It's Currently 4am I Have Class In The Morning And I Can't Shut My Fucking Brain Off

I know no one asked but I'm writing Pt.4 of Sex, Drugs, Etc. and I'm on a 1.5k word flashback that I'm actually really proud of cant wait to post it :)

Calling any and all Ethan Landry writers, I have a request. I need, deeply in my soul, an Ethan Landry fic that is dark romance-esk. Like he's obsessed with reader in a stalker way where he follows her around, steals little things from her so he can always have a piece of her with him, and does everything to protect her during the ghost face killings.

Now I know what you're probably thinking, there are plenty of fics out there like that. I might have not found the right ones because all the ones I found involve Dub-con and or Non-con which is an instant no for me.

I do remember reading one a while ago that was like this but I don't remember where I read it, who wrote it, or what the tilde is. If you write, have written, or find one like this please lmk. It will heal my soul. Thank you 😘

(Why the fuck did I write this like an email?)

gonna try shifting to harry potter tonight so i can meet fred wish me luck

Hi I just wanted to say I really love your writing and your wonderful

Currently ugly crying 😭 okay okay I know that's dramatic but my heart is literally melting. I use writing as a coping mechanism so knowing that there's someone out there thats read it and thought "that's pretty good" is just so comforting.

I love you sweet sweet nony and I hope you never step on a Lego, burn your mouth on food, accidentally bite your lip really hard, or stub your toe ever again.

Anyways I'm going back to my secluded corner to write part 5 :)

This is for anyone scared about college. Fuck what anyone said about shit 'not flying in collage' I promise you half of your professors aren't gonna give a fuck about anything. Today my professor canceled a 90 min lecture because she 'just wasn't feeling it today' probably the funniest email I've ever received.

Sex, Drugs, Etc.

Pt.4

Warnings: Talk of drugs/Drug use. A lot of plot. EXTREME Canon divergence. Before Maddies time. Set in 2022. Long Flash Back. Rehab. Mention of Overdose. Blood. Hearing Voices. Disassociation. Vomit. Dead Body. This is NOT meant to romanticize addiction or mental illness.

3k words

Pt.3

-

The ticking of the clock and the tapping of your knee was all you could hear as you waited for the nurses to arrive. It was a small empty waiting room, the smell of disinfectant filled your senses. It felt familiar, almost like you belonged here. It wasn’t the first time you’d been in a room like this, same reason, different intentions. 

A young nurse with a bright smile walked into the room, it was forced, you could tell by the bags under her eyes she was just as exhausted as you were. I mean who could blame her? Working all night, hearing the same stories just in different fonts, smelling coffee breath from all her colleagues, sounds like hell. “Okay, so I'm gonna have to take a picture of you for our records then I'm gonna get you situated in a room. How does that sound?” She talked all bubbly but there was an edge hidden beneath it. 

“Perfect” You didn’t bother trying to make your voice sound happy to match her fake energy. Your hands were in the pockets of your burgundy hoodie, the strings already took out. You sifted back and forth, swinging your elbows nervously.  It was 5 in the morning, the EMT’s had to come from the district you were being placed in so it took them 4 hours to get there then 4 hours to transfer you. You sat in that hospital bed for 4 days just to end up in another hospital, except this one was worse, you had to actually talk to people and pretend like it was making you better. 

“Great, I just need you to stand still for me.” You didn’t protest, you made sure you were standing right in front of her as she lifted her camera and clicked the button on the top. There was a flash that burned your eyes slightly but you kept a straight face, just wanting to curl up in a bed, even if it wasn't your own. The smile on her face didn’t falter as she let the camera rest by the strap hanging on the back of her neck. “This is just gonna be used to identify you, mainly so we can keep track of your medicine.” What she really meant was that it was so you couldn’t lie about your name at the medicine counter and get someone else's. 

“So you gonna pat me down or something?” The memory of that little 12 year old you used to be getting stripped down to her underwear as a lady with a thick African accent counted the cuts that adored her arms and thighs with a judgmental look makes you want to curl in on yourself. 

