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grownups-are-the-real-monsters · 4 years ago

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Here Today

Summary: Beaver spotted the man first as he & Jonesy strolled towards Derry’s kissing bridge, hand-in-hand. He was hunched over himself in a way that had to be might uncomfortable. Beaver stopped his loud laughter when Jonesy let go of his hand. For safety.

They’d just bow their heads, walk past and maybe come back later to attend to their business if they saw fit. At least, that could have been the plan had Beaver not recognized the stranger.

Fandoms: IT & Dreamcatcher

Ships: Reddie, Jonesy/Beaver

Word Count: 3,708

There was a man with bad posture sitting on the kissing bridge.

A couple of things were wrong with him. Some were simply symptoms of a common cold (the cough, the stuffiness & the sneeze). But what was left (the breakdowns, the depression & sudden fondness for his hell-hole hometown) were signs of a problem much larger than that of a ‘sick-bug’.

The man with awful posture was re-entering a period of mourning. Like the time of the werewolf; the moon snuck up on Richie Tozier two nights ago and reduced him to a sad, hairy man. Slobbery too. But slobbery with tears.

Each of his loser’s club pals had reached out to him that morning. Their texts were loving & perfect but awkward (through no fault of their own). Who knew what to say to their best friend who’d never officially come out of the closet on the anniversary of the man he never got to confess his full-love to’s death? Hallmark didn’t have the best cards for that. Some. But not a lot.

Mike Hanlon had encouraged his Idea to come on down to Derry over the phone when he’d hesitantly pitched it. Once Richie told him about the carving, Mike told him to go on & head-out. Pay a sentimental visit instead of succumbing to his usual coping mechanism of crying & watching movies for straight men. ‘She’s Out of My League’ had been his original plan for the afternoon.

But sweet Mike was right, as he often was. So Richie negotiated a week off with his agent before the ‘real work’ in his schedule started. He came home...to the place where he’d grown-up...the place which housed some of his fondest and some of his most horrifying memories. It was that strange sort of balance that kept any feeling but numb at bay.

{R + E}

It had still been there, of course. He hadn’t expected any Derry hooligans' to scratch it off or some shit. But it was still sort of surreal to be back again. He traced his fingers along the thick, cut-open lines just as he’d done down the tender ripped skin of Eddie’s wound two years ago. He shouldn’t have been as squeamish this time, considering it was only carved wood not the yanked-open & festering skewer hole of his loved one (Ha! He laughed like a disturbed & deeply depressed Fozzy Bear at that one!)

That had been a little over twenty minutes ago but Richie still hadn’t left. He sat now at the edge with his legs hung over the side. Not completely ready to go back to his lonely motel room. He thought about the Losers having to pull him off Eddie’s body down in the sewers which eerily lead him to his Halloween costume six or so years ago...Tom Petty’s get-up in the ‘Mary Janes Last Dance’ Video.

He felt a sudden urge to vomit and cry at the same time. Because there was truly no way to avoid the pain. It would just have to hammer in his chest until it either passed or killed him. He couldn’t run from himself or his memories for very long. He felt a sick sensation of missing the time he’d first left Derry & was forced to forget everything and everyone. At least then...

No. He hated that he could even think about wanting that. He would just have to keep learning how to live without Eddie Kaspbrak. Shouldn’t be too damn difficult, huh?

: : : : : :

Beaver spotted the man first as he & Jonesy strolled towards Derry’s kissing bridge, hand-in-hand. He was hunched over himself in a way that had to be might uncomfortable. Beaver stopped his loud laughter when Jonesy let go of his hand. For safety. Derry was nowhere near as bad as it’d once been but you couldn’t be too careful when it came to displaying your sexuality in front of strangers, sadly.

Though still, the boys held love for their home-town. After all, it was the setting of their found family and nothing was more important than the good ol’ SSDD gang.

They’d just bow their heads, walk past and maybe come back later to attend to their business if they saw fit.

At least, that could have been the plan had Beaver not recognized the stranger. “Jesus Christ-Bananas!” he yippee’d in that voice Jonesy usually adored but was slightly annoyed by in the moment. “That’s Richie fucking Tozier!”

“A very distressed looking Richie Tozier.” Jonesy corrected, hoping they were giving the man enough space & privacy that he couldn’t notice them yet. He nver understood his boyfriend’s obsession with the guy. To Jonesy, Richie Tozier seemed like any other straight white comedian. “We should probably leave him alone, Beav.”

Beaver’s beautiful joy snapped into an accepted disappointment as he observed the man in front of them. Jonesy could see the ache to rush over was hard for him to hold back. It pained him just to see his boyfriend so deflated. Teased by such a great possible experience-

“I’ll be leaving soon, if that’s what you’re worried about!”

Came a sudden friendly & very Richie Tozier like voice. Beaver just about shouted as they jumped their eyes over to meet the stranger’s. He was tall and a little gangly with Buddy Holly glasses sliding down his nose.

“Actually we were just trying to decide which one of us was going to rob you...” Beaver chuckled awkwardly & so unlike him. “We were gonna do a coin toss for it.” He added before slamming his hand against his forehead (quite forcefully too). “That was a joke, sorry...a dumb joke...” He mumbled. Jonesy couldn’t hold back his amused grin but resisted his urge to pull Beav closer. Instead, he walked forward to their conversation ahead, an eager yet embarrassed boyfriend following him.

“You’re Richie Tozier!” Beaver repeated.

“Beaver’s a bit starstruck.” Jonesy smirked. “He gets this same way whenever he sees a famous comedian just chilling in our hometown.” He chuckled and pretended not to notice Mr. Tozier’s red eyes. He got the feeling---actually it was more than that, he could very well tell the man was caught between a rock & a hard place with the little...trick he & the gang each possessed.

“Hey, that’s ok with me.” He laughed & pushed his glasses up his nose. “Don’t see any paper...want me to sign a body part or something?” He joked and Jonesy knew exactly how Beaver would try and continue the joke so...

The taller friend slapped his palm over ‘Beavers’ mouth which made that squeaky old man laugh escape Richie.

“Gary Jones. You cane call me Jonesy.” The young man held out his free hand to shake in a charming gesture which said ‘We do this bit all the time’. It hit Richie right in the grief bone again.

“Joe Clarendon. But my friends call me Beaver.” And just like that, Beav’s confidence was back.

Richie noticed the way Jonesy practically glowed when his friend spoke. “Richie Tozier.” He felt the need to introduce himself, like an idiot, even though they obviously knew his name. “But you can just call me ‘your hero’, I guess.” He laughed at his own lame joke which seemed to make the Beaver-guy light up again.

He looked them up and down. They looked about twenty or twenty-one to Richie. Beaver was a short but made up for it in hair, which was long & hippie-like. He respected that. Most of his body up top was covered by a large Fonzie-Jacket & the bottom was all about the Doc Martens. Richie felt like he was looking at a bit of a modernized version of his younger self.

Jonesy was going for a much calmer look of a light-blue flannel and sneakers. They looked like quite the pair.

“What’s a guy like you doing in a town like this?” Beaver grinned, charm oozing so easily off him. One of the reasons Jonesy fell in love with him so quickly.

Richie chuckled, swiping his thumb under his nose. “Thought I’d visit my old stomping grounds.” He shrugged.

Jonesy shared a quick look with Beav as a feeling shot up his body. He got the idea through their...special talent that there was more to that story. And by the look of it, so did Beav.

“There’s no way you grew up here. I would’ve known that!” Beaver smacked a hand to his chest. “Jesus-Christ-Bananas!”

Richie quirked his brow at the Beav-ism & Jonesy briefly thought he might ignore it or roll his eyes like most strangers but instead...“Mary, Joseph & the whole fruit basket!” He shook his head. Beav looked like he might burst with respect and adoration. It was just about the cutest thing Jonesy had ever seen. “I can’t believe it myself sometimes.”

The Beav takes a toothpick from his new wooden container (a gift from Mrs. Cavell) and pops it between his teeth. He thought-no-he knew that Rich Tozier was doin’ a voice. Not an outrageous one like he sometimes did on stage but one that said ‘I’m alright. Doing just fine. Nothing to see here’ and all at once Beav felt a little bad for bothering him again.

“I ran around with a little gang of dorks.” He laughed, 100% sure he was about to dumb a lot of his tory onto these poor boys. Not all but some. “Lost one of them two years ago today...” He frowned and looked conflicted before adding “In the flood.”

The boys started to nod but where Jonesy felt a pinch of something wrong in his mind, Beaver started having a full-on attack about it. Like in the old days. Days of Grenadeau and Josie. Jonesy felt his boyfriend shaking and looked to see him trying to repress it to the best of his ability before lurching forward with a grunt that sounded painful.

Richie ducked down like he might try to catch him if he fainted but Beaver popped back up with sweat running down his temple.

‘What happened?’ Jonesy sent a message through his mind almost completely accidentally.

Beaver looked up, looking deeply deeply disturbed and scared. He’d seen images he could not for the life of himself comprehend. ‘Dark places. Large sharpened legs stabbing through somebody's body? Something like that. Screaming and...?’ He looked at Richie. “New shit today, Jonesy.” He felt vomit whirl up his throat but he swallowed quickly. “I saw a clown?”

Richie widened his eyes before vomiting over the edge of the bridge.

“Major gross-out!” Beaver whistled as he heard the plops of chunky puke hit the water. Jonesy looked a little green himself after Rich came up, wiping his mouth with general looking shock.

Beaver was about to make another kind of joke when he noticed the guttural growl the comedic-stranger made as his body lurched forward. He hoped the guy could catch his breath before he choked on any more reverse meals.

He stepped forward to offer him the bandana he kept in the jacket pocket but when they briefly touched hands, another sight hit him that was just as shockingly awful as the last-----

‘Beads of blood dotted the corners of Richie’s torn lips. Hands incapable of remaining clutched with the slickness of the sweat pooling in his palms. He had Eddie kneeling between his skinny legs who was trying to communicate something to him but the most Richie could think to do in those fatal seconds was to hope for a few things.

The kind of hopes that were important to someone at the delicate age of forty.

A large thump above his head made him flinch, Eddie’s fist briefly slamming hard under his chin. He fought back his pain filled yelp by clasping his palm over his wet mouth. His eyes darted wildly back and forth behind the minimal cracks on his glasses.

The second hand dirt that he’d gathered on his piss colored shirt was now having a wipe down of maroon.

Only the dye-job didn’t come from him. Rather, Eddie Kaspbrak who was now wailing above him as Pennywise waved him around like a magic wand.

The hair on the back of his neck stood. He popped his hand off the tight grip he’d had on his chin. The satisfying pop sound came with a small following gurgle. Gasps of choked breaths rushed out from his clotting throat.

But none of that mattered because the love of his life was being murdered right in front of him.

He screamed.’

Beaver screamed too. Not as loud but just as horribly pained.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So let me get this straight...” Richie paced back-and-forth on the bridge while Beaver & Jonesy tried to follow him, amusingly. They’d each given each other new and semi-honest backgrounds now. Richie’s was hard to understand without all the pieces but beyond crazy still. “You’re in a group of friends, from Derry-” He laughed like a crazy person. Beaver loved it. And oddly, so did Jonesy. “And you all have these...powers?”

Jonesy nodded, now walking in-pace with the older man. “You got it.” He chuckled.

“There’s five of us. How many do you have?” Beaver added, standing on his tip-toes.

Richie stopped moving. “There’s seven-” He paused. Thinking of the cruel way Stanley & Eddie had been taken away from them. “Five left though.” He looked like he wanted a cigarette so Beaver instinctively held out a tooth-pick.

When the comedian actually took it, Jonesy saw Beaver smile so wide it looked like it might break his gorgeous little face. For a moment the pair so alike just stared at each other. It was something of a little stand-off that Jonesy was about to question when a different thought popped into his brain. “Whoever died this day-?”

Richie slid down against the wood and sat. “Eddie.” His eyes glazed over for a moment before falling on tiny Beaver’s huge Doc Martens.

Jonesy swallowed, hoping yet knowing he wasn’t wrong. “Was he your...?” He licked his lips in thought. But Richie cut him off by looking back up with freshly-red eyes.

