#he's the one on stage playing Dewey's guitar

[bioexorcizm]

drabblecember day #21 - a walk down memory lane

ship: dewmav

word count: 1097

summary: dewey and maverick reminisce.

“‘Member when we met?”

“Course I do.”

The bar is loud, crowded, but clearing out quickly after the show. Dewey shoves his guitar into the back of the van, playing his own roadie as he fits everything with pedantic precision into its place, drumkit, bass, shit he was sure the band hadn't even used in five years, all loaded up and raring to go.

Go home, that is. He sighs, leaning against the doors as he slams them shut, closes his eyes, imagines a future where people are begging, pleading to be able to shove all this shit back into the tour bus for him, “Sign my guitar! Sign me!” and a crowd cheering his name as he walks off stage…

But when he opens his eyes to the back of an empty lot of a dive bar, his smile becomes longing. Everyone else had already hiked it out, either with their one-night stand, or just so they wouldn't have to assist him, he figures.

A drink would be more help than them, anyways.

He trudges back into the bar, pulling the hoodie he'd changed into closer to his shoulders. He walks the clear path to the counter, and slides onto one of the peeling leather stools; He turns his head towards one of the mounted TVs, a replay of some college football game that he couldn't care less about being still the most interesting thing in the room.

A voice draws his attention. It's smooth, calm, even over the ambient chatter and blown out jukebox speakers, quiet somehow above it all. That's the first thing he notices, and not them asking him if “Hey, you're the guitarist that played tonight, right?”

When he turns his head, then it's their eyes. The way their makeup emphasizes them, dark eyeliner making the pale green pop, jet black hair and vibrant ombré mesmerizing him for the moment before they speak again.

“You looked pretty cute on stage, earlier.”

“Uhh…” he trails off, pauses, blinks slowly. He tries very hard not to notice the tight leather and lace that hugs the bartender's skin so tight, surely they weren't talking to him? He realizes then he has to say something, anything -- No way they were talking to him, right? His brain’s a scrambled mess of panic and awe as he dumbfoundedly stares back at them, and what a sight he probably was, mouth slightly agape as whoever they were began to worry. Just ask them if they liked the show! Ask them if they really noticed you! Literally anything!

One thought in his head screams out over the other clutter, "For fuck’s sake, Finn, answer them!"

His words come out in a jumbled mess, some mangled combination of every question he actually wanted to ask, but before he could stop it he was already speaking:

“Do you like me?”

Well that's not what he meant to say. Holy shit, you dumbass.

They tilt their head, unsure if they'd heard him right. Probably not over the crowd.

“What?” they ask with a laugh.

“Did you like the show?” Dewey quickly corrects his tongue-tied thoughts, and confidently raises his voice to beat the noise.

“Oh! Yeah, I did.”

Dewey tries to hide his chuckle in a cough, playing it cool as he crosses his arms and leans into the bartop. He looks them over again, and as his eyes meet their gaze he realizes their stare -- it's a hard kind of stare, analyzing him, squinting in contemplation.

“I know you!” they finally relent, pointing towards him with the hand they weren't leaning on across from him, “You work at the record shop down on Barrett, don't you?”

He nods, “Just a dayjob. I prefer this to that any day.”

“Playing a show? Or chatting up the wait staff after?”

“Well, if they were all as hot as you, I guess it'd be hard to say.”

They share a laugh, and Dewey takes in the way they toss their hair gently over their shoulder, eyes flicking up towards him after.

“But...I did mean playing. Nothing beats it.”

“Well, you look good doing it, too.”

They crack open a drink behind the bar, and pass it over, “On me, for putting on such a great show.”

Dewey grins, lingering his hand over theirs on the bottle before pulling it towards himself, “Do I get a name to go along with that pretty face?”

“Maverick.”

“Maverick…Different. I like that.”

“And what can I call you, Rockstar?”

“Dewey.”

“Mm, fits you, I think.”

He takes a sip from his beer, watching carefully as they wipe down the metal countertop. In a rushed urge to keep the conversation going, he clears his throat. Maverick beats him to it.

“What happened to the rest of the band?”

“Probably all headed home…Or, out.”

“Left you behind, huh?”

“Nah, I mean -- you know how it is. Play a show, go home with a groupie…”

“And leave you behind to clean up the mess. I get the feeling.”

Dewey takes a glance around the bar, and notices the distinct lack of servers. Maybe they weren't so different. There was something comforting about the idea.

“I’d, uh, ask if you come here often, but I think I know the answer already.”

Maverick giggles, tossing the towel they hold over their (bare, as Dewey was very much aware of now) shoulder. 

“Too much, maybe.”

“I know a couple different gigs we can hit. Real lowkey places, maybe I can show you around sometime, if you like.”

“I’d like that,” Maverick grabs two small glasses next, pouring a shot for either of them.

“To a great show?”

“I’ve played better, but…” Dewey shrugs coolly, “Sure. What the hell.”

They both take the drink, both of them taking it in stride, despite the strong stinging flavor of the tequila.

“Can't do too many of those, or else my ass will never make it down the sidewalk.”

“No way you're walking home,” Dewey states matter-of-factly.

“I do every night.”

“Not today.”

“I’m off in thirty,” Maverick replies without hesitation, “If that's an offer.”

Dewey panics for a second, exhaling slowly to calm his anxiety. He feels the warmth of the alcohol dull his nerves well enough despite being clear-headed still, and he takes another drink to hide the way his lips curl into a smile. 

Well, that was certainly one way to get a pretty girl to agree to go home with you.

“I made you breakfast the next day, too.”

“Mhm,” Dewey presses a kiss to their forehead, “Think I fell in love with you right then.”

#.writing #.dewey #drabblecember2023

[jenniferstolzer]

Beetlejuice the Musical: Family Plot page 43

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#beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #fancomic #comic #family plot #art #jenstoart #not much of a comic page but lots to look at! #Can you guess which one is Betelgeuse prime? #he's the one on stage playing Dewey's guitar #those with him are the understudies #will is playing the hideous bass(guitar) from the graveyard revue #and abe is playing the keyboard

[1962dude420-blog]

Today we remember the passing of Johnny "Guitar" Watson who Died: May 17, 1996 in Yokohama, Japan

John Watson Jr., known professionally as Johnny "Guitar" Watson, was an American blues, soul, and funk musician and singer-songwriter. A flamboyant showman and electric guitarist in the style of T-Bone Walker, Watson recorded throughout the 1950s and 1960s with some success. His creative reinvention in the 1970s with funk overtones, saw Watson have hits with "Ain't That a Bitch" and "Superman Lover". His successful recording career spanned forty years, with his highest chart appearance being the 1977 song "A Real Mother for Ya".

Watson was born in Houston, Texas. His father John Sr. was a pianist, and taught his son the instrument. But young Watson was immediately attracted to the sound of the guitar, in particular the electric guitar as played by T-Bone Walker and Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown.

His parents separated in 1950, when he was 15. His mother moved to Los Angeles, and took Watson with her. In his new city, Watson won several local talent shows. This led to his employment, while still a teenager, with jump blues-style bands such as Chuck Higgins's Mellotones and Amos Milburn. He worked as a vocalist, pianist, and guitarist. He quickly made a name for himself in the African-American juke joints of the West Coast, where he first recorded for Federal Records in 1952. He was billed as Young John Watson until 1954. That year, he saw the Joan Crawford film Johnny Guitar, and a new stage name was born.

In 1953, Shorty Rogers had Watson as part of his Orchestra perform for the famed ninth Cavalcade of Jazz concert held at Wrigley Field in Los Angeles which was produced by Leon Hefflin, Sr. on June 7. Also featured that day were Roy Brown and his Orchestra, Don Tosti and His Mexican Jazzmen, Earl Bostic, Nat "King" Cole, and Louis Armstrong and his All Stars with Velma Middleton.

Watson affected a swaggering, yet humorous personality, indulging a taste for flashy clothes and wild showmanship on stage. His "attacking" style of playing, without a plectrum, resulted in him often needing to change the strings on his guitar once or twice a show, because he "stressified on them" so much, as he put it. Watson's ferocious "Space Guitar" single of 1954 pioneered guitar feedback and reverb. Watson would later influence a subsequent generation of guitarists. His song "Gangster of Love" was first released on Keen Records in 1957. It did not appear in the charts at the time, but was later re-recorded and became a hit in 1978, becoming Watson's "most famous song".

He toured and recorded with his friend Larry Williams, as well as Little Richard, Don and Dewey, The Olympics, Johnny Otis and, in the mid-1970s with David Axelrod. In 1975 he was a guest performer on two tracks (flambe vocals on the out-choruses of "San Ber'dino" and "Andy") on the Frank Zappa album One Size Fits All. He also played with Herb Alpert and George Duke. But as the popularity of blues declined and the era of soul music dawned in the 1960s, Watson transformed himself from southern blues singer with pompadour into urban soul singer in a pimp hat. His new style was emphatic – wearing the gold teeth, broad-brimmed hats, flashy suits, fashionable outsized sunglasses and ostentatious jewelry.

He modified his music accordingly. His albums Ain't That a Bitch (included funk blues singles "Superman Lover" and "I Need It") and Real Mother For Ya (1977) fused funk and blues. Watson had album Love Jones in 1980. Reviewing Watson's 1977 LP A Real Mother for Ya, Robert Christgau wrote in Christgau's Record Guide: Rock Albums of the Seventies (1981): "Watson has been perfecting his own brand of easy-listening funk for years, and this time he's finally gone into the studio with his guitar Freddie and his drummer Emry and a bunch of electric keyboards and come up with a whole album of good stuff. The riff-based tracks go on too long but go down easy and the lyrics have an edge. Granted, Watson can't match George Benson's chops, but this is dance music, chops would just get in the way. And I prefer his Lou-Rawls-without-pipes to Benson's Stevie-Wonder-ditto."

The shooting death of his friend Larry Williams in 1980 and other personal setbacks led to Watson briefly withdrawing from the spotlight in the 1980s. "I got caught up with the wrong people doing the wrong things", he was quoted as saying by The New York Times.

The release of his album Bow Wow in 1994 brought Watson more visibility and chart success than he had ever known. The album received a Grammy Award nomination. In a 1994 interview with David Ritz for liner notes to The Funk Anthology, Watson was asked if his 1980 song "Telephone Bill" anticipated rap music. "Anticipated?" Watson replied. "I damn well invented it! ... And I wasn't the only one. Talking rhyming lyrics to a groove is something you'd hear in the clubs everywhere from Macon to Memphis. Man, talking has always been the name of the game. When I sing, I'm talking in melody. When I play, I'm talking with my guitar. I may be talking trash, baby, but I'm talking".

In 1995, he was given a Pioneer Award from the Rhythm and Blues Foundation in a presentation and performance ceremony at the Hollywood Palladium. In February 1995, Watson was interviewed by Tomcat Mahoney for his Brooklyn, New York-based blues radio show The Other Half. Watson discussed at length his influences and those he had influenced, referencing Guitar Slim, Jimi Hendrix, Frank Zappa and Stevie Ray Vaughan. He made a special guest appearance on Bo Diddley's 1996 album A Man Amongst Men, playing vocoder on the track "I Can't Stand It" and singing on the track "Bo Diddley Is Crazy".

Watson died of a heart attack on May 17, 1996, collapsing on stage while on tour in Yokohama, Japan. His remains were brought home for interment at Forest Lawn Memorial Park Cemetery in Glendale, California and buried in the Great Mausoleum, Sanctuary of Enduring Honor, Holly Terrace entrance.

On June 25, 2019, The New York Times Magazine listed Johnny "Guitar" Watson among hundreds of artists whose material was reportedly destroyed in the 2008 Universal fire.

#May 17 #1996 #R.I.P. #Johnny Guitar Watson

[twistedflufflewriting]

School of Rock / twst AU

Welcome to the result of my brother watching a movie and pushing my mind into brainrot mode. I hope you like this incoherent mess of an AU that's (somewhat) loosely based on the school of rock musical/movie! It's quite long, so I'll place it under the cut!

CAST LIST

Main cast:

Dewey finn/the guy who imitates the actual substitute teacher - Lilia Vanrouge

Zack Mooneyham/main guitar kid - Ace Trappola

Lawrence/keyboard kid - Riddle Rosehearts

Freddy Jones/drum kid - Deuce Spade

Tomika/that one girl who's the really good singer - Jack Howl

Katie/the girl on bass - Epel Felhimer

Summer Hathaway/band manager kid - Sebek Zigvolt

Rosalie Mullins/headmistress - Vil Schöenheit

Supporting student cast:

Mason/tech kid - Idia Shroud

Backup singer 1 - Cater Diamond

Backup singer 2 - Silver

Billy/fashion kid - Rook Hunt

James/security guard kid - Ruggie Bucci

Security squad 1 - Jade Leech

Security squad 2 - Floyd Leech

Roadie/backup dancer 1 - Kalim al-Asim

Roadie/backup dancer 2 - Ortho Shroud

Parents:

Parent 1 - Trey Clover

Parent 2 - Leona Kingscholar

Parent 3 - Malleus Draconia

Parent 4 - Jamil Viper

Parent 5 - Azul Ashengrotto

Misc/supporting cast:

Ned Schneebly/the actual substitute teacher - MC

Ned's GF/little miss killjoy/tattletale - Grim

PLOT

Lilia Vanrouge poses as a substitute manager for a musical group working for Vil Schöenheit, who has been encouraging their growth as various pop idols, something that their parents had signed them up for (much to the chagrin of some of the students.) Lilia poses as MC after having lost his place in his former band and needing to find work to pay the rent that his roommates (read: just Grim) keeps badgering him for. To do this, Lilia uses a fun little trick he learned a while back called identity theft and poses as MC to work for Vil, teaching a class for him.

And then, he met the students.

Ace Trappola and Deuce Spade were a troublesome duo. With their original lessons, they were shoved to the back as some of the clumsier dancers in the group, more drawn to playing the music than actually dancing to it. They were joined by their peers Riddle and Cater more often than not, with the former chastising them for their nonchalant approach to their lesson and the latter often bringing out his phone to record whatever shenanigans they may have been partaking in.

The next two students are Ruggie and Jack. Ruggie is a somewhat troublesome student, being quick and nimble on his feet but having a habit of swindling fellow students out of their food and spare change. While he doesn't exactly steal anything, per se, he can tend to play them like the cheap kazoos that they are. In lessons, he can tend to be quite dexterous, although he never really seems too interested in being shoved to the background as he usually is. On the other side of the coin there's Jack, who can be front-and-center at times with his strength being needed for some maneuvers if it isn't easy to fit the twins into the current routine. Something notable, however, is his reluctance to sing.

The next duo of not are the twins. These two troublemakers are together more often than not, often finding fun in terrorising and intimidating fellow students and doing as they wish during free time. These two tend to be the go-to when it comes to main dancers, however they can also be problematic to work with whenever Floyd is in one of his moods. They're not too interested in the whole concept of the lessons they've been learning, the whole mood and feel of the 'pop idol sensation' stuff being quite far out of their comfort zones, however, there's plenty of little fishes for them to poke at and bother around here, so maybe something more interesting may come along and make this place even more fun… They can afford to stick around for a while.

The next student is the sunshine child of the class! Kalim Al-Asim, the star dancer of the group and one of the most enthusiastic members of the class! He tends to be happy to do anything, be it singing or dancing, hailing from a rather prestigious family who pays a pretty penny to have their star child at the front of the stage as much as possible. He tends to be brought in by Jamil, who had been hired as a nanny to keep an eye on the troublesome ball of sunshine. The class is a way for him to keep Kalim occupied while he gets through some of the mountains of work that he's tasked with, courtesy of the Asim family. Kalim seems happy enough with the arrangement though, so there aren't any complaints from him!

Next up is Epel and Rook, the star students of Vil Schöenheit himself! Epel is his newest project, being under his scrutiny quite often when it comes to routines and his singing voice, and especially his attitude even outside of classes. It's safe to say that he's somewhat sick of the constant corrections he's given with his attitude and his posture and his voice and his everything! He just wants a break from all the nitpicking he's subject to… And he might just stick it to the man if he's given the chance. Rook on the other hand, is happy to put his all into every aspect of his lessons. He's one of Vil's biggest fans, putting his all into stunning and impressing his idol to hopefully become even the littlest bit as great as he is… Although he isn't opposed to the idea of trying out a new genre of music if he could. After all, there's beauty in every genre! Perhaps he could even design clothing that's different from his usual comfort zone…

Another pair of brothers is up next with Idia and Ortho Shroud. With Ortho on the mix, Kalim isn't the only ball of sunshine shining on stage! While the younger kid can tend to be somewhat robotic in his behavior, he's a joy to be around and throws his all into every activity and routine, securing his place as one of the lead dancers in the class. However, his bother is quite very different in that regard. Unlike his little brother, Idia tends to keep his distance from everyone else in the group, often sticking at the back to avoid the more crowded spots with more attention. He's just there to keep his little brother happy, but perhaps he could find his calling behind the scenes..? He does appear to be quite knowledgeable in the realm of technology.

The final pair of students, with Silver and Sebek. These two tend to be at odds, although most of the conflict is one-sided with Sebek's loud chastising and Silver's sleepy indifference. Silver is one of the best singers in the group alongside Cater, with his spot being as one of the main singers. Unfortunately, however, he seems to tend to fall asleep at times, even possibly during routines and classes. This, of course, is the source of the chastising from Sebek. Speaking of him, Sebek can tend to be somewhat of a teacher's pet, following all instructions like a robot, except more shouty. Even if his singing voice is… Less than ideal… He can keep everyone in line if he's given the task to do so.

Upon meeting these students, Lilia's curiosity grew… Perhaps a break from pop was what they needed… How about he stepped up and introduced these young minds to the world of rock!

I hope you like this! I'll probably post similar things in the future, but for now I'll work on an intro/rules. Sayonara!

#Twst #twisted wonderland #twst au #Twisted wonderland AU #School of rock AU #lilia vanrouge #ace trappola #deuce spade #riddle rosehearts #jack howl #epel felmier #sebek zigvolt #vil schoenheit

[honey-dewey]

Random Dewey Finn headcanons (?) I came up with while eating my breakfast

Before Dewey wanted to be a big rock star, he wanted to be an astronaut. 

His aunt gave him his first guitar for his 10th birthday, thus sparking his love of rock music. 

One of the major reasons he never quit music was because of that aunt. She passed away early, and was constantly the only member of his family that truly believed in him. 

Dewey’s mum was kind of absent, so he was raised primarily by his dad. 

Dewey and Ned met on the first day of high school, and were inseparable for all four years. 

Despite both of them liking both, Dewey likes Star Wars more, while New prefers Star Trek. They have debates of epic proportion over which of these preferences is better. Dewey somehow always wins. 

One of the reasons Ned let Dewey live with him is because Dewey is an amazing cook. He never eats what he makes though. 

His specialty is breakfast foods

While he may be an amazing home cook, he’s an even better baker. 

Dewey is highly sensitive to textures, especially food and fabrics. 

Because of this, he rarely tries new foods, sticking to a decently firm schedule. (He really likes hard boiled eggs) 

It’s also why he likes sweater vests. The actual sweater doesn’t touch his skin, but he can rub his hands up and down the knit when he gets overwhelmed. 

He’s also sensitive to criticism. Along with that, he cries easily. 

After the whole School of Rock incident, Dewey did some quick online classes on teaching. When a music teacher position at Horace Green opened up, he was the first one contacted to fill it. 

During SoR shows, Dewey has a tendency to get very hyped, and this eventually leads to a collapse, usually on the bus ride home. It happened once on stage, where he just went still and quiet all of a sudden and then began to panic. 

All of his kids know exactly what to do during his collapses. 

They made him (yes made him) a stress doll. It weighs about twenty pounds and looks like a panda. They lay it across Dewey’s chest and let him lie down on a blanket. The kids then surround him to make a protective barrier. It’s a very effective method. 

It took almost thirty years for Dewey to get diagnosed with mild autism, anxiety, ADD, and seasonal depression. His mother was a firm believer that mental illness was a hoax. 

He did try and take medication for it, right when he started teaching full-time. It made him nauseous and tired and so unlike himself that he quit after three months, a decision that was fully backed by his students. 

He eventually did go back and get a new prescription for his ADD. It works surprisingly well and doesn’t make him act any less like himself. 

This isn’t even a Headcanon. It’s straight up actual canon from the Broadway.com Stick it to the Man video! Dewey stims! He knocks his wrists together and does the raptor hands! (I don’t think his hands were truly by his side at any point during the entire show) He taps his feet and shakes his hands! His facial expressions are always on 10 and he scronches his face when he’s excited! His head go bop! He’s a stimming Boi!

Also have you ever seen a neurotypical person dress like that? Ever? Nope. Sweater vests and jeans and sneakers (that look like heelys) is not a neurotypical outfit. 

Dewey doesn’t like rainy weather, nor does he like the cold bite of winter. He has a heater and a happy light in his classroom for rainy and/or cold days. 

His favorite season is fall. He really really likes to step on leaves and hear that satisfying crunch. 

