#Pinnacle studio 18 full

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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?

[authoritybanana]

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[faustianmuse]

The Artist Hwang Hyunjin (one shot, Hyunjin x reader)

The Artist Hwang Hyunjin (one shot, Hyunjin x reader)

Pairing: Hyunjin x reader

Word count: 1300

Genre: Smut, artist x muse 

Summary: You get the chance to have your portrait painted by Hwang Hyunjin and things get steamy.

Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering (fem!receiving), unprotected sex (be safe everyone)

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for 100 followers! I’m still pretty new to writing on here and would love any feedback (i.e., likes, reblogs, tags, comments, followers, etc.). Hope you enjoy this little hard thought I had! Hyunjin in a white shirt really gets me thinking ;) 

As you entered the artist’s studio, you felt your heart skip in anxiety. You’d agreed to have your portrait painted by a world famous artist, but you hadn’t imagined it’d make you this anxious. 

You barely had time to register the half built canvases around you before your eyes rested on the pinnacle of the room, Hyunjin himself. The blonde haired boy sat in a dark, wooden chair, his billowy white shirt barely covering his chest as he sat examining the blank canvas before him with an air of sweetness. You caught your breath as you took him in.

“Here for me?” His voice was like bells as his eyes glanced over your body before meeting yours. It felt like looking into a melted pool of chocolate; his eyes seemed to appreciate you very much as they started to smile along with his heart shaped mouth.

“Uhm, yes, I’m Y/N. . . here for a portrait? My parents had signed me up. . . “

He nodded thoughtfully, eyes returning to his blank canvas. “And what did you have in mind?”

When you didn’t answer, he turned his head towards you, chewing on the wooden end of his paintbrush as he crossed one leg over the other, leaning forward to further apprehend you. You noted the silver chain that circled his long neck and rested on his bare chest.

His eyes examined your startled face as you finally uttered, “Well, I’m not sure.” 

Your parents had paid for this portrait for your birthday as you greatly enjoyed this man’s art, but you’d had no idea that Hyunjin himself was an even greater work of art! You weren’t even sure you needed a portrait at this point, his presence was a gift enough. But you wouldn’t say no to more time with him, that was for sure.

He stood and walked towards you, standing a full head over you as you noted the sharpness of his jaw as it set slightly in thought. His fingers found your chin as he brought your eyes to meet his. 

“Maybe we should spend some time together first,” he finally continued after a pause, releasing your face. “Make sure you’re more comfortable.”

Not even knowing what possessed you to take such action, your hands moved without your consent to reach for his hand that had just left your chin as you said, “I’m, I’m fine. I’m comfortable with you.” 

He broke out into a smile as his other hand covered yours. He stepped towards you and said, “Well then, Y/N, what’s next?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you?” 

“Do you want me to kiss you or paint you?”

“Can we do both?” 

He laughed as his hand released yours to find your face, hands cupping your chin as he brought his lips to yours. You felt the smell of paint and new wood bask over you as his soft lips pressed against yours, his sharp inhale bringing you in closer as your hands found their place in his soft hair. 

His hands moved down your body to find the belt around your dress, long fingers hooking around it to pull you flush against him. You gasped as his hands found your hips and his lips released yours in favor of running down your neck. You felt the tickle of his hair on your chin as your eyes closed.

“How far do you want this to go?” he asked.

“I’m yours,” you answered. 

Almost immediately your feet left the ground as he lifted you, placing you on the artist’s bench while he used his hands to scatter the desk’s contents to the floor. He lifted the white shirt over his head, allowing you to register his beautifully defined muscles for just a second before his hands gripped your hips, moving your body towards the now empty section of desk as he brought your dress up over your head. 

You grabbed his hair again, bringing him into a passionate kiss as your teeth found his lower lip. He growled, lifting himself on the desk to crawl on top of you. His dark eyes seemed to chase you until your back met the desk, a gasp left your lips as his hands immediately found your core on top of your panties, fingers firm. 

“Naughty girl,” he growled into your ear. “No biting.” 

“Sorry,” you gasped. 

He laughed, lips catching yours again as his fingers entered you through your panties, making your vision blacken around the edges. 

“That’s my job,” he continued, making you blush as his lips found your neck again, kisses turning into light bites as you gasped. 

Your hands came up, one to find his hair and the other to rest between his shoulder blades, holding him close. His hands were clever, however, sliding off your panties while you were distracted.  

His fingers could enter you without cloth in the way now, and his quick movements had you gasping for air in seconds as you reached your hands down to find his, still clothed, crotch. You whined as you weren’t able to help him too which made him laugh again. How you loved that sound. 

“Impatient, beautiful?” 

“I want you to feel good too. . .”

Before you could finish your sentence he sat up on his knees, eyes not leaving yours as he unbuckled his belt and brought his black jeans down to his knees. 

His blonde hair sharply framed his face as he looked down thoughtfully at his half-dressed bottom half. “Hmm, this’ll have to work,” he said. “Can’t leave my muse waiting for too long.” 

You couldn’t help the giggle that left your lips as he brought his body close to yours again, pausing for a moment to hold you in a tight embrace. The air left your lungs as you registered his hard pecs against your breasts, feeling his passion in the closeness. His lips found the nape of your neck as he nuzzled himself into you, making you stroke his hair in an intimate moment of fondness. 

