#I’m not musically inclined but god the amount of good shit out there

[hybridshadowz]

HAPPY MIKU DAYYYY! Keep on slaying queeennnnn~☆

[collecting-stories]

Manslaughter - Rafe Cameron

Request: Can I request sth. for Rafe ? :) How would he and y/n reunite after years where he broke up with her, went to jail or some facility for killing Peterkin and she went on with her life ? I love your writing!

Request: Hey can i have an vvv angsty rafe x reader pls? Love ur stuff xx

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

A wealthy family, good behavior, and a renewed plea of insanity at the time of the crime all met at the crossroads of Rafe’s review trial. It was ten years after Peterkin’s death, ruled manslaughter despite him driving to the airstrip with a gun, that the review board decided Rafe could be released on house arrest. Two years he would have to spend in the house only allowed to leave for parole meetings and therapy.  

“I shouldn’t have to do some dumb therapy shit.”

“I don’t really think you’re in the position to bitch about anything Rafe.” Wheezie commented, sitting in the car with her brother. In the time that he had been behind bars she had gotten a license, graduated high school, and was in the process of getting her masters. It was because of that Wheezie asked you to stop by.  You had kept in touch with Wheezie after Rafe had been arrested, knowing how difficult it had been for her to see her brother arrested and how alienated the family became from each other afterward. You had always loved the youngest Cameron like she was your own sister and you had stayed close to her. When your daughter was born years later after you finally felt ready to let Rafe and your past go, she was the godmother. So when she asked you to come to the house you did, even if it meant walking back into those memories.  

Being back in front of Tanney Hill was like walking into a liquor store when you knew you were an alcoholic. The amount of time you had spent there during your youth was synonymous with the amount of pain it had caused you. Not the house, of course, but the boy inside. The one who was all grown up now, nearing thirty, and far removed from the person you fell in love with. Though, to be fair, he’d hadn’t been that person the last time you were behind the doors of Tanny Hill either.  

-

“Don’t move!”  

You hit the wall, hands up as you watched Shoupe push Rafe against the counter, Thomas’ gun trained on your boyfriend. Another cop kept their gun on you as you watched them handcuff Rafe, zip ties a little too tight.  

“What’s going on?”

“Don’t move.” The cop in front of you repeated Shoupe’s warning, holding her gun steady as she stared you down. You looked passed her where they were trying to lead Rafe away as he struggled, shouting about his dad and lawyers.

“Rafe!” You called his name but it was no use, he couldn’t seem to focus on anything that was happening as he fought against Shoupe, much less on you. The cop across from you held her hand out as if that was supposed to ease your nerves as she holstered her gun.  

“Miss, I need you to calm down.”

“I don’t understand, what’s happening?” Your voice sounded distant as you spoke, hysterical even.  

-

The door to the old white house opened and a dark-haired young woman stepped out, well-dressed and only half paying attention as she texted someone. A far cry from the thirteen-year-old you had once known.

“Wheezie...Louisa,” you smiled when she looked up, her own smile matching yours.  

“Thank god, you’re here. Thank you for coming.” She said, shoulders relaxing, “I just...don’t want to leave him alone.”

“I’m sure he appreciates you treating him like a baby.” You stepped inside the house after her, the entry way looking just the way it had the last time you were in the house.  

“Yeah, well, I don’t know what else to do, I don’t want him leaving the house.” She replied, “he’s in his room anyway.”

“Hope he stays there,” you mused, trading places with her as she moved to leave the house.  

“He’s been really depressed, I think,” she replied, “if it’s too much, you don’t have to stay.” She knew she was asking a lot but she didn’t know who else to ask. She didn’t speak to her mother anymore and her father had fled the OBX and America days before her 14th birthday. Sometimes Sarah stopped by but even that relationship was tense.  

“I’ll be fine Lousia, promise.”  

“Okay, I’ll text you on my way home,” she said.  

-

“He’s in his room.” Rose said, letting you into the house. She stood off to the side, barely interested in your presence and looking more annoyed than anything that she had to open the door.  

“Thanks,” you moved into the house passed her, waving to Wheezie when you spotted her in the other room. You hurried upstairs and down the hall to your boyfriend’s room, slipping inside and away from the rest of the household. Rafe’s room was like a sanctuary from the rest of his house and sometimes even from the rest of the island.  

He was still sleeping when you went in, beer bottles on the nightstand along with an ashtray, half smoked cigarettes, a bong and his lighter. You shut the door, locking it behind you and tiptoeing across the room so you wouldn’t wake him, though that was doubtful given the music coming from his stereo. If that didn’t wake, not much else could. He was stretched out almost diagonally on the bed, on his stomach, comforter twisted around his legs and pushed down to his waist. You toed off your sandals and climbed up on the bed on your knees, crawling over to your boyfriend and straddling him.  

You leaned down over him, brush hair away from his face and kissing below his ear. “Rafe, wake up.” You were supposed to be going to the island club with him and Topper and you definitely hadn’t woken up this early to sit around while your boyfriend slept.

He groaned and twisted his arm back to try and swat at you. “Go away.”

“Not a chance,” you laughed, trying to move away from his arm without getting off his back. “We have to go.”

“I’m not going,” he mumbled, pressing his face further into the bed.  

“You told Topper-”

“Fuck him,” he twisted, knocking you onto your side on the bed as he laid on his back. “Come here, I wanna sleep.”

“God, you are such a baby.” You teased, already giving in as you repositioned yourself to cuddle up beside him.  

-

You stood in the kitchen, reading through emails on your phone and fighting the urge to walk through the house. When Wheezie had let you in your first inclination had been to walk straight upstairs to Rafe’s bedroom the way you used to when you were younger.  

“God, of all the people I didn’t expect to see.” Rafe’s voice caught your attention and you looked up to find him standing in the entryway of the kitchen, sweatpants obscuring the house arrest anklet that he wore.  

“Wheezie asked me to be here.” You replied, looking away. Would she consider you still helpful if you went and sat in your car until she came home. Being here, with Rafe, was harder than you thought it would be. In the black and white world of what was good and what was bad you knew exactly how you felt. Peterkin had been more than good to your family the whole time you lived on the island and you had been horrified to discover someone had murdered her. Knowing that person was Rafe was asking you to choose who was more important.  

“That’s the only reason you’re here?” He asked, moving further into the kitchen.

You hadn’t ever let go of the feelings you had for Rafe though. He was your first boyfriend and you had weighed everyone else against him for a long time. “I’m not here for you.” You finally said.  

“What happened was a mistake,” Rafe said, “I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“You know what? I would’ve loved to buy that when I was a kid but I’m not anymore, you can’t sell me an excuse.”  

“So that’s how it’s gonna be?

“I told you Rafe,” You replied, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. This was all harder than you thought it would be, “I’m here because Wheezie asked me to be. I moved on, I have a life that doesn’t include you anymore. Yeah, when we were eighteen I thought you were it but I’m almost thirty...I’m not so naive now. I’ve got a kid, I’m getting married,” you shrugged, “I would do anything for your sister, she’s like my own, but I’m not still hanging onto you.”  

“Getting married huh?” He asked, “to someone around here?”

“Yeah.”  

“Who?”  

“It’s none of your business, actually. You’re not part of my life anymore.” You said.  

He nodded slowly, trying to steady his breathing and the pounding in his chest at your words. Finally, he grabbed a water bottle from the island, “I’ll be upstairs.”

“I’m sorry, you know, that things couldn’t have been different.” You admitted as he walked away, “I loved you...I loved being here with you, if things had been different...I’d love to think that we’d be together still but, I’m happy now.”

“Good for you.”  

You listened as the door to his bedroom slammed shut and closed your eyes, fighting back tears.  

-

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[that-rock-chick]

Love Bites

Love sucks. That's pretty much common knowledge. Combine that with addiction, money, fame, and childhood trauma and you've got a recipe for disaster.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Same shit, different fucking day.

Don't ask me how I'm balancing six days a week at my job and band practice three to four days a week, because I truly have no fucking idea. I tried college but once the band formed, I cut that out of my schedule completely.

It's been about a months since the argument with Gwen and Tiffany went down and our band hasn't practiced. I tried to be sympathetic for the longest time, but it's beyond ridiculous now. Veronica, Tiffany, and I have been wanting to do band stuff but Gwen refuses because she's mad that Tiffany is dating a man SHE broke up with. It's not like Tiffany did it intentionally, and the fact that she's letting her own personal stuff interfere with our band is really pissing me off.

We've all got shit going on, but Gwen loves being a drama queen. Veronica has suggested kicking her out of the band a few times and Tiffany has echoed the same sentiment, but I don't think my patience has thinned to that extent just yet.

But it's getting there.

Young musicans aren't hard to come by, but finding someone who fits the band's sound as perfectly as Gwen's adds on a large layer of difficulty that I'm not prepared for. We'd have to start all over, teach our new singer the songs, establish chemistry...it seems exhausting and more trouble than it's worth, at least for the time being.

"Hey Julie." Dylan greeted me as I walked past, something he does whenever we work together. Sometimes it ends up being the best part of my day.

As the day progresses, I find myself smiling a lot more than I usually do. Customers are easier to deal with and a large amount of them were actually friendly. It created a light-hearted atmosphere in the restaurant that we don't get too often, unfortunately. The time seemed to fly by.

"Good luck Dylan." I said goodbye and walked out of the front door. Dylan was always there a hour before I arrived, and an hour before I left. The rest of the staff is pretty cool, but Dylan is the only one I'd consider to be a friend of mine. He's essentially the less musically inclined male version of me.

I head to our rehearsal space for the second time this week. I've extended the invitation to Gwen, as if she needs an invitation to show up to her own fucking band's rehearsal. If she doesn't show up tonight, she's out. Our time is just as important as hers and we're all tired of it being wasted.

I'm usually the first person to show up, but some days that isn't the case, like today.

"Hey." Gwen says shyly.

I give her a blank stare and proceeded to put my things down on a table nearby.

"Nice of you to finally decided to show up." I stated plainly.

"Look, I know I've missed a lot of practice and I totally understand the three of you being pissed at me, but can you please take one second to see this from my perspective?"

I couldn't help but scoff at what was coming out of Gwen's mouth. Has she seriously taken an objective look at the situation and came to the conclusion that she has a leg to stand on.

"Okay fine. You broke up with a guy, he moved onto Tiffany, you were so jealous that he wasn't falling you around like a lost puppy, and you took it out on Tiffany."

Gwen rolled her eyes but before she could speak, Tiffany and Veronica entered the room. Anger was written all over Tiffany's face, while Veronica seemed to be as cool as a cucumber.

That's one thing I've always liked about Veronica. She can keep her cool in some pretty tough situations. That's not all there is to like about her, though. She's utterly gorgeous. Her dark skin and hair that was almost always styled in an afro were truly beautiful features that I couldn't help but admire. She's beautiful, smart, talented, and has an amazing personality. She's the full package.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Tiffany wasted no time begining the screaming match we all knew was about to go down.

"We're in the same band." Gwen managed to maintain her regular tone of voice, but if I know Tiff like I think I do, and trust me, I do, she'll keep going until she sets Gwen off and then everything will go up in flames.

"Clearly the band hasn't been very high on your list of priorities for the past four weeks. Finally make time in your schedule for us, princess?" Tiffany was speaking with her genuine emotions, but part of her wanted to get a reaction out of Gwen. She knows how Gwen feels about being called "princess".

Gwen looks like she wants to say something to Tiffany that would no doubt escalate the situation even further, but she takes a deep breath and regains her composure.

"I'm sorry, okay? For everything. Julie was right, I should've maintained my professionalism above all else...and I shouldn't have put some guy over you and our friendship."

The three of us looked at Gwen semi-shocked. That girl never apologizes for anything. Instead of responding, Tiffany tells Veronica and I that she's stepping out for a smoke.

I'm not sure if we should discuss things further or let bygones be bygones, but it's not exactly my place to make that call.

Tiffany returns just as I finshed tuning my guitar and walked up to Gwen. If I didn't know Tiffany, I'd say she was going to punch Gwen in the face with the speed she was moving.

"That whole situation was fucked up, but I know how hard it is for you to apologize to people, so I forgive you." Tiffany pulls Gwen in for a hug and for the first time in awhile, things seem okay between the four of us.

"I would like to reiterate that Gwendolyn said I was right." I smiled proudly.

"Yeah, don't get used to hearing that from me."

It was nice while it lasted, at least.

Band practice turned out to be super productive, and it hasn't been that way in a long time. We got a lot of work done today and hopefully we can keep this up for awhile. We spent about 7 hours in our rehearsal space and it felt more like 5 minutes. Time really does fly when you're surrounded by positivity.

The girls and I said our goodbyes and parted ways for the night. Tiffany had mentioned that we haven't seen each other this past month like we usually do. Of course I feel bad about that, she's been my best friend for so long. But I've been spending a lot of time with the Guns N' Roses boys...Axl in particular can be a persuasive little shit when he wants to be. I've already told the guys that Tiffany's birthday is this weekend and they can't keep monopolizing my time. I need more feminine energy!

"Julie!" I hear someone call out. I recognize the voice as soon as it hits my ears.

"Hey Slash, what's up?"

Minus Izzy, I'm becoming pretty close with the members of Guns N' Roses. I just wish that man wasn't so goddamn illusive.

Slash and I walk and talk. Clearly he's decided we're hanging out tonight. I don't mind it much since Tiffany's going out with Victor tonight, Gwen is visiting her parents, and Veronica is doing god knows what, like always. So even if I wanted to make plans with someone, it's not like I had anyone else anyway.

"I don't think anyone's at the house, besides Izzy." From the way he phrased his sentence, it was a clear indication that Slash had no interest in staying at the "Hell House" with Izzy, he usually opted to spend his nights the same way he spent his days: completely wasted. It didn't matter if it was alcohol or heroin, if it got him high, he'd take it.

But this isn't about Slash. I want to see Izzy...I might have a slight obsession with a man who has never even said a single word to me, but I mean, he's absolutely gorgeous. There's something about him that keeps me drawn to him and I'm determined to figure out what it is. No matter how long it takes me.

"Then let's go to the house."

Before Slash can process what I said so he could say no, I grab him by the arm and run as fast as I possibly can while dragging a grown man behind me. It only takes about 15 seconds of running before I realized, Slash in tow or not, I'm very out of shape. I'm running out of breath, determined to get to the band's house. I'll be wheezing all the way down Sunset Boulevard and trying to convince myself it's worth it by the time we get there. But knowing me, it won't.

We enter the house and lo and behold...

Izzy isn't there. Despite me struggling to breathe, the look of defeat plasters my face and Slash starts laughing his ass off.

"Izzy's out working, I just wanted to see how you'd react. Sure didn't think you'd go runnin to our house, though." Slash manages to get out through his fit of hysterical laughter.

"Slash! Why the hell would you do that?"

"Because I know you like him. I got the confirmation I needed. Just wait until I tell Duff!" Slash heads for the stairs, but I grab his arm before he starts his ascent.

"You cannot tell Duff." I tell him seriously.

"He can't tell Duff what?" Duff appears from the kitchen

"And why are you out of breath? And why are you holding Slash's arm?"

"She totally likes Izzy, dude. I told her that he was here and she dragged me through the streets. We almost got hit by like, 5 cars."

My shocked face slowly twists into a look of confusion as Duff rolls his eyes, pulls out his wallet, and hands Slash a 20 dollar bill.

"Dude, you guys bet on whether I liked Izzy or not?" I was part shocked, part confused, and part mortified that my crush on Izzy was that obvious. Izzy seems like a smart man, so I couldn't stop thinking about the possibility of him knowing and not talking to me because I'm a weird chick who likes him without even knowing anything about him.

"Yeah, and now I'm out 20 bucks because you can't control your goddamn hormones." Duff says in mock frustration. I ignore his joke as the overthinking sets in further.

"Does...does he know?"

"Nah. The man's pretty oblivious, plus he doesn't pay much attention to anything except drugs, work, and music. It's fine." Duff reassures me.

