#his stupid fucking electronic drums oh my fucking god

[egonkula]

jack antonoff when I catch you. when I catch you jack antonoff.

[tendertenebrosity]

Next instalment of TJ and Danny’s story, set in @wildfaewhump‘s Pathverse! Direct sequel to here , you should go read that first! Masterpost can be found here. 

Danny took the next exit, without even bothering to read the signs. It wasn’t as if he had a goal in mind, not anymore – if he couldn’t go to Julie’s Agency there was no point driving to her city.

He was going to have to stop soon and decide what to do. But if he just kept driving, he could put off needing to make that call for just a little longer.

The outskirts of the city slid by his window. He tried to just drive, thinking as little as possible. Trying to keep his grip on the wheel steady but not white-knuckled, trying not to let his breathing speed up and up and up until he was leaning forward in his seat and accidentally roaring along at 20 over the speed limit.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

What was he going to do?

You’re really in the shit now, Danny, he told himself. Why did you call her? Why did you think she’d understand? Before this last year, before this endless slog through court case after violent court case, melt-downs and seizures, hospitalisations and Class-A memory ‘treatments’, picking right back up and going to work again afterwards, watching TJ get thinner and shakier and more threadbare every week without ever being capable of understanding why but still quieting under Danny’s touch like it actually meant something…

Danny wouldn’t’ve understood either.

He flicked the radio on, blaring voices spouting something inane. He jumped stations a few times, looking for something with music. He found something that sounded like country, listened to that for a minute or two, before flicking it off again in annoyance.

Of course Julie didn’t understand, because this was flat-out crazy, and Danny knew it. He didn’t know how it had come to this. What had he been thinking? What did he think he was achieving? This had been a mistake, from start to finish.  

“Um. Handler? Danny?”

The white line on the road jerked and veered wildly in front of Danny as he swore, curbing the impulse to whip around and look behind him.

Fucking hell. Keep it together enough to drive, will you?

He spared a glance in the mirror. Sure enough, the Path was sitting up, looking small and hunched and incongruously clean in the grubby back seat of Danny’s old car. His thin pale fingers clutched at the black seatbelt.

“Jesus, kid,” Danny snapped.

“Sorry,” TJ whispered. “Sorry, I’ll – I’ll be quiet, I’m sorry...”

“No, I - ” Danny breathed out heavily through his nose, made his hands relax on the wheel. The way TJ was lately, Danny couldn’t raise his voice without the poor sod thinking he’d done something wrong. The way he cringed from the nurses, from other handlers, from Danny himself sometimes - it made Danny think hard, vicious things about whoever had been assigned to him before.

How could I have just gone on to the next job and left him there?

He tried to make his voice light. “No, kid, not your fault,” he said. “You just, uh, startled me. Didn’t mean to wake you, we’re hours away from where we’re going yet.” For God’s sake don’t ask me where that is, I don’t fucking know.

“I was awake,” the Path said, a wispy thread of voice from the backseat. “Um. Danny?”

Danny grunted to show he was listening.

“Are you really stealing me?”

Damn it.

“How much did you hear of that?” Danny asked, his stomach sinking. He’d thought TJ was safely asleep. Idiot.

“Um. All of it,” TJ said. “You said – Danny, you said – why do you think someone’s going to kill me?”

“I – well, because…” This was stupid. Why was Danny floundering for words in front of a Path? Danny could only catch the occasional glimpse of the Path in his mirror, and blindfolded TJ wasn’t capable of looking at anything, but still he had to fight back the feeling that TJ was looking at him accusingly.

“Because you’re sick,” he settled on eventually. He blinked hard at the wavering road in front of him, resettled his grip on the steering wheel. “And… and you’ll get better if you have time, TJ, but they don’t want to give you that time. Because it isn’t… ” The end of the sentence died in his throat. Because everyone’s too busy. Because there’s a contract. Because you’re not important enough.

Because it isn’t cost-efficient.

“Did they tell you that?”

“No,” Danny said. “I just… I can see how it’s going to go. That’s all.”

“Oh.” TJ’s voice was thin, quiet. He shifted, overlarge scrubs rustling. “So… so that’s why you’re stealing me?”

Danny winced. “I’m not – TJ, stop saying that. I’m taking you to a different Agency where you’ll be taken care of properly. It’ll all be okay, all right?”

Danny wished the Path hadn’t overheard. He wished this conversation could have held off until they’d stopped; he couldn’t assess the Path’s body language. Fuck, Julie had said that word, described this as ‘stealing’, and maybe now it had stuck in TJ’s head.

He wondered what the hell went on in that head sometimes; how did a Path see the world? Not how normal people did, clearly. Obviously a Path wasn’t really capable of understanding right and wrong, and the law, and morality. But... TJ had seemed to understand a lot of the things he’d read for the court. He definitely understood what ‘stealing’ meant.  

Danny was half waiting for TJ to challenge him on it. They’d worked a case a few weeks ago, theft of a car and some power tools – perhaps TJ was now going to ask Danny what made this any different, why they’d helped send that person to jail but now Danny was taking off with Agency property.

Danny sighed. No, you idiot, he thought, exasperated with himself. Poor fucking kid’s probably a bit preoccupied with the whole ‘they’ll kill you’ thing. Pull your head out of your ass.

In the end TJ said neither of those things, though.

“You’re still going to be in… in a lot of trouble,” he said instead.

Danny laughed, a harsh, coughing noise that surprised him. “Yeah, kid, probably.”

“What if you can’t find another Agency?” TJ sounded calm, reasonable.

Danny resisted the urge to swear. It’s a good fucking question, isn’t it? “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s… it’ll be fine. It’s not your problem to worry about, kid, so just - ”

Danny’s phone rang.

The sound filled up the car, irritatingly cheerful electronic trilling. Danny knew who that would be; didn’t even need to look at the display. TJ subsided into silence. Danny drummed his gloved fingers on the wheel, gritted his teeth, wished he had a cigarette or a coffee or fucking something to calm himself down with.