His kisses became more passionate as you moved your caresses lower and lower down his body, finally reaching his ass and using it to bring him even closer, causing him to hiss. 

“Ooh baby, you could be the death of me. Shall I ruin you?”

“I think you’ve already started,” you answered, looking into his breathtaking eyes. 

He smiled as he brought his fingers back to your core, stretching you out slowly, watching you reactions. You nodded as he finally held your gaze for longer, asking for permission. 

He entered you slowly, using the smooth movements of his hips to enter you with care, causing pleasure with each push. As he bottomed out he kissed you, biting your lip this time with a chuckle.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Please,” you answered.

He instantly complied, replacing his former languid movements with a quick pace, pounding into your g-spot with enthusiasm. Your jaw went slack as your body struggled to support your legs which were helplessly curled around each side of his small hips. His pelvic bone continually met yours as the lewd sounds of skin slapping filled the small room.

“My darling,” he kept muttering before his words finally devolved into groans. 

“Hyunjin,” you struggled to get out. “I’m--”

As you said it, you felt his cock twitch within you as his orgasm got closer. 

“Let’s do it together,” you said.

He paused, gasping, and met your eyes for a moment before shakily saying, “Anything for you.”

He began moving even more rapidly and erratically as you both found your highs, orgasm making your body continue to shake as you held him close, his lips by his ear again as you heard him say in a whisper, “You inspire me. I want to paint you just like this.”

[plasticflowering]

Ranking Every ONEUS Song Because I Have Opinions

I guess it’s time for me to embark upon this task. Come along for the ride if you’re so inclined. 

This is by no means a definitive ranking, because that’s impossible and the consumption of music is an intrinsically personal experience. But I personally like ranking things for arbitrary reasons.

Each song is ranked in order, and within those rankings I’ve assigned Tiers. Enjoy.

Note: this includes only studio tracks officially released by RBW or KissEnt, which means I’m sadly not including the Road to Kingdom songs. Actually, wait, you wanna know what? The real reason I’m not including Road to Kingdom songs is because I’m still salty that my favorite song from that show is one that didn’t get a studio release. Justice for Warrior’s Descendant. 

Let’s begin. 

I’ll start things off with the top tier, the best of the best, my absolute favorite ONEUS songs. Now what should I name a tier that represents the pinnacle of what ONEUS can offer us? 

Black-Haired Seoho Tier  

1. “Valkyrie”

This song goes places. It's the one that made me fall in love with ONEUS and it's still my favorite, oops.

2. “Blue Sky”

"Blue Sky” defies genre to me. The first time I heard it, I was blown away. It has some of my favorite vocals AND two of my favorite raps in their discography - I love Leedo and Ravn's "ballad raps" in general but this is my favorite.

3. “BingBing”

So full of personality. Such an earworm. Emotional and kinda unsetlling lyrics. Xion speaking French? OKAY. It's title track worthy, for sure, so it's a shame it gets so overlooked by casual listeners. I’m glad the fanbase has at least given it the legendary status it deserves. 

4. “Lost”

Was not expecting this one to enter my top ten with turbo boosters, but I started to listen to it a lot last year and in the process I started to feel things for this song that I previously have only felt for “Blue Sky”

5. “Plastic Flower”

It me.

6. “Rewind"

It’s all about the synth hook, to me. I am pathetically manipulable where good synth hooks are concerned. Also, the cadence and arrangement of this song reminds me of “Lost” and that’s never a bad thing.

7. “Dizzy” 

I just feel like this is where they all shine as a vocal ensemble. Their personalities shine through in Dizzy, and I'm a sucker for that emotive sort of performing. 

8. “Incomplete"

Right in a row here, you’ve got two sets of “my favorite song on the album” followed by “what I believe to be the best song on the album”. “Incomplete” is the best song on “DEVIL”. The lyrics are amazing and, this may sound weird, but as a Human in Their Thirties the lyrics hit even harder. Bonus points for guitar, as always.

9. “Dead or Alive” 

I’ll never get over how strange and wonderful this song is, and yes I do believe it’s the best song on “LIVED”. (Vee shouts through a megaphone again about how “Dead or Alive” incorporates musical themes or lyrical elements from every other song on “LIVED” and hopes someone listens). Also (vee voice) guitars.

10. “Lit”

“Lit” just rules and I don’t believe there’s much I can add that has not already been said about it 

Leedo Face Scrunch Tier 

Now for those songs that are still my favorites, and make the world an immensely better place for existing, but don’t quite crack the ultimate ONEUS songs pantheon. 

11. “No Diggity”

I'm a simple person, okay? I love bright and poppy songs but I'm also weak for unapologetic bangers, and "No Diggity" is an UNAPOLOGETIC BANGER. I think the guitars are (unsurprisingly) what takes this song to the next level for me. The arrangement in general is so impressive, and it’s obvious that they balanced it well to make use of all the members’ individual strengths. RIP my bias though.

12. “Crazy & Crazy”

The "Crazy & Crazy" appreciator has logged on! When Ravn said "hakuna matata 원하면 이뤄져 bibbidi-bobbidi-BOO", I felt that!!! If I ever get to go to a ONEUS concert and god forbid meet any of you there, I cannot be held responsible for how HAM I will go during this song. 

13. “Hide and Seek”

I’m weak for this funky little bass-driven bop. 

