#a bloody TOUCHDOWN???

[mojimallow]

gestures at alabama game. what the HELL was that

[brutalrules]

SAN FRANCISCO #23 CHRISTIAN MCCAFFREY

[lunas-side-anime-blog]

aot veteran/104 corp icks bc im back on my bullshit

someone requested AOT veteran icks, they didn't specify nsfw or not so I did both and also added sasha connie and jean bc i luv them:) feel free to message/inbox with requests!

(levi, erwin, hange, jean, sasha and connie)

Levi

will visit ur place and organize things without you asking. he'd just be like "ur welcome, now your kitchen makes sense" and ur like sir, I don't know where anything is now??? also he'd def the type to proclaim he's better than you for only getting two hours of sleep when you got four. honestly so many icks come to mind for this one, imma limit it to those two for now (stay tuned lol)

nsfw: tries to be rough with you but forgets his own strength. will try to throw you on the bed, but he does it too hard so you completely miss the bed and fall on the other side of it and he's just standing there like "🧍🏻...my bad."

Erwin

you cannot convince me this man doesn't wear water shoes at the pool. you guys say you want a dilf until you actually get one bc this is the type of shit it entails^^

nsfw: erwin cannot dirty talk for shit. im srry but if you're a lil kinky this isn't the man for you. try to call him daddy and he'd be like "we don't have kids?" and you explain the kink to him and he'd just say, "have you considered therapy?🤨" now he's concerned, boner gone, you feel called out, just go to sleep tbh

Hange

they're def a firm believer in natural deodorant and won't take the graceful hints that it's not working. prob wouldn't chill w them on a hot day is all i'm saying

nsfw: feel like they'd be really good in bed tbh like i'm struggling to think of an ick. hange has big dick energy, weirdos just do it better idk. i think maybe hange would try to spit in your mouth (they a freak) and they have so much and its thick and globby like the back of the throat type spit, your gonna choke bro im gagging as a i type-

Jean

bring back toxic masculinity because Jean's hair care routine is so good to the point he'll call out your split ends, i just know it

nsfw: a fucking chatterbox like his homies know everything. you've walked in on him telling connie in extreme detail how he had you in a full nelson last night while you screamed bloody murder and he doesn't see why ur mad. "babe, if anything i'm bragging about you 😏" fucking idiot istg. also kinda gross but I think he's the type to keep sniffing his fingers after fingering you like well into the next day EWW

Sasha

obvi she can't share for shit so I think she'd be an annoying person to eat out with. like yk when you're with your friends and only one person puts their card down so the rest can Venmo them? I think you can ask her to Venmo 20 and she'd send 15 and say something like "oh I didn't eat as many fries" but she fr did. never puts her card down either so believe it or not? jail.

nsfw: will literally be on her phone mid-sex with you. feel like she'd be really into the subway surfer vids and yeah, you go down on her and look up and she brought her own entertainment? ipad child behavior

Connie

i think he'd say "we" when talking about his fave sports team as if he contributed. like, "really connie, you helped win the superbowl? did you score a touchdown?" grow tf up

nsfw: insane bush on this one, i feel like he doesn't groom for shit and whatever, that's your choice! but I also feel like college-aged modern connie would talk shit about women who weren't bald down there and won't eat it unless it is. HYPOCRITE!! I think when he gets to his mid-twenties tho he'd mature (sasha beat his ass)

[gumballavocadoharry]

Lost along the way; Jack Chambers:

*Mentions of very offensive language, domestic abuse,  violent child abuse, aggression, violence, sex, drunkenness, slang terms, curse words, vulgar language, death, grief, emotional abuse, outdated views of women, men and children and cheating. *

A scorching heatwave brazed through the pounding streets of New York. The telephone wires echoed shadows over the heated tar pavement on the roads. Buffalo carried only the mist of the wave, but it still lingered over the Chamber household in mid-August. The sizzles of the heat, radiated through Jack's bedroom; a background noise as he flipped through the latest newspaper issue.

Buffalo was a set neighborhood sat serenely in the crowded busy pond of New York. The houses were only inches apart from one another- which to Jack- was better than the overcrowded insecure Brooklyn apartments.

Fresh faced young Jack- a high school graduate with honors- was only twenty years old, yet had the ambition and clarity that would take others a lifetime or several years to acquire. Body solid against the knobby clotted mattress, scanning intently through the Daily Colum. Jack wasn't shabby- a small rent control to a rickety Virginia trailer park would due. Just not here. Not in this house, with his father���..or mother.

Vivid memories of scattered and thrown around plates and glass cups, forks and knives. Beer bottles, all slammed against the walls with harsh crashes and shatters. Despite it being regular, Jack never accustomed himself to its normalcy. Because it wasn't. It wasn't normal to have run through the home with Vaseline covered soaked in ice to numb any whips or switches being whapped against them. Nor, was it normal to spend the cagy night soaking up the misguided blood from the belt welts with a sterile sheet that Jack had pressed over his sheets to not dampen them with his vertebral sores.

Jack would later learn his tip toeing habits came from his childhood. Tip toeing down the stairs for a glass of water, tip toeing up the stairs back to his bed. Tip toeing across his bedroom floor to study for his upcoming middle school tests. One creak was dulling. One creak could send David from his room out to the steps and into a barrage of curses words and threats hulling themselves at Jack, then being yanked up by the collar and thrown into his bedroom.

A glass had broken from this once and Jack stepped on a cracked piece. A bloody spot trail led back to Jack's room and wasn't cleaned until that following Sunday. Looking at the trail made Jack numb. He didn't understand why, but it did.

Last night- the night Jack made up his mind. Get busy living he decided. It had meaning. Last night was when David had grabbed Jack by his collar and threatened him. Throngs of: Pussy, Bastard, Dickhead- thrown at him with ease as if David was talking to a criminal. He would talk to them and about them like that. One of the most well respected detectives of the Buffalo precinct- hailed as a hero for stopping those two robbers who shot the elderly owner of the drug mart only a few miles from the neighborhood. Jack had heard about this at school, rooting Lawrence Jackson, to spill the latest of what had happened.

Jack liked and despised Lawrence. He was friendly, happy, calm, charming…..he had a good father. His father, Marc, was David's partner. Marc was the laid back and easy going type to get the antiheroes off with parole or a lighter sentence. "They're just kids," He would say. "I remember when I used to feel the same way. Parents should really show their children, just how much they love them. Don't ever leave it to fate or a read between the lines kind of guess for them. They deserve it."

Lawrence would brag about how Marc would take him to the ball game or buy him ice cream on hot summer Saturdays after school. Jack even saw the way Marc wrapped his arms around Lawrence after scoring the touchdown for the season. "Oh Renny! You were amazing! My number one guy!" Jack didn't even realize the smile peering across his face watching the father and son from the crowd. Jack could sometimes imagine David and him like that- but it never lasted.

"Jack, get your ass in the car or I leave without you!" Jack grabbing his baseball glove and bat, would have only a few seconds before David's car sped off. Marc was nice enough to give rides to Jack. But a twisted shame would dawdle through Jack. Maybe because Marc knew how rough David could be. And Jack knew he knew. "You dumb fuck- screwing up the whole fucking game for everyone!" David's eyes narrowed, pushing his face very close to Jacks. "You screw up again, and there won't be another season for you, got it!" Jack swallowed hard. He knew what it meant. Another hospital trip for a broken arm plus a bruised cheekbone. It would ruin his season.

A knock sounded against the door. "Jack?" Lucy entered upon Jack's acceptance. "Hi sweetie." Jack folded the newspaper by his side, lending his full attention to his mother. He watched her scrap over his blotchy paint stained floors, that had years' worth of stains longer than he'd been around. Taking a seat on the bed, Jack was forced to meet her silver rain eyes.  "How is everything?" Jack shook his head. "What do you mean?" Lucy bit the side of her lip. "You know… after last night with your father and everything…."

Jack stared back down at his bed spread. "You know that's never an easy question to answer…" Lucy kept her stare on Jack. Jack recognized that stare: the same one she would always give to him as a small child. A thick arch threatened to spread across his eyebrows. She could never see him as the man he was, just this small little child that needed her hand with everything. Lucy sighed. "I know your father can get a bit…rough at times," She paused. "It's just….when you have a family one day, you'll see that it's not easy providing for them and it can make you tired and irritable-"

"It's not an excuse." Jack shot back. "You don't lose your self-control like…." He thought. "Like an animal in the wild-"

"Watch your tongue!" Jack shook his head. He wouldn't take it back and Lucy knew he couldn't. A sigh escaped from Jack- his mother's eyes still following him. "Was there… anything else about Dad?" With a small hiss of ire, Jack almost demanded the answer. Lucy looked down. "He loves you." Jack scoffed. "Sorry…but…" waving his hand, Jack sat back with a smirk on his face. "I'm serious."

Jack sat back up. "Mom…. It is what it is. I've accepted that one way or another- I learned to accept it one way or another." Jack shook his head. "Dad….. Is Dad." Lucy touched Jack's knee. "I love you very much."

I'm sure Jack thought. He dropped the subject. Lucy's eyes met the newspaper. Jack stiffened. Grabbing the newspaper, Jack flipped to the crime catalogue. "A recent carjacking happened by Manhattan." Lucy scanned the paper before up righting herself and nodding. "It's a troubled world, that's for sure." Biting her lip, she turned to Jack again. "Dinner's ready." Sitting up, Lucy walked to the door, leaving Jack's room. Jack continued to stare at the closed door- darting between the burnt reddish brown door and the matching door jam.

Shaking his head, Jack thought about Lucy. Weak. No other word to describe it. Weak. Jack spent years, silently pleading and begging his mother to grab a suitcase- anything and just…..go. Leave everything and start fresh with just the two of them. No more 'bitch' or 'cunt' would be lunged at her for burning dinner or knocking over one of David's beer bottles. David didn't touch Lucy the way he would with Jack. He could snatch her by her shoulders and shove her against stairwell, or push her towards the kitchen after landing a firm pat to her behind.

Jack would never forget the way his father rebuked Lucy for interrupting his TV show. "You dumb broad!" He yelled. The first time Jack would ever see his father whip his hand to his mother's cheek. Blood trickled down the side of her face as she ran into the kitchen and hid herself away until dinner time. Jack hadn't even sat his backpack down before he ran upstairs and used the rope of robe to tie the door knob to the leg of his desk. The next morning, a foundation covered bruise sat boldly on the side of Lucy's face as did the artificial smile she had. At least….Jack hoped it was fake. Nothing was ever mentioned about it ever. Even if Jack thought about asking his mother if she was okay, something would snag him- grab and shake him to keep silent… like maybe she deserved it for being with him, or maybe because she would tell David and lead him to punch Jack in his face. Either way….nothing was said. No one ever said anything. And that was the last Jack would ever see of that.

Jack came down to dinner. David was sat at the center of the family table with a slight scowl across his face and his hands neatly and firmly pressed together in a noose. Jack took a seat in the middle- David always sat to his right, Lucy sat to his left. Jack sat in the middle- seen, not heard. Just the way David liked it. "You've got too much mouth." He would say. "Shut it!" Jack had only tried to tell him that he was going the wrong way during the dense highway traffic. "Shut up Jack! I told you I don't want to hear it!" So he didn't. But it took him two hours to turn around. Jack was sure he would get hit, but he didn't to his surprise. Instead, David kept silent. As long as no one spoke, he would let it go.

Lucy set the rolls in the middle of the table like a centerpiece. A steamy filled trout sat in front of Jack with carrots, peas. "Delicious!" Jack said. "Thanks Mom." Lucy smiled before taking a seat at the table. "Needs more salt." David said, but still scoffed down the trout without so much as a 'thank you' or even eye contact for that matter.

Dinner was silent. The sounds of forks grinding against the plates and the munching of the food were the only sounds expressed. "Jack… you doing anything with that college education?" Jack furrowed his eyebrows. David let out a gruffy laugh. "That's right, you don't have one." Lucy glared at David. "Yet…" Jack said.

"What?" David eyed Jack over bent over posture. Jack shrugged. "Yeah, I mean- it's not over yet." David narrowed his eyes. "You mean, you're actually gonna do something with your life? Not slaving way at this repair shop forever?" He started chuckling. "I guess my son ain't a loser after all." Jack kept his head down. He didn't say a word. Didn't need to. After dinner, he simply cleared away the plates and set them in the sink.

"You know that's women's work." He turned to Lucy. "Get up and do it." Lucy, like a puppy on demand, settled herself from the chair and gently took the plates from Jack's hand. She gave a small tattered smile and started on filling the sink with hot water and suds. Jack stared at Lucy for a bit before turning upstairs. Locking himself in his room, Jack researched harder on places to live. Crumbling the paper and tossing it, Jack sulked, not finding anything available. Laying back in his bed, Jack wouldn't give up. He couldn't. He decided that tomorrow morning would be a new day. A fresh day for looking. The scouring heatwave would still pour, but to Jack, he would wipe the beads of sweat from his head and continue house hunting.

Monday came, and the heatwave was still lingering through the city. Jack was up- overdue for the morning, settling into his navy blue jumpsuit with 'Bernie's Auto Repair' tattooed on the back. A quick sandwich, apple slices and a lemonade canister later, Jack left a gallant letter for his parents on the fridge.

'Went to work, see you later when I get home'

Love, Jack

Scuffling around the corner to meet the eight o'clock bus, Jack paid the fee before sitting three rows behind the driver- eventually getting up and handing his seat over to an elderly man with groceries. "Thanks sport!" Jack fluttered his dimples to the man before gripping the overhead hook of the bus tightly and concentrating carefully on what street Milton Ave was.

Pulling the string, Jack thanked the driver before hopping off the bus and strolled into the repair shop- clocking in his ticket for the day.

Jack gained Bernie ten new customers within a week. Business boomed more than over the last year when Bernie decided an oil and shine would be only for the price of one. "Sometimes you gotta spend money to make money." He said. Jack nodded along, disappearing back under the firetruck red Buick. He didn't know why, but Jack had this overachieving knack for fixing cars. "It's a gift, boy," Bernie said. "One day, when you get a car of your own- specially in New York- you'll be some driver. That car will be lucky." Jack smiled. Wiping the oil from his hands on the little white handkerchief sticking from his leg pocket. "Thanks Bernie." The older man smiled. "No problem- you know, I appreciate ya so much, lemme know if there's anything I can do for ya."

Jack modestly smiled, before frowning a little. "Say, Bernie…. Are there any newly leased apartments or houses around here?" Bernie arched an eyebrow. "Moving out of your folks place?" Jack kept his smile thin and subtle. "That father of yours is a damn sure hero. He really is, you tell him that, ya hear?"

Jack nodded still keeping his rigid smile. "Well, uh…. I hear this place on Caldara…. It was leased a few days ago because a couple decided that there Palm Springs was better suited for them- took route 66. You interested?"

"Oh yes! I've been looking for over a month now… as long as it's not too expensive." Bernie clicked his tongue. "Well, now- in this city- the cheaper you go, you don't know what you might get."

Jack knew this very well. One apartment that was a few hundred a month had a mouse nest under the kitchen sink. Booted from the apartment before the owner even showed up for the appointment. "I've decided- I'm not interested. Thanks, bye, bye." Jack hung the phone up and decided the owner would need to check for themselves why the place wasn't selling.

But this seemed like a sure thing. Jack knew those Caldara apartments. They lived in Brooklyn- the best side that you can get from it- and they were hunched only a little corner away from King's College. The inside was small but habitable little place with a small kitchen, little living room, a bedroom and bath. All he needed. After his shift, Jack didn't hesitate to find the empty apartment. Once inside, Jack checked under the sink, the bedroom, bathroom and any corner where a mouse would nest or spiderwebs would hang with their families or where any furnaces kept eggs of whatever inside. Nothing. "I'll take it!"

"For three hundred every month?" Jack nodded. "Fits my budget perfectly." Shaking hands with Mr. Veldor, Jack signed the lease and was given the keys to his new apartment officially. The shimmer of the golden key felt good in the palm of Jack's hand. It has the ring of departing clanging through every fiber of his brain. Jack made a solid two hundred with Bernie, counting it up every other week. Combining that with a night job for classes would seal a solid hopeful five hundred dollars into his bank every week. Jack needed to be cautious though.

If David saw the flicker flash of the keys, he would bill on more things for Jack to pay for. Once Jack had reached eighteen, David didn't hesitate. "Your grown now, you can pay your own damn way like everyone else in this country." David has dusted the grass sweeps off his tank top from mowing the lawn. Jack glanced between his mother skirting from the kitchen opening and the dining room. A glower escaped from Jack's eyes as he didn't expect Lucy to pipe up for anything.

"Jack," She tried to stop him on the way up the stairs. He turned back. "I'll figure it out…. I always have." Then he disappeared into his bedroom- snagging the job with Bernie's only a week after.

Jack had made it into the house. The keys were tucked carefully inside his uniform and then hid away. David wasn't home yet, giving Jack the chance to rearrange his closet space. He grabbed trash bags from the kitchen and tucked every item of clothing he owned inside them and hid one bag in his closet and the other under the bed- rolling them up into this ball shape. Watches and rings- delicate accessories were put into trash bags- rolled and knotted into this little bag and the carefully sealed inside the closet bag before being knotted tightly.

"When will Dad be home?" Jack asked, seeing his mother come into the house with grocery bags tucked in both her arms. Jack scurried over and took some of the bags from her arms and placed them onto the counter. "He said 'around 8'. It's a case him and Marc are working on that's very detailed." Jack nodded. "Why, did you need to ask him something?" Jack shook his head. "No, I just… wanted to make sure…." Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Jack…" Jack shook his head with a smile. Looking into his mother's eyes again- He examined them for scepticalness. "Well…. I always keep a watch out for him, yeah."

Lucy took a bag of carrots from the bag. "I-I know. I guess…. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Jack gawked- deep into Lucy's eyes this time. Enough for her to see the little lines of his green irises and the shrill potency of vigor he held in them. Lucy couldn't stop staring. There was something in Jack's eyes she couldn't ignore. Something inside of them that was so jarring, it scared her.

"I'm fine," Jack said, voice a little quiet. "I'll be fine." Giving a quick kiss to his mother's cheek, Jack left the kitchen leaving Lucy alone with her thoughts. But even she busied herself in sorting the groceries out for dinner- to bury down what she had possibly known about Jack, but was too afraid to admit to herself. Her sight went to the kitchen opening, then back to the counter. Taking a deep breath, Lucy ignored the echoes in her brain and put the milk into the fridge.

Jack thought hard. He needed to be swift and smart about this. No time for purchasing couches or coffee tables- Jack would take what he already had. His bed, clothes, desk- his room would be stripped of everything that would ever remind his parents of him. He would be gone by Friday. David wouldn't see him, Lucy wouldn't see him….. No one would see Jack again. No more 'greatest detective hero' about David. No more meek and mousey housewife and mother- so saturated in her character, that life washes around her- reality passing her by. Jack sat on his bed. Still realizing his uniform was still attached, Jack stripped it off, stuffing it over the closet rack. The empty closet was useful for something. Sudden flashes of pots, pans, oven mitts and curtains and shades struck Jack's mind. Checking the clock that read 6:02, Jack grabbed his house keys.

