#as my beloved kit said in a previous post: nEVER BACK DOWN NEVER WHAT !!!!

[musiconanironingboard]

Sometime in Spring/Summer 2022: “Baby Stones” b/w “The Land That Time Forgot,” Robert Forster. (Beggars Banquet, 1990)

Around the time that I was given the Dave Stewart album in my previous post to review for my college radio station, we also received a copy of former Go-Betweens co-leader Robert Forster’s 1990 debut album Danger in the Past. The then-Director was keeping that one to review himself, but he did ask me and the other music-staff guy who was there one Sunday morning if we knew anything about who the guy was. We must not have received any press kits or info sheets, but what’s even more embarrassing is that not one of the three of us knew Forster was in the Go-Betweens, and I’m not sure if any of us recognized the various members of Nick Cave’s Bad Seeds who appear in the album notes. To my credit, I was just 17, but I thought I knew everything about music, which is why it was good for me to have a job where I was forced to learn on a daily basis that I didn’t know the half of it. Eventually we got some details on Forster and the album did go into heavy rotation, where the songs “Dear Black Dream” and “Danger in the Past” absolutely drove me wild and blew my mind, and if you flash forward to today not only are The Go-Betweens one of my favorite bands, but Robert Forster is a beloved solo artist as well and I’ll chase down anything that he releases.

That said, the only reason I acquired this 45 was my friend Lou, who is retired but moonlights from his other hobbies as a record dealer. He has booths at fairs and I’m not even sure where he acquires everything, but quite often he has duplicates or things that won’t sell and one day he texted me and said he was leaving something on my doorstep, and when I heard the bell I went out and he was already gone, but this 45 was waiting for me. It may seem like an odd thing to leave at someone’s doorstep (and I suppose it is), but it was just the latest step in a long cycle between him and me. He started giving me his duplicates of things he thought I’d like; any time I had duplicates that weren’t already earmarked for my brother, I’d offer them to Lou. Nearly every time it was something he already owned. Somewhere in recent years the first two Robert Forster solo albums were reissued in deluxe editions, and the UK label who oversaw this sent me my much-anticipated copies in terrible packaging that any fool could see would have a hard time surviving overseas shipping. These items were not cheap, and I complained. The company gave me replacements and told me just to keep the damaged ones. The only damage they suffered were seam splits across the top, but of course the label used damned 180-gram vinyl which ripped massive splits in the tops of both album covers. Any collector worth their salt would have been irritated by spending $100 and getting covers with giant rips across the top. I didn’t know what to do with them; my brother already owned them, and I wouldn’t have wanted to give him damaged copies like this, so I figured I’d sell them and if a store wanted to take a chance on it I’d be fine with that. Both albums were still in shrinkwrap, so they qualified as new; a future customer could decide if they cared about the giant seam splits or not. Anyway, I wound up giving them to Lou. I don’t know if he liked them, kept them, sold them, played them, or threw them away, but I told him they were both excellent albums and if he liked The Go-Betweens, which he said he did, then he’d like these. That’s why Lou associated me with Robert Forster and that’s why he left this on my doorstep. I have no idea where he got it or why he had it, but I appreciated the gesture. The cover is a bit rumpled and I had to take a Magic Eraser to some prominent ringwear, but I’m happy to have this.

Above are the front and back covers. This is a promo-only single, as shown in tiny print in the upper right-hand corner of the back; it never got a commercial release.

Here is side one’s label:

While I didn’t previously own this single, I did already have its exclusive B-side: ironically, with the deluxe reissue of Danger in the Past that caused me such woe, you get a bonus 45 that includes it.

I’ve tracked down the four posts I wrote about the Robert Forster reissues I discuss above, in case you want to hear more about my postal woes or the Forster albums themselves:

I first wrote about the CD reissue of Danger in the Past

I next wrote about the CD reissue of Forster’s second album Calling from a Country Phone that was also part of the damaged shipment

Third, I wrote about the vinyl reissue of Danger in the Past that includes the bonus 45 that shares a track with this 1990 promo 45 that Lou left at my door

Last, I wrote about the vinyl reissue of Forster’s second album Calling from a Country Phone that was also part of the damaged shipment

[gaspbrat]

Senior Year Hues

not blues

au where IT is just a normal travelling clown.

Georgie is alive and well.

As is the prom haze.

warnings: angery jealous eds, swearing

ENJOy, I don’t know why I never posted this. Undoubtedly was part of an entire series.

wc: 3500+

Gretchen Tozier was a beloved and respected 1968 partially black Barracuda “carefully” handed down through the family. Gifted to Richie’s uncle in ‘71, pawned off on Richie’s dad following his uncle’s first DUI and the damage that came with it in January of '72.

Two matte grey mismatched panels on the driver side door and the front bumper were added, hoped to be finished by '73 so Richie’s older sister could joyride through her senior year, seven years later. Thanksgiving that same year, though, dear Uncle Andy rolled through Derry again. He borrowed the car for about twenty-six minutes before overturning it on an embankment near Neibolt. Gretchen was towed, fixed and released back to his father a few months later. His uncle spent the night in the drunk tank, receiving his second and final DUI. Andy hasn’t returned to Derry or their lives since.

To his sister’s distaste, she would not be able to take it a few hundred miles down the coast to college with her like she had hoped. His parents told her she needed to buy her own, especially with her living on campus. She does, a beat up ‘88 Mitsubishi with peeling forest green paint and a bumper that didn’t match.

Richie, upon turning 15, bought her off of his dad for fifty dollars and a pay stub in '91. She has been appreciated properly for the next three wonderful years. Only the finest of company near Ol’ Gretchie.

