#And oliver will play his music in his car without caring or skipping anything just ... Wow. For them its probably nothing but for me its

[mrfoox]

Uuuh, I love unapologetically passionate people. People who tell me about what they do or enjoy without being embarrassed

[lyssismagical]

no question, no competition, I love you more

Parker Febufluff - 5 & 6 – Dance Under the Stars & “I love you” “I love you more”

Read on A03

*

Harley was not sulking. Absolutely not.

He would not sulk over a dance he didn’t even want to go to in the first place.

Just because Peter asked him to Homecoming and didn’t show up, did not mean Harley was going to sulk. He wouldn’t.

“I’m going home,” he tells MJ and Ned. “Have a fun night.”

“He might show,” Ned tries, eyes shining with sympathy. “He didn’t stand on you up on purpose.”

Harley shrugs, trying to play it off like it’s not a big deal. “It’s whatever. I’ll see you at school.”

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself over and over again as he heads out of the gym and out to the parking lot where Happy’s already waiting for him. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care.

“Hey, kiddo. You feeling already?” Happy asks, a carefully extended olive branch. He normally stays quiet and pretends Harley doesn’t exist.

Harley shrugs, tucking his legs up to his chest and resting his cheek against the window. “Yeah, I’m fine… I just- I really liked him, you know?”

Reaching out, obviously awkward and nervous, Happy pats the teenager on the shoulder.

The car falls silent as Harley checks his phone for the millionth time.

His sixteen messages ranging from casual to worried to confused to angry, are all left on delivered.

Harley sniffles, turns off his phone, and focuses on the scenery blurring outside his window.

When Harley makes it up to the penthouse, a wave of nostalgia washes over him.

The whole floor is empty. Everything having been loaded onto planes while he was gone, taking everything to the new place upstate.

Harley’s been living with Tony for seven years, ever since Tony crashlanded in Rose Hill and offered Harley a spot in Manhattan with access to equipment, good schooling, and opportunities. So, he moved to New York, and now they’re moving again.

“Hey, kid,” Tony calls out, emerging from the kitchen with two mugs of hot chocolate. He passes one to Harley and leads him to the couch. “When I see Parker I’ll make sure to knock him upside the head for standing you up like this.”

“You don’t think it was for a good reason?” Harley asks. He doesn’t know if he has faith in his best friend of five years. Peter’s always been the kind of person to drop everything for the people he cares about.

Tony’s face creases in inquisition. “I have his suit. It’s in the last of the boxes we’re driving up ourselves. It’s not a hero thing.”

Harley shrugs, trying not to think too hard about what that means. “I just- He was so excited when I said I’d go with him. I didn’t think he’d just skip. Especially not without telling me first.”

Slinging an arm around the teenager’s shoulders, Tony sighs. “Maybe he just got scared. You said a stupid kid was always giving him a hard time?”

“More like everyone at the school but me and Ned.”

“So, maybe he just got scared that people would bully him worse for being at the dance with another guy,” Tony suggests. “Or maybe he was worried you’d get bullied for going with him.”

Harley shrugs and settles closer to Tony’s side. “I just wish he’d text me back.”

“How about, instead of sulking over a guy, you get into some comfy clothes and we watch one last movie here?”

Harley offers a small smile, trying to shake off the awful heaviness that lingers on his shoulders.

He wants to be angry, but all that’s there when he reaches for those feelings is worry. He’s worried that Peter’s hurt or something happened to him because Harley doesn’t believe Peter would’ve purposefully stood him up.

Even if Peter was worried about the things Tony suggested, he would’ve texted. He would’ve told Harley, or at the very least, Ned.

Peter’s been Harley’s best friend for five years, ever since they started going to Midtown High together. Even when Peter became Spider-Man, the first person he told was Harley. That’s how Tony found out to take Peter to Germany.

It doesn’t make sense that Peter was so excited to ask Harley to Homecoming and then he wouldn’t show. At least not without a good reason.

* Hours later, Harley wakes up on the couch alone.

The living room is dark, their movie long since ended. Tony’s gone. Their hot chocolates have been cleared away.

Harley’s phone is ringing. That’s what must’ve woken him up.

Eighteen texts from Peter, nearly as many from Ned. Four missed calls from Peter, as well. And Peter’s calling him again.

“What do you want?” he asks, voice thick with sleep and rough with anger.

“I have a good reason for everything. I promise. Just… Come outside. Please?”

Harley sighs harshly. He’s wearing his pajamas and it’s nearly one in the morning. The last thing he wants to do is go outside. But it’s Peter who’s asking him.

Peter who sounds hurt, upset, exhausted. “Please?”

“Fine. But I don’t give second chances easily, Parker. You better have some wild explanation for me.”

When Harley makes it outside, to the back lawn according to Peter’s instructions, he nearly collapses.

Peter’s wearing his old suit, the stupid sweatpants and hoodie, sans mask. With his suit jacket over top and his tie hanging untied around his neck loosely. There’s a string of fairlylights strewn in the tree he’s leaning against.

Worst of all, his ‘suit’ is stained dark red with what Harley can only assume is blood. He’s cradling one arm against his chest, breaths escaping him in little pained wheezes. There’s a nasty cut across his temple, already mostly closed but blood is drying all down his cheek and jaw.

“Holy fuck, Parker,” he breathes, hurrying across the grass to the boy. “Are you okay?”

Peter frowns, looking down at his suit like he didn’t even realize he wouldn’t be okay. “Oh shoot, I probably should’ve cleaned up a little better.”

He looks up at Harley, a little bashfully, and shrugs. “S’alright. It doesn’t hurt too much.”

“Fuck, what happened to you?”

“Toomes tried to take your plane,” Peter explains, crinkling his nose. “Had to make sure he didn’t get away with it. I’m really sorry about-”

Harley shoots him a glare. “Don’t you dare apologize for being a hero, dumbass, I don’t care. I need to get you to a doctor or something.”

Shaking his head, Peter pulls his cracked phone out of his pocket. It takes him a second of fumbling, fingers looking burned, to get it open, but he does and a moment later, a song starts playing.

Harley doesn’t recognize it, but it’s obvious what Peter’s suggesting.

“I didn’t get to dance with you at homecoming, but this is the next best thing, right?”

The fairy lights in the tree, the suit jacket and tie, the music. It’s Peter’s version of the homecoming he couldn’t make it to.

Harley opens his mouth to, he doesn’t even know, call Peter a dumbass? Or crazy? Instead, no words escape his throat. He just gapes at the boy standing across from him with wide hopeful eyes, and tries to blink back the tears in his eyes.

Peter lifts his hand out to Harley, a shy smile on his face. “You wanna dance?”

“First,” Harley finally says, closing the distance between them. He grabs Peter’s untied tie. “Let’s fix this.”

Peter shrugs, breathing still painfully off, and his hands are shaking as he tucks his phone into the pocket of Harley’s sweats. “Never learned how to.”

Once the tie is tied, Harley carefully wraps his arms around Peter’s waist.

Peter, obviously exhausted, leans into Harley’s chest gratefully. “Thank you for not hating me.”

The older teenager shrugs, sniffing. “You’re a superhero, Peter. I can’t be mad at you for not putting me before everyone else. You took down Toomes, I can’t be angry for that. You could’ve texted me, though. I was worried sick.”

“Left my phone in Toomes’s car. Met him in the parking lot when he was dropping off Liz. I stole Flash’s phone and called Ned to track mine so I could follow him.”

“For a genius, you can be so dumb, Parker. You could’ve, I don’t know, called for backup. You didn’t have to-”

Peter shrugs. “I just wanted to do something right for once. Now, we’re dancing, aren’t we?”

Harley does most of the movement, the other boy falling mostly limp against Harley. With all the injuries, Harley’s surprised he hasn’t passed out yet, but it’s obvious Peter wants this dance.

“Look.” Harley nudges Peter, getting him to lift his head. “You can see the stars.”

Normally, with all the air pollution in the city and all the lights, the stars are hard to see. Tonight, they shine nice and brilliantly overhead like they’re watching over them.

Peter smiles dopily, resting his chin on Harley’s shoulder. “I wanna do this every day.”

“What? Dance?”

“Mm, ‘n hold you.”

Harley can’t help the blush that touches his face, pulling Peter a little tighter against him. “Me too… I really like you, Peter, I have for a long time.”

Peter, face hidden mostly in Harley’s shirt, laughs against him. “Me too. Forever. Wanna be forever.”

They don’t have to say it. It doesn’t have to be made official. Harley doesn’t have to ask Peter to be his boyfriend, everything passes between them silently, as Harley sways them from side to side to the music.

If there’s anything Harley’s learned from living with Tony and Pepper is that superheroing makes life complicated. It makes the idea of permanency seem impossible. It makes everything feel like it’s sped up to the extreme.

Because you never know if you’ll get even another day with a superhero.

“I love you,” Harley murmurs, pressing a kiss to Peter’s forehead. He needs Peter to know. Just in case.

He’d beat himself up for the rest of his life if something happened to Peter and Harley never got the chance to say it. With how bloody and limp Peter already is in Harley’s arms, the thought of losing the hero is already something Harley has to think about every single day. Just in case.

“I love you more,” Peter says against Harley’s collarbone.

Smiling, Harley presses another kiss to Peter’s temple. “Don’t think that’s possible, love, but I’ll let you win this time.”

[izaswritings]

all that’s left in the world | chapter seven

Title: all that’s left in the world—

Synopsis: —is me.

Neku’s been shot and Shibuya is threatening to go the same way as Shinjuku, but just because the first Game is over doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten how to play.

Or: Neku deals with a nightmare city and his most annoying (and mathematical) partner yet; Shiki and Joshua commit an escalating number of illegal moves, Beat and Eri hunt down a stray Reaper, and Rhyme watches and waits for the counter-attack. Shibuya refuses to go down easy.

Fandom: The World Ends With You | TWEWY

Warnings: cursing, referenced character death via Neku’s situation/Reaper’s game, implied death/erasure via Inversion, and mentions of blood and bodily harm, though nothing graphic. If there’s anything in the chapter you feel I missed, let me know and I’ll add it on here!

-

AO3 Link is here!

Previous chapters are here!

-

part seven: pact

.

.

.

The sun sets.

Neku stands at the end of the street and watches, narrow-eyed, as the distant blur of light sinks below the jagged edge of the ruined city skyline. It doesn’t look quite right—because of course it doesn’t, this is a nightmare city and everything about it feels designed to be as uncanny valley as possible. He’s pretty sure it’s a sunset, though. The sky has stained a bloody red; the shadows are stretching long and thin by his feet. The cloud of dust and smog lingering in the air like a false fog has turned red too— the whole world cast in some awful, ugly light.

They’re on the edge of the city, in a residential area. The fruition of a full day of travelling through these ruined streets. It only took a couple of hours, but they’ve finally hit the end of it, the border of this twisted Game. They can’t go any further beyond this point.

There’s definitely a wall— Neku checked, and his hand still smarts from the burn—but like everything else, it’s not something he’s familiar with. The walls in the first Reaper’s Game had been clear and crystalline; this one is like blurry glass. If he squints, he can almost see through it: the suggestion of buildings, people and places alive and whole… but the way is smeared with an ashy fog. It’s as if this city has been surrounded by a great wall of mist, cutting them off from the rest of the world.

There’s no getting through that thing, Neku thinks. Not without a high level keypin, and even then, he’s not sure even that could break it. There’s something very final about this wall. Escape isn’t an option.

Argh, he can’t even figure out where they are. Those distant buildings could be Shibuya or even the other half of Tokyo, and hey! Neku wouldn’t have a damn clue. It’s not like this place has been any help. Any identifying buildings have been dusted; Neku is totally lost.

Either way, the wall isn’t coming down anytime soon. It’s useless to stay here any longer, but…

Neku grimaces, and shoves a hand back through his hair, eyeing his new partner warily. Minamimoto doesn’t seem keen on leaving; he isn’t paying any attention to Neku at all, focus entirely caught on… something.

It’s probably a tower of trash. It looks like one of his towers of trash? When they’d arrived here only twenty minutes ago, there’d been some hollow shells of cars, and weird debris littered on the ground, and the Grim Heaper had taken one look at it and grinned like a shark. Then he’d started stacking it. Neku is kind of, a little, annoyed at that. He’s also not planning on complaining. Finally, a moment to breathe.

The tower taking shape behind him, Neku watches the blood-stained air for a few minutes more, then sighs and turns away.

“We’re not blacking out,” he says, aloud. “I think we’re here for the night.” Which, go figure. The one thing that might be nice about the Game—skipping the inconveniences of shelter in an apocalyptic city—is the one thing he’s not getting. “Hey, are you listening? We should probably find somewhere to lay low.”

Minamimoto doesn’t answer. He seems intent on the tower. Neku shakes his head and moves away from the wall. Whatever. He’ll find a place himself. It’s not like they’re going to be able to go far. The sun’s setting, so… he has maybe twenty minutes before it goes totally dark.

Neku heads for one of the buildings. Sure, it’s an empty shell and looks like it might topple at a stiff breeze, but it hasn’t fallen yet all day, right? So if they’re careful, and don’t get ambushed by Noise while inside…

It’s probably fine.

It takes him a couple tries to find a room untouched. Neku gets lucky on floor number two—it used to be an apartment, probably, a small one-room place with a skeleton kitchen, whited out and hollowed and scraped clean. But there’s a bleached futon in the corner and an ashy rug on the floor and hey, it’s better than nothing, right?

He pries open the dusty window and leans out. The tower is almost completed—he’s guessing, but he’s seen enough of them to tell. “Hey,” he says.

A long pause. Minamimoto doesn’t look like he’s listening, and Neku nearly closes the window on him—let him sleep wherever then, like Neku gives a damn—but at the last moment he looks up, and his brow briefly furrows. “What, yoctogram?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to travel when it gets dark.” Cloud cover means no moon or stars; ruined city means no streetlamps… it’d be like the A-East mission from hell. Neku isn’t dealing with that shit, thanks. “The room has a rug. You can use it if you want.” Because hell yes is Neku taking that futon.

Minamimoto snorts and turns away, back to fussing with the trash. Neku hisses through his teeth, and slams the window shut. Whatever. He threw the dang olive branch; Neku’s work here is done. He’s tired. It’s been a long day, and all he wants to do is sleep.

He misses Shibuya.

He flops down on the futon and closes his eyes, and tries not to think of Shiki, or Beat, or even Joshua. He tries not to imagine what it would be like to be playing this Game with them, instead. What they would do. What they are doing now.

Shiki, he thinks—Shiki would hate this place. So devoid of color, and life, and just… anything Shiki’s ever loved. She’d despise it. Joshua too, he supposes. The lack of individuality—the lack of Music… they’re similar, in that way. It’s a weird thought, but it settles like a true thing: Joshua and Shiki would hate this place for the same reasons.

Beat… Beat wouldn’t have an opinion. He’d accept it, he’d move on, he’d adapt. He would want to keep searching after dark, maybe. He’d throw up a fist and declare there’s nothing that can stop them, not even the night. Neku would have to convince him otherwise.

He smiles at the thought. But it aches, too, somewhere deep in his chest. Neku squeezes his eyes shut. Stupid. And here I was, saying I wasn’t going to think about it.

They’ll be okay. Beat has Rhyme, and vice versa; they’re probably fine. Shiki has Eri. Joshua… well. Joshua.

Neku will be okay too. He doesn’t want to do this alone, but he can.

He can.

There’s a creak on the staircase; Neku opens his eyes and reaches for his pins, eyeing the door warily. It feels almost surreal to see Minamimoto walk in. Taboo-ified Reaper, grinning like a ghoul, slick backed wild hair and dust on his clothes, entering an apartment. It doesn’t fit his image. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person to use a door.

Minamimoto clicks his tongue when he sees the room, but all he says is, “Not bad, for a baseless binomial,” and then head for the far wall.

“You’re welcome,” Neku replies, sarcastic, and closes his eyes again, this time against the headache pounding behind his temple.

He hears Minamimoto settle by the wall, yawning loudly. There’s a beat of silence. Neku opens his eyes. “…Did you see anything past the wall?”

A scoff. “No.”

Yeah, he’d figured not. Worth a shot though. Neku rolls to his back and tucks his hands under his neck, staring up at the ceiling. “We’re not getting out,” he mutters, resigned. “We’ll have to… figure out what we can do here, I guess.”

Another bored noise. No response.

“Any suggestions?” Neku says, pointedly.

“You are zetta talkative today,” Minamimoto suggests back.

“I like having an idea of where to go.” And he’s partners with this guy whether he wants it or not. He doesn’t like it. He’s not sure he’ll ever like it. But Neku can at least make the effort.

“Tch, garbage,” Minamimoto says, sounding vaguely amused. “There’s no guidelines to this problem, Player. Different parameters. Different rules. Adjust or get deleted.”

“What are you—”

“Some numbers seem set on certain equations,” Minamimoto says, like it’s an insult. “Just because you miss the old Game doesn’t mean we can’t configure this one. You’ve got to conform to the equation, constant! Can’t force a formula that doesn’t make sense.”

Neku stills, feeling struck. “That’s— that’s not—” He sits up fast, fingers curling. His teeth grit. That’s not true. It’s not. Neku doesn’t belong in the Game, and he’s not having trouble adjusting, and he doesn’t miss it, he’s just—

But his mind is stuck on it—that moment fighting the Noise, the power singing through him, and Neku bites hard on the inside of his cheek and glares daggers at the walls.

“I am adjusting,” he says tightly. “If you would just—” No, no, that won’t work. They’ve already been through this. Neku takes another breath, and switches tracks. “Hey.”

A loud sigh. “What?”

“That thing you mentioned earlier, with— that guy.” Neku stares at the wall. “What’s Inversion?”

“Do the math.”

Asshole. “Look, I just want to know what’s going on.”

“It’s easy addition,” Minamimoto says, sort of scornfully. “Look around, yoctogram! The proof is all around you. The frequencies have been made null; it’s all broken equations now. That’s Inversion. When the math holding everything together breaks down.”

