fluorescent christmas

matt helders ‘last christmas’ masterpost

which brings us to part 3! a year later and matt gets to do a christmas song with his bois :)))) a chronological masterpost of matt’s performances of ‘last christmas’ during ‘fluorescent adolescent’ :-)

1) 10th december 2009 - terminal 5 in NYC
aka an angel descends on the stage and casually sits on his lil platform to bless us
(and from a slightly different angle, includes beginning though!)

2) 11th december 2009 - terminal 5 (again) in NYC
aka the angel acquires a stool from which to better serenade us. also, “this year, here in NYC… i’ll give it to someone special.”
(and from a slightly different angle)

3) 13th december 2009 - house of blues in boston
aka the angel is growing accustomed to mortal comforts and requests more furniture. and also wine.
(and from the stands)

4) 14th december 2009 - métropolis in montréal
aka the angel is like lmao fuck earth but what the hey, lemme take yall on one last ride. also, this one brought to you by that fuckin razr that so unfortunately pops in from time to time
(and from the stands - but higher quality audio!)

( see also:
 22nd january 2009 matt talks about taking only one pair of joggers on tour )

let me know if there are any performances that i missed :-)

Santa Baby

summary: like every year, the mall you work out holds a santa meet and greet. you’re always an elf but this year, the regular santa couldn’t make it, so now your crush is santa. 
word count: 1711
warnings: language and fluff
note: this is more @dani-si and @dangerousvikings‘ writing challenge with prompt #14; character name pulling you in for a kiss with a scarf

“You’ve gotta be shitting me?” Bucky scoffed, gaining the attention of some of the other employees who began snickering at him.

“I am not,” Bucky angrily said as he pointed to the object in question with a look of disgust on his face, “wearing that.”

“You have to,” Director Fury replied sternly. From your position on the bench, you looked up after slipping on your curly-toed shoe and watched the two men stare each other down.

“No way,” Bucky replied, placing his hands on his hips.

“Bucky,” Fury sighed, “you know that the kids recognise Santa as a big-bellied man.” Bucky let out an annoyed huff, still wondering why Fury thought he was the best replacement choice for Thor.

“Now, get ready,” Fury said and he pressed the fake plastic belly against Bucky’s chest until he grabbed it, “you’ve got ten minutes.”

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if only in my dreams

merry christmas my christmas celebrating friends. this has a happy ending, i swear

warnings: ptsd, depression

The woman at the gate counter is brunette, her hair pulled back in a snug bun and her demeanor all business when Steve approaches, his flimsy paper boarding pass in hand.

All he wants is to go back to New York. He doesn’t care if he winds up at Stark Tower or his apartment in Brooklyn, hell, he’d even take his quarters in S.H.I.E.L.D. He just wants a hot shower and a bed somewhere familiar; after almost two weeks of being on the move, going city to city to shake hands with politicians, each leaving grease stains on his palm, Steve is finished. He’s had enough of politics and fake people with even faker smiles. He’s tired. It’s been three days since he slept last and even the serum can only do so much when it’s up against abuse like that.

“Hi,” he says to the woman and flashes her a smile that he knows is wan at best. “I heard an announcement saying that the midnight flight to New York was canceled. I’d really like to get home as soon as possible—”

“You and everyone else here,” the woman says and she’s not being rude, just being straight with him. She glances up from her computer and her tired expression softens when she sees him.

Steve shifts, squaring his shoulders, knowing the look is because he’s in uniform. He came straight from meeting a slew of soldiers at the nearest base—because his flight had been delayed, he stayed an extra two hours, only to rush over for the next one to find it’s been canceled, too.

She glances at his name tag—there’s no flash of recognition, which is a small blessing because Steve’s not sure he could handle that with as much decorum as is expected from him right now—and then says with genuine remorse, “I’m sorry, Captain Rogers. As much as I’d like to get you home, every flight into New York is canceled for the next twenty-four hours. I’m sure you’ve heard about the blizzard.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, and remembers at the last second to run his hand over his carefully groomed hair and not through it. “I was just hoping… Well, thanks anyway. Sorry to bother you.”

“It’s no trouble,” she says softly and he can feel her regretful gaze on his shoulders as he turns and hauls his duffel back out into the airport general where he drifts to a stop and blinks around, numb with exhaustion.

What now?

read on ao3 or

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