#bc i remember she had all this junk in her pockets

[buggybuggs]

Being so brave rn about my lost wallet pet me pet me pet me pet me

[graceslavenderhaze]

fight night  (jatp crew x reader)

readers home life hasn’t been the best and they’ve been lying to their friends about it. one night it all builds up and the reader shows up to julies, distraught. ( for this the boys are alive bc it just worked out best but other than that no changes.)

this has been sitting in my drafts so i thought i’d post it

trigger warning: family fights, anxiety, depression, past talk of eating disorders.

For a long time you use to just keep everything buried down. That was your fatal flaw. It wasn’t a trust issue, you just always had this feeling that if no one knew then everything would be fine. But your family had lately been falling apart, your parents always seemed disappointed in you, you were fighting with your siblings more and it felt it a ballon that kept on expanding. you didn’t know when everything was going to explode it just kept getting worse.

Today was the exploding point. It seemed like no matter what you did, it just wasn’t good enough. You were the black sheep in your family, they made you out to be it. They complained about how you dressed, what your room looked like, the music you played, the people you hung out with, and for what? You didn’t do anything that was textbook problem child material. 

You tried your hardest in school, you never asked for much, you cleaned almost everyone’s mess at home, and after a while that became your routine. Never be seen, never be heard and never get any credit for everything you do. Meanwhile your siblings, little miss perfect and the star academic got everything you wanted. Your parents attention, their approval, and their constant reassurance. 

By the time you were in high school, you were emotionally independent. A stranger to your own family pretty much. You went to an art school along with your siblings. Even as the oldest, you quickly fell into their shadows. Your sister a musical protégé on the violin, your parents paid for the best lessons, and without a doubt she’ll probably attend some ivy league. Your brother was in the advanced academics program, with yale and harvard already offering him scholarships in his sophomore year. Then there was you. You were in the art program, and while your teacher swears that all the top art schools have you on their radar. You still felt insignificant.

You worked a weekend job at the local coffee shop, latte love , it wasn’t everything but it helped pay for art supplies for you to build your portfolio. Their you met Julie Molina and Flynn Davis. Two girls who were your age, they attended the music program at your art school. You recognized them, Julie had been like the sun at the school. In the hallways always smiling and then her mom died, the sun went away hidden behind clouds. While Flynn was unapologetically herself and didn’t backdown from telling people how things were, she was fearless. They were also probably the first two people who knew your siblings and were able to separate you from them. 

Then later on in the year the three of you met Luke, Alex and Reggie. Latte Love was hosting its monthly open mic night. It was almost a year after Julie’s mom died, so in an attempt to coax her back into music, Flynn brought her around. You offered free hot chocolate on the house as a bribe if she wanted to come. After an hour of mainly middle schoolers trying to face stage fright, soccer parents who desperately tried to hold onto their high school garage band phase and any other mediocre act who gave it their all in effort. Sunset Curve preformed. 

That night honestly sent all six of your lives’ into a full spiral but in the best way. A month after you had met sunset curve, they formed a band with Julie and became, Julie and the Phantoms. Flynn becoming the band manager and you being the artist for ticket designs, posters and anything else. It helped distract you from everything going on in your life and with your friends you didn’t feel left out or the black sheep. You were you and they loved you for all of it. 

But you could only be happy for so long. Your family always managed to make you feel horrible about yourself, this week had felt like the worst its ever been. Your sister being recruited for a summer symphony in Australia, your brother would be off at a stem camp and your summer plans were just to work, make art and hang with your friends. Your family wasted no time in telling you that you were wasting your time, or that it was just some silly childish thing. They didn’t understand how big Julie and the Phantoms were becoming. The latest gig being opening for panic at the disco at the Orpheum. 

You couldn’t take it anymore, which is how you ended up walking to Julie’s house right in the beginning of a thunderstorm. When you finally made it to Julie’s front stoop you were drenched head to toe. Julie being the one to pull you in the front door. In her oversized smiley face sweatshirt and baggy sweats. The movie night dress code.

