#It’s literally the only direction Muse could’ve gone in after The Resistance

[sunburnacoustic]

Muse’s Matt Bellamy: ‘I felt that we could do no wrong. Obviously, we could’

By Mikael Wood in the L.A. Times (pasted because paywalls)

(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

Matt Bellamy wrote Muse’s new album in a Santa Monica recording studio painstakingly decorated to resemble the so-called red room from “Twin Peaks.”

Crimson curtains, leather armchairs, black-and-white zigzag flooring: The 44-year-old frontman of one of England’s biggest rock bands reproduced every detail of the otherworldly chamber from the cult-fave TV show he remembers devouring during Muse’s first tour on a bus back in the early 2000s.

“It just sets a certain tone, you know?” he says, looking around the space with obvious pride on a recent afternoon.

Yet as Bellamy sat composing amid a thicket of electric guitars and vintage synths — including an old Roland model he says was the same used for the “Stranger Things” theme — what really inspired him was the tumult unfolding outside the studio, which he observed through an enormous one-way mirror in the building’s front wall.

This was mid-to-late 2020: Bellamy, who’s written for years about the menacing encroachments of technology and government, watched (without those on the street being able to see inside) as shops went out of business during the pandemic, as Black Lives Matter protesters marched through the city, as riot-gear-clad police and National Guard moved in to shut down demonstrations, as a man took up residence in a car parked right in front of the studio. Helicopters seemed to be circling constantly; a drone hovered over Bellamy one day as he loaded gear in through a back door.

“It was like being inside a scene from ‘RoboCop,’” he says now. “All the anxieties and the dystopian strangeness that had always been kind of speculative in our music — suddenly it felt like it was all coming true. It was actually happening.”

The result of his observations is Muse’s ninth studio album, “Will of the People,” on which Bellamy rhymes “a life in crisis” with “a deadly virus” and “tsunamis of hate are gonna drown us.” (Sample song titles include “Kill or Be Killed” and “We Are Fucking Fucked.”) But if the LP confronts a brave new world, it also knowingly looks back: Musically, the band—rounded out by bassist Chris Wolstenholme and drummer Dominic Howard—dials down the fluorescent electro-pop vibe of 2018’s “Simulation Theory” in favor of the harder, more guitar-oriented sound that made Muse a prog-metal sensation more than two decades ago.

Muse performing in Philadelphia in 2013. (Owen Sweeney / Invision via AP)

What are those so-called worst parts of Muse? Probably a tendency to veer off and experiment in areas that we’re not very experienced in. Most of [2012’s] “The 2nd Law,” for instance — classical dubstep, weird clarinet solos, whatever else is on that album. I think we felt we’d achieved so much with [the 2009 hit] “Uprising” that we could do no wrong. Obviously, we could.

You produced “Will of the People” yourself after collaborating with the producer Shellback on “Simulation Theory” and with Mutt Lange on 2015’s “Drones.” With people like that who are so successful, I think sometimes we’ve gone in the studio and been a little bit like, “OK, we’ll do just whatever you say.” In hindsight, I wish I’d been more involved and put more of our stamp on it. So we’ve kind of gone back to our safe space on this album. If we’re in complete control, it may not be the most cutting-edge or the most modern-sounding thing, but it’s the only way to guarantee that we’re gonna love it.

(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

June 2020 was a heck of a time to bring a baby into the world. I came to America in 2010 as a single person looking to experience L.A. for a bit — and, boy, have I had an experience. Ended up with a Hollywood actress [Kate Hudson], had a baby together and the whole cliché scenario of the ups and downs of celebrity life. Then married a Texan [model Elle Evans] and had another baby. Been evacuated from my house during wildfires. Then the pandemic and the full January 6 Trump meltdown. It’s just been an unbelievable period to be here.

“Will of the People” suggests it hasn’t left you terribly optimistic about the future. It depends what your definition of optimism is. To me there’s a fighting spirit in the music, which is a form of optimism. It’s like the moment in “Rocky” when Adrian tells Rocky to win.

Do you think it’s clear to listeners who you’re fighting? In the new song “Compliance,” you’re singing sarcastically about people falling into line and doing as they’re told. It could be interpreted as an anti-woke anthem. I never thought about it that way. I thought about it in terms of the rising authoritarianism that we’re now seeing is a real thing— Trump in this country, but also Putin and the China situation. These ideologies, I feel like we kind of tested the waters in the 20th century and realized that fascism and communism are both just absolute disasters and that we don’t need to go near that stuff ever again. And yet it’s emerging.