14. “Red Thread”

I don’t ever feel like I truly have gone in hard for a group until I start proselytizing their ballads to my unsuspecting friends. Ballads have a high barrier of entry in K-Pop especially, but my god!! MY GOD!!! This is a god-tier ballad. 

15. “808″

They threw every single synth possible at the wall with “808″ and it absolutely sends me with how well it works. It’s undeniably “a Japanese single,” if you know what I mean, but even with that I think it’s one of their strongest title tracks. The chorus is endlessly singable, too, and that means a lot to me while I’m listening to it while doing the dishes, which I do a lot.

16. “Leftover”

I believe that Seoho and Ravn team songwriting will save our souls, and this song is one more reason to do so. I love that their songs aren’t just straight-up R&B (not that I don’t love R&B), and that there’s something very playful and unique about them. 

17. “Zig Zag”

I’ll never forget you, “Zig Zag,” or the way Keonhee absolutely owns your vocals. In fact, if I had to assign an image song to every member I would most likely assign “Zig Zag” to Keonhee.  18. “Lion Heart"

As far as “weird little song” vibes go, “Lion Heart” really wins. Has undoubtedly one of the weirdest moments in any ONEUS song in the first post-chorus, and I’ll never shut up about the implied lore associations. 

19. “Hero” 

In every ToMoon's life, there is that indelible moment when they first heard Seoho's pre-pre-chorus vocals on "Hero" and suddenly realized so much about life and love and the nature of miracles. And, less dramatically, I love a good rap that uses the word biscuit.

Road to Kingdom Era Xion Tier 

I became a Xion bias in Road to Kingdom era, so this is not meant disparagingly. These are those songs that show so much promise and goodness, and make me love them, but are kind of an acquired taste so to speak. 

20, “BBUSYEO”

I always love BBUSYEO when it shuffles up, but I never like... seek it out, you know? Even if it is a bop. It’s just a silly little hetero love song that includes toilet humor, and it goes. I love that for it! 

21. “Come Back Home”

It's all about the build up here. This song has such a beautiful arrangement that builds to something, dare I say, epic. Good background music for taking a dramatic walk when it’s like, -this- close to raining. 

22. “To Be Or Not To Be”

This song works in the context of ONEUS mythology and lore but I tend not to really put it on my playlists if I'm simply wanting to experience an emotion or bust out some fun jams. It is a very strange time signature for a jam, but it’s too up-tempo to really be a mood setter. 

23. “Intro: Time"

This intro is like... beautiful, but also kind of slutty, and I love that?

24. “A Song Written Easily”

It's good! It's fun! I really like it, I think it's lovely. But it’s not a song I’m going to rec to a friend and assume it will give them an adequate view of what ONEUS is. If anything I’d expect they’d just be like “that was really fun, but it just makes me want to listen to Blood Sweat & Tears.” “and I’d go “yeah me too.”

25. “Twilight” 

I overplayed the fuck out of this song when I was first getting into ONEUS, so forgive me for ranking it low. Also, there is a high barrier of entry here for casual listeners even if it is a classic. Do you ever really think about how weird “Twilight” is? Like, the song structure? It’s very weird. I love it. 

26. “Stand By”

I decided to make "Stand By" my charity case after seeing a few people dismiss it as their least favorite off Fly With Us, and I wound up loving it so much. That bridge is crazy good! Vocal line  blessing us. 

27. “Intro: Fly Me to the Moon”

As far as intros go, this is god tier honestly. But it's still only an intro, and I always feel cheated out of a beautiful full song when I hear this. Like, even for an INTRO it feels short. 

My Complicated Feelings About A Thousand Stars Tier

28. “A Thousand Stars”

I just made an entirely separate post about this. 

That Overenthusiastic Thicc Ssam Ravn Made for Seoho That One Time Tier

Like, there’s a lot here. I like all the parts individually but something about them just doesn’t go down easily. 

29. “Youth”

I’ll be honest, I love “Youth” and I think it’s an absolutely beautiful song with a great hook. I’m just firmly out of the demographic for it at this point and that’s a bit alienating. It’s also weak compared to other songs on “DEVIL”

30. “Intro: Devil is in the Details”

It’s a great intro that does some ambitious things, but on its own it doesn’t hold up as well. Intimidating. 

31. “Intro: Lived”

I love Leedo and Ravn, but I don't like how this one opens. That said, I love the way this ends. 

32. “White Night”

The fact that I had to rank this so low, when it's such a gorgeous ballad, drives home how many pure bangers ONEUS has. I love this song, but I don't really jam out to it, so it's lower in my ranking. 

33. “What you doing?”

Please don’t judge me too harshly for this. I just feel like this song could have been performed by another group and there would have been no appreciable difference. I like Cosmik’s songs, but they’re not, in my opinion. the most ONEUS of the ONEUS songs. Which is weird since Cosmik is a bit synonymous with ONEUS. Anyway Keonhee sounds great in this song.

34. “Now”

Same as above, but this one has the added problem of never really going anywhere. That said, the bridge slaps. 

35. “Airplane”

I guess one of the proper tracks on Lived had to rank low, and for me it's definitely Airplane. When I listen to it, I have fun, but it's very... how do I put this nicely? Generic. The stages elevated it, absolutely, and otherwise it might rank even lower sadly.

36. “I.P.U.”

I don’t know how to put this nicely, but the only way I want to listen to this song is if ONEUS is singing it in concert, at which point I can imagine it being very emotional. It’s a special song for special occasions and I’m not going to listen to it to have fun. 

