#static moves in and i see his house has guitars

[fashionbugster]

animal crossing x fashion dreamer | static

lightning never strikes twice.

[morganbritton132]

You said that you did not have tiktok, so you have likely not seen it but there is this series called roll for sandwich in which this guy makes a list if ingredients (like a list of types of bread that he has, vegetables, roughage, sauces, wild magic, etc) and each option has a number, so he rolls DnD dies and randomly makes sandwiches and rates them

Very popular, it has inspired a lot of spin-offs, people love it. He always starts with “Hello DnD tiktok and beyond, welcome to roll for sandwich a series were we let fate decide our lunch” it’s great.

My point is, Eddie would definitely do something like that but with one of his many hobbies and post it on TT.

I have not seen this, but I do love the concept. I do think I might’ve seen a spin-off though because my sister sent me a video of a girl using a d20 to decide which chore she was going to do next, and I can definitely see that one being used in the Harrington/Munson household.

Every summer begins with a deep clean.

Steve shampoos all the carpet. He pressure-washes their driveway. He declutters the entire top floors of their house. Eddie, if he is a smart man, cleans his studio.

Eddie is not always a smart man.

He gets distracted, or bored, or he just doesn’t want to do it, but this year, he’s determined. He makes a list of everything he needs to do and everything that he wants to do, and then he numbers it. He even starts a live-stream to give him more incentive to stay on task, and it works for a while.

He rolls the dice and gets a 4. He changes the burnt out lightbulb in the overhead light.

He rolls the dice and gets a 17. He dusts and reorganizes their record collection.

He rolls the dice, gets a 11. He paints the sword on his latest miniature.

He rolls the dice, gets a 9. He moves the couch to get the guitar picks that have fallen under it.

He rolls a 15, takes a break, gets distracted by a box of old tour memorabilia.

The chat is not helpful with getting him back on track because they are more interested in the stack of postcards that Eddie pulled out of the box. They need more than Eddie saying that Steve kept every postcard he sent him, especially when he looked at one of them and said, “Ha! In this one, I asked him to send me some dirty pictures. If I remember correctly, he did.”

An hour later, Eddie’s like, “Maybe I should get back to cleaning.”

He rolls again, scores a 20. Eddie looks at his list and reads, “Do something you want to do.”

He thinks about it for a second and then reaches under the couch and pulls out some ancient looking walkie-talkie, “Eddie to Stevie, do you copy?”

Eddie releases the button, waits a second, and then repeats himself. He does this a few times before he gets back, “What do you want, Eddie?”

“Wanna fuck?” Eddie asks. “Over.”

There’s a long pause and then Steve says over the line, “Did you vacuum?”

Eddie, who did not do that, says, “Yep.”

“Okay,” Steve says eventually. “Come up here.”

Eddie smiles brightly and tosses the walkie back down on the couch, before taking the stairs two at a time. The room descends in silence and then you hear static from the walkie followed by Dustin’s voice saying, “If you’re going to make a booty call, use your own frequency. Over.”

[marya-blackbone]

sleepover redux

A/N: max and el do espionage and learn something about steve

One of the first things Eleven does after moving back to Hawkins is to invite Max to a sleepover. Max is really glad – after that first sleepover last summer, she hoped it would become a recurring thing for her and El (minus the uncovering of a horrifying body-snatching conspiracy, of course) but they never got the chance. Now that El’s back, Max is secretly pleased neither of them made any new friends this past year and finds it surprisingly easy for them both to slot back into each other’s lives once the UD dust settles, and accepts the invite with zero hesitation.

Eleven asks if it would be alright if she invited some other people too, to which Max nods, of course, feeling warm and fuzzy about the fact that El asked her first and checked if she would mind – Max hasn’t had a best friend since kindergarten and El’s earnestness has turned her into such a sap. She doesn’t mind, but she is curious as to who else El wants to invite given there are only a handful of people who even know El exists.

The guest list currently includes Nancy, Robin, and Erica. It will be a girls' night, El says. Max hasn’t spent too much time with any of them but it doesn’t sound like a bad idea – El should get to have more friends who are girls, but she can’t exactly meet new people at the moment, so it makes sense that she would want to get closer with the ones already part of their monster-hunting club.

Max comes over early to help El set things up. Hopper and Mrs Byers have been especially indulgent of El this evening, leaving the table laden with plenty of drinks and a mountain of snacks before heading off to Enzo’s. Will helps them gather all the pillows and cushions and blankets they need from around the house, and when he admits Eddie has cancelled D&D for tonight, both Max and El agree that he should stay. And so it becomes girls’ night plus Will – none of the girls even bat an eyelid at his inclusion when they arrive, it’s just smiles and laughter.

It goes really well, despite the spread of ages. Erica is really mature for eleven, and Robin and Nancy seem to enjoy getting to act silly and giggly again. They paint each other’s nails, braid each other’s hair, and make it through one and a half John Hughes movies before they have to press pause because suddenly everyone needs to pee, and then forget to resume because they’re too caught up in gossiping.

It’s Eleven who tentatively proposes the finding game. Max didn’t think she would want to play again given how badly things ended last time, but all that stuff is gone now – and gone for good this time. Eleven says that she can feel so in the Void and going there actually helps her to remember it’s over. She promises she doesn’t mind – she already has a sheet of poster paper and marker pens ready for writing names and everything.

They shuffle into a circle while Max explains how the game works, and they each add a name to the sheet of paper. Max puts Lucas, El puts Hopper, Will puts Mike, Robin puts Steve, Erica puts Suzie (because apparently, she needs to verify the hotter-than-Phoebe-Cates claim), and Nancy goes for Debbie Harry, after which everyone complains that they didn’t know celebrities were an option, so they fill the gaps with an eclectic mix of actors and pop stars, and then they’re ready to spin.

It stops on Steve first. Max reminds her to get out of there if he’s with a girl or doing something gross, and Eleven nods her understanding before putting on the blindfold and filling the air with TV static. It doesn’t take long for her to find Steve.

“I can see him. He is smiling and I think he is talking to someone but I can not see who it is,” says Eleven. “He is holding a black guitar,” she observes.

When Steve starts to play, she pushes the sound through the radio so everyone can hear the soft strumming. It isn’t until he starts singing that Max recognises the song – it’s on the mix-tape Lucas made for her the last time he was trying to win her back; it’s a love song. Steve plays it surprisingly well. If Max didn’t know any better, she might think Steve has fallen in love – real love, reciprocated love; the kind that Steve deserves. But if Steve were in love, they’d all know by now. He’s all grand gestures and public affection and boom-boxing outside bedroom windows, not secret late-night serenading.

The lyrics taper off, and Steve asks, “Why are you looking at me like that? Not metal enough for you? I know it’s no Master of Puppets, but I thought it wasn’t hal-mphh!”

Max hears something over the radio that could be mouth noises and moans at the same time Eleven says, “I think they are kissing.”

That’s their cue to dip, Max realises, and is about to say as much to Eleven just as the radio crackles for a damning and breathy, “Because I loved it, big boy.”

A/N: i have ideas for a part 2 soonish

[splatteredfandoms523]

I Heard You Couldn't Sleep

Mad meticulously got the bed ready, blankets laid out in precise positions for maximum cuddles and maximum comfort. He was in one of Mare's t-shirts and a pair of comfy pants as he went out to find the other three men in the house, a bit pouty about no one coming to bed with him.

He found Dark first, in the predictable spot. He was pacing in his office, on the phone with Wilford, as that was the name he kept saying as he sounded more and more irritated. So, Mad decided to get help for getting him and moved on through the house.

Mad found Anti next, tinkering with some laptops with trying to occupy himself. This seemed much easier to deal with than Dark on a business call with Wilford, so he went in. He gave Anti his best pout and walked over to him.

Anti tilted his head and frowned a bit, "Awww, why are ye poutin'?"

Mad looked incredibly tired and pouty, "I made the bed, and no one was coming to join me. And Dark is on a business call, and I haven't found Mare yet."

Anti chuckles, getting up and going over to press a kiss to Mad's forehead, "Well, how about I get Darky, and you go find Mare? I have a feeling that the music man is looking for you too, go check the bedroom."

Mad nods as Anti goes to get Dark. Anti then glitches in and takes the phone from him.

"Hey, Bubbles, Imma need you to handle this shit on your own for a bit. Mad is pouty. Darky has to come with me. Deal with it."

Dark looks a bit irritated still, but he takes a deep breath and lets Anti take him to bed.

Mad, however, pads back to the room to first hear and then see Mare playing a soft lullaby on his guitar. Mare stops and puts the guitar away when Mad comes in, pulling him in for a cuddle at seeing the tired pout.

"Long day, Starlight?"

"Mhmm. I just wanted cuddles and no one was here with me."

"I'm sorry, Starlight. But let's let Anti drag Dark in here, and I'll sing you a lullaby, hmm?"

"That sounds nice--" Mad breaks into a yawn.

Anti then plops in with Dark, "Sorry we're late, but I got him off the damn phone."

Mad just smiles, "It's all okay now."

Dark looks a little annoyed, but with a look from Mare, he drops the annoyed look. Then Mare smiles as he starts to sing a soft lullaby.

Mad, who's cuddled into his chest, drops off first, breath deepening and slowing. Then Dark drops off, head on Anti's shoulder and curled around him. Then finally, Anti drops off with a soft static hum.

In the end, Mare hums softly to himself with a smile and then finally falls asleep himself, head leaning towards Anti in the big cuddle pile.

@iamvegorott Here ya go!

[thathopelessromantic]

i fell hard in your arms tonight (it was nice) (3/?)

His body is heavy and hot and there seems like very little reason to keep fighting the heavy droop to his eyes. Except, there’s this strange tugging somewhere deep in his chest. Like an anchor settled just behind his ribs, reaching back out of his body towards something Eddie can’t place. And it keeps pulling at him. Not painfully, but insistent. Stay awake. Stay alert. Tug. Almost there. Pull. Safe. Calm.

Eddie Munson wakes up from his expedition into the Upside Down to a broken guitar, some new scars, and Steve Harrington’s voice in his head.

AO3: (X) First: (X) Previous (chp. 2): (X) Next (chp. 4): (X)

3. if i can't make it right (then i won't make it worse)

It’s dark outside as Eddie climbs out of the car with Steve. It’s a real car this time, not just the floating inside of one like the last time he was in a car with Steve, and it’s normal Steve, not little kid Steve, so he doesn’t think he’s dreaming, or whatever it is that keeps happening to him. But he has no idea why he’s with him, or where they are. Steve has a frantic energy and blood all over his face and Eddie can’t bring himself to leave him alone. He acts as if he hasn’t realized Eddie is with him, stumbling up the creaking wooden steps of the porch.

Eddie lives in a trailer park, so he usually isn’t one to judge, stones in glass houses and all that, but this house definitely looks like it’s seen some better days. Part of the front wall is boarded up and all of the visible windows have been covered or painted over with something. He has no idea what Steve is doing here.

“Jonathan!” Steve yells, banging at the door. “Man, I just want to talk. Look I know I screwed up.”

It must be Jonathan Byers they’re here to see. Except, no, that wasn’t right. The Byers moved out west to California or something. They shouldn’t have a place here anymore…Right?

Eddie gets a strange feeling that he’s forgetting something again. Had they moved back?

Steve continues yelling and banging on the door until it opens a crack, but whoever is there blocks his way. Eddie can’t see around him into the house, but he hears the distinctly feminine voice and the way Steve’s tone changes slightly, so he knows, somehow, that its Nancy who answers the door. Steve’s still got that manic edge around him that makes Eddie nervous to look away, like when he looks back Steve will have changed into something new, or maybe, worse, something old. Something dangerous in a way Eddie didn’t think he was anymore. At least, not to them.

“Did he do that to you?” Eddie hears Steve ask and then suddenly, he’s forcing his way into the house. Eddie scrambles after him, slipping inside just before Nancy closes the door on him.

The inside of the house is furnished and feels like it used to be homey, but now is not in much better shape than the outside. It smells like gasoline, the strength of it nearly overpowering. He’s almost nervous to walk on the carpet, like one wrong move and just a spark of static electricity will send them all up in flames. There are also Christmas lights everywhere.

Steve’s nail bat is on the coffee table, though he’s looking at it and gesturing like he’s never seen it before and also possibly thinks they’re insane for having it and suddenly he’s arguing with Jonathan as the smaller man tries to force him back out of the house and then Nancy is pulling a gun on him.

Eddie scrambles back away from her and throws his hands up on instinct, even though no one has yet to even acknowledge that he’s there.

There’s more shouting and arguing, Eddie’s head spins trying to keep track of who’s saying what. Somehow this whole experience feels about a dozen times more chaotic than his trips into the Upside Down. The lights start flickering and the entire room flinches as one. Nancy and Jonathan seem to know what the flickering means, their attention shifting immediately from Steve, who seems just as lost as Eddie now, to looking around the living room.

And that’s when the ceiling caves in, tearing a hole between the real world and the Upside Down as an ungodly, nightmare creature crashes to the floor and turns on them.

“Holy shit. Holy shit. Ho-ly shit!” Eddie thinks about making a mad dash back to the door. Frankly, he thinks they should all be making a mad dash to the door and then to Steve’s car to get as much distance between them and this hellish thing as possible. “Is that what the kids have been calling a fucking Demogorgon?” Eddie shouts. He thought the fucking bats were bad. Jesus Christ.

The Demogorgon rises out of the debris on two (hind?) legs. Even in its hunched position, it towers over them all but then its face opens into five obscene petals with rows of razor-sharp teeth. Eddie feels something like his last little shred of hope shriveling up and dying inside him at the blood curdling howl the creature gives just before it leaps at them.

It moves insanely fast, especially for something of its size. Nancy shoots wildly at it, no regard for ammo or the others in the room, but not a single hit drops the thing. Jonathan grabs the bat, shoving at Nancy and Steve to get them moving down the hall. Eddie scrambles after them, not willing to be left behind with that thing, but they’re all screaming and yelling and stumbling over each other and Eddie just happens to look over his shoulder at the right – worst possible – second, and sees it grab him.

Jonathan drops to the ground as the Demogorgon slashes and grabs at his legs. He tries to swing the bat, but the angle isn’t right and the Demogorgon easily swipes it out of his hands. There’s a horrible thump as it hits the wall, embedding itself in the cracking drywall and the crack of Jonathan’s arm breaking from the hit. Nancy and Steve turn around at the sound and Nancy screams, shooting at the Demogorgon again, but it never even looks up from Jonathan as it tears into his abdomen.

Eddie throws up.

Nancy keeps shooting and screaming long after Jonathan is most definitely dead and Steve just…stands there. Eddie can’t believe it, though at first, he’s more preoccupied by his own dry heaving than Steve’s inaction. But eventually he looks up, wondering what the actual fuck Steve is doing. The empty click of Nancy’s gun, out of bullets, echoes next them. Surely the Demogorgon was going to grow tired of its current prey and move onto the living targets any minute now.

Steve was watching this all with a kind of blank horror Eddie has never seen on his face before, but when Eddie looks up, it’s like he’s snapped back to attention. Steve meets his eye across the hallway, finally acknowledging Eddie’s presence.

“This isn’t how it happened.”

“Wha-”

Eddie doesn’t even get to finish his question before the world tilts sharply, and they all stumble to the side. When the world rights, Eddie is standing next to the car as Steve marches towards the house.

What?

Steve starts up the porch steps once again, and Eddie rushes after him, stumbling up the steps just as Steve starts banging on the door.

“Jonathan!” Steve yells. “Man, I just want to talk. Look I know I screwed up.”

Steve keeps banging on the door until Nancy opens it, again. He forces his way in past her, again. Eddie barely manages to slip in before Nancy slams the door in his face. Again.

“I’m doing this for your own good,” Nancy says, leveling the gun at Steve’s face. Somehow her voice cuts over Steve and Jonathan’s argument and they stumble away from each other, both staring at her is horror as she starts counting down.

“What the hell is going on?” Steve demands, even as he raises his hands and takes another step away from Jonathan. Eddie would really like to know that too.

The lights begin to flicker and they all flinch again.

