#and a few songs later he has eddie singing along <3

[loveinhawkins]

There’s a strange lull after the Upside Down is sealed shut, after it’s all over; Steve can see everyone struggling with it, particularly Eddie: it’s not like a town goes from vilifying you to doubling back on everything overnight.

Hawkins is quiet, ghostly. And yet, somehow Steve and Robin still have their jobs at Family Video—Steve is torn between laughing at the absurdity of it and being grateful for the familiarity. Every few shifts or so, Eddie will show up, uncharacteristically quiet, usually grabbing a chair in the back, out of view from the customers; Steve will take his lunch break there just so they can chat, unless Eddie has fallen asleep. Steve starts to suspect that the main reason Eddie comes is just so he can listen to the background noise of Robin and Steve: working, gossiping, teasing each other.

But Eddie seldom joins in on the banter himself. He seems jaded, worn around the edges; and there’s a shade of uncertainty to his now rare smiles. It doesn’t suit him, Steve thinks.

He gets the idea on a closing shift, five minutes till they can officially lock the doors to customers. The store is already empty, so Eddie has left the back room to instead perch on the counter, eyes vacant.

With a sudden spring in his step, Steve shuts the blinds prematurely. “Hey, Rob,” he calls across, “five minutes till showtime.”

Robin blinks uncomprehendingly for a second before giving a blinding grin. “Oh, you’re on.”

When was the last time we did this? Steve wonders. They’d come up with the routine together, during one of their first closing shifts here. It feels like a lifetime ago.

He keeps an eye on his watch, counting the minutes down, then makes a show of locking the doors. He smiles when Robin turns the radio on full blast at precisely the moment that he flips the sign to ‘Closed.’

He sees Eddie look up in vague curiosity at the sound. The DJ is currently chatting, and when Robin rolls her eyes, “Ugh, come on,” Eddie gives a quiet snort.

“You good, Buckley?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “she’s just impatient.”

He narrowly avoids a VHS case to the head; he ducks, then chuckles at Eddie’s bemusement, Robin’s smile of anticipation.

The DJ plays a little jingle…

…And then the unmistakeable intro to Cyndi Lauper’s ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ fills the store.

Steve whoops. “Yes.”

Eddie tilts his head—still confused, but a little smile tugs at his lips, like he can’t help it. “What are you…?”

He trails off as Steve starts to skip his way down an aisle, tidying away tapes along to the beat, with all the theatricality of Broadway. Robin cheers like she’s watching a live concert.

Eddie is staring in disbelief; Steve winks, unabashedly over the top.

Showtime.

Steve mouths along to the lyrics—vaulting over the counter, Eddie scrabbling out of the way with a hilarious yelp, he grabs the phone in time for ‘The phone rings in the middle of the night,’ and if he puts even more feeling into ‘My father yells, ‘What you gonna do with your life?’’, well, it’s all part of the performance.

By the time the song ends, he’s breathless, and Robin is cheering herself hoarse, and Eddie—

Eddie is beaming.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, with hushed delight. He’s looking at Steve like he just hung the moon and the stars, eyes sparkling. “What the fuck was that, Harrington? This is the best day of my life.”

Robin is cackling. “Right? The first time he did it—”

“The first time?!”

“—I wanted to, like, invent time travel, just so I could tell myself, hey, one day you’re gonna watch Steve Harrington lipsync.”

Eddie is cracking up, laughing so hard he almost falls off the counter. It’s the most relaxed he’s been in ages, surely the happiest Steve has ever seen him. “There’s no way anyone would’ve believed you.”

“Rude,” Steve says, ruffling some fingers through his hair to fix the flyaway strands. “I’ve honed these skills for years.” He catches Eddie’s eye, winking again. “You’ve not even seen my ABBA moves.”  

Yeah, Steve thinks, catching his breath before another song begins. He smiles softly—Eddie’s continuous giggles are a triumph. There you are.

#and a few songs later he has eddie singing along <3 #let steve be silly and have fun agenda <3 #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #steve and robin #eddie and robin

[rosewaterandivy]

poolside - the bewilderment of esmé and the unveiling of steve

The Carvers definitely have an in-ground lagoon style pool at the house in Hawkins. But Eddie insists on schlepping down to the local community pool for Zoë’s swim lessons.

Never mind that she is a literal baby, but whatever.

Pale as the day is long, in the most ridiculous swim trunks you’d ever had the misfortune to see, and positively slathered in SPF.

Your doing, to his dismay.

But you don’t mind, lanes to swim in and an hour free of child-rearing while Eddie and the other moms go to the morning tater tots class with their kiddos.

“Esmé?” Someone asks before you can kick-turn and begin your next set of laps.

You pry the goggles from your eyes and squint at the man standing before you.

He is wearing a speedo and has dropped his kit at the end of the lane. The end of your lane. A bright yellow flipper flops out of the bag.

“Guilty as charged.” You say, hoping the tone is enough to convey how annoyed you are.

He squats down at eye-level all loose-limbed ease. His smile is easy and genuine. You almost feel bad for acting so surly.

“Mind if I join? We can circle swim.”

And you’d been hoping to avoid this. Hoped your general off-putting demeanor would be enough to warn the residents of Hawkins off— steer clear, here there be dragons, etc.

But this guy.

Reluctantly, you shove over in the lane and say, “Might as well.”

From across the way in the kiddie pool, you can just make out Eddie with his haphazard bun pouring what appears to be a colander filled with water over Zoë’s head. They’re singing the welcome song and spelling out her name as he does so. She coos and babbles gleefully all the while.

Dean, at least you’re pretty sure that’s his name, has his goggles and swim cap on by the time you glance back.

How does he get all that hair in there? And at what cost?

Setting your watch you countdown 3-2-1 before launching down the lane in a breast stroke, Dean not long behind you.

The rest of the hour passes uneventfully, your swim partner turns out to be pretty decent in the water and keeps up without complaint.

Coming to the end of your cool down, you see another set of feet at the end of the lane, but distinctly paler than the last.

Breaching the surface, your arms come to rest at the edge of the tiled wall, legs lazily cutting through the water.

“How’d it go?”

Eddie shrugs, “Pretty well, she didn’t cry this time. Meanwhile, Harper wouldn’t stop howling for love or money.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yep,” He says with smirk, “Tried bribing her with a crisp twenty and was met with disdain.”

“Well, the going rate is a crisp fifty now, inflation y’know.”

Seeing your raised arms, he passes Zoë off to you and sits on the damp concrete. He waves to Dean at the opposite end of the pool as you tread water with Zoë in hand.

She clings to your side, wary of her new surroundings, and takes in the sights and sounds of the competition pool. You’ve always been a strong swimmer and don’t have trouble with the new addition.

There’s a distant sound of splashing as Dean swims toward you, Zoë focused on the fast approaching man under the blue water.

Eddie says something in greeting as the other man surfaces. You’ve floated away from the wall with Zoë, softly murmuring reassurances to the babe in your arms.

A call of your name draws your attention back to the men at the wall.

“Is that okay?” Eddie asks, voice raised slightly to carry among the background splashes and whistles of the crowded pool.

“Is what okay?”

He rolls his eyes and waves for you to swim closer.

“Robin and Steve wanna stop by later, maybe a few others.” Eddie says as you plop Zoë to sit on the top of the tiled wall. “A cookout pool party thing, maybe?”

You nod along, mentally going through the schedule for the day. It should be fine, no appointments for Zoë or meetings for you. And Eddie sent off his last round of pages earlier this week for line edits.

“Sure, but who’s Steve?”

Eddie’s resounding cackle sounds like a gunshot through the space. Several people stop their conversations to gawk in annoyance.

“Me,” Dean says, a blush slowly creeping up his chest and neck. “I’m Steve.”

“You never said anything!” You sputter, realizing in horror that you’d been referring to this man by the wrong name in front of him for the better part of two months.

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal.

“S’fine,” Dean Steve says, as Zoë kicks water into his face.

He smiles and waves to her as Eddie begins packing up, chuckling to himself every so often.

“You could’ve corrected me at any time.”

Another shrug.

“You were just so confident,” He supplies.

It’s not enough.

“Yeah,” Eddie clucks, “Confident in her wrongness.”

“Shut it, Munson,” You warn lifting yourself from the pool to sit on its edge by Zoë. “You’re on my shit list.”

He rolls his eyes and shoulders the swim bags, “As if I’d be on any other.”

#eddie munson x reader #EBY blurb #haven’t written shit in forever and this just happened #anyway! #eddie munson fanfic

[forget-you-morelike-fuck-you]

Heartwork- E.M. Pt. 5

I reference Ziggy Stardust by David Bowie in this part. If you haven't had the privilege of hearing it, you can find it here: https://youtu.be/Jr1lqs3QR0Y

Eddie helps you put together a bedframe.

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - Epilogue

Masterlist

TW- Cursing, drinking

Pairings- Eddie X Reader

Word Count- 2,007

(Gif not mine, credit to owner!)

Eddie walks you to your door when you get back to your apartment carrying your box of memories, and you unlock the door, opening it so he can come inside. He looks around at the sparsely decorated room as he sets the box on your thrifted coffee table. “This is nice,” He comments as you shut the door behind you. 

“It’s a work in progress. You should see my bedroom. I’ve been trying to put my bed frame together, but I’m pretty sure they didn’t give me all the screws,” You chuckle. Eddie raises his eyebrows. 

“Maybe I could help. I’ve been told I’m good with my hands,” You nearly choke at the words, a lightning bolt streaking through your body. Haven’t you been through enough mortification for one night? 

“Okay, yeah, sure,” You try to play it off with an incredulous laugh, but you can still feel the heat in your cheeks as you lead Eddie to the bedroom. As you flip the light switch, you hear him laugh behind you. 

“Damn,” he kicks a stray piece of cardboard, a lot of which is littered about the room, “you were really having a rough time with this, weren’t you?” You roll your eyes, scoffing at the mockery.  

“I told you! They didn’t give me all the screws!” 

“We’ll see about that,” Eddie muses, starting his quest of sifting through the trash. 

“Okay, well, while you do that, I’m gonna make myself a drink. You want one? I’ve got vodka and orange juice.” 

“Yeah, I’ll have one. Don’t give me a lot, though, I do have to drive home tonight!” He reminds you. You give a noise of recognition as you make your way to the kitchen. When you come back with the drinks a few minutes later, Eddie’s busy at work, reading the directions and putting pieces together. 

“Do you wanna listen to some music? I’ve got my tape player in this box over here,” You walk carefully across the room, not disturbing anything as you move to the half empty box across the room. 

“What tapes do you have?” Eddie asks, glancing up from the pieces of wood he screws together. 

“Um, I’ve got Foreigner, that David Bowie album that came out last year, Guns ‘N’ Roses, Aerosmith... Anything tickle your fancy?” You list the tapes as you pull them out of the box, putting them on the floor next to it. 

“Let’s do Bowie. I like that album.” You nod and pop the tape into the player, starting with the A side. You scoot across the floor to Eddie, whose head has started bobbing to the beat of the music. You watch Eddie work, taking sips of your drink here and there, your tummy starting to warm as you reach the bottom of the cup.  

“Okay, here, can you help me with this?” Eddie asks, grunting lightly as he stands up with one of the long pieces for the sides all put together. You oblige, taking one end and walking with him so he can screw it into place at the head of the bed. You hold it steady and watch his hands diligently work to attach the pieces of wood, watching the muscles in his hands move, admiring the glint of the numerous rings he wears on his long, nimble fingers. You flick your eyes away as he stands back up, not wanting to be caught staring. 

“You want another drink? I can just get you orange juice or--?” You offer, now that your cups are empty. 

“Yeah, I’ll take another one,” Eddie smiles lightly as he hands you his cup, your fingers just brushing his as you take it from him. “Thanks,” 

“Sure,” You turn and go make more drinks, and as you return, your favorite song on the album starts, and you can’t help but sing along as you sit back down across from Eddie, handing him his drink with a cheeky smile as you sing, “Ziggy played his guitar, jamming with Weird and Gilly,  and the spiders from Mars. He played it left hand, but made it too far. Became the special man, then we were Ziggy’s band.” 

“Ziggy really sang, screwed up eyes and screwed down hairdo, like some cat from Japan, he could lick em’ by smiling, he could leave em’ to hang...” Eddie continues with an easy smile on his face, “Came on so loaded man, well-hung snow-white tan,” You giggle as you both enter the chorus together, jamming out together. 

“So where were the spiders, while the fly tried to break our balls, just the beer light to guide us? So, we bitched about his fans and should we crush his sweet hands?” You start swaying, the warmth of your drink starting to take a bit of affect now. 

You keep singing until the song is over, both you and Eddie getting more into it as the song goes along, and you laugh as you sing the last line with your arms out wide, “Ziggy played guitaaaar,”   

As Eddie gets closer and closer to finishing your bedframe, you start to doubt that you had been skimped on the screws, and of course, you hadn’t been. You help Eddie hoist the last piece of wood into its place and tighten it down, standing up to take a look at his handiwork. “It looks great,” You compliment, arms crossed as you admire your new piece of furniture. Eddie gives you a smug smile. 

“You know, this might just be my best work. And I do want to let you know that not only did you have all the screws,” He lifts one up, and your jaw drops incredulously, eyes wide, “they gave you an extra.” You let out a bark of a laugh, taking the screw from his hand. 

“Holy shit. I swear to God, I counted twice and didn’t find them all.” 

“That’s because you missed a bag of them taped to one of the pieces,” Eddie snarks. Your mouth gapes, at a loss. 

“Well, fuck me then, I guess,” You start laughing then, “You see, how could I ever be able to fix cars if I can’t even keep track of all the fucking screws in a bed frame kit?” Eddie waves his hand in dismissal. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Your heart leaps in your chest at the pet name, “you won’t ever even have to fix your own car while I’m around.”  

“And you won’t ever have to advise yourself on your finances while I’m around,” You laugh, walking to the opposite side of the room to move your mattress from the wall to its new place on your bed frame. As you lay it down, you flop on your back, knees hanging off of the edge to stare at the ceiling. You glance over to Eddie, who’s looking at you with a boyish smirk. 

“Comfy?” He asks. You pat the spot next to you with one of your outstretched hands. 

“Come find out!” You chuckle as he comes to flop next to you, making your body lift from the mattress for just a second at the impact. As he settles, you look over to him, laughing lightly at his hair strewn across his face. “So? What do you think?” He looks at you through the tangle of hair in his face, hands folding across his chest with a contented sigh.  

“Yep, I did pretty fucking good, didn’t I?” You hit him playfully at that, both of you laughing. You stand up then, thinking it’s probably time for Eddie to go home, and you offer him your hands to help him up, which he takes, his rings pressing cool lines into your hands as you pull.  

As Eddie gets to his feet, you slip on a piece of rogue cardboard, stumbling forward back into Eddie, who steadies you by your shoulders. As the spike of adrenaline from almost eating shit wanes from your body, you can’t help but laugh loudly, covering your mouth with your hands. Eddie joins you and you laugh about it for a minute, kicking the cardboard out of the way for good measure.  

“I guess I should clean up in here before I go to bed,” You muse, taking in the disaster on the floor below you. 

“I can help with that, go get a trash bag,” Eddie says, letting you go. You tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear as you turn, collecting your empty cups from the floor as you walk back to the kitchen. 

You and Eddie clean up your room in a matter of minutes, scooping up big piles of cardboard and plastic to shove into the trash bag you had retrieved, as you finish, the A side of the David Bowie tape comes to an end. 

“I had a great time tonight,” Eddie muses as you walk him to the door. 

“Yeah, me too. It was a lot of fun,” You agree, an easy smile on your lips. 

Eddie chuckles, “And your parents seemed like they were having a lot of fun, too.” Your smile drops instantly as you’re reminded of the mortifying comments they made about you and Eddie. 

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry about that. They’re so embarrassing!” You cover your face with your hands, trying to forget again. 

“Hey, I said don’t worry about it, and I meant it,” Eddie reassures you. You peek at him through your fingers and he gives you a slightly sympathetic smile, his eyebrow quirked up in amusement. You slowly drop your hands from your face. “You know, I think it’s nice that your parents are so outspoken. It shows they care,” You start smiling at that, thinking about how much you love your parents. 

“Yeah, I guess so. I don’t know, they’ve just always liked the idea of you and me for some reason,” You try to sound cool as you give your excuse, but it still comes out bashful. 

Eddie shrugs, “I don’t think it’s hard to see why. We’re great together,” Eddie muses, and your eyes widen, the smile dropping from your face as your blood turns to fire in your veins. Eddie sees your reaction and flounders, stumbling over his words. “We’re great friends, I mean. We just, we get each other, you know?”  

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Duh, I know. We do! We’re best friends...” The awkward laughter dies a horrible death between you and it’s just silent for a moment, both of you looking anywhere but at each other’s faces. You clear your throat after what seems like an eternity and finally look back at Eddie. You try to act casual, but the air feels a bit different now. Eddie’s got some look on his face you can’t discern, and you decide to just ignore it as you go to hug him. “Thanks for your help, tonight, Eds,” you say as you squeeze him. Eddie squeezes you back, as you pull away, he gives you a peck on the cheek like he did earlier in the week. The warmth of his lips to your skin makes electricity crackle through your body, and you give a small smile as you open the door for him.  

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Eddie says, giving a small wave as he turns to walk away.  

“Goodnight. I'll see you soon?” You ask hopefully, hovering at the edge of the doorway. Eddie turns his head back to you and nods, that boyish smile sneaking onto his face again as his dark eyes shine in the dim light of the hallway. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll see you soon,”  

You close the door as Eddie walks away, locking it behind him. You meander over to your couch and plop down heavily, letting out an exasperated sigh as you do. Your hand finds a throw pillow, and you press it over your face and scream into it. You can’t exactly pinpoint if it’s frustration, embarrassment, or otherwise, but it seems to help you feel better as you take it away, out of breath. 

@corrodedcoffincumslut @haylaansmi @bebe07011

#eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader fluff #dustin stranger things #eddie the freak munson #eddie #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #friends to lovers #mutual pining

[bizaar]

Cruel Summer - Part 3

First -Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 8k

warnings: non-mutual pining, swearing, Dustin has a great big crush on the reader

A.N.: babysitter!reader part three! this time we get to hear from the baby who is being sat on ... anyway, Dustin is jealous and Steve is kind of a jerk

If Dustin had to pinpoint the moment he’d fallen in love with you, he would say it would probably be roughly an hour into the first time you’d ever babysat him, a hundred years, and a short lifetime ago. 

Five years to be exact. 

You began as a babysitter of convenience, the thirteen-year-old girl who lived across the street and could be coerced into being paid to sit and watch television with her eight-year-old neighbor for a few hours at a time. 

Dustin didn’t throw a tantrum or cry or do anything so dramatic as that when his mother left him in your care that first day, but he was set in thinking that he wouldn’t like you. What did he know about eighth-grade girls, beyond that they all had sticks up their butts and were very often singularly evil? He couldn’t believe the naïveté of his mother, opening the door and willingly letting the fox into the hen house. As far as he was concerned, you were a strange and devious creature, not to be trusted. 

He slunk out of the room and listened from the sanctity of the hallway as she walked you through the babysitting spiel, he would go on to be able to recite in his sleep: emergency numbers, house rules, what you should and should not offer for snacks. You nodded and agreed and sweetly bid her farewell, then immediately went to sit in his mother’s favorite chair and flipped on the television. Dustin remembered being outraged at the audacity of it because you ought to have known that you had no right to sit in that chair, but he wasn’t about to do anything about it. 

You were Smaug, a great and terrible dragon lurking among the stolen treasures of Erebor, and he was Bilbo Baggins, bravely slinking away, silent and invisible. Dustin would have retreated further to the sanctuary of his bedroom, to discuss the presence of the interloper with his toys, but you’d stopped him in his tracks by turning on the siren call of Speed Racer reruns, and he’d been quietly enraptured. 

He watched from the hallway for the better part of twenty minutes, quietly singing along to the theme song, before you finally called out to him. 

“I can hear you humming back there.” You said, “You know you can come out and watch, right? I’m not gonna bite you.” 

Dustin ran down the hall after that — Go Speed Racer, Go— if only to muster his courage and return five minutes later with backup in the form of a big tub of Legos and action figures.  

And just like that, a silent truce was agreed upon. 

“Who’s your favorite superhero?” He remembers asking, an hour or so after the cartoon marathon had ended, sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by the growing minefield of his toys. 

You’d since twisted to perch sideways in the chair in a way he’d been unwilling to admit was so totally cool, legs slung over the arm as you fiddled with one of his action figures. Cobra Commander. He remembered thinking it was technically okay that you’d chosen that one, in the vast lexicon of all of Dustin’s toys, Cobra Commander was a low man on the totem pole. 

You cast a sly glance in his direction and answered without hesitation. 

“Daredevil.” 

The surety of your answer nearly floored Dustin. 

“You know about Daredevil?” He gasped, very nearly losing his composure, “… I mean, he’s cool I guess.” 

There was an undeniable coquettish slyness to your tone, like you understood the effect of your presence, even back then. “Spider-Man is cool too.” You said, nodding to the action figure Dustin held clutched in his hands.

He shrugged and tried to feign nonchalance, working at twisting the friendly neighborhood web-slinger into a battle-ready pose. At the same time, his brain kicked itself into overdrive, trying to process what seemed like conflicting information at the time.

You were a tween girl, and you knew about superheroes. That math should not have added up to make a real person.

It was like the world was opening for the first time and he could feel cracks beginning to form in his impenetrable fortress of boyhood. 

“I like the X-men.” He said slowly like he was testing to see just how much you actually knew.

You pulled a face like you didn’t appreciate the vagueness of his answer. 

“You can’t just say you like the X-men,”

He wrinkled his nose, warily preparing to go on the defensive in case you finally decided to shed your skin and reveal the viper waiting beneath.

“Why not?” Dustin asked.

You shrugged.

“I mean, I guess you can but, come on, you’ve gotta have a favorite. There’s a whole bunch of those guys. You’ve got Cyclops, Storm, Wolverine, Professor X…?”

Dustin was fully aware of how he was gawping at you as you continued to list the various X-men on your fingers. 

The wealth of what actually equates to very basic knowledge was enough to tear down the walls he’d put up to the point of forgetting his leeriness of the strange girl who had been put in charge of him that day. Before that moment, he would not have been able to fathom the concept of a girl like you (ridiculous, of course, he can practically hear you berating him for thinking so little of women’s knowledge of pop culture. Women have interests, Dustin, don’t be a tool.) but suddenly and for the first time in his life, he was completely enamored.

You were like a unicorn he’d stumbled across in a clearing in a dark forest, and he literally could not stop staring at you. 

He’d never wanted someone to think he was cool so badly. 

You spent the duration of that evening pouring over his favorite comics, debating who among the heroes was strongest, who would win in a fight (you hadn’t been able to reach an agreement over whether Doc Ock or Dr. Doom would win, so you’d agreed to disagree with a cordial handshake), he’d even led you down the hall to show you his bedroom, nervously of course, in some bizarrely juvenile hope to impress you with his books and posters and all the toys who hadn’t made it out into the living room.

At the end of the night, Dustin shocked himself by sending you on your way with his prized Spider-Man action figure, watching him from the back pocket of your jeans as you skipped back home and disappeared into the house across the street. 

From then on, Dustin was head over heels, and it only got worse with every passing day.

Over the course of the next five years, you became a staple in the Henderson household. Dustin chased your shadow, entering Hawkins Middle and you made your way over to Hawkins High, and as you waged into the foray of adulthood, you never forgot to leave room for him, even when it wasn’t exactly convenient. 

You were always happy to stuff his bike in the trunk of your car and give him a ride home, never balking at the thought of being seen fraternizing with a middle schooler by your high school peers, and you always stopped for ice cream or a Slurpee or any kind of treat that would have curled his mother’s hair and turned it gray. You liked your music loud and heavy on guitars, and Dustin couldn't say he felt any different. He liked what you liked. On nights and weekends, you let him stay up well past bedtime, eating junk and watching scary movies, and you almost never enforced the “homework before Atari” rule, considering you were just as eager to sit down and play it as he was. You were simultaneously a guiding light and a very bad influence.   

You not only became acquainted with his friends but went out of your way to include them. If you and Dustin were headed to the movies for the day, you didn’t bat an eye at letting Lucas, Mike, and Will tag along, so long as they didn’t mind cramming into the back of your little Toyota, because according to you “the more the merrier, right?” 

You chaperoned trips to the arcade and always came prepared with extra quarters to supplement their meager scrounged bounty. You didn’t mind stepping in to play D&D if the occasion called for it, and most importantly, you never gave the impression that it was some big inconvenience. You dressed up, you did voices, you stayed in character, and you took the matter very seriously.

You treated the Party the same way you treated Dustin, without judgment or exclusion or favorites. You were their friend, but you were in charge, and they all listened with varying degrees of eagerness, despite the fact that you didn’t actually babysit any of the rest of them. Dustin had a tendency to get quite vocal about that. If any of the guys got too friendly with you, he was quick to remind them that you were his babysitter, he knew you first.

They all teased him mercilessly about his massive crush on you, and Dustin could only be bothered to care about it half the time. You were arguably the be-all-end-all of cool babysitters, and sometimes, Dustin was sure you were too good to be true. You weren’t like the other girls he knew, which is to say you weren’t like Nancy Wheeler or Erica Sinclair, or any of his friends' moms. You’d given him a forty-five-minute lecture about the absurdity of that statement when he’d told you as much. (You don’t even know any other girls, Dustin, don’t go putting us in boxes like that.) It had been a failed first attempt at trying to express his feelings for you, and it had ended with him agreeing to be a little more open-minded and a little less sexist, and you none the wiser about his affections.

Sure, maybe you were like plenty of other girls (girls Dustin wasn’t entirely convinced existed, at least until Max came into their lives) but that didn’t mean you weren’t amazing.   

And then one day after school, in your tenth-grade year, you arrived at the house, grinning stupidly about something, and acting uncharacteristically foolish and ditzy as you threw your backpack down. While you were normally light and cheerful, this was something else entirely. You were glowing, practically floating around the house. You spent the better part of the afternoon smiling to yourself and sighing, gazing off into the distance and not hearing a word Dustin had to say.

It took absolutely no prompting to discover the source of your good mood. You were more than happy to explain. 

You’d met someone.

Oh no. 

This really sweet, funny guy. 

Oh shit. 

You think you really like him. 

Son of a bitch! 

His name is – Dustin clapped his hands over his ears when you’d tried to tell him. He didn’t want to know the guy’s name; he didn’t want to know anything about him unless you were going to tell him he’d died or something. The next few weeks were an exercise in patience as Dustin waited for you to get bored of this guy, whoever he was.

This wasn’t like you. You had a good head on your shoulders, you liked superheroes and Atari and Lord of the Rings and didn’t get silly crushes. Surely you weren’t foolish enough to get caught up in something as fleeting as a summer fling… right?

Wrong.

By summer break, it was officially official. Boyfriend and girlfriend official. You were even wearing a big chunky chain bracelet of his and a beat-up guitar pick strung around a ball chain necklace. It was all Dustin could do to keep from blowing his lid. 

Suddenly he was all you could talk about, your boyfriend. How he was so fun and funny and sweet and thoughtful and yadda yadda yadda. It went on and on, an endless stream of saccharine word vomit that twisted at Dustin’s insides like a rusty fork making spaghetti out of his guts. He’d never been so jealous in his goddamn life. It made him feel like he was on fire.  

How was he supposed to compete with high school boys? Especially since whatever teen boy spell this guy had cast on you had apparently turned you into the girl you’d never been? A giggling, flirty mess of sunshine lollipops and rainbows.

You were in love with this guy much too quick, and Dustin hated every moment of it. More than the jealousy, he hated the guilt he felt over hating it because he could not deny that this guy made you incandescently happy. You were on the moon where Dustin could not reach you, and despite how bad it made him feel, he told himself that if you were happy then he was happy … to a point.

A lot of that sentiment went out the window when you started ditching him to hang out with this guy.   

Sure, you still chaperoned the Party around Hawkins, but you were just as likely to go skipping off to some dark corner of the arcade or the movie theatre to have some sort of secret rendezvous as you were to stay. You didn’t offer rides to and from school as liberally as you had before, due to the fact that you were riding to school with your boyfriend as often as you were driving yourself. Your evenings babysitting no longer consisted of superhero debates and D&D, but sitting and waiting by the phone, only to snatch it up and run to the other room when it would ring. You spent hours talking on the phone about absolutely nothing of value to this guy, acting like everything you had to say to each other was the most important thing in the world. (Dustin knew your conversations were nothing to write home about because he’d been caught twice listening on the other line before you’d snapped at him to get off the phone).