Eddie definitely hated the ridiculous, loud, obnoxious piece of junk. He definitely didn’t end up falling for that piece of junk just like he did with its driver. Out of the question.

He didn’t get excited when he heard the rhythmic drumming of the old engine approaching his street from a block away.

He most certainly did not love the homey fabric of the seats with endless rips in them or the faint lingering smell of the little trees Richie puts up to mask the ghost of cigarettes past. (Eddie is almost certain they aren’t Richie’s, but if they were he knew Richie would never admit it.)

Eddie did not love that car. Whatsoever. But he did find a place in his heart for all the memories made with it. With him.

So when Richie told him he had to take it to the dump, Eddie nearly lost it.

“What do you mean you’re trashing it, I thought you loved that thing?!”

“Eds, why are you getting so upset, I thought you hated it?”

“I do (not), but… it’s sad seeing you just get rid of it like that.”

“You’re gonna miss ol’ Gretchie aren’t you, spaghetti?”

Richie knew his car didn’t actually need to be trashed entirely it just needed a few major repairs that he knew he would never be able to afford. At least not soon; not for another three months until he could save enough. And if Eddie found out he’d dump his savings into that thing no question. His little hypochondriac was far too good to  him. Even if he wasn’t his yet.

Eddie always was ready to help Richie any way he could, he knew that wholeheartedly, but his stupid damn pride would not allow it.

Richie took up working overtime on the weekends just so he could get back to driving his little Eddie bear around Derry as soon as possible.

Gretchen was a staple in the Tozier’s Promposals. She accompanied his parents to their prom. He was not about to break this tradition just because of his bank account. Eddie deserved the best carriage for his first prom. He was going to have to swallow his pride and buckle in for the most agonizing waiting game of his life, so far.

“Hey, Richie,” Eddie called over to his friend, remembering an invitation he was to extend, snapping Richie from his brooding, “Bill’s having a sleepover tonight, did you want to go? He said you can pick the movie.”

Eddie’s smile was so genuine and hopeful the he almost said yes just so he could keep that smile right where it belonged always but he remembered he had to close tonight and work the mid shift tomorrow. And Bill never let him pick the movies, ever.

“Wish I could but I work tonight. Sorry, buddy.” he patted Eddie’s shoulder and gave him a weak smile.

“You’ll get along without me though, won’t you, Eds?”

“I guess… yea.”

Richie immediately wanted to take it back just to see that smile. Just to see those damn dimples.

He seemed to have gotten his wish when he noticed those big brown eyes light up.

“What about tomorrow? We could go see that movie you wanted to see?”

Again, almost horrendously, Eddie looked so hopeful to be spending time with him that Richie’s frozen heart thawed, just slightly.

“My old man wants me to help him get my sister’s junk out of the house and down to her dorm this weekend, shit, I’m really sorry Eds.”

Richie really really hoped Eddie would leave at that but of course not. He really wanted trashmouth to suffer even if he didn’t know he was suffering.

“..I could help?”

Eddie knew he just grasping at straws here but he really missed being annoyed by this dumb stupid asshole every day even though he would never tell him that.

“Eds, I’d love for you to,” the smaller boy’s eyes twinkled, “but there probably wouldn’t be enough room?”

He knew he didn’t sound convincing. Not at all. He just didn’t want to think about it anymore. He wanted to just get work done so he could get paid and then never ever ever have to see this look on Eddie’s face again.

“Oh. Yea, you-you’re probably right, um, sorry I asked. Maybe next week, I guess.” Eddie decided it was best to just give him his space at that point, turning away from him, trying to end the conversation.

“Eds, wait-”

“Stop fucking calling me Eds.”

Richie didn’t see Eddie for the rest of the weekend after he dropped him off at Bill’s that night. Partially from working almost the entire weekend, partially because Eddie had avoided him as much as he could.

Somehow Eddie managed to steer clear of anything remotely related to Richie that next Tuesday.

The taller boy caught a couple glimpses of him the previous school day but he would disappear before anything could be said between them.

Richie sauntered over to the rest of the losers at lunch to find Eddie absent like the day before.

“Hey, where’s Spaghedward?”

“We thought you would know, didn’t you guys just have chem?” Ben answered from beside Stan.

“Yea but he darted off somewhere in a hurry. I thought he’d be here.” Richie turned around hoping to spot Eddie coming from the bathroom or something.

“He seemed kind of upset when I talked to him earlier, what’s going on?” Beverly interjected after swallowing her first spoon of peach yogurt.

Stan ate in silence while the others discussed what could be wrong. He eyed Richie with what others would call just blatant disgust but hid it behind his thermos of chicken noodle soup.

“Yo, Stan, what do you think?” Richie finally asked him directly. He knew something.

“I think you should talk to him.” Ben responded before realizing he wasn’t the one with the answer Richie wanted.

“I second that. Talk to him.” Mike said around his turkey and cheddar sandwich.

Beverly and Bill simply nodded as they picked through their lunches.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Stan very quietly said, focusing pointedly on his sandwich.

“Why not?” Richie started to get impatient. Stan knew something he didn’t and it was clearly upsetting enough that Stan couldn’t hide his distaste. More than usual.

“He clearly just wants some space, I think you should respect that, okay?”

Stan started to raise his voice slightly and that immediately made Richie eight times more concerned knowing that Stan, of all people, was trying to keep Eddie away from him. Stan quickly picked up his tray and dumped it into the trash before heading down one of the halls.

Richie gave Beverly a kick under the table.

She initially was annoyed but softened when she saw the beat up Docs that had kicked her, nodding without a word. She kicked back twice, the second kick stronger than the first.