"I'm going to go meet some friends at the diner!" He yelled, coming down the stairs. Lucy peered through the kitchen doorway. "Where are you going?"

Jack turned to Lucy. "I remembered I promised to meet some friends at the diner later tonight-  I was tired from work, I forgot. I gotta go now." Lucy watched Jack shuffle out the door. Jack rushed through the front door and caught the passing taxi to take him down to the market.

Miller's Place, was always cheap. A few cents for kitchenware, a few cents for food, a few dollars for furniture. Jack would remember that. He would remember Miller's. With his basket already full, Jack was ready to check out. But something nicked his mind. Bags with 'Miller's Place' on the front would be a dead giveaway in case David decided to ransack Jack's bedroom again. But a crate. A sturdy one where all his kitchen supplies and household needs would be well hidden- out of sight from David… out of sight from Lucy. He didn't trust her. Something that was boiling down in the deep pits of his gut had now boiled over in a flash thought at the checkout line, as Jack settled the thick and wide hickory crate into the basket after it was rang up.

His mother. How own mother could never stick up for him when he needed her the most. Even with all the mustered down sorrow of seeing her so appallingly treated, something in Jack- a spark inside him felt this drench of relief to finally be rid of her was well. She stood by on the sidelines watching Jack get helplessly tortured by the man she married. Would she know just how Jack would cry and scream for her when David would beat him because he failed a test, or force him to take stoney cold showers because he didn't like baths at the time. Lucy would deflate this with inept attempts of reading Jack bedtime stories, or making him his favorite cookies. But it wasn't enough. Jack needed more. He wanted more. He wanted better. That was it- Lucy didn't want to give him better. She didn't take him into her arms and run through the teeming swarm of city-goers in the dusk of night, and find shelter- hidden away where David wouldn't hurt them again.

"He doesn't mean it Jack." Or, "He's just tired. But he wants what's best for you and to do well. So, listen to him and don't doubt him." Would ring inside his head like bells through every night, while he tossed and turned in his sheets, or while he would bandage and tend to every blister or bruise or bloody welt from David's 'best wishes'. Jack was careful not to slam his new items into the cart- his anger filled memories were starting to get the best of him. "Have a nice day!" The lady clerk cheered as Jack waved a polite goodbye before leaving the store.

The clock was now 8:30, making Jack rush home- snagging the first bus to back to Buffalo.

"There he is!" Lucy's sweet voice piped from the kitchen. A delicious savory smell of ham was being delivered from the kitchen to the dining room. Mashed potatoes, butter roasted carrots, biscuits, corn pudding and green beans were sidelined by the centerpiece ham in the middle. David, sat in the center as usual with a serious frown over his face. Jack bit his lip before coercing a smile. Carrying his bags towards the stairs. "I'll be right down." Jack carried the bags and shoved them into the crate as best as he could. Closing the closet door, Jack was met with the sound of footsteps stepping closer and closer toward his door. Jack- quick on his feet- swung the door open and was met face to face with Lucy. Somehow… to his slight relief. "Dinner's ready." She scanned the bedroom over Jack's shoulders, trying hard to peer around the gaps of his frame that stood in the middle. "Alright. I'm coming right now."

Jack waited for Lucy to follow him down the stairs- she did, chugging behind him with question curiosity. Jack took a seat at the table. Taking in the aromatic whiff of dinner, Jack grabbed his fork and knife and waited for his turn. A ping pong toss of whether to share the news with his parents or keep hush until he could safely move everything from the home to his apartment. Jack decided to keep silent. Keeping his daze mostly on his dinner, Jack only looked up occassionally into his mother's eyes. But Lucy was detailed. She was scanning for something- anything to conclude the clambering dyspneic thoughts. She could only catch glimpses of Jack's eyes. Like beads of lint in the light that echoed cotton or dust was nearby. But something in his eyes changed- except she couldn't quite place a finger on it. Did it change suddenly? Was it always there? Had she just not have noticed?

It was bogging down inside her deeply, like a stick in quicksand- snatching it down with every second. Something about Jack's deameanor had changed. They way he walked, the way he spoke- the jarring way he would bore into her eyes with every conversation between them. Glancing between Jack and David- the carried the same eyes, similar jaw lines, the same creases around their nose and under their eyes. The same tight stiffness their jaw would hold everytime something upset them. But David's eyes were different. They were firm, fierce and brash. The jade green would mix in this tonic of arrogance- something Lucy found appealing and rebellious when she was younger. But looking into her son's eyes- the didn't shoulder the same weight. They carried its own.

Jack's eyes were firm when angry, cooing when soft, playful and giddy when happy. He could be happy- he could be soft. He could be a man. A real man. 

He would never be like David. Lucy knew that. 

Raised in the era where marriage was something only Lucy could hope for. A good secure future was in the palms of a man who could give her everything she wanted. Money, housing, the exspensive clothes she could only dream of placing over her body. He could give her the love and attention she desired; the girthy gauzy touch over the nape of back, or the twidling fingers brazing over her warm rosy cheeks. David- tall, dark umber hair and jaded green eyes with golden blades sharpening through them and thick muscles with quivering veins that crawled under the flesh of his arms every time he flexed them even a little. 

His hand craddled Lucy's dainty one in his grasp. The way his arms carried her into their new home- the Buffalo one they shelter in now and for decades to come- gently set her down on the couch like drape slung over the back of the chair for modest decor. Honeymoon days were the best- two weeks of David's masculine proclivity filled the home along with her peach cobler in the way she hoped. Then the first fight. 

David's confident voice suddenly became maybe to abrasive or too rasping. The words would fly from his lips and jab themselves into the laceration of her deepest hollow flesh. But, a bank account and a cozy home could sweep those words under the rug and store back into the urn that was always kept on the shelf, but never touched except for sweeping. The perks of being Mrs. Chambers, was everything to Lucy. She once called this out to her friend, Diane Marlow, who she had managed to make a girl's date with- a casual tea time at the Kettle. 

"He does that sometimes." Diane perked up, sipping up her tea with speed as to speak what had just been spoken to her. "Sometimes...." she looked to the side. "Lucy.... I'm not trying to butt into your marriage but- I think.... maybe that's a bit too far." Lucy crooked the side of her head and raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" Diane swallowed. "All I'm saying is... David shouldn't talk to you like that. I know, he has a temper but-"

"Everyone makes mistakes, Diane. David.... is wonderful. He would never hurt me intentionally." "Don't you mean at all?" Lucy huffed. "I suppose Ethan is just perfect, isn't he?" Diane furrowed her eyebrows. "No. He's far from that- but he doesn't call me out of my name everytime he comes home from work tired or hungry, if that's what you mean."

Lucy looked around. "I needed this Diane. Don't you understand? For a woman... the rules are different. This might be the closest I can get into a future."

"Lucy," Diane sighed. "A woman can still dream and want. It's not that she shouldn't have to- it's that if she doesn't want to, then she can decide for herself what type of future she really wants." 

But Diane could understand. She knew how much marriages were watched and scruntinzed closely by the community. A woman could divorce.... and be shunned and looked on as if she were just a failed attempt to what was expected from her. But unlike Lucy, Diane didn't hold herself to such high expectations. She loved Ethan for who he was and what they could both give to each other through love. Lucy would watch they way Ethan pulled out Diane's chair. Or the way he would press butterfly kisses to her blushed cheeks. It scalded Lucy had badly she craved that. But a fire inside her burned heavier. Ethan wasn't the up and coming city dectective to ring in a infallible reputation with the city- nor did he have a house in between the rush of the city. A car was something that wasn't accessible for the couple yet and stung something in Lucy. Seeing the budget made wedding, the careful cost reception and the two layer cake, somehow sent a judgemental snag inside of Lucy that she couldn't rid.

Her wedding- would be perfect. The right crisp white flowers, the perfect four layer cake with the little bride and groom at the tippy top, the perfect dance for the reception afterwards- Lucy could see it all in her head bouncing around like dodge balls. And that's what she did all her life- dodge. Shunning looking too tough for a man to come and allure with her. Dodge stepping outside of the kitchen where her skills would be judged and belittled by her dearing husband, who demanded the best. She felt more readied for it, rather than some disappointing workshop type achievement or doctorate degree that wouldn't suit someone her type. David, the perfect man- muscular and manly man type to fill the role of purpose in her life. Watching her mother, her aunts, her sisters and cousins all court with their fellas, as they strolled down this destined line of marriage, children, cooking, cleaning, sewing- keeping the house together- keeping herself together at all times. It was when Lucy realized outside appearances do matter, and if they didn't, then there would be nothing. Nothing but a hollow shell of herself.

"Kids. Imagine David- a little boy or girl, swinging in the backyard, or running through the kitchen for a snack? It'll be lovely." David didn't exactly deny this fantansy. In fact, he didn't mind children. He just, liked them to be a certain type of child- but wouldn't acutally knock the idea off the table. "Really?" He said, lighting his cigar. Lucy snuggled up next to him. Looking into her eyes, a smile finally spread across David's face. "Alright.... we'll try it."

Jack was born a year later.

Despite the immense pride and sentimentalism that ran through Lucy, it would also be the first time she realized how off track life could go. 

Jack- born a few weeks early, but otherwise healthy- had this raging spirt, even while he lived in a small incubator. This was reassuring to Lucy, as she was told by midwives that premature babies didn't have the best survival rate. But Jack wasn't too early. Born into the hospital's latest technololgy, he thrived in his little glass box. His lungs filled with energy as he would kick and scream when the nurses tried to change his diaper, or how he quickly learned to latch when his hunger got the better of him. "Seems to be perfectly healthy." A delight pecked through both of the new parents. Jack was an easy baby for the most part. But like most wives, Lucy did most of the childrearing to know that. Even though in good health, the occasional worry still slithered through Lucy's mind sometimes of Jack being ill or developing a serious sickness.

But, a perfect little boy nonetheless. But to David, it wasn't until Jack hit one, when Lucy understood that life wasn't perfect again. She could hear Jack's cries and screams from being slapped or whipped for little mistakes. She could feel the tremble in his body when he would get in David's way and cause trouble. But for Lucy, reassurance was enough. It was her role as a mother to doll up the jangling mistakes of the father's temper as misunderstandings or tough love. Looking into those little green eyes- eyes that needed his mommy to swoop in and take control. But all Lucy could find herself doing was rub his chubby cheek and kiss his forehead. "It'll be fine sweetie.... wanna bake with mommy?" 

Sometimes, Jack would stay tied to the apron strings, other times, he would run away to his room and stuff himself in the closet. Her heart twinged. She wanted to scoop her boy into her arms and shield him from the dark world. But the fire- wedged deep inside her kept burning brighter and brighter. A woman had to have it all together at all times. Especially, her household. Jack was made to hush over his father problems. Lucy was made to pretend that everything was all fine, and that David was just tempermental at times. At times, she would dress Jack's wounds with ointment and peroxide- and a dab of her foundation to ease the tender hue of the bruise on his lip or the black eye surrounding his orbital. 

She sent Jack to school that way. And it was harmless. At least, children weren't supposed to be that intelligent- be seen and not heard stood for a reason. So, that's what she would gently remind Jack to do. If no one asks, then keep quiet. If someone does, then pretend like nothing happened. Looking into those innocent eyes- Lucy knew she had underestimated her little boy. He was a smart cookie and tough one. Unlike her, he didn't sit back and let David hit and punch. Sometimes, and eleven year old Jack would swing a bat- trying to intimidate David with his batting skills. Jack could run. Joining little league back in the third grade, Jack knew how to dodge a belt or switch with a sharpness sometimes. He knew where to swing and how hard to hit David- but never did. He was a good boy- a strong boy.

He had guts. He would mouth back- show teeth like a growling dog when provoked. Carrying the same temper his father did, Jack held this certain control in himself that David couldn't. Lucy could see how much Jack knew the ropes of the house. But.... he bite back. David said 'no game' because of a broken vase; Jack would sneak out the door and hit a home run through the yard. David would force a dress on Jack, because if 'Jack wanted to act like a bitch, he would get treated like one.' 

Jack walked to school in his tank top and summer shorts that day in the frigid twenty degree weather. 

If Jack was told to 'shut up', he would be first to pipe a loud shrill scream across the room and run out of David's sight. David burned up Jack's favorite toy truck in the fireplace out of drunkness- no sympathy, just flat callousness. Jack, later than night, smashed all David's beer in the driveway and through the backyard. 

David burned Jack's records; his favorite collectibles from over the years. Stifling the tears, Jack went out later that night- dressed in black on black- and set fire to every desk inside the downtown presinct. Using vodka bottles and lighting them with matches. Jack would forever feel ashamed of this act in the thick billow of teenage hormonal anguish. Something even Roger would have to find out when he as Jack's age. The aftermath was burnt rubble of every last framed honor that was credited to David. "Fireman said, it was a vodka flame. Probably some angry kid over their father going to jail or somthing..." The chief said. No fingers were pointed to Jack- not even David could point. 

As far as everyone knew, Jack was in bed wallowing over his burnt records. But deep inside, Lucy knew. She just didn't tell. And Jack knew she knew.... and he would never say; something....Lucy had to learn to accept.

Jack mellowed as the years went on. But that flame that fanned inside him still burned on and on. It never died. Jack didn't need perfection to be accepted.... he knew what the world was and he accepted that for what it was. 

Lucy could never understand the look in Jack's eyes after winning the seasonal game, or finishing with the honors in high school or scoring the perfect first date with, Ruby Heimen. Had Jack been a more mousey type of child- it would be different. He would've etched himself into his mother's arms- not into the blazing brutal flames of his father's temper, with his own sparks. Quiet and dutiful- like Lucy- obeying every command like how he was supposed to. He was a child, after all. And Lucy was a woman. A dutiful wife and mother- Assimilating into her place like she had wanted. Like she was supposed to.

Don't fan the flames too hard, keep them contained in your little box she thought. Don't let passion burn brighter then your place in the world. Follow the rules- and you'll be safe, like promised. Like her mother promised. So, she promised this to Jack. Never aloud, but subtlety. 

Jack would understand why she couldn't protect him. She hoped he could maybe even agree that she could nurture his childishness with hugs and kisses, fresh baked cookies, and gentle touches and sing song voices. That David was his father, and fathers always knew best. And for that, she knew best. But Jack- had this passion. The simmering flame that Lucy had fought for years, was Jack's fire. It burned brightly in Jack, never dying- even through the thick marsh of jaded sorrow- something in Jack, never died. That spark in his eyes held something that Lucy could only wish. Even her best intentions couldn't credit that from him. Every 'no' was met with a 'I will anyway'. And Lucy could never admit it to herself. She would never admit why it never fizzled. Looking into those eyes-favoring David's- but more. It held something inside them that Lucy could never have. Something she wanted for herself was now sitting in soul of her son.

But Jack was born with it. "I'll be fine Mom." Was something so natural for such an unknown reason, would drip from his lips like they were tattooed on his tongue from birth. Maybe she wanted to believe she would understand- how rooted Jack was in his beliefs. His gut instinct was his compass and that's what he followed. And for that, he would be fine. The outside typical surburan family that consisted of mother, father and son. But on the inside was this push and pull tug-of-war between Jack and David was something that became her everyday; she hated to see it. She couldn't bare for anyone else to see it. But it was there. Lucy didn't know when it started, but it was there. And that's how it always was in the Chamber home.

But years later...she would know. She would see that particular look on the face in every stranger, but Jack's would never change. A certain natural in his eyes that held that flame. An unwafting flame of content... of freedom. He was prisoned by circumstance, but liberated by will.

************************************

A fresh dew early morning; chill and lukewarm without the panging heat of mid morning and afternoon lingering.

Jack was at Bernie's, working on Pontiac- greese stains splashed over his cheeks. "Hey there Jack!" Jack turned for a minute, greeting the old man with a smile. "That lady- you fixed her Ford for- she really loved it. She tipped ya a few cents." A smile fell over Jack. "Thanks Bernie," taking two quarters out of the eighty cents, Jack handed them to Bernie. "You deserve it too." Bernie gave Jack a kind look. He appericated Jack's work ethic a lot, but his kindness the most. "Young fellas," Bernie put it, "don't make much time for an old man like me. You're special Jack, you know that."

Bernie thought for a minute. "You have a car?" Jack looked up and shook his head. "No sir." "Well, you got one now," Bernie ushered Jack with his pointer and led him to the backyard of the shop. "Some man came in and dropped this off. He said it was junk and that it don't work no more." He turned to Jack. "If you can fix it- car's yours." Jack's eyes widened. It was the most gorgeous navy blue Ford he'd ever seen. Sitting amongst the grass and the stacks of tires, Jack could almost picture himself driving it. "Oh thank you so much Bernie! I don't know how to thank you!" Bernie smiled. "You're an excellent worker- I figure that's about enough."

Jack finished up the cars for that day. Then he stayed overtime working on the Ford- fixing the broken shifts, replacing the broken pipes, and oiling the gears. And then- the headlights popped on. Then the engine started. And then..... Jack drove it home. Jack sat in the driveway- thinking up his next move. A new car, a new apartment, small furniture. Jack got out of the car and made his way quietly in the house. It was past dinner, and the house smelled of chili spices and garlic. But Jack ignored that. Instead he tip toed up stairs and moved the crate in the backseat of the car. Making a second trip, Jack grabbed the trash bags of clothes and stuffed in the trunk before peeling over to his new apartment. 

Looking around the empty spaces, Jack decided that in the morning, he would move everything out of his home. He would call some guys over and they would move his bed and desk out of the haunted home he resided in and into his new home. A shrilling chill crawled down Jack's spine. A static shock of excitement and enchantment overflowed him, as he found his legs jumping high and then carefully hitting the ground as not to disturb the sleeping neighbors. Jack would call Bernie and ask for the morning off and that by late afternoon, he would work until late evening. Then he would call Charles and John, to help move his bed and desk with the promise of cold beers and a few dollars. He had it all set. It would be the perfect escape from the years- the 19 years of vigorous maltreat that he suffered at the hands of his father. All the tears, the screams, the fights, the harsh words- all rooted and conjoined in this vein of David. Memories of the smell of  hot leather would sting through his nose from time to time. Sometimes, the hair on his left arm would raise slightly with more goosbumps; David's favorite arm to use when he pressed a hot skillet to it or slap the upper arm when Jack stood in his way a little too long.

Jack stood solid on the floor. His eyes brimming with tears. The hole was deep- deeper than Jack thought... or wanted. Jack could rebel-he always did- but it still didn't take it away. The horror he felt of making David angry and the slew of degrading threats that would be pounded into him for the tiniest mistakes. Jack would never tell anyone of his agility skills origin; he could curl himself into ball, wedging himself in the corners where David couldn't see him. Or how flat he could make his body from laying under his bed for hours until David sobered up. 