“Where is it?” Jonathan and Nancy ask in an unnerving chorus, circling around each other, searching the room in a frantic panic. The flickering gets faster, some of the lights making an odd little clicking sound as if they’re seconds away from going out.

“Where is what?” Steve demands.

The lights flicker faster still. Picking up into a chaotic flashing that stings Eddie’s eyes, until, with one last big flash, every single light in the house glows a bright, burning white and explodes.

They all shout, ducking against the shattering glass and plastic raining down around them from all sides. The house is horrifyingly dark now. Eddie can barely see a foot in front of his face as he stands up, looking around.

“Is it gone?” Jonathan asks nervously.

“Is what gone? Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Steve asks again. His voice is taking on an edge of desperation that, once Eddie recognizes it for what it is, he’s surprised by how long it’s taken for it to come out.

Eddie hears a wet, slithering sound to his right, but it’s too dark to see. It takes just a second for him to realize what it probably is, but it’s a second too long. He hears a thump as someone drops and a yelp – Nancy. There’s a metal clank as the gun hits the ground, clattering away from them.

Someone swings the bat at the Demogorgon but Eddie can barely make out the movement in the dark. Whoever is swinging the bat is screaming just as much as Nancy is as the Demogorgon tries to pull her through the house.

“The trap!” someone swears, pushing around him to rush down the hall after her. There’s another metallic clang followed by a horrible scream. Eddie can’t figure out if it’s Nancy or the Demogorgon.

Suddenly, Eddie can see in the dark. Steve is standing in front of him, even though Eddie is positive no one was there a moment ago. He reaches out as if to touch Eddie’s arm, but never makes contact.

“This isn’t how it happened.”

Eddie is only marginally more prepared for the way world tilts again. The world rights, spitting Eddie right back out by the car.

He doesn’t know how many times they march up the path to the Byers house. How many times Nancy waves a gun in Steve’s face or how many times they get chased down that narrow, far too short hallway by the Demogorgon. He loses track of the different ways it kills them.

Eddie realizes eventually that, for some reason, he’s a passive participant. Nothing he says or does seems to get a reaction out of the others until Steve tells him “This isn’t how it happened,” and Eddie gets spit back outside. He can’t tell if his actions ever change the outcomes; if when he speaks up changes how the Demogorgon appears in the living room or if where he stands changes who dies that time around.

But the exhaustion of reliving this nightmare over and over is catching up with him. Eddie feels himself getting tired, getting slower. He’s not sure if the Demogorgon can catch him, no one else seems able to touch him or interact with him, but he’s not so tired that he’s willing to lag behind and test this possibility.

Except, he trips over the bear trap. And honestly, he’s surprised that’s the first time that’s happened. But then Steve stumbles over him. Nancy was ahead of Eddie when he fell and Jonathan had managed to slip past him, but Steve’s foot bumps his and Steve stumbles against the wall.

Steve looks around the hall for a moment, confused, but then his gaze focuses on Eddie and something behind his eyes seems to clear.

Eddie holds his breath, waiting for those same words to come. For Steve to tell him this isn’t how it happened, whatever the fuck it is, and then the world to spin and leave Eddie stumbling against the car door in the Byers’s driveway.

But Steve blinks at him, as if Eddie’s presence here is somehow the most confusing part of this hellish cycle, and says:

“Eddie?”

This time, when the world spits Eddie back out in the past, he lands on his ass in the dirt, slamming a hand against the car as he flails to try and catch himself.

And oh, that can’t be a sign of anything good.

On the other side, Steve slams the car door shut and starts for the house again.

“Steve,” He calls. He doesn’t know what he wants to say. Stop this? Don’t go in? Can you tell I’m here or not? But Steve doesn’t acknowledge he’s said anything and marches right back up the porch steps and starts shouting.

Eddie scrambles to his feet, running to catch up with him. He goes through the same motions, waiting for Steve to force his way into the house and the yelling to begin. The house still smells like gasoline. Steve and Jonathan argue. Nancy points her gun at them.

No one ever looks at him again. No one says anything to him or listens to anything he says. No one says his name.

Like the first time, the ceiling caves in with the flickering Christmas lights still all around them and the Demogorgon rises to its monstrous height above them. They run down the hall together, but its Steve at the back this time, not Jonathan or Nancy. Not Eddie.

Has Steve never been the last in the hallway before? He suddenly can’t remember. That can’t be right, right?

Eddie reaches for him, trying to push him further, faster, anything to get him away from the horrible creature, but Steve once again acts like Eddie isn’t there.

“Jump!” Jonathan says, frantic. “Jump!”

And they all barely make it over the bear trap in the hallway. But then, the Demogorgon makes it over too.

“Steve, c’mon!” Nancy pleads, throwing open a bedroom door.

But Steve stops in the doorway, looking back down the hall.

“Jonathan!” Steve yells. And even though neither Eddie nor Nancy seem to know what the hell he’s doing. Jonathan must understand because he throws Steve the nail bat in a surprisingly well-aimed underhand toss.

Steve catches it out of the air easily, spinning the bat in his hands.

“Steve,” Eddie says, pleads, but once again he isn’t heard.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.

Or maybe…maybe it is. Maybe this is what Steve has been trying to tell him.

Steve walks away from them, back towards the steadily approaching Demogorgon. It’s slowed its approach, as if already knowing its prey was cornered. They meet in the middle with a sickening, wet crunch as Steve swings the bat and makes contact with the thing’s head. It reels back, stumbling with the force of the hit and Steve swings again. Marching the creature back down the hall until clang – it steps right into the bear trap.

“Now! Now!” Nancy says, frantic, her and Jonathan falling back into the hallway. Jonathan fumbles with a lighter, flicking the striker but gets nothing besides a few empty clicks.

Steve is waving his hand frantically, his back still to them to keep the Demogorgon back. Finally, Jonathan gives up, tossing the lighter to Steve too, but it falls almost a foot too short. Eddie moves on instinct, diving for it. He swipes it off the ground and flicks a flame to life.

He throws.

It happens almost in slow motion. Eddie watches the lighter fly though the air and realizes it’s the first time he’s been able to help. It’s the first time he’s not been a passive observer.

The lighter hits his target dead on, flames bursting to life in the center of the monster’s chest. But Steve is watching him, not the Demogorgon as the lighter hits its mark. So, he isn’t ready to block a direct hit and the Demogorgon, flailing in screaming pain as the flames crawl across its body, puts its large, unnervingly human-shaped hand, directly through his chest.

“Steve!” Eddie screams, they all scream, as the Demogorgon lifts his limp body into the air. The flames are rising even more, foul smelling smoke curling through the air, and the Demogorgon’s pained screams drowning out their calls for Steve or any pained sounds Steve might have been making.

No, this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. It can’t be.

The flames start reaching for Steve as well, and desperate, Eddie charges. He picks up Steve’s dropped bat but then he hesitates before he swings. He doesn’t want to hit Steve. He doesn’t know if he can make the monster drop him without making things worse. The fire is spreading to the ground.

Steve looks up, so suddenly Eddie expects to hear the snap of his neck. But it’s just Steve. Wide, brown eyes staring at him, unblinkingly.

“This isn’t how it happened.”

“Oh God. Oh please.” Eddie is ready for this nightmare to be over any damn time now. He waits for the world to tilt and the scene to reset. He’ll go back to the car, back to the porch. He’ll stop Steve from even coming inside somehow. Or get Nancy and Jonathan out. Whatever. He won’t be a passive audience anymore just please, stop this.

But the world never tilts. The walls start to deteriorate around them, crumbling away into nothing, then the floor, then the ceiling. But the burning, screaming monster and Steve’s bleeding, twitching, dying body stay in horrifying clarity in front of him.

“This isn’t how it happened,” Eddie repeats. “Okay. I get now. So, show me how it happened.”

“You cannot stay like this,” Steve says. “You need to wake up now.”

“Wait. No. What? What are you talking about?”

But it’s too late.

Steve blinks out of existence, taking the Demogorgon and the flames with him. Without the light of the fire, the darkness closes in around Eddie, suffocating him. There’s nothing there but the acrid smelling smoke burned into his nostrils and the image of Steve, slumping forward, a grayish-green hand thrust through his chest repeating in Eddie’s mind.

“Eddie.”

That internal Steve-voice echoes in Eddie’s skull like a shout. Like a summoning.

Eddie opens his eyes, and he’s back in his hospital room.

It’s dark, the only light a sliver spilling across the floor from a crack in the door and the occasional flash of light on one of the beeping machines.

Steve is hovering over his bed, one hand wrapped around Eddie’s wrist and the other curled around his shoulder as if he had just been about to shake him awake.

“With me again, Munson?” Steve asks in a whisper.

That tugging is still going behind Eddie’s ribs. One of these days, he thinks it’s going to pull his heart right out of his chest.

Calm. Calm. Calm.

The easy steady tone is the complete fucking antithesis to how Eddie’s feeling, or the images that keep flashing behind his eyes. But its working, somehow. Despite everything, he can feel his heart rate slowing, his breathing evening out.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks. He doesn’t bother to try and whisper. His hoarse voice barely comes out as it is.

He doesn’t totally remember when he fell back asleep, though he’s positive now that he must have been asleep before this. He had been going in and out of it since Dustin and El had come to visit. He faintly remembers Mike and Lucas coming by, possibly trying to introduce him to Will, but the memory is so fuzzy he might have imagined it. But he knows at some point an overhead announcement declared visiting hours were ending soon, and Wayne only got a special pass to stay, he assumes, because he was in such bad shape – or maybe because Hopper still had some weight to throw around and got them a pass. He was too tired to try and ask many details.

But Steve was definitely not around. And considering how little light was coming through his window, it was way too late for visiting hours to still be going on. Or too early for them to have started up again. Whichever.

“You were having a nightmare,” Steve says softly. He pulls away, his hands hesitating over Eddie just for a moment, as if he was scared to let go, before he shoved them in his pockets.

Eddie doesn’t know how to explain the immediate, desperate longing for Steve to touch him again. Like that touch was grounding him back in this moment and without that contact he was going to be back in that horrible cycle.

“I don’t have dreams,” Eddie argues weakly. He’s not sure he even believes that, because what the hell else was just happening to him? Some kind of fucked up visions of the past? But he can’t help the knee-jerk response that slips out.

Steve arches a disbelieving brow. “Maybe not before, but nightmares kind of come with the territory, dude.” Steve’s expression changes in an instance, like he just realized how miserable that sounded and felt bad. “Sorry.”

Eddie grimaces at the idea. He was actually pretty content in his mostly dream-less life up until now and was not looking forward to the implication that not only were they now an inevitable part of his future, but they weren’t even going to be pleasant.

He sees that last image flash behind his eyes again for a moment – Steve and the Demogorgon, and the fire and smoke curling around them like a hellish shroud – and he feels nauseous. He lays back more firmly against the bed, as if pressing his whole weight against the mattress would ground him back in reality.

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” He eventually says.

The shift is subtle, barely noticeable in the poor lighting. In fact, even in proper light, Eddie’s not sure he would have picked up on the change if he hadn’t spent way too much of his limited free-time lately watching Steve Harrington until he had practically all of his facial expressions memorized. But Steve’s expression shutters and closes off. He pulls his arms in closer to his body and hunches over more, visibly shrinking himself before his eyes.

Alarm bells start going off in his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, man. I mean, besides the obvious, with you…with you and Max in here. With…everything that happened.”

Eddie tries to sit up, but his arms are still weak and sore and his efforts mostly result in him slipping against the loose hospital sheet and straining his side. Steve reaches over again, pressing Eddie gently back against the mattress until he lays still. This time, he leaves his hand on Eddie’s shoulder and Eddie hates how much it instantly relaxes him. Even more than the mantra echoing like a whisper in the back of his mind, that touch is grounding, humanizing.

“We uh, we’ve all been keeping watch over you guys – I mean, me, Robin, and Nancy. The kids are home in bed where they belong at this time of night. But we’ve been keeping shifts.”

“And it was your shit luck to be stuck with me right now?”

“Uh, yeah.” Steve’s eyes jump around the room for a moment, but it doesn’t feel like his usual hypervigilance kind of looking around. It feels like he’s avoiding Eddie’s gaze. It feels like he’s lying. “I mean, just that it was my shift. Not shit luck. We all volunteered for this.”

“How could you tell I was having a nightmare?” Eddie asks suddenly. His voice stronger than it has been all day.

Steve is lying to him and he wants to know why.

Steve glances nervously at the cot in the corner, but Wayne’s quiet snores are steady. “What?”

“How could you tell I was having a bad dream?” Eddie asks again. The mantra picks up in intensity until it’s not just a soothing spell in the back of his mind but insistent, like a command.

Calm. Safe. Pull. Sleep. Peace.

The effect, unfortunately, is undercut by the tinge of anxiety in the words. That thread of anxiety thrums through him, nearly vibrating the steady tugging sensation in his chest. He doesn’t know where that anxiety is coming from. Is it just nerves born from Steve’s cagey behavior? Residual fear from the Upside Down he was just too tired to be aware of before? But he latches onto the sensation. He’s going to follow it to some fucking answers.

For someone involved in, supposedly, multiple government-level secrets, Steve is a horrible liar.

“I don’t—man, what—I…”

“How could you tell? Was I screaming?” Eddie doubts that. Wayne is a pretty deep sleeper, but especially after the stress of the last few days, he couldn’t really picture his uncle sleeping through that. “Was I crying? Thrashing around?” Another unlikely possibility. Most of his body is still so sore he doubted he could have moved around much, even involuntarily while he was sleeping.

That fucking mantra, Steve’s fucking voice, grows desperate in his mind, nearly overpowering.

Peace. Safe. Sleep. Tug. Please. Sleep. Sleep. Pull. Sleep.

“Steve.”

Steve turns away from him, dropping his hand away from Eddie’s chest. But with a shocking display of agility, given his…everything at the moment, Eddie catches his hand before it can fully pull away from the bed.

That pulling in his chest, tucked right up against his ribs. It was always going out away from Eddie’s body. But he realizes it was not just going away, outside of himself. It was going towards something. Towards Steve. He can feel the tether like a vice around his heart, pulled taunt at their distance.

He’s squeezing Steve’s hand with every last bit of strength he can muster but Steve won’t look back at him.

“Steve, what-”

The hospital door creaks open slightly. More light from the hallway spills through, just for a moment, but it’s enough for Eddie to take in Steve’s disheveled look more clearly. His sweatpants and loose t-shirt. He’s in his pajamas.

“Thank you for staying with him for a moment, Steve,” Nancy whispers, closing the door behind her and crossing over to him. Her eyes settle on their connected hands and she follows the length of their arms back up to Eddie. Her brows arch, surprised, but she doesn’t comment on it. “Eddie. You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Eddie’s not sure what kind of expression he must have made then, or how much of it she could even see in the dark but Nancy winces.

“Right. Stupid question. Sorry.”

She turns back to Steve just as he shakes off Eddie’s grip on him. “You should go back home. You need to sleep.”

“I’m going to go check on Robin, see if she needs a break or anything.”

“And then you’re going to go home?”

Impossibly, Steve curls in on himself even more. Even in the dark, Eddie can see Nancy’s body language soften. “There’s a cot in Max’s room that her mom isn’t using. She went home after visiting hours to get ready for work,” Steve’s scoff covers part of Nancy’s next words and she half-heartedly pushes at his arm. “What I’m saying is, its empty right now. If you won’t go home, at least try to get some sleep over there. You’re dead on your feet right now, Steve.”

“Right, I’ll try.” A pause. “Thanks, Nance,” Steve leans over to press an achingly gentle kiss to Nancy’s temple that makes Eddie feel simultaneously immensely, disgustingly fond of the both of them and this strange found family he’s squeezed himself into the middle of and also like something ugly and dark is going to crawl right out of his chest. “Good night.”

He starts to walk away, without a second glance back at Eddie, but Eddie’s having none of that.

“Harrington! Steve.”

Nancy looks between the two of them, rightfully confused.

Desperate, but unsure of what else to do short of trying to throw himself bodily out of the hospital bed, Eddie closes his eyes and imagines that tether anchored just behind his ribs. He images grabbing hold of that invisible cord connecting him to Steve and pulling.

Hard.

Steve.

