes of each other. The manager came out from behind the counter, he thought we were up to no good. But all we wanted was something to eat and to come up with a plan-B.

We ended up playing that night in the basement of a house in D.C. It was the first time we actually got to hear Sandra sing, because she’d kept pulling a no-show to our practices. John Stabb said she sounded like a dying parakeet.

After that we replaced her with Steve Polcari, who we’d known since junior high school, and changed our name to Assault and Battery. We played some shows like the infamous Pow Wow House gig, which I had set up, and recorded a demo a few months later.

But at the end of the summer of 1981, Brian went to art school in Chicago and I started at the University of Maryland. That meant the GIs needed a new bass player and we needed a new guitarist. Minor Threat had just broken up for the first time, and Brian Baker joined the GIs on bass, he later moved to guitar. Red-C had also just disbanded, so we welcomed Pete Murray to join us.

Artificial Peace was the name of one of our songs. I don’t know if we’d played it with Brian, I may have written it after he left. But we felt like we needed a new band name. We became Artificial Peace.

What were some of Artificial Peace’s most memorable shows?

Opening for the Bad Brains at the Peppermint Lounge in New York City. H.R. called the number he had for me, which was the pay phone down the hall from my dorm room in College Park. We drove up the day of the show, unloaded our gear and discovered H.R. gave me the wrong date. It was the next day. The show itself was terrible! The soundman screwed us. There was nothing in the monitors, we couldn’t hear a thing.

We played another show in NYC at the A7. The first band went on at midnight, we went on around five in the morning. Cheetah Chrome played that night, all I remember was that he was pretty messed up.

We also opened for Black Flag in Baltimore on their Damaged tour. We played well, but the power went out twice during Black Flag’s set. Henry recreated the Damaged album cover and punched out one of the mirror tiles that edged the stage. Lots of blood. How punk rock (laughing)!

As far as D.C., we played some shows at the Wilson Center, which were probably our best. We also played a talent show at the high school that Mike, Steve and I went to. We’d graduated the year before – I don’t recall how we got on the bill. A lot of punks showed up, it was pretty funny.

Only known color photo to exist of Artificial Peace. Wilson Center, 1982. Photo by Davis White.

How did the band end?

Pete called me on the phone, telling me that he and the guys didn’t want to play anymore. It was a surprise. He gave no reason. A few weeks later I heard about Marginal Man. I guess they couldn’t be straight with me.

Was G.I. next? How did that happen? Stabb was my first D.C. hero that I ever met (1985 in Trenton).

Before I joined the GIs, I got together a few times with Kenny Alberstadt, who’s a fantastic guitarist, as well as a female guitarist, whose name escapes me. She looked like Joan Jett and played great! But it didn’t go anywhere.

Then Mitch Parker left Government Issue in the spring of 1983, and I got a call asking if I wanted to join. I played on the GIs summer tour. Our first show was at CBGBs. We had John’s dad’s Buick and a U-Haul trailer full of gear. Just us, no roadies. Tom and I did nearly all the driving. John never got a license. We’d let Marc drive only if Tom and I needed a break. We’d crash at people’s houses after the shows. Some nights it was at nice place and we got to do laundry. Other times, it was more like a squat. Tours were grueling then.

Marc Alberstadt, Tom Lyle, Rob Moss, Tuffy. Outside Shamus O'Brien's, South El Monte (Los Angeles), 1983. Photo by Jordan Schwartz.

 John Stabb and Rob Moss, Sun Valley Sportsman's Hall (Los Angeles), 1983. Photo by Ted Ziegler.

How did your tenure in G.I. end? Did you stop making music?

Around the end of the tour I heard that my transfer to Boston University got accepted. I told the guys. Tom, understandably, was not happy. Once I moved, I stopped playing. And by that time, I felt the scene wasn’t fun anymore.

How did Rob Moss and Skin-Tight Skin come about? Had the idea been brewing for a while?

I’d always wanted to do something more in music. About three years ago I picked up a guitar, started writing songs and posted a few on Facebook. Dwight Reid asked if I wanted to record them at his home studio. He’d play bass and we’d find a drummer. That’s how it happened.

Why did you get a different lead guitarist for each song?

I can get by playing rhythm guitar and singing, but not leads. And I wasn’t ready to commit to forming a touring band. Under those circumstances it would’ve been too big an ask to interest a great lead guitarist to get involved.

But what if, instead, I asked a different guy to play on each song? So I called up old friends and friends of friends, and nearly everyone agreed to help.

What made it such an incredible experience for me is how many musicians I’ve long admired said yes. In your question earlier, about when the punk rock bug hit me, I told you about seeing the Slickee Boys when I was 16 and hearing the first Generation X album. To have guys from those bands – Marshall Keith and Bob ‘Derwood’ Andrews – play on my new album is tremendous. I feel the same about Nels Cline, Don Fleming, Franz Stahl, Stuart Casson, Billy Loosigian, Dave Lizmi, Saul Koll, Chris Rudolf, Marion Monterosso, Spit Stix and everyone else who took part.

How’s the response to the record? Are you happy with it?

Many people comment on the song quality. That even after hearing the album once, they find themselves humming the songs. The earworm thing. To me that’s the best compliment.

What’s also made me happy is hearing from the guys who played on it. That they really like the album as a whole, not just their work on it.

Did you consider recording a hardcore album?

Listening to proto-punk and pub rock made me happy as a kid. And when I speak with friends who were there, many say the same thing. That’s why I make that type of music now, not hardcore.

With all that’s going on, isn’t hardcore still important?

As protest music? I suppose but it seems like preaching to the converted. Bob Dylan’s entire career is protest music, but he grew as an artist to express himself and reach more people. When he went electric in 1966, the folkies booed, they called him a traitor. They expected him to play the same Woody Guthrie songbook forever.

It's the same with hardcore. It had its place. I’m glad to have been part of it. But I no longer want to play it. Still, plenty of my new songs contain the kind of messages I wrote when I was in Artificial Peace. There’s also humor, like Ugly Chair and A Maltese Falcon. Or humor and tragedy, like Got My Ass Stuck in a Tree. Some are about getting older (Tony Alva’s Pictures) or being a kid (Life at 33 1/3 RPM).

How do you discover new music?

Recommendations from friends, mostly. But when I lived in Manhattan in the mid-‘80s to early ‘90s, I had a neighbor in the music business. He’d set down stacks of albums, mostly promo copies, by the trash. I saved what I liked and traded the rest.

That’s how I discovered a band I missed growing up. Willie Alexander and the Boom Boom Band. They were incredible, should’ve been huge! The intro to Rock & Roll ’78 still makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.  

Years later I met the guitarist from that band, Billy Loosigian, through Facebook. And now he’s played on one of my songs. Experiences like that really made the album special to me. I hope it does for everyone else.

What’s next? More music in the future?

Anything’s possible.

 https://skin-tight-rock.bandcamp.com/

[rogmobile]

I’ll Be Home for Christmas

Roger Taylor x fem!Reader or Ben!Roger x fem!Reader

note: i literally got this idea while listening to the song and looking at an ornament on my tree..anyway enjoy grammatical mistakes, incorrect punctuation, etc. enjoy my trash!

Word Count: 2.3k

Snow fell soundlessly on the ground outside as you slept. Your chest lifting and falling as air swelled and deflated from your lungs. Dreams coming and going, yet you wouldn’t remember the blissful thoughts when you woke up. In your peace you were oblivious to the phone that rang out in the kitchen. It rang seven separate times. Each call ringing as much as it could, begging for you to pick up, before giving up. Hours later your nose flooded with the bitterly enticing scent of coffee, but it wasn’t the same scent you had grown to love. With a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and the impostor coffee in hand you sat watching the snow fall with only one worry on your mind: Roger.

Your boyfriend was the drummer for the band Queen. He was the best of the best, extremely talented and it made you feel nothing but proud to see how far he’s come. All the way from bar gigs when the band was still Smile and Tim was still in the picture. Roger was planned to come home this evening, Christmas Eve, but you didn't hear from him with an update. They should have left JFK airport last night, but you had not idea that had not happened. Trying to keep your mind off of it you get back to the finishing touches to your elaborate decoration after your coffee.

The decently sized tree, you dragged up to you and Roger’s flat on your own, was spotted spotted with mostly decorative ornaments with a few sentimental ones here and there. Like the one you had bought for your first Christmas together. However the top of your beautiful evergreen was bare. Because you had been waiting for Roger. It was attempt to birth a tradition of placing the angel on the pine when together. Fairy lights twinkled and danced throughout the pinewood branches causing the sparkles on the tree skirt to reflect the light, sending it in different directions, making it appear as though the bottom of the tree was on fire from the divine glow.

Lights were delicately strung around the windows in the living room. Their colourful glow illuminating spots of the white window sills in pockets of blue, red, green, yellow, and white around the large light bulbs. You seemed to be running out of things to keep your mind away from Roger, but that’s when you remembered you had yet to hang Roger’s favorite decoration. Mistletoe. It wasn’t truly his all time favorite, it was more of a joke between the two of you.

In the studio the boys were becoming miserable. It was drab and the sleet and streets full of graying snow seemed to be following them inside, as it was the last thing they’d see before being in the studio hours on end. Of course they loved what they were doing but the holidays were upon them and that’s enough to make everyone a little stir crazy. You took it upon yourself to bring them all coffee and tea in the afternoons during your breaks at work. It helped lift spirits for about two days. You had had enough of it because it put Roger in a mood every evening he’d come home. He hated spending long periods of time on the same part of a project the band was working on, especially when they wouldn’t get anywhere with it. He liked results. So having enough you went all out on your next drink visit. You showed up with a box of goodies and humming Christmas tunes. You handed out orders, which you had come to know by heart, to their corresponding consumers as they looked at the box with anticipation. Within a few minutes, colourful lights were draped against the top of the walls. Then you pinned mistletoe over the center of the door frame. Smiling at you with a love so pure and an overwhelming sense of gratefulness Roger stepped into the doorway next to you. His hands found your hips with great ease as he pulled you into a kiss. Pulling away from the sweet kiss, Roger’s hands cupped you face and squeezed your cheeks together, smearing a goofy smile across your lips. He smiled back at your cutely distorted smile before asking, “What did I do to deserve you?”

The routine kiss under the mistletoe quickly came into play. It became such a second nature to you both that at one point John decided to take the mistletoe down to see if either of you would even notice. You didn’t. The guys gave up trying to get you both to catch on, so they just told you. It became a joke between pretty much everyone in the studio, but it never stopped the two of you. Because not kissing in that doorway before you would leave would’ve been a crime.

