#which is probably one of my top ten albums of all time

[kurokoros]

The way everyone went wild over the “All Too Well” short film but Lord Huron made an entire movie out of their weird apocalypse (?) 50s biker gang concept album + the follow-up album

[heartsofminds]

and at every table, i’ll save you a seat -  part i

“Well, apparently Baby Goose’s been losing his mind ‘round the base about how this really smart and sweet girl invited him to a wedding and won’t text him about it.” or you invite Bradley to a wedding but your big fat crush on him won’t let you actually. . .invite him. 

“and at every table, i’ll save you a seat” - tunes of the gossipy Hard Deck patrons and liking someone so much you feel like you can’t breathe 

A/N: hey guys!!! so in the midst of writing this, i realized how long it actually is and how many dividers i had on my google doc? anyway, i thought it would probably work out so much better if it was released in parts rather than just one, big, fat, HUGEEEE piece that would probs crash on mobile. listen along to the playlist (that will be updated with each writing update) and relish in overly flirtatious bradley with me! which btw, he’s the lover album personified with a dash of red and a hint of fearless! 

“I’m not asking him.” 

Phoenix rolls her eyes before she takes a sip from her Ultra. The thought of it tasting revolting because of its lukewarmness crosses her mind despite her head pounding unceremoniously. She almost speaks up to answer you, but closes her mouth. 

She softly places the bottle back down on the counter instead. 

She can’t quite tell if the pain in her temples is from the sound of excited chatter all around her, the sound of Mickey, Javy, and Bob shittily singing Go Your Own Way on the karaoke machine in the corner, or the sound of your blue glitter gel pen scratching away at the scrap paper you have by the register; frantically carrying decimals for tip calculation and pathetically adding and subtracting since Penny’s “older than dirt” cash register bit the dust an hour prior. 

She almost concludes that the pounding ache working its way to the forefront of her brain is because of your absolute and utter refusal to do the simple and the obvious. But wait. 

I haven’t eaten at all today. Yeah, that’s it. 

A deep breath fills her lungs before she exhales. Her elbows find themselves on the lip of the bar top and her forearms come up to rest her head on her hands. She notices that the scribbling stops from what she assumes is you looking at her. 

An uncomfortable beat passes which is unusual for you two. There’s always some sly remark made or interminable giggling filling the gaps of silence. 

You pop your hip on the corner of the table. Your magenta tank top was far too bright of a pink to be welcome in the warm-hued bar. Your bracelet screams “graduation gift” and you can feel the oil on your face contorting your makeup as your time in the muggy air passes. 

Out of place is always in your thoughts but doesn’t become an insecurity until you’re left alone with them. The absence of Phoenix’s voice makes this fact more obvious to you. 

“You good? Not gonna hurl all over the place?” you cautiously ask, “Because it’s fine if you gotta puke, but I’ll murder you if you make me clean it up.” 

Natasha lets out something short of a laugh but too informal to be considered a huff. “I’m fine,” she says, leaning her head into her hand and adjusting herself in her seat. 

You nod, returning to your scribbling when the man sitting next to her hands his card to you. “You know, if you write any harder, you might permanently etch,” she pauses, leaning over to get a peek at what you had just written, “ten dollars and eighty-three cents into the counter.” 

“Maybe it’ll convince Penny that a new cash register is a need and not a luxury.” 

Natasha scoffs. “Could say the same about your plus one, but hey, if you don’t want my advice, then certainly don’t take it.” 

You hand the gentleman back his card with a smile and a small “thank you” before returning your attention back to Natasha. She digs her teeth subtly into the plush of her bottom lip. 

“I already told you. I’m not asking him.” 

She groans, pushing herself to stand up from her seat. Even dressed in civilian clothes, she looks like she belongs. Her aura demands respect; even in a lacy wine-colored top that Hangman had tried to tease her about earlier when the brood of rowdy pilots had first arrived. 

“Well, you said no to Jake.” 

“You say it like he would be willing to say yes.” 

“You said no to Rueben.” 

“He’s in a situationship with that girl from my spin class. Going with me to a wedding and her seeing the pics on Instagram would just make shit weird,” you start scrubbing at the permanent water stain near the beer taps anxiously, “Especially when I set them up.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes again. She swears that by the end of the night, she’ll know exactly what the inside of her eyelids look like. 

“Whatever,” she huffs, “You said no to Javy and Bob.” 

“Javy would rub the fact that I asked in Jake’s face and they’ll start a pissing contest on how to woo me…and Bob,” you look around to make sure no one who knows you all is within earshot, “He’s sweet. Like, sooo sweet.” 

Natasha tries not to crack a smile before you get your words out, but she certainly knows where the tail end of your sentence is going. “But it’s definitely not believable that we would be together and my aunt is one hell of an FBI agent and I’m sure he’d crack and rat us out and I’d have to sit there and eat my weight in tiramisu to drown my embarrassment.” 

Business is painfully slow for a Thursday evening despite the upcoming weekend. Your eyes dart around the room to look for anyone to come and rescue you from this conversation (and even volunteer to be your date to your bitchy cousin’s wedding next weekend without you asking, but you know to only hope for one miracle at a time). And when your eyes turn up empty for an ample opportunity, your shoulders droop while Natasha snickers at you. 

“Cut your losses and just ask him. I know he won’t say no,” she says, coy smirk at home on her face. 

“No. Absolutely not.” 

“What is so wrong with him that you don’t wanna do it? Huh?” 

You ponder on her statement before shaking your head. You’d rather be shot in the foot with a nail gun eight times than expose your silly little schoolgirl crush in the middle of the Hard Deck in front of his best friend turned your best friend since moving to the area five months ago. 

“Why not Neil or Brigham? Or hell, even Mickey? I know he’s like, engaged, but Mariella is so freakin’ sweet and I know she’d understand so like-” 

“Mmm-mmm. No, no, and hell no.” Your frown plasters itself on your lips faster than you can comprehend at her words. “Rooster or bust.” 

Your spine straightens as you begin to engage in protest before you’re cut off by the man himself. 

“Rooster or bust, what?” he asks, lips coming out to lick the dryness of the San Diego sun away. Your knees start to buckle and you can hear Natasha stifle a laugh as you try to conceal your lack of balance. 

He stands in front of you, hand on his hips and sunglasses tucked on the tight, white tank top underneath his button-down shirt. Today’s print was red with cream-colored hibiscus flowers and you wonder how he could pull them off so well. If it were anyone else, you would have had to try your hardest to keep it together with Natasha in front of you; the jokes about touristy dads and low-budget porn actors in the works. 

You realize he’s waiting for an answer as you see Natasha getting called away to sing karaoke with Javy and the gang out of the corner of your eye. 

Great. Just fucking great. 

“Taking bets on who the best pilot is or?” Bradley speaks, trying to get to the bottom of the small fragment of the conversation he had walked into. 

“I-,” you stammer.

Fuck. Can someone just come to the bar and order so I can avoid this? 

“You?” he looks at you through his eyebrows comically. Everything he does makes you nervous. 

“I-,” the lines in his forehead raise with the infliction of your voice, “I need a favor. Like a big one.” 

“Okay,” he laughs, “How big are we talking?” 

“Umm-” 

“Like ‘giving you my other kidney’ big or letting you borrow my car big?” he interrupts. 

“Well-” 

“Or do you need me to house sit? Dogsit? Babysit?” 

You inhale as you place your hands on the countertop. Your eyes find his honeyed-colored ones and you almost drown in them before your pride kicks in. 

I cannot embarrass myself in front of him. 

“I need you to come to a wedding,” you speak gently. You can see the wheels turning in his head without him having to say anything. Bradley’s face always gave his thoughts away. 

“If you don’t have plans, of course.” 

The realization of what you had just said starts to kick you upside the head the longer you look at him. He doesn’t say anything. His face doesn’t move at all. You’re pretty sure he hasn’t even blinked yet.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! 

“And if you’re comfortable! Obviously!” you start to ramble before you can convince yourself to shut the hell up, “It’s next Saturday in Long Beach near the seaside. You don’t have to say yes or anything but I just thought I’d ask because I had a plus one when I had a boyfriend eight months ago and now-” 

“I’ll go.” 

“-we’re not together anymore and my bitchy cousin is the one getting married who, by the way, makes everything a competition but that’s beside the point. But I know my mom is gonna be pissed if I don’t bring someone because my aunt is her sister and she’ll bitch about how they wasted money and how my mom is running out of time to become a grandma because I’m not married yet and that’s totally not true because I’m not even thirty so my biological clock hasn’t even started ticking yet but -”

“Hey!” he raises his voice slightly, amusement hidden in his tone, “I said I’d go with ya, kid.” He steps forward to put his hands on your bare shoulders. You try not to melt into his touch. 

“S’all good. I love weddings and the beach. Promise it’s not a hassle.” 

You’re dumbfounded by his response and how collected he is about your word vomit, not to mention being invited to a wedding where he’ll meet not only your parents, but your entire extended family in a little over a week. You know for certain you wouldn’t have handled the situation as calmly as he had. 

“You - you’ll…go?” The sound of Britney Spears’s “Toxic” and Jake absolutely murdering the high notes in the back of the bar is the only thing keeping you from spiraling into another dimension. 

“Well, I’m not a liar,” he sits down on the seat Phoenix was previously occupying, “I don’t just say things I don’t mean.” 

Your head nods solemnly in silent understanding, your hands grabbing a glass to pour him a whiskey on the rocks. He raises his eyebrows in suspicion at you knowing what his usual drink is, but throws away the thought to comment on it before it can even develop all the way. The subtle pang in his chest of you taking that much notice of him makes itself known. He would be lying if he was to say he didn’t hold a brightly lit candle for you.

You’re a regular, Bradshaw. Get your head out of your ass. 

“To be honest,” you start, placing the chilled glass in front of him, “that sounds a lot like something a liar would say.” 

He gives you a soft smile as he reaches into his back pocket to grab his wallet. “Well good thing that I’m not one then, right?” 

Your heart flutters in nervousness and with about as much grace as a stampede of elephants. You’re positive that Bradley can see the outline of it beating out of your chest. 

“No, no, no. Your drink is on the house.” 

He shakes his head, forcing the twenty dollar bill that lays in between his fingers next to the scrap paper you have laying near the register. “No, I insist.” 

“No, I insist. It’s on me, Bradley.” 

He cracks a soft smile as he forces the money into your hand. His fingers wrap yours around the beat-up bill that has definitely seen better days. “That just won’t do ma’am.” 

“I”m awaiting Bar results, not living in a shoebox on I-405. I assure you that two dollars and sixty cents won’t break the bank.” 

The loud scrapping of a bar stool against the hardwood floor (which will probably leave a noticeable scratch in the hardwood flooring that Penny will pretend not be upset about) interrupts the cocoon of the world that existed with just you and him. Just you and Bradley…and Jake Seresin’s loud ass mouth yelling, “Bradshaw! What the hell, man? Get your ass over here and sing some Journey with me!” across the bar. 

He shakes his head in disbelief and if you didn’t know any better (didn’t feed into your delusions, is more like it) you would almost think that he was…disappointed? That he didn’t want to leave you and that he was almost as desperate as you to give each other attention; eyes fully and ears solely attuned to the other. 

Hoots and hollers and the sound of his call sign being screamed from his rowdy group of friends make the delusion hard to manage, and the reality finally kicks in that he’s not here for you. He’s here for them. 

You wish you weren’t so good at hurting your own feelings sometimes. 

“Your spotlight awaits you,” you sigh, trying not to show how dejected you felt to him. 

A beat of silence passes before he slides his palms on the front of his jeans. 

“Here.” He snatches your blue glitter gel pen off the table, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth as he begins to write. “Text me the details?” 

He offers a slight smile that makes your words catch in your throat; the butterflies dinging around in your stomach begging you to reach out and touch him. To lean forward. To say something. To do something. Anything. 

But before you can he’s zipped across the bar and the sound of Call Me by Blondie inflates the room. You look down at the cerulean ink with specks of shimmer in it. 

xxx-xxx-xxxx  Call me, kid!  Bradley B 

You’re definitely not gonna call him anytime soon…

“Sweetheart, I love you, but if you dry those glasses one more time I think I’ll have a brain aneurysm.” 

Penny snatches the dish towel from your hands as your mouth gapes in silent protest. She throws it lazily on the countertop and snags the crate of beer glasses that you were going to town on away from you. The clinging sound of the dishes makes your head droop with disappointment. 

“I wasn’t done yet! They still feel slippery! ”you complain and she just teasingly shakes her head. 

“So?” 

She winks at you and you have to find it in your heart not to be a little annoyed at her for cutting your task off mid-attempt. 

Perfectionism fuels your life and she knows this. She knows that you’re using the glasses to stress clean. She knows that your cousin’s wedding weekend starts on Friday and you’re fighting the urge to tear your hair out. She also knows that you have Bradley’s phone number on a slip of paper that’s burning a hole through your nightstand because you still haven’t called him. 

“So?” you ask, lightly mimicking Penny’s statement, “Someone’s gonna drop the glass because they’ve never learned how to hold it the right way and then there’s gonna be glass shards everywhere and they’ll get hurt and-” 

“You are such a worry wart, my dear. Reeelaaax,” she interrupts, placing her warm, nimble fingers on your shoulders. 

The subtle sunburn you had gotten this past weekend is slowly starting to calm down, but the initial sting still startles you. She can see the small happenings of a frown starting to form on your lips and she decides to frown along with you. She spins you to face her and holds your forearms in her hands, offering them a gentle squeeze of encouragement. 

It’s not a secret that Penny Benjamin takes pride in knowing her staff well and loving them even better. In the five months she’s gotten to know you, she’s taken you in as one of her own without making her love for you about her. That was kind of her thing; knowing all without having to be told and giving so selflessly without having to ask if you were in need. 

Penny just got it, and it’s hard to find people like that nowadays; people who love you genuinely and truly expecting nothing in return. 

The thought of her warmness makes you sniffle, and you’re sure that if the jukebox wasn’t turned on and playing some Beach Boys tune, the tears would’ve made their way down your face at a speed that Formula One drivers would envy. 

“I know what it feels like to have your every movement judged and not being able to say anything to defend yourself,” she starts, “But you’re smart. You’re kind. You’re so important. And you’re nothing less than amazing, so don’t let anyone treat you like you aren’t.”

You can’t muster up the words to keep the conversation alive. You’re sure that all that would come out of your mouth is a blubbering mess you don’t feel like trying to force out in between choked sobs. Besides, the car doors closing in the parking lot alert you both to the Wednesday night crowd making their way in. 

You settle for a small “thank you” before she cracks another smile at you; lips quirked up in amusement. She saunters off to the back to grab the bucket of prepped lime wedges. 

“You never have to thank me for the words you deserve, sweetheart. Those are on the house.” 

You snort before wiping your nose with the back of your hand. Only she could manage to subdue the mini meltdown brewing in the depths of your chest. But Penny was just like that. 

Always calm, cool, and collected. 

The night moves slowly in a frame-by-frame manner (one that emulates the night you asked Bradley to be your date, but you shake the thought whenever it tries to enter your head because you think you may actually puke). It’s nothing too out of the ordinary for a Wednesday night. 

Mickey and Mariella pop in for mango margaritas after their weekly date night. Mickey gives you a small “hello” before flashing you a knowing smirk. You try to ignore Mariella swatting at his chest, but the imagery eats you up inside. You know that he knows and that she knows, and not taking the steps to actually ask Bradley to a wedding you invited him to makes you feel guilty. 

He picks up on your guilt when his eyes catch you twisting your ring around your pointer finger. His eyes soften and he almost considers apologizing to you before he thinks about it. Bringing more attention to it would embarrass you more, he figures. The apology sitting on his tongue is swallowed down with a sip of his drink and Mariella’s kick to his shin. 

“Well, we’re about to head out. We’ll see you Friday?” Mickey declares as Mariella narrows her dark eyes at him. 

Your heart stops and your fingers feel numb. 

Fuck. He wants to bring up Bradley. What do I say? Fuck. Shit. Wait. How does he even know? Has Bradley brought me up? Fuck, wait. He wouldn’t do that. Why would he even be talking about me? He probably told them that I’m obsessed with him and he was cornered and couldn’t say no and- 

“Uh? Are you good?” Mickey looks at you with soft eyes and waves his hand in front of your face. 

Mariella slaps it down from in front of you. “Don’t do that. She’s not a fucking dog, Mick.” 

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Duh. I know that. I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t having a seizure or anything like that.” 

“A seizure?” 

“They’re called absence seizures. Went down a whole YouTube rabbit hole about them a couple of nights ago.” 

You chuckle at their antics and can’t wait for the day they finally have their wedding. At least when the time comes you know you won’t have to forge a story about having a boyfriend. And it’ll be a wedding filled with people you actually like; ones that don’t make you order water out of feeling insecure about how many calories you’re consuming or ones that gossip about the shade of blush you wore making you look too “flushed” behind your back. 

“I go down rabbit holes all the time,” you chide, “I watched this documentary about the Pentagon Papers and the atomic bomb from World War II the other day, and now I’m confident I could get my Ph.D. in like, Historical American Screw-Ups.” 

Mickey and Mariella let out chortles at your statement before starting to head toward the exit. 

“Well, we’ll see you later then. Tell us about that wedding on Monday?” 

Your mouth hangs open as they stride out the front doors of Hard Deck. The shock of what just happened makes your heart beat erratically. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! He told. 

Mike Metcalf sits at the corner of the bar top on his regular stool with his sweating glass housing a whiskey neat. He sends you a teasing smirk as you move near him to wipe the countertop down. 

“Still haven’t texted him?” he asks. 