37. “Outro: Connect with US”

You’d think I’d love the government-assigned SeoJo song, wouldn’t you? I mean, it’s okay. 

38. “Eye Contact” 

By the time this song hits the chorus, it always gets me and I love it. But the verses leave something to be desired imo. It is firmly a mid-tier song to me, and I feel like this particular musical formula was much better in “Now.” Also please don’t make eye contact with me I have social anxiety. 

ZigZag’s Cursed Live Audio Tier

Unfortunate.

39. “Level Up”

WHY is this song so low??? Every time I hear it start I get so hyped up, but I feel like it never delivers on that hype fully. It feels too mid-tempo and generic for what the mix promises. I don't know. I can't explain it. The bridge doesn't lead up to much and that always feels like a betrayal. And because it has so much potential I’m even more disappointed about that.

40. “Intro: Light Us”

I have absolutely no opinion about this intro

41. “English Girl”

I’m way too queer and old for this song. :/ 

42. “In My Arms”

I don't feel their personalities at all in this song, which makes it stand out from almost all their other tracks. It just doesn't sound like a ONEUS song, to me.

43. “Kiseki”

A rare song that I skip when shuffling through the ONEUS discography

44. “Koisii”

The other rare song I skip when shuffling through the ONEUS discography, but also I would fight it if given the opportunity. 

[ronnytherandom]

Accidental Animated Film Week, or Watch Me Continue To Know Nothing About Media Analysis While I Liberally Abuse The Semicolon In An Attempt To Sound Smart

18/1/2021: Hotel Transylvania Lots of fun but this is a weird one, varies drastically in some strange ways. The comedy takes hit and miss to extremes, simultaneously being laugh out loud hilarious and possessing moments of ungodly cringe. The pacing is unbalanced with the first half feeling awkward, taking a while to really get into; the latter much too fast and not taking the necessary time, some scenes seeming to serve their function as minimally as possible. This metronome of quality exists primarily in these respects and is quite noticeable, but doesn’t ruin the experience and I think that’s testament to just how good the rest of it can be, though there are still caveats. The animation is fantastic, incredibly expressive and creates truly hilarious physical comedy, and I feel this is to be expected of a Genndy Tartakovsky film, I grew up with and deeply appreciate his animated features. The emotional core of the story really begins to hit in the latter half and is very effective though the Zing concept I take issue with the name because it just sounds too silly without being humorous; its just a weird little gripe, the word zing annoys me. That said I was genuinely invested in this love story which is a feat, I’m not a romantic person at all. The acting is generally very good, I enjoy the expanded cast and Adam Sandler is excellent but Andy Samberg’s Johnny has an accent that gets on my nerves and feels like he’s being a bit too heavy handed with it. Again, just a little gripe. The message is clear and heartfelt, strange as it seems to make the message for the parents of the features target audience it still works and resembles in parts the “dadification” that’s been occurring in media (especially video games) over the past decade. Ultimately, it’s a good time so long as you can deal with a few groan inducing moments and a little strangeness.

19/1/2021: Princess Mononoke Holy shit, why haven’t I watched this sooner. Transcendentally good! My new favourite film, an absolutely incredible achievement. For fear of wading into sub v dub controversy the English dub is good though I’m definitely going to watch it subbed at some point. Its Studio Ghibli, everyone knows that Miyazaki runs a fantastic operation, thus the art and animation is faultless. There are moments where every single frame is a true work of art. Induces nostalgia though I’ve never seen it before, the art style and tone of the soundtrack are endemic to the late 90s and remind me of the animation from my childhood. The message is also wonderfully nuanced, focusing less on Humanity’s responsibility for the natural world but rather a reconciliation between the ambition of humanity and the life of our world through respect and veneration of that which we’re dependent on to survive. I love the world so much; I think one of this film’s pinnacle achievements is conveying the impression of a deep living world with relatively little worldbuilding. Just watch it aight, everyone needs to watch it. Fucking Incredible.

20/1/2021: The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie (rewatch)

Very Fun. Powerful nostalgia, I think I saw this literally hundreds of times as a child, may have had the whole thing memorised, and have always been a huge fan of the SpongeBob series. Even despite that I think there’s a lot of quality here. Pretty much every aspect of the film is enjoyable and well done, even if I think the moments featuring real people are kind of awkward. The gags and humour mostly hold up but I don’t think they have aged so well as the original run of the series, but there’s not much as can live up to that standard. Has a little to say about being a goofball, but ultimately its all about the gags for me with this one.

21/1/2021: Nausicaa: Valley of The Wind

Magnificent. Meaningfully very similar to Princess Mononoke, not quite as good, but still very worthwhile. I really like the mid-century sci fi vibe going on here and think the worldbuilding is excellent, though some of the expository dialogue is a little clumsy. I imagine there’s a little bit of nuance lost in the dub but cannot be certain as I don’t understand Japanese. That said, the voice acting is generally good. The art is magnificent, as it is wont to be in Studio Ghibli films; or in this case the proto-studio-Ghibli-film. That every culture has its distinct style is one of my favourite things, amongst which rank the Ohmu, Nausicaas glider and most of all Teto. Look at his little tongue! Most of all I love the ecosystem that arises from the polluted earth, how the earth cleans itself, it is a spectacular thought. I have an interesting thought about the soundtrack, specifically during actions sequences. The musical quality is good, especially the main theme, but there are issues with the editing of the action sequences’ music which intrigue me. Because the edit is always jarring and I don’t think the style of music necessarily fits the film; but I think it is a technical limitation, that contemporary audio systems were not necessarily able to apply the soundtrack in a less jarring manner. Just an interesting thought I had and I may look into the history of sound software etc. to see if that’s right. I think it is a beautiful work and well worth watching, I enjoyed it greatly.

