#yes the title is a fleetwood mac reference

[ouiouhie]

gold dust woman 💫

[thelightsandtheroses]

when the rain washes you clean, you'll know

Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: Secrets can’t stay hidden forever, not with these rainy days anyway … Warnings: 18+ blog, MDNI, secret relationship vibes, sexual tension, passing mentions of sexism and work, flangst (is it a lolabee fic without this?), copious references to rainy seasons and rain, poor communication, elements of rivalry if you squint maybe? Notes: This is my entry for the very lovely @undercoverpena’s April Showers challenge and I would like to thank this event for giving me some Javi P inspo. The fic title is from the brilliant Fleetwood Mac Dreams. Word Count: 2.7k

April brings the rain in Bogotá. You hear that in Cartagena, they get an extra month of dryness, but you’ve never minded water. You’re used to it.

If you were at your apartment now; with rain pitter pattering against glass windows, steaming coffee in your cup and a whole evening away from the office ahead of you, it would be better, you’d enjoy this moment. Instead, you’re desperately searching your handbag in the vain hope that this time around you will find an umbrella.

The embassy has a few umbrellas near the entrances and exits, but these have already been purloined by people leaving work before you. That will teach you to work late, to try and impress Messina again in vain.

This job isn’t what you expected. You wanted to expand your horizons, to do something wild and reckless with your life while you could. It seemed sensible to do this now, before mortgages and future commitments and expectations made it too difficult to be spontaneous.

The post in Colombia, working for Claudia Messina, seemed like a perfect opportunity. When you were told about it, all you could think was how it would certainly be a change from your small-town world and to learn from a woman rising in a male-dominated field was a dream, as well as a chance to stop the bad guys? You said yes almost automatically.

The reality is different to the images you’d let run wild in your mind. You’re not an active agent, you’re mostly doing translations, paperwork and shadowing Messina. The DEA’s office is dark and dank, illuminated by artificial bulbs and full of cigarette smoke. Your apartment is small and loud. Work takes so much of your time that you feel like you never explore this beautiful country or city and now it’s the wet season.

You feel like your adventure hasn’t yet started. It’s been weeks since you moved here and despite your best intentions, this isn’t what you had hoped for.

“Where are you parked?” a voice asks softly behind you. You turn around and see Agent Javier Peña - the source of most of your late nights of work as you try and untangle his messes or work on a better case for Messina to present.

When you had first joined the DEA office, one of the women in the office had taken you under her wing and shared the gossip and news about all of your new colleagues. She told you that Agent Peña has been in Colombia for years though, longer than most of the other active DEA agents.

He has a reputation. It’s all she’s needed to say to you about him.

Your few conversations with Javier have been professional, concise and fine. You’ve tried to notice his smile, the way he slightly changes his voice when he speaks to you, or any women. You refuse to be a notch in an already impressive bedpost, or to be the woman people talk about.

He might have a reputation, but from what you’ve heard, he’s one of the ‘good guys’. It lowers your guard; lets you point vaguely in the direction of your car. Javier smiles.

It’s a good smile. You can understand the rumours with a smile like that.

“We haven’t met, have we? I’m Javi” Five words. It takes only five words for Javier Peña to ruin everything. “I’d definitely remember seeing someone like you. Which uh, office are you in?”

You stand stonily silent, listening to the water running off the umbrella. Javier looks at you, brow furrowed as you extend the silence.

The rain does sound beautiful.

You open your car door and get in. Part of you wants to leave Javier right there, standing dumbfounded in the rain, his clothes getting damper by the second, the rain pouring over his stupid umbrella.

“I work for Messina, Peña, in the same damn office,” you say finally before slamming the door shut and starting your car engine.

“You changed your hair,” he says, hands on his hips defensively as he stands over your desk. “What’s your problem, Agent Peña?” “You changed your hair, that’s why I didn’t recognise you.” “Right.” You’re proud you manage to avoid physically rolling your eyes at his excuses. “It’s true,” he argues, shifting his position slightly. “Uh huh.” You remember that Colleen has boasted about him noticing her damn nail varnish so this feels weak at best so this hardly feels plausible, but as you look up you notice that Javi appears genuinely disturbed at your reaction. You take in his appearance further, now he’s not at the end of another busy day, isn’t fighting away rain in a damp suit and shirt, with curls peeking through his hair. Today he’s wearing a white shirt with a black pattern on it, his hair slightly scruffy, but moustache carefully sculpted. He smells like cologne and cigarettes. Sweet, woody notes trying to mask smoke and drawing you in like a siren’s song. “Look, this has been … delightful, but do excuse me, Agent Peña,” you say coolly, focusing on each syllable of his surname because you at least remember his name, at least you remember meeting him before yesterday. “I need to get back to work.” “Oh, well, please don’t let me keep you,” Javi replies with a sardonic tone, one eyebrow raised and his arms folded. “I shan’t.” You don’t move. “Must be very important work,” he says pleasantly, a slight smirk at your lack of movement. “Well, someone has to actually work around here,” you reply sweetly.

You don’t need to be a special agent to know that everybody has secrets. It’s a fact of life. There will always be things we keep from others, especially at work. Most of them will be mild and harmless, but some of them won’t be. It’s a constant.

There’s a reliability to this idea that perhaps you’re never getting the true person in front of you; just the shiny version that they want to project, the one that masks all the little secrets like they can’t quit smoking, or they drink milk straight from the carton.

It’s you too. You have a secret.

Your secret is wearing a light blue shirt today. Your secret is walking down the hallway arguing with his colleague. Your secret is the smell of cigarette smoke, whispered words and so much heat.

Your secret now is Agent Javier Peña.

He’s been your secret for weeks; weeks since the teasing banter developed into something else, to lingering touches, to kisses that you need like breathing and hands that map your body in a way you can hardly describe. You spent the month break from rainstorms in between yours and Javi’s apartments under the cover of night and cloud. Now it’s raining again, the wet season truly living up to its name.

Down in the DEA office, you can’t hear or see the rain outside. The windowless, dimly lit basement is a world away from the bustle of Bogota’s streets, yet somehow still is damp. Colombia’s wetness permeates through poorly maintained vents, through wet umbrellas in the bucket by the office door that hint at a world outside.

Steve and Javier are arguing. It’s not subtle, not a quiet disagreement between colleagues. It’s hands on hips, hands in the air, shaking heads and barely concealed curse words.

Maybe you should say something.

Or maybe not.

You try and return to your paperwork and the steaming mug of coffee you’ve been anticipating ever since your morning cup. There’s a coffee shop a few steps from your apartment building and you’ve finally convinced them to sell you some of their coffee blend. It’s not quite the same, but it’s close.

You think of breakfast this morning. The ghost of Javi’s lips on yours.

There’s a noise, a clearing of a throat and you look up to see Steve and Javi standing in front of your desk.

“Messina’s in meetings until five.”

“I know,” Javi says.

“It’s you, we want to speak to.”

You raise an eyebrow. Whatever this is between you and Javi relies on the two of you barely acknowledging one another in the office.

“You’re fluent in Spanish, right?” Steve asks directly.

You nod, still perplexed at how Steve’s Spanish is . “Why?”

“Firearm trained? You’re not just a desk jockey, right? You’re qualified?”

“Came third in my class.” You may have been a little higher if not for a terrible argument with your parents two days before your final exam. It hadn’t been your finest hour. You still carry it with you in every awkward phone call, every stilted letter home.

“Okay. That’s good. So, I don’t see the problem, Javi.”

“She came third. Who came first?’

“Really?” you ask incredulously, hurt and anger raging. How fucking dare he? You’ve told him about how hard it is to be taken seriously in the department, how the sexist roots prevail even with Messina in charge. Institutions can’t change overnight - they need people like you to fight them. Javi had emphasised, talked about his own barriers, the presumptions people had from his surname, his heritage.

He has the decency to look away, eyes abashed and fixated on the floor. Good, you think, that’s the very least he could do.

“I can get one of my informants -” No, you think, no, not one of Javi’s informants. You’ll do it, whatever Steve needs, surely you can do it instead?

“What do you need, Steve?”

This morning feels a world away now, but you let the memory take you away from this moment, from Javi’s inscrutable look when you said yes to Steve, from the fact you’re doing something this brave, this dangerous. You remember the coffee on the stove, its rich aroma seeping through the room as you wander out of Javi’s bedroom. Hands behind, wrapping around your wait and turning you around to meet his kiss. His hands move down your nightdress, teasing at the lacy hem as he moves them underneath. Laughing between kisses. “It’s raining,” you say. “I noticed,” he teases, tracing kisses down to your neck and then back up your jaw. “I think of you when it rains.” “Oh, yeah?” Javi stops for a second and looks at you quizzically. “Of how we got talking, of how we got from there, in that moment to here.” “Well ,I’ve never been more grateful to be caught in the rain.”

You’re starting to wonder if there was ever a time in Colombia that it wasn’t raining. The stormy clouds add to the greyness and foreboding of the street you’re currently parked in.

“Don’t,” Javi says quietly, the rain hitting the car windows and roof, echoing loudly around you. “Please don’t do this.”

You chance a look at him. “Do you not believe I can do this?” you ask, the concealed firearm heavy on your side, the wire Javi had put on feeling all to visible to you. He’d swallowed as he did it, featherlight fingers trying not to linger, you wondered if he was also trying not to default to the usual way he’d touch you.

“Oh, baby, I know you can.” Javi swallows. “But I want to be selfish and tell you not to do this. This isn’t a game, it’s not a drill -”

“I know that. I’ve been through the same training -”

“It’s different. You’ve not seen what I’ve seen.”

“I can handle it,” you reply simply.

“I don’t want you to.”

“Don’t be a sexist.”

“Don’t be so naive then, goddammit!”

“I’ve read the reports, studied the intel. I am not some naive ingenue here, Javi, fuck you for saying that. You made out I was stupid earlier, like I was some -”

“I’m sorry.” You can hear the apology is genuine.

You don’t reply, letting the rain speak for you instead. If you’re honest, you are nervous. This is your first undercover assignment and is so beyond the comfort and safety provided by your windowless desk.

It’s the job though, it’s what is needed.

“I’ve got this, Javi, whether or not you believe in me,”

“I do believe in you. I am sorry. I just - I don’t like it out here. I don’t like me out here, I don’t like who I am or who I become and I don’t - you’re still you. That’s part of what I love about you.”

You raise an eyebrow, meet Javi’s gaze. “Love, huh?”

You expect him to walk his words back, to huff or not say a word. He just shrugs.

“You ready?” Steve asks through the walkie talkie.

You nod before catching yourself, pressing the button and saying, “Yes, yeah, I’m ready and in position.”

“Okay, keep it to what we agreed, nothing else and keep it quick.”

Next to you, Javi looks at you pointedly, reinforcing Steve’s words.

“Understood,” you say and you can’t help but chance a smile at Javi as you unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the car.

Rain hitting your skin.

Your heart’s racing, it’s so loud you can feel it in your ears. The incessant beating and drumming of adrenaline coursing through your body.

You should be cold, but you’re not. Not as they load them into the van, as Steve pats you on the back to congratulate you on a job well done.

You wish your undercover persona was the type of woman who wore a coat on a rainy night. You wrap your arms around yourself.

You can still hear the gunshot. The shouts.

There’s a weight on your shoulder, the scent of cologne, cigarettes … Javi permeating through your haze.

He stands next to you, leaning against the wall, a lit cigarette between his fingers.

“I’m fine,” you say urgently.

“I know.”

“It’s just … a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought they had made me towards the end.”

Javi pauses, taking a long drag of his cigarette before offering you it. You accept it with surprisingly shaky hands.

“I did too,” he admits in a low voice.

“But they didn’t.”

“They didn’t.” Javi pauses. “You did great.”

“You haven’t.”

“I haven’t, what?” he asks playfully, turning to face you. In the dim streetlight, you notice each feature of his face, how it’s illuminated in yellow light and how deep brown his eyes really are. His brow is furrowed, hair slightly dishevelled in the way you normally associate with a good night, but you know from his bad days in the office is from running his hand through his hair too many times.

“Changed,” you say. “You said you don’t like who you become, but you’re you, Javi. I like you. All of you.”

“You say shit like that, I’m going to end up kissing you right here.”

“Dare you,” you tease.

He smirks. “I would,” he replies in a low voice.

“It’d be romantic, with the rain and all. Maybe less so with our colleagues around though. ”

“Is that what you want?”

“Do you?” It’s the first time the two of you have broached this subject. For months, you’ve existed in peace with the parts of Javi he can give you out of an assumption that was all that he could offer. Today seems to have changed things though.

Javi swallows.

“Take away the job, or who you’re hunting, take it all away for a moment. Would you want - would you want to be with me like that?”

“If we were in Texas, if none of this was going on, then nothing would stop me.”

“I’ve never been to Texas,” you muse.

“When this is over, we can go,” Javi says and the vulnerability in his eyes is so alien.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Looks like it’s still raining,” Javi says, noticing your attention at the view outside.

“Yep,” you say, “I suppose we should head back to everyone else, right? Finish the paperwork?”

“I didn’t say it this morning, but I think of you too. When it rains, I always think of you.”

Tag List

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

[msmargaretmurry]

11, 18, 20 please?

11. Link your three favorite fics right now.

augh okay so, i have not been reading a ton of fic this summer? i've been in a big books mood. i have like 50 hockey fics open in tabs that i will very likely be injecting directly into my brain the moment grad school kills the part of me that can read books for pleasure. i share this because i assume the people want hockey fic recs but tragically i don't really have any i haven't linked before, so this these are some old non-hockey favorites that i've very recently revisted for reasons.

By Small and Small by luxover — band of brothers, babe/roe, teen, 43k, constantly returning to this fic to bask in how masterfully done the modern au is in a fandom where i usually hate modern aus!

And like the cycle of the year, we begin again by katherynefromphilly — bbc merlin, arthur/merlin, mature, 207k, the ending to that godforsaken tv show that we deserved, once every 2–3 years i go into a fugue state and reread this whole thing and apparently that is where i am right now 🥴

Hunger by Helenish — the bear, carmy/richie, mature, 3.3k, obviously after s2 of the bear i had to reread!!

18. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

usually during the writing process, but sometimes after i have a draft, and sometimes when i have opened the ao3 new work page to post. for short fics it's usually just a lyric or quote that i think kinda encapulates the theme of the fic (a time-honored fanfic tradition). for longer fics, i usually have an idea of what kind of vibe i want the title to have long before i'm done writing, so workshopping title ideas becomes a fun little procrastination activity for when i should be writing but am not writing. with tnno, i knew all along that the title would be tnno; with haw, i didn't title it until i had the ao3 posting page open — both of those have titles that are references within the fics themselves as opposed to references to outside things (although "the next next one" is obviously also stolen from the hockey media). i don't know whomst among my tumblr friends has read any of my non-hockey stuff but "come and make the hymns of you" is a walt whitman reference and one of my favorite titles i've used. "the very best of" is a reference to career retrospective albums (e.g. "the very best of fleetwood mac").

20. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

oh yes very much so, haha. my characters love to have important conversations in the kitchen or in the middle of the night or in the kitchen in the middle of the night. i love metaphors, i love symbolism. there's always gonna be some fuckin symbolism. weather metaphors. themes-wise, my characters are constantly learning to trust themselves and trust the people who love them. they're always convincing themselves that they're content with what they have while actively drowning in yearning. i KNOW i have words/expressions that appear a lot but i'm kind of blanking right now. probably like, the physical sensations of emotion. tightness in the chest and lumps in the throat and turning stomachs all that 😂

[explorersaremadeofhope]

I was tagged by @anthonymire (thank you!)

Take your 3 most recently liked songs on Spotify (or the first 3 that pop up on shuffle, whichever you want) and you have to 1) choose a line from each song to be a fic title and 2) tell me the genre of fic it would be and any other fic description you feel inspired to include.

here are the first three songs from shuffle!

this too shall pass - danny schmidt: honestly this song has really good lyrics overall, but i feel like "with awe and with respect" would make a good title. it would probably be gen and a bit sad - perhaps referring to death, or perhaps, for a terror fic, referring (as it does in the song!) to the natural world in all its cruel glory.

black magic woman - fleetwood mac: lmao okay this one would have to be something upbeat, probably something smutty and a bit humorous. "don't turn your back on me baby" could work for that, so could "got your spell on me baby", perhaps in the latter case with ye olde fanfic parentheses, like so: "got your spell on me (baby)", just for the fun of it. i think it would probably have to involve a wee bit of kink. not sure about a specific ship though!

the third was classical (if anyone is curious, paganini cantabile in d major, op 17, played by vilde frang) so we're moving on!

familiar - agnes obel: so this is already a cold boys song for me because of the references to being haunted by each other, loving in secret for fear of others finding out, climbing mountains together just the two of you, can you walk on the water if i do, etc. i think i might pick "walk on the water" from this one and it might refer to a story about overcoming that fear of others knowing, and learning to love freely and enjoy it, even if it still has to be known only to a few. but i could also see it for a rossier fic about the exhilaration of having someone at your side who makes you better, makes you able to reach heights you otherwise couldn't, makes it easy.

i'm not tagging anybody specific rn (sorry!) because i'm very sleeby tired (and i've tagged a lot of people recently, heh) so i will Very Strongly encourage anyone who sees this and wants to do it (yes, that includes you) to do it and say i told you to.

[the-kiwi-lady-pendragon]

I posted 14,292 times in 2022

14 posts created (0%)

14,278 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@imthedoctortobiasfunke

@shitfridge

@dot--png

@aunt-turner

@vampirewingsfantasy

I tagged 1,297 of my posts in 2022

#ofmd - 429 posts

#our flag means death - 421 posts

#heartstopper - 256 posts

#nick nelson - 137 posts

#bridgerton - 122 posts

#kanthony - 111 posts

#charlie spring - 98 posts

#bridgerton spoilers - 96 posts

#kathony - 81 posts

#ofmd spoilers - 75 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#at very least i’m not making myself more worked up by stressing about how little sleep i’m getting and how it’s going to fuck me up tomorrow

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I am a freak. I have hands and I have feet, and if you saw me you'd faint, you'd be petrified, mummified, turned into stone or a pillar of salt!

have you ever seen me without this hat

1 note - Posted February 21, 2022

#4

you now have red flags by tom cardy stuck in your head

Incorrect anon I don’t remember that one, I now have HYCYBH stuck in my head

1 note - Posted February 21, 2022

#3

have you ever done a shoey

anon what is this about. ask me off anon I just want to talk

1 note - Posted February 21, 2022

#2

Is the pendragon in youe name for Merlin or do you just really like dragons and are using the original name to say that you are the kiwi queen of dragons? Or both?

Hahaha unfortunately I don't check my asks almost ever so I always miss this kind of stuff but yes!

The "Pendragon" in my name is for Merlin, but it also has another meaning — I have more pens than any one human should own, I just seem to end up with more and more, until I have little baskets of them. So I like to joke that I'm like a Pen-Dragon, a dragon who collects pens instead of gold.

The "Lady" part is like how they refer to Morgana as Lady Morgana and that — I thought it would be cool to be Lady Pendragon lol.

The "Kiwi" part is because "the-lady-pendragon" was gone, and I'm from New Zealand, so I thought I'd see if it was free!

2 notes - Posted April 20, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

"The Chain" by Fleetwood Mac, as sung by the Our Flag Means Death fandom on AO3

I hope no one has done this already!

I was listening to this song the other day for about the millionth time, and it occurred to me the amount of fics I had seen with titles from this song. So have this! The first piece of fan-content I have made in a loooooong time

I only used fics from the Our Flag Means Death fandom on AO3 for this — I just need one lovely writer to fill that small gap in the middle! Oh the fics exist in other fandoms sure, but that’s not the point of this little exercise

(insp: take me to ao3)

Update: Thank you @theonewhosawtherest​ for filling the gap!

