#Matty Healy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

that-was-a-bit-stupid-of-you · 3 days

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ttpd review: thoughts (and prayers)

cuz wtf was that. (also providing my two cents that no one gives a shit about)

Is the promotion in the room with us?

Not going to lie, this part pissed me off. As a post evermore release swiftie, the first album release I got was midnights. And while the promotion for midnights wasn't astoundingly genius, the track list release (midnights mayhem with me) was smart. Everyday, there would be chaos all over social media of taylor taking out a number and releasing the track name. The excitement over YOYOK was to die for. But after reaching peak fame, girlie just decided shit wasn't necessary anymore. Absolutely no promotion for ttpd, except a few lyrics that provided no context (or excitement) whatsoever. That, and the very non subtle "hinting" of some big reveal of what went down between her and joe, by making some playlists, that not only ruined the perspective of many of her fans and the relationship they had with her previous songs, but ALSO. THE ALBUM HAD BARELY ANYTHING ABOUT JOE. (Not that i personally care about what happened, but it was so unnecessary to center the ONLY promotion done around someone who was barely a part of the album). Swifties went on the internet to harass joe alwyn (and his female coworkers) who might as well be called a special mention on a matty healy album. Why even do all that then? We will never know.

Confusion?

taylor released 31 songs, and while a double album theory coming true would be a dream come true for any swiftie, it just... wasn't. Out of 31 songs, barely 10 stood out. Some of it just didn't make sense, in any way. "Why is this on the album?" "This sounds like a midnights vault track." "No issues, maybe this is just a skip. I'll listen to the next. Oh wait nvm. Um." Like girl what. It just feels like a giant vault album of synth pop music.

Also, it's called the tortured poets department. There is barely anything poetic or tortured about the album aesthetic. Except maybe it's torturing me, but I'm as much of a poet as she is, which basically means I'm not one.

The album just feels so different than the other albums, in the sense that they followed an aesthetic, a certain style of music and lyrics, and created some sort of story. This one just feels like she wrote many songs and put them all on an album, picked whatever track name seemed interesting enough as the album name, and called it a day. Some of the songs are gems, some create a confusion as to why they are on this album, and some just make you cringe- or atleast go "wtf". Which is fine, but if not even half the songs fall under the first category out of 30 songs, then it's a problem.

These were written by... taylor?

The lyrics omfg. I'm not going to be one of those ppl who go around saying that the lyrics sounded like an emo middle schooler (I've heard this take) BUT again, some songs have lyrics that make you question how taylor, someone who wrote the albums folklore and evermore, and many great songs like would've, could've, should've, story of us, all too well, fearless, white horse, dbatc, daylight, red... I could keep going tbh, produced...this.

It was very weird to listen to the words "tattooed golden retriever" from someone who wrote "handsome, you're a mansion with a view" (also who the FUCK is calling matty healy that??)

A very important part of taylor's music is how it is focused on the lyrics. The music itself isn't the most special, or different, in most of her songs, but what makes them (and her) special is her songwriting. However, from her songwriting going from commonly used phrases and idioms to make them tell a story, use a wide range of vocabulary, heavily using personification, allusion, transferred epithet, and a few other figures of speech that she uses in her songs to make elements such as colours, for example, tell a story, in a way it seemed effortless and fit perfectly, to this... now it feels like she's trying to do that, but that's it. She's TRYING, and it's not yielding results, and seems more like a try hard "poet" rather than... whatever she was going for. The songs are filled with self-satisfied "clever" metaphors that are being reused and recycled over and over. This is not what ppl meant when they asked you to be more environmentally friendly, taylor.

Final thoughts I guess?

While the songs are basically only an empty shell of something that taylor used to make, the album isn't all bad. Some of the songs do sound good and go well with taylor's voice (aaron dessner, the fucking legend you are) and are quite enjoyable, if not as memorable as her other songs.

There are songs such as the prophecy, clara bow, so long, london, loml, guilty as sin?, etc., that really do come through and honestly I really like them.

I do feel that the album can grow on people, but it's just... not the best. Like she says so much, and not to quote taylor swift, but genuinely the only thing in my head right now is "the more you say, the less I know".