What’s your reaction to that? I have an anti-authoritarian nature. My parents say that when I was a young child I was never very good at being told what to do. I don’t like the idea of vast centralized power that’s very far away from where I live. I come from Devon in England, which is a couple hundred miles from London. But when I went to see where my wife’s from in Paris, Texas, it’s like, Holy s—! It’s thousands of miles from the places of power in America. So the resistance to someone deciding how I should live who has no idea what my day-to-day life is — I can understand it, even though there’s a risk of it being hijacked by more extremist factions that have gone down roads I don’t agree with.

Have you considered becoming a U.S. citizen? I have. Overall, I actually think the United States’ structure is really amazing, with all the different ways to make laws at the local level. It seems like every month my wife is voting on some sort of proposition. I’m looking at that going, Wow, England is so behind on that front. We don’t ever get to vote on policy.

The oddest thing about that late-2020 period where things in America and California seemed so chaotic and crazy was that I felt my connection deepening. There’s something going on here that is critical to what’s happening in the entire world. America has become a kind of center point for this idea that there’s an empire on the verge of collapse, and how do we save it? Or how do we know which parts to save and which parts to let fall away?

For some people — Dom, to some extent — it made them want to get out. But for me it had the opposite effect. It’s everything I’m interested in, and it’s massively creatively inspiring.

Has becoming wealthy shaped your political views? I don’t think so. I remember all my feelings of what it was to be from a poor rural background with no opportunities and all the disadvantages. And I still have some views that would be considered pretty socialist by some. Universal health care is an obvious one; I can’t even believe there’s not universal healthcare here. I’ve also come to the view that maybe land shouldn’t be privately owned.

Can you relate to music that’s unambiguously joyful? Coldplay, let’s say. Absolutely. Chris [Martin] is a friend of mine. I love what they do. I wish I could write more songs that enter the love sphere. But I think it might be against the nature of the sounds our band makes. When the three of us are jamming, it’s like Rage Against the Machine riffs are coming out all the time. I can’t imagine hearing those riffs with Chris Martin singing about peace and love on top.

What’s the happiest Muse song? “Starlight” is pretty positive. I think “Verona” on the new album is pretty nice — little bit of “Romeo and Juliet” in there.

Do you think rock music is in good hands with the generation behind yours? My 11-year-old son likes Slipknot and Metallica. My stepson Ryder from a previous situation [with Hudson], he’s 18 and he’s really into rock. He turned me on to Willow Smith.

Can you envision touring in your 60s and 70s like Paul McCartney and the Rolling Stones? Yeah, but Metallica is the one that’s really made me think we could do it. The Stones and McCartney, they have universally uplifting music. But Metallica — I’m not sure how old they are, but they’re up there — that’s really heavy music and they’re still out there. The great thing about rock is that, even though the genre is largely irrelevant in the mainstream, you can actually grow old with it. You can make a real life career.

#Muse interviews #matt bellamy #muse band #Will Of The People #some parts of this interview were really interesting/slaps in the face #Like where Matt talks about feeling invincible roughly around albums 4-6 #It did really feel like that (I’ve talked about this before): Muse could do no wrong. The world was at their feet! #When he says ‘we could’ - he’s obviously talking about T2L and the way fans weren’t too pleased with it. #That’s disappointing to hear though. T2L is hardly an album to be dismissed. #It’s literally the only direction Muse could’ve gone in after The Resistance #Idk I think they got caught up in an era where rock bands were dwindling and 00s guitar fans were resentful of that synthy sound #(I blame the EDM boom) and so Muse genuinely interpreting ‘heavy’ as a kind of sound not solely connected to distorted guitars #Fell on its arse when in fact it was brilliant. I see nothing wrong with e.g. Unsustainable; Matt is 100% right when he says it’s heavy. #And of course his thoughts on America and the America he sees around him. His take on it as a non-American. Quite interesting #And on production and why Muse self-produce albums #muse #WOTP

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Be Mine, This Quarantine ~ (II)

Dean pulls out his phone, clicks on the camera icon, and takes a selfie.

He looks adequately grouchy in it - his uninterested eyebrow-raise, an indisputable declaration that clicking a picture of himself irritates and annoys him, as it should every respectable non-preadolescent person. Also, he manages to get Cas's apartment building, a little bit of the night sky, and his very last moving box of stuffs, in the frame.

It's labelled 'Socks' on the top, and should make Dean feel like a dork if he wasn't going to send the picture straight to Sam - the dorkier of the two of them, by far, and also someone who's well-acquainted with Dean's fascination for hilarious novelty socks.

No sooner has the message been sent, it's been seen, and Dean's getting a call from his little brother.

"It's dark." Sam greets, with all the subtle pointedness of a soon-to-be-lawyer. "Why is it dark?"

"Are you just staring at your screen, waiting for me to text you all day?" Dean throws back, and Sam makes a noncommittal sound. "And it's dark cause it's almost nine."