Then Izzy walks in. The three of us get quiet when he shuts the door behind him. He looked at the guys then looks me up and down. He then looks back up at my face like he's done several times before, but this time he doesn't look away when our eyes meet, not immediately, at least. I feel my heart start beating a mile a minute at the momentary eye contact and feel myself longing for it again when it breaks.

He nods his head and walks up the stairs. I guess his first words to me will have to wait another day.

"What does Izzy do for work?" I ask, to no one in particular.

"He's a drug dealer." Duff replies nonchalantly.

I don't know how to respond to that, so I don't. Slash and Duff have their own conversation and I find myself wondering what kind of person Izzy is. I don't know what to think. All I know is he's a damn good musician, an equally gifted writer, and a drug dealer.

Who the hell is Izzy Stradlin?

[simptasia]

here are my thoughts, headcanons, about the human owners in the Cats universe. i have cats 2019 in mind with all of this, but a lot of this could easily apply to the stage musical ‘verses, if you’re so inclined. i haven’t thought about them in Great Detail but i have pictured a lot of these cats at home, so i’ve pictured their humans a little. oh side note: when i imagine humans in this universe, i operate on lady and the tramp logic where you cannae properly see them. like, from the neck down at the highest. maintaining the cats themselves as the focal characters. so yeah here are the few hcs i have about people who in my mind literally have no faces or names

munkustrap: i’ve considered the idea that his family is rich but it turns out he lives in a flat thats directly next to a junkyard. i think they’re middle class, maybe even upper middle class, because it’s not cheap to live so close to trafalgar square (that and a lot of these cats live close to each other and we see other cat’s homes that are well off). anyways, they’re a generic late 1930s family. in an idyllic way, really. i’ve based them off the human family in lady and the tramp. munkustrap being our lady. so there’s a husband, a wife and a baby. and there’s also an aunt who takes care of munku when the family is away on holiday. i gave them a baby to add even more to munku’s Paternal Instincts. they’re pleasant people and they treat munkustrap well. the lady of the household brushes him. munku has a bed in the lounge/kitchen area but sometimes they let him sleep on the foot of the bed. munku wants caviar like it’s crack so i have to assume he’s tasted it at least once. this would imply very indulgent owners. or they might have dropped some at a party, who knows. they’re not strict with munku (he can go where he wants to, get given Human Food, sleep on Human Beds) but this never led to him being spoilt because he respects his family a lot and doesn’t take advantage of their kindness (eg. many cats are known to push things off tables. munkustrap would never) oh also the baby has pulled on munku’s tail once but he doesn’t hold it against her

mr. mistoffelees: we can actually glean some things about his family from his song and the behind the scenes. first of all, laurie davidson says misto is owned by a magician, who uses misto as a helper during magic tricks. that is to say, he pulls misto out of his hat. this is delightful and i hold to this concept too. from his song we know at least two things: one lyric says “the family” and thats plural so there’s more than just a magician, who i imagine is a guy, by the way. so he gets a wife. i don’t see them having kids. the other thing we know from his song is that misto sleeps by the fire..... though sometimes he is on the roof, making a ruckus, apparently. misto’s owners are sometimes annoyed but overall fond of their kitties antics. since misto emulates his owner’s magic-ness, it stands to reason that this guy is a guy worthy of being emulated. therefore: decent and nice. concept: misto sees his owner doing magic tricks and being lovey dovey with his wife and is basically like “god i wish that was me”. i also imagine they give misto a decent amount of toys, like a jingly mouse, a ball of yarn, etc. this was partially an attempt to get misto to stop playing with forks and the man of the house’s magician doodads... it didn’t wooork~ yes, im still thinking of 2019 misto, just because he’s anxious, doesn’t mean he can’t be a silly little scamp too. he’s gotta practice his magic!

rum tum tugger: his owner is a sweet lady who adores her kitty so very much and loads him with praise. basically she’s largely responsible for tugger’s,,, High Self Esteem. she talks to him in baby talk a lot. she’s a cat enthusiast and has even entered tugger in some pet shows. she’s good natured enough but her house smells funny. she spoils tugger and will allow him to behave however way he pleases. according to tugger’s song, she sews. he jumps on her lap, throwing her off her task, and she sighs fondly and says “oh, what am i going to do with you?”. nothing. because she wuvs her pwecious widdle kitty. basically, tugger owns her

victoria: she was given to a little girl as a christmas present and what we see at the start of the movie is her being chucked away because the girl and the parents got bored of her once she reached maturity. so basically they’re fickle bastards who weren’t ready for cat ownership

mungojerrie & rumpleteazer: ohhhh boy, so i said tugger was spoilt but these two. these two! their owners are rich. the details of this family are unclear in my head but at the very least theres a middle aged couple who hate the way these cats behave but choose to tolerate it, and a younger stupid woman who ignores their shenanigans and says “they don’t know what they’re doing” (said whilst they grin mischievously). mungo and rumple’s behaviour is put up with because they’re show cats who are worth a lot of money. once in a while they’ll do a show and then the rest of the time these two are Chaos. as i said, their family is the one i’m least clear about, like how many people live here, how everybody is related, but im picturing a somewhat large rich family (like 3 generations in one house and theres a few bratty kids about) and they’re not very nice people. they’re snobby and unkind. any goodness the chaos twins have was given to them by the other jellicle cats, not their owners. oh this household also employs several maids, who have to put up with so much shit, lord

skimbleshanks: skimble has no one Owner in a traditional sense, he is beloved by the people who work at the local railway station. the drivers, the guards, the station master, the station master’s daughters who are 6 and 8. skimble does and doesn’t belong to all of these people. the train people adore skimble and literally will not start the train without him, which is canon. i picture the driver as being really burly, to juxtapose how cooey he gets over this orange kitty. they let him roam the train as he pleases, and honk the train horn, drink scotch and they always give him Human Food. and in return skimble is infallibly loyal and has amazing work ethic. i mean, considering he’s a cat... anyways everybody loves skimbleshanks

and for the sake of the story working, these owners are either ignorant that their cats are getting out or letting them free roam. twas a different time

[quirklove]

I beg of you- some soft Tomura, Compress, and Setsuno headcanons, please. I’m on my simp shit rn

aw, you don’t have to beg!! I’m constantly on simp mode for these babes

soft soft soft soft!!!!

ATSUHIRO

Is always humming something or other when he’s around his S/O. It might be an old nursery rhyme that’s stuck in his head, it might be some catchy pop tune that he keeps hearing on the radio, it might even be their favorite song. He’s nearly always an outgoing personality, but his S/O makes him so happy it puts that extra little spring in his step.

He’s a man of culture, (Name)! Somewhere he has a small stash of money from his past that he can draw on, so every once in a while, he likes to treat his friends and his S/O. (Most of the time, that cash goes to making sure they all actually have enough to eat or emergency supplies, and it’s obviously not too much money, so he doesn’t do this horribly often.) If anyone else will join him in disguise, he might be inclined to go with his S/O to a play or musical… perhaps even a ballet if the tickets are affordable enough. If no one else comes, ah, that’s alright; he’ll go with (Name) anyway, then bring back a slightly nicer dinner than normal for everyone else so that they aren’t left out. Maybe once or twice a year he does this, so everyone better enjoy it!

Noooo, he doesn’t wear the balaclava when he goes to bed, nor is it the first thing he puts on in the morning. He loves those times ― lying down to sleep and waking up. He gets to feel so vulnerable and exposed with his S/O, having them stare at him with his entire face uncovered, feeling their hands run through his hair like only ever allows in private. Plus, the fact that their gorgeous face is the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes in the morning? God. He’s gone soft. At least that softness is only for them, otherwise he might have a problem.

He likes to play cards with his friends and S/O if they’re not busy. No missions means he’s at the bar playing poker with Kurogiri, or war with Dabi, or… well, all Tomura ever plays is let me turn the cards to dust because fuck your games, Compress. What a brat!! One can practically see his face light up behind whatever mask he has on when (Name) asks him to teach them a game.

No matter what, he makes the extremely conscious effort to always give his S/O some gesture of affection before he goes off on a mission. Whether it’s tipping his mask to lovingly kiss their cheek, giving their fingers a passionate squeeze, or pulling them close for a gentle hug, he won’t leave without doing it. It’s a subtle way of saying goodbye, just in case things might go sideways. He acknowledges that the League’s affairs are incredibly dangerous and illegal; they could all die on any mission. He wants his beloved’s potential last memory of him to be something good. If he ends up dead, he doesn’t want them left with any doubt as to the fact that whatever else is true, he adores them very, very much and wants them to be happy.

TOMURA

Nightmares are a frequent thing with him, unfortunately. Sometimes it takes the form of memories, remembering the night his Quirk activated, leaving him with the image of crying in the middle of a circle made of his family’s corpses. Sometimes it’s a horrifying scenario in which Decay works on him, where he wraps his arms around himself and feels himself disintegrate piece by piece. Sometimes it’s his literal worst nightmare, a scene where he touches his friends or his S/O and they turn to dust in his fingers. Sometimes he wakes up screaming, his hands balled into fists so hard his nails are digging crescents into his palms and drawing blood, just so he can’t hurt anyone he cares about. Having his S/O take him in their arms and hold him close, kissing his face, whispering that he’s safe, reminding him that they’re here for him… he might not get back to sleep, but he finds comfort enough to stop crying within an hour.

There is one lone, solitary, singular way (Name) can get him to wear lip balm. That would be… to apply a surplus of it to their own lips, and proceed to give him as many kisses as he’ll allow them to in one go. Sure, the chapped lips aren’t unattractive ― but they’ve gotta hurt like hell. Just let your loving S/O lessen your pain a little, Tomura, you gigantic baby!! Also, they should pick a novelty flavor when they do this. It increases the number of kisses he’ll accept when their lips taste like vanilla frosting or Dr. Pepper.

Is like… the worst at any kind of self-care. He forgets to wash/comb his hair, he definitely doesn’t shower quite enough, he’s had at least one infection from not taking care of the wounds on his neck. The only reason he isn’t dead is Kurogiri, and later gains another reason; his S/O, obviously. Whenever he’s not working on his and All For One’s plans, he’s playing video games, and trying to get him away from that is like pulling teeth. However, his S/O has turned out to be very good at doing that. They can easily entice him with a warm shower together, and he’s pretty sure he’s never felt something as amazing as their fingers massaging his scalp as they wash his hair. Even though the ointment they want to put on his neck smells like medicine, he tolerates it simply because it feels nice when they rub it on. They’re always so gentle with him, and it just about breaks the poor man.

When encouraged and left in a non-stressful environment, Tomura is actually not terrible with children. He’s awkward, sure, he’s grumpy, sure, he doesn’t suffer brats, sure, but all things being equal, he does alright. Most of the time he’s not too scary around kids, or at least doesn’t act scary. (His appearance freaking some of them out, ah… that’s another story.) Though he’d have to do a lot of preparation, he might actually put an incredible amount of effort into learning if he found out he was going to be a father. How the man can’t manage to muster up the motivation needed to wash his clothes before wearing them a second time, yet can summon the will to read a ton of different parenting books, the world will never know. The point stands ― having a child combined with his love for his S/O would be a huge catalyst for his realizing that he doesn’t hate everything and everyone, and the world isn’t all bad.

Whenever he wants to touch his S/O in a sweet, intimate way but doesn’t feel comfortable or safe using most of his hand, he’ll use one finger. He might curl his fingers in to run his thumb gingerly over their cheek, or trace his knuckle down the side of their arm, or use the tip of his index finger to draw down their spine so he can see them arch their back. Tomura has never, ever had this before. Despite knowing he has to be careful, that he wants to be careful with them, there’s something endlessly fascinating to him about seeing how they react pleasantly to his touch when all his touch has ever done before is destroy. This also works in reverse; he wants to experience every possible touch of theirs that they’re willing to afford him.

TOYA

When he sleeps with his S/O, he really, really loves to be the little spoon. (He’s pretty well convinced that anyone who says they don’t, at least from time to time, is a liar!) It makes him feel safe and secure, like everything’s okay, like his S/O cares about him and wants to protect him. If he’s not being the little spoon, and sometimes when he’s the little spoon but facing them, he tends to cling in his sleep. His arms wrap tightly around their waist, his head buried in their chest or their neck or their back. It’s a product of his depressingly possessive nature; he loves them so much, they’re the best thing in his life, and he just… doesn’t want to lose them. Even while he’s asleep, he never wants to let go.

There are times Toya thinks about letting his hair grow out a little longer, to his shoulders maybe. The biggest thing that stops him is that he doesn’t know how he’d look with long hair. He isn’t sure he’d look that great or that he has the face for it! He’s a little afraid that with his more delicate features, having hair longer than it is now would lead to him being mistaken for a woman. If he mentions it to (Name), he might be a little startled by their enthusiastic, “Oh, that would look so charming on you!” coupled with a reassurance that they love his appearance no matter what he decides to do with his look. As far as they’re concerned, even if he ends up not doing it, they’re still going to think he’s the most handsome man ever. Knowing they’d support it, though, makes him think about actually doing it.

He rambles a lot, particularly when he’s feeling anxious. He rambles a lot. That goes along with his hands fidgeting and sometimes his leg bouncing a bit if he’s sitting down. For some reason he finds it hard to sit still or be quiet. He feels the need to fill the silence with something. So he talks, about anything and everything and occasionally about nothing at all. Most of the time only his S/O (or sometimes a friend) placing a hand over his, threading their fingers together, can calm him slightly. Often a gentle kiss when he’s doing the motormouth thing will get his mind to slow down and focus… at least to the point where he kisses back, and happily drowns in them for a while.

While not ‘on the job’, Toya… is usually kind of unsure what to do with his time. He reads, he watches TV a lot, he… sleeps. God, he sleeps. He seems to spend his life in a weird state of either being asleep or seeming wired as hell. There’s not really an in-between for him, at least not for a long time. He has trouble finding balance, especially since he’s so depressed. It seems to other people that he’s got too much energy and doesn’t fit the profile of what many people think a depressed person looks like. In truth, this is probably more accurate than people would like to think ― he hides the fact that he feels numb or sad by masking it with upbeat, happy, sometimes crazed behavior. Thankfully, he can sometimes find real happiness with his S/O, and it’s because of them that he might seek any kind of treatment so that he can feel better more often. Good thing, too, because not only will he be chasing a healthy life… his smile, genuine, painless, unaltered by any kind of forced joy? His true smile is the most beautiful thing.

Okay, but the man… has a serious sweet tooth. Most of the Hassaikai have their own room, and they can fill it however they choose. Toya’s cabinets are filled with nothing but sugary snacks. Even though he does eat regular meals, or at least tries to, he has to have something with sugar nearby to eat between. Chocolate is his favorite; he’ll eat almost any kind of candy, pastry, or even fruit snacks. If his S/O is very lucky, he will share! Pro tip: playing the pocky game with him is guaranteed to end in a cute, maybe steamy makeout session. And kissing any leftover chocolate that gets stuck to his lips? Oh, he’ll blush so hard.

[oneweekoneband]

Vacation

There’s a lot of clichés about artists burning out just as they come through with their brightest work, and in some people’s version of this story, that might be the frame for Vacation, BTMI!’s final album before breaking up. Personally, I’ve never bought into those monomyth-esque narratives about bands’ inherent career arcs, and so I’m not inclined to view the album this way. I will say that while I absolutely love it, I don’t think it’s necessarily the band’s best album. It’s also just not accurate to think that this was a point of “burning out” for BTMI!, since Jeff started writing for his solo career almost immediately following the band’s dissolution.

Still, Vacation does hew eerily close to a lot of these rock ‘n’ roll archetypes. It was a momentous album, it was probably the most publicized release the band had seen, it represented a new musical direction that seemed to present itself as the summary of Jeff’s experimentation with genre and songform over the rest of the band’s career, and the band very much did break up after its release (although, as with ASOB, it took a few years for that to become official).

