dashall

Tue, 29 Sep 2009 11:18:59 GMT

More Strokes slash! I need to remind myself when I get home today.

Period

Fri, 28 Aug 2009 01:56:18 GMT

I hate when people ask me if I'm on my period when I get angry or sad. I think it's the rudest thing anyone could say. I thought every girl knew that that was not a nice thing to say to someone, so it hurts even more when a girl asks me that.

Happy Birthday, Fernando!

Sun, 23 Aug 2009 15:29:18 GMT

=]]]]]]]]]
31.

Dear Blueorca

Sat, 25 Jul 2009 16:05:39 GMT

Blueorca--

I lurked on your deviantart a couple years ago, and I really liked your work. I noticed you disappeared, though, and I was wondering how I could see your work again. I miss it.

Thank you!
Brigid

Aliya

Fri, 03 Jul 2009 04:03:51 GMT

I don't know why I haven't done this more often, but I'm going to talk about Aliya. She reads my xanga, and she insists that many other people read it, so she won't let me post anything about us there. My livejournal is perfect for this kind of stuff, but forsome reason I've never gotten around to talking about Aliya here.

We've been together for around 9 months now. It's been rough at times, but we've been able to work through it. Twice she said she didn't love me, and twice she forgave me and said she loved me again.

She just came back from a trip to Spain. We really missed each other (to the extent that we cried a couple times), and ever since then, she's had less problems with me, or at least has not voiced her problems with me. When she came over to my house and she was acting strange, I said, "What's wrong?" and she said, "Nothing. You don't want to hear it, love." Usually, she either tells me, or she says, "I can say something really mean right now, but I won't," or "Ah, disract me before I tell you something that'll hurt your feelings!" and either of those end up hurting my feelings anyway. I don't think she should tell me when she's thinking of something bad to say to me and doesn't want to say it. If she has something bad to say and doesn't want to say it, she should just not say anything at all.

Purpose of the story: she's been better about that kind of shit since she came back, and it's resulted in a smooth relationship with little fights and bumps. However, I just called her, and we didn't do so hot.

This whole day, it seems like she's been a little off. Like, whenever I asterisk-kissed her in texts, she didn't asterisk-kiss me back. This happened before, and I asked her about it, and she didn't think anything was wrong, which means I overanalyzed the texts. I want to ask her about it again, but I'm scared of the answer.
I called her later than usual tonight, and she was really quiet. Her answers seemed curt. I got scared and couldn't find anything to say. I started acting like I had with Alex-- desperately trying to find something to say that would result in a conversation or at least not a sarcastic response. I got nervous. Eventually, Aliya sighed and said, "Do you want to hang up and call back when you have something to say?"

That hit me. Because she wasn't supporting the conversation, either. The only subjects she started on her own were as follows:

Aliya: Did I tell you that Salim told me I was an empty shell with no emotions?
Brigid: No! That's a load of bullshit! He doesn't know you as well as I do, or as well as any of your friends do. Don't listen to him.
Aliya: ...
(not even a "thank you" or an "okay, love"? Did I say the wrong thing?)

Aliya: Love? This scary pop-up just came up [on my computer].
Brigid: You should close it.
Aliya: Thanks, yeah, really helpful.
(Whoa, man! I was just trying to help! I wasn't expecting/asking for a sarcastic response!)

When she said, "Do you want to hang up and call back when you have something to say?" I had that feeling (such a familiar, familiar feeling) that it was my fault, all my fault. I'm the reason this isn't working. I'm the reason she's unhappy. I'm the reason we're not okay.

I felt useless. I felt like a slave. Like a worn-out trophy. Like a wiz kid who had no more answers.

I felt like the fucking empty shell.

Sigh. Some of my friends are saying I'm whipped. Recently, I've proved them all wrong. But even more recently, they've proved they're right. Once again.

Oh, Aliya! Please love me!

love,
Brigid

p.s. I told her that one of the reasons I can't think of anything interesting to say is that I've got too many thoughts in my head and none of them are interesting enough to say. This reminded me of an old fic over at strokeslash that was about Jules having too many thoughts running around in his brain, and Nick finally sitting down with him and listening to them all, and slowly Jules getting better. I want to read that fic again, but I don't know who wrote it or what it's called or how old it is, so it's useless to try to find it. Sigh.

Dev Patel!

Sat, 02 May 2009 02:17:53 GMT

Word count: 1,032
Pairing: Alex Turner/Dev Patel
Rating: R for sex.
Note: Dev Patel is attractive. I just wanted to write a story about him. And Alex was the closest to his age, so I used him.

Alex Turner walked into the café very much needing a hot cup of coffee. He was an Arctic Monkey, but sometimes he didn’t want to be. Sometimes he wanted to melt down the Arctic Monkey in him and to just be a normal kid. And what was more normal to do than to just sit down and have a cup of coffee at a café?

Then Alex saw him. Dark hair and big ears. Hunched over a table and gripping a large mug of coffee. Closing his eyes as if meditating on the bitter flavor. Then—slowly—he opened his eyes to reveal such dark and grim pools of black.

Dev Patel.

And in an instant, Alex was glad he was famous; for a famous person could approach a random stranger and dive into a conversation without being thought of as strange at all.

“Now there’s a face I reco’nize,” Alex said, slurring and tripping over his words as usual.

Dev looked up from his coffee as Alex sat down in front of him. Dev looked stunned.

Alex added, “Now am I a face you recognize?”

“Alex Turner,” Dev replied quietly. He set his coffee on the table, “Of course I recognize you.”

Alex raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? Not bad yourself there, Dev Patel. You don’t mind if I call you Dev, eh, mate?”

“No, not at all, man, feel free.”

Dev glanced around and behind him; he probably couldn’t believe that the Alex Turner was talking to him. Okay, maybe Alex wasn’t that popular (maybe even less popular than Dev, actually), but Alex definitely had two years of experience ahead of Dev. Alex remembered when he first went into stardom, and he remembered the attention he suddenly received from random famous people. Being on the giving end this time, Alex saw the look of fascination on Dev’s face. And boy, it was cute.

Dev settled down and went back to drinking his coffee. He glanced at Alex above the rim of his coffee mug. Alex liked all the attention he was getting from this beautiful boy.

Finally Dev cleared his throat and croaked, “So what, are you guys touring, or something?”

Alex sighed and rested his head in his hand. “Touring, yeah,” He adjusted his head to get a better look at Dev. “What about yourself?”

“Oh, I live here.”

Alex quirked a toothy smile and leaned in. “You live in a café?”

Dev laughed and nearly choked on his coffee. He coughed a bit and then pointed out the window.

“I live over there. Right across the street.”

“Ah,” Alex put his hand down from its position holding his head up, and he leaned in a bit more, “So it makes it easier for me to take you away then.”

Dev blinked. He paused, and then he narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. Alex read the question in his eyes.

Are you doing what I think you’re doing?

Alex smirked and nodded.

You know exactly what I’m doing.

The next thing Alex knew, he had Dev pinned against his kitchen counter, and he had his lips smashed against Dev’s. Dev’s back arched back as Alex threw his tongue down Dev’s throat. Dev’s hands were awkward—one on Alex’s waist and then other gripping the countertop behind him.

“Alex, I’ve never—I’ve never—” Dev stuttered between kisses.

Alex broke the kiss and breathed, “Shut it, will you?”

Alex dragged Dev to the bedroom. He pushed Dev to the bed and climbed on his waist.

Alex said, “It’s just like fucking with a girl, only you’re the one being fucked, not the one doing the fucking.”

“Yeah, I figured that bit!”

Alex took his shirt off and then looked at Dev beneath him. He looked so confused and vulnerable; it made Alex’s heart skip a beat. Alex slid his hands from Dev’s angular shoulders down his chest, and then he held Dev’s waist.

“Just relax, Dev. Relax.”

Dev’s eyes softened. Alex smiled inwardly, and he leaned down on Dev’s body. Alex kissed Dev tenderly and slowly, contrasting from his rash kisses just before. Alex felt Dev melt against his lips. Alex kissed him some more, and then he sneaked his hand up Dev’s shirt. Dev eased his body up and let the shirt slide over him. His pants were just as easy to get off.

Alex took off his own pants and then sat between Dev’s legs. Dev looked at him with anxiety. He gulped.

Alex traced his fingers around Dev’s cock. Dev shivered and closed his eyes. Alex watched Dev’s relaxed face while he took the lube out of his pants pocket before discarding them to the floor. He slowly pumped Dev, and then he lubed his finger and slipped it inside Dev. Dev gasped.

“Alex—”

“It’ll get better, Dev, don’t worry.”

Alex pumped Dev faster so his pleasure would overcome his discomfort. As expected, Dev gripped the sheets and moaned. Alex wasted no time and entered a second and then a third finger. Dev was a writhing, moaning mess.

Alex lubed his cock and slowly pushed inside Dev. Dev cried out. He wrapped his legs around Alex’s waist and wrapped his arms around Alex’s neck.

Alex grunted, and then he fucked Dev. Slowly at first, and then steadily faster until both Dev and Alex were grunting and groaning and moaning and finally crying out in pleasure.

Alex rested his head against the bone of Dev’s shoulder and breathed for a second before he pulled out and collapsed onto him. They lay and breathed for a moment, sharing small kisses on skin every so often.

“Alex?” Dev whispered.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve done this before, yeah? Gone into fame without having a clue what the fuck you’re doing?”

Alex paused and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I have.”

“Will this happen to me a lot? Getting fucked by hot famous people?”

Alex looked at Dev. His skin was so dark, almost begging to be touched. His body was tall and modestly muscled. And fucking hell, his eyes were so dark and sexy.

“Yeah.” Alex answered. He touched Dev’s cheek with his knuckles.

Dev smiled and kissed Alex’s hand. “I can’t wait.”

Fri, 20 Mar 2009 21:05:51 GMT

JULES AND NICK BROKE UP ON PERFECT TEACUP! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
I read that this morning, and my heart fell to pieces.
Mehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

love,
dashall

TONIGHT

Thu, 19 Feb 2009 01:36:53 GMT

Tonight: Franz Ferdinand – Franz Ferdinand

In their previous albums Franz Ferdinand has touched the dangerous subject of religion (“So I’m sorry if you ever existed/I never had a doubt that you ever existed/I only have a problem when people insist on/Taking their hate, placing it on your name.”), but never before have they grazed the subject of drugs. The most repeated lines in “Ulysses,” the opener of Franz Ferdinand’s new album, “Tonight: Franz Ferdinand,” refer to Ulysses (a central character) and his drug abuse. Though the two sound difficult to connect, Ulysses loses his way geographically in James Joyce’s classic book “Ulysses” just as the character in Franz Ferdinand’s song loses his way mentally.

The song starts with a bass and a drum beat that sounds like a predator about to pounce on its prey. Kapranos hums somnolently in the background before whispering, “I sit and hear sentimental footsteps, then a voice [says], ‘“Hi, so?’” A synthesizer jumps right in, blaring a fun but creepy melody.

Most of the songs on “Tonight” are synth-heavy. Franz Ferdinand’s catchy guitar dance riffs made them popular; when the time came for a new album, they were tired of using the guitar for all their songs. They converted their riffs from the guitar to the synthesizer for a new sound, but they are still completely recognizable as Franz Ferdinand.

As the title implies, “Tonight” is designed to be a story of a part-filled night, starting with “Ulysses” and “Turn It On,” and meeting a girl in “No You Girls.” “Bite Hard” and “What She Came For” are the heaviest songs on the album and the highlight of the night. In “Live Alone” the character realizes that he actually really likes this girl, but he knows he will only see her once in his life, so he tells her that he will be there whenever she needs some company (“Wherever you are/Whoever is there/You know that I am here/Wishing I could be there”). The bitter breakup is expressed through “Can’t Stop Feeling,” but friends cheer him up in “Lucid Dreams.” Finally the character concludes that there are more fish in the sea (“Dream Again”), so he smiles and looks back at the good times while they were still around (“Katherine Kiss Me”).

By the end of “Tonight: Franz Ferdinand,” the listener certainly feels the same contentment that the subject of the album feels. Or perhaps the listener is the character in the album. Is Franz Ferdinand trying to suck us into their songs? If they are, they certainly have captured out attention.

Strokeslash!

Tue, 13 Jan 2009 00:04:04 GMT

A new fic has been posted at strokeslash !! I must read it!
Okay, but after I finish my math homework and memorize my Spanish stuff.
Ahhhhhhh! I'm excited!

not a story - an entry

Fri, 21 Nov 2008 06:24:48 GMT

dear Aliya--

At 1:08 AM, I finished everything, darling. Which means I finished my icon and brushed my teeth and every little shit.

I wanted to apologize for the calls tonite. They were hasty and short and bland.

I'm mainly concerned about how often we'll see each other. And I mean actually see each other, the way we like seeing each other, not just talking and smiling and shit. We can't go this weekend, because you're people don't want me over, and I can't have you over because of my bathroom. We can't go next weekend because you'll not be here due to the thanksgiving break. And then the week after? December 6th? What, do you start rehearsals then? And then do you go on until May? So what does that mean, we won't be able to kiss for 6 months? That's fucking bullshit. I don't want that. I want to be able to kiss you every weekend, and I want to kiss you every day, but I can't, because we see each other at fucking school, and we can't have that, can we? We can't hide in the bathrooms and kiss just really quickly. Angel, it hurts that we can't touch and won't be able to touch, and I don't know when the next time we'll be able to kiss is, and that fucking scares me and makes me sad. I want more than sexy notes adn little touches when nobody else is fucking looking. I want to be able to do shit with you. I feel limited and rejected. And lonely. And I want to be able to do things with you, and you do, too, but you have higher integrity than me, which also means higher patience, and you can continue with the tease for 6 fucking months. Not being able to do that stuff with you is torture, darling. It makes me feel useless and unwanted. And I love you so much, I do, but can't we kiss? Can't we do anything more than hug? Where are the usual signs of affection that people give each other when they're in love?