Overall, the album is fine, but not in taylor swift standards. It's just... not bad, with some exceptions.

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abouttofillhisshoes · 2 days

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Eat me // Hot fudge - Matty Healy

part two

A/N: heyy y'all, this is what i've been cooking up these past few days. I hope you enjoy Waiter! Matty's incessant flirting.

content warnings: mentions of alcohol, flirting

wc: 5k

Life tip number one: if you sign a lease for a new flat, and said flat happens to be in a non-smoking building, maybe don't spend your days lighting up at every possible opportunity. Seems like common sense, no? Apparently not.

Matty scoffed when the landlord came to his door, throwing (quite factual) accusations around, telling him he knew he had been smoking in the building after specifically being told to take it outside. Now, he would have happily obliged if it wasn't the dead of winter and pissing it down almost every morning, making it impossible to step out for a quick smoke break throughout the day.

Threatening eviction, Matty simply nodded and dismissed him with a wave of his hand, saying he’d cut it out (and having absolutely no intention of doing so). Even so, Matty really couldn't afford to be kicked right now, with the flat being a perfect distance from his place of work, the commute consisting of three train stops and a short 5 minute walk to the front door of Roadkill.

The face you're making right now was the same one Matty made when Ross told him “Roadkill” was the name he had chosen for his new restaurant. While it might sound disgusting and vile, the food was quite nice, so there was little room to complain.

Since they were boys, the four of them had wanted to make music. Starting in a garage, recording emo tracks with shitty sound quality had been a hobby, which slowly morphed into a passion. Fifteen years they had been doing the same thing, trying to make it big. Hann, a legend on the guitar, had tried to get them in contact with record companies, begging for any of them to sign the band. To no avail, but that didn't stop Matty from dreaming.

Dreaming of sold out arenas, thousands of fans singing his own lyrics back to him. Groupies following them from city to city, screaming their names. The classic rockstar cliché, drinking and smoking his way to festival headlines, having even the Times beg him for an interview slot.

Nevertheless, those scenarios stayed in his dreams. As he grew older, the grey in his hair properly staring him in the face, Ross had decided that it was time to move on. Shitty pub gigs were not going to pay the bills forever, not that they ever really did. Mattys mother had begged him to go to uni, or at least finish his A-levels. Telling her it was all going to work itself out, he focused on his songwriting, sitting for hours, scribbling down rhymes and melodies. George was always by his side, yapping away about some music production bullshit that didn't interest him in the slightest.

But soon enough, Matty ran out of money. Ross had taken to opening up a restaurant, the type of place Matty would be caught dead in. Glazed wooden tables, warm, orange lighting, and red leather booths and chairs adorned the space, giving it a sort of aesthetic he could only describe as “old”.

All four of them had begun working there at some point or another, refusing to leave each other. Even if it was chaotic at times, the restaurant was like their child. A symbol of what could've been if the music thing had worked out. Matty still hadn't given up on it, spending every ounce of free time dreaming up new songs and music, taking it to George the moment he’d created something “truly promising”. George had found his new passion in the kitchen, curating the entirety of Roadkill’s menu, each dish more delicious than the last.

Adam had taken to the host stand, doing what he did best, which was ordering the rest of the restaurant around. Matty was reluctant in working there at first, knowing that everyone else would think he had “finally” given up on his silly dream of being a musician. He hated being a stereotype with all his heart.

He knew his shift started in less than half an hour, and that Adam would probably beat the shit out of him if he showed up late again, but that seemed irrelevant.

The bathroom mirror was littered with fingerprints and dust, making it hard for him to see himself. Wiping at the glass, he’s greeted by his three day old stubble, faint grey hairs to be seen on his neck and face. Eyeing his razor, he decided that there simply wasnt enough time to shave, knowing his train was leaving in ten minutes.

His hands search for the tub of gel sitting next to his toothbrush, the bathroom counter covered in remnants of it. Slapping some onto the top of his head, he runs his fingers through it, slicking it back. Ross had told him multiple times to just chop it off, but Matty refused, telling him he’ll just look older.