The memory of Roger kissing you and being with you Christmas past wasn’t helping you temporarily forget how much you truly missed him, so you quickly busied yourself again by wrapping some more presents. An in depth book on star theories and constellation origin stories for Brian. A shirt with an eye catching animal print that was cut so low the neckline would rest below one’s sternum for Freddie. Then you folded, creased, and taped wrapping paper around a small box of bright blue, orange, and purple pecdeliums that were engraved to read “Deacy” for John. The boys had planned to all get together for a family Christmas feast and present exchange, which gave you a little bit more time to wrap presents. It gave you a little hope to think that they’d be home in time for the get together to recieve their presents as planned. You had already wrapped Roger’s gifts for the next morning. Admittedly you had gone a little overboard. When shopping you weren’t able to choose what to get him causing you to get him a few necklaces of different lengths, yet another fur coat to add to his growing collection, and a hat that was made of at least six different fabrics. Placing the last of the gifts under the douglas pine, you stepped back with the hope you would feel like everything was normal. But it wasn’t. Roger would’ve been wrapping his warm arms around your waste as he handed you a cup of hot cocoa while humming into your neck about how you had out done yourself with the beautiful decoration job yet again. But you were practically freezing. Trying to keep the tears gathering in your eyes from gliding down your cheeks you turned to the kitchen to busy your hands and keep your mind off of your missing other half. It didn’t work. Not only did you miss Roger, but you had something to tell him. Something that was going to change your lives forever.

About three months ago Queen had been on the East Coast stopping in all the big cities: New York, Philadelphia, Boston, Baltimore, D.C. and so many more. But it was a New York show you were flown out for. It was an unexpected surprise for Roger. He really showed you just how much he had already missed you, even though they were only on tour just over a month. Saying goodbye two days later was extremely difficult for the both of you. Because you both knew that between work and money not permitting it was the last time you’d see each other before their planned return for the holidays. Once home your time of the moth had rolled around, but was it was late which wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for your body. Then another month passed by initiating your call to the clinic. Time dragged by before your appointment. It seemed from that phone call on everything had been going so slow it was practically in reverse. Feeling the cold burn of the gel hint your lower abdomen you couldn’t help but feel as though you were watching a film. You stared blankly at the tech, not taking your eyes off of him for a split second, as if you were searching for the answer before anyone even told you. After informing you a doctor would be in soon to tell you your results the tech left. Time was dragging again, but within a few true minutes the doctor appeared. He sat next to you, looking you directly in the eye, and congratulated you with a smile.

Without noticing your hands had traveled down down to your stomach that didn’t show much of a swell yet. There was no holding it back anymore, and tears quietly spilled from your eyes. It was Christmas Eve you were alone, confused, a little frightened, and you missed Roger. You look back to your pine tree for some comfort and your eyes fall to the ornament you bought when you were told the news. It was a little bear propped up on the shoulders of a big bear that had a shirt reading “Best Daddy”. It got a sad smile out of you as you turned to go to sleep after admitting defeat that Roger wouldn’t be home for Christmas. You dragged your feet with every step you took in your retreat to the bedroom when there was a irritatingly urgent rapping at the door. Your lack of expectancy kept your hopes low and convinced you that there was no way in hell it was the only person you wanted to see. With sluggish steps and a few annoyed grumbles at the repeated knocking you opened the door. Before you even looked at who the visitor was your balance was knocked backwards by a large force. Your eyes came into focus but only to be obscured by a fluff of blonde hair. Roger. His arms were tightly wrapped around you as if he feared to lose you. His lips rapidly moved across your lips, cheeks, and then trailed down your neck in a rush of excitement. You tried to keep up, but your brain still had not processed that Roger was really there in front of you. He pulled away, eyes inspecting you with great importance like he had forgotten how you looked.

“God, I’ve missed you!” Roger beamed.

“Roger?” you let out in a breath like a prayer, as if to ask for him to truly be there. His hand found the small of your back and the other rose to the back of your head pulling you into his chest. You breathed him in. The harmonious blend of cigarettes, that cologne you loved, and the familiar musk and slight spice of his deodorant that had faintly worn off on his journey. It was intoxicating. Sliding his grip to your hand he leads you into the living room. He scanned the room, covered in decorations, causing his eyebrows to disappear under his bangs above his scintillating blue eyes.

“I’m sorry I’m so much later than you expected, (Y/N). I tried calling yesterday but Brian reminded me that it would’ve been one in the morning here.” Roger explained while inspecting the tree

“What happened?” You inquired following him around the tree your hand clasped in his with a loving squeeze.

“They delayed the flight because of weather, but the few flurries didn’t really cause an issue in the end. Did you lose the angel?” he prodded with a questioning tilt of his head. You had almost forgotten all about your goal of starting a tradition upon Roger’s arrival.

“No I didn’t lose it,” you glower at him jokingly. “I was waiting for you. I wanted you to be here.” a smile crept across your face with your eyes twinkling as you grabbed the angel and handed it to Roger. Turning back to the tree he stretched up and situated it atop of the pine. He began to shift his weight evenly back on to his heels when he froze. You made to ask him if he was alright when he spoke. “(Y/N)?” his voice faltered, eyes locked on the evergreen, and swallowed hard. The ornament. He let out a croak from deep in his throat as he couldn’t formulate any words. Your eyes widened and your lips parted slightly standing in partial shock. This wasn’t how he was supposed to find out. You had gone over countless versions of this conversation in your head, but now that you were actually having it you were at a loss for words.

“Roger,” you finally managed. Taking in a deep breath that seemed to hitch and get stuck in your lungs. “I’m pregnant.” you exhaled surprising yourself with the announcement. If he wasn’t already motionless before he sure as hell was now. His face held a very calm expression until his eyes slowly left yours to land on your stomach. After just a few seconds his expression melted and a smile crept across his lips as his eyes softened. In one swift motion his arms were around you once more and he let out cheers loud enough to annoy the neighbors. He spun you around and the weight that had been on your shoulders for the past few weeks disappeared in Roger’s arms. The release of pressure that had been weighing you down, pushed tears down your cheeks in steady streams. Roger placed you down gently and apologized thinking he hurt you, but you reassured him you were as happy as you could ever be.  Falling to his knees he threw his arms around your waist, pulled you in as close as he could get you, and placed his forehead against your stomach. Your fingers ran through his blonde lock making him hum a reflection of the same euphoric joy that was coursing through your veins. Tears continued down your cheeks, but you were far from sad. Anything but, exactly. The sense of excitement, bliss, and comfort of Roger finally being home is something you wouldn’t trade for the world.

[nostalgicidiot]

I was tagged by @ifishouldvanish to share 9 albums I’ve been listening to lately 🥰. Thanks a lot! The Spell by Cellar Darling | They are a Swiss progressive/folk metal band who relased their second album this year and I was enamored immediately after falling in love with their first one last year. It’s a concept album and I simply love the narrative (a girl falling in love with death) and how it is structured/implemented. I love its complexity and apparent contradictions: soft parts followed by heavier ones, the use of classical and folk elements, and I’m just a huge fan of Anna’s voice and could listen to her all the time. My absolute favorite piece would probably be Fall, (which I had to put on my Ineffable Husbands playlist ofc), which stands out because it is much shorter than the rest of the songs and uses a very different style, sounding almost ethereal…and I’m so in love with it. The entire album is an interesting and beautiful piece of art imo. It was described as a dark fairy tale by critics and that’s exactly what it sounds like.

The Sticks by Mother Mother | Mother Mother are what the kids call a mood (they probably don’t use that term anymore but oh well). Mostly upbeat music with much darker and sometimes very funny, sarcastic lyrics? If I were a song, I’d probably be one by Mother Mother. I love this album because it’s one of my go-tos when I want some nice background music for working on things. And I mean that in the best way possible: it’s really motivational without being too distracting, if that makes sense? It’s such a nice indie rock album which perfectly captures the notion of wanting to retreat into a remote forest and stay there for a couple of months? (While you don’t do that, ofc, and instead choose to pretend-smile through it all.) Also, Dread in My Heart will probably be my personal theme song for forever. (Little Pistol is my favorite. Closely followed by Infinitesimal. It’s such a good album tho.)

Echoes by Pink Floyd | Oh boy, where do I start this with this one? Pink Floyd is one of my all-time favorite bands. Never stood a chance, because the same is true for my parents. So what’s better than to listen to one of their best of albums which contains all the gems? I half-jokingly stated that I want The Great Gig In The Sky to play when I’m on my deathbed, because it stirrs something in me I cannot describe and I legit cry every time I listen to it. Shine On You Crazy Diamond is an experience in itself, Wish You Were Here is a classic ofc (and I use it on nearly every fanmix, whoops), Time throws me right into a midlife crisis and I will forever be soft for Nobody Home (which isn’t on there but deserves an honorary mention). Electra Heart by Marina and the Diamonds | I’ve been a fan of Marina ever since I heard Hollywood for the first time. Well, it’s been more of a gradual process of hearing this song for the first time, thinking “nice” and then forgetting about her until Electra Heart hit the market and found its way into my CD collection. I always gravitate back to Marina at some point, her lyrics are on point, I love her voice, and she expresses this peculiar and particular feeling of temporarily lostness so well? I love all of her albums, but Electra Heart has a special place in my heart, because it was the one that made me fall in love with her (and I’m very glad I did). Black Holes & Revelations by Muse | It’s the sound of my youth. Seriously, I take a trip down memory lane whenever one of their songs comes on. While I don’t listen to them as often as I used to, I still love them a lot and admire their artistry, they are so versatile and never fail to deliver (psychadelic songs and sad ballads on the same album? I love). It’s hard to pick a favorite album, I mostly chose this one to listen to because I was in the mood for it. Masseduction by St. Vincent | She’s been around for some time and I’ve mainly dismissed her music until last year. It’s not that I disliked it, it just wasn’t something I actively tried to get into? Then spotify started to put a few of her songs on my mixes of the week and the rest is history (I was a fool because her music is right up my alley and I should have known). I had Los Ageless on repeat for weeks (the piano version is beautiful as well, with a completely different vibe) and Smoking Section, Happy Birthday Johnny, and New York suffered the same fate. I can’t list them all but I’ve really enjoyed this album. (On a different one, but All My Stars Aligned? Such a beautiful, beautiful song) The Silent Force by Within Temptation | So I’m seeing them live next year (still cannot believe it) and this has sparked a renewed interest in their music. It was never gone, but I need to be in a certain mood to listen to their songs. With Muse I was talking about memory lane, when it comes to Within Temptation it’s more like an express highway. So many memories connected to their music, especially to this album - man that was a wild time (more like metaphorically speaking, it was a pretty dark period in my life, actually). Still, most memories are good ones because they were the first (symphonic) metal band I ever listened to and that opened whole new doors for me. Even after almost 15 years (boy do I feel old), this album has lost nothing of its magic and I love coming back to it. No Need To Argue by The Cranberries | I recently binged Derry Girls and it definitely made an impact in more than one way. Been a fan of the Cranberries for a good chunk of my life and this album is one of my favorites. Like ever. It’s crazy how much memories are connected to music, right? The Virgin Suicides (OST) by Air | First things first, that movie…kinda traumatized me. Is it smart to listen to its soundtrack then? Probably not. I’m not known for smart decisions, so it should not come as a surprise that I do so regardless. Especially because I think it’s a great album. Playground Love is such a good song and the rest of the others do not disappoint either. It has a very weird vibe to it (which perfectly matches the movie), but sometimes that’s what I’m in the mood for. But nothing will ever beat Le Voyage de Pénélope” for me when it comes to Air. I’m gonna tag @mightynott @bogsnails @queenology @aziraphae @regalpotato @thesongandthesunset and everyone else who reads this and wants to do this!

