#suppose you can't have a garage band without a garage

[unmotivational-motivation]

do people still get in alternate state of consciousness together and decide to start bands not knowing a single instrument?

like hey we should start a band and the rest of the night is spent working out who plays what? and then they go to like a pawn shop (i'm old okay) or whatever is used now for the old-timey equivalent of newspaper classifieds is and then buy instruments and start to learn to play together - poorly at first? or was that something that ended in 2008?

[hiddenreamers]

I was in your music video - f1 drivers x singer!reader

SUMMARY: They say that if a poet loves you, they will write you into immortality. But if you date a musician, they might write you into the Billboard 100. Which is exactly what happens to your driver boyfriend.

Featuring: Lewis Hamilton, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz Jr, Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, George Russell

Note: Yes, two songs are sung by male artists. Yes, I'm going to ignore that fact and you should, too.

Lewis Hamilton

He's been in the room maybe five times. The space always felt strangely sacred to him - this is where you write, compose and practice songs with your band; this is where the magic, so to speak, happens. Walls are absolutely covered with tour posters, polaroids and printed-out articles. There's a large mirror that seems to be a message board considering all the sticky notes and words written with a marker. The only somewhat de-cluttered space is surrounding the setup. It's an unspoken testament to being a musician in a band.

There's a certain tension inside the driver. You've never asked him to listen to a song before it's finished. Sure, he has listened through your albums before they were officially released but it was always just that - a recording, not a live version. So what's different this time? Why is it vital he hears this song early?

Walking through the room, Lewis has to carefully watch where he's going. He doesn't want to accidentally break something by stepping on a cable or kicking a box with unknown contents. Inside a garage, he knows what not to touch but a recording studio and instruments are pretty much an unknown world to him.

Lewis is standing around a tad awkwardly, hands in pockets, when the bassist pushes a big black box closer to the driver.

"Have a seat." The musician points to the chest.

Lewis frowns. "On the box?" he asks, unsure. "Is that okay?"

"It's the Lucky Chest, Hamilton," the bassist announces. The other band members snicker at the title. "You have to sit on it."

"What's lucky about it?" Lewis inquires. More than the seating choice, he's interested in the reason for laughter.

"The first time we played at a big festival," the guitarist begins, her story slightly interrupted by her tuning the guitar, "we were sitting on it and listening to Green Day's stage, wondering 'how the fuck are we supposed to play after them?'."

"We were doing like a punk-rock tribute thing," adds the drummer. He's adjusting his seat and judging by the constant up-and-down movement, he can't make up his mind. The process is finally over when he reaches to tap the high-hat and nods to himself, content.

"After we finished our set," you take over retelling the story, "Billy Joe Armstrong came up to us and said we did great."

"So now it's the Lucky Chest," concludes the bassist.

Perhaps it's another testament to being a musician in a band when multiple people together tell one story without cutting details or creating chaos. A true harmony, though a joke a little on the nose.

"Well, I'm honoured," Lewis says. An airy giggle escapes him as he's still thinking about how easily teamwork comes to you and your band.

"You should be." The guitarist points her finger at him in a joking but accusatory way. Then she looks over her shoulder. "Whenever you're ready, drummer boy."

Music fills the room and Lewis is instantly captivated by you. He noticed it the first time he saw you on stage, how something inside you changes the moment you hear the instruments playing. Intensity, fire - passion in its most primal form. But this time around, the look in your eyes is different. You're no longer looking at the audience but him specifically; instead of singing a song, you seem to be telling him something.

So he listens.

I'm a desert, you're an ocean It's your motion that I need Without you I am broken, left to thirst out in the heat

And how strange he suddenly feels: all of the sentiments he already knows but now that you've put them into words for the whole world to hear, he can't help but find some revelation in them. For a moment, there's only the two of you and your confession of desire. Every word resonates with him and Lewis feels like he could say all of those things about you, too.

The song is far from over but he has already decided - he will listen to it before every race.

Lando Norris

Nothing seemed different about that day.

Lando is streaming while you're still at the studio. In an hour or so, you will come back, he will end the stream and the two of you will sit down to eat something. You will talk about your day, he will say something silly and both of you will laugh. Just like you always did.

To his credit, Lando couldn't have known about the song because you never told him. Some part of you thought it would be a bit dramatic to announce that you've written a song about him but can't play it yet because it's not finished. It would spoil the fun, wouldn't it? Therefore, you decided to tell Lando only after he listened to the final product. Perhaps you also wanted to seem a lot more nonchalant about the whole thing, planning on giving him just an off-hand comment of "oh, by the way, this one's about you". Life, however, rarely turns out the way we plan and that's exactly what happened that night.

If it was just one or two people calling Lando "honeybee" on the stream, he probably wouldn't even notice. But even he will pay attention when the comments are going on hundreds if not thousands.

He can't help but grow flustered at the pet name born out of his visceral fear of insects.

"Who told you that?!" he yells in a comically angry tone, a poor attempt at hiding embarrassment.

The comments come flooding again, explaining the situation only in variations of your name and the title Espresso. And like a detective following a crime, Lando immediately searches the internet.

"I feel lied to," he speaks up. "She didn't tell me she has a new song coming out. Why am I the last one to know? When I literally live with her? This is so unfair, I'm obviously the biggest fan, I should know first!"

Lando plays the music video. From the first line of "he's thinking about me every night", his bashfulness only gets worse. What starts as an excited smile, grows into a flustered, giggly mess. Although his pride is on the line, he can't deny any of the claims you make in the song. Yes, he couldn't sleep one night thinking about you and texted you about that. Yes, he does call you often even though he hates making phone calls. And yes, Lando Norris is, in fact, wrapped around your finger. What a horse is everyone can see and similarly, everyone can see and define who Lando is when it comes to his girlfriend:

"Simp?" he reads one of the comments. "Look, maybe I am but at the end of the day I'm dating her and you're not so who's the real loser here?"

Lando can only laugh his heart out when the chat gets flooded with identical comments: You.

"Okay, I admit. I'm down bad for my girlfriend and I'm proud of that."

Tomorrow's headlines are bound to be interesting...

Oscar Piastri

Although Oscar has seen you in musicals countless times, this situation feels a lot weirder and more uncomfortable. When he comes to watch your show, he's in the audience and you're on the stage. Now you're sitting side by side on the couch in your shared apartment, about to see your first movie. You're both the audience and the creator, which leaves you unsure how to act.

Unfortunately, your discomfort only grows. Oscar seems to be enjoying the movie but joy is not granted to you on this day. With each minute, you know your big part is coming. Oh God, what is he going to think?

Then, you suddenly pause the film. Oscar looks at you confused.

"There's something you need to know before you watch this scene and listen to the song," you say before he can ask you about your strange actions.

Oscar's frown only deepens. "You're making it sound really serious."

"Because it is. The thing is... " you hang your voice, unsure how to put words together. How do you tell someone this without making things awkward? "This is more embarrassing than I thought it would be but the song you're about to hear, I wrote it thinking about you."

He's trying to smile but the shadow of embarrassment on his face doesn't go unnoticed. You can only hope it's good kind of nervous.

The movie is resumed. As your discomfort is barely tolerable, you're looking away from the TV, fidgeting ever-so-slightly. Once or twice, you glance at Oscar, trying to see his reaction. The problem is, he's sitting unbelievably still. True, Oscar Piastri tends to be on the calmer side but right now it feels off. As if lost deep in thought, he appears to be diligently contemplating the scene in the movie; picking apart the words that came to your mind while thinking about him.

When the song comes to an end, you pause the film once more. A tense silence falls between you and Oscar, both longing to say something and yet neither willing to.

"So?" you begin hesitantly. "What do you think?"

Oscar shifts awkwardly. "Erm... I don't really know what to say."

A nervous giggle escapes your lips. "It's really sappy, I know." You try to downplay the situation, fearing that his reaction is born out of something negative. Does he think you're clingy? Obsessive? Too dramatic to handle?

"It's not that," he quickly denies. "Well, okay, it is kind of sappy but it's good sappy?" Oscar's tone raises slightly, revealing that he's unsure whether it's the right choice of words.

"Good sappy?" you repeat.

It feels as though woe has weaved a nest inside your viscera. "Good sappy" sounds like a lovely, diplomatic euphemism used not to hurt someone's feelings.

"Yeah, it's just..." Oscar doesn't finish his sentence. He runs his hand through his hair, then rubs the back of his neck nervously. Finally, he looks at you but not in a way you're familiar with. There's something ethereal in his gaze, a glint of inexplicable emotion that would escape a less observant eye. "It's really beautiful," he says. "The fact that you feel this way about me?" You could swear there are tears in his eyes as he lets out a flustered giggle. "I can die happy now."

Carlos Sainz

As old tradition entails, the Thursdays before a race weekend are meant for golfing. And who is Carlos Sainz to not give in to the custom?

He's sitting in his car, impatiently ploughing through the traffic of the city centre. Why are people out and about at this time, anyway? Shouldn't they be at work? Wanting to get his mind off of the fact that he's going to be quite late to the game, Carlos turns on the radio. The man is mindlessly skipping through the stations until something catches his attention - the announcer introduces you as today's guest.

"Hello again, pretty girl," Carlos says to himself. A small smile enters his face.

"First of all, I'd like to thank you," the radio host begins. "Unfinished Business is just the album I've been waiting for this year. And not only me! Have you seen Billboard 100 lately?"

Your flustered giggle is just as adorable as always. "Yesterday evening, I think?"

The broadcaster sighs dramatically. "Then you have ancient news. I have the site pulled up now and check it every few minutes. Let me tell you, Unfinished Business has climbed twenty spots since morning."

"Oh, shoot."

"Indeed." The announcer laughs and Carlos does with him. It's such a familiar theme for the driver - you being more humble than you really should be, surprised by the success you entirely deserve.

"Now, to address the elephant in the room or rather on the music charts. Over and Over Again is like a love letter all of us have written but never sent. Tell me all about it!"

"I guess 'love letter' is a pretty good description," you explain. Curious, Carlos turns up the volume. "For some time, I was trying to put my thoughts together and tell someone how I felt but never could quite do it. I can write good songs but in real life, I'm pretty terrible at speaking my mind and talking about feelings. I just don't want people to misunderstand, you know?"

"What are you saying, hermosa?" Carlos asks aloud, although there's no one to answer him.

"At least you can write a song about it! We regular folk are stuck with memes and playlists."

"Thank God, I can!" You laugh and, as embarrassing as it may sound, Carlos feels a sudden warmth spreading through his chest. "I was struggling with saying what I wanted to say to him, so at some point, I just decided I could put those words and feelings into a song. He likes to listen to the radio when he's driving so he might even be listening right now."

Although nothing bad or negative is going on, Carlos feels himself growing tense, nervous. There's no doubt the "he" you keep mentioning is him but what exactly is it you've been trying to tell him? Is there something he's missing?

"Did you tell him you've written a song about him?" the radio host asks.

"It might have slipped my mind," you answer coyly.

The announcer only laughs. "Oh dear, what a way to find out! Without further ado, let's hear your love letter to the mysterious man. I really hope he's listening to us right now. Don't you dare change the station, you lucky guy."

To his own surprise, Carlos recognizes the melody - you've been humming it for weeks now. But as you begin singing, the words leave him in disbelief. Do you really... mean all of that?

Carlos is lost in the song, feeling as though the lyrics aren't just lyrics but your genuine confession; a true love letter, as you have said yourself. He's brought back to reality only when the car behind him honks and Carlos is a hair's breadth away from picking a fight with the other driver. Nothing requires more haste or attention than his girlfriend exclaiming to the whole world that he will always be the one for her and that she will love him over and over again.

Charles Leclerc

You don't hear Charles coming in - you're too lost in your own thing to remember there's an entire world outside of the song and the piano in front of you. On the other hand, Charles doesn't announce his arrival as he doesn't want to disturb you. To be perfectly honest, he's a little too curious to interrupt you. It happens very rarely that you practise outside of the studio and so Charles doesn't really get to hear your more casual singing, not an embellished performance for the audience.

As quietly as he can, he makes his way towards you. Charles casually leans against the doorframe, your back turned to him as you continue playing the piano. He barely bites back the smile that creeps onto his face whenever you effortlessly sing the high notes - they are difficult for professionals and yet you execute them so cleanly, they appear almost too easy.

The lyrics haunt him but in a truly delicious way. A particular note of sincerity in your voice makes the words stick to him like rain does to a reckless passerby. Sure, they will slip away, although not before drenching him; their vital piece will forever lie with him.

When the song comes to an end, Charles (without thinking twice) gives you a hefty applause. The surprise makes you almost fall off the chair.

"Shit, you scared me!" you yell at him. It takes a couple deep breaths and your boyfriend's apologies, to collect yourself. "How much did you hear?"

He shrugs, suddenly realizing that he wasn't supposed to hear even one note of the song. "Pretty much all of it."

Your expression must not be joyful as Charles resumes his apologies and poor attempts at excuses. Suddenly, you cut him off. "How'd you like it?"

For a moment, he only hums and mindlessly knocks at the doorframe, looking for the right words.

"I loved it," he confesses. A strange tension in his voice proves he's telling the truth. "It's a beautiful song."

"Good," you answer absentmindedly. Quietly, you nod to yourself before looking back at Charles, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "It would really suck if you hated a song about yourself, you know?"

His eyes grow wide and Charles seems to forget about blinking for a good minute. Judging by the changes in his expression, you can tell the exact thought process he's experiencing: realizing you've written a song about him, joy caused by that, remembering the lyrics and finally taking them personally.

The more observant fans might notice a new addition to his helmet: "Claire de Lune" written in elegant lettering.

George Russell

Common sense might tell you that a race car driver must have no fear. And that would be correct, although quite imprecise. They must have no fear on track, yes, but daily life is quite different from racing, isn't it? Or maybe George is discovering a range of emotions he has not known before.

Your relationship is fresh but that isn't to say it's not serious. The weight of the connection the two of you share is a major part of the reason why George has been dead set on taking things slow. The other part is him knowing what media circus will play out once the news breaks. It's hard to blame him for wanting to keep at least some aspect of his life private, especially one that means so much to him.