-------

I cried at this part, and deleted that big paragraph, and replaced it with an I Love You.
I can't tell her all thiss hit. Then she'll feel bad. Oh, what do I do. I hate this. I want to tell her. God. I want-- I want to kiss her, and she won't let me. What a fucking-- a fucking joke, man. It's like Auf Asche. Like fucking Auf Asche.

The Strokes Crack Doodle 8

Fri, 31 Oct 2008 11:19:22 GMT

Pairing: Nick/Jules
Word Count: 878
Rating: PG for language
Summary: Nick has to pee.

Nick’s knuckles were white. He gripped the head of the seat in front of him and bounced up and down in his seat. His teeth clenched uncomfortably but necessarily.

“Oh, my god, Nick, we’re almost there!” Ryan sighed, frustrated, from the front of the bus.

Nick shrieked, “You said that five fucking minutes ago!”

“Ryan, hurry up, the kid’s gonna explode!” Fab said. He grinned and pounded the head of the seat in front of him, which happened to be Julian’s. “Do you want us all to be covered in pee?”

Albert said, “Nick’s like a fucking little girl, man.” And then to Nick, “Hey, Nick, why don’t you just hold it in until the next rest stop?”

“That’s what I’m doing, you fucker!”

“Don’t make fun of Nick, man,” Julian mumbled. He nodded at Nick. “He drank that whole thing of vodka an hour ago. That’s something we should all be proud of.”

“I’m not sure he’s proud of it right now.” Albert said. He giggled and Nikolai smiled.

Nick punched the seat in front of him. “Ryan!”

“Hurry up, Ryan!” Fab demanded.

“I’m gonna die!” Nick whined.

“I need to pee!”

Nick spun around and pointed to Fab, laughing, “Don’t you fucking mock me, Fab!”

Fab laughed, but shut up. Nick turned back to the front and wailed, “Ryan!”

“We’re here, we’re here, shut the fuck up!” Ryan said. The van slipped into an exit. Gas stations and fast food restaurants surrounded them.

“Hey, we’re not at a rest stop.” Albert observed. “Yo, Ryan, turn back. Nick specifically wanted a rest stop, not a fucking McDonald’s.”

“I’m gonna murder you, man.” Nick muttered under his breath. His knees bounced in anticipation. Briefly, Nick wondered if it would feel worse when he stood up, but he tried not to think about it.

Nick leaped out of the van as soon as they slowed to park in front of a convenience store. People stopped and stared and gasped, but Nick didn’t know if it was because he was recognized or because he just burst through the doors. Nick sprinted for the bathrooms and honestly, he opened the closer door and it happened to be the boy’s bathroom. If it had been the girls’, Nick still would’ve just gone into one of the stalls and pissed.

Julian came in the bathroom once Nick was done. Nick wiped the satisfied smile off his face.

Julian’s eyes fell to Nick’s cock. “Aw, it looks so happy.”

“Shut up, Julian.” Nick said with a smile. He zipped himself up and washed his hands. “Damn, that felt good.”

Julian’s arms wrapped around Nick’s slim waist, and his nose buried in the back of Nick’s neck. Nick smiled at him through the mirror.

“Not really the best time, Julian.” Nick said.

Julian tightened his grip. He kissed Nick’s neck. Nick traced a wet finger along the bone of Julian’s middle finger in the back of his hand.

“You were strangely openly affective today.” Nick said softly.

Julian glanced up at Nick through the mirror. He suppressed a smile and shrugged.

Nick grinned and half-shrugged. “Thank you.”

Julian smiled a wide, but closed-lipped smile. That with Julian’s big, happy, tired eyes and his arms wrapped around Nick—it was so beautiful. Nick wished he had his camera.

“Say something, man.” Nick said, nodding at Julian through the mirror. It was uncharacteristic of Julian to be so quiet.

Julian’s smile slowly fell. His eyes darted around confusedly. Before his smile completely died, it came back. He met Nick’s blue eyes in the mirror. His mouth opened, but his smile faded again. He clenched his teeth, and closed his mouth again. Julian opened his mouth again, but he just sucked in his breath, and pursed his lips.

“I—” Julian finally said. It came out as a croak. Instead of clearing his throat, Julian licked his lips and then pressed his cheek against Nick’s shoulder. “Nick.”

Nick turned around. Julian’s hands lingered on Nick’s hips for a second, and then dropped to his side. Nick brushed some hair out of Julian’s eyes.

“You okay, Julian?” Nick asked.

Julian nodded.

Nick kissed him. Julian immediately responded: His hands shot back up to pull Nick’s shirt, and then they were on the back of Nick’s neck. Nick moaned at Julian’s demanding tongue. Julian kissed him again and again, and gasped and moaned, and Nick thought he heard Julian say, “love” in between the kisses, and Julian pulled away so abruptly that Nick was sure Julian said it, or at least said something he hadn’t meant to say. Julian glanced at Nick—his eyes were wide and frantic—and then ran out the door.

Nick chased after him, but by the time he got through an aisle, Julian was gone. Nick couldn’t go outside, even though Julian was probably out there, or else the others would see. Nick’s eyes landed on a bottle of vodka next to him. He remembered how Julian had been proud of him for drinking the whole thing. Another bottle would land him in this same Toilet situation, but would also most probably call out Julian. Julian’s confused eyes, his unexpected silence, and his clutching hands came to mind. Nick wanted answers.

He grabbed another vodka.

Perfect Teacup

Fri, 31 Oct 2008 02:06:14 GMT

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
perfect_teacup shut down to only 18-year olds!!!!
*cries*

The Strokes Crack Doodle 7

Thu, 09 Oct 2008 11:21:37 GMT

Word Count: 3208
Pairing: Nick/Jules
Rating: NC17
Notes: This is over at strokeslash as Skellington. It was written for esionnoir , who is an excellent writer.

Julian’s fingers twisted his lips. Nick sat across from him in a chair, his hand buried in his mess of hair. His fingers worked at massaging his scalp while sometimes combing it or curling it. Nick had such wonderful fingers. Hands, yes, hands, too, but his fingers had an elegance and etiquette of which his hands alone were incapable. They stretched and tapped and stroked, god, stroked at the guitar Nick held close to him.

This was one of the rare times when Nick was drunk and Julian was not. Albert, Fab, and Nikolai were somewhere in the midst of the walking bodies and the dim lights. Julian leaned in his chair and placed his lips on touching hands. He held this position in concerts sometimes, and he still didn’t know why. It was a sort-of half-pray, half-bow. Even with Nick directly across from him, he didn’t notice. God, he was drunk.

Nick’s legs were spread out. Nick had the longest, skinniest legs Julian had ever seen. They bent awkwardly on stage because he had his guitar so low that any other way he stood would have been painful. Nick’s legs—separately—were as thin as the rest of his body was. He was tall and thin, which would have made him look like Jack Skellington, but he had muscles. God, he had muscles. The skin on his biceps rolled. Every time he moved those arms, Julian wanted to touch those muscles, to run his fingers over them and hide his nails between them.

“Julian, stop fucking staring at me and do something about it.” Nick slurred, grinning.

Julian hadn’t even noticed Nick had been staring back at him for the last couple minutes. Nick’s eyes—they were so blue. So striking and soft and daring. Daring Julian to make a move. Julian glanced over at Albert, and found him watching them. Albert grinned and gave a nod of encouragement. Of encouragement or just greeting? Julian’s mind was everywhere. He looked back at Nick, his crooked smile and his hand still in his hair and his legs spread so far apart, and Julian gave in.

He closed the short distance between him and Nick. Julian climbed onto Nick’s lap and wrapped his arms around Nick’s neck. He forgot that he had a bottle of beer in his hand; it clinked lightly against Nick’s skull. Nick laughed and leaned in, resting his forehead on Julian’s collarbone. Julian buried his fingers in Nick’s mop of hair.

“Not on me, you asshole.” Nick mumbled. “I didn’t know you wanted this.”

“What’d you think I was thinking when I was looking at you?”

“I thought you were thinking about someone else, man. And looking at me because I was pretty. Like whoever you were thinking about.”

Julian faced Nick to him and kissed him. Nick moaned. Julian slipped his tongue in between Nick’s lips, pressing against Nick’s tongue. Nick’s tongue was long, and it curled around Julian’s tongue deliciously. Nick’s hands were on Julian’s ass, squeezing and pulling him closer. Julian pulled on Nick’s upper lip. His fingers drew circles on Nick’s scalp.

Nick giggled and buried his nose in Julian’s neck. “God, Julian, you fucking tease.”

“I’m not—I didn’t—fuck, man, we’re getting out of here.” Julian sighed harshly. He climbed off and pulled Nick toward him. Nick laughed and stumbled over, struggling to keep up with him. Julian dropped his beer in front of Nikolai. Nikolai gave Julian a strange look, but said nothing. Albert came over and patted Julian’s shoulder.

“Hope it goes well, man.” He whispered in Julian’s ear. Nick was still clutching onto Julian’s hand. “Don’t fuck this up.”

“I know what I’m doing, Albert.”

“I know, I know, just—” Albert looked him in the eye. “You’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

“I know.” Julian nodded and started heading out.

Nick was a mess the walk over to Julian’s place. He tripped over his feet and leaned against Julian. Nick was all giggles when he was drunk, at least in the first stage. Julian had seen what Nick was capable of in his latter stages, and he knew he had to savor Nick while this lasted. Julian snaked an arm around Nick’s shoulders and pressed him closer. It was necessary in order to keep Nick from collapsing right there on the street, the stupid drunk. However, Julian’s arm quickly got tired, because Nick was so much fucking taller than him, so he settled for holding Nick’s upper arm. Nick laughed against Julian’s hair.

Julian briefly wondered what Albert would do when he came back to their apartment. Times like these, Julian wished he didn’t share an apartment. Nick immediately gravitated over to the couch and collapsed on it.

“God, man, you’re a piece of work.” Julian muttered while taking off his jacket.

“Shut the hell up. You can’t be talking.”

Julian didn’t say anything, and just continued taking off his shoes. Nick flipped around on the couch, chin digging in folded hands. He was grinning again.

“This is weird, man. Me being the drunk one. And you being the sober. One.” Nick said.

“Yeah, fucking weird, all right.”

Nick was silent, watching Julian take out a Coke—a Coke, for fuck’s sake. Was he turning into a fucking pansy?—and then walk over to the couch. Julian scooted Nick over a bit, but Nick lay his head in Julian’s lap. Apparently he wanted to just lie down. Julian turned on the TV and played with Nick’s hair while drinking with the other. The bottle was nearly empty when Nick spoke again.

“Kiss me.”

Julian glanced down. Nick had skipped his next phase. He was usually so fucking angry that he couldn’t even keep up. He threw chairs to the ground, cursed out strangers, flipped off the bartender. Nick had skipped to his needy phase.

Julian didn’t even have to think. He pulled up his knees to bring up Nick’s head, but Nick did the rest. He sat up and slipped his arms around Julian’s neck. Julian breathed in deeply when Nick dove up and kissed him. Nick’s lips were pressed so firmly against him, pushing against him, kissing him over and over. For the first time in years, Julian struggled to keep up with a kiss. Julian traced a tongue over Nick’s bottom lip, and Nick’s own tongue dashed out to taste him. Julian opened his eyes and met Nick’s closed lids. Nick played with Julian’s tongue some more, and then placed light kisses on Julian’s neck.

“Touch me, Jules.”

Julian’s hands moved automatically for Nick’s fly. Nick swung a leg over Julian’s waist to straddle him. Nick kissed him again while Julian busied himself with Nick’s damn zipper. Nick was wearing a beautiful, blue muscle tee shirt that brought out Nick’s eyes. They were so frantic, Nick’s eyes. So desperate and fucking turned-on. Nick groaned and leaned his head back when Julian finally wrapped around Nick’s dick. Nick’s fingers, such long, pretty fingers slid from the back of Julian’s neck to his jaw. They were so sweaty and calloused and fucking good.

Julian pulled on Nick. He moved his hand and watched Nick’s face, his open mouth, his closed eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Julian lowered his gaze, still pumping Nick. His eyes landed on Nick’s upper arms, his muscles, god, those muscles. Julian reached out and touched them. He fingered them, brushed them, and then (finally, yes) Julian buried his fingers between the rolls of muscles, dug his nails in them. Nick was focused on Julian’s pumping hand, but Julian was looking at his other hand, pressing against Nick’s muscles.

Nick gasped and let out his load on Julian’s hand. Julian kissed Nick, and zipped him up. Nick rolled off Julian, but pressed the bridge of his nose to Julian’s shoulder. His last phase: depression.

“What the fuck are we going, Julian?” Nick’s voice was low, tired, desperate. “What did you, what did we just do?”

----------------

Of course Nick was gone when Julian woke up. How could he have thought otherwise? Julian felt bad, empty, but he just pulled out a cigarette and smoked.

Later, Albert called.

“Dude, where the fuck you been?” Julian blurted.

“Hey, that’s not a way to greet a friend.” Julian could hear Albert’s smile. “How’d it go with Nick?”