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter ten (joe the drummer)

“Coin operated boy, He may not be real, experienced with girls but I know he feels like a boy should feel Isn’t that the point? That is why i want a Coin operated boy, With his pretty coin operated voice saying that he loves me, that he's thinking of me Straight and to the point, that is why I want A coin operated boy.” -“Coin Operated Boy”, The Dresden Dolls

November 28, 1988. Boston, Massachusetts.

So I had left Oswego at about ten this morning because I didn't know if or when Matt and Dominique were going to be in Boston today, but I have this hydrogen car that Maya left behind and I have nothing more to do than to take it for myself. I had the copy of Ultramega OK in the disc player for the first stint of the trip: as I drove through Syracuse, their cover of “Smokestack Lightning” came on, and I couldn't help but think of Ellen and seeing Brick in the hospital. It felt like a sign, seeing the chimneys in the outskirts with their rising smoke against the bitter upstate cold.

I've done this drive before by myself and with my parents and my grandparents, but this time it was interesting because not one time did I have to stop to refuel because of the hydrogen. There was that one time Maya stopped on the way back up, but that was it. The whole thing throws me because I always think it's going to run low at some point and it never does. To be honest, I'm surprised this car doesn't have an autopilot option because sometime around Albany, I wanted to put my feet up on the dashboard next to me and relax for a moment before I resumed onward to Springfield and then eventually to Boston. I played Ultramega again once I entered Massachusetts, where more and more the brick and mortar began to rise up from the cold earth and the outskirts of the City.

She said they're going to be near the women's college, and the only one I can think of offhand, just from my doing gigs over here with Anthrax and a couple of my past cover bands, is to the north of the heart of the city itself.

I take the next exit leading me over to Wellesley, and this is the part of town that, along with New York City, makes me wonder if Maxwell Industries in Seattle is serious about their wanting to move out this way. Over the edge of the freeway, I can make out the small cobblestones comprising the streets down below: every other building is made of stone and brick, and has a chimney bleeding out plumes of pure white steam. The sky is pure white with the sun reflecting on the steam, and so I'm driving about with my mirrors on and my scarf around my neck like I'm a pilot. I even have the black gloves and the black boots.

Everything is made of brick and mortar and cold metal: not a lick of bright blue neon to be found. There's a row of shiny silver entities floating in the air over my head, but they're too small to be considered airships. At least I think so anyways. They seem to drift onward over me and across the freeway to the other side within a mile of my next exit. Something about them is unnerving, like what are they?

I'm soon winding my way through the tightly woven web of spirals that is Wellesley and I indeed recognize the school up the street and past the four roundabouts.

Oh boy, this is going to be fun!

Trying not to wreck the car, seeing as this isn't even mine and I just don't want to wreck the damn thing, I begin to weave my way through the roundabouts like it's a snake. I really am like a pilot now because I'm having to keep this thing in control. The hydrogen hum is totally silent but the tires are yelling at me over the cobblestones.

Surprised there are no passersby on the sidewalks. It's the middle of the day following Thanksgiving: usually I would expect the whole area would be filled to the brim with hustle and bustle like Syracuse or Albany—Oswego had more happening when I left this morning. But no: there's no one here.

I weave one last time around the fourth and final roundabout and I catch the view of the stationary shop in question: this little pale brick building with a bright pink and white striped awning over the gilded glass. I know that's what it is because I recognize Dominique and her heavy black overcoat and purple tinted glasses standing next to Matt and another woman.

I don't realize where I'm going and I almost drive right into the narrow alleyway running adjacent to the place.

I slam on the brakes. I turn the wheel around so as to avoid hitting anything.

And the car drifts up to the curb.

I stop right there right before them, and Matt pushing the two women back away from the edge of the sidewalk so as to miss me. He then recognizes me with a nod.

“Oh, hey! It's Joey!” I hear Dominique declare through the windshield.

I switch the thing off and stumble out of the car to meet up with them. The steam in the air makes everything feel cold and the whole place smells sweet, like cooking molasses. I toss back my black curls and adjust the shades before meeting up with them.

“Quite the entrance if I might say so myself,” Matt remarks with a big beaming grin underneath his big smokey sunglasses.

“Joey, this is my mentor Angeline Belotti from the New York Times,” Dominique introduces me to the blonde lady in a lush dark red velvet dress with a low plunging neckline and a big matching handbag in her left hand. She's got on these little cream colored leather gloves protecting her hands from the bitter cold around us.

“Joey Belladonna, right?” she asks me in that strong Queens accent that makes me think of Anthrax.

“Yes'm.”

“I thought I recognized you. That little upstate indigenous boy that Anthrax fired for—reasons I haven't been able to find out.”

I shrug at that. Yeah, me, too, and the thousands of other fans who are left wondering.

“Anyways, I'm glad you could make it, Joey,” she continues, “Matt and Dominique were just telling me about a young lady named Maya Sorensen whom you found last month in a gutter.”

“Yeah, I was just walking and I saw her laying there on the sidewalk all disoriented and helpless.”

“He was just being a good guy, y'know?” Dominique fills in for me.

“Well, of course. But what I don't understand is why didn't you take her to the authorities and earn credit that way?”

I flash back on what she said in After the Watershed: her fear of being discovered by someone who wanted to hurt her. Come to think of it, that's actually quite the bullet I dodged myself, too.

“She told me not to,” I reply to her.

“She told you not to?” Angeline repeats it.

“See, I thought there was more to this,” Dominique says, her eyes lighting up behind the purple lenses. “I thought you and I would be in for hell of a scoop, Angeline.”

“Well, anyways, she and I were going to do some writing practice here in this shop next to us,” Angeline explains to me, “and we were hoping you'd show up because Matt's got nothing better to do at the moment.”

“Yeah, today's my birthday,” he says out of the blue. “I'm twenty six.”

“Oh, really? Happy birthday, man.”

“There's a pub right back here if you guys want a bite to eat,” Angeline gestures behind me to the sidewalk running around the corner of the shop.

“Yeah, we're gonna be in here a while,” Dominique adds.

“I haven't eaten since I left Oswego,” I confess.

“All the better,” Matt assures me. “C'mon, man—”

He leads me away from there and we turn the corner to the narrow alleyway I almost plowed into. This little passage way smells more of molasses even with the piles of rusty wires and the shiny silver air conditioners resting upon the ground.

“Dom and I got one of these,” he starts, gesturing to the air conditioner closest to the other end of the alley.

“These exact ones?” I ask him as the bright white glare of the sun shines over his blond hair like it's a vein of pure gold.

“Exact one. For some reason, the cybernetic ones Maxwell Industries makes don't work as well as they should. Here we are—”

He holds the door for me and I step into the cozy, intimately lit pub of dark wood and wire framed lamps first. The place smells of French fries and honey. Once I take off my sunglasses, I catch a glimpse of a little plaque on the wall next to us.

“'Open mic night,'” I read aloud.

“Huh?” He takes off his sunglasses once the door closes behind him.

“It's open mic night.” I grin at him as I lead him into the main room of the pub.

“Oh, no, you aren't suggesting—”

“I am, and—hey! Check it out! There's a full on drum kit in here!”

“Oh, man.”

“Come on, dude. I'm out on the job and I'm pretty much a trash digger at this point. Sometimes a guy's gotta drum his heart out, y'know?” And then he bursts out laughing.

“I hear that!”

We take a seat at the big heavy dark polished wooden bar dotted by single beeswax candles held up by fancy iron catches. He asks for a glass of stout, and I for a glass of straight up root beer. Too much bad karma with sarsaparilla now. He takes a sip from his glass when I sit back in the stool with my legs crossed. A few more people enter the place behind us, followed by an elderly couple.

“Been meaning to ask you this, too,” he starts, “—what do you think of our album?”

“Ultramega?”

“Yeah.”

“It's all so—grungely,” I tell him, and he bursts out laughing at that. “Grungely and totally badass.” He picks up his glass again for another swig of stout and then takes a look over at me with a lick of his lips. I raise a glass to him and we clink them together at the edges. He asks for a refill when I ask for some battered cod and a little dish of tartar sauce.

The candles seem brighter than they were when we came in. More and more people are coming in behind us, and soon the pub is bustling with people.

I turn my head to the window on the other side of the room, at the growing shadows casting across the floor and the drum kit with the waning light. A girl with a guitar steps up onto the stage.

“Any volunteers to play rhythm section with me?” she asks into the microphone over the drum kit. I turn to Matt as he's downing the rest of his stout.

“That drum kit over there's freed up,” I point out to him.

“I dunno if I can play, though,” he admits. “I can be—kinda unsure of myself when—hic, 'scuse me—I've taken down a couple of drinks.”

I think back to the first time I played Ultramega OK on my player, and the other times I played it, including this morning.

“You know, I really like you guys' cover of 'Smokestack Lightning',” I tell him.

He swallows, but doesn't reply. I glance up at the drum kit once again. All the times I played in cover bands are returning to me.

Oh. Oh, okay. I'm gonna be Phil Collins now. I take one final sip of the root beer and wolf down the last bite of fish before striding on over to her to join her.

She welcomes me by telling me she's not the best singer. I concede as I take a seat on the stool behind the snare and the bass. It's a small kit, one that I'm definitely used to. I tell her what song I want to play and her face lights up; and then there's that microphone next to my head.

“Hi, my name's Joe Belladonna. I'm the singer as well as the drummer for tonight. Just call me Joe the drummer.”

I'm a little rusty, especially since Matt's got such an interesting way of playing but I do know it. I'm also doing the duty of singing like Chris.

Nancy says I'm like Chris. Well, tonight I'm gonna be Chris as well as Matt, playing this old blues song in a dark steamy town that smells of molasses.

There's just one difference: my screams don't go as nearly high as Chris, and I'm a tenor.

[viva-la-fangirl]

Cheeky

This is my first fanfic in a while so go easy on me

Summary:

**sorry for any grammar errors I’m not really good on catching those but I hope you enjoy it anyway**

Words: 1.5k

The bar stunk. Really stunk. The aroma was sweat, cheap alcohol, puke and god knows what else filled the small tavern. You didn’t care though. It just showed that everyone was going to have a good time tonight. Lord knows you needed a good time tonight. The past month had been shit storm after shit storm. A failed final, increased job hours, late bills and a the most dramatic break up since Henry VIII and his 6 wives had all accumulated within just a few weeks of each other.