Steve literally stumbles, as if Eddie had actually, physically yanked him back into the room. He turns to look at him over his shoulder with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Eddie is too satisfied, nearly pleased, by actually getting results, that for a moment the true implications almost don’t register to him.

“How are you in my fucking head?”

[cyarskaren52]

“Thinking of a master plan…”

Rakim. Just saying his name evokes a certain image. He is Hip-Hop personified, and forever the standard by which emceeing is judged. Rakim Allah has been shaping and reshaping the artform for more than 35 years, and across his career, both with and without Eric B., he's revolutionized what an emcee can do with their pen. 

It's almost taken for granted that Rakim has one of Hip-Hop's strongest catalogs. Alongside Eric B., "The R" delivered a four album run that few artists can say they're able to match; from the groundbreaking and virtually perfect debut of Paid In Full to the stellar home run of Don't Sweat The Technique five years later. As a solo artist, Ra never pushed too hard for mainstream validation, opting instead to remain the rap game's most devout purist. That's who he has always been. Rakim is Rakim. 

So we had the unenviable task of putting together the 25 Dopest Rakim Songs. Here they are. 

#26

"ADDICTIVE" - TRUTH HURTS FEAT. RAKIM [BONUS SONG]

Our BONUS SONG pick is a celebrated classic guest spot! A smash from the late great Static Major and superproducer DJ Quik, it features one of Rakim's most smoothed-out verses. 

#25

"WHAT'S ON YOUR MIND"

This gem from the "House Party II" soundtrack was also one of the singles released from the final Eric B. & Rakim album "Don't Sweat The Technique."

#24

"WALK THESE STREETS" FEAT. MAINO

Rakim relishes in his elder statesman status on this track with Maino. Making it clear that funds and floss are just not who he is, Ra re-establishes himself as a voice of the people.

#23

"KEEP 'EM EAGER TO LISTEN"

An album cut from Eric B. & Rakim's third album, it shows just how much Rakim was continually pushing himself forward as a lyricist. It's also an early showcase for the brilliance of Large Professor. 

DROP YOUR EMAIL

TO STAY IN THE KNOW

SUBMIT

#22

"MY MELODY"

One of the standouts on an album that's damn-near ONLY standouts, this is one of Eric B. & Rakim's best early tracks (ghostproduced by Marley Marl)

#21

"LOVE 4 SALE"

The Sue Raney sample is sublime. Mature Ra speaks on relationships vs materialism. The production is rugged but smooth, as Rakim breaks down the importance of a shorty finding love. 

#20

"CASUALTIES OF WAR"

Recorded just as George H.W. Bush was invading Iraq amid the Persian Gulf War, Rakim addresses the conflict of being a Black American soldier tasked with treating Muslims like the enemy. 

#19

"IN THE GHETTO"

Moody and melodic, Rakim's flow never sounded more immaculate than it does on this introspective track from "Let The Rhythm Hit 'Em." Props to Rudy Ray Moore.

#18

"HOLY ARE YOU"

Rakim's reputation as "The God MC" comes from two things; his stature as a rhymer, but also his penchant for weaving knowledge of self and mathematics into his rhymes. Example A is right here. 

#17

"WHEN I B ON THE MIC"

Rakim's solo career has been somewhat low-profile compared to his heyday with Eric B., but this is one of his best solo singles--from his underrated sophomore album, "The Master." 

#16

"NEW YORK (YA OUT THERE)"

A shout-out to his home city, this remains one of Hip-Hop's best odes to the Big Apple. With DJ Premier on the beat, it's a victory lap for classic NYC boom bap. 

#15

"LYRICS OF FURY"

Ra leans into the aggressive production and lets loose. Chris Rock once called this track "probably, lyrically, the best rapping anyone's ever done," and it ain't hard to see why he holds it in such high esteem. 

#14

"GUESS WHO'S BACK?"

It had been five years since Eric B. & Rakim's final album, and in the 1990s, that felt like an eternity. But the God MC came roaring back with his first solo single, announcing his return.

#13

"MOVE THE CROWD" 

It's somewhat ironic that a song about getting the crowd moving is so laid-back, but Rakim makes his point effectively. No mistakes allowed. 

#12

"MAHOGANY" 

Who says Rakim never raps for or about the ladies? A seductive ode to a mysterious woman, Rakim flows smoothly over a winning sample of "I'm Glad You're Mine" by Al Green. 

#11

"THE 18TH LETTER (ALWAYS AND FOREVER)"

One of the purest showcases of lyricism ever put to wax. Rakim breaks down the mathematics behind his famous initial as only he could do. A master class in rhyming. 

#10

"LET THE RHYTHM HIT 'EM"

The title track from Eric B. & Rakim's third album is a masterpiece. One of the most inspired flips of "Nautilus" by Bob James, it also features some of Ra's most innovative lyricism. 

#9

"IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME"

Another track released after Ra's five-year silence in the mid-1990s, it was another moment for the R to let anyone who didn't know exactly who he is as an emcee. 

#8

"MICROPHONE FIEND"

It's an emcee's mantra. Rakim made an absolutely brilliant parallel between loving the microphone and being addicted to dope; and highlighted the rush of one as compared to the other. 

#7

"DON'T SWEAT THE TECHNIQUE"

The "Rumpshaker"-esque video was the first appearance of Wyclef Jean, but beyond that, this is one of the greatest (and last) slices of classic brilliance from the game's greatest emcee/deejay duo. 

#6

"I KNOW YOU GOT SOUL"

We admittedly don't always think of the dancefloor when we think of great Eric B. & Rakim tracks, but this is the most party-ready groove the duo ever released. 

#5

"FOLLOW THE LEADER"

The second album from Eric B. & Rakim let you know that they were upping the ante in every way. Sonically, this is where those Coltrane comparisons become more apparent. 

#4

"ERIC B. IS PRESIDENT"

Have the votes been tallied? Rakim nominates his deejay in one of the duo's most beloved songs. Deejay tributes were a mainstay of 80s rap but none raised the bar quite as high as this one.

#3

"I AIN'T NO JOKE"

He let you know what was up from Day One. The first music video from Eric B. & Rakim also serves as the first music video appearance from none other than Flavor Flav. 

#2

"KNOW THE LEDGE"

The theme song to beloved 1991 hood thriller "Juice" is a lyrical tour de force. Rakim's flow is ice-cold and razor sharp, as he details a life of crime doomed to end in violence. 

#1

"PAID IN FULL" 

It's on the short list of greatest rap songs ever made. The sample of Dennis Edwards and Siedah Garrett's "Don't Look Any Further" would become a Hip-Hop staple, and Rakim's opening bars are embedded in the very fabric of this rap shit. Calling it "classic" is an understatement. Uber-essential.

Sent from my iPhone

[redrobin-detective]

sleep like the dead

“And now, I, Technus, shall finally have my electronic vengeance on you, ghost child and conquer this puny human world!” Technus shrieked, exiting the portal in a suitably dramatic fashion. The various weapons around the lab shook and trembled from his power and static from his core crackled, raring for a fight with his favorite enemy. Only the Phantom didn’t appear.

“Hmm, maybe I wasn’t loud enough,” Technus mused before starting up again. “Pathetic Phantom! You can only hope your miniscule half human strength will be enough to take on my squiggling mess of the tangled wires of terror!” He threw back his head and cackled loudly, waiting for his nemesis to show and the battle to begin. His laughter petered out after a bit and the lab became silent once more.

“Well, now he’s just being rude,” Technus fumed, floating up through the ceiling. “Don’t ignore my threats, child. I know you’re here, I can feel your cold core.” He stopped once he reached the ghost boy’s human lair, hovering a few feet from the bed where his rival was sprawled out, sound asleep.

“Come ghost boy, it’s time for fisticuffs! I have some new moves and some great catchphrases I’m ready to try out on you!” The technology ghost exclaimed in excitement, miming some punches. Phantom didn’t answer, just kept laying there barely moving save for his soft, shallow breaths. Technus watched as his breath fogged with each exhale, his core’s ghost sense but it still didn’t awaken him. “Child? Have you expired?”

He leaned forward and gently poked the boy’s cheek. It was squishy but firm unlike a ghost’s exterior and he could feel the dense bone underneath. Phantom didn’t so much as twitch. Technus drew back his hand, unsure of what to do. He’d surprised the child while he was in bed before but he always woke up and they fell into the usual routine. But now he’d changed the script and if there was something ghosts didn’t like, it was change. He flew back down to the portal and sped into the Ghost Zone at top speed, searching for someone who would be able to help him understand. 

“Wow, baby pop whooped your butt that fast? Either he’s getting better or you’re getting more pathetic, my bet is the latter,” Ember teased as she strummed to herself from a floating rock near her lair.

“The ghost child won’t wake up and fight,” Technus said in a rush. “I went to the human world but no one answered my challenge. I went to his human lair and he was just lying on his bed thing and he wouldn’t move, even when I touched him.”

“That’s not like him, he’s usually more hopped up and ready to fight than a groupie on coke,” Ember frowned, setting aside her guitar. “Well come on, sparky, lets go check the kid out.” 

They developed something of an entourage making their way back to the human portal. A few of the locals had heard that the infamous half ghost child was behaving differently and well, curiosity didn’t stop when the cat was killed. Skulker chuckled menacingly under his breath, Youngblood bounced around the adults. Johnny and Kitty had been going to the real world anyway and decided to tag along. 

“Were his folks or Jazz home?" Johnny asked, riding his cycle slow enough to keep pace with the group. 

“Who?” Technus questioned, “er no, the annoying children always with him were not around for once.”

“Annoying yes but they don’t live- uh occupy the same lair as the brat,” Johnny explained. As a younger ghost who’d held onto his humanity more than some, he had a better grasp of human culture. “His parents, the crazy ghost hunters in the blue and orange jumpsuits. Or his sister, Jazz. She has red hair and is kind of a know it all. They’re his family, they live with him.”

“Oh those weirdos,” Youngblood said wrinkling his nose. “Always loud and shouting about ripping apart ghosts. They’re not even good hunters.”

“Obviously, they haven’t noticed they got a ghost living with ‘em,” Ember added with an eyeroll.

“It’s a very stressful situation, Danny was worried about what they’d do if they found out,” Kitty frowned before sticking her tongue out at Johnny. “Danny’s a good guy, at least he talked to me about things that mattered.”

“Good target practice, you mean,” Skulker declared as they entered through the portal. Instinctively they all looked up to where the ghost boy’s core was humming but sensed no movement. “Alright, I will admit that is weird. Let’s see what the whelp’s up to.”

It was a bit cramped, the five of them crammed into the small room especially when they were keeping their distance from the room’s only living occupant. He had not moved since Technus had last been in here. At their entrance, his breath fogged again and he shivered for a second before settling back down. 

“Well, he’s alive at least,” Johnny shrugged before leaning in close to examine him. “Kid looks wiped though.” He picked up the boy’s bony wrist which had been dangling off the bed, his fingers brushing the floor and held it up before dropping it. His knuckles rapped against the ground but he didn’t stir.

“Johnny, leave him alone, he’s trying to sleep,” Kitty hissed, yanking her boyfriend back by his ear. 

“Come on, I’m not doing anything bad,” Johnny defended. “But, come on, how often are we gonna get a chance like this?”

“Hmm is human sleep that interesting that the ghost child would ignore all of us?” Technus asked, floating over and laying himself down on the bed. He laid there on the bed next to the boy for a few moments. “I do not believe I’m doing this correctly.”

“Nah you gotta close your eyes and go off to dreamland,” Youngblood said, grabbing a sock off the floor and then some papers from the desk and began stacking them on the half ghost’s head. The boy still didn’t react in the slightest. 

“Is dreamland close? Another pocket dimension like the Zone?” Technus, ever the scientist, asked curiously.

“No, you idiot,” Ember sighed before tentatively reaching out and laying a hand on Phantom’s chest. “Yow, man that’s weird.”

“What?” Skulker asked, having been mostly content to watch until now. Youngblood had now piled several more items on the ghost boy’s head but he slept on, unawares.

“It’s just,” she scrunched up her face as she looked for the words, “I know what ghost cores feel like and I’ve been around enough humans to know the signs of life but he’s got both at once. His core flares and fades opposite his heart beat. It shouldn’t work but it does, somehow.”

“He is a most curious specimen, I rarely see Plasmius in his human skin so it’s hard to compare,” Skulker commented. “Of course Plasmius I can understand. He acts like a ghost, thinks like one. But the child, he’s certainly a ghost but he’s also decidingly... human.”

“That’s why we should be leaving him alone,” Kitty frowned, plucking Youngblood out of the air and moving him away from the sleeping teen. “If Danny isn’t waking up with all of us causing a racket then clearly he’s exhausted. We bother him enough, let him rest and fight him some other time.”

“But I wanted to fight now,” Technus whined, rolling over on the bed and resting one arm over the ghost boy’s body. “The Phantom surely wants to hear my latest monologue on how I’m the supreme ruler of everything electronic and beeping.”

“I know I don’t,” Youngblood shrugged.

“Me neither,” Johnny scoffed.

“Or me,” Ember muttered, putting her hands on her hips.

“Just let him rest,” Kitty said shooing the others back and gently brushing some of the kid’s hair out of his face revealing sallow features and dark marks under his eyes. “It’s hard enough being human much less a ghost on top of that; between fighting us and trying to have a normal life I bet he hardly gets any sleep. The least we can do is give him a break before he breaks.”

“I suppose it’s not sporting to kill a sleeping prey,” Skulker pouted. “And it’ll make his defeat more meaningful if he’s well rested and not uh,” he gestured to the Phantom’s general state of disarray. 

“Better appreciate it,” Ember sulked for a second, kicking away some pajama pants from the floor. “His stupid human life. I’d give anything to sleep again, just for a minute.” 

The ghosts sat in quiet contemplation for a moment, the dead looking enviously and curiously on the silent, sleeping boy, on a world they could only watch but not engage in. The moment was shattered by the front door slamming open.

“DANNO WE’RE HOME AND WE BROUGHT CHINESE!” Resonated through the house. Startled awake, the ghost child leapt out of the bed and hovered about a foot above it for a moment before sinking back down.

“Darn it Dad, I was napping,” Danny grumbled before he opened his eyes and saw several of his ghostly enemies standing awkwardly in his room. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Technus lounging on his bed. “What the-”

“Oh good, you’re awake!” Technus tittered happily, leaning into his personal space. “Ready to hear my spiel?” The temperature in the room dropped rapidly as his core ramped up and spilled over into his eyes which were no doubt glowing a fierce green.

“Get out of my room!” He shouted, reaching over to grab his emergency under the bed thermos but a sock falling from his hair into his face distracted him.

“Hey, just stopping by but we were just on our way out, sleep well, Danny sweetie!” Kitty said dragging the whole group through the floor. His core thrummed in agitation until he felt them cross the portal into the Ghost Zone. He sat there for a moment, shaking and panting from the adrenaline rush before he decided he really didn’t want to know. He flopped back onto the bed and reached over on his nightstand for the bottle Jazz had given him the other day.

“The heck is in this stupid sleep aid?”

[woodrokiro]

Do It For the Band, Part Five (fic)

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki: 

Summary: When Tatsuki said she wanted their sophomore album to be the next Rumours, this is NOT what she meant. Band AU. Read Part One, Two, Three, and Four.

Against her better judgement, Tatsuki takes an early flight home the next morning, so she really doesn’t know what went down. 

Frankly, between battling her colossal hangover and focusing on not puking on the plane when it hits turbulence: she doesn’t even think about it until later in the week. 

Since the tour ended, the band has a week off to just chill and take some time for themselves before regrouping and planning their next move. Tatsuki goes straight home to smoke weed and binge dumb movies on her to-watch queue. Chad and Orihime had plans to stay in their last tour city for a while since they had friends and family there. 

And as for Ichigo and Rukia…

Who knows. They’re both such dorks that they’re probably that gross couple who serenade each other in bed, naked, making weird metaphorical lyrics about the sex they just had.

Gross. But kind of sweet.

She makes a point to not think about or reach out to any of them (besides Orihime, of course) the entire week - not that she doesn’t love her team fiercely, but they all need the break away from each other... Especially after they spent all their time together making the album and going on tour, and especially if Ichigo decides to show one of his new Rukia-love ballads to the band upon their return. 