23/1/2021: Howl’s Moving Castle

Good. Far and away less impactful than Mononoke and Nausicaa but still very good. Standard Ghibli points: Its beautiful, well animated and full of character. I find all the lead characters quite charming and well performed; it is set in a very interesting world with lots of interesting quirks and cool magic. Further it is powerfully meaningful, with a clear statement on confidence and empowerment. There’s just something about this one where the vibe is slightly off and I could not fully explain why. It feels disjointed, as though all the parts of the world are not fully connected. I feel like if you were to list the plot points in order some would be labelled “??????? Make it happen” as some events and conclusions are reached without purpose or motivation. Only some though and I’m not trying to seriously say it doesn’t make sense that’s just how I feel in post. I enjoyed it but I feel like I don’t fully understand this one.

24/1/2021: Spirited Away

Beautiful. This one I think is the best showcase of Ghibli’s style: the art is beautiful; the water is viscous and the spirits are fantastically grotesque. There’s a vibrant world shown here with a lot of charming characters and expressive animation which I think creates the most visually stunning of the Ghibli films that I’ve seen so far, though I fear I’m a bit basic and unsophisticated as I still prefer what I recognise as more traditional fantasy and sci-fi worlds like Mononoke and Nausicaa. I feel the story is also a well nuanced coming of age tale as it balances between relying on your friends and standing up for yourself. I also really like Yubaba or more generally how antagonism is handled throughout this movie; and to an extent in the broader Ghibli canon. Rather than create comically evil villains who exist purely to do bad these features all showcase antagonists with genuine sensible motivations driving their action and the only thing defining them as antagonists is the framing and perspective. On that point you could argue that Yubaba is the closest to a genuine villain but I think the materialist-critical aspects are more of an aside than a genuine statement, as appreciable as they are.

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Engagement Season Advice from NWA’s Wedding Expert Amanda Reed

Photo credit: Max Grubb for Miles Witt Boyer Photographic Collective

‘Tis the season—engagement season, that is. For those in the wedding industry, the officially unofficial season when a large percentage of couples become engaged begins on Thanksgiving, lasts through the holidays and ends with a bang on Valentine’s Day. And the calls start once couples realize they don’t want to do this alone (or have the time to tackle it on their own). . .

“Between Christmas Eve and mid-February, I will get several inquiries per day and sometimes I’m seeing dozens of proposals a day on my social media feeds,” says wedding planner Amanda Reed, of  Amanda Reed Weddings.

To help all the lovebirds out there feeling overwhelmed by the task of setting a date and planning a wedding, Amanda shares her engagement season advice with us, below.

Photo credit: Max Grubb for Miles Witt Boyer Photography Collective

Yes, take your time celebrating and enjoying your engagement, but before long the questions will start to roll in. . .What are your colors? Have you picked a date? Is your third cousin twice removed in your house party? How many carats is that ring (yes, they will SO ask that)?!? Here’s how to get started on the zillion decisions you have to make while wedding planning.

Set a budget. At least a starter budget. Having a clear idea of the amount of money you want to spend on your wedding will be important from the jump. The number of guests you can truly afford hinges on this number. Caterers charge per person, after all — and chairs, tablecloths, flowers — all those things have exponential costs. We preach daily to clients that the single easiest way to save money is to cut that guest list! Know how much you can spend, and then work backwards.

Start pinning. Everybody’s had a dream-wedding Pinterest board for as long as they can remember. Curate what you’ve already pinned and create a board you can bring to meetings with your vendors. We love to see our brides’ boards before we get started with the planning. Now’s the time to get it right. Delete those fairy dresses you pinned when you were 16, and if you’re not feeling the beach vibe, it’s okay to delete the seashell place card photos too. Focus on what you want now, and happy pinning! 

Get that bling insured. Your fiancé just spent a big chunk of change on that gorgeous ring, so let’s make sure you take good care of it. Your insurance agent will have all the details for adding the ring to your policy, so give them a call. And while we’re talking about rings, we always send couples to Blakeman’s for their bands. Their selection of men’s bands is classic (We’re a little partial to the David Yurman choices, personally!).

Your bridesmaids will be there for you through one of the most exciting and important times of your life. Amanda is seeing more and more brides take the time to really make bridal party requests extra special. It makes the day that much more memorable! Photo credit: Meredith Benton Photography.

Propose to your wedding party. Maybe he got to have all the fun planning his proposal, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have the chance to get down on one knee, too! So many brides and grooms are posting the most picture-perfect wedding party proposals all over Instagram these days. We love simple proposals where the bride gifts her friends with a nicely packaged box full of adorable gifts like a pretty lipstick and nail polish, a little bottle of champagne and a handwritten note. Locally, Shindig Paperie has beautiful boxes and stationery for this. (While you’re there, you’ll want some extra stationery for all the thank you cards you’ll be writing this year!)  Riffraff also has a killer selection of bridesmaids gifts and tees!