“Did you walk here?” She exclaims looking at the outdoor storm and turning back to her best friend. Your eyes red from crying and cheeks raw from wiping your tears rapidly. She’d been expecting you for weekly movie night, especially since her dad and brother had been away for a baseball game for the weekend. Just not in this state.

“More like swam.” You replied with a dry laugh. Trying to desperately hold yourself together. Knowing your friends were all in the living room, you didn’t want to burden them with your breakdown. 

“Hey was that the chinese food! Y/n? Whats wrong bean?” Flynn stated her mood changing halfway through the sentence noticing the state of their best friend. Who looked like she’d just had the world’s worst day. You smiled fondly at the nice name she’d given you, which was a coffee pun. 

“Family shit. Like always.” You said looking down at the floor and the puddle that you were slowly dripping onto the Molina residence’s welcome mat. Both girls smiled sympathetically, they had their fair share of stories of how bad things could get at the L/n household. 

“Come on! It’s movie night, you’re getting into cozy clothes and having junk food with your friends.” Julie said taking your hand and leading you upstairs to her room. Julie handed you spare clothes due to you being completely soaked. Then a towel to dry yourself off.

“Here, once you’re ready to come downstairs, we can put your stuff into the dryer.” Julie said smiling at her friend before leaving to give her privacy. Taking the towel she gave you and trying to dry your hair. Then changing into the cozy clothes she gave you. Your phone blowing up from texts from your family. Your parents wanting to know where you were. Not caring how hurt you were. Your siblings saying half assed apologies they didn’t mean. They’d done this before and they’d do it again. 

Ignoring the messages, you walked back downstairs. The comforting smell of chinese food wafting at you. Julie, Alex and Flynn stood at the table. Meanwhile Luke and Reggie were were at the local 7/11 getting slushies. 

“Did anyone order a hot mess?” You said jokingly getting their attention. Alex standing up and instantly hugging you as if he’d never see you again. Hugging him back. Alex’s hugs always felt as if it was a cloud. 

The Molina residence house phone then rang, the caller id labeling your house. “We can just let it go to message.” Julie said turning back from the phone to you. You shook your head, “I’m so over this bullshit.” Walking over to the phone you picked it up. 

“Hello ever so loving parental unit.” You said with sarcasm dripping off every word. “Pop off!” Flynn said as she bit into a dumpling. You bit back a smile. “Where are you? You can’t run out because you’re upset.” You heard your mom say. You rolled your eye. 

“Where i am every friday night. I told you in advance i had plans so when you take your attention span off miss perfect and genius boy remember you have a third fucking child. Goodnight!” You said promptly and then hung up placing the phone back on back on its home base. “Beyoncé would approve.” Flynn said clapping for dramatic effect.

“How much trouble are you going to be in for that?” Alex said passing your usual that Julie knew to order for you, you shrugged. “Bold of you to assume they’ll remember to ground me.” 

“Wow what a rag tag group of mommy and daddy issues we are.” Reggie announced as he placed the tray of slushies down on the counter. “Excuse you!” Julie exclaimed as she took a slip of her blueberry slushie. “She’s dead, that’s an issue.” Flynn said as she grabbed her green apple one. You choked on your food for a second, “Out of pocket!” 

“She’s right babe.” Luke said hugging her from behind. “You have mommy issues too.” Julie said turning around slightly. “Only the hottest people have both mommy and daddy issues!” Alex exclaimed holding a hand of for you and Reggie to high five. 

“My back hurts from having a healthy parental relationship and carrying that standard.” Flynn said cracking open her fortune cookie. You laughed looking around at your dysfunctional friend group. 

“We are all going to hell for these jokes alone.” You said taking a sip of your slushie. Reggie scoffed, “We’re just warming up.” 

[triplelimbedbicycle]

i got a few of the oc questions from the hard mode list for selena and don on discord so answers under the cut!

