shatter // band !

an   independent,  private   and   also   mutuals   followers   only,   roleplay   blog   for stephen stills   based on sᴄᴏᴛᴛ ᴘɪʟɢʀɪᴍ ᴠs ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ by ʙʀʏᴀɴ ʟᴇᴇ ᴏ'ᴍᴀʟʟᴇʏ

 written by nate      ❪     21   +   he   /   him     ❫.            ᴍɪɴᴏʀs ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ

               crash   isn’t   one   for   talk.   talking   is   left   to   the   others   :   the   ones   who   like   to   talk.   he   often   snuck   right   off   the   stage   ,   out   the   building.

AUTHOR’S   NOTE   :   some   fans   of   crash   and   the   boyz   claim   that   crash   is   a   form   of   cryptid.   some   claim   he   can   teleport   ,   that   ,   maybe   he   only   appears   at   tragedies   (   wait   ,   that’s   mothman   ,   right?   )   ,   or   that   his   eyes   glow   during   performance.   crash   has   yet   to   comment   on   these   claims.

               the   short   singer   quickly   whips   around   to   where   his   name   was   called   ,   dazed   expression   shifting   with   the   furrow   of   his   brow.   “   i   don’t   have   a   second.   ”   he   responds   quickly   ,   although   ,   he   does   seem   to   stop.   eyes   do   a   once   over   to   the   other.   “   thank   you.   ”   a   beat.   “   if   you’re   trying   to   suck   up   to   me   ,   i   don’t   care.   whatever   second   i   didn’t   have   just   got   wasted   talking   to   you.   ”   despite   the   content   of   his   words   ,   they   weren’t   said   with   any   maliciousness.   it   was   simple   fact   :   a   blunt   expression   of   his   honesty.                “   but   —   thank   you.   ”

There was little Stephen Stills knew about Crash Wilson. There was very little that anyone knew about Crash Wilson. He and his band were an enigma amongst the scene.

 AUTHOR’S NOTE: this might have been an exaggeration, considering the existence of an ACTUAL enigma on the scene. They called themselves WQOIDHWF!!!!!!![DISTORTED SCREAMS] and if you listen to them for too long you may or may not be transported into subspace permanently. ( WQQIDHWF!!!!!!!!![DISTORTED SCREAMS PLEASE JUST GIVE ME BACK MY SON!!!!] are yet to comment on these claims. )

Either way, Crash was kind of an aloof guy. He was cool, and his music wasn’t half bad. I mean, they had to be good for Joseph to be into them- Joseph wasn’t really into anything. Stephen smiled as the shorter man decided to stop, feeling a sort of shiver run cold down his neck as his eyes settle on the talent’s form. 

It was like he was looking into his soul, pulling him inside out and then back around again. Is it weird that he kind of liked it?**

A huff of a smile is stretched out behind the rim of his beer bottle and drowns his smile in its contents. ACT COOL, STILLS. YOU GOT THIS.

“Hey, no problem. Seriously, great set man. I just wanted to talk to you about your distortion pedal, what kit are you using? Great sound, ey.” There’s a beat of silence he feels the unbeatable urge to break. “My uh , my buddy Joseph’s a really big fan of you guys. He runs this music blog.” The silence is held again, Stephen drinks. The next few panels repeat, that same dazed expression from Crash unwavering as Stephen feels himself begin to sweat.

“When’s your guys’ next show?”

AUTHOR’S NOTE**: Yes, it is !

LEVEL  ONE,   EASY  MODE   :       completely  embarrass  yourself  in  front  of  stephen  stills      [       REWARDS   :       the  pink  -  and  -  red  splotchy  blush  working  its  way  over  his  cheeks,    the  grumble  of  shut  up  falling  from  his  lips        ].      OBSTACLES  AND  ENEMIES   :       scott’s  greatest  enemy  has  always  been  his  own  mouth,    which  operates  on  a  mile  -  a  -  minute  policy.      young  pilgrim,     take  this  gift  of      [      ONE  HEALING  POTION,   WHICH  TASTES  LIKE  VEGAN  SCRAMBLED  EGGS      ]      and  survive  your  mild  concussion  and  your  terrible  attempts  to  kind  of  flirt  with  stephen  stills.

LEVEL  TWO,   HARD  MODE   :       scott  was  getting  a  little  cocky  in  his  ability  to  navigate  conversations.       OBJECTIVE   :      try  to  pay  attention  to  stephen  cooking  without  asking  a  million  questions.       ENEMIES   :       once  again,    the  only  enemy  scott  has  ever  needed  is  himself,     because  he  lasts  exactly  two  minutes  in  focus  mode  before  his  eyes  begin  to  drift  around  the  kitchen.

VERDICT   :      LEVEL  ONE,    A  MILD  SUCCESS.      LEVEL  TWO,    A  HARD  FAILRE.       you  will  not  be  progressing  past  this  level.

