#she plays BASS GUITAR (the best instrument)

[chosocutegf]

~ nothing the matter with a kiss ~

. band au!Choso x fem!reader

. summary: you go to a concert with your friend, not expecting the bass guitarist to kiss you in front of the whole arena

. cw: fingering (f!receiving), cunningulus, p in v, hand job (m!receiving), unprotected sex

. wc: 5.2k

. got inspired by Ross Lynch kissing his fan the other day while singing “A Kiss” (ˊ̥̥̥̥̥ ³ ˋ̥̥̥̥̥)

How long has it been since you last went to a concert? Too long and now, you weren’t no longer used to the sweaty and murky atmosphere all around you. After being forced by your friend to get in line since early in the morning to get the best view, now you found yourself pressed against the iron bars just under the stage while people all around you screamed and danced to the pre-songs.

You liked the band that was about to perform, but to stay under the stage? It was a firm no for you. Your friend next to you was hopping up and down, screaming, and talking to everyone around you about the songs they expected the band to perform. You groaned as you were forced against the bars for the nth time, and your friend turned to face you. “Aren’t you excited? You are finally gonna see them!,” she screamed, gripping your arm before starting to jump up and down and looking at you so excitedly. As if she wasn’t the one who couldn’t stop dancing around while talking about the songs.

You nodded at her, and thanked the heaven when the person who was opening the concert came on stage, and the entire arena went black, distracting your friend from annoying you. People started to cheer around you, but many of them were still distracted from what was coming next.

The space around you was big, the biggest you have ever seen, and it was packed of people. Some of them had headbands over their forehead who pictured the four members to the band: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Shoko Ieiri, and Kamo Choso. Others had t-shirts about them and you couldn’t help yourself from searching Choso’s face on every merch.

When mayhem broke loose, you were soon drawn out of your thoughts. The individual on stage has just completed singing their songs and called the band to the stage. Everyone surrounding you began to shout at the top of their voices and bounce around you, holding their phones up in the air to capture the moment the four band members appeared on stage.

Someone you didn’t recognised silenced everyone from the stage and your breath hitched. You felt everyone around you do the same, while some of them tried to catch sight of who was on the black stage.

And hell broke free when the lights were turned on and the first note was sung.

Your friend began to scream, and you couldn't help but join in, raising your hands in the air and cheering for the four individuals on the platform. When you saw them all so close together, you couldn't help but notice how beautiful they were. How could they seem like Greek gods who just happened to be on stage with a few instruments?

On the left side of the stage, the one farthest from you and your friend, there was Shoko with his electric guitar. Her brown hair was unbound as she nodded her head to the rhythm of the song, her beautiful face serious while she glanced at the audience before bringing her gaze back on her guitar.

Satoru was the main vocalist, and you could see why everyone was on their feet for him: his white hair and blue eyes could captivate anyone, but what really made him stand out was his enticing attitude.

On the center of the stage, behind, Suguru was playing the drums and… wow. It should be illegal to be that handsome and be around freely. He had a smirk on his lips, which made you skip a heartbeat, wishing he could look at you that way. His dark hair was unbound while he held his drumsticks with his strong muscular arms and rolled them between his fingers. He sure seemed like he knew how to use them.

But your screaming stopped when you looked up to the right side of the stage, and you gaze met with the bass player, Choso. You felt as if you had been drawn into another dimension by his black eyes, which were looking directly at you. It only lasted a second, but as he looked away, you believe he winked at you and the corner of his lips were slightly tugged upwards. Your jaw opened, and you took him in completely: he had his normal ponytails, and purple makeup was on his eyes, emphasizing his aloof appearance. And you might have fainted when you saw that he was wearing a sleeveless jacket with nothing underneath. You caught a peek of his toned abs, and your eyes widened when you noticed his long, slender fingers leisurely playing the bass.

As the concert went on, you kept cheering for the band even if most of your enthusiasm was towards Choso, from which you couldn’t look away. And you couldn’t really understand if you were dreaming, or was just hallucination when you caught him glance at you too many times before he quickly looked away. And as they played, he started to get bolder and would go around the stage, playing with his band members and sometimes singing at the same microphone of Gojo, enjoying the loud screams that followed the act.

When they announced that their concert was coming to an end, you felt disappointed and joined the crowd when they started to cheer for the band to sing one last song, in particular their most famous one. You felt yourself head over heels to hear it and, of course, it wasn’t really because Choso had a bigger part in it, no.

You screamed and raised your arms over your head, holding your phone to film Choso as he sang, before he screamed just over the music, “who wants a kiss?”. You screamed again and raised your hand, just as everyone else did, because who could hurt to be a little delusional? You laughed as you observed him and, just like all the people around you, everyone was taking it as a joke. However, he pointed towards your direction, smirking, “you want one?,” he asked you, his voice reverberating all around the arena, and you nodded, thinking that he was surely referring to another person around you. You laughed with your friend, but your eyes widened when you saw him remove his bass from his shoulder and jump down the stage.

You looked around to see if someone was waiting for him, but you surely weren’t expecting to see him walking towards you with that sexy smirk and all sweaty. Everyone was screaming around you and reaching towards him with their hands when he stopped in front of you, and you looked up at him awestruck. He was smiling at you, and he nodded, asking for permission with a soft “yeah?”. And before both of you could change your mind, you nodded.

Time stopped when he held your face between his hands and leaned closer to you, placing his lips against yours. You couldn’t hear anything else, or see when the only thing you could focus on was him, and the softness of his lips against yours. He smelled of sandalwood and citrus, with a hint of sweat, and you thought that no one has never smelled better than him.

The kiss lasted a few seconds and when he pulled back, the world came around again and you heard everyone screaming around you, looking at you two with wide eyes. Choso was smiling at you before he let you go and went back to the stage, putting back his bass around his shoulders.

Gojo was joking about the kiss and the way Choso stole the attention of the audience from him, while Shoko and Suguru laughed. As they went on with the song, your friend was tugging you and telling you about how lucky you were, but your gaze was fixed only on Choso and the way he still kept glancing at you. There was a faint blush on his cheeks and he laughed to himself as he finished to sing the song.

When the concert ended, everyone came up to you to ask how was the kiss, but you couldn’t really put your head around what happened. Was it really possible for something like this to happen? And why Choso choose you in particular? Your head was full of question as your friend pulled you out of the arena.

When you were outside, you took a deep breath, finally having a breath of fresh air. “Let’s smoke before going home,” she told you before taking your hand and tugging you towards a more secluded spot where the smoke wouldn’t annoy anyone.

Both of you had cigarettes between your lips, when you realised you didn’t have a lighter. Your friend went to ask to people around if they had one, but no one seemed to smoke. You sweared under your breath and were currently discussing with your friend when you heard someone call you from behind. “Hey!,” you heard, and both you and your friend turned around to see a bodyguard standing just outside a door. You shared a glance with your friend before looking back at the man, and pointing at yourself, confused. “Yeah, you… you’re the one Choso kissed, right?,” he asked you at which you blushed slightly, before nodding, “yea,” you answered, looking around you and making sure no one was listening to you.

The bodyguard pointed with his thumb towards the iron door, “come,” he said briefly. Your eyes widened at his words and you looked at your friend, both of you thinking to run away from the creepy man. You removed your cigarette from your lips, the same Choso kissed, before smiling embarrassed at the bodyguard, “we were actually going away… sorry,” you said before taking a step back and tugging your friend with you. You saw the bodyguard getting annoyed from your act, and let out a sigh, “Choso asked for you, girl,” he explained, a hit of exasperation in his voice.

But luck kissed you once, and who could assure you that he was saying the truth? So you glanced at your friend again and you were ready to run away, when you saw a familiar head pop up from the iron door. All the breath was sucked away from your lungs when you met Choso’s eyes, and you almost dropped your cigarette at the sight of his grin. The bodyguard immediately got alarmed and tried to push Choso inside, scared that someone was gonna see him outside, “get inside, Choso,” the man told the musician. The latter laughed and nodded at you, “come inside to have a chat?,” he asked you before the bodyguard closed the door behind him, leaving you to wonder if it was real or just a mirage.

You realised it wasn’t a dream when you found yourself in the backstage, your friend next to you and the bodyguard guiding you to the sitting area, after searching you for any weapons. As if, you thought.

“Sit here,” the man said, pointing to the couch and waiting for you two to sit before he left. You heard people scurrying around, putting away stuff and screaming some orders when you felt the couch dip to your free side. When you turned to see who was, your eyes widened at the sight of Gojo. “So… I guess you really enjoyed the kiss? Didn’t know Cho had such courage in him,” he told you, chuckling at the sight of your shocked face. When you took too long to answer, Gojo leaned back against the couch and looked at you with a smirk, “guess you really bewitched him, mh? By the way, what is your name, pretty?”. You blushed at the pet name before your friend tended her hand towards the singer and smiled at him charmingly, introducing themselves.

Gojo was handsome and you were really happy to see him, but—

“You came,” a relieved voice said behind you, and you didn’t have to turn around to know that it was Choso. However, your head whipped towards him in a second and you felt your cheeks burn at the sight of him, his hair unbound and changed into comfier clothes. “Want to smoke?,” he asked you, nodding towards a door nearby while taking out a pack of cigarettes. The movement made your stomach tighten from both arousal and excitement, and you nodded at him before raising from the couch.

You followed him to the room and you felt your heart in your throat when he closed the door behind you two, and you realised you were finally alone with him. The room was small, with a couch on the left side and a large mirror in front of you, as well as a door on the right. His bass sat on the box next to the couch, with his clothes strewn on top of it. You turned around to look at him, and you realised how much taller he was than you, so you had to bend your head back to see him. His eyes, with their beauty, drew you in. Choso held a cigarette in front of you and lowered his head to the side, smirking. "Want a cigarette?" he murmured softly.

You sighed, attempting to relax as you nodded, chuckled softly, and took the cigarette from his palm. "Thank you," you muttered, and your breath hitched when Choso placed his cigarette to his lips before raising his lighter and holding it to yours. You took a drag from your cigarette and slowly blew the smoke out, mesmerised by the way he lit and drew from his.

You took a step back, having to put some space between you two, and looked around, the cigarette clasped between your fingers. "So we can smoke here?," you asked Choso, glancing at him before taking a seat on the sofa. He nodded and followed you, opening a nearby window and sitting close to you. If he was nervous like you, he didn't show it.

You noticed how close he sat next to you as he turned to gaze at you and the smoke from his lips lightly hit your face. "I'll make up an excuse," he said, smirking. You chuckled and shook your head, taking another drag from the cigarette before looking away. "I don't think it's fair that you know my name but I don't know yours," he said, a teasing tone in his voice. When you returned your gaze to him, you observed something else in his eyes, right above his nose tattoo: curiosity or... lust?

You smirked at his comments, running the cigarette filter across your lower lip and noting how Choso watched the movement. "Who said I know your name?," you questioned, lifting your brow in challenge before taking a drag. Choso's laugh was so deep you could feel it in your core. You couldn't help but assume that there was some tension between you two, which was getting you addicted.

"You don't?," he said, continuing with your joke and clicking his tongue in mock displeasure. He shrugged and said, "My apologies… My name is Choso." You chewed your lower lip silently as you watched him bring the cigarette to his lips and take a blow, and when he met your gaze, you murmured, "y/n".

He smiled at you and nodded before repeating your name, as if he was tasting how it sounded on his lips, “y/n… I really like that, it suits you,” he added. You chuckled and leaned back against the cushion, noticing how soon after Choso draped an arm behind the couch, just where your head was resting. Your breath hitched at the proximity between you two, and you felt your cheeks heat up when his thigh brushed against yours. You could feel his heat seeping through your clothes as if he was touching your bare skin, and in that moment, you found yourself wishing he really was caressing you that way. “Yeah? And how can you say that it suits me when you don’t even know me?,” you asked him, tilting your head to the side and blowing softly the smoke over his face.

He laughed again and shook his head, before playfully tugging your hair with the hand that was behind your head. You yelped before laughing, and tried to swat his hand away. “It just looks like it… it sounds like a fierce name,” he explained, taking a last drag from the cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray at the feet of the couch. “For a fiery person like you… who was about to run away from my bodyguard,” he continued, smiling and slightly tilting his head towards you.

You chuckled softly at his words and shrugged before putting out your cigarette, “wasn’t sure he was really inviting me because of you or because he wanted to harass me and my friend,” you answered him, raising your brows to him, waiting for him to answer back. He shook his head, letting out a breathy chuckle before raising his free hand up in the air, “fair point, guess it could’ve been easily misunderstood”.

You bit your bottom lip and glanced at him, your heart rate rising as he looked at you. The faint lights in the room reflected in his eyes, making them even more gorgeous. Your glance fell to his lips, and your thoughts returned to when he kissed you in front of everyone. In that instant, he was able to obliterate everything else with the simple touch of his lips on yours, and he appeared to have experience, so you wondered how things would be with him if you deepened them.

“Did you enjoy the kiss?,” he asked after a few moments, snapping you out of your trance. His gaze lingered on your lips with what looked like hunger in his eyes, before meeting yours. You nodded slightly and swallowed the lump in your throat. Was it you or the room was getting hotter? “Yeah… I did, even if it was a little bit unexpected,” you murmured, biting your bottom lip.

Choso watched the movement, and you could see his lips part before his Adam's apple moved and he returned your gaze. "Sorry about that, I couldn't hold myself back when you looked so beautiful in the middle of the audience," he stated, drawing closer to you till you could feel his breath gently hitting your lips, "It's like you were calling out for me to do that".

Your breath caught as he spoke; did he feel the tension in the room as well? Because you had to press your thighs together, your core becoming wetter as he hungrily looked at you. "So it's only fair that I repay the favor, no?" you muttered, looking up into his eyes, and when you saw your lust reflected in them, you leaned in and kissed him.

His lips tasted even better than before, and they felt like heaven against yours. You let out a soft hum before leaning even closer, and Choso pushed you towards him with his hand behind your shoulder, bringing you closer. His other hand sneaked over your thigh while his lips traced the seal of yours, asking for permission. When you opened your mouth, his tongue was quick to find yours and tasted like cigarettes and mint. You sighed softly as you laced a hand behind his neck, holding him tight while you explored his mouth as if it were your final act. The hand that was on your thigh quickly moved to your waist and your back, drawing you closer.

“Come here, baby,” he murmured against your lips, pulling back to let you both breathe while he guided you to straddle his lap. When you felt his muscular thighs under your core, you let out a soft whine and arched your back as Choso put his hands on your lower back, pushing you closer until your chest pressed against his. His lips instantly met yours in a devouring kiss, as your arms curled around his neck and your fingers played with his dark hair.

He slid a hand under your shirt, and hummed when he felt your soft skin under his touch, drawing little circles on the spot without going further. “Can I?,” he asked softly against your mouth, and when you nodded and arched your back against his hands, he groaned. “Yes, please,” you moaned just before he leaned down and attached his mouth to your neck, leaving wet kisses along the column of your throat. He slid both hands under your shirt, quickly pulling it over your head and throwing it in another spot in the room. "Oh, fuck, princess," he moaned, pulling back from your neck to glance down at your bra-clad breasts before cupping them with his hands. You whined and pleaded to him to go further. You could feel your pussy dripping into your panties, and you couldn't wait to feel Choso against you.

You lowered your hands to his chest and tugged on his t-shirt while looking at him, and when he nodded, you helped him in removing it. You licked your lips at the sight of his toned chest and stomach, tracing every muscle until you found his happy trail, which vanished beneath his pants. Your pussy throbbed at the sight, and you mewled before grinding your hips down on his thighs, causing him to smirk. He reached behind you and unclasped your bra, allowing it to fall down.

His breath faltered and you bit your lower lip when he reached to cup your breasts in his big hands and roll your nipples under his thumbs. “Such pretty tits, doll,” he murmured, before he tugged you closer and latched his mouth to your left nipple. “Need you, Cho,” you moaned at the feeling, pushing his head closer and threading your fingers through his hair. He swirled his tongue around your nipple while rubbing the other with his thumb and index finger, then reversed positions and placed his mouth on the other nipple.

You could feel his boner pushing right where you needed him, so you reached down with a hand and rubbed his shaft slowly over his pants. He groaned on your nipple, and you gazed down at him with a faint smirk, clenching around nothing as he looked up at you with hungry eyes, your nipple and his mouth connected by a line of saliva. "Let me take care of you first, baby," he said softly, changing your position so that your back was against the couch and he was kneeling between your legs.

He smirked at you when he noticed your flushed cheeks before beginning to unbutton your pants. He was fast to pull them away, leaving you only in your panties. You bit your bottom lip as you propped up on your elbows and stared at him, his attention fixated between your thighs. You were certain there was a damp area on them right above your hole.

He rubbed a thumb across your pussy lips and groaned when he felt your wetness seeping through the material, “fuck, baby… you’re so wet,” he murmured before rubbing circles just over your clit. You moaned and arched your back, trying to grind your hips against his hand. “Bet you got wet when you saw me on the stage, uh?,” he teased, letting out a breathless chuckle before looking at you. When you didn’t answer, he licked his lips and asked, “cat got your tongue, pretty girl? Tell me if this is okay for you, mh? Or I’ll stop”.

You shook your head at his words and pouted, “it’s okay, please… don’t stop,” you whined. He smirked at you, “good girl,” before he slowly tugged your panties down, and sweared under his breath at the sight of your bare glistening cunt. “Pretty face with a pretty pussy,” he said, leaning down and inhaling your scent with a groan. Before you could react, he sticked his tongue out and licked from your hole to your clit, where he stopped and left a kiss. “Oh, god… Choso, so good,” you whined, trying to grind your hips against his face even if he was holding you down with a hand. He smirked against your sensitive flesh and looked up at you, “yeah? You like this?,” he asked, and chuckled when he saw you nodding.

He went back to suck on your clit, before moving to your hole and sliding his tongue inside. You moaned at the feeling, and he reveled in the sound, pressing his tongue harder inside you and sucking all your juices in his mouth. Soon after, he added his calloused finger and rubbed your clit slowly before he switched his tongue and fingers, kissing your clit as he inserted a finger inside you, slowly pumping it inside of you. You threw your head back, mewling from the pleasure before you brought your hands to his hair, tugging his face closer to your cunt.

At the stimulation of another finger added inside you, you were fast to cum and clench around his finger. You moaned his name, and arched your back, your body stiffing as you ground your hips against his face. Choso stayed there until he felt the last waves of pleasure wear off, then he raised on top of you, smiling down at the sight of your glazed eyes. His mouth was glistening with your fluids as you placed your arms around his neck and leaned down, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips. You let out a whimper in his mouth before feeling his chest press against yours and bringing your hand down to scratch his toned back.

He groaned against your lips before he pulled back and rested his forehead against yours. “Let me make you feel good too,” feeling his breath against your lips, before moving your hand to clasp his cock over his pants. You noticed him closing his eyes and moaning, his hips involuntarily pressing against your hands. He shook his head and moved away from you, crouching between your legs and studying how your hand was rubbing him over his clothes, “don’t know how much I’m gonna last if you touch me,” he breathed, before he smirked and threaded a hand through his hair. “Then fuck me,” you said, his gaze darkening at your words before standing up from the couch and removing his pants. You propped yourself up on your elbows and gasped when you saw the size of him, before glancing between your legs wondering if it would fit.

“Don’t worry, baby, we will make it fit, mh?,” he told you, grinning as he placed himself back between your legs, and you saw his cock throb against his stomach as he observed you spread out on the couch, waiting for him. He positioned your legs over his thighs, and you brought your hand closer, wrapped it around his cock. Choso groaned at the feeling, looking down at how your fingers were stroking him so gently, a feeling so different from what he usually did to himself. “You like my cock, princess?,” he asked you, and you nodded humming, “yeah…”.

He let out a breathy chuckle and his cock throbbed in your hand before you guided him closer, “wait”. You looked up at him and Choso furrowed his brows, waiting for you to go on, “you have a condom?”. He loosed a breath and shook his head, biting his lower lip as he glance down at his cock between your legs and back up to meet your gaze. “I’ll make sure to come out,” he murmured, and you looked at his needy eyes then down at his throbbing cock under your hand, before nodding. He smiled at you and leaned down to peck your lips, before letting you guide his cock to your cunt.

Both your breath hitched when his tip brushed against your clit, and he felt your wetness against his bare length. “Fuck…” he moaned breathless and he wrapped a calloused hand around yours, guiding his cock to slap against your pussy lips before moving down to your hole. There, you removed your hand and moaned as he started to push inside, making you feel every inch of him. You felt your eyes get teary at his girth and you gripped his wrists, trying to hold yourself onto something. He glanced at you and started to rub your clit, “relax, princess,” he murmured, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing the back softly.

You started to breathe and relax, pain changing quickly into pleasure as you let your upper body fall back on the couch, moaning as he came to a hilt, his hips flushed against yours. “Baby, you’re so tight, you’re squeezing me,” he whined, biting his lower lip while he closed his eyes, trying to hold back from coming in that moment. After a few moments, he started to thrust inside of you, his pace increasing with the time after feeling your walls relaxing around him and taking him better.

He brought his hands to hold your hips while he filled you to the brim, his cock dragging against your walls perfectly, making you feel every inch of him. You looked up at him and moaned when you saw his fucked out face, looking down at you through half lidded eyes. He went faster, slamming within you with force and getting deeper as he went on. You reached up and pulled him down, connecting your lips in a sloppy kiss, moaning together in each other’s mouth.