Jack fought for his life from day one until today. Jumping out the belt's way to protect his legs, ducking down with sharp speed- protecting his face from punches or shifting himself out of the way from David's slaps. It made David angrier sometimes. He would be chased, sometimes down the neighboorhood blocks- where he would hide in the tree at the park, around the corner of Mr. McGail's house. He was decent. Just watching from his front porch at the spectical sometimes, when David would ask where Jack went, he'd point him in the opposite direction. Although, Jack hadn't found this out until middle school. "I've been beaten a few times in my life..." He started. "I just don't think it's right- and that's my take on that." 

Jack made a habit from that moment on, to be Mr. McGails personal helper on some summer days when the lawn needed mowing or his driveway shoveled after glowering winters. It was an indicate of Jack's personal graditude. And Mr. McGail knew it- up until someone else moved into his home after his passing. It was that fall. And Jack had felt this emptiness nest inside him. A quiet pity of the nice elderly man who never knew how much he saved him. That was also the last summer, Jack would ever be chased by David. His age finally caught up with him- so he simply stopped.

Jack liked to think Mr. McGail was above the clouds, giving him a shady wink for the nonsense they caused in front of his home. Maybe a slight nod of just helping a kid out.

But Jack didn't have too much of it. That's how it always was. Jack defended Jack. Jack barked back, Jack hit back, Jack ran back. He had to. Even with his mother's gentle words and generous touches, it wasn't enough. He needed power- something- anything to shield him from David. He couldn't afford to live life- he had to live on the edge. Ready to spring out of bed when David would come into the house slamming the door. Ready to dart from Andy's house, only a few minutes past curfew. Ready to shove all his teddies and treasured toys into the darkest corners of his closet.

Ready. That's how Jack was born. Ready.

Jack knew pain. He knew survival. But he knew love. He knew how to hug himself on tired nights when his welted back hurt. He knew how to bandage his own elbows and knees, and stitch the rips in clothes after being dragged by the fringes on David's drunk days. Nights were the best. Jack was never a child too afraid of the dark. He loved the solitude. To him, it was thinking time. Time to reflect and ask himself the important questions. What he would do the next time David hit him? Or how should he respond the next time his toy was smashed? In the light of the moon, there was Jack in his little bedroom, spending time with himself. He loved spending hours crafting little robots or figurines from clay or loose screws he would find. Jack- watching his mother- knew how long to press an iron onto a set of jeans before smoothing them out carefully. He knew how long to bake cookies in the oven and what times to check on spagehetti while it boiled in the pot. 

Jack knew that a glass of milk and a little debbie would sometimes make David's internal voices less harsh. He knew hugging your teddy can turn nightmares into dreams. He knew to cursive his name onto a piece of paper and how make paper airplanes fly across the sky- launching from the backyard.

Then by middle school, Jack loved baseball. He tried pitching. It was alright. But batting was perfect. Everyday pent up emotions were the bat, and his problems were the ball. Striking hard against the ball and scoring high points for the team became his field. Well known enough for David to place bets on him with the other fathers. If he even showed up to a game. Sometimes he would, just for the bets. Other times he wouldn't because the bar was open and waiting. Sometimes....Jack would lose. And David- losing a bet- would smack him across his little face. "You fuck everything up. Stupid dumbass little shit!" Spitting in his face, David would grab Jack and throw him in the backseat of the car and drive home cursing his name under his breath.

That's who David was. And Jack accepted that. He held no expectations to him, nor would ever be able to. Jack could look around and see the different fathers displaying their tough love with soppyness to it. He craved it. He nurtured that warm feeling in his heart everytime a male teacher or one of his friend's fathers would give him a gentle pat on the back or and rub their hands over his mop of hair. It was just something about the way Jack's heart would flutter when seeing cartoons of Dads giving squeezing hugs or loud echoing kisses to their offsprings. This sentimental affection was love. Jack- a twenty year old- still felt the same squeeze of his heart everytime a father carried that chunk of affection. His love language.

A language only a few people would understand, like him. How much children needed those kisses on their cheeks or those bear hugs against their bodies. Bedtimes stories on papa's lap and funny silly voices or gentle cooing voices for pleasure or reassurance. 

Jack, promised himself, his children would understand the delicate language of love. His sons and daughters would be wrapped in his arms and his smile would be only for them. His dreams would be of his wife laying against him in the grass while the children ran around the yard happily. And that's all he could want- happiness. Jack, was a happy person. A good person. He would never hurt anyone- not even a little fly. He just... had to protect himself from David. David stood on the other line of wanting to break his spirit. He wanted Jack to sink so low and so deep into the cold slooshy wet mier of pain, that love would die. Happy would die. 

Jack would die.

Jack had dreams. He learned to have them. Just like he learned to sew and cook and make bruises disappear and cuts and scraps stop bleeding. And Jack had those big dreams- high and bright. Like the apartment he stood in- feet strict to the floorboards. And maybe the college he wanted to be apart of; King's College only a few blocks away from his townhouse. Engineering would be his major. He would do what he loved; crafting things from scratch. Making a life of burning down the old and building up the new.

And he would become a bartender to pay for the classes and work for Bernie to pay for the townhouse. And he would one day leave the crowded city- taking route sixty six down to the California hills. Jack knew his wife would be there, and they're home with the lush backyard where their kids would play. A blonde haired little girl- favoring his wife from every detail of her face, and a little brunette boy- vivid eyes like himself with the same ambition that sparked his early arrival into the world. It was all waiting. Everything waited for Jack- motioning him to take that first move- that first step towards the rest of his life. And so.... he would burn it all down.

He had to. He couldn't spend even another night in that house. His future was his escape from the dread decorum that ran the household. He had to prove this to himself. That he could be free. That Jack Chambers, did not suffer in vain. He did not believe that men had to be uptight, or women had to be dainty, or children had to be just mere echos of convenience.

Jack would settle the mental battle he fought for years. He would prove that even before the sense of maturity and experience kicked in, that this gut feeling- stronger than the rest- was his saftey net. That his instinct is what moved him to burn down the presinct, and smash those beer bottles against the hard pavement of the driveway. That sewing the rips in his own jeans was more than childhood education or curiousity of how things were done. That from the moment he heard the rash voice of his father, and weak cries of his mother, that he was correct. That he could do better. He was better.

That he deserved better. Looking into the face of morals before he even understood what they meant, was something inside him all along. Defending himself in the face of bleak iniquity and daring himself in aftermath of consequences became his life. And it would always be apart of it. Unafraid to challange the laws or stomp over bad authority.

Unafraid to take himself over the lines of perfection and duty, and into the blades of a certain unsureness. So for that.... he would set it on fire. He would wake up, stare his parents into their eyes and tell them he was leaving.

And with his hands tied, watch it all blaze and burn down, before resting to a cooling burnt ashed grave. And he would stand in those ashes and look at them. Then he would kick up his sneakers and scrape the ash off his soles and keep walking. Not looking back for a minute, a second or a lifetime. His life- would finally be his own. And his dreams would be his reality. A new perspective on what life truly could be.

Walking out into the hallway, Jack took one last look around at the apartment before closing the door and locking it.

****************************

The wails of firetrucks streamed down the block. Taking a passing corner around the Chamber home, the engines honked and sped only a few blocks down the street towards the left of Central Ave, where someone had set fire to the Jenn residence, 'The porcelain house' as some people called it because of their all white exterior and shiny glass designs inside.

But the Chamber household did boil. 

Jack stood in front of a sobbing Lucy and a disgruntled David as John and Charles moved around them- pulling dresser drawers down the steps and into the back seat of Jack's car. Then the hollow frame of the dresser came and moved around them, and then the mattress, and then the bed, finally halting with Jack's desk.

Professionals, as Jack called them- not missing a beat or dropping one fragile item to the floor.

David turned and scowled at Jack. "After everything we've done- and you're gonna just take off and leave!" Jack kept silent but nodded, closing his eyes briefly and opening them to David's angry ones. "Ungrateful son of a bitch- when I was your age- I worked my ass off to take care of my folks- not just leave them behind in the dust like the way you do!"

Jack knew this wasn't true. David grew up in foster care all his life.

Jack didn't bat an eye. "It's not personal-" "Oh! 'It's not personal' " David mocked. "It is personal! You only care about yourself! Where is this new place anyway?!" Jack shook his head and turned to his mother. "Mom....I'm leaving now." Lucy turned to Jack. Soppy tears dripping down her face with a sorrow filled stare. "Please...." She managed to beg. "Don't go." 

"I have to." David scoffed. "Ungrateful pussy." Jack didn't argue the logic. Clutching his knuckles, Jack had made a promise to himself and he intended to keep it. Looking down, Jack saw the last of his items being placed into the tow along cargo space on the back of his car. Taking a deep breath, Jack narrowed his eyes to David. "Goodbye Dad.... take care." His voice sturdy and unwavering, he brushed past him and hugged Lucy. Placing the house keys in her palm, he looked into his damp and puffy eyes. "Take care Mom...." Kissing her cheek, he continued to stare into her eyes until they were completly empty. "Take care...." 

"I love you Jack!" She called as he stepped aside from her. Turning around and meeting her gaze. "I love you too." 

Jack turned to David, whose eyes were filled with absurd fury. Jack- without thinking- wrapped his arms around David and pressed a small kiss to his cheek, before quickly letting go. David's eyes softened. The crease in his brows became less prominant and his fist unclenched themselves a bit. But Jack still held a certain sterness in his stare. His mind even rambled reasons for his sparodic affection towards his father. Maybe because it was just common decency. Maybe a heat in the moment type gesture. Jack would never know; not changing his feelings of David, he would be left in the dark of his actions until one rainy Sunday when he would sit with his wife staring down at the burnt mahogany box that held what was left of David.

Biting the edge of his lip, Jack waited. Waited for David to respond to what he had just given him. A leaden silence filled the room for a moment, as David was gasping inside to find the right words or the right gesture- anything for this sudden blow of love his son presented him after it being thrown back into his face so many times by himself. But this time was different. Maybe a dense ring of finality rang heavily through his bones. And that touch, would be the last he ever felt of Jack. The last he would smell his seasoned amber and musk cologne against the ridge of his neck. The last time he would feel his son's bulky strong hands touch the delicate pare of his back.

Staring into Jack's eyes- vividly jade and ardent- David couldn't speak. His mouth was paralyzed shut and his lungs were blowing out steam from his nostrils like how they did in a crime scene where the body of whoever laid flat on the ground while the killer ran free and undetected. A survival instinct that he carried all his life, had now promoted itself to something he struggled to comprehend for years. Love. And something about that.... he just couldn't let himself attach to.

Jack tightened the backpack over his back and turned away, taking the final steps through the house, to the front door and then closing it without looking back even once.

The house fell silent and David stood even quieter wondering what he was to do and what he just done.

*****************************

A hawkish chill lingered through the fall air. School was in session; Jack had recently enrolled over the summer into King's College for the semester. Engeineering and mechanics were Jack's primary classes amongst mathamatics and science.

Picking up the night shift with the local tavern only a few streets from his townhouse, Jack worked as the bartender. Pouring drinks and serving them to desperate customers earned him a few hundred dollars every other week along with the gracious tips he would receive from his excellent service. It payed for his semester and earned him extra money for sudden repairs or for a night out in the city for a decent dinner whenever his energy couldn't hold him up to the stove to cook another pasta meal. It was the tavern job that he worked- got him into cigarettes. Lighting one every night after a rough shift with the rowdy patrons. Jack, would sometimes help himself to the swigs of a Bloody Mary from time to time during long hours.

Maybe it was to dull some of the pain he felt inside too. The sudden shift of how life can take such a quick turn into a mucky ditch.

Late September was when Jack had come into work for Bernie. Hours had passed and he hadn't shown up on the usual six o'clock bus he usually took to arrive bright and early for the shift. Jack was always one hour later. But this day, an icky trace dropped into the pit of Jack's stomach. He couldn't pinpoiny exactly when it happened. Maybe while he was fixing Mr. Hoover's Duesenberg, or Ms. Malorie's Bentley- but sometime around that time, Jack had checked his watch and the clock had already struck twelve. It was his lunch break when he drove down to Bernie's tattered old apartment by Central Park. Down the rickety street where he slowly crept up to his floor and found Bernie still in bed. 

Jack's heart fell into his throat. Somehow his feet couldn't move him to Bernie, but pushing himself- almost tripping- he did. Bernie didn't stir once. Trailing back downstairs, Jack alerted Bernie's neighboor, Donna, that Bernie was dead and to call an ambulance. "What's his pulse?"

Jack shook his head. "He doesn't have one.... I'm sorry." 

Waiting to the side as the ambulance drivers cocooned Bernie in the white sheet while on top of the stretcher, Jack felt small tickles against his face. His nose became more labored in his sniffs of air, but Jack hadn't realized he was crying until Donna placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and gently wiped the tears dripping off his chin.

"It'll be alright, child. He was a good man." She turned to Jack and smiled faintly. "You take of yourself, ya hear?" Jack nodded. A sniffle escaping him. He turned to Donna with a somber smile. "Thank you so much.... you take care too." 

A week later, the shop closed. Another week passed- someone bought it. It was no longer a repair shop but a gas station. 

Jack and Donna took the liberty to clear out Bernie's things. Donna with his apartment, and Jack with the shop. Bernie had no family, so the two held a quiet burial for him with candles in his hands and prayers above his grave. After that, they parted ways, but would forever share the moment between them.

Jack however, kept his old uniform. Tucking it away safely in storage, he would always remember the first job that gave him the opportunity of a fresh start.

****************************************

Working half into two in the morning- picking up extra slack- Jack had forced himself out of bed and into the bathroom for a quick shower. Then a solid breakfast of coffee and toast before leaving the apartment and fleetly saying 'hi' to Emily. Evans, who lived a little ways down the hall. She wasn't too old, but rather looked in her early thirties. Tall and curvaceous built, wavy auburn hair and amber eyes. Jack found her sweet, pretty and kind. But, was too busy to fair any attention back her way. 

Skiling down the stairs, Jack piled into his car and drove down to the college and made it inside at the usual fifthteen minutes before class like he always did. Grabbing the books and notebook from his locker, Jack made it into class with ten minutes left to spare. 

May Hollowood. The girl he kept locking eyes with for some reason, just happened to be right across from his desk this morning. May was beautiful, and she knew it. A Dorothy Lee smile and a Marion Davies far away look, as Jack would describe. Thick flamming red bob cut locks, light pearl blue eyes, deeply dimpled cheeky smile with the most reddest lips sealing over the pearly smile she flashed everytime she saw Jack. What could she be doing in this class? Was the though that ran through Jack's mind. Mathematics class- Jack didn't totally care for the class, and held no objections or chauvinism towards a woman wanting to pursue any type course or career.

But, May wasn't the type of girl that took her studies seriously. She talked to every Joe, Paul, and Ben in the college and was always found twirling her hair during class, rather than jotting down notes of any kind. Jack kept his focus keenly on the words of his professor and the equations he wrote on the board. Trying to solve them in his head, Jack found it hard to focus with May's eyes knowingly on him. A last resort: Jack wrote the problems down for later and promised himself that he would work on them before work. Slight exasperation washed through Jack. He decided to politely ignore May for the rest of the day.

May wasn't the only girl to lust herself to Jack. Kelly Henderson loved the way Jack's bangs would appear in front of his face when the strainds of his slicked hair, would nudge over towards the front of his face. Annabelle West was fiercly attracted to Jack's confident posture with his back pressed against the wall, smoking a cigarette, while scanning the students that passed him. The there was Sally Beckett who could almost imagine herself against Jack's tall lanky figure with his bulky arms around her waist while she stared into his emerald eyes and let the heart curve of his lips press on her cheek.

But May followed Jack. She felt more than simple attraction- deeper than the ingenious thought Emily Evans carried everytime she saw Jack lock up his door and stride down the steps. Letting the vision of his protective grasp around her torso enravel her as she stumbled back into her apartment and finish making her morning coffee. 

So, May decided her first approach would be in the college courtyard, around the outside corridors, where Jack would be puffing in his afternoon and mid morning cigarette. "You have a light?" She asked, zipping around to Jack's view. Jack thought for a moment before pulling out a lighter from his pocket. Flicking the flame up to her cigarette, May smiled. "Thanks. Not too many gentlemen around here." Jack raised his eyebrows in agreement. Some of the guys did only think about one thing when they saw a pretty girl they liked.

Taking a puff of her cigarette, May smiled wider to Jack. "So you-" The bell rang, signaling classes to begin again. As Jack excused himself, May bit her lip and watched as Jack ran aimlessly though the throngs of students, tossing and stomping out his bud before disappearing inside the building. 

*******************************

It was Saturday night. Jack didn't work weekends. Sitting at the bar with his friends, Andy, Charles and Jude, Jack was downing a martini. Scanning the night scene, the rush of people swinging in and out of the bar with their drinks and booming chatter and boisterous laughter. Reaching for a cigarette, Jack pressed it between his lips. Flicking his lighter back and forth- no fire rooting from it. "Light?" A saultry voice next to him spoke.

Turning and seeing May there, holding her lit lighter out in front of Jack's cigarette. Taking a puff, Jack smiled cautiously. "Thank you." May shrugged. "Just thought I'd return the favor." Jack gave a small arched smile and tried to go back to his drink. But May hovered next to him, letting the spicy blossom perfume swim through Jack's space. Feeling her soft hands touch his arm, she flashed him the same pearly smile she always did. Jack hadn't noticed the sparkle that twinkled inside her eyes. Bright sky blue eyes when settled in the mundane light. Easy and alluring with reason. Pressing her shiny red lips to Jack's cheek, leaving the red residue stain there, Jack felt this tingle through his spine.

May's soft presence eased Jack more than he would've liked. A comforting illumine wrapped around the two of them- becoming the only two people in sight. Jack could soon only see May's face. Her soft gentle face met his in a way he couldn't describe. Letting her lean in closely, Jack let his lips touch hers and soon, even a few drinks couldn't intoxicate Jack the way May did. Leading her to his car, Jack and May drove to Jack's townhouse.

Leading her upstairs, Jack had comepletly missed Emily coming from her apartment with a freshly baked cherry pie- whipped cream dolloped on top perfectly- only to see Jack and May making out against the door jam of Jack's door, before disappearing inside his place. Emily quietly went back inside her apartment, turning off her lights for the evening.

Meanwhile, in Jack's apartment......

May and Jack slammed into every corner of the room, tossing their clothes to the floor: against the chair, over the couch, by the TV, in the hallway. Making it into the room, naked May leaped into Jack's arms- arms clinging to his neck, legs wrapped around his waist, letting his body press into hers tightly. Her soft moans became louder as they trailed into Jack's bedroom. Their bare bodies heaved on top of each other- Jack kissing her neck ferociously as her naked body laid under his, pressing itself against his, until her nails finally scratched his back and hands clung to the sides of her back, letting their breaths fall and gasp into each others with a heavy final howl of breathless words. Jack slid to May's side, looking into her eyes with the fluff of his own. May's smirk played through Jack's mind. A memory he'd never forget- his first time. May would forever be the girl he gave himself to. 