“Almost. Maybe.” He shrugged, rolling his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “Slipped through my f-f-fingers-fuck. Starting to sound like stuttering Bill.” He laughed but the boys weren’t sure who that was.

The three of them were now sitting on the bridge together.

“He didn’t know. We left him down there and he didn’t even fucking know I was in love with him.” He sighed, not wanting to think about how weird the day was starting to become. “He was afraid of the dark.” He shrugged, holding the tooth-pick between his fingers, rolling it back-and-forth.

“Taste good like a cigarette should, huh?” Beaver mumbled after a few minutes and again Jonesy was sure that Richie wouldn’t appreciate that reaction but the man surprised him with a hearty laugh.

“It’s like the song says; I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain. Seen sunny days that I thought would never end. Seen lonely times when I could not find a friend. But I always thought that I’d see you again...” Beaver raised his tooth-pick, Richie followed without question & Jonesy raised his pinky finger.

“How’d you get to be such a funny kid, huh?” Richie quirked his brow.

Jonesy smiled. “Born that way.” He slapped Beav’s knee gently.

“Overactive imagination and anger issues.” Beaver pushed Jonesy back by the face and giggled when Jonesy just let him do it.

Richie watched the short little spitfire slap-fight his pal and felt sick to his stomach by how much the young man reminded him of himself...and of Eddie only with a tooth-pick holder clutched in his hands instead of the inhaler.

Jonesy felt a short breeze pass over them. “Beav brought me here to show me some carving he did when we were little.” He glanced at his boyfriend with extreme affection. Both knew Richie was safe now.

“Our initials in a heart!” Beaver whistled. “Because little Beav didn’t know how to express his feelings.” He mocked a sweet voice.

Richie laughed, chin to the sky. “You gotta be shitting me.” He leapt to his feet and gestured for them to follow him. Which they did without hesitation. “I came here for a reason today too.” He pointed towards his old carving with an unbelievable amount of pride and utter amazement. Another coincidence.

{R + E}

The younger men each stared at the carving with wonder and appreciation. Beaver kneeled down and traced it with his fingers just as Richie had done just a half-hour ago. Jonesy simply looked off with vague amusement as he threaded his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair, Richie supposed he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

“My friend, Mike...Mike Hanlon. He thought it’d be good for me to come up here today just to...” He faded off to wave his hands about, not knowing how to finish. The boys looked up with happy looking grins.

“Mike Hanlon?” Jonesy shook his head with joy. “He was our childhood librarian.” His tongue ran across his lips & he was most surely seeing flashes of his childhood. And maybe feeling a bit like time was passing by too quickly.

‘Damn kid was barely twenty-one though’. Richie thought bitterly & fondly.

Beaver nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. Nice guy. He helped me check out my Playboy’s that one time.” He stuck a thumb into Jonesy’s shoulder which was slapped away with amusement. His smile faded to an exaggerated grimace. “It was always weird to go there after that.”

Richie couldn’t help but laugh again with the jovial young men. It lasted about twenty seconds before it turned into hoarse sobs. He turned away from them, chest hurting. “Fuck, man! This is embarrassing as shit.” He managed a small chuckle through it.

Jonesy looked at him sympathetically, hearing all of Beaver’s thoughts of ‘I wish Henry were here’.

“SSDD, huh?” Jonesy did the best he could and took pride in himself when the man turned. “Same shit, different day.” He added.

Richie chuckled again, a beautiful one. “Yeah--yeah, I’ve heard it before.” He shook his head and leaned onto the railing. He genuinely looked cheered up by that simple phrase, sharing a private & entertained look with Beaver, who Jonesy would later call his soul-son.

“We should give you our other friend’s number, he’s studying to be a psychologist--”

“Psychiatrist, Beav.” Jonesy corrected.

Beaver shrugged, waving his hand. “Psychiatrist, whatever. He may be able to help your fragile mental state.”

Jonesy accepted just then that his boyfriend could never push too far when it came to Richie because the Tozier man recognized the Beav for what he was. And that would be someone very similar to himself.

It was strangely beautiful.

“What I saw was...” Beav faded off, eyes twitching. It was hard for him to put to words just how gut-wrenching the scene was. “Awful. I can’t imagine what you must have gone through or are going through.” He shook his head.

Jonesy nodded, rubbing a comforting hand down his boyfriend’s arm. “I only just felt it & I wanted to die.” He wondered if that was extremely rude to say.

Richie squinted. He was reminded of a younger Stanley Uris & his ability to see...to understand things past the other loser’s comprehension. He felt a strong urge to insist his losers come back down to Derry just to meet these home-visitors too. Maybe it was meant to be.

“It’ll be hard to get over the fact that my vision of Eddie & I getting together in my head....” He bit into his cheek “Well, it’s going to have to stay there forever.” He looked up at the happy former Derry citizens couple as they instinctively held each-other’s hands tighter. He nearly choked with jealousy. “I loved him for a few years, forgot him for a good twenty-seven more and now...” He waved his hand in-front of him in a tight spiral.

“You’re lonesome all the time since leaving your baby behind on Blue Bayou, huh?” Beaver flicked his tooth-pick. The sky grew a little bit cloudy over their heads and Richie Tozier burst into a fit of giggles.

“You could say that, kiddo.” He crossed his arms, looking ready to drop the subject all together now. “And I’m not gonna say anything more about that fucking clown before you ask.” Rich smiled, pointing a finger at Jonesy who truly was about to ask more about that creature the comedian briefly mentioned only enough to explain Beaver’s vision.

“I’ve made your nice little trip about me, sorry.” He added. “See, making people miserable is a talent of mine. I’m a great comedian in that way.” He rolled his eyes, standing up straight.

“You’d be better if you wrote your own material. I’d like to hear some jokes about that horrible trauma you talked about.” Beaver giggled as he bit hard into his toothpick. Richie burst into another fit of genuine laughter. “My trauma is the center of my comedy-” He smirked.

Jonesy frowned, thinking of the past and of men like Richie Grenadeau who they had once dreamed dead. He softly pinched the back of his boyfriends palm. If Tozier could keep some cards close to his chest, so could they. At least for now.

“Ow! Bitch-in-a-Buzzsaw!” Beaver whipped his hand back and sucked on his skin like a child. Jonesy tried not to giggle as Richie looked on with confusion.

He shrugged in response. “I just-”

“Nah, I got it.” He waved a hand from his temple to the vague direction of Jonesy’s. “We don’t have to tell each other everything. Hell, we’re still strangers.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked off in the direction of his carving.

“But soon to be best friends.” Beaver added, breaking his lips free from the moist spot on his hand. Richie and Jonesy had a nice shared laugh at the charming boy.

They walked a ways up the bridge to see Richie Tozier off, in some silent agreement. Jonesy felt a rush of disappointment pass through him but it was quickly squashed by the eagerness he had for his date with Beaver.

As the group walked him over the bridge, Jonesy caught sight of little Beaver’s old carving...in the shape of a heart...

{B + J}

#idk #i dont think i did a good job with this #i tried but #ahhhh #dreamcatcher #Stephen kings IT #reddie #beaver/jonesy #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #Gary Jones #beaver clarendon #dreamcatcher (2003)#IT by stephen king #it chapter one #it chapter two #my fanfiction

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antisociallilbrat · 5 years ago

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Defending Miles 2/5

Read on Ao3

Part 1

Part 3

Summary: A look from Miles side and some more angsty internal homophobia.

Warnings: F-Slur

Miles had always known his soulmate was someone like him. Someone who was misunderstood and a little fucked up in their own way. Someone who he could relate to. He was also aware his soulmate was a guy. There was no way they would be a girl, Miles has never once found himself attracted to them.

That being said, never in a million years would he think his soulmate to be Jacob fucking Barber. But there he was, looking down at him. Miles was still being punched in the face, but even that didn’t seem to matter when he was looking at him.

He had seen his face all over the news, he actually avidly watched Jacob’s trial. Watched Jacob look close to tears when being harassed by the journalist, and watched him look overjoyed after the jury declared him innocent. When his nanny had asked him during the summer why he was inside watching the news, watching Jacob, he could never give an answer. Kate probably just boiled it down to Miles being weird again, taking interest in another seemingly weird kid. Miles kinda just thought that too, but now? He realized he felt drawn to the trial because that was his soulmate.

So seeing Jacob, who he didn’t even know was now attending his God forsaken school, staring down at him, conflicting emotions displayed in his features, Miles was happy. Overjoyed really. His face was getting pounded on by Henry Bowers, Aiden was being held against his will by Patrick Hockstetter, but what did any of that compared to when he was looking into the face of his soulmate?

And then...then Jacob turned and ran away. He didn’t know what he was expecting, Jacob to jump in and help him? To yell for the teachers? Or maybe at the very least stick around to talk to Miles. Instead Jacob ran away.

Miles could only watch him disappear into the crowd as a teacher finally broke up the fight. Aiden pulled him to his feet, asking him questions that went unheard as Miles still stared at the spot where Jacob once stood.

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“Jacob been accused of murder Barber is your fucking soulmate?” Miles is in Freddy’s dorm, Richie lounging across his lap, with an incredulous look on his face.

“He was found innocent Chee,” Freddy is running his finger through Richie’s hair and Miles thinks of how gross and coupley they look. He then briefly wonders if him and Jacob will ever be like that.

“Yeah well, the guy still gives me the creeps!”

“You haven’t even met him. I have, and he seems perfectly fine...Just a little lost.”

Miles wasn’t too thrilled to find out the rest of his friends had already met Jacob at lunch, Jane inviting him over to their table. Maybe if he would’ve seen Jacob in a normal setting than his reaction would’ve been different. Maybe seeing his soulmate for the first time, getting his face beat, was just too much for him. Miles mentally curses Aiden for convincing him to go smoke with him and Richie instead of going to lunch.

Jane didn’t know who he was and no one else did either. Well except for Freddy and by default Richie. Freddy knows everything so therefore Richie does too.

Speaking of everyone else, they were on their way to Freddy’s dorm. Apparently they planned to play video games all night with Jacob, but Miles seriously doubted he would be attending. In fact it was almost strange, since seeing Jacob Miles has felt more connected to him than ever. It was almost a supernatural feeling. Miles didn’t know where Jacob’s dorm was but had a feeling that he got up and started walking, that his instincts would lead him straight to him.

“Don’t tell anyone. About any of it. Don’t tell them about his trial or that he’s my soulmate.” With a pointed look at Richie, Miles adds, “I mean it.”

Freddy just nods his head, and Richie, in dramatic Richie fashion, fails arms out with a huff. “Okay Miles. It’s not my fault your soulmate is a crazy person.”

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Everyone shows up to Freddy’s dorm, a little disappointed when Jacob doesn’t make an appearance. Freddy and Richie thankfully listen to Miles and don’t say anything concerning what they know.

Jacob isn’t the main point of conversation as Miles and Aiden recount being jumped by Henry and Patrick earlier in the day. Aiden over dramatizing every detail and Miles only adds comments when needed. He’s going to have one hell of black eye for a while and that should speak for itself. Miles and Aiden already make plans for getting back at them, spiders involved of course. Henry is a big pussy when it comes to them, the fucking coward.

Miles excuses himself early and starts walking down the hall absentmindedly, finding himself walking to a dorm room that is not his own. It’s Jacobs. He just knows it. The temptation to knock is there, to ask why he’d walk away. Or just to see him. It’s almost overwhelming how bad Miles simply wants to just see him.

Instead he forces his feet to keep walking. Forces himself to go back to his dorm. When he gets there he looks at the spider he drew on his hand earlier. Angry red marks are on his skin, like someone tried to forcefully rub it off. His heart breaks just a little because he knows it wasn’t him. Did Jacob hate him? Was Miles really being rejected by his own soulmate? ------------------------------------------------------

His alarm goes off, waking Jacob up from a night of restless sleep. Groaning he shuts it off and looks at his phone. Messages from dad asking him why he missed his first therapy appointment and asking if he was okay. One message was also from an unknown number who said they were Freddy, checking in on Jacob. Guess Freddy really does know everything.

