"I CAN DO AS I PLEASE. THEY CALLED ME A SILLY GOOSE, THEY DEALS WITH THE CONSEQUENCES."

[Hudson took off his shoes and sat at the edge of the bed. His frame slumped as he stared at the window, moonlight slipping through the cracks of the blinds. His dark eyes didn't look at Ray, only focusing on the blinds.]

"No," he muttered, not lifting his head.

[Instead, he slipped out his pocket knife and fidgeted with it. The blade being twirled in a stiff manner, sliver reflective off the stray rays of the light.]

"Meds are in the bathroom cabinet...."

[It's calm and still in the story boarding Department. Well, minus the low groaning of the pipes and creaks of the old floorboards. The peace was cut short when the sound of a metal cart slamming into the wall shattered the moment. ]

"Son of a....." A voice slurred in a low grumble.

[Hudson carelessly tugged the cart back to him, almost clinging onto it for balance as his movements proved sluggish and wobbly. He glanced at Ray, his face flushed. He blew a strand of hair out of his face before picking up a yellow folder and flinging it right at Ray.]

"Take it."

“Hudson—uhm—” Ray stammered, briefly floundering with the folder before standing up, tossing it onto his desk and approaching Hudson.

“Jeez, what’s up with you—Are you drunk? What’s gotten into you?! You definitely can’t be drinkin’ on the job, imagine if a higher up found you like this…It’s not even inconspicuous…” Ray hissed worriedly, placing his hands on Hudson’s shoulders. “I know it’s not uncommon but that doesn’t—…sigh…What made you go and get pissed anyways?”

@thelocalmoth *Just causally places this here*

How Could You?

“Mister Lawrence?”

I turned around, only to be met with my apprentice. He shuffled awkwardly, half of him hiding beneath the door. I then stared hard at my desk, letting out a sigh. Without meaning to, I dropped my book, music sheets spilling onto the floor. The yellowing papers swept up dust on the floorboards, I only narrowed my eyes at this. “What do you want, Johnny?” I muttered, kicking off my chair to retrieve the papers. I heard him slowly cracking my office door wide open and taking a few steps in.  Bending down, my hands furiously grabbed the scattered papers. I didn’t look at him. “Sorry to interrupt, but the band is waiting for you.” He said meekly. His British accent caught me off guard. I stood up, carelessly plopping the bundle of papers on my desk. I turned to him, an eyebrow raised. Today, he was dressed in a pale blue vest, buttoned up white collar shirt and brown slacks. I groaned, “Can’t they just warm up right now?” He hesitated, before he spoke, “They’ve been doing that, but..they’re getting impatient.” He nervously blew his light chestnut hair out of his face. I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to yell. “Then tell them to wait.” I growled. Johnny frowned, avoiding eye contact with me. In a small voice he responded, “You said that…two hours ago.” Silence. 

I stormed through the vacant hallways, not even waiting for Johnny. Posters were plastered every four feet it seemed. With their cartoonish style, they all stared at me and smiled. This only fed my annoyance. The lights above me flickered and buzzed, making my shadow grow long behind me.

 God, my head hurts. Even though my feet were slamming down on the creaky wooden boards, I could hear Johnny jogging after me. “Mister Lawrence, wait up! I’m sure we could make a compromise with the band, maybe even-” “ENOUGH.” I barked at him. Irritation makes a nest inside my brain. Though, deep down, I do feel a little guilty. Trying to simmer down, I cleared my throat. “Johnny, is your brother already in his booth?” I asked, making a sharp left turn.  He hurried after, finally keeping up with my pace. “Last time I checked, yeah. Though, he was pretty mad that you didn’t show up.” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. Honestly, it felt like without me, the whole god damn music department would explode. “Tch-well, he better be there.” I huffed. 

Before Johnny could answer, I halted only to be met with a chattering river of musicians flooding out of the music department. Baffled, I yelled at one of the passing tuba players, Rick. “Mister Hoffleman! Where the hell are you-” With dark glaring green eyes, the middle aged man snapped at me, “Shut yer yap, Lawrence! It’s been two months of the same shit ya make us go through. Well, we’re tired of it.” He growled at me, his southern accent lacing his words. I recoiled back, almost stumbling into Johnny! If Johnny apologized, I couldn’t hear it. Not when my blood was roaring in my ears. I watched Rick stomp away, his brown suit jacket hanging from his shoulder.  I didn’t even notice that my jaw was hanging wide open, until Johnny quietly mentioned it to me.  I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t command them to stay. I just stood there, and while I did, lots of folks hissed complaints and glares at me when they passed by. Is this what it feels like? To be powerless? I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I’ve felt this before. When he left.

Turns out, Norman was still in his booth, packing up his projector. Even though the booth was mostly consumed by lingering shadows, we could hear him shuffling around.  I stared up at him, only for him to swing around and glare from above.  “Oh great, the all mighty composer finally arrived.” He said flatly, his dark grey eyes narrowing. With a grunt, he placed the metal projector on a rusted steel cart. “Polk, what happened?” I yelled, still looking up at the booth.  The shadows answered with another grunt, “Whaddya mean what happened, Lawrence? They’re fed up.” A pause. When I didn’t answer, he continued, “Look, I dunno what you’ve been doin these past months, but Jesus, can’t ya just compose the band ON TIME??  Some days, the doors are locked and no one can get in. Why? ‘Cause ya keep forgettin to unlock ‘em. Meaning WE can’t do what we need to do.” I felt my stomach tightened while my fists were clenched. “Can’t you just get Franks to unlock the damn door?” I retorted hotly. “Kid keeps forgettin his keys.” He replied with a monotone voice. I let out an exasperated sigh, feeling my nerves being shot left and right. Norman said nothing else and with that I turned around. I  watched Johnny struggling to gather all the music stands. Taking a deep breath, I walked over to him and helped him put them away in the storage room.  I didn’t say anything. Despite how clumsy or frantic this kid is, I didn’t hate him. He’s a good apprentice.