Bella Figura letterpress invitation with custom calligraphy from Janna Wilson. Photo credit: The Montoya Collective

Set a realistic timeline. You may have to swap a season to get the right timeline, or swap a venue to get the right season. Your first choice photographer may not be available on the same date as your first choice band. Some venues book a year to 18 months out. Think about what’s most important to you and where you are willing to compromise before you start to meet with vendors. You can always consider alternate days of the week. Fridays are popular and we love an old-fashioned Sunday brunch wedding. 

Start shopping for that dress.  Wedding gowns can take a lot longer to get in than you may think, so it’s never too early to try them on! Plus, right now is a great time for sample sales. A lot of boutiques will have holiday sales, too. We have wonderful wedding gown shops locally like Tesori and Joon Bridal. For the guys, we’re seeing custom suiting more than tuxedos, which is fantastic because the groom can keep wearing it after the big day — often, it’s his first legit suit. Walker Brothers is a fantastic local place to shop for custom suiting.

Just look at this gorgeous Oscar de la Renta dress waiting for its big day. Amanda recommends ordering your wedding dress early in the planning process to ensure there is time to get the fit just perfect. Photo credit: The Montoya Collective

Make a fitness plan. You want to look good in that dress? We have many brides who start with Pure Barre Fayetteville (and also the newly opened studio at Pinnacle Hills!) the moment they get a ring so that they can really focus on toning and shaping up for their big day. We also love the facial packages at Premier Dermatology to get that blushing bridal glow. 

Plan for the marriage. Where else to begin than with the honeymoon, naturally? Global luxury travel advisor Michele MacDonald of The Core Traveler can really help with all the details if you want to do something exquisite. She has planned some out-of-this-world honeymoons for our clients, and will even go above and beyond to include mementos from wedding days, gifts from parents and friends and other really romantic and special details into the perfect honeymoon for just the two of you.

Look before you leap! We’ve seen so many couples get so excited after getting engaged that they immediately start signing contracts, writing checks and running cards just because they think they have to...and then experience the worst buyer’s remorse! Take a breath, find your focus, and then you can start making choices.

How perfect is this elaborate engagement scene? We love it! Photo credit:  Lauren Blair Photography

Finding an expert with years of experience and connections within the wedding realm can really help you sort through your options, and find the best fit within each wedding vendor category. Follow Amanda’s expert advice and get glimpses of weddings she’s planned here and book a consultation to get her personalized insight. . .you’ll head into wedding season with your best bridal foot forward!

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Bungie Weekly Update - 8/30/18

This week at Bungie, we’re on final approach. This is the last blog update before-saken, and we’ve just served up a menagerie of content to get you prepared. If you’ve been looking to avoid spoilers, don’t click “play” on any of the following videos. If you’re chomping at the bit for info, this was cooked up just for you:

The hunt is about to begin, but we also have a long road ahead of this year. To share our goals for Forsaken and what waits beyond launch, we invited developers from the team to go on the record. Check out the new ViDoc to see what we have planned for the second year of Destiny 2:

If you’re looking for a quick reference on what’s covered in the ViDoc, we’ve also made a roadmap with details on Forsaken, Annual Pass content, and the free Seasons updates.

Gambit Showdown & Trial

On September 1, every player of Destiny 2 will be invited to try Gambit before the launch of Forsaken. For 24 hours, fireteams will bank motes in a race to beat their opponents and burn down a Primeval.

Tomorrow, before the games begin for everyone, we’re inviting some special guests into our studio to show how it’s done!

Gambit Showdown

www.twitch.tv/bungie

Friday 8/31, 1 PM PDT

The following day, all are invited to join the fun. This is the final stop before launch, and we'll be out there in the wild with you. If you happen to catch a Bungie employee on the opposite team, show 'em your favorite emote.

Gambit Trial

All platforms

Saturday 9/1, 10 AM PDT - Sunday 9/2, 10 AM PDT

We're also planning to place a few bounties during the Gambit Trial event. If you want a chance to earn the " Sign of Mutual Combat " emblem, stay tuned to @Bungie for future announcements.

As always,

DEATH HEALS PRIMEVAL.

Penny Arcade Expo

Still hungry for a bit more Gambit before September 4? Stop by and see us at PAX 2018 in Seattle! With the convention center in our back yard, we’ll be here all weekend to host Gambit matches, hang out at signing tables, and offer some sweet Destiny gear for purchase from the Bungie store.

Location: Booth 229, on the fourth floor.

Play Gambit—Earn an Emblem

We will have Gambit playable on the floor at PAX. Stop by the booth and try out the new competitive co-op game mode all weekend long. Anyone who plays will also receive a code for our event emblem.

Bungie Store—Snag some Swag

Available throughout the weekend, the Bungie Store will have the following merch (and more!) available for purchase.

Signing Tables—Meet the Devs

We’ve rounded up a few developers from various teams who’ve brought Destiny

and Destiny 2 to life! If you’d like to shake hands and snag an autograph, here’s the lineup.

Friday, 8/31

11 AM–12 PM: Narrative

3–4 PM: Crucible

4–5 PM: Gambit

Saturday, 9/1

11 AM–12 PM: Bungie Diversity Committee

1–2 PM: Art and UI

2–3 PM: Sandbox

3–4 PM: Gameplay and Investment

Cosplay Meetup—Meet the Guardians

Sunday 9/2, 1–2:30 PM

Each year, we’re humbled and amazed by the talents of our community. If you’ve ever wanted to see hand-crafted exotics or snap a photo with your favorite Destiny 2 character, chances are they’ll be there! For details on location, check out the Destiny Meetup at PAX West group.