Neku frowns, trying to piece it together. “So the UG and RG…”

“It’s all fallen to zero. Ugh! Useless radian. 2 + 2 = 4. So zetta simple.”

Neku resists the urge to roll his eyes. He got an answer, at least. That’s something, isn’t it? It’s definitely more than he got earlier, even if it still doesn’t make complete sense to him.

My standards are dropping to the negatives, Neku thinks to himself, and then is a little horrified at his own almost-math joke. Cool, erasing that from his memory forever.

Still, if he’s understanding Minamimoto right, then… what, all the planes, UG and RG both, have just— crashed down on top of each other? That’s…

Neku leans back against the wall, hushed. His fingers curl into his arm. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he says quietly, half to himself. “How did this happen? This place…”

“Shinjuku.”

“What?” He turns around. “How the hell do you know that?”

Minamimoto scoffs at him. “More easy math. Didn’t you see the Gov building?”

“Wha—everything here is destroyed,” Neku snaps back, but his mind is whirling. Shinjuku. Damn it all, that fits too. Somewhere outside of Shibuya, where Coco was trying to lead them to… “Wait a minute. Shinjuku was fine this morning!”

Minamimoto yawns, looking bored again. “That was this morning.”

So, what—it just became a wasteland today? Neku leans back, stunned. Holy shit. Even Shades’ attempt at mind-controlling Shibuya had taken at least three weeks to set in. This is… he can hardly grasp it.

“How did this happen?” he says, honestly horrified now, and this time the silence stretches long. Neku looks over. He half expects Minamimoto to be asleep, but in the very last echoes of light Neku can see his eyes, staring out the window. Minamimoto is frowning. That sharp smile is nowhere in sight. And there is a furrow between his brows that seems, for a moment, almost troubled.

Neku waits. At last, Minamimoto looks away from the window, and stares down at the floor. He doesn’t meet Neku’s eyes.

“I don’t know.”

He sure doesn’t sound happy to admit it, either. Neku looks away, and leans back against the futon, quiet once more.

“…Hey, binomial. Speaking of half-finished equations.”

Neku stares at the ceiling, and then turns his head, eyeing Minamimoto warily. “…What?”

“You keep losing track of the numbers,” Minamimoto says, and his eyes glint. “Zetta often, too.”

Neku considers him, parsing through that—realizes what he means, and stills, shoulders stiffening. The visions. The voice echoing through his head. He’d known Minamimoto had noticed, but…

“Didn’t think you gave a digit,” Neku says finally, dryly, and Minamimoto actually laughs, a sharp and bright sound that echoes a little in the empty air. It seems bizarrely genuine.

“I zetta don’t,” he says, grinning outright now. “But I despise working with incorrect formulas.” His smile widens. “Spell it out.”

Neku rolls his eyes, a second away from turning around and ignoring him outright, but just as he is opening his mouth to tell Minamimoto to shove it, common sense and memory rears its head. The echo of another partnership, weeks ago, the memories Neku didn’t have and how he kept quiet, kept it silent, all the way to the end of Day Two. How different things might have gone, if he’d just trusted Shiki sooner.

Neku closes his mouth. He makes a face. He thinks of Shiki, and sighs, and sits up properly on the futon, resting his elbow on his knee. “It’s…” He doesn’t even know where to begin. It feels ridiculous, to think this all started only a day ago. “There’s this voice… this girl, I think. I can hear her sometimes.”

Minamimoto looks blank. “Well,” he says. “That’s zetta fucking useless.”

Neku scowls at him. “I don’t mean… ugh, I don’t even know what you think I mean. But it’s not that. It’s like… she’s right there with me. I’ve never met her. I don’t know her—” He thinks of that flicker of a person, Shiki’s stitched pig in her hands, and swallows. “At least, I don’t think I do? But I can hear her, sometimes. As if she’s far away, and right there with me, all at the same time.”

Minamimoto seems bored, already distracted; Neku ignores him, lost in thought now. The more he speaks of it, the stranger it seems. “I think she’s from here. Maybe. She talks about… being lonely. And emptiness.” He feels a little ill. Static crackles in his ears like a scream. “She seems… really afraid.”

Whispers echo in his head. Neku looks down at his hands, and admits, “She hates the silence most of all.”

Minamimoto stills a little, at that. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and in the end he looks away, his eyes dark. They sit there together in the quiet. Neku keeps his eyes on his hands. Minamimoto stares out the window again, gaze distant, as if looking at nothing at all.

At last, he says, almost muttering it: “A null set of numbers. Absolute zero.”

Neku is too tired to think it through. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Minamimoto grimaces. He tears his eyes away from the window, and tilts back his head, looking up at the ceiling, avoiding Neku’s gaze. “…It zetta sucks.”

Neku pauses. Somehow it has never occurred to him that Minamimoto might miss the music of the city too; that this unnatural silence would unnerve him, or ache in him as it does with Neku. He turns his eyes away. He feels, for once, more tired than annoyed.

“Yeah,” Neku agrees, quietly. The silence. The twisted streets. The echo, her voice still resounding in his head— please, please, help me. It’s too much. It’s too quiet.

Absolute zero.

“It really does,” Neku says, and closes his eyes.

.

“I can’t believe you wanted to keep exploring in the dark!”

It’s long past evening, the sun set and the red faded from the horizon, and this isn’t the first time Eri has said this. Crouched down in a corner of their little shelter, the flashlight glow casting twisting shadows over everything, Beat sighs heavily and kicks hard at his skateboard, rolling it across the floor.

It’s not a big shelter; his board hits the wall and bounces back, and he catches it under his foot, rolling it beneath his heel. Then he kicks it towards the wall again, because damn, what else is he supposed to do?

“I still think we shoulda gone,” he mutters, glum. “We’re wastin’ daylight!”

“It’s pitch dark,” Eri hisses back, sounding exasperated.

“We’ve got a light.”

“One dumb flashlight against the city of dark and doom,” Eri mutters, and sinks against the wall. “No. No. I am not going out—there—when those things are—”

She fumbles, inhaling sharply, fingers clenched to fists by her sides. Beat winces at the memory—man, the lungs on her. His ears are still ringing. Though he can’t really blame her. First time Beat saw the Noise, he just about jumped out of his skin.

“Psh,” Beat says now, and waves it off. “The Noise won’t hurt us. We have those pins, remember?”

Eri thins her lips, looking about ready to argue—then slumps. “I still don’t get how that works,” she mutters, and Beat shrugs. He’s not going to be the one to explain it. “Well, still. It’s not a good idea.”

Beat grimaces, but lays off, kicking at the skateboard again. It grates at him, but hey, it’s Eri’s choice. She’s the one really panicking here, especially with Shiki… well.

And while it gnaws at him, while sitting still and waiting a whole eight hours for sunrise itches under his skin, deep down Beat has to admit she’s right. Neku would say the same, probably. What are you doing? Come on, use your head. Beat can almost hear him. It sort of aches.

So he doesn’t say anything. It’s not all bad, either; they’ve got this neatass little shelter in some empty hollow of a café stand, which, score! But it grates, even so. Man, they’ve barely even started! It took longer than Beat would have liked to get to Shinjuku by foot—unavoidable, given no trains were going through there anymore, some freaky UG power thing—and by the time they’d arrived, they’d only had about an hour before the sun started going down and Eri panicked.

At least they didn’t leave. Eri was thinking it; man, Beat could just see those wheels in her head turning. But she hadn’t said it, and he’s grateful for it. His parents will worry— are worrying, probably—but if Beat doesn’t answer his phone its for good reason, and he’ll apologize later. He just… he doesn’t want to leave. It took them this long just to get here, and… well, spending the night in a ruin isn’t the best thing ever. But it would be worse, Beat thinks, to leave.

They’ve made it. They’re here. Now Beat just has to wait until the sun comes up, and then…

Soon, Phones. Shiki. We’re on our way.

Still. He feels jittery. His limbs are all wound tight with a phantom pain; Beat grimaces, and digs his palm into his thigh, rubbing above his knee. Aw, hell. He should have guessed this would happen. It’s been happening on and off ever since the car accident-that-never-was, and it’s been building to a bad day for a while now, too. Of course its kicking his ass the moment he stops moving.

He leans against the wall, sighing, still rubbing at his leg. It’s seized up something terrible, stabbing pain like his bones are breaking, but with luck it’ll have eased off by morning.

Well, Beat thinks. Maybe it will. This shelter isn’t all that comfortable, and they’re going to wake up with a lot of aches tomorrow. Shit, he might even feel worse. But then, that’s okay. Hell, compared to his situation in the final week, this is downright cozy. What’s he got to worry about this week, besides the phantom aches? Threat of being eaten by Noise? Psh, done that. Beat’s chilling.

No more time limit on his life; Hanekoma promised to help look after Rhyme; and Beat isn’t even facing this dark alone. Eri’s here! Which, granted, he doesn’t know her all that well (or, uh, at all), and the girl doesn’t seem too fond of their group anyhow… but that’s fine too. It’s nice just having company.

Eri doesn’t look like she’s really appreciating it though. This whole time she’s been as jittery as Beat feels, pacing and sitting down and standing soon after. She taps her foot like she’s itching under her skin. Her hands fiddle with her skirt and her hat. More recently she’s started messing with the brass knuckles sitting heavy on her hand; she slides it off, slides it on, makes a fist and then repeats. Beat’s getting tired just watching her.

He considers her, and kicks his board again; this time when it rolls back he keeps it still under his heel. Eri doesn’t even notice. Her eyes are glazed, off in her own world. She’s gnawing her lip to shreds.

“Shiki’ll be okay, yo,” Beat says, out of nowhere, taking a shot in the dark. Eri jolts and then stills. “She’s badass, you know? Whatever plan she’s got, it’s probably a good one.”

“Badass,” Eri mutters, and then sighs, shoulders falling. She sits against the wall, drawing up her legs. The flashlight casts odd shadows; a quiet circle of yellow light on the ceiling and a soft glow all around them, barely reaching into the corner of the room. When Eri bows her head, it makes it hard to see her eyes. “How do you know?”

“Huh? Well, uh…”

“I’ve been meaning to ask. The Game, the Reapers, the… everything. All of it. You and—that coffee guy, I got the gist of that, I think, but…” Her hands tighten on her knees. “How did you meet Shiki? Really meet her, I mean. Not that stupid lie she probably told me.”

Beat scratches his head. “Er, that’s… uh, Shiki’ll probably wanna—”

“Shiki’s not answering her phone,” Eri says, a little coolly. Beat winces. Her fingers are white-knuckled around her knees. “I—look, I just—I just—”

There’s something about the look on her face that makes Beat look away. He makes a face at the wall and then sighs, pushing his beanie up away from his eyes. “Sure, yo,” he says quietly. “I can tell you. But it’s not— It’s…” He sighs. “It’s real complicated, yo.”

Eri doesn’t move. Beat shrugs, and goes back to kneading at his tense leg. “I met Shiki same time I met Phones,” he says. He’s unsure of how to say it—even more unsure of how to break the news gently—so he goes all in. “First week of the Game, about… man, I dunno. Two months ago, maybe? It’s been awhile, yo, my memory isn’t that good.”

Eri swallows. “I knew it,” she mutters. “She was—she was in the Game?”

“…Yeah.”

“She didn’t tell me,” Eri murmurs, quieter now. Beat shifts, uncomfortable, and winces when his leg jars; he gets the feeling Eri’s not really talking to him at all. “That w-whole month, I remember, she was avoiding me, she never answered… why didn’t she tell me? If she called—I could have—”

“Our phones didn’t work,” Beat explains, eager to help, but then he pauses. There’s something in Eri’s words that strike him as off, but he can’t pinpoint it, and something about Eri’s expression makes him wary of pushing. It’s probably fine, anyway. “And Shiki…”

He cuts himself off. “…Never mind.” That’s not his story to tell, and… Beat is pretty sure that’s one thing Shiki never wants Eri to know. Entry fees have always sucked ass, but Shiki’s especially…

“I always thought it was weird.” Eri’s voice is quiet, a little bitter; Beat blinks at her, feeling strangely out of his depth. “You guys just came out of the blue, and all her stories of how you guys met in class, it didn’t… and Neku, especially, it was like—” She stops again. Her head lowers.

“Oh, yeah.” Beat tilts his head back. “Phones and Shiki were partners.”

Eri looks up. “Um…” Pause. “I don’t really know what that means.”

“Oh, uh… like…” Beat gestures. “Like me and Phones, or even me and Rhyme, y’know? You’ve gotta trust your partner! With the fighting, and with the talking, worries and everything. Sharing the burden and stuff. It’s like a, a…” There’s a word for it, he knows—p-something—but the details are escaping him. “A promise! Yeah, like that.”

Eri presses her lips. “A promise.”

“Exactly!”

“…I don’t really get it, but okay.” She looks away, towards the darkened window, and a strange smile pulls at her lips. “Haha. This is, like, so weird. You know? Everything about this really is…” Her lips press. She ducks her head down behind her knees.

Beat looks away too. The flashlight flicker, the quiet roll of the skateboard wheels over the ground; the silence, deafening, right outside the walls. He closes his eyes and thinks about Rhyme, where they are or how they’re doing; tries even harder not to think about Phones. Sees the blood behind his eyelids. Hears the bang like an echo, ringing in his ears like the shriek of tires against the road, the dull thud before the end.

And all he says is, “We’ll find ‘em.”

Eri lifts her head. “Yeah,” she says. Her voice is hoarse. “We will.”

.

Sitting at the booth of what was probably a restaurant, once, before the Inversion, Shiki looks outside the windows and exhales, her breath fogging the glass. “Wow,” she says. “It’s gotten really dark.”

The restaurant is a small, ruined place; empty booths and empty shelves and windows blank and sheer. It’s creepy in the same way the whole city is, except maybe worse, because there’s enough definition left to recognize it as a restaurant—and so much missing it’s impossible not to notice how it’s been changed. At least the booth seats are soft.

It’s like living an apocalypse novel, Shiki thinks, and scrunches her face at the table. On the one minor bright side, at least she doesn’t need to eat? Though she’s not sure how that works, either. She’s still alive, just in the Game, so…

It’s too late at night to think about that, so instead Shiki closes her eyes and rests her head back against the seat. It really is dark. The only light is this strange, ghostly kind of glowing sphere Joshua summoned and then threw up above them maybe two hours ago; it’s as dim as a nightlight, and flickers like it has bad connection. It helps, a little, but… Shiki’s never liked nighttime, and here, with no moon or stars or anything, it’s almost worse.

Joshua is seated across from her, his hand resting on his cheek and one finger drawing patterns in the dust on the windows. Where Shiki watches the light, he turns and smiles at the shadows. “Surprising, isn’t it?” he says to her, almost light. “No end to the days at all. A full twenty-four hours… this Game really is something new.”

Shiki presses her lips, ill at ease with it. She fiddles with the end of her skirt, the soft fabric woven tight and warm, the cloth soothing beneath her restless fingertips. “I don’t get it,” she admits, and smooths her skirt flat, a nervous habit. “Why the long days? This doesn’t feel like the Game at all.”

“Hm. Who knows?” Joshua tilts his head. In the reflection of the glass, his eyes seem blurry and dim. “To disorient us? To tire us? Sleeping in a ruined city really will do murder on your back.” He snickers, then, as if he’s said something funny. Shiki frowns a little. “Awful, don’t you think? For former Players especially. All that time, waiting for the next day to begin… waiting for the blackout…”

“Oh.” Shiki’s fingers curl. “So this, too…”

“No missions,” Joshua murmurs. “No Reapers. No walls. Just… waiting. Until the end.”

There is something terribly cruel about it that Shiki doesn’t know how to put into words. She shivers, and says nothing.

“Yes,” Joshua replies, as if she’s spoken. “My thoughts exactly.” He sighs and leans back against his seat. “Either way, it’s working. Even I don’t really know what to expect from all this.” His eyes narrow, a little. He drags his finger through the dust on the window, a bold and stark line across the glass. “It’s getting a bit annoying.”

Shiki bites the inside of her cheek and looks away, picking up Mr. Mew just to have something in her hands. She smooths her fingers down his stitching and wishes for better thread. She has her needle, spare strands—of course she does, she always does—but for Mr. Mew, she needs better. It’s why she’s fighting with her clothes in the first place.

Still. Her fingers itch to fix something.

Joshua giggles. Shiki looks up, startled. He’s smiling at her again, small and smirking. “Bored?”

“N-no…” Bored, in a place like this? Discouraged, more like. She can’t understand how he can sit there, laughing like nothing is wrong; it’s like the whole awful situation has barely touched him at all. “Aren’t you worried?”

He tilts his head, looking bemused. “Who, me?”

“I mean…” She stops herself, and sighs. Even if he was worried, would he tell her? She doesn’t know him, and he doesn’t know her, either, even if he acts like he does. And given that she’d snapped at him only a few hours ago… “Never mind.” She frowns down at Mr. Mew. “You aren’t the easiest person to talk to, are you?”

“You’re just full of insults, aren’t you,” Joshua replies. “Apologies if I’ve been too preoccupied to chatter with you, Shiki. You need only give the word.”

Ugh, he did that on purpose. She fumbles. “No, that’s not what I…”

He’s smiling again. Shiki bites her lip and takes a deep breath. She is not going to hit him. She refuses to let him win, damn it all. “I’m sorry. That was rude. And I’m sorry for… well, I mean, I’m not sorry for what I said this afternoon, because I meant it—”

His smile has dropped, and Shiki rushes on before he can comment. “But I don’t want to fight! And I—I really don’t think you’re a bad person. I want to work together with you.” She offers a weak smile. Oh, she’s so bad at this. “So I guess, um, truce? Allies?”

He doesn’t move. Shiki looks down at Mr. Mew. “I just… can’t you be just a little nicer? I shouldn’t have insulted you, but… you say things sometimes. We’re partners, though. And if we’re here for all seven days…”

A pause. He’s quiet, just watching her, and Shiki falters again— and then firms. Her back straightens. She holds out her hand to him. “Please,” she says, quietly. “For Neku?”