About that publicization: while I’m somewhat sad that I missed out on most of BTMI!’s career (being, you know, too young to go to shows or even think much about punk for the first 5-ish years), I’m still glad I found them when I did, because the build-up to the release of Vacation was a really interesting time to be a fan. In 2010, almost a year before the release, the band began a roll-out of singles to get people excited about the new material, and it worked like a charm on me: the boisterous first single “Everybody That You Love” seemed like a sign of great things to come if its electrifying lead guitars and dizzying vocal hook were any indication. “Hurricane Waves” and “Can’t Complain” showed even more diversity to look forward to when the band released them in 2011 ahead of the album. In addition to that, Jeff launched a whole new label to sell Vacation (and much of the other stuff released through Quote Unquote) through, Really Records. Clearly, he was trying to communicate something about the step forward he wanted Vacation to represent.

And fans like me, despite knowing that “Side Projects Are Never Successful” and that Jeff was never in it for the fame, had reason to believe not only that this might have been the band’s big shot, but that they might actually make it big – or at least to become big enough to continue to exist as a full-time touring band that played music for a living. The Vacation singles were getting media coverage like no other previous BTMI! release had, and they marked a direction for the band’s music that, while retaining the punk integrity and musical ambition of the earlier albums, also proved more melodic, cleanly-produced, and accessible to a broader audience. While previous albums got recognition in the punk scene, Vacation looked like it had “crossover potential.” And when it finally arrived, there were even more positive signs: within half a year of the release, “Can’t Complain” made an appearance in “The Office.”

Of course, for all this to work, the album had to be good, and thankfully it was better than that – despite what might have sounded like my talking it down, it definitely represents a new high for the band. It’s Jeff’s own favourite BTMI! album, and I can see why: its complexity is something to be proud of. He had always been influenced by artists falling outside of the punk spectrum, but here those influences are more pronounced than ever, and the band finally breaks free of its ska-punk chains with a sound wholly its own. Brian Wilson-esque harmony arrangements and multi-part songs abound, and in a similar fashion to To Leave Or Die In Long Island, a couple motifs from individual songs (“Campaign For A Better Next Weekend” and “Sick, Later”) turn up in multiple places on the album for thematic cohesion. If SMiLE was Wilson’s “teenage symphony to God,” Vacation might be Jeff’s “adult symphony to punk rock.”

Many of my favourite songs off Vacation stand completely alone in the BTMI! catalogue, with little stylistic precedent. “Why Oh, Why Oh, Why (Oh Oh Oh Oh)” is a brash, thunderous fusion of Elvis Costello’s melodic sense and Bruce Springsteen’s maximalism, with a wealth of memorable melodies and lyrics that are all Jeff’s own. “Can’t Complain” is that rare song that manage to “rock quietly” – it’s both hushed and urgent in its muted acoustic chords and slide guitar lines, panicking at the pace of everyday life while simultaneously realizing how much there is to be thankful. And of course there’s the glorious, dynamic opener that slowly builds from a nostalgic piano riff accompanied by subtle, emotionally-charged chord changes into an explosive hardcore-punk charge, with vocals ranging from Jeff’s cleanest, quietest-ever singing to his more characteristic shouting to a group chant at the end.

But even when Vacation retreads familiar territory, it still feels like it’s moving forward. “The Shit That You Hate” stands in a long line of 3/4 5-6-minute slow-burn songs appearing on BTMI! albums, but it feels like a perfection of that particular type of song rather than a simple revisiting. Jeff’s weak, warbly falsetto note when he sings “Hold onto your hope” always gets me a little choked up. “Hurricane Waves” might recycle a melody from To Leave Or Die In Long Island during its bridge, but the rest of the song is all new, providing that melody with a fascinating recontextualization to great effect. The aforementioned “Sick, Later” has a zig-zagging riff in an unusual time signature combination that still manages to be incredibly hooky, as well as some of my favourite lyrics on the album:

The first time that I took you to the hospital,

I was tired and you wanted to die,

I drove off, and I couldn't understand at all

Fuck, I didn't even walk you inside,

I thought we all wanna die, we all wanna die,

And I thought that was fine, I thought that was fine.

One of the album’s most instantaneous joys comes from “Vocal Coach,” the shortest true song on the album. Jeff’s vocals were probably the most consistently difficult factor in terms of getting listeners outside of punk to take BTMI! seriously; they’re somewhere in between the traditionally-expected “bad” vocals of classic punk and the cleaner, more melodic style of singing dominant in pop-punk. Either way, they definitely don’t play to mainstream ears (perhaps this is why “Campaign For A Better Next Weekend” starts the way it does, and for that reason, Vacation might be the best place for a listener that’s not well-versed in punk to jump into the band’s discography). On “Vocal Coach,” Jeff takes on this problem with a healthy dose of irony, penning an ode to the imperfections he loves in music, the “dirty covers, dusty grooves and deep scratches.” But with a melody reminiscent of Pinkerton-era Weezer, he also expresses his own frustration with his inability to transcend the ugliness of his own singing: “I get embarrassed when my voice pops out and it’s not like in my head, / If I got a new vocal coach and I could hit the notes, you’d fall in love again.”

I understand that frustration – I’ve sung in more than one band, but before I even started playing in a band, I never thought I could be a singer because I thought I wasn’t good enough. But over time, I slowly realized that the reason I thought that was because I was comparing myself to singers who were already considered to be superhumanly-gifted, and that not every singer needs to be that way; there are thresholds of “good-enough,” and realizing where you fall in that can be a very freeing experience. I learned to sing by imitation Johnny Rotten and Billy Corgan, singers with definitively “bad” voices that nevertheless managed to communicate pretty much exactly what they wanted to in their songs. And Jeff Rosenstock was another big inspiration to me in that respect: he was a “bad” singer who nevertheless sang his songs defiantly, against popular tastes, because who else was going to do it for him? (Not to mention that as a “rock ‘n’ role model,” Jeff seems like a much better guy than Johnny or Billy.) But like Jeff, I know that there are times when singers wish we could do more with our voices than what seems to be within our natural ability, and we start wondering if it’s just a matter of putting in the right amount of work to “perfect” that voice. “Vocal Coach” brilliantly captures the nuances of this feeling in under two and a half minutes in an unforgettably catchy tune.

It couldn’t last, though. Even Jeff seemed to know it, as he sang on “Vocal Coach”: “ I'm aware that I'm kind of getting scared the love that I thought had no bounds is coming to an end.” Vacation proved that BTMI! could be made more accessible and reach a wider audience, but there were limits to that growth. Just what reasons lay behind those limits will always be a bit obscure, but after a while, it became clear that despite being their most successful album to date, Vacation wasn’t going to be a true “commercial breakthrough.” To be fair, I don’t even know if that’s what Jeff wanted. I haven’t been fully clear on why the band broke up, and strangely, Jeff even seemed a little vague on it in this interview, citing one member’s moving to Australia as part of it. It didn’t have much to do with a lack of commercial success (Jeff claims the band wasn’t even on as much of an upswing in popularity as fans had come to believe at the time), and I doubt he would have soldiered on with his solo career the way he did if it had. In fact, I suspect his solo career is probably more well-known by now than BTMI! was even at their peak.

In the end, I’m just happy the band go to do what they wanted to for as long as they did, and that BTMI! brought so much to my life and the lives of other fans like me. I’m also incredibly grateful I got to see them at least once, on their last tour before they broke up in what turned out to be my first real punk show. It was, in some ways, kind of a fluke: I was 16 and the band had planned some tour dates in Canada, including Ottawa, which was truly shocking, considering that almost no one big (outside of the Wu-Tang Clan – look that one up, it’s a strange story) comes to Ottawa. But it was even flukier than that, because it turned out that my parents had planned a road trip to Toronto for our family over the date BTMI! was playing! Of course, I checked the tour dates and sure enough, they were coming to Toronto too, so I got the tickets for that show instead and saw them for the first and last time at the loft above Sneaky Dee’s with my sister. It was an amazing experience, and I can’t think of a better way to have been introduced to live punk. I was caught off-guard by the mosh pit, but it was a friendly one, and I ended up spending most of the show in it. The band played almost every song I could have hoped for (“25”! “I Don’t Love You Anymore”! Every great song on Vacation!) and I ended the night a sweaty, dehydrated mess. As Jeff came down from the stage into the crowd after the show, I gave him a big hug and told him how awesome I thought it was. And while I hadn’t brought a blank t-shirt for the band to spray-paint their name on (a tradition from the early days they were still doing at that time), I bought one of their special “bilingual shirts” that I assume were made specially for the Canadian leg of the tour. I still have it:

[maximumninjavoid]

Mining for Unobtanium part 21

Oh my gawd, yes, twenty one.

Ya’ll have been so good, you get TWO parts of this nonsense today. that’ll make your Monday suck less.....

I’m having a GREAT time writing this. I need to put it all into one BIG WORD DOC. an asbestos word doc.

Unbeta’d, we die like appliances . And cheap cars.

@fishcustardandclintbarton, that’s their line. I stole it.

At eleven packages arrived. One was from a lingerie shop I had browsed at online, Bordelle. Their stuff was exquisite, really, cutting edge fashion, and wickedly sexy. I assumed he either knew or guessed my sizes. I had already done my due diligence on the dreadmill, hoping some of this whatever this was would dissipate, but even an hour at an incline of three and a half didn't settle the starlings in my stomach. Those were no butterflies. I spent an indulgent amount of time in the bath, lotioned everything that could be with almond oil, touched up my cuticles, decided my pedicure was in good shape,  exfoliating, buffing, it was madness. Nerves, I suppose. I mean, wouldn't you be? I began opening boxes. Stockings, of the most fine denier, that you could read a newspaper through, and a Cuban heel with a seam up the back. A suspender belt of black straps, almost like an open bottom girdle, with six garters. A matching balconette bra that would really display my decolletage.    There didn't seem to be any panties. Hmmmmmm. There was a beautiful pair of shoes with a low heel and an ankle strap, which was amazing, because I don't have the grace or the talent to wear heels. The dress that accompanied it was simple and elegant, well made, and also rather retro in it's styling. Fitted bodice, sweetheart neckline, sleeves that ended just at the elbow, rather fit and flare in its styling, and the skirt was voluminous. My God, there was even a hat with a little veil and gloves. He didn't miss a trick.   I began to dress. Fortunately two weeks in a hotel had not been all that bad for me. The circles under my eyes required minimal spackle, a bit of blush, a swipe of contour here and there, with my contacts in, eyeliner was out of the question and it hadn't occurred to me that I should pack lashes. Mascara it is then. Lip stain, blotted, fixed,reapplied, blotted again, this was NOT coming off, on my mask or on a shisuitAollar. I spritzed some scent in all the proper places and I hoped he wouldn't recognize it, and that it would please. I've never been one for traditional women's fragrance. It smells artificial on me. I like darker notes, spice, leather,and they're much better balanced in men's fragrances. I get lots of compliments, and never find myself wearing the same scent as anyone else. Seams straight. Pearls. Hat. Bag. Gloves. Aaaaaand it's 6:45. I've got fifteen minutes to make macrame out of my internal organs. And now, for entertainment, our brain will show a selection of every possible disaster scenario it can conjure, no matter how ridiculous. And I pace. I look at the clock again, and I swear it's moved backwards and now says 6:40. That cannot be correct. I shake my head. I pace some more. I pop breath mints like they're drugs I did in the eighties. I am not going to smoke. I might pass out. There's a knock on the door. My heart pounds. I walk to the door and try to breathe....{internal voice; don't lose your shit} I open the door and there he is. In a suit. Not just any suit. I mean, you can't. Not when you're built like a brick...... House ( apologies to the Commodores). I could write epic poems that would put the Iliad to shame just describing his fair countenance....but I would be doing him a disservice if I didn't spent some time on just how much style he possesses. Tailoring is one thing. Fit, proportion, but he has raised style to high art. Like old Hollywood meets English Nobility, and unless I miss my guess, that's a bespoke Huntsman suit. Made specifically for him. To his precise measurements, by HIS cutter, who has a file on him, and all their other clients; about their preferences, in colors, fabrics, linings, how they want their trousers, best preferences, THE WHOLE NINE YARDS. Did you see *The Kingsmen*? That place. It's actually Huntsman. I think they have been on Saville Row for over 100 years. Might even have a Royal charter. The suit is perfection. Fits literally like it was made for him..... Because it was. And it took twelve weeks and multiple fittings.  Charcoal grey, with a hint of a chalk stripe, very subtle, crisp white shirt, double breasted vest, with a watch chain no less, and the trousers are perfectly tailored, break at the perfect spot, and his tie is a perfect four in hand, and the tie is splashy, but flawless. Me? Oh I'm taking this all in, trying to remember to breathe, and he takes my hand, bows a little, brings it to his lips and just as his mouth is almost at my hand he turns my wrist and kisses the bare skin above my glove, and looks up at me with that smirk he has. "Ma'am? Shall we?" I put my finger under his chin and raise him to his full height . " A moment, please. " I step toward him and slide my hands up each side of his chest and lean in toward him. "Before we leave I wanted to thank you for your excellent taste. Your gifts were lovely and I hope I do them justice" and I pressed my lips to his. He pulled me in closer and wrapped his arms around me, his tongue sought to part my lips and I allowed it, my hand reaching up for the side of his face, as our tongues explored each other's mouth, tentatively at first, quickly catching fire. I didn't want to stop. But I knew if I didn't, we'd be rutting in this doorway and whatever he had planned would be for nothing. Difficult as it was, I pulled back and smiled. " I could do this all night, happily. And more, or did you want to keep our original plan? " He adjusted himself ( I don't think he knows I saw that ) and took my arm in his. "Do you have everything?"  " Thank you, yes. I have my key, my bag, I am in your hands" . He closed the door behind us and walked me down the hall. We exited the hotel through a side door and got into a car with tinted windows. " Please tell me I'm not wearing your lipstick" Smiling again, I remarked that he wasn't but if he wanted to... And he laughed and pulled me in for another kiss. We made out. Like teenagers. In the back of this heavily tinted car, and I couldn't get enough of his kisses. We drove for a bit, I'm not certain how long,  I frankly was too caught up in kissing him, and occasionally pulling back to look into those eyes. We could have driven off the cliffs of Dover, I'd never have known. We turned down a side street, then an alley and stopped in the back of a building. He got out of the car and said he'd be around to get me. Ok. I'll behave. He opened my door, offered me his hand to help me out, said something to the driver and then took my arm and we walked the few steps to the door in the back of this building. Henry was grinning like the cat that are the canary, and I couldn't figure out why. He knocked on the door and after a minute or two, it opened, and we went down a short hallway into a kitchen where there was a booth, IN. THE. KITCHEN. It was all I could do to not scream and go completely fan girl, for at that moment I realized where we were. This was the imagination station; the chef's table at Gordon Ramsay 's restaurant on Royal Hospital Road. I turned to my dinner date and threw my arms around his neck, peppering his face with kisses. " How did you know? How did you manage this? You realize that this might just kill me....oh, right, we have a provision for that. " He bowed from the waist " My Lady is pleased? "

" Oh darling, pleased is not the word! " Dinner was spectacular. Course after course of the most delicious ingenious things the chefs could create, with pristine service and just the two of us. Sharing bites, oh you must taste this, ooh! This, taste! Stealing kisses in between courses, and such easy conversation. we talked about books, and we talked about music, and he ribbed me about my ‘frozen in amber’ musical taste and I told him I had checked out some of the bands on his running playlist and liked quite a few of them. we sat close to one another, thighs touching, holding hands between courses, I kept getting lost in those eyes, but I did manage to hold up my end of the conversation.

I asked him if he was disappointed about not drinking during dinner and he countered with “ I haven’t seen you smoke”. We agreed that kissing was worth some sacrifices. Truth be told I did want a cigarette, but not as much as I wanted him. Dessert, coffee, more conversation, and I asked what else he had up his sleeve. He smiled. “ There is that american expression about the gun show?” I threw back my head and  practically roared. “ I have this well in hand. Shall we?” And he took my hand and we got up and walked out the same back way we had come in, to the waiting car.