The shock continues to run through your body. You have to place your hands on the edge of the table to keep yourself from stumbling over. 

Why does everyone in this bar know what’s going on? 

Admiral Metcalf was friendly with you - one of those regulars who offer you engaging conversation, tidbits of grandfatherly affection, and generous tips. 

You would tell him not to tip you so much for a single drink, but he would always insist; quoting something along the lines of you reminding him of his granddaughter and that you treated everyone with such kindness and respect that you deserved it back tenfold. 

You take a deep breath, arms pushing you up slowly to stand upright. “I’m scared to ask how you know.” 

He chuckles, a real belly laugh, and you struggle to find out why you can’t piece together a logical explanation for how he would know. 

“Well, apparently Baby Goose’s been losing his mind ‘round the base about how this really smart and sweet girl invited him to a wedding and won’t text him about it.” He shrugs before taking a long drink from his glass. “Thought it sounded like you. I meant to ask about it the other night, but once you turn eighty you forget things at the drop of a hat.” 

“Smart and sweet?” you want to ask, but you know that it would confirm rather than get you the answers that you want. You shake your head to dislodge the thought before furrowing your eyebrows. 

“. . . Baby Goose?” 

The older man plays with the paper coaster underneath his drink. A soft smile blooms on his lips. “We’re talking about Bradley Bradshaw. Correct?” 

You start to drum your fingers against the lip of the bar top. The thought of lying briefly crosses your mind until the sound of James Brown’s shriek at the beginning of “I Got You (I Feel Good)” startles you.  

“Uhh, hello? You still there, kiddo?” 

I have got to get better at answering quicker. 

You straighten your spine and pop your hand on your hip. “Wouldn’t the correct terminology be ‘gosling’?” 

He raises his brows, “Rooster. Baby Goose. Bradshaw. Gosling,” he rattles off, counting the phrases on his fingers, “Does any of this ring a bell?” 

You chew on your lip. The toe of your sneaker slides underneath the sole of your other one. The fidgeting tells Admiral Metcalf all he needs to know. 

“Maybe,” you say under your breath. 

“Maybe?” he questions. He leans forward to investigate your expression with his eyes. 

Another sigh exits your lips. “Okay, well, maybe a little.” 

You sound defeated, he thinks. He decides to investigate even though he can hear his wife’s voice in his head telling him not to. If he turns his head just a little bit to the right, his hearing aid catches the sound of the jukebox. He can’t focus on you talking and his wife’s voice if he also hears the jukebox. 

Sorry, Carrie. 

His chair swivels a little bit and he wipes his hands on his jeans. “It’s certainly more than a little, kiddo. Especially if you asked him to a wedding.” 

You scoff, annoyance painting the inside of your brain. Nosiness is one thing you absolutely cannot stand, and it’s the reason why you insisted on not moving back in with your mom after law school. Working yourself to the bone to study for the Bar during the day while mixing drinks and popping caps off of beer bottles at night seemed worlds better than having your privacy invaded constantly. Tired or private. From where you stand currently, it’s safe to say you picked the latter. 

Or so you thought. 

“So is this just a thing?” You can feel your heart rate speed up as you start to become defensive. “Like, a trend where all you Hard Deck patrons like to gossip and spread rumors?” 

“It’s not a rumor if it’s true.” 

You almost roll your eyes but the politeness you were raised with paired with your people-pleasing won’t let you. 

“Yeah, but it’s technically gossip if you didn’t hear it from me,” you state directly, “How do you even talk to all these people on the base? Aren’t you retired?” 

Admiral Metcalf chuckles. “I may be in bed by 8 every night but it doesn’t mean I’m not social, my dear.” 

“Okay, but why would your connections be talking to you about Gosling?” You lean on your forearms and glance at the cash register to make sure someone isn’t waiting to be served. Your eyes glance back to the older gentleman sat in front of you. “Aren’t you guys like. . .fifteen generations removed from each other?” 

He gently pats your arm with his calloused palm. “You’re a funny girl.” 

“You’re dodging my question,” you frown, sitting up straight and grabbing him his usual glass of water he drinks before he decides to go home. 

He mouths a quick “thank you” before taking a sip. “Did it ever occur to you that I was a pilot?” 

The wheels in your brain start turning to decipher why he would say that and how it would mean that he and Bradley know each other. 

“What does that have to do with anything?” 

“And a Top Gun instructor.” 

“Okay. . .?”  You’re starting to get the hint now, but it still just seems like a lot of abstract events put together. 

“I taught Maverick and Goose.” 

Penny’s “boyfriend, not-boyfriend” who comes in to pick her up or hang out on days when the crowd is as dead as a cemetery. Maverick. 

But who’s - 

“Goose?” you ask, finishing your question out loud.  

“Bradley’s father.” 

And shit. Oh shit. Fucking shit! 

“I- You- Wait-” you stammer. He simply sips on his water, amusement painted on his features at the signs of your internal panic. 

“So that’s how I know. I keep in touch with Maverick and he just happened to mention the absolute mess Rooster’s been the past couple days about this wedding,” he declares, “Which, by the way, is kind of rude to invite someone and then not go into detail about it. Don’t you think?” 

Your mouth opens and closes in shock, the magnitude of your recent revelation being endorsed by the silence coming from you. 

Your brain can’t even begin to wrap around all the degrees of separation and acquaintances and friendships Bradley has from the bombshell of information that was just dropped on you. This place is just littered with people who probably knew him before he was Rooster; all puppy fat and awkward haircuts. You bet there’s probably a series of his prom and high school graduation photos that circulated from eye to eye. 

But this also means that if you go through with it, that if you actually bring him with you to Long Beach this weekend, you’ll become part of that essence of knowing - everyone knowing what Bradley told them and your entire weekend spent with him being a topic of discussion. 

You try to get over the dehumanizing feeling that will come with being called “Hard Deck Girl” after this weekend when he inevitably tells Maverick about his weekend who will then tell Iceman who will probably tell Admiral Metcalf. You can’t bear to think about all the snickers and teasing that will come from Bradley’s group of friends. 

Hangman loves to tease you already. You don’t think you’ll survive more “pigtail pulling” if word gets out about Bradley having to hold your hand and awkwardly slow dance with you on Saturday. 

Admiral Metcalf lets out an impressive-sounding whistle that catches your attention and brings you back to Earth.

“That’s one gorgeous Bronco,” he comments, head turned to look outside the windows of the bar. “Used to have one just like it years ago.” 

Your eyes follow his gaze to see the cobalt blue vehicle parked in one of the empty spaces of the parking lot. The headlights fade as the owner steps out of the vehicle and - 

Fuck! 

He has a soft bounce in his strut. His Raybans are tucked into the collar of his white t-shirt. The light-wash denim of his jeans hugs his legs just the right way. His slightly rosy cheeks and tanned forearms bulging from his shirt make him unmistakable. 

Bradley Bradshaw is about to walk into the bar. On a Wednesday night. While the crowd is drier than the Mojave. 

And there’s nowhere for you to run. 

He has a slightly faster pace set to his walk than he usually does. . . Not like you spend your time watching him walk (even though you do, and you’d rather roll over and die than admit that to anyone). 

“Good luck getting him back on that perch,” Admiral Metcalf speaks up. He opens his worn leather wallet and fishes out a fifty-dollar bill. “He won’t fly back up there once he gets off.” 

You follow him to the cash register to ring him up. The drawer is opened and the bills counted for his change before he stops you. 

“Keep it. Part of your tip,” he says, “Least I can do for all the trouble I’ve caused you tonight.” 

You begin to thank him before the saloon-style doors open and Bradley stands dead in the center, hands on his hips and eyes grazing the surroundings. 

“Good luck, kiddo. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it,” Admiral Metcalf says before turning on his heel. He claps Bradley on the shoulder as a brief greeting and continues his stride outside to the parking lot. 

Your heart starts beating in your chest erratically; a tell-tale sign of white hot panic that makes your knees buckle and heat grow on your scalp. 

And you’re. . . starting to sweat? 

Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

Bradley spots you while you stand paralyzed at the cash register. Your fingers are shaky and a lump in your throat starts to form. You feel like a deer in headlights when he begins to stalk forward to approach you. 

“I’ve gotta bone to pick with you, missy,” his voice booms, his steps coming to a halt. 

His hands spread and turn as he leans on the table; eyes locked on your face. 

Your adrenaline kicks in and your feet start to move faster than your brain. A harsh swallow plagues your throat before you book it to the kitchen; french braid slinging heavy on your back and the bucket of lime wedges on your mind. 

Bradley zips around the oval-shaped bar top and grabs your waist before you make it out of the opening. His hands squeeze your sides softly. If you were in your right frame of mind, your cheeks would have flushed.  

“Uh-uh,” he says, whipping you around to face him. His grip falls to your forearms; holding you firmly but not enough to hurt. “What’s your deal, kid?” 

His breaths are exasperated. When he left work today, he had no idea that he would be chasing you around the bar like a goddamn dog who had gotten off its leash. Despite being in good shape (which he takes pride in, given the number of shirtless runs he does in his neighborhood) he still finds himself a little winded. 

Your eyes are almost bulging out of your head. His touch feels electric and you feign the ability to even think about opening your mouth to respond. Bradley Bradshaw is here, right in front of you, and almost holding you hostage. 

Hostage is dramatic, you think. But so is chasing me. 

“I-” you start. Another harsh swallow forces its way down your throat. At this point, you think that swallowing your spit is the only way you can remind your body to breathe. 

Bradley’s eyes soften at your frazzled state. He takes his hands off of you and drops them back to his sides. 

“I- I need to get the lime wedge bucket,” you rush out, the entire sentence sounding like one phrase. 

“Let me come with you,” he says. 

Your eyes widen in surprise. “You’re not allowed back there.” 

“Yeah well, you’re not allowed to ghost me about a wedding you invited me to, but look where we are,” he counters back. His legs start toward the kitchen hidden behind gray steel doors near the back. 

You stand frozen; trying to catch your breath and looking around to still see an empty bar with no signs of life. 

“Are you coming or not?” he calls out, a smile on his face juxtaposed to the annoyed expression he wore a few minutes ago when he caught you. 

And if it were anyone else, you would be utterly annoyed. You would refuse and start rattling off how it’s a health code violation for patrons to be in the back serving area or how it was inappropriate or how you didn’t want anyone to come in and clean out the Hard Deck while you were distracted. 

But because it’s Bradley and because you have this stupid big fat school girl crush on him, you don’t say anything even though you so badly want to. 

He’s already a little annoyed with me, you think. He doesn’t want to hear me ramble on top of that. 

Your sneakered feet follow him into the terracotta quarry-tiled kitchen in the back. He moves to the side to allow you to step in front of him in pursuit of the infamous lime wedge bucket you had your heart set on. 

The silence between the two of you is deafening, but you can’t even rub two of your brain cells together to form a coherent sentence that won’t leave you hunched over in embarrassment. Having a crush as an adult is downright embarrassing. But having a crush as an adult on an older, more refined adult is absolutely humiliating. 

The industrial refrigerator stands sleek and tall. The door weighs as heavy as it looks and you damn near pull your shoulder out of socket every time you attempt to open it. More than often, Penny has to come save you and open it because you can never seem to get the resistance of the rubber door gasket to give way. 

Thankfully, the door opens with a heavy tug and the bucket of limes was left on a shelf you could reach. You pop the fridge door closed with your hip before you start a fast-paced walk back to the bar; leaving Bradley behind to scramble up to you once again. 

In hindsight, your body language and lack of talking makes you seem furious and annoyed. And maybe you are, but it’s mostly frustration and annoyance pointed at yourself because you can’t just be fucking normal. 

No, because you have to be the odd one out of your family. You have to be the one cousin who got dumped by her “perfect” dentist boyfriend (who treated you terribly, but you never complained aloud to your family for your fear of being called ungrateful and unbecoming). You have to be awkward and sensitive and young with a silly-ass schoolgirl crush on a gorgeous man who David of Michelangelo envies.  

The bucket of lime wedges is slammed on the counter before you realize what your hands are doing. 

Bradley rounds in front of the cash register, a sheepish look on his face. “Hey, kid,” he whispers, “I’m sorry for barging in on you like that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

A wave of guilt breaks the tide in your brain. He’s apologizing, and it’s sincere. It’s certainly not anything you’re used to. Usually, everything is your fault and you find yourself pushing your feelings aside to accept a half-assed apology. 

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have invited you to something that’s such a big deal and then refused the details,” you say. 

And you should stop there, you know, but you do that stupid thing you do about having to over-explain everything and keep going. Word vomit to the maximum. 

“I mean, I think I kind of bombarded you about it? I know you said that you would go and that you didn’t mind, but it’s really a lot to ask of someone to come with you and fill in for your ex in front of your shitty family who has a cow because you didn’t get married right after undergrad.” 

You rock back and forth on your heels and you pinch your fingers together to help soothe yourself. The anxiousness exuding off of you is obvious and Bradley can’t help but feel extremely guilty for making you feel horrible on top of what feelings you were already dealing with. 

“You can really say no, Bradley. My feelings won’t be hurt if you do. Honest,” you whisper, finishing your statement. 

Feeling small isn’t foreign to you in the slightest. 

His eyes soften even more. He recognizes the doubt written all over you. He’s felt that way so many times before. 

“I said what I meant, and I really wanna go to that wedding with you. Honest to God, I mean it,” he says, taking a seat on a stool nearby. “I just need to know what the plan is so I can pick you up and everything. Don’t want my suit to clash with your dress now, do we?” 

A small giggle leaves your lips. “Alright, Casanova. You’ve convinced me.” 

He extends his hand out to you. “Deal?” The large palm looks inviting, but you’re sure the adrenaline coursing through your veins has made your hands clammy. 

Your brows knit together and your lips pull themselves into a straight line. “What the hell are you doing?” Suddenly, you’re self-conscious about the potential armpit stains that may have soaked your tank top. 

Goddamn nerves. 

He contorts his expression into one of faux offense. “Making you shake on it. What the fuck does it look like?” 

You let out a breath through your nose. “I mean, exactly that, but don’t you think that’s too. . .” 

“Sophisticated? Formal?” He grins as if he had just won the lottery. 

“Little Rascals -esque.”  

Bradley kisses his teeth before laughing. “You’re never too old to relish in the magic that’s The Little Rascals.” 

“What happens if I don’t shake?” you question, fingers drawing circles on the surface near the cash register, “Will I be a target of the He-Man Woman Haters Club?” 

“Unfortunately, I can’t confirm but I can deny only if you shake on it and promise me a dance.” 

You shake your head before he finishes his sentence. 

“I’m a terrible dancer.” 

“Then I’ll make sure my dress shoes are steel-toe,” he reasons, shrugging his broad shoulders. His biceps subtly flex and you almost bite your lip but the fact that he’s so close and can see your expression makes you withhold. 

“You really wanna go still?” 

“How many times do I have to say yes, kid? I want to go with you and I promise you that we’ll have the best time ever. Is that clear enough?” 

Penny waltzes back in before you can answer. Her eyes hold a mischievous glint as they look at the interaction going on between you and Bradley. She sends you a soft wink before she joins you behind the bar. 

“Bradley!” she greets with a grin, coming to come rest next to you and in front of his seat. 

“Hey, Pen. Mav taking you out on the bike today?” 

She subtly bumps your hip with hers. She’s about to stir up some trouble. 

“No, no,” she sighs, “I have to close up here tonight so we’re going this weekend.” 

Bradley nods as you stand frozen next to her. 

“Speaking of weekends,” she chirps, “What are your plans, Bradley?” 

I love Penny. I love Penny. I love Penny. If I say it enough, I won’t wanna kill her. 

“Oh, the kid and I were planning on going to her cousin’s wedding in Long Beach. We were actually just talking about it,” he answers as Penny lets out a dramatic sigh. 

“Oh thank God. The suspense of if she was actually gonna talk to you about it was killing us.”

“Us?” you ask, voice filled with irritation and concern. 

“Me, Pete, Tom, Mike,” Penny lists, “Jake and Rueben started a money pool. Guess Hangman’s a hundred and twenty dollars richer now.”  

You groan and pinch your nose between your fingers as Penny takes your shoulders into her palms and rubs them. She picks up a crate of shot glasses before turning to leave. 

“Bradley?” she calls, and his ears perk up. 

“Yes, ma’am?” 

“Stay out of my kitchen,” her eyes narrow playfully, “That’s a health code violation.” 

He holds his hands up with a grin. “You got it.” 

“You kids have fun this weekend. Gonna have to take tons of pictures and show them to me!” she exclaims before disappearing behind the same steel doors Bradley had followed you into earlier. 

A beat of silence passes; partly because you’re so stunned by what had just occurred. 

“So,” he clears his throat, “Now that I know you’re old enough to have watched The Little Rascals, what’s the plan? Like is this an overnight thing or a reception thing or?” 

You perk up at his question. 

“Oh, umm.” You subconsciously pick at your cuticles before forcing yourself to stop. Your mom and aunt would be disappointed to see them ripped to shreds. “So I kinda - well, it’s an overnight thing but we definitely don’t have to stay overnight.” 

He nods his head, ears intently listening to what you’re saying. You think he’s nodding his head to queue up a firm decline to your plans despite his insistence on going with you. 

“I mean, you don’t have to! You can like, drive home and come back the next day? Or not go to the rehearsal dinner and just meet me at the wedding? I just know that sleeping in the same room is gonna be weird and I think my room reservation only has one bed because like I said, I had a boyfriend whenever they booked it and I never changed it after we broke up and-” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he interrupts your word vomit, “Breathe, kid. Breathe.” 

You take a deep inhale in and you want to kick yourself for doing it at his request. 

