#will these tags get our artists record sales?

[magicthatmustbelove]

The First Moment Of Forever

A pre "Encino" short in which Michael and Althea first meet.

Note: It's been a while since I wrote a little blurb. I'm hoping this was successful in getting my creative juices flowing for a future "Encino" update. Also, we can't forget to wish our one and only King a happy heavenly birthday! 🎂

Link to original story: https://www.wattpad.com/story/291710565-encino-m-j

Althea's jaw could have dropped to the ground when the bus jerked to a stop. A halo of light caressed the tall, majestic building, causing the silver bricks to glitter like diamonds in the California sunlight. 

She'd only ever seen pictures of the Jacksounds Records building in magazines. Never once had Althea dreamed she'd one day be standing in front of it, the idea she'd soon be setting foot in it was even wilder. 

Her stomach churned with anxiety as she shuffled the bus, fellow passengers pushing past her as she stopped on the sidewalk to take in a deep breath. 

Althea finally knew how Dorothy felt when she arrived in Emerald City to see the Wizard. 

The Jacksounds internship was the most highly competitive and coveted internship Loyola Marymount had to offer its music students and Althea was over the moon when she discovered she'd been chosen as one of the five applicants to get the best musical education anyone could ask for.

Jacksounds had integrated black soul music into the mainstream in the ‘60s and '70s and crafted some of the greatest hits and biggest stars the country had seen. Joseph Jackson was the ebony Burt Bacharach, King Midas of R&B and Soul. Every melody he put his pen to turned to gold. He'd built his Empire with his bare hands and was now one of the first black millionaire CEOs. 

Anyone would be stupid not to jump at the opportunity.

Things had been tough on Althea when she returned to classes after taking a leave of absence to care for her grandmother who'd sadly succumbed to her diabetic coma but for the first time in a while, she felt on top of things.

Things were finally looking up and she was bursting with optimism that even Mary Tyler Moore and her tam-o'-shanter hat couldn’t compete with. 

The sales tag of the teal and maroon floral printed wrap dress she’d brought from the boutique she worked at scratched her back as she pushed through the building’s revolving glass doors. Althea knew she’d need to look as professional as possible for the internship but didn’t have the budget to keep any new clothes. 

She’d stood the entire bus ride, hoping not to have spills throughout the day. The twenty-dollar dress would have to be returned as if she’d never worn it. 

The lobby looked luxurious with marble floors, gold paneling, and cream furniture. Her eyes landed on the marquee boasting  Jacksounds suite and suddenly the imposter syndrome hit Althea. She was very much in the building that birthed the hits she’d danced in her living room to as a kid and a nagging voice in her head told her she didn’t belong. 

Althea closed her eyes, taking another deep breath as she pressed the elevator button. 

“Time to me make Granny proud,” she whispered to herself.

She resisted the urge to pick apart her appearance in the mirrored walls of the lift and instead, focused on tapping her foot to the jazzy rendition of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” playing over the intercom. When the doors finally opened, Althea was nearly blinded by a gold record of a Miracles hit hanging proudly on the walls, a dozen more trailing behind, each from an iconic black artist. 

The carpet was as red as the one at the Oscars, and she was almost afraid to imprint it with her pumps. A large, shiny mahogany desk was not far away, a hive of identical ones stretched the length of reception, each with a busy secretary perched behind it. 

“Excuse me,” she spoke timidly as she approached the desk. 

The gray wisp escaping the secretary’s bun and the antique pen necklace draped around her neck made Althea conclude she’d been working for Jacksounds for a long time. The chunky chocolate brown phone stayed glued to her ear with the support of her shoulder blade while her hands were occupied with a sharp nail file. 

She hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge Althea’s presence. 

“Excuse me,” She repeated, gently pressing her hands on the desk. “I’m an intern candidate. Could you show me where I’m supposed to report?”

The secretary stretched her hand out in front of her, inspecting the new oval shape of her nails as if  Althea had not uttered a word. 

“I tried to tell her,” The woman spoke loudly into the receiver. “If he lied about his height, he’ll lie about anything else,”

The young woman sighed, trying not to grow frustrated. She nervously glanced around the room, hoping that anyone would recognize her distress but she only seemed invisible. 

“Sure, the idea sounds a little far fetched but I know I can convince them to take us on,” 

Michael rolled his eyes before fixing his gaze out the conference room window as his older brother Jermaine arrogantly droned on about the company’s latest potential business deal. He often found these weekly business meetings with their father pointless and insufferable. Jermaine always monopolized the conversation, and any input Michael had to offer was ignored or stolen by the older brother. 

Joseph looked up from the document in front of him, his gaze falling to his distracted youngest son. Because he wanted his sons to stay abreast of the happenings in the family business, the CEO made an effort to include Michael.   

The youngest Jackson was far more creative than he was business-minded and Joseph admittedly preferred Jermaine’s gift of strategic business modeling than Michael’s talent and ear for music production. He'd trained the older son well and Joseph knew when his time on earth was up, the Jacksounds legacy would live on with Jermaine in charge.  

“Michael, do you have anything to add?”  He asked. 

The aforementioned son tore his gaze away from the view of the busy Encino street, his shapely brows furrowing in confusion. 

“Since when do we care what I think?” Michael questions sardonically while folding his arms. “Erms never lets anybody get in a word edgewise. Besides, that was my idea all along and he takes it and runs with it,” 

The elder Jackson brother leaned back in the plush leather chair with a facetious grin

“You pitched it but I perfected it,” Jermaine bragged. 

Michael rolled his eyes. 

“Shut up, Erms. You're not so original,” He scoffed and turned to Joseph. “Do I have to be here, anymore? This is a waste of my time,” 

Jermaine chuckled.

“It's not like you've got much to do,”  

The younger brother pushed himself from the glossy mahogany table, jaw clenched in anger.

“You're about to give me somethin’ to do alright,” Michael warned.

Joseph sighed heavily, too tired to endure his sons’ constant rivalry. 

“That’s enough. Let's adjourn. Jermaine, give me an update on this by Wednesday,” 

The older brother clicked his gold embossed pen close. 

“Sure thing, Joseph,” 

Deeply agitated, Michael stormed out of the conference room. Sometimes, he didn’t even know why he even bothered showing up at Jacksounds every day. He could easily live off his trust fund and spend his days trotting around the globe with a beautiful woman on each arm but Michael wanted something more fulfilling. 

Since a young child, he'd had a deep passion for music. While he'd never fully mastered an instrument, Michael was a savant at weaving sounds together. When he wasn’t perched behind the soundboard, he'd been sitting in on Joseph's meeting since he was fifteen and had trained himself to identify the qualities that created a bonafide star. 

Michael was just as capable and charismatic as Jermaine but Joseph had already decided which son would someday reign as CEO. 

“Hey, little brother,” Jermaine spoke, rushing to his brother's side to gloat. “Don't be so sore,” 

Michael rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. 

“Stay away from me, Jermaine,” He warned.

Jermaine chuckled. 

“Don't be silly, Mike. That kind of stuff is for executives. I mean, you have no idea how much pressure I'm under. Joseph's gettin up there in age and I've been taking the load off his back carrying this company by myself,”

The younger Jackson rolled his eyes as they entered the lobby. Michael stopped at the water cooler chuckling to himself. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe just how inflated Jermaine’s ego was. 

“You really believe your own shit, don't cha?” 

He snatched up a paper cup, his eyes wandering briefly around the office. They stopped briefly at his secretary’s desk before Michael’s gaze caught sight of something far more interesting. 

There at the front desk stood the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. 

Her skin was the color of silky, sweet caramel, her frame small but shapely, boasting delicate, deep curves, and a tiny waist held up by spectacular legs. The young woman's face held an agitated pout but was exquisitely sculpted with gorgeous cheekbones and darling brown eyes. Her hair had been piled into big soft curls, the fluorescent lights seemed to cast an angelic glow over her head. 

A rush of awe and allure quickened Michael’s pulse like a zap of lightning.  He'd seen plenty of beautiful women in Encino but no woman had ever stunned him the way this one had. 

She was a literal knockout in looks but there was also something so magnetic about her presence in the room. Suddenly, Michael wanted to know any and everything about her. 

In a bit of a daze, he shoved the paper cup in Jermaine's hand before slowly making his way across the room. 

Althea anxiously tapped her foot, an impatient sigh escaping her. From the corner of her eye, she could see a figure approaching.  She first noticed the dazzling white smile when she turned her attention. Althea had to take in a breath, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at the sight of the handsome young man coming toward her. 

His walk was smooth as butter, natural and relaxed yet oozing masculine energy. His spanku eyes were large and enchanting- the kind you can hardly look away from- and Althea truly couldn’t decide whether she adored his eyes or his smile more. The beauty of his face could only be described as being caringly whittled by the gods. 

Althea never believed in love at first sight but the chorus of bells and banjos was deafening.

The ball of anxiety sitting on her chest had been relieved thanks to the smile. That smile made her feel safe like nothing could ever go wrong. 

“You look a little lost. Can I help you find your way?” 

Althea turned her eyes away from the lean muscles peeking beneath his collared Lacoste shirt and chuckled nervously. 

“I'm an intern,” She grinned, batting her eyelashes. “I don't know where I'm supposed to report and she's a little tied up at the moment,” 

She jerked her head in the direction of the distracted receptionist. Michael shook his head in disappointment. 

“She's deaf in one ear and she's always got the good one glued to the phone,” He tutted. 

His slender frame leaned over the desk, his perfectly coiffed jheri curl glistening under the office lights. Michael’s slender finger firmly tapped the rude woman, cutting her gregarious laughter short. She set down the phone with a small huff. 

“Gladys,” He smiled passive-aggressively. “Could you help this young lady by telling her where to report?” 

“Name, honey?” 

Althea flashed the young man a gracious smile. 

“Thomas. Althea Thomas,” 

Gladys swiveled her chair in the direction of a stack of manilla folders and quickly thumbed through them before she found the matching name. 

 “Production conference room in the West hall,” the secretary answered dryly, extending the folder to the young woman. 

Michael straightened himself from his leaning position against the desk. 

“Thank you, Gladys,” he turned to Althea. “C'mon, I'll take you there,” 

She let out a heavy sigh of relief. It felt so nice to be acknowledged. 

“Thank you so much,” she giggled. “I feel much better now. I didn't catch your name,” 

“Michael,” he flashed that breathtaking smile again. “Michael Jackson,” 

He extended his large, svelte hand and Althea felt her heart race when they touched. It was a warm, zippy feeling- like static shock without the pain. 

“You wouldn't happen to be related to Joseph Jackson, would you?” She questioned while following his lead. 

“Sometimes I wish I wasn't but there are perks to bein’ his kid,”  Michael shrugged. 

Althea felt a sense of disappointment. Sure, Michael was gorgeous and nice but she couldn't risk getting involved with the CEO's son. She didn’t need a silly crush getting in the way of her education and surely there was some rule against it. It was better to keep her head down and forget the idea altogether. 

“Piano,” He grinned over his shoulder. 

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Piano. That's what you play right?” 

Althea giggled bashfully as she extended her fingers to inspect her cherry red nail polish. 

“How'd you know?” 

“It's your hands,” Michael grinned, proud of himself.  “Piano players always have the prettiest hands,” 

She hugged the folder to her chest, a blush creeping across her cheeks. 

“I'm classically trained but I don’t think I'll have much of a career as a concert pianist. Besides, I like funk music too much,”  

Althea giggled and he couldn’t help but instantly love the sound of her laugh. Michael quirked a brow. 

“Who’s your favorite?” 

Her doll eyes lit up, a bashful grin stretching across her lips. 

“I’m just crazy about Rick James,” 

He chuckled. 

They’d only met a few minutes ago but Michael was willing to buy her every Rick James album ever printed if he knew it would make her happy. They’d stopped in front of the production room and he felt disappointed knowing their conversation had to end. 

“Well, here it is,” Michael announced. 

Althea smiled adoringly at the handsome young man who’d come to her rescue. 

“Thank you, Michael,” 

He folded his arms behind his back and grinned, bowing slightly. 

“It was my pleasure, Althea. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask me,” 

“I won’t,” 

They’d both wanted the moment to last forever but both Michael and Althea knew this wasn’t the last they’d see of each other. 

[inghrafn]

When I described the following events on a forum devoted to true-life close calls, some stern soul opined that my tale couldn't possibly be true. But it is.

In my early/mid-twenties, I lived in a rented room in an urban-sprawl zone with decent public transit. I took the bus to work six days a week, the seventh into town to bum around.

One day, a young man sat across the bus aisle drawing in a sketchbook. As an artist myself, I thought his work was really good and said so. We struck up a friendly conversation about art on the ride into town. He said he'd come from another state to attend the nearby art college. For my part, I'd moved there only recently and immediately started working 50-hour weeks; as a result I hadn't really had time to make friends. He seemed really pleased to hear this. I didn't really question it at the time; I just thought we were equally at sea in a strange place.

In town, we walked and talked our way through my errands. Everything seemed fine until we stopped into the record store. They had only one copy left of a new tape I wanted. To my surprise, he grabbed it out of my hand, announcing, I'll buy it for you!

No, I'll buy it for myself, I told him, but he refused to hand it over and actually bolted to the cashwrap with it as if this was a game of tag. Afterward he presented the tape to me with a flourish: For you!

I felt deeply uneasy about this gesture. At that time I was solitary by choice and wasn't looking for romance. Conversation was strained on the bus ride back. When he jumped off at my bus stop instead of staying onboard to continue on to campus, things got really uncomfortable. He said he couldn't let me walk home by myself. WTF? I used to live in the city and knew how to take care of myself. When we reached my house, the conversation went like this:

Me: Well, it was nice to meet you. Goodbye.

Him: Invite me in.

Me: What?... No, man, we just met.

Him: (still smiling, but more commanding) Invite me in.

Me: No. I hardly even know you.

Him: Sure you do! We spent all day together!

Me: One day's not enough for you to just... walk into my house.

Him: But I bought you that tape.

I held firm, but the exchange left me uneasy with the thought that he now knew where I lived. However, this became a moot point when I moved to another neighborhood on the opposite end of the bus route.

Still, he knew where I worked and began to drop in for short, impromptu visits. With a sales counter between us, I felt safer, and things seemed to return to normal. We could still talk about art, but I carefully avoided personal subjects.

One day he came in extremely excited. Inspired by group activities at school, he'd decided that we should partner up for an art project! A friend of his had written a script and wanted to turn it into a graphic novel; all he needed were artists. We could use the common space at the college to work on our collaboration. He had it all planned out, but I needed to think about it. I suggested we convene at a local coffee shop sometime later that week and gave him my phone number.

Soon afterward he called me in what I can only described as a heightened, almost manic state. His friend wanted to meet me that night. They would pick me up that evening in his friend's car. I needed to give him my address right away.

Me: But you're both here in town. I can just meet you for coffee.

Him: No, no, no, we have to go to my friend's house.

Me: Well, where does he live?

Him: (suddenly cagey) I don't know.

Me: You don't know?! He's your friend; you must know where he lives. Ballpark it.

Him: (vague) A few towns over. Forty-five minutes or so.

Me: But it's already really late, and I have to work in the morning. Your friend would have to drive me all the way back.

Him: (absolute, dead silence lasting just a few seconds too long)

At that moment, I felt suddenly, inexplicably, profoundly afraid. I understood without doubt that I must never get into any car with him and his friend, ever.

Me: (trying to sound casual): Look, it's late. It's been a long day, and honestly, I don't want to go back out. Why don't we plan to meet at the coffee shop later this week--

Him: (suddenly shouting into the receiver) NO! THIS HAS TO HAPPEN TONIGHT! YOU HAVE TO COME! YOU HAVE TO!

Me: No, I don't!

Him: YES, YOU FUCKING DO! YOU PROMISED!

Me: You can't talk to me that way. You know what? I don't want to do a project with you, now or ever. Don't call me again.

It's hard to pin down why or how, but the point in this conversation when he fell silent produced in me an ABSOLUTE CERTAINTY that whatever plan he and his friend had for me, it did not involve me returning home. And I believe that if I had not listened to that sense of certainty, I would not be sitting here and typing this today.

So there's that.

[papirouge]

If you had a series called Papi Watch where you just ranted about your conspiracy theories and exposed people I’d be tuned in 24/7. Literally would be more entertaining (and truthful) than whatever sh!tshow Netflix has planned next.

djeidzoxokfkeiz thank you!💗💗 😭 Now that I decided to be on YouTube, I indeed envisioned the possibility of dedicating a whole segment of my channel to this stuff (not now but in a near future) but I'm scared of YouTube censoring what I have to say 💀 So yeah, podcast seems to be a more fitting format for that. "Papi watch" sounds like a cool name for it 👀📡 (initially it was only a tag for stuff that I see/watch on the interwebz lol - my 'official' conspiracy content tag is #papiconspiracy) thanks for the idea! Buying myself a camera and a proper mic is on my 2023 wishlist. Once it's done, I can seriously ponder a possibility of a papi podcast....👀

Fun fact : the other day I was on the phone with an old friend of mine and we are both so deranged we spend 2 hours speaking about conspiracies and crazy shit lmao and he too seeks to become an artist. And he gave me very good advice in how I should learn to make money at every opportunity (for example, he told me that instead of giving away my old clothes I should try to sell them online.....and I just did my first sale yesterday 🥹). And I also gave him advice and told him he should do a podcast because he's a very interesting person with a very interesting lifestyle and outstanding perspective on things (he's not a Christian though). Sometimes we disagree with each other but it's always so chill. If our conversations were recorded in a podcast it would be so insane lmao but also I'm lowkey scared for all the hate we/I may get over my opinion about trans ideology, the sex industry, Christian hypocrites (Christian can be very vicious when their idols are attacked, let's be honest...) and my iconoclast opinions on things 👀

Tumblr is my favorite social media bc I can be just a woman with a blog where I'll post deaf serious shit next to Simon Ghost Riley thirst gifsets.. lmao I don't think I'm ready yet to shout out my opinions in a more formal medium.

[90363462]

Kanye West's Net Worth In 2022: Ye Is No Longer A Billionaire

April 3, 2022

Until recently, almost everything Kanye West touched turned to gold. Ye hit the top of the charts like clockwork, sold out arenas in minutes, and made shoes like nothing anyone has seen before with huge price tags. All of his accomplishments once made him not only a pioneer in several industries but along with a very wealthy entertainer.

But all that came crashing down when West began making controversial public statements, many of which were filled with hate speech towards Black and Jewish communities. He was dropped by the talent agency CAA and lost lucrative partnerships with fashion houses like Balenciaga. On Oct. 25, after many weeks of public outcry, German sportswear company Adidas officially terminated their contract with his Yeezy brand, putting a large dent in his previous ten-figure net worth. Later the same day, Gap announced that they are taking “immediate steps” to remove Yeezy products from their stores. 

Let’s take a look at how the artist amassed a net worth into the billions before losing a significant portion of it.

5 Ways Kanye West Makes His Money

1. Music

West’s forays into the apparel industry were the primary reason for his previous multi-billion dollar net worth, but it all started with the music. The rapper and designer rank among the bestselling and most successful artists ever when looking at critical acclaim and sales.

When his oft-delayed full-length Donda arrived, West scored his milestone tenth No. 1 album on the Billboard 200, becoming just the seventh musician in U.S. history to reach that mark. In doing so, he joined a club that includes Eminem, The Beatles, Barbra Streisand, and frequent collaborator Jay-Z, with whom he shares one of his chart-toppers. On the Hot 100 in America, West has landed four No. 1s, 20 top 10s, and 135 appearances on the list, the fifth-most of all time.

Throughout his career, West has shifted certified 25.5 millionalbums in the U.S. and 124 million singles, the fifth-most among all artists in history. That figure expands to an estimated 140 million songs moved throughout the world. A 22-time Grammy winner (out of 75 nominations), West is tied for the tenth-most trophies among all artists, as well as the second-most among rappers, coming in behind only Jay-Z by one award.

In 2020, the Valentiam Group valued West’s music catalog at $110.5 million.

2. Music Businesses

West launched his record label GOOD Music, which stands for Getting Out Our Dreams, in 2005. In the nearly 20 years the company has been in business, albums from label signees John Legend, Common, Kid Cudi, Pusha T, and Big Sean have all performed well sales-wise.

In March 2015, West was one of 16 famous figures who appeared during a press conference for the launch of the new streaming service Tidal. He stood alongside Nicki Minaj, Daft Punk, Calvin Harris, Jason Aldean, Madonna, Beyoncé, Rihanna, and Jay-Z, who was the business mastermind behind the event. West was named as a co-owner, and despite the inclusion of many of the most popular musicians in the business, Tidal never became as popular as competitors like Apple Music or Spotify. In 2017, West left the firm, claiming he was owed at least $3 million.

3. Touring

West has headlined half a dozen tours throughout his career, racking up combined grosses of more than $190 million. He has also opened for Usher, U2, and The Rolling Stones, with the last two treks wrapping as some of the highest-earning of all time. The rapper warmed up the crowd for U2, whose Vertigo Tour brought in $389 million. After he finished that run of shows, he joined The Rolling Stones, whose A Bigger Bang venture earned $558 million at the box office.

The “Hurricane” rapper has also played the occasional private concert, earning millions for doing so. It was reported that in 2011 West and Jay-Z flew to Dubai to perform for a sheikh’s family, for which they were reportedly paid $6 million. On his own, the hip-hop musician also took home $3 million for signing on to be the entertainment at the 2013 wedding of the grandson of then-Kazakh President Nursultan Nazarbayev.

While he hasn’t embarked on a proper tour of his own since 2016’s The Saint Pablo Tour, West has still managed to sell tens of thousands of tickets to a handful of live events. Throughout the summer of 2021, West played his new album Donda for crowds in Atlanta and Chicago, with fans paying to listen to something that wasn’t even done yet. In past years, he’s also brought his religious group Sunday Service to a handful of shows, which fans could buy tickets for.

4. Shoes

The vast majority of West’s net worth comes from his success as a shoe designer. He got his start creating footwear for Nike, and with the sportswear brand, he crafted three bestselling products before their partnership ended. West saw how well his creations were selling and he wanted to earn royalties, but the clothing giant wasn’t willing to relent, and thus he broke off the deal. West has also designed shoes for companies like Louis Vuitton, Giuseppe Zanotti, and Bape.

West continued making money when he jumped ship from Nike and went over to Adidas, where he remained until Oct. 25 when the company officially cut ties after his anti-Jewish remarks. His Yeezy brand was a financial success for the two with Forbesreporting that Adidas attributed 4-8% of their overall sales to the partnership. Every time the company announced a new item, it was known to sell out instantly. In fact, the first pair to be released by West and Adidas, known as the Yeezy Boost 750, was limited to just 9,000 pairs, and they sold out in 10 minutes.

The rapper has released at least a dozen different shoe designs with Adidas, which offered him royalties, unlike Nike. In 2019, the Yeezy line reportedly raked in $1.3 billion in revenue for Adidas, with West personally pocketing about $147 million of that. In 2020, that number jumped to $1.7 billion for the brand, while he earned another $191 million in royalties. 

When Adidas walked away in 2022, it was estimated that this partnership made up $1.5 billionof West’s net worth.

5. Clothing

Around the time he jumped into designing shoes, West also created a clothing line he called DW Kanye West. His debut line was criticized by journalists in the space, though he pushed forward to create more. While reviews did get better, the project didn’t last very long.

In 2020, West signed a decade-long deal with Gap to bring his unique style and the Yeezy name(which he still owns despite his working with Adidas for so many years) to the American chain of stores in association with Spanish luxury fashion brand Balenciaga. The first item to emerge from the partnership was a puffy jacket that sold for $200 in pre-orders, while later merchandising drops appeared in large trash bags in stores to much controversy. 

An early estimate stated that West’s line with Gap brought in as much as $1 billion in incremental sales in its first year, but Gap and Balenciaga both also terminated their partnerships with West in September and October, respectively. It is believed that $970 million of West’s fortune could be attributed to the Gap deal.

What Is Kanye West’s Net Worth?

$400 MILLION

Forbes previously estimated West’s net worth at $1.8 billion as of April 3, 2022, while West claimed during a 2022 interview with Hollywood Unlocked that he was worth $10 billion. In 2021, Billboard pegged his net worth at $6.6 billion, so the range of what experts believed the hip-hop staple was worth previously varied widely. But with his recent controversies, West’s net worth has plummeted to $400 million.

This article was originally published on 

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[thebuckblogimo]

The day the Polish music died for 2 minutes and 58 seconds.

March 26, 2024

When I was a kid back in the '50s, my friends and I experienced a lot of "unsupervised play," something I don't think children get enough of these days. I'd like to tell you a story that illustrates the concept and what it may have meant for us later in life. First, let me set the stage...

It was the summer of 1956. I was nine years old and had just completed the third grade. My Dad, in his late 30s, was active in the Vincent J. Bieneik VFW Post in Detroit, as were most of his buddies who had returned home from World War II.

In those days the VFW held an annual picnic "out in the country" at the now defunct New Liberty Park, which, as best as I can recall, was somewhere south of Detroit Metroplitan Airport.