As understanding as you are, George's apprehensiveness is tiring. You perfectly understand his reasoning and to some degree share the sentiment but at the same time, you are just somebody in love - you itch to scream it to the whole world. Or, at the very least, share a picture of the two of you. Both of you haven't been middle-schoolers for quite some time now, so why act like ones?

George, like the supportive boyfriend he is, loves to see you in your element. He watches the music videos, yet, but he much prefers the dance practice videos, where you're visibly enjoying each second of the choreography. Therefore, when you upload a new dance video for your song, he's probably the first person to play it.

It's a catchy tune that makes even the most boring people want to dance a little. With his head moving to the rhythm, George doesn't focus much on the lyrics until something in the second verse catches his attention:

So used to hiding We built our kingdom around The right timing

The lines, understandably, hit a little too close to home to be a pure coincidence. Now suspicious, George replays the video - this time, he's actually listening to the words instead of focusing on your dancing. Any hesitation that he's the true recipient of the song is gone with the first line of "Say you want me". The desperation in your voice is simply too candid to be just an act for the sake of the performance.

With the song loudly playing on a loop, George is scrolling through his phone's gallery in search of the best pictures of the two of you. He can't help but mouth the lyrics along with your singing, only to randomly giggle as the thought once again settles - it's about him.

Your phone can't stop vibrating. The notifications are coming nonstop. What on Earth happened? Upon opening Instagram, the mystery is solved. The internet seemed to be set on fire when George posted a series of pictures of the two of you with a caption that earned a giddy chuckle from you: "Setting us in motion".

Max Verstappen

Max and you both understand how much support can change. Sometimes just knowing that this other person is out there, watching and cheering, can change everything. As such, the two of you try to attend each other's events as much as you can. Unfortunately, the universe isn't always kind and you end up on the opposite ends of the world. The only support you can offer then is watching the live-streamed event - just like Max is doing right now.

He's sitting in his driver's room in Singapore, while you're at an award show in the USA. Quite the distance. There's something unbearably humbling about having to watch your performance like most of the world, when Max is, without a doubt, not most of the world.

In the back of his mind, Max is still thinking about the conversation he had with you earlier. Although he never misses your performances, you made it a point to tell him to watch this one. In your own words, he's supposed to look out for something fun, like a detail that will make this show different from the others. So as though he is a hawk, or more of a vulture, Max is hyperanalizing everything that's happening on the screen. He's not about to miss your little surprise.

The song begins and as much as he wants to enjoy watching you in your element, Max is a missile on a mission. Nothing specific seems to catch his eye but that t-shirt you're wearing...

Max knows it all too well. Theoretically, it's his t-shirt but considering you wear it more often than he does, it's practically yours. Now it's styled to fit the concept and image of your bandmates but the colour, the logo, the number, are all unmistakeable. Considering how much you're touching the article of clothing, compared to other dancers, he's convinced he's found what he was meant to look for.

Before he can wonder why you've chosen to wear his t-shirt for your performance, it's you who gives him the answer through the lyrics:

I feel like for the first time I am not faking Fingers on my buttons and now you're playing Master of anticipation, don't you keep it all to yourself

Max Verstappen doesn't get flustered but if he did, he'd be beyond flustered right now. The realization hits him like a derailed train - the song that everyone has been obsessed with through the summer and that has pretty obvious sexual lyrics is actually about him.

And if he did get flustered, the emotion would be rather short-lived, giving way to pride. After all, the core meaning of the song is that he's a generous lover, right? Clearly, he's been taking good care of his girlfriend.

Now, each sung line of "Just the touch of your love" makes Max all the more frustrated that the two of you are so far apart. He's earned his title of "Master of anticipation" and he intends to keep it.

[wheels-of-despair]

It's a Wonderful Life (Even in Hawkins) Pairing: Eddie Munson x Evil Woman Summary: What would the lives of Eddie Munson's loved ones look like if he didn't exist? Contains: A bad night for all, a violent outburst, regrets, a bitchy ghost, a peek into another life, a Christmas party, a happy ending. Words: 5k

(This is inspired by It's a Wonderful Life. There are mentions of suicide and visions of a dark world without Eddie Munson. Takes place sometime after graduation.)

Eddie Munson can't wait for the worst night of his life to be over.

He screeches to a stop in front of the garage Corroded Coffin "practices" in and leaps out of the driver's seat, ready to get the band and all their shit out of his van and out of his sight.

"Well that was fucking embarrassing," Gareth grumbles, rolling out the back doors with an armload of equipment.

"We might as well have played kazoos," Jeff adds, yanking out his guitar case.

"Never showing my face in public again," Grant whines, joining the unloading parade.

Eddie fumes and slams the back doors shut. Well, he tries. Instead of latching, they bounce and fly back at him. He gets it on the second, slightly-less-violent, try.

Corroded Coffin just opened for a band from two towns over that people actually show up for. Someone from a record label was in the building. This was supposed to be their shot at getting noticed by someone who mattered. They were supposed to rock everyone's socks off. But no. They played the worst show of their stupid little lives. Even Wayne, who hardly ever got to see them play, looked horrified at the shit-tastic show they put on.

His girl leans against the side of the van, next to the busted taillight that earned him a ticket from that asshole Callahan on the way to the show. Not even she can pretend Corroded Coffin didn't suck a fat one tonight. There's pity in her eyes, and it makes Eddie even madder. He turns and directs his rage at the band, not wanting to crack under her annoying gaze.

"See you dicks around," Eddie snaps. "Since there's no point in ever fucking practicing again."

"C'mon, man," whines Gareth.

"What about the Henderson's Christmas party?" asks Grant.

"At least we can go drown our sorrows in cocoa," Jeff sighs.

They just bombed so hard, they'll probably never be allowed to perform in the tri-county area ever again. Their careers are over before they even started. And they're worried about a shitty little Christmas party thrown by Dustin's mom?

Eddie Munson is mad at himself for being a failure. Mad at his woman for feeling sorry for him. Mad at his dumb band for sucking ass. Mad at the Hendersons for scheduling a party and being a distraction on a night this important. Mad at Wayne for not coming on one of the nights they actually sounded good. Mad at the world for giving him a sliver of hope and snatching it away just when he thought he had a chance of making it big and getting out of Hawkins Fucking Indiana.

He needs to get out of here. Right now. He turns with the intention of stomping to the driver's side door and driving off like a bat out of hell, but she's blocking his way.

"Baby, it's not the end of the world," she says calmly, putting a hand on his chest. The act breaks a barrier and unleashes his barely-contained rage. He smacks her hand away, maybe a little harder than he meant to, and her eyes widen in shock.

"What would you fucking know about it?" Eddie seethes. He can feel the blood boiling and the vein pulsating in his neck. He can't stop. The words keep coming, and Eddie closes in on her. She shrinks. "You've never had a fucking dream! You've never wanted something more than this shitty little life in this shitty little town! I'm sick of you fucking holding me back!"

"Shut the fuck up, man!" Gareth yells, stepping between them and giving Eddie a shove backwards.

"Oh, now you react to something on time?" Eddie laughs cruelly.

There's a blinding flash of pain, and Eddie's suddenly staring to the side. He slowly swivels his head back to Gareth, standing in front of him with balled fists and a red face. Eddie's jaw throbs. Did his own drummer just punch him in the face?

He attacks.

Grant and Jeff are on them in an instant, trying to get Eddie and Gareth apart. Everything becomes a blur of grunts and blows until Jeff gets Eddie's arms behind him and drags him out of the open garage door.

"Cool off, man!"

This isn't how tonight was supposed to go. He was supposed to be signing a contract and sipping spiked cocoa and eating cookies. Kissing his girl under the mistletoe and promising her a mansion in Beverly Hills. Celebrating his talent and good fortune with everyone he loves. Instead, he's standing outside a cold garage, staring at the disappointed faces of all the people he let down.

A sniffle draws his eyes to his girl. His Evil Woman. The love of his fucking life. The look in her teary eyes makes his insides turn to ice. He hit her. He yelled at her, and he fucking hit her. He takes a step closer, wanting to hug her and tell her that he didn't mean it.

She flinches.

She's scared of him.

He's just like his old man.

Eddie climbs in the van without another word. He doesn't know where he's going, but he knows he can't stay here.

He speeds and spirals and re-lives the worst night of his life over and over. It takes him several miles of squinting into the dark to realize his headlights aren't even on. When the van finally comes to a stop, he's at the quarry. He doesn't know why he came here. But by the time he turns off the ignition, he's exhausted from beating himself up.

He slides down from the driver's seat and walks to the edge of the cliff, kicking rocks as he goes. Each breath sends out so much fog, it looks like he's smoking. A smoke would be nice. That'd take the edge off. He pats his pocket for his pack and pulls it out. Empty. Of course.

He tosses the empty pack over the edge and leans over just a little bit, hoping to see it fall. The darkness swallows the little white box almost immediately. It's a long way down. The only light comes from the moon, and it reflects on the still water below like glass. It's both beautiful and unsettling.

The cold starts to seep into his bones, but he welcomes the ache. He deserves it. Eddie sits near the edge, sighing and looking up at the starry sky, wondering how the fuck his friends are ever going to forgive him for this.

Maybe they weren't really that bad. Maybe they tried their best. Maybe he put too much pressure on the younger guys. Maybe the person from the record company didn't even come. Maybe the band that they opened for sucked too, and they could all chalk this horrible evening up to bad acoustics.

Maybe Eddie hadn't just ruined all of the most important things in his life in the course of one night.

His heart hurts at the thought of what he said to his girl, whose only crime was caring about him. Holding him back? Where the fuck did that come from? It's all a little fuzzy, now that he thinks about it.

Eddie touches his swollen jaw and winces. Little Drummer Boy packs a hell of a punch.

He fucking deserves this pain.

Eddie pulls his knees to his chest and hunches over, curling into a ball near the edge of the quarry cliff.

He wishes he hadn't blown up and said those awful things to the person he loves most. He wishes he hadn't forced his friends to practice until their fingers bled. He wishes he'd never begged (and traded a considerable amount of weed) for the chance to play a three-song opener for some douchebag band from the city. He wishes he hadn't turned into a total cunt the second he saw a chance to live out his stupid teenage dream of becoming a rock star.

Hell, why stop there?

Eddie Munson wishes he'd never even been born.

"Don't even think about it, asshole," a voice rumbles from behind him.

Eddie turns, surprised that he let someone sneak up on him. A guy really lets his guard down when he's got nothing left to lose.

An ass thumps against a rock nearby and Eddie squints at the silhouette in the moonlight. That curly hair looks familiar, but he doesn't know for sure who it is until the stranger takes a drag off a cigarette and his face is illuminated by the burning cherry.

"Hargrove?"

"Knew you couldn't be as stupid as everyone said you were." Eddie can't see the smirk, but he can hear it.

"Not a good time, Hargrove," Eddie sighs. "Don't have anything on me."

"I'm not here for drugs, dumbass," Billy says, taking another drag. "I'm here to save your eternal soul or some shit."

"Sounds like you've already been into the good stuff tonight," Eddie deadpans.

"Nobody ever fuckin' believes me," Billy groans, staring upward and blowing a long stream of smoke into the air before turning his intense gaze to Eddie. "Listen up, dickhead. You fucked up, you hurt people, you wished you were never born, et cetera. I was sent here to show you the error of your ways or whatever. Let's take a little trip."

"What is this, like a Christmas Carol thing?" Eddie snorts. "What are you on, man? I want some."

Billy sighs and flicks his cigarette out over the water. He stands and stares at Eddie, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"Let's go, fuckface," Billy orders.

"I'm not going anywhere with your stoned ass," Eddie laughs, trying to pretend he's not a tiny bit afraid.

Billy stomps over and grabs Eddie's jacket and hauls him to his feet with surprising strength. Maybe he was right to be scared.

"Woah, calm down, Ghost of Christmas PCP," Eddie snarks, sounding braver than he feels.

"I said, let's go," Billy repeats, dragging Eddie backward. Eddie tries to dig in his heels and resist, but his sneakers slip and slide on the loose gravel.

"Where are we going?" Eddie asks, his ears beginning to ring.

A blinding flash of light makes him cover his eyes, and when he lowers his arm and opens them, he's standing in front of Wayne's trailer. The glow of a street lamp shows more of Billy's face than Eddie has seen tonight. He stares at Eddie through unblinking, half-lidded eyes. Eddie doesn't like it. Not one bit.

"Kay, thanks for bringing me home, I owe you one," Eddie mumbles, trying to side-step him and get away. Billy blocks his path.

"This isn't your home."

"Yeah, it is," Eddie argues. "Since I was eight."

"You wished you'd never been born, remember?" Billy asks pointedly. "Now you get to see what that's like."

"Isn't the first ghost supposed to be the nice one?" Eddie asks. "I thought the third one was the mean one."

"You only get one ghost," Billy says. "Only gonna need one stop, too. Made a bet that I could break you quick."

"Good fuckin' luck," Eddie scoffs.

"C'mere," Billy orders, reaching for him.

Eddie feels the urge to bolt, but before he can act on it, Billy grabs him by the collar and drags him up the steps and through the door.

Like, through the door.

"Did we just--? Did you just--? What the hell?!" Eddie splutters, looking around him for answers. The door is still closed. And then he begins to notice other things. This isn't that ugly brown carpet that's been here since the 50s, when this hunk of junk came off the lot. Those aren't the right curtains. Where are Wayne's mugs? And his hats? And his chair?

There's a small Christmas tree on a table by the window and a few wrapped gifts beneath it. There are plastic toys and wooden blocks on the new-ish rug, which is an odd green color. Photos of prettier places than Hawkins adorn the walls. Carefully arranged pillows line a yellow couch that doesn't belong here. Aside from the toys on the floor, it's neater than he's ever seen it. This isn't his house.

"What is this?" he asks, turning to Billy. "Why are we here?"

