NCT as Scottish Tweets
  • Taeil: “you out ur mood yet” aye a was but am straight back in it now that you've hit oot way that
  • Hansol: anyone else get pure offended when a pal tags ur group in somethin on fb and ur names last up
  • Taeyong: There's an abnormal amount a wasps cuttin aboot the day. Must be work night oot or somethin
  • Johnny: how the fuck can 24 hour gyms pay for leckie, a leave a light on at night and ma maws chasin me wae a sword
  • Yuta: issue wi males that think it's acceptable to comment on how a girl looks when she's mwi am no oot tae be stunnin am oot tae cut mad shapes
  • Doyoung: hate when ye order somethin in a restaurant an it turns up an yer pals food looks better, fuckin choke oan it ya wee cow
  • Ten: The police came to ma door and told me ma dugs were chasing people oan dugs don't even have bikes
  • Kun: results aren't everything! a didn't do ma highers n look at me, am… well am unemployed right noo but am sound as fuck
  • Jaehyun: Pensioners just love gettin on buses when its roastin n shuttin aw the windaes, aww yes boil me alive Agnes, beat me wae a ladle and call me lentil soup
  • WinWin: Dinny trust anyone that can bite ice cream pure terminator teeth
  • Mark: Primary school was the best, a free gig every mornin just beltin out pure jesus anthems, fuckin quality
  • Donghyuck: How can people say ur too young for a relationship too young for wit??? being showered w love and Chinese food I THINK NOT
  • Jaemin: Ma maw has been away on holiday for a day and the dug is runnin aboot covered in curry sauce
  • Jeno: Why is ma Instagram full of crushed avocado and poached eggs on toast for breakfast? just have some coco pops and piss off
  • Renjun: weird how baked is pronounced baked and naked is pronounced naked
  • Chenle: im at the age where people r askin "so what u doin with ur life" n im like mate am genuinely jus here for a laff x
  • Jisung: do you think Icelandic dogs say björk instead of bark?
Uptown Girl 3/?

Felicity Smoak is not your average debutante, but going to the Debutante Ball turns out to be one of the most important decisions of her life. The story of an uptown girl meeting a downtown boy - who happens to be in a rock band.

This is a birthday present for my dear friend Carol @tdgal1 - I so hope you enjoy. Thanks so much for all the likes, comments and reblogs on the first chapter! I’m so grateful!! Thank You!!

Thanks to @almondblossomme for proofing. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet. All chapters are available on AO3.

                           3. I Bet Her Momma Never Told Her Why

“And then he kissed you?!” Caitlin was almost as excited as Felicity.

Felicity nodded. “Yep.”

“Was it good?”

Felicity blushed. “Best kiss of my life.”



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i truly love the difference in the solo careers of niall and harry. like harry’s got a carefully planned strategy of dropping a single, music video, album, starring in a christopher nolan movie, and going on tour all within like 2 fucking hours. meanwhile niall released one song 7 years ago and claims he may tour eventually but will in all likelihood probably just do spontaneous free gigs by himself in random pubs around the would whenever he feels like it

okay but au where louis, liam, and niall are in a punk band, think early 90s green day, and all they do is smoke weed all day and talk about writing songs that stick it to the man, and by the man i mean, like, the government, dude. louis dyed his hair red to symbolize the blood of the innocents on the hands of politicians but also, like, ‘cause it looks cool, and niall doesn’t own a single piece of clothing that doesn’t have a dozen holes in it, and liam has a septum ring that his tattoo artist pierced for him, but he was high so it’s a little crooked. 

louis is the in-your-face, talk-shit-get-hit, outspoken undereducated but overenthusiastic voice of the band and the lead singer, and he’s also working on learning how to play the bass guitar but he’s not that good at pouring all his emotions into the lyrics and also thumbing the g-string like a heartbeat at the same time, so he mostly doesn’t bother. liam is the drummer, niall is on lead guitar. 

they book a gig at the biggest punk bar in oakland and are pumped, at least until they celebrate by going to another band’s show that night and realize that they can’t perform and get the same kind of reactions if they don’t have a real bassist, someone who lives up to their expectations and will also somehow take them as they are, scruffy and skinny and loud, and make them into the greatest band that ever was. 

they put up flyers all around town and hold auditions in the tiny living room of their apartment, and it goes terribly: the first guy doesn’t even know who Sid Vicious is, like, what the fuck dude, the second girl is hot (and louis has to clap his hand over liam’s mouth to keep him from saying immediately she’s in the band) but doesn’t own her own bass and probably can’t make their daily band practice and also doesn’t even know if she’ll be free for the Big Gig, the third guy sucks, the fourth guy sucks, the fifth guy is, like, fifty, and would probably break a hip in the mosh pit. 

louis is about to give up. his throat hurts from singing all day, his buzz wore off ages ago, they’re out of beer and don’t have money for more, and they’re going to be pathetically mediocre at the show on saturday. 

and then in walks one more person to audition. 

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The fact that so many die-hard pro-Clinton news rags hide articles behind paywalls is 70% of the reason she lost the election, because Pennsylvania believes Pizzagate.

If crusader hero journalists (ha ha ha, riiiiight) care more about paying back Ivy League loans than spreading truth, all us hillbillies will smell it and stay away. We may be illiterate and racist, but we’re not quite as stupid as you hope.

Also the Fox News app hardly ever crashes. CNN doesn’t even load on Tuesdays. If you only want to appeal to rich kids with new iPhones, don’t be surprised when everyone outside NYC and LA ignores you.

Conservatives spray bullshit. But bullshit is low on gigs, and free.

Pro tip to music majors: do not play free gigs after graduation. This is your profession.
Don’t do it for “exposure” or “experience”.
Don’t do it if it if it pays but doesn’t cover the gas to get there.
Don’t let yourself make less than minimum wage for every hour worked.
I know you love music and performing it, but this is your living. Don’t do it for free.

Pro tip to everyone else: don’t expect young musicians to play your fucking gigs for free and pay them fairly.


Amelia / 21 / south east

Intersectional feminist, vegan, gay af, aquarius, art, music, disney, halloween, paramore, cats, adventures, hair dye, pop punk/alternative, gigs, free the nipple, human rights, tonight alive, the moooon, photography, poetry, orphan black, animal rights, astrology/constellations, marvel, mermaids, crystals.