New Liberty Park was set up for summer time fun. Like several other outdoor venues of that era, it had an open-air pavilion, including a huge dance floor and stage for live music; separate open-air buildings for the sale of beer, soft drinks, hot dogs, potato chips and ice cream; and acres of parking in a wooded area that afforded an early version of tailgating.

My two sisters and I always looked forward to the VFW picnic. My mother would fill a wooden picnic basket with sandwiches and cookies, and pack Vernors ginger ale and Faygo pop. We couldn't wait to get there and compete in the water balloon toss, three-legged races and other games. One year the three of us swept the foot races for our respective age groups and caused a stir as parents complained about "that family that wins everything." Another year I was thrilled to hold a winning ticket for one of the VFW raffle prizes--an electric can opener.

My Dad was always involved with the picnic's planning committee. He and his VFW pals would smear grease paint on their faces, dress up as clowns and rent a trailer to haul a polka band through the Polish neighborhoods of Detroit to publicize the picnic. Also, he had been a childhood friend of Johnny Sadrack, who became a popular Polish band leader during the '50s and '60s, and my Dad recruited the group to play at the picnic.

There were outdoor speakers affixed to poles and buildings on the grounds at New Liberty. My Dad would bring a box of 78 rpm records from his collection--polkas and obereks--and play them on a turntable, rigged up to the speakers around the park, before the band began to play and in between its sets.

My brother Mark was born in February of 1956, and when it came time for the picnic that year he was only a few months old. So my Mom and sisters stayed behind--although I think my sisters came out later that afternoon with my Uncle Chester and Auntie Connie--while my Dad let me tag along in the morning when he drove to the park to set up for the carloads of people that were expected to line the gate on a picture-perfect day.

His plan was to turn me loose at New Liberty, load me up with enough money to buy tickets for pop, ice cream and potato chips, and let me roam the park while he did his thing.

I had a plan, too.

By 1956, artists such as Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Little Richard and Buddy Holly had burst onto the scene and helped to revolutionize the popular culture with a new genre of music called rock 'n' roll. During the winter of that year the first "kid group" recorded "Why Do Fools Fall In Love?" by the Teenagers, featuring 13-year-old Frankie Lymon. I was hooked instantly by their sound. I bought the 45 at the neighborhood record shop and played it incessantly on my parents' "hi-fi." I soon started hanging out at the store--unsupervised--flipping through the record bins every week, and in the spring I was elated to discover that the Teenagers had released their follow-up recording, "I Want You To Be My Girl."

The record shop was sold out of the 45 version when I was ready to buy. However, they had a bunch on the 78 format. Feeling desperate to own the record and play it any time I wanted, I purchased the platter.

On the morning of the picnic my Dad gathered up his things, including his collection of polka records, and off we went to the park. I packed some things too--a rubber ball, a couple comic books and my prized possession, "I Want You To Be My Girl," and stashed them in the trunk of my Dad's classic, tri-color (pink, black and white) '56 Chrysler New Yorker St. Regis.

When we arrived at New Liberty, my Dad fired down a quick shot and a beer with his pals and went to work on getting things set up. Sure enough, he immediately hooked up the turntable to the speaker system and loaded it with a "stack of shellac." I went off on my own, exploring the woods, where I could clearly hear the music from the pavilion, while VFW members packed the coolers with beer and dry ice.

In the early afternoon, the band started playing Polish music at the pavilion. By now there were picnickers everywhere in the park, shuffling back and forth from their cars to the dance floor. From a wooden bench along the walls in the pavilion I sat alone and watched the dancers put down their moves.

I also watched for my opportunity.

Sure enough, after the band concluded its first set and the dancers went outside to take a break, my dad put on a stack of Polish records and the music again played throughout the park. I waited, watched and listened as the first group of tunes finished playing. Then someone put on another stack and the music continued.

I prepared to make my move.

I slid over to the turntable just inside the pavilion, carefully raised the stack of records from the spindle, pulled my 78 out from under my t-shirt, slipped it into the pile of records, put them back on the spindle, and returned to my seat on the bench.

A few minutes later I could hear, loud and clear, the distinctive bass voice of 17-year-old Sherman Garnes on the song's intro, blasting all over New Liberty Park: "Bay, bay, bay, bay bom, doo bee, do wop..." Then the Teenagers' three back-up singers fell in: "Bom dee doo wop bom doo bee doo wop bom dee doo..." And, finally, out poured the silky smooth boy soprano of Frankie Lymon: "Oh, oh, oh, oh...oh, oh, oh, oh...I love you baby and I want you to be my girl...Well, c'mon baby let's go down town..."

I recall watching the faces of people clogging the real estate between the pavilion and beer hut as the Teenagers sang. Truthfully, few people seemed to react to what was playing over the speaker system. Mostly they kept doing what they were doing--eating, drinking, talking, laughing, sweating. Did they like the song? Or not? Did they notice that something other than Polish music was playing? Or not? Someone surely noticed, I thought, and so I sat there feeling proud that I had introduced my music to the old people at the picnic.

I wasn't thinking about whether I had done anything wrong that day. I didn't feel as though I had played a prank. I was simply on a child's mission to share with my parents' generation how the music made me feel inside. If I had asked for permission to do it, I'm sure I would have been told no. So I just did it.

That's the sort of attitude most of my friends and I grew up with. We were learning right from wrong every day at home, to be sure. At school, we considered the discipline imposed by the nuns as over the top. So we were always trying to outsmart them. It was like a game we played every day.

Meanwhile, no one held our hands as we walked to school. Rarely were we driven to school. There were no school busses. There were only busses operated by the DSR (Departement of Street Railways). Our parents never seemed particularly concerened when we rode one--unchaperoned--to Briggs Stadium for a Tigers game. Nor did they seem to worry much when we rode our bikes 15 miles or so to Belle Isle.

As I said, we experienced a helluva lot of childhood independence in those days. Which sometimes resulted in consequeneces for our actions, while encouraging responsibility.

If you threw a buddy's gym shoes through an open garage window on the way home from basketball practice, well, the next day you had knock on the homeowner's door and ask for permission to retrieve them.

And if you fell through a plaster ceiling while playing in the attic of a "new house," you had to make some quick decisions. Hide? Run? Or face the music? Big decisions for a kid.

It makes me feel uncomfortable that nine- and ten-year-olds today are rarely allowed to walk a couple blocks to the store to buy candy. It bothers me when I hear about kids who aren't allowed to go to the park alone until they're 13 or 14.

I admit that there's lots of bad stuff going on in our world these days. But with the bombardment of 24-hour news that we endure every day on our computers, phones, TVs, radios, etc., I think the bad stuff often gets overly publicized. I don't think that things are nearly as bad on some of the the streets of our cities, suburbs and towns as they are depicted to be.

Practically every kid in my class, as well as those in the classes ahead and behind me, turned out to be darn resilient people. Many of them worked to pay their own way through college during the '60s. Others, as 18- and 19-year-olds, faced up to the draft with amazing courage during the Vietnam War years. In the '70s, we rocked it hard and faced the consequences of drug and alcohol abuse.

But I think we were prepped well to handle the issues we would face because we were brought up with a reasonable blend of supervision and autonomy. And in the end, but for a few, life worked out pretty well.

Allowing for a degree of common sense and reasonableness, it seems to me that it would do children good today to occassionally experience unsupervised play and less programming. I just don't think that every hour of a kid's summer day has to be filled with music lessons, travel ball, play practice and foreign language drills. The time that kids spend on internet-connected devices is what should be heavily monitored.

Kids need time to be kids. So they can experience the lessons that come with things like sneaking music into their parents' playlist or falling through a plaster ceiling.

[meatspinrecs-blog]

Meatspin Records is a new label from Sydney, Australia supporting subversive underground music through recordings, printed material and shows. Will be announcing a full-length LP release in June (MTS@@1) and the first Meatspin newsletter in zine format around a similar timeframe. 

In the mean time...stare at the logo/gif by Sydney designer Daryl Prondoso for a little while and look through his other stuff at http://www.daryl.work  

As a subversive yet socially conscious label we’re dedicated to open and public discourse about all aspects of the label, so please direct any comments to the ask section of this tumblr or contact Max at meatspinrecs@gmail.com. 

[yutahoes]

Ghost of You

pairing: idol! Yuta (NCT member) x idol! Y/N (solo idol-actress)

word count : 5k words

genre: angst

summary: He was the one who ended everything. But you’re like a ghost that kept haunting him. 

warning : break up, alleged cheating, pregnancy, a fic where you just want to strangle Yuta to death 

Based on this ask. I’m sorry, I tweaked the story and changed some of the song (especially the Olivia Rodrigo one because it doesn’t fit the story) The songs I used are linked in the story. Also, I have no idea how the idol world works and please note that this is just fanfiction. Please Enjoy reading. 

Broken glass, an empty unruly apartment. Signs that a big fight happened. All because of a tabloid article of him seeing his co-host late at night. Yuta argued that she needed someone to talk to and Y/N was angry that he winged their anniversary V-live just for this. “You can tell me if you’re sick of me, Yuta.” she claimed that made him hiss. “Don’t you think I didn’t notice? You’re always making up things just so you can’t meet me.” 

“That’s not true!” Yuta shouted. “I am busy.” 

Tears ran down her face. “Then explain how Jungwoo had lunch with me last Friday when you said that you’re practicing with your members.”    

“Stop saying that I don’t even make time for you.” His voice raised in frustration. “When all you do is hang out with that co-star of yours.” 

The girl scoffed. “So it’s my fault now? It’s work, Yuta.” It’s always the same reason. “I asked you a lot of times if you’re alright with the drama and you never mention anything. Now, you’re using it against me?” 

The guy shook his head. “Let’s talk about this tomorrow. I’m tired.”

“And I’m also tired.” She whispered. “Let’s end this, Yuta.” She threw the promise ring before leaving the apartment. 

The news next day was about Y/N erasing pictures of them in her social media accounts. The breakup news between the solo idol and the NCT member followed. Taeyong just shook his head watching Yuta exit the CEO’s office with droopy shoulders. “I really like her for you, hyung.” Mark claimed when he entered the practice room. 

He didn’t know where it went wrong. They were happy. Everyone likes their relationship. His fans are her fans, and hers are his. They were tagged as the greatest idol couple, often paired in dances since it’s both their strengths. Y/N was casted in a period drama and he’s a supportive boyfriend who visited her the first day of the filming and thanked everyone for taking care of his girlfriend. She filmed romantic scenes, kissing her actor co-star. And he was fine. “It’s work, Yuta.” She would always say. And he would just smile. 

He started hosting a radio show with a female Japanese idol and he was cold at her, wanting to stir away from controversy. But as her drama progressed, with more romantic scenes and more kissing, he felt left out. She’s becoming a star. And he’s becoming Y/N’s idol boyfriend. Slowly, he’s getting fed up with the relationship that’s slowly getting centered on her. 

It felt like a breath of fresh air that it all ended now. Like a thorn removed from his aching heart. 

All the public’s sympathy went to her, as he expected. She’s the star. The more famous one among the two of them. So he just painted himself as the bad guy by confirming that he’s dating his co-host which surprised the other girl. The agency was surprised at the decision but it became such a media frenzy that their radio show got high ratings every week. Even the sales of their album spiked up and he became known as NCT’s Yuta and not as someone’s idol boyfriend.

Everything is getting better. 

-----      

It was the end of the year award show when they crossed paths again. They were doing a great job avoiding each other. Why now? Nine members meant a vacant seat from the round table artists are seated at. The staff repeatedly apologized but as kind as she is, she just smiled and sat between Doyoung and Jaehyun, just across Yuta. She greeted all the members, even complimenting Haechan’s hair and Taeil’s suit. “Congratulations on best album.” she greeted, smiling widely to avoid the awkwardness. 

“Aren’t you releasing an album as well?” Johnny asked that made her nod. “Another dance track?” Taeyong asked but Y/N shook her head saying that it was a ballad album and that she will perform later. The guys were obviously surprised, ballad isn’t her best track. She’s more known for her dancing skills so it is indeed a huge surprise. 

When the best female idol awardee was called, the NCT members all stood up to congratulate her. Jungwoo even helped her with her pink lace gown. She did the usual thank you message: thanking her parents, the almighty being, the management, the staffs, and her fans. “And lastly…” Yuta gasped. Whenever she gets an award, she thanks him lastly for comforting and always supporting her. “Please watch out for my album.” He felt his heart drop, especially when she smiled that angelic smile. Why is she shaking him like this? 

Yuta was already bored. He just wants to go home. The lights dimmed and the emcees announced her as the next performer. Because it’s a live performance, they showed some clips of her photoshoot for her new album. He had to agree that this concept fits her. She looked prettier than when they used to go out.

He was more surprised to see an orchestra accompaniment behind her on stage. Her, seated on a platform, wearing a white sequined dress that shines like stars when the spotlight shone on her. The crowd clapped just as the start of the song played. (Imagine this as the performance.) 

The other members warily glanced at him. A break up song. Why isn’t he surprised? 

My dream changed - instead of a famous singer, I tried to become a good wife

He remembered how she would always try to learn to cook whenever she had extra time. She never mentioned anything to him. It was until one night, they were laying next to each other, when she asked him if he wanted her to continue being an idol. That made him curious that time. She loved performing. Why would she ask that? 

Now, he knew why. 

By the time the second chorus rolled in, he was just amazed at how she could sing those notes while seated down. Her singing really got better. 

Someday you’ll probably call me then I hope you will be a man and congratulate me

Because this is all thanks to you, I’ll prepare a good thank you message for you

He can hear Mark giggling beside him. Johnny pursed his lips as if preventing to laugh. “Hyung, please record her thank you message.” the youngest member teased that made him annoyed. 

Her voice echoed all throughout the venue. Her adlibs hitting notes that she cannot do before and she’s sitting while doing that. 

Slowly, I got over you like that

Their eyes met. Those sparkling eyes. She’s shining. She looks well. She looks better. Without him. 

The fresh air suffocated him, burning his lungs in the process. The thorn that was removed came back and brought friends, a knife tearing his heart into pieces. 

Everything is getting better. For her. Not for him.

The moment he went inside the empty apartment, he felt like breaking down. This is harder than the time she left. He missed her. He’s a wreck without her. A huge mess. Why is he taken over by his jealousy? She deserves to be the center of the relationship. The star. She deserves the whole world. Is it too late for him to get everything back now? He took his phone as a song on the radio played, “Mark, I need your help.” 

Another award show meant another chance to cross paths with her. To Y/N’s surprise, Yuta congratulated her with a wide smile after winning an award. The staffs were repeatedly asking if the members were sure of doing this that made the manager and the leader nod. Johnny was seated in front of the grand piano, Mark on one side with his guitar. Taeil, Doyoung, Jaehyun, and Yuta seated on different chairs in the middle of the stage. (Song)

Johnny started the melody while Mark played his guitar. Jaehyun started the song that made Y/N look at them from the artists�� place. Yuta smiled. Her favorite band. Taeil started singing the chorus with Yuta as back-up vocals. Doyoung sang the second verse while Jaehyun sang the chorus, followed by Taeil. By the end of the song, they lightly glance at Yuta. His last cry for her. 

So I drown it out like I always do

Dancing through our house with the ghost of you

And I chase it down, with the shot of truth

He glanced at her, staring straight to those sparkling eyes. 

That my feet don’t dance like they did with you

The lights dim but he saw her silhouette remain on her seat, shoulders visibly heaving. Behind the spotlight, Yuta finally realized that like a ghost, he cannot shake her off. She’ll keep haunting him because he cannot let go of her. Yuta finally realized that he is still in love with her. 

They had been busy with the concerts abroad and she had been busy with the promotion of her album. Yuta’s co-host quit the radio show and days later, it was announced that she was pregnant. The members were surprised at first but it was her who confirmed that Yuta isn’t the father of the child. The public sympathy went to Yuta for the alleged cheating that the girl had done, making him in the center of the media frenzy once again. 

It was a Japanese radio show when he met Y/N again. He had to promote the Japanese leg of their concert while she promoted her Japanese single. She looked casual greeting him, as if nothing happened but her words echoed in his ears “It’s just work, Yuta.” Maybe it was really nothing to her. 

They were seated next to each other. He watched her put on her headphones then rubbed her palms together. “I kinda forgot Japanese.” she claimed then said a Japanese phrase to introduce herself. “Is that right?” He nodded, his warm gaze still on hers. Too casual. “I’m nervous.” 

He wanted to hug her. Comfort her. Tell her that everything will be alright. That he’s next to her so she doesn’t have to worry about anything. 

But he can’t. She’s not his. 

The host kept on claiming that they looked good together that startled them both. When the staff told him something in Japanese, he kept on apologizing while saying that he doesn’t know that they used to date. She just smiled, shaking her head to avoid the awkwardness. She really did move on. The radio show went smoothly until the last part where they had to sing a duet together. Y/N was obviously surprised. Didn’t she know? “We can skip it if you don’t want to.” Yuta whispered. 

Once again she shook her head. “It’s fine. I just haven’t prepared for it.” she claimed while looking at the music sheet. “The notes are a little high.” 

“You’ll do great. Your singing got better.” She giggled at the reference and he smiled. He missed her laugh. 

Y/N focused on the lyrics, asking the translator to tell her what the words mean or how to pronounce it. Yuta was reading the lyrics, seated next to her when she laughed. “Yuta,” she called and he felt his heart jump from his chest. He missed her voice calling his name. “Should we switch parts?” He looked surprised, curious even. “I mean, the lyrics.” 

Yuta smiled. “Should we?” 

Y/N giggled. “Sometimes I am convinced they’re doing this on purpose.” He smiled while looking at her. He missed her. So much. 

The host was asking repeatedly if they want to continue this, apologizing if it ever makes them uncomfortable but she would just smile and shake her head. He thanked her for being professional and she grinned, making Yuta breathless. He missed her smile. 

They were introduced and she even made a fighting sign at him as the melody started. It was a lonely song and Yuta poured all his feelings on his part. (This is the song they used. Dude, can they just remaster it by asking Yuta to sing this?) 

Long time no see

His eyes turned to her. He missed everything about her. 

We cannot express how we feel

Breath echoes in our ears 

The radio show staff all turned to them in surprise. 

My dear, you’ve already found a new love

She turned to him with her sparkling eyes. 

There is no one like you

I am cheating my heart

He sang while staring at her. She even missed the first beat of her part then smiled while looking at the music sheet in front of them. The bridge of the song came and the staff looked in awe at both of them.  

But you are not mine anymore

They stared at each other while singing those words. By the end of the song, Y/N’s voice was breaking so she stepped farther from the mic immediately. A smile escaped her lips when the host asked if she’s alright, apologizing that she ruined the song. Everyone were giving them compliments, fans commenting on how amazing they deliver the song and wishing that they can do a collab in the future. 

“Y/N,” Yuta called on the hallways of the building. He breathed hard while she just nodded at her manager, asking her to go first. “I…” He started but the words cannot come out of his mouth. I’m sorry. My ego got the worst of me. My insecurity caused our fall. I’m a wreck without you. Please come back to me. 

“Let’s not talk about it, Yuta.” She said while shaking her head. “We were immature. We’re so used to each other that we took each other for granted.” She grinned once again, eyes sparkling. Upon closer look, he figured out why. Her tears were forming. Like little pearls in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Yuta.” The words he cannot tell her. “Let’s be happy, hmm?” 

Yuta smiled, taking the hand she held out. “Can I call you when I am feeling miserable?” 

The girl laughed. “My number didn’t change.” She claimed. “And I still have to give you my thank message.” 

He pulled her close, wrapping her in his arms. “I missed you, Y/N.” 

------

Fans were delighted seeing Y/N and Yuta seated next to each other in the V-live account. A thing they always do every year on their anniversary. She was smiling, her lovely smile, while waving at the camera. Yuta adjusted the camera to capture them both before smiling his angelic smile. 

“I didn’t know your V-live account still works even if it isn’t used for a year.” She claimed, leaning in to read some comments. “I also didn’t know that there are still fans who come in this V-live account.” The number of watching people raised up that startled even Yuta. 

They both introduced themselves in a lively manner before the NCT member explained that they did this V-live as a thank you to fans who trended the song they sang in Japan. “I didn’t know that it would blow up like this.” He claimed and she nodded, even laughing at how embarrassing it is that her voice broke in the end. 

They started reading some comments about how fans missed them together, that they look together, and that their playfulness as a couple came back. “Are you back together?” Yuta read, pointing at the comment. 

“We’re not together together,” Y/N started then emphasized the last word with air quote marks. “We’re just…” She lightly glanced at him who was looking at her, mirroring the same smile she had. “Just patching things up and fixing ourselves.” Yuta continued for her. 

“Is there a possibility of a come back?” 

Y/N giggled before pointing at Yuta. “NCT is coming back with a new album. I’m preparing for a fall comeback.” The guy laughed at that. “Yuta, do you want to be featured in my album?” 

He nodded immediately. “Will you write me a love song?” 

She grinned, shaking her head playfully. “I’m not gonna write you a love song~” she sang before laughing. Yuta chuckled, poking her side playfully. “But we’ll see.” 

The fan asked what they had been up to. Y/N shared that she’s writing songs for her album and Yuta saying that he hangs out with the members often and the preparations for their comeback. “I’ve been hanging out with Jaehyun a lot.” he claimed, “I’ve been liking his music choices lately.” 

“You’re already done with your rocker state?” She asked, feigning a shock. “What song have you been listening to lately?” 

Yuta smiled, taking his phone out of his pocket. He played the song and Y/N smiled that there’s still a rockish feel on it.  (Song)

Oh, all my emotions feel like explosions when you are around

Yuta mouthed the words, trying to look for comments but his gaze was on her while jamming on the song. A smile crept his lips and he saw how one fan pointed out that he’s so in love with her. He is. 

“This song is so nice.” 

“Honestly, it kinda reminds me of you.”

He’s singing ‘She’s a, She’s a lady And I am just a boy’

He’s singing ‘She’s a, She’s a lady’ And I am just a line without a hook’

Oh baby, I am a wreck when I’m without you I need you here to stay

She looked surprised when Yuta sang the lines of the songs. The side of his lips curled up when he saw the sparkle back in her eyes. They talked a bit about what fans should watch out from their respective schedules. They said goodbye in a lively manner before Yuta ended the V-live. 

Y/N leaned on the couch, breathing heavily. She lightly glanced at Yuta and he smiled. “Want to get some sushi?” She nodded, grinning widely. 

Yuta cannot shake her off. Like a ghost, she will keep haunting him. And hopefully, she can come back to him. 

[lovesanmotion]

yandere!fanboy!ateez reacts: s/o writing a song about them

This is: requested | I guess....the yandere!ateez as fanboys are a success from what I can see. I only uploaded them without thinking. Also, don’t hesitate to blow up my request box! I’m jobless like Hongjoong, Yeosang and Wooyoung. Also, to the sender who requested this, thank you so much for appreciating my blog and writing! 

Lyrics I placed in order:  Love Battery - LOONA (Immortal Songs)  Shadow - F(x)  Going Crazy - Secret Jieun ft. BAP Yongguk Peekaboo - Red Velvet Shampoo - After School Babe - Hyuna Into You - Yuri Love Foolish - TWICE 

Hongjoong: 

“Even if you are not handsome, I like it. Even if you’re not buff, I like it. You are just for me, to me, you are the best.” 

Hongjoong stood among the crowd with a foolish smile painted on his lips. His hands placed on top of his chest as he listens to your new song that you are performing at your comeback concert. 

“Hold me one more time. Hold me tightly until I burst. Love’s effect must be fading. I need you.” 

A soft sigh escapes his lips dramatically. Lovestuck as he watches the love of his life sing a song about him and how she constantly needed his touch or else she’d die from his lack of attention on her. 

“Fill me with love. Love battery has drained. I can’t live without you, I really can’t live without you. You are my battery.” 

He clutches his chest tightly, his heart beating loudly inside. He didn’t cared how wild the others were cheering for your comeback stage, all that matters to him is that this song was made for him. Just for him. Normally he would promote your songs by requesting them on radio stations, but he hesitated on the idea of promoting it. This was his song. And only he gets the full rights to enjoy it. The others are just listening to it, he thought that you were kind enough to let everyone hear the song you made especially for him. 

“To me, you are everything. I like you so much, I totally like you. My only love, there’s no other, my love. You are the best.” 

As the comeback concert ended, everyone inside the concert hall talked about how your comeback song is a hit and promised to get you another music show win. The others gushed how you must be in love that you wrote a song about affection. 

Hongjoong could only chuckle to himself as he walks out of the venue, hands filled with your individual merchandise and a wallet almost empty after emptying the shelves of your concert goods. 

“Stupid fools think that the song is for them when in fact the song is about me. Me! Only me! Why would Y/N ever notice all of you when a whole me exists?” Hongjoong thought to himself as he walked alone late that night. 

Seonghwa: 

“Everyday, I secretly chase after your footsteps. I’m always careful so you won’t notice. No one says it but our date has started, our own date.” 

