#lps sticker series

[runawayrainbowcomics]

#5 of my LPS Sticker Series!

[wildbluesorbit]

London: Holiday Prelude || JTK

18+MDNI

Paring: Jakexreader(f)

LONDON SERIES MATERPOST

A/N: Howdy! Here to interrupt your regularly scheduled programming with twist on the London menu: A TIME JUMP! This is how I envision the first meeting between Jake and the reader unraveled. This one is very fluff (which is a bit off brand for this series) and is my gift to all readers who have remained loyal amongst the endless angst. I'm aware, holiday editions are normally posted before the holidays, but I have chronically delayed holiday spirit that doesn’t spark until about a week before Christmas which is when I started this. My holidays got a bit more hectic than I expected so I didn’t finish till just now, but I figured I’d pos. Also, know that my particular style of writing is shaped by an editing process of which requires time I did not have, so baby this is ROUGH. Anyways, I am very open to criticism so pretty please let me know what you think.

Summary || Before the storm, there was a calm. Your first interaction with Jake is less than ideal, but you give him a redeeming chance only to spark something more.

Content Warnings || holiday [stress], workload stress, slight verbal aggression, holiday party setting, depictions of affectionate displays

Word Count || 6.6k

– December 24th, London, UK –

Your arduous typing is disrupted by the groan of your office door as it’s hesitantly eased open. You rigorously resume your work, not even averting your eyes to make note of who has disturbed you. You already know it's your colleague. You know they have trouble for you. And you know it's a problem you don’t currently have the attention span nor time for. 

Eyes still pinned to the numbers on your computer screen, you address the damsel in distress dawdling in the doorway behind you, “Is it urgent? I’m on a deadline.”

“Um- There’s a customer out here who I have tried my best to help with the knowledge I have,” she remorsefully squeaks.

You mellow your tone as you can hear desperation shrouding her every word, “Tell them I’m unavailable.” 

“I did- He insisted he speak to some form of management,” she huffs exasperatedly.

You come to a stopping point in your numbers game and begrudgingly pry your hands from your keyboard. You spring from your chair and propel yourself through the doorway, already eager to crawl back to the stillness of your office. Your footsteps echo against the hallway of dark offices and storage rooms in a unison stride to your coworker a pace behind you; two valiant knights on their quest to the front of the store. 

Preparing yourself for battle, you dig for your finest customer service armor as it's buried beneath all the enervating adversities and blows of running the shop; a duty you normally carry so effortlessly and gracefully, but this year you had been the only manager who volunteered to work the holiday week. Your workload alone is enough to spook the average person, but the extra weight you foolishly decided to take on this year is a different beast. You have half a heart to gift yourself hair dye this Christmas as you’re already convinced the New Year would find you prematurely gray. 

“Alright, let’s see the prick who is harassing my-,” your finishing thought never arrives as you swing the door open to reveal the store.

Any and all resentment is momentarily tamed by the endless sight of musical paraphernalia. Every last inch of the walls are shrine to the greats; posters, pins, buttons, stickers, clothing, books, CDs, tapes, cassettes, and of course aisles and aisles of record vinyl LPs; all seem to celebrate your great escape from the confinement of your office. 

Your eyes adjust to the warm lighting that coats everything and everyone bustling about isles, faces beaming with joy as they discover new treasures to call their own; treasures you ordered and stocked the shelves with yourself. 

You take a deep inhale of the healing sight in front of you. You never tire of walking through this door after a long day; a portal to your favorite realm. Your spirit beams as you recognize the classic rock sonic of The Dire Straits pouring through the speakers at way too loud a volume. You find it almost impossible to be upset within these walls. Almost.

Though you want nothing more than to idly wander around the store, you redirect your focus to the task at hand; eyes scouring the floor for the customer that so desperately needs your attention. Within an instant, you undoubtedly deem a man within your gaze responsible for your unnecessary ordeals; no guidance from your coworker is required to know exactly who summoned you from your hideaway. 

He is an ornate scene; one that confiscates and pleases your attention all at once. He stands, bare chest proud and puffed, fingers fidgeting with the facial hair that roofs his protruding pout as he devoutly scans through titles of the nearby books. His narrow shoulders are cloaked by long chestnut waves that frame delicate facial features and a prominent nose. He’s rather small in stature, yet strong in physique. 

The pretty man is bewitching in the way he seems to have just hopped out of some antecedent reality; a walking, talking antique. Doused in all black, he wears a blazer and waistcoat with nothing underneath to properly clothe his tan skin except chunky chains weighed down by a ridiculous amount of pendants; all silver to match his oversized hoop earrings, reflectively gleaming as he saunters through trespassing sunlight. His torso is paired with black pleated trousers and seasoned black boots. This man looks as if he woke up and couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be a pirate or a rockstar. 

“You know, Halloween was almost two months ago,” you heedlessly blurt as soon as his golden brown eyes collect yours.

“Real original,” the customer retorts with a smirk and a slight shake of his head, “definitely never heard that one before.”  

His American accent nearly startles you; his features certainly tell an origin story of Central Europe, yet his phrasing is not harsh enough to miss the hint of something not quite American in his raspy tone.

You quickly steer away from your cheeky dig and towards a more professional rapport.

“What can I help you with today Mr.?”

“Jacob Kiszka,” he extends his hand to shake yours, “but you can call me Jake.”

The Jake Kiszka. You have definitely heard his name before. A guitarist whose discography is infamously compared to and even deemed gross appropriation of classic rock legends; and whose romantic track record has an even worse stench. 

You prematurely take the sincere offer of his hand before weakly falling back to your satirical ways, “Wow, lucky me- I’ve only heard stories of The Illustrious Jake Kiszka.”

He is not oblivious to your sarcasm but decides to take the cocky route anyway, “Oh- A fan, huh? Glad to know my reputation precedes me.”

“I never said they were good stories,” your hand repels from the guitarist’s calloused grasp and attaches to your hip, “but what brings you to my store?”

“This is the only place in town not playing Christmas music,” his eyes flit around the store trying to commit every last detail to memory as if his knowledge might be tested later and questions you with an intimacy he hasn’t yet earned, “So this is your kingdom, huh?”

“I don’t own it, just run it, but yes- this place is my baby and I’m its sales manager,” you briefly answer out of the scarce supply of decorum you currently possess and efficiently reroute to the reason for his visit, “but I doubt you came all this way just to escape the holiday spirit.” 

“Well, I am currently in town and in dire need of a last-minute Christmas gift, and you came highly recommended as far as rare LP sets go,” his features stretch into a ponderous tightlipped smile. 

The musician either isn’t receiving your assertion of pace or blatantly holds no regard for it as he digresses once again.

You aren’t certain whether his narrative is spoken to you, himself, or some unseen force, “But this really is some marvelous little store you run here. I have to admit I'm a bit envious. Somedays, I swear I would trade it all in for a simple quiet life like this.”

Simple? Quiet? Who the hell does this man think he is to come in the day before Christmas and casually spend your time and patience, only to then reduce your entire world to simple and quiet?!

Your fists discreetly curl behind the secrecy of your back as you scrupulously monitor your highly explosive tone, “Thank you kindly, Mr. Kiszka, but maybe we can hurry this along. I have lots of work in my simple quiet life to return to.”

Instantly, his entire physique cowers to a posture of mortification and regret. If your composure hadn’t already been so far spent, you might have even felt a strand of empathy or reprieve for him.

His face takes on a shameful shade of pink as fragments of an apology trip over one another, “No- No- That’s definitely not what I meant- Of course, the work you do here is very important. The responsibility of granting access-”

You wave him off, bestowing him clemency in hopes of ending this interaction as fast as possible, “It’s fine, but I really do have lots of work to return to, so just follow me.”

You hastily string him to the glass cases in the back of the store, a stream of clicking and clacking trails behind you with every heavy-footed step of his boots. His footsteps gradually sound less and less, his pace a relaxed rhythm compared to yours. You impatiently arrive at your destination of high-valued items and turn to see he is only leisurely tracing your path, still gazing about the store as if he is in an art gallery.  

You inhale. You’ve dealt with worse. Today would not be the day you lose your patience with a customer. 

Once he finally rejoins you at the display case, you begin the tour of each LP, explaining its contents, history, value, rarity, and your favorite details about it. Showmanly, you set a scene of necessity for each set as to speed his decision process along by targeting his obvious lack of impulse control. 

You’re about done appraising almost five sets when a lack of opinions, theories, and questions registers from his silence. You transfer your vision to learn your audience had not at all been concentrating on your dissertation, those amber eyes studying you right back; eyes reflecting not a strand of cognizance for your vain words, pronouncing your breath wasted.

Your abrupt eye contact seems to burst his trance, clearly not expecting you to break from your sale. 

“Are you hearing a word I’m saying or-,” you fuss, condemning any remaining attempts at professionalism. 

His features reveal comprehension, your confrontation certainly registers but his ample lips only vacillate in a dumbfounded silence.

You flatly attempt to jumpstart his verbal reflexes, “Mr. Kiszka?”

Pressure-buildup from every imprisoned word rattling around his head with no escape, erupts all at once, “I’m sorry- I’m sorry- I heard you- It's just- When I asked for help today- I didn’t expect someone so-”

A brittle tone emerges before you can even take the time to contemplate what he is trying to articulate, “Young? A woman? A different stigma that probably has nothing to do with my knowledge of music or ability to manage a business?”

“No it's not that- It's just- you-,” he hesitates to catch the breath he forgot to take and decidedly abandons his current thought to expedite his next, as if they might trample over each other if he doesn’t, “This is very inappropriate but I seem to keep putting my foot in my mouth and I would appreciate it if you let me make it up to you over drinks tonight. Also, please call me Jake.”

His unanticipated proposition hitches your breath and widens your eyes, “You’re right, that is very inappropriate.”    

He quickly shrinks yet doesn’t withdraw his offer, “My brothers will be there too if that makes you feel a bit better, but your expertise so far fascinates me, and I would love to discuss more with you.”

Asking you out. After insults. After disrespect. After no regard for your time-poor schedule. He is asking you out.

You take it back. You have not dealt with worse. This is definitely the worst. 

Panic and indignation concoct a bitter climb in pitch, “Unfortunately, Mr. Kiszka, there’s still so much that requires my attention before the year’s end. I’m as busy as someone with a simple and quiet life can possibly be. That leaves no time for idle pints with random guys in pubs. So will you be purchasing anything today?”

“No- of course- you’re right- I’m terribly sorry- I do need to get something,” his attention finally converts to the vinyl with an oncoming frown, “but nothing here stands out to me. I know you certainly don’t owe me any favors but is there any way you can show me anything else? You know- the good stuff?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you blatantly feed him a white lie, “Excuse me? I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

You know exactly what he’s referring to. However, the thought of sharing another second with this infuriating stranger threatens to ignite fire to your dwindling composure. So, you tuck away all opportunities that would admit him to take any step that isn’t towards the door. 

He drives his agenda one last time, “You know? The treasures that never see the shelf? Surely, you have a secret stash. Every great store has one.”

“I guess we’re just not that great of a store then,” the shit-eating grin that smears across your face wards off any other inquiries he might probe for, “I can assure you this is the best we have. Maybe next time, do all your Christmas shopping before Christmas Eve.”

You are immediately pricked by a pang of guilt. Even you can admit you are being impudently cruel; for which you expect at least a return of assailment. Yet it never arrives. 

Instead, his eyebrows turned upwards just above a sheepish smirk and a diffident man takes the place of the obnoxiously charismatic rockstar once before you. He just might genuinely grieve the score of your transaction. As if he knows something you don’t. As if he knows in some other time or place this narrative was supposed to take a different course and he is now mourning a great failure.

“Okay- well, I can take a hint,” he meekly forfeits, “I apologize for wasting your time. Thank you so much for your help.”

You can’t seem to wrap your fingers around any response, lost somewhere amongst the spate of regret that you might have misjudged him based on presumptions. Your mouth runs dry and you’re only able to blankly stare back at him.

In your silence, he impulsively shoves his hand into his coat pocket and shimmies out some small notebook. He flips through pages and pages of scattered notes and highlights and even some light sketches before he finds the first blank sheet. He materializes a pen from the same pocket that had been sheltering the notebook and quickly scribbles before tearing out the page, folding it in quarters, and gifting it to you. 

You’re not sure why, but you find your hand an open landing for the paper. Unconvincingly, you reassure yourself it's because you know little resistance will only usher him out of your store sooner. 

As soon as he successfully rids himself of the note, you witness a bashful movement emerge upon his face in what you swear is the biggest and prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. You aren’t allotted time to admire or commit it to memory as its life spans less than a second, quickly shrinking till it's gone.

He bids you a rushed, “Take care, Merry Christmas,” before he turns on his heels and rapidly weaves his way through the isles till he disappears past the glass doors without so much as another word or last glance. 

Your eyes gravitate back towards the paper in your hand. You inspect the folded thing before you decide reading its contents would hold no worthwhile benefit and absentmindedly place it in your own pocket. 

— December 26th —

You mentally file through your checklist: The doors are locked, the drawer counted, and the lights turned off. Your colleague took care of the floor prep portion of closing duties before she left; you stayed way too late to finish your end-of-year reports. But you can’t seem to shake the feeling that you are forgetting something.

Your phone! You realize as you pat down your pockets you don’t have your phone. 

You race to your office through the dark void store to see your abandoned device sitting on top of your desk. As you grab your phone, the little forsaken folded paper you forgot you had placed on the work area earns your attention. Whether you set it aside for two days in a veto or for safekeeping is beyond you.