030. 5SOS: Struggling Musician


Stepping around an array of used white needles on the brown hallway floor, violently stained, Ashton slid off the cage elevator with a small stack of folded papers in hand, his schedule at the top to be studied. Between his teeth, he held a blue ballpoint pen that he had accidentally stolen from the front desk of a hotel he accompanied a band in for a wedding gig.

He considered himself a musician. A drummer, if he had to be specific. However, 5 Seconds of Summer hadn’t really taken off. He was clocking hours as a session drummer currently while taking any odd gig he could regardless of the music or act. Unfortunately, he couldn’t choose to be picky. He still laid awake and dreamed about being positioned behind his three best friends, smashing the drums to a crowd of a thousand screamers, but until then recording background percussion for local Australian acts and gigging at shitty underground bars would have to do.

Ashton tossed his hair back with one hand, shaking it before fetching the pen from his mouth and circling a date on the schedule that he wasn’t totally sure of. He stood in front of his apartment door, ‘309’, and waved at his neighbor, a little four year old girl, malnourished and locked out until her parents came out from their jobs and favorite seedy joints. Usually, he invited her inside and made her something to eat, but he had been screamed at in foreign tongue and sucker punched in the gut by her father last time he came home, drunk, and found her watching TV and eating vegemite and toast on Ashton’s couch.

“Honey, I’m home.” As he generally did after a day of work well done and actually pocketing a little bit of money, Ashton called out to you as he pushed the door open with a harsh nudge of his hip. He had been saying since you two moved in last year that he would sound down the top of the door, but he still hadn’t come around to do so.

The place was a shoebox, at best, as it stood at exactly 500 square feet. There was no reason for him to announce his arrival at all as you two locked eyes as soon as the door opened. The front entrance also quadrupled as the living room, master bedroom, and nursery. If you had been standing in the kitchen, he might have had to have stepped around your futon that was also yours and Ashton’s bed, but that was it. The bathroom was small and tucked to the side and was currently being used prominently to store the acoustic guitar and other pawnable goods that musicians gave Ashton in lieu of cash when he helped them out. Ashton was aware it wasn’t a castle, but he was proud of the little life you two were trying to create. He always promised you that one day his music would be heard enough to build you the home of your dreams, the ones that Martha Stewart styled for magazines, and he would make sure you two had appliances that didn’t have duct tape over them, keeping them in working condition.

“Daddy’s home.” Smiling, you gasped. You were sitting on the floor with your son, weeks away from seven months, holding him up on his socked feet and bouncing him as he stood in front of the laundry hamper of clean darks you had beside you. “How was the studio?” Turning little Eli Irwin and his quarter sized blue eyes around, you stood up on your own socked feet and groaned while adjusting the baby against your side and making your way closer to Ashton as he carelessly kicked off his sneakers, dirty from walking home through puddles from the bus stop, the back bent under his heels.

“Good.” Breathing out as he spoke, Ashton nodded. He tripped out of his left shoe, leaning in to kiss you with a hand cupping the mostly bald head that belonged to his son. “Really good.” He smiled in memory of what he had laid down just hours ago at Marmalade Sound Station where he was working on a contract currently. Ashton squished his lips together and poked them out while bending at his knees and grabbing a sticky kiss from Eli. “How was your day?”

“Alright.” You shrugged and continued to bounce Eli up and down, nervous he would whale if you stopped to so much as brush at the tip of your nose. “The internet we usually steal from is down, so I’m going to have to go to the library after school to finish my lecture.” You explained, leading Ashton into the living room and going back over to your laundry as he sat down on the couch, sighing in order to unwind from a day of work. “I would have went earlier, but Eli has been very fussy today.” You chalked it up to the fact that you had to use the no name brand of baby wipes on his plump little behind, leaving him with a bit of an unpleasant itch where there should have been a satin finish.

“Have you been bad for Mummy?” Ashton squinted at his son, tight in your arms, but watching his father with googly eyes from over your shoulder.

“He has been difficult.” You laughed and kissed his head speedily while picking up the plastic hamper with your other hand and holding it to your side. “Can you hold him actually? Every time I put him down, he cries like a warlock going to battle.” You laughed. “I have to get ready for work.” Zipping over, you started to carefully lower Eli into Ashton’s awaiting hands. “He’s fed though and your mom’s leftover casserole is in the fridge. The microwave is working again…kind of.” As soon as Eli was standing on his father’s jean clad lap, bumping up and down happily, you were talking away and rushing around to get ready. You took the hamper over to the front closet and slid it in since you didn’t have time to actually organize the clothes in their rightful piles.

“You don’t usually work Tuesdays.” It took him a second, but Ashton remembered how constant your schedule had been since Eli came, surprisingly, into your lives. He scrunched up his face and stood up, Eli’s feet moving to both his front and back while he sat at Ashton’s side like a koala on a tree, nibbling on his own chubby fist.

“I ran into Carissa in the laundry room. Remember her? Pixie cut, triangle boobs?” Standing in front of the bathroom mirror and combing your hair out of its ponytail, you explained to Ashton as he stood in the doorway, watching you throw the small, ceramic and cracked, sink. It was apparent to you that Ashton didn’t have the slightest idea who you were talking about until you uttered ‘triangle boobs’. “She lives, like, directly below us. She’s the assistant manager of the bakery in the Foodland on Colbourne, she said if I could start tonight, she’d hook me up with some evening shifts.”

“You already work all the time at the shoe store…”

“They’ve cut my hours a lot.” Putting the comb down in the sink, you scratched at your sculpt and tried to produce volume. “Besides, we need the money.” You both could work two times as hard as you already were, bills would always be stuffed into your already full mailbox and having a baby met having surprise expensive jumping out at the worst times.

“What about school?” Ashton had ditched the idea of University long before year ten. He knew he wanted to be a working drummer, a professional musician, as soon as he was sat in front of his first drum kit many moons ago. However, he was so proud of you for continuing with your educated, before Eli and even now that you two were parents. You had a year left and he really didn’t want to see you throw in the towel now despite how stressful it was.