Jacob rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. He really really doesn’t want to attend class. He doesn’t want to run the risk of running into Miles, he doesn’t know how he would react. Lifting his hand up, he sees that the spider he tried to scrub away until his skin was raw yesterday had been removed. In fact everything had been removed. All of the fading pen marks were just gone, as if they had been purposely and much more delicately washed away.

This whole thing was just too much, Jacob wasn’t used to dealing with this much emotion. Is this how people with a normal emotional range feel all the time? It’s fucking exhausting. Instead of dwelling on it, Jacob forces himself to get up and get ready for class.

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Like yesterday his first two classes go by with an ease. Also like yesterday Jacob finds himself at a loss of what to do for lunch. He wants to go sit with the group he sat with yesterday, the same group that was nice enough to ask him to hang out after class and play video games. Even if he did bail on them.

He couldn’t though. Because sitting right in the middle of them was Miles, who hadn’t noticed Jacob yet. He could himself be pulled towards the boy with unruly hair, whose school uniform was thrown on with very obvious uncaring. If he sat with Miles, then everyone would know. Everyone would know that Jacob was a faggot, that there was something wrong with him.

Rationally he knew they wouldn’t care, there were other same sex couples in their group, but his brain wouldn’t let him think rational. All he could think about was all those times Ben had called him a fag in front everyone, the class laughing with him, laughing at Jacob.

Ben always said that Jacob was a freak because his eyes sometimes lingered on the boys in the gym locker room. That Jacob was always eyeing them like they were some piece of meat. That he probably went home and jerked one out to his male classmates.

Jacob’s eyes didn’t linger though! Or at least he thought they didn’t, he didn’t know anymore. He knows certainly he never ‘jerked one out’ his male classmates.

When he did masturbate, it was always stories and pictures in the Cutterroom.com that got him off. Never to any person or gender in particular, just the situations. Jacob would like to think that if he had to picture someone, it was a woman. He didn’t know if that made it more messed up or not.

Jacob breaks himself from his thoughts and decides just to skip lunch, not caring that not eating was bad for his medication. He throws his lunch away and makes his way to the bathroom. His skin is overheating and he needs to splash some cold water on his face. He really doesn’t want to have another panic attack, and he can feel one creeping up the back of his throat.

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Miles spots him standing awkwardly in the middle of the lunchroom, desperately gripping his tray. He looks so lost, and his eyes are looking everywhere but at him. Miles watches him as he throws his lunch tray away and exits the lunchroom. Without a second thought, Miles is standing and following him out. His friends give him strange looks as he leaves without a word.

Miles finds him pretty quickly, hunched over the edge of the sink, water dripping down from his face. Jacob looks like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. He doesn’t notice that Miles has joined him in the thankfully empty bathroom.

Fuck, he didn’t think this through. What the hell is he supposed to do now? Jacob obviously hates him, which Miles didn’t even know was possible for someone to hate their soulmate. He doesn’t have to think about his next course of action for very long as Jacob looks up and makes eye contact with him, looking startled.

“Hey,” It’s lame but Miles doesn’t know what else to say. Jacob takes one look at Miles and then looks at the door. He can tell Jacob is gauging whether or not he can squeeze by Miles and make an escape. Miles moves so that he’s more in the way of the door and takes a step towards Jacob.

Jacob seems to subconsciously take a step back, his back hitting against the wall. “You liked my spiders,” Miles doesn’t know why he says it, just that he knows it's true. Jacob looks at him confused. He also looks like he wants to puke.

“You like my spiders,” Miles says again, taking another step towards Jacob, “I like the snakes you sometimes draw.”

Jacob remains silent, but at least now he’s looking Miles in the eyes, jaw clenched. “You can’t run away from me, okay?” It sounds like a threat, but Miles says it softly. God, Jacob looks so pretty, and Miles really wants to touch his cheek, see if his skin is as soft as it looks. His own soulmate all to himself.

Miles’s hand of its own accord starts to reach up to cradle Jacob’s face, and for a moment it looks like Jacob is going to let him. That is until Jacob brings his fist down across Mile’s already bruised face.

#jacob barber #Defending Jacob #miles fairchild #The Turning #andy barber #richie tozier #freddy freeman #Aiden Hall

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toziers · 5 years ago

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was talking to jane about the song ‘wonderful tonight’ by eric clapton and its inherent reddiecore, but especially the line:

"and the wonder of it all / is that you just don't realize how much i love you"

because the wonderful stupidity of these two boys specifically is that they both love each other SO much, big puppy-love crushes that eventually grow roots and run so deep richie can’t think about the word love without the word eddie, too. the idea that each of them has such a heart-on for the other, and the other half is so blissfully unaware in love that the reciprocation goes right over their stupid ass head. ike the fact richie and eddie have both been pining for years, looking at each other with the biggest adoring eyes every time they think the other isnt looking (or sometimes when they are because it’s hard to control a love like that) and yet the first time eddie blurts out "i love you, doofus" richies still shocked speechless (how ironic) and then when richie says "i love you too, eds" all soft and awestruck eddies still surprised enough that his mouth drops open a little with it like he cant believe it.

and stan is sitting a few feet away, not looking up from the video game he was supposed to be playing with richie (which stan didnt even want to be playing in the first place, but eddie had made some comment about his fingers hurting aka he’d lost every round against richie since they'd started an hour ago and richie had BEGGED stan to take a turn and now stans sitting there beating richie’s character senseless because the controller slipped out of richie’s hands about the same time eddie spit out his confession in response to richie’s teasing comment about how eddie could never keep his hands off him) and all stan says is "if you start making out i'm going home and never coming back"

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #stanley uris #me: roasts jane for creating fics in the tags #me immediately after: writes a mini fic in the dms #anyways wonderful tonight is one of my fav love songs of all time #and jane putting it in line with reddie sent me over the edge #im feral! i cant stop!#mp

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king-b0mbastic · 6 years ago

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Bitter (Part 1)

Richard Jane: @androidwithangerissues

Text from unknown number: Richard, it’s been so long. About ten years? Come over to the house. We need to talk.

Richard raised his head drowsily from the table, awakened by the notification from his phone. He sat up with a stretch and drank the coffee left on his table, grimacing at the cold taste. Fuck, he’d left it alone for too long. His quaintly coloured eyes slid over to his device, and Richard almost spat out his coffee in shock. Slamming the mug on the table, his hands couldn’t co-ordinate his movements properly as he struggled to type on a reply.

Text to unknown number: Elijah, there is nothing to talk about. We went our separate paths long ago.

Text from Elijah: Don’t be like that, Richie. We have lots to talk about, such as why we went our separate ways.

Text to Elijah: Don’t call me Richie.

Text from Elijah: I have your favourite whiskey.

Text to Elijah: …

Text to Elijah: I’ll see you at 8.

Somewhere, over at Belle Isle, a man dressed in a bathrobe smiled widely.

~*~

“Your coat, Mr Jane.”

“No, I can take care of it myself.” He clutched it closer, and the Chloe shrugged.

“Suit yourself. Elijah will meet you shortly in the dining room. Please, right this way.” Two lightly placed a hand on his shoulder, Richard shivering at the touch, and guided him to the other room. It was modern, and glasses were placed neatly next to two chairs. A deck of cards were piled neatly in the middle.

Richard took a seat, and began idly splitting the cards, preparing for a game of solitaire. A cough that demanded his attention made him look up. The man himself. Kamski was dressed in a kimono, black with red outlines. Eli sashayed his way onto the chair, and shot him a winning grin. Richard didn’t reciprocate. Undeterred by his response, the man of the century looked past his old friend and called into the room beyond.

“Four, can you please bring the whiskey?”

“Coming, Eli.” Her voice tinkled its way like a bell into the room, and she sauntered over to the table, pouring them each a glass. Eli took her face boldly and placed a fond smooch to her cheek.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Four chuckled gently and pressed an affectionate kiss to his forehead.

“No problem, Elijah. Have fun boys!” She called as she exited the room. The pair watched her go, then turned to each other. Awkward silence ensued.

“...I see you have formed good relations with your Chloes.” Eli nodded proudly.

“I love them, and they love me.” Richie raised an eyebrow, as if questioning this. Eli ignored him. “Of course, a couple of them have left. One and Five have departed to find their own lives. We still keep in touch.” Richie hummed in acknowledgement, and took a sip of the whiskey. Damn, it was good. Eli seemed to notice his pleasure on his face, because he smiled a little wider.

“How’s Corrin?”

“How would I know? Cyberlife took him off my hands before he even took his first step.” Richard sighed, and put the glass down. “He’s alright, he has a snake.” They sat in silence, shuffling the cards around. Tension arose from that silence, coiling around the pair tighter and tighter until one of them snapped.

“Alright, spill the beans, you hippie looking twink. Why the fuck did you actually bring me here?” Dick hissed. Elijah’s gaze turned cold, and his face became a sneer.

“You know exactly why, Richard.” Richard hissed again, and pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“I did it for your own good.”

“How the hell is getting me fired for my own good?!”

“You would have never been able to handle the mental stress!” Elijah let out a long scornful laugh.

“Is that your new excuse?” He sneered. “Truly creative, really, it is. I can add it to my wall of ‘Richie’s empty apologies.’ But I don’t really think I’m going to be able to find space.” The other man was seething in silence. “You’ve always been like this, Richard. Time after time, stealing my ideas. And every single time I forgave you, because I felt sorry for you.” At this, Richard tugged subconsciously on his sleeves, hiding his long purple tattoos of binary code. “But this? This went too far.” Eli’s voice cracked a little. “Did you actually ever care, or did you just get close to me to steal my ideas?”

Jane jumped up and slammed his hands on the table, jabbing an enraged finger into the other’s chest. “Don’t ever let those fucking words escape from your mouth again, got it? I cared for your sorry ass, since the day that I fucking met you. And I’m sorry. Sorry for getting you fired for the sake of my own sick need for power, and I’m sorry every fucking day. You hear me? I’m sorry. Say what you like about me, but never say that I didn’t care.” His emotional tirade left him breathless, so they stayed like that, silence except for Richard’s heavy panting.

Then Elijah’s face scrunched up, and he started sobbing. Richard couldn’t handle this, he couldn’t handle this at all. he shouldn’t have come here, he shouldn't have come here at all, fuckfuckfuckfuck-

He grabbed his coat and ran, bursting out the door without so much of a goodbye. The Chloes watched him go, making no move to stop him. Out of the corner of his eye, Richard could see Three heading to the kitchen. He collapsed into his car, pressing his head against the wheel. The horn blared in his ears in protest screaming at him to go back. He couldn’t, he just couldn't. The horn blared louder. Once his heart had stopped pounding in his chest, and breathes had slowed down, he looked back out the window. No-one there. Richie sighed, and pressed his glasses against his nose, driving off. He needs to drink this down.

~*~

Richard all but collapsed on his couch, and pressed his face between the cushions. He could work later, today was hectic. He had almost dozed off, when his phone vibrated again. Groaning, he fumbled around for it.

Text from Elijah: Hey.

He froze.

I don’t know if you’ve blocked me or not.

I’m sorry I said you didn’t care.

I know you do, you always have.

And I know you’re sorry.

I forgive you.

Next Saturday, come over? Maybe we can mend this? I’ll have cat videos ready.

Richard was still, he was still for a long time, before his fingers tapped haltingly a reply.

Text to Eli: Sure.

Text from Eli: :D

#owl picks up a pen #dbh #dbh elijah

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fabiolajyx · 2 years ago

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So, I will post a Gil video tomorrow for sure and I'll do my best to post my T-Birds video before thursday.

I still need to finish my Richie and Jane video but ugh, the episodes keep coming and it's getting hard to edit only from episode 1 to 4 when I know what happens and will have to edit 5, 6 and 7 later. But that's my problem, not yours 😂

I'm also writing like a little analysis of the boys and I started a fanfic (my very first one) 🫣

And I'm running the GREASEGIFS account so I need to make some gifs too.

God, why am I like this?! 😫

#Hi it's me I'm the problem it's me #But now you know what's coming #grease rise of the pink ladies #rise of the pink ladies #rotpl

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devilstrip · 7 years ago

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Do Will and Richie get along with each other's friends and which one from the other group do you think is their favorite one?

okay. yes. i love this ask.