Julian scoffed, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t know where to start. Julian hadn’t properly made a move. They hadn’t even talked. Nick was gone.

Albert understood. “Here, I’ll come home in a sec, Julian.” He hung up.

When Julian opened the door 20 minutes later, Albert threw his arms around him in a tight hug. Julian clung on, breathing in Albert’s familiar, friendly, brotherly smell, digging his nose in Albert’s shoulder. He closed his eyes and listened to Albert’s comforting mumble of a voice.

They got drunk.

-------------------

Nick called the next day.

“Hey, Jules, you wanna come over?”

Julian glanced at the bathroom door. Albert was in there. “Yeah, sure, of course, man. I’ll be there.”

Julian scribbled down a note for Albert, and then left for Nick’s. He didn’t know what would happen once he was there. He didn’t know at all. Before he knew it, Julian was standing in front of Nick’s door. He took a deep breath, and knocked.

Nick was wearing a gray shirt and low-riding jeans. His dorky, thick, square glasses that Julian loved were on, just below his bangs. Nick closed the door behind Julian, and sighed.

“I’m so bored, man.” Nick said. He sat down at the kitchen table, in front of his laptop. Julian glanced over and saw guitar tabs to some songs. Figures.

“So you brought me here to relieve of your boredom?”

“Yup.”

Julian pursed his lips. It had nothing to do with the previous night.

Nick spotted his not-amused smile and said, “Sorry, man, were you gonna do something?”

Julian walked over to Nick. “Yeah.”

He kissed Nick. His hands held Nick’s face. Nick leaned back a bit, then smiled and kissed back. Nick broke off, looking down and smiling with Julian’s hands still on him.

“So I didn’t dream that.” Nick said. He looked up, into Julian’s dark eyes. “Why’d you do it, Jules? Was it just to be friendly or—or what?”

“What, the kiss or the handjob?”

Nick glanced away, and then back. “Both.”

Julian sucked in his breath and licked his lips. He dropped his hands from Nick’s cheeks to rub at his lips nervously. Finally, Julian shrugged and said, “I like you, man. That’s all there is to it.

Nick laughed and shook his head. “That’s not all there is to it. It’s never all there is to it. What do you like about me, man? I’m younger than you, freaky tall, way too skinny—“

“Nick, you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.” Julian pressed. The beginning of a smile crept up on Nick’s perfect lips. “Every part of you—your hair, your eyes, you—I could take the smallest part of you and just go on, man, describe it and talk about it for hours. I thought about your fingers once, for fuck’s sake, and they’re such a simple part of your body—“

“Hey, my fingers are not simple, man. They’re my life.”

“Exactly. And—past physical things—you, your, fuck, man, you’re good at talking in interviews while I stumble over words and mumble and shit. You sound smart, and you are smart, despite dropping out of college and barely paying attention in high school. You trip and your legs are awkward on stage, but everyone looks at you because you’re fucking gorgeous and amazing at that guitar. Nick, everyone wants to be your guitar. Everyone wants to be held so close by you. God, man.”

“All right, all right, man.” Nick said, laughing. “You’ve thought about this, then?”

“When am I not thinking about you?”

“Not me, man. Us.” Nick clarified. He rubbed his palms on his jeans. “I’m sure the boys would be okay with it. The press—the press wouldn’t have to know. But the band—the band itself. You’ll still tell me when you don’t like my ideas?”

“If you want me to.”

“We need to, Julian, as much as I would want my latest riff on the new song. You’re the song-writer, and you’re what the people will hear, man. If they hear something stupid because of one of my ideas—“

“I get it, I get it.”

Nick nodded. “And … if something goes wrong between us, we’ll—all of us, we might break up. And none of us can afford that.”

Julian swallowed. The way Nick said everything made it seem like a terrible idea for them to get together. Julian leaned against the kitchen table, thinking and waiting.

Finally, Nick leaned back on his stool. “So, Julian? Are you gonna treat me right?”

Julian smiled. He brushed away a strand of Nick’s hair, and then ended up tucking it behind Nick’s ear. He said, “I’ll treat you like an angel.”

Nick grabbed Julian’s shirt and pulled him closer. He captured Julian’s lips, licked them, and then groaned, “Hopefully not all the time.” He jerked his head to his room. “Come on.”

Nick’s hand slipped in his. They made it to Nick’s room without any kisses, but they were all over the place as soon as Nick pulled him on his bed. Nick ran his fingers through Julian’s dark hair, pulling his strands back or pushing him closer. Julian couldn’t help thrusting his hips, rubbing against Nick. Kissing Nick never failed to turn him on. Nick moaned, ran his fingers through Julian’s hair again, pulled him even closer, and then slipped his hands under Julian’s shirt. Julian liked how they caressed the skin the skin there before running up his back, raking his nails up and down it. Julian sat up, knees to either side of Nick, to take off his shirt. Nick was working on his fly before the shirt was even off. Nick’s lips were back on Julian’s lips. His zipper was pulled down, but Nick’s hands were on Julian’s naked chest. Then they were back in Julian’s hair, tangling in Julian’s locks. Nick moaned, pulling Julian’s bottom lip.

“Your fingers definitely aren’t simple.” Julian mumbled as their lips parted.

Nick grinned, tracing circles on Julian’s scalp. Nick ran his tongue over his teeth, and, oh, Julian had to kiss him, touch that tongue with his. Nick’s hands sneaked down Julian’s arms to his pants, but, no, Nick wasn’t going to do anything unless he at least had his glasses off. Julian’s hands were in Nick’s hair now. He pulled Nick back enough to take off Nick’s glasses. Julian paused. He couldn’t throw these on the floor like he had done with his shirt. Glasses were expensive. Nick smiled lightly from his brief surprise, took the glasses in his long, delicate fingers, and placed them on the nightstand. He took Julian’s hand and kissed his knuckles.

Nick grabbed his shirt. “You want this off, don’t you?”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” Julian groaned.

Nick crossed his arms across his chest—his long, sharp arms, beautiful in a slightly crooked way. Nick slipped the shirt over his head. Nick was all bone and no—barely any—skin, but he had those muscles that made it hard for Julian to swallow.

Nick climbed up the bed and lay down. His legs were bent—just slightly—but they were spread apart. He was so fucking gorgeous. Nick smirked and repeated what he said the night before.

“Touch me, Jules.”

Julian traced Nick’s jeans, his calf, knee, and then his inner thigh. Nick groaned and strained his neck up when Julian palmed Nick’s clothed erection. Julian pressed and moved against Nick’s growing bulge. He lowered and trailed his tongue from just above Nick’s belly button up to Nick’s neck. Nick threw his tongue inside Julian’s mouth. His hands grabbed Julian’s ass. Nick moved to get up, but Julian pushed him down. Julian moved back down, letting his tongue work its magic on Nick’s smooth skin. He worked at Nick’s jeans, pulling them down to his knees, and then he took Nick in his mouth. Nick breathed Julian’s name. Julian slid his lips over Nick, and ran his tongue from the base to the tip. Julian stroked—haha, Stroked—the base of Nick’s cock with his hands, rubbing it and teasing it with his fingers. Nick gripped the sheet to his sides. His blue eyes were closed. Julian wanted to tell Nick to open his eyes, but instead he just sucked harder.

“Oh, god, fuck, Julian.” Nick groaned, swallowing. Licking his lips. Bucking into Julian’s mouth. Julian pulled back.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Nick blurted.

“Slow down, baby,” Julian said. “Where’s the fucking lube?’

Nick looked surprised, and momentarily not turned-on. Julian grabbed Nick’s dick and pumped it slowly. Nick dropped his head back, but managed to say through gritted teeth, “Nightstand.”

Julian had to let go of Nick to get over to the nightstand. Nick watched as Julian flicked off the cap of the lube before drowning his fingers in it. Julian settled back between Nick’s thighs. He slipped on lubed finger in Nick. Nick arched up. Julian dug his finger deeper in, watching Nick’s face intently. Nick looked at Julian, and then at his pants.

“Don’t you—fuck—need those off, Julian?” Nick rasped.

Julian glanced down. “Oh, right.”

He retrieved his finger and quickly took off his jeans. Nick’s lips quirked up when he saw no boxers. Julian smothered the smile by plunging two fingers inside Nick. When Julian worked the third finger in, Nick gritted his teeth and glared at Julian.

“Fuck me, you bastard.” Nick groaned.

Just what he wanted to hear. Julian quickly coated himself with lube, and then thrust into Nick. Nick cried, but then actually had the decency to laugh. He lifted his head and pushed down on Julian, taking in more with that sexy sneer on his face.

“I can’t believe—god, you feel so fucking good.” Nick said. He squeezed around Julian. Julian gasped. He pushed in, thrust deeper, fucked Nick until Nick screamed and came. And watching Nick come was enough for Julian to release.

Nick pulled Julian to him when Julian pulled out of him. Nick kissed him, slow and meaningful. His hands were on Julian’s cheeks, not in his hair. When they parted, Julian looked into Nick’s blue eyes—they had gone soft and lighter—over his cheekbones, his pointed and so pretty nose, his strong chin.

“God, you’re so beautiful.” Julian whispered.

Nick ran his thumb under Julian’s eye. “Stop that, man.” He looked straight in Julian’s eyes. “You’re perfect.”

Julian smiled. He played with Nick’s hair for a moment. “You said before—you couldn’t believe something.”

“What? Oh. Yeah.”

“What—what was it?”

Nick smiled and straightened up. “I couldn’t believe you were fucking me. Like, everyone wants Julian Casablancas to have them.”

Julian laughed. “Yeah, well, not everyone.”

“No?”

“No. Some people want Nick Valensi.”

Nick smiled and took Julian’s chin in his fingers. “Nick Valensi is taken.”

The Strokes Crack Doodle 6

Wed, 08 Oct 2008 11:11:13 GMT

Word Count: 362
Pairing: Albert/Nick
Rating: PG for language
Summary: The Strokes have a summer party and Albert can't stop watching Nick.
Notes: I hadn't realized this was so short when I was writing it. I like Albert.

Nick shot out of the pool. Albert swallowed as he followed the water whoosh down from Nick’s hair, smooth over his nipples, dip in his belly button, before getting soaked in Nick’s swimming trunks. Or were they his boxers? Please let them be his boxers.

“Nick, man!” Julian laughed. His hands squeezed Albert’s shoulders. “You look so … eatable.”

Nick laughed and ran a hand through his hair. Albert’s eyes were trained on Nick’s swimming trunks as Nick walked over to their table. Nick flicked his hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his head before downing a glass of lemonade.

“Fuck, it’s hot today.” Julian said, wiping his brow. He and Albert were clad in swimming trunks as well.

“Then come on in, Julian!” Fab called from the pool.

“I was just in there, man! And I’ve got to look after something on the grill.”

“Oh, come on, Jules!” Fab whined. Nikolai splashed water on him. Fab sputtered, exclaimed, “Fuck!” and splashed back.

Julian laughed, but whispered, “Oh, shit,” at the sound of his meat sizzling dangerously on the grill. He left while Nick slipped into the chair to Albert’s left.

“It’s nice to let everything go.” Nick said. He tipped his head back and gulped in the humid air. “Right, Albert?”

“Yeah.”

Nick tilted his head, and grinned at Albert. Albert smiled back. Nick was beautiful.

Nick glanced around. “Where’s Ryan? Isn’t he around here somewhere?”

“I don’t know.” Albert said. He glanced around, too; his eyes landed on his sunglasses. Albert picked them up and slipped them on. The world blacked away, and for a second, all he could see was Nick in his lap.

“Whoa, Nick, you scared me.”

Nick laughed and dug his fingers in Albert’s hair. Albert felt like he had gone to heaven: the pool, his friends, and gorgeous Nick on top of him. Albert leaned in and quickly kissed Nick like Nick—in Albert’s point-of-view, anyway—had practically begged for. Nick returned the kiss wonderfully, with his tongue so sweet and wet.

Nick climbed off Albert, and dragged him to the pool. Albert was more than happy to get wet with Nick.

The Strokes Crack Doodle 5

Fri, 03 Oct 2008 11:10:34 GMT

Word Count: 509
Pairing: None
Rating: PG for language and drugggs
Summary: Albert tries to make lyrics to his song, while Julian just wants some coke.
Notes: It's really quick, and I kinda feel like Julian in the beginning wouldn't say those things-- at least, he wouldn't say them with that diction.

Albert blew out smoke from his cigarette over his paper. Various words decorated the sheet. Albert let out a frustrated sigh, and hummed the tune to himself again.

Julian rushed into the room.

“Dude! Albert, Albert, do you have any coke?”

“What?”

“Coke! I need some coke, man!”

“I might,” Albert said. He shuffled in the pockets of the jacket hung over the chair he was sitting in. Julian was bouncing on his toes. He looked like he was gonna burst. “Sorry, man, don’t have any.”

Julian wailed. He dropped to his knees and grabbed at the ceiling.

“Try Nick, man, he’s probably got some.”

“But he’s, like, three fucking blocks away!” Julian moaned. He fell to the floor, writhing.

“What’s up, man? Why do you need coke?”

“Because—”

“Why don’t you just buy some?”

“Why should I buy some if one of my friends already has some?”

“Because we want some for ourselves. You’re always stealing our coke, man!”

The door buzzed. Julian leaped up with a “hallelujah!” and bolted for the door. Albert laughed. He threw out his now-dead cigarette, and flipped over his sheet of lyrics.

