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dreamsister81 · 4 years

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In Memoriam: Jeff Buckley By Dennis

It was one of those nights that makes a difference in your life, when you don't give a damn anymore what the rest of the world thinks, as long as they're thinking it about you, and not just the image you project out of fear, or a desire to be liked.

Our subway stop brought us directly beneath the church, St. Ann's of the Holy Trinity. It was hot. I was sweating, and my head pounded, reminding me how much I loved and missed my air conditioner. When we turned the corner, toward the front doors of the church, we were met with a beautiful spring-like breeze, and a small camp of mourners. It looked the way old churches in even older cities are supposed to look; black and imposing against a bright summer sky, making you feel like you owe somebody, somewhere, something . . . maybe praise. Who knows?

We waited and talked amongst ourselves, sharing cookies and memories. We spotted the black shoes, black pants, black belt, shirt, sunglasses, hair and goatee running across the street, toward the church's side entrance, and immediately knew Nathan Larson, of Shudder to Think. He looked less happy than the building crowd, and obviously had greater reason. He was a friend.

When the doors opened, we worked our way into the line of "Jeff Buckley: Eternal Life Mailing List" members, who were unfairly ushered in before those who'd waited longer, but lacked a modem. But we'd waited, and we've loved long enough to mourn, and two among our group of four were list members. So we entered. A disco ball hung from the arched ceiling, and a movie screen showed a still of Jeff beside a mirror. Kazoo's, guitar picks, and programs were handed out at the door. We later learned the guitar picks were the remnants of a cancelled order for the next tour, and the kazoo's . . . well, read on.

We found our seats and upon them fans, like the kind a geisha would use, or perhaps parishioners longing for air conditioning. We waited with the plaintive cries of Reverend Al Green on the sound system to console us. On the stage, sat the urn holding Jeff's ashes, beside his signature Fender Telecaster.

Fr. Lewis Marshall spoke of Jeff, of his love for the church, and the church's love for him. He spoke words of consolation, but he never tried to explain Jeff's death away. He said no belief system he knows of "could make sense of such a senseless" event. He asked that we make the world a better place through the energy and love and creativity that is, not was Jeff Buckley.

"Not all of me is dust, Within my song,

safe from the worm, my spirit will survive."

-Aleksander Pushkin

Jeff's aunt, Peggy Hagberg, was the first of many to tell us about Scotty, and that she'd only ever called him Jeff once. She read a poem she'd written for his 30th birthday, recalling the intrusion he was when born, "that baby my sister was having." But he soon became plaything, then playmate, then friend. She lamented the loss of her special child to the dual person he'd become in manhood and fame. She read from her paper the words "My Scotty . . ." and nodding toward the still on the movie screen, she weeped "that Jeff" and quietly walked away.

His brother Corey Moorehead, and sister Ann-Marie Huck, the children of the stepfather who raised him (Ron Moorehead,) approached the microphone next. Ann-Marie told us about Jeff's life growing up, about his meeting with Tim when he was 8 or 9, about how he never put his guitar down after that meeting. She told us about Tim's overdose, and how it affected "Scotty", and about the time they went to see "Rose", and how upset "Scotty" was when she overdosed . . . they had to leave the theater. She said "Scotty" always held a dark portion of himself away, a part she could never touch. She cried as she spoke to him, saying she hoped he'd finally found peace in his father's arms.

Corey read a poem Jeff had written sometime in the last five years. I believe it was called "Momma dogga". It was a beautifully written, funny poem from a child's perspective, on the love of a dog and a boy, and it lightened the mood. The poem urged us all to learn to live dog-a way. To hear it, you'd really understand.

Michael Tighe and Parker Kindred (guitar and drums from Jeff's band) walked on stage with Nathan Larson (guitar/vocals, of Shudder to Think, Mind Science of the Mind) and Joan Wasser (violin, of the Dambuilders, and Mind Science of the Mind.) They played a beautiful instrumental piece, with breathtaking violin from Jeff's former lover, and deeply emotional playing from his friends. They walked off as silently as they'd walked on.