104 notes - Posted April 20, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[malenkaya-glosoli]

The most bizarre puppet show ever and the tragic, twisted and true story behind it

TRIGGER WARNING/CONTENT WARNING: mentions of religious abuse, physical abuse, s**ual abuse of children, m**der and s**cide.

Have you ever heard of “Joy Junction”? For those who haven’t, it was this low-budget Christian-themed children’s puppet show from back in the 80s. Only two full episodes are known to still exist, the rest have been lost, and the guy who created the show, starred in it and voiced one of the puppets got arrested for possession of CP a few years back. But this post isn’t going to be about “Joy Junction”. There exists a similar puppet show from the same time period that has even more disturbing content, a twisted backstory, was created by what is perhaps one of the worst religious cults to ever exist, and was based on the tragic lives of three very real children. Before I describe the puppet show, it’s necessary to explain some of this group’s history. It’s a long story, but I’ll try to explain as much as space here allows.

The puppet show I’m going to talk about today is called “Life With Grandpa”. It was made and distributed on VHS in 1985, about three years after the comic series of the same title that it was based on. The episode is based on the “Three Little Accidents” issue and the Bible story of “The Rich Fool”. I only found out about its existence yesterday; at the time of writing this it was posted to YouTube almost a month ago by UFO CULT VHS, a YouTuber who uploads mostly footage of bizarre old no-budget children’s shows and public access TV, stuff like that. If you’ve never heard of, or better yet, didn’t grow up with any children’s show or comic strip called “Life With Grandpa”, then you’re fortunate enough not to have grown up in the religious cult that at the time of this video’s creation was known as The Family. They had recently shortened their name from The Family of Love, which itself had been the name they switched to in 1978 when they faked a disbanding. Before that, they were called the Children of God. Since 2004 their current name is The Family International. And yes, this is the same cult that Joaquin Phoenix was born into. Even Jeremy Spencer of Fleetwood Mac is a longtime member ever since he joined the cult in 1971. This is also the cult that made the “S.O.S.” music video compilation that was featured on a 2014 episode of Red Letter Media’s “Best of the Worst”.

The titular “Grandpa” of the show was the cult’s founder and leader David Brandt Berg, who had been a pastor with the Christian and Missionary Alliance and who was the son of popular travelling evangelists Hjalmer and Virginia Berg. Although he was 50 years old when he founded The Family in 1968, the vast majority of members were teenage hippies, runaways and young people, as their original name, “Teens For Christ”, makes clear. The group was founded on the belief that they were living in the biblical End Times and with a big emphasis on communal living and “forsaking all”. The outside world was known as “the System”, and non-members and people in normal society were called “Systemites”. While Berg went by many pseudonyms and names during his time as leader — Moses, Mo, Moses David, King David, and The Last Endtime Prophet — the young adults referred to him mostly as “Dad”, and all children born into the cult were taught to refer to him as “Grandpa”. The cult was originally founded in Huntington Beach, California, but by 1972 Berg had left the States and moved to a secret location in England with his secretary, mistress and “second wife” Karen Zerby, who had joined the cult in 1969 at age 23 and had become known within it as Maria. From then on they and their entourage would live in a series of these secret locations in countries around the globe, oftentimes in poorer countries so as to avoid suspicion and capture. Berg was so obsessed with secrecy that even most of his own followers never knew his exact location or even what he looked like — especially in the 1970s, the majority of illustrations of him depicted him as an anthropomorphic cartoon lion, and most photos of him that he allowed to be included in the cult’s publications were censored with illustrations of the lion’s head drawn over his face. Two of his housemates — and most devoted followers — were Sara Kelley and her husband Alfred Kelley, known within “Life With Grandpa” as Auntie Sara and Uncle Alf. By the mid-1970s the group had about 10,000 members living in over 100 countries.

Starting in 1973 the Family began one of their most infamous practices: “Flirty Fishing”, or “FF-ing”, in which mostly young women would go out to seduce and sleep with men in the hopes of increasing the membership and getting donations for the group. The practice was inspired by the Bible verse in which Jesus tells two of his future disciples that he will make them “fishers of men”. Karen Zerby was the first of the “Flirty Fishers”. Flirty Fishing was at first restricted to Berg’s inner circle before being introduced to the general membership in 1976 via one of his numerous “Mo Letters”, a collection of bizarre and rambling letters which offered advice on a variety of spiritual and practical subjects and often served as a means of introducing policies, doctrines and “prophecies”, came with a cover showing a comic book style illustration to help the reader understand the subject, — and which often were VERY sexually explicit, offensive, or promoting and condoning of criminal acts. Berg would ultimately write about 3,000 of these letters from 1970 until his death in 1994.

Although in The Family's earliest years the teachings surrounding s**uality were very puritanical, Berg didn’t practise what he preached until the death of his repressive mother in 1969, and then, slowly but surely, things completely changed. In around 1974 Berg introduced to his followers the beginning of a doctrine devoted to “showing God’s love through s**”. He called this “the Law of Love” — and he declared that there were no age or relationship limits on the Law of Love and that everything was fine as long as it was done in love, even if it went against society’s laws. His adult children had already suffered from the consequences of this belief growing up, but now Berg was about to unleash it on a whole new generation of members.

It wasn’t long until Flirty Fishing indeed caused an increase in membership, and the new members were more than just the “fish” themselves. Because all contraception was strictly forbidden, hundreds of thousands of the Flirty Fishers found themselves pregnant, and the resulting children were known as “Jesus Babies”.

During a stay in Tenerife in the Canary Islands of Spain in 1974, Karen Zerby found one of her many “fish” in a local man known only as Carlos, who worked as a waiter at the Bel Air Hotel. On January 25, 1975, she gave birth to a son, who was given the name David Moses Zerby. Carlos did not stay for long after this, so Berg proclaimed himself as the baby’s spiritual father and raised him in his household, although no official adoption ever took place. As an adult, possibly in an effort to distance himself from Berg, the younger David changed his name to Richard Peter Rodriguez, known to his friends and family as “Rick” or “Ricky”. But before he began his new life and identity as Ricky, he was David, or Davidito, and everyone around him and thousands of cultists around the world revered him as the Chosen One, the Prince, the first Prophet from the Book of Revelation, literally from the moment he was born. All of his firsts and all his activities were meticulously jotted down and released for all cult members to read. And with the boy’s birth, Berg came to see his household as that of a Royal Family. In his mind, he was the king, Karen was his Queen Maria, and baby David was their prince and heir apparent. But Berg’s ideas of how “his” son should be prepared for this “kingship” would ultimately become a source of the child’s humiliation and lifelong torment. He commissioned Sara Kelley and a group of other young women in the household to become David’s “nannies” and to meticulously record every detail of his life and upbringing, and they took this command very seriously and followed it to the letter. Several years later, they compiled their records into a book chronicling the first few years of the boy’s life. That book had content so incriminating that it was later edited into a “clean” edition before being ultimately destroyed. Even worse — it was intended to be a child-rearing manual.

In 1976, Sara gave birth to a daughter. Because she was so close in age to David, and despite the lack of blood relation, the girl, named Davida, was raised as his little sister, a bond that the two reinforced themselves even years later after all the trauma they endured together. But, disturbingly, she was also raised to be his future wife. Three years after Davida, Karen had a daughter of her own, Christina, better known by her nickname Techi.

In 1982, the “Life With Grandpa” comics began to be produced and printed for the youngest of children in the cult to read. It was based on real events in the lives of the three “Royal Children” and intended to teach moral lessons. As I mentioned earlier, the puppet show adaptation was produced in 1985 — and it is honestly one of the most bizarre and inane things I’ve ever seen. The puppets are voiced by an unknown cast doing their best impressions of the voices of Berg and the others, they look like a weird hybrid between ventriloquist dummies and hand-puppets, and they are some of the most terrifying puppets you’ll ever see. THEY LITERALLY NEVER BLINK, and it doesn’t help that they’re almost constantly shown in close-up and staring at the viewer. The dialogue is BAD and even worse when you realise it’s how these people actually talked in real life and the children obviously didn’t know anything else. The story takes place between short songs. The first song is a boy singing about how he had a best friend in his pet duck Quacky until Quacky died and how he can’t wait to join him in Heaven someday, and the second song is a girl sitting next to a burning candle and singing about how it represents “the Lord’s love” or something — all while staring into the camera with those dead, unblinking eyes. The third song is at the end of the video, and the ending is where things take a turn for the absolutely chilling.

In this episode the puppet of David says “our story lessons today are on obedience and sharing” and narrates how the “three little accidents” happened and the “lessons” he and Davida learned from them. “Jesus loves you and will take care of you always, even when you're naughty. But sometimes, if you've been disobedient, he'll take care of you with a spanking, to try to make you be good!” The first accident happened when David was two years old. He was playing with toy cars on Berg’s bed and began to play too roughly and wouldn’t stop when the adults told him to, and then he fell off the bed and bumped his head on the dresser. Their responses? “Jesus, please help David’s head not to hurt or come up in a big bump.” “Do you think it was the Lord who let you get bumped? You were disobedient, like Jonah. So the Lord sent you a bonk on the head to teach you a lesson, like He sent a whale to swallow Jonah.” Etc.

The second accident happened one day “when we were camping in France” and Davida ran down a gravel hill and cut her forehead. Sara and Alfred go up to her: “I don’t even have enough tissues, I'll just have to lick it clean and spit out the dirt!” “Please Lord, heal Davida’s cut, help it not to hurt and please stop the bleeding so that we can get her back to the caravan.” “Lord forgive me for not having enough tissues! Anyone caring for children should always have cologne and tissues!” Sara puts an “egg skin bandage” on Davida’s cut. Invoking Jesus the whole time. “Now, with care and prayer, and without washing, it should heal up into a brown scab within a few days. We’ll have to really pray that there won’t be a scar!” The next morning at devotions Davida recites the verse she learned about “afflictions”. “I was afflicted because I ran astray, but it is good that I was afflicted so that I may learn my statutes. I shouldn’t have been disobedient, I should have held your hand like you said.” “You didn’t tune into the prayer before the walk, or even say amen when we claimed promises for your safety, and so the Lord had to teach you a hard lesson for your disobedience.”

Accident three happened when David and Davida fell into the fireplace while playing rough near it and almost hurt themselves. Sara and Alfred’s reaction: “I warned you to settle down, but you disobeyed and didn’t listen! So we’re going to have to give you both a good spanking! The Lord says, ‘As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten.’ Jesus spanks us because he loves us and wants us to obey and be good.” Later, when the children are talked to and then they recount what they’ve learned: “We spanked you to help you understand how serious little disobediences are. Imagine if there had been a fire burning, you could have been very badly burned.” “Oh, how we cried when we learned how badly hurt we could have been because of our disobedience. So if the Lord should spank YOU a little bit, or correct you, it’s for your own good. It’s because He loves you and wants you to be good and obey so He can reward you with all of His wonderful blessings. Praise the Lord!” “That’s how Jesus loved us enough to spank us!”

Then Sara tells David that the money that gets them food and necessities is really “the Lord’s money” because it comes from the missionaries who pray and work and give so much for them. Before this talk Alfred actually says “I have to be careful with how I spend the Lord’s money.” WTH. The children are read the Bible story of “The Rich Fool” and how he didn’t want to share his money with people who needed it more than him until he lost everything, and when Sara tucks David into bed that night (which was saddening to watch because real life), he prays for Jesus not to let him be greedy and selfish like the Rich Fool. The next day he offers his toy car to Davida and gives “Grandpa” and “Mommy” (Karen) a hug and kiss, whereupon “Mommy” tells David that that love is a “generous gift” and “a beautiful present” and how much they do to love him and that “it makes big people very happy when little people give them love by giving them lots of hugs, kisses and cuddles. A child’s love and affection really inspires and encourages the big people”. GAVE ME CHILLS! The ending song is about “Grandpa” being in love with a robot... a robot which literally has BOOBS jutting from its chest. AND THIS WAS INTENDED FOR VERY YOUNG CHILDREN TO WATCH! Imagine growing up seeing and hearing stuff like that and thinking it’s the most normal thing in the world.

In 1988 The Family officially banned p**o activity — or so they claimed. As David grew older he began to realise the horror of his upbringing and to question everything he’d been taught. He hated being called Davidito, and he hated being treated like he was above everyone else. By 1994 he was Ricky Rodriguez, and it wasn’t just his name that had changed. He was becoming a young man and a new person too. That year he was allowed to visit Family communes in Europe. These communes he visited were less strict and nothing like the inner circle. Here he could be his real self, and everyone was shocked to find that the “prince” they’d read about all their lives was really so humble, sensitive, sweet and completely unwilling to become anything like Berg. And while Ricky was at a commune in Hungary, he met a Venezuelan girl named Nicole Garcia (she later changed her name to Elixcia Munumel). They fell in love — it was his first experience with truly unselfish, harmless love — and Karen only grudgingly allowed Ricky to bring Nicole with him when he had to go to Portugal to move back in with her. Even though he was an adult, Karen still treated him like a child, always telling him what to say and disregarding that he was his own person. That same year, she found herself as the new leader when Berg died there.

Two years later Davida left the cult. Because of her upbringing and in an attempt to numb the trauma, she has struggled with drug use and makes a living as a web model and an exotic dancer. Ricky and Nicole (now Elixcia) left the cult in 2001, moved to Tacoma in Washington State and got married there, but separated in 2004. In those years Ricky tried his hardest to adjust to normal life, but his rage at his upbringing and the abuse that he and his sisters and friends had suffered growing up in the cult was overwhelming him, and he fell deeper and deeper into s**cidal ideation, which had been plaguing him since he was sent to a “teen training” camp at age twelve. He became obsessed with finding his mother, whose location was now kept secret even from him, and he began to work out, take martial arts classes, and was waiting for a carry permit. At Christmas 2004 Ricky moved to Tuscon, Arizona after hearing that Karen had visited her parents with Techi in tow at a local retirement home called Elderhaven, which had ties with The Family. He never did find her, but he did find a woman named Angela Marilyn Smith. Ricky already knew her. She had been one of his nannies when he was a toddler, and in those days her name had been Susan Joy Kauten.

On the night of January 7, 2005, Ricky sat down at his kitchen table and pressed record on his new video camera. The result is nearly an hour of him loading guns, showing off weapons, and telling his life story and laying out his plans for the next night while the Sum 41 album “Chuck” blares in the background. Most of the time he’s calm and composed, but he often slips into angry rants and swears almost non-stop throughout the video. When his friends saw the video later, they were stunned because when they knew Ricky he was always extremely polite and never swore at all. And his eyes are full of exhaustion and resignation.

The next evening Ricky invited Angela to his apartment for dinner, where he interrogated her as to where his mother was and confronted her about the way she helped raise him. When Angela refused to reveal Karen’s location and told him that she only ever loved him and never did anything to hurt him, he attacked her and stabbed her, although it seems that despite his rage he was too merciful to resort to torture. Even now she still did not understand that she had hurt him, and this broke Ricky, who got into his car and drove across the desert for a few hours until he reached the town of Blythe in California at midnight. During the drive he called Elixcia and, trying not to cry, told her that this was the hardest thing he had ever done and begged her to die with him. While at the motel Ricky took a shower, drank some beers and watched some TV for two hours before he got back into his car, drove into the parking lot of the Palo Verde irrigation plant and shot himself. He was just a few weeks shy of his 30th birthday.

The story made headlines at the time, and Ricky’s friends, former Family members themselves, came forward with their own accusations of abuse, but nothing came of it. At the time of Ricky’s death, it was estimated that about 30 former members of The Family International, the majority of them of the second generation, had died mostly from s**cide or overdoses, including River Phoenix. Since then the number has increased to over 100. And the worst part is that David Berg was never brought to justice during his lifetime, and Karen Zerby is still somewhere out there and still at large, as are many other abusers in the cult. Techi remains a member to this day and does not believe that she or any of her siblings were abused. Since the “reboot” in 2010 The Family International has closed its communes and transitioned into an online only community and claims to focus on missionary and humanitarian work in poorer countries. The membership has gained many more freedoms but has shrunk considerably in the past 20 years, currently numbering at about 1,800 members in 80 countries. They ended “Flirty Fishing” in 1987 due to AIDS and since 1995 have abandoned many of their infamous practices (or so they claim) — with the exception of Karen’s “Loving Jesus!” revelation. You can guess what that entails. I hope that regardless of the odds she has set up, she will someday be found and brought to justice for all the suffering she has inflicted on thousands of people.

[piratewithvigor]

My first thought in regard to every band that gets played on my radio station

ACDC: Every dad’s favourite band

Adams, Bryan: Every mom’s favourite singer until Michael Buble came along

Aerosmith: haha they thought Vince Neil was a lady

Alice Cooper: he’s a Game Of Thrones fanboy and I have proof

Alice In Chains: my sister doesn’t like them because she decided AC were Alice Cooper’s initials ONLY

Allman Brothers Band: good music for dropping acid to

Allman, Gregg: That’s too many Gs for one name

Animals: House Of The Rising Sun, or who even cares

Argent: Sometimes Hold Your Head Up is really catchy

Asia: Tuesdays

Autograph: one of the members went on to be a pharmacist

Bachman-Turner Overdrive: There are just so many pop culture jokes about Taking Care Of Business that whatever I say won’t be as funny

Bad Company: with their song; Bad Company, off their album; Bad Company

Benatar, Pat: Always getting her confused with Patti Smith

Black Crowes: I like them for Lickin, but it doesn’t seem to exist outside of one shoddy video on youtube and my old CD

Blackfoot: this band name feels kind of racy

Black Sabbath: Dio was not better or worse than Ozzy; just different

Blondie: I like Call Me, but Blondie confuses me stylistically

Blue Oyster Cult: MORE COWBELL

Bon Jovi: Hello, childhood trauma, I missed you

Boston: ONE GUY. ONE GUY DID IT ALL AND NO ONE KNOWS

Bowie, David: Don’t let your children watch The Man Who Fell To Earth, or David Bowie’s will end up being the third penis they see in life

Browne, Jackson: Another musician ruined by Supernatural

Buffalo Springfield: Jack Nicholson was at the riot they sing about

Burdon, Eric: no ideas, brain empty

Bush: ditto

Candlebox: ditto once more. Who are these people?

Cars: This band feels so gay and so straight at the same time, I can only assume they’re the poster children of bisexual panic

Cheap Trick: I played Dream Police on Guitar Hero so fucking much because it was the only song anyone who played with me could keep up with

Chicago: Chicago 30 exists, but they do not have 30 albums. Fucking riddle me that

Clapton, Eric: 6 discs in one Greatest Hits is too many. That’s called “re releasing your discography”

Cochrane, Tom: For some reason, everyone thinks Rascal Flats did it better

Cocker, Joe: Belushi did it right

Collective Soul: who?

Collins, Phil: If his biggest hits were done by MCR, they would be emo anthems, but because he’s 5′6″ and from the 80s, they’re not

Cream: *Vietnam flashbacks on the hippie side*

CCR: *Vietnam flashbacks on the war side*

CSNY: David Crosby; meh

Deep Purple: THEY’RE SO MUCH MORE THAN SMOKE ON THE WATER

Def Leppard: the only music for when you’re a heartbroken bitch but also a sexy one

Derek And The Dominos: Clapton and ‘Layla’ broke up

Derringer, Rick: Tom Petty if he was from the midwest

Dio: You thought it was an anime reference, but it was me, Dio

Dire Straits: You can tell how bigoted a radio station is based on how much of Money For Nothing they censor

Doobie Brothers: I have yet to smoke weed, but I listen to the Doobies, and I think that’s pretty close

Dylan, Bob: I take back everything I said about him in my youth

Eagles: Hotel California isn’t their best song, but the memes that come from it are second to none

Edgar Winter Group: @the--blackdahlia

Electric Light Orchestra: Actually an orchestra and sound a fuckton like George Harrison

ELO: I really hesitate to ask what happens with the 7 virgins and a mule

Essex, David: no prominent memories of him

Fabulous Thunderbirds: cannot spell

Faces: Who on earth thought that was a good album name?