[i wrote will’s as if he’d moved to derry, and richie’s as if he’d moved to hawkins. just because there are certain town-specific things mentioned.]

will + the losers

bill - will loves bill so much, okay? like, he loves all the losers. but he really loves bill. he’s such a soft and kind leader. and will knows what it’s like to get a little caught up in your own words. plus he’s an artist. he and bill bond over sketch books and techniques and will patiently listens as bill tells him stories about when he and richie were growing up. he never once makes it seem like bill’s stutter annoys him or, frankly, that he notices it at all. bill really appreciates that.

ben - oh my god, these boys totally bond over music. you can pry the “will byers has a secret love for boy bands” trope out of my cold, dead hands. every time they find a new song they think the other would like, you can bet your ass they’re on their way immediately. they make each other mixtapes and/or playlists (depending on when you want to imagine this is set) and play them loud at the quarry and scream along to the lyrics.

stan - stan likes will because will is a calming presence to be around. stan gave up on taking richie birdwatching with him years ago, but he takes will with him sometimes. they sit in the grass together and pass the binoculars back and forth. they barely talk— the only noises that are constant are the bird songs and will’s pencil scratching against the pages of his sketchbook as he draws whatever bird has caught his attention on that day. sometimes, if stan seems to really like one of his drawings, he pulls it out and gives it to him. stan has a whole collection at home.

eddie - WILL LOVES EDDIE. eddie is this little pent up ball of rage and excitement and sarcasm all at once, and will loves that. he’s never seen one person feel so many things so intensely before, and it’s just kind of wild to watch. plus, i think eddie would really love joyce. he knows what it’s like to have an overbearing mother, but joyce is the more healthy version of that. he probably spends a lot of time at the byers’ household, just hanging out with will and his mom (richie is almost always there too, of course).

mike - mike is probably will’s favorite of richie’s friends. he’s kind and smart and has a smile that could light up the whole world if the sun decided to take a day off. plus!!! he works on a farm!!! and he lets will come over and help out and draw the animals while he works which is so cool! will spends a whole summer at the hanlon farm, doing some chores and stuff, but mostly just getting up close with the animals and learning how to draw the finer details of them. and mike is just such a calming person to be around (sort of like will is for stan). he has such a commanding presence, but in such a kind and sweet way. if will is feeling stressed out, mike will take him on drives through town in his truck. they talk a little, but only if will wants to. and when they pass by certain derry landmarks, mike will point things out and tell will the history of them.

beverly - will and bev initially bond over the fact that they’re richie’s two favorite people in the world. the best friend and the boyfriend. it’s only natural they’d become friends. but will, my sweet baby will, wants their friendship to be more than that! so he invites her over one night and they drink and hang out and soon they’re bonding over their own respective daddy issues (sorry guys, i know it’s cliche but trust me it’s what happens). they can’t exactly relate to each other’s situations, but they both just kind of like to bitch about their dads and have the other’s support. plus!! bev is really into fashion! she likes to design clothes, but she can’t always portray what she wants through her own drawings. will gets really good at interpreting whatever it is bev is seeing in her head and getting it down on paper. and bev always throws an arm around him and is like, “yes, will! that’s exactly what i meant!”

richie + the party

mike - okay let it be universally known that i am never writing mike and richie as related unless i specifically say so. that being said, there’s of course going to be some weird rivalry between these boys at first because will is mike’s best friend and now he’s dating someone who a) looks just like mike and b) is kind of a dick. so mike is all pissed that will is spending all his time with richie now. cliche, i know, but mike wheeler is a goddamn cliche. but after a while, richie is determined to find something for them to bond over, just for will’s benefit. mike is planning a new campaign and richie offers to help and you know mike is like oh my god no this is my thing stay away, but richie actually has some good ideas!! so it all works out! plus, when richie says something about being bisexual, mike is like oh my gOD SO THAT’S WHAT I AM.

dustin - there’s not a lot to say here simply because these kids would be best friends, pleASE. they’re so similar in so many ways. they’re always cracking dumb jokes at each other, and high-fiving when it’s a “really good one.” plus you know richie helps dustin get ALL the girls (and/or guys). richie is literally The Best wingman. when they get together, they just end up annoying the fuck out of everyone, and they love it.

lucas - richie and lucas bond over video games, pure and simple. they play at the arcade and at each other’s houses. they’re so fucking competitive and constantly try to kick the other’s ass. they’re constantly betting dumb shit like richie’s last pencil or one of the comics lucas doesn’t give a shit about. and richie LOVES lucas’s parents. they always invite him to stay for dinner, and richie and erica will banter back and forth across the table. richie always wanted a sister, so he enjoys spending time at the sinclair house.

jane/el - richie is so goddamn patient with el. it’s insane. like, even at points when the others start to get a little frustrated, richie is always right there to keep explaining or to listen. he constantly teaches her new phrases (both good and bad), and smiles like a proud mom whenever she uses them correctly in casual conversations. and el likes richie because he never ever seems to misunderstand anything she says, even if she sort of fucks it up. and also because he looks like mike, whom she trusts more than anyone else in the world. so it’s nice for her to have a comforting face.

max - okay max is definitely richie’s favorite. like??? a badass redhead skateboarding chick? sign him the fuck UP. first of all, just like mike, richie loves badass women. that’s his favorite kind. plus she reminds him of bev whom he misses very dearly! and richie can’t skate for shit, so he enlists her help in learning. he continues to be terrible but, with her guidance, starts to get at least slightly better. he falls a lot and max takes him home and tells will all about his epic face plants while will sort of patches richie up as best he can. oh yeah, and richie and max definitely love to get high together and dream up dumb stories about monsters and demons and the like.

feel free to send requests here!

#hannah answers #ryers #richie tozier #will byers #stranger things #it 2017 #mike wheeler #max mayfield #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #jane hopper #eleven #mike hanlon #eddie kaspbrak #bill denbrough #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #stanley uris #devilstrip

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urdearestmom · 7 years ago

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Airport Ballrooms | A Delayed Flight

so I don’t think I ever posted this there, and it reminded me that I need to post the rest of the chapters of LSS. but for those of you who haven’t come here from my ao3, here’s a little something I wrote back in January.

Summary: What happens when you hear a piano at 3 am?

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332432

She hears it before she sees anything. Right as she exits the washroom, a song’s beginning is heard from a piano. As it proceeds, she finds that it’s vaguely familiar.

Coming into the open area where she’s been sitting and trying to nap for the past three hours, she sees that the formerly vacant piano is now occupied by a man whose fingers are gliding across the keys, his dark hair slipping over his brow. He looks like he might be about her age, although she’s not sure.

He’s very concentrated on his playing, so he doesn’t notice when she stands off to his left, watching. He ends the piece softly and when he looks up, he sees her and jumps, putting a hand to his chest.

“Jesus Christ! …almost gave me a heart attack there,” he laughs.

She smiles. “Sorry. That was really nice,” she says, gesturing to the keys. “What was it?”

He shrugs. “Just some good old Chopin.”

She nods. “Sounds familiar.”

“Did you recognize it?” He asks. “It’s one of his most famous pieces.”

“Yeah, kinda sounded like a lullaby or something.” She scrunches her nose. “Never mind.”

He hums. “No, I get what you mean, it has that quality to it,” he says, getting up and pushing the bench in. “What’s your name?”

For some reason, it’s at that moment that she notices he has freckles, although not many. “Jane Hopper, but I go by El. I like your freckles,” she unashamedly comments, then cringes. Fuck.

They start moving toward the seats where she left her luggage, and she sees that there are a few more bags nearby that must be his.

“Really?” He answers. “I used to have a lot more when I was younger, it’s kind of a side effect of aging that you lose freckles.”

“They’re cute.” She looks at her feet. Again? Seriously?

“Alright,” he chuckles. “If you say so, El.”

It’s then she remembers she hasn’t asked his name.

“Michael Wheeler, but no one except my parents call me Michael. Mike’s easier,” he says, tilting his head. “Were you on that flight to Indianapolis? I think it’s the only one that got delayed this late.”

She sits back where she’s been this entire time, and he sits next to her. They’ve just met, but it’s nice not to have to sit in an empty airport terminal at three in the morning by herself, chasing sleep she knows she’s not going to find. “Yeah, I’m going home. I was in Vegas at a speech pathology conference."

Mike grins. “Vegas, huh? What’s it like, hit up any casinos?”

El lays her head back. “I was there for work, so no. I guess I could have, some of my coworkers did, but casinos aren’t really my scene. Too loud,” she responds. “My friend Dustin definitely did, he’s still there,” she adds with a smile.

“He sounds like fun.”

“Definitely is, though sometimes he can be a bit of a handful,” she laughs. “How about you? Going home too?”

Mike nods. “Yup. I was in LA visiting my cousin, but also working. I’m a piano teacher,” he says, wiggling his fingers. “And there’s been a new initiative here in the States, to get some sort of standardized way of teaching, like the Royal Conservatory in Canada. So there’s been collaboration happening, stuff might be in the works.”

She turns to look at him, taking in the excited way he says this. “You seem really happy about that,” she remarks.

He nods again excitedly, his mop of hair flopping over his eyes. “Absolutely! It would make things easier if every teacher across the country had a certain level of things to teach students. Be easier for students too, especially if they ever have to switch teachers.” Suddenly he blows air upwards. “I need to cut this shit,” Mike says, gesturing to the dark locks surrounding his face.

El contemplates him for a second, taking in how he looks. “Nah, it looks good with your face.” GOD, EL! Stop being so forward, you just met him! “I think so, at least, if my opinion counts for anything,” she says, suddenly shy.

It’s weird, she thinks, that she just met this guy less than ten minutes ago and they’re already talking so easily.

He smiles. “It does,” he says, taking out his phone. He shows her what’s clearly a selfie, but it looks like there’s two of him. “That’s my cousin.” Mike points at the one who’s wearing a Guns N’ Roses shirt. “And this is me.” He’s wearing a simple striped t-shirt.

She looks more closely at the picture, trying to find some difference between them. “You guys look like twins!” She exclaims.

“We could be, if he wasn’t five years younger. We get that a lot though,” he answers. “I think you’re going to agree with me on this.” He continues. “He says he’s more attractive, but I say we look the same and therefore have the same appeal. What do you think? As an outside party.”

El looks at it again, and finds that she disagrees with Mike. “I think you’re cuter. Something about you,” she replies.

She looks up to find that a lovely pink blush is spreading across his cheeks. “Something I said?” She winks. Oh my god you fucking idiot. She suddenly feels crushed by the weight of her mortification.

He makes a strangled noise, and the hour and her tired brain must be getting to her, because somehow she finds it the funniest sound she’s ever heard. It’s also a little comforting that he doesn’t seem completely put off.

“Damn, that was smooth!” He says, starting to laugh too. “I gotta tell him you said that.”

“Isn’t he sleeping by now?”

He shakes his head. “No, he says sleep is for the weak. And it’s only two in Cali, and it’s the weekend.”

She reads over his shoulder as he types.

Cute girl said I’m cuter than you LOL

Suck on THAT tozier

“You think I’m cute?”

Mike blushes again. “Yeah, pretty. Really pretty,” he says softly. He gets a text almost instantly.

I dont believe u wheelie

U probably paid her or smth

Also, suck on what ;)

Actually nvm thats incest its just my reflex response

Mike looks at her. “Is it okay if we make a video and send it to him so he believes me?”

She shrugs. “We’ve still got at least four hours to kill, so why not?”

He pulls up the camera and starts recording. “Fine, you don’t believe me, here she is herself,” he says, turning the camera on her.

She waves awkwardly. “Hey… um, what’s his name?” Cringe.

“Richie.”

“Hey, Richie, just a little video to say that in my opinion your cousin’s cuter than you. And no, he didn’t pay me to say that,” she states, glancing off camera with a small smile.

Mike turns the camera back to him. “There you go, asshole. Video proof.”

He sends it, and they wait a minute in anticipatory silence before Mike’s phone vibrates with another text.

Lmao that doesnt convince me

She is cute tho ill give u that

Mike heaves an over-exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. You’re a dick, he types, go to sleep I’ll text when I get home.

SLEEP IS FOR THE WEAK, MICHAEL.

GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP, RICHARD. YOU HAVE WORK TOMORROW.

FUCK WORK

Mike stares at his phone for a second before turning it off. “If I keep talking to him then he’ll never actually go to sleep.”

El smiles at him. “He seems like a fun person.”

“Oh, he’s an absolute dick. But I love him,” Mike says, shaking his head again. “We weren’t really close as kids but then he moved nearby and we talked more, except then I went to college. He’s closer with my little sister.”

She nods. “Do you have any siblings?” He asks.

“Nope. Just me and my dad.”

“That’s nice. Sometimes I wish there had been less people in my house, would’ve meant less embarrassment in certain situations,” he says. “I have two sisters, one older, one younger.”

“I wish I’d had a sister growing up, would’ve made things easier sometimes,” she answers. “Can you even imagine how awkward my dad was the first time I got my period?”

He doesn’t say anything for a second, and she thinks maybe she shouldn’t have said that. OH MY FUCK.

“Sorry, that was awkward,” she laughs. WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK.

“No, it’s fine, just unexpected is all,” he says. “I mean, we’ve only known each other for like fifteen minutes.”

They look at each other, the same thought going through their minds. “This is weird,” they say together, and then they start giggling.

“I just-” He takes a breath. “Do you feel like you know me from somewhere? Because I feel like I know you but I don’t think I’ve ever met you before.”

It’s what she’s been thinking. She feels a sort of familiarity with him, something she’s never felt so quickly with anyone else. It’s like she’s known him for a long time, or maybe in another life or universe.

She grins. “Isn’t there a multiverse theory?”

After spending an hour discussing parallel universes and the physics involved in understanding any of it (which they both have enough of a basic grasp on because of watching too much History Channel), Mike is sitting at the piano again, El having asked him to play something else. She doesn’t recognize the beginning, but as it progresses she realizes she does know it. It gets her moving, and she doesn’t really know what she’s doing, but she’s circling the piano and the man playing it in a way that somehow fits with the music. She even sings along with the main melody and the trills.

She feels like he’s transforming the place into a gigantic ballroom with his music, and she’s the princess dancing with her prince (except there’s no prince to dance with, because he’s too busy making the music). It’s a stupid thing to think, but she never had dolls or was allowed to watch princess movies or read fairytales when she was a kid, and she feels like she missed out. Hopper let her watch movies and read, but it wasn’t the same as a teen as it would’ve been as a kid. And maybe it’s just a dumb fantasy, a creation of her mind because she’s tired and suddenly thinking about her horrifying childhood, but she thinks the imaginary ballroom that only has her and Mike in it is a wonderful place to be.

He ends the piece with a theatrical flourish, throwing his hands up off the keys as soon as the last notes are played. “How was that? You were dancing!”

A laugh escapes her lips as she claps. “It was amazing! I knew that one, it’s from the Nutcracker, right?”

Mike nods vigorously. “Gotta love me some Tchaikovsky.”

“Is that why it’s so dancey? Because it’s for a ballet?” She asks, curious.

“No, it’s because it’s a waltz,” he answers, stretching his arms up above his head. His sweater rides up to reveal a sliver of pale skin, and she finds herself staring without being able to tear her eyes away. “Waltzes are inherently dancey, I think. At least that’s what I always tell my students who play them, it helps them really hear the tempo and accents if they try to see the dancers.”

She averts her gaze, and he’s still talking. “You know, ‘cause waltzes have the accent on count one, so it goes one-two-three, and sometimes when you’re caught up in playing you forget about it so it’s good to try and envision the dancing. The music was written for dancing after all,” he finishes. “El? Sorry, was I rambling, because I have a tendency to-”

“No,” she breathes. “You’re just really attractive. The piano suits you.” She almost face palms. WHY am I like this????

That shuts him up, a redness spreading across his face once again (but this time along with a wide grin). He might just combust if he looks at her, so he looks at his hands instead.

“Sorry,” she says, worried she’s crossed a line she wasn’t supposed to yet.

Mike’s head whips up. “Sorry? What are you sorry for?”

“I’m too forward. It almost always ruins things with guys.” She deflates almost imperceptibly, and she wonders if he noticed.

Apparently he did, because El feels herself pulled into a sideways hug, tugged down to sit on the bench next to him. “Hey,” he says softly. “You’re just saying what you think is true, which is a great quality to have. You saved me from my own rambling, so thanks.” He gives her a squeeze and adds, “It hasn’t ruined things with me.”

Suddenly the air is charged and she thinks that if they weren’t in an airport she might have kissed him then. Sadly, they are in an airport. Instead, she requests that he play something more contemporary than Chopin or Tchaikovsky, and he starts up with a rendition of Halo by Beyoncé.

They spend another hour around the piano, him playing more and she observing. El thinks he plays with a lot of grace, his fingers moving deftly across the keys almost as though he’s stroking the instrument. He looks like he belongs in front of a piano, making beautiful music for all the world to hear. In this case the world is a strange woman in an airport at the asscrack of dawn.

It’s five in the morning when the pair crashes back onto the seats next to their bags, and they lean their heads on each other and fall asleep. However, it seems things are only in increments of one hour on this night, because it’s six when El awakes with a start, knocking Mike’s head off of hers.

“Attention passengers: flight 337 to Indianapolis International is now scheduled for take-off at eight thirty. Boarding will begin at gate twenty-three one hour in advance.”

“Hey,” she says, seeing Mike next to her looking disoriented. “Flight’s at eight thirty but we gotta be there at seven thirty, do you wanna get some breakfast?”

Looking around, she sees that the open area that was so empty during the night now has other people milling through it, and it shatters the warm space she’d felt she and Mike were in. It’s time to go back to the real world, away from the fantasies of ballrooms and princes and dancing. The magic of the night has been erased by the movement of the morning and she hopes what she thinks she felt between them hasn’t been erased too.

He yawns. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she says, getting up to stretch and grabbing her bags.

They walk around the slowly filling terminal, looking for a place to eat, and light upon a cute coffee place in the food court. They order and eat in silence, avoiding looking at each other, until he speaks.

“Does last night… feel like it was a dream, to you?” Mike asks.

I thought that was just me. She takes a sip of her black coffee. “It kind of does, yeah. This entire encounter has been weird.”

He looks down at his croissant, crinkling his nose, then peeks back at her through his lashes. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

He says nothing else, and neither does she, so they head off to gate twenty three, and she thinks something’s wrong because he wasn’t this quiet or awkward last night. The tension is palpable, but she’s never been very good at social interactions and she doesn’t know what to say. He probably realized how dumb I am. She thinks she may have come across as very brazen (which she is, but she hates it for how it ruins everything all the time). Mike hadn’t seemed bothered by her earlier, and she had hoped that something good might have come out of their chance meeting.

It seems it was not to be, however, because the only thing he does as they board the plane is wave and give a little half smile when he finds his seat. El sighs and settles in for the hour and a half flight. She’s decided she’s going to try to catch up on the sleep she missed instead of sitting in abject misery, and it works because she’s blinking confusedly when a flight attendant wakes her to say that they will be landing in approximately forty minutes.

She’s excited to be back home, to work, her patients, her dad and Max. But she’s also the teeniest bit sad because she wants to explore that special connection she feels with Mike, to see what it means and what it’s about and she believes she’s ruined her chances (okay, so maybe she’s more than a teeny bit sad). She’s convinced herself that nothing was ever going to happen, she had imagined the unexplainable thing she felt between them.

She makes it through baggage claim and isn’t sent to customs, so El’s on her way out of the terminal to catch a taxi because both Max and Hopper are working today when something does happen. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a person running out of the passenger exit, and she thinks that they must have seen a loved one they missed.

That is, until she hears the shout. “El!”

It’s Mike of course, and he comes to a skidding halt in front of her, breathless. “I just- ran- all the way here- because- I’m a dumbass-”

“Whoa, hey, breathe,” she says, “I don’t need you dying on me in the middle of the airport.”

He nods and waits until his breathing levels out before straightening up. “I wanted to apologize for being so stupid and awkward this morning, I don’t know what got into me.” He swallows before looking at her directly. “I really want to see you again, so… do you wanna go out sometime?”

WHAT! She doesn’t respond for a few moments, shocked. But then she grins and says, “Are you asking me on a date?”

He sucks in a breath, about to shake his head, she can tell, but then he stops. “You know what, fuck it. Yes, I am.”

“Well, I’d certainly like that.”

El leaves the airport with Mike’s number in her phone, and she’s only been in the taxi for a few minutes when it pings with a text.

Can you do tonight at 7?

He’s eager, and she likes that she’s not the only one. It assures her she’s not being some creepy, obsessive, stalker.

Someone’s eager lol

But yes

Where?

I was supposed to go to a “friend’s” party tonight but I never actually said yes and I really don’t want to haha

Kinda cheesy but I was thinking a roller rink if you want to go

There’s one near my place and it has an arcade too!!

Growing up in the 90s, El remembers being fond of arcades. She and Max used to hang out in them all the time. Another thing in common!

Aaaaaa the arcade I miss those

Sounds good, pick me up or meet you there?

I can pick you up lol I don’t mind

She sends him her address, and he sends back a GIF of a penguin dancing.

See you later :D

(part 2)

#it's the shakira penguin gif #airport ballrooms #mileven #mileven fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #mike wheeler #eleven #au #alternate universe #urdearestmom

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rayroa · 5 years ago

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Q&A with Tampa punk songwriter Dave Decker

Photo by Marlo Miller.

In its August 8, 2019 issue, Creative Loafing Tampa profiled Big Sad, a new project featuring three Tampa Bay punk scene staples. In an effort to save some time, I’ll be omitting full Q&A’s from any feature interviews that appear on cltampa.com/music. If you’d still like to read our chat with Decker for research, I have posted it, not completely polished up, below.

Forgive me for not knowing, but you're born in Miami and then ended up in Gainesville and Tampa Bay? How does that journey happen? Like, how do you get from Miami? Is there a town in between there? Did you live in Orlando for a little bit?

No, yeah. I was born in Miami, and lived there till I was like around eight or nine. That's when we came to Tampa. I'm, like, fourth generation. In 1910 my granddad was on this river, it was called Palm River down by Tampa Bypass Canal, so we had land and stuff here. My mother was a working single mom and she came up here to be on in this area because my grandparents were here too. They helped out, you know, it's hard to raise a kid on your own. So they were around and stuff growing up in Tampa.

So I grew up in Tampa until I was 17 or 18. I grew up skating, listening to music, going to shows, hanging out and stuff and then I moved to Gainesville in, like, '89 or '90. I was there until, I want to say, like, '94. Then we basically came back to Tampa; I'm giving you like the short version.

We lived in Gainesville for four years. We were always into the music since we were like 13 or 14; you know, punk rock music, rap music and shit. Gainesville was just exploding. At that time, that band Radon was getting big. The Hardback was where people would go for shows, and all these bands were happening. Thee Gainesville bands like Smoke and Radon. Hot Water Music and Less Than Jake weren't even bands yet. They weren't even bands until like around maybe '91 or '92. Then those guys moved up and we were all neighbors; I played with Less than Jake for one practice. I love those guys, they're totally good friends, they're nice guys, but I was I was playing Fugazi, Jawbreaker, all that Dischord shit, New York hardcore shit, L.A. punk shit, Berkley stuff. We shared a band room, and those guys, of course, became who they were. So we did bands, and No Idea was the label that put band stuff out around that time, '94; No Idea kept going until a couple years ago. I think they folded or had some stuff happen.

So we moved back to Tampa, like, in '94: Richie, Don and myself. We kept our bands going and still toured. So it's funny that we're actually talking about this because last night I went over to Richie's to work on new Big Sad song. I've played, pretty much, in every band with him. So from 1990, we were in bands together. When I was a kid, he was like one of the older kids that would run around and you know, be in crazy bands and stuff. Anyway, we were watching these old videos of Clairmel tours on old VHS tapes from, God, that's gotta be damn near 30 years ago now. Videos of shit; just us with other bands touring with no money, drinking, smoking... being in bars. You realize how immature you are.