Are you just gonna do whatever Bradley tells you to do, or do we actually have a fucking mind of our own? 

“Why would I leave you hanging like that? Huh?” He licks his lips subtly and you have to keep from drooling. “You asked me to come with you and I’m gonna go the whole time and have a blast.” 

You nod your head. Your thoughts and emotions have been bouncing off the wall in a vapid fashion from the two hours you’ve been clocked in. 

“Okay,” you whisper shakily. 

“Okay,” a laugh jumps from his throat and he leans in closer. “Can I get your number, at least? So I can call you instead and make it easier?” 

You’re reaching beneath the bar and grabbing aimlessly at the mason jar full of random gel pens and a roll of open receipt paper that was too short to be put inside the machine but too long to be thrown away. 

Lime green glitter ink spells out your phone number on the stark white paper before you wordlessly slide it over to rest near Bradley’s fingertips. 

He sends you a smile before pulling out his phone and typing the number into the keypad. You have to look away because if you don’t, you’re sure you’ll start hyperventilating. 

Your cell phone buzzes in your back pocket once, twice, thrice. 

“Are you…calling me?” you ask, head tilting to the side to meet his mischievous glint. 

“Context clues, kid. C’mon,” he replies. He holds his phone to his ear as he listens to the dial tone. 

You stand in disbelief in front of him. 

He shoos you with his hands. “Go on! Answer!” he urges. 

You sigh and playfully roll your eyes before slinging your phone out of your back pocket. You click the green phone icon on your screen before bringing it to your ear. 

“Hello?” 

“Alright, missy. What’s the address I’m picking you up from Friday afternoon?” 

Bradley Bradshaw may not be your boyfriend and probably will never be, but he sure knows how to play the part well enough to fool your family. He may even have you fooled too.

“Shit!” you yelp. Your upper body tenses up and you slam your curling iron on the countertop of your bathroom sink. 

The strong vibrations of your phone ringing move your device closer to the edge. You scramble to pick it up and bring it to your ear. You didn’t bother looking at the caller ID before answering. Odds are, it’s either your mother or your only cousin that you can actually stand, Hallie.

“Fuck,” you whisper before clearing your throat, “Hello?” 

You flash your neck in the mirror, fingers dancing around the irritated baby pink skin surrounding the already darkening magenta wound. The skin feels hot to the touch and you know that its placement makes it look more like a hickey than anything. Your mind starts to wonder if putting makeup on it would be a bad decision. 

“Hey, kid.” 

Fuck. Bradley. It’s Bradley. I forgot about Bradley! 

“I’m outside.” You take a deep swallow that you pray he can’t hear over the phone. “You said the house with the purple hydrangeas near the front steps. Right?” 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Am I this fucking stupid that I can’t even think of another word to use right now? 

The long pause doesn’t make Bradley hang up. 

“Kid? You okay in there?” The sound of a car door slamming can be heard through the receiver. You listen to the Carlsons down the street mowing their lawn. A few dogs are barking and the sound of Bradley’s shoes hitting the pavement plays a symphony with the bliss of what is a Friday afternoon at 2 PM encapsulates. 

His knuckles rap against your front door and you audibly gasp. Your finger hangs up the phone before sprinting to let him in. The flutters in your stomach make you feel like you might projectile vomit any second.  No amount of pep talks you had given yourself in the past two days can prepare you for the events of this weekend; not to mention Bradley and your big fat crush on him being the cherry on top. 

You swing the door open; a shocked Bradley staring at you and a frenzied heart damn near beating out of your chest. 

“I’m not ready yet!” you exclaim, turning your back and rushing back into your bathroom. You move so swiftly that you don’t even notice the bouquet of flowers clutched in his right hand. 

Fuck! The curling iron is still on. 

Bradley lets out a laugh. “Well, hello to you too.” 

You pick the iron back up and finish curling the piece of hair you had started on before being interrupted. 

“Sorry!” you shout back, “Give me five and I’ll be ready to go.” 

Bradley lets out a puff of air he didn’t know he had been holding in. If someone had asked him a month ago where he thought he would be spending a Friday afternoon in mid-March, he probably said he wouldn’t know for sure. 

Which is true. 

He’s worked out a schedule where he’s able to leave work by 11 AM on Fridays and what he does is often a wild card; his Fridays range anywhere from mundane errands to impromptu skydiving endeavors with Coyote and Phoenix. He might even go for a quick afternoon surf session if he feels up to it. 

He’ll admit, sometimes he imagines spending his Friday afternoons with you. In one timeline, he convinces you to ride down the coast with him at sunset. Another has you laying on your stomach at the beach with your nose shoved in a book pretending not to be ogling him while he surfs. 

Bradley even lets his mind wander to the possible tan lines on your hips and how he would graze his thumbs just beneath your bikini bottoms to feel the fullness of the skin there, but then he realizes how inappropriate that may be, and he lets the thought sit in the back of his brain unwatered and underdeveloped.

Besides, he was raised better than imagining women naked. . .Even though he thinks you’re absolutely stunning both clothed and naked. . .And would love the opportunity to see you na-

That’s beside the point. Get it together, man. 

His eyes survey the surroundings of your living room. Throw pillows and blankets. Candles on the coffee table. Books everywhere. Open windows create sunspots on the carpet. A vintage record player on the shelf of your bookcase and your Tango in the Night vinyl playing softly. 

He likes to think that in another life (he’s hopeful for this one, but he’s learned what having too much hope does to a person) your blue fuzzy blanket has a home on his cream-colored couch or that your Fleetwood Mac vinyl finds solace next to his Otis Redding and James Brown records. 

Bradley takes a seat on your couch. The brown butcher paper holding together the peony floral arrangement he had picked up crunches in his hand. The other pats along to the soft rhythm arrangement in time with “Mystified.” He can smell the faint scent of your perfume and the sounds of life you make, the small gasps and soft humming and whispered curse words, fill him with endearment. 

He’s so wrapped up in melting into your aura that he doesn’t even realize that you had left the bathroom until you stood dead in front of him; curled hair, makeup on, and an electric blue dress laying flawlessly on the silhouette of your body.

You make his mouth dry and any words that he wants to say disintegrate with how amazing he thinks you look. Him not saying anything makes you panic and you wonder if you forgot to blend the bronzer near your neck or if your blush was too pink or if there was a piece of hair you had forgotten or if the dress you had on actually made you look like a frumpy version of Aquamarine (a lot of or, or, ors). 

Bradley, please say something. 

He sits up straighter upon seeing you. The navy blue dress pants on his long legs bring out the green in his hazel eyes. Your heart feels warm at the thought of him matching you; especially after offhandedly mentioning that you were thinking of wearing a blue dress to the dinner rehearsal. 

Your eyes glance to his non-dominate hand and spot the pink peonies wrapped in butcher paper. The simple notion of him getting you flowers makes your knees weak, and the fact that he didn’t get them from the grocery store - that it was an arrangement that he had gotten from a florist - makes you wish you were a better woman and weren’t thinking of dropping to your knees right there in front of him and thanking him with a blowj- 

He doesn’t even think you look pretty enough to say something. Don’t get too ahead of yourself. 

“Oh,” he wipes his empty hand on the fabric of his pants, “These are for you.” He pushes the bouquet forward for your observation. 

A smile is center stage on your lips as you grab them from his grasp. “Thank you. This is really kind of you, Bradley.” You turn to head into your kitchen to grab a vase. 

She didn’t say they were pretty. Does she even like peonies? 

The silence surrounding you both is deafening. If you could ignore the slightly prickly feeling of heat eating away at the hairline on the back of your neck, you can almost forget that Bradley is even here. 

But the thing is, Bradley is here. He’s here and so present and you’re gonna have to give your poor heart a break from beating so fast if you want to survive this weekend without having a stroke. 

All the thought does is make you even more nervous (as if that’s even fucking possible at this point). 

“Okay, kid. If we’re gonna be together all weekend, this,” he points his finger between you and him, “Ain’t fucking happening. We need to tallllkkkk.” 

You swallow. “I -We are talking.” 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” 

“Okay,” you whisper sheepishly, your bare toe grinding into the carpet. The friction sends a wave of heat to your otherwise numb toes. It’s unconventional, but at least it’s helping you feel something other than anxiety. 

He nods his head before standing up. His eyes glance at the gold watch on his left hand. “Well, it’s 2:30 and the rehearsal dinner is at 5. We need to get going if we wanna beat traffic.” 

“Okay.” 

He sighs, watched wrist coming down to lay his hand flat across his stomach. “Talking means more than just saying ‘okay.’ That’s not a conversation.” 

You pause for a moment. The flowers he had brought still rest in between the crease of your inner elbow. More silence ensues. You just don’t know what to say. 

He starts heading down your small hallway. The whiff of his cologne kickstarts your reaction. 

“Hey!” you say, starting to stalk after him, “What the hell are you doing?” 

He snickers. “Grabbing your bags? I was serious about getting a move on. Don’t want your folks to think your boyfriend is a slacker now, do ya?” 

Bradley grabs the two bags you had struggled to set outside your bedroom door with ease. You never forget how strong he looks (oggling at a guy three days out of the six you work will do that to you) but you always seem to forget how strong he actually is. 

You close your mouth before you begin to drool. Bradley will for sure be talking about this weekend with his friends and uncle. You don’t want to add any more embarrassing details to the story. Besides, your awkward preteen pictures from your mom’s Facebook hadn’t even been brought up yet. Some room needs to be saved for your utter humiliation. 

Your feet slide into the pair of heels you had set aside before you scramble to grab your keys and purse. How Bradley can move so quickly is beyond your thinking capacity as you haphazardly take the needle off of your record. Your eyes do a quick sweep over your living room to make sure that everything is turned off so you won’t magically come home to a fire safety example at the conclusion of your weekend. 

Now, if you can just make yourself stop feeling so jittery, you might be able to actually manage to fit your key into the lock of your front door. 

After what feels like three years (and the embarrassment of knowing Bradley probably watched you struggle), the keys are stuffed back into your purse before you pause on your porch. 

A black Ford F-150 sits curbside to your driveway. It doesn’t fit in with the SUVs and small sedans that make up the neighborhood you live in. You had never seen a car like this where you lived at all. Come to think of it, you had never seen this truck ever. 

Doesn’t Bradley drive a Bronco? 

Your eyebrows remain wrinkled with your puzzled expression as he rounds the back of the car; the resounding noise of the back door shutting makes his entrance known. He opens the passenger door for you and stands next to it. 

He squints as he looks up at you. The sun is blazing and he forgot to grab his sunglasses from his side of the door. 

“Cold feet?” he calls. 

You start to head down the stairs and onto the pavement. “It’s seventy-six degrees. I think cold feet is kinda ill worded.” 

“It’s a saying.” 

The crossed arms over your chest signal your apprehension. Bradley stands before you, leaning against the truck and his arm slung on the top of the cab. He raises his brows at you and does a gentle motion of his head to the seat, inviting you to climb in. Even next to the large vehicle, he still looks. . .huge. 

In a good way! In a good way. He’s actually really fit and I’m shaking inside and I’m sure I’m sweating and I have got to stop wearing light colors in front of him because he can probably see the sweat and - Oh God. Oh God, the seats are leather. What if I sweat all over them? 

The lump in your throat is swallowed as you stand before him. “This isn’t your car,” you say lamely. 

He scoffs. “Spying on me? Do you have my license plates memorized too?” 

You know he’s teasing and that he doesn’t mean it literally, but you almost answer, “yes” because you do. Thankfully, you’re in the stage of your anxiousness where you clam up instead of puking your words out. 

You cock your head to the side, eyes narrowed because of the bright sun. 

“How do I know it’s not stolen? What if we get pulled over because it’s stolen?” you wonder, and then the word vomit picks up and - “ I can’t go to jail! I had nothing to do with it and the ABA is gonna pull my Bar application if we get arrested and I spent too much damn money and worked too damn hard to let an F-150 ruin it for-” 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters into a small laugh, “I know you love the Bronco,” he gives you a teasing look, “But the Bronco has no air and I figured that since we’re driving two hours on the highway, you would appreciate not having to ride with the windows down the entire time.” 

“You still haven’t confirmed that it’s your car.” 

“You know, for someone so smart, you are extremely bad at picking up on obvious context clues. Why the hell would I steal a pickup truck and then drive you to a wedding in it?” 

You scrounge your brain for a reply. “. . .For the plot?” 

He whistles and crosses his arms over his chest, mimicking your current stance. “Wow. I have a comedian for a date.” 

“I’m serious. It could be a possibility!” 

“Well I don’t think “felon” looks good next to “painstakingly handsome,” so I’ll pass.” 

You remain standing in front of him. Stubbornness was a quality that your mother both loved and loathed and you know it, but Bradley has yet to see this side of you yet. Your arms wrap around your torso tighter and your eyebrows are raised every so slightly. 

Bradley knows what you’re doing. He used to do it to Maverick all the time when he was growing up. You’re digging your heels in. 

“C’mon. Don’t start poutin’ on me before I even get to disappoint you with my dancing,” he quips. He brings his face closer to yours before flashing you a toothy smile. 

You sigh dramatically before letting him help you into the seat. The gentle “Atta girl,” he gives you pinkens your cheeks. You pray he won’t notice your flushed face when he sits on the driver's side of the car. Every interaction you’ve had with him has kept you tossing and turning at night because of your nervousness. 

So many things you wish you could take back and so many ways you wish you could act normal; a never-ending cycle of “could’ve, would’ve, should’ve,” and the thought leaves a small seed of sadness in your stomach. 

[merrybloomwrites]

You Can Start a Family (Extra: Sickfic Part 1)

Summary: Y/N gets sick and Mitch, Sarah, and Harry take turns doting on her.

Previous Chapters: One ; Two ; Three ; Four ; Five ; Six ; Seven ; Eight ; Nine ; Ten

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

Grabbing extra blankets, you bundle deep under the covers of your otherwise empty bed. You hope that your cats will join you soon so you’re not completely alone.

It’s not like you have other people in bed with you every single night. Since you started dating Mitch and Sarah earlier in the year, and added Harry to the relationship three months prior, you’ve spent a decent amount of time alone. One might think that wouldn’t be the case with two boyfriends and a girlfriend, but they’re busy people.

Harry has been writing his next album, traveling twice for writing retreats with his collaborators to minimize distractions. On top of that he’s had meetings, photoshoots, and other projects that require him to be away from you for days at a time.

Meanwhile, Mitch’s album had dropped just a couple weeks prior, and he and Sarah were busy promoting that.

All in all, you were very used to sleeping alone. But for some reason you were really missing them tonight. They had all been home for just three days before they had to fly out to Los Angeles to prepare and rehearse for Harryween.

It had been a somewhat last-minute decision to actually do Harryween this year, since tour had ended a few months before. But the venue was open and most of the band was available, and they knew tickets would sell out immediately, so they decided to pull the trigger and go for it.

That meant that they needed to fit in all of the prep work the week right before Halloween, leaving you alone at home for days. They had left Sunday morning, and since it’s now Tuesday, it’s your third night without them.

You only need to make it until Thursday, and Mitch will be back for a couple of meetings, and then you’ll fly to LA with him for the two shows at the start of the following week.

Knowing that it’s only two more lonesome nights would normally help you, but for some reason you just feel so alone tonight. The bed feels too big and empty and cold. You are cold, freezing, bone deep cold. It isn’t even that chilly out, a mild fall evening.

It’s early to get in bed, not even 9 PM, but you feel exhausted. You wish you could just call them, but you know with the 3-hour time difference that they’re definitely still rehearsing, probably not even taking their dinner break for another hour.

You settle for playing their music, your go to when you just need to hear their voices to feel them close to you. It doesn’t take long before you fall asleep.

The blaring alarm wakes you the next morning, and even though you slept over nine hours, you’re still tired. You go to say good morning to the cats who joined you at some point in the night, and your voice comes out groggy. You clear your throat which only leads to a coughing fit. It doesn’t last long, and you’re fine while you get ready for work, so you figure it was probably just a tickle and not a big deal.

Wednesday is the same as Tuesday, most of your days truly blending together. You take a bath after dinner, hoping it will help the new aches in your joints that bothered you all afternoon, and you nearly fall asleep in the water. If it weren’t for your phone ringing, you definitely would have been out cold within a minute.

You dry your hands and grab the phone, checking who it is before answering.

“Hello,” you say, and notice your voice once again sounds a little rough.

“Hi love,” Sarah replies. “I’ve only got a minute, but I wanted to check in. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“What are you up to?”

“Decided to relax tonight, currently taking a bath.”

“Is that so? Wish we could facetime,” Sarah says cheekily.

You laugh at how forward she can sometimes be and reply, “Get your mind out of the gutter Jones!”

“I know, I just wish I could see my beautiful girl.” You blush at these words as she continues, “How are you? You sound a little hoarse.”

“Yea, I’m okay. Not sure why I sound like this. It happened this morning and just came back. Maybe it’s allergies, the ragweed is pretty bad this time of year.”

“Okay, well just let me know if you get worse. Maybe do a covid test to be safe?”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll do one in the morning before Mitch comes home. Last thing I want is to spread something to you guys before the shows next week.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she reassures. “But always good to check.”

You’re about to ask how she and the others are doing, see if she could put Harry and Mitch on the call for a minute but before you can ask, she says, “Oh, I’ve got to go, we’re starting again. There’s a new transition that we’re struggling with a bit, so we’ve got to work on that more.”

“You guys will get it, you’re the most talented band out there.”

“Thank you, my love. Sleep well tonight, let me know how you’re feeling in the morning.”

“I will keep you posted. I love you.”

“I love you too. Good night.”

“Good night,” you say, and the call is ended.