“Was that your little brother or something?” He’d heard your boyfriend ask, his voice lilting with an infuriating humor.

You’d sighed and rolled your eyes, “No, it’s just the kid I babysit.”

Just.

Dustin didn’t know what it felt like to have his heart broken, but he’d never been made to feel so small and insignificant by a single word. He’d never been just anything to you, not until your boyfriend had come around. Suddenly you were exactly like the other girls he knew, and it set Dustin’s teeth on edge. 

Dustin had never met this boyfriend of yours, partially because you never brought him around (thankfully the vice your relationship had on your mind didn’t turn you into one of those cliche babysitters sneaking her boyfriend into the house to make out) but also because Dustin had no interest in meeting his biggest competition for your attention.

He may have only been a middle schooler, but he was smart enough to know that all it would accomplish would be to hurt his feelings, more than it already hurt to think about you in the arms of someone else, laughing at his dumb jokes, playing games in the arcade, going to the movies with him.

He caught glimpses from time to time, of course, even in his denial he was wildly curious about him, your mysterious boyfriend. 

The best look he ever got was in spying out through the front window, watching you skip off across the street and climb up into the passenger’s side of a beat-up, shitty panel van blaring overloud rock music. There was a flash of denim on leather, long dark hair, and big chunky silver jewelry on a hand that came up to cup your cheek as you leaned over to kiss him before the door slammed shut.

Dustin had ripped the front curtains down over that, jealousy briefly turning him into the goddamn Hulk. Of course, he’d been subsequently grounded for it despite how it had been entirely by accident.   

He painted a picture of your boyfriend in his mind so that he would have something to hate, denim on leather, chunky silver jewelry, long dark hair, an amalgam of all the lame rock and roll guys he’d ever seen on MTV or in magazines. He imagined he was probably too concerned with his looks, fixated on his hair, didn’t let you touch his radio, and played guitar in a shitty rock band. Like Steve Harrington, if he was a metalhead, which is to say a total loser.

Of course, that opinion would go on to change drastically over the months. Steve Harrington, it turned out, was cool. Much cooler than your stupid boyfriend.

Dustin would complain bitterly to Steve about him exactly once before he learned better.

Steve scrunched his features as Dustin went on and on, slowly putting the pieces together. He didn't know you very well, beyond the fact that you went to school together, but come to find out he did know your boyfriend.

“Oh, wait,” He’d started to say, “Are you talking about E—”

Dustin clapped his hands over his ears once again and screeched out what could only be described as a primordial sound of denial. It had shocked Steve perhaps more than anything in his life to hear a sound like that erupt out of a human being.  

“Don’t say it!" Dustin cried, obviously being very cool and mature about this whole thing, "I don’t want to know his name!”

Steve threw up his hands defensively.  

“Alright, Jesus! I won’t say his name … Anyway, I know... That Guy, and he’s a total freak. Don’t worry Henderson, it won’t last long. She’ll come around eventually.”

It might have made Dustin feel better if it weren’t for the fact that – inexplicably – you liked the apparent freak so, so much. Too much.

You were in love with him.

Dustin was sick with how much he hated a person he didn’t even know. He railed against any and all information, any suggestion of That Guy’s existence, despite how you insisted he would love him, how he was into all the same fantasy and sci-fi stuff Dustin loved, and how he even played D&D. 

“He wants to meet you,” you’d said once, sitting cross-legged on the floor, helping him put together his outfit for the upcoming Snowball Dance.

Dustin was already sulking because you would be cutting out on chaperoning to go out with your boyfriend, even though you’d promised you were going to go.

The declaration that he wanted to meet Dustin felt more like a taunt than anything else like the bastard wanted to rub his face in it. It made him burn with petty anger.

Dustin couldn’t give a shit about what this guy wanted.  

“Well, maybe I don’t want to meet him.” He’d huffed, “Steve says he’s a freak anyway–”

“Don’t say that.” You’d snapped, your tone biting and harsh enough to cause Dustin to flinch. “He's not a freak. Steve is an asshole, he doesn’t know anything about him. And neither do you."

"Well, maybe you don't know anything about Steve," He mumbled defiantly.

"I know more about him than you do."

Dustin waffled between feeling a mean satisfaction and instant regret over the way your face crumpled in the wake of the fight, as short as it had been. You offered a meek apology for biting his head off and Dustin forgave you. At least you seemed to have the good sense to be remorseful about ditching him. 

After a long silence, you nudged him with a sock-covered toe and put on a pout.

“Don’t be mad at me Dusty, I’ll go to the dance with you next year.” 

Next year was a poor excuse for a band-aid, but considering everything that had recently happened, Dustin just had to resign himself to trust that you would eventually come to your senses and eventually your boyfriend would be out of both of your lives.         

Through growing up and all the otherworldly insanity that had come to Hawkins since, the Demogorgon, the Upsidedown, the Mindflayer and everything in between, his feelings for you were as strong as ever. Stronger, even, because suddenly he had a duty to protect you, to keep you safe from the unseen dangers lurking just beyond the veil. He couldn’t tell you about the battles they’d waged and fought, you were safer not knowing. 

Though, to be fair, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried to tell you about all that stuff. In November of 1983, before that stupid jerk was your boyfriend and you were still Dustin’s number one girl, you’d spent every afternoon at his house, from after school to dusk. With your parents busy with work like they always were and Dustin’s mother assisting in the search for Will, it was agreed that it was safer for the both of you to stay together. Dustin was over the moon and chomping at the bit to tell you about all the new developments within the Party.

You didn’t think his story about the girl with the superpowers living in Mike’s basement was very amusing.

“That’s not funny, Dustin,” you’d said, your mouth pulling down into a disapproving frown as you crossed your arms and leveled him with that steely look got when you were being serious, “You shouldn’t joke about stuff like that.” 

He couldn’t imagine what you were talking about, considering he was being very serious, and Mike really did have a girl with superpowers living in his basement. Dustin had just seen her only half an hour before, you could see her too if you just went over to the Wheeler’s house.

“Stuff like what?” Dustin asked, completely nonplussed.

You grit your teeth like you hated having to explain it to him.  

“Like keeping girls locked in basements and stuff! That’s not funny,”

Dustin rolled his eyes, his little body flooding with relief as the apparent source of your upset made itself clear.

“She’s not locked down there. She can go out anytime she wants, just not when Mike’s parents are home…” 

Somehow, that explanation didn’t manage to clear things up the way Dustin hoped it would. You stopped showing him scary movies for the better part of a year after that, and Dustin stopped trying to tell you about Eleven and everything that went with her. 

It’s been two weeks since the battle at Starcourt Mall, resulting in its unceremonious burning down, and Dustin hasn’t seen hide nor hair of you since the start of all that madness. He’s almost glad he’d been so preoccupied all summer, first with camp, then with trying to hail Suzy, and finally with decoding the Russian message with Steve and Robin. It hadn’t given him time to worry about you becoming one of the mindless throngs taken by the Mindflayer … or the mindless girl you’d become under the influence of your boyfriend.  

Dustin had seen you briefly on his way to rendezvous with Steve before everything went down. Technically, you’d seen him first and snuck up on him just as he was crossing the threshold into Scoops Ahoy. You’d seized him by his backpack and jostled him violently, roaring in a way that had drawn a squeaky cry of alarm out of him.

His voice cracked. It was embarrassing. People turned to stare.

You were laughing when he whipped around to find the source of the assault, that bright, musical sound that he knew so well, it almost knocked the breath out of him to see you standing there.

He’d shocked himself in realizing how he’d nearly forgotten you, blinded as he was by the rose-tinted haze that had been his summer fling with Suzy. She made him feel stupid and gooey, all warm and fuzzy inside, but it wasn’t anything like how stupid your boyfriend made you. Dustin told himself it was different, but then there you were to remind him of his one and only, looking like a sun-kissed angel dressed in a strappy little sundress and sandals, and he wondered just how different it could possibly be. He squeaked your name and let you hug him, swallowing hard and answering your questions in a daze.  “When did you get back?” You asked, playfully shoving him.

You had an ice cream cone gripped in one hand, and despite your teasing, you were careful not to let it drip on Dustin’s shirt, which he was thankful for.  

“Yesterday.”

“Did you have fun? Make lots of nerdy friends?”

“Sure.” He mumbled, eyes catching on that stupid guitar pick necklace and the chunky chain bracelet you still wore.

Then, like he’d been struck by the tingling of Spidey-senses, Dustin realized you were conspicuously alone, and he didn’t trust it.

“So, where’s your boyfriend?” 

He said it like it was a dirty word.

Strangely, instead of getting that dopey look on your face and waxing poetic about how wonderful he was, or berating Dustin for being unkind, you pulled a face and rolled your eyes. You made a show of heaving an exasperated groan like he had just asked you the most annoying, trivial question in the world.

“Who knows, I haven’t seen that jerk in like two weeks.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and cast your eyes down to your toes in a way that seemed almost halfway sad.

“You know he didn’t even come to my graduation?”

“Seriously?” Dustin spluttered, “What a jerk!” 

He stopped himself from saying something harsher because he knew you were just going to rail on him for cursing, and this wasn’t about him, this was about the heaping pile of bullshit you’d just dropped on him. He was genuinely incensed. What kind of asshole skips his girlfriend’s graduation ceremony? Your boyfriend, evidently, that's who. Dustin couldn’t hardly say he was surprised, he’d always known the guy was a jerk, despite not actually knowing him.

He couldn’t help but think back to what Steve had said the previous autumn, about your boyfriend being a freak. He’d often wondered exactly what that meant, but now he supposed it meant that he skipped out on major milestones in his girlfriend’s life.

Dustin hated how dumb That Guy made you, prancing around in a daze like a lovesick puppy. Maybe if he was lucky, he wouldn’t have to endure listening to you moon over him anymore, talking about how fun and funny and nice and cool and blah blah blah...

How could all of that be true if he couldn’t even be bothered to watch you graduate? 

“I know right?” you huffed, and suddenly there was a very real heaviness to your posture like you were trying very hard to make light of something that you didn’t think was funny in the slightest.

In fact, you were genuinely upset about it.

For half a moment, Dustin very seriously considered abandoning the mission to rendezvous with Steve if only to keep you company… or maybe you would’ve preferred to be invited along? He wasn’t entirely sure you liked Steve, but maybe you could learn to love him like Dustin had. And what’s not to love? Steve was cool and charming and funny and— Dustin stopped that line of thinking in its tracks as he began to imagine how much worse it would be to watch you gushing over Steve the way you did with your boyfriend. It might actually kill him if he inadvertently set the two of you up.

“Then again, you didn’t come either, you Butthead.” you huffed, prodding him in the shoulder with the sharp point of your finger.

A fiery indignance rose in Dustin’s chest at the notion of being looped in with your boyfriend’s crimes.  

“I was at camp!” he squawked, hoping beyond hope that you knew he would have moved heaven and earth to be at your ceremony if he hadn’t already had the prior summer engagement. 

You smirked at him.

“Uh huh, excuses excuses…” your tone was maddeningly condescending, but he didn’t get the sense that you were upset, not seriously, which was a relief. “So, where are you headed?”

Dustin jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the ice cream parlour and you rolled your eyes.

“Right, of course, off to see your new best friend, Steve?” you stretched his name lyrically in a way that didn’t feel authentically You. 

Dustin wondered bitterly if maybe that was something you’d picked up from your jerk boyfriend. Still, he nodded and followed your gaze as it slinked up to the Scoops counter, where a girl roughly your age stood looking particularly miserable.

Your face split into a delighted Cheshire Cat grin, pulling your lower lip in past your teeth as the corners of your mouth quirked up.  

Dustin wasn’t sure he liked that look on you, his head bouncing back and forth between you and the Scoops counter. His stomach was strangely in knots as a sense of dread washed over him, you knew something he didn’t, and he didn’t like how coy you were being about it… and he really didn’t like that look on your face.    

“What?”

“Just wait until you see him.” You purred, giggling as you turned to leave, “Bye Dustin.”

He would have returned the farewell, but it wasn’t you bidding him goodbye. It was your stupid boyfriend again, working through you to taunt him, waggling your fingers and grinning at him from behind your eyes as you skipped away into the crowd.

That Guy, the Freak. Whatever his name was.

In the madness of the weeks that followed, Dustin had almost forgotten that interaction, and now you were coming over.                  

He’d waited all day for your impending arrival, knowing that you were coming over to babysit that evening, much to his chagrin.

It’s not that he didn’t want you coming over, he’d labored over what kind of things you could do together to pass the time that evening – movies, junk food … board games? – he told himself he wanted to do something you would enjoy, now that you had graduated, not just the same old baby shit you’d done for years. He racked his brain for the things he knew about teenagers, what did Steve and Robin like to do when they weren’t busy decoding secret Soviet messages? Sit around and judge people for their taste in movies? Trade high school gossip, talk about who said what, and who was worth pursuing for a date…? Somehow Dustin didn’t think you’d be interested in any of that, and it stressed him out immensely. Same as he had at eight years old, he still wanted so desperately for you to think he was cool, mature, worth taking seriously. Of course, he told himself it didn’t matter what you two did to pass the time, any amount of time in the glow of your presence was tantamount to Heaven, but he only just wished that you were coming over under different circumstances. 

He wished he was old enough to take you out on a date. He’d entertained that flight of fancy for a few days, even found the perfect line to use (courtesy of Steve), but then his mother had caught him talking to himself in the mirror, pretending to ask you out to dinner, and he’d nearly died of embarrassment. 

If he was ever going to marry you, he needed you to take him seriously as a man, not just some kid. Because he was going to marry you someday, after all, that was without a doubt. Sure, you’re a few years older than him, he’s only fresh out of eighth grade and you’d graduated that summer. Sure, there’s the problem of your stupid boyfriend, and sure he likes Suzy, like, really likes her. She is as amazing and perfect and phenomenal as he ever hoped his first real girlfriend to be, but you are you. 

If ever there was a litmus test for the ideal woman (Don’t be such a male chauvinist, Dustin) you have long since set the bar, and while Suzy is amazing and quite literally had a hand in helping to save the world, she’s not you. He realizes it’s an unfair comparison, and it makes him feel terrible (could it technically be considered cheating?) but there’s no arguing with true love. That shit is forever, baby.

The mood is wrong the moment you walk in the door, twenty-five minutes late, completely flustered and apologizing profusely. His mother assures you it’s no problem, what matters is that you’re here now and she’s out the door with a promise to be back no later than 11:30.

You stash your bag on the kitchen island, moving robotically.

“Crazy about the mall, huh?” You say, looking like a hollowed-out version of yourself as you stare vacantly out the front window.

“Yeah, crazy.” He mumbles, wondering with an uneasy start just how much you know about the incident, the truth of what happened at Starcourt. 

He watches you carefully and realizes very quickly that there’s something wrong with you. You’re swaying slightly on your feet and breathing raggedly, and suddenly Dustin can’t help but worry about the lingering effect of the Mindflayer. It was gone, they’d burned it out with the mall, but that didn’t mean it didn’t have some sort of residual hold in this world, like what had happened with Will the year before.   

“Are you okay?” He asks, sitting up on the couch, ready to jump up at a moment’s notice in case he has to catch you.

You turn and stare through him, and then after a moment much too long to be considered normal, you lie through your teeth. 

You’re a terrible liar.  

“I’m good.” You say, “I'm really, really good … in fact I’m great.” 

You try to smile, but your lower lip is trembling and Dustin notices for the first time how your eyes are bloodshot and puffy like you’d been crying. 

He wants to ask what’s wrong, but he can feel his courage quickly fading, so he decides that further inquiries regarding your emotional state can wait until after the declarations of his love have been made. 

The thought of it makes him blush. 

“So… listen,” He begins, gathering as much of his quickly fading gusto as he can muster, ‘There’s something I wanted to talk to you about...”

For a split second, Dustin sees what he can only equate to panic flash across your eyes, the corners of your mouth twitch as your plastered-on smile crumples into a grimace. His confidence wavers in the face of it. There is something seriously wrong with you, that’s for certain, but he doesn’t have time to sit and unpack that until after he’s said his piece. He is more than uncomfortably aware of the fact that he’d better do it quick if he wants to keep his nerve.

Dustin opens his mouth to continue, but you turn on your heel and bolt suddenly down the hall, which is perhaps the most shocking thing that has happened yet. 

“Hold that thought, Dusty.” You say in a rush, your voice suddenly tight and strained. “Just for a second!” 

He stands a little dazed as he listens to the quick sound of your receding footsteps, followed by the slamming of the bathroom door.

A heavy silence bleeds into the room.

After a few seconds of nothing, Dustin thinks he can hear what sounds like muffled screaming, and it throws him for a loop. He doesn’t know what to do with that, he still isn’t completely sure you aren’t being mind controlled by what’s left of the Mindflayer, but he can’t make himself move to investigate.

He stands, and he waits, and you don’t come out, so he waits a little longer. 

It’s nearer to fifteen minutes before you finally emerge again, and Dustin has slumped back into the couch cushions, fidgeting with his compass while he waits for you. You’re sniffling, frantically scrubbing your hands over your eyes as you trot back out into the living room, doing your best to put on a smile.

“Okay, kiddo, you wanna watch a movie or something?” you ask, sounding absolutely manic as you throw yourself down onto the couch beside him.

“Uh… sure,” He says, “Something scary?” 

It’s a blatant effort to try and please you. Dustin is no fan of scary movies, despite how hard he is trying to be because you love them. He’s still plagued with nightmares of Freddy Kreuger, despite how it’s been well over a year since you sat him down with A Nightmare on Elm Street and a promise to turn it off if it got too scary. It had, but he’d kept his mouth shut and had been forced to endure the whole thing. He is still afraid of sleeping with the lights off because of it.  

In a shocking turn of events, you shake your head.

“No, let’s watch something nice. Let’s watch The Neverending Story.”

The coincidence of you suggesting that movie is enough to give Dustin whiplash until he remembers that you were the one who took him to see it in the theatre in the first place –and then ditched him there to go meet up with your boyfriend.

Still, he can't help but be a little stunned considering the recent significance of that movie and how it had effectively saved the world.

“Yeah okay…” He mumbles. 

Dustin stands to go and sort through his VHS tapes. He flips absently through the hard plastic rectangles as he feels a lump forming in the pit of his stomach, biding his time to try and muster what meager scraps of his courage are left. He swore he’d tell you tonight.  

Don’t be a pussy, he tells himself, It’s now or never.

He stands and turns swiftly on his heels to address you, only to find that you have pulled one of the couch cushions into your lap for security.

Your pretty face is pinched in a mask of despair and there are tears in your eyes again, but they are gone in a moment as you come to realize Dustin is staring at you. You try to smile and barely manage to quirk the corners of your mouth.

“So, listen…” He begins again, slowly, fidgeting with his fingers, twisting the digits, “What I was trying to tell you before--”

Your face brightens in an odd, forced way. 

“Oh, right!” you chirp, a little too enthusiastically for how you’re failing to reflect whatever it is you’re trying to pretend to feel. “Yes. Okay, I’m listening.”

Your voice is bubbling and wet like you could break down crying at any moment. 

It’s highly disturbing. 

“…Are you on drugs?” Dustin suddenly blurts.

He is semi-horrified at the way the intrusive thought broke through the barriers of his mind, especially when your eyes go wide.

You pull a face like it’s the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever suggested, and make an incredulous sound that is closer to a sob than a scoff, especially with the way you gasp on the tail end of it.

“God, Dustin – you can’t just ask people if they’re on drugs.” you sniffle, pulling your eyebrows together to glare at him, “That’s totally rude.”

“Well.” He mumbles, throwing up his hands and hating how defensive he suddenly sounds, “Are you?” 

“No, I’m not on drugs! I’m having a bad day.” You cross your arms tighter around the pillow and he watches as you suppress a burst of something caught between outrage and devastation. “Just give your speech already.”

You sound angry, but then again, your expression still doesn’t match your tone, so he can’t exactly gauge what it is you’re feeling. It makes him more than a little nervous about how you will take what he has to say to you, but Dustin manages to soldier through it. 

“Okay. Sorry … actually, it’s not a speech, really, it’s more like – nevermind. Look, what I wanted to say is that I’m gonna be starting High School in a few weeks…” he says nervously, “And then I’ll be turning fourteen.”

Your face is still pulled into that annoyed look as you nod. The movement might have been somewhere on the way to sagely if your head hadn’t been bobbing so vigorously, like something trying very hard to look human after having only observed one for a very short time.  

Still, somehow you manage to say all the right things.

“Big changes.” You mumble, “You’re not a little kid anymore.” 

Dustin’s heart leaps into his throat as a bright light of hope wells in his chest, growing his courage along with it. He suddenly hopes beyond hope that you are picking up what he is putting down, even through the haze of whatever weirdness has currently gripped you. 

He’s still not entirely convinced it isn’t drugs.

“Exactly!” Dustin shouts, “I’m not a little kid anymore, and if you think about it, fourteen is actually way too old for a babysitter, right?”

Your face contorts suddenly into a mask of confusion and your voice grows very quiet. 

“Um… yeah I guess so…” 

“So, really, I guess what I’m trying to say is I don’t want you to babysit me anymore.” 

The silence that blooms between you is deafening as the words hang heavy in the air. Dustin doesn’t realize his mistake until you scrunch your face, and the tears finally – finally – begin to spill over your cheeks. 

Oh no.

Dustin’s heart drops into his ass, and he freezes as you try not to break down.

Oh shit.

He’s never seen you cry before. In all the years he's known you the closest he's seen you to tears has been through anger or laughter.

He doesn’t know what to do. 

In spite of yourself, you choke on a burst of harsh laughter, thick and wet, bubbling up from your throat as you wipe at your eyes. It is an effort made in vain, as the moment you brush away your tears they are replaced by new ones. 

“Dammit, Dusty.” you sniffle, “Are you breaking up with me too?”

He rushes to the couch, leaping to land on the cushions beside you. 

“No!” Dustin cries, “Oh no, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, that's not what I meant at all – please don’t cry – I only –” And then the words really hit him. “Wait… what do you mean?” 

You open your mouth to answer but the rush of emotion is too much, and you bury your face in your hands. You sob for a brief, heartbreaking moment, and Dustin feels something crumple inside of him.

He doesn’t know what to do, somehow it feels like this is his fault, and it has him frozen to the spot. 

Then he remembers your son of a bitch boyfriend, or perhaps more specifically how you hadn’t mentioned him once in all the time you’ve been here, and the gravity of the situation dawns on him. 

“You guys broke up.” He says softly.

It’s not so much a question as it is Dustin having to say it out loud to believe it.

You nod and break into another round of pitiful sobbing.  

Dustin has to take a moment to process the information and decide how he feels. He wants to be happy, ecstatic even. How long has he been waiting for this exact day? Counting the minutes until you’d get tired of that loser and move on to greener pastures. It should be a victory, but it turns to ash in his mouth because in his mind you should have shrugged it off with a flippant wave and an uttering of “good riddance”. But there you sit, choking and crying and crushing the heels of your palms into your eyes like you’re afraid they’re going to fall out of your head. You're not just sad, you're devastated.

This is not how he expected things to go at all, and seeing you so upset hurts Dustin’s heart.

You scrub at your face again, furiously trying to compose yourself, but the tears won’t stop coming. Dustin tries to muster all the anger and hatred and jealous outrage he’s felt towards the jerk over the two years he’s had to endure your relationship, but he suddenly can’t find it. All he feels is the sharp aching pull deep inside of his chest, watching you cry over the no-good bastard who’d broken your heart. It feels something similar to anger, only calmer, sadder. He’s never felt anything like that before.

He wants to hug you, but he dares not touch you, on the off chance that you really are as fragile as you look right now.

He’s half afraid he’ll break you if he tries.   

“I’ll kill him,” Dustin says without really thinking.

You’ve calmed down enough by then to heave an exhausted sigh and throw your hands down to the pillow sitting in your lap. Your face is pink and ruddy, streaked with tears as you gasp out the last moments of your breakdown.  

“No, you won’t.” you insist, twisting at the ring you wear on your middle finger with the dull black stone set into the band.

His ring.

Son of a bitch.

Dustin remembers the day you showed up wearing it. The suggestion of the promise that stood behind it had knocked the wind out of him.

A cursory glance shows you’ve still got on the chunky chain bracelet and the faintest hint of the guitar pick necklace sitting tucked beneath your shirt. It sets Dustin’s teeth on edge. He doesn’t want you to be sad – ever – but especially at the behest of some guy. He wants you to be angry, rip those gaudy pieces of jewelry off, and hurl them into the quarry, along with everything else that asshole has left in your life. He wants you to curse his name and flip the bird and forget you ever knew him.     

“Well, I’ll kick his ass if you want me to.” He presses, scooting closer to you on the couch and rising on his knees in a way he hopes might help to try and make himself seem taller, more mature.

I would never hurt you. He wants to say, I’d treat you so much better than he did if you’d let me.

It’s enough to make you snort with watery laughter and roll your eyes, and for a brief moment, Dustin has to remember that you’re laughing at his offer of kicking your stupid (ex)boyfriend’s ass, not the declaration of love that lives in his heart of hearts.  

“That’s sweet. Thanks, Dusty,” you say, patting his hand where he’d unintentionally reached out to take yours.

Dustin’s heart is in his throat. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding your hand until that moment. Despite the moment, his courage dissipates. Disappointingly, he deflates and sinks back into the couch beside you.

The conversation doesn’t carry on much further from there. For lack of anything better to do, Dustin puts on The Neverending Story, and you sit and watch it together in comfortable silence, with your head resting on his shoulder. He doesn’t pay much attention to the movie; he is too busy plotting how he will avenge you. He swears to himself that if and when he ever happens to find himself crossing paths with the sorry piece of shit who had been fortunate enough to be your boyfriend, he’d make sure he paid for what he’d done. Nobody gets to break your heart and just go on with their lives like nothing ever happened. It isn’t right.

By the time flashing headlights signify the return of his mother, and you make your way out the door and back across the street, Dustin is set in his mind that it is a matter of avenging you, defending your honor. He who draws first blood must make it right, lest they face banishment – and since he can’t expect your shithead (ex)boyfriend to do right by you, it’s up to him. He takes the burden on with his shoulders back and his head held high, though he is roiling with anxiety when he tucks in that night. He has no idea how he’s going to avenge you, and if Dustin can’t avenge you, how can he ever expect to be worthy of you? He’s only thirteen, what on earth can he be expected to do?

The theme of The Neverending Story is still buzzing around in his head, a pervasive earworm that any other day would have served only to annoy him, but now it fills him with confidence, reminding him of exactly what he is capable of. 

What can he do? Save the fucking world, that’s what.

#eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic #eddie munson x reader #reader insert #eddie munson fic #eddie munson #i'm just trying to make sure this ends up in the right tag despite the fact that Eddie is literally only here in the peripheral #this is about dustin but lets be honest #this is about eddie #dustin henderson #cruel summer #cruel summer fic

[rovewritesit]

Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 5) John Deacon x Reader Series

GIF: @johndeac​

Apologies for the delay! Work has been an absolute shit fest. The big show I’m on got canceled, but we still have to finish the season at some point so oof. Also, my boss is moving to Italy? Pray for my sanity, folks.

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 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Strong language. Feelings of anxiety. Angst (oooo!)

Chapter Notes: I've rewritten this chapter so many times that I don't even know what it is anymore. Angst is hard, my dudes! Why can't it all be flirty glances and quick banter?!

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Songs Mentioned:

Moonlight in Vermont - Frank Sinatra

Blues Run The Game - Jackson C. Frank

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @brianmays-hair @deacyblues @squishy-geckboye @hae-bee @aprilaady @theresalexis @uglipotata72829

- - - - - - -

September 1982 - The Music Inn, New York City

“Bri, get a load of all these fucking maracas!”

Brian makes his way over to where Roger is gazing at a massive wall adorned with shaker-filled shelves, dipping his head low to avoid the sea of guitars hanging from the ceiling above his long frame. 

Queen was back in New York for their first-ever appearance on Saturday Night Live. Finding time in between the intensive rehearsals during the week had been hard, but Freddie insisted they would make the time for his favorite New Yorkers. When the time was finally found, he, of course, was unavailable, off antiquing at some of Manhattan’s luxury spots but promised to meet up with the group later on. 