There is a long stretch of silence. Joshua’s expression is a strange one; he leans back against the booth and crosses his arms, looking vaguely bothered. He turns away, frowns at the window, and then sighs heavily, as if put upon. “Oh, all right,” he mutters, and then turns to her. “Allies, was it?” He blows a strand of hair away from his eyes, and brushes it back behind his ear irritably. Then he reaches out and takes her hand. His palm is cold and dry.

Shiki pauses, startled. She hadn’t really thought he would… but he had, and for that she offers him a smile. “Oh! Um. Good.”

She takes her hand back, and then claps. Well, that was awkward. Time for a change in subject. “So! Okay. I’ve been thinking. We need to find Shinjuku’s… ‘place,’ right? What about the Tokyo Met building?”

“Wow. You’re taking this mystery seriously, aren’t you?” Joshua leans back, resting his chin in his hand. That strange melancholy is gone as if it had never been; now he just seems amused, edging into thoughtful. “Mm, maybe. They don’t tend to be in very obvious areas, though, you realize. Otherwise, Ten-Four would be Shibuya’s.”

“Oh…” Shiki leans back, fiddling with her glasses. “Golden Gai? We are heading in that direction…”

He shrugs. She sighs. This is harder than she thought it would be. How on earth had Neku figured it out last time?

…Oh, right. Joshua.

Shiki slumps in her seat.

“Either way,” Joshua says, after a pause. “We’ll head down the main road tomorrow. I’m interested in that moment of impact, you could say… the Reaper’s Skull in the sky.” He spins a strand of hair around his finger. “Who knows what we’ll find there?”

“Hopefully not a fight,” Shiki murmurs.

“Hmm. That’s a poor attitude. I’m relying on you after all, Miss Shiki.”

She laughs, a little. Miss. She’s never met someone who can be both rude and polite all at once. It’s a bit funny. “I mean… you don’t need to, do you? Aren’t you, like, all powerful or something?”

He giggles. “Well, that’s true. I am pretty powerful. But I don���t like working up a sweat.” Joshua shrugs, hands turning up and open to the air. “Besides, even I have flaws. So do keep up.”

Shiki is well aware of his flaws. The little smile on his face says he knows that, too. But in the spirit of getting along, she humors him. “Really? Like what?”

She means it as a joke, but Joshua hums. “Mm. Well, for one, I can’t jump.”

Shiki blanks for a moment. “Seriously?”

“Mm-hm.”

She considers this. “…Is it because you’re clumsy?”

Joshua blinks. Then he smiles. He turns his face away and hides it behind his hand, but she can see his shoulders shaking. “Wow.”

“What?”

“Just… no one’s ever tried to guess why before.”

Shiki’s getting the hang of this, though. “Or guessed right?” she tries.

He makes a face. But he doesn’t say she’s wrong, and for some reason that makes her laugh—for real, this time. “So that’s it,” she says, hiding her smile behind her hand. “You’re clumsy?”

“I don’t really think you’re one to talk.”

“I’m not! I just…” Her smile fades a little. She studies the table. “It’s funny. I feel like I know you a little better now.”

“Because you know I’m prone to tripping?” Joshua sounds bemused. “All right then.”

Because beyond just being Composer and all-powerful and Neku’s old partner, Joshua is becoming someone real to her. He is a boy who laughs a lot but rarely genuinely, who doesn’t give straight answers—who is snobby, and self-absorbed, and smug. Who has clever insights. Who likes mysteries. Who can’t jump.

She’s still angry at him. She still doesn’t forgive him. She never will. But Shiki leans back against the booth and thinks of Neku, week one, and finds that maybe she can do this after all. Maybe… maybe it can even be fun.

“Well, if there is a fight, I’ll do my best.” She clenches her fist. “I’ll rip them all to shreds!”

Joshua is grinning, wide and amused. Shiki frowns at him. “What?”

“So bloodthirsty. Where do you get it from?” He tugs at his hair again. He looks on the verge of laughter. “Okay. Have fun, Shiki.”

She pauses. “…You’d be helping too!”

“Well, maybe.”

“No, not maybe…!” Joshua is definitely laughing at her. Shiki crosses her arms. This is like Neku in those first few days all over again, but worse somehow. Joshua is doing this on purpose. “Ugh. Boys.”

“Not quite. But I get your point.” Joshua waves a hand through the air. “I was just joking, dear. Don’t take it so hard.”

But Shiki pauses, her thoughts derailed from the banter. Not quite? “Wait. What do you mean not… Oh!” Her eyes widen. “Are you like me?”

The moment she says it, she flushes, and wishes she could take it back. Oh, shoot, is that a good way to ask? Does he even know Shiki is trans? Wait, Composer. Wait, but maybe—

Joshua blinks at her, and then his grin gentles, something closer to a smile, almost half-way to genuine. “Mm, of sorts.”

And that answers that. “Oh,” she says.

“Yes. Well, not entirely the same experience, however. I don’t have any strong feelings about it one way or another.”

Shiki doesn’t entirely understand what he means—she has always felt strongly on who she is, from youth to now. But she nods anyway. “Ah, okay! But, um…”

She frowns a little, unsure of how to ask this. Joshua’s smile widens. “It doesn’t really matter,” he says, sounding amused. “I use the masculine pronoun because I like how it sounds, is all. It’s just words to me. I don’t connect to one gender or the other—or even neither—in any real regard.” He shrugs. “Don’t worry. You haven’t stepped on any toes.”

“I’m glad.” She draws up her knees. She still isn’t sure if she likes Joshua all that much, but that doesn’t mean she wants to hurt him, even if unintentionally. “I guess we have that in common, huh?”

“The younger Bito sibling, too. Should we make a club?” He leans back, and hides a yawn in his hand. “Anyway. Wherever Shinjuku’s Room of Reckoning might be, it’s a problem for the morning.” He holds out his hand, and that dim nightlight sphere sinks down in the air, resting just above his palm. “Anything else you want to bother me with? Because it’s getting dark, and honestly, I would like to get some sleep.”

“Oh. Oh! Right, sorry.” Shiki turns away, leaning her back against the booth, stretching out her legs. “Um… good night.”

“Wonderful.” Their light flickers and dims; Joshua cups it in his hands and then closes his fist quietly, and darkens it to a glow so soft it barely seems there at all, just enough to keep them out of the gloom.

The silence settles around them, not quite calm, not quite right. Shiki stares at the window, thinking on all that she’s learned, and everything she’s still waiting to discover. The quiet stretches. The darkness remains, eternal. She watches the glass and despite it all, can’t bring herself to close her eyes.

Is Neku out there, too? Is he sleeping in a ruin? Maybe he’s nearby, even. Maybe he’s closer than she knows.

She swallows hard. She hopes he’s doing okay. And oh god, Beat—she hopes he got home, that Rhyme is safe and sound with him. She hopes Eri found him. She hopes Eri isn’t… isn’t too upset with her.

Shiki owes her an explanation, probably. Definitely. She’s trying not to think about it. Where should Shiki even begin? She doesn’t want Eri to know she died. Or—or her entry fee, oh god, no. And everything that happened, Rhyme getting erased and the other Players, and…

It’s just easier, isn’t it? If Eri doesn’t know; if Shiki doesn’t tell her. They can be happy and laugh like nothing has changed, like nothing was ever wrong… and Shiki won’t have to think of that time from before, when she couldn’t meet Eri’s eyes, when she could hardly look at her work without hating how it never seemed to measure up. They’re happier now, aren’t they? Is it selfish to want to keep it that way?

…Probably. If Eri found Beat, then, definitely. Eri knows something is up. Eri knows something is wrong. Shiki is—Shiki is just going to have to deal with that.

Oh, she hates the dark. She always thinks too much, too loud. It’s so quiet that everything else feels like its echoing, and it makes all those little worries rise up louder and louder in the back of her head. Awful.

She takes a breath. She draws up her knees, and wraps her arms around her legs. “…Joshua?”

A pause. She hears him sigh. “Yes, Shiki?”

She keeps her eyes on the window. He sounds so calm, she thinks. So unbothered. It needles at her. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“This again? Really?”

For some reason that hits her sideways; heat flares up in her gut. Her hands clench, fingers digging into Mr. Mew. “Yes, really,” she says, sharper. “This place, this city, the silence. N-Neku. You keep… doesn’t it bother you at all?”

“Does it matter?” he replies. “Either way—”

“It matters to me.”

Silence.

“Yes, Shiki,” Joshua says, finally, flatly. She can just barely see him, sitting up straight now, the shadow of a frown on his face. “It bothers me. Happy?”

“You don’t have to snap at me.”

“And you don’t have to go starting a conversation every three seconds, and yet. Honestly, Shiki.” He crosses his arms. “You’re awfully chatty. Most people aren’t nearly so talkative with people they dislike, you know.”

“…I wouldn’t usually be.”

“Oh?” He still isn’t smiling. “Am I just special? How flattering.”

“No, it’s not that. I…” She looks away. Her own flare of irritation has died; now she just feels drained, and a little ashamed. He’d said he was tired, and she is bothering him anyway—snapping at him for nothing, almost the same way he snapped at her earlier today. “Sorry.”

“Hm.”

“Really, I am. It’s just… it’s really quiet here.”

“So you decided to yell at me.” He sounds annoyed. “Don’t people usually ignore others when they’re upset? Can we do that?”

For some reason that almost makes her smile. Shiki keeps her eyes on the window. “Funny,” she says quietly. “Sorry. You know, I… I was going to. From the beginning, actually. I thought I would…” She had taken the pact with the thought that she would ignore him, she would avoid him, she would do what was needed and nothing more. But…

She hasn’t really been doing that, has she? Instead she’s been arguing with him, and talking with him, making plans and ideas and getting ridiculously excited over mysteries. She doesn’t even know why. It just sort of happened that way.

And in the end Shiki rests her chin against her knees and says, “It’s just sad, isn’t it?” A beat. “I just get the feeling… that maybe we could have been friends.”

Another pause. Longer, this time. When Joshua finally replies, he no longer sounds irritated; his voice is low and muted. “I don’t see why that matters.”

Maybe it doesn’t. But Shiki looks out the window, quiet and worn and exhausted all at once, and despite it all, realizes she doesn’t feel as alone anymore. That in some strange way, in all the things they share and the ways they clash, Joshua being here with her makes braving this empty city a little easier.

She keeps her eyes on the window. “Joshua?”

He makes an annoyed noise. “What now?”

“…Do you think Neku is okay?”

He hesitates.

Shiki waits, but when he doesn’t answer, she looks back to him. He doesn’t meet her eyes. His head has turned away, back to the window. He is strangely silent.

He’s not smiling anymore. In this moment, Joshua seems tired too. There’s something quiet in him. Something pinched around the eyes.

“Well,” he says, softer than she expected. He taps his finger against the glass. “That is the question, isn’t it?”

It’s not really an answer. But there is understanding in it; the same uncertainty, the fearful wondering. So Shiki nods. She turns away, and says nothing more, and together they watch the midnight streets, waiting for the hour to turn.

.

.

.

And as midnight falls, on the very edge of that hollow city, a girl walks against the wind.

She is alone. She is all on her own. The last one left in all the world. Her eyes are empty and her hands close tight around a memory. She barely seems to move, each step slow and laboring, taking all of her strength. She wanders on into the night. She shivers in the cold. Her lips move soundlessly, as if aching to speak. Waiting to be heard. Waiting to be found.

She keeps walking. Step by careful step. And slowly, surely, the night moves on, and the second day dawns.

[vendettacanons]

Repost, please don’t reblog!!

Tagged by: @yourlovingspy (thank youuuu!! ❤️)

Tagging: @maximuses (For Luna) @literiveture (for Faye) @ivestasy (for Val) @dcllmaking (for Ernie man) @devilsdecade (for Wyatt) @thxwxlf and anyone else who feels like doing it!

⚔️ Senses and Other Oddly Specific Headcanons ⚔️

For Lucas!!

1. What does your muse smell like?

Depends on the day. By default, Lucas tends to have the smell of gunpowder, rich cologne, and blood/ money on him. His work keeps the lingering smell of death on him, but it tends to be well-hidden beneath his fancy perfumes. By default however, Lucas’ pure, natural scent is very soft: he has this smell like freshly baked bread, still warm out of the oven, and the faintest hint of sea salt, like the oceans of his home still clinging to him from thousands of miles away. It’s oddly comforting and homely for someone like him, and the softness of it has gained him many comments about it. It’s a shame he tends to mask if under lotions and face masks and shaving cream and cologne for the sake of keeping himself presentable.

2. What do your muse’s hands feel like?

The years have not been kind to Lucas and his hands show that. He has a few scars- including an old burn scar on the side of his left hand. His fingers and palms have some callouses on them from fighting every day. Sometimes against others, sometimes against himself. But even still, they’re not incredibly rough. He washes, moisturizes, and lotions his hands so often that the callouses don’t ever really have the chance to fully harden, so they just feel more like tougher, thicker patches of skin on his hand. Overall, his hands are very soft as a result of his extensive self-care routines, and the callouses and scars just kind of add a weathered texture to them. They tend to feel really, really warm. Unless he’s sick- then they’re ice cold.

3. What does your muse usually eat in a day?

Lucas isn’t all that picky about what he eats. As a child he ate whatever was on his plate, and as a teenager he couldn’t exactly have a preference for whatever he fished out of trash cans or smuggled into prison for food. Nowadays he makes his own meals. For breakfast, he tends to eat eggs either scrambled or in omelettes with things like cheese, black olives, pepper, and potato inside. He likes his fresh OJ or warm milk in the mornings. Throughout the day he tends to nibble mostly on fruits or vegetables, drinks plenty of water or tea— he rarely drinks coffee but if he does, it’s usually black with one or two sugar. Lunch tends to be light sandwiches. Dinner is the heaviest meal. He goes all out on dinners. He’s Cuban and Polish so there’s a lot of good food to be had. Stewed and shredded beef slow-cooked in fresh tomatoes, onions, peppers, garlic and wine, and served with white rice, black beans and sweet plantains. Or rosół broth and tomato soup with herring prepared in cream, with a vegetable salad. Desert tends to be his favorite meal. He’s got a major sweet tooth and loves sweets with his favorites being papieska (cake), pie, choclate/caramel candies, and ice cream (Rocky Road is his fav). With his schedule and overall mental health, how much he eats tends to fluctuates. He has a bad habit of occasionally skipping meals when he’s not in a good place and will go days without eating. When he’s stressed, he tends to overeat and mostly has snacks. His only real limits are his allergies to pineapple and raspberries... but even then he just tends to call Mike up and preemptively tell him he’s about to eat something he shouldn’t because it’s delicious. (Sidenote: he tends to be very protective of his food and does not take kindly to people picking off his plate. Suffice to say, sharing his food with someone is a very big deal.)

As you can probably tell, food is very important to this man.

4. Does your muse have a good singing voice?

Oh yeah. Lucas is actively involved in his churches’ choirs- has been since he was a little boy. He has a deep love for music overall, having learned how to play guitar and the piano from his father. He loves singing the most though and he’s damn good at it too. It’s another thing that’s very important to him, much like cooking, because in practicing it he believes he is keeping a part of his father alive and with him. He doesn’t do it often and definitely doesn’t like doing it in front of people unless he has a very firm sense of trust in them, but occasionally you might be able to hear him humming or mumbling quietly to him while he filed paperwork and cleans (the latter of which tends to be accompanied by dramatic dancing, of which he is also good at).

Fun fact: When he was younger and picked up smoking as a stressful habit, it started to affect his voice. After finding out, that alone was enough to make him quit.

5. Does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks?

Tons. Lucas has tendency to curl his lips back- yes, like a dog- at people when they’re scaring or threatening him. Or at least, when he thinks they’re threatening him. He tends to use vinegar and salt to treat many of his wounds instead of providing himself actual medical attention (there are actually still bullets stuck in his skin bc he never pulled them out and just slapped a bandaid on it). He overeats when he’s very stressed or scared, he stops eating when he’s depressed, he tends to avoid sleep for long periods of time. At some point, Lucas developed this habit where he intentionally keeps himself out of REM sleep in order to stay alert. The problem is, lingering in NREM increases his risk for nightmares, night terrors, and sleep paralysis- which he chronically suffers from. Additionally, it worsens his sleep apnea and only makes it so he never feels well-rested. He just takes LSD to make himself more alert an get through the day. Additionally, Lucas regularly drinks heavily to the point of passing out, smokes marijuana, and frequently seeks out one-night stands as unhealthy ways of coping with his issues. Yeah, he’s an absolute mess.

6. What does your muse usually look like / wear?

Lucas like his suits. He has to have them tailored and custom-fitted to his body type and proportions, but he loves the feel of high quality suits. He likes the way they look on him, he loves the way they fold and winkle in just the right ways. He likes the designs of them. His work suit is his abilities favorite right next to tuxedos. Outside of work, his style varies. He tends to wear big hoodies and jeans and sneakers out and about. He likes warm sweaters and sweatpants, but he also like muscle t-shirts and yoga pants. It just depends on how he feels and what he’s planning on doing on a given day.

7. Is your muse affectionate? How much? How so?

Enormously. It’s just a matter of bringing out that affection. Due to his extensive history and mistrust of people, Lucas tends to be very guarded and solitary. He doesn’t like being touched, he rarely speaks— out it like this: he doesn’t want do anything that could potentially leave him vulnerable 2,000 steps down the line and accidentally reveal vulnerability to someone who might exploit it and hurt him. Again. He’s made that mistake too many times before. But in his intense solitude he is very lonely. He pines for someone, but he can’t seem to find them. He craves human contact but he’s too afraid of the world to actually look for it. Which is a shame, because if you manage to strip back the layers of his hardened exterior, Lucas is a very deeply affectionate person. He loves physical intimacy, he loves cuddling and hugging and kissing on his partner. He’d love spoiling them with gifts and seeing them smile, he’d love hoisting them up and surprising them. He’d love taking them out to places and sitting and listening to them talk for hours upon hours at a time. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for someone he loves. He’s just very scared because the people he loves tend to be taken from him, or walk away from him, or repay his love with immense pain.