Albert joined Julian and Fab in the living room. Fab didn’t have any coke on him, but he did have weed. Julian was waiting anxiously as Fab rolled one up for him.

“Could you sense Julian’s coke meter go up?” Albert asked with a grin.

“No, I was just bored.” Fab nodded at Albert. “How’ve you been?”

“Better than you. You want a beer?”

“Sure.”

Julian was literally gnawing at Fab’s shoulder when Albert left for the refrigerator. Albert whispered to himself as he fished around for a beer.

“Never been so hard before … if I were you … where’s the gun …”

Albert opened two bottles before sitting back across from Fab and Julian. Julian was happily smoking away at a fresh roll.

“How’s the project going?” Fab asked before taking a swig from his beer.

Albert laughed grimly. “I don’t know how Julian does it.”

Julian waved his weed around. “Talent. Haha. Just kidding, man. You’d think you’d be better at this than me, considering your dad and shit.”

“I guess so, yeah.” Albert said. “That’s why you ended up being a model.”

Julian laughed, but shook his head. “Sorry, man, I guess you’re right.”

“Julian would make a hot model, though.” Fab said. “I’d jack off to every picture of him.”

“Yeah, baby!” Julian said laughing.

“What company would you model for, Jules?” Albert asked, playing along.

Julian thought, smoking. “Do guitar companies have models?”

“Maybe. Like, they get a cool, good-looking dude to play a Les Paul.” Fab said.

Albert grinned. “I’d get a Les Paul if Julian modeled for it.”

Julian placed a damp kiss on the corner of Fab’s mouth. “You guys are too much.”

Something clicked in Albert’s head. He raced to his room and jotted down quotes and images from their conversation without bothering to explain to Fab or Julian. Albert loved Fab and Julian. And thank god for coke.

The Strokes Crack Doodle 4 (Part 2)

Fri, 26 Sep 2008 11:10:27 GMT

NICK

Shut the hell up, Julian! We get our share, too!

JULIAN

But do you get bras filled with potatoes?

NICK

Of course!

JULIAN

Like fuck you do!

Fab laughs.

FAB (CONT’D)

Why would that be a good thing? Bras filled with potatoes.

JULIAN

They were just the first 2 words that came to me.

Nick laughs.

ALBERT

Oh, dude, Nick, didn’t your camera run out of batteries?

NICK

Yeah.

ALBERT

There are some disposable cameras in there, and stuff.

JULIAN

Well, of course there are disposable cameras; it’s a gas station.

ALBERT

Whatever, man.

NICK

Oh, well, I don’t wanna get up. Maybe next time.

FAB

Lazy ass.

NICK

Shut up, man.

RYAN (O.S)

Fab, could you come out for a second?

RYAN is outside the van, next to the entrance. His voice is serious, but high.

FAB

You come in here!

RYAN (O.S)

It’s not like— Fab! Would you please—

Julian, Nick, Albert, and Fab laugh. Fab gets up. They listen to Fab and Ryan talk quietly for a second before Julian grins.

JULIAN

I saw that, Nick.

NICK

Saw what?

JULIAN

Nick’s tummy is rumbly.

NICK

What? What are you— are you looking at my stomach?

ALBERT

He’s hungry?

NICK

Why are you looking at my stomach?

JULIAN

I couldn’t— it was involuntary, man. Your shirt is designed in the shittiest way.

Nick’s head drops to look at his shirt. It is plain white except for a winding ink pen vine climbing around the edges. It spreads over his stomach.

ALBERT

I like your belt, man.

JULIAN

Yeah, that thing’s sexy.

NICK

Thank you. This thing was what got me Melissa.

JULIAN

The brunette?

NICK

Yeah. She saw it and started pulling on it. Said it was very badass.

ALBERT

Badass!

Albert laughs.

ALBERT (CONT’D)

Nick! A badass!

JULIAN

Well, yeah, Nick’s a badass. He was high all through high school.

NICK

That’s not true.

JULIAN

A lot of times you were.

NICK

Julian got me drugged up all the time. You know he was the first one who showed me weed?

ALBERT

That doesn’t surprise me.

JULIAN

What do mean, that doesn’t fucking surprise you?

Albert laughs.

JULIAN

Nick, you were smoking before I met you.

NICK

Smoking, yeah. Smoking cigarettes.

ALBERT

What about Fab?

NICK

Oh, Julian transformed Fab. He played and messed around with him, man. It was like Fab was a ball of clay, and Julian molded and carved him.

FAB (O.S)

I heard my name!

Julian laughs.

JULIAN

All I did was get him drunk and shit.

NICK

Fab was the sweetest guy around until he met Julian.

ALBERT

Fab’s still nice.

NICK

Well, yeah, because Julian didn’t completely take him over.

JULIAN

I hate you, Nick.

Nick smiles at Julian.

NICK

Julian, you are the most gorgeous man anyone has ever known.

Julian pauses.

JULIAN

What does that have to do with anything?

NIKOLAI runs up the steps. He’s not as good-looking as the rest of them, but is just as, if not more, loved. Nikolai hands Nick a disposable camera as Ryan and the rest of the crew come aboard.

NICK

Sweet!

Nick jumps up and hugs Nikolai. Nikolai laughs. The van roars to life. Fab cries, and hurries on board. He tosses a bag of cookies over to Nick.

FAB

You owe me, man.

NICK

I never asked for these.

Nick kisses Fab’s cheek anyway, in thanks. They’re back on the road. Nick slides down next to Julian, and raises the camera above both of them. Nick grins and takes the picture.

FADE OUT.

The Strokes Crack Doodle 4

Thu, 25 Sep 2008 11:28:44 GMT

Word Count: 1314
Rating: PG for language
Pairing: A little Jules/Nick, but not that much.
Summary: The Strokes hang out on the tour bus.
Notes: I don't know if this is gonna work. This was originally written in normal dialogue form, but I changed it to script form because that's how I imagined it. I'mma have to 2-part this, because it's too damn big.

STROKES CRACK DOODLE 4:

TOUR VAN DIALOGUE

By Brigid Choi

Brigid Choi

1495 Country Squire Ct

Decatur, GA 30033

(404) 680-1976

Email: schlusselschwert@yahoo.com

FADE IN: 1.

INT. TOUR VAN – DAY.

JULIAN sits in a tour van, smoking and looking out the window. The van has stopped at a gas station. Julian looks like he has better things to do, but is too tired to actually do any of them. He looks over at NICK across from him. Nick is young, but more mature than the rest of his friends. The van table separates them.

Julian looks at him for a moment longer, and then blows smoke from his cigarette over to Nick. It tumbles on the table, pours over the edge, and reaches Nick.

Nick blinks his eyes open. He swallows and licks his lips. His hand comes down from hovering in the middle of the aisle to rub at the front of his face. He sniffs, and then pops his head up. Nick and Julian meet eyes. Nick sits up, rubs his face some more with 2 hands, and runs a hand through his hair. Julian is smiling.

JULIAN

Sorry, man, didn’t mean to wake you up.

NICK

Is that what woke me up? Where are we?

JULIAN

Stopping for gas.

Nick glances around. Julian takes another drag.

NICK

Where is everyone?

JULIAN

Away. They’ll probably be back soon.

Nick watches Julian smoke for a while, and then sighs.

NICK

Fuck. I’m tired of this. I wanna go home.

JULIAN

We all do, Nick.

NICK

I don’t think I can play any more fucking songs.

JULIAN

Well, it’s a good thing, then, because we’re going to a photo shoot now, not a concert.

NICK

A photo shoot? A fuckin’— god. I wanna get out of here.

Julian laughs. Nick joins in, but laughs grimly.

JULIAN

Yeah, well, photo shoots are— I mean, no, they’re not— they’re not better than concerts, but—

NICK

They’re very welcome right now. Playing the same 23 fucking songs over again. God, it gets tiring.

FAB comes aboard the van, carrying a Coke. He is a little older than Nick, but is bouncier. He pats Nick on the shoulder before sitting down on the seat across the aisle next to Nick. Julian laughs.

JULIAN

Exactly, man. But, like, we can have fun and mess around and shit on photo shoots.

NICK

No, we can’t! The director’s always telling us what the fuck to do! ‘Act natural’. For fuck’s sake, you mean I can flip you off and walk off, ‘cause that’s what I normally do— that’s what I want to do.

Julian and Fab guffaw.

JULIAN

How ‘bout it, then? Let’s mess up the photo shoot. Tell them what the fuck we want, for a change!

NICK

Yeah! No, man, we can’t. They’ve got to do their jobs. We gotta give them some respect, you know what I’m saying?

JULIAN

Oh, sure, we can give them respect. We’ll just, like, suggest a lot of stuff.

Fab laughs.

FAB

Take over politely?

JULIAN

Exactly, Fab, man!

NICK

‘Take over politely’. That’s a good song name. Julian, you should use that for our next song.

JULIAN

‘Take over politely’? I guess so. It probably won’t have anything to do with the song, though.

NICK

Like Automatic Stop?

JULIAN

Yeah, like Automatic Stop.

NICK

You know, in comparison to, like, Soma. I Can’t Win.

FAB

Reptilia.

Julian shakes his head.

JULIAN

No, man!

FAB

I know, just kidding!

JULIAN

People don’t get Reptilia, man. It’s not a random title— like about fucking lizards or anything. It’s that part in your brain, you know?

Nick glances between Fab and Julian.

NICK (CONT’D)

I heard someone say they thought Reptilia was about rape.

JULIAN

Rape? What the fuck!

ALBERT is walking up the stairs of the van.

ALBERT (CONT’D)

What about rape?

NICK

Someone thought Reptilia was about rape, man.

Albert laughs. He has curly hair and is bouncy like Fab, but has eyes that can be dead serious if he wants to be.

JULIAN

It’s not fucking funny, man! People don’t fucking get me!

Julian pauses.

JULIAN

Where’s Nikolai?

ALBERT

Bathroom.

NICK

They get you and they love you, Julian.

JULIAN

They love me, all right. Fan-- mail.

Nick laughs.

Aliya

Wed, 24 Sep 2008 20:15:43 GMT

I think I'm starting to like Aliya. Like, for reals.
Uh-oh.

Quotes from Aliya that have hit me with utter lovvve:
i'm gonna try again on your hair, but with the other side. it's longer on that side, right? i don't know. but i wouldn't mind practicing every day, love.

I love you brigid, i do. i really do.

you love me a thousand times? mmm, darling.

whenever you say something extra nice and sweet to me, the look on my face is mellow and blank because i am very very very happy and i love you very much and i'm drowning in the love and i don't know what to say, and i am very peaceful. and the world is perfect for a second, and i wish i knew how to communicate that to you. that's what that look says.

i feel like i've broken something that was perfect. i don't know what to do.

i love you like fuck too, you fucking fucker. god, i love you so fucking much. i think i used up my quota of fucks, but you are sweet, you're the sweetest, and just pretend i'm saying fuck as every other word if that would make it be more true, love. you're fucking-god, i fuckin need you. all the fucking time. this feels weird, i'll become pg rated now.

you are very forceful with this love, aren't you? it's nice. it's hottt.

heh, you get off on my unintelligible nighttime murmurs. there are two,they're all whispery and they're both like, 'mnh', but on two different...pitches? that's my whole mode of communication when i'm asleep. they can say a lot though, you have to admit.

i remember you were telling me, all the ways i'm perfect. or no, all the things that lead you to the conclusion that i'm perfect. and i pretended i was embarrassed and weirded out and i told you to stop because there were people there, but i loved it. and you didn't finish. and i want to hear it.you are the perfect person for a needy creeper like me.

but seriously, why did you only get 3 hours of sleep that night? i mean, i'm not sure if i should think of it as staying up all night in your arms and dozing off every now and then, or sleeping lightly and being woken up all the time by you placing tiny kisses all over me. i remember thinking, 'i would definitely rather be on the receiving half of this arrangement, and i like it like this, but when she flips over i should too so that she can receive for once. ' and then i don't know where that went, except when you were listening to fioe, i was facing you and were you on your back? because you laughed at me each time i was scared, but did you look at me each time? i think you were on your back. or something. oh, i remember once i was giving, because i was tracing circles on your back and you said you liked that and i pet your back in the same place until it put me to sleep. did i seem like i was asleep a lot? i don't know. i remember there was never a time when i was awake but you weren't, though. so.and when you did the shoulder thing, that drove me crazy. and the hip thing, and when you traced my rib from the side to the middle, that was the best one. so, whenever we happen to end up in the same bed together again, i totally know what to do.

get rest. don't listen to your mother. listen to me. sleep.

oh, love, i love you too. i'm whispering that into the place right where your neck and your ear meet, with my lips touching you, with one hand in your hair and one on the small of your back, and my eyes closed.

**i come into my room, with a bathrobe on and a towel on my hair. i see you, asleep in my bed. you look so perfect. i put on clothes and climb into bed, careful not to disturb you. you look so peaceful, you must have been so tired when you fell asleep. i pull the blanket over both of us, you're warm. my body perfectly matches yours.i let one sound escape before i fall asleep next to you, thinking of your shape and mine and how they were made to ft together.**

i love you.

you think you're stupid and you don't know anything, it's the opposite--you need to know you can do this, and it will be easier.

and i'm sorry, everything i try to grow in you is crushed by your parents. just don't let it-- you're better than that, love.

i could feel [my heart] beating. you're my brigid.