Michael Tighe was scheduled to speak next, but the church's creative director took his place and told us how much Jeff loved everyone and wanted us all to love him. She spoke of the way he made us all feel we were special because we all had a place in his heart. She read a poem from Lou Reed, as a way to tell us Jeff was our mirror, to remind us how beautiful we really are, when we forget.

There was a presentation from Columbia Records, showing interview segments, and video clips, revealing live footage, and tales of the recording of Grace.

Rebecca Moore, a longtime friend and lover sat at the piano, and admitted she was shaken by the video presentation. She related the tale of Jeff and her cat, how Jeff made it his mission to make this cat love him. She came home one night to find Jeff with his hands around the cat's neck screaming "Love me!" She said that was the way Jeff wanted the world. She performed, and sang a terribly emotional song, and walked off as quietly as all the others.

Jeff's mother followed, and let his cousin, Kelly Hagberg, speak first. She told us about Jeff's sense of humor, and his undying need to create music. He would imitate every character in Saturday Night Fever, do Steve Martin's "Wild and crazy guy" better than Steve Martin, play Nintendo with her little brother, or a song on a Fisher Price guitar. Jeff believed we should make music every chance we got, so we played "You Are My Sunshine" on the kazoo's we were handed at the door. Once for practice, once quietly, and once to blow the roof off.

His mother, Mary Guibert, was amazing; composed and eloquent. She was a natural speaker who drew from us both the sadness and jubilation we'd felt throughout the night. She helped us see the reality in his death that none of us could imagine merely as fans, but she comforted us as well. She loves her son, and she loves us because we do too. Mary told us about the program, that the note from Jeff was one she'd found years ago, that she kept on her bulletin board for inspiration. And she told us about the keys, and the guitar pick strewn about the note. They were the items found in his pockets when his body surfaced, on June 4th.

She urged us to make a Golden Promise.

"A Golden Promise is one that must never be broken. It is made in one's heart to another heart that's just departed this life."

She asked us to "commit 'random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty' ... demonstrate the courage to follow your bliss . . . maybe, just maybe, together we'll be able to repair the damage done to this lowly little world by the untimely passing of this gentle minstrel."

We were shown a full concert from the Metro in Chicago, from 1995; nearly 2 hours long. There were pictures on a wall in the backroom, and a poem by Jeff. Michael Tighe, Parker Kindred, Mary Guibert, and Jeff's siblings mingled in the room, graciously taking time with well-meaning fans.

We left that night, feeling like we had a higher purpose, that things did matter. We left with songs in our hearts, and on our lips. We played our kazoo's on the streets of New York as Mary had asked us too.

Life will not go on as it always had. Life will go on as it always should have.

with love from the delphil

-dennis via mojopin.org

#jeff buckley #23 years ago #mylove #supremebeing #favorite #music #st. anns memorial service

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steampunker134 · 1 month

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The day I’m normal about this is the day I die

#lou kazoo #x men 97 #x men the animated series #magneto #rogue #erik lehnsherr #max eisenhardt #rogneto #rogueneto #not trying to start anything #I just do actually appreciate this ship and dynamic

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johnnymundano · 5 years

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Sleepwalkers (1992)