Now having endured your irrationally aggravated haze that always shrouds end-of-year stress, the only thing that remains is a flare of burning curiosity. 

You resist your own inquisitive demands and desert the mysterious note once more to hesitate towards the door, each step becoming more burdensome the further you trudge from your office.

Did you misconstrue him, seduced by mere whispers floating in the wind? Did you indignantly vilify him deceived by your own occupational duress? Despite being verbally clumsy, he was endearingly unconventional, and he clearly carried some remorse for your interaction.

You’re even baffled by the rumination this small piece of paper has conjured. Customers come and go, but you can’t seem to justify why he has become an unwelcome stowaway in your mind.

For the past two days, you’ve been choking on the bitter taste of rueful pining that you can’t seem to wash down. Suffocating under abrasive waves of what might have been if you’d only had patience to spare, till you can no longer deny your craving. 

You find your limbs and retrace the progress you’ve just made. You restively unfold the note to read confirmation of the exact information you imagined was inked into the little white sheet.  

Please, please, call me Jake.  And pretty please reconsider those drinks. (248)434.5508

You are alarmed by the giggle that sounds past your giddy smile, penetrating the silence of an otherwise lifeless building. Your chest is ambushed by an aching weight as your sight darts across the hall to the storage housing the “secret stash” as he put it.

You suddenly have no idea why you’d been so hard on him; just that you’re now certain of your looming resentment. You’re not sure if it’s this reasoning, or the way he looked stunned by you, or even the shape of his giant childish smile you can’t seem to recall, that drives your thumb as you dubiously dial the phone number on the paper. 

Each ring of another number entered descends you further on your fall from professionalism and floods your head with panic. As soon as the dial tone begins to ring against your ear you’re immersed into a fit of denial, convincing yourself his answer is an unlikely outcome; despite this being his phone number and you are, in fact, calling it. 

“Hello,” his vaguely familiar rasp becomes one of undeniable recognition.

Neglecting to even consider what you might say if he did answer, you awkwardly blurt, “Hey, Mr.- Jake-,” it occurs to you that you never properly introduced yourself, “It’s the girl with a simple quiet life.”

You possess no control over your hand as it impulsively smacks against your forehead amid your poor choice of words.

You’re mortified he might have heard your reflex as he giggles through the line, “Hey, pretty girl. I was hoping you might call.”

— December 31st —

You aimlessly pace about the bathroom, your platform loafers suctioning with every sticky step on the tile. You survey the sting of your angry nail plates, red and visible from an anxious nail-biting fit. 

A jiggle of the doorknob and a harsh knock on the door interrupts your examination. 

“Just a minute,” your voice shakes trying to overpower the blaring music.

You possess no concept of how long you’ve been hiding out from the party just beyond the bathroom door. You had been wading through a sea of strangers for almost an hour looking for Jake before you finally became overwhelmed, retreating to a random bedroom and locking yourself inside its bathroom. You’re beginning to question Jake’s attendance at the very party he invited you to.

Another bang at the door.

You squeak in panic, “One second!”

You run your hands against your dress to wipe the sweat from them as you shuffle over to the mirror to perform a last-second evaluation. You straighten the collar of your little black button-down dress and readjust your pantyhose so the hem isn’t visible from your dress’s high-thigh split. You quickly retrieve your wine-red lipstick to featherly dap it over your lips in reapplication and sloppily attempt to recoil any broken curls before you're startled by another thud on the door.

You growl as you stomp over to the entryway, “Who the fuck?! I said hold-”

You swing the door open to gather those wide honey eyes framed by pretty chestnut waves.

The weight lifted from your chest is quickly chased by the embarrassment of your reaction, “Jake?!” 

The both of you, relieved to see the other, spill your words out in unison, “Where have you been? I was looking for you!” 

You aren’t sure whether the uncontrollable giggle you let out is induced by amusement or nerves. Jake only gives you a peculiar smirk while scanning you up and down. 

He slightly tilts his head and tries to interrogate you through a chuckle, “How long have you been hiding in here?”

You’re only able to bat your eyes at him, clueless as to how to save yourself. The way he reads the situation with such accuracy makes you question whether you have the words “socially celibate” written on your forehead; which isn’t true about you at all. You are usually a social butterfly but something about Jake makes you want to gasp for air. 

“I’m not hiding,” you blurt the lie straight through your teeth. 

“It's blatantly obvious you're hiding,” he playfully rolls his eyes and leans against the doorway, listing the factors that clue him in, “this is not the most accessible bathroom. There’s a bit of wandering you have to do in order to end up here.”

You attempt to redirect his heat back on him, “Well, what are you doing in here?”

His brows draw together in confusion, “You mean…in my bedroom?”

If your face wasn’t beaming pink before it certainly is now.

That night on the phone he had apologized profusely. After you reciprocated the remorse, he insisted on making up for the misunderstanding in person and invited you to a New Year’s Eve party. You spent the hours of that night learning bits and pieces about each other over the phone, yet not once did he make you aware it was his party. 

“I mean you invited me, but you failed to mention you own the place,” you shake your head and light-heartedly chide.

There’s a lot of attention that comes with being the host; attention you couldn’t compete with being that you have known Jake for all of five minutes. You have half a mind to make up some excuse to escape now and be done with this. 

Jake’s words soothe your storming thoughts, “I’m just glad you’re here and I found you. It's almost midnight and I was starting to think you flaked.”

From where your abrupt banter appears you’re not certain, just that you’re pleased with its arrival, “Wow, all these guests and those pretty eyes were searching for little old me? I’m flattered.”

“I was only concerned you might be hiding in a bathroom somewhere,” he teases back.

You roll your eyes and exit the bathroom. Only now do your inhibitions hush, admitting you to espy Jake dressed essentially in the same ensemble as your first meeting, the sore difference being the color palette. However, this single change is not one of subtlety, as you discover navy blue is certainly Jake’s color.

Jake instructs you to reenter the party and he’ll come find you in a few before disappearing into his own bathroom. 

You almost scoff out loud. There is no way you are subjecting yourself back to that lion's den alone. You instead idle about his room. 

You presume this bedroom is the master due to its excessive space and height. Two walls of a deep timber green meet one of exposed cobblestone, where the head of the bed is positioned, and another wall that is made completely of bookshelves. Mounted on these walls are frames of various historic maps and sketches and what you assume to be sailing routes. The decor is accented by espresso wooden floors and leather furniture; everything within your line of sight could certainly tell stories of a life dating well before your own. 

You wonder how it hadn’t occurred to you before, this room might belong to him; Jake is almost the room personified in its rustic aesthetic.

You saunter over to the wall of books, extending your reach to them. The pads of your fingers ridge against the embroidered spines of various vintage books as you skim through their titles; from which you determine the wall displays are most likely of a piratical lore. 

As you scale the bookshelf you run into a bar cart. Surely, he won’t miss a sip of liquor as much as you’re in need of one. You grab a cocktail glass from its rack and start with an easy pour of sparkling water. You aren’t sure which liquor to choose as they are all top shelf but land on tequila, mixing in an extra shot to take off the edge. You dress your drink with the squeeze of a lime and drop it in with a plop of ice, the residual juice left on your fingers begins to sting at your bitten fingernails. You take a moment to admire the symphony of each bubble fizzing its way to the top while ice chimes against your glass; the mere song of a tequila soda already easing your nerves. 

As you sip on your elixir and further snoop, you notice there are not many pictures in the room. The few you do find tell the story of four siblings. Although, you struggle to pick Jake out amongst the bunch, having it narrowed down between two in every photo. 

A whisper from somewhere just beyond your shoulder shatters your sleuthing trance, “Nosy little thing, aren’t you?”

Your drink nearly escapes your glass from the jolt his ambush sends through you.

He further teases you, “Ah, now you’re going to spill stolen liquor on my floors too?”

“It’s not stolen if you owe me a drink, sir,” you quip, referring to his offer of your first encounter. 

He playfully reclaims your drink from you while declaring, “Let’s see how good of a cocktail you can mix-,” he takes a swig and speaks through a stifled cough, “whoa, bit stiff there! I suppose you may just be able to keep up with me.”

You are on the verge of investigating the family pictures when his phone rings. He frowns, yet still retrieves the device from his pocket to read the notification. However, his eyes break from their summon within a second, elated to receive yours once again. 

Jake almost pounces on you, giddy to usher you back to the party, “Come on, I want to introduce you to some people!” 

You tail him down the hall to the main part of the house until you reach the outskirts of crowd congestion. He shifts his lead to your side, his arm still extended to precede you, parting the way through traffic. 

Parading through the guests, almost everyone attempts to greet their beloved host, stepping in front of or trying to walk between you. 

You feel Jake’s broad hand lightly rest against the small of your back in an attempt to stay tethered, your skin waking to the sudden warmth and weight of his touch. 

As you travel deeper into the heart of the crowd, it only multiplies in its density. Jake's fingers delicately travel from your back, over your hip, and wrap into your waist. He tugs you into his side, practically walking hip to hip; a measure taken to make certain you remain by his side.

Ordinarily, touch from any stranger is an unbearable concept you desperately flee from, but Jake’s hands are ones you’ve never known. He grabs you like he is certain your skin is his to touch. Simultaneously, it's assertive and amenable and affectionate. It grants status in a house full of strangers. You know you’ll only grieve its absence. Yet, you fear how you already crave more. 

Your buffer’s escort sees you into the kitchen and immediately draws towards a group of three men: two of a tall lean stature and the other petite like Jake. He walks before you and seizes their attention from whatever concentration previously held it.

You shadow Jake, shifting behind him so there is as little space as possible without physically touching him; weary of your new appetite. 

Even inches away from the men’s huddle, you can barely hear over the roar of the overcrowded house and the blaring music; your only indication of Jake speaking is the wave of his hands and the three boys’ responding laughter. 

You lean as an attempt to hear their conversation when someone stumbles past you, knocking you straight into Jake’s backside and sending him into a light stumble. 

Like some bashful toddler hiding from scary stranger danger, you stand straight and peek over Jake’s shoulder to see three wide-eyed men gaping at you. Jake loops his hand around your arm and casts you dead front and center as if you are a surprise gift he’d been concealing behind his back this whole time. 

He lightly rests his hands on your shoulders and leans towards your ear, you gauge he’s close not by sight, but by the warm sensation of his words tickling your skin, “These are my brothers,” then reverts his attention to the other men, “guys, this is who I was telling you about.”

You formally introduce yourself and one by one they do the same: Sam, whom you recognize from the pictures and assume is related to Jake, Danny, whom you’ve never seen before but seems to possess the same familial chemistry, and finally Josh, who you now identify as the other face you couldn’t differentiate from Jake’s in the photos; you know they must be brothers. 

You turn to confirm your suspicions with Jake and find he is no longer behind you. Eyes apprehensively detailing the scene, you scour till you recover him at the bar topping off your drink. You know he means well but the last thing you want is to be stranded.

As if he can access your thought flow, the man who earlier introduced himself as Josh is standing next to you now and gingerly places his fingers on your bicep to reassure you, “Don’t worry, you're in good hands.”

As your insecurity is driven away, curiosity remains, “So, what has Jake told you exactly?”

“Well- really, only that he came into your store and bugged the shit out of you-,” across from you,  a slightly tipsy and loose-lipped Sam is silenced by Josh nudging him, “ow?!”

“He told us that you hold an interesting perspective and a vast knowledge in the world of music,” Josh earns the title of damage control, “in addition to your immunity to his charms.”

When Josh laughs, it is a grand thing, his whole body participating in his colossal giddy smile. You can’t help but receive the glee he is emitting.

Only now does it occur to you, that pretty smile has graced you once before. It's the same one Jake wore for a mere second, of which the imageless memory has been bugging you for a week. Their wide smile seems to exist in exactly the same shape yet live in different lights: Josh’s a bit more generous and Jake’s a bit more significant.

It isn’t until now that you’re able to delineate all the same features about their face, noting now that they aren’t similarities at all but replicas. Only now can you see they’re twins. 

“Stop scaring her,” Jake’s voice rasps from behind you as a fresh drink is placed in your hand. 

“If you haven’t done that already, I’m not sure what will,” Josh collects Jake’s warning with a banter of his own. 

Suddenly, the boys’ are uprooted by a slow bluesy ballad sounding throughout the house; not a conventional party tune but after all it’s not your party. One after another, each brother’s face lights with recognition of a happening and disappears from the kitchen to the heart of the house, dragging along a someone as their chosen company. You witness every bystander in the kitchen mimic the strange migration. You never imagined a change of song could so dramatically alter the behavior of a room. 

Immediately, consciousness of an unknown tenses in your muscles. Your eyes storm Jake for clarification, yet the coy grin that he produces does nothing to soothe your skies. 

“So it's kind of a Kiszka New Year’s Eve party tradition,” his hand finds the back of his neck as if he is trying to thread together bad news, “to have a last dance just before midnight.”

“Oh,” your chest drops at a much less severe diagnosis than you anticipated. 

Jake distances himself a step from you to offer his hand and bashfully beams, “Care to be my final dance in these last fleeting moments of a year’s dying life?”

“I- um- actually,” you panic grasping for any declination, only to find a confession in reach, “I can’t dance. Well, not slowly anyway.”

He feigns shock, “A beautiful girl of your musical knowledge and you don’t know how to dance?!”

Despite the urge to run far and fast the moment Jake calls you beautiful, you charge to your own rescue, “No one ever taught me!”

He raises an interrogative eyebrow, “You promise that’s the only reason?”

You give Jake a confused nod while also averting your eyes in shame, so you aren’t aware when he lunges to snatch your hand from its comfort zone by your side. 