“Ow,”

“What, Richie?” Bill raised his head.

“Nothing just kicking myself.”

Lunch proceeded in near silence. Richie was silent for once while the others gossiped about their classes. He was debating the decision to ditch his last period to be early for work. Craig would appreciate him showing up and relieving him early, anyway.

The others returned to their classes and the day sailed by. After school most of them, save for Richie and Mike, met up by the racks to see each other off. Beverly and Ben made a plan to head to the library to cram for their English final tomorrow morning. Bill was planning on tagging along but decided to spend some time with Georgie instead.

Stan knew he didn’t want Ben to third wheel, even though it was evident Bill would be the outlier.

“Bye guys, see you Monday!” Eddie called to the other three losers as he and Stan got on their bikes to head home.

“Oh, hey can we stop by the store really quick? I need to pick up some more of the Nutty Buddies for my mom.”

“Sure.” Eddie didn’t think twice about the grocery run given Mrs. Uris had an acute craving for peanut butter after four.

He was unaware, however, that Stan had set a plan in motion.

Just so happens that the general store was directly across the street from the arcade. Eddie immediately got excited and thought to tell Stan they should go say hi to Richie. Then he remembered Richie telling him he had to help his sister today and brushed it off.

The two went inside to pick up the Nutty Buddies. Stan bought a kit-kat and a bag of chips for him to eat after dinner later.

“I don’t know how you can eat all that junk Stan, how do you sleep at night with your teeth just-,” Eddie stopped nagging momentarily as something outside of the store caught his attention. A dark green, vaguely familiar, car pulled up outside the arcade.

He saw Richie pop out and walk into the arcade with a can of Shasta cola in his hand and a snickers hanging from his mouth, leaving who Eddie assumed was his sister to drive off.

Weird. Thought she would still be in New York right about now.

“Eddie whats going on? You stopped yelling at me.”

“Shut up Stan, look!”

Eddie pointed out the window towards a car he noticed was parked every other season in the driveway.

“Wait, I thought you said he was helping his sister.” Stan inquires further, knowing far better.

“He said he was.” Eddie was immediately disappointed for a reason he wasn’t sure of yet.

Their investigation was put on hold while the clerk rang up their items. She tried starting small talk but Stan just replied curtly with, “Not interested, thank you” while waving a twenty in her general direction.

Eddie supplied a ‘thanks’ to Stan for buying the goods without once looking away from the arcade, observing a cloud of teenage girls huddled in a corner. Their ring leader was approaching the glass and Eddie started to feel dread at the pit of his stomach. He nudged Stan and then started bagging erratically.

They gathered the items and bolted out the door, trying to make sure they could see Richie through the glass without him seeing them.

“Wait, who’s that girl?” Eddie said after a long period of silence.

“Looks like Melissa Cromwell. She’s pretty hot du-.” Stan passed on the general rumor he heard relentlessly from around town. They made him sick but she was definitely well recognized by most boys.

“Shut up, Stan, who asked you?” Eddie whipped out, hoping his words stung like the sting he felt in his chest at this moment.

“You.. did-”

“What the fuck is she doing?”

“Is that a trick question?”

He scoffed but let Eddie’s rambling continue, however, because he had a feeling that Eddie cared a lot more than it already seemed he did. He hasn’t said anything to Stan like ‘Hey I’m bangin’ Richie now, deal with it’ but they’ve been spending a lot of time in each other’s company as of late.

He also knew exactly what a little jealous sap Kaspbrak was like so he didn’t intervene; didn’t mean he couldn’t feed the flame just a bit. Richie was being dismissive and kind of a dick lately, not that that’s anything new. Stan just didn’t want to see his friend tossed over a cliff over this dirt bag.

“Oh my God he’s making her laugh? Look- look at that!”

“I mean, yea? They have Lit together.” Stan announced with his all-knowing bird brain. He saw all and only repeated what he wanted to.

“Why do you care about what Richie fuckin’ Tozier does with his wa-”

Eddie turned to Stan and gave him the look.

Stan shut his mouth tight.

“He lied to me Stanley and know he’s chatting up that hot chick.”

He would never say it to Eddie’s face, (Richie’s face is another story) but Stanley didn’t truly understand what Eddie saw in that asshole. Richie was a dick about three-hundred percent of the time. A dick to Eddie three-hundred percent of the time. He was also for some reason intensely obsessed with his mom.

Stan decided it was best to just let that ship sink on its own eventually when the captain abandoned it. However, if he saw a time bomb ticking down the hull of that ship, he would hop on that lifeboat without a single word and paddle away, letting the pieces fall behind him.

But he couldn’t do that to Eddie.

Right?

The pair noticed the girls all call his name as they exited through the glass doors, cackling with their mob mentality. Stan found them repulsive but knew most guys saw the other qualities.

“Eh, Richie makes a lot of girls laugh sometimes. I guess they think he’s funny?” Stan attempted to level out some of the doubt surrounding his friend.

Much to Eddie’s dismay, Richie started to head back outside of the arcade.

He let out a panicked ‘oh fuck’ before darting off into the alley and biking through it, he didn’t care where he went he just wanted to get far from there.

Stan was struggling with the bag and his kickstand and failed to notice the quick departure of his friend.

He started off a moment later but hesitated when he saw Richie following Melissa further down the street holding a pair of sunglasses and a sharpie in his hands.

Bright neon lights blinked in the arcade window with a welcoming glow. It felt like home to Richie. Except he worked there and wasn’t allowed to play (unless it was empty because it was so slooow after eight).

He got out of his sister’s car with a quick ‘thanks, sis’ before closing the door and heading into work. He wondered what bullshit he’d have to put up with today as he munched down on his snickers.