“I’m still doing school. I’ll work out a schedule.” Your eyes pleaded with him through the mirror as opened up an old compact, moving the saturated sponge around its edges to gather up the little that was left of the foundation inside. It was considered finished last month, but you were forcing it to last. “Baby, it’s free groceries with this gig. I can bring home day old cupcakes too.” Smiling, you tried to show Ashton the bright side as he adjusted Eli in his arms, the little squirmer reaching out for your hair and trying to break free from his father’s loose grip.

“Well, when are you going to be home?” Ashton sighed and began to walk away, but not before his eyes dropped and he slid them up right to your backside, admiring the angle of you that had brought him to his knees as a nineteen year old boy and he still claimed it was the same part of you that was guilty for bringing little Eli Irwin into the world. If you hadn’t been walking around in your bikini bottoms, sucking on a grape Popsicle due to the unreal Sydney heat last June, there would never have been a baby born on February 8th. Of course, he knew the case wasn’t that simple. “We’re practicing tonight at Luke’s.” He was moving into the kitchen, but kept talking to you as if you were right in front of him still.

“I don’t know!” Hollering back, you were rolling mascara over your lashes. “She didn’t say and that Foodland is the one that’s open til midnight.” It was also the shadiest of all the Foodlands, but you decided not to mention that to Ashton. He already felt so protective of his mini family living on the slum of a neighborhood that you all did call home. It certainly wasn’t the upbringing he had had, but in the back of his mind, he visualized better lives for you both and tried to focus on those the days he came home to fighting neighbors or police tape on the front door. “Just bring him along.” It wouldn’t be the first time Eli came to one of 5 Seconds to Summer’s practices. You had brought him with you to see Ashton and the boys play a few times when they needed someone to work the ticket table.

“I can’t play drums with a baby Bjork on.” Ashton opened the fridge and stared inside at it’s few contents, taking out a half drank flat cola for himself and tossing it back.

“Just sit him down in his car seat.” It’s not as if the grey seat actually had been used much since you were both without a car. Ashton had sold its beat up Saturn by the time you were in your second trimester since you needed to cut all the extra expenses you two could. What he used to spend on gas, you two were now shelling out for diapers. “Or I’m sure Liz would be plenty happy to watch him.” Along with Ashton’s mum, she had been a Godsend since his Aquarius birth.

Ashton heard you, deciding that this wasn’t something he could argue. While he always treated his music like it was the number one priority, he knew that it simply wasn’t. There were other things on the list you two had complied that desperately required more attention than taking his band to the next level, but it was easier for him to focus on his passion than it was the reality of the situation. He plunked Eli down in his small playpen, a hand-me-down from Liz Hemmings that she had housed in her garage after years of it going untouched since all her boys were grown now.

He fished the paper work, folded in threes, out of the back pocket of his jeans, figuring he should put it up on the fridge door with a magnet so you two could properly schedule the next week. He held the schedule open with one palm while opening up the junk drawer beside it, looking for a Scotch tape or an extra magnet as the others were in current use to show off a past due credit card bill and picture Ashton’s sister had drawn for your last birthday. Ashton reached over and pulled open the second drawer, a stack of flat yellow papers staring up at him, ‘EVICTION NOTICE’ written in large deep black letters in the center.

Eli began to scream suddenly, not content with being separated from his parents, but Ashton let his schedule drop to the floor as he picked up the yellow papers, shuffling through to see that there four eviction notices, all dated just a few months apart from the other and behind them were bills from hydro company and a MoneyMart insisting they needed their loan to start being paid back.

“Ashton, what’s the matter?” Since Eli was still crying profusely, you asked as you hustled out of the washroom, changed into a black shirt and your somewhat clean black leggings. The girl in the laundry room had simply told you to wear all back until she could manage to order a uniform in for you. Instead of finding your boyfriend trying to comfort Eli in the kitchen, you saw him staring at the mail that you had been successfully hiding from him since Eli was born practically.

“How come this is the first time I’m seeing these?” All at once, Ashton felt what everyone swore he would when he announced he was moving out and into an apartment on his own. They promised him that the stress would come for sure when he became a father, but generally, Ashton kept his chin up. He knew that his life wasn’t as good as it could have been, but he had been ignorant to the real struggle going on. He didn’t mind skipping meals to save money or not having a car. He was doing what he loved and he had made a small family for himself that he loved coming home to and sharing his life with. On days where he felt particularly delusional, he dreamt of having a second child in the tiny apartment.

“Because I’ve been hiding them…” It was already difficult to hear one another with Eli’s loud cries, but you spoke as low as you could before walking around to find your son on his butt in the playground, sobbing with his hands raised above his head, the international symbol for, ‘pick me up now’.  Ashton was right behind you as you stood up straight again, Eli rubbing his face into your shirt, drying his own tears on the blended fabric.

“This one, the one on top, we got it two days ago!” Ashton waved it in front of you as if you had already seen it, like it hadn’t nearly made tears well up out of your eyes when you came home to it plastered on your door, covering the peephole. “Two days ago. Seriously?”

“I took care of the rest and I’ll take care of this. I didn’t want you to worry.” Ashton was an extremist. If he wasn’t on top of the world, he was freaking out about the world’s impending doom. You were trying to prevent him from easily slipping into the space of darkness. It was Ashton’s smile that had lured you to him in the first place and you hated the days you didn’t get to see it.

“When did you take out a loan at MoneyMart?” Hot on your toes as you walked around, bouncing Eli, he continued.

“Two months ago. I only owe a hundred. I’ll take care of it.” This was just one more reason why you really needed the shifts at this bakery. There was always bills, but rarely money to pay them with.

“God, [Y/N],” Ashton collapsed down on the futon, hanging his head down and dropping his hands, still holding all the bills and notices, between his knees with great defeat. “Two days ago I turned down a gig in order to make time to practice with the guys…” He could have made four hundred dollars, but he allowed his band to take precedence. “I feel like such a fucking loser.” He sighed, rubbing at his temple with the corners of the most recent eviction notice threatening to poke him in the eye.

“Don’t say that.” You hissed. This was your cue to sit down, so you made space next to Ashton and rubbed his back with one hand, still holding Eli close with the other. “You’re not a loser at all. You’ve been working so hard with the band these last few months. I know it hasn’t been easy with a baby, but you’re doing it and you’re working every day.” You tried to remind him. He looked absolutely spent, his smile a distant memory and his face pale from agitation.