If Danny really intended to make a run for it, he ought to throw that phone out the window and keep on driving, he knew. People could track you with those things.

But keep on driving to where? In the end, Danny didn’t have any real idea what he was doing. And the only one around to talk to in this car was a Path.

So he took a hand off the wheel and hit the button that answered the phone.

“Danny,” Julie said, her voice filled with relief. “Thanks for picking up.”

Danny made a noncommittal noise.

“Danny, where are you?”

He glanced around. Danny hadn’t driven in this area much; he didn’t know what the street was called, or even really what suburb he was in. Not much in the way of signs to help him out, either. But did that matter? He might have answered the phone, but Danny wasn’t at the point where he was willing to give Julie either of those things.

“You’re sending people out after me,” he accused her. “The cops, or, or an Agency acquisition van.”

“Danny, I want to help you, I - ”

“If you wanted to help me you could have heard me out,” he snapped. “But you’re not going to, I can fucking tell.”

“Hey, you’re the one who hung up on me, remember?”

“Yeah, cause you weren’t listening to me!” Danny said. The scenery sped by, a patchwork of industrial-looking squat concrete blocks of buildings and what looked to be neglected empty land, filled with scrubby trees and patchy fields that were more weeds than grass. He tried to keep his voice down, keep calm, but it grated and wobbled in his ears regardless. “You didn’t have any intention of helping me with TJ, you just lied to me to shut me up when you said you would fix it.”

Julie was better at lying than she’d been before, but the seam was still visible to Danny. The point where she had just started agreeing with anything he said in an attempt to get him to do what she wanted.

“No, Danny,” she protested. “Look, Danny, I just – I don’t know this Path, okay, I don’t know what your situation is, but I want to help you. So if you want to talk about the Path, okay, let’s talk. I’m listening.”

“Talk about….” Danny glanced up to the mirror. At TJ still sitting there, turning his head this way and that.  Making Danny think vaguely of a baby bird, head too big for its little neck. Listening to everything they were both saying. “Look, he’s not dangerous or anything.”

“Okay. Danny, is… is TJ…” Julie’s voice hushed, suddenly, as if she was talking about something obscene. “Danny, are we talking about the child of someone you know? Or your child? Because…”

“Wh- No!” Danny yelped. He took his eyes off the road to gape, horrified, at Julie’s name on the display for a moment. The car wavered underneath him and he dragged his eyes back up.  

That was… a thought. Jesus Christ. It had somehow never occurred to him. Danny wasn’t anywhere near the point in his life where he’d be contemplating babies, but even so – even so – how had he never thought of that? That if he did, there was a non-zero chance they might be…

“I’m talking about an adult Path,” he said, to Julie, forcefully. “Not a child. He’s not related to me in any form. He’s my Path from work, just a regular assigned… fuck, you know what I mean!”

“Uh huh,” Julie said cautiously. She sounded relieved; papers shuffled again, and Danny suspected he could hear her typing something. “All right. What class is he?”

Danny let out a breath, trying to calm down. “E,” he said. “We worked in, um, Criminal Justice. The courtroom mostly, sometimes the police station.” He chewed his lip, considered and rejected two or three different sentence beginnings. “It’s fucking hard work, OK? It’s difficult, the readings are always long, and it’s bloody dark stuff sometimes, and they never….”  

“Class E? OK,” Julie said, gently. “Where is, um, TJ now, Danny?”

“He’s here,” Danny said, exasperated. “I can see him right now, okay, he’s still got his blindfold on and he’s in the back seat and he’s not causing any trouble. He’s never caused any trouble, even though he’s been treated like shit.”  

“He’s in the back? He can’t touch you?”

“What? No?” Danny glanced in the mirror. Still just a puzzled TJ, seatbelt done up, eyes covered, hands in his lap.

“Okay, good.” Julie started speaking rapidly, urgently. “Danny, I really really need you to pull up by the road and wait for me. Okay? You’re not going to understand why, but we did this in training, right, so I need you to trust me. You’re probably confused and that’s okay…”

“What?”

“Danny, you know that Paths can affect people’s minds - ”

“You think he got to me? You think that’s what this is about?” Danny shook his head, bottling up the stream of swearwords that wanted to escape. Julie thought that TJ was somehow making Danny do this? TJ, visibly upset by the change in routine, shaking and frightened at getting into a slightly different car, who’d been in a hospital bed with tubes everywhere and dried blood all over his face just a week ago? “You’re wrong. Dead wrong. How would that even - ”

“I know that what you’re doing probably makes perfect sense to you now,” Julie interrupted, her voice somehow managing to be both soothing and urgent. “You just have to trust me that it doesn’t, Danny, okay? You can’t rely on your instincts now.”

“Fuck’s sake, Julie - ”

“Nothing is the way it seems. It’s not your fault. You’re in the presence of a Path; they get into your head, they can make you think or feel whatever they - ”

Danny growled in frustration. He hauled on the steering wheel, hand over hand awkwardly, to navigate a turn. “Julie, cut the crap! Trying your scaremongering bullshit on me like I’m some clueless layperson? He never fucking touched me, and he’s fucking E, he’s not even capable of that!”

“Danny, you may not know as much about him as you think you do,” Julie insisted. Some of the cool soothing quality frayed away from her voice. “Come on! I know it’s hard but think. You know why we take the precautions we do, you know the damage that can be done! It’s not your fault, you’re confused. Once you tell me where you are - ”

“I’m not confused,”Danny snapped. He felt sick. If this was what Julie thought, there was no chance of this turning out all right. Not within any Agency. It didn’t make sense but had that ever mattered to Agency management? “I’ve never been confused.”

“- once I know where you are I can help you, okay? We can sort it all out, for you and TJ both, it will all - ”

“Sort it out!” Danny snarled. “Oh, yeah, sure you fucking will! I know how you’ll sort TJ out!”

“Danny - ”

“This is bullshit! I’m not going back to your goddamn cold-blooded, two-faced – uh- ”

Danny caught his breath. The metal barrier that lined the road, painted with yellow chevrons, was coming up fast – way too fast.

