#I've warped this dress to hell and back

[voidcreations]

Dolly in a dress

[wannaeatramyeon]

Hi!! I hope you’re having a great day so far. 👋🏽 I thought of an idea of Gun Park x Reader, but they go on a date somewhere that people normally don’t go to. For example, a haunted house or something. I bet that’ll be interesting to write about! (But you can write about any setting you want. That’s just an idea or an example that you can base your writing from.) Hope to see what write about!! 😊🖤🖤🖤

MY LOOKISM GATEWAY! also, now I've given this a go - extra impressive how you write Gun because this guy... Stoic, quiet and mean. My characterisation? Poor. Dialogue? Low. OOC-ness? High.

(And then when you realised you wrote about everything else more than the actual main guy lol 😭 sorry in advance)

* **

Gun x Reader Fairground/Haunted House Shenanigans

Yeah you were a bit of a baby but so what. It's one of your earlier dates with Gun, whilst you were just getting to know him and there's no way you're gonna show him your weakness

I mean that man is pretty intimidating enough as it is

Your mood generally swings from horny or intimidated when you're in his presence

You've had all these fantasies of a cute fairground date. Maybe some friendly games, winning prizes, then finishing with a kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel

The first sign of things going wrong was you challenging Gun to the strongman test and him completely wrecking the machine AND the hammer. I mean what the hell, you didn't even manage to get a go

The second: you taking turns to be the first to beat the coconut shy and again Gun destroying the stall and nearly killing the guy

Excuse me? I thought these games were RIGGED

So yeah, Gun was intimidating. He annihilates half the fair and hardly blinks... but you were also a little competitive 🤷‍♀️

And then when he saw you grimace at the haunted house and he gave you that smirk of his and the challenge in his eyes, you knew that you couldn't back down

You hated it, you could barely stand horror films so you're not sure why you even bothered to go in a haunted house with live actors

You heard screams and growls and felt things brushing against you as soon as you stepped foot inside

Of course Gun that bastard wasn't affected at all

"Tsk, I didn't think you were such a baby"

You glared at him but after a few more nervous twitches he took your hand to lead you through

"Idiot, it's all fake... Besides nothing will dare to haunt you with me here"

It wasn't quite the Ferris wheel kiss you wanted but this was actually... Nice too

You walked a little closer hand in hand...

... and everytime he felt you jump, he gave your hand a light squeeze

(Who would have thought this man was capable of any softness)

Finally you were both nearing the end, but nothing would ever be that straight forward

As a final haunted house treat, a group of badly dresses mummies and zombies jumped out and gave you a final scare

You were already feeling delicate, but this last part actually made you scream

Taking pity on your state, and having some warped sense of chivalry Gun of course beat them up

"I said I'd protect you... next time we'll just go for dinner"

And that was how you and Gun were banned from the fair (but you did have fun after all🙂)

Gun: (lovingly) you pathetic motherfucker

[crownmemes]

House Sentences, Vol. 9

(Sentences from House (2004-2012). Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Is that a favour to me or to you?"

"I said no, so stop asking me!"

"You're too much of a nice boy. Let's let the bad boy out for a bit!"

"I like being alone - at least, I convince myself that I'm better off that way."

"We're better off alone. We suffer alone. We die alone."

"If there's any chance that we can pretend this never happened, I'd be completely fine with that."

"Why the hell were you naked in the kitchen?"

"You know what happens when you interfere in other people's relationships?"

"I know you're worried about me, and I also know that that kind of unselfishness doesn't come naturally to you, but I don't want your help."

"I should have known that you weren't done sabotaging this."

"Well, at least you're actually taking responsibility for once in your life."

"You're successful, smart, and you attract everything that moves."

"You present yourself as not giving a damn about other people's emotions, but your actions indicate otherwise."

"I told you that I wanted to be happy, and I followed your advice. And instead, I'm just miserable."

"Whatever the answer is, you don't have it."

"I don't love you, so just accept it and move on with your life instead of making everyone miserable!"

"I love you. I wish I didn't, but I can't help it."

"Why do you have to analyze things to death? Why can't you just let it be nice?"

"I know you're screwed up - I know you are always gonna be screwed up - but you're the most incredible man I've ever known."

"It means a lot that you respect me enough to do this."

"Just to be clear, this whole little act isn't gonna work. I need an apology. Not flattery."

"I've come to realize that I love you even more than I thought I did."

"You led me into temptation, and I followed."

"If everybody lies, then trust is not only unfounded and pointless, it's fictional."

"Did you sedate my mother?"

"There's nothing worse than loving someone who's never going to stop disappointing you."

"You know, you turned out remarkably close to normal, considering the genes in play."

"I am not giving you advice just so you can distort it to suit your own warped world view!"

"You're really not good with nuance, are you?"

"If you're going to dress like an Italian hooker, at least let it be this year's Italian hooker."

"If you didn't want to be insulted, you wouldn't have invited me."

"If you're emotionally invested, you cannot make rational decisions."

"You lied to me and betrayed me. Do you think I really care what you consider a good idea anymore?"

"You know, I've got to tell you, there is bossy - which can be sexy - and then there's bitchy."

"Can I ask you a question? Are you insane or just stupid?"

"Haven't you ever done something in a relationship you wish you could take back?"

"I used to think the whole brooding thing was just part of your work persona, but now I know you need to lighten up."

"If I had to choose between saving everyone, and loving you and being happy, I would choose you. I choose being happy with you."

"You choose yourself over everybody else over and over again, because that's just who you are."

"So, you don't want to just avoid the issue? You want to avoid avoiding the issue?"

"When things go wrong, I don't want to hope that I'm not alone."

"Why don't you move back in with me? At least until you get back on track."

"What an ego. You think you're some sort of emotional paragon? You're my rock?"

[pants-magic-pants]

✧⊹JARETH BALLROOM COAT⊹✧

[This post is part of a series about constructing Jareth's entire masquerade ball costume. Visit the master post here.]

Fabric Selection [Part 2 of 2] The Drama of the Lining

Hello all you fine goblins, goblinettes, masqueraders, bog creatures(?)... I'm back to ramble a lot, and unless you are really into sewing or want to make this coat, this post will probably bore the hell out of you but by all means here it is.

Firstly I want to say that I'm part of a Labyrinth cosplay group now, have a beautiful Sarah waiting for me in just a state above, a masquerade dancer who is already my good friend, and we'd love to do a dreamy photoshoot for everyone at a ballroom or wedding venue somewhere between us. However, I'm financially strained. I'm working extra shifts, offering commissions, etc, but it's only doing so much. If you've made it this far and have been appreciating any of my content, please consider tipping the blog. All the posts have a button that looks like this ($). Please help us unite. Please please, throw a dollar into my guitar case, won't you?

ANYHOO! I'm not good at lining, as I think I've mentioned. There's a lot more I need to learn to get it looking good and structured, and in this case there was so much gravity working against it too. I also am sure you notice that there are ghastly black stitches across the middle of the pleats on the inside... had thought that wouldn't be showing... whoops.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・☆ ・・・・

We’ll start with the creamy, slightly sparkly, crimped(?) fabric that lines the tail first. It doesn’t appear to be lurex/foiled silk or satin, as it seems to be even lighter weight than those fabrics. That’s the first thing that I would say is important about picking this lining: it needs to be something SUPER LIGHTWEIGHT.

The reason being that, at least for the way I did the pleats, there was as much of it needed as the velvet, as it all got folded together. Even if you didn't do it this way, you would only want to add the least amount of extra weight as possible, using something that is still durable and isn't going to blow every which way.

That made the search pretty limiting, as did the fact that it needed to be opaque, flowy, and non-stretchy. Originally when I began searching, I was looking for things like organza or chiffon with crimps/ridges, which looked very pretty, but they were too sheer unless layered, and layering would have made them too stiff. 

After doing further research post-completion of the coat, viscose seems like it would have looked and behaved correctly, since it's soft, light, non-stretchy and not sheer, but apparently it isn't the most environmentally friendly fabric, so it’s something to consider. There's also cupro, though I've never gotten my hands on either of these so it's hard to say that definitively. It’s supposed to have a similar appearance and drape as silk, but it's not quite as shiny. It's opaque, and unless it's mixed with elastane or rayon it's not supposed to be very stretchy either, which leads me to…

What not to use: a stretchy fabric, like for any lining on any project. I already made that clear, but did I follow my own advice? Not this time. I got fed up with fabric drama and settled for a very pretty but stretchy foiled fabric, hell if I know what it was because it was late one evening at Jo-Ann Fabric, and I was Over That Shit™ and suffered a lapse in judgment. The result was slight warping from over-handling, and the entire seam between it and the inner facing was bubbly. I’m still kicking myself. Shoulda’ gone home. Shoulda’ said “no, Jo-Ann.”

Here's what I used. Yeah, it's pretty right? But that's all it is.

Another thing to note is that there are subtle ridges in the bottom lining. Not pleats, but like, crimping? It’s a very similar texture to Sarah’s dress. Searching for terms related to ridges would help find something similar, and as for colors, I searched for mainly creams, or borderline beige. Sometimes “champagne” also yielded good results. It’s definitely not white or even ivory, as white will turn the color scheme of the coat way too cold, stark, and sterile. Ivory (while warm-toned) may have the same effect. 

It helped me to look at a color wheel and decide the most complimentary combination based on the exact shade of blue that my velvet was. The ballroom coat’s actual shade of blue may seem to vary based on the photograph, but after seeing a lot of reference photos, I started to be able to tell which ones had been, em, tweaked, enhanced, etc. and that tended to be the ones that presented it as electric blue or leaning towards turquoise. The true shade seems to be like one shade cooler than true-blue. Am I making sense?

Given that, the lining’s shade of cream would need to be basically a pure cream color, not leaning towards rosy/orange NOR towards green on the color wheel, in order to be complimentary. However, for anyone who’s making the coat who wants to use a warmer shade of blue for the velvet, this is perfectly fine, it just will change just about every other color choice that you make, down to the color of the jewels and buttons. You may find that all your other blues need to be warmer shades, and that a rosier cream lining (champagne) looks best. 

Before moving on to the top lining, I want to mention that there is - strangely – a piece of cream colored tulle in the back? Not sure how that looks if you were to open the coat and look in, and since I couldn’t think of a way to make that look good, I didn’t include it. 

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・☆ ・・・・

The top lining! We can’t see what’s in there, so this comes down to intuition and preference. I wanted a fully lined coat that looked good and had an aesthetically pleasing transition from one fabric to another, so I pretty much lined the top as if it was its own mini jacket, and I chose satin in a slightly lighter shade of cool blue. A little too light to be called navy but I’m sure people still would call it that.

I wouldn’t recommend using the same fabric used on the tail for the top because the fabric for the tail seems too textured to be smooth enough to get in and out of without issues. Best to stick with classic lining: silk or satin, in blue or a neutral that would match something else on the coat. Black, cream, maybe even dark/metallic grey or silver? The extra challenge of using a shade of blue is that you’d have to be very discerning about whether or not it matched. I had to take the velvet with me everywhere when making my decisions.

Almost nothing featured here is what I used, but here's me being diligant and bringing my swatches everywhere.

Not only did the color have to match, but the texture and amount of shimmer also mattered. Super matte silks/satins seemed to anchor down the splendor of the sparkling velvet too much. The really shiny fabrics looked best. I settled for something a little more subdued, but okay. It was okayyyy. Again, I was Over It™. 

Well, was that super interesting, or what?

[soncfthewitch]

closed starter for @heirofhermes

The scalding water pounded against Toby's skin, steam rising in thick clouds around him. He closed his eyes, letting the heat seep into his muscles, washing away the tension of the past few days. For a moment, the world narrowed to nothing but the sensation of warmth and the rhythmic sound of water hitting tile.

Toby tilted his head back, letting the spray hit his face. The pressure felt like a thousand tiny fingers massaging his scalp, and he let out a contented sigh. When was the last time he'd properly relaxed? Between jobs for the Virtual Adepts and his own... extracurricular activities, downtime was a rare luxury.

A faint vibration against his wrist caught his attention. Toby's gaze flicked to the onyx bracelet encircling it - the only item he never removed, even in the shower. Its smooth surface rippled like water, reflecting his growing unease. Something was off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Toby reached for his towel, wrapped it securely around his waist, water still beading on his skin. As he padded out of the bathroom, leaving damp footprints on the polished hardwood floor of his high-tech flat. He made his way to the bedroom, intent on getting dressed and starting his day. But as he crossed the threshold, the world around him began to warp and twist.

The sleek lines of his apartment blurred, colors bleeding into each other like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. Toby's heart rate spiked, years of training kicking in as he assessed the threat. His hand instinctively went to the bracelet, fingers tracing its surface as if seeking reassurance.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, muscles tensing. "Not now."

But it was too late. The familiar pull of his Avatar tugged at the edges of his consciousness, dragging him inexorably towards a Seeking. He'd had Seekings before, of course. Every mage went through them. But he'd always imagined something more... structured. This felt like reality itself was coming apart at the seams. It never got easier.

"I haven't the time for your mystical machinations," he said, his tone clipped as he addressed the presence lurking in his mind. "I've pressing matters to attend to."

The response came not in words, but in a flood of sensations. Urgency. Necessity. An overwhelming sense that this couldn't wait.

Toby's vision swam, reality fragmenting around him like shattered glass. He stumbled, reaching out to steady himself against a wall that was no longer there. The onyx bracelet stirred, slithering down his arm like a living shadow. In an instant, it pooled in his palm, reshaping itself into the cold, reassuring weight of a blade.

The world around Toby shimmered, reality knitting itself back together like a jigsaw puzzle. He blinked, disoriented, as his surroundings solidified.

What the bloody hell?

Toby's gaze darted around the room, cataloging the changes with practiced efficiency. Gone were the minimalist furnishings and cutting-edge tech. In their place stood weathered furniture, a worn leather armchair, and bookshelves sagging under the weight of dusty tomes. The air itself felt different - stale, with the musty scent of disuse.

His eyes widened as they fell on framed photographs lining the walls. Images of himself, yes, but... wrong. Toby sparring with strangers, their faces alight with camaraderie. Toby standing before landmarks he'd never visited, grinning like a loon. A thin layer of dust coated every surface, including the frames.

This isn't right. None of this is right.

A sound from the front of the flat froze him in place. The unmistakable click of a key in a lock, followed by the creak of an opening door. Toby pressed himself against the nearest wall, old instincts surging to the forefront of his mind. His body moved on autopilot, angling himself out of sight from the entryway.

Footsteps. Slow, measured. Not the tread of someone trying for stealth, but not entirely at ease either. Toby held his breath, straining his ears to catch every nuance.

Thud. Thud. Thud. A pause. The rustle of fabric - someone removing a coat?

Thud. Thud. Closer now.

Toby's grip on the blade tightened imperceptibly. He didn't attack - not yet. Information was power, and he needed more data before committing to a course of action. But his body thrummed with readiness, muscles coiled to spring at a moment's notice.