“Turn around, pretty, let me take you from behind,” he said breathless against your lips, before pulling back and sliding out of you, guiding you to raise on your knees and hold to the couch, while Choso stood behind you. He caressed your asscheeks gently, “such a beautiful sight,” he said under his breath, before slapping a cheek and observing how the skin rippled under his touch. You gasped and arched your back, glancing back at him with needy eyes, “please, Cho”.

He smirked at your words, and held your hips tightly before guiding his cock back to your hole, “if you ask so nicely,” he answered, before thrusting back inside you with a single movement. You screamed at the feeling and arched your back, holding tightly on the couch while he set a punishing pace, filling you up and drilling inside you so hard that you could feel him to your stomach. Your head dropped down and you moaned, feeling yourself getting closer when his hand slipped under you and rubbed your clit. His cock throbbed inside of you when he felt your walls tightening around him, “I’m close, baby… fuck”. You gasped at his words and pulled your hips back, meeting his thrusts as he rubbed your clit harder, your eyes rolling back to your skull as your orgasm poured over you. Your body convulsed, and your walls drained his cock dry.

Choso remembered to pull back in the heat of the moment, swearing as he did so. He stroked his cock quickly, his gaze locked on your pussy and the gaping hole. He finished shortly after with a groan, spewing cum all over his palm and your ass. He groaned and embraced you as you collapsed on the couch before lying down next to you. You smiled at him as Choso wrapped his arms around you and kissed your forehead, then closed your eyes and leaned against him.

“So… can I have your number, y/n?”

(m.list)

#choso #jjk #choso x reader #jjk x reader #choso kamo #jjk x y/n #geto suguru #jjk x you #choso fluff #choso x y/n #choso x you #choso x female reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #jjk choso #choso smut #jjk geto #jjk gojo #jjk x plus size reader #jjk smut #.band!au choso ᯓ★ #𐙚

[luveline]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome, and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. Too bad you just can’t seem to leave each other alone. [13k]

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining (and hatred), slight miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, eddie has mixed intentions, kissing / heavy petting, hickeys, sexual tension, eventual hate-fucking, some misogyny (not eddie), TW readers bandmate is a bully, TW drugs/alc/smoking, disclaimer: I can’t play an instrument

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Indianapolis International Airport, Indiana, Late 1988.

There's a really sweet-looking boy sitting in the chair across from you. The airport is blotted out by both your headphones —huge chunky cans, the best you could afford— and your sunglasses. He's a shade of sepia from the lenses, dark hair darker still where it's tucked into the hood of his hoodie. 

There's no way he could possibly know you're staring at him while you're facing your lap, scribbling lyrics for a song that'll never get made with your body curled inwards, and yet he looks up from the novel in his. He smiles, his cheeks pulled up, and he looks younger. He isn't old by any means but something about his smile is transformative. 

You don't mean to give yourself away. You smile back just a little. 

He says something. You push your headphones around your neck and break the seal, soft 70's rock replaced by the sounds of the airport, footsteps and clicking and children laughing somewhere behind you. 

"I'm sorry," you say, covering the cans of your headphones to cut their weak buzzing, "what did you say?" 

"I said you have good taste."

He nods toward your guitar case patterned in overlapping band stickers. 

You notice his own case on the seat next to him. It's more conspicuous than your own with only one sticker, a band you've never heard of. 

"I wish I could say the same, but I don't know who that is, 'Corroded Coffin'?" you ask, purely curious. 

He sits forward, a picture of casual confidence as he drops his face into his palm, elbow digging into the ripped jeans covering his knee. "I'm offended, sweetheart. They're only the best sound to come out of Indiana in the last ten years." 

"The Stacey's?" you offer, scandalised by his suggestion. "Doorway to Cooperstown? The Cats?" 

He blinks at you. "You know the scene." 

"It's my scene," you say.

You don't mean to sound pretentious, and hopefully you don't, but music is your life. 

"It's mine, too," he says. He leans forward and scrubs a hand through his hair, scratching absentmindedly. "Where are you going? Must be pretty important to tear you away." 

"New York. I'm– I'm a techie for Godless. I will be, once I get there." You sound smug and nervous at the same time.

"Holy shit," he says. He smiles a gorgeous, awful kind of smile, like you've been friends for years, and your good news is his. "No fucking way. Go you." 

Godless have been compared to loads of bands but the one you favour is a heavier, feminine The Clash. It's an emerging sound, punk rock stolen, repurposed, and remade. Reborn by girlhood rage. You love their sound (though you have some notes), you love their statement, and you're probably the happiest you've ever been knowing you'll be behind the scenes of a new era of music. 

"And you're taking her?" he asks, gesturing to your guitar case. 

Inside is a beat up old bass guitar you got for nothing. You're self-taught, you're good, but you don't have any disillusions on what you'll be doing on tour. 

"She's worthless," you say, "mostly taking her for company." You reuse his pronouns, though you aren't the type to assign personality to your instruments. "What about you, uh–" 

"Eddie," he says, taking his guitar case into two fine hands. Your eyes snag on his ragtag assortment of rings, and he leans over the neck of the case to retake your gaze. "This… is Sweetheart." 

— 

Hotel Edison, New York, Early 1990.

"We have to go. Why are you guys never ready when I tell you to be?"

You panic slightly. "I need a minute." 

"Ananya, could you find, like, a modicum of patience? Fucking annoying." 

Sharp, Morgan's unhappiness sounds over the droning drill of your shitty hair dryer. You shift where you're kneeling in front of the floor length mirror to check she isn't talking to you — unusual, but not impossible that her hostility would be aimed at someone who isn't Ananya. 

Ananya stands in the middle of the hotel room, thick eyebrows pulled into a familiar scowl.

"Get it together," she says disdainfully, like Morgan's nothing more than a mild inconvenience. 

You wish you had her confidence when it comes to Morgan's tantrums. You stand up, clad in nothing more than underwear and a pair of black stockings, your t-shirt in one hand and the hairdryer still humming in the other. You turn it off and let it drop to the floor, worried you're just another rockstar cliche as you take in the state of your room. Your suitcase is open and your clothes are all over the place, laid flat in an attempt to dry your rain-soaked clothes. Your underwear dangle from the lampshade, a mix of pretty lingerie you've yet to wear and full-shaped panties that had made Morgan laugh for a minute, no pauses. 

"I can see why you're so desperate," she'd barbed. 

You slip your shirt over your head in case you have to act as a human shield. It's honestly not the worst thing they've had you involved in this year. 

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Morgan asks. 

She's a fascinating creature in that she isn't always talking with thinly veiled passive aggression. You genuinely believe she's looking out for you sometimes, or believe that she believes it, at least. She doesn't say it with malice, simply asks. 

She's multi-faceted. 

"No," you say, though you'd been meaning to. 

"Good, skirts really aren't your thing. You look blocky. I have a pair of flares in my bag, wear them." 

And Morgan — Morgan's the lead singer of Godless. You don't really have a choice. 

You find the pants she'd instructed you to wear and half tuck your shirt, scrabbling for your shoes as Ananya starts lamenting the time, sat on the small table by the TV.

"They have to wait for us, babe, that's the whole point," Morgan says, fussing over her eye make-up. 

"No, they don't. And we really don't need the attention right now." 

"That's dramatic." 

Ananya leans forward and clicks on the TV with a perfect finger. The screen buzzes to life. She clicks through the channels until she gets to the local news station, and then she slumps over the frame on her elbow. 

You giggle behind your hand. Onscreen, images of Morgan are blown up and slated, your bandmate sloppy drunk on the steps of Covey Gold. They've caught you red-handed in the background pretending you aren't with her, but luckily Morgan's too obsessed with herself to notice. 

"I really don't see the issue," she says breezily, slipping into her tiny heels one foot at a time. "I look sick." 

She looks stunning, easily, but that's not the problem. 

"You have a fucking snow trail," Ananya says. 

Unfortunately, Morgan's left nostril is crusted with coke. 

"It's punk rock!" Morgan's moved onto earrings now, and she's jutting her tiny pointed chin toward the door. "Hello? We're late." 

You don't roll your eyes, but you could. You slip your shoes onto your feet and tuck the laces inside without tying them while the news anchor on TV continues to relay current events. 

"Fletcher isn't the only rockstar making a mess in New York City this week. Members of up and coming heavy metal band Corroded Coffin were sanctioned by Flume Venues Tuesday night for damaging twenty six thousand dollars worth of equipment when their lead guitarist kicked over an amp and caused a quote unquote 'domino effect.'" The anchor laughs. "Their PR has certainly felt some corrosion." 

You look up at the joke and are just in time to catch a picture splayed across the screen of the band. You're so close that their faces are made up of red, blue, and green, more colour than photo. Your skin glows with the image. Your eyes widen, perplexed. 

"Do we know those guys?" you ask. 

Morgan grabs your hand and drags you up. "They know us," she says. "That's what matters." 

Ananya turns off the TV. 

You're thrilled at being included in the 'us'. You've been an unofficial official member of Godless for four months now. Each one feels more unreal than the first, and each one brings a solidity. In Ananya's words, you're on 'probation, given you can keep up', but you look at her now, her hopeless expression as she closes your room door behind you, and know she's not hoisting you off the stage anytime soon. She'd have to deal with the world's tallest toddler alone. 

Your tour manager and assorted personnel meet you in the hotel's lobby, furious and panicky at your being late. Morgan spouts the same spiel as you get shepherded into cars idling outside of the hotel.

"We're the talent. What were you gonna do, throw the gig without us?"

You're both embarrassed by her and impressed. Morgan is pretty and talented and extremely loud — she's not afraid to stick up for herself, even when she's (nearly always) wrong. She sees each hurdle in her life as an unfair disadvantage. Insanity, in your opinion, considering nearly all of those hurdles have been jumped by means of a favour, rather than any expended effort on her part. 

Her bad attitude aside, she's a good singer. She's gorgeous, exactly the kind of face that obliterates mainstream reluctance. 

She sits between you and Ananya and kicks her feet out over the console, boots between your driver and your tour manager, Angel.

"You guys can't be late like this. You have half the time you need for sound check now, you realise?" 

"I don't need practice," Morgan says. 

"It's not practice, Morgan, it's–" 

Morgan laughs and bursts into song. She does it whenever she doesn't want to listen to Angel, and she sings an apt tune: Angel by Aerosmith. You look out the window rather than watch, eyes snagging on the wet New York streets and taxis and people, so many people despite the weather, black umbrellas like inverse stars lining the sidewalks. 

Morgan has a great voice, raw when she wants it to be and full of life when she doesn't. You can't hear Angel's venue instructions under it and are barely paying attention as a lanyard gets tossed into your lap. It sounds stupid, and a few months ago you wouldn't believe it, but you get used to the motions. Ferried from one place to another, all anybody cares about is technicalities, politics, public image, and how you look on stage. All you care about is the music. Your bass guitar in your hands, that familiar weight, the strings as your pick slides across them, and the sea of the crowd. Its waves and ripples, hands and eyes and mouths like poppies, red-pink tongues and black throats at the centre as they scream. When you throw your pick people want to catch it. They fight over it. You throw a few. There's always more in a box in some poor techies bag.

The cushy car you're in pulls up and parks outside of the venue's main entrance. You climb onto a wet curb and shield the top of your hand with your head, dirty rain splashing down in fat, sparse drops that chill your scalp. Morgan blitzes inside and Ananya tags behind her. You go slower, eyes following down the sidewalk where, in a couple of hours, fans will wait to see you, shivering in the cold. 

— 

Every breath Gareth takes sucks in Eddie's short sleeved t-shirt. Eddie scowls at the top of his bandmate's head and tries to shift away. 

"Seriously, man? There's a whole fucking couch," Eddie grouches. 

Gareth sits up with bleary eyes furrowed into a scowl of his own. He's pale and missing his glasses, giving him the appearance of a concerned zombie.

"Shithead." 

Eddie has a lot of emotions he wants to express and none he feels he can properly articulate. The injustice of his current situation, for one, is a burning irritant. How the fuck can you get grounded by your manager? And why did his warden have to be the most boring member of the band? Sorry Gareth. 

"Can't you sleep in your bed?" Eddie asks. 

"You'll sneak out." 

Eddie will sneak out. He's a fledgling rockstar in New York. Suddenly, there are a hundred colourful boozy doors wide open to him, and he intends on haunting the threshold of each one accordingly. 

But you kick one amp and boom, you're the antichrist. 

"You know this is stupid." 

Gareth rubs his eyes. "I mean, do I know that?" He reaches behind the couch armrest for the two-litre bottle of soda stashed there, and he talks as he brings the lip to his mouth. "You've been a real pissant lately, Munson." 

"You're a pissant, pissant," Eddie says, really scowling now. 

Gareth kicks him across the sofa. Eddie kicks back, foot jamming into the side of Gareth's knees. Soda spills in a shoot over the carpet. Gareth is a know-it-all with a predisposition for being as unpleasant as he can possibly be at all times, in Eddie's opinion, and Eddie knows the second the soda lands what he's going to say. 

"Nice going, hotshot. This is why you're fucking grounded." 

Eddie's halfway across the sofa when the door opens, an unimpressed Jamison standing with the light behind him. He flicks on the main switch and glares, brown skin golden in the resulting yellow light. 

"What are you losers doing?" 

"I prefer the term 'freak'," Gareth says, glare softening. "I'm fending off Munson's advances, what does it look like? No means no, asshole." 

"You're disgusting," Eddie says. 

"You look disgusting," Jamison echoes. "I don't know who forgot to tell you, but they invented running water a century ago. Go shower. I'll watch baby boy." 

Eddie thinks Jamison is hot in the freaky way — Jamison is conventionally attractive, and Eddie would let him get freaky if he asked. He has a perfect complexion, the most attractive of the band by far, medium brown skin and a broad-shouldered frame. He's the eye-candy, literally; they'd admitted him into the fold based one parts on his talent, two parts his image. 

He can play piano, guitar, bass guitar, violin, all that shit. He's a musician, and he's better than Eddie at everything but the guitar. 

Nobody's better than Eddie on guitar. At least, not anybody running in his circles. 

"I can't shower, I'm watching him." 

"I'll watch him," Jamison says, like this is extremely obvious and Gareth is an idiot. 

Eddie pulls a couch cushion over his face and drags himself onto his back, whining into the fabric unhappily. "This is fucking bullshit," he mutters

"This is due diligence," Gareth says. Eddie feels his weight lift off the couch and lets his legs slide into the empty space. 

"This is fucking bullshit," he repeats. 

There's a silence. He sulks. Gareth collects toiletries and the bathroom door clicks open and closed. The shower spray begins to sputter, and then the pillow is being tugged out of Eddie's hands and tossed aside. 

"Jame," he protests. 

"Shut up." Jamison stares down at Eddie. "Are you done being a child?" 

"I already told you, it was an accident. Yeah, I kicked the amp, because my fucking string snapped and nobody would listen to me. I didn't know it was gonna actually move." 

"If we go out, can you behave?" Jamison asks quietly. 

Eddie sits up ramrod straight. "Absolutely… Why? What's so important?" 

"Jeff's asleep, I'm bored, and-" He shrugs offhandedly. "If you got 'em, flaunt 'em?" 

Jamison holds up a silver pair of car keys. They clink together, the sound music to Eddie's ears. 

—

So you and Eddie meet for the second time like this. 

“Does it have to be this loud?” you shout over the music, pleading gaze on Ananya, who shrugs. 

She looks better after a show, even drunk. Her lipstick is a pink-red with a darker but incomprehensible outline, leaving her looking kissed sick. Her dark eyebrows are ruffled and thick, their minimal gel sweated off. She has the most heartbreaking expression about her, and you think it isn’t truly fair, how she can look so pretty and be so talented at the same time. A tragedy that other people have time for both. You feel as though you barely have the time for one.

Despite the volume, you love the sound. This is your sound. Small town hatred in a big room — begging to get out and the music proof enough that you did. It’s passionate and anxious, a two-chord progression that’s boggling simplistic but drawing you in anyhow. Wrinkled noses and bored eyes say it’s not to everyone’s taste, but you’d hazard a guess that whoever plugged it into the stereo isn’t the kind of person who worries about public opinion. If Godless worked more on your choices, this is how you’d sound.  

“Whose house are we in?” you ask. 

“Babe,” Ananya says, “seriously, there’s a whole room of people who want to answer you. Go bother someone.” Else. Go bother someone else. 

She dismisses you with little more than that, slinking into the kitchen with a toss of her thick hair. The red of her corset top darkens to a bloodier shade in the mood lighting. She looks as though she’s bleeding out from the back. 

You aren’t sure Ananya’s right. You aren’t, in the eyes of the people here, anything impressive. A techie who’s been filling in isn’t anything new, no, you’re only impressive if you get to stay, if you play better than anybody else. You’re never gonna prove that under Morgan’s thumb, and you’ll never prove it without her. 

I need a bump, you think. Morgan’s coke nose flashes in your mind and you change your mind. I need something to drink. Something fucking cold, but if Ananya thinks you’ve followed her into the kitchen she’ll throw a pissy fit in front of everybody. 

The room is a gaudy yellow, a tobacco stained fingerprint over the lampshade with whorls of dirt in lines, darker patches where shadier reconciliation plays; in one corner, a bag of coke, another something worse. This had been a surprise with age rather than location, the commonplace of cocaine and the bravado of its sufferers from high school and up. You’d die for some of that cocky confidence now, numb gums and a sullen credit card. 

I need to get paid. 

The heat of a cigarette tip kisses your shoulder. In your ear, the sound of someone taking a long, slow drag, crackling paper. You turn into it slowly, looking up slower, right into the skinny face of your missing-in-action bandmate. 

“What’s up?” Morgan asks, blowing her smoke in your face. Your eyes burn. 

She’s placing the cigarette between your lips before you can answer. Whether she believes she’s tormenting you or throwing you a life raft, you’re grateful for it, sucking in a blistering breath and wincing as it floods your nose. 

You blow it away from her. 

“Ashtray?” you ask, pinching the cig between two fingers. 

“The floor’s fine.”

You raise your eyebrows, unsurprised at her cavalier suggestion and flick it still smouldering into your cupped palm. The door is perpetually open, guests flicking in and out like the froth of a cresting wave, a rushing entrance and a sluggish recession. 

“Can you get me a bag?” you ask her. 

“I’m not your daddy,” she murmurs.

“Bored already?”

“I have to be bored?”

To bother bothering you? Yes, Morgan would have to be bored. Bored or wasted, and she doesn’t seem inebriated. You place the cig between your teeth and lean your head back to look at the ceiling rather than give her the attentive watching she desires, the roof of your mouth an uncomfortable heat.

You remove it, blow all your smoke skyward, and drop your head. “How are you gonna fuck with me tonight?” you ask plainly. 

You find you aren’t asking Morgan. 

In her place stands a much taller, much more handsome face, big eyes set into pale skin. You don't recognise him at first. He wears the uniform well, in company with every other guy in the room, a crumpled shirt you imagine discarded and re-discarded on different floors. Ripped, dark jeans. He could be wearing nothing at all and the air of intimidation surrounding him would survive — there's something behind his eyes that alarms you, a knife's edge. Sweetness bordering cruelty. 

"I don't know yet," he says. An insipid smile takes his lips from corner to corner as he eases the cig from your hand. "I'm sure we can think of something… together. Sweetheart." 

Boys don't always give you the time of day, not the nice ones, and he doesn't look very nice. He looks like he's trying to calculate what he can get out of you. You're thinking you'll pay just about anything if he can get you a bump of something fun. 

He sees your look too, his lips poised to mention it, but you've just realised where you know him from. 

"I saw you on TV."

"Yeah? In Madison Square Garden?" 

"In court." You give him your best doe eyes, a soft, sweet look, far from mastered and yet effective where it counts. "How much did you have to pay for all the stuff you broke?" 

His smile shutters, realigns. A split-second and enough to let you know his cool gaze is nothing more than a parlour trick.

"You look familiar," he says. 

You hum. "Rollerboy paid, huh?" 

He glares, the idea that his record label might pay for the damages he'd caused laughable and undoubtedly correct. You aren't trying to make enemies, aren't attempting to play someone you're not — you're meek mannered, mollycoddled, too naive to be in the industry for very long. You can see it on his face, exactly what he's thinking, and it's easy to see because everybody else is thinking it too. Even you. 

Before you can repair the offence you've caused, he's dropping your stolen cigarette on the ground and grinding out the flame. 

"Nice to meet you," he says slowly. 

You stare straight ahead and listen to him leave. Smoke tickles your nose. When you look down, the cigarette is smouldering. You squat down, pick up the flattened bud, and drive it into the floor until your fingers are black with soot. 

You wrap those same ashy fingers around the neck of a bottle of coke and try not to be too pissy about it. Fucking rockstars and their fucking egos. He did something embarrassing, and you're the villain? 

You feel bad halfway through your coke. Maybe he'd had nice intentions, but how could you know? You'd talked for all of two minutes. And even if he was bad news, he likely wouldn't have been any worse than half the jerks here. 

He'd have had a handsome face to look up into while said intentions were being acted out, at least.

You frown more. Wishing you'd been nicer to him because you're bored enough to want to get laid isn't strictly kind. Human, maybe. 