Still, she attempts to check in with Ichigo on the fifth day over text. 

How ya doin’, tiger?

He doesn’t respond for a few hours, but she doesn’t think much of it. He’s always been sort of a shitty texter, and there’s a strong chance all the raucous love-making isn’t reminding him to check his phone. 

She’s on the fourth episode of Terrace House’ newest season, debating whether one of the cast members is a chaotic queen or absolute garbage when she hears the familiar ping of a text message on her phone. She picks it up and reads:

Fine.

Huh. 

Not exactly the sunshine-y answer she expected, but then again: it’s Ichigo. He’s not exactly a sunshine-y person, even when - apparently - he’s radiantly happy. 

She shrugs, deciding not to push it. She’ll find out soon enough how everything’s going when they have practice in a couple days. 

--

Practice is in Chad’s garage, and Ichigo, Chad, and Orihime are already there.

She mostly chats with Orihime, who has so much to update her on about her newest recipes, like natto ice cream and sriracha orange juice, and hey, Tatsuki, what are your thoughts on this newest article I found about robots dominating the planet within the next five years?

Tatsuki glows in the babble, chuckling when she can’t help herself. Says the first sounds… Interesting, the second sounds like maybe she can keep revising it a little, and that last article sounds like it might be from a not so trust-worthy news source. 

Her friend tries to argue the source’s credibility when she looks over at Ichigo. He’s silently tuning his guitar, head bent and posture weirdly… Slumped when she catches his eye.

She raises her eyebrows at him without interrupting Orihime’s chatter. You good?

He shrugs, gives a weak smile and thumbs up before returning his attention back to his instrument.

Uh oh. 

Ichigo Kurosaki does not do weak smiles… Or thumbs ups, for that matter.

It’s another few minutes before Rukia swings the door open, a bit of a sweaty mess and running out of breath. 

“Hi all, I’m so sorry I--”

“You’re late.”

Everyone swings their attention to Ichigo, who observes their keyboardist stone-faced. The shocked silence that follows is short, but suffocating. 

Rukia flushes before she blinks, raising her chin. “Yes. As I was saying… I’m sorry I’m running late, everyone. I had a lunch meetup with an old friend that went longer than expected. Please forgive me.”

“Chill, Rukia - you’re fine. You’re only five minutes over.” Tatsuki shoots a look at Ichigo, who’s still ruthlessly eye-ing daggers into Rukia. 

What the hell…? 

“... Whatever. Let’s just get started. Go over everything to catch back up to speed, and all that.” Ichigo plugs his guitar into the speaker, and Rukia nods as she quickly sets up her keyboard. 

Practice from there is…

Like. It’s good. It is. Despite the long break, everyone is still on top of their shit: Tatsuki’s beats are muscle memory by now, and Chad is as on it as he ever was. Ichigo and Rukia are in perfect sync, per usual.

The energy, however, is another story. While there was always some sort of joy and excitement when they all played together, now it’s like the air is stiff, heavy. From behind, Tatsuki can see Rukia keeps trying to look at Ichigo during all the parts they usually harmonize together, to get some sort of connection. 

Ichigo doesn’t even remotely glance her way the entire time. 

They’re near done with the entire set when Ichigo clears his throat, turning to the rest of them. Urahara has joined them by this point, watching with an unreadable smile as ever.  

“So… I think we should scrap Sun and Moon from our main set.”

Orihime lets out a soft gasp. Chad’s fingers accidentally let loose a note on the live bass. Tatsuki chokes on her spit. 

“Sun and Moon? You mean our crowd pleaser? The one we always end shows with a bang on?”

“It’s not our only crowd pleaser, we’ve also got some other great ones. I’m just afraid it’s gonna be a one-hit wonder, ya know? And with that note…” He turns to Urahara. “What do you think about us going ahead and starting to write for our sophomore album?”

They gape at him. 

Even Urahara raises his eyebrows. “That’s… Well. That was fast.”

“Is it? Our album is more like EP, anyway - just a little longer. Like a warm-up. And it’s good, of course I’m proud of it - everyone worked so hard on it - but, just… Why not start now? Why not take advantage of the momentum we’ve got going on?”

Rukia clears her throat. “Ichigo, that’s… We’ve got such a good grip on what we have -”

“I just think Soul Vibes is static for us. Outdated.” He quickly looks back at her before returning his attention to Urahara.

 Rukia looks like she’s been slapped. 

“I think we’re more dynamic now, even just in these few short months. And yeah it’s fast, but - we have time, right? To get started on writing?”

“I suppose so.” Urahara looks at Tatsuki and Chad, who both shrug. Something’s really off here, but Tatsuki sort of sees his point. It’s clear Ichigo’s raring to write something new… Why not? 

“Sure, if you’d like, I can make some arrangements with the music studio. You and Rukia can go in there and--”

“Actually, I was thinking we can work on some stuff alone before presenting it to the group.” He stops Tatsuki when she begins to sputter.  “Look, I know the whole reason for pairing Rukia and I for songwriting was to get us working as a team. But we’re fine now…”

Ichigo looks back at Rukia, and they share a look that’s so… Tatsuki doesn’t know what it is, but she sees Rukia swallow heavily in response.

“We’re fine now.” He repeats grittily. He starts again, stronger: “We collaborated on some cool shit, now I think it’s time to make it a little more diverse like I mentioned earlier. Have my songs, have her songs, have Chad’s songs if he still wants - all threaded together with Tatsuki’s beats. Why not?”

The room is quiet as they contemplate it. It’s not a bad idea, but…

Tatsuki glances over at Rukia, who’s looking down at her hands.

Urahara clicks his tongue. 

“Well, Kurosaki, you raise a good argument. I don’t see why not, and I’m not hearing any objections… Just one thing: you’re not striking Sun and Moon quite yet. No arguments! Hear me out.” He stops Ichigo with a hand. “You’re not striking it until any of you come up with a song just as good, if not better. There’s power in that one, you can’t deny it. Make something as rock n’ roll as that and the team will talk. Let’s just… Keep each other in the know, all right?” 

The band - Rukia included, albeit softly - agrees, and they start to pack up. 

Tatsuki doesn’t know what’s going on; she’s always down for making more jams, she knows Ichigo and Rukia have got more up their sleeves, that Chad definitely deserves to put more of his stuff forward - but that… Look the two vocalists shared…

What happened that night after she left the bar? 

She doesn’t have much time to wonder, however, because suddenly she’s shaken out of her thoughts when she hears Ichigo approaching Orihime about whether she wants to go out and get a couple of drinks. 

Tatsuki’s heart is too busy falling to see Rukia’s stricken face.

[shimmeringclouds]

Chapter 4

The train journey was excruciatingly long, just as they remembered it to be. Karatsugu peered out the window beside him, his eyes stuck to the darkening sky above, which was also tinted a slight shade darker due to him wearing his large aviator sunglasses. He watched as the scenery outside gradually changed from strictly endless waves of tall green grass and trees to small buildings in the far distance and flat earth.

Across from him, Hajime sat silently, slouching in his seat as he clutched his large backpack to his chest to rest his chin atop it, his eyes shut as he slept quietly. A small smile came to Karatsugu's lips before he yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand whilst his other arm stretched up above his head. He let it fall down onto his lap lazily as he went back to staring out the window, his leg jumping up and down lightly as he inwardly became impatient.

It had been quite a while since he had last come to Akashika District; a year, to be exact. He still remembered the first time he had visited that place like it was only yesterday, as well as the interesting adventure he and his newfound brothers took part in. Karatsugu smiled fondly at the memory, wondering just what else they would be getting up to this time.

He was quickly snapped out of his daydreams as a voice spoke over the intercom, and although it sounded very fuzzy and full of static, he could just about make out what the voice said:

'We are now arriving at Akashika Station. This is the train's final stop. Please ensure you have all your items of belonging before leaving the train. We are now arriving at...'

The voice repeated itself several more times before it fell silent, and Karatsugu could feel the train begin to slow down. He carefully, and very cautiously, leaned forward to nudge Hajime's knee, attempting to rouse him from his nap.

"Hajime... You need to wake up now, we're here..." he mumbled, gently calling for his younger brother. He could feel a bead of sweat beginning to accumulate on his temple as Hajime didn't stir, prompting him to nudge a tad bit harder whilst also bearing in mind to not push his own luck, lest he want a fist to the face.

Thankfully, that didn't happen, and Hajime grumbled against his backpack as his eyes sluggishly cracked open. His dark gaze landed on Karatsugu for a moment before it wandered around the train compartment, shifting slightly in his seat and raising his head. He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, wincing at the soreness from the awkward position he had fallen asleep in.

"... We're here?" he mumbled, barely audible over the ruckus of the train still moving against the tracks. Karatsugu nodded, taking his phone out of his pocket whilst Hajime stretched his arms. Karatsugu swiped through the group chat one of his brothers had created, skimming over his unread messages from hours ago to begin tapping away at his screen.

── SEX🤤🍆tuplets

12:24

[Chorosuke💐🌹] Who changed the group chat name?

[Takashi🍰🍬🍭] Who do u think lol

[Ozo🍺🚖] its gr8 right! sexxxxxxxxxxxx tuplets HAHAH

[Chorosuke💐🌹] Please shut up.

[Ozo🍺🚖] ur alwas so booooooring chorosuk e lolol anyway! karatsugu n hajime! wya?

[Hajime🐈‍⬛🐾] train

That is correct burazzas!~~😎😎✨✨ Our travels have only barely just begun!💫💫 We will be arriving later tonight! I'm sure you are all very excited for our arrival, hmm~~? 🥀🥀🥀🥀😎😎😎😎

[Takashi🍰🍬🍭] We get it plz stop with those ugly ass emojis

[Jyushimatsu🌻🌼☀️] KARAMATSU NIISAN ICHIMATSU NIISAN HIHHIHUHIHUU!!!!! HIRRY UP I WANNA PLAY!!!!!!

[Chorosuke💐🌹] I don't want to kick you out again, Jyushimatsu. Please don't spam.

── SEX🤤🍆tuplets 19:03

[72 unread messages]

We are arriving at the station!✨✨ Ozo, burazza, would you be so kind as to give us a lift?😎😎😎

[Ozo🍺🚖] sureeee its abt time u guys got here!

[Jyushimatsu🌻🌼☀️] YAYYYYAYA!!! YOUR HERE YOURH ERE!!! OSOMATSU NIISAN CAN I CUM A SWELL????!!!!

[Takashi🍰🍬🍭] oh my god eww

[Ozo🍺🚖] Yh! the more the happier as they say

[Chorosuke💐🌹] It's: 'The more, the merrier.' Honestly, how do you not know?

[Ozo🍺🚖] I ain't no nerd anyway ill be there in 10!

──

Satisfied with Ozo's response, Karatsugu put away his phone and stood up, reaching up to the overhang and carefully sliding his suitcase out and onto the floor. He also did the same for Hajime's suitcase, having a sneaking suspicion that the man wouldn't get it himself, but he wasn't bothered by it.

They waited for the train to pull to a stop, the metal wheels against the tracks squeaking and groaning loudly into the air. The voice over the intercom spoke again, signalling that all passengers were now allowed to leave.

So, with their suitcases in hand and their backpacks slung over their shoulders, the two brothers exited the train and stepped onto the same barren and quiet platform. The warm evening air pushed into their faces, the heat a lot tamer than it would be during the day. Hajime looked up towards the sky for a moment, witnessing the final shreds of sunlight melt away into the night as a dark blanket covered the sky.

"We should head outside," Karatsugu spoke up, his baritone voice echoing around the area, "they could be here any minute, now." He had already begun walking towards the exit, and after a few seconds, he heard his brother's footsteps shuffling along the concrete ground, following him from behind.

Karatsugu stepped out first, taking a deep breath of fresh air as a soft breeze picked up around him briefly before it died down. He smiled at the scenery, already feeling at home with his excitement growing by the second.

"Karamatsu-niisan."

The man screamed, jumping on the spot and tripping over his own feet as he tumbled to the ground, his mouth agape and sunglasses askew on his face, eyes darting around to see where that sudden voice came from, only to find a man standing to his right with a brown paper bag over his head and the roughly cut holes where his eyes should be dark and devoid of life.

Hajime stepped out next, taking one good look at Karatsugu on the ground and raising his brow before looking over to the paper bag man. He barely reacted, only giving a slight nod and saying:

"Long time no see, Jyushimatsu."

"Aha! Same here, Ichimatsu-niisan!" Jyushimatsu laughed, rocking back and forth on his heels giddily. Karatsugu, still on the ground, gradually collected himself and cupped his chin with this thumb and forefinger, smirking as if he hadn't just screamed like he had seen a ghost.

"Heh! Jyushimatsu! It has been some time since we last spoke in person!" Unsurprisingly, Karatsugu went ignored as the other headed towards a car that was parked a little further down the road, with the engine still running and the lights beaming down onto the gravelled path. Karatsugu only hummed amusedly, standing up and brushing himself off, making sure to readjust his glasses before grabbing his things and following behind them, listening in on their conversation.

"A lot of things have changed around here since you last visited, you know!" Jyushimatsu swung his arms back and forth as he walked, the smile in his voice heard through his words.

"Yeah? Like what?" Hajime readjusted his backpack on his shoulder, throwing a side glance towards Jyushimatsu. The paper bag man only giggled, his head now swaying side to side, as if nodding along to some unheard tune.

"Things!" Was all he said as they reached the car. The trio paused as the driver's door opened, and out clambered a grinning Ozo with a beer can in hand.

"Finally! I thought you guys were never gonna show up!" He complained, though there was no bite behind his words. Hajime shook his head as he watched Ozo take a large swig from his can.

"You couldn't wait until we got to that otaku's house to start drinking? I don't want to die because of your shitty driving..." he shuffled over to the car, opening the trunk and pushing his suitcase in there as Jyushimatsu sat in the back seats.

"I'm not a lightweight! I can handle more than one can, y'know!" Ozo sat back down in his seat, and Karatsugu also went over to place his suitcase in the trunk before closing it. Hajime sat in the back with Jyushimatsu, leaving the passenger seat up front available. Once they were all settled in the car, Ozo manoeuvred the car out of its parked position and back onto the road.

"Let's chuck your stuff at that guy's place, and then we can go drinking!" Ozo cheered, Jyushimatsu matching his excitement. Karatsugu couldn't help but laugh, and even Hajime couldn't control the small smirk that crept its way onto his face, which he quickly hid behind his backpack.

It was nice to be back.

»»-----　♔　-----««

You sighed softly as you wiped down the bar top with the slightly damp cloth in your palm. Glancing at the small clock on the wall behind you, you took note of how it had been just over an hour since your shift at Bang Bang Chicken Bar had started and, as per usual, barely anyone had entered the bar. There was that one regular customer who had already came and went — a man with very large front teeth who asked for the same drink every other night, attempted to flirt with you, then would leave with the promise of coming back as a rich French man... whatever that means.

Another sigh escaped you. It was now just past nine o'clock, and you had a strong feeling that the hours were going to slip by a lot slower than you would like. That, and coupled with the fact that you would be the only one working at the bar at this hour (aside from your boss, who would be cooped up in his office until early hours of the morning), you knew it would be yet another boring night ahead.

Well, maybe not entirely boring.

The sound of drums suddenly filled the silence in the bar, which was soon followed by the sound of heavy strums of electric guitars and keyboards. A woman's voice began belting lyrics into the microphone. You watched the band, Killer Fish, perform on the raised platform in the centre of the room, the seven women on stage lost in their own world of death metal music as their heads nodded along violently to the beat.

When you had first started working at Bang Bang Chicken Bar — an obscure bar at the end of a long, winding and empty road on the outskirts of Akatsuka Village — you did not expect the seven quiet and well-dressed women on the stage to start singing death metal. It scared you half to death the first time you heard the screech of guitar strings echoing through the desolate bar. Even the lead singer, Totoko, dressed in a formal Japanese yukata with her hair styled up in an old-fashioned bun, her face stoic and serious, shocked you with her booming voice and scratchy vocals of a true death metal singer.