“You already look like you watch “The price is right” every evening, so there's not much more you can do.” that earned him a smack to the back of his head and an eye roll, muttering at him to fuck off and die.

Washing his hands in the sink, he inspects his clothes. Having gone out the previous evening, drinking way too much than was necessary, he had fallen asleep in his work attire. His dress shirt was slightly wrinkled, but acceptable. A small stain was visible at the bottom, but that would be covered by the ugly apron Ross forced him to wear while he worked. “Uniform” and what not.

Mumbling to himself, Matty scrambles for his keys and phone, stuffing them into his “purse”, as George so affectionately called it. It was a leather tote bag, perfectly acceptable for any modern man, not his fault his mate was still stuck in the 1950s, in terms of fashion. Grabbing his cigarettes off the front room table, he bolts to the door, slamming it behind him.

Pacing down the street, Matty manages to fumble his light two times before finally breathing in the nicotine, effectively calming himself down. Much to his luck, the train was late, and spending the additional ten minutes in the piss smelling station just worsened his already sour mood.

Scrolling through his phone, he could hear the group of ladies next to him talking obnoxiously loud, their voices drilling a hole into his skull.

Taking several deep breaths, as to not lash out at random strangers, Matts sighs in relief as he realizes the next stop is his.

Pushing the doors open, Hann immediately appears at his side, yelling into his ear about being almost ten minutes late. His saving grace appears as you walk through the entrance behind him, spotting the host stand. Adam greets you with a fake smile, eyeing Matty in the corner of his eye, silently telling him to fuck off and go do his job. He smirks back at the both of you, walking towards the staff changing room.

“Table for two?” he asks, flipping through pages of the restaurant layout. Completely unnecessary, seeing as the place was almost empty, with only a few patrons sitting down, munching away at various breakfast foods.

“Nah, just me today.” You try to sound happy, but eating breakfast alone at a restaurant wasn't exactly how you thought you’d be spending your Saturday morning. Your mate had ditched you for her boyfriend, making up some lame excuse to stay home with him. You understood to a certain degree, but it was still a dick move leaving you stranded like that.

“Booth?” you nod, and he leads you to a red booth towards the center of the restaurant, the dim lighting making you slightly tired, even if it was only eleven in the morning.

It's cozy, you gather, small lamps decorating the table as you sit down, setting your phone onto the glazed wooden surface. Picking up the menu, you run your fingers over the leather cover, admiring the fancy golden lettering on the front.

Meanwhile, Matty had already changed in the back room, and was now lounging about the kitchen, talking to George.

“And then he threatened to kick me out, can you believe that?” Matty moves his hands around to emphasize his words, running his fingers through his hair.

“I mean, it is a non-smoking building, innit?” He rolls his eyes, hopping off the counter as George tends to the eggs sizzling in the pan in front of him. Not even three seconds later, Ross comes bursting through the kitchen doors.

“Healy, are you fucking serious?? Go do your job!” his voice booms through the room, scaring the shit out of Matty. Bowing his head apologetically, he makes his way past Ross and to the floor, looking around his section. It was nearly empty, with most people already having been served their food and drinks.

His eyes land on you, scanning the menu. Fixing his slightly too big apron, he pulls out his small notepad and strolls over to you. The layout of the place is odd, and it takes a while before he finally stands in front of you, pen on paper, waiting for your order.

“What’ll it be?” His voice is rough, deep, his lack of sleep evident. Your words are caught in your throat, and you stutter before giving up completely. You weren't expecting him to come that fast, and he had taken you slightly by surprise.

“I- uh- i'm not sure?” You know you sound pathetic, and his facial expression doesn't help curb your anxiety. Setting the menu down, your hands clasp together as you stare at him, not sure what to say next.

Matty finds your reaction endearing, his eyes softening slightly as they meet yours. The height difference was intimidating, with him towering over you as you sat.

“Well, darling, seeing as it is..” he glances at his wristwatch “about 11am, i’d use my genius food-recommending skills to suggest some breakfast? What d’you fancy?” his northern accent catches you off guard, and you give him a once over, stealing a look at his name tag. Matthew, it reads, the bold silver letters standing out against his sandy button up shirt.