Fuck, there was a turn, he hadn’t seen -

He slammed his foot onto the brake pedal and wrenched the wheel to the left; metal grated and squealed in protest.  The car was sliding – Danny’s seatbelt was digging painfully into his ribs as the world swung back and forth violently, and he realised in the half-second he had that the car was fish-tailing as it hurtled towards the metal barrier and the downward slope that lay beyond.

Somewhere in the background, Julie’s voice was asking something, pitched high with concern, but it was drowned out by the screeching of tires and the sound of TJ’s frightened yell from the backseat.

Danny’s car hit the barrier, and the world rolled over and over on itself in a sickening whirl that ended with a metallic crunch.

[twrp-act-your-age]

The Big Scary What-If

Was going through old files and whoops! I found a whole bonus scene I wrote and never posted. So... here ya go!

Spoilers under the cut for the near-end of the story!

This scene takes place around the vicinity of pages 114-116. For those who don’t remember (it’s been a while!), Deimos has been defeated, the gang is back together, and they’re taking a few days to fix the Time Crystal.

Havve’s optics blinked, taking in the small form of Meouch sitting curled up on the couch. It was midnight--rather, it would have been midnight if they had been on Earth--and his three boys should’ve all been in bed. “You’re supposed to be asleep,” he said, keeping his volume down for the sake of the others.

“I know,” Meouch said, seemingly having fully expected that from Havve. “I can’t stop thinking, though.”

Havve could have sighed and sent him off to bed anyway--if Meouch could think out here, in front of the muted TV playing intergalactic infomercials, then he could think in his room--but he didn’t. He sat down next to Meouch and got comfortable, leaning back and lacing his fingers together over his stomach. “What’re you thinking about?”

“It’s nothing,” Meouch said, shrugging one shoulder. “I mean, it’s… Y’know.”

“Clearly it’s not nothing,” Havve retorted, “if it’s keeping you up half the night.”

“It’s…” Meouch sighed. He crossed his arms over his chest and burrowed his hands inside the sleeves of his t-shirt. He looked at the TV, defeated. “It’s stupid.”

“I bet it’s not,” Havve said. Meouch didn’t look at him, eyes vacantly stuck on the infomercial in front of him. Havve sighed then, a tinny, half-real, half-robotic sound. “You can talk to me, you know. I won’t judge. I mean… you’re a kid for crying out loud. Of course you’re worried about stuff you wouldn’t be normally.” Havve’s optics drifted to the TV for a moment (something about air fryers. He couldn’t believe they were still hawking that crap this far in the future), and then turned back to Meouch. “If something’s got you concerned, and you care about it, then that means it’s important. I won’t think it’s stupid. Okay?”

Meouch pursed his lips into a line. He blinked, his eyes reflecting the screen in front of them, and Havve realized he was trying to push back tears. “If we don’t fix this,” Meouch croaked, his voice rough and barely above a whisper, “if we have to grow up all over again from scratch… I did the math, Havve. I have the shortest lifespan here. I’m… I’m not gonna live to see Phobos and Sung get back to normal.”

The dam broke. It was quiet, Meouch still trying to hold himself together, but his eyes were gushing tears and his lips were trembling with cries trying to pry their way out. Havve sat up straighter and scooped him up, pulling Meouch into his chest and holding a hand on the back of his small head. Meouch choked out a high-pitched sob, muffled by Havve’s shirt. “Oh, bud. It’s okay. It’s okay,” he said, rubbing his thumb up and down on Meouch’s back. Havve couldn’t cry, as he didn’t have the eyes or the tear ducts necessary, but he could still feel his chest grow tight and his breath hitch in his half-metal throat. “It won’t come to that, I promise. We’ll fix this, Meouch. It’s okay.”

“I know. It’s like, so many what-ifs all piled on top of one another,” Meouch squeaked once he gained a little bit of his composure back. He sniffled, trying and failing to not get Havve’s shirt all wet. “Of course we’re gonna fix it. But I can’t get it out of my head, man. For fuck’s sake, Phobos is, what, twelve hundred years old? That's twice as old as I’ll ever be. I don’t wanna grow up and have him still be a little kid. I can’t, Havve, I can’t…”

“I know. God, if there’s anyone who understands that feeling, it’s me,” Havve said. “I honestly don’t mind taking care of you guys like this, but… I need you back, too. I can’t… rust away into nothing before Sung even hits puberty. I need you guys back.”

“Mm.” Meouch crawled further into Havve’s arms, burying his head in his hoodie and wrapping his arms tight around Havve’s chest. “I know they're gonna outlive me,” he muttered, barely audible. “I’ve always known that. S’just how shit goes. But I… They’re my… All of you are my best friends, and if we can’t tour together or do music together or just… hang out together without having to worry about babysitting… I can’t…”

Havve hummed in agreement, a strange mix of breath and white noise, making his chest vibrate. Meouch leaned into it, and Havve cradled him there. He needed this hug so bad that he was practically trying to crawl into Havve’s chest plate, and if Havve could have, he would’ve let him.

“I know you’ve prob’ly already been thinking about this a lot,” Meouch mumbled, his voice still wet and thick. “About what happens if the Time Crystal doesn’t poof us back to normal. This is old news for you. ‘M sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Havve shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry about. There’s been so much going on… The whole thing with Phobos and Deimos… This is something we should’ve talked about days ago. The big shitty ‘what-if’ hanging over everyone’s heads. I hate it, you hate it, and no doubt Sung and Phobos hate it too. It’s hard to think about. Phobos is… tiny.” Havve ran his fingers gently through the fur on Meouch’s head, partly to soothe Meouch and partly to steady himself, and he spoke quietly, the bass of his speaker rumbling low in the top of his chest. “Seeing him get that small was… terrifying. I can’t imagine him staying that young for a hundred years. I don’t want to think about what that would do to him, what that would do to you or me… And Sung…”

“I don’t know how old he is,” Meouch whispered, “but he’s old old, isn’t he?”

“I can’t say.”