DIALOGUE  OPTIONS   :

>        WHAT  WERE  YOU  MAKING  AGAIN?      [      vegan  scrambled  eggs,   goddamit  scott,     you’ve  been  told  this  twice!       you  can  see  stephen  in  front  of  you,    making  the  food!      put  two  and  two  together!      ]. >        HEY,   STEPHEN,   YOU  KNOW  WHAT  ELSE  YOU’D  LOOK  HOT  IN?       [        scott  doesn’t  have  the  confidence  needed  to  flirt  with  stephen  so  openly      …      all  attempts  to  score  a  hot  chief  are  totally  accidental  and  do  not  represent  real  world  conversation        ]. >        VEGAN  EGGS  SOUNDS  TERRIBLE      …      WHAT  KIND  OF  CHICKEN  EVEN  LAYS  TOFU?      YOU  COULD  MAKE  IT  TASTE  NICE,   THOUGH,    PROBABLY.     OR  MAYBE  NOT.    WE’LL  SEE.       [       third  option,   selected!        ].

scott  swings  his  legs  back  and  forth,   letting  his  gaze  finally  settle  on  stephen.      he  was  still  sporting  the  leftovers  of  a  blush,     but  that  could  easily  be  from  the  heat  pooling  from  the  food.     it  smelled  good!      but  scott  could  eat  just  about  anything,   so   maaaaaybe  he  wasn’t  the  best  judge  of  the  culinary  arts      (       this,   however,   does  bode  well  for  stephen,    who  is  about  to  have  his  food  duly  appreciated      ).        ‘   wallace  called  him   the  hot  guy  with  a  beard.      i  think  it  might  be  a  title.     like  duke  or  asshole.       i  hate  him.   ’

STEP THREE!

Add the crumbled tofu to the onion/garlic mixture and sauté for an additional 2-3 minutes, until the tofu has cooked all the way through and any excess water has cooked out.

The pan sizzled before him, the tofu gently heating together with the additional spices. If he was feeling any fancier ( and a lot less hungover ) he might have thrown some veggies into the mix. Stephen only ever bothered to cook like this for other people. He wasn’t a bad chef by any standards, hell it’s why he’d made it to head chef over at the Happy Avocado. (The only chef on shift, but still PROMOTION! LEVEL UP! Acquired: Parmesan, Avocado,  +1 to stress, +2x to sense of purpose in a cruel and unforgiving world! )

But he was lazy, and very much a creature of habit. He wasn’t even vegan, he ate eggs.  But he liked to be inclusive. Scott would eat anything anyway.  It started to smell good, Stephen poking and prodding the mixture together as it heats, rather than let it burn.

A snort of laughter, amusement catching the sleepy many by surprise, escapes as he steps past Scott. He reaches over him to open the cupboard to his left, pulling out two plates. A title? Where did Scott come up with this stuff? Fond smile found its place comfortably on his lips before he spoke again. 

“You hate him..? I don’t think it’s a title, man. You don’t know his name? How’ve you got any reason to hate him?”  

Stephen, was that really a surprise? Be lucky he even remembered your name. He certainly didn’t remember the names of their own songs. Though Stephen would be first to admit that Scott’s creative reimagining of some of their titles weren’t half bad. SECRET UNLOCKED! : Sometimes Stephen might even just agree to change the name of the song, if it’s any better. Source- SEE: ‘RABBID RABBIT RUN-DOWN’’

STEP FOUR!

Plate up the scrambled tofu and enjoy!

Stephen loaded it up onto the plates, a little more tipped out for the other (Stephen’s stomach wasn’t sure he could handle too much this early) and put the plates down on the kitchen table. He took off his hate, wiping his brow. “Bon Appétit mon amie.” Keister planted in his own chair, he forks his first into his mouth and sighs a little. God, he was good.

   (   ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED :   💚 — STEPHEN STILLS.   )     the snort that follows from behind his paper is near - silent,  but wallace can’t fight the smug grin that spreads across his face.   pressing into the margins,  a thought bubble :   {   WALLACE WELLS PRO - TIP:   flattery.   it’ll get you everywhere!   }     though wallace watches all of stephen’s exploits play out before him  —  relationship meter probably  LEVELING - UP  as he speaks  —  at the very least,  there’s no condescension in his gaze.   nothing but amusement,  really.   maybe even fondness.   was that too much?

   far more a people - person than most of his friends   …   well.   than most of the friends kept in scott’s company  —  meaning wallace’s company  —  it isn’t difficult for wallace to pick up on the way his simple compliment left the guitarist flustered.

           + 1 self - esteem!   + 1 ego - boost!   + 1 friendship!