Click click! Seonghwa focuses his camera on a different angle before taking another shot of you. Click click! 

“Where are you going? Step by step, I follow you. Without a word you lead me. Step by step, did you notice me? I have nowhere to hide anymore.” 

Yesterday, Starlight made a comeback and today, they are performing their comeback song at a radio station. For this comeback, Starlight’s Y/N participated in the song writing, having been credited two songs in the mini album. She partook writing the comeback song! 

“When the sun rises, I walk in sync and together with you. I am really really into you. When the moon rises, you fall asleep in my arms. I really really like you.” 

Seonghwa’s parents had been praising him for landing a wonderful job in the corporate world. When in reality, he was only hired by a fellow sasaeng that gave him much flexible work hours so he could still manage to slip out of his work and follow your every footstep in the country or out. He was being paid fairly well even when all he did was just to follow you around.

“Day by day, we resemble each other more and more. Your laughter and tears, I know it all. Don’t be scared, were a fate tied by the sun, its our destiny to be together.” 

As the performance ended, the girls sat back down on their seats and the interview rolled in. Fansites can only hang outside of the studio, and of course, Seonghwa is up close, nearest to Y/N. 

“Congratulations to Starlight! This is their third comeback and the song is really catchy!” The MC remarked. 

“It’s sounds like a summer song! I heard Y/N took part in the production?” The second MC asked, the cameras then turned to face Y/N. Y/N who was flustered, nodded her head. “Yes” 

“Can you tell us the story behind the song? Your fans are dying to know the meaning behind such a good song.” The first MC says. 

Y/N held the microphone in her head, smiling, she explained: “This is a true to life song. I made a song about a guy who was really handsome and captured my heart. We were always going in the same direction and one time, his hand brushed into mine. And I felt so happy by the small connection.” Y/N chuckles. 

When Seonghwa heard about it, he lowered his camera and stared at Y/N. The song was about him. He remembered how he would spend his vacant period at work to follow Y/N when they were shooting an ad around Namsan because of the newly built skywalk. His hand brushed on hers when they were buying food at the convenient store. Seonghwa was so moved by the explanation that he felt like his feelings grew more for you. 

“My sunshine likes getting attention. My attention. That’s right, my sunshine, bathe in my attention only. ” 

Yunho: 

“It’s not love, this isn’t love. It’s just your obsession. Wherever, Whatever I do. It’s frightening. The you who watches me.”

Yunho watched as Y/N practices for her upcoming comeback stage at The Show next week. He admired how she dare approached a bold and mature comeback. And he was so happy to see this new side of his girl. However, he felt like he needed to be more protective of her since she was going for a more risque concept. 

“Have you gone crazy? Why are you like this? Please just leave me alone now. Seeing you is suffocating. Please disappear from my sight.” 

Yunho stood behind the cameras as he watches Y/N and the featured artist practice. He heard a few staffs make a comment about how the featured artist looks like him. And maybe how you might’ve fallen in love with him. Yunho’s feeling swelled when he heard of those comments. In fact, he was so happy that he heard it from them. But you on the other hand, why do you still deny your feelings for him? Why was it so hard for you to be up front and honest with what you feel? Is it because he works as your manager? You’re in the same company as he is? And that you kept insisting to be professional? At this point, Yunho would resign if that was the case. If he can’t have you because of his line of work, he would be more than pleased to resign and be in your arms everyday. 

“Get lost. Just back off. I really can’t breathe. Wherever I go, wherever I am. It’s frightening. The you who follows me.” 

Yunho managed to lift the debts off his family. After paying the debts, he was able to even buy a new home for them around Gangnam area. His parents hesitated on the idea at first since owning a land in Gangnam costs way more than renting, Yunho told them not to worry. Not to worry since he is being paid royalty in his job. After that, he was able to spoil you with luxurious gifts and live with you in your apartment. More like forced himself into your home. 

“This ain’t right, this isn’t love. It just hurts me, don’t be like this. I loved you. But I don’t now. Erase me from your memory.” 

And when the song was released, Yunho was all up for promoting it. He made everyone he know listen to the song in various streaming platforms and watch the MV as well. Whether you would like it or not, Yunho is here to stay in your life. Permanently. 

Yeosang: 

“Peekaboo! This is new, is this love? All my friends yell at me, they say I have a problem. I’m fine fine fine fine fine fine.” 

A small painted Yeosang lips as his eyes followed you on stage. He watched you as you danced in a tight red dress. That was his gift for you last Christmas to be exact. The designer brand didn’t really put it out for sale. They only made one and had it up for auction. It was a dress that accentuated your curves and complimented your skin. Yeosang won the auction and had it included in your next comeback. 

“Tag you’re it! It’ll be fun! I’ll include you here. Til the moon hangs on the jungle gym, let’s play” 

Since Yeosang is someone who holds a high position in the company, he made a proposal to be your sponsor. At first, your members didn’t like the idea since sponsors have a bad reputation attached to it. But you were naive and still proceeded with the sponsorship. You thought it would go bad, but Yeosang made you feel comfortable in his home and gave you all the fame that you wanted. Never did he once ask anything that was against your morals. 

“Peekaboo! It’s strange, you’re different. I stop this game and I look at you again. I’m not a fraid, because I just felt that a new story will begin” 

Your members were still cautious about Yeosang orbitting around you. There was something about him that they could not lay a finger on. Scared that they would find their contracts terminated the following day. But seeing you happy, they felt like they needed to stop. As long as you are happy, they are happy. Yeosang included. 

“Don’t worry, my love. You’re safe with me. Anyone who accuses you will come to me first.” 

San: 

It was 9pm when you made a surprise V live alone in the recording room of your company building. San was actually nearby, he was hid inside the convenient store where he bumped into you before. 

“Hello everyone! Have you all eaten? I missed you alot.” He watches his Y/N pout in the screen. His heart raced a bit, 

“I ate already, my love. Don’t worry.” San responds, as if it was only him that you were talking to. 

“I made a new song and I’m in the recording room. Apparently, I was given permission to spoil the song for you!” Y/N happily takes her phone and draws it closer to the company phone of where she is doing her live. 

“I wanna be shampoo Trickling down your hair I wanna embrace you With my strong fragrance  I will wrap around your entire body With white foam  So even the mirrors can’t see you I will cover you  So no one can have you You won’t ever get rid of my scent” 

“That’s all the spoil for now.” Y/N stops the recording and turns the camera to her face again. She leaned her face closer and read a few comments about how would the fans think. 

“What is your inspiration behind this song?” She read aloud. She leaned back in her seat with her lips pursed. “In all honesty, I met a male fan last week. I actually bumped into him and I was able to smell his perfume and...” Y/N paused. “He smelled so good that...was it possible to fall in love just by smelling their perfume?” Y/N chuckles softly. 

San had his eyes wide. The song was about him. He felt like bursting from his seat but he refrained himself from doing so. 

“I hope he isn’t a weird fan. I also have a fan who constantly bothers me even at the late hours. It’s bothering me. And I hope the person stops soon.” Y/N said. Double jackpot! He got mentioned twice by you. He couldn’t wait until the song releases, he was already booking train station platforms in honor for the release of your song. 

Mingi: 

Was it possible to fall in love with just a touch? Ever since the incident at the Incheon Airport, your company has become stricter and hired more bodyguards when it comes to outside activities. From what you heard, VS Media is even rewriting their rules when it comes to fan and idol gift giving. 

“Come on, let me play some more. Why treat babies gently, I cannot count on you, my age. You’ve walked in any magic. I am the one for you. Everyday I wake up. This is mine.” 

Ever since the incident at the airport, you slightly became uncomfortable with the idea of leaving the dorm. Despite your feelings, rest assured that your members were always there for you. 

“I am not sleeping today. I remember my eyes. I’m not sleeping.”

It’s been a month since you stepped foot inside the airport again, things were going okay. You were able to walk inside and through the gates without any problem. The fans still following your footsteps, you tried to loosen up yourself a bit - smiling and waving at them. Nothing could go wrong. 

Until, you saw a figure from your peripheral vision. You turned your head to take a look, but no one was there. Strange. As you and your group were able to board the plane, you took a seat near the window and pulled out your lyrics notebook. Flipping through the pages, you stopped at an unfinished work. The unfinished work is your solo song used as an outro for Starlight’s upcoming full album. 

“Babe babe babe in your eyes. Babe babe babe in your hand. My appearance is babe babe babe babe. I want to hear it again.”

“Are you writing a song?” You were startled with the question. You turned your head and didn’t noticed how a man with a mask and cap sat besides you already. 

“Yes I am” You spoke softly. “Can I read it?” the man besides you asked. 

You hesitantly gave him the notebook, the man took it and read through the lyrics. 

“I like how you composed the song. It’s still in its raw form too. You’re a genius.” The man complimented. You smiled and thanked him for the compliment. The next thing you knew shocked you. 

The man placed a hand on your knee, his other free hand removed his mask and cap. Song Mingi. At that moment, you couldn’t process what was happening. All you knew was that your mind kept telling you to tell at least your members. But your body started heating up at his touch. 

“Did you miss me?” 

Wooyoung: 

Wooyoung had disguised himself as the photographer for your album. The night before it came, he worked on creating his fake ID and borrowed a spare camera to use for the production. 

“At that smile that sees my eyes. For me, the whole world is bathed in light. Hold my hands and I close my eyes. I hope this time stops here.”

Wooyoung’s breath almost took away as he saw you in black under shorts and wrinkled and almost unbuttoned white button down. He didn’t know what the concept was but his eyes were already feasting on your body, not ever feeling full. 

“Fall in love more deeply, you and I. Let’s fall in deeply, you and I together. The one thing that I want. You seep into me, you spread inside of me.” 

“Ms Y/N taking the bold move of doing her first sexy concept.” Y/N’s manager teased her. Wooyoung knew everyone who was on set. Him, Y/N, Y/N’s manager, stylist, make up artist and a few production crew that wasn’t part of VS Media. 

“What’s the story behind this concept?” Y/N’s manager asked, Wooyoung could only stare in awe at Y/N. Never did he see this side of her. He always knew of Y/N as the sweet and bubbly girl in soft concepts. But of course, Wooyoung love to break the types. 

“I actually like to search my name on the internet. And I came across fanfics of myself.” Y/N chuckles. Oh that sweet sound that made Wooyoung’s heart beat fast. The audio recorders can never outdo it. 

“There is a certain blog that possibly does a lot. That blog posts photos of me, writes fanfics and posts my schedules too. He’s doing god works for my other fans.” Y/N chuckles. As the production of the photoshoot started, Wooyoung did his best to capture the real beauty of this side of Y/N. 

“What a hardworking fan. What’s the name of the blog?” 

“ForY/N” 

Wooyoung’s eyes widens as he heard the name of his blog. His blog inspired you to make a song....about him? 

“Filling my whole heart. With you, I feel my heart. Fall in love more deeply, you and I. Let’s fall in deeply, you and I together.” 

“The way that person writes really amazes me. I’d like to get to know the person.” Y/N explains. His mind fell into a spiral. Part of him wanted the song to be released already but there was also a part of him that wanted the song to be released for him only. 

“Wish will soon become tomorrow. Today is more heart fluttering than yesterday. I want to go together with you. Closer to the place where my dream reaches.”

The bonus thing about what Wooyoung did today is that as a photographer, he was able to keep some of the photos. Running away even with some. 

Jongho: 

Jongho fell in line for the release of your album. He was actually second in line as he was actually camping outside of the building of your company. 

“Everyday I called out your name, about a thousand times, about ten million times Before you finally heard it Cut and rewind, why can’t you be mine? Ooh the one who spins my head like this It’s you, just running running running around you  My repeatedly-midnight promise  I don’t know what to do”

Jongho, who had his arms crossed over his chest, looked up and down to turn around where that song was coming from. He hasn’t heard of this song but he knew that was your voice.

“Crazy love!  I love you, love you, hate, foolish Crazy love!  I love you Make me feel so high Love!  I love you, love you, hate, foolish Crazy love!  I hate you Make me so bad It’s weird, the more I fall for you I’m sorry, I’ll hate you I don’t know, I can’t explain this I’m trapped in a labyrinth of strange emotions”

The whole room was adorned with your own merchandise and on the TV display was actually an MV of your b side. Jongho took a basket and grabbed a handful of your limited and regular version of your albums, along with a packet of your photocards and a griptok. 

As he was in line to pay for his orders, in which his basket was filled as he actually bought more of your items. You made a sudden appearance into the room. For Jongho, he felt as if the room got brighter when you suddenly stepped inside. When it was his turn to pay for his items, the people behind the counter were amazed at how many he was able to fit into his basket. 

Tapping his feet impatiently, he wanted to be able to greet you before you left the room. When his bag was handed to him, he immediately took it and sped walk towards your direction, talking to a few. 

He felt as if the gods were with him. As he drew closer to you, the ones you were talking to left and it just you and him now. 

“Hello Y/N!” Jongho greeted. You turned to him happily. “Hello!” 

“I really really like this song of yours!” He gushed happily. “Can you tell me about it?” 

You nodded happily. “The song is actually about someone who makes me feel happy, the idea of love in a dangerous way? The idea send me thrills.” You chuckled. Jongho felt ecstatic. Beyond the moon even. You wrote a song about him! 

That afternoon when he got home, he made sure that everyone in Seoul would be able to hear the song that you made. It was for him so he had full brag rights to do so. 

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

A Visiting Future, pt. 2

Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: A commissioned series for @girl-next-door-writes . There will be FOUR PARTS, all written.

Summary: Someone from the future comes to visit Steve and you, and they have a message.

Part 1    Part 2   Part 3   Part 4

It was like an odd joke; something only the person telling the joke understood. You were annoyed because someone was touching you without permission, arms wrapped around your waist, coddled like a child and it was hard to breathe. Annoyed that you had to keep calling to Steve, who seemed to be in a different world as he glanced at whatever was in his hands until Sam and Wanda showed up. He looked at you then, face pale and strangely calm – although, for some reason, it made you feel worried.

Then he said something that made no sense.

“He’s our son,” he said quietly to you, forgetting everyone else in the room. You stared at him, shaking your head as the kid pulled from you. His face was somber, and you moved away from him, watching as Steve made several strides to you.

“That’s not funny,” you said because it wasn’t. It was so unfunny, it pissed you off and more so because all it made you think about was sex with Steve – and that itself was strange because you had never looked at him in that way. He was Steve, he was Cap, he was a close friend and that was it.

“I’m not trying to be funny,” he replied, handing over the photo in hand.

Very aware of the young man next to you, and the eyes of everyone else on you, you took the photo and examined it – and that’s when it felt like the Earth under you caved in. It was like looking into an alternative universe, something out of the Twilight Zone. It was you, clearly, standing next to Steve who had a little boy in his arms – seemingly on a family vacation, but you had never been to Yosemite, not never.

“This is fake.”

“It isn’t,” the kid said. You looked at him and noticed a bit of Steve in his eyes, then saw that his hair was nearly the same as yours but none of that matters because there was no way it could be true – that this twenty something year old was your son because that meant he was from the future.

“I’m from the future.”

“Bullshit.”

It wasn’t the most graceful thing to say to your supposed child, but you weren’t feeling so graceful; in fact, you were feeling played and unamused and downright, utterly confused. Nothing was going to convince you that a son was brought into the world by Steve and you – that the two of you had a relationship and very well, consummated it.

Nothing but hard facts.

Looking down at the photo again, your firmly folded it back up and held it out to Steve – he took it and examined the expression of your face, which was cold and calculated. It was the face you used when dealing with bad guys, he recognized it from the plenty of interrogations the two of you partnered up to do; taking turns each time to play the bad cop and right now, you had your bad cop face on.

“What do you want to do?”

You wanted to pretend like this wasn’t happening, that the possibility could be true, but nothing was going to be decided without the truth and there was only one person you trusted with science.

“We go to Bruce.”

…

You were usually a patience person, never minded long lines at the grocery stores and waited a little extra at restaurants when the place was short staffed but waiting for the DNA results to see if the kid, whose name you still didn’t know, was indeed your son was killing your nerves. The ride back to the facility was quiet and awkward, you sat in the front while Steve drove the SUV. He played music loud enough that no one could have a real conversation and you thanked him with a smile, it was nice knowing you weren’t alone in this.

“Any results?”

Bruce Banner’s dark brown eyes remained on the tablet he was working on. “Soon, I promise.”

Biting down on a nail, you leaned back into the couch and studied Bruce’s face – he was a handsome man, a little salt and pepper in his hair. He was a sweet, intelligent man and you adored him as a teammate but more importantly, as a friend.

“I’m scared, Bruce. Can this be possible?”

He sighed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I could talk science with you, explain the dynamics of time travel but after everything that we’ve been through so far – this, this doesn’t seem so crazy.”

“You turn green when you throw a tantrum.”

“I don’t throw tantrums.” He placed the tablet down on the table and took off his glasses, he looked tired, but he smiled. “I just want to know how he got here.”

“Time portal, if what he is saying is true,” you pointed out. In the van you overheard him telling Sam how he had arrived through a portal, knocked out a few Hydra agents out and went to find Steve.

Something caught his eye on the tablet, you watched as he walked over to the large holo- screen. “Results are in, should we call Steve?”

You said that Steve was with the kid in the kitchen. “He told me to come get him after I found out. So, what is the verdict? This kid legit or do we have a photoshop expert in our kitchen?”

Bruce chuckled and turned to the screen, tapping a few times until two photos appeared; one of Steve and one of you. “Respectively, these are samples of your DNA. I ran several tests on the young man, he claims to be Joel Rogers. There is no trace of him in any official records.”

“He wouldn’t be the first person to elude the government, what about the results? Is, is he my son?”

You couldn’t take your eyes off the photo of the young man that appeared on the screen between Steve and yours; it was like he was staring at you, and for a moment, you believed it was all true. He was your son, but then you didn’t have to imagine because Bruce confirmed it with a gentle squeeze on the shoulder.

....

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[troutfishinginmusic]

The story of Grass Records: From Brainiac to Wind-Up and Creed

                                                              Images via Grass of ’96 compilation 

Everything isn’t available in the streaming era. There are notable gaps in the seemingly bottomless amount of music currently available. Some of the most noticeable exclusions are albums released on Grass Records.

If you’re a fan of ’90s indie music, this short-lived New York label mattered. Though sometimes dismissed as a sibling label to Homestead Records, Grass released over 60 full-length albums ranging from pop to punk to noise to experimental music. It raised the profile of influential bands like Brainiac, Toadies and the Wrens. 

The amazing thing about the label is how consistent it is. Every time I thought I was done with this article, I would listen to a band like Baboon and be completely blown away. These are all fascinating, idiosyncratic bands. This is more incredible considering the label was only around for about four years.

Much of this music is hard to find. The odd song might be lingering on YouTube, but you’re almost better off looking at your local record store or ordering from Discogs.

Why are the albums in this weird limbo? Mostly because the monied interest who bought the label in 1996 thought it wasn’t yielding a big enough return on the investment. Grass was gutted and rebranded into post-grunge/nu metal giant Wind-Up. Money poured in and these wonderfully weird records were swept to the side.

The following interviews were conducted via email, Facebook messenger and phone over the last few months. Quotes from the interviews have been edited for style/clarity. I’m eternally grateful to everyone who got back to me. I am also willing to expand this story if more former Grass artists want to reach out. If you’re one of these artists, my email is at the bottom of this story.

Seedlings

“I started in the music business purely by chance,” said Camille Sciara, who founded Grass Records.

Sciara got her start working at Record World in New York as a second job and became friendly with the store’s buyer. After attending a manager training program, she moved on to become a manager of the store. Her second job became her first.

“Then, after two years there, I became bored managing a record store and my friend Mike, the buyer, told me about Dutch East India,” Sciara said. “I started there as a salesperson and, after a year of sales, became the buyer when that position opened up. I never envisioned starting a label.”

While working as a buyer at Dutch East India Trading a friend sent her a Toadies cassette. She “loved it” and started Grass in 1993 to release it.

Grass released the Toadies EP Pleather soon after, which contained an early version of the band’s inescapable alternative hit “Possum Kingdom.” After Pleather, the band scored a major label deal with Interscope. The platinum-selling Rubberneck arrived in 1994.

“They did really well on their first major release,” Sciara said in an email interview. “But then it appeared that Interscope just dropped the ball or lost interest. They were such a great band live, I never understood how they weren't huge stars. And super cool people.”

Tall grass

Sciara would go on to sign unique and influential bands like Brainiac and The Wrens.

“Since I had never run a label before, I was going purely on how much I liked what they submitted,” Sciara said. “Obviously not the best business model for running a label, but for the money we offered it worked to some respect. The longer I ran the label, the more I understood what was needed from them [the bands] regarding can they tour etc.”

There were few bands of the 90s that radiated weirdo energy as brightly and brilliantly as Brainiac. The documentary Transmissions from Zero chronicles the significant impact the band had on the music scene at the time. It also shows a band on the brink of mainstream success. Brainiac released two albums on Grass, Smack Bunny Baby and Bonsai Superstar, before departing for Touch & Go. The band’s forward motion was sadly cut short by Tim Taylor’s death in 1997. Prior to this, Interscope was expressing interest in the band.

“If Tim hadn't passed I'm pretty sure they'd have been the biggest [band on the label],” Sciara said.

Original Brainiac guitarist Michelle Bodine said Grass’ association with Dutch East India made the label initially attractive.

“[Camille] was super excited about us and we had total creative freedom,” Bodine said. “We also liked the 2-record deal with the option of 3 contract.”

After leaving Brainiac, Bodine would go on to play guitar and sing in O-Matic. The band released its lone album Dog Years in 1996. The album is one of the overlooked gems of the ’90s.

The Wrens’ influence reverberated in more subtle ways. The band’s first two albums, Silver (1994) and Secaucus (1996), provided a blueprint for much of the post-Pixies landscape of ’90s indie rock. They could’ve been much bigger, but still made a significant impression.

“The depth of realization in this record is unparalleled: every angle is perfected,” Pitchfork founder Ryan Schreiber said about Secaucus. The band’s third long awaited album, Meadowlands, dropped in 2001 and received a “Best New Music” tag from the same publication.

Rumblings of a follow-up to Meadowlands have been thrown around for the last 10 years, but a record has yet to materialize.

The level of talent the label had was staggering. A few groups Sciara thought would be bigger ranged from the Irish dream-pop band Chimera to Georgia punk band Sunbrain. “There's more, it would be long list,” Sciara said.

New shoots

Baltimore

Baltimore punk band Liquor Bike had released one album before signing a two-record deal with Grass. The band’s first release on the label was Neon Hoop Ride in 1993. Liquor Bike was excited to be on the label because of the Homestead Records connection.

“We loved being on Grass, we toured like crazy,” singer/guitarist David Koslowski said. “We had great booking with Creature Booking.”

Between the booking agency, which had done work with Nirvana, Helmet, the Lunachicks and Jesus Lizard; and the new label things were looking up for the band. The band would have posters up in whatever towns they were playing in and mentions in the local paper. The label would keep them up to date if they had to do things like impromptu radio interviews. When they got off the road, they entered the studio to record The Beauty of Falling Apart. During this time Alan Meltzer, who bought the label from Sciara in 1996, entered the picture.

“At the onset we were pretty psyched because this guy’s got major label distribution,” Koslowski said.

It also helped that Sciara stayed on after the transition.

“We could still work with Camille, who we love,” Koslowski said. “We slept at Camille’s house when we would play up in New York. She’s an amazingly nice, sweet person and very giving.”

Koslowski said the band was given significantly more to record the follow-up based on buzz the band was getting at the time. J Robbins, of Jawbox and Burning Airlines fame, did the cover art and Drew Mazurek produced the album. The band even hired John Lay, who had previously worked with Squeeze, to manage the band.

“By that point we were having decent guarantees,” Koslowski said. “Those two years when I was on Grass I barely worked a real job. I wasn’t making a rockstar living or anything, but I was certainly able to pay my rent and utilities.”

Liquor Bike went on tour with Gas Huffer to promote the forthcoming record. On the tour Koslowski noticed there weren’t posters out and the band didn’t receive write-ups in the local press. To make matters worse, they never received CDs of The Beauty of Falling Apart to sell at shows. Koslowski said Grass had promised this.

“We were pretty confused," Koslowski said. “I mean our record had been mastered already, everything had been sent to the factory.”

Lay soon informed the band Sciara had been fired and the band had been dropped. Koslowski said the band decided to stay on the tour even after being kicked off the label. The band had old records and T-shirts to sell. They had put a lot of work into the tour and didn’t want to waste it.

Liquor Bike eventually released its third album on Merkin after failed meetings with Amphetamine Reptile, Columbia and Interscope. It was the band’s last before the members went their separate ways.

Seade was another band on on Grass that was unfortunately overlooked. Their lone album (Perf) is an underrated ’90s classic.

Prior to Meltzer, Koslowski said that he didn’t think there was any favoritism toward any one band despite the label being so prolific.

“I just think the woman loved music and wanted to spread that out to people,” Koslowski said of Sciara. “I think she legitimately wanted to help people, you know, help these bands out. She was nothing but giving.”