Dewey also has a weakened immune system, and is pretty vigilant about his health. He takes vitamins and vitamin D supplements, and yet always ends up with some kind of illness in winter. Despite this, he refuses to get any kind of flu shot. 

Dewey’s list of phobias includes: needles, heights, clowns, and the dark. 

He’s dead terrified of the dentist. Ned has to practically drag him every time. It’s not even that he has poor dental hygiene or has actual odontophobia, he just hates the experience. The combination of strong smells and uncomfortable touches and horrible noises overwhelms him so much. 

For much of the same reasons as his hatred of the dentist, Dewey dreads getting his hair cut. Social interaction mixed with weird feelings on his surprisingly sensitive head and the constant background noise and the hair spray-y smell make it an experience Dewey’s hated since childhood. Now, Ned usually cuts Dewey’s hair because he’s really not picky about how it looks, and Ned knows exactly how to go about the job without causing Dewey to hyperventilate and cry. 

He uses a night light! It’s the fun kind that projects stars on the ceiling. 

Dewey is the king of field trips. He’s always just as eager as the kids to go, and he loves to learn niche facts. His favorite field trip location is the aquarium. 

Dewey quit drinking after his 23rd birthday, when he blacked out and woke up in some random girl’s bed. She promised they didn’t do it, but ever since then, he’s terrified it’ll happen again. 

Speaking of which, Dewey’s a virgin. 

Once, one of Dewey’s female students came to him and said an older man was following her to and from school every day. Dewey was later suspended from work for a week for punching a man and putting him in the hospital. Once they knew why, the school board unanimously decided not to punish him. 

Dewey absolutely insists all of his kids call him Dewey and not Mr. Finn. 

He’s the most supportive teacher in the entire school. He’s got name tags on every desk with each kid’s preferred name and pronouns. When Billy comes out as non-binary, he makes the pronoun switch immediately and puts a beautiful stained glass-esque progress pride flag in one of his windows. 

Someone hatefully vandalized said pride art project and Dewey actually cried. His kids all banded together to make a new one. 

Sometimes, the kids purposefully ask Dewey to sing certain things because his voice gets so damn tender and beautiful, as opposed to the usual bombastic singing they’re used to. (Think like. Some of the 35MM songs) 

Dewey has a routine with his drinks throughout the day. Two cups of coffee in the morning, one at home and one at work. One water bottle before lunch and one after lunch. A Gatorade or some other fitness drink after school, usually during band practice to make up for how sweaty he gets. And one cup of lavender citrus tea with extra honey after dinner. 

He broke his only water bottle about four months into teaching full-time and started to use a plastic one every day. Ned decided that wouldn’t do, and got him a Mandalorian water bottle. Dewey loves it to bits. 

Dewey doesn’t celebrate any one version of a holiday. He’s equal opportunity for any and all holidays, but he grew up Jewish. That doesn’t stop him from helping Ned put up his Christmas tree every year. Nor does it stop him from celebrating Yule with his online friends. 

Despite being Jewish and mainly celebrating their holidays, Dewey loves Christmas music and starts playing it as soon as he can. The kids dare him to hit those ridiculous Mariah Carey high notes in All I Want For Christmas. He does it. 

He also once sang ‘Little Drummer Boy’ to his kids the day before holiday break. He only played his guitar softly and by the time he was done, each and every kid was fast asleep. (He played Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer as well) 

Dewey absolutely collects soft blankets. He has four halloween ones, two Tim Burton ones (a Beetlejuice and a Corpse Bride), eight winter holiday blankets, and three miscellaneous. He brought them all into class once and built a blanket fort to teach his kids about ancient civilization. 

Speaking of which, his teaching methods are unorthodox at best, and at worst downright crazy. But he always teaches and he always makes it memorable. His class has the highest test scores in the school. 

Dewey usually teaches using music or hands on activities. He plays soft background music during every class no matter the circumstances, and said screw the building’s lights and uses primarily lamps and strings of Christmas lights. 

He also kind of forgets that he teaches essentially middle school, and he swears every so often when he’s super passionate. Like when he taught the kids about the US Presidents and called Andrew Jackson a racist bitch and Richard Nixon a lying bastard. 

After getting bullied throughout all of high school, Dewey came to terms with what his body looked like, and now he really doesn’t care. (He did have a lot of fun smashing the scale his mother got him for his birthday once) 

Dewey was supposed to teach his kids about mental illness for a suicide prevention thing the school did, but got about halfway through before he had a breakdown and the kids declared the rest of the day a bust. They watched cute animated movies instead of learning for the rest of the school day. 

Speaking of animated movies, Dewey really loves Studio Ghibli. 

The first time one of his kids called him ‘Dad’ he cried. Then they kept doing it and now he’s had to accept that he’s basically a father to about 30 11-year-olds. 

If you ask any kid in the school who their favorite teacher is, they will not hesitate to answer ‘Mr. Finn.’ Even if they aren’t in his class, he’s their favorite. 

Dewey’s classroom is always open for lunch. It’s quiet and calm, usually with a movie going in the background. 

He also stays after school for about an hour every day, helping kids with homework. He hates math with a passion but that didn’t stop him from trying to figure out Katie’s math homework with her. 

Even at home, Dewey cannot stand the quiet. He either has his headphones on or the radio going. Silence just isn’t an option. 

Dewey once got pneumonia and tried to come in to work anyway. The kids made him go home. He didn’t really put up much of a fight. 

The first instrument Dewey ever learned to play was the piano. He started to learn when he was super young, and that was how he learned how to read music. His kids didn’t even know he knew how to play until they walked in on him practicing one day. 

Dewey says ‘fuck gender roles’ and wears the girl’s skirts to a few SoR concerts. He likes the way it makes his legs look. 

Some jerk parents constantly tried to get Dewey in trouble for months because they didn’t like him and thought he wasn’t ‘high class’ enough for their kid’s education. Dewey was so stunned when they showed up during one of his classes that he couldn’t speak and just started to cry. Said student stood up and called their parents out. Two days later, those parents were off the school board. 

Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, Dewey found out a new kid he’d received was being abused at home because they weren’t getting high enough grades and he yelled at the kid’s parents in front of all the other staff members. 

Essentially, Dewey can’t defend himself at all, but will not hesitate to protect his kids. 

Dewey has said multiple times he would die for his kids. He’s always 100% serious, especially during lockdown drills. 

Once, the school had a lockdown that wasn’t a drill, and Dewey managed to keep his entire class silent and calm while mentally preparing himself to lay his life down for his kids. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. 

Dewey’s also said he’d seriously consider adopting any of the kids if their at-home situation was that bad. 

When he finally could, Dewey moved out of Ned’s house and into his own cramped loft apartment. He’s in love with the apartment, even though it’s tiny and kinda smells. 

Dewey has almost no concept of volume control. He’s slightly deaf from constantly doing very loud shows and sometimes shouts because he thinks that’s a normal speaking volume. 

As one of, if not the actual, youngest teachers at the school, Dewey is universally adored by the rest of the staff. It took a while for all of them to get on board with him, but now they all really like him. 

Dewey’s favorite fruit is pomegranate. There’s just something super cathartic about cutting into a pomegranate and slowly de-seeding it. Plus, it tastes super good. But he only likes them if he can de-seed them himself. 

One of the ways Dewey grounds himself is by pressing things to his mouth. He usually just puts his hand up on his face or the end of a pen in his mouth, but whenever he has a blanket, one corner is up against his lips. The same goes for stuffed animals. They’re always against his face. Most of the time, he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. 

#school of rock #dewey finn #school of rock the musical #alex brightman #my headcanons

[feminaexlux]

Stronger

Hey hey hey welcome to Part 3 of Miraculous Leap (Part 1). Part 2 is 5 Minutes

Ending this year with Lukanette again! Hoping it brings good tidings for 2021 (better than 2020 that's for sure)! Happy New Year!

FYI: Dewey = Dominic :)

AO3 link!

⁂

Ladybug brushed away her tears and smiled back up at Viperion. "Okay," she said shakily, nodding to indicate that she understood. "Okay."

They were in the past, or at least they were currently occupying their past selves. Hmm, how long ago was this? Ladybug looked back down at her suit and it was that ridiculous basic-ass red and black polka dot version. She didn't even have her wings. Okay, that narrowed it down to… younger than 16?

Ugh, that sucked. No one in their right mind would ever want to repeat their awkward teenage years over again, but… as much as she loved Dewey and wanted him with her at least right now she wasn't feeling like she'd swallowed a basketball. And she currently didn't have any back pain, which was a bonus.

Tikki, I need my wings, Ladybug thought at Tikki.

Tikki sounded a little startled to be pinged directly like she just was. Oh… um… Okay, Marinette!

She suddenly felt herself being wrenched away from Luka by another person before her wings fully manifested. "H-Hey!" She yelled out.

Chat had pulled her behind him and was aiming his baton at Viperion. "Don't touch her, you jerk! What did you do?! Why'd you make her cry?!"

"Chat… wh-what?" Ladybug sputtered. She heard Viperion growling under his breath.

"Are you okay, Milady?" Chat called out over his shoulder. Oh God, not this phase. She saw Luka clench his jaw and fold his arms but otherwise he was remaining still. Luka was pissed at the way she was being handled but he knew better than to step in and make things worse… Though Marinette knew he had a limit.

Ladybug sighed. "Chat, I'm fine!" Of course Chat wasn't standing down.

"Here's what's going on," Viperion said, sounding clipped. "This akuma controls time. Its power is to swap someone from a different time period in their life to here. Long story short the Ladybug and Viperion here now are from the future. I'm from the future. She's from the future. We're from the same future, since your LB and Viperion got hit with the same blast. We'd both been… taking care of someone, and it was terrifying that he wasn't here with us."

Chat was taken aback and reacted like he'd just been slapped. "Who… Both of…? No, nevermind. You guys… don't look like you're from the future," he said suspiciously.

Viperion took a deep inhale and long exhale in annoyance. "It was a mental swap. Sorry. Should have clarified." Thank God her husband had the patience he did. But oh shit--

"V! 7 o'clock!" Ladybug yelled out, pushing Chat out of her way. Ladybug wasn't 100% certain Viperion had access to all of his abilities so she had started to get her yoyo shield ready. Viperion turned in the direction she specified and caught the blast before it landed, reversing time itself and pushing the blast back to its origin. Okay, that question answered. Viperion had what he needed.

"Wow! What was that?!" Chat cried out in astonishment. "Oh holy crud, Ladybug, you--you can fly?!"

"Chat! Focus! We need to take care of this akuma!" Ladybug called out. The sooner they finish, the sooner she and Luka can get back to… She snorted to herself. What an awkward time for her past self to end up in.

⁂

(Back in the future…)

"I can't believe we have 5 kids," Marinette started laughing. It… oddly didn't bother her all that much. After all, with a certain someone she had imagined having up to 3. 5… was… well, definitely way less believable, but it didn't bother her.

Luka looked a little embarrassed and took a drink of his water. He just shrugged and sat down on the floor next to Marinette, pressing his back up against the edge of the bed. "I didn't have a plan for anything," he said sheepishly. "Just me and my guitar for… ever, I guess."

Marinette blinked in surprise. "You never planned to ask me out?"

"Didn't seem like you'd be interested," he said, raising an eyebrow at her question. "I don't mean for this to sound bad but… I don't know how we got…" He gestured at the room. "Here."

It's 'cause he thinks you're in love with Adrien, duh, Marinette chided herself. But… but was she… really?

"Wait… where are… the kids?" Luka asked.

"With my parents," Marinette answered. "Seems like they all go over pretty regularly," she said, showing Luka her calendar. Every 2 weekends she had an event called "Kids @ T/S," with the alternate weekends being labeled "Kids w/Granarka." Well, that was extremely nice of their parents to take on… "We must like these kids if we wanted 5 of them," Marinette mumbled to herself. She opened up her phone's photos and looked through the albums.

She noticed that Luka had leaned in a little to look over her shoulder. "Sorry," he said, pulling back.

"No, they're… yours too," she laughed. She angled the phone so the both of them could see.

"Harmony" was the oldest at 9, the most recent video had her playing a yellow electric guitar and singing on stage by herself at what looked like a small café. There were so many pictures and videos of her at these showings, and in a number of them it looked like future Luka was just offstage cheering her on.

"Melody" was second oldest at 6, and it seemed like she was a little copy of Marinette herself. Marinette couldn't help but smile down at the photos of her future second daughter dressing up and posing in various costumes and placing scrap fabric pieces together on the floor in make-believe designs. Apparently Marinette would have a protégé to call her own.

"Hugo & Louis" were the twin boys, still toddlers at 3. They always had silly faces on in all the pictures Marinette and Luka scanned. She had a video of future Luka tossing both boys into a ball pit and them giggling like maniacs, enjoying the airtime and landing in an explosion of brightly colored plastic balls.

And finally, "Dominic" was an album full of sonograms. Marinette patted her stomach. "Well, hello Dominic," she said. "I wish we met under better circumstances. I hope you're alright."

There had been another album labeled "Us" that Marinette scrolled through. Stills of future Marinette and future Luka together at award shows or at fashion events. Selfie videos of them sending jokes to one another. Pictures of future Luka working in his studio or playing his guitar or hanging out with friends.

Future Marinette adored him. Every picture had him smiling back or pleasantly surprised.

One selfie from several months ago had him with his arms wrapped around her from behind, leaning down to kiss her shoulder as she held up 3 different positive pregnancy test results in front of the bathroom mirror. Future them looked so happy.

Suddenly an awful, sinking feeling hit Marinette.

"We're not going to remember this," she said to Luka, and it was something like anguish that made her voice sound so raw. "Probably? Sometimes no one remembers what happened when the Miraculous Ladybugs reset everything…" She saw his eyes widen. "I don't… This… I-I… I want to remember this!"

His eyes widened further in surprise as both eyebrows went up. "You do?"

"Yeah! I mean, look at us! We're so… so… Wait… do you want… all this?"

Luka looked somewhat incredulous. "You remember I had zero plans, right? I didn't think about dating or marriage or kids." Marinette felt like a balloon (pregnancy aside) that just got punctured. For some reason her heart ached. "I mean… I never figured I'd get anywhere with you past being your friend. I didn't think you liked me that way at all. This? All this," he pointed at the pictures, "wasn't even a possibility." He closed his eyes.

Marinette wasn't sure what to say.

"Wasn't before," he said quietly, after a few moments. He started staring off into the distance. "Now? Do I want this?" He dropped his gaze to his left ring finger, then back up at her. "Yeah. Yes. But I don't want you to start liking me because of this. Futures aren't ever set in stone." He stared back off into space. "Honestly I want us to forget this. It's nice. Really nice. And maybe it won't happen. It'd hurt a lot to know what I missed out on."

Oh. Oh no. She'd been doing the Chat thing where she was barreling toward a specific outcome without thinking about the process or journey. Luka was right. Maybe it wouldn't happen. Not without her taking honest stock of her feelings first.

Did she want… him?

"It's supposed to lift you up and make you feel stronger." Chat had done that for her once. Then recently it'd been more like "Don't focus on the bad stuff." That didn't stop the bad stuff from existing.

Adrien had done that for her when he said she was the "Everyday Ladybug." And then it felt that no matter what she did he kept getting further and further away. And Adrien hadn't reached back out for her to help close the distance.

"Sorry," Luka said, breaking her out of her thoughts. "Guess I'm just… worried."

Marinette looked at him. "No, you're right. It would be unfair if all I wanted was the result." She paused for a few seconds to think her words through.

"I'm not going to start liking you because we got to experience this future," Marinette began again. "I don't even know when it really started. I just know I already do. You've never made me feel like I was wrong. You've never made me doubt myself. You've never made me think for one second I'd have to watch the things I say and the things I do or pretend to be friends with the people who've hurt me. You've always let me be who I am."

He had turned to look at her, worry and concern etched in the furrows of his brows. But the edges had softened as she talked.

Marinette smiled shyly. "I know it's not going to be easy… and it's something we'll have to keep working on… but I'd like to find out how far we can go together." She held out her hand to him, palm up. "I want… us. An us… whatever it looks like in the end."

Luka searched her face for a few heartbeats and took a breath, seemingly content with whatever he found. He gave her a lopsided smile. "I want that too." He reached out and took her hand.

⁂

(The "past")

"Miracu--!" Ladybug was getting ready to launch her Lucky Charm up in the air when Chat stopped her.

"Wait! Wait wait wait. Please. Can… can I talk with you… in private? For a little bit, Milady?" Chat looked down at her pleading with his most pathetic looking kitten eyes and Ladybug sighed. She glanced back at Viperion, who cocked his head a tiny bit to the side and smiled.

Like Luka was shrugging a What can you do?

Marinette winked back a Won't take long, handed Viperion the Lucky Charm, and turned back to Chat. "Alright. The rules are I'm not going to tell you any details but we can talk."

Chat jumped over to another rooftop and down into the alley below, putting a few buildings between him and Viperion. Ladybug followed behind him, floating down with her wings. Chat leaned his back against the brick wall and folded his arms. "Did… I ever have a chance with you?"

Huh. Okay. Chat was more observant than she remembered him being at 15. "Hmm, yes," Ladybug answered. She knew who he was, after all.

"Then… I guess I screwed up," Chat said miserably. "I always thought we were made for each other, you know?"

"We might have been once," Ladybug said gently. "But we both grew up, Chat. Neither of us screwed up at all."

Chat furrowed his brows at that. "Is there anything I can do now to change?"

"You wouldn't be you, Chat." She walked over to him and pulled him into a hug, leaving a hand on his shoulder after stepping back. "I know it's not what you thought you wanted, but your future will still be amazing."

"Are… you happy?"

Ladybug had a serene smile, glancing back in Viperion's general direction with her hands now over her heart. "I am."

Chat stared at her for a bit. Something about the quiet conviction she had was more… meaningful than if she'd been animated about saying it.

There was nothing to prove to anyone. It was just the truth.

Chat sighed audibly. "Okay, Ladybug. Thanks," he gave her a small smile. "Sorry. You need to get back home, right?" Ladybug nodded. "Then let's get going!"

Moments later Ladybug and Chat Noir landed together in front of Viperion, who handed the Lucky Charm back to her. She threw it high into the sky and said "Miraculous Ladybugs!"

Ladybug reached out her hand and Viperion took it in his. They smiled at each other when the waves of ladybugs passed over them.

⁂

Ladybug blinked a few times, her brain a little foggy after being hit with that blast. She'd been trying to save Viperion from the akuma's attack… She must have been a little too slow. Wait, where were they? And Viperion was in front of her now, and he looked… okay?

He was staring down at something. When she looked in the same direction she saw that they were holding hands. A small part of her panicked and wanted to pull away, but… an overwhelmingly larger part of her… liked it? Viperion hadn't pulled away either. So she… didn't pull away.

"Welcome back, Viperbug," Chat laughed, his baton across his shoulders with his hands on either end.

"What… happened?" Ladybug asked, her cheeks slightly pinking as she kept a hold of Viperion. It just felt… kinda nice.

"There was something about the future," Viperion said, still staring down at their linked hands. "I feel like there was something important, but… I can't seem to remember."

"Yeah, you guys got hit by the akuma but we still managed to take care of it. Paris is safe again," Chat smiled. "I'm heading out. See you guys later!" he yelled out, leaping away after saluting.

Huh. It felt like Chat wanted to leave faster than usual. He didn't even stop for their typical "Bien Joué!"

"… I guess we're done here? Alright, I'll drop you back off at home," Ladybug said to Viperion.

⁂

(One day later)

"Hey Marinette," Luka said from behind her. Marinette yelped and windmilled forward, nearly falling over but quickly got back to her feet and spun on her heels to face him. "… Are you looking for Juleka?" He had a smile on his face… one part amusement by her antics and another part joy in seeing her.

She'd come onboard the Liberty and stood on the deck… there wasn't any real reason why, she just kinda… showed up. "Ah haha, um, no, no I a-actually… I was just um! Looking around! Yeah! The-The stage!" Oh God why did she say that.

Luka rolled with it, even though Marinette was certain he knew she just made that up. "Sure, feel free. It's good to see you."

"Too! It's you! I mean it's good to you! See you. Too," she laughed nervously. He moved around her and set his backpack down against the atrium couch. She slapped both hands to her face and cringed when she thought he wasn't looking at her. Auuugh.

"I'm gonna get a snack. Do you want anything?"

She jumped again, hiding her hands behind her back. "Oh! S-sure, thanks, that's great."

"Cool, do you want to follow me down and let me know what you'd like?" She nodded and went to the main cabin with him. She sat down at the kitchen counter bar and asked for juice, sipping it nervously when he sat in the seat next to her.

"I… I actually just wanted to talk with you," she said. "You… said I can just be myself around you." It had been hard to look at him so she just stared at her glass, feeling self conscious.

"Yeah, always," he said easily. He'd gotten some yogurt for himself, but he hadn't opened it up yet. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I… There was… You know…" she started, sighing when she couldn't get the words she wanted out. "I'm not sure how to say it but… have you ever gotten the sense that you… missed something really important? Like you got caught up in something… silly and there was this really cool person you passed by 'cause you were distracted." She finally looked up at him.