"Hi, Brigid. It's Aliya. Um, I was calling to say I miss you, and it doesn't matter [where I am? I can't tell what you said], 'cause I always miss you when you're not here. Um. I don't know what to say ... *laugh* ... in this message. But I know you're gonna listen to it a lot. So it should be something useful that you need to memorize. That you'll memorize *laugh* after listening to this fifty times. Um. Yeah that's it. Anddd I love you. And I made you cry. And I shouldn't have. Even though it was in a good way. But I wish I was there. Okay. Stopping now. Bye."

you were at first just this existence, this person who came to jennifer's parties. but you never stayed for the whole thing and i never saw you, so i only knew you existed. and you laughed at all my jokes and made good jokes. but that was it. and then salim was your friend before i was, and he would talk about you in conversations and i would think about you. and i knew you were the girl who always hugged him. and whenever i saw you and him, you would be hugging him. i was like, 'does she like you?' and he was like, 'no' but that's what he always says. and then? and then we were in academic bowl together and health. and in academic bowl you were really cool and i wanted to know you better, but you were close with salim. and in PE lilly and you and me talked and that was cool. and then you made those notes and everything about that was awesome and i feel like i knew you a lot better because of those. even though i always got the wrong answers and was bad about giving you my envelope.

then i just became closer and closer friends. oh, and in lit, too. when you came into lit i was really happy because i , like, hated all the girls in that class, there was only me, paula, britany, and, yeah,. that was it. i felt like i was the only one with a conscience. and then you came, and i was like, 'yes! we need more dark humor!' and i remember i got to where i hugged you every time i saw you. and then , when i had you and jenna over at my house i realized i liked you a lot more than jenna and jenna knew it. and then i realized i really liked you, and you were one of my best friends. at that point i remember thinking my best friends are kathlene, brigid, margaret, jennifer, and krissy. in no real order. then whenever i had you over at my house i liked you more and more, until i had a friend crush on you. and that's when we started emailing.

and then we started making jokes with each other that were suggestive...to something else and when i realized what i was doing i knew i should stop or else you would get confused. but it was fun. and then for the longest time i kind of knew you liked me. but i was scared to bring it up, because if i was faced with the situation of you being like, 'i don't like yo? what are you talking about?' that would be too awkward so i avoided that situation by not talking about it. and then i just was never sure how you felt about me but i was kind of suspecting it. so i tried to make it clear how i felt ,, bbut that was hard for me because i had to stop and think about it, too. and you would say extra nice things, like on eid you missed me a lot, but i still didnt know if that meant you were merely the nicest person in the world (you are). but then on the car trip to the mountain, you held my hand and you kissed our hands and then i was positive. well, i was postitive when you said something, i dont know. but i wanted to wait for you to show it before i talked to you about it. ad then we had our nite. it was comfy. i wish every nite were more like that, but with me sleeping a decent amount. and now you're my best friend, whenever i think about having a best friend, or the concept of a best friend, i think of you--you're perfect. i can talk to you about anything.

i can talk to you about anything, and it's fucking nice that i can do that with someone, you know? even my rants about how much i hate something/ how weird something is, i always wonder if you'll decide i'm too weird and that you can't talk to me anymore, but you never do that! you're always like, 'yeah, i know exactly what you're talking about!' i love that. you never think i'm weird. like, the weirder things i do, the cooler you think i am. which is nice. and you're totally funny and cool, i love having conversations with you. if you just told me everything you were thinking i would love to listen to it, it would be so interesting, and just--awesome.

Brigid: You're beautiful.
Aliya:
reaction A: o-kaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay...
reaction b: er, no.
reaction c: that was random.
reaction d: did you look at a picture or something where i look good? what made you say that?
reaction e: you're more beautiful
reaction f: should i accept this?
reaction g: (accepting it) *cups face in hands and kisses you*
reaction h: thank you.
reaction i: i love you.
so all of the above.

awww, love. of course you're the one with the perfect paper. you're my favorite little writer in the whole fucking world. but seriously, i admire your writing skill. it makes me jealous and horny.

Tom and Chemical ReacSean

Mon, 22 Sep 2008 11:12:35 GMT

This one needs a brief history:

Sean was 23 when Tom found him. Sean was on the streets of San Antonio with his dog, Joseph. Tom quickly discovered that Sean had superpowers-- more specifically, Sean affected the world around him according to his emotions. When he was sad, it would rain. When he was angry, thunderstorms would break out and lights would flash or break and windows would crack. Tom, a doctor, studied Sean and tried to find a cure for Sean with his team.

Tom had released his lab assistants and students an hour ago. He and Sean were the only ones in the lab now. Tom had asked Sean if they could stay in the lab some more. Sean agreed the first time Tom asked.

Tom sat behind the computer now. He was looking through Sean’s Sad graph, his Happy graph, and his Angry graph. That Angry one had been tough to record. Right now, Sean was completely calm. He fiddled with the cords that connected him to the machines beside him. Sean was bored, and Tom was guilty.

Tom sighed and stood up. He went into the testing room, and took the cords from Sean’s hands.

“I’m sorry, Sean, but try to leave these alone.” Tom said softly. “I know you must be bored.”

“What are you looking at, Doc?” Sean asked He was smiling. Probably happy to talk to someone after such a long time.

“Old charts. Comparing them and stuff.”

“Then you don’t need me connected to all these things, do you?” The smile Sean gave Tom was the most innocent, cutest smile ever offered by Sean.

“I suppose not, but I might need you to do something, and it would be a hassle to put all these cords back on.”

Sean sat up a bit. “You need me to give you an emotion?”

“Not right now, Sean.”

“Here, let me give you one. It’ll spice them up a little.”

Tom gave him a steady look. What was Sean planning to do? “Have we already recorded it?”

Sean shook his head, licking his lips. He still had that silly smile on his face. So perfectly uncharacteristic of him.

Tom thought for a bit, and then said, “Okay. Why not?”

He started moving back to the observance room and his computer when Sean caught his wrist. Tom looked at it a moment, and then turned to Sean. His smile had turned into a delicious smirk.

Sean said, “Is the computer recording it right now?”

“No. Not yet.”

Sean’s fingers brushed against Tom’s wrist. “Come back here.”

“Sean—”

Sean’s hand shot up from Tom’s wrist and snatched the flap of Tom’s lab coat. Sean pulled him forward. Their noses were inches apart. Sean’s fingers buried in Tom’s hair and massaged the scalp. The machines around them beeped steadily faster. Had the room become warmer, or was that Sean’s breath on Tom’s face?

Tom broke free from Sean’s hold, and raced out of the room. He tapped the “record” keys and then returned to Sean. The hospital gown failed to hide Sean’s erection at all. Tom leaned down for a kiss, and Sean delivered wonderfully. Sean’s tongue was trained by the masters. Or was it just his emotions and heart leading him on? Sean was such an interesting and marvelous specimen.

Sean moaned and pulled at Tom’s shirt and lab coat. He couldn’t move much because of the cords. Tom surrendered to Sean’s wishes, and climbed on top of Sean. Their erections were practically rubbing together now. Sean let out a whimper and ran his hands through Tom’s hair.

Tom ran his hands up Sean’s chest, grabbing handfuls of the gown. Sean took his hands out of Tom’s hair, and tore the top of the gown in two halves. Tom broke off the kiss to look at the gown. He tore the rest of the gown all the way down to Sean’s knees. It ripped as easily as paper. Tom looked back at Sean’s face. Sean waggled his eyebrows.

“Here, give me something.” Sea said, looking around him. “Like, a candle, or something. Ooh, Muriel’s chocolate she left for me. Give me that.”

The chocolate was away on a table. Tom didn’t want to leave Sean’s body. He kissed down Sean’s throat to just below his ribs. Sean squirmed in delight before Tom climbed off him. He brought the chocolate to Sean as he climbed back on him. Tom noted the humid air and the dimmer lights. He wondered if Sean was okay with Tom sitting on him. He was at least 4 years older than Sean. Then again, maybe Sean’s power had made him lighter.

The chocolate instantly melted when Sean tried to pick it up. Sean laughed. He brought his finger to his lips and licked it clean. Tom swallowed.

“We need you out of these.” Tom mumbled. They shuffled around until Sean was lying in just his boxers.

“Do we need that off, too?” Sean asked, looking at his boxers. He was 100% more beautiful without that stupid gown.

Tom, instead of replying, scooted down. His feet (Why was he still in his shoes?) touched the ground, and his hands held Sean’s hips. Tom ran a tongue from the bottom of the boxers, over Sean’s cock, up to just below Sean’s belly button. Sean cried. He arched up and grabbed a fistful of Tom’s hair. Tom gave out a low chuckle, and worked on dampening Sean’s boxers.

“We’re keeping them on, then?” Sean gasped.

“No.” Tom said. He pulled down the boxers and discarded them on the floor with the gown. Tom gave the head of Sean’s cock a kiss before climbing up and delivering the rest of the kiss to Sean’s lips.

“Mm, Tom, Doc,” Sean moaned. He pushed down lightly on his shoulder. “Please.”

“No, Sean.” Tom said. He kissed up the side of Sean’s face and buried his fingers in Sean’s hair. “I want you, Sean. I want you. Let me.”

“Of course!” Sean gasped. “Of course, of course, of course!” he paused. “Fuck, we need to get you out of those things.”

Sean wrapped his arms around Tom’s neck and kissed him deeply. Sean’s hands were everywhere, taking off his lab coat, back in his hair, pulling the T-shirt over his head, feeling up and down his chest. He pulled on Tom’s nipples, then rubbed Tom’s ass before peeling off Tom’s belt. Tom’s lips were occupied with Sean’s rough kisses while Sean’s hand pressed on Tom’s clothed cock and then pushed his pants to his knees. Sean glanced down, breaking their kiss, and grabbed Tom’s cock. Sean buried his nose in Tom’s neck as he started to jerk Tom off. Slowly at first, tantalizingly slowly. Tom loved it when it was slow, and thought maybe Sean knew that.

“Sean?” Tom said. His throat caught, and he closed his eyes. Sean’s hand was so good.

“Yeah, Tom?”

“Oh, Sean.” Tom grumbled. He swallowed. “Sean, I have some questions.”

“Shoot.” Sean was kissing up his neck now.

“How you feeling?”

“Good.” Then a smile. “Sexy.”

“You conscious?”

“Of course I’m fucking conscious. I’m always conscious. Have you ever tested me when I wasn’t conscious?”

“No, I guess not.” Tom moaned. “Don’t stop, Sean.”

“I won’t. Anything for you, Tom.”

“Then lie down and let me fuck you.”

Sean was down in a heartbeat, looking up with expecting eyes. Tom moved before him, between his lean legs. “I’m gonna fuck you good. I wanna feel you around me.”

“Oh, Doc.” Sean said with a sexy smile. “Fuck me already.”

Tom looked down. He wondered if Sean was already prepared, lubed up, stretched. He gave an experimental thrust, and gasped when his cock went straight through. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“Didn’t think you’d fuck me dry, did you?” Sean said. He smirked. “Bastard.”

Tom had no time to respond—Sean squeezed. Tom grunted, licked his lips, and pushed deeper in. Sean moaned deliciously. Tom had wanted Sean the moment he saw Sean dirty in the streets, his long hair covering his impossible blue eyes. And now Tom was fucking him. Tom moaned and slammed deeper in.

“Oh, Tom, Doc, fuck, baby.”

Sean was so good. So good and perfect and beautiful. He was everything Tom wanted.

“Faster, Tom, please, faster.”

Sean definitely knew Tom ached for him, for this kind of sex. Tom fucked deeper in, oh, so deep, so fucking good, until—ugh, Tom released inside Sean. Sean came at exactly the same time, and god, it was beautiful.

Sean dove up for a kiss after Tom pulled out. He pulled him to lay on tom of Sean. Tom kissed the corner of Sean’s mouth and wanted to snuggle so badly. But that would be terribly uncharacteristic of him. Tom noted the lights coming back on, and the temperature cooling. But it was still warm. Warm and nice.

“You’re happy.” Tom concluded.

“Of course I’m happy. I finally had you inside me.” Sean kissed Tom’s head. “Can we go home now? I miss Joseph.”

“Of course, Sean.” Tom said. He kissed Sean one last time, and they left. Tom could study the charts another time.

The Strokes Crack Doodle 3

Fri, 19 Sep 2008 11:14:42 GMT

Word count: 651
Pairing: None. Gasp!
Summary: Nick hides Julian's beer.
Notes: There could have been other versions of this story:
1) If it was just Nick and Julian, Nick could've hid it next to a lube. And then they have sex.
2) There is no beer. Nick takes him to a bar. Sex?
3) Fab gives the beer to Julian, but it slips and drops. But that would've been sad, and Jules would've been angry.
4) There was something else, but I don't remember it.

Julian glared down Nick. Nick and the others tried to stifle their giggles.

“Oh, come on, Julian! It’ll be fun!” Nick tried to convince. “Hey, if you find it, I’ll give you another one.”

“A non-hidden one, right?” Julian pressed. He already started to move his feet.

“Of course. I’ll give it straight to you, no tricks.” Nick agreed. Nikolai watched in amusement as Julian searched the room.

Albert grinned and slapped his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “This is priceless, man!”

“You should never mess with Julian and his beer, dude.” Fab said instead. He stepped toward Julian. “Dude, you want me to help you find it?”

Nick hurried, “No, man, what are you doing? It’s just Julian.”

“But—”

“Fab, come on.” Nick said. “Please?”

“‘Please’?” Julian drawled. He raised a pillow. “Fuck, Nick, does this mean that much to you?”

“I just think it’d be funny.”