Bringing the Hammer

The team has been hard at work the last few months improving their toolsets to watch over Destiny 2.  They have some important information to share on how we’re improving your search for Glory in the Competitive playlist.

Security Team: Throughout Season 3, we’ve been working on improvements to our systems that identify players who may be tampering with their connection to Crucible matches or breaking the Terms of Service for Destiny 2. We have some news to share, but first a point of clarification… We have received reports from players who have been using bungie.net or other third-party websites to attempt to identify wrongdoers. We want to clarify that our internal tools have much more detail, which players do not have access to. For example, a player who returns to orbit or switches their character will show as did not finish on a third-party website, while our internal tools have much more detail on the reason they left the match. This helps to ensure that we do not hand out restrictions when opponents are disconnecting due to temporary networking or ISP issues or opponents leaving of their own accord. Using this data—and working with the PvP team directly—we’ve recently updated our detection and analysis tools and re-checked the previous four months of matches from the Competitive playlist. 

Effective September 4, 2018, we will apply more restrictions and bans to player accounts that benefitted from opponent disconnects at a highly abnormal frequency throughout Season 3 with our improved detection methods. This will include “voluntary” disconnects when players are repeatedly matching against the same opponents.

We are also updating our Account Restrictions and Banning Policies to detail the potential forms of punishment.

Depending on the severity of infractions, players may receive Crucible restrictions and bans.

This will remove access to pinnacle Crucible rewards, such as Redrix’s Claymore, Redrix’s Broadsword, and Luna’s Howl, and any pinnacle Crucible rewards released in the future. 

For the most severe infractions, players may permanently lose access to all Destiny 2 activities, including PvE.

As we begin to apply this moderation, we will be crosschecking matches to ensure the proper levels of punishment are applied. We’ll continue to apply and revise our detections throughout Season 4 and beyond. 

If you believe you’ve encountered a player who is breaking the terms of service, please see Report Suspected Cheating on help.bungie.net. This page details all available forms of reporting to Bungie for the platform on which you play.

As a final note, thanks to everyone who plays Destiny 2 legitimately. We appreciate the time you invest in our game, and we’re working hard to ensure everyone has a good experience when rightly earning their rewards.

Pardon Our Dust

Since the Year 2 deployment on Tuesday, we’ve seen reports that matchmaking time in the Crucible may be taking longer than usual. While no deliberate changes to matchmaking were deployed in Update 2.0, we have been investigating this issue.

We are planning to deploy a fix that we hope will increase the speed of matchmaking queues. As our investigation continues, please stay tuned to @BungieHelp for updates on our progress.

Upon the launch of Forsaken, skill matching will work in the same manner it has in recent weeks (i.e., no skill-based matchmaking). In the near future, we will preview any planned improvements to matchmaking in Crucible Labs first, so we can tune that experience collaboratively. As always, our commitment remains to communicate all changes to the competitive ecosystem in advance right here on bungie.net.

Thanks for playing!

Download After Download

As we said last week, things are a little weird right now. Player Support has been on the front lines, troubleshooting issue reports and identifying workarounds for some of the oddities you might be seeing since the release of Update 2.0.0.

This is their report:

Destiny 2 Hotfix 2.0.0.1

On Tuesday, September 4, Destiny 2 will undergo maintenance to receive Update 2.0.0.1. The conclusion of this maintenance will mark the launch of Destiny 2: Forsaken, and this hotfix will be required to log in and play. For the Hotfix 2.0.0.1 deployment schedule, please see the times listed below. On Tuesday, September 4:

7:00 AM PDT: Players will no longer be able to log in to Destiny 2. Players leaving activities will be returned to the title screen. Hotfix 2.0.0.1 will begin rolling out across all platforms and regions.

7:30 AM PDT: Destiny 2 will be taken offline for maintenance, and all remaining players will be returned to the title screen.

7:30–10:00 AM PDT: Destiny 2 will remain offline for maintenance.

10:00 AM PDT: Destiny 2 maintenance is expected to conclude, and Destiny 2: Forsaken will become available to play on all platforms.

For Hotfix 2.0.0.1 patch notes on September 4, players should keep an eye on our Updates page or follow @Bungie on Twitter for live announcements.

Destiny 2 Update 2.0.0 Known Issues

Over the past few weeks, we have warned players that the weeklong transition between August 28 and September 4 may be a rocky one. In direct response to player reports on our #Help forum, we have listed below some of the known and emergent issues we’ve tracked since the launch of Update 2.0.0. Please be aware that not all of the issues below will be resolved in Hotfix 2.0.0.1.

We are aware of an issue impacting players’ ability to obtain specific loot from the Nightfall strike “Strange Terrain.” This issue should be resolved on September 4 with Update 2.0.0.1.

The XP bar is not showing XP gains for players at the level cap. This is a UI issue, and all players will continue to earn XP and Bright Engrams at their expected rates. This issue is expected to be resolved on September 4 with Hotfix 2.0.0.1.

We are currently investigating an issue that causes the precision multiplier for some weapons with explosive rounds to be incorrectly capped, making them deal less total damage than intended.