The feeling worsens when his appearance garners a small crowd. He sits in a nest of dirty couch cushions and a cloud of smoke, the smell of green strong enough to irritate you from here, telling a story with frenetic hands, and despite the cool look he'd given you earlier, he's making a show of it. Cussing, giggling, blunt between his lips as he ushers for a zippo. A pretty girl with surfer curls relights it, an act of flirting in the way she pulls her shoulders in. 

He takes the blunt from between his lips and blows the smoke so it misses her completely. 

"Thanks, sweetheart," he says, voice rough as hewn stone. 

You kick one shoe behind the other and squeeze your tired thighs together. You get this feeling like a matchstick, red powdered head flicking against gritty scratchpad but failing to strike. Something is familiar about the way he speaks, his sticky inflection. 

Or you're lying to yourself, and you just like the way he talks 

The way he would've spoken, thick fingers braceleting your wrists as he forces your hands into the pillow behind your head, the weight of his body on top of yours, the snugness of a knee between your soft thighs. Your hotel light would've kissed his left side, dividing his curls into strands, the individuals glowing like silver thread as they danced over your cheek and temple, as his breath warmed your lips, as he closed the distance. 

Joan, you could hit him.

"That's an unfortunate hand. Are you sober?"

Cheeks full of heat at being caught in a fantasy, you lift your eyes and meet light, almond brown eyes almost entirely shielded by darker eyebrows. A man stands in front of you, a comfortable gap between his nondescript skate shoes and your worn boots. He's tall and pretty and surprising: he's smiling at you like you're something worth smiling at. 

"I'm–" You brandish the bottle as if that might explain it but harshly set it aside. "No, not sober. I mean, not willingly. Coke's were out here, so…" 

"Oh, right," he says, nodding knowledgeably. "Right, I was sorry to hear about that." 

You lick your lips. "'Bout what?" 

"They banned beautiful women from the kitchen," he says. "Hadn't you heard?" 

"No, that one passed me by." 

"I'm Jamison," he says, holding out his free hand. 

You take it. You tell him your name. 

—

Morgan is crying. Big heaping sobs that she attempts to talk through, creating this ringing whining sound that fills you top to toe with anxiety. You lean back in your hotel bed, wondering what it is in the world that could've happened to her as a kid to make her this unsatisfied now. Ananya blows on her freshly painted nails though they've been dry for hours, knee to knee with you atop the squishy hotel sheets. 

"I can't fucking do this," Morgan cries, tears dripping down her bare skinned cheeks. 

The three of you have been sworn off of makeup, junk food, and unapproved wash products for the next four to five hours. You're happy for this to continue until the end of time. Morgan, less so. 

You're trying to decipher exactly why she's crying, feeling a confusion you'd liken to the first modern day archaeologist that laid eyes on ancient hieroglyphics. All these symbols and colours and stories. No clear translation. 

If Ananya were an archaeologist, she's the kind who got to see the Rosetta stone. Morgan's moods make sense to her, and while she often doesn't empathise with her, she at least knows what to say to appease the worst of it. 

"It'll be alright, Morgs," she says, her faux sympathy unconvincing.

You feel a little sorry for Morgan and clear your throat. "And you're not by yourself. We're here." 

"Fucking amazing help you've been," Morgan says. Her voice does a theatrical peak, pure hysterics. 

It irks you how good she looks. You think that, maybe, if you could make your problems pretty the way that she does, you'd be a lot happier overall. You've often lamented that you suffer the kind of unhappiness that makes people uncomfortable and unwilling. You cry ugly, and always alone, hands over your mouth to smother the sounds, and that's when you do cry. Mostly, you bounce around inside yourself and feel very afraid that this feeling is forever. 

But, you think presently, that isn't Morgan's fault. Not all of it. 

Morgan throws her hands out at you and Ananya and spins on her heel, through the bathroom and into her own separate room. 

"At least the backdrop of her breakdown is nice," you murmur, hugging the pillow against your stomach, heels digging into the mattress to keep your knees up. 

Ananya snorts and flicks to the next page of her magazine. "Right?" She stretches her naked legs out over your sheets. You know she's decided to ruin your bed with her after-waxing oils rather than her own. "Better here than back home." 

"Why's she so upset?" you ask. 

Already, your thoughts are starting to drift. You take another peek at the phone across the room and will it into ringing. 

"She draws them on everyday anyway," Ananya says agreeably. 

You summarise that Morgan's eyebrows are the root of the problem. You don't blame her for wanting to look perfect tomorrow night. Your stomach is a weight every time you think about it, solid as petrified wood. This will be your first TV appearance that isn't a recorded concert, a mid-show performance for the Prover Music Awards, and it should further cement your place in the band. If you look good and people like you, public favour might be enough to keep you around. If they don't, there'll be a couple hundred different audience members with industry links. If you play well, and you're certain you will, you might finally prove to Morgan, Ananya, and the rest of the management team that you're worth choosing. 

You want it badly. You want lots of things, and being a real part of Godless could hand them all to you on a studded platter. Recognition of your talent, further experience, the chance to perform and be supported, to be adored, and the money isn't something you'll pretend you don't think about. A rockstar's salary is hardly stable, but a lack of stability is almost always supplemented by the amount. Wouldn't that be nice? To buy your own bass, to buy whatever you liked. To go out and have spa treatments like the one you'd had just this morning whenever you please. To get to feel beautiful and limp as this all the time. More than anything, you want the validation, the poster that comes with it. 

If Godless decides to keep you, it's a huge, blinking, neon-lit sign that says you're good enough. 

They chose me, and you're stupid for letting me go. 

They chose me. I'm something worth something. You didn't see it, but it's there in me. 

The subtext isn't important. 

You're scared shitless at the reality of performing tonight, knowing any fuck up could follow you, or worse ruin your hopefully budding career in rock for the rest of time. You have this body and this name, and if you want to keep your life you have to be good. It has your fingers itching for your piece-of-shit bass guitar where you know she's hiding under the bed. You should be practising, but this entire week has been practising. The dress rehearsal went well, and you'll give yourself a pass for having certain distractions. 

Morgan warbles. You glance at the phone. 

"Waiting for someone?" Ananya asks. She misses nothing. 

You both wince as Morgan screams and throws something across her bedroom, the eventual clattering smash indicative of a fragile target. 

"Think room service will send up a sedative?" she asks. 

Room service won't send a sedative, nor will they send the single hashbrown Morgan is apparently craving. You're starting to panic when the solution practically jumps at you. 

"Morgan," you say gently, standing in the doorway of her room with a tentative smile, "can't offer you something, can I?" 

You hold up your little pouch. Morgan doesn't know you well, but she knows it's where you keep anything interesting. She should know, she pilfers it of anything truly exciting within the day. 

"Don't be stupid," she scathes. "My eyes will be bloodshot. You know smoking doesn't agree with me." 

You hold in a comment on how she'd literally been smoking out of the window last night. 

"It's a brownie. It's a couple days old, but… perfectly edible." You offer her the pouch, dropping it at the end of the bed among her things. 

She picks at the brownie, timid princess bites that make you want to roll your eyes. You often think the worst thing about Morgan is that you love her, or you could love her more, if only she felt the same way. She isn't all evil and she never will be, she's just a person. But she takes shit out on you and makes your life harder than it needs to be, so even her most endearing moments fall short. 

"This tastes awful." 

You laugh and kneel down at her dresser to start putting her thrown jewellery box back together. "It wasn't that nice when I got it," you lie. 

You clean her room. Morgan never wants to do anything she knows can be done for her, and you know she won't bother here, not when room service will spend the hour it takes themselves. You think of some poor service worker squaring away the impossible amount of stockings and garters for a sad $3.45 an hour and the task suddenly becomes much more enjoyable. 

Morgan doesn't say thank you. You don't insult her intelligence by thinking she isn't aware of what you're doing. She sniffles and blows her nose daintily with a balsam tissue. 

"I saw you talking to that guy from Corroded Coffin." 

You brush off your knees as you stand. "Which one?" 

"Eddie. The rhythm guitarist." 

"The loud one." 

"He's kind of hot. If he calls, you should go out with him." 

"That's not–" who I'm waiting for. You squint at her. "Morgan, that would be terrible." 

"Can you get me something from the minibar?" 

You kick open her minibar and grab a cold can of seltzer. She slides onto her back and accepts it, pressing it to her eyes with a relaxed smile. Eyebrows forgotten, it seems. 

"That would be perfect. He can be the cat to your mouse." 

"Your definition of perfect–" You cut yourself off again when she starts to laugh. You don't believe it to be genuine. 

She lounges in bed for an hour until she's high, reappearing in you and Ananya's suite with a dizzying smile. You don't mind high Morgan. She's smoked enough in her time to bypass the dizzying, giggly kind of stoner. This Morgan is relaxed, almost easygoing. She sits at the end of your bed and watches you pluck out a bass line proposal for one of their current works in progress, head bobbing. 

An hour again and the stylists appear to spray you down with smells and oils and make up, and soon you've been strapped into a short shining dress with a cowl neck, dark black stockings that shine like oil, and heels you can't really walk in. You complain about them politely enough that Mel, the man in charge of your 'costuming', swaps them out for shorter ones. 

"This fucking corset is a nightmare," Morgan grumbles. 

"Sorry, love, that's all we've got." 

The commute is over in a blink. You arrive outside of the venue for the Awards, staring up at its imposing silhouette against the skyline, a dark building in the strange blue night. The sun is unseen but light illuminates the wet streets in blinding patches, so white they glow violet behind your eyes. 

There's a modest red carpet where you thankfully don't have to pose for many photos. After all, besides being a temporary member of the stage, you aren't truly in Godless. Most casual fans (the majority of their fan base) only know the faces in the magazines and on TV, and you have yet to be in either until tonight. 

After a bundle of shy and regretfully nerve-wracking photos, you're drawn inside the building and away from all the flashing hubbub. You sit in your seats, short rows divided by the occasional table for drinks, and you try not to sink into the carpeted floor. It smells insanely like nothing at all. No bleach, no air conditioning cleanliness. Every now and then another guest walks past your row and you get a whiff of perfume. 

A familiar scent pricks your attention. 

You look up, slightly over your shoulder, and your eyes meet familiar sticky brown. 

He drops down in the seat next to you, and you think, No way. 

He holds up the placard that had been under his thigh. His name is typed in clear blocked letters. 

It's a strange humiliation to have been read for filth like that. You're you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me expression can be pretty telling, evidently. 

"Hey, sweetheart." 

Matchstick against the box. You tilt your head and try to place him for the tenth time. 

"Have we met before?" you ask. 

He actually grins like this is the best thing you could've said. "You met my friend," he says, pointing down the aisle. 

Jamison stands talking to a woman who is admittedly gorgeous, and, to your sinking horror, much prettier than you. They kiss each other on the cheek and it's the kind of over friendly to make you sick. 

Eddie pouts at you. "Better luck next time, sweet thing." He throws one leg over another. "You look different. New haircut?" 

"You look exactly the same," you say. 

It's surprising how untouched he is. Sure, he's had some makeup applied and his hairs been tousled into life, but his outfit is remarkable in its simplicity. Surely rockstars can wear suits too? He looks neat and dark and tidy, but he also looks effortless. It's irritating.

This phenomena is not self contained, you find, as his bandmates sit down the row with their managerial chaperones and one date. Jamison sits right at the very end. He doesn't look at you. 

You avert your eyes and wonder if it's possible to die from embarrassment. 

The venue gets increasingly busy as the bigger names and bands flood inside. Soon, you're sitting amongst legends, people who pretty much spearheaded late 80s glam rock, punk, grunge. People you've only ever seen on TV. And it isn't restricted to alternative sound, there are pop stars and their supermodel girlfriends shaking hands and kissing cheeks in the row behind, while producers with names big enough to make your mouth dry up clap each other on the shoulders in front. 

"You'll catch flies." 

You turn to Eddie. He doesn't sound entirely cruel. He doesn't sound like much of anything. You could almost believe him to be a friend. 

There's a smudge of eyeliner on his cheek. 

"You have–" You point at your own cheek, a mirror. 

His lightness fades. "Nice." 

"No, seriously, you have something. Make up, on your cheek. I have a wipe if you want it." 

He scrubs at his cheek ineffectually. 

You're reaching out to help before you can stop yourself, witnessing your own actions with a strange out-of-body horror as you wipe the small black line gently. It spreads, and you panic and dab at it until it's an unfortunate grey shadow. 

"Let me get the wet wipe," you say. You'd been holding your breath, awkwardness stiff between you, and it sounds too much like a laugh. 

Eddie flinches away from your touch and covers his cheek. "I got it," he says stonily. 

He leaves, stepping over his bandmates feet like stepping stones, earning a cacophony of protests and disparagments. 

Dick, you think. Again, that had been a little bit your fault. Not all of it, he seems to be in a perpetual bad mood that can't be your doing, but you can understand why he might think you were laughing at him, and the defensiveness that comes with it. When he comes back you'll apologise. 

Or that's what you tell yourself. The lights go down, the curtains open, and the venue erupts with applause. By the time Eddie takes his seat again you're too afraid of disturbing the quiet. 

After half an hour you're ushered backstage. You have to move in front of Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin as you go. 

He looks up at you in silence. Head tipped back, face barely lit by the lights while you stand in between his legs. His lips part and he's all rockstar, his brown eyes and their edging of straight dark lashes, his pink, pretty lips. He has a distinct line to his nose, a cupid's bow perfectly shaped. His maker must have looked at him and known somebody, somewhere, would want to kiss him right there. His lips twitch. 

"Can I help you?" he whispers. 

You stammer a response that won't form and Morgan shoves you. 

"Fucking move," she says. 

His expression flickers. 

"Sorry," you say, unsure of who you're talking to. "Sorry." You sound pathetic. A kicked puppy. 

You keep your eyes on the floor until you're in the aisle, where a new set of nerves tries to swallow you whole.

—

Eddie knows exactly who you are, and he hates himself for it. He remembers you, the first you, shy and sweet and so excited, sitting pretty in Indianapolis International Airport with your guitar and your huge leaky headphones pounding death metal. While fame has broadened the amount of people who want to sleep with him, it hasn't changed his type, and you'd been a ringer, right there in the middle. 

You'd been pretty and maybe you knew it, maybe you didn't, it didn't matter — what he liked most was the way your hands had moved as you spoke, hummingbird thrumming, an energy he'd seen in himself and every other musician desperate for a chance. He loved the passion and your eyelashes and the way you'd smiled as you'd waited for your plane, the two of you destined for New York, where you both seem to have looped back now. Only, he'd been cursed with remembering your every detail, and you either didn't remember him or don't care. Both sting, but he likes the second better. He'll take purposeful cruelty over the casual any day. 

Like your thumb pressed to his cheek. The heat, and then your laugh. 

"The fuck is this?" Gareth asks, leaning over the space between their two chairs. 

Eddie looks up at you on stage and shrugs. While bands made up completely of women aren't new, they aren't as common as bands made up of men, obviously. He likes it, likes your sound, though it's not the kind of thing Corroded Coffin would ever play, and he won't join in on Gareth's doubt. Even if you are, like, a magnanimous shithead. You're good. 

"She's hot," he furthers. 

"Jesus, Gareth." 

"What? She's fucking hot." 

He has to squint to see you from this distance, and he can't truly make out many details. Gareth's not wrong. You're pretty, and out of the three members of the band you're the only one who actually looks like they're having a good time. 

The lead singer trails around the stage pulling Blond Ambition poses. She can sing well, she has a strong voice that does whatever it is she bends it into, but her propensity to drop the guitar slung around her neck to grab at the microphone stand like it's escaping isn't helping anything. 

The girl on drums is arguably given a pass, fighting to keep up with the pace, sweat sticking her thick hair to her neck in glossy spirals and her huge eyes set in concentration. Her messy lipstick sparkles under the stage lights, a party pink that pops against her brown skin. 

He thinks you might be trying to cover up the lead singer's sloppy playing. You're good, sure, but it's not the easiest to tell when it's ragtag and rough like this. Only because he's watching does he notice your pick slipping between strings to the floor, and your willingness to strum with the sides of your fingertips. He likes that. The dedication is hot. 

"I've never seen a girl on drums who didn't look like a guy," Gareth says. "She's killer. Think I can get her number?" 

Eddie groans. "No, you fucking loser." 

"I was just asking." 

You bounce around and Eddie shifts in his seat, annoyed that he'd assumed you were the one Gareth was talking about. 

He claps for you when the song is over and hates how you return to your seat during the break, back in your cute dress and beaming, practically dripping in deodorant and post-show adrenaline. 

You apologise again as you step over him, and if there's one thing he doesn't want from you it's a sorry. Twice now you've spoken to him in the last week and twice you've made fun of him like some plaything under your thumb. Eddie isn't in the habit of being under anyone's anything. Apologies feel like salt in the wound, even though he knows you aren't saying sorry for the stuff that's pissing him off.

"What the fuck was that?" Lead girl asks you, sounding about as uptight as she looks as she climbs over your leg. "What were you doing?" 

"Morgan, I don't know if you noticed, but you didn't play half of the song," you say defensively, the skirt of your gem-encrusted dress glancing off of his thigh. The gems are tiny, like pinprick stars in country night skies. They shine purple, green, orange. 

Morgan holds her hand up for an attendant. When one approaches, she says, "Appletini," and nothing else, waving dismissively. She pulls at her stockings and doesn't notice the ladder she makes near the calf. "You're here to play what you're given." 

"I did." 

"And only that." 

Your silence speaks volumes. What he'd thought to be an edge in Godless' sound may have been an improvisation, something Eddie personally applauds. 

"Christ," Morgan says, "you're more trouble than you're worth. I hope you know that." 

Eddie believes the sting of her barb to be in the presentation rather than the words themselves, though what she'd said is hardly kind. She looks away from you as she says it, like she's giving instruction far below her station. Factual, concise. 

You barely wince. The lights dim, and he watches you contend with how you're feeling from the corner of his eye.

Eddie isn't evil. You may have gotten off on the wrong foot, and he's definitely holding his resentment at being forgotten tight to his chest, but nobody deserves to get shit on like that. You'd played well, you'd had a great time, and that should be commended. What's worse, your lack of a reaction tells him this is a common occurrence. 

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you say. 

Morgan waves you away like she had the waitress. You stand, and you say, "Excuse me," to every person you pass. Eddie put his hand on the back of his chair to follow you up toward the back of the room where the sign for the bathrooms glows green. 

He sets his eyes back on the stage and begs himself to stay sitting. Corroded Coffin's nomination for best up and comer has already passed, a loss, and there's no reason he can't nip to the bathroom himself. There's also no reason he should go after you. 

Fuck it, he thinks. 

What could go wrong? What could go wrong, outside of the women's bathroom, where he has so obviously followed you, where he waits for you like some creeper trying to paw one off on you. He can't hear anything but the running tap. For a moment he thinks you haven't come here to collect yourself after all, you'd needed to pee, which makes his situation that much awkwarder. 

Stuck between indecision, he leans against the wall between the women's and men's and digs for a cigarette. His pockets are empty, a precaution for exactly this moment. You can't smoke in the Prover Theatre, pissant.

You appear and blitz past him. 

"Hey," he says before you can go too far, "d'you have a card?"

You turn on your heel. Hands already in your purse, you dig out an unopened box of cigarettes and offer it to him. You don't look as though you've been crying or anything like it, but you don't look him head on, so he keeps his theory. 

Eddie peels the plastic off of your box and slaps the end against his chest for good measure. 

"I don't think you can smoke in here," you say finally. Your voice is tired. 

He raises his eyebrows and peers down into the box, pulling a cigarette free and sliding it between his lips. He holds out his hand for a lighter and you give it to him, already waiting with it between two fingers. 

He lights it, inhales sharply, and passes you back your carton and lighter with a clouded, "Thanks." 

"Yeah." 

He's surprised when you don't move. You stand there and watch him smoke, whorls of pearly smoke dissecting the air between you, spider-webs over your pert face. You're waiting for what he doesn't know, so he'll give you something. He's nice. 

"She's a piece of work." 

You shift uneasily. 

"I'm not the feds," he says, pulling the cig from his lips to talk unfettered.

"Forgive me for wondering if you have my best interests at heart." 

He beams at you, really smiles, startled and enamoured by your sharp tongue. "Now why wouldn't I?" 

You don't say anything, only pull at the neckline of your dress in what's likely a nervous habit. He gets a flash of the top of your chest and looks away. He thinks you're beautiful in a rather understated way, and he doesn't not want to see what it is you're showing, but he knows you don't actually mean to be so forward. He might be an asshole, but he's not like that. 

It's quiet here in the foyer, like standing outside the doors of the movie theatre. You can hear the announcement of a new category, the roaring applause. The hallway and the bathrooms feel cordoned off from it in a strange way, an uncanny energy that has him on internal tenterhooks. 

"You always let her treat you like that?"

"Like what?" 

He steps toward you because the distance feels unnecessary. "Like that. Like you're a dog." 

"Fuck you, I do not." 

He pouts, the taste of smoke thick on his tongue. 

"What would you know?" you ask.

"Besides hearing it all fucking night, nothing. You must like that shit." 

Your eyes go wide. He hadn't meant to say it. There's a light behind them now, some life, something to cover up that shitty wounded despondency you'd been wearing. Your hands bunch in the soft skirt of your dress, shaking. He's touched a nerve. 