You sit for a moment, your apartment feeling extra quiet again. It takes all of your energy to get out of the tub and finish getting ready for bed. It’s difficult to adjust to the cool air after the hot bath, and you quickly burrow into the pile of blankets you left on the bed, sighing in relief at the warmth they offer. Like the previous night you play music and immediately fall asleep.

The alarm is even louder than usual the next morning, and it hurts to open your eyes. You go to sit up and realize that everything in your body hurts. You take a deep breath to collect yourself, but that has the opposite effect. The second you breathe in you begin to cough, and it feels like minutes pass before you get it under control.

Forcing yourself out of bed you remember the conversation with Sarah the previous night and decide the first thing to do is take a covid test. You do that and as you wait the 15 minutes for the result you make a cup of tea and get dressed. You’re not sure yet if you’re going to call out sick. As a nanny to a toddler, the last thing you want to do is go to work sick and pass it on to the child. You choose to wait for the test results before deciding.

The timer goes off and you see that it’s negative. You call Beth, the mom you work for, and fill her in, letting her decide if she’s comfortable with you being around her son that day.

After telling her your symptoms she says, “I’m okay with you being around Ryan, but if you’re not feeling well, you should stay home. Take a sick day and rest. I know it’s exhausting taking care of a toddler when you’re not under the weather, and much worse when you are.”

“I’m really not that bad,” you reply. It’s not a complete lie, you already feel slightly better than when you first got up. You had taken a pain reliever and it was helping your achy joints, plus you had only had one more minor coughing fit. You assure Beth that you’re well enough to work and that you’ll see her soon.

She fusses over you slightly when you get to her house, mothering you a bit to make sure you’re not worse than you say you are.

“Call me if you need anything. I can get a substitute or Michael can work from home and watch Ryan.”

“I will, I promise,” you say, locking the door behind her as she leaves.

You feel fine all morning, nothing more than a slight cough. Ryan takes an excellent nap halfway through the day, and you make the mistake of laying on the couch during it. The baby monitor is right next to you, ensuring that you’ll hear Ryan when he wakes up, and the white noise coming through the monitor lulls you into a light sleep.

Beth has told you before that it’s okay if you rest while he’s napping but you normally never do. Today though, you can’t fight it and your eyes slip shut.

After nearly three hours Ryan’s babbling wakes you up. It’s immediately obvious that your short nap was a bad idea, and you feel awful as you get off of the couch. Checking the time, you note that Beth will be home in two hours and tell yourself you can push through to the end of the day, maybe with a little help from Bluey.

You’re relieved when Beth walks through the door, having gotten worse throughout the afternoon. She again dotes on you as only a mother can and tells you to take off the next day. You try to protest, since you’re already planning to be out for days the following week to travel to LA, but she won’t hear it.

“I will see you next Thursday. Not tomorrow. Rest. Get better so you can enjoy your boyfriend’s show.”

You smile and thank her before driving home. The second you enter your apartment you take off your shoes and climb into your bed. You don’t realize that you’ve fallen asleep until you jerk awake hearing the door open. You’re confused, and worried that someone is breaking in, but a moment later you hear Mitch calling out your name.

You try to shout out to him and let him know where you are, but as soon as you open your mouth you begin to cough. It’s even worse than the fit you’d had in the morning and Mitch rushes into the room, immediately rubbing your back to soothe you.

Finally, you start to catch your breath and you turn, curling into Mitch’s embrace as he wraps his arms around you.

 “What’s wrong baby? Sarah said you didn’t sound great last night but this is worse than I expected.”

“It wasn’t this bad yesterday. It wasn’t even this bad when I got home earlier. I feel like shit.”

“What do you need?” he asks.

“I don’t know. This is helping though,” you say referring to him holding you. He squeezes you tighter for a moment and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

For a few minutes you stay like this until another coughing fit wracks your body. Mitch again rubs your back, his touch calming you even as you struggle to breathe. When you’re done coughing, he shifts so he can get off of the bed.

“Don’t leave, please,” you say, grabbing on to him.

“I just want to check if you have any medicine, I’ll be right back.”

“Please,” you say, refusing to let go if his arm. Deep down you know that you’re being clingy, but you can’t bring yourself to care in that moment.

“Okay, c’mere,” he says and gestures for you to wrap your limbs around him. Once you’re secure he carries you with him to the bathroom and places you down on the closed toilet lid. He opens the closet door and takes out the box of different medications you have in there.

“Have you taken anything yet?” he asks.

“I took some Tylenol earlier today, but it’s been a while.”

“Nothing for the cough?”

“No, it really wasn’t that bad before.”

“Okay, here, take this,” he says, handing you the small cup filled with cough syrup. You do as you’re told and he takes out the thermometer, holding it up to your head.

It beeps a moment later and he says, “Definitely a low-grade fever. How are you feeling?”

“I’ve had the chills, and I guess body aches.”

“Alright, you said it’s been a while since you had Tylenol?”

“Yea, I only took it this morning.”

“Here’s another dose, it’ll help with everything else.”

You take the medicine as instructed, too tired to even think and grateful that you have someone there to tell you what you need to do.

“Have you eaten today?” Mitch asks.

“Yea, I had a sandwich for lunch,” you answer.

“But no dinner?”

You shake your head no.

“Okay,” he replies. “I’m going to heat up some soup for us. Do you want to wait in bed or come with me?”

“With you,” you reply, holding out your arms so he’ll carry you again. He smiles at how adorable sick you is, and he picks you up with ease, loving having you in his arms.

He places you on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island and you rest your head on your arms as he gets food ready. Normally you’d be asking him how his flight was, how rehearsals had been going all week, but instead you just rest your eyes, comforted by the sounds of another person in the apartment with you for the first time in days.

A few minutes later Mitch places a bowl of chicken noodle soup in front of you. He sits on the stool next to yours with his own bowl and puts a sleeve of crackers between you two. You lift your head up and thank him before starting to eat. You’re feeling a little better now that the medicine has had time to work, and you’re able to finish your dinner.

As soon as you and Mitch are both done eating you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Bedtime?” he asks, and you nod your head yes.

He cleans up the dishes and the two of you head to the bathroom to get ready. You lean against Mitch as you brush your teeth, too tired to stand on your own. He keeps a firm arm around you, making sure you don’t fall, and leads you into the bedroom.

Once you’re both in bed you immediately move to lay on top of him, needing to be as close as possible.

“Is this okay?” you ask, and he replies, “Of course, baby. I’ve missed my human blanket.”

You smile and melt into the embrace, his arms wrapped around you, making you feel safer and more content than you have in days. It doesn’t take long before you once again fall into a deep sleep.

Mitch, however, stays awake for some time after you. It’s still fairly early, especially since he’s on west coast time. Once he’s sure you’re asleep he pulls out his phone, careful not to disturb you with his movement.

He sends a text in his group chat with Sarah and Harry, telling them about how sick you are. It’s obvious how worried they are in their replies and Mitch assures them that he plans to take you to the doctor in the morning if you’re not feeling better.

The moment he wakes up the next day he can tell something is wrong. He feels like he’s in an oven and he immediately realizes the heat is coming off of your body as you lay sprawled on him. Carefully he reaches over to the side table and picks up the thermometer to see what your temperature is.

He grimaces as it beeps loudly in the quiet room, but you remain asleep. He checks what it says and grows more worried. While yesterday you had a mild fever, it’s much higher now. Just as he puts the thermometer back down you suddenly wake up coughing.

Mitch helps you sit upright so you can breathe easier, and after it passes he hands you a glass of water, encouraging you to take small sips.

Your whole body is aching, and a violent shiver shoots through you.

“Baby, I think you should get checked by someone today, okay?”

You want to refuse, saying it’s not that bad, but you don’t have the energy to fight so you simply nod to agree.

The start of the morning is hazy. You and Mitch shower together so he can help you and make sure you don’t slip in your weakened state. You get dressed and throw your damp hair up into a bun and join Mitch in the kitchen for breakfast. A shower and food have done you some good, and you’re feeling more alert. You make an appointment with a doctor, happy to see an opening in just an hour.

Mitch insists on cancelling his morning meeting to go with you, but you tell him you’ll be fine. He concedes by just pushing it back a little bit so that he can drive you to your appointment.

As he drops you off he tells you for the hundredth time to text him with updates and let him know when you need to be picked up, reassuring you that he can leave his meeting if he needs to.

“I’ll be okay Mitch. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself. I have for a while now.”

“I know you can, I just- we all just like to take care of you.”

“And I love that about the three of you. But I will be fine. Now go, I need to check in.” He grabs your hand for a moment and squeezes tightly before letting you go.

You go into the office and the woman at the front desk hands you the typical forms to fill out. After handing those back you wait for a little while, happy that you thought to bring a book. Focusing on that helps you not focus on how crappy you’re feeling.

Once in with the doctor you tell her your symptoms and she does her normal physical assessment.

“Well, there are a number of things this could be. We’ll test for covid, flu, strep. But, we’ve had a number of cases of fungal pneumonia recently, so I want to check you for that as well. Seems there could be something nearby that’s causing these infections.”

With that she sends you off to the lab next door where they do a number of tests, including a chest x-ray to know for sure what’s going on. You text Mitch to fill him in while you wait for the results.

You get called back into your doctor and she informs you that you do in fact have fungal pneumonia.

“I’m going to prescribe you itraconazole, an anti-fungal drug. You can continue taking cough medicine and acetaminophen to treat the symptoms of the infection.”

You nod to show you’re listening and ask, “Is it contagious?”

“No, fungal pneumonia is not contagious. To get it you need to come in contact directly with the spores. Did you visit the wetlands recently?”

“The one’s over near Creek Road?”

“Yes.”

“Yea, I went there Sunday afternoon. Why?”

“Most of the patients I’ve recently diagnosed with this have been there. There must be something on one of the trails that’s infecting people.”

You continue to nod, finding this mildly interesting. If you weren’t sick you’d probably find it fascinating, but you’re too tired to think about it too deeply. She asks about your hike, writing down the specific areas that you walked to send over to the rangers at the Wetlands so they can determine where the danger is.

“I’ve sent your prescription to the pharmacy you listed; it should be ready soon.”

“Thank you,” you say, and she leads you out of the room.

You sit in the waiting room and text Mitch that you’re done, and he tells you he’s outside, his meeting having finished a half hour prior.

The drive home is quiet, with a stop at the pharmacy to pick up your prescription. When you get back to the apartment you head straight for your bedroom, exhausted from the morning’s activities. Mitch joins you a few mimutes later, bringing lunch and your medicine with him.

He Facetimes Sarah as finish your food, and she and Harry answer. They ask how you’re feeling, and you shrug, too tired to come up with a full response. You take the medicine that Mitch gives you, and you fall asleep while they’re still on the phone, comforted by the sounds of their voices.

They stay on the call expressing their concern and Mitch assures them that he’s taking care of you. A few minutes later they hang up, and Mitch carefully cleans up lunch. He’s about to lay down next to you again when you wake up.

“Hey, how are you doing?” He asks.

“The same I guess. Don’t you have another meeting to be at?”

“Yea it’s in a little while, but I can cancel and stay home with you.”

“Mitch, really, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes I’m sure! Go, you’ve got important stuff to do.”

“You’re important,” he replies.

You nearly respond sarcastically but instead you find yourself blushing at his words. He leans down to kiss you, and you’re very grateful that you’re not contagious and can still do this when sick. It’s the first kiss you’ve shared with him since Sunday, and it feels like home.

He pulls away, pressing a kiss to your head and gets ready for his meeting. He checks in with you again before leaving and you reassure that you have everything you need and plan to stay in bed watching movies the whole time he’s gone. He walks out of the room and comes back a minute later, one of your cats under each of his arms. Mitch places them on the bed with you, gives you a final kiss and a “love you” and leaves the apartment.

Mitch is gone for a movie and a half, walking in partway through the 2nd live action Scooby Doo.

He sees what you’re watching and looks almost guilty.

“What?” you ask after seeing his expression.

“I was on the phone with Sarah and Harry while I drove home. They’re concerned about you traveling when you’re not feeling well.”

Your first instinct is to immediately reply that they’re being ridiculous, that you’ll be fine. But instead, you say, “We have 2 full days until the flight to LA. Let’s just play it by ear and decide on Sunday, okay?”

“Okay, that’s fair,” he replies.

“And even if I’m not better by then I could always just fly out Tuesday. You guys will look silly without your Daphne!”

“I still can’t believe you convinced us all to have Scooby Doo as the costumes for Harryween.”

“I can’t believe you chose to be Scrappy Doo.”

“Well Pauli already claimed Scooby. What was I supposed to do?”

“Pick a normal villain from the show, like everyone else?”

“But I wanted to be a dog for Halloween!” he practically whines as he plops in the bed next to you.

You smile fondly, loving when you got to see this side of him. You weave your fingers through his hair and you’re both quiet for the rest of the movie.

Mitch dotes on you for the rest of the weekend, insisting that you do nothing other than rest and get better. He prepares food, brings you your medicine, and carries you with him whenever you’re feeling particularly clingy.

While you hate being sick, you love the excuse to slow down for a few days. Everything is always so hectic for the four of you, and a weekend of nothing but cuddles on the couch with comfort movies and shows in the background is nearly perfect. It would be completely perfect if Sarah and Harry were also there. And if you didn’t still feel like crap.

You slowly got better, and by Sunday morning you were confident that the anti-fungal medicine was working, and you were officially on the mend. It took a lot of convincing the others, but by Sunday afternoon you and Mitch were seated next to each other flying back to Los Angeles.

It’s late when you land, and you go directly to Harry’s place. He and Sarah are waiting outside and rush to the car to help with your bags. The boys bring the luggage inside and Sarah wraps an arm around your waist and walks with you.

You spend the first few minutes there telling everyone repeatedly that you’re fine, just a bit tired. And you’re telling the truth. Your fever is gone, the chills and body aches going with it, and you have only a mild cough. Even if you hadn’t been sick the last couple days you’d be tired after traveling coast to coast.

That night you sleep in between Harry and Sarah, Mitch on Sarah’s other side knowing the other two needed to feel you close to them.

You wake up in the middle of the night, knowing you’re about to have another coughing fit, and try to sneak out of bed so you don’t wake anyone. Unfortunately, Sarah is wrapped around you so tightly that you can’t escape. You start to cough, turning into the pillow to try and muffle the sound but the others wake up anyway.

They all fuss over you, Sarah rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you. Finally, you stop coughing, but you keep your face pressed into the pillow. You don’t want them to see the tears in your eyes, knowing how much more worried they’ll be if they see that. You can’t help it though, between the breathlessness and the chest pain the coughing brings, your eyes have no choice but to water.

You try to calm yourself with some deep breaths, but that just causes you to start coughing again. This time you turn into Sarah, needing the comfort her hold brings you.

“Sorry,” you eventually say. “I didn’t mean to wake everyone up.”

“Are you okay, love?” Harry asks. “That didn’t sound good at all.”

“I’m okay, my lungs are just a bit irritated.”

“Are you in any pain?” He questions. You know he’s very familiar with lung issues, having dealt with asthma in the past, and you know that he’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.

“My chest hurts a bit, but it’s really not that bad.”

He gives you a look, like he doesn’t believe you, so you hold his hand and say, “I promise, it’s not that bad. It’s already getting better.”

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you to him. You straddle his lap, tucking your face into his neck. You melt into his embrace, loving the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around you. Even though you still feel sick, being surrounded by the three people you love fills you with warmth.

Somehow you fall asleep still sitting up with Harry holding you. When you wake up the next morning you’re still in that position. Harry is asleep beneath you, leaning back against the headboard.

The last thing you want is to wake him again, especially since there’s a show tonight. You open your eyes and see Mitch and Sarah are also sleeping, wrapped in each other’s arms. It’s a perfect start to the day, and you note that you feel much better than the last few days.

It’s not much later that everyone begins to stir. It’s already mid-morning but there’s enough time before they need to be at the venue, so no one is in any rush to get up. Sarah does demand that you switch to her lap, saying that everyone else has gotten more cuddles with you and it’s her turn. You go willingly; something about her soft embrace that comforts you immensely.

Eventually you do all get up to eat and shower before going together to the Forum. You stay backstage and get ready while they do soundcheck, wanting the set list to remain a surprise until the show. You love the group costume that was chosen for night 1, everyone dressing as their own version of Barbie or Ken, you included.

When the others get backstage they compliment you on your look and you smile bashfully at the attention. It’s a bit chaotic with everyone getting ready and having a quick dinner. Finally, you say good bye to the others, give Harry a kiss, and head to the floor to watch the show.

You don’t go out yet, knowing that the fans will notice you once you do, and you don’t want to give away the costume theme. As soon as the show officially begins you walk to the fenced off section for friends and family in the back of the pit.

You’re still not feeling 100%, and the lights and loud music are a bit disorienting, but you don’t let that show. This is your first time attending Harry’s concert as his official girlfriend, and you know that people are going to be watching you, judging you.

Even though you’re still a bit under the weather, you have a great time at the concert. You’re so happy that the set list was a surprise, and you know a fan nearby got your reaction to the start of Canyon Moon, one of your favorites that you hadn’t heard live before.

As always, harry puts on a perfect show. You love watching the fans and checking out all of their costumes. He does the whale to close out the concert and your face hurts from smiling so much. You feel exhausted, and look forward to getting home, but it was worth pushing through.

To no one’s surprise you fall asleep on Harry’s shoulder during the drive home. Sarah and Mitch are in a different car, since you had run out with Harry the second the show ended. You wake up at home, laying on the bed while Harry is taking your shoes off.

“Hi, lovey,” he says as you sit up, your legs dangling off the end of the bed with Harry standing between them. You reach your arms up, placing your hands on his face and gently pulling so he knows to lean down. As soon as he’s close enough you press your lips to his in a sweet kiss.