Omaha

Mousetrap, an Omaha-based punk band, hoped to initially get a deal with Homestead when it sent in two 7” singles.

“Camille really liked our singles and got in touch with us.” Patrick Buchanan, Mousetrap’s singer/guitarist said in an email interview. “We developed a great relationship with her, and eventually she offered to sign us — we were given the opportunity to sign either with Homestead OR with Grass, which was a brand-new label at the time.”

Buchanan said the band thought it would possibly get overlooked in Homestead’s large stable of well-established bands and decided to sign with Grass.  He also said Sciara made a large difference.

“Camille was one of the coolest people we had ever met in ‘the business’ – she just seemed really genuine, straightforward and honest,” he said. “Those are the types of people we wanted to work with. So our relationship with Camille was probably the main thing that made us sign with Grass.”

Mousetrap would go on to release three albums on the label, starting with Cerebral Revolver in 1993. The band was a big influence on Commander Venus, an Omaha band featuring a young Connor Oberst.

“They were definitely a big deal in Omaha and everybody loved them,” Oberst said of Mousetrap in an episode of the Turned Out a Punk podcast earlier this year.

Commander Venus came in contact with Grass through Mousetrap. The band signed to the label when Oberst was only 14. The band also featured Rob Nansel, who would go on to co-found Saddle Creek Records. Oberst said the band recorded its first album, Do You Feel At Home, in 1995.

“That was a good experience and a learning experience,” Oberst said. “I also think it kind of made it more apparent that even if you do get an opportunity like that, you know, you’re a little fish in a big pond. And maybe people aren’t going to work as hard or care about it.”

He said that this was mitigated by having the support system of a local scene in Omaha. The band ended up releasing its 1995 debut on Lumberjack, which later became Saddle Creek. The band released one more album, The Uneventful Vacation, before Oberst formed Bright Eyes.

Promoting growth

Alan Meltzer came into the picture with a retail background. He had previously owned Titus Oaks Records in Long Island. He went on to found CD One Stop in 1985, which was purchased by Alliance in 1993. Meltzer became Alliance’s president during this time but left the company in 1995. Meltzer acquired Grass in 1995 from Dutch East India Trading (the label’s owner/distributor), finalizing major label distribution through BMG in 1996.

“When I heard the Grass repertoire, I almost fell down,” Meltzer said in a 1996 Billboard Magazine article. “I heard so much good material.”

“Alan was shopping around looking to purchase an established label with an extensive catalog that he could pour endless money into,” Sciara said. “He originally wanted Homestead Records. A great label owned by Dutch East as well. But once he saw the contracts and issues with some of the ‘grey’ areas in them, he then moved on to Grass.”

Meltzer did have some legitimate interest in the label as an artistic venture.

“He absolutely was obsessed with the Wrens once he heard them and Commander Venus,” Sciara said. “He was sure with all his resources, money and big ass staff he could make them huge stars. He failed. Not the bands’ fault.”

Grass would have the name (and credibility) of an indie, but the corporate reach of a major. Meltzer looked at the new situation as the best of both worlds.

“We’re not a major label, but we’re not an undercapitalized, disorganized independent that’s out there on a wing and prayer,” Meltzer said. “We’re somewhere in the middle. We’re staffed, we have the organization, and we’ve got the know-how. I opted for major distribution because the majors are better at it.”

Grass kept Sciara on as a VP of A&R (artists and repertoire) and expanded Grass’ workforce to 20 in-house employees, according to the Billboard article. The label’s future looked bright. Bodine left Brainiac and formed O-Matic (also signed to Grass) when the change happened.

“…It seemed better – they had a nice office in Manhattan with an open stairwell area and glass walls,” Bodine said. “It was very modern and cool. The budget was much bigger. They hired more people and we felt like we had a good support system.”

“When we went there it felt like money,” Koslowski said.

Koslowski only met Meltzer once at a Grass Christmas party.

“He was a typical New York money guy when I met him,” Koslowski said. “I didn’t get a good vibe. He didn’t have that indie spirit that Camille had unfortunately.”

The meeting didn’t go well.

“I remember drinking a bit and messing with him,” Koslowski said. “I said ‘hey Alan I wanted to see if I could run this by you. You know that new Liquor Bike record we’re working on? We got the artwork but we just wanted to run the title by you and make sure it’s cool. We want to call it Eat My Fuck Asshole.’”

Meltzer and his wife were horrified, according to Koslowski.

Yellowing, patchy

In an oral history with Stereogum, Wrens bassist and singer Kevin Whelan said the band was picking up steam.

“So Secaucus came out and it started to do somewhat well and “Surprise Honeycomb” was starting to get recognized and played on different shows, and we thought that international fame was around the corner,” Whelan said.

And then the call came in.

“He [Meltzer] said, ‘Well, boys, I’m not going to give you any more money. If you don’t sign with me today, it’s over.’ So, I remember, we sat in the van, we looked at the empty gas tank and we were like, ‘Well, I guess we’re not signing, let’s get the credit cards out and see how we can get home.’”

According to the Wrens’ website bio, Meltzer wasn’t pleased.

“[Meltzer], infuriated, commences layoffs of involved record company personnel and vows that ‘the next band to walk through that door will be made famous – at any cost,’” the bio states. “The next band through the door is Creed. Grass Records becomes Wind-Up Records. Creed becomes famous at any cost.”

By the time of the Wind-Up transition, Moustrap had already fulfilled its contract when it released its third album The Dead Air Sound System.

“At that time, Mousetrap was not very active,” Buchanan said. “I think we had become rather disheartened by how much time and love we put into the band, while getting very little recognition on any type of national level. At that point we were physically and mentally exhausted by constant touring and recording, with very little in the way of tangible success to show for it. So we didn’t really have any relationship with the label by the time it became Wind-Up.”

When the label wasn’t as successful as Meltzer thought, he brought in Steve Lerner. This was effectively the end of Grass Records.

“I was let go along with 8 to 10 others when Meltzer brought in Steve Lerner to run the company,” Sciara said. “The new staff felt Grass was too much related to me so hence a name change.”

“With Lerner serving as his right-hand man, the duo transformed Wind-up into a $100 million-plus sales operation with multi-platinum acts like Evanescence and Creed,” a 2007 Billboard article said.

Death, new high-yield crops

Grass was rebranded as Wind-Up, a key player in the nu metal and post-grunge universe, in 1997. Many of the Grass bands were dropped to make room for the likes of Finger Eleven, Creed and Evanescence. Meltzer, who ran the label with his wife at the time Diana, finally found his cash machine.

“I was extremely happy because, although Creed was a mega-seller and saved his label, I wanted nothing to do with that and the direction the label was taking,” Sciara said. “Not knocking it. You need artists like that to sustain a label that had an enormous payroll and nice offices. I totally get it, it’s a business. But I was happy running a small label with smaller contacts and cooler bands that didn't have to compromise their sound to write a ‘hit.’ That’s what he was always looking for.”

The transition to Wind-Up in 1997 did have some overlap with former Grass artists. The second Commander Venus album was released by Wind-Up and Thick (with a later release on Saddle Creek). Pollen, a rough-edged pop-punk act that had released two albums on Grass, dropped Peach Tree on Wind-Up. Baboon’s sophomore album Secret Robot Control was also released in 1997 on the new label.

Slowpoke’s Virgin Stripes, the final vestige of Grass Records, was a co-release with DGC in 1998. The album didn’t break the band, but it’s not a stretch to imagine it could have (especially since it boasted a song as infectious as “Belladonna”). The album retains some of band’s outsider noisy energy, but delivers it in a package palatable enough for the post-grunge crowd. Past this point, Wind-Up focused mostly on its new sound.

Koslowski didn’t initially know Wind-Up was the successor to Grass. One day someone mentioned to him that he was labelmates with Creed.

“I was like ‘wow, OK I guess he got his hit,’” Koslowski said.  

Meltzer died in 2011 at 67. He made headlines by leaving $1 to his chauffeur and $500,000 to his doorman. Bodine saw this as frustrating because of how he left things with other Grass bands.

“He owed lots of bands money so it’s just really fucked up that he didn’t pay them/us. Liquor Bike did get theirs before he died only because they were persistent,” said Bodine.

In 2013 Wind-Up was purchased by Bicycle Music Company with distribution by Concord Music Group. In 2015 the two companies merged to form Concord Bicycle Music. Craft Recordings manages the label’s reissues.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/wZBpr1tDktI

Rare strain

Aside from Brainiac and The Wrens, many of the bands on the label aren’t on streaming platforms. The physical releases on Grass are mostly out of print. A sea of fantastic experimental indie music remains in this gray area. This doesn’t seem to be changing.

“Unfortunately, I haven’t a clue about if there are plans of Wind-Up re-releasing any back catalog,” Sciara said. “It’s sad really. Holding peoples’ artistic work hostage or just ignoring it seems cruel. Hopefully Wind-Up did the right thing and gave them back their masters, rights etc. Or at least license it to someone else to release.”

The three Mousetrap albums are stuck in this place.

“I wish more people had the chance to hear our music, so yeah I wish it was easily available,” said Buchanan. “Sure, we wanted to be popular — but the most important thing for us was that we made the music we wanted to make. We always did things our way — for ourselves, with no regrets. So even if the albums are harder to get, we’ll always have the memories — and those who were there to witness it will, too.”

Liquor Bike’s lawyer was able to secure the master tapes and artwork for The Beauty of Falling Apart with no questions asked. The band also has the master tapes for Neon Hoop Ride.  

“Crazily enough, Grass did not make us buy Beauty of Falling Apart from them,” Koslowski said. “I have heard from some of my fellow Grass artists that they wanted to charge an incredible amount of money.”

Neon Hoop Ride was remastered and briefly available on streaming services. The album was only available digitally and did not get a physical rerelease.

Greener pastures

Following her departure from Grass, Sciara started Ten23 (Oct. 23, 1996 was the day she was fired from Grass). The label released The Wren’s EP 1135 before folding.

“It seemed like a great idea,” she said. “Didn't put out anything else after that release. It was an expensive endeavor starting a label from scratch, so to speak, and at the time I was unemployed.”

From there she went on to work at the Knitting Factory label group and eventually Narnack Records. She uprooted from N.Y. to move to L.A. to work at the latter. She eventually ended up back in N.Y. where she was a manager at Petland Discounts for 12 years until it closed in 2019.

Buchanan has gone on to release music as Vicious Lovers. Mousetrap has plans to release new music for the first time in 20 years according to Buchanan. Some of Mousetrap’s music can be streamed here:

Michelle Bodine went on to play guitar in Shesus, which was signed to Narnack. The band released an album and an EP before splitting up. Bodine has since been participating in Brainiac reunion shows and was featured in the Brainiac documentary Transmissions from Zero.

David Koslowski went on to play in the post-rock band Vivid Low Sky and the power-pop band Gerty. He currently owns a coffee shop/record store in Baltimore called Baby’s on Fire.

“I loved every aspect of being on Grass, except for the very end,” Koslowski said. “I also loved how diverse Camille had the label. A lot of friends from that time from those bands, I’m still friends with them. It was like a really cool little group of people that all got to share in something for as brief of a time period as it was.”

If you have questions, information or concerns I can be reached at powers3317@gmail.com.

CORRECTION: A previous version of this article spelled David’s last name as Kozlowski. It’s actually Koslowski. Also, J. Robbins just did the cover art for the band’s third album. Drew Mazurek actually produced it. Godplow is a great band but they’re from Minneapolis, not Baltimore.

[rovewritesit]

Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 2) John Deacon x Reader Series

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction, and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 1 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Cursing, duh. Feelings of anxiety.

Chapter Notes: A wild Deacy appears! Reader was supposed to meet him in this chapter but it got a bit long. I may have awkwardly stuffed in some backstory as well, but I wanted to get through it before we start having more interactions with the members of Queen. I’m a hoe for Hot Space and Cool Cat is such a vibe so I had to throw it in here. If you haven’t heard the original demo with Bowie you should take a listen. The music video concept was sparked loosely by Mitski’s “Happy” video (it’s gory af, be forewarned). I’m aware that the MTV of the 80s definitely would’ve banned anything like that, but it’ll come back around in the plot later on.

Songs Mentioned:

Heart of the Night - Juice Newton

More Than A Feeling - Boston

My Best Friend’s Girl - The Cars

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​

- - - - - - -

February 1982 - Orpheum Theater, Boston

It’s noisy in the cramped green room backstage at the Orpheum Theater in Boston. Gone were the days of grand arenas while tagging along with Hall and Oates. Now only around 2,000 bodies lined the seats out in the house, but you still feel that familiar bubble of nerves as Dawn busies herself around your hair. 

Dawn, your best friend from your two short years at NYU, had agreed to tag along for the short tour to help with your “look.” Not that you ever really had a problem with your usual jeans and t-shirts, but this rock type of glam proved to be a different beast, and Dawn certainly had an eye for style. Her voluminous hair always streaked blonde and crimped to perfection. She’d tried to convince you many times to do something chemical with yours but you held firm to your virgin hair, causing your pre-show routine to run well into an hour and a half to get the desired popular style. You smile up at her as she curls part of your bangs away from your face, truly grateful to have another woman around.

“Babes, please stop moving your head. I’ve had to do the same piece 3 times already.” She tuts at you. “And Eds, I’ve asked you how many times to watch your elbows, jesus christ.”

Eddie tries to cram in even tighter against the wall, keeping to the five tiny spots you’d all wrangled against the mirror. “Ay, I’m trying over here. It takes some effort to get all this together.” He smirks, running his fingers through his already perfectly coiffed hair. A shame really, that it would be utterly destroyed within 15 minutes of being on stage.

“Have we picked a city song for tonight yet? I want to go over it in my head a few times before we go on.” Lawrence calls out, trying to tug on a pair of pants that look a size or two too small for him.

The Limbs had taken to playing one song per show by a famous local artist from the city they were in. Since they only had the one album out, it was a chance to get the audience singing and moving together; to change up the pace. A modified tip from a certain mustached rock legend that the band had started to implement.

“I thought we decided on More Than A Feeling?” Eddie says as he tears his eyes away from his own reflection.

“That’ll be what they expect. I think Bun sounds better on My Best Friend’s Girl,” Rich says simply. He’s attempting some form of stretching routine in the back corner of the room, his extremities bumping up against the walls.

“So Y/N’s taking this one?” Steve asks, lounging across a small loveseat against the wall, his legs dangling off of it delicately. He looks up from whatever song he’s been working on.

“You heard what the label said. They want Y/N more center stage, so to speak, for marketing reasons.” Rich tries folding his body into some sort of pretzel shape. A light “oof,” escapes his lips as he falls backward slightly.

“Ah yes, we need to give the public what they want,” you huff, wanting to roll your eyes if not for Dawn covering your head in a cloud of Aqua Net.

Eddie starts pacing, or at least tries to, “I just don’t get why they’re trying to make her into some Debbie Harry.” He scoffs, “Like that’s ever gonna happen.” 

Dawn glares at him. It was a bit of a low blow, but Eddie was still getting used to sharing the spotlight with you, with him singing lead on almost every other song. 

You were still struggling to find your presence on stage and were more than happy to take a back seat to the boys for the most part. And while some of the band’s other singles were gaining traction, none were close to catching up to Heart of the Night, which was now getting steady airplay and record sales thanks to the absurd music video that hit TV screens everywhere a few weeks back.

“That’s true, Y/N’s much more of a Linda Ronstadt type if we’re throwing out names,” Lawrence grunts out. Finally able to close the button on his skin-tight pants.

A cold laugh erupts from Eddie. “Exactly. It’s the Eighties now if you haven’t noticed. It’s all about edgy sex appeal, and let’s be honest, even Steve has a better chance of-”

“Enough!” Dawn’s voice sliced through the air, the daggers thrown from her eyes flying towards him. She leans down to your level to examine her masterpiece. “You look as sexy as a goddamn playboy bunny, hun. No pun intended.” Her voice softens as she pinches your cheeks.

The room goes mostly quiet for the next few minutes as the local opening band starts to close out their set with their last two songs. Only Rich’s deep breathing, fitting in time to the beat. 

You chew your cherry painted lips, mulling over Eddie’s words. You knew full well that you weren’t exactly the frontwoman the label or the public dreamed of. Hell, you weren’t even supposed to be a frontwoman at all. When you’d finally given in to Rich’s insistent pestering to come have some fun with the boys, you’d been at NYU for two years. You loved your film classes but felt the hole that was left from the absence of playing any type of music. In high school, you’d all show up to a party with a variety of instruments in your grasps. It almost always resulted in a crowd gathering around to listen, joining in with your voices, clicking their beer bottles in time with the beat. It was when you had felt most carefree, and you had ached for that feeling again.

But playing locally turned into recording an album, for which you wrote a song for some dream of a man that only existed in your thoughts. Next thing you knew you were scooped up by Columbia Records, missing classes to attend photoshoots or album release parties. People were listening to your voice, your song, and wanting more. You dropped out of college to the dismay of your parents but were immediately enveloped in your friends' glee, finally reaching the precipice of something they’d only dreamed of. You hated the thought of letting them down in any way but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all a fluke, that you had nothing else to give. Destined to fade out as a one-hit-wonder and a disappointment to your best friends in the world. The weight hit your shoulders as you slumped in your seat. 

None of this was supposed to happen, you tell yourself. It never happens like this.

You’re broken out of your daze when there’s a rap at the door and a muffled “5 minutes” from the stage manager behind it. You all stand, waiting for Rich to spread his wings and engulf you in your usual pre-show pow wow. You slide Dawn in next to you in the now group of 6, needing someone steady as an anchor.

“If you’d please, Reverend.” Steve probes, cheekily.

“We’re gathered here today” Rich begins and Dawn giggles. “To bring immense joy to those 2,000 idiots out there, who so willingly sold out our show for us. They deserve a performance played to 200,000, so that’s what we’re going to give them. In the name of our fathers, John, George, Paul, and Ringo. Let’s go give em’ hell.”

“Amen!” you all shout and disband.

As you follow the boys into the dingy hallway leading to the stage, Eddie catches your wrist. He looks at you through his long lashes with an uncharacteristically shy smile that almost never sees the light of day.

“I’m sorry for being a prick, Bun. I shouldn’t have said all that,” he mutters as you continue to walk, not wanting to miss your cue.

“No worries, Eds. You were right though. I’m definitely no Debbie,” you force a chuckle at yourself while a roadie slips your guitar strap onto your shoulders.

“It’s not alright. And no, you’re not,” he says catching your downturned eyes. “You’re Y/N fucking L/N, and you’re just gettin’ started, baby. All you gotta do is take a little bit of the love we all have for you and give some to yourself once in a while, alright?” A grin forms, showing his adorably asymmetrical teeth as he reaches out a hand to ruffle your painstakingly perfected hair. “That’s better. Now let's get out there so you can show the world exactly what kind of frontwoman you are. And don’t be scared to show them a hint of Bunny while you’re at it.” You move your guitar out of the way to pull him in for a close hug. You hear Steve start banging his snare and pull Eddie on to the stage with you, feeling a bit lighter than you had been minutes ago.

You approach your mic and take a look out at the packed, hazy theater.

“Well hello, Bawston!’ Your accent rings out to the faceless figures before you. “Aren’t you all looking fuckin’ fabulous tonight!”

- - - - - - -

March 1982 - Musicland Studios, Munich

“No, I didn’t say it’s bad, just that it sounds tinny,” Brian argues, crossing his spidery arms over his chest as he leans against the doorframe. 

“And it’s as if you’ve shoehorned Bowie in there just to mumble in the background incoherently. A waste, really.” Roger tacks on from beside him.

John sighs and leans his head against the back of the couch in the studio. “Just because it’s not your precious red special or your own magic fingers at work, doesn’t mean it’s tinny,” he counters calmly. Trying his best to keep the annoyance from seeping into his voice, knowing that Brian already had anger stemming from John’s earlier composition for the album.

It was the first time this week that all four men were in the studio together. Finishing up Hot Space was proving to be a strain on all of them and the growing rift had caused the men to nearly finish their songs separately instead of in their usual group dynamic. John’s experimentation into different styles, such as funk and disco, had not been willingly received thus far.

“Well, I sound rather fabulous, if I do say so myself. I’m very proud of us, Deacy.” Freddie states, getting up from his own place on the couch and stretching.

“It’s not that, Fred. It just doesn’t sound like us.” Brian sighs, already sensing the escalation of a row coming along.

“Oh please. Not this again...” Freddie huffs.

“That’s because it’s not us. It’s me and Freddie.” John cuts in with a roll of his eyes, landing them on Mack, their producer, who just shrugs and trains his gaze back to the board. 

“That’s for sure.” Roger murmurs out. Now it’s John’s turn to cross his arms as he levels their pointed gazes. He’d worked with Fred for days putting together “Cool Cat,” hoping that the additional vocals from David Bowie would be a selling point for the other two.

With a clap of his hands, Freddie moves about the room. “Why don’t we take a quick break and then give it another listen?” Roger groans. Freddie pats his shoulder as he makes his way over to a radio beside Mack.

John rubs his tired eyes before pushing himself off the couch, eager for a break from the energy in the stale room. “I’m grabbing a coffee,” not offering one to the others as he brushes past Brian on his way out, quickly retreating down the hallway as fast as his legs will carry him.

The remaining three startle a bit as Freddie flips on the radio, Lo & The Limbs hit single pours from it, louder than expected.

“Oh! Oh, yes! Simply marvelous,” he exclaims, jumping up and down lightly. Roger and Brian raise their eyebrows in silent questioning. “This is the band of rascals I was telling you about the other week. They must’ve just broken out here.”

“The yanks you met while in the States?” Roger questions, turning his attention to the song, eager to judge any brimming competition.

“Yes, yes, the wild young lady who swears like the devil and her band of merry giant trees.”

“We have one of those!” Rog nods in Brian’s direction, voice muffled by a cigarette now dangling from his lips.

“Hm, Brain’s more of a willowy spruce, if you will. These ones are giant redwoods. You know American’s. And they have these thick New York accents. I could barely understand a word they were saying at first. What a riot they were.” he remembers fondly.

“I feel as if I’ve heard this before, but I can’t place it.” Brian ponders, almost to himself.

John appears in the doorway, blowing lightly on a steaming mug.

“Probably from that shocking video of theirs, darling,” Freddie waves his hands about. “Oh, you must’ve seen it. They’re all dressed up like they're in Grease or something, and this square of a girl is pinning after the bad boy. But he’s with this slutty little thing. And oh, I can’t recall the details, but in the end, she ends up murdering the slut!” He slaps the table for effect. “But for some odd reason the boy is okay with it all and they run off into the night together, covered in blood.”

“Sounds… spooky?” Roger shrugs. John stifles a chuckle.

“It’s dramatic! And sexy. And obviously working for them.” The wheels already turning in his head.

John tunes out their chatter and trains his ears to said song, which is about halfway through. The instrumentals seem a bit basic for his taste. The soft strum of an acoustic guitar, a slightly heavier electric over it, with a simple bass line. A female voice flits in.

Cool city moon lays its touch on the room,

Your eyes reach to me

It has a rasp to it. Akin to Stevie Nicks, he thinks.

Two shadows fall saying nothing at all,

We know what we need

No, not quite. It’s entirely it's own if he’s being honest. He can feel the soul pulsating through words and the power that’s beneath it. One that could probably fit with any genre it should choose. His interest peaked.

In the release, two prisoners are free from the darkness

One more escape surviving the heartache and madness

The raw emotion erupting from the speakers and the lyrics start to paint a picture in his mind, scrambling to fill in the faceless voice.

In the heart of the night

The chorus starts and picks up steam quickly. Male voices begin to fill in on background vocals, blending together seamlessly.

We run like bandits

Two hungry hearts under the gun

Her voice cracks a bit, in a charming way. It must be radiant when heard live.

In the heart of the night 

When we find each other

Were stealing love on the run

In the heart of the night,

Heart of the night 

A small smile plays on John’s lips as the song fades out. They’re good, he muses to himself, a bit intrigued by the song and Fred’s colorful description of the accompanying video.

“A great voice indeed. They’ve got a strong sound going.” Brian chirps up.

“That’s her first swing at writing, too. Wish it had been that bloody easy for us.”

“Is she a looker, Fred?” Roger wags his brows.

“Oh please, they’re practically babies! Although that drummer of theirs is certainly something to write home about… Even with the head of hair he has. A bit like a mushroom. A cute one.” Freddie ponders, stroking his full mustache.

John reaches up and pats the tight curls atop his own head, wondering how it would look if he ceased from trimming his current short perm.

“I do hope they catch on here. What fun that would be.” John readily nods along without realizing it.

Freddie switches off the radio and turns back to the other three men. “Alright back to it then. Queue it up, Mac,” placing a hand on the man’s shoulder and raising his eyebrows. “Shall we?”

- - - - - - -

March 1982 - Columbia Records, New York City

“Why are the undersides of my knees sweaty? I’m not a back of the knee sweat kind of guy, alright?” Lawrence fidgets, adjusting his collar for the fourth time in two minutes.