“What do you usually have?” The question makes Matty raise his eyebrows, cocking his head slightly.

“I personally like the egg and bacon sandwich, but there's lots of other-” “I’ll have that then.” you cut him off, smiling sweetly, handing him your menu. He nods, taking it out of your hand, simultaneously tucking his notepad away.

“Anything to drink?”

“A glass of merlot, please.” Now this surprises him.

“Wine? At this hour?” he leans onto the table, eyeing you up and down. You feel judged, but refuse to let it show.

“You look like the last person who should be lecturing me about my drinking habits, I can recognise a hangover when I see one.” you shoot back. Matty presses a hand to his chest, feigning offense.

“That's not very polite, is it?” he says, his voice tinged with something you can't recognise. A beat passes between the two of you, the silence full of tension.

“Are you sure you want me to be polite?”

Matty’s look of surprise is horribly hidden beneath a sly grin as he turns on his heel, giving you one last look over his shoulder. You watch him leave, your heart pounding in your chest. What the fuck was that?

His breaths are shallow as he puts in your order, shouting at George to make it quickly. Grabbing a silver platter from behind the bar, he pours you your glass of wine, measuring it out perfectly. Setting it onto the surface, he walks back over rather slowly, giving himself time to collect his thoughts.

“Here you are, your food will be out shortly.” you twirl the glass between your fingers before taking a small sip, your eyes never leaving Mattys. The liquid sloshes down your throat, and you hum in approval, nodding at him.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” He holds the platter in front of him, sort of like a shield. You give him another once over, before speaking.

“That's alright.” you pause “Thank you, Matthew.” your use of his first name makes his breath hitch in his throat.

“Only my mother calls me Matthew.” his nails scratch at the metal in his hands. “Please, call me Matty.”

“Matty.” you repeat, taking another sip. Your phone buzzes on the table, an incoming call flashing across the screen. Matty takes that as his cue to leave. Making his way to other tables, asking if they needed refills or the check.

You talk on the phone for a bit, quickly ending the call in favor of watching your waiter walk around the room, charming quests and handing out drinks. His features mesmerize you, and your eyes dont leave his frame until he steps back into the kitchen, disappearing from your view.

“Is table twelves order done yet? It's been ages.” Matty’s voice is tinged with annoyance, watching George plate the food.

“Oh fuck off, its been exactly ten minutes.” he grumbles, handing Matty the dish.

“Be quiet, or i'll tell Ross you keep making yourself food for free.” he threatens, grinning at the blonde man.

“You won't, because that would force me to reveal the reason behind the missing liquor bottles, and we would want that.”

Matty rolls his eyes, mumbling something under his breath before walking away.

The restaurant was steadily filling with more guests, with servers racing around the room, Adam looking positively stressed at the host stand. The lunch rush had officially begun. Businessmen and women sat down at tables, ordering steaks and burgers, getting annoyed when their food didn’t materialize in front of them within five minutes.

Matty hated the lunch rush, deeming it absolute hell on earth. Walking to your table, he almost drops your sandwich when another server, Jamie, bumps into him, balancing at least three platters in his arms.

“Sorry mate.” he mutters, rushing towards a table filled with what looked like accountants.

“Here's your food darling, sorry it took so long,” Mattys voice is sickly sweet, his grin never leaving his face. You smile, brushing imaginary dust off of yourself before taking a bite. Trying to keep his composure, he watches as your teeth sink into the sandwich, a content moan leaving your lips.

Your little noise makes Matty swallow wrong, sending him into a nasty coughing fit. Keeping calm, he asks you what you think of the food.

“Well, I can see why it's your favorite, it's really good.” egg yolk runs down the side of your face, and you quickly wipe it off, looking back up at Matty. “Give my compliments to the chef.” A snort escapes his mouth before he can stop it.

“Chef? That's just my mate George back there.” he gestures to the kitchen, giggling at the implication that there was an actual, qualified cook in there.

“Tell him then, I'm sure he doesn't get appreciated enough.”

“I'll let you know I appreciate him enough, thank you very much.”

His attention is pulled away by Ross shouting at him from behind the bar, telling him to get to his other tables. Your expression changes slightly, almost sad to see him go.