"And you're still not done?" Sam sounds surprised.

"Almost," Dean bites his cheek. He has to admit Sam has a point. Moving in's supposed to be a morning, in-the-sun kind of activity. "In my defense, I started late. Cas made me spend all morning at his place, getting to know Catsanova."

"His cat?"

"It's literally in the name, Sammy."

"Hypoallergenic?"

"Do I sound dead to you?" Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeah, she is. And cute, too. Black, and it's got whiskers. Responds to 'Cas'."

"Figures." Sam grins, audibly. Kid's always been an animal person - he's probably going to be asking for pictures all the time now. "It sounds pretty similar. So what, you say Cas, and both the cat and human come up to you?"

"Neither of them come up to me, cause neither of them's fond of moving. Big Cas ignores me until I make it like I'm dying, and Small Cas still doesn't really care." Dean laughs. "But I'm going to try and work up to it."

"Good luck." Sam says to that, before clearing his throat. "You should finish moving your socks in, Dean." There's a pause. "Thank you for listening to me about the quarantine thing, I guess. And staying safe."

Dean's first instinct is to immediately dismiss the sentiment, but then he decides not to. And settles for, "You too, Sammy. And thank you for the move-in-with-Cas advice."

Sam lets out a soft, "Yeah."

"But if you tell me what to do again," Dean adds, right after. "And try to threaten me with cheap flight tickets to Kansas? I'm not fucking giving in."

"And you're welcome for the caring about you." Sam retorts, and Dean rolls his eyes a second time.

"That's my job."

"Yeah, right."

"Just shut your face. Smartass." Dean can't contain his smile, in spite of himself. "Stay inside, okay? I've got Gabriel's eyes on you." That's Cas's stepbrother, also in Stanford, and Dean's not really used him yet - but he really could. Dude's sorta obsessed with Sam.

"I -" Sam huffs. "Jerk."

Dean grins. "Bitch."

The phone clicks, and Sam's gone. Dean picks up the last box - it's pretty light, so he props it on his hip and uses a free hand to slam Baby's door shut, and walks into the building he's going to spend (at least) the next three weeks in.

*

"Pizza's on it's way." Cas says from the couch, first thing as Dean enters and shuts the door behind him, setting the box on the floor.

He can't get a normal greeting fucking ever in these parts - but he doesn't really pay attention to it, because every braincell which isn't involved in keeping him alive and standing, fixates all at once, on the scene which beholds him.

He's obviously seen Cas plenty of times before - probably more keenly than he should've been seeing him, to be fair - but this is different. It's like seeing Cas in his natural habitat.

He's in the middle of the couch - typical roommate-lacking behavior - with bare feet propped up on two of Dean's boxes, like there wasn't any furniture around before Dean moved in. And in his collarless bee-patterned shirt and pyjamas which match the brown throw pillows, it's basically like he's dissolved into the couch under the weight of Catsanova who's settled on his tummy, with his hands around her, petting. His hair's enough of a mess that he could've had a reverse-Jonathan-Van-Ness moment by himself when Dean went downstairs for the last time, and his eyes are glued to the TV screen even when he speaks to Dean, and then proceeds to keep up a soft, toddler-voice conversation with his cat.

Holy shit.

Dean loves him.

This is going to be so hard.

"I changed out of my jeans," Cas adds, not even slightly in Dean's direction, per se. "I know you wanted to go out earlier, but it's Catsanova's dinner time now, and I was wondering if the three of us could just eat together. And watch The Middle." The last part, he directs to Dean, eyes wide and curious.

"Uh." Dean says, eloquently. "Sure."

The Middle's exactly the kind of thing Dean should've expected Cas would watch. It's sappy and sweet, and revolves around a hilariously dysfunctional family, and it's half ways to a sitcom and Dean can clearly imagine them bingeing through all of it - piled on the couch with the cat on Cas's lap, and he's still in the middle cause Dean really doesn't mind squeezing on his left as long as their shoulders brush and knees touch, and they're having pizza and Cas is in ratty graphic tees, and -

Alternatively, this is going to be a little bit perfect.

"I'll go change as well." Dean rubs the back of his neck, scanning the room for his bag which contained a set of clothes in case he got too lazy to unpack. As had happened.

"Are you going to be needing any of these?" Cas draws his attention to the two boxes he's got his feet on, by wiggling his toes.

"Nah." Dean checks the labels. "There won't be any pyjamas in DVDs or Boo -" He stops. That's supposed to be Books. "Boo?" Dean repeats, frowning.

"Catsanova likes scratching letters off of words which make them more adorable. Don't you, Catsanova?" Cas grins, running his hand through her fur as he talks about her. She doesn't really pay attention to it. "Say Boo again for us, Dean."