Directed by Mick Garris

Screenplay by Stephen King

Music by Nicholas Pike

Country: United States

Running time: 91 minutes

CAST

Brian Krause as Charles Brady

Alice Krige as Mary Brady

Mädchen Amick as Tanya Robertson

Sparks the cat as Clovis

Lyman Ward as Donald Robertson

Cindy Pickett as Helen Robertson

Ron Perlman as Captain Soames

Jim Haynie as Sheriff Ira Stevens

Dan Martin as Deputy Andy Simpson

Lucy Boryer as Jeanette

Glenn Shadix as Mr. Fallows

Stephen King as Cemetery Caretaker

John Landis as Lab Technician

Joe Dante as Lab Assistant

Clive Barker as Forensic Tech

Tobe Hooper as Forensic Tech

Mark Hamill as Sheriff Jenkins

I have no beef with Stephen King, let’s get that out upfront. I’m not one of those “Yeah, but it’s not proper books is it?” chancers who churlishly resent his Medal for Distinguished Contribution (lifetime) to American Letters. Nope, not me. But Sleepwalkers is a real honker. It’s stoopid, hyuk-hyuk, pick your nose in church, comic book bullshit. And purposely so. Crap like this doesn’t happen by accident. And King is totally responsible for this. There’s no “Wah! Someone took my script and made a shitshow of it” excuse here. Sleepwalkers is often called (as it is onscreen) Stephen King’s Sleepwalkers; the guy’s all over this one. It’s even an original script (maybe, I hear, based on an unpublished story; I didn’t check but I’m pretty sure the only things remaining unpublished by Stephen King in 2019 are his notes to the milkman. And they are due out next year from Subterranean Press, in a limited edition that costs more than a week’s shopping for a small family.) The script is his and so is the director; King personally pushed for Mick Garris, and King got Mick Garris. Even the songs on the soundtrack are pure Stephen King too; old timey R’n’R like at the sock hop where Cindy Lou showed you her woo-woo, mixed with that special kind of shitty heavy rock liked by confused men who think having hair like a girl in a shampoo advert is a signifier of raw masculinity. Other than composing and playing the instrumental score on a home-made kazoo personally, could Sleepwalkers be any more Stephen King? No.

For some unhappy reason whenever he gets any substantial control over a movie King’s IQ plummets to room temperature and all his worst impulses leap to the fore like randy cats. (I submit to the jury Maximum Overdrive (Dir: Stephen King, 1986), m’lud; the prosecution rests.) I think (maybe) King, bless his cotton socks, is trying to recreate the cinema of his youth; stuff like The Blob (1958), Them! (1954), Invaders From Mars (1953) and I Married A Monster From Outer Space (1958). The pulp fun cinema of a dead age. Unfortunately for King, those people back then were trying to make the best movie they could; the pop culture magic which ensured their success and longevity was purely unintentional and completely impervious to intelligent creation. King’s forays into movies seem to be trying to reverse engineer serendipity; a fools’ errand that results in foolish movies. Movies like Sleepwalkers.

The impulse to gravitate to camp seems ingrained in Cinematic King. Even when he just does one of his almost ubiquitous cameos, he often fails to resist the temptation to goof about like some brain damaged hayseed on a 1960s sit-com. If someone, Criterion maybe, went back and dubbed a pant-ripping fart over all Alfred Hitchcock’s onscreen cameos we’d be approaching the same ballpark of screen disruption as a Stephen King cameo. Of course he has a cameo in Sleepwalkers. A talking cameo at that as a “cemetery caretaker”, and King confounds expectations by playing it like some brain damaged hayseed on a 1960s sit-com. Even better, his unnecessary cameo bounces off unnecessary cameos by Tobe Hooper and Clive Barker; it’s like the business of the movie pauses for a couple of minutes purely so King can piss about with his mates. This is swiftly followed by cameos from John Landis and Joe Dante who, er, say some “lab” stuff I missed because Joe Dante’s hair is so…fascinating. I don’t mind cameos as long as they are unobtrusive but these might as well be announced by dancing girls and a marching band. At least all the characters aren’t called stuff like “Officer Hooper” or “Mayor Corman”; that shit gets old real quick.

As anyone who has ever cleaned out a litter box can tell you, another kind of shit that gets old quick is cat shit. There are a lot of cats in Sleepwalkers, the hero even turns out to be a cat, Clovis by name. In fact Sparks the cat, as Clovis, gives the third best performance in the movie, behind Mädchen Amick and Alice Krige. Mädchen Amick is undeniably great here. She’s totally pleasant and nicer than nice without making you want to choke on your own fist. There’s an exuberant scene of her dancing to a song Stephen King obviously likes, in the lobby of a cinema, which is a very lovely scene and she continues to be a refreshing presence throughout the movie. Alice Krige is also good value, striking a nice balance between vile and vulnerable; she acts like her no doubt soon-to-be-fired agent told her she’s in a serious movie. Everyone else seems to have received a script with “Camp It The Fuck Up, Daddio! Love, Steve-o” scrawled across it, probably in crayon. Were that the case, then everyone performs superlatively. The usually fine actor and generally welcome screen presence Ron Perlman, particularly, thunders through every scene he’s in like subtlety is a crime.

