#and buddy I spent that entire car ride living as hard as I possibly could in the current moment

[afniel]

Well, I still get horrifically motion sick.

[fallen-gravity]

Sixty Candles

On June 15th, 1972, Stan Pines celebrates his eighteenth birthday in the back seat of his car.

or, how Stan Pines spent his birthday throughout the years.

Notes: Here is my very loose interpretation for Week 4 of @stanuary!The prompt for this week was Future with the subcategory Old, and I decided to play around with the concept of birthdays! This was a lot of fun to explore and I hope you have a ton a of fun reading! :D

AO3

At exactly midnight on June 15th, 1972, Stan Pines celebrates his eighteenth birthday in the backseat of his car.

It’s not ideal, and nothing like how he thought he had it planned from the moment he turned sixteen, but he supposes he should be thanking his lucky stars he’s able to celebrate at all. His Ma, bless her caring heart, must’ve snuck some emergency funds into his duffle bag the moment she saw Pa reaching for it before he kicked Stan to the curb.

Stan supposes that she probably intended for that money to be spent on emergency rations and gas money, but what she doesn’t know probably won’t kill her. He also supposes that he probably should’ve gotten himself a cake, but cakes are messy and he has no means of cleaning it up, so a bottle of whiskey and a pack of cigarettes will have to suffice.

He pops open the bottle with ease, and takes a large swig.

“Happy birthday, y’ asshole” he says to nobody, slamming the bottle down onto his car dashboard with more force than intended. “Hope you’re livin’ it up at home with your fancy expensive pizza and two layer cake you’ll never be able to finish on your own” He leans back against his chair, propping his arms smugly behind his head. “An’ I hope the guilt is eating you alive” he slams his hand down on one of his armrests, and reaches for the bottle on his dashboard for another swig.

Just six months ago- not even a year, just six months ago, Stan and Ford had been talking about what it’d be like to share their first drink together. They’d talked about getting absolutely wasted at the pub down the block, followed by walking to the boardwalk to ride the coaster until it made them both sick.

It wasn’t much, but it was theirs.

Stan chokes, and he isn’t quite sure if it’s the alcohol or his emotions.

“Fuck,” he coughs, and stumbles out of the car for some fresh air. In between his coughs and splutters, he takes a sharp inhale of the cool nighttime air to steady his breathing. He sighs deeply, and pulls out the pack of cigarettes from his ratty coat pocket. 

He lights one up, and leans against his car to lose himself in his thoughts as he wordlessly watches the cigarette smoke dissipate into the starry night sky. Stan gets too distracted by the sight and accidentally burns his first all the way down to his fingertips, and hisses in pain as he stumbles to light a new one.

No matter. He stomps on the burnt remains with his shoe, and grinds his emotions into the ground with them.

 ~~~~~~~

On June 15th, 1978, Stan Pines celebrates his twenty-fourth birthday in prison.

“Pines!” An officer shouts, whacking at the cell door with his baton. “Wake up. You’ve got a visitor”

Stan sits up in the cheap cot, groggily rubbing at his eyes. “Wassat?”

The officer’s keys jingle as he clicks Stan’s cell door open. “You’ve got a visitor. He insisted it was important, so we’re giving you ten minutes to talk.”

Stan’s been to jail enough times that he knows that when someone says something’s important, it really just means that they bribed their way through security so they can talk to Stan before the designated visitor hours.

But who could possibly be willing to risk getting arrested just to talk to him before eleven in the morning? Every name that comes to mind is either on the run, already in jail, or…much worse. Anybody foolish enough to try is either out of their mind, or…someone who genuinely wants to see him.

But…who could possibly want to see him? After everything he’s done, after everyone he’s stolen from, who could possibly be left that trusts him enough to bribe a police officer for his company? The police officer happens to walk Stan by the surveillance room, and he notices his page-a-day calendar is torn to June 15th.

Stan’s heart nearly stops in his chest.

It-It couldn’t be, could it?

Six years of silence, and Ford wants to break it like this? Is this some kind of joke? What kind of idiot does Ford take him for, thinking that now is an appropriate time to make amends? After all the times Stan tried writing, or calling,  or even trying to get a hold of him through Ma, now is the time that Ford finally agreed to reconvening? 

Pah. He had his chance the past five times Stan tried to pass on a happy birthday. He doesn’t care if it’ll land him ten more years in prison, the moment he sees his twin brother’s stupid face he’s spitting in it.

As Stan rounds the corner to the visitation room, though, all of his anger disappears into thin air, and if it weren’t for the officer pushing him along, he’d turn heel and sprint the other way.

“My friend!” Rico cheers with a forced smile on his face. He’s holding a large box in his hand. “It’s so good to see you again!”  He takes a seat at the small table, rhythmically tapping on the box.

Stan swallows hard, but takes a seat across from him. “It’s, uh…” he squirms uncomfortably, unsure if he’s allowed to address him by name. “…good to see you too, buddy. What, uh, what are you doing here?”

Rico laughs heartily. “What, a man cannot visit his best friend on his birthday?” He flips open the box he brought with him, and Stan flinches when he spins it around towards him. To his surprise, it…looks like a perfectly normal birthday cake.

“Would you mind giving us a moment alone?” Rico flashes a grin towards the police guard behind Stan. “I would like to sing my dear childhood friend happy birthday, but I’ve always been very shy about the sound of my voice. I promise I will be quick”.

Childhood friend? 

The officer squints at the birthday cake in the box for a moment. “Fine.” He says. “You get two minutes. And I’m staying right outside the door to prevent anything funny from happening”

“Of course! You have my word,” Rico grins, placing his hand over his heart. The officer says nothing, and for the briefest of moments Stan’s convinced he sees right through Rico’s bullshit and he’ll let Stan slip quietly back into his cell.  But after those brief moments pass, the officer shrugs as he closes the door behind him.

Rico’s fake-plastered grin slips from his face the moment the officer is out of sight.

“Alright, listen here, you walking stain upon the Earth,” Rico slips easily into Spanish. “You think you’re safe behind these bars? You think my boys still won’t burn this place to the ground to collect what you rightfully owe us? You’re gravely mistaken. We have eyes everywhere, in every corner of the globe. And don't you dare even think about running off somewhere else under a new name, Stanley Pines, because we’ll find you, one way or another”

Rico stands from his chair and pushes the cake box towards Stan. “As soon as those guards declare you a free man, we’ll be waiting for you on the outside.” He grips Stan’s shoulder as he heads towards the door. “It really is such a shame. I loved you like a brother. But you know what they say, don’t you?” He places his hand on the door, and glances back towards him. “The good ones always die young”

Before Stan has time to respond, Rico slips his fake smile back on and opens the door. “Happy birthday, my friend,” he says, slipping back into English and speaking loud enough for the officer waiting outside to hear. “I hope you enjoy your cake”

Stan swallows, defensively bringing his hands to his throat, before he carefully inspects the cake in front of him. It looks normal, as far as he’s concerned, just a standard chocolate cake with “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STAN!” inked across its surface in bright red frosting.

He contemplates. On one hand, he hasn’t had any real food outside of the slop they’ve been feeding him here for the past three months, and he’s never been one to turn away free cake.

On the other, knowing Rico…

Stan shutters. He stands to his feet, takes the cake box, and throws the whole thing into the trash can in the corner of the room.

He’d rather starve to death than risk being poisoned.

~~~~~~

Stan stopped keeping track of his age the day he started going by his brother’s name.

Sure, it wasn’t even close to being the first time he had to live under a new name. You do it enough times and you’re able to come up with an entire life story at the drop of a hat. Stetson Pinefield was from Ohio, born in the fifties in late December. Andrew "Eight Ball" Alcatraz, born in Alabama in mid-May, got his nickname from his troubled childhood that resulted from his dad getting locked up when he was only eight. It was something of a specialty, giving life to people that never truly existed.

But suddenly, all at once, Stan was forced to overtake the life of someone he loved, and it’s like he forgot how to so much as breathe. This wasn’t some sob story he could bullshit to people he’d never see again, or a name he pulled out of his ass to keep him in place just a bit longer. This is his twin brother, someone he spent every moment of his childhood with, yet someone he feels as though he doesn’t know a thing about.

Sure, none of the people in this town can tell the difference between himself and Ford, and for that he’s grateful.  But a man can only pose as his possibly-dead brother for so long before somebody starts getting suspicious.  Ford’s lived in this town for over ten years, he’s bound to have been on good terms with somebody.

Oh well. He’ll burn that bridge when he gets to it. For now, all Stan needs to focus on is scamming enough people out of their wallets so he can pay off the bills and keep working on the portal that swallowed his brother whole, and those seem to be going…well, just about as smoothly as teaching yourself three years-worth of advanced multiverse physics when you never even graduated from high school can go, but at least he’s making process.

Turns out, there’s still one more flaw in Stan’s plan that even he should’ve been able to factor in.

As much of a recluse Ford advertised himself to be to the locals of Gravity Falls, it turns out that he always receives a call from home on his birthday.

The first year Stan spends in Gravity Falls, he debates letting the phone go to voice mail. He has no idea how in or out of character it would be for Ford to answer his phone, nor does he have any idea who could be calling at all.

Eventually, though, he figures it’d probably look even more suspicious if he doesn’t pick up, and Stan isn’t willing to risk anything, even if it means bullshitting his way through a phone call for the rest of the night.

He takes a deep breath, and with a shaky hand he picks up the phone.

“Stanford?” his mother says, and to say he’s overjoyed to hear her voice for the first time in years is a massive understatement.

“Ma?” Stan replies, struggling not to slip into his own voice. “Why are you calling?”

She cackles. “Well hello to you too, birthday boy. I’m starting to think all of that research is getting to your head. Can’t a mother call her son on his birthday?”

Stan blinks. Is it…really June already? “Is that today?”

She laughs again. “See? It is getting to you! Do your poor aging mother a favor and go outside and get some sunshine. It’ll be good for you!” She quips. “Or at the very least, please, take a break and go to bed early tonight, for me”

Stan smiles. “Okay, Ma. I will.”

“Good,” she replies matter-of-factly. “Now, tell me all about what it’s like up there on the West Coast. Is it unbearably hot over there? I can’t seem to find your little town on my map. Must be why it’s so spooky, since you’re the only living soul for miles.” She laughs again. “I’m kidding, dear. I’m sure it’s fantastic. Tell me everything.”

And all at once, it’s like Stan’s a kid again. Stan and his Ma talk on the phone for hours. He figures that Ford must not call very often, so he spews out anything that comes to mind in hopes that she doesn’t see right through him. She buys it, miraculously, and when they hang up at the end of the night Stan promises that he’ll try and call home more often.

It becomes an easy pattern for Stan to slip into as the years go by. Just as long as he calls frequently enough not to raise suspicion, he can always look forward to receiving a call on June 15th every year. Some tiny part of him feels selfish for posing as his brother and lying to his mother for so long, but it’s the most connected he’s felt to any sort of family in years.

Deep down, though, he knows he can’t get too comfortable, and there’s still too many loose ends he needs to tie up before he can let his guard down.

On June 5th, 1987, just before his thirty-third birthday, Stan Pines dies in a fiery car crash.

On June 7th, he just barely misses a call from home as he’s coming up from tinkering with the portal.

“Stanford”, his mother’s voice says, lacking any of the snarky bite it usually contains. “I know that you’re a very busy man with your research, and driving all the way back to New Jersey on such a short notice is…unfair of me to ask of you, but…” She pauses to take a shaky breath, like she’s struggling not to cry. “But something terrible happened to Stanley, and…” she pauses again. “We’re holding a service for him on the fifteenth. I know that things haven’t been great between you two the past few years, and I can’t imagine a funeral would be an ideal way to spend your birthday, but…It was the only date they had available, and it would really mean the world to all of us if you could attend. I’m so sorry you had to find out this way. Call me as soon as you get this, okay? I love you.”

There’s a click, and she’s gone, and Stan contemplates his options.

Would Ford attend his funeral, if things were exactly the way it seemed? Would Ford even consider him worthy of the time? He’d said it himself: I want you to get as far away from me as possible. Would Ford be relieved that he was finally rid of him, like a weight off his shoulders?

Stan doesn’t even realize that he started crying until a tear drop lands on the counter beside the phone. Just how long has Ford been waiting to get rid of him, anyway?

No. Stan shakes those thoughts away. He can’t lose himself in those kinds of thoughts again. Every time he lets those thoughts get to him, bad things happen.

Besides…a funeral for, er, himself, may not be the most ideal way to spend his birthday, but finally being able to spend it at home for the first time in near decades, despite the circumstances, still beats slaving over an indecipherable journal in a dimly lit basement for twelve hours straight.

He takes a deep breath, and dials home.

“Hey, Ma”

~~~~~~~~

Ever since he turned eighteen, Stan found himself unable to celebrate his birthday without a sour taste in his mouth. As a kid, he looked forward to it more than anything. It was the one day a year that Pa would splurge and let him and Ford do whatever they wanted, and having a birthday in mid-June meant that there was only about a week of school left before they were free for the summer.

Most of all, it was about togetherness. Stan and Ford never had that many friends when they were growing up, so their shared birthdays were always about spending time together, because nobody else deserved to come to their party and celebrate with them anyways.

Once he was forced to spend his birthdays on the streets, Stan was starting to think that maybe he didn’t deserve it either.  Even when he did have people to celebrate with, whether that be his cellmates in prison or nameless gamblers in Vegas casinos, everything felt empty, and there isn’t enough cake or alcohol in this world that could’ve filled that void.

Those early summers in Gravity Falls were the worst years of his life. The calls from home were nice, sure, but his stomach flipped with nausea every time his mother called him Stanford. To no fault of her own, she made him feel as though her love was conditional, and that he wasn’t meeting any of the requirements.

He knows, of course, that it’s not true in the least, but Stan just wishes that wake-up call hadn’t come from attending his own funeral. Stan had gone in expecting to have a terrible time, but he really had thought that seeing his mother’s face for the first time in a decade would’ve cushioned that fall.

Turns out that it only made him feel worse, and he’d declared sometime later over a bottle of whiskey that his birthday must be cursed, and that he never wanted to celebrate it again.

~~~~~~~~

On June 15th, 2013, Stan wakes to the sound of a seagull screeching its head off outside his window. He groans, and sits up in bed to look out his window, but all that meets his eye is the vast sea. He looks then to his bedside clock, which reads 8:30am.

Grumbling to himself, Stan kicks off his covers and stands to his feet, because he knows if he tries to go back to sleep now he’ll be out cold until mid-afternoon. He ruffles through his clothing drawer and picks one of Mabel’s hand knit sweaters at random, because the Arctic doesn’t care what time of year it is when it comes to the weather.

Ford is already sitting out on a deck chair with a fishing rod when Stan steps out of his bedroom.

“Morning” Stan says as he approaches so as not to sneak up on his brother and spook him.

“Oh, good morning, Stanley” Ford smiles as Stan takes the seat beside him. “Did I wake you?”

“Unless you’re a screaming bird, then no” Stan rubs at his eyes. “How long you been up?”

Ford shrugs. “About an hour, hour and a half, I think? What time is it?”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “You sure you slept at all, Poindexter?” He holds three fingers mere inches from Ford’s face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Ford smacks his hand away. “Very funny, Stanley. I’ll have you know that I got a solid four and a half hours of sleep last night”

Stan cackles. “Woah, looks like we got a new record, folks” He stretches his arms in the air. “You make any coffee yet? I’m still not awake enough to deal with the cold”

“Oh,” Ford replies, like the question caught him off guard. He stands to his feet. “I must’ve completely forgotten” he says.

That reply does catch Stan off-guard.  Ford? Forgetting to make coffee? His practical lifeline? There must be something up.

Stan rises from his chair, frowning. “You sure you’re doing okay, Sixer?”

“Of course,” Ford replies, not turning back to look at him. “I’m just…tired, is all”

Okay, Ford knows that Stan can sniff out a lie from hundreds of miles away, so whatever it is that Ford is hiding from him must be really bad, because---

That train of thought leaves his head just as quickly as it had entered it the moment he steps foot into the kitchen. There’s a banner hanging up above the window that reads HAPPY BIRTHDAY, and there are a handful of multicolored balloons scattered across the floor.

And right at the center of their table sits two cupcakes and two steaming cups of coffee.

“It was Mabel’s idea,” Ford finally turns to meet Stan’s eyes, smiling. “She called me last night to try and walk me through her cupcake recipe, but…” he rubs at the back of his head as he takes a seat at the table. “It turns out that baking isn’t quite my forte” He gestures to the seat across from him at the table. “So instead, when we were still docked last night, I snuck off board to hunt down a bakery”

Ford fiddles with the paper wrapper on his cupcake. “I know it’s not much, but…” he raises his cupcake in the air like he was making a toast. “Happy birthday”

Not much?

Not much?

This is winning the lottery compared to all the other birthdays Stan’s suffered through.

He takes the seat across from Ford, and raises his own cupcake to clink it against Ford’s.

“Happy birthday to you too, Poindexter”

[prettywordsyouleft]

Love Error

milkandheonnie said:

I am probably too late (as always), but it's worth a shot: I dare you to write Woong in your Becoming Human world.

Pairing: Jeon Woong x reader

World: Becoming Human (read HERE)

Genre: robot au / fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 3051

You weren’t too worried about the complications of taking your work home with you. Sure, you had been debriefed before leaving the lab and it was no secret within the company that falling in love with your work could be a possibility.

After all, your team leader was complete proof of that. Leo had fallen in love with Yerin and fought through everything that separated them from having an organic connection, one that indicated love could exist between anyone.

Even between a robot and human.

But when it came to you, well, you had no interest in love. You were married, for lack of a better term, to your job and held no desire for anything further than that. What made your heart beat faster was watching artificial intelligence mature. When a circuit board you had spent hours on got fired up for the first run and it’s successful. As a computer scientist, you had a love for facts. For things you could see occur before you.

Feelings weren’t something you dabbled in, even when it came to your job.

“I’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry about us,” you assured Leo as he hesitated in handing over the package that contained all the information about the Woong bot beside you. You took it from his hand and smiled. “I’m only going to be working on sharpening up his errors. Nothing more.”

“That’s what I said,” a voice interjected, smiling at you both before stopping beside her husband. Kissing Leo’s cheek, Yerin then giggled. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

You grinned, despite feeling confident that what had happened to them would never occur for you. “I’ll owe you if anything does!”

“Oh, make a list of rules, even so. You don’t know how long he’ll be staying for and…” Yerin turned to look at Leo in distaste as he regarded her with a dark look and then she sighed. “It’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

“I expect a full report by the end of the week of how your testing pans out, Y/N. Shall we, my hard to please wife?”

“For that, you’ll be cooking dinner,” Yerin remarked as the couple waved you off and you listened to their banter with a warm smile before turning to the bot beside you.

Kboy Cyborgs had taken off years ago, though with the advances in robotics thanks to Leo’s near human-like emotions, they had truly changed the world. Kboys were everywhere and the first line of Kgirls was already in the testing phase. You had been working on them for some time now, so it was going to be far too easy to work with Woong over the week out of the office. He was already an established robot, though he had malfunctioned during staff training. Although he was still running online, and as you gestured for him to follow you to the underground parking lot, in which he did with ease, you had a lot to fix before he could go out and be in the world. It wouldn’t take you more than the week to fix and even though most people liked the idea of having a relaxing time away from the office, you were looking forward to this additional project.

Woong cleared his throat and caught your attention once you were both seated in your car. “So are we off to your house now, noona?”

“We are,” you confirmed as you navigated the evening traffic. It was odd to have a travel buddy when you normally drove home in silence. However, Woong was curious and asked many questions on the ride to your apartment.

Which didn’t stop once inside your home. “Wow, do you live here alone?”

“Yes, it’s just me.”

“Don’t you get bored? Do you own a cat? My sources indicate a lot of people who are live alone have feline companions. A dog, given your dedication to the lab, would be impractical.”

You stared at the robot and then sighed. “No, I don’t have a cat.”

“Are you allergic? Would you like one? I could search through adoption advertisements right now-”

“No, I’m fine without one, thank you Woong.”

His lips pulled together with a slight purse before he smiled and walked towards your bookshelf. “Wow, may I read these?”

“Sure.”

He then darted into your kitchen. “Should I make us some dinner? I have the appropriate functions installed to eat food. We can share our first meal together!”

You didn’t respond, feeling exhausted with how he flitted about your apartment so quickly. Was this why Yerin suggested rules? Had Leo been like this as well? You had a lot to decipher about this bot, but with how much he was chattering, you did the best thing to solve the issue. Swiftly, you reached for the button at the back of his neck, sending him off to sleep.

And then you took in a deep breath, relaxing into the silence that enveloped you.

You had no idea how anyone could live with a Kboy full time.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t leave Woong offline to get your work done. So, once you were sufficiently fed and ready to, you turned him back on, his eyes blinking rapidly as he processed new information. He gasped at you noisily which surprised you. “I was offline for three hours?! Why would you do that?”

“Okay, Woong. Let’s get some facts in place. You’re here for me to work on. Not to become my friend or anything like that-”

“But I would like to become friends with you,” he mentioned with a pout and you heaved a deep breath, trying not to focus on his expression. You felt a surge of guilt over his surprise at being shut off and it was the last thing you wished to entertain today.

You cleared your throat. “We will begin work on your processing error. I’m going to attach my laptop to you and if anything feels odd as I work, I need you to mention it immediately, okay?”

“Of course. I want to be functioning at the best I can because that means one day someone will want to be my friend.”

You tried not to play into his pettiness, ignoring the way he folded his arms across his chest. You didn’t know a lot about the living Woong, but so far your experience with the robot form was definitely more than you had expected. He seemed so polite and quiet in the introduction video you had watched earlier. Right now, he was very playful and easily offended. You wondered if there was an error in his programming there too. Then again, Kboys had evolved into becoming their own sentient beings. Base traits were installed from the idol modelling, but each bot had the ability to grow their intelligence.

This Woong perhaps was just like this naturally.

Thankfully, he was incredibly helpful during your initial testing. Whenever he found a circuit that ran too slowly or diverted, he let you know immediately. You had developed a solid working relationship already that you could appreciate. This remained the same over the next three days, and if it wasn’t for his efficiency whilst you worked – which you chose to do for the majority of your time together – you were certain you would have gone insane with all his endless chatter.

Unplugging your laptop on your fourth session, you smiled at him. “Thank you, Woong. That will be all for tonight.”

“Will you charge now?”

You smiled at the endearing term for sleep. Nodding, you got up and stretched your tired limbs. “I will be going to bed. Please, don’t make too much noise like last night. Perhaps you could read the books as you requested when you first came to stay.”

“Charge well, noona,” he said with the widest smile. You blinked, it was so genuine and you were confused at why you chest tightened. “I’ll promise to be silent.”

You awoke to a high pitched scream, jolting upright just in time for your bedroom door to be thrown open, Woong dashing into your room in terror.

You were completely distressed by everything that was happening, especially when the robot climbed up onto your bed and tried to hide behind you.

“What is going on?”

“Oh, noona! It’s GIANT!”

“What is?”

“The… the… oh my god, I can’t say it. But it’s so big and I was just sitting there reading my thirty-fourth book for the evening when it crawled my way and-” He let out an unintelligible whine, shuddering from head to toe.

You frowned. “A bug?”

“A BUG!”

“But Woong, you’re a robot. A bug shouldn’t scare you,” you explained, attempting to move him away from your pillows. You were too tired for this kind of interruption. Honestly, a bug?! A robot like Woong could kill it with ease. You knew you would have to report this behaviour to Leo, you weren’t aware of such a trait.

However, Woong refused to move off your bed. “I’m not going back out there.”

“Woong, I’m sleeping!”

“I’ll be quiet in here! Just don’t send me back out there to the bug!” he pleaded, and perhaps because you were too tired to remain awake for much longer, you waved him off, laying down again and rolling onto your side away from your work guest. Woong breathed out a relieved sigh and then laid down too. “Thank you for your acceptance.”

“I just want to sleep Woong, that’s all there is to it.”

And boy, did you sleep well. You had possibly the best sleep that you could remember. You were just the right temperature, not overly hot that you needed to kick off the blankets, and not too cold either. When you finally woke up, you didn’t quite want to get up. You were content.

It was during this moment you became aware of what was happening around you. Or, more specifically, what was on you. Opening your eyes quickly, you glanced down at the arm over your waist and felt a leg over yours. The firm chest that was imprinted in your back cradled your entire body and at first, you were surprised to find yourself so relaxed in the arms of the soundly sleeping robot.

And then you were frantic. “Woong!”

“What?” he mumbled, nestling in further. You gasped and slapped his arm off. “Why are you moving, I was comfortable.”

“You cannot sleep with me!” As soon as you were free to leap out of your bed, you did so, eyes wide when you found that Woong’s shirt had been removed. Darting your eyes to the ceiling, you attempted to calm yourself down. But your mind connected on a thought and you pointed at him incredulously. “Please tell me you didn’t infiltrate the old AI modes. You’re not in lover mode, are you?!”

“What is a lover mode? I was just charging. Besides, it was you who did it first. In the middle of the night, you turned around and snuggled into me saying I was the right temperature to cool you down and that you loved the sound of my system purring along.” Woong knelt upon your bed after fetching his shirt and threw it over his head. And then he smirked. “You even called me your cat. Are you adopting me, noona?”

“You’re making that up.”

He shifted closer. “Want to read my memory card?”

“No wonder Yerin warned me,” you breathed, shaking your head and then pointed to the door. “Out you go, it’s time for breakfast.

The humour fell from his expression, and instead, he looked concerned. “You’re coming right?”

“Why?”

“The bug, it might still be out there.”

“Oh good grief,” you chimed, heading for the door. Woong stepped in behind you, peering around you. After searching the entire space for the bug and coming up empty, Woong relaxed and started making you breakfast.

It was surprisingly a nice experience to share a meal with someone and it had become your favourite part of the day so far this week. You didn’t really talk, Woong was somewhat aware now of your prickly mannerisms, simply shooting you several smiles over the meal. You couldn’t help but feel comfortable around him by the time you were ready to work on his processing again.

Much like yesterday, you worked on his system directory and Woong helped you figure out the issues. You had already debugged three pathways and were working on the fourth when he yelped in pain.

“Are you okay?!”

“Ow, my neck!” he cried and you looked at the hand he had raised to cup it, gently reaching out to slip your hand to where it was. You gasped when you saw the bug there, darting your focus to Woong’s face. How had he felt the bite of the bug? Of course, being bloodless, the bug had just died upon contact, but it surprised you all the same.

“You, you really felt that?”

“What was it?”

“The bug, it bit you. It’s dead, don’t panic,” you added on as he went to move and he relaxed, frowning about his experience. You checked the area of his skin. “You even have a mark. How did that happen?”