“Hi baby,” you say once you break the kiss. “You did great tonight.”

“Yea? Liked the show?”

“Loved it. Always do.”

He smiles at that, dimples popping out on each cheek. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Good. Sleepy, but otherwise I feel fine.”

“That’s a relief,” he replies. “Hated seeing you sick. Hated knowing you were sick, and I couldn’t be there to make you feel better.”

“Well, I feel much better now. All healed up.”

He flashes his dazzling smile again, and you pull him in for another kiss.

“Let’s get ready for bed,” he says as he breaks the kiss a minute later.

The two of you are halfway through your nighttime routines when Mitch and Sarah get home. Before long the four of you are cuddled in bed, Harry quietly humming something that sounds oddly similar to “I’m Just Ken.”

The four of you go out the next morning since you want to see a bit of the city. They each choose a couple of their favorite spots to show you before you all need to get to the venue. You again get yourself ready as they do another quick soundcheck, one of the stylist’s helping you with the red wig you’ll need as Daphne.

Once Harry is in his Fred costume the two of you take some pictures together. Night 2 is the same as Night 1, except you’re a bit more worn out from walking through the city all morning. As much as you insist to the others that you’re not sick anymore, that’s not completely true. Your head is pounding by the end, and you feel slightly dizzy. On more than one occasion you feel like your heart is beating out of your chest, it’s racing so fast.

You do everything to keep a smile on your face and not show how you’re feeling. For the first time ever, you feel relieved when the show is over. You enjoyed it of course, but you can’t wait to lay down, which will hopefully stop the world from spinning.

You’re quiet on the drive home, but still able to hide your symptoms from Harry. Once home you get ready for bed, falling asleep before Mitch and Sarah even get back.

The next morning is slightly chaotic as the four of you need to be at the airport fairly early. It’s not until you’re all seated on the private plane that they pick up on the fact that you’re kind of out of it. You claim to just be tired, but you know that they don’t buy it and are all watching you closely.

You’re seated next to Sarah and fall asleep on her shoulder shortly into the flight. When you start to wake up a couple hours later you shift, tucking your face into her neck. Mitch catches Sarahs concerned face, asking, “What’s wrong?”

“She feels warm,” Sarah answers. She places her hand on the back of your neck, noting how hot your skin has become. The boys are both immediately worried, each reaching over to feel for themselves.

You lift your head up and give them all a look, silently asking why they’re all touching you.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks. “Be honest with us, please.”

You take a moment to assess before answering, “Kind of dizzy. And cold. And sore.”

“Anything else, love?” Sarah says.

“Maybe a bit nauseous? But not that bad, really.” Despite your insistence that you weren’t going to throw up, Mitch gets up to grab an airsick bag just in case.

“How long until we land?” he asks as he sits back down across from you.

“About an hour,” Harry answers before he turns to you and asks if you need anything.

“I’m fine,” you reply. “Can you just, uhm. Can you maybe sing?”

“Of course I can love. Any requests?”

You shake your head, tucking back into Sarah’s side. Harry begins to sing, and you take deep breaths, trying to keep any nausea and dizziness at bay.

It’s a difficult hour, and a rough landing has you nearly reaching for the airsick bag but you’re able to hold it back.

You all get home mid-afternoon, and you immediately start to unpack. You know that if you don’t you’ll just leave the suitcase for days. When you’re done you head back to the living room where you find Harry sitting on the couch.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Ordering dinner. Don’t think anyone is up for cooking tonight.”

You sit next to him, putting a random show on TV for background noise. You grab a blanket, wrapping yourself in it to fight off the chills. You lean against Harry who wraps an arm around you.  Mitch and Sarah join you two and you guys finish ordering food and sit together quietly while you wait for it to be delivered.

Once it’s there you all move to the kitchen table. You don’t have much of an appetite but try to eat some of your dinner. The others notice that you don’t eat much, but they don’t push it, knowing that your stomach is still bothering you.

Everyone changes into comfy clothes after dinner, and you head back to the living room couch. You’re in between Harry and Sarah, Mitch trailing behind in the bathroom for a minute. You wonder what’s holding him up but understand when he walks out with your medicine box.

He takes your temperature, frowning when he sees you once again have a high fever. You take the medicine he hands you before curling into Sarah’s side. Her hand slides through your hair and rubs your back, and you focus on those comforting touches.

You all watch a movie before deciding it’s time to head to bed. You stand from the couch, taking a moment to steady yourself as a wave of dizziness washes over you.

Your heart is beating incredibly fast again, and you’re having trouble catching your breath. The others stand around you, asking questions that you can’t hear over the pounding of your heartbeat.

You meet Harry’s eyes for a moment before everything goes dark and you collapse into his arms.

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

@akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @theekyliepage @numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry @ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess @houseofdilfs @shaquille-0atmeal-1 @kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye @n0vaj3an

AN: Thank you again for reading this story! There will be a part 2 to this!

[kekaki-cupcakes]

BONJOUR (〃^ω^〃)

if your requests are open and if you so feel like, I would LOVE (♥ω♥*) to hear your Connor Stoll HCS whether misc or x reader related I care very little, I just want more content of my fav.

Sincerely eternally yours - anon.

ciao! ヽ( 'ω' )ﾉ

Hey I know you requested this ages ago sorry about that. I've also decided to answer requests in order of which one I like the idea of the most instead of time because I feel like I'm stuck on a few old ones lol

Also this was so fun to write and I ended up writing a short story at one point or smthn.

Conner Stoll Headcanons

»»————-　★　————-««

-He sometimes forgets Travis isn’t really his twin.

-As do most people that know them. 

-He’s so sick of the jokes about his last name he and Travis just pretend to not understand anymore.

-The poison sprayed T-shirt given to the Hunter Phoebe, stopping her from going on the quest to save Annabeth wasn’t just a prank on the stern girl. It was on purpose, so that Percy could go instead, but no one really realized that.  

-Once he moved to New York years after the books ended, he rented a flat with a smashed in window and a leaky bathtub. He had to live off one dollar pizza slices for about a year [he loved them] until he saved up and stole enough to afford a better flat with three bedrooms. One was for him, one was for Cecil, and one was for Katie when she visited with Travis. He has a bunk bed that he shares with Travis, but he makes his brother sleep on the top bunk like they did at CHB.

-Unknown to him, Travis’s room at Camp Jupiter has a bunk bed too, and he sleeps on the top every night. He’s studying Law. 

-Once Conner was able to pay rent by the deadlines and had steady shifts at work [and once his diet had gotten a bit better, although pizza slice Friday is a ritual] Chiron finally let Cecil move in.

-It was only really because Cecil wanted to go to highschool properly, and finish it this time instead of being chased from the year ten open day by feral harpy’s. He works at Starbucks part time and Conner drives him to every shift and then Iris messages CHB and talks to his friends in his car while he waits for Cecil to finish. 

-He’s actually really disappointed when Cecil buys a motorbike and doesn’t need lifts to Starbucks anymore, but then his little brother needs someone to pick him up because he crashed into a phone box and he’s back to annoyed chauffeurTM again.

-He owns the shittiest car ever, like, one of those falling apart pickup trucks with fluffy dice and he actually keeps it pretty clean because he’s so proud of it. He calls it ‘Mater’, from the movie Cars, because it’s Cecil’s favorite movie. It’s also covered in bumper stickers. Like, nearly every part of it, and people just hand them to him sometimes to fill in a gap. 

-He joined the local track team, and he’s actually pretty good.

-His guilty pleasure is Taylor Swift’s 1989 album and eating peanut butter MnM’s by the bag even though he hates real MnM’s.  

-He never really wanted to go to University, and the strictness of Camp Jupiter would’ve killed him, so he got a job at the lolly store Sally used to work at, but was fired when he let too many little kids shoplift. 

-Now he’s working at a backpackers lodge instead, and he actually really likes meeting all the traveling people that come through, even though he knows it’s because of his dad. His relationship with Hermes is questionable, mainly because of Luke. 

-He loved his brother but after the Titan war and all the shame put on their cabin he hated Luke with a passion, as did most of his siblings, even if they sort of did understand why he did it all anyway. Conner wouldn’t have joined the Titan Army, but he knows that if the majority of Camp Halfblood was to stage something like that again he probably would. He’s loyal to his siblings and friends, not the gods. 

-Chris Rodriguez agrees on that part. They’ve talked about it a lot. 

-Chris stayed over on the fold out couch enough for him to get a toothbrush in the bathroom and his favorite cereal in the pantry, which is weet-bix bites with honey and blueberries [if someone went to the shops for something other than pink monster energy drinks and grain waves]. He stills lives at Camp Half-blood with Clarrise most of the time and he’s going to University online but has to come in once or twice a week for tests and practical classes. He wanted to be a paramedic but he knew that would be too much stress on him and so would being a therapist.

-Chris is studying nursing and catches a ride with Pollux [who is studying to be a paramedic] sometimes.  

-Then Pollux began staying over sometimes as well.

-And of course there were times when Clarrise would come into the city with her boyfriend to find late night underground fight clubs and visit Coach Hedge [he was the satyr that brought her to CHB].

-Six months pass and Conner’s apartment is a mini Camp Halfblood stop by.

-This is confirmed when Lou Ellen bursts in at three am with a hellhound on her heels and the app Malcom Pace had invented that directed demigods to nearby safe havens when they were in danger.                                                                                                               She explained that his flat had come up and she needed to talk to Austin [who was sleeping on the couch] about how somebody from his cabin had stolen her voodoo doll of Will that they liked to tickle while he was stitching someone up in the Infirmary. 

-He’s accepted it now but sometimes when a random kid shows up covered in blood he sends them to Sally’s apartment [she’s on the app as well]. There’s only so many blow up mattresses and showers long enough to scrub monster grit off a twenty something year old can afford. 

-He gets promoted at the traveler’s lodge, and ends up sending a lot of demigods, nymphs, and satyrs there as well. 

-Chris’s nursing skills help out a lot more than they were hoping.

-So does having Pollux the paramedic on speed dial. 

-He pirates anything he watches, and his favorites are The Last Of Us and Ferris Bueller's day off. He is obligated to watch Cars at least once a week with Cecil, but his favorite Disney movie is The BFG [it used to be the Lion King but then Luke happened and it hit too far home]. 

-He also really liked watching The Hunger Games but then he realized what it reminded him of and now he steers clear. 

-That, and the fact the Castor and Pollux trope is used. 

-Conner hates musicals. 

»»————-　★　————-««

[nohoperadio]

Here's a little breakdown of my personal relationship/non-relationship with various types of aesthetic self-modification (?, I feel like there might be a word or at least a more elegant phrase to denote this category). The point is not to offer my "take" on each thing but to express the different feelings/desires/inhibitions my psyche manifests around them. Some of these will approach awkwardly personal territory, fair warning! You may notice that basically none of them are especially positive; I'm going to leave off from analyzing that pattern for this post.

Tattoos -- I think tattoos as a concept are extremely cool, frequently they're cool in practice also and I like seeing other people's, but I don't think I've ever had even the smallest urge to get one for myself. I'm not totally sure why. The lack of an obvious thing to get is one factor, I feel like "band tattoo" would be the most likely thing for me to have but I don't like the idea of directly lifting a band logo or album art and I really don't like the idea of a lyric tattoo (I offer no justification for these prejudices), so I'd have to get clever with it if I'm doing that and I'm not very clever. More broadly, I predict that my enthusiasm for any artwork I put on my body would fade through overexposure in a matter of weeks if not days--other people describe "barely knowing it's there" after a short time--which on top of making the value of the project seem dubious, I feel like having a permanent image on my skin that I don't actively love would be something I'd feel bad about rather than neutral. Like "man, that thing's on my arm and I don't care about it at all, that sucks" rather than just not noticing it. Maybe I'm wrong about that.

(Tattoos are the one that got me thinking about this whole subject I think, it feels like they're reaching a ubiquity in the culture where it's almost like you're expected to have a reason not to have one rather than a reason to? Maybe that's just a people-I-know thing, anyway it got me thinking about why I don't want one.)

Piercings -- An interesting thing about me and piercings is that it's virtually impossible for me to notice when somebody has them unless I'm like, actively consciously scrutinizing their face (or whatever it is). When I was about ten months into my current job I asked my co-worker who I worked closely with almost every day "hey when did you get that septum ring" and she was like "well way before I met you". That is simply how it is with me and piercings and I make no apology.

If my inability to perceive piercings (perceirvings...) makes me indifferent to the idea of getting one, what makes me actively hostile is the total certainty that I would fiddle with it constantly if I did. I know these hands and their ways and there would simply be no dissuading them, it would be so bad you guys, oh my god. This is probably the hardest no on the list I think, although I haven't finished the post yet so idk maybe I'll think of a worse one.

Makeup -- There's undeniably a lot that's very beautiful in the universe of makeup and there's also the weird dark side, I have dabbled a little in this area and in my heart I feel more positively than not about it, but it's just never going to be a sustainable part of my life because (not unrelated to previous para) I am a perennial and unrepentant face-toucher. I will be itching and rubbing my face-skin and also inflicting other hard-to-characterize punishments upon it (is this "stimming"?) until the day I die and anything that wants to be on my face has just gotta deal. It would probably be better if this was not the case but I don't make the rules, sorry.

Haircuts -- When I was a child I haaaaaated getting my hair cut, like the physical sensation of it? Was so horrible and would usually make me cry and always ruin my day (is this "sensory overload"?), I didn't understand why I was being made to go through this ordeal and basically as soon as I reached an age when I realized my mom couldn't literally force me to do it if I just stubbornly refused hard enough--that age was 13 I think--I stopped. I haven't had a professional haircut since that time although I'm sure I could cope with the sensory aspect at this point, it's just not a habit I ever picked up again (I've had a couple of non-professional ones from my ex who just kind of wanted to try it, in a not particularly ambitious or dramatic fashion). Sometimes I feel like I should, but idk. My hair as it stands is not optimized for making me look hot but I don't think it looks especially horrible either, it's just kind of whatever I think.

Complicating factor here: I've had trichotillomania since I was 15/16, and it's hard to imagine it going away at this point but it's a lot more under control than it used to be, to the point where you can't really tell just from my appearance that something's up now. I say "under control", I have very little conscious control over it and usually no conscious awareness that I'm doing it, but over the years the compulsion seems to have unconsciously settled into a routine where it's just kind of... sculpting my hair into a more-or-less normal silhouette? Like I sort of have a fringe and stuff despite no haircuts. Oh I guess this doesn't make sense unless I clarify that I mostly break rather than pluck the hair nowadays, that's a big part of the gradual unconscious shift that's occurred.

A fun thing about trichotillomania is that it often makes people really uncomfortable when you talk about having it, which sucks for me because it makes me feel lonely, but I guess it sucks for the person feeling uncomfortable too in a smaller way. If you're one of the people who feel uncomfortable around this topic, sorry! Quite genuinely.

Gender transition in general -- I feel like I'm just, just on the boring side of cis-by-default. I think about transitioning shockingly often for someone who's never gonna do it, like it's not searing a hole in my heart or anything like it is for a lot of people but it occupies that "it would be cool to learn an instrument" kind of niche in my thoughts, if that makes sense? (Probably a bit stronger than that analogy makes it sound, it's on my mind frequently but not with a massive sense of urgency attached I guess is what I'm getting at.) I can see myself taking the plunge if the medical technology was like 10% better, or the social technology was like 20% better, or with some medium-sized changes in how my personality was configured, but this life being this life there's no way in heck the juice would be worth the squeeze. If I had one fifth of the executive function required to do all of that lying to doctors and learning how to clothes shop and having awkward conversations with people in my life and all the rest of it, well I can list like ten things I'd rather spend it on first. And I don't!

Glasses -- Love wearing glasses, 10/10 no notes. I knew since I was like 11 that my face should have a pair of glasses on it and I was very smug when the optician agreed (I did not cheat on the eye test in any way for what it's worth). The only times I'm not wearing glasses are sleeping and showering. I don't even carry a case because there's no point because I simply don't ever take them off. This is probably overkill, I think as a kid I was instructed to only put them on when I need to see something in the distance, ignoring that and just wearing them permanently has probably led to my vision weakening to the point where they're now pretty much mandatory in every situation, but I don't give a shit about that because just let me wear my goddamned glasses okay, fuck off. It's actually crazy how much I like wearing glasses, this is the only true thumbs up on the list.

I remembering trying to explain how I like my glasses to a then-close friend of mine many years ago when the subject of laser eye surgery came up in conversation, he said I should get the surgery and then just wear glasses with non-prescription lenses. When I tried to explain why that wouldn't be the same at all he was adamant that I was just being stubborn. That guy was a wonderful person in many ways and I loved him very deeply, but man what a dumbass thing to say.

Facial hair -- There are so many great beards and moustaches in this world, there are few more cheering sights than someone bearing some swish whiskers who's pleased about it, but personally I don't wish to be involved in that business at all.

I never learned how to ride a bike -- Obviously this one doesn't belong on the list, it doesn't fit with any of the other categories, and yet I feel compelled to include it here. And why should I resist that which compels me? This is my post. Yeah, I'm the oldest of four siblings, we were all given bikes at the appropriate kid-on-bike age, the others picked it up but not me. I liked it when I had stabilizers on my bike, then they took them off and I started falling off the bike, and after a very short amount of time I gave up. Like I didn't get mad injuries or anything, it just felt like I wasn't improving at it quickly enough and I didn't feel like keeping it up so I didn't. Early indication of my bad personality.