It was all so unexpected, and the tremors of the music had left you slightly shaky once the first performance was over. Now, though, you had become used to the music, and although it wasn't your preferred choice of music, you began to enjoy the performances. It made the whole bar feel so much more alive.

By the time you snapped out of your thoughts, the performance was over and the group was setting themselves up for another song. You, with nothing better to do, decided you would turn to the shelves stacked with all kinds of alcoholic drinks behind you and sort through them again, making sure they were presented with their labels faced towards the patrons and that they were organised neatly, despite the fact that you had already done this. Three times.

Whilst you mindlessly traced your fingers along the glass bottles, the music started up again, drowning out the sound of the door to the bar opening.

In walked six men, each dressed in black suits, and each of them boisterous and excited to begin their night of drinking. They awed at the group on stage for a moment before one of them took charge and pushed them over to an empty table in the middle of the room. They took their seats and began conversing with each other, laughing at some joke someone made or at another's crazy antics.

Eventually, two of them stood up from their seats, one seemingly more casual with his hands tucked into his pockets whilst the other, donning a black yukata, seemed more uptight with an annoyed frown pressed onto his upturned lips. The two began making their way over to the bar, where you were stood with your back still turned, oblivious of what was happening behind you until your ears picked up the sound of two men conversing.

You tilted your head slightly, squinting your eyes as if it would help with figuring out whether you were hearing things or not, but as the voices grew closer, your eyes widened as you realised no, this wasn't your imagination, and there were actually other customers in the bar.

Turning on your heel, you physically felt your brain fizzle and pop like an old lightbulb at the sight of the two men coming closer towards you, their faces still fresh in your mind from the first time you had encountered them on separate occasions.

"Come on, Chorosuke! You're loaded! A couple of drinks with your money won't hurt anyone!" It was that taxi driver from the other day who was talking, that same sleazy grin displayed proudly on his face as he poked fun at the man next time him; that man from the store who had given you that watermelon, which actually was sweet.

"You and I both know you won't be having 'a couple of drinks!' And you have your own money! Pay for yourself!" He shouted over the music, his eyes narrowing in frustration as he knew all too well that he would inevitably be paying for the drinks. You could only stand in silence as they grew closer and closer, neither of them truly paying attention to your presence as they continued to bicker back and forth until they were stood right in front of you.

Ozo turned to you first, his mouth opening to make his request until his half-lidded eyes locked onto your face. He frowned for a split-second before his eyes widened, the smirk on his lips stretching into an excited grin as he instantly recognised you. Chorosuke, confused by his brother's odd reaction, turned to you as well, only for his expression to fall into a look of horror, his pale cheeks flushing a bright crimson.

"It's you!" They exclaimed together, their tones completely opposite to one another. Pausing, they whipped their heads to look at each other confusedly. "Wait, what?" they questioned in unison.

"How do you know her?" Chorosuke quickly demanded, his eyes flitting between your nervous form and the man beside him.

"I told you, I met a pretty girl yesterday!" Ozo reminded him, "And what about you?"

"I-I, well... We bumped into each other at the market the other day..." Chorosuke's voice trailed off, secretly hoping you would remember him so that he wouldn't be humiliated in front of the one man who wouldn't let something like this go. Lucky for him, you did remember. You remembered that interaction all too well.

"Really?! Wow! Small world, right?" Ozo turned to you, leaning against the bar top with one arm as he gave you a quick once over, a flirtatious look in his eyes that only served to make you shrink into yourself. "Do you remember me? I dropped you off yesterday! Man, if I knew you worked here, I would come by more often!"

They seemed to be waiting for some kind of reaction from you, so you took a minute step back from the countertop and chuckled nervously, an odd smile on your face that probably didn't look like a smile at all.

"Aha... Yeah! Hi... again..."

This was going to be a long, long night.

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 12

happy Chronicles update! I know I waited a while to post this one, but I feel like I’m in a good place to share it now. so, I hope you like it! it’s... an interesting one.

from: itsdjbubbles 29 July, 19:30. La Tortue. you and your group got a setlist?

to: itsdjbubbles i… could have a setlist. and we’re more of a band than a group.

from: itsdjbubbles hell yeah, dude. you’re in.

–––

just saw adrien agreste in person. In Person. i don’t think i can even afford his aura. or, like. the CO2 he’s breathing out?

no, i’m not going to say where. i’m not a total dickwad. just sometimes. mostly because my sister would come for me if i didn’t say so.

also, fellow parisians, who hopefully are not or have not been as much of a dumbass as me: watch this space for an announcement, maybe.

Adrien Agreste is right. There. In all his swoopy-blond-hair, thousand-euro-smile, million-euro-clothing glory. Hanging by the doorway, and seeing him standing at the register like an actual human being, and laughing like an actual human being, and paying with a debit card like an actual human being, is like looking into the goddamn sun. Or like standing in the weird static, plasma dimension that exists between the TV screen and real life. Or both.

Okay. Luka will admit that, for a time that now feels both distant and delirious, he… probably entertained a celebrity crush on Adrien Agreste. But it was short-lived, and it felt more like a warm fuzz in his stomach whenever he passed by those radiant advertisements for perfume, men’s clothing, even underwear. Really, the more he thought about it, the more he was just admitting that Adrien Agreste had a certain charm and attraction because he, like many people in Paris, had a functional pair of eyes.

It was… fantasy, really. Self-indulgent. The way most infatuation tends to be. Observation with a cause; he heard it once in a song.

Adrien Agreste is still standing right. There. At the register. And Luka hasn’t moved from the entrance. Not even when the door hits him unceremoniously in the back and the bell above it mocks him as it announces his arrival.

And then Adrien Agreste turns on his heel, slipping his wallet into his back pocket with one seemingly perfect hand and gripping a pastry box with the other, and Luka’s body reminds him to step aside. He does, still dumbstruck despite how Adrien Agreste literally smiles at him and says good morning, and the door closes behind him again, and not for the first time in his life, Luka forgets what words are or how to string them together.

When he comes to his senses and makes peace with the fact that he just shared the same breathing air as a real-live supermodel, he notices—even from this far away—that Marinette is wearing that expression again. The one from the park. The one he wishes never existed—because even if this is another observation with a cause, he at least has the good sense to know that Marinette Dupain-Cheng does not deserve to look so sad, no matter how many smiles she layers on top of it.

Until now, it seems like Marinette’s only been looking past him, but when her eyes finally settle on him, she perks up a bit from her place at the register. “You dyed your hair,” she says by way of greeting, and he swears her face starts to glow. Or maybe it always was glowing. Maybe it wasn’t because of him.

“Uh,” he replies, because when has he ever been smooth when she’ s looking at him like that? or at all? “Technically, Jules did.” He says it hurriedly, so neither of them has to worry about it or talk about it, but then she has to go and tell him that it looks good on him, and his words have to get stuck on his tongue again when he says, “Thanks, I grew it myself.”

Kill him. Now. He’s ready. Juleka can have his guitar.

“So,” he goes on, a little perkier than he means to, but it’s probably for the best. “That was, uh… that Adrien Agreste guy, huh? You know him or something?”

Marinette’s expression is almost unreadable. It is hard to tell if she regrets knowing Adrien, or if she thinks Luka must be living under a rock because everyone knows who Adrien Agreste is. She snaps back to herself soon enough, and she’s browsing the pastry cases as though it’s her responsibility to find something good for him. “We used to go to middle school together,” she explains. “Just for a while. I even used to have this mondo crush on him. Can you imagine?”

“Yeah,” Luka says, because he can’t count how many times he’s imagined her in love, much less how many times he’s imagined other people in love with her. “Huh. I pegged him as the type to get homeschooled or something.” He tosses a glance behind him, just to see if the limo is still there, but it’s long since peeled away. “What… happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“You…” He pauses. “You said, ‘used to?’”

“Oh,” she says, half-flippant, with a sheepish laugh to match. “Y’know.”

Luka narrows his eyes. “No, I don’t,” he says. “That’s… why I asked?” Even though he maybe, definitely shouldn’t have because it maybe, definitely isn’t his business.

Marinette shrugs, busies herself with boxing up a selection. He doesn’t even have to ask. (Is it good that he doesn’t have to ask?) “I switched schools. That’s all. Turns out absence doesn’t really make the heart grow fonder after all.”

It doesn’t sound like that’s all, especially if the bittersweet look on her face has anything to say about it, but who is he to push? Who is he to do anything but peek into her life and feel grateful, privileged, for what she’s allowed him?

“Anyway,” she goes on; it’s mesmerizing, watching her multitask. The grace with which she can open herself up, so clipped, while taping a box shut. “Our friend is making this music video for a summer class he’s taking. He’s really into film, you know? And we’re playing opposite each other in it. I guess he wanted to come by and chat about it, but I think he had something else in mind.”

Luka’s brow furrows.

When Marinette turns, box in hand, her lips scrunch up awkwardly. Like she’s the one who doesn’t know what to say this time. “Now he’s the one who…”

Oh. Well. Fuck.

“I turned him down,” she adds with a shrug. “In high school. And we’re still… sort of friends. We text and stuff, have a couple of mutual friends. I just get the sense those feelings—his, I mean—never really went away. There’s just… something I can’t shake. Do you know what I mean?”

Does he know what she means? Does he feel? He nods, dumbly, and maybe this moment separated by a counter and a cash register isn’t supposed to be as deep and twisted and thorny as it is. But it is, and it feels that way because he feels, and he wonders if she feels it, too. If there are parts of her that never went away, either.

“Sorry,” Marinette blurts out once the moment ends—too soon, as far as he’s concerned. “You didn’t ask to hear all that.”

“I don’t mind.” Luka offers her a smile because it’s the best thing he has on him. “Life stories, remember?”

She smiles back. It’s slow, and knowing, and it makes him melt in his shoes. “Are you gonna make a song about it, Music Man?”

Okay. Okay. Wow.

Maybe it was worth staying alive for literally this one moment.

“I could write a song about it,” he says; it’s a miracle he doesn’t stammer. “Would you come and listen to it?”

“In the park?”

“At a gig.”

Marinette looks surprised, and then impressed, and damn if he doesn’t want to keep doing things that make her make that face. “Maybe I will,” she says, almost demure, like he asked her on a date or something. (Did he? Ask her on a date?) She looks just past him, and when he follows her gaze it lands on a bulletin board by the door. “Maybe you should swing by with a flyer or something.”

“Maybe I will.” Wow, two for two. He takes the box, reaches for his wallet. “I’ll watch that video, too, we’ll call it even—”

Her hand is on his before he can even pull out his card. And it isn’t until after she’s pushed his wallet back toward him that it finally registers that she’s touched him. “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “It’s on the house. Just bring the flyer, and then we’ll call it even.”

Luka looks between her and the box a number of times, too many questions on his tongue to get any of them out. Why is she being so nice to him? why does she insist on giving him things he hasn’t worked for, or finding loopholes to prove that he did work for it? Is she flirting with him? Or does she pity him? Or is she just being nice because he’s one of her parents’ regulars? Or does she… does she, maybe…

He holds his breath, and searches her eyes, and gets lost in the music he’s still sort of trying to place. He slips his wallet into his back pocket all the same, and he takes the box from her, and it’s ridiculous how fiercely he wishes he could feel her fingers brush the back of his hand again. “You got a deal,” he murmurs—mentally kicks himself for sounding so out of touch. He backs out of the store like it’s illegal to tear his eyes away; it feels like it is, when she’s smiling at him like that. The Not For Customers smile.

Admittedly, he wonders if she ever gave Adrien Agreste that smile, once upon a time.

Maybe he shouldn’t have wondered, because his back bumps right into the door, and the bell above it jingles as though it’s annoyed. But Marinette isn’t; in fact, she giggles behind a hand, and she gives him a little wave like she’s going to keep the memory safe in the pocket of her apron. He manages a weak laugh, and a wave of his own, and then he’s stumbling out the door and walking his bike to the first open bench he can find. He needs to sit down. Put his head in his hands for a while.

Because he thinks she just flirted with him. And he thinks he flirted right back. And he knows she just touched him, in spite of everything she told him about Adrien, in spite of him being right. There. And it’s all finally, finally sinking in, and the world is spinning in a way he’s not really used to, and…

Maybe he just needs a sugar boost.

Shaking his head and sighing, he pops the seal on the pastry box, fully prepared to find a half dozen napoleons inside. There aren’t—only two pastries.

One napoleon.

And one pear tart.

His heart stutters. Makes up for how he didn’t before.

That’s how it gets him.

hey mom? mr. president? deity of indeterminate gender?

how do i go about legally changing my name to Music Man?

you know. hypothetically.

[vfdarkness]

AVFD Transcript: S2E01 Dying, Disappeared, and Dead

You’re in a crowded bar on a Friday night.

The lights flash off and in the darkness you see glowing red eyes staring at you from across the room.

When the lights switch back on, the eyes are gone.

The lights go out again, and now the bar is filled with glowing red eyes - all fixated on you.

You need my help.

[AVFD theme fades in]

This is A Voice From Darkness. 

[AVFD theme fades out]

Hello, this is Dr. Malcolm Ryder, parapsychologist, coming to you from our studio here in the stormy, husky, brawling city of big shoulders— Chicago, Illinois. And speaking of Chicago, I’m happy to announce our show recently launched a Patreon. In our inaugural episode I answer a few questions about the Second City. So if you want to hear where I get pizza or know about the fabled Chicago bar, The Odd-Shaped Room, who’s doors will only open for you once please feel free to join us over at: Patreon.com/vfdarkness. That once again is Patreon.com/vfdarkness.

With that out of the way, we have a very special episode tonight. My sister, Amelia Ryder, Professor of Occult Studies at Ravenswood University will be on the line later. It’s been awhile since she’s appeared as a guest on the show, and as she recently returned from an expedition, I’m sure she has something interesting to share with us. More on that later though. For now, let’s delve into our National Alerts.

[NA music fades in]

There’s only one National Alert for tonight, and it’s for the Greenpoint Neighborhood of New York City. There’s a movie theatre at the corner of Driggs Avenue and Leonard Street called The Luminous Spirit. A film currently playing there, titled: We Are Always This Way, should be avoided at all costs. Last night it was shown for the first time in nearly thirty years. 

Outside the theatre you’ll see a poster advertising the film - featuring a happy family all with blonde hair standing in a green field. Judging by the filmstock, color grading, and clothing the family wears - the movie appears to have been made sometime in the late 40s or early 50s. 

We Are Always This Way opens with the camera panning across wide, grassy hills. A child whistles a cheerful tune. The song grows louder as the camera comes upon a blonde boy sitting on a tree stump, whistling, and whittling a stick with a small pocket knife. When the camera focuses on him, he stops. He places the stick next to him on the stump, neatly folds back the blade of his knife, and puts it in his pocket. He stares directly at the audience and asks everyone, one at a time, if they are happy. 

The movie doesn’t continue, the boy seemingly waits, until everyone in the theatre verbally answers him. If an audience member responds they are not happy, the boy probes further. He’ll ask for the cause of their unhappiness. He asks: what would make them happy? Someone in a showing thirty years prior, a young woman, told the blonde boy she no longer loved her boyfriend. They lived together and she didn’t know how to tell him. The boy smiled at her and said, “That’s all right. I just want you to be happy!” 

He continued to ask others in the crowd if they were happy. No one else responded that they were not. The blonde boy then walked off screen as the camera panned left. The rest of the blonde family from the film’s poster: a mother, father, an older sister with a guitar, and a brother and sister a little older than the whittling boy began to sing as the elder sister played guitar. 

The song had the same cheerful melody the blonde boy whistled at the start of the film. Partway through the second chorus, the blonde boy walked back on screen and joined his family. There was blood on his hands. He said nothing of this and neither did his family. The film ends abruptly without the song coming to an end. 

The woman who’d told the blonde boy she was unhappy in her relationship went back to her apartment that night and found her boyfriend dead. Stabbed dozens of times with a small blade. A partially whittled stick was found next to the body. I repeat - do not see the film We Are Always This Way at The Luminous Spirit in Greenpoint, New York City.