“Well our skin is fired by circuits remember, it makes sense I would feel it if I can feel the touch of your hand on me as well,” he mentioned, his tone sounding thicker. You glanced down at him and away from where your hand resided, Woong looking up at you wholly. “I can feel you.”

Where it came from, even you were surprised. The words you had proclaimed to your team leader swirled around in your mind as your lips pressed to Woong’s, his own passionately moving against yours. Somehow, in the midst of the embrace, you found yourself pulled onto him, sitting in his lap as the kiss deepened. And just like the circuits you worked with day in and out, you felt a surge fire pathways throughout you. From your lips all the way to your toes, everything felt alive and open.

You were overwhelmed.

“I felt that the most,” he breathed when you pulled away, and you gasped, lifting your hand to your mouth in realisation. Woong smiled, tenderly pushing your hair behind an ear. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Remember what?”

“January seventh, twenty-nineteen.”

“That was my first day in the lab,” you replied immediately, brows knitting together. “How do you know that?”

“Because on your first day you made a mistake with a robot and cried about it.”

You stared back at him, the memory resurfacing. You had been given a simple task of placing a memory chip into a robot in your first assignment, accidentally hitting a main circuit in the process. You had been told to fix it before you went home and to learn all about why circuits were critical. That moment in time had led you to become the best at repairing circuits in the entire laboratory.

How did Woong know this though?

He smiled, gently rubbing your back. “It’s okay, mistakes happen and I’ll be fine. Just like right now, with the bug. I’m okay.”

His words felt familiar and you snapped your focus to his face. “It was you. I made the mistake with you.”

“I mean, it’s fair. I didn’t have this face back then. Or any face,” he replied, cringing at the memory. Then he smiled. “But I hoped you would remember me. You told me that I would be your favourite robot if I survived. And I have.”

“Why didn’t you tell me beforehand?” you wondered and Woong smiled. “You knew I wouldn’t let you come home with me?”

“For a closed off human, you’re pretty easy for me to read, Y/N. I think we’re meant to be.”

“Oh no,” you rebutted, shaking your head with a laugh. “I’m not about to go that far. It was one kiss.”

“We could have more,” he offered, leaning in closer. “I’ve always liked you, after all.”

You blinked rapidly, that thick tone was a curse and you were entrapped by it. Pushing Woong back, you laughed. “Easy.”

“Okay, so it’s too fast. I get it. Even though both times you’ve initiated everything, noona. Just remember that.” He laid back down and then pointed to your computer. A picture of complete innocence. You scoffed. “Aren’t we working right now?”

“What am I going to tell Leo on Monday?” you wondered aloud, heaving in a deep breath before leaning down to capture his lips again. After the kiss ended, Woong grinned up at you.

“Tell him there were more issues underlying the ones we knew of and that I need further testing.”

“Then he can do that in the lab.” Woong shook his head. “I only trust you inside my mind.”

“I don’t trust you getting inside of mine.”

“Why, are you afraid you might fall in love with me?” he mused, smiling up at you.

“Well, I did make a mistake with you in the past, and you’re still full of errors. I guess it is up to me to fix them.”

“One kiss at a time?” he suggested and you moved back to your laptop, working your way quickly through his memory bank to see your name clearly there from when his memory card was inserted. You smiled.

“Let’s just see how the rest of this week goes. I might want to trade you in for something better.”

“Hey!”

You glanced up, grinning wickedly. “Well, you opened my heart up to like more than just the circuits running inside of you. I should get a model that I find physically attractive.”

“Are you saying you… wow.”

You then wrote a code into his mind, logging it there permanently. It silenced Woong as he recognised it. “I have a love error?”

“Yep, my diagnosis is that your circuits are so messed up because of me. I’ll have to tell Leo, I’ve made an error that’s going to take a while to solve.”

Woong sat up and nodded. “And since you’re so good at figuring out how to work with my circuits, I’ll definitely make sure we share that same error by the time Monday comes around.”

_________________

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[mst3kproject]

Miami Connection

 From the title you have probably already guessed that this is an 80’s drug movie, and you are mostly right, but Miami Connection is so much more. The director was Woo-Sang ‘Richard’ Park, a South Korean film-maker who wanted to break into the Western market despite not speaking any English.  Those of us who know anything about bad movies are already going oh no, because that’s how Troll 2 happened.  Park’s American buddy who was gonna help him do it was Young-Kun Kim, a taekwondo-instructor-slash-motivational-speaker who decided to write, produce, and star in the movie himself because hey, he’d seen movies and it didn’t look that hard.  Oh no, that’s what Hal Warren thought when he set out to make Manos!  And since these guys couldn’t afford actual actors or stuntmen, they cast a bunch of Kim’s taekwondo students, who thought the movie would be great publicity for their band!  Oh no!

The movie opens with a drug deal in a junkyard being interrupted by biker ninjas, who kill everybody, steal the cocaine, and run. Just a Tuesday night in 80’s Miami, really.  Having thus introduced the villains, we now meet the heroes, a fantastically talentless 80’s rock band called Dragon Sound.  Their newest member is Jane, the new girlfriend of lead guitarist John.  Jane’s overprotective brother Jeff does not approve of John, and he hangs out with the coke-stealing ninja bikers from the opening, so he could easily make good on his threats… what he doesn’t know is that the members of Dragon Sound are all training together in taekwondo, and they’re more than ready to take on him, the entire dojo, and a rival band!

Miami Connection is the Starcrash of martial arts movies.  It is completely, irredeemably terrible and yet it never stops being entertaining. The ‘plot’ is mainly a series of ass-kickings, strung together with dialogue scenes that discuss the consequences of the previous fight and set up the motivations for the next one.  I am in no position to judge anybody’s skill at taekwondo, since I can’t tell Karate from Kung-Fu (of course, neither could the people who made the Karate Kid remake), but very nearly everything else in the film is absolutely awful and funny as hell.  I could list hilarious moments for several pages.

The dialogue is stunningly banal, especially when it’s expository.  Both Jane and keyboardist Jim narrate their own tragic backstories and both are bad but in very different ways: Jane doesn’t sound like she particularly cares about the deaths of her parents or her brother’s gang involvement, while Jim weeps like a baby while he whimpers about his mother telling him to find her lost husband.  Later when Jeff is killed in a brawl, Jane doesn’t sound too cut-up about that, either. She’s certainly not nearly as upset as Ninja Biker Dojo Master Yoshida, who gets a flashback that makes it look like Jeff might have been his boyfriend.  My favourite line in the whole movie is when another member of the band, Jack, complains about Jeff and “his darn gang, selling their stupid cocaine!” like a six-year-old who wants his turn on the X Box.

Because nobody can emote, the ‘acting’ in the movie mainly consists of a lot of yelling, and their favourite thing to yell is “son of a bitch!”  They don’t use it as an exclamation the way Reb Brown did in Space Mutiny, it just seems to be the only insult the writers could think of. It gets funnier every time you hear it.

Costumes seem to consist of whatever everybody wore to set that day, with the exception of the black ninja pajamas (ridiculous-looking as always) and the t-shirts Dragon Sound wear when they perform.  The latter feature the name of the band in ‘Vote for Pedro’ font, and nothing else.  I own one of these.  You can buy them at teepublic.

The plot is an absolute mess.  Why does Yoshida think eliminating Dragon Sound is the key to controlling the drug trade in that area?  They haven’t done any vigilante stuff at that point – they just react when Jeff attacks them.  I get why the rival band, who were fired from the nightclub so Dragon Sound could play instead, would want them out of the picture, but the ninja bikers seem to have no reason to care.  Meanwhile, said rival band just kind of falls out of the movie and is never seen again.

I don’t know who the main character is supposed to be.  The story starts out being about John and Jane’s star-crossed relationship, which could have had a Romeo and Juliet angle with Jeff’s death but doesn’t. Then they slide out of the way as we focus on Jim’s search for his missing father, which keeps us busy a while, but then the final showdown is between Mark and Yoshida, who have so far been secondary characters.  Jane isn’t even present at the ending, although Jim’s father does show up to recite some more utterly terrible dialogue as he reconciles with his son.

Jim, John, Jack, Jane, and Jeff.  Did Kim just think all American names start with J?

I’m not sure how old Y. K. Kim’s character Mark is supposed to be.  He and the other bandmembers are room-mates, and he dresses like them and rides around in their convertible with his feet up on the dashboard.  He talks and acts like them and tells people that his bandmates are ‘like brothers’.  But whereas they’re all in their twenties, Kim was forty-one when this movie was made and there is no attempt to hide that.  Is he just supposed to be hip with the younger generations?  Or did they actually expect us to believe he was fifteen years younger than he looks?

           There are long sequences in which nothing happens. We see the band play a whole song at the club, twice, and then one of those songs is re-used for a montage sequence of characters at the beach.  The latter does not further the plot but it does show us a lot of women’s butts with wet bathing suits clinging to them, as well as the world’s best-dressed nudist. There’s a sequence of taekwondo training that runs several minutes, and which does nothing but set up a single finishing move that will recur at the climax.  There’s a biker company picnic like the one in The Hellcats but without the interesting parts.

Literally everybody in this movie practices some kind of martial art, including the nightclub owner and the drug dealers… but I figure that was just the 80’s.  Also, this movie taught me that men in the 80’s took their sunglasses off as a sign of respect, much like removing the hat in earlier decades.

What the fuck is up with the dancing crop-top dude?  Even the guy who’s about to fight him looks confused by him.  He was so weird I thought he’d be a good stinger, until we arrived at Miami Connection’s ultimate stinger moment – a car turns a corner, revealing a bunch of motorcycles on a collision course with it, and John, in the driver’s seat, says, “ugh, ninjas.”

On a slightly more serious note, the movie does have an ostensible message, which is spelled out between the last shot and the closing credits: only through the elimination of violence can we achieve world peace.  This is kind of a silly statement because, yeah, that’s what peace is, but also because we’ve just spent this entire movie watching people beat the shit out of each other with hands, feet, and whatever they can grab.  The script is aware of this contradiction, though, and stops at several points to remind us that taekwondo and other martial arts are not merely fighting techniques but ways of life that promote discipline of the body and mind and strong bonds between people.  This is the side of taekwondo that Dragon Sound plans to promote during their world peace tour, and the message seems heartfelt enough even if the delivery is lacking.

In that light its interesting to note that this disciplined martial arts lifestyle seems very much at odds with the hedonistic biker one that Yoshida and his followers also participate in.  The two stereotypes conflict on every possible level, right down to ninjas being quiet while motorcycles are loud.  I think this might be an attempt to paint the baddies as hypocrites, but I honestly don’t know.  It’s equally possible that ‘biker ninjas’ were just the coolest-sounding thing Kim could think of.

After that list of suckage, I do have to say that there are two or three things Miami Connection does astonishingly well.  Both the night shots and the gore effects are pretty good – especially the night shots.  You can always see enough to tell what’s going on, but it’s not so bright that you don’t believe it’s night-time.  I’ve seen way worse in movies with way higher budgets.  The fight choreography is also shockingly effective sometimes. It never turns taekwondo or any of its other martial arts into some kind of artsy dance performance.  The fight scenes are brutal, and you believe that the people in them are fighting for their lives.  Maybe not the best thing for their message that taekwondo is the key to world peace, but pretty effective if you’re just here to enjoy the chop-socky.

Being so terrible and yet so much fun, it’s no surprise that Miami Connection showed up on Rifftrax Live in 2015. Y. K. Kim was a pretty good sport about it, too – apparently he’s happy his film has finally found an audience, even an ironic one.  That puts him much higher on the dignity ladder than Joe Don Baker or Sandy Frank, and even if he seems like a bit of a huckster I have to hand it to him for that.

[bevioletskies]

(there’s no place like) home for the holidays

summary: After the chaos of trying to fit every single festive tradition into last year's holiday season, the Guardians decide to do something a little bit more low-key this Christmas - visiting Peter's hometown for the first time as a team. However, it may be more of an emotional rollercoaster than Peter, Gamora, or anyone could have bargained for.

word count: 10.2k

a/n: If you haven’t read the main fic, all you need to know is: the Guardians attend a superhero school on Earth, and therefore are approximately ten years younger than their movie counterparts. Peter and Gamora are in an established relationship after being in a fake one for a few months, and Mantis and Nebula have been together for a little while, too.

Fic title is from the song (There's No Place Like) Home For The Holidays by Perry Como.

ao3 | tag | masterpost

“C’mon, guys, how hard is it to pack? We spend, like, eighty percent of our time on this ship, all our stuff should already be here!” Peter’s voice echoed down the corridor of the Milano, but no response seemed to follow. He paused. “Uh, hello?”

Mantis was first to pop her head out of her room, leaning out of the doorway in a rather comical fashion. “Should I bring a hat? How cold is it in Missouri?”

“Cold enough. Bring a hat,” Peter instructed. She smiled in silent gratitude and promptly went back into her room. He grinned to himself, feeling giddy and nervous and excitable all the same, then turned back to his own duffel bag sat by his feet on the communal living room floor, zipped up and ready to go.

It was a trip he’d been talking about for months on end, something he and Gamora had kept in mind ever since they visited Peter’s hometown a little over a year ago, soon after they had started dating. Since then, there had been all sorts of obstacles in the way - school, for the most part, since Gamora wasn’t about to let everyone skip classes, especially now that Yondu was actually putting in some effort - that prevented them from doing so, and honestly, Peter had been apprehensive about what it would mean to the others. It meant a lot to him, of course, to bring his new family to the place where he’d grown up with his old one, but he wasn’t sure if the Guardians, all of whom had lost homes and loved ones, would feel like he was showing off somehow. The team had been incredibly solid over the last year, sharing a sense of ease and camaraderie he didn’t think would ever be possible with such mismatched personalities and temperaments, and he didn’t want to risk that.

Still, it was Mantis who eventually convinced him it would be a good idea, saying she would be honored to see the place he’d grown up, the place he’d shared with his mother. “Just because we do not have homes to go back to, does not mean that we can’t go with you to yours,” she had said. “I would very much like to go, Peter.”

And now, they were on break for the holidays, New York was just as crisp as ever, and like last year, most of the school’s campus was a ghost town, now that practically the entire student body had returned home for the two weeks they were given before coming back to the grind of heroism and college-level academia. The Guardians, meanwhile, were due to take off from the hangar bay in about thirty minutes, and, in their typical Guardian-like fashion, were woefully behind on packing.

“Quill.”

Peter nearly jumped three feet in the air at the sound of an ever-so-monotonous voice behind him, whipping around to look at the culprit. “Dammit, Nebula, you scared me.”

“Good,” she snarked, folding her arms across her chest. “Why aren’t we doing a system check yet?”

“Pretty much everyone else is still packing, I’m not gonna lock up the ship if they still have stuff back in their dorms,” Peter replied, hastily folding his arms as well. “Why don’t you make yourself useful, go help your girlfriend instead of spookin’ me?”

“So now she’s my girlfriend and not your sister?” Nebula snorted. “And I despise that word. It makes us sound like children.”

“Well, my sister loves that word,” Peter teased. “And so does your sister, or should I say, my girlfriend.”

Nebula stalked past him towards Mantis’s room with an impressive eye roll on her way out. “You’re terrible, Quill.”

“Good talk,” he called after her, unabashedly pleased with himself, though he had a feeling he was going to pay for it later.

Peter then made his way up the ladder despite knowing the others weren’t ready yet, grinning when he emerged in the cockpit and saw a certain somebody who was already well-prepared and sitting in her seat, tapping her foot impatiently. She turned at the sound of his footsteps. “Peter?”

“I’d just like to say, for the record, that I’m not the one who’s behind,” he said defensively, dropping a brief kiss on Gamora’s cheek before sitting opposite her.

“I think I’d be more proud of you if it wasn’t me who insisted you pack three nights ago,” she retorted, but she smiled regardless. “You’re excited, I’d imagine. It’s been too long since you’ve returned.”

“We’ve returned,” he corrected. “I still think about that weekend sometimes. Hanging out with you in the park that I spent all my summers in, sitting in my school’s parking lot...visiting my mom’s grave. Plus, y’know, we’d only been dating for a month at the time, but after we came back, I was already sure that you and me were gonna make it all the way.”

“Which is strange, since I found myself doubting it,” Gamora said softly, reaching over to rest her hand on his knee. “I don’t feel that way anymore. I know that this works, that us, that our family, it all works. Not perfectly, but...in the ways that we need it to. And I’m glad we get to do this with them.”

“So am I,” Peter murmured. He placed his hand over hers and squeezed. “It seems like we’re always doing somethin’ for school or for a job. This’ll be our first real vacation together.” He straightened up, half-smirking, half-wincing in anticipation. “Though if it’s like a typical family vacation, we’re probably gonna be screamin’ at each other and arguin’ over directions soon enough.”

“Don’t spoil it, Peter, I thought you were supposed to be the idealist between the two of us,” she teased. “Let me think about how everything can and will go wrong.”

With almost comically precise timing, a loud crash resonated from below, causing the entire ship to tremble with the force of whatever it was that had apparently just exploded. Peter groaned, getting up to open the hatch and poke his head through. “Stop destroying my ship, we don’t got insurance!” he shouted. ______

The flight to Missouri was easy enough, with minimal complaints, mostly because pretty much everyone took a nap. Once they touched down at a private airfield and piled into a rental vehicle, however, it was an entirely different story.

“I am Groot,” Groot wailed.

“Your toys are in your bag and your bag is in the trunk, we’re not getting your stuffed animals for a twenty-minute car ride,” Gamora said firmly from the driver’s seat, though it only made him even crankier.

“Drax, buddy, you’re gonna have to shuffle over so you don’t squish us,” Peter said, who currently had his elbow in Nebula’s gut, and was certain he was about to lose said elbow if Drax didn’t move and give the cramped backseat some breathing room.

“I hate this,” Nebula said loudly to anyone who would listen, though Mantis wasn’t even looking her way; instead, she had her face pressed up against the window, partially to look at the thick blanket of snow (as if it hadn’t been snowing profusely in New York when they left), but mostly because she was getting shoved, too.

Arriving at the hotel was similarly uncomfortable; the other patrons stared at them unashamedly as they walked into the lobby, hefting far too many bags for a week’s stay on their shoulders and still squabbling over their sore backs and bruised egos. Thankfully, Gamora had remembered to call ahead, and they were swiftly checked into their respective rooms before anything else could happen.

“Remember, Peter and I are in this room, so if you need anything - ”

“Knock first,” Rocket muttered under his breath, causing Yondu to chortle heartily. Groot laughed, too, even though he didn’t understand the joke. They were all rewarded with Gamora’s death glare.

“Are you looking to go straight back home, Rocket?” she said testily. “Believe me, I can make it happen.”

“No, ma’am,” Rocket drawled, smirking.

Gamora huffed. “As I was saying, Peter and I are in this room, you and Groot have that one, Yondu and Drax are in that one down there - ”

“I didn’t agree to this,” Yondu interrupted, holding up his hand like they were back in class.

“ - and Nebula and Mantis are over there,” Gamora finished, folding her arms across her chest. “Everyone go unpack and rest, and come meet us in our room for dinner at seven.”

Once she and Peter went into their room and set their bags aside to be unpacked in a moment, he collapsed onto the bed with a heavy sigh. “Starting to wonder if I should’ve come back here with just you instead.”

Gamora turned to look at him from where she was knelt by her own bag. “You don’t mean that,” she said quietly.

“I dunno, it just seems like vacations are more stress than they’re worth. I don’t wanna come outta this hating everyone,” he grumbled, staring listlessly at the ceiling.

“We just got here, Peter. I know you were scared last time. I really do,” she said, sitting beside him. “You were afraid of confronting your past. I don’t think anyone wants to open old wounds, but you still handled it really well. What is it this time?”

He turned onto his side so he could properly look at her, reaching over to rest his hand on her knee. “Can’t hide nothin’ from you, can I?” he chuckled. “It’s just that...we’re getting closer to graduating, and I really like what we’re doing right now. Going to school during the week, saving the galaxy on weekends. It’s the kind of stuff I dreamed about as a kid. Well, not the school part. The ‘being a hero’ part, where we get to travel through space and have cool adventures and do all sorts of stuff that I didn’t think would ever exist outside of my own over-imaginative brain.”

“You’re worried it’s all going to go away,” Gamora guessed. He nodded silently. “Well...I can’t tell you there’s no chance it won’t. But I can tell you that we’ll do everything in our power to make sure it doesn’t. All of us.”

“It feels like we’re one bad day away from falling apart sometimes.” Peter inched slightly closer, moving to rest his head in her lap. She automatically began threading her fingers through his hair in reassurance. “And I don’t think that’s ever gonna stop.”

“We’re combative, stubborn people. I’ll admit that I’m probably the most stubborn of us all,” she said with a rueful smile. “I hope that stubbornness means we fight to stay together, not that we’ll drive each other apart. I want to graduate knowing we’ve made a difference, and that we’re going to continue making a difference.”

“I want that, too,” he said, finally looking up to meet her eyes. “I got ideas, y’know. For the team, and, well...for us.”

“Us?” Gamora repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

He laughed, the tension in his jaw finally releasing. “We can talk about it another time. Right now...I wouldn’t mind a nap before dinner.”

To his disappointment, Gamora gently moved his head aside so she could stand up, gesturing towards their abundance of luggage sitting by the closet doors. “Not yet, Peter. First, we have to unpack.”

He groaned, sluggishly dragging himself upright. “And we were having such a nice moment, too.” ______

Everyone seemed mellowed out and well-rested by morning - unsurprising since the hotel beds were far nicer than the Milano’s mattresses - though Peter had a feeling that was going to change. After some subpar food, courtesy of the hotel’s complimentary breakfast, they all bundled up and got back into their rental, ready to start their day.

When the car pulled up to the curbside along the park, Nebula peered through the window in apprehension. “It looks...busy.”

“Course it is, practically no one’s at school or work this time of year,” Peter said dismissively. “C’mon, let’s go!”

As expected, Peter, Groot, and Mantis were the most enthused at the sight before them, a fairly typical public park now covered in a generous sheet of blindingly white snow, its playground and benches completely rendered inaccessible by the weather. It seemed mostly populated by families and the elderly, with the occasional jogger passing through that made even Drax shiver.

Unlike the last time she’d been here, Gamora was more on her guard than ever; there were far more people this time around, and despite trusting her sister, she still couldn’t stop herself from eyeing the small pocket knife on Nebula’s utility belt, concealed in its own pocket bag. Heads were already beginning to turn in their direction, just like the hotel lobby, and most of the returning expressions were far from friendly.

“Tell us about this place, Peter,” Mantis prompted, and he began the spiel he’d told Gamora last year, telling anecdotes of his childhood upbringing, how he’d played on all the equipment with other children and came away with scrapes and bruises, spent hours at the waterpark or just sitting under a tree with his mom, simultaneously listening to music and reading a good book. The others seemed captivated by his usual animated storytelling, all but one.

“I was worried before, too,” Gamora said quietly, interlocking arms with her sister. “Not everyone we see in public is our enemy. They’re just curious.”

It was a testament to Nebula’s nerves that she didn’t immediately have a snappish response. “Do they know who we are?” she murmured, itching to reach for her blade. “Do they fear us?”

“If it helps, just pretend they’re looking at Rocket,” Gamora said, smiling wryly. “Remember what we were taught?”

“To assume the worst,” Nebula said flatly.

Gamora shook her head. “No, Nebula, not what we were taught by Thanos. What we learned in school. The first strategy of engagement is defense, not offense.” Still, there was one particular older couple that seemed to be looking them up and down derisively in a way that even made Gamora twitch.

They progressed further into the park, which was far more extensive than everyone but Peter and Gamora had expected. When they heard the faint sounds of horns and strings in the distance, Rocket was the first to groan. “Aw, man, it’s like you planned this!”

Peter perked up instantly. “We definitely gotta check that out!”

And so, they were all dragged in the direction of the music, coming across a small glass observatory covered in overgrown plants, its doors thrown wide open despite the chill, with a small gathering of musicians right in its center. People were standing close by, either observing, or to Peter’s delight, dancing about in an unabashedly joyous fashion.

“Terrans are some of the strangest people I’ve ever met,” Drax sighed, moving to clear off a nearby picnic table so he could sit down and wait for the inevitable. Yondu and Rocket also went to join him, leaving Groot with Mantis. “What does all this swaying and foot-tapping nonsense accomplish?”

“Beats me,” Rocket shrugged.

With a single pleading look, Peter managed to get Gamora to join him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. It was so commonplace for them to dance nowadays that they immediately found their hand positions on their respective shoulders and waists, smiling fondly at each other, though they knew they were going to get teased for it the moment they returned to their friends.

“I’m slightly concerned that this has become second nature for us,” Gamora said lightly. “Are you sure you didn’t set this up beforehand?”

“I really didn’t,” Peter chuckled. “What can I say? Music just follows me wherever I go.”

“Maybe those musical films you showed me weren’t so far off from your reality, after all,” she said with a teasing mirth in her voice.

“Next thing you know, I’m gonna start talking to animals, too,” he joked, turning to look over at Rocket. “Oh, wait - ”

“Peter,” she said firmly, pinching his waist to get him to look back at her with a wince.

“Alright, sorry, bad joke - ”

Nebula, meanwhile, was sat stoutly at the table with Drax, Yondu, and Rocket, glaring up at Mantis, who was standing over her with one hand outstretched. “No. I will not give in like my sister clearly has. Gamora will have no dignity left by the time we leave this wretched town.”

“You danced with me at Wasp’s holiday party last week,” Mantis reminded her. “Well, I suppose it was more like you stood still while I rocked us back and forth, but I think that still counts.”

“That was among people we know.” Nebula turned away, almost embarrassed by her own reasoning. “We can’t trust these people.”

“But do you trust me?” Mantis then smiled. “Silly question, I know you do. But do you trust me to trust everyone else?”

Nebula hesitated once more, and then slowly got to her feet, finally accepting Mantis’s hand. “Then I’ll blame you when things go wrong.”

“If things go wrong,” Mantis said cheerily, weaving them both through the crowd to join Peter and Gamora, who looked equal parts stunned and impressed that she’d managed to get Nebula to join her. Gamora reached over to squeeze her sister’s shoulder in silent praise, only to get shaken off immediately, as expected.

“Oh, how the mighty’ve fallen,” Yondu snickered, twirling his arrow absentmindedly between his fingers. “We gotta get a picture of this, we ain’t never letting her live this down.”

“And get castrated once she catches us? No thanks,” Rocket scoffed.

“I am Groot?” Groot asked, still grumpy after being unceremoniously dumped onto the table with the others.