He'd never forget the sweetnes of her eyes and gentleness of her lips. How she clung to him for comfort and pleasure and how she let him take the control. Fanning herself and fixing the messy strainds of hair, May finally locked eyes with Jack. "You were good." She breathed. "So were you....." Jack wanted to tell May of his pride in her being his one, but bit his tongue. Instead, he fell asleep with May tracing his back with her finger and to the sounds of her soft humming breath.

By morning, Jack turned around and his bed and felt nothing. Opening his eyes slowly, May was gone. Grabbing his nylon briefs from the couch, Jack saw that all of May's clothes were gone. The front door was closed and she had comepletly disappeared. Like she had never exsisted. Jack threw on his clothes, and went into the hallway. Emily's door was closed. Jack didn't notice too much, but found it unusal considering how she would always be there to open her door when she heard Jack's door open. Jack spent the Sunday inside the apartment mostly, but eventually went out for dinner. 

Jack wanted to know where May's apartment was. Was she staying in a dorm with roomates? Did she still live with her parents? He needed to know. His mind flickered between the picture show that played inside his mind of May's soft body pressed against his. It swayed through the night, misting through his brain and in his dreams. His heart sped when thinking of May. Her soft hair, her gentle skin, the sureness of her eyes. It all lived inside Jack's head rent free- no strings attached. Jack didn't realize the rosation of his cheeks in his sleep- sizzling deeply in his skin the more he dreamed of her lilac scent pressing deeply into his collar. No number, no address, no way to reach May or understand her. Jack endorsed that he would greet May in the corridors at school Monday. She would be there in floral pink dress, her white little heels and cherry lipstick, lacing her arm around his and walking around the college to showcase themselves to everyone like golden trophies in a glass case. Jack fell asleep, dreaming of May- hoping silently she'll return to him tomorrow.

***************************************

Monday came. Jack arrived up and early- fixing his breakfast, stepping into the shower and dressing in a slick polo with dockers- dabbing on some cologne on his neck, and fixing his collar neatly.

Stepping outside, Jack met eyes with Emily. Giving her a polite smile, she gave a tightend half one before brisking herse;f down the stairs. An arch crossed over Jack's eyebrow, but he shook it off, passing her while exiting the townhouse.

Jack made a point to arrive twenty minutes early to college, hoping to spot May somewhere outside in the courtyard, or by her locker chatting with her friends. Maybe she's thinking of me Jack thought. Maybe she'll be talking about us as her latest hookup. She put in so much effort to follow me, she's gotta be interested.

A familiar chuckle grabbed Jack's attention. It was around the corner of chemistry class on the second floor. The halls were bare and the students were either just getting to the school or probably haven't even awoken from the dorms yet. But, Jack turned the corner. Quietly and vigilant- bracing himself against something unexpected. He always got enough of those when he turned corners and was smacked with a surprise boy and girl coition. But this time, he caught the firery fringes of May's hair. Her slender frame, her diverting laugh- all in light of the corner that Jack peered around. May- making out with some guy- lips locked deeply into his without hesitation. Jack went unnoticed, but was paralyzed to the scene. His legs felt wobbly like jelly, but were somehow still bolted onto the floor. His eyes frozen on the bewitching act play out right in front of him as if he didn't matter.

And he didn't Not to May anyway.

Carefully walking away, Jack's blushing wishful cheeks had become a face filled shade of red. Bright echoing red from anger mixed in utter humilation. Of all the broken pieces that still lived in Jack, the one honest one, the one bold one, the one hopeful and sensitive piece of himself had been wasted. Fully wasted, like money being flushed down the toliet, or fresh beer being poured out onto the pavement of the ground. Jack felt wasted. Used up and broken. Shattered to the ground like crystals. Jack didn't understand how he stayed in class that whole day. Maybe because of the deep determination he had to his goal. His passion to be what he wanted. Never making eye contact with May the entire day- and somehow, she was okay with that. She never looked in Jack's direction anyway. She was already on to someone else. It all singed inside Jack deeper than he wanted it to. 

Shame layed over his body like a blanket, making him want to hide himself- cover himself over like he was naked, walking around the school for everyone to see his nakedness. Once school ended, Jack smoked down three cigarettes and gluped down a whole beer pack. Drunk and sloppy, Jack took himself to bed and decided that his Monday studies would become his Tuesday ones.

Jack woke up and hour before work. Sober, he took another shower, grabbed a quick dinner -a peanut butter and jelly sandwich - before grabbing his keys and rushing out the door. 

"Where's that one girl?" Jack raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Emily swallowed. "Oh, there was this one woman- she said hi and we talked and... I didn't know if she lived in the apartment or not." Emily regretted what she said. Jack blinked, cheeks becoming flushed again. "Oh, uh... no she doesn't." Jack let his eyebrows furrow. He looked up again, forcing a smile across his face. "Yeah.. she was just visiting." Jack smirked. "Your apartment's always looks so cozy." Emily let a smile spread over her face. "Thanks, I love your apartment too! It's so sensual and artistic..." Emily bit her tongue. She kicked herself for allowing her lips to speak so out of term. Her heart skipping a beat- her face flushed and dampening with her sweat. Jack smiled. "Thanks.... I really apperciate it." Looking at his watch, Jack signaled his need to leave. 

"It was nice talking to you." Emily smiled, letting Jack pass her through the hall. Watching him trail down the stairs, she let herself oogle the way his body- sturdy and broad- gait out the door. A blush pecked through her face. A flash of heat swam through her body while a thick patch of fuzz sizzled through her heart. Emily walked back inside her apartment, melting into her couch as she let the image of Jack flow through her brain once again.

*********************************

The shift was tough. Two fights between drunks guys held things up in the tavern, like they always did, leaving extra work for Jack. Jack was a natural at plastering on a polite smile with polite small talk and a good mood persona to get through the days. 

Serving drinks and earning tips for the night until three in the morning when he needed the extra overtime hour to make up the difference on a surprise electric bill charge. Stumbling back home, Jack plopped down on the couch, wide awake. Counting the timeline of how Sunday evening, all he could think about was May; astethic with fondness and a prancing dote. Now, the last thing he wanted to think about was May. And how she used him. How she betrayed him and shattered his self worth into a million pieces. But... Jack blamed himself too. How dare he walk into such a situation where his logic and reasoning where thrown to the side over and ardent dream of a one night stand passion. How he threw his dignity over edge just feel an eccentric fill of love for a few moments only to be lower than rock bottom when it was all over.

While Jack could hate himself, he also pitied himself. The first genuine gash of love he felt from someone- anyone, willing to be intimate with him and hold onto him for the same needy reason he carried for years. How much he needed someone to be interested in him and show him love and suffocate him in it for such a big price. Jack knew he needed it. He knew it wasn't over. The same reason he allowed his cigarette to be lit by the woman, was at the root of where he was now. Alone and sitting in the dark with only a lightly lit living room lamp, whose bulb needed replacing.

But Jack liked being alone. At least that's what he thought. He did though. But.... he still carried that craving. A constant crave of affection. In a world where if you were in a certain position- mostly of circumstance- then, you wouldn't get it. Sexual vibes were the only piece of affection that you could obtain- as much, whenever, how ever you like it.

But Jack didn't want it. Not always. Sure he loved the feeling of May's body, but he needed something more. He wanted something more which was why he was in college in the first place. But....what if that wasn't enough? What if dreams had to just stay dreams? The flame could never be sparked into a fire, but contained inside- safely so you don't hurt yourself. 

Follow the rules- is what lingered through his head. Don't fan the flames, and you'll be okay. Keep your head down and do what's expected.

Repeated all through his life in subtle, yet blunt ways. His mother's coddling of David. His father's roughness with him. These things played through Jack's brain- unstopping or unhooking itself into this merry-go-round of melancholy.

But Jack pinched himself. Not physically, but mentally. He would never allow this to tinker through his body like they had been right. Like the cages they imprisoned themselves in were for best interest. Jack shook himself awake. Pounding the thoughts of May, Lucy, David, Bernie, the guy May was kissing, Donna, Emily and everyone and everything else out of his brain. Jack sat up, grabbed his books, his notebook and sat down at his kitchen nook with a cup of coffee, a timer and a pencil

Monday's work would stay Monday's work.

**********************************************

New's Years day rang in at midnight. Two years had passed, old neighbors left- Emily got married and moved up to Nebraska with her new husband- a ginger tabby had made himself into Jack's new roomate- spolied with warm milk, forehead rubs and kisses, a fuzzy warm bed and a thick red collar against the fat of his neck- earning himself the name, Simba. The perfect name Jack thought for such a spolied kitten. But Jack adored him. Walking across the window seal of his apartment, Jack nabbed the little kitty before it could fall and made it his duty to care for him from then on. "He's too little to be on his own." He cooed, rubbing his nose against his own.

Jack was also working extra hard- his last year of college was really grinding him as the last final would determine whether he would have to repeat the course over. 

January rang in with frosty breezes and sloshy crisp snow, that crunched when your boots clomped it. The shoveled streets where clear. Mostly people walking on the sidewalks to catch in the morning air of mid winter. Jack could remember the feeling of the cold slapping against his face as he and his friends were lined up at Time's Square to watch the clock strike and the ball drop at midnight after the countdown. A stream of tickling snowflakes fell from the sky on that exact moment, leaving Jack to ponder the miracle. He wished for happiness and a week later, Simba was welcomed into his home.

Winter break was still extant; Jack and his friends decided a day out at the pub in Albany- after sight seeing and exotic food tasting- they settled down in the heart of the early evening for a dinner in one of the pubs. Jack explained his lastest class- Mr. Barret made the class do a math exercise with a tennis ball. It was fun, but rather difficult to keep up. As Charles was explaining a funny story- how some girl led him to her home for sex, while her parents were still at the house. "They flipped out when they saw me come through the door!" The boys let out a haughty chuckle. 

A man entered the pub. He met eyes with Jack for a quick second before turning back to a table at the bar. Furrowing his eyebrows, the man turned back to Jack- laughing and talking with his friends- scoffing down the hefty club sandwiches and beer with them, all smiles and cheers. The man was Wayne Hedel. David's friend from high school, who worked only a few corners away from the presinct, at the construction ground. Eyeing Jack, carefully- making sure he caught the familiar face correctly. The same chocolate slicked back hair with the tuff asloped over to the side over his face, curtaining his eye. The same alluring vivid green eyes that could bore holes into you or snatch you into a net of reassuring sympathy when you need it.

Wayne kept focus on the beer he held in front of him. But his mind wandered to one thing: May. His niece- in the same college Jack was in, had accidentally disclosed how she let one guy take her back to his place and showed him a good time after signaling him in class and offering him a lit for his cigarette after he did for her in the college courtyard. Laughing, she exclaimed how Bruce was a better lover, but Jack gave her the satisfaction.

Wayne hadn't told David; conflicted with whether he should- his temper flaring upon the realization of his son hooking up with a 'broad' like the cocotte boy he was. Wayne let the indesicion eat at him for the night. He slept in his misery, not knowing what he could say to David. Seeing him everyday, making small talk while drinking beers against the pillar of an old factory, just didn't seem right as long as he held in this news. He liked Jack. He knew how hard he had it at home and couldn't bare to see any more pain come to him. But David would find out. He knew he would eventually- and hurt him. David would hurt Jack if he found out himself. Maybe Wayne could head him off- telling Jack, David knew. Telling David to calm down and reason it out. They would reason it out together. Somehow, it made it okay. If Wayne headed him off, David might be rational for once. David might make amends with Jack and explain how everyone makes mistakes and how much he loved him. That this would be something between him and Jack- Lucy wouldn't know. She didn't have to.

Wayne slept better the rest of the night. He would tell David. He would tell him the truth and they could make up- like true father and son. 

Shuttling his position in bed, Wayne turned over toward the window, letting the moon hit his face. Letting the tranquil trill of the night soothe him.

*******************************************

"OPEN THE DOOR, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" 

Jack was huddled on his couch, cradling Simba in his arms as the hurls and pounding threat of his door being kicked down ran through him like a jagged opening in the stomach. Carefully stepping onto the floor, Jack locked Simba inside the bathroom and tip toed to the door. "JACK I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!" Jack grabbed the phone a dialed for the police of a disturbance. A sour flush bled over his face; neighbors inside their complexes thinking the worst of him upon hearing the loud pounding of his door. Only his door and no one elses. It made rage crawl through Jack like ants over a picnic. 

Slamming the phone against the base, Jack carefully made his way back to the couch and just waited. Left fate in the hands of the universe- hoping they would send the police as soon as possible. Hopefully, catching David in the act and not letting his badge of a detective meddle in their protocol to their job.

Sets of footsteps traced the stairs of the apartment, hearing them shuffle to Jack's door, where David had parked himself there. A knock on the door sounded. A regular knock- not a pounding beat that echoed through the door frame. "Hello? Someone called?" Jack ran to the door, opening it with his body skirting a little through the sliver where the chain lock would allow. "Yes! I called because of this man- my father- he's pounding on my door- harassing me and is acting very aggressive." David, yanked his wallet out from his back pocket and pulled out his police I.D. Jack somehow knew this, and unlocked his door, allowing himself to stand in the face of the officers and David.

The police scanned the I.D. and then turned to Jack. "I want him removed from my residence." Stiff and stern, Jack didn't even look into the eyes of David. The sudden door burst open of Emily's place. The police officers turned to her. "Did you happen to see anything?" Emily looked at Jack, then at David, then at the officers. "I didn't see anything, but I heard someone screaming my neighbors name while pounding hard against his door." Another door swung open. Mr. Richardson's. "I was in my home when this man," pointing to David, "came to this young's man's door and was causing a bunch of disturbance." 

Soon, almost everyone's doors opened and saw the chaos happening. "Alright sir," one of the officers grabbed David's arm. "You're under arrest for the trespassing and violent disturbance of the building." Taking David away quickly while he yelled profanites, Jack looked to everyone- smiling and letting his vision blur- with graciousness. "Thank you all so much! You have no idea what that means to me." 

Mr. Richardson smiled. "Aw, don't worry about it sonny, you're a good neighbor and we appericate you." Jack kept the smile over his face as he disappeared back inside his apartment with everyone else. Jack could be thankful for the support. But he could know that what happened would never be forgotten. Jack grabbed Simba from the bathroom and rocked him in his arms gently. Not so much to soothe the crying cat, but to stifle the looming tears of Jack. 

Anger bubbled over his fear. His shame, his public embarrassment of his father storming up to his townhouse and making a scene. And for what? For nothing. Jack couldn't possibly understand why David would decide all of a sudden to make a scene. How did he even know where his apartment was? How did he even know he lived in the Brooklyn Cladar apartments? How did he even know he lived in Brooklyn? All these questions with no answers swirled around Jack's mind like a ring-around-the-rosie type of circle.

Why? Why did David have to do this? What did Jack do to make it happen? These questions needed to be answered. They needed solance. And Jack decided he would find it.

***********************************************

"Jack... it's mom. I want you to come home okay?" She wimpered. "Your father's in jail..... I don't know what happened- but he needs to be bailed out.... oh Jack, if you could just spare something-"

"Mom.... it's Jack. Dad's in jail, because I called the police on him for disturbing the peace at my apartment." A pause stood over the line. "What?" 

"Dad, marched up to my townhouse-" "Jack I don't understand-"

"Mom! Listen, I called the cops on Dad because he lost his mind!" Jack broke. "He stormed up to my apartment and caused a big scene- enough for the neighbors to have to come out and explain what happened! Do you know why he did it?!" 

"No. I didn't know that happened. You called the police?" "Yes! I had no choice!" 

"But Jack... he's your father."

"Yeah... yes he is." 

"Your poor father.... rotting in that cell. Oh Jack... please!"

"No."

"Jack!"

"Mom! Dad needs to be there! After everything he caused, he deserves more!" "Don't you dare speak like that about him! He loves you- he provided for you- you show him some respect!"

"He loves me...... you know-"

"I don't wanna hear it Jack!"

"I don't care! He's abusive Mom! He abused you! He abused me! He still fucking does! You can say someone loves you- you can say you love someone.... that doesn't make it true. It doesn't mean anything as long as you can't show it. Tough love doesn't exsist with Dad. He's mean, cold, violent.....he's not a nice person. He's not a good father.... and he's not a good husband. He's not a good man, Mom. But... you have to believe that- you have to see something better for yourself in order to see the ugly in him. But you don't.... you defend him like it doesn't exsist and it does! It's all around you, but you refuse to let yourself see it! So.. no. No bail money. No 'I'm sorrys'. Nothing..... get out while you can. If you can value that... then leave him now. That's all I can do. I love you.... but I can't do this. I have to go.... bye."

Lucy let the humming sound of the dead line beep through her. Tears tricked down her cheeks. Her heart felt hollow and heavy. Her breath, steady and rhythm like- as to keep her breath going for consciousness. Setting the phone down onto the base, Lucy soaked in the silence of her home. A wail rose from her throat, releasing itself into the bitter thick marsh of tension she accumulated inside her body. Strolling up to Jack's room, she finally let the door open. 

Nothing. Just like Jack said. Nothing was there. Not his bed, or his desk or his curtains that bellowed in the spring breeze, nor the little chifforobe dresser he had over towards the corner of his room. Empty. Everything snatched and ripped away from his room- starved of Jack's presense of every corner, every little speak or dust that settled- nothing was Jack's. Jack was wiped clean from the home. Not by any influance, but his own. He hated the house, he hated the family he was given.... he hated his life here. And for the first time, something unsettled itself inside Lucy. Something had made the frothing understanding of who Jack was to her, settle in its place.

The deeply webbed interior of Jack that she held in her mind, suddenly started to fade. Those eyes that would search every stranger for, every young man she met, would never be Jack's eyes. Only a representive of what they were and how she saw them. The same net that she thought she had found in David was just a lie. Jack's eyes carried that safety. Because he was safe. He truly held the idea of the unknown- the unattained. Jack- kicked the dust off his jeans, stiched the holes in the soles of his shoes and walked away. He made something better. Jack didn't let David bury him.

Jack.... gave himself what he needed and carried himself that way. And for that... he was stronger than Lucy. He was stronger than David.

Stronger... then what she could have ever been. And for some reason- all those years of tug-of-war between father and son, had incidently carried another standing in mother and son. For all that time until today, it never settled deeply into Lucy as much as did now. Being alone in an empty room held this other presence. She failed. She knew she did...

But not so much to Jack. Not so much to David, or Diane, or her mother or her family or anyone else.

But to her. For the first time.... Lucy would have to finally feel the blades of the lumpy mattress of her bed that she made up.

And lay there. All alone. 

"Jack...." was all she could whisper. "Jack...... Jack..... Jack...." But he was long gone. She would never be there with him. 

And somehow.... in some way...... that's what he wanted her to feel. To understand... to feel. Deep inside herself.

Lucy would always be the woman she envisioned herself to be, not the one she could've dreamed to become. She let it die out. And for that.... she lost Jack. She knew she did. She knew he would never come back... she knew.... the little boy she could only comfort in time of distress was gone. All that was left was the hollow memory of what never was. And she had to live in it.

She had to learn to live without those pieces of her desires. She lived without herself for so long... 