That is our only National Alert for this evening

[NA music fades out]  

Next-up is Today In Odd America, and then we’ll be speaking to Professor Amelia Ryder about some of her recent research. The subject of which she’s kept hidden even from me. So we’ll be finding out what my sister has been up to together. But first… 

[TIOA music fades in]

Today in Odd America we find ourselves in Granger, South Dakota. The year - 1991. Matthew Bast threw open the door of Baum’s Bazaar. The small town bar was crowded that night and when Bast made such a loud entrance people turned his way. Bast was a big man, tall and imposing. He spoke loudly and confidently on matters as if his word were law.

“I saw scarecrows on the way here,” Bast told the bar patrons. An old farmer laughed.

“Of course you did,” he said. “We have them all over our fields.” Bast eyed the farmer with contempt. He didn’t like when people laughed at him. 

“I know you’ve got scarecrows in your fields,” Bast said. “I’m not simple. I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about the ones running around town.”

“People in costumes?” Someone yelled.

“Likely so,” Bast said. “Probably from the city. You know how they hate us.” 

Sioux Falls was the nearest city, and some folks in Granger believed the nearby city folks looked down on them. No evidence for this belief was ever stated. But it was a belief many in the small town had— including Matthew Bast.

“Don’t worry,” Bast assured the crowd. He withdrew a pistol from a leg holster. “I scared them off. Chased them back to Sioux Falls.” Bast expected applause or for the bartender to shout that drinks were on the house. But that’s not the reception he got.

“Put that damn thing away,” the bartender said. Bast reluctantly obliged.

“Why would folks from Sioux Falls come all the way down here dressed as Scarecrows?” Someone asked. Bast made his way to them. There was a half-full pitcher of beer which Bast took and poured a generous amount of into an empty glass.

“They’re mocking us,” he said. “Our small town ways. Our lifestyle. You hear about these things all the time on the radio.”

“I never heard about any of that on the radio,” someone said.

“Cause you ain’t listening to the right frequencies,” Bast said. “Don’t worry. I do. I listen all the time. I know how this world works. These people from the city hate us. They hate themselves even more. And they can’t stand that we’re out here living a simple life, free and easy, nice and happy. So they figure they can come out here dressed in costumes meant to mock our farms and fields, and maybe make us scared of our rural ways.”

Most in the bar doubted Bast and ignored him. But a handful paid for his drinks, kept his glass full, and asked him to talk more about what he’d heard on the radio and more about these scarecrows from Sioux Falls.

A week went by and Bast claimed to have seen scarecrows around Granger doing various misdeeds. A fair number believed him on his word alone. Community patrols were started. Folks would roam the streets with guns openly displayed and stop vehicles they didn’t recognize. The Sheriff asked Bast and his posse to stand down. Said that what they were doing was unnecessary— and illegal. Bast disagreed.

A month later, all the shops on main street had their windows broken. Tires slashed on cars that’d been parked overnight on the street. Bast held an informal town meeting at Baum's Bazaar. He showed pictures he took of scarecrows doing all the destruction. Someone was quick to point out that all the scarecrows were about Bast’s height and build and were wearing the same outfit except for a different hat in each picture. The skeptic was escorted out of the bar.

“But what’s to be done?” Someone shouted. Bast didn’t answer right away. He took a long drink first.

“What Sioux Falls does to us, we gotta do tenfold to them,” he said. He was asked to elaborate on what he meant. And so he did: “These city slickers think we’re scared of scarecrows. Us country bumpkins believe they come alive at night and wander around. They believe we’re that stupid. We need to make them feel that way. Make them know we’ll never be scared of them, but they should be terrified of us.” The crowd cheered.

Bast laid out a plan— everyone present would dress as scarecrows. Not simple ones, but frightening and awful ones. Disgusting and hideous ones. They’d travel to Sioux Falls and do as much damage as they could. With pitchforks, scythes, and guns. They’d show the people of Sioux Falls they needed to fear the folk who lived out in the country.

The sky was black the following night. There was no moon. Bast met with all his followers in front of Baum's Bazaar. Though each used only simple material to make their costumes - old clothing that’d turned to rags, coarse twine, burlap sacks - each person appeared unique and haunting in their own ways. Some had stuffed themselves with hay to give extra girth. Others painted nightmarish eyes and smiles  on their burlap faces.

They didn’t get far out of Granger. The Sheriff had blocked the road. Said he’d go easy on them all if they turned around and went back to their homes. Everyone could forget this whole thing. For a moment, the scarecrows considered the sheriff’s offer, thought maybe they were going too far based on too little information. 

 But a low static hiss rumbled from the sheriff’s radio. Bast tilted his head like a dog trying to make sense of human words. Then a high-pitched, unnatural squelch burst from the machine, causing it to explode. Bast laughed.

He stabbed The Sheriff through the torso with his pitchfork and carried the law man off to the side of the road. Bast threw The Sheriff onto the soil.

“Your radio,” Bast said to the dying man, “Your radio defies you. Says we ought to move on with our plan.”

“It’s just noise, Bast. Loud, angry noise,” The Sheriff said. 

But Bast could no longer make sense of The Sheriff’s words. They were distorted to him like radio static. Bast stabbed The Sheriff through his throat to stop the noise he made.

The convoy continued down the road into Sioux Falls. Over the next several hours, tens of thousands of dollars of destruction was done to the city. Businesses were broken into, cars destroyed, citizens of Sioux Falls attacked. Some killed.

Several of the Granger Scarecrows were shot in the street— by law enforcement and by citizens. The rest though… As the sun rose in Sioux Falls, beams of light hit the scarecrows, hit the people of Granger that Bast had convinced to come with him on this mission, they all froze in place. Stranger still, law enforcement found no evidence that these scarecrows were costumes with living, breathing people inside, but were simply sacks filled with hay. No different than any other scarecrow in the middle of a cornfield. Some speculated this was a trick Bast and his followers played. That they’d left behind actual scarecrows after they ran away from the city. But Bast and his group were nowhere to be found back in Granger. 

The scarecrows were placed in an evidence locker until something further could be determined about what happened to Bast and the others from Granger.

A month later, when the night sky was without moon, the scarecrows disappeared from police storage.

Ever since that night, across the country, cities have reported invasions of scarecrows. Ones that attack on dark, moonless nights and disappear before the first beam of sunlight. Know this though, a warning sign always precedes them. On the night of a new moon, turn your radio on and tune it to empty static. If it squelches. If it makes inhuman, angry noises, then you should prepare yourselves. Your city is in danger that night. But do not listen too long to the radio signal you find… or it may convince you to join Bast and his cohorts. Listen too long and no human words will be able to talk you out of it.

This has been Today In Odd America. And now back to our main show.

ACT II

TIOA music fades out.

RYDER

And we're back. My sister Professor Amelia Ryder at Ravenswood University is on the line with us.

AMELIA

Hello, Malcolm. It's been awhile since you've had me on your show.

RYDER

The last time you were on things got a bit heated.

AMELIA

The time before that too, from what I recall.

RYDER

You put forward The Three Twins Conjecture. It's one of the least credible theories of supernatural metaphysics.

AMELIA

(defensive)

I didn't put it forward. I merely stated that it was possible.

RYDER

Possible, but no serious scholar holds that view.

AMELIA

There was one very serious scholar who held that view, but he's dead now.

RYDER

There's no reason to bring up Duncan, Amelia.

AMELIA

It's partly why I came on your show tonight, actually.

A beat.

AMELIA

I went back to the lake house.

2.

RYDER

That's incredibly reckless.

Malcolm takes a breath.

RYDER

For listeners' context, the lake house in question is The Holloway Lakehouse. A ridiculous estate built during the gilded age once occupied during the summers by Nicholas and Zelda Holloway before their tragic deaths. Along with their children Julian...

AMELIA

And Miranda.

RYDER

You went looking for her?

AMELIA

I had to.

RYDER

I strongly disagree.

AMELIA

If Julian's back-

RYDER

(interrupts)

That means nothing. His return in no way means she has returned. That she can return. Amelia, I'm sorry, but-

AMELIA

(interrupts)

You don't get to decide when, and if, I move on.

A beat.

AMELIA

If she's gone, truly gone, then where's her body? And why can't you tell me what happened that night?

RYDER

Amelia, we've been over this a thousand times-

3.

AMELIA

(interrupts)

And never once have you been able to answer my questions.

Malcolm sighs.

RYDER

This is not something I wanted to talk about publically.

AMELIA

Then you should have answered my questions better privately.

RYDER

I've told you everything I remember about that night.

AMELIA

You've told me everything except what I need to know: Where is Miranda?

A beat.

RYDER

I don't remember. I'm sorry that's not enough, but-

AMELIA

(interrupts)

If you two hadn't conspired against me she would-

RYDER

(interrupts)

Conspired against you? We protected you because of how much we care about you.

A beat.

RYDER

If we're having this conversation, and we are, then I at least want to make sure anyone listening can follow what we're saying. That they understand why I did what I did.

AMELIA

Say whatever you need.

4.

RYDER

Over a decade ago The Traveling Salesman was destroying towns across the country. People were disappearing in numbers and ways they never had before. He had to be dealt with before he brought this country to ruin.

AMELIA

Grandpa Duncan called us all together. All to the island.

RYDER

He did. At his request, the best scholars at Ravenswood searched for anything that might stop Julian. Charlotte Price, the most powerful oneironaut of our generation, convinced those like her, with a supernatural gift who'd been trained at Ravenswood, to join the cause.

AMELIA

I was at that initial meeting of "The Ravenswood Conspiracy" or whatever Grandpa Duncan labeled it. And several after. I thought I was part of the conspiracy...

RYDER

You were a vital part.

AMELIA

Five months after that first meeting, I had a nightmare. I was in bed, and Miranda appeared before me out of nowhere. Holding herself. She was soaked in blood. And in terrible pain. I asked her what was wrong. She looked at me and said: "Malcolm. Lake house." After those words, she vanished.

A beat.

AMELIA

I tried calling you. You didn't answer. I tried Miranda. I wanted to see if I'd just had a bad dream. She didn't answer. I tried Grandpa Duncan. No answer. Dying, disappeared, and dead.

That's what you all were. I didn't know it at the time, but you were bleeding to death at the lake house, Miranda had vanished, and Grandpa Duncan was already dead.

5.

RYDER

Amelia, I'm sorry. I know that night was traumatic. But I feel you-

AMELIA

(interrupts)

I found you in a pool of your own blood, the life drained from your face. Next to the corpse of our grandfather, who'd practically raised me. And spread throughout the rest of the estate were a dozen more bodies. People from the university I knew and loved like family. You brought them, you brought Miranda, all there to die that night. But you didn't bring me.

RYDER

Because we wanted you to survive. Miranda and I made that call together. You, Charlotte, and a handful of others had to be excluded from the confrontation at the lake house in case we failed. Charlotte knew our plan. She would have-

AMELIA

(interrupts)

-What? Helped me bury you?

RYDER

Four people fell dead the moment Julian materialized. Two more were dead with the wave of his hand. Duncan shot him once with the revolver used to kill the Veiled Prince of Saint Louis. If it could kill one dark and immortal being- why not another? But Duncan only grazed him. Barely caused Julian to flinch. Duncan was dead before he could take a second shot. If you'd been there, you would have been killed too.

Both of us would be dead now. There's no alternative to that reality.

6.

AMELIA

(confused)

There were three bullets fired from the revolver. And it was in your hand. I know. I took it from you. I still carry it with me in case I ever see Julian.

RYDER

Julian slammed me against the wall. Broke my ribs. Punctured one of my lungs. But he threw me next to Duncan's body. I grabbed the revolver. As Julian came close, to kill me, I fired. That's all I remember. I woke up three days later in a hospital with you next to me. Amelia, I've told you all this before. Dozens of times. Miranda's role in that night was to lure Julian there and then perform a ritual to trap him. To bind him so he couldn't travel away. In the chaos of it all, I have no idea what happened to her.

AMELIA

I just need to know... If Julian's back... if she's out there somewhere, and I'm not looking for her... what does that say about how much I love her if I don't look for her?

RYDER

Did I tell you what I did a year ago on June 8th? I'm not sure that I did.

AMELIA

June 8th?

A beat.

AMELIA

Your 603 day. I'm sorry, I almost forgot.

7.

RYDER

It's all right. I don't like to talk about it. But a year ago, I read a rumor online. A single forum post with no corroboration saying that if you went to the border of New Hampshire, spent the night there when you'd normally receive your 603 call... you'd dream of the person you're missing.

A beat.

AMELIA

Did you dream of her?

RYDER

I did. But I don't know if I spoke to her in a dream. Or if only dreamed of speaking to her. But that's not even the point of sharing this. I meant to say is, I understand why you have to keep looking. I support you. Just please don't go back to the lakehouse. At least not alone.

AMELIA

I don't have any intentions to. Nothing had changed. I don't think anyone has been there in years. Possibly since that night. But I won't stop looking for Miranda. If Julian's back, she has to be.

RYDER

And I hope you find her.

A beat.

RYDER

Well that was not what I expected us to get into tonight. Before we go, do you have any final words?

AMELIA

Miranda, if you can hear this... please know that I love you. I don't know where you are, but I'll do everything I can to find you.

8.

RYDER

And we'll end things there. Next time, if you're experiencing any supernatural, paranormal, or otherworldly problems be sure to call in, next time on: A Voice From Darkness.

AVFD OUTRO THEME

[youarejesting]

Forever (finale)

Rating: Teen and Up Genre: Mystery, Romance, Drama, Action, Angst, Paranormal. Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Summary: In Bightville there is never any nonsense, the scariest thing one might face is tripping at the roller-disco. But, when you move to the small town, crazy things start to happen. Suddenly people are going missing without any leads. It’s when your neighbor Seokjin goes missing that things get serious because now his friends suspect you!

Announcement: It’s the end and oh my gosh I love it...

[First] [Previous] [Masterlist] [The End]

“It’s been decided Jungkook and Jimin will head out quietly and try to find this opening, they will radio back if they find it, and then we will head out in teams of two” Seokjin sighed the man was looking tired the days in the spirit world was causing him to look more tired and withered.

“Wait so some of us have to wait here alone?” Hoseok said concerned he didn’t want to be one of the last, he would definitely be one of the members of the second team.

“We can’t all go at once there would be a higher chance of us being spotted and I don’t think we are all wanting to fight one of those things” Namjoon explained and they nodded.

The two boys got dressed holding their makeshift weapons and headed out walkie talkie in hand, their instructions to only use it when necessary. They moved quickly and quietly down the hall until they turned down the stairs out of sight. The group waited.

Half an hour passed and you sat in the corner laying your head back against the wall, something about this place sucked the warmth from your form. Yoongi slid down the wall pressing his side against yours to keep you warm.

You all almost ran out of hope when Namjoon spoke up, “there isn’t much we can do, until we hear back from them”

“What if we don’t?”

“Then we send another two out to find them or the exit”

“I hate this plan?” Taehyung muttered scuffing his foot through the dirt

“It’s the only plan we have?” Seokjin offered using his calm voice in an authoritative manner. 

“Hey we found it, we are here?” a voice called over static “you need to get around the side of the house and into the cellar the doors are open and you take the stairs down and head through the web. 

“Alright” Seokjin said “Namjoon and I will head out next, Namjoon will need to be careful so we will give him as much time as he needs to get through that web. I will wait near the entrance for the next teams to come along until we are all out”

The next too left and it was barely fifteen minutes before Taehung and Hoseok left kind of rushed. 

That left you and Yoongi with Johnny who looked down at his leg wrapped firmly around a broken table leg. 

“It might be easier to go without me” he scoffed

“Not like anyone really missed me anyway, the hardly even know me”

“You’re Johnny, you play the piano we had the same piano teacher, remember and you can draw really well” Yoongi scoffed “your family is worried and the school has been trying to find out where you went”

“We should get ready to go” Yoongi said helping you up off the ground. He handed you his jacket and you smiled at how his scent lingered in the fabric enjoying the calming effect it had on you. He took the two lapels and slowly zipped them together.

You two grinned helping Johnny to his feet and it was a slow process of traveling through the school and the streets towards your house. It was hard but you were keeping out of sight and traveling. They see the other group moving and Seokjin in the distance signalling for them to wait as Hoseok and Taehyung head through. 