“I am gonna have to have you strip down to your underwear, I’ll try to make it quick. I know it's not exactly fun.”  That stupid fucking bright smile still present, but something lies underneath it, almost like sympathy. 

“Great” The frustration was evident in your voice. The woman's smile grows more apologetic as she turners to close the door to the small waiting room. 

“I'm just gonna have you slide off your hoodie, shirt, and pants. I’ll just need to search the pockets and see if you have any cuts or bruises.” You don’t wait for further instructions, wanting to get it over with,you unzip your hoodie, placing it in the chair you were sitting in before the nurse walked in. Next was your black cropped t-shirt, you repeated the same process before sliding off your black plain slides, leaving your exposed mismatched socks to be seen fully. While you were sliding your blue nickelodeon pajama pants she reached over, checking the pockets of your discarded hoodie. You put your pants with the rest of your clothes once she was finished checking your hoodie. 

“The pants don’t have pockets.” You gave her an awkward smile, arms crossed over your chest attempting to cover your exposed cleavage, your breast only being covered by a gray sports bra. 

“I'm gonna take your word for it.” She was looking at your eyes, clearly trying to make you feel more comfortable. “Do you have any cuts or bruises that you’re aware of?” 

“Just scars.” All the damage you used to put on yourself became internal over the years. 

“Okay, I’m just gonna need you to pull your bra and shake it.” You let out a sigh but didn’t protest, your arms unfolding and grabbing the bottom of your bra, giving it a shake before letting it go with a snap. She gave another apologetic smile, sympathy dripping from her. “Alright, you can get dressed then I'll take you to your room.” You gave her a nod before you grabbed your clothes, slipping them back on. Once your hoodie was zipped back up you crossed your arms over your chest once again. Thinking it would  somehow make the exposure you felt moments ago disappear. 

“So, um, when am I gonna get my stuff back?” When you first walked in they took the bag your dad had brought to the hospital when he found out they were sending you away, claiming they needed to make sure there was nothing dangerous in it. 

“You should get them back by tomorrow morning, if not then you'll have them by lunch.” She spoke as she opened the door, walking out with you following behind her. There was nothing special, just a hallway, then you reached an entertainment room with a front desk. “We do vitals at 4 but you missed them so we're just gonna go off of what the hospital in SplitRiver gave us. We do them twice a day, one at 4 and then one at 12 right after lunch.” She began walking you down a hallway. “This is where all the girls sleep, we do two to a room so you already have a roommate.” She stopped in front of a room, the door fully opened. It was dark but you could see two beds, the one on the far end, next to the window, already being occupied. “This is gonna be your room. There is a bathroom and a shelving unit for you to put all your stuff. Your bed should already be made and ready for you.” The smile still on her face but faded, possibly from exhaustion, the same exhaustion you felt. “We’ll wake you up in a few hours for breakfast then you’ll go about your day with the rest of the girls. The morning shift should take it from there but I think it's about time you get some sleep.” 

“That sounds great.” You couldn't force yourself to smile, your brain fuzzy and numb. Every noise around you being silenced by the ringing in your ears. You couldn't tell if it was from the remaining withdrawal or the fact that you haven't slept in days. The sound of the woman standing beside you's voice drew you back into reality. 

“You all set?” That fucking smile started to feel taunting. Why the fuck was she still smiling? 

“Yup.” You didn’t want to walk into your new room for the next- well you didn’t know how long yet, but the idea of walking into it felt like signing yourself off, surrendering to your fate. 