Billy nods his head toward Eddie's room, and Eddie follows his gaze to a body stepping out of it. A woman. She lingers in the doorway for a moment, then reaches in to flip the light off and close the door.

Eddie's heart drops into his stomach when he sees her face.

His one and only.

His Evil Woman.

She looks tired. The dark circles around her eyes remind him of the time they experimented with zombie makeup. Something is different with her hair. Has she lost weight? He inwardly cringes at his own question, knowing she'd give him a smack for it. But she can't read his mind. She doesn't even acknowledge his presence.

She tiptoes down the hallway and takes a left in the kitchen, pulling out stuff to make a sandwich. Four. Four sandwiches. She assembles four peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, packs them in crinkled brown lunch bags that have seen better days, then folds down the tops. There's one bread heel left. She stares at it for a moment, then wraps it up and puts it back in the bag.

She looks around, as if she can feel someone watching her. Eddie shifts uncomfortably, almost wishing she'd make eye contact and laugh because he fell for whatever sick joke this is. But she looks right through him with her dull eyes. Where's that wicked twinkle he loves so much? Why does she look so sad? What's she looking at? Eddie glances behind him. Is she waiting for someone to come in the door? Looking at the tree, maybe?

Just when Eddie thinks he can't possibly stand that blank stare for one more second, her face crumples. She sinks to the floor, grabbing a kitchen towel on the way down and holding it to her mouth to stifle her sobs. Eddie wishes he could look away and save her this indignity, but he can't. He can't take his eyes off of her.

"What happened to her?" Eddie whispers, afraid she'll hear.

"It's more of a what didn't happen to her," Billy answers somberly. "She never met you."

"Is that all you got?" Eddie scoffs, turning to his companion with annoyance. "She never met me, so she cries sometimes? Get fucked, Hargrove."

"No, asshole," Billy seethes, taking his attention from the crying girl on the floor to the metalhead at his side. "She never met you and became a social pariah, so she actually made friends with the popular kids. Became quite the party animal. Hooked up with some older guy one weekend, who happened to possess some illicit substances that needed to be distributed to the desperate students of Hawkins High. Sound familiar?"

Eddie thinks for a moment, and when he understands, his jaw drops.

"Rick?" Eddie asks. "My girl was selling for Reefer Rick?"

"She's not your girl," Billy growls. "You don't exist, remember? Anyway, she was doin' a lot more than selling for him."

"No fuckin' way," Eddie protests.

"Yes fuckin' way," Billy argues. "They were together for almost a year before she realized he was stickin' his dick in anything that would let him. By that time, it was too late."

"Too late?" Eddie asks hesitantly.

"She'd already had the baby."

Eddie feels the blood drain from his face. Wait, does he even have blood in whatever this freaky little fever dream is?

"While her classmates were dancing to Cyndi Lauper or some shit at prom, she was in the hospital having a baby," Billy continues. "She never got to graduate. Got into a real bad fight with her mom. When her dad found out that his unwed teenage daughter got knocked up by the town drug dealer, he took her mom to court and won full custody of the little brother. After the kid got shipped to his dad, her mom sold the house and went back to live closer to the rest of her family. And then when she found out Rick was fucking around, it was just her and the baby…"

Eddie tenses, sensing an "until".

"Until me."

"You?" Eddie asks with an accusatory tone.

"Me." The corner of Billy's mouth twitches, like he's remembering something nice. "I liked her in school, but she was Rick's… until she wasn't. Then I moved in. Then came the triplets. They're absolute hellions, but she loves 'em," Billy sighs. "And me. Nobody ever loved me like she did. I wish to Hell,"

Thunder booms, and Billy winces.

"I wish to Heaven," he says, looking up at the ceiling apprehensively, "that I hadn't tried to drive that night. It was hard sometimes, but we were happy, y'know? I didn't mean to leave them all alone like this."

Eddie focuses on the longing in Billy's eyes, rather than the broken woman he's staring at.

"She didn't deserve this," Billy whispers. His face hardens, and he turns to Eddie. "She didn't deserve that shit you said to her either, asshole."

Eddie feels almost as bad as he did the second those words left his mouth.

"So you're dead?" Eddie asks, desperate for something else to think about.

"Yes, I'm fucking dead," Billy rolls his eyes. "You don't exist at all in this world, and I got drunk and drove my car into a tree just before Christmas last year. What a fuckin' pair we make, huh?"

Eddie sighs and turns his attention back to the girl who's now staring blankly at the floor, silent tears still streaming down her cheeks.

"Why's she in Wayne's house?" Eddie asks suddenly.

"Thought you'd never ask," Billy says, lighting another cigarette. "Only place she could afford. Guy cut her a real good deal, after what happened to your uncle."

Billy pauses and makes Eddie ask: "What happened to my uncle?"

"He blew his brains out," Billy says matter-of-factly, pointing to the spot where Wayne's chair should be with his cigarette. "Right there."

"Bullshit."

"Why do you think a trailer this old has a new carpet and wallpaper?" Billy asks.

Eddie surveys the place. The kitchen is mostly the same; same sink, same stove, same fridge, even some of the same ancient magnets he used to play with as a kid. But the living room…

"Why?" he breathes.

"Hmmm," Billy hums, pretending to flip through the pages of an imaginary book and pointing to some imaginary answer. "It seems that dear old Uncle Wayne had a little bit of a drinking problem."

"Wayne never drank anything but beer," Eddie argues.

"Well, funny thing," Billy says, taking a drag of his cigarette and blowing his smoke in Eddie's face. "Seems he gave up hard liquor when his punk-ass nephew came to live with him. And since in this universe, he didn't have a nephew… he just kept on drinking. Even though he was already depressed, and the liquor just made it worse… and worse… until one day, he'd had enough."

"No," Eddie breathes.

"Yeah," Billy nods, not looking very sympathetic. "Wanna hear about your little sheepies at school?"

"No."

"Tough shit," Billy scoffs. "Little Drummer Boy, before he got shipped back to Daddy-O's, was in the marching band. Wedgie City, man. The big guy with the curly hair got bullied so bad, his mom decided to home-school him. He's so scared of everything, he hasn't left the house in months. Brace-Face joined the fucking Mathletes, thus ensuring him a lifetime of virginity. And the rest of those little weirdos just try to lay low and survive. Your little club that brought them all together and made them proud to be freaks? Doesn't exist. Never will. Most of 'em don't even know each other."

"Stop," Eddie says weakly.

"You want more?" Billy asks. '''Cause I can keep going. Wanna know about the worst thing your girl's ever done to make rent? Or how she'll never be able to fix the relationship with her mom? That her own brother won't bother to invite her to his wedding, when he finally finds some four-eyed geek who will have him?"

"Stop," Eddie begs.

"Maybe you want to hear about your parents? How they only had you as an attempt to save their marriage, and how they fared with another miscarriage instead? It wasn't pretty, man."

"Stop," Eddie begs.

"Wanna circle back to the uncle? And how all he ever did was work and drink and had no friends and no reason to live? About how the first time he'd smiled in years was the night he loaded that pistol?"

"Stop!" Eddie shouts.

"YOU STOP!" Billy shouts back. "You've got a good life on the other side of this shit, and you're wishing it away like a fucking loser! Oh, boo-hoo, you're not gonna be a rock star. You've got a fucking family and friends and people that love your stupid ass! You know what, I don't think you even deserve to go back. I should tell the man upstairs to make this reality the real one, and as payment for erasing your sorry ass from existence, I should get another shot at this life!"

Billy and Eddie stare at each other for a moment, both breathing hard and wondering who's going to break first. Then, the clock in the living room chimes, and Billy looks at in a panic.

"She needs you, man," Billy says quickly. "She needs you to pull your head out of your ass and think about why she's with you. Holding you back? She's the only reason you made it this far, dipshit. She's the reason you graduated, the reason you're not in jail, probably the reason you're still alive. She could've gone anywhere, done anything she wanted. But she stayed in the shittiest town on the planet, and she was happy about it, because you were there together. Never had a dream? What a crock of shit. You were her dream, asshole."

Eddie feels tears prickling at his eyes.

"Now, you get your stupid ass back to your reality and you tell that girl and those nerds how fucking sorry you are," Billy yells, his voice getting louder and barely overpowering the ringing increasing in Eddie's ears. "And you better fucking mean it!"

Eddie nods. Billy grabs the collar of his jacket and gives it a tug. The light flashes white, and Eddie hides his face in his sleeve.

"HEY!"

Eddie opens his eyes and raises his head, but the light hasn't gone out yet. He lowers his head again and hears a scrape. A shower of gravel hits his side. He looks up in surprise. The light moves.

"What are you doing out here, you little shit?"

Eddie squints and makes out a flashlight pointed to the ground… and a pair of boots… and tan pants…

"Hopper?"

"You hurt?"

"No?"

"Then why aren't you at Mrs. Henderson's Christmas party?"

"Uh…" Eddie racks his brain, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't make Hop beat his ass.

"Only a Munson would choose to freeze his balls off alone at the quarry instead of being at a Christmas party with all his friends," the chief sighs. "Get goin', kid. People are worried about you."

"Doubt it," Eddie mutters without thinking.

"Oh yeah?" Hop asks, lighting a cigarette. "Then why am I out here looking for some dumbass when I could be riding out the last of my shift at the station with Flo's fruitcake?"

Eddie doesn't know what to say to that. Someone really sent Hop looking for him? After all that?

"I'm off in thirty, and I'm coming by for the cookies Dustin promised me. If you're not in there having a good time with all your dumb little buddies, we're gonna have a problem. Got it?"

"Got it, Hop," Eddie confirms. He can't help but smile.

"Move your ass, then!" Hop orders.

Eddie scrambles away from the edge of the cliff, heading for the van.

Hop follows him down the quarry road, saying goodbye with a honk when they part ways. Eddie smiles when he sees Hopper's lights turn in his rearview mirror, almost missing the chief's company after his crazy night.

He doesn't have to feel alone for long; he can see the glow of the Henderson house from almost a mile away.

Dustin's mom loves Christmas more than anyone else Eddie's ever met. She's hosted a Christmas party for Dustin and his friends every year since they moved to Hawkins, and other moms may try to compete, but they simply can't. Claudia Henderson bakes the best cookies in the world. She decorates the house like she was trained at the North Pole. She has never once run out of hot chocolate or snacks, or let a guest leave empty-handed.

Eddie hopes his friends are having too good a time to stay mad at him.

The turnoff is easy to find. He's never seen so many lights in his life. The mailbox is covered. Every tree in their yard has a string of lights on it. The driveway is lined with lights and filled with cars Eddie knows, including Uncle Wayne's truck and Jeff's car. There's a light-up Santa on the roof. There are plastic reindeer in the yard.

And there's a black shape smoking on an otherwise well-lit carport that looks very familiar.

Eddie eases out of the van and jams his hands in his pockets, approaching the figure cautiously. His Evil Woman meets his eye but doesn't say anything. When he gets close, but not too close, he stops. He stands. He stares. She stares back. He doesn't know where to start. Begging? Groveling? Punching himself in the nuts until she tells him he can stop?

And then she offers him the lit cigarette she'd holding.

The simple gesture floods Eddie with warmth.

Overwhelming warmth.

The kind that makes a person's eyes water.

Eddie rushes forward to wrap his arms around her. He feels her shift, like maybe she's dropped the butt and stamped it out. She hugs him back, and he melts into her.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"I know," she whispers back.

"I didn't mean it."

"I know," she repeats.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"I know," she says again.

"I love you."

"I know."

"You're saying 'I know' a lot," Eddie notices.

"I know."

"We should definitely have tons of sex tonight," he says, holding his breath while waiting for a response. Too soon?

"Dream on, dickweed."

He snorts and pulls back, and she looks up at him with the smallest of smiles. He'll take it. She reaches for his hands, and Eddie takes her freezing fingers in his. How long has she been out here?

"Do you still love me?" he asks, almost afraid of the answer.

She hesitates. Eddie's blood runs cold.

"Do you really think I'm holding you back?" she asks quietly.

"God, no," Eddie sighs, fighting the urge to drop to his knees and hug her around the middle while he grovels. "I don't know where the fuck that came from. You're everything to me. You're probably the only reason I'm still alive."

She considers it. Makes him squirm. Eddie bites his lip, preparing for the worst.

"The night is young, Munson."

She smirks. Eddie lets out a sigh of relief, head swimming at the comfort of a familiar threat. She reaches up to touch his swollen cheek. Did she just wipe away a tear? Fucking traitorous eyes! Eddie wipes angrily at his face, just in case.

"I'm sorry tonight didn't turn out the way you hoped," she says softly.

"It did," Eddie cuts in quickly. He doesn't want to think about that. He doesn't want to think about anything but making things right with the people he wronged. "I'm at the best Christmas party in Hawkins, with all my favorite people. If… if you think they'll let me in?"

He glances uneasily at the front door, decorated by a massive wreath with Santa's jolly face at its center.

"You think those boys, who've been playing D&D with you for years, have never witnessed an Eddie Munson Tantrum?" she teases, with that beautiful, amazing, wicked sparkle in her eyes.

Eddie's face burns with embarrassment.

"Oh!" she remembers suddenly, digging in her jacket pocket. She extracts a folded napkin and opens it to reveal a pile of cookies. Eddie's favorites.

"I snatched the last of the double chocolate chip. Apparently they're Mike's favorites too. I know he's a skinny brat and all, but damn that boy can stuff his face."

Eddie looks from the cookies to the girl, his eyes tearing up again. She did that for him? After he did that?

"C'mere," she orders, shoving the cookies back in her pocket and pulling him in for another hug. Eddie closes his eyes and buries his face in her neck, not ever wanting to imagine a world where they don't have each other.

"I love you," he croaks.

"I love you too," she responds. She squeezes him as tightly as he's squeezing her. He's never, ever letting go.

She seems to read his mind, since her hands soon find their way under his shirt. Eddie jumps out of his skin and lets out an honest-to-God squawk when those icy fingers make contact with his warm back, and she laughs at him. It's the most beautiful thing Eddie's heard all night.