You wanted to get drunk tonight. No, not wanted- needed- to get drunk tonight. A college bar with a better than average band playing sounded like the perfect atmosphere to do that. You just wanted one night to forget everything (and maybe possibly get lucky) but it was a must.

“You ok?” your best friend, Alice asked.

“Oh, yeah I’m ok.” You shook your head and took another sip of your drink which was strong enough to tingle your tongue.

“You’re not thinking about Henry again are you?” She gave you a raised eyebrow. She was probably the only person that how bad the break up was.

“No,” you protested. Alice gave you a knowing look. “Ok, maybe a little,” You took a big gulp of your drink and felt the warm alcohol run down into your chest and warm you up.

“Like I said, to forget one boy you gotta get another one in your pants,” Alice smiled tipsily.

“Maybe I’ll take your advice tonight,” you winked. “Just don’t get mad if you hear some shenanigans tonight.”

“I regret that we share a wall,” Alice rolled her eyes. “Just don’t be as loud as this band is about to be,”

“Yea, I meant to ask- who even are they?” you asked. Up and coming bands weren’t exactly in your interest range.  

“Smile… wait no Queen.” Alice corrected herself. They change their name recently and got a new singer and bassist. Apparently they are really good.”

“They better,” you argued through a sip. “Then again I might not remember them in the morning. Truthfully I don’t want to remember this last month.”

“No,” Alice suddenly raised her voice. “No pouting tonight. Only singing, drinking and maybe some shagging but no pitting yourself ok?”

“Deal,” you laughed and felt the liquor start to make you feel warm.

Suddenly the band appeared on stage and the girls went wild… and you could see why. All were attractive in their own right.

The singer had long good-looking hair, his teeth were a bit large but he had an incredible physic. He was getting the crowd excited, so he seemed like a fun and energetic person.

The guitarist had the most hair you had ever seen on a man. It was curly, black and seemed to go in every direction. He had a soft and kind smile.

The bassist seemed to dress a little more modestly than the others and had long hair as well. He plucked his bass with suck precision it was impressive.

Now the drummer, you couldn’t help but stare at him. His long blond hair just reached his shoulders and framed his face perfectly. Even from the middle of the crowd you could see his big blue-green eyes. He wore the skimpiest outfit of the bunch with just a leather vest opening to his chest out for everyone to see. Probably to show off his toned physic. It was working.

“How did we find them again?” you asked.

“I’m good friends with the bassist’s cousin, I think his name is John.” She said they were playing tonight and it was a good enough reason to get you out of the house apparently.” Alice saw you staring at the drummer. “Have we found our lucky man of the night?”

“Highly doubt it,” you laughed.

At that moment the guitar screeched and silenced the crowd only for a moment before they all clapped and cheered. Then they started playing.

You had to admit, you hadn’t expected a lot for this band, but they were really blowing you away. The front man had a power-house of a voice you had never heard before and the rest of the members were playing like they were born for this. Especially the drummer. He seemed so transfixed on his music, bobbing his head back and forth, hitting the drums harder and harder.

You swear you made eye contact with him once or twice but then again, the girls around you probably thought the same thing. He was mesmerizing to look at.

Stop it. You told yourself. You couldn’t go imaging a relationship with a guy when you had just gotten out of the most serious one you had ever been in. You couldn’t do that, or at least you shouldn’t do it.

Each song was fun to listen to. You clapped along, sang the wrong words to the right beat and swayed to the music. It was like a drug. The sounds seem to melt into you and control your body. You could feel the deep thump of the drum in your heart. Somehow the beat of the drum made you more infatuated with the drummer.

 Before you realized the band was headed off the stage. Each member gave a friendly wave, the drummer added an extra wink to the group of girls you seem to be in.

Cocky bastard. You thought.

You and Alice walked out the back, arms around each other laughing and singing. Despite it being almost one in the morning, the street was alive with drunk college kids, some secretly making out, others not even bothering to hide it.

“Alice!” you heard the name called from behind you.

“Tracy!” Alice wiggled from under your arm to hug the girl running up to her.

“I’m so glad you got to come!” Tracy didn’t seem nearly as intoxicated either you or Alice.

“Oh Tracy this is (Y/N). She’s my bestest friend ever,” Alice hugged you and slurred the last word.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Tracy have you a friendly nod and smile.

“Thanks for telling Alice about the band,” You nodded. “They were awesome. Can’t believe your cousin is in such a cool band.”

“Want to meet them?” Tracy offered.

“You’re joking,” You and Alice said in unison.

“Not at all! When they get really famous you can said you met them when they were up and coming, “ Tracy laughed and led you two around the building.

“Are you sure it’s ok?” Alice asked.

“Of course, they’re all super sweet.” Tracy giggled.

“Even the drummer?” Alice asked and eyes you.

“Oh Roger, yeah he’s sweet but definitely likes his women.” Tracy warned.

“Really?” you said mostly to yourself.

“Yeah so don’t be surprise if he tried to get into your pants tonight,” Tracy didn’t seem to pick up on your interest.

As you turned the corner you saw the boys sitting in the back of a van, drinking, smoking and laughing.

“Deaky!” Tracy screamed and ran up to her cousin.

The bassist turned around and seemed a little surprised by the hug but accepted it.

“Tracy,” The apparent Deaky smiled. He saw you and Alice trailing behind her. “How are your friends?”

“This is Alice. She was in my English class freshman year at uni. This is her friend (Y/N).” Tracy quickly introduce the pair of you.

Automatically you felt heat rise in your chest and the drummer eyed you. He still looked a little sweaty from the gig. The liquor made you feel more confident than usual.

“Well I’m Deaky,” Deaky shook both of you and Alice’s hands. “This is Brain,” the guitarist gave a sweet smile and nice wave.

“That’s a load of hair you got there,” you couldn’t help yourself from saying.

“I get that a lot,” Brain laughed.

“This is Freddie,” Deaky said next.

“Nice to meet you darlings,” Freddie went straight for the hug. He smelled like cheap cologne and flowers. It was nice to meet someone so friendly and forward.

“Heya Freddie,” you drunkenly laughed.

“And this is…” Deaky began.

“Roger,” the blonde stood up and even though he shook Alice’s hand first he shook yours for longer and made a lot more eye contact.

“You two enjoy the show?” Roger asked as he sat back down keeping his eyes on you. He sat on the bumper of the van closest to you.

“Oh it was fabulous,” You couldn’t help but yell. “You guys are going to be something special you know that?”

“Well it’s nice to have support,” Brain smiled and took a drink of beer.

“I can’t wait to see where you guys are going to go,” You looked directly at Roger who had a cigarette handing between his lips.

Brain, Deaky and Freddie said something about a thank you and talked among themselves.

“You want to see where we’re going tonight?” Roger whispered only to you.

Cheekily you smiled at him. “Only if you can bang me as hard as those drums,”

[kootenaygoon]

So,

At first, I was nervous about tackling news stories. 

I knew the stakes from my summers at the Whitehorse Star, had seen how small fuck-ups could have large consequences. Telling someone else’s story is a huge privilege, a power you have over them, and it can be intoxicating. But if you do it wrong, you will hear about it. I preferred the lighter elements of the job, like taking pictures at the Pride Parade or typing up an exhaustive feature on the Capitol Theatre’s production of Chicago. I was a hype machine, excitedly Photoshopping my images and then sprawling back in my desk chair with the newly printed paper’s pages flung open to reveal my handiwork. I floated through the summer of 2014 high on the experience of it all, letting myself fall in love with each new artist I interviewed.

Some people believed the proliferation of artists in the Nelson area was thanks to the town being situated on a bed of magical quartz, but I figured it was more a case of kindreds being attracted to one another. People were looking for a life less ordinary, far from the city. Most locals had some sort of regular job and then spent the remainder of their time investing in creative endeavours, whether that meant painting a mural, starting a food truck or playing in an 80s cover band called Val Kilmer and the New Coke. I started learning the names of local authors, meeting up with poet Tom Wayman and short story writer Myler Wilkenson. I wrote a feature about a photographer named Ryan Oakley who had crowd-funded a book called Humans of Nelson, based on the viral hit Humans of New York. It featured daily portraits of people he met during his lunch breaks, along with a pithy quote that captured their essence. One young singer named Anilah had just landed her Enya-esque tracks on some TV show, a spoken word poet named Magpie Ulysses was releasing a chapbook and a popular saxophonist named Clinton Swanson was playing relentless gigs around town. I giddily funnelled their stories on to Facebook and Twitter, where I obsessively watched the engagement numbers climb. Within a month or two our web presence had exploded, and pretty soon Calvin was bragging that we had the best social media numbers in the Kootenays.

But every now and then, things got dark. The first heavy story that landed on my desk involved a quartet of teenagers who had gone missing the day before I arrived in town. It was eventually discovered that they’d commandeered a canoe and gone adventuring right into a windstorm on Slocan Lake—a body of water so enormous it almost looks like the ocean in places. Authorities were able to recover the canoe pretty quickly, and found a young girl near death. Though they rushed her to medical services, she died in the hospital. There was no trace of the others, three dudes ranging in age from late teens to early twenties. The grief was heavy in the community, and right away I felt it settle in my chest — a clenched fist of empathy. I interviewed the RCMP as they conducted a large-scale search, checking in each day to hear if there was anything to report. At one point it looked like they were going to call it off, but then the families hired a husband-wife duo from the U.S. who had a submersible specially designed for these sorts of retrievals. Within a few days they’d located the boys, down in the darkness, and dragged them back up into the light. I shuddered when I thought of how they must’ve looked after that long underwater, after being cradled to the surface with a claw. The people I interviewed talked about the closure that brought to the families, and I quoted various people silver lining it, but it was the sort of tragedy that was so random it felt cruel on a cosmic level. Like a deity reaching down from heaven to smudge out a few people with his thumb.

“We cannot presume what happened. Our best speculation is misadventure. It wasn’t a very big canoe,” RCMP officer Darryl Little told me. 

“It was more of a swift water canoe than a lake canoe. There wasn’t much space below the gunnels and we figure the wind came up and that was it.”

During those weeks I kept running into people who knew the kids, and saw the impact plain on their heartbroken faces. One woman burst into tears while I was renewing my car insurance. I decided to interview the school district psychologist, Dr. Todd Kettner, to get his insights into the community’s grief process. We met at Lakeside Park and shot a video of him sitting on a park bench, calling out the provincial government and Premier Christy Clark. They had docked his pay during the teacher’s strike, right while he was in the midst of putting in overtime to coordinate a critical incident crisis management plan for the Slocan community. He was the only psychologist for the district, which according to him was chronically under-funded. For him it wasn’t about the dollars they took off his cheque, it was the overall neglect rural schools were receiving that really set him off. In an online open letter that went viral around the province he laid out some of the routine cases he was dealing with from day to day, underlining the ways the community was failing to support students with mental health issues.