Faith No More: I got nothing

Fixx: One Thing Leads To Another is a damn bop

Fleetwood Mac: I ain’t straight, but I’m simply not enough of a witch to enjoy them to full potential

Fogerty, John: He got sued cause he sounded like himself

Foghat: Slow Ride slowly becoming less coherent feels like a drug trip

Foo Fighters: He was just excited to buy a grill

Ford, Lita: deserved better

Foreigner: dramatically overplayed

Frampton, Peter: a masterful user of the talk box

Free: dramatically underplayed

Gabriel, Peter: leaving Genesis changed him a lot

Genesis: if someone likes Genesis, clarify the era, because yes, it does matter

Georgia Satellites: sing like you have a cactus in your ass

Golden Earring: Twilight Zone slaps, but it doesn’t slap as hard as this station thinks it does

Grand Funk Railroad: Funk

Grateful Dead: I like their aesthetic more than their music

Great White: there are so many fucking shark jokes

Greenbaum, Norman: makes me think of Subway for some reason

Green Day: the first of the emo revolution

Greg Kihn Band: RocKihnRoll is literally the most clever album name I’ve ever seen

Guns N Roses: They have more than three good songs, but radio stations never recognize that

Hagar, Sammy: I’m still trying to figure out where he lived to take 16 hours to get to LA driving 55 and how fucking fast was he driving beforehand?

Harrison, George: He went from religious to rock, and if he had continued rocking, he would have gotten too cool 

Head East: I respect people who use breakfast foods as album names

Heart: Magic Man and Barracuda are played at least once every goddamn day. They’re not even the best songs!

Hendrix, Jimi: I have both a cousin and a sibling named after Hendrix references

Henley, Don: Dirty Laundry gives me too much inspiration

Hollies: Somehow sound like they’re both from the 60s and the 80s at the same time

Idol, Billy: he’s doing well for himself

INXS: Terminator vibes

Iris, Donnie: knockoff Roy Orbison

James Gang: too many funks

Jane’s Addiction: if TMNT had a grunge band representative

Jefferson Airplane: *assorted cheers*

Jefferson Starship: *assorted boos*

Jethro Tull: The only band to make you feel not cool enough to play the flute

Jett, Joan: icon

J. Geils Band: I requested them on the radio once and it got played

Joel, Billy: he really did just air everybody’s business like that

John Cafferty And The Beaver Brown Band: literally wtf is that name

John, Elton: yarn Elton sits in my basement, unstaring. Please someone take him from me

Joplin, Janis: Queen

Journey: Stop overplaying Don’t Stop Believing. It takes away from the rest of the repetoire

Judas Priest: literally started the gay leather aesthetic

Kansas: another fucking band Supernatural stole

Kenny Wayne Shepherd: the man confuses me to the point where he isn’t in the right place alphabetically

Kiss: Mick Mars and I will simply have to disagree on the subject

Kravitz, Lenny: runaway vibes

Led Zeppelin: Fucking fight me if you don’t think they’re the most talented band (maybe not the most talented individually, but collectively, no one comes close)

Lennon, John: My least favourite Beatle for reasons

Live: I got nothin

Living Colour: slap a decent amount

Loverboy: do you not get TURNT the fuck up to the big Loverboy hits? Who hurt you??

Lynyrd Skynyrd: Sweet Home Alabama is a Neil Young diss track

Marshall Tucker Band: no opinion

Manfred Mann’s Earth Band: VERY STRONG OPINIONS THAT THEY AREN’T GOOD

McCartney, Paul/Wings: Power couple

Meatloaf: I have nothing but respect for a man who willingly named himself Meatloaf

Mellencamp, John: voted cutest lesbian of 1987

Metallica: I liked their appearance on Jimmy Fallon

Midnight Oil: I get them confused for Talking Heads a lot

Modern English: who?

Molly Hatchet: Hollies vibes, but also Georgia Satellites vibes

Money, Eddie: DAN AVIDAN, IF YOU SEE THIS, COVER TAKE ME HOME TONIGHT

Motley Crue: Stan Mick Mars and John Corabi. They’re the only ones who deserve it

Mott The Hoople: no one loves them except for David Bowie

Mountain: props for naming an album ‘Climbing’

Nazareth: I want to make a John Mulaney joke here, but I can never come up with one

Nicks, Stevie: witch queen

Night Ranger: I get them confused with Urge Overkill

Nirvana: Kurt Cobain was the ally grunge needed

Nova, Aldo: he’s Canadian, at least

Nugent, Ted: *serves a ghost as jerky*

Offspring: nothing here

Osbourne, Ozzy: this bitch crazy

Outfield: Your Love is kind of a sketchy song, but it slaps hard

Palmer, Robert: low quality Eddie Money

Pearl Jam: *grunts in Eddie Vedder*

Petty, Tom: I have so many feelings about Tom Petty and they are all good

Pink Floyd: which one is Pink?

Plant, Robert: solo career is a crapshoot, but his voice is unparalleled

Poison: I want them to write a song called ‘Alice Cooper’

Pretenders: I want to say good things, but I have nothing to say

Queen: A doctor of astrophysics, a screaming girl, a disco queen and a diva walk into a bar. It’s Queen; they’re there to play a gig

Queensryche: neutral opinion

Quiet Riot: they got big because of a song they hated. I love that

Rafferty, Gerry: the second-sexiest sax opening in all of music

Rainbow: Ritchie Blackmore created something very magnificent

Ram Jam: one good song and they didn’t even write it

Ratt: I’m sure they have more than Round And Round, but I don’t know it

RHCP: funky, but if you have paid money to hear them, you’re going to The Bad Place (I don’t make the rules)

Red Rider: basically Golden Earring

Reed, Lou: Walk On The Wild Side would be such a cool song if it wasn’t so dull

REM: American Tragically Hip

REO Speedwagon: Props for having a dad joke as an album title

Rolling Stones: Never in my life could I imagine the drummer being named anything but Charlie

Rush: How to make being uncool the coolest fucking shit

Santana: The world needs more Santana

Scandal: There’s something really funny about The Warrior being my brother’s “song” with his girlfriend

Scorpions: Was Wind Of Change written by the CIA? Only the spotify podcast I got an ad for once could say

Seger, Bob: A different variety of Eric Clapton (frankly a better variety, but that’s just me)

Simple Minds: we ALL forgot about you

Skid Row: Sebastian Bach is prettier than all of us

Soundgarden: music that makes you feel like you dunked your head underwater

Springsteen, Bruce: my arch-nemesis. Maybe someday, he’ll find out about it

Squeeze: according to my friends, the stupidest band name ever, but they’re theatre kids, so you know

Squier, Billy: If he can make it through 1984 alive, you can make it through whatever bad day you’re having

Stealers Wheel: Yet another band who I always mistake for George Harrison

Steely Dan: my house’s nickname for the Robber in Settlers Of Catan

Steppenwolf: Either makes me think of Jay & Silent Bob, Jack Nicholson, or that time I had to cut 6lbs of onions

Steve Miller Band: when you’re in the right mood, they slap hard

Stewart, Rod: my soundtrack to summer 2015

Stills, Stephen: Love The One You’re With Is Catchy, but the lyrics are questionable

Stone Temple Pilots: the only band to write a song about goo you smear on yourself

Stray Cats: an obscene amount of merch is available for them

Styx: Supernatural would have ruined them for me too if I hadn’t been into them previously. 

Supertramp: I hunted for Breakfast In America for two years and it was worth every hunt

Sweet: I will never understand my two-month obsession with Ballroom Blitz when I was 15, but it was legit all I listened to

Talking Heads: you may find yourself in a pizza hut. And you may find yourself in a taco bell. And you may find yourself at the combination pizza hut and taco bell. And you may ask yourself; ‘how did I get here?’

Temple Of The Dog: I keep confusing them for Nazareth

Ten Years After: somehow still relevant

Tesla: not the car or the dude

The Beatles: Evokes a lot of opinions from people. Mine is that I love them

The Clash: I showed my sister the ‘Lock The Taskbar’ vine ONCE and it still kills her

The Doors: evokes teenage terror from deep within my soul

The Guess Who: Canada’s answer to confusing question-themed band names

The Kinks: kinky

The Police: wrote the theme of 2020 and everyone somehow forgot it was about a teacher resisting becoming a pedophile

The Ramones: playing all of their songs in a row wouldn’t take more than 2 hours

The Romantics: you don’t think you know them, but if you’ve seen Shrek 2, you have

The Who: If someone can explain Tommy to me, I’d be glad to hear it

The Zombies: I think they happened because of the 60s

Thin Lizzy: Could the boys maybe leave town?

Thorogood, George: blues, but make it modern

Toto: the most memed song behind All Star

Townshend, Pete: just makes me think of the end of Mr. Deeds

T-Rex: Mark Bolan is an icon

Triumph: The no-name brand of Rush

Tubes: like the yogurt

Twisted Sister: they did a christmas album and my mom does NOT hate it

U2: U2 Movers; we move in mysterious ways

Van Halen: RIP Eddie

Van Morrison: honestly, who’s named Van?

Vaughn, Stevie Ray: Steamy Ray Vaughn

Walsh, Joe: The Smoker You Drink The Player You Get

War: Foghat, but even groovier

Whitesnake: the most successful band to be named after a penis

Wright, Gary: the 90s thanks him for writing the song every movie used for the “guy sees cute girl and it’s love at first sight” scene

Yes: To Be Continued

Young, Neil: The best part of CSNY

Zevon, Warren: the album cover of Excitable Boy makes me deeply uncomfortable for reasons I don’t understand

ZZ Top: has been the same three guys since 1969. Lineup unchanged. 

3 Doors Down: They feel a little modern to be on a classic rock station, but whatever

38 Special: Why 38?

[bevioletskies]

spare me a little (of your love)

summary: Klavier always liked to express his love with flowers, so sending a beautiful bouquet to his boyfriend every now and then seemed like the obvious thing to do. However, there’s just one little problem - Apollo is very, very allergic to pollen.

word count: 5.3k | read on ao3

a/n: For @klapollo-week, day two of seven (prompt: "flowers"). All seven of my fics take place in the same continuity! However, each can be read as a stand-alone, with the exception of day seven being a sequel to day five.

This fic takes place at some distant point in time after Spirit of Justice where Apollo and Trucy have learned that they’re siblings, but doesn’t reference any specific plotlines otherwise. My source for flower meanings can be found here. Fic title is from the song Spare Me a Little of Your Love by Fleetwood Mac.

“The language of...flowers?”

“Oui, oui, mon ami!” Athena chirped, nodding eagerly. “That’s just one of the many languages I speak, y’know.”

Apollo eyed her skeptically over the top of his laptop screen. “...right. Elaborate, please.”

“Well, you know how people usually give roses to express their love?” Athena said, leaning across the gap between their desks. She didn’t even blink when she accidentally knocked over Apollo’s calendar and pen holder in one fell swoop. Apollo, on the other hand, shot her an affronted glance that she deftly ignored. “Well, each flower actually has its own specific meaning. It even varies from color to color! Par exemple, white roses symbolize innocence, while yellow roses symbolize friendship.”

“That seems unnecessarily complicated,” Apollo remarked. “Don’t most flowers come with a card? Why can’t people just write their messages instead?”

They turned at the sound of a disappointed groan coming from the middle of the room. “You’re so unromantic, Polly,” Trucy complained, peeking at them from over the back of the couch. “I almost feel bad for Mr. Gavin!”

“Hey,” Apollo protested. “I can be - I-I’m romantic!”

“If you say so,” Athena giggled, poking him in the shoulder. Huffing, Apollo prodded her back. Athena reached for a rubber band, fully intending to escalate things. She lowered her projectile dejectedly when Apollo raised his hands in surrender; he had no interest in losing an eye today.

“Sunflowers and tulips are supposed to symbolize happiness, right?” Phoenix asked. “Those are pretty much the only flowers I really know, so.”

There was a long, uncomfortably drawn-out silence. “...Daddy, your ex-girlfriend’s name was Dahlia. Her real name was - is - Iris.”

“Oh...right,” Phoenix chuckled, only mildly embarrassed. “Speaking of, do you know what dahlias and irises mean, Athena?”

Athena’s eyes were practically sparkling now. “Oui! Dahlias symbolize elegance and dignity.” Phoenix made a face. “...but, they also symbolize dishonesty and betrayal.”

“That’s more like it,” Phoenix muttered under his breath. “And irises?”

“Faith, wisdom, that kinda thing,” Athena shrugged. She then paused. “Y’know, if you want some ideas on the kinds of flowers Mr. Edgeworth would like, I can make some - ”

“Nope, nope, I-I’m good,” Phoenix interrupted swiftly, his face reddening. He had a vase of daffodils sitting on his desk, which Edgeworth had sent to the office a few days ago. None of them believed Phoenix when he claimed they were purely intended for decoration. “So why the sudden interest in flowers, Apollo? Is this, er...is this about Gavin?”

“If you’re not talking about your prosecutor, sir, I’m not talking about mine,” Apollo said firmly, turning back to his laptop.

“Sure, except I think your prosecutor’s fair game when he picks you up from work most days,” Phoenix teased. His tone was eerily similar to Trucy’s. If Phoenix wasn’t both his boss and his sort-of stepfather, Apollo would’ve picked up a rubber band himself.

A few hours later, Apollo was locking up the office for the evening when he heard the roar of a familiar-sounding motorcycle coming up the street. He turned, biting back a smile as Klavier pulled up beside the sidewalk and turned off his engine. “Your bike really is as obnoxious as you are.”

Klavier removed his helmet, pouting. “Achtung, is that any way to greet your boyfriend?”

“It is for me,” Apollo replied, kissing him briefly. “Hi.”

“Hallo,” Klavier murmured against Apollo’s lips, grinning as he pulled away. “Dinner?”

“Yes, please,” Apollo said, reaching for Klavier’s spare helmet. “I’m feeling...pizza and all the cheesy garlic breadsticks. Or maybe we can just get cheesy garlic breadsticks.”

“As nice as that sounds, you need more vegetables than the little bits you get in your cup noodles, baby,” Klavier said, patting Apollo’s hip affectionately. “Pizza, breadsticks, and a side salad, ja?”

“Fine, fine,” Apollo grumbled, settling in behind Klavier. “Turn me into a rabbit, why don’t you? Buy me a bag of carrot sticks the next time we go to the grocery store. Stuff my mattress with straw and newspaper - ”

“And people think I’m the dramatic one,” Klavier lamented, shaking his head in amusement.

It wasn’t long before the two of them were sitting on the floor of Klavier’s living room, pleasantly stuffed with pizza and breadsticks and a mediocre amount of Greek salad (“I’m not a fan of olives, you know.” “Not surprising, since the color doesn’t work with your complexion.” “Klavier, I swear to - ”). A random made-for-TV movie was playing in the background on mute, though neither of them were particularly interested in watching it.

“How was work?” Apollo asked, taking a much-needed gulp of cold water. He wasn’t sure if he was ever going to get the taste of garlic out of his mouth.

“Boring, unfortunately,” Klavier said with a grimace. “Herr Edgeworth didn’t have anything but paperwork to offer me. No trials, no investigations, nichts. You?”

“Same,” Apollo replied. “Mr. Wright’s mostly working with Athena this month, so they’re taking the big clients while I get stuck with the smaller cases. Not that I’m complaining, I mean - it’s a nice change from Khura’in. I don’t want every trial to feel like I’m going under, you know?”

“Nein, that would be terrible,” Klavier agreed. “Exciting, sure, but the stress wouldn’t be worth it. I already found a gray hair the other day, ach.”

Apollo snorted. “Just one? You should see mine - I’m gonna be completely gray by thirty-five at this rate.” He shuffled closer so he could snuggle up against Klavier’s side, letting his head drop to Klavier’s shoulder. “So...turns out, Athena knows all about the flower language thing. Figured she might.”

“Flower...language...thing?” Klavier echoed, confused. He then brightened. “Ah! From our video call with my mama the other day, ja? I didn’t know you were actually interested.”

“I wasn’t, not at first,” Apollo admitted, squeezing Klavier’s arm. “But...I want your parents to like me, and since she said she was taking an interest, I thought, y’know, why not look into it? And it sounds kinda...contrived, not gonna lie. But I guess it’s kinda sweet, too. Like a secret language between just two people.”

Klavier’s face softened. “Ja, exactly. My parents used to write love letters to each other when they were in school, so I think this is Mama’s way of starting a new tradition - buying Papa flowers so he can plant them in his garden. You should see our family estate in the summer, it’s absolutely stunning.”

“Sounds like it,” Apollo said, smiling. “Your parents’ lives sound so...peaceful. Baking, gardening, travelling...I know it’s a little early to start thinking about retirement, but still, they’re living the dream.”

“They’re not retired yet,” Klavier chuckled. “And stop making me feel like I’m dating an old man, bitte. You complaining about your back makes me feel like I have to start complaining about my back.”

Apollo hummed, tracing random patterns along Klavier’s forearm with his finger. He was pleasantly sleepy from a number of things - his long, if uneventful day of work, the amount of cheese and carbs he’d just consumed, and the warmth of Klavier’s skin against his. “Sorry we can’t all afford chiropractors and massage therapists, sheesh,” he teased, unable to hold back a yawn.

“Maybe we can get a massage together someday,” Klavier suggested, stretching luxuriously. “Ah, before I forget - since we were talking about my parents just now, they asked me the other day if it would be alright to text you and send you things, little gifts and whatnot.”

“Huh? They would do that?” Apollo exclaimed. “I only just met them, like, a week ago!”

“They’re a bit...much,” Klavier said carefully. “Even when I was in high school, every friend I brought home was a potential lover to them, you know? They wanted to know everything about them, to shower them with gifts and affection. Even when I started working, I would ask Papa if I could have some flowers from his garden - you know, an arrangement to thank Herr Edgeworth for giving me a raise, a bouquet for my manager when we got our first record deal - and it was always the same story. Achtung, it’s embarrassing, but they mean well. You don’t have to say ja if you don’t want to, I just thought I’d ask.”

“No, I - it’s okay, I’d love to get to know your parents more, I’m just surprised,” Apollo admitted. The thought of them liking him this easily made him both relieved and unnerved at the same time. “Should I, uh, get them something in return?”

“Nein, nein, let them spoil you.” Klavier cupped Apollo’s face in his hands, kissing him softly. “Just like I do.”

“Sap,” Apollo murmured, kissing him back.

_____

It was a sort of gradual thing, for the most part. Barely a day had gone by when Apollo found himself in a group text with Klavier’s parents; he quickly discovered how witty and sweet and whip-smart they both were. Klavier’s father sent gorgeous photos of his garden - and calling it a garden seemed almost too modest when it seemed to be the size of a soccer field - while Klavier’s mother sent book recommendations, even the occasional movie recommendation.

“I never thought I’d be at that point in my life where my boyfriend’s mother sends me three long paragraphs about how she ‘discovered’ the Legally Blonde musical, but here we are,” Apollo had mused to the other agency members.

“Did you tell her that Klavier reminds everyone of that song, the one that goes - ”

“No, Athena, I did not. I want her to like me, remember?”