“Or you want to get something out of this.” Julian said. His eyes were on Nick now.

Nick returned the hard stare. “Don’t change the subject, Jules.”

“If I can’t fuckin’ find the beer in the next 30 minutes, you’re fucking taking me to a bar and paying for all my fucking drinks, man.”

Nick nodded. “Deal.”

Nikolai chewed his gum while sitting in the desk chair. Fab shook his head and walked out of the hotel room. Albert giggled and plopped down on one of the beds. Nick watched Julian search the room for his beer. Nick couldn’t help a smile; it was fun watching Julian scramble about.

Fab came back 10 minutes later. Julian leaped to him and clung onto his arms.

“Fab, man, you gotta help me.” Julian urged. Julian’s eyes were so big and frantic. Fab swallowed and glanced at Nick. Nick didn’t respond, so Fab nodded to Julian. They both searched the hotel room while Nick watched again. Nick still couldn’t believe Julian had missed it; he hadn’t planned on dragging it out this long. Albert had already found it, and was grinning again. Nikolai had fallen asleep somewhere along the way.

Fab glanced up at the ceiling, and then gasped.

“Jules!”

Julian turned around, followed Fab’s gaze, and then let out a squeak. He hurried over to Fab, and exclaimed, “Get it down, get it down!”

Albert laughed. Nick grinned and inwardly praised himself for such a great spot to hide Julian’s beer. The bottle sat on one of the blades of the ceiling fan. Nikolai blearily opened his eyes, took one glance at Julian’s expression, and smiled.

Julian clutched Fab’s arm with one hand, and pointed to the beer with the other. “How the fuck--! Don’t you fucking mess with me, Valensi! Don’t fucking start!”

Nick laughed, but inched back against the pillows of the bed. “I didn’t think it’d take this long, man! I didn’t mean to, what, offend you, or anything.”

“It didn’t fucking offend me, just don’t fucking play around with my beer like that!”

Fab, meanwhile, asked Nikolai for the chair. Nikolai got up and tumbled on the bed, where his head ended up on Albert’s lap. Fab repositioned the chair, climbed on it, then very carefully (with Julian shrieking at him) took down the beer. He handed it to Julian before he got off the chair. Julian took it carefully but anxiously, and then immediately drained the whole thing.

Albert and Nick guffawed. They tried to give each other high-fives, but they were on separate beds, and Nikolai was still on Albert’s lap, so they settled for air-fives.

Julian gasped when he finished it. He wiped his mouth furiously, and then shouted to Nick, “Don’t fucking mess with my beer again!”

Nick shook his head, still laughing. “No, man, I promise I won’t.”

Fab finally laughed and hugged Julian hard. Julian laughed despite himself. He threw out the beer.

“So where’s my second beer?” Julian said grinning. Nick got up.

The Strokes Crack Doodle 2

Thu, 18 Sep 2008 11:15:38 GMT

Over at strokeslash , it's called Vanilla Chocolate Chip. The Crack Doodle-y part is Fab and Nick talking in the beginning. And then I developed it.

Word count: 3024
Pairing: Nick/Jules
Summary: The usual, Nick likes Julian, Julian doesn't like Nick. But it's not angst, which I like.

Nick sat at Fab’s drum set, staring blankly at the cymbals. Fab sat on the couch, plucking at the strings of Nick’s Epiphone Riviera. The others had gone off to get some food for them.

“Don’t be shy, Nick.” Fab said. Nick abruptly turned to regard him. Fab had his permanent smile on his face. “I’m attempting your guitar and failing considerably. You go ahead and bang those drums. Or cymbals, since you look so interested in them.”

Nick laughed softly. “Sorry, man, I’m just out of it today.”

“Something bothering you?”

Nick pursed his lips. He didn’t like keeping secrets from his boys, but it was kind-of private. Still, if he didn’t tell them, they might suspect him and think he didn’t trust them. Nick trusted his friends with his life. Or maybe they’d see it was private and leave him alone.

Nick opened his mouth, eyes on Fab. “I…”

Fab saw Nick’s uncharacteristic nervousness, and stopped playing.

“No, keep playing.” Nick said. “It’ll get too awkward if you don’t.”

Fab strummed the guitar harshly and comically. It sounded terrible. Nick and Fab both laughed; Fab always knew hot to ease the tension.

“All right.” Nick conceded, still grinning. “Um, it’s … Julian. I think I’m falling in-love with him.”

Fab stopped strumming for a second in shock, but continued when he remembered he had to. Nick told Fab to return his guitar. Fab passed it to him, and Nick played some sweet and gentle chords.

“When? How?” Fab asked.

Nick swallowed. “After the NME awards. He gave me this … look, and I just…” Nick glanced at a silent Fab, “Melted, you know? And I guess it’s – I’ve known him for a long time—“

“You’ve known all of us for a long time.”

“Fab—“

“Fuck, man.” Fab sighed. “Dude, it’s Julian. You know how he is with girls and—“

“I’m not a fucking girl, if you haven’t noticed, Fab.” Nick spat. “And I can’t stop what’s already started.”

“Does he know?”

“Jules? I don’t know—I don’t think so.”

Fab blinked. “Last Sunday, wow. And nobody else knows?”

“I haven’t told anyone.”

The others came back with burgers. Julian plopped down next to Fab, and wrapped an arm around his neck. Fab glanced at Nick, but then kissed Julian’s cheek. They’d always been touchy, but Nick couldn’t stop the anger from flaring. Those times since last Sunday that Julian was anywhere with another were excruciating to Nick’s heart and torture to watch.

“What were you guys talking about?” Albert asked, sitting on the floor with a burger.

“How Nick’s guitar is better than yours.” Fab said.

“Hey!” Albert exclaimed.

Julian’s arm returned to his side as he chuckled. He grabbed a burger from the bag and called to Nick, “Hey, Valensi!”

Nick caught the burger. Despite his hunger, he didn’t feel like eating. He never felt like eating. Still, he didn’t want to look suspicious and Fab was glaring at him to eat, so Nick unwrapped his burger. They played a couple songs, and then dispersed for home.

------------

“Hey, can I help you?”

Fab glanced up to see Nick’s head pop through the door. It was the next time they rehearsed, three or four days later. Julian had called them up and said something about a new song, but he didn’t know if it would be any good or not. Julian usually poked at a keyboard when he got a new song idea, and the keyboard sounded completely different from the guitar.

Fab had to come in early every rehearsal to set up the drums. And though they all knew it was a tough and troublesome job, no one wanted to set up the drums. Still, the second person that came would help him set up, and Fab would give him a fat kiss on the cheek. Another reason they never said no.

Fab asked Nick to set up the hi-hat, which Nick did after setting his guitar on one of the couches. After Fab got the floor tom ready, he called out, “Nice going last time.”

“What?”

“Last rehearsal. You didn’t act any differently than before you started liking him. No slip-ups in your solos or anything.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Nick mumbled, tightening the neck of the hi-hat. “That’s the whole idea, right?”

Fab had gone off to the pile of drums, but he paused and watched Nick for a second at this. “Listen, man, do you want him?”

Nick looked up at Fab and tested the tightness of the hi-hat neck. It was just enough time for Fab to remember to move, and he took the crash cymbal to the rest of the drum kit.

Nick stood up, and said, “Doesn’t everyone?”

“I don’t.” Fab said flatly. “He flits around and flirts and fucks a lot of kids. And, yeah, I’ve seen him in relationships, and he’s fine, but he still throws a wink at the waitress or the bartender behind their back. They never have Julian’s full attention. And you deserve someone’s full attention, man.”

Nick was silent for a couple seconds. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he took the ride cymbal and started setting that up. Did Nick deserve Julian? No one was perfect. Who didn’t glance at a pretty girl when they saw one? If Julian did want him, then he figured it was okay for Julian to throw a smile at some chick; as long as Julian liked and came back to Nick in the end, it was fine.

No. Nick was just telling himself that. Anytime Julian was with someone else, something would stab at Nick. He’d get pretty protective over Julian if they were an item.

“Anyway,” Fab said, sitting down on his stool. Everything was set now. “If you do want him, you might as well go for it. You don’t seriously think you’re gonna get Julian, of all people, sitting around on your lazy ass.”

“Oh, you know all the consequences, Fab.” Nick sighed, “He might get freaked out. Or awkward. Or hate me.”

“Why the fuck would he hate you?”

“I don’t know, because his friend since fucking high school suddenly likes him, and if his friend doesn’t quit liking him, it could fuck up the friendship and they’d both lose each other.”

Nikolai came in sometime mid-rant. Nick and Fab both turned to his frozen stance in the doorway. Nick’s heart stopped. At this rate, Albert would find out, and then Julian, and everything would get fucked up a lot quicker.

But Nikolai didn’t say anything. He just dropped his bass on the couch and started tuning it up. Nick followed suit and tuned his own. Compared to the previous conversation, the talk between the three of them was tasteless. An empty dialogue about the new Daft Punk and Muse album, wondering what Noel Gallagher’s up to, where Adam was right now.

Finally Julian and Albert came stumbling through, laughing. If anyone was late at all, it was Julian and Albert, usually together since they lived with each other. (Nick was the last to come once, but that was when he had been in charge of the food and had decided to make something for all of them. Batch after batch, the cookies were burnt, until Nick finally managed. He was 20 minutes late, and they had been pissed, but they instantly brightened when they tasted the cookies. He had been late for a good cause)

Albert apologized for being late, and Julian assumed it was for the both of them, so he didn’t say anything. He just walked over and sat at the piano, immediately cranking out the new tune for the new song. They all listened carefully as he played it more than once for them to get the feeling, and then Julian started moving. He told Nick what chord to play, and Albert what riff to do, and told Fab and Nikolai to do anything they wanted. Fab and Nikolai could always do whatever they wanted. Well, no, not always. Jules made Nikolai’s Reptilia part.

The song was simple and pretty, and confusing at some parts, because it was just a baby and it needed time to grow, to develop into something more mature, more ready and perfect. It reminded Nick of what he was feeling. This love, it could work out so beautifully, because he and Jules had known each other for such a long time, and Nick was convinced that they liked each other as much as they liked themselves. But so many things could go wrong at the same time. No one could ever know so early on.

Julian didn’t see or feel Nick’s eyes on him the whole rehearsal. Nick’s fingers got too self-conscious and slipped more than usual. Nick berated himself in his head, because fuck, it’s just an A chord, and a D minor 7. He hadn’t messed up before, so why’d he start now? Still, no one paid too much attention to Nick’s slip-ups except for Fab. Fab kept his steady beat throughout the whole thing, but Nick reckoned all percussionists could do that. No matter what they felt, they could keep a beat if the song called for it.

After two or three hours, they each picked up a part of Fab’s drum kit and took it apart. Taking apart Fab’s drum kit was a lot easier than putting it back together. Once they stepped out of the building, Fab rushed, “Oh, dude, sorry,” and kissed Nick’s cheek for setting up earlier today.

Nikolai approached Nick and said, “Hey, man, you wanna get some ice cream?”

“I want ice cream!” Julian blurted.

“Man, you’ve got too much beer in you to taste the ice cream.” Nikolai snapped. Jules had been drinking beer after beer at rehearsal. “Unless you like beer-flavored ice cream.”

“Ew.” Julian said. He slapped Nikolai on the shoulder, winked at Nick, and then followed Albert and Fab walking away.

Nikolai had said in an interview once that he liked pistachio the best. It was very true; Nikolai hunted for pistachio. If they didn’t have it, he wouldn’t get any ice cream at all. In the same interview, Nick had said he liked vanilla milkshakes, which, yes, was true, but Nick would try any ice cream his friends gave him. He wasn’t much of an experimenter, unlike Julian, but Nick would usually just let Albert or someone choose for him, and Nick would eat it. He’d never stumbled upon a flavor he disliked.

Nikolai had pistachio, of course, and Nick ended up with something he didn’t even know existed. Nikolai had picked it; it was something with nuts and caramel.

“Does only Fab know?” Nikolai asked. They sat on stairs to some apartments.

Nick tensed. “Know about what?”

“About whatever you guys were talking about.” Nikolai said. “If it’s a confidence issue, I think you should think it through, and then, you know, man,” Nikolai looked straight at Nick, and said, “You don’t know until you try.”

Nikolai went back to horking down his ice cream. Nick looked down at his own dessert, and blinked. Nikolai had never been one to get involved. He didn’t know it was Julian that Nick was having trouble with. Still, Nikolai knew how to give a good piece of advice.

------------------

It was a week until the next rehearsal. This time, Julian was already there when Nick came. Fab’s drum set was ready, and they were both enjoying a smoke. Julian played Barely Legal on the piano, but there was something different about it. It was slower. Nick had never seen Julian’s hand move so gracefully, like how real pianists moved.

Nick rested his guitar on the couch, and then glanced at Fab with an arched eyebrow. Fab shrugged, but nodded his head at Julian. Nick hesitantly sat on the piano bench, to the left of Julian. He watched Julian struggle with a part; it took some time for Nick to figure out that Julian was trying to play both Albert’s and Nick’s part with his left hand. Julian’s fingers were so far apart that it looked like they’d burst.

“Hey, can you hold this down?” Julian asked. His voice was impossibly lower than usual. Nick held down the chord Julian had worked at. Nick’s long fingers made it easy for him. With his left hand free from its torture, Julian could relax, and he played the vocals with his right hand.