[krisdreaming]

🎄 6th Day of Fluffmas 🎄

⟵ Day 5 | Masterlist | Day 7 ⟶

Where the Love-Light Gleams || Matsukawa Issei x reader

Word Count: 1,018 | Fem Reader

(prompt: Christmas morning fluff. That’s it, that’s the prompt.)

a/n: Look I know Mattsun isn’t very popular bc he isn’t very prominent in the story but he’s popular in my heart and I’m really happy it worked out that I get to write for him for today :’) (also secondary a/n that I kind of randomly decided that certain situations call for me to use the boys’ first names within the scenario which you’ve probably noticed by now, but lmk if it’s weird and I’ll stop)

-

You hum softly along with the instrumental Christmas music playing in the kitchen. It’s still relatively early, but you couldn’t sleep in today. You may be all grown up and married, but there’s something inside of you that still gets a thrill on Christmas morning. Issei had still been sleeping when you slipped out of bed, but you decided to get a head start on breakfast anyway. 

You’re cracking eggs to add to the pancake batter when a pair of arms wraps around your middle, and your husband presses a soft kiss to your neck before resting his chin gently on top of your head. “Merry Christmas.” He says in a half-whisper, voice still a bit muddled with sleep. You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Merry Christmas.” You whisper back, wiping your hands on a towel before turning, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. He rests his hands on the countertop, effectively trapping you there.

“What’s all this?” He asks, surveying the bowl of batter and the skillet of bacon that’s just begun to crackle on the stovetop.

“Breakfast.” You respond simply, leaning up to press a kiss to the tip of his nose with a giggle. “Pancakes and bacon, and there’s some fresh fruit in the fridge.” You’ve only been married for three years, but these lazy Christmas breakfasts have become one of your favorite new traditions.

“Mmm.” He hums, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Well then I guess I’d better leave you to it. I’ll get a quick shower until it’s ready.” 

As soon as he leaves the kitchen, you’re back to work, humming to yourself once more. You’re in a particularly good mood today. You flick the coffee pot on so it starts brewing and start heating the pancake griddle. While you wait for it to warm, you glance out the window above the sink. It’s a cold, overcast day without a flake of snow in sight, but you don’t mind. Inside, your cozy home is warm and bright.

You just flip the last batch of pancakes when Issei returns from his shower, hair still damp and smelling pleasantly of the bodywash you always buy for him.

“Smells amazing.” He comments, coming alongside you at the stove to survey your handiwork. He grabs plates and mugs from the cupboard and sets the table, pouring you both a mug of coffee and splashing the perfect amount of creamer into yours.

“Thanks, Babe.” You take a sip after you sit down. 

“Creamer is for the weak, you know.” He reminds you like he always does, teasing smile on his lips.

“Guess I’m weak, then.” You shrug, filling your plate. Neither of you talk much while you eat, but it’s a comfortable silence. When you stand to take your plate over to the sink, Issei mirrors you. 

“Second cup?” He asks, lifting the coffee pot.

“Yes please.” You hold out your mug and he refills it before dumping the rest in his own. Creamer added, you make your way to the living room with your steaming mug. “Come on, Babe.” You say over your shoulder, and he soon joins you on the sofa. You’re cross-legged, cradling your coffee in your hands, and he puts an arm around your shoulders, leaning his head against yours.

“This is just about perfect.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And we don’t even have to be at my parents’ for another four hours.”

“If only every morning was like this.” You sigh with a soft chuckle. You slowly finish your coffee, savoring the creamy sweetness and Issei’s warmth beside you. Finally, you drain the last swallow and you can’t force yourself to wait any longer.

Slowly, you slide off the couch and kneel next to the tree, pushing aside presents until you unearth the small box topped with a bow that you’d hidden away. “Merry Christmas.” You say again, presenting the box to your husband without being able to contain your smile.

“What’s this?” He asks, gingerly taking it in his hands. “We said no presents this year - The dishwasher was our present.” 

“I know.” You say, clasping your hands together and waiting expectantly.

“Honest to God, I didn’t get you anything.” He says, setting the box in his lap so he can lift his hands in surrender.

“It’s okay!” You insist. “Just open it already!”

“Well, okay.” He says, tugging at one end of the bow. “But it better not be anything too expensive.” Finally, he has the bow undone and the wrapping paper torn off, and he lifts the lid. Nestled on the tissue paper is a thin plastic stick. He looks at it and then at you before lifting it out and peering in the tiny window.

“Wait. No. Hold on. Is this-” He doesn’t even finish his question before tossing the box and the pregnancy test aside and standing, wrapping you in his arms and lifting you off the ground. “Holy shit.” He says into your neck. You can feel his smile growing against your skin. “Are you serious?” He sets you down and cups your face in his hands, eyes wide and searching your face, waiting for you to say something.

“Yes.” You settle your hands on his wrists. “I’m pregnant!” You whisper, smile so wide you feel like it might actually pop off of your face. Soon he has one to match. He presses a thousand kisses to your lips, your forehead, and your cheeks.

“I can’t believe this. You’re having a baby. We’re going to be parents. I’m going to be a dad.” He stops kissing you so he can pull away and look at you again.

“Yeah.” You laugh softly. “You’re going to be a great dad.”

He hugs you close again, sitting back down on the couch and pulling you down so you’re situated in his lap. “This has got to be the best Christmas ever.” His fingers find their way into your hair, smile still not leaving his face. You lean in for another kiss. You’re rather inclined to agree.

[lgvalenzuela]

May i ask 5, 8, 14 and 17??

It's been 84 years...

But I'll finally answer honey!

5. HOW'S THEIR RELATIONSHIP WITH JACOB?

Lex and Morgana are the same age, and we're raised in the same neighborhood, so they've known Jacob the same amount of time. Their relationship pre-Hogwarts was as ideal as sibling relationships get, they specially have fond memories of all of them playing music together.

On the other hand, because their relationship was so good before Jacob went to Hogwarts, they were both really confused when it started to crumble.

Their first years they only really remembered the good kind Jacob, and their faith and devotion never wavered... Until Lex found him in the vault, and Morgana met him again at the start of year 6. Lex really lost faith and love for him, he was crushed when he just left again. Morgana wants to hear the full story, but she's more inclined to stay by Lex's side...

(Thank you @antnliliumignis for the beautiful pattern in Jacob's cloak)

Mercy's side is... Funnier. She never met Jacob, so the only thing she's only wanted to do for the past 6 years is punch him really hard in the face for abandoning his family (which she does) There might be some projecting going on since it reminds her that she never met her dad, but after Jacob has a breakdown in front of her she's like: Oh shit, he's a real human person...

That doesn't mean she has to like him, because she doesn't for a while, but this describes their relationship pretty well.

8. HOW'S THEIR RELATIONSHIP WITH THEIR FAMILY?

Lex is the most simple, he comes from a privileged highblood environment and it kinda shows (luckily their best pals are a muggleborn and a blood traitor so THAT particular side was never part of their heritage) His parents are loving if maybe with a tendency to spoil their little boys, and he had the best brother in the world. But it's true, that when Jacob left his world was crushed, the highblood families he knew didn't respect the Barkwolfs as they used to, and his parents were grieving really hard, it was... Really hard for him to adjust to this, but he had to be strong, to find his brother and fix his broken family... (This didn't really happened of course, his family was fixed? Yes, but he had to realized it wasn't picture perfect anymore)

Mercy is the daughter of a single very young mom, Íria is a good mom, but there's so much you can do when you're alone. And for what is worth? She did a great job, she's the best mom Mercy could have asked for.

She always thought she had a deadbeat dad who abandoned her mother the instant she got pregnant, and while she hated him she had mixed feelings on the matter, it's hard knowing you have a dad, but he's not there and he never wanted anything to do with you...

She doesn't know the truth though, and she doesn't find out until much later. The story is really complicated, but Balthazar had to take his other daughter Emily to France, and make Mercy forget her. They miss her and Íria every day, he stills sends letters to his wife, telling her how everythings going with him and Emily. But Mercy shouldn't know... For now...

Morgana...

Trigger warning for emotional abuse

Morgana's parents are sweet as candy, they love her more than anything in the world.

But there's a side of her family that isn't so good...

Her father is a muggleborn and her mother is a highblood, and the highblood side of her family isn't really thrilled about this marriage, they were even LESS thrilled when Elise became a spy to destroy Voldemort and his death eaters. Elise's mother specially wasn't the biggest fan of Spencer or Morgana, but she played nice while with the adults (because she did genuinely love her daughter, and wanted to be with her) while serverly abusing Morgana emotionally for years. She and the rest of the highblood side of the family.

Eventually (thank God) Elise and Spencer found out, and they were more than furious, two people had to contain Spencer so he wouldn't kill her then and there. They completly cutted ties with them.

There was one other incident they had with this woman, which I'm not going to share right now. But she's the reason Morgana is so meek and insecure.

14. ANY CRUSHES?

Let's talk about something more happy!!!💦

Lex has only really liked Ben in his entire life, he didn't realized it until year 6 cause he's really dense... And yeah, that's it.

Mercy has confessed to almost all the people she's had a crush on because that's just who she is as a person. And I say most cause... Well, you'll see

Morgana on the other hand... OH BOY, does that girl fall in love easily!

Here's a list

@phyl-the-gryffinclaw Hi!

And this is all before year 3 when she fell in love with Barnaby and stayed that way.

Talking about year 3, that was one hilarious year when taking crushes into account cause...

It was a busy year

17. WHO'S THEIR BEST FRIEND AND WHO'S THEIR WORST FRIEND? (FROM THE FRIEND LIST)

Lex's best friend is Charlie, they share their love for family, creatures and nature. And yeah, even if Lex loves ALL creatures he does think dragons are the coolest gosh darn thing in the world, so yeah they have a lot to talk about. Lex is also a hatstall with Griffindor, so they share a lot of values, and Charlie knows what to say when he gets in his rage modes.

His worst friend is probably Penny, not because they don't like each other, they just don't really click, and they never got over the awkward: Ah yeah.. You're dating my sister

Morgana's best friend is Andre. They both love Quidditch (helps that Morgana's dad plays in his favorite team) and fashion. But with that said, they have enough in common and different to balance each other pretty good, he's confident when she's insecure for starters, and can really help her a lot.

Her worst friend would probably be Jae, which is weird cause they have a great relationship... Honestly if you're not a literal villain you can't hate Morgana. But they have the least in common, and she's a prefect where he's a rule breaker, and it's really hard to disappoint Morgana, she's a very genuine pure mom friend who only wants the best for you. So she's really concerned about her son.

Mercy's best friend is... Bare with me here, Hagrid. She just freaking loves him. A gigant man that knows everything there is to know about the forrest? Sign me up! She's also one of the only people that can stand his cooking.

She's the only one that actually dislikes someone, but it was gradual. Her worst friend is Rowan, they just never clicked, he's a booksmart person while she's bookdumb (which doesn't mean she's dumb cause she's not) he plays a lot more worth in studies than Mercy and that really annoys her. But when Beatrize was crushed and he was...kinda mean to Ben, that's when she lost it. Maybe they'll like each other some day, who knows?

[motleycrueroadie]

Along for the Ride

Figured that I would try my hand at writing. This is just more of an introduction to the scene rather than the character herself, but that will be coming soon enough. Based on The Dirt (2019). 

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They call New York the city that never sleeps, and as a stranger to the East Coast, I was inclined to deny the cliche when I first moved to the Sunset Strip. Initially it seemed like the Strip never slept, with the blaring neon lights of the bars and clubs. This combined with the music scene draws in the young crowds of those who entertain and those who are entertained. The Strip creates an allure to pull out those chasing dreams, but this allure soon vanishes come Monday to reveal only shadows. New York City remains the city that never sleeps, the Sunset Strip doesn’t sleep on the weekends. Given this, it only makes sense that just about everyone living here is chasing the high of the weekend, and then dragging themselves through the week. I love the weekend nightlife more than anything else, it separates the people I have to endure from the people who I want to be around. 

From the moment the clubs open on Friday until last call on Sunday night, which I guess is really early Monday, London gives me a chance to feel alive. As a band, London attracts the best of the Strip and I love every second of it. The high from being on stage is enough to envy every junkie out there. Jack nor coke can give me the same feeling that a dimly lit room, stuffed to the brim with bodies emitting pure heat and rock and roll could. I left Seattle, my mother Deanna and the revolving door of asshole boyfriends in search of this exact feeling. This is where I finally feel at home. However, there was one thing that ruined this high every time, London. Ironic, right?

London and the music worked fucking wonders, but the people in London are dog shit. The tension between myself and the rest of the band mates rivals that of an elastic band strung to the max. We are a ticking time bomb. Our almost daily band practice had finished today around 11:30, that was added on top of an 8 hour day at the Starwood and I felt exhausted. The walk home served as a moment of relaxation. Even though it was Thursday night, there were still people frequenting the bars; But the people were weekday regulars that live to drink, rather than those who drink to add to the experience of being alive. Though it seemed that there was not much life to the Strip, the diner up ahead, “Tiffany’s 24/7 Dine-In”, seemed as lively as it could get. I could hear it before I could see it. From the outside, the sound was somewhat muffled by the layer of glass, but I could make out Slow Ride by Foghat playing. Wasn’t entirely my style of music but it was close enough. As I begin to pass by the window, I glance in to see why it was so loud. 

The only person that occupied the entire dining room was a girl, suited in a dress I could only assume was a uniform, buffing the floors. It was not my intention to stop and stare, and I honestly could not decipher what was so intriguing about her, but I am completely stopped in my tracks to take her in. She was shorter than myself, but was not swallowed by the fabric she wore, filling it out in what I might call “all the right places”. The most encapsulating part about her was the lightness with which she moved while controlling a machine that could jolt even the most steady people. She swayed the machine lightly back and forth across the floors, while nodding her head along to the beat. I can slightly make out her voice singing along to the words with ease. Suddenly, she looked up at me out the window and it startled me, I felt caught. Her face turned upwards into a smirk and she jutted out her chin while nodding at me, giving a sign of acknowledgement. For whatever reason, I took this as an invitation to come into the diner. The music struck me with a certain intensity as she yelled, “Sorry about that! Have a seat wherever you like and I’ll turn that down and be with you in just a second!” 

 Her voice was steady and held a certain feather light feeling, the same as her movements did, and I just wanted to hear it again. I stepped over the cord attached to the buffer and slid into the booth facing the bar, watching her stretch to reach the volume dial on the radio atop a sliding door refrigerator.

She glided around the bar, swiping a menu from a shelf hidden from my vision and smiled up at me, “Welcome to Tiff’s, can I get you something to drink while you have a look at the menu?”

“Would a Jack and Coke be acceptable to serve on a Thursday night?” I asked, not because I needed her opinion on my drinking habit, but because I wanted to keep hearing her voice.

“Are you asking me whether I find the consumption of alcohol on a weekday moral, or if this establishment serves on a Thursday?” she replied, hand on her hip while leaning against the coat rack extending from the booth. 

“Humour me with both.” I smirked, relaxing back into the seat having finally found my rhythm with her. The next answer she gave would gauge whether or not I continue to push her buttons. 

“Tiff’s, like most other diners, will serve you morning, noon and night any day of the week” she started, “and as for myself, I think booze is far too much fun to contain to the weekend. Only pussies and prudes save drinking for two days of the week” She seemed to mean this despite the humour in her voice, and I was thoroughly pleased with her answer. 

“Mija! Watch your language with the customers!” spoke a voice from behind the server’s window. She chuckled a little, before turning to the window and calling out “Carlos, I always gauge my audience!” A shorter tan man popped his head up from behind the window before disappearing again, “I see what you mean. Carry on!” She turned back to me with a smile on her face, “Don’t take offence to that. You’re just not married with kids or above the age of 60, so I’ve lost my filter. Is that a problem?” 

“Not at all” I said while shaking my head, and she took that as her cue to start grabbing my drink. Returning, with it in her hand she slid into the booth opposite me and asked, “Anything on the menu caught your eye?” I shook my head again and began to hand her the menu, “Just the drink will be fine for tonight.” She gave an appreciative nod, before leaving to grab the cord for the buffer cord out of the wall. 