Dean fails to resist the blush. "Screw you. And do you always say her full name, like, all the time? I get that it's funny - or punny, or whatever," Castiel beams at that bit. "But it's kind of a mouthful."

"An earful, you mean." Cas muses.

Dean shrugs, because he's stuck trying to rein in the overpowering affection he feels for this messy, gorgeous guy, who always addresses his cat by her full name, and lets him move in for quarantine. "Just call her Nova or something. She's smart, she'll get it."

"But her name's Catsanova." Cas clarifies, as if it wasn't clear to Dean before.

"Your name's Castiel, Cas."

"I blame you for that."

"Sure you do, Happy Meal."

Cas scowls, not giving Dean more material to work with, and silently going back to watching the TV. "Spoilsport." Dean grins. "Isn't that what he is, Catsanova?"

She, once again, doesn't pay any real attention to them, but Cas's lips quirk up in a smile. They're done discussing nicknames for the cat apparently, so he moves on. "You can freshen up in my bathroom right now. There's no towels in the other one yet."

"Roger that."

Dean picks up his duffel and sets off for Cas's room. He's been to this apartment plenty of times, before. On his way, he passes what's going to be his room - previously, Cas's study slash storage, and takes a detour.

It's the same size as Cas's room, with smaller windows and grey curtains, and looks pretty comfortable, though Dean's more of a spend-all-day-in-the-living-room sorta guy. It's got wardrobes and shelves, for when it's morning and Dean resumes the elaborate routine of unpacking, and a desk at the side, and - oh, fucking hell.

Dean flings his duffel on the chair, which is the only place to sit in the entire room, - and marches out. "Cas!"

For once, even Catsanova reacts to him, jumping down from Cas, and Cas looks downright alarmed when Dean storms into the living room. "What happened?"

"Where the hell's your futon?"

"Oh." Cas pauses. Dean waits, impatiently for an answer, which seems to come to Cas fairly quick, bringing in its wake, a horrified expression of remembrance. "I lent it to Kelly."

"Then," Dean fixes Cas with an accusing glare. If he were standing, that would've been a finger jabbed at his chest. "Where the hell am I going to sleep?"

"Oh."

"Well?"

Cas blinks. And quietly declares - for the benefit of Catsanova, probably, because the two humans already know, and are staring at each other in despair. "I may not have completely thought this through."

*

"I call right."

"Right-now-right, or on-the-bed-right?" Cas confirms, voice coming in from the bathroom where he's brushing his teeth.

"You're on my right when we're sleeping." Dean declares, stifling a scowl. It's not like he's trying to be rude, but he really hadn't expected any of this. He hasn't expected to finish moving in at nine, and dinner at ten, and then proceed to sleep in Cas's bed for the first night he's here.

("I'm so sorry, this is completely on me -" Cas had kept apologizing, with blue eyes in full-on Bambi stare. "I can't believe I forgot about giving away the futon! I'm such a -"

"Whatever, Cas." Dean had frowned back, rolling his eyes. "S'not that big a deal. I'll take the couch."

"Of course not." Cas had looked horrified. "It's cold out here, and my couch is too small - it's just a three-seater. You're way taller than three horizontal butts, plus twice the armrest." Dean had given him a look for that one, and if he wasn't annoyed, he would've been laughed.

"So?"

"You're obviously sleeping in my bed."

"Well, you're taller than three butts too." Dean had sighed, still annoyed - but it slowly subsiding to some sort of thrill which was definitely associated with getting to sleep in Cas's bed.

"I know." Cas had sighed back, a little grim. "I'll just sleep with you.")

Now, Cas exits the bathroom, and walks straight to the bed, setting the pillows right. It's a King-size, so they're going to have enough space, really, but Dean's a little skeptic about getting under the covers first. So instead of climbing on his side, and settling in like his body really wants to, he lingers around, rummaging through his bag even though he has everything he needs.

His phone's plugged in next to his bed, and he's just in a t-shirt and pajamas now. Sure, he usually sleeps in just his boxers, but he has a fair idea of how ridiculous that'd be when Cas, right next to him, sleeps in a full, adorable ensemble.

And that's the last time he's letting himself think Cas - or his bee-themed outfits are adorable.

"I'm going to go put Catsanova to bed." Cas announces, with a smile. "To couch, to be honest. She sleeps inside the couch and I think she likes to think it's her very own hiding spot."

"So that's why I'm not sleeping there?" Dean throws back, stifling a yawn. Somehow, it's eleven, and that's not exactly late, but on a day you've moved into your best friend's apartment, and made friends with his moody cat, it feels pretty late. "Cause the three-butt analogy wasn't your best move, buddy."