So we got back to Tampa around '94 or 95 and then pretty much lived in Tampa until now. I owned a business; we all just kind of came here to live. Those guys got married, but we all lived that 9-to-five, but always played in bands. We were always drinking and stuff.

I always noticed that when I would drink, it was weird, because those guys would all drink and just have fun. I would drink to numb the shit. I was like, "I like drinking because I get numb." They were like, "Well, we like drinking because we have fun." Like, "What's wrong with you, dude?"

I was in Tampa pretty much the whole time. I went out to San Diego for like a month eight years ago, but I didn't stay there. I never lived in Orlando; I just robbed a bank in Orlando. I figured it was a better place to rob a bank versus Tampa. I was so stupid. I was like, "If I rob a bank in Orlando, then nobody will find me," and then four days later. I mean, for five days I was on the run. I mean, I remember being in the car and driving away with fucking cop cars right behind me and being like, "Aw fuck, I guess I'm gonna get out of town." I had a bunch of money full of fucking red dye because the dye pack blew up. Money was going everywhere; the shit burns you. It's crazy.

In a rental car, I drove back to Tampa. I hid out out and four or five days later, I'm looking at a cell phone, and I'm like, "Oh, shit." I saw my picture. I Googled my name, and I saw my picture, "Wanted," in circulation on, like, 25 or 30 national newspapers. Chicago Sun-Times, I remember looking at that website, and I'm on the run for fucking four days, but there's my picture. I'm like, "Oh, shit." So I look at another one. The L.A. Times, whatever, there's my picture. It's everywhere. I guess Reuters or some news agency probably got it. That was fucking nuts.

Wow. And I was going to ask you this later. But my assumption is that you're addicted to photography now. But what were you addicted to? That led you to steal cars and rob that bank?

I guess I would say like my drug of choice was probably alcohol; it was my go-to thing you know? Ultimately, whatever drug you're doing; you're just trying to mask a symptom, right? You're just trying, you're just trying to feed this other thing.

They say, "You don't have a drinking problem. You have a thinking problem." The core problem is, "What are you thinking about and why are you thinking about it?" Because all your thoughts are going to translate into beliefs, and your beliefs are going to drive your actions, and your actions are going to drive whatever consequences are the result of those actions.

And they can be positive consequences, you know. It all starts with your thought process; now I understand that. I was always trying to bury my feelings with, you know, booze and stuff. I went through like two years where I got into heavier drugs. I used to experiment with, like, cocaine and stuff. At that point, I was trying to sell cocaine and hustle to stay high. I think I was doing meth. That shit's crazy; you see how people can get so addicted to it.

What's weird about it is that we used to eat a lot of Adderall and drink, but you think about it... they give that shit to kids, but Adderall is an amphetamine. I mean, it's fucking meth, and that's what we're feeding these kids with ADD. Kind of how you feel on Adderall is how you feel on meth, to be honest. It's energy. I was always addicted, honestly, dude, I was always looking for energy.

It seems weird because you have it now in spades.

Here's the fucked up thing. I remember being a kid, 13 to 17, and all you did was skateboard and go to shows. We'd stay out all night skating. I'll go to Ybor for an hour now since I am so into photography right now, learning how to find a narrative or frame a shot with a photo. What I was gonna say is that I'll be walking through Ybor, and I see La Tropicana, and we used to skate those fucking curbs in '87 and '88; we were doing slappys, and feeble grinds, shit like that. I remember being like, 15 years old and skating those Tropicana curbs while Nirvana was playing at the old Masquerade across the street. I had that record, it was called 'Bleach,' I had it and I couldn't even get in because I was a little kid. I remember standing outside listening to him play, I think it was "Floyd, the Barber," one of those songs. Then Jane's Addiction the next week, that Nothing's Shocking record had just come out.

You'd sneak into shows if you could; I remember seeing Jawbreaker at the Volley Club. I was maybe, like 15 or 16; we all snuck into kitchen and watched Jawbreaker. That shit was like a high, it was like being high. We were almost like straight edge kids, I remember being around people that were drinking. They were kind of our friends; there were so many different types of people in the scene. You did an interview with Edwin; he was always around. He was a guy that I totally looked up to. He had this band called Awake. There were these other guys in this band called Slap Of Reality. The people O idolized were people like Edwin. And like, you know, this guy, Trevor Slimser, who actually does Noisey now. Richie, my bandmate, I looked up to him. It was so cool, because there was always shit happening, so I never really felt like drinking. I never understood drinking cause I was always fucking running around being crazy and creative.

So it's funny. I remember my lowest of lows, getting arrested and being like, "Fuck, this is the best thing that can happen to me because I'm gonna die out here." My game plan was rob the bank, fucking out of fucking money and then kill myself. I had a little .380 sitting there; I'm looking at a gun and I'm like, "Fuck, man. I don't really want to kill myself, but now I'm probably going prison for 10 years. And I'm like, "Shit. I don't know what to do. I don't want to pull that trigger. It doesn't seem like a good idea." I was like, "Fuck, they're just gonna have to catch me, I guess. So until they catch me I'm just going to fucking ride out."

They eventually caught me; I remember being in the lowest of lows and thinking "This is the day that it's all gonna change." I was like, "I don't know what's going to happen, I don't know how long I'm going to be locked up for, but I'm going to take full responsibility for everything from here on out. I don't give a fuck. I'm alive right now, and I don't know why."

I don't believe in predestiny. I don't believe in God and all that shit, but I just think shit happened. So I was like, "I am a control what happens to me for the rest of my life. I'm gonna own up to everything I fucked up." I never touched a drink or anything since. It's been a wild ride from there to here. But now it's it's cool, man.

I think you were arrested like, the middle of January 2014. Did you rob that bank before the New Year, like, before Christmas and stuff?

No, I had robbed the bank. I think I think on January 6.

To take a step back, you were talking about Edwin and stuff, but I think that Richie was also somebody that you looked up to a lot, and that was wondering, like, what were some of the cultural movements, that he was involved in, the music he was involved with that spoke to you?

We were all kind of involved in like the same things. He was like an older dude, if I could nail down scenes, he was into the Berkeley scene with all like, the Lookout bands. There was the D.C. scene with all the Dischord bands. There. The L.A. scene with all the SxE bands and stuff. I'm probably missing a lot here. There was the old English scene, bands like The Oppressed, The Business, The Jam. He turned me on to stuff like that. Then there were bands like, like Dinosaur Jr., the Flaming Lips, all the New York hardcore stuff. He was a dude that was into all that shit. And I could go like, hang out with them, smoke weed and listen to records. I remember listening to old Flaming Lips records, and thinking, "Holy shit," some people called that stuff post-punk. That stuff is so rad.

Cultural movement-wise, there was "punk music," if you want to call it that. It's really just about resistance. I remember being a kid skateboarding; there was no X-Games. You'd be skating and people would try to beat your ass in the street for it. They'd call you names and stuff. I remember in the punk scene there'd be people trying to fight you. There was so much violence back then. There's not violence now like there was then. Richie was the kind of guy who would stand up for himself and stand up for you. I remember skating downtown with one of my best friends who was this African-American guy named Alfred. We were skating downtown one night, skating curbs outside of what used to be called 911.

On Franklin.

Yeah, yeah, on Franklin. I was a kid, 16 or 17, but I was friends with all the older dudes because of skating and punk rock. This dude, a crazy racist, a gnarly dude comes out and he starts calling my friend the N-word. I was like, "Fuck this dude," but he was big. And Rich comes out, and he's like, "Yo, is there a fucking problem?" He totally pulls a Patrick Swayze, man. He took care of that dude, without getting into details. He stood up for us. We were young.

He knew how to defend himself. He was always doing things for the right reasons. So in that sense, I always admired him. "This is a fucking cool dude, a good guy with good morals." There were a lot of good people around the scene back, and I hate that word "skinhead," but there was a lot of that back then, too. There was a lot of violence.

I know that there's been evolutions of the Big Sad sound, especially with Frank getting synthesizers, but I think of a song like "Hazard," which just grabs you on first listen and subsequent listens, but what bands influence the Big Sad sound?

I'm inspired by a lot of stuff. The top of my triangle of guitar, the people I admire, I guess, would be J. Mascis, Ian MacKaye and my buddy, actually, my buddy Dave who was in a band called Radon. He's a phenomenal guitar player and songwriter. I'm always trying to channel the energy of old Dinosaur. The first three dinosaur records come to my mind. All of the Fugazi stuff. The D.C. stuff always moved me so much. Honestly, there's a band that always really inspired me, a San Francisco band called Fuel, but not that Fuel you always hear about. They were pushing LGBT issues back in the early '90s; their singer was trans. They were badass; they had a record out on Lookout, I think.

How many hours do you think you put in with Frank at Atomic for the six songs on the EP?

Maybe 12 recording. And then he mixed for another seven or eight and played synth on it.

I will say this when you ask about what's influencing the sound. It's kind of influenced by so much right. Every time I go out and every time I go out and I see a local band, I'm excited. I get influenced by just the shift that happens around here. Like I went to that Clang! show, and it's crazy because there's like there was another show happening at the same time that I wanted to be it. It's been happening a lot lately. It makes me happy that there is so much cool shit out there. But I'm influenced a lot by what I see locally, but a band that I really dig is that band Idles. That band is so good.

Yeah, that record’s like a cup of coffee for me.

Yeah, right? It'll get you going, man. Especially if you're dealing with bullshit.

How do you know when a song is starting to grow legs and needs to walk somewhere? What does that feel like for you?

That's a great question. Songwriters all have their process, but for some there is more than one process, right?

There's so there's the process of when I hear something interesting, I write it down and make a note. If I hear opposing ideas in one phrase, or a metaphor, something that moves me or makes me think in a different way, I write it down. We're always searching for the perfect metaphor, but then it's how do we put these metaphors together in prose, in rhythm, and make it work in time? Where do we create melody for that rhythm.

Hopefully, all that's going to happen on accident. In a perfect world that just kind of like, falls out of the sky, and then rains down and fertilizes the roots of what we're trying to create and call a song. When it grows, legs, I feel like it's when we're moving through a part... a lot of times, it's like me just playing and finding notes I like. Turn that into a footpath or something I can tap my foot to. Then I can bring those notes into a timing or a frame. Now I have that melody. Sometimes I hear the music first. And then I'm driving and I've got these lyrics. And I'm kind of humming words, and it kind of falls in. And I'm like, "Oh, cool." Other times, it's like, I'm driving down the road. And maybe something’s rolling through my head; it can be just random thing. So you grab your phone, and then you know, you sing a little melody, and then you know where you're at. Then you put chords to it, and it happens like that.

Whether you do it with vocals-first-music-second or music-first-vocals-second, I feel like it grows legs whenever I wake up the next day and that idea is pulsing through my mind. That's when I sit down, grab the guitar, start singing it and playing it. usually I'll demo it; now it's kind of grown legs, and I'm like, "Let me talk to Richie," or "Let me talk to Shawn."

Like last night, I'm with Richie. We're watching old videos and working on songs, then this morning he's got these ideas. I think it grows legs when I'm not trying to hear it. When I'm in another state of mind, or another state of consciousness, and that song follows me. And that melody follows me. It's in my head. That's when I know that something that I'm going to want to, you know, turn it into something more substantive. It's now following me. It grew legs and stayed in my mind.

You could easily use the same chords 100 times and write a record, but is it compelling? So for us, we're taking longer to write song only because we want these ideas to marinate and cultivate. That's what's so cool about working with Shawn Watkins and working with Richie; they're both songwriters. Sean's a classically trained musician, and he played xylophone. He's a classically-trained vibraphone player, and it's so rad because I'll be working on something or I'll be singing something, and he'll go, "Hey, can you pull the fifth of that?" I'll be like, "Yeah, let me try it." I never heard the drummer fucking tell me to pull the interval of a major scale and sing it. That's pretty cool. Then Rich, if I got this chord progression, he'll be like, "No, I don't want to play it like that. I'm going to do this." He'll just play some total counter rhythm melody to it. It's cool. If you leave it to me, I'll write some one-dimensional song.