"If they're still around you still have a chance to say hi," he smiled at her. "People are pretty chill, and I'm sure they'd love to talk with you." He opened up his yogurt and took a spoonful.

Marinette was pretty sure she was blushing. "Y-Yeah, he's pretty chill. Soooo. Hah, um. Hi."

With the spoon in his mouth he got out a "Hmm?"

"Wanna… see a movie?" She should clarify. "J-Just us! No group!" She should further clarify. "A date! It's a date! I'm asking!"

He swallowed too fast and started coughing. At least he hadn't swallowed the spoon. "Ah," he laughed after recovering. "That sounds great, but…" Marinette's heart jumped into her throat. "I wanna make sure you're… sure," he said awkwardly. "Sure you're not… missing out on what you really want," he added, blushing a bit himself.

"Th-That's why… I'm asking," she said shyly. "I-I think… What I really want is… something new. Someone that helps make me better, you know? Makes me happy too. And… I've been thinking about you."

"Me," he said, sounding a little surprised.

Marinette nodded. "Are… are you… interested?"

He took her hand in his. "Yeah. Definitely."

#fxl fic #lukanette endgame #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #ladybug #viperion #chat noir #the house band #tikki #lukanette #endgame lukanette

[stcviescott]

✨ phoebe tonkin, cis female, she/her   —   agnes street wouldn’t be the same today if it wasn’t for sounds of strings. do you know that stevie scott works there as the owner ? they are thirty-two and they look like the kind of person who might bite you if you get too close, whenever i see them, dreams by fleetwood mac starts to play inside my head. maybe it is the vibe they give off, the electric moment before the storm; seventies music played on acoustic guitars; flower crowns and bare feet; you know?

guys, I'm mia and this is my punk rock mama stevie. below you'll find two section: bio points and cool facts. some plotting ideas in the cool facts section might catch your eye! I've highlighted some keywords <3 I'll be working on her wanted connections page throughout the day!

bio points

stevie's life is pretty much a museum — a shrine to the past. she is a collector of sorts, of memories, of trinkets, of nostalgia itself. She misses her family, misses what could have been, misses the general feeling of the past. she wouldn't trade her present for anything, though.

born and raised in islebury to a wealthy family, she was commonly known as their very own black sheep — only being allowed to study music at juilliard because of its prestige and her apparent intention to work with classical music. needless to say, she was more of a rockstar.

she rose to fame like a comet, then descended out of it like a shooting star: during her junior year at juilliard, her band was signed by a major record label — and she left the school to tour with them. their record label dropped them one year later, however, and they were doomed to become a one hit wonder.

luckily, she was allowed to return to the school after her two-semester leave of absence, acquiring her bachelor of music degree. without the help of her now estranged family, she had to work twice as hard to provide for herself and maintain her academic scholarship.

after juilliard, she lived in a shoebox in nyc for a few years, working mainly with production and teaching music.

when her grandmother died, she made her way back to islebury. despite her mother's disapproval and her father's quiet affection, she inherited a substantial amount. working as a freelance music curator, she had no idea what to do with it.

while in town she ended up reconnecting with an old flame, the type of teenage country club love affair you get one summer in high school. a few weeks later, when she found out she was pregnant, he was announcing his engagement.

with a baby coming and NYC prices, she decided that maybe it was time to move back home and figure her life out.

she managed to rent a corner store on agnes street and started selling her old instruments, along with some handcrafted, one-of-a-kind instruments made by a friend in the hudson valley. it wasn't much, but with her freelance income, it was enough to make ends meet.

after her daughter was born, she got a teaching certificate. a few years later, it got her the music teacher position at the local middle school. though they seem to insist her class is called introduction to music, she prefers her own title: "how to rock 101". (yes, she is pretty much jack black in school of rock. that's the whole inspo.)

one step at a time, she was able to make a life for her little family. when the owner of the corner store offered to sell, she took money out of her inheritance to buy the place. she spent weekends working on it with loving friends, painting each wall and turning it into the beginning of a new dream. then they build the gig room, where a corner stage lit up the town every weekend.

now, she hopes to achieve one more: turn the basement into an independent record label for local artists.

the cool stuff

if lorelai gilmore, joni mitchell, donna sheridan and DEWEY FINN had a child, it would be stevie.

if you have (middle-aged) middle-school-age children living in islebury, she's their SUPER COOL MUSIC TEACHER who's letting them create a rock band.

wants to start THE BASEMENT LABEL, a record label for independent artists under her instrument store/live music place, SOUNDS OF STRINGS. (*this is a plot development for her, if anyone is a musician we have a connection lmao, she'll sign you)

has a six-year-old named ODESSA "OZZY" SCOTT, whose father is unaware of her existence. if you're feeling the bio points up there, basically the day she found out she was pregnant he was announcing his ENGAGEMENT TO SOMEONE ELSE. (*also a very much wanted plot because drama)

can seem very tough because she had to figure out how to do things by herself, raise a kid on her own and all that rock n roll, but she's a SOFTY.

her family is old rhode island money, but she was cut off when she decided to DROP OUT of juilliard to tour with her rock band. 

FEMINIST trademarked. GIVE ME A GIRL SQUAD PLS.

hates the taste of coffee but can't live without it.

misses MAKING MUSIC so much that it hurts.

will pet you and offer you a piece of LAST NIGHT'S PIZZA if provoked.

#agnesfm.intro #woo let me leave this here #hmu for plots plsss

[justbelievinginmagic]

The Sun Burns

Dewey Finn x female original character

hi. ive been really liking some dewey finn x reader/oc fics and i started to write one for fun based off of the song “burnout” that alex sung like ages ago. and this is it! i dont post my writing a lot but hopefully you like it? let me know if you did or if you want more fics??

word count: ~13500 words

warnings: musical!dewey finn, pre-musical dewey being soft but also not the best boyfriend, cursing, some fluff, some angst, alcohol, drunkenness, low self esteem moments.

She was like the sun.

That was the reason he was drawn to her like a moth.

She had been here before – mostly on Fridays. He recognized her in the crowd now. Dewey liked when she was there. In the shitty bar he was performing in, he saw her smile wide and bright in the dim light. It was easy to find. Her eyes followed him on stage. And he liked that. Usually, women – groupies, he liked to think – cheered and talked to the others in his band, No Vacancy. Not him. But her eyes followed him, grinned when he played the guitar. She giggled when he would leap off an amp or jump around excitedly. He liked her.  

If Dewey was sober, he wouldn’t have even approached her after the set. She was out of his league easily. She was beside a group of women. It was probably a girls’ night out, and he was ruining it. But the liquid courage in his veins told him to walk towards her. He had asked, no, he stuttered out if he could buy her a drink (like he had heard the other guys in his band ask women before.)

And she had said no.

His humiliation was burning on his cheeks before she quickly said she didn’t drink and that he was good at the guitar. No, her exact words were “you play amazingly” paired with that sunshine smile. He wouldn’t forget those words not when he felt like he’d jump out of his skin in excitement. She had instead asked if he’d join her – she had scooted to an empty table. His ears turned pink at her friends’ light encouragement.

Dewey hoped it wasn’t a prank. (That had happened before.) He hoped with his whole heart. Thankfully, the messy haired guitarist was braver with alcohol in his veins. And he said yes with flushed cheeks.

Her cheeks were painted a pretty pink to match his.

-

After that night, they spoke after every show. She started showing up more frequently and even on other days of the week. The pair learned more and more about one another.

She didn’t drink. She always ordered a Shirley Temple with two extra cherries. She could tie a cherry stem with her tongue. She graduated at a local college a few years ago with an art degree. No, she wouldn’t show him her art - yet. She worked at a bakery down the street (No wonder she always smelled like fresh sugar cookies.) She was forced to come along to the bar after work by her best friends. (He thinks their names were Cera and Millie, but he couldn’t remember.) But he was so passionate about music so it wasn’t so bad she had said, making his cheeks blush. She loved rock and roll, but she couldn’t play the guitar. She got sleepy at half past eleven on the dot.

He drank too much beer too fast unless they were eating something (His favorite bar food was nachos.) He said he wasn’t the best at school – never mentioned if he graduated college, and she assumed he hadn’t. He worked at a record shop and could spot a good vinyl record easily. He’d live at the bar if he could, but he lived with his best friend. (His name was Ned. She had called him once when Dewey drank too much to get home.) He wanted to be a rock star. He wrote all the music they played. He blushed red easily. He could stay up all night.

They were different. But something tugged them together. Whether it was how easy they spoke to one another or how when the other laughed it felt like they’d burst with joy.

-

It was common to see them in a booth together after the set. It was Dewey’s first real relationship – and they weren’t even together yet.  He just—He liked spending time with her. There weren’t many women he was friends with. It was new. Nice. Even if his stomach fluttered when he saw her.

And she liked spending time with him.

-

She showed up at the record shop one day, surprising him. Bundled up in the chilly autumn air, she appeared with two coffees and pink cheeks. And he would’ve melted right there if he hadn’t tried to play it cool. He was a stuttering mess (Not the cool dude he wanted.) But she didn’t mind.

“I was in the area and I remembered the name of this place,” she said. “I thought I’d take a look.”

It didn’t explain the two coffees she had in hand.

“And the coffees?” he teased.

“For luck,” she admitted with a sunshine smile.

She leaned against the counter sipping coffee and talking. He was raving about the music he put on for the shop. Describing how the lyrics were so powerful and the chords were amazing. She was leaning forward listening aptly. He also leaned on the counter, gazing up at her with this look in his eyes. The conversation shifted from the music to what she was doing today. Her hand rose to push hair away, starting to talk about her shift at the bakery and working on a painting. He got excited when she spoke about her art. It was charming how he buzzed with life. It was her thing just like how music was his thing. He was talking quick about what she was planning to paint when Dewey’s boss walked in.

She pushed herself away, not wanting to get her crush in trouble. That wouldn’t leave a good impression on him. Her fingers trailed over a series of crates that had piles and piles of records. Her gaze flickering between him, the crate, and his boss. Their shared smiles were quick. And he fucking loved it.

A few moments went by. Dewey minded his own business at the counter while the personification of sunshine on a cloudy day (at least in his mind) strolled through the shop. The boss was shifting crates around for ten minutes before he finally left through the backdoor.

A heartbeat passed and Dewey was by her side like an excitable dog. His coffee was abandoned at the counter as he joined her by a case of records.

“I don’t know much about records,” she admitted looking in one of the crates, her fingers brushing against the worn paper of the vinyl’s case. Her eyes flickered up at him bashfully.

At that moment he knew for sure, she had come to visit just him.

“That’s okay! That’s fine! I can help!” He sputtered out, moving towards her to look at the case she was digging through. His hip hitting hers lightly as they looked through the crate together, their fingers brushing occasionally. Each time it felt like he was touching the sun for a moment, a hum of electricity, a gentle burn of wanting, and the warmth that flooded to his cheeks and ears.

“I love this band,” he admitted, looking at the worn cover of a record. It wasn’t a well-known band. He was actually surprised it was here. He had the album in his apartment. She peered closer to see the cover; her shoulder was against his; her face suddenly much closer than they’ve been before. It was innocent until she glanced up at him with a soft smile on her lips. And both of their breaths caught. They were so close. She could smell his aftershave. He could smell her perfume. Their hearts were pounding out of the chests when he glanced over at her. He could see freckles dotting her skin. She could see how many eyelashes he had. Brown eyes met hers.

“Do you think I’d like them?” she asked. It was almost breathless. It was such a simple moment yet both of them were enamored. They were head over heels and both too shy to say anything.

“Oh yeah,” he was still enthusiastic as ever, despite his mouth feeling suddenly dry. Her hand went to grab the record, fingers brushing his.

“I’ll buy it then,” she grinned up at him.

He grinned back. Gosh, why was this pretty girl talking to him? Pretty girls like her never did. His stomach did a flip.

“I can ring you up.” He offered, his thumb gesturing to the counter. Holy shit, this was the first time he was happy to be working.

“Okay.” She replied following him over.

As he was writing down the record name and how much the sticker said it was, she played with her hands. Her friends had told her to make the first move. That it’d be easy. It wasn’t. Her hands were shaking.

She really liked him. His passion for music. He listened. He was funny. And he was cute. When he told her the total, she handed him the ten-dollar bill. Licking her lips, she finally said it.

“I think there’s one problem, Dewey.” It was coy. As coy as she could manage at least. She wasn’t good at this flirting thing.

His eyes flashed to meet hers, brows high on his face. Hands freezing. His lips parted.

“I don’t have a record player at home,” she chuckled, her hand raising to tuck her hair behind her ear. Her hands were shaking he noticed. She was nervous too.

His face flushed red. He had a record player. He had a record player that she could use. Maybe-

“We could—You – We could listen to it together. I have a record player at my apartment.”

“I’d like that. If-If you are okay with it?” He took the bait, and she reeled it in.

“I am so okay with it, dude.” He called her dude, shit. Dewey corrected himself by saying her name.

She beamed, pink cheeked. “I’d love to then.”

-

They sat in his room (which he tried to clean up as best as possible). On his bed, listening to the record. But mostly talking over it. He showed her his favorite song. He ordered pizza for them and didn’t drink a beer like he usually would because he knew she didn’t drink.

He’d play the songs she liked on his guitar. Finger strumming lightly against the chords as he hummed softly in the night air. She’d talk about other songs she liked. Jokes fell into stories. Stories fell into dreams.

They talked all night. She had left late at night; Dewey walked her to her car, handing her a CD he thought she’d like.

Ned had asked if anything happened the next morning. Dewey admitted that nothing happened (No, it wasn’t like the dates the other No Vacancy members had.) But he was grinning ear to ear. Hell, it was the morning, and Dewey Finn was awake and fairly certain he was falling in love with the girl who smelled of sunshine.

-

Eventually, he took her on a real date. A small café he thought she’d like. He wasn’t good at romance. It was cheap and small. But she smiled and took his hand in reassurance. And said they’d have fun still.

-

He dedicated songs to her when she was in the audience (even if it wasn’t his place to do so in the band.) It made her blush a pretty pink that he could see even with the bright lights of the stage. She’d hug him close and whisper how he was her rockstar. It made him shiver in delight.

-

He hadn’t had a relationship like this. Patty had even noticed the woman’s constant appearance. She joked that maybe she was making an honest man out of Dewey. Ned joked he was courting her like a man from one of Patty’s period dramas. Dewey scoffed and mocked. But he knew the truth. He was trying his best. He wasn’t rushing into it. He was falling so slowly that it felt like flying.

-

He had kissed her first. Suddenly at the bar, and surprisingly sober. And it was like kissing sunlight. Her mouth was hot and soft and tasted of summer fruit. Or tasted like her lipstick, he didn’t know girl stuff, and Dewey didn’t care. He just liked it. Her cheeks were warm beneath his hands. Hair so soft under his fingertips. Her fingers had gripped his shirt tightly. Tugging him closer. There was music in the air (was he imagining it?) He swore the rock gods were playing a melody to the kiss. Setting the mood as it were.

Soon, they pulled away, breaths intermingled. The world rushed back for a moment as his eyes fluttered open. Her eyes were still shut. Like she was in a dream. Did she like it? Should he move away? Should he regret it? But before his mouth could say anything in his breathless state, before he could move his hands from her cheeks, she leaned forward just enough for their lips to meet again. And he was surprised, a noise leaving him, making the kiss feel more like a song.

If the first kiss was like fire, this was like sunlight warming one’s skin in a meadow. Soft and gentle. Pulling. And he thought he’d fall into it.

He’d been kissed. He’s kissed others too – once or twice. But this made his heart speed up. It was genuine. It wasn’t because she was drunk and he was with his band. It wasn’t because he was a rock star. It wasn’t because of a dare to kiss the chubby loser.

She was kissing him, because she wanted to.

Because she liked him.

And he didn’t want it to stop.

He’d capture the sun and the moon to keep her beside him.

-

Later, that week he asked for her to be his girlfriend. To make it official. He even gave her his No Vacancy shirt like it was a cheesy 60s movie. And when she took it with a grin, he knew he was in love.

-

Like Icarus, he was flying so high, so close to the woman with the sunshine smile and sparkling eyes.

-

Romanticism faded when the sun rose in the morning. He’d try to prove himself to her, to anyone who said he couldn’t accomplish his dream. He’d practice his music. Ignore work. He’d stay out late. Forget to text her. He’d get drunk. Forget dates. But he’d try to make it up to her. Singing songs to her in the fading light. Talking to her on the phone until she fell asleep. Trying to teach her the guitar with her in between his legs. Talk about movies she liked.

He knew he wasn’t perfect. He knew that he was a loser. He wasn’t accomplished - yet. There was barely a couple hundred dollars to his name. His guitar was more valuable than his bank account. And he’d try to rise up to his own vision of himself – a rockstar with a rock god physique and groupies and Benjamins and everything he has ever wanted. Because that had to be what she wanted, right?

She had told him all she wanted was to spend time with him.

She had begun to bring her sketchbook to his concerts, sketching him as he played. It was funny almost. In a crowded dark bar, while most people were getting drunk, there was a woman curled up in a booth near the front of the stage. Her mouth singing quietly along to Dewey with charcoal on her fingertips.

He absolutely loved it. He thought it was bonding. Both of them were working on something they loved.

When the set was over and he’d tumble over to her table, sweaty and tired. She’d have a drink ready for him as he rested his chin on her shoulder as she flipped through the drawings. Some were accurate. Portraits of each member. A lot were mainly him. His face sketched with eyes shut as he sang passionately. His bright smile. Close ups of his hands playing chords. Others were embellished, fantasies of him as a rock god. Spandex, heeled boots, face paint, the whole getup.

He pressed kisses to her cheek at those, making her giggle.

“Can you paint me like that, babe? All badass? Or maybe like one of your French girls?” he joked, pointing to a more scandalous drawing featuring a more 80s inspired look. He had abs in that drawing.  

She laughed, bright and sharp. His arms wrapped around her waist.

“I could. But I think you are already badass,” she promised, a hand going to squeeze his arm that was around her.

She pointed to one of the sketches, telling him it was her favorite from that night. It was a quick rendering with no additions to him. It was just him with messy sweaty hair, a grin, and his guitar.

He pressed his sweat forehead to her shoulder as he snuggled into her. Hiding his cheeks.

She thought he was a badass.

-

She knew he was messy. And it wasn’t like she was a clean freak. But even she knew it could clog someone’s mind. She tried to help when she could. Tossing out empty Big Gulps or food wrappers. It wasn’t fun, but she knew it was a part of Dewey.

Oftentimes, they ended up at her apartment – her room was much cleaner.

-

Dewey learned that she loved planning things. She’d light up when imagining vacations or decorating a house or planning paintings. Dewey wasn’t the planning type of guy. But he’d try for her. He’d write down things she spoke about every now and then.

One of the dates he surprised her with featured fairy lights, an old VHS TV set (that he took from his Mom’s place), and pizza under a cozy (partially falling down) pillow fort. She could have lit up a room with her grin.

-

He was asleep at noon on a Tuesday. She knew by the lack of texts by Dewey. (She’d later learn that he had stopped paying for his phone so he could save for the Battle of the Bands.) Once her shift ended for the day, she rushed over to Ned’s taking out the spare key – she doubted that Ned even knew Dewey gave her one.

“Dew?” she called out. Tugging her purse off, she went towards the corner of the apartment that was Dewey’s bedroom. It was a small room, advertised as an office space that Dewey promptly claimed when Ned moved into the apartment.

His bed wasn’t on a frame. His blinds were tightly shut always, covered by blankets he had pinned to the wall haphazardly. His guitar case was beside the wall, covered in stickers of bands and the singular Hello Kitty sticker she had offered to him teasingly (He had added it to the collection without a fight, because a reminder of his favorite person would be right next to his favorite object – his guitar.) Clothes and empty bottles and cans and fast food bags were scattered about. And then there was Dewey Finn, spread out face down on his bed, a Star Wars comforter twisted around bare legs. It looks like he abandoned his jeans late last night but was still clad in a familiar worn shirt bearing AC/DC. He was snoring, sleepy mumbles leaving his mouth.

“Dewey?” she murmured. Her hand reaching out to shake his shoulder lightly. “Wake up.”

“No, I’m the rock star, David Bowie” he mumbled out fast asleep, turning in his bed, and away from her.

She snorted at that. It was cute. Even in his dreams, he liked to be the center of attention.

Moving to carefully sit on the bed, she nudged him again; a poke to his bare leg this time

“Rock star,” she teased. “Get up.”

Another mumble. A flicker of his eyelids. He was waking up. She knew that. He just was an especially heavy sleeper when his mind mixed with booze.

“Dewey,” her voice was soft. “C’mon, wake up.” Her hand reached to shake his chest only to be caught by his hand.

“I don’t wanna,” he moaned out, finally creaking his eyes open to look up at her.

She was like the sun even in the darkness of his room. Hair all pretty, wearing a summer dress (was it summer already?), and smiling his favorite bright smile.

“How’d you get in, baby?” he mumbled, tugging her by her hand.