"You guessed it." Cas returns, flatly. "I made us sleep in the same bed so that Catsanova's sleep routine didn't get disrupted. Now, how about you actually sleep, Dean?" There's one of those I-know-more-than-you-think-I-do smiles on his face. "You're clearly tired."

"'M not sleeping without you." Dean can't hold in the yawn this time, and it comes out garbling the last bits of his sentence and causing Cas to stare at him in a horrified kind of fascination.

"Before you." He corrects, his cheeks burning, when he actually hears himself. "That'd just be weird."

"Not at all," Cas shrugs. "But sure. Just come with me to Catsanova's night couch."

"Whose couch is it in the morning?"

Cas doesn't really think about it. "Hers, though she settles for indirect use of it's luxury, via our laps."

Dean nods thoughtfully, and follows Cas to the living room. The cat is already all fed, of course, and doesn't really seem keen on playing with them - probably because, and Cas told him this once, cats tended to have bedtime installed in their cat brains. Dean may or may not think that's adorable.

Catsanova curls up in the middle of the couch, much like her (nick)-namesake, and Dean's breath hitches when with a slight purr, puts her head on her paws. She's not a kitten, Cas had mentioned, but she's still so small, that she fits on just one cushion, and with her tail drawn up close, and squinting eyes, she's the cutest thing Dean's ever seen.

"Isn't this somehow better than even the best youtube cat videos?" Cas whispers, eyes turned adoringly at his cat.

"I don't watch -"

Cas gives him a look.

"Okay, yeah, I do, and it is." Dean gives in, rolling his eyes at being called out. "Maybe not better than the kitten falling asleep in the middle of dinner though."

Cas raises his eyebrows, impressed. "You're not wrong."

"But a close second?" Dean offers.

Cas smiles, softly, straight at Dean. He's sitting cross-legged on the floor, with hands around his ankles, and Dean's on the low settee behind him, staring at both the cat and Cas, lazily smiling too.

It feels perfect. In fact, he's so physically exhausted and mentally blissed out that in the moment, that he's not even freaking out about the fact that after this, he and Cas are going to go sleep in the same bed.

(In his right senses, he would've been. When it got suggested - or pretty much, declared, he couldn't have put up a big argument, because if Cas could be so cool about it, how weird would it have been if he wasn't? Why shouldn't he be, indeed?

Except for the fact that he's in love with Castiel and growing increasingly aware of it as the day lives by, there's absolutely no other reason, he's sure.

So after a few weakly presented excuses, including his insistance that it isn't necessary - "Dean, of course it is!" - and bringing back the couch solution - "Dean, why would you sleep on the couch for my mistake?" - he'd given in.

He just couldn't come around to the point that he really isn't sure he'll be able to survive being next to Cas on a bed for an entire night, and figures that it didn't occur to Cas either.

Because of course it fucking didn't.)

"Okay, then." Cas lets out, standing up from the ground swiftly, though Dean holds a hand out. His voice holds a tinge of we're done here, like a superhero in a mission, and Dean grins, in spite of himself. "Let's go."

Since 'putting Catsanova to bed' apparently only includes sitting in front of the couch and staring at her in adoration while she falls asleep and eventually snuggles so close to the back of the couch that she ends up rolling inside, as Dean has now learned, Dean gets up too.

"How'd you like it?" Cas sounds proud.

"Her sleep routine? She did all of it herself." Dean tells him, as the both of them drag themselves to Cas's room. Even Dean knows the house well enough to not have to think about it. "I don't know what I expected, but that wasn't it."

"Did you imagine cuddles and lullabies?" Cas laughs.

"You built it up, buddy."

Cas shrugs nonchalantly, as they reach the bed, and Dean's too tired at this point to even care who's getting in first. All he notices is when they're both in - Cas half-sitting up, legs stretched out under the comforter, and Dean lying on his side as he speaks to him.

"All you did was watch her sleep." He mutters, not really thinking anymore. Sleep is fast trailing his heels, and well, he's stopped running from it.

"I like watching over her." Cas answers, easily. "And it's a sign of trust that she lets me, to be fair. Cats aren't shy, but -"

"Territorial?"

"I guess."

"Huh." Dean closes his eyes. The pillow under his head is the perfect percentage of soft, and it's warm inside the comforter, as compared to the cold in the room. He pulls it up to his neck, trying to tuck himself in without making it obvious.

There's a pause.

"I didn't want to sleep before because," Dean confesses. "Sometimes you look at me." He likes it, but hopefully that doesn't come out in his voice.

There's a weight shift in the mattress, as Cas lies down too. Straight on his back, hand curved above his head, staring at the ceiling.

"It's weird." Dean mumbles. "Kinda."

Cas says, "Okay." But Dean's already asleep, slightly huffing when he exhales, and so there's nothing said in return, and Cas reaches to turn off the lap and goes to sleep, too.

