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mirrorforevers · 3 years

Text

here, there, and everywhere • graham coxon/reader

this fic is based on two prompts y'all sent me:

and

this fic really tested all of my blur knowledge holy Fuck. blur as talking heads au i guess. how cool would it be if they

1. had a girl bassist instead of the cheese tory dude

2. werent as unhappy as they were in the mid 90s (just a bit)

3. were just a little 🤏🏻 bit more female friendly lets just pretend this is a universe where the blurjob passes didnt exist heh

it took me everything i had to make this sound as realistic as it could be. u know these girls who think they could fix patrick bateman or don draper? perhaps y’all could fix blur

consider this a gift n not only me writing for your prompt, @nottuned! thank u so much for all your support n encouragement n for always bein so sweet 🥺 i hope u enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

let’s see how many references to unfortunate britpop moments y’all can find in this

also i hope i captured the silliness of the gossip and drama in that era well. if you enjoyed it, please leave an ask telling me more! ur feedback is rly important to me 😔✊🏻

tw (?) reader has shitty parents

word count: 7.938 (this one's quite long!)

smut. set in the 90s. au.

You were unlocking your door when you heard your house phone ring. The shrill sound echoed through the empty corridors as you hurriedly unwrapped your scarf, tossing your keys and backpack on nearby furniture as you ran to answer the call.

“Hello?” You answer, panting.

“Y/N?”

“Dave?” You smile, that call was a very welcome surprise. Your friend owed you an answer.

A few weeks ago, Dave Rowntree, your music classmate who became a close friend, told you that he had teamed up with two other proficient musicians to form a band. Dave was ecstatic, and every day he had new stories about his new friends to tell you between breakfasts and lunches that you shared between the countless hours of rehearsals. Even though you weren't part of the group, you already felt that you knew Damon and Graham like the back of your hand. Yin and Yang. One was expansive, ambitious, vain, impulsive. The other, shy, introspective, anxious and careful.

Damon Albarn wanted to be an actor, Graham Coxon had a firm foot in the visual arts. One was a fan of grand classical compositions, the other was a Beatles fan. They had been friends since they were children, in a seemingly unbreakable bond. Damon dropped out of his theater class not only because out of a sudden he had found a bigger calling in music instead of acting, but also because he couldn't stand being away from his best friend for so long. You found yourself often imagining their faces and voices while trying to make all of the wild and endearingly funny stories Dave told you more tangible in your head.

It was not long before Dave started dropping little hints that they needed someone else for their project. “It’s not that Graham isn’t good at bass,” he’d say, “but we could do better.” It wasn't at the top of your plans to be part of a band right now, especially as you were preparing intensely to join the Royal Academy of Music, and he knew it. When you mentioned the conversations you had with Dave about the boys on your family dinner, in quiet wonder and timid want of being part of something really exciting, your parents wrinkled their noses. Focus on the greater things, they’d say. Don’t let these boys distract you from your goal.

Our goal, they meant to say. Since you were born, you never knew if the things you wanted were really your will or theirs.

But anyway.

That dynamic went on for a while, until the day Dave invited you to audition for them while you shared a Diet Coke in the tube home.

“Will it take too much of my time?” You asked, coyly.

“Bold of you to assume we’ll let you in that quickly.” He chuckles, amused by your confidence. You playfully elbow him in return. He knew how good you were at what you did, though, and there’s lightness in his tone when he continues, “But no, unless you let it. You’ll probably have to stand up to Damon every once in a while.” He sips the drink, handing it over to you.

“What about Graham? How much is he determined to make it big?”

“Damon’s the one who wants it the most. Graham’s studying Fine Arts at Goldsmiths, so. There’s still cautiousness in him.”

“Huh. Okay then.” You reply, thoughts running wild. “Do we have a time and date?”

“Is tomorrow ok to you?”

“Sure. After our class?”

“Perfect.” The train reaches his station. He ruffles your hair: “See you tomorrow then.”

“See you.”

You don’t tell anything about it to your parents, you just warn them that you’ll arrive a bit later than usual. Dave’s intel was crucial to your choice of songs: knowing Graham was the beatlemaniac and also the rational brake to Damon’s tireless ambition, you knew who to please and have as an ally, so you build an innovative and fresh mashup of Paul McCartney’s greatest basslines to play for them. Of course it could backfire, but you didn’t care. You had a hell of a good ear anyway and if Damon wanted you to play anything out of the blue, you would improvise beautifully over it.

The day comes. You didn’t know why you were that nervous for an amateur audition. You weren’t even sure if it was the right path to follow, given that, depending on how focused Damon really was and how contagious his aspiration was, being part of a band could really take you out of your predestinated course. The reason why you were so nervous, now thinking a little more about it, may be because deep inside, you want your path to be a little less predictable. You didn’t want to fill your heart with hopes that you might make it big and travel all over the world because you didn’t even know them. But… what if it clicks? You knew some people in the scene whose work was getting seriously recognized out there.

Meeting them for the first time was an enigmatic experience. Damon was incredibly brash and cocky - not the first theater kid you’ve met in your life. Graham was way more approachable, though also a bit conceited when pushed just right. You wondered if you’d fit in that boys’ club, and decided you wouldn’t be an easy target for discredit or any kind of shit they might give you. “Took me a while to fully get their trust. You’ll do just fine”, Dave said, out of their earshot.

That gave you more fuel to play amazingly well. Damon definitely wasn’t one to be impressed quickly, but he was, when you finished your set. So was Graham - Graham was starry eyed with your performance, actually. Albarn showed you a song and asked you if you could improvise to it, just as you imagined. Of course you could, on the first play. You even suggested some adjustments to its structure. Your feedback was welcomed and noted.

Even though everything went surprisingly well, you still weren't sure if you would be a member of “Seymour”, as they called themselves. (You knew it wasn’t the best name, but you didn’t have a better suggestion at the time so you’ve kept your opinion to yourself.) Graham became eerily quiet out of a sudden and wouldn’t cross eyes with you the entire time you were there. Damon, well, was Damon. Perhaps he thought you were too ordinary and mainstream for deciding to play Beatles when he’s trying to be the new avant-garde Jesus.

But Dave's news was different than you expected. “They really, really enjoyed your audition. As I thought they would.” You can hear the smile in his voice. "When can you rehearse with us?"

Months after, on your first gig as a fully formed and integrated band, Damon was hit in the face by a guy twice his size, Graham vomited onstage and you and Dave had to take care of both. A beautiful way to close the already exquisite day you had, after you fought with your parents, got kicked out of your childhood home and gave up on entering the Royal Academy of Music two days after you received your acceptance letter featuring rave reviews of your entrance exam.

Dealing with these boys - no, grown-ass men - was hard, but not completely unpleasant. If it were totally unpleasant, you wouldn’t give up on your entire life to embark on such an adventure.

You - plural you - were so gifted and Damon’s compositions were so good. You could see that artsy pretentious mess of an act going somewhere. Of course, you were a bit lost in your life, but so were they, as you ran from city to city meeting new people and trying new things in your journey to fame.

Loneliness, once a close friend, became a distant acquaintance. One you didn’t know anymore.

You confess you were getting worried, though, with how much money you had left on your savings and how much you were spending lately now that your parents weren’t an active part of your life. Wanting to eat something you cannot dream of buying without that money being really useful in a much more critical situation, not having nearly enough money to replace something important that broke or got torn off was frustrating. Some basic things became luxuries out of a sudden.

One day in particular, you very briefly mentioned that you were dying to eat a slice of chocolate cake, but your voice was so small and everyone was so immersed in their duties you thought no one gave two shits to what you said. Two days later, Graham arrived late at rehearsal with a small chocolate cake in his hands, handing it over to you like it was a completely ordinary act. Nothing in the way he acted told you he expected a reward, it was so natural and… gentle. You knew no one in your band could buy a chocolate cake without it being apocalyptic to their personal finances during that time.

That day, you were assured by fate that feeling lost together was better than feeling guided alone.

The band finally got on track - strictly musically speaking. Personally speaking, many contemporaries who followed you at parties and other events described you as an ever-growing odd, annoying and intermittently disarming bunch - and Blur and its members became household names, at least in the UK. It became harder and harder everyday to impose yourself as an entire industry and its target public aimed to tear you down. Men couldn’t understand.

(Graham Coxon was the one who tried the hardest to.)

It was four in the morning. You’ve got used to following your bandmates to hospitals, running away from trouble or knowing when to relish in it. But it was the first time you offered yourself to clean up dried blood from one’s face, given how much you hated seeing the fluid and even fainted when younger whenever exposed to it.

You, so delicately, wipe the saline solution-soaked cotton across Graham’s face, who flinches at the cold sensation on his still sensitive skin. He stares at you with the eyes of a child, and you couldn’t help but give him a slight, warm smile in return, which he retributes. Your face conveyed gratitude and affection towards the one you were taking care of. Your hands still struggled to stay completely still after the surge of adrenaline your body received a few hours ago.

Being the only girl in a massive band, and one the music magazines and mainstream media loved sexualizing, meant having paparazzis in your window in odd hours (not that that’s acceptable in any hour, but you had to lower your standards even more these days), meant having different photographers trying to pressure you to get into all kinds of uncomfortable angles with skimpy-ass dresses and just count on the intervention of your fellow bandmates so they would stop, also having invasive male fans who would try to harass you in any way they could.

Of course the day where one of your bandmates would get into a fist fight with one of these men inserted into these categories would come. And even though they were all protective of you, each in their own peculiar, increasingly contradictory way, Graham’s dedication to it was sometimes commendable.

You were making your way through a small corridor of people on your way to the stage when a random guy cupped one of your breasts. It’s not like the venue was incredibly tight, it could not have been on accident and it made your blood boil. You turned around to scream at him, and Graham, who was just behind you, threw a punch directly towards the man’s face, without thinking twice.

And oh boy, took a lot of people and a sweet amount of time to separate the two after that.

After all was said and done, Graham had a few scratches, a black eye and a cut brow. He kept dodging your many “sorrys”, “you didn’t have to do this” and other expressions of guilt. “You have nothing to be sorry about, he deserved it”, he kept assuring you, like a mantra, just giving in to your pleas when you supplicated to take care of his wounds during intermission and after the show.

“I get why you did what you did, Gra. I hate that you took such a risk because of me, but I understand.” you say, voice cracking from not using it for a while after spending some good minutes in complete silence taking care of him. “However,” you soak another cotton ball in the saline solution a roadie got you, punctuating the word with a squeeze to the cotton to remove excess liquid. “I was worried sick about you. What if he… had a knife or something? You could’ve got seriously injured. Or killed.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m perfectly able to have a good fight,” after wincing from the contact of the cold wet cotton with his dried blood, he purses his lips in a forced, shy smile, trying to light up the mood. He notices your hands are still shaking from the adrenaline, and takes one of them in his bigger ones, trying to calm you down. The fact that he did this for you, coupled with the fear and how tired you felt of having to go through that kind of situation once again, made you cry-laugh from how overwhelmed you felt.