[sswwmmpptthhnngg]

Bat Out of Hell | Chapter One

→ Pairings: Eddie x HendersonSister!Reader

→ Warnings: angst, anxiety, mental health, hurt/comfort, vignette style flashbacks, eventual smut, slow burn, drug/alcohol mention/use, 18+ minors dni

→ WC: 13k+

→ A/N: Y'all. This is feeling mightily like a magnum opus sorts. I can't tell you how many times I've written and rewritten, hemmed and hawed. I finally just had to hit post. Here there probably be typos, not beta-ed in the slightest. I figured I'll go back and edit, just needed to get the story out.

In penance, I made y'all a playlist, featuring some of the tracks mentioned in this chapter and some funk tracks that I really just like and would 1000% be playing at the record shop if I worked at one.

Here we go.

→ Playlist: Maggot Brain

Chicago, March 13, 1991

Silence. Blissful, impenetrable, being-less silence. The quiet of your apartment enveloped you from the brisk March bustle of the city at your back. Windy City indeed. You thought you were prepared for Chicago’s so called spring growing up in the Midwest all your life, but the proximity to the lake changed all that. Icy torrents ripping at warp speeds at slush sludged in between the laces of your Docs. Or at least it used to until you wised up and purchased a pair of Sportos. Not the pinnacle of fashion, but damn were they functional against Chicago’s street funk.

Kicking off said boots, your toes uncurled on the warm wood floor, welcoming the relief of being able to spread out. The day had droned on, picking up that double was an instant regret. Noon to midnight. What the hell had you been thinking? Especially when you had to cram your feet into the dress code mandated pointy toe pumps, which you tossed in the direction of your closet, not caring where they landed. Whoever decided bartenders had to wear heels during their shift deserved an extra hot seat in hell. Maybe a few extra pokers for good measure. 

Tight, pinching spasms wracked your muscles as you unfurled your scarf from your neck and shlepped your heavy coat from your shoulders. Dense fabric pooled at your feet as you rubbed at your shoulder, willing away the already forming kink. Damn your overly altruistic nature of wanting to help a fellow coworker out of a tight spot. Thankfully, Wednesday nights at The Signature were fairly quiet, at least as quiet as an upscale bar on The Mile could be. Bankers, business men, and bourgeoisie. Typical clientele for the elite establishment. Top shelf liquor at a high sticker price, steak, chrome, velvet, pretty waitstaff, a cliche of 90’s decadence atop one of Chicago’s tallest buildings giving the patrons ample opportunity to look down at the city as well as down their noses. Sure, it wasn’t the most you placed you’ve ever worked. But it was a living and the tips were generous. Always an incentive for the trouble. That and the two shots your last patron of the night insisted that he didn’t do alone. Another perk. 

Tequila was already at work, doing its job dulling your senses, lulling you out into the sea of unconscious dissociation. Lights were off in your apartment, just the glow of the streetlights filtering though the window into the darkness of the small studio. Typically your neighborhood was awash with lights, music, and the scene; the punk bustle of Halsted your initial draw. Tonight, dampened by the sleeting snow, all was quiet. Just like you needed it to be. 

Only Wednesday and it had already been a week. Between tonight’s double, a full 10 days on shift in a row, and the weather, exhaustion permeated your bones. It was March, no holidays in sight, yet the bar buzzed with loaded tables, even on what were supposed to be the slow nights. People were insane for traversing the blustering streets when the gales amassed snow piles as deep as your knees. Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays the alcoholics from the swift completion of their rounds. The sheer number of appletinis you had to mix threatened your sanity and the massive orders for mojitos left your palms raw from their encounter with the muddler. Tips. That’s why you were doing all of this. To afford your modest studio apartment. And to live. Though you really weren’t doing too much of that lately.

Flicking the light switch on the wall next to you, your apartment lit with a soft orange glow from the small lamp nestled in the corner of the space. One of the few things not encased in cardboard. Yet. What little time you had between shifts was unfortunately spent packing. Exactly on what you had wanted to spend your precious free time. Heaving a sigh, you surveyed your once cozy apartment. A narrow path cut through the maze of boxes in your apartment from the front door to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the couch, the couch to your bed. How there were so many boxes temporarily housing your meager cache of belongings, you’ll never know. It seemed as though each box you packed, another three were needed. Seeing everything you had to your name entombed in cardboard felt hollowed. Displaced.

Truly, aside from the last week, you hadn’t spent a lot time in your own apartment, or really even on your own. This time of year and the memories attached to it— you didn’t want to dredge them up if you could avoid it. And avoid you did. Working 10 days on, catching up with friends for dinner, crashing with a friend. You had once loved your little studio, but times had changed. You had changed. What once was a haven felt like a lifeless shrine to a life you used to live. A relic of a life that wouldn’t come to be, full of memories you wished to bury.  

Life altered vastly since the first time you came to Chicago to now. The one constant, this small haven had been the place you lay your head for the better part of the last seven years. Seven years. How had it been that long? Keeping busy in a city like Chicago was all too easy you supposed, having learned this firsthand when you had first moved to The Windy City all those years ago as a bright-eyed freshman stepping foot on Northwestern’s campus. Initially, you had moved into the tiny on campus dorms. The vivacious energy of other eager freshman only enlivened you for your first real no responsibilities experience, other than your school responsibilities of course. Being the elder Henderson sibling put a heavy mantle on your shoulders and college was the first time you got to lay the burden down. 

At first it was odd, adjusting to not having to take care of the house or pick your little brother up from school and run him all over Hawkins to his activities. You were truly living for yourself. Classwork and your part time job at the campus library were your only two obligations. The world truly felt like your oyster in those days. Free. Expansive. Yours for the taking. 

Campus life exhilarated, with the many new people and experiences. Your head was on a constant swivel that first semester. Clubs to join, parties to attend, people to meet. Your calendar burst at the seams with the new, wanting to experience everything and anything you could get your hands on. Too many years in a small town will do that you. You wanted a life so far removed from your life in Hawkins and it was in your grasp. 

Classes scintillated, broadening your horizons at every lecture. Friends joined your ranks, falling in with another merry band of misfits much like your chosen few friends in Hawkins. The only downside being your rather finicky first semester roommate who didn’t seem to grasp the concept that the room was shared, not just hers. Lauren, not be pronounced like normal, but “Lore-Ren” as in Ralph Lauren she would constantly correct. Her spiteful “toleration” of your “devil music” and distastefully drab wardrobe lead her Lacoste to leech onto your side of the room, inch by inch.  There were only so much poppy plaid, debutante delicacies, and Chad Lowe posters you could stomach. Enter your search for a space of your own.

Weeks of perusing periodicals for spaces for rent in your price range returned a fruitless search. Seems like every twenty-something was jonesing for their own slice of the city to sink their teeth into. You didn’t just want any old apartment in any old neighborhood. If you were going to strike out on your own, there was only one place to be. 

Halsted was your chosen borough, the scene rife with lovable riffraff, your kind of folks. Every spare moment you had was spent in the neighborhood; it wasn’t all about the jocks and cheerleaders— freaks ruled the roost in Halsted. Leather jackets, punk t-shirts, sky-high mowhawks, Halsted attracted those outside of the mainstream. Naturally, it was hard to find a feasible place to live in freak central due to the draw. 

You had discovered Halstead on complete accident. A rare Saturday you had to yourself with no tests to study or homework littering your desk, left you jonesing for a trip into the city. Needing to get out of your head with finals just around the corner, a trip to the city was just what the doctor ordered. With a loaded whole day plan, centering around a visit to the Institute of Art and lunch at the famed hole-in-the-wall diner Jim’s Grill, the promise of reprieve from studying seeped into your overwork brain as you nestled into a window seat on the Red Line. The ambling lull of the train proved too much for your lack of sleep as you settled into a casual doze. You should have gotten off the train in Buena Park near Wrigley Field to catch the 80 to Irving Park, but your doze was a full blown sleep and you missed your stop by several. Waking up as the Red Line pulled into Belmont Station, the rest is history. You fell in love with blossoming counterculture the moment your Chuck Taylors hit the pavement in Halsted. 

Berlin’s cavernous nightlife club with a diverse, no-attitude, all-orientations crowd on the dance floor, Susie’s 24 hour diner on Montrose, The Alley’s punk duds. Every corner housed a haven for the freaks. You had never seen anything like it. When night fell, Halsted really sprung to life. A glitter gulch filled with people pouring in and out of clubs, cars circling for non-existent parking spaces on cruise congested streets. Part-time tourists suburbanites and street freaks mingled together in club queues. Places like Punkin’ Doughnuts became a mainstay staple in your social calendar. A booming 24 hour street scene, a beacon for the offbeat. Straight up sugar fiends filled the parking lot of the Belmont and Clark Dunkin Doughnuts, loitering in the lot while music blasted through ghetto blasters or a scuffle of a live band. It was electric and eclectic, a place where you could go and find like-minded folks; a rarity in the midwest. It wasn’t just the punks, but other folks outside of the mainstream: house music fanatics, antifascist skinheads, skaters, trans folks, drag queens, goths, runaways. It was a corner hub awash with a tapestry of folks that could just hang out together. With the constellation of music venues and bars, there was always something going on in Halsted.

Perhaps your favorite of all the establishments was The Wax Trax! The bread and butter of the neighborhood, Wax Trax! was the anchor for the disenfranchised. A punk/new wave/industrial haven. Many hours were spent flipping through LPs and adding treasures to your already expansive collection. It was more than just a record store. Amid the death grip of AIDS, the arrival of Ronald Regan’s trickle-down economics, and the specter of Cold War nuclear Armaggedon, Wax Trax! was the neon-lit musical club house or a hidden community. A community that liked fringe music and transgressive humor, a community that identified as gay, trans, punk, misfit or “other,” a community that found solace in glam, dirty disco, girl groups with magnificent beehives, rockabilly of the most impolite sort, or the gritty grinding of industrial music. To be a regular at Wax Trax!, meant you didn’t fit in anywhere else. Who new there were so many of your kind? Especially in there. Not only were the vinyls cool, it became your regular haunt. Where you worked after classes and on the weekends. Where you found home.

Literally. Perusing the records a few weeks after finals while finishing up your May Term class, you spotted it. A for rent sign in the fourth story window right across the street from The Trax. Your fingers flew to dial the number during your shift and the landlord answered on the second ring. The appointment was set to the view the apartment that evening. 

It was love at first sight. You had found it. Home. Your oasis among the grit of the punk scene of Halsted. The small studio nestled on the top floor of the building facing Halsted, giving you the perfect birds-eye view of the street happenings below. Warm wood floors, crisp freshly painted while walls, tall cathedral ceilings, skylights peppering the ceiling emitting an otherworldly glow. You couldn’t have custom cherry picked a better apartment if you tried. It enveloped you from the first moment you opened the door. You had to have it. 

The place was a steal, so much so that there had to be something wrong with it beyond what the naked eye could see. Your potential future landlord had mumbled something about goddamn punks creating a ruckus and driving away renters, but thought better of finishing the statement when taking in your appearance. You may look like a punk, but your credentials were anything but riffraff. Your full ride scholarship to Northwestern, solid employment history at Wax Trax!, he didn’t even hesitate to have you sign a lease. And sign you did. It was perfect. You were home.

That was 1984. Back when the world made sense. Back before monsters, evil Russians, the Upside Down, back before you lost— Yeah, not tonight. A shake of the head dispelled the mounting thoughts. Getting out of your uncomfortable pencil skirt and Oxford was what you needed right now. Basic needs. That’s at least what your newly acquired therapist had recommended last session. Keep it simple, especially in this period of transition.  

Weaving through your box maze to where your bed nestled underneath one of the skylights, you slumped down on the mattress, unclipping your suspenders as you sat. Working at a place you didn’t enjoy really took it out of you. The stuffy clientele, bitchy backbiting coworkers primed to see you fall flat on your face. The only saving grace was your surprisingly affable bar manger and boss Jerry. He had been absolutely gutted when you put in your two weeks notice. Losing my best and brightest, he had all but cried when you handed in your resignation. 

Tending bar wasn’t the plan, it really wasn’t even in the realm of what you wanted to do with your life. It was merely a means to an end. ’Til you found your footing again. A temporary stepping stone on your way to bigger and better things, to quote your therapist. Yeah, a five year stepping stone. Aggravatedly, you stood, pulling open your dresser drawer keen to find something comfortable to lounge in for the sixteen hours you had yourself only to be met with emptiness. Shit. SHIT. Your gaze turned to the stack of boxes next to the dresser labeled “BEDROOM” in bold black block lettering. Focused packing had clearly hit your dressers, and if you had to guess your closet too, in preparation for your impending move. Like everything else in your apartment. Shoulder slumping at even the thought of having to dig through boxes to find something, anything at this point. Had it been summer, you could strip to your under layers and just laze on the couch as you pleased. But no, it was the tail end of winter, always the most biting time in Chicago. Heaters were already working overtime against the squall, radiators simmering as the steam heat fought to keep the chill at bay. 

Fighting the heavy sigh threatening to spill from your lungs, you righted your shoulders. Better to get this over with quickly so you could finally be horizontal. Just a minor inconvenience, that’s all. You’ve had more than your share of those this week. The snow, a grabby patron, everything you own in a box, and now not even being able to find a t-shirt. Fuck this week. Actually, fuck the whole month. March was the worst anyways. 

Not even bothering to find a blade or keys to make opening the boxes infinitesimally easier, you pick at the heavy packing tape. Cardboard ripping filling the silence of your apartment as you tore into the first box destined for your future bedroom. Socks. You rummaged around deeper in the box only to find more socks and stockings. Who packs an entire box of just socks? Apparently you do. Could you have at least specified that the box contained socks? No, of course not. That would have made things all too easy, too convenient for present you. 

Packing in a sleep addled state clearly was a mistake as the next box contained heavy wool sweaters and layers meant to stave off the elements, and the following only contained bottoms. Strike three. You calves quaked as you heaved the offending, wholly unhelpful boxes to the side so you could get to the next stack. Relabelling and re-taping the boxes was a future you problem. 

Another box, another disappointment. This one straining to contain a portion of your LPs, dust jackets laden with dust from disuse. When was the last time you had even played one of these? Physical Graffiti, Led Zeppelin. Queens of Noise, The Runaways. Space Oddity, David Bowie. Creatures of the Night, Kiss. The Number of The Beast, Iron Maiden. So many greats made up the backbone of a comprehensive collection once your pride and joy. Warn paper spines felt familiar under your fingertips, a warm musk kicking up as you traced the them. So much of your youth was spent in a constant rotation of these albums on your turntable, lost in the euphony each album created. How long had it been since you pulled one of these out? If the layer of thick dust accumulating upon your turntable was any indication, it had been an eon. 

Subsequent boxes contained more records hidden away, stale with desertion. Perhaps the dust added to the heft as you sloughed the boxes into a disorganized pile on your quest for something comfortable, desperation and tiredness mounting upon each disappointing box. The last box at the bottom of the stack was unsurprisingly unlabeled. It had better not be more records. Three full boxes packed to the gills with LPs was enough. Even the thought of having to transport those ratcheted up the tiredness. You peeled back the tape and popped open the flaps and your hands froze. Box flaps fell from your shocked hands as you peered down at the box’s contents. 