Meouch gripped the fabric of Havve’s shirt tighter, his small fingers digging into the warm metal of Havve’s stomach. “I know you know.”

Havve sighed. “I can’t say because that’s Sung’s secret to tell, not mine. But… yes, he’s old old. If he has to grow up again ‘from scratch’ as you called it… We’d all be long gone before he reached adulthood again.”

“God,” Meouch whimpered.

They sat there in the quiet for a good long while, letting it all sit. It was dark, save for the blue-light glow of the TV and the bright red of Havve’s optics, quiet save for the TV humming and Havve’s inner mechanisms humming and Meouch’s shaky, wet breaths. Havve could faintly feel himself starting to get a headache, something he rarely experienced. He could feel the pressure building up behind where his eyes used to be, in the little that remained of his sinuses, and he knew he would have shed a tear by then if he could have. Part of him wished that he could. The other part, the part that was holding a small, crying child in his arms, was relieved that he couldn’t. He needed to be strong, and sure, and confident that things were going to turn out okay. He needed to do that for Meouch, even if he was barely able to do it for himself right now.

"It’ll be okay,” Havve said, his voice louder and more confident coming from his speakers than it could’ve possibly been if it had come from his aching lungs. “We’ll get you guys back to normal. Hell, even Phobos’s little crystal shard is working on him already. You’ll all be back to normal in no time,” he said. “And no matter what happens, we have each other. I’ll always be there for you guys. And I know you’ll be there for me, too.”

“Yeah,” Meouch said, and then trailed off. His mouth hung open like he wanted to say something more, but then he closed it and swallowed. It took him a moment to find his voice again, and when he spoke, he lifted his face away from Havve’s chest and looked up at him. “You can say if you’re hurting, too. Your breathing’s all shallow, Havve, I can feel it.”

“Meouch… I’m okay, really,” Havve said. He wiped under one of Meouch’s eyes with a finger, brushing a fresh tear away from the streaks of already-wet fur.

“You just said that I’m here for you, too,” Meouch huffed. “Don’t lie to me. I’m not just a kid, man. I’m your friend, too.”

“I know you are,” Havve said. He felt something catch in his throat, something that maybe could have been a sob if he still had vocal chords to make the sound with. Running on long-forgotten instinct, his hand reached up under his mask and rubbed at one of his optics, as if that would relieve the pressure that was still building. “Seeing you cry like that, it just… I hate to see that. Makes me want to cry, too, even though I can’t.”

And then Meouch did what only a child would do: he pulled Havve’s mask off of his face, gently and with both hands, and then wiped the imaginary tears under his eyes with his thumb. “It’s okay, Havve,” he said, and Havve could’ve sworn he felt something break in the 808 drum machine where his heart used to be. The pressure built up harder, and he blinked uselessly to try and fight it off. “It’s okay.”

“Y’know,” Havve said, his robotic voice calm and steady even as his breathing was shaky and quick and his shoulders quaked, “I can only think of one other time when I wished I wasn’t a damn robot. You know what that was?”

“What?”

“Airport security,” he said, and then laughed a wet, shaky, electronically-tinged laugh. Meouch laughed too, the sad smile fighting its way onto his face. “Honestly, I like the way I am. Nine times out of ten, I wouldn’t want to be any other way. And I used to think x-rays and metal detectors and the post-9/11 TSA were just the banes of my existence. And they still are. But it’s shit like this. Shit where my body wasn’t built to handle having too many emotions inside of it. And god, since you three turned into kids?” He laughed again. “I swear, it’s like my Grinch heart grew three sizes and I have no place to put it all.”

Meouch smiled. “I heard being a dad’ll do that to you,” he said, and then hugged Havve even tighter, resting his head in the crook of Havve’s neck. “When Sung’s bigger, you should ask him to fix that for you. To make more room for your heart.”

“That is the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Havve said, making Meouch burst out laughing. “No, I’m serious. That was such a triple-whammy. Each sentence was a one-hit KO. Why can’t you be this cute all the time?”

“Hmm, can’t be this cute when you’re that sexy,” Meouch hummed, and it was Havve’s turn to laugh. It relieved a little bit of the pressure, and he almost felt like he could take a deep breath again. “Once I get my mane back, it’s over for you fuckers. Cute adorable tiny Meouch will be no more, and sexy beast Meouch will reign supreme once again.”

Havve rested his head on Meouch’s shoulder, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Thank you.”

“Hey, no problem. I’m the one who got you all upset in the first place, so…”

“I think I was upset anyway. It was just hiding.”

“Oh,” Meouch said gently. “Then… You’re welcome. Wait, no, I should be thanking you! I was freaking out and now I’m not! How’d you do that?”

Havve chuckled, and they both knew he would’ve smiled if he could. “Secret dad powers,” he said simply. Meouch looked up at him and beamed. “Speaking of which, my dad powers are telling me that it’s way past your bedtime.”

“Aww, come on, no it’s not!” Meouch whined. “We were just getting somewhere! C’mon Havve, I’m not even tired.”

“You sure? Because I’m spe-ent,” Havve chimed. He stood up, bringing Meouch with him, and started carrying him back towards the bunks. “I need to recharge, and you need to get some sleep.”

“Fine,” Meouch said. His head was resting on Havve’s shoulder, and he was already quieting down. “I guess.”

Havve padded across the ship to Meouch’s room, and the door opened automatically as they got close. It was dark inside. Only Havve’s glowing red optics illuminated the space, showing off the piles of flannel shirts on the floor and the mess of charging cords by his bed. “You need to clean in here,” Havve said, and Meouch only replied with a hum and a small nod. He had gone from energetic to almost-asleep in just a couple of minutes. Seemed like the crying had finally caught up to him. Havve laid him down in bed, pulling his covers up to his chin. Meouch rolled over onto his side, burying his face in his pillow, and was out before he could even say “goodnight.”

Havve patted him on his head and tousled the small fluff of brown that was his mane. “Sweet dreams, bud,” he said softly, his volume just a notch above muted. “Everything’ll be fine. I promise.” He adjusted the blankets once more, stood up, and left Meouch’s room as quietly as he could. “I promise.”