His expression changes to one of pure compassion in an instant. “Hey, don’t--oh my,” he gets up from his chair to embrace you as you pour your frustrations through fat tears running down his shoulder.

“It’s so exhausting,” you mumble, through sobs. “Now I’m putting you in danger too. I feel like I did and I’m still doing everything wrong. I should be the one giving you a shoulder to cry on.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong! Anything at all, I promise you,” he says, tenderly, running his hands through your hair, still holding you tight. “It was his fault! I decided it was the right thing to do. You’re worth the risk. What people have been putting you through is unacceptable.”

“I’m not worth the risk!” You break apart from his arms, trying to get your point across. “What would I do without you if someone killed you? You need to be more careful!”

The silence hangs heavy between you two thanks to the weight of your words.

“You should’ve asked me before you lunged at him, at least. I don’t know.” You wipe your many tears as you move towards the nearest bottle of water to try to calm yourself down. “It’ll never end. I’m so afraid that these situations will get even worse. That,” you motion at his wounds and dirty clothes, “is a bloody tragedy. It’s a tragedy things escalated to this point. You can’t do that forever.”

“This is just a consequence. And something I would do for you in a heartbeat whenever necessary.”

“Graham, I don’t want you to get hurt because--”

“They hurt you. I won’t let you go through that alone. Besides,” he comes closer to you again. “As I already told you, I can take care of myself, most of the time.” He takes your face in his hands, his fingers so delicately running across your cheeks to dry your tears. You knew that gesture wasn’t his way of asking you for anything you weren’t ready to give him yet. He just wanted you to feel safe. “And I want to take care of you.”

“I’m the one cleaning your wounds.”

“A great partnership, I think.” Coxon chuckles softly, and finally gets a smile out of you. As he always does. “And they make me look cool, don’t you think?”

“Shut up.” You giggle, still feeling too emotional to return to the stage. You sigh: “Thank you for being there for me. You know I’m still not very used to it. Just please be safe.”

The roadie returns, a little flustered by interrupting your little moment together. “5 minutes and you’re back, guys.”

“Okay!” You both turn to answer her.

“I’ll be. No need to thank me for anything, Y/N.” He answers, giving your forehead a little kiss. “Let’s go.”

“Give me two minutes. I’ll be right behind you.”

“What’s it like, being the only woman in the band?”

Four eyerolls at once don’t seem to faze the interviewer. She waits for your response.

Apparently the thousand invasive questions regarding Damon’s love life and the same bullshit treatment of women as either rare specimen or sex dolls is what pleases the audience of music TV shows these days.

“What do you think?” is what you say.

“Must be a thrill to have these beautiful boys around you all the time. And we’ve heard you never even took advantage of it!”

You don’t like where this is heading. “Is that… a bad thing? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Perhaps some of our lady viewers might think it is. No judgement though!” She raises her hands. “You do you, it’s just that it’s quite unexpected to see prudes in non-Christian bands. I mean… from what we’ve heard.”

“I’m sorry? What are you trying to say? What did you hear?”

Her tongue clicks while she stares at you with defiance and mischief on her eyes, as she goes a little further and raises her voice so it can overlay yours. “Oh love. You do know what I’m talking about. There’s no need to be ashamed of being a virgin.”

Your cheek burns intensely and the only thing you wished for was for the ground to swallow you whole. Dave and Graham are especially uncomfortable. Damon’s a bit amused. The three knew almost everything there was to know about you. The one topic that surprisingly they didn’t know about is that you’re still a virgin.

They know you’ve been single for a long time. They know that’s part of what draws so much attention and twisted lore regarding you and your past, but that’s not something they felt they needed to know about you at all, and you truly never felt the need to comment about that with any of them, and they haven’t asked. Not even Mr. “the way to be successful in this game is to make all the boys wanna be you and all the girls wanna sleep with you. In your case that’d work in reverse” Damon Albarn.

“Is that even something that should be discussed in an interview about our music? Is that what your boss told you to ask her about?” Dave answers, his tone venomous.

“Musicians are way more than just music. You’re entertainment in every sense of the word.”

“Who told you that about me?” You asked, not sure if you want to know the answer.

“A lovely elderly lady who lives in Elgin Crescent. She knows you so well.”

That’s your mum. That’s how far low your relationship has degraded. You’re not surprised. That doesn’t feel less like a punch on your gut, but you don’t feel like tumbling again. Not today.

“I know who you’re talking about. Tell her I asked her to go fuck herself and burn in hell. In that order.”

“But that’s your--”

“Yes, she is my mum!” If people are going to expose you anyway, then why don’t you do it on your terms? “We’re truly entertainment in every sense of the word, aren’t we. Not everyone’s mum’s a cunt. Some of us aren’t that lucky.”

“You want to be the next Gallagher sister with the spicy remarks?”

“Not sure. But I do want to be the last person you ever get to interview.”

The management of the band wasn’t at all surprised your interview became UK’s topic of the week. People were heavily divided between family is family and we shouldn’t hate our relatives and blood isn’t everything, family can be shitty too. Your bandmates were proud of you. The management was angry but tried to understand, and didn’t press you for further explanations. They suggested a two-week break from everything so Blur could rest their image and start a fresh cycle after that, and you gracefully accepted it.

The whole thing seemed so ridiculous the more you thought about it. Did your mum tell the reporter about that gratuitously? What was their conversation like? How did that even happen?

You became the butt of jokes in some places. You saw other famous people doing challenges between them, countdowns, all sorts of crude remarks. What a pathetic, sad chapter of your career.

You dial Graham, and you feel like your heart was about to burst out of your chest.

“Hey, Gra. It’s me.”

“Hey, Y/N.” He sounds pleasantly surprised. “How's it going?”

“Better, I guess. I have to take my mind off all that chaos though. Are you available right now?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been owing me a movie night for quite a while now and I miss spending time with you. Wanna come over?”

“Aww. Sure, I--um. Do you want me to bring anything?”

“I’m pretty sure I got everything we need here--ah… I think I don’t have any more beers.”

“I’ll buy some then. See ya in a few minutes.”

Actually, you couldn’t take all that chaos off your mind because that was the only thing in it. You’re feeling so nervous.

The main reasons sex wasn’t a priority for you until now were:

You didn’t have any real opportunities of losing your virginity in your teens. You were impossibly introspective until, like, 3, 4 years ago, and the way your family worked hasn’t really allowed you to get really close to people. Be it boyfriends, girlfriends or just friends. Anything that threatened to take time off the various tasks and classes your parents assigned to you just couldn’t be part of your life. To be honest, you still struggled a bit to form meaningful connections with people thanks to how you grew up.

The moment you stopped being shy, you noticed it was a real man’s world out there, especially in music, classical or not. You didn’t want anyone to think you fucked your way up to the top, you didn’t want any messy affairs. Also, you had yourself, and you didn’t get all of the hype regarding the concept of screwing someone. But apparently there’s a lot you’ve been missing, given the importance people seem to give to it. After that incident, even though you swore to yourself you wouldn’t give in to any kind of misogynistic pressure, that was one that really got under your skin.

You never really found someone who you felt 100% safe with in that sense until the one who’s about to arrive at your house appeared in your life. Bloody hell, and you don’t even have anything romantic going on. By the time you were a Blur member, you’ve fooled around a bit, but not all the way. You knew how to kiss, knew how to touch yourself and even brought manual satisfaction to some random fool you thought you were into one time. But perhaps this is the time to go all the way. Why not? Everyone knew how close you two were. He made you feel special. He was so kind. And gorgeous. And--

You hear a knock on your door. It’s him. Beers in hand, hair somewhat in place, twitchy as ever.

He comes inside and you feel like your legs will give up anytime. It was not the first time he visited you. It was one of many, actually, and he noticed you were acting… different.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He asks after a brief dialogue between you two, after plating some snacks for both of you.

“Graham...” You sigh, being really careful with your words. “What is your perception of me?”

“My perception of you?” He smiles. “I… think you’re great. You’re fun to be around. You’re one of the best musicians I know, if not the best. Why are you asking me that?”

“N-nothing. It’s nothing. Also, I asked the wrong question. What was your first perception of me?”

“Uh… the day of your audition?”

“Exactly. You barely talked to me that day.”

His eyes lower to his own feet. “I was really timid, actually. I wasn’t used to being near any girl, especially one who… w-would spend so much time around me if everything went well.”

You giggle. “I thought you hated me.”

“Never!” his smile turns into a full blown laughter. You melt at his confession. “Also because it seemed like you were trying to read my mind or something.”

“Of course! Because I thought you hated me!” Now that was a laughter you two shared. You do a voice: “‘Why is that pesky girl trying to get in my band?’”

“My goodness, no! I don’t even sound like that - you know what, I changed my mind. You suck. Because, besides the fact you don’t even know what I sound like, you still haven’t told me why you are asking me that in the first place.”

You couldn’t help but notice how he slightly cornered you physically in one of the kitchen corridors. Graham could be really persuasive when he wanted to.

“Okay. Right. Um. I’ve been thinking about some stuff.”

“What, exactly?”

“Everything that happened this month. The great virginity debacle,” you roll your eyes, and he scoffs.

“You don’t own anyone any information about what you do or don't do with your life. Everyone’s being so invasive. That was incredibly childish of the reporter to do, and we talked about that hundreds of times.”

“Yeah, but… you know what, forget it.”

“Tell me, Y/N. I just said that because I want you to know you were not in the wrong.”

“I know. It’s just… I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s silly for me to… keep closing myself for affection. Any kind of affection.”

“What are you talking about?” His brows furrowed in curiosity.

“I’m not sure if it’s the pressure that finally got under my skin, but… I’m willing to learn what all the fuss is about. Maybe it’s silly that I’m still a virgin.”

He bites his lips, still processing what you just said, expression unreadable. Perhaps you’ve treaded a ground you shouldn’t. You step back both literally and figuratively. “I’m sorry I even brought that up--”

“No, no, don’t be.” He assures you. “I’m just… surprised, that’s all. I swear.”

“And...” You know what. You already went too far, so why not go all the way. You’ve already gone way past the point of no return. “I was wondering if… you would… popmycherry?”

His eyes widen, yours still closed. When you finally open them, he’s closer to you again.

If his head was a machine, you’re sure it would be releasing lots of steam and shaking due to overprocessing. You felt like you just ruined everything.

“Y/N, you don’t need to do it if you don’t really want to.”

“But I want it! At first I thought I didn’t, but then I thought...”

“I don’t want to be part of that if you’re just doing it to fulfill weird expectations.”