Soft baby blue satin glinted in the low light of your apartment. You couldn’t hold back the soft smile that quirked your lips in recognition as your fingers traced the lettering on the cool fabric. Sound Hound looped across the satin expanse in white script formed by patch and chainstitch. Almost reverently, you lifted the jacket from the box. How it was still in near mint condtion, you couldn’t fathom as you brought the fabric to your nose. The Oakmoss, anise, and bergamot notes of Brut met your inhale; it still smelled like him. Your dad. Don “The Sound Hound” Henderson.

One thousand percent responsible for your record collection and former deep love of music, Don was WINN 104.9’s premiere drive time radio spot Not My First Radio. Perhaps your dad was also one thousand percent responsible for your sense of humor. All leather jackets, KISS t-shirts, and cigarette smoke, he was a true rock’n’roller and he immersed you in that world from your conception. Playing you Pink Floyd in utero, playing you acoustic cover lullabies of Led Zeppelin, giving you the finer points of imitating Barry Gibb for your grade school talent show, sneaking you out of middle school to see Cheap Trick in Chicago and subsequently finding Meat Loaf thus beginning your life long obsession, and all the late night concerts as you began high school. Bowie, KISS, Journey, Nazareth, AC/DC, Bee Gees, Billy Squire, Black Sabbath, Bruce Springsteen. If it was a major musical act playing anywhere near the Indianapolis area, you could bet DJ Don “The Sound Hound” Henderson was in attendance. And by proxy, you if he could steal you away as his assistant in “research”. 

It wasn’t just rock and roll, it was soul. Your dad may have been a rock virtuoso, but he was also a funk junkie. Kool and The Gang, Funkadelic, Cymande, Earth, Wind, & Fire. Anything with a groove sent you and your dad whirling around the living room to the beat, laughing until your sides ached as much as your cheeks from smiling. Often roping your mother and your brother in on your hijinks. Music wove the very fabric of your life from before you were born. It was a tether, entwining especially you and your dad together, as thick at thieves. You idolized him. He was your best friend.

At least he was until cancer took him when you were 14. Watching your idol succumb to that nasty, eating disease broke you. He wasted away in a matter of months post diagnosis. It was then you resolved you wanted to be just like him, setting your sights on Northwestern’s broadcasting program. You were going to carry on the Henderson name, at least in the radio world. Desperate to keep the music thread continuing in your life. 

A telltale lump began to form in the back of your throat, tightening in that all too familiar way. Guard already low due to energy dangling dangerously close to burnout, you set the bomber jacket aside to assuage the brewing feelings, but were startled with a clatter. Curious, you pressed a hand to the jacket, feeling a rectangular lump beneath the fabric. Slipping your hand in the pocket, you produced a clear case housing a cassette. A yellowed label read “Sound Hound: September 1, 1979 Broadcast”,  your dad’s familiar scrawl clearly scripted. Feet moving of their own volition, you hardly realized you had crossed the room until you were popping open the tape deck on your alarm clock and pressing play. 

The tape began to spool, clicking and clacking reverberating from the player. Not even fading in, the tinny recording began abruptly. 

Since you been gone

Since you been gone

I'm out of my head can't take it

Since you been gone

Since you been gone

I'm out of my head can't take it

Graham Bonnet’s iron lung of a voice faded as a voice you hadn’t heard in a long while began to talk over the outro.

“And if you are just tuning in to WINN, you’re listening to The Sound Hound!” Your dad’s voice enthused followed by a very cheesy Halloween werewolf howling sound effect. “That is a new drop from across the pond. After the rain there’s always a Rainbow. And off their new album Down to Earth that was Since You’ve Been Gone. Hoping your ride home has been rockin’ and rolling smoothly. Keep an eye on the traffic headed southbound on 65, there’s heavy traffic in all lanes. Speaking of traffic, here’s one last jam to take you home. And this one is for a little creature who should be just getting off school. See y’all tomorrow on the next Not My First Radio Show!”

A Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba-Barbara Ann

Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba-Barbara Ann

Barbara Ann

Take my hand

Another bitter smile formed on your lips. As hard rock as your dad could be, he had a secret soft spot. One only known to you. The Beach Boys. No one would expect a love of The Beach Boys. But he did, he loved them un-ironically. It became your thing. Taking his prized powder blue Fairlane, affectionally known as Babs, out for a cruise down the 31. Top down, summer sun warming your skin and wind tousling your hair. Barbara Ann pouring through the speakers at the highest volume possible. You singing along at the top of your lungs. Your dad singing off-key in his best Boris Karloff impersonation, coaxing a peel of giggles from you in your younger years. 

Oh Barbara Ann, take my hand

Barbara Ann

You got me rockin' and a-rollin'

Rockin' and a-reelin'

Barbara Ann ba ba

Ba Barbara Ann

Those were the kind of hazy days of summer that you wished would last forever. Some of your fondest childhood memories lived in the cream leather interior, the soft blue dashboard, the treads of the tires. Barbara Ann became your code. Anytime it played on air, it was his way of say hi or he was thinking about you. Now, when you happened to hear it, it was your dad’s way of saying he was with you even beyond the grave and Babs… Well, she was a last corporeal piece of him. 

Honestly, it was bittersweet. Babs was a little bit of your dad to keep with you wherever you went. In later years, she became a scared space of shared secrets, long drives to Lover's Lake with Led Zeppelin on the radio, a stolen away solace at the back of the drive-in lot. But for the last five, she sat in your apartment’s parking structure. Under some sheet like a ghost of your past life. 

Nostalgia. What was with it today? Threatening to swallow you whole like the squall outside. As if this month wasn’t already charged enough. Now all this nostalgia to contend with? No thank you. While a trip down memory lane was nice and all, what you needed desperately was a little sleep. And to do that, you needed to be comfortable. Endeavoring to not let anything else sidetrack your mission, you return to the box you had opened, Beach Boys still bopping along in the background. Jackpot. Finally, past you did something that made sense. A box with a jacket AND other garments. It only took eight boxes, but you had found something to wear. Finally, a soft cotton tee was in your hands. You could almost cry in tired elation. The heathered forest green tee was Nirvana in your grasp. Shaking it out, eager to slip into comfort, you used the last ounce of your waining will straighten out the garment and— ugh, you had got to be kidding. 

Out of all the tees you owned, it would be this one. It was your lot. A huge cosmic joke where you were the punchline. Your shoulders sagged in weary acceptance. Clearly the universe was out to get you. As if you hadn’t been served enough sentimentality, the sole tee you could find would be for Shepherd’s Records. Shepherd’s had been your first job. Manning the counter and keep track of inventory for your dad’s best friend, Irwin Shepherd. Lord help you if you called him by his first name. He was Shep, and only Shep. God, you had loved that job, working nights after school and weekends, even coming home in the summer to man the shop. There was no place better for a music fanatic to work. Playing records all day and getting paid to chat with folks about music? Nothing better. 

You snorted ruefully as you lay the tee on your bed and began to disrobe. Seemingly everything today saw fit to remind you of things that were no longer part of your life. Dad. Shepherd’s. Music. So much loss in a short nearly three decades. But that was something better saved for your therapist office, not standing half naked staring at a t-shirt listening to Barbara Ann in the middle of your apartment at 1:30 in the morning. You just needed sleep. Sweet sleep. And maybe a Bartles & James to take the edge off. Yeah, that sounded good. Slipping on the comically large shirt, it hung down to mid-thigh, ample coverage for a night’s sleep. You rucked off your tights and snagged a pair of tall, thick socks from your box of socks before shuffling to the kitchen for your intended beverage.

The cool of the refrigerator breezed across your bare legs as you tugged open the door and plucked the peach flavored wine cooler from the scant contents of your fridge. Plunking the door closed, your hurried to the couch, pulled on your socks, and nestled under the bulky knit blanket, sinking into the warm reprieve from the chilled air of your apartment. One of the few things you hadn’t packed was a bottle opener. You grinned at your own genius as you reached for the tool on your coffee table and popped the top off your beverage. The sweet peach of the fizzy drink titillated your tastebuds as you took a deep swig, relaxing into the plush of your couch. 

Silence once again. The tape player had clicked off as you dressed and you were once again left in the quiet of your apartment. Gentle rattling of the radiator only added to the soundtrack of your mounting thoughts. This time of year always dredged up encroaching feelings. Giant, monstrous, beast like feelings unfurling their tentacles, probing through the mirk for some soft flesh to sink into. Testing the virility of the armor you’ve built over the years, craving to find some chink in your defenses. Most days you could stave off the onslaught with tools from your therapist wielded like weapons hewn in hard work of facing down your demons. Other days, much like today, when tiredness seeped from every pore and the calendar slowly progressing towards the day you dreaded most, your defenses offered little resistance to the strike. 

In the turbulent grey of March, you couldn’t help but think on it. Of him. The irony wasn’t lost on you that you lazed on your couch wearing the shirt bearing the name of the first place you truly saw him. The first time that unruly mop of brown hair waltzed into your life, setting you on a collision course of inevitable destruction.

Hawkins June 20, 1981

Summer. Might as well be called hell season as far as you were concerned. Asphalt hot enough to cook an egg or melt the rubber off your sneakers. Mercury bursting to the top of thermometers, 100 degrees and counting. Heat haze blurring the corn fields along the sides of the road as you drove into town. The mid-afternoon Midwest sun was as unforgiving as you could get, so much so that despite your car’s air-conditioning being on the fritz, having the top down wasn’t even in the realm of possibility lest you scorched your hide clean off. Dewey beads of sweat caused your baby hairs to stick to your brow and your legs to the leather of the seats. It was a scorcher, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. 

School was officially done for the year. No schedules, no assignments. Just you and your favorite place on earth, thankfully with air conditioning. Pulling into your designated spot, you cut the engine, twirling the keys around your finger as you walked up the back door of Shepherd’s Records. Locking the door behind you, pressing your back to the door, you relished in the cool air, an oasis from the broiling heat outside.

The quiet cool of the shop was peaceful as you made your way through the stacks of records. A familiar scent of plastic wrap, laminated cardboard, and heavily treaded carpet. Inviting, a place of comfort. Being the only record institution in Hawkins, the store was always a little less than clean, clear that many people have trampled through the shop. Stained carpeting, a little rubbish stuck in a corner somewhere no matter how thoroughly you scoured the shop, and the ever-present hint of fast food, plastic, and hairspray lived in the soft lines. 

Posters hung from the rafters debut the newest albums and in store promotions. The community bulletin board was littered with flyers for local shows and stacks of independent zines by filled the table by the door. Oasis was certainly the right word for Shepherd’s progressive palace in the midwestern malum. The devil-may-care attitude the outsider rock and roll nature of Shepherd’s offered appealed to some, but the real draw was of course the music. Rows and rows of illustrations and photos, containing everything from heavy metal to new wave to Motown to Shostakovich. 

Folks occasionally bought an album or single after hearing it played over the store’s sound system, or something of your recommendation. Husband’s utterly lost trying to find a gift for their wife. Some girl humming something she heard over the radio that she was desperate to have a copy of her own. Local DJ’s jonesing to find an international import of an obscure funk album. The true diehards never wanted assistance, nor did they really need it. “Don’t buy that album, there’s only one good song” or “This might be there best ever”, you didn’t dare even breathe it in their direction; they’d find your opinions more than annoying wanting to draw their own conclusions. Elitists aside, you gleaned a lot of joy in connecting folks to the music that excited them. After all, vinyl was how you fell in the love with music. 

While other kids were listening on Fisher 100 watt hi-fi systems, you were spinning records on a Technic SP-10. Direct drive, the pinnacle of hi-fi. Much more crisp than a sad sounding mono speaker and better yet, loud, much to the dismay of your family and neighbors. It made music a much more visceral listening experience for you. It wasn’t just the superior audio quality, it was also the album itself. Nothing tops the feeling of cracking open the record sleeve, peeling back the plastic wrap not knowing what was inside. Were there lyrics? Tour photos? Pure unadulterated excitement. When there was a lack of stuff inside, it was always disappointing. 

Nothing topped browsing the aisles of Shepherd’s, looking for an exotic gem or a familiar favorite. And you got to do it everyday. And get paid. Summer, heat side, was your second favorite time of the year. Five days a week you basked in the haven Shepherd’s provided. Briefly you wondered if this is how your dad felt, being at the station surrounded by albums as far as the eye could see. Ample avenues and journeys to take, music to be carried way by… if only he was here. Your love of music stemmed from wholly your dad. While you mom fancied Barry Manilow and The Beatles, not terrible choices if you're honest, she was a causal listener, not one who was consumed by what she heard. You and your dad had that in common, cut from the same sensitive cloth. 

“Come here, Creature,” he’d beckon you from the floor of his office, kneeling next to his record player adjusting the gain. “Listen to this.” He set the needle on the record and sound would pour out as he lay on the floor, limbs stretched and eyes closed. Completely succumbing to the music.

You’d nestle into his side in kind. Your nights typically consisted of this. Waiting for your dad to return home from the station with a new release to show you. You’d both lay on the floor and close your eyes and be taken away. As the music would build, gooseflesh broke out upon your arms, sending zinging chills throughout your whole being. Utterly and completely alive. The first time you recall feeling this sensation was the first time you listened to Ramble On by Led Zeppelin in this exact manner. Barely 6, your father could hardly wait to share one of his favorite albums with you. 

“Whadya think?” he’d turn to you and ask, eyes alight. You’d tell him exactly what you thought, how it made you feel. Swapping sensations and your deep, newly acquired love of Robert Plant. 

What you wouldn’t give for him to be tucked behind the counter right now, discussing that the Creature Feature would be for the day. Creature, your dad’s nickname for you, raised many eyebrows. Part due to your penchant for staying up into the early hours of the morning, part due to your love of Creature From The Black Lagoon. You had made him watch that film on repeat so frequently that the tape began to run thin, needing replaced. Twice. What could you say? There was just something about a creature just wanting love. The outcast, the oddity, the one never to belong thirsting deeply for companionship. Or that’s at least what your interpretation of the plot was, not a bloodthirsty Gil-Man out to ensure a beautiful woman. 

Your Creature Feature turntable choice of the day: Funkadelic’s Maggot Brain. Was there any better way than to start you day with funk? Maybe a little mind-melting for the beginning of your shift, but it was one of your favorite albums of all time. Rife with protest-soul, brimming with rage over Vietnam and raised fists in support of Martin Luther King Jr., Maggot Brain spoke through brooding delusions, screaming from the shadows in a time bereft with injustice. You drop the needle on the record and just marinated a minute. 

Mother Earth is pregnant for the third time

For y'all have knocked her up.

I have tasted the maggots in the mind of the universe

I was not offended

For I knew I had to rise above it all

Or drown in my own shit.

Bandleader George Clinton’s spoken word begins fading into one of the most powerful and passionate guitar solos ever etched in wax. Fuzz and wah ala Hendrix, combined with the delay and echoplexed improvisation, Eddie Hazel’s solo brayed through the shop, eerie and mournful, an emotional apocalypse of sound. The one-take-wonder and titular track was your favorite, not just for sound, but also for lore. Clinton told Hazel to play as if he just found out his mother passed. The heartbreak and subsequent spiral of loss was palpable as the music pumped through the overhead speakers, vibrating in your chest as you set about turning on the lights readying for open.