"I must like it," you quote, strained.

"Woof. Do you do any tricks, or is it just the one?" 

He doesn't mean for it to happen this way, he wants it on the record. He's a dick, he's a loser, whatever, he hadn't meant to argue but he will. And, you know, there may be a slight possibility that he isn't as sure in himself as he appears, and that there are nerves he keeps too close to the surface, too. 

"You can teach me one of yours, if you want," you offer, voice tight with annoyance, "I'm thinking smug asshole picks easy target, but I'm open to other options." 

That's funny. He takes another step toward you, another, your cigarette between his lips smouldering at the tip as he inhales through his smirk. 

"Yeah, like what?" he asks, smoke licking your cheeks as he breathes out. 

"How you get your head through the door might be a good place to start." 

He waits for you to explain, knowing the silence will force you to fill it. 

"You know, considering you're in the exact same place as me, only one of us performed tonight and it isn't the one acting like God's gift." 

"You think they invited you to play because you're good?" he asks, feigning an earnest tone.

"I know exactly why they didn't ask you." You hike the strap of your purse higher up your shoulder, chin lifted in a snooty superiority that makes his heart pound. "Wannabe rookie who had too much smoke blown up his ass and thinks he's somebody. But you're not," you say. "You're a child. They've seen a hundred guys just like you in the Indiana circuit."

"You're a jumped up fucking groupie that got lucky," he says.

The light behind your eyes dims. He takes that last step, the step that's gonna put you shoe to shoe. 

He should stop now, he would, but suddenly his anger is real, this isn't strictly fun anymore. He says what he knows is gonna hurt you. 

"You're a stand-in, a temp who's already overstayed her welcome." He flicks the tower of ash between your heels. You follow it down, watch as it settles into the fibres of the carpeting. "You're a burnout waiting to happen." 

Your breathing is loud in his ears. Slightly too fast. 

"You don't know anything," you murmur. 

"If it barks like a dog, and it heels like a dog," he says, pausing, words coming out thick and slow, "it's a dog."

Your face flares with hurt. You're gone before he can say anything else. 

He's glad for it. Honestly, he's not sure what else he would've said, and later, he'll regret this, regret blowing up at you, regret following you out here and making you feel worse when he'd wanted the opposite. But tonight he's lit up from the inside out, your words a reverberation. A hundred guys just like you.

"Yeah, right," he says to himself, scoffing with a surety he doesn't feel. 

—

Donington Park, England, August 1990

"I'd be a little more excited if I knew they weren't desperate this year," Jamison's saying, "that's all." 

"They're hardly desperate." 

"Last time they had KISS, Iron Maiden, Megadeth." Jamison sighs and falls back into the couch, muttering about the stale smell before continuing, "and this year, what do they have? Poison? Thunder? Who cares." 

Eddie thinks he might actually have an opponent for biggest ego right now. 

"You know they put Godless bigger on the poster," Jeff says with a bright smile. 

"Can we not talk about them for one fucking day?" Eddie pleads. 

He's a little disappointed at the lineup too, but that doesn't make this entire festival a bust. Monster of Rock may not be the most prestigious event they've ever attended but it's still impressive to be asked to play here, and this is only Corroded Coffin's third festival. Eddie's a smug bastard and even he knows Jamison sounds like a bitch. Besides that, he's so, so tired of talking about Godless. 

"They finally stopped stringing that poor girl along. What was her name?" Jeff asks, clicking his fingers. "Eddie, you know, the one who said she didn't know you in the magazines?"

"What?" Eddie asked. "They cut her?" 

Jamison sits up, eyes lit with mirth. "What's it matter to you, heartthrob?" 

"It doesn't." 

He's not being truthful. His bandmates are all unkind, and none extend the generosity of pretending they believe him. 

"Nah, she's not cut, she's official. Writing credits on the new album and everything, 'cordin to Rolling Stone." 

"You have it?" Eddie asks.

Jeff laughs at him but digs it out of his suitcase, brandishing it all rolled up. 

"Shit better not be sticky," Eddie mutters under his breath. 

"... Skip the interview with Kim Gordon." 

Eddie gags and flicks through the pages until he finds the article on you, or rather the column. 

"All female rock band Godless finally welcomed a new bass player this month after the departure of Millyanna Richardson in '89. Y/N L/N, 24, had been with the band for almost a year under a 'touring only' basis, though she performed live with remaining members Morgan Fletcher and Ananya Roy at the Prover Music Awards in early June. Fans have praised her talent and finesse, and are looking forward to her contributions to the band's next album expected this December. Hopefully she has thicker skin than her predecessor, who branded the band's inner politics as 'gruesome' and 'unlivable'."

There's a grainy photograph of you and your bandmates at the Prover Theatre overtop. You look exactly as you had that night, pretty and glitzy. He scowls at your printed face.

He can't fucking stand you, let it be known, and he thinks your frontman is the most spoilt brat he's ever seen. He hadn't seen the article, but he'd heard via word of mouth that you'd both had something to say about him. His approximation goes as follows: 

Interviewer: …and you guys will be performing at the Monster of Rock music festival in England this August, right? Any faces you're excited to see? 

Morgan: I think I'm better than everyone despite being in a mildly popular band that didn't qualify as hard rock until, like, three months ago, and I totally shit on our bass player for trying to make the change by the way, so I'm not excited to see anyone besides myself in the mirror. 

Interviewer: How sophisticated and mature of you. And you, Y/N, are you excited to see anyone? Photos from the Prover Music Awards show you were sitting beside Corroded Coffin's Eddie Munson, did you two hit it off? 

Y/N: Who was that, the guitarist? I'm so sorry, I don't really remember getting a chance to talk to him, but I'm excited for the opportunity to meet more people in the scene right now and to get to play for a new audience. Also I suck and I want Eddie sooooo bad. 

"I wish I were asleep." Gareth squints at the ceiling. "Asleep or back home."

"Miss mommy?" Jamison asks him. 

"And Cindy." 

"Oh, god," Eddie groans, "I don't want to hear it, seriously." 

"She always had smooth legs, you know?" Gareth says. "Always shiny, soft. Fuck, I miss her legs. Girls on the road never shave their legs." 

"Do you shave your legs?" Eddie asks. 

"Fuck off, Teddy, you know you like it better when they shave." 

"Do I know that?" Eddie asks. 

He turns to Jamison, giving him a much-used 'make him stop' expression. Eyebrows raised, lips parted. When Jamison says nothing, and Gareth starts to talk about hair removal in other places, Eddie scrubs his eyes with both hands and stands up. 

He's a guy. He has guy thoughts. Yeah, he thinks about girls, and their legs, and everything else, but he also thinks about them as actual people, something Gareth hasn't quite grasped yet. 

"Remember why Cindy said she didn't wanna come with you?" Eddie asks. 

"Because she was jealous of my success." 

Eddie snorts and shrugs on his jacket where he'd left it thrown over the ratty couch. "Because she was going to beauty school," Eddie corrects. "I'm going out." 

"We're miles away from anything interesting," Jeff says, magazine crinkling in his hands. 

"I'm sure I'll find something," he says, and doesn't add that it should be easy. 

What counts as interesting has taken a sharp turn since arriving in Donington. Which isn't to say it's boring, exactly, there's a rich culture Eddie isn't familiar with, and a fucking castle, but he's so used to loud dives and backroom parties that this has been a stark change. Wending had said to think of it like a vacation to get his head screwed on tight. Paula had said to think of it like a punishment, which had been funny at the time. Now he's wondering if she was serious. 

He knows there'd been a convenience store somewhere down the road from the hotel. Or rather, the bed and breakfast, a strange cottage situation where the hosts keep an eye on you under the guise of making your dinner. Eddie's first world problems continue. 

He could get weed, possibly. He doesn't know where from, but he knows someone who knows someone who must know someone, right? 

Then he starts debating with himself about if he should smoke just to escape boredom. That sounds like a terrible idea, life isn't even bad right now, he's just hungry, and— 

Eddie turns the corner, wet sidewalk dark as pitch under his feet, and spots the back of your head as you disappear inside of the convenience store. The corner shop, as Wending had informed. Eddie doesn't understand because it isn't on a corner, but he has bigger fish to fry. He considers waiting for you to leave. What are the chances you'll walk back this way? Pretty likely. 

Don't be a bitch, he tells himself. 

Light rain spots his neck as he hurries inside, the bell above the door ringing to announce his entrance. He's confused as soon as he looks up, because in front of him is an aisle, and to either side is an aisle, and he can't make out where the cashier is. He takes a tentative step in, eyes tracking muddy footprints down the way to the drinks fridge humming loudly at the back of the room. 

Claustrophobic, he makes his way through the aisle and stops in front of the drinks. Because luck isn't ever his friend, you're standing toward the leftmost part, where a second fridge hums, filled to bursting with canned beer and litre bottles of cider. Eddie isn't sure it's really you until you turn to the left slightly and reach out for a colourful glass bottle. He should walk away. He doesn't like you, he has no business watching you, but there's something so sweet about it. 

You in the humming chill, a coat pulled tightly around you, your chin hidden by the multicolour of a yarn scarf. You turn the bottle in your hand delicately and blink slow as you read the ingredients. Your hair is frizzy from the wind, flyaways surrounding your face in a little wave. His fingers twitch. 

You keep the bottle and pick up a second, nails clinking against glass. Your movement pulls like you're moving through jello, and Eddie turns to the fridge in front of him hurriedly. 

He can feel your gaze on the side of his face. 

He picks up a couple of drinks without thinking, his face burning with heat. When he chances a glance your way, you've moved. He stares at the rainbow of drinks and the gaps where you've taken what you wanted. 

He leaves some time between your departure and follows the way you must've gone down an aisle of more alcohol that's unrefrigerated and pet food, wondering how they organise here, and is confronted with you again at the end. 

It's a snug building. You're blocking the way past where you're standing in front of the cashier's desk, a plexiglass shielded cube decked out in hanging sweets and cigarettes. 

"Do you have Newports?" you ask mildly. 

"Sorry." 

"That's okay, uh, I'll just take a carton of whatever you think is best?" 

The cashier retrieves a light blue box of cigarettes. "Lambert and Butler blues," he says. "Total, sixteen fifty six, and I'll need to see some ID." 

You pull your passport from an already opened purse and offer it to him. While the cashier's checking it over, you peek at Eddie, and you don't smile but you don't not smile, a formal quirk of the lips. 

"You're American?" the cashier asks. 

"I'm visiting for the festival," you say. 

Apparently having passed his test, the cashier hands your passport back and accepts your card. 

"Are you paying together?" he asks, nodding at Eddie. 

Eddie grins unconsciously, worse when you say quickly, "Oh, no, we're not together." 

"Your brevity wounds me," Eddie says.

You snort with a similar geniality. "You don't need me to pay for you, do you? I heard you're rich now." 

There has been an improvement in Eddie's finances lately. Your album breaking into the Billboard top 100 does that. 

"I thought you didn't know who I was?" 

"I thought that was kinder than what I really would've said." 

He hates how your snark makes him smile. You're not looking at him, waiting for your change with your eyes forward as the cashier clicks a couple of buttons on the till. 

"What were you really gonna say?" 

The cashier hands over your change. You slip it into your purse, put your purse in the pocket of your coat, and slide your hand through the weak blue handles of your plastic bag.

"Thank you," you say sincerely. You take a step like you're going to leave, but you pause, and you look Eddie in the eye and say, "I would've said you were mean." 

His jaw drops. You look hurt, and you leave with a discomforting frown. 

He puts the drinks he's carrying down on the cashier's desk and says, "I'll be right back," before following you out.

You've pulled your hood up to defend against the thickening rain, walking with your face angled down. Eddie beats along the wet pathway. 

"Hey! Hey, wait, wait a second, princess." 

"You can't be serious." 

"I'm so serious," he says. 

He weaves in front of you and stops. You look cold as he feels with his red-tipped nose and stiff fingers, your arms drawn together over your chest. You look pretty and he's so sick of thinking it and not saying it. 

"You're hot when you're mad." 

You glare at him. "I wish I could say the same." 

"Hey, hey, okay, we had a spat, but we got off on the wrong foot, you know?" 

"I thought that too," you say. 

He smiles. "See, we're– you're fucking with me. Nice." 

You start laughing, edging around him. He moves in front and you shrug, stepping off of the sidewalk and into the leaf litter clogging the gutter. 

"Don't be stupid," he says, hands held up in surrender "get back on the sidewalk." You keep walking. "Come on, don't get hit by a car. That would really put a damper on the festival." 

You take a step further into the road, the kind that would make a collision unavoidable. He checks both ways for cars and sees none, knowing you're fucking with him and hating it anyway. The two of you are locked into a stand off, grey skies above you and wet ground underneath, your face partially occluded by your scarf and your hood and the dribbling rain. If he listens, he can hear the small sounds of the festival preparations a half a mile away, guitars hooked up up an insane array of speakers and the pounding of a beat through the floor. 

You start walking again. He follows, treading backwards to keep your attention. 

"Seriously, come on." 

"No." 

"No?" he asks. 

"No. I don't have to listen to you." 

"You're being stupid." 

"Eddie, I truly, honestly, don't care." 

"Sure." The sound of tires on the road draws his eye. A car appears behind you, approaching fast. "It's your funeral."

"What do you get out of this?" 

He bites his top lip, shaking his head from one side to the other. "Out of what?" 

"Tormenting me." 

"Tormenting you? Sweetheart, we hardly know each other." 

"Exactly!" You almost trip over your own shoes. "Exactly, you don't know me, but you thought you could say all those things–" 

"You started it." 

You laugh again and Eddie would be pissed but the car is still coming, headlights beaming through the light downpour. He huffs and grabs your wrist, tugging you up onto the sidewalk with his second hand on your waist. He doesn't mean to rag you about, feeling especially apologetic when your face knocks into his chin. The car spins close and validates his concern. You have enough sense to realise what's happened, watching over your shoulder as the car beeps and whizzes past. Still, you yank your arm out of his. 

"Don't touch me," you say quietly. 

He dips his head to force you to meet his eyes. "Next time I'll let you get hit by a car. Great idea." 

"I wasn't going to get hit by the fucking car." 

You're infuriating. 

Infuriating, and yet he feels bad for pulling you around. He lowers his voice, softens his tone. "Sorry," he says. "I don't know why this happens, everytime I see you, I…" 

You look intensely uncomfortable. "I have one of those faces, I guess." You shrug away from his reach. "Try to play well tomorrow? I don't want to go on to a dead crowd." 

His mouth snaps closed. "If you need me to warm them up for you, just say that." 

—

You go to watch Eddie's set because you're awful. You want it to suck. You want Corroded Coffin to bomb it and you want it to be his fault, anything to wipe that pretty smile off of his face, smother the electricity of his bouncing steps as he bounds from one side of the stage to the other. He's entranced by the crowd — it's hard not to be. Ananya had told you on the plane that UK festival audiences are a different kind of enthusiastic, eager and loud, and it's obvious now that she was right, and that Corroded Coffin had more than a few loyalists in the sea of people. 

The barrier bends under the force of it, thousands of warm bodies throwing themselves against one another despite the terrible weather, mud to the shins and sliding. You've never seen so many people happy to be covered in dirt. 

Neither Morgan nor Ananya had wanted to join you so you stick to the shadows with your lanyard pass. You refuse to think about why you've dressed the way you have, a black, stiff corset type top to cinch your chest, exposing the soft hills of your breasts, and the flare pants Morgan had insisted make your thighs acceptable. You're bedecked in pretty jewellery and your hair looks perfect, and it's all for your show, you swear, all for your set straight after his. 

Eddie's dripping with sweat and rain at this point, darker curls wet and slick and sweet around his face. His brows are furrowed like he's in pain, and his thumb has split on the strings, blood like cherry juice running down the body of his guitar, a Warlock NJ Series electric with a red and black tortoise shell design. It shines like mother-of-pearl. 

You're impressed by him, and worse, there's a heat stirring in your abdomen you despise. He's attractive, you've always thought him pretty, but on stage he's something else entirely. The passion transforms him, makes him a different person. No trace of agitating smugness about him. 

And he's good. You're not a critic, an expert, and your opinion hardly matters, but if he's this good now you'd love to see him at Hammet's age, at Hanneman's. He could be one of the greats. 

You're riddled with jealousy. Bass and rhythm guitar are not the same, and they're comparable in some ways, incomparable in others, but you know you're not like he is. You want to be the next Entwistle, the next Ian Hill, but practising You've Got Another Thing Comin' until your fingers bleed is never going to give you what Eddie plainly has. 

You hide your bandaid covered fingers in your back pockets and shake your head. You can pinpoint the moment Eddie notices you on the side stage despite the small audience they've attained. His neck snaps to the side, and his eyes bore into yours for a split-second. 

You could pretend you aren't here. If he ever calls you out on it, you could lie. You want me so bad you're seeing me places, Munson. 

You don't do that. 

You wave. 

You've never been the prettiest girl. You know you aren't model material, people aren't shy about letting you know that, and so, you're practised in the art of quiet flirtation. Your wrist straight, you wiggle your fingers sweetly, a face of fresh make up and your sweetest smile, like he's a guy across the bar and you're trying to get a ride in his passenger seat. 

For a split-second you adore him. It's the meanest thing you can do. 

You aren't expecting him to fuck up. His hand slips down the neck and that's it, one missed second of sound. He throws himself back into it and doesn't look your way again, a storm of emotions clouding his handsome face. 

Not what you'd meant to do, and yet. There's a cruel satisfaction in knowing you'd had any sort of power over him.

There's a ten minute gap between sets, twenty because of the shitty weather. Morgan and Ananya are nowhere to be seen as Corroded Coffin pour off of the stage and down the short stairwell where you're waiting, picking at your clear nail polish absentminded. You don't look up, and the resulting quiet makes you think they've all left. 

A wooden board creaks. 

You look up. 

"Hey, you–" 

Eddie takes your shoulder into his warm, big hand and pushes you back. You wobble and rush to correct your posture, hand clamping around the crook of his elbow. Even though he's soaked through, wet to the skin, his hand is a blistering heat. 

Your shoulders collide with the wall under the stairwell. It's a snug fit, dark and out of view. 

"What gives?" you seethe, pushing at his chest. 

"You fucking–" Eddie tucks a lock of wet hair behind his ear, and his hand stays at that height, hovering between you. "What's wrong with you?" 

"What's wrong with me?" 

"You want to mess with me, is that it?" 

His hand takes to your face, index finger following the line of your cheek, his thumb along your jaw. He isn't kind. He isn't cruel. He's touching you, just touching you, and your mouth is bone dry at the sensation, the stuttering beat of your heart. 

"I don't want to do anything to you, Munson." 

"We both know that's not true." You've never heard his voice like this. It's scratchy– pleading. It's a desperation. 

He's breathing hard. Your proximity means you feel each one as it comes, heat fanning over your lips. You look to his, find them parted, the barest hint of pearly teeth between pink dewy skin. They look soft. 

You lift your chin. 

I dare you. 

His hand slides down. He presses his thumb into your bottom lip and inclines his head. You close your eyes, fine stands of his hair drawing lines of wetness against your face as he boxes you in. 

"Are you going to–" 

"Shut up," he says, crushing his lips to yours. 

It his nose you feel more than anything, the force of it as he moves in, bridge sliding down your own. His hands, and how they tighten, fisted in the slope of your shoulder and clutching at the underside of your jaw like you might slip away. His touch brings you in, his hips force you back, wedging your spine tight to the panelled wall behind you. 

You let him kiss you, let his lips work over yours, let him take what it is he wants. Your fingers slide softly up the chilled leather of his jacket, coveting the wet mess of his hair. You weave your fingers into it, their tips pressed to his roots, and pull him away. 

You steal the gap between you and try to take control. You don't know how to kiss like he is, you don't know where all that meanness comes from. You force his hand from your face and nip at his bottom lip, imprecise, stammering pecks that reveal too much. 

Eddie inhales hard, pulls the breath from your mouth. 

"Don't play games," he says. 

He presses a firm, hard kiss all lopsided into your lips and pulls away, yanking your hand from his hair and setting it against the line of his waist. 

"You like games," you argue. 

He tilts your head to one side a millimetre at a time, tilting his own to follow you. A teasing light burns behind his eyes, a playful flare of his lashes that worries and excites at once. 

His thumb haunts the column of your throat, pressing, releasing, pressing again. Never enough to hurt. 

"Stay still." 

You stay still. You aren't expecting him to weave the other way, the hot and unapologetic scratch of his teeth against your pulse. You laugh at the feeling, find it gets all clogged up when he starts to bite. The hand that isn't anchoring your head roams down your shoulder, your back, falling into the small of it as though it were made to be there. His fingers spread and pull and your pelvis pushes hard into his own. 

"Is that a–" You cough on your murmuring, chastened by his thumb outside your windpipe. "S'that a micronta quartz in your pocket, or are you just," —you hiss as his hickeying turns brutal, hand pawing ar his waist uselessly— "happy– Happy to see me?" 

Your shuddering makes him smile. He lets your bruised skin slip from between his lips only to scandalise you further, kissing and nipping, licking a humiliating stretch until he's under your ear, speaking into it. 

"I'm never happy to see you," he murmurs, hand turned, the back of his index knuckle stroking a tender back and forth. His forehead kisses your temple. "You should know that by now." 