   (   plus one friendship,  RIGHT?   )

   ‘ yeah,  i feel like i would’ve remembered if i’d heard it before.    it’s a good one. ’     he’s not one to lie  —  at least,  not without a really good reason to.   scott needing to escape from their apartment,   envy calling to speak to either of them,   stacey asking where he got his latest gossip from   —   and he has no real reason to now.   HUH.   maybe sex bob - omb was beginning to grown on him after all.     (   he’ll place that on scott’s constant influence on his life.   better than admitting he’s going a little soft.   booooo.   )   *

   they settle back into silence,  what wallace feels,  for a moment,  is comfortable.   WRONG.   there’s some kind of tension in the room  —  only made worse by the muffled shower behind the door.   was there a mute button somewhere that wallace could press?   there sound of newspaper crinkling as wallace turns the page is,  at first,  the only other sound to combat water running.   it’s nice.   very   …   ASMR.  

   stephen’s question grabs his attention,   eyebrow quirked behind recycled,  ink - splattered pages.   though he’s barely visible yet,  he shakes his head pointedly in response.

   ‘ we don’t use her name here, ’     no,  scott’s not even in the room to hear it,  but some kind of loyalty to him still provokes the quick - fire response.   he softens quick enough,  though, before he thumbs back through the pages.     ‘ uh   …   let’s see.   something about horses   …   advice column   …   hockey updates   …   uhhh   …   here she is. ’     a page is pulled from the center of the paper,  folded over neatly,  before he stretches his arm out to stephen.     ‘ haven’t read it yet.   almost forgot she was back in town. ’

*   for those trying to keep up at home  :   wallace absolutely is going soft.

Skin flared up like a bad rash, bright and obnoxious in its pink splendour across the guitarist’s face. Washing the canvas with precise stroke, the dark-haired man might not have been a musician, but he was certainly an talented with his words, (with his tongue?). NOPE. Let’s not go there. He continues to pick at the thread on his jeans. The tattered pair was both a choice of style and affordability.

JULIE POWERS TRIVIA NO. 34, She had thought that those boot-cuts had been cute in college, but after a while they got pretty tiring pretty quickly.Just like the man who wore them!   Why couldn’t he wear something nicer?  

Nose wrinkles, a sigh puffing out at the thought of her. Of course, it wasn’t easy at all to shake your ex this close to the break-up. And it’d probably be only a matter of time before she’s cradled up in his arms again. PERISH THE THOUGHT.  

The air is heavy on his shoulder’s those elephant’s hoofs plush and bright and obnoxiously… fruity? The fragrant mixture of whatever suds Scott was using and the blissful aroma of repression was invasive to the nostrils, leaving Stephen to wipe his nose with the back of his shirt sleeve. Charming. It was harder to breathe, question lingering on his tongue- better to distract himself with the now than thoughts of the future. Stephen stills was a rational man* , but the smallest sliver of fear crept over him that Wallace too could see this beast with a rainbow back.

 “Right. Yeah, sorry.” DON’T SAY HER NAME. The sound of crumpled paper settles him, apologetic smile held lips stretched tight. His stews in his own embarrassment a little more until her eyes meet with his own, albeit through medium of paper and ink. She sure had made it. Stephen was a little bitter, a lot more proud of how far she had made it. At least one of them had. “Yeah… I mean, it’s been pretty big in the news. Homecoming show. People are pretty psyched. Are you gonna go to the show? I’m on the fence about it.” There we go, normal conversation. Hooves be damned. Do elephants have hooves?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Rationality-the quality of being based on or in accordance with reason or logic. Stephen Stills’ rationality is only of any merit when compared to that of his bassist. Otherwise, NAH.

MIDDLE  PAGE   :        this  deserves  a  full  spread,   one  panel  drawn  with  silky  ink  and  comic  book  silence       [      AUTHOR’S  NOTE   :      make  sure  scott  has  no  stray  speech  bubbles  hanging  beside  his  head        ].     he  pulls  himself  up  on  the  counter,   laying  his  cheek  against  the  cool  side  of  the  cabinet  as  stephen  begins  to  collect  ingredients.      the  air  is  cool  and  light,   scott  sleepily  blinking  the  world  away  to  focus.      

QUESTION  TIME   :      is  it  appropriate  to  tell  your  cool  male  friend,   in  a  totally  no  homo  way,   that  he  looks  good  in  his  chef’s  hat?

A.       AS  LONG  AS  YOU  MAKE  SURE  TO  SPECIFY  IT’S  TOTALLY  NO  HOMO. B.        AS  LONG  AS  YOU        …       SCOTT,    WHAT  ARE  YOU  DOING?      SCOTT?      SCOTT!?