Richie immediately noticed Melissa and her biters at Pacman not far from the counter. He knew all too well that it yielded almost no tickets at all.

“What’s up, Craig?” he called from around his almost-gone snickers.

The mid-twenties blonde looked up from his comic to acknowledge the brunette boy before him with his hand outstretched in a fist. They bumped fists before Richie set down his shasta on the glass prize display case so he could vault the counter. He landed with a huff loud enough to peak the interest of one of the vapid cheerleaders. It wasn’t hard, none of them were at all focused on collecting dots.

“Those girls came in about a half hour ago. One of them was asking about you.” Craig was telling Richie offhandedly while the younger brunette took off his leather jacket to replace it with his work shirt.

“They’re annoying please, just, like, give them your number and be done with it, totes,” Craig started to bust out laughing while he took off his work shirt and headed into the back of the store.

Richie bent down to put his keys and jacket under the register, pausing when he heard a light giggle from above him.

Fuck.

He slowly got up to face whoever was waiting on the other side of the counter.

“Heey, Richie.” Melissa was leaning on her hand with her elbow propped up on the glass of the counter.

Richie took small a step back from the register.

“Hi, Melissa.”

“I, um, wanted to exchange these tickets for something.” she reached into her back pocket and brought out a pitiful stack of tickets.

Absolutely pathetic.

“Okay.” Richie took them and put them into the ticketing counting machine next to him.

27

“You have twenty-seven.” He said back plainly.

“Ooh, jackpot.” she said slyly smiling as she bit on the end of her sunglasses.

“You can get a finger puppet, a pocket alien” He began listing the lowest tier of redemption.

“A pair of dice,”

“Or jelly bracelets.” The short list came to an end, his attention being returned to the glinting eyes across the counter. He took note of how flattering this direct light would be on anEone else. He pushed it back and awaited her decision.

“Can I get that one?” she pointed to a particularly adorable bear toy.

“Oooh, no sorry. You don’t have enough tickets. How sad.” he clicked his tongue, cocking his head to the side.

“How many more do I need?” She asked with a horrible attempt at puppy dog eyes.

“One.”

“Let me check,” she dug into her back pocket, bouncing from foot to foot.

“Ah-hah!” Melissa pulled out a single ticket, setting it on the counter and sliding it across to him.

“Lucky you.” he said so sarcastically he almost sounded believable.

Richie turned the ticket over before putting it into the machine revealing red numbers and a call me in sloppy cursive loops with,his favorite, a little winky face. He paused, collected his nerves before presenting her with a coy smile.

“I’m sorry, this ticket has been tampered with. I can’t accept this.” he slid it back, grinning.

“Fine. Then I’ll take the,” she leaned much farther than necessary over the counter to point to a tiny alien on a key chain.

“Weird ass alien thing.”

“All yours.”

“Thank you.”

She winked at him before returning to her gang of much too giddy single sheeple friends.

He couldn’t wait to tell Eddie all about this petty ordeal but then he remembered he probably wouldn’t see his best friend until tomorrow at lunch if Eddie showed. Maybe he’d sneak out tonight.

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw Melissa and company head towards the exit.

“Bye Richie.” they all called in shrill unison as they left the arcade, giggling manically to each other. Melissa dangled her alien keychain from hier pinkie as she turned away.

Fuck he hated his job.

He crossed his arms on the glass that he would need to clean anyway and rested his head on top of them. His nose bumped something on the counter causing him to jolt up.

Fuck.

Richie picked the glasses up off the counter before vaulting it again. He walked with some urgency through the glass door after Melissa.

Lucky for him she was lagging behind her friends while they undoubtedly chattered among themselves about how perfect him and Mel would be together. How great they would look together at prom, most likely.

“Melissa!”

Eddie’s bike was thrown into the dirt far from the arcade while he sat down on a rock and used his inhaler. He hasn’t biked that fast since they had to chase Bill to that stupid fucking house on neibolt. That house that he broke his arm in. The house that the clown tried to eat him and all of his friends in.

That goddamn house where Richie set his broken arm after relentlessly trying to keep his focus on that motherfucking shit clown.

He coached his breathing back down to mildly panicked just before he saw Stan biking rapidly towards him. He seemed shocked.

He immediately worried if Richie had seen his buddy Stan and stopped him.

“Hey Stan, what’cha got there, lube for you dad?”

“No it’s Eddie’s snacks, he bolted like a bitch when you came out.”

“Oh damn, well, I got Melissa’s digits and I would have wanted to tell him that his mom’s gonna have to wait unt-”

“Eddie!”

Stan shook his shoulder lightly.

“Wait, when did you get here?”

“Like a minute ago while you were lost in thought, dude.”

“Shit. Damn.”

“You okay?” his only sanity broke off at Stan’s useless question.

“No, Stanley, Im not o’ fuckin’ kay.”

Thanks for readin’! Much love

[ilovereadingandilovebreathing]

The Great Hoodie Fiasco

Human!Uni!AU Intro Post

Ch. 1: Move In Day

Ch. 2.1: FaceTime

Ch 2.2: When the Present Isn’t a Gift

SO after reading Maris’s amazing Human/University!AU, I was inspired to finish the first Human!AU fic I started. Here’s a Human!AU origin story for Virgil’s altered hoodie. Hope you like it! (Also so sorry for the Popeye reference.)

Summary: Patton just wanted to help Virgil out, but his gesture went from kind to disastrous in 20 minutes flat. 

Characters: Virgil and Patton (platonic)

Word Count: 1,407

Warnings: None that I can think of. 