[illfoandillfie]

Omg what if rog (in rxrxl) admitted he has feelings for reader and reader doesn't know what to do or say because, although she likes him too, she doesn't want to piss linda off or anything of the sort. So it's just conflicted and messy because she wants Roger too but she knows that the three of them, their thing can't last forever and she just doesn't know what to do or say. 😭😭

i love you for this request but also i hate you just a little cause writing it made me cry lmao

1000 Follower Celebration 

RRL Collection

~~~

The pub was quite quiet. Not surprising since it was still early. And a Thursday. Nowhere near peak drinking time but you and Roger were already holed up in a booth, a pint by both your elbows and a half eaten bowl of chips between you. He’d invited you out, with an infuriatingly mysterious “I’ve got something to tell you,” refusing to say another word about it until you’d both finished your first drinks. 

“C’mon, Rog, what were you gonna say?” 

“I don’t know if you’ll want to hear it, might be better to just not say anything.”

“Well now you have to tell me! Can’t just hint at it like that and not explain!” 

“Its….” He stopped, let out a breath, opened his mouth and then closed it again. 

“Rog! Just spit it out! I’m dying here,” 

“Alright alright,” he paused to take a swig of his drink, liquid courage you supposed, “It’s… oh fuck it, I think I’m falling for you.” 

“Fa-falling for me?”  you felt dizzy, rubbing at a temple with one hand.

“Shit, I’ve ballsed everything up, haven’t I? Just forget it. Knew it was a bad idea to tell you.” 

“No, Rog. Course you haven’t. It’s just that…. god if you’d said that last week ago I would’ve thought you were joking. But now…”“What d’you mean?” “I think I’m falling for you too,” you whispered. If the pub had been any busier you’re sure you would have been drowned out. “Wait, really?” Roger sounded hopeful and you wished he didn’t. You were going to have to have to be honest. And that meant you’d hurt him. “Yeah. Realised last Saturday morning. Remember? You me and Linda spent the morning in bed,” “How could I forget?” “It hit me while I was watching you both laughing. I’ve been trying to sort it all out in my head for a week now because I love Linda too. Like, really proper love her.” “Yeah…” it was half a sigh, Roger’s eyes downcast. “It’s hard Rog. I feel like I’m betraying her by loving you too. Guilty. Like we’ve been cheating or something which I know,” you help up a hand seeing Roger about to cut in, “is stupid, I know. Everything we’ve done since I started seeing her was with her. But I can’t shake it. And I can’t shake how I feel about you either. I can’t just turn that off.” You wiped at your eyes with your palm, annoyed that you were already getting so emotional, not helped as he reached across the table and lay his hand over yours “fuck, this whole thing is messy enough as is.” 

“It’s not that messy. You and Linda are together and sometimes you invite me to have sex with you both. That’s not messy.” 

“It’s messy Rog and you know it. What we’re doing isn’t normal. And it’s like,” you paused for a breath, trying to get the words in the right order in your head so it didn’t come out wrong, “I’ve always felt like there was a time limit on this thing we’ve been doing. That one day we’d wake up and realise we were too old for it or realise we wanted something else. You’d find a bird you wanted to marry and have kids with and we’d call an end to it. And then me and Linda would be together and you and your girl would be together and you’d have a family and be this completely dorky dad who just happens to play drums for an incredible band. And this whole thing would just be a series of memories. Really good memories. And y’know we could catch up over dinner or drinks or at a fucking barbecue like old friends do, and laugh about when we had that water balloon fight and I ended up topless in the front yard. Or the day on the beach. And then we’d all go back to our respective homes and be happy and content. But now I don’t know what to think.” 

“That’s the thing, Y/N,” he said, passing you a napkin to dry your eyes, “I have met a bird I’d be happy to settle down with, but it’s you.” 

“Rog,” it fell out of you in a whine, upset that he wasn’t making it any easier. Though when had he ever made things easy?

“Just hear me out. What if we were together? You and me and Linda. We could live together and be happy together. We could move in and tell everyone we’re roommates and then we’d cook for each other and share a big bed like in that Willy Wonka movie and you wouldn’t be alone when I went off on tour or whatever because you’d have Linda and you could love us both and no one else would have to know.” He paused, and grabbed another napikin, “Bloody hell woman, now you’ve got me all teary eyed.” 

You let out a watery chuckle. His hand was still over yours, warm and comforting, and it made you want to believe him. Made you wish that it was possible, the carefree future he was imagining. But there were too many questions, too many problems with it. 

“It sounds wonderful Rog but I just don’t know how it would work. What if Linda didn’t love you the same way I do? Or you didn’t love her as much? Wouldn’t that just lead to someone feeling left out or pushed aside? And if that wasn’t the problem then, what happens when we grow up and people start asking when you’re going to meet a girl and settle down? What happens with kids? I know you want to be a dad one day. Would I be their mother? Would they be raised by three parents, two mums and a dad? What would our families say? Our friends? People at whichever school the kids went to? It’s all good and well to say we’re roommates or whatever now while we’re young enough for people to believe iit but you’re not thinking about the future. How could it work?” 

“I’m not saying it’d be easy but we could work it out,” he squeezed your hand, “It’s not normal but none of us are really that normal. I’m a drummer in a rock band. My life is always going to be broken up by tours and albums and everything, not a typical way to live but I was never looking for typical. And you used to be just a groupie to me. I knew what you sounded like moaning before I knew your name. Linda’s the most normal of us and she knows far more about electronics than anyone could ever suspect. Plus she likes you so she can’t be completely normal,” He gave you the look he always gave you when he cracked a joke specifically to cheer you up, the did you get it eyebrow raise and the half smile like he was stopping himself laughing at his own cleverness. All you could manage was a strained smile in return. 

“I don’t know, Rog.” 

“We could try, Y/N. We should try.”

[yeysal]

I Wrote A Thing

Still writing! I’m still taking my time and trying to make these stories as best as I can. They are very important to me. Currently, I’m up to speed with The Maze rewrite and should be posting the next chapter (relatively) soon. 