“It is not something someone your age should know about,” Drax said gravely.

Nebula took tiny, stiff steps in her minimal attempts to keep up with Mantis’s boisterous, unrefined movements, her hands resting lightly on Mantis’s waist. The music was beginning to pick up speed, and a singer had now joined in, the voice echoing about in Nebula’s head, consuming her attuned sense of sound, the way music sounded to her whenever Peter unapologetically cranked up the volume on the Milano. All she could focus on now was the eyes that followed them, people straining their necks around their dance partners to get a better look at their faces, like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Some seemed confused, others worried, all clinging a little bit tighter to those they were familiar with.

“They’re staring at us,” Nebula whispered, ducking her head so her mouth was right at Mantis’s ear.

“Terrans seem so judgemental,” Mantis sighed. “When we first got together, Peter showed me all these articles about marriage equality and hate crimes - ”

“Not because we’re both girls,” Nebula interrupted. “Because we are both not of this world.”

“We have lived here for three years now, along with many others that come from all over the galaxy. It is not our responsibility to make them comfortable with their prejudices by hiding who we are, especially since we have never done them any harm,” Mantis insisted.

Nebula paused. “What do you feel?”

“They are curious,” Mantis said quietly. “Some of them are hesitant about whether to stay or go. Maybe they think it will offend us and cause more problems. But...some are happy to see us.”

Nebula tilted her head inquisitively. “Who?”

“Excuse me.” All four of them looked down to see a group of at least eight children, the oldest no older than ten, crowded around them in every direction. “Are you the Guardians?”

Gamora and Nebula exchanged worried glances; Peter, by contrast, puffed out his chest and lowered his voice by at least an octave. “Yes, we are. How can we help you?”

One of them held up an old napkin with a sheepish smile. “Could we have your autographs?”

Peter’s usual roguish grin was softened instantly into something far sweeter, an expression the others preferred greatly over his posturing. “Yeah, of course. But c’mon, let’s get out of this crowd and head over there before you get trampled, okay?” They all nodded eagerly, following him to the picnic table.

Gamora and Mantis, meanwhile, paused to turn to Nebula. She glared back. “They don’t want me, you’re wasting your time. Go on.”

“You don’t know that,” Gamora said gesturing for Nebula to join them. “Please.” When it was clear neither of them were moving, Nebula stalked past them with a bitter grunt, wondering whether to reconsider the company she kept.

Once they caught up to the others, they found Peter charming the children with slightly exaggerated tales of their adventures, along with stories about the other Academy students that were crowd favorites. “What’s it like, getting to hang out with Thor every day?” one of them asked.

“He’s okay, not as good-looking as you’d think,” Peter shrugged, which caused Rocket and Yondu to snicker under their breaths once again. “Hey, the girls are here!”

The children instantly turned their way, holding out their bits of scrap paper expectantly. Mantis got right to it, while Gamora’s tight smile gradually relaxed over time as some of the little girls told her how she’d inspired them to try karate classes and sign up for their school’s sports teams. Nebula was the most taken aback when some of them reached for her as well, more apprehensive towards her than the others, but still determined to get her autograph, too.

“You know who I am,” Nebula said flatly. They nodded, hands still outstretched. Sighing laboriously, she snatched Peter’s pen right out of his hand, his protests falling on deaf ears, and began scribbling across their papers as well.

Once they were finally finished, the children chorused their thank you’s and sprinted off to rejoin their parents. Nebula sat back down again next to Drax, silently making her decision of what to do next very clear. To her surprise, Mantis didn’t protest and merely sat beside her.

Peter, of course, pulled Gamora back into the crowd, still delighted by how much she embraced it, embraced him nowadays, and buried his face into her neck, partially for the warmth, but mostly for the comfort of just how well he fit there. “Man, I love it when that stuff happens. Makes it feel like we’re actually doing what we set out to do. Like you said - makin’ a difference.”

“And it strokes your ego all the same,” Gamora deadpanned, but she was smiling regardless. “I like it, too.”

All you need is love, all you need is love...all you need is love, love, love is all you need… ______

Nebula was half-asleep on her hotel bed when the door opened. Expecting it to be Gamora, she grumbled and turned face-down into her pillow. “I have no interest in talking to you, sister.”

“It is just me.” Mantis shut the door behind her, kicked off her shoes, and promptly crawled onto the bed to join Nebula, lying by her side. She was careful not to touch her. “You have become even more reclusive than usual. I thought our first day here went very well, when we were at the park with all those people, but then yesterday and today...what happened?”

“I thought a person with your abilities would understand the concept of mood swings,” Nebula grouched. “You and Gamora both seem to think something utterly catastrophic needs to happen to justify my anger.”

“I do not think we think that,” Mantis said quietly. “I think we are hoping that it is only that, so there is something we can do to help. But if there is no cause...then we are helpless to watch.”

“You aren’t helpless. You read me, all the time, even when I ask you not to.” Nebula slowly turned over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “I could ask you what I’m feeling right now, and you would know better than I do.”

“I wish I couldn’t.” Mantis sat up, looking down at Nebula with bittersweet fondness. “I told you all last year that I wanted to focus more on myself, and I have. But I will never be able to shut off my powers. I cannot lose them, like Peter did his. Sometimes, I wish very desperately that my mind was only ever mine, and that I cannot feel everything everyone else does. So that I can be happy when I guess correctly, instead of dreading the fact that I am always right.”

Nebula swallowed. “You know I’m not the one to talk to about this. I never know what you need.”

“I need to know...if maybe we should leave early,” Mantis said slowly. “If you are more uncomfortable than what it is worth. Peter can always bring me back here another time, but if you feel uneasy around all these people, we can go back together.”

“I told you, it wasn’t about the people. It’s...everything.” Nebula’s voice was so quiet, Mantis could barely hear her. “But I know this is important. Not just to your brother, but to everyone, especially you and Gamora. I can accept my own mild discomfort if it means that you’re both...happy.”

Mantis smiled sadly. “And you know it is harder for us to feel happy when you are not. So what do you want, Nebula?”

“Want is a strong word,” Nebula said, her voice almost lilting, teasing, in a way that made Mantis feel privately flattered that she’d elicited such a response out of her, such bold admittance of things that she barely ever told Gamora. “I’ll stay.”

“For me and Gamora?” Mantis laid back down, her dark eyes even wider than usual, reaching over to tangle their fingers together, her smile growing when she noticed the slight twitch in the corners of Nebula’s mouth.

“If I admit to it, will you leave me be already?” Still, Nebula moved closer, inch by inch, bringing their foreheads together. “I swear, you and my sister intend to run me into the ground with your incessant worrying. I’m not a child to be coddled.”

“No, you are not,” Mantis murmured. “You are a person we care about very much.” She brushed a gentle kiss onto Nebula’s cheek, grinning when Nebula turned her head so their lips would meet. After a moment, she broke the kiss. “Should I leave you to nap?”

“You can stay if you want,” Nebula said blithely, though the shine in her eyes told Mantis she definitely had a preference. Beaming victoriously, Mantis curled up against Nebula’s neck, letting out a sigh of content. Nebula carefully draped one arm over Mantis’s arm, resting her hand on the small of her back. It was perhaps the most intimate moment they’d shared yet, and Mantis hoped that Nebula couldn’t hear the way her heart beat rapidly in nervous excitement. “But next year...I’m staying home.”

Mantis laughed. “Home...I like the sound of that.” ______

The wind whistled through everyone’s hair - those who had hair, that is - as they crossed the lawn, causing them all to shiver involuntarily. Otherwise, it was the sort of stillness that was associated with Midwestern winters, where the generous blanket of snow muffled just about every other kind of sound, obscured their vision from seeing anything but what was right in front of their faces. They could barely tell if anyone else was there, too, what with the hum of silence and the lack of movement except for the swaying trees and bare-boned bushes. At most, the only thing they could see, apart from each other, was the plaque at the front entrance: St. Peter Catholic Church Cemetery.

Groot snuggled further down into the faux fur collar of Yondu’s coat, grateful for its warmth; even Drax, of all people, was wearing a jacket (over his bare chest, of course). Nebula, in a rare show of public affection, was braced against Mantis’s side, Rocket trailed behind everyone else with snowflakes clinging to his whiskers, and of course, Peter and Gamora led the way, hand-in-hand.

“You couldn’t have picked a better day, Quill?” Nebula snarked, though some of her bite was lost in the wind.

“It was gonna be cold no matter what,” Peter said defensively. “Come on, it’s just over here.”

He and Gamora knelt down by one particular gravestone, moving to brush out the snow that had built up in its engravings, and laid a modest bouquet of pine branches and holly berries at its base. Mantis was first to join them on the ground, mouthing the words to herself while she did: Meredith Elizabeth Quill - Mother, Daughter, Friend, & Dreamer - 1957 - 1988. The others quickly followed suit.

“So...what now, boy?” Yondu asked uncertainly.

“I just kinda...talk to her. Say whatever’s on my mind,” Peter shrugged.

“Settle in, we’re gonna be here a while,” Rocket muttered out of the corner of his mouth; Gamora turned to glare him into silence.

“So, uh, Mom, it’s been over a year since I came back. Sorry, I’ve been real busy, you know how it is,” Peter chuckled. “I brought Gamora again, along with the other Guardians. Thought it’d be nice for ‘em to meet you, and you can see what kinda crowd I fell into. They’re a little rough, but they’re good people. My people. I’d be a whole different person if it wasn’t for them...and for you, of course.” He shook his head, laughing. “Reminds me of when I was a kid. All them others who said I was such a mama’s boy. I told them there was nothin’ wrong with that, and they had nothing to say back, ‘cos they knew I was right.”

“Anyway...I’ve been showing them around town, all the usual tourist-y stuff. The Lewis & Clark Museum, Fast Lane...even tried bowling, but that didn’t go so well. Guess I should rule out bumper cars and the trampoline park, hey?” Even Nebula found herself cracking the tiniest of smiles at the visualization forming in her head. Either that, or she was mentally mapping out battle tactics for how to do the most possible damage. “We get stared at a bunch. Not so much me, since, y’know, I’m from here, but everyone else for bein’ different. We’ve gotten so used to being at school, where everyone is so weird and so cool in the best kind of ways, that we sometimes forget. I like it better when we can forget.”

“I’ve been too...scared, I guess, about lookin’ for other graves with the Quill name on it. I dunno if I ever wanna find out if Grandpa died. If he died thinkin’ that I’m dead, too. But if I ever see him in town, I’ll give him the biggest damn hug he’s ever gotten, just like when I was a kid. And I’ll tell him I killed the man who killed you. He might drag me back into church and make me repent, but I want him to know.” Peter inhaled sharply. “Do you think he ever turns on the TV anymore? Sees my dumb face plastered all over the evening news when we save the world from some crazy bad guy? Wonders if I’m ever gonna call?”

“Quill,” Yondu said gently, reaching to clap him on the shoulder. Peter barely turned to look at him before turning back, shrugging him off. Yondu’s face faltered.

“I didn’t come here to confess, though. Just wanted to drop in and say hi,” Peter continued, sounding falsely cheerful. “I only ever come back here ‘cos of you. And some selfish part of me wants to relocate your grave to somewhere else, so I don’t have to remind myself of how empty this place feels when you’re not around. But I know this is your home. It just ain’t mine.” He swallowed a harsh lump in his throat that just didn’t want to go away, then abruptly got to his feet and walked off in a random direction without so much as a glance back.

Gamora immediately stood to follow, but Yondu grabbed her wrist to stop her. “Mind if I go? I got some stuff weighin’ on me, and I need t’ make it known.” She nodded silently, sitting back down beside the others, watching worriedly as Yondu went after Peter.

“I suppose I can say a few things,” Gamora said quietly, glancing at the others for their approval. To her surprise, they all nodded encouragingly; even Nebula seemed to be accepting of her request. “Okay. Okay, um...Miss Quill, I’ve never done this before so forgive my inexperience. I lost my parents when I was young as well, and I never had the courage to seek out their resting place. People often describe me as brave, but when it comes to my family, I’ve never felt more cowardly in my life.”

“I wish I could have known you,” she continued. “Every story Peter tells, every song he plays, I feel your spirit, your soul. I’m not religious myself, and I don’t particularly believe in coincidence or fate, either, but I sense your presence when he speaks of you, like you’re still watching over him after all these years. I imagine you’re proud of the person he’s become, and I hope you approve of the company he keeps. Despite the way that some of the others grumble and groan about him, we’re a family, and we love each other all the same. Thank you for showing him love. So that he could show it to us...people who thought they’d lost any chance of it long ago.”

Yondu, meanwhile, sprinted after Peter - not an easy feat in the thick, powdery snow - and finally caught up to him, slightly out of breath. “You’re still a quick little devil, ain’t ya?”

“Watch the ‘devil’ talk, Yondu, we’re on religious grounds,” Peter said, chuckling half-heartedly. “I just need some air. I always get so down on myself whenever I think or talk about my mom. It’s never gonna change.”

“Sure, but...I actually wanted to talk to you about your grandpa.” Yondu stared down at his feet, unable to meet Peter’s curious gaze. “When the Ravagers picked you up to take you to Ego, I begged the cap’n to keep you, all ‘cos I wanted a friend. Never thought about all the family you left behind. All them aunties and uncles and cousins you didn’t talk much about.”

“Didn’t think much of ‘em,” Peter shrugged. “I was closest to Mom and Grandpa. Grandma was good people, too, but I didn’t see much of my mom’s brother, or his kids, or any of the third cousins once removed or whatever - ”

“Look, boy, I’m only sayin’ this ‘cos it’s a holiday and you seem to put a lot of investment into ‘em, but...I’m sorry I kept you from your family.” Yondu lifted his head high, tilting his chin up, clenching his jaw tightly. “I know I spent years going on and on about how the Ravagers were the best family you were ever gonna get, and I was dead wrong on two counts. The one you had before, and the one you got after.”

“Are you kidding? You saved me, dude,” Peter exclaimed, his face brightening. “If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve been delivered to my dad like I was s’posed to and turned into a Celestial battery! I guess I would’ve met Mantis a lot earlier, but other than that...believe me, I’m glad things turned out the way they did.”

“So you ain’t mad?” Yondu asked. Peter laughed, throwing his arm over Yondu’s shoulder and guiding him back to the others.

“Nah. I got plenty of other stuff to be mad at you about, but this isn’t one of ‘em.” ______

“We’ve returned with dinner,” Drax announced loudly through Peter and Gamora’s bedroom door; the couple down the hallway by the elevator shot him dirty looks, shushing him just as loudly in return.

“You could’ve just knocked,” Peter reminded him, swinging the door open and stepping aside to let him and Yondu in. “Man, that smells good.”

The Guardians were sat in a circle formation on the floor, armed with cutlery and plates from the hotel room’s kitchenette, chatting animatedly among themselves. It was Christmas Day, not to mention their last full day in St. Charles before flying back home, and after the general exhaustion of their minds and bodies throughout the week, they were sorely looking forward to it, even - and especially - Peter.

He absentmindedly watched Drax and Yondu pass out the styrofoam containers. No one had ordered anything particularly holiday-appropriate, mostly burgers and fries, generous heaps of pasta, and in Drax’s case, an enormous steak, but after the excess of Peter trying to cram every possible Christmas tradition into last year’s winter break, the reprieve was needed. “I am so hungry,” Mantis whined, stealing a fry from Nebula’s plate. Nebula immediately swatted her away without second thought.

“As if you didn’t inhale three giant waffles this morning,” Nebula said airily.

“You seem to be in a better mood today, boy,” Yondu commented, gesturing in Peter’s direction. “Bet it helps we weren’t runnin’ around like crazy.”

“I really gotta stop overthinkin’ the holidays,” Peter chuckled sheepishly. “I know we already said no gifts this year, but next year should be, like, nothing at all. Dinner, maybe.”

“I liked the snowball fight from last year,” Mantis volunteered.

“Same. I even built an ice cannon so I can pummel the rest of you losers,” Rocket snickered.

“Okay, so we can keep some of the small stuff, uh, minus the cannon. But I think all that matters is that we get to just...hang out. Spend time together that doesn’t involve school projects or chasing bad guys,” Peter said. “I mean, think about all the crazy stuff we did this year. Gamora and Nebula, you started your fight club - ”

“Combat lessons, Peter,” Gamora sighed.

“I know, but ‘fight club’ sounds a lot cooler,” Peter said, grinning. “And Rocket, you started your own side hustle with engineering tutorials.”

“And the only person who gets to see a single unit outta that is me,” Rocket said, rubbing his hands together gleefully. Groot grunted in protest. “Fine, kid, you too.”

“Can’t say I did much this year compared to some of you,” Yondu said, his smile tightening.

Gamora softened. “You worked really hard in school, Yondu, that’s not nothing. Fury said he’d never seen such a jump in GPA before, and you know he doesn’t say these things lightly.”

“He’s a spy, he lies for a livin’,” Yondu scoffed, but he looked pleased nonetheless. “We not gonna mention the time Drax saved all our asses from the Baluurian militia?”

“I am Groot,” Groot said approvingly, momentarily leaping to Drax’s shoulder so he could hug his cheek in appreciation. Drax smiled, patting him gently on the back.

“And Mantis, for her journey to self-discovery, an admirable endeavor,” Drax added. “Also, her newfound relationship with Nebula, while I do not personally understand your romantic compatibility - the same could be said of Quill and Gamora - ”

“Please stop,” Gamora said flatly. Nebula nodded in rare, unconditional agreement.

“ - it is a comfort to know that you have found happiness,” Drax finished.

“Thank you, Drax,” Mantis beamed. “I hope next year will be even better. We all feel much more...peaceful than we did last Christmas.”

“I like the sound of progress.” Gamora leaned a little further into Peter, smiling briefly when he put his arm around her, resting his hand on her hip. “We’re so close to finishing school and moving on - ”

“Movin’ on?” Rocket interrupted, furrowing his brow in suspicion.

“Or moving forward, if you would prefer,” Gamora said, correcting herself. “Terra can still be our home base if that’s what everyone wants. I just mean we won’t be students anymore, we’ll be full-time Guardians.”

“Kinda feels like we’re already full-time Guardians,” Peter admitted. “I mean, this is the first real vacation we’ve had since we met.”

“And we’ll have more, I’m sure,” Gamora promised. “But we have to work for them. It’s not about wanting breaks, it’s about deserving them. We can’t afford to be greedy about what our futures look like, we have to be realistic.”

Yondu groaned, slumping against Drax. “Just for once, girl, can you lighten up a little? It’s Christmas!”

“He has a point,” Peter said quietly, squeezing Gamora’s waist. When she looked up into his face, half-expecting him to look at her either pleadingly or teasingly, she was instead surprised to see...something she couldn’t quite identify. It was the sort of face he made when they fought, but not out of anger, more out of...worry, like he thought everything was about to change, and that he was powerless to do anything about it.

Regardless, Gamora was certain Peter didn’t want her to dissect his expression, nor did she want to in front of everyone else. Instead, she put her hand over his. “Okay,” she said simply.

“Okay, um, let’s get back to celebrating, then,” Peter said, his voice hollow. “And if we’re gonna celebrate, we gotta do it right.” He grabbed some cups and the carton of eggnog he’d stored in the room’s mini-fridge, pouring and passing it out to everyone else. He held up his glass. “To the Guardians. May we kick ass and take names for as long as we live!”

“I can drink to that, but I’m gonna need somethin’ stronger,” Rocket allowed, knocking back his drink like it was a shot.

“Don’t encourage Groot. You remember what happened the last time you left a bottle of whiskey lying around?” Gamora reminded him. Rocket shuddered; that one careless mistake had resulted in both the grossest and scariest night of his life. He never wanted to see Groot tucked up in a little bed, hooked up to ominously beeping machines, in the school’s infirmary ever again. “To persistence and patience. May we survive the rest of our education, so we can pursue our best future.” Peter shivered.

“Yes, ma’am!” Yondu hooted, also drinking all of his in one go.

“And to family and love. May we have it in our lives forever,” Mantis finished shyly, turning to look at Nebula. Peter let out an audible “aww”, to which Gamora shushed him, when Nebula cracked a small smile in return.

After the others cleared out of their room and returned to their own, Peter and Gamora spent a good half hour doing the dishes together, chatting about all the things that had come up during dinner. Though he had never been one for chores - he could recall many a complaint he had for his mother whenever she told him to fold his laundry, insisting it was perfectly fine to just throw it into their respective drawers and call it a day - he enjoyed the domesticity of it when done by her side. It was like when he was a child, standing on a step stool so he could reach the counter, accepting every sudsy dish his mother handed him so he could run it under the faucet and rinse it off. That felt less like work, and more like time spent with his mom, precious minutes that he’d never have again. He wasn’t about to let moments with Gamora or the others slip away, not when history could repeat itself.

Gamora, on the other hand, watched Peter put the dishes back in the cabinet with a fond smile. Being the person she was, she knew that, at her core, she was still relatively young, still had many uncertainties laid out in front of her, years of her life she could never quite plan down to the minute, as much as she wanted to try. But - and maybe this was naive - she was certain that Peter was a certainty, that the Guardians were a certainty, and she never thought that some of her best memories would involve sitting on a floor and eating takeout with people so different from her, and yet, fundamentally the same.

She walked over to him then, a rush of affection stirring in her chest, and wrapped her arms around his middle, laying her head against his back. “Hey, you,” Peter said with a surprised laugh. “What’s up?”

“I’m still pretty awake,” she admitted. “Mind if we watch that movie you showed me last year...what was it?”

“A Charlie Brown Christmas it is,” he said, turning around to momentarily wrap her in his arms.

After changing into their comfiest sweatpants, the two of them laid out on their bed with Peter’s holo-tab projecting the movie onto the ceiling. Gamora found herself thinking back, once again, to what her Thanos-shadowed self would say if she saw her here, curled up on a king-size bed with silk sheets and goose-down pillows, the blustery Missouri snow blowing around outside like a strangely comforting soundtrack, watching a children’s cartoon with a person who loved nothing more than a good drink and a better song.

“I can hear you thinking,” Peter mumbled into her neck. “Wanna talk about it?”

“I spoke to your mother after you had to take a break from her grave.” She felt him tense up beside her. “I didn’t know what to say, exactly, but I mentioned how I was still afraid of seeking my parents’ resting place. And that, even though I’m don’t usually believe in cosmic forces, I can feel her presence sometimes. I didn’t mention that I can’t feel theirs.”

“Is it a guilt thing?” he asked quietly. “I mean, you don’t talk about them much, and I talk about Mom all the time. I don’t think it’s a bad omen or anything.”

“Maybe,” she said, reaching to take his hand, tangling their fingers together. “Or luck. That I’m lucky to have survived and escaped Thanos, to have found all of you, to live this life that I’m living now. Meanwhile, our parents’ lives were cut so terribly short. Neither of us had any part in it, so I wouldn’t call it guilt, exactly. Just a tragedy that we have the privilege and the burden of carrying with us.”

Peter turned over so their faces were closer, his free hand resting on her waist comfortingly. “We don’t have to carry it with us forever,” he murmured. “I mean, I know I sound like a big ol’ hypocrite since I’m the one who won’t shut up about his mom, but I think it’s okay to just be, y’know, thankful for who they were and what we had with them. And not just at the holidays, but year-round. ‘Cos honestly, I don’t wanna come back here next year. It helps a little to talk to her, I guess, but all it does is remind me of all the things we never got to do. I wanna remember what we did.”

“Less of a spectacle next year, then?” Gamora’s voice grew stronger, returning to her usual fond, teasing tone she used for Peter exclusively, and only whenever they were alone. “I’ll enjoy the peace and quiet.”

“With our friends? Never,” he smirked, leaning down to kiss her briefly. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in closer. Though she could clearly picture all the chaos that Peter was imagining with annoying accuracy, she still knew that every insecurity and every worriment would always linger in her brain, that no single conversation would solve all her problems, but for now, at least, her mind was pleasantly quiet. ______

The Guardians piled themselves into their rental car outside the hotel for the last time, once again jammed uncomfortably against one another, ready to leave for the private airfield so they could be reunited with the Milano and head home. “No one left anything behind?” Gamora asked, glancing at them through the rearview mirror.

“You made us check the rooms a hundr’d times,” Yondu grumbled. “Then we had to make them beds all over again!”

“We can’t leave everything turned upside down just because they have housekeeping,” Gamora replied dismissively. “The reality is, Yondu, that they judge us for everything we say and do. You’ve seen the kind of press coverage we get when a job goes poorly. We can’t afford to let them think that about us; we have to control what they think.”

“Well, I think you think too much,” Yondu said childishly, shrinking in his seat a little.

Gamora rolled her eyes, knowing better than to drag the conversation out. “Peter had one last stop he wanted to make before we head to the airfield, by the way.”

“Really? What is it?” Mantis asked curiously, leaning over from the backseat to look at Peter (he’d firmly secured the passenger seat after the debacle of being shoved in the back when they’d first arrived).

Peter smiled. “My house.”

Soon enough, the car pulled up to the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. It was a neat, trim little house which was deceptively more worn than it first appeared. Like many others surrounding it, the house was older, more historic than some of the sprawling mansions seen in the more distant parts of town, with off-white siding stained with weather and wear, and a stone fence running around its perimeter that had seen better days. There was a covered porch that wrapped around one side to the back, boasting a hanging bench and a rusted glass side table. The one thing that stood out to Peter, however, was when he looked up at the second-floor window, the window to his bedroom, and saw the familiar curtains still hanging there, stood utterly still.

“It looks...the same,” he breathed. “You’re tellin’ me no one’s lived here since Mom died?”

“That seems unlikely, and yet...it really does look that way, doesn’t it?” Gamora practically pressed her face up against her window. “Like nothing’s been touched.”

“But...no, Grandpa would’ve sold it, or the banks would’ve come after it...that don’t make any sense.” Peter leaned back against his door, frustrated.

“Quill,” Drax said quietly. “Do you think there is a chance your family did not sell the house?”

“Only one way to find out, I guess.” Peter pulled his phone from his pocket, and, with a deep breath, did one of the few things he truly dreaded, something he told himself to never do - he searched for his family name.

His first results were expectedly non-specific; there were dozens of people with the same name as his grandfather that ended up in the news for one reason or another, but after he added the city name, it was narrowed down to a few helpful articles. From there, it didn’t take him long to find the one he was looking for, and he began to read it out loud, his voice trembling from the very start.

When an unexpected tragedy hit the Quill family in St. Charles, Missouri, Henry Quill, 62, struggled to hold everyone together while they coped with their terrible loss. His daughter, Meredith Quill, 31, passed away of brain cancer last month, surrounded by her family. Meredith’s son, Peter, who was 8 at the time, was overwhelmed, unable to process what had happened, and ran out of her hospital room, never to be seen again. Quill and his remaining family, including his wife and son, were left to plan both a funeral and a search party. They haven’t given up hope for Peter’s return yet, but they’re grimly aware of the possibility that he won’t come back.