A picture of composure but you know what you feel. You roll your hips to revel in his subtle groan. 

"You want me to mark up the other side?" he asks. 

His question sounds so genuine, you almost say yes. He laughs at your silence and kisses wherever he can reach, crescent moons, spit-damp and branding. 

He pauses to speak into the corner of your mouth. "Mess me up again during a set and I won't be this nice." 

"You're not nice," you say, lashes skimming the skin under your brows as he stands at full height, widening the gap between you to a safe distance again. 

"Exactly…" Eddie squeezes your cheek until it aches. His eyes are unreadable. "Have a good set, sweetheart." 

Unreadable turns smug. He pats your panging cheek, gaze dancing over the sore stretch of your neck, and turns without a second glance. 

You press the heel of your palm to the cold wall behind you and blink. Once. Twice. In that moment you hate him more than you've ever hated him, hate him like you've never hated anyone, because his retreating figure is unaffected, and you're dizzy with the lingering press of his lips.

You have to hand it to him. He's good at the game. 

You'll have to be better. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

I wrote the bulk of this really quickly so please forgive any major errors I missed during editing, I’ll go back again in future and make more corrections! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and if you did please consider reblogging or telling me what you thought, I promise it makes a big difference <3 I was super nervous about this one and I still am lol

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #fem!reader #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst #bite the

[star-writr]

The Music Room

Another 10th Doctor x reader drabble. Requests are appreciated. You can also find this on my Ao3. Reader is gn and plays guitar. Enjoy!!

You had always been the TARDIS's favourite companion. Every-so-often, the spaceship would make a whirring noise in your presence, and if the Doctor was around he would smile and tell you: "she says you're the best person I've ever brought on board". It always made you chuckle and stroke the control panel in an attempt to return the flattery, which made the Time Lord either sarcastically ask if you two wanted to be alone, or look at you quietly with a gleam in his eye before suddenly announcing your next adventure.

As if that wasn't enough to make you see that the TARDIS had a weak spot for you, she would always find ways of comforting you when something was wrong; before you could even sigh with exasperation, you'd be distracted from your troubles by a familiar smell of blackberry pie, or by your favourite song playing faintly on a radio somewhere, or by a book dropping next to you on the cold pavement from god-knows-where.

In a similar occasion, returning in the TARDIS after almost dying as usual, the ship's hallway lighting threw you off a bit. You were just trying to reach your room, only wanting to collapse on the bed, but it was almost as if she didn't want you to, leading you in a different direction. The blinking light bulbs guided you until reaching a door; it looked exactly the same as all the others, so at first you couldn't understand what made it so special that the TARDIS wanted you to find it. As soon as you saw what was inside, however, everything else slipped off your mind.

It was a room full of instruments. There was a huge piano between some marble columns, resting on a glass pedestal; a drum set occupied a nearby corner; and, shifting your vision, you were greeted by the biggest guitar and bass collection you had ever laid eyes on. Every last one of them looked like it had been taken straight out of your dreams and into that room.

Since then, you had found yourself visiting that paradise every time you had the chance. You already knew how to play a guitar, so you usually handled those, shifting between different models. There were brands you had heard of and brands you didn't recognise, and they came in every possible colour imaginable. You were fond of all of them, especially the more extravagant ones with unusual shapes.

The Doctor was aware of how you spent most of your time on the TARDIS, and didn't have anything against it. You wouldn't lock the door or anything, so everytime the Time Lord wanted to check up on you, you'd let him. Sometimes he'd linger in the room, sit down on the floor while you attempted to read a music sheet, or he would suggest you played something so he could sing it. The Doctor wasn't very fond of or very good at singing, but it gave him an excuse to stay with you a little longer, and that was enough for him. On very rare occasions, he would also ask you to tutor him. Of course, he had picked up many guitars in his 900+ years of life, and knew perfectly well how to play, but again, he wanted to spend time with you without admitting it was for no reason other than his fondness of you. Honestly, his hearts melted every time your fingers stroke those strings, making him helplessly realize that he couldn't get away, and that he didn't want to. Therefore, he obliged to his feelings, staying by your side as long as possible. And you were more than okay with it.

With time, your bond grew stronger, making you question your feelings again and again. The music room kept almost all of your attention on each other, so to avoid feeling helpless your ritual started to take place in complete silence. Aside from monosyllabic replies to monosyllabic questions, you and the Doctor didn't talk as much as before, but it went without acknowledging, growing on you both. That habit came to a halt when the TARDIS made the first move instead of either of her passengers, tired of the mutual pining and determined to fill the silence that had grown inside the room. After all, it was a music room. It wasn't meant to be quiet.

She made sure it didn't go silent ever again by doing the only thing she could, which was locking both of you in. As soon as you realized the door wouldn't open, it startled you.

"What if there's something wrong with the TARDIS, Doctor?" you worried, while he tried to get the door open with his sonic.

The alien sighed. "The only thing wrong here is her attitude," he mumbled, "she's doing this deliberately. Let us out!"

You were confused. "How do you know? Why would she do that?"

The Doctor stopped in his tracks, putting one index finger on your lips, shushing you, and the other on his own. The TARDIS was speaking to him. A few expressions made their way onto his face, substituting each other and, once the spaceship's whirrs quieted down, shifting into a frown. The first thing he did was thank the stars that you couldn't understand the TARDIS. The second thing he did was curse everything because you didn't understand the TARDIS and he had to tell you everything himself.

"What happened? What did she say?" you whispered, his finger still on your lips. He removed it quickly and took one good look at your unaware expression.

The Doctor acknowledged the knot in his stomach and looked away, unable to keep eye contact with you. You were gorgeous to him, too gorgeous to ignore. It would've made him stutter, and he hated stuttering.

"There may or may not be something you need to know" he started.

"About what?"

"About..." about how much I want to kiss you, the Doctor thought. "...about me."

You raised an eyebrow. "And what about the TARDIS?"

"She locked us in here because she's giving me no choice but to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"The thing. About me. The thing you don't know."

"Yes, I know that. But what is it, then?"

It was one of the very rare times when the Doctor genuinely did not know what words to use, which was worrying considering how much the Doctor liked words. He got out of life threatening situations with words. He also got into those same life threatening situations with words. He liked words, he really did. He also liked you. Considering he liked both you and words, the realization of not knowing what words to use with you was like a slap on the cheek. Specifically, it was exactly like one of those slaps only mothers gave him. Specifically his companions' mothers. He remembered Martha Jones and her mother. He also remembered Donna, but not her mother, because it was Donna herself who slapped him a couple times. Maybe more that a couple. She would've probably slapped him now. "Tell them, you twat!" she would've shouted. It would have been very effective. It would've certainly got him to say something, anything, even "ouch", which would've been better than standing completely still like he was doing now. A slap, that's what he needed. "I'm a genius", he thought. Then he slapped himself.

"Doctor!" you exclaimed.

"Sorry," he apologized, "I needed that. Sorry."

You took his hands in yours. "Are you alright? Is it something bad? Do you have to tell me something bad?"

"No. Well, it depends."

You kept looking in his eyes, insistent and a bit curious.

The Doctor held his breath. "Look, the thing is I'm usually good with words. What I'm not good at is speeches. I hate speeches. Especially heat-felt speeches. I like listening to speeches, but I don't like when they come from my mouth, because before they get to my mouth they go through my brain, and my brain is too messy to actually figure out a speech without screwing it up and changing the subject too many times. And now I have to give you a speech."

You smiled, a bit amused. "And, in a few words, what is this speech about?"

"Uhm. Well. I can think of a couple things." The Doctor looked away.

"Such as?"

"Such as the fact that I want to kiss you. And go out with you."

You smiled, surprised. "On a date?"

"Yeah, sure. I just need to figure out the speech first."

"The speech to ask me out on a date?"

"Yes. I just need a second."

"Go right ahead. I'll wait."

He smiled. "Thanks."

The Doctor spent more than a second with his thinking face on. Then, he realized what he just said, and looked at you with his eyebrows raised and his lips parting without making a sound. You laughed, hugging him. It didn't take long to hug you back.

"I'll go on a date with you, Doctor" you said, kissing him on the cheek and causing him to blush. "However many dates you want."

"No speech needed?" he asked, smirking.

"No speech needed" you replied.

#doctor who #10th doctor x reader #david tennant #10th doctor #10th doctor imagine #doctor who x reader #x reader #gn reader #drabble

[arminsumi]

SUGURU LEARNING THE PIANO FOR YOU.

𝐆. 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 — 夏油傑

NOTE: pls ignore errors this is just a silly little fluff idea that popped into my head and i wrote it in one swing without planning so yes anyways REQUESTS ARE OPEN gimme all ur suguru/satoru/satosugu thoughts pls i accept fluff n smut n angst 🫡 or if u just wanna chat i promise i don't bite hehe

WARNINGS — lowercase used, fem reader, suguru calls you 'princess' once, a small bit of angst and self-deprecation (Suguru), kinda implied that satosugu both crush on you in college, gojo teasing you two bc he's an annoying little shit and i love him for that

JJK works

🍒 𝐉𝐚𝐲 — サクランボ ⋅ 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 !

you met him when he was in his final year of high school, in the music room during after a practice lesson with his uptight teacher.

geto suguru was a little bit of a showoff, especially when he saw your face walk into the room. some friends and others hung around him — you know, he's just that kinda person that people want to hang around and be close to and talk to even if they have nothing of interest to say.

he was thumbing at a bass, eyeing you out without making it obvious. each time you tried to speak, someone interrupted like a twittering bird, and it annoyed him like nothing else.

so the next time you two met delighted him — because you were left alone. at first he pretended not to notice you coming in, but he had sharp ears and definitely heard the soft thumping of your footsteps. he had his eyes fixed on his guitar, twisting and turning the pegs at the head, testing until it was tuned to perfection. and then played something smooth and sultry, a melody that wove through the seats and other standing instruments right over to you.

"hey suguru."

"oh hey, didn't notice you there." he lied, voice as smooth and deep as the notes he had just played.

"mind if i listen?" you asked, taking a seat close to him — but not close enough for him. he wanted you closer. oh well, he decided that he'd use his talented fingers to allure you into closer proximity.

"of course." he smiled and continued playing nonchalantly.

that nonchalance is what caught so many high school girl's hearts. he never stopped being popular with the ladies even in college.

and come college, he picked up another instrument to learn; the piano. difficult. challenging. annoying. despite the benefit of his long fingers and naturally graceful movements, it just didn't come as naturally to him as stringed instruments.

but he knew you liked the piano, or so he thought, because he heard you compliment it once when satoru played piano in front of you.

so he asked his best friend, "can you teach me to play this song? it's y/n's favorite." naively thinking that it would be simple. a week is all it took for him to start letting out exasperated sighs over the keyboard.

"suguru, don't be so harsh on yourself." satoru said after hearing a self-deprecating speech from him, "piano is hard. you need a lot of patience, especially if it doesn't come naturally."

"i'm clumsy." suguru sighed, eyes saddening at the sight of his fingers resting over the black and white keys. "i don't think y/n will care to hear her favorite song being played so poorly. she'll force a compliment out of kindness. she's sweet like that."

"it's been a week." satoru shook his head, bumping legs with suguru as he changed his sitting position on the piano seat. "no one in the world is gonna be even averagely good at the piano in a week - that's impossible unless you're — "

" — a real prodigy. like someone i know." suguru smiled, teasing his best friend out of nowhere. "ah, satoru, what i'd give to have a crumb of your talent right now."

he earned a sympathetic arm around his shoulders.

"must suck to be talentless." satoru joked, "kidding. keep practicing, i wanna see those hands moving when i come back. want anything from the store?"

"diet coke." suguru said, "and something spicy? thanks."

when the white-haired boy lankily strode out of the music theater, the atmosphere became somberly quiet. it was a big theater, much bigger than the cramped music room back in high school.

just when suguru had began lamely practicing again, you walked in. he was so caught up in self-deprecating thoughts, so distracted by his own inner criticism, that he didn't notice.

"hey suguru." you greeted, giving him the fright of his life — he visibly jumped, causing a jarring sound to whine from the piano.

"hey? hey! what — hey." he freaked out for a second, then composed himself, "good to see you again, where you been?"

"i'm sorry — prof's been on my ass about missing assignments. and sorry for never replying to messages," you chuckled nervously, coming to an idle stand next to the piano as he watched you. "i'm so shit at texting."

"that you are..." he laughed with you, "but i'm not much better. i prefer talking face-to-face." and he thought to himself; especially if it's your face.

you smiled at him. a small silence passed, then you nodded at the piano and inquired about it. "practicing?"

"yeah... kind of."

"can i listen?"

he began to blush. you'd never seen him blush before that. it was so subtle that you were almost unsure if it really was blush — or just a trick of the noon light streaming in through the tiny square windows.

"i'm really bad." suguru responded self-consciously, nervously wiping his palms on his dress pants.

"don't care, i wanna listen." you pushed, catching hint of his self-consciousness and deciding to attempt to break through it.

"ah, 'nything for my princess, i guess." he chuckled softly under his breath. he'd started using that nickname with you only recently, 'cause he'd been falling more and more in love than in high school.

so he sat and played the piano for you.

awkward notes, some smooth and purposeful — others a noticeable mistake. he grimaced at those mistakes, you had to laugh.

"hey..." you hummed in realization as he played. his eyes flicked up at you from the piano. "that sounds familiar." you said, "learning chopin so early? isn't that a bit advanced?"

"it is, yeah... but i wanted to learn it for y- because i like him. he's great right?"

"mhm..." you smiled at suguru. "i wouldn't have expected you to like him. actually, it's really surprising you're learning piano at all — why did you decide to?"

suguru froze up for a moment.

"i don't know. i just wanted to." he shrugged, lying very smoothly with that voice of flowing rivers.

"it's just that... you've always talked about how bass and guitar are your beloveds, and you'd never touch anything else. so that's why i'm curious."

he froze up again. you were catching onto him, so he just admitted it as nonchalantly as possible.

"i wanted to learn it because you like it."

that made your heart thump a bit more wildly than it already was from being in his presence. something about suguru is that he's capable of making hearts race just with his voice alone.

"really?" you felt the crown of your cheeks warm up, a heat spreading down to your jawline. his face was going completely red.

"yeah?" he swallowed, almost choking, looking away. his pretty hands lightly rested on the keys. you wondered for a second about how it would feel to have them cupping your cheeks.

"that's really sweet of you... thank you." you said sincerely.

maybe it was the effect of your gaze, or your sincerity, or both, but he felt like it was hard to breathe.

"damn, the tension!" satoru's voice boomed, abruptly breaking the quiet between you and suguru. "i could cut it with a knife. you two should just kiss already — i bought popcorn, let me watch." he lifted a convenience store bag.

"satoru, how long have you been standing there!" you laughed nervously.

"a while. you guys would definitely be the first to die in a horror movie." he said, the liveliness of his voice such a jarring contrast for your ears.

suguru's face was still red. your fists were curled up and laid on the edge of the piano.

"okay, just blurt it out already you two! so frustrating! this isn't a damn slow burn romance novel, just get together already."

"shut up," you laughed embarrassedly, "damn third wheel."

"i am not the third wheel — y/n, if you date suguru you're also dating me i hope y'know that. that's just how it works."

suguru let out an incredulous laugh. "oh my god, please, satoru."

"what? just being honest — don't look at me like that y/n i didn't mean i like you!" now satoru started blushing, "i'm just saying!" and then proceeded to over-explain himself while you and suguru dissolved into laughter.

#♥️ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 — 夏油傑 #fluff #geto #geto suguru #suguru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #geto x reader #suguru x reader #jjk suguru #getou suguru x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #jujutsu geto #geto fluff #suguru fluff #suguru geto #geto suguru x you #getou x reader #satosugu #stsg #college au

[angsthology]

INTRODUCTION

get to know our (my) favorite driver!

a/n hi hey hello my first f1 related work (barely but whatever). still fairly new here so please (kindly, gently) correct me if im wrong about something or if ur up to it, be my tutor

THE KANGAROO(KIE) VS. THE WORLD

let’s start easy: she was born in 2000

joined the grid in 2022

her driving number is 50

why? i’ll tell u later

literally only has like... one or two (three at best) friends outside the grid

she’s the youngest daughter

her team isnt exactly specified cause im too lazy to organize... anythin

so despite it not being true, she always felt like she’s in her her siblings’ shadow

(man i told u, projecting)

she is multitalented

(cause she always need to one up who, she doesnt know)

she plays instruments

including the following: bass, drums (especially when she’s angry), electric guitar, saxophone, keytar

currently learning the violin

avid watcher of sitcoms

people describe her fashion sense as “probably whatever’s clean” but somehow always works

girl barely has a color palette shes just ooo cool okay i get

freezes every time she spots jenson button

(girl, same)

probably has split personalities but no one rlly bats an eye

“be yourself”

“...which one?”

yeah, thats her

like ive said before, she feels to be in her siblings shadow despite the fact that out of them all... she’s probably the one that makes the most money

she ice skate too...

the grid barely blinks an eye anymore when she drops a random fact about herself

the random facts is actually just talents that a normal human being probably couldnt

point is... shes just a box of surprises

you’ll never know what you’ll get next

thats all i got rn the rest will tell all (idk what im saying)

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #formula one x reader

[weird-is-life]

hii I have a rockstar!remus request where the reader is a massive fan of the Marauders band and she got front row seats (idk what instrument u prefer to have remus play but guitarist!remus lives in my head rent free) and he sees her in the crowd and when it's his guitar solo he just locks eyes with her and doesn't look away and then winks at her when he's done<3

Hiii ty for this cute request! Hope you like it and lovelies if you have some more request for rockstar!remus feel free to send them my way, warnings: fluff, mentions of concerts, (0.5k)

You've been a fan of The Marauders basically since they've started playing. But this is your first time at their concert, where you can actually see their faces in real life, not just through those huge TV screens.

You're standing in the front row, giddy as one can be. It all feels like some kind of fever dream being this close to the stage.

And something that makes it even better, it's that right in front of you is the bassist of the band, Remus Lupin.

He's definitely your favourite member of the band. With his soft face, kind looking eyes, devilish smile, wild hair, he's the perfect definition of a rockstar and that's basically why every single girl or a boy melts at the sight of him.

But even tho, you really love him, you aren't one of the girls, that will go crazy at the sight of him.

It's because you know, there's no fucking chance, that he'd ever look at you and think ' oh that girl is really cute, lemme ask her out'. You know, that's not happening, like ever, so you settle for enjoying the moment of just seeing him so close.

But something weird keeps happening during the show. Remus seems to be looking at you every now and then, or at least you think he is. Maybe you're just going crazy.

You try to not think of it, not wanting to be delusional. But when one of Remus's bass solos come on, you know for sure, you're ot imagining it.

Remus's is definitely looking at you. Like he doesn't break the eye contact the entire solo and it makes your cheeks go on fire.

You even look around you to make sure, he's not looking at somebody behind you. He's not.

And his smirking isn't helping the situation, like at all and by the time the solo is over, your cheeks are red as a tomato and a shy smile is stuck on your face.

What makes it even worse for you is when he winks at you at the end of it. You have to actually hold on to the railing just so you don't loose your stability, suddenly feeling like some silly fangirl.

And that handsome bastard just chuckles at your stunned, sheepish face.

For the rest of the concert, you try your best to calm down and to bring your stupid hopes down. It feels impossible tho.

And finally, the last song ends and you can go to your hotel room to take a cold shower to get rid of the permanent flushed cheeks.

But your hope of doing that dissappears just as quickly as it came, because one of the bodyguards hands you a folded paper. It's written in a messy handwriting, that you don't recognise, but you easily guess who's it from.

Thank you for being a great view for me, dove. Your dance moves and smile made my evening, hell the entire week probably. So thank you. See you soon hopefully ;)

Love, R.L.

Bravely, you scribble your phone number with a short note on the other side of the paper and quickly run out of there. Cheeky smile now paints your face as you make your way to the hotel and surprisingly, when your phone vibrates with a notification, you know it's him, it's from Remus.

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fluff #rockstar!remus #remus lupin

[madneedshelp]

See Me - Eddie Roundtree x FReader

Summary: You had spent your whole life trying to prove yourself, to be seen. Living in the shadows of your brothers was exhausting, but you fought to make a name for yourself. So, how could not fall for the only person who saw you no matter what?

You had always been Billy and Graham’s little sister to everyone. It didn’t even make sense because you and Graham were twins, but you were still always considered to just be somebody’s something. You were never known as just you.

When you were a kid, you were mildly annoyed by your afterthought status, but you expected the feeling to fade with age. It didn’t. It was only made worse when The Dunne Brothers formed.

Did Billy and Graham ever ask their own sister if she wanted to join the band? Of course not. You didn’t play any instruments, but you had talked about wanting to learn before. It kind of hurt how little attention they paid to you.

Instead of let it drive you crazy, you decided to use it. You were going to make them see you, and then maybe it would feel like they gave a shit. You were even lucky enough to have the perfect opportunity open up.

You could tell Chuck was flaking. He wasn’t serious about the band like the others. So, you took up bass guitar in secret. You were earning your spot in the band once he left, because you could very obviously tell he was leaving.

Sure enough, right before the band was leaving for LA, Chuck told them he was done. You walked out in the driveway to find the remaining band members looking absolutely pissed. 

“What’s going on?” You put a hand on Graham’s shoulder to catch his attention. 