Soon after that, gifts started to arrive. Apollo had requested they send them to the agency, given how little he trusted his apartment building’s security after they nearly let his cat escape not too long ago. Unfortunately, it was too late before he realized that sometimes, he trusted his co-workers - or more specifically, his sister - even less.

“Trucy, do you know who ate the last piece of pie? Y’know, the one I was saving for today, to celebrate the end of my trial?”

“...huh. No idea, sorry, Polly!”

“Wait - th-there’s graham crumbs on Mr. Hat, what the hell - ”

His sister’s betrayal aside, Apollo felt good about things, almost unusually good. He soon started texting Klavier’s parents just as frequently as he did his own mother, thanking them for their generosity whenever they sent the occasional box of pastries or discounted event tickets. They also exchanged anecdotes about Klavier, along with stories about their own lives. He even received celebratory emojis whenever he told them about his victories in court - over their son, no less.

“I’m starting to think they like you more than they like me,” Klavier had lamented, though he seemed pleased all the same.

Then, a month into their budding familial relationship, a problem arrived on Apollo’s desk in the form of a bouquet the size of his head.

“Ah-choo!”

Trucy and Athena, who had been standing by the latter’s desk, both startled at the sound. “Ay Dios mío!” Athena exclaimed, clutching her heart in shock. “Are you okay, Apollo? That was some sneeze. I thought we were having another earthquake!”

“Har, har,” Apollo said dryly, reaching for a tissue. “It’s just the - achoo - flowers, that’s all.”

“They’re beautiful - very classic,” Athena added, dropping into Apollo’s desk chair so she could get a closer look. “Red roses and white lilies, claro. Ooh, I see some red carnations and white chrysanthemums, too!”

“Well, I see a card,” Trucy said, plucking a small white notecard from between the leaves. “Let’s see what it says!”

“That’s for - achoo - me, thank you very much.” Apollo snatched the card out of her hands, then squinted through his watery eyes to read it. “I...oh. Klavier says his mom helped him make the arrangement, with flowers from his dad’s garden.”

“How sweet!” Trucy gushed, taking a moment to sniff them, inhaling deeply as her eyes drifted closed. “Ooh, and they smell amazing. Mr. Gavin is such a good - ”

“Ah-choo!” Apollo sniffled, wiping his nose carefully. “...dammit.”

“I didn’t know you were allergic to pollen, Apollo,” Phoenix commented; he was on the other side of the room, pouring himself a cup of tea. “You never had any problems with the flowers Edgeworth sent to m - I mean, to the office.”

“Maybe it’s a freshly-cut thing?” Athena guessed, ignoring Phoenix’s awkward laugh. “Or, y’know, some flowers are worse for allergies than others. Dahlias, for example, are the worst.” Phoenix made another face before turning back to what he was doing.

“You should tell him you’re allergic,” Trucy said, patting Apollo’s free hand in sympathy. “I’m sure he’d understand.”

“But…” Apollo hesitated. The others braced themselves, anticipating another sneeze. “...this is from Klavier and his parents, you know? I can put up with a sneeze or two if it makes them happy. He loves sending flowers, and his dad’s really into gardening, so...if I tell them, they’ll stop doing it, and they’ll be too understanding, and I - I can’t deal with that. The, uh, the niceness, I mean.”

“Poor you, having the sweetest in-laws in the world,” Athena teased, pouting exaggeratedly. Oh, the humanity, Widget added. Apollo would have glared at them both, had he not started sneezing again. “Como tú quieras, I guess.”

Hours later, when Klavier met Apollo at the agency, the sight of his face brightening when he saw the bouquet confirmed Apollo’s fears. “Ah, how wunderschön,” Klavier declared, beaming. “I was worried they wouldn’t hold up during delivery. Do you like them, liebe?”

“They’re beautiful,” Apollo said, as honest as he could be. “Thanks, Klavier. I, uh, I hope it didn’t take you too long to put together.”

“You know how picky I can be,” Klavier hummed, carefully drawing a carnation out of the vase between two practiced fingers and bringing it up to his nose to smell. “I don’t settle for anything less than perfekt.” He turned, smirking. “That’s why I’m dating you, after all.”

“Gross,” Apollo said, wrinkling his nose; the effect was ruined by his affectionate laughter. “Hey, is it okay if I press them after they’ve wilted? I was thinking I could keep ‘em in my journal as a nice little reminder.”

Klavier chuckled, reaching over to squeeze Apollo’s hand. “Of course, Forehead. They’re all yours, you don’t have to ask for my permission. And I’m sure Mama and Papa would be delighted to hear you’re planning to give Papa’s flowers a second life. We’ll have to send you more in the future, ja?”

“...ja,” Apollo said weakly, his heart sinking.

_____

The next bouquet arrived two weeks later, bigger and bolder than before. According to Athena, it consisted of pink and orange roses, pink lilies, and yellow alstroemeria. However, it seemed to be the handful of sunflowers that topped everything off that left Apollo’s nose running all day.

“I think the only sunflower I can stand to be around is my attorney’s badge,” Apollo had bemoaned.

After that came an arrangement of white daisies, red gerbera, and white limonium (or, as Trucy liked to call it - she liked practicing tongue twisters when she was bored - “linoleum”). Then green hydrangeas and Queen Anne’s lace, which admittedly wasn't so bad, followed by purple daisies and pink gerbera, which was very, very bad. Apollo did not like the fact that he was getting used to the taste of Benadryl. He did manage to get some reprieve when Klavier sent him a simple vase of pink peonies.

“They’re hypoallergenic,” Athena had informed him. “But...mein Gott, Apollo, just tell him already!”

“But if I do, i-it’s…” Apollo had gestured wildly, unable to find the right words. Athena and Trucy had exchanged glances, then shook their heads in eerily synchronized disappointment.

Pink carnations and pink alstroemeria, purple irises and white aster, yellow daisies and orange roses; Apollo was starting to think the Gavin family garden was endless. And while his journal had never looked prettier, every page decorated with carefully pressed petals, every other page detailed with a date and a description courtesy of Athena’s expertise, his nose had never looked worse, his skin pink and dry and irritated. He was getting too used to the smell of CeraVe as well.

Finally, a bouquet of red roses - thankfully, also hypoallergenic - arrived with Klavier himself. He seemed delighted to be at the agency while everyone else was present for once, chatting happily with Athena and marvelling at Trucy’s card tricks. He and Phoenix seemed awkward around each other, though Apollo supposed that was to be expected. Even now, they hesitated whenever Apollo brought the other one up.

“So what’re you doing here, Mr. Gavin?” Trucy asked after she’d successfully duped him three times in a row. Apollo had to stop her before she started charging him for it. “Is it date night?”

“Not exactly,” Klavier said, turning to Apollo. “I came here to ask you something in person, liebe.”

Apollo raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s not suspicious at all. What’s up?”

“I think it’s about time you meet my parents in person.” Klavier took both of Apollo’s hands in his, smiling hopefully. “So, if you’re ready...are you free this weekend? We could go to my family estate, spend the day - Mama would love to teach you how to make those puff pastries you like, and Papa wants to show you around the garden so you can see where all your wunderschön flowers came from.”

“I...oh.” Apollo’s face fell for a split second before he quickly regained his composure. “Sorry, Klav, that sounds incredible, but I-I was gonna stay with Mom this weekend. Maybe another time?”

“Natürlich,” Klavier replied, still smiling. While his smiles usually made Apollo feel warm and fuzzy, now all he was feeling was gnawing guilt. “Let me know when you have a free weekend, ja?”

“For sure,” Apollo promised, pecking him briefly on the cheek. “And thanks for the roses, even though I, uh, kinda ruined the occasion.”

“Ruined?” Klavier repeated, chuckling. “Ach, it’s no big deal, you’re busy. We have time, don’t we?”

“Of course!” Apollo exclaimed, far too loudly. Klavier didn’t seem to mind, though; he leaned down to kiss Apollo properly, humming all the while.

“Anyway, I should get going before Herr Edgeworth notices I’m not in my office,” Klavier said, reluctantly pulling away. The look on Phoenix's face suggested he knew that Edgeworth had figured it out long ago. “Auf Wiedersehen, süßer!”

The second Klavier left, Apollo let out the breath he’d been holding. He didn’t even need to look up to know the others were staring at him very judgmentally. “...I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You really shouldn’t lie to your boyfriend, Apollo,” Phoenix said gently; his voice had taken on the sort of “dad” tone that made Apollo feel even guiltier. “Er, that is, you shouldn’t lie to anyone, but you know what I mean. Are you really protecting his feelings by doing this?”

Sighing, Apollo collapsed into his desk chair, dropping his forehead to his desk with an audible thunk. “I know, I know. It was stupid from the start, but...I-I honestly wasn’t expecting him to send this many! I thought it’d be, y’know, for special occasions only, like every few months or whatever. Then I could deal with it, and he would never have to know. Not, like, just ‘cos he felt like it. Though I guess I really should’ve seen it coming, knowing him.”

“You really gotta tell him,” Trucy insisted. “Next time you see him, okay? Or else you’re never gonna say anything!”

“I will, I swear,” Apollo insisted, combing his fingers through his hair. He could feel more grays coming in by the second. “I have no interest in being the worst boyfriend ever, believe me.”

_____

It didn’t take long for Apollo to realize that while he was perfectly fine - or, at least, reasonably fine - with confrontation in the courtroom, he was very much not fine with confrontation in his personal life. The flower arrangements came less frequently now, and when they did, they seemed to be exclusively hypoallergenic. Klavier’s invitations, on the other hand, seemed more persistent.

“I don’t mean to push,” Klavier would say. “It’s just that exam week is coming up and, being professors and all, they’re going to be very busy soon. I was hoping we’d be able to spend some time with them before then.”

“Yeah, o-of course,” Apollo would reply, his stomach twisting every time, knowing full well he was about to turn him down again.

Another weekend went by, then another. There always seemed to be something, whether it was Apollo’s sudden frequent visits to Thalassa’s, Trucy’s sudden need for a magic show assistant, or that Apollo was just too tired to be good company. Eventually, Klavier seemed to simply stop asking. In fact, he seemed to stop asking him about anything at all.

“Do you wanna grab lunch?” Apollo had once asked Klavier while they were both packing up after the end of a lengthy trial.

“I don’t know.” Klavier had sounded tired, subdued; he refused to look Apollo in the eyes. “I think I’m just going to head back to the office and catch up on my emails. Take care, Herr Forehead.” He’d quickly swept out of the courtroom before Apollo could even say goodbye.

Apollo’s group text with his parents seemed to slow down, too, especially when it came to Klavier’s papa’s photos of his garden. Klavier’s mama, on the other hand, sent him short, stilted messages, now seemingly out of obligation instead of affection. Their near-radio silence, Apollo had to admit, was well-deserved. He knew he had to do something before it was too late, if it wasn’t already too late.

“I was surprised you wanted me to join you today,” Klavier said one morning as the two of them were taking a leisurely stroll around People Park, hand-in-hand. “Lately, I feel like I’ve been dating a ghost, achtung. We only ever see each other in court. Maybe at crime scenes, too, if we’re lucky.”

“And I’m surprised you agreed to come,” Apollo admitted. “I missed you, Klavier. Only...I, uh, I know that’s really my fault, not yours.”

“You do, do you?” Klavier sounded bitter. His grip on Apollo’s hand was looser than usual, like he was ready to pull away at any second, like he wanted to run. The thought made Apollo’s chest ache. “And here, I thought you were as oblivious as ever.”

“Hey,” Apollo protested, frowning. Then, he sighed. “No, you - you’re right. This is on me. Will you - I - listen, I have something for you, back at the office. Can we go get it before you head to work?”

Klavier nodded shortly. While his eyes had softened, his smile was still strained. “Ja, let’s go.”

Thankfully, the agency was empty when they got there, save for a certain something sitting patiently on Apollo’s desk. He set his bag down, then turned on all the lights, his heart pounding rapidly against his ribcage. “So these aren’t as nice as your dad’s, but, uh. This is for you...and your parents.”

“What do you - ah!” Klavier approached Apollo’s desk with wide, disbelieving eyes, his gaze fixated on the beautiful arrangement of white lilies, yellow tulips, and white orchids wrapped in white decorative tissue paper. “Apollo, these are...they’re lovely! Did you pick these out yourself?”

“Athena helped,” Apollo said, hovering nervously. “She said white lilies are for humility, yellow tulips can mean forgiveness, and white orchids symbolize strength. Fitting, since I wanted to...apologize. For being a horrible boyfriend.”

“I don’t know about ‘horrible’,” Klavier said, gently running a finger down the length of one of the orchids. “...but you have been distant. If you’re not actually interested in meeting my parents, or if you...if you want to end things, just say so, will you?” His voice cracked. “I might like a bit of drama every now and then, but not in my own life. Not in my own relationship.”

“What?! No, no, I-I don’t wanna end things at all!” Apollo exclaimed, his voice filling the room. He took a few deep, even breaths to calm himself. “Just...will you hear me out? Please?” Klavier nodded, though he refused to look at him. “I’m...I’m sorry for avoiding you and your parents. And before you ask...yes. I was doing it on purpose. It’s nothing that - none of you did anything wrong, okay? It’s me, i-it’s - it - I - ah - ”

Klavier turned on his heel, worried. “Apollo? Are you - ”

“Ah-choo!”

Klavier jumped. “Ach - Apollo?”

“I forgot there were asters in there,” Apollo grumbled, reaching for a tissue. He wasn’t sure which was redder now, his nose or his cheeks. “It’s - I - achoo - ”

“Apollo,” Klavier said slowly; if Apollo didn’t know any better, he would've thought he was trying not to laugh. “Are you, by chance...allergic to pollen?”

Apollo sniffed sharply. “...yes, dammit, yes! That’s literally what I’ve been trying to say - achoo - just now, until - achoo - my sinuses decided to - achoo - speak for me!” He was half-doubled over at this point, clenching a fistful of tissues in both hands.

“Baby, have you been rejecting my invitation to meet my parents because you’re allergic to all the flowers we’ve been sending you for the last several weeks?” Klavier sounded more incredulous than angry.

“...yes. Yes, I have, yes, I’m an idiot and an asshole and - achoo - I’m so sorry, Klavier, I - achoo - ”

“Bitte, say it, don’t spray it.” Klavier held up Apollo’s tissue box for him, keeping it - and Apollo himself - at a good distance. “Mein Gott, Apollo, I thought you wanted to break up with me! Why didn’t you say anything earlier?!”

It took another minute or so before Apollo finally stopped sneezing long enough to get a full sentence out. He sniffled again, wiping his nose completely clean. “...have you ever told, like, the tiniest lie to make someone happy, only for it to turn into a big...thing? And then you know you have to come clean, that it’s what you’re s’posed to do, but the thought of doing it makes you anxious, even if not doing it also makes you anxious, and then...it just...it, uh, it stays with you.” He swallowed thickly, shaking his head. “Not that that’s an excuse, it’s just - that’s just what happened. I’m sorry, Klavier, I really am. I really do want to meet your parents, they’re so sweet and friendly a-and funny, I’m just...I’m bad at this. Really, really bad at this.”

Klavier sighed. Apollo held his breath, anticipating the worst. Then, Klavier wrapped him in his arms, letting out another sigh of relief. “I understand, liebe, and...I forgive you. Danke for explaining yourself.” He kissed the top of Apollo’s head. “Maybe we should’ve stuck to sending you pies, ja?”

Apollo laughed wetly. “I don’t know how you’re joking right now. That’s usually my job.” He lifted his head from Klavier’s chest to look up at him with a grateful smile. “I really did love the flowers, you know. When they weren’t attacking my respiratory system, that is.”

“Still, let’s not push it any further,” Klavier said wryly. “Now - two things, if you don’t mind. First, let me give you some moisturizer for your poor, poor nose. I’m not kissing you until I’m sure your skin won’t flake off in the process.”

“Ew, thanks for the gross visual,” Apollo grimaced. “And the second thing?”

Klavier smiled. “If you're alright with it, I’d like you to tell my parents what happened...in person.”

_____

The garden was just as beautiful as Apollo imagined it to be, given the dozens and dozens of photos he’d gotten from Klavier’s papa. It was full and lush and vibrant, with towering trees that provided ample shade, a beautiful gazebo with a built-in fireplace, a gorgeous two-tiered fish pond, and of course, a plethora of flowers, as far as they could see. Everything was especially beautiful, in Apollo’s opinion, from the relative safety of the conservatory.

“We’re not throwing you to the wolves, darling,” Klavier’s mama insisted, as if she were talking about actual wild animals and not her husband’s hobby. “We’ll stay in here for high tea so you can admire the garden at a safe distance, yes?”

“Yes, th-thank you,” Apollo stammered, relieved. “High tea?”

“Today’s menu is German chocolate scones and mini-sandwiches. With the crusts cut off for my fussy baby boy, of course,” she added, pinching Klavier’s cheek with a devious grin.

“Mama,” Klavier protested, embarrassed. His papa chuckled, settling into the chair across from his son; he still had a smudge of dirt on his nose. “I’m a grown man, achtung. I have my own health insurance and everything!”

“I really am sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Gavin,” Apollo said sincerely. Despite their kindness and generosity, he was still somewhat intimidated by them, by how tall and beautiful and well-spoken they were. As much as he didn’t want to think about his former boss, Apollo could see where he and Klavier got their good looks and charm from. “I wanted to make a good impression, but I, uh, I didn’t go about it the right way. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while now, but...I kept it from happening for a dumb reason, and it led to me hurting your feelings and Klavier’s feelings. I’m sorry.”

“All is forgiven,” Klavier’s papa insisted, waving a hand. “Just promise you’ll stop by every now and then, alright? Our doors are open to you, Apollo. Consider us your parents, too, if you’d like.”

Apollo smiled softly. “I would, sir.”

“It’ll be a good, allergy-free time, I promise,” he continued with a teasing wink. “We’ll bake some bread, watch some home movies...are you interested in seeing - ach, what do the kids call it - Klavier’s ‘goth phase’?”

Apollo’s mouth dropped open. “...his what.”

“Papa, nein,” Klavier whined; he really did sound like a child now. “Maybe it was a mistake to bring you here, liebling.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Apollo said, his grin widening. “I would love to see Klavier’s goth phase. Did he dye his hair?”

“Oh, did he,” Klavier’s mama said slyly with the exasperated sigh of a parent who had dealt with too much. “It’s a miracle he managed to get back to blond at all.” She then got to her feet, smoothing out the front of her apron. “Anyway, Papa and I should go check on the scones now. You two sit tight, okay?” Before Apollo could blink, she’d dropped kisses on both his and Klavier’s foreheads, then disappeared down the hallway and into the kitchen, her husband in tow. He turned to look at Klavier, who was watching him nervously.

“I love them,” Apollo admitted. “They’re so sweet, Klav, they - stop looking at me like that, will you?”

“You can’t blame me for worrying,” Klavier said, kissing him briefly. “But I’m glad to hear it. Ich liebe dich, schatz.”

“Love you too, dork,” Apollo murmured against Klavier’s lips. “...so. Did you have a lip ring, or snake bites, or - ”

“Get out of my house,” Klavier huffed, pinching Apollo’s arm with an exaggerated pout.

“Hey! This isn’t your house, it’s your parents’ house, and they said their doors were open,” Apollo teased, laughing. Rolling his eyes, Klavier pulled Apollo into his arms, the two of them snuggled up on the loveseat. In the distance, they could see birds and butterflies fluttering among the flowers, a stray squirrel or two sniffing curiously at the edge of the fish pond. It was peaceful, serene. If it wasn't for the pollen, Apollo could see himself staying outside for hours at a time. “...but seriously, I’m looking forward to the video evidence.”