“It’s never too late to learn,” Jake chimes while tugging you from the kitchen.

The unforeseen tow renders you almost tripping over your own feet, docking your sweating glass courage on the nearest counter. 

You’re dragged into a tempest of strangers waltzing about until Jake decides your destination in the eye, a center spectacle accessible for anyone to gawk at. 

Jake plants you in position by steading your shoulders. You pay him no mind as your consciousness is currently employed by the surrounding cloud of people. He lifts your arms by the wrists, resting them around his shoulders before drawing in close to place his hands on your waist. You’re once again consumed by the warm weight of his heavy hands that spell you starving for more. 

“Jake-,” you begin to fret, suddenly feeling like you might burst into tears. 

“Shh- It’s okay- Look- Look, it’s simple,” he consoles you like an eager child. 

Jak motions your sight to follow his to the floor as he steps out with his left foot. Paralyzed by your own nerves, Jake doesn’t give up when you completely miss his cue to mimic his movement. You barely process the light chuckle that leaves him as he retraces his step back to starting stance.

Nimbly, his palm delineates your pelvis as his grip runs from your waist to your hip. Jake then replicates his previous action, this time firmly swatting your right side to follow; the slight impact sends an unsolicited shudder down your spine that you pray goes unnoticed. 

Hesitantly, you pursue his step. Then again with your left. Retrace. Repeat. Again. Then again. And again. Until you are swaying along with the rhythm.

Jake's eyes have since left the floor, amused at the sight of concentration you are. He allows you a moment of beginner’s peace before disturbing your count.

“I think you’ve pretty much got it,” his finger lands under your chin to lift your hanging head back to eye level again, rejoining his honey-brown gaze, “you can look at me now.”

You recognize something perennial in his tired eyes and all at once you’re aware the road to unwind is undoubtedly a long one, but whether it routes through pleasure or pain is beyond your discernment; the only thing of which you're certain, is at this moment he became ineradicably and irrevocably undeniable. 

After a few confident strides, you courageously let your head fall to Jake’s shoulder, only tripping over your instructor’s feet a few times but he doesn’t appear to mind. If you were rhythmically inclined you suppose you might even enjoy slow dancing, swaying about solely to remain blissfully close to your pretty dance partner as the rest of the reality seems to wane from existence. 

You swear hours pass before the melody finally fades out, yet Jake and you take your time to rejoin the rest of the world, lingering in your bubble; a countdown to midnight being the hammer that eventually breaks your glass.

TEN! NINE!

You hastily revert back to your own, excusing yourself from any rejection or inquiry by joining the chant. 

EIGHT! SEVEN!

Rather than dwell, your abrupt modesty strikes Jake endeared. He simply restructures himself, respecting your space, with a regaling smirk as he now jumps into the sequence. 

SIX! FIVE!  

Achingly aware that you’re the one who broke it, you’re assailed by a twinge of loss, fighting the appetite to feel him pressed against you once more. 

FOUR! 

That is until you feel Jake’s slight caress against your wrist. At first, you assume it’s an accident. The remaining life of the current year dwindling provokes the roaring crowd to compact, dancing and hugging, in hopes for a better year. 

THREE!

Yet, Jake’s touch doesn’t retract. His fingers dawdle about your skin, dancing down till he climbs into your palm. 

TWO!

His vast hand is extensively more than you’re able to hold, so his calluses tickle as he swiftly rakes them against your skin to interlock his fingers in yours; the bond devoted and interminable.

ONE!

You expect a confession from Jake as he cranes his head to fall in close to yours, but instead, feel a pink blaze rise to your cheeks as he delicately places his pretty plump pout just before the corner of your mouth; the sensation of his facial hair, prickly against your skin, being one you’d like to know further. 

As he pulls back to revel in your bemusement, you’re finally caught in that beautiful beaming smile for the second time. Your ache to witness the entrancing sight again hadn’t registered until it surfaced long for you to savor this time; your hope for the year to come instantly blossoms from Jake’s smile. 

“Happy New Year,” his blessing is barely audible over the cheers of a new era.

Some unseen and unfamiliar force greater than lust, commandeers your limbs diminishing all conscious control as you impulsively cling onto his lapel and yank him back into your orbit. Recklessly, you devour those pompous pink lips into your own. Jake doesn’t hesitate to consume the small of your back and dip of your waist within the swallowing grip of his palms. His mouth emulates your hunger, letting your kiss flourish and thrive against your lips. You give into your need for an air supply only when you feel the shape of that giant ass smile break the seal of your embrace. Nimbly, you press a small pucker to Jake’s dimples while they exist. 

You remain within the gravity of your shared breaths, giggling your wish against his smile, “Happy New Year, Mr. Kiszka!”

pretty please let me know what you think🫶🏼

taglist❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹- @ageofbajabule @alwaysonthemend @anythingforjtk @becinabubblegvf @dancingcarbon @dannys-dream @dayumclarizzel @do-it-jakey-baby @dont-go-home-without-me @edgingthedarkness @fomopheobe @gretasfallingsky @gretavangirlie @gretavanglimmers @gretavangroupie @gvf23 @gvfmarge @hannahrk @heckingfrick @hsfallingsky @imleavingyoufornewyork @kiszkazz @klarxtr @itsafullmoon @jakesguitarsolo @jakesmustache @jakeysbuttsheeks @lipstickitty @livkiszka @lyndz2names @mindastreamofcolours @mountain-in-springtime @mrbrownstne @nina-23-45 @notjordie-gvf @sacredjake @smoking-jakelane @sparrowofthedawnsworld @styles-canvas @takenbythemadness @dancingcarbon @thewritingbeforesunrise @tommie-gvf @tripthelightfatality @vanfleeter @violet-hayes @wetkleenex-gvf @zoe-tally06

[scarletsinnerz]

FREE MLP COMMISSIONS.

EXAMPLE OF MY ART BELOW:

[I did not draw the background, it's a screen shot from the MLP fim series]

Howdy guys!

I'm opening a Instagram store for LPS and MLP commissions, adopts, pfps, and more! It's still a wip so nothing is for sale yet. And because I don't have too many MLP drawings to show for example, I thought I would open a few FREE commissions!

Instagram store link here.

[I'd also like to sell LPS clothes, stickers, customs, etc. eventually as well, but it'll be a while before that happens-]

I can draw an original character of yours, whether that be a random MLP OC or I can draw your pony sona/self insert. I can also draw any of the canon/fandom ponies from the My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic series.

Or if you'd rather, I can make/design an adopt for you! You can give me some details/ideas you'd like included, or I can make the character from scratch and completely surprise you! I can also make a pony sona for you if you don't have one already. You can give me some details about you (things you like, fave colors, etc). And again, I can surprise you or you can tell me what/how you want to look like and I can draw it for you! (coat color, mane and tail color, length and style, cutie mark, whether you want to be a pegasus, unicorn, or Earth pony).

And if you don't know, I can choose for you on which I think best suits you out of the three! Whichever you'd like. We can go over and discuss more details if you want as well.

Don't be afraid to ask me any questions you may have!

The commission will be done digitally by me on procreate. It'll probably take me a week or a few to complete as I can be busy irl and I'll have multiple comms to do. So I ask you for your patience as I make this for you. Thank you.

I will be taking a total of 3 FREE commissions for now. But I may take more in the future. I'll make an edit on here and on my profile once all of the slots are taken. It is first come first serve, to make it fair.

Now for commission rules:

You can post it anywhere you want, but you MUST give me credit.

You cannot remove or alter my watermark/signature in anyway. This includes if you're using it as a pfp.

You cannot claim the drawing as your own creation, even if it is your OC, as I was the one who created it. Especially because the drawing is free, I think it's only fair that I receive credit in exchange.

I have every right to decline your comm for whatever reason.

I will only draw one character per commission. And it will be with a plain background only, as I don't have the time to draw backgrounds for everyone.

Please give me everything you have on your character that you want me to have in mind when drawing them.

You can print the artwork, but you cannot claim the drawing itself as your own creation. Again, please give me credit.

I reserve full rights to the image and it's use unless otherwise agreed upon.

I will do everything I can to make my customers happy! If you have a problem with anything, please let me know. I'm sure we can figure it out together.

That is everything for now, sorry for writing so much. ^^

REMEMBER THE COMM IS COMPLETELY FREE. 3 SLOTS OPEN ONLY!!!

[kingoftieland]

When it was released in 2016, the first 1,000 numbered copies of the Better Call Saul: Original Television Soundtrack, Season 1 LP were pressed on 180 gram audiophile vinyl in a “Chicago Sunroof” colorway. ☀️🚘

This Super Deluxe Limited Edition package includes a full color gatefold sleeve plus an 8-page booklet featuring track-by-track liner notes and several key images from the series. It also comes with a special enlarged-sized Jimmy McGill business card (for senior eyes) as well as an exclusive J.M.M. bumper sticker and “Need A Will? Call McGill!” fridge magnet. Glad I grabbed one of these back then before they sold out!

[initial-dream]

Initial D Sound Files (Retro Kana #03)

This is definitely the newest part of my collection as far as release dates go.

This is Initial D Sound Files, a French double-LP that was released on February 10th earlier this year as part of Kana Music’s Retro Kana series. It’s a rerelease of the first two Initial D Sound Files albums, both released in 1998 and covering First Stage. Each of the albums get their own vinyl, with the track order being the same as the original CD releases, only split over the two sides of the record (rather cutely called “Roads”).

The outside of the gatefold is coloured in the typical High Tech Two-Tone “panda” colour scheme of Takumi’s Eight-Six, even featuring the Fujiwara Tofu Store sticker and the car’s number plate. The gauges with the track listing in them is a nice touch I feel.

The inside features an outline map of Akina, and the track listings again.

The labels on each of the sides features a design that (I only realised while writing this) is based on the front façade of the Fujiwara Tofu Store.

I’m not enough of an audiophile to comment on the intricacies of the audio quality, but it sounded pretty good to me.

If I’m not mistaken, this is the only time any of the sound files have received a physical release outside of Japan. This release is pretty cool even if that isn’t true, and once again proves to me that the French are so much luckier when it comes to Initial D.

I knew I had to buy this release when it was announced on Twitter back in January, and it was probably the easiest buying experience I’ve had with any of my collection. 

Not an ad, but if you’re at all interested in picking one of these up, they’re exclusively sold by the French retail chain FNAC. I’m not sure about the rest of the world but they shipped directly to me here in the UK incredibly quickly, and I don’t believe it cost too much either. The vinyl costs 49,99 € (about £42, or $55), and can be bought here.

[madaboutmunson]

Again - Part 14

Part 1 | Part 13 | Part 15 | Full list of Again series links

Steddie fic where Steve and Eddie are in their mid 30's and everyone has sort of drifted apart

Notes: This one is over 8K and is quite dialogue heavy.

Taglist: @adaed5 @grtwdsmwhr @swimmingbirdrunningrock @mightbeasleep, @jewellthebooknerd, @fentiibratzz @rvllybllply2014

================================================

Steve takes the decanter tray downstairs, placing it next to the large hi-fi system. He pours two glasses and sits crossed-legged in front of the old box of records. His eyes move over it, and it is devoid of stickers, scratches, and scuffs. Not even his name was on it. It could have belonged to anyone.

When he brought it down from the attic, the only thing wrong with it was the thick layer of dust it had collected. He guesses that's what happens when you must keep any shred of non-curated personality hidden. Lest your father finds out you had one. Steve shakes his head in an attempt to swipe away at the negativity that had no place here tonight and smiles at the secrets carefully hidden by Eddie between the album covers and etched vinyl. Steve wonders if this was something, especially for him, or if Eddie is just the kind of guy to leave cute things like notes around for everyone. He doesn't mean to, but he hopes it is. He hopes to the heavens it's something just for him.

He pulls out The Breakfast Club LP and carefully reaches inside, but this time can't find any paper. He takes the record out, carefully placing it on the record player before inspecting the inside of the album cover again, but there is no note. Maybe it was too much to expect that Eddie had left Steve something in all of them. Admitting defeat, he lifts the arm of the turntable and places it on the record as it crackles into life. The drums hit, and Steve quickly turns it down instinctively with a wince like anyone else was here to disturb with it. He laughs, turns it back up, quietly sings along, and, fuelled by his earlier success, allows himself to have a secret celebratory dance to the music.

Won't you come see about me?

I'll be alone, dancing, you know it baby.

As he spins around, a fully recovered, cleaner, comfier Eddie is smiling happily, leaning in the doorway and looking at him. Steve waves him over and picks up a drink to hand to him. He accepts it with a nod, his other hand draped across his chest, as he sways a little to the music. Maybe he shouldn't read too much into that small line of defence, but he'd be lying to himself if he said it wasn't bothering him.

"Has the great Eddie Munson had a change of heart about music that isn't the heaviest of metal" Steve chuckles into his drink, taking another sip.

Eddie puts his hands up, "Ok, ok, maybe I grew to appreciate other music over time. Anyway, I didn't hate anything that wasn't metal. I just liked metal best."

"I have a confession," Steve says, knocking back his drink with a spin and a grimace at the taste, "I didn't get your notes until today."

"My notes?" Eddie's puzzled eyes follow Steve's as he picks up the Fame album and hands it to him, so he can see for himself, "Oh yeah!" He chuckles, "I remember these." his gentle eyes scan over the retrieved paper before placing it carefully inside the album and turning his attention back to Steve.

"I might have never found them if Zee hadn't mentioned it" Steve smiles and picks up The Breakfast Club sleeve, "Disappointed to find there wasn't one in this one though", and Eddie starts laughing as he trades records with Steve. "How many times did we watch this?"