“You gave me a key weeks ago,” she laughed, letting herself get pulled into his embrace. “How much did you have to drink last night?”

“Last night was fun,” he avoided, wrapping her up in a sleepy hug. “We rocked so hard. I wish you were there.”

Her fingers rose to drag through his messy hair. “I’ll be at this weekend’s concert,” she reassured. “To see you rock out.” He gave her a happy squeeze before leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. One, two, three times. His breath still reeked of alcohol.

“But first, I’m going to insist you go brush your teeth,” she laughed. “And maybe a shower, Dew. This place reeks.”

He rolled his eyes at that. He didn’t want to be nagged. But when she did, he knew she was doing it for a reason.

“It’s a way to stick it to the man.” He half-joked, not moving yet. His arms squeezed her closer, legs wrapping around hers.

“There are better ways to stick it to the man,” she reminded, pushing his hair to one side before looking up at him. “Like kickin’ ass at music. And by having a clean room to kick ass in.”

He groaned like a teenager into her shoulder.

“You might write your masterpiece in a clean environment, Dew,” she tried to convince.

And like a wilted flower that reached towards the sun, he listened. He eventually got up. (It was past 2 in the afternoon when he did – after copious kisses and snuggles.) He showered, shaved his stubble just enough for it to look cleaned up and less messy (and also just enough to accidently cut his cheek). Wearing clean jeans and a No Vacancy shirt, he walked into what he’d say was a destroyed room. She had taken his comforter and sheets off the mattress and put them in the washer, leaving his mattress bare. The almost falling decorative blankets he had pinned over his blinds were off. Sunlight was streaming in, making his head ache. He didn’t have that bad of a hangover, but he was still hungover. Sun hurt. His mouth fell into a frown, letting a small scoff leave his lips before a trash bag was pushed into his arms.

She was like the sun. Bright, dancing to rock and roll music she had put on. In a pretty yellow dress. He couldn’t be angry at her. He eventually began to help when she pressed a kiss to his cheek, complimenting his beard, complimenting how he smelled so nice.

He didn’t like cleaning.

It wasn’t fun.

It was following the rules.

It was following the Man.

But when combined with her and his favorite rock tunes, it wasn’t so bad.

It took an hour to clean up the room. And another twenty minutes to put his posters into picture frames that were hidden in his closet.

She was right in the end. He wrote his favorite song yet that night, a song he’d never performed because he was so nervous with how… meaningful it was. It focused on a woman in a yellow dress with a smile that could melt anyone’s heart.

-

He was chasing after her in his shadowy bedroom. While it was late into the afternoon, Dewey was still in his pajamas – a pair of gym shorts (despite being shy about his legs) and a grey stained shirt. This time around she had joined him in his laziness, stealing one of his shirts to slip into and a pair of his sweatpants. Her work clothes were in a pile beside her purse near his makeshift closet. All she wanted to do was lay in bed with her boyfriend, but he had other ideas.

Dewey knew she could play the guitar – despite her insistent “no, I can’t”. He knew in his bones.

“You’re a soul sister,” he insisted, his guitar outstretched to her.

“Dew, honey, I am not,” she laughed, scooting further away in his bed. Her laugh was so twinkling – even when it fell into snorts. It was music.

“You picked up a few cords the other night,” he reminded, trying to scoot closer. His leg wrapped around hers.

“Dewey,” his name left her lips in a whine as he tugged her close. She wasn’t trying to escape that hard. Settling between his legs, he carefully placed the guitar strap around her shoulders.

“I got them last time because you were helping,” she told him, leaning back into his chest with her head lolling to rest on his shoulder. Unenthused. Like a sun covered by clouds.

“Everyone needs help sometimes, babe.” His hands went to grasp hers.

“Even hopeless people?” she joked.

“You aren’t hopeless,” Dewey said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She was far from it. “C’mon, rock star.”

She knew he was teasing her. She was far from a rock star. But still it made her smile. He was surprisingly a good teacher. A part of her knew it was probably because he could easily move her hands to the right chords. But it was fun and he seemed to relax when they curled up together like this.

“Alright, teach me something, Dewdrop.” She replied, letting his fingers cover hers over the strings.

-

She made him want to be better – or at least, try to be better. He wanted to be a proper boyfriend. But he also wanted to focus on his music. It was hard to split his attention on a good day. It was hard to pull himself from his music. Even for her. But he tried.

-

Days were hard for Dewey. They always were. He’d sleep the morning away if he could – and usually he would. He picked up all the afternoon shifts at the record shop. And performed or practiced or wrote into the night.

Maybe today would turn out good. It was eight am. And Dewey Finn had a hangover. It made the morning light hurt his eyes. Made the world sound even louder than it usually did for him. But he was awake. He had thrown on a cleaner shirt. (It had been on the floor, but it smelled fine.) Dewey even sprayed a bit of cologne on. (It was Ned’s.)

Why was he up? He was groaning with every moment. He didn’t need to be up until noon. He could sleep. He should be asleep. But this was for her. To surprise her early in the morning with overpriced coffee (that he bought with money he mooched off of Ned last night.)

She was working at the small bakery in town. A frilly apron on her frame. She had been putting out fresh baked bread in the window of the shop when she saw him.

And the sunlight smile she grinned was worth the blinding morning sun hurting his head. With the door opening with a jingle of a bell, he was quickly overwhelmed with a hug.

“Hey babe,” he grinned.

“Dewey!” her voice is joyful. Her form jittering like he did when he performed. Her excitement and surprise were clear and it made his stomach do circles. “It’s morning.” She said in shock.

“I know,” his voice dropped in agreement. It was a surprise for both of them. “I wanted to see you at work. And bring you this.”

It was her order from Starbucks. He didn’t agree with Starbucks (It was the Man.) But he knew she liked this drink. He did pay attention. (Sometimes.)

“You are the sweetest,” her smile hadn’t left her face as she leaned up to press a kiss to his lips. “Thank you!” It was a moment he didn’t know he’d remember years from now. The smell of fresh baked cookies, her perfume, and her lips on his. And the sun streaming through the window of the shop. It was a memory he recalled randomly with an ache in his heart.

Taking the drink from his hand, she quickly took his hand in hers. “Let me introduce you to the other bakers.”

It made his stomach feel funny. He was so used to being called a loser or failure and yet she was so proud of him. For something so small. She deserved more. But he’d try to be better.

“Guys, my boyfriend brought me Starbucks!” She was already calling as she led him to the back of the shop where the ovens made the room feel like a sunny day. Or maybe it was just because he was in her presence.

-

Some days were amazing; others weren’t.

-

“Dew, please, slow down,” she was chuckling lightheartedly, but it didn’t quite reach her face. Dewey Finn had a habit of drinking the cheapest beer on tap and chugging too much of it. It wasn’t on purpose he had told her. In reality, he was just thirsty after singing.

“I’m fine, babe,” he reassured, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

“Dewey,” she nudged the drink away from him, even moving to shift her Shirley Temple

“No,” he slurred, pushing the drink back. “Shirley Temples are so boring, baby.”

“They’re good.”

“No, you’re boring,” he countered. It stung a bit.

There was a reason she disliked drinking. She disliked how it made people turn into another version of themselves. She liked Dewey when he was sober. She didn’t care for how he was drunk.

“I’m not; they’re good,” she replied, trying to laugh it off.  She took a sip of her drink again.

“You’re good,” he slurred. His eyes were on her again, a smidge unsteady. The chocolate orbs couldn’t stay still taking in her lips and eyes and the way her cheek curved and the freckles over her nose. She was vibrant – but it could be the alcohol blurring his vision.

“You’re so pretty, babe,” he mumbled out, his hand moving to pinch her nose.

“And you’re drunk, Dew,” she replied, booping his nose.

Drunk compliments didn’t mean much to her.  A yawn tumbled out of her lips.

“Oh no,” he groaned. “You’re tired so we are gonna leave.” He was whining. “Buzzkill.”

He hadn’t been this drunk around her. His mouth was like a faucet. Saying anything. Usually when he was drunk, he’d be cuddly, clingy, talking about music or singing to the music playing in the room. He wasn’t mean.  

“Dewey,” it was a scold this time.

He frowned. Why was she like this when at the bar?

“Its almost 2 am.”  She reminded. It was late for her. Hell, she fell asleep at 11:30 on the dot usually. “The lights are gonna be coming on soon. Let’s go home.”

He groaned, raising his glass. It was empty. He had forgotten. He had just finished it.

“Fine,” he mumbled.

Tipping well, she gathered her purse up and held her hand out to Dewey who easily took it. Another yawn left her.

He was babbling about anything – his favorite guitar, the cool air outside, her beat up car, her butt.

Finally, when she got him in the car (She got him to lay down in the back knowing he’d get carsick otherwise), she let out a sigh as she settled down in the driver’s seat.

“Dew, if you’re gonna be sick, let me know,” she looked back at him.

He let out a mumble against the car seat’s fabric. He was drooling a bit. She grimaced a flinch before turning the car on. Soft rock played on the radio as she backed out. Dewey was sleepily singing along.

In the morning, he was throwing up into a trashcan she had placed close to her bed. A groan left him when he heard the lights flicker on.

“No,” he moaned and quickly she shut the light off.

She grimaced as he continued to be sick. Her hand reached for the water bottle on her side table. As he finished (and wiped his mouth with the wet washcloth she had left beside the trash can), he laid back down on the bed.

“I warned you, Dew,” she handed him the water bottle, a hand going through his messy hair.

“You’re always right,” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Do you need anything?” she asked.

He shook his head moving to rest his head against her shoulder.

“What happened last night?” he asked after a moment.

“How much do you remember?” she countered. It wasn’t cruelly said. It was gentle. Her hand continued to drag through his hair.

“I remember playing. I remember drinking and singing. I remember you were angry,” he mumbled.

“I wasn’t angry.” She reassured. (She sort of was.) “I just don’t like when you drink like this.”

He huddled closer to her, legs wrapping around hers in apology. “I know,” his voice was muffled into her shoulder.

“We went home around 2. You were excited about how well you played,” she told him. “Nothing really happened.”

She lied too. His words weren’t overly hurtful. He hadn’t called her anything horrible. Was she boring? Was she a buzzkill?

Dewey sighed a little before nodding against her neck.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. He knew she hated staying late. “Thank you for everything, baby. I love you.”

A beat. “Yeah, I love you,” her fingers played nervously with his hair.

Soon enough, lulled by his hangover and her soft motions, he was back asleep.

-

He never listened. Well, he did. But it was almost like he had selective hearing. She’d tell him about an important event like her promotion and, while he’d celebrate in the moment, he’d forget the day she’d begin working as head of the kitchen.

She’d remind him gently, but sometimes it felt like he was being reprimanded. Dewey began to talk over her reminders. Saying reassuring statements but still talking over her.

-

“What about this dress?” she asked, tugging out a pink dress. It was summer-y with flowers decorating the bodice. Dewey was flopped down on her bed, head buried in her pillows. She couldn’t pick an outfit. And she was going in circles.

Everything she tried on she had an issue with. One was showing her pudge at her waist (Dewey claimed he didn’t even notice that; he said he thought she looked pretty.) Another shirt looked bad on her arms. (He reminded her she bought the shirt at her favorite shop, so she must’ve liked it.) A pair of jeans she had on were too tight, pinching her tummy and showing her rolls. (He disagreed with the rolls, patting his own tummy as if proving she was fitter than him.) A dress made her hair look messy. (Dewey didn’t even understand how that was possible.)

“Baby, yes, you look pretty in it,” Dewey said, muffled by the pillows.

He didn’t even look.

He thought she looked pretty in anything �� or nothing at all.

She held it up to her form. It was too pink. It made her look like she was blushing. Sighing, she dropped it on the floor; at this rate, her room looked like Dewey’s with the amount of clothes on the ground.

Flopping down on the bed beside him with a groan, she wanted to cry. She’d been looking for twenty minutes now.

“I look bad in everything.” She lamented.

Dewey’s head lifted from her pillow to look at her, her hands raising to cover her eyes. She couldn’t rub away the telltale burn of tears – she didn’t want to mess up her makeup on top of this.

“Hey, hey,” his fingers went to grab her hands, tugging them away. Her gleaming eyes met his.

“No,” he scolded. “No, you don’t.”

It was genuine. He hated when she talked bad about herself, because he’s been there. He was bullied all his life and the words people say lasted and morphed into his own words to himself.

He tugged her close.

“You’re having a bad day,” he told her. “That’s it. You’re beautiful, babe.”

His hand rubbed her side reassuringly. She scoffed waterly into his shoulder.

“C’mon, I’ll help you.” He moved to get up, a groan leaving him with the action.

She stayed laying there, curled into a ball.

“What should my baby wear?” He voiced aloud in a sing song. Stepping over piles of clothes, he reached the closet. He was humming softly, comfortingly, as he began his search.

Flicking through hangers, he found a dress immediately that he knew made her shine.

“C’mere,” he gestured to her. Sloth like, she finally moved with a pout on her lips.

“Try this dress on,” he encouraged.

Begrudgingly, she slipped it on and turned so he could zip it up. His hands guided her to the mirror. There she stood in a yellow summer dress. It was one of her favorites. But her mind was aching to find a problem. Her fingers went to prod at the way it rested on her hips. Her lips were still in a deep frown.

“You look beautiful,” Dewey reminded. “You wear the clothes; the clothes don’t wear you.” His arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“I remember seeing you wear this dress the day we met,” he told her. “You look so pretty and vibrant. Like walking sunshine.”

Her cheeks warmed softly at that.

“You look gorgeous, babe.”

Her eyes took herself in again. Maybe the way the fabric laid on her hips wasn’t that bad. And well, her waist looked amazing in it. It was a simple dress, one she often overlooked despite liking when she did wear it out. She looked pretty. Maybe.

Dewey pressed a kiss to her cheek. Tentatively, he asked. “So?”

“I really look okay?” she asked looking up at him.

“You look amazing. Can we please head out?” It was a soft whine despite his true smile.

It made her smile, making his grin widen. Maybe it’ll be fine.

“Okay.” Turning in his arms, she pressed a kiss to his lips. “Thank you, Dewbear.”

-

“You aren’t beating me,” he cried out as she switched places with him. Her fingers were fast over the video game controller guitar. They’d been playing for an hour now. And Dewey and his sunny girlfriend found out that they were competitive as hell.  Especially when the winner was deciding what they were doing for dinner.

“I totally am,” she laughed.

“You don’t even play guitar!” He whined.

“But I play video games!” she countered. “I’m winning.” She sang out jumping up and down.

Dewey wasn’t having that, his face flickering into a mischievous grin.

His hand moved from the controller to tickle her waist, running up and down her side. She jumped with a shriek.

“Dewey!”

She’s jumping around, trying to keep her eyes on the television screen as Dewey continued to corner her. Laughter is tumbling from her mouth as she jumped onto the couch, the springs in the old thing squeaking loudly. His hands were now off his fake guitar, the controller swinging behind his back as he followed after her.

“C’mere, babe,” he jeered as he reached for her again. The game was forgotten if only to tickle her waist. If they both are losing points, that was fine by him.

“This isn’t playing fair,” she laughed, trying to avoid his fingertips. She was missing notes now. Giggles and snorts left her as finally she let go of the controller to try to swipe at his hands. Dewey’s grin was bright, his hair falling into his eyes.

“Rock and roll isn’t fair, homie,” he joked as he easily wrapped one arm around her waist and slung her over his shoulder, surprisingly easily. (He’s usually the one to carry the amps for the shows; he had muscles – just hidden under a layer of pudge.)

“Dew-EY!” His name left her in a laughing shriek as he picked her up. Her guitar awkwardly swung on her form, jabbing her in the side.

Her laughs overtook the room, his own mingling at a lower level. It was almost like their own music. However, the song they were playing was fading out as more and more missed notes happened in the game. There were boos from the fake crowd as finally the game timed out with the words “Game Over” taking over the screen.

He let a small grunt out as he moved to support her better on his shoulder. She didn’t wiggle much even as her form was forced upward with his efforts. A small “oof” left her as he adjusted her on his shoulder. Her gaze now was blocked by his entire form. Dewey looked over at the screen before hooting out a “yeah”. It sounded more musical than she expected. A hand went to pat her bum playfully.

“I won, I won,” he sang out, spinning about with her still hoisted over his shoulder.

“You cheated,” she playfully banged against his back with her fists. Her hand gripped at his arm as he spun again.

“Baby, you’re just jealous of a rock star.” He told her before finally, after a few more spirited pats to her butt, he put her down on the ground. He plopped down on the couch. Beaming up at her, he raised a hand for a high five.

She pouted at him, hand fixing the guitar strap on her shoulder, so it wasn’t digging into her neck. Looking him up and down, his hair was even messier on his head, cheeks a jovial red. There was a gleam of a sweat on his brow. (He was always warmer than her she learned, even when he called her “his sunlight”.) He looked like a happy dog, an over excitable Labrador.

“No high five,” she blank-faced said, moving to put his hand down. Her mock anger didn’t linger on her face easily. Her pout remained, but the way he looked so happy drew her in like a moth to a flame.

Instead of being discouraged, Dewey smiled wider.

“Kiss then,” he reasoned, leaning in for a smooch, puckering his lips and shutting his eyes.

She snorted taking the opportunity for her revenge, fingers going to tickle at his stomach. He jolted back with a less than manly yelp before it faded into giggles. The sun couldn’t help but grin. Her hand reached out for his hands that had jumped to rest over his stomach in protection. Interlacing fingers, she tilted her head down to press her lips to his sweetly.

“I still think I won.” She murmured against his lips as he tugged her closer by her hands. Her knees hit the couch; Dewey’s hands going to guide her into his lap, fingers splayed on her back.

“Yeah, you were totally winning,” he replied, brows quirking playfully before kissing her again.  

-        

He was exhausted. He had just woken up, and it was already one in the afternoon. He had looked at his laptop with bleary eyes. His phone wasn’t an option for texting anymore (he didn’t have the money for the bill; she didn’t know again) – but he tried to check if she sent any messages on his desktop. And he almost fainted when he saw the first text from her.

“Happy anniversary babe xoxox”

Accompanying the text were a bunch of grey question mark boxes, he assumed they were variations of the heart emoji. But his stomach was churning, a sweat marring his forehead near immediately. He completely forgot about the date. The 26th. It was the day of their anniversary.

Dewey had forgotten about their date. There was a concert this week that had been on his mind, and all he could think was organizing the set list and writing songs and practicing to be perfect. He forgot about their lunch date.

He’s scrambling to get up, tripping over his comforter. Throwing on pants, hands running through his hair to try and make it look better. Digging through his closet he found the first clean “nice” shirt. A white button up that he used for special events. It smelled like detergent – a rarity with his clothes. Tossing it on,

Tipping a bottle of cologne (that she bought him for another holiday) on his wrists, haphazardly and clumsily, the liquid spilling onto the wood floor.

“Shit,” he cursed, wiping the liquid on his wrists on his neck and smearing it on his shirt. He wasn’t exactly well versed on this sort of thing.

He grabbed his useless phone to pocket it as he threw on his sneakers. He should’ve picked up flowers or a necklace or some romantic shit. Dewey hadn’t, and it was now plaguing him. Running out of the house, his mind was just focusing on getting to the little restaurant he promised he’d take her to, because every time they walked by it smelled like heaven.

It was 1:13 pm. Their date was supposed to happen at 12:30 pm.

He ran faster, panting. Icy hot panic pumped through his veins, making him feel like he’d pass out. How could he have forgotten? Why? Why?! He ran.

He was sweaty by the time he got to the restaurant. Looking wildly around for her. And there she sat. Beautiful. Hair gorgeous. Wearing a yellow dress with his leather jacket. No food, a water glass with melted ice in it. Her fingers were fiddling with the worn edges of the jacket.

Her head glanced about again. He knew it happened countless times by now. When her eyes met his, he felt like an ant. Like a magnifying glass was on him and the sun was burning him. He froze, hands fiddling with the edge of his white button up. He started to walk towards her, quickly sliding into the chair across from her.

Before he could even get a word out, an apology, she spoke.

“You forgot, didn’t you?”  It was a quiet statement. It hurt to hear. Her expression hurt even more. It was one that ached of betrayal. Brows crinkled and lips pressed into a fine line. Shoulders sagging. Hell, he could feel how her heart was aching. He knew she knew the answer. She was giving him the benefit of the doubt with her false confusion. And Dewey Finn would take what he could get.  

“No, no!” he lied. His hand went to grab hers. “I got stuck at work. I’m so sorry.”

Dewey Finn was a liar. Dewey Finn hated confrontation. Dewey Finn would avoid taking responsibility for anything from the rent being over due to missing his anniversary.

And she didn’t believe his lies. Her eyes proved that.  Her still hand in his like a statue.

“I’m so sorry.” He pleaded, sweat from his run sliding down his forehead. His brown eyes were desperate.

What was she supposed to do? For forty minutes, she had sat there alone. Waiting. Hoping she was wrong. Hoping it was really an accident.

He wouldn’t miss their anniversary – after ten minutes of waiting.