“I’m sure you are,” Klavier sighed, giving Apollo one last kiss before his parents returned with a large tray of sandwiches, scones, tea, and a vase with a single red rose for decoration - hypoallergenic, of course.

_____

a/n: Welcome to my second entry for Klapollo Week 2021! Continuity-wise, this is the fourth of seven fics, but again, there is no need to read the others to follow each fic on its own. Today, I have projected my allergies and anxiety onto Apollo, because that's what fanfiction is for, right? I hope y'all like my version of the Gavins; I've written them as cold and distant a couple of times, but I usually prefer to write them as warm and witty so that Klavier has a good support system in his life.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated. Hoping you're all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

[skarsgard-daydreams]

Fell in Love with a Girl

Description: Axel helps his girl overcome her biggest fear, gaining a new favorite canvas.

Warnings: Needles, body image issues, sexual content (you must be 18+ to ride this roller coaster), references to spanking

Note: This is technically a continuation of this imagine, but you can read it as a standalone and it will make sense. The title is a reference to the song by The White Stripes.

Usually the tattoo parlor buzzed with activity on afternoons like this, “Back in Black” pounding over the speakers as the artists rolled up their sleeves and leaned over their human canvases, executing the visions of their clients better than they could articulate them. But on this particular day, Axel had closed the shop early so he and his girl could have the place to themselves. He told her to pick something to listen to, knowing she was more of a Fleetwood Mac kind of girl than an AC/DC fan. She was tense as she took her seat in the chair, watching him arrange everything he would need on the cart beside him. She swallowed nervously, picking at the soft leather on the arm of the chair with her fingernails and trying not to think of the needle.

She had done everything he told her: she’d moisturized her skin and kept herself hydrated and had forced herself to eat a substantial lunch even though her stomach had been sick with nerves for days. “I don’t want you to pass out in my chair,” Axel had warned. It was the last thing she wanted to happen. She had seen how pale he was after she fainted trying to get her flu shot at Walgreens that one time, and it would be so much worse if it happened here, in a situation where he would surely blame himself.

Even though she was terrified, she kept thinking how much she needed this—for him to use her as a canvas the same way he did those other girls who came into the shop, already tatted up and each of them so bold and excited for him to get to work. Only this time it would be his lover, and every time either one of them looked at the black lines on her skin, they would be reminded that she was his girl—his only girl—and she had trusted him with her biggest fear.

“I don’t want you to do this just because you know I think it’s hot,” Axel said the morning after she first brought up the idea of her getting a tattoo. He was standing in front of the fridge wearing a grey tank and his boxer shorts, drinking orange juice out of the carton.

“I’m not.” She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and pushed it into his hands. He blinked at the glass as though he had never understood its purpose, then poured some juice into it.

“Then what made you change your mind?”

She wasn’t sure how to explain it. Each of his tattoos told a story about who he was, even the crudest ones. She loved the way they turned his body into something more than flesh—into something on which to hang those stories, like paintings in a gallery. She loved the way they distinguished his body from every other man, how she could follow the map of signifiers with her tongue and find the various little spots that made him moan.

The girl in the locker room at the gym had caught her eye immediately. She had watched her towel off and rifle through her backpack, completely unhurried and unashamed of her own nakedness, a wild spray of flowers blossoming all along the curve of her hip and trailing over her lean thigh. She wasn’t sure if she was jealous of the girl or infatuated with her. On her way home, she had imagined Axel working on a tattoo like that, sitting for hours as he seared his artwork into the girl’s skin, listening to her chatter about this piece she wanted to get under the curve of her breast, or that piece she had on the back of her neck. As the endorphins from her workout wore out, she felt so frustrated that her own phobia kept her from sharing that kind of moment with Axel.

She wanted to look in the mirror and admire her lover’s artwork stretched across a part of her body that had always made her feel self-conscious. She would never be as lithe as the girl at the gym. She had more curves than she liked—plenty of soft parts that Axel loved to grasp and squeeze but which never matched the ideal body she pictured in her mind. She had started to think that a tattoo would help her look at her body the way her lover did, as something to be admired.

Axel stared at her quietly as he leaned back against the fridge, holding the glass of orange juice like it was two fingers of whisky. She didn’t know how to answer his question.

“It’s as much for me as it is for you,” she finally said. “I promise.”

But now she sat in that chair feeling like she was waiting at the office of a very strange dentist, imagining every needle that had ever pricked her skin and listening to her heart pounding in her ears over the sound of Stevie Nicks’ vocals. Axel’s hand closed over her own.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was soft, but reassuring. “I got you, okay?”

She looked at him and tried to put on a brave face, swallowing hard. “Okay,” she said.

Axel studied her for a long moment and leaned over, cupping her chin in his hand as he kissed her. “We don’t have to do this,” he murmured against her lips. Her heart beat even faster.

“I want to.”

Even though her voice sounded small, Axel could tell she was sincere. He nodded and straightened up. “I gotta grab a few more things,” he said, then gently tugged on one of the belt loops of her jeans. “These are gonna have to come off.”

Her throat felt dry even though she had been drinking nothing but water for two days. She watched Axel disappear into the back of the tattoo parlor. It was the simplest, most obvious request, but it made her feel like a teenage girl about to lose her virginity to her boyfriend. She kicked off her sneakers and shimmied out of her jeans. It felt so wrong, sitting there in the shop wearing nothing but a t-shirt and her cotton panties covered in pastel polka dots. By the time Axel returned, her cheeks were flushed pink even though the rest of her face was pale and she looked as though she was going to be sick.

Axel sat down on a stool and tried to keep his own misgivings from showing on his face. He’d had plenty of squeamish clients before, but they were just clients. Usually they brought someone else along to hold their hand and talk them through the process while he focused on getting the tattoo done, preferably quickly, if they could tolerate it. This time it would be his girl sitting there, scared shitless, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to comfort her and work at the same time. He needed to give her something else to focus on.

“You okay, kitten?” he asked.

She nodded a little, chewing on her lower lip. Axel wanted to say to hell with the whole thing and capture that lip between his own teeth instead, but he didn’t let on.

“Let me show you what it’s gonna look like,” he said. They had talked about the design for weeks, compiling a list of her favorite kinds of flowers and debating on what colors she might like if she ever decided to have the tattoo filled in later. He showed her the design, holding it over her soft skin and pointing out the one dahlia blossom she had agreed to start with on the part of her thigh that would be the least painful. She smoothed her hand over the design and looked at Axel.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, her gaze darting toward the tattoo gun on the cart beside the chair.

Axel had an idea. He smoothed his big hands over her thighs and gave her hips a squeeze, enjoying the give of her curves under his palms and the way her body became so responsive to his touch. He pushed her panties out of the way and leaned down, kissing her along her pelvis and stopping just above her center.

“You’re gonna be a good girl and tell me if you need a break, right?” he asked, pulling her panties off completely and tucking them into the back pocket of his jeans.

For a moment, she couldn’t make a sound. She stared at him with wide eyes, nodding.

“Hm?” he asked as he nipped at her skin, waiting for an answer.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“You’ll tell me to stop?” He wanted to make sure she understood, that she wouldn’t push herself too far in an effort to be brave for him.

Her breath caught in her throat, but she managed to squeak out a response. “Yes, I will.”

Axel kissed her skin one more time, sending a shiver down her spine. “Good girl,” he murmured. He sat up and put on a pair of gloves, then started prepping the area on her thigh with alcohol.

It felt cold on her skin, but all she could think about was how the lower half of her body was completely naked, how the stubble on his face had tickled her skin as he kissed her. She had watched other girls get thigh tattoos. They usually pushed their jeans down just far enough for him to work, keeping themselves as covered up as possible—even the ones who looked at Axel as though they secretly hoped he would suddenly whip out his cock and tell them to get on their knees. She felt the leather seat below her bare ass and tried to concentrate on something other than her own arousal that had gathered between her legs when he had kissed her. She felt so exposed, sitting like that in the tattoo shop, where there would usually be half a dozen people sitting around. It was only her and her lover now, but it still seemed so dirty.

“You’re the prettiest canvas I’ve ever seen,” Axel said as he traced the design onto her skin. Sometimes she still couldn’t believe the sweet things that came out of his normally filthy mouth. It made her heart flutter. He finished transferring the design and had her look it over for approval. Even though it was only a single flower, she couldn’t believe how beautiful it was—the way its delicate petals looked like they were opening, shining with dewdrops and framed by leaves.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered in admiration.

Axel winked at her. “That’s because it’s you,” he said. She thought she would melt into the chair right then as he turned to prep the tattoo machine. “Lay back and try to relax, sweet girl.”

She leaned back in the chair and did as he instructed, squeezing her eyes shut so she wasn’t tempted to glance over at what he was doing. If she saw the needle, she felt certain she would call the whole thing off. She thought instead of how she would trace her fingers over the design later, a tangible reminder that she belonged to him, that he loved her so tenderly. His smooth voice interrupted her reverie.

“Take a deep breath for me,” he said. “Here we go.”

She inhaled sharply and tried to relax as she felt the sting of the needle on her skin. It wasn’t as bad as she imagined, but her heart began to race and she forgot to exhale.

“That’s my girl,” Axel purred. “Keep breathing for me, okay?”

She exhaled then, and forced herself to take slow, steady breaths. The pain began to subside after a few minutes and was replaced by a strange numbness. Her skin still smarted, but it felt manageable, and as Axel continued to talk her through it, she began to relax. She thought about how he sometimes slapped her ass during sex—how she would yelp, but always pushed her ass into his hands afterward, wiggling her hips and hoping for more. Once he had given her such an intense spanking that her ass was red for days. She couldn’t sit at her desk at work without it smarting and reminding her of him, of how he could turn pain into pleasure. She felt her face growing hot as she thought about it now, a gentle throb of desire drawing her attention to the place where he kissed her.

“Talk to me, kitten,” Axel said, glancing up at her. Her brows were furrowed together and her eyes were shut tight as she took slow, ragged breaths.

“I’m okay,” she mumbled.

“I’ll be done before you know it.”

He finished the outline and began shading the design, speaking soft words of praise and encouragement as he did so. He wanted to get it over with quickly for her, but he also wanted to get it absolutely perfect. Though the design was small and relatively simple, he did some of his best work that day. Sometimes when he finished a tattoo, he felt it was nothing more than a picture. But this one was a work of art. He added a few final touches and looked up at her. She didn’t seem to realize he was finished.

“All done,” Axel said, setting his gear aside and taking off his gloves with a snap.

She opened her eyes, blinking as though coming out of a trance, not unlike those times when he had fucked her out of her senses. “Already?” she asked.

Axel held back a grin and nodded. “You did so good,” he said, pushing the cart aside. He splayed his hand over her stomach, caressing her there before slipping his fingers down between her legs, dipping them into her arousal. A soft gasp escaped her lips, as beautiful and sweet as she was. As much as he wanted to fuck her, he didn’t want to irritate the area he had just tattooed. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t give her something lovely to think about whenever she remembered her first time. He stroked her with his long fingers, watching her body arc in response to her touch.

“Relax, baby,” he said. “Let me take care of you.”

That became their ritual from then on. Axel would close the tattoo shop early on a weekday afternoon and paint the canvas of his lover while she lay naked in that chair, content to let him do whatever he wanted. The blossoms spread out along her thigh and arched over her hips, coming to an elegant frame over her most delicate parts. They bloomed over her ass and flooded with color, deep shades of purple and pink that stood in perfect contrast to her flesh. When she’d had enough for the day, he’d cover the area with a bandage and make love to her. Those times were sacred, and he never felt closer to her than he did after she let him tattoo her skin, because no matter how many times they did it, she was always afraid. But she trusted him enough to let him do it anyway, and he loved her for it.

@stevesharrlngtons @skrsgardspam @loomiz @ladadada-da @jj-lynn21 @flowers-in-your-hayr @emmyrosee​ @walkxthexmoon @bill-skarsgard-owns-my-ass​ @scuba-seamus @grandpa-sweaters​ @lihikainanea​ @gustafsnightangel​

[stylesnews]

In a decade, Harry Styles has gone from teenage heartthrob to a global pop star in his own right. As he's distanced himself from his adolescent years as a member of One Direction, he's become his own person, starring in the 2017 blockbuster Dunkirk, hosting Saturday Night Live and creating music that pulls from a variety of influences.

Styles released his second solo album Fine Line late last year, and in addition to showcasing some of those influences and his talents as a songwriter, it was also a huge commercial success, with the biggest U.S. sales week for a British male artist since Eric Clapton's Unplugged in 1992.

But Styles says he spent a lot of time rethinking his idea of success after touring his self-titled album. "I think if you're making what you want to make, then ultimately no one can tell you you're unsuccessful, because you're doing what makes you happy," he says.

NPR's Mary Louise Kelly spoke to Harry Styles about his love of Fleetwood Mac and finding freedom in the music of the '70s, what he would say to his 16-year-old self and nail polish. Listen in the player above and read on for a transcript of their full conversation.

Mary Louise Kelly: Your most recent album seems tied up in the '70s, which is a decade you didn't actually live through. What is it about that era that draws you in?

There's a freedom in the music that is so inspiring. If you go back and listen to so much of that music, and you listen to songs from [Carole King's] Tapestry and Harry Nilsson songs, they sound so fresh. I think it's crazy that something that was made so long ago, you can listen to it now and be like "I want my drums to sound like these drums, and I want my strings to sound like these strings." I think that's really incredible. And I think it's just the freedom, it's people doing what they wanted to do. Obviously, the music business has changed so much since then — there was a lot more of everybody hanging out together and playing songs, and I feel like music is a lot more competitive now.

And is it maybe a little more produced now? Less organic?

I think we just have different technology. When we came to do my first solo album, I had this thing where I wanted to do everything to tape. And then I kind of realized that The Beatles didn't use tape because it was really cool to use, they used it because it was the best technology they had [at the time] and it sounded the best. And now we just have different ways of recording stuff and you can make stuff sound really nice — so we kind of abandoned the tape thing. Overall what draws me to that time with music is just the freedom.

Was making Fine Line sound like the music of the '70s a conscious choice?

I'm not listening to stuff so much anymore being like "I just want my stuff to sound like this." You grow up listening to what your parents listen to. For me it was the [Rolling] Stones, Beatles, Fleetwood [Mac], a lot of Queen, Elvis Presley, Shania Twain, Savage Garden, Norah Jones. That was kind of like the base of what my first experience with music was, and I feel like you can't help but have a lot of references from what you grew up listening to [in your own music].

Speaking of Fleetwood Mac, I saw you've gotten to know and work with Stevie Nicks. What's that like, to get to know someone who was the soundtrack of your childhood and go out on stage with them?

It borders on an out-of-body experience. "Dreams" was the first song I knew all the words to; I used to sing it in the car with my mom. Every time I'm with her, you want to be, obviously, present, right? I'm trying to enjoy being with her and soaking in. But I think at the same time, while you're in the room with her, I'm sitting there thinking about being 10-years-old and singing the song.

Does it matter if you're super famous yourself?

I don't think so, because ultimately we're all humans. It's not like paralyzing starstruck, it's more like I try and appreciate what my 10-year-old self would think of it. I think ultimately you meet [other famous people] and you're kind of in awe of them, but at the same time you get to hang out with them on this human level, where you're just talking and it's really amazing.

Those are the moments that kind of mean the most because it's real. And when everything else about being in music goes away, that's the stuff that I think you end up telling your grandkids. For example, with Stevie, my favorite moments about it aren't usually the show, it's the practicing. When we first played together, it was at the Troubadour — famously, where Elton John did his first U.S. show — and it was an amazing moment, but my favorite was soundchecking. It's like four people in there and just us singing in the empty Troubadour. For me, that's a moment that I'm going to hold on to.

Speaking of moments where you wish you could tell your younger self "Buddy, you have no idea": 10 years ago when you auditioned for the British reality show X Factor, the judge Simon Cowell asked you "What do you want to do with your life, what are your future plans?" You said you were going back to college in the fall to study "law, sociology, business and something else, but I'm not sure yet."

There's a lot of us who wanted to be a rock star and ended up being lawyers. You've gone the other way. Is it funny listening back to yourself? What do you wish you could tell your 16-year-old self?

I guess like "Don't worry." In the early years, I spent a lot of time worrying about what would happen and getting things wrong and saying the wrong thing and doing the wrong thing. I'm trying to let go of the worrying thing, and that's what I've loved the most about this album, rather than the first one. I think I had a lot of fear — whether it was conscious or subconsciously — just about getting it wrong. When I listen back to the first album now, although I still love it so much, I feel like I was almost bowling with the bumpers up a little bit. I can hear places where I was playing it safe.

When I listen back to the first album now, although I still love it so much, I feel like I was almost bowling with the bumpers up a little bit. I can hear places where I was playing it safe.

I think with this one, after touring with an album that wasn't necessarily a radio record and people came to see the show, I realized that the only thing that people really want is for you to do what you want to do. Ultimately, I think if people believe in you, you can make a bad record, you can make a bad song, and people will still come to a show if they're interested and they want to come see you. I think the only time people go "You know what? I'm done with this," is when it stops being authentic. You can't really blame people for that. If there's an artist I loved and I felt like they were faking it, I can't say that I'd keep going to the shows. I think that was a big thing for me, just trying to worry less. The worst thing that can happen is that I make a record that I think everybody else wants to hear, and then it doesn't do well. And you sit there going "Well I wish I'd just made the record that I wanted to make." I think if you're making what you want to make, then ultimately no one can tell you you're unsuccessful, because you're doing what makes you happy. That's the biggest thing that I learned this time.

You dress amazingly. You wear suits, but they're patterned and florals and you had that blouse that got all the attention at last year's Met Gala. I noticed you're wearing nail polish, and you do wear clothing that blurs traditional lines sometimes. What are you hoping people take from that? Is it just "This is what I want to wear, deal with it" or are you trying to send any kind of message?

For me, it's not like doing it to send a message. Part of being on the last tour, when people came to watch the show, I realized "Oh, these people just want to see me be myself, and I'm telling them to be themselves." And I just didn't want to be a hypocrite. I do it when I'm not working, so to me it doesn't feel like it's "Oh, I'm sending a message with my nail polish." I just put a lot less weight behind it, I think. And sometimes I forget, because I'll go somewhere and someone will be like "Have you got nail polish on?" I'm lucky that I work in an industry that allows you to be creative and express yourself, and I'd encourage it to anybody.

Can you tell us about a favorite song on the album?

My two favorite songs on this album are probably "Cherry" and "Fine Line." "Cherry" is the fifth song on the album. It's one of my favorites, mostly because of how it came about. When I started making this album ... I felt like it had to be big. The last record wasn't really a radio record: The single ["Sign of the Times"] from it was a 6-minute piano ballad, so it wasn't the typical formula. So I felt a bit of pressure that I wanted to make something that worked. I was trying this stuff one night in the studio, and I was worried because I just wasn't really liking anything that I was doing. I felt like I was trying too hard. That's when I make the music that I like the least, is when I'm trying to write a pop song or I'm trying to write something fun.

Everybody left for the weekend, and it was me, Tyler Johnson, who I work with, and Sammy Witte. It was two or three in the morning, and we were having a drink and just talking. I was saying how I have all these records that I'd love to make, I love all this kind of music and in five years I want to make this kind of record, and in 10 years I want to make this kind of album, and then I'll get to make the music that I really want to make. And Tyler just said "You just have to make the music that you want to make — right now. That's the only way of doing it, otherwise you're going to regret it."

And "Cherry" was the result of that?

Yeah, so we stayed and Sammy started playing the guitar riff, and we did it through the night and recorded it. Everybody came back in the morning and listened to it ... I heard it when it was finished and was like "This is the kind of music I want to make."

