#'take up bass guitar then!! you like bass noises' 'what would i do with it though even if i fucking managed to learn'

[strazki]

School Bus Graveyard headcanons no one asked for but will still get 😤

Ashlyn has autism. Honestly pretty much canon at this point, considering what we've seen of her, but still

The whole group took a hot second to adjust, but they are now so accommodating to it

Obviously there's the noise issues, but they also recognize when she needs to be alone, and they don't bother her too much about her being so asocial

I’m projecting but I just love these guys

ANYWAY, on a completely different subject, I think Taylor is actually a really good singer! She's just very shy about it

I also think Aiden can definitely play drumset

Top that off with Tyler canonically playing guitar, all you need to do is give Ben a bass or something and then they're basically just a little band!

I think they would be called the Phantoms or some shit like that

Ashlyn can do backup vocals, and I love my boy Logan but he's giving stage manager vibes a little bit lol

Someone's gotta do it

Taylor and Tyler share their clothes all the time. We already see that they have the same room, which most likely means the same closet, and since the two of them have a relatively similar build (and thus, similar clothing sizes), they just don't really bother separating their clothes (probably why they're matching so often)

Aiden does so much stupid rich kid shit. Not obnoxiously, but just out of a lack of understanding

Probably says some shit to the others like "Wait, your parents didn't get you a car? I know we can't drive yet, but you can still like... take pictures with it."

Bro has no idea he's that rich

The twins absolutely love going over to Ashlyn's place to get self-defense training from Mike and Emma. With their father being gone for a while, and their mom being not all there (for lack of a better description), it's been a long time since they've had a stable parental figure in their lives

Ashlyn's parents are just so nice to them and treat them like their own kids. I just think it's something they needed in their life that they found in an unexpected place :(

Ben loves to paint! He took up art and drawing ever since he lost his voice, and finds painting specifically very calming

He's been working on portraits for each of his friends that are all lying half-finished around his room

Even when he finishes them, though, he probably wouldn't show them for a while because he's quite nervous about it

If he DOES show them, he would definitely give Taylor her's first, because that's who he feels closest to

She cries

I feel like Logan, with working at the flower shop and all that, probably spends a bit of time putting together little bouquets for his friends

Not as like a grand show of affection, but just little gifts to show his appreciation for them being around and caring about him

Probably personalizes them a LOT too. Not only does he coordinate them to match the favorite colors/flowers of the person he's making them for, but he knows all the symbolic meanings behind each flower

Like, for example, I bet he gets yellow roses for Ben to signify friendship, and pink roses for Ashlyn to signify gratitude, that sort of stuff

His love language is gift giving and he's never had friends as close as these guys, leave him alone >:[

Okay that's all I got right now send tweet

#sbg #school bus graveyard #taylor hernandez #tyler hernandez #aiden clark #ben clark #logan fields #ashlyn banner #ashlyn sbg #logan sbg #ben sbg #aiden sbg #tyler sbg #taylor sbg

[pearlsinmyhair]

˖⋆˚₊⊹ his muse

hobie brown x fem!reader

this has been in my drafts for. forever. like it was summer when i wrote it on a whim. this initially started as a request for hobie with a reader that came from wealth. the vivienne westwood imagery picked up from there, and i just kinda had fun with it. and now im posting it- huzzah!

warnings: smoking (cigarettes). mentions of drinking. slight nsfw at the very end. meet-cute that leads to smut. hobie being a flirt. fem!reader.

hobie is in the midst of a creative rut that he can’t get out of, no matter how much he tries to. that is, until some inspiration walks through the door.

hobie was in a musical rut.

which never happened to him. never. if he needed a subject for a song, all he had to do was look outside for five minutes or watching the news for even less to have a subject.

that was the wonderful thing about hating the establishment: infinite cruelty, infinite song ideas.

but here he was, staring down at his guitar and picking at strings aimlessly. nothing came to him, no note or melody stuck out to him as song worthy.

he was sitting on the worn couch in his band’s makeshift studio, crosslegged and hunched over his guitar like a madman.

a soft knock came from the doorway, and he looked up to find one of his band mates hitting their knuckles against the doorway.

“you need to get out, man. you’re cooped up.” he said, stepping into the room to stand over hobie like a mother hen. “some fresh air will do you good.”

hobie scoffed, never one to take orders from anyone. but then he exhaled and leaned back, looking up at his friend with an exasperated expression.

“and where exactly do you intend for us to go?” he asked lowly, grumbling.

that’s exactly how he ended up here, in a music club full of bodies he didn’t want to touch and liquor he didn’t want to drink.

it wasn’t a traditional club scene by any means. It was a bit more artistic, leaning away from rave-style places that he’d gone to before. but it still wasn’t his preferred place.

he nursed a shirley temple, which his friend had shoved into his hand unceremoniously before disappearing into the crowd. hobie had decided that he would be the designated driver, and he understood that his band mates were going to take full advantage of that fact.

when they entered the place, his drummer had leaned over.

“maybe you’ll find a muse, hobes. i’m sure there’s plenty of pretty things in this place to give you ideas.” the boy wiggled his brows, and hobie promptly shoved him away with a chuckle.

now, he leaned against a counter and wondered what the hell he was doing. this wasn’t air. this was just distracting noise.

and said noise was becoming a little too much for his senses.

he made eye contact with one of his more sober mates, gesturing that he was going to go somewhere private. he sent a text to their group chat as well saying the same thing.

not a role model

-> heading to the back, text or call if you need me

little drummer boy

-> you’re no fun, man.

not a role model

-> 🖕🏿

he moved down a hallway, the sound of bass and electronic beats fading into a pleasant jazz sound that made its way through the speakers overhead.

the space behind the actual club was a kind of lounge, filled with warm ambiance and vinyl records and leather arm chairs. when his friends brought him here, he always inevitably retreated to this quieter space.

it was ironic really. the punk unable to handle crowds and noise. but this was a much different setting from his own shows, so he cut himself some slack.

he sunk into one of the armchairs in a side room, his head lolling back to look up at the ceiling. his head slightly throbbed, and he began to regret not drinking water.

he reached in his pocket to pull out a cigarette box.

he wasn’t a casual smoker, not by a long shot. it just helped to have something to drag on sometimes, something to burn his throat while he was thinking.

right as he put the cig to his lips, the door banged open and slammed shut once more, the lock sliding home.

his spider-senses told him to prepare, but when he looked up they stopped buzzing.

because a girl leaned against the wall across from him, her chest heaving and her eyes wide.

she looked afraid, scared. the way her fingers trembled alerted him to the sheer amount of adrenaline running through her veins currently.

and she hadn’t even noticed him yet. he took a moment to glance over her.

she wore a pretty little lace dress, black and short, with straps that barely cling to her shoulders. his eyes drifted down her bare legs to the black platform gogo boots on her feet, and he was impressed with the height she was balancing on. he knew from experience that those shits weren’t easy to master.

he had been a model once, and he knew enough to see that the girls clothes were expensive. like, wearing his rent expensive.

she took an anxious step, only to wobble like a baby deer, legs too long to stand properly.

maybe not so stable after all.

when she still didn’t notice him (too busy listening to the door), he opened his mouth to make himself known.

“runnin’ from something, little fawn?”

her eyes snapped to him, and she jumped slightly when she realized that someone else was in the room with her. her wide doe eyes did nothing to help disapprove the nickname. she opened and closed her mouth to speak, struggling to get the words out.

“i’m not running.”

he chuckled.

“no? do ya’ slam and lock doors at clubs often then?”

she scoffed at him, rolling her eyes. she took a step away from the door, though he could tell she was keeping track of any noise.

“i’m just…catching my breath.” she said, pulling at the necklace around her throat.

hobie’s eyes drifted down to it, surprised to find a string of pearls with an all too familiar saturn pendent.

his curiosity got the best of him. “real or fake?”

her eyes darted up to meet his, and she looked away in embarrassment as she said “real.”

he let out an impressed whistle. “that’s why you’re running.” he mumbled as the pieces clicked together.

she gave him an incredulous look, eyebrows furrowing in a way that he found adorable.

“my guess” he said as he stood from the chair, taking a step towards the girl. “is that you definitely aren’t supposed to be here. rich girl, pretty dress, innocent look. this place is practically forbidden for your like.”

her gaze hardened into a glare. “and what exactly is my like, hobie brown?”

he smirked. “you know my name.”

a statement. she deflated slightly.

“i’ve been to your shows.” she said, voice lowering. it was just enough to make him realize how close they were. he registered her body language quickly, noting how she didn’t shy away. so he didn’t either.

“interestin’, doll. does your daddy know?”

“don’t condescend me.”

he took a step back then, raising his hand in an ‘i come in peace’ gesture. “easy there. just askin.”

he went to grab a lighter to light his cigarette, reaching down into his jackets pocket. when he found nothing, he groaned softly.

a click made him look up, only to be met with the girl holding up a lighter of her own. he leaned forward to light his cigarette, and she held his gaze as the sizzling sound breiflu filled their silence.

“as you can see” she said softly. “i am not quite ‘my like’.”

he let out a puff of smoke, making sure to turn his head so that it didn’t flow into her pretty face. she coughed anyway.

he chucked. “what you doin’ with a light if you don’t smoke?”

she flipped the lighter in her hand, and it took a moment to notice that it was one of the silver heart ones that were popular.

“you like vivienne, huh?” he said, looking down at her with half lidded eyes as he took another drag.

“what can i say, i have a thing for punks.” she replied, looking up at him through her lashes.

oh, he was going to eat her.

“s’that so?” he asked, wanting to drag whatever admission she was holding in. he leaned close over her, and she stretched her neck to look right up at him. this close, he could smell whatever shampoo she used.

she was off limits. but he never really abided by rules, did he?

“what’re you runnin’ from, doll?” he asked, tapping his cigarette out as he waited for an answer.

“my father sent a body guard out to find me. i snuck out, and the man’s in the club right now.” she said, watching the way his lips curled around the cigarette.

the air kicked on, and the girl below him shivered. he shrugged off his jacket with a sigh, pulling it around her. she accepted it gratefully, practically nuzzling up against the collar.

fuck, he was a goner.

“better get you out of here, then.” he said, using the edges of his jacket to tug her closer. she smirked, allowing him to pull her against his body. “that would be great.”

he leaned down as he texted the chat, brushing his lips against the top of her ear as he typed.

not a role model

-> hey, i got someone i need to take home. anyone sober?

little drummer boy

-> the fuck are you on about, why would anyone be sober.

fresh meat

-> i am, go enjoy yourself hobes.

thank god for tyler, he thought as he pulled back the collar of his jacket to press his mouth to the girls jaw.

as she snuck him into her room later, the lyrics of a song began to write themselves in his head.

and as he thrust into her, her hands fumbling against her silk sheets and her moans in his ear, he realized that he had found his muse after all.

hobie’s masterlist

#hobie my beloved #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown smut #hobie brown blurb #atsv hobie #hobie brown atsv

[maraudersmyloves]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆｡ﾟ. ───

Pairing: James Potter x rockstar!reader

Warnings: The reader is a celebrity flirting with a fan so some power dynamic stuff

Word count: 1.3 k

Disclaimer 1: Everything on this Blog is fiction!!!

Songs in this: Honey (are u coming?) by Maneskin

"Oh God". :☆｡ﾟ. ───

Previous part

You don't think you'll ever get used to the feeling that washes over you the hour before going on stage. It's a weird mix of calm and chaos that's so very distinct to only this Situation. It's doing last sound and outfit checks while panicking trying to find your eyeliner because you all insisted on doing your own make-up and hair. It's smoking a blunt while Dorcas is running around searching for a sticker she wants to put on her microphone before the show. It's hearing the fans get louder in front of the stage and imagining what kind of signs they'll have prepared while trying to get Regulus' earring in. It's Evan and Barty screaming at each other because Evan is sure Barty stole his drumsticks while Pandora and Dorcas try to convince him to just use different ones.

But even that doesn't compare to the last moments before entering the stage. It's eerily quiet. Yes, you can hear the fans screaming but the voices really just fade into each other to form a big white noise machine. You look around to make sure everyone is in their positions while adjusting the height of your micro. Evan on the drums, Barty on the Bass, Dorcas, and Regulus on the guitar, and Pandora standing in front of her keyboard.

In these last moments, you like to focus on one thing and study it to calm yourself. Today it's the microphones. Your's is silver and bedazzled and the only one that's easily removable from its stand since you walk around the most (apart from Barty). On the bottom of it is a little pink heart doodle you drew on the day of the Emeralds' first big concert. Pandora's is light blue with a self made 3D butterfly on it. She made it about a month ago and very proudly showed it off at your next show. Barty and Regulus don't have one, Regulus because he doesn't really like to sing and only does so in about two songs, and Barty because he couldn't keep still and just always sang into others micros anyway. Dorcas has a basic black one or that's what it would be if she didn't slap any stickers she can find on it. The first layer of stickers isn't even visible anymore. Evan is the only one with a headset because leaning out to get to the microphone while playing the drums is too annoying for him.

Through their earpieces, the countdown starts and everything seems to slow down. You can feel the goosebumps overcome your skin and you have to shake yourself once to calm down.

Evan and Pandora sing the first lines before the curtain falls down but you can hear the screams getting louder and a smile tugs at your lip.

"Honey, are you coming?"

Evan's loud scream in unison with the drop of the curtain makes something click and all of a sudden everything is clear. You can see the first few rows and like always you start to scan the audience for someone cute while the guitars are playing. And wouldn't you guess, there he is. Front row and staring at you in awe.

He's cute. Probably about 6'2 with a big muscly figure and messy dark curls. His eyes are like honey and you can't help but return his stare. He smiles like the sun and you know it's over. You feel the need to write a love song right this second but the current song will help too. It's a fun and flirty song mostly written by Dorcas and Barty and you can't help but hold eye contact while singing.

/I know a place downtown, babe, if you wanna go/

You're a bit too breathless for you're liking. Sure there's a hot guy in your audience but that's really not that big of a deal. You see hot people all the time. You worked with models for a few shows, god dammit

Dorcas takes over for a while which might be your saving grace as it allows you to take a deep breath and remind yourself to just flirt, have fun, and don't start anything serious. He's a fan after all.

You wrap both hands around your micro while and sing while looking the hot stranger up and down.

/And if it sounds good for you, baby, just say the word/

/You will li-i-i-i-i-ike it/

You run your hands down your body suggestively, take the micro out of the stand, and walk closer to the edge of the stage finally tearing your eyes off the guy to look at the mass of people in front of you.