Abruptly, Julian stopped playing. Nick kept the chord down, confused, but Julian just leaned on Nick, dropping his head against Nick’s shoulder. It was one of those times where Nick wished he was shorter, because it would probably have been more comfortable for Jules to put his head on something instead of against it.

Nick let go of the chord, and wrapped his arm around Julian’s shoulders. He knew Fab was watching, but honestly, Nick could care less. Julian needed and had his full attention.

“Ryan scheduled an interview with me tomorrow.” Julian mumbled. It was so soft that Nick had to strain his ear to hear. Julian hated it when Ryan scheduled interviews without consenting with Julian about it first. Especially interviews so close. Tomorrow was close.

“They’re probably gonna ask about the new songs.” Julian whined. “I don’t fucking want to tell them about the new songs. Bastards.”

Julian looked up at Nick, and Julian’s eyes had never been so dark and big; they pulled Nick in and Nick lost himself in them. He couldn’t be anywhere else if he wanted to be. Julian reached behind Nick’s neck, and pulled lightly on Nick’s brown locks. Nick wanted to close his eyes in delight, but he couldn’t break off Julian’s intense gaze.

Albert and Nikolai came in at precisely that time. Julian detached himself from Nick. Nick felt empty without Julian on him, and he blamed Albert and Nikolai, because who knew where that could’ve gone?

But Julian felt lighter after the episode, and he could actually sing. His voice was lazy and it was just words and no meanings behind the words if he was sad. Nick liked to think that he was the reason Julian felt better, he healed Julian. He felt like he’d never forget this day, but Nick knew he would forget it, because in a few weeks, it wouldn’t be as important as he felt now.

-----------------------

It was just two days later that Nick felt lonely and desperate. He wanted to see Julian so badly, to hear his voice, how he pronounced some of his words differently because of who he grew up with (sometimes, Nick and Albert would ask Julian a question that forced Julian to say ‘first’. The way he rolled back his tongue used to crack them up. Now Nick just thought it was sexy).

Instead of calling up Julian to meet him for some food, Nick drowned himself in music. He blocked out the world, blocked out all thoughts of money and fans and Julian to The Velvet Underground. It was a stupid solution, but damn, it felt good.

Nick could barely hear the jingle of his cell phone over the music. He would’ve turned the phone off, but it was Julian calling. Nick would give up the world for Julian.

“Julian?” Nick gasped into the phone after he turned off Lou Reed.

“No, man, it’s Albert.” Nick’s shoulders slouched. “I can’t fucking find my phone, and Julian’s was closer, so I just grabbed his. Listen, man, you wanna come over? I’m fucking bored.”

“Yeah, sure, just give me a sec.” Nick replied, and turned off his phone. Of course Nick would come over. Julian was over there. The music had eroded his Julian-deprivation, but now it was back in full force. Nick needed him.

Julian was sleepy when Nick arrived. He was on the couch, his notepad on his folded knees, earphones buried in his ears. He barely nodded at Nick before staring back at his pad. His eyelids drooped dangerously.

Albert had ordered some pizza. He led Nick to his room and showed him some cool riffs on his guitar. Eventually, as what always happened when Nick and Albert were alone with their guitars, they engaged in the familiar game of Albert naming songs and Nick playing them on his guitar. After about 15 songs, Nick finally lost on Raining Blood by Slayer.

Julian came in, sat down, and leaned against Nick’s shoulder.

“Man, go to another room to sleep. It’s loud here.” Albert said.

“It’s too lonely over there.” Julian mumbled into Nick’s shirt.

Nick did his best to not move his shoulder too much while strumming at his guitar. He and Albert gently played some chords and ended up playing The End Has No End, Alone Together, and Sagganuts, until Nick got hungry. He ignored it like he usually did, but his stomach growled, and Julian was so close that he could hear it.

“Whoo, Nick, man!” Julian exclaimed. “Yo, Albert, get some pizza for this hungry boy.”

“Get it yourself!” Albert snapped, but he got up anyway. He pushed down on Julian’s head as he walked by, and then ran away before Julian’s hand could slap at his calves. Julian, instead of pursuing Albert, just yelled out a “Fuck you!” and then went back on Nick’s shoulder.

Nick could see where this went. Nick could see Julian saying he liked Nick back. Julian could kiss him or say something sweet. He could look at Nick with those big, round eyes that said anything and everything Julian felt. But nothing happened. Julian just slept.

And that was how it was supposed to end. Julian and Nick would always be friends, singer and guitarist, writer and reader. In a few months, weeks, days, even, Nick would get over Julian and his cute, pouting lips and his dark, very pretty hair, and even his magical eyes. Nick would meet a nice girl, and so would Julian. And yes, it would be Nick and Jules again, but again, as friends. Nick would never dare lose Julian as that.

The Strokes Crack Doodle 1

Thu, 18 Sep 2008 02:04:34 GMT

Crack doodle -- n. 'krak dü-dəl.
1. a bad or crazy sketch
2. a plotless story written only to satisfy needs

So I don't have to have a whole massive plot. It's less than a one-shot, usually, sometimes. A drabble. Yeah, it's usually a drabble. But sometimes it's a one-shot. And sometimes it's longer than that. Ugh.

Word count: 342
Pairing: Julian/Nick
Summary: Jules and Nick kiss on-stage.
Notes: I had a conversation/explanation between all of The Strokes before this, but it was way too OOC, so I just canned it.

The kiss was firm and lasted too short. Julian’s arm was snaked around Nick’s neck, his hand hidden in Nick’s long locks. Julian’s other hand gripped just below the mic. Nick had no time to even react or kiss back before Julian broke off. Julian gave Nick a sly grin, and then they filed out. Nick hesitated, and then left with the rest of them.

“God, I’ll never forget the volume of that scream.” Fab said grinning.

“It’s a good idea we did it in Japan, too.” Nikolai added, “Apparently they have a fetish for that sort of thing.”

Albert whispered to Nick, “How was it?”

Nick didn’t respond. He just sped up to Julian. Nick grabbed him, and slammed him against a wall. The others exclaimed, and even Julian gasped, “Fuck!” but before they could stop him, Nick kissed Julian. He grabbed the sides of Julian’s face, and kissed him again.

“Oh.” Albert said for all of them. Albert, Nikolai, and Fab left, leaving Julian and Nick alone.

Julian kissed back, hands placed on Nick’s bony hips. They finished the kiss that they’d started on stage. Nick never tired of kissing Julian, and by the way Julian was kissing back, Julian never did, either.

They broke off after such intense kissing. Julian still held Nick’s hips, while Nick’s hands massaged Julian’s scalp. They let their breathing even out a bit.

“You wanna do it again?” Julian breathed. His hands moved up to Nick’s waist, and he leaned his head in. “In the next concert?”

Nick stared at Julian, and then said, “No.”

Julian was surprised. Nick quickly kissed him, wrapping his arms around Julian’s neck.

“Why not?” Julian asked when they broke off.

Nick shrugged. “Let’s keep it to ourselves.”

“But it’s already out.”

Nick fiddled with Julian’s hair. “I want you. And I don’t—I don’t want anyone else … to have you. I just—”

Julian grinned, and leaned in again. “You’re stuttering.”

Julian kissed him. Nick melted.

They didn’t kiss at the next concert. Not on stage, anyway.

House - Season Premiere

Wed, 17 Sep 2008 01:10:31 GMT

OMFG.

WILSON CAN'T LEAVE!

I started crying when he said those mean things to House at the end.

Oh, my god, no, Wilson is my favorite character. He can't fucking leave. No.

Earphones

Fri, 12 Sep 2008 11:05:18 GMT

Really not looking forward to posting my Crack Doodles, because some are seriously just Crack Doodles.

Original fiction
Title: Earphones
Logline: Music is a drug.
Notes: I like the music rant in here. And how I didn't focus all on The Strokes, but they're still in there somewhere. You just have to put The Strokes in! (haha, that's what Emily said!)

He had long, brown, untidy hair. He wasn’t hunched over his laptop, but he was staring intently at it. I couldn’t tell if his eyes were watching the little ticker inch forward in the music player, or if he wasn’t paying attention at all to the screen, but more to the song blaring in his ears. He had earphones in, and I couldn’t hear the treble of the song and he wasn’t tapping to the beat, but he was just more focused on the song than I had ever seen anyone else be.

“What you listening to?” I said. He whipped around. His eyes were dark, wide, shocked. He tore out his earphones, and now I could hear the treble and some of the guitars.

His voice was a mumble. But perfectly understandable. “Queens of the Stone Age.”

“Ah.” I said. I was still holding me suitcase. “Well, I’m Matt.”

“Jeremy.” He said. He nodded at me, and then put the earphones back in. I took a look around the room. Jeremy’s box of shit for the year was still unopened and sealed off in the corner next to a bed that I guessed he claimed.

“Hey, aren’t you gonna unpack your stuff?” I asked. I kicked down my suitcase and zipped it open.

Jeremy took out an earphone again. “Yeah, hold up. Just let me listen to this one song.”

“Yeah.”

I stole a glance at him a couple seconds later, and saw him covering his eyes with big hands. His breathing was shallow. His lips pursed before a tongue traced over them. 40 seconds later, he took a deep breath and then took out his earphones.

I asked him if he wanted to put on some music while we were silently unpacking, but he was fidgety. Jeremy put on something with light guitars and a heavy bass, but he shut it off halfway through.

“It just—doesn’t sound right.” He tried to explain. “Sharing it with someone else—it’s not as important to me. Or … special?”

“I understand.” I said. No, I didn’t, but I respected that he didn’t want to share it with me.

I felt weird about putting on my own music. His music was so precious to him, but mine was different. Honestly, I liked weird stuff: Of Montreal, Bloc Party, The Moldy Peaches. I asked him about them, and he scrunched up his face and shrugged.

“They’re okay. You can put them on, if you want.”

That’s how it went: I played my music out loud, and Jeremy listened through earphones. The only times he put it on speakers were when he was alone in our dorm. As soon as I walked in, his dark eyes would flick up, and his music would be off. If I was in a bad mood, it would turn me off: Wasn’t I worthy of his music?

When kids came into our room while we were studying, they thought it was too quiet. I would be at me laptop with my earphones in, and Jeremy would be on his bed with his earphones in. It was loud in our ears, but quiet to the world.

I never saw Jeremy without any form of music on. He listened when he went to bed. When he got up, he grabbed his iPod and trudged to the bathroom. When he got back from class he had earphones in, and then he’d sit at the computer and plug his earphones from the iPod to the computer. That’s what he would do, listen at the computer when he was there, and if he had to get up, he’d switch it to his iPod and go. Sometimes he just unplugged them so that the room would host two seconds of The Strokes, and then he’d sit back down. I wondered if he listened to music in class. The teachers don’t much like music, so he probably didn’t. But I could picture him tapping a beat with his fingers or his feet to some song in his head.

Sometimes I wanted to tell him that something bad could really happen to his ears if he was always listening to music. But I’m sure he wasn’t always listening to music. For one thing, even though he had a subwoofer (It was the first thing he unpacked from his box of shit) and a boom box for when he had no hands outside, he didn’t have a shower player thing. Sometimes he had music on when friends were over, but usually not. And of course, he didn’t listen in class. So I didn’t tell him.

His some of his friends liked his music, some didn’t. It was good to know he was into other stuff besides music. His classes, surprisingly, were far from music. He did take one music class, but the others were math, Art History, other stuff.

Jeremy didn’t have a guitar or a bass or even a keyboard.

“I tried to learn guitar once.” He told me, “But music is for me to listen to, not to make. I made some lyrics, but I don’t have any tunes for it.”

Lyrics without song is just a poem. Jeremy told me it wasn’t. He taught me so much about music, voluntarily or involuntarily. I wanted to give him something back. I took one of his lyrics, got together with a friend who played piano, a friend who played guitar, a friend who played drums. I mixed it myself, not to be boastful or look uninvolved in the project. I showed the final product to Jeremy as a New Year’s gift.

Jeremy’s smile was slow, but true. At some point, his smile faltered and scrunched up to one side. He laughed for some parts. At the end, he blinked and smiled again.

“No one’s ever made a song for me before.” Jeremy almost-whispered. “Just to get that out of the way. It feels really good that you did this.”

“Me and my friends. But yeah, keep going.”

“Honestly, Matt, the guitars sound a bit weird. The distortion should have been higher. It’s mixed weirdly. A guitar would sound better in the beginning than a piano. Girls singing have always been not as rewarding as boys voices to me—not to sound sexist or anything-- and her voice is too soft. The drums are good. And it is very catchy.”

Ouch. But it was my first time, and I liked it, and he had smiled when he heard it, so I’m cool with it.

He’s addicted to music. Which doesn’t sound all that bad. Talking is like music, right? We went shopping once for some new clothes. Jeremy accidentally left his iPod at our dorm. He wasn’t screamy or angry, but he did keep reaching in his pocket only to remember Weezer was at home. His voice was harsher. He kept drinking water. He was strangely affectionate, and grabbed my shoulders and dug his forehead in my neck.

“I can’t believe I left it back.” He moaned. “I’m Hives-deprived. Strokes-deprived. Franz-deprived.”

And when we got back, Jeremy grabbed his iPod and listened like it was a drug. His eyes closed and he smiled and sighed and leaned back on his bed and actually, he felt up his crotch a bit until he rushed to the bathroom with his iPod.

Jeremy blocked out his emotions to music. If he was angry, he’d do The Vines (no, net Metallica. He hated that). Happy, confused, or sad, he listened to his favorites. He did the catchy, fun songs (Helicopter?) when he was happy, too, and he sang along half the time. I don’t know if he verbally vented to his friends when something was up, but I knew that at our dorm, he drowned in music.