“I was awakened Sunday morning by a phone call informing me that a student at one of the 21 schools I’m responsible for was on life support in ICU after an accidental drug overdose,” he wrote.

“Monday morning, while continuing to support the staff at the school where the hospitalized student learns, a dedicated and caring school administrator and I were informed that we were needed at another school to help the staff there prepare to gently inform their students that their classmates’ parent had been killed in a tragic accident.”

Kettner was eventually reimbursed for his pay cut, but didn’t see any change at an institutional level. At the end of the day he was still doing his job the best way he could in seemingly impossible circumstances. In the newsroom Tamara filled me in on the realities of SD8, and the issues were deeply systemic. The whole system was cash-starved because the undeclared income of the cannabis industry meant that, on paper, it was the poorest district in the province. The local high school was past capacity, there were multiple elementary schools that should have been demolished years ago, and sitting through board meetings meant hearing about financial snafus of the highest order.

“Those school board meetings, Will? Worst part of my job, easy. You wouldn’t believe how boring they are. All the ‘motion to accept this’ and ‘motion to accept that’. Makes me want to blow my brains out,” she said.

“The key is, you have to get to know the trustees, the superintendent. Once you have them as a connection, they can pretty much talk you through anything.”

“You think the strike will last much longer?”

“Shit, I don’t know. Those teachers are pissed, and they’re not going to back down.”

Around this time I came to an instinctive conclusion about the type of reporter I wanted to be: not aloof, or unfeeling, but the type that engages to an almost scary degree. If I was going to write a story, I wanted to understand it on a far deeper level than I needed for the paper, I wanted to be the guy in town that was the ultimate expert on that topic — right down to its human nuances.

The story commanding my most fervid attention was the trial of Andrew Stevenson, the bank robber that Cass had told me about. Calvin, Tamara and I spent a good half an hour scouring through Facebook trying to find a photo of him and his co-accused, Krista Kalmikoff, so we could have something to illustrate Greg’s stories about the court hearings. We were unsuccessful. The guy was being charged with seven robberies over the course of about six months, of both banks and pharmacies. The NPD had identified addiction as the driving force behind the crimes, and had been able to predict the exact day of his last robbery: April 25, 2014. In my free time I interrogated anyone who knew anything about what happened, picking up scraps of information here and there. A drunk woman at a party described seeing him come careening out of the bank’s parking lot on a bike, cutting in front of city hall and hurtling down towards the lake as cops sprinted after him. I wanted, so badly, to know what this guy looked like. Calvin sent me down to the court to get a shot of him walking in handcuffed—a goon shot—but then it turned out he was appearing by video link. Foiled!

As I got to know the NPD cops, attending one of their award ceremonies, I met a soft-spoken sergeant named Nate Holt. He had thickly muscled arms, a neatly trimmed blond beard and spiky hair that was nearly white. Not only was he holding an award for bravery, he was also one of the guys who was at the bridge that day, with Andrew Stevenson's stolen money raining down from the tree like confetti. I pictured the bank robber squirming on the rocks, trying to crawl away, while they descended on him like blue wraiths. The thing about Nate was you could feel the toll his work took on him, and you could see it in the way he carried himself. He was piggy-backing a lot of sadness. One suicidal dude came at him with a butcher knife and Nate didn’t even pull his gun. No, he got close enough to tackle him in a bear-hug, wrestle the knife out of his grip and save both of their lives. Sometimes I thought about those two men, rolling on the Baker Street sidewalk in that guy’s blood, while shocked residents looked on. I couldn’t believe that someone could have an experience like that and return to work the next day. But that’s exactly what he did.

Before Paisley moved into our new place, Muppet and I got a few days of lackadaisical meandering. I took her to Kaslo May Days with me, slaloming along the highway up Kootenay Lake in a state of giddy bliss, thinking yes I think I made the right decision while I gazed out at the water. I spotted a weird gargoyle sculpture on top of a house on Front Street, and wondered to myself what the deal was there. I spent a lot of time wandering through parks with my camera, approaching strangers and asking to take their photos. Cass would later jokingly call these spreads “All the people Will met at the park the other day”. Eventually I decided I had to see this bridge Andrew Stevenson jumped off, so I got on the highway out to Castlegar and went looking for it. We turned off the highway and followed a switch-back down to the Columbia River, just a few kilometres up from a massive hydroelectric dam. I parked at one end of the bridge and walked Muppet out across the dusty concrete to the middle so we could see the spot it happened. It was a clear, sunny afternoon, and I eventually identified the small cedar he’d attempted to jump into. Below was nothing but a rocky slope to the river, twenty feet further on. This was where it all ended for him, after evading the cops six times. Maybe it was the new pot I was smoking, or maybe it was something else, but I was feeling an electric need to understand this story. I’d been struggling for years on a novel that wasn’t coming along, partially because I was finding it difficult to invent new parts of the narrative, but here was a true fucking story that I could actually throw my weight into. I stood there for a long time, while cars rocketed by in the distance and wind hurtled through the canyon. The air smelled delicious.

I stood there drinking a Slurpee while Muppet panted happily.

The Kootenay Goon

[vanmccstan]

#2 Bond’s sister goes on tour

When you’d waltzed into the world five years after your older brother, John, you were red faced, with your tiny little fists angrily balled up and your eyes damp with tears. From the very first day your brother had set eyes on you, even at such a young age, he had decided that he was to be your protecter for life; and that, he was.

He’d stepped up to the role of older brother incredibly. He’d read story books to you as a toddler, play guitar to you as a child and eventually, watch you grow up in to a teenager and an adult, coaching you through your life issues with his strange words of wisdom and teaching you ridiculous things, such as if a fly is annoying you, that you should just eat it. “If you eat it, then all his little fly mates will piss off ‘cos they’re afraid you’ll eat them too.” He’d told you one day, aged 24. “John, what the fuck?” Your nineteen year old self had replied, laughing at him.

You were used to being with him all the time, he’d lived at home for the whole of your life and then, in the August of 2014, everything changed. It was for the good, but fuck, did you miss your brother. John joined a band, they were making their way up in the music industry and had an album prepped and ready to go. He was the replacement guitarist for one that had left due to ‘personal’ reasons.

It had been your brother’s dream for as long as you could remember to be a guitarist and he was finally living that dream. When you were younger, he would play you your favourite songs stripped down to help you go to sleep. He’d managed to teach you a few chords in your time too, and you could easily join in with a song, just not as well as him. On one hand were happy for him, his band mates were good people from what you’d heard from him, especially the frontman, even if he had a dumb name, he could tour the world doing what he loved and earn money from it, he was getting girls left, right and centre. Yet, on the other hand, you were slightly devastated.

You lacked not only your brother, but your protecter, your best friend and partner in crime.

When he invited you to join them on the first leg of the 2016 tour, you didn’t even need to think about the answer.

“It’s not all glamorous, y/n. You’re gonna spend a lot of the time stuck in the tour bus with us lot and usually when we stop in a hotel, they’re not even that nice.” He’d explained whilst you were jumping up and down with excitement. You didn’t care though, you were just happy to be finally reunited with your brother, whether that meant spending hours stuck in a bus with five other boys playing Fifa and eating just Doritos for your dinner, you didn’t care.

Catfish had just recorded a second album, for John it was the first one that he featured on. Since he’d joined the band, they’d got bigger than you could have ever imagined. So big, in fact that for the second album, they’d had Dave Sardy producing it.

The day that they had found out about that, John had rung you up. “Y/n, this is fuckin’ huge!” You laughed at him. His excitement was evident through the phone. “Didn’t he do oasis or some other shit?” You asked, and John scoffed at your limited music knowledge.

——————

Before the tour, you hadn’t met Van. You’d met Bob one day a few weeks before after a little private gig in the middle of London. There was barely anybody there and you’d taken along your friend, Isla, she was a huge fan of Catfish and The Bottlemen way before your brother joined and when she found out that he was joining the lineup in 2014, she rang you crying. You’d taken her along after she’d begged unmercifully since he joined the band and it was a year and a half after the release of the balcony, early 2016. The gig was smaller and more intimate that your previous experiences of catfish’s show. It was filled with important people, wearing formal clothes and sitting down at tables, it was the gig that would help the boys with finding the right people to help with the second album. There was a small crowd of people, mostly family and friends of the band that had been invited along.

Isla looked at you, her eyes filled with excitement as she pointed to the stage. You just laughed at her and joined the crowd.

Bob was kind, he was the sort of person who would offer you a cup of tea before you’d get in the door, or give you your jacket when you were cold, or take a good picture of you for your Instagram without you even having to ask. He was quiet too, which was exactly how your brother had described him, you didn’t mind much though, he was good company and extremely intelligent. He could hold a conversation well once you’d got into one. You were meant to meet Van, Larry and Benji that night too, but they had all disappeared shortly after the gig to get drinks in a local bar. You wondered why the other two hadn’t gone, but you didn’t ask questions. John and Bob were free spirits though, floating around the empty venue and singing loudly to old songs by the Kinks. Then, you knew that if Bob was anything to go by, the rest of the boys would be a dream.

——————

When John came home a week before you were due to go on tour with them, you were packing. Sat on the floor of your childhood bedroom, you had pulled apart every component of your wardrobe in the hope you’d find some half decent clothes. In the forty five minutes of doing so, you’d found four new pairs of black jeans which had gone straight into your suitcase and an old yellow dress which fell to just above your knees, had long sleeves and tiny flowers printed on it. It was one of your favourites.

“What ya doing there, little one?” He asked after letting himself into your bedroom. He’d been calling you little one for as long as you could remember, which always made you laugh seeing as you now weren’t that much shorter than him.

An old Noel Gallagher song played through your surround sound system and you leant across and turned it down slightly.

“Retuning a flute.” You replied sarcastically, causing John to laugh at you. “What does it look like I’m doing, you little dick?”

“A flute? Since when did you play the flute? Can they even be tuned? I have many questions, little one.” He laughed. For the next hour, you picked out enough outfits found in the very depths of your wardrobe to get you through the three month tour, all whilst your brother waltzed around tiny, cramped bedroom, dancing over the piles of clothes and toiletries on the floor, to French music. He knew every word to every song, which made you laugh; he’d dropped out of French during the third year at secondary school, claiming he didn’t understand any of it.

“Can you get out of my room now please?!” You shoved him gently in the direction of the door after listening to the same song for the third time in a row play out through your speakers. You stood rooted to the spot, surveying the mess you’d made around you.