*

Thing is, falling asleep when you're tired is easy. Staying asleep when you're anxious is not.

Dean blinks awake, with a startled breath, and takes a beat to process his surroundings. Gauging by the darkness in the room, it's a long way till sunrise. He stretches drowsily, an unconscious habit of getting up, and his hand nudges against something.

It feels like muscle, and hair, and turns out to be Cas's forearm, because as soon as his eyes get adjusted to the minimal light - he discovers Cas is right there.

They've both migrated towards the middle in their sleep - more Cas than him, Dean assumes quickly, and are still facing each other. When Dean draws his hand back, folding it under the comforter again, there's a few inches between them everywhere - yet suddenly, he's extremely awake, and aware, and losing it.

Cas is quietly asleep, features completely free of tension - with his face smoothed over in sleep, and lips slightly parted. He's unfairly beautiful, and practically a head-jerk away from Dean's pillow, and it's crazy how much it's all getting to Dean.

Even asleep, he's driving Dean nuts.

He doesn't even know what he wants to do - keep staring at this picture of serenity, force himself back to sleep, or something entirely different, but was he does is turn around.

He turns a hundred eighty degrees, keeping his eyes closed, and finds himself facing Cas's bookshelf.

The easiest way to deal with this burst of emotion is to sleep, he convinces himself, and maybe he'll forget about this in the morning. Maybe he'll fall asleep trying to read the titles of the books in front of him, and forget about waking up to Cas in front of him, dreamy even when dreaming, and forget about being overpowered by just about everything in that moment, as he is right now.

He just needs to go back to sleep.

Dean's repeated this to himself enough times to actually be drifting off to sleep, when he feels an arm randomly fall around his waist.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Cas, still asleep, has apparently decided to put his hand around Dean as if he were a fluffy stuffed toy or something, and it's landed ridiculously close to his abdomen, and his toes curl, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

And if Dean inadvertently pushes back towards the warmth radiating from Cas, and ends up little-spooning him because he's somehow backed up until he's reached Cas - then that's just a whole other thing he's never going to think about.

He finally goes back to sleep, not having to try and read the book titles at all, because apparently Cas hugging Dean to himself like a goddamn pillow, is all his fucking insomniac brain's ever needed.

(Although, he's never sharing a bed with Cas again, because he's sure he couldn't survive another such night.)

*

Catsanova wakes Cas up at six, meowing stubbornly at the door because she doesn't care about Dean's private, middle-of-the-night freakout as long as Cas gets up to pay her due attention, and Dean wakes alone at nine, and ends up pretending he's asleep until Cas comes with coffee.

He doesn't look at Dean different or at all, while climbing on bed with the tray - and Dean definitely doesn't notice that he doesn't, because he's obviously not paying attention.

And he obviously doesn't care.

#destiel #be mine this quarantine #dean winchester #destiel fluff #fanfiction fluff destiel #castiel novak #cats! #sam winchester #deancas fluff #deancas au #destiel college au #bed sharing #part 2 #quarantine #self isolation #young destiel #young dean winchester #young castiel #dean winchester/castiel #castiel/dean #not spoilers #coronavirus

[ghostyprince]

title: black eyes (find you almost at once)

word count: 2.156 rating: T fandom: BuzzF. Uns. relationship: Ryan B./Shane M. summary:  Ryan disappears in the forest during their hunt for Bigfoot, and Shane freaks out a little too much.

author’s note:  well, I'm really not happy with my writing lately, but i hope some of you can find joy in this little thing i started a few weeks ago and thought i could might as well finish it. the prompt is from @shyanlibrary

[READ ON AO3]

or read more here

Shane knew they shouldn’t have gone out there alone.

"This forest is pretty spooky, don't you think? Maybe Bigfoot will really give us a visit." Shane laughed quietly, cold air coming out of his mouth in white puffs.

It's fairly chilly too, he mused, and then looked up from his phone when no answer came from his friend. He’s been aimlessly scrolling on social media while waiting for Ryan to finish shooting the scenes he wanted. Shane pocketed the phone, glancing around, searching for Ryan. His whole body gone cold when he realized he was alone, that he probably had been alone for minutes by then. Shane called out, panic bubbling up in his chest, knocking the wind out of him. "Ryan?"

Shane knew they shouldn’t have gone out there alone, but Ryan insisted. ‘We can shoot a few cool nature clips on our own, it’s fine’. They promised Devon they wouldn’t wander too far into the woods, and they didn’t. He could’ve easily found his way back from where they were in like five minutes.

Shane should’ve paid more attention to Ryan though, he let his guard down because they were in a forest, not an old prison, or a rural house with harmless ghosts and demons he can intimidate to not even dare as much as glancing at Ryan's way. He didn’t feel any presence in the parts of the forest they explored for the video, so he let his guard down and now Ryan was missing and Shane didn’t know what the fuck to do.