“Sorry love, duty calls.” Matty shrugs, his hand running through his hair once again, trying to keep in place. You nod, watching him leave.

The food is delicious, gone in less than ten minutes. Another server asks you if you want another glass of wine, and you gladly accept. Sipping and scrolling on your phone, you seem to lose track of time. People clear out, going back to their day jobs. The restaurant is emptier, the loud atmosphere finally dying down. You feel like you can think again.

Looking around to try and spot Matty, you're greeted by him already walking towards you, a plate of something in his hands.

—-----------------------------------------------

“Hey mate, make me a thing of fudge, will you?” Matty asks, seeing George wasn't all that busy. George was the head chef, making most dishes, leaving only simple things like salads and soups to the others. He had made the menu after all, so who better to cook the food than him?

“Sure, who’s it for?”

“Table twelve.” George's eyes scan the meal tickets, not seeing the order. Matty hops back up onto the counter, watching George closely.

“I don't see the order, did you forget to ring in again?” he accuses. Matty pretends to be offended, but even he knows the accusation doesn’t come without reason.

He had a habit of simply forgetting to put in orders, which always ended in him begging George to make it quickly so he wouldn't get his ass handed to him by the customer waiting 30 minutes for a simple soup.

“Nah, now stop being a twat and make it.” Matty spits, avoiding eye contact.

“Not until you tell me why.” he shoots back, crossing his arms over his chest, looking at the server expectantly.

“It's for a girl, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? Jesus christ."

Now, this was definitely not the answer George was expecting from him, a small, involuntary giggle escaping him.

“A girl? Are you taking the piss?”

Matty punches his arm, silently telling him to shut the fuck up and just make it. George doesn't stop smiling condescendingly, making a show out of drawing a small heart on top of the fudge.

“Here, for your girl.” he grins, handing it to him. Grabbing it out of George's hands rather violently, Matty curses at him.

“She's not my girl.” his words sound insincere, not going unnoticed by George.

—---------------------------------------------

Matty sets the plate onto your table, scooping up the other dishes and putting them onto his platter. He grins at you as you see the heart.

“I didnt-” “I know.” he predicts your words, cutting you off before you could even finish your sentence.

“So why-” he nudges your foot, and your breath hitches slightly.

“Consider it a gift, I hope you like it.” His voice is low, gravely. His eyes pierce yours as he watches you take a bite, the fudge melting in your mouth. You let out a moan around the spoon, this time purposefully looking at him for a reaction. His lips part slightly as he watches you swallow.

“It's delicious.” you say, eyeing him up and down. “Please, do tell George his cooking is phenomenal.” The mention of another man's name makes Matty’s hands shift beneath the platter. You notice, smiling up at him, batting your eyelashes.

“Thank you Matty, you really didn't have to.” His expression softens, and he shakes his head, indicating that it was, in fact, his pleasure. Comfortable silence settles between the two of you, the cozy lighting of the restaurant illuminating his face perfectly. You admire him, memorizing every single discernable feature of his face.

You notice his shirt has the first few buttons undone, revealing a trace of a tattoo. The faded ink catches your eye, and you can't help but stare.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” His words snap you out of your daze, and you can feel a deep blush spread onto your face.

“You have tattoos.” you sound like a complete idiot saying it like that. Cringing inwardly, Matty’s laughter fills your ears, making you inevitably smile.

“I have a bunch.” he states, rolling up his sleeve to reveal multiple pieces littering his forearm.

“You’ll have to show me then sometime.” your boldness surprises him, and he takes a step towards you. You turn back to your dessert, filling your mouth with another spoonful of warm fudge.

The tension is now so thick, you could cut through it with a knife. He continues standing there, platter in hand, not moving.

“You want the check?” he asks, making a writing motion with his left hand. The dishes almost fall off of the platter in his hand, but he manages to straighten himself just in time. You giggle at the almost accident, hiding your mouth behind your hand.

“C’mon, dont hide that pretty smile from me.” You blush, eyes avoiding his.

“Just give me the check.” your voice is slightly shaky, and you cringe again, trying to regain your composure. What the actual fuck was wrong with you?