"Too many times. You're right. There is no note in this one because it's on this one" Eddie stands next to him and shows him next to the track listing is a conversation using the track titles, except there are two sets of handwriting here. Eddie's and Steve's.

Don't You (Forget About Me) Never!!  Too much shared trauma couldn't if I tried!

Waiting For Eddie to stop hogging the fucking joint

Fire In The Twilight A.K.A Steve gets hot rocked.. looking holier than the Virgin Mary. Jokes on you. This is your shirt.

I'm The Dude No I am! You are not! You ruined my favourite shirt with your incompetent smoking! This is not your favourite shirt. It is one of your million Hellfire shirts. It is! I can tell! It had a very sexy person in it once. Fuck off! It did not! I literally just pulled it out of the box!

Heart Too Hot To Hold That is no heart!!! 'Tis a baked potato that Steve microwaved for an hour because he thought it worked like an oven. That was weeks ago! You hadn't eaten anything, again and potatoes don't come with instructions! That was not an excuse to launch it across the trailer park, using a shovel as a catapult! The new neighbours had to get to know me sooner or later. 

Dream Montage Madonna, Kelly LeBrock, Susanna Hoffs, Phoebe Cates, Sigourney Weaver, Pringles, We've just eaten a whole pizza! I'm nervous ok? About what?? You know what? I'm cutting you off. No more "herbs" for you! 

We Are Not Alone Definitely not from the sounds coming from your lounge! Hey it wasn't me who invited over the band. That was you!!

The Reggae

Didn't I Tell You 

Love Theme

“I am not shocked you don't remember this night, Harrington. You were so wasted.” Eddie sets down his glass and goes into storyteller mode, “We’d been watching The Breakfast Club, and you were getting down on yourself about what an asshole you used to be at school and decided you were gonna call people to apologise. I sagely advised you that Wayne might finally get annoyed at his Sunshine Steve if you ran up his phone bill. I managed to placate you with the numbers of the band, and you invited them over for pizza and drinks, and you’d pay for whatever they wanted out of my stash. So naturally, they raced over, but you were apologising and explaining how much you had changed for so long that they smoked themselves to sleep by the time the pizza arrived, so I snuck it, you and the music into my room. You decided that talking was too loud, and we might wake your new best friends, so you wrote on the album.” Eddie smiles at it and then at Steve.

Steve’s eyes widen with embarrassment, and he thinks about pouring himself another drink when he notices something. The last three songs have nothing written next to them, "We must have passed out around this point" Steve laughs in the hopes it and the alcohol would wash away his awkwardness.

"Hmmm, one of us did, and one of us might have had his head full of stupid watching the other one sleep" Eddie grins, takes Steve's finger, and traces it next to Didn't I Tell You. Steve feels the slight indentation in the card and quickly holds it at an angle to the nearest light to make out what it says. There was definitely an L, maybe three Ls. He grumbles in frustration as Eddie looks on, amused. Steve rustles through the kids’ arts and crafts drawers and finds a crayon and a scrap of paper. He holds the paper still and rubs the crayon over it until the letters appear on the paper I.L.Y.

"Are you kidding me??!! So this was there the entire time?" Steve is beside himself, holding up the wax-covered piece of paper to Eddie, whose laughter is getting louder. "Eddie, this is not funny."

"Oh, it is. You're trying to imply that if at some point you had found those letters that, not only would you have understood them, but that it would have changed anything" Eddie is teasing him, but from his smile, Steve knows there is no malice in it. "Also, the fact that Zee found the notes before you did is prime oblivious-Steve behaviour." He walks over to Steve again and embraces him, "It's a good thing you're so pretty", he chuckles. Steve pokes him in the ribs pretending to be annoyed, but he's too busy enjoying being in his arms for a moment though something does eventually cross his mind with the mention of Zee. He drinks the remainder of the harsh bourbon in his glass with a wince.

"God, this stuff is disgusting. Wanna switch to something nicer? I'll save this for my nightmares" Steve grimaces, looking at Eddie, who, in turn, drains his glass and nods enthusiastically. Steve twists a few things on the globe in the corner, and it opens up, "A single malt a little older than us", He offers and pours them both a drink in fresh tumblers. Eddie takes a sip and makes an approving noise, so Steve takes that as his queue to ask.

"So I was thinking about something…more, you know, hypothetically." He waves his hand around in the air in as easy breezy a way that he can. "That if you and I continue to date, and say Morgan and Zee date. Isn't that gonna be kinda…weird?"

"Why would that be weird?" Eddie asks, confused, and Steve mirrors his confused face back.

"Why wouldn' that be weird?" Steve asks in return, slurring his words a little.

They are both in a stalemate of narrowing their eyes at one another.

"How about this," Eddie says, swilling the drink around in his glass before taking another gulp of it, "You tell me why you think it's weird, and I can agree or disagree," Steve thinks it's pretty apparent why this would be a peculiar situation, especially seeing as the whole of Steve's being has no intention of letting Eddie go ever again.

"Well, for starters, what if one of the pairs were to break up? We'd all still have to see one another, right?" Steve says.

"Ok, what the hell, man?! This is your starter question?? We, not two hours ago, kissed for the first time, and you are thinking about breaking up already? What is wrong- you know what," Eddie says with a hand on his hip before looking into his glass and taking another sip, muttering to himself, "Gods, this is good. Anyway, in answer to your question, the little hellions will just have to suck it up. I'll fight them." 

"You'll fight the kids?" Steve coughs out a laugh as he almost chokes on his drink.

Eddie rolls his head around dramatically. "Steve Heather Morton Aragorn Harrington, I have been waiting for you to be mine forever, and I will fight anyone who tries to take this from me. Including but not limited to you, kids, humans, animals, minerals, vegetables, any other inanimate objects, strange old wizards from other dimensions, whole tiny towns that live on a speck, giant world-eating overlord space beings, gods or the devil himself. The manner of the fight may differ depending on my opponent, but the result will be the same: I win or die trying." He smiles crookedly at Steve, "It's too late for you now, Steve. You're mine" he makes a silly, creepy gesture with his hands, finishes his drink and holds his glass out for a refill. Steve obliges, still laughing at Eddie's list of opponents. "I can't believe you wouldn't fight kids for me, Steve. At least I know where the line is."

"Ok, ok, maybe I'm approaching this too negatively. So say, I dunno, we get married." Steve shrugs up his shoulder, raising his hands in the air.

"Ok, uh huh, keep talking. I'm liking this scenario better. So we would have pyros, right?" Eddie asks with wide eyes imitating explosions with his free hand.

"What? Sure, whatever you want, but what I was getting at is-" Steve tries again.

"One of those many-tiered cakes that are actually all made out of a hundred different flavours of cupcakes?" Eddie indicates with his hands that when he says many-tiered, he means something over six feet high.

"I mean ok, but-" Steve agrees to the cupcake mountain and attempts to continue, explaining his potential issue.

"Corroded Coffin could play, right? Or maybe we could perform together for the guests?" Eddie leans in towards him, excitedly humming a tune.

"Of course. I think we're getting a little off-topic here."  Steve pulls on the reins of the conversation, trying to reel it back into where it started.

"Beans could be the ring bearer. She is probably more reliable than any human." He gets excited, clicking his fingers, and points at Steve, "And we could dress her up like a little hobbit? In a doggy waistcoat?"

"Yep, definitely not on topic" He tries walking closer to Eddie to capture his attention, and it seems to work, but Steve is distracted for a moment looking at Eddie's enthusiastic smile. Wow, ok, he has to remind himself they are both very merry in the way of drinking. He takes a deep breath and softens his speech. "If we did all that and got married," he bites his lips together to hide the enormous smile threatening to break across his face, " my point being Zee and Morgan would be step-siblings. That would be weird for them to date one another, right?"

"Yeah, that would be weird, Steve," Eddie replies, and Steve's heart sinks a little. He knows he was trying to make this point, but he wishes so badly he didn't have to. He couldn't put his own happiness before the happiness of his daughter. No way! But as Steve is figuring out a convoluted plan whereby they can wait, and Zee and Morgan probably wouldn't last forever, Eddie interrupts his plotting with, "if it was possible, which it is not."

"What do you mean it's not possible? Ok, civil partnership, domestic partnership, whatever it's called, then" Steve waves his hands around, trying to find the correct term. 

"No, Steve, Morgan isn't my kid." Eddie looks straight at Steve and says seriously.

"What do you mean?" Steve asks, looking right back at Eddie in confusion.

"Well, Steve, with two of your own, I didn't think I'd have to explain this, but when two people love one another very much…." Eddie chuckles.

Steve's thoughts are completely scrambled. Why was this so funny to Eddie. He tries to grab a loose thread. "So, hold on, do you mean you aren't his biological father?"

"Yes. I just said he's not my kid. You got any snacks?" Eddie repeats with a laugh wandering towards the kitchen, but Steve pulls him back.

"Wait, so you're his stepdad?"

"No, Steve. He's not my kid. I keep telling you that."

"But you said about Alice…."

"Yeah, not my doing either. Believe me, I tried. It's kinda how I found out she was cheating on me." Eddie says with an awkward half-shrug.

"What do you mean? What do you mean you tried?" And as the questions leave his mouth, he immediately wishes he could eat his words back up and choke on them. In realisation, Steve slowly closes his eyes, and his heart crumbles for Eddie.

"I can't have kids" Eddie's eyes meet Steve’s as he reopens them. It feels like a heavyweight boxer just thudded Steve right in the gut and right in the middle of his chest, rendering him speechless." I thought it might be because of the bites and stuff from The Upside Down, but then you walked into that library with two kids that were very obviously yours" he lifts his head and grins at Steve, "definitely little Harringtons." Steve returns a weak conflicted smile. He can't even imagine how a five-minute conversation between them in a library, which had no consequence to Steve other than being over the moon to see Eddie, must have flipped Eddie's understanding of things entirely on its head.

"I am so sorry, Eddie. I shouldn't have pried. I just didn't understand." Steve profusely apologises.

"Hey, look, it's ok. Clearly, there are some crossed wires here. Let me explain. So it's all out in the open. Yeah, it sucks, but it's not a new thing." He waves Steve towards the sofas and pours them another drink each, gesturing for Steve to sit down as he paces and tells his tale, "Just so you know, I've dealt with it and made my peace with it, and I understand it doesn't make me less than a human being because I can't. It's just something I can't do, and that's ok." He smiles at Steve, who is presently dying inside and resisting the urge to grab hold of Eddie to comfort him. "So, like I explained, I was trying to rush things with Alice to get stuck, and stupidly I thought pregnancy was a key objective. I know what a scumbag I sound like. I'm just gonna put it all out there, ok. So brace yourself for unpleasant Eddie because he's a strong factor in this first act," Eddie says, taking a sip of his drink and continues pacing back and forth, animating the words of his story as he does so.

"Well, it didn't happen, and she thought it was her and was understandably getting upset about it. So I saved up and saw a specialist, and it turned out it was me. At the same time, I found out about you and Jenny." Steve uncomfortably grimaces, he doesn't regret his past with Jenny, but he is very conscious now of how that made Eddie feel and act out. "Don't pull that face. Not your fault. I'm just telling you what happened. Went a bit wild on the ol' drink and other recreational substances to ignore my feelings about everything. Never did get around to telling Alice it was my fault we couldn't have kids because we stopped trying." Eddie takes another sip of his drink and spins on his heel with his finger in the air. "Well, what I mean is I didn't want to be intimate with her anymore because there was no point. I know that makes me sound like a supreme asshole, but honestly, at the time, I was one.” Eddie says it so matter-of-factly Steve can barely believe it.

 “Then one day, she walks in with this test, and she's all excited, and I think, man, a miracle, finally, maybe this isn't what I wanted, but I could make a go of this. Except it wasn't. It couldn't have been. I hadn't touched her in months, but being the genius I am, I was like, oh, something must have happened when I was wasted. What a moron." He rolls his eyes at himself. "Until one day, she completely loses her shit at me, rightly, I might add, because whilst I'm cleaning myself up, I'm still not the greatest conversationalist and absolutely do not want to be anywhere near her in case I fuck something up with the baby. Anyway, she's pissed and spills the beans about her affair, but I'm a cold, cruel, heartless bastard at this point, and I just say I suspected as much. I didn't know how long it had been going on. In my gut, I knew this couldn't be my kid, but with no proof, there is always a maybe, right? She throws everything in the apartment at me until I leave. I wait on the stoop, trying to decide to stay or run, my stuff is cascading out of the window, and some guy walks past me not ten minutes later and goes straight up there. He doesn't even know who I am. I wait for him to leave, and having had a while to think about it, I go up and calmly ask her what she wants to do. She is adamant the kid is mine, I'm not buying it, but I'm not just gonna leave her, right? I stay, but I'm still a complete dick. She rightly kicks me out after a month. Shacks up with the other guy. I agree to support her, paying for whatever she needs. Once it's possible we get the test done, the kid isn't mine. That's that in regards to Alice." Eddie stops pacing a moment and does a quick look to check in with Steve, who nods for him to continue. Eddie tops up his glass and offers to do the same to Steve's, but he shakes his head. He wants to listen.