“Perfect” Yeah you're definitely not imagining it, her smile seems less friendly now. She gestured with her hands for you to walk into your room, but she didn’t understand, she got to go home at the end of the day to her own bed in her own home. You’re stuck, and that STUPID FUCKING SMILE IS STILL THERE! God how could she not see that she's expecting you to walk into your own prison cell, what a selfish bitc- “Are you okay?” That anger must have been present on your face based on the look she was giving you.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” But you weren't, you weren't fine. You were put in a place of impending safety with no escape. A place with fake smiles and exhausted faces, a place where you had to force yourself to be fine. But you couldn’t tell her that so you just stepped into your room, knowing that now you were just another number, that your free trial was over and you’re just another patient to deal with. She gave you one last polite smile, probably to comfort you, but it didn’t work, if anything it made you want to scream till your vocal cords snapped and your throat filled with blood. 

You could feel the tears forming in your eyes but you choked them down, not wanting to break just yet. Walking to your bed, ignoring the sleeping girl in the other one, you touched the thin blanket that laid on top of the mattress. Though you weren't sure you could call it a mattress, more like a yoga mat, regardless you climbed into bed, pulling the blanket on top of you as you laid your head on your pillow that had a weird plastic material protecting the soft cushioning that was hidden inside it. You let your eyes drift closed knowing no sleep would come, despite being exhausted your brain was still too wired to sleep. So you just laid there, imagining you were at home, playing Rocket League with your brother while he chewed pizza way too loudly. The closest thing to a happy place your brain could muster up. 

(“1 fish, 2 fish, this flashbacks been too long bitch” - My Brother, 2024) 

It felt like a million tiny needles were stabbing you in the lungs. Your surroundings are blurred and there's a heavy pounding in your head that makes you want to rip your brain out and throw it against a wall. You couldn’t make out where you were, your senses being fried as a state of confusion took over. 

“What the fuck?” Your voice was groggy and broken from being waterboarded. The wateriness in your eyes began to clear as you sat up, wincing as a pain shot through your whole body. The room looked familiar, no not just familiar you’d been here before. The same worn down walls, cracking ceiling, and water damaged floor. The same place you took your last breath 4 days ago, or at least you think it was 4. The days had already blurred together. 

It looked the same as it did when Charley had guided you out, telling you about how the rest of your existence is gonna be spent on the school grounds. The only difference was that there was now a smell, a disgusting rotting smell. It wasn’t too strong but definitely noticeable and you knew it could only be one thing. No one had found your body yet, the last bit of you that clung to the living world was stuck, slowly rotting right next to you. 

You debated looking over, not needing to see what you looked like with all the life sucked away from you again, the image was already burned into the back of your brain. The memory of it made your stomach turn, vial pooling but you knew it wouldn’t come up. You spent 30 minutes dry heaving the first time you saw yourself, still warm, vomit and blood covering your chin, only it wasn't yours, it was the lifeless body’s you once belonged to. 

You didn’t want to stay there any longer so you tried to stand up, eyes averted from the sickening sight but as you tried to stand your body went limp, another pain shooting through you. You felt almost like you were in shock, something you were used to by now after several near death experiences and well… dying.  

Nothing really felt real. Your therapist used to call it disassociation, something you’d do when a situation was too stressful. It felt like the right word to describe this. You weren't in your body, literally and figuratively. Like you were watching your movements from above, desperate not to look at what lies beside you, a reminder of where you were, what you’d become, and worst of all a reminder that no one knew you were gone. They just let you rot, but could you blame them? I mean look at you, a fucking mess. You can't even stand up. Just get up, GET THE FUCK UP!

That's when the tears fell, sucking you back into reality with a dreadful pit in your stomach. Why were you crying so much? You never cry. Why can’t you just be stronger? Be the girl you used to be, before death, before drugs, the girl who stayed up late comforting her dad when he was drunk and confused, the girl who convinced herself she could win in a fight against a bear, the girl who prided herself on being the bullies bully. You needed that girl right now, but she had died a long time ago, long before the girl you became had. So all there was left to do was cry. Cry and sit in self pity for allowing yourself to become this, for not being stronger, for not being someone that young girl would be proud of. Why the fuck did you do this to yourself? And why the fuck are you just sitting there? Get up and do something. 