Fashion in general -- Clothes shopping has always been extremely aversive to me for whatever reason, it's gotten a little better in recent years, I have been able to exist inside clothes shops for long enough to purchase a small thing or two, but eh. Most of my tops are band t-shirts I bought at gigs, most of my bottoms are exactly identical pairs of jeans, there's just not much going on you know? But unlike with most of the items on this list I would really like to be doing this properly. I would like to wear cuter things with prettier colours and designs. This one's an actual goal. But so far I haven't really made progress. The aforementioned shopping sucks thing, plus a fear of being so aesthetically clueless that I just make myself look like a big idiot if I try anything risky, plus the fact that doing things that are not my established routine is tricky in general--these are barriers for me. I guess another barrier is that the things that would be most interesting to try out and therefore most potentially motivating fall into the wrong-gender-clothes category and therefore bring into play some of the barriers from that other category a few ones up. I did actually somehow get myself to dabble in that area some years ago to a modest but positive degree of satisfaction. It'll probably happen again. The patterns and causes that determine whether I can or cannot find motivation to engage in a thing--they are mysterious indeed.

Like horn implants or whatever other crazy miscellany -- I don't want anything in this category and don't have any non-trivial thoughts about it either. Including this section for completeness only.

---

Well, there you have it, that's the post. Now you know a bit more about some of my little weirdsies. If you actually made it through the whole thing, a) how interesting and b) why not tell me a little weirdsy of yours in return, whether it pertains to the above list or not? Why not get all antiphonal on my post, that way I'd get to know a thing about you as well, it might be a whole fun kind of deal. You don't have to though, I didn't make this post to try to snare people into letting themselves be known, I just kind of made it to be a post mostly. I make all sorts of kinds of posts you know? And so I thought I'd try one that's like this.

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Bpp I'm dying to know your song rankings in chapter 2 now they've all debuted. What are your top picks this year? I miss your writing and hope I can coax you back with 'a fun ask'

***

Okay. :)

Since you asked...

Top 10 Non-BTS K-pop Songs in 2023

10 - Watch It - The Boyz (this song just dropped and it's already in my top ten, yes)

9 - Seoul - H1-key

8 - Ay-Yo - NCT 127

7 - Sweet Venom - ENHYPEN

6 - Neverland Farewell - TXT (Say whatever you like about BigHit, they know how to make good music. Soobin sounds incredible on this song. Beomgyu too. Really, they all do.)

5 - Cool With You - NewJeans

NewJeans isn't going anywhere, so everyone else really should get comfortable with the idea of seeing them at the top. That's all there is to say.

*

4 - Crying - BOYNEXTDOOR

I don't know where my head was at when I ranked this the worst song on the album. Clearly, I was wrong. This song was a pleasant companion during the autumn months, and I can't wait to see what else they come out with.

*

3 - Chaconne - ENHYPEN

Do you know what a chaconne is? That's not a rhetorical question btw. No shade either, I'm just curious. For those who don't know, a chaconne is a rhythmical and harmonic motif over a pronounced bass-line. That's my leftover understanding from music classes taken a lifetime ago. According to google, a chaconne is also "a slow, solemn dance in 3/4 time, of Spanish or Moorish origin, similar to the passacaglia." For a non-k-pop example, I recommend Hilary's rendition of Bach's chaconne (more leftover knowledge from a lifetime ago).

Anyway, this likely isn't important context. The use of "chaconne" in the song probably has more to do with how it sounds in the song, than what it means. In any case, Enhypen earned a gold star from me with this pantydropper anthem.

*

2 - Criminal Love - ENHYPEN

I'm not sure how many of you were here when Heartbeat and Dream Glow were released. What I remember was shock, pure incredulity that BigHit would release songs of that quality for game OSTs. From ARMYs and k-pop stans alike, this was the sentiment. It was like a flex that BTS had such a peerless discography they could make songs like this for a side gig.

That's immediately what I was reminded of when I first heard Criminal Love, released as the OST for Enhypen's webtoon. It's moody, vampy, seduction in a song. That's what that song is. Sad too, when you hear the lyrics. Watching the live performance only drives it home.

*

1 - Blind - ENHYPEN

This song has given me one of the best auditory experiences I've ever had in k-pop. Which is a bit odd because yes a lot happens in the production, but the switches are so subtle you almost don't notice it.

Heeseung, Ni-ki, Jay, Sunoo, Sunghoon, Jake, and Jungwon - all outdid themselves on this song. Vocally, they sound incredible. The writing, (again) is top notch. This is one of the only songs released this year that I genuinely struggle not to loop.

*

Top 5 BTS Solo Songs

5 - Yes or No - Jung Kook

This is one song I'm praying and begging that we get thousands of remixes of. HYBE, please work your magic and give us 10 remixes of Yes or No. I need it. This is the perfect pop song in that it makes you crave more. I know it's got a predictable, common almost, chord progression in VI -> V -> I -> IV, but it's perfect in that it's impossible to get sick of it. It just worms itself into your head and all you can think of is all the ways to sing all over those chords.

Jung Kook's vocal work on that song is irreproachable. He's really set himself apart with this album and I'm glad he did it.

*

4 - Snooze - AGUST D, ft. Ryuichi Sakamoto & Woosung

HUH?! should be here, as should Amygdala so consider this a triple entry: HUH + Snooze + Amygdala. The reason why is self-evident (I hope).

Anyway... I want to talk a bit about Snooze.

Yoongi loves using the piano. He likes the sound of it, and you can tell in songs like Snooze. He has such a profound love and respect for that musical instrument that it only makes sense a man like Ryuichi acknowledged Yoongi before he passed.

With everything that happened this year, remembering Moonbin, and knowing that Yoongi made this song for his juniors... the first time I heard this song it completely destroyed me. Anyone who hasn't paid attention to the lyrics yet should check it.

When I casually listen in to TXT, SVT, Enhypen, BoyNextDoor, and see the work they're doing, putting out easily some of the best music and performances in their generations, I hope and pray they develop a support system that genuinely values them, soon. I hope they survive this industry, and thrive in it.

*

3 - All Day - RM ft Tablo

Not to be that person (since he's canceled for reasons and it actually makes sense why), but when I first saw the song title All Day, I immediately remembered All Day by Kanye West - one of the sauciest and meanest songs he's ever made. I was worried, given the tone of the album to that point, that Namjoon was going to give us his take on Ye's original. Joon is more than capable of dropping a track just as mean if not more. I didn't put it past him to pay homage to the Kanye joint by taking a spin on it. But, thankfully, All Day is nothing like Kanye's song, and it's my favourite song on Indigo because it's the best.

Joon's diction on this track is *chef's kiss*. His voice.... that outro, and thank goodness, Tablo came through. He actually has a presence on the track and made it even more worth the listen.

It kills me that we don't even have a visualizer for this masterpiece.

*

2 - Set Me Free Pt 2 - Jimin

Thank you for giving me another chance to talk about Set Me Free Pt 2.

One reason all the anxiety and fear-mongering around Jimin seems insane to me is because Jimin dropped this song and ended k-pop in 2023. He literally has no real competition. He came in, showed out, and left. That song is the sexiest joint out of Korea this year. It's so nasty. He's absolutely disgusting on this song in how brutally he makes rubbish of everything beneath him. Like, he literally has people bowing down to him in the choreography. Bobbing their heads like Funko Pops, while he sings to be set free. I'm going on a bit of a tangent here, but I want to say something. There's a cruelty in the way Jimin speaks. Whether to someone else or to himself. It's often (somewhat) restrained, born of the way he sees the world I think, and it was especially brutal in their early days, but he's toned it down significantly since 2016. It's virtually non-existent in his speech patterns and word choice now. Jimin of the last few years communicates gently, directly, tactfully, and at worst, bluntly. A lot of that cruelty is toned down but he unleashes a whisper of it on SMF Pt 2. Just listen to what he's saying on that song. That autotune effect on his voice was for our benefit and safety. Nothing can convince me otherwise. And we haven't even yet gotten into the full symbolism of the MV and his lyricism...

The moment I heard this song I knew I would bias Jimin. He's a man who knows what he's doing.

Jimin is a one of a kind wonder. Real magic in a person. An artist. He proves it on Set Me Free Pt 2. Kudos to PDogg too - the GOAT.

*

1 - On The Street - j-hope ft J. Cole

When it comes to song construction, I have to give credit where credit is due and the fact is Hoseok outdid himself with this song. It is perfect, my top pick for a k-pop song in 2023. Jermaine did good on it too. But, you know... Hoseok.

The whistle melody he came up with, the beat, the vocal layering, the mixing, the MV direction - all of it is perfect. If we were giving scores based on separate components, OTS would get 10s in every category.

Honestly, Hoseok coming out at number 1 is kind of expected of him lol.

[rimouskis]

omg now all i want to know is everything about your music taste. what do u like. how do u curate playlists or do u listen only straight thru albums? if you had to pick your five favorite genres and one song from each genre, what songs and genres would u pick? what genre do you feel like u listen to the least? the most ? what's the three most fascinating albums you've ever listened to. i need to know 🫧🎶

I sincerely believe the question is more “what DON’T I like”!

Alright this is a fun way to spend my Friday night in after walking 8 miles today and then doing dinner with friends ahahah so 1. Thank you for this and 2. Let’s go through this point by point:

1. What do I like? Man… I like a lot of music. I’ve gone through phases in my life: I was raised on my dad’s love of 80s/90s rock (think INXS, U2, Melissa Etheridge, Peter Gabriel), I discovered KISS FM in middle school and was a fiend for Top 50 pop then (the pussycat dolls were my everything back then lol isn’t it hilarious that I didn’t figure out I was gay until my 20s. also timbaland was consistently on my favorite songs.)

then in seventh grade I did a heel turn and got really into metal after my older cousin lent me his iPod at thanksgiving (I really liked Disturbed’s album Ten Thousand Fists)... then within the same year I did an even MORE hilarious, second heel turn and discovered K-pop, which I lived & breathed for like two years (my favorite band was SHINee; I still sometimes pop into the K-pop world to sample what’s coming out these days, though I don’t know the new generation of bands well).

THEN in high school the indie alt pop phenomenon hit and I was all in on the bands of the time… bastille, alt j, the 1975 (before they really blew up, #hipster), glass animals, lorde, walk the moon, chvrches, x ambassadors, the naked and the famous, halsey, grouplove, milky chance… like, if it was on tumblr, I was listening to it, hahaha.

Then in college I got really into alternative music, like chelsea wolfe and susanne sundfør and son lux and ms mr.

In adulthood I find that all this musical influence has meant that I like all kinds of music. I like trashy pop country. I like heavy rock. I like top 50 pop. I like rap. I like hyperpop. I like 80s synth pop. I like indie folk. I like it all, man. I have been in a pretty heavy rock era for the last, like… four, five years, though, so I think I probably primarily register as a rock listener, and if we were to get even more granular, I really love guitar-forward rock.

2. I’m a HUGE user of playlists. Spotify is the only streaming service I pay for, and I’ll pay for it for many many years, I imagine, haha.

I have over 100 playlists on there and really enjoy curating them as a little art form for myself. I rarely listen to albums, which I kind of think is too bad, because I DO think the album ~as a cohesive piece of art~ is kind of becoming a lost art in the age of streaming, and I’m not helping the cause at all.

But, on the flip side, playlist curation is a really enjoyable form of curatorial art, imo, and I deeply love and appreciate it. I love making playlists for anything and everything. One of my favorite playlist I’ve ever made is actually a reylo playlist, lol. I also made a killer Batman playlist after seeing rpattz’s batman, and I have some good old check please playlists as well. Fun fun stuff.

3. This is HARD but okay, I can do this…

Alt/indie rock: “Change For You” by Friday Pilots Club

Pop punk: “Why Do I?” By Set It Off

Electronic: “Fake” by Mystery Skulls (BUT A VERY VERY VERY CLOSE SECOND IS “DANCEFLOOR” by NOISY and Charlotte Plank)

Folk: “Leaf Off/The Cave” by José González

Rock: “Thrown Away” by VAST

Since three of those are rock/rockish offshoots (I am who I am, sorry), I’ll give you a few more divergent others:

rap would be “Boss Bitch” by Doja Cat OR “Von den fernen Bergen” by Ali As

house would be “Derezzed” by Daft Punk

disco would be “You Win Again” by The Bee Gees [my dad loves disco lol so… so do I]

country would be any and all Orville Peck [though normally my country tastes veer WAY WAY WAY trashy country pop lol sorry but it’s catchy]

and my pop pick is obviously Most Perfect Pop Song Of All Time, “Lonely Dancers” by Conan Gray

4. The genre I listen the least to is R&B, probably. I wasn’t raised listening to it and I’ve never really gained a taste for it, even though other genres I wasn’t raised listening to (country and rap, for example) DID grow on me. That being said, I really enjoy THEY., who is technically categorized as R&B.

Like I said earlier, I was really raised on rock music and I think that foundationally I am just a Rock Music Kinda Gal. I love guitars so much, man. But a close second is probably pop. Just as I was created to love guitars, so too was I created to love synths.

5. What makes an album “fascinating”? 🤔 I think this is hard, because first and foremost I am not an album listener, but also I don’t think I examine my music through a critical lens of fascination. I usually operate on a pure “how-much-straight-up-dopamine-is-being-poured-into-my-system?” scale when it comes to music, haha. Like, I’m not even primarily a listener of lyrics. I pay attention to the music first.

That being said…

Album 01 is going to be “Strange Trails” by Lord Huron. To be very, very annoying: I was into Lord Huron since their first album, and when they blew up due to a song from "Strange Trails" getting included in the TV show 13 Reasons Why, I was very annoyed because I think their sonic output shifted, and for the worse.

Anyways, I maintain that their first two albums are as close to perfect as albums get, and “Strange Trails” is what I find to be their strongest narrative album. There’s a whole storyline through the album that follows a fictional character Ben, the frontman, created. There was a comic book to accompany the album too, and I think the storyline is very lovely and I love some tragic love and magic wrapped into my music:) My favorite song off of “Strange Trails” is “Fool for Love.”

Album 02 is going to be “Bad Blood” by Bastille, which I also find to be Bastille’s finest work. Dan Smith wrote all these songs by himself in his den and—I really believe—perfectly embodied and channeled the sound of the 2010s indie moment. The entire album is so strong, and not only is it so strong that it doesn’t have any skips… even the EXTENDED version, “All This Bad Blood,” has no skips. Whatever Dan was fermenting in the lead up to “Bad Blood”’s release, it was pure gold. Nothing else quite captures the feeling of it being 2012 as much as this album. My favorite song off off “Bad Blood” is “Icarus” <3

Album 03 is going to be “Dream Machine” by Des Rocs. Des is on a one-man cocaine-fueled mission from God to bring back hard glam rock and I sincerely could not support his mission more. He constantly churns out bangers (his EPs “Martyr Parade” and “Let the Vultures In” are also worth checking out) but I found his songwriting to be simply ~exceptional~ on “Dream Machine.” I think he’s wonderful at writing evocative, classic-rock inspired lyrics that read as poetry to me:) From “Natural Born Thriller”:

Roll, thunder, roll / Riding like a freight train down on the tip of your tongue

Rattle in your bones / Shockwave ripping through the sky, in and out of your lungs

Love, lock and load / Fire in your eyes and you’re ready when the fever gonna come

Way down the road / Big wheels turning to the rhythm of the blood-red sun

Half a man and half apocalypse / The chase, the thrill, that you cannot resist

Day and night, every time / That one there is a natural-born thriller

Like MAN... that’s poetry in action to me. That’s just good writing. I also find the lyrics and storytelling of “In the Night” fantastic, and “Dream Machine” is such a perfect tone-setting, atmosphere-building track for that album to open on. It’s just one of the best constructed albums I’ve heard, full of bangers. My favorite song off it is probably “Natural Born Thriller.”

Damn that took me like two hours to get through, mostly because I got to experience the joy of scrolling through all my music and painfully selecting a few. This was delightful. Thank you, anon!

[pathesisa]

the marketing strategy for wayv members is so wrong and i will try to explain: (this is not hating towards any members i love all of them)

1 - the first member is xiaojun, sm pushing xiaojun into korean market after that man left was a wrong move, he is not the most marketable member for korean people. he is mcing for 1 year and he is the wayv member who gets korean promo only (bare minimum compare to other units) but it doesn't work, never saw him in the brand reputation list; ten and winwin are the only members who made it to the list. anyways xiaojun is a vocalist who should be sent in singing programs korea already has kibum, bambam kind of male idols who have the same career strategy and are obsessed with gg groups yes short viral moments are good but being labeled as this would be bad for his future career because no one gaf about kibums albums in korea they only interesting his entertainer side, xiaojun is most versatile nct vocalist he needs to market himself as a singer more, if he wants korean fame he should sing in korean but even korean singers won't charting there so i think the best market for xiaojun is mainland, my boy is more talented than any chinese mainstream artist rn. he is just talented and needs to focus on his talents more than his entertainer side because it's shadowing his talents. i really want xiaojun release covers every week, i need his angelic voice. [someone asked about his visual, yes his visual is good and my top 3 in the whole nct but he is short and has a big head (idk why this is a beauty standard) which doesn't fit in korea and chinese beauty standards]

2- second one is winwin and probably most complicated member and i'm scared yunqis will attack me, please he and xiaojun are my biases don't attack me. winwin didn't set his foot in korea for months but being on the reputation list proves he is the most marketable member for korea, if i'm not wrong he fits kbs %90 or something, but he never makes friends there, never saw him with any korean idol outside nct members, he makes himself stuck in nct circle in korea, korean people loves handsome boyfriendable cute k-idols and winwin is perfect example for this but unfortunately ww never gaf about korean market all obsessed is chinese market. i went to nct nation at japan he got the most cheers, he was the only member trended on japan twitter, he went viral 3 times he went to japan which is even no wayv and any wayv member trended here because winwin become so popular after he made into japanese national news about his and satomi ishihara similarity, not even have to mention nct life osaka.he is the most popular member in indonesia but only went here 1 time. second most popular member in thailand. ph has his biggest fanbase he never went there. this dude has a terrible career plan, all he wants become popular in mainland china, he need to open his eyes. his manager probably hates him because it's not hard to make an overseas schedule for him.