You casually gulp down your third glass of water while staring at the wood-paneled walls of the office. Attempting to avoid the gazes of a number of gold discs lining the walls, the echoes of your musical idols. They seem to be laughing at you.

Steve partakes in his trademark bouncing routine, the chair underneath him squeaking in a violent rhythm. “Do you think it’s the video? It has to be the video or we wouldn’t be in this office. I knew we shouldn’t have taken that big of a risk right out of the gate.”

“You gotta be kidding me. You basically doused yourself in the blood when Eddie pitched it!” Rich cuts in, his usual calm demeanor nowhere to be found.

“What! It was your idea for the--”

The door behind where the group is gathered swings open and in strides a stocky man with a full beard and tinted aviator sunglasses still covering his eyes.

“What are we all standing around for? Sit, sit, sit, c’mon.” His gruff Brooklyn accent ringing out as he moves to sit behind a large mahogany desk.

The Limbs scramble to fit on the couch across from him, with you ending up perched on the armrest, gripping Rich’s bicep for support.

The man, Walter Yetnikoff, CEO and Chairman of Columbia Records, grunts as he eases into a leather chair, finally removing his glasses, revealing surprisingly kind eyes, “Jeez louise, look at you kids. You look as if a nun just caught you all playing with each other’s junk. What’s with the faces?”

“Mr. Yetnikoff, we’d like to sincerely apologize for the backlash that has come from our video. We should’ve known better than that. We could’ve toned it down… a lot.” Eddie rushes out. He wipes his hand over his too-snug tailored pants, probably leftover from days of youth choir.

Walter barks out a laugh. “I’ll admit I was a little shocked to find out that’s what you needed a high school gym for, but relax a little, will ya? You’re not here to be scolded. If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have fought so hard to get it airtime.”

The Limbs visibly relax- a tad, but their eyes all stay wide.

“Well aren’t ya gonna ask why you’re all here then?”

“W-why are we here?” Rich asks quietly. “Sir.” He adds.

“It seems that the slight PR crisis of a video you made has made its way across the pond,” Walter smirks.

“You mean…” Steve trails off in a voice two octaves higher than usual.

“You kids better like air travel because there’s gonna be a lot of it in your near future. The hit has broken into the London airwaves and they’re not as god fearing as viewers here seem to be. We’re sending you over there next week now that you’ve wrapped up the tour.”

“Holy shit!” Lawrence yells. You feel yourself falling back off your perch as your large friends all jump to their feet. Rich’s gangly arm luckily catches you and pulls you immediately into a suffocating hug. “You did this, Bunny!” He screams in your ear. “You did this!”

“Alright, alright, you can all go celebrate and drink your faces off in a second,” Walter calls out over the group who immediately shut their mouths. “We have a few details to iron out but I’m hoping to send you over there for a full press tour. Photoshoots, interviews, talk show appearances. The works, you got it.”

Steve lets out a squeal of delight, his voice not yet returning to its usual bass.

“You.” He points a stubby finger in your direction. “I’m waiting to hear back about a last-minute cancelation on some game show out there. We’re gonna try to get you in. You know your shit?”

“W-what kind of shit, sir?” You ask from the bear hug that Rich still holds you in.

He holds up his hands, gesturing to the gold discs that surround him. “Music, my dear.”

All you can do is nod, not wanting to think about what that even entails.

“That’s what I like to see. Now get outta here so you can all combust somewhere outside of my office. We’ll call you in a few days. Get those bags ready, you hear me?” He waves you all off.

Before you have a chance to say anything, the boys are sweeping you out of the room. And off to the start of whatever comes next, you guess.

[prettyoddfever]

P!ATD in January – February 2007

THE MAIN POST

So the Fever era was over now and fans were expecting the second album to be released in fall 2007. The band took a break in January after like 1.5 years of almost nonstop touring & big successes. The Kerrang article from spring 2008 summed this up really well:

And then that all stopped. Urie went home to Nevada and took stock of his recent experiences. He admits that it was "really strange to be outside of the touring bubble, which is what our band had existed in for so long." He took a look at the view and realised, "Wow, this thing has gotten to be totally huge.” He says this was strange because the members of Panic at the Disco "really don't think of ourselves as being a huge band." But the evidence was all around him, and "there definitely were moments" when Urie realised that "this whole thing had become totally out of control."

"It was a bit strange," says Ross. "Management would call up and say, 'Hey, you sold 50,000 albums this week.' But because we were on the road I'd go, 'Oh, really? That's interesting.' It didn't really mean anything to me, because it didn't seem real. But when we got off the road, and I had time to think about it, I realised, 'Wow, that is a lot of albums.' Especially these days. And then I began to get a sense of what we'd achieved.”

The band was able to go home for a bit and kind of wrap their heads around everything that had happened since they recorded AFYCSO. Ryan was the main guy we really saw a lot about in early 2007 because his friends posted pictures & stories about partying with him.

BAND-RELEATED EVENTS & APPEARANCES

The Rolling Stone cover: P!ATD was supposed to be on the first Rolling Stone cover of 2007 but they got bumped to February after James Brown passed away on Christmas. Their issue went on sale in late January and Rolling Stone put some promo stuff online right before that. Here’s the video about the photoshoot and here’s more about the video interview. Most of the photoshoot pictures weren’t shared until 2008 but here’s a tag for some of those. I liked the videos & pictures better than the actual article... a lot of us were disappointed that even Rolling Stone couldn’t proofread or fact-check their articles. But most parts were still fun!

The Sports Illustrated photoshoot: The band was also in Sports Illustrated around Valentines Day. I think some people expected them to be posing in speedos, so this news was entertaining all around. Here are some pictures, the magazine page, the video of the photoshoot, and the TNT clip.

February 9th & 10th: Ryan & Jon went to some events in LA with Pete Wentz. They were at a Helio party at the Roosevelt on the 9th and then at a pre-Grammy party at the House of Hype on the 10th.

OTHER RANDOM EVENTS FROM THIS PERIOD

Viacom was suing Youtube (or some drama like that) so like 3/4 of the good content got deleted. I knew that included everything from MTV, but I had no idea their reach extended to so many companies urgh. There were P!ATD videos saved on some fan sites and people had other files to share too, but there are still quite a few things from 2006 I’m missing. This also is why a lot of old interviews on youtube have an upload date after early 2007 if they’re even allowed online now... and why the view count seems way lower than it should (it’s missing the activity of the whole Fever era).

Jon hadn’t done much with the band’s album since October, but he put a couple pictures on his picturesatthedisco photobucket. Then he wiped that account during this season.

P!ATD was nominated in 4 categories at the Musiqwards (by Musiqtone): Album of the Year, Song of the Year, New Artist of the Year, and Breakout Artist of the Year. Fans could vote online around the new year. P!ATD ended up winning 3 categories (they didn’t win Album of the Year... Teddy Geiger did). The other nominees for “Song of the Year” were Hinder, Justin Timberlake, Beyonce, James Blunt, Nelly Furtado, and Mary J Blige. The other nominees for “New Artist of the Year” were KT Tunstall, James Blunt, Teddy Geiger, Corinne Bailey Rae, Daniel Powter, and The Veronicas. The other nominees for “Breakout Artist of the Year” were Hinder, Snow Patrol, The Fray, Plain White T’s, Chamillionaire, and Rihanna.

Panic won Worst Band at the NME Awards.

Ryan talked to Blender about Vegas: “growing up anywhere there comes a point when you get fed up and need to get away. But traveling the world has made us all realize how much we like it here. I’d actually been thinking about moving, but I just bought a condo here last week.”

Someone posted these pictures on greatestjournal & a few other sites in early 2007 and then fan sites grabbed them... I don’t know the original source, though.

Brendon said at the end of January that he was working on some of his own songs and would be meeting up with the band in about a month to share ideas. He was practicing guitar & piano a lot and was also learning some new instruments like the accordion & trumpet. He talked about wanting to learn as many instruments as possible so that he could help out if the band suddenly decided they wanted a certain sound. He also talked about being fascinated by the emotions that different instruments could convey. 

Umm FBR did some kind of basketball-related bracket thing but the only sport with hoops that I ever cared about was quidditch. 

There were a ridiculous amount of fan projects & presents for the band this year. Some of the early projects were scrapbooks where fans would submit pages with pictures of themselves and fun facts about their interests... here’s an example:

Several fans started to get territorial about who had the right to run projects and mail them to the guys, so two girls actually went directly to the band’s management and became the Official™ present-senders and tried to make everyone else go through them lol. Those girls were also trying to get the band to start a fan club.

There was still fake info being spread by fans who thought they’d actually been talking to Bden on msn or aim for like half a year at this point. There were also some fake facebook & myspace accounts that didn’t even spell his name right.

Some of the guys were big ninja turtles fans as kids. The producer of the upcoming ninja turtles movie said at the start of 2007 that the band had come forward saying they wanted to write something special for the movie but the movie people weren’t sure if there was going to be a legit soundtrack or not.

Someone posted a joke edit of Keltie’s away message that said she & Ryan were getting married on Valentine’s Day. That spiraled out of control and people actually believed it.

Kerrang put Brendon as #19 on their list of 100 rock icons. 

These fake lyrics were circulating for a supposed new song called “A Minute Of Perfection Was Worth The Effort, A Moment Was The Most You Could Ever Expect From Perfection:”

I'm a half-completed crossword Find your school: city state search Oh look! Oh look! She's become a model now Crash her wedding, she's wearing red shoes but she hasn't a thing to wear I'm a fighting man, but I've no hands But if you like, I guess, I mean, I guess I could tie the boxing gloves on anyway One boxing match in the church baby, a shotgun wedding With boxing gloves instead of a shotgun, baby

THE BUILD GOD VIDEO

A lot of people were really excited about the supposed release dates in late January and early February, but the video didn’t premiere until like March 5th-6th on FBR’s youtube (depending on your time zone). Apparently FBR also put a trailer on their myspace to hype the upcoming video at the start of March but I missed that. Here’s Rolling Stone’s review of the trailer though:

I thought the most entertaining part about the Build God video was how some girls heard about Ryan’s comments that it would be too racy to be shown on tv... and somehow that led to the rumor that Brendon was playing the lawyer and Ryan was the virgin??? lol people were way too excited. And some people actually did think that Brendon was the mime in the video even after it was released. 

I suppose MTV kind of aired the video, but they butchered it and cut away. This is my summary of the actual video. The end.

KELTIE

Ok there’s a lot I’m leaving out of these posts (especially about the band members’ personal lives). I’m trying to only mention their girlfriends if something happened that related to the band... but Keltie’s general existence became such a huge topic with fans that it’s hard to leave her out entirely. 

So fans had been talking about the “blond girl” with Ryan in late 2006 and I heard that her name was Anna, Sage, and/or Skye. The focus on Keltie didn’t really spin into a frenzy until early 2007 after the NYE pictures showed up and there wasn’t much else to talk about. I thought she might be Katie Kay from Lucent Dossier when I first saw the NYE pics because they do look a lot alike! Other people thought she was Mandy from South of Nowhere.

Some people who originally claimed to be happy for Ryan were now hating on Keltie after seeing some of her mostly-naked pictures online and learning more about her (a lot of which turned out to be false). Fans were absolutely horrible to Brendon’s girlfriend in summer & fall 2006 too, which had made me back away from following the gossip too closely (I got the main points but avoided the pointless day-to-day drama). The talk about Keltie became so obnoxious that a few forums & fan communities actually banned any discussion about her. So there were groups of fans who hated Keltie... but there were also groups who became really intense fans of hers too (and some people switched from hating her to loving her by June). That’s summing up a lot.

It seemed like Keltie didn’t really discourage fan attention, but some people who were supposedly in touch with her said she actually didn’t have a myspace and there were just some creeps who were really good at finding pics of her. A lot of girls were conveying important secret messages “from Keltie,” though... I didn’t bother trying to sort out which nonsense was true this season and none of it really mattered overall anyways. The only thing from the first half of 2007 that I think matters is the idea that it looked like Keltie had started to position herself as a sort of middleman that some of Ryan’s friends & fans could go through to communicate with him (it almost felt like she was his manager at times). Maybe she was just trying to help him idk. I’m not going to read into anything too much here.

HOW SOME FANS OCCUPIED THEMSELVES

The band had basically been touring since they played their first show, so fans had grown used to constant news and a steady stream of events. The Fever era kept building & building in intensity throughout 2006 until it suddenly just stopped at the end of the year. The band talked about reeling from that abrupt shift, but it kind of messed with fans too. Different sites had different atmospheres. Fans on a lot of the boards & communities were often more occupied with topics that didn’t necessarily rely on weekly events (like fanfiction or the band’s girlfriends). Certain livejournal crowds had to really reach for ways to entertain themselves, though... so WikiPWNia, Bottledon, and the Build God threads sadly stand out as defining parts of spring 2007 to me lol. Thankfully I was busy with my senior year of high school so I didn’t need to experience too much of this... but it was entertaining in small doses.

Bottledon: there was a fanfic written that paired Brendon + the bottle that hit him at Reading. Yeah, that became a real ship... and then a full community. I glanced at a fic to see if people were actually serious and then I had to save the first lines because I couldn’t stop laughing: “‘Brendon?’ asked Bottle meekly. ‘Yea bb?’ said Bden innocently.” 

The Build God thread(s): There were rumors that the Build God video would air on Rage in Australia on January 20th but that turned out to be fake. People spammed a realllllly long thread trying to hit the max comments while waiting for a video that never came. I think some kids thought that if they made a big enough fuss then the band would decide to share the video?? Jon added “ps. what build god thread.... :)” to his January 22nd journal entry, which was proof that he had seen everything. (Jon was the one who tried to have some kind of actual connection with fans in the late Fever era, so people were overly excited that he had acknowledged them once again). There were other rumors that the video would air in early February, which led to more false hope, lengthy lj threads, and Wikipedia edits...

WikiPWNia: People did occasional dumb edits on Wikipedia in 2006, but it escalated into a group effort around the start of February 2007. The spam edits got to the point where all of the band member’s Wikipedia pages became locked/protected... you couldn’t make an edit if you didn’t have an account or if your account had been created recently. Here’s a separate post with some of the screenshots.

Those edits were really just meant to be funny, but I started to realize by 2008 that some fans must have believed part of the edits they’d seen at various points. I did feel bad for the international journalists who also looked to Wikipedia to get “facts” to write about. Here’s one example from 2006:

[subasekabang]

One Blank Concrete Wall, Primed

Title: One Blank Concrete Wall, Primed Rating: T/PG-13 for swearing and bloodless violence Word Count: 13,700 Pairings/Characters: No ships/Genfic. Neku, Joshua, Hanekoma as main characters. Appearances by most everyone else from TWEWY including Beat, Rhyme, Shiki, the reapers Warnings: brief mentions of past trauma/death (some of the Reapers discuss why they died), angelic/eldritch body horror (no blood or gore), imprisonment Summary: Neku’s in college now, and other than passing through Shibuya’s subway station to get to other parts of the city, he doesn’t really stop by much anymore. But when he gets a serious case of artist’s block before a gallery show, he decided to go back to his old stomping grounds to get inspired. Partner: @soundofez​ and @songsummoner​ Author’s Note: This was a fun, super weird piece. I also did some art for it on top of my partner’s work; all the art from me and my partners will appear in the correct parts of the fic on my AO3 link, which will go up Oct. 2. I’ll link in reply to this post with it when that’s up so you can see some really weird stuff (my own art is included below, though!!). Special thanks to Fez for designing college-age Neku’s clothes.

Also, Neku fights (and apologizes to) a building.

Enjoy!

XXX

Neku sighed. Squinting, he rolled up the blinds on his studio apartment a little, taking in the view. One window, the Skytree. The other, he could glimpse the top part of Sensouji’s pagoda. Asakusa was no Shibuya, but it had lots of car free pathways, quirky art stalls, and lots of tourists to draw. And it was a heck of a lot cheaper than living in Ueno.

He could walk to campus in about half an hour on a good day or take the subway just one stop to Tokyo University of the Arts on a bad one. It was convenient and, while a touristy area, surprisingly quiet.

Too quiet today, though. Neku fired up his tablet, pinging his friends. They always called everyone in a big group chat, though there was no obligation to answer.

“Sup, Phones?” Beat grinned into the camera, a giggle heard in the background.

“Beat, are you ever going to actually use his name?”

“I am though!” Best objected. “Neku’s tag is a pair of headphones. It’s practically his name at this point.”

“You’re not going to win on a technicality,” Rhyme chirped, turning the camera so she was in frame. “We’re between takes, anyway. What’s up, Neku?”

“Shit, did I interrupt a shoot?” Neku hovered over the hang-up button.

“I just said we were on break!” Rhyme reiterated, flailing her hands in front of her. “But Beat is shooting with your deck!”

His friend, who had only grown more muscular with the past five years, hefted up his skateboard, showing off the art of a flying squirrel on the undercarriage. “It’s still the sickest one I’ve got. You’d better have another one in the wings when it gets decommissaried, yo!”

“Decommissioned.”

“Whatever.”

“It’s not whatever, Beat,” another voice popped in, the newcomer’s eyebrow quirked in a hint of static as the visual flickered on.

“Sup, Shiki!” Beat said, waving wildly.

“Meet me for drinks when you’re done shooting? I can hop on the subway. It’s only a stop.”

“How’d you know where we are?”

“Beat, you always skate in Ikebukuro,” Shiki said matter-of-factly. “And I’m at school, so I’m only a stop away from you.”

“Oh. Right. Sometimes I wish we kept our mind reading powers,” Beat said with a pout.

“Noooooo thank you,” Shiki said with a grin. “Anyway, what’s all this about? I’ve got ten minutes ‘til my Fashion Sales class.”

Neku scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepishly at the camera. “I… er. Kinda needed some advice. I’ve got a gallery class where my one assignment is supposed to take the whole semester and I’m a bit stuck. I need to hand my draft proposition in by the end of next week.”

“What’s the topic?” Rhyme asked.

“That’s the thing. The art—even the medium—is up to me. Every fine art track has to take this thing. So, it doesn’t need to be painting, but I have to secure a space and create a work to match it. Like, get permission to paint a building, or something like that. Private or public property, just no vandalism. Street paste or yarn bombing is OK in public spaces. Basically, as long as it’s non-destructive; otherwise we need permission from the owner.”

“So, you need to scout out a place and make something that compliments it?” Rhyme asked.

“Yeah. And we can work together if we want. I don’t know my classmates well enough to know if our styles clash though.”

“Sounds tough.”

“That’s why it’s my whole assignment.”

Beat frowned. “I’ve got a good sponsorship going with Wild Boar. Could see if you could tag one of their shops.”

“Maybe,” Neku said. “But I want to step out of my comfort zone a little if I can. It’s a good backup.”

Shiki bit her lip. “Maybe you just need a little inspiration.”

“Little is an understatement.”

“What about that tag mural in Shibuya? Would that be fair game?”

The chat went silent. That wall in question was public property. It was absolutely not game—not for this assignment at least.

“Why?” Neku almost whispered, hoarse. “Why’d you even bring it up?”

“Because it’s been five years, Neku, and you haven’t gone back. CAT did what you’ve been assigned; he was a street artist who also did all these kinds of hired art too.”

“Hanekoma’s gone,” Neku reminded her. “I stopped trying. The shop was destroyed. If he ever came back, he’s not in Shibuya.”

“Then… ignore my bad idea,” Shiki said, not meeting eyes with the camera. “Sorry I brought it up.”

“No! No,” Neku reassured her, forcefully, then quiet, as if he were a deflating balloon. “Sorry if I snapped.”

“You didn’t snap,” Rhyme offered, before changing the subject. “I’ll think on it though; there’s gotta be some struggling coffee shop that could use some art, or something. Anyway… we need to get back to work, now.”

“And I have class. Neku, let’s chat tonight, after dinner? I can swing by your place. We can go get conveyor belt sushi over by Nakamise.”

“That… sounds pretty good, actually. Yeah. Let’s.”

“Later, alligator!” Rhyme said, chipper.

“Yeah! Later!” Shiki added.

“Let’s bounce!” Beat snuck in as Rhyme ended the call.

Neku was left alone to his thoughts.

Shibuya.

He and his friends romped through the city almost every weekend after they were all brought back—at least at first. Eventually exams took over for Shiki and Neku, both hell-bent on getting in Bunka Fashion College and Tokyo Arts respectively. Beat slowly got more and more skate sponsorships with Rhyme as his videographer, making her new dream to shoot the world’s best skater: her brother.

Neku closed his eyes, imagining the gleaming, ad-drenched skyscrapers, a far cry from the view from his apartment window.

Maybe.

Maybe it was time to finally go back; maybe Shiki wasn’t wrong. It was his old stomping grounds, his old home. And it was only a few hundred yens’ ride away.

Neku pinched his forearm once to ground himself, grabbed his wallet and a scarf (courtesy of Shiki’s weaving class, in a sturdy textured purple crepe) and headed out the door.

Xxx

Neku’s palm touched plaster and concrete. Slowly, he slid his hand along the wall, breathing out an exhale. Even in his high school years, when his friends would regularly bum around Shibuya after school and on weekends, he avoided the mural. It wasn’t that he stopped liking it; just… He felt he didn’t need it anymore. He had plenty of CAT’s art to keep him company, from the pins in his pocket to the billboards throughout the city.

Maybe he was young and naïve back then, but looking at the faded piece, partially obscured by other, less impressive tags… well, it didn’t seem very impressive anymore.

“‘Course it isn’t, you brain-dead binomial,” a familiar voice sneered from behind him. Neku whipped around to see Sho Minamimoto, cat whiskers and all, grinning with fanged teeth.

Sho put up his hands as a peace offering, sensing Neku’s hackles rising. “I’m not attacking the living; don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’d really rather not get divided by zero. Again.”

Neku relaxed his shoulders a little but said nothing.

“You’re a leaky faucet, you single-digit integer,” Sho explained, as he pointed to a vending machine, sending a pair of CC Lemon bottles flying out of it and at the two of them. He leaned against the mural, back to it, sliding down to sit and sighing with his drink. “I miss CAT, too, you know. Been the square-root of 25 years since anyone’s seen a new piece of his. Some of the reapers actually thought it might’ve been you.”

Neku laughed, wiping tears from his eyes. “Me?” he asked, plopping down next to his former enemy, accepting the citrus-flavored peace offering. “I was fifteen. And CAT had been active way before I was born.”

“Thought it was a title, you dumb fractal. Like Pope or Emperor.”

“Expert street artists are called Kings and Queens, you know.”

“And dead ones are Angels,” Sho added with a sage nod. “Trying to one-up a Reaper on art is like trying to find the cube root of i.”

Neku stared down at his soft drink, thinking of Hanekoma. The title suited him in more ways than one, thanks to a little packet he’d found in Mr. H’s shop back when he and Beat snuck in to see if there was anything they could save. Since Hanekoma was CAT, there had been a pretty strong likelihood some of his art was still in the ruined café, but sadly there wasn’t any evidence in there at all. Neku saw faded marks where canvases and an easel had once been stacked in a curious empty back room; someone had beaten them to clearing it out.

Sho pulled Neku out of his thoughts eventually, after one intrepid skater ate pavement attempting to grind the Cyco Records railing.

“What’s eating you, pain-in-my-vector? Well, former.”

“You don’t hold a grudge?” Neku asked curiously.

“It’s a long afterlife. Grudges are useless.”

The two sat in silence for a while, watching the skaters try their new decks outside the Wild Boar at the midpoint of the T section.

“You gonna ask me why I’m here?”

“I know why you’re here,” Sho replied testily, tapping his temple. “Was waiting to see if you’d give me the proof out of your mouth.”

“Right. Mind reading.”

“I can’t see every piece of the equation; that’s not how it works and you know it. But I can solve for x and fill in the blanks.”

Neku sighed. “What can you see?”

“That you’re stuck on a hard problem and you’ve been staring at your homework too long.”

“And by problem you mean—”

“I can’t tell—just some big project is eating you up. At least it’s not Higashizawa. That hectopascal can eat a man whole. I’ve seen it.” Minamimoto slung back his drink. “So, what’s eating you?”

“I mean, other than you being alive again?” Neku asked, eyebrow raised.

“Still dead as I was last you saw me.”

“Last I saw you, you were crushed under a vending machine.”

“Eh, I’ve had worse days.” Minamimoto shrugged. “That infinite asshole of a Composer fixed me back up and sent me right back to work. Now stop stalling, you obtuse angle. Out with it.”

“Artist’s block,” Neku admitted sheepishly. “I’ve got a big project coming up and I just can’t think of the right thing to do.”

Sho laughed, his head flung back and whole body shaking with the action. “Artist’s block, you dithering digit. You don’t think we Reapers never deal with that shit? At least for you, it’s not fatal.”

“F-fatal?” Neku asked, almost dropping his bottle.

“We run on Imagination,” Sho said, chucking his emptied-out drink with force, sending it flying halfway down the alley into a recycling bin attached to a vending machine. “No Imagination, no power. No power long enough and poof, divide by zero. Crunch. Drop a vending machine on me? I’ll walk it off. Go too long without making something…”

Sho went uncharacteristically quiet, running his fingers through a hole in his jeans.