‘   you  look  so  hoooo      …       you  look  respectable  in  your  chef’s  hat.     and  hot!   ’        the  author  of  this  particular  edition  would  like  to  have  this  moment  striked  from  any  further  reprints   :      do  not  let  the  people  know  that  scott  pilgrim  has  embarrassed  himself  yet  again       (        even  now,   he’s  trying  to  erase  this  particular  panel  from  existence      ).      OH,   NO!      the  eraser  is  tinted  red  and  just  making  everything  worse,   spilling  blushes  across  scott’s  cheeks  and  shoulders.        he  bonks  his  head  against  the  cupboard  just  to  form  a  distraction,   the  resulting  whimper  from  him  truly  pathetic.        ‘   i  mean,    it’s  a  nice  hat  and  you  wear  it  in  a  nice  way.       i  think  it’s  the  beard  that  makes  you        …        hey,   did  you  know  that  wallace’s  latest  boyfriend  has  a  beard?        DID  YOU  SEE  HOW  HARD  I  HIT  MY  HEAD?       …     it’s  just,   in  the  grand  scheme  of  things,   you’re  an  attractive  guy.       what  if  i  have  a  concussion?   ’   

C.        IT’S  NEVER  AN  APPROPRIATE  TIME  TO  TELL  YOUR  COOL  MALE  FRIEND  THAT  HE  LOOKS  GOOD  IN  HIS  CHEF’S  HAT.

bottom  lip  worried  red  and  raw  between  his  teeth,   scott  tries  to  hurry  through  the  proceeding  pages   :       let’s  go  through  five  to  eight!       WAIT,   THAT’S  A  RAMONA  SCENE,    GO  BACK,   GO  BACK.       ‘   whatcha  making,   chef?   ’

HEY KIDS! NOW YOU CAN COOK ALONG AT HOME AND IMPRESS YOUR VEGAN FRIENDS AND RELATIVES! Caution: If you’re under 22, ask a grown-up to help out !

NEW PAGE : In a large panel that takes up half the page, the scene is laid out with an assortment of alternative ingredients peppered alongside the young man atop the counter. Stephen yawns still, bleary bubbles breaking their way through the clean and brisk morning light that streams through the kitchen window. 

                 So, here’s what you’re gonna need !

1) One white onion, chopped 2) Garlic, always more cloves than you think you’re gonna need 3) Extra-firm tofu    (avoid the silken, refrigerated kind!) 4) Nutritional Yeast* 5) Lemon 6) Black Pepper 7) Olive Oil

 *: It’s that yellow powdery stuff. Don’t ask us what it’s made of, we don’t know either!

As compliment arises, tumbling and messy from the lips of the other, Stephen’s face explodes into wonderful shades of pinks and reds. The rosey faced man is practically burning with embarrassment, unsure at all how to take it. He understood what Scott was supposed to mean, if only a little, suddenly feeling incredibly silly in such professional attire. “Shut up.” The words aren’t mean or spiteful, but rounded soft in their type-face as he retrieves the knife from the kitchen drawer and prepares the onion for decimation.

 A deflection of his own bashfulness, he’s almost was grateful for the man’s insistence on digging his own grave; shovel dug deep into earth in syncopated motion with each CHOP down of Stephen’s blade. It gave Stephen time to cool off, just a little.

STEP ONE!

Dice your onions and garlic. Then, heat a small amount of olive oil in a pan over a medium heat. Add the onions and garlic and sauté for 2-3 minutes until the onions are translucent and fragrant. Try not to get distracted and burn then, stupid!

Scott continues to dig deeper, yet still finds the time to hurtle further compliments about the chef’s appearance from over the cover of his self-made trench. His shoulders are a little stiff as he cuts, dumping the ingredients clumsily into the pan as cheeks glow bright. “Your head is fine...” 

Of course, he couldn’t be sure of that- ( Dammit, Jim ! The apron says HEAD CHEF, not CHEIF OF MEDICINE.)** and eyes flicker over to the other with a smile that all together was amused, concerned, and bashful. The onions were starting to smell good.

STEP TWO!

While the onions are cooking, prepare the tofu by draining it first and then crumbling it between your fingers. Once you have a scrambled egg-like consistency, add the nutritional yeast, lemon juice, and any spices. Mix them together until the flavours are well blended into the tofu!

“I already told you.. doing vegan scrambled egg. That alright?” He half grumbles with the relentless patience of a saint as hands do their work. “So... Wallace has a new boyfriend? D’you know his name?” It wasn’t exactly as if Stephen was actually interested, but at least it would lead the conversation into a topic not about the guitarist’s face. Especially when one  far more attractive was the one coming out with such nonsense. How frustratingly adorable Scott could be.

**AUTHOR’S NOTE: We understand that ‘Dammit, Jim! I’m a chef, not a doctor!’ might have been a better, alternative, term-of-phrase. But Stephen Stills has never seen Star Trek. I mean, who has? Wait, you have? Pfft. NERD.

" ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ, ᴅᴜᴅᴇ. You're the expert here, right? I don't care what we do. As long as don't look stupid. We won't --- look stupid right? ---------------We're gonna look stupid, aren't we?" ɢᴏᴅ, ᴡʜʏ !?

"ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ, ɪғ ᴛʜᴇ sᴏʟᴜᴛɪᴏɴ ɪs ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀʟᴄᴏʜᴏʟ... ᴛʜᴇɴ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪᴛ's ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴏғ ᴀ sᴏʟᴜᴛɪᴏɴ."

   “ ʜᴇʏ --- Crash? Crash, man. You got a sec?       Jus’ wanna catch you real quick.  Won’t take a second, promise.”

Stephen had showed up to the bar on bequest of Joseph; had hadn’t been here on ‘band-duty’ at all. But what would luck have it that the band that was playing tonight was Crash’s. Now he came to think of it, Joseph had been gushing in his ever-so-minute manner just how much he loved this band’s minimalistic take on the genre. Minimalistic was putting it lightly. But his bearded friend was certainly one for pretentiousness. He’d slipped to the bathroom as he’d seen the familiar musician slip past--- now was good a time as any to catch his ear, right?

             “Great show by the way. Really knocked it out                 with the last one there.”

   a common misconception about extroverts is that they must always be in the presence of a crowd  —  they need conversation every minute possible.   EXTROVERTS NEED TO RECHARGE AS WELL.   and though he loves scott   …     (   really,  he does!   )   sometimes it’s nice to get a minute to himself.   to read his paper,  check his texts,  watch television,  without the need to engage in a full - blown,  incredibly involved conversation.     (   and wallace never could say no to scott.   his greatest weakness.   )     he thinks,  with scott off - screen,  he might have a moment to himself,  finally   —   or not.

   AN ITEMIZED LIST!    cute.   it’s as distracting as the way scott sings in the shower  —  and tries to play it off.   he can see the speech bubble poking into the panel,  pilgrim  —  wallace is curious   …   but it’s not something he’s meant to see.    TROPHY LOCKED.    shame.     (   WHAT was going on in stephen’s mind?   )     musician types always did confuse him. 

   oh.   he’s talking to him.   so much for wallace time.   newspaper is lowered slightly,  large brown eyes the only part of his face exposed,  peering over at the man on  —  HIS  —  bed.     (   NOTE :   no.   no joke here  —  those are saved EXCLUSIVELY to fluster the bassist in the bathroom.   don’t get your hopes up,  reader.   )     ‘ the last one? ’     wallace pauses a moment.   even if he was drunk for half of it,  he still paid attention.   BELIEVE IT OR NOT,  he cares!

   wallace is often blunt,  yes,  but he’s still got tact.   he can’t stand  sex bob - omb  ;   they’re not that good.   but he’s mastered the art of criticism.   START WITH A COMPLIMENT :     ‘ really liked the third thing you guys played.   gasoline eyes,  right?   was that a new one?   i don’t remember hearing that one before. ’     well.   he didn’t really like it,   but he didn’t really hate it,  and really  —  that in itself should be a compliment. *

*   NOTE.     it’s not.

He SHOOTS, he --- he --- !! MISSES.          Press X to Try AGAIN, ( loser ! )

Though Wallace’s tone is civil enough, Stephen’s pretty sure his friend’s roommate must have already answered all these questions from Scott. And if Scott was anything like he was with everyone else as he was Wallace, then he’d probably already asked him many times. Digits find a single strand, a white worm of thread sticking it’s angry little head out on the cuff off his jeans. The guitarist decides to tug a little, coaxing the little creature’s body just to grow as he’s listening to the dark haired man speak.          really liked the third thing----

+1 self esteem !! :)

The ego’s capsules had been running low of late. With everything going on with the band, with the album, with Julie, with Joseph.  Those tiny little containers had been very fragile, and dangerously empty. But as cheeks flushed pink under the grizzle of auburn beard, a little green heart sparks its way above his head. He grasps for it quickly, feverish hands bashful as it glows it’s little jade hue across the space of the shoebox of a room. How EMBARRASSING.  It had been so long since Stephen had been complimented that he’d quite forgotten what the whole procedure was meant to be. With a cough, as if that would cover up the awkwardness of it all, he smuggles the offending item into his jacket pocket, bashful smile forcing eyes closed tight.

-1 self respect !! :(

“Oh! Uhh.. Gasoline Eyes! Yeah, that’s a new one.” Stephen manages to get his words out, but leaves a pit of emptiness in their wake. 

And now it’s quiet again.  And he looks back at his trousers.

The sound of the shower continues it’s dreary and painfully long soundtrack, accompanied by what sounds like the gargled humming or singing of Scott, with its broken melody intruding into the panel .