What could you do? You were alone, something you used to love but this was different. You were never really alone, there was always someone you could run to when it became too much. Now it was just you, you were the only person who knew where it all started, why you’re the way you are, alone. The familiar stabbing pain comes back, your organs feel like they are gonna rip out of your body as you bleed out, leaving another body with the one you had already abandoned. 

Get up, get up you have no reason to cry. You did this to yourself, get the fuck up you selfish bitch. “I'M TRYING!” Oh god it felt good, it felt good to scream and cry. To silence the voices with your own noise, why should they be the only ones that get a say? It’s your brain that they constantly control and the only bit of sanity that you had already slipped away with your life. So why weren’t you allowed to cry? 

That's when you heard footsteps and giggling. Your dazed state not being able to process the sight of people, alive people. Sadly they weren't able to process the sight in front of them either, and that's when it happened, two high pitched girlish screams that fully snapped you out of it. They’d found you, the cold, lifeless, smelly version of you.  

It all felt too real, like you were being saved. Though you knew that wasn't true, you were still trapped but some part of you could finally escape this hell hole even if that meant leaving the only conscious bit of you behind. Closer I guess you could call it, finally knowing that someone knew you were gone. In some selfish way you wanted to be missed, see if anything changed now that they knew, they knew you weren't coming back. 

The girls stood there, shocked, staring at the horror. Part of you felt bad for them, they didn’t deserve this, but it was better than someone you know having to find you. That guilt alone would have haunted you for the rest of your existence. You wanted to reach out, tell them you were okay even though you weren't, but you couldn't, so you were forced to watch as these innocent girls ran out the door. You got up, chasing after them, ignoring the remaining pain in your limbs. One of the girls, she had short blond hair, doubled over, was vomiting onto the pavement as the other one, with curly brown hair, dry heaved. 

The sight alone made you want to do the same but you knew it would do no good. You had learned that seeing a dead body in fucked up movies you spent way to much time on and seeing a dead body in person were two different things. No movement, no breathing, just cold dead eyes that stare into your soul, daring you to look straight into them. 

You could hear the sound of frantic footsteps drawing close, probably someone who had heard the girls scream. You look over to see a boy with short brown hair and big brown tired but panicked eyes. He looked familiar, and maybe a year younger than you. He ran to the blond girl, concern filling his eyes. 

“Maddie, are you okay?” Maddie? So that was the blonde girl's name. She looked up at him, whipping puke off her chin as the other girl looks over. 

“Go get Mr.Mandela.” Her voice sounded harsh and scared. 

“What? Why? What's going on?” Poor boy was lost and concerned. There was a slight look of disgust on his face as he took an inhale of breath. “And what's that smell?” 

“Don’t worry about it, just go.” The brown haired girl spoke up.  

“Okay, okay, fine.” You watched as the boy ran off, you knew what was gonna happen next and didn’t want to be around to witness it. Reluctantly you left the two girls, thought it didn’t feel right. You wanted to apologize, their minds forever scarred by you. Even if you didn’t want to admit it, it’s you. This is your fault. 

You walked to the school, even if you didn’t really know anybody being around people would help you keep whatever bit of consciousness you had left in you. You directly avoided going near the principal's office, knowing that's where the boy would be, frantically trying to explain what was going on even though he had no idea what the girls actually saw. Hopefully he never would. 

The halls were filled, most likely kids heading to the first class of the day. Ducking and weaving through kids, making it your life mission to never know what happens when you come in direct contact with the living, you walked to the gym. It's the only place you could think of. You weren't exactly an expert on where the dead hang out. You pushed the door open and heard the sound of sneakers squeaking, only it didn’t sound like a group of people, just one. Just your luck, it's the boy you blew off. 

(evil cliffhanger with wally making his 2 second appearance)

Pt.5

Masterlist

This will grow and include more fandoms and characters in the future.

School Spirits

Separate Masterlist

Includes Wally Clark, Rhonda Rosen, and Simon Elroy.