No answer came, just the quiet sounds of the forest around him. The sun was still out, some birds were happily chirping, it was a beautiful day, really. And Ryan was fucking missing.

Shane took a ragged breath, his insides were doing flips, the demon in him going wild. He needed to find Ryan. He could’ve been attacked, or taken by another demon, or a wild animal, or a serial killer or–

Shane didn't realize he was moving, frantically pushing his way through bushes and trying to keep the branches out of his face.

"Ryan, goddammit, where are you?!"

He stopped for a second, trying to think rationally, but his mind was buzzing numbly, repeating the words "have to find him". Maybe he should call TJ. But what if it's a demon who has Ryan? No, he has to do this alone. It’s been only a few minutes, if Ryan wandered off on his own, he could’ve been too far away. On the other hand, if it was some demon who knows where Ryan was at that point.

It was so so dumb, going out there, just the two of them. It was only supposed to be a few minutes. But now Ryan is missing and Shane is freaking the fuck out. How could he be so careless? He always had Ryan in his sight, in every single location they visited, Shane's main focus was protecting Ryan. From nasty demons, and spirits to fucking Bigfoot if he must.

Defeated and worried, he walked back to where they started filming, so maybe if Ryan finds his way back they can meet up. Shane yelled some more, until his voice was hoarse and raw, never getting any response back, nothing. The forest was just as warm and peaceful and still.

And Ryan was fucking gone. That's it, he won't ever see him again.

Scenarios played in his head, Ryan laying on the forest ground, bleeding out, getting mauled to death by a bear or a demon.

Shane only noticed he wasn't breathing properly when actually started choking, throat closing off, and heart hammering in his chest. It felt like he was underwater, gallons and gallons of ocean water pressing down on his lungs. The chirping of the birds and the soft rustling of leaves was replaced by the sound of blood rushing in his ear. He had to find him.

"Shane?" It was faint, just barely picked up by Shane’s delicate senses, but it was Ryan. His Ryan.

"Ryan!" He tried shouting again, long legs already carrying him the direction Ryan's voice came from. He heard his name again, closer this time. Shane broke into a run. It wasn’t graceful, he almost slipped twice, but he didn’t even register it.

And finally, he saw Ryan. He was grinning at him like Shane hadn't just almost died at the thought of losing him.

Shane closed the distance between them with quick, long strides, and slammed into Ryan, arms wrapping around him like an octopus. He nearly knocked them straight on their asses.

"Whoa, easy there buddy." Ryan wheezed, face squished into Shane's chest. "I'm fine, it's okay."

Shane buried his face into Ryan's curls, breathing in his scent, his lungs working properly again. Absolute relief flooded him, rendering his whole body numb. Ryan was safe. With him.

"I was so worried. You were just gone and I-" His voice cracked and his eyes were stinging a little. He wasn’t tired, a little running around in the woods is nothing to a demon, but mentally, he was exhausted.

He just wanted to go back to the hotel and lay on the bed for a few hours. Possibly do all of that without letting go of Ryan at all.

"Shane, look at me." Ryan gently pushed him away, and Shane had to resist the urge to pull him right back. His skin was prickling just to touch Ryan, to know for sure that he's there and it’s not some cruel hallucination.

Ryan stopped talking abruptly, whatever he was about to say flew out the window apparently. His eyes widened, staring into Shane’s own.

He was staring at Shane like he saw a ghost, literally. Shane could sense the fear rolling off of him in waves, and oh it was so delicious, but it horrified him at the same time, putting him on edge. "What? What's wrong?"

And then he realized.

His eyes were black, he must’ve forgotten to get rid of them after searching for Ryan.

Fuck.

"Listen, I can expl–"

Shane was cut off by blinding pain radiating from his nose, spreading onto his cheeks and jaw. He saw white for a moment. His human body could only take so much and Ryan was pretty damn strong. The punch landed just the right way, with a sickening crunch. Fight or flight kicked in, and boy did Ryan fight. It hurt like a motherfucker too.

"Ow, Ryan what the hell?!" He blinked away the tears welling up in his eyes to glare at Ryan, whose expression was a mix between confused, regretful and terrified. Well, Shane could hardly blame him. There he was, one of Ryan's biggest fears standing right in front of him.

Shane was oddly proud of him, even when he tasted blood in his mouth, dripping down his lips and chin in a steady flow.

"Are you– are you possessed? I have holy water, I'm not scared to use it!"

"Yeah, I fucking noticed you're not scared." And he was laughing now, spitting out blood, because this was ridiculous. He never would've thought that Ryan Bergara, when faced with an actual demon, would just deck it in the nose. Shane lifted his hands in front of him, to show he's harmless.