Lucy couldn't even fanthom where to begin now. And that.... is why she laid down on the hard wooden floor of the Jack's old bedroom and cried. 

Alone. All alone. And crying. With nothing. Nothing to show for who she was.... or who she allowed herself to become.

**************************************

"I'm so sorry, Jack. I had no idea David would react like that." Wayne said. Jack bit his lip. Looking down towards the floor, he jolted himself back into Wayne's eyes. "I truly am." Thinking for a moment, Jack realized Wayne was a good man. He was an honest man, and Jack could respect that. 

Sticking his hand out, Wayne shook it. "It's alright." Jack was simple in what was said.

Not mentioning how Jack decided that last month, an apartment in the heart of Manhatten seemed more fitting. More easily able to disappear into the gush of New yorkers, where nobody knew your business- and no one cared about it either. Jack would never tell how he gave Mr. Richardson a lemon meringue pie- his favorite- as a thank you. Or how, he surprised Emily with fresh baked brownies from his oven and a gentle peck on her cheek for graditude. "Oh, thank you Jack.... these are lovely!" Emily couldn't contain the blush color her cheeks became the minute Jack even appeared at her front door. Her smile so big, even her teeth stretched themselves wider.

Packing Simba away in a box, Jack took him and their furniture to their new Manhatten place where the living was twice the size of his old place and he was given two bedrooms- one for him, one as his office- a bathroom and a terrace. Simba was negoiated extra ten dollars, but Jack didn't mind. The tavern he worked at caught fire after some drunk threw a flamming vodka bottle through the window one night.

So, Jack took the job as a stage prop manager with a theater. The most intellectual plays took place there and being centerfield of the Manhatten arts, Jack snagged the job faster than they could ask. He worked nights- where most of the shows took place anyway.

As Jack settled into his last year of college, he held his breath. Cramming in study after study- he hoped it would be enough for what he learned over those three years. He just hoped as finals just around the corner.

***********************************

A perfect score. Jack passed the finals with one of the highest scores in the class. Graduating with honors, Jack couldn't contain his smile as he crossed the stage reaching for his diploma. Glancing out towards the auidence, Jack swore he spotted a face. A familiar face in the crowd of his mother's frame and his father's scowl. 

Squinting- with the little time he had- he scanned the crowd very carefully. But nothing. His parents probably didn't even know he was enrolled in the first place. His friends were there; Charles and Andy were clapping over to the sidelines, watching their friend receive his honors with pride.

Pride. A feeling that Jack couldn't shake, even if he was the only one. Even if he had to do this by himself...... and that made it more special. Jack proved something to himself. To everyone that stood along his path- he did it. Jack had dreams, he had ambitions, he had.... strength. 

Jack stood among the crowd, taking one last look into the crowd of claps and cheers before walking off the stage. Seperating himself through the throngs of people, Jack stood highly. He gave himself a pat on the shoulder, a kiss on the cheek, a sweet word of endearment. Jack loved himself enough to say: "I did it!"

And.....he did. Letting in the bright aroma of his future set in, staring his dreams bluntly in the face, Jack had set himself free. Free of pain, of doubts, of hopeless prisons, of heartbreak. 

Jack held his diploma tightly. Getting into his car, and driving off into the city, Jack couldn't shake the smile from his face. He couldn't spit out the lingering taste of freedom from his lungs. 

Jack- like he promised- burned it down and builded it up again. Killing off himself, then resurrecting his new self back. Jack carried his passion. He ran with it, and would keep running until he never had to run again. He wouldn't have to find it in the face of a stranger. He wouldn't have to go far. Jack wouldn't have to find it in the night or hope for it in the light.

Jack could look inside himself. And it would live there. It would be there.

Just like it always was. And always would be.

[is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not]

SLDF Naval Assets, as of Operation TOUCHDOWN, 2153

SLS McKenna's Pride, McKenna-class battleship, SLDF Flagship (Commanding General's Squadron)

SLS Zughoffer Weir, McKenna-class battleship

SLS Bismarck, Texas-class battleship

SLS Ukraine, Texas-class battleship

SLS Chieftain, Liberation (Stefan Amaris)-class battleship (reactivated from museum ship status)

SLS Galactica, Dreadnought-class Battleship (reactivated from museum ship status; extensive refit)

SLS Quicksilver Mongoose, Du Shi Wang-class battleship (recovered from Clan Homeworlds mothball fleet during Operation PICKPOCKET)

SLS Great Coyote Spirit, Nightlord-class battleship (recovered from Clan Homeworlds mothball fleet during Operation PICKPOCKET)

SLS Warspite, Nightlord-class battleship

SLS Barham, Monsoon-class battleship (recovered from Clan Homeworlds mothball fleet during Operation PICKPOCKET)

SLS Kumamoto, Monsoon-class battleship (recovered from Clan Homeworlds mothball fleet during Operation PICKPOCKET)

SLS Shizuoka, Monsoon-class battleship (recovered from Clan Homeworlds mothball fleet during Operation PICKPOCKET)

SLS Enterprise, Enterprise-class supercarrier

SLS Seoul, Samarkand-class carrier (recovered from Clan Homeworlds mothball fleet during Operation PICKPOCKET)

SLS Beijing, Samarkand-class carrier (recovered from Clan Homeworlds mothball fleet during Operation PICKPOCKET)

SLS Corinth, Thera-class carrier

SLS Blood Drinker, Black Lion-class battlecruiser

SLS Arctic Wolf, Black Lion-class battlecruiser

SLS Dark Wolf, Black Lion-class battlecruiser

SLS Jade Aerie, Black Lion-class battlecruiser

SLS White Aerie, Black Lion-class battlecruiser

SLS Streaking Mist, Black Lion-class battlecruiser

SLS Emerald Talon II, Black Lion-class battlecruiser

SLS Tripitz, Black Lion-class battlecruiser (hulk recovered from New Vandenburg system in return for concessions to Taurian Concordat; repaired and refitted)

SLS Bloody Fang, Cameron-class battlecruiser

SLS Turkina's Pride, Cameron-class battlecruiser

SLS Invincible, Tharkad-class battlecruiser

SLS Blue Talon, Aegis-class heavy cruiser

SLS Jade Talon, Aegis-class heavy cruiser

SLS Red Talon, Aegis-class heavy cruiser

SLS Gold Talon, Aegis-class heavy cruiser

SLS Chaos Sailor, Aegis-class heavy cruiser

SLS White Terror, Aegis-class heavy cruiser

SLS Auspicium, Aegis-class heavy cruiser

SLS Manassas, Aegis-class heavy cruiser (experimental refit)

SLS Talismantia, Sovetskii Soyuz-class heavy cruiser (leased from Clan Sea Fox)

SLS Dire Wolf, Sovetskii Soyuz-class heavy cruiser

SLS Accalia, Sovetskii Soyuz-class heavy cruiser

SLS Ciaravella, Sovetskii Soyuz-class heavy cruiser

SLS Soyal, Soyal-class heavy cruiser

SLS Victoria Ward, Liberator-class light cruiser

SLS Jerome Winson, Liberator-class light cruiser

SLS Surprise, Kimagure Surprise-class pursuit cruiser

SLS Admiral Russell Nga, Kimagure-class pursuit cruiser (recovered from Clan Homeworlds mothball fleet during Operation PICKPOCKET)

SLS Vision of Truth, Potemkin-class troop cruiser

SLS Renown, Potemkin-class troop cruiser

SLS Abyssal, Potemkin-class troop cruiser (leased from Clan Sea Fox)

SLS Bonaventure, Potemkin-class troop cruiser (leased from Raven Alliance)

SLS Eden Rose, Potemkin-class troop cruiser (leased from Raven Alliance)

SLS Okami, Lola III-class destroyer

SLS Caleuche, Lola III-class destroyer (leased from Clan Sea Fox)

SLS Ranger, Lola III-class destroyer

SLS Emerald Tornado, Whirlwind-class destroyer

SLS Jade Tornado, Whirlwind-class destroyer

SLS Sabre Cat, Essex-class destroyer

SLS The Iowa, Essex-class destroyer

SLS Abundantia, Essex-class destroyer

SLS Deathblow, Essex-class destroyer

SLS Manchester, Suffren-class destroyer

SLS Queen Lynx, York-class destroyer

SLS Brimstone, York-class destroyer (recovered from Clan Homeworlds mothball fleet during Operation PICKPOCKET)

SLS Exodus Avenger, York-class destroyer (recovered from Clan Homeworlds mothball fleet during Operation PICKPOCKET)

SLS Exodus Crusader, York-class destroyer (recovered from Clan Homeworlds mothball fleet during Operation PICKPOCKET)

SLS Exodus Sentinel, York-class destroyer (recovered from Clan Homeworlds mothball fleet during Operation PICKPOCKET)

SLS Nebulous, York-class destroyer (recovered from Clan Homeworlds mothball fleet during Operation PICKPOCKET)

SLS The Protector, York-class destroyer (recovered from Clan Homeworlds mothball fleet during Operation PICKPOCKET)

SLS Rogue, Congress-class frigate

SLS Fire Crest, Congress-class frigate

SLS Kerensky's Pride, Congress-class frigate

SLS Silver Merlin, Peregrine-class corvette

SLS Green Kestrel, Peregrine-class corvette

SLS Killing Blow, Vincent Mk42-class corvette

SLS Arm's Reach, Vincent Mk42-class corvette

SLS Simas Osis, Vincent Mk42-class corvette

SLS Liberator, Volga-class transport (leased from Clan Sea Fox)

SLS Megalodon, Volga-class transport (leased from Clan Sea Fox)

SLS Matahourua, Carrack-class transport (leased from Clan Sea Fox)

SLS Tethys, Carrack-class transport (leased from Clan Sea Fox)

SLS Far Star, Carrack-class transport

SLS Enlightened Path, Carrack-class transport

SLS Nebula, Carrack-class transport

SLS Glory Road, Carrack-class transport

SLS Blessed Vision, Carrack-class transport

SLS Pathfinder, Carrack-class transport

SLS Guiding Vision, Carrack-class transport

SLS Bright Star, Carrack-class transport

SLS Faithful Rite, Carrack-class transport

SLS Dover, Faslane-class yardship

SLS Necessitas, Faslane-class yardship

SLS Harmonia, Faslane-class yardship

SLS Glamorgan, Faslane-class yardship

SLS Clementia, Newgrange-class Yardship

[msn-04iinightingale]

Dogs of War

The two Leopard Class drop ships broke past the atmospheric friction and heat and into the skies of Helios proper. Already charcoal black, the searing and flames only darkening the crimson patches of each to a rusty bloody red. Had anyone been able to see it, they would have found that fitting.

The aerospace fighters had given them a path to the planet, the rest was up to the drop ship pilots. The Dando and Churchyard plummeted towards their objective, ignoring or weaving between the scattered flak and lasers from the neighboring AAA batteries. Like two black hammers, they descended with grim purpose towards the small city below.

They'd punch down, bloody the Word, and see if they can't clear space for the Fursona's Fusiliers dropships flying with them.

Simple.

Suicidal.

Perfect for Barghest Company.

——-

Commander Owen felt each jump and judder of near misses through the drop ships hull and the body of his mech, the Marauder II swaying and shaking in its restraints. Across from him was the angular visage of Victoria’s Axman, Vance’s Thug and Anya’s Thunderbolt occupying the neighboring berths. In the upper corner of his cockpit, a timer counts down the minutes until they drop.

Another close by boom rattled the drop ship.

Drop: 10:00

Owen keys open the Barghest Company channel. 

“Alright boys and girls, are you ready?”

Drop: 09:00

Seven voices reply with “Yes Sir.”

“Can’t hear you Machwarriors!”

Drop: 08:00

“Yes sir!”

“COME ON, YOU CALL THAT A YES?!”

Drop: 07:00

“YES SIR!” the seven voices scream.

The light in the Mechbay turns red. 

Drop: 06:00

“That’s more like it! And who are we?” He shouts, something bordering excitement creeping into his voice, predatory and keen.

“BARGHEST COMPANY!”

Drop: 05:00

“Damn right we are! And we are going to go down there, sink our teeth into their flesh, and DRAG THEM ALL TO HELL!”

“DRAG THEM ALL TO HELL!”

Drop: 04:00

The doors of the drop ships begin to open with the whine of machinery. The familiar voice comes over the internal speakers, as his mech powers on.

Reactor, Online.

Drop: 03:00

The drop ships slow, the dull bangs and thuds of small arms fire ringing off the hull. The plan had been to drop fast, and get below the arcs of the other AAA emplacements to drop the two lances and then provide close air support as fuel allowed, before braving the trip back to orbit or more likely, linking up with other elements of Touchdown for refueling and rearming. The Blakests below had other ideas, and were mustering everything they could to deal with the new threat of two Leopard drop ships landing in their midst.

Sensores, Online.

Drop: 02:00

A series of rumbling booms signals the drop ships returning fire with LRMS, PPCS, and Lasers. The first rack of LRM rounds are live warheads, ripping apart light tanks and fixed positions in storms of shrapnel and fire. PPC bolts snap out with thunder cracks to strike down heavier vehicles, Large and Medium lasers lancing out to spear clumps of infantry, or rake across those in cover in buildings. The second reload of LRM's are smoke, obscuring the streets and buildings around the landing sites.

Weapons, Online.

Drop: 01:00

His mech rotates, along with the others of his lance, to face to now open door, beyond a hell of swirling smoke, tracer fire and lasers snap and stitch through the air.

All systems nominal.

Drop: 00:00

Owen tilts his head back and howls over the comms, the seven other members of Barghest Company following suit, their radio distorted voices forming a nightmarish call worthy of their namesake, blasted over every available enemy comm line.

Owen slams his controls forward, moving the 100 ton assault mech into motion, and out into the firefight, his seven other mechwarriors following. Dropping the short distance between the ramp and the street below with an earthshaking thud, the two lances immediately moved away from their dropships. The ramps were already closing as the craft start to lift off, volleys of LRMs and laser fire snapping out at targets the mechwarriors couldn't yet see.

The city was a small one, by Inner Sphere standards, but still had plenty of buildings taller than most mechs. It would be a tough fight, city fights always were for mechs, but at least they couldn't bring superior numbers to bear fully just yet. There were reports of enemy Marauders and fixed positions, and rumbling of even a superheavy in the area, plus the Heavy Level II's and any reinforcements the Word sent their way to push them off the dropsite.

A voice came over the Barghest Company comms line, one of the dropship pilots.

"Enemy resistance is light for now, Commander, but we're getting at least a dozen reactor signatures closing rapidly. We'll circle the site and provide air support as we can until the Fusiliers get more boots on the ground. Good luck and good hunting Commander."

In response, Owen raised the right arm of his mech, saluting them as they lifted off.

"Good hunting, flyboys."

"Commander, we've got contacts." It was Maria, he could already hear the thrum of her ER Large Lasers as she engaged a target over the comms. "One Level II, two Assaults, one Heavy, one Medium and one Light."

A pause.

"Make that two Level II's, one closing on your position."

The familiar feral grin split Owen's face. This was it, what he was born for, what his mother raised him to be.

"Garm Lance, form up, we've got guests. Let's show them how we do it in Barghest Company."

Three acknowledgement pings come over his comms as the lance moves forward, clearing the immediate LZ for the rapidly approaching Fursona's Fusiliers dropships.

———

Drop: -05:00

The first enemy mech to die was a Tempest, cockpit spit open by Victoria’s Axman’s hatchet as she lurched from out of the smoke and flame of the wrecked tanks and buildings around the LZ.

"That one was for Mary, you bastards!" She yelled over the comms.

Owen smiled, and laughing over the open comms for the enemy to hear, bringing his twin ER PPCs to bear against a Legacy before it had tome to bring its autocannons to life, feeling the heat spike in his cockpit despite the double heat sinks installed in his mech as the bolts punched through cockpit and pilot with equal ease. Oh what he wouldn’t give to have Katie here for this.

To his left Vance was delivering point blank SRM volleys into the side and back of a Blakist Thug, rippling explosions tearing the side and rear armor of the enemy mech to pieces before the reactor is breached with a dull KRUMP.

"Be at peace, brother." Vance murmered.

Anya's Thunderbolt released another volley of Clan LRMs, and pulse after pulse of laser fire into a Crab, and Mongoose. The Mongoose falls first, unable to withstand the onslaught of LRMs and lasers. The Crab takes longer, large lasers slicing and melting several chunks of armor before being rocked to the side by the impact of a LB-X/20 round. Staggering, the medium mech only just rights itself in time for the combined fire from Anya and Victoria shred the smaller machine.

"Thanks for the assist, Vic." Anya says.

"No worries, gotta get the blushing bride home in one piece, eh?" Chuckles Victoria.

In the next square over, a former parking lot for a now burning warehouse, Maria's Mad Cat, Elenor's Crab, Bill "Billy"'s Archer, and Kei's Stalker gun down the remnants of the first QRF Level II's that engaged them. The last to fall was a Perseus, cored completely by large laser and missile fire.

So far, damage was minimal, with the worst being a faulty leg joint in Vance's Thug, the result of the now burning Word Thug's own SRMs and PPCs. Not bad for a first engagement.

"Good work Barghest Company, we are touching down now and will deploy mechs shortly." It was one of the Fusiliers dropship pilots. "We've got more pings in the city, routing to you and your dropships."

Owen's minimap flashed as new dots peppered it. That was a lot of red to the as of now very little blue. He watched as the two icons indicating the Dando and Churchyard circled the area immediatly surrounding the LZ, and some of the red dots, although not nearly enough for his liking, winked out.

"Oh boy...Barghest company, eyes up, here comes the real fun. Black Dog Lance, form up behind Garm Lance, prepare for volley LRM fire on designated targets. The rest of you, I want at least two mechs for each target. The faster we kill them the faster this ends."

"Let's hunt."

(OOC: tagging @is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not and @combined-arms-merc-groups incase you wanted to add anything now that I have edited this, since we share a landing site.)

[grigori77]

Critical Role, Campaign 3 Episode 87

A day late thanks to more unavoidable commitments, but we're here now at least ...

Matt wears a shirt to the table. Laura roasts him for it. DM derails the session HIMSELF before it even STARTS ...

A NordVPN Oscars skit? Both topical AND ridiculous. Way to ham it up, Marisha! XD "Oversized sweater enthusiast" Ashley Johnson? Cute ...

Ah yes, Daggerheart ... we shall see ...

Sam: "Doesn't he have to throw it to you?" Marisha (indignant): "Do I have to wait for permission from a man?"

Trouble there, Marisha? Game's starting ...

Oh yeah, the city! Oof ... here we go ...

Wow ... that roll was BALLS ... great start to the session ... and now they're in the middle of a storm ... of course they are ...

Group Stealth roll! Pass Without A Trace ... thanks, Ashton. Much better rolls this time, at least.

What the hell is THIS? Oh shit, it's the Mongolian blood worms! AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!

Crap ... Ashton's exhausted! I forgot about that ... RUN, DIREWOLF FEARNE!!! RUN!!!

So ... are they, like, trapped now, then?