You often perform this big but it's still so incredible. You don't think you'll ever get used to the fact that this many people enjoy your music.

/It's five AM/

/We feel so good, it's almost frightening/

You lean down to look at the hot guy again and startle when you realize how close you are. You can see every detail of his face, the little hazel freckles that are splattered across his iris, the beauty mark on his chin, and the little dimples

/I'm made for you, we can't deny it/

You wink at him and smirk when you can see his Adams apple bob down from swallowing.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆｡ﾟ. ───

James has never been more overwhelmed and confused in his life. He came here planning to spy on his best mate's brother, who from what Sirius told him plays the guitar, he hasn't been able to confirm that yet though because he cannot tear his eyes away from the lead singer. When you made eye contact the first time he could've sworn he died but that could've been a coincidence, stars look at their fans. That's normal.

When you held eye contact while singing several lines and looked him up and down he had to stop himself from fainting.

Then you came towards him and leaned down to look at him up close. And that was it. He is in love. Now, this might be a bit much seeing as he's never spoken to you but then he was never known for his ability to take things slow.

/It's not a one night stand if it turns into two/

Because this stunning girl is looking at him while singing about one-night stands with a spark in her eye as if she wants to fuck him right then and there.

/Oh, I li-i-i-i-i-ike it/

Your voice is a little breathy as you sink down on your knees and he has to take a second to cool himself down. This causes him to finally look at his best mate next to him who is staring at the black haired guitar player. They do look very alike and judging from the look on Pads face this is very hard for him. They both have that sharp bone structure with startling light eyes and black curly hair.

James wants to kick himself for not even thinking about that but he can't when he can see you look at him from the corner of his eyes. It's like his eyes are automatically pulled to you.

/Honey, are you coming?/

it's a loud scream and the music abruptly stops, getting replaced by the booming sound of applause.

You let out a breathless laugh at the sound of this incredibly loud applause and take a moment to close your eyes and let this feeling soke in. You turn around to look at your other band members and are met with a unison look of amazement. This is the last show of the tour and you already kind of miss this.

Then as if on clock word without some sort of sign you all scream, "Hello London!"

#fluff #headcanon #marauders #writing #marauders era #fanfic #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter headcanon #james potter fluff #james potter x reader #band au #rockstar gf #maneskin #slytherin skittles

[stevesjockstrap]

Drumsticks Are Not Pine

@steddiemicrofic prompt: pine | word count: 508

rated: T | tags: modernish au, and they were roommates 😬 | ao3 link

When he’d seen his new roommate with the drum setup, he’d internally groaned. He’d assumed it would be loud and obnoxious. (He’d assumed the same about his new roommate.)

Weeks later, he’d found the assumption of the drum kit was wrong. Eddie explained it was an electronic drum set, so it didn’t make much noise. He wasn’t a drummer, but he wrote most of the songs and liked messing around with beats.

Steve was infatuated with the drum. And his new roommate. Slowly, he’d migrated closer and closer when he’d hear the tap-tap-taps of the pads, standing in the hall, propped himself in the doorway, then invited inside and sitting in Eddie’s desk chair. He had a fancy computer that recorded his beats on the drum and hooked up to his electric guitar and bass. Steve felt so entirely out of his league with all of this stuff, and with Eddie himself.

His original assumption of Eddie was confirmed, yet it worked for him. The guy never stopped moving or making noise. But he was always so goddamn genuine and charismatic about it.

He felt drawn to him, their conversations could last hours, ping ponging from one topic to another and back. He liked watching him play his guitar but he loved watching him play the drums. He was always itching to give it a try, mostly because Eddie made it look so effortless and so fun.

Today, something must’ve shown on his face or with his fidgety hands because Eddie finally looked over, “You wanna give her a whirl, Harrington?”

He froze, but then he was nodding. Eddie grinned at him and he knew he had been found out.

“I-I don’t- What do I do?” Steve stood and surreptitiously wiped his clammy hands on his jeans.

“Just get over here, man,” Eddie laughed.

He got him settled on the small seat and handed him the sticks.

“Just go crazy. It’s not nearly as fun as a real one, sorry. Maybe I’ll take you over to Gareth’s and you can get a real taste.”

Steve swallowed. Keep it together, perv.

He focused back on all the different pads in front of him but didn’t know what to do.

“Here, can I?” Eddie sidled up behind him, pressing into Steve’s back. Then he wrapped his hands around Steve’s and started a slow beat on the rubber pad.

“Keep it going. You got it, big boy.”

Steve gasped at the name and as Eddie squeezed himself closer to move his foot onto the floor peddle. “That’s your bass, so keep this steady, like your heart beat.”

“Uhhh, okay.” That might not work out for him right now.

“The rest is whatever you want.”

Steve stared up at him, glad he’d stayed pressed close behind him. “Whatever I want?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, so quietly.

“What if I want something else?”

Eddie's hand settled on his jaw, tipping his chin up further. They stared at each other for a moment before Eddie finally slid their lips together.

The drumsticks hit the floor.

a/n: please excuse any musical instrument inaccuracies, this is very loosely based on a band dude I know from college and it’s been [redacted] years since then 🖤

#steddiemicrofic #steddiemicrofic december #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #Steve/eddie #Steve x Eddie #pre relationship #mine #stranger things #stranger things fic

[lowkeyrobin]

mcyts with a music artist partner? more specifically a singer/drummer but whatever works best would be neat !!

ooooo I like all these musically inclined readers I'm getting [does the evil villain finger laugh] ; I tried to do 50/50 with both singer and drummer so djsnnsnss ; rlly couldn't think of any new ideas for more people so I'm sorry LMAO

MCYT ; singer/drummer reader

includes ; tommyinnit, tubbo, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu & quackity

warnings ; language

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

constantly brags about you being in a band, even though you're the drummer and most drummers are very overlooked

he's your biggest fan, no one will be able to top him

he'll post clips and basically make a scenepack of you doing your thing during gigs to influence people editing you and give you some attention

your band already has a couple thousand fans on top of the monthly listeners and followers, and people were already starting to edit with your music/your performances

he'll constantly post pictures of you behind your drum setup, he thinks its so badass

you guys have that moment where he basically sits on your lap (/ns) and you hold his wrists to show him certain chords and shit

"what's the stuff around your fingers for?"

"prevents strain in my hands and protects jammed knuckles"

"ohhhhhh. keep doing that. it's healthy and badass"

TUBBO

you're the voice he needs to go with his amazing dj bangers or his piano drabbles

if you sing along to a song he'll instantly notice and only tune into you and not the song

constantly promoting you, always playing your music on stream and sending out tweets when you drop a new song

he helps you with new songs and helps with ideas for them

loves taking videos of you at gigs like he's at a concert

he'll never miss a gig for the life of him, if he has to, he'll watch you through a livestream set up on your phone, trusted by a friend

he'll pop it up on screen and be quiet as possible to let the viewers listen to you

music videos? he's on it

he's in nearly every single music video or at least behind the camera

loves making you mv thumbnails as well to match the whole album aesthetic

he's your number one fan and no one can beat him, he can sing along word for word bar for bar, each and every song

RANBOO

totally infatuated with the fact you're a singer

"look at my famous partner guys, go show them some love please, their music is so good"

they will be at every single gig, recording you like it's a concert

plays your music on stream all the time

listens to your music religiously, whether it be traveling or cleaning the house

loves looking at fanart where you're like singing to him in the crowd and he obviously sticks out like a sore thumb

you guys karaoke your music on stream all the time

if you make heavier music/scream a lot in it, he goes silent for you to do all that LMFAO

will break out the GarageBand to make you beats so you can on site make up lyrics like a rapper BAHAHAH

FREDDIE BADLINU

finds it so cool you can play drums

sometimes he'll sit down with you while you're practicing and play guitar behind you while you can't hear

yk like the drumset charlie spring has? you got one of those now, that way you can play without making a ton of noise, especially while he's sleeping or streaming

loves putting stickers on your cymbals and your bass drum

loves taking pictures of you with finger tape on to just stare at later

constantly brags about you being in a band and always listens to your music

even uses your music in videos and stuff

in the desc he'll put a little "my partners band ____ is playing in the background, go check them out!"

thinks you're so badass for playing drums LMAO

he also tries to play them while you guide his hands

cutie patootie

NIKI NIHACHU

thinks you're so fucking cool

will always record you at gigs

and loves putting finger tape on for you

changes her insta bio to "claimed by a bitch who plays drums 🙏🙏" or something like that

you learn how to cover some of her favorite songs and she's literally so excited

your band make pins or lanyards or any sort of merch? it's all sold out now, she's bought it all

will play your music on stream and shout out the name and leave link to the merch store at any given chance

always reposting fanart she sees of you/you two together

especially if it's you on your drums playing for her

ALEX QUACKITY

you're the voice to his guitar because he's too shy to show off his true singing voice

(the I got a feeling that tonight we are getting 2 subs clip)

obsessed with your voice

also records you at gigs

if he's at the barrier you'll constantly wave to him or wink at him, etc etc

all to make him flustered 💪💪💪

will constantly plug your band and always wears your merch

hypes you up if you're having writers block with lyrics or are having one of those days where you feel like you don't sound good

if you're singing along to a song, he'll tune in only to your voice and not the song at all

simp

#lowkeyrobin #mcyt x reader #mcyt preferences #mcyt oneshot #tommyinnit x reader #quackity x reader #ranboo x reader #badlinu x reader #tubbo x reader #gn reader #freddie badlinu x reader #niki nihachu x reader #nihachu x reader #alex quackity x reader #gender neutral reader #they/them reader

[suuuupernovaaa]

Secrets | Hobie Brown x f!Reader

The air is thick with smoke and body odor, and the sweet undertone of the mixed drink in my hand cuts through it, just barely, when I raise it to my lips. The bass from the speakers is so loud that I can barely hear myself think, and even though the music is good, I can't help but wonder if the band will be finished before the pounding headache sets in.

Amelia grips my elbow, pulling me towards the stairway. Just one flight up is the roof, and though it's packed with party goers and somehow almost as smokey as inside, it's much quieter.

Just the noise of traffic, chatter, people bumping into each other and apologizing, horns blaring, but no heart-thumping music.

I take a deep breath and lean on the hard concrete that lines the building, the only thing separating us from tumbling to the street far below.

"What's up with you?" Amelia asks, and I shrug, staring over the building down at the people walking by. It's nearly midnight, but the streets in this part of town always seem to be busy.

I wonder whose apartment this is, anyway? Hobie didn't say, and like usual, I didn't ask.

"Tell me." She gives me a gentle shrug. It must be the alcohol; tears gather in my eyes as I look back at her. "Oh shit. What is it?"

My mouth opens, and then snaps closed again.

"Is it Hobie?"

--

When his band is finished, Hobie slings his guitar over his back and scans the room for her. Usually, she'd be sitting near by, listening, smiling and waving, encouraging him with just her presence, but she slipped away near the beginning of their set.

Where did she go? She's been so weird lately...

She's nowhere inside, so Hobie makes his way up to the roof, nodding and giving hand-shakes to anyone acknowledging him on his way up.

Hobie takes a deep breath. The air is crisp and cold up here. He spots her, to the right, through the crowd. Her colorful hair makes her easy to spot anywhere, even in crowds like this, where blonde or brown hair is the minority.

He approaches and stretches out his arm to grab her, but he catches his name, and stops to listen. Maybe she'll say something he can tease her about later.

"Is it Hobie?" Amelia, Y/N's best friend, asks. Hobie is confused by the look on her face. Brow furrowed, lips turned down... what's he done to upset them now?

Y/N nods. "Well it's... it's not Hobie, really. It's my fault. I keep thinking he'll figure it out, right? Like, I am pretty obvious about it, aren't I?"

Amelia reaches over, and though Hobie can only see the back of Y/N, it's pretty obvious Amelia is wiping away a tear.

He tries to remember if he ever saw Y/N cry before... he really doesn't think he has. She's a woman of few words, and even fewer emotions. What's got her so upset now? What's it got to do with him?

"There's no point, though. He doesn't like me. It's just hard, being around him so much."

Amelia pulls her friend into her arms, and Hobie feels sick to his stomach. Is that what this is about? Was Y/N's flirting not a joke, after all? He'd just assumed... it didn't seem like she was interested in a relationship with anyone, so he hadn't bothered her about it.

Suddenly, Hobie feels like he's intruding on something really private. Amelia lets Y/N go, and he has to choose quickly - retreat, or interject himself into their conversation?

"Hobie!" His choice is taken from him as, finally, Amelia notices he's there. She glances at him, and back at Y/N, panic on her face. "Great set!"

Hobie tucks his hands into his hoodie and strolls over, trying to remain as casual as he always appears. "Not like you two would know, up here chatting."

He throws his arm around Y/N, pulling her close, pretending he can't tell that her nose is red and her cheeks are a little wet.

"Needed some air," she says with a small shrug and a smile. Hobie isn't one for grand gestures, but seeing the tears on her cheeks and knowing they're kind of his fault, it makes him want to shout how he feels in front of everyone, right there. He could stand up on this ledge here and shout it. Confess that he's been in love with her since the moment they met.

But Y/N would hate that, and he kind of hates it too.

Amelia makes an excuse about getting everyone a drink, and slinks away, leaving Hobie and Y/N alone.

Hobie takes a deep breath, and opens his mouth to speak.

--

Shit shit shit, I curse myself. Why was I crying? Why am I still crying? Hobie removes his arm from around my shoulders, and I quickly wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my sweater, hoping it isn't too obvious.

I know it is, though. Maybe Hobie will be polite and just ignore it. Not ask.

"I gotta tell you a secret," he says, leaning against the brick ledge, crossing one foot over the other. He tilts his head over, his hair flopping, and smiles.

"Okay," I reply, crossing my arms to stop myself from reaching out to adjust his studded necklace, which is just a little cock-eyed. I need to start keeping my hands to myself.

"I've got a big crush," Hobie says, his words running together in that way they sometimes do, causing a few second delay between them coming out of his mouth and me grasping their meaning.

It feels like a vice is starting to close around my heart, and a great lump rises up in my throat. The corner of my eyes start to sting. I look away, squinting into the distance. "Oh?"

Hobie rushes forward suddenly, grabbing both of my upper arms in his large hands. "Oh fuck, Y/N! It's you. Don't cry. It's you I've got that crush on."

I turn back to him, my jaw slack, and the tears don't know whether to halt or rush forth like never before.

"What?"

"Oh yeah, for a while now. Thought you were just joking, y'know, teasing, all those times you said that stuff. About me being cute and all. So I didn't tell you. But, I'm telling you now. I have a giant, proper crush on you. Want you to be my girl."