8. What position does your muse sleep in?

Like most things about Lucas, this tends to vary. He can fall asleep standing up. He can fall asleep in a chair. He can fall asleep in a car, or on the floor, or on some stairs. If he actually manages to make it to bed, Lucas tends to sleep with his back against the wall. Or if that’s not available, he will curl up with his back against the headboard and one hand under his pillow where he gun is. If he’s really really relaxed, he’ll sleep on his belly or on his side, but never on his back. He’s noticed that sleeping on his back tends to increase the chances of him having a nightmare of sleep paralysis event.

9. Could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?

Probably not. Even in his own homes away from home, Lucas tends to be silent. He moves on tiptoe, staying close to furniture and walls, walking on carpet and avoid creaky or echoey areas of the floor. He’s very sensitive to sound and tends to tread lightly to avoid disturbing anyone, even if there’s no one else around. This is partially to stay alert and keep good practice at how to stealthily move around on the job, but mostly because living with his brother is not the easiest task in the world. Especially when he comes home late at night. Tipping Xavier off is not something he particularly enjoys because it often means dire consequences for him.

[writeyourownlifestory]

Sucker Punched

Chapters: 3/9 Fandom: IT Rating: M Warnings: Mention of past child // psychological abuse, Fight Club!au Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh/Ben Hanscom Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, learning to love yourself

Tag list: @richietoaster, @beproudtozier, @that-weird-girls-blog, @s-onora, @s-s-georgie, @bellarosewrites, @iamcupcakefrosting, @reddieonwheels, @ghostnebula, @madidraw @madi-main, @gazebobullshit, @thoughtfullyyoungduck

By the time Eddie was 13, he was allergic to peanuts, tree nuts, and several cooking oils. By 15, he had never swum in gym class and never went to a friend’s birthday party or had one of his own. By 16, Eddie knew that he liked looking at boys rather than looking at girls, though that didn’t seem to matter at the time. By 18, he had graduated high school and that was the end of his social life. And by 21, Eddie’s life had been torn to pieces.

He was a victim of Munchausen syndrome by proxy and now left without a mother, without a home, and without a clue. On top of being told he should go to group therapy, his caseworker had also suggested doing something to blow off some steam. Join a book club or go to the gym. Or maybe join a need-to-know based fight club. Either or.

Chapter’s one - two 

Eddie thought, as a nice gesture, he would surprise Ben and take him out to lunch.

He got off of work earlier than he thought he would. They didn’t have that much to unpack and restock onto the shelves. It was pretty slow on this particular day, so the need for any extra baggers or cashiers wasn’t as high as always. The manager of the store gave Eddie the option to skip out forty-five minutes earlier than he was scheduled to leave.

He didn’t jump at the chance to leave, but he took it regardless. Walking down the street, he thought it would be a good idea to head into the gym that Ben frequented at and see if he’d be interested in grabbing something to eat.

He knew Ben’s routine as well as his own. He wakes up and goes for his run. If he was closing, then he’d come home, eat breakfast and hang around the house. Sometimes he would do a bit of work in his room, rearranging some of his models or creating an online template for future projects. And then he’d go to the gym and work out for an hour or two. He’d come home and show, help with dinner and then either go out with Beverly or Mike before returning home for the night.

If he was opening, then he’d still go out running, but he would do it far earlier and make a protein shake or take something portable. He’d go to work and then get out, heading straight for the gym when he was finished, and then come home, shower, help with dinner, and then go out.

He’d usually go to the gym around the same time regardless if he was opening or closing, so Eddie had a pretty good shot of him being there.

He slipped inside, looking around in hopes of spotting him. He came up empty, but waited a bit, thinking maybe he was in the back room. He stood there for nearly five minutes, looking completely out of place in his work shirt and jeans.

“Ay, Eduardo!” A voice called out to him. He looked up, seeing Richie sitting up from a machine he was on. Ben had mentioned calling it a ‘crunch machine’ or something like that. Richie pulled off his headphone, the sound of the music muffled, but still loud enough for Eddie to hear just slightly. “He’s not here.”

“What?”

“Haystack. He’s not here. Bev stopped by and grabbed him maybe about fifteen minutes ago.” Richie explained.

Right. So Eddie had been on the money with the timing but missed him by a few minutes. He wasn’t surprised that Beverly had come and snatched him away. Any time she wasn’t in the group meeting or working at her aunt’s boutique, she was with Ben.

It was fair enough since they were best friends. Eddie didn’t know if that was what being a best friend was, always wanting to be around them and do everything with them.

Or maybe it was more than friendship.

Eddie didn’t know either way.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“No problemo. You wanna do a few sets?”

“Few what?”

“Sets, dude! Gotta work on those gains!”

Eddie just stared, babbled by whatever the hell he was even saying. Mke walked by then, slapping the back of Richie’s head as he passed. “Speak English, dumbass.” He prompted.

“Ah! Geez, Hanlon. Hands-off outside the ring.” Richie mumbled, standing from the machine.

“I think you’re supposed to wipe those down,” Eddie mentioned as Richie approached him.

“Though, do you wanna work out? I’m always down for some tag-team pumping.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Eddie grumbled with a heavy sigh. “But, if you’re asking me to work out, I’m gonna decline. Not exactly in the right attire.”

“That’s fine! Just take the pants off. Boxers and gym shorts are similar enough.”

Eddie scoffed, wrinkling his nose at the idea. “Dude, no.”

“I’m kidding! I’m done anyway,” Richie reached into his pocket, turning off the music playing from his phone and detached the headphones, pulling them off his neck. He wrapped the wire around and around, tightening it before looping it through his arm to hold onto. “Did you walk here?”

“I don’t have a car,” Eddie told him.

No car, no license. He knew the town was small enough, allowing him to walk just about everywhere, but he knew how pathetic it sounded.

Eddie’s whole existence was pathetic at this point.

“Are you going home?”

“Not like I have anywhere else to go,” Eddie answered with a small shrug.

“Want a lift?” Richie questioned. “I don’t have work tonight, so I don’t have anywhere else to go either.”

Eddie shook his head slightly. “It’s fine,”

“Can I walk with you?” Richie asked, taking a step closer. “I don’t mean to be pushy. Just. Super bored and figured a conversation would shake things up a bit. If you don’t want to be bothered, just say so.”

Eddie couldn’t remember the last time he had been bothered. He thought of all the times when he was little when his mother would take away the comic books he had borrowed from the library or forced him to watch the children's programming she had found on tv even though he was over eighteen.

Eddie also couldn’t remember the last time someone cared if he was bothered. He was so used to just doing what other people wanted him to do, what his mother wanted him to do, that being given options seemed so rare and new to him.

Richie waved a hand over Eddie’s face slowly. “You okay? Your eyes sort of glazed over there.”

Eddie blinked, not realizing he had been starring, drifting off into his thoughts. “I’m fine.”

Richie bobbed his head firmly. “All right. Well, do you want that ride or not?”

“Sure,” Eddie replied, deciding he had nothing to lose.

Richie beamed, his eyes lighting up behind those thick glasses of his. He followed Richie out to the parking lot, walking over to the car that appeared to be his. He didn’t know much about the car but knew it was nice enough. An older model. He had seen it once before, on the cover of a car magazine at the pharmacy.

“Ain't she a beaut!” Richie said as they approached the car.

It was blue, or at least it was supposed to be, but dirt stains and other things were covering it. Eddie couldn’t tell if it was dented or the car was just oddly shaped. Eddie just gave a small nod, letting Richie toss his gym back into the back before getting into the driver’s seat.

“Come on, big man!”

Eddie got into the passenger side of the car, surprised to find it somewhat clean. He had a McDonald's cup sitting in the cup holder and the air freshener hanging on the mirror didn’t seem to be working because the car itself smelt like grease and cigarettes.

“Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Richie told him as they pulled out of the car. “Do you mind if I peel into the Wendy’s on Union?”

“That’s fine,” Eddie replied smoothly.

Richie turned on the stereo the moment they hit the road. He had his music playing, a bunch of bands playing alternative rock songs that Eddie didn’t know. “You can change it if you want to. All music is good music to me,”

Eddie didn’t touch the radio. He let it play on as they drove, with Richie lowering it as they got to the drive-through. He half-shouted his order, pausing so he could turn back to Eddie. “What do you want?”

“What?”

“To eat? 4 for 4? Baconator fries? Spicy nuggets? Throw me a bone here, Eduardo.”

“My name is Eddie. Short for Edward.”

“Okay Edward, what do you want?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Dude, it’s fast food. You don’t eat fast food because you’re hungry. You eat it because it’s cheap and filling.” The muffled, machinal voice from the ordering box asked if that was all. “Hang on, one sec! Eds, pick something.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“You just got off of work, right? Did you have lunch?” Eddie gave Richie a small side-eye in response. “Yeah, I thought so. Hey! Sorry about that. Can I get two large Frostys and a large fry too? That’s all.”

Pulling up to the window, Richie paid and proceeded to hand Eddie the bag of food and placed the two Frosty’s in the cup holders. He took the McDonald’s cup and continued to drink it as they drove the rest of the way to the Hanscom household.

Richie parked up front, unbuckling his seatbelt as he shifted in the seat, turning to face Eddie properly. “All right. Let’s eat.” He declared.

He took his cheeseburger and bit into it, holding out the container of fries for Eddie to take. He stole three of them, chewing on them piece by piece. They weren’t as salty as the ones from McDonald's, nor were they as curly as the ones from Arby’s.

The Hanscom’s thrived on eating from home, but now and then they’d splurge and they’d all go out to dinner at Olive Garden or bring in Chinese. And on some nights, they’d go buck wild and get fast food because it was inexpensive and quick.

McDonald’s had been the first type of fast food Eddie had eaten. He wasn’t too impressed with the Big Mac, finding the extra piece of bread to be something of an overkill, but the regular cheeseburger was fine.

These fries were good as well, though Eddie found himself feeling a bit concerned when he caught sight of Richie dipping his fries into the Frosty.

“Oh don’t give me that look. Come on. Don’t knock it till you try it.” Richie argued, nudging Eddie’s arms.

Huffing a sigh, Eddie relented, going to dip the end of one fry into the Frosty, taking a bite of it. The sweet and salty elements weren’t bad. The cold and warm combination was a bit odd, but he didn’t hate it.

“Not the worst.” He admitted, shoving the straw into the heavy liquid. He tried to slurp it up but found himself unable to do so. “Why the fuck is this so thick?”

“Your mom asked me the same thing,” Richie said, his smirk only lasting a few moments before realization hit him faster than Ben’s elbow did the night of their fight. “Oh fuck. I’m sorry.”

Eddie offered a thin smile, keeping his eyes on his Frosty. He stirred it around, trying to melt it a bit so he could drink it.

“I’m guessing you know all about it,” Eddie mentioned quietly. “Reporters had come around the first few days I got here, but Mrs. Hanscom chased them away.”

“I just know what Ben told me. Overprotective mom and stuff. He didn’t go into a lot of detail.”

“Ben isn’t one for gossip.” He knew his cousin wouldn’t bitch or brag about the situation. Ben was a good person. Probably the best outside of his mother.

“You probably don’t want to talk about it,” Richie mentioned, sticking his straw into his own Frosty. “You can if you want to. I’ve been told I tend to run my mouth, but I like to think I’m a pretty good listener too.”

“Not much to say,” Eddie mentioned, attempting to take another sip.

Richie hummed, bobbing his head. They sat in silence for a few minutes, focusing on his meal while Eddie stirred his Frosty around, and around, and around.

“So how did you get into the whole fight club thing?” Eddie asked, deciding to cut through the silence and the gentle tension that was beginning to grow between them.

“You do know the first and second rule of fight club is to not talk about fight club right?” Richie snickered.

“Oh. I’ve never seen the movie so….”

“Stan invited me,” Richie answered. “He told me that I had, and I quote, ‘a very punchable face’ which isn’t something I’m completely surprised about.”

“Kind of rude.”

“But very on-brand for Staniel.” Richie insisted. “I don’t know, man. I started going to the gym, started hanging around with the other guys. They introduced me to it and I’ve been going for about a year now.”

“I don’t understand the point of it,” Eddie confessed to him. “Wanting to hit someone and cause pain.”

“It’s not about causing pain. Look, you know the adrenaline rush you get when you do something completely wild?”

Eddie started blankly to him, unable to come up with a single time he had done anything wild. The closest had been when he would surf the internet late at night when his mom thought he was sleeping.

Richie, not bothering to comment, carried on. “It’s that. We ride that rush for as long as it lasts. It’s hard to put into words. It’s like running and jumping, unsure if you’re going to stick the landing.”

“I think I get it,” Eddie told him. Giving up on the sucking, he pulled the straw out from the cup, licking it slowly, lapping up the sweet creamy flavor. Richie watched him for a moment, his eyes focused on Eddie’s mouth. “What?”

“I could teach you some stuff,” He mentioned, his eyes flicking up to meet Eddie’s. “Working out. How to throw a punch.”

“I don’t want to fight,” Eddie answered.

“You don’t have to, but staying in shape is important. And if your mom did lock you away like some sick bubble boy, you’re going to need to bulk up if you ever want to make it in this world.”

“Stan was right. You do have a very punchable face.” Eddie declared.

He stabbed the straw back into the Frosty, deciding he’ll drink it at a later time when it was melted and suckable. He opened the car door, turning his head back to thank Richie for the ride.

“If you’re interested, come to the gym Friday morning,” Richie called out of the passenger side window.

“I’m opening Friday,” Eddie replied, pushing through the gate.

“Then come Friday night. What do you have to lose, man?”

Richie drove off before Eddie could even come up with an answer.

[duketheman]

Generation 4 Part 6

We go to the Dining room & are seated. Menu consists of: Stuffed lamb breast with lemon, ricotta, & oregano variety of cheese, Selection of Bread & Cracker, Jams, chutneys, spicy mustards, caramelized onions, candied nuts & pistachios, Rich flourless chocolate cake with a glass of sweet port wine, Small pieces of chocolate & Brandy. Father says Prayers: My God in Heaven. Please Bless this meal & Bless our Family with Your Grace. We thank You my God for all that you've provided & for the Miracle of those two tiny new lives that You so Graciously Blessed us with. Thank You my God, in the Name of our Lord & Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen! 8:30pm we finish dinner & retire to the Drawing room for Coffee & Brandy! Sodas for the kids & Juice for Mary & Lucy. The Doctor recommended that Lucy attempt to Breastfeed again, so she too has decided to refrain from alcohol! The room is filled with Christmas Music! Mother says: ~Family, it's time to realize "The Reason for the Season"! We have a lot to be grateful for! It's time we start acting like it~ She begins to sing along with the music! We too begin to sing & the mood in the room becomes festive! We've hired a nurse to help with the babies, as to give a little bit of a break to our wives. Mary has pumped extra Breast Milk into bottles. Lucy has Formula for Anabel until she takes hold! It's now 12:45am & we've been enjoying ourselves so much, that we didn't realize how late it is! We decide to call it a night & go to our rooms. Mother was right! Tis the Season for Joy! God Bless us everyone!

I pick up my son & hold him, & pray a prayer of thanks to God! I turn to Mary, who's ready to feed him before we sleep & say: ~Darling, thank you for being the best wife a man could ever be Blessed with! I love you Mary Grace Newport!

She replies: ~'O my sweet Harry, no woman could ever hope to be Blessed with a husband as loving, generous, thoughtful & sweet a man as you! My love, you have never disappointed me in anything you've ever done. Now we're Blessed with another child. I feel my life is only getting better. You Harry, are my life!~ She has always made my every day & night! I thank God for allowing her into my life! She feeds little Harry, burps & changes him. Places him in his Bassinet, careful to lay him on his back. He falls asleep immediately. Such a good baby! We climb into bed & she falls asleep in my arms. I'm tired, Goodnight!

Skipping forward:

Sunday December 22 Little Harry's & Anabel's Christening

8:00am & the whole Family is enroute to Church. Today we'll be dedicating little Harry & Anabel to Christianity. It's 8:45am & we arrive. We enter the Church & the Family are seated. Mary, Myself, Lucy, George & both Babies are escorted to the front of the Church where when called, we'll bring the Babies forward! 9:00am service begins. After the Choir sings the opening hymns, Pastor Reverend Johnson calls the names of "Harold Joseph Newport Jr." & Annabel Josephine Richards" to the Altar. Mary holds little Harry in her arms & I stand by her side. The Pastor Asks: ~Who will be the Godparents?~ George & Lucy Step forward! Pastor Johnson recites: ~Harold Joseph Newport Jr., In the Name of the Father & of the Son & of the Holy Spirit! He then pours water over his forehead three times. He wipes dry little Harry's forehead.

Pastor Johnson says: ~Who will be the Godparents?~ Mary & myself step forward! Pastor Johnson recites: ~Annabel Josephine Richards, In the Name of the Father & of the Son & of the Holy Spirit! He pours water over her forehead three times. He wipes dry Annabel's forehead & Congratulates us! He invites the Congregation to take photographs! We're seated & service It's 10:30am & service is over. We're enroute back to Newport Mansion. 10:45am, we're arrive at the Mansion. We take the babies upstairs. The Family retire to their rooms to get ready for lunch. It's 12:00pm & Huntington rings: ~Lunch is being served in the Dining room!~ We go into the Dining room & are seated. Linguini, White Winter Truffles, Aged Parmesan is on the menu! The meal is delicious. 1:15pm we finish lunch & retire to the Drawing room for drinks & conversation! 2:15pm My wife & I are having a Date night. We're going to dinner & a movie! She wants to see "Jumanji, The Next Level". Showtime is 8:15pm at the Woodard. We go upstairs where she will feed little Harry. We'll nap a little before leaving!