Prom Pact

Ben Plunkett

For the freaks

Study Date

Scream

Charlie Walker

NSFW Headcanons

Avatar

Spider Socorro

Headcanons

Zombies

Zed Necrodopolis

Freaky ahh headcanons

Characters that aren't on the list but I'd write for if requested:

Dan Copper

Ethan Landry

Billy Loomis

Brahms Heelshire

Thomas Hewitt

Jennifer Check

(My requests are open. I write for every character on here for Smut, Fluff, and Angst. Please note that I'm still trying to get the hang of writing and am better with headcanons. I have also never written for a male reader but I would be open to it. I do NOT write for actors or real life people only characters they play.)

I really wanna write Simon Elroy smut headcanons but I can't grasp at if this mans a freak or not. SEND HELP!!! 🙏🏻😭

PLEASE! I literally don’t care that it’s short, it didn’t take to long. THANK YOU! I love my Wally smut😭 it’s literally perfect. MWAH💋

Im glad you liked it. I know I got so excited when I saw your request and I was hyped to write it but when the time came it was like my brain malfunctioned and I forgot how to turn thoughts into words. I do plan on doing a proper one-shot following the same plot sometime in the future. Don't know when but imma try.

Thanks for the love babes 💞 *Digital kisses*

Can never skip a wally fic love this

Born in the Wrong Era pt. 3

a/n: it's finally here! sorry it took so long and thank you to @iluveveryone for sending your ask. i hope all y'all enjoy it!

edit: I linked pt. 2 because I forgot to last night.

warnings: shouting/screaming, flirty best friends, mentions of death/trauma, mentions of mr. martin, hitting (not a person but inanimate object(s))

word count: 2k

pt. 2

Reader’s POV

A frustrated noise leaves your mouth. You really wish you hadn't let Wally get into your head about Bea. You knew he had a point but could Bea have really been that different? Insistent, maybe but not stubborn. And it was always for the other person's good because she knew their potential. Bea was the only person in your life that actually listened to you. But this was her son. He knew her first. And in some weird way you knew Wally. You knew that he loves Bea with everything he has and then some. 

"Damn it. Hey Siri?"

Siri Dings.

"How do you apologize to a ghost?"

Tuesday-Wally’s POV

“Can we change? Or do we simply live in the heart of the mulberry bush destined to return where we once started?”

As Mr. Martin started on whatever pseudo-sophical rant he was going on Wally perked up. The dead have no choice to change do they? Wally remember’s Charley going on about this movie with Cybill Shepherd and Robert Downey Jr and how her dead husband was able to  cross over after living as him. Wally knows he’s missing some details but that’s besides the point. Almost every ghost movie ever made has some plot-point that the dead have to cross over and they have to grow and all that other shit before they can cross over and start their afterlife.

Wally had been here for 40 years. That’s forty years longer than he ever wanted to be in high school. But how is he to change? 

“Wally? Is there something you would like to share?”

“Huh?”

Wally didn’t even pay attention to the last five minutes of whatever Mr. Martin was spewing this morning. Now there are many pairs of expectant eyes on him. 

“We’re debating whether or not people can change. Dead or Alive. I’d like to hear your thoughts Wally.”

Wally goes to open his mouth but his8 voice isn’t the one that’s heard. 

“He’d have to have a brain for that.” Oh Rhonda, always quick with a jab to the ego.

“Well you should start with getting a new heart, Rhonda, because the one you have now is cold and shriveled.”

Rhonda breaks out one of her sarcastic grins. “Finally someone sees me.”

There are a couple of chuckles from the circle before Mr. Martin clears his throat.

“Wally, please continue”

Wally gets one more taunt in by squinting at Rhonda before he starts talking. 

“I think when you die, you break the circle around the mudberry bush as you put it–

Wally catches Charley mouthing something out the corner of his eye but can’t make out what it was.

“And can give you the room you need to change.”

There are a couple of murmurs of agreement around the circle which made Wall feel proud of himself. 

“That’s interesting Wally. But before we break the circle; why don’t we move to the center of it?”