This is why you loved working here. Learning all the interconnectedness of the music tapestry. How artists and styles inspired and wove together. If you paid close enough attention, funk was the epicenter of a lot of musical genres. Funkadelic for example influenced Miles Davis’ Agharta with their Wars of Armageddon which could really only be described as a paranoid freak out jam. Decadent, dizzying, and heady. There were even tunes Black Sabbath would have been proud of like Super Stupid. Funk to jazz, funk to metal. It was all connected; that such pain could transmute into something so poignant it echoed for decades after. 

Far to heady thoughts for barely noon. Proceeding with your opening duties, you flicked on the open sign, the connected neon lights flickering to life as you unlocked the front door, officially ready for the day. As per the nature of the biz, your first hour was slow, not a customer in sight. Which was fine, you had plenty to keep you occupied. Between cleaning, much needed dusting, straightening up the store, and bringing stock up from the back, you hardly noticed the bell above the door jingle with your first customers of the day.

“I’ll be right up!” You called, making your voice heard over Wars of Armeggedon. A feat considering you were in the back room contesting with protest audio, crowd ambiance, odd mouth noises, and otherwise cacophonous and riotous noise driven funk.

No response was given as you trotted up to the front. “How can I help—” your customer service smile dropped in an instant when you saw who was standing in the center of the store. “You,” your voice deadpanned in summation. 

“For starters, you could play something a little more, oh I don’t know, sane?” 

A hulking frame draped in a lettermen’s jacket despite the heat were blocked your path to the front of the store. Flanked by two of cronies, clearly amused with the cat and mouse game that had just instigated, they caged you in. Terrific. What had started out as a laissez faire day now had been severely sidetracked. Summer was supposed mean less encounters from the masses at school. Something you had greatly looked forward to: no jocks for a glorious three months. It had only been two days. Of all the record stores in all of Indiana, he had to walk into yours.

“Last I checked, I was the employee here, not you Carver,” you spat with clenched teeth, standing your ground not being at all intimidated by the goons. 

Chet Carver, the eldest Carver sibling. Most notably known for captaining the Hawkins High football team as quarterback. And also being a grade A douche canoe. Blonde. Brawny. Entitled. You would think for a pastor’s son he’d be a bit more humble. But it couldn’t be further from the truth. The aggressive meathead saw fit to target anyone who was slightly off center from the norm. Mathletes, drama geeks, no one was safe from his ire. His sway over those who looked up to him was strong, seeing as his little brother was following along in his exact footsteps. 

You knew his type, all too well unfortunately. Just a year or so ago, you were going steady. Holding hands, kissing in his car at the drive-in, the whole lot. Dumping the King of Hawkins High made you persona non grata, top mark in his crosshairs. He leered down at you, sussing out your stance for any weakness, thirsty to rend you to your knees as you had done to him. That smarmy captious grin made your blood boil and your palm itch to smack the look off his face. 

“What do you want?” You over-annunciated each syllable, hopefully the direct manner would somehow seep into his peabrain. 

“Oh you know,” he casually began, finally putting distance between the two of you. He began walking his fingers over the albums as he spoke, “we were out for a drive before heading to Benny’s for a burger and I thought to myself, you know what I could use? A new record.” He paused to flip through one of the bins he was standing in front of, taking time to muss the alphabetical order. 

Your lips pressed into a thin line, jaw aching in restraint as you bit back a smarting remark. As much as you would love to engage him in witty repartee, the sooner he left the shop, the better. You watch unmoving, your eyes trailed Chet and his cronies as the perused. Watching only, not interfering. Sure, they were making your job difficult by bringing chaos to your inventory, but if it was the worst they did, so be it. A few disorganized records? They could do much worse. 

“Ah, this is the one,” Chet had stopped his perusal, pulling a record out of the country bin and holding it out to you. Ronnie Milsap. There’s No Gettin’ Over Me. Fitting.

With a short snort, you took the record from him and made for the cash wrap. Of course he would pick the worst song of the year with the most blatant messaging.

Well you can walk out on me tonight

If you think that it ain’t feeling right

But darling

There’s ain’t no getting over me

Well you can say that you need to be free

But there ain’t no place that I won’e be

As one would assume, such a cocksure clydesdale didn’t take being dumped too kindly. If his constant harassment was enough of an indicator, this cheap shot was as clear as a foghorn. There ain’t no getting over me. Please. You had heard the song all but once over the radio at Melvald’s and it was enough. Utter trash. A narcissist’s anthem if you’ve ever heard one. You had been over him the day you dumped him. He had changed after your dad passed. All your friends had. Treating you different for grieving; you weren’t the peppy upstart you used to be. Not cool enough to hang with the in crowd. And honestly it suited you fine. The exhaustion that came a long with keeping up The Joneses was too much anyway.

Your frustration leeched out onto the register keys, punching the pricing into the cash register as you thought back on it. You may have been over Chet, but the feelings of your world turning upside down were a little too fresh. “$9.98.” You foisted your palm in his direction, not bothering to make eye contact as you rummaged beneath the counter with your freehand for a bag 

From the corner of your eye, you saw him smirk, reaching into his jacket for his wallet. “I’ll let you keep the change if you give me a smile,” he taunted, laying a crisp ten dollar bill in your awaiting palm, as he leaned over the counter, encroaching inch by inch on your personal space. 

Change was made quickly and dropped into the bag. “Have a nice day,” you spoke flatly, slapping the bagged record into his chest. The paper bag crinkled against his jacket, the force and surprise propelling him back a few steps, bemused expression on his face at your reaction.  

HIs cronies chortled again, the interaction pulling them out of the mussing miscreancy.  “Seems like we’re not wanted here, Carver,” one of them mused, flanking Chet. 

“I supposed not,” Chet clapped him on the back. “Let’s get outta here.” 

Finally, FINALLY, the three skulked their way to the exit. Only being in the store for all of ten minutes, they had sufficiently made a large enough mess of your racks that it would take you nearly half the day to restore the order. Scooping up the nearest stack, you took the armful of albums back over the the counter. 

“Hey Henderson,” he called to your retreating back, pausing you mid step. 

Your abrupt turn and the heft of the records in your arms put you off kilter are you stared him down in the doorway. 

“I always thought you were prettiest when you smiled,” he winked, disquieting you to the very core as he exited.

Had your hands been free, you would have flipped him the bird, double time. That fucker. Thinking he could come in here, invade your sanctuary, and leer like that? Who did he think he was? Right, god’s gift to womankind. The albums met the counter with more force than you intended, the pile spilling onto the floor with the force. A breath didn’t know you were holding released, your shoulders slumping in resignation. This was going to be a long shift.

Several hours and almost the entirety of Iron Maiden’s Killers later, all was righted in the store. All of the jazz section had to be completely reorganized from Armstrong to Zawinul. Pain in the ass was the understatement of the year. Wistfully, you wished you had given Chet a piece of your mind, read him for all the filth he was, but being in his presence any longer than necessary would have been a drain on your day. Engaging him in the slightest would have bated him to linger. Just the short encounter had been enough. 

Gloriously, you hadn’t had another customer all afternoon, nothing too atypical for a Friday. The lull in activity gave you ample time to right Carver’s wrongs. Something about organizing provided the proper channel for your aggravation. A before B, B before C. A rhyme and a reason, no chaos in an easily understood system. The balm you desperately needed, smoothing the wrinkles out in your day.

“Hey Henderson!” 

Your head snapped up, the voice catching you off guard. The sound system must have obscured the door bell as you had not heard the group of boys enter, too lost in your world of alphabetized jazz. Anxiety left your body in a rush, spine slackening in relief as you looked upon a familiar face. “Hi Grant.”

The sophomore flustered under your recognition, looking down at his shoes as a blush tinted his round cheeks pink. Among your job at the record shop and a babysitting gig here and there, you also tutored students as a part of the Hawkins Library Aide program. Looked good on college applications and provided some extra scratch. 

“Got that new Demon album in. Set aside a copy for you,” you continued, wiping your hands off on your jean shorts, ridding the dust from your sticky palms. 

“Hey,” one of Grant’s friends good naturedly ribbed, “getting in in tight with the record store girl. Sucking at English has it perks.”

“Shut up, Gareth,” Grant admonished his blonde friend. 

Gentle giant Grant. You would never understand why the school thought him such a freak. Grant aired more on the quiet side, odd considering his large frame. Had he been popular, he more than likely would have been a starting lineman or something like that. Instead, he favored music, art, softer pursuits. He reminded you a lot of your brother’s friend Will in temperament at least. Grant’s whole friend ground reminded you of your brother’s Party come to think of it.

“Speaking of which,” you dashed back behind the cash warp to retrieve his hold, easily finding under GOODMAN, “how’d you do on your final?” Your hands moved on muscle memory as you prepared the sale, stamping the brown paper bag with the satisfying ka-chunk with the store’s branded stamp. 

“He aced it,” Jeff beamed at his friend as they neared the counter. 

“Way to go!” You beamed proudly at your pupil as he handed you the payment for his tape. Prepping for the exam tested Grant’s resolve. Really, the only reason he needed a tutor was due to O’Donnell’s impatience. Had she taken the necessary time and not written him off as a “problem”, like she did with any student who wasn’t a grade A ass kisser, he would have been just fine. All he needed was a little time and reassurance. 

“Right?” Gareth added, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Now your parents can’t say shit when we practice in your garage all summer.”

“We owe our future success to you,” Jeff grinned. “We would be down a guitarist if it wasn't for your help.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the exchange, this friend group not unlike your brother’s in the slightest. Through tutoring, you came to know Grant well, and by proxy, you had become casually acquainted with his friends. Gareth: loud, boisterous, ostentatious. Jeff: quiet, contemplative, congenial. And—

“Hey sorry, I’m late! The copier kept jamming at the print shop,” the boy who was more mass of hair than human skidded into the shop. Eddie. Eddie Munson. Out of all of the group, you had interacted with it’s defacto leader the least. No words had been exchanged, solely a head nod or a wave. He flapped around like a bat out of hell. Hyperactive. Mercurial. Rough around the edges. The crowned town freak. Though you suspected that wasn’t truly the case. Was he unruly? Absolutely. Did he draw attention to himself in spectacle? Everyday. But was he a freak? Doubtful. More than likely merely misunderstood. Not unlike your own brother. Same hyperactive, overly chatty, nerd tendencies.

You watched the group flurry about as Eddie tacked up a boisterous flyer. CORRODED COFFIN @ THE HIDEOUT AUGUST 4th 7pm it read in what you assume to be Eddie’s scratchy scrawl, complete with the stereotypical rock paraphernalia sketched on the neon paper. 

“Dude, how did you manage that?” Gareth jerked a thumb at the poster. “The Hideout is bar.”

“Power of persuasion my friend, power of persuasion,” Eddie lips drew back in a wide grin full of pomp, his ego on full display. Unruly curls jostled in time with his animated movements as he regaled his friends with the full tale. From your station behind the counter, the mischievous twinkle in his eye was easily seen, overly proud of his cleverness in securing their gig. 

His chains glinted in the neon light lights of the shop, causing them to glow more pink and blue against the cut off black denim shorts and shirt he wore. Iron Maiden and Eddie the Head barely stood out on the fabric, faded with much wear. Rough around the edges indeed. He certainly contrasted the punchy hunter green and burnt orange of Hawkins High School’s logo. Of the town’s sun-faded siding of the houses along Main Street. The pastels and polos of the in crowd. How had you not noticed before? 

“And a Tuesday? There’s gonna be no one there,” you overheard Gareth complain as you tuned back into the conversation. 

“Gentlemen, come on,” he threw his arms around Gareth and Jeff’s shoulders. He spoke in a manner of a commander quelling his troops before a charge. His persuasive aura huddling the group  “Sure it’s not Market Square Arena, but it’s a start.”

The group looked unsure between themselves. 

“One person doth an audience make. Right?” He was all smiles. Affable and relaxed having swayed his friends over to his point of view. Curious. You regarded him as they continued to converse, perusing the shop leisurely. In the way one should. Try as you could to look at anything else, your eyes followed Eddie’s movements. Pouring through the records, admiring the album with their due reverence. His love of music read from across the store. If it wasn’t his sheer enthusiasm for his gig, it was the way he handled each vinyl with care. Like each was a priceless antiquity meant for the Smithsonian, not a dusty old Indiana record shop. 

He cuts through your perusal, his deep boisterous laugh filling the space. Head thrown back, fully body shaking. Lopsided grin toying at the edges of his lips. Free, you thought idly. He was utterly free. A foreign chink sounded somewhere deep in the pit of your stomach at the thought. When was the last time you had laughed like that? Let your hair down and allowed yourself to be free? Hell, just even be. 

Jesus Christ, what planets were in transit today that made every thought that wafted through your head wax the poetic? Turning to busy yourself with something other than staring at Eddie Munson, receipts from the week begging to be filed demanded your attention. 

The slips of paper consumed your attention, filing expenses for the week, returns from the one lady who insisted Stevie Nicks was the devil incarnate and insisted on a refund, and preparing the order for next week’s shipment for Shep. Lost in your own clerical world you had missed the small scuffle and sound of light cajoling behind you. That was until a voice was cleared, loudly and comically. Clearly intended to garner your attention. 

“H-hi there,” you were greeted as you looked over your shoulder. Eddie was standing at the counter across from you.

“What can I do for you, Cousin It?” You could hardly withhold the jibe that left your lips. Cousin It? You mentally reprimanded yourself for your lack of filter. It had been a long day. The perfect defense, but your excuse died in your throat. 

A wry smile quirked the corner of his lips as his friends chortled behind him, trying and failing to pretend like they weren’t eavesdropping. “You wound me!” His hands flew over his heart as he staggered a few steps back as if he had been stabbed. “Is this what customer service has come to nowadays?”  He faux fainted into the support of the record bins behind him with the grace of a 1800’s courtesan. 

His friends burst into full guffaws, unable to ignore the hijinks. You huffed, folding your arms across your chest. Clearly, this clown wasn’t too unlike the other who came in to chat you up and goad a smile out of you. 

He caught you mid eye-roll, those deep brown eyes. A flash of amusement in the neon lights of the shop. “Listen,” he said lowly, demeanor changing to something resembling a semi-respectable member of society. “I bet those numb skulls over there,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at his friends as he sidled up the counter again, “my DM seat, my—”

“Dungeon Master seat, yeah I’m tracking with you,” you interrupted, all too familiar with the term. Dustin’s inane rambling about Dungeons & Dragons had permeated your brain. He only talked about it 24/7.

His eyes widened, surprise clear as he looked at you. “Well then,” the laugh lines appeared on either side of his mouth, clearly pleased at this turn of events, “a lady informed.” He propped an elbow on the counter and rested his chin in hand as he leaned closer to you. “Then you know the severity of this bet,” he all but whispered into the space between you. 

You stared at him for a beat, sussing out his intent. Narrowing your eyes at him slightly and still his grinned persisted, not fading a mite. 

“Right, so I bet them my DM sea aha I could get a lovely lady as yourself’s phone number by the end of the day. They don’t believe in the Munson charm.”