He's still gripping my arms so tightly, and he's staring intently into my eyes. My chest is heaving up and down, and just one or two tears escape, falling down my cheeks.

Before I can wipe them away, Hobie cups my face in his hand, and uses his thumb to brush the tears from my skin.

"No more crying now," he says with a tsk, tsk.

"Kiss me then," I reply, my voice quiet and breathy, as he has truly just taken it away.

The corner of his mouth turns up in a very signature Hobie smirk. "With pleasure," he says, and brings his mouth to mine.

I have been kissed before. Some have been good, some have been bad, and some have been downright sinfully excellent.

None of them compare to this. The soft warmth of his lips mixed with the cool sting of his lip piercing. One of his large hands holding the back of my head so I can't escape, as if I would want to, and the other tracing over my shoulder, down my arm, and finally around my waist. He pulls me firmly to him, my chest pressing against his, and I wrap my arms around his neck, holding on as if I may truly fall off this building if I let go.

I lose myself in it. Months of pent up sadness, frustration, anger and love are released. I sigh into his mouth, and I feel his lips curl up into a satisfied smile.

He pulls away for just a moment to look down at me, and we grin at each other, ear to ear.

"Wow," I say.

"Let's go back to mine. I'll show you wow."

#hobie brown #Hobie brown x reader #Hobie brown fic

[yellow-berrys]

december boy, losing joy | sirius black x fem!reader

summary: rockstar!sirius black proposing to you, and the show that made him realise he would do it. established relationship.

warnings: none, allusions to a rough childhood and mention of cigarettes

(a/n: song in this drabble is original <3, really just a bit of prose italicised!)

“This next song is about a girl,” James fiddles with the knobs on his guitar, his voice cracking through the microphone. The crowd screams. 

“That’s right, Prongs,” Sirius grins from his place at the piano, “My girl. My biggest motivation and even though she might not be my biggest fan, I certainly am hers,” he takes a swig of water. 

He sweeps a glance around the arena, girls at the front drinking beer, some girls waving their undergarments at him, some guys drinking beer, some guys waving their undergarments at him. Some look envious and disappointed. Some are “awhhh”ing. 

He catches your eye in the VIP box, you grinning, barely visible as you stare at him. 

“And you’d be surprised that Sirius did pick up a pen and a book for this,” Remus drawls from his position at the bass.

“She’s certainly special enough,” Sirius looks up at you and winks, “Many of you might’ve heard it on the radio. Remus likes to call it “a lover’s musings” but I call it “December Boy, Losing Joy.” Yells and shouts echo as Sirius removes his earpiece. His eyes widen as he hears the noise and he puts it back in. You smile. You love seeing your boyfriend in his element. 

A bra is thrown onto the stage and someone yells, “Pick it up!”

“Sorry people, but I’m taken. Remember, I haven’t done it since ever.”

“No need to be jealous either,” Remus quips into his microphone, “Loving a two year old is harder than it sounds.”

“Hey!”

“Right, boys. We good to go?” James asks.

“Ready.”

James taps a hollow beat on his guitar slowly. The audience is quiet for once, as if instructed to do so. Remus starts strumming his bass, pick moving slowly as the sounds reverberate around the room. The tune is sweet and pleasant. You tap your foot slowly to it up in the box. Unknowingly, Lily is filming your reaction to it. You look down and follow the lyrics on the little card given to you by Sirius, waiting for him to begin. His eyes are closed, light illuminating his high cheekbones. You look at him like he’s your whole world and more.

He starts playing too. The melody is a toned down version of the Pop-esque one that you’ve listened to on Spotify so many times. You never knew the song was about you, thinking it was Remus’ penning or James’ tribute to Lily. But it’s beautiful. It’s also acoustic, you think, it gives the song a certain ethereal, timeless quality. Combined with your boyfriend with his hair up, eyelashes so long, eyes sparkling, you think this must be heaven. 

Sirius’ deep voice is angelic. “I was a December boy / Losing joy,” he sings. The crowd wave their phones to and fro, “Pretending I smoked cigarettes / Pretending I had no regrets.”

“Never one to be semantic / Always crude, brutal, unromantic,” The lyrics, now that you’ve thought about it, are undeniably Sirius’. 

“I was stone cold / And standing on my future’s threshold,” he smiles, “I was an incorrigible man / Shortening lifespan. My excuse was that I’m young / In years I haven’t spoken my mother tongue,” the crowd sings along.  

You hope the photographer they’ve hired is taking photos, because the warm spotlight illuminates where happy tears stain his porcelain skin. 

“December boy / Losing joy / Saying I’ll leave this town / Never wanting to settle down / December boy / Cast iron alloy / Wasn’t one who loved enough / Always trying to call your bluff.” 

“You were picture perfect / An idyllic circus,” you smile, idyllic, you had taught him that word, “Sweeping December clean / Smothering my burning gasoline / Never condescending of my ways / Lustrous, beaming gaze / What more, you cherish my past / Saying you don’t mind being my last / And you love the parts of me which I don’t / You tell me you will never leave me, you won’t.”

“I was a maximalist before I knew you / Rings on every finger, clouded world view / But you became my everything and now I need nothing more / And I told you this when you were unsure / Pretty thing / Please never leave me wondering / Where you are / I’m just a man without you, not a rockstar.”

“December boy / Losing joy.”

You sing along, reading the words, until there’s a diversion of them. You flip the card, but there are only lyrics to other songs there. The mood turns brighter.

“I was a December boy / Wearing black corduroy / Never one to be semantic / Now I’m a hopeless romantic / Not afraid of drowning in love anymore / Because my boat has arrived at your shore.”

“I tell everyone I’m going to marry you / Down Pleasant Crescent near Lover’s Avenue,” The crowd yells and shouts, “And this isn’t a proposal / You deserve one that is more than ambrosial,” he grins up at you, eyes smudged with adoration. 

“And I cannot believe / Heart stealing thief / That I was once a December boy / Losing joy.” 

The song goes viral. Everywhere on the internet you can see the tag #decemberboy, and the Marauders, however popular they already are, grow their fanbase tenfold. Sirius records the alternate version of the song again and he names it “December Boy, Losing Joy (Her Version)”.

The PR manager is very impressed, and gives all the boys a holiday. Remus goes home to see his old flame, James takes Lily on a trip to Honolulu and you and Sirius stay home. You’ve talked about getting married, and both of you are very keen on it. It’s just that Sirius is busy most of the time and the opportunity hasn’t ever arisen. But Sirius secretly has a ring picked out for you, one that he’s seen you look at when you think he wasn’t watching you at the mall. Lily has sent him the video of you beaming when marriage came up in his song, so he thinks you definitely like the idea. 

Lily and James should arrive the Sunday after, you learn, but they’re coming home earlier. Remus is already back but re-doing his house. 

Sirius comes into the room where you’re tapping on your computer, “Do you want to go on a date, pretty? The restaurant near the beach?”

Your cheeks heat up, “Now?” 

“When else?” He laughs, and he’s already wearing a suit. It clings to his body in all the right ways and makes you flustered and hot. His eyes gaze at you intensely. 

“Everything okay, lovely?” He stoops down to curl a stray lock of hair back. You’re still a blushing idiot in front of him, after all these years. 

“Yeah,” you choke out, leaving quickly, “I’ll get dressed.”

You had bought a new dress just a few weeks before, Remus’ old flame begging you to go date night shopping with her. 

You slip it on, getting ready with the aim to look date-able. Grabbing your things, you meet Sirius in the walk-in-closet, where he’s studying his ties intricately. He turns in greeting and he smiles cheesily, “Wow.” He’s blushing now too.

He picks out one that matches your dress. 

“You’re really, really beautiful,” he says as you tie his tie for him. 

You look up at him bashfully, “Just tryna catch up with you, handsome.”

“You don’t need to catch up with me, beautiful.”

All the way to the restaurant, he’s tense. He feels your small hand on his thigh, patting him. 

“You okay, Siri?”

“Yeah.”

His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, and his knuckles turn white. 

“Are you sure, honey?”

You’re so sweet he almost wants to ask you here. Even though the ring is still in Remus’ pocket. But he forces a smile, “Great.” 

Sirius is not normally this tense, but the meal is nice and he’s perfect. Instead of leading you back to the car, he pads onto the sand nearby, “You coming?”

“Shoes, Siri, shoes.” 

You sit down and he takes them off for you, holding them. 

“Why are we here?” 

“The view is nice, I thought you’d appreciate it.” 

“It is.”

You bask in the worldliness of it all. You miss Remus approaching quietly and handing Sirius the ring, having mastered the art of slinking away. It’s only when you see all of your friends approaching, a camera in every second person’s hand, when you frown. You turn to Sirius. He’s looking at you like he’s infatuated, and shakily gets down on one knee, dropping your shoes and taking your hands into his. Is this really about to happen? 

“My love, I love you with all my heart and I promised to give you a proposal more than ambrosial so here it is. These last few years have made me realise that I want to spend the rest of my life with you by my side and let everyone else know that too. I want to love you as much as I can, and I want you to be with me in everything that I do, everywhere I go. Will you continue making me the happiest man in the world and marry me? Please?” 

The delivery is short and sweet, Sirius’ way of doing things. You grin, throwing your arms around him. 

“Yes. Yes!” 

Sirius breaks out into a big smile, and slides the ring you had been marvelling at the other day on your finger. 

He lifts you and kisses you, deep and passionate and loving. Your friends cheer. 

You spend the rest of the night on the beach with your December boy, finding joy. 

#sirius black x reader fluff #sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius orion black #sirius x reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius x you #fluff #lily evans x reader #lily evans x you #harry potter #marauders #the marauders #padfoot #padfoot x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus x you #remus x reader #hogwarts #gryffindor #reader insert #marlene mckinnon #marlene mckinnon x reader #james potter x you #james potter x reader #james potter #rockstar!sirius black

[p1nkcanoe]

I wish you would write a fic where Swiss acts like even more of a freak with his guitar

okay i know you said his guitar, but he's had his eyes on rain's bass for a while...

i only have eyes for you

[ swiss x rain's bass ]

summary: swiss has had his eye on rain's bass for a while. tonight he finally gets the chance to show her how a bass like her should really be treated. warnings: grinding, masturbation, objectophilia (object attraction) word count: 1366

now on ao3 as it's own ficlet collection... make of that what you will.

(once again, please don't yell at me for the guitar stuff, i know nothing about playing or handling instruments, i just write strange porn…) 

It had been a long time coming. So many tour dates, so many rehearsals and practices, so many late nights listening to her sing in his room, cradled by slimmer, familiar hands… So many years. He’s yeared for her for years, and now, she’s finally his. Smooth. Pearly white with that black pickguard as dark and as clear as the night sky, shining under the light of the moon and smothered in the love and devotion that she really deserves. 

Rain’s bass. 

In Swiss’ hands. 

Just for one night. 

She’s heavier than he’d thought she’d be. Strong and sturdy in all of the right places–solid. Almost unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. He tries not to think about the one he loves most, locked away in her case someplace else, as he pulls this other woman into his lap–her back pressed nice and flush to his chest–this isn’t about her. Tonight is reserved for one special girl… 

Swiss looks out over the abbey grounds from their secret spot on one of the many balconies, high up above the surface of the earth and far from where his packmates and his papa sleep peacefully, blissfully unaware of their taboo rendezvous, watching as the fireflies make themselves known with flashing lights of brilliant green and yellow before they disappear back into the darkness of the night. Bathed by the pale light of the moon and the burning stars, he smooths his large hands over her body, feeling her curves and memorizing her dips and flares while his lips ghost gently over her head, taking in her sweet, woody scent and masking the one that deeply taints her surface. Cloves, rich, red wine, and tobacco. It won’t last past morning once he returns her to where she stays stored away, but for now she belongs to someone else. 

He noses at her shiny tuning keys and hums, turning her slightly in his hands to reach where her strings stretch tight around her dark string posts. When his tongue darts out and tastes, he can’t help the noise that escapes him. It’s low, drawn out from the throat, and dripping with his overflowing lust. He leaves a little behind on her hardware and leaves her shining with his saliva. He plans to see the reflection of the stars etched onto her glassy surface. 

“Would you like that?” he asks, his voice low, barely a whisper. There’s a nice roughness in his tone. He knows she likes that. They usually do. “If I covered you in my saliva until you shined with the light of the stars and the moon?” 

One of his hands migrates inward toward where she’s been patiently waiting, and he dips the tip of his middle finger between her strings, plucking the smallest bit to make her hum, nice and low. Beautiful. 

“I knew you would. You’re not used to being treated like this, are you?” 

He dips in again. Plucks at another. She hums, this time a little louder. A little richer. 

“Does Rain ever treat you like this?” 

Does Rain hear you purr like this when he tickles you? When he plays with your strings on stage? Does he appreciate you quite like I do?

The hand not tickling her strings drops to her round bottom and he wraps his fingers around her lower edge, using the heel of his hand to press her right into where he needs her most. Right into where he’s generously tenting the front of his pants. The pressure makes him groan and a pleasure-filled sensation runs through his veins–slow and lazy like honey–beginning in his balls and ending at the tips of his toes, the top of his head… He lays a lingering kiss to her headstock. 

“Spoil you?” 

His finger plucks on her A string and she whispers back to him, too soft for him to hear. 

“Pleasure you?” 

He plucks again, more insistent this time, and she repeats herself, this time much louder–not to be missed or mistaken in his ears. The vibrations from her voice go straight to his dick and the ghoul shudders, bowing his head against the back of her smooth neck to keep from grinding filthy against her body. 

Somewhere in the distance a frog croaks and a heron answers. They’re watching, gossiping back and forth in their language about what they’re witnessing, but Swiss doesn’t care. No, not at all. 

Let them watch, he thinks. 

Let them tell every land-dwelling and aquatic organism about what is happening on this sacred night. Let them spread what real love looks like, what it means to be a man pleasuring a woman.. Showing her her worth, worshiping her beauty, her body, her voice… 

Let them speak. Let them watch. 

He presses her closer, ruts his hips against her backside when she goes quiet and still and kisses up her golden neck with spit-slick lips. His fingers have stopped plucking at her strings and instead have slipped between them, curling four careful fingertips around her G string. She squeezes him right back and forces him right up against her body. Right up against her cool, smooth belly. 

“Ohhh,” he moans, his lips curling up into a devilish smile. “You’re tight, darling.” 