The Limbs managed to snag the other three men for a trip to the historic Music Inn. Nestled in the heart of Greenwich Village, the dingy treasure trove was located a stone’s throw away from the city’s most prominent folk clubs that boasted discovering the talents of Bob Dylan and Simon & Garfunkel. 

You were quite confident that your newfound English friends would love it. Every visible space was stuffed or covered with an abundance of musical paraphernalia. So much so that you had been in the store dozens of times without ever finding out what color the walls were. Its layout was always changing to fit the ever-growing amount of items displayed, the familiar specks of dust that sparkled in the sunlight being the only constants.

“Hey, Jeff!” Steve calls out to the eccentric owner. “Where are these from?” 

The aging hippie shuffles over. “Mostly South America,” he explains in his usual gravelly drawl. “A customer brought back some new shekeres from West Africa last week that have a nice sound to them.” Jeff motions up the sprawling wall. Roger immediately grabs a few, testing the sounds out against the ones Steve is already playing with - the two of them like kids in a candy store.

Jeff had been a good friend to The Limbs since their early teen years, having let the group spend hours on end attempting to learn every exotic instrument they could get their hands on. Anyone who entered the shop could count on him as a spirit guide of sorts to a wealth of worldly music. And while The Limbs had kept their first album fairly plain in context, they were already itching, particularly Steve, to experiment on the next album. Whenever that would be.

Now that a few more of their singles were moderately successful hits, Columbia Records was focused on milking it for all that it was worth. The execs were currently setting up an extensive American tour of the Mid - West Coast part of the country, all the major cities they hadn’t hit on their first tour. 

“Y/N,” Jeff gestures for you to follow him, probably excited to show you a new find seeing as you were always eager and willing to give them a test run. You make your way down the staircase lined with large balalaikas to the musty lower level filled with various sound equipment and electronic instruments. 

“What on god’s green earth would you use that for?” you hear Rich’s deep voice implore. He rolls his eyes as Eddie moons over an ornately engraved mandolin.

“It worked for Rod Stewart, didn’t it? That mandolin solo in Maggie May shredded,” he retorts. “Plus, look how pretty she is!”

You watch your feet as you carefully maneuver around the amps and pedals haphazardly strewn around the floor, following Jeff to the back of the room - taking special care to step around John, who is crouched low looking over the wiring of a particularly grody-looking amp.

Upon entering the store, he had taken off on his own right away, immediately entranced by the sprawling selection all about him. But you had caught the worn, far-off look in his eyes when he greeted you with a short wave earlier. You try not to let the lack of attention bother you as you pass him without so much as a glance up. The heartfelt conversation you had the last time they were in town had rooted itself in your memory. Spilling your guts like you did that night wasn't a common occurrence for you- figuring you were already easy enough to read due to the panicked expression often etched onto your face. 

Why him? Even your bandmates weren’t privy to the babblings of your intimate thoughts. It couldn’t just be his boyish tooth-gap or the pleasing line of his straight nose. Maybe it was the confusing mix of nerves and comfort you felt whenever in his presence. It was unlike the persistent butterflies you were used to when around attractive humans. Feeling instead like a gentle humming that you somehow sensed everywhere at once.

You’re brought out of your swimming thoughts as Jeff clears his throat loudly to get your attention. You must’ve been staring blankly at the floor for quite a while. He gestures to a bulky item draped in a tarp, as you give him a small apologetic smile.

“Oh yes, very pretty,” you smirk at him.

He rolls his eyes as he attempts to sweep the tarp off in a dramatic reveal, but in reality, it gets stuck. The man scrambles to uncover it, and as soon as it peeks out, you gasp.

“A theremin!”

You gaze at the ordinary-looking wooden cabinet in awe. It must be old, seeing as they were mostly compact now.

“You haven’t had one in ages,” you marvel, locking eyes with Jeff.

“Which means it’s been a while since I’ve heard your ambient screeches plaguing these walls.”

Your finger points to him in protest. “Hey, I was getting better until you sold the last one on me!”

“Well, I didn’t see you making a bid for it,” he playfully shrugs.

“Let’s hear those screeches!” Eddie yells out. Rich claps his hands excitedly beside him. You poke your tongue out at them, but your eyes catch John’s, and you quickly close your mouth. Still crouched, he looks on with mild curiosity wrinkled on his brow. He lightly raises them at you in silent encouragement.

You slowly make your way behind the instrument as Jeff plugs it into the wall. Turning one of the knobs, it hums to life as you check the metal attachments protruding from the wood frame. It really is old. You have no idea how to even begin to calibrate it. Taking a deep breath, you timidly bring your hands up in position.

It lets out a high pitched wail that burns your ears from being so close, and you yank your hands away from the field of current. Eddie and Rich erupt into cheers while John slowly stands, moving a bit closer to see the mechanism properly.

Jeff lightly pushes you back towards it in a gentle coax. This time you slowly bring your curled hand a reasonable distance away from the pitch antenna, keeping your other low on the one for volume. Squeezing your eyes shut to focus on the tone, you slowly move until you find your starting note. It was all about sense memory and your ears to fill the gaps with nothing to physically touch. 

Uncurling your fingers, you begin the opening notes of Moonlight in Vermont - the one song you had somewhat taught yourself through hours of painstaking practice. You fumble a bit, eliciting a squeak or two while trying to remember the hand placements that produce the proper notes. While you might “play” many instruments, you were middling at many, master of none. You make it through the first verse before your head starts to pound from your jaw-clenched concentration.

“Fuck the mandolin, let’s get that for the next album!” you hear Rich tell Eddie.

“Ah, yes, you’ve heard Pet Sounds. Now prepare your ears for The Limb’s sophomore attempt, Ghost Sounds,” 

Their banter is drowned out as John chimes in. “How on earth did you learn that?” You meet his struck expression and shrug lightly.

“Don’t downplay it, Bun. It’s pretty fucking cool,” Rich assures you. “And her knowing ASL also helps,” he explains to John.

“Sign language?”

“Oh yeah, Y/N’s mom is deaf,” Eddie reveals bluntly. You shoot him a look.

“Sorry, hard of hearing,” he holds his hands out in defense.

John is silent for a moment as he mulls the information over, causing a speck of tension in the room.

“Your mother’s never heard you sing?” he asks incredulously as if he can’t possibly imagine it.

You give a small smile. “No, I guess she hasn’t. But I was in the car with her the first time I heard us on the radio. I turned the treble down and the bass all the way up and she bopped along to the beat pretty well.”

Rich chuckles lightly at the story. “She’s always been hoot, hasn’t she?”

You nod gently. “Aptly put. That’s how she describes herself as a matter of fact.”

John shoves his hands deep in his pockets as he takes a look around the room, his cheeks a light pink. You're unsure of why.

“I’m gonna head out for a quick smoke,” you decide, patting Jeff on the shoulder. “I know how you hate it.”

He gives your hand a light squeeze before you make your way upstairs, hoping to catch John’s eyes, but he avoids yours yet again. 

A pleasing blend of harmonies can be heard as you hit the landing. You peek your head around a large assortment of bongos to find Brian strumming a small acoustic on the other side of the store. Roger, Steve, and Lawrence all crammed around, the four of them singing a rendition of Blues Run the Game. 

Your heart warms at the sight, remembering the times when you and the boys would sit around a campfire and croon out the same sad tune. Eddie and Rich will be pissed they missed this. Steve notices your presence and silently ticks his head for you to come join. You hold up your pack of Marlborough’s in response to him before finally slipping out the front, trying your best to not jingle the adorned bells too much.

A cool breeze promptly passes through the knit of your sweater. It’s late September, and New York has begun to really cool off. You pull down the sleeves to cover your hands as you light your cigarette, wincing a bit on the first inhale. It was a leftover habit from your college days- scarcely used, only in social situations, or to get out of awkward ones.

Taking in the familiar street, you can’t help but giggle at the day you were having. To be showing Queen around your old hangout still felt absurd. No matter how genuinely they seemed to like the company of your band, you couldn’t fathom them wanting to spend the day with you all. Weren’t there bigger and better musicians in this city to be hanging out with? 

The sound of a lighter flicking to life comes from your left, and you turn. John leans against the faded wall as he takes a drag, his eyes trained on the dirty sidewalk. 

“I’m sorry, i- if I offended you with my comment about your mother,” he professes quietly. 

Your brows shoot up in confusion. “What?”

“We have a friend whose father is deaf. A lovely man. I shouldn’t have been so insensitive.” He sighs, finally turning to face you. “It’s just that the memory of hearing your voice for the first time isn’t something one can easily shake. I mean that in a way that- it’s just a shame really. For her to not be able to share in it when it’s something so...” he looks as if he’s racking his brain for an appropriate word. “Well, singular.”

You suck in a breath at his words. In all your years, you had never gotten that as a response to your mother’s disability. It was mostly a polite, “Oh, really? I’m so sorry to hear that.” His honesty and consideration for your feelings knock the present hum of your body up to 100. 

You flinch as gentle burning hits your fingers, and you look down at your forgotten cigarette, quickly flicking it to the ground before crushing it under your heel. John shifts his weight from side to side, never taking his eyes off of you while he waits for you to collect your thoughts.

“I write out my lyrics for her so she can read them as poems,” you state simply, smiling up at him. “Sometimes she makes up her own melodies and sings them around the house. It’s not the easiest on the ears, but she’s pretty inventive.” His eyes crinkle as he returns your grin - his first genuine one of the day.

“So she’s heard music before?”

“Oh yeah. She has nerve deafness, which didn’t start till her late twenties. She actually spent a lot of time around here when she was younger. Bitter End and The Gaslight are just a few blocks away.”

He hums lightly as he stares at you- like you’re a puzzle whose pieces are just beginning to fit together.

“Can you teach me something in sign language?”

Once again, your brows shoot up, shocked by his response. You blink a few times, trying to think of what to say. Going with the only thing that pops to mind, you sign out a phrase as he watches your hands intently.

“And what does that mean?”

You smirk, “You are a cheesy cow.”

“I’m sorry?” he laughs out.

You repeat it back slowly while signing along. “You. Are. A. Cheesy. Cow. It’s the first thing my mother taught me how to sign.”

He runs his hand over his jaw as he chuckles. “Rich was right. A hoot she must be.”

“I’m pretty shit, to be honest, and she read lips, so it’s mostly used for snide comments during extended family gatherings.”

You watch as he puts out his cigarette and carefully takes a step closer to you. “I’m assuming your colourful vocabulary extends to those instances as well.”

“Right you are.”

“Freddie will love that,” he snickers. “He always seems to collect vulgarities in other languages wherever we go.”

Your attention is torn away as a sleek black car rolls up to a stop at the curb. It’s out of place in the middle of the street filled with old and worn buildings, which can similarly describe the people who mill about.

“Speak of the Queen herself,” you laugh as a sunglass-clad Freddie steps onto the sidewalk.

“Oh, isn’t this quaint!” he exclaims, peering into the shop window. He straightens as he turns to you, hands-on-hips.

“Deacy. Thumper. Are we fans of freezing our tits off, or shall we go inside?”

You give John a small smile and push yourself off the wall, making your way over to Freddie, who immediately pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. The bells against the door ring out as you all enter the shop.

“Ah, Deacy,” Brian pokes his head out from one of the narrow aisles, still in a constant crouch to avoid the instruments above his head. “I was looking for you. Found these adorable teeny guitars I thought might be good to bring back for the kids. What do you think?”

“Kids?” you mumble to yourself as John makes his way over to inspect them.

“Brian has two, and John’s already up to 3. Maybe we should’ve nicknamed him Bunny.” Freddie laughs, nudging your arm. “You know… fucking like rabbits,” he expands due to your lack of chuckling.

He leans into your field of vision as he studies your statue-like expression, eyebrows knit in confusion. His eyes take in your ashen face and your lifeless expression. You weren’t even sure if you were breathing. When you lock your eyes with his, you know he understands from the sheer size of how big they become. He straightens up, glancing around quickly as if looking for something to put out a fire.

“Freddie!” Steven dances over, clicking a pair of castanets in his hands. “I wanted to show you thi-”

“So sorry, love, we can’t. Y/N promised to come to a fitting with me, and we’re already late," he announces loudly, pulling you by the arm and out the door before anyone can react.

- - - - - - -

You blankly stare at your reflection in the long mirror. Freddie had instructed his stylist to pull some outfits for you to parade around in as he tried on a bevy of metallic coats.

“You’re an idiot,” you tell the girl staring back at you.

Freddie sashays over, a shag jacket swaying with him as he places his hands on your shoulders, surveying the strappy dress you were currently squeezed into.

“Oh yes, this will do for the after-party,” he instructs.

“I’m not going.”

He heaves a deep sigh. “Darling, you already refused the ticket I got you for the show. You’re coming to the party,” he declares, turning away to look at more options.

“This isn’t really me…” you mumble, gesturing to the dress.

He regards you with a small smile. “Exactly. I say this with love, but you need a look, Y/N. Something that makes you feel unstoppable,” he gestures to his body as he twirls towards you. “Don’t you want to shock them?”

You chew your lip as you ponder that sentiment. Dawn usually just shoved you into whatever ensemble she had picked for you - leather jackets, monochromatic sets, tight jumpsuits. She kept hoping you’d find a style you fancied, but you had yet to find anything remotely likable under the lights of the stage.

“To be honest, I just want to be able to feel comfortable out there," you sigh. "But I can’t strut around in flashy outfits or conduct a whole crowd like you do." Huffing as you collapse onto one of the white couches around you. He perches beside you, throwing an arm around the back of the sofa.

“Then don’t,” he says simply.

You snort a response as you cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but have you tried showing them a bit more of yourself?”

“I can’t do that.”

He turns to you now, grabbing your attention with his eyes.

“And why not?” he questions.

You gaze down at your hands, which you’re now wringing together in your lap. “What if it’s nothing spectacular?” you whisper out the criticism that you'd drilled into your mind for the past year.

Freddie laughs lightly as he stands. “Let’s not start lying to ourselves, shall we?” He moves in front of you and kneels, now at eye level, making so you can’t look away.

“Sometimes people go to a concert for an escape. A big bloody show with dazzling lights and petite men galavanting around a stage in spandex tights,” he smiles. 

“But most of the time they just want to find a piece of themselves in it, don’t they? Commonality. They want to hear you, see you, and feel just a little less alone than we all know we are. I saw just a slice of it at your concert, and it was indeed something spectacular. So take that as you will.”

You’re not one to cry much, but your eyes soften as you take in the icon of a man in front of you. A man loved by millions, who was currently filling in as your personal rock n’ roll fairy godmother.

“You’re a fantastic person, you know that?” you tell him genuinely.

“Yes,” he quips as he gets to his feet. “Now, are we done scurrying around the real problem at hand?”

You sigh as you look away, firmly willing yourself not to break the dam of bottled emotions threatening to spill out. Why couldn't you just feel numb? It would be better than the wave of childish self-pity you found yourself in.

Freddie huffs at your reaction. “Oh, you brat. Sorry to tell you, but you’re an open book, my dear. And not one of those big pompous things Brian reads. A bloody children’s book. One filled with pictures.”

You're sure you’ve now bitten through the entire top layer of your lip as you contemplate how to even begin.

“I’m an idiot,” you shrug to yourself yet again.

“No,” he points a finger at you. “You’re decidedly not. Though I am curious as to how someone who’s as big of a fan as your friends say you are, missed out on that detail.”

“I’m not sure either. I mean, I listen to your albums and go to your show, but I guess I didn’t pour over the tabloids or press interviews or anything like that.”

Freddie nods along as he sifts through another rack of jackets, choosing an incredibly tight white leather number.

“I assumed you knew,” he answers while glancing at his reflection. “And I would say Deacy should know better, but he’s not quite himself at the moment.”

“What do you mean?” you press, suddenly much more interested in the conversation.

He turns to you, palms up in explanation. “It’s not that he wouldn’t normally be charmed by your shy presence and occasionally crass mouth… But I’m a bit worried he’s finding comfort in your smiles for the wrong reasons.”

“Huh?”

Sighing heavily as if debating if he should keep skirting around his words, he holds your gaze. “An impending divorce is crippling lonely, even if it is somewhat amicable.”

His mouth is brought into a pout as you suck in a sharp breath. 

Divorce. All your previous interactions play through your head from a different angle. Pity sneaks up on you as you remember John’s advice he’d given you. The concept of home is a funny thing. You scoff out loud at how your childlike crush had skewed your interpretation of your relationship with the man.

“I’m usually the one singing his praises,” Freddie muses, breaking you out of your inner monologue of resentment towards yourself. “But he seems more lost than usual at the moment.” 

He gently lifts your chin. “I don’t normally meddle in- well, actually I do. Just don’t want to see you get hurt, Bunny. Not when the world is soon to be at your feet.”

"I'm fine," you lie, gently brush away his gesture. "I barely even know the guy. I was just shocked to have my silly fascination with him interrupted. Stupid, really."

"Don't do that," he exhales. "Don't put it on yourself. You'd have to be blind to ignore the fact that he's quite taken with you."

"I'm fine," you repeat, making your way into the back to change out of the ridiculous dress that suddenly felt even tighter now.

Shutting the door slowly, you let out a deep breath. It's all good, you tell yourself. Of course you got caught up in the attention of a world-renown musician. Who wouldn't? It's nothing special. As Freddie said, he's not even acting like himself. Although you were indeed in true form- getting caught up by the slightest of interactions. Unconsciously playing them as a loop in your head. You can't help but cringe at your own escalation of the situation.

Squaring your shoulders, you take in the image of yourself in the dress again. Perhaps it was time for you to shock them all.

- - - - - - -

“And so my grandfather goes out to the alley and sees her just wailing on this scrawny man. I mean, really going to town. So he pulls her off him, and the dude’s got a black eye and a bloody nose. And he’s like, “Thanks mate, thought she was gonna kill me there.”

Roger ruffles your hair in response to your poor attempt at a British accent. The group of cast and crew around you chuckle at the gesture. 

You had decided that if you were going to be forcibly dragged to this after-party by your bandmates, you would at least aim to make it worthwhile. A debut of your new mentality.  One where you weren't just acting the part of a rising rock star, but living it. 

Which is why at the moment, you found yourself the center of attention, surrounded by the cast and crew of SNL laughing along to your amusing story. But this was all hinged on you carefully, avoiding the presence of John Deacon at all costs. Which, in reality, wasn't very hard to do- you had yet to see him since arriving an hour ago.

“Oh my god, who was it?!” the young cast member beside you presses. You think her name is Julia, but the sheer amount of people you'd been introduced to was dizzying.

"That's exactly what we asked him when he told us. All he said was that it was some man with big lips who was in a fur coat and looked like he hadn't eaten in a month..."

The cam op across from you gasps, "It was MICK JAGGER? God bless your grandfather, I would've wept if she murdered him."

"So would my mom AND grandmother," you laugh. "Give us each a glass of wine, and it's basically a Mick fan club."

"Who else?" Brian taps your leg, surprisingly urging you to divulge more gossip.

You can't help but smirk as the group leans forward intently.

"Robin Williams?" you tease as their eyebrows all raise.

"Horrible tipper, but he makes up for it by performing dirty puppet shows with the napkins."

"Sounds about right," funnyman Brad Hall confirms, offering you another drink.

You politely decline, determined to keep your wits about you this evening. "I'm gonna go grab some water. Anyone want anything?"

The group shakes their heads, but Lawrence jumps up to join you on your trek to the crowded bar.

"Wouldn't it be insane if this was us one day?" he exclaims as you weave your way through the mass of bodies littering the Capitol Grill. 

You smile up at him, "Dream big, buddy."

"Oh, I intend to," he confirms you as you spot Eddie and Rich waving you over from a spot at the bar. 

Rich promptly wraps his arm around your shoulders as you join them. He always had a stoic way of letting you know he saw through the cracks in your poorly constructed armor. Taking the role of a caring older brother, more so than your own.

"Have we lost Steve again?" Lawrence asks the group.

Eddie nods across the room. "He's exactly where you think he'd be," he scoffs as you catch a glimpse of Steve, trailing Freddie like a lost puppy.

"Um, excuse me?" a short girl mumbles from behind Eddies' denim-clad shoulder. He turns, glancing down.

"Hiya," he regards her casually, causing her a deep blush to creep across her cheeks. She shoves a napkin and pen at him.

"C-could I get an autograph? Please?"

Eddie smirks at her flustered appearance, making sure to brush her fingers as he grabs the items out of her trembling hand.

"And what beautiful name should I be making this out to?"

She lets out a jarring high pitched giggle as she stumbles over her words. "Oh, uh, Shelley."

"Well, here ya go, Shelley," he hands the napkin back to her, now adorned with his messy scrawl. "Maybe I'll see you later."

She squeaks as she hurries back to her shrieking friends who are huddled conspicuously off to the side.

"Gross," you state. "She's a child. Probably one of the executive's kids." 

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "Gotta keep em' interested, Bun. As the heartthrob of the group, it's my sworn duty."

"Slow your roll there, Rob Lowe," Rich interjects. "I think Y/N's giving you a run for your money in this dress."

You glance down at the Freddie approved ensemble. It was eye-catching for sure, precisely what you were going for. It's black suede straps crisscrossed strategically against your body, giving peaks of the skin underneath.

"It looks good, Bun," Rich assures you.

“Guys,” you all turn your attention to Steve, who has just joined the circle clumsily. His pupils are blown wide from his current blood alcohol content, and he sways slightly on his heels.

"I- I have something to say," he announces to the group, getting your attention. You all wait patiently as he hesitates, clearing his throat twice before lowering his voice. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m gay.”

You glance around to the other boys whose expressions mirror your own warm smile. You’d all known Steve was gay since high school, not that any of you had talked about it. You had just assumed it was something unspoken. That he’d tell you whenever he was ready or met someone good enough to introduce to you all.

Steve gapes at your expressions. "Where is the shock? I was expecting shock and awe, people!"

"Steve, please don’t take this the wrong way. But I’m assuming we’ve all known for a while," Rich says gently. You all nod lightly in agreement.

"How?"

"Do you remember the types of girls who used to throw themselves at you? Like Becky Whale? Man, I would’ve killed for Becky Whale to throw something at me. But you never took them up on it," Lawrence elaborates.

Steve smiles around at all of you, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

“I had a crush on Eddie in high school,” he confesses.

Eddie pumps his fist lightly. “Fuck yeah.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Lawrence exclaims. “You just had to boost that ego, didn’t ya? I know pretty boys are great and all, but I’m the one with the big soft cuddles. People love big soft cuddles!”

Rich expands his arms as he brings you all in for a hug. 

You kiss Steve gently on the cheek. “I’m proud of you, bud,” you whisper.

"Thank you guys, I just felt like it was time. And now that that's out of the way," Steve grunts as you all untangle yourselves. “I’m gonna go find Freddie. He said he’s taking me out to a club after this!”

He skips away with a grin, back towards Freddie, who catches your eye with a knowing smile and winks. It seems you weren’t the only band member who had found a fairy godmother in Mr. Mercury.

You all lightly laugh affectionately at your friend until Eddie and Lawrence wander off to scope out the food situation. You lean against the bar next to Rich, glancing around at the loud laughter erupting from the outgoing crowd. One person noticeably sticks out. A sullen John Deacon sits at the end of the bar, hunched over what looks like a glass of whiskey.

"Looks like he's in need of a friend," Rich surmises.

You tear your eyes away from the sorry sight to look at him. "They're around here somewhere," you shrug.

He rubs your arms up and down lightly before slinking into the crowd, knowingly leaving you alone. 

You sneak a peek over at John. He runs one hand through his curls as the other absentmindedly stirs the straw of his sweating drink. You watch him sigh, bringing the glass to his lips and gulping down the spirit without so much as a wince. 

Hesitantly making your way over to him, you rub your clammy hands over the expensive material of your dress. This is the opposite of avoidance, you scold yourself, silently willing your feet to change direction. But your willpower has seemingly left the building.

You carefully perch yourself on the stool next to his, as not to disturb his brooding. He glances over quickly, doing a double-take when he realizes who it is.

"Oh, hello there," he greets you with a small smile. "I didn't know you had arrived."

You nod your head lightly. "How could you? It seems you set up camp over here."

"Ah, yes," he breathes, straightening his posture. "Wasn't our best tonight, I'm afraid. Not much to celebrate."

You take a sip of your water as you continue to nod silently.

"Actually," he begins, angling his body towards yours, almost slipping off his stool as you notice his apparent intoxication. "I was thinking about that conversation we had. When I met your spritely grandfather."

"Oh?" you question. Keeping your face neutral even though your heart was already buzzing at the fact.

"Yes. Mostly about how naive I was—all that bloody nonsense about finding a home. Do me a favor and never take my advice, will you? You'll end up completely wrecking yours."

This was a bad idea.

"It's just- you draw these lines for yourself in the sand," he drawls, waving his hands about in front of him. "A stupid phrase, really. Where did it even come from?"

"The Bible," you tell him quietly.

He lets out a big sigh, rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Well, it's gotten it wrong before, hasn't it?"

You simply hum an acknowledgment, too scared to probe for fear of where this was going.

"Anyway, you draw these lines. Moral, physical, promises you make to yourself, things you swear you’d never do, dreams to accomplish," he lists out. "But sand moves about, dunnit? It blows all over the place. Makes a mess. Gets in your sandwich. And those lines blur. Or fade away. And all of a sudden, you've crossed them without even knowing! Broken those promises. Skipped right over those dreams."

He's too far gone in his rant to register the growing panic sweeping across your features.

"You were right. Sometimes you look in the mirror, and it's just a complete stranger staring back at you, isn't it?"

Trying to keep your breathing steady, you stare at the crumbling man before you. He runs his large hands along his face before ducking back into his former position, signaling for the bartender to bring him another drink.

This is precisely why you should've stuck to your original plan. What were you supposed to say to the man who was so obviously hurting from his failed marriage? So much so that it was pouring out of him. You know that if it weren't for the alcohol, he wouldn't be confiding any of this to you.

But there was a reason the boys called you the mom of the group, and it wasn't because you were the only female. You feel a pang of need to comfort him. You gaze at him, not with pity, but an overwhelming sense of empathy for the man and make up your mind.

You clear your throat to answer, brushing away your own warnings about how it would only sink you deeper into your fascination with him.

"I was wrong, actually," you start as he brings his head up to look at you. "And you know what phrase I hate? That people don't change."

He furrows his brow but remains silent as you continue.

"Maybe we're not made up of lines in the sand. Maybe we're the wind?" You try not to cringe at yourself and your poor use of metaphor. "And winds sometimes blow in different directions... but that's okay because it's where life is supposed to take them." Falling silent, you decide to quit while you’re ahead. 

You're not ahead. You're not even out of the gate. What the fuck was that?

A slow smile inches onto his face as he holds your stare. "How did you get so wise for someone your age," he teases.

"And what age would that be?"

His mouth opens and closes as he studies your face. "Twenty?"

"Mm, close. Twenty-four."

"Really?" he ponders. "Freddie mentioned you dropped out of university."

"Ah, yes. The university I could only go to after working to afford it," you explain. 

He continues to stare, the look in his eyes shifting slightly as he takes you in. A look that matches the color and intensity of uncharted, open water. You need to get out of here.

"Well, that explains your extraordinary use of analogy then."

Dragging your eyes off of his, you glance around at the party you were missing. Gladly missing, unfortunately. 

"I should go check on Steve. He's having a bit of a night," you tell him as you stand. "Try not to drown yourself in those," gesturing to the new glass of whiskey in front of him.

"How can I drown myself? I thought I was the wind," he points out with a grin.

Before any more banter can ensue, you simply smile and make your way back to your friends. Thinking to yourself that maybe lines in the sand weren't so bad. And that perhaps it was time for you to start drawing some of your own.

#john deacon #john deacon fic #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #angelofmydreams

[derryhawkins]

Life is a Highway [3/49]

summary: The seven of them made a plan in middle school: use the months between high school and college, and take a road trip through all of the states. Their twelve year old minds didn’t think it would actually happen, but six years later with enough saved up money, they’re going on an extremely long trip together in a large van. pairings: reddie; benverly; hanbrough; stanpat chap word count: 6.5k a/n: hopefully i remembered everyone who wanted to be tagged! if i didn’t/if you want to be added to the taglist just send me an ask x

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chapter three: rhode island

Ben wakes up half on the row of seats and half off, arm and leg hanging off and onto the floorboard of the van. A body is pressing against his own a little bit. He turns his head a little bit to see the back of Mike’s head. Mike is still asleep, laying on his side as he’s squished between Ben and the backrest of the seats, and they’re sharing Ben’s pillow, making them awfully close. At first Ben feels bad, but Mike doesn’t look uncomfortable so Ben just turns his head back around and stares at the back of the row of seats in front of him.