“But it’s not that. Not just... that. I asked about your perception of me because I really like you, Gra. I think we should be more than friends and I wanted to know what you think about me. And I want to know what the fuss is about, yes, but I’m not telling you that just so I can lose my virginity to prove some point. I’m telling you that because I like you, I want to kiss you, and I think it would be a great idea if you showed me what it’s like. Y-you know, sex.”

“I-I can’t believe it. Did you even have any movie in mind?” His smile’s back, but you’re still not confident about what his answer will be.

“I didn’t. I’m sorry. You don’t have to--”

He sighs. “I was in love with you the moment I first saw you, actually.” He says it like he’s releasing a huge load out of his back, his arms crossed. Now your eyes widen, and you hold your breath without even noticing. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I know how you feel, or, felt about relationships, so… there wasn’t any reason for me to tell you that. And what I said about being timid was just half of the truth.”

“Huh?”

“I also was really intimidated by how pretty you looked. You can’t imagine how.”

“No way.”

“It’s true. I felt like I wasn’t even worthy of looking at you, really.”

“You’re joking. That’s mean, Gra.”

“I’m not. I’m really not.” He doesn’t look like he is joking. He looks relieved. “I’m really not. That’s why I’m so surprised by your request.”

“I’m nothing special.”

“You are everything to me. But I can’t accept your offer, not now.”

“Are you… seeing someone? Am I too late?”

“No. Definitely not. I just want you to be sure you’re not doing it because people are saying you should.”

“Graham, I’m a grown woman.”

“I know.”

Graham carefully presses his slightly chapped lips to yours, kissing you for a few precious, heart stopping seconds before pulling away; his voice is impossibly silky when he suggests, “Let’s watch a movie. How about The Godfather? I heard it’s airing tonight. Then, if in two weeks you don’t change your mind, tell me and I’ll be glad to help you with what you want. Do we have a deal?”

“That’s so unfair. I want you so bad.” You whisper.

“Tell me if you still do in two weeks.”

You sigh, defeated. “...Deal.”

You definitely notice the subtle shift in Graham’s personality and actions after that fateful night. If you were already close, both figuratively and literally, it now seemed like he would use any excuse to always touch you, be near you, sometimes tease you. The shift was subtle, though, don’t forget it’s still Graham Coxon we’re talking about - the constant “is it okay if”s or “is it alright if I”s were still there, as careful as ever. You don’t even talk about your deal that entire time, or even kiss again - sometimes you wondered if it was even real or just a fabrication of your mind.

The way he now caressed your hand discreetly when you listened to Damon’s ramblings, the way his hands now went directly to your waist when your games became too handsy, the way he seemed to be madly in love with everything you were and still are from the start - made you realize you were ready for this man to be a consistent part of your life.

The dust of the controversy was settled, and your own intentions were 100% clear to you now. The societal pressure has waned. The need for Graham to be your first persisted. After exactly 2 weeks have passed, you call him again, yearning to share the answer with him.

One beep.

Two beeps.

Three beeps.

Four beeps. “Hello?”

You release a sigh hidden deep inside of your lungs. “Graham, it’s Y/N.”

“Oh. It’s been two weeks.” You could hear the contemplative tone of his voice.

“...Yeah. That’s precisely the reason I’m calling you.”

“Do you still want to…?”

“...Desperately.”

“Ok.” He chuckles, flustered as hell on the other side of the phone, probably one of the prettiest sounds you’ve ever heard. “Right. Ok. Your place or mine?”

“I think there’ll be an element of mystery if I go to your place this time.” You lose some of the constraints this silly shyness has been tying you on. “Do you have everything we might need there?”

“We don’t need a dungeon, you know.”

“The basics.” You make your smile heard.

“I do have… I do have the basics.”

“See you in a few minutes then.”

“Will you want to… ease into it? Or just go straight to it?”

“God, don’t make it awkward!” Your cheeks burn, your smile turning into contagious laughter. “Maybe… I don’t know. Ease into it, I guess? A movie night… but with s-something else?”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

“Alright then. See you.”

“See you.”

You don’t choose any particularly fancy or sexy clothes, instead settling for a slightly oversized yellow striped shirt he gave you as a birthday present some months ago and some skirt that fit you well. He wasn’t one to lavish his loved ones with gifts all the time, but few things were as precious as the look on his face whenever he saw you wearing something he gave you or, hell, even eating something he paid for you. You’re thrilled to see it again when he opens the door for you, it easing some of your deepest doubts.

2001: A Space Odyssey is already playing on the TV when you arrive. Despite it being one of your favorite movies of all time, and his, you’re not mad it was already halfway through when you arrived. It wasn’t your main priority to rewatch it for the 17th time tonight.

He offers you some wine, which you accept to ease the nerves. You sit on his couch, and he shares the cozy space with you, now mindlessly throwing one of his arms around your shoulders. You cuddle up to him, and everything seems peaceful in the world for a while.

The tip of his fingers softly caress your lifted knee, absentmindedly. You couldn’t help but notice how well his body fits with yours, how your skin was apparently made for him to touch, and the anxiety rumbles in your stomach like a storm in a wild wavy sea. After some minutes, you raise your head, his big brown eyes meeting yours as if asking you a silent question. You leaned up a bit more to press your lips to his, in a silent answer. The sweetness in him makes this moment as precious as every other moment you ever shared with him. His hands enter your hair, making you shiver a bit from the unfamiliarity and the electricity of it all - but it doesn’t sway you from deepening the kiss, wanting more of his taste, more of this, more of him.

“Do you wanna take this to the bed?” He whispers, after noticing your moans were becoming more frequent and needy. You nod, and you are taken by surprise when he carries you bridal style to it, hiding your excited giggles in his broad shoulders.

Graham wasn’t exactly the most organized man in the world - so the fact that his bedroom was now impossibly tidy was something that positively caught your attention. He put some planning into this. He lays you down and you part your legs, beckoning him to meet you between them. He does, and you go back to the breathtaking makeout session. You notice he’s holding himself back a bit, taking his time, his warm tongue moving smoothly, not hurriedly, against yours. His self control falters a bit though, given how he can’t stop grinding against you. You follow the rhythm of his hips a bit timidly and not nearly as in sync as you’d really like, though the pressure his covered cock is creating against your core can already be felt and some particular thrusts are able to fill at least partially the aching, wet need growing within you.

“How do you feel about oral?” He asks, breath warm near your ear, his voice raspy and spent by his desire for you.

“Um… It would be my first time receiving or doing it.”

“Would you like me to go down on you?”

“Wow. I never thought I would hear you saying something like that.” You smile, still assimilating the situation you’re in, trying not to show how badly his voice is affecting you. “Sure.”

“I never thought I would get to propose this to you. Aren’t we full of surprises lately.” He smiles back, warmly. He notices your hands trembling a bit from how anxious you are while you’re taking off your underwear with his help, and as he lowers himself to where you need him most, he takes your hands in his as an act of reassurance. “Tell me what you like. Tell me if what I’m doing works for you. I want this to be a great experience.”

“You want me to get addicted to you, that’s what you want,” He chuckles, lovingly kissing your thigh as a reply. “Okay, Gra. Guess I’ll find out along the way.”

You quickly take a peak below you to see the lower half of his face disappear in the middle of your thighs. The sight alone sets your fire ablaze, as he hooks his arms around your thighs and lifts you closer to his mouth, his lips ghosting over the curls between your legs tantalizingly and his breath catching when your hips jerk forward.

As he begins his ministrations, you immediately notice it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. That feeling was completely alien to you. It was even wetter than you expected, and weird, but powerfully pleasant. Before this exact moment, you had a firm belief that hardly anyone else would make you feel the same way, or better, than you do yourself, but apparently you were very wrong. Thankfully you were wrong. “My god,” you gasp as the flat of his tongue drags over your folds, too much and not enough, and you jerk at the contact. “This is great. So weird, but-- great.”

He moans at your response, his movements carefully enthusiastic. He works his tongue between your folds and traces up to curl the tip of it around your clit, and it’s quite endearing and madly arousing to see how he eats out you like you’re the sweetest and tastier dessert he has ever tasted. You involuntarily buck against him with a desperate sound the moment he moves his tongue and lips in a particularly wicked way, something that definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by him, but you still feel the need to highlight in case it didn’t - “That. Keep doing that, please,”

And he does. The building of this climax is also different than the ones you already had by your own hands, and is more coy. As he sees the drops of sweat sliding along your soft skin and the expressions on your face as you get lost in this new but enchanting sensations, his hesitation and self-control fades away; there’s nothing uncertain in the way he buries his face in your cunt now, nothing restrained in the groan he lets out as he devours you and drinks you down as if you’re the first stream of water he has seen in days.

His tongue glides deeper in your folds again and again, swirling up through the wetness you’re coated with to tease at your clit while he grunts and strains closer, squeezing your thighs with both hands tight. The wave of heat inside of you is cresting so fast, you don't even know how to tell him, how to signal that you’re nearly done for and, in the end, it happens too fast to even try. He sucks at your clit, circling it with his tongue, once, twice, and then you’re crying out, shaking underneath him, trying to keep your thighs from clenching too hard around his head as he laps you through it with with urgent whimpers and moans, as if he cannot have enough of you.

You’re still trembling when he rises, the look on his face revealing to you how proud he feels by making you feel this way. It looks so good on him.

You fail miserably at the simple task of connecting words together after that, choosing instead to collect your remaining strength, prop yourself up and beckon him again to keep kissing him and learn, through his talented tongue, how you taste. He kisses the thin fabric of the shirt at your chest that covers you from view, your throat, your jaw, and before he reaches your impatient lips, he notes, sinfully, “Seems like you enjoyed yourself, love.”

“That was… unbelievable. Stars, I want to make you feel good too. Please show me how.”

“Keep kissing me,” he begs, voice still strained from how aroused he is. “I want to be inside you so bad. Let’s get you prepared.” You’re still so sensitive, you tread on overstimulation when his fingers lightly touch your clit, making you break the kiss in a hiss. He traces a line on your folds, inspecting the impact his mouth had on you. “So wet for me.”

“Bit slower, Gra,” He complies to your breathy plea, his fingers now more tame as he slowly spreads your wetness throughout your pussy. He stretches towards the nightstand to grab a bottle of lube, interrupting his contact to spread some on his fingers before unhurriedly slipping his middle finger inside of you. The coldness of the gel makes you shiver in surprise, the easiness brought by it very welcomed. Again - the sensation is odd. Completely unfamiliar. The feeling of having something inside of you for the first time, going further than you ever dared to try, probing, exploring; the coldness of the lube clashing against your burning hot cunt. But it also felt nice. The focused look on his face was adorable, he looked like he was a scientist in the middle of very complex research.