You mentioned that it does feel like four equal parts. I think you just answered it, but Sean obviously is very instrumental in helping form the Big Sad songs, even before Richie got there. And I think you just explained what Richie does when he gets to the songs, but as far as the Big Sad songs that are going to be on this EP, how different are they from the songs that you demoed and wrote, the ones that grew legs and followed you?

You mean, like these songs from like, from the point that I demo them to the point where they're at now?

Yeah.

Oh, wow. That's a that's a great question, too, because the three of the songs are songs that I pretty much had written. They're very different because when I write it's kind of a simple thing. They're kind of like one dimensional, in the sense that I'm not really writing a lot of bass parts. When demo them I just kind of write a base on the traces it. Sometimes they'll have a bass idea, but for the most part, I'll just start playing with Shawn and then Richie will take the idea.

I might write a weird arrangement, and Richie may be like, "I'm not feeling that," or Shawn will actually stop and work on a pre-chorus. There'll be all these layers and textures to it, rhythmically, so yeah they come out super different. In the old days, I used to get upset about shit like that; 15, 20 years ago I'd be like, "No, I want the song to be written my way." But then you realize, "You know what, I don't have to always be right. And I don't always have to have the answers to everything." That's kind of how I learned to live life. I don't need to always be right, and I don't need to always pretend to have the answers."

The irony of that, or the paradox, I don't know how to say it, is that in in understanding that I don't know everything about how I want the song to be, it ends up being a better song. When I approach a challenge in life on a daily level, I can look at it and go, "OK, this is what I know about the situation. This is what I don't know, and this is when I ask for help." And that really is cool.

Yeah, they come out really different. And that's what was rad about Frank coming in. I'm excited to keep writing and doing all this new stuff. There are spaces. I'm just one guitar player even though I am playing two amps, but there's space in there now. The idea was, "We could get another guitar player," but we've done that. What we've never done was filled in that space with like sensing something as you know, melodic and harmonic like a keyboard can produce. He does it on three songs on that EP, and I was like, "Dude, you should do it to all of 'em," but he's like, "Nah, it's fine." It creates this whole new level, a whole new thing. I'm super stoked. I hear these final mixes, and I can't believe that I'm playing in a band that has all these different sounds.

I get that your daughter drew up a logo for you, but what was that conversation Richie had with his 19-year-old daughter to lead to the name “Big Sad”?

We were going to call the band Send Help because Sean has this painter friend up north. He calls his art "Send Help," and he paints this really cool stuff. In fact, I think we're going to call the EP Send Help, and we're going to use this painting of his; it's a crazy fucking flamingo, a fucked up looked flamingo. Then we go on Spotify and Google and there are all these "Send Help"s , so we're like, "I guess we can't do that." So we're trying to figure it out. And I had this idea that I can call it Rekced Division because I did that record called Rekced, but I didn't want to make it all about me. And so we were struggling on a name and Richie's talking to his daughter, and she's really creative, they were having this conversation about Pete Shelly dying at 63 years old, and she said, "Oh that's Big Sad." He called me up and he goes, "I got a name for this band." I was like, "What do you want to call it?" He goes, "We're calling it Big Sad." I was like, "That's fine. Let's call it 'Big Sad.'"

Should we talk about your Gibson guitar that’s been glued back together and reborn at least a dozen times? It’s the one thing you didn’t lose or give away, it plays like a dream, but it’s been through a lot…

It sure has. Actually, it's funny, dude, that video we're watching last night was us playing in Washington, D.C., playing with a band called Gus. Their drummer Sammy actually plays in Interpol now, it's weird, I remember being in New York City with him and sitting in Soho; Cindy Crawford was walking across the street, and he was like, "I'm gonna live up here one day," and I was like, "Yeah, whatever Sammy." That video was from '95 or '96 — some shit like that, and I'm actually playing that guitar. I'm like, "Fuck, man. That guitae has been through so much."

You know, that guitar? It's interesting. It's hard to put it into words how much it means to me because it is just an object. To me, it's a symbol of my survival; I'll keep it for the rest of my life.

It's on a wall now; I don't play it as much because it's been so beat up. I play a different guitar. It's an SG. For Big Sad, I play a tremolo. I don't play it for Big Sad. It's just so fucking beat up, man. Yeah. I always take it's like when I play shows as a backup. I I learned how to bend notes and play tremolo; I just want to try and create these new sonic abstract sounds. But, yeah, that guitar means so much to me. I look at it every day. It's like, like an old friend. It's pretty awesome.

How much does, or have, the Thursday sessions with Sulynn affected the music for Big Sad?

I never really wanted to change my style; I have kind of a box I play in, but I wanted to build on my technique, andreally focus more on ear training and improvisation training so that when someone is working with something I know where to go within the melodic box. Through working with things like triads, intervals, arpeggios, modal shapes, I've learned that basically, a lot of what I do solo-wise... for example, if you ask J. Mascis what he's doing guitar, he'll say, "I don't know anything about music theory." If you talk to people about music theory that love J. Mascis, they'll tell you he's playing major scales, the majority of what he does is in major scale. So then I realized, that, "Fuck, man, everything I do soloing, and when I'm playing guitar, is in the major scale because it's more melodic. So I like playing in the fifth degree of the C major scale a lot. I play in the fifth shape of that scale.

Practicing with Sulynn has helped me nail down notes that I used to miss. So on the song "Sworn To Protect" I now know that when I go into that solo, I'm playing E Ionion, which is the first degree of the E major scale. I'm doing a two octave run all the way down the fucking neck to get to that last lick and at last note. Then I bring it back and create, I guess a melody form within the space that the rhythm allows. It's helped me understand what I'm doing and where I want to go. It has made it more interesting. In Big Sad I'm the guitar player, so I can't really hide behind mistakes. I have to kind of have my chops up.

She puts me on these assignments; she keeps me plugged into a lot of things. Like, "try an arpeggio in the major scale in shape one. Next week, it might a directional picking workout. Or I might be working with descending string pairs. It's pretty cool, because a lot of that stuff, I don't take to my songwriting, but my hands are so, into different shapes and different phrasing of things that a lot of it starts to bleed into me being interested in other areas of music. I've always appreciated other forms of music, but she's taught me appreciation and understanding of different forms of guitar playing that I never really understood. It's such a journey.

I love Sulynn, man, she's so fucking cool, man. She's super talented. She's just a really genuine, amazing human being. She's pretty much into any style of guitar. And she doesn't know how to do it, then he's trying to learn how to do it. She understands rhythm and timing in a way that I can't even really grasp. She works hard at it. She's probably one of the hardest working musicians I've ever met. She's definitely helped me out. I mean, she's just a good friend and kind of like a good mentor. It's cool when you know people that are that talented that will work with you.

I want to ask you, you take your glasses off before you play, which I assume has a lot to do with how much you move around, but how much can you still see at that point?

For me a song isn't ever really complete until I can play it and never look at the guitar. It's not complete until I can play it blind.

So are you blind when you take your glasses off?

Yeah.

Can you see the shapes and the crowd?

Yeah, I usually can. But when we start playing, I pretty much just, kind of black out. I don't really know what's happening with people and stuff. That's why it's hard for me to talk. I don't really consider myself an entertainer. I don't know how to really connect with the crowd, so to speak. It's hard to describe. I like to be able to play the next line because then on, and then I have to focus on singing. But to me, this singing has to be connected to the notes on the guitar. And then it feels more authentic. If I if I'm trying to say and stare my neck, then I'm not really feeling that message I'm trying to deliver.

And as far as that message goes, you talked about "Sworn To Protect" and some of the musical parts, but the first verse of that song reads like instructions. That song has a message. Is there anything that people should read into in terms of listening to the Big Sad EP?

Yeah, so that's Richie; he's my collaborator. Basically that's a song I pretty much wrote. But then Richie started singing, and he had these vocal ideas, right. I had a vocal for it, but he stepped in with something that was that he was really sure of. He wrote all the lyrics for that song. And so he stepped in with something that he felt really good about. I could have tried to step forward and put resistance there, but, honestly, my idea wasn't as solid as his idea. And that was where I was like, "Dude, go for it."

He had these decides this just general idea, and these lyrics. Basically, the message there is that these cops gotta lay off people, man. Fucking beat people up. Quit killing people; quit killing people because they're black. Yeah, you know what I mean? He wrote those lyrics, and I was like, "Whoa, that's pretty rad, man." What I do is I come in and do backups; we talked about where the backup should be, trying to build harmonies — stuff like that. It's both of us singing.

"Empty Falls" is just a nod homeless people. I'm not gonna lie: a lot of my life, I've always had empathy for people, but I just kind of never understood homelessness, but being locked up and seeing homelessness.. while it seems like a choice, you know, when people say, "Oh, you know, that person should get a job," but it's not that simple, man. First off, we don't really know what kind of mental illnesses people have; people are hurting out there, man. A lot of is undiagnosed mental illness, untreated addiction and stuff like that. So, there was this homeless lady I would see every day driving from home from work. Six, seven years ago. I mean, I was on the streets; I remember sleeping, sleeping outside under a bridge. So I see this lady. I imagined having a conversation with her, and I was wondering about her life. Basically that song was me having a conversation with that never happened. I'm just speaking generally about, you know, it's really a song about compassion.

I know, it's a different band, but I wanted to ask you, when did you stop being Evil Eye from some of your other songs? Is Evil Eye dead? Is that person gone?

I mean, Evil Eye is still kind of still there. He's kind of like the alter ego, but then there's the Waffle Face Girl. I mean "Horizon 2 Charlie," those songs that I wrote for Sandspur City, that song would have been a Big Sad song. Sandspur City is still a band, we're just not moving as fast. We're not doing as much. But you know, we've been practicing a little bit lately, but I'm just gonna write songs for you know, for this band.

Evil Eye is dead in the sense that he's never coming back, but I guess the story of Evil Eye and the Waffle Face Girl is still there. More to be revealed, right? He's definitely not coming back; I'm definitely not Evil Eye anymore.

What about a Waffle Face Girl? What's her role in your life now? She seems like a superhero.

She's 12 years old now, man. She's everything to me. She's everything. Waffle Face Girl came to me in my dreams when I was locked up every night and comforted me. Basically, I am Evil Eye. She helped put Evil Eye, I guess, on a shelf. Watching her develop and become a smart young woman in this crazy life... her mother is just a really amazing person. They're my family; they're my girls. We're partners. We're a family again; it's so amazing. I never thought that would happen. But well, I did. I knew in my heart. I mean, that's what our name like when I was I was locked up. She came in my, my sleep. And knowing she was out there comforted me.

When did you get out, Dave?

I didn't do a big bid because I took such a lengthy probation. They wanted to put me down for three-and-a-half years.

The thing that saved me from like, a four or five year bid was that I had no points, no prior felonies. So I caught four felonies within two months; two F3s and one F2. Basically, it was warrants in three counties. So every time I saw a judge, I would say, "I'm guilty." I didn't try to defend myself. I was guilty. So I only did 13 months, but I took a 10 year probation sentence. For six months, I took this really rigid Department of Corrections regulated... it was called like a therapeutic community. Kind of like this drug treatment thing, and it was intense, man. That's a whole 'nother story. I got through that, and they released me on 10 years paper.

Every time you do a prison bid you get a letter — there are guys with K and J letters, they've been a prison 10, 12, times. When I got out, I was on paper, and I was on the street, but I had to have a place to live. I couldn't be on the street, and be on probation, so there was family that took good care of me, the Pitinos. I owe those people a lot. For like three months, I lived in their garage, and I worked. While I was locked up, I got a job sweeping the floors for the granite company that I now manage. I actually run the whole campus now; I basically run production. My boss is the vice president of the company; he and I work together, and I've got eight guys that I'm responsible for. They had just built a new facility in Tampa, and the owner of the company liked me. So the vice president looked out for me. I was actually in Zephyrhills with the Pitino family. I basically just started grassroots, stayed sober, went to work every day, ended up buying a car. After four months living with them, I got a little apartment.

I think during that time I kind of would reach out to you and talk to you a little bit about stuff; slowly my relationships started mending relationships. With Melissa and my daughter, Waffle Face Girl. With Richie and everybody and then everything's been all uphill from there. It hasn't been easy, but it's got me to where I am now, things are good.

Does that answer your question? I'm sorry.