“So, what do you do when you’re stuck?” Neku finally asked.

“I raid the trash. Something always finds its way to me.” Sho pulled a loose thread and threw it to the wind. “I don’t just mean the garbage; I mean the rest of us. Talkin’ it out’s helped. I used to think I didn’t need anybody else. But then I got subtracted out so many times by you ‘n Prisspants, well. Don’t want to admit it but dividing up the work’s helped solve the harder equations.”

Neku smiled, offering a hand. “I can leave you my number if you ever want to talk shop.”

Sho blinked twice, confused. “You’d… help me? I was an irrational digit.”

“So? I was an asshole teenager. I pass through often enough. It’s not much trouble, especially if you’re feeding me,” Neku admitted, shaking his now empty bottle. “You try keeping on weight on a college art student’s budget.”

“Yeah, all right,” Sho said, standing up, swiping Neku’s empty bottle to shove in one of his myriad pockets. “A balanced equation—I dig it. I’m using this in my next piece,” he added, tapping the bottle with a hollow thud. “Thanks… Neku.”

Before Neku had a chance to even realize it was the first time Sho called him by name, the Reaper had vanished back to the Underground, out of Neku’s reach.

Xxx

Neku stood at the mural a few minutes longer, rolling the plastic bottle cap in his fingers. If Sho was alive, well, less dead, then Joshua was still haunting Shibuya from somewhere—Hanekoma, too.

So why was the mural so worn out? Had Mr. H run out of new inspiration himself? Neku sighed, no more ready to tackle the assignment as he hoofed it back to the station, tossing the bottle-cap into the recycling as he passed.

The CC Lemon Sho had expertly pitched was mysteriously absent from the top of the pile.

“If Sho went dumpster diving to make recycled friendship bracelets, I think I’ll actually bust a rib laughing,” Neku muttered to himself.

“Honestly? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Neku whipped his head around to see a Reaper in a basic hoodie. A faceless grunt, one of at least tens, if not hundreds, patrolling the city. No visible wings, so at least Neku could remind himself he hadn’t gone sliding into the UG. Just another Reaper coming up to the RG for air. Or to pester him.

Or both.

“Do I know you?” Neku asked, eyeing the teenage-looking apparition in oversized clothing.

The boy huffed. “The Reaper Review remembers you.”

Neku laughed and relaxed a little. “At least you’re not the Reaper who made me show up in all Mus Rattus to break their barrier. Or the other one who made me get them a chili dog.”

“When you’re a minor officer, you’re allowed to send Players on wild goose chases,” the Reaper said with a shrug. “I’m just happy I was allowed to block mine with trivia. I hate fighting.”

“You and me both,” Neku grumbled.

The reaper tipped his hood back slightly, enough to show Neku his ethereal looking eyes. “I overheard you had artist’s block. Er, sorry. Didn’t mean to pry. It’s the worst.”

“Great. Is my mind safe from any of you?” Neku groaned, though it wasn’t in anger. He couldn’t complain. Hearing the livings’ thoughts just happened when you were dead.

“Actually, I was guarding the mural and overheard your chat with the Lieutenant.”

“Oof. Minamimoto got a demotion?”

“He seems happier in the field, anyway,” the Reaper replied with a shrug. “More time for his sculptures and harassing players.”

Neku looked at the Reaper curiously. “Sho mentioned you all do art. Have to keep your Imagination up.”

“That’s… not entirely true. I mean yeah, gotta keep the creative juices going or we stop existing. But it doesn’t have to be through art. Cooking, dance, whatever goes. When I’m stuck, I usually learn from another Reaper. Gives me some perspective.”

Neku’s smile widened. “You’re right, you know. I need to broaden my horizons. What do you do?”

“Me? Uh… I design puzzles. The player traps and stuff.”

“Ugh,” Neku groaned.

“You paint, right? I remember seeing some of your tags under the Miyashita Park underpass a few years ago. You’re pretty good. Maybe… try heading over near Shibu-Q? The Reapers that dance usually practice that way—sidewalk is wide enough. Loosen up with some life drawing or something.”

Neku smiled. “I have to do an installation project, but you know what? That’s not a terrible idea. Thanks.” He looked to the corner where Shibu-Q stood and then back at his nameless friend, but the Reaper was already gone.

Xxx

Neku didn’t know what he was expecting to find outside Shibu-Q, but a pair of Harrier Reapers doing acrobatic dancing was not it. Neku smirked as he watched the reaper woman with electric purple lipstick—Uzuki, if he remembered correctly—pirouetting before using her friend as a vaulting block to spin up and over his back.

The two continued their routine, the man—Kariya, Neku remembered after a few embarrassed moments of mental fumbling—seeming lazy and unmoving but carefully and precisely supporting his partner’s flashy moves. The two continued for another ten minutes or so, then each held out a hat for change.

Neku patted himself down for his wallet before dumping three 500-yen coins in Uzuki’s hat as it passed around. She glared at him a moment, then pushed the coins back in his face.

“Not taking money from you,” she snipped. “I already owe you enough. Shoo.”

Kariya looked over his shoulder at Neku, momentarily confused. After all, the two of them hadn’t aged a day while Neku was now a lanky, slightly scruffy young adult. Realization crossed the Reaper’s features slowly, eventually tugging his mouth into a half grin. Kariya offered Neku a backwards half-salute and went back to waving his hat around for change.

Eventually the crowd dispersed. Kariya loped over to Neku and Uzuki, clapping Neku on the shoulder. “Hey, kiddo. You’re as tall as I am now. Good on you. How’s life treating you?”

Neku couldn’t help but laugh at the double meaning behind the words. “Busy. College.”

“You know, I wondered when I would stop seeing you run around the RG so much over here.”

“Never mind me,” Neku said, sloughing off Kariya���s friendly gesture and looking at the two of them. “How are you holding up?”

“How do you think?” Uzuki spat. “There weren’t many powerful Reapers left after that mess—at least for a while. So, some ass went and got themselves promoted to Conductor.”

Kariya looked down at his feet, blush going all the way across his face. “It’s not like I asked for it; I wasn’t given a choice. At least I negotiated that I could do things my way. Uzuki’s my GM.”

Neku frowned. “So… then you know the Composer.”

Kariya’s eyes went uncharacteristically fierce. “That’s on a need to know basis and—”

“Read my mind then,” Neku countered. “There’s something I do need to know.”

Neku closed his eyes and thought of Joshua. What he really wanted was to talk to Mr. Hanekoma, but the only way he was going to be able to do that would be going to Joshua first.

Kariya whistled low. “Okay. Fine. Kid, come here a sec.”

“Kariya, come on. Why are you even telling this kid anything? He’s alive. And—”

“He knows about Josh, Uzuki, I’m not giving him anything new. Just… maybe pointing him in the right direction.”

Uzuki pushed a loose strand of burgundy hair from her eyes. “Fiiiiine, whatever. You’re the boss.”

“You’ve seen him?” Neku asked quietly.

“’Course I have. He’s my boss,” Kariya said with a sigh. “Though he only comes to speak if he feels like it. I’ve caught him sulking over past the Miyashita Park underpass though. No clue why. Out there is just a bunch of sporting goods stores and Josh and physical activity mix like oil and vinegar. Hope that helps. What do you need him for, anyway? You’re alive.”

“It’s not him I’m even looking for,” Neku admitted. “I want him to tell me what happened to an old friend.”

Kariya relaxed a bit. “If said old friend has anything to do with the UG, might as well ask me.”

“I’m looking for CAT.”

Kariya frowned, scratching the back of his head in contemplation. “CAT was a Reaper? He— or she, I guess— stopped doing anything new after I became Conductor. Yeah. You’d have to speak to Josh. That’s before my time and below my pay grade.”

“Thanks anyway, Kariya,” Neku said, genuinely appreciative. “It’s better than nothing.”

“Anytime. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Neku closed his eyes a moment, sighing quietly. “Hope so too,” he muttered, opening them to an empty sidewalk.

Xxx

Neku headed eastbound towards Cat Street, passing Stride on the left. Gone were the Tin Pin banners, long since replaced with whatever new plastic toy battling fad that had taken hold of the local kids.

“You know, I heard a commotion from some of the older guard that a carrot was running around Udagawa.”

Neku had whiplash. Poised behind him with a cigarette loosely held in between his middle and ring finger was a face Neku couldn’t believe he was seeing.

“Seven?” Neku asked incredulously. He reached out his hand for the bleach-blonde, swaggering musician’s to find it cold as ice. Neku frowned. “Smoking kills, you know.”

777 played with the cigarette between his fingers. “How d’you think I died?” He gave a cocky grin. “Actually, I fell off a roof rigging an abandoned warehouse party. This is why you do safety checks. Tenho still gives me grief about it.”

Neku smiled weakly. “That bites.”

“The dust? Oof. Yeah. But hey, all three of us went down at once. The party scattered and when we showed up to play a new set a few weeks later nobody realized we weren’t exactly alive. They probably thought we broke a bone or two at worst and hid to lick our wounds—not cracked our skulls on the sidewalk.” Neku winced. “Er, sorry, Orange. Didn’t mean to dredge up anything bad on your end. Just odd, seeing you back.”

“Looking for someone,” Neku admitted. “The owner of the café that used to be on Cat Street.”

“Hanekoma? Stopped in there for coffee sometimes. Bit odd. His shop didn’t have the Player decal, yet he definitely served stiffs. Reapers as customers is one thing—we can go to the RG—but… hell. What do I know?”

Neku flocked his eyes up and down the street. Not that it mattered; Reapers could be in the UG right next to him and he wouldn’t know. “Yeah, he could see the dead.”

“ESPer or something?” Seven asked, blowing out a smoke ring that looked like a bat. Now he was just showing off.

“Something like that.”

“Well, fat lot that did him. Shop’s been MIA ever since I got recommissioned—maybe earlier. All I remember is, I had a double shot espresso there the night before that gig you helped me with, got blown up like two weeks later, and when I’m back to my good old dead self, the shop looks like it got exploded too. What the hell went on in this city that week?”

“War,” Neku said grimly.

“And you won, didn’t you?” Seven elbowed him in the shoulder. “You’d be one of my types now if you hadn’t.”

“Yeah, I did,” Neku said, throat dry. “Thanks for the chat.”

“You come to our next gig, you hear? You’ve gotta be old enough to drink now. VIP for you ‘n the cute chick you were with. Or, uh, anyone else. Don’t know if asking her would be awkward. She made it out, didn’t she? Please say yes.”

Neku smiled. “She did, and we’re still friends. I’ll ask. She won’t look like how you’re expecting though.”

“Neither do you, not-so-short stack. Now get outta here. I’m gonna finish my drag and get back to setup before Beej screams me out. Later.” Seven snapped his fingers and the cigarette exploded in a puff of blue fiery smoke. “Open invite, Orange, just tell the bouncer ‘golden bat’ at the door.”

Xxx

Neku inhaled. He knew past here was Cadoi, then Miyashita.

Then Cat Street.

Neku passed a small spot under the park underpass where Beat and Rhyme’s flowers had once been placed, leaving behind a tiny finger skateboard. Beat would probably punch him; Rhyme would find it hilarious. He did it to honor his once dead friend. Some kid would probably see it, and abscond with it, and play with it till it broke. Beat’s skateboard, in the hands of some kid passing by—it was fitting.

Neku let his memory walk him the rest of the way to WildKat. It stood as it had since the incident: a broken front window, a door barely hanging on its hinges. How it remained like this almost half a decade without developer intervention was shocking, honestly. Or maybe not, if divine intervention was involved.

Neku inhaled and took a step forward.

Again.

Again.

He carefully swung the door, afraid the whole thing would come off the frame in his hands. It squeaked something awful but hung by a thread.

The inside was worse. Neku should have brought one of his paint masks with him. The place was a fire trap of chipped plaster, dust, and mold. An old safe in the back corner was open on its hinges. The only things that looked clean were the sink, two sealed jars of whole coffee beans, and a single drip carafe, the rest of the row shattered beyond recognition.

Neku’s sketchbook and a mechanical pencil set still sat atop the dust-crusted counter. He’d left them there when he and Beat had returned— the only time Neku stepped foot in the shop when he was alive—to check on the shop.

To check on its owner.

Leaving the sketchbook behind seemed fitting. It was half full of random crap, and half empty, nothing but open promises in the end.

Maybe Neku didn’t need Hanekoma, or CAT, or the old shop. Carefully, he made his way around a splintered bar stool, sidestepped a broken glass pitcher, and hauled himself up on the only stool left in sittable condition.

Reverently, he opened the book. He almost laughed at his fifteen-year-old self’s sketches. The first three pages were ideas for tags around the city. He actually cringed at one.

Then a page of Shiki—a quick sketch, half likely from stolen glances and half from memory, because it was her as herself on the left, and as Eri on the right.

Ideas for Beat’s skateboards.

Architecture sketches

An entire six pages of circles and cubes, shaded with hatching or a blending stump.

Neku turned to the next page.

In handwriting that wasn’t his, scrawled in large block print…

TURN AROUND, DEAR.

Xxx

Neku screamed. It wasn’t one of fear, but frustration. “You slimy, little—” he shrieked, as he spun around in the stool expecting to see a smarmy, fifteen-year-old-looking blonde, if the agelessness of the other UG residents was anything to go by.

Instead, a softly frowning man in his mid-thirties stood behind him.

With blonde fly-away hair.

And strange purple eyes.

And a blue-purple button down with white accents and charcoal slacks.

Neku bit his lower lip, holding back a fury he hadn’t had in years.

“You.”

“I come in peace,” Joshua offered, hands up defensively, glowing slightly. “I wrote that years ago. Now I kind of regret it.” Neku relaxed a little. Joshua would be dramatic enough to do that and scare him when he entered the shop, wouldn’t he?

“Only kind of, though,” Joshua added, pulling a broken chair from the rubble, fixing it with a shake and sitting down beside Neku. “It’s still Imprinted. I’m not in the RG. The note left a bit of me in it. You see it, you see me, too.”

“You been tailing me all day, too?”

“I felt you in the city, but no. Only when I got a text about it.”

Kariya. Of course.

“Your conductor rat me out?”

“He did say you were looking for me. So, might have imprinted on you a bit to push you here.”

“You could have come and—”

“—said hello? No, actually, I can’t. I’m on probation. Can’t enter the RG for a decade. Not the biggest deal for me, mind, but… humans don’t live near as long as things like I do. I needed you to come to me. Glad that thing still works.” He tapped the notebook, his hand clipping through a page or two like he wasn’t all there.

Neku exhaled. “I trust you, you know. Still don’t forgive you, but I do trust you.”

“I know. I appreciate you said it aloud, but I know.”

“You look better when your clothes actually fit.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve gotten better at keeping up with me,” Joshua said with a bit of a grin.

“You’ve slowed down in your age, you old fart.”

“Old? Fart?” Joshua pouted, and where there had been a well-put-together adult sat a petulant teenager in the same attire, now oversized to the point of baggy. He looked as the Reapers did—unaged.

“At least now you fit in with the rest of your underlings,” Neku huffed.

Joshua frowned. “I wish I did, honestly.” Quietly, he stared off, past Neku to the empty kitchen.

“Miss him too?”

“More than you,” Joshua shot back.

“Didn’t have many friends?”

“Comes with the job.”

Neku rolled a pencil between his fingers. He’d caught the proverbial tail and didn’t know what to do with it. Joshua was here and clearly knew just as much as Neku did about his former idol’s whereabouts. They sat in silence as Joshua’s likely million-yen watch ticked away.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Neku replied flatly.

“You’re no fun, Neku,” Joshua needled. “Fine. Look, Sanae liked you, more than just the fact that you were my Proxy. Hell, I’m surprised he helped you at all, knowing what you represented in my Game. You were the bad guy.”

Joshua slunk in the only-until-recently broken bar seat, kicking at a shattered tile with an awfully expensive sneaker. When he couldn’t quite reach, his form shifted back to that of an adult, flinging the chipped tile aside like a petulant child. “Neku, I need you.”

“Like you needed me to destroy Shibuya.”

Joshua exhaled, wisps of golden hair fluttering as he stared at anything but Neku. “I’ve been trying to find Hanekoma for years. Every moment I’m not here keeping the city together, I’m traveling to find him. You wouldn’t understand, but I need you to get a lock on him.”

“You’re dimension hopping.”

Joshua sat straight up, his too-long legs hitting the café bar as he did so. “Fuck,” he hissed, rubbing at his knee. “Too tall for my own good. But how? How could you even know that?”

Neku pointed to the safe at the back corner of the café, still just as ajar as he left it when he found the key pin with Beat back in the game. “Mr. H. left me a book of notes: on the game, on angels, all of it.” Neku scrolled through his phone. “I used to keep it on me, thinking it would help me somehow, someday. Eventually, I just scanned it all.”

“Gimme,” Joshua demanded, and the phone was in his hands. Neku watched in awe at the Composer’s speed reading. “I know he kept notes for the Angels, but this wasn’t for them—it was for you. Where’s the real deal?”

“My apartment.”

“Address. Specific location. I’m talking ‘fourth floor, third bedroom, under the red futon next to my stack of- ‘”

Neku cut him off quickly, rattling off his exact address and where he hid the book. Joshua held out a free hand, and in a moment, it materialized with the softest of thunks, pages fluttering in Joshua’s fingertips. “Be glad I’m on good terms with the Composer of Taito Ward,” Joshua admonished, pointing with the small hand-bound journal. “Otherwise I would have sent you home to go get it yourself.”

“What, are you going to track down Hanekoma with this?”

“No, of course not,” Joshua snorted, standing upright, shaking himself once to completely dissipate any plaster shavings or broken chips from his clothing.

“You are.”

Xxx

Neku watched in awe as Joshua’s back bloomed with light, a pair of massive swan-like silver-white wings settling on his back, iridescent with hints of lavender as he shook them loose. Before Neku could think, Hanekoma’s journal was thrust into his hands, and Joshua had him in a position he’d later call The Little Spoon of Death. With a jerk backwards, the two fell through and landed precisely where they’d been before, except the shop was in clean, working order, jazz playing on the radio, and a familiar voice humming tunelessly along with the guitar.

“Heya, Josh. Back so soon?”

Neku blinked and almost cried when he saw the man behind the counter. “H-Hanekoma?!? Mr. H?”

“One of,” Hanekoma said with a shrug. “Not the one you’re looking for though.”

Neku tried to surge forward to give the man (angel?) a hug but was held firmly in place by Joshua’s murderous grip around his waist. “Let go,” Neku whined through gritted teeth.

“Not a good idea, Boss,” Hanekoma chided. “You don’t want to get stuck in the wrong place.”

Neku let himself slacken. “I can get stuck?”

“Sure as the rain ruining my day,” Hanekoma agreed. “When you’re in the right place, you’ll know.”

“Can you help?”

“Can I? Sure. Will I? No. He’s a hellion. You’re never going to find him anyway.”

“Isn’t he another you?”

“You wouldn’t say the same thing if you met you from this world,” Joshua said, exasperated. “I wonder why the book sent us here.”

“This is where you hid after Minamimoto tried to erase you, isn’t it?” Neku asked. He flipped through the journal. “He hid somewhere high to wait for you. Because he thought this Hanekoma would turn him into the Angel Police or something.”

“I did,” Hanekoma said proudly. “Can’t have me ruining my good name.”

“Fuck off,” Neku spat at the barista. “You’re not Hanekoma.”

“I’m the part of Hanekoma that actually follows our rules.”

Joshua squeezed Neku tighter. “Hold on and keep thinking of that.”

“What—whyyyyyyyyyy?!” Neku screamed as sound escaped him. The whole universe lurched underneath as Joshua resumed pinging around between alternate realities, barely stopping to breathe.

“Focus!” Joshua ordered him through the din of dizzying WildKat cafes, Shibuya skylines, and for a brief moment, possibly the cold depths of space.

“THERE IS NOTHING TO FOCUS ON YOU DAFT ZOMBIE!” Neku shouted back, feeling his insides out and outsides in before the two bounced off a massive plate of glass and went rolling out to nowhere. Joshua pulled his wings around them, breaking the fall as they bounced a few times to the sounds of shattering glass.

They stilled. Neku could hear his own breathing and feel his heart jumping in his chest. Disquietingly, Joshua had neither breath nor a heartbeat, his torso flat against Neku’s back without any noticeable sign of life. Neku quietly filed that part under “disgusting, do not remind” and wiggled a little to loosen Joshua’s grip on his midsection.

“Hang on,” Joshua hissed out. “Easy does it.”

“That was easy?”

“You should see hard,” Joshua said, smirking as he raised an eyebrow. “And it might surprise you but… I think we’re here.”

Joshua rocked on the shoulders of his wings, pushing them both upright and parting a crack for them to see from.

The world consisted of a single, stained-glass building in a shattered-glass sky. The ground crunched with hardened paint beneath them.

“Somewhere high, following the rules… and nothing to focus on. Neku, sometimes, only sometimes, am I reminded of your genius.”

“I am in elbow-to-face range,” Neku reminded him.

“Yes, dear, and you’d best stay that way unless you want to swallow glass,” Joshua pointed out. “I’m too concerned about flying through that with a passenger, let alone someone alive, so we’re going to walk in tandem to the entrance and pray there’s no tricks along the way.”

Neku wanted to argue he wasn’t much for prayer but being cocooned in angel wings wasn’t doing him any favors in that department.

“Well at least I’m getting the inspiration I was looking for,” Neku muttered as he marveled through the tiniest of openings in between Joshua’s feathers. They both shuddered as pellets of colored glass dogged them like rain, Neku grimacing with each step.

“I think that is this world’s rain,” Joshua said aloud. “What? You’re thinking too loud. Either shut up or I’ll nitpick your thoughts. Last you want to do is swallow glass talking out loud, anyway.”

They walked in silence for what felt like eternity, roughly matching steps so their wing-cocoon tank didn’t topple. Peppered by the shards of rain, Neku was slowly getting a better view of the world outside his feathered umbrella.

The tower reminded him of Pork City, though it stretched upwards through molten clouds that burned red hot like liquid glass being worked at a forge. The whole thing was stained glass of infinite color—giant, angular panes crossed and reinforced by black, wrought iron-like supports, with sharp points sticking out at odd angles from the structure. 

“I think so too,” Joshua agreed with Neku’s wandering thoughts. “That’s Pork City, all right—made from Reaper wings. It looks like a gorgeous prison. A prison all the same, though,” he added, sighing.

Soon enough, the entrance loomed overhead, its maw of black webbing haphazardly stuffed with angular pastel glass. The tinkle of the rain bounced off the overhang as Joshua ever-so-slowly folded his wings behind him.

“I think you’re safe, for now,” he said, with the authoritativeness betraying his true age. “I promise, I’m not going to let you die here—you’re still holding Sanae’s book.”

“Because that’s all you care about,” Neku grumbled, to Joshua’s pout. “Oh, come off. I’m going to make up for all the teasing you did to me. Now let’s hope there’s an elevator in there or you’ll be flying us up the stairs.”

Xxx

“Lights are on; nobody’s home,” Joshua said, looking around as the two shuffled inside. “Okay, I’m letting go.”

“You’re what!” Neku shrieked, breathing heavy as Joshua smirked, unhooking his hands from around Neku’s waist. “Didn’t that other Hanekoma say it was a bad idea?”

“Oh, it’s a cataclysmically terrible idea. You’ll be trapped here forever now.”

“Joshua–I—you’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

“I mean, of course. I’m an ass, but nobody’s that heartless.”

“You murdered me. Twice.”

“I also brought you back to life, so no complaints,” Joshua snipped back. “Now, what have we here?”

Neku sighed, reminded of exactly how aggravating the little god could be. He looked around the entry foyer. The walls inside the building were a blinding white, almost piercing in their contrast to the stained glass on the outer walls of the monstrous tower. “I think this thing is alive,” Neku muttered.

“It’s not,” Joshua said, almost too quickly. “Or, rather, it’s as alive as Sanae or I am.”

“So it’s, what, an angel?”

Joshua kneeled down to touch the floor, a soft white abalone with a pearlescent sheen. “Yes. And we just entered the mouth.” Neku shuddered. “Oh, it’s not really that big a deal, Neku,” Joshua said, standing up and tsk-ing him with a finger. “This building is no more going to digest you than a wooden one; though I’m sure you’ve seen trees grow around and consume cars and houses.”

“Not helping,” Neku grumbled. “Hey, I’m not sure if it’s the retina damage, but are the walls bleeding paint?”

Joshua tucked his massive wings up high on his back, where they still trailed behind him like a couture dress, and shimmy-hopped over to the interior wall. “Oh, it’s probably retina damage,” he said cheerily, “you’re looking at pure light after all. But you’re not wrong.” Joshua swiped his hand along the wall, coming off it with a smear of mustard yellow acrylic paint. He blew on it, drying it immediately, and peeled it off like a face mask. “Must be the elevator hidden in the wall and… here we go.”