Is she really like this because of him? Fun and happy and everything a person should be?

A car door slams, and both of them turn to the driveway to see Chief Hopper approaching.

"Munson, you got a taillight out."

"Yeah, I know," Eddie sighs.

The trio stands there awkwardly for a few seconds, before Hopper asks, "Wheeler eat all the cookies yet?"

"Just about," she grins. "If we hurry, we might be able to grab a few crumbs before he licks the plate."

Hopper chuckles and walks toward the front door. She takes Eddie's arm, tilts her head to Hopper, and waggles her eyebrows suggestively. Eddie shoots her a fake glare, and she laughs again before leading him inside for the party of the year.

What started out as the worst night of Eddie Munson's life ended up being one of the best. The band had softened under the influence of sugar, and did not murder him when he reappeared. Eddie spent a great evening surrounded by the people who matter most, in a place they all call home, with hundreds of cookies and gallons of cocoa. Eddie had so much fun, he didn't even groan when all the moms started singing Christmas carols at the piano.

Although he did nearly have a heart attack when Billy Hargrove, who'd been dragged to the party by his step-sister Max, tapped him on the shoulder and asked to bum a smoke.

[awanderingdeal]

O'Knutzy week 2023 - Day 2

Character credit - @lumosinlove

For @oknutzyweek2023

Prompts: Proposal, cooking mishaps, advice, laundry, new

Leo is going to propose to Logan and Finn, and it is going to be perfect. He's just a little nervous about it.

He buys the rings. That part goes great. 3 simple white gold bands. Logan and Finn's are inscribed with ' L x' That's the way Leo always signs off his notes to them. His own is inscribed with "Yours always,." Nothing else about the run-up seems to go right. He can't decide when or where to do it.

Finn and Logan are getting worried because Leo seems to be super distracted and making silly little mistakes he didn't usually. Including a few cooking mishaps - a very flat cake, a burnt chicken and a chilli that nearly kills Logan. ("How is it?" Leo called from the kitchen. He knows Logan and Finn will have started even without the sour cream and cheese he was currently holding. A little taste test, they called it. Except he didn't get the usual plethora of compliments. Then he hears the coughing. Was someone choking? "Guys! What's happening?!" His heart pounded in his chest as he rushed back into the dining area. Nobody was choking, but Logan was pushed his chair back from the table, beads of sweat pilling at his forehead and breath now coming in short little pants. "Is it bad?" Leo asked sceptically. He didn't make bad chilli; his ancestors would disown him. "Just a little hot," Logan said.)

The next time he phones his dad, he asks for his advice. He'd proposed to his mom so surely he must have tips, right? His dad is less than helpful with ideas, but he does calm him down. "Most folk that propose are nervous, son. But let me tell you something. If those boys of yours want to say yes, then they will say yes no matter what. And there ain't no perfect time or place that's going to turn a no into a yes. If you ask me though, they'll say yes. Be stupid not to."

In the end he does it on new year's eve. They'd decided on a quiet one this year. They'd just moved into a new place and had literally finished unpacking the last box - or at least those that didn't include those ones that would sit in the garage for the next two years before being donated - the day before. It's 4pm in the afternoon and the three of them are folding a pile of laundry. "I don't remember wearing this," Finn said, as he folded an old Harvard hoodie. "It was me," Logan shrugged, plucking a t-shirt from the pile. That one was Leo's. "This one too. But you can have them back, they won't smell like you any more." "Marry me." The words slip out of Leo's mouth before he even realises. He blinks. Logan blinks. Finn blinks. Leo is the first to recover. "Fuck. This wasn't supposed to go like this. I have rings and everything. Wait here," Leo said. He doesn't wait for a reply as he jogs to the spare room where he's hidden the rings. "Spoiler alert, I'm going to say yes!" Finn laughs.

[headcanonsandmore]

'Glad All Over (Cake By The Ocean)', Epilogue

Summary: A soft epilogue for Nyssa and Tegan.

~~~~~~~~~~

Read on AO3.

~~~~~~~~~~

Nyssa headed through the high-street of Tregonnereth.

Summer was slowly turning into a soft autumn, and the town’s summer season had mostly finished, save for a few elderly couples who chose this time of year to holiday in the UK.

Nyssa was glad that she had chosen her long-sleeve lacy blouse. She had sewn it herself, of course, and it paired wonderfully with her long flowing burgundy skirt. She was wearing her pair of Edwardian-style lace-up brogue boots, and delighted in the feeling of the wind gently swaying the fabric.

She had, of course, changed after getting back from work. She wouldn’t have worn this in the practice, but this evening was special.

Smiling softly to herself, Nyssa entered the garage.

She was met with the sight of an Australian dream.

Tegan was dancing to herself, eyes closed and smiling widely. She was wearing her normal overalls, with the top half tied around her waist to reveal a purple crop top. The same purple crop top that she had worn to Pride the previous year. Her muscles worked and bulged as she moved, and Nyssa couldn’t help but marvel.

Had a whole year really passed? As she watched Tegan pirouette in time with the music, Nyssa supposed that -when you were having fun- time really did fly by. But Nyssa didn’t care, because time was made up of those wonderful little moments that she couldn’t help but adore.

“I don't wanna hide my love… I don't wanna waste it…” Tegan sang, along to the music. “But I can't deny the moment when I taste it…”

She punctuated that last line by wrapping her arms around her torso and pirouetting again.

“My heart's a secret, mmm… I think I'm coming alive, yeah… I think I'm coming alive with you…”

Nyssa smiled, feeling her heart well with love for the woman who continued to dance in front of her, apparently oblivious to the outside world.

“Don't give it up… Don't say it hurts… 'Cause there's nothing like this feeling, baby… now that I found you!”

‘Oh, is that so, my darling?’

Tegan’s eyes opened, and she froze where she stood.

‘Nys!’ she exclaimed, happily. ‘Had a good day at work, love?’

‘About the same as ever,’ Nyssa said, with a giggle as she stepped towards Tegan and pressed a kiss to a spot on Tegan’s cheek that didn’t have oil grease on it. ‘Yours?’

‘Pretty good,’ Tegan grinned, grabbing a cloth and wiping her hands with it. ‘Give me five minutes to get cleaned up and I’ll be right with you…’

Nyssa followed Tegan back into the office, which was partitioned away from the rest of the garage, with screens around it.

Without ceremony, Tegan stripped her overalls off, and began washing herself with a flannel at the small sink imbedded into the wall. A year ago, Nyssa might have gotten flustered and looked away, but now she simply inclined her head to get a better view of the Australian’s rear end.

‘I can feel you watching me, love.’

‘You sound surprised,’ Nyssa said, with a grin. ‘Goodness forbid I stare at my gorgeous partner while she’s stood in her knickers.’

Tegan laughed, and began to dry herself off with a towel.

‘You know I’m not complaining,’ she cheeked, turning to smile at Nyssa and pulling on a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. ‘Goodness knows I stare at you enough.’

The Australian then bent down to dig into her rucksack, and slipped the gold-coloured band onto her ring finger.

‘I’m taking no chances,’ she said, stepping closer to Nyssa and putting her hands around her wait. ‘I am not losing one of our engagement rings inside an engine.’

Nyssa giggled, and cupped Tegan’s face with her hands, kissing her softly on the lips.

‘I know, my darling, and I love you for it.’

Their hands wrapped around each other, and Nyssa pushed Tegan gently up against the desk, the Australian giving a happy squeal as Nyssa hoisted her with surprising strength onto the wooden surface. Their tongues slipped into each other’s mouths. Tegan’s legs parted around Nyssa, and the older woman moaned softly against Nyssa’s lips as their bodies pressed close together, one of Nyssa’s hands slipping inside the half-open flannel to squeeze Tegan’s hip. The other followed it, but travelled upwards, and slipped under the material of the sports bra-

‘Oy! Tegan? Nyssa? Anyone here?’

Nyssa and Tegan froze, tongues in each-others mouths, and they both rolled their eyes, pulling away.

‘Ace!’ Tegan exclaimed, yelling over her shoulder as Nyssa reluctantly removed her hands. ‘You have the worst timing!’

There was the telltale sound of Mel giggling.

With a sigh, Tegan hastily did up her shirt, and climbed off the desk. Nyssa quickly brushed her hair where Tegan’s hands had been roaming. The two women then headed out of the office to where their friends were standing in front of the huge front doors.

‘Town meeting this evening,’ Mel said, with an apologetic grin at Nyssa. ‘Barbara stopped by the practice and requested that we help her set things up.’

‘And Ace is here as well because…’

‘Because she happened to be hiding under the desk at the time,’ Mel replied, without an ounce of embarrassment. ‘And, besides, four pairs of hands are better than three.’

Tegan rolled her eyes.

‘Alright, alright…’ she said, reaching over and wrapping her arm around Nyssa’s waist, giving her a squeeze. ‘We can get the papers ready this evening, anyway.’

Ace frowned, in bafflement.

‘Papers?’

‘Adoption papers, for our new cat,’ Nyssa explained. ‘She’s called Felicity and she’s the other love of my life.’

‘We are not,’ Tegan said, with a chuckle, ‘naming the cat after Felicity Kendal.’

‘Of course we are,’ Nyssa shot back, with a smile. ‘You promised, after all.’

‘Because you asked me during a moment of intense emotion. Nys, at the time, I would have literally yelled “yes” to anything you asked me, owing to the fact that you had your head inbetween my-’

‘Yes, I did do that,’ Nyssa said, with a smile. ‘Funny that, isn’t it.’

‘I bloody love you, Nyssa Traken.’

Nyssa giggled, and pressed a kiss to Tegan’s cheek.

‘Bleurgh,’ Ace retched, making a face. ‘Forget I asked. C’mon, doughnut; let’s go.’

Giggling at the nickname (which Nyssa still didn’t really understand), Mel intertwined her fingers with Ace’s, smiled happily at Nyssa and Tegan, and headed out through the main doors of the garage.

Nyssa stood while Tegan closed up the front doors and hoisted her rucksack onto her back.

‘You ready?’

‘Of course,’ Nyssa replied, intertwining their fingers. ‘It’s going to be wonderful; you, me and Felicity.’

Tegan chuckled.

‘Our little family,’ the Australian said, before kissing Nyssa’s cheek again. ‘Good grief, it doesn’t seem that long ago that I was dumping your shoes in front of you on Tregonnereth beach.’

‘Well, I am glad you did. Otherwise I never would have met you, meaning that I never would have stayed here.’

‘Nah, Nys; you stayed here because you wanted to help people.’

‘Yes… and you helped me. You were there from the very beginning. I was petrified at first because I didn’t think anyone here would enjoy being around me. But you always had my back. Just because you wanted to help. And… I love you for that.’

Tegan’s cheeks flushed.

‘I mean, I did fancy you.’

‘Stop downplaying it; if you hadn’t been you -lovely, kind, wonderful Tegan Jovanka- I would never have decided to stay here.’

‘Makes me sound cooler than I am.’

‘Tegan, you are the coolest person I know, and I’m not even being biased. As well as being my partner, you’re also my best friend.’

Tegan smiled, eyes wide and filled with an immensely soft tenderness.

‘I think Mel would get annoyed about that description.’

‘Okay, she’s my best platonic friend. But you’re my best romantic friend.’

‘Nys, we’re literally engaged to be married.’

‘I know; it’s wonderful, isn’t it.’

Tegan grinned.

‘It’s brilliant. It’s a big step, though; are you sure we’re ready?’

‘Of course we are, Tegan,’ Nyssa said, smiling at the woman who had opened up her world and her heart. The sun was already sinking below the horizon, bathing the two women in a soft, warm glow. ‘We’re indestructible.’

Tegan smiled, and squeezed her fiancé’s hand. They set off towards the town hall.

As Nyssa walked, hand-in-hand with Tegan, through the high-street of the small town, with the soft autumn wind blowing gently through her hair and the sea glistening in the deep orange sunset before them, she knew -in her heart of hearts- that she was home.

The End

~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone! I've had such a wonderful time writing this series, and I'm glad that you have all enjoyed it as well! The comments have been so lovely and encouraging, so thank you so much for sticking with this series!

You won't have to wait long for my next Tegan/Nyssa fic, though; no spoilers, but y'all are in for a... fang-tastic October...

[maroonmusings]

Despite Our Strife [r.p.]

Fandom: Julie & the Phantoms Pairing: Reggie x fem!reader Word count: 1.3k Warnings: overall hopeful but with angsty undertones, the rare use of third person on this blog

A/N: this was originally written with a female oc in mind, as it was supposed to be part of a fic that just never came to fruition. it's also me testing the waters to see if there are any jatp buds left here

“No. No you don’t.” Y/N immediately denied the boy’s confession, brows drawn together in concern as she lightly shook her head. “You can’t. Please.”

“That’s certainly not the reaction I was banking on.” Reggie dumbly pointed out, lips parted in what could only be described as a surprised confusion.

Y/N paid little attention to Reggie's reaction, however, too busy tumbling down her rabbit hole of thoughts. Her body moved on its own accord in a distressed pace that ran the length of the piano to the coffee table, and back again.

“I mean,” she started, a laugh that was void of any substance spilling past her lips before she could stop it. Her hands wrung together so tightly they could’ve become one. “How could something like this possibly work? You’re a ghost, and I'm not. We’re quite literally from two different worlds, Reggie.”

“I—I’m a little confused. Is the way I feel about you reciprocated or—” The bassist trailed off with a questioning lilt to his voice. He held up his index finger to signify his hopes for a pause in Y/N’s stressful spiral.

A breathy laugh suddenly escaped Y/N, finding her friend’s adorable obliviousness to be equally as cute as it was humorous. Tears pearled at her waterline when her pacing finally ceased. Reggie felt his heart pump harder in his chest when her eyes met his. The two gazed at each other with varying facets of fondness: Reggie, a perplexed yet hopeful fondness, and, for Y/N, a hopeless fondness that she knew would never go away. “Of course they are, Reg.”