Despite the panting, the messy hair and the fire in his eyes.

Your body already has a lot of new sensations to process simultaneously, so when he asks you to take off your bra and shirt so his tongue can work on your nipples - which you gladly accept, you feel like you’re on sensual overload. His tongue, again, so talented, takes your mind off the slight burning you feel when he introduces his ring finger to your soaked, throbbing core, his focused, carefully overpowering and constant stimulation driving you insane.

“Does it feel good?” He asks, voice muffled by your breast. You nod, carried by the wave of pleasure sweeping you.

“Yes. God, yes.” You pant, tangling your fingers tightly on his thick hair as an encouragement, a desperate sound escaping from your lips the moment he reaches a certain point within you you didn’t even know existed, hot mouth continuing to lick and suck your nipple. Even though you were spent by your last orgasm, he was indeed getting you addicted to those new feelings, and even though this was heavenly, truly heavenly, you needed more. “Gra, I’m ready, I think.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Please.”

Releasing your nipple from his lips with a sounding pop, he eagerly frees himself from his trousers - hard as a brick - and puts protection and lubrication on, swiftly positioning himself between your thighs while stroking himself to the sight in front of him. You motion to take off your skirt, and he holds your hand, not letting you. “Don’t. It’ll be really hot to fuck you in this.” He confesses, giving your forehead a kiss in a very different context than before. He aligns his forehead with yours, each of your lips just barely touching while you breathe each other’s air. He looks deep into your eyes, slowly running the tip of his cock between the slick folds of your pussy, coating himself in the remnants of your pleasure. “Do you trust me?”

You trust me to know your limits? Not to go any further if you don’t really want me to?

“Absolutely.”

The only response you get from him is a shuddering, helpless moan into your mouth and you hold him tighter to you, grinding your still sensitive cunt up against his cock while he pulls hard at the soft fur next to your head. You feel your soaking pussy lips part around the solid curve of his length and gradually coat the underside of him in slick with every gentle circle and roll your hips make, as he finally pulls away from your mouth to drop his forehead to your neck. He then, very slowly, penetrates you, stopping when he hears the noises you make indicating you’re struggling to adjust to his presence. Out of everything you’ve felt in the last minutes, this was by far the most painful sensation. “This-- is new,” you note, your face completely incapable of hiding the discomfort. He also notices that.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

“It’s okay. I’ll get used to it.”

“It’s not supposed to be about endurance, you know.” He says, a bit breathless and worried, caressing your hair. “Tell me when it’s okay to move. Or if you feel too much pain.”

After some long seconds and some deep breaths, you say: “Okay. Go on.”

“As you wish.”

He moves inside you at a very slow pace, the lubrication clearly making it easier for you to handle it. It still hurts, significantly, but the sensation of being filled is also surprisingly arousing.

His hand moves to your sensitive clit again in small, measured circles, your little moans being a mixture of the pain of penetration and the sheer ecstasy of seeing him falling apart because of you. The way his chest heaves while the drops of sweat start pearling his fair skin, the furrowed brows and broken groans, the thickness of him as he rests heavy up against your entrance, the way his voice presses deliciously tight in his throat as he gasps out into the quiet room - everything’s making your chest burst in love and satisfaction. You tighten your grip around him and roll your hips up into his cock, letting it break you open nice and slow; it stretches you wide with a deliciously sharp fullness and pleasure rips through you, and Graham becomes even more vocal as he picks up a steady and gradually faster pace. He turned all of your keys, it’s about time you turn some of his.

“Graham, deeper,” you whimper, continuing to tighten your legs and hoist yourself up, lifting your hips to take his cock deeper inside you. His name rips itself from your throat while Coxon clenches his jaw and starts to lose himself in the pleasure, holding you down into the bed while he allows your desperation to guide him to the perfect angle and speed to sate you. He found denying you to be impossible.

He snarls and curses as he holds you down and rails you, determined to make you sing again before he finishes, and to his delight, your heightened sensitivity gives him what he wants. And this time, he couldn't hold on.

Graham kisses you one last time as he groans and gives in, head dropping to your neck again. You didn’t reach a second climax, but stars, what an experience you just had.

When he comes back to himself enough to realise he still had you practically folded in half, he carefully pulls his softening cock free, taking the condom off and taking the strands of hair out of your face as you struggle to catch your breath. You suggest a shared bath, a suggestion he gladly accepts.

Too tired and too sore for pillow talk, comfortable silence falls as your hand finds his, and you lay, listening to each other’s breathing slowly settle.

I could get used to his little snore on my chest, is the last thought that twinkles on your mind before you fall asleep snuggled with him.

#graham coxon #alex james #damon albarn #dave rowntree #blur #britpop #smut #imagine #reader insert #graham coxon x reader #graham x reader #y/n #fluff #au #fanfiction #blur band

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mhdiaries · 4 years

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Boo York, Boo York – Gala Ghoulfriends Luna Mothews Diary

My Boo York Adventure-logue

9/30 08:23:52

There were butterflies tickling my belly when I watched the bus pull into the terminal, but now that I’m on my way, I’m flittery with excitement! I think Pops was more nervous than I was. But that’s my Pops for ya: thinking I’m his little caterpillar while totes understanding that I have to spread my wings! Mom kept him from chewing on his collar by reminding him that it’s not like it’s on the other side of the moon - it’s an easy flight for them from my hometown in Boo Jersey. If I didn’t have my luggage weighed down with all my dance shoes and theatre makeup, I’d have flapped over myself. But I’m strangely looking forward to seeing the frights through this grimy bus window the way a wingless monster would; speeding down the Tombpike, going through the Lurkin’ Tunnel, and then hopping a subway train to Times Scare... that’s a real adventure!

Boo York, Boo York! I can hardly believe it! I’m on my way! The lights of Bloodway are luring me. I’m gonna be a star!

9/30 10:37:13

Road travel takes some getting used to - for one thing, it takes for-EVER! Not literally, but I’m still on this bus and I could have flown to the city and back many times by now. And for a second thing, the monsters on this bus are way booring! I think they think they should just sit in their seats and keep to themselves and be polite and stuff. Some of them actually scowled at me when I started convos with them, so I pulled out my guitar and started playing. That really horrified them. It was like they didn’t even want to sing along when I started giving them their assignments! The ogre in the front punctuated his lyrics with growls, but he wasn’t half bad; however, the werecat across the aisle from him was surprisingly high-pitched and breathy. I had to pull her out of her fur, but I got her harmonizing pretty well after a few verses. And once I got half-a-dozen singing, a few others joined in. Plus, a few other monsters pulled out their own instruments. Before long, I had a whole chorus going and everyone started enjoying themselves. Well, everyone except that one ghost, but he was just mad because everyone was treating him like he was invisible.

9/30 11:56:33

I made it to the city and I’m not in the subway waiting for the train. Almost there! Just a few more trains and buses to go. I’m thriller-ed by how many of my bus-mates followed me to my train platform just so we could keep jammin’, but some of them freaked when they realized they were missing their own trains and ran off/flew off/slithered off/evaporated. But that’s ok, because there are already a lot of performers down here singing and dancing and making balloon monsters. It’s spooktacular, and I haven’t even made it up to street level yet!

9/30 15:12:12

Oh, my Pod! 42nd Screech is everything I ever dreamed of! The marquees of all the shows make my antennae tingle with excitement. When I’m a singer on Bloodway, I will go from moth-ghoul to moth-greatness! I’m already having so much fun. As soon as I got off the last bus, I met some fangtastic monsters from Monster High: Draculaura, Frankie, Cleo, Deuce, Clawdeen and Operetta. Oh, and also, Nefera and Toralei. I’m very good at remembering names - I’m sure that’s a sign I’ll be good at remembering my lines too - and I love making new friends wherever I go. I think it’s called networking. Now, to find a job or three.

9/30 17:26:47

Nailed my first audition! So what if it was for a pizza place? Pizza is very popular in Boo York, and a ghoul’s gotta start somewhere. I’ve got a costume and everything - just call me Luna Motheroni. Hah! No, don’t. It pays me in *dough*! Get it? That cracked Pops up when I called him on my iCoffin to tell him his little gypsy moth is settling in nicely. I think I’ll try out some of these lines as I pass out the flyers for the Comet-special combo. Maybe if I get some laughs, I’ll try my wing at stand up too. It’s not Bloodway, but it’d still be on a stage, right?

9/30 20:14:33

Lovin’ all this “cometness.” Monsters are shooting by me like zany stars in a sparkling universe! All the food joints have crazy, comet-fied specials going on. Being a moth, I’m a huge cotton candy fan. Make it wormhole-themed, and it’s like a flame that I can’t resist. I’m also diggin’ the street music. There’s a clawesine DJ across the way. I can only catch glimpses through the crowd, but I think she’s a robot with some kind of holographic keyboard or whatever. However, I can hear her load and clear, and she’s certainly making passing out flyers more of a toe-tapper than an energy-zapper. Although, no one’s ever accused me of lacking ene......

(oh, zap! got totes distracted by a laser light beaming off the DJ ghoul)

lacking energy. Now that it’s getting dark, all of the lights are getting kinda intense. They’re so bootiful, I’m attracted to all of them. I’m fearly going to have to concentrate and maintain focus. It’s good pract..... practice for when I’m in the spotlight on Bloodway.

10/1 14:42:59

Day of the Comet, Beasties! Got a gig selling boovineers. I project my lines to the frightseers passing by and try to gain an audience, then my co-seller does the rest and rings up their order. I’ve tried singing my lines, making up rhymes, doing a little improv with the customers. I think I have a knack for this. And later I’m going to be working the fancy Comet Gala at the Museum of Unnatural History! I’ll be passing out gore d’oeuvres to some of the city’s most powerful monsters. Maybe I’ll even make some connections to theatre producers, but, if not, i’m sure I’ll have a good time. Just seeing all the different characters who have been invited will be fangtastic. Pops called to check in and when I told him everything I’ve done already and that I’ll be catering tonight, he laughed and said he thinks there must have been a mix-up at the hospital because, instead of a moth-ghoul, he seems to have raised a busy-bee. He’s kind of a moth-ball, but I love him.

10/1 19:02:40

This gala is “ah-maze-ing”! That Mouscedes’ fave word. She’s a rat-ghoul I met here. She’s some kind of princess and she’s way Upper Beast Side, but she’s so nice. I never knew there was so much to learn about cheese! I had a variety of die-lish cheese puffs on my loaded down tray - gore-gonzola, aged ghoulda, fetid - I tried them all before my shift started and they were yum! But when I offered them to Mouscedes, she asked me if they were cheeseless cheese puffs, and I told her they weren’t even puffless cheese puffs, so then we started chatting and I learned she doesn’t do cheese. I told her to stay away from my Pops then, because his sense of humor was pretty cheesy! That’s when she told me her Pops was the Rat King of Boo York! I’m not sure what that means but it sounds impressive! I had to get back to work, but Mouscedes said maybe we could get a coffincino some time. I told her I already bounce off the walls without drinking those, but I’d love to just fang out and she agreed.