"Morgan, ok." Eddie's sweet half-smile appears, " So he is Gareth's kid, remember him? Drummer in my old band?" Eddie says as he air drums before picking up his drink and resumes his walk and talk, " He gets a message a few days after he graduates from a girl he knew that had disappeared from school a year or so before. She tells him he was the father to her child, and she’d had to run away to her brother’s place in Canada for the last few years. She said she was fine, and so was the baby. They didn't need anything. She simply thought it would be the right thing to let him know. Gareth is understandably shocked to his core. He had no idea. He takes her number and calls me like I fucking know what to do." Eddie laughs and shakes his head," We’re talking, and he says he doesn't know what he should do, and I say what do you want to do, and he says I don't know, but I don’t want my kid to think I didn't want them when I didn't know about them. So I’m like, talk it over with this girl, and if you wanna go. I’ll take you. Like, Gareth can drive just fine, but I knew he’d be in bits the whole way there and back." Eddie swills his drink in his glass.

"We get there and are greeted by this family of giants. I mean, all of them were pretty or handsome, gorgeous family, just hella tall and broad too. Anyway, I'm sitting beside Gareth in this goddamn lumber storage thing, surrounded by Annie and her siblings. They’re repeating the same thing. The kid is fine and happy. Annie doesn't want to get tied into a marriage for the sake of it. Gareth can’t get a word in, and I can feel him trying and getting more wound up. You don't know him well, but I knew it would be a pretty shitty first impression if he lost his cool. So, you know me, I gotta interrupt. So I foolishly tell everyone to shut up. Which, surprisingly, they do, and I just remind them that, yes, this might have been an accident, but Gareth only found out about this a few days ago, and whilst I agree a man doesn't get to tell a woman what to do with her body, he’s not a bad dude, doesn't he at least get to meet his kid before we make some forever decisions. I think I’m seconds from being thrown into a chipper, but they are all really fucking nice about it, apologise to Gareth, and Annie goes to get Morgan." A big grin spreads across Eddie's face, his eyes bright with exhilaration at this recalled memory.

'I swear, Steve, I have seen many different facial reactions to a great many things, but I will never forget when she put this little chubby dude on the ground in his little flannel shirt, dungarees and deer stalker hat too big for his head covering his ears, from the cold. The hat slides down, and this kid," Eddie chuckles fondly and acts out a toddler walk, "he can't see where he's going, right? Waddles over towards us pushes up his hat, and locks eyes with his Daddy" Eddie's hands clutch together at the centre of his chest, making the bourbon swish dangerously close to the lip of the tumbler, "Gareth’s eyes immediately just well up with this massive smile on his face and he turned to look right at me, and I knew he was all in. He asks to hold him, and he’s wriggly, but he’s fascinated by the pins and studs on Gareth’s vest. Then Gareth asks, well, pretty much begs to be a part of this, even if Annie doesn't want him as a partner. They let Gareth visit. I do the chauffeuring still because he tried once alone and was a complete mess on the way there and back. He had to keep pulling over. He called me several times! Anyway, one day, we’re sitting up in a cabin in the fucking wilderness, freezing our goddamn asses off, and Annie goes out for a smoke, and Gareth is just like, dude, watch my boy. I’ll be right back. I just wanna talk to Annie. I don't even get a chance to respond before he rushes out." Eddie pantomimes out panic and horror around the living room " I’m sitting there on my fucking own, staring at this sleeping kid and praying to all the gods he does not wake up. After about five minutes, I go to check where the fuck they are, and you know what, babe, I’m gonna do you a solid and not tell you what I saw because I’ll never be able to unsee it, needless to say, they would not be accessible to me for some time. So the kid wakes up, and I’m panicking because if he cries, it's gonna ruin their moment, so I scoop him into this bouncy chair thing I know he likes, and I’m trying to remember a drum pattern for Run to the Hills by Iron Maiden. I’m using his bouncy chair as the foot pedal and air drumming. He’s laughing, and then the little shit grabs onto my hair. I can’t upset him because he’ll scream the place down, so I’m just there, air drumming and losing fistfuls of hair to this kid. They eventually come back and save me from premature baldness with their news of getting back together, and the rest is kind of history." Eddie shrugs.

"So I'm not Morgan’s Father. I’m his Godfather.” Eddie says with a quick Don Corleone impersonation. “I wasn't much of one at some points, but I'm making up for it these last five years or so. I have him over the summer, it's like a touring D&D holiday, and Morgan still seems to like that. Gareth's a trucker, so his hours are weird to get the big bucks, and that doesn't stop over the holidays. His Mom used to take summers off to spend with Morgan, quit her job, and get a new one after, but it became increasingly difficult for job availability and money to do that. Once I was home and working on my business, I offered to help out, so we have our summers together, but um yeah, not sure how many more cool Uncle Eddie years I have left," he shrugs. "So, it's not a problem, Steve. Not an issue for any of your weird scenarios." Eddie smiles at Steve and leans against the fireplace raising his glass.

"I'm sorry for bringing all that up, Eddie. Just because I'm too fucking dumb to put pieces together myself." Steve self-reprimands because, although these things are important to know, he knows he's opened old wounds on Eddie. He is more than familiar with the whole,  smile bigger, so they're so dazzled they can't see the pain.

"Hey! You are not dumb! I didn't advertise it, and it was kinda nice to think that you thought me capable of that, honestly. Besides, it doesn't hurt anymore. Like I said, I'm ok with it. Even more so today," he beams at Steve, "because I'm right where I'm supposed to be."

"I know it's irrelevant, but the way you are with all the kids. Not just the three now, but the kids in hellfire too. I think you would be really good at it, or at the very least, you'd try, and frankly, that's more than some parents do." Steve tries to offer up a peace offering of a compliment. A genuine one.

"Would be? You mean would've been," Eddie corrects, but it's way too late. Steve's head is already full of Eddie pacing around the living room, babe in arms, gently crooning some song about dragons or demons.

"Yeah…but also…would be, I think," Steve says at the floor with a quick glance at Eddie.

"Ok, that's quite enough! You don't get to pull this stuff on me all evening. You had your surprise kiss over the table, and you're King Steve moment out there. Now you're suggesting getting me in the family way, Steve? Now I thought, you said no funny business?" Steve can see the shield of Eddie's humour being wielded and backs off a little.

"Technically, I said the sleepover would have no funny business! Besides, it's nice to get to fluster you for a change," Steve laughs and plays along so Eddie is back in his comfort zone.

"You think I'm flustered by all of this?" Eddie scoffs.

"Come on. Admit it. I one hundred per cent got you in the restaurant and out there." Steve playfully pokes with teasing, hopefully reeling Eddie back in.

"I will give you your props for out there, you got me, but in my defence, that was something I had been waiting nearly half my life for, but the restaurant? No way, that was an ambush. You caught me by surprise. I mean, I enjoyed it once I realised it was actually real and not a daydream." Eddie makes an admission that Steve can't resist clutching at. 

"So you daydream about me?" Steve tries to say in his smoothest King Steve voice with a raised eyebrow.

"Alright, enough!" Eddie shouts, waving his hands around, and Steve chuckles at his animated display. "What were we doing? Music and drinking, right? So what has Steve Harrington been listening to since the eighties?" 

"Just this and that, radio mostly, whatever the kids or Jenny listened to" Eddie eyes him curiously

"And those weeks when you're alone, what then?" Eddie tilts his head, running the back of his fingers down part of Steve's t-shirt, and the alone holds a weight that Steve doesn't know if Eddie intended, and it makes his brain drift dangerously into things he shouldn't be thinking about right now.

"I dunno, really," Steve replies, and clearly, the lack of information isn't entirely displeasing to Eddie, that glint in his eyes that he quickly covers over with a false annoyance.

"Point me at your CDs, Steve. Jesus, I'll find it myself" Clearly, he'd merely been waiting for the excuse to delve into Steve's things. 

"So let's play the game, shall we? You're an alphabetiser, which I appreciate, but you have kids, which means that they do not put things back where they should, so…" he opens the cd player and takes out a cd, reads it, shakes his head and finds the case. "this is not yours, but…" he opens the case swaps the discs over "also not this one" Disc placed on his finger he scans the cd racks for its home "aha!" He quickly switches the discs over and reads the new one over. "A single…interesting…you always seemed like an album, man, to me."

"I generally am a soundtrack, compilation album type, except for a few albums. The story ones…er…" The word completely escapes Steve because he's too busy enjoying watching Eddie figure him out. He really was at his cutest when solving a mystery, and Steve would gladly remain an enigma the rest of his life if it meant he could see those little wrinkles of concentration, the flashes of inspiration, and the funny little mannerisms every day from here on out.

Eddie beams over at him, "Concept albums. Very interesting, we'll circle back to that" he presses play on the CD player and pretends to strum along to the song as the woman's voice pours out of the speakers, and Steve gives him a big grin and points with his drink holding hand at Eddie as he lip-syncs along.

Twenty-five years and my life is still

Trying to get up that great big hill of hope

For a destination

"Oh yeah, this one, I’d hear it on the school run often, and I dunno, I just liked shouting along with them. So I got a copy. Because, as you’ve probably realised by now, I have very little idea of what's going on," Steve shouts over the music.

"Oh really? Let's hear you then, Harrington," Eddie says excitedly, making Steve duck his head away.

"Nah, I'm not a singer," He waves his hand away from himself and notes he is very much starting to feel the effects of the liquor in the fuzziness of his limbs now.

"Come on, for me? Please?" Eddie clutches his hands and drink together at his chest, begging, "I wanna hear you let loose, Steve. I've missed it." How does he make his eyes so big like that? As if he's straight out of a Disney movie. Steve tries his best to stay on planet earth and tilts his head.

"Missed it?" Is all he can string together.

"Sure, some nights maybe I'd make sure I didn't get wasted as quickly as you. Fill my beer bottle or can with water so I could see. Sneaky of me, I know," Eddie says bashfully, "but it was kinda worth it" he looks adoringly at Steve, "I'd wonder if it was something you only saved for like special friends or girlfriends and when I got to see it made me feel special, you know?"

"Why?" Steve laughs a little when he asks. He'd only ever really been used to having his silliness reprimanded or shamed, friendly or otherwise.

"Because you look so beautiful when you feel free. You're handsome 24/7, but it's not like that." Eddie says it like it's nothing, but it sends a wave of heat to Steve's cheeks, "It's like you radiate, like a fucking star exploding, and I just wanted to be that crumbly piece of asteroid that was lucky enough to get swept up in it occasionally" Steve realises something and starts laughing really hard, doubling over, "What's so funny?" Eddie is trying to speak, but he's been caught by the giggles too, "I dunno, I'm pouring my heart out here, and you're laughing at me? This is very un-kingly behaviour," he says with a smile. Finally, Steve manages to catch his breath and straightens up.

"I was laughing because that's how it feels being around you all the time. You're like this huge energy. Impossible to resist and impossible not to get swept up in." Steve spins around with his arms out, acting out his own orbit, only to stop when his eyes get caught by and lock onto Eddie's sparkling and creased with happiness. "Sometimes I feel like there is nothing I can't do when I'm next to you. You're an act of God, Eddie Munson." He hears the words like they aren't his own and thinks they probably sound stupid, but he does mean them. There is no way Eddie was simply made like every other human on the planet. The thought of doing something dumb right now pulls his eyes from Eddie's, like they've realised they aren't worthy of looking into them for so long. "Even now, how you talk inspires me to say more and be more…er…descriptive. But it's all the time with you, Eddie. I didn't let go just because I was drunk. I let go because I was with you. You make me feel safe to be me. Well, you know when I'm not nervous as hell around you because you're so…well, you know" The powers of descriptiveness leave him as his mind gets swamped with how exquisitely stunning Eddie is.

Steve looks up to check he hasn't blown it, sees Eddie swallow, and his eyes look tear brimmed, "Hey, no. No way. No more of those" Steve puts his drink down and rushes over, frowning at Eddie, pointing at each of his eyes in turn, reprimanding them, making Eddie laugh and blink them away. "Ok, good, now I don't want to have to tell you again, alright? Now, where was I? Oh yeah!" Steve launches loudly into the song, and Eddie joins in with him, yelling at the top of their lungs along with the lyrics.

A few times, Steve looks over at Eddie, and he feels that something, that forbidden big scary thing, that you have to wait for, so he pushes it down and just smiles it away. Then a few times, he's almost jealous of Eddie. How many of these times he remembers that Steve can't.

Steve turns to Eddie a few songs and drinks later, "You wanna know a secret?" Steve giggles, and Eddie nods happily, "You're my first sleepover here," Steve says with a laugh and cutely covers his mouth with his fingers.

"Huh, really?" Eddie says, knocking back his drink, "guess that makes me mighty special then, don't it?" Steve stops dead, mouth open in surprise, and he's pointing at Eddie's face, "What is it?"

"You let your old accent out," Steve says, and it almost surprises himself. He isn't sure how he knows that.

"Well, if ever there was a sign to call it a night, that was it. Can't let lil' ol' country bumpkin Eddie back out, now can we, darlin'? No accountin' on if we'd ever get him to go back into hidin’," Eddie drawls in parts, and he knows he's hamming it up a little now. Steve consciously slows his movement down, trying to not make it so obvious how nervous and excited he is about this next part, he places his glass on the nearest coaster, and his brain repeats the question around in his head so quickly it starts to overlap itself and become a jumble of words, but he manages to wrangle them together.

"Do you, um, want your own room?" Steve starts, but the anticipation of the answer makes his heart pound so hard he keeps babbling, "There is a guest room already set up down the hall upstairs, so it's no extra work. I think I changed the bedding Friday, yeah, Friday, because I did everyones at the same time. It can be quite a workout, can't it changing all the sheets and stuff. I should teach the kids how to do it themselves, shouldn't I?" Eddie reaches out to touch his arms softly with a small laugh and catches Steve's avoidant eyes to make them still and focus on him.

"Or?" Eddie says with a slight raise of an eyebrow.