It’s day three of the road trip. After Salem, they spent one more night in Massive Two Shits, and then drove to Rhode Island early in the morning. It was a calm drive. Not very lively, actually, since they were all still half asleep during it. Yesterday, after getting into Rhode Island, they didn’t do much. There was a cliff walk thingy they decided to do, and after seeing they could go to the beach, they went shopping for swimsuits for whoever didn’t bring anyway (AKA Richie, Mike, and Bill) along with sunscreen and towels. They didn’t go to the beach though, because by the time they wanted to all the public ones were closed. So, that’s what they’re doing today. That is, if anyone else can wake up.

Ben turns and lifts his head to look out the window. The sun isn’t too high up in the sky, meaning it’s still early in the morning. The inside of the van is filled with sounds of sleeping. Bill’s loud snores that they’ve all gotten used to, Eddie’s occasional sleep talk, Mike’s soft snores (Ben didn’t even realize he snores until this trip), and Richie’s random hums of content (nothing sexual, thank God). Last night, no one really wanted to find a hotel or motel to stay in, so they found a safe place to park the van and got situated there. Mike and Ben got one of the middle rows, and Eddie and Bev got the first row – they’re in no doubt a similar position to him and Mike – while Richie took the floorboard in front of it. Bill leaned back the driver’s seat almost all the way, and Stan did the same with the passenger’s seat; the two of them fell asleep there, everyone with their own pillows and blankets – except for Ben and Mike, who somehow ended up sharing a pillow.

Some minutes later, Ben slides onto the floor and just lays there for a moment or two before carefully sitting up. He then grabs his wad of clothes from under the seats and carefully and slowly slips on the shorts he wore the day before. He then grabs his shoes and the shirt, and made sure his wallet is in his shorts’ pockets before standing up and getting out of the van as quietly as possible. Ben rubs at his face and runs his hands through his hair after putting on the shoes and shirt outside, only to freeze as the van door slides open again to reveal Eddie, half asleep with wild hair but fully dressed. They both just stare for a moment.

“Uh. Morning?” He winces as it came out as a question and not a greeting, but Eddie doesn’t seem to notice. He grunts in response and rubs at his eyes. “How’d you sleep?”

“Terrible,” Eddie mutters. “Not because of any of you guys, but just…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, and sighs. “Sorry, I don’t feel like talking about it right now.”

Ben nods. “That’s alright, man.” He guesses that it has something to do with his mom, or maybe he’s homesick; either way, he doesn’t push into it. “You can sleep on the beach later – I’ll make sure you’ll wake up from time to time to put on sunscreen.”

A smile – albeit a tired one that doesn’t reach his ears – forms. “Thanks, Ben. Where’re you going?”

He motions down the road vaguely. “To the gas station for some coffee. Wanna come with?” Eddie gives him a grimace, and he doesn’t need to say a thing for Ben to know what he’s thinking. “It’s good!” Ben promises. “Nothing like hotel coffee, I swear.” Still, Eddie stares at him with the grimace expression. “You don’t have to get any.”

Eddie then looks offended. “Of course I’m getting some!” He whispered-shouts, glancing shortly at the van, and they both know that if he had been any louder he would’ve woken some of the others. “But if I get some disease because of you-.”

Ben’s hands move up in mock surrender. “Eddie, if you get sick from the gas station coffee, I give you permission to do anything you want to me.”

Instantly, they both freeze, both thinking how wrong that sounded, and it doesn’t help that an amused snort comes from inside the van. Eddie rolls his eyes, and Ben shakes his head as the shorter boy tells Richie to shut up. Then, the two are off to the gas station. They’re both still mildly half asleep so the conversation is minimal, but the company is appreciated – at least on Ben’s side. He likes spending time with Eddie – even though he can be too much sometimes, but in certain degrees, that can go for any one of them – and, unfortunately, the two haven’t spent one-on-one time together in a while.

It’s not until they’re in the gas station and making seven coffees when they really talk again, just so they can make sure they’re making everything okay enough for the others.

“Bill likes a lot of creamer, right?”

“Yeah, the weirdo.”

“I literally just watched you dump a shit ton of sugar in your coffee, Eddie.”

“Okay, and? Wait- does Stan like coffee?”

“Black.”

“Great, okay.”

“Richie likes is black, too, yeah?”

“Yeah, but with some sugar. No creamer.”

“Mike?”

“Honestly, he drinks anything. Bev likes hers strong, right?”

“Yep, with only a little bit of creamer, and some sugar.”

When they’re done and are standing with seven cups of coffee on the counter in front of them, they hi-five, proud of themselves. Eddie then grabs a pen out of his fanny pack – which Ben doesn’t even notice until then – and he puts everyone’s initials on the lids. Ben pays for all of them, mutters a sorry to the cashier as he does so, and then thanks the employee after it’s all done. On the walk back to the van, Eddie carries three and Ben carries four with ease.

They got there only to see everyone else already up and about. The two slow down as they get closer, matching expressions of confusion on their faces because usually it takes a lot for everyone to be up at the same time this early. Sure, it’s not extremely early, or anything, but the chances of everyone getting up at the same time is slim. Their confusion quickly morphs into amusement as the Piña Colada song meets their ears.

Richie and Bill are on top of the van, loudly singing along. The two are barely even dressed for the day; Richie is wearing one of his Hawaiian shirts, unbuttoned, with a loose pair of old gym shorts he slept in, and Bill is just in boxer shorts and socks, a baseball cap backwards on his head. Mike is trying to take a picture with Bill’s camera, but both Richie and Bill are moving too fast to get a good one. Beverly is sitting on the edge and dodges one of Richie’s legs, and then Stan is standing a little ways away, arms crossed and trying to not look amused. No one is dressed properly, Ben realizes, as he looks at his friends. Everyone minus him and Eddie are still in what they slept in. He glances around at the few morning runners, and gives a sorry smile as one in particular glares at them.

“Yes, I like Piña Coladas!” Richie belts out along with the van’s radio and slings an arm around Bill’s shoulders. “And getting caught in the rain!”

Bill laughs and leans into Richie. “I’m not much into health food, I am into champagne!” He puts an arm around Richie’s waist, and they sing loudly – correction: terribly – through the rest of the chorus together.

“I’ve got to meet you by tomorrow noon, and cut through all this red tape—.”

“How long were we gone?” Ben leans down to speak to Eddie, neither taking their eyes off of their, quite frankly, embarrassing friends.

Eddie shakes his head. “Like… Forty minutes? What the fuck. They could’ve changed – Bill could’ve put on clothes!”

“Bill streaked through one of the high school’s football games,” Stan states as he walks up. “I’m honestly not surprised by him being half naked in public.”

Ben holds out the four coffees he’s holding and lets Stan take his, and then Beverly is sliding down the van and rushes to them, grinning as she goes to Ben as well, taking her own coffee after looking at the initials. “Wasn’t that for a dare?” He asks Stan. “By you?”

Stan hides his smirk behind the coffee while he takes a sip.

“—and we laughed for a moment, and I said, ‘I never knew’—.”

Beverly giggles as she holds her coffee. “I think we shouldn’t give them their coffee,” she says, and the three of them watch as Richie dramatically sings a song about piña coladas while dancing terribly, and as Bill does everything equally as bad without a care in the world about being in just boxer shorts and socks. Ben honestly wonders how a cop hasn’t walked up yet and taken them in for public indecency.

“They’ll be worn out by the end of the day because of the sun,” Ben says.

It’s said in hope, though. Nothing has really ever stopped the duo on the van from doing chaotic, obnoxious, stupid things before – and Bev knows that, too. So when she gives him a look of disbelief, silently saying she doubts that’ll happen, Ben can’t argue with her. Not that he would argue with Bev, anyway.

Mike walks up, then, with an amused smile. Eddie hands him his coffee, to which Mike takes with a thanks, which then prompts Bev and Stan to thank the boys as well since they had forgotten to earlier. “Should we stop them?” He asks.

“Hey, eyesores!” Stan shouts above the playing music and singing. Richie and Bill stop almost instantly. “Ben and Eddie brought coffee, and if you want some before I throw it away, I suggest you stop embarrassing yourselves.” A pause. “And put some fucking clothes on, Bill.”

Ben watches as Bill looks down at himself. Blue eyes grow wide, and suddenly he’s sliding off of the van and diving into it, shutting the door behind him. Richie gets off and comes over next.

“You could have invited me to come with, y’know,” Richie says as a thanks when he takes the cup from Eddie. “I was awake, too.”

“We know,” is all Eddie replies with. The words quickly start their daily routine of bickering, and Ben steps away from them.

He takes a sip of his own coffee as Mike takes Bill’s from his other hand. Mike and Stan begin to talk, sipping their coffees, and soon enough Bill is joining them – fully dressed now with the cap still backwards on his head – and he takes his cup from Mike, the two sharing smiles.

Ben turns to Bev and motions to her coffee with his own. “How is it?”

“It’s good, actually,” she says. “I never expected gas station coffee to be this good. And you made it perfectly. Thanks.”

He sheepishly shrugs. “Ah, it’s nothing, just some coffee.”

“Maybe but I’m still thanking you for it. Hey, are you ready for the beach today? I know that, uh…” Bev trails off and paused for a short moment, clearly figuring out the right words to say. “You’ve said something before, a few times, about not being body confident and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

Warmth spreads through his chest. He knows that the others know about him being self conscious and all, but for some reason he hadn’t been expecting anyone to bring it up. To make sure he feels comfortable. Let alone that person being Bev. But at the same time, it makes sense that she’s the one making sure he’s alright. She did the same thing with Stan and his route when they decided to go to Salem.

Ben feels himself fall a little.

“I’ll be fine,” he assures her with a smile. “Most likely I’ll just wear a shirt that I don’t care too much about with my swim trunks.”

The thing is, Ben knows he’s not fat like he had been as a child. Overweight and chunky. He actually used to be fine with his weight until middle school came around, and that’s when the self consciousness came into play. And at first he wasn’t even going to lose weight. Eventually he did, most for himself but also to spite the bullies, and the fact that he did track helped out; as did eating healthier. Now, he’s still got some fat on him. He doesn’t have a ‘perfect’ male body, that’s for sure – the only one closest to that is Mike – but he’s got descent muscle and all, and he’s at a healthy weight that fluctuates. Still, he feels insecure sometimes. Not as often and not as much as he did in his early teen years, but it’s still there.

Bev looks up at him and nods. “I figured. Just wanna make sure you’re comfortable – and I’m sure the others do too.”

“Hey, if I wasn’t comfortable, I would have asked if we could do something else.”

She raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Ben, honey, you ate oysters last year because you couldn’t say no to Mr. Denbrough. You hate oysters.”

Ignoring the term of endearment – mentally, at least, because physically, his cheeks turn red – Ben winces.

“You puked after.”

“A lot can change in a year,” he defends himself poorly, because he knows that Bev knows that he wouldn’t have suggested a different place if he wasn’t comfortable with the beach.

Bev just gives him a tiny smile and squeezes his upper arm. “You’re a sweetheart, Ben,” she says quietly. “But maybe learn to say no?” Her nose scrunches up at the suggestion.

He chuckles. “I’ll try,” he promises. “Also, I swear I’m comfortable with the beach.”

“I know, I believe you. I just care about you.” There’s a small pause, and her cheeks turn the slightest pink. “We all do,” she adds quickly.

“Bev!” Eddie calls, now by the van, waving to get her attention. They both look at him. “Can you help me find my old Thundercats shirt?”

Bev smiles and nods. “Be there in a second!”

“I’ll help too—.”

A chorus of, “No, Richie,” is heard from Eddie, Bev, and Bill. Richie gapes at them and dramatically huffs, eliciting a small laugh from Ben.

+++

“Kowabunga, dudes!”

From behind the group, Richie dashes forward, yelling in pure excitement. Bill is right after him, and so is Bev. All three run down the wooden ramp and take off their flip flops to run easier through the sand to get to the chairs and two umbrellas they rented – and they weren’t too expensive, thank God. And before Stan knows it, Eddie is chasing after the three of them as well, equally excited, but pushing that away for the time being to make sure they put on sunscreen; they have, everyone has. Stan watches them and cracks a smile as Bill faceplants into the sand right behind their chairs. He can hear Bev’s laughter mix with Richie’s almost instantly, and Eddie freezes where he is before laughing as well. A few groups of families and friends look their way, amused at Bill as well, before moving on with their lives.

Mike chuckles beside Stan as they get off the ramp. Behind them, Ben carries a backpack that was carefully packed earlier with some sandwiches, water, and fruit.

Stan steps into the sand and slips off the flip flops with ease. He grimaces a bit. He isn’t fond of sand – it gets everywhere so easily – but he can tolerate it enough to enjoy some time with his friends. By the time he gets to the four chairs with Mike and Ben, Bev has chucked off her coverup and hung it over one of the chairs with her towel and is now standing ankle deep. The waves, which are a bit rough but nothing huge, crash onto the shore and her ankles. Richie isn’t too far behind. He takes off his shirt with ease and lets it fall on the sand by his crumpled up towel and flip flops before running to stand with Bev.

Stan carefully puts his towel on the back of one of the chairs that’s directly under one of the two umbrellas. “I can already see Richie trying to go out to the other sandbar and drowning,” he says to Mike, light hazel eyes going over the choppy waters and cloudy sky, anxiety starting to bubble up.

It probably isn’t the best day for a beach trip, but they’re here anyway so they might as well have some fun.

“He won’t drown,” Mike assures.

“We’ve all been to the beach only, like, a handful of times during our eighteen years of living. If at all! What if he doesn’t know about rip currents? How strong are the rip currents today anyway? They get pretty strong, y’know, and—.”

“Stan,” Mike interrupts. He lays a comforting hand on Stan’s shoulder, tilting his head down the littlest bit to see under the umbrella. “It’s Richie. He’s a dumbass but he’s not stupid. Also, Eddie is with them.”

At that, Stan looks back to the shore. Sure enough, Eddie is standing a few feet away in the damp sand with crossed arms. It’s then that Stan notices Eddie’s things in the chair beside his own.

“Y-Yeah, Rich isn’t gonna swim too far with Eddie, especially since Eddie’s never been to the beach,” Bill speaks up.

“All the more reason for him to go to the sandbar,” Stan says. He knows Richie. But so do Bill and Mike. They also know Eddie. If he isn’t doesn’t want to go to the sandbank, they won’t; but if he does… Stan doesn’t think about that. At least, he tries not to. He doesn’t need to become so worrisome so early. “But, really, how strong are the rip currents?”

“They’re there but not too strong,” Ben says from a few feet away. “Only thing we gotta worry about is the possible storm that’s coming in. Heard some locals talking about it.”

All of them make faces of disappointment. “That sucks,” Mike mutters. “Well. Better make the most of it while we can!” And then he’s slipping off his own shirt and racing to the ocean like some sort of model.

Stan stares for a moment. He’s expecting himself to blush deeply and feel the familiar fast beating of his heart and a swarm butterflies in his chest. And he does. Except it’s not as strong as he distinctly remembers it being two days ago. As he slips off his shirt, Stan thinks to himself. Well, he tries to, because those feelings towards Mike certainly aren’t as strong as they had been and—

And then Richie is running up to him.

Stan yells as Richie wraps his arms around him, throwing the boy over his shoulder. Stan tried to push himself away. “Richie, let me go! Rich- Ben! Hey, help me, please! Richie, I am going to drown you!”

Richie laughs. “No you won’t!”

“Sorry, Stan!”

“Richard! I will— .”

Richie lets go and Stan falls into the ocean. As a wave goes passed them, Stan makes a move to his friend but then Eddie is tackling the lanky boy into the water. It’s a familiar sight. Except this time, instead of the green and calm waters of the quarry, it’s in the choppy and blue waters of the ocean. Stan snorts, then stumbles as a weight is on his back, water splashing into his face thanks to Eddie. He spits out the salt water with a look of disgust.

“Sorry, Stan,” Bev laughs in his ear, repeating Ben’s words.

He hummed. “No, you’re not.”

She laughs again and slides off. “You’re right, I’m not. I was trying to knock you over.”

Stan turns and playfully glares at her, paired with his middle finger. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you!” Bev retaliates with, still smiling.

“Fuck b-both of you!” Bill shouts and does what Bev couldn’t. He knocks Stan over, but brings Bev with them both.

Stan kicks Bill away underwater before popping above the surface again. He’s smiling, though; he’s happy to be with his friends, and he notices that the more fun he’s having the less he’s worried about something going wrong. So, he keeps at it. He jumps with the waves, and they play chicken the best to their abilities. Ben eventually joins them, joining in on the fun.

At some point, Stan ends up holding Richie like a baby. He looks down at his friend with a raised eyebrow. “Why.”

Richie shrugs. He situates his arms and hands around Stan’s neck better. Stan rolls his eyes and lets go, but Richie lets out a small shout and scrambles to wrap himself around Stan like a koala, refusing to touch the ground. Stan stands there with wide eyed, arms spread out. He looks over at their friends. Bev and Bill went to the sandbar. They’re standing over there, pushing each other around like everyone had been earlier. Ben is with Mike, the two closer to the shore. Eddie is close by, floating on his back as he looks at the clouds.

Stan then looks back at Richie. “What the actual fuck, dude.”

“I am not stepping in the sand,” Richie says hurriedly and quietly.

“What?” Sometimes, Stan doesn’t understand Richie. This is one of those times. But as he recognizes anxiety on his features, Stan lets the judgement go away. “Richie, seriously, you’re making me worry.”

“Okay. Don’t freak out,” Richie starts.

Stan tenses up. “Oh, my God, there’s a shark, isn’t there?”

“No! No, if there was, the lifeguard people would’ve told us to get out by now. But…”

“Richie, I swear to fucking—.”

“There is a stingray.”

Stan takes a breath. He’s ready to scream out a ‘what’ but before he can, Richie is covering his mouth with one hand and glaring at him. It comes out muffled.

“I said not to freak out,” he hisses.

Stan bats Richie’s hand away. “Not freak out?” He repeats. “About a fucking stin—?”

“I don’t want Eddie to find out,” Richie rushes out in a whisper and motions to his crush. “He’s having fun.”

And, that’s true. Eddie’s not simply floating and looking at the clouds anymore. Instead, he’s just swimming around with Mike, and diving into the bigger waves to avoid them crashing on him. Stan sighs and looks at Richie.

“And, like, stingrays aren’t that dangerous, we just can’t step on them. But he won’t listen to that, he’ll just freak out, and I don’t want that.”

“Then why tell me? Why even bring it up?”

“Because I think I just discovered a new fear.”

Stan bites his tongue and tries not to laugh. He really tried to hold it in, but the laughter bubbles out anyway. Richie’s frowning, almost pouting, and it just causes Stan to laugh harder. “I’m- shit, I’m sorry, but. Richie. Seriously?”

“It’s rational!” He defends himself.

“I know! But this is so ironic. You’re basically doing what you don’t want Eddie to do.”

“...No I’m not.”

“Then get down.”

“No.”

“Fine.”

“Wha- Ah!”

Stan cuts Richie off by shoving him off and into the water. In an instant, Stan is swimming away as fast as he can. Richie yells at him but Stan ignores it, and jumps behind Mike.

“Mike, move!”

Mike doesn’t move. He stands there, thoroughly confused. “Why?”

Eddie looks between them all, amused. Dark hair flat on his forehead, the ends curly slightly now that whatever product he puts in has been washed out thanks to the ocean water. No one says anything as Richie lunges to jump over Mike. He fails terribly. He doesn’t even get over Mike; his arms and chin land awkwardly on his left shoulder as Mike catches him, and Stan swims backwards a little bit.

“Dude, what’s going on?” Mike asks with a laugh.

“He shoved me into the water!”

“We’ve been doing that, Rich,” Eddie says. “Idiot.”

Richie moves away from Mike and huffs. He grumbles something none of them can hear and fixes his glasses – something that everyone is very surprised that he hasn’t lost yet.

It doesn’t take long at all for Richie to get distracted by Eddie. Stan looks around. The clouds are darkening the slightest bit, but other than that the weather hasn’t exactly changed. He then looks in the water. Richie’s comment about there being a stingray makes him wonder if being in the water is a danger. He doesn’t say anything about it, though, especially with Eddie close by. He truly is having fun, and other than a rant on the way to the beach about the different germs that could possibly be in the ocean, Eddie hasn’t freaked out much over anything. So, Stan just stands a bit straighter, which catches Mike’s attention.

“Are you leaving me?” Mike asks, feigning a pout.

Stan glances away from his face for a moment. Yeah, his crush is still there, alright; the feelings just aren’t as strong as they have been. “I’m getting too pruney,” Stan says, rather than mention the anxiety Richie accidentally planted in his head about the oceanic wildlife. He lifts his hands out of the water as if to show a point.

Mike nods. “Alright. I’ll herd everyone in to get something to eat in a few.”

Stan gives him a small smile. Then, he’s going to shore and he makes his way to the chairs, careful not to get too much sand on him on the walk back. He grabs his towel once he’s there and wraps it around himself. Ben is sitting in one of the chairs that’s out in the sun, flipping through one of Bev’s fashion magazines extra carefully so he doesn’t ruin the pages. Stan doesn’t want to abandon his friends – you’re not abandoning them, the rational part of his brain chastises, barely heard over the thoughts diving into what might happen if someone got stung by a stingray – but at least Ben is with him.

+++

Two hours later – after eating some snacks and drinking water and putting more sunscreen on – a few of the Losers go back into the water while the rest stay by the rental chairs and umbrellas. Eddie is passed out in the sun as he lays on his stomach, his towel between his body and the sand, and Bev sits in the chair beside him, sunglasses over her eyes as she soaks in the sun. Stan lays under one of the umbrellas, the chair leaning all the way back, with a towel over his head and face as he sleeps too. Then there are Bill, Ben, Mike, and Richie. The four of them went back in the water the moment they were able to, and went back to the sandbar once Stan fell asleep, and now they’re back, looking for seashells and sand dollars blindly since they don’t have goggles.

Bill sucks in a deep breath of air and squeezes his eyes shut before diving back into the water. Blindly, he digs around in the sand as long as he can, staying under water until his lungs are burning for oxygen. He pops above the surface with a gasp of air and shakes his head as if he were a dog. Ben comes up a second later, doing the same thing, but pushes his hair from his forehead unlike Bill.

“Anything?” Richie asks, glasses gone. Mike made sure he left the glasses with the others, and the three boys take turns making sure the boy doesn’t do anything stupid or harmful with his blurry sight.

“It’s hard,” Ben says with a shake of his head. He lifted up a severely broken seashell. “Without any goggles, we aren’t gonna find anything good.”

Bill frowns and takes the broken seashell from Ben. “I mean, it’s still pretty,” he tries.

Richie rolls his eyes. “We’re missing three-fourths of it, dude.”

“How can you tell? You’re fucking blind without your glasses!”

“Billiam, I can still see shapes, you dumbass.”

“Oh, right.”

They all laugh.

None of them stay in the water for too long after that. Bill quickly notes the darkening sky and clouds, but doesn’t say anything about it. He knows everyone else can see it, as well as the locals who are starting to leave despite the day not being over at all. They soon get to their other friends again, and they take their towels from where they left them and start to dry off.

Bill turns to where Richie stands. He’s about to ask if they have any other plans for the day, but stops as he realizes the teen is staring intently at something. Bill moves to stand beside him and follows Richie’s line of sight. Two girls around their age stand not so far away, holding hands, smiling. It’s clear that they’re together romantically and Bill can’t help but be surprised that they’re being even the slightest couple-y out in the open like this. He hears Richie sigh, so he looks back at his friend and watches as Richie fosses his towel on his head, attempting to dry his wild mess of hair.

“You okay, bro?” Bill asks.

Richie shrugs. He lifts his head, the towel only allowing the other to see the bottom half of his face. His lips curl into a goofy smile. “Never better, Billiam!”

Bill slowly nods. He lays a hand on Richie’s shoulder and squeezes it, a silent touch of comfort. He removes it soon after and goes to step away, to give him some space, but halts as they both notice that a girl is walking their way. The friends share a look once Richie pulls off the towel. He fixes his glasses.

“I saw your staring at that couple,” she says. She has blonde hair and bright green eyes, and she looks less than pleased.

“Uh–.”

“Have something to say about it?”

Richie holds his palms up after setting the towel around his neck. “Whoa, blondie, you got the wrong idea here,” he tells her.

She lifts a brow. “Do I?”

Bill nods. “Y-Yeah! It’s not- we weren’t-.”

“Weren’t what?” Blondie asks. “I know their relationship might not seem okay in the eyes of the majority, but that doesn’t give you a right to stare.”

That takes the boys by surprise. They both quickly start to talk, voices overlapping. Richie tries to explain that he’s not, that he’s very much into boys, but he doesn’t exactly want to out himself to the stranger so not much of anything came out. Bill tries to tell the girl that he doesn’t have a problem with gays and lesbians and bisexuals and everything else, but at the accusation has him stuttering a bit too much.

“What did you two do now?” comes the exasperated question from one of their friends.

Richie perks up and turns. “Eds! Tell this girl we aren’t homophobic!”

Eddie blinks, taken by surprise. “Uh. What? I mean!” His eyes widened dramatically at the girl’s unimpressed look. “I mean, yeah, we- we- none of us are like that. I ho- I think.”

Blondie looks even more unimpressed. “You think?” she asks.

Eddie nervously chuckles. “Yes?”

Bill facepalms.

Richie winces, but he quickly recovers with a sigh and looks to the girl again. “Listen, I’m sorry for staring. I come from a small town, we all do,” he motions vaguely to his friends behind them, not paying too much attention, “so seeing same-sex couples aren’t exactly a norm for us. Just, please, trust us that we’re not like that. I shouldn’t have stared, so. Sorry.”

Bill nods along. “I- It was rude. I’m sorry too,” he says.

The blonde’s brows knit together. “It’s alright,” she eventually tells them. “Mistakes happen. I just know those girls. They’ve been through a lot shit and are finally in a good place. I don’t want anything ruining that.”

Bill smiles. “That’s alright,” he says. His gaze shifts over to Richie, but quickly moves to Eddie instead. His expression is unreadable. “It’s not f-fair how the world s-s-sees same-sex couples,” he says and looked back at the blonde.

Eddie shifts in the sand, arms crossed over his chest as he keeps his gaze down. He mumbles something but none of them catch it.

Blondie nods sadly. “It really isn’t.” She smiles. “I’m Sandy, by the way.”

“I’m Bill.”

“Richie,” the lanky teen introduces himself with a wide grin. “And that’s Eds.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Eddie,” he corrects with a small glare to Richie. There is no heat behind the action, and Richie just grins some more. “It’s nice to meet you, Sandy. Sorry about them being dumbasses.”

Sandy laughs. “It’s fine. I’m just glad you’re not homophobic, that it was just a misunderstanding.”

“So… Do you like sand?” Richie asks.

Lightning goes across the sky in the distance right then and it’s followed by a crack of thunder.

“I think the universe wants you to shu- shut up,” Bill teases, making Eddie and Sandy both laugh.

The laughter gets cut off as drops nod rain start to fall. It starts off as slow but then in a blink of an eye, the rain pours down harshly. More lightning goes across the sky, and the thunder is louder this time around. The Losers scramble to gather their belongings.

“Shit,” Bill hears Sandy mutter. She rushes up to the group. “Can you drive me home? I walked here.”

Mike nods instantly. “Of course. Care to help us get our things to the van?”

Sandy nods in return and grabs whatever she can. Then, they all run.

+++

They end up all staying at Sandy’s home. The Losers, after they all made it safely to the van and squished in like a can of sardines, explain to Sandy their road trip and how, right now, they didn’t have a place to stay other than the van. She quickly offered her home, said her parents wouldn’t mind, and so they went.

Richie suddenly wants a hotel room. Sandy’s home isn’t bad. It’s actually rather on the bigger side; there is a second floor, along with a basement, and there’s a balcony on the second floor as well. The living room is huge, there are two guest rooms, they have two TVs, and the kitchen isn’t too small. It’s rather that her parents are two women and after getting over the initial shock and awe and the want to bow down to them, in comes the dreaded panic of his own sexuality.