He pulls suddenly and lets go right as a moth flutters away into the night, but he’s quick to grab her again at the same string and soak up her vibrations with his fingers. She rings and vibrates until she calms again, goes quiet, and Swiss can’t help the way that he throbs. 

“He’s got you tuned perfectly, I bet. If we had more time together I’d loosen you up. Really let you feel it–feel me. But not tonight,” he sighs, more than disappointed, and drops his chin to lick up the uneven side of her neck and feel as her frets drag one by one over his tongue. Rough. Metallic. If he’s not careful she’ll cut him. He’d willingly let her if she’d let him leave his mark on her surface. Let it soak into the wood like a tattoo. But even like this, with her pressed so perfectly against him, he knows who she must ultimately go back to… Whose room she sleeps in at night… 

“Can’t take you back letting the other guy know what happened tonight, can I? We’ll have to leave you just as you are. Tight. Too tight…” 

He pulls at her string again, this time harder than any of the previous times, and she sings so loud, so gorgeous for him, and he sings right back with a slack jaw and sticky pre leaking into the fabric of his boxers. 

When he leans back and pulls her with him, laying her flat against his chest, he pretends that it was her idea. 

The stone he lays on is frigid through the fabric of his shirt. 

“You want him to know?” He chuckles and lets his eyes flutter closed as the vibrations course through her and settle deep into his balls. The hand on her bottom trails up her side, through her dips and back up where her body flares out again, and he grabs her right over her neck, squeezing in all of the right places, plucking her strings with the tips of his fingers in quick succession with no particular pattern but to please her. What he says next comes out in a hiss. The hand on her neck tightens. He swears he can hear her gasp. 

“You want to get me in trouble.” 

She doesn’t object. He plucks at her again and moans when she responds so perfectly to his fingers. 

“You’re filthy, but that’s our secret, isn’t it, sweetheart?” 

He looks up into the void just as a star carves a path across the universe and something warm blooms in his belly and twists, red hot. The desire under his skin will devour him. The star curves over the edge of the globe and dissipates behind the clouds. Even the cosmos, he thinks, believe this is the way that it should be. 

His filthy little secret… A guitar that doesn’t even belong to him… 

He’ll make sure she’s shining and right back in her case by morning. 

#p1nk ficlet #swiss and his guitar #swiss ghoul #nsft #inspired by the song by the flamingos #tw objectophilia

[crepesuzette2023]

“To the best of our ability Paul!”: The Paperback Writer session [and fashion show]

By Johnny Dean. From: The Beatles Book Monthly, Issue 35. June 1966.

As we walked down the corridor towards E.M.I.’s No. 2 studio (where else would one go when sitting-in on a Beatles recording session), the commissionaire pointed out to us that the boys were in No. 3 instead. So we made our way back to the front of the building and as we approached the studio door, the red light went on—which meant that they were recording. So we waited for them to finish. Three minutes later we walked in.

On entering the studio, we found John and Paul surrounded by a mass of equipment—most significant of all, were their new massive amplifiers. Paul was clad in his distinctive casual recording gear of black trousers, black moccasin-type shoes, white shirt with fawn stripes, a black sleeveless pullover and to top it all orange—tinted specs. John sported green velvet trousers, a blue buttoned up wool vest and black suede boots.

The basic track of "Paperback Writer" had been recorded the previous day, and now John and Paul were working out a detailed backing. Paul was perched on a stool thumbing away at a red and white Rickenbacker guitar, (moving with the music as he does on stage) whilst the Iyrics boomed through the studio speakers—so we were very honoured at being the first to hear their new single besides George Martin and of course, the Beatles.

We then spotted Ringo's head behind the screen in the far corner—he was playing chess with Neil. So we walked over. "Who's winning?", I asked. "Neil's the expert”, Ringo replied, and went back to the chess board to concentrate on how to get his king out of danger from an attack by Neil's bishop and castle.

The music stopped. George Martin came into the studio from the control room to have a tete-a-tete with Paul as to what they could do to improve the backing.

"What are you trying to do with this one?", I asked Paul. "Have you heard the lyrics?", came the reply. "Yes, I think it's very unusual”. "The trouble is", said Paul,"That we've done everything we can with four people, so it's always a problem to ring the changes and make it sound different. That's why we have got all these guitars and equipment here." That must have been the understatement of the year, because the studio was littered with pianos, grand pianos, amplifiers, guitars, percussion instruments, and other odd bits and pieces which were strewn over the studio floor.

The studio was sectioned-off with brown canvas screens and what seemed like thousands of black cables running from the amps and other electrical equipment to the control room over the heavily marked wooden floor. To stop the echo, E.M.I. have covered some of the floor with old carpets.

The big heavy sound-proof door which stops any of the noise of the outside world seeping into the studio, burst open, and in strolled George looking very elegant in his Mongolian lamb fur coat with black cap and oblong metal specs.

He was obviously on top of the world and bubbling over with enthusiasm, ready to record a dozen numbers. He threw his coat along side Paul's fur jacket and got down to work out the backing with John and Paul.

John, George and George Martin huddled round Paul, who was seated at the piano trying to work out a bass bit, before asking George Martin to play it. John leaned on the piano while he listened to Paul's ideas for a while. Then he picked up his orange Gretsch guitar and proceeded to pick away at it. At the same time Paul transferred to a Vox organ.

Although John and Paul were both working on the song together, it was originally Paul's idea. He asked the engineer to play it back at half speed so that John and George could do some vocal bits.

They were now all set to go. George Martin gave the O.K. The recording light went on and the basic sound track was played back through the "cans" they each had clamped over their heads. They did several takes. John and George hit some very high notes, but their voices kept cracking. "I don't think I can make it" said George, "unless I have a cup of tea. Where’s Mal?”

Right on cue at the end of the fourth take Mal emerged into the studio laden with tea, biscuits and something very special—toast and strawberry jam. Everything was immediately dropped and a sudden swoop was made on the toast and jam. Ringo, who was still in the corner trying to work out his next move, only got one piece of toast, so Mal offered to make another batch as it had proved so popular.

Meanwhile Beatles Book photographer Leslie Bryce was clicking away.

After the toast and jam had been devoured it was back to work. Paul suddenly got an inspiration he dived across to the piano and started playing bits of "Free Jacques" he was highly delighted at the thought of having it in the new single.

"O.K. let's try it", said George Martin. So John and George gathered round the mike and off they went. But it was a false start. Paul's head appeared over the top of the piano and he queried "Did you come in at the right place?". "We can't hear it properly" , said John, "anyway I thought that was the end of it.” George promptly told him it was the beginning!

After they had finished taping these bits, the tracks were played back into the studio while everyone listened in silence. George Martin was the first to speak-"I think that the best thing we've added are the 'Frere Jacques’ bits. Ringo who had finally beaten Neil at a game of chess by check-mating him in several brilliant moves involving a queen, a bishop and a castle, said that he thought John and Paul sounded as though they were singing through water! Highly uncomplimentary, so Paul then made for the organ once again and started to work out a sound which resembled that of Scottish bag pipes.

John then came swooping across the studio and shouted out—“You've got it. You've got it". Paul then started dum-dee-dumming away at everyone else—it was just like a scene from "My Fair Lady”!

George Martin appeared over John's shoulder and said "I see what you mean”. Paul announced that someone else should play it—meaning George Martin. John and George then went back to their mikes and added the vocals over the top.

After the first track Paul looked over the top of the piano and asked John and George if they were singing it right.

George turned round, lowered his glasses to the tip of his nose and looked down at Paul in a typical school-masterish fashion and said "To the best of our ability Paul!" And so the boys went on getting the sound that you will hear on "Paperback Writer”.

It was a long session. It took something like ten hours to record because the Beatles insisted on sticking at it until they were completely satisfied that they can do no more.

When you listen to "Paperback Writer" bear in mind what went on beforehand to achieve this really great sound, and I'm sure you'll appreciate it all the more.

"The very first shot of Paul we took when we arrived in the studio." (Photo by Leslie Bryce)

"Paul's hit on something. Waving his 'ciggie' he dee-dums his way through the bit he's just thought up while George sings with him." (Photo by Leslie Bryce)

Ringo's chess pieces and John's green velvet trousers. (Photos by Leslie Bryce)

#the beatles #george martin #paul mccartney #john lennon #george harrison #ringo starr #mal evans #paperback writer #lots to unpack #lots to unzip #George had so much more fun here than in Get Back #Paul and George Martin comma huddling #amazing creative energy #ten hours

[gyqru]

FEATHER — chad meeks-martin

warning: cheating, fem! reader.

summary: you dedicate an unreleased song to your, ex boyfriend, chad.

word count: 2.0k

you formed your band back in your senior year of high school; you and three other of your closest friends decided to pursue your dreams of being stars. now attending college, your dreams have come true.

being the only one with any sort of vocal stability, you were placed as the main singer. your friends all played instruments; mei played drums, chantel played electric guitar, and drew played bass. having a decent following by now, the band performs in pubs and small venues.

it wasn't hard to balance this double life; you actually found it quite peaceful. you enjoyed performing, loving the rush of adrenaline whenever people cheered you on. especially when you have amazing people supporting you.

besides your bandmates, your lovely boyfriend was your number one supporter. always coming to your shows whenever he wasn't studying his brain off. he usually pays out of pocket to see you; you've tried to get him in for free, but he refuses.

he even introduced you to his friends; they seemed skeptical at first, but soon warmed up to you. at some point, they even started showing up to your concerts, always cheering louder than everyone else.

oh it’s like that? i’m your dream come true when it’s on a platter for you

now eight months into your relationship, things have started to go downhill. you find yourself not being able to find your boyfriend's broad body in the crowd. no more post-concert hangouts like you two would usually do.

you stand in the back alley of the pub, just finished performing. you've been calling chad non-stop, going straight to voicemail. his phone is probably dead.

then you pull back, when i try to make plans more than two hours in advance

sighing, you start walking to your boyfriend's apartment. you wanted to check up on him; he never lets his phone die. you send a quick message to your friends telling them you already left the pub.

shoving your phone in your pocket, you start to wonder what ethan could be doing at this moment. smiling at yourself as you imagine him asleep, holding the stuffed animal you got him back when you first started dating. god, you missed him so much.

i slam the door, i hit ignore

standing at the door of your boyfriend's apartment, you start to dig in your purse for the spare key he gave you. ethan didn't mind you having a spare, better than having you bang on their door late at night.

opening the door, you enter quietly. it was past midnight by now, so you didn't want to wake ethan up. taking your shoes off and hanging your coat, you start to head towards chad’s room.

a sliver of dim lighting catches your attention; why would he be awake this late? getting closer to the foot of his room, you start to make out quiet thumping noises. your heart starts to beat faster–you feel like it's pulsing in your ear.

i’m saying no, no, no, no more

pressing the side of your face to his door, you finally hear it: soft moaning from the other side of the door.

it isn't your boyfriend's.

it's another girl moaning.

before you could process anything, you barge into his room. the sight in front of you makes you want to vomit your insides out. there was your beloved boyfriend, lying in his bed, getting rode by some other woman.

his eyes snap open the moment his door gets swung open. he wasn't expecting to see his girlfriend's face staring at him. before either of them can react, you turn around and start to leave.

i got you blocked

chad scrambles to get the girl off of him, cursing aloud as he realizes how fucked he is. putting your coat back on, you leave his apartment. you barely processed what you just saw; not a single emotion has developed in your brain.

“y/n! please,” you hear from down the hall. ethan, completely disheveled, was trying to catch up with you, ready to give you some bullshit excuse. you want to tell him to fuck off, to walk away, but you can't.

you stand there and let him try to explain what was happening. in the midst of whatever excuse he was using now, you see someone walking up behind him.

tara fucking carpenter. the girl he told you not to worry about, the girl you swore could've been your sister.

the feeling of numbness now gets replaced with pure rage; you never wanted to get violent until now. your eye twitches as she cowers behind chad, not looking at you in the face. chad doesn't stop apologizing, ignoring tara's presence.

you continue to stay silent, letting him beg and plead for forgiveness. noticing you weren't going to say anything, he finally stops.

“say something, please, scream at me. get mad at me, please just say something,” chad pleads, clasping your hands with his. you quickly yank yourself away from his grasp, staring at him with disgust.

“you don't deserve all that, chad. if it ain't obvious, we're done. lose my number.” and with that, you walk away. using the stairs to make your way down the lobby, refusing to bear any more embarrassment having to wait for the elevator.

after this, an afterthought i finally cut you off

three weeks have passed since then; only your bandmates knew about what happened. you don't know what crap chad told his friends, but they all seemed to ignore you. that didn't matter to you; you ignored them too.

throwing yourself into your passion, you started to write "heartbreak" songs. something you swore you would never do, but oh how things can change. you finally released a mini album and found your band's fame growing.

i feel so much lighter like a feather with you off my mind

people seemed to eat up the songs you wrote about your ex, so much so that they reached chad. he found himself listening to your voice, singing your broken heart out. he missed the way your voice would lull him to sleep.

besides planning your first concert since the breakup in a couple of days, you were also scheming a way to get back at your ex.

floatin’ through the memories like whatever

you feel betrayed and hurt, letting this grudge bubble in you. you wrote a song that you didn't release; it was more upbeat than anything you've written. the perfect song to rub it in his face that he lost the best thing in his life.

mei and chantel tried to talk you out of it, saying he wasn't worth it. you ignored them; the hatred you felt was too immense not to be able to do this. you have to embarrass him the way he did to you.

you’re a waste of time

backstage, you sat, staring at yourself in the vanity mirror that splayed your face back at you. revenge is a dish best served cold, but that didn't stop you from looking so hot.

wearing a completely new look for this concert, you checked yourself out. a sparkly periwinkle corset and skirt set adorned your body.

barely covering your ass, the skirt hung low on your hips; the corset pushed your breasts together, giving you the best-looking cleavage ever. matching gloves laced your hands; black fishnets and combat boots added a slight edge to your sparkly appearance.

your bandmates wore sparkly outfits too, yet in more neutral colors. they allowed you to stand out tonight. if they couldn't talk you out of it, might as well join you. they didn't like chad either anyway; serves him what he deserves.

your signal are mixed, you act like a bitch

"they're here, y/n," drew interrupts your train of thought. looking at him through the mirror, you smile sweetly at him, though the glint in your eyes makes andrew shudder. "god, y/n/n, you're reminding me why I never want to get on your bad side," he murmurs, causing you to giggle.