Below the cut is a short part of what happens after the events set in The Maze.

Just a reminder that the rewrite of The Maze veers off on an entirely different set of events. 

I hope you enjoy this! No warnings needed!

Thank you for reading. Feedback is much appreciated!

Thursday, May 30, 2016 - Gravity Falls, Oregon

Dipper stretched his legs out, the movement causing his hips to slide further down in the folding chair. The position was hardly comfortable but he couldn’t bring himself to move. After all, a body not in motion stays in...not in motion. As he stared at the ceiling of the long-abandoned spaceship, he wondered if the aliens who occupied it ever needed to change the lightbulbs.

Did they even need them? Dipper made a mental note to check for any supply closets once he was finished extracting the alien adhesive from the stones and metal plates. The substance was slower than molasses and Dipper had already been here for two hours waiting for one plate to drain completely.

He had ten plates waiting behind it.

“Ugh.” Dipper was bored out of his fucking mind.

His sigh echoed off the walls and he counted the seconds it took for it to fade away. “Cipher.” The echo of his voice nearly startled him.

No response. Dipper groaned, “Cipher.”

Dipper felt a small prod in the back of his head but no response. He rolled his eyes, “I know you’re there.”

Still nothing. Feeling defeated and slightly annoyed, Dipper rubbed the back of his neck and stood up and decided to check on the plate. Unfortunately, it still had about four inches of adhesive left and Dipper calculated that it would probably take another three hours for it to completely drip off. With a heavy sigh, he turned back to his tent and thought he would work on his journal.

Ever since he had agreed to assist Cipher four years ago, he had been detailing his findings in his own journal. While he always believed in the supernatural, Dipper’s discoveries were beyond what he ever imagined. He couldn’t decide if the conspiracies were better before or after they were proved or busted.

Some were better found than others and Dipper wondered if digging was even worth the scars. He thought if he could go back to the start, the day he decided to summon that stupid maze, and determine whether he would do it all over again knowing where he’d end up, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.

Mentally, Dipper had never been better. He wasn’t weighted by his old insecurities and, truthfully, his confidence blossomed exponentially. Obviously those results were keepers. He still cared deeply for his family, especially Mabel, and he didn’t let his ambition cloud his judgment when it came to family time. Still, he wouldn’t let himself be tied down.

The maze, as stressful and pain-inducing as it was, freed him from his ghosts.

On the flip side, it was the company that came with the finish line that he resented. Having Cipher as his mind-companion was as annoying as expected when it was pitched in its infancy. Dipper wasn’t sure if that made it more bearable. Cipher was essentially a sadistic talking encyclopedia in his head at all times. Dipper learned more about insignificant things like the fact that there are more ants on the Earth than humans; yet, was frustratingly mum on other ground-breaking discoveries that Dipper would rather learn about.

It also didn’t help that Cipher was no teacher by any means. Dipper learned quickly that any task set by Cipher was always going to be a trial by fire. Dipper was thankful to be alive despite suspecting that Cipher most likely intervened in each near death experience so that he wouldn’t have to wait around for another puppet to potentially complete the maze.

Overall, it was a “decent” relationship. They didn’t talk much, which came as a surprise to Dipper. When Cipher wasn’t nudging him in a certain direction he was usually making Dipper’s life a living hell. It was like having a silent roommate that only activated their annoying behavior during a full moon and Dipper wished that Cipher was that predictable.

Dipper hummed out a few beats of a pop song stuck in his head as he fanned through the pages of his journal. His frowned deepened when he had nothing to add and nothing to edit. He grabbed his laptop, checking on his electronic journal for anything to update and drummed his fingers on his knees impatiently as he waited for it to boot up. He groaned when he saw that he had already updated the journal only a few hours ago.

Determined to keep his mind occupied, Dipper found himself making an outline for his next article to submit to Paranormal Investigations, a website that Dipper submitted some of his more low-grade discoveries. The pay was decent and he quickly became one of the website’s most respected contributors. Currently, he was in a contract with them to produce an article every two weeks and he was, of course, up to date. He had submitted his last article a few days ago, having it approved almost immediately.

Dipper outlined the subject and within two hours, his next article was fully drafted. At this rate, he would have his articles lined up without having to do that much work each week.

Dipper sighed and figured he’d try prodding Cipher again. It felt odd to wear the other shoe for once. “Cipher.”

Silence.

Dipper pursed his lips and he smiled as an idea sprouted like a weed in the grass. He grabbed his phone and opened his music app, selecting one of Mabel’s playlists. He scrolled until he found that synthetic song with the relaxing undertones and selected it. The slow tune faded in slowly and increased an volume the longer it went. A nice, fifteen-minute instrumental.

Dipper set his phone down in his cleaned out soup bowl which amplified the sound and the tent livened up with music. While it wasn’t Dipper’s favorite song, he was willing to take the heat in order to get the prize. The prodding in the back of his head intensified and Dipper grinned. Hook, line, and sinker.

You are incredibly irritating today. It was odd to hear Cipher sound so fed up.

Pleased, Dipper grabbed the phone and lowered the volume, “Nice to know you’re alive.”

Oh please. You’d throw a party in the event of my demise.

Dipper hummed, “Can’t deny that.”

Your disappointment helps me sleep at night.

Dipper scoffed, “You need sleep?”

No.

“Okay, look,” Dipper said sternly, “You told me that I can’t leave the ship unless it’s an emergency and this is a little boring.”

Silence.

Dipper groaned and urged again, “There’s nothing to do here…”

More silence.

“I’m tempted to leave the ship to spite you…” He hoped the implication would spark a conversation.

He was met with more silence.

Angry, Dipper increased the volume of the music and then crawled out of the tent, storming over to the now adhesive-free plate, carefully picking up a new one and fixing it to the suspender so that it allowed the glowing pink substance to drain into the large jar.

Looks like you have plenty to do.