He knows he’s bisexual. He knows he likes Eddie. He knows boys liking boys isn’t exactly a good thing to a society. He knows seeing Sandy’s moms be affectionate to one another – way more affectionate than the couple he stared at on the beach – has an effect on him he doesn’t expect. All he can think about is him and Eddie, and truthfully Richie wants to combust. The women are so close and loving, and they’re sweet and kind, and the looks they give each other makes Richie realize he might give those looks to Eddie without realizing it, and it…

It’s scary, simply put.

He can handle liking Eddie. He can’t handle the realization that he might be in love with Eddie.

Barb and Diane share a quick peck in the kitchen before Barb walks out. Richie quickly looks away from Diane before she can catch him staring and goes back to eating the pizza.

“You okay?” Ben asks from across the table.

Other than Diane, who is making sure the third dozen pizza doesn’t burn in the oven, they’re the only two in the kitchen. Stan is down in the basement with Sandy, Bill and Beverly, while Eddie is taking a shower, and Mike is currently using the home phone in the hallway to talk to his parents.

Richie nods, but doesn’t say anything.

Ben frowns as he chews. Thankfully, he doesn’t press on the matter.

“Oh, pizza!” Eddie excitedly yells as he enters the kitchen.

Richie whips his head to the entrance of the kitchen. Eddie’s hair is damp, the ends curling since he has yet to put product in it. A few strands still stuck to his forehead. The sun today, despite it being cloudy, Richie realizes, did the shorter boy some good. He’s already tanner. The sun exposure has already caused a few freckles to show up, and his cheeks and nose may be a little pink but they all know it isn’t something to worry about. Eddie always seems to burn slightly before getting really tan; it freaks Sonia out, and for a bit of time Eddie wore long sleeves even during the summer time because his mother worried about him getting skin cancer. Now, he doesn’t.

Richie suddenly stands and picks his plate up. A piece of cheese pizza sits on it, untouched. “There’s no more cheese left,” he explains and hands Eddie his.

Eddie takes it, albeit hesitant. “Did you do something to it…?”

He smirks. “Yes, I replaced the sauce with my spit.”

“Richie!”

“I’m joking! Geez, Eds.” He laughs slightly and messes up Eddie’s hair, earning another shout. Truthfully, Richie reached up to push some hair from Eddie’s face, but decided messing it up is the better way to go. “Go eat so we don’t have to deal with your hangry gremlin side.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Stop comparing me to those ugly things.”

“But they’re cute! Just like you!”

“Fuck off,” he mumbles, and gently punches Richie’s arm as he walks by.

Richie rubs the spot with a smile he knows is full of fondness. But it drops as he realizes that Diane is subtly watching them, and he straightens a bit. He clears his throat and leaves the kitchen as quickly as possible without it looking weird. He makes his way to the basement and falls face first into the small couch against the wall, ignoring the short pause in conversation the other four are having as he did so.

“You’re subdued today.”

Richie shrugs but doesn’t move at Stan’s statement.

Stan sighs. He sits on the floor by the couch and when he speaks, it’s low so Sandy and Bev don’t overhear. “Is it about Eddie?”

“I’ve got it bad,” Richie mutters back. He shifts around so he’s looking at his friend. “Like, mega bad. I don’t even think it’s just a crush anymore.”

Stan smiles. “Congratulations,” he whispers, “you finally realized your own feelings.”

“It’s not a good thing.”

The rips Stan’s smile away. “What? Why? I thought seeing her aunts would make things better.”

Richie shrugs. “It does, a little. Still scary.”

Stan pats his friend’s back in comfort. “I’m sorry, Rich.”

“How’s your crush going?” Richie asks after a few moments of silence, but makes sure that he did it quietly so the others can’t hear.

His best friend shrugs. “I think it’s actually starting to go away,” Stan says honestly.

Richie stuffs his face into the cushion again and groans. It just causes Stan to laugh a little, both out of pity and amusement. He pats Richie’s back again and then stands up.

“Alright. Play pool with me, it’ll cheer you up.” When Richie doesn’t move, Stan sighs. “That’s an order, Richard.”

This causes Richie to move. He sits up and smirks, and Stan's previously amused face falls. “Oh, bossy. Just how I like it!”

“Nevermind. Rot into the couch.”

TAG LIST:  @samanthador1205 @snapmyneckandcallmeloki @eddiekazier @burningpersonflapsuitcase

#it fic #it 2017 #it 2019 #road trip au #the losers club #benverly #reddie #mike hanlon #stan uris #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #bill denbrough #liahw #my writing #* #you guys better REBLOG this #or at least kudos it on ao3 #some type of feedback

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Ekko

Biography:

A prodigy from the rough streets of Zaun, Ekko manipulates Chronobreak time to twist any situation to his advantage. Using his own invention, the Zero Drive, he explores the branching possibilities of reality to craft the perfect moment. Though he revels in this freedom, when there's a threat to his friends he'll do anything to defend them. To outsiders, Ekko seems to achieve the impossible the first time, every time.

Born with genius-level intellect, Ekko constructed simple machines before he could crawl. Amazed by these displays of brilliance, his parents, Inna and Wyeth, vowed to provide a good future for their son. In their mind, Zaun, with all its pollution and crime, was no place for a child of his genius. They toiled through long factory hours and worked in dangerous conditions in order to forge a path for their son to have opportunities in Piltover.

But Ekko saw things differently.

He witnessed his parents aging beyond their years, trying to make ends meet with small wages while their handmade goods were sold to wealthy Piltovans for exorbitant profits, profits they'd never see thanks to the greedy Factorywood overseers and their shrewd buyers. Pilties wandered over to the Promenade for good, cheap times, or down to the Entresol to indulge in 'everything goes' type clubs. No, his parents' vision of Ekko living a good life in the privilege-filled City of Progress was one he didn't share.

Zaun, however... where his parents only saw the oppressive layers of choking pollution and a blight of criminality, Ekko looked beyond and discovered a dynamic city overflowing with energy and potential. It was a hotbed of pure innovation, a melting pot of faraway cultures, immigrants united by a single desire to pioneer the future. But even they could not hold a candle to the native Zaunites. Not the tech-augmented thugs or bottom-feeding scum whose wicked deeds dominated Piltover newspapers; but the sump-scrappers, the chem-jacks, the horticulturalists that tended to the cultivairs. These, and so many more, were the heart and soul of the city. They were resourceful, resilient, and industrious. They built a thriving culture out of catastrophe and flourished where others would have perished. That Zaun spirit enchanted Ekko and drove him to build his machines exclusively out of junk no one else valued, and spurred him on to test them on himself.

He wasn't alone in possessing that spirit. Ekko befriended scrappy orphans, inquisitive runaways, and anyone whose thirst for excitement was as infectious as the grey-pox. Each had unique talents: from climbing to sculpting, from painting to planning. While many Zaunites eschewed formal education in favor of apprenticeships, these self-dubbed Lost Children of Zaun looked to labyrinthine streets to be their mentor, and as such wasted time in glorious, youthful fashion. They challenged each other to footraces through the Border Markets. They dared each other to climb the precarious routes from the Sump to the Entresol and up to the Promenade. They ran wild and free, answering to no one except their own whims.

To stand out from criminal gangs and other chem-punks, he and his friends opted to keep their bodies whole. Augmentation was, to them, a waste of money and frowned upon. So was stealing from anyone who had nothing or less than they had. This made uppercrust Pilties and tech-enhanced bullies such enticing targets for their mischief. They adorned their secret hideouts with pilfered goods and works of art painted directly on walls. The Lost Children of Zaun felt invincible.

As he grew up, Ekko's inventions became more fantastic and complex, requiring exotic components that needed to be 'liberated' from the scrapyards. Good thing he subscribed to a conveniently flexible view of trespassing. Soon, tech-enhanced vigilnaut thugs and unnervingly aggressive security guards were constantly on the lookout for Ekko and his misfit crew, and often gave the teens a merry chase. It always amused him how Piltover laboratories and Chem-Baron factories fiercely guarded their junk. It's not like they were using these discarded bits of tech for anything. He, on the other hand, could put their trash to good use with a little ingenuity.

One night, while Ekko scoured the rubble of a recently demolished laboratory, he made an astonishing find: a shard of a blue-green gem that glittered with magical energy. He quickly searched and discovered other fragments of the glowing jewel. The shards hummed like they were trying to sing a broken melody, the song growing louder when near other pieces. He painstakingly searched for every splinter of the broken crystal, though some were buried deep beneath tons of debris that required him to squeeze and wiggle between chunks of smelly rubbish. Every child of Zaun heard tales about hextech crystals. They powered weapons and heroes. They could create energy on their own. Hextech crystals had the potential to change the world. Now he held a broken one.

Before he could celebrate his find, the place was crawling with vigilnauts scanning the ruins, searching for something. Ekko knew it was the pieces of the crystal he held in his hand. He barely escaped detection.

After meticulous study, Ekko noticed that faint traces of energy surged when the crystals were brought closer together; the edges crackled and sent waves of rippling distortion through the air. When he pulled the pieces apart, a magnetic-like resistance fought his efforts. It was as if the splintered crystals remembered being whole. Even curiouser, Ekko felt the strangest sensation; a haunting feeling of remembering a moment, only slightly differently.

His hands couldn't keep up with the ideas his mind had for the crystal. During one of his less-than-scientific experiments, the gem exploded into a vortex of shimmering dust, triggering eddies of temporal distortion. Ekko opened his eyes to see several splintered realities - and several 'echo' versions of himself - staring back in sheer panic amid the fractured continua.

He'd really done it this time.

After some tense coordination between Ekko and his paradoxes, they contained and repaired the doozy of a hole he'd torn in the fabric of reality.

Eventually, Ekko harnessed the shattered crystal's temporal powers into a device that would allow him to manipulate small increments of time - well, at least in theory. Before he could test his latest machine, his friends badgered him into climbing Old Hungry to celebrate his name day - so Ekko slung the device over his shoulder and brought it along.

They trekked out to the old clockwork tower in the heart of Old Zaun, and climbed, occasionally stopping to paint an obscene caricature of a prominent Piltie or two. They were near the top when a handhold gave way causing one of his friends to slip and fall off the spire. Instinctively, as if he'd done it a thousand times before, Ekko activated the crystal-containment device. The world shattered around him and he was wrenched backward through swirling particles of time.

The hair on his arms tingled with electricity. A strange wooziness clouded his mind. Then he saw his friend reach for the rotting plank to repeat his soon-to-be-fatal error. CRACK! The plank gave under the boy's weight, but Ekko reached out and grabbed his plummeting friend by the shirt collar and swung him to a nearby ledge. Unfortunately, he misjudged the trajectory and tossed his friend into the clockwork tower's grinding gears. Whoops.

Numerous rewinds and some adjustments for windshear later, Ekko saved his friend's life. To others, it looked like Ekko had the reflexes of a god. Instantly, his status was elevated. He told them about the crystal and the time manipulation and made them swear to keep quiet. Instead, they shamelessly exaggerated their friend's exploits and dared each other to attempt increasingly reckless stunts, knowing they would be kept safe. With each trial (and so much error) the time-warping device - which he'd dubbed the Zero Drive - grew more and more stable. Ekko found he could pilfer components, clobber imposing chem-punk bullies, and even get pickup lines right, making a good first impression every time. The only limit was how much his body could take before exhaustion set in.

Rumors and tales of Ekko's time-bending antics reached the ears of certain powerful people within the twinned cities. Viktor, a much respected (and feared) Zaunite scientist, has a keen interest in an audience with this defiant genius, and outfitted several of his low-level enforcers with powerful enhancements to encourage the boy to join his services. Piltover-renowned innovator Jayce, meanwhile, was eager to size up the Boy Who Shattered Time and reverse-engineer his technology. However, Ekko values his independence too much, and has no desire to be a part of anyone's agenda. A few pursuers might catch a glimpse of Ekko before being thwarted, often embarrassingly so, by the sump-snipe with a preternatural knack for pinpointing their exact weakness.

In his wildest dreams, Ekko imagines his hometown rising up to dwarf the City of Progress. Piltover's golden veneer would be overshadowed by the sheer ingenuity and relentless spunk of a Zaun born not from generations of privilege but from utter daring. He may not have a plan yet, but Ekko has all the time in the world to make his dream a reality.

After all, if he can change the past, how hard could it be to change the future?

Powers/Abilities:

1. Z-Drive Resonance

2. Timewinder

3. Parallel Convergence

4. Phase Dive

5. Chronobreak

#Ekko #League of Legends

[shiftyskip]

My Grandpa’s Diary- Pete Rakiewicz

Keep in mind this is boring. My grandpa didn’t do much during the World War. He didn’t jump out of an airplane, drop bombs, or kill anyone. He owned a monkey named Cheetah (because she cheated at cards) and killed time. But war isn’t always insteresting, sometimes it’s boring one side.

But I found his diary and it’s one of the only things of his other than his wartime harmonica than I have left of him. I thought I’d share it with you.

4/7/45 Saturday

It's been one full year on this island today (Oh, Brother)

Orientation at 1300 hours. Played poker, won about seven bucks. Took a shower, shaved, washed items of clothes, & brushed teeth - all in 20 min. Wrote a 3-pager to Pugs. Listened to Hit Parade. No. 1 song, Accentuate the Positive, was sung by Lawrence Tibbetts & it was murder no end! Sold ½ case of beer for Four Checks. Hit the hay at lights out.

4/8/45 Sunday

Went to church & communion, made Easter duty, last service of Father Neagle. Rec'd letters from Janie & Marion & 2 from Pugs. Wrote to Janie & Marion. Had tough time getting a vehicle from motor pool. Drove down to hospital to see Bearman, stayed 10 min, returned to area in time to see movie "And Now Tomorrow" starring Alan Ladd & Loretta Young. Did some bookkeeping. Hit the hay just before lights out.

4/9/45 Monday

Read Time, Look, Pic, Yank magazines. Forgot Novena & class in practical electricity. Rec'd letters from Johnny & Pugs. Wrote Pugs a 3-pager. Drank one beer just before lights out. Insect made noise like a riveting machine, spent 15 min. tracking it down with flash-light, threw pest out the door. Hit the hay no earlier than 2330 hours.

4/10/45Tuesday

Read new Time magazine. Watched part of basketball game - then the lights all over the place dimmed out - generator trouble. Saw movie "Ministry of Fear" with Ray Milland & Marjorie Reynolds - she sure is a sharp looker. That's against my motto 'cause I don't go for blondes. Wrote to Johnny. Hit the hay at 2230.

4/11/45 Wednesday

BUSY DAY - BUSY DAY

Used rake on movie area. Grenade range - expended but one, which took up rest of morning. Miller, our driver, nearly got done away with thru his own carelessness of course. He pulled ring, released lever, prepared to throw it while it was sizzling. Lucky for him he didn't hold it long enough to explode.Socked the new punching bag till my arms nearly fell off. Put together the parts & pieces of a grenade to keep as a souvenir.

4/11/45

Saw good movie "Hollywood Canteen" with millions of stars & Joan Leslie & Bob Hutton. She's awfully nice-looking -- my ideal of a girl friend. Was part of a general discussion session which was held after the movie in the mess hall. C.O. gave main points on TDRR&R & rotation. Questions asked were answered to the best of his ability. My choice was TDRR&R, the technical army name which in all respects is just a furlough with immediate return to same overseas outfit. Hit the hay at 2310 hours.

4/12/45 Thursday

Mess hall inspected by a General (Gilbreath) was not to his liking. Later, Bn, C.O. looked it over and also found it the same way. Fixed water barrels. Sprayed oil to kill grass around our barracks. Went to movie, saw"Greenwich Village" (Don Ameche - Vivian Blaine), "The Fighting Lady" story of a carrier narrated by Lt. Bob Taylor, U.S.N.R. a short on the birth of a B-29 Superfort. Wrote 3-pager to Pugs. Hit the hay at 2310 hours.

4/13/45 Friday

Last nights movie took in more than three hours. During the night, a detail worked on mess hall so it could pass the inspection tomorrow. Col. Trower is expected to be the inspector. Cleaned our barracks also for the inspection & we better pass 'cause I sure don't like working on Sunday. Punched the bag again till the arms nearly fell off. Finished Lesson 12 in bkkg. It's ready for mailing. Had a slight storm, rain came in sudden burst came in buckets and just sudden it stopped. Wonderful place for fishes in this place. Saw movie "Mark of the Whistler", Richard Dix. It was sort of a stinkeroo, just as bad as Lawrence Tibbett's singing. Wrote a two-pager to Bob's folks in answer to the letter of theirs that I received today. Have yet to write to the kid bro. Hit the hay at 2240 hours.

4/14/45 Saturday

Read "Valley of Silent Men" novel - pretty good.

Author James Oliver Curwood. Orientation 1300 hours. Passed inspection. which is a mystery to me. Paid in advance for Monday's beer. 6 bucks. Indulged in poker, came out a little ahead. Saw movie "Dark Waters" Merle Oberon, Franchot Tone - Fair. Missed Hit Parade. Listened to records in orderly room instead. Hit the hay sometime after 2300 hours.

4/15/45 Sunday

Yesterday received two letters one each from Pugs and Mom. Mom said she mailed radio & extra tubes to me, April 4. Dick may go home on leave (I hope so). Went to church, new priest, Father Kuhn.

Played softball, won 9-8 in extra inning. I stunk. Had three ice creams at P.X. Bought two Park lighters. Indulged in poker, came out a little ahead. Washed clothes. Didn't shave 'cause my face was a bit sunburned from this morning's softball game. Intended to take pictures but time flew too fast. Saw "Winged Victory" - fair. Should write a letter to Mom & to Pug but I'm too tired. Hit the hay at 2230 hours.

4/16/45 Monday

Stood memorial parade in honor of president's death. Had most of morning off, in which time I had my picture taken 3 times. Wrote to Dick, to Mom & a three-pager to Pugs. Had ice cream & cokes at P.X. Missed half of Novena. Saw movie "Rainbow Island" Dorothy Lamour & Eddie Bracken - fair. Hit the hay right at lights out.

4/17/45 Tuesday

Bought four tubes of Ipana, my favorite tooth paste, yes, yes. Watched basketball game. Bn won. It's about time the M.P.'s got beat. Saw movie "One Body Too Many" with Jack Haley, Jean Parker - fair. Wrote to Frank Powers. Hit the hay at 2130 hours.

4/18/45 Wednesday

For dinner we fried ourselves a steak with french fried potatoes & onions. Toasted my bread a bit and everything went swell with the beer I had stacked away. Didn't get any ice cream -- the line at the P.X. was from here to Madison Ave. Group was alerted last week, been packing ever since. Saw movie "I'll Remember April", Gloria Jean growed-up to nice proportions - fair. Played pinochle. Hit the hay at 2245 hours.

4/19/45 Thursday

Third time this week we had fresh sunny-side-up eggs. Had two bits worth of ice cream & coke. Sprayed oil to kill grass around barracks. Received letter each from Pugs, Mom, & Treble. Wrote a three-pager to Pugs. Gave five beers to Joe Bucher for nix on account of two of his buddies came to see him. Hit the hay no earlier than 2200 hours.

4/20/45 Friday

Wrote to Trebie. Saw movie "Keys of the Kingdom" Gregory Peck, Thomas Mitchell. Good, something on the order of "Going My Way." Had a bull session of memories on things we remembered most from back home. Hit the hay at lights out but didn't start chasing forty winks until about 2340 hours. Two pictures were good from the two rolls that were taken Sunday & Monday. (Give me strength)

4/21/45 Saturday

Read Reader's Digest. Orientation 1300 hours. Played softball against the officers, trimmed 'em alive. For myself I got one good double & a fielder's choice. Score 12-2. Washed a stack of clothes. No movie tonight for a change. Indulged in poker, was going O.K. till Kraft sat beside me. Then I lost 7 bucks. Forgot to listen to Hit Parade. Hit the hay at lights out.

4/22/45 Sunday

Went to church - 0830. Straightened my junk. Borrowed camera from Biff because we were doubtful about Bob's. Took pictures, one whole roll. Wrote to Bob's aunt & uncle in answer to letters of theirs I received yesterday. Heard Sammy Kayes's program. Turned in shoes for salvage. Got a serum shot in left arm. Hit the hay just at lights out.

4/29/45 Sunday

Co. now packing boxes. Special details only went out to work. Worked fifteen & one-half hours on Tuesday. Sprayed D.D.T. on clothes. Bought turtle-shell necklace for seven bucks - it's for Pugs. We were all set to move but the ship isn't docked as yet. Church service was given by a missionary, performed in our chapel. Been playing poker all along and I either won or came out even. Hope it continues to my benefit. All during the week we had it pretty easy - except MON. & Tues. when we tried to get ready for moving.

5/6/45 Sunday

Received letters from Janie, Bob, Moe, Bob's folks and Helen. Answered all except three of four from Pugs. Turned in roll of film to be developed next Tuesday. Saw quite a lot of movies - among them "Kismet" & "Murder My Sweet" - both were good. Received picture from Sailor Dick - he's changed a bit already. Also got a letter from Mom. It has to be answered today, Sunday. Haven't received radio as yet -- but I guess it's due in this week. Had training lectures all last week with afternoons off. Calisthenics gave me sore muscles - cadence exercise for twenty minutes all last week, Due to see "Guest in the House" tonight. Reveille was changed from 5:30 to 6:30 - good deal. Movie was changed to "Here Comes the Waves". Golly, that Bing can sing! Answered Mom's letter.

5/7/45 Monday

Played poker, lost a few bucks, then won to get back to my original thirty-five. Saw "Guest In the House" starring Ann Baxter, Ralph Bellamy - good picture, she did a nice bit of acting. Had more of same stuff of last week. Forgot to mention we had from seven to ten shots in the last ten days.

5/9/45 Wednesday

Packed all our stuff & equipment, emptied the barracks. The band played solid for us right in front of our company. Went to see three-fourths of "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn". Then we were called to the company area. Piled 100 fellows, duffel bags, packs etc. into cattle truck. Left at nine o'clock, boarded the Bluem Fontaine, a Dutch (?) ship, at ten.

5/10/45 Thursday

Docked at Tulagi in the morning. At sea sometime in the P.M. In the next two weeks we had air raid drills, exercises, long lines for P.X. & chow & you had to be a contortionist to find a decent place to park your carcass. Chow wasn't any too good. The hold was next to hell. I had five days of K.P. & it was murder.

5/24/45 Thurs.

Docked at Batangas, P.I. in anchorage. Hit the shore in "Ducks". Flips greeted us with joy. I caught a blister-rash which caused me a lot of agony. Made friends with Jon, Mary & Eusabio. Invited to a chicken dinner. It was good. The first three days we slept in pup tents - with centipedes crawling over our stomachs. Then we changed to pyramidals. The first thing I noticed was that most of the kids had jungle ulcers all over their legs. Then we moved to the Guadalupe ruins on the outskirts of Manila. It was another hill-camp almost like Guadalcanal.

6/4/45 to 7/16/45

Stayed in camp most of the time, saw quite o bit of movies. That lasted about 5 to 6 weeks. Then Ronnie introduced me to Lydia and you couldn't find me in camp. Her brother taught me basic tango and rhumba. Rec'd my radio in good condition. It came 7-7-45 or thereabouts. Also about this time, I rec'd the photo album from Pugs, filled it with pictures I had on hand.

[mogagarin]

Interpol (self-titled): 'Success' and 'Memory Serves'

Album: Interpol (self-titled), 2010

(bouncing back to Matador, from Capitol's Our Love to Admire release in 2007)

I'm starting with this album because I think it gets very unfairly overlooked.  As far as I can see, critics (and perhaps many fans?), listened to it way too quick, and didn't let it sink it.  Mea culpa: I was a fan who initially 'didn't get it' in the first few listens.  I think I was expecting OLTA II.  I'm pretty astounded at my past self, because now Interpol ranks up at either second equal (on a good day) or a healthy third favourite out of all their albums, and so therefore I'm out to punt for it, bigtime.

Since I'm starting with this album, there's gonna be a lot of context as I build my methodology, and get my keywords straight.  Other entries are gonna rely upon a bunch o'stuff I say here, but I'll try to cross-reference when it's helpful to illustrate a point.

'Success'

Instrumentation: there's a deceptively gentle, building start to this song.  Mind you, against gentleness is the fact that the kick drum is so subsonic, and I kid myself to think it's mimicking an irregular heartbeat (sort of fits the theme of the lyrics).  Piano notes in the left channel, and guitar notes pick out the peaks and strung-along troughs of this ECG.  Kick drum moves from gorgeously subsonic low tone (on vinyl, SO GOOD) to a more detailed high tone, the slap of the beater hitting the drum skin now defined, matching the high-tone brightness of the guitar (single notes in left channel, strum in right).  Still, there's a lot of space - Sam's in first gear, Daniel's coaxing, taking his time - everything is languid, and Paul's vocals lilt, until "good eye”: these promising words undercut by a slightly sinister confessional-style delivery.

But the song reveals its true self at the 1:09 mark – there's a subtle, urgent and restrained fury to the way the chaps start to play at from this point: a lot of great 'attack' in where the beats land, where the strums shred.  Bass and drums are particularly well locked-in to each other (an Interpol calling card), and for the most part sit on the front of the 'one' beat (first, second and fourth are up-front, but third lags behind, calling you to dance).  The momentum and attitude of the instruments isn't frenzied, but it's no longer languid, and feels on the verge of violence, threat, or despair.  The contrast between the start versus the way the song unfolds has always struck me like the feeling of walking up to the edge of a cliff - view, view, view, vista, vista, vista THREAT!

There are terrifically attractive exceptions to that front of the 'one' beat though – bass (lovely high tone, some tube growl) syncopates in the verse, and the contrast of this dancing against front of the beat draws attention to both aspects.  Same goes for some of the lead guitar – where DK is putting the plucks is nicely counterpointed against the main driving rhythm.  Interpol are so skilled at this – it means you kinda get two or more rhythms for the price of one – you have the main beat, all monumental and driving and inescapable, but underneath you have eddies that pick out a double-beat alongside the main, or syncopate against it.  I think it's my favourite quality of theirs.  Even Paul is going all Sinatra on the vocal phrasing and placement – he croons, and then leans towards a staccato delivery at times, picking up on that shudder-flutter the rest of the band flirt with.  Rhythm guitar and lead guitar interweave, both alternating between the languid note-to-note slide heard in the initial opening guitar, and the staccato that matches that initial kick drum rhythm.  Sam mostly stays on the main driving beat, but adds a gorgeous flutter on high-hats and subtle double and triple hits (almost a shuffle, but with sticks instead of brushes) on the snare.  Where he places them is terrific – contrast his restrained, almost agonized beats in the verse against the straight-ahead release of the chorus.  YUM.  I'm sure I can detect some real subtle hand-claps in the last third (pretty much maelstrom outro) section, but that might just be my imagination :D

Arrangement/structure: Interpol is an album that features a lot of really simple, don't-fuck-with-it ideas – generally the arrangement/structure is one main riff, all the way through, which develops and mutates and evolves, gets more intense, but the band have sagely decided NOT to throw in an arbitrary bridge or startlingly different chorus for the sake of change.  Feels to me as if the songs are leading, or at least the musicians are thinking with their hearts and guts, rather than thinking with their heads and over-intellectualizing it.  The Interpol album songs tend to be organic: the songs feed upon themselves and grow, and the humans stay the fuck out of the way.  Interpol do both modes well, but I prefer the "one riff run into the ground" organic approach that appears in 'Success'.  However, there is a delicate difference between verse and chorus here – just a subtle note change, but nothing as distracting as a key change.  This minor difference between the sections of the song echo the gorgeous counterpoint in beat/momentum, surge and shuffle, monoslab drive and syncopative flutter.  Ah, I love you guys.  There's also a sweet sweet attempt at a late bridge in that gorgeous waterfall guitar transition, around 3 min 5 sec (mostly left channel) - it's gorgeously transcendent, and runs the song out into a sort of negative space for me.

Lyrical content: I love the confessional tone to content/delivery of the vocals.  That initial promise of "good eye" is empty, even if meant with good intentions, and that reneged claim is backed up later with other half-truths, confessions, and appeals for help: "somebody make me say 'no, no, no'".  Paul (in interview, apparently with The Sun on September 10, 2010 - but I've been unable to track this down) talked about basing his lyrics on the topic of people "cracking up and losing the plot”, thanks to a "narcissistic impulse” (ie celebrities, believing their own hype, to the point of destroying themselves as they get more and more disengaged from reality and meaningful connection with others).