It's 5:00pm & we're enroute to Grumpy's Diner on Main! There are no Fancy restaurants in Madison, but we do enjoy a good Burger & Grumpy's has great Burgers! We've arrived at the Diner at 5:45pm. We're seated & read the menu. I order the Steak & Tarter Special Combo with Lemonade. Mary orders the Burger Bowl Combo with Sprite. We finish eating & leave a tip. It's 7:40pm & we're enroute to the Woodard so we can get a good seat. It's 8:00pm & we park, buy the tickets & enter the Cinema. We're seated in the fourth row from the front. The previews are already showing, so I take time to by Popcorn, BomBoms & Soda! 8:15pm the move starts running. 10:20pm, the movie has ended. It was a great movie, starring Dwayne Johnson, Kevin Hart, & Karen Guillan. It was funny, exciting, mind boggling, test of skills & scary all in one game! We both enjoyed it! 10:30pm we're walking out the doors & getting in the car. Enroute to The Waffle House on Bandit st for Coffee. 10:45pm we pull into the Parking lot & enter the restaurant. We wait to be seated just a few minutes. We order coffee, decaf for Mary! We tip the Waitress & leave the restaurant, its Midnight. Were enroute to Newport Mansion. It's 12:30am & we've arrived at the Mansion. We go upstairs & get ready for bed. Mary has that look in her eyes. She winks & smiles, holding the covers up for me. I know what that means & I'm eager. It's been a while & long enough. Goodnight!

Tuesday, December 24

It's 8:00am & Huntington rings: ~Breakfast is being served in the Dining room!~ We go into the Dining room & are seated! Menu for the Morning consists of: Waffles with flax & almond butter, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, a fruit salad & protein shake, juice, coffee! 9:30am, we finish eating & retire to the Drawing room to discuss tonight's festivities! Mother has planned a Christmas party for friends & family! The party will be in the Grand Ballroom! She's been known to have the most entertaining parties in two hundred miles of Madison.

Christmas Eve

It's 5:00pm, I'm putting on my Tux, while Mary nurses little Harry! I can't help but to think about those we've lost! But I know God has a plan for all of us. JR has another week before we've got to get him back to the Academy. We're lucky to be able to have him for the Holidays & his Birthday! He'll be sixteen on New Year's eve. My God, where's the time gone! It seems like yesterday I was holding him in my arms. Tomorrow morning is Christmas & the anniversary of the first day I met Mary, the day I began to live again!

It's 6:00pm & we're in the Drawing room discussing the music for tonight, Mother of course has the last say!

We're expecting Governor Ron DeSantis to attend, as well as other Dignitaries she's friendly with! Busy day ahead...........

7:00pm

Governor DeSantis arrives & my parents greet him immediately! Other guests are arriving, to include; Mayor Jim Catron & his wife, Chief of Police Reggie Alexander & his wife, & friends of the family totaling over 150 guests!

Huntington escorts each of the Guests to the Grand Ballroom where food & drinks are being served.

The tables each are marked with the guest's name on a card. Christmas music is playing. The wait staff are offering hors d’oeuvres & Champagne.

The menu consists of: Goose, apple sauce, ham, bread stuffing, crawfish cornbread stuffing, sweet potato casserole, mashed potatoes, green beans, broccoli, ambrosia, a cranberry mold, goose gravy, a relish tray with green onions, watermelon pickles & olives, Russian caviar, pumpkin, pecan, apple & cherry pies. A crisp white wine, eggnog, syllabub, & sweet potato punch! More Champagne! We have Non-Alcoholic Champagne for Mary, Lucy & the kids!

My wife looks stunning in her new Red Christmas Gown.

George, I've never seen him decked out before. He looks like he belongs in that Tux. Lucy's wearing a Bluish colored Evening Dress, slitted in the arms & down the left leg; also looking quite Beautiful. The kids look like a Prince & his Princess! The whole family, I must say are showing their Best. Mother looks quite pleased with herself! 

This will be a party to remember, I only wish Rachael could have been here! The babies are upstairs with the nurse. They're bringing more hors d’oeuvres & Champagne around.

My Father's dancing with Mother, to Tony Bennett's Christmas Waltz. It's my Mother's favorite. I better get my wife out on the Dance floor, before someone else does, I'm somewhat stingy!

The Governor & his wife Casey seem to be enjoying themselves! They've been on the Dance floor over two hours already! The Ballroom is alive tonight & Happiness is it's heart! My Brothers don't seem to have a problem finding someone to dance with, I wish they'd settle down & have a Family. Sis & Bill are dancing the night away! Santa is expected to arrive at 12:01am!

12:01 2019 Christmas

The music starts playing: "The Santa Claus Rock" by INFANTIL! Everyone's rocking with the music as Santa enters the room! The music stops, Santa grabs his Bag & begins to pass gifts out to the Family & friends! He calls out each name, without hesitation or looking at a note. He just hands the gifts out as if he knew what was in them! Everyone seemed surprised but pleased with the gift they received.

I ask JR: What did you get Son?~ He replies: ~The Nutcracker Soldier, I've been wanting it ever since I can remember! Only my Mother knew, she promised to get it for me for Christmas, the year she died!~ I ask: ~What's the card say?~ He replies: ~ From Mommy with Love! Dad, I never told anyone!~ We both left it like that! I received the Gold ring I lost some years ago off my Boat. I had dropped it in the water, never to be seen again; so I thought! It's inscribed with the words: Dolphins Bring You Luck" dated 2004. These were words Julia said on my Boat when I took her to see the Dolphins, the year we first started dating! She had given it to me for Valentine's day! The card read: Love never dies Harry, be Happy! anta leaves as fast as he arrived, with a HO HO HO, Merry Christmas to all, & to all a Goodnight! I followed him out, but strangely, he just disappeared, poof he was gone! I really wanted to congratulate him on how good he was & ask him how he knew! Mother says: ~Son, that wasn't our Santa, your Father was suppose to play the part! We have no idea who he was, where he came from or disappeared too!~ Kind of got everyone thinking....... The last song is playing: "I'm dreaming of a White Christmas" by Bing Crosby! I take Mary out to the floor & dance the last dance with her, cheek to cheek! It's 2:00am & everyone's left. I & Mary say Goodnight & we go upstairs & get ready for bed! I didn't tell Mary about JR's gift, nor mine; but it was weighing on my mind! Even in Death she was able to keep her promise to our son & assure he got his Christmas present as well as; to send me a message! God is good! Merry Christmas to you all from the Newport Family & Goodnight!

Skipping forward:

Tuesday, December 31, 2019

Happy Birthday John Ross/New Years Eve 

It's 6:00am & my wife is feeding little Harry. We're drinking coffee in the room, Decaf for Mary. When finished, we'll go downstairs for Breakfast. Eggs Benedict, Toast, English Butter, Jelly, fruit, & juice is on the menu this morning.

We got to get things together for today. Its JR's Birthday & we want it to be a special! Mother has planned a big party for him, lots of guest!

The cake will be delivered some time today!Kellyanne has asked if I would take her & her Dad to the Mall, so she can buy him something special for JR! Tonight Mother will be putting on her Annual New Year Fireworks display!

7:00am, Huntington rings: ~Breakfast is being served in the Dining room ~ We go downstairs, to the Dining room & are seated! It's 8:30pm & we're finished eating. Myself, George & Kellyanne get in Father's car & proceed to the Valdosta Mall just over the State line. She wants to go to Jared's. It's 9:45pm & we're pulling into the Mall's parking lot. It opens in fifteen minutes. That's good, no rush. 10:00am sharp & they open the entrance, we head for Jared's.....

Kellyanne finds a ring she says is perfect! It's a Black Diamond ring 1/2ct tw 10k Gold running about $1300.00! I have to say she has impeccable taste. Not feminine looking, yet beautiful. JR will love it. She has them inscribe the words: Love is forever! I can't help to notice how much Kellyanne is like Julia the way she thinks! No wonder JR loves her so much!

It's 12:30pm & we are enroute to Madison. We stop at Dairy Queen for lunch. Its 1:00pm. 1:45pm & were on the way back to the Mansion. 2:10pm we arrive. Mother is outside supervising the setup for the party & Fireworks tonight. I go upstairs & my wife is talking a nap. I kiss her on the forehead, careful not to wake her, check on the baby & go back downstairs to have a beer & help wherever I can!

It's 3:30pm & the cake is delivered. The stage for the Band has just been finished.

Mother has hired The Frequency Band for tonight. Mother is a perfectionist, everything must be right. She's hire fifty extra staff for the Party, she loves JR. He was her first Grandchild!

Dinner will be finger sandwiches & hors d’oeuvres, as well as cake & ice cream; served during the party! Dress is casual.......

t's 5:30pm, the band has arrived & setting up! Though not like when he was a child, this party will still be big.......

6:00pm, the guests are arriving & the band is already playing music. They're quite good actually, from LA is what I hear!

7:00pm & the party is in full swing. Kids & adults alike are dancing. They're playing all the latest favorites. Drinks are being served but Alcohol is in one tent under the control of Huntington. Soda & Fruit Punch in another, self serve! There's Sweet Tea for the asking.....

8:00pm, the band starts playing Happy Birthday to John Ross, & a table is rolled out with a cake!

Two candles in the shape of the number sixteen, on top of a Beautiful Black Cake. JR makes a wish, blows out the candles, takes a knife & cuts the first piece. 

Kellyanne hands her gift first. The ring & a kiss! She says: ~John Ross, take this ring as a symbol of my everlasting love for you. Happy Birthday John Ross, may you have many more!~ He slipped the ring on his finger & kissed her. He says: ~Kellyanne, I'll never take it off for as long as I live!~ 

He begins to open the many gifts from everyone here.

Mary bought him a Beautiful Compass inscribed: "To my son: Wherever your journey in life may take you, I pray you'll always be safe.

ENJOY THE RIDE & NEVER FORGET YOUR WAY HOME. I'm Always Here For You; Mom"! The compass is made of Gold in a Sailor's pocket watch casing. Quite elegant, I could see him trying to hold back tears!

I got him a Man's music box with my recorded words to him: "To my son: SOMETIMES IT'S HARD TO FIND WORDS TO TELL YOU HOW MUCH YOU MEAN TO ME. IF I HAD TO CHOOSE BETWEEN Loving you & breathing I WOULD USE MY LAST BREATH TO SAY ~I LOVE YOU~ I WILL ALWAYS BE THERE TO LOVE YOU, I WILL ALWAYS BE THERE TO SUPPORT YOU. You will always be my baby boy. ~Love Dad~"

My Parents got him a Pocket watch with the inscription: "To my Grandson: Never forget that I Love you. I hope you believe in yourself as much as I do.

George & Lucy gave him a Gold wristwatch.My Brothers gave him a check for a thousand dollars. My Sister & Bill gave him an authentic Navy 1860 Officers Cutlass with His name on it, inscribed: "With His Swift & Terrible Sword "

It's 11:00pm. JR received well over two hundred gifts. He will have to leave some of them behind when he returns to the Academy on Thursday!

11:59pm & were getting ready to countdown to the New Year. Were counting down from 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 & the Fireworks display goes off as the band plays "Auld Lang Syne" The new Year's Anthem! I take my wife in my arms , kiss her, really kiss her & tell her : ~I love you Mary!~ She replies back: ~I love you my Harry!~ Everyone is kissing, singing & wishing all well! It's now 1:00am & the Fireworks Display is over. The band has played it's last set & everyone's leaving! Everything went well & we all had a great time. It's New Year's day & JR goes back to school tomorrow. We will be going home too! It's been a great vacation except for losing Rachael! 

We say Goodnight & go upstairs. We're tired, The baby senses we're here. Mary nurses him before we lay down. She lays little Harry down, we lay down & fall asleep in each other's arms!Wednesday, January 1, 20206:00am, I've decided to let Mary get some rest after a long night. I change little Harry, feed him with stored Breast milk in a bottle, burp & play with him a little while! This brings memories back of when JR was a newborn! He fell asleep in my arms, I lay him on his back in the Bassinet! It 8:00am, I wake Mary up to see if she's hungry. She wants to sleep another hour,I go downstairs & Brunch is being served. I ask Huntington to assure that Mary has something to eat when she wakes up. I sit down & eat, it's only myself, my parents & Mary's parents! Seems like everyone else decided to sleep in..... I say Good morning & they reply almost simultaneously: ~Good morning Harry!~ Mother asks: ~Sleep well son?~ I reply: Yes Mother, I did; Thank you! She says: ~How's Mary & the Baby, is Harry Jr sleeping through the night?~ I reply: ~Yes Mother, he is & Mary's sleeping in another hour!~ She replies: ~Good, a new Mother need as much rest as she can get!~ Mary's Mother adds: ~Yes they do! Harry, you're a good man, our daughter loves you very much & so do we! We feel Blessed having you part of the Family & you to John Ross!~ I reply: ~She is my Blessing Laura, she & my children are my life. I'm more than proud to be part of the Family & I love you two as well!~

8:30am, JR sits down at the table, followed by Kellyanne! They both say Good morning & sit down at the table. JR remarks: ~I'm starving!~9:15am Breakfast is over. Huntington has told Cook to hold Breakfast for an hour in case the rest of the Family is hungry! I go back upstairs & check on Mary. I find she's up & the baby seems to be hungry again. She's nursing him! I call downstairs to the kitchen & have them send Mary's Breakfast up to the room!...... We've got to pack & get ready for our trip home. JR's flight takes off for Valley International at 5:30am & the rest of us are scheduled to take off for Miami International at 7:15am! My wife finishes nursing little Harry, I take & burp him so she can eat! She says: ~Lord, I can really use a strong cup of regular coffee! But our son is more important! But just as soon as he stops nursing, I'm going to nurse on a whole pot of Community!~ She laughs, but she's more serious than she let's on..... I'm having fun with little Harry! He sure does smile allot, but Mary says it's gas! I think he smiles because he's a Happy baby! I put our son in his Bassinet because he's fallen asleep! I sit next to my wife & say: ~Mary Grace Newport, I love you! You married me & gave me life. You took my son as your own & raised him! Now you've given me another son! You have been & are my life. I'm truly Blessed! Thank you Mary, I only hope I tell you enough!~ She replies: ~Harry, you tell & show me every day! It fills my heart with joy & happiness everytime I hear your words. I love you Harry, with every essence of my being! I live for you Harry, you're my heart & soul!~ We embrace & kiss for more than a few minutes! We go ahead & pack up everything we can for now. We have laundry that has to be brought up to the room later!

Were just going to hangout with the Family today, we're going to miss them all very much! JR & I will visit the Cemetery this afternoon, so he can see Julia's & his Grandparents graves one more time before he goes back to Texas! He wants to plant flowers on the graves........ I think he wants to tell Julia thank you for his gift. I know that sounds strange but so do I, there's no other explanation!We go downstairs & everyone is congregating in the Game room. Mother has declared this day, "Family Day"! She says: ~We see far too little of each other, & I think it nice if we spend the day enjoying each other's company!~...... She has Finger sandwiches, Olives, Dill pickles, Cheeses, Sweets & Drinks set up on a table. We'll not have to stop for lunch, yet we can eat as we wish! I & George immediately challenge my Brothers to a game of Eight ball! I'm quite good at this, though it's been a while..... Father is acting as Barkeep! My Sister & our wives are Bowling on the indoor alley! Mary's parents & Mother are playing cards! JR & Kellyanne are playing Table Soccer!......... it's 4:30pm & as promised, I borrow Father's car: I & JR are enroute to Newport Cemetery to place flowers on Julia's & her Parent's graves. We'll place them on my Grandparents grave as well! It's 5:30pm & already getting dark. We leave the Cemetery enroute back to the Mansion. It's 5:55pm & as we're walking in the doors, Huntington rings: ~Dinner is being served in the Dining room!~ We all have our last Dinner as a Family! It's 7:30pm & Dinner is over. We retire to the Drawing room & share a little more time together. We plan next Christmas vacation together. It's 9:00 & we say our Goodbyes to my siblings. Mine & Mary's Parents will be up to say Goodbye in the morning. The Chauffeur will drive us to the Airport, theirs eight of us with the Babies & Father's Car won't have enough room. We say Goodnight & go upstairs so we can be fresh in the morning. Mary nurses little Harry while I take my shower! After; I take, burp & play with him while Mary takes a shower! I see him smiling more & more, warming my heart with everyone! He falls asleep in my arms & I lay him down on his back! I didn't know that SIDS was a growing threat in the USA & laying a baby on their stomach or side was the leading cause! Mary taught me that! She's a very cautious Mom & I thank the Good Lord for it! We lay down & I say: ~Mary Grace Newport, I love you!~ She replies: ~Harry Joseph Newport, you are my whole life &I Love you!~ We fall asleep in love!

Thursday January 2, 2020

It's 2:30am & we get up. Mary nurses the Baby while I wash up, brush my teeth & shave. I call for Huntington: ~Please take our bags down to the Limousine. Mary finishes feeding the little Harry, I take & burp him while my wife washes up & gets dressed. We go downstairs & meet up in the Dining room. Mother has arranged for an early Breakfast so we don't leave hungry! It's 3:30am & we say our Goodbyes. Mary & her Mother are crying & Mother is doing her best to hold tears back. They kiss, hug & kiss us all again as we walk out the doors! Father walks us out while the others stand on the stairs! He says: ~Harry, I love you kids, please have a safe trip. John Ross, you too, make sure you make next year son! Bye you all & take care of our Grandkids, I'm talking to you too. You're family too now! George replies: ~aye Mr Newport Sir!~

I tell my Father,: ~I love you Father, we'll call you as soon as we land! Bye now!~ It's 4:00am & were enroute to the Airport. Its 4:35am, we arrive at Valdosta Regional & the Baggage Valet loads our baggage onto a cart. JR checks in & the kids say their final Goodbye. Kellyanne is crying & makes JR promise to write every day! He hugs me & tells me that he loves me. He hugs & kisses Mary Goodbye & tells her he loves her. She's crying again! He kisses his little Brother & Anabel, he's only got so long until Boarding, so he has to get through Security! Its 5:30am & his flight takes off on time!

JR has one more year until he Graduates in June 2021. He's already been accepted & will enter Annapolis Naval Academy in January of 2021 He'll attend four years thereafter; he'll be Commissioned a 2nd Lieutenant & serve a minimum of five years in the Marine corps! That boy has made us proud!