“come on drew, let's get this show started,” you get up, grabbing your microphone, heading to where the technical assistant people stood. once they finished hooking your earpiece up, they ushered you to the center of the stage.

it was blacked out on stage, so no one saw you get on. as you stood waiting for the cue for everything to start, you hear the murmurs of the crowd. you never felt nervous for a show until now; drew informed you they stood front and center.

mindy, anika, ethan, and tara all accompanied him. you wonder how he even got tara to agree to come here. shaking the thoughts out of your head, the countdown in your ear starts.

“everyone in their places? alright, one... two... good luck, guys.” the bright lights of the stage illuminated the venue. your smile shined brighter as the beats to your first song started blasting.

drew was right; they were front and center. from your peripheral, you saw chad's expression; he was in awe. this was going to be good.

you fit every stereotype, send a pic

“new york! hope you all enjoyed tonight!” you exclaimed into your mic, beaming at the roars of cheers. “well, tonight, i have a special surprise for you all.” teasingly, you let their screams of excitement fill your ears.

“this surprise is a little different from any song we’ve played tonight. it’s also for someone in particular who's in the crowd right now,” you announced, staring directly at chad.

“hope you like this song, chad.” his face heats up, embarrassment mixed with excitement filling chad.

fans around him yelled and shrieked; some even threw their gifts at him. tara, who was next to him, was fuming. this entire time she’s been there, watching him admire you, his dopey smile never faltering.

the upbeat sound of the instrumentals causes everyone to shout. this was a new sound; even chad and his friends were shocked. they were used to the mellow alternative sound of your music; they never would've expected this. even tara stopped talking, doing a double-take at what you were singing.

i slam the door, i hit ignore

you kick the air, bending over as you continue to sing. your whole body feels warm, confidence and adrenaline coursing through your veins. chad's eyes widen as your hips continue to sway in front of him. he knows you love to perform, but this is a new you; he's never seen you act like this.

you start to get close to the edge of the stage, bending down to get close to where chad stood. reaching out to him, he comes close, his body naturally drawn to you. you lean in as close as you can, your noses barely touching. chad's gaze flashes down to your lips; you lean in before pulling your mic back up to your lips. his lips smack the tip of your mic.

i’m so sorry for your loss

you turn away giggling, strutting back to the center of the stage. for the split second, you were facing your bandmates; they gave you the smuggest looks. turning back to face the crowd, you could see tara and chad now arguing. his sister and ethan trying to calm them down before security took care of them.

saying your final goodbyes, you start to head backstage. technical assistants scramble around you, removing your mic and earpiece. the rest of your crew getting their instruments set up in their respective cases.

you feel refreshed; getting to see the look of disappointment on chad's face was pure gold. part of you regretted it, but you tried to ignore it. you wanted revenge, and you got it. now you can move on and continue to focus on your career.

i feel so much lighter like a feather with you out of my life

alice talks ⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡ ⋆୨୧˚

guys it’s so funny i used olivia as my reference and im using a sabrina song. anyway first song fic?? kinda crappy ending srry. first time writing for chad and i made him a cheater like out the jump. i’ll maybe make a part 2!not proof read at all.

#scream.com ୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ☆ #chad meeks imagine #chad meeks x reader #chad meeks martin #chad meeks x fem!reader #chad meeks x you #fanfic #gyqru #scream 6 #ethan landry #tara carpenter #mindy meeks martin #chad meeks martin x reader

[ourshadowstallerthanoursoul]

An audience with... John Paul Jones

(from Uncut, April 2010 - link)

You’re stuck on a deserted island, you have one instrument you can bring. It is: a) piano, b) bass or c) mandolin? (Gary Attersley, Ontario, Canada)

Oh… that’s horrible! I’ll probably get Hugh Manson – the guy who builds all my bass guitars – to build me some monstrous instrument that encapsulated all three! Hugh and his brother Andy Manson once actually designed me a triple-necked guitar with 12-string guitar, six-string guitar and mandolin on it! Andy also designed a triple-necked mandolin. But I guess if it really came down to it on a desert island, it would have to be the piano, because you can do so much on it. You’re a whole band. The bass is not much fun on your own.

John, it’s so good to see you so engaged with today. Any advice for old farts who can’t move on? (Andrew Loog Oldham)

Who are you calling an old fart? I dunno, Andy, you tell me! Ha ha. He’s done a good job of staying up to date. Andrew, of course, gave me the name John Paul Jones. I was John Baldwin, until Andrew saw a poster for the French film version of John Paul Jones. I thought it ’d look great in CinemaScope, as I wanted to do music for films. I imagined it saying “Music By John Paul Jones”, over the whole screen. I never realised then that he was the Horatio Nelson of America!

I know that you’ve been getting heavily into bluegrass lately – who are some of your favourite bluegrass artists of all time? (Ryan Godek, Wilmington, Delaware)

Apart from Bill Monroe, you mean? Oh, there’s loads. I’m friends with the Del McCoury band, I love that style of classic bluegrass. I love Sam Bush’s Newgrass stuff. And of course there’s Nickel Creek, Chris Feely, Mike Marshall. I love it all, really. One thing I like about bluegrass is that you don’t require amplifiers, drums and trucks. You can pull an instrument out of a box and get on with some instant music making. I carry a mandolin around wherever I go. I also like the fact bluegrass musicians play more than one instrument. There’s a tradition of them swapping instruments. In bluegrass bands I swap between double bass, fiddle and banjo.

One Butthole Surfers anecdote, please? (Dave Grohl)

Ha! I was brought in to produce the Butthole Surfers’ 1993 album, Independent Worm Saloon. I guess it was to give it a heavy rock vibe, but it didn’t work like that. They were actually incredibly hard-working in the studio, but I do recall running up a phenomenal bar-bill at the San Rafael studio. And then there was Gibby [Haynes, Butthole Surfers’ frontman] and his… eccentric studio behaviour. Gibby did one vocal take shouting into his guitar. He held it out in front of his face and screamed at it. Ha! He was trying to find out if it picked up through the pick-ups, which it kind of did. And that was pretty good.

How’s the violin coming along? (Sean, Berkshire)

I started about three years ago. With the guitar, or the piano, you can sound OK quite quickly. With the violin, it takes much longer. Once you get past the first six months of scraping, of muttering to yourself, “What is this fucking horrible noise on my shoulder?” you get the odd musical bit, and you think, ‘Oh, this is starting to get good.’ And you continue with it for a while. I’m getting into country fiddle playing, Celtic folk songs, a bit of swing. Basic stuff, but very satisfying.

Why not record a second ‘Automatic For The People’ with REM? (Franz Greul, Austria)

They haven’t asked me! But doing the string arrangements for that album was a great experience, actually. They sent me the demos of their songs, and we went into a studio in Atlanta, with members of the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra. They were great songs, something you can really get your teeth into as an arranger. And I’ve been good friends with them ever since.

How did you first meet Josh Homme? And is he still a notorious party monster? (Rob Hirst, Kippax, Leeds)

Well, I think we’ve all calmed down rather a lot. Dave introduced me to Josh at his 40th birthday party. It was a ridiculous themed place where they have jousting with knights. As Dave said, it was like somewhere you’d have your 14th birthday party. Or maybe even your 4th. Anyway, Dave sat Josh and I together for a blind date. Which was reasonably embarrassing for both of us, surrounded by people going “prithee this” and challenging each other to duels. But we survived the trauma and went into the studio the next day, and just started jamming. And I knew immediately it was going to be something special.

If Them Crooked Vultures had Spice Girls-like nicknames what would they be? (Paul Jones, Liverpool)

Dave would be Smiley Vulture. He can’t stop grinning. Josh would be Slinky Vulture. He’s a slinky kinda guy. And I’d be Speedy, I guess. Or Jumpy. So there you go. Smiley, Slinky and Speedy. Or does that sound more like the dwarfs?

I remember you being a pretty funky bass genius back in the day! What memories do you have of those sessions? (Donovan)

The sessions with Don and Mickie Most were great, because we were given a free hand. I usually got leeway, because I was the sort of Motown/Stax specialist, so producers in the mid ’60s would get me in for cover versions of American records, and none of them could write bass parts convincingly enough, so I was London’s answer to James Jamerson, I guess! And I was certainly encouraged to get kinda… funky when I worked with Donovan.

How did it feel to see Jimmy Page and Robert Plant venture off in their own project in the ‘90s without mentioning a word of it to you? (Danny Luscombe, Hull)

Oh yeah, I was pissed off about it. The surprise was in not being told. It’s ancient history now, but it was a bit annoying to find out about it while reading the papers. It came just after Robert and I had been discussing the idea of doing an Unplugged project. Then I’m on tour in Germany with Diamanda Galás, I turn on the TV and see Robert and Jimmy doing it, with someone else playing all my parts! I was pissed off at the time. You would be, woudn’t you? But… it’s all in the past, isn’t it?

Did you listen to much work by Josh Homme or Dave Grohl before you were contacted in relation to joining Them Crooked Vultures, and if so, how did you honestly rate it? (Ralph Ryan, Lisronagh, County Tipperary)

I did like the Foo Fighters and Queens Of The Stone Age, before I’d met either of them. There’s a tendency for people – especially musicians from my generation – to say that there has been this terrible decline in musicianship, that today’s bands haven’t got the chops, blah blah blah. But that’s not true at all. There’s always some people for whom technique on an instrument isn’t necessary. They can get their ideas across without being able to have the chops. But Josh really does have the chops, he just doesn’t feel the need to flash them about all the time. In fact, there were a few riffs he gave me that I had to simplify, because they were bloody difficult to play. I really had to work at it, where he could just flick it off. He is an astonishing musician.

Were you serious when you told Peter Grant that you wanted to jack it in to become choirmaster at Winchester Cathedral? (Brian Fisher, Manchester)

Ha! That was a tongue-in-cheek joke, although I was serious about leaving Led Zeppelin in 1973 unless things changed. But Peter did sort things out pretty quickly. What kind of choirmaster would I have made? A bloody good one! Listen, any way that they’ll pay you for making music is just the best situation in the world. I’d do it for nothing. I don’t care what music it is. I just love it all. The rubbing of notes together. I love it all. I would be very passionate about whatever I decided to do.

What was the worst session you ever did as a jobbing session player? (Adam Burns, Castleford, West Yorkshire)

I generally have fun memories of that time. I’d criss-cross London playing two or three sessions a day, going between Trident and Olympic and Abbey Road and Philips in Marble Arch, you know. You’d be backing Shirley Bassey, Cat Stevens, Lulu, whoever was paying you. The worst experience was a Muzak session. With Muzak sessions, the music was deliberately boring. I distinctly remember one session where I embellished the bass part a little bit, just so that it wasn’t so boring for me to play. They said, “No, you can’t do that. Any interest in the music will distract people’s attention from when they’re meant to be eating.” Or standing in a fucking lift. For fuck’s sake! So I was like, “OK, thanks, bye!”

#john paul jones #jonesy #led zeppelin #robert plant #planty #jimmy page #pagey #john bonham #bonzo #60s #70s #70s rock #70s music #rock music #ourshadowstallerthanoursoul

[villainsblog97]

Xdinary Heroes Reaction:

Hearing their S/O play their instrument

Summary: How would our heroes react seeing and hearing their S/O playing their instrument?

Warnings: none

Scenario: Boyfriend AU, romance, fluff, comedy

Gunil 🥁

So

He heard a noise

a noise he's very familiar with

The sounds of his drums

He came running into the practice room

no

More like charging

He was for sure certain that one of the guys (probably Jooyeon or Jiseok) were messing with his drums

But then he saw you

Playing his drums

Boy's heart stopped

in that moment

He watched you playing

Pretty sure he fell in love all over again

You would jump when you finally saw him

You felt like you were caught red handed

But he reassured you he wasn't mad

and if fact needed to see you do this more often

Jungsu 🎹

Jungsu would be on literal cloud 9

Like he didn't know you could play piano

You started playing the piano for Good Enough

His eyes lit up

He was so happy to see you playing his song

On his instrument

His heart was very happy

He watched you play the song

with so much admiration in his eyes

God he loves you

The little smile on your face as you play

He'd grab one of the guitars in the room and play with you

(I'm-)

Gaon 🎸

You asked Jiseok if he would teach you how to play his guitar

His eyes lit up

Immediately pulls you to the couch

Excitedly puts his pride and joy Snoopy in your hands

(For those who don't know that's his white and black guitar)

And comes around and shows you some chords

He's literally so happy to see you holding his guitar

Playing it

And taking time to learn his passion

He teaches you the five chords to Hair Cut

You squeal when you play the chords right

He smiles and hugs you tightly

Oh that infectious Jiseok smile

He's literally so happy right now

O.de 🎹

Seungmin would hear you playing on his synth

You were playing his chords in Bad Chemical

He was so beyond proud

Like he's taking pictures of you

Showing off how his baby learned his parts in Bad Chemical

He looks like a proud mom right now

Thinking how he got so lucky

He's smiling so hard his face hurts

He can't stop either

"What do you think Min!"

He would just come over and hug you tightly

"I think... I love you so much it kills me"

Junhan 🎸

You wanted to surprise Hyeongjun

You had been learning secretly to show him

So on his birthday

You began to play part of Dear H.

Then you took his guitar in your hands

the strap over your shoulder

and began to play his guitar solo

His heart raced

As he saw you playing his part, in the song he wrote

His eyes watered a little

He felt so much in that moment

This song means so much to him

and to hear the love of his life playing it

Did his heart so much good

Jooyeon 🎸

I already know Jooyeon has the biggest smile on his face

He's watching you play his bass

Literal heart eyes

Like Gunil

Boy just fell in love with you all over again

The confidence that you had too

He was just enjoying the view

His love

Playing his bass

That he also loves

He'd sing along to whatever song you were playing

Smiling at you as you play

I feel like he'd just love this moment

#xdinary heroes #boyfriend scenario #fluff #romance #gun-il #jungsu #gaon #ode #junhan #jooyeon

[freakingoutthesquares]

Poptastic Words: Alexis, Portraits: Pulp Interviewed back-stage at the Highbury Garage, 15 May 1993 Catharsis Fanzine, Issue 4 Transcription: Acrylic Afternoons

"I'm Candida. Hello. I play keyboards." "I'm Jarvis. I'm the singer." "I'm Steve. I play bass." "I'm Russell. I play guitar and violin." "Therefore Nick's the drummer." sums up Candida.

And there you have Pulp - the world's greatest pop band. A band who have "been in Smash Hits" and have even had the honour of having one of that magazine's "Single of the Fortnight". Not that Jarvis can see the band ever being as big as, say, Take That or East 17.

"I can't see too many posters going up."

Pulp were formed by Jarvis whilst at school and the current line up has been together for about five years. But why did they all want to be in a band in the first place?