We are investigating reports of issues impacting sandbox gameplay, including Hand Cannon recoil on PC and aiming down sights not cancelling properly.

Some Year 2 Forsaken weapons and armor may drop prematurely from world loot sources. Items awarded to players early may see minor changes following Hotfix 2.0.0.1 and the launch of Destiny 2: Forsaken on September 4.

Some objectives that require Heroic strikes will not be achievable until Hotfix 2.0.0.1 on September 4.

Players who still have the “Spicy Ramen” quest will not be able to complete it because the ramen shop is no longer distributing expired coupons.

For the full list of known issues, as well as possible mitigation steps, players should see our Update 2.0.0 Known Issues list.

Gear Infusion and Level Requirements

Once Destiny 2: Forsaken is live on September 4, players may begin increasing their Power and character level beyond their Year 1 limits. As with all increases to player Power in Destiny 2, players should be aware that infusing gear with a requirement above their current character level will make the infusion recipient unavailable for use until the player levels up. For example:

A player logs in to Destiny 2: Forsaken on September 4 at character level 30

The player receives new gear with a level 31 character requirement

The player infuses the new gear into their favorite Year 1 gear

This Year 1 gear is no longer available for use, since it has adopted the level 31 character requirement from its infusion material

The player must then increase their character level to 31 to reequip this gear

Players should pay extra attention to the character level requirements on their gear as they climb to max level in Destiny 2: Forsaken. Mod Changes for AllAs a reminder, mod changes will take full effect on September 4 at the launch of Destiny 2: Forsaken. Listed below is the full experience that players will encounter once Hotfix 2.0.0.1 becomes available.

Year 1 weapons will not accept Year 2 weapon mods

Elemental attributes on Year 1 weapons will be locked, and you will no longer be able to change them

Some targeted Year 1 Power weapons have had their elemental attributes changed and locked for Year 2

Year 1 armor will accept Year 2 armor mods

Year 1 Gear will not receive randomized perks

All Year 1 mods will be deprecated at the launch of Destiny 2: Forsaken on September 4

Year 1 mods may safely be dismantled ahead of time in preparation for the Year 2 mod system

Solstice of Heroes T-Shirt Redemption

As of this past Tuesday, Solstice of Heroes and Moments of Triumph have concluded in Destiny 2. Players who achieved 250 Triumph Points or more and redeemed the Triumph Shirt reward in-game are eligible to generate their Solstice of Heroes T-shirt code on their Bungie.net profile until September 12 at 10 AM PDT.

Players who generate their code by this deadline have until September 30 at 11:59 PM PDT to redeem their code at checkout with their shirt order at the Bungie Store. At that time, all remaining T-shirt codes will become invalid, and players may no longer place new Solstice of Heroes T-shirt orders on the Bungie Store.

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The year before, I was still in the midst of the worst depression of my life when I somehow managed to contact some local dance studios in Iowa to see about taking classes in the fall. One in particular seemed like the right fit. By the time that summer was over, I’d made huge strides in combatting my mental illness — between a fantastic counselor, EMDR therapy, and medication, I was doing much, much better. I still felt very fragile, but even so, I worked up my courage and started classes with this new studio.

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Before our big spring performance, I came down with a 103° fever. I had to miss one of the rehearsals, and by the time of our opening night I still wasn’t feeling very good. Despite that, I continued to fight. Though I didn’t do my best, I did the best I could. I was disappointed, but still proud of myself. I knew how hard I’d worked to get there. The next day, my family had driven up to see me dance, so that afternoon’s performance held extra excitement. By that point I was feeling much better, and it went perfectly! It was exactly the sort of thrilling and joyous and heavenly experience dance recitals had always been. My soul felt at home. I was on top of the world.

Within the next few weeks, we moved back to Oklahoma — God had provided a job for Stephen there, and we felt like it was the right time. It was so good to come back home. But now, finally, I was able to be thankful that we got to experience our time away, despite all the nightmarish things we went through. The dear friends we made, growing closer as a couple, our own personal growth —  all the good things, all the redeemed things seemed symbolized, in a way, in the victory I felt through that final performance, and the year of dancing that led up to it. We’d gone through so much darkness, but we’d fought and we’d found our courage and we’d made it out into the light on the other side.

I felt that profound sense of victory again in the fall, at a beloved dance convention with my even more beloved dance friends from years past. It felt like the culmination of all my years of dancing. I’d come full circle: I was back here, with these dear dance sisters who had taught me the beauty and purpose and joy of dancing. I finally felt like I was strong enough and had learned enough to master what would have been too difficult before, and more importantly than that, I was able to throw off every last bit of my insecurity (a struggle in years past) and rejoice completely in God, the joy he gave me in dance, and his power in me to accomplish it. It was incredible. Even though my health had taken a nosedive since moving back, I had no symptoms that weekend. I felt like God had given me a reprieve so I could experience what felt like a pinnacle of joy and victory.

That was the last time I was able to dance in a significant way, but I’m thankful that if I had to stop, that’s the way I went out. I’ll remember it all my life.

I’m choosing this song to represent this year because it was my lyrical dance for the spring performance. I nearly cried when I heard it for the first time. It felt so significant, after everything I’d gone through. I’d fought so hard, but now, I was free.

Runner-up: Burn by Ellie Goulding because we listened to it a lot in dance class and it was my fight song.

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