Maybe in the world of Sleepwalkers subtlety is a crime. Because the world of Sleepwalkers is a funny world, one where werecat son and werecat mom Charles and Mary Brady (Brian Krause and Alice Krige) wander about feeding off the psychic energy of virgins, enthusiastically incesting and driving fast muscle cars. For some reason they also feel it necessary for Charles to attend school which, you might think, would create a lot of complications for a nomadic couple who need to keep off the authorities’ radar. If you did think that, you would have put more thought into this set up than Stephen King. These werecat people can make themselves invisible; okay. They can also make their car invisible; um. And they can make their car change into another car; er, no; sometimes it will turn back into the old car if they don’t concentrate; so, wait, the car is real but also an illusion? But how can they drive an illusion? So it must be a real car, but…oh God, make it stop. And mom werecat has to stay at home while son werecat goes out and gets the virgin energy to feed to her. If the mom werecat can only be fed by her offspring, how did she survive long enough to have offspring? Or is it just that mom werecats are all agoraphobic? Also, the werecat people look like humans unless they are reflected in a mirror (but only when the script remembers) and they, uh, still leave mirrors up in their house so visitors can narrowly miss seeing their true nature. Oh, yeah, obviously, normal cats are the werecats’ natural enemy and in the world of Sleepwalkers police officers can have their cat in the car with them, which is lucky because the proximity of a normal cat also causes the werecat to reveal its true nature. Unfortunately, once revealed, their true nature of a werecat is remarkably similar to someone with jaundice who has lost an enormous amount of weight very rapidly, all topped by a big bald cat head. In summary: ancient Egyptians liked cats, cats are magic but werecats are nasty and really bad and not very good at keeping their existence a secret, but they do their homework and drive cars Stephen King would doubtless describe as “bitchin’”.

I should probably say that Mick Garris’ direction is fine, and sometimes very good indeed and I did enjoy his use of ‘80s horror movie lighting techniques. But I really want to point out that Mick Garris has written some very good horror fiction himself; well worth seeking out. As is Sleepwalkers; but you need to know what you are getting: entertaining nonsense, a kind of retro-crap honestly proffered in the spirit of drive-in goofballery. Essentially though, you can never shake off the feeling that Sleepwalkers exists purely because Stephen King came up with the scene where someone is killed by a corn on the cob and then built a ramshackle movie around that. Unfortunately it’s not a very good movie. But it is entertaining. M-O-O-N, that spells entertaining. Laws, yes!

#Sleepwalkers #Stephen King #Mick Garris #Movies #Horror #Alice Krige #Ron Perlman #Sparks the cat #Mädchen Amick #United States #The 1990s #1992

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sylviesparks · 8 months

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"Day or night, rain or shine, things are never boring in Kazoo!"

Introducing my lovely puppet characters!! They're the main stars of Kazoo and You, a horror/dark comedy project surrounding the mystery of the colorful puppet cast of Kazoo (With O'Malley and Lou), a late '70s/early 80's television program that's been firmly pushed into obscurity after its cancellation. Now nothing but alleged lost episodes, discarded merchandise, a long-abandoned and small theme park and a dusty, decrepit studio behind barbed wire and ivy, the puppets have been long cast away, and it seems that someone-or something- wants it to stay that way.

In left to right order, the cast is: O'Malley the Hare Lou the Dog Salty the Sea Cow Marsha the Bog Witch (She's younger than she looks...) Lottie the Lovebug Finnegan the Imp And lovely You of course!

I've been very focused on them recently (Thanks to my horror affinity and Don't Hug Me I'm Scared reminding me of them to begin with), so you'll see them and their story around more on this blog as work on it idly! I've been having a great time so far with them :3

#sylvie scribbles #this entire lineup took me like a Month to complete in full but it's a labor of love for my sillies #character design #original characters #puppets #puppet ocs #nostalgiacore #retrocore #cartoons #kazoo and you #O'Malley the Hare #Lou the Dog #Salty the Sea Cow #Marsha the Bog Witch #Lottie the Lovebug #Finnegan the Imp

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deannamb · 5 years

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Hey, I saw the art you submitted for the trumpeter zine, and I just wanted to say that it is amazing. I really love all of the little details like the kazoo and the Lou Ferrigno autograph. It's one of my favorite pieces in the whole book!