A glance back to Wallace and he’s reading the newspaper again. Why was it so uncomfortable here? Surprisingly it wasn’t the fact he was sat on Wallace and Scott’s bed-- god knows what had happened in this or on this mattress.  ( Nope !! Not something he wants to flashback to.)  Was it Stephen? Was it Wallace? Why? Wallace had never made him uncomfortable before. He didn’t now. Did he?

Another glance back over. Say something else. Stephen tries to whistle, but he manages two notes before he feels Wallace’s eyes back on him. He meets the look with another smile.

“Anything.... good in the paper?                 Oh-- anything about Envy’s solo thing?”

SCOTT  PILGRIM,   23  -  ISH,   DEFINITELY  DOESN’T  LIVE  HERE. WANTS:   TO  CHILL  WITH  STEPHEN  STILLS. FUN FACT:   HIS  MOUTH  NOW  TOTALLY  TASTES  OF  CHOCOLATE.

FIRST  PANEL   :       scott’s  open  mouth  and  a  piece  of  chocolate  fizzing  away  on  his  tongue,   lapping  the  taste  from  his  fingers.     SECOND  PANEL   :      his  feet  tapping  away  a  half  -  beat  against  the  sofa      [      the  punchline  is  in  the  guttering,   nestled  just  outside  of  stephen’s  sleepy  yawns        …       this  is  the  first  time  scott  has  ever  been  early  to  practice!        ].       on  -  time?      sure,   maybe  there  had  been  a  handful  of  occasions  where  scott  had  shown  up  when  he  was  meant  to,   entirely  by  accident       …       but  early  was  a total  no  -  go.      especially  when  all  the  clocks  seemed  unable  to  tick  forward,   thanks  to  someone’s  lazy  pen*.

*      THE  AUTHOR  WILL  NOT  BE  HELD  ACCOUNTABLE  FOR  ANY  OF  SCOTT  PILGRIM’S  BEHAVIOUR,   ESPECIALLY  HIS  TARDINESS.

‘   maybe  young  neil  was  busy  getting  biiiizay.       gross.     never  let  me  think  those  thoughts  again,   stills   :      it’s  worse  than  imagining  why  wallace’s  mattress  is  a  little  wet  sometimes.      DOUBLE  GROSS!       stop  letting  me  imagine  these  things.   ’      scott  stretches  out  into  the  next  frame,   abandoning  his  socked  feet  to  stephen’s  lap  as  he  settles      (        AUTHOR’S  NOTE   :      this  scene  is  cozy  and  soft,   a  full  panel  dedicated  to  the  both  of  them  in  various  states  of  relaxation      ).        ‘   you  should  probably  ask  her  what  she’s  up  to.     the  ladies  love  when  you  ask  them  questions.      appropriate  questions.   ’        his  feet  tap  a  beat  against  stephen’s  thigh,   body  jumping  forward  at  the  mention  of  food.      NEW  OBJECTIVE   :       eat  stephen  out  of  house  and  home.      ‘   you  should  totally  give  me  cooking  lessons!   ’

The mind recoils in horror at the thought. He didn’t know what disturbed him more; the thought of sweet, innocent Neil doing the the no pants dance, or the idea of who it might be with, (Who was Young Neil seeing again? Was it still Knives? Sandra? Did it matter? ) or Scott’s rather colourful phrasing of such matters. Both men seem to be equally grossed out by the machinations of their own minds, Stephen taking the lead for both of them and pries one hand free from the couch to bat away any remaining cotton cloud of thought that hung above their head.                      Be gone, gross thoughts!

Wow, Stephen. When did you get so childish? Thinking about the horizontal hula got you all flustered?    Shut up. The four-legged fox trot? Testing the suspension?                            You’re making these up.

BONUS ROUND:  Now you too can play along and invade Stephen’s privacy at home, folks! Can you guess how long it’s been since Stephen Stills has played ‘ hide the canoli?’ Is it.... A: 2 weeks B: 2 months C: 367 days

( The answer may shock you! ) See answer key at the bottom of this post !

A somewhat comfortable smile sits on Stephen’s lips at how comfortingly non-sensical, and somewhat predictable Scott could be at times. Ladies love it when you ask them questions. Like Scott Pilgrim was the expert when it came to anything. Well, that was a bit mean. He did have a talent for tardiness. And his garlic bread wasn’t half bad. He lets out a half grunt, half sigh (grigh? sunt? ew.) and untangles limbs from Scott’s, stretching them out like a lion in the sun. It was still too early for this, but it looked like they had somewhat of a shared objective. NEW OBJECTIVE: MAKE FOOD.

“You really need lessons, Scott? You’re not half a bad chef yourself when you focus on what you’re doing.” He allows him the compliment, pulling weary body from the plush of the couch ( I’ll be back later for you my love~!) and drags his corpse to the kitchen.