10/2 00:13:17

I guess you could say things took an otherworldly turn tonight! The lights of Bloodway drew me to exactly where I needed to be, just in time to help my new friends... AND I got to be on stage with Catty Noir, one of my fave singers! It doesn’t get more fangtastic than that! I think it’s ok to say my future of stardom shows promise! Speaking of promise, we all made it back to the Museum of Unnatural History in time for the comet to arrive in Boo York, and that brought some surprises of its own. Well, one surprise anyway. And she was stellar! I’m not saying I won’t ever get homesick, but I think coming to Boo York was a bright move. I’ve only been here for 2 days and I’ve already had a few fun jobs, performed on stage, and, beast of all, made new friends. Look out world, I’m ready to fly!

#monster high #monster high diary #boo york boo york #gala ghoulfriends #luna mothews

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zrtranscripts · 3 years

Text

Radio Abel, Season Eight

Part 5 of 5

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I don't know if it's just because New Canton's at the center of the government in the UK -

ZOE CRICK: I'm still getting used to that.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - but now that I think about it, people do seem to be putting more effort into the way they dress these days.

ZOE CRICK: I've noticed that. For a while, I thought it was because people wanted to spruce themselves up for the royal visits, but King Jamie hasn't been visiting as much since Amelia left for... for whatever it is she's doing, and people are still looking rather flamboyant.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: One of the cooks makes his own hats out of food wrappers.

ZOE CRICK: Exactly. People are having fun, and they're less worried about looking cool than they were before the apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think those hats are cool!

ZOE CRICK: That's the point. Taste is much more subjective now. [laughs] We don't have TV or newspapers, and it still takes half an hour to send a picture over ROFFLEnet, so it's harder to follow trends. People are using their imaginations instead.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Speaking of imagination, here's a track by someone with lots of it.

ZOE CRICK: Maybe Z-Day’s made self-expression more important, not less. We can't control the V-types, and we might be confined to our settlements most of the time, but we can decide how we look, so people go to great lengths to execute their vision. It's like how women in pre-apocalyptic prisons used to improvise cosmetics out of Smarties and shoe polish.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: How do you know what women used to do in prison?

ZOE CRICK: Oh, I was talking to Maxine about it.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Dr. Maxine has been to prison?!

ZOE CRICK: No, she... [sighs] That's not the point. I'm saying that for a lot of people, clothes, hair, and makeup are important creative outlets now that we're restricted in other ways. They also help people feel normal, now that -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - now that V-types are roaming across the UK.

ZOE CRICK: Exactly.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] Here's a song to make us all feel a bit more normal.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Imagine if Vogue was still in print. Do you think they'd employ zombie models?

ZOE CRICK: Yeah, with headlines like, “Gray is the New Black.” [laughs] They might struggle to find advertisers.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Okay, business side might be a bit tricky to sort out. What about the editorial?

ZOE CRICK: They'd have post-apocalyptic fashion tips.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: “The Best Looks to Scavenge this Season.”

ZOE CRICK: “Make Your Own Makeup.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: “10 Ways to Wear a Sports Bra.”

ZOE CRICK: Not sure about that one, Phil.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Okay, yeah, there’s probably just one way to wear a sports bra.

ZOE CRICK: As far as I know.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: The other ideas were good, though. Well, maybe we should think of other style tips for our listeners.

ZOE CRICK: Why not? [laughs] Here's a song to get our creative juices flowing.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Listeners, Zoe and I tried to come up with fashion tips, but this isn't our area of expertise.

ZOE CRICK: Speak for yourself.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: All your ideas involve drawing cats on things.

ZOE CRICK: That's not true. I also suggested embroidering cats on things.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: My point, listeners, is that maybe Zoe and I could use your help. Send us your post-apocalyptic fashion tips.

ZOE CRICK: We'll be sharing them right after this.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Welcome back to Radio New Hope, where we're sharing tips on how to stay stylish in the zombie apocalypse.

ZOE CRICK: A lot of the suggestions we've had so far come from runners who need to be able to move quickly, evade zoms, and stay comfortable on long runs.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You might think, as I did only a few minutes ago, that running is not compatible with expressing yourself through fashion, but you'd be wrong.

ZOE CRICK: Indeed, there are lots of ways to have fun with your running gear that don't affect speed or safety. Even if you're out by yourself and no one else can see you, a little bit of flare can lift your mood and make you feel more like yourself.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Running On Sunshine suggests, “Novelty shoe laces are a fun way of adding color to your running outfit. You can often loot them from the children's section of sports or shoe shops, but they're also easy to make from a sturdy ribbon. Use a bit of tape or wax for the aglet.”

ZOE CRICK: Just be sure to tuck your new laces into your shoes the next time you visit the kitten pen.

ZOE CRICK: Today on Radio New Hope, we're taking suggestions on how to jazz up your running gear.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: This next step is one for more creative runners, and it comes from Art Rate.

ZOE CRICK: Art Rate?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, like heart rate, because they're a runner, but also an artist.

ZOE CRICK: [sighs] I don't know if we should be reading out people's usernames. We're just encouraging bad puns.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: This episode is about self-expression, Zoe, whatever form it takes, even terrible puns.

ZOE CRICK: Hmm. What does Art Rate have to say for themselves?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: “Decorate your running outfit with permanent marker, embroidery, and whatever embellishments you can get your hands on. As long as your number is still clearly visible to your comms operator, there's no limit to what you can do. Wearing something that truly reflects your personality can give you motivation on the most difficult runs.”

ZOE CRICK: That's a nice idea. I'll forgive the pun.

ZOE CRICK: Progressive Runner writes, “Hi Phil, where did you get a Dream Theater T-shirt? I'm also a fan of prog metal and have been on several runs to find old gig venues to see if there are any T-shirts left. Unfortunately, all I've found are hordes of zombified metal heads. I used to love a good mosh pit before the apocalypse, but it's just not the same when everyone's trying to bite you.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, first off Progressive Runner, please stop putting your life at risk in pursuit of merch. It's not worth it, and that's not what the bands would have wanted.

ZOE CRICK: Especially since they no longer make money from T-shirt sales.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Exactly, which is why I don't mind letting you know that my T-shirt is a fake. Before the apocalypse, touring musicians relied on the merch stand to support themselves, but now that most of them are dead, it's no longer unethical to make knock-offs.

ZOE CRICK: Did you make your T-shirt, Phil?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: One of Amelia's stylists did. She's very handy with the fabric paints.

ZOE CRICK: Oh? What did you give her in exchange?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I had to promise to play this next song.

ZOE CRICK: What's our next fashion tip, Phil?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, it's more of a PSA. “Hi Phil and Zoe, I run Support Network, a sports bra exchange service. We travel between settlements to provide runners with the best fitting sports bras. Simply visit our message board on ROFFLEnet, tell us which sizes your settlement has and which they need. It might take us a while to get to you, but we have a huge selection of style and color in every size. For some reason, post-apocalyptic Britain has no shortage of sports bras.” That's a great initiative, don't you think, Zoe? [keyboard clicks] Zoe?

ZOE CRICK: Sorry. I was just posting a request to their message board. Fellow sports bra wearers of New Canton, I suggest you do the same.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And while you do that, here's a song about sharing.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Our next post-apocalyptic style tip comes from In Stitches, who says, “Here are just a few reasons why knitting is one of the most valuable skills you can learn in the post apocalypse.”

ZOE CRICK: “One, you don't necessarily need to send runners off in search of equipment. Knitting needles can be whittled from sticks, and if your settlement has sheep, wool is a renewable resource.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: “Two, the act of knitting has many cognitive, therapeutic, and - if you join a knitting circle - social benefits.”

ZOE CRICK: “Three, designing knitting patterns can be a great creative outlet, and since they can be conveyed using just symbols, they can be quickly shared over ROFFLEnet.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: “Four, larger needles can double as anti-zom weapons, as long as you aim for the eyes and remember to clean the blood off them before you get back to your knitting. The last thing you want is to make an infectious jumper by mistake.”

ZOE CRICK: That's, uh, resourceful. We'll be back with more fashion right after this.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: If knitting's not your thing, our next correspondent has a great idea for making some stylish winter clothes. “Next time you're out on a supply run, make a detour to a toy shop and pick up some plushies. A little reverse taxidermy - "

ZOE CRICK: Oh no!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Plushies aren't real animals, Zoe.

ZOE CRICK: I know, but I couldn't look one in the eye and take out its stuffing.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh... our less sensitive listeners can use this method to generate bundles of fake fur, a versatile fabric that'll help you stay warm and, thanks to the pre-apocalyptic trend for cuddly unicorns, colorful.

ZOE CRICK: I think I'll stick with the knitting.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: If it makes you feel any better, no plushies were harmed in the making of this next song.

ZOE CRICK: Polished in the Apocalypse says that a manicure adds a splash of color to your running look without impeding your movement.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I'm surprised we didn't think of that one ourselves. One of Amelia's first acts as prime minister was to open a nail bar at New Canton.

ZOE CRICK: She was accused of extravagance at first, but it's actually become a community hub. People go there to relax and come away feeling a little more, well, polished.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I've only just noticed, Zoe, each one of your nails is a different color.

ZOE CRICK: I couldn't choose. Amelia reserves all the Chanel nail polish for herself, but there are still plenty of other varieties for the rest of us.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, the rest of us in New Canton, maybe. What about everyone else?

ZOE CRICK: Until Amelia makes nail bars mandatory for all settlements, why not grab a few bottles of nail polish the next time you're on a low stakes meds run to a chemist? Just be sure to apply it in a well-ventilated area.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: A word of caution now from Nine Fingers, who says, “Jewelry adds sparkle to any outfit and can be a great way of expressing your individuality, especially if you make your own. However, think twice before wearing it on a run. Necklaces are easy for zoms to grab, earrings can be torn out, and rings are a risk if you're using weapons. Trust me.”

ZOE CRICK: Oh dear.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Listeners, if you're fond of jewelry, maybe keep it for when you're safe in your settlement.

ZOE CRICK: That’s sound advice. Also - naming no names, Runner Thirty-Seven - don't scavenge jewelry off dead zombies, no matter how on fleek it is. You're asking to get infected. And on that note...

ZOE CRICK: It's not just jewelry that you can enjoy when you're not at risk of zombie attacks.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Loads of our listeners have written in to suggest items you can use if you'd like a more flamboyant settlement look.

ZOE CRICK: Silk flowers.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Craft supplies.

ZOE CRICK: Stickers.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Fridge magnets.