Thank you so much! I'm so happy that you appreciated my piece! I haven't received my copy of the Zine yet, and I was kinda worry that what I've drawn wasn't good enough. So it's heartwarming to hear this! Thank you very much!!

#deannamb replies #happy me

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sweetdreamsjeff · 5 years

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From the Memorial at St. Ann's

In Memoriam: Jeff Buckley

"Not all of me is dust, Within my song, safe from the worm, my spirit will survive. -Aleksander Pushkin

There was a presentation from Columbia Records, showing interview segments, and video clips, revealing live footage, and tales of the recording of Grace.

She urged us to make a Golden Promise.

"A Golden Promise is one that must never be broken. It is made in one's heart to another heart that's just departed this life."

Life will not go on as it always had. Life will go on as it always should have.

with love from the delphi -dennis

#Jeff Buckley #Peyote Internet Theatre #From the Memorial at St. Ann's

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musicaespansiva · 2 years

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Focus 2022: Part 2

One more chamber concert and then the concluding orchestral concert. The orchestral concert was probably the more interesting, but the theme of ‘yes, I’ve heard this before’ was mostly still present.

The one huge ‘never heard it live before’ moment was the Price Violin Concerto #1. She’s been the (re-) discovery of the past few years, and the music certainly has quality -- it’s clear that she wasn’t an innovator, but she’s a solid second-tier composer who could craft very good music. (Think she’s a Samuel Barber, minus the Adagio, or a Peter Mennin.) It’s tuneful, well-crafted and enjoyable and yes, let’s give her a chance to shine in the sun. I’ve yet to hear any of the symphonies live.

The other main orchestral piece was Ives Symphony No. 2. It’s hard to erase the sonic feel of the Bernstein recording, and this performance, though quite fine, wasn’t going to do that. Things sometimes seemed to hit too slow -- for example, the final chordal blast wasn’t quite as sharp as expected, though the momentum of the last movement was there as always. Good to hear, but nothing revelatory.

The chamber concert the previous night was a little more varied than the previous one. The Ives America Variations for Organ was as fun as expected (though the organ seems to make transitions between registers & sections less flowing than I’d like). Ives was preceded by a fanfare by Horatio Parker (ha!), that was traditional and perfectly fine -- but kudos that I’ve never heard Parker live before. The selections from Lou Harrison’s Six Sonatas for Cembalo were amusing. Hovhaness’s piece for two pianos “Imitating an orchestra of kazoos” was a good representation of him, though I think his best moments are orchestral. Ruggles Organum, for two pianos, wasn’t exactly revelatory or unfamiliar, but it’s Ruggles so everything is familiar and it was a good representation.

We had a few Broadway selections that were only ok -- I thought the male singer had a better Broadway voice, and seemed obligatorily appropriate. But that’s all. The Gershwin finale of a two-piano version of the I’ve Got Rhythm variations was better and a good finale.

Sadly I missed the opening Colin McPhee (one of his Balinese pieces).

Sadly I didn’t miss the most disappointing programming choice. The adagio from Barber’s String Quartet. Is this the best we get from Barber in this kind of survey. They played it fine, but from the first note, I bet most of the audience just filled in the audio gaps themselves. Why not do something like play the whole quartet, so we get the adagio in context? That would’ve been interesting.

[Concert #5, Sharp Theater, Julliard, 27 January 2022 & Concert #6, Alice Tully Hall, 28 January 2022 w/ the Julliard Orchestra, Mei-Ann Chen, conductor and Melissa White as replacement violin soloist (replacement due to ‘Covid Protocols’ -- she was excellent, so I presume they both learned the piece, rather than she being a last minute replacement).]