5. On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?

selena always has her retractable discs with her at all times despite not using them much nowadays + mostly using its switchblade form. she also occasionally carries around a set of earbuds, her bike lock key, and tends to pocket- in her words- "knives" she finds (broken glass, rusted metal scraps, any of dons spines that get lobbed off). back when she lived with/near her sister vicks, she also habitually carried an emergency vial of her medication just in case, shes had times where shes panic that she lost it until she remembers she doesnt have to carry it anymore + shes too far from vicks to give it to her in an emergency situation

don doesnt carry much for himself. he carries a multitool, but most of the times the things that line his pockets are small things that other people hes with find interesting but dont bother picking up (coins, cool rock + junk, a cool trinket on an unguarded shelf in a shop). he usually just tosses most of it once his pockets get full but on rare occasions where someone brings it up again he tends to surprise them bc hell just take it out of his pocket and give it to them without saying a word. omototi is delighted by this, rudy finds it funny, tridan is annoyed by how much hes stolen bc of them (they like to comment on everything, including shop items)

both carry their phones + apartment keys and usually take turns carrying the vans keys

9. Is your character’s current socioeconomic status different than it was when they were growing up?

hmmmmm never thought about that 🤔 i wanna say selena is faring better than when she was younger bc she + vicks constantly needed to tend medical stuff financially often when now most of that is taken care of by vicks workplace. i have.. no idea for don. hes kinda a drifter, he could be "worse" off financially than before he was independent but only bc hes just doing what pays enough and hes no longer under his parents wing (doesnt necessarily mean he doesnt make much, semi-hourly hospital bills and replacing weekly destroyed van parts arent exactly cheap, but also they live in an almost cartoon logic setting lmao)

29. What did your character dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?

previously mentioned don was a bit of a drifter so he doesnt really have too many career goals. nowadays hes probably more avoidant of having career goals than just being neutral about it, he may or may not be slightly avoidant of anything that has a chance of separating him from selena the only person giving him a "reliable" direction in life his limited nearby social circle

selena wanted to be a rollercoaster operator as a kid bc she thought they actually controlled the rollercoasters speed and direction. she didnt become one but considering her lifestyle she got her wish in a sense

40. How does your character treat people in service jobs?

selena is Very nice to them, don doesnt treat them terribly but his habit of being quiet + sometimes being so direct in the shortest amount of words that he ends up being vague can be annoying

[spookyrobbins]

Okay, i can’t believe you managed to make a fucking bubblegum and x-ray hella sad. Kudos for that!

Now let’s do part 2 of the angst game with more random words.

1.) Moles/freckles

2.) Glasses

3.) Gauze-paws

4.) Polaroid

5.) Fending machine

6.) Ballpoint

7.) Softball

8.) Leather

9.) Clown

10.) Bailey

1.) Moles/freckles

callie was always fascinated with arizona's moles and freckles and used to trace them and count them and she honestly thought she could spend hours cataloging each one

there was one on her left knee that looked like the lyra constellation (a constellation that is partially based in the mythology of the muses) that was one of callie's particular favourites

i'll let you fill in the blanks :)

2.) Glasses

it started with glasses, oddly enough

arizona was in denial, but callie noticed; the colonel kept losing his glasses, he kept losing his glasses and he just seemed confused

arizona refused to even talk about it; he was the colonel, he was always fine

and then he asked how seattle was - arizona hadn't lived in seattle in three years

the next time they visited a few months later, he hesitated when he spoke to sofia, as if it took him a moment to place her

and still, arizona and barbara didn't want to see it bc he was fine most of the time, he had lived a hard life, he was getting older so a bit of confusion was normal and nothing callie said could change their minds

if callie could’ve done anything to stop the devastation that appeared in arizona’s face, she would’ve. but she could do nothing but watch as arizona’s face crumbled when her father turned to her after dinner one night and called her margaret, his beloved older sister, whom arizona did bear a striking resemblance