Billy beat him to an answer. “Chuck quit. Now we’re out a bass player.” 

“The fuck are we going to do, man?” Graham looked over at him. 

“I don’t know, Eddie can switch to bass for us.” Billy spat out.

You glanced over in time to see a flash of anger in Eddie’s eyes. He didn’t want that, and frankly, neither did you.

It was now or never. “Let me do it.” 

“You play, little Dunne?” Warren asked. 

“Yes,” You assured him at the same time Billy and Graham let out a sure “no”. 

Your brothers turned to you in surprise the second the words left your mouth. 

“Since when do you play?” Graham gave you a suspicious look.

“Long enough to be better than Chuck.” You folded your arms and looked between him and Billy sternly. “Will you give me a chance to prove it?”

Everyone turned to Billy as he turned to you.

“Fine, yeah, let’s hear what you got.” 

You played one song for them and the vote to let you in was unanimous. 

————————

There was nothing quite as exciting as the feeling when you all arrived in LA. The night after you arrived, you all partied hard. Sure, you all didn’t know what you were doing or how you were going to make it, but you took a huge leap and that called for celebration in your eyes.

“Hey, I never got to thank you.” Eddie handed you a beer as he took the seat next to yours.

You thanked him and took a swig. “Thanked me for what?” 

“You saved my ass before we left. I like where I am, I never wanted to be a bass player. Besides, you’re way better at it than I am. You could kick anyone’s ass at bass.” 

You chuckled at him. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

“No, I’m serious. We should’ve kicked Chuck out when he started skipping practices ages ago.” 

A genuine smile grew on your face. No one has ever complimented you this much before. Especially not someone you barely knew. Eddie hung out with Graham, the most you’d really talked was small conversations in passing.

“Thanks, Eddie. I really appreciate that.” 

He gave you a smile in return and you felt a flutter, an honest-to-God, romance movie flutter. That was not good. You couldn’t fall for someone in the band, things would blow up if it didn’t work out. 

You excused yourself and went to find Camila. She might’ve been Billy’s girlfriend, but she had quickly become your best friend. 

“Hey Cam, come get another drink with me?” You put a hand on her arm.

She turned to you and nodded. “Yeah, sure.” You led her back inside and went immediately to the fridge. “More beer or should we open a bottle of wine? Fair warning, it’s super cheap and super shitty, but it’ll do the trick.”

“How about you tell me what happened with Eddie out there first?” She gave you a sly look.

You closed the fridge and whirled around. “What? Nothing happened!”

“Oh there was definitely a moment. I saw some looks over there.” She poked you. 

“He was just being nice about me joining the band. That’s it. Nothing more.” You held up your hands defensively. 

“Why not? Eddie’s a good guy.”

“I just got in the band, I’m not complicating things with that. Besides, we’ve barely ever talked before. I don’t even think you could call us friends yet. The most important thing right now is figuring out how to actually get famous out here.” 

Camila considered your words for a second and shrugged. “I guess you have a point there. And I wouldn’t worry about you all making it, I have faith in this.” She looped an arm through yours. “Now, let’s go get drunk off our asses on this cheap wine.”

————————

After that night, you found yourself acutely aware of everything Eddie did and it frustrated you to no end. Every time he glanced at you in practice, every compliment he gave you, every little gesture he did. The last thing you wanted to do was develop feelings for Eddie, but it looked like it was maybe too late for that.

Y/N: To make matters worse, Camila had definitely not done what I asked and liked to play the subtle matchmaker. She thought I didn’t notice, but she was pretty obvious about it. 

Camila: So maybe I tried to get them together, is that so bad? Y/N was skeptical, but I knew it wouldn’t blow up like she thought. Besides, I’ve known them almost my entire life, and they deserve to be happy. 

“Hey, would you mind grabbing some ice from the kitchen?” Camila called out as she arranged some plates of food on the table. 

It was Julia’s first birthday, and you and Cam decided to plan a little gathering for it. Just the band was there, it wasn’t anything huge. 

“Yeah, of course.” You dusted off your hands as you finished setting up a folding table. 

“Great! Eddie, go help her.” 

You didn’t even have time to shoot Camila a glare before he nodded and started toward you. Instead you mouthed not funny at her as soon as Eddie couldn’t see. She gave you a smug grin and mouthed you’re welcome. 

You followed Eddie into the kitchen, nervousness faintly tingling in your veins. This man had entirely too much power over you. You had tried everything to get him off your mind, and it would work for a little, but then he would tell you he liked that little riff you threw into that song or he’d bring you your favorite drink after you and Billy had an argument over some stupid thing at the studio and you would turn all mushy again. You had come to realize that he understood what it felt like to be overlooked and maybe that was why you felt a weird connection with him. 

“You seen the cooler?” Eddie asked, bringing your attention back to the moment. 

You glanced around. “Yeah, it’s up there on top of the fridge. One second.”

As you stood on your tiptoes to reach for the cooler, you were realizing that you weren’t going to be able to reach it. Then you felt the ghost of warmth behind you. 

“Here, I can help with that.” Eddie’s smooth voice murmured above you. 

Instantly, you felt your face flame. God, you hadn’t behaved like this since you were thirteen. It was more than a little embarrassing and you sure as hell weren’t about to let him see you like that. As soon as Eddie snatched the cooler and stepped away, you put distance between the two of you. 

“I’m going to go see if Cam needs any more help, you got this from here?” You blurted as you made for the back door. 

“Wait!” Eddie grabbed your wrist gently. You flinched out of surprise, but he immediately dropped your hand. “Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to talk.”

“No, it’s fine, uh, what’s up?” You put on an entirely forced smile. 

Eddie folded his arms and gave you an earnest look. “Did I do something?”

“No,” your brows furrowed. “Why?”

“You avoid me all the time. I don’t know if I pissed you off at some point, but you act like I’ve got the fucking plague or like you want nothing to do with me.”

It stung a little bit. He seemed genuinely hurt, and you never wanted to do that. “No! It’s not you, Eddie. You haven’t done anything wrong, I swear.��

“Then what’s wrong? It’s bad enough being in a band with one Dunne that can’t stand me, I don’t know if I can handle two Dunnes acting like that.” Eddie threw his hands up in frustration. 

You closed your eyes and sighed. “Eddie, I promise I don’t have a problem with you.”

He took a step closer to you. “Then why do you act like you do?”

His tone was becoming more and more irritated, and the insistence was starting to annoy you too. He was going to make you say it, wasn’t he? But honestly, maybe you should’ve just told him. It had been well over a year of pining. If continuing to act like this was going to cause a fight, maybe it would be less chaotic to tell him and see what happens. Things couldn’t keep going the way they were, regardless. 

“You really want to know why?” 

He nodded. “Please.”

You took a breath and looked him directly in the eyes. “I like you, okay? And I don’t want to like you because liking people in your band doesn’t usually work out well, but it’s been too fucking long and I can’t stop feeling like this so I avoid you.”

Eddie let out a dark chuckle. “That’s it? You’ve been ignoring me all this time because you like me?”

“Yeah, I have. And don’t act like that’s so wild. My reasons make sense. It’s not stupid.” You practically spat the words. 

There were lots of ways you had envisioned this possibly going, but you never thought he’d be this angry. You didn’t think he’d be angry at all. Awkward maybe, but not pissed. 

“It is stupid, actually.” 

Your head snapped toward him. “I’m sorry, what?”

Eddie stepped closer again. “I said that’s actually pretty fucking stupid.”

“Eddie, I swear to God, if you-”

Eddie crashed his lips against yours before you could say another word. Your shock wore off after a moment and you were able to kiss him back like you’d wanted to for so long. The two of you broke apart after what felt like a small eternity, panting and grinning.

“Graham owes me $20.” Warren chuckled from the doorway. 

Both of you jumped apart and were met with Warren’s pleased face. 

“How long have been there, Warren?” You stammered.

“Long enough, Little Dunne. Long enough.” 

You pointed a finger at him. “Keep it to yourself, or you lose nickname privileges.”

“We already know!” A voice called from outside. Karen. 

You rolled your eyes. You kind of hated your friends sometimes, but you also kind of loved the infuriating little shits. 

“Whatever, let’s just get the ice back out there.” You shook your head with a laugh.

Eddie grabbed the cooler with one hand and your hand with the other, and you had to admit, you felt way less scared of the possibility of dating a bandmate. 

————————

Y/N and Eddie Roundtree got married a year after Daisy Jones and The Six broke up. They currently work together producing music and are still located in LA. Their daughter and son already have a huge love of music, and are rumored to be starting a band of their own.

#eddie roundtree #eddie roundtree x y/n #eddie roundtree x reader #eddie roundtree fanfic #daisy jones fanfic #daisy jones fanfiction #daisy jones and the six #graham dunne #billy dunne #camila dunne #warren rojas #daisy jones #karen sirko

[milgram-tournament]

MILGRAM Best Song Tournament, Round 2, Match 2 BRING IT ON vs. THIS IS HOW TO BE IN LOVE WITH YOU

Propaganda for both options under the cut!

Propaganda for BRING IT ON:

"Reasons why Bring it On should win:

- Just by starting the song, the instrumentals are BANGER. Like his more rock style is very cool, even better than After Pain’s more mellow style - Arthur’s voice (Futa’s va) had bills due because have you HEARD his singing?? His raspier voice fits Futa so well - It feels so explosive and like a call to action in a sense, which very much matches Futa’s mentality during trial 1. He also wasn’t playing victim like a CERTAIN girl… (jk, love you mu!) - SAA HAJIMEYOU USOTSUKI KARIDA - UNDEAD HEROOOI YES SLAY KING HIS HIGH NOTE HERE IS HEAVENLY - His scream at the end. Oh my god. HE LITERALLY ATE THIS NOTE. AFTER PAIN COULD NEVER. BRING IT ON FTW 🔥🔥🔥" - His range goes WAAAAAY higher than Mu. She would end up like PHG if she even tried hitting any of his high notes in the last chorus /j

---

- The vocals are amazing, those growls are so well done - You’re able to get Fuuta’s crime and motive pretty succinctly, only based on the visuals - But it still leaves a lot up to interpretation, like how he only attacked once in the final fight scene. It lead to some cool theories. - On that note, the game aspects are so cool!! Especially when paired with him going after people online, just good synergy with awesome style! - Fuuta’s scared face after he realizes what he did. The great contrast of other foes simply being knocked out then being met with blood splatter. - The tempo of the song changing with his mood is a really good touch as well. Make the song more chaotic which highlights his character traits well

---

"propaganda for bring it on: the music FUCKS it genuinely slaps so hard listening to it. song style is incredible its perfect for fuutas personality and gamer vibes. also the way the mv frames everything as a game? the only time real blood and real gore happens being when killcheroy dies? the little details of all the usernames, the different monster designs, the generally distorted feel of everything being too lighthearted?

okay i could go on about the mv for hours but lets not. aside from that: the FEEL of the song!!! the vocals!!!! it really feels like fuuta putting his whole heart into it, into this point of view that both blows problems out of proportion and minimises them, and DEEPLY fucking up. my darling little hypocrite gamer boy twitter user. he makes his witch hunt genuinely sound like something that could sweep people up into it. also the instruments goddddd. the guitar and synth the bass and the drums the DRUMS. im relistening to it to write this propaganda and it keeps making me headbang when i should be writing. if you arent headbanging to bring it on you are LYING.

the way the lyrics are written is wonderful too!!!! they feel so brash and brave and powerful and like. cocky about it. and it fits PERFECTLY. its gets someone swept up into it and it FUCKS. vote bring it on im serious. lets go!! a victory march!! dan da dan!!"

Propaganda for TIHTBILWY:

okay so like the thing im most in love with: the VOCALS!!!! this song has an absolutely AMAZING singer and AMAZING vocals!!!! the way the conversational talk-singing lines still feel so musical!!!! the cute cute cuteeeee mahiru voice!!!! it brings you so much energy!!!! its a song sung with so much love!!!! mahirus va brings such an amazing feel to the song with such amazing talk-singing!!!! its very skillfully done and it happens in i love you too!! mahiru songs r the QUEENS of musical talk singing

the silly phone call bit. kurururu~!

the little vocal flourish and the way her voice raises up like an excited exclamation in the final prechorus!! daijoubu nante kirai DA!

its such a fast song but everything flows so well!!!! it makes it feel so bright and cheery and peppy!!

the instrumental is so underrated just LISTEN to that catchy bass line thats so pretty in the verses!!!! no for real even if u dont vote this is how to be in love with you go listen to the bass line in the verses it works to move both the song and the listener forward at mahirus sweeping breakneck pace. and the cute keyboard sounding and synth instruments!!!! its SUCH a danceable song!!!! i cant listen to it without bopping along in my seat

the way the ominous bits are subtly hidden? it all sounds so cute but there are just these Things that she sings that are really kind of concerning and unhealthy when she sings them!! and the veiled desperation to be in her relationship- listening to that and the cheery tone and breakneck, quick song pace, it really does represent mahiru SO well. she throws in all these little bits that just go noooo teehee the relationships just fine!! when it REALLY isnt

i would listen to mahiru talk for hours

the MV!!!!!! HER FASHION SENSE THE MAGAZINE STYLE!!!! the magazine style especially works so well with her character!!!! its so cute and stunning and just looking at it you have a blast. also her birdcage!!!! her birdcage and the bright orange and the pink bars!!!! the way everything desaturates and becomes more sickly looking when she wakes up at the end!!!! its such a happy carefully curated and designed dream and then it drains away!!!! also god all her outfits are stunning. mahiru call me

the way she sings "overheat de~!" cutest thing in the WORLD.

the little faces she makes!!!! godddd shes so expressive

actually the whole songs so expressive!!!! shes putting her all into it!!!! her words have so much expression in them!!!! once more praising mahirus va the way her voice can soften and become bright or subtly desperate so quickly is MASTERFUL control of expression when singing and its so underrated. join me in being insane over miho okasaki delivers her lines. shes such a perfect mahiru.

funniest es cover. hands down. funniest es cover.

this is how to be in love with you is FREE serotonin!!!! free energy right there!!!! this is how to be in love with you sweep!!!!!

---

-The song is so cheerful!! I always feel like dancing and singing when this one comes up in my playlists!! Absolute banger, mood definer, kicking sadness in the shin with those high-heels and then hitting its face with a cute purse -THE HIGH-HEELS STEPPING TO THE BEAT OF THE MUSIC IN THAT ONE SCENE (0:50). SIMPLY ICONIC. NO ONE DID IT LIKE HER. -👠💅👝👗 -She is slaying. Look at her outfits. She put so much effort there. She gave it her all. Absolutely serving. -SUKITTE KIMOCHI WAKATTA TSUMORI? NARA KONO MAMA FUTARI O-VA-HI-TO- DE -The storyline of the mv MAKES SENSE and you can form a COHESIVE TIMELINE OF EVENTS (unlike other unspecified contestants' mvs you know 🙄) -look at herr 🥺 she beby 🥺 all she did was love too much 🥺 we all love mappi don't we 🥺 she deserved more let her win this pleease 🥺 -No medical malpractice happened in the making of this mv 👍

---

I care so much about This is How To Be In Love With You- it's visuals are brilliant in the ways it conveys its themes and narrative. I'm never normal Ever about the "Love as marketing" symbolism that is brought in by the use of magazines. It's a lovely upbeat song but the Horrors are Always Lurking under it, the breakup Ritual line is my Favorite Line cause its so horrifying but its said so casually and its so good oh its so good-

#milgram #milgramtournament #fuuta kajiyama #kajiyama fuuta #mahiru shiina #shiina mahiru

[kisscara]

O1: live performance! [fanboy!scaramouche x drummer!reader] ⎯⎯ heartbeat rhythm series

your eyes sparkle with excitement as you peer through the curtains. "there's so many people," you murmur. hu tao's chin rests atop your head to join you in viewing the large audience. "it is going to be our last live performance before we go on hiatus." hu tao cheekily grins, "i'm super pumped though! look at that crowd!"

ayaka is beneath you, crouching down to take a peek as well. she squeaks, "there really are a lot of people..." you smile, "no worries, aya. you always deliver with your amazing keyboard playing!" yanfei double checks the states of the instruments and turns to face her head to you three.

"get over here, the curtains will go up soon." yanfei stands up from where she was previously bending down to adjust the position of the guitar amps, "good luck, 5O5. everything is good to go." hu tao slings her guitar around her neck and yoimiya does the same with her bass.

yoimiya squeals with pure delight, "the audience is so loud, my heart is pounding even faster!" hu tao darkly jokes, "don't die on us before we perform." yanfei gives an enthusiastic thumbs-up before heading backstage. shortly after, does yun jin step onto the stage with a calm smile. "ready, everyone? let's do our best!"

ayaka nods her head, though hesitantly. she's always a little nervous before live concerts. you sit onto your drum throne and pout, "i'll miss my beloved..." but you have no more time to dwell about 5O5's hiatus, because the next thing you know, the curtain rises.

the familiar voice of your band's manager, madam faruzan, reverbrates through the room on a microphone. "please give it up for hit band, 5O5, as they perform their final live before going on a short break." cheering and clapping ring in your ears and yun jin begins to speak into her mic.

"thank you all for coming! we won't disappoint as we will be performing our unreleased album, blooming symphony."

"eh? i'm not even into bands," mona mumbles, sitting in front of the television set in the bedroom she shares with her twin brother and younger sister. as she's about to switch the channel, scaramouche instantly lunges for the remote, causing the two of them to tumble across the floor.

mona sat up, clearly angry. "what the hell, kunikuzushi!?" the complaints of his twin went into one ear and out the other as he stares at the screen, absolutely tranced. scaramouche grabs onto mona's sleeve, "drive me there!" she scoffs in return, ripping away from his grip.

"no way, where and why?" mona stands up and places her hands on her hips. scaramouche grits his teeth in frustration, "because (name)'s going to be performing at teyvatmusic live house!" she sighs and turns off the tv despite his protests. "no. i was planning on saving up my gas to drive us to school tomorrow."

scaramouche groans and grips fistfuls of his hair, "fuck the school! just take me there, please! you know very well that i don't plead so often; i'll do anything!" mona put a finger to her chin, "anything? even if i ask you to let me tell all of my friends that you have a crush on (name)?"

scaramouche rapidly nods his head, "yeah, whatever! i'll deny it anyways so just please, take me there now or i'll miss it!" mona rolls her eyes with a satisfied hum, "alright. wait for me in the car, i'm just going to put on a coat of lipgloss."

scaramouche runs out the room, shouting, "you better not take long or i'll run to the live house myself!" ei pops her head out from the kitchen. "what live house?" she asks, watching scaramouche put on his shoes in a frenzied matter.

"nothing ⎯ it's nothing." scaramouche was about to open the front door until ei defensively stood in front of it with her arms out wide. he deadpans, "mom. what are you doing?" ei waves her spatula at him, "it's a school night, young man. you're not supposed to be out and about after eight, remember?"

she frowns when he begins arguing with her. "mom, i'm not going to take too long! i'm just going to do an errand real quick!" scaramouche uncharacteristically clasps his hands together during his explanation. ei exhales through her nose, "... fine. but no later than nine, do you hear me?"

scaramouche nods and rushes into the living room to ruffle fischl's head of fluffy blonde hair, "i'll see you nerds later." bennett eagerly waves, "buh-bye, fischl's brother!" razor throws paper money onto the table, "go fish." bennett sweatdrops, "razor, we're playing monopoly..."

"farewell, dear siblings!" fischl yells as scaramouche and mona rush out the front door. she turns back to the two boys. "bennett, something has peaked my interest. let us indulge in a fine game of go fish!" she announces, sweeping the table clean of their board game with her arm.

ei chuckles, "i think that's enough, honey. bennett's father is here to pick them up."

scaramouche kept on bouncing in his seat the whole car ride that mona had to smack him in the back of the head, which resulted in him threatening to bite off her nails that she just painted. and the second mona pulls into the driveway, scaramouche gets out of the car and practically runs into the live house.

mona speed walks after him, "wait up, you little bastard! i'm wearing heels!" she yelps in surprise when she enters the room scaramouche went into. mona pushes and shoves past people to get to her brother. "archons, it's overflowing in here! much too loud for my taste..." she huffs.

scaramouche is on his tippy toes, indigo eyes closing in on you. you're smiling the whole time and your pretty hands are holding your drumsticks with such passion as you drum to your heart's content. he puts both his hands on his mouth, making an audible squeak. mona smirks, "gosh, you're hopeless."

she takes out her phone and records the performance because she knows very well that the second scaramouche watches your drumming, he won't even bother to save the memory in his camera roll, so mona does it herself since he ends up hating himself for it later.

as the concert goes deeper into the night, people begin to leave, but scaramouche stayed. he always stays until the end. his forehead is covered in a sheet of sweat as you play your drum solo, marking the end of the performance. and mona, much like scaramouche, is left speechless.

a final round of applause goes on for the five band members. yun jin takes a bow, "thank you for listening!" mona looks at her phone and hits the red button, ending the video. "oh, this would look so good on my twitter!" she comments. scaramouche leaves the room without a warning, catching mona off guard as she runs after him.