Tags: @ssides @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

Patton knew he probably shouldn’t have stolen Virgil’s coveted hoodie while he was sleeping, but he just couldn’t help himself. The thing looked so sad, covered in food stains, and it smelled like 3 weeks of body odor and sweat. He’d never tell Virgil that his late aversion to being within 5 feet of the other youth had been because of the decrepit state of his most beloved item of clothing, but….it was. The hoodie was nasty. Patton had taken all the stink he could stands and he couldn’t stands no more.

So, with his love for his self-proclaimed “son” at the forefront of his mind and a clothespin on his nose, Patton had silently swiped the hoodie from its part-time position on Virgil’s bedpost.

His plan had been so simple: run it through the washer with some scentless fabric softener (Virgil hated flowery or other strong scents; they gave him headaches), then the dryer on low with a scentless dryer sheet. It all should have gone swimmingly…except Patton didn’t notice the large holes in the hoodie, one big one on the back and a couple on the hood and one or two on each sleeve, and he didn’t anticipate said holes getting hooked on their washing machine’s agitator, and he DEFINITELY didn’t anticipate the holes turning into multiple giant tears that virtually mutilated one of Virgil’s most prized possessions on the entire planet.

So, here Patton found himself, kneeling in the laundry room, his entire body shaking and tears streaming down his cheeks when he realized what he’d done. Virgil would never forgive him; he’d ruined everything he’d worked so hard to build with Virgil over a period of months in just 20 minutes-

Unless.

Patton’s head snapped back, and his eyes roved the shelves of the laundry room for something he’d grown fond of over the years: his sewing kit. 

Patton’s Granny had taught him to sew when he visited her as a child; they would spend whole afternoons watching “I Love Lucy” and “Andy Griffith” re-runs while completing cross stitch or needle point projects. She’d also taught him to repair his own clothing one afternoon after he’d run inside sobbing over a tear in his favorite sweater; he was a master of the whip stitch by the time he was 9.

With a determined grin on his lips, Patton jumped up, grabbed his sewing kit, fabric he had left over from previous projects, and took off to his room. He’d not only fix Virgil’s hoodie; he’d make it better than before! He only hoped he could do it before Virgil woke up.

—————-

Thankfully, Virgil’s horrible sleeping habits and Patton’s fast fingers were on his side, for he finished the hoodie just before Virgil woke up. Leaning against Virgil’s door, Patton could hear the other youth stirring inside, his breath catching when he heard Virgil take in a deep breath. Well, it was now or never.

“Hey, kiddo.” Patton knocked gently on Virgil’s door. “Can I come in? I have something for you.”

“One second, Pat, I have to find my hoodie-”

“I have it.” Patton slowly opened the door and poked his head around it, mustering up the best smile he could despite the nerves eating at his stomach.

“Why?” Virgil cocked a brow, a slight edge to his voice but nothing aggressive in his tone or body language.

“I….I wanted to wash it for you.” Patton sighed, shuffling into the dark room and displaying his offering by the light streaming in from the hallway. “It just….I know you’ve been having a rough time these last few days, and I thought a fresh hoodie might make you feel a bit better. But….there was an accident.”

Virgil’s breath hitched, and his eyes darted back and forth between Patton’s face and the bundle in his hands. “What kind of accident?” He ground out.

“It….I didn’t realize there were some holes, and they got caught on the, you know, the spiny thing in the washer and-” Patton swallowed, preparing himself to deliver the final blow. “It tore some big holes in your hoodie. I’m so sorry, Virgil, but-”

“Patton.” Virgil tried to make his voice hard as ice, but Patton detected a slight quiver in his tone. “Not only did you come in my room without permission, but you also took and ruined something you knew meant a lot to me.” Virgil clenched his jaw, looking Patton straight in the eye, and at any other time Patton would have been incredibly proud of the timid young man for asserting himself. Now, though, he needed to quell his friend’s anger before things got out of control.

Patton sucked in a breath and started, “But, Virgil, I-”

“My mom gave me that hoodie.” Virgil cut in sharply. “Before…” There were tears in Virgil’s eyes, perched and ready to spill over. He ran his hand over his eyes and sniffed, bringing that steely expression back as soon as he let it slip. “And now, you’ve-”

“Fixed it!” Patton yelled, throwing the hoodie at Virgil before he could protest.

The anger in his features surged and receded as Virgil caught and examined the garment. “….What?”

“I messed it up…but then I fixed it.” Patton grinned sheepishly and walked over to Virgil, carefully lifting the hoodie out of his hands to show off his alterations: big purple, black, and white patches with designs covered the holes in the previously solid black outerwear. “It’s…different now, but I saw a purple t-shirt in the back of your closet when I was putting your laundry away, so I thought maybe…” He bit his lip and backed away, watching Virgil intently as he turned his re-designed security blanket over in his hands.

“I…..I think I like it.” Virgil whispered, the quiver back in his voice. He slowly held the zippered jacket up and slid his arms in the sleeves; he shifted his muscles around, testing the arm and back space. “Still feels comfy, a bit heavier, but that’s okay. I like it. I really like it, Pat.”

“Oh goody!!” Patton clapped and hopped on his toes. “I’m so glad because I was worried you’d hate it, but-” Patton stopped when he noticed the blush rising from beneath Virgil’s collar. “I’m glad you like it.” He reiterated calmly.

Virgil bent his head forward and looked at Patton through his bangs. “I’m sorry I was so mean to you, Pat. It’s just…you know….well, you don’t know, actually…but…with my mom-”

“You don’t have to talk about it until you’re ready, kiddo.” Patton smiled when Virgil sighed with relief.