“Get out? I’m hurt, y/n.” He whined, pouting out his bottom lip. Your parents were talking in the room next to you and you could heard both yours and John’s names mentioned. Another argument, you assumed, you’d be glad once you’d gotten away.

“How can I put it in a different way? John, please fuck off out of my bedroom.” You bit back, sarcasm lacing your voice. You raised your eyebrows at him as he spun on his heel and threw you a finger gun, before stalking off out of your room. He stopped once he was in the hallway, turning around and looking back into your bedroom.

“Glad you’re coming with us, y/n,” He grinned. You nodded your head in agreement and watched him spin on his heel once again, walking towards his own bedroom.

“By the way, no one calls me John anymore! Bondy to yous lot!” He exclaimed, before stepping into his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

——————

The day you met Van, he was wearing a white button up shirt. You looked at him for a little too long, you were sure of it. Larry was the only one who noticed though, giving you a strange look as he stood clutching his suitcase. You couldn’t help it, you’d seen pictures and videos of Van before and you were well aware that he was incredibly attractive, however, in person, he was at least ten times more gorgeous.

“Bond’s sister? Y/n, right?” Van had asked, pulling you straight into a hug no more than fifteen seconds after meeting you. He was friendly, maybe too over friendly for a stranger, but you weren’t complaining.

“Yep, that’s right. Unfortunately I got lumbered with that massive twat as a brother.” You pointed towards John, he was stood in the middle of the airport terminal doing the tree yoga pose with Benji. Bob was taking pictures on the chunky camera hanging around his neck.

Van laughed, gazing over at the boys briefly before looking back at you. He studied your face intently for a few moments.

“At least we know who got the best genes out of the two of you.” He laughed, raising his eyebrow at you. You simply just laughed, unsure how to really reply. You didn’t want to overstep the mark and make a fool of yourself, not within the first day of knowing Van.

Larry was kind, you complimented his shoes. They were Adidas, much like the rest of the clothing he was wearing and they looked like they were his prized possession. Benji told you that he loved your shirt, to which you glanced down at your t-shirt, momentarily forgetting that you had the oasis top on that John had brought you years ago. You ended up having an in-depth discussion as you boarded the plans about the best oasis b-sides and you were pretty sure that you had won when you popped out acquiesce, but Benji our up a very strong argument for half the world away.

When you got on the plane, you found yourself between Van and Larry. You thought you’d be sat with Bondy, given that he was the only person you actually knew other than Bob. However, when he wizzed off to the plane toilet for thirty minutes, you weren’t left much choice but to squeeze in between Larry and Van. You didn’t really mind though, Van was willing to share earphones and his flying playlist. It made you laugh that he had a flying playlist, it was second nature for them to be travelling. To you, though, not so much.

Half way through the flight, Larry fell asleep with his head resting on your shoulder, mouth wide open and tiny little snores escaping. You and Van both laughed at him quietly and Van took that as his cue to stretch his arm out arm out around you.

It was only a short flight, the first stop in the start of the European tour was France. Catfish had already sold out three nights in Paris and were performing at a major festival there.

When you finally touched down on French soil, you woke up Larry by gently shaking his arm. “I’m awake!” He declared, sitting bolt upright and looking around the plane as people began to file out.

“Let’s get this show on the fucking road!” John screamed, walking down the steps of the plane and flamboyantly throwing his hands around. Other passengers, including yourself and Bob shot him funny looks. Van laughed heartily, tossing his head backwards and curving his mouth into a smile. His hair flopped back and in that moment you realised, Van Mccann was a fucking walking God.

——————

The tour bus was bigger than you imagined. The boys gave you a theatrical tour of the whole double decker, showing you the bunks, the ‘lounge’ and the tiny kitchen. “Here’s where we make meth, little one. ” John laughed, gesturing to the worktop. You furrowed your brows and nodded your head.

“We do what?!” Van said from the sofa. His feet were resting up upon a table and his head was resting backwards in front of his outstretched arms. He had his sunglasses resting on his nose and he peered over the top of them. He looked incredible.

“Ahh... make meth, apparently.” You chuckled. You took a seat next to Van, plopping down into it with a loud sign.

“Jesus, we’d save a lot of money if we did.” Van said, his voice monotone. Larry puffed out his cheeks, trying his hardest not to laugh.

“He’s joking... obviously.” Bob sat down opposite you and Van removed his feet from the sofa.

You then all shared your first hysterical laugh of many as John held up a box of cigarette papers, saying “And this is what we make paper mache with.”.

That night, you found Van playing guitar at the front of the tour bus. He was in a separate little room with a sign hanging on the shut door which read ‘Van and Larry’s chuckle suite’ which a picture of the chuckle brother on. You tapped on the door and Van opened the door instantly, a small picture of confusion painted over his face when he saw you. “You alright, darlin’?” He asked, putting his electric guitar down. It was plugged into an amp but he had the volume turned right down, not to bother anybody.

“Yeah, the rest of the lads are busy. Just wanted some company,” You said. He gestured you to sit down on one of the two tiny, leather sofas. You sat opposite him and pulled your knees up to your chest. Your whole body was exhausted after the flight, even if it was a short one. It was just something you’d have to get used to.

“Can I play something?” You asked, straightening your legs out and fixing your posture. Van handed you the guitar, his piercing blue eyes not leaving yours for one split second. You tilted your head down towards the guitar and smiled to yourself.

As you played the beginning chords of Leave Fast by Sam Fender, Van sat up straight and began watching you. It was one of your favourite songs by one of your favourite artists. He was an incredible singer and you connected a lot with his music. A bonus, he had a small fan base, so you’d met him on several occasions after gigs.

When you reached the chorus of the song, you began to sing, which is something you rarely did. You knew that you weren’t an amazing singer, but you’d been taught how to hold a note in the secondary school choir you were in but that particular song actually suited your voice.

Once you had finished, you looked up at a grinning Van.

“Who taught you how to do that?” He asked, shaking his head in disbelief. You laughed.

“Do what?”

“Play the guitar so well and sing like that. More importantly, how do you look so fucking good whilst doing it?” He raised his eyebrows as you started to grin bashfully.

“Ahh.. John taught me how to play guitar and my choir teacher taught me how to sing. Pretty sure the rest of it was just my fuckin’ amazing genes.” You laughed, and Van did too.

“Song’s called Leave Fast though, it’s by Sam Fender, listen to him.” You told Van.

So you did, and for the rest of the evening, in the front of the bus, cramped on small sofas, you and Van listened to your favourite artist in each other’s company.

When early morning rolled around, Larry came into their ‘chuckle suite’. John had told you that it was where both Van and Larry slept as they didn’t like being in the bunks but you were already asleep when Larry came in.

You’d moved onto the same sofa as Van after your little singing session and spent the evening listening to good music and talking. When you’d got tired, he’d eloped you in his arms, which is where you eventually fell asleep. Maybe you were too close for people that had just met, maybe your brother would kill you both if he found you, maybe you shouldn’t get attached to someone so quickly, but as you laid there in Van’s, fiddling with his small, silver half moon necklace, everything felt well in the world.

“Fuck sake.” Larry grumbled, looking at yours and Van’s sleeping bodies pushed up against each other, Van’s arm holding onto your back so you didn’t fall off in the night and your head nestled into the crook of his neck.

He settled onto the sofa opposite both of you and fell asleep to the sound of both you and Van breathing softly.

——————

You were up the following day before all of the boys apart from Bob.

You untangled your body from Van’s, silently praying that John would ask no questions about where you had been the night before and why you

You walked downstairs to be met with Bob sitting at the table, sipping a cup of tea and scrolling through his phone. He was on instagram, his theme of black and white pictures made your heart happy.

“Mornin’, Bob. Big show tonight, right?” You poured yourself a glass of water and sat down opposite him. He looked up from his phone, smiling.

It was the first night of the three sold out shows in Paris. You would be watching all shows and you were excited to do so.

“Yeah, pretty exciting. Sleep well?” He asked, with a hint of knowing in his voice.

You pout out your bottom lip.

“Ahh... yeah, good thank you.” You replied. He nodded and went back to scrolling.

John waltzed down the stairs of the tour bus three hours after you had gotten up. Van and Larry had eventually come down about forty minutes before your brother, Van had winked at you over his cup of tea when he sat down, you just shook your head and rolled your eyes at him, laughing.

“Good morning all!” John yelled. His hair was stuck up everywhere and he looked like he’d been drinking the night before.

“Alright?” You asked as he held your head in between his hands and messed up your hair.

“I think I’m still smashed, little one,” he whined. Larry laughed at him as you breathed a sigh of relief, he had shit memory as it was and alcohol only made it worse. “Went mad last night. Anyway, are you coming tonight? You can watch from backstage.”

“Backstage? Fuck off! I’m going in the crowd, John.” You replied. All of the boys shot you a look and you knitted your eyebrows together.

“Probably not a good idea, y/n.” Benji laughed.

“What? I was in an oasis pit when I was 15!” You said defensively. It was one of the last ever gigs that oasis had played before splitting and John had dragged you along with him, it was probably the best gig you’d ever been to, even if you were reluctant to go. It had sparked your love for your favourite band ever.

“Darlin’, you’ll get destroyed. The French are mad.” Van said, and that was that.

It wasn’t worth arguing, it was you against five others and you were bound to lose.

Catfish were insane. Van was right, though. The French crowds were mad, they didn’t stop singing, dancing, jumping or moshing for any moment throughout the entire gig. You watched from the side of the stage with Larry, sat on an old amp and sharing a bag of sweets and cinnamon buns. Larry watched their every move whilst on stage, constantly making sure that everything was running smoothly. “Look at that dickhead,” he’d said, watching Van tugging on the microphone and nearly falling over the wire.”He needs a wireless one.”

John, Benji and Bob all came off about halfway through the set for Van to do an acoustic version of hourglass and John sat down next to you for a few minutes, taking a bite of the bun when you’d offered it to him. You fixed his cap, gave him a hug and set him on his way again once you heard the crowd roar with approval at the end of hourglass.

It was in that moment that you realised, no matter how annoying or protective your brother was, you were so, so fucking proud of him. All those people were bouncing to his music, they were all having a great night because of him and his band mates. It was crazy to think about.

You hugged each of the boys once they’d come off stage, patting John fondly on the arm and stealing his hat and putting it over your head. Van looked at you, shaking his head and laughing as you pouted and took selfies of you wearing it. You watched the venue slowly empty and Larry go and pull up the setlists from the stage, giving them to the few loyal fans who had stayed and waited for one.

——————

Somebody had suggested drinks after the third and final sold out night in Paris, maybe it was Larry, you couldn’t remember, but before you’d even realised, you were all walking through the streets of Paris, desperately trying to find a bar that wasn’t jam packed with angry French men watching football. It proved a difficult task.