He’ll be through that door soon – after fifteen minutes.

He got caught in traffic – after twenty-five minutes.

No, I’m waiting for another person. I’ll just have water for now – after thirty-five minutes.

His lie pricked her skin. He didn’t work today. She knew. She had asked weeks ago. She was silent.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Her name left his lips in a soft beg.

“Just don’t lie, Dew,” her eyes were filling with tears. She was blinking them away. But he caught it.

“I’m sorry,” it was like a broken record player.

She had sat through the dinner; it was awkward. She didn’t know why she stayed. Maybe it was her pride. He had tried to make her laugh. Hell, he paid for both of them. Which was a rarity. He offered to get her ice cream afterwards. She had quietly shrugged it off.

It hurt. Both of them hurt. He didn’t want to lose her because of a dumb mistake. She didn’t want to be a second thought. Tears pricked her eyes as they began walking down the street. Her hand rose to wipe it away.

He held her close beside the ice cream shop. And apologized. And promised.

He’d do better.

She gave him another chance.

Because she loved him.

-

She laid in bed beside him. His room was a mess again. It happened so fast. Nothing changed. Her fingers played with his. He let her, humming one rock song that faded into another seamlessly. Fingertips trailed over his calluses from his music, from strings rubbing soft skin until it was rough. Sometimes it felt like their relationship was like that. Something so lovely kept being pushed to a limit.

She was angry sometimes at him. At his immaturity. His inability to think of anything other than his music. His inability to think of anyone other than himself.

Sometimes he was a jerk.

His hand that wasn’t captured in hers rose to boop her nose. A song she didn’t recognize left his lips. Soft and adoring. About a girl in a yellow dress with a sunny smile to match.

Sometimes he was a sweetheart.

-

“Dewey, we talked about this,” her tone was frustrated, a whine entering her tone.

He was glad for the whine. A whine wasn’t a yell. It wasn’t like Patty’s screaming voice when he missed the rent. No, his sunshine wasn’t screeching like the hurricane’s winds. Not like Patty’s shrieks at all.

No, his babe was like the sun. Burning. Overwhelming. He could feel the disappointment radiating from her, the rays of judgement, the burn of anger.

“I know, I know,” he tried to reassure, his hands going to her biceps. He kept trying to prove himself, but it was harder than he thought. “I’m trying, babe. I am. I just—I had to take a few days off work for the band.” His soothing touch up and down her arms must’ve worked, because she let out a sigh.

It was always for the band. Her brows furrowed at the excuse before she dug through her purse to find her wallet. 300 dollars. Another three hundred dollars. So her boyfriend wouldn’t get kicked out of his apartment.

“Please, Dew, I know you love music. But you have to try to keep up with your bills.” She pleaded.

“I will,” he swore. It didn’t sound truthful to his own ears. But he pressed a kiss to her cheek. It burned her.

-

She didn’t show up to the concert that night. He saw the text message. (She had paid for his phone bill. She said it wasn’t safe to be without a phone.) The text message was quick. Too short.

“Can’t make it tonight. You’ll do amazing!”

She hadn’t missed a weekend show since they started dating. Seeing her out there made him play better. Made him drink less. He got excited knowing his baby was out there listening to his music. But she missed today. After they had a fight this week. He wasn’t scared of losing her. Why would she leave? She loved him. He loved her.

-

It wasn’t the first show she missed. It became a habit. Last minute texts claiming she needed to take care of something else. Months went by.

-

He was drunk.

“When was the last time you saw a show?” he yelled.

“When was the last time you didn’t miss a date?” she countered.

The air was heated, her fingers clenched. Their gazes were locked. It was frustrating. They both felt like something was wrong. Dewey missed having her at his concerts. He felt like she didn’t take him seriously. (He felt like he was constantly trying to prove himself to everyone – to her!) She missed sharing time with him. She wished he cared. He didn’t care about the relationship. If he did, wouldn’t he remember their dates or would spend more time with her then just one day a week.

“Do you even care?” she bit out.

Her words burned. Did he care? Of course, he cared!

“What the fuck are you on about?” he cursed out.

“You don’t act like you do,” she screeched. “You focus on your music day after day after day.” Her tone was loud but it ached into a low frustration.

“This needs to be an effort on both sides.” Her hand gestured between them. “I remember everything. I help you when you need it. Because I love you! But… It doesn’t even feel like you love me!”

Dewey sputtered in defense, turning away from her.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“No, no I’m not,” tears pricked her eyes. “When was the last time you asked me about me? Huh? And not just so I could come over or if you could borrow money or if I was coming to your show? Because I can’t remember! Can you?”

He couldn’t remember. His mind was hazy from the beer and the yelling. His ears rung. Maybe it was his tinnitus acting up.

“That can’t be true.”  He mumbled out, hands raising to rub his eyes. Dewey hated fighting. He hated conflict – deep down he’d never admit it (It’d clash with his rock and roll vibes.)

“It is!” It came out as a yell as if it could get him to open his eyes to reality. It was desperate. She is unrelenting in his eyes. Burning and overwhelming.

But she is crying. She is hurting. His sun was burning herself up.

There’s a lull as he lost the words to say. Only a mumble of noises left his open mouth. Nothing to counter the truth.

“I’m going to head home.” She mumbled, standing to grab her bag and keys. Tears trailed down her cheeks still. He let her go.

-

He apologized with flowers he tore from a neighbor’s garden (without asking). He promised to do better. She nodded quietly. When he pressed a kiss to her forehead, it burned.

She liked visiting him at work. He always beamed so brightly at the sight of her. He’d say something cheesy like she was his favorite song. It felt like when they first started dating again. Her fingers would trail over records, recalling how her heart jumped out of her chest when they were so close. Remembering how things were simpler and they didn’t fight.

-

They were getting more distant. And he found more issues. Small issues.

He didn’t like when she’d open the blinds in his room or cleared away his trash. (It forced him to remember how it was already midday; it made him feel like he should’ve had his room clean already.) She always got a Shirley Temple when they went out. (She was so high and mighty because she didn’t drink.) And she always would tie the cherry stem with her tongue as if it was something so amazing (It wasn’t.) She would tie his No Vacancy shirt he gave her at her waist, revealing her stomach. (It stretched out the fabric and distorted the band name.) Her smile was too large, revealing crooked bottom teeth. (She kept smiling everywhere except at him).  

Little things he used to find adorable, he’d find annoying.  

Did she find him annoying too?

(Why else would she want him to change so fucking much?)

-

He had burnt spaghetti. She didn’t know how he managed to do that but he did. Her apartment reeked. And he stood there washing out a pan, scrapping at its bottom to get the charred bits down the drain.

Dewey had wanted it to be a romantic dinner. And he ruined it. Again.

She wasn’t angry. She laughed which made his ears burn red even more. But she joined him by the sink, squirting more soap into the pan. And she leaned up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

He was trying. He was. And she appreciated it.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry; I think I ruined this pan and-“ he was rambling. Her hands went to stop his scrubbing. Soapy fingers intertwining with hers.

“Dew, it's fine,” she grinned. “So we’ll have to open the windows, big deal. And I have a discount for all the cooking and baking supplies in the world, it is fine.”

He met her eyes, searching for disappointment she was hiding. She wasn’t.

“Thank you for trying. But we can order pizza?” she offered.

“From the place down the street?” He tentatively added.

She nodded with a giggle. “It’ll be the best romantic dinner ever. Just you, me, and pizza.”

Things could be normal. Sometimes.

-

“Wait, babe, babe, please,” his hand reached out to grab hers. “I’m sorry. It was just—It was a groupie.”

She had walked backstage to spot a woman, taller than her (and taller than Dewey) pressed against her boyfriend. There was an intimacy that made her want to vomit. He had spotted her in a moment, especially when she gasped.

He was running after her.

“Dewey,” she tried to yank her hand away. “Dewey!”

It was a snap, and it made his hand let go like he was slapped.

“It wasn’t what you think. I swear.”

“What was it?” she turned, her hair hitting her face with the force.

“It was just an old friend. An old fan. She knew Doug. And I didn’t do anything. She got into my space. I don’t want anything to do with her.” He said.

And he didn’t. Sure, groupies fighting over him was a fun fantasy. But then there was reality. And reality was he was with her.

Her nose scrunched. His eyes were wide, afraid. Afraid she was going to walk out on him and never returned. Dewey didn’t want that. She made him better – a better man. Didn’t she? He felt like she did.

Her brow was furrowed. Tears pricked her eyes. And he hated that he was making her cry. Her name left his lips as he took a step forward.

“I promise.” He swore.

“You do?” her voice broke.

The sun burned, warmed, and hurt him sometimes.

But he realized she could be hurt too.

“I do. I’m—I swear on my guitar.”

She knew it was his most precious possession. His most precious thing in life. And that didn’t reassure her. In fact, it burned.

Shouldn’t she matter?

-

He became a model boyfriend for a month after that. He woke up early. Paid his rent. Took her on a date every Saturday. He stopped smelling like booze.

It had ended abruptly when his band hired another guitarist suddenly. Music truly made him happy. She saw it. But it hurt knowing she couldn’t do anything to help. Nothing she did cheered him up. He just laid in bed, drunk or hungover. He missed how things used to be.

Some days were okay still. They’d kiss and smile. There just was a tension. Something was wrong and they both felt it. Dewey just thought it’d pass. Things like this happened with the other members in his band (admittedly they’d find other girlfriends pretty fast.) It couldn’t be communication reasons because they talked all the time. (He talked all the time.) She had to be going through something. He began to distance himself even more.

She just needs time to figure shit out he reasoned. In the meantime, he could focus on his band.

Focusing on the band usually meant getting drunk at the end of each night.

She hated it.

-

He was distant. She had felt the shift. She’d come over, and he’d fall back asleep. Ned told her how Dewey didn’t leave the bed except to eat or go play a set. She had called his work trying to make sure everything was okay. He was taking vacation days now (How was that possible with his show up rate?)

She’d visit him, trying to get him out of the bed. He was just burnt out. Things weren’t working out. His music wasn’t as good as he wanted. The band was distant. (She was distant – despite being right beside him.)

They were laying beside one another on his bed. She had put on the record she had bought from him over a year ago. Her hand intertwined with his.

“Things will get better, Dew,” she reminded.

He let out a shrug.

Sitting up, she glanced over him. His brows were furrowed. He seemed so unlike himself. Exhausted, distant. She didn’t know what to do. But she wanted him happy.

Reaching over him, her form draped over his stomach.

“Woah,” his hands rose in surprise. What was she doing?

Her fingers reached around on the floor to finally wrap around the neck of his guitar.

Leaning back up, sitting criss crossed beside him, she puffed hair out of her face.

Dewey was gazing up at her, brow pursed even more.

“Babe?” he asked softly as she adjusted the strap and placed it around her shoulders.

“Shh,” she hushed.

Softly, she began to play. Clumsy fingers brushed over the chords of the song he wrote about her. She had heard the lyrics enough times under his breath and the hints of chords on his guitar when they sat in bed late at night. While it wasn’t as well versed as him, she began to sing. It wasn’t his lyrics. It was about a rock and roll star with a sunshine smile.

It was the first time he grinned sober in weeks.

-

She did love him. And she knew he loved her in his way. But a part of her feared it was loving the beginning of their relationship. Something had changed. She had felt second to everything. He’d choose sleeping in over her. He’d choose music over her. It felt like she wasn’t good enough. And she didn’t know what to do.

-

She was in his arms, curled up on her couch. They’d finally found time to see each other. He thought this was good. They’d been having it a bit rough, but they were sitting together. They had shared pizza and were watching old rock and roll videos.

But things still felt off.  

-

“Baby, can we move the date to next week?” he had asked on the phone. His hand was digging through his hair. It was the third date he missed.

“Dew, I can’t. It’s my—” It was her birthday dinner next week. But Dewey apparently didn’t remember that. “I can’t, Dewey. I have something on that day.” It was curt.

He’d make it up to her. He’d surprise her.

“How about the week after, honey?” he prodded.

“Fine,” she’d concede. She wanted to call her friends up. Did he forget about her birthday too? How could he? She could hear their anger already; she could hear their adamant cries to dump him, because she deserved better.

Didn’t she deserve someone who remembered important things? Things thats were important to her.

-

Ned was the one to mention her birthday, telling his friend to tell her happy birthday for him. Dewey felt a punch to the gut. It was noon when he heard this. And he spent the whole day scrambling to make something for her.

He serenaded her that night. Bought gifts that he couldn’t afford. He can’t believe he forgot again.

-

Like Icarus, he was falling.

-

He borrowed money again – without asking. Ned noticed. He knew Dewey was skipping work again.

“Is this her money?” he asked.

“No. Maybe. Why? You don’t owe her anything,” Dewey replied, defensively.

“Dewey.” It was a sigh of frustration. “Do you want to lose her? She is your first real girlfriend!”

Ned saw how Dewey used to light up around her, how she’d smile and Dewey’s face would flush. What had happened? (Too many issues he had to grow out happened.)

“She doesn’t care; it's not like I’m mooching off of you, bro,” Dewey countered. It was too casual for Ned to ignore.

Ned had called her to tell her about the money – even offering to give it back. She said it was fine. She didn’t mention it to Dewey, but she started to put any money in her wallet somewhere else when she knew he was coming around.

-

Weeks had gone by, and finally they were spending a night in. Pizza, beer (for Dewey), and a movie. It was supposed to be nice.

The night was a cold summer evening, a storm rumbling on the horizon. He was drunk-ranting. About his band and how they were pushing him away. About his job. About how Ned and Patty were nagging him about rent.

And she had snapped at him.

“Grow up, Dewey,” she muttered out.

The look of anger and hurt that flashed over his face was shocking. His brows furrowed and his nose flared. So many people said that to him. He hated it. And for a moment, he hated her.

“Hey,” the word was sharp. “I’m making my dreams come true. Don’t fucking tell me to grow up when you work at a stupid bakery.”

And that’s how they got into a fight – again.

“Dewey, you are trying to make your dreams come true while ignoring everything else in life. You need to pay rent. You need to go to work. You need to keep up with responsibilities.” She sighed out, frustrated.

“I do,” he bit back. “You act like you are perfect, goddamn, man.”

“I’m not, I know that,” she bit out.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. She was so high and mighty in his eyes sometimes. The very action of that made her hands curl into fists, her eyes fall into slits.

“At least, I don’t have to steal money from you.” She threw out.  

He looked baffled. She had known… and didn’t say anything til now.

“Good come back, bro,” he said condescendingly. Immaturely

Their trust was being worn down.

-

He was scared she hated him.

Dewey hadn’t done much for her recently. He used to get her fancy coffee drinks or surprise her at her apartment or sing her silly songs about the clothes she was wearing that day.

When was the last time he told her he loved her?

Did she hate him?

No. She couldn’t.

He never was afraid of making her hate him. He just feared she already did.

He texted her he loved her. Her reply felt too automatic. (It wasn’t.)

-

She sat in the corner of the bar, flipping through her sketchbook. There were a few sketches that had hearts next to it and a few with stars. She remembered Dewey going through and starring his favorites while she had hearts near hers. All of his favorites were her fantastical ones. Ones where he was in makeup and held a Rockstar attitude. Meanwhile hers featured him with his less-than-fit tummy and scruffy beard.

Her finger brushed over one of her renderings. She never realized how his head was so up in the clouds. Her gaze flickered back to him on stage, rocking out. He was passionate. He was good. But a part of her doubted he’d make it as a rock star.

She wished he’d take life seriously. She worried about him more than she’d like to. It was stressful. Her fingers brushed over her drawing again, almost like waving goodbye to a memory.

-

It had happened when he least expected. It was a night after a good show; he was beaming. He had hurried home for once, wanting to tell her all about the awesome set. Only to walk in on her pacing. Her hair was tied up messily. And he saw a wine glass on the counter.

“Babe?” His nickname for her came tumbling out of his lips.

Her gaze flickered to him. Her eyes were red, damp with tears.

It was like crashing after a high.

“Hey, hey,” he rushed over to her, and it only made her sob. “Hey, what’s up?”

His hands moved to gently hold her by her arms only for her to take a step back. It burned.

Her name left his mouth.

“Dewey, I think we need to break up,” she had said in a rush, so quickly the words blended together.

It felt like a slap to the face, and he blinked three times.

“What?” his voice cracked.

“I think,” she was slowing her words, arms wrapping around herself. “We need to break up.”

“Why? What happened? Please talk to me,” he pleaded. What did she do? She was so upset. Did something happen? Did she cheat?

It was all on her. Despite that, he still took a step forward, hating seeing her cry. She maintained a distance as her hands rose to rub her eyes.

“Dewey, what day is it?” she asked, an edge entering her voice.

“Tuesday? The 26th?” he stammered out.

“Its our anniversary,” she said. Sharp like a knife.

“Oh,” he let out. His form deflated, arms falling to his sides.

There was a lull in the conversation; there wasn’t anything Dewey could say to defend himself. He wasn’t busy. He didn’t even remember. He just didn’t care. Her breath is shaky as she willed herself to look at him.

She didn’t want to break up with him. She didn’t want to break her own heart. She loved him. But what were you supposed to do when someone obviously didn’t love you back? When you were easy to forget? Where was the effort? Every time she was forgotten it made her feel invisible. Unneeded except for kisses, support, and cleaning his room occasionally.

“Dewey, I love you,” she admitted, her voice burning. It burnt both of them.

“I love you,” he interrupted. It was true. She’s been by his side for years. Supporting him. He loved her.

But she shook her head at him.

“I think you used to,” she said. “But you don’t try, Dewey. You forgot anniversaries. You forgot my birthday. You… don’t care about anything but yourself. And I don’t want—I can’t just stay in this relationship second best to your music, to the band, to everything. I can’t keep being forgotten, because it hurts so fucking much. Every time you forget something, I know you are forgetting me. Not caring about me. And I can’t do this anymore.”

Her voice rose as she continued until finally it broke. Her expression was one of broken fine china. There was damage he couldn’t fix. He didn’t know how.

“I do love you,” he fought. “I know I forget but-“

“But you’ll get better.” She spoke over him, knowing the routine.

He was silenced.

“Dewey, you might. I hope you do. But I can’t be here for it. I can’t go another year of fake promises. I’m not happy with you.”  She said, her words were forceful, burning even. She had thought about this over and over and over.

“We’re done.”

-

She had been drinking when she made up her mind. Her friends had talked to her about it. Her mother had talked to her about it. Everyone had talked to her about it - except the one that mattered. When she woke up, she felt horrible. Her eyes ached. Her heart ached. But the sun was rising. And she knew she had made a good choice – even if she felt like shit.

He didn’t try to contact her.

Dewey stayed in bed all day. He didn’t block her number like he wanted. He couldn’t even ask why. He knew this was coming. Who would want to be with him? He felt like shit. All the things he knew were true were.

He didn’t try to contact her for weeks.

-

She put things of his in a box and left it by his door. (Ned had seen her at the door. He had hugged her saying Dewey was an idiot. She was good for him. But he wasn’t good for her. She handed him the key to his apartment quietly.) She didn’t get back her perfume that was in Dewey’s bathroom or her recipe book in the kitchen. He didn’t get back the No Vacancy shirt he had given her the night they got together or his lucky guitar pick.

-

After a week, he didn’t let himself be sad. He knew he’d fall into bed and never get up. He kept moving. His mind needed to stay moving. He fought the thoughts he had; the reminder of her words ringing too true. He kept going.

It didn’t hide the ache of her gone. He noticed it more than before. Her corner booth near the stage at the bar was occupied by other people. His room was messier. He didn’t look forward to getting up anymore. He was burnt out on life. Depressed and fighting to make his life better by throwing himself into his music. She’d fade away. After all, she thought she didn’t matter to him; why should he care?

-

He was happy. He’s performing. It was his favorite thing in the world. He was jumping around and singing loud. He was happy. He was smiling. Everything was smiles. Nothing but smiles. So many smiles in the crowd.

But not hers.

-

Then loneliness swallowed him. She used to always be there. Ned was busy. Patty was not his friend. His band mates made fun of him. He missed her. His bed was his best friend for days, only to be replaced by a cold beer. He went to more parties, drinking until his hangover hurt all day the next day. Music was his only escape once again.

Sometimes when he rocked out, he’d raise his middle finger to the sky - to the sun hidden by the moon.

-

He texted her when drunk sometimes. They weren’t booty calls. It was all sad texts; things he’d groan at when he awoke in the afternoon.

I miss you.

I got a Shirley Temple tonight – I messed up by the end of the show with a beer. I was doing better.

I’m sorry I wasn’t better.

You were right.

Your song came on, and I cried.

I hope you’re okay.

She saw them each time she woke in the morning, and her heart hurt. What could you do except let the one you love grow? It hurt when you loved someone so much but saw the worst parts of them and knew you couldn’t stay. He needed to grow up. He needed to grow without her for a while.

If he had said some of those things before, would she have stuck it out? Maybe. But for now, she knew things had to change. One night she did reply. She was up too late. Anxiety made her stay up, trying to distract herself with this and that when a message from him beeped on her phone.