Yeah, yeah, for sure. And I didn't mean to cut you off when you're talking about what your wife and Waffle Face Girl mean to you.

It's all good. It's weird, because I haven't really talked about a lot of this stuff lately. So it's cool. It's cool to talk about it because it kind of kind of brings me back to these places. And there's a lot of real emotion there.

And if I ever asked you, if I ask you something you don't want to answer, then feel free to you say you don't feel like talking about it.

I don't mind sharing my story because my story was so public anyway, so for me to just like say, "Fuck it and be private" is definitely an option for me, but I feel compelled to share my story if people want it to to hear it because I want to let people know that if you're struggling, and you're out there, and you're on the street, and you think that you can't turn it around — that I've been there, man, and it's possible. You just got to really want it. You gotta want it more than you want the air in your lungs. You got to hang on to hope and put some work in, man.

And you're still putting the work in today. And you talked about in the past, you were drinking to be numb, when your friends were drinking to have fun. Is it ever painful to not be numb? I know you have a lot of other hobbies and stuff, and you're eating clean now, but is it ever painful day-to-day, sometimes, to not be numb?

You know, that's a great question. I'd been trying to get sober for 20 years. I mean, hell, I owned a business from 2005 to 2010, me and my partners were doing like $1.2 million a year at one point. I was making money, man, I had a house all kinds of stuff. I was still a still drunk; just a functional drunk. And I was doing bands, I played SXSW and owned a million dollar company.

Behind the scenes, I was just a sad, sad, entitled drunk consumed with self pity and selfishness. But I always worked hard. I was selfish and full of self-pity in my mind, but I did care about people — and I love my friends. I would try to get sober. I'd go to these periods where I'd been sober for a little bit, and not be sober; I tried different ways of doing it. I was always wondering where that silver bullet was. It did used to be hard. I used to resent not being able to have a drink because I felt like, "Oh, why can't I do that?"

In these last six years, it's never hard to stay sober. I don't ever feel that need to be numb because you realize that... for me, with alcohol or drugs, I look at it like now a diabetic or someone who is allergic to peanuts — you can't eat fucking peanut butter because they'll die. I look at it like that. If I'm around people that are drinking I don't even think about having that beer because I know that basically that beer is going to kill me. It's like drinking a glass of gasoline. It never get hard because my best day drunk was a was never as good as my worst day sober. I just know where that shit takes me, man. After, like, five, six years, it's pretty easy. It's not a big deal. I don't really get I don't get too into like groups and dogmatic type stuff. I kind of did that for a little while. You kind of realize — and this is a controversial thing I might say — but I don't believe addiction is a disease, man. I think that it's a choice we make. And if I think that I really need to be sober, then I'm going to make the choice to be sober you know? I ain't giving credit to God or nobody. I'm giving myself the credit, and that's OK, you know?

I do feel that whatever it takes to somebody get to a place where they're happy. And they have you know, peace they can get rid of their irritability, their restlessness and their discontent — whatever it takes and get you there, do it. If it's going to church, do it. If it's worshipping a doorknob, do it?

What did Jeff Brawer’s letter/letters to you say specifically, and how instrumental were they for you as far as turning around?

I think I actually have that postcard right here. So when he sent me that postcard, I think I'd been locked up for maybe six months. I hadn't talked to anybody, nobody would talk to me. I was kind of an asshole. I stood everybody up on the Fest.

The only person who would talk to me was my friend from San Diego, Jessica. She would send me letters and she was in recovery, that she loved punk rock music and shit, so we would always hang out with her. She's just this really cool, creative girl that I have. I think she had dealt with her own addiction; she had been 10 years clean and sober. I think she saw that I was struggling with it. So she would write me in the jail, and just write me with postcards and letters.

She was really helpful to me, but then Jeff sent me that postcard. I felt like everybody in Tampa hated me and that I would never talk to any of my friends again. So when he sent me that it just gave me so much hope. I'd never planned on coming back to Tampa, man, I was so embarrassed.

My buddy, Tony sent me a Raw Power postcard; he was trying to set up a visit, and he came to visit me from Tampa, and that was super cool. At that point, I was still eight months from getting released because I had to go o all these different counties and face judges. So that was pretty cool. Jeff's was was cool. in a different way because it was someone I used to play music with. It felt good to know that like that crew of people actually cared. He didn't have to reach out to me. To me, it's a testament to who Jeff Brawer is. He's just a loving, caring guy, man, which is what's cool about all those guys and that whole scene. They have all their bands, Navin. Ave., Old Vices — I just love all those people, man. They're just, they're super talented, and they're always doing cool shit.

Yeah, they're good people.

#Dave Decker #Tampa #Tampa Bay #punk #Big Sad

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fashiontrendin-blog · 7 years ago

Text

I Did Whatever I Wanted for 3 Days and It Was…Telling

http://fashion-trendin.com/i-did-whatever-i-wanted-for-3-days-and-it-wastelling/

I Did Whatever I Wanted for 3 Days and It Was…Telling

My mom and dad’s parenting philosophy largely revolved around teaching me the value of hard work and, especially, earning life’s pleasures. Play dates came after chores; dessert came after dinner; spending money came after an 8-hour shift. I hated it as a kid, but over time developed a sort of Stockholm syndrome in regards to delayed gratification, becoming almost unable to enjoy things I didn’t “earn.”

Today, I’m the ultimate loyalist to the long game, which doesn’t mean I always play it as much as it means I feel immeasurably guilty when I don’t. My boyfriend calls me crypto-Catholic. (You can call me fun.)

Feel Good Month on Man Repeller seemed an appropriate time to re-examine my relationship with feeling good, particularly the part where I sometimes stop myself from it out of a blind expression of self-discipline. What would it feel like to orient my life around instant gratification instead? The idea sounded so alien I decided it was good, and thus the “hedonism diet” was born: three days of doing what felt good instead of what felt responsible, and not an hour longer.

For the sake of not burying the lede, this turned out nothing like my Yes Diet, mostly involved having a second roll or waiting too long to pee, and ultimately revealed the dull boundaries of my Tuesday-through-Thursday imagination. The diet also came at an interesting time: I was a week into a mildly depressed slump and less in touch with my desires than ever. I tried to use the diet as a sort of catalyst for emotional movement, but quickly learned my day-to-day life has little room from spontaneity outside the bounds of what I eat.

Speaking of which: As tepid a vehicle for hedonism as food is — the image of a group of people screaming down a highway to Vegas on a Monday seems more fitting – indulging in it with abandon was the main fantasy raised by people who learned I was on the diet. That’s either a commentary on the people I know, New York in general, or humanity as a whole. Will let you theorize on that one.

If you want to read my diary over the course of the three days, it’s below. If you don’t, I won’t blame you, and will leave you with a question instead: What would your hedonism diet entail? I have a feeling the answer might reveal a lot, but in my case, I kind of hope it doesn’t.

Day 1, Tuesday

7:40 a.m. I wake up wondering if I’ve ever slept worse, but feel inexplicably energetic. Probably adrenaline; a great way to start my hedonism diet.

8:02 a.m. After cleaning up and washing some dishes, I decide to watch Jane the Virgin while I eat a bowl of yogurt and granola. I was never allowed to watch TV before school as a kid and have maintained that rule as an adult. This feels weirdly indulgent. I love Jane the Virgin.

8: 31 a.m. I pick an outfit on my first try. A miracle since getting dressed has felt impossible lately. I put on leopard shorts, a mustard shirt and lace-up sandals.

9:36 a.m. When I got to work, I buy a small 8-oz. coffee. I’d rather get cold brew but the one I got yesterday turned me into a manic pixie nightmare, plus I don’t want to spend the extra dollar.

12:18 p.m. This morning has been stressful. With a new onslaught of work, I consider killing this very story, but I resist my impulse and decide to keep it on the calendar. An ironic hedonism fail.

1:53 p.m. I haven’t had a chance to eat lunch and I’m hungry. I realize I’m in the mood for a bagel and don’t second guess it. I’m wild.

2:05 p.m. While waiting for my almond butter and jam bagel from Black Seed, I let myself mindlessly scroll Instagram, something I normally resist. I end up on Sofia Richie’s account, find out she’s dating Scott Disick, and then wonder whether I’m out of touch and if that’s a good the until my bagel gets called.

4:50 p.m. Work black hole. Hungry again. Guess bagels aren’t all that nutritionally dense? All we have in the office are almonds.

I’ve never been hungry and wanted almonds

— Haley Nahman (@halemur) August 3, 2017

I run to Grumpy’s and get the only food item they have left: a piece of pumpkin bread. Weird choice after a bagel lunch, but it sounds good.

6:45 p.m. On my way out the door for a dentist appointment, I steal a piece of gum from Emily’s desk (sorry Emily!) without considering her feelings. Is hedonism just psychopathy?

7:13 p.m. Just got to my dentist on time and mildly have to pee but am not gonna go. SO THERE.

9:07 p.m. I’m getting dinner at a French restaurant with my boyfriend. The soap in the bathroom is on a pole that requires you do a jerk-off motion to get a lather. There is a jar of condoms next to the sink. It is a mildly sexual experience that I’m trying and failing to connect to my hedonism diet.

9:09 p.m. I refuse to Google whether air hand dryers cover my hands in feces, as my boyfriend is currently suggesting, which I consider a win, despite his pouting.

10:11 a.m. When we got home, we plop on the couch instead of going to bed, and I put on a random YouTube video, which leads to another and another. My boyfriend is great at putting together an interesting and educational YouTube playlist. Under my hedonistic guidance, however, it entails a girl giving herself a makeover for 45 minutes, a women giving unhelpful tips on “how to pose” by a dirty pool, and a 30-minute compilation of “jean hacks,” such as turning your jeans into a bag or turning your jeans into a larger bag. It’s truly some of the worst content either of us have ever seen.

Day 2, Wednesday

8:21 a.m. While getting dressed I consider whether wearing red shoes and a red sweater is too much, then remember such considerations are for another day.

9:22 a.m. I decide to text my boyfriend something we really should talk about in person — an impulsive decision I would normally not entertain. (It wasn’t worth it, for the record.)

1:52 p.m. For lunch I get a salad from Sweetgreen because I’m in a hurry and need to be efficient. Am too busy to entertain other impulses.

5:04 p.m. Elizabeth brings cupcakes for Ashley’s birthday, I go for the second one I touch. Bold.

7:35 p.m. At a lovely media dinner surrounded by people I’ve never met. Our bread basket has two biscuits no one is eating. I eat the first one. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

7:52 p.m. I eat the second one.

9:08 p.m. After dinner I realize I lost my ring, but am so embarrassing by the thought of crawling around on the ground that I decide to call it a loss. Very irresponsible.

11:38 p.m. When I get home I take a shower, brush my cat, and right when I am about to get in bed, decide to watch Jane the Virgin instead. I go to bed at 12:18, like a real party animal.

Day 3, Thursday

8 a.m. The first outfit I put on makes me look like a waiter, so I swap my button-down for a pajama top, which is probably inappropriate for the dinner I have later but is the only solution to the getting-dressed woes I’ve been experiencing of late.

12:52 p.m. I set up a therapy consultation. The best-feeling thing I’ve done all week.

2:43 p.m. I decide against a salad in an attempt to prove my desires extend beyond Sweetgreen. I try out The Dez, the new Mediterranean place on Mulberry Street. I get my food to go and start eating my pita on my walk home, like a kid who failed the marshmallow test.

7:05 p.m. At dinner with some girls. Everything we order is some form of bread or pasta, rounding out my inadvertent carb-only diet this week. After mutually agreeing it’s not embarrassing, we order vanilla gelato with rainbow sprinkles for dessert.

8:31 p.m. If I were truly following the diet I would get a car home. It would take 15 minutes, but I can’t bear the cost, and so I take two long trains home. It takes an hour.

11:11 p.m. When I get home, I clean my house, shower, skip TV and go to bed like an adult.

This may not have been the most thrilling time to live by way of impulse, but it was at least interesting to note that by doing so I saw almost no consequences (except perhaps a lack of nutrients), aside from feeling less guilt. In a way, I put my conscience to the test to prove it’s overactive, and I’m delighted to say it worked, for whatever that’s worth.

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