“Can I put you down for an order of solitude to go with your JC or are you interested in conversation?” She called out from the other side of the diner, but before I had the chance to answer she continued “Cause I can ramble for at least 10 JCs!” Taking a sip, I leaned further into the booth to give her the impression I needed to appreciate the options when I knew exactly what I wanted to say. She continued to wrap up the cord around the buffer, leaving it in its spot and glancing up at me in anticipation of my answer. 

“Conversation. But if you become too annoying I’ll put a 5 on the table and take off”  continuing to push her buttons, seeing if she could take it and dish it out. 

“Fair enough,” and with that she slid back into the booth. 

“Start with your name” she told me rather than asked. 

“Why can’t I have yours?” I asked, realising I had not even bothered to glance at her name tag. It read Janis Jade. She caught me reading, “Cause you just read it off my chest but I don’t have that luxury.” Shrugging my shoulders, I said “Nikki Sixx,” I hadn’t seen the smile leave her face since we caught eyes in the window, but it grew wider and I thought she might have recognized me so I prepared for a slew of questions and rambling to follow. 

“That’s the sickest fucking name I’ve ever heard, and I know for a god damn fact you picked it out yourself” she glowed as she spoke with an infectious amount of genuine enthusiasm. I nodded, chuckling as I did so. 

“Let me guess, you’re named after the infamous Janis Joplin” I smirked as I took a drink. She screwed her eyebrows together, almost offended. 

“How old do you think I am Sixx?” she asked, again I shrugged shoulders. “I had my name prior to Miss Joplin’s rise to fame, but my parent’s wore shit eating grins everyday about my name after she started getting big.” I nodded along to her story, somehow knowing I was in for a good conversation. 

For the next two hours, we swapped tales and although she did most of the talking, I was glad to sit back and listen. She wasn’t wrong when she said she could talk for at least 10 JCs. Janis was full of life and everything I absolutely wasn’t and I couldn’t help but want to know more. I realized that I needed to be heading out, so I began rummaging in my jacket for my wallet. She saw this, and I stopped for a second as I remembered my earlier comment, “Trust me doll, you’re not annoying me but I should be heading out.” She nodded understandingly, “No worries Sixx, you want me to grab your change?” I shook my head at her, and started getting out of the booth. “Your shift done soon? I can walk you home.”

She smiled, “I’m here until 7am but thank you for the offer.” As I began to walk out, I paused while pushing on the door handle, “I hope to see you around Joplin.” She smiled from where she stood, “Don’t worry Sixx, you will” and gave me a two fingered salute before returning to where the buffing machine had sat for the last two hours. I returned home with a new found appreciation for the little diner on the Strip. 

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Thank you for reading! If you’re interest, here’s the Next Chapter 

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E59 (Apr. 23, 2019)

Travis is unfortunately under the weather and couldn’t make it, but tonight’s guests are Ashley Johnson and Taliesin Jaffe!

This speaks to me.

Announcements: The Kickstarter campaign is over, but the Kickstarter close party with Joel Hodgson is up. Brian confirms that the six-shots-in-five-minutes bit was iced tea (”If we’d actually had that many shots, we’d all sound like Marisha did.”). Travis Willingham’s Yeehaw Game Ranch will be back next week (Brian: “This universe is expanding in a way that’s making me uncomfortable.” Dani: “I’m afraid for both of your souls.”).

This week, it’s Episode 59: Perspective!

Stats for this week: Yasha rolled the 500th player critical roll of this campaign! It was a natural 20 attack against a babau demon. This episode also marked the first NPC HDYWTDT.

Ashley mentions that Brian wrote her roast of Sam, and she loved every minute of it. 

Brian asks for the music to be brought up a little. In response, the crew cranks it up to excessive levels. Brian: “I love everyone in this building.”

Everyone’s plotting revenge on Travis for jumping out from behind a door to scare them on set a while ago, especially now that the haunted house stretch goal has been met. Taliesin: “There’s not a haunted house he can choose in Los Angeles where I don’t know somebody. He’s fucked.”

Ashley’s decision to charge in against the giants. “I do think, with Yasha, which I’m still figuring out with her, is once she’s engaged in combat it’s hard for her to pull out. (It’s hard for her to PullOutKing.)” She’s enjoying exploring the impulsive side of her class. “Also, that was a little bit prompted by Travis.” She was leaning towards it anyway, but Travis tipped the balance.

Taliesin clarifies that Caduceus is not a pacifist. “He felt that this wasn’t the most advantageous action to take.” He was looking for the path of least resistance that would work out best for everyone. “He wouldn’t have had a second thought about grinding them down into paste if it had come down to it.”

On being close to Yasha’s home turf: “It’s not a place that she’s ready to go back to, because she ran away from there for a very specific reason. She owes her tribe a death, basically, because of what she did.” She’s mainly trying to keep a low profile. She’s also never been this far north in Xhorhas. “She’s cautious. As long as they don’t go South, she might be okay.” She is enjoying things like the familiar food and landscapes, and sharing that a little bit with the others.

Ashley talks about how it feels weirdly private to have your backstory come out in the game. “I think, for me, sitting at the table, these players are very good, and it’s so fun to sit at the table, but it is intimidating.” It’s a combination of wanting to find your groove before the backstory comes out and also feeling strangely protective of it. Taliesin agrees, and adds that you have to do math during it, too.

She also points out that in the first campaign, they didn’t realize how significant their backstories would become in the game (although Taliesin had played with Matt before and knew what to expect).

No Gif of the Week this week. There won’t be one for a while, because “something interesting” is in the works... “A new giveaway, a new contest, for something that isn’t gifs.” Ashley’s a big fan of this mysterious new idea.

Caduceus enjoyed being the face of the party. “Oh man, he loves talking to people. It’s one of the things he actually enjoys, is finding people who want to converse. He’s a big fan of a conversation with stakes.” He’d be more involved if he felt like he really understood the situation more often.

Ashley enjoys some natural ones because they can push you in an interesting direction where you’re not necessarily the hero. The nat 1 stealth roll that started the giant battle led to Ashley better understanding Yasha’s impulsiveness: “Well, I’m out here now, so I gotta finish the fight.”

Clay’s aware of the dispositions of the group he’s with, and he knows his role is to “kind of be Jiminy Cricket. Let’s maybe not murder everyone we-- let’s maybe murder half of everybody we meet.” He’s very aware that Caleb’s more inclined to leave bodies than witnesses. But “serving life”, as his philosophy, is about allowing life to thrive, which can require death and rebirth. “He’s got feelings about everybody, but he sees a lot of potential in Caleb, if he can get his head screwed on straight. He’s not always right about these things, but...”

Yasha is worried about potentially coming across her tribe again. “They have every right to kill her. Yasha thinks that as well. She still feels very cowardly in the decision that she made to run. I don’t know how she would respond to that if she did see them.” She would love to visit Zuala’s grave, but “she ran away during the whole ceremony when Zuala was being executed. The last time she saw her, she was alive, so it’s one of those things where it’s hard to visit a gravesite because then it feels final.” Ouch. Part of her is preparing for that inevitable moment by collecting the flowers. “There’s more there. There’s such a small amount of Yasha’s backstory that we have.”

Fan Art of the Week! Yasha, Jester, Beau, Nott, and flowers.

There’s a brief Babysitter’s Club digression. (Personal shame moment: As a small child, I once got to meet a very famous author I had never heard of at the time (name redacted to preserve my dignity), and promptly asked him if he’d ever met Ann M. Martin because they both lived in NYC.)

This giveaway is Henry-approved! But things go off the rails.

“This is a show about a D&D game. Can we have some god damn professionalism?”

“DO NOT LIGHT MY DOG ON FIRE”

Yasha’s attitude toward seeing Nott’s reunion with her husband is bittersweet, but fundamentally she’s seeing it as “a sign that good things can still happen”. Taliesin: “We’ll find a way to flip that all around. Just give us time.”

Ashley’s actively going to work on finding something to increase Yasha’s AC. “I got hit, I think, every time.”

Cad does miss his siblings and his parents. “The whole dynamic that he had, he misses. But that ended, no matter how complicated or uncomplicated that was, a while ago. He has to assume that what he is doing right now is the best way to find them.” It’s not his whole goal, but if he does what he’s doing, “everybody gets to come home”. He “honestly hasn’t thought about it much”.

The conversation Yasha had about fate with Caduceus was a bit of a turning point for her. She looks at Jester’s very personal relationship with the Traveler, and Caduceus following the Wildmother in a well-developed but impersonal way, “and so for Yasha, it’s still this very new thing for her to-- she doesn’t quite know what faith is yet, or know what it means to fully put your faith in something. She’s taking it day by day and hour by hour, waiting for a sign, because that’s what she thinks the connection is at this point.” There’s more to it that will be explored in-game.

Brian re: the Traveler: “I think it’s some Fight Club shit.”

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

A View To A Winchester (Part 5)

Series Page

Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. No idea how long it will be, but I’ve got time on my hands. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle. I’m thinking it will go the fluffy route, with some angst, and maybe some smut down the line. Not sure yet.