Overall context - vinyl version: holy shit the vinyl version of this will blow your speakers, if you have it over a certain volume (and well, it's Interpol, so of course you have it UP LOUD), and I can't think of a better way for speakers to go.  Great full-spectrum sound, from the crystalline trebles, through to lush mids, all the way through to those initial subsonic Sam beats in the opening.  Terrific vinyl transfer (for the whole album).

Overall context, feel/tone: a little risky to put something so dark and doomed right at the front of the album, but then again, it's fricken catchy AF - you want to dance, despite the doom.      I must admit, I almost always listen to albums on shuffle (on my beloved 160GB black iPod, all tracks 320+ bitrate!), when I'm not listening to vinyl, but whenever 'Success' comes along, it does a great job at telling me, "Hey.  I'm the first track.  Take me or leave me."  And I'm like, "OK, then.  BTW, I love you.”       Additionally, the monumental inescapable drive of the song makes me feel as though I'm in the head of someone who's spaced out, who feels stuck on one nihilistic track, a persona feeling divorced from reality.  Of course, I don't refer in any way, shape or form to Mr Paul Banks, which is why I say 'persona' – if you can't tell the difference between vocalist and the words, go read up on the literary device of a narrative persona.

'Memory Serves'

Instrumentation: This is gonna be a long, indulgent, rave of deep love :D  Bear with ...      Gorgeous textured reverb on the opening guitar (mainly right channel), play style leaning towards Dick Dale tremolo picking.  Interestingly enough, this is very slightly heralded in 'Success' - there's tremolo (in play style, not just pedal effect) guitar in the background (see 1 min 25 secs onwards, of mostly left-channel tremolo-played guitar of 'Success').  Back to 'Memory Serves': you might just be able to hear vocals panned over to the left channel - Paul picking out the notes, not pushing his voice beyond talking into singing - nicely spooky (and there are other vocal artefacts throughout this album too, pointing towards quite a "live" recording environment.  I adore how the band often decides to leave these "proofs of life" in the track, especially when it comes to pedal jack noise, or the sound of dirty pots [ie the switches and dials of a beloved pedal, as much a part of the character of sound produced as the main function of a pedal]).

But wow, when the vocals croak in - Paul's deliberately keeping his throat part-closed (vocal fry!), especially on the open vowels at the start of the bars (ie "It ... / I"), giving the impression of weariness, of a character that's given up, despite the content of the pleading that this voice gives in this song.  PB's backing vocal echoes off to the left - what is it with this album, and favouring the left?  The guitar has built up some great tension, and that is released so attractively in the vocals wearily spilling onto the track, the 60± bpm beat which lurches along.  It's hypnotic, and on the verge of tears.  Add pleading content, and you get a sexy AF tune.  I think I'm gonna conclude, after I analyse all the songs, that this album would be shaggable if it was a person :D

Beautifully resonant piano in the verse, picking out the chord notes - oh, how I'd love to hear that piano in that room: makes me wonder if they'd captured a bit of the studio room sound?  First verse has that catchy double-beat bass, almost like a waltz, locked into the double beat of the kick.  The tension is fed by a held bar (about 16 seconds - 4 x 4?), forcing you to anticipate a chorus, but guess what - VERSE.  Subverting expectations.  I've heard this song SO often (I think it's my second or third favourite song on the album, so yeah, I've thrashed it), and love the slow churn apocalyptic beauty of the climax, that I really WANT the chorus at this specific point, after the held bar.  But no, more teasing ....

The bass sheers away in the second verse; it's a little bit more spare, with less fidelity to the double beat of the kick.  It's an unusual choice - usually Interpol amp up the stakes and detail, slowly; but to move away from complexity into something minimal is odd, UNTIL you realise it's done to emphasise what's about to hit - oh yeah baby, it's gonna be a wall of sound, and you know it's coming.  How wonderfully this band build pressure, only to let the listener have release.  (Note also that Sam adds a small amount of further detail in what he's playing, up on the top half of the kit - slightly more snare hits, slightly more hi-hat taps - the converse of what Carlos is taking away with bass notes.  Cool as.)

And, of course, when this third verse comes in, it's more tense than the preceding two, and features a background swathe of a (slightly left-channel) guitar (am guessing Paul on rhythm - I bet you he does this live; must make mental note to check YewToob, and confirm/deny album-based speculation here) which rings out across its strings at the very start of these verse bars.  More is now at stake, and we listeners are told to anticipate incoming ...

Incoming!  Delicious, delicious chorus.  Sam ups the sibilance by cooking the hi-hat beat: it would be jazz, but he opts for a laboured and tortured feel, to suit the lyrics.  The resonant guitar gets more frenetic, choral, and vocal overdubs take the song into wall-of-sound land (my favourite country, I think).  The bass modulates into fifths and octaves, some simultaneously strummed/plucked, and alongside the vocal overdubs and extra guitar, there's just so much lush harmony.  But wait, it's gonna get even BETTER!  Keyboard/organ comes in at the end of the chorus, and carries on through the bridge to the next chorus ... and this is where the song has evolved to.  A good time for me to skip over to structure ...

Arrangement/structure:  There are some conscious decisions in this, such as the held bar, but it does feel to me as if the band lets the song lead them by the nose - we never go back to the verse.  It's done its job.  The song evolves into a new beast, as though the speaker has finished one set of thoughts (compromise, trying to keep a relationship going when it's already over), and finds himself stuck between special memories, and "I'll wait to find / it's over" (gorgeously effective enjambment: notice how one half of that thought is in the chorus, the second half falls in the bridge), to the relationship half-restarting: "why is it so hard to stay / a / way?"  There's a horrifically discordant guitar in the left can here, 2 min 27 secs, through for a few seconds - it's just under the lush harmonies, and Interpol never do anything out of tune.  But here it is, so effectively throwing a spanner in the works.  Doesn't matter if you don't notice it - you know something is wrong.  It's a flicker of pain.

I hate to rush this next part, as the song doesn't, but where we might expect a held bar, or a tease; the song evolves once again, at the transition from chorus to something new at 3 min 5 sec.  What happens isn't verse or chorus; it's stratospheric.  Carlos strums multiple strings, and pulls back to single notes and perhaps the odd fifth or octave, the vocals pile up into a choir of multiple choices and regrets (sorry if I'm getting purple in my prose here), and the whole tune soars again at 3 min 33 sec, the soaring really thickened by immense keyboard chords. 

This is really rather moving if you happen to be listening through headphones in public :D  Two climaxes, two releases, in one song.  Ecstasy, even if at 3 min 47 sec the band tries to corral the song back onto the ground by returning to the verse notes and structure.  4 min 2 sec is another liftoff, and this is where hints of outro start to appear (and I get morose that the song is mortal, and will end): see if you can pick up that slow arpeggio bright guitar - wholly DK in style, with his angular sparkiness - it appears just after this last liftoff, and it signals the last guitar you hear in the song; a sad, solo coda, which fades away, while PB's voice moves from a begging tone, to something resigned and uncaring, and the drum beat goes on.  Life goes on.

Lyrical content: I especially love the lines:

It would be no price to pay I only ever lie to make you smile All kinds of dust are gonna keep me satisfied But only at your place, only at your place ...

It reminds me of compromise, in a relationship, when it's already over.  Tragic and beautiful.

Thanks for bearing with me.  I'll put in more links soon, and a section that does justice to the overall album.  Next up: 'Summer Well' and 'Lights'.

Last week I was in Sydney, seeing a rocking gig, full of feels and musical expertise, and a band giving it full 100%.  Sigh :D (Note: written back in January, 2019 ... just now ported over this content from a blog, into Tumblr. While I'm swamped with wonderful writing jobs at the moment, this abandoned rave was playing on my mind ...)

#interpol band #interpol album #music analysis

[1962dude420-blog]

Today we remember the passing of Richard Manuel who Died: March 4, 1986, Winter Park, Florida

Richard George Manuel (April 3, 1943 – March 4, 1986) was a Canadian composer, singer, and multi-instrumentalist, best known as a pianist and lead singer of The Band. The five members existed from December 1961 as The Hawks, becoming The Band in 1967, effectively breaking up in 1976, then re-formed in 1983. Manuel was with them until his 1986 suicide, a few hours after The Band performed a show.

Manuel's singing alternated between a soul-influenced baritone that drew frequent comparisons to Ray Charles and a delicate falsetto. Though The Band had three vocalists sharing lead and harmony parts, Manuel was often seen as the group's primary vocalist

Manuel was born in Stratford, Ontario, Canada. His father, Ed, was a mechanic employed at a Chrysler dealership, and his mother was a schoolteacher. He was raised with his three brothers, and the four sang in the church choir. Manuel took piano lessons beginning when he was nine, and enjoyed playing piano and rehearsing with friends at home. Some of his childhood influences were Ray Charles, Bobby Bland, Jimmy Reed and Otis Rush.

In early 1959, when he was fifteen, Manuel joined The Rebels, a local Stratford band featuring guitarist John Till (later of the Full Tilt Boogie Band). With Manuel on piano and vocals and his friend Jimmy Winkler on drums, the band was rounded out by bass player Ken Kalmusky (later a founding member of Great Speckled Bird). In short order, the group changed to its name to the Revols, in deference to Duane Eddy and the Rebels. Although Richard was the primary vocalist, the line up expanded to include original singer Doug 'Bo' Rhodes. Guitarist Till would later be replaced by Garth Pictot.

Manuel first became acquainted with Ronnie Hawkins and the Hawks in the summer of 1960 when the Revols opened for them at Pop Ivy's in Port Dover, Ontario. According to Levon Helm, Hawkins remarked to him about Manuel: "See that kid playing piano? He's got more talent than Van Cliburn."  The following spring, Hawkins found himself opening for The Revols at Stratford Coliseum. After the show, he offered to manage the band, and sent them to play at one of his clubs, The Rockwood, in Fayetteville. In mid-September of 1961, after the Revols returned from their southern journey, Hawkins recruited Manuel to his backing band The Hawks, replacing piano player Stan Szelest.

In 1967, while Dylan recovered from a motorcycle accident in Woodstock, New York, the group moved there also, renting a house clad in asbestos siding painted pink, which became known as "Big Pink", located on 100 acres (0.40 km2) at 2188 Stoll Road (later 56 Parnassus Lane) in nearby West Saugerties, New York. Supported by a retainer from Dylan, they were able to experiment with a new sound garnered from the country, soul, rhythm and blues, gospel and rockabilly music that they loved. As Helm (who was disheartened by the reaction to Dylan's new sound) had been temporarily absent from the group since late 1965, Manuel taught himself to play drums during the hiatus. In the Band era he would occasionally assume the drummer's stool when Helm played mandolin or guitar. His drum style is notably different from Helm's, as exemplified by his performances on "Rag Mama Rag" and "Evangeline".

The early months in Woodstock also allowed Manuel and Robertson to develop as songwriters. After recording numerous demos and signing with Albert Grossman, they secured a 10-album contract with Capitol Records in early 1968. They originally signed as "The Crackers" (although "The Honkies" had also been considered). Helm rejoined the fold as sessions got under way for the recording of their debut album, Music from Big Pink. The group proceeded to take what they had learned with Dylan and used one of his songs in the process. They combined it with their idea of the perfect album, switching solos, and singing harmonies modeled after the gospel sound of their musical heroes The Staple Singers.

In 1970, Manuel acted in the Warner Bros. film Eliza's Horoscope, an independently distributed Canadian drama written and directed by Gordon Sheppard. He portrayed "the bearded composer," performing alongside Tommy Lee Jones, former Playboy Bunny Elizabeth Moorman, and Lila Kedrova; Robertson appeared as an extra. Taking four years to complete, it was not released until 1975.

Throughout 1972, Manuel's alcoholism was one of a variety of factors (including Robertson's own writer's block) that began to impede The Band's recording and performance schedule. In 1973, the group once again followed the lead of Dylan by relocating to Malibu, California. Before leaving the Hudson Valley, they convened at Bearsville Studios to record an album of vintage rock and roll cover songs entitled Moondog Matinee, in homage to Alan Freed's radio show. Although Manuel was initially reluctant to perform, the album elicited some of his finest vocal performances, including renditions of the Bobby "Blue" Bland R&B standard "Share Your Love with Me," The Platters's "The Great Pretender," and a tongue-in-cheek version of Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller's obscure "Saved".

The Band continued performing throughout 1974, supporting Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young alongside Joni Mitchell, Jesse Colin Young and The Beach Boys on select dates of a summer stadium tour. But with the long-germinating, Robertson-penned follow-up to Cahoots (Northern Lights – Southern Cross) still more than a year from release, the group struggled to attract audiences in certain markets, as evinced by a proposed August 1974 headlining performance at Boston Garden that was ultimately cancelled due to poor ticket sales. By 1975, Robertson had expressed his dissatisfaction with touring and was acting in an increasingly parental capacity, since the move to Malibu and his refusal to allow the group to join Bearsville Records had seen him take the managerial reins on a de facto basis from an increasingly diffident Grossman. According to Helm, Manuel (who lived in a variety of rented houses throughout the period, including properties owned by Goldie Hawn and Keith Moon) was now consuming eight bottles of Grand Marnier every day on top of a prodigious cocaine addiction, factors that ultimately precipitated his divorce from Jane Manuel in 1976. While living in the Hawn house, Manuel attempted to commit suicide on at least two occasions.

During this period, he developed a kinship with the similarly despondent Eric Clapton and emerged as a driving force behind the sessions that make up the guitarist's No Reason to Cry (1976). The album was recorded at The Band's new Shangri-La Studios, where Manuel lived for about a year in a bungalow that had once served as the stable for Bamboo Harvester, the horse that portrayed the titular character on the 1960s sitcom Mister Ed. Manuel gave Clapton the song "Beautiful Thing" (a 1967 Band demo that Danko helped him finish) and provided vocals for "Last Night."

On the group's final full-fledged tour in the summer of 1976, Manuel was still recovering from a car accident earlier in the year; several tour dates were subsequently canceled after a power-boating accident near Austin, Texas that necessitated the hiring of Tibetan healers in a scenario reminiscent of Robertson's pre-show hypnosis before their first concert as The Band at San Francisco's Winterland Ballroom in April 1969. As Northern Lights – Southern Cross had stalled at No. 26 in the autumn of 1975, many of the performances were confined to theaters and smaller arenas, culminating in an opening slot for the ascendant Z.Z. Top at the Nashville Fairgrounds in September. The quality of the shows was frequently contingent upon Manuel's relative sobriety. Throughout the tour, he struggled with the high vocal registers of "Tears of Rage," "In a Station" and "I Shall Be Released" but offered impassioned, raging versions of the prophetic "The Shape I'm In" and "King Harvest (Has Surely Come)."

The Band played its final show as its original configuration at Winterland on Thanksgiving Day of 1976. The concert was filmed in 35 mm by Robertson confidant and longtime Band fan Martin Scorsese for the documentary The Last Waltz. Manuel sings "The Shape I'm In" as well as contributing piano and backing vocals. Initially the group intended to end only live performances as The Band, and each member was initially kept on a retainer of $2,500 per week under a new contract with Warner Brothers. However, by 1978, the group had drifted apart.

The Band reformed in 1983 without Robertson, who permanently stopped touring after The Last Waltz. Instead, guitarist and Helm protege Jim Weider augmented the returning four members along with a variety of irregular additional musicians, including the Cate Brothers. Having reclaimed some of his vocal range lost in the years of drug abuse, Manuel performed old hits such as "The Shape I'm In", "Chest Fever" and "I Shall Be Released" with new conviction alongside personal favorites such as Cindy Walker and Eddy Arnold's "You Don't Know Me" and James Griffin and Robb Royer's "She Knows."

By the time of the reunion, Danko, Helm and their families had moved back to the Woodstock area from Malibu. Manuel returned with his wife in the spring of 1984. In poor health and fearing that he had contracted AIDS from decades of promiscuity and drug abuse, he contemplated making a Robertson-produced solo album and resumed using cocaine, heroin and alcohol. On one occasion, Manuel absconded with journalist and old friend Al Aronowitz's record collection in a midnight burglary to fund his addictions. Following a detox stint at the behest of Albert Grossman, Manuel enjoyed several months of sobriety. He undertook a successful solo residency (centered around "his favorite Ray Charles songs" and "Tin Pan Alley classics") at The Getaway, a club midway between Woodstock and nearby Saugerties, New York. Guests such as Danko and Weider frequently sat in. During this period, Manuel also co-wrote a new song, "Breaking New Ground," with Gerry Goffin and Carole King. However, he ultimately "fell off the wagon with a thud" in the spring of 1985.

On March 4, 1986, after a gig by The Band at the Cheek to Cheek Lounge in Winter Park, Florida (a suburb of Orlando, Florida), Manuel died by suicide. He had appeared to be in relatively good spirits at the concert but ominously "thanked [Hudson] profusely for twenty-five years of good music and appreciation" as the latter musician packed his keyboards and synthesizers to be shipped to the next venue after the show. Danko, who also struggled with substance abuse, confronted Manuel about his alcohol use after the show. The Band eventually returned to the Langford Hotel, down the block from the Cheek to Cheek Lounge, and Manuel talked with Helm about music, people, and film in Helm's room. According to Helm, at around 2:30 in the morning, Manuel said he needed to get something from his room. Upon returning to his room, he woke his wife, Arlie, who observed that Manuel "was all pissed off about something"; Manuel claimed that his frustration stemmed from the quality of the piano at the venue. When Arlie enjoined him to come to bed, he lay down with his clothes on. After she resumed sleeping, it is believed that he finished one last bottle of Grand Marnier before hanging himself in the bathroom sometime before 3:30. She discovered her husband's body along with the depleted bottle of liqueur and a small amount of cocaine the following morning. He was buried a week later at the Avondale Cemetery in his hometown of Stratford, Ontario.

#march 4 #1986 #r.i.p. #richard manuel #The Band

[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.

#queen fic #queen fanfiction #queen fanfic #john deacon #john deacon fic #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #john deacon series #deaky fic #deaky x reader #deacy fic #deacy x reader #angelofmydreams

[theonyxpath]

The answer to the question in our title will be revealed later in this blog, but for now, how about this map of the Blessed Isle from the Dragon-Blooded: What Fire Has Wrought book currently being Kickstarted?

We just opened up a new pair of Add-ons with the Dragon-Blooded Kickstarter: this Blessed Isle map and a reprint of the original EX3 map of Creation from the Exalted 3rd Kickstarter. Both printed on the heavy canvas that we used back when for the first printing of the Creation map. Costs for that material have risen, but it’ll be worth it for such a high quality printing lovely enough to hang on any wall (but particular a gaming room)!

With our original print-run of the canvas map of Creation having completely sold out in like a day on IPR, we thought this would be a good time to reprint since there are obviously still folks out there who want them. Combine that with the reward tier that includes both the Deluxe Dragon-Blooded book and the Deluxe Exalted 3rd book, and you’ve got the makings of some fine games.

    Dragon-Blooded Swept To Sea art by Priscilla Kim

    On to our big news from last week!

As I’ve been teasing these last few weeks, we unveiled the first episode of the Onyx Pathcast podcast this last Friday (the 13th) to what can only be described as wild enthusiasm! Which is really great, because our three hosts (hence the three mentioned in my teasers), Dixie Cochran, Eddy Webb, and Matthew Dawkins are so revved up and rarin’ to go that they’ve got topics, guests, and ideas for weeks and weeks to come.

Here’s a link to our blog announcement: http://theonyxpath.com/episode-one-a-beginning/

So, that’ll tell you the basics about what the Onyx Pathcast is: a free-wheeling romp with our three hosts through what Onyx Path is up to and why. Along with inside looks at upcoming projects, advice on getting into this wacky business, interviews with creators and fans, and asides and references to all the interests and media we all share.

But let me let you in on how this whole thing happened to happen.

Some of you might remember that Fast Eddy Webb actually had a pretty well-regarded and timely podcast about a decade ago while he was at White Wolf and even into the CCP years. He and I have talked about reviving something like that for a while, but the problem was that it felt like we’d been there and done that. As excellent and fun as that that was.

Meanwhile, Mister Matthew Dawkins had become known for his broadcasts on his Gentleman Gamer YouTube channel, but was open to trying something else with Eddy that could be their way of putting out their thoughts and ideas. (The whole idea might have started with wanting to rant about professional wrestling, but don’t quote me on that. It might be a base canard). If you’ve never watched any of his vids, you should really check them out. There’s at least one fascinating interview with a devilishly good-looking founder of what was then a brand-new TTRPG company that sounds something like Ronyx Rath.

When we pivoted the company into our current configuration with Dixie joining Eddy and Matthew as our in-house developer team, they all got really excited about the possibilities for a podcast with all three of them bouncing their ideas and asides off each other. I think it was Dixie who coined the Onyx Pathcast as a title – which might be something she’ll regret as I liked it and we are running with it now!

For us, this is our first step into further Onyx Path-based ongoing online content, and we wanted to start with something that the Terrible Trio (or Terrific Trio, as I switch back and forth calling them) felt they could do well in the medium and grow with. We’re getting on Google Play for Android (it might be there already) and will be on iTunes as soon as we can make that happen. We’re adding a video montage and new logos for the show in order to post it on our YouTube channel, and we’ll see if folks enjoy it there.

The next is episode is April 27th as they intend these to come out every two weeks, and will feature the Trio interviewing the talented and busy Meghan Fitzgerald about her many projects for us, including Changeling: The Lost 2nd, and the Exalted 3rd monthly releases. Check it out!

      Changeling: The Lost 2nd art by Michael Gaydos

      Also going live on April 27th is the Slarecian Vault: Scarred Lands Community Content site on DTRPG.com! We’re thrilled to be able to open up this legendary setting for projects created by the Scarred Lands‘ community that has loved and been loyal to the battered but still epic world of Scarn. As we look to the next phase of rebooting the Scarred Lands for play in a time of D&D 5e and Pathfinder, both on tabletop and virtual tabletop, we’re really looking forward to seeing what our community dives into in the rich wealth of possibilities offered by Scarred Lands.

In a lot of ways, having our community create and spread ideas for SL is the best chance to get this setting we love into the hands of the much larger PF and 5e communities – who we think will love Scarred Lands once they know about it – since the d20 craze when we first launched it.

      Dragon-Blooded art by HIVE Studios

      Finally: How Do You Get To Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice! But in the case of LisaT and myself, you get there because you have talented kids who sing and their HS choral groups sing there. Which is what our son will be doing for his last time in High School next Monday. Unfortunately, right during our Monday Meeting!

Fortunately, Mighty Matt McElroy has volunteered to both run the meeting and to post next week’s Monday Meeting Notes blog in my absence. He’ll also be telling you about our new and exciting plans for the rest of our Onyx Path blogs, not to be overshadowed by the Pathcast!

Hopefully, this Herculean task does not overcome even Mighty Matt’s mighty thews! I’m sure that if all of you think evil thoughts, that will power him up. (Usually he prefers lots and lots of caffeine, but this is a special case).

So, until I talk with you all two weeks from now, remember our inspirational Onyx Path motto:

Many Worlds, One Path!

    BLURBS!

KICKSTARTER:

We’re at just over a week to go for EX3‘s Dragon-Blooded Kickstarter and we’re over 400% funded with over 1850 backers so far!

We’ve hit 24 Stretch Goal rewards, and counting, including a t-shirt, two more silk bookmarks (at least!), increased art budget, a Dragon-Blooded novella, adding on the Storyteller Screen, opening up additional Reward Tiers for more custom charms and artifacts; new Charms, 2 sections of info on Lookshy, 2 sections on the Forest Witches, 2 sections on Outcastes, Cadet Houses, and Prasad to the Heirs to the Shogunate Dragon-Blooded Companion PDF and lots more! Phew!

Thanks so much for everybody’s support so far! Even though we’re doing great, the best is yet to come and we hope that folks can get the word out on their social media and to their friends. Everybody deserves a chance to check out this latest EX3 “fatsplat” for the most elemental of the Exalted.

Which every backer can do, because each week of the campaign we’re releasing a quarter of the Dragon-Blooded book’s text so that backers can check the whole thing out by the time we are done. We think you’ll really love what we’ve done with the DBs, but if for some reason you don’t, you can drop your pledge before the KS is over and walk away easy peasy!

So, here’s the link and see you there! https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/200664283/dragon-blooded-what-fire-has-wrought-for-exalted-3

  As we try and find ways to enable our community to more easily play our games, the Onyx Dice Rolling App is now live! Our dev team has been doing updates since we launched based on the excellent use-case comments by our community, and this thing is both rolling and rocking!

The devs have added a whole bunch of new game lines’ dice and rolling bg’s and got caught by a bug Apple needed to fix, so be sure to update your app and soon that should be fixed.

There’s been tweaks to all elements of the UI, you can now preview every die type in the store, and you can use multiple die types per roll! Here are the links for the Apple and Android versions:

http://theappstore.site/app/1296692067/onyx-dice

https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.onyxpathpublishing.onyxdice&hl=en

Three different screenshots, above.

(The Solar Anima special Dice above)

  Promethean: The Created and Demon: The Descent dice on a Demon: The Descent tabletop

  Hunter: The Reckoning and Mage: The Awakening dice on a Mage: The Awakening tabletop

      ON AMAZON AND BARNES & NOBLE:

You can now read our fiction from the comfort and convenience of your Kindle (from Amazon) and Nook (from Barnes & Noble).

Our latest fiction offerings are a classic Scarred Lands fantasy book, and our latest Chronicles of Darkness anthology: the Huntsmen Chronicles for Changeling: The Lost 2nd Edition!

If you enjoy these or any other of our books, please help us by writing reviews on the site of the sales venue you bought it from. Reviews really, really help us with getting folks interested in our amazing fiction!

  Our initial selection includes these fiction anthologies:

Vampire: The Masquerade: The Endless Ages Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: Rites of Renown: When Will You Rage II (Kindle, Nook)

Mage: The Ascension: Truth Beyond Paradox (Kindle, Nook)

Chronicles of Darkness: The God-Machine Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Mummy: The Curse: Curse of the Blue Nile (Kindle, Nook)

Beast: The Primordial: The Primordial Feast Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

  And here are six more fiction books:

Vampire: The Masquerade: Of Predators and Prey: The Hunters Hunted II Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: The Poison Tree (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: Songs of the Sun and Moon: Tales of the Changing Breeds (Kindle, Nook)

Vampire: The Requiem: The Strix Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Forsaken: The Idigam Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Mage: The Awakening: The Fallen World Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

  Andand six more more:

Vampire: The Masquerade: The Beast Within Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: W20 Cookbook (Kindle, Nook)

Exalted: Tales from the Age of Sorrows (Kindle, Nook)

Chronicles of Darkness: Tales of the Dark Eras (Kindle, Nook)

Promethean: The Created: The Firestorm Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Demon: The Descent: Demon: Interface (Kindle, Nook)

  And even more books are now on Amazon and the Nook store!:

Scarred Lands: Death in the Walled Warren (Kindle, Nook)

V20 Dark Ages: Cainite Conspiracies (Kindle, Nook)

Chronicles of Darkness: Strangeness in the Proportion (Kindle, Nook)

Vampire: The Requiem: Silent Knife (Kindle, Nook)

Mummy: The Curse: Dawn of Heresies (Kindle, Nook)

    OUR SALES PARTNERS:

We’re working with Studio2 to get Pugmire out into stores, as well as to individuals through their online store. You can pick up the traditionally printed main book, the Screen, and the official Pugmire dice through our friends there!

https://studio2publishing.com/search?q=pugmire

    Looking for our Deluxe or Prestige Edition books? Try this link! http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Onyx-Path-Publishing/

Here’s the link to the press release we put out about how Onyx Path is now selling through Indie Press Revolution: http://theonyxpath.com/press-release-onyx-path-limited-editions-now-available-through-indie-press-revolution/

You can now order wave 2 of our Deluxe and Prestige print overrun books, including Deluxe Mage 20th Anniversary, and Deluxe V20 Dark Ages! And Screens…so many Screens!

And you can now order Pugmire: the book, the screen, and the dice! http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/manufacturers.php?manufacturerid=296

Wave 3 of our extra Kickstarter projects is now on sale at IPR!