“Thanks, Pat…you’re a good friend.” Noting the growing grin and tears welling up in Patton’s eyes, Virgil quickly proposed, “How about we go get lunch? On me, since you did all of this. Anywhere you like.”

“Sounds fun! I’ve been wanting to try that new pizzeria over near the grocery store. We can invite Logan and Roman-”

“Actually…” The creeping blush crawled to Virgil’s cheeks. “I was thinking just the two of us…You know,” He swallowed, forcing his characteristic bite back into his words. “So we can get a word in edge wise without Sir Brags-A-Lot and the Walking Encyclopedia hogging all the oxygen.”

“That’s just fine, too!” That wide, wide grin was back on Patton’s cheeks, and Virgil felt his heart swell just a bit.

“How’s ten minutes and then we go?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Okay, see you again in ten!” Patton called as he fairly skipped out the door.

“See you then.” Virgil replied to the empty air of his room. He padded into the bathroom, flicking on the light and surveying his new digs in the vanity mirror. “It’s really not half bad…not at all.” Virgil muttered to himself, a smile pulling at his lips as he fully surveyed Patton’s handiwork. Virgil had to hand it to him, the paternalistic youth was talented with a needle and thread.

He might have to make sure to “mess up” a few more pieces of clothing on his own…

“SEVEN MIIINUUUTES!” Patton sang as he passed Virgil’s room.

“Coming, chill out. It’s not a date or anything, Dad!” Virgil called back, swinging his hood over his head as he shuffled out to find his shoes.

————-

They spent the rest of the afternoon eating and talking in that pizzaria down the street, and Virgil even told Patton about his mom.

But that’s a story for another day. 

Insomnia (Virgil-centric one shot)

All of my Sanders Sides fanfics

[azaisya]

stars in our veins

I have a modern fantasy au?? I don’t want to post this to ao3 bc my timeline has changed but , , , i still like it and also the Peredhil kids and Aragorn are Good

Whispers shifted at the edges of Aragorn's consciousness, pulling him from the dark mists of his dreams. With great reluctance, he found himself awake.

Brow furrowing, Aragorn twisted in his blankets, instinctively reaching for his girlfriend. When his fingers grasped nothing but empty sheets — startlingly cool despite the warm night — Aragorn sat up, blinking bemusedly in the dusky light.

New York — eternally awake, even when in the throes of night — glittered faintly beyond the gauzy white curtains that covered the windows. The quiet felt pervasive and unnatural; it felt as if a haze had fallen over the normal honking and nightlife of the city.

Aragorn had just opened his mouth to call for Arwen — their apartment wasn't very big, after all — when he heard her voice, lowered to a whisper.

"—won't tell Ada, and that's why you're here, isn't it?"

Another voice, lower and indistinctive, responded. Aragorn's frown deepened. That vice, muffled though it was, tugged at something in his memories, like a once beloved dream.

Arwen's soft murmur sharpened into something more dangerous. "I said I wouldn't. But I still think you should tell him."

Another indistinct reply sounded, different from the first but still eerily similar. It was like listening to an echo, or a memory.

"I don't care," Arwen's gentle voice replied, "He worries. He deserves to know that you're still alive."

With mounting concern, Aragorn kicked his legs over the side of the bed and padded silently into the living room. The shadows in the apartment seemed to come alive at this time of night, twisting and fumbling and seeking to tear themselves away and join their fellows in the night sky.

It's the witching hour, Arwen always said, voice glittering with traces of star-bright laughter.

Without a sound, he poked his head through the hall, seeking his girlfriend's dark hair and summer-blue night gown. He found her easily, a brilliant wisp of a dream in the quaint lamplight of their almost painfully mundane living room. She sat on the arm of the couch, bent over another figure, her pale fingers flashing as she wrapped a strip of gauze around pale flesh.

For a second, Aragorn thought he was seeing double. Two seemingly young men sat perched on the couch, long limbs sprawled carelessly on the suede. They were raven-haired and fair of face, with slate-grey eyes and danger in their footsteps. There was a strange feyness to the slant of their eyes and the overwhelming grace of their bodies, a trait they shared with the lovely girl standing over them.

But unlike Arwen, there was a haggardness to their faces, a terrible sickliness that seemed to cling to their bones and seep from their pores.

Aragorn knew them both, knew their every mood and jibe, and their state both startled and worried him.

Now content that Arwen hadn't summoned a demon while he'd been sleeping, Aragorn entered the room fully, scuffing his heels on the floor as he did so.

Arwen looked up, the movement bird-like in its abruptness, and her lips twitched into their customary smile: brief but genuine, like the moon at its height.

But the twins reacted as if they'd seen a ghost, faces paling and jaws falling slack. "Estel?" Elladan asked, puzzled, "What are you doing here?"

Aragorn leaned against the couch beside Arwen, dismayed at seeing the bloody cuts that covered both twins. The first-aid kit was propped open on Elrohir's lap, and the younger twin twisted around to stare at Aragorn.

Arwen made a clicking sound in the back of her throat. "Don't move unless you want me to make this hurt."

Elrohir dropped back into his previous position, watching Arwen warily as she stitched up a particularly bad cut on his arm.

"What happened to you two?!" Aragorn demanded, shocked. He'd grown up sparring with the twins, and he'd never seen them with anything worse than minor bruises.

Elladan, who was not being tended to and thus could move however he wished, swiveled his head to stare at Aragorn, fathomless grey eyes narrowing. "Why are you here?"

"I live here," Aragorn replied patiently, already reaching for the alcohol swabs to clean the cuts on Elladan's face. "Now tell me what happened."

Elladan was as poor a patient as ever, twisting out of the way when Aragorn tried to clean his face. "But why do you live here?"