This made Wally think. “Maybe. Thanks Mr. M.” 

Mr. Martin gives Wally a tight-lipped smile that never seems to bring comfort to Wally but what’s new. 

Soon the morning circle is dismissed but Wally lingers for a minute after everyone else left. Or so he thought. 

“Hey Wally?”

It was Janet. Even after 40 years Wally still wasn’t used to her 60’s fashion. Her light pink gingham dress with matching ballet flats and white gloves on her hands. Compared to the others in the group it was a silent rebellion that was all Janet’s. Which is pretty rad if you ask Wally. 

“Hey Janet what’s up?”

“I was wondering; what was on your mind earlier? You don’t really space out like that.”

Wally hesitated. “Uhh.. I was tired from… working out earlier.” Wally barely believed himself.

Janet’s furrowed brows had him coming up with another lie in seconds. Before he could though; Mr8. Martin called Janet away. 

Before Janet left the gym she turned and waved goodbye. “We’ll talk later Wally!” 

Wally returns the wave and once Janet and Mr. Martin are out of sight, Wally lets out a sigh of relief. 

“Hey Wally you okay?”

It was Charley this time, luckily Wally is able to keep his shock to a minimum. 

“Yeah, it’s just sometimes the morning circle makes me want to…”

Charley interjects. “Die all over again?”

Wally snaps his fingers and points. “Yeah! I mean I know he just wants to help but Jeez sometimes it’s agonizing.”

Charley laughs. “Well, Hippie dude has a sub and they’re watching a movie. Wanna come?”

Wally pretends to think about it. “Is it Rudy?”

Charley sighs in defeat. “I don’t know what movie it is but I’m almost 100% sure an AP Lit Class will not watch “Rudy”.”

“Where is there “enjambment” in “Finding Nemo”, Charley?”

“Where is the ‘allusion’ in ‘Rudy’, Wally?”

“What are you talking about, all Rudy does is dream!”

Charley pinches the bridge of his nose. “Allusion not ILLusion!”

“You’re literally saying the same word.”

“I- you know what? Sure. Anyway if you get tired of working out you know where I’ll be.”

Charley walks off, leaving Wally alone with his thoughts. He needs to find some answers. And there’s only one person who can give him that. 

Reader’s POV

There’s a sense of comfort you feel when “Bad Reputation” flows through your ears. You wish you were more like her. Letting things roll off your back and not listening to what others say. You feel for Wally, you do. You’re not going to agree with your parents about everything but to insinuate that they don’t care? Ridiculous. Wally’s feelings are still valid though. Eye twitch inducing but valid nonetheless. You don’t know how to summon him (and you’re not sure you want to know?) but when you see him you’ll apologize for being impudent. You’re snapped out of your thoughts when “Fat Bottomed Girls” starts to play and your eyes widen. It’s not Queen that shocks you so much as this may 8be a clue as to what his type is. Not that it matters. Not that you care. 

The next thing you know there’s a giant pair of hands waving in your face, luckily they’re attached to your good friend Jacques. You take off your headphones so you can hear him. 

“Hey Jaques.”

“Hey dorkalicious!” You chuckle. “Where were you yesterday?”

“Just getting tickets to Horror Con.”

You stop in your tracks. “You’re joking.”

Jacque fights a smile as he shakes his head. “Waited in line all day for these. I can’t wait to go next week.”

“Wait tickets? As in, plural?”

“I’m pretty sure “tickets” means more than one ticket.”

You have to jump a little bit to properly hug him because he’s so damn tall but you can’t contain your happiness. 

While horror isn’t your biggest interest you’re utterly obsessed with the cinematography of it all. Plus dressing up has always been a favorite pastime. 

“Merci mon cher ami!”

Jacques blushes. “Alright, alright get down before you start licking my face dork. And stop speaking to me in french, it shifts my beret.”

You laugh as you pull away from him. “Oh shut up you’re like a quarter french.”

“My name makes it half.”