PLAYER 2 --> CUSTOMISATION --> CLOTHING --> MISC OUTFITS  --> CHEF STEPHEN +2 spice +3 kissability! -1 respect

“Well... let’s start with the ingredients.”

@vswrld​

OPENING  TITLE   :        SCOTT  PILGRIM  VS  TERRIBLE  TIME  MANAGEMENT.        the  basic  plot  -  line  of  a  young  adult  trying  to  navigate  his  way  for  a  world  intent  on  killing  him  culminates  in  scott  throwing  himself  down  on  the  couch        (       he  moves  with  the  sloppy  presence  of  someone  who  owns  nothing,   so  takes  everything*        ).        his  lanky  limbs  spread  happily  over  the  place,   taking  up  space  like  he  could  expand  into  it.        ‘   uh,   yeah,   yeah,   dude.       i  totally  remember.         what  out  of  town  thing?        parents  or  friends  or?   ’         scott  side  -  eyes  across  the  panel  to  gauge  how  much  stephen  believes  him        [       A  STERN  ZERO!       ].         screw  it.        he  reaches  across  the  sofa  and  tangles  his  fingers  around  the  chocolate,   darting  away  just  in  term  for  stephen  to  flop  down.

*        AUTHOR’S  ADDENDUM   :        everything  here  refers  to  the  couch  and  the  leftover  chocolate  on  the  side,   which  is  looking  preeeeetty  good  to  a  hungry  scott        (        when  isn’t  he  a  hungry  scott?         ).

‘   hey,   you  kind  of  look  like  a  grizzly  bear  in  the  morning.        oooooor  like  a  zombie  version  of  a  grizzly  bear.        like  out  of  care  bears.   ’       wrong,   scott!       there  are  no  zombies  in  the  care  bears.        his  feet  stretch  out,   nudging  against  stephen’s  thigh,   fingers  extending  with  his  next  breath.        ‘   you  want  a  piece?   ’

A page maps out the empty abode. Usually bustling with activity, the roar of terrible music ( they suck ! ), shared laughter, video console’s eclectic sound. It was barren, and bare in the fresh morning’s light.

“Neil didn’t come home from last night either so—“  

He didn’t know what he meant by his own remark. Maybe it had been a subtle attempt to suggest Scott leave him be, just subtle enough to let it fly right over the candy-munching Canadian’s head. Good. Stephen didn’t exactly mind the company right now. The less he had to think about his own sorry situation, the better.

It was dazzlingly clear he had been alone anyway, apartment looking almost bare without the usual company. Drum-kit untouched, would remain untouched in Kim’s absence. No matter how tempting a little 𝕡𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣-𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣 could be.                  

𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚝𝚝.   𝙺𝚒𝚖 𝙿.

A warning in the shape of bright orange post-it clung   angrily to the drum’s face.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ’s ɴᴏᴛᴇ: Or maybe it was green. Or blue? Find out for yourself in the hard-back  edition coming this Fall!  Let your curiosity be satiated in The Thankless Adventures of Stephen Stills. In Scratch-n’-Sniff!                                       Gross!

He blinked, bleary eyed as he stifles minty yawn. Another glance up at the clock sitting in front of him. A show-down as foggy hues do their best to decipher its message. Its hands seemed to mock; having not moved at all in the last few minutes of Scott’s company.  ( What lazy penmanship. )

It was far too early for this, whatever time it was. He rubbed his palms over his eyes, sinking further into the couch as arm rest upon arm-rest. A glance at Scott, and another wide yawn.

“Parents—- I think, I don’t know. She didn’t tell me, I didn’t ask.” He attempts to explain, finding the urge to close his heavy lids all the more tempting as words stumble their way out sleepily, bumpy scrawl exhibited as he exhales.

“Hm…? What? —-Shut up.”  Brows furrow to create the classic Stephen Stills frown of utter embarrassment.  See how his cheeks bristle red under that beard?

sᴛᴇᴘʜᴇɴ sᴛɪʟʟs; 𝟸𝟸, ʟɪᴠᴇs ʜᴇʀᴇ. ᴡᴀɴᴛs: sᴏᴍᴇ ᴅᴀᴍɴ sʟᴇᴇᴘ, ᴅᴀᴍɴ ɪᴛ. ғᴜɴ ғᴀᴄᴛ: ᴀᴅᴏʀᴀʙʟᴇ!

Almost out of instinct, frown burns into sleepy smile at the point of correction. “There’s no such thing as zombies in care bears.”  But the idea of it is humorous enough to inspire softness on grizzled features. He looks… happy, but unimpressed at the offer of extended chocolate.

“Where did you even——- y’know what? Never mind. I just brushed my teeth,”

He didn’t want to know. Though the idea of food doesn’t seem too bad an idea right now. Was it time for Head Chef Stephen stills to make a cameo?