“Be right back darling, enjoy your dessert.” His casual use of the pet name made you take a deep breath, steadying yourself as he walked away. His hips swayed as he made his way toward the back, bringing the dirty dishes away.

Though he seemed unaffected, his demeanor changed the moment he was out of your line of sight.

Leaning against the wall of the walk-in fridge, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. The way you flirted back at him made his head spin, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Most of the time, he flirted out of boredom, or better tips. This was different.

The reactions he got were almost always the same. A giggle, and maybe some dry conversation, and the inevitable ask for his number. He never said yes, wanting to keep the interaction strictly within the perimeter of the restaurant.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that if you had asked for his number, he wouldn't have said no. This made him feel slightly uneasy, like he wasn't in control. Taking deep breaths to calm himself, just like you had not done ten seconds earlier, he went to get the check from the register.

George winked at him as he walked by, gesturing to you, still sitting at the same table after almost three hours. He hadn't realized how much time had passed, an hour seeming like only a few minutes when talking to you. Shaking it off, he checks over other tables before finally returning to give you your bill.

“You really didn't have to pay for my dessert.” you mumble, taking the piece of paper out of his hand. When you do, your fingers brush against each other, and you can feel your heart race in your chest.

His eyes stare at you from above, and you raise your eyebrows, desperately trying to appear nonchalant. Realizing you didn't have a pen, you spot one in the pocket of Matty’s apron. Without thinking, you reach out to grab it, your hand lightly grazing his front. You swear you see his hips twitch, but convince yourself it was only a figment of your imagination.

Your handwriting is messy, the pen scratching loudly against the paper. The total came to £23, and you smile to yourself as you round up to forty, leaving him a nice tip. His eyes widen as he reads it, trying to protest.

“You don't have-”

“Just let me spoil you a bit, yeah?”

Your voice drips like honey as you swat his hand away. Matty huffs, reluctantly letting you hand him your card with a huge grin on your face.

This time, he deliberately lets your hands touch, lingering for a few seconds too long before pulling away, turning to walk towards the till located at the back.

He opens the leather check booklet, eyes raking over the paper. His breath hitches as he notices a heart scrawled next to the total. Of course you’d do that.

Reaching for your card, he flips it over, searching for your name. His heart sinks when his eyes land on two initials. No name.

Charging the card, he lets the receipt print. It takes ages, and he makes a mental note to remind Ross to invest in some decent equipment. It's not like he didn't have the funds, he just loved making Matty’s life difficult.

The walk back to your table seems endless, narrowly avoiding bumping into Jamie again. Setting the booklet with your card onto the table, he thanks you again for the tip, his hands playing with the inside of his pockets.

“Did you find everything alright?” he asks the mandatory question, unable to stop the grin that spreads onto his face as you tell him everything was absolutely terrible, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I'm only joking, I loved it. Tell the owner I like the aesthetic of the place.” Matty sighs, voicing his hatred for the dim lighting and glazed wood of the tables.

“I think it's quite nice, even if the name is a bit crude.” He laughs.

“That's what I told Ross when he opened the place, but he insisted on naming it that for some reason.” His hands move erratically as he tells you the story of him and Ross, how he had been so kind to give him a job when he was unable to hold down anything else.

“It seems like the whole restaurant is some sort of big friend group, innit?” you question.

“Sort of, we’re all mates here. Known each other since we were about fourteen.” he says proudly.

“Adam’s the one who sat you earlier, he's the responsible one. Keeps our books too. We all call him Hann though, don't think he responds to Adam anymore.” he giggles, turning to face the bar.

“Ross is our owner and resident dickhead. He bartends sometimes when he’s too cheap to pay an actual bartender.” you watch him make a drink for a disgruntled looking business man. “We all hope and pray ALE doesn't raid the place.”

He goes on about the servers: Jamie, Polly, and John.

“Again, no one really calls him John, his name’s Waughy to ‘most everyone.”

At some point, Matty had sat down across from you, and you hung on his every word. His voice made you feel entranced, the thick northern accent only pulling you in further. He talked about the fact that he was an actual trained bartender, and you make him promise to show you his skills at some point.