How did you write "Fine Line?"

"Fine Line" I wrote [during] a gap in the tour. It was January 2018 and I was at my friend Tom's house, who I work with, and we just started strumming this thing, and we started layering these vocals, and it turned into this 6-minute thing. I had it for a long time and I kept listening to it during the tour, like I'd listen to it before I went to bed. Just sonically I loved the song, and I loved the lyrics of the song. When we wrote it, I kind of knew it was the last song of an album, and we ended up taking it to Bath, in England, where I was making this record for a while. I wanted it to turn into something else at the end, I wanted like a big crescendo ending. While we were in Bath, Sammy started playing this little thing on the piano, and I tweaked it a little bit and I was like "That has to go at the end of 'Fine Line.' " Now when I listen to it, it's one of those things where I'm just proud that it's mine, I'm so happy. It's one of those songs that I've always wanted to make.

[isolavirtuosa]

Cass & Dean's Infinite Playlist 6-10

[fanfiction] Dean/Castiel

Canon Compliant Coda

The one where Dean makes a lot of mixtapes.

Parts 6-10/26 under the cut.  Previous parts here. Referenced songs playlist on Spotify.

- 6 -

“Hey, Cass, you wanna go for a drive-”

“Yes,” he said agreeably, appearing out of thin air.  Then his nose wrinkled.  “Motörhead?”

“What’s wrong with Motörhead?”

“Nothing, it’s just… loud,” Cass said, loosening his tie.

“You say that a lot,” I said, “but you know that we could just turn down the volume?”

“No, not loud like that,” he said, shaking his head.  “It is… difficult-to-have-a-conversation loud.”

“I don’t really see the difference, but okay, what do you want to listen to?” I asked.

Cass seemed to freeze.  “…me…?”

“Yes, Castiel, Angel of the Lord, what do you want to listen to?” I asked, nodding my head towards the cassette collection.

“I can… choose?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“Yeah, sure,” I said with a shrug.

“But I am… the passenger,” he said, baffled.

“So you want to listen to Iggy Pop?”

“No, I… I mean, the passenger is to shut his cakehole, is he not?”

“Generally, yes,” I agreed.  “But just this once.”

Cass seemed flustered.

I had just said it offhandedly.  It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.

The way Cass was reverently flipping through the tapes seemed like A Big Deal.

“I get final veto power,” I mumbled, trying to regain some semblance of my authority.

Cass hummed his assent, then pulled out a tape.

I held my hand out to him and he placed it into my waiting hand.  I felt the warmth of his fingertips, then held up the tape for inspection.  “You really like Bowie, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I said, ejecting Motörhead and putting in The Man Who Sold the World.

Cass rolled down his window, letting the wind blow against his face as he watched the passing scenery.

Our conversations always meandered, about Cass’s work, about what was going on in my little patch heaven, about the past.  I felt relaxed, listening to Cass’s low voice talk about organizing angel tree planters floating over heavy guitar and a cacophony of drums.

He paused when the title track came on, his mouth tilting into a little smile.  “I like this song.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, it’s hard to put my finger on it, but… it makes me think of you.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.

“Did I sell the world?”

“You might have.”

“Huh.”

“I like the Nirvana cover, too.”

“Really, Cass?  Grunge?” I scoffed.

“Kurt Cobain was an exceptional poet,” he informed me.

“Oh, man, are you trying to recommend music to me now?” I asked, amused.

“You know Dean, they did not stop making music after the 1980s.”

“Might as well have.”

Cass exhaled a little laugh, turning to look out the window again.  He started singing quietly to the chorus, “who knows?  Not me.  We never lost control.  You’re face to face with the man who sold the world.”

I liked listening to my tone-deaf angel sing, joining him in the final lines.

When the tape finished, I ejected it, then nodded my head to the cassettes again.  “What’s next?”

“I can choose again?” Cass asked, surprised.

“Pick something good.”

He grinned happily as he started going through all the tapes.

- 7 -

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, rocking out to Van Halen.

Cass held out the bag of donuts he’d brought for our drive and I took one, taking a bite and continuing to mouth the words.

“I like sprinkles,” he decided, staring very hard at the strawberry donut he was eating.  “They do not seem like they add anything of value, and yet without them, the donut is lesser.”

“Rainbow sprinkles for Cass, check,” I said, going back to singing.  “I can barely see the road from the heat comin' off of it.  Ah, I reach down between my legs.  Ease the seat back.”

“Apparently there are many people who think this song is called Animal,” Cass put in.

“But it is actually called…?”

“Panama,” he said, beaming at me.

“Look at our little Cassie, all grown up,” I said, reaching over and patting him on the shoulder.

“The younger angels all come to me to learn about the ancient music of the 1970s and 80s,” he said proudly.

“Ancient?” I repeated.

“Quite,” he agreed.

“Anciently awesome,” I muttered.

“Are songs about strippers… anciently awesome?” Cass asked, his tone implying that they might not be.

“Strippers are awesome,” I declared.

Cass snorted at that.  “Dean, your performative masculinity is unnecessary.”

“Performative… what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I growled at him.

He shrugged, a bizarrely human gesture on him.  “If your idea of a good time is watching scantily clad women struggling to pay their bills while dealing with issues of paternal abandonment-”

“-which I do-”

“-then you should spend your time in heaven doing that instead of driving around in your Impala with me.”

“I can do both,” I protested.

“When have you…” Cass trailed off, squinting at me.  “Dean, I think you need feminism.”

“You sound like Sam,” I groaned.

“No, our tones are significantly different.”

I just rolled my eyes.

“I am going to make you a mixtape,” Cass decided.

“Oh?”

“Yes.  Of only female artists.”

Something inside of me rebelled against the idea of it.  But another part of me thought about that catchy Taylor Swift song that I couldn’t quite get out of my head.  “I don’t need weepy chick music,” I said dismissively.

“Deaaaaan,” he sighed heavily, like my name was ten syllables long.

“Do you even know how to make a mixtape?”

“I am very good at figuring things out.”

We all knew that wasn’t true, but I didn’t say anything more, and the next time Cass appeared in my car, he was proudly waving a cassette at me that read in very tiny lettering, ‘A Mixtape of Various Female Artists Made by Castiel for Dean as a Means of Edification'.

I shook my head at him.

He just grinned.

“You gonna put it in?” I asked.

“No,” he said, adding the tape to my collection.  “You should listen to it alone.”

“That sounds ominous,” I said with a snort.

“I just mean that your reaction will be more authentic.”

“Okay,” I said, squinting at him.  Like I was performative.

“Can we listen to Led Zeppelin today?” he asked.

“Um, we can always listen to Led Zeppelin,” I said.  “Whaddya wanna hear?”

“We could start at Led Zeppelin and proceed chronologically?” he suggested.

“I like the way you think,” I said, feeling around for the tape and then pushing it into the deck.

After Cass had left, I could feel his mixtape sitting there, staring at me.

I glared at it.

What had Cass said?  That I needed feminism?

This was going to be so annoying.

I pulled the tape out and pushed it into the deck.

The guitar that greeted my ears was familiar.

“Busted flat in Baton Rouge, waiting for a train.  When I was feeling nearly faded as my jeans.  Bobby thumbed a diesel down, just before it rained.”

I felt a little smile tugging at my lips.  I could respect some Janis Joplin, and the fact that Cass had chosen to open up his mixtape with Me and Bobby McGee actually had me a little impressed with his mixtape-making skills.

Then the song ended, and I could hear Cass’s faraway-sounding voice in the back of the recording.  “Did it record the song?”

I cracked up, listening to him struggle to figure out how to stop the recording before putting on the next song.  I had no idea what kind of equipment he’d decided to use for this, but the sound quality was a little scratchy, suggesting he might have just been holding up a microphone to a tape player.

Then the twangy guitar of Fleetwood Mac suddenly filled the speakers.

I listened to the tape from start to finish.  There were some random moments of Cass mumbling to himself, trying to figure out what he was doing.  There was also a very loud crash in the middle of Patti Smith, followed by some cursing that had me laughing so hard I had tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

And at the end of it all, I couldn’t help but wonder how the hell Cass had known enough to pick out each of those songs.  Sure, Metatron had braindumped him with a bunch of pop culture references, but there was a depth to his choices.  It was obvious he was mostly trying to choose songs he thought that I would like, with rockers like Suzi Quatro and Heart.  But then there was Joni Mitchell, which was just so Cass to me.

“I am on a lonely road and I am traveling, traveling, traveling, traveling.  Looking for something, what can it be?”

It was kind of beautiful, and I found myself rewinding it and listening again.

[Listen to Castiel's full C46 mixtape 'A Mixtape of Various Female Artists Made by Castiel for Dean as a Means of Edification' on Spotify.]

- 8 -

Me and Cass sat on the hood of the Impala, drinking beers while Black Sabbath blasted through the speakers.

Cass suddenly leaned back, staring up at the sky.  “The stars are beautiful here,” he observed.

“Yeah, no ambient light in heaven,” I said, laying back beside him.

“Shooting star,” Cass pointed out happily.

I was looking at him instead of the sky.  I looked back up, but it was already gone.  “Haven’t you seen a million of them?”

“And I hope to see a million more.”

“How can you be like that?” I asked, shaking my head.  I sat up again and took a pull from my beer.

“Like what?” he asked.

“I dunno,” I said.  “Hopeful?”

“Is it hopeful to enjoy the beauty of my father’s creation?”

“I got no idea.”

“What’s on your mind, Dean?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“You just seem like you want to talk about something,” he said, sitting up next to me.

“Not really,” I said with a shrug.

He stared at me for a long moment, then looked away with his own shrug.  “Don’t tell me, then.”

“Don’t be like that,” I complained, nudging him with my elbow.

“Then talk to me,” he said with a scowl.

“Hey, Cass,” I said.  “How you doin’?”

“Crappy,” he responded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t be like that,” I repeated, nudging him harder.  That of course did nothing because he was an immovable lump of celestial intent.

“I am just being myself.”

“A grumpy-ass angel?”

“A grumpy-ass angel,” he agreed sarcastically.

“I like when you’re a happy, non-grumpy-ass angel,” I said, looking him in the eye.

“I am very happy, Dean,” he said, staring back unbothered.

“Why?” I asked before I could help it.

His expression took on a more thoughtful countenance.  “Well, to be happy is to be ‘characterized by well-being and contentment’,” he said, like he was reading from the dictionary.  “Heaven is still a work in progress, but it has been greatly transformed by Jack, and I am able to be a part of that.  I derive great satisfaction from my work.”

“And that’s enough?” I asked.

“No, it’s not enough,” he said, shaking his head.  “Work is just one part of life.”

I found myself chewing on my bottom lip.

“I have my friends and my family,” he continued, leaning in a little closer and trying to maintain eye contact.  “When my work is finished, I can visit with them, go for drives with my best friend.”

“And that’s… good enough?” I asked.

Cass gave me a scrutinizing look.  “Are we talking about me…?”

“Yes, we’re talking about you, who else would we be talking about?” I grumbled, feeling annoyed for some reason.

“Dean.”

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

I looked away.

“I find great satisfaction in my personal life,” he finally said.  “And I am enjoying my new hobby immensely.”

“Hobby?”

“Earth music,” he explained, his expression softening into a smile.  “I want to listen to it all.”

“Yeah?” I said.  “That’s a lotta music, Cass.”

He nodded happily.

“So me makin’ you mixtapes… that makes you happy?” I asked, weighing the words out before I spoke.

“Yes, Dean, so very much,” he said sincerely.  “It’s like you’re giving me a piece of your soul with every song.”

“Um, I don’t think it’s quite that deep.”

“Music is truly powerful.”

“Not that powerful.”

“And yet…”

I let him have the last word, shaking my head and taking a drink.

“Dean, are you happy?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, sure,” I said with a shrug.  “Ya know, for a dead guy.”

Cass sighed very loudly.

I gave him my most charming grin.

“You are in heaven,” he said to me.  “You are supposed to be experiencing the ultimate form of contentment.”

“I am,” I said, knocking our shoulders together.  I realized he was starting to get upset, and I didn’t want that.  I liked Happy Cass, as unsettling and foreign as he was.  “I am experiencing many forms of contentment right now.”

He looked at me.

I let my hand drop to his knee, resting there.  “I’ve got my baby, I’ve got my beer, I’ve got my tunes, and I’ve got my angel.”

That got him to half-smile.

I squeezed his knee.  “I’m okay, Cass.”

“I wish that you were more than okay,” he told me.

“How much more okay do I need to be?” I asked, rolling my eyes and reclaiming my hand as I took a drink.

He just looked at me.

I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Can we listen to something else?” he asked abruptly.

“Too loud?”

“Yes.”

“Put in whatever you want,” I said, nodding my head back towards the car.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tape, smiling at me hopefully.

“What’s that?” I asked, holding out my hand.

He passed it to me.

“Joni Mitchell?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Blue is a masterpiece,” he informed me.

I looked at him.

“You said whatever I want.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, handing it back to him.

Cass looked pleased as he slid down off the hood and headed back into the car.

Ozzy Osbourne’s voice cut out, and suddenly the night was quiet.  It was only a moment, and then Joni Mitchell’s acoustic guitar kicked in.

“I really like this song,” he told me as he climbed back up on the hood.

“It’s alright,” I said.  “For chick music,” I couldn’t help but add.

“Dean, there is no such thing as chick music.”

“Uh, it’s music made by chicks.”

“So music made by men is dick music?”

I spit out my beer.

Cass shrugged, playing it off like he was just making an observation.  Like he didn’t know exactly what to say to make me laugh.  “I might like chick better than dick,” he decided.

I was dying.

Cass smiled a happy, pleased smile.

I slung my arm around his shoulder and drank my beer, contentedly listening to the haunting sound of Joni Mitchell’s voice.

- 9 -

“This album is a revelation,” Cass informed me.

“Really, Cass?” I asked incredulously.  “Beyoncé?”

“Queen Bey, yes,” he said with a sincere nod.

“Oh, is this a monarchy?” I asked.

Cass sighed loudly.  “Be quiet and listen.”

I was quiet, but I couldn’t guarantee that I was listening.  “What is the point of sampling?” I grumbled.  “Come up with your own music.”

“Sampling is like a storyteller passing down the oral history of one generation down to the next,” Cass explained, using that voice that sounded like he was talking to a child but usually meant he was talking to me.  “It is actually incredibly intricate and beautiful when done well.”

“I don’t know, Cass, I don’t think Andy Williams reggae is for me.”

“Listen to the words,” he growled at me.

I tried.  “I’m just not into jilted lover chick music.”

Cass straight up scowled at me.

I groaned.  This was going to be a long ride.

Then something caught my ear.

“…is that Zepp?!”

Cass gave me a haughty look.  “Funny how excited you get at hearing a lowly ‘sample’.”

“Zepp rules,” I said with a shrug.

“You should try being more open-minded, Dean.”

“I’m very open-minded,” I said incredulously.

“Because you like that one Taylor Swift song?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Cass ignored me and started singing along.

I decided to ignore him, too.

We got through a few more tracks that had me really thinking this wasn’t an album for a middle-aged white guy, but then out of nowhere there was a country song blasting through the speakers and Cass had gone quiet, touching my arm.  “Listen,” was all he said.

“Came into this world daddy's little girl.”

“So relatable,” I mumbled, and Cass pinched me.  “Ow!”

“And daddy made a soldier out of me.”

That gave me pause.

“Daddy made me dance and daddy held my hand.”

Losing me again…

“And daddy liked his whisky with his tea and we rode motorcycles.  Blackjack, classic vinyl.  Tough girl is what I had to be.”

I swallowed.

“He said take care of your mother, watch out for your sister.”

‘Watch out for Sammy,’ Dad’s voice echoed in my ears.

“Oh, my daddy said shoot.”

‘All right, if somethin' tries to bust in?’ Dad asked.

‘Shoot first, ask questions later,’ I found myself answering.

Cass didn’t say anything for the rest of the song.

I hit the ‘stop’ button.

His head tilted as he gazed at me, waiting.

“The fuck was that?” I finally ground out.

He blinked at me.

“I didn’t like it,” I said abruptly.

A frown tugged at Cass’s mouth.  “I’m sorry, Dean.  I did not mean to upset you.”

“Who’s upset?” I growled, speeding up.

“You are,” he said, like he was pointing out the obvious.

“Whatever.”

I almost jumped out of my skin when Cass put his hand on my arm again.

“Sorry,” he said softly.  “I didn’t know that things between you and John were still so… unresolved.”

“Dad and I are fine,” I lied, and no one believed me.

Cass left his hand on my arm, and after a while he reclaimed his Beyoncé tape and put in some Metallica.

- 10 -

Cass left the damn tape mixed in with my collection.

I kept rewinding it, listening again and again.

“Oh, my daddy said shoot.  Oh, my daddy said shoot.”

Cass caught me, appearing in my passenger seat out of nowhere without the customary invitation.

I hit ‘eject’, and neither of us said anything about it.  “What do you want to listen to?” I asked.

“Driver picks the music,” Cass said.

I shrugged.  “Fish out some Lynyrd Skynyrd.”

He did so, pushing in their debut album.

I started singing along to I Ain’t the One.

This was what we did.  Except, usually I called Cass.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked.

“Hm?” he said, looking away from the window to face me.  “Oh, I just wanted to see you.  I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course,” I said.  “You don’t need an invitation.”

“You have said that before, so I thought… I thought I might take you up on it.”

“Good.”

Cass leaned back more comfortably in his seat, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows.  He’d been taking off the trench coat and the suit jacket more and more often lately.  “Sam said the same thing, but I didn’t know that kitchens were a place for sexual intercourse.”

I slow blinked.  “I’m sorry, what?”

“Sam told me to stop by any time,” he said.  “Then he told me to knock first.”

“Wait, wait, so Sammy was hitting it on the kitchen table?”

“He wasn’t hitting anything,” Cass said, squinting at me.

“Cass, come on, you mean to tell me that you still haven’t figured out the art of the sexual innuendo?”

“Sam and Eileen were… in a compromising situation on the kitchen counter,” he explained.

“Nice,” I said agreeably.  “Good for Sammy.”

“Sam was not quite as enthusiastic about the situation,” Cass said, shaking his head.  “At least Eileen thought it was funny.”

I leaned back against my headrest, chuckling.  “Eileen is so cool, how did she ever end up with my dorky brother?”

“Opposites attract?” Cass suggested.

“Apparently,” I said.  “So you got a real eyeful?”

“I saw more of Sam than I ever wanted to, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said.

I cracked up.  “Gross, man.”

“Indeed.”

“Pick up any new techniques?” I asked, waggling my eyebrows at him.  “Knowing Sammy, probably not…”

“Sex techniques?” he asked, making a face at me.

“Yeah, man,” I said.  “Never know when some lovely lady- or uh… dude, uh… might, ya know, walk into your life.”

“I am not interested in having sex.”

“Dude, come on,” I said.  “You don’t ever get the urge…?”

“No.”

“Cass, you’re killing me here.”

“I don’t know why it bothers you so much,” he said with a shrug.  “Your sexual activity decreased significantly after the whole Mark of Cain skulduggery.”

I was scandalized.  “I did not-” and then I thought about it.  “How would you know?” I blustered, deciding to take a different tack.

“It is very obvious when you’ve had sex, Dean,” he said, like he was talking about the weather.  “Elevation in mood, increased winking and eyebrow waggling, excessive cockiness…”

“How is that-”

“Also, the smell.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The pheromone smell,” Cass said, nodding his head.  “Very distinct.”

I sniffed the air around me self-consciously.