"I think we wanted to frustrate ourselves," says Candida.

"We're complete sado-masochists," backs up Nick.

Is it what you all always wanted to do?

"Yeah," confirms Jarvis. "I, kind of, wanted to do it at school. I used to imagine, when I was in the school's dinner queue, that I wouldn't have to queue up if I was famous. It's not particularly true. That's what I thought it would be like but it's not."

So, after deciding he wanted to be a pop star, Jarvis went to film school. Why?

"That was after we'd been doing the band for a while but I was disillusioned. We'd been messed around by loads of record companies and the final straw was when the bass player became a born again Christian and left the band. It all seemed a big mess. We didn't actually split the band up but I thought I ought to do something else cos it's all I'd been doing since I left school and I thought my brain was drying up. I thought I ought to do something else to keep it alive a bit."

Now it's 1993 and it's going to be a good year for Pulp. Their records are being picked up on - their last single 'Razzmatazz' got Single of the Week in Melody Maker - and it is rumoured that they have signed to Island Records.

"We're with them spiritually..."

"I don't think we've signed or anything," says Jarvis over Nick.

"...we're, kind of, engaged. It's been a long engagement."

"But long engagements are the best," stresses Russell.

Why do you think it's taken so long for Pulp to be appreciated (Pulp has been around in various forms for about fifteen years)?

Steve: "It's our turn."

Jarvis: "We've been waiting in queue for a long time."

Steve: "It's like when you go to the Post Office and you want a stamp but you'll wait for everyone else to go."

Jarvis: "We're very polite y'see so we didn't push in."

Nick: "We wouldn't have that."

Jarvis: "So we waited our turn."

Did it get depressing in the meantime? "No," continues Jarvis. "There's always other things to do. If you choose to sit at home thinking, "Why aren't I famous?", then you would be quite a sad character. You can always ride your bike or something."

Did you think you'd be doing it this long when you first started?

"No. I would've been horrified. I always thought pop music was supposed to be quite instant. You didn't hang around for a decade. To be doing it for so long is very strange."

How did Pulp sound when you started?

"Awful."

"It was all feedback," explains Steve.

"Yeah," recalls Jarvis. "It was a noise. Not on purpose, or anything. It was just ineptitude. I started when I was young and we just couldn't play. We still can't play very well but I don't think that matters."

What does matter then?

"It's not what you can play, it's what you can say."

And what are Pulp saying?

"That's put you on the spot," cries Nick gleefully.

"Well, it's not that we've got something to say as in there's a big message for the world. U2 are trying to shake off that image now but before they were always doing the chest beating and coming up with their big slogans. It's not like that. Hopefully it's an accurate reflection of our lives."

In that case Pulp must lead very strange lives. The opening lines of 'Razzmatazz' were, "The trouble with your brother/he's always sleeping with your mother/and I know that your sister's missed her time again this month".

"I don't think they're seedy," states Jarvis. "They're just true to life. I think they're deadpan and down to earth. I don't think they're strange. Razzmatazz is a bit sad. Babies (the single before Razzmatazz... sample lyric: I wanna take you home/I wanna give you children) is just a thing you get up to when you are fourteen and certain things are still still taboo and you get into situations because of curiosity."

What does your mother think about your lyrics?

"I don't think she's bothered. She's not made any detrimental comments. She thinks the songs should be happier. I'd rather her take no notice actually because once I went round there at Christmas and she insisted on playing the record all the time when my relatives were there. It was embarrassing. Everyone comes up and pats you which isn't very good. Also, if you're on TV or radio at your mothers then it's very embarrassing."

"Shouldn't have your hair like that."

"Smile a bit more."

"Why don't you play some happy ones."

To get to know Pulp a little better we decided to ask each member of the band to describe the others. We allotted them one word per person. Below are the results.

Nick: Candida... petite. For Jarvis I'd say dishevelled. Steve is organised and Russ is er... too tough sometimes.

Candida: Nick's loud. Jarvis is temperamental. Steve is organised and Russell is good at business.

Jarvis: For Nick I would say... high. Candida is fluorescent. Steve is clean. Russell... I'd say feedback.

Steve: Nick is too loud. Candida is calm. Jarvis is unique and that's not a compliment. Ha Ha Ha. Russell is manic.

Russell: Nick is Jean Paul. Candida is toys. For Jarvis I'd say praying mantis and Steve I would say is a cigar.

During this game several compliments and disparaging remarks were handed out and taken with apparent ease and false stroppiness in turn. Pulp complimenting each other makes them happy, but what is the nicest thing an outsider could say about them?

"I don't know. I get embarrassed if people are nice to me," says Jarvis whilst Russell lines up the butts of his cigarettes in size order. "l find it hard to accept people being nice. I always think they' re after something."

"You're paranoid," offers Steve as an explanation. "l don't know why it is. It's like when you eat out at a restaurant, not that I do very often, but when I do I don't like the waiters always coming over and supposedly being nice. (Adopts slimey voice.) "Is everything O.K. for you sir?". I find that makes my flesh crawl. I'd rather they just give it to you and then let you eat and talk to whoever you're with."

"The nicest thing someone could do to you is put a plate of food down and walk away?" asks Russell incredulously.

"I don't mean just slap it down. Put it down, then go away. I don't want them hanging around with the violin in your ear. The niceness is a bit like that."

Do you also hate it when people are horrible to you Jarvis?

"Oh yeah. I like general blandness. Ha Ha Ha. If somebody comes up to you and says "You're great", it's nice but it's also..."

"...a conversation killer," finishes Russell.

"It's a northern thing as well," observes Steve. "In Sheffield no one Would ever go up and say, "I think you're great"."

"That's why," confirms Russell, "it's uncool. It's us that's wrong but..."

"The best compliment we get is if someone says we're alright. It's good to know that other people like you but you'd rather hear it second hand," explains Jarvis.

"The first time someone said it to us we thought we'd misheard them," says Nick.

"Do you know who we are?" adds Russell.

"Yeah," continues Nick. "l thought they'd got the wrong band."

You said earlier that you don't like people being mean to you - does criticism upset you?

"Well" says Jarvis with a pained expression, "if somebody writes something like, "He's a tall, lanky streak of piss with no discernible talent. How has he managed to delude himself for so many years?" you can't just go, "Oh, yeah. Fair enough, everybody's entitled to their own opinion"."

"Truth hurts. Ha Ha Ha." comments Steve.

"It's too bad they were right," agrees Russell rubbing more salt into Jarvis's wounds. "We do like people to like us. We're not just doing this for ourselves. We want people to like it."

"But we don't pander," warns Jarvis.

What do you think about the "Crimplene scene" which is the current press play thing? Does it bother you that you've been lumped into that?

"We started it," boasts Steve jokingly.

"I don't think it exists. It's not healthy," complains Jarvis. "No. Crimplene makes you sweat. We'd rather be the British cotton scene."

"It's true," supports Nick. "Avoid Crimplene at all costs."

"I like seventies bands like Denim. Is that the Crimplene scene?" asks Russell.

From what I've read, it's you, Suede, Saint Etienne etc.

"We used to get compared to Marc Almond and World Of Twist so..."

"If I was going to chose a scene to be associated with," remarks Steve, "it would be that one but it's not like we meet at Oxfam on a Saturday afternoon and fight over classic Crimplene. None of us like it."

"I still don't think it exists," says Jarvis persistently.

If there is a scene then Pulp are the leaders of the pack. They might not be the biggest, but they are the best. In terms of sex, glamour and everything that counts they are the only band you need to know. They leave the rest of their ilk in a trail of dust. The songs are gorgeous uplifting affairs with secret tales of suburban life as lyrics. It is pure genius.

"A lot of sexual perverts like us," offers Russell helpfully. "They write us strange letters. Post grunge and post shoe gazing there is a new sort of person on the streets and they like us. People in stripey tops quite like us."

"French people like us," announces Candida.

Do any of you ever get recognised in the streets?

"Yeah," states Jarvis. "I was saying to Russell the other day, that I've always had people taking notice of me in the streets in Sheffield - usually in a bad way. They called me names and things. It does still happen. In fact I nearly had a fight yesterday 'cos this boy decided to push me. But people have started to recognize me and be a bit more friendly now. It's strange 'cos I'm always getting ready to flinch when they come up and then they say something nice and catch me off guard."

What names did they call you?

"Because I've always worn glasses it just used to be someone famous with glasses. Elvis Costello, Buddy Holly. Just anybody who wore glasses. I used to have a beard for a bit and then I was called Rolf Harris all the time. They weren't very imaginative."

Well, those people were obviously mad. Jarvis is, without a doubt, a sex symbol for the nineties along with all the others in the band. At the gig that took place after this interview Jarvis was practically pulled off the stage by adoring females. O.K. - so we know they are attractive, but how sexy out of ten does each member of the band think he/she is?

"We're all going to say ten aren't we?" asks Candida.

"You might, but I wouldn't," retorts Steve.

"I think it changes during the day," decides Nick. "When you get up in the morning you're probably a minus. The later it gets the better it gets. If it's a good day you might peak at two."

"You just about make a two, Steve," jokes Jarvis.

"Anyone who says above seven has problems," says Steve wisely.

"You'd catch them playing with themselves in front of a mirror when you came in here," suggests Jarvis.

"That means you were about a nine in the van today, then, when we set off," says Steve whilst trying to wind up Jarvis.

"Yeah?"

"I didn't think you were a nine, you thought you were."

"Self-masturbation," adds Nick helpfully.

"That's another thing that other people have to decide upon," Jarvis remarks sensibly.

"Obviously it's nice if people do find you that way."

At this point Nick's brother enters the room and Russell starts loudly announcing that "this one goes up to eleven" if you twist the nipple and put a little shilling in the slot. Everyone has hysterics.

But, don't get me wrong, Pulp take what they do incredibly seriously. They are a deadly serious band. I know this because Nick told me four times. They are funny, the music is not. Pulp are also clever, sexy, glamorous, beautiful, talented, strange, normal, erotic, under-famous, unique, sleazy, stylish and every other compliment ever. If you feel the need to check out the high life or if you just need that extra sparkle - look no further than Pulp. They're the most fun you'll ever have.

You can write to Pulp at P.O. Box 87, Sheffield, S6 2YZ and you can become a Pulp person by sending £3 to the same address.

#pulp #russell senior #jarvis cocker #candida doyle #nick banks #steve mackey #90s #interview #printed interview

[reasonsmandy]

The Liquor

Graham Dunne x Fem!Reader

✧.* requested by two anon — ¹A request for graham with prompt 2 please 😽😽 ²Can you do one for Graham Dunne where you’re apart of the band and he has a huge crush on you but he thinks you don’t feel the same until you make a drunk confession

✧.* summary — You've always had great difficulty opening up about your feelings, but they say drinking makes it easier to say things, and you were going to see if the saying was true on the first Christmas you spent with your band.

✧.* warnings — mentions of alcohol and drugs.

✧.* word count — 3.8k

✧.* 🪕 — Graham's masterlist

✧.* mandy's notes — I confess that I wrote this very airily so I already apologize for that. Good reading 🫶🏾

Defining the way you moved him was difficult, he felt like a teenager again every time you walked into the room, every time your eyes rested on him he went back to high school where he couldn't talk to the girl he liked, but with you it was something bigger, it wasn't a simple crush... He was madly in love with you.

You went down that shot of tequila at once before going down the stage, you weren't there for work but for fun, you loved playing and feeling the music with all your being and passing that on to the public was all you wanted. Sweat trickled down your forehead, and you walked to a farther table with your bass guitar on your back, out of breath you smiled with pride at your performance with your eyes closed and you recovered from the adrenaline.

At a table in that same bar The Six were in shock to see the grandiose performance of the "amateur" band at that bar in the neighborhood, Graham's eyes gleamed following your silhouette heading alone to that dimly lit table.

"We need her." Graham said without precepts, Warren who traveled on mushrooms watched him without understanding who it was. "That way Eddie can get back to the guitar, and the dynamics of the band are more fluid."

Rojas seems to get the electric rush of the drug, "What?!" He suddenly straightens up in his chair. "But then what will become of our name joke? Are we actually going to be 'The Six'?"

Karen turns to the drummer and rolls her eyes, as if rethinking her decision to join them over and over every time he has those moments, "She's a badass, I like her."

Eddie, happy at the thought of getting back to playing guitar, breaks into a big smile, which is rare for him, and he nudges Graham as he downs his beer. "Make the invitation, I agree with you."

The younger Dunne thinks for a second, thinking what his older brother would do in that instant, what would he think of this decision? Karen seems to read his thoughts and approaches his ear whispering "He quitted, it's alright."

Graham then finishes drinking whatever Warren had ordered him, at this point you were already calmer from the presentation and just watched the clientele of the place waiting for your ride. You don't take long to notice the man walking towards you, looking around you looking for some point that might be of interest to him, but there was no one else close to you besides relatively old men.

Graham holds the chair in front of yours, pulling it forward a little indicating that he wanted to sit there. "Is this seat taken?"

You shake your head, taking a sip of your drink without taking your eyes off him, intrigued by what he wants. He then does, sitting down across from you.

"You were rocking up there." He says with a shy smile, you smile in thanks, still without saying one word. "Uh–"

He was nervous, you thought it was cute. He was moving his hands and his gaze was fixed on his hands, you then decided to speak to calm the individual in front of you.

"I think I know you from somewhere." Your voice was low and he had trouble understanding because of all the noise in the place, but when your timbre invaded his eardrums it was like feeling a wave against him. "Do I know you?"

"Maybe?" You open a big smile for the first time during that whole conversation, he feels his legs give out. "I'm in a band, The Six?"

You pretend to recognize him but nothing clears up in your mind, you nod watching him intently he makes you curious in a way.

"What brings you to my table, Mrs Rockstar?"

"The boys and I were talking and we were blown away by your performance…" He sees you frown, not understanding where he wants to go with this conversation, "Would you like to be our bassist?"

"Are you serious honey?" You question with a mischievous smile on your face, the effect of alcohol on your body was messing with your senses.

"Of course I'm serious" He says, causing you to hitch up in laughter, he feels like he could get lost in your smile forever. "You're the best bass player I've ever seen, and Warren agrees with me! Just don't tell Eddie." He whispers the last part next to you.

When you stop laughing, look into his deep eyes, resting your face in your hands, you take a deep breath. "Honey, I have no idea who Warren is, let alone who Eddie is... So don't worry, he won't know anything." You wink at him, indicating that you wanted another drink to the waiter. "Look my dear, give me a good reason to join your band, maybe I'll accept your request."