“So, what do you drink? Besides wine, of course.” he asks, leaning his head against his fist.

“You're gonna be disappointed.” you mumble, his smirk making butterflies flutter in your stomach. He raises his eyebrows, assuring you it can't possibly be that bad.

“Go on, tell me.” you take a deep breath.

“Aperol spritz.” the words hang in the air for a second before Matty bursts out laughing. You shoot him a look, and he collects himself before speaking.

“You just ordered wine at 11am, acting all mysterious, and you’re telling me your drink of choice is fucking Aperol Spritz?”

“Oh yeah? Don't act all high and mighty just because you probably drink fucking whiskey or some other “classy” shit.” you spit back, leaning against the leather of the booth.

“Oops, caught me.” he laughs again, childlike giggles escaping his lips.

“Shut up.” you mumble as you finish your third glass of wine, Matty insisting on giving it to you on the house. Giddy and slightly day-drunk, you realize you had been sitting there for nearly four hours.

“Jesus, I better get going.” you see Matty deflate, his shoulders visibly dropping. He gets up, taking your wine glass with him as he stands next to you, looking down.

“You never did tell me your name.” His voice is small, almost timid.

You shrug, giving him a once over before getting up. Even standing up completely straight, he towers over you, the top of your head only reaching his jaw. Craning your neck upwards, you take a small step back.

“I guess i'll just have to tell you next time, won't I?”

The implication makes Matty’s heart skip a beat. His hands wrap around the glass he's holding, gripping it tightly.

“Next time?” he asks. You nod, turning to walk away. Every fiber of his being wants him to call after you, to somehow get you to stay a bit longer. He knew it wasn't possible, and watching you go was almost painful. His eyes followed the sway of your hips until you disappeared from his line of sight.

“‘Till next time.” he mumbles under his breath, turning to the host stand, being met with more guests being sat by Adam. His section was slowly filling up again, and he got to work, taking drink orders and flirting with older women for better tips. The day continued as normal, but one thought just wouldn't leave him alone. The thought of a next time with you.

Next time.

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hour-far-number-husband · 2 days

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#marble hornets #lgbtqa #julius caesar #abbot elementary #jjk #cinema #今田美桜 #abed nadir #original photographers #cnc drugging #luke cage #忍野さら #koe no katachi #matty healy

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imjustlivingthatlifevondutch · 2 days

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#matty healy #the 1975

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graciegoeskrazy · 2 days

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they’re just girls

Matty Healy + Teen!Sister!reader

warnings: sad, fluffy, some language ig??

a/n: HI HERES MATTY THING

The both of you made a point to call each other a few times a week, not wanting the distance between you two get in the way of the brother-sister bond. It was usually after school. It didn’t matter if he was in the same city or on the other side of the world in a completely different time zone. He always made a point to call. You got grounded for two weeks starting yesterday. Something about coming home drunk on prom night. (You couldn’t remember all the details because you were too drunk) You didn’t want to mess with your mother so you let it be. You make sure to fill Matty in on your endeavors that night.

He took a puff from a cig as you spoke. “How come Mum is forbidding me from going to parties meanwhile you and all your friends went out everywhere all the time.”

He let out a smile. “She never let me go anywhere. Me and the lads always snuck out.”

You rolled your eyes. That made much more sense. “When will you come to visit?” You asked, voice pleading.

His smirk of a smile quickly faded. “Hard to say, my love. I’m on tour right now so things are a bit complicated.”

“You can’t even come for my birthday?” Your voice pleaded.

“I don’t think so, love. I’m afraid i’m stuck here.” He felt really bad. He really did. It didn’t matter how old you were, you were the baby of the family. His baby. He felt bad enough missing out on you growing up, practically leaving by the time you could babble. He was determined not to miss out on your life. And he didn’t. Despite the enormous age gap and expectations from others to not be the normal sibling type, he made efforts, and the payed off. “Hey.” He said. You slowly looked back at him. You could tell he was sorry. “I’ll find my way home soon. Just takes time, right?”