With a squelching sound like wrenching a tooth out of its socket—Neku wondering with a shudder that if that actually was a tooth—Joshua dislodged the panel, revealing a plush, red-velvet-lined elevator speckled with flecks of paint.

“If that’s a tongue, I’m out of here,” Neku complained.

“It’s not a tongue,” Josh said with a suspicious grin, stuffing himself inside with his wings still exposed. Neku shuffled and squeezed in, a massive feather poking him in the backside. The doors closed. “It’s the esophagus, Neku.”

Xxx

“Can’t you put those away?” Neku asked, after what felt like an eternity of being smothered by a giant chicken.

Joshua sighed, looking more serious than Neku was ever used to. “Yes, but I won’t.”

Neku expected him to elaborate, but Joshua merely went silent, hands out and open and feathers fluffed up.

Quickly, Neku understood why. It started quietly, a ping and a plop and a hiss, and became louder and more intense with each passing second. A few moments later, Neku was positive he wasn’t hearing things; it sounded like rain pouring from a gutter except… the rain was a stream of fire-engine red and the gutter was the walls of the elevator. The liquid pooled in the velvet flooring like blood matting the fur on a wounded, furry animal.

“Neku, move in before I make you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice as Joshua threw his wings up around them again, reaching a hand out of the fluffy shield to pull the emergency stop on the elevator panel. Neku didn’t even realize how fast they’d been ascending until they screeched to a halt.

“The walls are bleeding.”

“Paint,” Joshua replied. “It’s just paint.”

“You also said the building was an angel,” Neku reminded him testily. “What’s to say that this isn��t—”

“Angel blood melts like acid,” Joshua replied flatly. Neku didn’t know if he were telling the truth or not, but the soles of his shoes, now caked in it, weren’t dissolving.

Joshua pulled him close, wrapping his left arm around his shoulders and left wing over that like a shield. Neku couldn’t see anything but white, but he felt a jolt of exertion and heard Joshua swear low.

“Neku, dear, stay close and don’t scream.”

In the time it took him to blink, the Joshua that Neku was familiar with vanished. Every pore of the elevator was leaking paint in gushes now; thankfully blues and greens and hot pinks, to put Neku slightly more at ease, balanced evenly with the remainder of the free space taken up by living, swirling paint.

Noise.

One giant one.

It was silent and snake-like, and it dug its claws into the elevator door, wrenching it open without a sound save the rushing air.

The elevator had stopped between two floors, and the Noise slipped out the bottom to slide down to the floor below.

Move, it demanded of him. Drowning in paint doesn’t belong in your obituary.

Neku more or less knew the beast had been Joshua, but the voice in his head finally cemented it.

“I’ll break my legs.”

“I’ll catch you.”

Neku didn’t even register the response said aloud, slipping down the paint-soaked velvet and landing in a nest of color-streaked feathers.

“See?”

“I’m drenched,” Neku grumped, and then realized he wasn’t. His and Joshua’s clothes were pristine again, though the wild streaks of paint still covered Neku’s arms and Joshua’s feathers.

“Not getting rid of it all. I don’t know if the building is trying to attack us and I’d rather we still smell like it.”

“You think?” Neku asked sarcastically. He looked around the room. Paint had pooled in oil-slick puddles on the floor and was leaking out cracks in the walls. Neku heard dripping from overhead, looking up to see globs of color slowly plopping from the ceiling. The acrylic paint’s own drying-to-plastic properties were likely the only thing preventing a flood of multicolored rain on them.

Carefully, Neku hot-footed around the deepest puddles and made his way to the stained glass on the perimeter.

“We are really high up,” he breathed out, looking at the world below.

Joshua fluttered, and landed gracefully next to him. “We are. Care not to break the glass.”

“I’m not that—”

“—without me,” Joshua continued, barreling for the window, grabbing Neku as he shattered an entire pane.

For a moment, time stood still, not that it mattered much in this place to begin with. The triangular pastel shards exploded out with them on the side of the building and Neku swore he heard it scream. The shards from the broken window floated around them, glittering against the glass rain pelting them from above. Joshua pulled Neku in tighter, wings curled.

“Duck.” That was Neku’s only warning as Joshua opened his wings to propel them up against the pellets of crystalline rain before hurling himself sideways, crashing into another exterior wall.

“Human bodies are too frail,” Joshua tsk’ed at him once they finished rolling in a 20 centimeters deep pool of paint. With a hand wave, Neku found himself as clean as he could be, and free of scratches.

Paint sluiced down from their entry hole, likely streaking the outside of the building as the room began to drain. Neku shook the stars from his eyes as Joshua flicked his fingers across his button-down shirt, sending the liquid colors away as he did so.

His wings were still streaked with neon.

The room had no stairs, no elevator shaft, from what Neku could see. It was just glass around the outside and a concrete floor and ceiling. Scattered about the room were pillars and flat concrete pieces, some wall-to-ceiling, but most about half height—like an art gallery.

The entire room, save the glass, was completely covered in art.

Graffiti.

Classical.

Renaissance.

Ukiyo-e

Cubist.

It was one step short of being an eyesore. And as the paint drained out, pouring down the exterior side of the building, Neku could see the floor, too, covered with incredible works of art. He felt almost embarrassed when he moved his foot, leaving behind a hot-pink footprint on impressionist lilies.

“They’re just copies,” Joshua said sternly, looking around. “Technically precise, but nothing original except in how it’s all mashed together.”

Neku nodded. “I just stepped in Monet.”

“Well, a good copy. Poor Sanae. Stay on your guard, Neku; he’s up here somewhere. And he’s probably not going to look like what you’re used to.”

“Like how you were a dragon?” Neku asked.

“His street art handle isn’t CAT for nothing.”

“I’m assuming it’s not a housecat, then,” Neku hissed back, suddenly concerned. Both of them winced on hearing a howl.

Quiet, Joshua ordered inside his head. And stay behind me.

Neku nodded and the two wove their way through the gallery, following the sound of growls and irritated hisses. Joshua slowly peeled around a corner, motioning for Neku to follow.

A great graffiti-winged panther that Neku could only assume was Mr. Hanekoma glared back through acid-paint eyes.

Xxx

Joshua shoved Neku roughly aside, striding confidently to the massive graffiti beast.

“Hello, old friend,” Joshua said, tired and aged himself.

The creature screamed. The concrete half-wall Neku had been cowering behind exploded into fragments of color and shrapnel.

The beast froze, sniffed. It took one step, then another, leaning its gargantuan head over the broken divider to look down at Neku.

Neku had never been terrified before. Even in the Game, he’d had periods when he was scared, adrenaline coursing through him like the drug it was. But this abject fear to witness a man he trusted—who he might even consider a friend—be reduced to a mindless abomination drooling tempera paint overhead was sobering.

The beast opened its maw wide. Joshua jumped to his side in a flash, throwing up a wing to protect him.

Hanekoma tilted his head a little, reminiscent of a puppy. “Ne….ku?”

Xxx

Neku and Joshua watched over the next…however long it took. Hanekoma paced, occasionally knocking over a bucket of paint or, in one case, slamming into one of the concrete half-wall dividers with his flank as his graffiti form jittered and convulsed.

He’s coming back around, Joshua hissed in Neku’s head. At this point, we just need to wait.

Neku nodded. Joshua still held a wing up and an iron grip on the other’s arm and waist, but it was with good reason. Hanekoma screamed again, rupturing the concrete and Neku’s eardrums. For a few moments, Neku saw nothing but static, before the searing pain faded.

“—Sanae, Sanae, come back to us,” Joshua pleaded in croaking whispers as Neku’s hearing returned. “Please. Your attacks are only hurting him, see? I just had to completely repair his eardrums.”

The cat-beast howled again, knocking Neku utterly unconscious this time.

Xxx

Neku came to on the floor of the gallery, slowly taking stock of the room around him through hazy peripheral vision. Most of the dividers were at least punched through, if not entirely destroyed. A cold hand covered most of his forward vision, however.

“Neku, can you hear me?” Hanekoma’s gruff voice was twanged with concern.

“He should; I fixed his eardrums twice in one eternity,” Joshua grumped.

“Mister….H?” Neku croaked.

“J, make him some water.”

Slowly, a sturdy arm pulled Neku to sitting, leaning his body back into something warm, but lacking breath and a pulse. It was too broad to be Joshua, confirmed when the other hand slipped away to take an offered bowl of water.

Hanekoma was in human form again. Human-ish, at least.

“Drink, kiddo.”

“I’m twenty,” Neku protested before coughing up a little blood, realizing that was the first full sentence out of his mouth to the former barista.

“Hey, all humans are kids to me,” Hanekoma laughed. “J, he needs his throat patched up too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joshua whined, leaning forward to place three fingers against Neku’s neck. Immediately, Neku felt a wave of calm wash over, and his throat felt clear. “Now drink, before I whip you up an IV. I can patch you up, but I’m not magically refilling you with lost fluids. I don’t have the brainspace right now for that.”

Neku slowly downed the water, leaning heavily into Hanekoma. “I don’t have the brainspace to brain for at least a week.”

“I don’t think any of us do,” Hanekoma added. “I’m not even sure how I’m back to any kind of sanity as it is.”

Joshua rolled his eyes and refilled the water bowl with a gesture. “Enough of you was sane enough to be worried.”

“You brought a living human as bait, J! Of course I was worried.”

“It worked.”

“That doesn’t make it—” Hanekoma hissed, squeezing Neku’s shoulders a little too hard.

“I missed you,” Neku cut in. “It looked like all of Shibuya did, even though they never knew who you were.”

“Of course they knew,” Hanekoma said gently. “I was the local barista, ready with a good cup ‘o joe. I was the artist that painted the town red.”

“All the Reapers I spoke to had nothing but praise for you,” Neku continued. “I ran all over the city today finding that out.”

Neku felt the single loud thump of a heartbeat from the ethereal body keeping him upright. “Really now?”

“None of them knew you had a connection to the game either,” Neku continued, getting a second wind. “They just praised CAT’s art and WildKat’s coffee.”

“Hmph.”

“Won’t you come back, Sanae?” Joshua asked, a pleading smile on his lips. “It’s been too long.”

“I wish I could, J.”

“What do you mean you wish? You’re an Angel, for Someone’s sake!”

“Er, about that,” Hanekoma said, scratching the back of his head. “I’m… well. I’m not not an angel, I guess. But this is my punishment.”

“You’re definitely under supervision,” Joshua said testily. “Your warden was more annoying than anything else.”

“I take offense to that,” Hanekoma’s voice reverberated through all three of them.

Joshua nearly growled. “You know, you could have skipped the theatrics. If you wanted us gone, you could have Erased us, or just booted us out.”

Neku blinked the last of the daze away. “Hold on. I’m missing something here.”

“Remember how we passed a million billion WildKats and Sanaes and Shibuyas trying to find this place?” Joshua grumbled. “And how Sanae knew what we were doing? Angels have a singular hive mind. Mostly. I’m not actually an Angel, mind you—sort of just a hatchling, an infant. But he’s a real-deal Higher Plane beastie.”

Neku frowned, putting up a finger, lost in thought. Hanekoma went to speak, only for Joshua to shush him.

“Neku’s smart enough to put the pieces together. Give him a moment.”

“I gave him at least a concussion, if not brain damage, J.”

“Which I fixed.”

“The building.” Neku’s face sharpened into a frown.

Joshua and Hanekoma turned their heads to Neku, now sitting upright unassisted as he bopped his finger to his own internal music, slotting what he knew in place. “You said the building was an angel. This building, this whole thing, is this dimension’s Mr. H. All of the other yous are mad at you, aren’t they?”

Hanekoma nodded, exhaling a sigh. “I’m… sort of still an angel. But they cut me off from the Hive and took my inspiration. I can’t leave until I have them back.”

“I’m going to have a word with Management.” Joshua hoisted himself off the shrapnel-pocked floor, stomping a foot. “Elevator, if you please.”

“J, you’re crazy.”

“Aware. So?”

The three heard a ding as a concrete cube rose from the floor, the elevator with it. It opened with a smooth motion, the door already fixed but the interior still caked in paint.

“Am I the hostage negotiator, or can all of us go?” Joshua asked the elevator, irritated, arms crossed and wing-feathers fluffed in annoyance. In response, the elevator ballooned sideways, expanding the interior to accommodate three adults and one massive pair of wings.

“All right,” Joshua sighed out. “Everybody in.”

Xxx

The elevator hummed pleasantly and dinged, opening back up to the pearly-white entryway. The large front doors—triangular shards of crisscrossing stained glass—were blocked off by an aggressive black chain and padlock. A gleaming solid front desk sat at the entryway with a bored Hanekoma flipping lazily through a completely blank magazine. He shot them a grin; Neku noticed he was missing a tooth.

“Ah, hello. Thanks for giving me one heck of a sore throat, J.”

“Can it. I’m busting him out,” Joshua snapped, straight to the point.

Hanekoma put down the magazine, all high-gloss and solid-white pages. “Oh? How?”

Joshua pointed at the door, the chain and lock melting like acid under his gaze. “The front door, how else? Unless you want a few more teeth popped out.”

“That isn’t what I meant, J,” Hanekoma-behind-the-counter said simply. “Your me isn’t an angel right now. You take him out of here and he’s a mortal. I give him a few decades, tops. Stay and he’ll pay his price eventually; won’t you, you sorry excuse for a me?”

Joshua’s Sanae wrung his hands. “I’ll head back up. I did say you didn’t need to come for me, J.”

“If you leave before your sentence is up… you’re mortal?” Joshua asked, his voice cracking a little.

“Yeah, sorry Boss. I’ll take the long way ‘round.”

Neku frowned, scratching at some dried paint on his cheek. “Hang on. What is his sentence exactly? Josh, you said yours was being banned from the RG, but nothing stopped you from letting me see the UG.”

Joshua broke out into a nasty grin. “Ohhhhhhhh Neku, dear. I need to have you get brain damage more often.”

“No,” Neku interjected flatly.

“Aw, it was only a temporary inconvenience. Anyway, Sanae—either of you—what is his exact punishment from the Higher Plane? I want the full contract.”

The glass world’s Sanae slid him the blank magazine. “They were pretty thorough.”

Xxx

When Neku turned his back on the front desk, a couch, two chairs, and a coffee table, all in different shades of blinding alabaster, existed under the overhang just to the side of the entryway. The tinkle of stained-glass-shard rain peppered the overhang roof and a rainbow of garish light streaked in between the storm clouds outside. Joshua lifted his wings, draped them over the back of the sofa, and got to reading.

The only sounds were the tinkling of the rain, Joshua’s ever-ticking watch, and the occasional turn of a page.

Neku tapped his fingers on his jeans. “Can I do anything?”

“No,” muttered Joshua, half in thought flipping through the plain pages.

“Haven’t you done enough?” asked the bored warden, slouching at his desk.

“I could… clean the elevator,” Neku offered, trying to figure out something to do. He was definitely caught in some sort of celestial war, played out in miniature. Everything was over his head right now as he looked sideways to the glass-world Hanekoma. He looked the same as all the others—rolled-up button down, slacks, waistcoat, watch, sandals, sunglasses, messy hair—though he did seem a bit more… shiny, like light was reflecting off of him. Neku didn’t want to consider what it meant for him to both be standing at the front counter as well as being the entire building.

“You’d do that?” the glass angel questioned, confused.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m just standing here. And it’s partially my fault that happened. More so if it’s hurting you.”

“Angels aren’t people, Neku,” he replied, handing him a bucket of soapy water from nowhere. “We don’t feel pain.”

“You’re clearly in pain,” Neku shot back in a whisper after Joshua rustled the magazine loudly, clearing his throat in a way reminding Neku to not disturb him. “Let me help.”

“Help, huh?” The glass Hanekoma smiled, the missing tooth returning to its space after a moment of static. “That’s a new thought.”

“Nobody’s ever helped you before?” Neku asked, concerned, as the elevator dinged and opened. He walked to it, both Sanaes following. One handed the other another bucket, then made one for himself. The three went inside and Neku took to the floor, carefully washing down the carpeting. The door slid closed and the three worked in silence.

“Not me, no,” the glass one admitted. “Not most of us. Angels don’t interact with your kind, or they really aren’t supposed to. I think some of us are jealous of the us from your world.” Another beat of silence. “I know I am.”

“Then why don’t you leave?” Neku asked.

“The other mes would make me a traitor, same as that one.” He jabbed his thumb at his duplicate. “In all honesty, I think it’s better than wasting away with only our own thoughts for company. All of us know it too—only that one said the quiet part out loud. There’s a small and finite number of angels, but an infinite number of each of us. One broken hive is a massive blow to the higher plane—kind of contradictory when you realize we run on Imagination. Think about it for five seconds and—”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Neku cut in, satisfied with the state of the floor, moving on to an aggressive teal spot on the wall. “If you run on Imagination but you’re made up as a ton of fragments that all have to think alike, any dissent and your own self turns on you. Seems a bit counterintuitive to have it that way.”

“The only possible outcome is to break apart from within,” Hanekoma agreed, but Neku wasn’t sure which one of them said it. Inside the elevator, the glass one didn’t have the odd shine he’d had in the foyer. At this point, he wasn’t sure it mattered.

Xxx

Neku and both Hanekoma exited the elevator, Joshua still pouring over the magazine. “They really did try and close every possible loophole,” he muttered. “I can’t see a way out… shy of killing you,” he added, looking up at the two angels. “And now I can’t even tell you apart.”

One of them smiled. “Neku just opened one up for you.”

“Oh?”

“Clause 16b.2.”

“Yes, ‘should the warden be unfit for service, Hanekoma is to serve the remainder of the sentence under a new warden.’ I was going to kill you and claim myself warden.”

“There’s no way the Higher Power would allow that. He’d just be transferred,” the other one said. Joshua raised an eyebrow to the first one—his Hanekoma. He slid his eyes between the two of them and the glass one scratched the back of his neck.

“Sit. I’ll get us something to drink.”

Neku shrugged and practically threw himself into one of the chairs, sighing as he sank into it. It was soft and warm and the light pinging of the rain overhead was lulling him to sleep.

“Stay awake,” Hanekoma ordered, pinching his elbow. “You started going see-through when you passed out last time—it’s what jolted me to consciousness. You aren’t coming all this way just for me to see you fade to nothing, Neku.”

Neku jolted upright, just as a steaming cup of coffee was placed in his hands. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” the glass Hanekoma said, determined. A third settee appeared between the other two; their captor-slash-host sat in it, placing a tray of coffee, tea, and snacks on the table between them. “And anyway, I’m unfit to be Hanekoma’s warden now. The Higher Plane may come for me soon. Though, soon here could be eons off. I know my time doesn’t run at the same pace as most of the other dimensions; that’s why I was picked to watch him. Joshua, they would never accept you under probation, but… Neku—you seem to be a favorite of upper management. Transferring to you shouldn’t be a problem. Hand him the contract, J.”

Neku blinked a bit of the daze from his eyes, downing the beverage. It felt like more than mere coffee, a solid glass of liquid courage, emboldening him.

Joshua hesitated, but passed the blank, glossy magazine sideways to Neku. He then stared down at the tray of offered snacks and carefully picked out a chessboard cookie, frowning at it, before biting the head off the knight’s horse.

Words swirled on the paper in Neku’s peripheral vision before he could see them straight off. “Can I get a translation?” he asked meekly, looking at the mess of block print before him.

“Did I not write it in Japanese?” Glass-Hanekoma asked.

“That’s not what I meant,” Neku sulked. “I can’t read lawyer.”

Joshua craned his neck sideways. “It’s a transferal of ownership contract. Standard language, except… hm. Neku, would you want to be an angel?”

Neku scrunched up his face. “Seeing what you deal with? No. I have enough trouble with artist’s block as it is. I’d rather it not be fatal.”

“Take out paragraphs eight and twenty, then.”

“Wait, this would have…”

“Made you one of us, yeah,” Joshua cut Neku off. “It does mean that if Hanekoma didn’t finish his sentence before you died, he would be mortal; so some sort of transferal clause needs to be added.”

Hanekoma snatched up the magazine, flicking it. “Consider it done. Sign and get out of here before I’m taken away too.” He grinned slyly. “Maybe I can keep the domino chain going. Wouldn’t the upper management just love that?”

Neku flicked his eyes to Joshua. “I still trust you, Josh. How’s it look?”

“We can take him with us. You’re his warden ‘til you die or his sentence is done, then you can renegotiate angelhood if you want.”

“But… what is his sentence?” Neku asked, looking between the now indistinguishable Hanekoma.

“I have to re-earn my Imagination: the human way.”

“No magic?”

“Some magic. About as much as Josh has. Which is a lot compared to you. Very little compared to before. And none at all when I’m not near my warden… though I’m not sure how near near is.”

“Don’t worry about that,” the second Hanekoma said, squeezing the first’s shoulder. “I’ve given you a little extra juice on your way. I’m sure they’ll take mine from me anyway. It’s enough to manifest your wings again, at least. Now get out of here, before there’s bigger problems. All of us is already tattling.”

“Bunch of assholes,” Hanekoma hissed under his breath.

“We both were, too. Well, me at least. Think you were always the black sheep. Now, sign and get.”

Joshua plucked a pen from nowhere, handing it to Neku who turned to the angelic twins. “You trust me?”

“With your life,” both Hanekoma said with a nod.

Neku signed with a flick of his wrist, the pull of slumber taking him again. He could barely hear Hanekoma and Joshua shout something as they hauled him upright at the torso.

With a jerk that felt like someone had tied a rope around his waist and then yanked on it from behind, Neku blinked his eyes open to Hanekoma’s shop, as destroyed as it was when they’d left it. He gasped for breath, completely winded and woozy, the world spinning around him until he succumbed, sliding out of Hanekoma and Joshua’s shared grip to bounce on the cracked tile floor.

Xxx

Hanekoma frowned, flapping feathered wings he forgot he’d missed. “J, you know you can’t throw yourself around the mortals—not like that. Not even to someone like him.” Carefully, Hanekoma pulled Neku out of the rubble, flinging his body over a shoulder. “Be glad he’s just passed out. If he stayed a moment longer in that dimension, he would have been gone. You could have killed him or worse.”

“But I didn’t,” Joshua insisted. “I needed him.”

“Did he know the risks?” Hanekoma asked roughly, finally free to yell at his former boss-and-ward without Neku overhearing. “He didn’t. You never told him.”

“You said in your notes that I’d be a strain on him. He had to know what that meant.”

“There’s a difference in knowing what your toned-down presence would do over a week versus what the full force of your power would do to him in a few hours,” Hanekoma chided. “He may have known the former, but you certainly didn’t tell him the latter.”

“What’s your point?” Joshua asked, watching Hanekoma shift Neku’s unconscious form into a more comfortable carry.

“My point is, stop breaking things, J. Stop treating everything like a broken bone that’s healing the wrong way. Not everything has to be shattered even more to fix it.”

“You were imprisoned by the Angels! All for trying to protect this city!” Joshua protested.

“I would have finished my sentence eventually,” Sanae countered in a calm and even tone. “I may have been in that place for eons, but it was—what? Three years here, maybe?”

“Five,” Joshua whimpered with a pout.

Hanekoma’s eyes flicked up and down Joshua, seemingly searching for something. “I’m putting Neku down in a room and warding it. He needs to recoup.”

Hanekoma turned on his heel to the shop backrooms, leaving Joshua standing confused in the mound of rubble.

Xxx

Whatever Hanekoma was doing, he was taking his sweet time. But Joshua heeded the barista’s words and waited, rolling his shoulders and slowly ratcheting his own wings back into the ether. Bored, he made himself a broom from Imagination and began idly sweeping up the chipped plaster and shattered tile. Eventually, Hanekoma returned to the shop portion of the building, eyeing Joshua.

“Physical labor? That’s a first.”

“I… I feel,” Joshua said, stopping to roll the broom handle in his fingertips. “I feel responsible.”

Hanekoma lowered his shades, peering over them. “Responsible. Who are you and what have you done with J?”

“I grew up, Sanae. Someone had to. You weren’t here. I have a new Conductor and Producer now.”

“What, so I’m outta a job?”

“I’m not kicking you out,” Joshua said, almost pleading. “You just don’t have any obligations. Other than your sentence, I guess.”

“With Neku as my warden,” Hanekoma sighed out. “You didn’t need to plan a jailbreak, J. You’ve waited longer than five years for things before. It’s hardly an eye-blink to people like us.”

Joshua slunk to the floor, defeated and boneless as he slid down the broom handle. A small cloud of debris puffed up around him as he went.

“Drama queen,” Hanekoma tsk’ed as he joined his former colleague on the floor, nesting his wings around himself. “I can’t say this isn’t nice though. Missed ya, J. Being honest, I don’t remember much at all from that place, anyway. Could’ve been a long time there before I became myself again without your little stunt.”

Joshua didn’t answer.

They sat in silence a few moments, then Hanekoma choked back a cry as his coworker—his friend—grabbed him from behind, wrapping his arms around him just under his wings. Hanekoma flapped them in surprise as Joshua buried his head in the down.