Before you can continue to call him on his bullshit, the bell for class rings and you have to go to third period which is Mr. Anderson’s class.

“Oh Jacq, do we have a sub in Anderson’s class?”

“How’d you know?”

“ I didn’t. I was hoping for it though. I had a weird interaction with Anderson outside of class.”

“Is it because you guys argued about which decade was best again?”

“It’s not my fault we had better movies! Plus peak television. I’m still looking for who shot JR. And there was history made when Alexis called Krystle a bitch. The first time it was ever said on primetime TV.”

Jacques sighs, filled with regret. “Why did I even ask? Look for whatever happened, I’m glad you can avoid addressing it for another 24 hours. Just like I will do to you if you don’t shut up.”

“Like you could go that long without talking to your personal musipedia.”

“They have this thing called shazam.”

“Yeah but I’m cuter.”

Jacques ruffles pats your head. “Yes you are. Now go make me proud okay?” You smile at him “C+ it is.”

Jacques dabs fake tears from his eyes. “I’ve never been more proud.”

“Do I want to know?” It’s Ms. Fields. You and Jacques' favorite teacher. 

You answer. “It’s best if you don’t.”

She nods her head. “Good to know. C’mon Jacques, today we’re going over the war of 1812.”

“So nap time?”

You slightly shove him into the class which makes Ms. Fields chuckle.

“Be good.”

“Bite me.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry about him. I’ll catch you later Ms. Fields.”

“I’ll see you in class, hon.”

You nod and keep making your way to class. You decide to switch out Wally’s tape with your own. You love Wally’s taste but the music definitely got better later in the decade. Which is why when you hear “Raspberry Beret” You smile. 

You walk into mr. Anderson's class still smiling, causing everyone to look at you. Including the dead. 

You quickly make your way to your seat. You wait a couple of moments and are shocked when you don’t see Wally at your desk. You turn your head and your brows can’t help but furrow when you don’t see him.

You’re slightly disappointed but you figure he’ll come around when he’s ready. 

Wally’s POV

They still make walkmans? No, they still have cassette tapes? Wally only half circles Retro as to not draw attention. He sees the walkman hanging on the waist of their jeans, and gently pulls it up. As he inspects the walkman he can tell it looks a little worn; like they bought it from a secondhand store.

Then he sees It. “W.Clark” written in black sharpie.

He drops the walkman but catches it last minute, so as not to break it. There’s too much going on in Wally’s brain to process what any of this means. 

Wally takes the walkman and storms out of the classroom. He puts the headphones on his head only to hear “Never Gonna Give You Up” which is the icing on the cake to his frustration. 

He knows you and Bea are close but that close? Wally knows it’s been 40 years but it still feels like yesterday. That tackle. It was so fast Wally barely felt the weight of the Behemoth that ended his life. It doesn’t mean it stung any less. His moms last words to him. 

“Make me proud”

It comes flooding back at the memory. That anger, the exhaustion and defeat. 

Letting these emotions consume him, with a scream Wally’s fist connects with a locker. And again. And again. He eventually has enough and has his forearms resting on the lockers while he catches his breath. Somehow, while his head is hanging low, his headphones catch his ear just in time to hear the beginning of “Deacon Blues”. 

He chuckles. “The kid’s got taste.” 

“Of course I do. And who are you calling Kid?”

Wally’s head turns in Retro’s direction. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“I had to take a leak. The bigger question is, how the hell are you able to listen to my music?”

“I can interact with the physical world but I don’t make an impact on it. So I can listen to your surprisingly good mixtape but I can’t skip a song I don’t like.”

Retro’s eyebrows furrow. “That doesn’t make sense. I mean have you tried with the walkman? It is yours afterall.”

Wally shakes his head with a chuckle. “I don’t think it’s going to make a diff–

Wally is cut off by his own shock as deacon blues cuts to September.

“See I told you.”

If Wally could pass out he would. 

“Walls, you okay? You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

“I knew it. You’re the answer.”

“To what?”

“You’re going to help me cross over.”