ZOE CRICK: Christmas decorations.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Basically, listeners, as long as you're not using something that might be better deployed for a more practical purpose, there's no limit to the fun you can have with your personal style.

ZOE CRICK: Speaking of fun, here's a song that always puts a smile on my face.

ZOE CRICK: Our last suggestion comes from Fairy Zom Mother, who writes, “No one has space for a large wardrobe anymore. That doesn't mean you can't wear something special if the occasion demands. It's nice to dress up once in a while, so why not implement a share and swap system at your settlement so people can borrow clothes, shoes, and accessories?”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Wonder how long it would take to get that set up in New Canton. I've actually got a special evening planned soon.

ZOE CRICK: Ooh, is it a date?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Maybe? I'll tell you all about it during this next song.

ZOE CRICK: Um, I think the orange ones might be a bit much.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, and we're live.

ZOE CRICK: Sorry about that, listeners. Recently we've learned that there's a way for everyone to express themselves through fashion, even in the post-apocalypse, but we'd like to add that not everyone has to.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That's right. Some people don't even bother to brush the cat hair off their jumper before they come to work, and that's just fine.

ZOE CRICK: The cat hair is a deliberate part of my aesthetic, Phil. Our point is that everyone's priorities have changed. Most dress codes died with the apocalypse and few of us mourn them. You're no longer likely to be turned down for a job because you couldn't get your hands on an expensive suit for the interview. Nowadays, people are valued for doing what they do best.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And on that note, let Zoe and I do what we do best and play you a song.

ZOE CRICK: Until next time, listeners.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hello again, citizens.

ZOE CRICK: Phil, before you say anything else, there's something important we need to discuss.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Is this about getting a pet for the show again? Because I thought we settled that.

ZOE CRICK: We haven't, but no, this is about something very upsetting I found on ROFFLEnet today.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, the Radio New Hope fanfic? Hmm. There's one of you and me being turned into zoms on air that is both deeply disturbing and shockingly well-written.

ZOE CRICK: Again, no. What I found is a thread on ROFFLEnet called “Radio New Hope Has Changed” full of people - well, full of two people - who think we've lost our touch. Look, Just_Saying_108 says, “It breaks my heart. Zoe and Phil aren't what they used to be.” And then Radio_No_Hope says, “It all started when they got into bed with Amelia.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I'm assuming in my case they mean metaphorically.

ZOE CRICK: Phil, we need to take this seriously. If our listeners aren't happy, we're not happy.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It's only two people, Zoe.

ZOE CRICK: That's two too many.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Actually, I've got an idea.

ZOE CRICK: Wonderful, I knew you'd think of something. Tell me right after this.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Listeners, some of you think we've changed, and while change can be good, we want to make sure we're still giving you the content you deserve.

ZOE CRICK: That sounds vaguely threatening.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That's why we're going to crowdsource our content again. I have reopened our inbox for suggestions on what Radio New Hope should do next. We're open to anything. Except turning zom on air.

ZOE CRICK: Phil, nobody's going to ask for that.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You haven't seen the comments on that Radio New Hope fanfic. Anyway, listeners, please send in your thoughts. Who knows? Your idea might become our next segment.

ZOE CRICK: We did get some great suggestions last time. It'll be good to round up some new ones.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Exactly! Now everyone put your thinking caps on, and here's a song to get you in a creative mood.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: All right, listeners, it's time to open the suggestion box and find out what you'd like to hear on Radio New Hope... Huh.

ZOE CRICK: Is that it? I thought we'd get a few more suggestions.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, maybe it's a sign we're not so bad after all.

ZOE CRICK: No, we can't get complacent. Some listeners aren't happy with us.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Two listeners.

ZOE CRICK: It's just that with all that ROFFLEnet talk of us having changed, I thought we'd get a bit more feedback. Still, we'll go with what we've got.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We need to drumroll first.

ZOE CRICK: Seriously?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: There are few things in life that can’t be improved with a drumroll. Scientific fact.

ZOE CRICK: Fine. Drumroll, please.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [mutters rapidly] Drumroll drumroll drumroll drum drum drum drum drum cymbal!

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] Zom_Truther writes, “What if you ate some of that red fungus live on air? We know the prime minister is lying about the danger and hoarding it for herself.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, that's a bad idea. What did I say about us not turning zom on air?

ZOE CRICK: Yeah, Truther, we're not going to eat red fungus. Amelia isn't lying... about that, at least.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That's right. And uh, please don't test your theory out for yourself.

ZOE CRICK: We'll be back with more of your hopefully less reckless suggestions after this song.

ZOE CRICK: Time for another look at our surprisingly meager suggestion box. Come on now, we know you have great ideas, so send them in. This one from Zombologist. “I love that doctor advice show - ”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: The Drs. Maxine and Paula one? Us, too. Listeners, if you're not tuning in to that show as well as ours, you're missing out.

ZOE CRICK: Definitely. Anyway, the letter says, “I love that doctor advice show, but they only focus on the bodies and minds of the living. What about the study of zombies? I think you should bring a zombie into the studio and do some tests. I have a few experiments in mind. See attached for details.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh... Oh, that's... Was that diagram the right way up? How would that even work?

ZOE CRICK: I'm not sure, but I think those are electrodes, or possibly poisonous snakes? Either way, Zombologist, we have a pretty strict no zoms in the studio policy.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: What can we do? Hands tied.

ZOE CRICK: Much like the zom in that illustration, I think.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, that's about as close as I want to come to that scenario. Let's clear it from our minds with this song.

ZOE CRICK: Well listeners, a few more suggestions trickled in during that last song.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We are seriously considering some of the less extreme ones, such as an interview with King Jamie or a Z-Day retrospective.

ZOE CRICK: This one is from Inquiring_Mindz - with a Z, naturally. “What about a show that gives a look at the human side of politics?”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So far, so good. At least there are no zombies involved.

ZOE CRICK: “I'd love for us to get a closer look at Prime Minister Spens’ flat. It must be lovely. She has marvelous taste, after all.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Let me see that. [paper rustles] “You could describe the art, the architecture, any documents that are lying around, the paint, the paint colors, any plans you might find in the drawers...”

ZOE CRICK: Come on now, Inquiring, you're asking us to spy on Amelia. Even if I did do that - which, of course, I wouldn't - there's no way I'd out myself by sharing it on air.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: How restrained of you.

ZOE CRICK: What can I say? I prefer not to incur the wrath of the most powerful woman in the country. Nice try, Inquiring, but we're broadcasters, not espionage agents. And that's all of them, right?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Right. Right, thanks to everyone for your suggestions. Uh, even the more... creative ones. Let's celebrate your ingenuity with this next number.

ZOE CRICK: You'll never guess what.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I'm sure I won't.

ZOE CRICK: You weren't a very funny child, were you? I went back on ROFFLEnet to see if that thread had more positive things to say about us now that we've been through the suggestion box. However, turns out I misinterpreted the whole thing.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So people don't think Radio New Hope has changed for the worse?

ZOE CRICK: They do, but it's not the broadcasts they think have changed, it's us. They think we're doppelgängers.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Like Zoe and Phil's evil twins?

ZOE CRICK: Exactly. It's not clear if they think we've been brainwashed into thinking we're real Zoe and Phil or if we're in on it, but Radio_No_Hope says, “There's no way Amelia would allow a free press unless she could control it, and that means controlling Phil and Zoe.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, they do have a point, but ci-ti-zens, do not fear, we have not been replaced by ourselves.

ZOE CRICK: How do you know?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: What do you mean, how do I know? I know who I am.

ZOE CRICK: Or do you? What if you just think you do? Listeners, we'll get to the bottom of it right after this next song.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Let me get this straight. You think I could have been replaced by a double without you noticing? You noticed when I changed my hair parting last month.

ZOE CRICK: Now that I think about it, that could have been a sign you were Phil 2.0.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hmm. If that's the case, anything could be a sign. How do I know you're not Evil Zoe?

ZOE CRICK: My name's still spelled with a Z. Evil Zoe would definitely swap out the Z for an X... I think.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You're not sure?

ZOE CRICK: Radio No Hope said it. There could be brainwashing involved.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So let me get this straight. You think Amelia found doppelgängers of us?

ZOE CRICK: Or cloned us. Always a possibility.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Of course, and then she brainwashed said doppel-clones because - ?

ZOE CRICK: Because she wants to control the press. Although there might be an even more devious reason. We are talking about Amelia, after all. I'll think it over during this next song.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Have you figured out why Amelia might possibly want to replace us with brainwashed clones?

ZOE CRICK: No. I mean, yes, but one of the reasons only works if we meet the clones, and the other one requires mint and a trampoline. I wonder if the fact that I can't figure it out is a symptom of the brainwashing.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That's convenient.

ZOE CRICK: And I wonder when it began. Do you think it all started when Amelia gave us this hideous red furniture?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Green.

ZOE CRICK: What?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hideous green furniture.

ZOE CRICK: I don't know what you're talking about. The furniture is red. Maybe new Phil is colorblind?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You're kidding, right? It’s green.

ZOE CRICK: Am I kidding, or are you different now?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You know what? There's an easy way to settle this. I'm going to ask someone who has been in here what color the furniture is. Don't you move. Just, uh, play a song and I'll be right back.

[door opens]

ZOE CRICK: [giggles] Now that he's gone, listeners, between you and me, the couches are definitely green. I know that was a tiny bit rotten of me, but I couldn't resist. While we wait for Phil's triumphant return, here's a song that any version of me would love.

[door opens]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh my God, you're right.

ZOE CRICK: Right about what?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: About the doppelgängers. Everyone confirmed it. The furniture in here's red, but I see green, so I must be colorblind now. Maybe all clones are.

ZOE CRICK: Wait, who did you ask?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, Nadia, Runner Thirty-Seven. They said it's red. Now that I'm a clone, I wonder if I still like the same foods. Remind me, how do I feel about jam?

ZOE CRICK: You're... you're joking, right? Because the couches are green. I was just pulling your leg.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Wait, so you see them as green, too? Maybe we're both clones.

ZOE CRICK: I guess. I -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Or maybe we're from an alternate reality, one where people don't play pranks on their lovely radio cohosts because they might get paid back in spades!

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] You - you almost had me going there! [sighs] Well, I guess I might have deserved it. A little.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: A little?

ZOE CRICK: Oh, no comment. All I can say is that I'm happy in this universe with the best cohost ever. This next song is for you, Phil, because you're one of a kind.

ZOE CRICK: That whole business with the doppelgängers has got me thinking, Phil.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Not again.

ZOE CRICK: No, not that we're clones or anything like that. I've been thinking about conspiracy theories. Do you think there are more of them now after Z-Day?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Probably. Look at all the things we've gone through. Uh, Sigrid, Moonchild, the Curly Wurly shortage. That's enough to make anyone a little paranoid.