3- hendery. he is the least interesting wayv member if we have to be honest. he doesn't know how to be a private. after that man left the company he had the most potential to shine but xiaojun handled the post-lucas era better than him. i don't like his and winwin's rap parts in wayv songs, even yangyang's these raps ruining wayv's songs for being pop perfection for me. i dont see a singer or rapper future for him, wukong was a terrible experience. but you know what he has big potential among all wayv members to become popular, he is so an entertainer. he should be sent with winwin into those variety shows instead of that man, he would be x2 big in the mainland rn. i mean with 0 promotions he is the 3rd most popular member in china, having bigger fanbases than xiaojun, kun, and yangyang who have more gigs in their bags. he is so popular in indonesia, i remember he went viral there every day after a hendery fic adapted to an indo-drama. he should consider acting in movies, wong kar wai needs to open his eyes.

4- yangyang.. a big wasted potential. he would be more popular than any chinese idol in korea if he debuted in a korean group.. he is so baby. he is so marketable there, hip-hop alt culture is so popular nowadays he could probably be friends with everyone. but the company made him mark 2.0, with no originality not saying he is the less talented because yangyang is the most talented member in wayv (yes more talented than ten) but the marketing strategy killed his all hype there. this man outrapping the top 2 nct rapper (ijbol) with his 3rd language with ease, but if marketing is wrong you will start 1-0 behind. the other marketing fault is making him ten's sidekick in variety shows, this is why his fanbase never grows. all yangyang stans also love ten they have very common fandoms he needs to promote with different people, 10velys will never let yangyang shine in a show there ten is also there. yall he needs to hang out with some korean dudes outside the nct members and do some collabs, trust me is would benefit him more than those tenyang contents. everyone thinks yangyang is benefiting ten in tenyang collabs but all yangyang get is overshadowed by ten because ten has a huge fanbase. being a duo with ten was the worst thing in his career now all he gets from these, annoying shippers and a hateful fanbase who hates him because they think he is using ten's opportunities. send him in a show as mentor than watched him. my talanted boy!

5- maybe he is not the most popular in any country but he has the biggest potential for his future after wayv because he is friends with every composer, and producer, improving himself, and growing his friend circle. he is the best with these. the friends that winwin, xiaojun, or yangyang made into the industry will never benefit them in the future but having producer friends means you have secured your position. instead of being hyped for 4-5 years and then being forgotten after new idols debuted, i will always prefer people like kun who have stable careers because he will still have the same fanbase even after 10 years. this is why i think he has the best strategy in wayv and dont want quick viral moments like didi line of wayv (hendery, xiaojun, yangyang), all people know him as the member who can do 20 things.

6- ten lee.. ace of the aces. being compared to with the ten lee would be biggest achivement for those nct members yall trying to believe us they are more taleted than him lol. wayv was the biggest miastake for his career. this dude want int fame, being 2000s popstar. relasing a fully english song without thai or chinese version just proving my point. he really dgaf about these markets. he should be debuted as a soloist at the first day now we probably would compare him with the taemin but now people only calling him taemin 2.0 and it's so sad. i think he and winwin really loves wayv because both of them have better chances outside the group but they are still with them. his album is doing so good and break some records and surpassed big soloist like taeyeon, seulgi etc. in spotify numbers. the company need to already start to organize his 2nd album even before wayv album sorry not sorry.

[such-a-barbarian]

Tag Game!

Thanks to @mybrainismelted and @ryantryinx for the tags. Life has been life-ing lately so I haven’t had much time to spend here, but I appreciate all the tags I’ve gotten on things I definitely missed doing the last little while!

name: Kell

your time zone: EDT

favorite food: a nearly impossible question, but if I need to choose a few: Windsor Pizza (IYKYK), butter tarts from the bakery in my husband’s home town, and just bread and cheese in general. Lol

your eye color: hazel

do you have curly, wavy, or straight hair? Incredibly straight. There is no amount of hairspray that will hold even a slight wave on this head.

coffee or tea? Tea. I don’t drink coffee.

you can only listen to one album for the rest of your life. which album is it? It would probably be a musical soundtrack of some type. Like I don’t want to say Rent, but I also really want to say Rent. 😂 Original Broadway Recording. Obviously.

how many countries have you visited? 9. Ten if you include the country in which I was born and currently live.

favorite social media platform (other than tumblr): instagram I guess. I wouldn’t say any are my ‘favourite’ but instagram is probably where I spend the most time outside of tumblr.

if you had to be reincarnated as an animal, what animal would you want to be? A cat. Lounging around in the sun being an adorable bitch all day sounds like a dream.

relationship status: married.

did you go to college? if so, what did you study? Sure did. Had a double major in Film and Music. Which was SUPER helpful in the real world 🙄

you’ve just made a letterboxd account. what are your top 4 films? I had to google what letterboxd was and now I kinda actually make an account. Anyway, Top 4: The Princess Bride, The Newsies, Mary Poppins, Remember the Titans.

what’s one of your pet peeves? The sound of chewing

what’s one of your guilty pleasures? My deep deep love of High School Musical. What Team? Wildcats!

and finally, if you could learn any skill, what skill would you want to learn? French. My husband is a francophone and both our kids are bilingual. It would be nice to be able to join in that part of their life.

Tagging @jrooc, @tanktopgallavich, @transmickey, @iansfreckles, @iansw0rld, @francesrose3, @gardenerian, @callivich, @heymrspatel, @krysmiss, @lupeloto, and @blue-disco-lights if you haven’t done this one yet and if you have here’s a hi 🙋🏻‍♀️ cause it’s been a hot minute!

[final-girl96]

My Boyfriend's Back: Epiloge

A/N: This is short, and I hate to say it, but this is the end of the story. I will not be continuing into Scream 4, 5, and 6. I will be moving on to Killer Geek next. A very OOC Randy Meeks x Loomis Reader. I don't know when I will be posting anything on that story, probably not until I have at least ten chapters. I hope you enjoyed this story. Thank you for reading and being so patient with me and my lack of updates recently. I love you all. xoxo

Ten Years Later

We moved out of California like we said we would. Stu changed his name and looks. It's been ten years, and nobody has seemed to recognize him. Reese is eleven and in the sixth grade. Everything has been great. We got married seven years ago. I got back into my music and released an album, and Stu went back to school. He got his GED and then went to school for film. We live in a gated community and have the most expensive security system I could get.

I know it sounds ridiculous and over the top. I live with the man who started at this shit but I didn't want to be caught off guard one day. There had been the occasional prank calls here and there with someone pretending to be ghostface. I wanted to keep purpose daughter our of that life. She knows everything. It was hard to hide as she got older. She's smart and sneaky. I probably shouldn't have kept newspaper clippings of everything.

Dewey and Gale are married, still living in Woodsboro. Dewey is the sheriff now, and Gale hasn't written a book in years. But Stab movies keep being made. Of course, after the third movie, Sidney and I threatened to sue if they made any more stable movies based on our lives. The movies have gotten worse and worse.

Speaking of Sidney, she moved out of California too, right after our dad passed away. He had a heart attack a few years after the Hollywood murders. She wrote a book called Out of the Darkness." The books about her…our lives, and how she has dealt with it. She also married Randy, which let me say it was a huge shock. But they grew closer, and she agreed to let him take her on a date. That date turned into another and another, and before she knew it, she was saying yes to marrying him.

Randy wrote a script he had been working on for years, and then he made it into a movie. He produced and directed it himself. He's a big director now and had made dozens of movies, at least of them being his own. Stu has helped on a few of them, co-directing with him. Sidney and Randy also have two kids together, Lily is five, and Nolan is three. They live a few houses down from us, and we have dinner every Friday night.

Life couldn't be any better. It's not what I was expecting it to be, but it all worked out. I still have a small part of me that wonders if Stu ever gets the urge to kill. He's very protective of me and Reese. Randy and Sidney weren't all to on board when I told them about getting back with Stu. They both thought it was a horrible idea, but over time, they have learned to put the past behind them and accept it. I made Stu get rid of anything that linked him back to the ghostface murders. So far, we haven't had any problems, and I hope it stays that way.

[fuck-you-upmusicbracket]

Monster (Imagine Dragons)

If I told you what I was, would you turn your back on me?/And if I seemed dangerous, would you be scared?/I get the feeling just because everything I touch isn’t dark enough./If this problem lies with me.

"Feeling like something is taking you over that you can’t stop and it’s isolating you from everyone else"

Poll runner: If Imagine Dragons has a hundred fans, I will be one of them. If they have ten fans, I will be one. If they have no fans, I will be dead. Thank you and good day. (Also any song titled Monster is probably going to fuck you up, justsayin)

Mayonaise (The Smashing Pumpkins)

Mother, weep the years I'm missing/All our time can't be given/Back Shut my mouth and strike the demons/That cursed you and your reasons/Out of hand and out of season/Out of love and out of feeling

"ok so instrumental-wise it's just... So soft. Very calming at the beginning and then the Loud Guitars Happen and it's!!!!!! So powerful sounding!!! But also this song helped get me through the later half of highschool and the summers that followed LMAO I had it on repeat while studying & I played it (+ the rest of the album it's off of) CONSTANTLYYYY for a good couple years. Like. Top 10 songs that kept me sane for real"

Monster submitted by @pbear

[orchidsangel]

okay so i’m usually more of a silent follower (i’ve only like sent one ask ever) but i kinda love your posts/talks about things that you love (even if it’s not necessarily something i care about,,i just love it when people talk about their interests it’s amazing),, so i’m kinda curious about why do you think sos should have won over midnights,,, not saying that sos is bad or anything i actually love the album and sza but i was rooting for midnights honestly and personally think it deserves the title for many reasons,,, like i’m NOT saying that sos didn’t deserve to be aoty on the contrary, all the albums that were nominated are amazing and all had their big impact and the title is very subjective and ngl, this is one of those years where the nominees are all so good it’s actually quite a tough competition to choose between, but personally i found that midnights deserved it the most so i’m actually really curious to know your opinion on why sos should have gotten it

(i’ve already seen so much discourse about this for the past week on twitter but obviously. it’s twitter. so they don’t have any valable reasons except just pure hatred, misogyny, slut shaming and obviously racism)

Okay, so first off, thank you for sending in this ask and allowing me to speak about something I care about!! Second of all, when you added racism in the "don't have any valuable reasons section" what did you mean by that? I'm not coming for you or anything. I'm just curious if you meant racism towards Taylor or if you mean racism towards SZA.

anyways, now for my thoughts.

So, while I obviously agree that SOS is a great album, the part I disagree with is Midnights being a good album. I don't like it; I never did, and I probably never will. And this isn't me being a Taylor hater; I am a Taylor Swift enjoyer and have sat down and listened to a few of her albums. While none of them absolutely stunned me, I do think she's an overall good musician and can make a relatively good body of work. Midnights is a snoozefest. It's boring and doesn't hold a candle to the rest of her discography, which I feel fine saying because I know there are a significant amount of swifties and non-swifties alike that agree.

To me, midnights is nothing special, and most of the songs blend together. It's not completely bad, though; it has its good moments, but the many cons, i.e., boring instrumentals, mediocre lyrics, no super deep meanings, etc. outweigh the very few pros, i.e., Snow On The Beach ft. Lana Del Rey, but more importantly, Snow On The Beach ft. more Lana del Rey. And I just can't get behind Midnight's winning album of the year after being the pinnacle of mediocrity.

Now, if you wanna talk about impact, let's talk about impact. Midnights broke tons of records, most notably taking up all ten top spots on the Billboard Hot 100 chart, a feat that no other artist has managed to accomplish. But that wasn't because the album was good or because the general public was tuned in; it's because of streaming culture, because, like most fandoms these days, swifties are rabid and reaching for the charts. That, combined with the sheer size of Taylor Swift's fanbase, means that the album was bound to do well regardless of whether it was good or not.

SOS, on the other hand, obviously didn't chart nearly as well as midnights (although it definitely did chart, like, let's get that straight bc Snooze didn't leave the chart at all last year). But that doesn't automatically mean that it was less impactful, because charts aren't that reliable these days so you have to find other means of calculating impact, and this is when we turn to social media.

(I'll be using tiktok for reference as I feel that since the app relies on music as its #1 source of content, that's the best representation for my argument)

So I'm an avid TikTok user, chronically online, way too invested in drama that doesn't involve me, a loser, blah blah blah whatever, who cares. The point is that I spend enough time on TikTok to be able to observe many different trends going on at the same time and their musical origins. There are so. many. songs. on SOS that trended on tiktok. You could not escape SZA on that app, not even if you wanted to.

Kill Bill, Seek & Destroy, Low, Blind, Snooze, Ghost in the Machine, Shirt, I Hate U, Good Days, etc.

All songs that I've heard on TikTok at one point or another, some of them having their own designated trends to go along with certain lines, and I'm sure there's more I missed.

This specific point means so much to me because I need you to understand that I didn't listen to SOS in full until WAY into 2023 (the album came out in 2022 for reference), and each track was so familiar because I had already heard so many of them on TikTok.

Now, I'm not saying that there weren't any songs on midnights that trended on TikTok. Obviously, there were. i.e., Karma, bejeweled, Midnight Rain, that one part in The Great War, etc., but when I say that most of the songs from Midnights that trended on TikTok were pretty much always used in the context of Taylor Swift, I mean that. I cannot stress this enough. If there was a song from Midnights playing in the video, then I can guarantee that Taylor was being mentioned in that same video, whether it be the eras tour, speculation about her and Joe Alwyn's breakup, her and Travis Kelce, speculation about which Taylor's version album was coming out next, or literally anything pertaining to her at all.

You might think that this is a stupid point, but to me, it's a good example of the fact that it wasn't an album the general public was interested in. And I think for an award like Album of the Year at the Grammys, the album in question should be one that is either objectively good, incredibly poetic, and thoughtful with a deep message, or beloved by the general public, and midnights wasn't any of those.

As for the misogyny and slutshaming, I'd never in a million years agree with that and don't condone that by any means. Pure hatred, if unwarranted, isn't something I really care about either because I'm a hater at my core and have a lot of one-sided beef with people who don't know me. But I will say that most people I know who don't like Taylor Swift do actually have one or two valid reasons. It's not that hard to find them, what with white feminism, not using her platform for good, dating a known racist, and committing ecological warfare, amongst other things.

If the racism you're referring to is in regards to people bringing up her privilege as a white woman, and it bothers you that people are bringing it up, then I'm sorry, but I'm not the person you want to talk to about that because I won't agree. The Grammys have a history of snubbing black and POC artists in general to favor their white counterparts; in fact, the entire music industry has a history of it, and this situation isn't any different in my eyes.

Anyway, that's most of all I have to say. Thank you for asking again, I'd love to hear why you thought Midnights should have won.

[rainydawgradioblog]

Top Ten Songs that my Roommates Hate:

If I’m good at anything it's being obnoxious. Here’s ten songs that I love, but drive my roommates up the wall.  Ranked from their most to least tolerable.

10.  “Bangs”- They Might be Giants

Starting off very tame, “Bangs” has the signature TMBG geeky sound and whiny vocals. The song conjures imagery of pocket protectors and protractors. With lyrics like "royal flyness" and talk of concordant angles, “Bangs” is likely a big hit in the math department. Hey at least they've got taste.

9.  “Billy Don't Be a Hero”- Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods

What's better than mass manufactured 70s bubblegum pop hit about the Civil War? A cover of the Paper Lace ‘classic’, “Billy Don't Be a Hero” tells a story of a soldier killed in combat, in the most catchy, kitschy way possible. It’s a very addictive song, so please listen responsibly.

8.  “Xanadu”- Rush

“Xanadu” by Rush is not to be confused with the 1980 Olivia Newton John film of the same name, though both are pretty polarizing. The only critique I can offer is that at only 11 minutes, “Xanadu” is entirely too short. Who wouldn't want to " To stand within the pleasure dome, decreed by Kubla Khan” with Geddy Lee. Sounds pretty cool if you ask me.

7. “Motorcycle Mama”- Harpo

Everyone knows that a truly great musician is defined by their references to other, better musicians. Unlike the other songs on this list ( with the exception of Gaucho) this is a bad song, but it's a blast. Harpo’s so caught up in trying to string Ravi Shankar and Fritz the Cat together that he entirely forgets to pay any attention to the rest of the song.

6.  “Be True to Your School”- The Beach Boys

Clearly, my roommates are lacking some serious school spirit. Just wait until some loud braggart tries to put them down. They won't know what hit them.

5. “Your Auntie Grizelda”- The Monkees

I'm a big fan of the Monkees, but even I have to admit that “Your Auntie Grizelda" is an annoying song. There is a definite reason Peter Tork wasn't placed on vocals, but I think there's a certain charm to having a singer who can't really sing.

4. “Schlock Rod Pt. 2”- Jan and Dean

“Schlock Rod Pt. 2” is nothing if not unique, it's an obnoxious conversation between two men, complete with constant voice cracks. Set to a tune consisting of clanging metal and sputtering car engines, it's satire, and I’ll defend it till the end. Think this one is annoying? Check out part one.