“Yeah, but my Uncle offered me an actual job with his company and I should have taken it. I have a baby. Jesus Christ, we can’t be on the streets.” Ashton looked at you and griped, his voice weak suddenly as if he had spent nine hours singing and not playing the drums. He couldn’t believe he had been so selfish to keep dreaming and trying to be a musician. He was a father now. His Uncle was right, he needed to grow the fuck up. “I’m such a fucking loser.” He said again, this time into his hands. Ashton had never felt like a failure before. Not when his dad left, not when he actually failed his midterm in year nine, and not even the number of times he had went off beat during an important show with the guys.

“Stop, Ashton.” Firmly, this time you said and even squeezed his shoulder in order to bring his face up to you, eyes swollen with self-hatred. “I’m proud of you and I believe in you that’s why I don’t show you things. You’re going to make it and this is all just part of the story, okay? If you want to pick up a shift here and there somewhere, cool, but I will never ask you to give up on your music. I want Eli to be raised by someone who never gave up, not someone who let his dreams fall to the side. Do you hear me?” Your voice was sweet, cotton candy and chocolate kisses in verbal form, but you wanted to be sure that Ashton was listening. Your eyes studied his and he was looking at you with melting pupils, softening his gaze and allowing his lips to quiver out of their straight line.

Kissing you, he moved away after a moment just to kiss the top of Eli’s head, the little boy’s hand smacking on his father’s lips.

“I am the luckiest man in the world.” Truthfully, Ashton told you again with another kiss to your succulent mouth. He might have been wrong all this time. He thought your backside was pure perfection, but your kind heart was certainly bigger. “You’re superwoman.”

Knocking your head against his forehead, you only smiled back before whispering, “I know.”

With a wink, you gave him his son and kissed both boys before rushing back into the washroom to find deodorant, choosing to roll on Ashton’s.


“Lithium!” Your hands banged loudly on the edge of your kitchen table as you jumped up to answer the door, the bell of your apartment being rung over and over again and demanding attention. It had taken you longer than usual to answer the question, but you recalled the Nirvana shirt your boyfriend had left on your bedroom floor and called out the correct answer.

“What’s the atomic number?” Jake, the leader of your college study group, asked as you bustled across the cold kitchen floor and over to the door, whipping it open to reveal Michael. Usually when your boyfriend showed up, you received a text that he was outside or you were made somewhat aware, but today he caught you completely off guard.

“Michael!” Cheering his name almost, you stood up on the tips of your toes and linked your arms around his neck, hugging him as if it was a reflex. “What are you doing here?” He was peering over the top of your head, noting the three other bodies around your kitchen table as you kissed him. 

“Picking you up for the show…” Michael liked to refer to you as his ‘good luck charm’ even though he really didn’t any luck when it came to performing. He had been born with the sort of talent most people envied. Every time you saw him up on a stage or even just jamming within a circle at a house party, you were instantly struck and mesmerized by just how skilled your boyfriend was when it came to music. He could turn a song you despised into something beautiful.

“I thought we didn’t have to leave until seven?” You let him into your place, his eyes shy around the new group of strangers who were talking in low tones at the table.

“I wasn’t really doing anything, thought I’d come by early and surprise you.” Truthfully, Michael was looking for a pre-show quickie. Since his life was one hundred percent his band, he sometimes grew restless with waiting for you. You went to school full time and held down a job on the weekends. He wished you would quit and spend your free time with him since he was often just lying around, fumbling on guitar or playing video games, but he admired that you had bigger goals for yourself and supported them.

“I have study group. We’ll be done in a half.” You lightly pulled on his hand, bringing him just a few steps further into your kitchen. “You guys, this is Michael,” You began to introduce him to your classmates. “This is Robbie, Colton, and Louisa.”

“Hi guys.” Somewhat sheepishly, Michael acknowledged them with a simple raise of his palm.

“You can quiz us if you want.” Kindly, while fixing the round bun on top of her head, Louisa offered.

“No, it’s alright. I’ll stay out of your way.” He hadn’t the hottest glue what subject they were even studying, but Michael was confident that he wouldn’t be able to hold his own at the table with the three of them. When it came to academics, Michael always felt like an idiot. He avoided them in order to continue to feel good about himself.

“Yeah, we just need another half hour.” Slapping your hands back and forth on your waist, you looked up at him and smiled. “You can watch TV in my room or something if you want…” Shrugging, you suggested while looking over Robbie’s head at the page in his notebook he was on, a sneak peek for what questions might be tossed out next.

“Alright.” Michael agreed and instantly began to walk away, the studying in front of him already impacting his fragile self-esteem. “Nice to meet you guys.” He waved and earned himself a collective ‘goodbye’ call.

In your bedroom, Michael laid on top of your unmade sheets, still crinkled and tossed around from the night before when he drove over after a late practice in Luke’s basement, waking you up and practically grinding you into the mattress. He could still smell the two of you fresh on the pillow case beneath his bleached blond hair. He tried his best to focus on the Teletoon that he was watching on the television. Usually, it wasn’t hard for Mike to tune out and zoom in on a cartoon show, but he couldn’t help, but listen closely to what was going on in your kitchen. He imagined had he paid that much attention back in his own classes, he wouldn’t have just barely passed. He probably would have been able to sit at the table with the four of you now and hold his own.

Every time your group would laugh, a new periodic table of elements joke cracked like a cold can of beer, Michael would roll his eyes. He didn’t understand why the joke was funny and, more specifically, he didn’t understand the joke at all. He had never felt out of place around you before, but right now, he felt like a fool, like he didn’t belong there. It was strange considering he spent so much time at your apartment, hanging out with you or with your roommate and her boyfriend. Your apartment had become his favorite place besides Luke’s basement, a stage, and his home kitchen. He had half a mind to leave your place all together and just tell you to meet him at the club 5 Seconds of Summer was supposed to be playing at.

He turned down the volume on your television, listening as your friends began to pack up their backpacks and tie up their shoes, leaving your place. It was one of the longest half hours of his life, a perpetually impatient Michael had thought. He glanced over at the time on the television and realized it had only actually been a grand total of twenty two minutes.

“Are you ready to go? Everyone’s gone.” Merely poking your head in, you spied Michael lying flat on his back, a double chin appearing as he pushed the back of his head onto the pillow.