“Ugh!” Dipper threw the cleaned plate across the room and the metallic clank echoed loudly, “Will you just humor me for five seconds!” he yelled over the sound of the music, “I’ve been down here all day under the pretense that I’ve been ‘camping’ for the sake of your little experiment, which, by the way, you’ve told me nothing about!”

You’re on a ‘need-to-know’ basis.

“So if you’re not going to tell me why I’m collecting this weird alien goo, can you at least tell me a little bit about the aliens who crash landed here?!”

Why?

“Well, maybe I want to know if they crashed here on purpose or on accident,” he listed off, “I want to know if whatever’s going on in Gravity Falls caused it to crash here or if they came here because they were just touring the galaxy, or, I don’t know, just maybe, I want to know because it’s an alien ship that’s been sitting here, unnoticed, for the last ten thousand years!”

Dipper knew his face was red. He was taking deep breaths and his heart was racing. He didn’t realize how loud he was until he heard the silence that followed his rant. Meanwhile, the flowery and upbeat syntho vibes echoed beyond the tent. It was actually starting to piss Dipper off.

Hm. Cipher sounded like he was smiling. You’re not ready.

“Oh my god…” Dipper pinched the bridge of his nose, “I completed your maze, I fought and subdued a shapeshifter living in the town, I wrangled an army of gnomes by myself after you instigated them; how could I not be ready for this?”

There’s this subtle desperation in your voice.

Dipper blinked, expecting for Cipher to continue. When he didn’t, Dipper grumbled, “And…?”

It’s funny.

Defeated, Dipper scrunched his eyes shut and sank down to the floor, covering his mouth as he listened to the adhesive drip slowly into the jar. It would be getting full soon. Dipper reached for an empty jar and quickly switched it out.

Cipher wasn’t going to entertain him with anything. Not even answers. He couldn’t even get the music to work at this point. Silently admitting defeat, he stood up and walked back over to his tent, crawling inside, turning that damned music off, and curling up on his sleeping bag. He dimmed the lantern a bit and closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come soon.

The last few days were finally catching up to him and he felt the lull of slumber relaxing all of the tension in his muscles. The room was just the right temperature, the lighting was perfect, and Dipper knew that he would probably get the best sleep of his life if he fell asleep right now. Everything was quiet until...

If you’re not too busy…

Dipper groaned, “Are you kidding me?”

You looked so relaxed, I had to fix it.

“Dammit, Cipher…”

In all seriousness, you can actually be asleep for this.

Dipper groaned and buried his face in his pillow. He was tempted to ignore it but his curiosity outweighed his concern, “What is it..?”

We’ve been friends for a while-

“I don’t know if I’d use the term ‘friends.’”

Rude. Sounds like your problem. Anyway, there is one thing that you might be ready for.

Dipper bristled, “Okay?”

You know about the millions of dimensions, thousands where you and I exist, hundreds where we interact, and the very few in which those interactions are actually positive.

“This one not being one of them, I imagine,” Dipper mused as he shifted onto his back and stared at the folds in his tent. “You’re talking about your-”

Yes. The reincarnations of the energy that was taken from me. You know that when those die, they’re returned to me and I absorb that energy, soaking in everything it lived. You want to learn something fun, right? I’m going to show you one of those lives while you sleep.

Dipper didn’t like the insinuation behind Cipher’s words but he was curious, “Like a dream?”

In a way. It’ll take a good thirteen hours for that adhesive to fully finish draining. That’s plenty of time for you to take in at least half of that life.

Dipper gaped, “I’m going to be asleep for thirteen hours?!”

You haven’t slept the past fifty-two hours. You should be thanking me.

“Oh…” Dipper was anxious about seeing whatever Cipher was going to show him. It didn’t feel right. “This isn’t going to be like, mentally traumatizing, or whatever?”

Cipher actually laughed in response. Pine Tree, you are a riot. Time to hit the hay.

The next thing Dipper felt was the heavy weight of sleep.

[brooklyndrinksandgoeshome]

It’s embarrassing, the last three written entries on here have mostly been about people passing away as if I’m surrounded by the all-encompassing grim reaper everyday at every turn. I mean, this is what happens when you write about the past and naturally the people who are no longer with us will get a bit of extra space because all we have from them now are memories, but for fuck sake, I’m not mister doom and gloom all the time. If anything, it seems as if I’m surrounded by a self-contained bubble of early 90s Japanese wrestling, 70′s power-pop, Radio Garden, this Oliver Sacks book that I’m hoping to finish before the end of the week and curling. No really, curling. Seriously, curling rules.

I haven’t written that much about music in the last several years mostly because of burnout and if I’m not careful, it’ll start to feel like a job and I’ll want to put it off until my non-existent deadline creeps up on me which I can push back to infinity without any consequence (hell, it’s taken me a week and a half to finish this pointless exercise anyway). Besides, critiquing music as a serious profession, I’ve come to realize as the years have past is, well, kind of stupid; like if you don’t have anything nice to say, just ignore it and all the bad music will all hopefully vanish, right?  

That being said, I do wonder why a lot of bands from yonder past never never got the credit or recognition they deserved. Usually from a DIY perspective, I’m quick to blame poor distribution deals from a company run out of their mom’s basement, or a local band who never played beyond the same 20 people at the same club for their entire existence, (this plagued almost every Detroit band from the early-80s until the late-90s) or just plain old self-destruction that still bites people back, whether if it’s drug addiction or a fear of failure/success. My personal favorite --and I can’t find it on the internet to save my life right now, was when a jilted ex destroyed all but a hundred copies of her boyfriend’s first and only EP of his band, thus making it an instant collector’s item with their tracks being discovered fairly recently on a Killed By Death bootleg.