Eyes flicking to the clock, it was 5:47pm. Nearly the end of the day. Per his early statement, most of his day sounded like it was spent wrestling a copier prior to killing time in your shop. His options were limited. A wry smile cracked your features. “Let me guess,” you leaned onto the counter mimicking his position, “I’m your only hope?” He returned your grin. “You’d be correct, Obi Wan.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“My undying gratitude,” he answered quickly, hand flourishing over his heart.

“You’re going to have to sweeten the pot.”

At that, his palm flew up to cover his mouth, the thought process propelled him to pace, unable to stay still to ponder. The need to make a show of it all too great. He paused, as if a great idea dawned on him.

"I, milady, will owe you one favor of your choosing. A favor from your humble, grateful servant," he bowed low, arms out wide in submission.

Flabbergasted, you regarded him in his docile pose. "I don't even know you, dude.” You really didn’t. This being the first time you’ve ever directly spoken to the boy, how on Earth could he provide you a favor? Would you even want a favor from a complete stranger?

He stood, quickly returning to his towering height. “Touché,” his grin faltered, not expecting this conversation to go left. 

Perhaps the Munson charm really was a figment of his imagination. Then again maybe it wasn’t. Disarming, you could feel your hackles from your earlier encounter with Chet smooth back flat to your neck as Eddie searched for something further to say, a pink tint dusting his cheeks as he floundered. There was something endearing about the way he toed at the carpet with his beat up Reebok’s. All the bravado seem to slip for an instant, allowing you a brief peek behind the curtain. There was more to him than the rumors around town suggested. 

"I, milady, will owe you one favor of your choosing. A favor from your humble, grateful servant," he bowed low, arms out wide in submission.

Flabbergasted, you regarded him in his docile pose. "I don't even know you, dude."

He stood, quickly returning to his towering height. “Touché,” his grin faltered, not expecting this conversation to go left. 

Perhaps the Munson charm really was a figment of his imagination. Then again maybe it wasn’t. Disarming, you could feel your hackles from your earlier encounter with Chet smooth back flat to your neck as Eddie searched for something further to say, a pink tint dusting his cheeks as he floundered. There was something endearing about the way he toed at the carpet with his beat up Reebok’s. All the bravado seem to slip for an instant, allowing you a brief peek behind the curtain. There was more to him than the rumors around town suggested. 

You never really believed what the rumors whispered. Cultist. Satanist. Evil. If he was any of those things, he certainly would be blushing in front of you trying to come up with something to offer. 

His gaze returned to yours. “You’re nice,” he arrived at with what you were sure was less subtly and finesse than he wanted, “at least that what Grant says. He raves about you. So I know you’ve got some small soft spot for us freaks.”

Your brow lifted in response. “Is that so?” you challenged.

“Me thinks so,” he mirrored you, leaning back in, closing the distance. “You know,” he offered casually, “we aren’t totally strangers. We’re just meeting now. I’m Eddie by the way.” 

“Oh I know.”

“I do declare,” he gasped in a rather surprisingly accurate mimicry of a southern belle. “Henderson the Great knows my name?”

A snort was your only response as his chocolate eyes did their best to woo you into helping him. You rested your chin on your fist, staring him down in equal kind. A Mexican standoff over the counter. He trying desperately to sway you. You trying to determine his motives. Narrowing your eyes slightly, you weighed your options. What did you really have to lose in this situation? Your phone number was permanently etched in the men’s bathroom at Hawkins High thanks to Chet and his minions. Crank calls weren’t something with which you were unfamiliar. But what you had to gain, that was a mystery. What could Eddie Munson do for you that you couldn’t do for yourself?  Something about Eddie made you want to say yes, seal yourself in this devil’s bargain where you had the power and he owed you.

“A favor I can call in for anything at anytime. No questions asked?”

“I draw the line at animal sacrifice,” he grinned, “but yeah. Anything, anytime.” He drew a little x over his heart, sealing the deal. 

“Charming.” You proffered your hand. 

He stares at you, startled that it worked? His lips the perfect “o” in shock.

“Give me your arm,” you laughed lightly, fishing a pen from a drawer behind the counter. 

Eddie all but threw his arm into your await grasp, eagerness rolling off of him in waves. His skin vibrated under your palm as your phone number took shape on his arm. 

“I really appreciate this.” The timbre of his voice had changed, warm. Rife with what felt like true meaning. You didn’t doubt his appreciation and if you had looked up, you would have caught the shy blush that blossomed on his cheeks at your gentle touch. Deeper and redder than before.

“Just doing my civic duty. Can’t let Princess Leia lose her seat.”

With that he laughed. Full on belly laugh like before. But this time at your prompting, you had earned a bit of his free savoir faire. Pleasure at the fact bloomed small in your chest, causing you to nearly drop the pen in your grasp. 

“Munson, are you accosting my tutor?” Grant keyed in on the moment, just realizing what was happening. “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry.” His large hands landed on Eddie’s shoulders pulling him away from the counter, severing your connection. “I’ll get him out of your hair,” Grant said as he shooed his friend to the exit.

“See ya around, Creech,” called over his shoulder as Grant manhandled him to the door. “What did you just call me?” the world hitting you like a slur.

“Creech, like Creature?” He grinned, pointing at your t-shirt. “Like Creature from The Black Lagoon? Rad shirt by the way,” he complimented as Grant finally herded him out the door and onto the sidewalk. 

Creature. That world fell upon you like cold bucket of water. No one had called you that in years. The only person to ever use the nickname, your father. In disbelief you looked down at your tee. The familiar movie poster was there, same black ink on the love-worn shirt. Creature. Out of all the things he could have called you… 

“You did not just get her number!” You heard Gareth’s shout from outside the shop in total shock of his friend’s success. A laugh you needed worked it’s way up and out of you. At both the outburst and the absurdity of the last five minutes of your life. Creature. You couldn’t wait until he found out that you had given him the shop phone number. 

If someone from the future had beamed down in that instant and told you that the two of you— that you and him— he and you— You would have never believed it. In what timeline were the two of you destined to be together? You threw an arm over your eyes as you surfaced from the memory you'd always carry with you, no matter how hard you've tried to erase it. Carry? His memory, a boulder and you, Sisyphus. Forever rolling his echo up the mountainside and just as you are about to crest, to be free from the niggling guilt and ever-present ache, it plummets back down, right back into the pit you from which you crawled. Fingers bloody and war torn, muscles aching only second to the affliction of your heart. Would you ever not feel the boulder in your chest? The throb of the rock lurching about, staggering your thoughts, keeping you off-kilter. In a session, your therapist had suggested that you never shrink your grief, you eventually outgrow it. But how long? Ten years? Fifteen years? Fifty years? The past five constricted, your skin pulled taut over the sorrow stone. Tightness hindering your ability to draw breath, to think clearly, to move on.

Or was it more like maggots? Worming away in the decay of your heart, carving out tracts for all the guilt and shame to fester. Wriggling, putrid, filth. Yeah, no. Beginning to the lose the battle with the constriction in your throat, you stood lest you be swallowed by the mounting wave of grief. Before the wave crested, you stooped back to the kitchen, grabbed the dwindling content of the six pack you started days priors, and schlepped back to the couch. If you were to face the sleepless undertow pulling at your ankles, you wouldn’t do so without liquid courage. Sleep evaded you most nights, but this time of year it was damn near impossible to find rest in the choppy waves that thundered your shore. And even if sleep did take you, this was going to be a long night.

Shrill ringing woke you from your post-shift slumber. Groaning, you swore, feeling as if you had just closed your eyes only to have your sleep so rudely interrupted.

The ringing didn’t quit, the blasted thing rattling from your side table just above your lounging head.  Blindly from your prostrate position on your couch, your hand roved until it met the glossy plastic of your telephone. With a groan, your fingers curled around the receiver, hoisting into the air and foisting it to your ear with a grumbled, “hello?”

“Come home.” 

A demand, a cracked intonation you hadn’t heard in your younger brother’s voice in a long while. The mere sound doused you like a frigid bucket of water. You froze, heart thrumming loudly in your ear overriding your functions to knee-jerk. Shocked, you propelled yourself sitting, dread pooling in your gut. Shit, shit, shitting shit.

Tantalizingly, the thought of just simply hanging up waltzed to the front of your brain. Oops, the phone happened to fall out of hand and right onto the cradle, your muscles too tired from mixing drinks to hold the receiver. Believable? Yes. Easy to execute? Yes. Your palm itched at the idea. A faked bad connection had gotten you off the phone a time or two, but this called for more drastic tactics. Surely this would work. Your brother would understand, wouldn’t he?

Frustration was evident in his tone as he yammered on, his words falling upon deaf ears. You couldn’t blame him; he had every right to be frustrated with you. Five years is a long time to stay away, no matter how good your reasoning. 

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen Dustin in five years. He had come to visit during breaks after he got his license, your family drove up to celebrate your birthday one or twice, meeting for a quick catch up in Indianapolis on a Saturday. You had seen your family. Perhaps not as often as they would like. 

Just a few months ago you were all together. Now that was a magical Christmas. Soft white fluffy snow, the kind you see on those “Wish You Were Here” postcards, blanketed the roads as you took the bus from Cambridge into New York City Dustin’s first year at MIT. The world always has a little more glow that time of year, but something about being in New York made it even more so. Skating in Times Square, hot chocolate in Central Park freezing your butts off, forcing your mom to eat street hot dogs with you and her bellyaching about all the hazards of imbibing, getting lost in the natural history museum for hours. Complete bliss. It was almost enough to make you forget. Almost.

It wasn’t like you were radio silent either. Save for the last few months, regular phone were a Wednesday night staple. There were cards exchanged for the birthdays and holidays you dodged coming home to celebrate. So you had missed a few birthdays, Christmas, high school graduations, college acceptances— ok so you had missed some major milestones. An even more appealing reason to add to the list of why you needed off this call. A big ol’ pit of guilt.

Who were you kidding, though? Really. This is Dustin Henderson. That dogged determination would have him ringing you again and again until you rip the phone from the jack, and burying it under your floorboards a la Edgar Alan Poe’s Telltale Heart. Even then, the phantom ringing would drive you mad. The alternative: The National Guard would show up on your doorstep and drag you kicking and screaming all the way back to Hawkins. As much as you dreaded this exact scenario, he was your little brother and you loved that little punk more than anything. Though the fantasy of a final desperate dodge appealed, you couldn’t do that to him. You wouldn’t do that to him. Resigned, your shoulders slumped. You had to take this call. There were no more ways around it. You were trapped. Great, just great. 

As if your anxiety wasn’t high enough, the thought of being trapped only served to make the walls of your studio apartment feel smaller than they already were. With each nervous breath, they closed in a little more, creeping closer and closer. Your beloved little hole in the wall was now a refrigerator box of rigid tension. What was it that your therapist had reminded you of last session? Chewing on your cuticle and maintaining your breath evenly, you tried to recall her words. A breath would help. Slowly, you unfurled yourself from your tense seat, placing your feet flat on the floor and inhaling and holding. In. Out. In and out. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat as many times as it takes to gain your bearings. As many time as it takes to not want to claw your way out of your own skin. Breathe. Just fucking breathe. 

Finally releasing the stranglehold on your eardrums, the ringing subsided, bringing your brother’s frantic calling of your name into focus.

“Dust—”

“Jesus Christ, I thought you had a coronary.” The relief in his voice was palpable, even cutting through his obvious frustration.

“Sorry.” Hopefully he’d pickup on the sheepish tone to your voice. You hadn’t meant to startle him. Hell, that was the last thing you’d want to do. Things had been hard enough for Dustin Henderson. A basket case sister is not what he needed right now. With a deep swallow and additional breath for good measure, you consoled, “I spaced is all.” 

While the ringing had stopped, uneasiness licked up your spine. Pressing your palm to your abdomen did little to quell the steady rise of heat, but it was a minor comfort. A minor comfort you’d continue to give yourself until this wave of anxiety releases you from its undertow. 

“Don’t do that!” His admonishments continued, ratcheting your guilt at every word. It wasn’t supposed to go on this long. Yes, initially you were avoidant, then it just became your modus operandi. Avoidance was easier than the inevitable bursting of the bubble. And god did you want that bubble to last forever. Really it had superseded a want; it was now a need. That sweet bubble of blissful feigned ignorance. Yep, you could hide in that no problem. 

Dodging this call for the past several weeks had been a Herculean effort on your part. Picking up extra shifts at The Signature Lounge to keep you out of your apartment until the wee hours of the morning, conveniently forgetting to change the tape in your answering machine, staying out all hours of the night dancing and drinking until your stomach was more sore than your feet, even going as far as leaving your phone off the hook to avoid this dreaded call.

Three months. Three blissful months of not acknowledging the impending anniversary. Ides of March took on a whole new meaning since 1986. At the thought, you swallowed harshly, your throat drying at the memory. A nearly empty Bartles & James offered you salvation from your coffee table and you sought it, finishing the bottle before adding it to the pile of its discarded twins. Beware indeed. Even with all the time past, stomaching this call was not on the list of things you wanted to do today. Honestly, probably ever. 

You sighed in the receiver, the nervous sweats already starting to coat your palms, the receiver slackening in your grasp. An excuse already forming on your tongue as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Don’t even start,” he interrupted what was sure to be your anxiety ridden ramble.

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“You said you were coming. You’re already three days late. Everyone’s counting on you being here.” 

Grounding. That was what your therapist recommended. Grounding. Sitting on the ground felt more appropriate to ground yourself, already feeling what little energy your brief nap gleaned left your body. Okay, so maybe lying on the floor would be better. Already feeling gelatinous, you poured yourself onto the floor. Flat as a board, staring up at the ceiling. 

Five. Five things you can see. 

The image of yourself reflected convex back to you in the screen of the small television sitting on the floor. Hair askew, dark circles forming under your eyes darkened by the remnant mascara smudged from your couch cushion. Oversized tee hanging off your frame, you looked as gaunt as you felt. No, you wouldn’t dwell on your haggardness. What else? Cobwebs in the corners that really needed your attention. Really, how long had those been there and how hadn’t you noticed an arachnid roommate taking over the corners of your space? Equally egregious dust tufts under your couch. The mountain of boxes awaiting Friday’s movers. Last one. Your eyes roved over your apartment, your body unwilling to move. What else could you see from supine spot? Your window. Diluted light of the city glinting through your sheers. A favorite of yours, especially this late at night. The kind of light that makes you feel like you're the only one in the world awake. A familiar friend for your sleepless nights. 

Four. Four things you can touch. 

The firm plastic of the phone if your hand, transferring the heat of your palms. Threadbare cotton of your favorite tee. Warmth seeping through the floor, bonus of being the top floor apartment. The heat always rose.Soft pile of your barf green shag rug that you adored and everyone hated, including your mom and that is how it came into your possession. Love for the stupid thing brought brief smile to your face as your hands wandered through the strands. 

Three. Three things you can hear. 

The city, the white noise churn of traffic passing by your window. The soundtrack to your day to day, thankfully minus the honking. Some kind of jazz in a time signature that should be outlawed played by your most adjacent neighbor. Your brother’s voice, rattling off plans for your visit at a speed beyond your current comprehension. 