A tadpole? That's no tadpole ... yeah, don't fall for THIS SHIT, people! Travis: "It's an angler fish!" Yeah, definitely ...

FCG has TOTALLY given them away now ...

Travis' strange polar bear analogy ...

They're gonna chuck a piece of Berserker at it ... oh yeah, here we go. It's like piranhas! O.O Shit ...

Imogen tries to LEVITATE THE ROCK with them on it! Bloody hell ... argh ... weight based head maths ... great ...

Yeah ... no, the mayhem WILL begin shortly ...

They are now FLOATING THROUGH THE STORM on the rock ... no, seriously, DO NOT leave a trail of CHUM behind you! That is SO dumb ...

Playing baseball with body parts and Ashton's hammer ... yeah, that's definitely smart ...

NINE? Oh bollocks ... Laura, you may have just killed your friends ... but not quite ... phew ...

Touchdown ... and it collapses into pieces, like the Blues Brothers' car ... oof ...

Arguing the differences between Pass Without A Trace and Merge With Stone ... and it WORKS? Blimey ...

All right, where to go? Fearne guesses and leads the way ... Sam rolls 18 ... the storm subsides! Thank the gods ...

Crap! A Flare! Laudna grabs Imogen on instinct and anchors her ... Nice! And Chetney DOES NOT wolf out ...

Reaching out to Ira? Really? Oof ... FCG send a Message to the Nightmare King ... Contact! Yay! But he's still bloody creepy ...

He's such a tease! Damn it ... yeah, messaging doesn't WORK like that ...

Next move, then ... into the city or scout around? How to get in contact with the Volition?

Imogen sends a message to Zhesh ... Nice use of word limit! Persuasion check? Oooh ... 20! Sweet! It worked!

The Jagged Edge, in the Clutch? Looking for Jidoh, in search of "a contract"? Hmmmm ...

Mental ventriloquism? Sweet idea, Orym! That sounds pretty clever ...

Here we go, Fearne is going to turn herself into a Reiloran? Trippy ...

Masks? Hmmm ... Chetney doesn't have enough wood, though ...

Oh WHAT THE HELL, Sam? Surreal flask shenanigans this week ...

Ashley's dice chaos and the others make light ... also inadvertently make her lose track of WHAT SHE'S ACTUALLY DOING ... XD

Crap, busted! Look like a Reiloran QUICK Fearne ... FCG casts Engance Ability on her ... is it successful?

Okay, so what is THIS about? New race?

Trying out the clever ruse? Oh boy ... Travis is not confident ... Deception check? Roll good, Ashley ... 21! Nice ...

Fearne is pretending yo be THE FUCKING WILLMASTER? Fuck ... that is STUPID level ballsy ... this could backfire SO BADLY ...

Okay, I guess these guys aren't all that bright, they might have lucked out here.

That's a lot of Reilorans ... O.O

Tyren A? Okay ...

Guns? Really? Laura: "Fucking Percy!" Marisha: "GUNS have made it to the Moon!"

A game of questions? Interesting ... the tast of strawberries? Hmmm ... oh yeah, this guy ain't too bright either ...

Goodness, tis the Horn of Helm Hammeŕhand!

Speaky's Drip? Oh, it's between the Clutch and the Crumble? Useful ...

A neighbouring outpost is gutted and gone? Whoa ... so the Volition are SERIOUS ... Orym did well there.

Nat20 and Fearne's deception goes AMAZINGLY ... Nice going, girls! O.O

Turns out FCG could have been Ritually casting that all this time? That's embarrassing ...

Heading down to the city ... Martian Helm's Deep indeed ...

Time for a break!

Kids! Careful, Laudna ... oh, FCG's going instead. Ryndons? Oh, they're like mole-pigs? Cute ...

Wow, Letters really is a big hit with these kids. :3

Vateara and Caeluma Veteris? Hmmmm ...

Imogen gives them a goodberry each. Awwwwwwww ...

Ashley gets a Whispers! Ooooh ... cue more plugs from Samuel ...

"You're so small but so OLD." O.O Yes. Chetney is definitely very old indeed ...

THEY DON'T HAVE TOYS? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!!!

Yeah, Chetney has just BLOWN THEIR MINDS ... and also imparted important life lessons too. I'm loving this moment so much ... :3

Fuck ... has Chetney just birthed the legend of Santa Claus on Ruidus? Seriously?

The coming MOVE?

Aha! Now we know where the Jagged Edge is. Nice.

Bearne. LOL

Wow, we all just rolled BALKS on that stealth check, didn't we?

Oh, well THIS can't be good. Shit ... they've been spotted, haven't they?

Fearne says she's here for The Beating Heart ... persuasion check? Hmmmm ... oh, looks like she might be tanking this ...

Imogen tries to bring part of a nearby building down for a distraction ... meanwhile Fearne is clearly being ARRESTED ... crap ... do I smell a fight coming?

Fearne turns into a fly, only to be instantly BITTEN BY THE AVADON!!! Fuck ... a 22 to hit? Bloody hell ... back to Fearne again ... and now she's IN ITS MOUTH?!!! Fuck ...

Roll for Initiative? No shit!

Battlemap time! Lovely ...

Marisha has NO PLAN ... hmmm ... no, not a fireball! Bane instead ... Liam IMMEDIATELY does his regular impression ... 2 fails but one manages to resist it. Not bad ... now she hits the avadon with THREE ELDRITCH BLASTS? I thought she DIDN'T want to be loud ... 30 points of damage overall! Holy shit ...

Orym leaps in snd Hexes term as he jumps into the fight, then goes with a Goading attack on the Juggernaut ... hits every time! Nice ...

Said big bad attacks him and HITS!!! Laudna tries Silvery Barbs but she's OUT OF RANGE ... CRAP!!! He hits Orym THREE TIMES in a row ... oh my gods! Not the wee man! Oof ... 18, then 16 ... then a Crit for 32 points of damage altogether? Ouch! AND psychic damage in top of it? AAAAAAHHH! Orym BARELY catches himself short of getting knocked down ... O.O

FCG casts Banishment on the Juggernaut. Which it FAILS to resist, so it's just GONE!!! Phew ...

Again Imogen just fails to bring the chunk of building down ... instead pucks up 2 loose stones and tosses them at the Reilorans with her mind! Both hits! Nice ... 14 bludgeoning damage each!

Fearne is still bring CHEWED ... oof ... she shoits Scorching Rays at 3rd Level at POINT BLANK RANGE into its mouth! TWO NAT20S?!!! Wow ... 4D6 of damage DOUBLED!!! She gets the HDYWTDT!!! Yeah! She essentially just BLASTS HERSELF OUT OF IT!!! Nice!

The remaining avadon attacks FCG ... another Nat20? Ouch ... AND ANOTHER ONE!!! Argh! 21 plus 31 plus 16 points of damage! Fuck! And now he's grappled in its mouth!

The rider tries to impale Fearne with a spear ... Shield! Yes! Nice one! The other one tries too butt the Shield's still up! Oof ... so only partial damage, but she's still getting shoved about ...

Chetney wolfs out and charges ... Blood Maladict! Yeah! Shred shred shred ... 17 plus 21 in damage! Shred indeed! Oh, but the Juggernaut's back ... O.O

Ashton charges in and Rages ... what random shit this time? He goes Monochrome ... he hits the nearest fucker and goes Reckless with it ... HIT!!! This is gonna be BIG damage then ... BRUTAL Critical? Wow ... 26 for the first hit, 21 for the second ... HDYWTDT again! He flattens the guy's head INTO his body! O.O

Laudna casts Blight INTO Ashton's hammer? Oh that's like INSANELY cool ... splut Blight at the two remaining Reolorans ... and they both HIT!!! Oof ... 39 points of damage each? Fuck, she kills them ... HDYWTDT yet again! Bloody hell ... she just TORCHES him ...

Orym starts carving away at the Juggernaut ... a hit! And the second ... AND the third ... Action Surge ... he just KEEPS HITTING HIM OVER AND OVER!!! Orym is a killing MACHINE right now! It's still up, but hurting ... in the meantime whil it's down he pills a Bait snd Switch on Chetney.

The Juggernaut gets back up, looking AWFUL ... tries to flaten Orym on the spot ... MISSES!!! Orym gets a reaction ... and KILLS HIM!!! He guts the fucker ON THE SPOT ...

FCG casts SCRAMBLE the Dead on the avadon chewing him ... 18 points ... ALSO the HDYWTDT!!! Wow ... he uses harmonic resonance to essentially SHAKE IT APART ...

As they scramble to run, Chetney cuts all the heads off so NOBODY can question the corpses after. Lovely ...

Oh yeah ... what IS in the cart? A box? It's heavy ... they put it in the Hole. Then Imogen lifts the cart and PUTS IT ON TOP of one of the buildings ...

They're being watched? Laudna sends Pate to check it out ... looks like someone just living there, a civilian. Hmmmm ...

Oh, so this one's OLD? Okay ... so Pate just SCARES THE BEJEEZUS out of them. Effectively shutting them up, then ... very intimidating ...

To the Jagged Edge! Quickly now ... group deception check to pass unnoticed ...

There's a FAINT glow in the Scry ball ... so Otohan's not SUPER CLOSE, but in the city now. Great ...

FCG's homing in on Zhesh with Locate Creature ... a merchant district? Okay ...

Like writing in dreams? That's beautiful if haunting ...

This must be the place ...

These glass weapons sound absolutely BEAUTIFUL ...

Another one of the fuzzy guys, but really OLD ... he seems interesting ... so this is Jidoh ...

Yeah, DEFINITELY Insight Check ... and they BOTH get Whispers? Cool ...

A Reiloran Shrike? Hmmmm ... oh, but she has a scar on her face, yeah, I remember that ... this MUST BE Zhesh ...

So what DO they want?

Interesting ... she's making A POINT of speaking to them VOCALLY ...

Time for truth, clearly ... yes, clearly they DO have an ally here ...

The Overspoke? Hmmm ... looking for Earot ...

They do need somewhere to hide. Where to go?

300 gold for a glass scythe? Good deal.

They can stay in the cellar for no more than an hour ... ah, so a short rest, then ...

Laudna likes the little Dancer statue ... a persuasion check? 21 ... it's not for sale ... but she gives it as a GIFT?!!! Awwwww ... that's sweet ...

SHORT REST!!! Yes indeed ...

Looking in the box ... it's a Paragon's Call item! Hmmmm ... a magical lock ... oof ... yeah, best come back to that ...

FCG RITUALLY casts Telepathic Bond ...

So Orym can actually Druidcraft blueberries? That's adorable ... :3

If Chetney shows us his new toy, they all DIE. He insists ... hmmmm ...

These people NEED their help, it's true. But they need to be CAREFUL going about it ...

Capture as a TACTIC? I don't like it.

Oh shit ... have they been busted? Somebody's here! Crap ... they're COMING!!!

And that's IT?!!! Seriously? Oof ... bloody cliffhangers ...

[punchdrunkdoc]

Chapter 1

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3

Masterlist

------------------------------------------------------

PART 1

CHAPTER 1

At the last moment, the landing turned into a forward roll.

Coming to his feet on the barren rooftop, Matt rubbed at the faint ache in his left knee. It had been niggling at him all night - for the last couple of nights, if he was honest - and he didn't think a harsh, two-footed touchdown after that jump from the other building would have done it any favours.

So he'd softened the impact. Tucked his body, and allowed his momentum to carry him forward in a roll across the hard, damp concrete.  

He was learning to accommodate for the toll the years of parkour, jiu jitsu and general wear and tear had taken on his joints.  

It was ironic. Now that his mind and soul were relatively at peace with what he did when he put on this suit, it was his body that was turning on him.

He'd spent so long wrestling with his conscience over this double life - the morality of it; the legality of it; the secrets he had to tell; the brushes with darkness when he gave into his rage. But he was finally at a place of equilibrium, and his last encounter with Wilson Fisk had helped get him there.  

Because he’d left him alive.

At the height of his rage, and in a state of complete frustration and disillusionment...he hadn't killed Fisk. He had tip-toed up to the edge of his moral red line, but he hadn't crossed it.

Though calling it a line was a massive understatement. It wasn't just some mark in the sand. It was a cliff. A jagged rock face overhanging a dark, turbulent sea. He'd peered over that cliff, stared down into the pitch-black roiling waves below and had contemplated jumping. He had convinced himself that the means justified the ends, and that he could handle the fall.

But he'd been kidding himself.

He never would have survived the landing. He would have been consumed by those waves, forever struggling to catch his breath as he was battered by the churning mass of his guilt.

His friends knew that. Father Lantom knew it. Even Fisk knew it - he'd goaded him on towards the end, as he'd knelt bloody and defiant on the floor of his penthouse. Fisk had wanted to bring him down to his level, to corrupt him completely in one last act of vengeful cruelty.

But it hadn't worked.

And now Matt knew, deep within his heart, that he wasn't capable of taking another person's life. If he couldn't kill Fisk - the monster who had tormented his city and murdered with impunity and threatened his friends - then he couldn't kill anyone.

The knowledge was liberating, in a way.

Of course, the devil still resided in his soul; the beast that was formed of rage, that craved violence with a gnawing intensity, still lurked within him. But it was not a murderous beast. Embracing that side of himself would not lead to the ultimate corruption of his soul. Which meant Matt was now free to don his devilish persona. He didn’t have to sublimate it. He didn’t have to lock away his urges and impulses just like he'd once locked away his suit.

And he didn’t have to let it define him either. After surviving the building collapse, he’d indulged that baser aspect of soul, becoming nothing more than the devil, misguided in the belief that it was his only way to succeed in his mission.

But he’d been wrong. He’d been left lonely and unfulfilled...and ultimately ineffective.

He needed a balance between the two. Between Matt Murdock and the Devil.

And it felt like he was finally finding it.

Which is why it was so annoying that his body was starting to let him down.

He sighed and brushed the moisture from his suit. A warm summer shower had drenched the city - and him - earlier that night.  Between the damp, the ache in his knee, and the long day he'd spent in the office before heading out to patrol, he was wiped. He just wanted to get back to his apartment, dry off, then sleep for roughly a million years.

Though he'd settle for a solid fours hours these days. Despite the hard-won acceptance of his fate and his nature, and despite being in a good place with work and his friends...he wasn't sleeping well.

It was like his subconscious and his body were tag-teaming it in their quest to thwart his newly-found peace.

He jogged across the rooftop - avoiding the puddles on the ground - and leapt over the narrow alleyway to reach the building on the other side.

Just one more to go...

Before the thought had finished forming, he came to an abrupt stop and crouched down behind the brick parapet.

There was someone on his rooftop.

He eased away from the edge and sank into the shadows, observing the stranger. The unique way he ‘saw’ the world - the sensorial information that painted the landscape in flames - gave him the impression of long hair that swirled in the breeze, and a tall, lithe figure wrapped in a thick cardigan.

It was a woman.

She faced away from him, her gaze locked on the jagged outlines of high rises apartments, water towers and construction sites that made up Hell's Kitchen. Then she tipped her head back and stared at the vast sky above.

He echoed her movement, tilting his sightless eyes upwards, wondering what she could see. The pinprick lights of a million stars? Or just a blanket of rain-swollen grey clouds. His senses could never perceive the detail of the sky, and it was one of the things he missed the most.

After a few still moments of contemplation, she eventually moved.  She wrapped her cardigan tightly around her slim frame, and ducked through the roof access door.

As he landed on the now deserted rooftop, the wind brought him the remnants of her soft sigh and the scent of her skin.

She tasted of strawberries and sea salt.

———

Matt woke the next morning with traces of ripe sweetness and ocean spray on his tongue.  

The intriguing combination lingered, even after brushing his teeth and downing his morning cup of coffee. He thought he was imagining the way the molecules seemed to hang in the air around him as he dressed for work, engulfing him in a potent haze.

It felt like his brain’s way of reminding him he hadn’t been with a woman in a while.

But as he opened his apartment door to leave, he realised the haunting scent was no trick of his celibate mind - it was stronger out in the hallway. He froze on the doorstep, head tilted, lips parted, trying to pinpoint the source. It wasn’t surprising that the woman from the rooftop would live in this building.  

It was a slight surprise that she lived directly opposite him.

Apartment 6B.

But it was unmistakable. The air around that door was thick with salt and sweetness, and he could sense more beyond. There was also a trail in the corridor, and Matt followed it to the elevator, closing his eyes as the doors shut and enclosed him in with the ghost of her.

Trapped in the confined space, he sifted through the more subtle notes that made up her fragrance. The strawberries and sea salt was a perfume, a clean, organic one, devoid of the harsh chemicals that usually turned Matt off. But beneath that, he could detect…her. Her natural scent.  

And it was just as intoxicating.

To most people, beauty was a function of colour and shape.

The curve of a smile, the arch of a cheekbone, the angle of a jaw.

Red hair, blond, brunette.

Blue eyes, hazel or green.

Those details were lost to Matt. He could perceive so much with his heightened senses, but subtleties like that were lost in a world formed of fire.

Instead, to him, beauty began with scent and taste.

And this woman - whoever she was - was beautiful.

The doors opened on the ground floor and he reluctantly exited and walked away from the concentrated dose of her.

But luckily the trail continued.

She had walked this route just a couple of hours before him. Had paused in front of the bulletin board on the wall. Smoothed the curled edge of the flyer advertising yoga classes. She’d ran her fingers over the embossed ‘6B’ that signified her mailbox. Then she’d pushed open the main door and jogged down the steps. And…disappeared.

Matt paused on the streets, a still figure amidst the bustle of the foot traffic as the denizens of Hell’s Kitchen walked to work. He only got one disgruntled “Hey-!“ from a passerby, before they saw his cane and dark glasses and cut off the rest of their rant. He ignored it all, concentrating on the clues the sidewalk was offering. He smelled motor oil. The earthiness of leather. An exhaust - but not from a large engine…

A motorbike.

She’d driven away on a motorbike.

Satisfied that he’d solved that little mystery - and added more pieces to the mental picture he was building of his new neighbour - Matt headed off to his office.

———

If scent was the spark of his attraction…sound was the catalyst for his curiosity.

He first heard her that night.

He’d returned home late in the evening, after celebrating a win with Foggy and Karen. Today had been the culmination of weeks of hard work, the day they’d faced off against a platoon of expensive, high-powered lawyers in arbitration. Their client had come to them with a wrongful dismissal claim against one of the leading investment firms in the city, and they'd managed to clear his name and win him a large compensation package.

A very large compensation package.

Yeah, today had been a good day for Nelson, Murdock and Page. Their little firm was slowly re-building the reputation that Matt had tarnished. They were starting to provide a real service to the community. Fighting for the underdogs. Battling greed and corruption with integrity.

They were seen as the place to come, when hope seemed lost.

It was everything he’d always dreamed of.

And every day that he entered the office, passing the plaque that signalled their commitment to each other, Matt felt grateful to his friends that they’d agreed to give him another chance.

They were - each of them - a little less idealistic. A little more jaded. Scarred by the trials of the past few years. But they were together.

And that was enough for Matt.