In their haste Hoseok tripped over your younger snot nosed brothers bike -the very same you stressed he clean up every day- bumping the web the two boys race through the web.

You knew they were coming and in a split second you three ran across the lawn, racing your best through the web with Seokjin helping Johnny through in front of you. You could hear them coming, the hands of the boys in the real world reaching out to pull you through the burrow between the worlds. When you felt something grab the jacket, your name softly spoken you turned to see Yoongi. He gave you a forlorn look and he pressed his lips to yours. He kissed you hard and pushed you into the arms. Running from the webs and the siren on the walkie talkie blaring as he ran further away.

The hands were pulling you through the portal and you were a mess of tears struggling, unable to see, you finally found the perfect guy, he didn’t expect you to fit the norms as he definitely didn’t fit them either. 

You were in the basement of your home unable to see as everything was burned with tears, Yoongi’s voice came over the walkie talkie in a pant, he was running still alive, still fighting, “Y/n, did you get through?”

You sobbed scrambling across the floor to get the walkie talkie “I am okay, where are you, you have to come through. You have to get back here and come through -”

“They are filling the web, I don’t know how long we have ?” Jungkook said keeping this end of the web firmly pressed shut clawed arms busting through

“Shut it down” Yoongi said calmly over the radio “I am surrounded”

“No, I will go back in and fight them off” You hissed, the ache in your chest burning and tight making it hard to breathe “You promised”

“I’m sorry” He whispered

“You promised, we were going to see kingkong, you promised” the words were barely legible but he understood.

“I did promise, but maybe some other time love,” He took a shaky breath, “shut it down kook”

They ripped apart the objects around the crawl space in the wall effectively ripping apart the connection between the two worlds.

You were all found in the basement crying, your parents were confused and the police were called, you were all interrogated and you explained everything as it happened sparing no detail on the abnormal. That night you were inconsolable, crying in your bed, the jacket clutched in your hands the words ‘It’s okay not to be okay’, breaking you more.

The police wrote it off as drugs and judging from the injuries and the extensive amounts of mud and dirt on their clothes they assumed the group had ventured into the woods. For some cult business. It took a week before the investigation was called off, they found Yoongi’s boot on the edge of the river and called it an accidental drug related death.

The funeral for Yoongi was small, his parents weren’t upset rather annoyed, you heard them in the next room blaming him. “If he didn’t die, I wouldn’t be here” His father frowned

“I don’t know how he lasted this long,” his older sister hissed

“Can you believe they want me to pay $1,000 for his funeral, he doesn’t even have a body,” His father sighed

“Be thankful he was dumb enough to die in the river, otherwise you would be paying more” His sister called

“Where is that bastards mother?” He sighed “Why am I paying for him, I haven’t even seen him since we split, and yet here I am the one having to pay”

Biting your lip, you were grabbed by Namjoon who lead you out to Yoongi’s car, “we took some stuff from his house, before his family could throw it away and um, if there is anything you like please feel free to take it.”

You found a few shirts and jackets with some slogans that made you feel like he was still supporting you even when he wasn’t here. But it was when you came across a collection of cassettes that you pause in confusion, Jimin laughed. “Yoongi has a tendency to write songs about everyone he meets,”

You watched him fondly touch the cassette with his name on it, you pulled out one with your name on it. The letters written in such unique handwriting that was very yoongi, laid back but simple. Jimin pulled out another titled ‘a night with her and the boys’. “Try this one too, it might be good”

You took his recording system in hopes you could listen to his work in your home and feel that connection with him. Heading straight up to your room ignoring all distractions. Setting up the machine you began by slipping in the cassette and placing on the headphones.

It was beautiful, the sound was beautiful and the song spoke of your beauty, but when the chorus hit, the drums, guitar and synth came in and he spoke about your personality. You were laughing, he summed you up so well, you felt your heart swell in the last line. 

What a bitch.

She’s hot and she knows it.

And I can’t stop thinking about her.

It had you in stitches. You switched the song over to ‘a night with her and the boys’ and you couldn’t help but cry, he told a story about noticing you and the feelings you were trying to hide. He sang about you coming clean of your emotions, said he would protect you even though you didn’t need it, that he wanted to hold you because you looked so cold.

The song ended but there was more space left on the tape, you listened for thirty seconds but their didn’t seem to be anything on it. You took the small microphone and spoke into the machine, “I don’t know um how this works, but I love you” Turning it off you went to the shower, when you came back it was running, the tape had reached the end. Rewinding it you played it through, again while finding something to wear to bed.

When the song reached the end, you had finally found a warm set of pajama pants that you matched with one of yoongi’s shirts. You buried your face in the collar breathing in the scent, you went to turn of the machine which was whirring. “I don’t know um how this works, but I love you”.

You were embarrassed quickly rushing to turn it off, “God I am so embarrassing,”

“It’s so nice to hear your voice, I love you too, are you doing alright?”

[First] [Previous] [Masterlist] [The End]

Tags: @valmyarmy​​​​​ @knjkitten​​​​​​ @jooniesdimples70307 @rosita7703​​​​​

How to read/receive notifications later?

Follow my account and turn on the Notifications.

Add your username to the Taglist [HERE]

Reblog the story with a hashtag you will remember like #BTSDisco

Like this masterlist and try to find it later GoodLuck!

[atmilliways]

On the 1st day of Dethmas this writer gives to thee...

Dec 13 - Your favorite holiday tradition... Dethklok style

My mom has these static cling decals in traditional greens and red, and every year I am in charge of using them to decorate the bathroom mirror. At some point ages ago I got bored with doing plain ol’ wreaths all the time. Sometimes I spell out Happy Holidays, sometimes I make green presents with red bows, sometimes it's a garland draped across the mirror, etc. I don't even live there anymore, and she still goes spare if I don't do it.

I just spent an hour trying to find an example picture and failed, so (Facebones voice) use your fuckin’ imaginatiooooooooooooooooon. ... Roll it!

(Oh yeah, and I’m doing a different pairing for each fic this challenge, no repeats. This one is Nategaar.)

~

We Two Kings

~

One trip back to Nathan’s parents’ place for Christmas. That’s all it takes to break Skwisgaar’s long tradition of not bothering to get presents for anyone he’s sleeping with. As soon as they get back, he marches into their manager’s office. 

“You gots to finds this things for me,” he says imperiously, dropping something flat and green on Offdensen’s desk. “Buts in blacks and silvers. Ands with the little red dots whats ams berries.”

Offdensen picks it up gingerly between thumb and forefinger as though he’s concerned it might be some sort of used condom. (He’s only been working for the band a few months now, but it wouldn’t be the first time.) “What, ah, is this exactly?”

“Ams ones of those things for ams puttings on a mirrors.” Skwisgaar fishes around in his back pocket and produces a somewhat bent polaroid, dropping it on the desk next to the green slip of plastic shaped like a cartoon holly leaf. In the picture, two different shades of green leaves make up a Christmas wreath on the mirror, dotted with red berries, all clearly captured by Rose Explosion using an old Sun 660 Autofocus. “Nathans makes this at his parents’ house. Different stuffs every years, never repeats hims-self.”

The photo is given due consideration as well. Offdensen glances up over the edge of his glasses. “And you want to. . . .”

“Wants to haves them for the new house we ams have built,” Skwisgaar confirms. He’s not particularly thinking about why all this feels so important or what that might mean about what was supposed to just be a casual fling. “For next years, whats he can does it at homes, too. Onlies gets more and haves a big fucks-off mirror ins the livings room for thems.”

“I’ll let the contractors know to add it to the plans.”

“Goods.” Skwisgaar starts to leave, but pauses at the door. “And don’t tells no ones. Ams a surprise.”

And the surprise goes pretty well. A few weeks before the next Christmas Skwisgaar takes the almost man-sized box, scrapes the shipping labels off, wraps it (poorly), and leaves it in front of Nathan’s bedroom door. He doesn’t leave a tag saying who it’s from and Nathan never asks, but the guy has to have an idea who it’s from. Who else would know to do this?

A few days later, the living room mirror in the newly christened Mordhaus is decorated with a giant silver skull made out of cartoon holly leaves. It’s layered over the black ones to give the illusions of lines and holes, with a glimmer of red berries sprinkled deep within the eye sockets. Up close it’s crude and a little weird, but from a distance it looks fucking cool. It gives Skwisgaar an unfamiliar warm feeling in his chest to know that he’d helped make that possible. 

The year after that, it’s a crow in flight with a silver fish in its beak, dripping with blood. The year after that, it’s a black and silver present with blood seeping through one corner and a red tag that reads “FROM SATAN.” Between that and the following year’s spider wearing a Santa hat, that’s about as Christmas-y as it ever gets. The rest of the guys think it’s cool but don’t pay enough attention to realize it’s their own bandmate who does it every year. 

Fast forward about a decade. 

It’s well after 4am, early in December. Skwisgaar is lounging on the couch nearest to the mirror, idly playing guitar while Nathan works with his static cling decals and, occasionally, a step stool. Every once in a while the hulking frontman paces around the room to examine his work from different angles and distances, scratch his head, and drink absentmindedly from his current beer bottle. It’s the same brand his dad keeps in the fridge back in Florida. (That one isn’t Skwisgaar’s doing, Nathan arranges for that all on his own every year.)

Just like the unacknowledged understanding that Skwisgaar gave him this new tradition to look forward to, there’s an unspoken rule that Skwisgaar doesn’t look until he’s done. Relationships, it turns out, are mostly a matter of paths trodden so deep into you that you follow them without having to think about it, and it feels good. Comfortable, even. 

Eventually Nathan thumps down on the couch next to him. Skwisgaar stops his absentminded fretting to put the guitar to one side and stretch, getting a few satisfying little pops out of his spine. From the looks of it out the windows, dawn isn’t all that long off. “All dones?”

“I think so,” Nathan grumbles. “I can’t get the fucking lines smooth enough, but whatever.”

“I’s shores it am fines, Misters Porflect,” he replies, and accepts the half finished beer that Nathan hands him. Their fingers brush, and Skwisgaar impulsively transfers the beer to his other hand so he can tangle them together. He’s not particularly thinking about what this impulse might mean about what was supposed to just be a casual fling over ten years ago now, but has endured into . . . something else. “Can I sees it now?”

Nathan seems surprisingly ambivalent; usually he demands that Skwisgaar look and give his opinion immediately upon completion, pressing and wringing to try and get constructive criticism even though they both know he doesn’t always take that the best. This time he just shrugs and says, “Sure, I guess you can, if you want,” with so much forced casualness it’s like he slathered it on with a trowel. Puzzled, Skwisgaar stands and tugs for the other man to come with him as he starts to turn—

His jaw drops as soon as he sees what Nathan has spent the last several hours working on with meticulous attention to detail and laser-like focus. 

“That. Ams mine face,” he says wonderingly, dropping Nathan’s hand and drifting in for a closer look. 

Despite the complaint a moment ago, there aren’t really lines. The entire piece is roughly as tall as he is and mostly silver overlaid with black, like looking at the negative of a photograph. It’s not particularly detailed, but Nathan has captured the contours of his face in black shapes. Eyes, nose, cheekbones, mouth, jaw . . .  even the hollow of his throat, all framed by dark waves of the hair that always hangs down in front of his shoulders. 

Nathan comes up behind him while he stares, taking the beer back before he has a chance to accidentally drop it, and Skwisgaar rocks back on the heels of his boots and leans against him. “I can’ts believes you dids this. . . .”

“Yeah, well.” He can feel Nathan shrug, and the rumbling in his chest when he speaks. “I didn’t want to do a stupid Christmas tree, and I couldn’t think of anything else.” More of that forced casualness. “It’s not really a big deal, I’m gonna do one of us each year for a while so those other assholes can’t bitch too much about being left out. But . . . yeah. I started with you. What do you think, any good?”

“Ja, goods,” Skwisgaar manages against the sudden big gay lump in his throat. 

He’d been facing away from Nathan the whole time he’d been working on this; it was done from memory. Nathan has memorized his face. And this is a guy who, rather than just imagining he’s singing in armor just to make an album more brutal, actually commissioned a full suit of armor to be made for himself on the grounds that just picturing stuff when you could actually have it was for pussies. 

Fuck. Holiday bullshit hadn’t ever gotten to him before, but he’d made that one, tiny no-gift exception and that had opened the floodgates, hadn’t it? This big lug with his once-a-year art projects has a piece of his heart . . . and now seems to be holding out a piece of his own. 

Skwisgaar turns. It feels like he’s moving in slow motion and his tongue is weighted and heavy with words he has no practice and probably no right to say out loud. So he doesn’t say anything, just winds his long fingers into Nathan’s hair and kisses him like there’s no fucking tomorrow. They’ve been together for so long, that’s all he really needs to do to tell the man I love you back, I love you too. 

It’s going to be a brutally amazing Christmas this year.

[thesunlounge]

Reviews 378: Fareed / Bunzinelli

I first visited the esoteric world of Chambre Noire back in 2019, when the radio show and mix series made the transition to record label with the release of Puma & the Dolphin’s Primitive EP (see my review here). Following this, the label turned its sights on the work of VЯOMB, a cult artist who has been operating for decades in Quebec’s experimental underground. Though I regretfully didn’t find time to review the Origami 12” last year, I’ll take space here to mention that across the release, VЯOMB mangles and mutates textures of warehouse rave and acid techno into expanses of alien industrial madness, and twists, bends, and contorts an array of sci-fi sound structures into ever-evolving displays of electro-acoustic intensity. As for Chambre Noire’s third outing CN003—which is the focus of this piece—the label changed its approach toward limited intimacy by dropping a small-press lathe cut 10”. The A-side of this release is given over to Fareed (aka Benoit Legrain), who whips up a fried and frenzied slab of techno tribalism, wherein sub-bass pressure waves and stuttering club drums anchor hip-house vocal cut ups and layers of polyrhythmic madness. And splitting the release with Fareed is Peter Bunzinelli, the person behind Chambre Noire and a name readers of this blog should be well familiar with, for I’ve also discussed his work in the context of the amazing _Montreal Pleiades _mini-comp on Cosmic Tones, and his La Foresta Segreta b​/​w The Five Tibetans 7”. Here on the B-side of CN003, Bunzinelli throws down a slab of breakbeat rave sorcery, though rather than employ euphoric melodies, trance-like atmospherics, or liquid acid lines, he instead shrouds the rhythms in unintelligible radio transmissions and layers of demented noise, dissonant distortion, and caustic drone.

Fareed / Bunzinelli - CN003 (Chambre Noire, 2020) Fareed’s “Nord” begins with hypnotizing feminine vocal cut ups and industrial beats rolling through static. A massive kick drum enters—as do hand drums and energetic cymbal phrases—and the whole thing beings taking on the feel of a tribal dancefloor stomp. Beats momentarily pull away as a panorama of metals moves across the spectrum, and as we barrel back down into the groove, stormfronts of pounding sub bass beat against the body while the lysergic hip hop vocal samples are further cut-up and pushed towards abstraction. Entrancing displays of metallic percussion move in and out of the mix and hand drums work through ever-evolving polyrhythms while double-time cymbal patterns pulse at lightspeed.  At some point the whole spectrum filters through a white noise wormhole before slamming back towards rainforest techno ceremonialism, and as bursts of computronic noise pan side-to-side, the rolling polyrhythms grow ever more manic and intense. Whooshing engines rev up and down in pitch before the mix reduces to metalloid clatter, and as the ritualized rhythm storms return—bringing with it subsonic basslines that threaten to cave in the chest—an infinitude of drum rolls spreads out in every direction…as if crazed shamanic beings in uncountable numbers are beating forest drums and sheets of steel at inhuman speeds. It all comes together as a strange merging of hip house modernism and militant techno tribalism, wherein chopped hip hop vocal flows are repurposed as ecstatic chants amidst an ever-morphing ritual of sub bass physicality and hyperkinetic drum psychedelia. And as the track comes to a close, everything cuts way, leaving rusted scraps, corroded wind chimes, and hollowed stones to blow in a gentle wind.