“That’s such a relief!” Reggie couldn’t help but exclaim, drawing a soft chuckle from Y/N as well as a playful eye roll. He drew nearer to her, both subconsciously drawing in a breath at their close proximity. His voice lessened in volume as he drank in the girl who’d deliciously plagued his every thought since their first meeting. “So what’s the problem?”

“What isn’t the problem?” She retorted, her clear devastation over the issue withholding any heat from exploding in her delivery. Noticing Reggie's brows beginning to furrow once more, she elaborated. “There are so many uncontrollable factors that’ll stand in our way if we tried to be together.”

“Like what?”

“Well, no one other than the band can see you, for starters.” Y/N reminded, a tear cascading down her cheek as she spoke the impossible hurdle into existence. “What’ll we do about dates, or literally anything that requires us to be out in public together?”

“I’m sure we can come up with some fun date ideas that are garage-friendly!” Reggie said optimistically, catching her tear with his thumb. He brought his hands to rub her upper arms comfortingly. An almost whimsical smile was painted on his pink lips. “Think about it, Y/N. We can make this place our little sanctuary. Well, when the band isn’t already using it for practice, that is.”

“Reggie, I don’t think you understand.” The girl pointed out patiently with a soft shake of her head. “I can't keep my feelings for you contained in this garage. If i’m going to be with you, I’d want to scream about it from the rooftops. When I leave class and go to my locker, you’ll already be there waiting for me. and I can just pull you into the biggest hug and talk to you without anyone thinking that I'm looking at thin air. I want to take turns finding different restaurants that we can try together, one star or five. We can go on these wild adventures together that’ll be a pain in the ass to share with friends because we’ll either have too many stories to tell or be laughing too hard to get through them. When I smile, I want people to know that I'm not smiling at thin air, but at you, Reg—the sweetest, funniest, most talented, most beautiful person I've ever met. I want them to see you the same way I do.”

It was a wonder Y/N was able to finish verbalizing her train of thought, for an incessant stream of tears was flooding from her eyes by the end. Reggie was in a similar state, but an awestruck grin still nipped at his rosy cheeks. He tugged the girl before him into a warm embrace, where she took a moment to cry into his chest. The boy felt his tank top dampen within an instant, but couldn’t find anything in him to be upset over it.

“We can find a way to fix this. I’m sure there’s a way to make us visible to lifers.” Reggie reassured, swaying her body in tandem with his and stroking her hair. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head for good measure. “We can ask around and see if any other ghosts can help! Preferably ones that are smarter than us.”

“Reggie, you know how that went last time!” She cried, clutching onto his shirt to tug their bodies closer together. The mere thought of the boy before her getting himself into a caleb-level risk again terrified her. Tucking her face into his neck, she felt his shoulders slump, and knew that his mind traveled to the same destination as hers. “So, no. no magic. No evil, hundred-year old magicians. No nothing. I'm not letting you die again just to be with me.”

“You’re absolutely right. We just need to be more cautious of the company we keep.” He conceded with a soft nod that had his chin grazing her cheek.

When she removed herself from his chest, and her glassy, red eyes found his, all Reggie could see was discombobulating beauty. Another weak, half-hearted laugh escaped her as she forced a watery, incredulous grin. “Even if we were careful, you’re always going to be a teenager, Reggie.”

The boy in question was a little slower to uncover the necessity for her remark on his age. “What do you mean?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Y/N averted her gaze to the floor. “You’ve stopped aging, sure, but I haven’t. I don’t want to, but i’m gonna be forced to move on without you, Reg. There is no graduating high school and moving in together during our college years for us. No growing old together. Our relationship has an expiration date, and I just know that I’m not going to be able to let you go when the clock hits zero.”

“So, don’t,” came Reggie's rapid response, hands reaching for Y/N’s. She sniffled as their eyes met again. “I mean, you saw what happened when you and Julie were finally able to touch me and the guys. Ever since you hugged me after seeing it work for Luke and Julie, I’ve felt stronger than I ever had when I was still alive. Hell, I’ve felt alive. That has to count for something, has to mean something. We’re so close, Y/N, I can feel it.”

Her lips parted and closed multiple times, before she was able to shakily convey what was on her mind. “I—I don’t want to lose you.”

“And you won’t.” He immediately reassured, hands clutching tighter to hers and bringing his forehead to hers. Their soft gaze that they shared was troubled yet determined. “If you think that I’m going to let you slip through my fingers so easily, you’re as crazy as Star Wars when they killed off Han.”

Y/N huffed out a small laugh, rolling her eyes affectionately at Reggie. A breathtaking grin attacked his face at the sound. She couldn’t help but smile back, even if it was laced with minuscule traces of concern.

Reggie's eyes softened, hands trailing from hers and up to her shoulders. He squeezed them gently, keeping his forehead on hers. “We’ll figure this out, you and me. I’ll do anything if it means getting to come home to you every night.”

Y/N pulled Reggie closer, and, as their lips met in a gentle, yet passionate, embrace, she knew that he was right. She would follow Reggie every step of the way, because that’s what you do when you’re in love.

[stan-the-cinnamon-roll-uris]

After thinking about the whole using your favourite song to get free of Vecna concept for a bit I started wondering how the group would react to their favourite songs post-Vecna.

Because even just talking from my own experience, even the best songs can absolutely be ruined by trauma.

So in the end, once Vecna is dead and everything is said and done, I imagine it's gonna go something like this:

Max who survives Vecna in the end. Battered and bruised, almost blind and bound to a wheelchair but she survives. And she still has Lucas. She still has her friends that care for her and look after her, her found family, only that now whenever she hears Kate Bush, she ends up with full blown anxiety attacks, feeling like she's back in that horrible place in the Upside Down. Not just with "Running up that hill" but Kate Bush in general because it's the singer's voice that is branded into her brain now.

Eddie, who gets released from the hospital after the group barely got him out of the Upside Down alive and immediately sets up a date for a Corroded Coffin band rehearsal even though he's supposed to take it slow but this is all he ever wanted to do. His trip to hell and back is all he thinks about in the days leading up to their band meet up and the fact that he helped save the world with a Metallica song and his own electric guitar. But once he sits in front of his waiting band mates his hands freeze. And he tries to play, just like he remembers doing in the Upside Down, he can almost feel it in his fingertips, too, but sitting there in Gareth's garage he can't. It's like his hands are stuck to the strings and his throat closes up and his healing bites start itching again and it's not fair because that's his song now and he was so certain they'd kill it at their next gig but Eddie can't. Not that song. Never again.

Now, Nancy is the one that never really cared much about music but she cares a lot about being prepared, especially after getting dragged into everything with the Upside Down. Nancy, who is the one collecting all of their favourite songs, neatly putting them on a list and fixing up a mixtape for her car. Thankfully she never has to use it but she can never bring herself to throw it out, either, because what if the time comes where they need to be prepared again? So instead it ends up getting banished to her glove department. Never able to throw it away, but unable to look at it without shuddering, either.

Or Robin who didn't even know what song to chose in case of a Vecna emergency because her favourite song changes daily. Robin's cassette collection at home is diverse and excessive, as her mom loves to remind her, but it's just hard when sometimes she needs to listen to the same 5 songs for a month and other times it feels like she needs to listen to 100 different songs a day. Even when Nancy comes to her about the mixtape she's not sure she even chose the right song so she just ends up doing her own mixtape. She keeps it with her until the day Vecna is defeated before crashing it under one of the Beamer's tires as Steve is finally teaching her how to drive.

And lastly Steve who always listened to Queen, Abba, Madonna and everything pop on the radio but after almost losing several of his friends it's just not the same. Everytime he listens to "I want to break free" now, he remembers Russian spies and finding Eddie half dead in Dustin's arms and watching Max at the hospital getting wheeled into surgery and he gets anxious and there's so much anger now. Robin and Dustin have tried to get him into different styles of music before and now there's Eddie who only ever talks about Metal and that's not quite it but turns out Punk works quite well when you want to scream it out alone in the car.

[obstinaterixatrix]

okay so I felt like it was unfair to write off bloody bloody andrew jackson without actually listening to the soundtrack so I did and in general my thoughts are: the music and lyrics are competent, they really nailed the vibe of tryhard cringy high school garage band. there were a couple of songs that stood out as sounding good, or being interesting, and one where the concept was good but the execution wasn't compelling enough to carry it though. the problem with historical musicals as commentaries or conversation starters about the legacy of blah blah whatever is that if it takes over two hours to get to 'maybe things were complicated and also maybe this guy sucks what do you think' that's too long. if you want a protagonist you're supposed to understand but not necessarily root for you really can't be dragging your feet or leaving too much ambiguity. this show is like if that one scene from pippin (that ends up being a poorly aged reflection of the public's view of communism, but I do believe it has merit in terms of individual characterization and within the context of the show) ended up being the Entire Show instead of like ten minutes. if you're doing historical rpf you gotta be absolutely incisive about what you're saying about the past and the present (assassins), or you have to narrow the focus to a specific event rather than diluting over decades worth of content (1776). so like if you're trying to raise critiques or insert nuance, it's not really something to be wishy-washy over because by allowing any give that leaves room for folks to be like 'weeellll but this is sympathetic and understandable so having nuance means I get to excuse my positive views on the subject' and folks who are already aware of and agreeing with the critique have to sit through so many numbers going like 'I hate this man I fucking hate this man why do I have to sit through thirty minutes of set up/context before getting to the Also He Did A Genocide Yikes someone grab a guitar and start beating him to death already'. like what are you actually saying about populism and democracy and the bloody spectacle, huh? especially since bloody spectacle is a cultural touchstone of entertainment, huh? you've managed to encapsulate the m/a/g/a mindset a decade before it became inescapable, but you haven't given us any poison or cure, it's an empty reflection.

[join-the-joywrite]

Take my hand (take my whole life too)

"We played the Oprheum!"

The bouncing hug only lasted a second or two. While the boys regained a significant amount of lost strength, Julie's was slowly dwindling. She was, after all, only human and was out of home way later than usual. Her own internal clock seemed to be screaming at her to at least sit down.

Instead, she went down with the boys as her foot caught on a cable and she stumbled to the floor.

Alex made for a soft landing, one for which her apology was littered with giggles. Alex didn't mind. The slight pain was welcome in comparison to Caleb's jolts. Not to mention, he'd wanted to hug Julie ever since she cried during her not-so-private performance of her mother's song weeks ago. So he lay on the floor and squished Julie tight, only bringing forth more giggles.

"Hey, my turn!" Reggie yelled, rolling over and dropping himself half on Julie, fully on Alex.

"Oof," Luke commented, "that looks like it hurt."

"It did," Alex wheezed, adjusting himself to get used to the additional weight.

As one, all three of them held out an arm to Luke, who didn't hesitate to scoot closer and join the cuddle pile. Head on Alex's shoulder, he was right in front of Julie. He gave her a smile that, had she been standing, would've probably made her lose her balance. She gave him one back.

"I like this," Reggie murmured contentedly, closing his eyes.

"Yeah," Julie agreed, relishing in the fact that she could finally hug her boys, "me too."

They stayed like that for a moment before Alex sat up with great difficulty, sending them all tumbling. "You're all very heavy," he stated by way of explaining.

Julie chuckled and moved to stand up. Luke and Reggie grabbed one of her arms each.

"Stay," both whined. Reggie continued with a grin. "I promise I can be a soft pillow for you."

"I'd love to, honestly, but Carlos is waiting for me. He wanted to talk to me and. . ."

"Fine," Reggie huffed, "but just know that I'm feeling incredibly hurt right now."

Julie ruffled his hair, grinning when he closed his eyes and smiled under her touch. "There's always tomorrow."

Still, all three of them pouted when Julie stood up and righted her clothes.

"I'll see you guys in the morning," she said before walking to the doors. She paused just before closing it. "Thank you, guys."

Alex gave her a wave. Luke smiled at her with a dopey expression. Reggie continued to pout.

Julie bounded up the pathway, gait as giddy as her smile. Carlos was waiting for her in the living room.

"Hey," she said, joining him on the couch.

"Hey."

"Whatcha got there?" she asked, nodding to the paper Carlos' hands were clamped around. "Another French dip recipe?"

Carlos shook his head. "You know what this is."

"I . . . really don't."

"Your band! They're--!" Carlos stopped and glanced around looking for their father. He leaned across the vouch and whispered to Julie with wide eyes, "ghosts."

Julie forced a laugh. "What? No, don't be silly, there's no such thing as ghosts."

Carlos lifted his eyebrows. "Okay, then explain this."

Julie picked up the little black and blue page Carlos tossed to the middle of the couch, recognising it as a CD insert. For Sunset Curve. Julie's own eyebrows lifted slightly, but she continued to pretend like she hadn't a clue what was happening. Then she turned it over and knew the jig was up. Staring up at her was all four members of Sunset Curve. Trevor, or Bobby, sure looked different when he was younger.

"They're just lookalikes--"

"I'd believe you if they were here and we could touch them."

The idea of being able to hold and hug her bandmates brought a warm smile back to Julie's face. She quickly wiped it off and shook her head. "Where'd you even find this?"

"In the box with the French dip recipe."

"Ah."

Carlos suddenly looked around wildly. Julie looked around too.

"What? What happened? What are we looking for?"

"Are they here?"

"What? No, they're in the garage--"

"Aha!" Carlos grinned and folded his arms. "You're a terrible liar, Jules."

"Wh-- I am not!"

"You are, though."

Julie jumped slightly and moved away from Reggie. Carlos noticed and immediately turned his gaze where Julie looked. "Are they here now? Tell them I say hello!"

Julie rolled her eyes. "They can hear you, dork -- and it's just Reggie."

"Tell him that I say hello."

"Reggie says hello," Julie said, heaving a resigned sigh. "What are you doing here? I told you I'd see you in the morning."

"I knew it," Carlos whispered to himself as he watched his sister talk to thin air. She looked, in all honesty, a bit insane, but at least he knew he was right about the ghosts. "So how does the ghost thing even work? How come I can't see him now, but we can all see them when you play?"