Two. Two things you you can smell. 

One of your neighbors cooking something with garlic down the hall. Your stomach thundered at the smell. Maybe as a reward for making it through this call, a late night slice was in order. Leftover remnants of the perfume you spritz at your pulse point before your shifts today.

And one. One thing you can taste. 

The acrid aftertaste of the Battles & James churned with bile slowly climbing up your throat. Delectable. Your phone cord could reach to the bathroom, maybe a quick brush would suffice. If you could be bothered to get up from the floor. 

To your amazement, your therapist had been correct. Or maybe it was more to your chagrin. You did feel a little more centered and your anxiety had eased from a chokehold to a tight grip on the back your neck. But progress was progress, and you’d take it.

“Did you hear anything I said?” 

Right, you were still on the phone. Dustin’s voice lasered through the haze, bringing you back into the moment. Truthfully, you hadn’t heard a single word he said, too preoccupied with keeping your heart from beating through your ribs like a Chestburster from Alien. Guilty you had’t paid attention, you settled on the response, “Mhmm.”

“Oh yeah? Repeat it back to me?”

Nevermind he was now a college sophmore, Dustin Henderson was still a butthead. “What happened to respecting you elders?”

“Oh I don’t know, how about you start acting like the elder sibling for once?”

The ringing in your ears returned, tinning out all background noise. A stab straight to the gut. You really had shirked your duties as eldest sibling. Retreating into yourself for the better part of the last three years, only to emerge a disjointed caterpillar figuring out how to wiggle yourself into a chrysalis to heal for the last two. Therapy was new, and it was helping, but clearly to everyone else progress wasn’t being made. 

“Dustin—” the shock not kept from your voice at your brother’s sharp barb. You knew he was angry, despite him not outrightly saying so. He had been pulling the weight as the defacto elder sibling, you could admit that. Really, the guilt of sticking Dustin to carry on and grieve alone may have contributed to your negligence in reaching out. Heat burned in your cheeks. You deserved all the ire coming your way. Simple as that. 

“Sorry, too harsh,” he joked, his usual tone settling in place. “When you didn’t show up on Sunday, we thought—”

“I know,” you interrupted, knowing exactly what he thought. Pre-therapy, he had a right to be concerned; those days were dicey at best. But now— what about now? You weren’t ready to check out, this you knew. But the aimless distractions you sought, what was even the point? You had no heading.

“I worry about you.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“If I had visual proof of your existence every once in awhile that would help. Ma too.”

“I’m coming home now aren’t I?”

“You were supposed to be here Sunday.”

Heavily you sighed, the bridge of you nose pinched between the fingers of your free hand. “You’re an ignoramus, you know that right?”

“Yeah, I know. I just miss you, alright?”

“Miss you too, kid.” You really did. Your relationship with your brother wasn’t the typical cat and dog. Even six years your junior, he was you best friend. With all the shit you went through together, you were all each other really had. The support, the understanding, the trauma. It bonded you together deeper than the average siblings. You couldn’t disappoint him again. You wouldn’t disappoint him again.  “I’ll be there Friday.”

“Why not tomorrow?”

“I picked up another shift. If I’m going to be gone for two weeks, gotta have a little more savings in the can.”

He sighed heavily into the receiver, frustration begging to flow again. It wasn’t your usual excuse, he seemed to buy it. “Okay,” he said slowly, disbelief coloring his words. “If you’re not here by Friday—”

“You’ll reign down holy hellfire on me and drag me kicking and screaming back to Hawkins. I know. How many times have you threatened me with that?”

“This time I have back up.”

It wasn’t an empty threat. You knew he did. If you dared to not show, not only Dustin would be at your door, certainly all of Hellfire would be. With that many people to let down, you knew you would be going regardless of how much you dreaded it. 

“What, you think the guilt trip isn’t enough to sway me?”

“You’re an idiot,” he laughed, jovial nature returning. “Friday?”

“Friday,” you confirmed. “Love you, Dust.”

“Love you too.”

The call disconnected on his end, the dial tone tolling from the receiver still clenched in your grasp. You were going home. You were going to Eddie’s Memorial. You had agreed to come home to attend Eddie’s Memorial. That was that. Finally the receiver had made it’s way back to the cradle as you collapsed back into the couch, dragging your hands over your face. What did you just do?

[ditzydreamsss]

"Run The World!!" [Bizly/Charlie Villain & Vigilante duo AU] Rant + Oneshot

Charlie's a villain and Bizly's a vigilante. Condi is a hero (med) and Schlatt's on neutral grounds along with Puddi and Apple (refer back to this <- I forgot this existed until 5 minutes ago). Grizzly had been kicked out.

Updates: - Puddi uses any pronouns + gender neutral pronouns. She/he/it/them/xe/ve..... etc. - Apple uses Apple/Apples/Appleself pronouns.

Charlie's also a little... bloodthirsty.... but Bizly's able to stop him! Most of the time.

Oneshot features crack and also angst :D

Title is from the song "Run the World!!" by Dayglow

-- "Fauna", The cat eared vigilante who seems to have close connections with the top villain "Warp". Be on the lookout for Warp when Fauna is present. || Power: Shapeshifting || Known for taking Puddi, along with other minor heroes in training, into war.

-- "Warp", the most powerful villain alive. || Power: Teleportation, blood manipulation(?) || If seen around the area, freeze and pray he may be feeling merciful.

-- "Chemi", best healer of the heroes. An excellent potions maker. Once worked closely with the fallen hero "GoldApple / Gapple". || Power: Teleportation || Known for the rumor that Chemi could control time, but was proved wrong.

-- "GoldApple", "Gapple", %^$ DATA NOT FOUND ^&#(#*

--------------------------

♬ welcome to my own little world ♬

Okay, first of all, Bizly did not take Puddi into war. The kid made the choice to leave because the hero training program is transphobic as hell! And Bizly was the one who made Puddi stay with Schlatt (and as much as Bizly didn't like Schlatt, he was the safest person to leave a runaway kid with).

And... In some way, Bizly could see that Schlatt was actually protective of Puddi. Though Schlatt would never admit it.

Bizly scoffed, continuing to read the newspaper and stopping at Grizzly's section.

Good, the hacking worked then.

♬ oh, I never listen ♬

"I AM! RED!!! THE NEWEST, BESTEST VIGILANTE THIS CITY WILL EVER SEE!!! I WILL PROTECT EVERYONE!!!" And with that, the kid jumped off the building and threw themselves at Bizly.

What the fuck??

The kid hissed at Charlie... apples floating around them protectively??

"Um." Bizly started, but Red interrupted him.

"NO! SCHLATT TOLD ME THAT VILLAINS ARE BAD BAD BAD!!" Red pointed furiously at Charlie with shaking hands.

Bizly finally got a better look at the child. They were wearing an apple themed outfit, a dress even, with brown branches and green vines wrapping around their ankles and arms. They also had a giant apple parachute.

Huh.

Bizly didn't know Schlatt had a child.

"AND YOU MISTER, SHOULD STAY AWAY!!! HE'S BAAAAD!!!"

Uh, no. Didn't red see them messing around only a few seconds ago-

"HE'S! HE'S!! um. HE'S! MANY-PULL-ATING YOU!"

"Manipulate."

"MANYPULLATE!! AND ONLY SCHLATT IS ALLOWED TO DO THAT!!! That's his thing." Red whispered the last bit.

Bizly and Charlie exchanged glances. Bizly internally sighed.

Do I.. Kill them-

NO! Let's just... entertain them. We don't know who they can tell.

But if Schlatt knows them..

We're NOT going to get on the bad side of Schlatt. That's where he's staying-

Alright, fineee....

"Uh. Oh. Oh no. I'm.. uhh.... I was being attack. Oh Red, are you my- my hero?"

"YEES!" Red triumphed, pronouncing YEES with the two E's.

"Ohh NOO!! I've been defeated.." Charlie yelled dramatically and proceeded to melt through the floor. Probably teleported somewhere else was Bizly's guess.

Red looked so proud.

"Soo.. Kid." Bizly started.

"Yeah?"

"What are your pronouns?"

"APPLE!"

Bizly faltered.

"..What ?"

"APPLE!!!! I'M APPLE! I APPLE!!!"

"Ap- Apple?? Appleself-"

"YEEE!!! I'M APPLE!!!!!!!!!!! My vigilante name's RED! BUT I'M APPLE!!"

"O-Okay."

Later that day, everyone met up with Schlatt and they all explained to Apple that Charlie actually wasn't an evil asshole even if he was a little psychopathic.

♬ 'cause I could never be hurt ♬

Meeting Puddi was much more of a slowburn, in a way, but the encounter was... an encounter.

Puddi was some kid that Bizly saw around during patrolling. Rescued them a few times, and knew her enough to know he used a hell ton of pronouns. Not that it was a bad thing, of course.

Until the two got trapped in an abandoned building together as Charlie went on some speech to the newscasting helicopter about the justice in murder. (Bizly couldn't say he agreed, but that was the cost of being friends with the number one villain)

Shiiiiit.

Bizly stared at Puddi, who was twirling its hair around.

Gods, Bizly had already used up all his 'outside' social energy with that one homophobic guy at the store he was this close to sending an army of birds down-

Point is, Bizly's mind was blank and also panicking.

What the fuck is he supposed to do with a twelve year old child.

"Um. So..... your name's.. uh.. Fauna?

"Huh? Oh. Yeah." What the hell is he saying CAN HE JUST SOCIALIZE-

"Oh.. ummm...... So... When's Charlie going to be done with this?" Puddi's voice was quiet-

Wait, hold on.

Hold on.

"You know CHARLIE?" Bizly asked, a little too loudly.

"Uhh.. Yes. Apple told me about hi- ohhhh." Realization hit Puddi.

"You're Bizly."

"Uh-huh."

Silence.

Gods help Bizly nothing could save him now. Yeah, Maybe Puddi was as awkward as Bizly and would probably forget about this but who cares about that Bizly's so bad at everything ever can't even say a simple hello SHIT HE FORGOT TO SAY HELLO-

"H-Hello."

Did Bizly just stutter, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH HIM-

"H.. Hi."

"Umm."

Think of something think of something think of-

"Y'know Minecraft?"

And the two proceeded to talk about Minecraft and their opinions on the new update for two hours.

Charlie came in in the middle of their big debate on whether the Sniffer was a good mob to add or not. Charlie had to practically drag them home.

♬ oh, I am so fake ♬

"SHUT UP!!!! SHUUTTTTT!!!!!!!" Apple screamed towards the sky.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Grizzly screamed back.

"I- I- Plea- I'm- SCHLATTTT!!" Puddi cried, desperately trying to escape its fate.

Schlatt peeked over from the corner, "YES WHAT IS I- YOU."

"What- OH SHIT BIZ-"

"Don't drag me into thiiIIIISSSSSSSSSS-"

Bizly screamed bloody murder as a child, crazed goat man, and the number one target for the hero committee all leaped out to knock him down and probably kill him.

"WHAT DID I DOOOOO!!!!"

Ahh, home sweet second hom- Wait what the shit?

Condi squinted and saw his good ole friend Bizly got three insane psychopaths body slam him.

Yeah.

Okay.

He teleported back to the base where his hero name, Chemi, was plastered at every inch of the walls.

It was creepy, but way better than seeing... whatever the hell was happening to Bizly.

Hm..

Ehhh,, whatever, Condi will heal him later.

♬ And why is it that I believe ♬ ♬ Everything they speak of me? ♬ ♬ It's hard for me sometimes to see ♬ ♬ Beyond all that they want ♬

WARNING: Graphic descriptions of blood and injury!! And corpses. That too. Basically: mass murder.

End of section will be marked

RED

START

"C-Charlie? W.... What are you doing..?"

"What do you think I'm doing, hmmm?"

Charlie grinned, pupils slit, and crooked his head. Blood dripped down from his chin, a corpse laid under him. Its eye sockets were hollow and bits of its eyes were crushed under its own hand.

Bizly's vision was blurry; he couldn't see clearly as the world spun around.. and around.. and around. He was still holding onto the hand that once belonged to Grizzly, which was now a empty, lifeless limb connected to a thing that Bizly once smiled at, full of affection, at those soft moments. It was turning grey now-- rapidly decaying. Leaving no trace of the past.

Bizly wanted to move, so desperately, as tears were falling from his eyes. He couldn't feel them.

Charlie crawled towards Bizly, in a form of a nightmarish terror with random arms fused together all over his body, all moving independently. A black matter burst out from his stomach, which had been torn apart when those giant legs took over the once human form.

Charlie's mouth was stretched, way too wide for it too be humanly possible.

Oh, wait.

Was that thing even Charlie anymore?

But he sounded like Charlie, good ole Charlie, who had made puns whenever Bizly had felt down, the one who rescued so many people...

Yet, killed thousands.

The air glitched around Charlie.

Bizly knew Charlie(?)'s power. He was the only one who knew.

Charlie cackled loudly and somewhere, a body exploded into pieces.

Atomic Manipulation. A power that made anyone basically stronger than any god in existence.

And Bizly had told them. Run away, run away before he falls apart and loses every sense of humanity, but they hadn't listened, hadn't they?

And look at where they were now.

Cold, grey things.

Taking a nap! This wasn't preschool, WAKE UP!

On the ground, so peaceful they couldn't even breathe. PATHETIC.

Couldn't?

Could he?

Charlie grinned at him. The smile seemed to stretch for miles.

A smile.

That was a good thing. That meant he was happy.

That's good.....

END

Summary : Bizly watched Charlie commit mass murder. Bizly started losing his mind.

"Bizly?"

A voice whispered in the dark.

Aren't you dead?

"Bizly..? Wake up, pretty please?"

The warm body didn't reply, safely and comfortably under thousands of blankets that wrapped around him.

There was silence for a few seconds.

Are you gone now?

"...Bebo, I need to know you're okay."

Are you happy?

"..."

OW!

Bizly rubbed his eyes as he glared at the figure who was sitting down in front of him, on a chair.

A smile-

An eye-

A face-

Something grabbed his hands and pulled his hands towards the face looking at him.

A normal smile.

Normal eye. Normal pairs of eyes.

A normal face.

Bizly hadn't noticed his breaths were coming out shakily.

The figure at his bed- Grizzly-

Grizzly let him feel his own face. Touching every curve of their face, letting Bizly ground himself.

Safe.

Safe.

It was.. just a dream.

Warm.

It was so warm.

Bizly cried as Grizzly held him, gently.

Charlie tucked them both to sleep.

Condi watched from the doorframe. They clutched his hands as every last bit of the pink light faded from the palm of their hands.

Everything was fine.

It was just a dream.

Nothing real.

♬ And I-I-I-I ♬

"Congrats, reader. You've reach the place where the epilogue usually would be, if there is one." Charlie smiled directly at the camera. "There isn't. So."

Charlie approached the camera. But before he could do anything:

"ChaaAaAAaARLIEEEE!! Are you breaking the goddamn camera again??"

"....noooOOOO?"

Bizly walked into the living room to see Charlie with his fist raised.

Hm.