"what's your deal?" she teases and nudges his arm with her elbow. scaramouche shoves his hands down the pockets of his sweater. "they could have seen me," he throws his head back and mutters, "i should have brought a mask so i could have at least gone to their fan meet."

mona knits her brows together, "seriously? ugh, you're such a wuss. no wonder they don't talk to you when they don't even know you're like, their fanboy?" she opens her makeup compact and double checks her face. scaramouche grumbles, "because it's embarrassing; we're in the same class!"

mona taunts him in a lilting tone, "i'm telling you, someone's going to snatch them up before you. they are famous, after all." scaramouche begins to space out. someone else, admiring you? no, there's no way! he's been your number one admirer ever since you first debuted, hell, before you even began playing in a band!

but of course, it's useless, isn't it? you don't even know him as your fan but rather the cold and mean student council president. oh dear, these times require a very tall and annoying ginger to talk to!

tags: @mariusvonhangme @scaramoo @mikismusings @rizakari @akagism2 @sakiimeo @ohmyfinggod @k-hrtz @scarafrisbee @kaoyamamegami @liliumaraneae @dreamsofminnie @starfart19 @kunisbeloved @luhvashh @makiswrld @kyouzki @mimissubway @rmiyuki @theblueblub @patata52 @vixiesposts @thenightsflower @coquettemaiden @thefandomcrow @cotton-eee

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what happens when you, a talented and well-known drummer across the web, grow an intense crush for the student council president, who's also your number one fan? from annoying sisters to nosy bandmates, the next event that happens is always more chaotic than the last!

© kisscara

#📼 — 𝓦.𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. #heartbeat rhythm smau<3 #gender neutral reader #scaramouche smau #genshin smau #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x reader #genshin imagine #genshin fanfic #genshin fanfics #genshin fanfiction #genshin fanfictions #scaramouche #genshin fluff #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche angst #genshin angst #scaramouche imagines

[eggyrocks]

whats da band lore how did they do dat

okay if i’m going to answer this question it’s gonna be LONG (also cannon does not apply here yall im making this shit UP)

noya and yn are childhood friends who kinda discovered punk music together at a very young age

like they were seven listening to agent orange together

yn liked how angry and passionate it is and noya liked how high energy and badass it is

yn’s favorite bands/biggest influences were skinned teen, gitogito hustler, and melt-banana

noya’s were sicilian blood, social distortion, and minor threat

yn was obsessed with learning guitar. she would take books out from the library and imagine she was playing on a fake one & would ‘practice’ and memorize as much of the technical terms as she could & this was how she learned to read sheet music

noya’s grandfather got him a guitar as gift one day and he let yn actually practice on it in exchange for teaching her what she knew

so they were self taught guitar players together 🥹

and they always knew they wanted to start a band but they were both guitar players and two guitar players does not a band make

yn was willing to learn bass too but even if she did they would still need a drummer

enter: tanaka

(influences: fugazi. that’s it. that man loves fugazi)

they met in middle school and the day they met tanaka it was like they were life long friends

like that bond was instant

and one day they were hanging out at noya’s house and tanaka saw his guitar was he was like “oh you play”

“yeah we both play guitar we wanna start a band but we can’t find anyone who can drum”

“oh i can drum. does that help?”

“???? yes???”

and so tanaka became the drummer and that’s when they started having practices

at first they were so bad

like

so so bad

yn tried to play bass but was not the best at it and yn and noya kept arguing over who did vocals bc neither one of them wanted to do it

until one day yn said “you know if you’re the frontman and the vocalist you’ll get the most attention from girls” and that did it for him

only problem was tanaka wanted to be a vocalist after that too

they mostly just played covers at first but noya was writing his own songs too

he’d mostly write lyrics and yn would mostly write music but most of the time neither were very good until tanaka came in and edited what they were working on

their sound was extremely sloppy and unrefined but by the time they entered high school their technical skills had improved a lot

except for yn’s bass playing. she hated it and practiced as little as she could

so one day during their first year of high school the band made a ton of posters asking bass players to come try out

enter: yachi

(now yachi did NOT like punk music. her influences were more like: the strokes, pixies, elliot smith)

yachi plays A LOT of instruments

clarinet? she’s a pro. cello? of course. girl can even play the harp.

she’s an extremely technically gifted bass player

post-high school yachi has really come into herself and gained a ton of confidence but high school yachi was still timid as hell

she saw the flyer and though it would be a lot of fun to put her skills to use in a creative way

but then she showed up to their after school practice spot, flyer in hand and shaking like a leaf

two scary looking dudes and perhaps even a scarier looking girl? yeah no. she’s out

but she couldn’t get away. yn was so excited at not just the prospect of having a bass player finally join them but also another girl? she dragged yachi back there lmao

and even though yachi was so visibly anxious that all sort of melted away when she started playing and she became the coolest most confident person alive

they were actually sort of blown away the first time they heard her play. like the band was like !!! you might be too good for us to tell you the truth

yn was on her hands and knees begging her to join

so she did! and was very happy to feel so wanted and included

and then with the addition of yachi that’s when they really started to get good

while noya and yn were self taught and though still pretty knowledgeable, yachi had a lot of technical knowledge that really helped them grow

and they started practicing more and more

like too much maybe

their grades suffered

but they really improved a lot and halfway through their second year, they played their first show

it was a disaster

so extremely chaotic

they had nothing set up right and they kept having to stop their set to fix shit and they got heckled and yn threatened to skin the person and from there they were politely asked to stop the set early

it was bad

they realized they needed more help

enter: kiyoko

(she doesn’t play any instruments but her favorite musicians/bands are mazzy star, fiona apple, and the cardigans)

they had met kiyoko before

they were all hanging out together when tanaka tried to talk to her and yn got so embarrassed to be seen with him she hit the back of his head and apologized on his behalf

kiyoko kinda got attached to yn from there; she didn’t have a lot of super close friends & she appreciated her consideration of her feelings

and they started to grow closer and yn, yachi, and kiyoko started to hang out a lot more

it was really good for all of them

yn didn’t have a lot of friends and she was really grateful to be with people who didn’t judge her for her more alternative persona

yachi kept getting more and more confident and felt like she was discovering herself

kiyoko was always very timid and was not the best at initiating conversations or being part of a group but she felt no pressure hanging out with yn and yachi and talking to them was so easy for her

so they got really close

so naturally after the disaster performance yn and yachi were complaining to kiyoko

who said without really thinking much of it “i can help you guys out”

so she did

it was super overwhelming at first because there’s a lot of things to keep track of and a lot of technical things to learn

but kiyoko really loved helping them out

and the more she learned the more she started to offer input or take initiative

tanaka and noya of course loved this

their natural instinct was to act like freaks around her but yn kept that in check

with a lot of threats

and occasionally following through on the threats

and kiyoko started to feel like a member of their band

and they always practiced with her and listened to her critiques and followed her advice

her input and guidance are extremely valuable and half of the reason they’re still a band

tanaka was so in love with her from the start and the more dedicated she became to the band the worse it got

he was so in love with her he didn’t even notice that she eventually started to show signs that she might feel the same way

it only took 6 months for them to start dating and the only person who was surprised was tanaka

it took a LONG time for them to record their first album

it was a mess

a lot of arguing

a lot of clashing opinions

but after writing and rewriting and recording and rerecording

they finally put together a full length album

12 songs, 39 minutes

it’s a little rough and sloppy but hey

that’s punk

and they were all really proud of it

they’ve since put out one ep with 6 shorter tracks

they’re working on their second one now but hey. albums are a lot of effort to make

but tanaka keeps saying it’s going to be the greatest album of all time (it won’t be)

and that’s the freaking band lore

if you made it to the end. you’re a real one

#I TOLD YOU IT’D BE LONG #ask

[plasticflwrs]

★ ⠀⠀ ! ⠀⠀ Since earning her first real paycheck, SALEM has invested heavily into her collection of bass guitars. These are only the four that she uses most often and there are many more in their studio space in Superbloom's headquarters. Despite having so many, she knows them like the back of her hand and can easily deicide which one needs to be used while recording or even playing live. The one with the STICKERS is her prized possession, having been with her since the beginning of THE BIG GLOOM.

★ ⠀⠀ ! ⠀⠀ Compared to the rest of the members, JUNYEONG has only became interested in drum kits recently. He never really cared about drums before they started making it big but that's what you get for spending years resenting your position in the band! He shifts between these two main kits and has been looking into some other additions for them recently. In the middle, there is the Plastic Flowers logo as well!

★ ⠀⠀ ! ⠀⠀ SERIN loves her aesthetic guitars, especially that third white one. She is easily the most picky member of her instruments and only owns a few of each style. Compared to Salem, she also struggles with choosing the perfect choice and works very closely with her producers to ensure the best sound comes out. She has gotten better over the years but she has no real interest in collecting them either. It's about the look more than anything for her.

★ ⠀⠀ ! ⠀⠀ DEURIM switches between a grand piano, organ, and keyboard easily. She had actually learned how to play the organ from OLIVER when she joined as it was needed for songs like THE CHAIN and PSYCHO. However, she plays the keyboard most often as its the easiest to bring around to music shows and on tour, forcing them to sacrifice some of their music for functionality.

★ ⠀⠀ ! ⠀⠀ Resident musical prodigy, OLIVER owns a lot of different instruments, which have been used over the years on their albums and live performances. Most recently, he bought an accordion for his 2024 New Years Resolution of learning how to play and fills in any musical gaps for the band. Most of the times, OLIVER just plays the rhythmic guitar and violin, with the rest being saved for special occasion.

★ ⠀⠀ ! ⠀⠀ GET TO KNOW ... PLASTIC FLOWERS — INSTRUMENT EDITION.

#kpop oc #idol oc #fictional idol community #kpop addition #oc kpop group #kpop fanfic #kpop au #bts addition #fictional idol oc #idolverse #oc boy group #oc girl group #oc coed group #idol au #fictional idol group #fake kpop oc #fake kpop girl group #fake kpop idol #stray kids addition

[you-know-honey]

𝕯𝖊𝖊𝖕 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘

Chapter I:ℜ𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔶 𝔇𝔞𝔶

Sodo/Dewdrop x fem!reader

Summary: Copia summons a new nameless ghoul

Word Count: 1977

Note: bad english, i'm new to this whole ghost thing, correct me if i'm wrong on anything, I will use a name for the protagonist for more practicality.

Chapter II...→

The place was devoured by darkness, thunder rumbled outside the abbey like cries from heaven in response to profane acts, the wind hit the stained glass windows and lightning illuminated them with a flash of light, stained glass windows that reflected images of Baphomet and other demons. . Regarding Cardinal Copia, his face seemed extremely serious, something unusual for him but the situation warranted it. In each corner of a pentagram were each Ghoul and Ghoulette, the tools of the ritual. It would be an important night, a gift for the group, a refreshing element for the world.

Copia looked up at the sky, looking behind the glass dome above their heads at the moon obscuring the sun, the time had come, he walked down the stairs towards the group, with a light touch to the ground and the gunpowder ignited, burning powerful and bright, until completing the figure of a pentagram connecting with each Ghoul. The group placed their instruments in front of them, giving each other a supportive look.

Montain set the rhythm with the drums, Cumulus took the keyboard with Cirrus, Swiss and Aurora started the singing, Phantom activated his rhythm guitar, Rain shone with his bass and Sodo showed off his guitar. The instrumental flooded the chapel, the melody reverberated in every foundation and made the place shake. The ritual had a single motive, a single need, each Ghoul gave his best, letting some of his essence flow over the fire, calling one of his own, inviting whatever responded on the other side to come out of the darkness and join them.

"Belial, Behemoth, Beelzebub" Cardinal Copia sang, calling to the great leaders, asking for a demon from among his legions "Asmodeus, Satanas, Lucifer"

The place was filled with abysmal and intelligible murmurs, beings from the other side of the pentagram observing from the shadows without daring to cross the threshold. Copia looked proud and excited like a child to feel so many presences present with him, all interested in her vocation. Lightning fell around the Ministry with more force than before, attracted by the power, Swiss and Aurora began their prayers, in a language that only the creatures of the abyss could understand.

A murmur rose from everyone, a shiver ran through the body of all the Ghouls, something had answered the call and had crossed.

Thick black smoke emerged from the gunpowder and condensed into a humanoid figure with no fixed features other than shining fangs. He made small jumps inside the pentagram from one side to the other, looking (if you can put it that way) at each of the ghouls, analyzing them with amusement.

He danced with small childish leaps from one to another, from air to earth, from earth to quintessence, from quintessence to water. She tried to get closer to Sodo, the fire demon. He showed her fangs and the small cloud of smoke walked away scared, it was clear that she didn't want another Fire Ghoul and honestly one was more than enough. She snuck between Montain's drum set cymbals, breaking her personal space several times to check her height in amazement, the ghoul couldn't help but smile nervously.

Cirrus and Cumulus greeted the entity excitedly, letting out small laughs to get its attention. The figure floated towards them and smiled back, playing with the cloaks on their shoulders. She briefly made eye contact with Rain, but out of shyness it wasn't long before the ghoul looked away from her. The specter laughed softly and danced around Phantom a little, plucking the strings of his acoustic guitar with his ethereal hand. Swiss and Aurora laughed at the scene, enjoying seeing how the humanoid being seemed delighted with everyone present, both demons rubbing shoulders in complicity.

Cardinal Copia was excited, this was his first ritual to summon Ghouls from hell, although he somewhat regretted Sodo's bitter attitude, he counted on the others and especially the Ghoulettes to give a good welcome.

The figure took one more turn and his laughter echoed like a child. He returned to the center of the pentagram, looking at the eclipse behind the dome, and raised his hands to the sky, as if he could touch the moon. One after another drops of cold rain began to fall quickly, until they almost became a sea on the ministry, the figure smiled and turned towards Aurora, the latter tensed immediately and one shiver after another crossed her back. The air began to get cold and become salty, capable of hurting the nose when inhaling, everyone could feel it, even demons like Sodo so carried away in their element felt cold, the type that you can only find if you get lost in space or in the last circle of the hell.

Aurora took a step back. The band's instrumental was accompanied by a piano and an energetic female voice, the humanoid figure approached Swiss and extended his hand.

"Hello" the figure greeted before a group of lightning fell again, filling the entire room with absolute white, extinguishing the infernal fire and thus ending the ritual.

Everything returned to darkness after such a dramatic birth, Cardinal Copia applauded excitedly and the lights turned on showing a strange lump covered with a thin and opaque black fabric, a hand with shiny black enamelled nails peeking out of it.

The ghouls avoid the gaze of the lump on the ground, somewhat uncomfortable and extremely tired. But Cardinal Copia waited to see the slightest movement to ensure that the ritual had gone perfectly.

The lump trembled with a movement similar to a first breath.

"Okay, everyone out." announcement, the Cardinal "It's time to find out what they have sent us from hell"

The group's rib cage calmed and a huge sigh of relief escaped everyone's lips. Cirrus and Cumulus crossed their fingers, it was no secret that since Aurora's arrival no girl ghoul had arrived. The ghoul area needs more feminine energy.

"Swiss, can you wait outside?" Copia asked him.

Like owl heads, the group looked at Swiss waiting for his response. Even the disinterested Montain had turned to look.

"Yes," he responded with the firmest tone he could fake.

Aurora approached and pulled one of her sleeves, she didn't have to speak, her concern was obvious. The last time it had been Aether who had stayed at the ritual to bring Phantom. Aether never came back.

Swiss approached Aurora's ear in a hug. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, trying to calm her agitated essence.

The ghoulette didn't believe him, clearly. But I trust him, because Swiss never lied.

Inside, Swiss's soul wanted to run after them, but his duty prevented him from showing that kind of rebellion.

He turned to the Cardinal, this walk way towards Swiss handing him a shiny new helmet, accompanied by the usual uniform.

Copia crouched in front of the bundle, lifting the fabric a little to discover what it was hiding, squinting in case everything had failed, giving it more suspense. The figure trembled and both Copia and Swiss took a few steps back.

Little by little the figure stood up, showing a wild tangle of short black hair from which two small black horns with white tips protruded, its tail uncoiled from around its leg and waved behind its back, its hands holding the blanket to avoid being naked.

"She's a she," Swiss sighed with the air contained in his lungs and his lower lip slightly fallen.

"Wonderful" Copia pronounced with some pride, the girl raised her head quickly and the Cardinal was met with a gaze of coal-black pupils and eyelids that contrasted with the glaucous blue of his irises, the creature opened its mouth showing its fangs, perhaps to speak but I don't breathe out any words.

Swiss knocked after the Cardinal, a sign that he should start talking before everything became awkward.

"Do you want to get dressed?" Copia asked in a friendly tone. The girl nodded and the Cardinal nudged Swiss lightly to hand the package to the demon.

Her eyes lit up when he saw her clothes and without shame he completely dropped her blanket, amazed by everything he had before her. Swiss immediately looked at the ceiling and prayed to Satan that Copia had done the same. The lack of what they called modesty was normal in new ghouls, small details that lost importance in hell.

"It would be ideal if you could start with the pants," suggested Copia who had turned around.

They heard the fabric slide down her legs, the metal buttons clicked as she pushed them into the buttonholes of her pants, the next time she put her feet on the ground it was with the boots, giving her a few extra inches of height.

She continued dressing, tucking the Victorian-sleeved blouse into her arms and securing the vest to her body. She looked at herself for a few minutes, satisfied with her appearance.

"Already?" Copia asked, who had turned around with a hand over his eyes, he seemed somewhat uncomfortable or self-conscious about the situation.

"Yes" A feminine and friendly voice answered him.

Copia looked through his fingers to make sure before removing his hand from his face and remembering that he had a script to follow and had to start as soon as possible.

"Ahem…" He cleared his throat and began to speak. Swiss stood silently next to he, holding her helmet. "Do you know why you're here?"

"Yes" replied with a timid tone.

"You are here to be part of Ghost, to help me with your talent to bring the message of the Clergy to the whole world, do you understand that?" The young woman nodded "Do you understand that you are not indispensable and can be replaced if you become a stone in my way to fulfill my mission?" That was the part of Copia that he hated the most because he tended to get more attached to his ghouls and ghoulettes than he should, the punishment of returning to hell was too great for small delusions of fame or prominence, that is, he had forgiven Sodo several of those but He remembered that that was the reason why Papa Emeritus III had been taken out of circulation.

"I understand, sir." He pronounced as seriously as the situation warranted. "My only duty is to help you fulfill your duty to the Clergy and bring our Lord's message to the world."

The girl walked forward, face to face with Cardinal Copia. Now came the fun part, Copia took the helmet from Swiss's hands and placed it on the girl's head, thus sealing the 'contract'.

"Well…I…" Copia took a moment to remember the next step. "What's your name?"

"Aesir, sir," she responded quickly, almost over the Cardinal's question.

"Well…Aesir, the third quintessence ghoul" He raised his voice, proclaiming. "Welcome, dear" Copia lost the threatening and vehemently image that she had maintained until then, when she gave Aesir a warm welcome hug.

The girl seemed happy to have that hug but Swiss was sweating cold.

"He's one of your companions, Swiss," Copia said and the demon approached and extended his hand towards her.

"Hello," Aesir took Swiss's hand, shaking it in greeting.

"Swiss" I call Copia.

He sighed, afraid of the next words the Cardinal might say.

"Could you take Aesir with the others?" The ghoul's mouth opened a little in surprise, he was expecting farewell words "The girls will be very happy to see another female face in the pavilion."

Swiss smiled with deep relief and nodded. "Yes, Cardinal." He directed the girl to the door. "After you," he offered chivalrously.

"Oh, Aesir," Copia called. "If there is any problem, don't hesitate to tell me. In cases of emergencies or things like that." The Cardinal said goodbye.

"Bye," she said as Swiss closed the door behind them both.

I hope you like it, I'm new to the fandom and the lore is somewhat complicated, all help would be VERY welcome.