It's 6:15am & we're allowed to check in. We walk through Security & to the Boarding gate where we'll wait until allowed to board.. 6:30am & we're boarding the plane. It's 7:00am & our flight takes off on time! Its 11:20am & were on approach to Miami. Suddenly; we start climbing & are ordered to stay seated & buckled. We have a landing gear stuck & are circling the Airport! There's some panic, but all in all; most stay calm! We circle for twenty minutes & it begins to look like we're going to have to land without the the front Landing gear! Now I begin to worry a little! But I look at Mary & she says: ~It'll be fine Harry, God has us covered~ Suddenly; the front Landing gear comes down. Relief is felt all over the plane, people begin to cheer & clap! Mary turns to me, smiles & says: ~See Harry God is watching over us!~ I remember calling my wife an Angel sent by God, now I'm sure of it! She didn't worry at all, she knew we'd be ok! We're on approach again. We land & it's 11:50am. Late but safe! God is Great!!!! We get through Security, get our Bags from the Carousel & have our wives & Babies sit down & rest. George & I walk across to the Parking Garage & pick up my car. We drive around to the loading zone & help Mary, Lucy & Kellyanne into the back seat with the Babies. George & I load our bags & we're enroute home! I'm going to miss everyone but I'm so happy to be home! It's 1:00pm & we drop George & his Family off, they're looking tired & happy to be too! Kellyanne is still sad but she'll get over it! We're enroute to our house. It's 1:20pm & Home sweet Home! I help Mary into the house & come back for the bags. Mary takes our son into the Nursery & says: ~My sweet little child, welcome home Baby Harry!~ She lays him down in his crib & sings a Lullaby: The song is called "Sweet Dreams ". I've never heard it but it's quite beautiful! Mary is a wonderful Mother. I go in the kitchen & prepare lunch, as they don't serve food on flights anymore! Simple Ham & Cheese, Dill pickles, Lays lightly salted chips, Sweet tea! We sit, eat lunch & talk about all that's happened. We finish & she says: ~Harry my Love, I'm going to lay down & take a nap; I'm just feeling so tired!~ I reply: ~Darling, sleep well, you need to rest!~ I go into the Library & check my messages. I need to start the "Willow" back up after Vacation! Looks like I have a scheduled trip on Monday, January 6! I give George a heads up, grab a cold one & relax! It's 4:00pm & I think I'm going to cook dinner for Mary. She'll be awake soon & hungry, she has enough to do just taking care of the baby! I prepare Baked Chicken, Macaroni & cheese, Garlic Bread & I'll wait to see what she wants to drink!It's 5:00pm & Mary comes down. She's pleasantly surprised. We sit down to dinner & enjoy each other's company. We finish up & retire to the Living room. We sit on the Loveseat, listen to music & just cuddle. She has Baby monitors set up everywhere in case he wakes up..... He sleeps until 8:00pm, Mary says to me: ~I'll be back my love, let me nurse him, he's hungry! She goes up, feeds him & is back in my arms within twenty minutes! I love my wife & enjoy spending time with her. I am a CUDDLER! I love cuddling & showing her how much I love her! It's 11:00pm & she asks: ~How about a snack?~ I reply: ~Sounds great Darling~ She goes in the kitchen, goes in the pulls out two thinly cut steak out of the freezer & chops them up with onions & Bell peppers. She grabs four eggs & shredded cheese out of the refrigerator. She's making steak & cheese omelets! That's my favorite omelet, she knows me so well! We sit down & eat. We finish, I handle the little cleanup there is. She goes up & nurses the Baby. I'm done & I follow her to find her waiting for me, under the covers. She says: ~Come on Big boy, I need you!~ She smiles, winks & exposes her naked body! Goodnight all!

Duke Sherman

To Be Continued

[rogersradio]

1970 | queen (part 1)

Summary: After working at a record store and discovering a record player that can transport you back in time, you find yourself in London of 1970. After scrambling to get back, you realize that something has gone terribly wrong with an infamous band, and you are the only one who can fix it.

Author’s Note: The beginning is very rushed (this whole chapter) only because I have big plans for the next couple of chapters. Please give feedback if you want this series to continue - it’s my first Queen work.

“They always say that time changes things, but actually you have to change them yourself.” - Andy Warhol (1975)

You worked at a record store in an old London strip, sandwiched between an ice cream shop and a children’s boutique. The building had been there for more then fifty years, according to the owner, and anyone who got close enough to look at it could tell. The concrete outside was stained with age, and the paint on the inside was beginning to peel. The man who ran the store knew of these things since you and your co-worker had begun to more frequently make remarks about the damages, but he would only shake his head with a smile and remark, “It makes it more authentic - a little more magical, don’t you think?”

With its dingy carpet floors and flickering sign, you didn’t understand how he could find anything magical about that store. It smelled of old paper and coffee, occasionally hosting the scent of a Bath and Body Works candle if you remembered to bring it. The cases for the vinyls were ridden with dust, and there was always Queen playing from a record player in the back corner of the store. It always played the same album: A Night At The Opera. You didn’t mind, since you had been a fan of Queen since you were little. Growing up, your dad would play it almost 24/7, and you grew to love the band and their music. No one dare change the album, and it’s been rumored that the same record has been playing for years straight; which, you must point out, is highly illogical. No vinyl record could play for that long without becoming damaged and scratched, especially if nobody has tried to take care of it.

It was a rainy Saturday when the owner, Mr. Jay as you called him, decided to stop by. He leaned against the register counter and cleaned his glasses with the handkerchief he kept in his pocket. “How’s everything going?” He asked, smiling. He was a short man with a semi-full figure. He had thick salt and pepper hair that dragged down into stubble along his jaw. He wore jeans, a plain white t-shirt and an olive green bomber jacket that stored a variety of items in its pockets: altoids, kleenex, money, you name it.

“Slow,” You said honestly. You were making your rounds of all the records, checking to be sure they were all in the right place: sorted by date. Your co-worker, Gabriel, let out a breathy laugh and kept scrolling on his phone.

Mr. Jay looked over to him with a sad smile, and then focused back down to his glasses. You began to feel guilty; you knew how much this shop meant to him. Who were you to talk about this man’s possessions like you were? You were a college student in need of a summer job that paid well so you could get your car radio fixed. Before you could speak up to apologize, or atleast end on a happier note, he spoke up, “It always is.”

He lifted his glasses up to the dim light to check for smudges and squinted. Dull thunder rolled in the background as a gentle shower of rain began to fall, hitting the tin roof above and echoing throughout the store. He slipped the clear-rimmed spectacles back on and sighed, strolling towards the isles of records. He dragged his finger tips along the top of them, stopping under the “1960’s” section. He pulled out a Beatles’ album and examined it. “Did you know there’s a conspiracy that Paul McCartney is dead?” He asked. You shook your head and he laughed, “It’s silly, it really is. Many believe that this,” He turned the revord to show the popular Sgt. Pepper’s Lonley Hearts Club Band album cover. “Depicts his funeral. There’s a left handed guitar made of flowers down in the corner, but It really could be a right handed one flipped the other way.” He continued to mumble on about the theory for a few more moments until he stopped and looked up at the two of you, who were both staring at him awkwardly. He slipped the album back into its slot and took a deep breath, “Well I guess it’s my time to leave.”

He took several large strides and picked up his hat and phone off of the counter. “Have a good one,” He called out as he slipped out the door. You both stood silent as you watched him pull out of his parking space and drive out of eyesight. It was always a weird, somewhat sympathetic, feeling after he left. Neither of you didn’t really know what to do. You stood and fiddled with the belt loop on your jeans.

“He’s an odd man,” Gabriel spoke quietly. You nodded. “Gives me weird vibes; like he’s seen way too many things. Did you see the way he spoke about that conspiracy? It was like he was genuinely amused, like he was the one who created it or something.”

“He’s just different,” You said, “I don’t think he means any harm.”

Gabriel shook his head with wide eyes. “I don’t know Y/N. Something isn’t right about that guy. He came in here to do what? Be a spokesman for the “Paul McCarney Is Dead” club?” He shuddered.

You didn’t say anything. Brushing off any questions you had about Mr. Jay, you continued to do your album sweep. By the time you had reached the 1970’s, the song playing from the record player began to skip. You waited a moment for the skip to pass, but it just kept going. Already agitated from the creeping day, you stormed over to the old machine and stared at it for a moment. The spinning Queen logo made you dizzy. The player was covered in dust, and it was clear to you that nobody had touched it for a long while. You blew on it first, and then reached for the tonearm to fix it.

As soon as your fingertips touched the arm, you felt yourself being thrown from the record player. It was as if you were in a plane during takeoff: insane amounts of pressure were building on you, squeezing your body and twisting it in jerking motions. Your head felt as though it would crack and explode in any moment, and you squeezed your eyes tighter than they ever had been before to avoid seeing your insides being blown out. Before you could fully slip out of consciousness, you felt your feet firmly on the ground again. You stood still as your hearing began to come back, keeping your eyes still closed tightly shut. It wasn’t before you heard the commotion of voices that you decided to open them.

You were standing in the same place you had been: next to the record player that was sitting on the wooden stool. Except for this time, the player was brand new, and the music that was playing wasn’t queen; it was “Hey Jude” by The Beatles. You took a few moments to stand there, trying to calm the pounding headache in your head and figure out what in the world had just happened. Maybe I blacked out, you thought, or maybe I’m dead. Is this Heaven? Kind of dissapointing. You shook the thoughts out of your head and tried to stable your shaking body. It took a few moments for you to realize that you weren’t alone, so you slowly turned around and caught your breath. There was atleast thirty people in the record shop, browsing through the albums and talking amongst themselves. You couldn’t hear much since you were standing right next to the speaker, but something wasn’t right. The shop was lively and colorful, and Gabriel was nowhere to be found. Okay, this has to be Heaven, you convinced yourself, Where else would there be this many people in here? This has to be a dream.

A voice pulled you back into reality. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

You jumped and turned to your left to see a girl who looked about your age. Her hair was short and feathered, and she wore a long patterned skirt with a purple blouse. Her teeth were shining white and perfectly straight, and you could tell she wore a thin layer of lip gloss. She resembled Princess Diana when she was alive. “No,” You croaked, “Just looking around.”

“No problem, just let me know if you need anything. My name’s Michelle,” She said as she smiled. She turned to walk away.

“Thanks,” You hesitantly said. Nobody seemed to care that you were there; like you had been there all along. Realizing that you couldn’t stand there and people watch for forever, you took a deep breath and went to walk outside. You needed to figure out what was going on, and where exactly you were.

You wobbled at the first step, and it was more than just uneasy legs. Looking down, you realized you weren’t in your jeans and sweatshirt anymore. You were wearing tight, bell bottomed baby blue pants and a blue ruffled blouse. You wore white boots with a slight heel and quickly realizing something was seriously different, you frantically grabbed for your hair and realized it was long and straight, down below your shoulders. It wasn’t like that before. You were beggining to panic, and rushed out the door as fast as you could. You brushed past employees and young children cradling vinyl records, offering quiet apologizes as you did.

Once you busted through the doors and onto the street, you were taken aback. The streets were full of life. People passed you and offered friendly smiles. The smell of cigarette smoke and burnt rubber filled the air, along with hairspray whenever a girl walked by. Men’s hair was slicked back with gel to resemble Elvis and the women on their arms wore patterned dresses and jumpsuits with their hair up in high ponytails or curled. This definitely wasn’t 2019.

Looking around, you spotted a boy who looked around your age standing by a wooden post. He was fumbling tape on one hand and a small poster in the other, and eventually turned his back to you to apply the poster to the pole. You scurried over to him, still getting used to your shoes, and called out, “Hey!”

He quickly flashed his head around to you and paused what he was doing. He has slightly shaggy blond hair with big blue eyes. Slight bangs were hanging in front of his eyes, but as you got closer he brushed them out of the way. He wore tight pants and Lou Brock Converse, with a long, tan trench coat that was partly buttoned up. “Yes?” He said, lowering his arms.

You eyed the poster in his hands. “Could I have that?” You asked slightly out of breath.

He widened his eyes a little at your question, but gave you a quick look up and down and cautiously handed it to you. “Sure,” He said, biting his lip. “Are you interested in coming?” He asked eagerly.

“Um,” You faltered. Coming to what? You didn’t even know what decade you were in. Quickly scanning the paper, the headline “SMILE - MUSICAL PERFORMANCE” caught your eye. “Yes, actually. I’m new around here, and I was, uh, looking for something to do.”

The blond boy smiled. “Well, I hope we see you there,” He exclaimed. Giving you a smile, he turned and began to walk away. “I play drums, by the way!” He called.

You looked up and laughed a little. He blushed and swiveled around once more, this time not turning back. You immediately looked back down at the paper and searched it for any type of date. The only thing you got was June 2, not any year. Sighing, you slowly began to turn the other way to start heading back. You didn’t look up from the flier in your hand, your mind and heart still rushing from adrenaline, and before you knew it you had run right into somebody. You bounced off of each other quite aggressively, and instant apologies started spewing from both of your mouths. The boy you had ran into reached out for your arm to balance you. “I’m so sorry,” He said.

“No, no, don’t apologize! I wasn’t paying any attention to where I was going,” You admitted, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. You both chuckled a little bit and looked down at your shoes. He picked at the ends of his long black hair and gave one last apology before walking away. You took a few steps but turned to watch him. He walked up to the wooden telephone pole and scanned the posters taped to it. He definitely was looking for something.

What was happening to you didn’t feel real; everyone you walked past or bumped into you felt like an illusion, even though you could touch them. It was like you were stepping into a movie. How did you get here? Where even were you? It’s like you were in a different dimension - a different chapter with the same setting.

You blinked a few times to get out of your trance and began looking for a new source to get the date. You would look insane if you asked somebody for the year, and Converse boy’s poster didn’t help very much. Slowly spinning around, a newspaper stand a few yards away seemed to glisten. You quickly made your way over, folding up the band flier in quarters as you did. Grabbing The Times off the stack, you read the headline: “D-Day for Europe as Dutch Vote”. You quickly scanned the small writing for any sort of date and by the grace of the Heavens, the year was finally printed before your eyes.

June 2, 1970.

[walkersdrake]

Perfect Stranger

AU one shot in which Drake is a substitute teacher, Liam is the best friend behind the scenes, Maxwell loves to party (a little too much) and a stranger seems to be the only person in the world right now that makes any sense.

Oh, and there’s the guy downstairs that won’t stop playing his violin. 

Word Count: 3,675

Pairing: Drake x MC

Warnings: Incredibly innocent, fluff basically (almost?)

A/N: This was based loosely off the song Perfect Stranger, originally by Katy B and Magentic Man but I prefer the cover by Marina & the Diamonds. Take a listen here.

Also, this is my fic! I’m reposting it on my new and improved blog :) hope you all enjoy it just as much as the first time!

Drake had no intention of going out tonight.

Sure, it was New Year’s Eve and yes, Drake is a recently single guy of only twenty-six years old, but he was in no mood to being out and about.

The break up was hard on him. Not only did it happen three weeks before Christmas but it happened in the worse way possible: through a two-and-a-half-minute phone call filled with most of the talking coming from Andrea and Drakes every so often “uh huh” and “okay.”

Drake doesn’t even remember how the conversation went. He remembers his stomach dropping when she said, “we need to talk,” and his smile wiping away completely when she continued with “we should break off the engagement.” She didn’t just break off the engagement however, she also thought it would be best they saw other people.

“It’ll be a little break,” she had said sweetly. Drake responded with one final “okay,” as he walked through the door of his house and found half his stuff (well, Andrea’s stuff) gone.

He knew that it wasn’t a break and his thoughts were confirmed when he was walking downtown one afternoon and saw her sitting in a café with some guy’s arm wrapped around her waist.

He knows it was all his fault, especially once he realized that Andrea had begun distancing herself from him as well. Everything eventually become too much for him and he found himself at Liam’s more and more. Still, he found himself telling Andrea he loved her even though the words tasted bland on his tongue.

In all honesty, Drake was bored. He was bored of Andrea, bored of the same routine (read: waking up, going to work, grabbing a smoothie before coming home, and watching TV until he fell asleep again) and he was real fucking tired of the man in the apartment below his playing the violin at nine in the freaking morning.

So why go out on New Year’s Eve when all he was going to be was bored? He’d much rather stay home and be disinterested inside.

Because Maxwell wouldn’t allow it; not when there were two parties to attend to. Especially since Maxwell needed a wing man and Drake was his first choice.

“Why don’t you take Liam?” Drake had asked as Maxwell pushed Drake into the bathroom to take a much need shower.

“Because you need to stop moping around, it’s fucking lame,” Drake had been wearing sweats and a t-shirt but Maxwell pushed him into the shower anyway. “You better be ready in 20 minutes. I’ll be in the car.”

Drake huffed, turning the water from cold to warm and peeling the soaking wet clothes off his body and placing the pieces in the sink next to the shower. He can’t make me go out. He thought, rolling his eyes. Still, he found himself reaching for the shampoo and lathering his dark brown hair with it because it’s Maxwell and when Maxwell turns on his Maxwell-ness on full power, there’s no stopping him.

Drake knew there would be a better chance at sneaking off once Maxwell became distracted anyway.

Finally, Drake got out the shower and picked out a very fashionable outfit of black jeans, a white t-shirt, and his signature denim jacket.

As promised, Maxwell was parked out in front of Drakes apartment building. Drake got in the vehicle, grudgingly buckling his seatbelt and rolling his eyes.

“Man, tonight I’m here for you too,” Maxwell announced, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the parking spot. “You need to move on, it was bound to have happened anyway.”

Drake looked at Maxwell with knitted brows, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

Maxwell paused for a beat before proceeding cautiously, “We just noticed that you had been distancing yourself from Andrea before the break-up, anyway. It’s kind of unfair for you to assume she would stay while you moped around.”

Drake was taken back, not because of what he said (he knew deep down it was true) but because Maxwell, out of all people, was calling him out.

He nodded, “you’re right, man.” God, that sucked to say.

Maxwell pulled up to a big mansion that was just outside of the city. Drake looked around, noticing people were all over the lawn meaning that there would be double the amount of people inside the actual house. He sighed, getting out of the car and following Maxwell towards the front doors of the mansion. The music was easily loud enough to not even have a proper conversation with anyone and people were already noticeably drunk. Maxwell immediately began mingling while Drake stood there debating whether to follow him or make a run for it.