Bizly crossed his arms, "Uh-huh. You weren't about to break the third camera of the week."

"Y..Yeah?" The top villain nervously giggled, scratching the back of his neck.

"VRROOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!! I'M!!! THE GREAT VIGILANTAY RED!!!!!"

Saved by the child.

Apple came running in Apple's vigilante outfit, dragging a panicked Puddi around. Apple managed to scream, "AN OBSTACLE CAN'T STOP M-" Before tripping on the camera and breaking the third camera of the week.

"Uh." Apple looked down. "BIZZY!! THE CAMERA BROKE!"

What the hell was his life anymore?

Bizly slapped a hand to his face and only let out a disappointed sigh.

"Um.. Bizzy, I can go rob a new camera-"

"Ughh.... You're not going ANYWHERE, Puddi."

"J-Just trying to help.."

♬ I, I, I, I, wanna run the world, the world, the world, the world ♬

AND that was that :D

basically condi has the OP power to look into alternate universes. so yeah, the nightmare bizly had was real, just not in his universe.

+ in a way, condi does have power over time. he doesn't use it much though, at all.

Schlatt's place is technically neutral grounds but theres more fallen (kicked out) villains than heroes, though the nicer heroes visit sometimes.

Oh yeah also Charlie has atomic manipulation. i forgot if i ever mentioned that

he/they pronouns for both grizzly and condi here :>

condi is constantly betraying the heroes. he gets to get away with it, somehow.

OH! Also! These chapters are not in order to the timeline of the story. Bizly's meeting with Apple (vigilante name: Red) happened way before the first bit of the story/rant/drabble.

i thinkkk that's it?? maybe.

[skippyin]

Just read LiNY for the second time and had a few thoughts.

If people see Junior without his disguise do they just think he's cosplaying... himself? (Unsurprised he made it long enough to get the disguise, though - I'm a NYC native myself and we've seen weirder shit. Hell, I've done weirder shit and barely anyone batted an eye.)

Related to 1, how will the kid react when he realizes that somehow this world, despite being nearly unconnected to the world he knows, is aware of it and the events in it, but thinks it's fictional?

How long until the question of "what if warp pipe" comes up to the Mario Bros, especially if they themselves came to this world from one?

Hi hi!

*Waves at you in fellow New Yorker* Yeah before he got his disguise, people thought he was just some kid who wanted to dress up for Halloween early.

For the sake of keeping things simple/non-existential, the Mario Games Franchise doesn't exist in this universe. Junior might be in New York, but it's not the REAL New York if you get what I mean. It's an alternative and slightly more cartoony version of Earth. Not as magical as the Mushroom Kingdom, but not fully rooted in reality.

Weeeell, the bros would definitely wanna take the chance to wrap up some loose ends left behind in New York, as their arrival to the Mushroom Kingdom wasn't planned at all. SPEAKING of warp pipes... Junior isn't the first character to use one to travel TO New York. In fact, the first one who did caused quite a stir!! Though he only stuck around for a single night before he got forced back through the pipe he came from... >.>

I'll try to expand more on that incident later :)

[joyridingmp3]

unkillables: to mean that a piece of you is forever warped and changed and dead but another part of you grows strong too. and it endures and is unkillable. the two can coexist & both define you in equal measure. it's transformation and being unkillable. we are the unkillables. yes you're forever changed by your baggage but it doesn't have to be a bad thing. all of us are. we're here together. yes im changed by it and yes it defines me. but it didn't kill me. that's the theme of sydney night 2 as showcased through the setlist.

oh how wrong we were to think that immortality meant never dying. white contacts while covered in blood. he's not dead he only looks that way I'm not dead i only dress that way. and if they get me and the sun goes down - if the sun comes up will it tear the flesh right off our bones? nobody knows all the trouble I've seen. well mother what the war did to my legs and to my tongue. so darken your clothes. paint it black and take it back. ashes to ashes we all fall down. cut my hair gag and bore me. i think I'm gonna burn in hell. I'd rather go to hell than be in purgatory

but also if their heaven ain't got a vacancy then we just get up and go! i can't stop now because I'm dancing. there's a piece of you that says get up coward. black skies? we'll douse ourselves with high explosive light. im okay now. how long until we find our way in the dark and out of harm? your misery and hate will kill us all. you'll never take me alive do what it takes to survive and I'm still here.

they're saying to us: you can run away with me anytime you want. stand up fucking tall don't let them see your back and take my fucking hand and never be afraid again. will you defeat them - your demons? all of famous last words. I'll show you the way to return from the ashes. you'll never take me alive do what it takes to survive and I'm still here. I'll never let them hurt you i promise. when you go I'll find you I'll find you come find me.

[justxcountrydoctor]

@brooklynislandgirl asked

Off hours on a star-ship aren't quite like they are on terra firma. And with so few people she knows much less is close to, when the chime at her door announces company, she simply assumes that it's Chekov come to take back the rare precious book he'd lent her.

"The ocean says you’re a nerd."

What she was not expecting is that Doctor McCoy would be the one standing on the other side of the partition as she presses the button to let him in. So the teasing disrespect, an old joke between her and the ensign from their childhood, rings out oddly. Which is then paired with her appearing around a corner of her cabin, half dressed and definitely not conscious of his presence until it's too late.

Her face freezes in a certain kind of rictus and within, beyond where he can see it, shame burns like a warp engine in her chest.

"I...I mean...I can explain...."

"No reason for you too. it's your quarters, answer the door any old way you want. i mean hell, i've been known to answer my door in nothing but a towel with a friendly get lost but that's just the grumpy old doctor." Leonard keeps looking everywhere but her as if he doesn't see how good she looks or anything. Yes, he's looking at her out of the corner of his eye so what? He's a red-blooded man and knows beauty when he sees it and can also appreciate it. "Umm, not that i'm going to be staying long, ii just had one little question for you and then i was going to be in the wind again but could you maybe cover up a little and maybe let me in so we could talk without the whole of the ship staring at us like i feel like they are doing right now."

He makes his way inside and then stands there "Why would the sea think i'm a nerd? Is it that thing that i still have for comic books and things of that nature because if the sea thinks i'm nerdy for that then i will gladly take it." Leonard then shifts from foot to foot "Oh, i completely forgot i came over here because a report you wrote up for me didn't get filed and i wondered if you had put it in my office before you left or something along those lines anyway. i wouldn't want you to have to rewrite it just because i went and lost the damn thing." He then looks her in the eyes with a tilt to his head.

"Oh that and you have some down time coming up in a couple of days, if i see you at work on any of those three days there will be trouble for you because you might not be the greatest fan of shore leave, ii would have to look that up to be certain of its though and the only way i can get members of the crew to take their downtime is by following them around all over this ship, then i will personally follow you around for five days." Leonard smiles and sends her a playful wink "i promise that the captain even gets this treatment so don't think that you're all special now and hey, we can talk about comics and stuff if you like that sort of thing." He blushes slightly.

[lattewritings]

Kiss Me Hard Before You Go. . .

Sometimes things hurt. Though there is a saying that goes a little like; if you let it go and it comes back to you, then it's yours to keep. The year is coming to an end sooner than I thought but I suppose all things come to an end. After all that's happened with everyone my feels seem trivial. Though I decided that it's better to do it now rather than later. I thought these feelings would've disappeared over time but they're here to stay. My heart skipped a couple beats, thinking about that time not so long ago when someone decided to poke their nose in places that they shouldn't.

I flopped down into the seat where Arlo and I had once ordered boba. Well, I did and he had coffee. Resting my face in my hand. I wasn't meeting anyone today, merely to reflect on what I did. Was it worth it? All the messed up shit that everyone was warped up, would it end? If I did would there be time for me? I sighed, all this thinking wouldn't do any good. By the time my drink was gone so were most of the people. It did feel nice not to be needed for healing.

Nowadays it was focusing on a career. Doctor mainly would make sense. Knowing what I know now and the things I've been think of. After leaving the cafe behind I made my way to the place I asked Arlo to meet me. I knew what I was going to say. Had it all rehearsed and everything. There was no need to dress up, change anything because what would change? Its pitiful to get your hopes up.

On my way I put some earbuds in and played a song. Kiss me hard before you go. Summertime sadness. I just wanted to you know that baby, you're the best. The place I decided on was perfect. Nothing romantic just a setting that wasn't ugly. I had a feeling however this would go I'd remember.

We stood toe to toe. Heart to heart and eyes to eyes is this taboo?

"Elaine-" He spoke. I cut him off because I wanted the first word. I needed to clear things up. I needed control. "Hi Arlo," I said, fidgeting with the end of my skirt. I finally worked up the nerve to cut it out and speak. "I don't mind if you don't feel that way. I just thought you should know before we go on with our lives." I spoke with much more level then I thought. Things like the grains of sand were slipping through my fingers and I didn't want to come apart at the seems. Hell I wasn't going to. It quickly became twilight and I never noticed how it set the mood.

I've never been good at reading Arlo just by what's on his face or by what he's said. But I know that he'll be up front with me. If I had to guess a response would sound something like. "I don't have the time. I'm not looking for a relationship." Someone like him is extrodanry. Someone who's going to go far.

"I've been thinking a lot. I'm not here to hold you down. We're going places. It's not whether I'm hurt or not it's getting this off my chest. I meant every word in the letter." Taking a step back I wasn't sure if I wanted his response. I think I already knew. Looking at him again clearing my eyes he'd gotten closer.

"I'm excited for you. Excited for the great things that you'll achieve with or without me."

[tmlfan1977]

In just under a month's time, Keith and I will be heading to Canada's Wonderland in Vaughan, Ontario. Although I haven't set foot there in 14 years, it has always remained one of my all-time favorite places to visit!

Widely known as Canada's premier theme park, Wonderland first opened in 1981. I'm unsure if I was there during the park's opening year as I was only 4 years old at the time, but I recall having visited annually shortly thereafter. I have so many wonderful memories of that place!

Back in the 80's, Hanna-Barbera cartoons reigned supreme, and throughout the park on any given day, costumed employees would meet and greet park-goers dressed as the Smurfs, Scooby-Doo, Fred Flintstone, Captain Caveman, etc. There was an area of the park known as Hanna-Barbera Land which featured an area that resembled a real-life Bedrock. From the building structures to the seating, it was pretty great, especially when you consider that as a kid I would come home from school every day at lunch to watch The Flintstones on television. This was my utopia! They even had outdoor dining tables that resembled The Flintstones' car. I loved it!

They had a roller coaster there called Dragon Fyre (which happens to still be there today). At the time, it was the park's only looping coaster. For two years in a row during the early 80's, I had attempted to ride it, but I had not yet met the minimum height requirement! By the third year, I was finally tall enough.....and it was glorious!

I've always loved thrill rides, even at a young age. There wasn't anything I wouldn't ride. Mind you, having not gone in the last 14 years is somewhat worrisome. I'm now 46 with various aches and pains. I also take medication for high blood pressure. Something tells me I'm going to come back from this excursion either crippled or dead. But to hell with it! Let's throw caution to the wind!

One of my all-time favorite things at Canada's Wonderland has to be the funnel cake. No one makes it like they do. I always made sure to get one every time we'd visit, and this time will be no exception. Served with fresh strawberries, strawberry sauce and vanilla soft serve ice cream, it's almost worth going just for that. Heaven!!

Another great thing about the park I thoroughly enjoy are the shows. They have a diving show where divers jump from atop a waterfall on Wonder Mountain, the centerpiece of the entire park. This year they also have a stunt show, and a circus performance in the large air-conditioned theater. They even have a dog show where canines perform a series of different tricks, etc.

I've seen some great attractions in past years which included laser light shows, a "School of Rock" musical revue, stunt performances, and a killer "Days of Thunder" motion ride!

There was a time from the early 90's to (I believe) the mid-2000's when Paramount Pictures owned the park. A lot of the rides were themed after Paramount movies including "Top Gun", "Tomb Raider", "The Italian Job", etc. When the park was sold to Cedar Fair, most of the ride names were changed. "Top Gun" became "Flight Deck". "Tomb Raider" became "Time Warp", and "The Italian Job" became the "Backlot Stunt Coaster". To this day, I still find myself calling the rides by their original given names! When Paramount had bought the park in the early 90's, they removed the Hanna-Barbara characters, props and insignia (although Scooby-Doo was spared) for Nickelodeon properties such as Dora the Explorer and SpongeBob SquarePants. Then, when Cedar Fair bought it from Paramount, Nickelodeon was replaced with Charlie Brown and the remaining Peanuts characters. I initially found this move odd considering Peanuts haven't been relevant in quite some time, whereas Nick shows were current and would resonate a whole lot more with kids. But I guess they had to work with what they had.

Some of the rides that were there when I was younger have sadly been replaced. The problem lies with the fact that they lack real estate. At one point, they had sold off a lot of their surrounding land where many commercial properties now stand, and in great abundance. By doing so, Wonderland literally has little room to grow and expand. As a result, some rides get taken down to make way for the new. Rides such as "Jet Scream", "SkyRider", "Zumba's Flume" and "The Great Whale of China" were among my favorites that are no longer in existence.

On the plus side for me, having not gone in almost a decade and a half, there are a plethora of NEW rides I'm just itching to try. So I figure now is a good a time as any. At any rate, our trip should be a fun one. I just hope I make it back in one piece!

[thatsuhboldchoice]

alright i think i'm diving back into shx starting with as you like it bc i want to watch the nt production with rosalie craig and patsy ferran

this office space is...a lot to unpack

i literally never remember the plot of as you like it

i remember there are multiple dukes and multiple brothers? but i cannot remember who is a love interest for whom

there's also jaques and touchstone and the exiled duke and corin who are very different characters but whom my brains insists on mushing together

not gonna lie every production i've seen of this show i've found mind numbingly boring but i'm like there's gotta be merit here i'm gonna find it even if it kills me!

okay the bonsai trees on the desk kill me

i am willing to watch whatever this production throws at me simply for craig and ferran

ferran has no right being that adorable like my little gay heart goes pitter patter whenever she opens her mouth

also my gay self wants craig to step on me

so failing all else i love them

and now we wrestle. right here. in the office. sure. why not.

celia's little pjs!

there are scenes i recall though and rosalind's banishment is one...it's such a brutal thing to come right out of the gate

also i forgot how loyal celia is to rosalind

and they're like hey we'll just run away! rosalind will dress like a man! we'll just steal the fool!

holy shit holy fuck holy what is this set doing

AHHHHHHHHHHH

jesus mary and joseph okay that was inspired

creepy forest of arden that's just like dripping hell yes i'm here for it

how they get this all back down neatly i have no idea

i'm in love with whoever is singing here his voice my god

i don't really get the point of jaques and tbh i don't think anyone else does either including jaques

he pulled off all the world's a stage really nicely though

super famous speeches are hard and that one's idk...not very active? but he thought through it in a compelling way

are these post it notes falling as leaves?

the SHEEP the FUCKING SHEEP how to win my love: do something like that

when one ate a post it leaf i lost it

oh no celia's gonna break my heart

rosalind's so excited and enamored and celia literally just leaves

i don't know if it's specifically craig's portrayal or if i'm actually paying attention to text but rosalind is so mean to orlando

and i love it

she's like yes i have a crush on this boy yes i will bark orders at him

every playwright's at their best when it comes to banter and ole willy shakes is no exception

the shit between rosalind and orlando is a+

oh right that's who celia ends up with

okay fine this play does pick up momentum it just takes so long to get there my god

straight up forgot about that deus ex machina warp up with fake duke becoming a hermit

you know sometimes billy shakes just says fuck it let's call it a night

okay i am not as allergic to this play now

it's still not my favorite and i think it's got quite a few messy and/or slower bits that take a lot of work to deal with

but i see the appeal

which is the sheer number of possibilities with those fucking sheep

[grelleswife]

I was thinking about Yor and some posts i was seeing on my dash tldr I guess ppl were trying to desexuslize some characters but kept making their boobs small, and Yor is tbh a perfect desexualized big boob character, her clothes are drawn properly (no boob socks or skin tight clothes that don't make sense) and her assassin look is the only time I've seen her chest shown bc her outfit is fitted vs her regular 60s mod looks, also no jiggle physics, it takes so little to be respectful of big boobs and treat a character as a character and not cheese cake. And tbh my sapphic self sees her in that red sweater dress with the back exposed and Oooooooo now that's hot.