You looked outside the window next to your bed again. “Yeah.” His heart ached seeing you like this. It became quiet between you two. You sat still looking out, biting your nails. Until, “I gotta go. I have a test I need to study for.”

He sighed, taking another smoke. “Alright.”

“Bye.” You said, turning back to him showing a smile. One he could clearly see through.

“Goodnight, sissy.” He said.

“Night.”

…

Cut to a few days later. Your friend texts you and says that her sister has 2 extra tickets for a 1975 show in London and asks if you want to go. You were technically still grounded so you knew your mom wouldn’t love the idea of a 4-hour road trip with your friends, even if it was to his son’s concert. You recalled the conversation with your brother from a few nights ago. You have barely spoken since then, other than when he commented on a post you made and when you told him to ‘stfu’ when he posted something stupid on his story. You remembered him telling you that he snuck out, and snuck out often.

You were a good girl. As bold and ruthless as you were, you never spoke back, never got in trouble (until now), and you were a straight A student with a stellar GPA. Besides there were other thing your mother and father should be worrying about other than you sneaking out frot a night.

You thought about it for a few minutes, pondering your decision, before eventually texting back your friend and telling her you were in.

You packed your bag in a rush the next day. packing just an outfit for the concert and another comfy one for the late night ride back. As you walked out the front door, not worrying about your mother because she was still working, the realization hit you. You still hadn't told your brother.

…

Hours later, at the actually barricade, situated in the perfect spot between where you brother and Ross would be, you still didn’t. You pondered how you would do it, teasing your friend that you wouldn't tell him at all and wait for him to come out. But, there were too many people in the crowded area and you didn’t want to take that chance. You opened up his contact and texted him a picture of the blue curtain right in front of you. To no one's surprise, he called you immediately.

“Y/n Healy.” He said, as soon as the Facetime connected.

You payed dumb, your friend letting out a laugh as you spoke. “Yessss?”

“Where to fuck are you?” he said.

You played dumb, in hopes of pissing him off more, “Um…at a concert!”

“Who’s concert?” You could hear the band laughing in the background. Matty must have filled hem in.

You shrugged before looking at the camera. “This shit rock band.”

He rolled his eyes and you could hear George let out a laugh beside him. “Does Mum know you’re here?” Your demeanor changed as you tired your best to hold in giggles. “Y/n!” He said.

“What? I missed you!”

“That does not give you an excuse to lie to our parents and take a spontaneous road trip to my gig!” People around started paying attention to the man on your phone screen, realizing it was the man they had come to see.

You smiled. “Well, nice to see you too!”

“Oh my God.” He said, yet again rolling his eyes.

George took the phone from him, knowing his best friend was getting nowhere. “Hi, munchkin.”

“Hi, George!” You smiled. It had been an even longer while since you’ve seen the band.

“Snuck out, did you?” He asked.

“Maybe?” You said, smiling. Even more people started setting whispers. You didn’t care.

“Hm. You at the barricade?”

“Yep! I’m watching the show tonight whether my brother likes it or not!” You replied, smiling once more.

“Nice! I’ll give you a stick.” He smiled before your brother cut it short.

“Stop incoraging her. Give me the phone-“

He reluctantly handed the phone back. “I’m texting Mum. I’m telling her you’re here.”

“Oh, so when you snuck out and did things it was fine? Dude, It’s a 1975 concert. There are more dangerous places to be.”

“You’re 16. You can’t even drive yet, love!”

“Hey! I have my permit.” You said defending yourself.

“Your permit not a license!”

You thought for a moment then rolled your eyes. “It’s fine.”

He sighed. “I’m texting Mum.” He hung up after that.

…

Mum | Go have fun. Give him a big hug for me, alright?

y/n | I’m sorry for sneaking out and driving several hours and lying to you.

Mum | I knew you left, my love. It’s okay.

Mum| I told him to take care of you tonight and send you off in the morning. Be nice and be careful please🩷

y/n | yes maam.

…

Mum | Take care of my girl or you’re grounded.

Matty | I’m 35 mum

Mum | I mean it.

Matty | Love u too

#ty anon!#the 1975 #x daughter!reader #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy x daughter!reader #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x sister!reader #x sister reader

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