Graham sighs, bringing his gaze to the table where Warren was making several paper airplanes out of napkins, Eddie was braiding Karen's hair, which seemed to beg Graham to end it soon because she couldn't take that torture anymore. He smiles at the scene, returns to watching you pointing to the table where his friends were, catching your attention to them too.

"Do you see those guys over there?" You nod, and he continues. "If you deny this, you will miss the opportunity to meet the most amazing people, and make music with the best musicians…Not to mention that we are very funny" He shrugs and something inside you makes you want to get to know him better, accept that invitation.

You smile big, "Where do I write down my number for you?"

…

You never regretted that decision; in fact, it turned out to be one of the best choices you made in your life. The members of The Six were truly exceptional and the most entertaining individuals you had ever encountered. It didn't take long for you all to begin rehearsing and regain the momentum after vocalist Billy's departure. With each passing day, you started to rekindle the hope that you could rebuild what they had once achieved, and your commitment to the band became unwavering.

You didn't have a deep understanding of Billy Dunne, nor did you particularly desire one. Most of what you knew about him came from Eddie's accounts, painting him as an unhelpful and unpleasant person. As a result, you maintained a polite demeanor whenever you crossed paths with him, especially when he started attending band rehearsals more frequently. You weren't naive; you could sense that he had an ulterior motive. Anyone observing the situation could see it, except for Graham, whose innocence you found both endearing and occasionally bothersome.

As time went on, you began to realize that Billy Dunne harbored a hidden longing to rejoin the band as the vocalist. Deep down, he yearned to reclaim his place and mend the damage his departure had inflicted upon the group. However, pride and embarrassment held him back from openly expressing his desire to return.

The truth was, Billy's sudden exit had dealt a heavy blow to the band, leaving them in disarray. It was evident that his absence had left a void, both musically and personally. The dynamics that once flourished within The Six were disrupted, and their progress had come to a grinding halt.

Though you didn't have an intimate understanding of Billy, you could sense his underlying remorse and yearning. Eddie's accounts of his unhelpfulness and unpleasantness painted a picture of a man plagued by his own demons. Yet, despite all his faults, there was an undeniable talent within him that had captivated the band from the beginning.

You had developed a close friendship with the entire band, and Billy's sudden reappearance at rehearsals left you feeling conflicted. You were well aware of Eddie's disdain for the way the older Dunne brother seemed to waltz back into the rehearsal space as if nothing had happened. It felt like a betrayal to Eddie, a knife in the back that reopened old wounds.

Karen, on the other hand, held a different perspective. She believed that for the band to truly reach the pinnacle of their spectacular potential, Billy's return was necessary. She recognized the undeniable talent he possessed and saw the chance for them to rebuild the magic they had lost. It was a calculated risk, but Karen was willing to take it.

Warren, ever dedicated and living in the moment, poured his heart and soul into the music. He gave everything he had, relishing in the opportunity to create something extraordinary with the band. His commitment was unwavering, and he embraced the energy and camaraderie that came with each rehearsal. Not to mention that lately he was into a singer he met through Teddy Price and things were so serious that nothing could get that man sad or stressed.

Meanwhile, Graham remained blissfully unaware of the brewing tension. To him, his brother's presence was simply a sign of a potential reconciliation, a chance to rebuild the bond they had as siblings and bandmates. Little did Graham know that behind the scenes, his older brother teetered on the edge, contemplating whether he had the nerve to ask for forgiveness and reintegrate himself into the chaos he had caused.

…

As the band grappled with the return of Billy and the potential repercussions, you found yourself drawn to Graham more than ever. The compassion you felt for him ignited a determination to be his pillar of support during this tumultuous time. However, beneath your strength, a vulnerability lingered, preventing you from openly revealing your romantic feelings.

In your pursuit of closeness, you tactfully sought moments alone with Graham. Away from prying eyes, you shed the armor of toughness and allowed yourself to be more vulnerable. Late-night conversations became a refuge, providing a safe space for both of you to express your fears, hopes, and dreams. You reveled in the comfort of those intimate moments, where the walls between you seemed to dissolve, and the connection between your hearts grew stronger.

Amidst the solitude of these stolen moments, you yearned to bridge the gap between friendship and something more. However, a tinge of embarrassment and fear of jeopardizing what you already had held you back. Instead, you chose to express your affection through subtle gestures, small acts of kindness that spoke volumes.

In the quiet corners of rehearsals, you'd offer a genuine smile of encouragement when Graham played a captivating riff on his guitar. You'd reach out with a gentle touch to offer reassurance when he voiced his doubts about navigating the complexities of the band dynamics. Each interaction was laced with unspoken tenderness, a language that only the two of you understood.

While your feelings for Graham burned bright, you chose to let the progression of your relationship unfold naturally. You believed that the foundation of a strong friendship would create a solid ground for something more profound. And so, you continued to be there for him in both the highs and lows, a constant source of unwavering support and understanding.

As time went on, the unspoken connection between you and Graham deepened, transcending the boundaries of friendship. Even if you hadn't yet explicitly voiced your romantic feelings, the way you showed up for each other spoke volumes. It was in these private moments that you allowed your vulnerability to shine through, trusting that one day, the courage to express your true emotions would come naturally.

From the moment you stepped into that bar, Graham's heart skipped a beat. It was as if a whirlwind of emotions enveloped him, and he couldn't help but fall deeply in love with you. However, he couldn't shake the nagging fear that his affection might not be reciprocated in the same way.

As you joined the band, Graham's adoration for you continued to grow, and yet, he couldn't escape the sense that you were a closed-off and tough person. He witnessed the walls you had built around your heart, guarding it fiercely against any potential pain or vulnerability. This realization filled him with both frustration and admiration, as he yearned to break through those barriers and show you the depths of his love.

It was in the small, fleeting moments that Graham found himself captivated by you. Like the time he saw you engrossed in the music, your fingers dancing gracefully on the bass strings, completely lost in the rhythm. The intensity and passion with which you played resonated with something deep within him. It was in that moment that he knew he had fallen hopelessly in love.

Another moment etched itself into Graham's memory—the night you shared your fears and dreams under a starlit sky. Your vulnerability shone through, if only for a brief moment, as you let him glimpse the real you. It was in those precious minutes that he felt an even deeper connection, and he longed to protect and cherish the tender soul he had discovered.

As the band faced challenges and Billy's return threatened to disrupt their harmony, Graham found solace in your unwavering presence by his side. You became his anchor in the storm, the one who understood the depths of his emotions without needing him to utter a single word. Your connection transcended the boundaries of friendship, intertwining your souls in a symphony of love.

But with each passing day, Graham grappled with the uncertainty of your feelings. He questioned whether the connection you shared was merely platonic or if there was a flicker of something more. This uncertainty caused his frustration to swell, a constant battle between hope and doubt.

In the quiet moments, when he stole glances at you, his frustration would momentarily overshadow the joy he felt in your presence. He wondered if you saw him only as a friend, if his love for you was destined to remain unrequited. It pained him to consider the possibility, but he respected your boundaries and chose to support you as a friend, suppressing his desires in the process.

However, there were moments when Graham caught glimpses of something deeper. Like the time you shared a late-night conversation, your voices filled with laughter and vulnerability. He felt a warmth in your eyes, a fleeting moment when he dared to hope that your feelings mirrored his own.

Deep within Graham's soul, he held onto a glimmer of hope. He hoped that one day you would let him in, allowing him to show you the depth of his love. He dreamed of a future where your walls would crumble, where he could be the one to provide the comfort and security you had always yearned for.

But until that day arrived, Graham would continue to cherish your friendship, holding onto the belief that love had a way of surprising even the most guarded of hearts. And perhaps, in time, you would see the truth in his eyes and feel the echoes of his love reverberate through your own soul.

…

The Christmas party was a lively and heartwarming scene, filled with laughter, joy, and a sense of togetherness. The room glowed with the warm embrace of twinkling lights and the flickering fireplace, casting a cozy ambiance upon the gathering.

As you observed Warren and his girlfriend playfully adorning the Christmas tree with an array of unconventional decorations, you couldn't help but smile at their infectious happiness. The woman with curly hair radiated a genuine glow, and you admired the way she effortlessly fit into the band's dynamic. Camila, capturing the cherished moments on her camera, added an air of nostalgia to the festivities. Whenever the lens turned towards you, you found yourself instinctively captivating it, offering a playful wink or a mischievous grin.

Taking a seat beside you, Karen arrived with a bottle of champagne, a gesture that brought an even wider smile to your face. The bubbly drink, a symbol of celebration and indulgence, perfectly complemented the joyful atmosphere of the gathering. As you raised your glass to toast, the room erupted in cheer, a chorus of voices expressing their gratitude for the bonds they had formed.

Eddie and Graham engaged in a spirited conversation, their voices carrying snippets of enthusiasm and camaraderie. Though you couldn't discern the specifics from your vantage point, their animated gestures and occasional bursts of laughter indicated a lighthearted exchange. It was in moments like these that you cherished the bond shared within the band, a connection forged through music and strengthened by friendship.

As the Christmas party unfolded, the room buzzed with mirth and merriment, and the festive spirit permeated the air. Amidst the joyous revelry, you found yourself indulging in the libations that flowed freely throughout the evening.

With each passing hour, your glass seemed to be perpetually filled with effervescent champagne. The golden liquid sparkled like stardust, beckoning you to partake in its intoxicating allure. You couldn't resist the temptation, relishing in the sensation as the bubbles danced on your tongue, filling your senses with a delightful effervescence.

As the night progressed, the effects of the champagne became evident. A warm and carefree haze settled upon your being, imbuing you with a heightened sense of joy and liberation. Laughter spilled effortlessly from your lips, buoyed by the fizzy elixir that coursed through your veins.

With each sip, inhibitions dissolved like melting snowflakes, and you found yourself embracing the spirit of the occasion with uninhibited abandon. The music that filled the air wove its way into your soul, and you couldn't help but surrender to its seductive rhythm. Your body swayed and moved with an unrestrained grace, swept away by the intoxicating blend of melodies and the elation of the moment.

Amidst the swirling festivities, you crossed paths with Graham, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and affection. He recognized the effects of the alcohol coursing through your system, and a tender smile graced his lips. In his gaze, you found a silent understanding—a recognition of the vulnerability that alcohol often unveils.

Together, you embarked on a whimsical dance, your steps guided by the rhythm of the music and the shared connection that had blossomed between you. The boundaries that typically restrained you began to blur, as the veil of intoxication bestowed upon you a newfound courage—a courage to express your feelings and desires, even if only through subtle gestures and stolen glances.

In the midst of the revelry, as the party continued to swirl around you, you couldn't help but feel a heightened sense of closeness to Graham. The alcohol had dissolved the barriers that normally shielded your heart, allowing you to glimpse the depth of your affection for him. It was a delicate balance of intoxication and inhibition, a dance between vulnerability and desire.

Dawn starts to settle in the sky, Billy and Camila went to see why Julia was crying upstairs, Karen had slept in the armchair next to you, Warren and his girlfriend had left a few minutes ago, Eddie, the great couple's cupid, had engineered this moment to leave you and Graham alone, so he had been in the kitchen drinking water for ten minutes.

You were already being carried away by the alcohol, is what you were trying to convince yourself, so you turn to Graham with your heart racing. "Tell me you don't see honey?"

The younger Dunne frowns, uncomprehendingly turns to you with a small smile forming on his face as he bumps into yours. "What are you talking about?"

"Tell me you don't see how crazy I am about you?" You whisper and he feels his whole body freezes, he blinks several times and you laugh. "Fuck, you're adorable!"

"I–" He starts to say, opening his mouth trying to calculate his words, "Did I hear you right?"

"You're pretty slow, huh." You laugh and he blushes, you grab him by the neck kissing his lips without precepts.

As your lips met Graham's in a spontaneous and electrifying kiss, the world around you seemed to fade into insignificance. In that stolen moment of uninhibited honesty, the walls you had built around your heart crumbled, and vulnerability took its place. The taste of him, the softness of his lips against yours, ignited a fire within you—a fire that had been smoldering for far too long.

As the kiss deepened, a wave of emotion surged through both of you. It was a fusion of desire and tenderness, of longing and affection—a culmination of all the unspoken words and stolen glances that had woven a tapestry of connection between you. In that instant, the fear and doubt that had plagued your heart melted away, replaced by a profound sense of certainty.

With every breath shared between kisses, you could feel Graham's hesitation dissipating, replaced by a reciprocal fervor. His arms found their way around your waist, pulling you closer as if afraid that this moment might slip away. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you entwined in an embrace that spoke volumes.

When your lips finally parted, you both gazed at each other with wide eyes, a mixture of surprise, disbelief, and an undeniable spark of joy. The weight of unspoken affection had finally been lifted, replaced by a newfound clarity that illuminated the path ahead. It was a moment that held the potential to redefine everything—the band, your friendship, and the blossoming love that had taken root within your hearts.

As the reality of what had transpired settled in, a knowing smile tugged at the corners of your lips. The alcohol that had initially emboldened you now seemed inconsequential, for it was your own courage, vulnerability, and undeniable connection that had led you to this extraordinary moment.

A mischievous smile curled on your lips as you playfully poked Graham's cheek. "Got it now, honey? I like you! Like, really like you!"

Graham's eyes widened, a mix of shock and delight dancing in his gaze. He chuckled nervously, struggling to find the right words. "I... I never expected this. I mean, I've always liked you too, but... wow."

You couldn't help but giggle at his adorable flustered state. "Well, looks like the feeling is mutual, Mr. Dunne. I hope you're ready for some wild adventures and stolen kisses."

A blush crept up Graham's cheeks as he finally found his voice. "I'm more than ready, and I promise you won't regret it. This... us... it feels right."

You reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "It does, doesn't it? Sometimes the best things in life come when we least expect them."

With hearts ablaze and the promise of something beautiful unfolding, you and Graham stood on the precipice of a new chapter—a chapter where friendship melded seamlessly with love, and where the music that flowed through your veins would be accompanied by the sweet melody of your intertwined souls.

As the night drew to a close and the first rays of dawn illuminated the sky, you knew that this Christmas would forever be etched in your memory—a time of transformation, of daring leaps of faith, and of finding love in the most unexpected of places. And as you stood there, hand in hand with Graham, a future filled with infinite possibilities beckoned, ready to be explored together.

...