It’s refreshing to see a buxom character whose animation is catered towards showing her strength and agility rather than taking voyeuristic peeks at her cleavage every five seconds—no mind-bending boob physics required! 🙏 I’m also grateful that, unlike the stereotypical gross male anime protagonist, Loid treats Yor with respect, never groping her or leering at her boobs (the bar is in hell).

Interestingly, however, my experience scrolling through the top posts for Yor here and on Twitter has been the reverse of yours. Some fan artists have a distressing tendency to hit her with the “big-tiddy waifu” beam, warping her proportions with water-balloon breasts and a Barbie-doll waist. 😭 Though there’s plenty of art out there that does her character design justice, of course! 🖤

As a fellow sapphic and appreciator of tiddies, I, too, confess to looking respectfully at her in that beautiful outfit. 😍

[mingis-lightbulb]

All the things said.

Warnings: Yandere content, twisted relationship, death, murder, manipulation, abuse of power, idk how to really tag this-

Taglist: @kimroieho @mingissoggywaffles @damissub @wooyoungsbae @yungisstar1117 @yunhomocide @beomnoi @blessednhighlyfavoured @do-you-actually-care @soft-teddybear @captainjoongiekissme @hijirikaww @staymiracle @gay-for-gaon @joti17 @vampireyeosang @abiaswreck

Inspo: All the things she said by t.a.t.u

A/n: I might turn this into a full fic but for now this is just a drabble idea because Yandere! Royalty Ateez owns this black ass of mine-

----------------------------------------------------------

"You'll do anything for me....right Y/n?"

"of course, I will do anything for you my prince."

"how much will you do for me?."

"I will lay down my life for you...that's how much I love you."

"Good. I love you Y/n."

"I love you too, My Prince."

...

Hongjoong smirks as he watches as the guards carry you towards him. Blood staining your beautiful skin and dress, a look of nothing but admiration was held on your face.

You had succeeded in your goal.

Hongjoong had taken a liken to you ever since you arrived in the palace. Your father was a noblemen working underneath him. He loved you, from the sarcastic banter you would have, despite your father telling you that it wasn't lady like. The way you would carry yourself gracefully and the cute looks you would give as you pass in the halls.

He had to have you.

So when your father announced he was marrying you off to some noble brat who was whining about not having a bride. He couldn't have that. Hongjoong knew that you would listen to his every command. He knew the power he had over you, he could tell by the way you would blush when he came around. The way you would quickly fix yourself and put on that adorable smile just for him.

"Your father is in the way of our love."

"I know, My Prince. But what shall I do? I am to be wed soon.."

"Get rid of him. Simple." Hongjoong ordered, his hand slipping under your chin. "My love I know you can do it. I've seen how headstrong you are."

Hongjoong watched as you got flustered from the closeness. He only made it worse by backing you up against the wall, capturing your lips in his. Taking what he's wanted since the day his eyes landed on yours. The Prince had his kind made up, after kissing your lips he felt a spark that he'd never felt before.

He's seen plenty of women, had plenty of other eligible suitors but he wanted you. He wanted you to be his Princess, and once his parents were out of the picture....

His Queen

He knew your mind was going to be plagued with thoughts questioning his loyalty to him. He would over hear conversations with your mother, when you told her that you believed the prince was in love with you the woman only scoffed.

"Mother looking at me. Tell me what do you see?"

"A girl who was lost her mind. What the hell do think the prince wants with you? My daughter you as re far from fit for royalty."

"Yes, I've lost my mind. I don't know what I was thinking Mother...I apologize for bringing this up."

"That's right. Now fix yourself up. We are meeting your soon to be fiance soon."

"Yes Mother."

He would make sure to prove those words wrong. He would spend nights with you, caressing each and every part of you, making sure you knew how much he adored you.

The Prince's mind was far past warped, he could only imagine himself on the throne with you beside him. He loved the way you felt, the way you would moan and whimper his name.

Things that only he could hear.

Things that were only for him.

They were meant for him.

And they were going to be all for him.

Hongjoong had to act fast, as your parents were trying to force you to go. They wanted you to leave him, yet they were too blind to realize the good that he could bring to their lives if you became his. I guess they only saw the crazed Prince that the kingdom portrayed.

A lovesick maniac that falls for girls easily and does away with them whenever they disobey his rules.

A cruel male who only used girls in his own sick twisted game. A game he knew they could not win.

But little do they know, his game was over once is eyes lay on you. His prize.

The game was over and he was ready to claim his prize.

The guards tossed you down in front of Hongjoong. Fully expecting the Prince to kill you right then and there.

"Your highness. She is wanted in the murder of her parents, she was found covered in blood and a knife nearby her. She claims to had blacked out when the attacker got her. But we find that hard-"

"Good Job My love..." Hongjoong cooes as he lowers himself to you. He lifts your chin, your wonderful lips covered in blood, a beautiful sight in his eyes. He pulls you into a kiss infront of the shocked guards who tried to pull you away from him.

One of them did manage to rip you away from his grasp, sending you back onto the floor with a groan.

Hongjoong glared at the two who quickly scrambled to his side.

"Your highness do not be fooled by this temptress!! She killed her family because she didn't wanted to be wed!"

"Want to fly to a place where it's just you and me. Nobody else so we can be free"

"She's a vile woman! We must do away with her quickly before she influences you your highness!"

"Nobody else so we can be free"

Two loud bangs rang out in the room, and two followed behind. Hongjoong walked quietly over to you and picked you up, releasing you of your binds and helping you to your feet. He smiled down at you and twirls you around in the empty room.

"You don't know how happy I am right now my love! It's only us now, our path to happiness is crystal clear and no one else dare stand in our way."

"Are you sure? No one else will disturb us?."

"No one. I swear on my love for you. No one else will ever come between us."

He couldn't wait to pass the news to his mother and father.

That he had his Queen and that there was no need for them anymore.

"Nobody else so we can be free"

Their time was up. The game was over.

And the Prince had his prize.

You.

[quietplace26]

I posted 315 times in 2022

That's 315 more posts than 2021!

233 posts created (74%)

82 posts reblogged (26%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@omupom

@tr1ple-k

@floofywolfer

@takarabe

@gattobamboom

I tagged 315 of my posts in 2022

#ghostwire: tokyo - 262 posts

#ghostwire tokyo - 261 posts

#akito/kk - 176 posts

#gw:t - 122 posts

#incorrect quotes - 74 posts

#akito izuki - 72 posts

#kk - 68 posts

#art - 54 posts

#long post omg - 38 posts

#time travel au - 27 posts

Longest Tag: 78 characters

#akito in heels and a pretty little dress is something i never thought i needed

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Ghost Doctor horror au? I blame the creepy music I've been listening to.

Cha Young min has been dead for years.

Cursed to wandered the hospital he not only died in, but also worked for!

He was bitter. He was angry. He wanted his life back. He wanted to be alive again! But is was futile. He was dead, and no one can hear his cries...

Well, no one could, until Seung tak.

Go Seung tak, a wide eye new doctor, who was also afraid of blood, had just arrived at Young min's hospital, and Young min hated him at first sight.

How could this brat call himself a doctor if he was afraid blood?!

His hatred for the young doctor vanishes when he realizes something. The young doctor... he could see Young min!

This causes Young min to become very attached to the young doctor. Maybe a little too attached...

Seung tak liked Young min. Yeah, the ghost doctor was arrogant, but he helped Seung tak out by giving him all sorts tips to improve his skills as a surgeon. Hell! Seung tak could even admit that he may have a slight crush on the other, as Young min was quite the handsome man-er, ghost.

But lately, Young min felt almost too clingly. It was starting to make Seung tak a little ucomfortable...

Things take a turn for the worse when Seung tak tells the ghost doctor that he'll be transferred to another hospital soon and this causes Young min to just... snap.

Cue something straight out of silent hill happening, causing the whole hospital to change, to warp into something else.

And it wasn't just the hospital, it affected the staff, the patients, and even the visitors. They all changed!

Seung tak was the only one not affected, leaving him completely alone and defenseless.

He had to get out!

To bad there was no exit. Young min has him right where he wants him and the ghost doctor wasn't letting Seung tak's soul go...

10 notes - Posted September 30, 2022

#4

Another Devil Judge au.

Gumiho au

Human!Gaon goes on a nature walk.

Finds a tiny fox stuck in a trap.

The tiny fox is Gumiho!Elijah.

Gaon goes to free her.

Elijah tries to bite him, but stops when she saw his face.

This human had her father's face!

Gaon frees her and continues on with his walk, leaving Elijah to stare at his retreating form in interest.

Cue a few days later, and Gaon's heading out for another walk.

Halfway through the walk, he finds himself being followed.

It was the tiny fox(Elijah), and she had a bigger fox with her.

The bigger fox is Gumiho!Yohan.

Every walk afterwards, Gaon finds himself being joined by the foxes.

He talks to them about everything. Good things, bad things, he tells them everything about himself.

He also feeds them. They look too skinny for his tastes.

One day, after he leaves to go home, the uncle/niece duo follows the human home.

Gaon wakes up the next day feeling extra warm.

He finds both his fox friends in his bed.

He tries to take them back to the forest, but they refused leave.

They become Gaon's furry roommates.

Soohyun doesn't like them.

Yohan/Elijah don't like her either. Especially Yohan.

Gaon slowly begins to see that his fox friends weren't normal foxes.

Everything came to a head when someone breaks into Gaon's home.

They hurt him badly, and when they go to kill him, a deep growl is heard.

It was the bigger fox, and his eyes were glowing.

Gaon blacks out.

He wakes up back in his bed, completely fine.

He wasn't alone.

See the full post

13 notes - Posted September 12, 2022

#3

Ghostwire: Tokyo x Ghost Doctor crossover? Where Akito and Seung-Tak meet and become best friends over the fact they've both been possessed by ghostly dilfs that would later become their husbands~

14 notes - Posted September 21, 2022

#2

Based this au off floofywolfer a/b/o fic 'Broken Mask'.

A/B/O au

To most people, Akito was just a normal beta.

But that wasn't true. Akito wasn't a beta. He was an omega.

Akito hated being an omega and went to great lengths to hide it from others. Especially alphas.

Heat suppressants, scent patches to hide his sweet omega scent. You name it, and Akito's used it.

He had more important things to do than finding a hot headed alpha to mate and have pups with!

Akito didn't need a mate. All he needed was Mari being happy and healthy, and that was all Akito needed to be happy.

Then the fire happen, and everything goes wrong.

Akito could feel his inner omega bubbling up, whimpering and howling in sadness as he watched Mari lay motionless in her hospital bed.

Things only got worse from there on when a man called Hannya made Shibuya a playground for monsters and things Akito only thought were myths!

Oh, and he also had an angry ghostly passenger called KK hitching a ride in his head for free.

KK was an alpha. Akito didn't even need to ask, as the wraith had all the attributes of a hot blooded alpha. He was loud, crude, and just so very angry.

Akito hated him at first. Like this alpha had the nerve to try and kill him for his body!

But despite that... Akito slowly felt himself becoming fond of this grouchy alpha. One could even say he had a crush on KK.

The crush only grew when KK lent him some of his clothes to wear.

When Akito finally smelled KK's scent for the first time, he felt warm, safe. This alpha could keep him safe...

The issue was... KK hated omegas. It was something the alpha admited to Akito while they were resting at the alpha wraith's appartment.

To KK, omegas were just too whiny, pathetic even. Always demanding attention, and using their scents/bodies to get what they wanted.

Akito felt his heart drop as his inner omega whined sadly at KK's admission.

Did KK truly think all omegas were like that...?

It hurt... It hurt alot. The one alpha Akito actually wanted and it turns out the alpha hates omegas.

It hurt even more when KK playfully began to flirt with him. The moment Akito heard KK call him a pretty 'beta', he almost cried on the spot.

And somehow, things just kept getting worse.

They defeated Hannya, but Mari died in Akito's arms.

His little sister... His pup...

Akito's omega was howling in grief and rage. And when Hannya decided to get back up again, he wasn't prepared for the enraged omega.

Akito didn't even used KK's etheral weaving. He just tore Hannya apart with his bare hands...

When they finally left the underworld together, Akito and KK were shocked when KK got his body back.

Akito was happy for the alpha, really, but he needed to get away from KK.

See the full post

15 notes - Posted October 2, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Got an idea for a Devil Judge au.

Cook!Gaon au

Gaon's a cook.

Gaon reopens his parents resturant.

Becomes rather popular for his food.

Does catering events. Most of time it's for some stuck up rich people. Gaon hates going to these events.

It's during one of these events that he meets the Yohan.

I should mention, Gaon in this au doesn't watch the court shows.

Gaon has heard of Yohan, but he doesn't know what the judge looks like. So when he first meets the devil judge, he treats him kindly and offers him some food.

Yohan wasn't prepared for Gaon.

First was the fact Gaon had his dead brother's face.

Second, Gaon smiled at him! Not a hint of fear was on the younger man's face, just kindness and warmth.

And third, Gaon's food was divine! The best thing he had in years, if not ever!

Yohan ends sticking with Gaon, chatting with the younger man and learning more about him.

Gaon finally realizes who Yohan is when a mob of women surrounds the judge, calling out his name and shoving Gaon aside.

One even calls him a cruel name. This doesn't bother Gaon, as he's already used to such things, but it did bother Yohan.

A few harsh words, and Yohan offers Gaon a ride home.

This causes a bit of a social stir, leading people to believe Yohan was dating Gaon.

It didn't help that the judge became a common face around Gaon's resturant, seemingly always stopping by for a meal or just to chat.

Yohan brings his niece, Elijah, around one day.

She didn't seem to like Gaon, but he wins her over with his food.

She also said something interesting.

Looking straight into her uncle's eyes, she says,"Marry him."

Gaon chokes, blushing bright red.

Yohan just nods, looking completely serious. "Of course."

They don't get married, but they do start dating~

25 notes - Posted September 12, 2022

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