“Peter was just like my Meredith. He could be quiet sometimes, but you get a little song and dance going and suddenly, he’s the brightest light in the room,” Quill said in a telephone interview on Saturday. “There was nothing he loved more than his mother, and the fact is, I was so caught up in the sound of my daughter’s last breath that I lost sight of him - and I’ll never stop blaming myself.”

Since the loss of his daughter and grandson, Quill made the decision to purchase and maintain their home (Meredith was a single mother) in the hopes that it will bring Peter back. Though costly, he believes it to be the “beacon Peter needs to come home”, and is determined to keep it in the family “until the day he dies”. He has sworn to visit the property at least twice a month to mop and dust the furniture, wash the bedding, and mow the lawn, enlisting his son and extended family to help out.

“Does that mean…” Peter let out a sob of disbelief. “He’s still around?”

“Oh, Peter,” Mantis said brightly, reaching around the seat to hug him. “I think you are right!”

“Should we stay another day so you can look for him?” Gamora suggested, her mind already racing with possibilities.

“No, I...I can’t.” Peter shook his head adamantly. “I’m not...ready. It already took a lot of guts for me to come back here last year, took a lot for me to come back again. I’m gonna need to think on this before I set myself up for disappointment.”

“That’s very rational of you,” Gamora said, reaching over to cup his cheek, using her thumb to wipe at the tear that had slipped from his eyes, one that he didn’t even realize was there. It was a testament to Peter’s emotional state that Rocket didn’t make yet another exaggerated kissy noise at them, as he was oft to do. “So what do you want to do now?”

Peter placed his hand over hers, smiling at the Guardians, who (nearly) all had returning, encouraging grins of their own. “Let’s go home.” ______

Despite all the tinkering and whatnot the team (mostly Rocket) had been doing on the Milano over the years, it was still, modestly put, a piece of junk. It was the last evening before the spring semester started, but everything was still covered in a thick sheet of snow, leaving their ship especially creaky and stiff, meaning they had to cancel their future jobs until the weather thawed out. It also meant that their living space, which Peter and Rocket had refurbished in their first year together to make it a more habitable, Groot-accessible area, was freezing, and to top it all off, their fireplace was refusing to work.

“I almost want to go to the student lounge, just for indoor heating,” Nebula grumbled.

“And be around other people? That does not sound like you,” Mantis teased, joining her on the couch with a thick blanket and two mugs of hot cocoa. She held one out to Nebula, who immediately snatched it up like she hadn’t had anything to drink in days, lifting her arms in compliance when Mantis threw the blanket over them both. “Here, let me warm you up.”

“Fine.” Nebula maneuvered herself a little so Mantis could tuck into her side. “I doubt this will work. Your body temperature is comparatively lower.”

“So romantic,” Mantis sighed, brushing a sticky kiss onto Nebula’s cheek before popping another mini-marshmallow into her mouth.

“You didn’t choose me for saccharine compliments and embarrassing public displays of affection,” Nebula countered.

“You are very right,” Mantis said, smiling. “I will do all of that for us.”

“Lucky me.” Though Nebula’s voice was monotonous as ever, there was a hint of a smile on her face.

“So...do you feel better, now that we are back home?” Mantis asked, shuffling closer.

“I would feel ‘better’ if we didn’t have classes tomorrow. But this ship, as awful as it is, doesn’t irritate me as much as the hotel.” Nebula shuddered involuntarily. “I loathe beds where I feel like I could fall right through to the floor. And people that smile too much.”

“No wonder you never sleep in the dorms. Or maybe you have other reasons?” Mantis grinned suggestively, a very odd look on her otherwise innocent face, and leaned in to kiss her, pleased by the way Nebula melted right into it. They were then interrupted by a very loud shutter click. “PETER!”

“Dammit, I still don’t know how to use this thing,” Peter groaned, setting aside the half-broken DSLR camera he and Rocket had found during a junking expedition on Knowhere a few months ago. “You girls need refills?”

“If you take one more picture of us, I will rip off your nose and dunk it in my mug, Quill,” Nebula spat.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Peter chirped, taking their cups and disappearing into the kitchen.

Gamora entered the room next, carrying a book in hand and Groot on her shoulder, and sat down in the big armchair across from them. She opened her book to where she’d left off and began to read, trying not to glance over at Mantis and Nebula still snuggled up together so she wouldn’t start unashamedly grinning like a lunatic.

Even though it’d been months by now, she still wasn’t sure how they worked out so well, and yet they did, with Nebula slowly opening herself up to conversation and affection, bit by bit. Gamora supposed the same could be said of herself over a year ago, when she and Peter were still pretending that they were only pretending, when she told herself, unconvincingly, that she didn’t think they would work. She almost left the team to pursue Thanos, and now, she couldn’t imagine a world in which she wasn’t here, sitting in the ice-cold living space of their barely-functioning ship, among her family.

Groot snuggled against her torso, sighing happily as if he could he hear her thoughts. “I am Groot,” he murmured.

“I think so, too,” she replied.

The rest of the team joined them around the time of Peter’s return, prompting him to get more piping hot mugs of cocoa for everyone. Rocket attempted tinkering with the fireplace one last time to no avail, and dissolved into his usual moody grumbles until Peter gave him more marshmallows. Mantis moved to sit on the floor by Nebula’s head so she could join Drax and Yondu in playing one of Peter’s old video games, both her antennae and her face glowing with pure joy when Nebula turned over to awkwardly rest her chin on top of Mantis’s head (“Don’t mistake my intent, I can see the screen better this way,” she claimed, but no one believed her).

Peter sat on the armrest of Gamora’s chair, draping an arm around her shoulders so he could pass her the last cup. “This feels more like Christmas to me. Freezing our asses off and doin’ absolutely nothing at all.”

“I didn’t mind visiting your hometown again, but I agree, though I wish it wasn’t at the expense of the Milano’s heating system,” Gamora said dryly. “Do you really mean it, though? That you won’t be doing much for next year?”

“I think it’s time we start coming up with traditions of our own,” Peter shrugged. “There’s eight of us, we’re bound to have some awesome ideas. Don’t have to be the traditional, y’know, decorated tree, cookies and eggnog, gift-giving stuff.”

“If you’re sure. I like the sound of that, actually,” she said, patting his leg affectionately. “But Peter...promise me you won’t forget to contact your grandfather.”

“It’s on my to-do list...which is just in my brain, but still,” he relented, chuckling. “I’ve been busy prepping the ship for jobs and myself for next semester, I almost forgot. There’s still so much... stuff ahead of us.”

“Back when I mentioned ‘our futures’...it terrified you, didn’t it.” It didn’t sound like much of a question.

“I think the idea of everything we have right now goin’ away or gettin’ bigger than anything we can possibly handle would scare just about anyone. But...at least we know we ain’t going at it alone.” Peter smiled. “Speaking of alone, we still got another sixteen hours before class starts again, and I wanna spend ‘em right. I also think I’d rather be freezin’ outside rather than inside, ‘cos at least there’s snow. Anyone else with me?”

Mantis, unsurprisingly, was the first one to leap to her feet, running to grab her coat and gloves; the others briefly looked at each other, shrugged, and followed suit. Even Nebula sat up on the couch so she could re-lace her boots. Everyone else practically dashed out the door, with Yondu and Rocket in particular letting out triumphant shouts as they were promptly blasted in the face with cold air. Meanwhile, Gamora went to sit beside her sister, her eyes shining. “It’s good to see you like this, Nebula.”

“Oh, don’t start,” Nebula groaned. “Can I not begrudgingly participate in asinine activities without a tearful speech about my ‘changed ways’? Or must you always treat me like a child taking her first steps just because I appear ‘happy’?”

“You say that as if you aren’t actually enjoying yourself,” Gamora teased, the two of them getting up to pull on their gloves and coats. “Don’t worry, I’ll spare you the monologue this time. I think I’ve expressed enough sisterly pride to exhaust the both of us, at least, for now. Let’s go catch up with our friends.” She held out her hand expectantly. Nebula paused, staring at it like it was going to spontaneously catch on fire, then reached out to accept it, allowing her sister to lead her out into the snow.

a/n: Happy holidays, y'all! I know it's been a year since the last 20q fic, and I did attempt to do both a Valentine's and a summer-themed fic for this 'verse, but I honestly couldn't figure out a plot that I really liked and wanted to write about. Writing this one, however, was super fun, and gave me a few more ideas I might want to explore in the future!

The song they danced to was All You Need Is Love by the Beatles, which made me realize I need to use more Beatles songs (my next AU is named after a Beatles song, but still). Thanks so much for reading, likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed :)

[winterbuckytho]

Steve & Bucky Go To White Castle

Pairing : Stucky

Wordcount : 3016

Plot : Steve and Bucky now living in a state with completely legal marijuana laws decide to get weird

Warning : NSFW, M|M, Legal recreational drug use, Public Masturbation, Fluff & LOLs

A/N : You already are aware I am a little shit so of course I had to write this.

"So since no one has ever over dosed on the stuff, we apparently can do say double the amount and maybe see some sort of results." Bucky explained to Steve who made dubious faces at the glass object in Bucky's hand.

"Do we smoke all of what's there or..?" Steve asks. It's not that he hasn't because he has smoked it before. Just not a lot of it and not for a long time. With the stuff being entirely legal for medical or recreational use, there was nothing stopping them doing it. What could go wrong?

Bucky had gotten curious after consuming some with his friend from dance class and thought he and Steve could use it in their lives. It had worn off quickly and wasn't too strong since Bucky didn't smoke that much of it. He had told Steve how different even the most basic stimuli was and begged for them to get use and carry licenses but Steve wasn't sure it would work.

He had to drink a lot for even the lightest of buzzes and wasn't sure he wanted to smoke for hours to figure out how much was needed. But after some research he found that if it did no harm in small amounts one could use caution and other methods of consuming it to get it to work at higher doses.

Now curious himself he watched Bucky flick the lighter and inhale. Smoke shot up into the 'spoon' as the budtender had called it and into Bucky's mouth. He exhaled the smoke out over their bed and handed the still lit glass smoking pipe to Steve. The fragrant smoke smelled of citrus like grapefruit and there was something sexy about watching Bucky smoke again. Oh the many times Steve had spent watching Bucky's lips as he smoked wondering what they felt like. Now smoke itself was kinda hot so there was already something pleasant about using marijuana. Steve saw the ember was still lit so pressing the back of the pipe to his lips took a drag. It wasn't what he expected. After having not smoked cigarettes or anything else for so long he found it was not like riding a bike. It had not come back to him that a person can't breath smoke in as densely as they do air. He handed it back with a sputtering cough covering his mouth with the back of his arm. Steve's tongue had a cool numbing sensation like some kind of mint had been in his mouth. he realized his gums and cheeks felt the same.

this was their third experiment with the marijuana flower and having eaten two 50 mg cookies each 4 hours ago they concluded that maybe smoking a little could put them over the edge where they might feel it. But just the one bowl pack. Steve didn't know he liked smoking much anymore now knowing how dangerous frequent smoking really was.

And hadn't finding that out been a kick in the balls? He had once spent all of his money for on cigarettes his doctor swore would have him right as rain after one day of smoking every two to four hours. Steve now understood he had felt better from that because his breathing passages had been coated with a stiff layer of particles that made it seem as if he was having less trouble breathing.

Speaking of...Was there some warm pressure building in his chest?? Steve hadn't felt asthma in a long time but this was a bit different and he thought maybe it was from coughing.

"Oh hey now..." Bucky said "I think I'm getting something. My limbs even the cybernetic one feels...distant." He handed the spoon back to Steve who took it figuring after all the research and purchasing new items it wold be with it to try to do what he could to give it a shot.

Steve took another drag and found it not so bad this time now that he had drawn on it differently. He took several drags and noted that he was starting to feel something. It was more of a mind thing for him. Color and light were beginning to take on dream like qualities he could not explain. "Bucky, do you feel like your sight is changing or something?" he asked.

"Yeah, a little. Hey, if things pan out wanna watch something funny? I've heard people say a laugh you have while effected by reefer feels pretty good. Maybe we could watch the documentary about Thor and his roommate." Bucky was beginning to babble a bit and Steve found himself in a flow of smoking a little then passing it back to Bucky and vice versa. "I think the mental aspect is hitting a little harder. I think I like this. The relaxation thing is doing wonders for me. I can see myself changing one of my seriously bad days into something better. Ooo, I wonder if I can figure out edibles a bit better. I want to put oil in something savory..."

Steve had gone unusually quiet as he examined his own body and mind. The warm feeling in his chest was deepening and he didn't like it. He realized the traffic out side and people playing music was disturbing him. "Uht oh." he breathed handing the glass device back to Buck.

"Babe?" asked Bucky taking the bowl and putting it down on the night table.

"Somethings... not right. I feel like it's hard to breath but not really and all the noise, urgh, I think I'm getting dizzy." Steve said laying down. That made him feel worse so he moaned like a helpless kitten.

"Shit, fuck, shit, ok ok...Everything is gonna be ok, Stevie baby. I know what to do. Sometimes marijuana triggers...fuck oh my God, your lips are blue! But that's ok you're just low of oxygen right now. This is a physical anxiety response and should pass. We just need to get you outside. NAT!!!" Bucky was nervous but he had read about all the possible negative outcomes and knew this one he just hadn't counting on anything going wrong but he had prepared any way. Surprisingly the marijuana was allowing him to keep cooler under the stress, it had that going for it.

As Nat came into the bedroom she saw that Bucky was trying to get Steve on his feet as he explained "Try not to focus on what feels uncomfortable about it, anxiety is a little monster that gets bigger if you feed it your fear. I know that is hard and complicated but just focus on me, baby, look at me. We're gonna go in the car for a ride and if you don't feel better in the next ten minutes we will go to the doctor."

So off the three went down a few floors on the elevator to the car park. Once outside, Steve felt a little better with the cool air. but the smells of vehicles was strong here and he got sick to his stomach. For whatever reason Nat had rented a station wagon to tool around in so quite close to the elevator their ride waited. As Steve doubled over she unlocked the back and pushed something to lay the seat down. Bucky picked up Steve squirreled them both into the back hatch and shut it.

"Uhg, the smell..." Moaned Steve. That warm feeling int the chest was feeling not so good but Steve kept his eyes on Bucky. He was so proud of how far Bucky had come from when he first came home with Steve. Here he is walking Steve through a panic attack the same way Steve does for him when he needs it. And god, isn't he just flat-the-fuck-out gorgeous with that thick head of chestnut hair and those eyes that look like the water in Fiji?? Fucking so beautiful, an angel. Steve's angel.

"It's ok Stevie, you're gonna be ok. Let's just roll the windows down..." Nat had made the streets and Bucky was saying to her, "Ok his lips aren't blue anymore, nut he still looks woozy. I think the air is doing him good."

Nat replied "Wanna take a lap around Goddard Park?" She rolled down all the windows for a few minutes to get the rubber and gasoline smell out then left the back to half up.

"Yeah, he said something about noise maybe somewhere quieter will be good."

Nat was driving very smoothly and at just meeting speed limit through the neighborhood to the state park which was  quite big and she felt if he was unwell still they'd be right by the hospital. I f he felt better there was a white castle they could go to for some drinks.

Steve starting feel more high and less sick wiggled his muscular frame around so he could rest his head on Bucky's lap. "Mmm...Bucky your so good to me. I'm gonna eat you all up...delicious husband..." Steve said trying to share an idea h was too high to say all of.

"Yep bae. That's me, 101 year old tasty thot. How you feeling, babyboy?"

Steve laughed a silly guffaw and said "Ah! Stupid, I feel stupid!!" and began to laugh again. Bucky who had felt nearly sober during the initial complication, how felt kinda hammered and laughed when Steve did. In between his laughing Steve was trying to say "There was a waste bin back there and I thought it was a really short bear till we were almost on top of it!! Promise guys, no one can find out cannabis makes me a fucking dumbass!"

Nat peeped in the rearveiw at them and turned on the radio to a station called 1970s road trip. "Glad your felling better buddy. hey Steve, I've heard a lot of people used to listen to this kind of music while using pot or reefer as you guys call it. Have a listen and I'll take us for drinks an burgers. Later you an tell me what your first impression of this is." she turned it up a little and long groovy riffs began pumping out on the cool leaf smelling breeze.

In quieter tones Bucky said "So you gonna be ok, sweetie?"

Following suit Steve said "Oh yeah. Sure. That thing at the beginning wasn't the worst just unexpected at that moment. Wow, my mouth is so dry!! Bucky I fee so weird but it feels really good. I suspect I'll get great sleep later. All sort of stuff might be nice to experience like this..."

"Yeah, I know. I've never done but I suspect sex under the influence would be fantastic." Bucky sat up and leaned from the front of the car to the back and laid down next to Steve their legs hanging off the back of the seat into the footwell there.

"Hoh, fuuu..."

"What? You ok?"

"You said the word and now I'm having all these sensations...you're not even touching me, what the fuuu-uhn!-..."

Bucky got a clever grin and took off his jacket throwing it over Steve. He slipped his hand underneath and rubbed Stev's nipple between his fingers "Oh? Well, then here, let me..."

"Oh, my god -why'd yo-...fuuuck, that feels so good."

"Relax, chief. I'll take care of you."

Then quietly Steve breathed "But Nat's right there!"

"No, no she's not. She's driving herself to the burger joint and not paying any attention to the other things happening in the car. And we aren't in a back seat we're...laying on the deck of my uncle's boat. See if you lay like this you can watch the trees and sun and clouds go by and feel the breeze... and me." He said as he looked up out the back window. When Steve looked up too he rolled towards Steve and put his right arm under the coat. His hand drifted down o Steve's dick. It was already hard as nails."Ooomph, baby... you don't know how bad I want every inch of you inside me..." Bucky said quietly into Steve's ear as he gently caressed Steve with his palm.

Steve's eyes had gone a bit bloodshot but he otherwise looked fine if not for his almost mesmerized expression. He seemed to remember his endurance though, he breathed in and out in smooth long breaths so as to keep from getting too aroused just yet. Bucky shook his head and slipped his hand down Steve's pants. Steve gasped and rocked his hips up into Bucky's touch. His eyes drifted back from the window to Bucky and as White Room by Cream came on watched Bucky's lips as he mouthed sweet nothings.

Steve perfectly able to make out what he was saying saw him say "...that's it. Ride my hand. Ride these sensations. Ride these melodies. It's ok. Everything will always be ok when we are together. Just look at me, baby... I love you so much. So so much. And I can always feel your love around me, keeping me safe and helping me understand the world again. Thank you for so many things I can't begin to count. If only my hands could say the things I don't know how to word and express to you..."

Quietly Steve began to answer back without noticing it. "Yes, like a current and waves. Darling, that's right. That's our precious secret. Me & You. I love you. I love you like I've never loved anyone ever. And you inside me, you are why I push on, why I never give up, why I never forget what is right, you are in my heart always. Thank you for just you. Thank you more than I can ever say. Yes, just like that, dollface... let your hands do the talking, babe, I understand, I feel...aaah uuhmph!"

Jacket over Steve's lap and hiding the front of Bucky's Steve clutched Bucky's other hand with his own right hand as he stared up and out at the clouds and sky once more. he slipped his left hand down the front of Bucky's jeans and with just a few strokes Bucky was cumming, biting down on his lip he came in total silence his eyelashes fluttering as he did. Bucky was so aroused he was strait up getting more out of giving Steve a hand job ever before. Steve looked back at Bucky, at his eyes which seemed to be shifting like prisms. Bucky looked back unblinking drawing Steve in until he found himself closing his eyes and leaning toward Steve even further resting his forehead on Steve's. They stayed that way for a second and then Bucky was head first under the jacket. When Steve removed his wet hand Bucky began to eat his cum off Steve's fingers. When he was done he somehow got into the footwell and had his head between Steve's legs without it looking like a nearly 300 pound soldier was trying to play hide and seek wrong.

BUcky's hot mouth enveloped him and he was dropped into a world of sensation and sounds. Steve began to whimper and moan as quietly as possible. He struggled to keep his voice low, he felt the sensations swirl through him like a drop of ink in water as his brain processed what Bucky's tongue was doing and the dips and rises on the road the traveled, the percussion on Heartbreaker by Aguaturbia.

With his other hand he lifted and looked down under the jacket to see Bucky. His eyes were closed and he had the same look on his face as he does when he dances: concentration and bliss in equal measurement. He was working in time with the rhythm of the song playing seeming unconsciously. Steve remembered Buck was feeling the high still too. He watched for a very long time. All through Nights In White Satin and Mind Flowers, lyrics sometimes making perfect sense and sometimes quite uniquely mystifying. He thought perhaps he would be unable to cum but the moment came very suddenly and He cried out quite loud having forgotten where he really was.

Bucky's other hand shot up to his mouth covering it as he cried out. Bucky rubbed Steve's belly with the other as Steve regained control of himself, his cries winding down and quieting. Bucky maneuvered out from under the jacket and leaned over Steve kissing him. They were deep slow kissings and were so satisfying Steve kissed back and when Buck began to pull away Steve hooked a finger into the front of his top holding him a second until he settled into the kis once more. It was only when the kiss started to heat up and get noisy did they remember Nat and the fact she might not need to hear that. They parted and cooled their jets while laid together looking up into the sky.

The rest of the ride went by in a slow haze and when the car stopped Steve and Bucky became more lucid though still stoned to hell and back. They got out both blushing like little boys caught red handed. But Nat made as if she had no idea what had taken place in the backseat. Bucky and Steve loved her all the more for it.

They went inside, the two men now feeling everyone who saw them knew them and knew they were high. They began whispering to each other "Please don't kill my vibe..." and "Oh, god, don't say anything funny, I don't know if I can stop myself going on another laughing fit... "

Nat ordered them each a large drink and two burgers. Bucky and Steve wolfed them down. "I need ten more of those. Steve?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah, ditto. They are so tasty even if they aren't that good for you."

Bucky went up to order and came back with twenty burgers stacked neatly on a tray.

"Well, now that this little adventure is done and you guys know a little bit of the experience we have to go back to your place and watch Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle." Said Nat completely deadpan.

@wxnters-amxrica @felixkp @usadisgracee  @bugmenotfailedme@the-surviving-revolutionist kryptonstar18@vivienneblom @world-of-nature @gaywitchboi@sautperilleux@skelekitty42@natcad@babydollbucky@grimmlytimelord@salty9winter9adult@wyntersouljah@buckys-islandgirl@hellyeahbottombucky@propertyofcastiel@devildears@buckysinthesinbin@lady-thor-foster@buckybirbs @spam-ocean@baaaaaaaaaaaarnes@jaded-scorpio@doyouknowme-welliknowyou@bucky-senpai @cry-me-a-fkin-river@love-buckybarnes@marveldcmistress @starstar1012

[casskaykingston]

all the way in

TAGGING → @amytaylcr LOCATION → Cass’s House TIMEFRAME → Sunday, February 2nd

Three days ago Amy thought their fight and the aftermath had gone on for too long. Now, she was adamant on putting a final stop to it. Weeks' worth of introspection and careful consideration had given her more than enough food for thought and she was full of it now, ready to lay her cards out on the table for Cass to see, as well. How much or what would eventually fall from her lips she couldn't say, but she knew enough to understand that silence wasn't an option anymore. The night before he went on his camping trip had been one for the books, their fingertips spelling out tenderness that they felt for one another, love drawing affectionate whispers from their mouths that had last spoken out such harsh truths she was worried the damage could never be undone. But underneath the hurt and the anger that had driven them into the argument, at the heart of their relationship, was a love like she had never thought she'd feel, and realized would do anything to protect, even if it meant protecting it from herself.  

Especially if it meant that. 

Standing by the arrivals gate at the airport, Amy checked the board one more time, an assurance that she hadn't imagined his plane touching down, and shifted on her feet impatiently. There was so much she needed to say, so much they needed to talk about, but above it all, Amy just wanted to see him, to hold him again. This distance was so unlike them, and Amy was ready to go back to how things were, if that was at all possible. Suppose she'd find it out soon enough. Spotting his towering figure come through the automatic doors, Amy stood on the tips of her toes and waved her hand through the air. "Cass!"

It was one of the best vacations he'd ever taken. It hadn't been very long, not to an exotic or extremely fancy location and there had only been one person for company, but it was Matias. His best buddy, sounding board, closest mate. The time in the outdoors with him had been needed and bonding, bring them closer together and helping Cass approach what waited for him at home with more clarity and peace of spirit. Things had been better than they had in the past two weeks the night before he left, her warm sleeping form and quiet breaths the lullaby that had given him his best nights sleep since the last time she'd spent the night on Sunday. He still didn't want to budge, at least not entirely, but he was prepared to give Amy as much leeway as she needed. All the blonde w anted to do was have the subject broached, that was all. All he wanted was his girl, and a future with her. A desire that was never as simple as it seemed.

Disembarking with Matias, their easy camaraderie manifested in little jokes they tossed at each other as they walked through the terminal, carry-on backpacks slung on their shoulders. They stayed together up until bag check when a solid bro hug signaled their impending parting, Harlow waiting for Matias in a slightly different area. Duffel bag slung across him, Cass ruffled a hand through his overly long hair, beard matching and displaying how long it had been since he'd shaved. Clear blues start searching through the waiting family the moment he gets through the doors, intent on looking for one person. The woman who held his entire heart, and who was unfortunately pretty short and hard to spot. That was, until he spotted a waving hand, her eyes and top of her head peeking out of the crowd. "Amelia!" Boomed his deep voice, it's deepness causing the people around Amy to shift, the man who'd spoken  it absolutely beaming, hastening his steps.

Her name sounded over the heads of all the other people present at the arrivals gate, having spotted her petite frame, and a smile spilled across her lips. It hadn't been too long since she last heard it, hadn't been too many times that he called her by her nickname, but every time it happened it was a cut on her heart. For someone who detested the idea of being called as a person they no longer were, Amy had quickly grown used to the syllables of her full name rolling over his tongue in that deep, booming bass. The pace of her step quickened as she gained direction, and it was with her name still echoing through her mind that they finally stood in front of each other. Cass's thick head of hair a little messier than usual, his beard unruly; but the beaming smile on his lips was made all the more prominent with the kisses sun had left on his skin. Unable to control herself, Amy reached up and brushed her fingers against his cheek, hazel eyes tracing the movement her fingers made. "I've missed you," came the simple confession as she looked back up at him, arms coming to loop around his neck in a tight embrace.