Here are the direct links for the Chronicles of Darkness: Dark Eras Prestige Edition: http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Chronicles-of-Darkness-Dark-Eras-Prestige-Edition.html

Chronicles of Darkness: Dark Eras Storytellers’ Screen: http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Chronicles-of-Darkness-Dark-Eras-Storytellers-Screen.html

Deluxe Exalted 3rd Edition: http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Exalted-3rd-Edition-Deluxe-Edition.html

Ultra-Deluxe (Orichalcum) Exalted 3rd Edition: http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Exalted-3rd-Edition-Ultra-Deluxe.html

Exalted 3rd Edition Storytellers’ Screen: http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Exalted-3rd-Edition-Storytellers-Screen.html

EX3 Chibi Bookmarks: http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Exalted-3rd-Edition-Chibi-Bookmarks.html

Deluxe W20 Shattered Dreams: http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/W20-Shattered-Dreams-Deluxe-Edition.html

W20 Shattered Dreams Storytellers’ Screen: http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/W20-Shattered-Dreams-Storytellers-Screen.html

Plus price adjustments on M20, Book of the Wyrm, Anarchs Unbound and a few other projects!

    DRIVETHRURPG.COM:

Ask the darkness, and it shall answer: the Beast: The Primordial Player’s Guide PDF and physical book PoD versions will answer your questions Wednesday! on DTRPG.com! http://drivethrurpg.com/product/236135/Beast-Players-Guide

The Beast Player’s Guide expands on the material presented in Beast: The Primordial, with additional information on the Families and Hungers, what it feels like to be a Beast and experience the Devouring, and how to commune with the Dark Mother. You’ll also find two new Families and two new Hungers!

The book also includes a plethora of new Atavisms, Nightmares, Merits, and Birthrights, as well as systems for creating smaller, subservient versions of the Horror, new forms of Inheritance, and details on the mysterious Obcasus Rites.

        There are some things that even a Demon fears – Night Horrors: Enemy Action for Demon: The Descent has arrived in PDF and physical book PoD versions: http://drivethrurpg.com/product/236133/Night-Horrors-Enemy-Action

“Fighting the Machine is like fighting the ocean. You literally cannot hurt it. Doesn’t matter how much poison we dump into the ocean. We’ll only kill the things in it. We’ll never kill it. Same with the God-Machine. Kill angels, traitors, stigmatics, cultists, cryptids, whatever, you’ll never hurt the Machine Itself. No, that doesn’t mean we stop trying. You stop trying, you drown. Screw that.”

—Mr. Bliss, Guardian Inquisitor

Night Horrors: Enemy Action includes:

• Dozens of Storyteller characters, including Unchained, angels, exiles, cryptids, and stigmatics, for use as antagonists, allies, or just inspiration

• Multiple plot hooks and story seeds for your Demon: The Descent chronicles

• A brief look at cults in Demon, including the Ten Thousand Names of God, a secret society fueled by the God-Machine

      When you need a Changeling 20th character and a way to get started with C20: here are the C20 Ready Made Characters in PDF and physical book PoD versions! Available on DriveThruRPG.com! http://drivethrurpg.com/product/225641/C20-Ready-Made-Characters

Running a one-shot game of Changeling: The Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition? Starting up a chronicle with new players who aren’t sure what to play? Looking for some examples of how the various kiths might look?

Thanks to our generous Kickstarter backers, these thirteen ready-made characters cover each of the Changeling kiths. Each character is provided with background, roleplaying suggestions, art, and some potential motleys and story seeds — everything you need to immerse yourself in the Dreaming!

        Coming NOW as both PDF and physical book PoD on DTRPG, we reveal The Secret of Vinsen’s Tomb, a Jumpstart adventure for Pugmire. www.drivethrurpg.com/product/232337/The-Secrets-of-Vinsens-Tomb–A-Pugmire-Jumpstart

A cat living in Pugmire disappears, but neither the police dogs nor the cats of the Cat Quarter know why. When zombies attack the heroes, however, all signs point to an invasion by the Monarchies of Mau. But how does this intrigue tie into the lost tomb of the first king of Pugmire?

The Secret of Vinsen’s Tomb is a Pugmire story for three to six characters. This jumpstart contains all the rules and characters you need to play — just grab some dice and go! You can also use this adventure with the full version of Pugmire.

The Secret of Vinsen’s Tomb contains:

• An evocative and mysterious setting that’s both family friendly and deep enough to create compelling stories.

• A summary of Pugmire’s traditional fantasy rules system. It’s designed for streamlined play, with an emphasis on cooperation and action over competition and violence.

• A complete adventure for a Guide to run for three to six players. Also useful for Guides running a full Pugmire game of first or second level characters!

• Six ready-to-play characters, so you can jump into the action.

Can your good dogs discover the secret of Vinsen’s Tomb?

  Also available NOW, are two physical PoD spell card packs and PDFs for Pugmire: the Artisans‘ and the Shepherds‘ spells.

        Appearing now on DriveThruRPG are the PDF and PoD physical book versions of Arms of the Chosen for Exalted 3rd Edition! http://www.drivethrurpg.com/product/226224/Arms-of-the-Chosen

Take up the panoply of legendary heroes and lost ages, and awaken the world-shaking might of their Evocations. Before the dawn of time, the Exalted wielded god-metal blades to cast down the makers of the universe. In an ancient epoch of forgotten glories, Creation’s greatest artificers forged unimaginable wonders and miracle-machines.

Now, in the Age of Sorrows, kingdoms go to war over potent artifacts, scavenger princes risk everything to uncover relics of the past, and the Exalted forge great arms and armor on the anvil of legend. These treasures are yours to master.

Discover the mystical power of the five magical materials and the secrets of creating your own Evocations. Wield weapons of fabled might and don the armor of mythic heroes, making their puissance your own. Claim Creation’s wonders: the miraculous tools of the Chosen, living automatons, flying machines, hearthstones, and more. And unleash the mighty warstriders, titanic god-engines of conquest and devastation, to once more shake Creation with their footfalls.

      CONVENTIONS!

Fast Eddy Webb will be attending the East Coast Game Designers Conference (ECGC) all this week in Raleigh, NC, where he’ll be presenting a seminar called “Writing for Franchises”.

So if you are going and want to meet up, let us know!

  And now, the new project status updates!

DEVELOPMENT STATUS FROM FAST EDDY WEBB (projects in bold have changed status since last week):

First Draft (The first phase of a project that is about the work being done by writers, not dev prep)

M20 Book of the Fallen (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

C20 Novel (Jackie Cassada) (Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition)

M20 The Technocracy Reloaded (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

M20 Victorian Mage (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

Spilled Blood (Vampire: The Requiem 2nd Edition)

CofD Dark Eras 2 (Chronicles of Darkness)

Night Horrors: Shunned by the Moon (Werewolf: The Forsaken 2nd Edition)

C20 Players’ Guide (Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition)

Wr20 Book of Oblivion (Wraith: The Oblivion 20th Anniversary Edition)

Aeon Aexpansion (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

In Media Res (Trinity Continuum: Core)

  Redlines

CofD Contagion Chronicle (Chronicles of Darkness)

Deviant: The Renegades (Deviant: The Renegades)

Dystopia Rising: Evolution (Dystopia Rising: Evolution)

  Second Draft

WoD Ghost Hunters (World of Darkness)

Tales of Good Dogs – Pugmire Fiction Anthology (Pugmire)

M20 Gods and Monsters (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

Guide to the Night (Vampire: The Requiem 2nd Edition)

  Development

Signs of Sorcery (Mage: the Awakening Second Edition)

Night Horrors: The Tormented (Promethean: The Created 2nd Edition)

Hunter: the Vigil 2e core (Hunter: the Vigil 2nd Edition)

Fetch Quest (Pugmire)

They Came From Beneath the Sea! Rulebook (TCFBtS!)

  WW Manuscript Approval:

GtS Geist 2e core (Geist: the Sin-Eaters Second Edition)

  Editing:

  Post-Editing Development:

Changeling: the Lost 2nd Edition, featuring the Huntsmen Chronicle (Changeling: the Lost 2nd Edition)

Dragon-Blooded (Exalted 3rd Edition)

The Realm (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Kithbook Boggans (Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition)

Scion: Hero (Scion 2nd Edition)

Trinity Continuum Core Rulebook (The Trinity Continuum)

Trinity Continuum: Aeon Rulebook (The Trinity Continuum)

Ex Novel 2 (Aaron Rosenberg) (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Exalted 3rd Novel by Matt Forbeck (Exalted 3rd Edition)

  Indexing:

    ART DIRECTION FROM MIRTHFUL MIKE:

In Art Direction

Ex3 Monthly Stuff

Scion Hero

Changeling: the Lost 2 – Sketches and finals coming in.

Trinity Continuum

Boggans – Contracted.

Wr20 Guide for Newly Departed – Everything with Gaydos.

  Marketing Stuff

  In Layout

Wraith 20 Screen 

Fetch Quest – Working on the logo. KS How To Play video was shot last week.

EX3 Dragon Blooded

Monarchies of Mau

  Proofing

Cavaliers of Mars – Splats and map should be in by end of the month.

Scion Origin

  At Press

Beckett Screen – At shipper.

Scarred Land PGs & Wise and the Wicked PF & 5e – At fulfillment shipper. PDF and PoD physical book versions on sale at DTRPG.

Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition – Rewards are shipping.

Prince’s Gambit – Being sent to the US.

V20 Beckett’s Jyhad Diary– Deluxe edition files at printer. Interior proof approved, printing now.

Scion Dice – At fulfillment shipper.

Wraith 20 – Errata phase.

Beast PG – Final PDF and physical book PoD on sale Wednesday at DTRPG.com.

SL Champions of the Scarred Lands Anthology PoD – Uploaded and processing.

Pugmire – Pan’s Explorer’s Guide (or whatever) – Backer PDFs out, errata?

Book of Freeholds – Backer PDF out to backers, errata being posted.

  TODAY’S REASON TO CELEBRATE: I know it sounds strange, but tomorrow is Tax Day in the US, and getting that adulting milestone accomplished every year – whether it’s a refund or payment – means you settled up with the real world once more. Maybe it’ll leave us to our games and fun for another year now that the sacrifice has been made!

#Onyx Path Publishing

[floralreddie]

falling in love with Richie Tozier: Part 3 (when they’re teenagers: part 2)

it’s easy being with Richie

it’s like the two of you were made for each other

you remind him when he’s being too much of a fucking douche 

and he reminds you when you’re being too paranoid about something (because, honestly, you can panic about something for days only to realise it’s really not that bad)

it takes you a while to understand how to manoeuvre from being such close friends, to knowing that you can now kiss him and touch him whenever you want 

he, of course, has no issue with this

the morning after he slept round yours, you’re woken up the feel of wet and loud kisses being pressed against your cheeks and neck

you had jumped awake and smacked him upside the head and aggressively wiped away the wet saliva, whilst both laughing and calling him a grim little gremlin

‘what the fuck did you just call me?’

‘a fucking gremlin, Tozier’

‘that’s no way to talk to your boyfriend, (Y/L/N)’

your parents sit downstairs calmly drinking tea and pretending they don’t hear the two of you giggling in your room. they’ve been doing this since you started sneaking the Loser’s round when you were fifteen

you’re not one for pda, but Richie fucking loves it. he has most of the Loser’s grimacing and moaning when he walks up to you and kisses your neck and hair and throws a long arm around your shoulders

you blush and roll your eyes because you’re not into pda but fuck it, Richie is, so you’re okay with it

he’ll storm into your Science Club sometimes (it’s after school on a Wednesday) and just sit at the back of the classroom and wait for you, his face buried in some fucking History book that he finds oddly interesting. you both usually walk home with Bill after this, because he’s head of the writers club and that’s on at the same time as your club

you go to the arcade a lot, still. Eddie insists that Richie is a fucking child for doing so, but Richie doesn’t give a shit and even ends up getting a job there the summer before senior year

you like going there merely because it reminds you of the day you’d found him there, after weeks of thinking you’d lost the closest thing to real, caring friends you’d ever had and the skinny boy with the glasses and wide brown eyes and had let you hang out with him

but it’s also the day you defeated a fucking sewer clown

but whatever

Mike teases you constantly whenever you go over to his farm and walk about the fields around his house. you can drive now, and your parents gifted you with a shitty, beat up car for your seventeenth, so it’s easier to get to his now

‘you two were always going to happen, though’

‘whatever, Mike’

‘do you ever think about after Derry? When College comes around?

‘...constantly’

Richie has millions of nicknames for you, but your favourite is ‘doll’. you let this slip when the lot of you are drinking in Bill’s basement and playing some shitty console came that you have 0 interest in. you slip to the bathroom and Richie is waiting outside for you when you come out, planting a kiss to your lips and tugging at your braid

‘you alright, doll?’

‘I kinda like it when you call me that, y’know’

the others get used to you two being together, and you spend that summer going on drives in your car as Richie makes cassette tapes non-stop with songs you’ve never even heard of

he slots one in one day after you’ve picked him up from his house. he skips down the steps of his porch and past his mother (who’s smoking on the bench beside the door. she barely looks up when her son passes, and you want to throw something at her for it) and he hardly mentions this as he climbs, with long limbs, into your car and grins toothily and presses a wet kiss to your cheek

you grimace and laugh and pretend to wipe it away

it’s sunny, so you say, ‘wanna drive to that lake?’ neither of you know what the lake is called, but you’d found it a few days ago after you and the other Loser’s crammed into your car and explored the outskirts of Derry

Richie nods and kicks his Docs onto your dashboard and you’re off, and he clicks the cassette into the stereo and the music is blaring out and he’s singing along because, shit, your boyfriend has a pretty good voice

you’re sitting on the hood of your car in the sunlight just twenty minutes later. you’re wearing a summer dress and socks, and Richie is wearing a buttoned open shirt with a white tee beneath and your backs are pressed against your windscreen

somewhere down the way, your can hear kids playing in the lake

a song starts playing then, soft and nice and you recognise it as The Cure

Richie shifts and glances at you and you glance at him, a curious smile tugging at your voice as he adjusts his glasses and his curly hair blows about his pale and freckled face

‘you ever heard this?’ he asks you, chewing the side of his mouth

you shrug and blink against the sun. he has a habit of speaking through songs, you know. sure, he can kiss you silly in front of every one, but it was a different story to share his affection with you verbally. ‘nope’

‘oh,’ he nods and coughs into his fist and looks back up to the clear blue sky. you almost let out a nervous, startled laugh when his cheeks start to tinge red. ‘it’s, er, called love song’

you stare at him and blink, a smile still fighting its way across your face. ‘...okay’

he throws you a scowl, because he knows you’re kind of taking the piss as he struggles with his words. ‘I, er, I put it on here because, you know...’ he looks at your and you look back, that same smile still on your face as you raise your eyebrows. ‘because...’cause I love you, (Y/N)’

you grin and kiss him, your hand finding his warm cheek and his hand sliding across your back, and he tastes like cigarettes and sugar candy and he’s warm like the sun

‘I love you, too. stupid,’ you snort, pecking his long nose as he flutters his lashes at you and tells you in a thick Italian accent that you’re the cheese to his pizza dough

that night, he sleeps round yours after going home for a few hours. it’s a Friday, and Friday's are your nights whereas Saturdays are strictly Loser nights. 

you’re nervous, somehow. you know why - something has shifted between the two of you, something beyond the childish affection you’d held for Richie since you were thirteen

you wish Bev was here, even though you hadn’t spoken to her in years. you feel like she’d like to know about this

he sneaks through your window because that’s just how Richie rolls, and when he kisses your, lips cold from the Summer chill outside, it feels like love and niceness and everything you both deserve

it feels like home

because he is home

a home that you can’t imagine leaving

and that night you sleep with Richie for the first time, and you’re not sure you’ll ever love anyone as much as you love him

#it (2017) #richie x reader #richie tozier #areyoureddiekids

[derryhawkins]

Growing Fame (1/??)

summary: A modern AU where the losers are semi-famous for different things, and when they all run into each other at a certain event, all of their fans go bat-shit crazy – wanting the seven to spend more time together. What they didn’t expect even more than that, though, was a well-known and mean journalist to write bad reviews on them all. Their growing fame could soon shrink, they quickly realized. warnings: nothing, really; swearing. pairings: not yet decided a/n: I am excited for this, not gonna lie. To sum up the reasont that they’re famous: Most of the losers are YouTubers. Stan, Eddie, and Bill are this funny famous trio who used to be on Vine. Bev is a make up/FX artist. Mike is a singer on YouTube who’s slowly getting famous. Richie’s in a band. & Ben makes educational history vids with the occasional blog of him & Mike together bc they’re bffs. Hope you guys enjoy!! 

oh & this is like 2.4k words, so beware bc its a bit long.

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3

Day Off

Mike Hanlon laid on the couch in his apartment – head propped up by cushion, a guitar on his stomach, clothes mismatched from being lazy, and his golden retriever laying beside the couch while the black cat was curled between his feet. He strummed the guitar and hummed a tune of one of his songs with his eyes closed. He was simply relaxing, enjoying the time by himself with his two lovely pets. He could faintly hear his friend in the guest bedroom, an occasional yell being heard that made Mike halt his strumming for a short second before starting again. The dark skinned male had no idea what his friend was doing but he didn’t matter. He had a day off.

A day off from working his ass off to get his EP done for his fans – a surprise for them, actually. Mike was a singer/song writer on YouTube who had just recently been signed a record label deal for the next five years. He had been working on the EP before, but now it’s basically officially official that it will all happen. The work was tiresome, surprisingly. He stood in a studio all day, singing his heart out, and it was fun, don’t worry, but he just couldn’t help but feel that he needed everything for it to be perfect. Besides, he needed one more song plus the name for the EP and he had no idea what to do for those two things.

He was in a writing slump and all the names for EP he came up with sounded idiotic. But he had to admit that this all beat working at the family farm. He loved it there, too; he loved all the animals and spending time with family. But he also loved music, and once his grandfather agreed that Mike could give the music career a go, he was ecstatic.

Mike halted his strumming and humming once again as the guest bed room flung open. His eyes opened as well when the sound of footsteps were heard to be coming closer, and as Sandy the golden retriever lifted her head. Not too soon later, Ben Hanscom stood in the living room with a fowl expression and crossed arms. It was rare to see Ben so upset at somethings, so Mike quickly sat up.

Ben and Mike had been friends ever since they started college together a couple years ago. At the time, Mike was working on becoming an engineer with the side job of music - just playing at little venues to get the money with the occasional video up on YouTube just like he had done in high school. But once his videos got more popular and as he realized that music could be his career, he focused more on the music. Still, though, he was working on a minor in engineering with a major for general studies. It wasn’t too much to handle.

Ben had become Mike’s roommate. He was in love, and still is, with history. All his life he had been fascinated by it, and he was glad to know Mike didn’t find it annoying; the boy actually agreed. At some point in time he started putting up videos explaining history and doing little cartoons along with it; the first video got pretty popular pretty quickly, surprising both boys, and now two years later Ben has a contract with a company that pays him. He posts explanatory and educational videos of history. He also has a vlog, just posting there once in a while when there’s a longer time period in between videos.

So, the two boys knew each other pretty well. After two years of dealing with each other, becoming close friends, and slowly rising to popularity together, both of them noticed what made the other tick. What made them annoyed, or happy, or scared, or angry. So Mike Hanlon was pretty quick to pick up on Ben Hanscom’s annoyance.

“Dude, everything okay?” Mike asked carefully, making sure not to accidentally kick Salem (yes he named the cat after the black cat from Sabrina the Teenage Witch, okay?) as he moved his legs. Salem was quick to leave.

“We need to go to comic con this year.”

Mike stared for a moment before cracking a smile. “Is that why you’re pissed?” He asked.

“Mike, we missed last year, okay? We can’t miss two years in a row! I need to dress up as Star Lord at least once in my life without getting weird looks and to geek over Game of Throwns with other people.”

“I geek about it.”

“You complain about the nudity.”

“Well, I watch the show for the action; not the sex scenes!”

For a few seconds the two twenty year olds were quiet, staring at one another, waiting to see if the conversation was going to turn into a debate that they usually had when Game of Throwns was brought up. Was there too much nudity in the show? Mike often with yes, most of the time, while Ben said it was fine; they once got in an argument about it in a public place and the looks they got made them regret having being so loud about it.

Thankfully, though, neither boy continued on with the subject. Ben uncrossed his arms and shrugged as he said, “Anyway, we’re going to comic con.”

“Alright, fine. Need me to buy the tickets?”

“Ah, no, I have the money. Thanks for offering, though, Mike,” Ben told him.

The taller boy gave a smile and nodded. “Welcome, B.”

“Hey, guys, I have a day off from school and work and editing videos, so here I am doing a live stream! With Stan and Bill!”

“I was forced into this,” Stanley Uris’ voice sounded as he situated himself in front of the propped up phone. He gave a small glare to Eddie Kaspbrak but at seeing the smaller boy smile innocently at him, he rolled eyes and smiled back. “It’s barely started and I already regret this.”

“Aw S-Stan, it won’t even last th-thuh-thirty minutes,” Bill Denbrough said. He refrained from making a face as he stuttered; most of the time he didn’t now a days, but once in a while it would pop up. Stan glanced over at him and shrugged. He had already sat down on the other side of Eddie, one arm thrown around the back of Eddie’s chair and the other in his lap as he held his phone.

The three boys were known for goofing off in front of the camera together on YouTube. It used to be Vines, once upon a time. Bill and Eddie started out there and soon Stan joined and they had both separate accounts and a joint account where they would constantly make stupid yet funny videos together. They got pretty famous, too, so once Vine ceased to exist, they moved on YouTube. Still stupid but funny. Once in a while ranting videos. An occasional vlog here and there. Then the rare live stream, something Eddie decided to do today.

“Anyway, we are here to answer some questions!” Eddie exclaimed, clapping his hands together and giving a smile. “So ask away.”

Bill leaned forward to read one of the many comments.  “ ‘BILL’,” he paused and laughed at the fact that his name was in all caps, “ ‘What’s is like living with Stan and Eddie?’ Oh, wow- o-okay. Not that bad, actually. They’re both nice and neat people. I’m the messy one, they clean up after me a lot.”

“No one likes your dirty socks under the couch, William,” Stan informed him with a teasing attitude. Bill flipped him off but they all laughed.

“ ‘When will Bill’s book be done’?” Stan read the next question. He then turned to look at Bill, who gave a shrug and a nod. Stan nodded back before answering. “Sometime in November! We’re excited about it. Bill won’t let us read it until then, so we’ve been stuck to waiting with you guys.”

“It’s a surprise, idiots,” the tallest male explained.

They then went on and answered more questions. Are you guys going to comic con in 2 weeks? The answer was an enthusiastic yes from all three boys. When will we get another video of Stan with the birds? Stan had answered sometime soon, when the raining whether outside was sunshine instead. Then they got questions about the different types of birds and Stan grinned the entire time answering the ones he could. Then Eddie answered one about how his nursing major was going; despite being popular in the media, Eddie still went to school.

They all did. He didn’t want to be left in the dust, having to work random jobs, when they decide to stop making videos, so he decided nursing would do just fine. Bill majored in English and constantly had papers to write, but still somehow found time to write his upcoming book and make videos with his two friends, even sometimes his little brother, Georgie, back at home. Stan decided to just do general studies but then also decided to minor in World Religions. Between all of that, he also had a wide knowledge of birds.

“ ‘Favorite bands’?” Eddie read one of the comments after complaining about his lack of sleep. “Imagine Dragons,” he quickly answered.

“The Records,” Bill said at the same time, excitement evident on his features and in his voice.

“Who the fuck are The Records?” Stan asked.

Eddie pointed at their Jewish friend, “I’m with Stan on this one.”

Bill grinned. “Remember that guy I told you about who made dick jokes and your mom jokes a lot at my high school?”

“Oh, no,” Eddie groaned with a grimace on his face.

Stanley frowned and rolled his eyes. “Your best friend until you came here?”

“He’s still my best friend! I’m bitter that you guys haven’t met him yet, but he’s in a band called The Records. He’s the lead singer, too, and they’re good. They got a record deal last year and they’ve been getting more popular since.”

“Huh,” came from both Eddie and Stan.

“Maybe I’ll give them a listen,” Stan muttered.

“He sounds annoying from all the things you’ve told us about it. But good for his band, I guess,” Eddie said. He glanced at his phone and chuckled at one of the comments. My aesthetic: Bill gushing about his friends and promoting them. He read it out loud, which just caused everyone to laugh and agree with the fan.

Shortly after, the livestream on Instagram ended and three boys piled out of the apartment and went to dinner.

Richie Tozier was grinning from ear to ear by the end of the live stream that had his best friend in it - the best friend that wasn’t Beverly Marsh, of course. He laughed slightly and laid across his bed. It was no secret that Richie watched every livestream, YouTube video, vlog, or whatever that Bill Denbrough was in; they were best friends in high school and supported each other then. He wasn’t going to stop supporting the guy now just because they lived in different cities.

(And, no, he wasn’t watching the smaller boy’s videos daily; just the one’s with Bill. He didn’t follow Eddie Kaspbrak on all social media platforms, either, no he did not).

(Fucking liar).

Richie went to the message app and sent Bill a text.

to Big Bill: aw bill u sure ur not in love with me???

He got a quick response.

from Big Bill: i’m in love with chicken wings, rich, how many times do we have to discuss this

to Big Bill: until the die I day to Big Bill: wait to Big Bill: until the day I die!

from Big Bill: fucking hell

Richie laughed and exited out of the app. He was about to go onto Twitter, to see if there was any drama regarding anything interesting, when his door flung open to reveal his redheaded best friend standing there with a pissed off expression. Richie raised an eyebrow. She should be on a date; he should be having the rest of the day to himself. He quickly sat up and rolled off of his bed and walked over to Beverly.

“Bev, what happened?” He asked. He could slowly feel himself getting pissed at whatever the situation was.

Beverly Marsh was like his sister and damned be any girl or guy who hurt her feelings. They met a year ago, outside of the a club after being kicked out for being underage. Ever since then, they’ve been inseparable. They got an apartment together not even three months after knowing each other; that’s how well they got along. Of course, though, they got into their little quarrels and fights but not once did they say they hated the other or that they wanted to move out. There was like an unspoken agreement to never say those words.

“Do I need to fight her? I will, just say the word!”

Beverly rolled her eyes yet there was a tiny smile on her lips that soon vanished as quick as it came. The scowl was back and Richie could faintly see tears building up in her eyes. “She didn’t fucking show,” she seethed out finally. “I mean, last time she had actually came and gave an explanation before leaving right after. But this time she fucking- I sat there for nearly two hours! It was humiliating, Rich.”

Richie sighed and extended his arms. “Do you need a hug?”

“No,” Bev shook her head. But she glanced up and slouched her shoulders at seeing the look on Richie’s face. “Fine,” she sighed. She was then instantly pulled into a bone crushing hug by the lead singer of The Records. She didn’t hesitate to hug back. “I’m going to go plan out my next make up video later. Can I do yours again sometime soon?”

“Sure can, Bev. Oh, and guess what I got tickets for today,” Richie told her. A smirk formed on his lips.

Beverly pulled away from the hug and looked up at him after wiping under her eyes. She had blinked back most of the tears but still some leaked out.

“Dude, no way?” She asked, excited about it all even though Richie didn’t actually say the words. They have both been talking about it for days now, not knowing if they could actually get tickets.

“Yes way! Get your costume ready, Miss Marsh, because we’re going to comic con!”

#give this some love and attention if like this bc I'm low key anxious about this #the losers club #modern au #*growing fame #it #it 2017 #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #bill denbrough #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #beverly marsh #stan uris #beverie #stenbrough #reddie #stike #bichie #streddie #steddie #stozier #pls don't hate me for adding all the ships bc idk which ships will be in this so i'm being prepared #my writing #fic

[drrubberfunk]

Earlier in the year I was asked to contribute to the excellent ‘Dusk Dubs’ mixtape series, and jumped at the chance. They have a nice format of asking guests to provide music that has a special place in their memories and in their souls - ‘...music that moves them, that invokes images of sunrises, sunsets, good times and good people’. 

I thought it’d be a nice way to compliment the other ‘My Life At 45′ themed mixes that I’ve done this year, with a selection of music you’d be likely to hear playing at my house over the last 30+ years, with tracks featured in full, mixed end to end, and a little story to go with each track. 

Here’s the full tracklisting, and photos of some of my well-loved vinyl that the tracks were recorded from - hope you enjoy this laid-back late summer stroll through my record collection, and My Life At 45!

1) Peddlers - ‘Whole Lot Of Sunlight’, from the 1970 Philips LP ‘Three For All’.