ZOE CRICK: I don't know. I think maybe it's the opposite. All of the conspiracies since Z-Day were eventually exposed. Even if we were replaced by clones, someone would find out and tell people about it.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You have a point. Kind of reassuring in a way.

ZOE CRICK: I hope so. For the concerned ROFFLEnet folks, don't worry. If Phil and I are ever replaced by clones, you'll find out about it soon enough, probably from someone at Abel.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Very true. We're counting on you, Runner Five.

ZOE CRICK: And if the worst should occur, avenge us!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: But in the meantime, we hope all of you carry on enjoying Radio New Hope with the real Phil and Zoe. This one's for everyone who's dedicated to staying true to themselves.

#zombies run #zrs8 #s8 radio #s8 radio part 5 #zr transcript

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lovelyrocker · 4 years

Text

Love Is Blind Ch.55

mvic

~ RPF

~ Characters: Jensen Ackles, Lexi Ackles(OFC), Jared Padalecki

~ Pairing: Jared x Lexi(OFC)

~ Warning: Age Gap, Language, Angst, Anxiety

~ Word Count: 2,912

~ Un Beta’d - All Mistakes Are My Own

~ *FEEDBACK IS GOLD*

Love Is Blind Masterlist

<Previous Chapter

Lexi, Jared and Jensen landed in Vancouver close to 7 pm. They were three days away from the start of the new season. A season in which Lexi would be a returning character throughout. Not bad considering the show was her first acting gig and it was only as a favor to Rich.

It was different this time though. The last few times Lexi was in Vancouver things were crazy and hectic. The very last time she was here was the first time she and Jared could be a couple around their own home. This time, everyone knew all their little secrets...well, almost all. Now they could finally just be with no hiding. And it felt good.

A handful of people snapped pictures of the three of them as they made their way through the airport. The boys signed autographs for excited fans and Lexi was called out for a handful herself, especially by a few young men.

Finally arriving home Jensen ordered take out and Lexi craved a hot shower. Lexi was walking from the shower and saw Jared coming down the hall. “Hey, I was wondering where my Cowboys jersey disappeared to. I knew I’d packed it.”

“I can give it back.” Lexi said, lifting the hem off the oversized shit.

Jared grabbed Lexi by the hips. “As much as I’d love that, I need to shower first.” He pressed a kiss to her lips, his hands moving to her ass.

Lexi pulled away. “Go shower.” She smacked Jared’s rear.

“You’re so bossy.” He told her, walking towards the bathroom with a smile.

“What’s he smiling about?” Jensen asked as he reached the top step.

“Me bossing him around.”

“Your sister is bossy!” Jared shouted from the bathroom.

“She may be my sister but she’s your girlfriend! She's your problem now!” Jensen shouted back.

“Real nice!” Lexi smacked her brother in the arm. “Have you seen my book? The little white one.”

“The one you and Jared were looking at on the plane?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“I think Jared put it in your blue bag before we landed.”

“Thanks.” She walked past him.

“Beautiful wedding ideas.” Jensen said a little louder and she turned around. “Great Ideas for a wedding in the future. You know, always plan a head.”

“Yeah, right.” Lexi said almost nervously. “I mean, you only get married once.” Jensen gave her an odd look. “You know what I mean, Dork.” She waved him off before walking down stairs.

They’d been filming a few months now. Falling quickly back into the routine of traveling and early mornings along with late nights. It was a rare afternoon when the boys were off by lunch and had the rest of the day to themselves. They decided to go down to the lake and cast a few lines while drinking a few beers. They had been out there for hours and were a twelve pack in almost. Jared chuckled as he sent a teasing text message to Lexo who was still on set, showing off a big catch and a beer.

“You’re mean.” Jensen laughed. “You know how much that girl likes fishing.”

“I’m sure I’ll pay for it later.” Jared smiled, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, Jensen rolling his eyes. “So, uh,” Jared scratched the back of his neck. “Lex said you mentioned our wedding plans a while back?”

Jensen paused mid sip, slowly lowering the bottle from his lips glancing at Jared. “I did.” He glanced down at the bottle in his hands before looking back at Jared. “Jare, I know you want to marry her. I just think you shouldn’t rush it right now. She is still only twenty and things are just starting to go back to normal for her.”

“I know. I’m not trying to rush this, trust me.” Jared chuckled. “But, it comforts her.” Jensen cocked an eyebrow tilting his head slightly looking at his friend. “ It keeps her positive of the future.” Jared explained waving a hand. “After everything bad that has happened, her knowing that we will be married one day gives her assurance and comfort. And if wedding planning is what she needs then I will give her feedback and plan with her. No matter how far into the future it may be.” Jensen nodded his head rhythmically in understanding. “But to be honest, the more we talk about it the more excited I get about marrying her one day.” He gave a smirk.

“Yeah, well just don’t knock her up again till after the wedding.” Jensen commented, taking a sip from his beer bottle. He looked over at Jared seeing his smirk fading as he looked down at the bottle in his hand. “What?” Jensen asked, not sure if he said something.

“Uh, we- we aren’t gonna try for another baby.” Jared told his friend without as much as a glance up.

“What’d you mean?”

“I mean, Lexi doesn’t want kids.” Jensen shook his head slightly turning to face Jared.

Jensen shook his head giving a quick swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip. “You sure you didn’t misunderstand? Lex has always wanted kids.”

“I’m sure.” Jared looked at Jensen taking a breath. She said she is happy with Tom, Shep and Odette. That she doesn’t want to have anymore.”

“And how do you feel about that?” Jensen asked, noting Jared’s eyes moving from one thing to the other, not really focusing on anything particular.

Jared gave a shrug. “It’s her choice, I guess.”

“Did you two talk about this? Like, really talk about it?”

“Sort of.” Jared finally looked up at Jensen. “She told me she thought she couldn’t carry a baby to term and that she didn’t want to go through another miscarriage.” Jared cleared his throat before going on. “I brought up the idea of IVF or seeing a specialist if she was worried and she shot that down. Then I said adoption and she said no, no more kids. I told her okay.”

“And that was it?” Jensen asked and Jared shook his head. “And you really don’t agree with that decision, do you?”

“No. Not really.” Jared confessed. “Kids were something she wanted. And I want a child one day, with her. But she is completely against it. I don’t want to push her or make her feel forced, you know?”

“Maybe just give it some time. It’s still early.”

“Maybe.” Jared took a breath. “I just don’t want to push her. If it happens it will happen on it’s on time. She did just go through a lot.”

“I agree.” Jensen nodded before taking a sip of his beer.

They sat in silence for the longest while just simply fishing. Jensen noticed the majority of the afternoon Jared seemed deep in contemplation, which he understood. Jared had a lot happen over the past few months. Hell, for over a year now it's been pretty chaotic. But Jared never left her side. For that, Jensen was grateful.

The silence was soon filled and afternoon blended into the evening and they talked about their families, and laughed while drinking beers. They’d begun to pack up their gear when they noticed the sun beginning to set, Jared noting Lexi would be wrapping up for the day soon.

They started walking up the long dirt path that had taken them from the treeline of their backyard to the lake edge. “Hey, Jay?” Jared asked, clearing his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.” Jensen told him as he stepped over a log. “Watch your step.” He pointed to the ground.

“Let's say,” Jared stepped over the log Jensen just had stepped over. “Thanks,” He adjusted his fishing pole in his hand. “Hypothetically,” Jensen looked back at him as Jared began walking even with him. “If I was to ask Lexi to marry me,”

“Uh huh.” Jensen hummed.

“Do I ask permission from you or your dad?” Jared met Jensen’s eyes.

“I- uh-” Jensen scratched the back of his head. “I’m not really sure. Me, I guess-” Jared gave a chuckle with a broad smile. “What?” Jensen looked sideways at Jared.

“A while back at the diner with your parents,” Jared grinned. “Your dad told me Lexi wasn’t his little girl,” Jared shifted his eyes to Jensen. “That she’s yours. That as long as I have your blessing I’d have his.” Jensen smiled looking back down to the dirt path. Jared looked ahead of the path clearing his throat after a few minutes. “So,” He swallowed hard although his mouth was dry. “Do I have it?”

Jensen stopped walking holding his arm out to stop Jared with him. “You serious?” His eyes dragged up from the ground to Jared’s face.

“Very.” Jared’s eyes not wavering. “I’m not saying I want to ask her today or tomorrow or even next month. But, I also don’t want to wait as long as you’d like.”

Jared watched as his best friend pondered the words he’d just said. Jared was waiting for Jensen to shut down the idea of he and Lexi marrying sooner rather than later. The silence was beyond deafening as he waited for his friend to say something, anything at this point. Jensen started walking again, Jared following in more silence aside from the leaves and stick crunching under their feet. Jared opened his mouth to speak but didn’t get a chance to get even a sound out.

“What we talkin’ bout?” Jensen spoke, glancing back at Jared. “Like, big grand gesture,” He waved an arm around. “Or, simple and romantic?” Jensen looked back again toward his friend when he didn’t respond. “The proposal...” Jensen raised his brow.

“Oh-uh, I-I” Jared shook his head. “Sorry, I thought I was gonna get punched in the face or something after I said what I did.”

“I can punch you if you want me to.” Jensen offered with a smile.

The sun was beginning to set when the two men reached the house. They unloaded their fishing equipment, Jared walking into the kitchen to wash his hands. Seeing Jared, Lexi quickly turned away from him wiping her cheeks.

“Hey, baby.” She took a breath, making sure her face was dry before turning back around. “How was fishing?”

“It was good.” Jared answered drying his hands on a towel. “Relaxing.” He tossed the towel on the counter seeing her slightly reddened eyes. “Baby?” His face dropped with concern. “Baby, what is it?” He placed his hands on her face.

“I’m fine. Just frustrated. Oh God, you need a shower!” She gave a sudden laugh, pushing away from him. “You smell like fish.” She leaned on the counter. “Go shower, we’ll talk later. I’m fine.”

“A-are you sure?” Jared asked with a more softened expression.

“Yes, baby.” Lexi leaned forward giving a fast peck. “I’m good. Go shower.” She repeated before walking away.

That night they enjoyed fresh fried fish and french fries made by Jensen. The three of them stuffed themselves on the homemade food and Lexi cleaned up the aftermath. Jared hadn’t brought up Lexy being upset after his shower. Yes, he wanted to talk to her to see what had her so frustrated that she was in tears.

Lexi was lying in their bed on her stomach with her iPad in front of her when Jared walked into their now shared bedroom. Which was still a little word that they could still be completely open with their relationship in all aspects of their lives. Which in coincidence, brings to Lexi’s frustrations.

“What’re you up to?” Jared asked Lexi, pulling back the bedsheets on his side of the bed.