One night, she replied.

I miss you too. But we aren’t a good pair right now, Dewey. I’m sorry.

She cried as soon as she sent it

-

It had been two months. And he hadn’t seen her in the bar again. He liked to think it was because her friends weren’t going out for drinks anymore. But he knew it wasn’t true. He saw one of them in there. (It was… Mary or Marta – no, Millie, he remembered.) She glared at him the entire time.

His habits weren’t any better. No, he still drank too much cheap beer ‘til he was drunk. Slept until his hangover was over. Didn’t pay rent. In the end, nothing had changed. He had thought that as he scratched out the Hello Kitty sticker off the guitar case with his keys in the middle of the shutting down bar. The sun sucked. Yes, he settled on that as he sat scratching out a cartoon cat, because it made him remember her smile that was so bright. Because it made him remember her in his arms with the stupid guitar that the case held. Because seeing the sticker made him think his guitar was stupid.

Seeing it scratched up on made him feel worse.

              She sucked.

(No, she didn’t.)

-

He missed her. He missed her a lot. He thought she’d never disappear. The sun was ever present. But she wasn’t a star or an ethereal being he built her to be. She was a person. And he didn’t treat her like she deserved. He tried. God, he tried. But there was always something.

She deserved better, he decided. Even if he felt in his heart, he loved her. He knew he forgot things easy. (He should’ve made time for her.) He knew he was reliant on alcohol (He knew it worried her, because she didn’t want him getting sick or hurting himself or becoming an alcoholic.) He knew she loved him still. (But he knew he fucked it all up.)

-

She missed him. Her friends had gone to the bar if only to check up on him. They knew their friend missed him, worried about him. Some tried to tell her not to – tried to say he wasn’t her problem anymore. Others tried to get her to date other people. She didn’t do much. Some said she swore off men for the next few months. Millie and Cera knew.

She played guitar. She had bought the cheapest guitar she could find online. She was still bad at it. But it reminded her of better times. There were only two songs she knew. Under Pressure by Queen and the song Dewey wrote about her. Her friends heard Under Pressure a lot.

-

Things didn’t get better; they got worse. He got kicked out of his band. He lost his job. He didn’t have enough money for the rent. Patty was kicking him out. Dewey Finn had hit rock bottom without anyone around him to care. His phone was dead again. No money to pay its bill. It was probably for the better, he couldn’t text her on top of it.

But then he made a plan – a stupid plan he knew she’d disapprove of. But it sounded so easy. And the perfect plan in his mind.

Pretend to be Ned. Babysit. Get the cash. Pay the rent. Win Battle of the Bands alone. Become famous. Apologize to you again. Show that he was better. But he’d only be better if he reached his dreams.

-

Everything changed after the Battle of the Bands. It had been a lesson he didn’t know he needed. He began to stop partying so much. He was sober now – switching to Shirley Temples when he performed at the bar with Ned and other old members of Death Maggot. He was planning on moving out of Ned’s place; Patty was overjoyed. Rosalie was dating him. It was different than when he was with her. Rosalie was reserved, strict to a note even when on dates. He liked when Rosalie was happy or remembering rock and roll moments. But he saw the relationship not lasting. He was trying though. He’d eat lunch with Rose in the teacher’s lounge; he’d take Rose out to restaurants. He remembered dates.

-

He wore yellow when he needed her. It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. It was a color. It didn’t mean anything. But as another month went by it helped. He remembered how she helped him grow; how he could be better at adulting. Even if he kept backtracking so many times. He could be responsible. He could be responsible. These kids needed him.

He wore a yellow button up a lot while at Horace Green.

It reminded him of the sun.

-

Rosalie and Dewey didn’t last. He had been the one to break up with her, saying he wanted to stay friends. They were too different. It was the most calm and friendly break up he’d ever had. (Not that he had many.) They were friends months later (Rosalie had said they were work colleagues); in fact, he was trying to incorporate her operatic singing into the newest concert the kids were preparing for.

-

He used to hate waking up in the mornings. But now, he had a routine. Let the sun in. Get ready. Clean up the trash he had laying around. It wasn’t fun. But it was right. Plus, it meant Ned and Patty didn’t get on his case anymore. He was moving out in a week, his stuff piled in boxes. Dewey and Ned fought over the guitar hero set. (Ned won.)

-

He had texted her one day at lunch. Out of the blue. Five months after they broke up. It was a long text. Apologizing. Admitting he wasn’t the best boyfriend at times. How he forgot stuff too much. How he didn’t appreciate his friends and more importantly her. He talked about the Battle of the Bands, his new job, his new place. He was sorry. He would’ve written an essay about how sorry he was. He hoped she was okay. He hoped she was happier. He reassured her he understood if she didn’t want to reply.

He got a reply the next morning. She asked if he wanted to get coffee and talk.

He was never so happy for the sun to come out.

#dewey finn x reader #dewey finn x oc #musical!dewey finn x reader #dewey finn fanfiction #written by haley

[saokpe]

HDLW SIbling Week 2020 Day 1: Adventure

It’s time to celebrate the most chaotic quartet of siblings know to duck kind with little DnD inspired fic! 

@hdlwsiblingweek2020

Ducks and Dragons

“Are we ready to start our adrenaline pumping adventure!” An ecstatic Huey proclaims over the table. His siblings occupying the remaining seats, hovering their confused gazes over a collection of figures, plastic dice, and hardcover books.

“So, uhm-” Louie begins, still analyzing the display of trinkets ahead of him, “-this is a game about pretending to go on adventures, a thing we do almost every day?” The duck’s cynical suspicion directs itself towards the cap-wearing triplet, the 10-inch cardboard wall between them doing little to block it. 

“It’s not only about going on an adventure, dear Llewellyn-” Huey agonizingly teases, “It’s about making a story!”

“Wait, wait, wait, do these colorful rocks have NUMBERS on them!” Dewey intersects, ruthlessly inspecting one of the oddly shaped dice, “I thought you said this was going to be fun! This looks like MATH!” The brother’s biting fury echoes.

“Oh c’mon guys.” Webby attempts to calm the derailing group, “I’m sure this’ll be fun. So I get that these plastic toys are to throw at other players, but what about this sheet of paper?” The girl raises the assigned and already filled character sheet, her innocently oblivious eyes curling curiously.

“No-” Huey stops himself from spewing the erratic words that were sure to fly in his frustration, “Why don’t we just start playing and see what happens from there, ok?”

“Alright.”

“Okey-dokey.”

“Better than whatever Scrooge had planned for the evening.”

“Perfect,” Huey takes a deep breath, scanning over his story notes quickly before re-addressing the party. “The night sets across the peaceful landscape, soon to rise again. Beneath the twilight, a tavern proved lively and bustling. A truth one realizes once they enter through its welcoming walls looking for a group which can help in a mission placed upon them by those that be, something that your character, Webby, is experiencing right now.”

“Oh cool!” Webby looks over to the table, “Is this when we start throwing stuff?”

“No; Dewey,” Dewey dismisses the perplexing dice he fiddled with throughout his brother’s monologue, gifting his attention to Huey now that he called his name, “-you said you were a Bard, right?”

“Yes!” He answers confidently, allowing himself to think the question through after the fact. He leans closer to the game master, “That’s the one that sings, right?”

“Yes.”

“Yes! I am a Bard!” Dewey’s previous enthusiasm manifests.

“Alright then. Webby, your character, as they dash inside the busy establishment, the sound of blasting music welcomes you. You see, standing above the sea of guests, an extravagantly dressed…” Huey signals towards the now enthralled Dewey, his awestruck gaze not shifting at the motion. Seeing no difference, he waves again.

“What is this, what are you doing?” Dewey, still maintaining his smile, asks impatiently.

“Describe your character.” Huey returns, whispering between his teeth.

“OH!” The Bard straightens up, “I’m wearing a loose contortment of cut up robes of various different colors,  and, and, he has this really cool guitar thing that kinda looks like an egg, which was weird and cool and I imagine it sounds like an electric guitar and he is rocking it, I mean totally destroying the stage. And-”

“Yeah, you get the picture,” Huey interrupts, directing himself at one awfully silent player. “How about you, Louie, what class are you?”

“Huh?” The addressed duck doesn’t move from his slouched seat, his hand fidgeting restlessly with the phone he placed his full attention on. “I don’t know, Geography.”

“I mean your Ducks and Dragons class.” Huey’s monotone corrects, sizzling annoyance in every word.

“Oh,” The brother looks over to his increasingly complex character sheet, darting across it in search of this so-called class. “Ah! Here it is.” His eyes narrow as his hands pull the piece of paper closer to his eyes, “Rogooe? Roge? Rojue?” 

“A rogue, got it.” The dismissive voice of Huey clears, a lack of further enthusiasm in his tone. “Webby, as you continue to travel through the various tables and chairs, you notice the figure you were told spent his nights in the dusted corners of the tavern you stood in. Counting the shining amulets of small gold pieces, Louie would you please describe your character.”

“Right, right, uhm, Class: Rogwe, Race: Elf… Duck? Background: Charlatan, Experience Points: 0, and Player Name: Louie Duck!” Louie triumphantly tosses the paper back to his corner of the table, falling back to his seat, staring over to his brother’s dumbfounded face with a smug and arrogant snicker.

A deep sigh sounds through the table before Huey continues, “So you see this Elf Duck, seemingly unaware of your permeating gaze, what do you do?”

“I walk towards him.” 

“Ok, Louie, just as you are about to account for the last of your previous odd job’s payment, this huge looming figure shadows over you. Webby if you could please describe your character.”

“Of course!” Webby raises from her seat, tilting her shoulder as she prepares her speech, directing her body to the somewhat disinterested Louie, catching his attention. “Standing before you, enveloping you, trapping you in their intimidating silhouette is the plated figure of a Half-Orc. Shattered armoring stabbed and overgrown over their bulging muscles, their tusks matching the dark greens of their slashed and scarred skin. My expression matching those with little value for life, I sit at the opposite side of your empty table.”

“Do you do anything about it.”

“No…” Louie responds in a petrified, wide eyed, and high pitched squeal. His now straightened and attentive body shaking as it prepares for conversation. 

Clearing her throat, Webby prepares her following sentence, which emergers in a voice that isn’t her own. Deep and gravely, a tone probably acquired from various almost-fatal strikes to the jugular, the frightening figure tells Louie’s character. “Are you Laten?”

“We’re doing scary voices now?” Louie, his voice quivering over the overpowering presence of this alter-ego his sister had made for herself, directs to the game master. 

Huey shrugs in response. 

“You mean AWESOME voice! Go on, keep going!” Dewey waves, resting his chins over his palm as he anticipates the following interaction.

“Alright then,” The cowardly duck relaxes himself for a second, allowing the immediate paranoia to wash over before responding, “Depends on who’s asking?”

“Name’s Worerdurk, I have a job for you.”

“Hey Huey, it says here that I’m a Thief Rojue, does Webby’s character have, like, a money pouch or something,” Louie breaks character.

“OOOOOOOH-” Dewey begins, “You’re gonna steal from the big giant Half-Orc person!?” 

“Just gonna check.” A mischievous grin can’t help but manifest itself over the lying schemer’s face.

“Roll a perception check then.” Huey instructs.

“Uhm,” The previously smiling duck looks down to his basically encoded paper, “What would that be?” 

“Oh, over here.“ Webby leans from her side of the table, knocking over many of the placed figurines, pointing to the skill section of the character sheet. 

“No! Don’t help him Webby, he’s gonna steal all your gold!” Dewey attempts to prevent foreseen disaster. 

“It’s alright, it’s just a game.” The victimized party assures.

The still singing Bard’s player thinks the question over, eventually whispering to himself, “No… it’s a story…”

“Ok, what do I need to roll?” Louie, still unsure in his statements, asks.

“The d20.” Huey casually instructs.

“And that would be the…?”

“The bigger round one.”

“Got it! Alright…” Llewelyn’s hand grasps onto the small plastic dice, his forearms vibrating, bouncing the tool between their fingers before it’s released, clashing across the table. “I got an 18 plus something.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely enough. You look across Worerdurk’s outfit and it seems to you that they don’t have any money on them.”

“What?” Louie’s surprise is directed back to the smiling Webby, “You expect me to do a job with you for no money then?”

“Oh, I promise you a hefty amount of gold will fill your pockets. But I think we might need a third party.” The grizzled voice suggests.

“Oh, do I hear that! Can I go over there?!” Dewey, quickly excited, bounces and pleads to his elder brother.

“Ehhh, it’s a bit Meta-gamey, but sure, why not. Your performance has ended and you rush to the corner of the tavern.”

“I don’t know what that means, but HELL YEAH!”

“So as you guys are discussing this, emerging from the stage at the opposite side of the building is an attention grabbing Duckling.”

“A Duckling? Like a child?” Webby attest. 

“Yes!” Dewey answers.

“No.” Huey corrects.

“No!” Dewey repeats.

“A Duckling is like a different race, like Elf Ducks and Half-Orcs, their traditionally not very tall, this fellow that ran over isn't much different.”

“HEY! HI! I’m Deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewerius, Dewerius the Amazing and Awesome, the coolest of my triplets and a very talented performer, it’s a pleasure.”

The table of players meet each other's gaze before resting them over the unrefined Dewey. Huey questions, “Is, uhm, Dewerius-”

“Dewerius the Amazing and Awesome."

“Dewerius the Amazing and Awesome, is he supposed to, y’know, represent a specific someone or is inspired by maybe his player or?”

“Hmm, let me think- nope, not at all, now,” He looks back to Louie and Webby, elegantly singing, partly out of note, “Are we going on an adventure or not?”

“Yes,” Louie naturally falls into character, the fluidity forcing a smile on Huey’s beak. “What exactly are we doing, Worerdurk?”

“The biggest hoarder of gold in all the land has a rather large bounty on their head, I was looking for some help to spend all of it once we kill em?”

“Ooooooh, and who is this shrewd gazillionaire? Don’t say Scrooge, this is gonna get really awkward if you say it's Scrooge.” Dewey’s charisma saps to a deadpan monotone.

“Oh don’t worry my tiny friend,” Webby’s harsh imitation of gruffness assures, “Think more a fire breathing dragon.”

“Well that’s definitely interesting,” Laten speaks out, “Only legend speaks of the wealth they carry, you can count me in.”

“And count me three!” Dewey, I mean Dewerius (the Amazing and Awesome) adds. 

“Perfect. Uhm… So what do we do now?” Webby returns to her usual voice, honest bewilderment in the question. She shares an eye with the rest of her party only to be met with the same insecurity.

“Well you can do anything you want!” Huey, still recovering from the serotonin of his family's enjoyment of the hobby, optimistically yells out.

“Anything?” Dewey asks again.

“Yes! Anything! That’s the beauty of D&D, the world is your oyster, it's a game where you can do and create anything that comes to your imaginations!” 

The playing siblings share a mischievous smile as the realization of what the excited declaration implied falls over the game master. As an almost telepathic link befell Webby, Dewey, and Louie; Huey screams out:

“Wait! No-”

The party then proceeded to spend the next four hours doing literally anything but killing a dragon. An unexpected turn for the story that Huey did not plan for. Poor kid.

Read all of my HDLW Sibling Week fics here

#HDLW #ducktales #ducktales fanfiction #HDLW Sinling Week 2020 #Huey Duck #Louie Duck #Webby Vanderquack #Dewey Duck

[thewolfisapartofmysoul]

Hey lovelies,

I wrote another Dewey Finn x reader fanfic.

The reader is really insecure and of course our Dewey is the sweet jellybean to help her out and calm her down. Fluff is on the way. Hope you guys enjoy.

Pretty odd.

You tiptoed to your secret new hobby.

Well... you hoped none of your neigbours noticed it yet. You would be so embarrassed you might have to move if anyone found out.

You recently started to learn how to play ukelele. The instrument was small, fun, bouncy, upbeat, and a bit odd. Like yourself.

If only you had some more courage... you felt insecure about a lot of things. Daily. Your new hobby wasnt an exception.... Especially since Dewey-'rock-god'-Finn lived at the appartement above your own.

You sighed thinking about Dewey... he was just... perfect.

Too perfect for someone like you. Secretly you'd been crushing on him the moment he moved in.

He played the guitar like it was as easy as breathing. With 101% chill. It was listening to Dewey that had put the idea in your head in the first place, the sound of his voice humming and the different tunes calmed your anxious mind. Not that he knew all that. Pfeww. Hell no. You would be suprised if he'd even remember your name.

You checked the time as you took your chord-book and your ukulele to the balcony.

It was friday. Meaning there was a 80% chance most of your neigbours were at the bar, welcoming the weekend. Which ment: less-anxcious playing time for you, since you could practice in piece.

You walked over to your balcony. The cool summer breeze welcoming you as you opened the door. You peeked upstairs to Deweys appartment, luckely there was no light to be seen. You havent heard him around today. He was probably at school or preparing some gig, you figured. Smiling to yourself as you imagined Dewey Finn rocking out on some stage in a bar. He got so excited as he played, joy practically radiating off him.

A little while back he asked if you wanted to check out his band, as they had to play at the local bar two blocks away. You gathered all your courage and said yes to that. You werent the bar-type. Or going-out type. But you were glad you did that night. The memory of Dewey on stage made your heart tingle again and you couldnt supress a smile forming on your lips.

The breeze on the balcony snapped you back to reality. As you were lost in thoughts you forgot your mission to come here in the first place. You took a seat, placed your ukelele gingerly on your lap and glanced around one last time to make sure u were alone. Then you started your first chord.

-----

Dewey jolted upright from the slumber he was in. He'd had a long week at school, teaching the kids and was planning to go the bar tonight. He glanced at the time... could still work. It wasnt that late. He stood up from the couch and glanced around the room, looking for his jacket. Then he remembered he left it outside, after brainstorming for some new songs on the balcony last night. He ruffled his hair, trying to get the sleep out of his head as he walked to the door of his balcony.

-----

You started to get the hang of it. Your fingers moving slightly faster and more secure then a few minutes before. Still sounded like a beginner. But... less a beginner then 20 minutes ago.

As your fingers struggled to do what your head wanted, you paused and checked your chord-book again. You smiled, your eyes finding the needed chord. Your fingers moved again to make the chord you needed, but you winced slightly at the sound you produced. That wasn't right.

You tried again. Fingers failing you again and you sighed deeply in annoyance.

You were just about to give up for the night when you heard a deep voice above you hum: "try a G, love.... it suppost to be a G, not an Am."

FUCK. Someone heared you.

You winced, but noticed it sounded very sweet and helpfull instead of judging.

You almost dropped your ukelele as you registered who that voice belonged to. You knew even whitout looking up.

You heard a soft chuckle from upstairs, and your face flushed deep red in embarrasment. You clung on your instrument as if your life depended on it. Reminding yourself you had to breath.

Concern now seeped trough his voice as you heard him say: "Uhm... You okay down there sweetheart? I was only trying to help..."

You gathered all your courage to look up, to see the face of the man, the myth and the legend, that held the name: Dewey Finn.

The look on his face was nothing but excitement mixed with a little bit of worry. This helped you calm down your nerves a bit, and you nervously smiled at him. He beamed a genuine happy smile back.

You stuttered: "gosh... this is embarrassing... i... i am... just... i was just..."

He moved a hand trough his hair, his smile was amused but kind. God he was handsome. He helped you out by speaking: "you were... just... killing it on the ukelele?"

You stared at him in shock. Mouth slightly open. "I... i... just... i fucked up the chords... i was definetly... not killing it." you mumbled, still very self concious. Looking at the floor, stress creeping up your chest.

Dewey frowned as he noticed your anxiety... "you weren't fucking up... you are learning. That's okay. Y/n, look at me... im trying to help, okay love?"

Shocked that he knew your name you looked upwards.

"Sorry for disturbing you..." you mumbled. "You probably have better things to do..."

Dewey shouted a "wait a second y/n...!" As you heard him moving around on the balcony moving some things around. Sounded like he was looking for something.

His head popped up over the balcony again, triumphantly holding his hand up with a goofy smile on his face. Before you knew what was happening you heard him yell: "CATCH!" As you saw something falling down the balcony towards you, you grasped it quickly, right on time. When you opened your right hand you noticed it was a guitar pick. You squinted your eyes at the words written on the pick itself. Scribbled on it, in a messy handwriting it said: "stick it to the man"

You looked upwards towards Dewey again. You remembered this song. You heared him play it a couple of times right above your head, practicing it in his appartement.

He smiled at you, his hand anxiously rubbing his scruff. You beamed back at him, anxiety and worry starting to fade.

You heared him say: "Y/n... Stick it to the man... you are rocking the ukelele, okay?"

You nodded, picking up your ukelele again. "Now..." he hummed above you "try a G for me, love..."

You moved your fingers slightly against the instrument. Strumming a perfect G-chord. You chuckled softly to yourself as you heard him yell: "Whoow!!! Yeah! Rock-star to be! Crowd goes wiiiiiiiild!!! Yeahhhhh!"

Suddenly an idea bubbled up inside you: "Hey Dewey..." you called up towards your neigbour.