The moments between getting in front of each other once more, her fingers touching gently on his grizzled cheek, and her arms wrapping round him are thankfully few, and for the first time in  over 72 hours Cass got to touch his girl again. Her hair, sunny touched and longer than it had been at their remeeting so long ago, brushing her shoulders, is what his face gets buried into. The familiar aroma of her hair products joins the warm comfort of her in his arms and whatever was jittery inside him settled. The longer he was away from her, the more unsettled he got, he supposed. "I've missed you too, baby. So much." The blonde pulls back enough to rub his cheek along hers, pressing his lips to the apple of it. "Hope it's okay I'm a bit scratchy." The light tan he also acquired hides beneath the jacket Wilmingtons weather forced him to don upon their return, but that could wait for later. "Thanks for coming to pick me up."

There was still some hesitation between them as they hugged and he touched her cheek, pressing his mouth to the fullness of it. Any other day and Amy knew that it would be impossible to break a kiss between their lips. Even so, with all that in mind, having him close to her, the familiar scent of his skin and clothes, although buried deep underneath the scents of nature and wilderness, had been enough to ease her worried mind. Whatever was going on, she reminded herself, they would pull through it. A smile stretched her lips wide as she nuzzled her cheek against his in response. "Everything's okay as long as you're not going anywhere else any time soon." To think there was a time mere six months ago when she felt as though she had to─ that she could─ live without him, it would have made her laugh now. "It's my pleasure. Shall we get you home?"

He'd always known he was the affectionate sort in relationships. Romantic - a brush of lips against her hands, an arm around her waist, a touch at the wrist, and platonic - an arm thrown around the shoulder, hugs, secret handshakes, high fives. It was just a part and parcel of how Cass threw himself into everything, body and soul. "The only place I'm going is home with you, baby. Your place or mine, I don't care. As long as you're there too." A chuckle, and he pulls back, throwing an arm around her shoulders and kissing her temple while they walk, heading out of the terminal. "What did you get up to while I was gone?"

Catching Cass up on all that he missed in the few days of his absence─ not that it was long or there had been many things to tell him about─ proved to be enough of a distraction for the ride to his place. It had been on pure instinct that she took the right highway exits that brought her closer to his Murrayville home than her downtown place, but a part of her had to admit that when she thought of home, that was the place she imagined. Not the apartment to which she moved in recent months, although it had been absolutely hers and just the right move. But it still didn't feel like home. The white walls didn't breathe the comfort of a place to which she would always want to go back, not in the way Cass's place did. Then again, it might have had to do with the person who lived there more so than the place itself. And a good night's rest was mandatory after the few he's had sleeping under the stars, which he wouldn't be getting on her mattress again. He would have more likely spent the night putting the bed frame together, in all honesty. 

Pulling up into his driveway, beside his forest green truck, Amy turned the ignition off and unlocked the door to let out Hudson, bouncing on his paws to greet his owner as Cass grabbed the duffel bags from the back of her car. "I think he's missed you, too. He puts my welcome to shame," Amy commented with a loving chuckle as Hudson stood on his hind legs and jumped on Cass in joyful delirium.

Three days hadn't made much happen at home, it seemed, but as the familiar territory sped past the windows and he gazed at her, it felt like a much longer amount of time. Since they'd gotten together, officially, for real, he couldn't be blamed if it that and Hudson had cultured a feeling of home to him. Of course when Cass was away for his thankfully not too frequent business trips he missed Wilmington, his home, his dog, and the family of friends he had found, but Amy had skyrocketed to the top of that list. How could she have not? Amy, who let him call her Amelia and had the most magical laugh in the world. Amy, whose pocket his hand belonged in and whose company he wanted always. Amy, that Cass wanted to come home to for the rest of his life. The smile that he wore for some of that trip was warm, to say the least, happy to be back with his girlfriend. Even if in a lot of ways, like Matias he too was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Hudson! What a good boy, aren't you? I missed you too, buddy." Warm words tumble out in his deep burr as he sweet talks his dog, arms unfortunately busy. "I don't know about that.  He doesn't smell half as good as you, baby." The proper reunion occurs once they're inside and Cass gets to drop is bags in the foyer, taking a knee to scratch Hudson all over. The golden shepherd mix gave happy barks the whole time, tan and dark brown body wriggling all over in excitement, nonsense falling from his mouth as the blonde man baby talked his furry son. After giving Hud some attention, he finally stood up, one hand massaging at his shoulders, a bit sore from the flight and jetlag.  Cass takes a seat on the back of the couch, scratching for a moment at the bottom of his beard with navy blues trained on her. Their agreement to talk when he returned had come to fruition, and he wasn't certain of what to expect. Or if he even wanted to be the one to broach it. Making up his mind, he held a hand out to Amy, a small smile tugging at his full lips. "C'mere, my Amelia."

"Well, at least I have that on him," Amy joked with a playful roll of her eyes as she set the house keys down and made herself at home. It didn't seem like Cass and Hudson would be finished greeting each other any time soon, not with the string of lovable nonsense falling from Cass's mouth, or the tongue lapping out of Hudson's mouth in utter bliss as his owner's fingers scratched behind his ears. She went ahead into the kitchen and put the kettle on for some tea. Turning the heat down, she came out of the kitchen and into the living room where Cass was, right in time to see him rubbing at his shoulders. Making a mental note of that, she slipped her palm into his extended hand, and came close to him, free hand scratching at his beard. "Hi," she said softly, resting her forehead against his. The weight of the conversation they needed to have lay on her chest, but she cherished the moment, the closeness and warmth of his breath on her skin. "I'm making us tea. Do you want to shower first, or?" Or do you want to jump right into the big conversation about our future that I know you're dying to have?

The moment that passes after she offers him the choice seems to stretch into forever, staring into her eyes. There's hesitation in the multishades of brown, gold, and green that shine in Amy's eyes, hesitation and anxiousness and yet an impatience that Cass would be lying if he said that some part of him didn't share. It was strange, to be on the other side of it, to know your partner wanted to talk about something and you weren't sure it was something you wanted to dive straight into, and Cass didn't like it. He tightens his grip on her fingers and turns lips into her hand, kissing her palm, words leaping from his mouth. "Just a brief shower, if that's okay. Haven't been able to use running water in way too long. And I'd love some tea." Coward. An expletive Cass only growled inwardly at himself, that he didn't let show when he stands and rubs at the back of his neck once more. "I'll be quick." The tall man promises, kissing her briefly but softly before he makes his way to his bedroom, holding onto her hand until the last minute. Cass darts a glance back over his shoulder at her before he enters the hall, paired with a slight upturning of his lips that doesn't match the cheek he's chewing on, before he disappears.

It's the most mentally chaotic shower he's had in a while, suds running down his muscular form, lathering his hair and beard as Cass's heart thumps so hard he can feel it all over his body. There is no calm to be found in the luxurious room fitted out just for that, and it's a crying shame. Thoughts about what she would say, if she kept going down the path Cass had stopped her from before leaving, swirled round and round in his head, a cacophony of doubts that keeps him quiet under the fall of water. Even as he finishes, dries his face and body with his fluffy towel, drags on black briefs and matching joggers, it doesn't occur to him that Amy could ever go down the road he so desperately wants. Not after all the times she'd reinforced the fact it would be something she couldn't give him. A t-shirt that was once white but that's enduring enough washings that the butter soft fabric has turned grey is the last thing he pulls on, all the while mentally shoring himself up for their talk.

It must have been a first in their relationship, that Amy wanted to do something, to dive into a moment that would push their relationship from the standstill they were at now, and Cass wasn't eagerly awaiting her there. He had always been the one to instigate change and progress, and she the one to reluctantly follow behind. How strange it was that she held the key to move them further, and he was hesitant to even try the door. Was this what it felt like for him all these times? Unlike Cass who would push for what he wanted, Amy let him come to her when he was ready. They were both aware of the elephant in the room, staring at them, waiting to be acknowledged, but she would not be the one to force anything on him if he wasn't ready for it. As he went to the bathroom to get himself ready, Amy returned to the kitchen in time to take the kettle off the stove and pour the hot water over two bags of tea she had already prepared in each of their matching mugs. Christmas felt a lifetime ago, she realized as she turned the ceramics in her hands, waiting for the quiet of the shower to ensue. It was brief by no means, but Amy figured he had things to think through, as well as a task to complete. Eventually, when she tired of waiting, she took the mugs with her into the bedroom, just as he leaves the bathroom clad in his comfortable, stay at home clothes. "Tea's cool enough to drink," she said, placing it on the nightstand and taking a seat on the bed, the side on which she usually slept when she was over. She patted the mattress beside her, and reached into the drawer for a body lotion she kept there. "Come here. I'll get at those knots in your shoulders that are bothering you."

There is no better present to see waiting on your bed than Amy Taylor, bonus points if she's got tea, and it makes a soft smile curve on Cass's face. Much in the vein of wanting to come home to her, always, is the ability to see her simply around his place. The way it had been more like before she had a real place of her own. Humming in the kitchen, sleeping on his bed, her shoes near his front door and her smile something he could be gifted with around any corner. "You don't have to do that, baby. Though I won't say no." Cass rushes to assure her, because Amy's got some sort of magic in her palms whenever she sets about making sure his back feels better. He sits easily next to her on the bed, but catches her hand before she gets the lotion. "Wait. Before you work on the knots with your hands, let's talk first. It will help a lot with the stress, I promise you. Half your work done before you even have to lay a hand on me." The crooked grin disappears briefly when he collects her other hand and presses both to his mouth, tugging on them a bit so she comes closer. "So."

There were very few things Amy felt she had to do, especially with Cass, but this was never one of them. She took just as much pleasure in removing the tension from his shoulders as he did in rolling them without the stress weighing on them. And to know that something she did actually helped make him feel better, as opposed to the alternative, was always a feeling she wanted to bask in. "You know I want to," she promised, but before she had a chance to go about her mission, her hands were clasped in his bigger palms, and she looked up curiously from the hold he had on her, to the look swirling in his oceanic blues. In an instant, her heart went from its idle, paced beat, to a furious gallop, even though she knew this was coming. Scooting closer to him, one leg folded underneath her on the bed, she faced him better and trapped her lower lip between her teeth. "So," came the echo, uncertainty lacing her voice. How do you start something you knew you had to do but weren't sure you were quite ready to do just yet? "I guess we need to talk, huh? About... everything."

He waits for her to come closer with patience he hadn't seen to have had in any other point in their relationship, the safety of their surroundings working overtime to try and calm them both. Cass wasn't a fan of this feeling, anxiousness with the one person who calmed him more than  anything in the world, and he looks forward even more to the relief that will come after they talk. No matter what compromise the two of them come to, he has to believe it's in their future. One hand drops from their palms to fall on her thigh, and when he squeezes it is isn't from a standpoint of desire but of comfort. That they could get through this, and it was going to be okay. "Yeah. We do. Amelia, if I'm pushing too far just say the word, because I never want to make you feel that way. Or afraid of me, ever. But...are you open to have a conversation about it?" Cass is still afraid to say the word kids to Amy, unsure if it was a good move, but he keeps the assurance in his hand on her leg, blue eyes steady on her hazel.

Blueberries, the word flitted through her mind, an allusion to the safe word they’ve had on an occasion so far removed from where they were right now. An occasion that was framed in so much trust that was present now, too, but overshadowed with many of the worries that have infected the past couple of weeks. His words came as a reminder of the current that still lay underneath it all, strong and undeniable, and a small smile flirted with the corners of her lips as she lay a hand on top of his that held her thigh. “Blueberries,” she voiced the sentiment. Tension still gripped her shoulders tightly, but diminished somewhat as the topic was finally broached. The suspense of ‘we need to talk’ finally weakening its hold on her twisted insides. Instead, a flutter of winged things, bats or butterflies she wasn’t sure, took flight through the liberated parts. “I know. And I wish I could react in a way that’s different from shutting you down entirely when I panic. But... yes, I think I can talk about it now.” Now that I’ve had weeks to consider it, and a taste of a life without you in it as much as I’d like.

A callback to the night they'd spent after the winter gala, silk whispering against her skin and cries that he could still call to mind at a moments notice. Though they had still been at the stage wherein she hadn't said those eight letters to them, she'd shown him that night that her trust in him was something that couldn't be denied. Before Amy could tell him how she felt about him romantically, she'd told him that, a confession that tasted of the sea she'd so loved and followed with their first but far from last evening beach walk. Cass doesn't directly respond to it, more with a warm smile, her hand atop his anchoring them both. He gets a handle on the relief, knowing they were only halfway to the finish line. the hardest part was next. "Okay. That's step one. Step two is, you know I want kids. And you know I want you. Can I entertain the idea the idea that two can be had together? I'm not saying now. I'm saying at some point, maybe, before the clock runs out on our biology, could you see us having kids?"

Even if he hadn't told her as much when they were just getting to know each other, Amy would have no doubts about the future Cass wanted for himself. He was a family man, and that was clear in the way he carried himself, in the decisions he made, and the way he treated the people around him, especially his close friends and employees. Amy might have been that way once upon a time, something buried deep in her psyche that was only now blooming after the fifteen years long winter of her life, but she was still miles away from where Cass was, even if she was doing her mighty best to play catch up. A year ago, if asked, Amy would have shaken her head no at the idea of bringing children into the world. Some six months ago she discouraged it to the man sitting next to her now. But that night? Two weeks after she had screamed a firm, unmoving no, second thoughts have shaken up her core beliefs. "I know that," she nodded her head, her fingers slipping between his, her gaze glued to the movement. "Before I answer that, before I fully entertain the idea of that future, which I'm not saying I haven't thought of, but..." She trailed off, losing sight of the point she wanted to make. She drew in a breath, finding once more the course of her thoughts. "I know you felt as if in my fears I've excluded you from the life we'd have with these kids we'd hypothetically have, but Cass... I don't know if you can be as good a father as I can be a bad mother. And I don't know how to put that on the kids we'd have someday. Hypothetically."

It seemed he had had this conversation with everyone important to him but her. Of course, that was probably directly related to their argument about it and sought out advice, but it was still odd. As his girlfriend, and the closest person to him bar none, Cass told Amy everything first (with the exception of things he knew would freak her out). Their fingers lace together in the pause after his words, and he uses it as his own anchor, a support for the two of them through what wasn't a light subject. The fact that she'd at least thought about it, that it had occurred to her enough to have a feeling about it, was something he clung to with hope. Hope that morphed into incredulous frustration when Amy reiterates her belief that she wouldn't be a good mother. An idea that flabbergasted him on every level, and had him shaking his head immediately afterwards. "Amelia. Please listen to me. There isn't a universe in existence where you'd be a bad mother. You have so much love, love that you'd given me, your family, your friends. You take care of me when I need it, you're strong when I can't be, you don't compromise your beliefs but that doesn't mean you shut others out. You have all the ingredients a person would ever need to be a good mom." There is belief in every single one of his words, conviction that goes to his core, and it communicates in his voice and earnest gaze. Cass squeezes their conjoined hands, one hand coming up to cup Amy's cheek. "Hypothetically, as you said, I'm terrified that I could share any of my dads attributes if I get gifted with a child in the future. At the same time, I know that its that fear that will help keep me on the path of the kind of father I want to be. You know...metaphorically." He ends with a slight smile.

Amy heard him and indulged his request. She listened as he spoke, heard the iron-clad conviction and belief behind every word of assurance he told her, and the faith he had in her sparked some dead part of her heart. Minute and irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, but a part of her nonetheless. The voices and worms of doubt still gnawed at her, impossible to silence even when his words rang so loudly in the small space between them, and Amy squeezed his hand, but her head shook from side to side. "I... That's all when I'm clean and I'm sober. What happens i-when I fall off the wagon? When my need for a fix becomes greater than anything else? What happens if I pass on my weaknesses to an undeserving child?" The certainty with which she proclaimed such turn of events would have been chilling to someone else, but Amy had been on the path of recovery a number of times before and not once did it stick. Not even when it seemed liked it had. So why should this time be any different when she was no stronger resisting her urges now than she had been before? She was just... lucky so far. Wasn't she? The hand on her cheek forced her to look up and meet his gaze, the warmth in his blue eyes a surprise in the cool of its oceanic allusions. "You're never gonna be anything like your father. No matter what happens or where you end up, that's the one thing that's never going to change."

This was his girl. Big hearted and second chancing it and hard headed with the best of them. Amy's lack of belief in herself and what she was deserving of, was capable of, baffled him still. Cass didn't know where she'd gotten it from, where along the line she'd stopped putting faith in herself, but he'd push against that train as much as he could for her, whenever she'd let him. Her head shake is expected, if unhappily so, and more of Amy's fears make it to light. Painting a picture of a future that Cass was utterly convinced would not happen. It might not have been as many months as it could've been between them, but their bond was forged tightly. He knew her. And Cass believed in her, whenever Amy wouldn't. Dropped eyes are made to meet his, unsurety seen in them, that pretty mouth telling him that in no reality would his greatest fear take place. "Thank you believing in me like that. Let me do that for you too. Baby..." Cass moves his hand to her chin to capture it and tilt her mouth towards his own so he can lay one kiss on her. Okay, maybe two. Sue him if Amy's taste wasn't something he'd ever stop craving. It's after those that he gets control of himself and pulls back a bit, faces still close as Cass gazed into her eyes.

"There is no when you fall of the wagon, baby. There's barely an if. If you ever start to feel like that again, you've got a support system to help you fight through it. You have me, your family, your therapist, all your friends that love you. I'm confident you'd conquer it." He taps her chin for a second with his thumb before he removed his hand from her face entirely, twining back with hers. "There's no other partner that I've wanted kids with, ever. Cross my heart, other than you." And Cass was telling the truth. Even when he felt his deepest love for Kiera he'd ignored any of the fatherly longings that were full fledged now, never picturing offspring. Amy was the only one he'd thought of in that way. "Tell me this. Would you want kids with me as the father? I understand the hesitancy there. They might come out wearing Stetsons and converses and twice as hardheaded as me." It was another of the important questions Cass had wanted to ask, half sure of the answer but wanting it all the same. Wrapped in a joke, it highlighted one of the man's most premiere personality traits, his striving to lighten moments with a bit of a smile.

Amy was one of the many people who tended to see the best in others, to believe in them even in the darkest times, and she was willing to hand out as many second chances as necessary, so long as they proved they wanted to change whatever the issue had been. Ironically so, however, she was so generous giving those out that she had none left for herself. She was her own hardest critic, greatest adversary, the one who nagged at herself about all her flaws and all her mistakes. The voice could sometimes be drowned by the people in her life telling her otherwise, but that was not always the case. There hadn't always been people around to do that for her─ by her own design. Cass had picked up the mantle of her advocate, fighting tooth and nail against these convictions she's kept of herself for the past fifteen years, but no matter how booming his deep timbre, still waters do run deep and it wasn't always enough.

She leaned into his touch, into the pressure of his lips on her own. Lids slid over her eyes like shutters, and stayed that way as he began talking again. She loved him, she appreciated everything he did for her, but this was not something he knew firsthand. "You don't know any of that. It's a constant battle. Some days it's easier to fight, other days it feels impossible. And you're not always going to be around. What if it happens when I'm pregnant?" A chill went down her spine, spreading through her bloodstream. She would ruin the child before she ever gave it a fighting chance, more so than just making them susceptible to addictions. The admission she came higher than Kiera in his ideas and plans for the future warmed her heart, but she couldn't tell him the same, he knew that much wasn't the truth. She hadn't thought about kids in detail when she was mere seventeen years old, but she knew there would come a time when Brooks and her would have them. Well, would have come if he hadn't died. And that was when she changed her mind about the idea of them. If she couldn't have his children, she'd have nobody's. Children, love, happiness. Life. Those were all things she renounced with his death, but had slowly been reclaiming with Cass. Were children the next step in the right direction? Or were they a roadblock to happiness? A scoff pushed through her nostrils, and a faint smile tugged at her lips. "As long as they don't come out humming Kenny Chesney, I'm okay with the Stetsons and converses," she teased right back, fingers curling around his own.

Hazel eyes met the oceanic ones once more, letting the silence settle around them before she answered. "I wouldn't want anyone else to be the father of my children. That's not what I'm hesitant about, because I know those would be the luckiest, happiest kids in the world having you as their dad. And I'd be the luckiest, happiest woman having you bring them up with me in whatever capacity the future brings." Though she certainly hoped that a future scenario of that sort meant they were bonded for life with more than just promises made to each other, but that might be a conversation for another night. "Please don't take that as me doubting us─ I'm only ever doubting myself."

Amy wasn't wrong. The closest thing Cass had to compare to the poisonous love song of pills were the years he spent shamefully addicted to the power started to feel standing over another as the victor with their blood on your hands, one of the most Earth shattering signs to him that he needed to escape the lifestyle. He was under no sort of impression that the things could compare, the same Amy would never truly get the complications of his relationship with C.K. and how low it had (less so, recently) brought him over the years. He nuzzles her when she voices her quiet fears, the vulnerability in them pressing on his ribs cage. Why couldn't his girl put faith in herself? She was stronger than she knew. "No, I might not be around 24/7, but you are more than capable of taking care of it by yourself. Baby," he keeps her chin in his hand, trying to help the closeness communicate his earnestness, Cass's unshakeable belief in her that he was trying to share. "When you're pregnant, you'll have cravings and swollen feet and a round tummy with our baby in it. Your mama bear, which, don't  tell me you don't have because I've seen it several times, will kick in, I'm sure of it. You'll know what to do. What you have in here," and it's there that Cass let's go of her chin, pressing his palm above her heart. "Is more than capable of being an amazing mother. Kenny Chesney? If anything it'll be Johnny Cash. Gotta teach em the classics." The boyish grin comes out hesitantly to play, mercury quick, and in the back of his head Cass dazedly can't believe they're here. Actually joking about hypothetical kids. An impossibility not three weeks ago.

The sheer knowledge that Amy thought of him so highly, would only want him to be the father of her kids, mixed with the smug and happy feeling in his heart the moment it left Amys lips. Take that Cass thinks proudly at not particular person, insanely pleased with the fact. Perhaps a ridiculous sentiment, and their relationship status sort of dictated such a thing, but each thing he got from her was a victory in the eldest Kingston book. That alone makes him want to interrupt her with a kiss, the only thing stopping Cass being the words that continued to spill from her mouth. "There is no possible way you could be happier than me. I know you doubt yourself, but baby you don't see yourself the way I see you. Do you know who I'm dating? Who I'm love with?" Cass's last two questions are more like crooned demands placing both hands on her thighs to tug her forward so she's in his lap instead. The contact, he'd decided, was needed. Each thing he said following was punctuated with tiny kisses. "I'm dating Amelia Taylor. The smartest," Kiss to the forehead. "Most kind-hearted," One to her cheek. "Sexiest," one to her mouth, a little longer. "Strongest." To her jaw. "Jaw dropping gorgeous, endearingly flawed, owner of the cutest smile in the world. I know. That if she gave it a shot, at some point, Amelia Taylor would be a great mother to boot." And wife. And life partner. Things that to him were understood, to her not so.

When you're pregnant. The hypothetic scenario hadn't lasted very long, but Amy found herself somewhat at peace with the word choice. Sure, there was a part of her that roared in protest, slammed a metaphorical hand against the metaphorical table and argued they had not reached the when point. They were still at the if station, a fork in the road that could lead down two very different paths. But over the weeks that they had spent in quiet, simmering anger and disappointment, Amy had opened the door to the idea and realized it wouldn't be as bad as she thought. How was having children with another man any greater a betrayal than loving that man in the first place? And if she no longer saw it as that, if she came to understand Brooks would want this happiness for her, it followed the same thread of logic to believe he'd want her to have children, too. That issue was resolved soon enough, but the other, far greater monster still lingered, no longer obscured by shadows, baring its sharp teeth dripping with poison. Could she ever be a good enough mother? Could she ever do those innocent beings right by giving them birth into the mess of her life, involving them inextricably with all her flaws and mistakes? Her gaze dropped to his hand resting in the middle of her chest, right above the heart, and she worried her lower lip between her teeth. "I hope you're right," she said unconvincingly, not quite believing it all to the same level Cass did. After all, he didn't get to live inside her head every day of every year of her entire life─ an exhausting, hellish place if there ever was one. "I can let Johnny Cash slide." 

Cass pulled her into his lap, her legs on each side of him as he forced her to face him, for once nothing sexual about their proximity and position. Idle hands lay in her lap, between their bodies, and Amy listened to the list of ways Cass saw her in. Superlatives and compliments raining down upon her head bowed in modesty. No, she didn't see herself the way he did. She probably never would─ and for that matter, no one else would, either. Arguments and contradictions to everything he told her burned on her tongue, white hot and heavy, and it was with all the power of will in her being that she reined them. He showered her in kisses, along with the compliments, and after the second one, Amy held her eyes closed and tried to listen to him, to hear what he was saying. To see the picture he was painting. But all that took shape behind her eyelids looked nothing like the reflection that stared at her from the mirror. "I don't buy all that for a second," she shook her head, laying her dainty fingers against the thick cover of his beard, foreheads pressed together. "But I love that you see me that way and I hope to God I'm wrong and you're right. For once I'd be okay with that."

He was at a loss for once, but the frustration that filled all over six inches of him was not new to him. As someone who was always the first to put himself between those he loved and anything that hurt him, it chafed at him that he couldn't protect Amy from her harshest critic - herself. Of course it was an impossibility, he could no longer keep the voices in her head from whispering lies than she could keep him from the insecurities he felt to his core as well, but Cass couldn't help wanting to do it. Couldn't help wanting to fill her life with as much happiness as he could. "Good." Having her in his lap felt right, the same way it did each time, even when Cass knew his words weren't reaching her. He wished that by pressing her forehead into his he could communicate it to her, convince her of it too, but that was a dream. One that he hoped to acheive one day, if not today. "I know I'm right, even if you don't.  I'm glad you're okay with it. Because one day you're going to believe it too." He turns his head to press his lips to her hand, the touch of it on his beard intimately familiar to him. "At the end of the day..." Royal blues seek out hers, pulling back for a moment so that the muscular man could fully watch her face, for once calm. "Do you want kids with me?"

Want. An entirely different world to being open to the idea of kids, which was where they had started. But to want kids with Cass meant she wanted kids on her own, too, as this wasn’t something she could in good conscience just do for him. And did she? That was the tricky part. His whiskered mouth scratch against her hand as he lay a kiss to it, and when he looked into her eyes, searching for an answer, she bit down on her lip in thought. What should have been a resounding yes to any other girl was a hesitant maybe to Amy and she didn’t know how to say it without breaking his heart. “I can’t say anything about wanting them, but... with you by my side it’s... not out of the question.” Would that suffice?