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#djats #daisy jones and the six #djats x reader #graham dunne x you #graham dunne x y/n #graham dunne x reader #graham dunne #graham dunne x fem!reader #graham #will harrison x you #will harrison x fem!reader #will harrison x reader #will harrison #the dunne brothers #daisy jones & the six #the six #daisy jones and the six fanfic #daisy jones and the 6

[an-evergreen-rose]

When Worlds Collide Part 3

Kate Bishop x Female Spiderwoman reader (basically has Miles powers; invisibility, electric webs)

Summary: Pancakes with Kate

Warnings: Some swearing

A/N: Thanks for all the support, you guys keep me motivated :) I know these chapters are kinda small but honestly, it's just less daunting that way and it makes it easier to write, I hope you don't mind. Also, I made a playlist WWC

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR

You woke up earlier than you would have liked, the noise coming from the street below seeped its way through the apartment windows and the binding lights crept through the gaps of the blinds. Opening your eyes, you adjusted quickly to the unfamiliar bedroom.

Part of you thought that maybe last night was all a dream, but as you looked down at Kate’s hoodie, you remembered that the raven-haired girl was very much real. Your cheeks heated up at the thought of wearing her clothes.

Stepping into the bathroom, you brushed your teeth with the spare toothbrush Kate had left out for you, which happened to be a more pastel shade of purple compared to hers. God, this woman and the colour purple.  

You saw that she had left your now cleaned suit, folded neatly on the sink countertop, your underwear hidden underneath. Once again, a small blush invaded your cheeks. You put your web shooters on your wrists, feeling much more comfortable with them on than off, and decided you would change into your suit later. 

Kate woke up earlier than you had, finding the couch much more uncomfortable than she remembered, but glad she didn't let you sleep on it still. She decided to get some small jobs done before you woke up, one of them was to ring Clint to let him know she was stopping by the compound with you.

“Kate, it's 6:30 in the morning, why are you even up?” Clint grumbled down the phone. It wasnt the fact that she had woken him up, Clint - much like Natasha - was an avid fan of waking up at 5 in the morning to train before everyone else. He liked the mornings for himself because everyone else was asleep so no one would bother him. Until his little protege called.

“Goodmorning to you too,” Kate chuckled, “I have something to tell you.”

Kate could hear the man sigh slightly on the phone, she knew not to take it personally. “What?”

“So basically, last night I was out on patrol–”

“-- I thought we agreed that you wouldn't go out by yourself anymore, Kate.”

“Yeah, we did… but I decided not to listen,” Kate replied sheepishly, “Anyways, that's not the point. When I was out last night, this girl basically fell out of the sky from this weird portal thing. Like it had all these bright colours and everything. And basically, she’s like Spiderman, but she’s definitely not a man and she's from another universe. She didn’t even know who you guys were, she thought the avengers were a band. Isn’t that weird? I feel like Natasha would be pretty good on Bass guitar, what do you think?”

“Sure.”

“Clint, I feel like you’re not that impressed by anything I just said,” Kate said, annoyed that he wasn’t interested in you. Who the hell wouldn’t be interested in you? 

“Why don’t you just bring her to the compound? We can figure out what to do from then, ok?”

“Fine, you are really no fun today are you?” Kate teased, hearing the avenger grumble something inaudible before disconnecting the call. “Old man…”

After finishing a couple of other jobs, including the laundry which left her a little flustered, to say the least, she decided to make you guys some pancakes, gald she took Yelena’s advice and got more than one fork for her apartment. 

She saw you walking into the kitchen before she heard you, thinking to herself that you were very light on your feet, much like Yelena and Natasha. “Hey, you sleep okay?” Kate asked, smiling at your tied eyes. She thought you were very cute in the mornings. 

“Yeah, thank you again for letting me stay,” You replied, your voice tired but sincere.

Kate looked up from the pan, “Of course,” She smiled, finding your heavy eyes hard to look away from. “I hope you like pancakes?”

“Who doesn’t?”

Kate chuckled a little at your response, “Good point.”

When both your plates were full, you took a seat at the kitchen table, eyebrows raised at the way Kate drowned her pancakes in syrup. “You want some?” She asked, receiving a small nod from you. When she handed the bottle over, your fingers brushed gently with hers, sending a small amount of electricity running through your arm at the feeling. Literally.

“Ouch, static shock,” Kate laughed it off, waving her hand in the air slightly to get rid of the burn.

“I’m sorry, that was my fault.” Kate looked at you with a puzzled expression, you found it quite adorable how expressive her face could be. “Another one of my powers, I can conduct electricity, I call it my venom” You explained, raising your fist from the table to show the orange electricity consuming it.

“Wow,” Kate said, muffled by the pancake in her mouth.

“Yeah, pretty cool, I guess.”

Kate quickly swallowed her food, “Pretty cool? You can climb walls, shoot webs, turn invisible, and create electricity. You’re amazing! Like, the amazing-spider girl! Holy shit.”

You couldn’t help your cheeks heating up at the praise Kate was giving you, “Thank you, Kate.”

“I can’t wait to show you off to the others, you’re way cooler than our spiderman,” She laughed, and the redness on your cheeks stayed strong at the thought of her showing you off. Like you were hers to claim.

“Well, I hope I don’t disappoint.”

“Trust me, they’re gonna love you.”

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[hypersonic04]

Part Four

Part four, enjoy! The T Swift song of choice tonight was Midnight Rain - take from that what you will, perhaps some foreshadowing (Ross is 100% the 'midnight rain' in that situation). Also, if leaving one-shot requests is something you would like to do, feel free!

Word Count: 2,122

The night plays on repeat in my mind, even now, days later. He's in every crinkle of the duvet, every headlight that passes behind the curtains, every toss and turn I make as I try to sleep. The only thing I can think about is him - Why did he pay for my drink? Why did he pull away so quickly? The feeling of his fingertips on my back lingers, as does his firm grip on my arms. His hands.

I huff in the dark, sitting up and checking the time. 2AM. My best writing has arguably been done in the early hours of the morning, so I find myself making my way into the dingy kitchen of my flat. The tiles are cold beneath my bare feet, the rumble of the coffee machine like some kind of engine starting up.

Getting comfortable on the sofa, I sit with the guitar in my lap and my trusty notepad before me. The strum of the chords soothes my racing mind.

"Our first kiss was Christmas..." I find myself quietly muttering, scribbling it down quickly and attempting to fit the pieces of the song together like a puzzle. I do this for hours, until the sun comes up, in fact.

In a moment of impulse, I throw on a hoodie and some sweatpants, hurling myself out of the door and into my car, heading straight to the recording studio. Sure, it's early, but moments of inspiration like this don't always exist when you need them. The roads are quiet, far too early for the 9-5 rush hour.

When I pull up outside, I notice that the light is on. Adam must've left it on the other night, I think to myself.

There's a noise. A bass guitar, to be more exact, coming from the recording studio.

"Shit." I whisper. The only time I ever come to the studio before everyone else, and I've interrupted Ross. I can't hear any voices, so I assume that he's here alone.

His large silhouette is illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp on the other side of the booth. Sat on a stool, he has the bass guitar plugged in and is next to the mic, and I can't help but stare. He clearly doesn't know that I'm here yet. His face is so focused, glued to the way his fingers pull at the strings, and there's no wonder - it's mesmerising. It's almost like this is the real Ross. The Ross that doesn't get frustrated easily, the one that laughs with his friends and is passionate about his band in a way that doesn't make him seem like an arse.

I contemplate turning around and coming back later. It would mean that I wouldn't have to navigate the awkward 'hello' we're bound to exchange each other, wondering whether to bring up the other night, sitting with tense shoulders and averted stares as the other records a guitar solo or plays with the dashboard.

But I don't.

I walk through the doorway and place my bag down on the sofa, my back to him. The guitar stops immediately as he sees me, and I hear him put it back on the stand clumsily. I fight the way the corners of my mouth tilt upwards.

"Uh," He exits the booth and I finally turn to face him. "Everything alright?" He says awkwardly.

"Yeah, you?" I reply coolly, an attempt to make the situation seem totally normal.

"Yeah, fine." He nods with his lips pursed in a straight line, scratching his beard and looking around the room for a second. "You do realise it's 5AM, don't you?"

"Yes, Ross. I do realise that it's way too early to be here." I laugh gently in an attempt to soften the tension in the room. I'm sat on the sofa with my knees crossed, him stood tall on the other side of the coffee table. "Do you?"

"Couldn't sleep." He sighs.

"Me neither."

He stands there awkwardly for a few seconds before taking a seat on the chair opposite me.

"What were you recording?" I ask.

"Oh, that?" He looks at me with raised eyebrows, like I could possibly be asking about anything else. "It was nothing, just something from the other day."

"'Okay." I smile, my face unconvinced before looking back down at the lyrics I'd been working on. His gaze burns into me still, and I find myself looking back up to meet his chocolatey stare. "It sounded good."

"Thank you." He replies stiffly with a small nod.

We sit in silence and I wonder why he's even stayed. I half-expected him to leave the second I got here.

"What're you writing?"

"The song you didn't think was very '1975'." I reply, my eyes still fixed on the paper. He doesn't reply but I hear him scoff a little. "What? You said it yourself, you didn't like it."

"I never said that I didn't like it."

"Yes, you did. I get it, maybe it's too basic for Matty's liking." I laugh, shaking my head at him.

My stomach twists when I see the small smile on his face. In the month that we've worked together, he has never smiled at something I've said. Admittedly, it was only there for a couple of seconds, but it definitely existed.

"Can I hear it?"

His question startles me. I don't sing for people, hence being a writer.

"It's not finished." I clear my throat awkwardly, sitting up a little. He watches me intently and I blush. He isn’t scowling at me for once and I take the second of eye contact to admire the gentleness of his face. His eyes are softer than usual, maybe because he's tired. There's less tension in his jaw, his shoulders slack as he leans back in the chair, and I understand why the guys say he's like a teddy bear. I've often replied to their observation with a snarky comment or sarcastic laugh, but today is different. He looks comfortable.

He doesn't reply, and instead gets up and heads to the kettle.

In the moment of his absence, I sigh heavily and yawn. Writing on no sleep is normally easier when you're not in the company of someone that makes you feel like you're in some kind of police interrogation.

When he returns, he's holding two cups. A white one with a milky brew in it, and the usual blue one that I have, filled with the strong tea I always ask for. The small detail makes me heart skip a beat like a teenager, and I immediately make a conscious effort to not show it on my face. I didn't know that he took notice of the way I take my tea, never mind the mug I make it in.

"Thanks." I manage to get out, worried that he's seen the scarlet colour of my cheeks.

We sit for a little longer, him playing around with some bass lines and myself still writing away. It feels bearable. Don't get me wrong, it's not comfortable - I find myself playing with the seam of my hoodie nervously every time I stop writing, or every time there's a prolonged silence, but it's better than most days. I think about the other night and wonder whether it's played any part in his slight change of attitude. I daren't look at him as I recall the button up he was wearing, the smell of his aftershave still vivid, worried that he might be able to see into my brain or something.

"George will be here soon." He breaks the silence.

"What time is it?"

"Half 7."

"We've been here for over two hours?" I yawn, putting down the notepad and stretching my arms overhead.

Impulsively, I get up and grab the guitar, walking to the other side of the booth and taking a seat. It's like I've telepathically sent him a message, the way he immediately sits in front of the dashboard and turns the mic on for me. I swallow nervously when he gives me a nod, avoiding his eye contact yet again. There's just something about the intensity of his stare that makes me freeze up.

I start to play the chords I'd had in my head, desperate not to forget them before George gets here.

The minute I finish, I look up to find that same, minuscule smile on his face. It's so faint, and he immediately coughs stiffly and turns away from me, but it makes my heart feel like it's blooming, like some kind of dead bouquet being given a drop of water.

"It's good," he says as I leave the booth, playing the guitar on the sofa and standing in front of him, still seated on the stool. "Really good."

"I'm glad you like it." I return the small smile he had given me earlier and turn away, grabbing my things.

"Are you leaving?" He asks, and I swear, he sounds kind of disappointed.

"Yeah, I think I'm going to head home for a bit, try and get some sleep, and then come back later." I reply.

He doesn't say goodbye as I leave, that same, familiar tension returning as I walk through the door. As if on cue, George arrives simultaneously.

"How are you already here?" He shakes his head, the smile on his face contradicting the way he furrows his brow.

"I couldn't sleep, thought I may as well try and write." I huff. "Ross is here, too." He raises his eyebrows, almost like he's nervous about what the outcome was of us being in the same room together. "We didn't kill each other, don't worry."

"Thank God, I was worried for a second." He laughs. "I'm going to try and mix the final version of Oh Caroline today, shall I send it over?"

"Yeah, please. I'm coming back later on, so I'll give you a hand." I smile in reply to the nod he gives me before entering the studio.

I stand for a second before remembering that my phone is still in there.

"Look, I'm really trying."

My feet are glued to the floor as I walk back in, stood just outside the doorway.

"I don't know what you want from me. I just don't like her stuff. I'm trying to be civil, George." His voice is stern, more animated that it usually is with me.

"What is your problem with her, mate?" George sounds pissed off.

"My problem is that I don't understand why Matty thought it was a good idea to have even more people writing on the album. I mean, do we not have enough without bringing in random people?" He huffs and I can imagine him stood with his arms crossed and his face agitated. The mere thought makes the fire in my stomach burn, anger rising in my chest. How dare he say that I don't belong in that room - random people?

"She's not a random person, Ross. Iris is talented, you can't lie, and the songs she's helped us on are great. You even said it yourself."

He doesn't reply, but I can hear him moving around heavily, his movements angry and boisterous. I hold my breath when I realise he's leaving.

In a moment of impulse, I decide to pretend like I wasn't just listening into a completely private conversation. Instead, I walk into the room with the cadence of someone in a rush.

His chest nearly collides with me as he walks out and I stumble back a little. Eyebrows raised, he looks surprised to see me, opening his mouth a little before shutting it and slipping past me quickly. George looks just as uncomfortable as I feel in that second.

"Did you hear that?" He winces. I nod with pursed lips. "I'm sorry he's being like this. I have no idea why, he said that he really liked some of your ideas the other day." He shakes his head gently and shoves his hands in his pockets.

"I'm not leaving this project, George." I say firmly.

"We don't want you to leave. I don't think Ross does either, if he just admitted it to himself. I've never seen him like this, Iris." The sigh that escapes him suggests that he feels as tired with what is slowly becoming the feud between Ross and I, as I am.

"He was fine earlier." I swallow rigidly and have to work hard not to get upset.

It's enough to not get along with someone, but to have such motion sickness from their constantly changing moods? That's a completely different kind of emotional exhaustion.

But if Ross wants to play that game, then so can I.

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