Within the hour, you’d all settled into an English style bar in a back alley that you’d managed to find yourself and were blinding drunk. Benji had taken to the karaoke, giving everybody a shocking rendition of Mr Brightside by the killers which made your sides split with laughter. John filmed it for his Instagram and you wondered what witty caption he’d end up putting it up with.

You’d all drunk way, way too much, but created memories which would, for sure, last a life time. After John had got on a barstool and started dancing to the French electro -pop music playing, you knew that was your cue to leave. The bar owner was a tall, well built French guy that none of you wanted to piss off.

You left before he threw you out.

You left the bar at around 12:30, waltzing through the streets of Paris attached to John’s arm. You’d stolen his hat once again and it was placed on top of your mound of hair. You thought it suited you more than it suited him. The city was more alive than you’d anticipated it to be, there were people everywhere, therefore, it was inevitable that you then bumped into fans. You weren’t actually too far from the venue that the boys had just played

“Oh my god! It’s Catfish!” A girl screamed, running towards you. You ducked backwards, drunkenly hiccuping and hiding behind John. The girl’s friend come running after her. They were both wearing Catfish shirts and you assumed they’d been to the gig earlier on in the evening. Once pictures were taken, they began conversation. You stayed attached to your brother as they spoke in fluent English, asking questions about the second album and new music.

One of them turned to you and looked at you for a few moments. You smiled, hoping she’d leave you alone. You were drunk and definitely not in the right state for a conversation.

“Are you Bondy’s girlfriend?” She asked curiously. You spluttered, smacking your hand to your mouth.

“Nooooooooo! I’m his sister!” You drunkenly laughed, hiccuping between the middle of the sentence.

“Although, I would definitely fuck him.” You gestured to Van, who was talking to the other girl. You didn’t quite realise what you’d said until everybody shot you a look, including Van. He’d definitely heard you. This is why you shouldn’t be able to interact with people when you’re drunk, something would always slip out. You dropped your head into your hands and whined loudly in embarrassment.

“Well, looks like we best be heading off girls. It was lovely to meet you!” Van said, his gaze not leaving yours once.

It was then, in that moment, that everybody found out about your tiny little crush on Van Mccann. You’d prayed that they’d forget, but nobody ever did.

——————

This fic is especially for Rhi ( @storiesaboutvan ) to thank her for reading it and giving feedback on it. She is an absolute angel, go give her BIG love! Thank you Rhi xo

[probablylisteningtoledzeppelin]

39 Years Ago: Led Zeppelin Tries to Regroup for ‘In Through the Out Door’

By Jeff Giles

Led Zeppelin fans grieved for singer Robert Plant when his young son Karac suddenly passed away in the summer of 1977, and held out hope through years of breakup rumors as the band went on hold while its frontman dealt with his loss. Zeppelin would eventually return in August of 1979 with their eighth studio LP, ‘In Through the Out Door,’ but the band’s fate was far from certain even before the tragedy that prompted their hiatus.

“The 1977 tour ended because I lost my boy, but it had also ended before it ended, really,” suggested Plant in ‘Led Zeppelin: The Oral History of the World’s Greatest Rock Band.’ “It was just a mess. Where was the actual axis of all this stuff? Who do I go to if it’s really bad for me?”

Plant ultimately found the answer in his family, withdrawing for months while trying to figure out whether he wanted to continue making music in the wake of events that showed him just how transitory his fame and fortune really were. And as much as Led Zeppelin had always been a collection of distinct personalities, Plant emerged from this shattering experience a changed man — one who felt fewer ties to his bandmates than ever.

“I wasn’t comfortable in the group at all,” Plant admitted in a 2005 interview. “We’d gone right through the hoop and, because my hoop was on fire, I didn’t know if it was worth it anymore. … My joy of life had been cudgeled and bashed so hard, I became a time-and-motion man for my own destiny.”

But after months of waiting, and one tentative stab at live performance in an awkward meeting arranged by manager Peter Grant, the band convened in late 1978 in Stockholm, booking several weeks at Polar Studios, the state-of-the-art recording facility owned by the members of Abba. Good as it was to shift the band back into gear, Grant later admitted the sessions were less than ideal, describing the experience of recording at Polar as “a slog … It was cold and dark all the time.”

As long as it had taken him to climb back on board, Plant seemed nothing less than committed to making a new album. “Maybe I waited too long,” he’s quoted as saying in road manager Richard Cole’s book ‘Stairway to Heaven: Led Zeppelin Uncensored.’ “But I just couldn’t push myself. I had to let the enthusiasm come back on its own. I’m anxious to get going and see what happens.”

In fact, while Plant was present and accounted for — and living a drug-free lifestyle since Karac’s death — other members of the band proved less reliable. As the songs that would ultimately make up ‘In Through the Out Door’ started to take shape, it was difficult not to notice the conspicuous absence of guitarist Jimmy Page, who took a far less active hand in shaping the music than he had on previous Zeppelin efforts.

“It just seemed that Robert and I got to rehearsals first,” explained multi-instrumentalist John Paul Jones in a 1991 interview with author Ritchie Yorke. “We were left alone quite a lot of the time, along with [drummer John Bonham], and so we tended to get on with it, I think. I suppose you could say that ‘In Through the Out Door’ is my album, the way ‘Presence’ was Jimmy’s album.”

In a separate interview, Jones recalled that “Robert and I were getting a bit closer — and probably splitting from the other two, in a way. We were always to be found over a pint somewhere, thinking, ‘What are we doing?. And that went into ‘In Through the Out Door.’ Basically, we wrote the album, just the two of us.”

Plant agreed, “Jonesy and I, who had never really gravitated toward each other at all, started to get on well. It was odd, but it gave the whole thing a different feel: things like ‘All My Love’ and ‘I’m Gonna Crawl.’ We weren’t going to make another ‘Communication Breakdown,’ but I thought ‘In the Evening’ was really good.” Grant nodded, saying “John Paul Jones certainly did pick up the reins of the band with the ‘In Through the Out Door’ album. People tended to think of him as a bass player, but he went far, far beyond that.”

Jones’ growing role did not go unnoticed. “I think Jimmy kind of thought Jonesy was trying to take over as producer, which he wasn’t,” Cole observed. “He was just making use of the time until the other two turned up. The truth of the matter was we never turned up until the middle of the night until we had scored. The other two got there when they were supposed to, and just messed around doing stuff.”

Which is not to say that Page’s hand wasn’t felt in the final version of the album. In fact, he still ended up with the producer’s credit, and mixed the record at his home studio — for better as well as worse. “I thought parts of ‘Carouselambra’ were good, especially the darker dirges that Pagey developed,” Plant reflected in a 2003 interview with Mojo. “I rue it so much now, because the lyrics on ‘Carouselambra’ were actually about that environment and that situation. The whole story of Led Zeppelin in its latter years is in that song, and I can’t hear the words.”

Regardless of how one feels about the album’s original mix, Page insists he was overall in better shape than others have suggested. “‘In Through the Out Door’ was done in a little over three weeks, so I couldn’t have been in that bad a shape,” he argued in the same issue of Mojo. “I’d never have been able to play, and I wouldn’t have been able to keep my head together to do this, that, and the other.”

Once the sessions wrapped, the band had more than enough music to fill an LP; in addition to the seven songs that ultimately made the cut for ‘In Through the Out Door,’ they emerged with three more (‘Wearing and Tearing,’ ‘Ozone Baby,’ and ‘Darlene’) that were held over for a future release. With the record in the can, Grant was faced with the task of proving Led Zeppelin were still on top, even after going more than three years without an album of new music — a job he faced with his customary blend of genius and gruff bravado.

For starters, there was the album’s unusual artwork, which wrapped multiple LP covers in plain brown paper stamped with the band’s name — an eye-catching display of market force that started as a joke. “Peter said to me, ‘We could put the album in a brown paper bag, and it would f–ing sell,’” recalled designer Aubrey Powell. “I said, ‘Peter, what a great idea.’ Atlantic didn’t want the aggravation, but Peter said, ‘We’re f–ing doin’ it.’ ‘In Through the Out Door’ ended up having six different covers.”

Even with the added aggravation for the label, the band ended up with a huge hit on its hands. ‘In Through the Out Door’ debuted at No. 1 on both sides of the Atlantic, and while reviews were decidedly mixed, the pent-up demand from the fan base was obvious. Led Zeppelin had been missed — and what’s more, they may even have missed each other while they were away. “There was something going on, and it was lifting again,” mused Plant. “We decided that we could work, and we should start all over again.”

While ‘In Through the Out Door’ was still making its way to stores, Grant turned to the issue of touring, which had become something of a sore spot since Karac’s passing. Stuck in the U.S. while his son died, Plant was adamant about not wanting to tour the States again, and wasn’t terribly eager to get out on a stage anywhere else, either. Grant had other (and, naturally, larger-scale) ideas, and booked the group as headliners for the 1979 Knebworth Festival.

Explaining his desire to prove to the members of the band — particularly the still-ambivalent Plant — that they remained “the biggest and the best,” Grant recalled telling them “we hadn’t played in England since 1975, and we had a site that could take 200,000 people. ‘I think you can fill it for two weekends, and this is the proof that you’ — mainly Robert — ‘should continue.’”

Of course, after everything Plant had been through, Grant could easily understand his reluctance to step back into the spotlight. “I don’t know how the man managed to hold everything together,” Grant admitted. “But he did, and he came through with flying colors.”

Not everyone on stage shared Grant’s assessment of what went down at Knebworth, however. “I was watching it on the DVD and thinking, ‘Christ, that was crap. That was a s– gig,’” Plant later said dismissively. “I know how good we had been, and we were so nervous. And yet within it all, my old pal Bonzo was right down in the pocket.”

A brief European tour followed in the summer of 1980, with plans for the U.S. jaunt Plant had vowed he wouldn’t agree to then scheduled for the fall. But sadly, the Knebworth shows would prove to be Zeppelin’s last UK performances with Bonham, who died in September of 1980. Although they’d release another album, 1982′s contract-fulfilling odds-and-ends collection ‘Coda,’ they’d already broken up; without all four members in the fold, Jones, Page, and Plant agreed that Led Zeppelin could not continue.

“I think it was a special occasion for the band,” Jones later said of the period following the release of ‘In Through the Out Door’ and the Knebworth shows. “But I’d have to say that I do look back on it with some sadness, because it was really the start of a whole new era for us that never actually got going.”

“Bonzo and I had already started discussing plans for a hard-driving rock album after that,” Page claimed later. “We both felt that ‘In Through the Out Door’ was a little soft. … In its place it was fine, but I wouldn’t have wanted to pursue that direction in the future.”

“Standing there on the street corner, clutching 12 or 16 years of your life of knowing Bonzo, holding it close to your chest with a lump in your throat and a tear in your eye, and not knowing which way to go, was a most peculiar experience,” pointed out an understated Plant. “Apart from anything else, I knew the dream was over, just like that".