Section Word Count:  3,000

Section Warnings: fluff, angst, some R-rated language, Dean flirting/arousing/eating/breathing - the man needs his own warning label

~~~~~

Julie had done some reconnaissance before heading out her front door. She stared at Wes and Samuel’s backyard for some minutes prior. There was no sign of them. Samuel’s SUV wasn’t in the driveway. She figured she had a few minutes to take the walk around and past their corner house in safety. They wouldn’t assault her with questions about where she was off to, taking a stroll she never took in her neighborhood. And they wouldn’t ask what she had in that box she was holding so carefully.

This can’t end well, can it? Her thoughts of Dean were confused and irrational. She was going by pure feeling. And that hadn’t always proved the best course of action.

He’s too fucking gorgeous and too much of a flirt. Guys like that will usually sleep with anyone that tug at the bait. Her father had been that way. Handsome. Could have had his pick of any woman he wanted. And even though he’d one hell of a wife in her mother, he insisted on rutting with anything that came sniffing. Mom had finally had enough twenty years ago and divorced him. She would have taken him for everything she could, if he’d anything worth taking.

And, here she was, having just gone through an eerily similar situation with her now ex-husband… walking up the incline to Dean Winchester’s front door.

Maybe it’s genetic? I could blame this very bad idea on that. Tonight, that’s what I’ll do. She glanced around the side of the house she never saw up close. The cream-colored siding could use a power washing, but the front lawn was neat and tidy. Just like his backyard. There was no landscaping to speak of and the concrete driveway had seen better days. 

His Impala, seated on her throne yards away from the door, demanded the spotlight. The slick black paint shone more than usual. Julie wondered if he’d taken her through a car wash that day. Or maybe he’d washed her himself. Then, she thought about Dean wet and soapy, rubbing his body all over that car, hosing her down. Hose me down, Jesus. Her brain short circuited for a second.

I could turn around and head back. It’s not too late. I could just leave it on the step and text him when I get back home. The sky was turning a dusty pink with purple ribbons. 

No doorbell. The berry red front door teased and tested the outreached fingers of one hand as she balanced the dessert in the other.

She pulled her hand back. Eyes closed. Head tilted. There was a split second where she’d decided to leave. An immediate flash in her thoughts of Dean’s smiling face, those green eyes, those lips, overpowered her senses. She opened her eyes to the sound of her betraying knuckles as they rapped on the door.

You are not desperate. You are going after something you want.

She waited. Some time went by. An awkward amount of time.

Maybe it wasn’t loud enough. Maybe he’s in the shower. Maybe he’s sleeping. Maybe this really was a bad idea. Oh God, what if he has a woman over?

She turned and darted down the small landing and got halfway across the walkway when she heard him. “Julie?”

She pressed her lids together in embarrassment, took a quick breath, and prepared to face the music that was Dean Winchester.

Damn. He was even more tempting than the last time she’d seen him. Surprise overtook his exquisite features. A blank expression gazed at her, open and waiting. His lips parted. Grey sweatpants and a cadet blue Henley draped over his frame. But fabric still hugged taut muscles and beautiful curves. She tried to regain her focus and stared at the ground by his... Shit, and he’s barefoot. Even his feet are fucking perfect. His toes wiggled on the concrete. Just take me now, Dean. She sighed and, realizing no part of him would be unattractive or neutral territory, returned his inspection.

“Is everything okay?” He looked past her onto the street and did a quick survey of the area around him. She nodded. His brow furrowed and then his gaze landed on the box in her hands.

“I made a cake.” Her arms outstretched. It was the only motion she could think to make at the time. “Thought you might want a piece.”

“Oh.” A small smile danced over his mouth in a wave.

She retracted the box back to her chest. “I should have called first. Sorry.”

“No. It’s more than fine. I just…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t deserve such special treatment.”

Have you looked at yourself? “Kind of selfishness on my part.”

He gave her that quizzical look again.

“Want to see how much you enjoy my dessert, up close and personal.” She quipped.

He licked his lips on instinct. “You’re giving me lots of opportunities to not behave myself with this mouth o’ mine.”

Jesus. “Is that a preemptive apology, or a promise?” She couldn’t help it. He brought out the flirt in her, full on. Her reaction was like a runaway train with no conductor at the controls.

His laugh was deep, sexy. “Come on in. I won’t apologize for the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.” He nudged the front door open with a bare foot and stuffed his hands into hidden pockets. A step back cleared the threshold.

She walked towards him. When she got closer to his figure, she had to look up to meet his gaze. Almost a foot taller, his presence made her feel small and vulnerable. The grin didn’t help to calm the sensations. He uses Irish Spring soap. She wiggled her nose at the clean, fresh out of the shower scent his skin exuded.

The house wasn’t much on the inside in terms of construction. But it possessed a style somewhere between mountain man and perpetual bachelor. All Dean. Dark paneled wood confirmed a 70s architectural build that had never been updated. The open living room and kitchen area felt smaller than it was because of the dim lighting. She squinted through her glasses. A floor lamp was on and near a muted, flat screen television atop a console table. Something was blowing up on the screen, flashing and illuminating the lived-in space. She stepped in farther. Her flats skimmed off a small area rug to tap onto wood laminate. Stale beer and spicy alcohol permeated the stagnant air in the room. She wondered again how much he drank on a regular basis. The front door click froze her in place.

He appeared at her side. “Let me.” His eager open hands waited. The box dropped into them. “Whoa. Heavy. What’d you make?” He strolled over to the breakfast bar along the edge of the kitchen. The broad shoulders got her all swoony. Bowlegs weren’t as obvious in the baggy sweatpants. The curvy ass, however, was quite prominent. He waited for an answer with an expectant look after placing the dessert on the counter.

“Oh. Just a white cake with chocolate frosting. Um, have you ever had a Tastykake Chocolate Junior?”

“More than likely.” He shrugged. “Convenience store grub was sustenance for many, many years.”

She filed that bit of information away for future dissection. “It’s a pretty spot on flavor recreation. They were my favorite growing up.”

“Should I slice it up then? See if it jogs my memory?”

She smiled. “That’s why I’m here.”

He rubbed his hands together. “Make yourself comfortable.” He pointed to the living room. “Move whatever you need to.”

Even the couch is covered in plaid. An open bag of chips occupied a spot where she guessed he’d been sitting. A couple beer bottles were on the coffee table. Again.

She debated on whether to sit on the armchair or the tiny lumberjack couch. There were some books and papers on the chair. She plopped on the empty side of the two-seater. The chips were placed on the table after a careful bag fold over. 

Her body shifted, ancy and excited. Should she do the relaxed, one leg folded under the other? How far of a tilt in his general direction? Had she dressed up too much? She tugged at the low-neck paisley peasant top she’d thrown on with her dark jeans. A finger wiped at the corner of her mouth, reminding her of the shiny gloss applied before she left the house. A faint cherry flavor hit the tip of her tongue.

Her gaze wandered back to him while she continued her inner debate on the best position. He’d gotten out plates and rested a rather long knife on the counter. His fingers lifted the box lid. “Oh, man,” he mumbled to himself. He reached in and pulled out the cake, his focus never leaving the treat. Her eyes widened when he grabbed the knife and flipped it in his hands like a skilled warrior. The blade slid into the cake without hesitation. He repeated the action three more times and then served the slices. His brow lifted and he looked over to Julie. “A cake like this deserves milk, but I’m fresh out. Water do? Beer?”

“Um, water’s good.” She was still getting over the display he’d put on.

He nodded, grabbing two bottles from the fridge and wedging them between his arm and side. He strolled over with a plate in each hand and offered one to Julie. The waters dropped on the table.

“Wow. You don’t play around.” She laughed at the enormous pieces he’d doled out.

“I do not… at least when it comes to dessert.” He settled into the seat beside her, thighs splayed out, encroaching into her territory. He pointed at Julie with the tines of his fork. “And, if you can’t finish yours, I will.” He leaned back and brought the plate to perch at his midsection.

She scooted back, deciding a cross legged approach would have to do to avoid brushing against him. The cake plate rested on her lap. Her gaze traced his body from his very close knee all the way back to his face. “You don’t even know if you’ll like it yet.”

He scoffed. “Please.” His grin turned playful. Yes, I could definitely stare at this man for an indefinite amount of time. “Ready?” He inquired with a side glance.

Her cheeks rose along with the wide smile she returned him. “Ready.”

He cleared his throat in deference to the upcoming act. Julie pursed her lips together. His fork sank into the dessert. “I’ve got to get a decent amount of both cake and frosting for this to be a fair sample to judge.” He nodded and tilted the forkful in inspection. His jaw dropped like a nutcracker. He shoveled the mound of cake into his mouth and chewed. Eyes shut as the chews continued. There were no audible cues expressing enjoyment this time, compared to the meal they shared on the patio. The silence was gut wrenching, but Dean’s physical actions were making Julie’s mouth water. She wanted to dive on top of him and latch lips onto that pout. The man was legit dampening her panties. She squirmed in her cross-legged position.

His eyes bolted open and he swallowed. Dean cocked his head at her. “That… is… amazing.”

She stifled a giggle rising in her throat. “Yeah? Not just saying that cause I’m right here?”

His brow dipped down, looking a bit pained in his expression. “I’m a straight shooter.”

I bet.

He attacked the cake again. Julie tried it for herself to see if he was right. She nodded at her handiwork when the smooth chocolate frosting melted in her mouth. It hadn’t gotten grainy from over whipping.

“Thanks.” Dean came up for air after a single piece remained on his plate.

“Welcome.”

“So, is this your interrogation tactic? Getting me into a sugary-stupor so I answer all your burning questions?” He grinned at her.

She stopped in mid-chew and swallowed.

“Cause it’s a pretty good play.” His eyelids looked heavy as he finished the last piece. He tossed the plate onto the table and grabbed one of the beer bottles. He went with the one leg folded under the other position this time and shifted at her, full tilt.

She cleared her throat, feeling the heat of his gaze. A long swig of beer and smack of his lips warmed her cheeks. “I was just being neighborly.” She lifted a shoulder.

“Hm.” White light from the television danced over his face. His stare seemed chiseled out of marble in the strobing spotlight. “Coming over unannounced. And, considering you didn’t want me in your house… why’d you think I’d invite you in?” His jaw clenched after the question.

Shit. “I had cake.” It was half statement, half question.

“Secret weapon aside,” he mumbled, “chocolate frosting wouldn’t protect you from… well, you don’t know anything about me.” His eyes drew her in further, danger and searing intensity illuminated with each flash. 

“I’d like to know you,” she whispered back without thinking, inwardly cursing at the admission.

He gave her a small smile. “Might not like what you find. I’m much better if you take me in small doses.” His hand lifted. A flat palm, dangling the bottleneck between two fingers, slid in the air. “Deal with what’s on the surface. Digging deeper is usually a disappointment.” He drank again, then thumbed the bottle opening.

She sighed. “Well, I guess we just do the good neighbor thing and keep things civil, distant.”

He nodded. “Would be for the best.”

She dropped the plate onto the table. “Should I go then?”

He shook his head. “I like your company. Almost as sweet as that cake.”

“That’s all surface stuff.” She tested.

“Is it now?” He leaned in a little closer. His arm draped over the seat back. “Just proving my point.” A grin.

Julie held his gaze and inhaled. “Spill with some surface stuff, then. To appease my curiosity.”

“Okay.” The word dripped out of his mouth, slow, like honey. “I’m 43.” He waited.

Julie smiled. “Are you expecting me to tell you how old I am?”

“I’m not stupid enough to guess.”

Her hand wiggled a finger in the air. “Point for you.” But she chose not to answer.

The triumphant, pleased with himself smile returned. “Moved here a couple years back. Used to work with my brother. Now, I take care of business solo.”

She nodded. “I won’t ask what kind of business.”

“Thanks. That wouldn’t be a simple explanation.” Another sip of beer. “Uh,” he cleared his throat in thought, “I listen to classic rock… nothing else is real music, anyway.” He caught the rise of her eyebrow. “In my opinion, of course. Been all over the country. Driven through almost every state, even Alaska. I hate flying. Oh, and I love my Baby.”

“Your baby?” Her heart stopped.

“My car.” He clarified. A hint of nostalgia passed over his face. “Been to hell and back in her. She belonged to my Dad.”

“She’s a beauty. You take good care of her.” Julie didn’t push for more, marveling at the little chips in his exterior.

“Family’s important to you?” Dean asked.

It made her pause. “The ones that matter are. The ones that don’t give up on you, even when it would be easier to. Those people are important to me. Those are the ones I’m loyal to.”

The smile he produced held an air of… it took her a few seconds to identify it. Respect. 

“Thing is,” Dean whispered, “I think you’re a decent woman. And I consider myself a good judge of character.” His eyes peeked down to her chest for a brief instant. “And, if I do what I want to right now… well, that might make the whole neighbor thing awkward. I can be an ass,” he licked his lips, “after.”

“After what?” Nervous energy caused her fingers to fiddle with her eyeglasses.

His knees brushed against her thigh. Warm fingers skimmed up her forearm. Her breath hitched. His hand traveled up over her shoulder and swept the ends of her brown hair to rest on her back. A thumb dipped into the hollow past her clavicle. He skirted under the collar of her shirt, not asking permission. Not needing to. The thick pads of his fingers massaged the skin. His eyes never left her face. “After.” He repeated.  

Charges of electricity pulsed and awakened the cells in her body. Thighs squeezed together while her mouth opened, struggling to make heads or tails of what would be the best course of action. “Being an ass would mean no more dessert.”

He smiled and squeezed her shoulder. “It would.” His fingers retreated from her skin. “Shouldn’t risk it, then.”

They sat in silence for a minute, the moment gone and the space now awkward. Once she felt her heart rate return to a normal beat, she clapped her hands softly on her knees. “Well, I’m going to go. Keep the cake.” She rose. “Figure out how much you want to keep.” She stared down at the confused look on his face. “And bring me the rest tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“When you come by to mow my lawn.”

He smiled. “Still want me to?”

“Of course.”

“Okay then.” Even though she hurried, expecting to beat him to the door, he managed to get there first again. “Still wanna get to know me?”

She nodded. “I’ve got lots of time.”

He sighed. “I might not be that patient.”

“I didn’t say it’d be easy. For either of us.” She let herself out and stepped into the dusk.

“Julie.” He called out. She turned to take in that perfect figure in the doorway. “Let me walk you back.”

“I’m just around the corner.”

“Just let me.” He raised a finger, dashing away for a few seconds, and returned wearing slippers. A quick lock of the door and he slid down the walk to join her.

She shook her head in protest. “You really don’t have to.”

“Too late.” He slowed his pace and strolled with her in the night. The neighborhood only had a few streetlights scattered throughout. They were flickering in that fickle in between before true night enveloped the area. Their short walk was in the shadows of trees and Wes and Samuel’s house.

“Who’s going to walk you back?” she quipped.

“I’ll be fine.” She couldn’t see his face well but sensed a smirk. His slippers shuffled on the asphalt.

When they rounded the corner and her house was in sight, she raised a hand. “There. You can watch me from here.”

“Uh-uh. To the door.” He trudged up the hill.

“You’re quite chivalrous for an apparent ass.”

He chuckled. “I do try sometimes.”

The rest of the walk was in silence, side by side, until Julie took the lead up the narrow concrete path. She bounced up the two steps to the square slab that was her tiny porchway and turned back. It was quick enough to catch that he’d been admiring her ass as he stood on the path by the bottom step.

She was thankful he couldn’t see the blush she felt creeping up on her cheeks. “Well, good deed done.”

His hands plunged into his pockets. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He nodded. And waited.

She sighed and pulled out the key to unlock her door. “Are you worried I’m going to get attacked by a monster hiding in the bushes?”

He grinned. “Something like that.”

The door acquiesced and Julie stepped inside. “Satisfied.”

“I will be when you lock the door behind you.”

She shook her head and whispered through the narrowing gap. “Night, Dean.”

“Good Night, Julie.”

Part 6

Series Page

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #268

“i got a switchblade wit that cuts like a bitch, and i think you two should meet.”