Yesterday he came in the room and he immediately dropped to his laptop and played Arctic Monkeys out loud. I knew something was wrong. He saw that I was in the room-- specifically, I was sitting on my bed reading a book for class—and he still played it out loud. Jeremy looked strained, like his emotion was suppressed, which it probably was. He raised the volume up to just before I would say to turn it down. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, breathed in like music was an inhalant. But before even a minute into the song, he paused it.

Jeremy’s never purposely stopped his music before. Or at least wanted to. Once, someone stopped it for something, I don’t remember what, and Jeremy blew up. He’s done it if he had to go somewhere, but even then he would pause it between beats or words. This time it was straight in the middle of a word. My eyes lifted from the pages of my book to watch him. Jeremy was frozen, like he couldn’t believe he had just paused the music. And then his head hit the desk, and he cried.

I didn’t know what to do. I just watched him at first. Jeremy’s shoulders shook and he didn’t moan, but gasped and sighed brokenly. Finally I slipped out of bed, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Hey,” I whispered.

Jeremy’s sobs died down a bit. His head lifted, but he still didn’t look up at me.

He shuddered, “The music would always block out everything.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just squeezed his shoulder.

“Whenever I was sad, I would just listen to The Killers, and everything would be okay.” Jeremy continued.

“Why don’t you listen to them now?”

“I don’t want to!” Jeremy blurted. He looked at me, and I could see how torn up he was. “I don’t want to be driven by my music! I rely on it too much. It chooses how I feel, it makes decision for me, it takes and gives friends. Who am I without my music?” Jeremy paused. “Where would I be now if I’d never discovered The White Stripes or Arctic Monkeys? Would I be sadder? Happier? I don’t even want to pursue a career in music—this is all for nothing! When am I ever gonna use this? What makes it so good that humans are one of the few organisms on the planet to be able to sing? Why did we invent songs? Why do-- people who want to be band members don’t do well in school because they don’t need to know History or Science if they’re singing, but it’s so hard to be in a successful band—hell, it’s hard to make a single song! And then what do those kids do when they’ve realized they’ve flunked out of school with no band to get money? They probably go back to their music, or maybe they give up music forever. Why is the gift for making music only for certain people? Do they know how terrible it feels to not be able to make your own song? How would the world be if everyone was a musician? We wouldn’t get anything done. No, the world would be a more beautiful place. Music—it—”

Jeremy sighed harshly. He rubbed his hand up his face, and then down it. He looked at the paused song on his computer, and then said softly, “I just need to get away from my music for a while.”

“Your music made you think all this?”

“Music is such bullshit.” Jeremy barked automatically. He couldn’t help himself, and played the rest of the song.

--ping on the seat.

Several hours or several weeks.

I’d have the cheek to say they’re equally as bleak.

We stood there listening to the song for a while, before I said, “You’re right.”

Jeremy glanced up at me.

“It’s a waste of time. Why sit there and stare into space with guitars and notes in your ears when you can do so many other things? You could read a book or watch a video or talk to your friends. Musicians are losers, because they know that music is useless, yet they still use it to make money off—”

“You shut up.” Jeremy snapped.

I smiled. He was shocked, because he expected me to be angry for cutting me off, but then he realized what I did. I made him get over his “Music sucks” phase, because we both knew he did like music. A lot.

Jeremy smiled grimly and looked back at the screen. At that moment, we realized that he would never be able to get out of liking music, and would always want more. It was a drug. But I thought it was the best drug there was.

We listened to the rest of the song in silence.

“It’s beautiful.” Jeremy said.

Casablancas

Sun, 07 Sep 2008 14:49:24 GMT

Wow, I'm really embarrassed to have posted Channel Energy. Ew! I'll just do the best ones, maybe, if I post it at all.

Here's my first science fiction story that I ever made. And it was written five weeks ago! I really like this one. Science fiction always gave me the chills, and this one does, too, but I like how I incorporated The Strokes in it. It's inspired by the alternate You Only Live Once video.

Dr. Tom Stills kept his mouth shut. It was the least he could do, really, before locking up the basement and remembering the password to all his files. He was glad he didn’t have a wife or husband, or else he wouldn’t be able to give an explanation, or at least an explanation that wouldn’t completely shock them. He was lucky enough to have already gained the reputation of only talking when spoken to, and even then, he didn’t always answer. His higher-ups weren’t very conversational themselves.

At work, Tom used the computer with his colleagues. He worked the four screens easily, unlike his partners who were so used to only two screens. He helped Sacred with the animals sometimes, and sometimes mixed chemicals with Caring, but usually it was just Tom and his computer. He was left alone while the others went on their own way, but he was a good boy and did what he was told when they asked him to raise the speedometer by 4%, or something.

At home, Tom locked himself up in his basement and listened to old—ancient—records, flipped through photo albums of rockstars and their leather jackets, their flashing lights, their guitars that were made of hardwood and lacquer coating. Out in the public, Tom could never do that: People would regard him as too strange to talk to, look at, hire. The world had slipped into ignoring their past. Now was now, live in the moment, trash your items from generations before. Family history, what family history? Every life was a fresh start.

No, music had not gone obsolete. Rock had. The only music genres that survived through all those tough years were techno and—surprisingly—folk. Just acoustic guitar and a voice. The piano and the guitar thrived, too; it seemed those two couldn’t just die off like the violin or the clarinet. The piano and the guitar had so many tricks and lovely sounds that no one had the heart to dispose of them. They had evolved, though: The piano used in songs today snaked around the player in a full circle with a chip detached that marked the start and end of the piano, and a way to get into the circle in the first place. The guitar’s neck had lengthened, and was holographic; it popped up at the press of a button to the side of the guitar, allowing easier storage and transportability.

Tom found Rock interesting a couple years ago, but the past had intrigued him from the very start. His parents had blasted Rock & Roll when he was a child, before it was weird to do that, to wallow in the past. They read and told him fairytales and fables and classics—Huckleberry Finn, Romeo and Juliet, Harry Potter. His name, even, was different from the new style of adjective names that had bloomed: it was an old name, a name with lots of history and character. Acts and bills and years passed, and suddenly Tom’s friends went quiet when he mentioned The Rolling Stones, or The Beatles, or hell, even Beethoven. They stared and blinked when Tom described the last game of football he played with his father. They fidgeted when Tom marveled at the cloth and cotton that people used to wear when it was just solid holograms now.

So Tom learned to shut his mouth, to say nothing about the past, and to feign interest in the new techno album out. He didn’t dislike the new music—it just didn’t spark him like the old music did.

The first band that sparked him was The Velvet Underground. Tom had been 10-years-old, and he had been stunned. It was all so simple, but sounded brilliant. The timing of the notes and the smoothness of Lou Reed’s voice was perfect. His mother caught him sitting in front of the stereo, open-mouthed and barely breathing, and she fell on the floor laughing. The spark was the most wonderful feeling Tom had ever experienced, dominating love and happiness by far. It filled him and made him feel that, at last, the world was in order. It was his mind finding relief at something he didn’t even know he had been looking for in the first place. The world flipped and zeroed in only on the sound of the guitar, the pureness of the voice, and the crash and burn of the drums.

The spark occurred when, as implied, Tom heard something that he particularly liked. He had felt many sparks since that time when he was 10—to the bass line in Old Yellow Bricks, to the drop in Take Me Out—but that first time with Heroin was phenomenal, legendary.

The biggest and most grabbing spark was to Juicebox of The Strokes. Tom was going through old music files in the internet, and buried under piles of Rock music was this curious title.

Immediately all senses except hearing turned off.

His mouth went dry.

First the bass—guitar, too—drummed in steadily but demanding attention, feigning like it was getting louder or faster when it was exactly the same.

Another guitar hummed in, shrilled in, slowly, louder—and then a beautiful rhythm went. Only 25 seconds in and already Tom was hungry for more. He didn’t even realize there hadn’t been a voice until it came.

Julian Casablancas sounded light, pretty, happy, but there was no smile in his voice. And suddenly, he was screaming. The guitars blared. Julian’s voice was scratchy and rough, but it clicked perfectly. His screaming wasn’t tasteless like Tom had heard in some Punk Rock songs: it had tune and intonation. Tom could perfectly picture Julian’s mouth at how articulately Julian pronounced words. Tom tasted every breath Julian took.

And Julian was singing again, but he had a scratchy edge to his voice that he had lacked at the start of the song. The guitars and the drums kept up with him easily, like they had known him for too long and claimed all his secrets.

The guitar shrilled like it had when it came in at the start of the song, but it chopped into little notes at the end of the whine. Tom had heard better solos, but it didn’t have to be particularly impressive to awe the listener. The chord pulled harshly at the end was superb. It was as excellent as Julian’s words when they instantly jumped back in place.

The song took forever to end, but when Tom looked at the timer, it was only 3 minutes and 11 seconds. Immediately, Tom played it again.

That night, Tom went through every Strokes song in the library. He watched every music video—which wasn’t much, because The Strokes weren’t interested in music videos or anything other than plain playing music. He watched all the live concerts and TV performances that he could get his hands on. This was new. This was something he hadn’t heard before.

Four years later, Tom was still listening to The Strokes. He still watched the way Nick Valensi moved, and Fab Moretti banged his head, and the words spilled out of Julian’s pretty mouth. If Julian Casablancas wasn’t centuries dead, Tom would have a crush on him. Julian was perfect. They were all perfect. Tom wished he could have lived during their time to see them.

But he didn’t have to live during their time to see them. Tom could revive them. Holograms were all the rage nowadays; professionals had already hologrammed back dancers for dance shows. Why couldn’t Tom hologram a band from an old video?

Hologramming programs were expensive, but cheap ones were being sold in chain software stores. Tom figured he needed the real deal, and he knew the different types of equipment needed for holograms, anyway. Tom couldn’t buy them all at the same time, though; that would be too suspicious. He had to buy them separately every 2 or so weeks, and even then, he went on the busy Saturdays. Tom broke up the program to individual parts: Albert’s body, Nikolai’s bass, Julian’s mic. And then with all those separate files, Tom needed to get rid of some of the data on his computer to fit all the components. He deleted some of his old lab records because the past was the past, right? How ironic.

Setting up the hologram took a good 2 days. Fixing up the lights, balancing out the equalizer, tuning the synthesizer, and working out other kinks to make the perfect performance took 2 weeks.

And tonight, Tom would see the final product.

Tom booted up the programs. Every graphic was set in place. Every sound boomed. Every light flashed.

Julian Casablancas smiled.

Nick Valensi gripped his guitar.

The Strokes were back.

Right in front of Tom.

Julian touched his lips to the mic. His voice was throaty and groaned. “How you guys doing?”

The crowd cheered. Tom glanced around him, but all he saw was 10-foot speakers.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s how I feel.” Julian continued. Albert chewed his gum with a smile. Nikolai ran a hand through his hair. “This is fuckin’ great. Hope you guys are having as much fun as we are.”

Julian glanced back at Fab. Fab grinned and nodded behind the drums.

“All right, you guys, this one’s called Reptilia.”

Tom had specifically chosen the Reptilia performance at the 2006 Wireless Festival. Julian always sang Reptilia like it was the end of the world. He closed his big, brown eyes and swallowed the mic.

Nick to the left of Julian danced behind his guitar. His awkward, skinny, far-too-long legs twisted and tripped, but he was charming as ever.

Nikolai kept a straight face and strummed at his bass with the neck pulled characteristically up. He was the most collected of the five of them.

The corners of Albert’s mouth tugged down as he pulled off the lead. His guitar was considerably higher than Nick’s. Albert glanced at Nick, grinned, and then banged his head of curly hair.

Fab kept a straight face, too, but Tom had seen him in interviews and off-stage. Fab was the silliest Stroke: he danced with Julian, flirted with Nick, and horsed around with Albert.

Tom laughed and cried. Watching them perform right in front of him was overwhelming. Tom stumbled up to Julian—right in front of him—and watched the creases in his face and his knuckles on the mic. Tom reached out to touch Julian’s cheek, but of course, his fingers slipped right through him. He was a hologram, and not like the ones on the guitars today: This was a hologram of a video, an event that already took place, and it could not be manipulated. Tom smiled sadly and retrieved his hand, but he settled with watching Julian.

The door banged open. Tom twisted around and saw two bewildered policemen standing beside his computers.

“What the…?” One of them said. He stared at The Strokes still playing.

The other policeman said, “Dr. Tom Stills? The neighbors were complaining about the noise.” He nodded at the band. “I see why.”

“Officer, I can explain—“

“No need to, Dr. Stills!” The first policeman said. He marched up and spun Tom around, and then handcuffed him. “Violation of the Present-and-Future law. You’re coming with us.”

“Please!” Tom exclaimed. “The song hasn’t ended yet!”

“Good. We can stop it before the neighbors complain more.”

“I’ve been working on this for seven months! I’ve dreamed of it for four years!”

The policeman said, “And the Present-and-Future law was passed 16 years ago. Forget the past, Dr. Stills. Move forward.”

Tom sobbed. He cast one fleeting glance back at The Strokes—Julian screamed and held the mic for dear life—and then left with the policeman.

The other policeman scrutinized Albert’s twisting fingers, Fab’s waving arms, Nick’s lanky body, Nikolai’s bobbing head, and of course, Julian. The policeman’s face broke away from pensiveness. He smiled sadly.

“Whatever Happened?” The policeman said. He left.