It wasn't a no. At the end of the day, thats what he grasped onto, the hope that all was maybe not lost. That she understood that their bodies had a ticking time clock, that their deadline was coming up sooner than it was later, and Cass wanted a kid. One that he'd had a hand in making, that would grow in her. No one else. He knew that this was just the newest in his requests for things that Amy had buried with Brooks, locked her heart to it and thrown away the key long before he came back into the picture. Cass's nudging is what brought him here, his continued want to steal more of her possible future from the hands of a dead man, but he doesn't regret any of it. Look at what it had brought him, heartaches, and all? Time had taught him hesitancy, still knowing she could pull too far away for him to get to her, and under the calmness he's pulled taught as a bow. "Can I take that as not a no? As a, maybe we can reconsider it at another time?" Still not a yes, but it was something he could live with.

Perhaps it felt too soon to someone else to talk about children not even six months into a relationship, but that someone else wasn’t either of the people in said relationship. The turbulences they’ve gone through, all that they’ve overcome stood as a reminder of how committed they were to making it work, how much love there was between them that couldn’t be measured in the time past but the changes and growth willing to be made. And Amy had not changed her ways for just anyone. From the very beginning of their relationship, as far back as that first encounter by the fence, there had been a different energy about them, a giddy excitement no other man had given her. The kind she didn’t expect to feel ever again, and Cass had breathed fire back into her cold, dead heart. If she were to ever change her mind about what the future brought, those ultimate commitments and devotion that came with marriage and children, it would be for him. For Cass who loved her, flaws and all. Who fought for her when she pushed him so far away. Who had more understanding in his little finger than most people did in their entire bodies. That was who Amy could see fathering the children the future might bring someday, even if it wasn’t something she wrapped her mind around entirely. That would come, she imagined, aided by the feeling deep in her soul that Cass was the one— the one she would love, cherish, and care for for the rest of her life. That knowledge, however, she would keep safely tucked away in the hidden chambers of her heart for at least a little while longer. One step forward was all Amy could give him that night— especially when it was more a leap than a step.

Laying her hands on the sides of his face, the bearded cheeks and the chiseled jawline, Amy nodded her head and leaned in to kiss him. “It’s not a no. It’s a tentative yes to opening those doors again to more than the conversation. But if you let me, I would like to open it all up again when I feel ready. Is that okay?”

Two not a no's. Cass had already been luckier than he'd ever expected going into this conversation, her toned thighs on either side of him as he asked the impossible of her. He did it quite often, this giant golden cowboy and businessman who loved her, asking her for the stars. Pushing her beyond boundaries he was sure Amy had long since stopped thinking would even be touched by another, pressing against walls she'd had up for longer than they'd even known each other as teenagers and trying to get her to open her eyes to a future she buried with her boy so long ago. Now she cradled the face of her man, Cassidy, his lips pressing against hers as his arms held close the woman he wanted to have at his side, always. As far as he was concerned, Amelia Taylor was a necessary and required ingredient for a happy life, and it would always be the case. Even when she frustrated the hell outta him. When they were fighting or fucking or just freely with each other, enjoying simplest pleasure of each other's company. He wanted Amy. And Cass was getting as close to a yes as he was going to for now, though it was flirting with the proximity of it enough to bring him satisfaction for now. Besides - relationships we're compromises, right? "It's completely okay." He tells her after their kiss, keeping his growly tenor low as he presses his lips to her nose. "I'm content to pass you the baton on this one. Thank you for the tentative yes you were able to give." Cass gives her a pull and a twist and gets them further onto the bed, a knee pressing onto his comforter as he dips a whiskered chin and kisses her once more. "Seriously, baby. Thank you."

As he pulled her up higher against him and turned her around, Amy’s back fell against the mattress softly, with a slight bounce and a smile ghosting on her lips. The hardest of the conversation was over, she thought, their fight one that they had successfully resolved, even if it took them far longer than any other before. The days, weeks even, spent apart from him were not easy by any means. Every time she caught herself wishing to tell him something, she stopped and tucked her phone back into her pocket, wondering if they were there yet. With the conversation had, her allowances and promises given, Amy hoped that this would be it for a while, that their next torrent of worries and barbed words would be halted far away from them as they enjoyed each other and caught up on all they’ve missed. “No,” she shook her head against the comforter and reached up to scratch against his chin, trace the hard set of his jaws, the seam of his lips. “Thank you. For being patient and kind and loving me. Anyone else would have been out the door by now. I love you.”

Her fingertips touch his face with the care and affection that only a lover could give, the bushy face smiling down at her, framed a bit by warm light of his bedside lamps. This is what Cass always wanted, in the grand scheme of things, Amy in his home, in his bed, being the best thing in Cass's world and his favorite thing about leaving work to go see. For all their issues, the parts of their relationship that felt like 'red light green light's and when they stopped, he always had to look behind him to see where she stood, Cass loved her. Adored the way the liked to tease him and constantly poke the bear, searching for a reaction the deep well of kindness that sparkled in her hazel orbs and how firmly she took her stance on things, even if it frustrated the everlasting hell out of him. Loved the way she said his name and called him honey, the way she showed him how she felt with her lips even before she could express it and even now. He'd meant what he'd almost texted that night almost twenty four hours after her apartment had been left with shouting words and slamming doors, the words coming back to Cass as he nuzzled Amy on the bed, lacing their hands together. How could she think he could ever leave? Amy had too much of him. His heart, his soul, at the whim of her small hands and that dimpled smile. Who knew? "Anyone else isn't me. You are worth all of it, Amelia. I told you that back then, remember? Meant it then, meant it now. I love you too." My always for your forever. Rolling over, Cass likes on the bed next to her, hands still intertwined as his blue eyes raise to the wood ceiling, itching to bring something else up now that their biggest issue was now over. "Can I ask you something else? It's not above moving forward, it's actually about something that already happened."

Cass had told her that many times, and he would probably have to do it many more. The stubborn parts of her so obstinate and out of touch with reality that she could never quite come around to how Cass saw her, what he thought about her. A day might come when that image was less of a blurry outline, but for now his eyes would have to be the ones she used to tap her way through the dark. Her guiding force, the light she kept moving to. A smile stretched across her full lips, and her hand squeezed his more tightly as he lay on the bed beside her. The quiet of the aftermath settled around them, and Amy’s lids slid over the hazel of her eyes giving her a short lived moment of peace. Cass’s voice had her peering through one eye, then looking at him, alert and present in the moment. She shifted a little on the bed, cuddled into his open arms, and looked up to his face. “What is it?”

Even with the burning question dancing on the tip of his tongue, for a moment Cass is lost in the fantasy that her allowance gave permission to grow in his head. He had not so long since decided she was going to be the one for him; why would Cass look for anyone else when she was standing there in front of him? Dimpling, kissing, holding his hand on taking on the world with him. Amy made him feel lighter in a way he hadn't felt in untold years, and he was rock solid confident she would always inspire that in him. He looked forward to years they were going to spend together, and they were going to be years. Her permission to bring up kids at some point was the last green light Cass needed to start picturing their future together, one including an aisle and her walking down it. She settles into his side naturally, a comfort of behavior the two of them fell into awfully fast, and his left hand slipping under her shirt to stroke her tummy, his right drawing rough skinned fingers through her hair from the root, rhythmic and steady. "Sometimes I can't help but wonder what you were thinking that first night I said I love you. And...it's dumb, of course, but some part of me feels like whenever you say it, it's just because you're afraid to lose me." And not because you actually feel that way. Not fully.

In light of everything that had happened, all the turmoil they had been through, the tensions that had clouded their times together, Amy thought it was finally time to breathe easy as she snuggled into his embrace, her single most favorite place in the entire world. The warmth of his body so close to hers, the comfort his fingertips inspired as they danced through her hair and ghosted over her skin, it all worked towards easing the stress their relationship had endured over the course of the past few weeks. But it was a tentative, fragile kind of comfort that shattered like glass the moment the words rolled off his tongue. Incapable of keeping herself in spot, Amy was jolted upright into a sitting position, looking down at the man she loved, the man she had given every bit of her heart that she could at every possible turn, and listened to him question her love for him. "Cass," the whisper came full of disbelief, even hurt lingering there somewhere. After all this, was he really questioning her? "I was thinking about how I wished I could say it, because I've felt it, I've known it, but they're not words I throw around lightly. I couldn't say it back then, and I know it took me a while to get there, but I've only ever said that to Brooks before, no one else. It wasn't because I didn't feel it, it was because I needed time for my heart and my mind to get on the same page." It was as much an explanation for Cass as it was a defense of herself, shaking her head at the unspoken, underlying statement of it all.

"That's not it. I am afraid to lose you, but I don't use that as a bargaining chip. I'll love you whether you're mine or not, it's not something I can change, but I don't mean to tie you to myself by saying it. I only mean to tell you how much I care about you when I say it, how much of my heart you have and it's all of it, Cass." She took his hand, the great, rough palm, and splayed it on her chest where her heart beat steadily despite the tension that coiled her insides like a snake. "I love you with every beat of it, even when I don't say it, whether I'm afraid or not."

Through some miracle, his heart stays in the cage of his ribs even as the question leaves his lips.  Though Cass means what he says, that niggling doubt that wouldn't leave his mind during his weakest moments, when his fathers words permeated what he knew was true and planted doubts he'd always just managed to dispel. Somewhere in his core, the thirty two year old man knew that Amy's devotion and commitment to him was no small feat. His girl had been traumatized, irrecoverably changed by losing the love she wanted to spend the rest of her days with.  He believed her when she told him she'd never been with a man longer than a night after Brooks, could tell by the stubborn ways her walls refused to come down, the terror that still lived there. Cass had seen it that night she'd flung herself bodily in his soot covered arms, her first confession of love a torrent of emotion from what he'd believed to be a terrified place. The hurt in Amy's eyes and tone is the first reaction he registers, and it makes him push himself up onto muscular forearms, still reclined, blue eyes unsure if they should stay vulnerable or go guarded.  "You did?" They're a lighter rumble than he was expecting to come from himself, and he hates the tone of it. Wishes it didn't betray his emotions so often.

And then, as blue and hazel meet and Amy keeps talking, he can't stop the wonder that crosses his face.  Yes, it still killed him the smallest bit that she was afraid to lose him, to whatever cruel twist of fate might snatch him from her arms (he'd already told her she had too much of him he was never letting her go if he could help it - ), but what she said afterward? Felled him. Quietly and without much fanfare, but just cemented even more Cass's adoration of her. He never though another person would care about him to that depth, much less Amy. Amelia who had her loss tattooed on her body and her soul with loyalty twined within it, whose personal ghost she'd shackled herself to.  Amelia, who'd made so much progress since them. Amelia, who called him her boyfriend, who took care of their dog and supported him, championed him in a way no one else ever truly had. Who made him feel like he wasn't just a good man, but a great one, the kind that she made Cass want to be. Who, on his bed, in this home he'd built with his hands that was only complete with Amy in it, confessed to him that her love was not an occasional thing. It was an always thing, spoken with enough conviction that Cass, in that moment, truly believed her, heavy palms absorbing the beats of her heart into himself.  "Amelia. You're not going to lose me. You're never going to lose me. I'm never going to lose you." Genuine distress constricts his heart, that thing in his chest that beat for her only, and he expresses it with a hard, impassioned kiss, one hand at the back of her head.  I'll love you whether you're mine or not. "You know that I feel the same way too, right? All of me that I have is in love with you. There isn't one part of it that doesn't want you forever."

It was a question that followed her confession, and Amy's chest tightened, shrunk in on itself. Had she done such a bad job at being his girlfriend, at showing him just how much she loved him, simply because she hadn't said it as much or as soon as he did? In her eyes it did nothing to diminish the expanse of her affection, but perhaps Cass saw it in different ways, the scars he carried from his family and his childhood marring him even now. Always, probably. Thinking about it, the jigsaw pieces falling into place, it dawned on her that what she thought was a given implicitly, he needed to have spelled out otherwise he wouldn't believe it. Courtesy of the emotionally and verbally abusive father that C.K. had been to his only son. Whatever hurt she may have felt for having her ardor questioned, it subsided, sizzled out as it occurred to her that it might not have been about her after all. "Honey," she whispered, reaching over to run her fingers along his cheek, tender and caring. "I've been in love with you longer than either of us has known. I have a feeling I always will be," she admitted, a fleeting smile curving her lips as she said it out loud for the first time, both to him and herself. Cass sat upright and planted a kiss to her lips, searing and full of promise that, coupled with what he said, quietened the rational parts of her heart. These were the promises he couldn't keep hard as he might try, promises she knew neither of them had any control over, but she did not want to question him, not even for a single moment. Instead, for maybe the third time in her life, she threw all caution to the wind and nodded her head. She would believe him, that night if no other, that he would always be by her side. Hers to call. Her gentle fingers cradled the side of his face in her small palm, and her eyes closed over, the scent of him all she ever wanted to breathe in, his warmth the only sun she'd ever need. "I know. I've never doubted you for a single moment. And I hope you'll doubt me less from now on."

[texanpeanut]

Lyra

Before I left home for Peace Corps Senegal, I spent a lot of time saying goodbyes. I said goodbye to friends from school, friends from home, and my family, thinking I was done with goodbyes for a while.

As it turns out, I've had to say a lot of goodbyes here, too. At the end of pre-service training you say goodbye to your fellow trainees, older volunteers go through close-of-service, some of your friends terminate their service early or go home for medical reasons, and some people have to switch sites for various reasons. They're always hard for me. It's not the kind of thing that gets easier over time. I haven't gotten used to the feeling of seeing someone you got so close with leave so quickly.

A week ago I had to say my hardest goodbye yet. Not to another volunteer, but to my dog. She was an amazing companion and I don't think her loss can go without saying anything, so I'd like to share her story, our story, here.

She first came into my life December 31, 2017. I was spending time inside my hut with some of the kids in my village when all of a sudden a boy runs inside and tells everyone "the dog came back!" The rest of the kids run outside immediately and when I go outside to see what's going on, I find them all throwing rocks at a tiny puppy, cowering against the fence of our compound. Naturally I'm outraged, yell at the kids to stop, and scoop her up in my arms. I had no idea what to do. I decided to take her back to my hut, give her some water and peanut butter, and let her rest while I figured out the next step. I called and texted some other volunteers and asked my family about it, and decided I would let her stay overnight then see what I would do in the morning. In the morning there was no going back. She had stolen my heart and I gave her a name - Lyra. I had just finished His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman and was in love with the story, so it was the first name that came to mind.

Lyra and my host-nephew, Bailo, on the day I found her. 

Lyra turned out to live up to her namesake. She was full of energy, super spunky and bitey, and would not let anyone boss her around. She was pretty easy to take care of, though. She loved to snuggle and followed me everywhere, and was always receptive to meeting new people and dogs. She was my running buddy, my roommate, my fur-child, my sweet baby. I poured so much love into her. She was my favorite thing about site - even when I was having the worst of days I was happy to be in village because that's where Lyra was.

When she was a puppy she used to curl up in my lap and fall asleep immediately.

Our first selfie. 

Sweet potato nap time :) 

One of the weirder things she brought back to my hut. 

We had a great time together for about nine months, then things started to go downhill. After several months of trying to set a date with the veterinarian in Kedougou to get her spayed, it finally happened September 25, 2018. The surgery seemed to go okay at first. She was pretty groggy afterward, but perked up the next day. I could tell she was still in a bit of pain but figured that was normal post-operation. We rested in Kedougou for a few nights, then traveled back to site together.

I had only been back at site for two nights, then on Sunday morning September 30th, shit hit the fan. I had slept in and was eating breakfast and watching a movie on my laptop when I looked over at my bed and saw a lot of blood coming from Lyra's stitches. I freaked out and tried to help her, tried to keep her from licking it, but every time I touched her I was met with growling and snapping. So I quickly got dressed, opened the door to my hut in case I needed help, then called another dog-owning volunteer for advice. While I was on the phone, Lyra got up and left my hut to go walk around. The other volunteer and I decided that if she was up and walking she was probably fine - I just needed to go get her and make sure everything was clean. So I hung up, finished getting ready for the day then set off to go find her.

I left our compound and looked around in the cornfields out front but didn't see her, so I came back and told my host family I was looking for her then went to go sit in my hut for a little bit in case she came back on her own. About 5 or 10 minutes ticked by before I got anxious and decided to go look again. This time I walked behind our compound and found her lying in the tall grass.

From afar I could tell there was a lot of blood, and as I got closer I saw that her stitches had come completely undone and her intestines were spilling out of her body. She was still alive at this point, but I was panicking, and ran to go get my host dad. He was not very helpful and told me to stop crying (which wasn't really an option for me at this point). So I frantically called a couple other volunteers trying to figure out what to do, and they convinced me to bring her back into Kedougou. I was scared the journey into Kedougou would make things worse, but they helped me realize it was basically the only option. My site mate called someone from my road town to come pick us up from village, and then we paid for an entire car to get us to Kedougou as quickly as possible. My sitemate sat in the back with her and held her down, because every time I tried to comfort her or keep her from moving around she would bite me. At one point she bit my hand so hard I thought she broke it.

We got her to the vet around 6:00 PM and sat outside with another volunteer while the vet operated on her. About an hour later he was done, and she looked how she did at the end of the spaying operation. Sewed up and groggy. Somehow he had put her intestines back inside of her, and I thought everything was going to be okay.

We walked her over to the house where we were met by other volunteers and were all hanging out together while she rested. Not long after we laid her on the ground, she started throwing up blood. A scary site, but we got her to drink some water and cleaned her up a little and again, I thought it was going to be okay. I went to go take a shower, came back, and relaxed for a little while with everyone else.

Eventually I looked down at her and noticed her chest wasn't rising and falling anymore. We gathered around her and felt her heartbeat for a few more minutes. She twitched a couple times, and then there was no more heartbeat.

It was the worst day. After a day of experiencing the whole range of human emotion, I was left heartbroken. I called my mom on the phone and cried so much I think I used up all the water in my body. I had made so many plans in my head for us. We were gonna go back to America together. We were gonna ride around in my car together. I was gonna take her to the dog park. We were gonna hike the Appalachian Trail together. She was gonna go with me to grad school. She was supposed to be my companion. And then it all ended.

The one good thing about this whole horrific experience was the support I got from the other volunteers in my region, and other volunteers who reached out to me over the phone. Maura and Cason helped me get her to Kedougou, Dustin met us at the vet, and Paige, Chase, Archie, and Ellen helped me say goodbye to her the next morning by helping me have a burial for her.

I wish none of it happened. I wish she was sitting next to me as I type this with her head in my lap. I wish she was here to go running with. I wish I could still pick her up by the armpits and dance with her, like we used to do in my hut. I'm grateful for the times we were able to spend together and the short life I was able to give her, and I'm sorry the end of it was spent in so much pain. However I felt like I did everything I could to help her, and I'm glad she won't hurt anymore.

Doing what she loved most - eating peanut butter. I hope there’s lots of peanut butter in dog heaven. 

Her first dog toy sent to me from a friend from home. 

Goodbye, buddy. You may not be with me anymore, but your memory will stay in my heart forever. 

RIP Lyra, December 2017 - September 2018

[hairringtonsteve]

i promise.

(steve harrington x reader) 

@the-friendly-mushroom

summary: steve comforts the reader through a hard time. and buys a shit ton of dog stuff. 

word count: 1,508

a/n: okay, so this request was different than some others that i’ve gotten. i know that it’s tough when confronted with something like this, and i really hope that this cheers you up. i’m sending good vibes to you and your dog! i wanted to get this up as fast as possible, so i’m sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes. 

You opened your door and there was Steve Harrington, three plastic bags hanging off of his arms while they were filled with, well, stuff. It was kind of hard to make it all out whenever it was just there in one big pile, mostly obscuring his face.

“Steve?” You questioned, scrunching up your brow as you tried to understand just what he was done.

“Can I come in? My arms are going to give out, I swear to God.” With that, he didn’t wait for an answer, instead pushing past you and promptly dumping everything onto the recliner that was settled in your living room.

“What are you doing?” Your words came out slow and careful. A part of you didn’t even want to know what was going on. The last time he’d had that much stuff in his arms, you’d ended up staying awake until five in the morning trying to get his science experiment done the day it was due.

“Nancy called, and told me what was up. Figured I’d come over.” He went to continue on, when your dog trotted out of the hallway, perking up whenever he spotted Steve. “Hey, buddy,” he cooed, crouching down and holding his hand out. He padded over to Steve, rubbing his head against the young man’s hand, huffing happily as Steve scratched him behind the ears. He looked from your dog to you, his eyes growing a little sad. “How you holding up?”

You shrugged your shoulders, glancing away from him. You didn’t want to think about that. It was too painful to think about, and you really didn’t want to cry in front of Steve.

“Fine. So what’d you bring?” The words came out with a forced cheer, one that Steve picked up on. He gave your dog another scratch behind the ears before shifting to his feet. He shot you a quick grin as he headed to the recliner, his cheeks a little red as he regarded all of the stuff that he’d gotten.

“Alright, so I might have gone a little overboard, but just trust me with this, alright?” He pressed his lips together, as though he were trying to figure out how to word things. “I always wanted a dog, and my parents never let me get a dog, so I decided that I’m officially going to spoil the shit out of your dog and you can’t tell me no.” It was a bit obvious that he was avoiding saying what was really going on, but you appreciated it.

“Dude, spoiling him is one thing. This is a whole other level, I can’t even - Wait, is that a dog bed?” You stared at him, brows raised as you stepped towards the pile. You lifted it up - a plush, soft white faux fur covered dog bed. “Are you serious?”

“A king needs to sleep like one, Y/N,” was all Steve said, bumping his hip against hers lightly. “So you can set that down on the ground for him, let him try it out. I also got him a ton of dog treats. I didn’t know what kind he liked, so I just got a ton of different kinds? I also got some toys, like balls and stuff. Oh! I got him some stuffed animals too, with their eyes sewn in, so he can chew them up. What else? Some of that real fancy dog food, the wet stuff? Does he eat that? It looked like real nice on the package, but I opened one up in my car and it looked like shit. Smelled like shit too. So I’m not sure if you want to feed him that.”

You just stared at him. There were no words that could begin to explain your feelings. Was it shock? You could have just been overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information that he was throwing at you. Dog beds and food and toys and fancy food? And he’d sniffed it? You blinked at him.

People could say a lot of things about Steve Harrington, but one thing that they couldn’t say was that he didn’t care. The boy cared a lot; more than most.

“So, uh, that’s just his stuff. There’s more,” he said, watching you with a sheepish grin on his face.

“What do you mean, there’s more? How much more can there possibly be?”

“Well, I, uh, I figured that you’d need some cheering up. So I got you junk food and some VHS tapes that we could put in. And I figured later tonight, for dinner, we could go grab some pizza or some KFC and bring him along for a ride in my car?”

You swore that your eyes were going to bug out of your head.

“You’re going to let him in your car? Really?” Steve just shrugged.

“Look, I’m not saying that you’ll have to - you know - but if you do? I just figured that maybe we could give him a really good day.” You pressed your lips together, trying to stave off the wave of emotion that was suddenly threatening to overcome you. So you did the next best thing. You set the dog bed on the ground (to which your dog immediately ran over and laid on) and stepped to Steve, wrapping your arms around his neck. His own went around your waist, pulling you to him nice and tight. You felt his lips press against the top of your head as he held you against him. Your eyes squeezed shut as you pushed everything else away. For a moment, everything felt like it had before you’d gotten the news.

By the end of the day, the three of you had ended up on the couch, watching Sixteen Candles. The VHS tape before that had been The Karate Kid.  You and Steve were in the middle of the couch, your side pressed against his, your head against his shoulder. His arm was around you, one hand playing with your hair while the other was in his lap, scratching your dog’s head. Your dog was stretched across the both of you, demanding to be pet by the both of you.

It had been a perfect day. You’d spent most of it just cuddling and playing with your dog. He managed to destroy three of the toys that Steve had gotten him before eating his fill of food (apparently the fancy, wet food was delicious to dogs) and then passing out on his fancy new dog bed. Steve had stuck around the entire time, telling stupid jokes and making you laugh the entire day.

Once dinner time had rolled around, the three of you had piled into Steve’s car. Your dog had started out in your lap, but quickly decided that the freedom of the backseat was much more interesting, and easily made his home back there. He’d ran back and forth, from window to window, looking out with wide eyes at the passing world.

You and Steve had decided upon KFC for dinner, figuring that you could take the skin off of the kitchen and feed it to Y/D/N. Steve kept making comments about it being finger-licking good, with each repetition growing more and more ridiculous until you couldn’t help but laugh at him.

Eventually, you’d made your way back to your place. And that’s how you ended up there, cuddling on the couch as your mind drifted to the inevitable. Without meaning to, you sniffled a little, along with a couple of tears sneaking out.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmured. You hadn’t realized that he’d been looking at you. He stopped petting your dog for a moment, using his thumb to wipe the tears off of your cheeks. “It’s okay to cry.” Your eyes slipped shut as you tried to breathe deeply, but it was hard. “Don’t feel like you have to hide how you’re feeling, Y/N. This is a sucky situation. You’re allowed to be sad,” he told you, his voice quiet. You looked up at him, the light and colors from the screen reflecting on his face. Your dog let out a soft whine, quieting only when you and Steve resumed petting him.

“What if we have to, Steve? What if we have to do it?”

It took him awhile to answer. His teeth bit at his lower lip, eyes darting around the room as he searched for that elusive, correct answer.

“He’s had a good life, Y/N. If it has to happen, then… He’ll be in a good place. You gave him a great life. He knows that you love him, and he loves you too.” He let out a sigh. “I promise you that no matter what happens, I’m going to be right there, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

You looked away from Steve towards your dog, who was scooching to be firmly on your lap. He nuzzled around, trying to find that comfortable spot before letting out a content ‘humph’ and settling down.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

[the-record-columns]

Jan. 9, 2019: Columns

Me, Mark Goodman and Cowboys Curve…

Mark Goodman - Fourth grade

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

Since my boyhood friend, Mark Goodman, retired from the U.S. Marine Corps and moved to Ashe County, we’ve had many opportunities to get together, reminisce and generally relive our misspent youth.

As I think the many lazy, fun days we spent getting into and out of trouble on Hinshaw Street, one of my favorite memories is making and riding homemade wagons.

Now, we’re not talking about your little red wagon here. To my memory, I never had a Radio Flyer, a Western Flyer, or any other flyer for that matter. But I almost always had a wagon; one built from the ground up by my buddy, Mark Goodman and me.

It was really fairly simple.