Bunzinelli’s “Metagryne Bicolumnata” comes to life on a vintage breakbeat bounce, with granular filtering and old skool artifacts obscuring the decade of origin. A mutating rave bassline enters…this incredible subsonic slide the gets the body jacking…and after a hard hitting snare pattern drops, further layers of mesmeric percussive detritus flow into the stereo field. While the breaks continue slamming, Bunzinelli conjures up strange alien soundscapes—as mutating clouds of metallic ether obscure garbled satellite broadcasts and decaying radiowave transmissions—and later, as the kick drops away, tribal-tinged snare and cymbal pyrotechnics work the mind while the body continues vibing on that hypno-slide bass groove. When the bass drum returns, masculine vocal samples are cut up into trance-like tracers, though any sense of euphoria is soon blasted away by demonic clouds of scraping distortion…the effect like some sort of deranged noise rock guitar performance crashing against a b-boy breakdance rhythm track. Percussive elements continue adding and subtracting to the mix while morphing and mutating, wavefronts of sonic terrorism merge together with chemical clouds of screaming drone, and as the song progresses, the vibes of throwback 90s revivalism are increasingly subverted, so that what began as a body-popping break track instead reveals itself as something quite experimental. Towards the end, stretches are given over to rhythmic ecstasy, with beats accented by chopping vocal sequences and psychosomatic dub fx growing ever more fried and freaky. And as quick as the song began, it all cuts away in a flash.

(images from my personal copy)

[jimmymcgools]

Kim and Jimmy going to Jimmy's place after the disasterous Christmas party to Jimmy asking Kim what they are in chapt 15 for the ask meme we are refusing to let die.

♥️♥️♥️ i saved this one for last so that they’d be in chronological order!! 

fic commentary meme and my answers

if anyone else still has any scenes or moments from my fic they’d like commentary on, let me know! ❤️i love answering these so much. 

Kim’s music sounds discordant tonight, the lyrics inaudible and the guitars harsh and jangled.

jimmy voice: some sorta dang shoegaze yet again!!!

He can feel the white hot anger beneath his skin, and he wonders if Kim can feel it too, burning through his shirt.

a little angry subversion of the wording at the end of chapter 7 when he thinks about kim feeling his heartbeat through his skin outside the dog house. 

He thinks he can sense her breath on his shoulder, thinks he can sense the presence of her behind him like a weight in the space. 

“weight in the space” is an odd turn of phrase, but it’s another tonally-different return of something jimmy’s thought before. here it’s the “He can feel Kim beside him even though he’s not touching her, a weight and a warmth to his right.” from beginning and end of chapter 10. 

Kim strokes her thumb back and forth again, up and down over the curve of his lower back, the movement making a soft noises on the fabric.

and we’re back at our old kim-using-sex-instead-of-talking thing here. 

i mentioned it in an earlier answer but i had a few reasons for why kim does this here -- the first is just that part of her has always been attracted to that darkness in jimmy, and right now she’s gonna let that part have what it wants. and there’s the other selfish layer to it, which is the idea of her almost using him here, just to prove to herself and the imaginary ghosts of those HHM associates that she’s not like them. 

but i also didn’t want this scene to be completely devoid of the love/care they both feel, so it is also her trying to offer jimmy what she thinks he needs. what she thinks he needs.

they’re both angry, mostly at the world and at other people, though certainly part of jimmy’s anger is directed at kim. i don’t think he’s consciously taking it out on her in this scene, but there’s a definite lack of warmth and connection here, a kind of resentment that after all this time and waiting THIS is how and when she decides to cross the line in the sand. fuck if he isn’t going to take what she’s offering, but there’s a kind of gross entitlement there in his thoughts that kim somehow owes him sex. 

Kim stares up at him intensely, eyes boring into his. She’s so close he can see the flecks of white in the blue of her irises again—the streaked, paintbrush clouds.

our old friends the abq paintbrush clouds. i always picture this look as the one she gives him in 4x09 after their argument. 

“You okay?” Kim asks, moving to kneel beside him, her brows folded with concern.

again wanting to make sure this scene didn’t become so cold and angry that there was no care or concern between them.

He opens his eyes and stares at her and he thinks—you never met this guy, Kim. You wouldn’t like this guy.

She trails a hand lazily over his stomach, back and forth, stoking him, studying him right back. After a while, she pulls her hand away, and just kneels there, staring at him. 

kim does this a couple of times in the scene, where she just waits, offering herself to jimmy. well, offering herself to him physically, at least. 

Kim lifts her palm to his cheek and holds him like that for a moment, scrutinizing him. He thinks she must be looking for something. He doesn’t know what to show her. He breathes out harshly through his nose.  “Fuck them,” she says, crisp and precise

i always thought of this as kim looking for her own feelings in jimmy again, looking for that rage. i dont think she’s looking to see care/love in his eyes in this moment. she’s looking for an affirmation of her own anger, her own choice of side here. 

and then her dialogue -- there was no “them” involved in the dynamic when these two slept together previously. they’re each in some way using this sex to express how they feel about everyone else at the christmas party, not how they feel about each other. so that’s the fundamental lack of connection, i think. and they’re certainly less connected afterwards, especially if you think about how they were in the phone call or the playful flirting in the parking garage. 

He rubs his palms up the side of her thighs and over her waist, pausing to dig his thumbs into the little dips of her bone for a moment.  Kim hisses into his mouth and he laughs, pressing his thumbs down tighter.

they both know from last chapter this is where kim had bruises last time. but it’s kind of cruel here. i think this is the only time either of them laugh in the scene, and it didn’t feel like a very nice laugh when i wrote it. 

“Shh,” Kim says against his mouth

again denying connection -- she shushes him a few times. very different from white sands.

The water makes a steady hiss, and he can see the shape of her moving behind the frosted glass.

jimmy looking at obscured shapes/patterns yet again. here it’s kim who’s the world-on-high he wants to belong in but he can’t understand. it’s also (“the shape of her”) dehumanising her a bit, leading into: 

“Listen, I’m okay with it,” he says sharply, and the figure in the shower stills again. Something simmers in him, pushing the next words to the surface: “But what are we doing here, Kim?” More silence, and he can't stop himself now. “You just wanna fuck every now and then and otherwise forget about it?”

and he’s the entitlement again. this is just so horrible from jimmy. kim at her most vulnerable, basically cornered. has anything good ever followed someone saying “Listen,”? i dont think so. jimmy’s here is obviously a blatant lie, and kind of manipulative, too. 

It sounds like static. Like a dead channel. 

“dead channel” i took from neuromancer: “The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.” 

that simultaneous nothingness/everythingness of a dead channel seemed the perfect accidental answer to jimmy’s question. 

and also @the-parallax-of-rain​ killed me with her comment on this chapter, so let’s add it here too, for posterity. 1-800 emotional terrorism. 

I just love the thought of static so much, like how it's always there in the background and you never know it's there until you really pay attention. Like as I'm typing this, I just realized there's a static sound coming from the humidifier (it's super dry here lol), and also the background humming of my laptop...and the idea that this is the way that Kim might perceive - or might have to perceive - their relationship as kind of on the backburner, either because she doesn't know what she wants yet or because she's too busy with school

When she does, he drapes an arm over her, and she pushes her back against him and reaches for his thigh, pulling his legs up to fold closely behind hers. Jimmy stares into the curve of her shoulders and watches her breathe. 

and they’re finally connected again physically, but emotionally distant. felt very “something stupid” to me. i didn’t want this to feel warm at all.

i was so happy and relieved at the reception this chapter got when i published it ♥️♥️♥️ and it’s been awesome to work my way through it again with this commentary. 

again, if anyone still has scenes they’d like to hear thoughts on, drop me an ask! i live for it 🙏

[ghosttotheparty]

cotton candy skies always look better in person

4. also on AO3 chapter three

Lucas moved in weeks ago, and he still isn’t done decorating his room.

Really, he could be, he could say “I’m done,” at any second and the room would look finished, but he keeps adding to it, adding to the walls. All four of them: covered, almost completely. Photos and drawings, newspaper clips and cut out letters from magazines pasted over paper and photographs to make quotes he liked and quotes he’d made up. One reads “In case you ever foolishly forget.” It had been pasted on a paper next to a photo of him and Kes in his last room, but now it was surrounded by architecture sketches he did. Another reads “Respect your mother,” over a cutout of Earth from a National Geographic magazine. The walls are cluttered, photos overlapping, some of them almost completely covered, other, random things, like a deflated, wrinkly, yellow balloon from his fourteenth birthday party, and train tickets, causing clashes in colour that felt like tv static. But a calming static, to him. Like all the colours came together to form a visual white noise.

When his room is tidy it looks nicer. Like the mess on the walls in on purpose. (It was only partially. He wanted things on his walls but didn’t plan on it turning into this.) The contrast between the bare wood floor and the walls, scarcely a single spot left blank, looks nice. But usually, the floor is a mess too. Clothes strewn about, more colourful clothes than he wore in Utrecht, and sometimes tubes of paint scattered across the floor, along with a messy palette and brushes. He doesn’t sit at his desk to paint, using it to do schoolwork (unless he does it on his bed) and clearing it off to let his paintings dry somewhere he won’t have to worry about stepping on them.

His room almost always smells like paint now. Oil paint usually, the smell deep and dull, only noticeable when you’re in the room, contrasting from the high, sharp scent of nail polish, which his room smells like every Wednesday. He always opens a window when he does his nails.

He opens a window almost all the time, actually. He likes the fresh air, like the wind that will blow in. He has to put a box of paint behind his door though, as it swings open and shut with the wind. (That’s the only thing he doesn’t like about his new room. The latch on the door doesn’t work that well unless he locks it.) He likes opening the window at night especially, shutting it before he goes to bed. The night air is always cool on his face, and he holds his upper body out the window, closing his eyes and drinking in the air, listening, feeling, the night time city. Cars passing quietly in the distance, a lone bicyclist on the sidewalk below him, laughter from drunken friends, the nearly silent hum of the streetlights. The city is a different city at night.

Lucas loves exploring the Night City, loves how peaceful it is, how sleepy everything seems. At times, he feels like he’s the only one awake. It’s exhilarating.

Leaning out the window, he props himself up on his elbows and sighs, the air cold in his nose and lungs. He catches a whiff of the paint as the wind churns in his room. He shifts on his feet, closing his eyes. He could fall asleep right now. Won’t, but he could.

Moments like these are when he feels lonely, but a nice sort of lonely. A lonely where he feels alone but knows he isn’t really, knows he doesn’t have to be if he doesn’t want to. In another country, miles and miles away is his mom. (Who he talked to today. It was a nice conversation, she talked about how therapy is going so far and how kind her new nurse is.) And Noah. (Who he didn’t talk to today, but did talk to yesterday. It was over a video call and Lucas enjoyed watching him paint his nails. Noah told him about a museum he and Zoë went to on a date. Lucas told him about a great spot he’s found to take pictures of the sunset and promised to send some photos when he downloads them from his camera.) There’s also Kes, Isa, and Jayden, who he doesn’t talk to as much as he hoped to, but talks to about as much as he expected to. Little check-ins, “What have you been up to?” stuff like that. It wasn’t ideal, but it was still nice to hear from them. He’s also received videos of drunk Jayden and Kes, videos of them stumbling around, spilling whatever drink they’re holding, rambling about whatever it is. Kes has sent him a video of himself, in the darkness of night outside, nobody else around, yelling “I miss youuuuu!” the words slurring together. Of course, the video is now in Lucas’s camera roll.

Somewhere in the city, he has Jens. Who is really Lucas’s only friend in Antwerp, unless his cousin counts. Lucas supposes he and Jens are friends; they’re texting now, which Lucas loves. There’s a flutter in his stomach every time he gets a notification from him, the same flutter that he gets every time he looks at a picture of him. He’s learned a lot about Jens. That he’s a skater(when Lucas said he skates too Jens said “I’ll have to take you to my favourite spots,” and Lucas’s smiles grew so big he could barely see), that he plays the guitar (Which, of course , he does), that he likes greasy food. This last one he may have learned from Jens’s Instagram, which Lucas did ask for.

Lucas hears his phone vibrate from inside his room and opens his eyes slowly, letting them adjust, before straightening his back and turning into the room. The phone buzzes again as he reaches for it, and he picks it up, dropping himself on his bed, lifting it to read the messages. From Jens. The messages from Jens. At this time.

Hey You up?

Lucas feels like he just went over a drop on a rollercoaster. He wonders if responding right now would seem desperate, but responds anyway.

Always

Jens reads the message as soon as it’s sent, and maybe there is a glimmer of hope that Jens feels the same as Lucas. But then again, it is a little past one in the morning. Maybe he’s just bored. But then again if he is… he’s talking to Lucas. Sometimes the quarrel between the optimist and the cynic in his head is exhausting.

Can I call you?

Lucas smiles, a little excited.

Of course

He freezes, realising he doesn’t know whether Jens means a video or a voice call, but Jens is already calling him. Lucas sighs in relief when it’s not a video call, and answers.

“Hey.” “Hey.”

Jens’s voice is soft and Lucas can hear music on his end. It’s muffled like it’s playing from behind a closed door, and it’s loud and fast, with strong bass.

“Where are you?” Lucas asks.

“I’m, uhm… I’m at some party. My friend’s house.”

“Everything’s okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just… I don’t know, I got bored.” Jens’s words are slurring together slightly.

“So you called me?” Lucas smiles.

“Yeah, I- I like talking to you.”

His smile grows.

“I’m also, uhm…” Jens’s voice trails off and fades like he’s turning away from the phone. “Uhm, a little bit tipsy.” That explains it.

“I can hear that.”

“I can call you later if you want, when I’m not,” Jens says quickly, sounding apologetic.

“No, it’s okay, you’re fine.” Lucas doesn’t want to hang up. He likes this, Jens’s voice in his ear like he’s whispering to him. Like everything he says is a secret.

“Okay.”

Lucas hears Jens sigh.

“Where are you?” he asks.

“My friend’s house, I found an empty guest room.” Jens pauses. “There’s a bed but I’m laying on the floor.”

Lucas laughs.

“Comfortable?”

“Actually, yeah, really.”

Lucas gets up, holding the phone to his ear, and shuts his window before kneeling on the ground, moving a box of paint tubes out of the way and laying down. He groans softly as his back cracks, and then sighs, laying his down on the floor and looking up at the ceiling.

“Are you on the floor?” Jens asks after a second.

“Yeah. You’re right, this is nice.”

Jens giggles and Lucas grins.

“I’m just gonna pretend I’m lying next to you,” Jens says.

“Sounds good.” Lucas closes his eyes.

There’s a minute of silence, except the music on Jens’s end. Lucas thinks he could fall asleep, with the bass and Jens’s breath in his ear.

“Lucas?”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t think Jens’s are open either.

“Do you believe in God?”

Oh. That’s a heavy question. Of course, Lucas’s mom believes in God, believes wholeheartedly in God. But Lucas can’t say he does. He enjoys going to church, enjoys listening to the others pray and sing, likes the sense of community that it seems to create. But he always feels like he’s just humouring his mom.

“I like the idea of God,” he offers.

“Mm.”

“Why?”

“I think…” It sounds like Jens rolls over on the floor. “I think if God is real…” He sighs. It sounds like he’s falling asleep. “He was having a good day when he made you.”

Oh.

Lucas heart just about explodes, and he laughs,

“How much have you had to drink, exactly?”

“Mmm… not much.” The slurring in his voice betrays him.

“Mm-hmm.”

“A really good day.”

“That’s a good pick up line.”

“Mm,” Jens grunts, and says almost under his breath, “Why I said it.”

“I might have to use that.”

“On who?”

Lucas grins at the drunken jealousy in his voice.

“Don’t know. Maybe I’ll just Uno-reverse-card it and use it on you on Thursday.”

“Mm… okay.”

They both sigh at the same time and Lucas smiles.

He doesn’t know what time he falls asleep but it isn’t long after that. He ends up curled on his side, he knees pulled up so he’s in a ball, his arm tucked under his head with his phone so he can hear if Jens says anything else. He doesn’t. Lucas assumes he fell asleep before Lucas does.

Lucas falls asleep listening to him breath. Which he wouldn’t tell anyone, obviously. But he does, listening to the long inhale, the quick huff of the exhale.

By the time Lucas is asleep, their breaths have synced.