#sodo ghoul #montain #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghost #cardinal copia #aurora ghoulette #cumulus ghoulette #nameless ghost #oc original character #fanfic #slow burn #per sodomizer eriksson #sodomizer ghoul #swiss ghoul #sodo x reader #dewdrop x reader #spanish writer

[chrollohearttags]

because I’m in bed sick af and bored..the musician au (reverb series) characters and who I kin/model them after:

no warnings, just a fun lil list and drabble. (Feel free to headcanon them after whoever you feel, these are just MY personal muses) this is a lil something until the next chapter is done.

eren aka ej the don: I feel like I’ve already stated this but I hc him after Bones. From the music, the looks..everything. He favors him so much. I feel like his music videos have this dark, mysterious aesthetic just like his. In the same turn, he also sings and makes these R&B esque, love songs (just take a listen to Bones’ 2 Million Blunts album, it’s what inspired this whole AU). His musical style also ranges a lot. He may play a guitar on stage and sing for one and then start a mosh pit with the next song. Bones calls himself the ‘Underground God and The Reaper’ and if Eren wouldn’t do some shit like that, idk who would. Just like him, EJ produces and makes his own instrumentals. Like the Grammys or these awards shows don’t have to give him his flowers but he’s adored by the underground and independent scene. Super talented all the way around. Gives me heavy $uicideboys vibes too.

connie aka prince cee: I know a lot of ppl say Central Cee (who I personally don’t care for but I can see it way more for him than eren) but I actually modeled him after Yeat. I feel like Connie can rap his ass off but he never takes himself too seriously either. He’s a meme rapper but every last one of his songs is a hit. His soundbytes go viral alllll the time on Tiktok. His music is super fun and hype. But put him in a freestyle, he’s devouring every time.

onyakopon aka ony the god: now he reminds me so much of a mixture between Bryson Tiller and MO3 (🙏🏾). He definitely has bars but he has an INCREDIBLE singing voice so he combines the two and does it sound godly (no pun intended). I also think he’s a very talented piano player. He’s probably the 2nd most multi-faceted behind EJ. His style is so unique and so many try to mimic him. But they can never out do the doer. Him and EJ be having a ball in the studio; just bouncing verses off each other and singing they asses off! 😭 I also think all 3 have a few joints EP’s together.

jean aka j. kirschtein: my boy is the only non rapper in the mix. But he is the epitome of a rockstar. I mirror him making music heavily akin to Coldplay or James Arthur..alternative but still with a touch of soul in it..simply put, he’s amazing. Skilled on bass, electric and drums. Also writes for a LOT of people as well. He was Mikasa’s bassist when she performed but she took one listen and knew it wasted potential to not have him at the forefront. The first time she heard him sang, she actually cried! He has such a strong register and can do a variety of genres. He might be the most popular behind EJ signed to AMG.

mikasa aka mika ASH: even though her music career was short lived because she preferred being behind the scenes, she was cold as hell as a performer. I personally have a few I mused her after and that was Saphir, AshNikko and Thuy. Some of her music was soft and melodic but she was the epitome of a goth girl or rather, the label played on that whole aesthetic and branded her as such! She was so good though. Mixing heavy metal type music with light vocals. She had a large fanbase and of course, the alt girls LOVED her but she just couldn’t handle the pressure of fame and stepped back to be a talent scout/manager. She’s much happier with that.

armin aka arminhammer: now armin is more of a producer than artist himself. He sticks to making the beats and directing the music videos. I think of him as like a Cole Bennett or Kenny Beats. When he’s not chasing half the hoes in Miami, he’s behind the mixing board and contrary to belief, he’s the best to do it and the man you want working on your projects. He’s HIM for sure. When he DOES make music, he sounds like Chase Atlantic or The Neighborhood. (He just looks like a Chase Atlantic song, I can’t explain it!)

christa reiss aka HISTORIA: we haven’t talked about her much outside of being Eren’s ex but she’s one of the biggest pop stars in the entire verse. She’s very similar to Zara Larsson, Dua Lipa and Maggie Lindemann. Very much Top 40, bubble gum pop. She had this whole good girl gone bad vibe going on for a while and EJ still heavily influences her music and even helps her music but she gives basic white girl (but in a cute bubbly way! ☠️)

#cherry’s drabbles 🍒 #cherry’s works 🍒 #musician au #musician x influencer au #musician eren #aot headcanons #aot au #aot modern au #modern au #eren jaeger #eren jaeger imagines #eren jaeger headcanons #connie springer headcanons #connie imagine #connie aot #connie springer #aot connie #onyankopon aot #onyankopon #jean kirschstein #jean kirschtein headcanons #jean imagine #jean kirschtien #jean kirschtein imagine #mikasa attack on titan #mikasa ackerman #mikasa imagine #armin snk #armin artlert imagines #historia

[alientoastt]

hey are you a mechanisms enjoyer or perhaps a fan of the new albion tetralogy

have you ever wanted to hear R L Hughes' full vocal range as she plays two characters often in the same song as one another? Tim Ledsam as a morally repugnant but slightly sexy priest? an exploration of religious guilt around sex and where a sex worker gets a happy ending that doesn't involve no longer having sex? heavy fucking themes and jazzy instrumentals? you should listen to Lolina: Origins.

With a mish-mash of jazz, rock, classical and electronic music this concept EP tells the story of our heroine Lolina as she is taken from the brothels of dystopian Mars to the wastelands of post-apocalyptic Earth and beyond...

Vocals Lolina and Mariella: Rachel Hughes The Patriarch: Tim Ledsam OrganaTech Doctor: Jessica Law Backing Vocals: Jessica Law, Ben Below, Rachel Hughes Spoken Vocals: Tim Ledsam, Ben Below, Rachel Hughes

Instruments Piano and E-Piano: Rachel Hughes Violin and Electric Violin: Marius von Raum [sic.; released in 2017 and Kofi Young was credited as MvR until... I want to say 2020?] Fretless Bass, Electric Guitars, Banjo, Saxophone, Ewi, Electric Drums, Synths: Ben Below

content warnings under the cut this album is a lot. but its very good

religious guilt / extremism / kidnapping / forced conversion yeah quite a lot of it is about the whole uh. this congregation treats its women like shit and especially Lolina. I think it's handled well and there's an added layer of removal in the fact that it's like. on Mars. if that helps

a character kills herself because she realizes she has feelings for another woman and has been made to feel unclean for this. this is pretty much entirely contained in "Mariella's Lament", but is like. pretty integral to the story at play

hospital noises in Hospital Bed + medical malpractice. which isn't quite the right word for the deal with healthcare in this album but it's the best i can do without just Describing What Happens In The Album. general cyberpunk "you don't own parts of your body" type medical malpractice?

#some time i will sit down and do an honest to god review of this and pick it apart because i love it and when i love a media that means #i can pick out about 200 things wrong with every minute. but thats enriching and Part Of Enjoying It. its a courtesy that i want extended #to the things i make as well! to have someone say ''huh this is a bit strange. lets break down why you did that'' #and sometimes the answer is because the expected thing to have done would have been worse.I DIGRESS LISTEN TO THE ALBUM #babble #Lolina: Origins #Bandcamp

[tillthelandslide]

Insufferable Arsehole Part 2: An Encounter - Matty Healy Series

A/n: here's part 2!! You'll now realise that my heart belongs to Ross and even writing this I get carried away and end up including cute Ross content. So sorry if that annoys you.. this is after all a Matty fic. Hope you like it anyway.

Part 1 found here

Series Masterlist

Lou is sat on a black leather seat, her legs crossed under her, her guitar that she takes everywhere with her rests against her bare thighs, her fingers moving along the frets, plucking the strings. The weather is uncharacteristically warm for London, she wears black denim shorts with an old the 1975 merch shirt that George sent her one year. The edges are frayed and the seems of the collar have come away from the shirt revealing just a slither of her skin, the tee was well and truly worn and it made the boys hearts swell, knowing she probably wears it when she's missing them.

George is sat opposite her, Ross is lying down on the floor below her, being an absolute pest and fiddling with the laces of her doc martins.

She's playing random notes, something she made up recently, the tune is peaceful and the boys find themselves relaxing at it, she hums along to it, Ross harmonises after hearing the tune two times, the act makes her smile widely down at him.

"Sounds good" Adam says coming into the room, he places his guitar case down before plopping himself down next to George.

"Thanks Hann" she says before she finds herself playing "girls". The boys ears perk up at this and she's far too focused on her strumming that she doesn't hear the door swing open.

"Gunning for Hann's job?" George asks making everyone laugh. She smiles at her best friend, sticking her tongue out in jest before she stops and places the guitar down.

"You can have it" Hann jokes, making George and Ross have ago at him for his words, the four of them laugh loudly, only stopping when a grumpy voice rang out in the room.

"Thought we were here to rehearse as a band not sit around and watch you play what you want?" Matty's voice rings out, the words are what irritate her, not the sound of his grating voice in her ears.

So the nice Matty from last week wasn't sticking around then it seemed.

"Seems we've got the old Ratty back guys" she says, Ross pinches her ankle from his place on the ground, silently begging for her to behave.

"He started it" she grumbles out, Ross looks up at her and she nods at him knowing he's only trying to help. She places her guitar down, crossing her arms and leaning back against her chest, her legs cross too, drawing Matty's eyes to the skin on show.

"I have a name" he snaps back and her eyes find his, they're almost begging her to challenge him, just say something back, something quick and witty. But her eyes drift to Ross and then to George who she can tell are both begging her to just let it slide, so she does.

They begin rehearsing, Lou and Matty bickering back and forth throughout, even with the looks the boys keep shooting their way, but despite that they sound good and they all work well together.

She truly believes that no matter how good they sound, how well she performs, how little or hard she tries; Matty will still say it's not good enough.

They finish the song they were playing and she smiles before speaking.

"That was sick!" She says happily, lifting her fingers from the keys and lifting her arm up, Ross who is standing next to her, bass in hand, presses his palm flat against hers, high-fiving.

"Sure you'd think that, you're just some chick in a band who cant play their instruments properly" he snaps, his voice is quiet, but she hears it through his grumble. Her mouth opens to snap back but she gives in. She steps away from the keyboard, she turns to the table, grabbing her pack of cigarettes and lighter and goes to storm out.

"That was out of order Matty!" She hears Ross say, she's thankful that he's always one of the first to defend her.

"Why can't you just be nice? Just get along. Come on mate, she's my best mate, just ease up a little" George then says.

She wants to turn and tell them to leave it, tell the whole room that Matty isn't worth it but she doesn't let her feet betray her this time. The fresh air that hits her as she finds her way outside is a welcoming distraction from her thoughts.

She takes out a cigarette, quick to place it in-between her lips and lights it. She breathes in the nicotine quickly, searching for the rush she needs to forget his cruel words.

She hears the door open behind her only threw puffs later and turns to see Matty behind her.

"Oh great, that's just perfect" she says, he lights his own cigarette.

"I'm sorr-" he begins but she's quick to interrupt him.

"You know what, just save it Matty! I don't need to hear it" she says, turning away from him. She really wants to just turn around and push him, or swipe her palm across his face.

"Listen Lou-" he says, she interrupts again. Lou was her nickname and she hated that he said it casually, as if they didnt despise each other.

"No you listen! I don't know how many times I need to tell you, but I'm not here to annoy you. Not everything is about you and you need to get that into your insufferable fucking head! I am here to help out a friend who asked for my help. And I don't need your stupid comments when I'm just trying to help" she rants, her voice raised. He nods as he listens to her.

"You're right. Im sorry. You just... Ugh you just irk me" he says admitting what she already knows. Since the both of them remember they didn't get along, he rubbed her the wrong way and visa versa. The truth was Matty knew why she hated him, he gave her every reason to hate him. She didn't know why Matty hated her, she was nice to him in the beginning, wanting nothing more than for her best friend's best friend, to like her back, he just didn't and soon she hated him for the way he treated her.

"Well you're going to have to find a way to deal with it. Because I'm not going anywhere. I could easily just drop this, and leave you utterly fucked... But I'm doing this for George and for Ross and Hann. Not you, you intolerable arsehole" she snaps, the cigarette she's holding finds it's way into her mouth and she breathes in one last time before it finds the floor and she crushes it under her black boots.

She goes to turn and walk away from him but stops in her tracks, turning back to face him "And my name is Laura, only my friends call me Lou"

She leaves him after that, smirking to herself at him standing there, mouth agape. He stares down at her half finished cigarette, he notices the red mark around the tip from her lipstick and he has to shake the thoughts that come to mind.

She heads up to the studio after that. Feeling quite pleased with herself for not just biting her tongue and brushing it off. She feels a weight lifted from her shoulders.

They continue rehearsing for the rest of the day, no more comments are made. They hardly even talk and suddenly she starts messing up more, as does Matty. Notes are missed or the wrong ones are played, his voice cracks more and it doesn't go unnoticed by the guys.

"Fuck" she says, halting in her playing, her hand weaves through her hair out of stress. Matty mimics her actions nearly in sync, he watches her as he does and sighs deeply, his lips finding their place in between his teeth.

"Listen Lou it's fine. It's been a long day. Let's call it a day" George says, she sighs deeply. The boys all begin packing up their stuff. She unplugs the keyboard from the amp but continues to play notes softly. This time they're her own ones: she plays them effortlessly. She doesn't realise how long she's been playing when she hears a gentle voice calling her name.

She looks up from where she's sitting, Ross looking down at her.

"You coming?" He asks softly, her hand finds his, just thanking him silently for always being there when she needed him.

"Think I'm going to stay for a bit longer, just practice" she says and he nods, his lips place a soft but friendly kiss to the top of her head and she smiles up at him.

"Okay, don't wear yourself out too much. See you tomorrow sweetheart" he says before leaving. Her eyes find her hands that are resting against the keys and she lets out a deep sigh, why cant she get this right she thinks to herself.

"Want me to stay? Can order some food?" George says, her eyes snap go find his, he's holding the door open.

She shakes her head, smiling at him "na it's okay, go" he asks if she's sure, tells her that he doesn't mind, she just smiles at him and shakes her head, telling him to enjoy the rest of the day.

"Okay, love ya" he says, blowing her a kiss.

"Love ya" she says softly.

"Hey, I'm sorry about Matty. I know it's not the same, but if it's any consolation he bullies me too. Hope you're okay though, I think you're smashing it" Adam says, she smiles at him for the sentiment.

"Thanks Hann. I'll be okay" and then he leaves and for a few moments shes alone. Matty must have left a while ago, or so she thinks.

She continues playing the soft tune that is hers. She's so focused on the notes and she begins to sing the tune. She misses the studio door opening back up. It's not until she looks up that she sees him standing there, leaning against the door frame. Her fingers halt.

"Don't stop on my account, sounded good" Matty admits, she hates how good he looks, arms crossed against his chest, biceps flexing against the arms of his black tee. He had changed, grew up and she has mixed feelings about the whole ordeal.

"Don't need your flattery now Matthew" she says breaking eye contact with him, this time he doesn't cringe or scowl at the name.

"Not flattery. It's the truth" he offers her a soft smile, the first proper smile that has been directed at her, in... well since she can remember. She hasn't heard him speak sincerely to her before but it's still recognisable in his tone.

"So now you can be nice" she says, rolling her eyes at him "thought you left" she says.

"I almost did... Heard that song though" he says and she raised her eyebrows at him.

"And?"

He steps closer to where she's sat, he's sat across from her in the next moment, they're closer now, she can see all his features and she's not sure she likes it. He stares at her for a beat before he speaks.

"I like it, play it please?" He asks, his voice is gentle, an unrecognisable tone, one in which she's never had directed at her before.

She sighs deeply before playing the song she started writing a few weeks ago. Matty watches intently, his eyes never faltering from her face. He realises he's paying close attention to her features, how her eyes flutter shut as her soft voice rings out, but he doesn't have the will power in that current moment to stop. He always thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever met, another thing to add to the reasons he disliked her. She had made navigating relationships very hard for him, he always found himself comparing girls to her. But now, she had grown up, he still thought she was beautiful, but my god she was hot.

She stops playing, her eyes fluttering back open and landing on the man across from her. She examines his features up close now, still the same old Matty from when they were kids but just.... older. He has changed his hair more times than she can count but she thinks this is her favourite, just undoubtedly him. She quickly looks away, although she's always loathed him, she'd never deny the fact he was hot.

"Is that all you've got so far?" He asks and for once his tone isn't abrupt and she knows he doesn't mean it in a rude way.

"Umm... Not quite. Did you hear what I was playing on the guitar earlier?" She asks and he nods, despite his previous comments earlier on, he liked what she was playing to Ross and George, he just hated that he wasn't involved.

"Hey I am..." He begins to say he's sorry but stops, he knows she doesn't want to hear it.

"Play happiness" he says, one of the songs she was messing up on earlier. She begins playing the notes, the tune perfect this time.

"There you go!" He says cheerfully and the both of you smile.

"Can I ask a question?" She asks and he nods, lighting a cigarette, offering her one. She leans across and accepts one, lighting hers too.

"This album... It's different to your other stuff. It's really good. Your other stuff is good too don't get my wrong! Feels like this is on a new level though" she says and he smiles at the compliment.

"You didn't ask a question" he says smiling across at her and she nods.

"These songs... They're happy" she says making him laugh at the idea that all they do is write depressing songs.

"You wrote these songs as if you're in love... Guess I'm just wondering who it's about" she says, part of her just wants to know if he's in a relationship or not, not that it would change anything, she was just curious.

"I mean... They're just ideas and concepts. Not about anyone in particular, not for me anyway. Obviously I write with George and he has Charli" he answers and she nods, thinking it sounds like an excuse.

"Why'd you ask?" He questions, he secretly wants nothing more than to know she would care if he was in love with someone.

"Just had an idea but it doesn't matter" she says, taking a drag from her yet untouched cigarette. He notices her lipstick staining the tip again.

"Tell me" he says, shuffling ever close to him. His knees touch hers now and he wants to grab the hand that rests against the keys.

"Well the ideas in these songs... I think they're powerful. I thought the once cynical Matt Healy was no more... Was going to suggest, instead of letting your hatred for me effect you in the way it so clearly does. Just think about that person" she says , shrugging at her own idea, unsure if it even makes sense.

"I don't hate you" he all but whispers and she has to hold back her scoff. She ignores his comment.

"We need to do something Matty, because it's not going to work if we're at each other's throats all the time" she says and he smirks.

"I dunno Lou. Seemed to have work better when we were" he says, a good old fashioned matt smirk resting on his lips and she frowns at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't you notice that a soon as we shut up, didn't say anything to each other... We kept messing up" he says and then it hits her. He was right.

"Shit" she says, he laughs at that.

"Well we need to figure out a better way to get all that anger towards each other out. Because you're unbearable to work with when you're at my throat all the time" she says, they both smirk at that and his eyes can't help but drift to her lips.

She sees his eyes darken and a thought comes to his mind.

"Really would appreciate it if you'd stop calling me unbearable and insufferable all the time. You're no angel yourself love" he says, his voice seems darker now and she doesn't like what it does to her and the pet name wasn't helping either.

She feels her core flutter at the way he's looking at her, she squeezes her thighs together uncontrollably and it doesn't go unnoticed by the curly haired man

"Stop looking at me like that" she says, eyes not managing to break away from his, she feels her breath hitch as he takes his lip in between his teeth.

"Like what?" He questions.

"Like you want to fuck me" she says.

"Think we've found the solution to our problem" he says, her breath faltering as he speaks the dirty words.

She was fucked.

Part 3

#matty healy #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 smut #the 1975 #insufferable arsehole matty healy series

[starlight-strider]

This is the best cut content I’ve ever heard of.

I’m really sad this minigame was cut. Having a kind of rhythm game (I guess?) would have been really neat, and been… y’know, more than just three games, even though Checkerboard Chase is pretty fun.

I don’t care that this was cut from the final game, I’m considering it canon. Imagining these four in a little band trying to play is hysterical, especially because of the instruments they all have.

I’m gonna ramble about that now so if you don’t wanna read all that, here’s the cutoff for just my initial thoughts. If you wanna read more, here’s my insanity over this one image.

The instruments they have is just great. Dedede on drums is very fitting, and did end up returning later. Dedede’s Drum Dash exists after all, so obviously he loves his drums. Waddle Dee just having a tambourine and not something like a bass guitar is so funny. They look like a rock band or something because of the other three, but he just brought tambourines and they ran with it. Kirby, being the main character, of course has that leading instrument, the electric guitar. And Adeleine can play the keyboard so she isn’t just skilled in the traditional art, like drawing and painting, because apparently she can play piano too.

How is Kirby playing the guitar. He doesn’t have fingers. He doesn’t even really have arms, he just has nubs. What kind of guitar is that? How is he doing that?

Waddle Dee looks so happy to be there, like he’s glad that his friends aren’t mad that he forgot the bass and now they have to make do with tambourines.

Dedede looks mad for some reason? Like “I hate these drums I can’t jump on them what’s the point”.

That is a very large keyboard because Adeleine is standing on her tiptoes to reach it. And she’s one of the tallest characters in the whole series. She’s also more to the side where Kirby, Waddle Dee, and Dedede are all closer together. Are keyboard players usually off to the side? Does Adeleine just need space when she’s preforming? Does she feel like an outcast because she’s human?

The logo on Dedede’s drums looks like “K4” and I mean… the Kirby 4? Because there’s four of them? Or maybe 4 because 64?

Adeleine looks more like her design in Dream Land 3 in this. Her hair looks like it’s more in her face, but in Crystal Shards (and in all her later appearances) her entire forehead is bare, except a small strand of hair in her updated Star Allies design.

Kirby is so happy. He’s just smiling. Granted, he’s almost always smiling in Crystal Shards, since he smiles the whole way through all the levels when you’re just walking. But he looks especially happy here.

I wonder what songs they’d be playing? Maybe just some simple music, or music from the game or other Kirby games? A semi-rock remix of the Pop Star theme would be pretty awesome. Kirby just does an insane riff in the middle of it while his friends are still playing the theme normally. He would do that, and then look at them, and they’d all be stunned and he’d be smiling like that’s just how the song goes. Or they’d do Dedede’s normal theme and he’d be going all in on those drums the whole time while everyone else tries to play louder to balance it out.

Since I feel like this is still canon despite being cut, sometimes they’ll all get out their instruments (Adeleine just painting a keyboard) and play stuff for everyone. All the other Dream Friends are around in the castle making requests, and maybe Bandee remembers to grab a bass this time.

They play some songs suggested by everyone else, and then randomly throw in something to catch them off guard and either freak them out or delight them. Marx getting too annoying? Just start playing Kirby’s Triumphant Return! Meta Knight looking unimpressed? Time to play Sword of the Surviving Guardian! Want to remind Taranza that his girlfriend is dead? Moonstruck Blossom time!

Yeah I really like this cut minigame.

#Renu Says Stuff #kirby #kirby 64 #kirby 64 the crystal shards #kirby headcanons #waddle dee #adeleine #kirby adeleine #king dedede