Julie whipped her head from Reggie to Carlos. "It -- I'll explain it all tomorrow, okay? It's been a long day. Reggie, go back to the studio. Carlos, to bed. It's late."

"All right," Carlos grumbled, sliding off the couch. He paused at the stairs and glanced back to see Julie scolding nothing. He hoped he'd get to officially met the guys. Julie made them seem fun.

"All right, little man, what do you wanna hear?"

Julie repeated the question to Carlos, letting him know that it was Reggie who asked.

Carlos thought for a moment. "I like the song you were singing before you got back into the music program."

"Oh, that's not our song, that -- that--"

"No, it's okay," Luke said, "I'm sure we can work something out."

"I -- okay."

Carlos sat down on the couch, almost bouncing with excitement as Julie took a seat behind the piano. The melody she played wasn't loud and energetic like their usual songs. It was quiet and gentle. Even when the band kicked in, they were much softer than usual. Julie hummed along where the words should be so that Carlos could easily speak to the boys.

"I'm--"

"Wait!" Carlos said, jumping off the couch, cutting Luke off. "I'm gonna guess based on what Julie says about you."

"You talk about us?" Luke asked with a teasing grin.

Julie hit a particularly furious note. "Shut up."

"Luke, Reggie and Alex," Carlos said, pointing to the correct band member as he went.

"Nice, little man!"

"This is so cool," Carlos whispered, eyes widening when Reggie paused playing and knelt down for Carlos to stick his hand through Reggie's arm. "Woah."

The band noticed that they were very intangible to Carlos.

Luke was only slightly disappointed when Carlos chose to focus his attention on Alex next.

"I like your hoodie."

"Thanks," Alex said, beaming. "Here, you wanna try?"

"Nah, I don't play music . . . okay, maybe a little."

Julie laughed softly as she watched Alex stand and then point where Carlos should hit. To keep them from disappearing, she continued the piano. Luke kept up with his guitar, grinning at her all the while. Their little musical conversation didn't go unnoticed by Reggie and Alex, who shared a knowing glance before Carlos grabbed Alex's attention.

"Have you ever accidentally stabbed your drums through with the sticks?"

"No, and please do not do that. We have no idea what it costs to repair dead instruments."

Carlos handed the drumsticks back to Alex and hopped off the chair. He stood in front of Luke, who knelt down as Reggie had done.

"So. You're the one my sister has a crush on."

"Carlos!" Jullie yelled, standing up and slamming down about five wrong keys.

"It was nice meeting you," Carlos yelled as he fled the garage.

With her face burning, Julie chased him down.

Alex and Reggie did their best not to laugh. They really did. But the shell-shocked look on Luke's face was hilarious. Even the withering glare Luke sent them didn't help quieten their laughter.

Up in the house, Ray Molina thought he was about to witness a wrestling match. "Julie! What are you doing?"

Julie, who suddenly realised there was no way to explain why she was attacking Carlos without either sounding like a lunatic or exposing the phantoms to her father, slowly slid down to the ground.

Carlos sat up on the couch. "Julie has a crush on Luke! Julie has a crush on Luke! Julie has a--"

"Oh, that is it!"

Perplexed, Ray watched Julie spring back on the couch with a war cry, followed by a pained, "How could you say that in front of him?!"

"Who's Luke?"

Carlos, seemingly determined to ruin Julie's life, broke out from her seeking arms and grinned at Ray. "The beanie boy in her little boyband--"

"CARLOS!"

"Julie," Ray said, a playful warning edge creeping into his voice as he folded his arms, "is there something you want to talk about?"

"No! Not at all! Excuse me, I have to go, um, rehearse!"

"Rehearse?" Ray exchanged an amused grin with Carlos. "What for?"

"Uh, future gigs? You know, since we played the Orpheum, we might get like a ton of calls and -- oh, like this, see?" As Julie held up her phone, both Ray and Carlos saw Flynn's name, but both decided to give Julie a small reprieve. In the meantime, Carlos could fill Ray in about this little crush business.

"You are not going to believe what just happened," Julie said, taking the stairs two at a time. "I took Carlos down to the garage to meet the guys, you know, 'cause he figured them out and he wanted to meet them, but then he told Luke I have a crush on him and I ended up chasing Carlos back to the house 'cause I didn't want to stay in the garage with Luke -- and Alex and Reggie -- and then my dad caught us fighting on the couch and then Carlos told my dad that I have a crush on Luke and my life is over!"

Flynn took a moment to respond. "Well . . . it's not like he's wrong, is he?"

"Flynn!" The wail that Julie threw into her pillow as she face planted her bed was equal parts betrayed and mortified. "How am I supposed to show my face at practice now? Can I come and bury my head in the sand at your place?"

Flynn laughed over the phone. "Grow up, Jules. You turned Nick down for this air cutie. Nick. You made your choice, now live with it."

"Flynn," Julie growled.

"Okay, okay. Look, you have to talk about it at some point. There's no way you can have that kind of fire on stage without some mutual attraction, and that's just Luke and Reggie. Then there's Luke and you. Jules, that's not even a fire anymore. There is something serious between you two and even though I still think it's a bad idea because he's, you know, air, I still think you need to talk about it before the wrong thing blows up."

"I know," Julie sighed. "I can handle Luke -- I think. It's my dad I'm worried about. How do I explain it all without him wanting to take me to a shrink?"

"Don't tell him anything. Show him. Maybe with a little less flair than you did with me. Play him something soft. Like . . . wasn't your mom in a couple of bands when she was our age? Maybe he'd know one of her songs. Maybe if you guys played something of hers, he'll have enough of his head around him to know it's all real, but enough of it will be in the clouds that it'll be easy to explain."

Julie stared at her phone, at the contact photo she had of Flynn. "You are a genius."

"I know. So, I was just calling to ask how you're holding up, but I'm going to assume everything is fine and the guys didn't cross over?"

"Yeah, no, it was really weird. Caleb's curse just sort of . . . broke, I guess, after I hugged them."

"Wait, hold up. You hugged them? What was that like, arms hanging in the air and hoping you were touching?"

Julie sighed a happy sigh. "We have a lot to talk about."

"I'll be there for dinner, no excuses -- and I expect your dad to know what's going on by then."

Julie rolled over and muffled a groan of despair into her pillow.

"Rough day?"

"It's only ten," Julie whined, lifting her head to give Alex her sad eyes.

Alex smiled. "You'll be fine -- I mean with your dad thing. With Luke on the other hand. . ."

Julie faux sobbed into her pillow, eliciting a soft chuckle from Alex, who sat down on her bed. He reached out for her shoulder then quickly drew back. Ever since Julie left the garage last night, it had been on his mind -- on all their minds -- that the hug was a one-time thing. He didn't want to confirm their fears if they were right.

"Hey, it's okay, Jules."

Julie let out a strangled wail that took Alex a few seconds of clamping his mouth shut to avoid laughing at the poor girl.

"I'm serious. You know, Luke, he . . . he's not great with feelings. He talks with music, with songs, with lyrics. He says the most important things when he looks at you on stage or at a rehearsal or when you're writing music together. He's just scared. I mean, we all are, but him most."

Julie sat up, hugging her wail-pillow to her chest. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."

Alex shrugged. "All I'm saying is, give him a chance -- and give Carlos a break. Honestly, he might have just done you a favour."

"I cannot believe you're taking Carlos' side."

"I'm not! I'm not, I'm just -- things are already complicated. How much worse can they get?"

Julie sighed. "I don't know. . ."

"Well, it's not like Luke does either. He's locked himself in the bathroom and Reg and I think he's been crying in the bathtub this whole time. We'd phase through the door but Luke can actually hit us if he wants to so. . ."

"Oh, and you think I can't?" Julie teased.

The two shared an amused grin, but beneath it, both were thinking the same thing. What if she couldn't?

"All right, I'll tall to him. But you and Reggie have to leave."

Julie ventured into the empty garage. She looked around for Reggie and Alex, unsure if she was relieved or not when she didn't find them. Up in the loft, they watched Julie disappear as she headed further in towards the bathroom door.

She knocked gently. "Luke?"

Silence.

"Come on, I know you're in there. Alex says you've locked yourself in and won't come out."

"I'm not Luke."

"Okay, but I need to talk to Luke so can you pass on the message for me?"

"I'll let him know."

Julie smiled, finding Luke's behaviour somewhat amusing. She leaned against the door. "I'm sorry about Carlos, he . . . he just really enjoys embarrassing me in front of people. I guess he figured since you guys can't really speak to other people, you'll have to talk to me and we'll all have to confront whatever he said so that's why he picked you to tease and --" Julie broke off with a sigh.

The bathroom stayed silent.

"And I'm sorry for running out after him. I was just . . . I was afraid of what you'd say."

When Luke spoke again, though his voice was much softer, it was also much clearer. As if he were closer to the door. "Why? Was he . . . telling the truth? Did you say something?"

Julie fidgeted with the sleeves on her yellow jersey. "No, but I'm not exactly the most subtle person and if you haven't noticed, I suck at lying."

Luke laughed softly. "Oh, we noticed. Everyone knows you're a horrible liar."

"Thanks," Julie said with a grin, "I mean, I really just came here to affirm what a bad liar I am."

"Ooh, sarcastic too."

"Shut up."

"Well?" Luke said after a moment of silence. "Was he?"

Julie leaned against the door and sighed. "What does it matter? It's not like anything would come of it."

"It does matter, Jules. It -- it matters because -- well, I mean, you matter. To me."

"I know," Julie said softly, turning so that her back was against the door. "It sucks, doesn't it?"

"Not all of it sucks," Luke murmured from the other side of the door. "We could find a way. You've already done so much that no other lifer ever has, as far as anyone knows. Why stop there?"

Julie laughed. "Your ambition is very inspiring, Luke, but everything has a limit."

"So find that limit, then. You'll never know how high it is if you stop now."

Julie felt something brush her hand and glanced down to see Luke's arm phasing through the door. She wanted to reach for his hand but she was afraid she'd just pass through him. So she made a joke instead.

"You do realise that a floating arm is way more unsettling than anything else ghosts have ever done, right?"

"How's a floating head?" Luke asked, pulling his hand back and leaning forward. He gave Julie a grin. "That's always scary, right?"

"Stop it, that's weird."

Neither noticed that Julie had managed to make physical contact with Luke until after she'd shoved him back into the bathroom.

"If I come out there, are you going to poke me in the eyes again?"

"First of all, I didn't," Julie said, appreciating that Luke wasn't reacting with the panicked excitement she felt. "Second of all, I'll try not to."

"Okay, but if you do, I'm really going back into the bathtub."

Julie twisted her fingers and wrung her wrists and bounced nervously as she waited for Luke to step through the door.

"Can we try that again?" Luke asked, holding out both hands to her.

The scene felt vaguely familiar to Julie, and everything came crashing down when her hands passed through Luke's once and then twice.

"You're nervous," Luke said softly, "there's no need to be. You didn't think last time. You weren't nervous."

"I can't. I don't know what it is--"

"Yes, you do. You know it's not us doing anything. You're the one with all the magic, Jules."

Nervous but now confident, Julie tried once again. She thought she'd be able to walk on water whe she felt Luke's hands close around her own. The smile he gave her was the usual dopey look she always noticed him wearing around her.

"See? It's all you."

Julie squeezed his hands, almost like she was afraid she wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. "I like this," she murmured.

"Hey, Jules?"

"Yeah?"

Luke watched her eyes widen the tiniest bit as she gave him a questioning look. "Uh, do you -- about what Carlos said . . . We will talk about that, right?"

"Yes. I promise. Just . . . later?"

"Okay." Just the promise was enough for Luke. Besides, he could hold her, now. He could hold her hand, brush her hair out of her face, hug her. He could even flick her nose or tug her curls to annoy her, nudge her around when she didn't laugh at his jokes. And if -- he hoped she did -- but if she didn't feel the same way he did, then being able to be her best friend and just high five her now and then would still be enough. She wasn't just out of reach anymore.

Ayeeeee this just be sitting in my notes??? I found it like this??? All it needed was a title??? Speaking of, I might change that title and steal it for a sad fic oop

[soundsandnoises]

Ashes, ashes... a band is (re)born

Deaf Havana with Sick Joy in Lafayette, London (22/02/22)

It took me a minute (or five) to put together this concert review. My thoughts were... scattered, well, they still are if I'm being honest. But I have managed to organise them just enough to write about Deaf Havana's gig in Lafayette.

From the beginning then: freezing wind wallowed between buildings, sun had teeth that day... Wait, no, too far away, but there was a special kind of chill in the air that day, that was a fact. Speaking of 'special' – that concert was truly special. Starting with the location: small Lafayette near King's Cross station, in the middle of ever growing business/culture hub where Universal Music and Google have their offices and Coal Drops Yard – a shopping complex and foodie heaven spreads just on the other side of the canal. A sister venue to Omeara (grassroots venue in London Bridge), that carries the same independent vibe with lots of character thanks to the design and careful thought of the team behind it. It's like stepping into different world. Entertainment space, bar and food place cater all the needs and it's a pretty neat combination.

Then there was a concert itself – a breath of a new life breathed into Deaf Havana. The band: re-organised, revitalised, reborn performing there and then – every minute of it pouring with strength and clarity.

That easy, yet it took me so long to find the words. I guess a was a bit ashamed. Ashamed that I couldn't submerge myself into the vibe and music as much as I wanted to. I was feeling out of sync that day (I got quite good at hiding it, I dare say, so quite likely nobody, who I have met that day could tell that I was). Then came the show and the words that were supposed to be etched in my memory weren't there. I'm not going to pretend and say that I do indeed know every single word to every song, but hell, I was sure I knew more. Yet I couldn't tune in. and I can't blame that bass that was thumping into my right ear and overwhelming other sounds coming from the stage. Alas. If you know the words, you sing them.