What was the shortest amount of time you’ve known someone before you’ve dated them? If you’ve never been in a relationship before, do you watch Scrubs? Jason and I knew each other like... I think two or three weeks? We clicked so fast. Are you a fan of inside jokes or do you tend to stay away from them? I... don't feel a particular way? Do you have any theatrical experience? If so, what have you done? No, I'm not into theater. Which movies currently out in theaters do you want to see? I don't know what's in theaters right now, but I don't think anyone does rn lol. Don’t you hate it when people talk about their relationships constantly? If it's seriously incessantly, yes. There's not a lot you can say to have a conversation when they just ramble about the person, especially when you don't even know the partner. How close would you say you are to your relatives? Not very. What’s your favorite Pokemon? Ninetales. If you could have anyone to do your eulogy, who would it be and why? Well, I'd assume my parents will be dead by that point, so. Probably my best friend. If you play the Sims games, which one is your favorite? I've only ever played Sims Animals, which I looooved back in the past. I haven't played it in years, though. If your parents searched your room, would they be mad at what they’d find? No. Ever taken a picture kissing somebody? Yes. Sex in the morning, afternoon or night? Morning is a great start to the day, but only after your teeth are brushed. I cannooooot do morning breath. Do you want someone aggressive or passive in bed? Aggressive. I am such a sub lmao. How serious are your feelings for the person you like? I DON'T KNOWWWWWWWWWW Ever had your driver's license suspended? Don't have mine to begin with. Does the person you like know that you like them? Yes. How frequently are you inclined to read, and how much? Somewhat rarely lately, less than I did some months back. I would read some pretty big chunks. When was the last time you questioned the direction your life was taking? LMAOOOOOOOOO I'm not exaggerating at all when I say that's like, a daily occurrence. What small things have the ability to get under your skin? I'm trying to think of something I haven't said before, but I'm not sure. OH, it may seem like a small thing, but letting balloons go outside. It's littering. Many end up in the ocean. What is something small that has the ability to cure a bad mood? A car ride riding shotgun with music blaring. I fucking love it. What was the last big change through which you went? Some moral beliefs altered. ^ Do you deal well with change, typically? Have you always? Fuck no. It blows up my anxiety. How do you feel after spending a great quantity of time online? I used to feel kinda guilty, and I actually still do, but it's more subdued. It's just too normal by now, to the point when I'm bored, I sometimes briefly forget there are other things to do that aren't on the computer. God it's sad. What do you consider to be the biggest drawback to being you? I'M BIG SCARED OF EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!! What do you consider the best part of being who you are? I'm really understanding and can relate to people's pain well. What kinds of things do you have on display in your room? Christ, a lot. My room is STUFFED with decorations that make me happy.  There's posters, some artwork, all my Silent Hill game cases or manuals + more SH stuff, meerkats galore, Venus is in here, I have this "shrine" for Teddy... I've got a load of stuff. What do you think your room and its contents say about you, if anything? I love a lotta stuff, ig. Animals, music, dark stuff, games. When was the last time you felt insecure about something/some situation? UMMMMM I should have a question for this fucking immediately. I'm sure it was something when I was at Ashley's inlaws for Mother's Day. What is something about which you are very confident or self-assured? My knowledge of meerkats lmaooo. Which emotional sensation inconveniences or bothers you the most? FUCKIN ANXIETY. Do you ever find it awkward to compliment another being? No, I love love love giving compliments!! When was the last time you had a new experience? What was it? Hm. I guess nightmares where I literally flail and attack shit while shrieking. Do you dress more for yourself, or to the expectations of others? I dress entirely for myself. What is one way you cope when you feel like crap? Binge music I can relate to. Which can make it worse, but sometimes helps. I'll usually get to the point of being teary and cry a bit, but then I start feeling better. Name an insult you regularly receive, if there is one? I guess it's not really an... insult, per se, but I hear "you're too quiet!" all the time. What is something you used to believe about life that you no longer do? Everything happens for a reason. Nope. What is something you hope you never have to do again? Deal with another Jason-level heartbreak. Of the many different American accents, which one is your favorite? I'm actually not sure. Not a fan of any that I can think of. Do you know anyone who had a kid before they were financially stable? Oh yeah, plenty normal nowadays. Is there anything hanging from the doorknob in your room? Yes, the pink bead necklace from my sister's baby shower for Emerson. Sometimes I hang my purse there too. Why did you move to where you're living now? We got evicted for not being able to keep up with rent and needed a cheap but semi-decent place to live. What was the most severe punishment your parents gave you when you were growing up? I remember I was grounded from the computer for at least a week, maybe more. My punishment was always taking technology away and/or spanked or popped on the arm. I remember she once hit my arm so damn hard that I had her handprint there for a while. My mom was horrible at *keeping* me and my sisters grounded, though; she'd normally calm down within a few days and things would return to normal. What was the topic of conversation the last time you spoke to a sibling? Ummm I don't remember. I should, I saw one just a couple days ago. Are you currently looking for a new job? I don't have a job currently, but while Mom has cancer and surgery coming up, I'm not really looking, but pondering opportunities. She'd have to drive me, which just can't be done right now, and I'm also not comfortable leaving her home alone right now. Who is the person you are the closest to? (emotionally, not physically) Mom. What was the last caffeinated drink you had? Do you drink this often? Strawberry Sunkist, and ugh, too much lately. Whose photo did you last look at? I was on Facebook a bit ago, so someone's on there. Who was the last person to pick you up? You mean like, physically? I don't know, probably Girt because he got a kick out of our height difference and he would do that when we hugged. What are you wearing around your neck? Nothing right now. Have you accidentally mistaken a stranger for someone you know? Oh my god, yes. I did that at the tattoo parlor once at a guy that looked like my sister's ex, who I got along with well. He looked at me like "uhhhhh" and it will haunt me forever. Who did you last blow a kiss at? Venus. I do that and wave a lot when she comes out of her hide and looks my way. Have you ever seen lava in real life? No. Who did you last bite? Um I don't just casually go around biting people lmao. Probably Jason. Do you remember the date of your prom? Ha, it's honestly surprising to me that I don't recall the date of either, considering how I remember, y'know, a weird amount of obscure details through our entire time knowing each other. Was your last kiss long and sensual or short and sweet? Why’s that? Short and sweet, because it was just a goodbye kiss. When kissing, do you like to be on top or bottom? Good Lord, am I a bottom. I hated being on top because I felt he had a better view of me and my body, and I was self-conscious as shit even when I was fit. Does your boyfriend/husband know what size your boobs are? UHHHHHHHHHHHHH I don't have a boyfriend but I've sure never actually talked about it with any. Do you have hair extensions or do you think those are strictly for the scene kids? ..... No? I don't wear extensions, never have, but wearing them doesn't tie you to a label??? List all the things you have from your boyfriend at your house right now? Not everyone has a boyfriend, friend. Last time you exercised and for how long? I DON'T WANT TO THINK OF THIS lkja;dslkfjwe Last girl who called you hot/sexy/something else of the sort? I shared a picture of myself on Facebook for once just the other day, so let's so. *checks* HAHA MY MOM. #1 cheerleader, friends. OH I should probably clarify she said "gorgeous," but I guess that counts? Was she hitting on you? Jfc no. Last guy who called you hot/sexy/something else of the sort? Does getting a comment from Ian of a Spongebob screenshot of Squidward with heart eyes count? lol Was HE hitting on you? *shrugs* He's very open with sharing love for his friends though, so it very well could've been just friendly support. Have you ever taken the 5,000 question survey? Parts of it, and God did it get stupid. What would you do if your boyfriend/husband got drafted into war tomorrow? I. Am single. And not everyone. Is interested in guys. But hypothetically, I would fucking panic. I physically wouldn't be able to handle an s/o in the army; I would constantly, absolutely constantly, be actively fearful. We'd have to find a way to get him out of it. Has a guy ever touched your butt without permission? If so, how did this make you feel? I don't believe so, thank God. How many formal dresses do you own? Sun-dresses? I have two prom dresses (which I'm finally comfortable enough to get rid of at some point) and I think like... one or two other black knee-length dresses that I could now never fit into? What do you hope you grow out of? Social anxiety. It ruins many parts of my life. What is the healthiest and unhealthiest thing you do on a regular basis? Healthy? Oh fuck. I, uh, usually have one bottle of water, I guess? Unhealthy, definitely drink soda. I need to stop. When looking for a SO, what three things are most important (besides looks)? Kindness, patience, and compassion or understanding. How much do you judge a person by their appearance? Define "judge" here. Like, I can conclude someone is impoverished or well off in many cases, but I don't judge them as people. What is the most embarrassing thing you own? Hm. I'm unsure. What is the strangest habit you have? I don't think I have odd habits. What movie made you cry the most? The Notebook or Old Yeller, I think. What was one of the happiest moments of your childhood? Realizing I was getting a dog for Christmas. Fuck, I miss Teddy. What belief do you have that most people disagree with? I'd rather not get political right now. Who or what inspires you to be a better person? I fucking hate admitting it, but Jason. The last thing he told me was to stop saying "I'll try" but rather "I will," and I actually recently almost had a breakdown about it because I shouldn't put SO much value into what he says, make it holy "rules." I treat him like a god in so many ways. Still, in my stupid head, his word is law. I still want to make him so proud. What’s the TLDR description of your last relationship? Long-distance was getting extremely hard, but I think the bigger factor was that we both have problems we need to work on before we can properly support one another. If you found out your current life has been just a dream, would you choose to wake up? (You don’t know if your real life would be better or worse.) I guess... no. I'd be too afraid of it being any worse than it already feels. What dumb thing did you believe for a really long time? Political and religious beliefs I don't at all like admitting I had. Where would you like to retire? Hell if I know, that's a long whiles away. What brings you the most joy in life? Oh yikes. Family and close friends, probs. What was the last song that got stuck in your head? "Blush" by Jeffree Star is on repeat ahhhh What is something you enjoy doing, but aren’t good at? Drawing people. I don't really do it BECAUSE I'm not very good. In art in general, I have a hard time with proportions. Name some healthy foods that you enjoy eating. Strawberries, apples, a lotta other fruits, broccoli, there are these granola and cashew bars I LOVE, salad can be good, scrambled eggs... now I'm blanking. Like there are a lot of foods that can be on either end of the spectrum, depending on how they're prepared. Do you ever eat dry cereal as a snack to munch on? Any particular kind? No, generally too crunchy and dry. When you run out of something to drink & are thirsty, are you quick to retrieve a new beverage or are you lazy about it? It depends on how thirsty I am and what I'm doing at that moment. What is your favorite part of a slice of pizza? BITCH all of that motherfucker. What was the longest power outage you ever experienced? Two or so days. I was so, so scared for Venus because it was in the winter. Poor girl was scared. I had to let her inside my hoodie and shirt to use my warmth for a lengthy period at a time, there were blankets draped over her terrarium... I was genuinely afraid she was going to die. But nope, my baby is good and thriving. :'D Do you believe that children should do all of the chores around the house, or do you think the parents should do them? Or do you have an entirely different opinion? As someone who was raised with chores poorly enforced and now I suck at doing them, they should ABSOLUTELY be a required thing. Children shouldn't do *all* the chores though, of course, especially those involving serious chemicals. Have you ever painted a pet’s nails, or known someone that has done such? Do you think that is cruel? I haven't, but I suppose it depends on whether it's toxic or not and if the animal doesn't mind? I do know people who have. What is something you did as a child that you didn’t realize back then was “wrong”, if anything? I didn't know interracial relationships were perfectly fine. It's funny, I don't recall me seeing black as any less than whites, I just thought it wasn't supposed to happen. Being raised in the South does that, ig. Do you get an excessive amount of bug bites during spring/summertime? Are you one to itch constantly or can you control yourself? No, I've heard because I have A-type blood. Whenever my sister (O-type) and I used to play outside, she would always come in COVERED in mosquito bites, and she's still a magnet for them today. Supposedly bugs don't prefer A, but O the most. I do itch, though. Holy shit, do I itch. Do you own any sports equipment [balls, basketball goals, mitts, etc] that you rarely use? No. Could you ever willingly hunt down & shoot an innocent animal for sport? Over my dead fucking body. Would you be uncomfortable changing someone else’s baby’s diaper? Ugh, I have twice I believe, and I hated it. Have/would you ever want to own a pet frog, or do you think they would be too boring? I don't think I've ever caught and kept one? I don't mind "boring" pets, I just don't desire one. What internet/television provider do you use? Fucking CenturyLink. Stay away from it. Are you uncomfortable going out in public with leg stubble? Even if it’s so light that no one would notice it unless they were looking for it? That much, no. Now I literally haven't shaved my legs in over a whole year because it's not like anyone sees them, but holy fuck would I be mortified if someone did lol. Have you ever lived in a mobile home? No. I'm terrified to because of tornados. Have you ever had your bedroom in a basement? No. What’s your favorite piece of furniture in your house? ...? If someone gave you a kitten, would you keep it? I'd want to, but it'd be Mom's decision. Favorite type of cracker: Cheez-Its. Animal you like to watch but sort of creeps you out: Spiders, especially when they're making their webs.

[jelliclesong]

Let me just preface this by saying I love the musical, I loved the movie, and I’m almost certainly going to buy it when it comes out on DVD. That said, I have some Thoughts about Cats. (in no particular order, because fuck that.)

 Tagging @captainschmoop and @wendigutz, who asked for this. For the rest of y’all, have a read-more:

-So, the straight-up human feet? -1000/10, Do Not Want, will feature in every nightmare I have for the rest of my life, oh gods.

-Dame Judy Dench, I love you. That said, please stop making eye contact with me through the camera.

-We got the pre-patched version, so some of this may change, but the way things interacted with other things was occasionally VERY strange. No one’s (creepy, human) feet touch the ground properly, Mistoffelees’ ears kept phasing through his hat, the tails and ears in general didn’t read like cats’, and the amount and style of fur occasionally changed from one shot to the next. Also, for some reason Dame Judy Dench appeared to be compressed in a way that no one else was.

-Someone who isn’t ace please watch Rum Tum Tugger’s song and tell me if it wasn’t sexy because I don’t find things in general sexy/am attracted to weird shit, or if it wasn’t sexy because it was bad. (I’m inclined to believe it’s the latter, but I’m curious what other people think.)

-Sir Ian McKellen is living his best life and I adore him.

-Boy howdy are they trying /real/ hard to give this thing a plot, huh. 

-The dialogue is jarring, mostly because of its existence. 

-I did not need to know what a Taylor Swift/Andrew Lloyd Webber collaborative song would sound like, and now that I do know I wish I didn’t.

-Seriously, they cut chunks out of a couple other songs just so they could add that in. 

-Y’all did my girl Teazer dirty and I’m not pleased.

-Cute patterning on her and Mungojerrie, at least. I dig the colours. 

-We’re not talking about Rebel Wilson. I refuse.

-We are really, REALLY not talking about Taylor Swift.

-Macavity, weirdly, was a disappointment. I think it was because they were trying too hard to make him a Hollywood-villain-with-a-character-arc maybe? But something about it just felt really flat by the end.

-I was Very Concerned they were going to do the entire Growltiger song. Like, I love that song, but it’s hella racist and we really need to leave it in the past thanks.

-I love this Mistoffelees and I’m keeping him.

-This is more a preference of mine, but I missed Scottish Skimbleshanks. 10/10 for the mustache, though.

-Milk bar? The fuck?

-They seem to have fixed a lot of the scaling weirdness from the trailer (context did help with that)

-Someone somewhere in this process is Very invested in Victoria/Mistoffelees/Munkustrap as a threesome. Like. /Very/ invested. I’ve seen fanfic that was less overt.

-The extending nails were a little too far over into uncanny valley for me.

-The weird “Pound on the floor and meow” take on applause was wildly disconcerting.

-I was pleasantly surprised; all of the singing was decent. Some sound balancing weirdness here and there, but the voices were good, and for the most part I liked the style shifts they did to things.

-Overall? I really enjoyed it. There are definitely things I’d have done differently, but it isn’t nearly as awful as the entire internet would have had me believe, so I’mma call it a win. (and honestly, I’m used to people holding up Cats like some shiny example of “bad theater”, like you get bonus points for hating it with some cosmic theater critic.)

[hermannsthumb]

MARIA give us the newt stretching in booty shorts in front of his hot neighbor!!!

Anonymous said: SUGGESTIVE STRETCHING NEWT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

Anonymous said: If you have time/inspiration can you please write a fic where newt and Herm are neighbours and newt keeps going outside to do yoga or something in workout clothes that are way too small whenever herms is out there?

my god. how did you all know i wanted to write this. its almost as if, after deliriously posting tweet after tweet with this concept at 4 am, i begged someone to prompt me on tumblr so i could write this for someone other than myself. enjoy some thirsty reclusive nerd hermann

The flat next to Hermann’s has been vacant for as long as he can remember. For a good reason, Hermann supposes; not many people fancy living at the top floor of a many-leveled building in the very back corner, even if the elevators here work fairly smoothly. Hermann himself would’ve avoided it if he had any other choice--he can walk up the staircase just fine during power outages or fire alarms, but it’s not exactly ideal, as it usually means an extra painkiller for his leg as he readies for bed. It’s blessedly quiet, at least, blessedly isolated, which means Hermann can be left alone with his numbers and calculations in peace.

At least it used to be quiet.

Hermann has a new neighbor, and he hears him before he sees him.

He’s only barely given a heads-up that someone moved in to the flat in the first place, and only as a result of a chance meeting with his landlady on the ground floor when he went to collect his mail. Some sort of scientist, she told Hermann, teaching biology three times a week at the local high school despite his multiple (or so rumor has it) doctorates. “As long as he’s quiet,” Hermann bristled, though privately, he was excited at the prospect of living so close to someone who was sure to be like-minded. A scientist, biologist, even, with multiple doctorates. Hermann expected someone professional, someone exuding intelligence, someone Hermann would like to have as a colleague. Maybe even a friend. Maybe he’ll have him round for dinner, or for tea, or maybe he’ll just wait until they pass each other in the hallway and nod tersely at him and never interact beyond that. That’s how Hermann’s favorite relationships play out.

The biologist manages to sour all of Hermann’s good will before Hermann can even think seriously of introducing himself. Twenty-four hours after Hermann learns the vacancy has been filled, he’s woken up at seven in the morning to loud music blaring from next door. It takes him a few minutes to realize it’s not just recorded music--the biologist is playing an electric guitar.

Still half-asleep, Hermann reaches blindly for his cane, slips on his dressing gown and glasses and slippers, and marches straight over to the biologist’s flat to pound on the door. After a minute, the music stops. After another minute, the door swings open.

The biologist doesn’t look anything like Hermann expected, either. He’s young, very young (Hermann’s age, Hermann realizes), messy-haired, tattooed, freckled, and he’s wearing thick glasses that take up half his face and very tight skinny jeans. He’s also exceptionally handsome, which is most frustrating of all. Hermann wanted to shout, maybe even get a few whacks with his cane in at the man’s calves and pretend it was an accident, but his words die in his throat.

The biologist leans against the doorframe and smiles charmingly at him. “Hi,” he says. “I’m Newt. Are you Dr. Gottlieb?”

“Newt,” Hermann manages to say.

"Yeah,” Newt says, and nods. “That’s me.” Then he repeats, a little more forcefully, “Are you Dr. Gottlieb?”

“Er,” Hermann says, blinking. “Ah! Yes. That’s--yes, I’m Dr. Gottlieb.” Then he remembers why he’s here. “Why the hell are you playing guitar this early?”

Newt shrugs. "Because it’s fun,” he says. “I’m an early riser.”

“I’m not,” Hermann says.

Newt’s still giving him that damned smile. “I’ll keep it down,” he says.

Hermann turns on his heels and slams his door behind him.

Hermann’s next run-in with Newt (or Dr. Newton Geiszler, he finds out, after snooping around the mailboxes) occurs a few weeks later. It’s a nice day, warmer than usual for April, and Hermann wakes uncharacteristically early (though not to loud guitar music, this time) so he takes his morning coffee out to be enjoyed on his small balcony in his small wicker chair. The view is not perfect, and the horizon is mostly obscured by the buildings across the way, but Hermann can still see the pink and orange of the sunrise. It’s enough for him. (Out here, he can pretend Dr. Newton Geiszler does not exist, that the flat next door remains empty, that his happy solitude has not been interrupted.)