He replied: "Yeah this is Dewey Finn... please leave a message after te beep...."

You laughed at that. Oddball.

You ripped a sheet out of your chord-book as you scribbled something on it. Folding it in a paper plane, right before you threw it to him, you yelled: "hey... CATCH!"

After 2 missed attempts of him catching it, and you laughing your ass off during the process, he managed to get hold of the plane you threw him.

You watched his eyes go wild as he was reading what it said.

-you wanna teach me how to play the ukelele?-

"Whoow!! Hell to the yeah! Anytime babe. You free tomorrownight?"

"Depends..." you smiled to him. "Is it gonna be a private-lesson Mr. Finn?"

He beamed at you, voice low: "well... only my best students get a one-on-one session... so... if you want to play that perfect G for me again... maybe we could arrange something."

As you chuckled your trembling hands proceeded to play indeed a wobbly G-chord. "Perfect babe... told ya. Rocking the uke already... what else could a man want? Pick you up at 8, okay?"

The smile on your face never leaving your lips as you spoke to Dewey, looking upward and winking as you did so: "I cant wait... You know were i live, mr. Finn..."

"Awesome doll. Keep rocking okay? Your doing great..." Dewey said.

Later that evening you heard the door above you close, footsteps thumping on the floor above you. As you noticed someone loudly whooping, sound muffled through the closed door and the appartement floor above you.

You smiled again. God what a dork. You couldnt wait untill your date tomorrow. Feeling incredibly happy with what your new hobby had brought you so far.

#bouncy oddball #alex brightman #dewey finn/reader #dewey finn fanfic #dewey x reader #dewey finn x reader #dewey finn #school of rock broadway #school of rock fanfiction #school of rock #school of rock musical #myownfic

[mimiscappinisideblog]

I've got this idea for sometime now and I know I'll never gonna do anything with this so I'll share it with you all.

If any of you wants to do something with this shit be my guest. Btw this is some selfindulgent shit.

This has been in my drafts for months.

_________________

A friday night out with your friends. Just your average group of people in a bar drinking and enjoying eachothers company.

This bar was one of your favorites because of the ambient, not too classy and just enough of that calmly home feeling to make you feel warm and welcome.

Not to mention the live music playing every night. Each artist bringing a little of their soul to play off on that stage where all the patrons were able to see and listen.

You suggested this specific bar to your friends because of one thing, the drinks were really good and not too expensive, and maybe also because friday nights a certain musician came in to play it's a posibility. Okay, it was only for him who are you kidding.

You frequented that bar enough times to know that he came every friday to sing a couple of songs then he'd have one or two beers before leaving.

By this time you already knew who he was, the barman told you he teaches music in an after school program that originated from Horace Green. The barman already knew of your little crush on him and was trying to get you to try and talk to him but you were too shy of a loser to actually go and say hi to him.

One of your friends shooked you out of your thoughts and handed you your drink, she saw your distant stare.

"You alright there dub? You seem distracted." she asked with concern in ver voice.

"Which is funny considering you were the one that bring us here. You wanna leave already or something?" another one chimes in.

"No, no. I'm fine." you said trying to compose yourself for them "I was just thinking, nothing to worry about." you hope they buy it and not press more on the matter that you were expecting someone intenly watching the front doors. "what were you guys talking about?"

You try to jump in the conversation but out of the corner of your eye you see the doors open.

And then you see him.

Dewey Finn, the man who's been running on your mind the whole day in anticipation for this moment. The man who sends you a thousand buttlerflies everytime you hear his melodic voice singing. He's fanally here.

He goes to do a little chat with the barman. Your eyes focus on him for a little too long. Long enough for you not to notice that your friends were also looking at you and thanks to your staring they noticed Dewey as well.

They all excange knowing looks that were only confirm by every second that passed and you were still staring at the poor unsuspecting guy.

A witress blocks your view of the musician bringing your table some food.

"So..." your friend adressed you after the waitress was gone and you started to dig in "Were you going to go talk to him or just stare at his back whole night?"

Taking in the question you suddently notice you're the center of attention, all eyes were on you "What are you talking about?" you said trying to play dumb.

"Come on, everybody saw the way you were undressing the guy at the front bar. A little bit more staring and you'd drill holes on the back of his neck"

"Please. She was totally looking at his butt. No way the holes were going to end up in his head" your face was aflame, pretty sure they all could see your red blush even with the caramel lights of the place.

"No I wasn't" you insist "I was just looking at the different drinks they have on the menu posted on tbe wall. Might wanna try something new"

"Something new... Like the guy with the guitar at the front bar?" They kept at it.

There was no escape, they won't let you go out of this. You know very well they'll keep it up until you confessed to them, which you were known to avoid at all costs.

With a deep breath you finish the glass you were still holding onto and stood up "I wasn't staeing at him, if you don't believe me I don't care. Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to the bathroom" you really needed some cold water on your hot-red face.

Meanwhile Dewey went on stage to get his things ready, so when the barman was free he took a stroll to the table you and your friends were at.

He told your friends all they needed to know about your little 'dilema' with Dewey and that he tried effortlessly to get you two together.

He left your table after that and went back to work. Your friends were estatic, comming up with ideas of what to do with you.

And they got one, you were fucked... Well they hope you get fucked at least.

Just as you came back from the bathroom the sound of guitar strings being played sorrounded you. Sweet honey filled your ears and your heart fluttered when Dewey started to sing.

You were so dumb stroked you didn't even notice your friend on your right gave you a full glass of beer.

So entranced with the music and musician you downed the whole thing before the song was over.

Dewey usually sang three songs each night.

By the time he finished you were three full glasses down.

You were, by no means, drunk you had enough acohol in your sistem just to be in a "overconfident" mode.

So overconfident that you let out a "That guy is so fucking cute" loud enough for your friends to hear.

They all wore matching grins.

The plan comming into play.

"You know, you should go an tell him" one friend on your right tells you.

"Haha I can't do that" you said laughing at the idea of just going and talk to him.

"What's the matter? Are you scared?" everybody howls at that.

Oh they did not just implied that you are scared of something like that. Overconfident you was scare of nothing!

"I am not scared!" you kind of shout.

"Oh yeah? Go and tell him you think he's cute then!"

"Fine I will!" and you march for were Dewey was.

He was sitting on a bar stool looking at his phone while drinking.

At the middle of the way your shy self rised up over your overconfident one and scramed at you. What were you doing?! How do you talk to him? How in the world are you going to tell him he's cute?? This was a bad idea.

While your mind was debating your feet didn't seem to care and continued on their way.

By the time you finally decided you were going to turn around and go back to your table a voice surprised you.

"Hi. Can I help you with anything?" you look up and see. See him.

You never got this close to him before, barely two feet away. He had beautiful brown eyes. Eyes that were looking right at you waiting for an answer. Oh shit you had to answer! Your brain scattered and was looking for what to say. Think of something!

You felt eyes on your back too. Then you remembered your friends. Your friends. They fucking knew! Oh, shit they knew. How?

Making up a lie you answer Dewey "Oh, hi! Yeah, I- I'm just here because my friends kinda made me? Would you fake talking to me for a while until they calm out?" you shoot him a smile you hope seals the deal and he believes you.

"Of course. I mean, I wouldn't have to "fake it" if we just small talk, right?" oh my god his smile was brigth enough to lift your worries and made you forget everything around you.

You just smile like a dork at him, standing in front of him not sure what to do with your hands.

Everything was going okay, mindless banter of the wheater, music. It was perfect!

But your friends weren't buying it, they knew you were staling. So one of them shouts at Dewey "SHE THINKS YOU'RE CUTE!"

You freeze. Well this is it. I'm going to die after I kill my friends.

You were going to make a run for it when you hear "Is that true?"

Looking at Dewey you felt silent for a minute.

"Do you really think I'm cute?" that genuine smile catched you off guard.

Enough to make you speak without thinking "Of course I do! You're hella cute" Were did that come from?

He just giggles at that. Is he... Is he dashful? This man is going to be the death of you!

"Why, thank you!" he takes a good look at you "You're pretty cute too" and he sends you a wink.

Now you think he's gonna be the death of you.

How fucking dare he make your heart stop for a second. And that wink made your legs tremble. You were so fucked.

"Wow, um. Thanks a lot! I'm gonna go now. My friends are waiting-" right when your body started to move he speaks.

"Wait! Won't you like to sit with me for a bit? I mean if it's no trouble. I understand if you don't, it's okay" just when you thought he couldn't get any cuter here he is, trying to make you stay. You were going to die.

"You're so kind but my friends-" you can't finish because of a voice shouting over you again.

"GO SIT WITH HIM! YOU WILL BE FINE!"

Dewey laughs at that and your reaction.

Whe you get your hands on your friends they'll!!-

"I guess you'll be staying with me for a while" Dewey says with a smile, beckoning you to sit next to him. And you do.

_____________

That's all I got. I don't know how to continue.

The plot was that he also noticed you when he performed at the bar. Then the sexy times happens.

But I can't write so all I have is this

Okay, bye.

#i have no idea why i wrote this #aaaaaanyway #send feedback #if you have any #go and tell me how terribly written this is #fanfic #dewey finn #dewey finn x reader #school of rock #school of rock bway #school of rock broadway #it's not even finished. can i call it a fic???

[vicunaburger]

Hi! Can I request a Dewey Finn x reader where the reader is in a rock band and Dewey goes to one of their concerts and is amazed by the readers voice especially when she sings When the Party’s over by Our Last Night (it’s a rock cover) and he see’s her the next day or something

Anon, I would like to thank you for introducing me to thatsong cover because DAMN. Also, this is going to be fem!reader as you implied inyour ask. Hope you don’t mind I tweaked the situation just a tad, it justflowed out onto the keyboard that way.

Enjoy your smitten rocker boi… because we all really wantthe smitten rocker boi in our lives, okay??

“Why am I heeerrreee?” Dewey shuffled his feet noisily,attracting a few stares from the other patrons of the bar.

Ned, who was doing his best to half-push, half-drag hisroommate through the modestly crowded space, mumbled his apologies to quell hestaring. He managed to get Dewey seated at a table, and barely sat down himselfbefore Dewey’s head thumped dramatically on the tabletop.

Ned tugged on his friend’s scarf, “Get up- GET UP you lookinsane.”

“Maybe I AM insane. Insane with grief since the muse of rockhas abandoned me!” Dewey bemoaned, “Cursed to wander this earth a talent-lesshusk.”

“Well, if nothing else that school is expanding yourvocabulary,” Ned sighed, gesturing to the bartender to have some drinks sentover. “C’mon, I brought you out here to enjoy yourself, not bring down everyoneelse.”

The brunette attempted to sit himself upright, “…you didn’tdisagree about the talent-less part.”

With a heavy sigh, Ned gestured to the small makeshift stagein a corner of the bar, “They’re letting anyone go up and perform tonight, gobe talented then.”

Dewey quickly looked around, spotting a sign near the stagewritten in sloppy permanent marker, “Amateurnight?!”

Shushing him, his friend slid over one of the beers thata waitress had brought to them, “I thought it would help get you out of theslump.”

Not bothering with the drink, Dewey returned to his formerposition of laying his head on the table, mumbling something incoherent.

Had he bothered to keep his head up, he would have noticedthe band setting up on the tiny stage. They were comprised of four women wholooked like they had just stepped out of the late 80s. Each wore a differentstyle of dress, making them clash horribly, but somehow fit together in thekitschy nature of their gimmick.

One particular member, the best self-taught bass player on earth if you said so yourself, was sporting acidwash denim and teased hair pulled into scrunchies. You fiddled with the bass,tuning it a bit before looking out into the crowd, noticing the… sad… possiblydrunk guy at table three. Great, it was thatkind of night.

Your band mates introduced themselves to a smattering ofapplause before starting their set, but you were still focused on the guylaying on table. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, but the fact hewasn’t even pretending to enjoy yourmusic was a turn-off.

Half-way into the set, the lead singer announced they weretaking a break, handing the vocal duties to you for the time being. It wasn’tas though you hadn’t practiced for weeks on your songs, but there was still atinge of nervousness in your fingers as you started to play the familiarmelody. Giving yourself something to focus on, you started singing to the guyat able three; finding it easy since he wasn’t looking at you.

Don’t you know I’m nogood for you?I’ve learned to lose, you can’t afford to…

What was that voice?

Dewey sat up, his attention immediately pinned on the girlsinging. When had the band started? He had been so lost in his own misery thathe drowned out all other sound around him, save for that voice. It was shaky, sure, but there was that raw qualityabout it. Different from the highly trained voices he taught for at HoraceGreen, and definitely not the auto-mixed mess he often heard on the radio.

The body belonging to that voice was something else. He found himself staring at her, leaning forwardand supporting his chin in his hands. Ned noticed the sudden change in hiscompanion, looking from him to the girl in quick succession.

“…feel better, Dew?” Ned asked, sipping his beer quietly.

“Shhhh, shhh!” Dewey waved a hand in Ned’s face, “I wannahear this.”

As you started in on the last chorus of the song, you sawthe guy at table three sitting up, seemingly unable to look at anything elsebut you. Embarrassed, you fumbled on one of the chords, but managed to recover enough to not ruin the remainder of the music.

He continued to watch you through the rest of your band’sset, even when you went back to just playing in the background. His roundedface and messy hair looked so… genuine?Sincere? You couldn’t help but give him a small wave when you had a moment’spause in playing.

“Ned. Ned. NED. Did you see that?” Dewey shook the tallerman next to him, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling him in to whisper. “She.Waved. At. Me.”

Ned grumbled, cleaning up the beer that had spilled on himduring Dewey’s sudden burst of energy, “Yeah, I see.”

“And you heard her sing? It was like… like… I dunno.Something poetic.” Dewey grabbed a pen out of his shirt pocket – loathe as hewas to carry them around, they didcome in handy – and started scribbling furiously on a napkin.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to slip her your number,”Ned deadpanned.

“Nope, but we have to go now. Gotta get home. Get to theaxe.” Dewey folded the napkin, getting up and running over to the band as theyfinished playing.

Stunned, you could only mutely take the napkin the guy fromtable three handed you, unable to even say “thank you” before he grabbed hisfriend and ran out of the bar. Gingerly, you opened the napkin, expecting somecheesy pick up line and a number.

Instead, written in messy, tiny scrawl were… lyrics?

Your face reddened in a deep blush, your eyes pouring overeach word as they flowed down the page. Little notes were scribbled in themargins; key changes, suggestions for tone, etc. A whole song written in yourexact key, for your exact range.

Down at the bottom, there was a phone number, and one morenote:

I’ve got a guitar.Bring your bass. Tomorrow. - Dewey Finn

#dewey finn x reader #request fulfilled #school of rock broadway #school of rock musical #school of rock fanfiction #anon requests a thing #dewey finn x fem!reader #Anonymous #writing time

[geeky-marie]

Good Luck Charm

Dewey Finn x Reader ( Female)

School of Rock 

N/A: Well it’s starts with a small idea and I write it in a few hours. It end to be way more soft and fluff that I wanted at first. I wanted to have a little Smut in it but, I think it wouldn’t fit right. So, here a fluffy Dewey Finn. 

* English is not my first language, I tried really hard to correct myself but, I hope you will excuse me if some mistakes are still there.  

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

The kids were in panic. Miss Mullins, nervously biting his nails, was trying to calm them. The technician guy, unhappy, was growling about his time in a more popular band where this kind of situation would never happen. And there, in a little corner of the room, was you. Your phone glued to your ear, trying to calm a horrifying late and swearing Dewey Finn, stuck in the traffic.

“ I swear Y/N, the old cow in front of me must think that the hallway is a parking or something … fuck, maybe she’s dead in her car and her foot is on the break ! Come on, I'm laate to my shooww “ 

Trying to not laughing, you try to keep your mind clear. 

“ We will find a solution, you have some time. But, most important, Dewey, do you have it? “ 

“ Yes of course I have it Y/N! I didn’t go of my gig for nothing!” 

Dewey didn’t have the intention or the need to go out after the afternoon practice if it hadn’t been of Lawrence. You had noticed, during the repetition that the young boy wasn’t like usual, or at least was playing with less facility that normal. Concern and with the help of Dewey, you had tried to find out what’s happened.

“ Come on Lawrence, what’s the matter dude?” 

“ You can tell us, we see that something is bothering you...are you anxious for tonight?” You asked, a gentle smile on your lips. 

“ No, that’s...that’s stupid” The boy replied, looking at his shoes. 

“ Stupid like, I think at my math homework or stupid like I love a girl and she’s stuck in my brain ? Because we could do a song about that !” Dewey asked, his eyes sparkling at the idea. 

“ Dewey “ You sighed. “ I’m sure it’s not stupid Lawrence” 

“ I forgot at school the good luck charm my grandmother gave me, I have it at each one of our concerts...I can play well without it” He confessed, his cheeks turning pink under your gaze. 

“ I’m sure you can play without it, it’s not luck who makes you’re a great musician it’s...” You started before being abruptly interrupted by Dewey. 

“ I’ll go get it “ He says, already taking his car keys. “ We don’t play with luck” 

After reflection, letting Dewey go himself was a stupid idea. But, nobody could have predicted the road accident whose block a part of the hallway and create a huge traffic. But, you were now at twenty minute of going on stage and the second guitars and principal singer is missing. 

“Miss Y/N, it’s almost our turn, the owner asks what we do...”

You didn’t see Summer coming. As the manager, she was perfect. Always master of herself, calm and sure of his decision for the good of the band. But, you knew that after all, she’s just a kid and she must feel lost and anxious like everybody in the room. 

“ Summer tell them to...” Dewey start to yell in the phone before you interrupt him, scared of the end of the sentence in his state of mind. Even if he had made great progress since he teaches to the children, the man still had his temper and could have a dirty mouth. 

“ Dewey, try your best to coming the faster you can. I will find a solution.” You reply, hanging out before he could answer. 

In fact, you have an idea. You didn’t like it, but it was better that cancel the performance, disappoint everybody and showing to the kids that it better to give up at the first difficulty. 

“ Summer, tell everybody we will play. Say to Lawrence that is item is in the crowd almost in his pocket. Tell Billy to bring me the uniform of Dewey and his sewing kit and ask to Miss Mullins to come with me“ Closing briefly your eyes trying to stop your anxiety, you take a breath “ I will take Dewey’s place “

As a smart child, Summer only nod of the head knowing that you didn’t come with this solution if you knew that you couldn’t do it. Soon, everybody had been informed of the plan and Miss Mullins had gracefully agree to wear your jeans in exchange of his above the knee black skirt.    

“ I only have one question” The young and small manager tell, looking at the way too large for you uniform of Dewey, Billy was caring “ How will you make it fit on you ?” 

Smiling at the girl, you wink at Billy who’s automatically smile back at the challenge.  

“ That, Summer it’s why is always important to have a needle, safety pins and some creativity” You respond, putting your left arm in the sleeve of the white shirt. 

Your knees are weak and your heart was racing in your chest. When, at only a few inches of the colorful stage, you put the strap of Dewey guitar on your shoulder. You knew that the guitar wasn’t really heavier. But, you still feel it like it hadn’t the same weight that the last time Dewey put it in your hand.Few months ago, in one of your movie nights, he had insisted to hear you play, even if you had protested that you weren't great like him. It was that night too, after watching you play on his precious guitar that he had kissed you for the first time. 

“ And now, please welcome THE SCHOOL OF ROCK !” 

Taking a deep breath, you gave a look at the small faces of these group of talented child, summoning the inner Dewey whose sleep in you and step on stage.

*******

Dewey was running as fast as he can, showing his backstage pass at every bodyguard trying to stop him. In his pocket, the large and heavy coin of Lawrence was bouncing at each move. 

He was almost at the end of one of the side corridors leading to the backstage when he heard it. The first chord of Teacher pet like only Zach knew to do it, and then, the second guitar. The first feeling punch him in the stomach, they replace him, like his previous band. Then, jealousy, anger and finally the guilt. It was is idea to go get the item of Lawrence. They only do what they teach them : The show must always go on.   

It was only when he heard the feminine voice starting to sing that he starts to run again, changing the way of his trajectory. Open the first door at his right, ending in the front row, he lifted his head. 

There, wearing an identical uniform as his, minus the short who were substitute by a pencil black skirt, his girl was playing and signing like a fucking rock goddess. Holy shit, even his own guitar look better when you were playing with it on that outfit. Well, he had noticed that everything look better when he was with you, but dress like that you just look like a living dream. Or maybe he just discovers a new kink he have only for you. Damn it, one day he will truly have to marry you.

Jumping on place like the rest of the crowd, smiling and shouting, he waited for the end of the song before rushing backstage to put his spare uniform. 

You didn’t start the second song yet, waving at the clapping crowd, when he pop at the side on the stage. Smiling at you like the Cheshire cat. 

Rushing behind the curtain, you rapidly remove the guitar putting it in his hand. 

“ Omg baby you were amazing !!” Dewey shout, kissing you without letting you answer. “ and that uniform, where do you find it ?”  

“ It’s your uniform, now shut up and go, they wait for you !” You say laughing after his kiss. 