“Yeah.” Nodding, he felt the outside of both his pockets, checking for his car keys behind his tight skinny jeans. “I didn’t know you were majoring in bio.” Michael mentioned as he lazily sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and crinkling his toes into the brown carpet below.

“That wasn’t bio….” Shifting your eyes from side to side, you corrected him while stepping further into the room. “It was chem lab and I’m not majoring, I’m still undeclared.” You shrugged and walked over to your dresser, picking up a purple perfume bottle, the awkward shape reminiscent of a flower, and sprayed just a squirt over your clavicle. “I just need to take a science and writing course, it’s mandatory.”

This was all news to Michael. He didn’t know the first thing of what went on inside a real University building. He had only sat parked outside yours, impatiently waiting for you to come out a class, wishing you would pick up the pace so you guys could get to the house party at Calum’s faster. He didn’t even realize that your group was discussing the periodic table and not something to do with an ecosystem.

“Oh, do any of the people in your group know what they want to do?” He asked while itching at the back of his head, his back to you as he sat mostly still on the bed.

“Louisa wants to go into education, Colton is double majoring in things I can’t remember, and Robbie wants to be a surgeon. That’s why he is the leader of the group.” You laughed, looking down at the outfit you already had on and deciding it would be good enough. You had attended so many Five Seconds of Summer shows at this point that you would have felt appropriate in pajama bottoms and a big t-shirt. “Why?” It wasn’t really like Michael to take a keen interest in people in had just barely met.

“Just curious.” He followed his lie with a shrug. “They all seemed pretty smart to me.”

“They are.” Casually, you mentioned and walked around your messy bed to him. “You know, I know when something is wrong, right?” Leisurely, you allowed one hand of fingers in his hair, staring with doting eyes down at him. His eyes weren’t ablaze as usual and his energy was at a low decimal. Even when Michael was feeling lethargic, he was still ‘on’. Right now, he was something of a memory of himself, sitting on your bed, but mentally a million miles away. It was most unsettling. You put your knees between his and watched him roll his eyes upward to look into yours. “Want to tell me what’s got you blue?” Like popping a large bubble gum bubble, you pronounced with a purse of your lips.

“It’s stupid.” Typical Michael, he played with his own hair, nearly nipping at your fingers, and put himself down in an effort to take the attention off of himself.

“I love stupid.” Instantly, you came back with a grin so cheeky, it couldn’t fit on your face. “Come on, Clifford, spill. It’s not like I haven’t said stupid things to you before.” About twelve different scenarios instantly surfaced in your mind and the way Michael began to innocently laugh, you knew he was remembering a couple questions you had asked while driving around in his car.

“Do you think it’s stupid I’m still in the same band I was in in high school? Trying to make it?” Sincerely, he asked, looking at you with worried looks and his nose scrunched up, a little worried at your response. Michael could be brutally honest with you, but he knew that he, himself, couldn’t always take what he dished.

“No, I don’t think it’s stupid. I think you work pretty damn hard.” Considering a few different aspects, you nodded as you spoke, weaving your fingers from his hair. “You guys play a lot of gigs and you travel to places just to do an hour show. I consider what you do work.”

“I know your parents wish you were with someone in University.” His own parents probably wished the same for you. They believed in him, sure, but he bet they would sleep a lot better if he had a better sense of direction.  He could work at being a signed band his whole life and never get anywhere. At least you would have a degree to use in four years or so.

“Mikey, you know, my mom loves you.” He had already heard your father’s concerns about you being with a musician, but your mother had always welcomed Michael into your home and treated him as if he had lived there his entire life. “Where is this coming from?”

“I just feel fucking stupid when I hear you guys talking about actinoids and lananoids.”

“Lanthanoids.” You didn’t want to add insult to injury, but you saw a teaching moment so clearly hanging in the balance. “I think you’re smart, Michael. I always have and I think you guys are on the verge of something. Your new stuff is doing well, people are starting to follow your music. You’re smart, the only dumb thing about you is that you don’t trust that.” Poking his temple repeatedly, you told him. “And one day, you’re going to be on some big show like Graham Norton or David Letterman and some boy is going to see you playing guitar and think, ‘I’m not going to go to school. I’m going to be, like, Michael Clifford.”

Instantly, his cheeks went as pink as the color you had painted your toes that morning when you should have been doing a little extra studying. He could just picture a small kid like him, somewhere in Sydney, sitting cross legged in front of the television in footie pajamas. It seemed like a fanasty, but Michael was burning up at the thought.

“Thanks, babe.” He leaned up to nip at your nose and then moved over your lips, rolling his generous mouth over yours. “If that chemistry shit doesn’t work out for you, you got to job as the band therapist….” He laughed meekly and held both your hands in his, swinging them back and forth before getting up and ready to go.


“You can’t come!?” Calum shouted from the washroom, behind the door, as he zipped up his trousers and flushed the toilet. You could hear his voice as if he was standing right beside you though, looking through the messy closet you two shared for one of the many Royal Prince Edward Yacht Club polo shirts you two shared.

“That’s what I said.” You hummed, picking up one of Calum’s t-shirts and examining with a quick look and sniff before tossing it to the side. While he was fully capable of doing his own loads of laundry, that chore had fallen on you since you two moved in together two months ago.

“You didn’t come to the last show. Ask Jay to take your shift.” He was playing with the waist of his jeans as he stalked into the bedroom, crashing down on the bed behind you, giving your ass a little smack once he was on his back.

“I’m the team leader, Cal. It falls on me.” Just as he took his band seriously, you took your role as shift supervisor at the yacht club the same way. Sure, it wasn’t your dream gig, but it paid rent and, right now, you were still trying to figure out what you wanted to do with your own life. Calum griped about being a struggling musician, but you were happy that he, at the very least, had found a path to follow. You two had met at the Yacht Club when he applied simply to make a little extra money when he needed his favorite guitar fixed. You wrote him off when he first asked you out, not interested in anyone who called themselves a musician, but you had come around the more shifts you two were scheduled to work together. “This is what happens when you book off last minute, your girlfriend has to take it.”

“I don’t know half the time. These opportunities just pop up.” Lately, Ashton and Luke had been pushing for better venues and were trying to set up a local tour, just small venues around Australia, but Calum could not have been more excited about it. He was acting as if they were opening for the Rolling Stones. “You don’t have to take the shifts, you just do.”