[elanorjane]

California Soulmates Chapter 2

Summary: Pop princess Belle wants to write her own music. Single father Gold wants to put his failed music career behind him. When inspiration hits, there's only one problem...the songs they're writing are each other's. "Telepathic soulmates" RCIJ for @beastlycheese

AO3

What was this complete and utter pish?

Rumford Gold sat cross-legged on the wood floor of the living room. Well, in a bedsit technically the whole thing was a living room. But it was the sliver of space he and Bae had cordoned off as shared. The window was open and a minuscule breeze, along with a lot of traffic noise, filtered in. With fifteen years of practice, he blocked out the horn and engine noises easily. The windows were old with wooden frames that had warped over the years and been painted over dozens of times, so having it shut made no difference.

He plucked at the strings of the acoustic guitar in his lap, the chain and cord bracelets wrapped around his right wrist shifting with the movement. He scowled at the illegible scribbles on the paper in front of him. He had some song about a drunken night at a club sung in a girl's voice in his head. It sounded like something out of a 16-year-old girl’s diary. He shook his hair out of his eyes and tried to concentrate on the radio jingle he was supposed to be writing for a local car dealership. He should be focused. He was lucky to get the gig. But lyrics about summer and beaches and sex kept ending up on the page instead. He must have picked it up from somewhere, but he swore he hadn’t heard it before. He didn’t even turn on the radio anymore because there was nothing on it worth listening to. The radio dial in his beat to hell Dodge Charger didn’t even work anymore after he’d mashed it a few too many times out of frustration for the drivel it was playing. Bae was always on about Sirius XM, but he could add that to the list of things Bae wanted and Gold couldn't afford.

Gold turned back to the song scratched in pencil on music sheets scattered around him on the floor. He couldn’t have penned it himself. For starters, it sounded way more pop than anything he’d ever written. More tellingly, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had sex. He doubted that he could aptly describe it anymore. He glanced over the page of lyrics, all of them inappropriate to sell cars. He’d probably inadvertently picked it up from something Bae was listening to. Despite Gold’s extensive schooling, Bae’s tastes still ran tragically pop. He sighed. Too bad this rubbish wasn’t his. The damn thing would probably be a hit. Gold balled the sheet up in his hand, crumbled it into a tight ball, and lobbed it across the room where it bounced off Bae’s bedroom door.

It wasn’t a bedroom door so much as a curtain Bae had rigged up around his bed in the corner. By the light filtering through the one window Gold could see the outline of his son sprawled out on his bed. He could hear the din of Top 50 seeping out of his headphones. Gold’s own bare mattress was pushed against the opposite wall. It was the best they could do to give each other some sense of privacy. Gold studied his son’s form then lamented the now blank page in front of him. A fourteen year old boy should have his own room. He should have grown up with a yard to play in. Gold blamed himself for not giving Bae everything he should have and keeping them in L.A. long after they should have moved back to Scotland. Or any other place besides this godforsaken city.

This was not how it was supposed to be. Gold was the founding member and brainchild behind what was an up and coming English rock band. Formed in London in the early 80’s, they were on their way to hitting it big. They were going to make real, industry shattering, mind blowing music and get rich doing it. Until it had all fallen apart.

Gold had written music his entire life. He’d picked up a slew of instruments along the way. First guitar, then piano. He spend his formative years learning every part to his favorite songs. He loved early Rolling Stones and Small Faces. In his teens he’d started a band, like every young kid in Glasgow was doing in those days. But while his friends had eventually grown out of it and moved on to football and girls as their main pursuits, he never lost his obsessive focus on music.

In his early twenties he’d moved to London and worked on finding other serious musicians and together they formed a band, focusing on heavy-sounding rhythm and blues. That’s how he’d met his ex-wife, Milah. She’d auditioned for keyboardist. They were young and she seemed just as invested in the music as he was and it wasn’t long before they were spending all of their time together. In the intervening years, the band crashed on a series of friends’ couches. Gold spent all day writing music and as many evenings as possible in whatever disreputable bar would let them play, fronting his band, playing guitar and singing lead. They were struggling musicians barely scraping by in the city and they had been the best years of his life, full of love and music.

Then, Killian Jones came in to audition after they’d lost their bassist. Gold remembered the moment vividly. They sat in a dingy basement bar of a restaurant that rented the space out to them for rehearsal during the day. Gold, Milah, and the rest of the band sat in creaky old wood chairs and on sticky tables while Jones, under the dusty overhead light, played a Led Zepplin song. That should have been Gold’s first clue. He was always a bigger fan of The Who. After Jones played his last note, Gold peppered him with questions about his abilities, experience, and musical tastes. The same litmus test he’d give anyone who wanted to join his band.

Milah and the rest of the musicians were immediately sold on Jones and his leather jacket joining the band, but Gold was the lone holdout. Reminding him that they couldn’t play their already scheduled performances if they didn’t have a bassist, Gold agreed to let Jones play on a trial basis only.  

It was after one of these tryout gigs, while they were packing up the gear, when Jones sheepishly admitted to the rest of the band that he was really was a frontman at heart.  

“We don’t need a singer,” Gold immediately responded. He wrote the songs, he performed the songs, it worked. No need to fix what wasn’t broken.  

But Milah wasn’t so dismissive.

“Give the boy a chance, love,” she told him, gesturing at Killian. The boy had a look, Gold guessed, though it seemed to hover somewhere closer to Boy George than Rod Stewart. He found everything about the new guy cloying. Jones’ eyeliner rimmed baby blues peered up at Gold in what he imagined was supposed to be a charming, unassuming grin.    

“You don’t even like being up front anyway,” Milah told Gold. While he’d taken the lead singer position out of necessity, Gold had learned to enjoy it and thought he’d grown into it. But the whole band looked at him expectantly.

“Alright, fine,” he’d caved. The kid could try it out and when he didn’t remember any of the lyrics and bombed, they’d go back to their original lineup.

So at the next gig, Gold stood stage right, playing bass and singing backup. He watched dumbly as his words came out of Killian's mouth and everyone fell over themselves. And the performance after that. And the one after that.

Crowds, for some reason, gravitated towards Jones. Droves of women, who Gold knew weren’t there for the music, began attending and standing up front. Gold wanted the music to speak for itself. But Killian was a born entertainer. He chatted to the girls in the crowd, making them titter. Gold glanced across the stage at Milah, who was laughing and shaking her head at his antics, completely won over. He��d remember that look in her eyes and the way her face lit up for the rest of his life.

“He’s sexy,” Milah had told him in bed one night, when he was still on the fence about Jones officially joining the band and taking over lead.

Gold had asked Milah to marry him the next day. He could see now, in retrospect, that he’d sensed her slipping away from him. He had loved her, he truly had. But marrying her had been his way to try and hold onto her, to keep her from leaving him. Not that it had done any good in the end. I didn’t matter, he would have married her anyway because, unbeknownst to them at the time, she was already pregnant with Bae.

With Killian Jones on the mic, the band started to gain more attention. It was so gradual at first, Gold almost didn’t notice. The rooms they played began to fill a little more. The venues got a little bigger. Until one day, at a party after a show, he looked around and realized he in the same room as Jeff Beck and Ronnie Wood, breathing the same air. All because of their mutual love of making music.  

It was only a matter of time before America began calling. The lure of recording contracts and bigger audiences was too great. The band boarded a plane from London for L.A. Upon arriving, they found a place downtown to squat in and seamlessly fell into the music scene. They spent their days recording demos on borrowed studio time. Gold remembered seeing a proper mixing board for the first time and spending hours pouring over it with a single minded intensity. When Bae was born, he joined their caravan of bohemians, riding along in vans to various gigs. Sometimes even living in a van. But it didn’t matter because Bae was a happy baby and they traveled as a band, a family.

One that wasn’t destined to last.

They signed their first record deal with a major label within six months of arriving in L.A. Moe French, a record producer so famous Gold recognized him on sight, happened to be in the audience when they played one of their best shows. He cornered them when they exited the stage. Riding high on one of their best performances ever, they signed without even reading the contract he thrust at them in his glass fronted office the next day. Within the next week they had studio time of their own and twelve of their best tracks laid down. They got so far as to even have an official photo shoot for the album cover, with Killian in the middle and the rest of them fanned out around him.

It looked like Gold had been wrong. Killian Jones had been their ticket to success in the L.A. music scene.

But he had also been their downfall.

Within a year of landing at LAX, Jones and Milah had fell for the drinking and the drugs and each other. The two ran off together and the rest of the band members, burned out by the polarizing drama, vanished, getting gigs in established bands or as session players.

He should have put himself and an infant Bae on a plane the day their family, and the band, broke up. Instead, his pride got the better of him and Gold, with Bae, had stayed in L.A. He'd stick around to show them all. While Jones had been part of their meteoric rise, he was nothing but a pretty face. Gold wasn’t going to let him ruin everything he had spent decades building.

He was in Moe French’s office the next morning.

“I’ll get another band together,” he’d promised Moe.  

“No, you won’t.” Moe answered confidently. At Gold’s perplexed look, he continued. “We own your songs now, boy.”

A horrible pit formed in Gold’s stomach. “I don’t understand.”

“The contract you signed,” Moe informed him casually. “Those songs now belong to the record label.”

“But I wrote them!” Gold defended. “We already recorded them!”

“In a studio the label paid for,” Moe countered. “You wasted my time and my money. That album will never see the light of day.” He remembered the bloated face of Moe French baring down on him. “Now get out of my office before I sue you for breech on contract,” he growled.  

He’d once ran into Eric Clapton on a regular basis. Now he was in a bedsit in east L.A. His best friend was a 14-year-old who would rather closet himself in his ‘room.’ He wrote jingles and whatever else anyone need him for, just to stay involved in music somehow, using the same Gibson that he used to write the songs that were supposed to make him and his band famous. The piano had been sold long ago to pay for this place.

He looked around the room. He used to live out of a van. In comparison to that, this was nothing. It was all Bae had ever known. Scraps of paper with song lyrics scribbled all over them were tacked all over the apartment walls. After seeing A Beautiful Mind at a friend’s house, Bae had come home and asked Gold if he was schizophrenic.

All Gold had left of his blossoming music career was an unreleased album and a trail of broken dreams. And Bae. He had Bae. If he had to do it all again, knowing the outcome, if it got him his boy, he’d do it.

Gold shook his head. He hadn’t thought of his bitterness about the music industry in a long time. He’d focus on Bae and doing what he could to keep the apartment under them and cereal in the cupboards.

He unconsciously played the first few notes of a song he’d written for Bae when he was little. It was meant to comfort his son when he had nightmares, but in truth it gave Gold just as much solace. Now that he was older, Bae didn’t need it anymore. But obviously Gold still did. He’d give in to his despondency and play it through, just the once. Then, he’d get back to work.