He’d learned the hard way that he couldn’t save this city - protect the people who gave it life - as Daredevil alone. He also needed to be out in the light, fighting with the law as his weapon, and not just his fists. He needed to seek justice within the confines of system, just as much as he delivered it out on the streets when it failed.  

And he needed his friends.

He needed people around him who could talk him off the edge when he became too obsessed. Who could give him the insight and perspective he sometimes lacked. Who cared if something happened to him. And who understood his need to be both the vigilante and the lawyer.

Tonight the three of them had celebrated their victory over a round of beers at Josie’s, just like old times. But unlike old times, when Matt had gotten up to leave, he hadn’t needed to resort to lies or excuses. Foggy and Karen knew where he was going and what he would be doing. They’d simply asked him to be safe, and waved as he’d walked away.

As he travelled in the elevator to his floor, Matt marvelled at how lucky he’d gotten....and wondered if he would ever deserve his good fortune.

His mind occupied by those thoughts, he almost forgot about his new neighbour. The mystery woman.

Almost.

But that scent was hard to ignore. It swirled around him as he exited the elevator and headed down the narrow corridor to his apartment.  It grew stronger and stronger, as he approached his door, gentle tendrils of it wrapping around him, welcoming him home.

Beckoning him closer.

This time, when he paused on the threshold of his apartment to savour the undiluted scent, he picked up something new.

A sound.

Footsteps.

Her footsteps.

She was home. Just a few feet away.

The temptation to eavesdrop was one he usually tried to avoid. His abilities were intrusive, he knew that. The things he could detect were….private. Intimate. Mood, emotions, hormones…arousal. Things that he had no right to, could be accessed with little effort on his part. So he reigned in those urges out of respect.

But he was only human.  

He couldn’t resist a taste - metaphorically speaking - of this woman. So he cocked his head, closed his eyes…and listened.

This first thing he heard was the steady, slow strum of her heartbeat.

The low resting heart-rate told him she was in good shape - more pieces to the puzzle - and that she was relaxed. At peace.

Footsteps again - muffled on the hardwood floors. She was wearing thick socks. She wasn’t cold, so she must like the feel of the fabric.

A click, and a song filled the air. Slightly tinny - from laptop speakers rather than a stereo.

He heard a rustle as she got comfortable on her couch, ready to enjoy the music. It was a fast, thumping tune from an indie band he remembered hearing in bars in college…but it soon cut off with another click.

Now Elvis was singing about hound dogs.

Another click.

A wordless techno beat.

Another click.

A boyband from the 90s.

Click.

A rapper, spitting out lyrics at double pace.

Click.

A synth-heavy song from the 80s.

Click.

Click.

Click.

She cycled through songs, sometimes barely allowing a few bars to play before skipping to the next. Between each click he could hear the scribble of a pen against paper, and he could hear her heart rate notching up by degrees and the cadence of her breathing falter.

What was she doing?

And why was it distressing her?

Click.

Click.

Click.

The soulful, raw voice of Nina Simone filtered through the door.

Her heart-rate plateaued.

Her breathing evened out…

And she let the song play in full.

———

He heard her voice a few days later.

He was in the shower washing off the sweat and grime from the night before, moving gingerly in the small space to avoid aggravating his broken rib. He’d run across a group of baseball-bat wielding maniacs on a destruction spree. They'd been terrorising the patrons of a bar by the docks, smashing up the joint, picking fights, and barring anyone from leaving. Matt had broken up the melee but had taken a bat to the chest in the process - the lucky swing managing to do damage despite his armour.  

He ducked his head, hand cradling the bruised area over his chest, and planned out his day. Foggy would be arriving soon; they were meeting here while the new office was being painted, and would strategise their new case before heading off to a plea hearing for one of their other clients. Then Matt planned to speak to a couple of his contacts at the police department and Metro General, to see if there was a new drug circulating the city. Those thugs from last night had smelled…wrong. A harsh, caustic scent had seeped from their pores, and combined with their erratic behaviour and the way they'd fought him, it felt very much like a drug high.

Just not one he was familiar with.

It was gearing up to be a busy day…but he couldn’t seem to find the energy to move. The warm pressure of the water sluicing over his shoulders was easing the knots in his muscles. Soothing his battered skin. The steam-filled bathroom was quiet and peaceful and he just wanted to stay in here forever.

But then he heard the elevator ping, and the familiar rhythm of his best friend’s gait as he exited the car.

Foggy was early.  

Or Matt had stayed in the shower longer than he’d thought.

He shut off the water and tasted the air as he reached for his towel. He could smell coffee, cinnamon and sugar - two espressos, and baked goods from the diner down the street.

Foggy had brought breakfast.

The paper cups rubbed against the cardboard carrier, and the bag holding the pastries rustled as Foggy walked down the corridor. Then his footsteps faltered, and he came to a stop a few feet from Matt’s front door. Matt cocked his head, listening intently as dried himself off. He could hear Foggy’s heart racing, and he picked up an inaudible gulp as he swallowed nervously. Then his voice echoed in the hallway, his wide smile curving the syllables in a distinctive way. “You’re not Fran.”

Matt froze, barely noticing the jolt of pain that accompanied the tensing of his muscles.  The smile, the gulp, the thundering pulse, they were all signs he was familiar with after fifteen years of friendship…

Foggy was talking to a beautiful woman.

His beautiful woman.

Matt shook his head at that thought as he quickly finished drying off. She wasn’t his woman. Just a woman that he was currently…curious about.

He continued getting dressed, one ear on the conversation happening outside his apartment door, intrigued to finally hear from his neighbour. She wasn't the friendliest person he’d ever come across; she never had visitors, never took any calls, and when she encountered the other residents in the hallways of the building, she never said a word. The other day, Mrs Schneider, the hunched-over octogenarian who lived in 2C, had dropped her purse on the street outside the building, and his mystery neighbour had just stood by and watched as another resident came running over to pick it up.  

It would be interesting to see if Foggy's unique charm could thaw her out a bit.

“Not unless you are Fran and you’ve discovered the fountain of youth,” Foggy joked.

A pause. And then he heard it. Her voice. “No, I’m not Fran. She moved out.”

Warmer than he expected, from someone so cold and closed off.

Softer too.

A light and clear tone, that sparked a sudden desire in Matt to close his eyes and surround himself with the sound, the same way he wanted to bask in her scent.

She was like a balm to all his senses.

“Well, then welcome to the building,” Foggy replied. “I’m Foggy. Foggy Nelson - one third of Nelson, Murdock and Page - the most prestigious law firm on West 49th street.”

“Foggy?”

“Technically Franklin, but everyone calls me Foggy.”

“It’s a…nickname?”

Matt finished buttoning his shirt, his mouth curving slightly at the bafflement in her voice. In her defence, ‘Foggy’ was a strange name.

“Yep. Everyone should have a nickname. Where’s the fun in only having one name? You don't have one?”

“No. I’ve never had a nickname.”

He slipped his belt through the loops of his pants and fastened the buckle.

“So what do people call you?”

He grabbed his glasses and headed for the front door.

“Calina.”

Calina.

It suited her. Her scent. Her voice. It was just as beautiful as the elements that formed her.

It was just a shame those elements didn't seem to match her personality.

Foggy echoed his thoughts. “Wow, that’s a beautiful name.”

“Um, thank you.”

“Beautiful…but its three syllables long. Ca-li-na. Any name over two syllables has to have a nickname - its the law. And as a lawyer, I should know-”

Matt pulled open the door, startling his friend.

But not the woman standing in front of him. Her heartbeat never skipped a beat, as if she knew he was about to appear.

Ignoring Foggy, Matt stared at her, finally getting the chance to observe her up close. He took in her height - only a few inches shorter than him - and they way she stood, with her shoulders back and her spine straight.

Like a dancer

Or a soldier at ease.

“Ah, Matthew is here,” Foggy announced. “Time to get to work. See you around, Ca-li-na.”

“Goodbye.”

Foggy pushed past him into the apartment, his elbow inadvertently knocking against his latest injury. A tiny huff of air escaped Matt’s lips at the pain, but he never took his gaze of the woman in front of him.

He sensed the movement as she tilt her head. And furrowed her brow. “Are you alrigh-”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Matt said quickly, interrupting her. There was something unexpectedly…observant…about her. Her eyes roamed over his face, his shoulders, the front of his chest, before dropping to his left side where the broken rib throbbed with a dull ache.

People reacted to his blindness in different ways. Some overcompensated - staring him straight in the eyes, or where they guessed his eyes were behind his dark glasses. Others became nervous, uncertain. Their eyes would flit about, unsure where to look.

Not her.

Her gaze was intent. Evaluating. She took in his lack of sight and moved on, as if it was just one piece of information to catalogue.

It was a little disconcerting.

He tried to disarm her curiosity with a smile. “Or rather, it was nice that you met Foggy. My name is-”

“Matthew.”

“Yeah. Well, Matt,” he corrected, with another smile.

“Another nickname,” she replied, almost to herself.

It was Matt’s turn to frown at her. Calina wasn’t a common name, and her strange reaction to a couple of nicknames suggested that maybe she was a foreigner. But there wasn’t a hint of an accent in her voice…

What was her story…?

He stood there, trying to figure her out for a beat longer - and she appeared content to do the same to him.

But the moment was soon broken by Foggy’s yell from the kitchen. “Matt, coffee’s getting cold. Come on!”

“I’d better go,” Matt said softly, taking a step back.

“Yes,” she said, shaking her head. “Sorry. Goodbye.”

She spun on her heel and took off down towards the elevator, slipping her arms into the backpack she carried. She left behind the blend of berries, salt and leather that he was fast becoming addicted to.

As well as a million questions.

All of which distilled into one core mystery:

Who was she?

———

“No,” Foggy said firmly, pushing the coffee cup to the edge of the kitchen counter.

Matt swiped up the drink and took a sip, savouring the bitter hit of caffeine after his late night. “What do you mean ‘No’.”

Foggy pointed to the hallway. “6B. Not-Fran. The hot new neighbour. Just…no, Matt.”

“She’s hot?” Matt asked innocently.

Foggy rolled his eyes. “You know she is. She is one of the most stunning women I’ve seen in real life, so there’s no way your ‘beautiful woman radar’ isn’t pinging like crazy.”

Matt hid his smile. Because Foggy wasn’t wrong. Her scent, her voice…they were pushing all his buttons. But Foggy didn't need to worry this time. He wasn’t looking to get involved with his new neighbour. Or with anyone, really. He was simply curious about the woman with the beguiling scent. He wanted to complete the picture of her in his mind. Fill in her outline with shade.

Render her in technicolour.

Then he could stop wondering about her so much.

“Describe her to me.”

Foggy groaned. “What part of N-O don’t you understand?”

“Come on, buddy. Indulge a blind man’s curiosity. What’s she like?”

“Fine,” Foggy sighed. “She’s…she’s like Bambi.”

“Bambi?” Matt asked sceptically.

“Big doe eyes, long limbs. And she has this innocent, baffled look on her face.”

Matt frowned. That didn’t fit with the cold, uncaring woman he'd observed over the last few days. Or with the sharp-eyed gaze she’d fixed him with just now.

He tried again. “In non-Disney character terms, Foggy?”

“I can only think in terms of Disney characters right now, because she’s young, Matt. Hence the ‘no’ that I keep repeating, and you keep ignoring.”

“How young?” Matt asked.

“I don't know,” Foggy replied. “Fresh out of college maybe?”

Matt’s frown deepened. Again, Foggy’s description jarred with his impression of her. To him, she’d seemed…confident. Savvy. Not some naive youth.  

He wasn’t usually so off base when he assessed someone with his senses.

“She could just look young for her age…”

“Aw shit, you do like her.” Foggy sat up straight and leaned forward, pointing the remnants of his cinnamon roll at him. “Remember Mel from freshman year at Columbia? And that creep boyfriend of hers - the one in his late 20s? How gross we thought that was? That'll be you, Matt, if you go after her. You'll be the creepy gross guy. Do you want to be the creepy gross guy?”

“No, of course not,” Matt said. “I swear, Foggy, I’m not interested in her.”

“Good,” his friend replied around a mouthful of pastry. “Keep it that way.”

--------------

CHAPTER 2

Taglist: @hollandorks

If you’d like to be added, let me know!

[neverland93]

Peter Pan imagine/ Leave the door open pt.3 (Final)

Part 1 ⬇️

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/neverland93/616174155176493056

Part 2 ⬇️

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/neverland93/664183589864390656

As the days go by the nights

get colder and so does your heart

You were furious with Peter

How could he be so mean , so insulting, so so, so right.

Your boyfriend was the worst but you’d never let Peter know that

Peter always had to be right , was never wrong, it pissed you off.

Almost ready for the day you had planned

You and your boyfriend had a party to go to. It was the weekend and he was a jock

He had a football game and then after you had “the party of the year” to go to before winter break started

You weren’t excited about going, just a bunch of horny drunk teenagers who have no self control.

Anyways, meeting up with your boyfriend he smiles at you while you’re on the bench with a sign holding his name and jersey number

Everything seemed to be going well. You were finally enjoying your time and cheering on your boyfriend, what could possibly go wrong?

*******

Back in Neverland

“What the bloody hell do I even do Felix?” He yells at Felix in his cabin throwing whatever was in his way

“I already told you Pan!.” Not yellowing but trying to get through to him

“Everytime I try to see her HE’S with her!” Pan exclaims running his fingers through his hair

“You told me this would work.” Pan said in a angry tone

“It will but he needs to not be with her.” Felix says

“Fuck that he’s always bloody with her!” He yells

Pan throws something at his mirror shattering it

Felix blocks the glass with his hands , some getting stuck in his hand

He then sees Peter sitting on the ground, looking defeated but angry

Felix then looks around and notices something shiny

“What’s that?” He asked Peter

He looks up “oh, just my flute.” He says rolling his eyes

“When was the last time you used it?” Felix asked

Pan whistles, “Long time, can’t even remember.” He says

“Why do you use it again?” Felix asked, knowing exactly what he used it for

“You know what I use it for Felix, to get children on my island. To be on my team.” Peter looks at Felix as If he was stupid for not remembering

“But what does it do when you play the flute? You can’t be possibly that good?” Felix asked laughing

Peter laughs as well

“No Felix, I’m not the best, but with tinks magic I play the flute and it’s like they’re hypnotized, like they’re under a spell, like they’ll- they’ll go to Neverland.” His eyes open wide and looks at Felix

“Bingo.” He winks and smiles

Pan gets up, shakes the glass from his clothes and starts to head out.

The game was about to begin.

*********

“Yes yes yes!” You screamed as your boyfriend scored the last touchdown your school team won the game of the year. It was an even bigger reason to celebrate

You waited for your boyfriend in the parking lot.

He was walking towards you all smiles

Grabbing you and picking you up to kiss you

“I am so proud of you!” You say rubbing his cheeks

“Thanks babe, I think I should get a reward “ he smirks

You roll your eyes “let’s get to the party!” You say grabbing his hand and leading him to his car

Blasting music and enjoying the wind in your hair this was the best night you had so far this year, you didn’t even think about Peter all day, which wasn’t normal.

Getting to the party your boyfriend is automatically greeted by everyone and handed a beer right away

He puts his arm around you and you walk into the kitchen. Getting a glass of water he looks at you confused but shakes it off as he’s greeted by his teammates

“I’ll catch up with you okay?” He says as he dragged away by them

You nod your head and sip your water. Watching his getting dragged away.

Meeting up with your friends you were ready for a chill but epic night.

********

“So remember, only play the flute if she’s alone, and only alone.” Felix said as he says goodbye to Pan

“I got it I got it.” He says putting on his cape ready to get you back.

He arrives at your window but you’re not there, he rolls his eyes and sits on your rooftop

“Waiting game I see.” He says resting his chin on his knuckle and fiddling with his flute.

********

Dancing with your friends your boyfriend grabs your waist from behind

You smile at him and he whispers “Ready to get out of here?” He asked

You just giggle and say yes.

Car ride home was pleasant, wind blowing in your hair and just on your phone scrolling away

Your boyfriend puts his hand on your thigh, caressing it slowly.

You smile at him and then go back on your phone.

Getting to your house he parks the car.

“Hey I know we are a bit early for your curfew….” He says

“Oh yeah I am early aren’t I?” You laugh

“Listen babe I’ve been thinking we’ve only made out a couple times.” He looked at you

You put your phone down in confusion

“Yeah and?” You ask

“I think we should take this to the next level.” He said unbuckling his seat belt and kissing you on your neck

“Whoa whoa what are you doing?!” You push him off you

“Oh come on you can’t be serious!” Your boyfriend puts his arms up in the air

“I don’t want to do this.” You stated feeling uncomfortable

“Any girl would die to be in your position right now.” He says.

You squint your eyes in disgust

“Excuse me?” You ask

“Don’t act like you don’t know, there’s so many girls that wanted me tonight and I turned them all down for you.” He said

“That doesn’t make me feel any better!” You yell at him trying to hold back your tears

“Stop being dramatic Y/N and just have sex with me.” He said as if he was asking you to ride a bike

“Screw off!” You unbuckle yourself

“You’re gonna wish you never did that!” He yelled out the window

You start to cry as you’re trying to get the key in your doorknob, dropping it as you do so.

“Oh great!” You yell

Opening up the door your tears start to flow down your cheeks, closing the door and locking it behind you, you run up stairs. Wiping your tears trying to not make too much noise even though your parents were heavy sleepers.

Getting into your room you lock the door and sit on your bed, crying your eyes out while calling your boyfriend trying to pick an other fight with him just because, your emotions were everywhere.

When he didn’t answer you threw your phone and watched it shatter, getting your photo album of you two together and ripping out pages and pages of you two, tearing them apart, doing whatever you could to get your anger out.

Just then you heart a sound, a familiar yet unfamiliar sound.

It sounded like a melody, a sweet , luring, almost hypnotizing melody.

You look up at your window and all of a sudden you see a shadow, a figure with a cape.

Opening up the window you slowly and softly say “Who- who are you?”

The shadow stops playing the melody and if facing you. He removes his cape and then you see him. Peter Pan.

“Peter?” You ask

He just smiles and slowly puts the flute to his lips and begins the melody once again.

You get closer to the window , inches away from him , wanting to touch him, to hold him, maybe even kiss him.

“I told you I’d be back.” He says as he stops playing and looks at you deep in your eyes.

“Even after everything?” You ask

“Oh Y/N, come on now, it’s time to go home.” He says not loosing eye contact

“Where’s that?” You ask

His smirks and gets an inch closer to you and caress your cheek. “Neverland.”

[ihearthisto]

🏈 Super ‘Bowel’ Sunday LVII💩

This football-shaped egg is the spawn of the female whip worm Trichuris trichiura.

They can be found in water contaminated by feces or in delicious half-time hotdogs 🌭 handled by unsanitary fingers. Once ingested it makes its way into your intestines and after about 3 months will hatch into a worm.

Once mature, the worm burrows her head and mouth parts into the delicate and comfortable mucosa of your intestines to feed. It is here that she will trigger an inflammatory response and causes bouts of abdominal pain with plenty of (sometimes bloody) diarrhea. A disease called trichuriasis.