Nonetheless the setlist was a beauty. Started with DH's new single 'Going Clear' – a choice that surprised me at first, but as soon as the tunes hit the air it became clear why it was an opener of the set. The song burst with such energy and positivity – how else would you start the show? Especially one celebrating a mighty milestone – one performed sober. The joy on James' face was a bit different from the ones I've observed during other shows: not trained in liquid confidence, but playful, unobstructed happiness, new found cleared eyed one... What a step forward indeed. The surprised kept on coming – 'Caro Padre' landed on the setlist. It's been a while, not necessarily obvious choice but definitely a beautiful one. With Deaf Havana it's better to bin all the assumptions and simply enjoy what comes, and boy, that one off show was just a preview. And room full of people singing their hearts out was a proof the band doesn't disappoint. So obviously there were the old ones ('Hunstanton Pier', 'Anemophobia'), the ones set in stone ('Mildred', 'Boston Square', 'Sing'), the new ones ('Sinner' – boy, that song is legendary live, serves as a cherry on top to an amazing set, the last, but not the least, 'Hell', 'Ritual' and brand new ('The Present is a Foreign Land') and introductions too (personnel wise), the awkward banters and self-deprecating humour. The good, the bad and ugly little truths lurking between lyrics marking the brand new era for Deaf Havana emerging victorious from the brink of (almost) self-destruction.

Setlist:

Going Clear

Trigger

Boston Square

Worship

Fever

Mildred

Evil

Happiness

Hunstanton Pier

Anemophobia

The Present is a Foreign Land

Hell

Ritual

Caro Padre

Sing

Sinner

Sick Joy

There wouldn't be a great gig without a fantastic support act and Sick Joy were a joy indeed. And another great surprise of the evening I must say – an explosive mix of pop, rock, garage and grunge attitude and the room was buzzing as the raw guitar sounds were cutting the air. There was something rough and dirty borrowed from the punk rock legends, there was roaring chaos from the 90s grunge moody titans and yet it was as fresh as the cold wind cutting through my bones that day as I wandered London's streets in the afternoon. The fellow concert goer asked me after the band finished: 'What was that?!' (impressed tone of her voice suggested she did enjoy it), I replied frankly: 'I don't know, but I loved it.' And there's nothing much to add. Maybe, just one thing: put Sick Joy on your next favourite playlist.

[gloomyhearts]

Always by your side|| Luke Patterson

Chapter seven~ 25 years?!

people grow together through darkness. does this band will make it without their most important human being.

After years will everything keep the same?

Luke patterson x oc

2020

The siblings were next to each other, it became a routine that everytime Luke and Reggie fell asleep the girl would sneak behind the tall blonde.

Tonight was different. Sabrina woke up to a loud scream and when her fingers fished for Alex there was no one.

Did he.. she couldn't finish the heart broken thought.

Alex and his friends found themselves in the middle of the old garage they'd rehearsal a thousand times before they passed.

"How did we get back here" Luke was the first to speak.

The girl who faced them screamed from the top of her lungs and the boys joined it, taken aback that they weren't the only ones in there.

The boy group jumped about, mostly Luke did so. Alex and Reggie hold fast onto Luke who calmed a bit. The raven haired girl ran out of the room leaving them questioning.

"What the actual hell was that? Alex broke the silence.

"Well she seemed nice" Reggie insists.

"What?" Luke and Alex said in sync turning to his friend.

"I mean she.." he got interrupted by her walking through him, she was walking right through him. The boys looked closed by this. They watched her carefully as she moved further into the room with a cross in her hand,

Okay well that's silly Alex points over to her and Luke just shrugged his shoulder.

The girl mutters under her breath and the boys decided to make them visible again.

"Well, we're all a little crazy." Luke raises his arms as he states.

She began to scream, again.

"Oh my God! Please stop screaming!" Alex pressed his palms onto his ears.

She stops and in the far a dog began to howl.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my mom's studio?" She shouted.

"Your mom's studio? This is our studio. Trust me, my.." he approached the girl who almost ram her cross into his body.

"The grand piano is new, and.. and.. and.." by the time he let the sentence out he slid over the named piano.

He starts to giggle when he saw the couch was still there. He sighs when his hand meets the fabric of the pillow.

"But that's definitely not my six-string," he points over to the guitar on the wall. His graze rose to the ceiling where chairs hung down.

Where's her board.

When Sabrina died they hung her board on there so they would feel her near.

"Can you just give us a second?" he asks as he reached his friends again.

"Just.. give me a second. Thank you."

They turned around and he began to whisper, "guys, what is going on? How did she get her stuff in here so fast?"

"Maybe.. maybe she's a witch. There's chairs floating on the ceiling," Reggie suggests.

"Okay, there is no such thing as witches." Alex argues.

"You're sure? I used to think there was no such thing as ghosts," he retorted.

But Alex knew better but he couldn't bring that up.

"That's fair"

"Okay, so we're going with witch?" Luke questions.

"No! We are not going with witch"

"She's not a witch. Okay, look. She's just scared. Okay let someone with a softer touch handle this" Alex has his hand now resting on his chest as he remarks.

He walks back to her. "Why are you in our studio?" He began. After a moment of silence the girl pushes her cross through his body.

"Oh my gosh! How did you do that?" Her voice loud.

"Clearly, you're not understanding. She doesn't get it.." he says into the direction of his friends.

"Okay, look. We're ghosts, all right? We're just three ghosts, and we're really happy to be home. So thank you for the flowers. They really brighten up the room," he explains.

"We're in a band called Sunset Curve," Luke adds.

"Tell your friends," Reggie didn't say those words in a while and he was relieved could.

"Last night was supposed to be a really big night for us."

Sabrina never spoke to Alex about the time that had passed since their death.

"It was gonna change our lives."

"I'm, uh.. I'm pretty sure it did," Alex whispers to his friend.

"This is freaking me out," the girl demands, she inhales sharply as she grabs her phone.

"What is that? What are you doing?" Luke points towards the electronic device.

"It's my phone"

"No stop talking to them. The aren't real," she snapped.

"There's no such thing as cute ghosts." her voice becoming squeaky.

"Oh you think we're cute?" Reggie requests.

"Who you calling?" Alex bend forward

"I'm googling sunset swerve"

"Sunset curve"  they all corrected her.

"Whoa. There's a sunset curve. You did die. But not last night. Twenty-five years ago?"

"What? No. No, no, no. Th-Th-That's impossible," Reggie stutters.

"After we floated out of the ambulance, all we did was go to that weird dark room where Alex cried" he continues.

"Well.. I don't think.. I think we were all pretty upset okay." He said in a high pinched voice.

"But that was just for like an hour. We just showed up here" Luke acknowledges.

"Look. I'm just telling you what my phone says," she held her screen toward the group so they could read for themselves.

"See? you died in 1995. When you were 17. It's now 2020"

"So, this is the future?" Reggie connects.

"Wait. So.. so, it has been 25 years. I have been crying for 25 years? How is that possible?" He shouts the last part.

"We'll, you're a very emotional person." Reggie states.

"I am not!" The blonde retorted.

Suddenly there was another voice coming from behind them.

"Thought you were afraid to come out here," a young biy walked through the door.

"You talking to your ghost friend? How does he look? Is he hideous?"

"He can see you," Alex shoot in Reggies direction.

"No he can't," told the girl. His graze wanders around looking for the guys.

"What?"

"Uh.. what do you want," she tried to change the subject.

"A normal sister, for starters," he exclaims.

"Me too" Alex exhales.

"Stop being weird and come eat," he tells and left.

"He couldn't see you" she began.

"Yeah, I mean, that's.. usually how ghosts work." Alex explains. Reggie hummed in agreement.

The girl walked over to the doorframe and came to hold.

"Look, I'm very sorry for what happened to you guys, but this isn't your studio anymore. You have to leave," the girl with the glasses bosses.

"But wait. We.. we didn't get your name," Luke asks carefully.

"It's Julie."

"Cool" he chuckles slightly

"I'm Luke, by.. by the way" as he was near her she rose the cross again.

"And this is.." he stutters

"I'm Reggie," he waved to her

"And.." he pushed the blonde boy further.

"Alex. How's it going?"

"Ba-da," he insecurity exhales.

"Okay?" With that she left.

"Julie seems nice," Reggie smiles.

Alex just groans. "Did you miss the part where she kicked us out, or.. yes okay," he gave in.

The blonde had to find his sister, she has to explain a lot if thing to him, now.

"I need to go.." he points out

"But you can't leave us here" Luke insists.

"But this is really important. I need to think,"

"Okay, let us do one thing and you can go"

Luke decided to go inside her house even if that means to break boundaries. When Julie saw the three she let out a yell and the boys froze in tracks.

"That's me. Ripping off the band-aid."

The shaggy haired boy makes his way over to her. "Hey Julie, I really like what you guys did with the place."

"You shouldn't be here"she earned a gasp from the older woman standing next to her, she explained her appearance.

"I think that's our cue to leave" the two women having a conversation on their own.

"We should've called first" Reggie steps next to the other two boys. They left the house and where now outside.

"I'm going, now."

"Where to?" Luke questions as Alex walks down the driveway

"I'm back in a matter of time," he poofs out and was nowhere to found.

Alex was on the beach, where else could she be.

He saw the shillouette from his sister on a board in the ocean. He never really went surfing with her and when he did Alex just sat on the board floating on the water.

Her eyes laid on him and in the next moment she was besides him.

"You didn't told me" his face turned to her, his graze blurry.

"If I'd told you, you would've freaked and cried in your sleep."

"Oh well, doesn't matter if I'd cried there too, I mean twenty-five years and you didn't told me," his feet began to set off, he was too heated to poof himself out of here.

"A, please I'm sorry.. I.. I just didn't know how to tell you, without you telling the others. I couldn't face Luke again," her hand's grabbing his upper arm to stop him but he got rid of her grip.

"That's none of my problems" Alex raised his voice. He never did at her before. Tears start to stream down her cheeks as she stood opposite of him, his eyes were cold, emotionless. She had never seen him like this before.

"Alex" she exhales but he wasn't there anymore.

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

The Truths Found On Petram Viridios IV (1/?)

What started out as an idea for a short one shot grew into a multichap that I'm almost done editing. I think 🤔 it'll be either 4 or 5 chapters long depending on how long each chapter will be after I'm done editing. Anyway, I hope you guys will enjoy.

In this fic you learn how easily things can change, but how it effects you isn't always a bad thing.

________________

Chapter 1: The Phenomenon

There was little difference to what was happening around you at the moment. There were no little green men, or yellow submarines, neither were there tangelos, or bags of golden rings, but there was a blue-haired man with plenty of dreams. Still, life was swell; summer was around the corner, and you were reading in the garage just to be near Zeta-7; he was working on his latest piece of tech, and you were distracted by his charming quirks and ticks. If you hadn't known any better, you'd say it was business as usual. Yet, it was because you had been acquainted with Rick that the previous blindspots of your world were made known to you; conscious of the rare events which were going to take place in another quadrant of space.

A phenomenon was going to occur; one which would not happen again for another 1000 years; the blooming of the Milleannos flower. Legends say that those who touch its pollen might live forever, and those who smell its perfume might be cured of all that ails them, but those claims were supposedly unsubstantiated. There was to be a gala to celebrate the occasion; all in attendance were respectable, distinguished guests and because of Rick, you were also invited, but there were rules; strict guidelines which were to be obeyed unless you wished to throw away your life. And although you weren't happy about them, you were willing to abide by them for Rick's sake. However, there were a few things you didn't understand. "Rick, why won't we be allowed to dance together?"

His hands paused their activity, and his body sagged a little; dreading the reminder not because he's informed you already, but because it pained him to remind himself that he couldn't spend a once in a lifetime occasion with you. "B-because according to the laws of Petram Viridios IV, you are assigned a um - a party companion which is determined according to the alignment of your spine, carbon dioxide levels, as well as daily water intake. And due to the variety of guests, everyone must stand at least six feet apart to avoid air poisoning. However, if given an a-air helmet in order to assist with breathing, then I believe that the last rule isn't as severe. It's - there is a-a lot to remember."

Currently, he was piecing together the circuits and connecting the wires which would power his reflective shield. It was going to be worn under his dress shirt and would be undetectable under their scanners; as a precaution of course. "Ricky, you know I barely drink water." You weren't a fan of water, but you enjoyed flavored beverages and if you did drink water, it was always carbonated first. "I mean, I can get past the distance thing, but what am I supposed to do if I'm assigned to someone I don't like, and have to spend hours being bored and jealous that you're next to gorgeous, realistic fembots from Westworld?"

Unlike you, Zeta-7 drank so much water, you wondered how he wasn't rushing to the bathroom every five minutes. The only other people who drank that much water were beauty gurus who wanted to keep their skin in tip-top shape; you could really try harder if you wanted to. Good naturedly, he answered. "Gosh, y-you don't have to worry about that. I know a fembot when I-I see one."

You raised a brow at this, but seeing as he meant it literally, you listened on. "No s-siree, I won't be assigned a party companion because I'm going t-t-to be assisting the king in protecting their sacred relic."

How Rick became designated to assist with such a task was beyond you, but there seemed to be a glimmer of slight pride in the fact that he'd be so lucky and privileged as to be near the legendary flower, as well as to the beings who revered it. He was determined to find out the truth behind its properties, and if his hypothesis proved true, then he had a plan. You enjoyed when he was diverted with schemes; not the kind which was evil in nature, but the ones which could end happily or inconclusively. Anyway, you two were discussing how to go about it all.

The discussion had gaps of pause where he'd need to concentrate on bits of wiring that needed to be soldered or bent. Without distraction, you were more aware that it was humid, especially with the garage door being fully open for proper ventilation; bits of your hair stuck to your face and to the back of your neck despite how you'd try to tie it. As annoying as it was, it did have its draw; every so often, you'd catch Rick staring and you'd feel a thrill for it could be a year or ten years, but his shy tendencies would never stop being endearing; why he felt the need to reign himself when you were cool with him checking you out was something you hoped he'd someday become more comfortable with, but for now you'd simply giggle and wink at him to let him know you knew. He did his best to focus on the task at hand, but it wasn't going as well as he had hoped for it happened more than once that you'd have to hand him a tool he was blindly reaching out for. "You wouldn't happen to know who my party companion is," you inquired, as you were tying your hair up for the umpteenth time. "do you? And if you do, can't you change them?"