3. “Gaucho”- Steely Dan

I apologize in advance to all the Dan Fans out there, but damn this song sucks. Listening to “Gaucho” is like being transported to your grandpa’s pontoon in the 80s, and when a song mentions ponchos more than once, there’s a fundamental issue lyrically.

2. “Sally MacLennane”- The Pogues

The best way to listen to any Pogues song is at an ear-splitting volume, though the people I live with might disagree. If you have too many friends, this will either take care of it (especially if you listen at strange hours of the morning) or you’ll meet the best people you’ll ever know. Rest in peace, Shane MacGowan, you are a legend and a genius.

1. “Strap on That Jammy Pac”- Ween

Recorded on a four-track cassette while both Dean and Gene Ween were supposedly huffing Scotchgard (they probably weren’t) and had mono (they probably did); “Strap on That Jammy Pac” is the first track off of The Pod, which is easily one of the best albums of all time. Shout out to Ween for this much needed addition to blues-country history.

-Parks

[herrlindemann]

Rock Hard - October 1997, interview with Paul

There's no question: Rammstein are definitely THE winners of the hour. The first album 'Herzeleid' is about to go platinum, the singles 'Engel' and 'Du hast' from the second album romped about in the top ten for weeks, and it was foreseeable that the long-awaited album 'Sehnsucht' would also have a huge impact . So Rammstein are well on the way to becoming the most successful German metal band of the 90's - but how are the guys dealing with the new situation?

I can still remember well when I walked past the Motor Music stand at PopKomm two years ago and I was blasted with fat guitar riffs that didn't quite fit the usual program of the Hamburg label. That was a new signing called Rammstein, I was told at the time when I was curious, and somehow I had the feeling that something big was coming our way. This impression was reinforced a few months later by the great debut album 'Herzeleid', on which the band went musically new ways and lyrically wonderfully irreverent. The best counterpoint to the burgeoning PC wave. With their fantastic, effective live shows, they were able to win more and more fans for themselves from tour to tour, but nobody would have thought that they would achieve such a huge breakthrough.

Today everyone is talking about Rammstein, but guitarist Paul Landers, who is sitting across from me, still seems quite relaxed and completely unimpressed by all the fuss that is happening around him. Nevertheless, at the beginning of our conversation, the question arises as to what has changed for Rammstein since the Top 3 hit 'Engel'.

« Actually not that much, because what looks like an overnight success for many people was a very long way for us, which we took step by step. It's like meeting a child once a year and marveling at how big they've grown while the parents don't even notice the child growing because they see it every day. On the other hand, we probably haven't even realized how successful we are at the moment. My phone rang last night and I have a woman on the other end of the line who couldn’t believe that she actually spoke to Paul von Rammstein and that I’m still in the phone book as normal. I may have to change it soon. I just think we're still down to earth and that's not going to change as things get bigger. »

I'm guessing though that mass and mainstream media interest has skyrocketed following the chart success...

« Yes, but since we are six members of the band it doesn't make any difference to us because we can split everything up. And it doesn't matter whether you're talking to Der Spiegel or a school newspaper, the questions are usually the same. »

By the way, some of your older fans were not at all enthusiastic about the fact that your record company pushed the release of 'Sehnsucht' from spring to the end of August for marketing reasons...

"Wait, it wasn't the record company's decision — we're responsible for everything, whether it's covers, videos or singles. We just do what we want, but of course let the record company advise us. Things like Aerosmith, who had to re-record some songs because the company didn't like the first versions, won't happen with us. »

But you must have felt a certain form of pressure, too — for example, the desire of the fans, who simply expect certain things from you, like ambiguous lyrics or elaborate shows, because that's one of your trademarks. You could theoretically run out of ideas...

« That's why we're holding back a bit at the moment, because we don't want to have to land a helicopter on stage next year to meet the expectations of the fans. We still have plenty of ideas, but we're only implementing them gradually so that we still have something up our sleeves. »

On your last tour, did you also have the phenomenon that occurs more frequently with chart breakers, that there were people in the audience who only knew the song 'Engel' from radio and television, but were not familiar with the old material?

« Nope, not at all, because we're not a single band like Fool's Garden, who suddenly appear out of nowhere and of which you actually only know the one song. In my opinion, apart from the title track, 'Herzeleid' only contains good songs, none of which are really suitable as a single, and it's similar with the new disc. 'Engel' pushed us like a fresh battery, but that didn't destroy the whole car. »

I recently re-read the interview I had with Paul shortly after the release of 'Herzeleid', but at the time he said Rammstein had no plans to roam the clubs for months trying to break out by force. But now everything turned out differently, because Rammstein were actually damn often on the road...

"Hm, you're wrong. We've been in the business for quite a long time and accordingly make sure that we don't get crushed. We're often on the road, but our tours are usually quite short, because our life shouldn't consist exclusively of concerts. If other bands enjoy playing up to 200 gigs over the course of a year, that's up to them — we definitely take our breaks and don't let them rush us around. We're just six friends, and when friends see each other every day over a long period of time, it really gets to you. »

Something different: On a recent trip to Sweden, I noticed that your songs are sometimes already being played in clubs there, and you've also had numerous gigs in countries like Belgium, Holland and Sweden. Looks like you're slowly starting to conquer other countries too — despite the language barrier!

«Of course, because at some point we will reach our limits in Germany. We're also excited about new tasks, because actually it's pretty boring to tour as a headliner. It's much more exciting to start all over again in new territory where nobody knows us. We also asked people after the gigs if they would like it better if we sang in English, but most of them think we should stick to German lyrics. After all, music is global and the reactions are often a bit reserved at the beginning, but after a few songs the audience is dancing. We definitely want to tackle the American market in the near future. »

Not a bad idea. In any case, I could well imagine that the Americans are crazy about Rammstein's music - and with such a show you run into open doors there anyway.

Change of subject: The songs for 'Sehnsucht' were all written before the big breakthrough came in the form of 'Engel'. Accordingly, the pressure should not have been too great. Don't you pee your pants thinking about the songwriting for the third disc? After all, you then have to top an absolutely successful album...

« The pressure can't get any bigger, because the first disc was definitely a great success for us. In principle, the songwriting for the next record will be more relaxed for us because we now know that everything will be fine as long as we only listen to ourselves. We've learned that things only ever go bad for us when we let other people talk us into it or when not all band members are present at the creation. So it's our job to make sure that despite all the stuff that's pouring down on us, the band's chemistry is still right. »

Was it an advantage for you that you played many of the songs from the second album live before the studio date?

"Yes and no. The advantage was certainly that we could test the reactions of the fans to the piece. The downside is that the more times you play a song live, the sooner you get fed up with it and have to start composing new material again. »

In the photo session for 'Sehnsucht', Rammstein worked with Gottfried Helnwein, a well-known and respected photo artist who, however, has recently been the subject of negative talk because of his alleged membership in the Schientology skete. Has this collaboration had any negative effect on Rammstein?

"Unfortunately not," laughs Paul. « I wouldn't think it was so bad if we were also put a little in the Scientology corner, which maybe isn't so far-fetched after all...»

The wide grin on the guitarist's face shows that this statement is not meant too seriously, but what’s the saying? Any promotion is good promotion!

"We spoke to Helnwein again after that ominous article appeared in 'Stern'," Paul picks up the thread again, " and I can only say one thing: if the 'Stern' article about Helnwein contains as much truth as their article about Rammstein, then Helnwein is a CDU politician... In addition, the book that the story was primarily about will not appear at all because it is completely far-fetched. Some reports in 'Stern' are apparently as fictitious as stories in 'Neue Spezial'.”

Let's address two critical issues again: Recently, photographers have had to view the photos at your concerts, which gives your management the right, so to speak, and only release certain pics for publication. It's a practice that's especially familiar from big British bands, with the difference, however, that under German law their contracts aren't valid anyway and you can ignore them. However, your management could actually control the photo selection and also use the image material, e.g. from our photographers, for your own purposes free of charge. Why this harassment?

« One of the reasons for this action was - believe it or not - that we don't have any live pics of us in the archive at all, even though we played quite a lot. We also wanted to prevent a picture of Till with the burning coat from being printed in every newspaper. In any case, it's not about wanting to prevent the publication of image material, which we might not have been very good at, or anything like that. We've already considered whether we shouldn't do the same with articles about us, but this doesn't apply to the rock magazines, which thank God only print what we really say, but rather to the countless scraps of paper that sometimes pull unbelievable nonsense out of our fingers that we never uttered. The 'Stern' wrote, for example, that at Rammstein gigs only 30- to 4-year-old mustaches with checkered shirts and beer bellies are in the audience. It's quite funny, but it gets on your nerves in the long run. But actually we can live with all suspicions quite well - as long as we are not put in the right corner. »

The issue should be over by now...

"Are you kidding me? Are you serious when you say that. Of course, everyone who now knows us personally has long since understood that we have nothing to do with it, but thanks to our success, new media are constantly approaching us, and we have to start all over again with the educational work. »

What remains is your quarrel with J.B.O. — what did the boys actually do to you that you or your record company make life so difficult for the boys?

« There is actually no dispute with J.B.O. — we don't think the matter is as bad as it is currently being portrayed by all sides. »

Well, at least J.B.O. sign a cease and desist letter and re-record the track 'A Little Peace'...

« I think it was just that we weren't credited with the music, although it's clearly our samples that J.B.O. have used there. Okay, I also feel a bit guilty because I may not have paid enough attention to this topic, but with the current situation you lose track here and there. If I always ironed out management or record company mistakes, I would go insane. Someone from J.B.O. called me privately, after which I got in touch with our record company and told them to please come to an amicable agreement with the band. If you do a cover version, you just have to register it beforehand. For example, we wanted to change the 'Das Model' by Kraftwerk covers and the lyric to " She's a whore and she's good-looking ". Kraftwerk didn't agree with that, and that was the end of the matter. J.B.O. didn't ask beforehand, which isn't a bad thing, because if another band plays a song of yours, it means that your song must be really good. One day someone called us and wanted to change a line of text from the track 'Rammstein' to "Rammstein - bad breath is in the air" - as long as he reports it, we have no problem with it. I know how difficult it is to finish a record and I'm really sorry that J.B.O. had to stamp a part of their CD because of this. In the future I'll make sure that something like this doesn't happen again, but of course I can't take care of everything — after all, I also have to make music on the side...  »

[jmdbjk]

Vibe

Overall, VIBE the song is catchy with that deep base beat. I like a good beat to just mindlessly bop all day. 

The lyrics are sort of superficial, very "love you baby you have all my attention baby we got a vibe baby". Which is ok. Many of my favorite non-BTS songs are pretty superficial. So there’s nothing that’s gonna make me think too hard with this song. 

Now they are giving Jimin writing credit on the song. Previously it was just composing credit. Now people are speculating which lyrics he may have written. My guess is the neutralizing of any mention of gender as a possibility. Of course, if we must go there, Taeyang would be singing as an idol to his fans or about his wife when he says “girl” in the lyrics. Jimin, however, used the word “baby” so would be singing about his baby ...whoever that might be... 

[what is JK doing here for this song review post? (heh heh)]

BUT!!! Jimin’s vocals!!!! Those high notes!!! His delivery!!!! A taste of what’s to come with his solo album. Everytime I think about it I am on the edge of berserk.

The Vibe video...I was not wowed by the actual production of the video though because my expectations and standards are BTS sky high. I always expect cinematic excellence and/or storytelling in their music videos. Didn’t get any of that with this video.

The thing that bothered me the most was that large circular sofa thingy. It was out of place. What was the purpose of it? Just to hide Jimin’s lower body and then he is released from the confines of it when they pull it apart? It was a lost opportunity of taking advantage of showcasing their feature guest star that they probably paid a bunch of money for and who is the best dancer in the industry. Just to hide with a dumb sofa. The number of views would be millions more if we got to see Jimin’s lower half dancing instead of the backside of a dumb sofa.

Yes, skyline of Seoul (somewhat). Yes Han River, Nam Mountain. What does that have to do with a big ol’ modular sofa that looks like a spare piece of furniture from a hotel lobby? Maybe I am missing some intricate nuance. The rest of the set was a big yawn for me too (just my opinion)... maybe the song is really about Seoul itself... it’s a vibe... 

[wtf?]

And they did not focus as much on the dance as I expected which is always a let down even in BTS productions. STOP WITH THE CAMERA WORK and just put them on that raised stage and let them dance! Thank goodness for the tiktok vid so we can see the choreo head to toe.

Taeyang is quoted as saying something to the effect that he saw Jimin was more passionate than he was and that he (Taeyang) learned from it. Which made me laugh because I can imagine what triggered that comment: Jimin saying “let’s do it one more time” ... probably ten times. HAHAHAHAHA. Taeyang learned what a perfectionist you are, Jimin. 

Yes, that’s why our boys rule the top. They work hard and are never satisfied, always striving to be better. 

[He looks so good in that suit. Certainly his own suit and probably has worn it before.]

When Jimin releases his album, we just all need to get on our knees, bare our necks and let him slay us en masse because that’s what will happen (that was sort of  gruesome, sorry). 

[schismusic]

On June 13th the Biografilm Festival in Bologna hosted the world preview of Uzeda: Do It Yourself by documentary director Maria Arena. Apart from the fact that calling it a "world preview" implies a level of attention to the movie that we could define as slightly oversold to the unwitting audiences, I was one of the expectant ones, having been following the project ever since it started its crowdfunding campaign. Much to my surprise, the campaign actually did grant enough money to proceed with the production. The reason why I'm so surprised has nothing to do with the actual quality of the output, including the short excerpts they were, at the time, already posting on social media — more on this later, but the gist of it is: it's great and we knew it. That is exactly why I was so worried at first: such a good project, with high production values for an independent documentary, about a band that just about no one gives a fuck about in Italy save for a very passionate ten or so people? I was afraid that, despite all my best hopes, the crowdfunding would barely scrape by at best.

I have never been happier to be proven wrong.

According to what Maria Arena herself said after the showing, the doc had been in the making (and I mean in the actual making, as in Arena was already going around Catania with the band shooting video of them and of PJ — a musicologist from UCLA who wrote a whole ass PhD dissertation about lo-fi and independent rock) as far back as 2016. Leonardo Sciascia would have probably argued that such an endeavour is "very Sicilian", which of course reflects very well on the approach taken by Uzeda themselves. For starters, the band name. The Duke of Uceda — Italianized into "Uzeda", of course, and take a deep breath before you go on — Juan Francisco Antonio Alonso María José Domingo Pacheco y Téllez-Girón was the one to reconstruct Val di Noto after the 1693 earthquake and subsequent Etna eruption which destroyed the city of Catania. Of course, the southern gateway into the city of Catania itself is also named Porta Uzeda. If that wasn't enough, on more than one occasion the band themselves, and especially drummer Davide Oliveri, the band noted how growing up where they did proved crucial to their music. It was pretty special (for me, but I assume for him as well) to see Davide be complimented, on the site of the showing, by a literal eightysix-year-old from Syracuse, Sicily.

That's what gets me: this isn't exactly music you would show your grandfather, per se. I know I wouldn't show it to mine, for example. And yet this dude waltzed into a projection room and still managed to pull some relevant insight out of the proverbial top hat. Call it genius loci, gut-feeling intuition, shared sensitivity informed by coexistence or, simply, good predisposition. This eightysix-year-old gets Uzeda, possibly much deeper than you or I ever will. Which I guess stands as a testament to what it means to do what you like, to stick to your guns and yet at the same time to find a way to stand within the grooves of consummate professionalism. Uzeda are all trained musicians, and this is a very important distinction to make in the context of punk and punk-adjacent music. Throughout the film the band insist on how studying with someone, learning to play music from someone else was a crucial experience that did not in any way, shape or form stop them or prevent them from playing exactly the music they wanted. Meeting a band like Bastro at a festival in Berlin was an opportunity to unlock a new style of music to play; churning scales over and over throughout the whole fretboard led Agostino Tilotta to start looking for what he himself calls "non-scales", if anything. And studying with other musicians certainly gave the rhythm section of this band an impulse to professionalism: Oliveri, at the very least, worked as a composer for an animated musical and as a songwriter on Gianna Nannini's Aria album; Raffaele Gulisano, bassist, also doubles as a high school teacher, while Tilotta and Cacciola choose not to make of this music their own profession.

Tilotta especially is often framed by Arena, or her director of photography whose name I don't remember off the top of my head, like a Sergio Leone character: a unique face capable of powerful expressions standing in stark contrast to and at the same time in perfect complementarity with the surrounding environment. This brings to mind how Leone himself would cast extras based solely on their faces, without really asking them to act. I can only imagine just how dazzling, for a director such as Arena, or for any director really, it must have been to have someone with a face like Tilotta's to work with. And with his endeavor: the man is a riot, a one-man show. The legendary Albini skit about Fake Italian makes a whole lot more sense when you hear Tilotta himself speak his ornate, calculated English.

But of course Uzeda is almost inseparable from their own Steve Albini connections. The single opening credit of the movie ("To Steve") hits incredibly harder than expected. According to Arena and her editor, the movie was left untouched even after May 8th, 2024: a testament to poignant editing and beautiful personalities. Oliveri spent a good five minutes constantly underlining just how profoundly good, kind, approachable, just how much of a friend Albini had been to them since the very earliest days working together — and just how much of a void he leaves behind in the wake of his passing. And of course I believe their friendship stems from a number of core values the band and their producer — rather, engineer, as he would have preferred — shared, chief amongst them the idea that one must persist. Like I said in my Joy Division post, and just like Coil and Israel Regardie. The capability to stay true to one's self implies understanding that there is no one-self to abide by except the one present at any given time.

As for the band themselves? Well, they were with Shellac on May 26, 2015. And that's not the sort of show you can ever complain about. Go watch this fucking movie when it's out.