“Yeah, because we have rent to pay.” By the time 5 Seconds of Summer split their small pay four ways and bought gas to drive home after shows, Calum usually had a grand total of negative dollars. Calum was looking for the remote somewhere on your side of the bed, but he rolled off of his side and stared right at you, flat on his back again, looking at your annoyed face through the closet mirror that was the door.

“I contribute. I pull my fucking weight.” In a mumble, he argued. Calum had always figured you would grow frustrated with his constant living paycheck to paycheck, how he never had enough money to pull together and take you out to somewhere nicer than the nearest Margaritaville. He was on the verge of cutting up colorful construction paper and turning them into relationship coupons as your Christmas gift, but luckily his sister had saved the day with a gift card to the mall so he could go into Juicy Couture and buy you a leather band bracelet with a circle gold charm in the middle, the letter ‘C’ written in shining stones. He always apologized when you would pick up the tab somewhere or if he saw one of your friends showing off the pair of shoes or dress her boyfriend bought her just because, but you never seemed to complain. Calum worried constantly that you would find someone better and leave him. Everywhere he looked, he saw someone who could spoil you rotten or, at least, have his half of rent ready at the end of the month. He knew you wanted him to pick up more shifts at the club, but it felt like too much a sacrifice to be away when he could be practicing with his friends or trying to work for studio time.

“I’m not complaining, Calum.” Finally, with a somewhat clean royal polo between your hands, you turned to face him with a deflated sigh. “I’m the biggest 5 Seconds of Summer fan around. I’m just saying that in order for you to pursue this, I’ve got to take some extra shifts which means I can’t be there, working your CD table, or just dancing away. You know that if I could, I would…” Sincerely, you tried to express yourself to him. He would have to be seriously diluted if he thought, for even a second, that you would rather be serving dinner to people with more money than God by harbor than watching him up in his happy place, playing the songs that had become almost anthems to you.

“One day, you won’t have to work, you know…” Calum reached over for you as you went back to the pile of clothes on the closet floor, looking for black pants that weren’t leggings. The only time you ever found yourself in trouble at work was when you tried to get away with wearing yoga pants over actual black trousers with the uniform polo. “I’ll be blowing up the radio and you’ll have everything you want…” He drew the tip of his finger across the back of your thighs, happy to have any excuse to touch you. He hoped that one day he could spoil you. He knew that he could give up his music at any time, return to football or even apply for a management position in the restaurant at the club, but Calum knew internally that he was doing what was right for him. He could feel that his band was going to make it through, he just wished that break would hurry up and arrive already.

The two of you locked stares through the mirror, your laughter breaking first at the way he was sneakily raising his bushy brows up at you. The truth of the matter was that you had everything you could want. Calum wasn’t the big shot rock star he dreamt of becoming, well not yet, but you were still happy to come home to every night and hold his hand in the front seat of his piece of shit car that he was still paying off, the engine stalling a few times a week. It wasn’t the perfect life, but it was yours and you were happy.

“You won’t trade me in for an easy groupie with a belly button ring?” From what you could tell, the girls that tried to pick up Calum and his band mates after shows almost always had their navels pierced and laughed at everything they said, even their honest answers to standard questions.

“I’ll definitely try.” Calum cackled, giving your butt another smack before finding the remote with his spare hand and turning the television on, looking forward to some football in bed with you before you had to go to work and he had to go play rock star for another night.


He hadn’t been able to come home all day. His morning and afternoon were spent in the mailroom of the graphic design company he had just started working with. While Luke had absolutely no interest in the industry, the job paid better than his former gig at the kebab food truck in the park and he liked coming home without reeking of grease and garlic. Besides, the food truck only seemed to make his acne worse than it already was. After his day, he went straight to the studio where he met up with his three best mates to begin recording their first professional demo. He had a slap happy smile stuck to his face. Luke couldn’t shake it off even when he was driving home and the radio was playing nothing, but garbage. However, he couldn’t show it to you since as soon as he stepped into the apartment, holding the keys to keep them from jingling in case you were asleep, he reached for the light switch only to be left in the darkness. The plastic piece moved up and down on the flannel, but no sign of illumination occurred.

“Fuck.” Luke grunted as he did at the beginning of every month and began to feel his way around the place, kicking off his shoes. “Fuck!” He shouted loudly this time as his toes rammed into the corner that separated the bedroom from the rest of the apartment.

“Hey…” Barely, you could make out Luke’s perimeters in the darkness as you opened up your eyes in bed. You slept by the window that you were keeping open for now to allow in an easy night breeze. In your mind, it was easier for Luke to roll into bed straight from the door this way, but it was comforting to know that if a burglar broke in, they would probably attack him first and give you ample time to scurry away.

“I was trying to be quiet, sorry.” In a whisper, even though you were awake, Luke noted before limping into the bedroom as if he had done something harder than bump his toes like sprain his ankle or completely lost a leg.

“I think I had just dozed off…” You watched his figure make it to the bed, kneeling onto the mattress with his left knee and leaning in to kiss you, moving the hair that he could make out under pale moonlight before leaving a small tap from his mouth on the side of your forehead. “How was the studio?” You would have liked to stop by and seen the quartet in action, but you were so far behind on your essay for an English Lit class that you couldn’t pull yourself away from your laptop as much as you would have liked to.

“It was so fucking awesome.” He whispered, his smile vibrant enough to make it out in the darkness of your bedroom. Luke stepped off of the bed in order to shuffle out his clothes, knocking the snapback off his head before pulling his shirt over and leaving it right by the plastic hamper, not in it. “We’re working on Lost Boy right now. It’s going to be sick.” Generally, he was critical of his music and the whole time in the studio, he had been making comments and worrying about every line, but in retrospect, he couldn’t have been happier. He was on cloud nine recording his songs, even if nothing ever ended up happening with them. “Are you done your paper?” He checked, pulling up a blanket and sneaking down into bed beside you, his bare feet colliding cold with yours as he made himself comfortable.

“Yeah. 3500 words all done and cited.” It wasn’t even the longest essay you were going to have to write this year, but it had felt like a major accomplishment. You shimmied closer to your boyfriend, lying the side of your head on his neck and listened intently to the sanguine beat of his heart as it usually lulled you to sleep without a hitch.