I picked this up in Avid Records in Oxford in the late nineties, I got a lot of good stuff from them around that time, picking up cheap classic soul, blues and jazz LPs, bargain priced late ‘80s / early ‘90s 12” singles that I’d missed the first time round and just taking a punt on interesting looking sleeves, or bands I’d heard about in sampling cirlces. ‘Suite London’ was the hot crate digger’s favourite from The Peddlers, but the production on ‘Three For All’ is right up my street, with wonderful hammond playing and a killer drum sound. It’s a great album from start to finish. I’ve used tracks on a few mixtapes in the past 20 years, but not this particular one, and with an apt title, it seemed like ‘Whole Lot Of Sunlight' was a nice way to kick off my late summer Dusk Dubs selection!

2) Joe McDuphrey Experience - ‘Solar Waves’, from the 2002 Stones Throw 12” ‘Experience EP’.

Madlib made a big impression on me when I first started producing with a sampler and a second hand Hohner Pianet. I really enjoyed this era when he was mixing live instrumentation with the straight up MPC sample business. ‘Solar Waves’ has it all - lolloping drums, wonky synths and tasty electric piano - a super laid-back groove, and is one I rediscovered in my collection recently. Plus, I’m a sucker for coming up with a bunch of aliases to cover all the roles you might play on a record - Madlib is the undisputed champ at that.

3) Paul Weller - ‘That Spiritual Feeling’ (New Mix) from the 1993 Go! Discs promo 12” GOXDJ 102.

My first proper music industry job in the mid nineties was as a radio plugger, and we shared an office building with Go!Discs - home at the time to Portishead, David Holmes, The Beautiful South and Paul Weller, amongst others. There was a little shared kitchen area with a photocopier, and I was busily copying press releases one afternoon on about my 3rd day in the job, when I heard someone making a drink behind me. Turning round I was confronted by Mr Paul Weller himself, impeccably dressed (with an AMAZING tan) stirring his cup of tea. ‘Hello’ he said, ‘I’m Paul - nice to meet you’.

I managed not to swoon or drop my photocopying and introduced myself as the new boy. I worked on radio promo with him across various album projects for the next 4 years, culminating with a week on a tour bus with Paul and his crew doing sessions at radio stations across the country. Story for another time maybe … Anyway - also in that little kitchen area at Go! Discs was their stock cupboard, which I rinsed for releases I’d missed in the years prior to my starting work there. ‘That Spiritual Feeling’ was originally on his first solo release ‘Into Tomorrow’ in 1991, but got remixed and added to this promo, as well as appearing on the ‘Sunflower’ 12” (taken from ‘Wildwood’) It’s got the instantly recognisable JBs on it, with a classic horn arrangement backing up a kinda hypnotic 2 chord groove that just rolls and rolls. I can listen to it for hours.

4). Rhianna - ‘Word Love’ (4 Hero Soul Mix) from the 2002 Sony Soho Square promo 7” XPR 3600.

4 Hero were killing it in the early ‘00s as their productions evolved from the breakbeat mastery of the ‘90s into the wonderfully orchestrated arrangements that saw them covering ‘Les Fleur’, and bringing their deft touch to an increasing number of quality remixes. I don’t think this version of British soul star Rhianna’s ‘Word Love’ - which I loved in it’s original form - ever made it to a commercial release, but it’s something I’ve played out a lot over the years, and it always gets great comments and a bunch of info requests from the crowd.

5) GangStarr - ‘Jazz Thing’ (Instrumental Mix) from the 1990 CBS promo 12” XPR 1571.

I saw Mo Better Blues at the cinema in Australia in November 1990 and bought the soundtrack on cassette the next day. Brandford Marsalis and Terence Blanchard have a superb dialogue across all the tracks, especially on the Canonball Adderley-esque title track. However, Gang Starr’s ‘Jazz Thing’ blew my tiny teenage mind, and I became a bit obsessed with it over the next few years, the samples, the cuts, the live loops - especially after my new college mate Pete made me a tape a year or so later with two extra versions from the 12”, including this, the Instrumental Mix. I finally tracked down my own copy of this import promo in the Soul & Dance Exchange in Notting Hill in the late nineties, and it’s lived in my record bag pretty much ever since.

6) John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers with Peter Green - ‘Greeny’, from the 1969 Decca LP ‘The World Of Blues Power’.

Everyone my sort of age with some records is bound to have one or two liberated from their parent’s collection, and this was an album I discovered in my folks collection in about 1987, not long after buying a drum kit. I’d been rinsing their Beatles albums since I was a kid - singing along to ‘Drive My Car’ and ‘Octopus’s Garden’, but the World Of Blues Power seem a bit of alien concept until I gave it a good listen as a teen. There’s some classic pyrotechnic stuff from rising Brit Blues stars like Eric Clapton and Paul Butterfield, alongside US veterans like Champion Jack Dupree and Eddie Boyd, who’d moved to Europe in the ‘60s.

Always understated, Peter Green’s playing on ‘Greeny’ is perfect; simple and catchy as hell, but with complete mastery of his instrument.

7) Stanley Clarke - ‘Blues For Mingus’, from the 1979 Nemperor LP ‘I Wanna Play For You’.

This was another ’90s bargain from Avid Records in Oxford, but I first heard it when babysitting in the late ‘80s. The couple who’s kids I was deemed suitably responsible enough to be left in charge of were very happy for me to listen to their small but perfectly formed record collection, and many happy evenings were spent with a pile of C90s taping all sorts of classic jazz and blues. Took me the best part of the next 20 years to find my own vinyl copies of them all mind you. The uptempo jazz rock that Stanley Clarke was known for in the ‘70s is featured throughout the part-live ‘I Wanna Play For You’ album, but this downtempo small group number perfectly encapsulated my idea of what a jazz club gig should sound like; dark, smoky and soulful.

8) Al Green - ‘Lay It Down’, from the 2008 Blue Note LP ‘Lay It Down’.

Is it controversial to call this my favourite Al Green album? I mean, you can’t deny the classic ‘60s and ‘70s hits, but for me, this Questlove produced LP is right up there in terms of songwriting and production. I could have happily featured any of the album tracks here, but went with the title track for the silky strings and restrained playing from Questlove. Something as a drumming producer myself I’m less good at ;)

9) Matt Deighton - ‘Hey, My Mind’, from the 1995 Focus LP ‘Villager’.

This whole album is stuffed full of timeless sounding songs, it's one I’ve listened to alot over the years and comes complete with alot of happy memories.

Just before I got the plugging job, I’d been working in promotions for (the original) Virgin Radio in London, driving a branded vehicle around town all day. Seems mad and pointless in 2020, but it was fun in 1995, I was young, it seemed to be sunny all the time, I had a free 4WD and it paid quite well. I used the station’s copy of ‘The White Book’ - an entertainment industry directory that cost a small fortune back then - to look up the addresses of my favourite record labels, and spent most days knocking on their doors in an attempt to blag some free records. One of these labels was Acid Jazz, and, having announced which station I worked for, I was rushed in to meet their head of marketing and plied with records and CDs, before someone eventually asked ‘so, what is it you actually do at Virgin again?’. I bluffed my way through the next 10 minutes and agreed to have a chat to the producer of the evening show about getting a session for Matt Deighton. Matt was the singer and guitarist with Mother Earth, of whom I was a big fan, and was currently promoting a new solo album ‘Villager’ - Mother Earth had been a guest on the Virgin show before, and so the producer said yes to a session. I’m sure she would have booked him anyway, but she graciously let me set it up with Acid Jazz, gaining me some vital industry kudos and connections in the process.

10) Money Mark - ‘All The People’, from the 1998 Mo Wax / A&M LP ‘Push The Button’.

Mo Wax were one of my favourite ‘90s labels, having been introduced to them by a college friend sometime in ’93, and I think I tried unsuccessfully blagging my way onto their mailing list in my Virgin days, but later on, after the A&M deal, I had better luck getting occasional freebies. ‘Mark’s Keyboard Repair’ was the record that the genre lo-fi was invented for, with the mix of bit-crushed samples and live vintage keys, but ‘Push The Button’ is a brilliantly rounded record, with some great pop songs. Session legend Jim Keltner is playing drums on this track, which I’d forgotten about until I was reading the sleevenotes while recording this mix - his playing with the likes of Delaney & Bonnie, BB King, Leon Russell, Bill Withers, Eric Clapton and all of the Beatles on their various solo projects has been a big influence on my drumming style over the years. Records I’ve never heard of but have bought just because Jim Keltner is on drums is an extensive section of my collection.

11) Bedouine - ‘Summer Cold’, from the 2017 Spacebomb Records LP ‘Bedouine’.

Spacebomb are one of my favourite contemporary labels, with a studio sound and ethos that I aspire to greatly as I enter my third decade as a producer, and I’ve been picking up their releases since hearing label owner, and talented artist, Matthew E. White interviewed on 6 Music back in 2015. LA Based Syrian born Bedouine put out one of my most listened to albums of 2017 (and since!), and I would have featured any of the tracks in this mix, but something about the found sounds at the end of ‘Summer Cold’ seemed to work very nicely with the start of the following song from Emily King. Bedouine’s vocal and guitar sound is wonderfully distintive, and beautifully enhanced by the sympathetic Spacebomb Horn and String arrangements - get yourself the LP!

12) Emily King - ‘Distance’, from the 2015 Making Music Records LP ‘The Switch’.

I didn’t listen to many new records while I was producing Izo FitzRoy’s debut (track coming next!) - I think I thought I’d find it distracting, I suspect that wouldn’t have been the case, but once Izo’s record was in the can, I gorged on releases I’d missed and found things that have become all time favourites. Most of them seem to be by women with a very different sound to Izo, but equally captivating writing and energy. Emily King is one of those artists, along with Bedouine, Jane Weaver and Aldous Harding amongst others. ‘Distance’ is such a great song, and I love Emily’s voice and guitar playing, plus the production and feel too - ticks all the boxes for me.

13) Izo FitzRoy - ‘Heads Held High’, from the 2017 Jalepeno Records LP ‘Skyline’.

This was one of my favourites from Izo’s debut that I produced and played on a few years ago. A great lyric and performance from Izo over a groove that we worked hard to sound like a mix of samples and live instruments, but was in fact all recorded and produced in my studio at home. Initially Izo and I were writing on some tracks that I’d already recorded with a view to them going on a Dr Rubberfunk album, but it was pretty clear after we’d written a few things together that she had so many great songs that the project needed to be an album for her. Even at a few years distance, I’m still really pleased with how the record turned out, with a ’studio sound’ I can call my own, and one that I’ve been able to carry over to my recent ‘My Life At 45’ LP - on which Izo turns in another couple of killer performances!

14) Urban Species - ‘Blanket’ featuring Imogen Heap, from the 1998 Talkin’ Loud LP ‘Blanket’.

Along with Acid Jazz and Mo Wax, Talkin’ Loud were another label I was madly collecting everything they released throughout the ‘90s and beyond. Having DJ’d in support of Urban Species at my college in 1994, I was already a fan, and their second album ‘Blanket’ is one of my all-time favourites by any artist. It features two great collaborations with Terry Callier, and two with Imogen Heap, including the title track featured here. Great writing and production, I was very influenced by this record as I started working with vocalists. Always love the guitar solo over the fade out too - if it exists, I’d love to get my hands on the full version without the fade!

15) Routes In Jazz - ‘Out In The Jungle’, from the 1992 Concious Records 12” CON 999.

Another sure shot from my days as a nascent DJ at Froebel College in West London in the early ‘90s. I was fortunate to have the support and encouragement of a couple of older students as I joined the Student Union and started organising events, and one of them - Lee - actually let me borrow his records a few times to play out with. Cheers Lee! This was one he used to play in warm up and bar sets, and I loved the double bass loop and ear worm horn sample (I never have worked out what it’s from), so had to get a copy. In some ways it’s a very 1992 record, but has stood the test of time in terms of production as far as I’m concerned.

16) DJ Krush - ‘Yeah’, from the 1994 Mo Wax LP ‘Strictly Turntablized’.

Early Mo Wax classic, from before all this sort of thing was considered ‘trip hop’, it was just killer instrumental hip hop as far as I was concerned, and DJ Krush, along with DJ Shadow, was right up there, leading the way. Another big influence on me when I eventually got a sampler - tough drums: check, swinging bass sample: check, jazzy horn and vocal samples: check. Love it.

17) Freak Power - ‘My Heart Sings’, from the 1994 ‘In Dub - The Fried Funk Food EP’, bonus album with some vinyl editions of the ‘Drive Thru Booty’ LP

They say never meet your heroes, but having meet and worked with both Norman Cook and Ashley Slater, the creators of the Freak Power project, I’d have to disagree. Naturally, if you’ve read through the tracklisting this far, you’ll have worked out there’s another showbiz story to go with this selection, and there is, but I’m saving it for another time, ‘cos it’s LONNNGGGG. Suffice it to say, ‘Turn On Tune In, Cop Out’ was a massive tune in ’93, and when the album dropped the following year I was straight down the record shop on release day. I wasn’t expecting a bonus ‘Dub EP’, much less one with almost unrecognisable remixes of the album tracks, but I was very happy to have it included. Some of the best downtempo beats Norman has made I think, and the drum programming on the second half of this track had me scratching my head in my pre-sampler owning days and wondering how the heck it was done. Fabulous sample choices, and nice and long too - handy for those DJ set comfort breaks.

18) John Martyn - ‘Sunshine’s Better’ (Talvin Singh Mix), from the 1996 Go! Discs promo 12” SSB1.

Talking of long tracks, here’s 10 minutes plus of John Martyn and the balearic classic ‘Sunshine’s Better’ reworked beautifully by Talvin Singh. John was another of the artists on Go! Discs when I was plugging for them, and I think it’s widely accepted he was a challenging character at that stage of his career. Still an amazing songwriter and performer though, and sounding as good as ever on the album ‘And’ from which ‘Sunshine’s Better’ is taken. Phil Collins on drums too.

19) Incognito - ‘Out Of The Storm’ (C’s Planet E Mix), from the 1996 Talkin’ Loud promo 12” TLDJ54.

If you were putting together a downtempo set in ’96, and you had ‘Sunshine’s Better’, you needed this Carl Craig mix of ‘Out Of The Storm’ for sure. Hip hop drum loops, swirling synth pads, a wobbly flute sample and some perfectly placed little bass guitar fills and turnarounds made this perfect in so many ways. I was VERY excited to get a promo copy, and definitely felt I had ‘arrived’ as a DJ when this came through the letterbox one morning. old DJ voice “Those were the days.” LOL.

20) Freddie King - ‘Gambling Woman Blues’, from the 1977 RSO LP ‘Freddie King (1934-1976)’.

In case you were worried I’d skipped over my love of the blues with just one track, here’s a less well known number from Freddie King, recorded during sessions with Eric Clapton and his band in the early ’70s, just a few years before King’s untimely death in 1976. I’ve got plenty of albums by the ‘Three Kings’ (Albert, B.B and Freddie) and they all had some very funky moments in the late sixties and early seventies. This posthumous compilation album was also in the collection of the family I used to babysit for, another tape that had pretty much worn out before I could track down my own vinyl copy, which, as you can hear, has been well played too. Again, a track that seems to fade just as it’s getting going, but fear not - there’s a 20+ minute version on some of the popular streaming services.

21) Donny Hathaway - ‘What’s Going On?’ from the 2014 ATCO Records LP ‘Live At The Bitter End 1971’.

I heard Gilles Peterson play tracks from this album on his 6 Music Show on Record Store Day in 2014. RSD often falls on my birthday weekend, so I thought I’d treat myself to this re-issue (with previously unissued tracks) of Donny Hathaway’s 1971 shows at the Bitter End on Bleecker Street in New York City. Although there aren’t many artists that can make a convincing go of covering Marvin Gaye, Donny is definitely one of them, and ‘What’s Going On?’ sounds just as relevant today as it ever did. I felt it was an appropriate choice, given the state of the world today, my love of black music and the fact that my whole music career is based on it. Once more, for the people at the back, BLACK LIVES MATTER.

22) Wes Montgomery - ‘Sun Down’, from the 1966 Verve Records LP ‘California Dreaming’.

3 quid from, you’ve guessed it, Avid Records. Bargain. I listened to an absolute ton of blues guitarists in my late teens, but it was a few years later that I started going sideways into jazz guitar, falling in love with the soul jazz / acid jazz sound of Grant Green and Ivan ‘Boogaloo Joe’ Jones, before finding the earlier generation - the likes of Barney Kessel, Kenny Burrell, Joe Pass and Wes Montgomery. Tricky to pick between them to be honest, but it seemed this upbeat and optimistic big band number from the 1966 ‘California Dreaming’ album by Wes Montogomery, a mixture of contemporary pop covers and jazz standards, with Herbie Hancock on piano, and engineered by Rudy Van Gelder - two more heroes of mine - was a good way to close out my Dusk Dubs choices.

#lp #7 #dusk dubs #dr rubberfunk mix #my life at 45 #vinyl collection #record collection #mixtape #vinyl mix #soul #jazz #blues #funk #singer songwriter #wes montgomery #donny hathaway #freddie king #eric clapton #incognito #carl craig #talkin loud #acid jazz #mo wax #john martyn #freak power #dj krush #routes in jazz #urban species #izo fitzroy #emily king

[90sgrungewriter]

2. Untitled - Eddie Vedder

Status: Unedited

When we got back inside people hadn't noticed you two left. Well, almost everyone. Stone was always nosy fucker.

"Hey, where'd you two go? You missed the ending of the show you dumb ass." Stone practically yelled, running up beside you. You shoved his shoulder. "Go fuck yourself, Gossard. We just went for a smoke." 

You stole a quick glance at Eddie to see him looking straight toward the now empty stage. You cursed under your breath, you had missed the end of the show. Soundgarden was set to go up next, then it would be Mookie. The rest of you continue to make loud chit chat until the Mudhoney boys come and join. You were about 3 beers in now and you figured you should stop soon, as the effects of the weed and the alcohol mixing were definitely starting to hit you. The last thing you wanted to do was make an idiot out of yourself in front of these other idiots. Logic?

Oh they saw you today as you were leaving, Now they want to hunt you down.

Chris' voice filled the room as they played the show like it was there last. You had always been convinced Chris had the most beautiful voice you had ever heard. But now that Eddie was here, you weren't so sure where your opinion stood.

The first 3 songs were wicked and your eyes were glued to the stage, singing the lyrics out loud. You loved their songs. You always told yourself if you could ever write a fucking song, Chris would be the first you’d play it for. He was so real and honest no matter what, and it was one of your favorite things about him.

"Thank you for having us. We are Soundgarden, and we hope you leave this place tonight feeling something. Something good."

They blasted through their set list and it was a fucking rad time. These boys never cease to amaze me. The music they make, the noise was so good. You were always proud to be somewhat a part of that, and you knew big things would surely come to them one day. You were positive.

Before you knew it, the Mookie guys were getting up to go do their thing. 

"Good luck my boys! Kill it! Though I don't know if it could get any better than that." You joked as Chris was coming around the corner. You knew he heard you as he looked at you, a small smile played at his lips. 

You turned to Jeff, and placed the hat back on top of his head. He winked and gave you a thumbs up before he ran toward the stage. 

"I don't know if it could get better than that, ha ha ha." Stone said in a high pitch, snooty voice trying to imitate you. You flipped him off once again. You bid luck to Mike and Dave but as you looked around to speak to Eddie, he was nowhere to be seen. 

You merely shrugged it off, you were sure he’d do great regardless.

All the boys were up on the stage, setting up. You were making idle talk with the Soundgarden guys, congratulating them on their show. Chris was to your right, his arm casually draped over your shoulder, and the seat to your left remain empty.

"Hi, thank you for sticking around for our show." A soft voice spoke through the mic, none other than Eddie. You smiled to yourself. He looked a bit sweaty, it was probably his nerves. You felt a bit bad, but you didn't know why. I mean he obviously isn't doing this against his will, he could go home to California anytime he wanted to. But he didn't. Not yet anyway. You hoped he wouldn't. He seemed like someone you wanted to stick around, and you knew the boys really liked him. 

"One two three four - what the fuck is this world-" Eddie kicked it off with a great start. I hadn't heard any of these songs yet, and I was thoroughly impressed. Had Eddie written these by himself? You wondered if they would play the song from the demo. You had never heard it before so you guessed it was something he had written. You decided to go grab another beer, as the effects of the last three were wearing off a bit. 

After the first two songs, Jeff spoke loudly into the mic, the sweat all over his body making him look really shiny. It was kind of funny.

"Thank you, this means a lot to us. This is only our second show, and we would like to welcome our new singer Eddie here to Seattle. I know its been a few weeks, but nonetheless, we're still trying not to scare him off." He joked. The crowd cheered and really gave Eddie a warm welcome. 

Thats why they were your friends. Deep down, they were the sweetest humans you would probably ever meet. 

"We would also like to dedicate this show to an awesome friend of ours. She has been with us since the good Mother Love Bone days and this is her first Mookie show, cause she ditched the last one." Stone spoke that last part quietly, but still directly into the mic, a small grin playing at his lips.

 You shook your head, laughing gravely. You knew he was talking about you, and you really didn't like being the center of attention. You would kick Stone's ass later for this. 

"Dani, thank you for not ditching again. This show is for you." They all raised their beers toward me and I couldn't stop laughing. Even Eddie gave a light smile, though his eyes stayed glued to the stage floor most of the time. But that was okay, you understood. It made him look a bit mysterious, it was kind of sexy actually.

What the fuck. You were losing your goddamn marbles. 

You raise your beer in one hand, and the other was flipping Stone off. He surely noticed as he almost spit out his beer to laugh. As they got on with the show, you looked around to notice no one was really looking at you anymore, thank god. 

Chris' arm was still wrapped around your shoulder, his deep voice filling your ears.

"So what do you think of Eddie?" Curiosity peaked his tone.

You smiled. "I think he's cute. Quiet, shy type. Maybe that’s what Stone needs to simmer him the fuck down." You joked, sipping your beer. "The man has got a voice of gold." You praised, your attention returning to Eddie on stage.  

There was something about him that made him stand out to you. He fit in so well over here, but he didn't at the same time. You could tell he was different, and you were wondering if anyone else had cared enough to notice. Your mind wandered for a second.

"I agree. I mean not about the cute thing-" He gave you a look as you started laughing two words in is fucking sentence. He shook your shoulder jokingly. "Fuck off, you didn't let me finish!" He laughed. "He's got a fucking voice man. A great one, and not one that’s trying to be something else, he's just doing him. I like it." He spoke on a more serious tone.

"I know what you mean. I feel pretty bad about missing the first show. Don't tell Stone, he'll think I actually give a fuck." you laughed, looking over at Chris. He laughed loudly.

Suddenly, Kim Thayil was at your other side.

"We talking bout Ed?" He asked, intrigued. You both nodded.

"Yeah, he was pretty bummed out too. He wouldn't stop talking about you to Eddie. Him and Ames. They were pretty pumped to introduce you." Chris spoke, returning the subject.

"I think he likes you." Kim chimed in. This time, you nearly spit out your beer. 

"You're fucking ridiculous." You stated, eyes darting over to Kim.

"Actually, I have to agree." Chris spoke, shocking you.

"You guys are a couple of fucking bimbos. If Stone Gossard liked me, I'm pretty sure I would know by now. I've known the fucker since we were in goddamn diapers." You were getting a bit aggravated at this point, not knowing where the hell they were getting this from. 

They seemed to share a look, while Kim raised both his arms in defending himself.

"Hey, just my opinion." He spoke. You stayed silent, a confused look was plastered on your face.

"I think you'd look better with Eddie anyway." Chris said after a few seconds of silence. Your eyes grew big, and you face palmed yourself.

"I think the last thing that dude needs right now is a fucking girlfriend. He just moved to a city knowing no one but you clowns. He's got a lot on his plate. For all you two know he could have one back home." You defended him.

By this time, they were nearly finished the show and you had yet to hear the song on the demo. You felt a twinge of dissapointment. 

As they wrapped up a song called Garden, Eddie's gaze met mine. You gave him smile and a thumbs up. Then it happened.

He cracked the most beautiful smile in all fucking hell, teeth showing, cheekbones rising. This was it. Him coming out of his shell a little bit and you were happy for him. You knew it would get easier as time went by. Not to mention the crowd being very pleased by their performance.

"We've got two songs left for tonight." The crowd boo'd a little.

"Hey fuck you man!" Mike shouted in the mic and you all laughed. 

Then, music started playing again. You didn't recognize the song, but you definetly were interested. Then, Eddie started to sing...

Sheets of empty canvas, 

untouched sheets of clay..

You were moving your head along to the music. 

By the end of that song you knew it would be one of your favorites. The lyrics were beautiful, and sad. You wondered who he wrote it about. You really wondered if he had a girlfriend back home, but couldn't figure out why she wouldn’t  here with him. Just look at him. He's gorgeous, he's got to have one. You shook your head, trying to rid these thoughts from your mind.

You started to think about some of your past relationships and cringed. They were all pretty shitty. Which is why you were single, really. Your last boyfriend was a mental case. You couldn't do anything. Couldn't even go to school without him thinking you were cheating. And did that ever put a strain on you friendship with the boys. It was a dark time. You were together for nearly 2 years, you stayed because you thought you loved him. Looking back on it now, you surely didn't. Just loved the thought of being in love. 

Then Andy died. 

You flew into a spiralling, never ending pit of depression and you couldn't take it anymore. You had almost considered taking the needle yourself, but couldn't do that to the boys. You couldn’t let them lose another friend.

You needed to flee yourself from that toxic relationsip. And you did. Now, almost a year later and he still tries to get in contact with you once in a while. It was fucking annoying. 

Something suddenly pulled you from your thoughts. The lyrics..

It was the song from the tape. Your mind quickly quieted down as you watched the band play a wicked last song. The song that you were waiting to hear.

Son she said, 

have I got a little story for you...

You jammed the fuck out to that song man and you were sad to hear it end. They thanked the crowd and walked off stage. You finished the rest of your beer and slammed it down on the table, scaring the shit out of both Chris and Kim. You laughed.

"They were fucking awesome. I should go grab there autograph and get some pictures!" Chris clapped his hands together in sarcastic humour. You grinned. 

"Yeah you could be their new groupie." I joked. Kim let out a howl of laughter.

"Fuck you."

"No, your job would be fuck THEM." You pointed toward the sweaty group of guys headed your way.

Chris said nothing, but simply smacked his head against the table. You patted his back and laughed loudly.

"When did you get funnier than me." Was all you could make out of that sentence, as his face was still laying on the table.

What a guy.

"Well, what did you think?" The whole band was looking at you waiting for an answer, but Eddie was nowhere to be seen. You shrugged it off, figuring he just went to grab a beer or take a leak or something.

"It was fucking awesome! Im so proud of you guys, for real. You've come a long way and I can't wait to see where this is going to take you." You smiled wide. 

"Thanks Dani, knew we could count on your unconditional love for us!" Stone spoke in mock gratitude, hand on his heart. You shoved him lightly and laughed.

"I'm gonna head on out you guys. I've got to work in the morning." The clock read 11:38 and you had to work at 10:00 AM.

There were all hums of disappointment, but you had to go. You bid everyone a farewell, and made your way toward the door. You still had no idea where Eddie went, but that was fine. You would see him around some other time.

Sighing contentedly, you start your walk, breathing in the fresh, cold nighttime air. You cursed to yourself, you hadn't brought a jacket with you. Didn’t even cross your mind to bring one actually, and you suffered for it. At least your overalls were on the thicker side, though your arms still froze.

"Danica!”

You spun around to see Eddie running up the sidewalk to catch up with you. You frowned. Maybe he wanted to wish you a good night or something? You started to walk toward him now, meeting him halfway. 

"Hey Ed, you played an awesome show! I wanted to tell you that but you seemed to have disappeared." He smiled small, his head lowering.

"Thank you." He spoke quietly. It was silent for a few moments, so you decided to speak up. 

"I was heading home. Work life in the morning." It was cold as fuck.

"Uh- here." Eddie quickly took off his thick flannel and placed it around your shoulders, almost reading your mind. You were a bit surprised, but flattered by the gesture nonetheless, as you let the warmth and his sent take over.

"Thanks man." You squeezed the flannel tighter. "Jeff was rushing me when he came to pick me up so I obviously had to forget my jacket." you rambled. He nodded.

"Stone asked me to walk you home." He stated quickly. You raised a brow. It wasn't unlike Stone to look out for you, but he never usually asked people to do things like that, he just did them himself. You didn't question it though, just nodded.

"Okay, I'll lead the way then." You spoke, a smile playing at your lips. 

And with that, you both made your way toward your apartment.

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