“Nothing.” She sat up placing her tablet off to the side.

Jared placed an arm behind his head leaning back against the headboard. “So, you gonna tell me what was up earlier?” He asked placing an arm on her leg after she’d laid back on the pillows. “Why were you so frustrated?” He moved his thumb back and forth solely on her thigh.

“I did something stupid.” Lexi gave a sigh.

Jared gave a head tilt. “What?”

“I saw comment- a rude comment on my Twitter and like a dumbass I Googled-”

“Baby,” He let out a sigh knowing that rabbit hole.

“I know!” She said running her hands over her face and through her hair. “It’s stupid and you should never do that.” She mocked him and Jensen. “I’m sick of the whispering and pointing from people that only get their info from tabloid rags and online sites that do zero fact checking.”

“Then why?”

“I was curious what the fans were saying since I’m on the show this season-”

“And what did you find?” Jared asked sincerely.

“The fans, well, most of them, love the idea of me being on the show. But people like to spread rumors and assume with the trial and my past.” Lexi let out a breath. “It’s frustrating and I felt like- like you and Jensen were getting attacked for being associated with me.”

“What do you mean?” He leaned a little closer.

“You’ve never read some of the things being said?” Jared shook his head. “It’s a mess. People assume everything from me being a slut to saying Jensen talked our parents into adopting me so he could fuck me without people talking. And some even called you a-” She shut her eyes. “A pedophile because of the age difference.” Jared saw a tear roll down her cheek and he reached, wiping it away with his thumb. “I hate that they say that about you.”

“Babygirl,” Jared propped himself up on an elbow. “I’ll admit I saw some of that crap too, not too long ago.” He gave a sigh. “I don’t take any of it to heart. I know that is easier said than done but-”

“I don’t care what they say about me.” Lexi spoke up quickly. “People can call me a tramp, a slut, whore, I- I don’t care. I’ve been called every name and picked apart about pretty much everything from my looks to my weight to my past. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass. But, I hate the things they say about you and Jay. And I feel guilty that people are saying these things.”

“Stop.” Jared said with raised brows, his eyes staring deeply into yours. “None of this is on you, do you understand me?” Lexi nodded, her eyes cast down at her hands as she picked with the edge of her pillow case. “Babygirl?” Jared dipped his head attempting to gain her focus.

Lexi let her eyes dart around the bed before she built up the courage to speak. “I’m just tired I guess.” She slid herself down in the bed. “I always tend to overthink and over worry when I’m tired.”

“Get some sleep, baby.” Jared reached shutting off the bedside light before lying close to her, his arm draped over her waist. “You don’t have to worry about any of that mess.” He pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

He alarm on Lexi’s phone went off about the time the sun broke through the clouds. Feeling as if she didn’t get quite enough sleep, Lexi knew it was going to be a double shot espresso morning.

Lexi stretched in the bed before hopping out to start her day, the smell of Jared’s body wash still floating through the air from his morning shower. Slipping into her jeans she went down stairs and was surprised to see both Jared and Jensen at the counter drinking coffee.

“What are you doing home?” She asked walking passed Jared, placing a kiss to his lips.

“Everything got pushed back twelve hours.” Jared told her placing his cup in her waiting hand.

Lexi turned to fill his cup. “So you’ll be pulling an all nighter.” She stated, handing him back his cup.

“Yup, so we have to cancel out dinner reservations.” Jared gave a pout slinking an am around her waist.

“That sucks.” Lexi sat in his lap slinging her arm around his firm shoulders. “Thats the fourth dinner cancelling in two weeks.” She lay her head on his.

“I know and I’m sorry.” Jared kissed her forehead. “

Lexi stood. “That’s okay.” She grabbed his cup of coffee as he raised it to his lips taking a long sip before placing the cup back down. “Tomorrow night pizza, wine and-” She paused looking at her brother then back to Jared. She leaned into Jared’s ear. “And maybe some strawberries.” She hummed in his ear.

“Deal.” Jared smiled up at her before she pressed a kiss to his lips.

Lexi walked away and Jensen looked at his friend. “Do I want to know what the last thing was?”

“Nope.” Jared smiled sipping his coffee.

“So four cancelled dates in two weeks and that’s it? Pizza wine and whatever and it’s all good?” Jensen gave a raised brow to his friend in surprise. “No guilt trip or-”

“Nope. She never was big on being a drama queen.” Jared grinned. “Even when we first started dating she never made a big deal about constantly having to rearrange everything.” Jared looked down at the cup in his hand then back at Jensen. “I want to marry her, Jay.”

Next Chapter>

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#SPN #SPNFamily #supernatural #supernatural fic #RPF #SPNRPF #Jensen Ackles #JARED PADALECK #Lecki Ackles #Jared x OFC #OFC #LIB #Love Is Blind #Chapter55 #Ch.55 #Angst #Language #Anxiety

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dailytomlinson · 4 years

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It was the morning after our staff Christmas party that I got on the horn to Louis Tomlinson.

While the entire office was munching on bacon and egg rolls and chugging coffee to revive themselves, I was in the studio, eagerly awaiting a call from the UK to chat to my favourite member of One Direction (yep, you read that correctly).

You see, unlike most folks who occasionally whack on ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ during road trip karaoke or follow Harry Styles on Instagram to stay up to date with his dazzling wardrobe, I have been a true 1D stan since day dot: X Factor.

As soon as the band was pieced together, punters began choosing their faves, most of them picking Harry and don’t get me wrong, he’s an absolute lord (I’ve literally travelled to another country to see Harry live, I’ve had his album(s) on repeat since their release and I have tons of his merch), but I was instantly enchanted by the quiet, brooding, eldest member of the band and as their popularity skyrocketed, so, too, did my love for Louis.

I guess it’s a combination of his sleek style, his dreamy eyes plus the fact that he’s sassy (his public feuds have rightfully earned him the name ‘Sass Master of Doncaster’) and also has a ‘yuge heart and loves his fans unconditionally.

So naturally when the band went on hiatus, I followed Louis’ career like a hawk and, my fellow Louis stans, our time has finally come ‘coz 2020 is going to be THE year of Louis Tomlinson.

Let me repeat that louder for the people in the back:

2020 is going to be THE year of Louis Tomlinson.

The excitement in his voice is palpable as he discusses his debut studio album Walls which drops on January 31, 2020.

“I’m quite big on lyrics, it’s important for me to be honest and real and, at times, vulnerable,” he says of the album.

“My fans already know a lot about me but hopefully I can bring them an album that shows them another side.”

This ~other side~ includes personal yarns and tales from Louis’ life as he explains that he draws inspiration “from my life events.”

“There were times in the past where I tried to write in a fictional sense, and there are a couple of songs on the album like that, but mostly I find it easier to write autobiographically.”

He adds, “Things happen to you and sometimes it might seem mundane but it makes you feel a certain way and it’s worth writing about.”

If you haven’t already listened to his latest singles, first of all what the heck is wrong with you? Second of all, go give them a listen and you’ll know exactly what he means by writing autobiographically.

He says his newest single ‘Don’t Let It Break Your Heart’ is “something that I’m definitely really proud of.”

“It’s a song trying to invoke hope, it’s about seeing the glass as half full as opposed to half empty and no matter what life throws at you, don’t let it break your heart.”

I then point out that he has a lot of positive, inspirational, anthemic bops under his belt and I ask if this is intentional.

“I think so,” he responds. “You always want to write lyrics that are relatable and inspiring, and I think songs like the song I did with Steve [Aoki] ‘Just Hold On’, it’s got the same kind of vibe of hope. I think it’s a pretty cool topic.”

He then talks me through my personal favourite, ‘We Made It.’

“It’s kind of about two things because we started out with just the title and what it meant to me in that moment was me picturing our first show of the tour and all the hard work it took me to get there and with the fans, it’s a collective, we made it here together, and that’s how the song started out,” he says.

Directioners will be happy to know that Louis doesn’t shy away from name-dropping his bandmates and when I ask him to talk me through the best moments from the past decade, he literally lists three 1D-centric mems.

“When we first got put together as a band, that was a magical moment,” he says.

“We didn’t know each other that well and we went through that whole journey together, so that was pretty special.”

“When we played Madison Square Gardens in New York, that was a pretty memorable one. All of our families came down to watch.”

And finally, “We were lucky enough to play at the Olympics which was definitely one of the proudest moments I’ve ever had, definitely.”

Speaking of performing with 1D, Louis’ forthcoming trip to Australia will be his first without his bandmates and he is, as he put it, “proper excited to come back.”

“The gigs [in Oz] are always incredible and also for any Brit, it’s the ultimate dream to travel to Australia.”

But punters who have been lucky enough to see a One Direction show in their lifetime should expect a very, very different vibe from Tomlinson now that he’s flying solo (~obviously~).

“It’s not going to be a massive production with any gimmicks, it’s just going to be pretty straightforward. Just a good live show focusing on music and hopefully we’ll have a good night.”

Going from touring with his besties to being on the road by himself (and the backing band, of course) is bound to be a huge adjustment that Louis plans on easing into.

“I like creating normality [on the road], I just like to be sat with mates chatting, listening to music and then head out onto stage.”

He also gave me this lil tidbit about his travelling style, which should come as no surprise to the die-hards.

“I’m notoriously a really bad packer, I always leave with not enough clothes and not enough things that I need.”

But while he’s often short a pair of sneakers or a sweater or two, he always makes sure to pack the essentials.

“I like to take tea bags with me on tour. You can’t get a good cup of tea everywhere so it’s important to travel with your own.”

Which prompts me to ask about his thoughts on our tea Down Under.

“It’s good, yeah! It’s good,” he assures me.

So now that we’ve discussed what 2020 will look like for him (including starting his sophomore album in the second half of the year!), along with his highlights from the last decade, I’m eager to know what his plans are for the next decade.

Brace yourselves for the response…

“Fucking hell, I’m not that good at thinking far ahead,” he immediately quips. Legit, there’s nothing I love more than when celebs drop an F word in an interview. It shows that they’re not doing the super-polished, media-trained thing and they’re happy just being themselves.

Frankly, if Louis didn’t swear in the interview, I would’ve been convinced that he’d been abducted by aliens and replaced with a cyborg. But you’ll be happy to know that in our nine-minute convo, he swore a grand total of three times which is a great score, IMO.

But anyway, back to the question at hand.

“Hopefully still making music, still making albums. My intention is to get better as a songwriter with every album, so hopefully still making music and still touring.”

We wrap up our good old chinwag with a message to his fans, particularly the Aussies who he’ll finally be treating to his angel voice when he plays the Big Top in Sydney and the Palais Theatre in Melbourne in April.

#louis tomlinson #stunt mention in the original article #171219 #press #pedestrian tv

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louistomlinsoncouk · 4 years

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