#julliard #focus festival #charles ives #florence price

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hazzabeeforlou · 6 years

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WIP snippet: H’s sweet 16

“I swear, this thing is a heart attack on a plate,” Gemma muttered, flinging the finishing touches of chopped chocolate onto the Bavarian Torte.

By some miracle Gemma had agreed to come home for his birthday, and Harry would take her, sardonic comments and all. He smiled as he reached for the napkins.

“You do not have to partake, Gemma,” Anne huffed, raising one eyebrow

“More for me,” Robin teased from over at the table, where he’d been attaching blue balloons to the backs of the dining room chairs.

“If fact,” Anne said, turning to Harry, “Even without your sister’s help, the cake might disappear fast tonight. Louis has a large family.” Anne said it with a taunting twinkle in her eye.

“I don’t mind.” Harry hid a sheepish smile behind the package of paper plates he’d started unpacking.

As he and Louis were attached at the hip most days, no one had batted an eye when Harry asked if they could have the Tomlinson’s over to celebrate. Their parents got along splendidly and the girls absolutely worshiped Gemma, so it seemed only logical.

The doorbell rang, and Harry raced to answer it, his socked feet skidding between the rugs.

“THOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!”

As he swung the door open Louis blew a loud party kazoo right in his face, the shiny, curly end of it thwaking Harry’s nose.

“Happy sweet sixteen, Harold!” Louis yelled, springing on him in a giant bear hug, his whole being luminous with excitement.

“Thanks, Lou.” Harry smiled so big his dimples felt like trenches in his skin.

“And look who I brought to celebrate! Thing one, thing two, thing three, AND thing four!” Louis ushered his sisters into the house, Lottie and Fizzy shooting him exasperated looks as they passed Harry.

“Hello dear, happy birthday,” Jay said warmly, embracing Harry as her and Mark slipped their shoes off and put them by the door next to the girls’.

As Louis made to follow Harry into the dining room, Jay caught his arm.

“Louis, your shoes,” she reminded, pointing to his sneakers.

“Mom,” Louis moaned, returning grudgingly. Though it was the dead of winter he’d forgotten socks. Again.

“S’okay Lou, I promise I won’t smell your feet,” Harry said helpfully, grinning at Jay as Louis mock fumed.

“You’re both the worst, see if I come to any more birthdays, just see,” Louis mumbled, toeing off his shoes and walking gingerly towards the kitchen in his bare feet.

“This is from Mark and I, Harry. We hope you like it.”

Harry took the bag from them, nodding his thanks. “I’m sure I will, Mrs. Tomlinson.”

They gathered around the table for food and festivities. Gemma had prepared popcorn, chips and salsa, and a stellar platter of cheese and crackers to complement Anne’s taco dinner. Everyone soon became engrossed in board games, save the twins, who wandered in and out of the dining room, easily bored. They tried playing Pit first, but Fizzy found it difficult to reach the spoons, so they switched to Uno, and later to monopoly.

Time flew by. Harry laughed until his stomach hurt when Jay snatched Park Place, thwarting Louis’ elaborate and well-voiced plans of real-estate domination. Louis proceeded to dramatically pout like the world had ended. Harry giggled secretly behind his hand when Louis’ pawn landed in jail for the hundredth time and instead of hollering complaints he stuck one of the discarded Pit spoons on his nose, balancing it there until the twins started squealing with glee and trying to jostle if off.

Sometime after dark Jay and Anne disappeared into the kitchen. Gemma stood and flipped off the lights, and soon only the incoming glow of candles illuminated the streamers twisting down from the dining room chandelier.

“Happy birthday to you…”

Robin started off the singing as Anne rounded the corner carrying Harry’s cake, bedecked with sixteen striped candles. Harry had difficulty picking out individual voices due to the twins’ yowling, but Louis’ voice cut through. It floated to his ears silkily, like melted caramel, yet sharply distinct. It had a tone like the clear peal of a bell amidst a storm. He latched onto it and locked eyes with Louis, who smiled back as his cheekbones caught the candlelight.

Harry should have been looking at the cake before him, not at his best friend. But he didn’t much care.

“Make a wish, Harry!” Daisy called out as the chorus ended.