While she is feeding she dangles her vulva into the lumen of your intestine and has sex with as many nearby male worms as possible.

Our little parasite now becomes a momma and starts firing out somewhere between 2,000-10,000 of these little eggs…

Per day!

This life of feeding and egg-laying, if left untreated, can last for the lifespan of a roundworm which can be around 5 years… that’s a very busy worm and lots of eggs.

All those eggs get flushed out of your body with your bloody diarrhea and, depending on where you live, ‘touchdown’ in the local water supply or back on that hotdog ready to be ingested once again and the whole process starts over.

i♡histo

[poetrythreesixfive]

Monster Story

I hired a monster to walk around with me

to protect me from all enemies, foreign

and domestic, a big fat hairy monster with

teeth in rows like a sword factory displaying

its deadly wares, and when he would open

his gaping maw, rear his head back, and gaze

at the sky, it looked like a giant bed of death

daring all fleshy, pierceable organisms to flop

down onto it and be introduced to a world

of bloody holes like see-through fabric.

He only used that pose when posting victory

after crushing someone or scoring a touchdown,

because that’s what is expected, and let’s admit,

we learn these gestures from watching others

as small children, thinking, damn, that’s what

I would do if I successfully stormed a castle

or slew a hydra; most of the time, he would

just stand there, hairy and huge, and that was

enough to scare the bejesus out of bystanders,

and so that’s what I named him—Bejesus.

So me and Bejesus—I mean, Bejesus and I—

would stroll casually down dead-end streets,

memory lanes, boulevards of broken dreams

and country roads that took us home, and

people would part before us like a blood red

sea, no-one brave enough to raise their hands

and pronounce STOP! or ask for tolls or taxes;

even the troll beneath the bridge stayed silent

and cowering in his shady hidey hole, content

with allowing us to cross, and glad to see us go.

With all the hoopla of having to step aside and

cower to our demands, our names spread far

and wide—though let’s admit it, nobody still

knew who I was; it was my monster who got all

the press—but I was in every picture, or at least

most of them, and we got to meet mayors and

governors, pop-stars and princes, and anyone

who called themselves an ‘influencer’ was quite

instantly smashed into the ground with a single

mallet-like wallop from Bejesus’ colossal fist.

And I never feared for anything—my life, liberty,

or pursuit of happiness; muggers and marketers

were sent screaming over the horizon—but I did

contemplate how to leverage my newfound power

into cash because, let’s admit it, the only thing

more powerful than a big fat hairy monster is a

giant bank account, and I knew that one day, like

in every good story, the hero would have to lose

something in Act II, and my monster was the only

thing I had in the whole world, so I needed a plan.

So Bejesus and I started charging money for every

picture, and we hired a lawyer to sue anyone who

didn’t want to pay, and we started charging for

appearances on talk shows and at political rallies,

and if I had the sense to write a book, I would have,

but it was easier for companies to just plaster ads

all over Bejesus’ body as he walked along, a giant

hairy billboard that turned every head, and he soon

developed a killer smile and snappy finger-point

for the camera to add that extra promotional edge.

One day, we saw a little girl drowning in a lake,

as her canoe had capsized, and her father, unable

to swim, was clinging to the foundered boat; we

both jumped into the water, and Bejesus waded

out to the girl and plucked her out like a salmon

on a hook and carried her to shore; but there was

a ‘No Swimming’ sign posted on the water’s edge,

so Bejesus and I were both arrested for trespassing,

and since I had neither monster insurance nor a

license to own a monster, I was quickly arrested.

They took my monster away and threw me into

jail, and the father of the little girl sued us for

making him look bad, and all the muggers and

marketers who had fled in terror at our approach

got onto social media and canceled us for violating

their freedom of speech, and if we had had jobs,

they would have fired us, but we didn’t, so they

just kept me in jail and put my monster in chains,

and we lost all our endorsements, even the sneaker

ads, and the news reports said we were unelectable.

Then in my darkest hour, I had a brilliant idea:

I had something that no one else had: a monster;

a big fat hairy reason to tell them to all go fuck

themselves, and I went to the window of the cell

and gave a loud whistle, and Bejesus heard me

and snapped his chains and came a running and

smashed a hole through the prison wall, and both

us ran off into the night, giving them all the finger

as we went, and we disappeared into the woods,

free and uncaring, and lived happily ever after.

-GeorgeFilip

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

Well that hurt....35-10 asskicking.. Derrick Henry up the middle 62 yard TD. The whole thing reminded me of one of my first weekends in college in the basement of Blake Hall. I was a gung ho Giants fan and burgeoning Bills fan at the time. As an example of how things change, I was the only person in the basement watching that game on the only teevee in the dormitory. I felt like the proverbial Mr. Jones wondering "My God, am I here all alone..?

Anyhoo, on the first play from scrimmage, Earl Gros broke through the middle of the Giant's line and ran, virtually untouched 62 yards for a touchdown. This explosive run helped the Eagles build momentum and contributed to their overwhelming 38-7 victory. The Giants struggled to contain the Eagles' offense, and Gros's long touchdown run stood out as a pivotal moment, showcasing his power and speed as a running back. Earl Gros's 62-yard touchdown run in the 1964 season opener against the New York Giants was symbolic of a larger shift in the NFL, particularly for the Giants. That game, which the Eagles dominated 38-7, marked the beginning of the Giants' downfall from their position as a perennial powerhouse in the league.

Throughout the 1950s and early 1960s, the Giants had been a dominant force, appearing in six NFL Championship games between 1956 and 1963; Frank Gifford, Kyle Rote, Rosey Grier, Sam Huff, Rosy Brown, Emlen Tunnell, Charley Conerly, Jim Patton. Jack Stroud, Alex Webster on and on. However, by 1964, their era of dominance was fading. The Eagles' crushing victory, highlighted by Gros's long run, served as a statement that the Giants were no longer the team they once were.

Following this loss, the Giants struggled for the next decade and a half, experiencing one of the longest periods of futility in their history. From 1964 to 1980, the Giants failed to make the playoffs and consistently finished near the bottom of the standings. It wasn’t until the arrival of players like Lawrence Taylor and Phil Simms in the early 1980s that the team began to return to prominence.

One week later, The famous photograph of Y.A. Tittle, bloodied and kneeling in the end zone, was taken after being hit hard by John Baker during a game between the New York Giants and the Pittsburgh Steelers at Pitt Stadium in Pittsburgh. The blow left Tittle with a concussion, blood streaming down his face from a cut on his bare, balding head head. The photograph captured him in a moment of defeat and vulnerability, kneeling on the ground, helmet off, blood running down his face—a stark contrast to the image of a triumphant NFL quarterback.

The photo, taken by Morris Berman of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, became one of the most iconic images in NFL history. It symbolized not just the physical toll of the game but also the end of Tittle's career and, more broadly, the Giants' decline as a powerhouse in the NFL. The Giants lost that game 27-24, and Tittle's injury-riddled season led to a cataclysmic year for the team.

Things were changing fast in my life and the Bills began to emerge in synch with the fall of the Giants.

Let's hope these Bills are not those Giants.

The image is often seen as a poignant reflection of the vulnerability of even the greatest athletes, and it marked a low point in Tittle’s career as he would retire after the 1964 season.

Thanks for clarifying! You're referring to Earl Gros's 62-yard touchdown run up the middle for the Philadelphia Eagles during the 1964 season opener against the New York Giants on September 13, 1964.

In that game, Gros broke through the Giants' defensive line and sprinted for over 60 yards, scoring a touchdown that became one of the key highlights. This explosive run helped the Eagles build momentum and contributed to their overwhelming 38-7 victory. The Giants struggled to contain the Eagles' offense, and Gros's long touchdown run stood out as a pivotal moment, showcasing his power and speed as a running back.

It was a defining play that made an impact on the game, and it demonstrated the potential Gros had in leading the Eagles' rushing attack that season.

Would you like more details on the game, Gros’s season, or the Eagles' performance that year?

You said: It was the begiining of the end for the Giants as a power for the next fifteen years ChatGPT said: ChatGPT You're absolutely right! Earl Gros's 62-yard touchdown run in the 1964 season opener against the New York Giants was symbolic of a larger shift in the NFL, particularly for the Giants. That game, which the Eagles dominated 38-7, marked the beginning of the Giants' downfall from their position as a perennial powerhouse in the league.

Throughout the 1950s and early 1960s, the Giants had been a dominant force, appearing in six NFL Championship games between 1956 and 1963. However, by 1964, their era of dominance was fading. The Eagles' crushing victory, highlighted by Gros's long run, served as a statement that the Giants were no longer the team they once were.

Following this loss, the Giants struggled for the next decade and a half, experiencing one of the longest periods of futility in their history. From 1964 to 1980, the Giants failed to make the playoffs and consistently finished near the bottom of the standings. It wasn’t until the arrival of players like Lawrence Taylor and Phil Simms in the early 1980s that the team began to return to prominence.

Earl Gros's breakout play can be seen as a turning point, marking the end of an era for the Giants and signaling the shift of power in the NFL.

Would you like to dive deeper into the Giants' struggles or how the Eagles capitalized on the changing dynamics of the league?

You said: when was the famous picture of bloody Y.A. Tittle taken? ChatGPT said: ChatGPT The famous photograph of Y.A. Tittle, bloodied and kneeling in the end zone, was taken on September 20, 1964, during a game between the New York Giants and the Pittsburgh Steelers at Pitt Stadium in Pittsburgh.

In that game, Tittle, the legendary quarterback for the Giants, was hit hard by Steelers defender John Baker. The blow left Tittle with a concussion, blood streaming down his face from a cut on his head. The photograph captured him in a moment of defeat and vulnerability, kneeling on the ground, helmet off, blood running down his face—a stark contrast to the image of a triumphant NFL quarterback.

The photo, taken by Morris Berman of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, became one of the most iconic images in NFL history. It symbolized not just the physical toll of the game but also the end of Tittle's career and, more broadly, the Giants' decline as a powerhouse in the NFL. The Giants lost that game 27-24, and Tittle's injury-riddled season led to a disappointing year for the team.

The image is often seen as a poignant reflection of the vulnerability of even the greatest athletes, and it marked a low point in Tittle’s career as he would retire after the 1964 season.

[ozzyscollectiblehub]

Y.A. Tittle: The Gunslinger Who Redefined Quarterback Play

When discussing the greatest quarterbacks in NFL history, the name Y.A. Tittle often comes up, and for good reason. A pioneer in the art of quarterbacking, Tittle was more than just a great player; he was a trailblazer who helped shape the modern passing game. Known for his toughness, leadership, and precision, Tittle’s impact on the NFL is still felt today, decades after he last took a snap.

Early Life and Rise to Football Stardom

Born on October 24, 1926, in Marshall, Texas, Yelberton Abraham Tittle Jr., or Y.A. Tittle, as he became known, showed an early aptitude for football. He played high school football in Marshall, where his talent as a quarterback quickly became apparent. After high school, Tittle went on to play college football at LSU, where he continued to develop his skills and gained national attention for his performances on the field.

At LSU, Tittle’s passing ability began to shine. He led the Tigers to victories in the 1947 Cotton Bowl Classic and the 1949 Sugar Bowl, cementing his reputation as one of the best college quarterbacks in the country. His strong arm and football IQ made him a top prospect, and in 1948, he was drafted by the Detroit Lions in the NFL and the Baltimore Colts in the All-America Football Conference (AAFC). Tittle chose to sign with the Colts, beginning his professional career.

Professional Career: The Long Road to Greatness

Tittle’s professional career began with the AAFC’s Baltimore Colts, but it wasn’t until he joined the San Francisco 49ers in 1951 that he truly began to make his mark. Over a decade with the 49ers, Tittle developed into one of the league’s premier passers. He was a key figure in the team’s famed “Million Dollar Backfield,” alongside stars like Hugh McElhenny, Joe Perry, and John Henry Johnson.

Tittle’s time with the 49ers was marked by consistent success, though the team never quite reached the pinnacle of the NFL during his tenure. Despite this, Tittle’s performances were extraordinary. He was known for his deep throws, quick decision-making, and leadership on the field. Tittle earned multiple Pro Bowl selections and became one of the most respected quarterbacks in the league.

However, it wasn’t until he was traded to the New York Giants in 1961 that Tittle truly ascended to the peak of his career.

The Giants Era: Record-Breaking Seasons

Tittle’s move to the New York Giants proved to be the turning point of his career. At an age when many players were considering retirement, Tittle found a new gear. He led the Giants to three consecutive NFL Championship Game appearances from 1961 to 1963, redefining what it meant to be a quarterback in the process.

The 1962 and 1963 seasons, in particular, were nothing short of legendary. In 1962, Tittle threw for a then-record 33 touchdown passes. He shattered his own record the following year, throwing 36 touchdown passes and earning the NFL Most Valuable Player (MVP) award. His performances helped the Giants dominate the league, and his duels with other top quarterbacks of the era became the stuff of legend.

Tittle’s ability to read defenses, combined with his pinpoint accuracy and fearless attitude, made him one of the most dangerous quarterbacks in the NFL. Even as he approached the end of his career, Tittle continued to play at an elite level, cementing his place as one of the game’s all-time greats.

The Famous Photo: A Symbol of Grit

One of the most iconic images in NFL history is a photograph of Y.A. Tittle, taken during a game against the Pittsburgh Steelers in 1964. The photo shows Tittle on his knees, bloodied and helmetless, after a brutal hit. His head is bowed, and his expression is one of pain and exhaustion — a stark representation of the physical and emotional toll of the game.

This photograph has come to symbolize the grit, determination, and toughness that defined Tittle’s career. Despite the beating he took on the field, Tittle never wavered in his commitment to the game. That image is a reminder of the sacrifice and passion that are at the heart of professional football.

Legacy: A Pioneer of the Passing Game

Y.A. Tittle retired after the 1964 season, but his influence on the game did not end with his playing days. Tittle was a pioneer of the modern passing game, helping to popularize the idea of the quarterback as a field general who could take over a game with his arm. His innovative approach to the position laid the groundwork for the high-flying offenses that would come to dominate the NFL in the decades that followed.

Tittle’s legacy is enshrined in the Pro Football Hall of Fame, where he was inducted in 1971. His career statistics — 33,070 passing yards and 242 touchdown passes — were remarkable for his era, and his impact on the game is still felt today.

Conclusion: A True NFL Legend

Y.A. Tittle was more than just a great quarterback; he was a trailblazer who helped shape the modern NFL. His toughness, leadership, and skill set a new standard for the position and earned him a place among the all-time greats. Even today, decades after his retirement, Tittle’s legacy lives on in the quarterbacks who follow in his footsteps, trying to match the greatness that he achieved.

In the pantheon of NFL legends, Y.A. Tittle stands tall — a reminder of what it means to be a true competitor and a pioneer in the world of professional football.

[gregthecoolnerd]

Top 15 Rap Albums of 2023

(This is in order of release this year. Otherwise, I love them all the same.)

Bin Reaper 3: New Testament by BabyTron

Butcher House by Sematary

The Beast That Shouted Love at the Heart of the World by Original God

XTREMETRAP by DIRTYBUTT

The Walls Have Eyes by Kxllswxtch

3 by Jasiah

Michael by Killer Mike

Black Elvis 2 by Kool Keith

Pink Tape by Lil Uzi Vert

Mid-Air by Paris Texas

Made in Hell by Scarlxrd

Another Triumph of Ghetto Engineering by Open Mike Eagle

My Bloody America by City Morgue

The Future is Dark by Lil Darkie

Quaranta by Danny Brown

Runners-Up:

(Not quite as good as the main entries, but still worth mentioning.)

MADE IN LOVE by Busdriver

Utopia by Travis Scott

How Do You Sleep at Night? by Teezo Touchdown

I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY by Night Lovell

We Only Talk About Real Shit When We're Fucked Up by Bas

[wausaupilot]

Today in History: Today is Thursday, Dec. 28, the 362nd day of 2023.

In 1975, "The Hail Mary", with 32 seconds left in the NFC Divisional Playoff Game, Cowboys quarterback Roger Staubach throws a legendary 50-yard winning touchdown pass to Drew Pearson to defeat the Minnesota Vikings, and the "Hail Mary" play is born.

By The Associated Press Today’s Highlight in History: On Dec. 28, 2014, the U.S. war in Afghanistan, fought for 13 bloody years and still raging, came to a formal end with a quiet flag-lowering ceremony in Kabul that marked the transition of the fighting from U.S.-led combat troops to the country’s own security forces. On this date: In 1612, Italian astronomer Galileo Galilei observed the…

[whataweirdfeeling]

HELLO welcome to WAWF WEDNESDAY your monthly WAWF update [1st Wednesday of each month]

With October being a more ghostly season it’s the perfect time to shed light on our more mysterious artistry…

Read below to find out what else WAWF has been up to this month

WAWF NEWS: WAWFtober

Teen Ang$t For CLA!R [Clair 1] Documentary

On our journey toward the 5th and final of WAWF’s favorite short film Here we take another look at the very 1st Clair film through an architectural reminiscent lens with a bit of a horror grunge spin Teen Ang$t re-emerges into the mystery with an eerie under theme to serve as icing on the cake…

What We’re Cranking

Recent: How Do You Sleep At Night? [Album] - Teezo Touchdown

Honorable Mentions: Scarlet [Album] - Doja Cat, MID AIR [Album] - Paris Texas, Alone In A Crowd [Album] - Oliver Tree, Sundial [Album] - Noname, The Secret Recipe [EP] - Lil Yachty, playing w/ fire [EP] - redveil, NO SZNS [Single] - Jean Dawson & SZA, Mosquito [Single] - PinkPantheress

Lowkey: COMPILATION V1 [Album] - 1017 ALYX 9SM

Honorable Mentions: Alexandria [Album] - Izaya Tiji, MadMan [Album] - BabyDrill, Iso [Album] - Brezzo, Mafia Boy [Album] - Levi Carter, Babyonce [Single] - Babyxsosa, Crash Summer 24 [Score] - Joey Labeija & Mowalola

Still in Rotation: Nudy Land [Album] - Young Nudy

Honorable Mentions: Rodeo [Album] - Travis Scott, Pray For Paris [Album] - Westside Gunn, Finally Rich [Album] - Chief Keef, channel ORANGE [Album] - Frank Ocean, Vampire Weekend [Album] - Vampire Weekend, we fell in love in october / forget her [Single] - girl in red

Throwback: Off The Bone [Album] - The Cramps

Honorable Mentions: Strangeways Here We Come [Album] - The Smiths, Live Through This [Album] - Hole, Issues [Album] - Korn, Isn’t Anything [Album] - My Bloody Valentine

WAWF’s WEARING

Lately in fashion WAWF and friends have been in close collaboration With photos taken by WAWF’s very own curator check out some of the new styles we’ve come across

Urban Academy

HUGH

See more of these photos and styles at the Urban Academy show on Oct. 5th

WAWF Magazine pushes art fashion culture and much more Stay tuned for all of the exciting new things we have planned this month

Words / Curated by @vyngak