He decided to make do with the open bar, serving himself a whiskey on the rocks (he was taking it easy tonight, apparently) before walking upstairs to look for a place to enjoy his drink.

He had opened the door to a random room, hoping no one was in there hooking up. Thankfully, it was vacant except for the huge bed and most likely super expensive interior decorating. Drake looked around before stopping in front of the vanity and looking at his reflection.

The man in the mirror, he noticed, hadn’t shaved in a while. He wasn’t full on “survivalist” beard but there was enough scruff to make him realize how long it’s been since he properly taken care of himself. Drake shook his head, walking away from the mirror and towards the balcony.

The view was much more different than the chaos out in front of the house. It was dark out but Drake could make the trees that made up the forest, swaying softly with the light of the bright moon blanketing the sea of dark green.

“What a view,” Drake found himself saying, amazed. He had always loved forests as it was the one place where he could truly feel care free.

“I know, right?” A voice behind him said, causing Drake to break out his trance in a scare and turning around quickly to match the voice to a face.

She was a lot shorter than Drake, with raven black hair except for the red towards the bottom of it. Drake took note of her laid-back fashion, she was wearing light blue ripped jeans and a pink t-shirt with a pair of white converse.

“Is this your house?” He asked her, wary of the fact that he was technically in someone’s personal space.

The girl laughed, “God, no!” She took a step towards Drake and stood next to him, admiring the view, “I was at another party here about a month ago and came across this room when I wanted a chance to breathe.”

Drake smiled (wait, he smiled), getting a chance to get a closer look of the girl. Her light brown eyes still pierced through with the help of the moonlight which also accentuated her olive skin.

“It’s not polite to stare, you know,” she looked at Drake who in turn blushed like a school boy and looked away into the distance. She probably thinks I’m a creep. Still, he couldn’t help the fact that he was attracted to her and it took all his might not to take another glimpse of her face.

He took another sip of his whiskey.

“Whiskey, huh?” The girl spoke up again, turning her body to face his. “What’s the story?”

Drake turned to her, brows knitted in confusion. Was it that noticeable that he was going through some shit?

Still, he still felt comfortable enough to tell this complete stranger what he was going through because there was just something about her. Drake barely opened up to Liam already and they’ve been best friends forever. “A break-up,” Drake finally said after a long pause.

“How serious was it?” She asked, taking the glass of whiskey out of Drakes hands.

“We were engaged,” Drake sighed, he hadn’t actually talked to anyone about the break up.

Sure, Liam tried to get him to talk about it because apparently, a text message with the words “we broke up” were too vague or something. Maxwell didn’t push him but insisted they go out for drinks instead. It’s not that Drake was emotionless, it’s just that he rarely liked to talk about his feelings anyway.

So here he was, telling this girl the story of his failed relationships—complete with details—while she listened intently.

“It sounds like you’re just feeling guilty,” she responded boldly. Drake was taken back a bit by her words.

“I saw you come in,” she began, walking back into the room and sitting down on the edge of the bed. Drake followed her without even thinking, his heart beating a little faster when he processed that she had seen him come in.

“You had this sort of air of melancholy around you.”

Oh.

So it was REALLY noticeable.

“It sounds like you were both stringing each other along because you were used to each other and not together out of love anymore,” she continued. “I think you’re feeling like this because deep down you’re guilty about the fact that you stayed with her when you knew she didn’t deserve that.”

Drake was really left speechless this time. Of course, he knew that he wasn’t the best boyfriend towards the end of the relationship but he hadn’t known if he was hurt because she left or because he felt guilty.

“You need proper closure, I think,” she took a sip of his whiskey, never breaking eye contact with Drake. “For now, at least try having a little fun.”

“I don’t remember the last time I went to a party I enjoyed,” Drake replied, honestly.

She smiled at him and Drakes heart responded by skipping a beat. She stood up taking Drake by the hand and pulling him up to his feet. Drake didn’t say anything, as all he could focus on was the sudden burst of energy when she placed her hand in his. 

The girl led him out the room towards the party. It was about 11:30 PM now and people were starting to pour into the house to watch the ball drop on the big screen. Drake let himself be led by the girl, catching a glimpse of Maxwell juggling for a group of people.

“Dance with me,” she said, swaying her hips. She placed her forearms on Drakes shoulders; his immediate reaction being to tense up completely.

“I don’t-I’m not, I’m not really good at it,” he yelled over the music.

“Sure, you can,” she giggled. “May I?”

Drakes only response was to nod. She pressed her body closer to Drakes, wrapping her arms around his neck and once again swaying. She stared at him intently, with a huge smile on her face, completely care free of the world.

He began to let his guard down, finally getting into the motion of the intimate dance. He gently placed his hands on her waist, smiling at the girl that has been in life for about half an hour but still managed to make him do a lot he hasn’t done before.

They stayed like this, swaying to the sound of whatever song was playing until eventually the music came down. Everyone began to turn their heads toward the screen as the countdown began.

Drake felt time slow down at around 5 seconds. He carefully turned towards the girl next to her, face in awe. In that moment, he felt like a new person. He wasn’t sure if it was the moment or the time or her.

He turned to look down on her, “may I?”

It was as if she knew what he was asking without having to say it out loud. She nodded and as soon as the party goers began to yell, Drake gently placed his hand behind her head, his other on her waist, and brought her towards him, bringing in the new year with a kiss.

His first reaction was that she tasted like cherries. Then his second reaction was that he really didn’t want this moment to end.

And then Maxwell interrupted.

And then he threw up all over the floor.

“Jesus, Maxwell,” Drake said, exasperatingly. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Here, let me help,” the girl said. Placing one of Maxwell’s arms over her shoulder. Drake mimicked her gestures with Maxwell’s other arms and they were soon outside of the mansion towards the car.

“Hi, I’m Maxwell” groaned, coming to his senses. “I see you’ve met Mr. Angry-Pants-Drake over here.”

“Let’s get you into the car,” Drake muttered. He took the car keys from Maxwell’s pocket, unlocking the door. The girl proceeded to lead Maxwell into the car, buckling him in and shutting the door quietly as he dozed off.

Drake moved to the driver’s seat of the car, thankful that he didn’t go further with the whiskey. He pulled out of the parking spot, carefully maneuvering the vehicle to not accidentally scrape the cars there were around them. When he finally pulled onto the street, Maxwell woke up again.

“Where are we?” He asked, leaning over and resting his head on Drake’s shoulder.

Drake gently pushed Maxwell’s head towards the window, “heading home before you make a bigger fool out of yourself.”

“Who was that girl?” Maxwell mumbled.

Drake opened his mouth to respond and froze. He replayed the events of the night over and over again, trying to remember every detail of it.

“Damn it!” Drake smacked the steering wheel, to which Maxwell responded with a groan.

He never got her name.

Now Drake was pacing back and forth in his room, grabbing his hair as if doing so would telepathically bring the girls name to his mind.

It was a series of wanting to curse Maxwell out, damning himself for being stupid enough to not ask her name, and realizing how dumb he was to have even left the party without saying goodbye.

He looked at the time on his phone, realizing he had been breaking his head for a little over three hours.

Walking to the bathroom, Drake took a long look at himself in the mirror. He took a deep breath before unlocking his phone and calling a number he never thought he would need to. Andrea picked up after about four rings. Drake was speechless at first, the memory of the day he walked in to her gone rushing back into his mind.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I realize I had been a crap boyfriend to you. It’s just, I think I got too comfortable with being comfortable that I didn’t see that I was affecting someone else and you didn’t deserve that.”

Taking a deep breath, Andrea responded, “I think we both were.”

“What do you mean?” Drake asked.

“We both got comfortable with the idea of security that we didn’t realize that we had fallen out of love a while ago. I think I stayed because I thought maybe someday the love would just magically return,” Andrea said confidently. “I did love you, Drake, but I knew I could love and be loved and also be unworried, you know?”

Drake smiled, “Yeah, I know. I’m really sorry. I do wish you lots of love and luck though.”

“I forgive you,” she said. “Good night Drake. And good luck.”

Drake woke up to the sound of Maxwell rummaging through his kitchen. Checking the time to see it was 11 AM, he got up to look at what he was up to.

Maxwell turned to Drake, “Where are your painkillers? Also, you really need to invest on some new couches.”

Drake rolled his eyes, rolling out one of the cabinets and finding the bottle of ibuprofen for Maxwell.

Maxwell took the medicine, finishing the entire bottle of water in the process.

“What happened last night?” Maxwell asked, opening another bottle of water and taking a sip.

Drake chuckled, “you threw up on the floor of a very expensive house we’ll probably never go back to.”

The memories of last night came rushing back to Drake as soon as he spoke. He grabbed Maxwell by the shoulders, making sure he had his undivided attention.

“Listen, Maxwell,” Drake started. “There was the girl last night and I didn’t get her name but she was really cool but I was stupid and left without saying goodbye or getting her name and you better know it because I’m partly blaming you.” Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows, “what girl? What did she look like?”

Drake began describing her like some lovesick school boy. Maxwell sort of listened because well, Drake was his best friend but also because he was super hungover and was hoping Drake would get him coffee if he recognized the girl.

“Sorry man,” Maxwell shrugged. “It doesn’t ring a bell.”

Drake exhaled deeply in annoyance, “well whose party was it?”

Maxwell shrugged again, “I don’t know. I was invited by Kim who was invited by someone else.”

Drake closed his eyes in defeat. His arms fell to side before his right hand came back up to rub his temple. He knew deep down he couldn’t completely place the blame on his very annoying friend because it was literally Drake who forgot the first when meeting literally anyone new.

“Get dressed,” Drake sighed, accepting defeat. “Let’s get coffee. You’re paying.”

Drake Walker stepped into the café where two weeks ago, he had seen his ex with another man. However, this time he didn’t feel confused or vulnerable. He walked in with a new stride, knowing deep down he wasn’t actually hurt from the breakup (Andrea helped him realize that they sort of had been over even before it was official) but that he guilty, as the perfect stranger had told him the night before.

He had an epiphany, right there in the line of the coffee house. He was no longer letting the idea of comfort and security dictate his life. He had been a substitute teacher for years and he never did anything about it for no real reason other than “that’s just his job.” He made the decision right then and there to apply to teaching positions because dammit, he had the credentials for it. He also made the decision to move apartments once his lease was up because A) That apartment was sort of a chapter in his life with Andrea and B) he might end up with his mugshot on the news for breaking his downstairs neighbor’s violin.

Once the barista asked for his order he ordered the same thing as always—black coffee.

But this time he got four sugars instead of three.

Drake and Maxwell sat at a small table by the window. Maxwell had objected to it because of the sunlight but Drake insisted. They sat there for a while talking about meaningless things when Maxwell suddenly moved his sunglasses up (yes, he was wearing sunglasses indoors, it was THAT bad).

“I don’t know if I’m just sobering up but that looks a lot like the girl you described,” Maxwell said.

Drake turned his head slightly out of fear of it being too good to be true. Yet, Maxwell was right. There she was, walking down the strip with the same white converse she was wearing last night. Drake had thought she looked beautiful last night but now, with the sun glistening against her olive skin, she looked angelic.

Drake shot out of his seat and rushed out of the café. She was already almost out of distance—God she walks fast—when Drake made a beeline for her, hoping he didn’t look like some mad man.

She whipped around as quick as Drake got to her, “I have pepper spray!”

“It’s just me!” Drake announced.

“Drake?”

Drake nodded his head, smiling. He was out of breath but he hoped that it wasn’t noticeable.

“What are you-“ she began before Drake cut her off short.

“What’s your name?” Drake asked immediately, because he would be damned if he let her walk away again without putting a name to the face that had him up all night.

The girl smiled, looking up at Drake with eyes that could make him melt right then and there.

“Victoria.”

For some reason, Drake felt a sense of relief wash over him. He thought she might have been mad at him for ditching her as he did last night and he was about ready to place all the blame on Maxwell.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Drake started. “I got so preoccupied with getting Maxwell home that I left without saying goodbye. I was ready to spend the rest of my life wondering what would have happened if I had just gotten your name.”

Victoria giggled, which sounded like a melody to Drake’s ears. He found himself chuckling along.

“Well, you know my name,” she responded. “What’s gonna happen now?”

Drake smiled big this time. He looked down at his shoes before looking back up at her, nervous about speaking to her now.

“Well, I’d like to take you out. Except not right now because Maxwell is still hungover in the café right now and he already interrupted one moment we had,” Drake’s stomach felt like a thousand butterflies had suddenly erupted. The fact that she was absolutely perfect to him didn’t make this any easier either.

Victoria blushed, “I’d like that.”

What was it about this girl that had Drake question his entire life in one night? He smiled to himself as she jotted her number down in his phone. In the pit of his stomach he knew he was in for a ride with this one. The thing is, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to get off.

“Uh, Liam’s calling,” Victoria handed the phone over to Drake. “Take it, I don’t mind.”

Drake answered the phone in confusion, bringing it to his ear slowly.

“Hello?”

“Why is Maxwell telling me he just helped you find the love of your life?”

[dentalrecordsmusic]

Will Wood Interviews Will Wood

I’m going to be honest: I get a lot of press releases and most of them get thrown in the trash. They are, of course, entirely positive information about the given artist and therefore entirely boring. However, when I got a strange (unnecessarily big) package in the mail containing three (3) pieces of glitter, a very small gentlemen’s hat, and the following interview of Will Wood answering questions from himself, I felt it was important enough to pass along to our readers. 

AN INTERVIEW WITH WILL WOOD

BY WILL WOOD

In this pre-apocalyptic wasteland of whataboutism and Russian disinformation, it can be difficult to pick all the pyrite from the proverbial pan. That’s an idiom now. In the old days, knowledge was banned and burned and buried in temple ruins and conquered libraries. It was suppressed and scarce and it took a hungry mind and a passion for discovery to shine light onto dark ages. The information age is upon us now – and while we can all tap into a bottomless well of knowledge at any time, we are no better off. The light is already so bright, the sound so deafening, that anything you have to show or say is already washed out in the cacophony. We still know nothing, because while we can see so much, we cannot distinguish illumination from illusion.

That’s what attempting to prepare for an interview with Will Wood taught me. Some information checked out, but everywhere I looked I saw misprints, inconsistencies, lies, theatrical exaggeration, errors, and the constant churning of the rumor mill. I read everything from errors in basic information, to full-blown criminal accusations. For instance, one source claimed they had found he had a home in a town called Glen Ridge, when in reality his P.O. Box is in Glen Rock, and his home is in Egg Harbor. Another source said he once kicked a pregnant woman in the stomach at a Renaissance Faire.

I like to think I prepared as well as anyone could have. Which means I prepared quite poorly. So arriving at the beach outside the B.L. England refinery in Egg Harbor New Jersey where Mr. Wood agreed to meet me had me feeling like a dead man walking. He was standing there in a bright green trench coat and aviator sunglasses, holding a steel briefcase. He greeted me with a firm handshake and a slight bow before sitting right down in the sand and lighting a hand-rolled cigarette.

Q: Do you do drugs?

A: I had a really bad trip on a low dose of antipsychotics recently. Don’t drive until you’ve adjusted to a medication. Almost ran over my own car.

Q: What are your thoughts on the affect social media has had on the arts?

A: I’m fairly certain Mark Zuckerberg technically holds the copyright to all of my intellectual property and he’s a demon lizard. But hey, that’s showbiz.

Q: Is it challenging to be openly queer in the music industry?

A: Nobody cared about my feelings until I put on makeup. I’d wear dresses more often but I’m getting paunchy from too many trips to Golden Corral. I never get my money’s worth but I always try. And the harder I try, the less its worth.

Q: So you came here from North Carolina a few years ago, what was it like making that adjustment?

A: I had to lose the accent because people kept asking me if I played country music.

Q: Do you like working out here?

A: You see that lighthouse? It’s actually a cosmetically enhanced sulfur-scrubber. It reeks of eggs for miles. I work out of a back room at Lee’s Food, which also reeks of eggs. Yes it’s a real place. Probably not for long though.

Q: And you like that?

A: Have you ever tried filing your income taxes on a fold-up card table in an 85 degree spare bedroom while eight staff members shout at each other in Mandarin while trying to make Japanese food to serve in a Korean restaurant and your daughter is running in the back door holding the neckbones of a great blue heron asking you to hold on to it while she tried to find the head?

Q: That sounds like a no.

A: I didn’t say that.

Q: What’s it like trying to raise a child? Is it difficult to juggle family life and work life?

A: Mildred is getting old enough to take care of herself. My partner and I skipped most of the ugly years where they’re too stupid to talk or eat on their own and they scream at you to pull your tit out in the middle of Thompkins Square Park. Then again, lots of people in Thompkins square park will do that to you.

Q: Okay. So. Is it difficult to juggle family life and work life?

A: You just asked me that.

Q: Right, but you-

A: We were going to adopt a little boy and name it Oliver but the orphanage thought we were being funny so they shoved a moody tween at us and lost the paperwork. But let’s not talk about Millie. I don’t like her getting attention from press, I’m sure you can see what that’s doing to Jacob Sartorius and that kid from “It.”

Q: Does press attention bother you personally?

A: Look, this is going to sound like some Sean Spicer shit. But a lot of press out there about me is just plain false. For instance, someone quoted me as liking Billy Joel back in 2015. I said a lot of stuff in 2015 I didn’t mean but I have always been a staunch Elton John man. Even though his lyrics are trash. His lyricist’s lyrics, I mean. He should just write his own, his lyrics can’t be any worse than that walking beard’s drivel.

Q: And… so, the inaccurate reporting- does it bother you?

A: Let me put it to you this way. Imagine if someone said that you liked Uptown Girl without your consent.

Q: You seem to be very critical of other musicians, you’ve been quoted repeatedly as saying “I hate music.” What makes you feel this way?

A: When you hate 99% of something, it’s most efficient and pretty effective to just say you hate that thing. A Nazi who gets along well with 1% of Jews is still a Nazi. Most of the world’s music is painfully banal or no fun to listen to.  