“There’s also the ritual,” he said, gazing ahead thoughtfully.  “Primping yourself-”

“Hey, now, I do not primp-”

“Fixing your hair, making sure your clothing lies just right…” he explained.  “Then it is off to the bar, a few drinks, a few well-placed aw-shucks country boy smiles-”

“I do not-”

“Find a willing partner and take her to where it is convenient to fornicate-”

“Dude, really?”

“All I am saying is that you stopped having a strong interest in such superficial acts, so I do not know why I should have to be interested in them.”

“I am still very interested in those superficial acts,” I grumbled.  “I just… there was always so much going on, ya know?  And I just… well, okay, maybe I didn’t just want to pick up some random girl at a bar and take her home.  I…” I trailed off, at a loss to explain.

“I understand,” Cass said.  “I wonder if I would be more interested if sex with the person I love was possible, but since it is not, it all seems rather frivolous.”

“You can’t just dismiss it like that when you’ve barely even tried,” I said, shaking my head.  “Look-” I started and froze, the synapses in my brain finally firing.  “Wait, I’m the person you love.”

“Yes,” Cass agreed.

“Wait, wait, wait.”

He waited.

“So… you would want to have sex if it was with… me?” I asked slowly.

“Yes, I think so,” he said, nodding.

“And I’m not… interested… so, you’re just gonna be celibate…?”

“Correct,” he agreed.

“Cass, man, I can’t be the reason for you not getting laid.”

“You’re not,” he said, giving me an amused look.

“You just said…”

“Dean, I have experimented with human sexuality, and I do not find it fulfilling without a ‘connection’,” he said, making air quotes.  “Maybe someday I will make a ‘connection’ with another being who returns my feelings, but for now I am content without sexual contact.”

“But-”

“Perhaps you should worry more about your own sex life than mine,” he said.

I glared at him.

He held his hands up.  “I just mean that if sex makes you happy, then why aren’t you having it?”

“Oh, you watch,” I muttered.

“Are you inviting me for some sort of voyeuristic experience?” he asked, looking perplexed.

“No!” I cried, but then I couldn’t help but laugh.

Cass was quiet, but he had a little smile on his face.

“Is this really enough for you?” I asked softly.

“What?” he asked, eyes flicking to mine as he studied my expression.  “You and I?”

I nodded.

His smile went soft.  “Of course it is, Dean.”

“Okay,” I said, because when he looked at me like that I had to believe him, as improbable as it seemed.  “Cass, I…”

“Yes?”

I struggled for the words and finally gave up.  “You can drop by whenever you like.  You don’t even have to knock.”

“Thank you, Dean,” he said, looking pleased.

“Yeah,” I said with a shrug.  And that was all there was to say.

[surveyjunkie]

SONG #1: Set Phasers to Stun - Taking Back Sunday

1. How old were you when you heard this song for the first time?: Oh god I was like 13 or 14. The memoriessss.

2. What album is it off of?: Where You Want To Be

3. What genre is it?: Alternative

4. What’s your favorite lyric from this song?: So trace back the stairs to your apartment, because that’s where you want to be.

5. Does it remind you of any certain person or event?: It just reminds me of my childhood

SONG #2: American Boy - Estelle feat. Kanye West

1. Which of your friends would most likely enjoy this song as much as you do?: I’m actually not sure, I don’t remember any of my other friends liking this when it came out. Probably Josie?

2. Is this band your favorite, or at least one of your favorites?: I haven’t listened to much Estelle but I love old Kanye West

3. What do you think this song is about?: It’s about a british girl meeting an American boy and him taking her around the world. 

4. Have you ever blasted this song in your car?: Yup! It has such a chill beat, I love blasting it.

5. Do you own it on CD?: Nah

SONG #3: Ni**as in Paris - Kanye West ft. Jay Z 1. What language is this song sung in?: English

2. Have you heard this song on the radio?: Ohhh yeah. 

3. How did you discover this song?: At a party in college

4. Would you mind if this song was played at your wedding?: Honestly, no. 

5. Does this song have any cursing in it?: Um, obviously haha

SONG #4: You Were Mine - Dixie Chicks

1. How often do you listen to this song?: On long road trips where I can sing it to the top of my lungs because DIXIE CHICKS

2. Do you have it on any of your online playlists?: It’s on my Spotify playlist

3. Does this song have a music video?: I’m sure it does 

4. Is this a popular song from the band?: Yes

5. Is the band popular at all?: They were huge in the early 2000s, not so much anymore but I’m sure everyone has heard of them whether or not you listen to country

SONG #5: Man in the Box - Alice in Chains

1. Have you seen this band live? If so, did they perform this song?: No, and I never will be able to :(

2. Is this a very well-known song? Was it played on the radio?: Rock stations are constantly playing it

3. Do any of your friends like this song?: I know for a fact Josh and my brother Danny do. 

4. If you could pair up one historical event with this song, what would you chose?: Hmmm. That’s hard.

5. Just going by the title, what do you think this song means?: JUST going by the title, it sounds like he is trapped. If I remember correctly this song is about addiction but I could be way off. 

SONG #6: California - Phantom Planet

1. How long have you been listening to this song?: Since 2005

2. Is this song from the band’s newer or older music?: It’s an extremely old song 3. Ever heard this song on MTV/Fuse/etc.?: Yes, that’s where I first heard it, and then realized it was the theme song for the OC

4. If you went up to a random person in the street and mentioned this song, what are the chances they’d know what song it is?: Maybe?? I don’t know.

5. Are the vocals male or female?: Male 

SONG #7: Heroes - David Bowie

1. What’s better in this song; the vocals or the actual music?: Ohhh god I can’t decide. Personally I love the actual music but David Bowie’s voice in this is so haunting and full of passion like ughhhh

2. Do you have this song on your iPod/Zune/MP3 player/whatever?: It’s on my Spotify playlist

3. Do you have this song downloaded onto your computer?: Yes

4. How old is the person who sings this?: He’s dead :( :( He died at age 69, I think he was in his 30s when he recorded this song though 5. What instruments are used in this song?: Electric guitar, bass, drums, vocals

SONG #8: Rhiannon - Fleetwood Mac

1. What memories does this song bring back?: Being 10-11 years old riding around in my dad’s car while he played this

2. Was this song produced earlier than 2005?: It came out in 1975

3. Is this song leaning more towards rock or rap?: Rock

4. What’s a song that sounds similar to this (think of a band that sounds similar)?: The bass guitar rift from “Sultans of Swings” by Dire Straits sounds a bit similar. 

5. Do you own a band shirt of this band?: Nope

SONG #9: Something Good - Alt J 1. What mood does this song put you in?: A very happy, peaceful mood

2. Did you ever reference this song for a school paper or in your diary or anything?: No, it came out after I was done with school, or writing diaries

3. How can you relate to this song?: It’s about having a good time to forget about someone you miss, which I’ve done plenty of times

4. Do you know all the lyrics to it?: I do not 5. Who got you into the band that sings this song?: My friend Josie

SONG #10: Sic Transit Gloria - Brand New 1. What country does the band who sings this originate from?: US

2. Ever heard this song live? How does it sound compared to the CD version?: AHHH yes! They are so good live! Better than the CD version

3. One instrument that really stands out in this song?: Bass guitar, for sure. Just listen to the first minute of the song.

4. Can you play this song on any instruments? If so, which ones?: No lol

5. Do any of your family members know this song?: I doubt it

[lesbianphillie]

landslide

dan has a crisis in the early morning. (title is in reference to landslide by fleetwood mac).

he wakes up with his mind going too fast. dan presses his forehead onto phil’s back. their room is dark, with the beginnings of morning light casting a dark blue hue over everything. it used to feel so small, the audience he’s built over the years. he didn’t think it would be like this, be so expansive and pervasive. he didn’t think he’d ever be able to change lives by just sitting down in his bedroom and talking to a camera.

but here he is, almost a decade later, with books and movies and awards under his belt; here he is with millions of people watching his every single move. it’s suffocating sometimes, the impact that he has- the impact that they have- he remedies, as phil shifts beside him. they have built an entire community, a brand, a vast network of connections to people he’d never imagined meeting. they’ve held stage shows that draw crowds of a magnitude he can barely understand.

who is he? dan shifts uncomfortably. he hates that question. it feels so open, like there’s no way to answer it without giving a list miles long. and even then, a list is so reductive, but if he just answers it with some bullshit like “a human” then it becomes so vague and redundant. what is the deeper meaning? is it a question of identity, or of existence? what is his essence? how can it be so fucking complicated-

phil’s breathing changes. he’s awake. there is a silence that stretches, like maybe phil thinks he’s asleep.

“dan,” phil says, and dan lifts his head. “you’re thinking quite loudly.”

“sorry,” he murmurs, and phil rolls over to face him.

“it’s too early for your brain to be working so hard, love,” phil lays a careful hand over dans cheek, strokes a thumb over his cheekbone. dan can only just make out phil’s face, soft and sleepy in the low light.

“i know.” dan rests his hand lightly on phil’s ribs. they jump slightly, so he slides his hand over to phil’s back. “do you ever wonder if it’s worth it?”

“sometimes. sometimes i think maybe i'd have liked to be a weatherman. and maybe you’d be a lawyer and we’d live in like, leeds or something.”

“and we’d have a dog.”

“yes, and then our lives would be complete.”

“sounds kinda boring, not gonna lie.”

“yeah, but maybe boring can be okay too. it wouldn’t be boring if i could do this in public,” phil grabs his hand, threads their fingers together, “or this,” he releases dan’s hand, and pulls him close, shoving his nose into dan’s clavicle. dan wraps his arms around phil and shuts his eyes. he thinks about holding hands at the market, about picking phil up at the airport and hugging him, about going to the bar and casually having his arm around his boyfriend. he thinks about how desperately he wants that, how he could have that if maybe he wasn’t such a coward.

“but then again, would we even know each other? i think maybe it was worth it just to be with you,” phil’s breath is hot against his skin.

“that was really gay, phillip.” dan says, and the tears well up almost immediately, burning the backs of his eyelids. he blinks a few times, the dark blur of the world only just beginning to lighten. he used to be embarrassed about how things like this could make him cry, but phil never seems to care and so dan has resolved not to either.

“yeah, guess it was.” phil kisses his shoulder, trails up his throat over his jaw, just barely pressing his mouth into dan’s skin. he holds dan in place with a hand on the back of his neck, the other gently pressed against his chest. dan sighs, and squeezes his eyes closed, forcing the tears out. phil kisses his cheek, and pauses for a second before he kisses him on the lips.

their lips are collectively chapped. it’s a soft, chaste kiss, the kind that makes dan’s heart feel like a little bird in his chest or some shit. when phil pulls away, dan follows him without realizing it. he opens his eyes, and suddenly everything is golden, and the pink hues of phil’s skin are known to him again. up close, dan can see the tiny brown freckles across phil’s nose from the sun, the flecks of gold in the blue of his eyes. phil is smiling slightly as he speaks, dan stares openly at the stretch of his rosy mouth, the lines that appear in the corners of his eyes.

“i think that every decision we’ve made to get to here was worth it, at least for me. i wouldn’t change a thing about where i’ve been and the things i’ve experienced, because you’ve been there for every moment of it.”

“jesus phil, it’s too fuckin’ early for this,” dan laughs, wiping the tears that flow freely from his eyes away.

“you started it,” phil says, quiet and gravelly. he’s petting the nape of dan’s neck, the soft little wisps of hair growing from the back of his head. dan can feel the peaceful buzz underneath his skin. he can feel the possibility of forever with phil, and decides that the idea alone makes everything seem more worth the existential dread. it almost feels like hope.

“i need you,” dan says, plantative.

“i know.”

“i love you.”

“ditto.” phil says, and giggles, tongue poking out the side of his mouth. dan smiles, the weight of his emotions preventing him from joining in.

“you fucking dick,” dan says as he sidles ever closer, and maybe if he tries hard enough, the distance between them will never be further than this. and then phil becomes serious again.

“i want to spend the rest of my life with you, love,” he whispers, and dan feels himself beaming.

“same,” dan whispers back. he smooths down phil’s morning quiff. phil dissolves into little hiccupy laughs, and all dan wants is to kiss his forehead, so he does.

“i love you, dani snot on fire,” phil says in a weird, nasal voice while dan’s lips are pressed to his skin.

“you’re a massive twat, lester,” dan says, and kisses the tip of phil’s nose. “let’s get some b-fast.”

“and i’m the twat.” phil mutters, but he sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. dan watches him for a moment as he rises, observes the shift in his shoulder blades as he stretches, the little bit of pudge around his waist, the sleep-flattened back of his head, and has never loved anything so fiercely in his life. he takes this pause, and then gets up follows phil down to the kitchen and presumably towards the end of time.

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 09/10/2020

Okay, so as you know this show has been on a “hiatus” for reasons I explained in the last episode and I had been thinking of different ways to continue this. Eventually I came to the conclusion that it does not really matter if I skipped tens of songs, maybe even more than 100, because a lot of them don’t have lasting success and if I kept doing these massive blocks of songs from months ago I would pretty much get nowhere by the end of the year. So, I’m writing this on Saturday, meaning the UK Singles Chart updated yesterday, and I think it’s about time I get back in schedule. This week’s #1 is “Mood” by 24kGoldn and iann dior, and let’s discuss the new arrivals in the UK Top 75. Welcome back to REVIEWING THE CHARTS.

Dropouts and Returning Entries

So, how will this work? Well, it’s going to be pretty simple. No rundown of the top 10, no climbers and fallers, just reviews of the usually about 10 or so new songs that hit the UK Top 75. I’ll cover returning entries and drop-outs as well ever so briefly at the start of each episode, just for some additional clarity and information, I guess. This was actually a pretty damn busy week to start off with so we have a lot of drop-outs, some of which are pretty notable, like “Secrets” by DJ Regard and RAYE, “Fake Friends” by Ps1 and Alex Hosking, “Dinner Guest” by AJ Tracey and MoStack, Tion Wayne’s “I Dunno” featuring Dutchavelli and Stormzy, “Dancing in the Moonlight” by Jubel and Neimy and some other relatively unimportant one-week hits I won’t be mentioning here. Of course, there are songs that have been on the chart for months but I only recently covered like “This City” by Sam Fischer, “Kings & Queens” by Ava Max and “Don’t Need Love” by 220 KID and Gracey, as well as some gradual losses from the late Juice WRLD, those being “Smile” with the Weeknd and “Wishing Well”. Returning to the chart are “Real Life” by Burna Boy and Stormzy at #71, “One Too Many” by Keith Urban and P!nk at #57, “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac at #55 43 years after release because of this guy on TikTok drinking cranberry juice (That’s 2020 for you) and finally, “Levitating” by Dua Lipa at #30 thanks to a pretty good DaBaby remix. Now we have two album bombs to start this season off. Let’s go!

NEW ARRIVALS

#66 – “Always Forever” – Bryson Tiller

Produced by J-Louis, Teddy Walton and CAMEone

Bryson Tiller. I don’t really get or even know his music enough to spark any insight before listening, and to be transparent, no, I didn’t listen to that comeback album. Anniversary is a sequel of sorts to his debut album, Trapsoul, and I can expect just that, I imagine, from this very quick pre-release single dropped just a week or two before the album proper. This drowned-out, watery R&B style doesn’t usually work with me, especially when Drake does it, and Tiller’s nasal, high-pitched squeaky crooning here also does not fit this otherwise lovely production, with some fat bass 808s I really enjoy. The chorus is a  mess of fleeting background vocal runs and the performance here while not embarrassing feels kind of lifeless and checked-out. Admittedly, some of the harmonies he hits in the third verse/bridge are pretty nice-sounding, but it feels wasted when the song just continues to flutter off afterwards with the same dull key patterns and frankly, this is just an uninteresting and clearly unfinished track barely under three minutes and never reaching a point where it feels worth listening to. If I were a Bryson Tiller fan, I would be pretty underwhelmed with this.

#65 – “Years Go By” – Bryson Tiller

Produced by Streetrunner and Tarik Azzouz

Well, here’s the opening track from the record, where Tiller has to make that impactful first impression, and with this reverb-drenched guitar melody in the intro and the distorted sound effects that start off the song proper, it starts off solid, and, I’m afraid to say, continues to be so. This obviously goes for a more direct trap-rap vibe with a skittering drum pattern that really bumps and a... pretty underwhelming two verses from Tiller here, who prefers to just kind of impersonate the Weeknd until the beat abruptly cuts out for pointless Auto-Tuned vocal riffing, and, yeah, this is just clumsy. The flows here are tired and messy, often clinging off the ledge of the beat, and even if I really like the cute synths in the outro, I can’t excuse this. Once again, it just seems unfinished, and lyrically on both tracks, he’s saying nothing of any substance. I guess he shouts out Jack Harlow and... Danny Phantom? He also seems to refer to himself as “Godtiller” by the end, as in Godzilla, because no-one’s stopping him from doing so. Sigh, next.

#62 – “Bet You Wanna” – BLACKPINK featuring Cardi B

Produced by TBHits, Mr. Franks and Teddy

You may be able to recognise a pattern here but no, I didn’t listen to this really short debut album by BLACKPINK either, pretty fittingly called The Album. This isn’t really a collaboration I understand or expected but it’s not that far-fetched, especially since BTS did collaborate with Nicki Minaj a year or so ago. The songs features the girls only singing in English over some finger-snaps that sound painfully fake and some demanding piano that is completely switched for the pre-chorus only for it to come back later and then technically in the chorus but covered in tropical-like percussion and some background squealing, only for Cardi B to interrupt with a surprisingly PG verse – you can really tell she had to censor herself here – and that’s all she does in the song. This actually is a fair bit more refined than K-pop I heard previously as it seems to at least stick to a musical motif which seems to be a pretty difficult concept for a lot of these bands. I mean, that’s probably just because of the Western producers on this song like TBHits, who’s worked with Ariana Grande before. It isn’t a headache like “Kill This Love” and I really love the vocal performance from who I thinks is “Jennie” here although the others seem to scroll through ugly distortion effects, particularly in their verse. I mean, it sure is listenable and honestly kind of a far cry from the earlier songs I heard from them, but it’s still not very good. Sorry.

#60 – “On My Mind” – Diplo and SIDEPIECE

Produced by Diplo and SIDEPIECE

So, in 1996, R&B girl group 702 released a pretty solid new jack swing jam as their debut single, featuring Missy Elliott, called “Steelo”. It was a minor hit in itself and even sampled the Police – the rock band fronted by Sting, I feel the need to clarify considering the current climate.  It’s not a bad song, albeit perhaps overlong and unintentionally intimidating at times. You can tell Missy’s phoning it in a bit here, but she’s still as charming as ever here. 24 years later, we have “On My Mind”, a glorified house remix of the tune by Diplo and two of his buddies, basically. Is it any good? Well, yes. The sprinkling of cute synths in the intro combined with that leering vocal line really replicate the vibe of the original song, and it does that even better when a single vocal sample from the bridge is looped constantly under a pretty pounding bass and a typical four-on-the-floor house track. This song’s bridge of its own is incredibly pretty as well, to the point where the squawking and low-tone beeping don’t really bother me, especially when it just... crashes with buzzy bass drops that sound like a mix of a dubstep track and a car zooming past. It shifts up the entire song and honestly it works, it’s an effective climax, this is pretty fun, albeit lacking many ideas. It doesn’t really matter if those ideas are executed as well as they are here, so, thanks, Diplo.