“Good job.” He had to move his face around and search for your lips, but eventually, in just a few short seconds, he found them to give a proper kiss. Luke had listened to you go on and on about how much you hated writing papers, but he knew that you would have it done on time despite your concerns. “Sorry about the lights.” A moment of silence between you passed, but he could feel your lashes moving up and down on his bare chest, a clear signal you were still mostly awake.

“It’s okay.” This wasn’t the first time your electricity had been cut. You were used to feeling your way through the one bedroom you two shared. “I ate by candlelight and used the electric outlet by the elevator when working on my paper.” Even though you weren’t the songwriter in the relationship, you could be plenty craft when need be.

“I’ll try and look after it tomorrow.” He didn’t know where he would find the money, but Luke was the king of making a promise and then busting his ass to come through. You had no idea still how he managed to get the lights turned back on three months ago, but you just thanked him instead of asking questions.

“Well, if you have to choose, I think turning the water on would be better.” You had no problem running to the University an hour early in order to shower, but eventually, you two would need to have running water again as your neighbors were growing tired of always letting you fill your pots for boiling pasta in their sinks. Luke had been the reason the couple in suite ‘103’ fought for two days as the husband kept coming home from the night shift to him having his morning shower in their bathroom. It started to seem very fishy and majorly inconvenient to the police officer.

“The water, too? Jesus.” He lifted up his hand that had been flat on your back, right between your shoulders and rubbed at his temple. It had seemed so amazing to him that you two had managed to pay rent without a hitch, cell phone bills, and put some towards your student loans, but he had let his mind forget about all the other bills. “I’ll get on it. I’m sorry. The studio costs were more than I thought, I guess.” He had crunched the numbers with his mom and felt confident he could cover everything this month, but he must have overlooked something. “You’re great, you know, most girls would skip out…” He was well aware that being with a coffee shop musician, making ends meet wasn’t exactly what you had in mind for yourself when you were younger and fantasizing the future.

“Luke, we’ve known each other since we were in diapers. I’m not backing out because we aren’t filthy rich.” If you wanted a man made of money, you wouldn’t have insisted on sharing a plastic nap mat with Luke throughout pre-school. You would have tried to become better friends with Sam Carrera. “You’re doing your thing, I’m doing mine. We’ll be just fine.” You found his hand in the darkness, pulling it away from his hair and tightly lacing your fingers through his and pulling it down to hold close to your chest. “I’m happy.”

“You’re happy?” He laughed lightly above your head, finding it hard to believe that anyone could be happy living in the darkness without a working faucet.

“I bitched to Krystal earlier, so I’m happy.” Looking up at him, you winked, not sure he saw, but he continued to chuckle anyway. “One day, this is all going to seem worth it when I finish my bachelor of criminal justice and you’re touring the world…”

Luke wasn’t sure that his dream would ever come into fruition, but it was helpful to talk about it now with you when the lights were off and everything felt unbalanced. You believed in him enough for the two of you and that was sometimes enough for him to keep going. There were plenty of times where he considered packing the guitar away, even pawning it, and joining you at University, but he only ever felt right when he was working on becoming a rockstar.



anonymous asked:

How did you get into the mermaid business? Was it easy ? (Cuz that seems like the most amazing job ever)

First I got a tail and a shell bra - pretty basic mermaid starting kit stuff. I then needed to get a license (because you can’t just go out and do mermaid birthday parties, that’s illegal in the U.S.A.) In my state, New York, you can either get a performer’s license or a DBA (doing business as) - I have a DBA. Not every state in the U.S.A. has a DBA. (You need to look at your states government website.) Then you need an insurance because if a client doesn’t have a pool at their home and needs to book a place, the place doesn’t want to be responsible if something bad happens to you or children - you need liability insurance (LIFE INSURANCE DOES NOT COUNT). I think getting the DBA was the easiest part.

Being professional can be very, very difficult. Once you get a tail and get a website and you make business/post cards that doesn’t mean everyone is knocking on your door booking you for parties. You’re going to put in A LOT more money going into this than you will be making out of it in the first few years. I know mermaids with full silicone tails, going in the ocean and taking stunning underwater pictures, doing photoshoots with other mermaids and have never been hired for any type of event where they are getting paid. I feel very lucky because in my state, there’s another professional mermaid but she is very far from me so we aren’t competition to each other and some clients that want to book her are a lot more closer to me than they are to her so she sends them over to me and that’s how I’ve gotten some of my gigs. I also have a background in child education which is very good to have (people in high school - if your school does a BOCES program with child education or a child education program in high school and are strongly considering becoming a professional mermaid - TAKE THIS CLASS!), I got to learn what goes into educating a child and I actually got to work with children and I actually had to do “classes” and teach them. I wasn’t really the best with children and taking this class was very helpful for me. You’ll also be in a tail for an hour, maybe more, so make sure you’re fit, my tail weighs about 20lbs in the water, I do float up but I’m constantly moving around so I want to be able to swim around for a few hours without my legs hurting and me feeling exhausted. There’s also potiental “mermaid rides” where kids hold onto your shoulders and you swim on the surface and swim from one side of the pool to the other. Mermaid rides can be very tiring, I think I did 50 in a row with no break to 20 kids - I was so exhausted. There’s also tail maintence, just because you buy a tail doesn’t mean it’s going to be perfect forever. I’m very rough in my tail and I shouldn’t be, but the heels on my tail and the backside the paint has come off, I got advice from another mermaid to buy silicone and eyeshadow the color of my tail and mix it together and paint it on the spots the paint is gone - very helpful. You also have to wash your tail, it can smell very bad sometimes after using it - I use vinegar to wash my tail, and you should hang your tail upside down (fluke up) so the water drips out of the tail and dries it, or you can use a blow dryer (use cold air), I’ve seen mermaids use pull up bars you can in your house to hold their tail upside down or putting up coat hooks.

Promotion - Business cards and post cards are very good to hand out, I definitely spent over $100 on cards. I put my cards all over the place, mostly food stores like Stop & Shop, A&P, Hannafords (i think those are all mostly New England food stores). I did a free meet & greet in Newburgh, New York for the Art About Water event, I handed out booklets about pollution in the water and how to prevent pollution, along with the booklets I also had my post cards in the booklets and I handed everyone a shell. My Uncle also owns a company so he gives my cards to his clients. I’ve also met the Mayor of Bedford Hills (I think it was the mayor or someone who worked with him) at a restaurant because I have family in Bedford Hills so I talked to him about my mermaid job, gave him my card, and we talked about local parks and celebrations there and I said I’d be open to doing a meet & greet or something there. There’s also mermaid meet up, most of the meet ups are in Coney Island so I go there a lot and hand out cards and take pictures with people. There’s also tumblr, facebook, instagram, youtube, those are very good sites for social media to get your name out.