We would begin with a wide board about five feet long, and nail another board (about two feet) across one end making a “T.” To this board Mark and I would attach an axle by pounding nails into the wood and bending them over the metal rod to hold it in place. We would then drill a hole in the center of the other end of the big board, and attach the front axle with a big stove bolt, nut, and flat washers. Incidentally, our “drill” was a dull wood chisel and a claw hammer. By tying a rope to each end of the front axle, we could steer the wagon with amazing accuracy. The next part of the project was to nail down enough seat boards so two kids could ride at the same time.

At this point, the easy part was finished. Almost all the materials we had needed up until now involved simple scrounging. My next door neighbor, Cecil Pierce, always had some lumber from his roofing business lying around his back yard, and his wife, Mae, would give Mark and me anything we wanted. The axles could be found by robbing old discarded wagons from the Cashions or the Templetons, two other nearby neighbors.

The hard part, of course, was wheels.

Usually, the wagons I just mentioned as being discarded were thrown away because the wheels had worn out. If we were lucky, we could find two matching wheels for the front and maybe two others of a different size for the rear.  Once wheels were located, and secured to the axles by bent nails, we were ready to ride.

And ride we did, sometimes almost flying.

Up on Hinshaw Street, the test of any wagon, homemade or store-bought, and the fearlessness of its drivers, was Cowboy Robinson’s Curve, named for the wonderful old man whose home faced the start of the treacherous 90 degree turn. Cowboy had an upholstering business in his basement, and I’ll never forget the first time I realized that he had tacks in his mouth. I watched in awe as he pursed his lips to position a tack on the magnetic end of his hammer. Cowboy Robinson (I never knew any other name for him) was a kind man, who I remember as being patient with the kids who would hang around his shop.

But, back to the wagons.

Trust me, the faint of heart had no business trying to tame Cowboy’s Curve. The road to Cowboy’s Curve began harmlessly enough by simply turning off Hinshaw Street next to the Church of God and beginning your way down a gentle, sloping paved street. However, as you rolled further down the ever-steepening hill in front of Roland Reavis’ house, the breeze got stronger in your hair, and you realized you were past the point of no return.

Remember, the wagon was made for two — the one in front steering with his feet and with the rope, which was tied to the front axle. The other rider worked a crude brake and hopefully was right with the Lord and prayed a bit. The key to survival on the plunge to Cowboy’s Curve was to begin your approach to the sharp turn just as tight to the inside corner of the curve as possible, thereby allowing you some chance of using the entire width of the street to make the turn.

At the bottom of the hill was a constant reminder of what could happen. Little pieces of yellow reflectors dangled here and there, the remains of a barrier that had been practically destroyed. Legend had it that a bunch of guys were trying out a new 1956 Cadillac from B & L Motors and had stopped by a local watering hole to show off the new car to their friends. About 10 shots of shine later, the Cadillac, and all aboard, found out what the kids in the neighborhood already knew Cowboy’s Curve was tough to tame.

As time went by and we became more practiced, Mark and I could make it through Cowboy’s Curve more times than not. Itching for another challenge, we found it.

Iron wheels.

Yes, iron wheels.

Down on Toll Road, at the old Sidden plant just above Cashion Oil Company, we found a big wooden crate full of various sizes of iron wheels. I think they were the kind the Lineberry Foundry used on carts they build years ago when their plant was on Forester Avenue in North Wilkesboro. At any rate, we decided to try out these iron wheels on our wagon, and we loved them. They made a whale of a racket rolling down the pavement and if you were riding at night and slid sideways a bit, the sparks would literally fly.

It was great fun.

For us, iron wheels were the greatest thing since sliced bread.

Then, one hot August night, we got up our nerve and decided to take on Cowboy’s curve. Actually, the Berrong boys and James Walker dared us to try it, and the Code of the Great Unwashed took over from there.

Since we had put iron wheels on our wagon, I had done most of the driving. I know anyone who knows me now will not want to believe it, but I had more success steering the wagon through the slides that the iron wheels tended to cause. We got on the wagon at the top of Cowboy Robinson’s hill. There were several boys watching and suddenly someone gave us a hard shove.

I’m pretty sure it was my brother, Wayne, who pushed us, but now there was no turning back.

As we picked up speed, the iron wheels made so much racket that no one could hear us screaming. I kept the wagon tight to the right so I could drift over when the time came to take the inside of the sharp turn at the bottom of the hill. When finally I pushed my right foot forward to start the turn, everything became a blur. The second I started to turn, the iron wheels lost traction and we began to spin around and around. The boys watching said there were so many sparks it looked like the Fourth of July.

I think we went over the bank at about the same place as the Cadillac.

While I will be forever thankful for a heavy growth of honeysuckles, I never tried Cowboy Robinson’s Curve again.

 Ken Welborn is the Publisher of   The Record & Thursday Printing. To contact him, please email ken@therecordofwilkes.com   

The Ties That Bind Heartstings

By HEATHER DEAN

Record Reporter

As a small child, most of us were told by our elders: “You can be anything you want to be when you grow up.”

And to most of us, that probably meant getting the heck out of our respective Dodge.

For me, it was in a more extreme way, a 17-year-old wanting to be a missionary in Russia, with no knowledge of the world at large, leaning a new language, even though it meant leaving everything I knew and loved behind.

Fast forward 10 years.

After moving away to the “big city” I found myself back in Wilkes, with a small child, a husband and walking across the Watson Stage in an unbearably hot graduation ceremony.  Most of my grade school friends had already moved away, or had transferred out.

My college studies in theatre did little for my actual career, as I went in to management in various retails; then into the medical profession, working first with cancer patients in Boone, then with Nephrology patients in Elkin; and now my current stint in journalism.  (Not to mention I’m still deciding what I “really” want to be when I grow up.)

However, my college studies did open up a whole new world in my home town being able to meet people from various places and seeing things from different perspectives.  I realized that everything I wanted to do out in “the big wide world” was right here, before my very eyes.

For the past two decades, I’ve been involved with several non-profits, doing fundraising for many a good cause, most significantly the local community theatre Wilkes Playmakers where I could apply my course studies, but was given the opportunity to open up the world of theatre magic to a whole new generation, including my own children. And I realized that everything I wanted to do out in “the big wide world” was right here, before my very eyes.

This is the part where I get to say I know the most amazing people ever, and have the pleasure of calling many of them my friends. Several of the people I went to grade school with, did in fact “get the heck out of Dodge” and have become quite successful in pursuing their passions, but stay in close touch with the familial ties to Wilkes.

Fast forward to Nov. 26, 2018. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and my friends had gathered at The Dispensary for live music from hometown guy James Carroll.  Jamie, as we still call him, has been a dear friend since fifth grade at Mulberry Elementary.  He was one of the ones who moved away, but always had a dream to be a full-time musician. Through hard work, dedication, but most of all through being responsible and doing what it took in the secular world to take care of his kids until they were older, he reached that dream several years ago. And though he travels all over the state, he is still happy to come home and play for his biggest fans.

So, there we were, lifelong friends of Jamie’s, at a table talking and catching up. I was sitting with Jeff Lambert, whom I recently found out was related, and another friend from elementary school, Mark Absher, who had come up with Jamie from Winston.

And then it happened. Mark looked across the table at Jeff and me and said “You know Jamie and I were just talking about the two of you on the way up here, and how proud we were of you for all that you do.” I think I can speak for Jeff when I say we were both befuddled.

Mark went on to explain that while they were proud of their roots that it was people like me and Jeff that kept the town alive and growing. “You stayed here when the rest of us left. You stayed and you accomplished things, and made history with your events and continue help keep this town alive. Everyone knows who y’all are. If you aren’t planning it, you’re volunteering or (looking at me) writing about it so everyone knows what cool stuff is going on.” Jamie had since taken a break and sat down to share a brew, and shook his head in agreement.  “It’s easy to leave and come back to visit. It’s hard to stay in one place and fight for change. I’m proud as hell of you both.’

Not quite sure what to say to our new found superstardom even if among friends, looking at Jeff who was just as speechless as I was I muttered a “Thank you” and “It’s just what I do.”  I found a new resolve in that conversation, new ground on which to stand, and a partner in shenanigans with Jeff for 2019. (What can I say? It runs in the family.)

I wasn’t born here like the rest of those at the table, but I was raised here. This is my home, these are my people, my family and my tribe, and no matter where my adventures lead me, my heartstrings will always be bound and anchored here.

Changing Times

 By EARL COX

Special to The Record

The 116th Congress of the United States is now in place and among the new members is one very anti-Semitic congresswoman. 

Her name is Rashida Tlaib, a Democrat from Michigan.

During her swearing in ceremony she placed her hand on the Koran which indicates her beliefs and values are antithetical to the Judeo-Christian values upon which America was founded. Just minutes after taking office she basted our Commander-in-Chief, President Donald Trump, using language that would make even a gutter rat blush. 

Like him or not, Donald Trump was elected by the people and the office and position of President of the United States deserves respect. 

Congresswoman Tlaib opposes all legislation that makes boycott, divestment and sanctions (BDS) campaigns against Israel illegal and, in fact, denies Israel’s right to exist as a Jewish state. She denies Israel’s right to exist at all. 

In her office hangs a Palestinian map on which the word Palestine has been papered-over the country of Israel.  How can there ever be peace when generations of Palestinians are being taught that Israel has no right at all to exist?  Never mind that fact that the land was deeded to the Jewish people by God Himself.

While some Americans are busy electing Palestinians to Congress, Palestinian terrorists are busy rallying against Israel in Ramallah chanting out their intentions to “Blow up the head of the settler.”  “Settlers” are Israeli pioneers who are willing to live outside of city limits in order to possess the land rightfully owned by Israel. The Palestinian chant calling for the killing of Israelis ought to be a punishable crime yet there seems to be no public outcry and no legal action. 

Does this sound as though we’ve stepped back in time to the 1930’s and 1940’s when Jew-bashing was in vogue? Those who perpetually sweep the barbaric actions and words of Arab terrorists under the rug are guilty of foul play!  It’s an outrage each time a politician or news reporter paints Israel as the villain yet these same people have the  audacity to minimize the uncivilized actions of Hamas, Fatah, ISIS, Hezbollah and other evil factions of militant Islam.

They twist, turn and even weave false stories to create a negative public image of Israel. The world must stop holding Israel to a different and higher standard and stop demanding that Israel “exercise restraint” or give up more land in exchange for an unrealistic peace.  Pro-Palestinian groups are making their voices heard and now we have openly pro-Palestinian, anti-Semitic member(s) serving in the Congress of the United States. The question is, who are they serving? The truth must be told. 

The message that Palestinians are poor, oppressed and unfairly suffering because of Israel is simply not true. The oppressors are their own leaders who have created a society that hates the Jews more than they care about the well-being of their own people.  It’s to their advantage to keep the Palestinians in a state of turmoil. This way they can blame all of their woes on Israel. 

Because times are changing and not necessarily for the better, it is vitally important that we keep abreast of all proposed legislation impacting Israel.  We must make known to our public officials that we expect them to vote in accordance with that which is in the best interest of America’s only true friend and ally in the Middle East and that friend is Israel.  

[kieraplaysthesims]

Manipulation

I pressed my hand into the mirror, hoping to break it and feel the physical pain drive away all of my thoughts. But the fear of what would happen when my parents heard the breaking of the glass, kept my hand steady. I breathed, hot and heavy, scared. I did not understand what was real. The dreams that chased through my mind all night. Dreams of a happy family. Of expansive green grass stretching out for miles. Of the sweet taste of watermelon dripping down my lips as I felt the summer heat on my back. Surely that was my reality and not this. This body that I was trapped in of this little girl. I couldn’t bear the idea that this was who I was supposed to be for the rest of my life. For I was only seven years old and I knew the years would stretch on.

As the years passed I became more fearful, more trapped in my own skin until that day that I felt the sweet taste of alcohol on my lips for the first time. We were in a field, my friends and I. Shane had just gotten back from deployment, I rode down with Emily and Bert. As I consumed each drink I felt the comfort stretching through my limbs. The alcohol was giving me a freedom I had never before known. When Emily said it was time to leave I insisted that I must stay. I did not understand what had happened but I knew that this was what would fix me.

We were at a christian music festival. I was with my church and my friends and I met these two boys. I didn’t want the church ladies to see me smoking cigarettes so I snuck off with them through the campground. So full of naivety. So young and full of life. That was taken from me that night. When he kissed me, I kissed him back. But then when he carried me into the tent I said no. He bit down on my lip and said yes. I tried to fight back, but his friend held me down. The next morning I struggled to cover the bruises with highlighter and foundation in the bathroom at the campsite, all the other girls asking what happened last night. I held back tears and tried to smile and make it seem like I wanted it. I felt the vibration in my pocket and saw I had a text from him “That was the best pussy I ever had”.

Later that day, sitting on a brick wall, away from the fun and the toxic young laughter of all my friends, I called a friend, a boy, from back home. I told him what happened. He listened to me cry. Day in and day out, he was there. Eventually he asked me to be his girlfriend. I did not know how to separate the trauma from sex. So I did what was expected of me, feeling no pleasure in it. 

Travis and I were on a dirt road behind my house and I could feel my soul leave my body as I exited and watched as he thrust on top of me, waiting for him to finish so I could smile, and be flirtatious, and go home and clean up.

Over the next couple weeks I prepared to go off and live my grown adult life. I was sad to be leaving my boyfriend behind. But I was sure we would make it. He was the only one who knew the trauma I had just endured and I needed him to be there for me. I packed my bags and we drove the three hours away. And he grew distant in the coming days.

I was in the basement of the library, that’s for sure. What I was doing there I probably will never remember. But I was in the bathroom, washing my hands, when my phone vibrated in my pocket. “Ryan was in another accident,” my dad told me.

“But he’s okay, right?” There was no way he couldn’t be. Ryan was epileptic and wouldn’t stop driving. He totaled truck after truck, but he was my cousin. He had to be alright.

“He didn’t make it this time” 

I don’t remember hanging up the phone, I just remember sinking to the ground, my body wracked with sobs. How could this possibly happen? We were just kids. His life could not possibly be over already.

I needed to numb the pain, but fortunately I had already discovered that magical elixir that would bring about the emptiness my entire body craved. I needed that escape. My coworker bought me a bottle every other day and I would lay on my bed, alone, chugging that cold hard liquid. 

Life eventually became fun again. I discovered smoking pot and spent most of my days hanging out at the Domino’s I worked at, getting drunk and high. That was my daily existence. These were my people. We formed a group after awhile. Joe, Jason, Stefan, Josh, Sharlee, and me. They were my family.

I hated Joe from the moment I met him, but there was something about his crooked smile and the sparkle in his eyes every time he came up with a vicious plan that pulled me back for more. 

The first night we ever had sex, he was so sweet, the way he held my body. It was different with him than it ever had been before. I could feel myself falling for him and I fought it every step of the way. He was a drug dealer and I was a good little Christian girl who had just lost her way. This man sold heroin for a living. But every time he shot me that big goofy grin, I couldn’t help but get sucked right in. 

When they moved into the house it was the biggest step. It was a fortress with guns in every corner and under every cushion. We were reckless. I wasn’t supposed to be there, no one was. I remember laying in bed one night as K came home out of the blue. Joe and I laid under his covers whispering what we believed were to be our last words to each other. It was at that moment that I knew I loved him and at twenty years old, I thought I was prepared to die loving this man. 

The danger passed, K went to bed and I snuck out the window, scaling the side of the house and took Joe’s truck back to my dorm. There are so many stories I could tell of that man. But I only remember bits and pieces. I spent most of my time in a blacked out state, constantly seeking that emptiness, that void. If I told you it was never fun, I would be lying. Of course it was fun at one point in time, I wouldn’t be an addict if it was always miserable. There were nights we danced the night away at clubs and there were nights we stayed up until our alarms went off having deep soul connecting conversations. But eventually the fun ended.

I was laying in Joe’s bed and he was breaking out a line of some white pill. Up until this point I would never touch an opiate. I had been prescribed them once in high school and deep in my stomach I knew what would happen if I ever let them into my life again. Joe asked me to do this line and I told him no. I swore up and down that my life would never be the same if I did that line and he pleaded for me to just let loose and have some fun with him. I never say no to a man I love.

It was different from that point on. I needed a vike or a perc to get through my days. Then Joe left. He dropped out of his master's program and he moved an hour away and it was as if the entire world had fallen out beneath me. Joe was my compass and I had no idea how to face my life without the man I loved. I lost myself in the pills and the bottle. One day, sitting in my car behind Domino’s, Josh told me I had a problem and I needed to do something about it. He was the first person to ever be honest with me, but from that moment on I shut him out of my life. I wasn’t ready to face the truth. 

That night we were sitting at the bar. Josh on a bar stool, Stefan and I standing next to him. Josh was talking to this cute redhead and he says “Squeaks, why don’t you sit down, you look a little shaky.”

“Hey I’m Denny,” this man says to me.

I don’t remember the rest of the conversation but at one point in time I asked him to leave and go on a high ride and he said sure. I remember walking out of the bar, being unable to walk in a straight line and handing him my keys saying he had better drive. The high beams were on and I saw a cop ahead of us at the light. I reached over and flicked them off, so we wouldn’t get pulled over for high beaming a cop. Two streets later the lights behind us go up. We pull over and “oh hey guys! Weren’t you just at Buddy’s? What are you doing in the cop car?”

“I’m just taking a ride with my friend here,” Woodsy replied. 

“Where have you two been tonight?” the other officer asked.

“We were just down at Buddy’s drinking with Woodsy and everyone else” I slurred as Denny shot me this look. 

“Well I’m gonna need the gentleman here to step out of the vehicle and do some field sobriety tests for me then.”

I looked at Woodsy, full of confusion. This wasn’t how it had ever gone down with them. I drank and drove with these guys multiple times a week. I had done drugs with this man, why was he doing this.

“Why don’t you go on home Kiera, you can walk there from here” Woodsy said as he shut my purse in my glove compartment. 

“Well wait a second, just how old are you miss?”

“Twenty-Twenty-one” I stammered, immediately regretting the lie as he asked me for my ID. I pulled it out of the glove box and handed it to him as he gave me that look. “Twenty actually…”

“Well why did you lie to me?”

“I don’t know you, I’ve never met you before. I’m friends with all the rest of your boys, why don’t you let us just walk back to my place?”

“You’re coming down to the station actually, why don’t you call Heidi for her Woodsy?”

“Why do you have to call my boss?”

“She’ll come pick you two up at the station once I book you, alright?”

We sat down in the back of the cop car and Denny looked at me and asked for a kiss. I asked why and he said “Don’t I deserve one for going through all of this for you?” I should’ve known then, but I was just a child still. I had no idea how much worse it would get. 

[talldarknsexy]

Escapades in Egypt

After a night on the ferry we docked at the port in Aswan. We were just adjacent of the famous high dam that holds back lake Aswan from the Lower Nile and prevents seasonal flooding. A ferrymen agreed that I should stage my bike with the rest of the cargo. It was on the top deck anyways and I didn't want to have to follow after the 200 other people. So, I placed my bike next to some stuff, but this upset some of the otherwise friendly Sudanese mamas who then started yelling at me. The ferryman and a few others came to my defense which just aggravated them even more. The ferryman offered to move my bike and in the confusion knocked over their coffee pot straight onto their sleeping mat without noticing. Upon seeing this, they started screaming at me as I was now wheeling my bike away from the scene. Anyways, I shimmied my bike back to the top deck, said goodbyes to my Sudanese ferry buddies, and headed through customs where an Egyptian official would get frustrated with my broken zippers and literally rip apart my tool bag. "What this???" He questioned about my patch kit. "Clearly, you're not a golfer... It's a patch kit." From the dock, I rode just 15km to the city of Aswan and was greeted by many a "Welcome to Egypt!" The last 2km however, I took a shortcut that went through the town's dumping grounds. A dystopian scene with piles of garbage still burning, hazy with smoke, and growling with packs of wild dogs lurking around. Just a few blocks away, emerged David's hostel. He opened it up 3 years ago and runs little profit but his incentive was to perfect his English. He had done this already, as it was expert level, but still failed to pass Australia's English entrance visa exam. I started to wonder if I would be able to, personally. This is an extra requirement for Arabic countries and even though David is of the 10% Christian Coptic minority, the same bias applies. Anyways, he's since given up on Australia and runs the hostel (out of his basement) with a true passion I've seldom seen. It was a nice place and had wifi and clean tap water, both of which I hadn't experienced from a hostel in many months. That and, not to mention, I had access to supermarkets and ATMs again after Sudan. I met an Israeli guy there, Amir. This was unusual, because outside of the Sinai, Israeli backpackers are almost unheard of in Egypt. I went out that night with him and another Dutch fella. David dropped us off in town and we went to an amazing museum- history, artifacts, artwork, mummies, the works... Then grabbed some food and scoured the riverfront for a place that served alcohol. And after over a month, I finally had a beer. Amir had expressed some interest in the biking, and as always, I'd told him anyone is welcome to join. Except unlike all the others... Amir actually did. We went to the market with David the next day and picked one out from the China bike shop in town for $70. We scrounged some China parts from the market: mirror, tube, racks, bell, and a red $4 child's helmet. We grabbed some empty food bins and zip ties and rigged him some hobolo panniers. He'd already been carrying camping and cooking gear, so we slapped everything together quickly. There was no need to come up with a cheesy nickname for the bike as it was already labeled the "Flying Pigeon." The Flying Pigeon was washed in neon green and fake chrome- she was glorious... Amir had gone from backpacker to cycle tourist for less than $100 and under 24hrs. We set off the next day for the Flying Pigeon's native voyage. She and Amir did well. And I had not only riding company, but an Arabic translator, as Amir spoke some. That day we visited an enormous temple which we had almost entirely to ourselves. Back on the road, some kids had hurled rocks at us. Amir had surely had similar experiences in Israel as he wasn't phased in the slightest and didn't even so much as turn his head. We ate liver sandwiches for lunch, got invited for tea with some elders, and then camped by the Nile and took a dip at sunset. The next day, we rode off and stopped again midday for lunch and another temple visit, this one was in impeccable condition, but had much more visitors as the Nile cruise boats stopped here. Here, the fat waddling tourists de-board the luxury Nile ferries only to be taken to the temples in horse drawn chariots. Amir and I watched one throw an egyptian note down from a chariot down to a "begging" child. "Becom?" I asked, and the kid flashed me a $20egp note. "Sweets?" I asked. To which he smiled and nodded. But, the temples themselves were amazing. Amir was fairly versed in Egyptian mythology and was able to point out the various gods and some of the stories. We marveled around and contemplated the feasibility of construction and the complexity of their religious beliefs, both dating back almost four thousand years. Before leaving town, we stopped at a China bike shop to get Amir a new rear tire which had almost quit in only about 100km. The shopkeeper insisted we invest an extra dollar in a different looking tire. "Hatha afdal?" I asked. "Yees! Made in Indeea!" He happily exclaimed. Now, with Amir's Arabic, police checkpoints had been a breeze, but I'd warned him that there might come a time when that would change. And rightfully so, as it soon did. We got held up at one and Amir insisted with them that we did not need an escort. The captain would just reply that he's Egyptian and it is his duty to protect us. So, off we rode with a police truck behind us and 5 armed men. They chugged behind us that afternoon and wouldn't allow us to stop and honked at any kids that tried to high five us. And after a lot of argument on where we could stay that night, we ended camped out back a police station. The next day we reached Luxor. We, being us two cyclists and the different crew of 6 police behind. We rolled up and checked into the wrong hostel, but with the same name. Something we didn't realize until a few days later. Anyways, we spent the 2-3 days exploring temples, eating ridiculously good and inexpensive food (sometimes possibly pigeon,) and did a Nile cruise with some friends. In the end, Amir decided to ditch the bike before leaving Luxor. He was a little fed up with police and with how it would soon unfold, I certainly can't blame him. He got lucky though and sold the Flying Pidgeon to "Bob the Balloon Man" who ran a hot air balloon business and lived next door to the hostel. So, most cyclists have police escort for maybe half of Egypt. Mine was a little excessive. But, a combination of my poor Arabic, my American passport, and me traveling solo may have exasperated things. About 50km outside of Luxor, after waiting another half hour at yet another police checkpoint, they had me take an unexpected turn. Soon, I found myself on the remote desert highway, but with the police still chugging behind me. This road would be great for cycling except for the fact that I had zero food and had no idea were I was staying. Truthfully, the police probably had no idea either, they just want to drive you to the next checkpoint so they can finish their shift. It was a long, 160km day that ended with a hard climb that came out of nowhere. This I didn't finish until well into the dark and cold. But, luckily the fellas at the ambulance post I stayed at were pretty hilarious and helped to cheer me back up. The following day was even worse, however, it was actually quite cold and the police had me do ~120km. By the end of it I was experiencing some pretty bad knee pain and was pedaling with only one foot. It was another night staying with an ambulance crew and we shared some food together. I was pretty defeated, however and worried about my knee. I was woken up around midnight by a police officer who came in to verify I was there. I woke up around 3:30am and at the upon agreed upon time of 5am, was told to wait another hour until 6am so the officer could go back to sleep. After 30km of pedaling with one leg, I reached another checkpoint. Here, I'd been told I wouldn't need escorts... At least for a while until outside of Cairo. This clearly wasn't the case for me though. I'd explained it many times in broken Arabic and English. It was a desert with nothing... Not even a blade of grass lives out here. And I was getting sick and injured trying to follow their checkpoint regiment. I had one of my ambulance buddies who showed up there help explain the lack of need. He did a great job, but they just insisted on saying it was for my safety. It almost worked, but they just tailed behind me a half kilometer, pretending not to be there. Once, a young couple in a sedan with a bike rack pulled over to I believe offer me a bottle of water. The police truck sped up, pulled over in front of me, and ushered them away. Mid afternoon I was pretty broken. Struggling to pedal with one, now very fatigued leg. The wind picked up and I must have been doing about 5km/h because a policeman got out to jog past me. I pulled into a rest stop and laid down just praying that when I opened my eyes, the police would be gone. Instead, another police car showed up and there must have been about 8 or so policemen altogether. I'd had enough, and for the 100th time, loudly voiced my opinion that they were wasting there time. At one point, the officer called his cousin to help translate. He finally got the message and told me "Okay, continue as you like." I was incredulous, but he insisted and I thanked him, apologized, and gave him a hug. They sped off, but sure enough, I spotted them parked up the road about a kilometer. I said fuck it. Pulled off the road and camped behind a dune, just 500m from where they left me. It was a splendid night camped alone, resting my knee. But unfortunately, it was still painful in the morning. I rode about 20km to a petrol station and filled up on snacks. The guys there were super helpful, but I saw one suspiciously ran off to an ambulance post nearby, so I took off. Sure enough, about 30 mins later, I was surrounded by police. They either arrested me or "saved me" depending on who you ask. Apparently they had the entire region's police force looking for me. I was approached first by a 3 star officer so fat he was out of breath stepping out of his truck. He took my passport and made some frantic calls. The two petty officers with him wanted to know how I was able to survive a night in the cold. They then loaded my bike onto the truck and we sped off to a police control checkpoint. I wasn't really sure if I was being arrested of not. In short, I was there for the next 4-5 hours. The fat officer and his peers were on the phone half the time and all the other, lower ranking officers wanted to hang out, get me food and drinks, and take selfies. I wasn't cuffed or anything, but at one point I did step out of the cab to grab something from my bike and was met by several jumpy officers. We started to drive off twice but officer Mohammed Fatasfuck would receive a call and we'd turn around. It was finally night when we drove to Al Minya. We parked, unloaded the bike and I was ushered into a tourist police office that was something out of an 80's KGB headquarters. I was brought into an office where I met with another officer Mohammed and later his boss, officer Mohammed. They ordered three mango drinks and as nice as they were, I made sure That I was the last to sip mine. We talked for a while and they were incredulous that I'd spent the night sleeping in the desert. Terrorists, snakes, foxes, and desert lions were among their chief concerns. The latter of which haven't even existed for several decades. Anyways, Mohammed and Mohammed assured me under no uncertain terms that I wasn't doing anymore cycling in Egypt. They'd initially asked was how much I could afford for a travel company to orchestrate the remainder of my trip. So, they weren't exactly reassured at my plans to stay in an unnamed hostel in Cairo and then bus to Israel or Jordan. They took it upon themselves to organize it for me at no cost. They made some calls and arranged a hotel that night, a bus the next day, and a hotel for the first night in Giza. After that, they claimed, I was free to do as I liked- or so was their claim. I didn't get to the hotel until around 11pm. It was nice, but if I were ever to have a room bugged with cameras, this would have been it. The next day I was escorted by flatbed pick to the bus station and after the bus, again to the hotel. The hotel was actually more of a resort... A FIVE STAR resort as was published there. They had no reservation in my name. The manager was very agitated with me. The police escort didn't want to get involved but called up the rank to a General Mohammed. About 2 minutes later the front desk's phone rang. The manager (Also Mohammed) went white in the face, hung up, and checked me in with profuse apologies. I have no idea what exactly was said over the phone, but can only imagine the threats that were made by General Mohammed of the Tourist Police. Anyways, I was told that I wouldn't be leaving the premises until checkout the next day. So, basically was under resort arrest with an officer positioned in the lobby. This place was fucking unreal though and my suite was the size of an apartment. I'm sure I couldn't afford anything off the menu, so rationed the leftover biscuits and crackers that I'd stocked from the petrol station and filtered the tap water. This I did, ironically, on my private balcony overlooking the crescent pool. I also was pretty numb and reflective. Here I was, on my balcony in a 5 star resort, that I did not pay for, with a personal bodyguard out front. Not only did I not deserve this, but I was told the two officers I'd evaded both lost a year's salary. Their account was much different than mine, but I'd asked the Mohammeds to go easier on them if they had a say. The next morning there was a small breakfast. Just kidding. There was a LOT of breakfast. I ate enough for a week. I had thought that morning I would be free, at least per what one of the Mohammeds had originally told me. Certainly not the case though. So, an officer was waiting out front with a flatbed. The officer's name was... Well, it was Hani. We drove to the tourist district of Giza where I thought I would be checking into a hostel. But first, General Mohammed wanted to meet with me. After some waiting and joking around with Hani (as he at least recognized how ridiculous this was) he ushered me through the security and ticket booth. And all of sudden I was facing the pyramids. Not at all how I'd anticipated it... But their presence was immense and the brief experience, surreal. Two military jeeps pulled up and 4 generals in suits came out. I met General Mohammed who spoke great English and shook hands with his peers. They drank tea, discussed amongst each other, and Mohammed asked about my travel plans which were to leave Egypt ASAP because there was clearly no end to this police attention. At the end of their discussion, Mohammed expressed their relief: "they think you look almost Egyptian" he said. After this was resolved, Hani and I headed to a hostel nearby. There was no one at reception and Hani got a call from Mohammed that a hotel was sorted. In the end, I handed over an $11 note for what otherwise must have been a $100 hotel. Hani took off and I was put in the hands of Daii, who would be my babysitter for the next two days... (A babysitter dressed in a full suit and armed with a tech-9.) He slept in the hotel lobby and we'd take turns buying each other meals. He at least had a sense of humor, like Hani and realized the ridiculousness of the situation. This came in handy especially when I went back to visit the pyramids. We were in tourist central, but luckily I had Daii to keep me safe! At least the camel handlers heckled me less as I was a VIP with a personal bodyguard. I took us off into the desert to the alignment point where you can see all the great pyramids in view. I felt a little bad that Daii was dusting up his nice leather shoes. He also had to stop to sit on a rock every few minutes to catch his breath. Sometimes he'd even light up another cigarette. "Mish Tammam" I'd say: not good. To which he'd smile and laugh. Well worth the trek though. There were few people around and away from the noisy and crowded city, you can appreciate the serenity of the desert, and observe the massive scale of these ancient pyramids still towering over the very modern, sprawling city. The next day I would take a bus from Cairo to the Taba border. Daii was instructed to follow me the entire way until I got stamped at immigration. We rode over the Suez Canal and through the surreal Sinai desert. The actual border crossing was an unceremonious end to my journey on the African continent. But I'd like to remember the highlight of Egypt as looking out at the pyramids. Old and new societies juxtaposed against one another, with my police friend Dai next to me. Out of breath, and smoking another cigarette.