“Okay.” Harry cracked his knuckles and closed his eyes, feeling the heat of the flickering wicks against his face. A wish came to him, half formed and inarticulate: he wanted this always. He wanted these people, these families, and Louis around him always. He wished that Louis would always be his best friend.

The ache swelled against his ribcage.

Quickly, he opened his eyes and blew out the candles, banishing the discomfort from his mind. Everyone clapped and cheered, but Harry looked only at Louis, meeting his eyes as Gemma flipped the lights back on, seeing in them blue, pupil-huge mirrors of his own.

Anne sliced the torte and gave Harry and Louis the biggest pieces, much to Robin’s protest. Everyone enthusiastically complemented Anne’s signature back, the twins liking it so much they fought over who had the biggest chunk of cream-cheese-and-chocolate-flake icing.

Harry ate his cake slowly, savoring it. Louis had no experience with the word ‘savor.’ He devoured his quickly, enjoying it far too much, seeming to slip into a personal ecstasy. Harry watched as he forked bites to his pink lips and closed them over the creamy icing, the flakes of chocolate melting into the edges of his mouth, lining it like makeup. His jaw worked slowly, smoothly, making angles Harry imagined were sharp to the touch. When he’d finished, Louis ran his fingers over the remnants of icing on his plate, popping them in his mouth and pulling them back out clean and damp and slightly red.

“Hairball, earth to hairball,” Gemma waved a hand in front of his face.

“W-what?” Harry stuttered, blinking at Gemma dazedly.

“I said, want me to get the presents now?”

“Oh. Oh sure,” Harry smiled at her, hoping Gemma couldn’t see how his cheeks had warmed.

His presents were small, nothing extravagant. Harry opened his parents’ first, a small package wrapped with shooting star paper. They’d gotten him a soft-knit shirt adorned with a penguin. Harry loved it.

Next he opened Gemma’s, an encyclopedia of C.S. Lewis quotes she’d found at the second-hand store on campus. The girls had also gotten Harry a gift. He unwrapped a shiny new board game to their excited shrieks.

Harry opened Mr. and Mrs. Tomlinson’s next, a gift card to Barnes and Noble. He thanked them enthusiastically, realizing, with a clenching gut, that only Louis’ gift remained.

He opened the card first, smiling at the goofy picture of two dogs gobbling birthday cake. He read Louis’ small handwriting to himself.

Happy sweet sixteen to my very best friend!!!! Hope you had a wonderful day, Harold. You deserve it. My gift’s pretty lame, but I hope you like it. Open the bag but don’t open the thing on the bottom until we’re alone. The girls would tease me forever. –Lou

Harry bit his lip. He set the card down quickly and fished into the bag, pulling out a Packer’s jersey.

“No way,” he said, his mouth hanging open in shock. Harry had always wanted a Favre jersey, a no. 4, but they were too expensive back when Favre was quarterback.

“Where on earth did you find this?” Harry asked, clutching the shirt to his chest.

“Oh, I got lucky at a thrift store,” Louis smiled brightly.

“I should say so, let me see that,” Robin motioned for the jersey and Harry obliged. It got passed around the table to much fuss, Jay even asking when on earth Louis had the time to poke around in thrift stores.

Harry met Louis’ eyes as the shirt came back to him and nodded just slightly at the bag. Louis blinked twice.

“Mommy can we play the new game?” Daisy asked, fidgeting around in her seat.

“Maybe you kids can just play, honey, I think the adults are going to sit in comfy chairs in the living room,” Anne replied for Jay, getting up and clearing the dessert plates.

Gemma broke away with the parents, though instead of joining in whatever adult conversation they started, she curled up in the armchair on her phone. Lottie and Fizzy were un-boxing the new game with Harry’s blessing, trying to explain the rules to the twins. Harry listened half-heartedly, curiosity gnawing away at his stomach. Louis caught his drift.

“Harry, think I could borrow some socks?”

Harry frowned at him. “Sure, Lou. Go ahead.”

“Where are they, exactly?”

“In my room,” Harry blinked at him. “Oh.” He stood up so abruptly his chair nearly toppled over. “I’ll get them for you, come on.”