Angel and Reaper wings were their Soul; one didn’t just touch them—not without explicit permission. To touch someone’s wings meant someone else could feel what they did. Feel their joy, their disgust, their pain, or all at once.

Hanekoma didn’t pull away. He could hear—just barely, but it was there—Joshua sobbing silently into his back. Joshua was, for the first time in his so-called-life, showing Hanekoma a vulnerability he didn’t know the other even possessed. Slowly, the barista relaxed both sets of shoulders, taking on more and more of Joshua’s weight until his Composer was literally leaning on him as much as metaphorically.

Seconds ticked away from Joshua’s Pegasso crystal-quartz watch, which turned to minutes, then a solid half hour. Slowly, Hanekoma felt the weight lift.

“You let me,” Joshua said, a bit hoarse, patting the down where wing phased through clothes.

“You needed it, J. Pain shared is pain halved. I was happy to listen.”

“You didn’t want to be saved,” Joshua said sharply. “Forgive me for feeling like you were ungrateful. But… you weren’t. You were protecting me from the angels and a sentence like yours. You were a fall guy.”

“Yes,” Hanekoma said slowly. “I didn’t want you to suffer, too. Not being visible to the RG is hardly a penalty compared to what I have.”

“Pain shared is pain halved,” Joshua threw back at him, wiping snot off his face. If he’d been in his teenage form, he would have looked like just another kid. But Joshua was an ugly crier, and as an adult, he just looked silly—more so with a few errant feathers from Hanekoma’s back stuck to his dripping snot and hair.

“Wash up—the backroom sink works,” Hanekoma insisted, flapping his wings a few times to get rid of any other loose feathers. “I need to do some tidying, anyway.”

Joshua reverently ran his fingers through the shoulder of Hanekoma’s left wing. “Clean the shop all you want; you know all about me and dirt. But leave this part to me.”

Xxx

“I kinda expected more, Sanae.” Joshua leaned in the doorframe, pristine as her always presented himself to the public.

“I’m not exactly going to waste my magic, Boss.” Hanekoma went back to wiping down the countertops with a wet rag. The only change Joshua could see was all the broken furniture piled in a corner, with the floor debris in an equally uncoordinated pile.

“The human way?” Joshua asked with a smirk.

“If I’m not your Producer, I need a little art project to keep me busy.”

“Wouldn’t really call fixing a coffee shop art,” Joshua scoffed.

“It’s not not art, though,” Hanekoma countered, flinging the wet rag on a shoulder and smiling at the dented, but still functional, kettle on the burner, whistling away. “Tea?”

“Mm,” Joshua hummed with a nod. “Also, Neku’s phone was ringing nonstop.” He pulled his own from a pocket. “Oh. It’s past ten PM. Someone’s probably been wondering what happened to him. Least it’s still the same day we left.” Joshua cracked a small smile. “Gone for a week and the mortals think you’re dead or something.”

Hanekoma threw the rag square in Joshua’s face, storming past him to go retrieve the offending cell phone.

Xxx

Hanekoma sat on one of the two useable stools, Joshua behind him on the other, sipping tea from one hand while using the other to pull out stuck feathers. The barista unlocked Neku’s phone, scrolling through twenty missed calls. “Shiki. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”

“You planning to call?”

“I should. Neku’s probably going to need a day or more to recuperate. And then you’re going to call his mother and let her know he’s sick with a fever.”

“Can’t. RG people can’t perceive me for another few years, remember? Phone calls included.” He grinned toothily. “You’ll just have to clean up the mess for me.”

Hanekoma sighed, stretching out his wings a little so Joshua could pull out all the powder down stuck from his eons of not taking care of himself, and pressed a familiar name in the missed calls history. “Hello? Shiki?”

“Oh my god, is this the police? Where’s Neku?”

“Shiki,” Hanekoma smiled a little, glad for a familiar voice. “It’s… Hanekoma Sanae—the café shop owner on Cat Street.”

Hanekoma waited patiently as Shiki processed what that meant. “If Neku is dead, I’m wringing a long line of necks. Joshua’s first; something tells me this is his fault.”

Joshua laughed hard enough to slam forward into the angel’s back; Sanae shot him a glare. “Neku is alive, but he’s taken a massive hit of Imagination. He’s probably going to sleep a day or two.”

“But he’s alive.”

“Alive and in no pain, with no injury. Mortals just can’t handle being around a city Composer too long.” Hanekoma glared over his shoulder at a snickering young-looking man in a lilac button down.

“I’m coming over there,” Shiki insisted. “And Joshua better be ready to take a knee to the balls.”

“Unfortunately, you won’t be able to see or hear him, but hang on,” Hanekoma said, pushing back on the deadweight behind him with his wings. “I’m putting you on speaker. Feel free to yell at him—I already have.”

Hanekoma clicked to speakerphone, maximizing the volume and holding the phone out behind him.

“Go ahead, Shiki. He can hear you.”

Shiki took in a deep breath, expelling a gasp of colorfully laced expletives so pointed Joshua’s hair began to catch fire. The moment she was out of breath, she slammed the end-call button with enough force that Joshua’s wings twitched, even within their aether.

“Josh, you’d better be out of my shop before she gets here or you’re going to be in deep shit.”

“I didn’t realize someone who played the Game before could deal that much splash damage,” Joshua complained, patting out the embers on the edges of his loose curls.

“You were human once yourself, J. Now bolt before she sets all of you on fire.”

“Good night to you too,” Joshua grumped, crossing his arms as he slid off the seat, leaving Hanekoma’s wings in a worse looking state than when he’d started. He saluted awkwardly to the sighing barista, disappearing out into the night.

Xxx

“How are you holding up, kiddo?”

Neku rubbed the crust out of his eyes. “What year is it?”

“Same one you were in before this mess.” Hanekoma smiled. “You slept away three days, though. I impersonated you on the phone to your mom and college—hope that’s alright.”

“So it’s…”

“Monday night. Six PM. Josh’s going to stay away from you for a while.”

“That why I feel like shit?”

“Mhmm. You want me to bring you in some food?”

“Bathroom,” Neku complained.

“Think mine still works.”

“You think?”

“Neku, I’m not human. I’ve never needed it.”

Xxx

“So now what?” Neku bit into his burger; nothing Hanekoma made, but then again, his kitchen was mostly still in shambles.

“I guess I rebuild. Maybe I take some art classes at community college.”

“Then I’m helping.”

“No, you’re-”

Neku glared up from his dinner. “That’s not up for debate. I’m your prison warden, remember? I help and in return, you let me paint in here.”

Hanekoma laughed. “You don’t even need to ask permission for that.”

“Oh, so I can tag every wall, floor, and ceiling in this bombed out husk of a deserted island?”

The barista frowned, leaning forward on the counter. “That didn’t get me any closer to having any inspiration, you know.”

“And I think that’s a lie,” Neku replied, crossing his arms. “Josh didn’t see it either. Maybe the individual components were copies, but that space you made in that other place was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Incredible doesn’t even begin to describe it. Nothing we do is truly unique anyway; we’re always working off the backs of those who came before us. It’s what voice we add to that conversation that makes our art what it is and… I should really be following my own advice. Hang on. I’m making a few calls, and you’re not stopping me.”

Neku pulled out his phone and rolled through his contacts list. “Hey, Sho. I’ve got a destroyed café here ripe for a giant-ass chandelier. You in?”

“Neku,” the other end of the line sounded annoyed. “I don’t do electrical.”

“So? You do the sculpture; I’ll get someone else to wire.”

“It’s going to be made of trash.”

“Why do you think I called your ass? Take notes; here’s the address.”

Xxx

“I haven’t done heavy lifting in… forever,” Hanekoma said, wiping actual sweat off his brow. It was a weird feeling, being sort-of human, but he couldn’t say he didn’t like it. The past six weeks had been a whirlwind with Neku in charge, directing a steady stream of ethereal beings— self included— into a massive renovation of his shop. The place was an explosion of color and life, an irony in real time to contrast the lack of both on the owner.

“Quit complaining,” Uzuki demanded, hauling the other end of the new bar counter. “If I can get Kariya to lift your tables in, you can help with your own damn high-top.”

“The one you danced on,” Hanekoma said with a grin, looking down at the hot purple and neon orange footprints crisscrossing the acrylic-sealed bar counter. The two had tangoed across a plank, then encased it for eternity in enough two-stage resin that it would never fade—Neku was particularly proud of that collaboration. Uzuki pushed the shop door with her shoulder, so both of them could bring the counter inside.

“—and you don’t need to hold that ladder, Neku.”

“I don’t want you falling,” Neku snapped back, looking up at the Reaper wiring in the shop’s new light fixture. It looked like a vending machine had exploded on the ceiling, and Hanekoma loved it.

“Neku, I can fly,” Triple Seven replied, waving a pair of wire strippers. He was flapping his wings to show those off as well, not that Neku could see them from the RG.

“My masterpiece can’t,” Sho grumbled from the corner, looking on in a mix of horror and awe as Seven worked his stage rigging magic to get the recycled-bottle chandelier hooked into the building’s wiring.

“Look, it’s way easier for me to do this if I’m not trying to balance,” Seven sighed out. “Sho, get up here and hold it in place, so I can finish. Neku, go help do something that doesn’t involve a ceiling or frying yourself on open electricals.”

Sho sighed, stood up, and vanished back into the UG, flapping up to hold the sculpture as Seven jumped off the ladder. Neku winced, unable to see either of them.

“If you can hear me, I’m going to check on Shiki and her friends making chair cushions.” Sho rattled the ladder with his foot, and Neku smiled. “Hey, Mr. H, your shop’s haunted.”

“I’d be more worried if it wasn’t.”

Xxx

“So?” Hanekoma slid a ceramic cup down the acrylic to Neku. “Get your grade back yet?”

“Semester ends in January, Mr. H; it’s gonna be a while yet. How about your magic?”

“While this helped, no. It’ll be a while yet for me too. Can’t complain about the décor, though.”

Hanekoma and Neku grinned, taking in the space. Except for one section of wall painted with chalkboard paint for patrons to go wild doodling on, every square inch of the shop was covered in art altogether dizzying and explosively contrast in design.

“Opens tomorrow, right? My teacher is coming around again to see it.”

“Soft open today though.”

“Sign said closed,” Neku pointed out with his teaspoon.

“Maybe for the living.”

“Ah, a few reapers pass by?” Neku asked with a smile. “Hey, make a bet with you.”

“What?”

“How many days the shop’s open before a paying customer draws a dick on your wall.”

“Zero.”

Neku looked sideways as a handful of change bounced across the counter, Sho coming into view. He downed his already half-drunk coffee and loped to the chalkboard to vandalize it. Neku flicked his eyes at the empty tables and chairs, a massive grin breaking out on his face as every single one was filled in with a Reaper, raising glasses in toast.

“We all needed someplace to stay,” Hanekoma said on the room’s behalf. “Thanks for giving us a home. It’s still pretty broken and lopsided, but I promise we’ll keep the lights on.”

“Mr. H, this was already your home.”

He shook his head. “No, Neku. It was only a shop.”

“If its home, does that mean the drinks are free?” A few reapers turned to the furthest corner of the room—Joshua grinned, sitting backwards in his chair.

“J, what did I say about coming ‘round when Neku’s here?” Hanekoma scolded.

“…Don’t?”

“Short bursts only, lest you want to clean up the exploding brains on the wall.”

Neku shrugged. “It’ll probably add to the ambiance.”

[lsesu]

Making your New Home More You: Tips for Furnishing and Decorating your New Home

You’re finally coming to LSE! Despite all the obstacles that 2020 has put in your way, you’ve made it. To a new city (perhaps), to a new university (probably), and ready for the next exciting new chapter of your life (hopefully).

But for those of you who are moving to London, you’re now faced with the mammoth task of decorating your new home, possibly for the first time.

Unsure where to start? Worry not!

We’re here to reassure you that you can make your new dwelling more than just a place to rest your head at night. You can make it a place that feels like home. Your home. And all of this is achievable on a student budget.

Before we continue…

All students have a part to play in keeping themselves and the rest of the LSE community safe. This isn’t just applicable when you are on campus or in LSE spaces, it also applies for when you are off campus as well. This is why the recommended guidance and advice should be followed at all times, including but not limited to: adhering to a safe distance, wearing recommended protective equipment and practising good hygiene and sanitation.

We strongly advise all students to check for the most up-to-date advice and government guidelines and follow them when sourcing items for your new homes. Many retailers and outlets have put in place practices to support the safe visits of its customers, so we recommend looking on their websites before visiting. There will most likely be safety precautions that you will need to take prior to your visit and practices that you’ll need to follow during your visit, so make sure you are aware of these and follow them when visiting shops, retailers and outlets.

It’s important for all of our students to keep safe, especially those at a high risk. To find out if you fall into a high risk category and for more information about the precautions you should take, please click here.

Here are some of our top tips!:

Second hand needn’t mean second best!

Student accommodation often comes furnished or part-furnished, so check your halls or tenancy agreement to find out. If you do need to buy some furniture, why not buy second hand? Not only is it more affordable but it’s sustainable too! And you’ll be surprised at how good the condition is of some second hand items – it really is true what they say, one person’s junk is another person’s treasure!

Finding second hand items has never been easier - buy from fellow LSE students on our exclusive LSESU marketplace on Paperclip or check out Gumtree and Facebook Marketplace to find items in your area.

Plus, you could set yourself up with a little Upcycling project! Grab some paint, varnish and sandpaper and you could turn an old unit into a stylish work of art! Read more here about how to get started with Upcycling.

Teamwork makes the dream work

Why not organise a group trip to Ikea? For any of you who don’t know, Ikea is the go-to place for furniture and homewares. Get lost with your new flatmates in Ikea’s infamous in-store maze and test who has the best flat pack assembly skills! Trust us, with Ikea products, these skills will come in handy…(everything needs to be assembled!)

Of course, you will need to ensure you are only organising trips with people that the government guidance allows you to go with, such as those within your household or bubble. It’s also important to remember to follow the recommended advice, including keeping a safe distance from other customers and to practice good hygiene and sanitation when in-store. Check out Ikea’s website for their safety practices.

Bring your walls to life

No money for Monet? No problem. You don’t need to spend a fortune to enjoy art in your new home.

Prints can be expensive. So why not try making your own? From floral to geometric to motivational quotes, you’ll find loads of fancy wrapping paper or postcards in shops like Paperchase. If you’re more of a music fan, search your local charity shop or record store to find record covers from your favourite artists. Find a few that you like, slot them into a frame (Ikea, Amazon , Wilko or charity shops are great places to look for frames) and voila! – an expensive looking piece of art for a fraction of the price.

Small independent businesses sometimes offer affordable prints through sites like etsy or look out for poster sales at the Saw Swee Hock building (Your Students’ Union – that’s us!

Create your own art! We have the best way to get started with this. Visit the LSESU website and make sure you attend the Virtual Welcome Fair to find art-based societies and events!

You’ll of course need a way to hang your art. Most tenancy agreements don’t permit you to stick blue tack on your walls, so here’s some alternative ideas:

If you don’t already have hooks, you may be able to negotiate with your landlord or agent for them to put some up, so try to start this conversation if you feel comfortable.

Command picture hanging strips claim to leave no damage on walls! But definitely do your research and read some user reviews to make up your mind before purchasing.

Magnetic poster bars allow you to hang posters without blue tack – this is another one to research into!

Cover yourself in comfort

Rugs, duvet covers, cushions and throws – all of these are great investments that can add a splash of colour and personality to your room with minimal effort. Better still, you can use them to wrap yourself warm on those cold winter nights. Brrrrr!

And if you like them – and why wouldn’t you? They’re to your taste… AND. THEY’RE. COSY! – there’s no reason for them to not accompany you in your next move. Ikea, Wilko, Primark and Amazon are some good places to start!

 Bring the outside in

Not only do plants look great, but research suggests that indoor plants can improve wellbeing and productivity too. You could consider a cactus for a low maintenance option that’s likely to survive university holidays, or herbs for the added benefit of being edible (think basil for Italian recipes, mint for mint tea and mojitos, or a chilli plant if you like to live life on the wild side!).

Shine a light on it

Whether you need to study or relax, the right lighting can set the mood. Invest in fairy lights and a bedside lamp to create a low-lit, relaxing environment, or a desk light for when you need to focus on your studies.

Changing the lampshade on your main light can change how bright your room is but also lets you stamp your personality on your space!

 Home is where the heart is

It goes without saying that decorating your new home with photos of your friends and family and personal mementos can help make you feel more at home. Stuck for where to put them? If frames aren’t really your thing, you could try sticking them on a pinboard or pegging them to a piece of string or ribbon

Switch it up

Rearranging your furniture is a zero-cost way to make a space work for you. Whether you’ve decided to adopt the principles of feng shui or simply want to be able to access that awkwardly placed plug, moving things arounds periodically can have the added effect of completely rejuvenating your room… for free!

Got other suggestions? Better still, got pictures of how you’ve made your new home more you?

We’d love to see them!

Tag us on Instagram @lsesu with your top tips and pics under the hashtag #MyNewLSEHome.

Come on, We’ve shared our ideas, now it’s your turn!

[1dfangirls35]

Voir Dire (N.H.) A fake dating OU about contracts, soulmates and risking it all for love.

Masterlist // Tell Me What You Think!

twenty-eight

As the elevator ticked past each floor of the Capitol Records building, Niall began to wonder if this would be the last time he would ever step foot in this or any place related to music.

He still remembered the first time he stepped foot in the iconic building- fresh off the One Direction hiatus and unsure what he would be as an artist. His dreams for his solo career just within reach. He was a different person back then. A person that was willing to do whatever it took to make it in the music world and to make a name for himself. A person who believed that Capitol Records was the key to paving a career that fit his dreams perfectly. A person who still believed that the music industry wasn't all bad.

But today was the end of that. He would no longer give up his own relationships, hopes and dreams just because of an image that his label wanted him to portray. He would no longer be letting someone else dictate his life; what he sang, what he wore, who he loved. No today, for perhaps the first time in his career, Niall was going to take charge of his own destiny.

A part of Niall was still scared that something could go wrong. He'd asked Kelsey ten times last night whether she was sure she wanted to go through with this, knowing what might happen if their plan didn't quite go off without a hitch.

Each time he'd asked her, she'd nodded and smiled and told him there's nothing she'd ever been more sure about. Niall knew saying those words was hard for her. He also knew that the smile on her face was constructed with just as much fear as Niall had right now.  But he couldn't be happier to finally be at the place where he and Kelsey could have the life together he'd always dreamed of. Free of contracts and fake girlfriends and manipulation.

Niall didn't wait for Alan Michaels's secretary to greet him when he stepped off the elevator, or for her to notify Mr. Michaels that he had a visitor. Instead he headed full speed towards the double-glass doors of the Capitol executive's office and pushed them open, saying in his strongest, gutsiest voice "We need to talk."

Alan Michaels turned from his computer, snapping his head around to look at Niall with surprise. "Mr. Horan did we have a meeting today?"

"We do now." Niall said forcefully, taking a seat in the chair in front of the desk. He tried to ignore the light shake of his hands as he folded them in his lap, instead taking delight in the fact that Alan Michaels had no idea what was coming for him.

"And what can I do for you today Mr. Horan?" Mr. Michaels asked in a long drawn-out voice, shuffling a stack of papers around on his desktop.  

"Whatever you did to make Kelsey Benton break up with me- I want it nullified," Niall doesn't flinch as he says the words, staring straight into Mr. Michaels dark brown eyes as if they aren't the most intimidating pair he's ever seen.

Niall swears it takes five minutes before words leave Mr. Michaels mouth again, his heartbeat rapid in his ear.

"Excuse me?" Mr. Michaels said his face astonished. "I'm sorry Mr. Horan, I have no idea what you are talking about. Have you been in contact with Miss Benton?"

"Not at all." Niall said, his lips staying in a straight line. "And I've begun to realize that perhaps there is a reason why." Niall wondered if this small fib would be enough to convince Alan Michaels that Kelsey hadn't breeched the conditions of her contract, but even if Michaels suspected he did, there was no proof.

"I can assure you Mr. Horan, what Miss Benton chooses to do in her relationship is entirely under her control. Perhaps she simply decided you weren't the one for her," the lies slipped out of Mr. Michaels mouth with ease, and Niall can see why he has this job. He's good at it. The lying, the manipulating, the convincing. Niall wondered how many other artists have sat in this very spot and been convinced that the label was doing everything in their best interest. How many hearts had been broken, families changed, careers altered all under the power of Alan Michaels and his smug smile. That wouldn't be the case today.

Niall had not expected this to be a simple meeting. He knew Alan Michaels wouldn't admit to meddling in his relationship willingly, so Niall had come prepared with his own pretty little piece of blackmail.

"Let me make myself clear- ALAN," Niall's voice was strong. "I happen to know several journalists who are just a phone call away from releasing an interview with me about my fake relationship with Krystal. I'm sure it would be the talk of LA in a matter of minutes."

Niall watched as Mr. Michaels throat bobbed in a firm swallow, he had his attention now.

"You are under a contract Mr. Horan. These promotional tactics are not to be disclosed to the public."

"And if I chose to tell my fans the truth? That you've hired someone to be my girlfriend over the past year. That the dates, the music video, the "love" was entirely something of your own creation in order to help increase your record sales. That I was forced into this against my will? What would you do then?"

"Well we would have to terminate your contract with Capitol Records. You would no longer be one of our recording artists." The look on Alan Michaels face told Niall that he thought he had given the ultimate threat, but little did Alan Michaels know, that threat was exactly what Niall wanted him to say.

"I bet you'd hate to see that happen wouldn't you? I mean a number one album in 42 countries, a sold-out world tour, some of the most dedicated fans in the universe. There's a lot more where that came from," Niall was taunting him now, and the more Mr. Michaels smug grin transformed into a frown, the more fun Niall was having. He was getting to Alan Michaels, he could tell.

"We would hate to see one of Capitol's best artists leave the label, that's for certain," Mr. Michaels said, his voice now laced with nervousness instead of intimidation.

"So you see the dilemma here? Looks like you are going to have to choose between terminating whatever kind of threat you made with Miss Benton to ensure she didn't ruin your promotional plans or terminating your relationship with one of your most successful artists. I mean if it was me, Alan, I don't think I'd think twice about it. What's the girl to you?" Niall crossed his legs in the chair, staring Mr. Michaels with a soft grin on his face.

Mr. Michaels kept his hand folded. He didn't say anything, Niall thought he was considering it. He didn't even think he'd get this far. He assumed that Alan Michaels would be invincible to manipulation. But today was proof that if you play the right cards, the right threat can convince anyone to change their stance.

Alan Michaels took a deep breath. "Kelsey Benton's contract will be nullified."

"Now," Niall added firmly. He couldn't risk this not going through. Not with what he was about to do next. "You'll let her know now."

Mr. Michaels nodded, picking up his phone. "Samantha, can you get Kelsey Benton on the line for me please?" He hung up, looking Niall in the eyes. The two stare at each other, neither speaking. Until the phone rings again. Niall can only assume its Kelsey on the other line.

"Is this Miss Benton?" Mr. Michaels asked. Niall can't hear Kelsey on the other line, but he pictures her sitting on Niall's couch, still in her pajamas, smiling at the sound of Alan Michaels voice. The thought made a small smile break through Niall's otherwise serious expression.

"This is Alan Michaels with Capitol Records. We've decided to terminate the contract we've signed with you. All I need is your official signature and it's gone forever."

Mr. Michaels hung up the phone, turning to look at Niall expectantly, as if to say 'Happy now'.

"So that's official?" Niall asked, cautious to make any more moves before the pieces were set in place.

"Official as of my signature right now. Miss Benton's signature is mainly a formality. It's as if our agreement never existed."

"Good." Niall nodded, inhaling deeply before saying his next words. "Well now that that's taken care of. I'd like to notify you that I'm officially terminating my contract with Capitol Records."

"But..." Mr. Michaels protested.

"My lawyers have assured me that there is nothing in our current agreement limiting me from telling anyone about what went on here once our contract has been terminated. I'd get your PR team ready, Alan. My fans don't take too lightly to people messing with my life." He stood up, pulling down his charcoal suit jacket and reaching out a hand to shake. "Best of luck with everything."

"But Mr. Horan..." Mr. Michaels seemed to be at a loss for words. "We can work something out, we can come up with a new agreement. I promise you we will not hire anyone for your PR again..." Alan Michaels was stumbling through his words now, but Niall just smiled and made his way towards the office doors.

He walked past Mr. Michaels secretary, who has now stood up, looking towards the office and the still rambling Alan Michaels standing in his office doorway.

"You're going to regret this Mr. Horan!" Mr. Michaels yelled at him as Niall called the elevator.

As the elevator doors dinged open, Niall turned around, facing Alan Michaels one more time. "No Alan, I don't think I will." And with that he stepped inside the elevator, letting the doors close, literally and figuratively, on his time as a Capitol Records recording artist.

Tag List: @awomanindeniall @ihearthemcallingforyou​ , @niall-is-my-dream ,​  @stylishmuser​​​ , @thicksniall