but maybe the worst moment came a few months after he was diagnosed, when arizona was speaking to him on the phone and he mentioned that he was going to give tim a call; arizona didn't know what to say but she didn't have the heart to tell him that tim was dead

and to think, it started with glasses

3.) Gauze-paws

arizona knew she shouldn't be jealous; they were just friends; mark was just helping his best friend bc she had chicken pox and she probably really wanted to scratch

it was stupid and childish to be jealous; after all, she was the one lying to her girlfriend - she totally had chickenpox, she and tim had it at the same time and spent a week on the couch, absolutely miserable, watching re-runs of MASH

but god if she didn't hate mark sloan just a bit, she just wished he wasn't around so much, like if he decided to leave seattle for a while or forever, arizona wouldn't exactly be mourning the loss

she really shouldn't have lied to callie, she just panicked and now mark sloan was cuddling with her girlfriend who looked unfairly cute with chicken pox and gauze paws

4.) Polaroid

callie loved taking pictures of arizona

arizona hated it when callie took photos of her, not because she was self-conscious, but because callie rarely told her she was doing it; arizona would just find polaroids of herself lying around (there had been a particularly dicey moment when cristina nearly found a more racy one if not for callie's quick thinking)

callie started to hate it too at some point; some point around when it seemed like arizona had disappeared in on herself, slipped into a deep, dark place and wasn't the arizona callie knew and all she had left of her arizona were the polaroids

callie couldn't remember the last time she felt so useless and pathetic as she flipped through old polaroids of arizona and a smile that callie hadn't seen in months; somehow it felt like she was looking at a ghost, even if arizona was only twenty feet away

5.) Fending machine

when she's wrapped up in planning a surgery, arizona frequently forgets to eat; for years, callie would remind her, just like arizona would make sure callie ate when she was working on her research

her favourite was this one kind of chocolate peanut butter granola bars that they only had in the cancer wing vending machines, which was on the clear opposite side from peds

it had been years since callie was around to take care of her and arizona had honestly forgot about the granola bars

but one day, she was down in the cancer wing for a patient and she happened to pass by the vending machines and it was so stupid it was a freaking granola bar, but she just felt alone? because nobody cared to make sure she was eating and bringing her the granola bars she liked and make sure that she wasn't so, so painfully alone all the time; but she had made her bed and now she had to lie in it, even if it felt like she couldn't breathe

6.) Ballpoint

arizona broke up with her and callie didn't want to be that girl who cried over stupid things just because they belonged to someone else

but then she found a ballpoint pen in the pocket of her labcoat and it was definitely arizona's; callie definitely didn't keep glitter pens in her lab coat and callie was just so angry because who did arizona think she was going around kissing her in elevators and smiling with her stupid dimples and yep, callie might be able to hate arizona just a little bit, she tossed the pen in the trash and steeled herself for having to go up to peds and maybe see arizona, honestly, her day couldn't get that much worse, not when it started with crying in her cereal

7.) Softball

arizona was cleaning out her junk closet when she found a picture of the hospital softball team, all goofy smiles and arms slung over shoulders and just happiness bled through the photo

as she traced over their faces with her finger, she desperately wished she could go back to that moment and warn them, tell them to hold onto this moment of happiness because henry would die a month later, teddy would leave and never return, mark and lexie would never get to be together, owen and cristina would fall to pieces, she and callie would tear each other apart, cristina would leave, derek would die and leave meredith broken with three small children; everything would change and very rarely for the better

8.) Leather

arizona locked herself in a supply closet, she knew she was being childish or jealous or insecure or whatever million words callie had thrown at her years ago, but god, it felt like her heart was being torn to shred for the hundredth time

but seeing penny wearing callie's leather jacket, the one that callie had been wearing all those years ago in that dirty bar bathroom, the one that arizona used to steal as a joke, the one that had always been arizona's favourite, it just felt like one more thing on top of everything else, just further proof that callie had moved on and arizona was just going to have to be okay with it

only she didn't know how to be okay anymore, she wasn't sure she could do that anymore, she'd just smile through the pain and it'd work because no one other than callie would know it wasn't a real smile, and even callie wouldn't notice because she didn't care anymore and arizona wished she didn't care. she wished she didn't automatically look for callie, didn't catch herself doing a million things that had become muscle memory because of callie

9.) Clown

"callie, what the fuck happened? why is sofia calling me in tears?"