Arwen finished her task and fixed her oldest brother with a sharp stare. "I'd like to know what happened as well."

Elladan ducked under Aragorn, who mumbled something inappropriate under his breath, and protested, "But, Arwen, why is Estel living with you?"

For the first time that night, the vicious creature that dwelt beneath Arwen's skin was revealed. Eyes piercing, she smiled deliberately, teeth suddenly sharp beneath her thin lips. "Elladan."

Elladan immediately sat still, and Aragorn happily began cleaning the grime from his cuts. Stripped from his humor and bristling, he felt suddenly brittle, as fragile as a fledgling fallen from the nest. His skin felt papery beneath Aragorn's fingers, and he frowned to see the thin black threads — like forgotten shadows — that twisted beneath Elladan's skin.

Elrohir shifted until he was at his twin's side, gaze oddly defiant. "We've been putting to right what is wrong."

Aragorn tossed his swab into the trash and replied warily, "Righting wrongs is not always your right." He knew his brothers, knew how quick to anger they were.

They made a sorry sight, sitting on the couch with their marble skin marred by strange cuts and all-too-human bandages. Darkness lurked beneath their eyes, and there was a stalwart defiance in the sets of their shoulders. But exhaustion exuded from them both in waves, and Elladan seemed nearly sick with it.

There were those who said Elrohir was the gentler of the twins.

They would be wrong.

Elrohir's lips drew back into a feral snarl, and a streak of raven feathers erupted across his skin. "We did not come here to be judged by you!" The feathers faded, and his skin returned to its unnatural whiteness. The cuts that Arwen had not covered stood out, starkly scarlet against his star-pale flesh. "By either of you," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Of the three blood siblings, Arwen had always been the intellectual one. Elladan and Elrohir were the ones with their souls forged in flames; Arwen had always belonged to the stars, distant and cold. "Yes, but you came anyways and knew we would.” She paused, considering, and amended, “Or, you knew I would. You didn’t know Aragorn was here. Tell us what happened, El."

Elrohir looked down, unexpectedly chastised by the childish nickname. Aragorn seized the lull in the conversation and extended his hands towards the younger twin, fingers brushing feather-light above his injuries. A power — as natural and unexplainable as the universe itself — shifted, pooling at Aragorn's fingers and spilling into Elrohir. The burning of his cuts calmed, and his flesh knitted itself back together.

Elladan raised his head to look at his sister, allowing her to see the emotions that stormed beneath his glassy grey eyes. "We need somewhere safe to stay, Arwen."

There was history in those words, history that Aragorn didn't understand, and he paused in his work to frown at his girlfriend.

A shadow passed over her face, and her voice was carefully neutral when she spoke. "You've been hunting the Corrupted?"

Elrohir felt the shock that lanced through Aragorn at those words, and his eyes flashed fleetingly to him. "It's not as bad as she makes it sound."

"No," Aragorn agreed, "It's not. It's worse." He drew his hands away, for his hands were shaking now, and he didn't want the healing bond to be active when he was so distressed. "The Corrupted are twisted abominations of that which was fairest. They’re dangerous." There was some resentment in his tone, just the barest whisper of anger. He loved the twins, but he would forever be angry with them for vanishing without a trace on his eighteenth birthday, taking nothing but the clothes on their backs and the ceremonial longswords that hung in Elrond's study.

Elrond had been shattered to discover his sons had left, vanished into the night as they had decaded prior, and Aragorn had missed them terribly.

A bright light — foul and foreign — entered Elrohir's eyes, and he insisted, "We're dangerous too, Estel! Elladan and I— it is our sacred duty to keep the streets free of those monsters."

"But you needn't vanish for years on end!" Aragorn said abruptly, louder than he'd intended to.

Both twins flinched, for Aragorn so rarely raised his voice. He'd always been a happy child, and he'd grown into a noble adult.

"You don't understand!" Elrohir cried, making to stand. But Elladan grabbed his arm and kept him down.

"We have other people to fight," Aragorn protested. "Glorfindel has always kept the peace in Imladris—"

"But Imladris' borders don't even reach Maine," Elladan said quietly, "And Glorfindel cannot protect everybody."

Confused, Aragorn asked, "So you take it upon yourselves to singlehandedly hunt down all of the Corrupted?"

"If that is what it takes to protect innocents, then yes," Elrohir snapped.

Frustrated, Aragorn demanded, "Do you know how many of them there are on the East Coast alone?"

Arwen's voice, soft but powerful, cut through their argument. "Naneth died to give us a second chance."

The twins flushed angrily and, for a second, something foreign and ugly and dangerous filled their eyes. Elladan exclaimed, "And we're taking it by avenging her!"

Arwen's eyes flashed, and something very old awoke within her. "She didn't die so you could waste your souls on something as foul as revenge! Did you learn nothing from Ada's lessons? Would you honor her memory by squandering your souls on killing?"

"What else would you have us do?!" Elrohir cried, voice cracking. "Go to a school that can teach us nothing? Buy an apartment in New York? Live with our little brother?"

Arwen stood still as a statue, but there was something darkly angry under her passive expression. "Aragorn is not my bother. I was not raised with him, and what little blood we share has been diluted enough that I don't care. I don't care if you think college is useless! I'm not telling you to live my life. I'm telling you to live. You deserve so much better than devoting your life to vengeance."

Aragorn murmured, "Ada will be happy to see you again. He hasn't been the same since you left."

Something crumpled beneath Elladan's eyes. "I- I don't know if I can do that," he whispered, and everybody in the room noted his switch from we to I.

"You can," Arwen said fiercely, reaching forwards and grasping his hands, "You can let go of your anger and your revenge and even your oath!"