There’s also things you need to consider. Do you have a mertender/merwrangler? That is someone who is with you at events, they are there to help you. You want to keep the magic alive so you can’t show up at a party or event and put your tail on infront of your little clients so you put your tail on somewhere hidden and you have your mertender/merwrangler pick you up and carry you (I’ve recently aqcuired a wheelchair so no one has to carry me anymore). It’s best to have someone you know with you because you can trust them, having a stranger off Craigslist you never know what you’re going to get. You don’t need to have the same mertender/merwrangler at every event, I don’t. You can ask your client that you may need additional help because you don’t have a mertender/merwrangler, I, personally, don’t feel like that’s professional, that’s just me, I know other mermaids have done it and that’s their business so I don’t get to have an opinion on them. Do you have transportation? People that live in cities, for example, New York City or Brooklyn, mermaids are able to take trains and subways or taxis to get around. I live in the suburbs so I have my own car. Just make sure you have a way of getting to your event. Do you know what to do? Do you know what to bring when doing an event? Do you kinda have ideas what to do at an event? I suggest watching videos of professional mermaids on youtube and see what they do. Mernetwork is also a forum site for mermaids with tons of answers to any question you may have. Do you have tattoos or piercings? Some clients may not want their mermaid to have tattoos or piercings. I have 5 tattoos, one is on my leg so my tail covers it, I have one my waist and luckily my tail covers it, I have 2 behind my ear my hair covers it but one time while I was in water giving mermaid rides a child called me out on it and I giggled and talked about something else, I have a tattoo on my wrist, I have a big shell bracelet to cover it up, I do have back up stories if someone does ask about how mermaids have tattoos. I also have a hell of a lot of piercings, mostly on my face. I have a dermal anchor implant for an anti-eyebrow, I cannot take that out unless it’s surgically removed, my implant is a clear gem so it looks like I stuck a gem under my eye so I’m good there, I have a lip piercing and 2 nose studs on my left nostril - I do take those out at parties, I also have clear jewelry that I may or may not put in depending on how I feel. You may have a client who doesn’t want a mermaid with tattoos or piercings (I don’t know what people’s problems are with it, I can see how it doesn’t look very magical but I mostly take out my nose studs and cover my wrist tattoo but I have done gigs where I didn’t take anything out or cover anything and have never gotten a complaint.) I know a lot of people with tattoos and piercings that keep everything in and don’t cover any and they still get TONS of gigs. So you can do whatever you feel most comfortable with.

If you want to go for aquarium jobs (which I’ve never done but have put in research into it because I want to do aquariums in the future when I feel ready), the best things to put on your resume is that you have done dance lessons (preferably ballet), CPR classes (which is good to have anyways whether you’re an aquarium mermaid or a birthday party mermaid), scuba diving lessons, a good breath hold, and knowing how to swim in a tail already (having your own tail can be a plus - you don’t have to have your own tail, some places will give you tails that they already have but if they don’t have your size they may not consider you because they either don’t want to spend the money or a tail can take 2 - 3 months to create just for you and they want someone now). I know someone who got interviewed for an aquarium job, she had a tattoo on her upper body, very visible, she did not get the job. Unfortunately, that’s a reality at some places. Disney won’t hire people with visible tattoos and some aquariums won’t hire you with visible tattoos. It really sucks but it happens. There is very strong waterproof makeup and tattoo cover up, I’ve never used it but when I do plan to try out for an aquarium job I plan to cover myself during my interview and during my performances.

Professional mermaiding is hard work, it isn’t “I got a tail now I’m going to go play mermaid”. You need to be professional with your persona, with your clients, at your events. You need to be fit for your tail, you’re tail is going to weigh a lot in water and it’s bound on your legs for a few hours - you’re going to need to be able to hold that tail up, constantly swimming, with a smile on your face and not a yawn from being tired or a tear from your legs hurting. You may not be getting gigs your first year of being licensed or not even your second year, getting gigs will be a lot of work, you may even need to do free gigs to get a clientelle worked up. You may be putting in a lot more money going into it than you will be getting your money back from it. You may struggle a lot and feel “I can’t do this” but I’ll let you know now, once you get your first gig, you will feel so great about yourself, you did it, you got your first gig, you did it.

It’s been a difficult journey, all my hard work, it’s been worth it.

7 things you should never say to a classical musician

Believe it or not, you don’t have to be a Spice Girl to make a career out of music. Ok so maybe not the greatest example, but it IS possible to make a living performing music and just like any other job, it requires skill and hard work. So why do we keep asking these thoughtless questions of our musician friends?

1. So what do you do for money?

I’m a musician, you idiot. I play music.

2. Can you write me a song?

Sure, bae. Can you just run down to the shop and get me some inspiration? I think it comes in a can.

3. Do you want to play this gig for free?

Would you offer your boss a day of work for free? No, I didn’t think so.

4. Did you write that?

No, fool. That was written by the greatest composer of ALL TIME. His name is Johann Sebastian Bach. Jeeez.

5. Can you keep it down?

Is this better? 

6. I loooooooove the cello. 

Yeh, who doesn’t?

7. Oh, I play a bit of piano too.

Let me guess … you’ve got the Amelie song book?

Amnesia (3D 2019)
5 Seconds Of Summer
Amnesia (3D 2019)

 After a long and successful journey around the world 5SOS became one of the most popular bands ever. Though in early 2019 the band decided to take a break to spend some times with their families & friends again. When one day you decide to go to that pub to watch a free gig you heard about you can’t believe what you’re seeing up on that small stage. Three barchairs, with 2 acoustic guitars and a bass with a lightning sticker on it. Beside those instruments and the chairs there was a box, a familiar one. There were 2 “x” on it and you didn’t even need to read the name that was written on it, because you knew who it belonged to. You closed your eyes and remembered the day you heard this song for the very first time with the same intro-speech echoing in your ears: “Feel free to cry.”