#54 – “Rich Gnarly Dude Stuff” – 21 Savage and Metro Boomin featuring Young Thug

Produced by Metro Boomin and Peter Lee Johnson

Of course, it’s not actually titled “Rich Gnarly Dude Stuff” but I’ve got to at least try and keep this show clean. Now, I haven’t listened to many albums this year but 21 Savage and Metro Boomin’s collaborative album Savage Mode II is definitely one of the best of those few. Admittedly, it has a pretty lacklustre beginning and it doesn’t really make sense as a sequel to that Savage Mode EP, particularly because it’s trying to pay homage to a bunch of different styles of 80s, 90s and 2000s rap to the point of identity crisis, but it is one of the best album listening experiences I’ve had this year, with some absolutely killer production from Metro, the sheer brilliance of the Morgan Freeman interludes and 21’s improvement as a rapper being really on show throughout the record. “Rich Gnarly Dude Stuff” is one of my absolute favourites on the album, with the smooth as hell synths and that violin sample that is just hypnotic. 21 Savage slides on this beat and he actually sounds pretty slick with Auto-Tune here, especially over this production which is just beautiful; Metro really is the highlight of the record all things considered. In fact, 21 kind of loses me with his brand flexing and the weird empty spaces that he seems to compensate for by jumbling words together to fit the meter which is unfitting for the mood of the song. Thugger, however, I’m convinced can do no wrong. His upbeat, joyful inflections are in great contrast with his crooning in the second half of the verse, and even though he only really uses one flow through the verse, it leaves a good impression on me fast enough for me to dismiss that. Are they on-topic? Barely. Are they saying anything of substance other than some flexing, sex talk and threats? No, I mean, it’s 21 Savage and Young Thug, but the most important thing here is delivery and these guys have it in spades. I’m a lot more convinced that Thugger has hit men than YoungBoy Never Broke Again is all I’m saying. That being said, please don’t send your shooters, Mr. Broke Again.

#43 – “Runnin” – 21 Savage and Metro Boomin

Produced by Metro Boomin

After the gorgeous introduction from Metro and Morgan Freeman, you are met headfirst with the wrath of... a pretty Diana Ross sample. The way Metro flips this into this head-nodding almost Memphis-like trap beat makes it sound a lot more ominous and menacing though, and it really hits when 21 comes in with his opening bars that start off the project, giving you a basic rundown about what he’s going to do in the album only in the first verse: beat people up, buy cars, spend money on women who he only keeps around for sex and finally, shoot the opps. In fact, he calls his Draco a paedophile because “all of his opps gettin’ touched”, which is a questionable line. 21, are you saying your opps are all children? Regardless, 21 does have some pretty funny wordplay and punchlines, particularly in the second verse with a really clever line about biblical marijuana (Go figure). Basically, he grows his weed in the Garden of Eden, but “zaza” is really high-quality marijuana and also a name mentioned in the Bible. I don’t know if that was intentional or not but if it was a coincidence it at least adds to the lyrics of the song. I have to say though that the chorus is weak and tedious as all hell, and by the end of the song that sample has well-overstayed its welcome, making the song hit a lot less harder than I think was intended. Hey, at least it has Morgan Freeman on it.

#40 – “Lovesick Girls” – BLACKPINK

Produced by R.Tee and 24

So, here we are in the top 40, with more BLACKPINK and to my surprise, honestly. I figured that the song with the big western rap star would be here but I suppose this did have a video behind it – that was controversial in Korea because of how the Korean Health and Medical Workers Union objected to Jennie wearing a sexualised nurse outfit, because, well, sure. This time the lyrics are mostly in Korean, and it sounds immediately much more like what I’d expect from what 2020’s K-pop has to offer. There is a pretty clean guitar loop that the whole song runs off of, some great vocal performances amongst simple rap flows and a drastic shift into an English chorus with some 80s-like synths and admittedly a nice synthpop beat. I prefer this a lot to “Bet You Wanna” but as it is it’s just inoffensive. I like Jennie’s rap verse though. “Don’t want to be a princess, I’m priceless / a Prince not even on my list”? Come on, that’s kind of fire, at least for middling Korean electropop standards.

#38 – “Heart of Glass” – Miley Cyrus

There aren’t any production credits on Spotify, Wikipedia or Genius, mostly because this is a live performance from iHeartRadio Music Festival – however they’re still doing that in these times – that was just dumped on streaming and impressively got all the way into the top 40. To be honest, I can’t say I’m a fan of the original – it’s a well-written song flattened by weak albeit infectious disco production and whilst the groove is infectious, the song has just never clicked with me, so I’m not excited to listen to Cyrus’ cover but hey, anything to delay talking about back-to-back Drake features and D-Block Europe. I WAS excited however when it started with a rock breakdown, especially that drum fill, but it soon restarted to the groove that we all know the song for and one that again, I never was too fond of to begin with. Miley is energetic, raspy and almost growling here at points but the instrumentation is somewhat stiff, which again is a problem I have with the original. It also doesn’t replace the synth riff with an epic guitar solo as I kind of hoped. At the point where Miley drops into “na-na-na”’s and unintelligible yelling is when I just zone out. I really hoped this could have been better, but I’m not a fan.

#35 – “Come Over” – Jorja Smith featuring Popcaan

Produced by Izaiah and MadisonLST

It’s rare there’s a song on these charts that intrigues or excites me in the way this one does, not because it’s particularly novel or groundbreaking, but just because this is a new song from two artists I like but haven’t checked out much from, and I have yet to hear it so I’m glad it debuted this high. I’m happy for Popcaan too, he seems to be having a good year signed to OVO and all, even if I’ve never really tried to listen to his solo stuff. I’ve heard many features from the guy though, with Drake, Kanye, Pusha T, Gorillaz on “Saturnz Barz” and especially alongside Jamie xx and Young Thug on one of my favourite songs of all time, “I Know There’s Gonna Be (Good Times)”, and he does not detract from a single one of them. I enjoyed Smith’s debut album a fair bit and whilst nothing she’s released since has really clicked with me, I’m still excited to hear what she has in store. I really love the production here, even if it is a tad fragmented, especially with that awkward vocal sample, but the atmospheric and hell, even spacey dancehall beat really evokes dub. I also hate the way that vocal sample is manipulated to a nasal, pitch-shifted tone in the bridge, but I guess the chorus is really pretty. Popcaan is kind of obnoxious crooning on here but he flows when he starts really flowing... then he’s immediately interrupted by Jorja singing the first verse again for whatever reason, and, yeah, this song’s a mess. It’s so oddly produced that by the time the air horns, yes, air horns, kick in during the outro, you are left with no real idea of what you just listened to. Or at least I was.

#28 – “Mr. Right Now” – 21 Savage and Metro Boomin featuring Drake

Produced by Metro Boomin and DAVID x ELI

And now, Drake. Thankfully this is the better of the two Drake-featured songs we have here, but this is still a low point on Savage Mode II and definitely an unnecessary inclusion. The production here is actually incredible, with those sweet strings and a quiet vocal sample that is absolutely infectious. The issue here is 21 Savage cannot really do an R&B hook that well, and even when he’s in his element on a trap beat, his bars are non-existent and generic. That pre-chorus is just awful coming from 21. I hate to say it, but maybe Drake could have been more involved here other than the second verse, where he starts by just repeating what 21 said, and then continues to just be Drake, and I’m not sure about the general public, but listening to Drake being Drake is nothing more than monotonous at this point. The only interesting thing he really says in his verse is that he used to date SZA in 2008, which, according to SZA herself, is actually inaccurate by about a year, which is just... well, Drake being Drake. Also, I’m really sick of quarantine music already. You should always reflect on the experience before making art about something like this, and I feel like a fleeting reference to the pandemic with a one-and-done bar I’ve heard a couple times before already (“We in quarantine, but my M’s long”) just dates this slow and sloppy R&B cut even more. Calling it now: if Metro hadn’t produced this, this would be unlistenable.

#24 – “Outta Time” – Bryson Tiller featuring Drake

Produced by Nineteen85, Vinylz and 40

Well, I guess it’s time to test this hypothesis. I don’t think that Drake has come out with anything salvageable this year, mostly because he’s been releasing leftovers and branding them as such, and they still top charts. I mean, “Laugh Now Cry Later” is okay but that’s mostly saved by 20 seconds of Lil Durk being an absolute treasure. The way he croons gargled nonsense and follows it up with “Bring Drake to the hood, surround Drake around Drac’s” might be the funniest and best moment in pop music this year. This song with Bryson Tiller is nowhere near as amusing but honestly Drake mumble-singing over a pretty classy 90s-reminiscent R&B sample is usually quite pleasant... here he just sounds whiny and immature, and he’s pretty clearly recycling cadences and flows he’s already used. He also has zero chemistry with Tiller, maybe because they never interact on the song, with Tiller’s Auto-Tuned crooning saved for the last half of the track, mostly because I imagine it’s easier to get streams with Drake at the start. Honestly, I prefer Bryson Tiller’s part. Hey, I don’t like his voice, but over that sweet Snoh Aalegra sample, I’m not going to say it doesn’t work. This is the best I’ve heard from the album but I mean it’s not like there’s competition.

#21 – “Wonder” – Shawn Mendes

Produced by Shawn Mendes, Nate Mercereau, Scott Harris and Kid Harpoon

Really? Only #21? Okay, well, I suppose some Shawn Mendes songs are slow burners but considering how successful “If I Can’t Have You” and “Senorita” were right after release I did expect this new lead single to seep at least into the top 15, especially since the UK has a tendency to just let anybody in the top 20, but, hey, if the song’s good, it shouldn’t really matter. Much like “In My Blood” from the last album rollout, this is a ballad, although this is specifically a post-breakup ballad where he contemplates on his manufactured relationship with Camila Cabello. So it couldn’t get into the top 20 even with fake personal drama surrounding the single? Wow. Well, I actually kind of like the lyrical content here, especially the second verse where he briefly addresses toxic masculinity, and how it makes him feel like less of a man when he cries because that’s what society’s conventions and norms programmed him to feel. I would like it a bit better if it weren’t as on-the-nose and kind of clumsy as it is, especially since the rest of the song is just wondering what it would feel like to be loved by Camila Cabello and some dreary, post-breakup lines. The first verse taps into more profound and insightful territory to but it goes nowhere and I find it hard to care about this melodrama at all, even if it is backed by a pretty powerful choir arrangement. Much like “If I Can’t Have You” and some of his other tracks before this, especially “Mercy”, this feels like a pretty overproduced, underwritten angst jam with absolutely no teeth to it other than a performance from Mendes that goes into some belting territory but is overall too restrained to fit this kind of anthemic orchestral instrumentation and especially those drums. In conclusion, this is a waste of potential but at least it had potential to begin with, unlike...

#11 – “UFO” – D-Block Europe featuring Aitch

Produced by Cardo, Cubeatz and DY Krazy

People complain about the charts all the time, particularly the type and quality of music on it. This is especially true with the USA’s Billboard Hot 100 and I understand that chart has incredible flaws it hasn’t made up for, but at least it doesn’t have D-Block Europe every other week. I mean, a pretty great British rap song even ended up on the Hot 100 thanks to TikTok and DaBaby, that being “Don’t Rush” by Young T & Bugsey featuring Headie One. That proves that these recurring antagonists of REVIEWING THE CHARTS are not necessary; I like Young T & Bugsey. We could just replace these oversaturated whining idiots with those guys, but no, we have Young Adz and Dirtbike LB, and they’re here to stay. Oh, and even better, they’re here with Aitch, pioneer of the new “gentrified drill” genre. Apparently to Young Adz, this is a “different” song that could isolate their audience, but I just see this as pretty normal Young Adz moaning over guitar-trap beats. It’s not drill, but it’s not like this is all that different or interesting... like at all. Adz has this hilariously bad “ooh-wee” flow that just sounds ridiculous on this beat, and Aitch proves his status as the whitest man in UK rap – and this is the country that brought you Professor Green. The song isn’t even about spaceships or any type of unidentified flying object! It’s just about having sex with drug dealers, with the only reference to the supernatural being the intro where Young Adz says that this sex is apparently happening in space... for no reason. And Dirtbike LB, well...

I’mma cover my pain with these shades

Just as embarrassing as usual. These guys have got an album out this week by the way, with 29 songs and a full 91 minutes of this same garbage they’ve been pumping out mixtapes of for two years now. They’re still funny occasionally and never on purpose, but the humorous inflections and stupid lines are now so few and far between that it’s barely worth pointing any of that out anymore. God.

Conclusion

This wasn’t just a busy week to start off on, but also a week where I’m not left impressed by really any of this, even from the album I liked. Worst of the Week still goes to D-Block Europe and Aitch with “UFO” with Bryson Tiller picking up the Dishonourable Mention for both of his first two lousy tracks here. Other than that, well, I only really like “Rich Gnarly Dude Stuff” by 21 Savage, Metro Boomin and Young Thug so that runs away with Best of the Week, but I guess I’ll give the Honourable Mention to “On My Mind” by Diplo and SIDEPIECE, for at least being kind of fun if not anything else.

Here’s the top 10 for this week:

...and that’s all from me. Follow me on Twitter @cactusinthebank for more garbage and hopefully I’ll see you next week.

[kokichiomakin]

Here’s my RockStar/Roquill/Pocket playlist! I use this playlist for inspiration a lot~

I’ve got my reasons for picking each song under the cut.

1. i’m not in love by 10cc straight from the movie, obviously. fits the mood at first - they’re unsure of each other, and almost in denial in a sense. this is more quill feeling denial, honestly - very soft denial of ‘nah, couldn’t happen’ 

2. i won’t say i’m in love from hercules now in comparison, here’s rocket’s denial. over the top, loud, bombastic screaming of ‘i don’t fall in love’ followed by quietly admitting to himself that maybe it’s okay to fall for someone - that someone being quill - but only admits it to himself in private. plus, god, is it fun to imagine groot as the muses and rocket as meg. 

3. the chain by fleetwood mac straight from the movies once more. this song is really about a struggling relationship and that’s how quill and rocket’s relationship is in the second movie. looking at the second movie from a shipping perspective, it’s kickstarted by rocket stealing the batteries - which he doesn’t need, it’s repeatedly said he doesn’t need them. he did it so quill would pay attention to him instead of gamora. he was jealous. hence the struggle. but they make it through.

4. troublemaker by olly murs & flo rida ‘troublemaker’ is probably one of the best words you can use to describe rocket. and with all the shit he gets everyone else into? oh yeah. this fits. but quill is definitely getting attached to him anyway, even with all the shenanigans he causes.

5. sleeping with a friend by neon trees do i have to explain this one? look at the title. but i can imagine this is more ‘quill’s first thoughts when starting this whole thing with rocket’: he’s not sure what it entirely is, they’re friends, but they’re clearly something else. ‘and if it was all up to me - i’d be no trouble. hell, we’re in trouble!’ and even if he’s really getting attached to rocket despite himself, he has no idea how rocket can and will feel, so he’s ‘if my heart’s gonna break before the night ends’

6. collar full by panic! at the disco in contrast, here’s rocket’s feelings on the situation at that point - he’s the one who ultimately fell first and fell hardest, and now that it’s requited he’s just clutching to it as much as he can and lingering in the feeling - ‘before the world catches up, because there’s always time for second guesses, i don’t wanna know, if you’re gonna be the death of me, that’s how i wanna go.’ he’s not sure how long it’ll last either but god is he relishing in it.

7. take me to church (cover) by postmodern jukebox rocket’s feelings again. it’s pure and simple truth that rocker really doesn’t like himself, so in a relationship he really does see his partner as the world. (not that quill won’t constantly tell him otherwise, no, bad, he’s no better than him. stop it.) of course, quill’s greatest goal is for him to eventually get rocket to love himself too but that’s a long-term one. the words ‘only then i am human’ particularly strike a chord because that’s a major shame point for rocket.

8. fooled around and fell in love by elvin bishop once more from the movies. this is more of a ‘they finally ease into the relationship’ song. i know it was used for the canon ship in the movies but shhh. stealing it. it’s a nice song that can show them accepting their feelings despite never really intending to have any in the first place - or expect it at all.

9. you’re the only one by maria mena OKAY THIS SONG. this song is the de facto ‘rocket’s feelings for quill’ song. try to find me a better one. i’ll wait. you can’t. every line pretty much fits - the one that hits the hardest sums rocket up entirely: there’s a part of me that likes to bring you down just to keep you around, because the day you realize how amazing you are, you’re gonna leave me. that’s his worst fear, that’s his walls crashing down entirely, that’s the ‘i never want to let you go’ moment of it all being out in the open and ugh. it’s so cute. slay me with this song and roquill. slay me.

10. come and get your love by redbone another from the movies. quill’s anthem, honestly - this is the song that best represents him, and it’s a return to form. he’s with rocket, he’s happy, everything’s okay! everything’s normal! 

11. finesse by bruno mars quill’s confidence gets the better of him sometimes, even when rocket doesn’t expect it. quill completely falling for someone most likely means ‘yep, i’m great, he’s great, there’s nothing to be ashamed of bc we’re the best couple in the whole world and that’s not gonna change anytime soon’. 

12. moves like jagger by maroon 5 and christina aguilera predictably, this is quill’s confidence showing itself again....only for rocket to immediately match it. which is ultimately something that drives them closer together. he’s got the moves like jagger, okay? rocket you’re stuck with the girl part, sorry, but that means blatant hitting on quill which is A+++

13. shut up and dance by walk the moon see above, really. another song about quill, dancing, and rocket joining in. there are two types of people, people who dance, and people who don’t, and whoops, they’re both dancers.

14. classic by mkto ‘baby, you’re so classic’ is probably one of the highest compliments in the peter quill flirtation handbook, and yep, rocket is slowly becoming part of his life, joining the things he loves,they both know each other so well by this point

15. shut up and drive by rihanna ok. i’m gonna be entirely honest. this is the ‘quill has successfully fired up his rocket....if you get what i mean’ song. this is it. this is the one. reeeeeed rocket~ moving on.

16. style by taylor swift okay maybe not quite yet we move on. more a sign that they definitely do still have their disagreements, but they know each and every time it’s going to end up with them together again - they never go out of style. i don’t take the ‘you’ve been out and about with some other girl’ line as cheating in this song obvs XD more of a shady reference to gamora....and then lylla in turn. ye. shh. it’s a good relationship.

17. can’t take my eyes off you by frankie valli there was a tumblr post where it was said ‘imagine your otp slow-dancing to this song together’ and whoops, i roquill’d, now it’s not gonna stop. this is totally a song that quill would use on a quiet, romantic night to just be close to his partner and rocket will call him a huge dork for it but at the end of the day he’s still going along with it and smiling softly and thinking that he’s a huge dork, yeah, but he’s his dork, he wouldn’t have it any other way

18. good together by the runaway club this is a lot of quill and rocket’s relationship: ‘don’t do this.’ ‘i’m gonna do it anyway.’ ‘i kinda knew you were gonna.’ ‘that’s why we’re together.’ ‘yep, i’m the only one guaranteed to always put up with your shit.’ ‘damn straight.’ ‘we’re not straight.’ ‘shut up.’ (also: ‘that’s fine!’ ‘fine!’ ‘i love you!’ ‘i love you too!’ ‘that’s the first time we’ve said that!’ ‘yes it is!’ ‘i’m gonna kiss you!’ ‘well, you better!’ that’s them. that’s exactly them.)

19. for him. by troye sivan and allday another really good song for them. ‘ad we take jokes way too far. and sometimes living’s too hard. we’re like two halves of one heart. we are, we are, we are.’ there’s a good amount of fitting lyrics and i like the mental image of rocket getting a burst of confidence and going ‘we can get married tonight if you really wanna, if you break my heart, it’d be an honor’, quill adores those bursts of confidence

20. son of a preacher man by aretha franklin another song about how surprised rocket is that he fell for quill, and that he’s pretty much the only guy he’d ever fall for. it’s a classic.

the rest are mostly love classics, but a lot were based on meaning~

[damnthelove-blog]

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