“ Keep it like that !!” He tell before jumping on stage. 

The rest of the night was perfect. The show had finished with two encores and everybody came back in the dressing room sweaty but, way more relaxed. 

Sit on the couch of the room, back in your jeans and shirt, you listen to Lawrence explaining to you his good luck coin. Once on stage, the first thing that Dewey did was giving him back his precious possession to the young pianist. 

Lifting your gaze, you saw Dewey coming at you. He had changed his costume to his previous AC/DC shirt but didn't succeed to get down is hair. 

“ Lawrence, your parents are there and they say it's time to give me back my girlfriend, oh and back home of course. See you Monday.” 

Smiling, the young musician jump on Dewey, giving him a last hug and a thanks before heading to his parents, waiting at the door. 

“ That coin is really important for him since his grandmother die. It’s not really have a relation with luck but, for him it’s real I think” You say, watching the now happy family left. 

“ No, I think it has something to do with luck too “ Your boyfriend insist. “ Every rock star have his kind of good luck charm, it was my guitar” 

“ Was ? “ You ask pushing yourself against his warm body. 

“ Well, after tonight that change a little. Nothing go wrong when you are here. You are maybe my good luck charm after all” 

Trying to hide your large grin, you put your mouth on his. 

“ Are my kiss are lucky too ? “ You playfully ask. 

“ Well I can’t wait to be home to discover it” Dewey joke, smiling. “ and please, don’t forget the uniform.” 

Laughing, your take you bag, kind of proud and amuse of your new statue of good luck charm.   

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N/A : Like I said before, I wanted to do a little smut but, it ended up way too fluff and long to add it. So gave me a like or a comment if you want a smut second part.

 @beetlejuicecansteponme​

#dewey finn #dewey finn x reader #school of rock #fluff #alex brightman #beetlejuice #beetlejuice broadway #school of rock broadway

[beetles-and-rock]

Remembering The Roadhouse Part 4

Hey guys sorry this one took so long, but since I saw it as an important chapter I wanted to give it the time it deserved.

Also a disclaimer, I have tried posting this story part once, so if it comes up twice, that's my bad. I appear to be having technical difficulties.

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The sound of the alarm going off made Dewey hurt all over, but there was no time left to rest. He had to get to the school. He stood, and his head throbbed, his stomach hurt with a mix of hunger and nausea. Every part of him ached, and he was absolutely exhausted.

His weekend had only gotten worse. He'd gotten sick after getting off the phone with Rosalie the night before last. Still, he continued to work on the song he was writing for her until he finally finished it well into the next day. Ned had found him in a pile of wadded up paper balls with very dark circles under his eyes and, became even more concerned when it seemed he had no appetite.

"Try to get some rest.“ Ned told him.

He did try, but the doubt swimming around his head, and the pain everywhere else kept him from falling asleep. It wasn't until a few hours ago that he finally managed nap a little. Since music coaching wasn't until after the kids' daily classes, Dewey had a little more time to rest. Still what little sleep he got wasn't enough to make up for the last two restless nights.

Dewey wanted to turn around and crawl back under his warm comforter so badly, but he knew that if he wanted the kids to learn the song he'd written for Rosalie, he was going to have to have them practice it now. They only had three days. He fought the sleepiness and achiness, and got dressed. Since he was still so nauseated, he decided not to eat anything. He dragged himself to the school.

After nearly falling asleep at the wheel several times, he arrived at the school and went straight to work setting everything up as he usually did. Once finished, he walked over to the desk and leaned against it waiting for his students to arrive.

"Mr. Finn, I wanted to talk to you about the Battle-“ Summer paused as soon as she looked up at him. "Mr. Finn are you feeling okay?"

Dewey didn't answer. Mostly because he didn't realize she was there. He was leaning so far onto the desk, he was practically laying on it. Though his eyes were open, he was staring past her, unaware that she had even spoken. That was until she snapped her fingers in front of him making him jump.

"Oh! Summer! How long have you been standing there?" He asked.

"Mr. Finn are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah! Perfectly fine!“

"Are you sure? You look pale, and tired. And you have dark circles under your eyes. Should we cancel practice?"

"No way! I'll be fine, we just gotta get this thing going. Is everybody ready?“

Summer continued to look at him unconvinced. "Yes."

Dewey looked around at all his students, seeing that they had their instruments out, and were ready to start practice.

"H-Hey Guys." That sounded weaker than he wanted. He cleared his throat. "Sorry... Hey Guys!“ He said much more confidently. “Friday night is the big night! The night we get on that stage, and once again show em' what we're made of!"

The band cheered all around him, causing his energy to suddenly spike. That is until he looked at the papers in his hand.

"But today, I wanted to start off with something a little different. Now, our focus is still on Battle of the Bands, but I... kinda... wrote a little something special... for Ros -uh- Mrs. Mullins." He scratched the back of his neck hearing a few of the girls squeal at his announcement.

"I was kinda hoping we could play it for her... on a little date I had planned Thursday."

"Thursday!?" Summer exclaimed.

"I know it's the night before the battle, but it's an anniversary... sort of." Dewey explained.

"An anniversary of what?" Summer asked.

"Um..."

"Oh my God! Did you hook up with her? Is that how we got permission last year?"

"NO! no no no no no... It wasn't anything like that. We bonded I guess, but it was over music! Not anything... like the other..." He trailed off into awkwardness.

"Alright well, show us the song!" Zack requested breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"Right!" Dewey answered. He looked at the papers, and studied the lyrics growing anxious again.

"Mr. Finn, is everything alright?" Tamika asked.

After looking at the papers a moment more, Dewey sighed with a mix of frustration, dissapointment, and exhaustion.

"Nevermind guys... This song is garbage." He goes to tear the papers.

"MR. FINN! NO!" Tamika screamed. Dewey was so caught off guard, he could do nothing when Freddie snatched them out of his hands, and passed them to Summer.

She walked as she read them, and the paused.

"Mr. Finn, this is incredibly sweet. You can't tear this up." She said. The other students gathered around to look at it.

"Well that line's pretty cheesy." Feddie snickered looking at the lyrics. Katie bowed him in the side, and Dewey gave a little sideways smile as if to thank her.

"What do you think, guys? Should we do this?" Summer asked.

A chorus of "yeah" and "yes" erupted from the kids around her. Summer turned to Dewey.

"You've got your entertainment, Mr. Finn. Now, where will you be taking her?“

Dewey's eyes widened. “Um.... where?"

"You don't have a place in mind, do you?“ Summer asked seeming more unsurprised than he'd like her to have been.

"Well... no, I haven't really gotten to that point yet..." Dewey answered.

"What are you going to wear?“ Billy asked.

"Um....“

"Please tell me you've got other clothes than what you've been wearing the past year in your closet."

"Well...“

Billy rolled his eyes. "Oh no. There's no way you're wearing any of those tacky excuses for outfits Thursday night. I'll work on something for you.“

The thought of wearing one of Billy's "creative" outfits in front of Rosalie was a nightmare.

"Thanks Billy, but you really dont have-“

"Mr. Finn, are you going to propose?“ Shanell asked, distracting him from Billy. He was completely caught off guard.

"Well... I mean, we've only been dating a few months." Dewey stammered

"No way! Dewey probably can't afford the ring." Freddie cut in.

"I have the ring!“ Dewey blurted out a bit frustratedly. He realized quickly that that was a big mistake. Every eye was on him now, and there a warmth spread vigorously across his cheeks. He just stood there frozen, looking at them all.

"Are you going to propose then?“ Shenell inquired almost squealing.

"I-I didn't say that... Guys, we've only been going out a few months, and I don't even know that this relationship is going to last... I mean I'd like to believe she would want to... marry me...." He looked down at his hands as his fingers fidgeted. "But I just don't know that it's realistic right now..." He looked back up at them. "Regardless I want Thursday night to be special... very special... for her."

"Then we've got your back Mr. Finn." Summer announced with a smile.

Dewey's gaze cut to her in surprise.

"We'll handle the location, the food, and of course the music. You two just have a good time."

"What?“ Dewey stammered.

"Yeah!" Katie cut in. "If we can put together performances, we can definitely handle a date!"

"Guys, I'm only asking for you to perform." Dewey was getting a little overwhelmed now.

"Kind of hard to perform with no location." Summer pointed out with her arms crossed.

Dewey tried to say something, but realized he couldn't argue. She had a point.

"Y-you guys really want to do this?“ He asked.

"Of course we do, Mr. Finn." Tamika replied with a smile. The other students nodded and voiced their agreement.

Dewey felt a happiness and pride in the kids that they had given him mqny times before. It once again made him happy they were his. His excitement was renewed and his energy rising.

"Alright! Let's start with the song!" Dewey passed around the sheet music.

A few minutes later those familiar chords sounded throughout the room, and Dewey became more enthusiastic as he sang the lyrics. His opinion about song had completely changed it was perfect and perfectly Rosalie.

When they finished they moved onto their song for Battle of the Bands. Dewey had completely forgotten about his previous exhaustion. He laughed, and danced around playing his guitar even doing a short impromptu duel with Zack. Everyone was working hard, but having fun with it, and in Dewey's mind, they couldn't be playing more perfectly.

Six O'clock came way too soon. The students packed up their things, and began to leave. Dewey waved goodbye to them. Now that practice had ended though, he started feeling rough again. The exhaustion was setting in fast as he watched his students leave. There were only two left, along with their parents, in the room when he turned to grab his bag. Everything started to go dark. He panted and bent over.

"Mr. Finn?“ He heard Summer call his name, but it sounded far away now. He fell to the ground, and a sharp pain shot up his shoulder. The last thing he saw was Summer running toward him, and looking very concerned just before everything went black.

#alex brightman #broadway musicals #dewey finn #dewey x rosalie #school of rock bway #school of rock broadway #school of rock #school of rock musical

[angelicspaceprince]

Dewey x Crafter Reader Headcanons

Ive fallen down a rabbit hole of crafting and I can't get up. Help me. I write hcs to help save my soul

I'll also edit when I have computer access so then there is a read more button or whatever they're called, I can't find it on mobile

Wrote directly onto the tumblr app so if there are any mistakes that's why. No betas, we die by our spelling and grammar mistakes here

You were a crafter before you met Dewey, having taken up most crafts by the time you were 17

Sewing, needlepoint, embroidery, cross stitch, knitting, crocheting

You'd experimented with them all and even though each one had its merits, you definitely had your favourites

Then life happened. You had to start working, unable to attend college, and soon you had no time to craft. If you were awake, you were working

Mostly low paying jobs to cover rent, bills etc, taking on as many shifts as possible

It was actually during one of your shifts you met Dewey

You started working at a local music shop, mostly serving and organising CDs when a very excited Dewey rocked up, wanting to find the newest release for one of his favourite bands

You got to talking and realised that you had similar music tastes and, even though you really wanted to get to know him more, you had to remain professional. You were still on the clock

Luckily for you, however, you were invited to go see a group of local bands performing to celebrate your friend's birthday

You recognized Dewey the moment he stepped on stage and was in awe at his musical skill

You figured it'd be weird to go up to him and start talking because a) if he didn't recognize you then having a stranger come up to you and say that you remembered him from work would be odd and b) if he DID recognize you from work that'd be even odder

You didn't want to give off stalker vibes, so you stayed at the bar, content just to leave it

Dewey, however, saw you in the crowd and had a different plan in mind

Still riding the adrenaline high from being on stage, he walked straight up to you

"I don't know if you remember me, bu-"

"I remember you."

"Oh."

You both blushed heavily as you shift in your seat. "Drink?" You offered. "I....I liked talking to you earlier, I'd like to talk some more."

Dewey positively beamed at that, sitting down next to you as you effectively start ignoring your friend's birthday party celebrations in favour of talking to the man in front of you

The rest, as they say, was history

You ended up dating pretty quickly after you first met, moving in with each other after only dating for 6 months

It was an accident, you had your power cut off (again) and it was the middle of winter. Dewey offered you a warm place to stay temporarily and after 4 weeks of looking for a new apartment, he just said "you're already living here, just move in with me."

It made things easier, now there were two people contributing to bills

Rent was never paid in full, but something was always sent in

Patty wasn't impressed by that but Ned wasn't as fussed, just happy to have something coming in

It helped that he really liked you and felt that you were a good fit for Dewey

Even though things still remained tough, you were happy just to have a roof over your head and someone who loved you

When Dewey started working for Horace Green, things became easier

Bills were paid with his paycheck, yours became groceries and fuel money

Even then, for the first time in a long time, you had spare cash

Most went into savings but being able to afford your own Netflix account? Felt amazing

Despite having a bit of extra money, some habits were hard to break.

You rarely bought clothing from anywhere but thrift stores and Walmart, Dewey prefering Walmart but essentially doing the same thing

Unfortunately, that meant the clothing you had bought wasn't always the best of quaility, especially when Dewey was the one wearing it

Just the nature of his jumpy, clutzy, accident prone and slightly messy self meant you were constantly buying him new shirts and mending his sweater vests

To be honest, it was getting old

You'd also been missing crafting for a while so. Two birds, one stone

The next time you were in Walmart alone, you grabbed yarn and knitting needles and on the few days a week you were home alone, slowly you started to knit him some new sweater vests, using an old one that was beyond repair as the template to make sure each one fit

The first one was just a plain, fadded red to get yourself back into practice before slowly beginning to add simple designs similar to the few he owned now

Then a couple of weird themed ones, a couple of his favourite bands, one with music notes in the design, one that was birthday themed, one with mini guitars, whatever amused you and you thought would amuse him, you knitted onto the sweater

Each vest took three weeks to make. By the time his birthday came around, you had made him ten new vests, having kept it a secret the entire time

You were super nervous when he opened up his present, but the giant smile on his face was worth it, excited with the concert tickets you managed to get for the two of you (in the pit, of course) and with each new sweater, he got more and more excited

"These are amazing babe! Where did you get them?" He asked as he got up to try his favourite (the one with a replica of his Gibson knitted around the bottom) on

You go quiet. "I....uh.....I made them."

He looked over at you like you just admitted you had found a cure for cancer

You'd neglected to tell him of your crafting past, it never came up so you never said

Now, however, he was keen to see you craft

He never even dared to try it out for himself, but enjoyed watching you knit or crochet without looking at your work, watching TV or chatting to Dewey as you just continued to work

Every year, he got at least two sweaters from you, and you made sure to knit a sensible one and a silly one

What amazed you was the fact that Dewey seemed to have fewer accidents

He took extra special care of all of the stuff you make him, never spilling so much as a drop of coffee on them and tried his best not to get them snagged on the one sharp part of the doorway into his office

One day he came home, nearly in tears

You were folding up laundry but you dropped everything and came rushing over, thinking the absolute worst but instead he simply pushed something into your hands and said "I'm so sorry"

Turns out, he took off his vest when he came in to play a song with the kindergartners, something he now does daily as part of his role as music teacher

He didn't notice one of the kids grabbing it and wandering off with it

It was covered in paint, one of the Gibsons were cut out and the yarn was beginning to unravel, despite clear attempts to keep it from doing so

It was ruined

You hush Dewey as you pull him close and reassure him it's ok, you can make him another one

It took a while to settle him, he treasured everything you made him and he allowed one to get ruined

But once you assured him it was fine and you knew it was an accident, you ended up spooning in the couch as you mentally start planning the new sweater

A month passed when he found a wrapped up parcel on his desk

He was running late, didn't have time to grab a coffee and accidentally grabbed his vest with a massive hole in the back rather than one of your handcrafted ones

Still, he made it to the classroom before any students arrived, so he quickly opened it up and a huge smile plastered its way onto his face

A new sweater vest that was near identicle to his ruined one, a bit cleaner and better designed than the old one

You'd also made him a pair of socks, something you'd been experimenting with, with the AC/DC logos on the side

He found the note at the bottom 'Hope you have a good day. I love you. Y/N. P.S. These are not allowed near the kindergartners ❤'

He quickly changed into the sweater, feeling so much better than he did 5 minutes ago

The socks became his lucky socks and he'd wear them to his gigs, stating that it was like you were up there with him

He shushed you when you pointed out that it meant he was technically stepping on you, telling you "you know what I mean" before giving you a kiss

He'd give you requests for scarves, beanies, the lot. Socks were for bed or performances only, apparently, but everything else was worn whenever

You even made beanies and scarves for members of the band who wanted them, each having the School of Rock logo on it plus the kid's name

Dewey loves wearing and telling everyone about the stuff you make because he thinks it's absolutely incredible you're able to create something like this

And he treasures everything you make him

Most importantly, he's there to listen when you rant that the yarn isn't working like it should, or just about crafting problems in general, and be an ear as you problem solve an issue and is there to celebrate the victories when it finally works

Gets really good at yarn shopping too, picks up the brands you prefer and learns to read the packaging labels

Just

He loves the fact you can create something just like he can

#school of rock musical headcanons #school of rock headcanons #school of rock the musical #school of rock musical #school of rock #dewey finn headcanons #dewey finn/reader #dewey finn #dewey finn x reader #ama writes #amas stuff

[foolurfriendsfunatparties]

Rock Got No Reason

Summary: Dewey finds out that one of his students older siblings is in the battle of the bands and immediately falls in love.

"Mr. Schneebly, I lied to you!" Dewey stood on his bed as his students surrounded him. All has gone downhill today. He had just blown his cover as a fake substitute, Patty and Ned have just kicked him out, and now his 'students' have illegally left the school in order to get him to finish what he started. Tomika finally knocked some sense into him as Dewey finally realized what he had started.

"You were the only one who would listen." Zach chimed in as Dewey thought about what the kids were trying to tell him. "My dad never believed in me or pay attention, but you did." Zach practically begged for him to stay in the band. Before Dewey could respond he heard the rest of the kids who were on the bus chanting one of the songs he taught them.

"Stick it to the man." Dewey finally realized what he was destined to do. "And we shall teach rock, to the world!" His screaming made all of the children jump with so much enthusiasm as they all ventured off to rock ignoring Patty's screams. The band stood backstage as they all prayed to rock the audience away. It wasn't until after their prayer that a girl came from the stage with a guitar in hand. She had h/l h/c and e/c eyes as they widen upon seeing the kids.

"Zach?!" The girl said as she broke away from her band. "What are you doing here?! Aren't you supposed to be at school?!" The girl then realized what he was holding. "Dad's gonna kill us!" Dewey just stood there staring at the girl.

"No Vacancy you're up!" A stage attendant yelled as the girls head whipped towards the stage door.

"I've got to go." The girl said glaring at Zach. "If dad finds you here, it was not me. Got it?" She gave Zach a challenging look.

"Yes yes!" Zach put up his hands in surrender. "Now go kill it up there sis!" Her little brother encouraged her as she ruffled his hair before turning to leave.

"You too Mooneyham." His sister chuckled before poking her head back in the door. "By the way great instrument choice."

"Got it from you." The girl finally left as Dewey took Zach in the corner.

"Okay who was that?!" Dewey was absolutely smitten seeing the girl his age with a guitar. "And a fender starcast, is she single?" Zach scrunched up his nose in disgust.

"Not my sister!" Zach couldn't even think about it. "And if I'm being honest y/n is probably dating the main singer in No Vacancy."

"Oh I know that jerk." Dewey said with fists of rage. "Well she'll be dumping him tonight." He said on a mission after his first mission: to teach rock to the world (aka the small audience in front of him.) The kids grew nervous as they heard No Vacancy perform.

"What if we don't win?" Lawrence asked while nervously touching the keys of his piano.

"This is not about winning." Dewey said as the students looked to him. "It's about blowing their minds, and maybe hooking up with Zach's sister."

"Please don't." Zach chimed in from behind as the stage attendant came for the school of rock. The students came out and gave it their all while each student who was in the band did an amazing solo. Y/N stood backstage trying to hear Zach as he started his solo. A big smile came on her face as she heard her brother rock the solo. After the song was over and the whole school thing was settled Y/N came out to give Zach a huge hug.

"Zachy that was amazing! I knew you could play but I didn't know you were that amazing!" Her brother smiled at her. He had always wanted to follow in y/n's footsteps and it finally has happened tonight. "You must've had an amazing teacher." She said as Dewey slid in smoothly into the conversation.

"Hello I am that amazing teacher!" He beamed at the girl as she nodded her head. "By the way, I love your fender!" He said pointing to the guitar she still had in her hand.

"Oh thanks." Y/N said not knowing what to do with the very forward man. She looked at him almost like she knew him. It finally hit her. "Hey wait, aren't you the guy I replaced in No Va-" The man interrupted her.

"I'M DEWEY!" He stuck out a hand with a piece of paper. "Here's my number! Give a call!" He said before running away.

"Well that was something." Y/N said as Zach burst in laughter.

"Thanks for giving me dirt on Mr. Schneebly, now I can play the 'my sister replaced you' card!" Zach said between fits of laughter.

"You sure can!"

#alex brightman #alex brightman x reader #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice #school of rock #dewey finn x reader #dewey finn #dewey x reader #beetlejuice x adam #beetlejuice x oc #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice x maitlands #beetlejuice x barbara #beetlejuice fanart #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice fandom