 Well, decent anyway. 

After stacking up the chairs and cautiously putting instruments in their cases, we were done. During that whole time, I didn’t mutter a word. I was too absorbed in my thoughts.  Was working with Mister Drew on his project really making me digress  from what needs to be done? Surely, I could balance them both. Right? No. I couldn’t and today proved that. Bitter disappointment felt like a knife in my gut, wedging itself further and further in.  I felt something sting my eyes, rubbing them. Jesus, was I so powerless that I was having a stupid CRYING FIT?! I muttered something to myself, when suddenly, I felt a gentle hand clamped on my shoulder. “It’s okay to cry, Mister Lawrence! It’s..it’s been a tough day, but..there’s always tomorrow!” Johnny exclaimed, his eyes brightening.  I stared at him for a moment, actually looking at him. His face looked similar to Normans, same nose, and structure.  Light chestnut hair with streaks of dark brown while his eyes..well. One was dark grey, like Norman, but his other eye was a dark auburn.  Wasn’t that called.. Heterochromia? I think that's what it's called.

Anyhow, he just smiled at me sympathetically.  Without thinking, I smiled back at him.  “I..suppose you’re right.” I said, nodding curtly. He slipped his hand off my shoulder and walked over to the piano. “So, about that music sheet you sent me home with yesterday, I practiced it and I think I got it?” He smiled, sitting down on the chair and straightening his composure.  I was stunned. He practiced it? Hell, I didn’t even tell him to do that. Though, of course, I was skeptical.  I pulled up a stool and gestured for him to start. He cracked his fingers, staring down at the keys and gave it his all. There were a few slip ups, but I was impressed at how beautiful the melody was. And how Johnny was so focused on the piece. When he was done, he paused, before hesitantly turning his head to look at me.  I stood up from my wooden stool and placed my hand on his shoulder. “Good work.” I praised, smiling at him slightly. 

I swear his eyes lit like bright stars. I was proud of him. Even though I failed the band, I didn’t fail him.  Until…I did. 

It’s been a few months since that moment. 

I looked at my shaking right hand, a smoking pistol was tightly in my grasp. 

Oh Johnny. I’m so sorry.

I’m 

      So

               Sorry

PLEASE VOTE PEOPLE FOR MY MOOT!!!

Walks in on the conversation without ever being invited-

"If coffee is too bitter for you just put maple syrup in it. Just do it."

Hey, Alex. What’s the best kind of coffee in your opinion? I’ve always found it really bitter, but I really want to like it. Do you know of any Coffee that’s more sweet, or at least less bitter?

"I don't like coffee, actually, I prefer a sweet tea, or, perhaps French Vanilla, it's the only coffee I'll ever have."

And if Archie was a swim instructor:

Gift for a fellow crazy Archie loving fan: @creationandcalamityau

Susie and Norman didn't meet until adulthood, but I can image them being friends in childhood. Anyway, I spent a lot of time on this...SO PLEASE LIKE IT!!!

You are loved, you matter, I care about you.

Please reblog for all of the people who are feeling hopeless right now.

[The apartment was rather tidied, which seemed surprising. A few pictures were hung up on the hallway, as well as a bulletin board. Mostly just notes, pictures and a couple of bills. The only thing out of place was a broken picture frame on the living room floor.]

[Hudson threw his briefcase at the door, still nestled in Ray's arms. He blinked once more, blanking. His eyes scanned the apartment, before burying his face once more.]

"Past the living room and down the hall. It's the door on the right," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

[It's calm and still in the story boarding Department. Well, minus the low groaning of the pipes and creaks of the old floorboards. The peace was cut short when the sound of a metal cart slamming into the wall shattered the moment. ]

"Son of a....." A voice slurred in a low grumble.

[Hudson carelessly tugged the cart back to him, almost clinging onto it for balance as his movements proved sluggish and wobbly. He glanced at Ray, his face flushed. He blew a strand of hair out of his face before picking up a yellow folder and flinging it right at Ray.]

"Take it."

“Hudson—uhm—” Ray stammered, briefly floundering with the folder before standing up, tossing it onto his desk and approaching Hudson.

“Jeez, what’s up with you—Are you drunk? What’s gotten into you?! You definitely can’t be drinkin’ on the job, imagine if a higher up found you like this…It’s not even inconspicuous…” Ray hissed worriedly, placing his hands on Hudson’s shoulders. “I know it’s not uncommon but that doesn’t—…sigh…What made you go and get pissed anyways?”

What are we?

Human.

No.

No?

That's not what I'm seeing in the mirror right now.

...

What do you see?

What do you see?

Please stop. Let's be better.

Aren't we in too deep for that? Too blurry?

No, wait, please, let's think about this. We didn't mean to do that, we'll be okay. We'll be fine. We are Okay.

...

Where are my eyes?

...

Where is my throat?

...

Where is me?

...

Shut up.

We are happy, we are fine.

We have eyes, throat, flesh, blood, we are complete.

So where is me?