"Or you can sleep with me. I mean, next to me. Sorry, I mean," Steve laughs at his own floundering, and Eddie simply smiles and waits, "Or you can sleep in the same room or bed as me. That's what I mean," Steve finally manages. He can hear his own pulse in his head. His heart is beating so hard. It's weird because Steve has made it very clear that this evening wasn't going to end the way many of his dates usually did, but that's not what he's been so excited about anyway. There is something he's been wondering about. The way he holds people sometimes. His arms instinctively reach a certain way, but it's never quite right, so he readjusts to suit. He wonders if this is the Cinderella moment or if he'd even get to try tonight.

"I'd like that, please. I'd like to sleep in the same bed as you." Eddie says kindly and takes his hand. Steve sighs mainly to let out the breath he is holding and sends him a crooked half-smile back. They do a quick sweep of everywhere, making sure everything is locked up safely, and then ascend the stairs. Steve is sure walking up these stairs has never felt longer or more arduous, but they finally get to the top, and Steve opens the door for Eddie, letting him through first.

"So, um, you've been in here before, but the bathroom is over there, closets over there if you want something else to sleep in," Steve says as he walks round to his side of the bed and sits on it with his back to Eddie.

"Steve? What are you doing?" Eddie chuckles.

"I dunno, actually." Steve starts laughing also, "I guess I wasn't trying to make you feel, um, uncomfortable. You know, if I looked at you whilst you were getting undressed, if you were, I don't know" Steve cringes at his own words spilling out of his mouth.

"You think I look like this for my health, Steve? You think I work out because I enjoy it?" Eddie laughs a little more, "I'd like it if you looked at me, if you wanted to, that is, for as long as you wanted." Steve looks over his shoulder back at Eddie, who has his arms folded and his head tilted, waiting for Steve to respond.

"Sorry, I don't know why I'm so nervous. My heart is racing, and I feel like I don't know where to look or what to do." He laughs and shakes his head, "I feel ridiculous. I'm sorry, Eddie" Steve feels the bed dip behind him, and soon enough, Eddie's legs appear on either side of his own. The warmth of his body against Steve's back immediately makes him take a deep breath and some of the tension in his back releases. Eddie's arms wrap around his upper arms, squeezing him tightly as his chin rests perfectly over Steve's shoulder.

"I've had a lot to drink, as have you, so I don't have the mental capacity to figure out the why." He utters calmly as he plays gently with Steve's hair, "but I can tell you, you've got nothing to worry about. If my being in here is too much. I don't mind sleeping in another room. Not if it helps." Steve lets himself lean backwards into Eddie a little more. "There have been a buncha firsts for us today, and things maybe you're still trying to process. I know I still won't be getting over some of this for days" he laughs softly, and Steve instinctively leans his head against Eddie's.

"Don't want you to stay in another room", Steve finally says, slurring a little, "Jus’ don't want to mess anything up, or either of us do something we regret. I just want to do everything right so it's perfect. You deserve it. No more struggling now. No more half-assed anything for you, Eddie. You get everything you want, and I wanna be the guy who makes that happen. I wanna be the guy who chases your dark clouds away. Me. I wanna be the guy who makes you stay when you wanna run. But how can I be that guy if I can't even work out when it's ok to look at you? I feel like I know where I wanna be, but I have no idea how to get there. Is that totally stupid?"

"Oh, sweetheart", Eddie snuggles Steve closely and plants a kiss on his head, "For a Jock, you think way too much." That pulls a small laugh from them both, and Eddie nuzzles into his hair. "Everything is already perfect because you're here with me, ok? I don't need things. I just want you." He squeezes Steve in his strong arms, "And if we make mistakes, we'll give one another room to fix them, but just talk to me, ok. Sure, I might be a dick and laugh initially, and sometimes it might be difficult to get a word in edgewise, but I'd never leave you worried or hurting again." Eddie pauses with a sigh, "So are you gonna gawp at me now, or what? Because I have to tell ya I worked hard on all this today, one hundred sit-ups. I'd do more, but it's as high as I can count" Steve rolls his eyes and nudges him with his elbow.

"Well, I guess. I could. For you, obviously," Steve jokes.

Eddie slinks back off the bed, and Steve turns himself around to watch him. Eddie isn't making a show of anything. He's undressing like Steve isn't even there until he's down to his underwear and jewellery and smiles at Steve before getting under the covers like he'd done it a thousand times. Steve stands up and does the same whilst Eddie watches. He tells himself it's probably the alcohol, but he can’t remember anyone staring at him like Eddie is, this side of twenty-one. He then gets into bed, leaving a respectful space between them.

"Goodnight, Steve," Eddie says, giving him a peck on the cheek before turning away from Steve on his side.

"Goodnight, Eddie," Steve says softly, leaning over to kiss his shoulder before laying back on his side of the bed, smiling happily at the ceiling.

A thought pops into his brain. Steve knows that his arm will be numb in less than an hour, and maybe he'd regret that, but he has no idea what tomorrow holds, so he asks.

"Um, Eddie, can I…." Steve asks a little nervously. He keeps reminding himself he's in his mid-thirties and not some bumbling teen. In some ways, he feels like as a teen, he probably had more confidence than he does right now, but he knew that was because of the person next to him, not just anyone inspired this heart-pounding adrenaline in him, and if it were anyone else, it probably wouldn't feel so urgent to hold them.

"Uh, yeah, I'd like that", Eddie answers quickly. Almost like he's been waiting. Eddie props himself up on his elbow, making a little space between himself and the sheets. Then, with a face-splitting smile, Steve pushes his arm through the gap and reaches across Eddie's chest, and his hand finds its resting spot. The heel of his palm in the centre of Eddie's chest, his fingers stretching over his scars and tattoo. Steve's other arm snakes around Eddie's waist, and that hand smooths across his stomach to find its landing pad of the scar on his side. It was like his hands had found their respective homes. It was a perfect fit.

"That ok?" Steve checks he's not overstepping. 

"Well, um, how can I…." Eddie shakes his head with a small laugh, "It's a little loose for my liking."

"Oh," Steve says, a little surprised, and he feels the heat in his face and yet again curses his awkwardness at this age. He tightens his arms around Eddie like a King Snake would crush its prey, releasing a minute amount to end up in a snug hold. Eddie's back is pressed against Steve's chest, so he easily hears the air as it gets taken out of him with an oof and shortly after feels a happy hum from Eddie, whose arms now map over his own. 

"That's the stuff," Eddie sleepily mumbles. Steve couldn't agree more. That felt good. It felt mostly right, but something was missing that he couldn't quite remember.

Steve carefully shifts his hips away from him, to let Eddie know he isn't going back on his word, especially after they'd both been drinking so much. If they did get that far, Steve didn't want to forget a second of it and wouldn't want either of them to regret it. He inhales that new leathery fragrance from Eddie's skin, sending him hazily nuzzling forwards into his hair to inhale deeper. Eddie moves in his arms with his silent laughter.

"Such a gentleman, Steve", Eddie chuckles in the dark, "I know you wouldn't. You're good." 

"But what if…." Steve starts before he's abruptly cut off by Eddie's hand reaching back to grab the back of his thigh. He gives it a squeeze and an impressed noise of approval before Steve gives him a pinch on the side, making them both laugh and Eddie's hand stills.

"I get it. I do, but you and I both know something is missing here, so either you can let me remind you, or we can lie here waiting for you to figure it out for the next hour. No offence meant. I just know your memories are a little fuzzy, honey." Eddie says through a few gentle laughs. His other hand strokes across Steve's forearm, "And if it makes you feel weird about it, we can just retcon it, ok?" He says kindly, "You know, for all my forwardness, I don't wanna make you uncomfortable either."

"Retcon?" Steve tilts his head in confusion.

"Retroactively revising the continuity. We'll rewind like it didn't happen and say something else did." Eddie explains, and Steve can hear the smile in his voice.

"Ok, retcon. Yeah, that sounds like a good option," he agrees and feels much more at ease with this new avenue. He nuzzles the tip of his nose against the back of Eddie's neck, "Go for it". Steve feels Eddie move slightly in his arms before he hears him exhale, and his hand moves down Steve's thigh until it hooks under his knee. Eddie pulls upwards until Steve's leg is draped over his hip in a quick sudden movement.

"How's that? Good? Uncomfortable?" Eddie asks gently, his hand resting on Steve's leg.

Suddenly under Steve's fingertips, he feels the textured cotton of gauze and bandage, and a medicinal aroma fills his senses. Eddie's guitar on the wall, posters, empties, and moonlight streaming through the window lighting up their arms on top of the comforter, Eddie's hair spilling over them. Then, before he can get pulled too far in, he feels a pinch on his arm.

"Hey, come back. Are you ok?" Eddie asks, turning his head to the ceiling, straining to look at Steve in his peripheral vision. Steve responds with a loud laugh that really had no place in this tender moment, but he can't help it as more things start opening up in his mind, like Christmas but for memories, and he squeezes Eddie tightly with gratitude.

"Nightmare nuker", Steve manages to say with a laugh, "That's what we called this…er…this arrangement" Steve laughs.

Eddie laces his fingers with Steve's hand on his chest, "That's it! You remember!" He says excitedly, "Can't believe I got away with it, honestly" he laughs.

"My memory is new, but I certainly got the impression I thought I was getting away with it!" Steve chuckles, snuggling into Eddie's hair, "What a pair of dinguses" he smiles against his skin, "Did you ever return the favour, or were you always the little spoon? My memory was like how we are now" Eddie scoffs out a laugh in disbelief.

"Au contraire, I was very rarely the snuggle-ee. You blamed it on my hair, so I'd tie it up, and you said it didn't make any difference, but I think we both know that was complete bullshit, right?" Steve nods against his back with a fit of mischievous giggles brewing. "Thought so," Eddie says with a yawn. "Now, if you could just sing me to sleep, that would be great."

The surprise stops Steve's laughter dead, "Sing? Ok, now I know you're ribbing me. We talked about this earlier. I'm not a singer." Eddie's interlaced fingers squeeze Steve's.

"I'm not, I swear. It's not the same as normal singing. It's lullaby singing. We tried so many different things to help us get back to sleep." he yawns again.

"What did I sing?" Steve asks, suddenly wide awake at this revelation. His mind races about what other things they'd tried that he doesn't remember.

"Oh, all sorts of things. Chart stuff, old stuff, sometimes something heavy if I gave you the lyrics, but reading in the dark sometimes you'd make up your own, TV Themes, but also commercials and jingles." he replies in a mumble, "Honestly, the song choice was the least important bit…I just liked to hear you sing to me. Your singing voice is very gentle, like soft fluffy clouds, you know?" he adds fondly, making Steve's heart swell. Finally, he could do something that helped the person he loved. Steve's brain, for a moment, will only give him the Slinky jingle, but then something else appears, and he leans near Eddie's ear so he can sing softly in a whisper.

Golden slumbers fill your eyes

Smiles awake you when you rise

Sleep, pretty darling

Do not cry

And I will sing a lullaby

As Steve finishes singing the short Beatles track, he feels Eddie's full weight against him. He is fast asleep. Just like that. Out like a light. He knows that, yes, the drink and events of the evening probably are heavy factors in both of them feeling so tired, but he can't help but feel pride swell inside himself. Steve looks at the ceiling, and for the first time in years, he can't believe he finally might have it all. He whispers a thank you to it before snuggling back against his love and descending into sleep.

[musiconanironingboard]

13 May 2022: The Who Sell Out Deluxe Edition, The Who. (2009 Polydor/Universal expanded reissue of 1967 Track (UK)/Decca (US) release)

In 1995 a reissue campaign of The Who’s catalog (minus, peculiarly, their debut album The Who Sings My Generation) began. Who vinyl was long out of print, and these CD reissues significantly upgraded the shoddy first run of Who CDs that materialized in the ’80s. Most of the reissues contained a significant number of bonus tracks. It was quite luxurious compared to what Who fans had seen before, and I loved collecting them. I suppose I should say I still love to collect them, because I still do not own the version of Tommy from this reissue program. (You might surmise that this is the oldest reissue campaign that I began when new and have yet to complete, but I still don’t own a vinyl copy of The Beatles’ Yellow Submarine from the US reissue program that began in 1987, nor do I own The Rolling Stones’ Aftermath from their US vinyl reissue campaign that began in 1987. It is not for lack of caring or trying on my part.) I should also emphasize that the Who were my favorite band as an adolescent and I wore out their catalog on vinyl long before the ’90s reissue campaign began.

It took MCA until 1997 to produce reissues of the band’s entire studio works and the 1970 Live at Leeds; in 1998 a vastly expanded version of their 1975 rarities comp Odds and Sods followed, and in 2001 the soundtrack to the band’s documentary film The Kids Are Alright concluded the program.

The same year, as part of Universal’s excellent Deluxe Edition series that included many bands’ classic albums expanded into two-disc affairs, Live at Leeds got the treatment. These Deluxe Edition releases came in hard, clear plastic slipcovers, and it was the sure sign that a reissue was probably worth buying. (This would change; I remember Elton John’s Goodbye Yellow Brick Road entry in the series was padded out with modern artists doing covers of his songs—pathetic.)

In 2002, The Who’s debut LP My Generation got the two-disc treatment, and in 2003 Who’s Next received the same. It would be six more years until another Who album materialized in the Deluxe Edition series, and that’s the one pictured above. The Who Sell Out’s two-disc set is arguably the most expansive of the lot: you get the album in stereo and mono as well as a whopping 27 bonus tracks. I don’t know where my mind was at in 2009, for I didn’t realize this thing existed until quite a few years later, when the album received a blockbuster Super Deluxe treatment in 2021. That was accompanied, for more modest purchasers, by an all-new two-disc deluxe edition. Never mind that the 2009 set was being supplanted and I was already guaranteed to purchase the new multi-disc Super Deluxe, I wanted the original deluxe version, too.

