lubethesystem
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Fandoms
- Music RPF (4)
- Alice in Chains (4)
- Rock Music RPF (1)
- Beavis and Butt-head (1)
- Punk Rock RPF (1)
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Summary
It clicked in a sudden bullet hole, then. Exactly what he wanted, who he wanted. In a merciless attempt at regaining control over fixation, he attempted to juxtapose that, too. All to avails that rendered him feeble. He couldn't command that hunger. The way that the thoughts seemed to manifest in sparse layers of melodic chimes, rather than the cocksure sporadic nothingness he'd internalized his own beliefs to be, that was a natural settlement.
He almost swore that he'd spoken aloud, right through the fog that was currently the strain within—said something of name, of note—even in its futile nature regarding the current asphyxiated circumstance. There was a fervency in the fact that he could not simply shake the behavior out of that echoing chamber, dissolving by the minute as both the fallout and sleaziness approached his subconscious by a superfluous degree. It sat, festered, lingering in raw heat; because he knew. He couldn't avoid, couldn't change, or shift, or shake it out, like intrinsic hell, the bell toiled, he fucking knew.
or; layne finds himself irrevocably high and lonely. he dwells. he yearns. its all too much to bear.
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don't you wanna be nobody every once in a while? by lubethesystem
Fandoms: Alice in Chains, Music RPF
19 Apr 2026
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Summary
Layne hummed, turning his head more fully to actually look at the skyline. It took multiple seconds until Jerry eventually chose to mirror the action and view the vast emptiness by looking directly forwardbound. “It’d be clear enough to find something,” Layne then chose to note, “Did you have one in mind?” Which, technically, Jerry had skimmed one tiny segment about a more memorable constellation.
He’d never found the connection and alignment of stars to be too interesting. Sure, he believed in fate, in the most extreme circumstances, but the spiritual aspect of nature was always more likely to be observed and presented by someone like Mike or Layne, rather than himself. He’d never been attuned to the peculiar in such a divine sense. Yet, he remembered one connection solely because of the entitled ‘character’ that the image was supposed to depict—
“Oh. Yeah.” Jerry affirmed, his statements staccato and brief, “The herdsman.”
or; layne and jerry go stargazing. shenanigans ensue.
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Summary
For someone who never asked for anything, it seemed that the very confines of existence would be the only sliver-plattered endowment that he'd take with an uninhibited twinkle in his eyes.
Layne would sit for those grueling hours of covert frustration, of snapping strings and squealing frets, right next to Jerry. He’d divinely split the barrier of sound and purgatory into a dueling partition, if he were capable of doing so. Anything to emanate his care into something that Jerry would immediately grin at; maybe a small gasp, or a hitching of his breath, where he’d awe with starry eyes, say something stupid...
But, alas, Layne didn’t behold the very secrets of the mellifluous barriers founded by the unnatural formation in which life itself existed. If he had, he was certain that he and Jerry would’ve been able to finish writing a debut album by now.
So, he could only bestow a physical representation of his subversively complex adoration in a different context. Cake.
Or; Layne fails at baking a cake for Jerry's birthday.
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Don’t Tell Anyone by elephantskin, lubethesystem
Fandoms: Music RPF, Punk Rock RPF, Rock Music RPF, L7 (Band)
13 Mar 2026
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Summary
Nothing would be the same, and they both knew it all too well.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,606
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 2
- Hits:
- 19
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Summary
He almost felt victimized in a sense, because this assault on his empathy was one notably draining. Overt speculation. Squinting at the page and sucking every word out of the paper like it'd be more substantial than the blood currently betraying him (as his pulse was a rickety, tenuous wreck.)
Because of words.
Because it meant, 'if either of us change despite the future. The irreparable, prophetic inevitable—I will vow to love you in any state of being.' There was no other interpretation beyond that. Rewording the phrase wouldn't affect what it meant, wouldn't deplete it of mirth, color, soul.
The poignant indentation was a much-craved anesthetic. Pen to page, to vying grasp on his heart. A wake up that simply rattled him. Change and embrace freedom, linger and rot.
Or; Jerry shows Layne the newest song that he's written.