[kittydarlingplanets-blog]

Sometimes we do the right thing and it spreads like a game of telephone  on the playground. That’s how this election has felt to me. At first there were these little whispers of this guy… this guy who once had a punk band that was over on the border. Not Mexican, but has a Mexican name term of endearment nickname. Young. Handsome. Schooled at Columbia. All the beautiful secret things that are the real Texas. 

  See. I’m a native Houstonian. I love my fucking city. I also hate my fucking city. Or rather, I grew up hating it. I hated the burbs and the shit kikkers and the red necks and that we were known for whiny country music and rodeos and horrible accents that sounded like we were a bunch of dumb hicks. What I loved about Texas was so subliminal I didn’t even realize it until I left for awhile. Moved to another state and found out that my entire mindset was formed yes, of course by the books I had read and the education I’d received, but the foundation of who I was? The rock bottom core of my soul? That was Texas, folks. Drenched in sweet barbeque sauce and sizzled on the triple digit Houston sidewalks. 

They say that you don’t have to ask someone where they’re from who is from Texas. They’ll tell you before you get the chance. This is truth. Another thing I didn’t realize until I lived outside the state. Other people would go around the school or work meeting and mention children or accomplishments.

The first thing that would come out of my mouth was I’m from Texas. I began to realize that Texas is a State of Being. It’s a State of Mind. You can take the me out of Texas, but you can’t take the Texas out of the me.

You sir, may go to hell. I am going to Texas.–Davy Crockett

Like so much of life, being away from home made me appreciate it. Then respect it. Then realize I’d not so much been in love with it as it coded into my soul.

I mean, I’d known when I’d driven the long stretches of road listening to the Fabulous Thunderbirds, which to me was Austin where I spent half of my time my college years dancing at the Continental Club or Club Foot and eating chicken fried steak, or when I’d gone to Lubbock to the Buddy Holly Festival that Joe Ely always played  in the closed down streets celebrating his idol and his own hometown.

I  taught myself to speak without an accent and read a lot of books. And the only thing I knew to do was reject everything that was symbolic of what I hated–small town thinking from small town sensibilities. The illiterate by choice. Cowboy boots unless they were worn by Keith Richards or Joe Ely or Joe Strummer. (I now love them  beyond.) I hated and hate hunting because you know, slaughter. Prefabricated neighborhoods outside the inner city loop where people lived who wanted yards as flat as football fields and houses too big and character-less for anything useful and huge expensive cars and a commute that stunk up the city and blocked the highways. Even then, back then, 40 years or more ago, it all felt wrong. Too much. Nothing good could come from so much….so much… waste….  clutter.

It was like Benjamin Braddock at his graduation party being told about plastics. It was Jack in the Box having too many damn menu options when all anyone needed was the Jumbo  Jack and fantastic flat Super Tacos that could be put in an envelope and mailed and Frings–a mix of french fries and onion rings and those dollar menu chicken sandwiches. Everything else was just too precious and absurd.

At 16 I found the Rocky Horror Picture Show and a mass of people that were not the same as those who frequented Katy High School, home of rice farms and small minds. At 17 I went to work at an AMC Theatre and found a bunch of misfits like myself who couldn’t quite get behind Friday night’s lights and shopping malls filled with generic crap. At 18, I found Herschel Berry and the Natives at Anderson Fair and my real love affair with Texas began.

What I learned from local music, what I learned from punk rock–was that in fact, love is all you need. That even the freaking Hard Rock Cafe is right–Serve All Love All. That hidden beneath the Urban Cowboy shit was this city of mystery and secrets. There was this unreal music. There was all night Tex Mex with kick ass juke boxes and those who frequented it. There was this love and honor among the punk rockers and the aging hippies and the drag queens and the gay men and the homeless teens and all of the others who didn’t fit into the Lone Star State stereotype  regardless of color or sexual orientation or socio economics.  You just didn’t know until you left the comfort of your sedan and talked to the people in the streets. We just didn’t let the others know. It was ours. They could have the rest.

Eventually someone would rise out of here or out of a place just like here that encapsulated all that is bright and beautiful and blazing about Texas. Our real culture. Our blended population. Our love of music that defies labels, like  Herschel, or Alejandro Escovedo. Our mixture of punk and cowboy that pulled in Strummer to hang out with that cowboy guy he liked, Ely. It’s not just music or clothing. Those simply reflect the ethic that is here. It’s mom and pop diners and taquerias and dive bars and little music halls. It’s a hot humid wet sweater of a place that is so deranged that out of it comes the Art Car Parade and the Orange Show and even a secret serial killer that only the locals know about, despite the liklihood he could possibly have the highest body count of all time. Before craft brew, we choked down Lone Star Beer in bottle necks because it was local, even if it tasted and still tastes like rat piss. It’s local heroes like old  lonesome Howard Hughes. That’s how we do things here. We have musicals written about our whore                                                            houses.

We create a legacy of cadallics buried in the dirt of what would be wasted landscape. We once had a pig here tattoed with wings. This is how we do art.

Houston still is the mystical and beautiful and secret place. This club for those in the know, on the inside. The cool kids. Most of those places  we frequented are still here. Preserved. Not just moments in time but part of the spiderweb that holds up our city even as it sinks into the swampland we are built on. Key words. Code words. Houston is a small small town, baby.

So the whispers started and slowly the buttons and bumper stickers began to emerge…. quietly, slowly likely from fear of retaliation despite the fact that we here all know that this is already a blue state. This is in fact, a brown state. The only reason this state reads red is because it was gerrymandered beyond belief so that areas range from Austin almost to Dallas rather than say, Austin being one place. In fact, those of us over a certain age, recall the whirlwind of all that is bravado and cyclonic about Texas in human form, Governor Ann Richards. Ann took no shit. We are channeling Ann this election. This day. This time when the tide is high.

We began to realize that it was  like a secret clubhouse. Nods, smiles, a quiet thumbs up. We were one. We were all still here. There was more of us than we were led to believe. In the ugly loud jarring swagger of the New GOP, even the natives here had been led to believe the stereotypes, the lies on par with Dallas, the TV show, not the beautiful lilting song. Love All Serve All.

The cowboy way. The musicans way. The rebel way. The artist way. The Texas way.

I think after Harvey we’d all just had enough. Enough of the fucking lies about us. Enough of being disregarded and counted off as worthless. A joke. A universal joke of Cowtown, USA. We weren’t going to go quietly into the night. We were going to rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And we had the One. Out of El Paso, of all places, our hero emerged. A tall drink of water, as we say here in Texas. A 40-something who still looked like a kid, like Alec Baldwin in Beetlejuice before he blew up. Long arms swinging, long legs running and walking and jumping and driving across a state that is close to the size of Europe. Hours and hours and miles through the heat, the sonic heat. Doing what others before said was a collasal waste of time. Those who didn’t know Texas. Those who didn’t know the real us.

        Not a dumb ass speaking of having beers together and how we don’t need no city slickers telling us what to do and  a C is good enough. That’s facade and bullshit.

The Texas I know has pockets of Republicans who are old school…. meaning that they don’t give a shit what you do in your own bedroom or your own home. They’re conservative in wanting their guns and their Southern gentleman ethics and the right to lead their own lives be it to homeschool their kids without answering to the Man which is the same as the old Art Car Parade slogan of we just want to ride around in our machines and not be hassled by the man. Which is the same damn thing. And they don’t care how their neighbor got here and what color he is if he keeps his place nice and will lend a hand in a tragedy and raises some respectful kids. I grew up next to a Mexican family, the Ninos, and I do not recall once hearing the word Mexican other than to descibe the exquisite cuisine and in regard to the family itself, the dad brought over left over KFC from his job as manager and we invited them to our BBQ’s and everyone pitched in if a car wasn’t running or one of the moms decided to have a garage sale or when their new babies were born.

Texans remember the Alamo and the aftermath. They celebrate Mexican cowboys. They weave tamales and brisket together like Spanglish. At least when it matters they do. We do. Before the brainwashing. Before the river of lies longer than the Rio Grande.

And then Beto showed up. With his Columbia education that is valued as the damning of the elite here never pertained to education… it pertained to attitude: being better than. Having some letters behind ones name is honorable especially those sleeves are rolled up and you’re willing to work side by side with ranchers and farmers and minority field hands.  Someone running and talking and talking and running. To everyone. The thing that is going to overpower the new not so grand old party today is that we do know a city slicker. We do know a used car salesman. And we do know the words to The Who. And yeah, we have lived a Teenaged Wasteland for awhile now… but it’s not going to be where we end up because it’s not who we are.

It’s Texas. We trust musicans here. It’s in the blood.

Tonight I sit here in a dive bar in an area that was once a broken down ward and is now an up amd coming bohemian artist haven being saved by millineal meets Gen Z punk rock aesthetics, just on the edge of Montrose. There’s nerves and hope and more movement than is normal for a Tuesday night. The bartender is hoping for celebratory customers later in the night. He’ll be here if things swing the other way. We’ve had Beto’s black and white signs out front of our blocks for months. Beto himself stopped in one afternoon early last Spring when he saw them and had lunch at the ancient diner and stopped in the shop of oddities and the record store. His photo was in the NYTimes here in that diner. We have his back. He’s got ours. And this we is the we I met so long ago, when I was a kid here having stumbled out of surburbia and inside the loop where the real Texas lived.

My twenty year old heart will dance tonight when the returns come in and once again, there will be faith in what we’ve created here. What we’ve dug into the mushy soil and what has somehow made this most unlikely of cities the 4th largest. That kid from the Border, a former punk rocker in a dress,having grown up on the   border not knowing there was a reason to think an arbitrary line meant anything and knowing for sure one language was as good as another, has risen up. The world. The entire world is watching. And he, this Irish guy with the Mexican first name, is going to let the world in on the secret of Texas and lead the world forward. I will wear the tears of joy and nostalgia like a Victory V in my boots eating tacos. Viva Beto.

the lone star is ever in your favor: you beto you beto you bet Sometimes we do the right thing and it spreads like a game of telephone  on the playground.

[toontownlucy]

Bonds

Tarot smiled softly to himself. All his buddies he left behind in New York would love to hear about the adventures he led in Toon Town, but they wouldn't be too thrilled about him landing in jail. He looked across the prison cell at his "jail buddy," a lady his friend knew as Ann, although according to trustworthy sources with trustworthy information, her name was Dolls.

The human boy slid over to sit next to the toon. "Ya know, not all humans hate toons."

"Oh really? Name a few." Dolls took the bait.

"Well," Tarot leaned against the cement wall. "There's Charles, a kid you call Peter, and a man you once knew as Jasper."

One of the toon's demonic tales flung itself against his throat while the other three flailed around wildly. "And if your sources told you this, they should have told you I don't like his name mentioned in front of me."

The boy knew well enough not to dwell on the subject. Tarot pried the demon tail away from his flesh. "I also know that some toons don't hate humans." He sighed. "If you want me to go into details, I know Arthur, that one demon known around town as Benny, and your own sister Annabelle. There was another toon from years back."

Dolls' amber eyes looked at Tarot, questioning him. Her curiosity begged him to go. She just hated it when people left a cliff hanger in the middle of a story.

Tarot went on. "My family was taking a trip. On the road we saw a toon girl. She changed my entire life in two hours. My mom, being the considerate lady she was, offered her a ride. Alison, my sister, slid closer to me to make room for the toon. The girl never spoke a word. But that silence was pain itself. She hid that pain and hatred in that silence. My mom dropped her off in Toon Town, and when my mom wasn't looking, I gave the girl a change of clothes."

The boy flushed. "That girl stripped down, in front of me, to change without a care in the world!" Tarot laughed. "I would give up anything just to see her today."

Dolls raised her eyebrows. "What exactly would you give up to see her, Tarot?"

The human thief chuckled. "I would give up my virginity." He joked.

"In that case," Dolls began to take off her shirt, then stopped, only meaning it as another joke.

"Oh please, continue, by all means." It clicked in his head.

Dolls swung punch, but the human dodged easily. She cursed at him. "Why can't you take a joke you thieving pig." Dolls turned to the wall away from him.

Click. Doll whirled around to look at where Tarot was. "You are so easy to fool, little Missy." The thief spun a ring of keys on his finger. "I would open this door for you, but it's time for you to wake up. Nothing in life will give way to your needless flirts. It's a hard life out there, Mizz Dolls. Not everyone will be there to catch you when you fall." His voice was hard and cold. "You kill and lie to get what you want. I've had enough."

Tarot gripped the keys in his hand until his knuckle was white. "A few days after you walked out of our car, my sister and mom died. Toons wanted the Tricore family dead, and in an attempt to murder my father and I, they killed two of the greatest things that have ever happened to me."

Tears were streaming down his face. "Alison and my mom were the only people I had in my life. I moved on. It was the only thing I could do. My mom had a contact here in Toon Town. I knew him as Jared. He later became known as my father, even though he was a toon. After two years he was killed protecting me from my real father's thugs. As the Tricore family heir, I was expected to help fulfill the Tricore family legacy. Jared believed that I had a choice. And he died to give me that choice." Tarot collapsed, skidding against the wall to the floor. "So it isn't that I love toons or humans, I hate them both. They ruined my life. I thought I was at the end of my rope and sanity. Then I met Lucy. She pulled me out of that hole. I can't ever repay her. I owe her my life and sanity."

He wiped the tears off his face and tossed Dolls the keys. "We have places to be, Lucy expects us back. Just don't look or talk to me." Dolls said nothing as she unlocked the cell. "Lucy trusted us to join her gang, we must at least keep our heads above water for her."

Dolls knew that Tarot hurt saying even a little bit about his past. Those who were truly hurt, always had a smile. Tarot was destroyed inside, and not many people knew it. He had kept all that pain and sorrow inside. Dolls didn't know what had made him spill his guts, but whatever it was, hurt him more.

The Devil's Club was closed as the pair of misfits jogged up the steps. Lucy was stacking chairs as they entered. Tarot kept walking past both toons as he headed to the second or possibly the third floor. 

"Heard you and Tarot got caught, Dolls." Lucy sat on the last chair backwards with her chin resting on the backboard.

Dolls pulled a chair off the nearest table and mirrored Lucy as she sat in it. "If I answer that, I would be lying."

"In that case can you finish putting up for the night?" Lucy was worried about Tarot. When he runs off that meant something had gotten to him, and doing that was hard. Without waiting for an answer she took off up the stairs.

The human had pulled out a chair from one of the roulette tables and was looking at the pictures on the wall. They were photos from studios across the nation. Beneath each one were the names of the toons and creators alike, and each name was followed by a birth date, and a death date if they were dead. "A lot of these people were killed by my Father's thugs."

Lucy paused as she scanned the photos. Each was a memorial to every living soul. Her eyes lingered on the photo from the Flashing Lights studio, her home studio to be exact. Cole, her best friend back when she was in the show business, was smiling brightly. At nightfall on the same day the picture was taken, he was murdered by the toon sitting next to him, a toon named Edward. "But all of them were killed by foolish beliefs." The toon pulled up a chair next to her companion. “So what happened today?”

Tarot sighed. “I don’t know how to explain it, really.” But he did. He told her about the two hours he spent with Dolls when he was little, about his mom’s, his sister’s and Jared’s deaths, and he concluded it with Dolls. “I don’t want Dolls to be in pain like she was in those two hours. She doesn’t know her lies give her more pain. I don’t want her to be like that ever again! She doesn’t realize her actions will destroy her in the end." Tarot paused as he shifted his thoughts around. "I don't want her to be an empty shell, Lucy."

Lucy's mind went blank. Now she understood what Cole had meant all those years ago. 'I don't want you to be an empty shell anymore, Lucy.' His words echoed in her head.

"Tarot, neither of us can change who she is. The best thing we could possibly do for her is to understand. A few years back, the man she knew as father was killed. You can relate to that. She just reacted differently. Dolls vowed to avenge his death while you didn't know what to think and ran."

They didn't know that on the steps below them Dolls sat listening to them speak. She noticed that as much as Tarot told her, he told Lucy more. She was like a sister to Tarot. Dolls rarely saw people get along like that, but for a toon and a human to have that bond, it was near impossible. No one was ever going to break that bond...

Yay!!!! One of the longest short stories I have ever done!!!! 

Tarot @me 

Dolls @dollsthemercenary

Lucy @me 

[rital1254019-blog]

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And, along with a few recommendations, you can possibly discover ways to approach him in order that he certainly not only listens, yet he takes some activity making sure that you are actually more pleased within your marriage. You do not have to strain to locate ideal wording concepts for that exclusive person's birthday gathering. Nearly all males are oblivious to hints so if you're not allowing him understand point space that you enjoy with him as well as what he does for you, you might gone on the monitor to dropping him. A lesson learned is actually that certainly not everybody likes birds as several of our team perform. I was actually remaining on our deck one early morning, taking pleasure in the chorus of song birds in the neighboring plants. This's pretty insane that preparing for a travel could create you satisfied, yet I don't forget a handful of years ago (prior to I had kids) I in fact generated a spread sheet of things I desired to carry out if I gained the lotto game. It seems counter-intuitive, however carrying out whatever you could to provide for your guy's every urge is CERTAINLY NOT the way to create him pleased. I ensure if you will definitely begin being thankful for the many things in your life that make you delighted, or perhaps miserable, you will certainly experience a terrific upsurge from new energy. The trick is to earn the option every day ... find one thing to be delighted about. Aries is quite supporting when in a connection, if you can easily think about one thing he has refrained from doing that you think he might enjoy you should bring that up. The many things is actually that the Aries male are going to appreciate themself most when you are happy and since he is actually certainly not timid about taking chances, he will certainly make an effort just about anything as soon as. Hey Belle- You should read the science as opposed to just upload this as well as create expectations. You are going to most definitely be satisfied as well as you have to understand that there is no way to happiness as well as that contentment is actually the way if you yearn for to be satisfied. Our team are happy when we have household, we more than happy when we have buddies and mostly all the other points our team presume create our team satisfied are really just methods of obtaining much more family and friends. There is actually a distinction, and also you may change each of your self-talk to be even more favorable, more loving and even more pleased. Orgasms additionally light up the brains like a Christmas tree, as well as has actually been actually technically verified to make our team Far healthier is we make love the moment a week. When I remember at my lifestyle, twenty years eventually, I recognize that I truly had no concept which I was or even what created me delighted. There are actually numerous traits that can create everybody pleased, yet to pick among the might be actually the hardest component. There is actually a lot in my history to suggest that I need to more than happy along with the true blessings I have had, as well as I absolutely am partly, but I was actually never ever totally pleased with on my own as well as my objective in lifestyle. As our company are still in January (merely!) I chose this morning to write a list from some of the things that produce me delighted. You need to create some primary changes if you do not view a solid woman which is actually content along with her lifestyle precisely as that is actually. Eventually, this exceeds the concern: Do our experts have a right to be pleased or to focus on being actually therefore, especially nowadays. B: There are merely two errors one can easily create along the road to honest truth: not going all the way, and certainly not beginning. Might be they are looking at bumpy ride, and by sending all of them these quotes you could create them smile and also lighten up their time. When her tune was actually ended up, Rachel moved back to their dining table, accepting praises coming from their colleagues as she passed by. As she approached their desk, Kurt reached out to her. Given that carrying car insurance is actually a need in most states of the US, it is actually never a smart idea to do out using it entirely, but you can easily tailor your policy and also find various other wise and also simple to reduce auto insurance policy costs properly. He certainly never returns and also offers us a lecture of how to make a living, however our company know this from his face that appears like a warrior exhausted after a battle. Maybe you are actually finding to incorporate a necessary quote to personalized gathering invites or even chooses. Pressuring your partner to speak about emotional points, especially your relationships, will make him clam up. Spare those talks for when this's essential to the health and wellness from the partnership, certainly not only when you're feeling insecure and want some reassurance. Consider a person who joins you today - anyone that occurs to be. Notification what you are demanding of them so as to enjoy together. If I absolutely understood that I was actually a little one from The lord - that He adored me and that He needed me - at that point I might be delighted regardless of what. Rather than constantly blaming the other, and also feeling not deserving, have a long, hard, good consider just how you make that complicated. When you are actually partnering with a companion, this really assists if you both make a truthful initiative to participate and also understand with each other. The pointed angels and the white outdoor produce a browse through to this gallery an important stuff to perform in Amsterdam. To provide the films honesty as well as to earn the stories as real as feasible and as near to the souls of the areas as feasible, our team set up workshops in each of the countries. Without his advice, our company will still be actually living in our dreamland from happiness as well as assuming every little thing and also everybody available will certainly create our company satisfied. When you possess your foreplay and also make that exciting every time you possess sex, attempt various traits. Male is going to be along with you in your environment and also not transform a thing if you enjoy. But anyhow, they created me tremendously tremendously pleased, and that made me wish to demonstrate as well as stop on all the various other things that are actually making me delighted at presents. Just, if your close relatives and also good friends enjoyed individuals, there is actually an excellent possibility that you are going to be actually too. Mindfulness can assist you to be happy with what you have by permitting you to truly value exactly what you possess. If therefore, you're most likely searching for ideas to celebrate this pleased occasion in a huge method If you loved this information and you would want to receive more details regarding yellow pages advert cost - healthystylefit.info, i implore you to visit our own web page. .