I also think my own opinions on music have always a been a bit left of center as I get bored way too easily and I quickly turn into a crotchety old man whenever Pitchfork creams their jeans over another Garageband produced dance track that sounds as boring and milk toast as any song put together from laptop bloops and bleeps.* Feeling this old out of touch makes one resort to the jazz or country section of any used record store, or when anyone asks me what I listen to these days, I usually say “podcasts.” But something about the aforementioned 70s power-pop obsession has arrived after a brief yet expensive summer of Northern Soul collecting that got put on hold as I have a hard time paying more than $20 for a 45; yeah, this phase didn’t last very long. Before that, it was Sun Ra who has literally hundreds of releases under his always spotty discography and after awhile, it became overwhelming search through scores of, I’m sorry, no disrespect, bin fillers, to eventually find a reissued gem like Sleeping Beauty or Lanquidity. Before that, it was electronic, sci-fi synth soundtrack sounding 70s prog made by the guy who use to drum for The Shadows. Did I mention that I get bored way too easily?

Even by record nerd standards, I know I have some unpopular opinions on popular unpopular music: Big Star weren’t going to be next Beatles ever and they probably have five good songs top. As much as I love The Jam, Style Council have a handful of tracks that blow away anything else Paul Weller’s ever done (oh snap, fighting words). With a few exceptions, The Yellow Pills comps are wildly overrated with a lot of tracks sound more like a second rate Rick Springfield --even if it was the point for a band to be the next Rick Springfield. Also, it still bothers me that The Fastbacks, mostly ignored for their entire 22 year career, got more recognition when they opened for The Presidents of The United States of America when “Peaches” was in heavy rotation. Seriously, I’ll take Answer The Phone Dummy over any 90s Sub Pop release any day.

The Keys: I Don’t Wanna Cry

Produced by Joe Jackson and still managed to have only found a recent audience from the depths of obscurity thanks to a Youtube hero. Not bad, but probably too nice and squeaky clean as The Buzzcocks and Undertones already did this way better and louder. Still, the singer hits those high notes with ease and could have easily been a hit if it was written for, I don’t know, Elvis Costello or someone else a bit more angsier. 

The Letters: Nobody Loves Me

Again, way too wussy and self-hating even by pop-punk standards, but I still love this track as it’s bouncy pogo energy and raw production more than make up for the shitty lyrics. One and done, never heard from again until a 2002 CD reissue of their mostly unreleased discography, or is it a reunion record? I don’t know.

The Tours: Language School

Another one and done from the UK who got plenty of hype from John Peel, signed to Virgin and imploded within a year never to be heard from until Cherry Red reissued their unreleased album a few years ago which is now also going for a steep price on Discogs. Nice short, poppy number here that if anything, makes you realize how much (again) the Buzzcocks influenced a generation of UK bands in the late 70s-early 80s.

20/20: Remember The Lightning

I first remember hearing about these guys from the well meaning Radio Heartbeat Records who reissued a single that quickly went out print along with the rest of the labels discography --some moved on to form Captured Tracks who eventually went on to re-release all of Milk ‘n Cookies output on a (sorry) completely unnecessary 2xLP box set, huge picture book included. 20/20’s first album got lost in the shuffle of another busted label (notice a trend here) that got swallowed up by Epic Records, which is a shame because we could have had a punkier younger brother of the Knack.

De Cylinders: I Wanna Get Married

Spontaneously heard a live set of these guys on the always fantastic, very missed Cherry Blossom Clinic on WFMU and rushed to see their record release/only American show ever in front of a dozen others at a random Brooklyn bar. The wonderful Sing Sing Records reissued this single and naturally, there’s a way out of print CD discography compilation  that’s only available in Japan for like $40 bucks on Discogs. Uh, I have to find a job first.

Nasty Facts: Drive My Car

God, I love the internet. This gem would have never been discovered if it wasn’t for some Youtube hero who posted a vinyl rip of a bootleg as the original pressing is long gone --cheapest one I found on Discogs going for $70 and it’s tough being a cheapskate and a record collector at the same time. Anyway, punky rocky from New York with a singer who sounds like less gruff but equally badass Joan Jett; America’s answer to the Rezillo’s! Get on it, weirdo!

Ail Symudiad: Garej Paradwys

Probably never made it farther out than Cardiff because everything’s in Welsh, but they put out a surprising number of singles that were all pretty consistent throughout the 80s --I’m pretty sure this is their third one. Full of energy despite the weird guitar effect pedals used throughout the song and if you’re curious, they’re called Second Movement and according to Google Translate, this songs about partying in their garage. I don’t know, I didn’t go farther than their “Paradise Garage” song title.

The Elevators: Your I’s Are Too Close Together

The least punky song on here, but it did make me laugh out loud the first time I heard it. I mean, of all the reasons why he won’t go out with her, and he lists everyone one on here, her facial structure was the final straw. Probably a wee mean spirited, but the lyrics go perfect with the chorus, high notes on the lead guitar and all.

The Records: Starry Eyes

Saving the best for last. There’s no excuse, this should have been a huge hit. I mean, it’s great that we have our own song to share with our closest friends --for example, a heartbreaker of an ex or whatever it was you want to call it when we had an on and off again thing in 2012 introduced me to this and well, all it did was prolong some coulda-woulda-shoulda feelings that lasted a bit longer than it should have. Anyway, this song’s a power-pop masterpiece that, unintentionally or not, sounds like an unreleased Big Star track and it makes me angry that these guys got swept under the rug for whatever reason.

I’m tired and I’ve run out of adjectives, just like how I use to back when I (barely) made a living writing about music, no benefits, no thesaurus. Will try to write more about something like Atsushi Onita or how much I love The Great British Bake Off or something. 

*Nothing made me feel more out of touch with underground/contemporary music when I had a hard time understanding what the big deal was with The Fiery Furnaces, but when I couldn’t get away from Animal Collective, that’s when I get up and settled into a WFMU k-hole. I can tell you the exact moment sometime around the end of 2007, on the 7 train heading into Long Island City for work, reading The Metro --I’m a sucker for free daily newspapers no matter how badly written, and came across their best album of the year list with Strawberry Jam being number four or something. “This album rules” the brief review started and once again, I just didn’t get it. I don’t always take part in any schadenfreude, but I’m glad significantly less people give a shit about them these days.