"No, I'm not possessed. I'm a demon. I hadn’t meant to tell you this way, I wanted to ease you into it." His voice sounded stupid, but he did his best to remain serious as he continued.

"I understand that you're scared, and you might hate my guts now, but I'm still the same, Ryan. I promise. I still love doing Unsolved, and I still adore our movie nights, and the Disneyland trips. I would never cause you harm intentionally."

Shane sounded desperate, but he didn’t even care. Ryan was one of the best things in his life, and he wasn’t about to lose him. He was stubbornly staring at his shoes throughout his whole speech, dripping a few drops of blood on it. Aw, shit.

Ryan said nothing for a torturously long minute until Shane finally looked up at him. He was the one feeling terrified himself, of the possibility fucking up their friendship, and the hope of something more, that they danced around for months by then, neither of them brave enough to take the first step.

"Let me see your nose." Is the first thing Ryan said, and for the second time that day, Shane was so relieved. Ryan shuffled closer, already digging through his pockets for some tissue paper.

They sat next to each other on a moss covered fallen tree, and Ryan wiped off the blood from Shane’s face, with shaky hands. He was tense and clearly not comfortable with even just sitting next to him. Shane fucked up so bad, and it hurt more than his nose ever could.

"'M not gonna hurt you, Ry, I promise," Shane muttered, softly. It made Ryan's chest ache. It was just Shane, the guy who yells at ghosts to rip out his spine, and who makes Ryan laugh in the most ridiculous situations. He's tall and gangly, and when they found each other earlier, he was clinging to Ryan like his life depended on it.

"Yeah, I know, big guy." Ryan cleans his face off as best as he can, some of the blood already dried on his chin. Shane stuffed two rolled up tissue paper into his nostrils. It hurt and it was uncomfortable, but soaked up the blood.

"I think I broke your nose, I'm so sorry," Ryan said with a pained expression.

"You know, I can't believe the first thing you do when you face a demon is to punch him in the face. Who are you?" Shane laughed.

"I panicked!" Ryan flushed, embarrassed. "I thought you were going to kill me."

"Well, the jig is up." Shane laughed, there was no humor in it. "I'm gonna be real with you, if you want to be as far away from me as possible, I can do that."

Ryan looked ready to cut him off, but Shane put up his hand.

"Just, let me-- I don't think I can do this again if you interrupt me now."

He wasn't looking at Ryan while he took a shaky breath, desperately scrambling for coherent thoughts.

"I like you." He paused. "No, fuck that, I love you. People don't say that enough, you know. Actually, what do I know? I'm a demon." Shane said, wheezing, but it came out more like a strangled choke, the weight of Ryan knowing his so carefully hidden secret sat heavy on his chest.

"Shane."

"I'm really just rambling now, do you want to go back to the hotel? I wonder what-"

"Shane." It was more assertive this time, and Shane shut up immediately, lifting his gaze to meet Ryan's.

"Listen, big guy, calm down." Both of Ryan's hands came up to frame Shane’s face, who was just staring at him, a little dazed. From the blood loss and Ryan himself too. Ryan was grinning, looking like the entire sun, and Shane thought it was so fucking unfair.

"You're an idiot. I'm gonna kiss you, alright?" Shane took three whole seconds to process the question, nodding eventually. One of his hands found its way to Ryan's wrist, Shane felt his pulse going wild. And then Ryan was pulling him down, pressing their lips together.

It wasn’t how he imagined at all.

He thought about it a lot, actually, much more than anyone else would think about kissing their best friend. Sometimes, when he was bored at their desks, just watching Ryan work. He imagined grabbing Ryan's chair and spinning him towards himself, kissing the surprise off of his face. He imagined holding Ryan close, when they slept at some haunted place, and kissing him until he stopped worrying over the creaks and noises.

Shane thought about their half serious, half banter fights, and how he'd ache to push Ryan against the closest wall, kissing him senseless just so he shuts up about ghosts for once.

No, when they finally kissed, his nose smashed against Ryan's cheek, sending a jolt of pain through his face. He still tasted copper in his mouth and Shane was sure Ryan could taste it too. When the pain in his nose became truly uncomfortable, he just had to pull away. It was possibly the worst kiss Shane ever had. Ryan was wheezing into his shoulder as soon as they broke apart, and he found himself laughing with him, because, despite all of that, it was perfect, it was so painfully them. Later they’d have to explain to the rest of the crew how Shane tripped, but he’s fine and no, he doesn’t need to go to the ER, it’s okay, while heading to their shared room. And if anyone noticed them holding hands, no one said anything.

#shyan #skeptic believer #shyan fanfiction #fanfiction #my fanfiction #ao3