There would be two more Who Deluxe Editions, but they would not arrive before Universal dispensed with the plastic slipcovers. For a while, with new entries into that collection they did the shameful simulacrum of wrapping a piece of sticky tape (!) around paper digipaks that were printed to look like the frosted part of the plastic slipcovers that said “Deluxe Edition.” Eventually they did away with that (thank goodness) and just started putting a small sticker on the shrinkwrap of these releases that said “Deluxe Edition.” I’ll show examples of these collapsing stages of the Deluxe Edition program at the end of this post. As for The Who, Quadrophenia got the treatment in 2011 and Tommy in 2013.

Back to the album at hand: way up above we start with a photo of The Who Sell Out ensconced in its plastic slipcover, then there’s a shot of the slipcover slipped off, revealing the unexpurgated cover art. The third photo above is of the back cover. I could write a few pages about the back covers of these plastic slips, as well; most albums released in this manner have the track list printed on the back of the actual plastic cover. This allows for an unspoiled view of the reverse cover art. On The Who Sell Out, however, the titles are printed directly on the back cover of the album package and not on the back of the slipcover. For an ornate cover like The Who Sell Out, this is an outrageous change to make. Compare it to the Deluxe Edition of Live at Leeds: take the slipcover off, and the back cover is completely blank. At least Universal continued to use the same font for The Who Sell Out that is used throughout the program regardless of band, but choosing not to print the titles on the slipcover for this release is ridiculous. (There is yet another variation out there in the wilderness: for the Deluxe Edition of Siouxsie and the Banshees’ The Scream, the titles are printed on neither the plastic slipcover nor on the back cover: they are printed on a piece of paper that is inserted into the slipcover so that you can see it through the plastic! Record companies are nothing if not incapable of consistency.)

Back to The Who Sell Out: below is a look at what you see when you remove the album package from the slipcover and open it once. Ah, okay: the artwork obscured by the album titles is now visible in full (below left). Still, if I were the designer, I would have done it differently. 

 Next we see the package opened fully and revealing the discs.

Now, a close-up of the trays under the discs.

There is a thick booklet as well, but it merely replicates the album cover so I did not photograph it.

Let me know show some of the lazy ways the Deluxe Edition series was announced following the era of the plastic slipcover.

Forgive me for showing a different band’s album on a Who post, but I cannot find a photo of the wraparound sticky tape on a Who album. (These photos were taken from eBay.) Look in the photo below: you can tell here, if you look closely, that the lower fourth of this album package, under the shrinkwrap, has a band around it. That is sticky tape. It’s hard to see, but all the way over on the far edge of this band (on the lower right-hand corner of the album, not of the photo) the Deluxe Edition logo is replicated.

Here you see the shrinkwrapped album’s back cover. Note the two white patches on the bottom; these are the edges of the tape. On this release it doesn’t go all the way around. What a ridiculous thing to do to reproduce the effect of the plastic slipcover’s frosted bottom. I’ve had to pull this tape off of a couple of packages, and it is a small wonder that it is easily removeable and does not rip the jackets.

The last picture, taken from online, shows how the Deluxe Edition logo eventually got whittled down to a little sticker on the shrinkwrap of albums in the series. I know that it is a good thing to use less plastic, but hold an opened copy of the Tom Petty Deluxe Edition in your hand and a copy of The Who Sell Out in its slipcover and it’s obvious which one feels more special and meant to last. (Though I can attest that some of the plastic slipcovers do age poorly; I have one that is yellowing terribly. Most of mine are fine, but it’s a crapshoot.)

[artvinyl]

Uncovered: The Ninja Tales

2. Mr Scruff - Trouser Jazz Deluxe 20th Anniversary Edition (2023) AND Ninja Tuna Deluxe Triple LP out today! (29/03/24)

Part II of our ‘Ninja Tales’ series for our ‘Uncovered’ blog explores the creative for two re-releases from Manchester’s own Andy Carthy aka Mr Scruff on Ninja Tune. We speak to Ninja Tune's Head of Production, Sean Preston to get the full story.

Former fine art student at Sheffield University, DJ and Cartoonist, Andy Carthy’s iconic line art cartoon drawings have illustrated gig flyers, record sleeves and merchandise and usually accompany him at gigs as live animated visuals. Mr Scruff's cartoons feature across his body of work are a big part of his identity, instantly recognisable to electronic music fans.

Trouser Jazz, originally released in 2002, celebrated its 20th anniversary with a Deluxe anniversary edition on a double LP with blue/red vinyl to match the cover palette of the original iconic artwork by Mr. Scruff & Airside with an “infinity” peelable trouser sticker on the cover to reveal silver and gold foiled 20th anniversary trousers. 

Ninja Tuna, the fourth studio album by Mr Scruff, originally released on CD in 2008 through Carthy's personal Ninja Tune, is the latest Mr Scruff album to get a fancy makeover and is released on 29th March 2024. Now available for the first time on vinyl, the record is presented as a deluxe triple LP housed in a gatefold greyboard sleeve, complete with bonus tracks, pressed on Biovinyl and also with an “infinity” peelable tuna sticker on the cover.

We spoke to Ninja Tune’s Head of Production, Sean Preston to get the story behind the creative.

Sean explains, “These two records first came out decades ago when budget and RRP limited what we could do. Ninja Tuna didn’t even get a vinyl release. The two new versions utilise the same "gecko sticker” design to take a product concept and roll it out across the act's work. When ‘Trouser Jazz’ came up for an anniversary edition, it felt like a really good opportunity to delve into the original artwork, honour it, and bring it to life. It’s a fun, interactive and borderline silly design package, that is apposite to Scruff’s playful and tongue-in-cheek cartoons.”

He continues, “I had become aware of a “gecko” sticker thanks to music product maestros SixtySix Productions, specifically Emily Robbins there. The sticker is in fact more like velcro than a normal sticker adhesive, which is why it’s often called "infinity peel”. In fact, like velcro you prob get a few thousand re-peels of it, so whilst “infinity” is a stretch, it’ll take some debunking in practice.”

Sean continues, “We took the trousers which make up the original front cover’s central feature, and created new 20 year anniversary trousers, foiled in gold with a beautiful silver belt. Then, traditional marketing sensibility troll that I am, I placed the standard blue trousers over the top as a sticker. The trick here is not only covering up the expensive bit to leave as a surprise for buyers, but to create a small deboss into the sleeve where the foil trousers are, and present the record as it originally was, with the old school blue trousers sitting in place, flush against its surroundings. Of course, at home, once those trousers are peeled off, the owner of the record can put them wherever they want. My Trouser Jazz trousers currently sit on my copy of Bob Dylan’s Street Legal.”

With today’s release of Ninja Tuna on vinyl for the first time the new package design was in keeping with Trouser Jazz's concepts.

Sean told us, “Part of the decision to present Trouser Jazz with this peel and reveal gatefold sleeve was made with an eye on future Scruff reissues. This week we release Nina Tuna on vinyl for the first time, and as a 3LP no less! Its cover features a centrally located tuna fish. No free copies to anyone guessing what we’ve done with it! Andy (Mr Scruff) was very up for reinterpreting the original CD artwork, and got to work on new illustrations to exist alongside original illustrations."

"The main tuna dude on the front gets a beautiful new coat (scale even?!) of silver. It really shimmers in the sun. It’s so fun working with artists like Scruff, he’s totally open to ideas and has such vital advice and feedback. I think initially I was steering towards a greyboard to replicate the original CDs, but availability of that type of board wasn’t what it was 15 years ago, and it tends to be difficult to work with when you want to use heavier versions of it that are necessary for a heavy duty gatefold sleeve.”

Sean continues, “It’s a small thing, but I’m dangerously self-satisfied with the inner sleeves. They spell out NINJA TUNA between them, and reveal vinyl discs pressed onto BioVinyl, which is a relatively new thing in the world of vinyl offered by Optimal Media in Germany. There are a few specifics about Biovinyl that make it a better choice for the environment, but the key is using biogenic waste like cooking oil rather than petroleum. It’s something we are trying to encourage more use of, with one eye on truly eco-friendly, carbon neutral vinyl alternatives that are in development.”

Sean Preston is an award winning product designer and artist from London. He is Head of Production at independent record label Ninja Tune, a bastion of ground-breaking music since 1990, working with artists such as Black Country, New Road, Bonobo, Thundercat, Mr Scruff and more. Sean founded Fiction magazine and publisher Open Pen.

We already loved both these records, but Ninja Tuna getting a first release on vinyl is particularly pleasing for us of course. We shall be peeling and un-peeling our copies with glee! We were also extremely chuffed to have got some words from Andy Carthy (Mr Scruff) himself about this project, “I really enjoyed collaborating on the design with Ninja Tune’s Sean Preston. Both albums needed a lot of re-drawing & re-writing hand-written text, so I did the bit that I am good at (potato drawings & writing) & Sean did the professional design bit, which I struggle with beyond basic illustrator fiddling. The daft hype stickers were fun to do as well!”

With Mr Scruff's back catalogue getting this delightful vinyl upgrade, we're hopeful that there’s another one on the way to complete the set.... !!

NINJA TUNA (Vinyl Debut Edition) by Mr Scruff is released on 29th March 2024 on Ninja Tune. Design by Mr Scruff and Sean Preston. Vinyl record FlipFrames by ART VINYL

[lastchancevillagegreen]

Saturday, 27 January 2024:

Good As I Been To You Bob Dylan (MoFi/ Columbia) (originally released in 1992, this reissue came out January 2024)

This is the very first time this album has been made available in the US. Back in the 1990s most US record companies decided to completely abandoned vinyl. Some things came out, but when Bob Dylan couldn't even get albums pressed on vinyl (this and his 1993 World Gone Wrong) in the US, it wasn't a commodity they wanted to deal with. You could get these albums on vinyl, you just had to know where to look.

Mobile Fidelity Sound Lab (aka MoFi) have been pressed quality vinyl forever and they have been doing Dylan's catalog for several years now. I gave up on them buying all of them. They have the Original Master Recording series as well as Mobile Fidelity Sound Lab series and I couldn't tell you what the difference is between the two. I opted to only get the pressings in the former series, although I didn't even pay attention to which series this release fell into, I just wanted a US pressing of the album. It is limited to 5000 copies and it is numbered. You can spot the number on the back of the album in the lower left hand corner. Mine is #269.

Gone (thankfully) at the cardboard inserts that annoyed me that were stuck inside of every pressing. I ended up throwing them all away. These cardboard inserts were ads for albums pressed by MoFi. They were thick, clunky and I could never get them back inside the album jacket and ultimately pitched everyone of them. So, this album comes in an anti-static sleeve and that's the extent of the packaging. Below you can see the labels for this album.

I've included photos of the original 1992 European pressing which I bought back in the day. There was a point in time when I was a completist of Dylan and would buy every single thing baring his name. That doesn't happen so much any longer, not in the manner it once did! Below you can see the front and the back of the original pressing of that 1992 album.

Below are the labels for both sides of the album.

Since I'm showing the original LP from Europe, I might as well go ahead and show you photos of the original 1992 CD pressing. Below you will find the front of the album, the gatefold of the jewel case opened up and then the back of the album.

Below you can find the photo of what the booklet opened up looks like inside.

The CD for the album in close detail can be seen below.

There were two promotional items for this album that came out back in the day. The first is a single CD containing the song Step It Up And Go. This came in a white wallet card with a plastic slip cover that had a hype sticker on it telling you what was contained inside. Below is the front of that plastic with the hype.

Here is that plastic slip cover adorning the white wallet card.

Here is the front of the white wallet card sans the plastic slip cover.

Here is the back of the wallet card. It contains one of the worst photos of Dylan I've seen in a while. He looks as if he might have worked on the railroad with my father.

Below is the CD.

The second promo item for Good As I Been To You was a four track sampler named Acoustic. It came in a wallet card as well, except this one is brown and textured. You can see the front and the back of the wallet card below.

Here is the CD. The song titles can be difficult to read. The four songs included on Acoustic are Sittin' On Top Of The World, Tomorrow Night, Canadee-I-O and Hard Times.

I just realized I forgot to post the hype sticker on the front of the album plastic that MoFi uses for their albums. You can see it below.

[newjust]

The frogs racially yours

The frogs racially yours how to#

The frogs racially yours series#

You'll love it if you're into Ween, Wesley Willis or Moldy Peaches. Now, it's out and well worth the wait! Every song on here is a classic. But upon listening to the record - and, more importantly, reading its lyrics, which are included - it becomes obvious that the Frogs aren't crazed racists filled with hate. Sure, the album's topic is inherently controversial and the cover art features drummer Dennis Flemion costumed in blackface. The Frogs album that they recorded in 1993 was to racey for any labels to release. A sticker on the front of Racially Yours proclaims it 'The Most Controversial Album of All Time,' but, like most of what the Frogs do, that statement is quite over the top. Reviews are written by people that purchased this item from Interpunk If they can’t read, how can they run the country If they can’t write, they belong in. We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank (Double Vinyl) LP R/Feel Good Hit Of The Summer (Import Reissue) LP View other music on the same record labelĬome back on or after Tuesday, August 1 to vote for your favorite songsīest Hung Carrot In The Fridge (And Other Tracks 1991-1996) CD Satire and irony, or bigotry and racism? The latest from the FROGS "The Boys with the Boys" rides its gently strummed melody along to rather disturbing ends, while "God Is Gay" is calmly sung and softly performed, yet will never fit into any Christian church's hymnal.This item is not available for purchase. The bands 1993 album Racially Yours is so incendiary that it should be kept out of the ghetto at all costs. the black album aka racially yours-the frogs apparently should have injected the lp w/a bit more humour acccording to the fistlicks- i mean critics/.