Elladan just stared miserably at her. "You don't understand," he said, but the words were weaker than before. "We've spent so many years hunting. If we give up now, what was it all for?"

Elrohir cut off whatever Arwen had been about to say, eyes blazing. "We can't just stop! We swore an oath, Arwen!"

"Then break it," she replied, matter-of-factly.

Elrohir's lips curled into a sneer. "You don't understand."

"But I do!" Arwen exclaimed, her frustration finally breaking her calm mask. Something swift tore across her face, and she leaped from the couch and turned away from them. "You don't! I loved Nana just as much as you did, but I don't go on a massacre because she died!" She turned abruptly, star-bright eyes suddenly glittering with tears. "Can't you see that you're doing nothing but hurting everybody?"

Taken aback, Elrohir could only stare. Aragorn scowled at his brothers, and raised his head to look at Arwen. He felt her mind, feather-light, touch upon his, and he sent a wave of reassurance to her. The panic in her eyes faded a little, but she didn't stop crying.

Elladan slowly stood, and it didn't escape Aragorn's notice that he was favoring his right leg. "Oh, no, don't cry." Dismayed, he tried to step forwards, but Arwen stopped him with a look. "Arwen, please. We're sorry. I'm sorry. I just—" He trailed off, clearly miserable.

Quietly, Elrohir murmured, "I'm sorry too." He looked sheepishly from his blood sister to his foster brother. "We've been idiots, haven't we?"

"Yes!" Arwen cried, tearfully furious, "You need to grieve, not kill." She sniffed and rubbed at her eyes.

Aragorn perched on the opposite side of the couch and asked, "You'll stop disappearing now?"

Elrohir shrugged. "We'll try. We can't break our oath."

Aragorn only knew bits and pieces of the twins's story. He'd picked up hints and whispers and sorrow from his foster father and from Arwen, and it horrified him to learn that his brothers had truly sworn to wipe out the Corrupted.

"But you can visit home more often," he suggested, tactfully not mentioning the last three years that had passed without a word from either twin.

"Or not bring swords to Thanksgiving," Arwen added, "And . . . I know I cannot ask you to break your oath. Just . . . please don’t be so reckless." She alighted on the suede, hair fanning out on the back of the couch, and Aragorn instinctively reached out to rest his hand o her shoulder.

Elladan closed his eyes. "I don't know if we can stop, Arwen."

"You can," she said decisively, "Hunting the Corrupted is not a bad thing, El. But to do so out of hate? For revenge? That will destroy your souls."

Both twins flinched and Aragorn's eyes widened. "It has, hasn't it?" His grey eyes suddenly flashed silver, and the sleep-mussed human man that had been sitting there moments ago was replaced by something otherworldly. To his eyes, Arwen gleamed with starlight. She was pure and beautiful and whole; she belonged here. But the twins. . . .

Their souls were torn nearly to ribbons, blackened feathers drifting from pale strings that strained to hold skin onto bones and life onto flesh.

Horrified, Aragorn reached out. "You can't Phase anymore, can you?" His fingers touched Elladan's knee, lightly, and the older twin flinched as though struck. Milky light streamed from Aragorn into Elladan, soothing the rifts in his soul.

Elladan relaxed against the couch, eyes fluttering shut. "Estel, we haven't been able to Phase since Nana died."

Arwen shuddered and ran her hands over her bare arms. "I can't imagine being trapped in my own skin."

Elladan cracked one eye open. "It's not fun," he said miserably.

Aragorn maneouvred around Arwen to repeat the process with Elrohir. Elrohir protested at first, but Aragorn firmly placed his hands on the younger twin's shoulders. "I've gotten better since last time," he said mildly, "I won't turn your skin blue."

"As if I'd trust you," Elrohir said, his voice trembling with the memory of the banter they'd once had.

Aragorn flashed a brief smile, unsure if he had forgiven his brothers yet, and sent his power into Elrohir. The younger twin immediately sighed and fell limply against Elladan, eyes slipping shut as well.

Arwen unfolded herself from where she sat, eyes lidded with exhaustion. "They'll fall asleep soon," she murmured.

"That's good," Aragorn replied, holding his arms out to her. "They need healing, and lots of it. How long have they been hunting?"

Arwen threw herself at him, her form shifting into a raven halfway through her leap. He caught her and held her close to his chest, taking comfort in her familiar feathers. In his mind, she said, Too long.

"That's true enough," he agreed, checking one last time to make sure the twins were alright. They were both sound asleep, expressions peaceful for the first time that night. "They'll need Ada to see to their souls. I'm not sure if they'll ever be whole enough to Phase again."

In his arms, Arwen trembled, and he ran his fingers over the soft feathers on her head. They wouldn't have come to us if they hadn't been injured. Their promises tonight might just be their exhaustion.

"I'll text Ada in the morning," Aragorn said decisively, turning to head back to the bedroom, "And I'm linked to them right now. I'll notice if they leave."

They'll be angry, she murmured, They've spent so long avoiding any sort of comfort.

Aragorn shrugged. Arwen shifted and took to the air. By the time she hit the bed, she was human again, her night-dress stained pitch black, and she curled up in the covers and closed her eyes.

Smiling softly at her, Aragorn settled in beside her. "They'll be alright though," he murmured, burying his face in her hair, "We won't let them fall into darkness again."

She turned to grasp his hand, and he could feel the stars beneath her skin. "Not ever again."

(The Peredhil are shape-shifters in this world. Aragorn, who’s descended from Elros, isn’t able to Phase like Arwen can because his “other” blood is too diluted by “human” blood, but he has enough “otherness” to heal)