Dr. Geiszler’s balcony is a mere few feet away, close enough that one could easily hop over the railings to get to one from the other if they wishes. He’s managed to clutter up the space already: he’s propped a bicycle up against the opposite railing (despite the fact there’s a perfectly good bike rack in the front of the building) and filled all but a small spot with large potted plants (herbs, vegetables, a bewildering amount of strawberries) that have spilled dirt everywhere. Not just a nuisance, but a mess, then. Hermann shudders to think what the inside of his flat looks like.

Newt’s glass door slides open, and Hermann forces himself not to groan aloud. “Hi, Dr. Gottlieb,” Newt says cheerfully. “Nice morning, huh?”

“Hmph,” Hermann says. He turns away.

“Do you usually chill out here?” Newt says, evidently determined to finish the conversation.

“Sometimes,” Hermann says.

“Cool,” Newt says. He drums his fingers on the railing. “Good talk. See you, I guess.”

Newt’s glass door slides shut.

He sees Newt again a few days later. It’s another nice morning, so Hermann’s out on his balcony with coffee once more, and Newt pops out--whistling--in a bathrobe with a yoga mat in hand. “Hope it’s cool if I stretch a bit out here,” he says. “I need some fresh air.”

“It’s your balcony,” Hermann says. He flicks through the newspaper he brought out until he gets to the crossword puzzle. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Newt unroll his yoga mat and drop his bathrobe.

“Oh, I did that one this morning,” Newt says. “If you need any help with clues--”

“I don’t, thank you,” Hermann snaps, a little irritated at the implication that he needs help with a crossword puzzle, and he looks up to tell Newt to mind his own business--

--and is greeted by the sight of Newt in a tight white t-shirt and the tightest, shortest athletic shorts he’s ever seen in his entire life. “You okay, Dr. Gottlieb?” Newt says, grinning as he watches Hermann mop up coffee from the front of his dressing gown.

“Ah,” Hermann says, “yes, er--” Newt stretches his arms above his head and the hem of his t-shirt rides up, revealing a pleasing expanse of tattooed stomach, a trail of light brown hair--Hermann tears his eyes away and back to the dark stain still spreading all over his chest. “Just clumsy. Very clumsy.”

“Mm-hmm,” Newt says, and Hermann swears he hears him laughing as he rushes back inside to change. When he’s returned (clean and with a new cup of coffee), Newt’s switched to a different pose entirely: on his hands and knees on the yoga mat, faced away from Hermann and arching his back rather suggestively. The stretchy fabric of his tiny shorts pulls, and pulls... “How’s the puzzle coming?” Newt calls over his shoulder.

“Good,” Hermann chokes out.

Newt has a very nice ass.

Newt stretches on his balcony three more times that week, then the next week, then the week after, each time in those tiny little shorts and that tank top that barely covers him, each time arching his back and moving his hips in a way that makes Hermann blush and stutter, each time with a cheery little “Hi, Dr. Gottlieb!” 

Hermann considers avoiding his balcony altogether, but that feels like losing, in a sense. Admitting to his unfortunate inclination for his annoying neighbor. Admitting to the fact that he can be overwhelmed by some simple yoga. (Admitting that, when he’s alone, sometimes he imagines Newt in those tiny shorts bending down in front of Hermann, the fabric of his shirt riding up...) Well. The point is that Hermann refuses to stop enjoying his balcony. And what’s Newt stretching for, anyway? The man’s a bloody part-time science teacher. It’s not as if he needs to. If anything, he should be embarrassed, not Hermann.

“Hi, Dr. Gottlieb,” Newt says as always, winking at Hermann as he rolls out his mat. His shorts are bright red today. Monday they were hot pink. Hermann wonders just exactly how many of these Newt owns.

“Good morning,” Hermann says, begrudgingly.

Newt puts his hands on his hips and rolls his shoulders back with a satisfied groan. “It’s nice as shit out,” he says.

“Mm,” Hermann says. He’s not bothering with a puzzle today--he hasn’t managed to concentrate on those in weeks--but instead idly flips through one of his old notebooks of research. Newt pulls out two small weights. They can’t weigh more than a pound or so each. “Switching it up?” Hermann asks, and then curses himself for acknowledging that he’s well-familiar with Newt’s usual routine.

“Yep,” Newt says.

Newt goes down on his hands and knees, rear stuck out as always. He does his usual stretches while Hermann turns pages and feigns disinterest. Then Newt picks up a weight.

The sound he emits makes Hermann flush hot from the tips of his ears to his chest and clench his notes so tight the paper starts to rip. “Are you alright?” Hermann squeaks. 

“Yeah,” Newt says, oddly breathy. “Why?”

“No reason,” Hermann says.

Newt does it over, and over, and over, his tattooed arms flexing, the stretchy fabric of his shorts pulling, and each deep grunt of effort is more obscene and orgasmic than the last. “Do you care if I take this off?” Newt suddenly says, tugging at the hem of his tank top. Sweat beads his brow. His glasses have slid down his nose. He’s breathing far more heavily than necessary.

Hermann shakes his head, and Newt’s tank top is off and over his head in seconds; Newt is not remotely well-built. Unfortunately, that’s exactly Hermann’s type.

Hermann enjoys a nice cold shower thirty minutes later.

Hermann has a great deal of difficulty following Newt’s inevitable attempts to small talk him the next time. “So you’re a doctor,” Newt says, stretching his leg over his head. He looks like a freckled, rainbow pretzel. “Of what?”

“Physics,” Hermann says.

Newt whistles. “Impressive.” He switches to the other leg. “Just you up here, then? No one else?” Hermann narrows his eyes and nods. “Yeah. I’m the same way.” There are a few light patters on the thick awning overtop Hermann’s balcony. Newt looks up. “Oh, shit, it’s raining.”

It is, and getting harder and steadier by the second. Hermann quickly grabs his cane and prepares to head back inside his flat. “See you tomorrow, dude!” Newt calls, scrambling to his feet and tugging on his slider--

--which doesn’t budge.

“Dr. Gottlieb,” he says. “Hey, uh--”

“What, Geiszler?” Hermann sighs, half inside.

Newt tugs on his slider handle again and smiles sheepishly. “I’m locked out.”

The wind is blowing the rain onto their balconies, cold despite it being spring, and Newt’s already half-drenched and shivering pathetically. Hermann caves immediately. “Can you climb over here?” he sighs, stepping back outside.

Newt nods, lighting up with excitement. “Dude, you’re the best!” He shimmies over both railings and the minuscule gap between them and lands heavily on his feet in front of Hermann. Right in front of Hermann. “Hi,” he says.

Hermann can make out every tattoo beneath Newt’s soaked white tank top. “Inside,” he manages to say, and Newt nods and trails after him. He shuts the slider behind them.

“You have a nice place, Dr. Gottlieb,” Newt says. He’s dripping on Hermann’s carpet and still shivering. Hermann sighs again.

“Let me get you a bathrobe,” he says, while Newt looks delighted. “And a towel. And a change of clothing.”

Newt’s stripped out of his tank top once more when Hermann returns from his small laundry room with a small stack of the promised towel, bathrobe, and spare set of pajamas, folded and freshly-warmed in the dryer. “Here,” he says, and thrusts them out at Newt, who immediately begins toweling at his hair.

“You’re fucking awesome,” Newt says. He reaches for the pajamas--which are more or less the single pair of sweatpants Hermann owns and the oldest t-shirt he could find--with one hand, still drying his hair with the other. “Okay, heads up, I’m not wearing any underwear, so you might wanna look away.”

“You’re not wearing any--?” Hermann chokes out, face burning, but Newt’s reaching for the elastic waistband of his (tiny, wet) shorts (with nothing underneath, apparently) so Hermann immediately fixes his eyes on the ceiling. 

“Okay,” Newt says after a few minutes, suspiciously close, and when Hermann looks back at him he’s a mere few inches away. (The sweatpants and t-shirt fit him poorly, the cuffs of the former rolled up, the latter straining across his torso, and he hasn’t bothered belting the bathrobe.)

Hermann’s breath catches in his throat; his knees feel a bit unsteady. “Er,” he says, leaning heavily on his cane. “All fine, then, Newton?”

“It’s Newt,” Newt says, and smiles. He puts his right hand on Hermann’s waist. Then his left hand.

All that stretching has made Newt very agile, which he’s happy to demonstrate to Hermann.

[multiverseofmiracleshq]

AVENGERS V X-MEN STAGE II : ROUND I : QUICK STATS 

MATCH-UP → gwenpool v kid omega LOCATION → wakanda WINNER → draw CASUALTIES → kid omega switches sides

QUENTIN: Namor was being dramatic again-- no shock there. And as he talked to the crowd, Quention made his way over from off to the side, feet carrying him towards blond hair tinted pink. “Surprise seeing you here.” Quentin crossed his arms and stopped when he was a few feet away from Gwen. He sounded unamused. “Come to join the fun?”

GWEN: While the rest of the Wakanda response team headed down to face the Aquaman with the bad brows Gwen had trudged up the stairs so that she could occupy the roof of one of the city’s incredibly tall buildings. Pulling her gun out, she loaded the weapon and perched it on the edge of the roof and trained her sights down below. Not that she was planning on shooting anything for a second. Wakanda was lit even if she hadn’t made a Black Panther sighting yet and it looked like a hurricane had passed through. With her stomach flat against the concrete and one ankle crossed over the other, she bobbed her head back and forth to the music that rang out from inside her mind. “Why? This is, like, the best part of the story. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Rolling over, Gwen stared up at the sky through pink tinted goggles. “I am the fun. You’ve come to join me.”

QUENTIN: Quentin rolled his eyes, hearing the chatter in his mind grow louder as he tuned into the crowd below them. “Looks like the party is starting without you.” He gestured over towards where the mutant and Avengers side were starting to get riled up. “You and that-- dinky gun of yours--” With a flick of his fingers, Quentin moved Gwen’s gun a few inches with a jolt of blue energy. His gun was way cooler.

GWEN: “I’ll live.” Her limbs sprawled out as if making a snow angel there in  the dust and grime of the rooftop. “See, once I go down there I’ll inevitably no longer be able to talk to you and my romantic subplot needs this time. But -- HEY!!” She shot upright when he touched her gun. “Do not touch the Reverend Al Sharpton. That’s my holy gun.” Her brows furrowed as Gwen jumped to her feet so they were standing nose to nose. “What’s up with the bad attitude, huh?”

QUENTIN: “I don’t have a bad attitude! This is how I always am!” He yelled back at her, arms widely gesturing out from his sides. Not a complete lie. Quentin was on edge lately because of his powers, but his classic asshole demeanor was a constant. A few long seconds ticked by as the two of them stood like that-- close together, but not touching. And then he dove in, crashing his lips against hers and grasping her face with both hands.

GWEN: “THEN YOU’RE A LIVING BAD ATTITUDE.” Gwen hollered back. He was only slightly taller so while they weren’t eye to eye she was very close to his lips and then -- yep. There it was. The Phoenix was literally slapping the shit out of her friends and Gwendolyn Poole ( of no relation to one gwen stacy ) was very passionately making out with the enemy. She wrapped her arms around him as well, kissing him until she pulled away with shining eyes. “Hey, I like you. Outside of I need you to stop myself from fading from existence kind of like you. Trippy, right? So wild.”

QUENTIN: When Gwen finally pulled away, Quentin was practically seeing stars. His eyes were locked on hers as she was speaking and it took a long moment for him to realize what exactly she was saying. And when he did, he took it with a grain of salt. “Are you serious?” It was both a question of disbelief and confusion. After all this time, and this weird thing between them, she was talking about feelings now? But he didn’t back away from her, even with the doubt he was feeling.

GWEN: Rapping a fist against his temple, Gwen nodded. One arm was still hooked around his waist but she made no moves to let go. “Do I seem like the type to lie to you? We polled our viewers and the answer is a resounding yes. Hurtful, but true. You’re never going to understand how my head works,” she told him honestly. “And that’s for the best. You don’t want to see in there. It’s like Deadpool on crack. A bunch of empty spaces crammed too full. BUT. I know a lot. Like, a lot a lot about everything and everyone. I know that I like you. Maybe it started off as a scheme to get attention so I wasn’t a side character, but now I’ve missed the big bad fight and that has to mean something. Am I making sense? I think I’m making sense? God, I’d kill for a thought bubble right now or some nice exposition.”

QUENTIN: “You never make sense.” It made Quentin chuckle, even it annoyed the hell out of him sometimes. “But, I kinda like it. Keeps things interesting.” His draw to her was inexplicable in a way, but with the amount of times they ended up lip-locked he was inclined to believe that maybe it was worth exploring. Quentin had never been boring, and Gwen certainly wasn’t boring either. It could work. But she was right-- he would never understand that head of hers. He was a telepath-- and a good one at that-- but it was a complicated and weird place in there. “As stupid as this sounds.. I like you too.”

GWEN: Aw, this was nice. Cute. Totally irrelevant and taking from the main story. It was late !! People needed to go to bed !! ANYWAY - she was, believe it or not, happy. A bit confused which was rare but happy all the same. A boom rocked the building then, the whole structure shaking. Something j-u-i-c-y was happening. Abruptly dropping her arms from him, Gwen ran to the edge to grab Al Sharpton so he didn’t fall over the edge. Another rang out then and the buildings structure began to fall. The part underneath her began to crumble ( which was honestly so on brand ) and then Gwendolyn Poole dropped like a stone from the top of a  very high building towards the street below.

QUENTIN: Were they having a moment? In the middle of a battle they should have been fighting in? Apparently they were, and Quentin questioned the weird warm feeling in his gut as he looked at Gwen and almost smiled. That’s when the battle-- whatever the hell was happening over there-- took a turn and the solid structure beneath their feet started to not be so solid anymore. When it crumbled, Quentin’s instinct kicked in and he managed to catch himself before falling too far. But as he hovered in midair, hands outstretched to create a forcefield between him and any falling debris, he watched as Gwen fell and hit the pavement beneath them. ”Gwen!” He called out to her but was unable to catch her-- his powers were weak as it is, it was a miracle he even caught himself. As quickly as he could go, Quentin lowered himself down to where she fell and when his feet hit the broken concrete he ran over to her.

GWEN: A good long fall never got old. Well, it never got old once you woke up from said fall and got over the bump in your head. Sure, sure. Gwen fell for fun because a girl named gwen falling off of stuff in the marvel universe??? Literal classic. Plus, y’know, there was the fact that she always tended to live. Her admission to Howard the Duck that she jumped off of things to see how far she could go wasn’t a lie. Everyone had to have hobbies. For a little bit everything was dark and her mind recalibrated itself to where she was, who she was with and whatever version she currently was. There was a rock in her mouth that she spit out before Gwen moved some debris around and sat up. “Man, not having super powers is the worst.” She jabbed a finger onto the knot that was forming on her temple and then winced in pain. Yep, still regular ol’ flesh and blood. “Hey -- where’s Al Sharpton?”

QUENTIN: Gwen sat up and Quentin skidded to a halt. She had just fallen how far off of the roof of a building and she was.. Fine? He watched as she spit out a rock. He watched as the girl with supposedly no super powers survived a fall she should not have survived-- right after they talked about their feelings. He stood there, a good few feet away from her, stunning and mouth hanging open. “What. The. Fuck. Just happened..? How are you alive?”

GWEN: “Because I’m not dead. Duh. This, dear readers, is where you say aw at the cute omega telepath who doesn’t understand how I don’t have powers. Which, I do. Sometimes. But not these kind. I’m Special K.” She stopped chattering and looked down at her pinned legs. “Hey, homie, can you move that rock? Kinda pinning me down and I can’t go all 127 hours because I won’t regrow.” Wiggling her feet under the rocks, Gwen debated trying to eat through the rocks herself. “A) how bad do you think they look under there? B) Do you still like me? C) Are you glad I’m not dead?”

QUENTIN: “Yeah, of course I’m glad you’re not dead--” He sounded frustrated but it was because he could barely comprehend what was happening. With his telekinesis, Quentin moved the rock off of her legs and then slowly took a few more steps towards her. “And I still like you. I think. I don’t know, this is.. Weird..” He crouched down next to her when he was close enough. “So you do have powers then? You lied to me before?”

GWEN: While she waited to be freed Gwen picked up a rock and weighed it in her hand before  tossing it as hard as she could towards a building. The sound of broken glass was like music to her ears. “No. Not really. I don’t have powers. Not a mutant, not an Inhumans. I’m... different. It’s part of my gig, like why I’m here. So what I can do is very limited and based on that, and it depends on what run and setting I’m in. West Coast Avengers Gwen is the pretty version of me that everyone likes and I was super held back. When I’m solo and not a supporting character or team member I can do more. You’re going to think I’m Crazy with a capital C, Quintavius. It’ll blow your mind and concept of reality. I can’t really say I have powers. It’s more of a being sort of thing. Other than the falling kink. I’m a good faller, as you can tell. I can’t even tell if anythings broken. Just got this cool knot on my head.” Again she poked it. Even though her legs were free Gwen made no move to get up since he was already on her level. Instead she just wrapped one ankle over the other. “Hey, I met your girlfriend Idie the other day as well. Did I mention that?” It wasn’t a deflection on purpose and her tone remained light. “She’s nice. Hit me in the face, but nice. Does any of this changing you liking me? I don’t want a new love interest.”

QUENTIN: Too much information. Gwen was going a hundred miles an hour and saying things that, once again, made no sense, and it all ended with her talking about Idie. His stomach twisted at the name. He tried not to think about her. For a while he tried to get her back and after her gave that up it was a chapter of a book he tried to close forever. And now-- “She punched you?” That was all he could manage to say after that huge dump of info. “Listen, can we just.. not? Clearly I like you and the fact that you’re not dead is still freaking me out. So please--” He stood back up and then held out a hand for her to grab so he could pull her to her feet. “--can we get the fuck out of here now? I’ve had enough emotions for one day.”

GWEN: “I may have been goading her - which is totally part of my charm - but yeah. Turned her fist to ice and knocked me into a wall. Not that I minded. Told her that she’d find someone better to love her and bought her a pizza. No offense of course. We needed to get the fledgings and Trauma was being creepy af. You can read about it in the chat log.” Taking his hand, Gwen pulled herself to her feet and shook out each leg. Yep, still working. The good ol’ Poole fall routine had worked again. She was thanking her writers for that. “I’m pretty hard to kill, and there’s always another version of me. It’s headache city, trust me.” Without dropping his hand Gwen yanked him to where part of her gun was protruding from the rocks. Unearthing it, she cast a sad look over the ruined weapon before tossing it back to the ground. RIP to the Reverend. There was another waiting at home. Naming it would be fun at least. “Sure. As long as you aren’t all Phoenix team and raid my crib I’ll take you home with me. Innuendo intended and not intended.” Dragging him through the rubble of where a fight they hadn’t participated had clearly been completed, Gwen flashed him a smile. “I missed you, Q squared. Don’t worry. We’re almost at the end.” And they were, for better or worse.