The frogs racially yours how to#

Musically the duo still know how to make astoundingly epic rock & roll, fractured folk, and heaven knows what else out of their particular stew, and as seems to be their preferred style, they're at their most outrageous when creating the most accessible music. The Frogs latest, Racially Yours, an album playing on racial stereotypes. When they both try out on an occasional duet, the results are even more disturbing - "Where's Jerry Lewis?" tears down that particular icon and more in a mere one-and-a-half minutes. Nirvana and Mudhoney and getting sampled by Beck on his hit Where Its At. Some of the more insane songtitles will confirm that much: "Which One of You Gave My Daughter the Dope?," "April Fools (He Had the Change Done at the Shop)," "Children Run Away (The Man with the Candy)," and the immortal wrongness of "Who's Sucking on Grandpa's Balls Since Grandma Ain't Home Tonight?" As before, the split between the two singers - Dennis Flemion's rasping multiple characters and Jimmy Flemion's sweetly vile troubadour - makes for even more entertainment. This controversial album by the Frogs consisted of tracks that were recorded in the early 1990s read more. To say that My Daughter the Broad is clearly a Frogs album and nobody else's is like saying the Pope is Catholic - there's no question about it, it simply is. A slew of selections from these tapes ended up forming My Daughter the Broad, a nicely rough counterpoint to the slicker, near-contemporaneous Starjob EP.

The frogs racially yours series#

After Racially Yours couldn't be released in 1992, the Frogs spent several years recording away happily by themselves, creating a series of "Made-Up Songs" tapes that they sold and circulated to fans in between finding themselves feted by the alternative rock empire of the early '90s.

[runawayrainbowcomics]

#7 of my LPS Sticker Series!

Believe it or not I have several others done already I just don’t wanna spam post. I’ve got like thousands of pets left so I’m just pacing myself since I’m still in school and juggling a bunch of other stuff at the same time.

Anyway turtles are some of the most boring molds sorry not sorry bye

[spaaceeboyy]

i’m doing good! i’m not really into gabby’s dollhouse anymore- right now i’m binge-watching the 2012 LPS series! :] also i’ve been patiently waiting (not really) for my dance classes to start.. i had my first piano class for fall 2 days ago with a substitute teacher! (also she had a pride flag sticker on her laptop! i couldn’t say anything about it bc my homophobic family was right behind the door lol) oh and i got a new sketchbook from my grandma today! that’s it c: -dex (dollhouse anon)

AAAAA I PLAY TROMBONEEEE

WE BOTH CAN DO MUSIC :DD

also neat! sketchbooks is probably one of the best art supplies people can give me, because you can literally never have enough of them lol

also hii <33333

[evajellion]

2020 vidya ranking: #1 Bug Fables The Everlasting Sapling

You already knew that I was going to tell you that this was the best game I had played last year.

Imo, this should have been indie GOTY back in 2019, but whatever, I guess I should explain why I ranked this one at the top.

Back in 2004, Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door was released. I had sadly missed out on getting the original game on the Nintendo 64, but I was nonetheless very excited for the sequel. I got the game, still have my copy even years later… aaaand I got confused in Rogueport Sewers because I was a dumb eight year old, but I swear I picked up the game a second time. Got through all of the chapters, and had fallen in love with the game.

I loved the characters, the battle system, the story, the chapter progression, the cooking system, even the hidden lore and the amount of side quest scattered throughout the game. I even cried. It was the first time I had cried over a video game.

I wanted more, but then, Nintendo didn’t do it again. Sure, Super Paper Mario had a fantastic story, and a lot of people treasure that game the way I do TTYD-- I wouldn’t even mind if the series stayed in that direction. After that though?

Well, Sticker Star happened and stripped away all of the things I loved. Two similar games and one spin-off followed after that. Needless to say, me and several other fans of 64, TTYD, and Super weren’t happy about it. Seemed like I would never get another game like the one that was so dear to me ever again.

Cue me finding Arlo’s video about a cute little game called Bug Fables, just around the summer time. It had come out in 2019 and had been in development for some time by an indie studio. I was skeptic, but at this point I wanted anything-- besides, I actually love insects.

And after the first two chapters, which were a bit bland, I found it. I found the game I had been looking for. I was so afraid that this would be another Mighty No. 9 or Yooka-Laylee, but Bug Fables was anything but. Sure, it took inspiration from Paper Mario with its gameplay structure, but saying that this game is “just Paper Mario” doesn’t do it justice, because game can stand tall on its own.

I loved just about everything here in the same way I loved TTYD. Characters (except for two), the battle system, the story, the chapter progression, the cooking system, the hidden lore and the amount of side quest-- and there was even more than that.

“Gee what did Bug Fables have that Paper Mario didn’t?”

More than one super boss

A card game

Three party members in battle at a time

An entire side quest chapter that you can miss

An in-game randomizer

Higher difficulty settings

FREE DLC

Actual quality of life improvements

And finally, a villain who doesn’t just get a mere slap on the wrist as punishment for their actions. It’s one of the things Super did far better than TTYD because Beldam being let off scott free in the ending always pissed me off as a kid. The final boss is less ham-fisted in general too.

You have three characters at all times-- they’re your only party members and the only ones you need because they’re all perfectly balanced: Kabbu, Vi, and Leif. The third of which you won’t even meet until a bit into the first chapter. You don’t have to worry about wasting turns by switching your members out in this game.

The story starts off simple with the team of three collecting artifacts for Queen Elizant II, who seeks the Everlasting Sapling for an unspecified reason. About half way through the game and into the fourth chapter, the tone of the situation begins to shift, as the wicked wasps from the Wasp Kingdom also seek these artifacts for their lord.

This game doesn’t skimp out on being accurate to bug details either, there are little nods to how things work in real life, which is something I always appreciate. There isn’t really a dull moment in the story or a second where you feel stuck, because with the amount of Medals you get, there are plenty of strategies you can play around with.

Bug Fables is also… surprisingly dark, which perhaps isn’t unfitting of a game inspired by Paper Mario, given the direction TTYD and Super would get into. I can’t really spoil anything in regards to that, because much like with Three Houses, I would rather someone experience that themselves.

In terms of the flaws in this game, I can only think of two. One is regarding a terrible Flappy Bird game that’s required for 100%. It just shouldn’t be there, or at least be easier on the eyes.

The other is that this game suffers from having too many characters, when only four of them get actual character arcs: The main trio and the queen. You have some characters that get more fleshed out in side quests such as fellow team members or NPCs, but I feel like other “major players” suffer in the process.

Neolith is a big one. Cute nerdy moth who just exists as exposition for the artifacts and is a part of Kabbu’s backstory, but he never really does anything besides that, which is disappointing because he’s very cute. I would have loved more lore to him and Kabbu’s past, maybe a future DLC quest can solve that!

Your “rival team” also suffers a bit in this department. The team leader, Mothiva, is a snooty diva who never properly gets her comeuppance or realization that she needs to stop making everything about herself. I guess that’s the point, to give that vibe similar to old Pokémon rivals. But we’re supposed to believe she’s an official couple with her partner; Zasp, who just seems to simp for her in a one-sided way. Perhaps this could also be fixed with another DLC quest.

The worst of the bunch is Kina, Maki’s overly protective and possessive sister to the point of it being creepy. Unlike Mothiva, who is your rival, Kina is supposed to be a supporting cast member, yet she has even less likable traits. She stalks her brother and constantly wants to be with him, gets upset at the idea of him needing space, threatens a small caterpillar character-- you could remove her from the story and it changes nothing. There’s not even a backstory reason for her to be the way she is.

Mind you-- these are very minor nitpicks that don’t really bog down the game. Some may say the main villain of the game suffers from this as well since he shows up halfway into the game, I personally think he was handled perfectly, because you can piece together his motivations and backstory through lore.

Speaking of lore, I hope with so much in this game, that we end up getting a sequel. There are so many questions left unanswered, so much more I wanna know about! 

Other than that thought? The trio of Kabbu, Vi, and Leif and their story is just about perfect. I can’t thank Arlo enough for introducing me to it, and I think this game will catch on more in the future since Chuggaconroy said he was playing it on Twitter, and Fatguy just completed his LP of the game.

I think… we’re entering an age where we should start expecting this level of quality from indie developers more often. This game didn’t feel like an indie game, it felt like a grade a RPG. Which is funny, because that’s what Paper Mario used to be.

God speed, Paper Bug devs. Keep up the good work in the future, thank you for bringing back a feeling I thought I’d never experience with a video game again. I know it sounds cheesy and stupid, but that’s.. just how much Paper Mario effected me back then. Even now, it inspires the books I wanna write, and it’s safe to say Bug Fables did the same.

By the way, can I talk about how delicious some of the food items look in this game? This is insect cuisine, and even I would eat these.

For recap on what the other games I had played this year were, just so you know how Bug Fables topped ‘em:

2. Fire Emblem: Three Houses

3. Animal Crossing: New Horizons

4. Story of Seasons: Friends of Mineral Town

5. Super Mario All-Stars

6. Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon and The Blade of Light

7. Final Fantasy VII

8. F-Zero

9. Star Fox

10. Puyo Puyo Champions

[t--r--p]

Raubbau are now taking pre-orders for the vinyl reissue of Oberhausen Ritual.

It was in the fall of 2016 that Trepaneringsritualen in the shape of ᚦᛟᚦ ᚷᛁᚷ graced the Maschinenfest stage with one of their infamous rituals, and naturally, this is mandatory to be documented via the raubkauf series.

Trepaneringsritualen has made quite a name for itself, with the signature »dödsindustri« sound since 2008, an especially vile brew of upfront electronic noise, feedback, and agitating night-rhythms, fuelled by eclectic references to all kinds of magick.

The set presented on »Oberhausen Ritual« is a concise representation of their musical output so far, familiar tracks alternating with unheard ones, all coalescing into an intoxicatingly vile stream of sound, clocking in well under 40 minutes, yet leaving nothing to be desired.

It's with the bleak abyss of »Immaculate & Incorporeal« that the listener gets sucked into the otherworld that is Trepaneringsritualen, with ᚦᛟᚦ ᚷᛁᚷ's trademark vibrant, guttural vocals kicking in on »A Black Egg«and »The 7th Man" offering the first appearance of the drums of death. From there, it's a constant buildup, with every track adding more of the ritual's raw, primordial force, culminating in the glorious »He Who Is My Mirror". And it's that grand finale, which also best exemplifies his crossover credibility with other extreme music scenes (i.e., metal).

The success of Trepaneringsritualen doesn't simply come from producing led-heavy death industrial; it comes from being unique and authentic. Originality and dedication, simplicity, and a more than convincing overall picture — to which this live document adds an important feature.

12" heavy 180 gram black vinyl. solid black matte cardboard sleeve with glossy black hot-foil print, plus 12" inlay and sticker. This LP includes an mp3-download-code. hand numbered edition 200 copies + overpressing.

[eildotcom]

DAVID BOWIE Low 1977 UK first issue 11-track LP, part of a series of collaborative albums with Brian Eno including the influential tracks Warszawa & Sound & Vision, tracklist stickered picture sleeve complete with album credits insert & rarefanclub booklet. The sleeve displays just light shelfwear mostly to the edes, whilst the vinyl has only some light cosmetic surface scuffs and hairlines looking seldom played. An excellent example of this LP, one of Bowie's most artistic statements no less. Available from https://eil.com/shop/moreinfo.asp?catalogid=598838 #eildotcom #eil #records #vinyl #rarerecords #rarelps #rock #pop #cratedigging #vinyljunkie #vinylcollection #recordcollection #vinylporn #instavinyl #DavidBowie https://www.instagram.com/p/B9iDM6yhGEk/?igshid=ofhkx68f9ljb

[musiconanironingboard]

8 April 2023: Fragments—Time Out of Mind Sessions (1996-1997): The Bootleg Series Vol. 17, Bob Dylan. (Legacy/Columbia, 2023)  

Back in February 2023 I purchased the latest entry in Dylan's Bootleg Series in its two-CD guise; the following month, I bought the five-CD deluxe version of the set. Normal people might think this is more than enough, but one month after that I found the four-LP vinyl edition at a great price and knew I wanted it, too. I loved the set so much that I wanted to be able to play its great 2022 remix of Dylan's 1997 classic album Time Out of Mind on vinyl. (What I am not buying is the 10-LP edition of the deluxe set.)

The 4-LP set pictured here include that 2022 remix as well as two LPs of outtakes and alternates selected from the larger deluxe set.

Above you see the front cover, hype sticker, and box cover of the slipcase the records and booklet come inside.

Below is a glimpse inside the box. The writing that's hard to see in the photo says "It's not dark yet but it's gettin' there," a lyric from "Not Dark Yet."

Below are images of the first double album in the set, beginning with its front and back covers.

Here is the opened gatefold from this double album.

Next we move onto the second double album in the set, which consists of outtakes and alternates.

Next we have the front and back of the 12"x12" booklet.

Next up we will see the inner sleeves. Like many modern-day Dylan products, these employ old imagery from the Columbia archives. I'm showing all four because each one uses a slightly different color.

Much like the sleeves, four colors are employed for the record labels. Here are close-ups of them all.