He tilts his head to the side, cozy in the other’s company. “You hungry, dude?” What a stupid question, “Had breakfast yet? I got some uh… stuff in the fridge to make vegan scrambled eggs?”

He’s playing with the cuffs on his jeans. Digits fidgeting with the fabric in the boredom held in waiting. An unfamiliar scene he finds himself in. Here, riding opposite ends of the panel, sᴛᴇᴘʜᴇɴ sᴛɪʟʟs, 𝟸𝟸, sᴛᴀᴛᴜs: ᴏɴ ʜᴏʟᴅ              and ᴡᴀʟʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴡᴇʟʟs, ??, sᴛᴀᴛᴜs: ʟɪᴠᴇs ʜᴇʀᴇ.

There’s nothing awkward about it, but the air still feels rather strange. Stephen’s perched on the mattress on the floor, listening to to rushing of water as Scott showers. Taking his time again. Forever uncaring that other people had places to be, things to do. No, it wasn’t apathy in Scott’s case- there wasn’t enough space in that brain of his to let apathy roll around in there. It was sheer ignorance. Sweet, sweet, (and… vanilla scented?) ignorance.

What was he even doing in there?

A glance over to the man reading the morning paper from his armchair, a glance back down to his jeans. Wallace had been in Stephen’s life, an extension of his roommate, for longer than he’d care admit— knowing he still knew very little about the other.

ᴏᴋ, ʟᴇᴛs’ ᴛʀʏ ɪᴛ ɴᴏᴡ !! ᴀ ʟɪsᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴛᴇᴘʜᴇɴ ᴋɴᴇᴡ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴡᴀʟʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴡᴇʟʟs.

1. He was Scott’s roommate. 2. He was gay. 3. He comes to the shows (sometimes ) and gets too drunk (all the time). 4. He’s a margarita guy. (fruity) Oh! They met in college. (??) 5.Wallace was there in college.

Right? Yeah. Maybe?

What an embarrassing list. Who were you, uninformed soul— Scott Pilgrim?

He clears his throat a little, deciding to distill the air a bit.

‘   hey,  wasn’t  band  practice  today?   ’        OPENING  PANEL   :        scott  pilgrim  vs  the  inky  question  mark  that  hovered  above  his  head        (        his  bass  is  slung  haphazardly  across  his  body  as  he  invades  their  practice  space,   scuffs  his  shoes  against  the  floor  as  he  drags  his  feet  inside        ).        he’s  blurry  -  eyed  with  the  faint  promise  of  sleep,   a  yawn  caught  between  his  lips  as  he  looks  around   :       scott  and  stephen!       no  kim  pine  glaring  at  him  from  the  drums,   no  young  neil  fawning  over  the  band  with  soft  eyes?        WEIRD  START  TO  THE  DAY        [        new  objective   :        huh?        ].        @thetalxnt​

                      “  ᴡʜᴀᴛ? ᴅᴜᴅᴇ ------ ɴᴏ.  .”

there he came, bustling in through the door like he did through life. scott pilgrim. heaven rest his soul ---- may the man never change. ( he won’t! ) tooth brush dangling from fuzzy lips, the grizzly man looked less cuddly toy and more     ᴢᴏᴍʙɪᴇ      in the morning’s freezing hue.    he squinted in the sight of the lanky intruder through tired eyes,    lyricist unable to find further words through minty fresh frown. 

 clearly there had been a miscommunication somewhere down the line.

 ɴᴏ, ɴᴏ --- ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ɴᴏᴡ, sᴛɪʟʟs   here you are forever carving excuses.                                                            ʜᴇ'ʟʟ ʟᴇᴀʀɴ                                        no he won’t. ɪᴛ's sᴄᴏᴛᴛ.                                           look, man. i’m too tired for this.

a glance over to the clock hanging on the wall. he was dreaming this, right? hand finds the brush’s handle, a noisy hot pink, and gives a few 𝕤𝕙𝕦𝕜𝕒-𝕤𝕙𝕦𝕜𝕒’𝕤 against gums for good measure before retreating back into the bathroom to just unpack this.         spit, rinse.      ( floss will have to wait )

maybe if he just hides in here for a bit, scott will get bored and leave. ----- serious contemplation for just the briefest of seconds. he shakes his head. no, no.  it was just a misunderstanding. at the worst of times.  the fallout of nagging barks hounding his head, the  wonderful catastrophe of julie powers ; stephen stills vs. the $15 wine thrust into his face.

he surrenders, burying hands into pajama pants pockets ( it had pockets! ) as he flops his keister onto the couch. scott might as well stay, if he’s here.

“ remember ---? kim has that thing outta town so we’re not having it     today.      i told you like ғɪᴠᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇs.”