Giving you that look which always preceded his speeches of why he couldn't do that random illegal thing, he explained with kindly patience. "I could change th-the records, and assign you to someone I know, but that wouldn't be legal."

"I know."

"However," he brightened as he paused his work to face you fully. "I do have a copy of the guest list. Give me a-a moment to pull it up on my computer. Hmm," he wondered more to himself then out loud. "that's odd."

"What is it?"

Drumming his fingertips on his workbench, he double-checked his calculations, then went over and wrote it all out on a chalkboard to be sure. Tapping the freshly used chalk tip to his chin in thought, leaving a little powder on his face, he nodded when it seemed satisfactory. "According to um - to my calculations, it's possible that it's either the Salamandrian chemist, V'gha Khadaka or the Chordatan Knight, Noathamas."

"Is there a correlation between the two?"

"Other than their similar water intake levels, they both enjoy their privacy. However, I'm a-a little stumped as to how it might be possible to be assigned to them both. None of your occupations are similar, neither is there a species similarity, but I'm sure I'll figure it out before the event."

Great, just great. That sort of information wasn't all that helpful, but you pressed a kiss to his cheek to ease the worry which he had been hiding. You wondered if it was too late to back out, but for the most part you were determined to be there for him, even if it meant odd company. "Alright. Um… is there something I should keep in mind before I go dress shopping?"

A quick glance at your current outfit made him smile. You were wearing an old band tee and jeans with so many patches, that they were more patch then jean. "I-I don't think so. Almost anything is fine. Though, y-you might want to avoid plant-based materials in favor of synthetics just in case."

"Okay, I think I can do that, but don't be surprised if I look like I just walked out of a 1980s prom. I'll have you know that being slightly flammable is a dream of mine."

He chuckled at that and patted your shoulder. "Hohoho, I'm sure it'll be fine. You - you always look pretty in whatever you wear."

"If you mean that I'll be so fine, that I'll light up the room with my razzle-dazzle, then you better watch out. You never know who'll be charmed without my knowing."

Now, there had been little to no weight to your phrasing just now, but he felt differently. Giving your shoulders a squeeze, there was a distant, far off look in his eyes that you could only recall from specific occasions. It was a mix of longing, sadness, and regret, but you couldn't pin it on what exactly. It was as though he were trying to convey by sight that there was something he ought to do, that he ought to say, but as quickly as it had appeared, it left and was replaced by acceptance. He pulled away and returned to his previous task while you used a spare computer to begin the search for the perfect dress. He said it'll be fine, and you certainly hoped so.

____________

Adjustments in gravity made you feel as though you could jump in and out of craters as though you were wearing moon shoes; that is until you stepped onto a ship or station, then you felt as though you had fifty pounds tied to each foot. You were grateful for the terrain stabilizers that Rick placed in your flats a few adventures ago, otherwise, you would've already been worn out.

You two arrived a few minutes apart by way of the designated ship which held a variety of guests. To explain, the ship itself was a marvel and a work of beauty as far as intergalactic travel was concerned; its mechanical parts were held together by a compound whose main ingredient was a type of scarlet amber. Piece by piece, it had been crafted by a mixture of living matter and tech so advanced, that it'd have taken 300 years of Earth-based studies to understand a fraction of how one of its panels could work; probably sooner for someone like Rick.

Your eyes trailed the conduits as you were led through hallways that seemed to spiral and spill into larger hallways with varying temperatures and design and you wondered how it was those conduits crossed over and branched off like veins, but you had no time to find out and didn't feel privileged enough to ask as you were led into a cabin. Multiple voices hushed, but resumed to their usual loudness once you had settled into what appeared to be a loveseat with the coloring and texture of a pumpkin; it was your assigned seating, but it was not as soft as you would have liked.

It wouldn't be till later that you'd find out that Rick had traveled in a cabin on level 4 while you had been on level 2. In your cabin was a being composed of pure energy, with a name not spelled in letters but in frequencies, who was one of the musicians. A few feet away, was V'gha Khaḍaka; he was tall, sure-looking, had smooth, striped skin which glistened, and a tail strong enough to break someone's spine in a blink; the good thing was that he hadn't been trained in combat, but was simply a scientist who enjoyed the pursuit of knowledge. And a few feet away from the Salamandrian chemist was the knight Noathamas; he stood at half your height, but his chest was puffed out in such a way that made him appear larger, while his round amber eyes and curly whiskers gave him a soft, cuddly appearance; you had been warned by Rick that his appearance did not reveal much about his character and to watch out for him.

It was uncommon but not unheard of to be assigned multiple party companies as you had been; you were matched up to both V'gha and Noathamas due to your odd chemical makeup. Who would've thought that drinking a La Croix before leaving home would confuse their scanners? Goodness, you were grateful that it was a quick trip, and when it was time to depart the ship, you were escorted by two guards before you were given a helmet; it was nearly invisible except for its indicator light which was shaped like a flower, and it blended in with your dress; a colorful sequin cocktail dress you found on eBay. Not far from you were both your companions, who gave off the impression that they were your entourage rather than dates for the night. You saw Rick from a distance, and you knew he was trying to play it cool, but his eyes were sparkling with affection, although he knew he was supposed to suppress it due to the strict traditions imposed by the royal family; he looked away as he was escorted by six guards, but part of you wished that he hadn't.

You took a deep breath to calm your giddiness; this wasn't the time to allow your emotions to carry you away and affect the mission which was to get through the evening. V'gha could pick up on your subtle changes in body language, and thanks to a universal translator in your helmet, you could understand him. "From what I understand," he commented with a surprisingly smooth, velvety voice. "he's the smartest man in the universe. Is that true?"

"Maybe," you replied nonchalantly, "but he's more than just a brain. I heard he's a great lover. Not really my type," you lied because Zeta-7 suggested that you keep the details of your relationship with him a secret; again for safety, but you thought boasting up his reputation wouldn't hurt. "though, to each his own."

"Do you know him personally?"

When questions like this were thrown at you, it made you wonder about the curious people who meant it to sound nice, but in actuality wanted to test the waters as to how much can they ask so soon. Glancing at your nails, you feigned disinterest. "I'm not sure if I'm allowed to give out that type of information."

"You two are the only humans here." he stated matter of factly. There were humanoid beings but he was right. "It doesn't take rocket science to figure that much out."

"How would you know," you retorted with an air of certainty. "you're not a rocket scientist."

"You're right, I'm not. However, I do dabble into it from time to time. I'm sure he does too. I can smell the exhaust from here."

Hmm, perhaps this event was going to be more interesting than you thought. You shared a look of understanding with the chemist, and thought that perhaps you wouldn't need to be so wary of him; his charisma gave him a charm you hadn't yet decided if it was welcomed or should be ignored; whether his earlier comment was out of egotism or curiosity. And before you could make a comeback, Noathamas commented. "Shall we find our assigned seating and continue from there?"

"Sounds fine. Why don't you two walk ahead," you suggested with a coolness you didn't know you had. "I'll be sure to follow."

When you were sure that they were far enough, you took out your miniature glass terrarium necklace, which held a shrunken sunflower that had an iridescent shimmer on its petals; the one Rick had given you after a memorable date; it was made to remind you of how he saw you and you were very glad it had gone undetected under the scanners you passed through. And in your mind's eye you could still see the glimmer and shine of his electric blue eyes as he had taken in your appearance this afternoon before you two departed Earth; oh how he had wanted to kiss you and hug you but had refrained from doing so in order to double-check if he had all his supplies. His compliments had been many as he drove into the inky blackness of space, but when he parked at the station which was at the midway point, and you two lined up to board the ship which took you to this strange world, his face became neutral; his job made him good at that. You kissed your lovely necklace, replaced it so that it laid underneath your dress collar, and your heart called out to him in the void which was Petram Viridios IV; hoping you wouldn't have to go the through the evening without seeing your beloved again before you made yourself appear neutral and made sure to stay at least six feet apart from everyone in your midst.

Tbc

[gloomyhearts]

Always by your side || Luke Patterson

Chapter thirteen~ believe me

2020

Alex paces back and forth in front of the guys.

“I think he’s pacing his model strut.”

“He’s so nervous, he’s almost making me nervous.”

“Okay, look, you guys know I don’t handle change well. All right? Death? That was a change. Okay? Then we became ghosts, and Will was a great help but it’s another change. And.. and now we can be seen whenever we play with Julie. I mean, yeah Will becomes visible when surfing but she can do on purpose, we were connected to music and music only and this is a big freaking change, inexplainable!”

“Yeah but bro it was a good change. With Julie we can play on stage again and be the band we never got to be. Come on. I mean you gotta be down for that.”

“Yeah I mean who wouldn’t be? I just.. you know I wanna figure out why.”

“Forget why,” Luke argues, “Man I say we invite Julie to join sunset curve.”

“Yeah, I mean totally. I mean like think about it. With a new lead singer, this band would be legendary.”

“You said the exact same thing about Will, and then..”

Luke scoffs, “hey! I’m our lead singer.”

“Dude, that girl has the voice of an angel, and she can make us visible. Without her we’re just like elevator music.”

“You don’t gotta be so mean about it. And we’re on the runaway again.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, all right? I just.. I gotta go clear my head.”

The blonde steps in front of the door and tried to get a hold of the handle, he didn’t succeed and tried it multiple times, again.

“Dude, you’re a ghost. Just poof out.”

“Don’t tell me how to ghost!” he cries.

Sabrina enters the empty garage, she wanders around the room; looking at pictures the new family had positioned there. Her fingers sliding over them.

“Brina?” his voice broke her out of it.

“I shouldn’t have come here, I’m sorry. I'll leave,”

“No.. no stay. Can we maybe talk?”

“Is there anything left we have to say?” her eyes glued on her hands in her lap, feeling his glare burning on her body.

“Like.. how about… why did you avoid us, not telling us your abilities, cause they’re freaking amazing.. why you're still avoiding us and why you're left the school?”

“I heard you guys, she’s a great catch, believe me.”

“I just miss you, promise me you won’t leave again.”

“I don’t know if I can. There’s a lot going on right now and I don’t want to put weight on you right now cause you’re so relieved to play again.”

“No.. no stop, what’s going on?” he sits down next to her on the stool at the piano.

“Please leave it. It will only hurt you, all of you,” she insists, straighten her back.

“Then stay here, we’re gonna protect you.”

“Just for tonight, okay?”

“Fine,” he decreased the gap between them and embrace her for the first time since forever, his head rested on her shoulder, and he breathed her scent in.

Reggie soon approached in the room, breaking their little moment, “you’re back, Brie!”

"Hey Regs," she gave him a weak smile.

“What do you think of this riff?” he played it again, head wipping to the beat.

“Sweet. I’m feeling it. ”

“You made better ones.” Luke rolls his blue eyes at her comment, the corner of his mouth raising up.

He kept playing the chords, “and then I come in with a little, uh..”

“and then Julie comes in with her killer lyrics.”

“And sunset curve is reborn.”

The blonde sat at the piano and let her finger move on the keys, creating a melody on her own. The words flying in her head as she thought about her own lyric.

“Guys, you aren’t supposed to be out here playing alone.”

“But we’re not alone, cause we always have each other,” Reggie states as Luke throws his arm around his shoulder, holding him thight.

“Ugh,” she groans.

“But we had the volume level on one.”

“But we rocked it on volume ten. You want us to play again?” she plugs the cable out of the speaker.

“I really don’t think she does.. We’ve been waiting for you to get home. Okay so we have some pretty major news to tell you. We had a band meeting earlier and..” he points to reggie who began to beat his legs, “we wanna invite you to join sunset curve. And no, you’re not dreaming.”

Silence filled the room for a few seconds.

“Oh..”

“Oh, uh.. Oh she said ‘Oh’. Um..” the shaggy haired boy stutters, “that’s what you say when you get socks on your birthday,” he scratches his neck, “not when invited to join the most epic band ever.”

“I’m honoured but I can't think about anything but Flynn right now. She’s still mad at me for lying. She hasn’t even texted me back.”

“You’re in a tough spot.”

“Yeah.”

“So you wanna join the band?” Sabrina in the back facepalmed herself for his stupidity.

“Read the room, dude,” she shouts at them.

“Oh come on! We need you, and you need us because you need music. We found this poem that you wrote.”

Did they looked through her belongings? Did they really did this, hell no.

“And Reggie and I we added this really cool melody to it. It sounds awesome.”

“Where did you find that?”

“Uh, definitely not in your dream box,” he shoves Reggie in front of him to guard him.

“You went through my stuff?”

“I know but,” he starts to ran away from her, “yeah we can do that now.”

“No, no you can't! Boundaries! Give it back,” she almost pushed Sabrina down from the seat.

“Whoa, guys..” she raises to her feet. “Hey! Stop!”

Luke was about to climb on the piano, “get down to the ground Lukas!”

“No, hey that’s rude!” he turns to Julie, “no, you need to realize how insanely talented you are. Okay listen to this. If somebody hurts you.. if somebody hurts you, I’m gonna get hurt too.”

“And my life. My life would be real low, zero,” the blonde began to play the chords which would harmonize with the riffs, “flying solo. Oh-oh!” the two boys shout,

“It’s a killer melody.”

“I wrote that about Flynn, when she was helping me with all my mom stuff. I gotta go.”

“Hey! What about the band?”

“Oh, I almost forgot, stay out of my room!” with that she left the group.

“I know what to do,” Sabrina suggests poffing out of the garage.

“Julie?”

“Sabrina?” her attention fell on the blonde behind her.

“Those guys, they really wanna help you. They’re the kindest person you’ll get to know and.. and that song is really deep and I think it would help with Flynn, I mean if it’s about her it’d fit perfect. She’ll love it.”

“You think so?”

“I know it,” Sabrina laid her arm around the younger girl and walked with her into the house.