Louis smirked triumphantly, stealthily tucking the bag behind his back as they hurried from the dining room and up the stairs.

They tumbled into his bedroom and plopped down on the rug.

“Go ahead,” Louis said, eagerly presenting his gift yet again.

Harry felt around inside until he grasped a hunk of thick paper. He pulled it out and stared at the little booklet of construction paper, the spine held together with staples, the cover a pasted picture of Luke Skywalker and Han Solo. In thick, markered letters across the top it read, “Best Friends Book.”

Harry dimpled terribly and side-eyed Louis in wonder. “Did you make me a book?”

Louis fiddled with his hands, nervously chewing his lip. “Maybe. Open it.”

Harry did. Inside were pages and pages of inside jokes and quotes, clipped magazine pictures movies they’d watched, and attempted illustrations of all the various activities they’d done together. It looked adorable overall, and spectacular in detail, every page inked over with Louis’ writing, which he’d been neater about than normal. Harry flipped through it, his grin growing with each new page.

When he got three quarters of the way, he found blank pages. Louis coughed delicately into his hand.

“Er, that’s for, you know. More.”

Harry swallowed down whatever had lodged in his throat. He folded the book closed and pressed it to his chest.

“I love it, Lou. It’s the best present ever.”

“It’s so girly, isn’t it,” Louis muttered, a smile playing about his lips though he continued to stare at the carpet and fiddle his hands.

“I think it’s awesome,” Harry stated, scooting closer to Louis and throwing his arms around him, drawing him into a hug.

Harry tipped them slightly off balance with his gangly limbs, though, and instead they toppled over, their arms twined together messily.

“Oops,” Harry said apologetically.

“Hi.” Louis had landed on top, pinning Harry to the floor. “I’ve heard you’re ticklish. Some people outgrow such things, though, so we need to test you again, this being your birthday and all.”

Harry had only a moment to squawk out a protest and try to cover his belly before Louis attacked him, his lithe fingers hitting just the right places, making Harry squirm and yelp and twist and laugh under Louis until his sides hurt and his eyes were streaming.

“Uncle unlce uncle!!” Harry screamed, trying desperately to get his legs up to Louis’ torso so he could push him away, but Louis knew that trick too well.

“What’s that you said? Buckle? Chuckle?”

Louis was merciless. Harry thought he might wet himself.

“Uncle!” Harry cried, his fingers trying to reciprocate the tickling, but to no effect.

“I think I’ve gone suddenly deaf, must be all the yelling in here,” Louis giggled, bearing down hard right above Harry’s tender hips.

“Louuuuuuu I’m gonna pee my pants stooooooop,” Harry moaned, his muscles jerking in twenty different directions.

The tickling ceased. Louis didn’t move, though, just hovered above him, his face flushed and close enough Harry could smell his cake-sweet breath.

“Alright, birthday boy, I’ll relent just this once. But only because it’s your birthday.”

Harry tried to recover some ounce of his stability, panting. “That’s noble, Lou. Gold star for you.”

“Eh, I try. I have a reputation to maintain and all.”

“I know.” Harry smiled up at him, his eyes maybe falling for too long on Louis’ thick eyelashes as they batted like sleepy caterpillars each time he blinked.

“Harry,” Louis started.

“Ya?”

Louis looked down at him a moment, a strange light coming to his eyes.

Nevermind.” Louis pushed up from him and stood. “We’d better get back down, make sure the girls haven’t caused any disasters.”

Harry wanted to press, wanted to ask further, but Louis had already launched into the hallway, his smelly, bare feet trumping down the stairs.

Before he followed, Harry tucked the book under his pillow securely, replacing Azzy on top with the admonition, “Make sure you guard it, okay?”

The stuffed animal made no answer, but Harry smiled anyways. He grabbed a pair of sock on his way out.

#I bribed myself with posting to make me edit more lol #It's now up to 82k... yikes what have I done??#Anyways have Harry's 16th party scene whilst I am sat a home alone on a friday night eating squash and drinking tea #the official working title is Promise in the Sky #my fics

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