Q: What sort of music do you like then?

A: Anything by Green Day. Everyone seems to laugh when I say that but it’s entirely true. Billie Joe Armstrong is my biggest songwriting influence and the world needs to know that.

Q: One of the defining features of mental illness is the manner in which it inhibits “functionality,” but short of suicide as a risk to one’s life its difficult to say if there’s a clearly objective definition of healthy psychoemotional functionality. We can really only work with one’s ability to reconcile their personality with cultural norms, and their own idea as to how comfortable they should feel in their own skin on a regular basis, which is also partially informed through socialization. One can cite psychosis and acute mania as definitive examples of why its necessary to consider various mental and behavioral traits as medical concerns, but its also worth noting that in some cultures throughout history hallucinations and what would appear to be delusional states have been valued and seen as sacred.

Is mental health seen as a medical problem only because social systems with enormous power have designed ways to remove nonconforming or negative natural phenomena through medical intervention, and if so, should we be more distrusting of psychiatry and the ever-changing spectrum of mental health diagnoses? Should we really call them sicknesses?

A: We only see the flu as a medical problem because physical medicine exists. Before the study of pathogens began to arise, it was simply seen and spoken about as a part of nature, and sometimes seen as divine or diabolical intervention – much like the examples of mental illness you gave. All health concerns ultimately amount to levels of social functionality, the individual’s personal experience, their mortality in extreme cases, and the illness’s threat of compromising those things in others. This is everything from cancer to the common cold – the only distinction is that we as a culture identify with our minds in ways we do not our bodies. This is ultimately arbitrary, and a socialized distinction, as the brain is a physical organ, our sensory organs are part of our mind’s subjective experience, and the body is inseparably connected with the brain as one singular organic being.

When one realizes this fully, one could likely start to see that what you are saying is true, but does not challenge the validity of the science itself. It is important to participate in this newer and complicated field of science wisely, and draw your own distinctions between problems that need medical attention and don’t, (only you can tell how much a physical injury hurts) but that does not mean that there cannot objectively be a disease. The importance of considering mental illnesses as diseases and giving diagnoses lies in our ability to communicate and interact with the topic – accurate and mostly agreeable language must be used to classify ideas and phenomenon. It was giving names to certain psychoemotional and behavioral states that first allowed scientists to organize the information necessary to invent life-saving interventions in therapy and medication. Seeing mental well-being as a medical concern the way we see physical well-being is not only accurate, but useful.

Q: Are you getting tired of writing this?

A: Well it’s good character work. World-building.

Q: Is any of what you said true up there?

A: It actually is but since I’ve made up a couple fun little things in interviews or used flowery language in the past a lot of people just assume everything I say is theatrics now. You know?

Q: I guess that makes sense. I’ve made some stuff up in my writing before too, I get it.

A: That wasn’t a question. As a matter of fact, that was an answer so you should be A and I should be Q.

A: That’s stupid. Just because you asked “you know” doesn’t mean we need to switch the only thing that identifies us in the article.

Q: Wait hold up though, my last response was also an answer, so I should still be an A.

A: Wait, so who’s going to be A, and who’s going to be Q?

A: You’re going to be Q now, because you asked who’s going to be Q. You’re the questioner.

Q: Isn’t this going to get confusing?

Q: I’m Q now too because I have to ask you if you have a better idea. Put a question mark on there so I can stay Q, that way people don’t get confused. ? Yeah right there just like that.

A: Why don’t we just use our actual initials, since it’s become less of an interview and more of a conversation? Should I be Q? It’s a response but it’s-

Q: Why didn’t I think of that?

W.W.: Oh, you did think of that.

W.W.: That’s true, I did.

W.W.: You shouldn’t have, it’s as stupid as the switching of Q’s and A’s.

W.W.: That was your idea, so we’re even.

W.W.: First base.

W.W.: THE WILL WOOD AND THE TAPEWORMS THREE YEAR ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION IS HAPPENING MAY 25TH AND 26TH WITH A VERY SPECIAL IN-STUDIO PERFORMANCE BY WILL WOOD AT THE VERY PLACE WWATT’S FIRST ALBUM “EVERYTHING IS A LOT” WAS RECORDED! TICKETS TO NIGHT ONE ARE ALMOST GONE AND VIP PACKAGES & TICKETS TO NIGHT TWO ARE LIMITED TO GO TO WWW.WILLWOODANDTHETAPEWORMS.BIGCARTEL.COM NOW AND SEND ME YOUR MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEYVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Purchase tickets here, or buy them at the door at Backroom Studios. 

Catherine Dempsey has no idea how Will Wood got her address. She is scared. You can follow her on Instagram.

[chroniclesofawkwardness]

Hurricane

I.

For years, I was a night owl. When I started my second stint with the company I work for today, I worked a 1:30 PM to 10 PM shift as one of many people answering the phone if you called the number on the back of your debit card. I didn’t much care for the constant what-happened-this-time beep in my ear that meant another call had come through, but some days were better than others. 

I enjoyed helping customers as long as what they asked me to do was within my power, but there were times I didn’t feel like listening to strangers’ life stories or treating their self-inflicted financial wounds. My schedule wasn’t ideal because I had to work one weekend day. Having a day off during the week wasn’t without its advantages, but it also meant trouble might find me at an unexpected time or place.

The first time I saw Kathy, I thought she looked like life had taken a lot out of her from behind the counter of the Circle K, but she was easy to talk to. She was blonde, thin but not sickly, and wore shoes that suggested she was accustomed to being on her feet most of the time. I guessed she was in her mid-forties. She was a nice departure from a lot of the women I saw at work every day. Of course, I couldn’t know exactly what was going on in a given woman’s life just by looking at her any more than she could know what was going on in mine. Still, it was hard to appreciate an individual woman’s beauty when most of them I saw towered over me in their high heels, flaunted legs that kept going until next Tuesday, and looked like they had trained with a Bloodsport-era, badass Jean-Claude van Damme, not the one content with starring in Tostitos commercials breaking chips instead of bones, and taking your place in your circle of friends. Kathy was different. 

Maybe we got along because we were both night owls. Maybe it was because we both found ourselves doing things we never imagined doing when our parents asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. Kathy told me she’d previously been a waitress at the Olive Garden. I told her how I was rebuilding my life and had had a literal pregnant pause between jobs once I’d come back from overseas. 

Some nights, we’d talk long after she’d rang up my Combos and/or beef jerky. I’d offer general descriptions of the craziest recent customer interactions I’d experienced: 

While working overtime one Saturday (a day I wasn’t even supposed to be there), I heard the beep of an incoming call in my ear, introduced myself, and offered to help, as was standard procedure. The guy on the other end of the line immediately started pulling his cheek back and forth. I could tell he’d moistened the inside of his cheek with spit (probably while listening to the preceding hold music) as an act of premeditation. His vagina song was broadcast directly into my ears and left no doubt he’d been watching too much porn and studying how to replicate the anatomical musical score with himself. Why he decided to share his concert with me, I’ll never know. Some things are best left unsaid. 

When I asked Kathy what the strangest thing she’d ever sold someone was, she replied without hesitation: “I once had a guy come in here at three o’clock in the morning who bought condoms and bleach.” 

I was left wondering why I’d even asked. 

As much as I enjoyed conversations with Kathy, much briefer exchanges were the norm. The place was usually dead when I’d get there around 10:30 PM, but my arrival always seemed to trigger an avalanche of customers who urgently needed gas, cigarettes, or lottery tickets. I usually took the onslaught of humanity as my cue to exit stage right. 

That’s how it went for us. That was our routine.

The first time I saw Ashley, she was telling Kathy about how much she missed. Kayla. Kathy introduced us and told me she used to work at the Olive Garden with Ashley. I was instantly glad I hadn’t earlier ridiculed the wardrobe of white shirts and solid, brightly-colored ties that waitstaff of the Olive Garden in required to wear, though I’d wanted to badly. Ashley talked about how she’d recently had an argument with her mother, whom she hated, and how her son’s father, then serving in the U.S. Navy aboard a ship somewhere off the coast of Greece, was an asshole. 

I’m not sure if Ashley interpreted the fact that I asked her questions as a sign of genuine interest, or if I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. As luck would have it, this was not one those nights when we were interrupted by strangers seeking swizzle sticks. She went on and on about how she missed Kayla. I just kept nodding, unsure of what else to do. I could have left at any time, but I was overcome with curiosity, as if I’d passed a really bad car accident, one that when you see it, you instantly ask yourself if somebody died. You feel bad for staring, but you can’t look away. 

This carnage involved conversation instead of cars. 

After an eternity of my unanswered prayers to be interrupted by a customer, Ashley suggested I join her for a drink. It was a Friday night and I didn’t have to work the next day, so against my better judgement, I agreed to go with her. She must have had to use the bathroom before we left; once Ashley was out of earshot, Kathy leaned over the counter and told me to be careful because Ashley may have already been drunk, high, or both. When we finally got into her car and pulled away from Circle K, I caught a glimpse of Kathy through the window, motioning to me with her hands as if putting on a seatbelt, reminding to me to do the same. She was trying to keep me safe with (or from) a woman I’d known for all of three hours.

Our first stop was a sports bar called The Crown, merely feet away from Circle K. Ashley ordered a Blue Mojito. I don’t remember drinking anything, but I do remember her taking my tie off without really asking if she could, and putting it around her neck as she continued to drone on about Kayla, her bitch of a mother, and her son. 

Next, we went to a bar called the Keystone Pub and Patio. It had to have been around 2 AM; chairs were already turned upside down on top of tables when we walked in. Ashley must have known the bartender, who poured us shots of something that looked like Fireball. I don’t remember either one of us paying for them. 

We were supposed to go to Waffle House after this, but that’s when shit got really weird. Ashley drove us there, but we sat in the parking lot for what felt like forever. We never made it inside. At one point, she just lost it:

Her: ”I miss KAYYYYYYLLLLLLAAAAAAAAA!!!!”

Me: “Um…. I’m sorry for your loss. I can tell she meant a lot to you.

Her: “I wish I could just crawl down into her grave any lie beside HEEEEEERRRR!!!! Oh Gawd!!!”

Me: “Okay.”

Her: “Put your hand on my chest and feel me sing.”

Me: “Ashley, I don’t know if that’s such a good…”

Before I could finish my sentence, she grabbed one of my hands, placed it just above her breasts and held it there. The next song was I Believe You Liar by Australian singer/songwriter Washington. It started with a hauntingly beautiful piano intro, the kind that made me stop (despite the awkward position of my hand) and listen. The first verse is:

All the things you've said And things you've done I remember, in memoriam You said that you did But you did not Oh, you ache for something God knows what

I’d never heard the song before. Even now, I still can’t listen to it without thinking of that moment in Ashley’s car. The piano part still gives me goosebumps, the kind you get when a song truly captures your attention, the kind that form long before you’ve heard a song 500 times thanks to Top-40 radio, TV dramas, and being a resident of planet Earth. I haven’t heard I Believe You Liar anywhere near 500 times. I don’t want to. For some reason, I don’t want to spoil it despite the ridiculousness surrounding when I first heard it. 

Once it became clear that we wouldn’t be going inside Waffle House, I was slightly pissed off. I was hungry, dammit. We'd been drinking, so the conditions were perfect; I’d heard most people only go there when they’re drunk anyway. But I wonder now if listening to Washington’s song wasn’t a better fit than intoxicated waffle consumption for what Ashley was going through. It’s easy for me to describe the absurdity of our encounter, but there may have been more to it. However demonstratively, Ashley was grieving, aching. for her friend who died unexpectedly. I just happened to meet her that night.

Ashley had been in my life for about eight hours when we pulled into the parking lot of my apartment complex. The sky was starting to change color, signaling the beginning of a new day. I thought of a video game I used to play as a kid, Castlevania II: Simon’s Quest. One of the most annoying aspects of which is that you never knew when night was going to transition to day or vice versa. 

If you were in a town when a transition to night happened, all the townspeople vanished, and you were faced with zombies that moved like rejects from Michael Jackson’s Thriller, plus bats you couldn’t even see coming because they blended in almost perfectly with the nighttime screen. When the lights went down in the city, you, Simon Belmont, the next in a long line of heroic vampire slayers, were reduced to jumping around whipping at shit in your 8-bit leotard while a soundtrack played that didn’t exactly inspire fear in, or of the undead. 

Whether you were in town or out and about in the blocky wilderness, your only salvation from the darkness was another seemingly randomly timed pop-up box like this, which meant it was about to be daytime again:

I hated not knowing when day or night would come next. Even as a ten-year-old, the unpredictability made me nervous. You might say it was my first encounter with a pop-up ad, long before the modern incarnation those annoying little fuckers (or the option to skip ads) existed. This might be why I hate most ads to this day. Still, that night with Ashley, I actually prayed for the first time in my life that a Castlevania II pop-up would appear in the sky overhead, vanquish the horrible night, and send her back to wherever she’d come from.

Only that’s not what happened

II.

“Do you mind if I stay here tonight,” she asked. 

“Not at all (this night couldn’t possibly get any weirder),” I said.

We went upstairs and went straight to bed. I couldn’t sleep, and my occasional attempts to kiss Ashley didn’t escalate into anything more. I just tossed and turned, unable to sleep thanks to the alcohol and the stranger in my bed. Ashley didn't have any such problems. 

After hours of restlessness, I gave up trying to sleep and decided to go about my normal Saturday routine, beginning with doing laundry. I tiptoed around to avoid waking Ashley, but this didn’t stop me from checking on her every few minutes to make sure she was still breathing. After she'd spoken so agonizingly about missing Kayla, I seriously believed Ashley could kill herself right there in my bed without a second thought.

She finally woke up in the middle of the afternoon. We sat on the couch and talked about books and what we wanted to do with our lives. I agreed to let her borrow my copy of Notes from the Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky, and she said she let me borrow her copy of The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom. Notes from the Underground was one of those books I was supposed to read in college but never did. I was looking forward to reading it on my own time, when a requirement wasn’t hanging over my head. I’d read one of Mitch Albom’s other books, Tuesdays with Morrie, which heart-wrenching though it was, had been a fast read. I thought I could get through The Five People You Meet in Heaven quickly, and reasonably expect Ashley to finish Notes from the Underground in about the same amount of time. I figured we’d meet up after reading, give each other their book back, and that would be the end of it. 

That’s not what happened either. 

First, we drove to her mom’s house so she could pick up The Five People You Meet in Heaven. Ashley decided she was hungry, so we stopped at Wendy’s on the way back to my place. Eating fast food was a rare experience for me (but the whole night before had also been). Until 2017, I had no idea Wendy’s had a vanilla Frosty on their menu, an item that had already been around for more than a decade by the time I caught on. I’d had other things on my mind.

We went back to my place to exchange books and phone numbers. Ashley finally left at around 6:30 PM, capping a whirlwind twenty hours. I wasn’t sure what had just happened, or why, but it did happen.

I finished The Five People You Meet in Heaven in about a week, and texted Ashley to let her know I was looking forward to giving her back her book. I got a brief response like, “Hey” and something about her work schedule being crazy.  At first I didn’t mind having her book (and not having mine), but as time passed, it started to bother me. Not a lot gets on my nerves, but two things that do are owing people money and having something that doesn’t belong to me. Every time I’d see Ashley’s book on my shelf, I’d think: “Man... I really should get that back to her.” Then a more basic thought would creep into my brain: “I hope she hasn’t made good on her desire to crawl down into the grave with Kayla. Fuck... I hope she’s still alive.”

Over time, my texts and her replies became more and more infrequent. I’d joke with Kathy that I was reaching out to Ashley once every season, just to prove to myself that I was still trying to do the right thing by returning her book. As the months passed, I started to just want my damn book back, and to give her hers so I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. 

That’s how it went for me. That was my routine. Until the day she just showed up in my parking lot. 

By September 2013, I’d found a job in fraud prevention. I jumped at the chance to learn something new without subjecting my ears to incoming vagina songs. I was still a night owl, but struggling to work at a pace that met the expectations of my new department. To help me acclimate, management had me do a few days of side-by-side training with a more experienced specialist. This meant I also got to temporarily change my schedule to a more traditional 9 AM to 6 PM.

For some reason, after working my temporary shift one day, I decided to walk through the rear parking lot of the complex instead of the front one. Then I saw her. She was in a car I didn’t recognize, but she was with two guys I did, from Circle K. The driver’s side door was open so she'd gotten a bit of a head start towards me before I realized what was happening. She ran into my arms and hugged me like I was someone she truly missed:

“Hiiiiiiiiiii!!!! I am SO sorry!!!!” She was practically squealing. 

You’d have thought it had been only a week instead of nearly a year since I’d wished for the morning sun to vanquish that horrible night. All I could think was, “Finally! Here’s my chance to return her book and be done with this shit once and for all.” I’d aged almost 365 days since the last time I saw her, but Ashley must have thought I was elderly and feeble. She took me by the arm and helped me up the stairs and into my apartment. Once inside, she helped me take off my shoes and put on house slippers though I never asked her to. 

“Ashley, what about your friends? Aren’t they still down there with the car running?” 

“Oh, they’ll be fine. They’re just down there smoking weed...”

’WHAAAAAAAAAA!?!?!?’

I have absolutely no problem with recreational marijuana use, but I also knew that if the cops showed up (seeing law enforcement officers driving up and down my street was not uncommon) and started asking Cheech and Chong questions about why they were there and who they were with, I wasn’t going down with them. Even in their intentionally altered state of consciousness, I was convinced they could still identify me. 

I case you’re wondering, Ashley left before I had a chance to bring up the books. I think I’d pissed her off by talking shit about her to one of my neighbors that night without realizing she was close enough to hear me. I should have whispered like Kathy had the year before when she was sure Ashley was out of earshot.

Still got it.

I never heard from Ashley again. I haven’t reread The Five People You Meet in Heaven, and the piano in I Believe You Liar still makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I’m okay with that. Why? Mitch’s book and Washington’s song make up the eye of Hurricane Ashley, a storm I won’t soon forget.