"we took sofia to the circus and there were clowns and penny wanted to do something nice for sofia and she took her to get a balloon animal when I went to get food and she didn't know that sofia's afraid of clowns. that's all. it's fine, I'm dealing with it. you don't need to freak out about it."

"I don't need to freak out, seriously, callie? i think I'm perfectly entitled to freak out because my daughter called me in tears because you left her alone with your girlfriend who didn't know she is terrified of clowns. damn it, callie."

"it's fine."

"it's not. it's really, really not. sofia is terrified and I'm on the other side of the country and she is crying and she didn't feel like she could tell you because you'd be mad. it's really, really not fucking okay, callie."

10.) Bailey

bailey really thought out of everyone, callie and arizona would make it

they loved each other in such a special way; they loved each other even when they hated each other; they had special smiles and twinkling eyes; and bailey always grumbled about them but she sort of adored them in her own way

she wanted to shake them and tell them to hold on to each other

she wanted to yell at arizona to actually fight for something because she loved callie torres so damned much and you don't just give up on the love of your life, even if you think you're doing it for her happiness

she wanted to shake callie and tell her that arizona still loved her, but she was terrified because callie left and she was trying to protect callie and callie had to see that arizona watched her and waited for her and the way arizona's smile dimmed just a bit more each day

but she didn't and she would regret that as she sat in a courtroom watching a lawyer try to destroy arizona while callie did nothing

she would regret that when she saw a version of arizona robbins that was wholly unfamiliar to her when she came back from new york

she would regret that as she watched arizona finally try to move on with now that callie was really gone, but bailey could tell that her heart wasn't in it because her heart was in

she would regret that whenever she got a message from callie "just checking in"

but there wasn't much for her to do, so she would give tuck an extra hug because he was still here and she wouldn't have to give him up; and she'd tell ben how much she loved him because not everyone got to tell the love of their life they loved them

and she would say a silent prayer that callie and arizona someday find their way back together.

[dreamlogic]

had a dream that was definitely influenced by current anxiety about being a food service worker at a small business w/ no sick leave policy on the brink of a pandemic, but it was one of the most vividly "branded" dreams i've ever had??

[[MORE]]

started off in a dream version of the Hip Historic Downtown neighborhood where i work, and my shop had just been shut down so i was wandering around while the news sank in. a bunch of folks had set up pop-up shops on the sidewalk after their own jobs had been cut, including a dealer of explosive mineral salts called "Just Add Water," a stoner paraphernalia stand called "The Silver Churchwarden" which was selling lord of the rings trading cards and glass pipes, and a used stuffed animal trader whose stall was called "The Soft Hospital," and all their toys had lil face masks on. i remember the parking spaces all had signs that read "position vehicle nose out, back towards camera meter to park" and finding it odd bc those were normally free. everything was too big, too desperate, collapsing under its own weight, confused by too many colors on the stoplights.

i eventually wandered across town and spent some time exploring an abandoned grocery store where potted plants had been used as barriers to close off all the doorways and cash registers. then i found the "Shake N' Swirl," whose logo i remember clearly as being in bubbly retro font set in a baby blue formica background with a holographic periwinkle popsicle over the word 'shake', and a neon vanilla soft serve cone over 'swirl'. nationwide chain, open 24/7.

the shake n' swirl was not, as you'd expect, an ice cream parlor, but a restaurant. each location was gas station sized, lit with soft pastels outside and warm yellow light inside. the seating was all booths & bars like a vintage diner, but instead of sitting down to order and having food delivered to your seat, half the restaurant was a very well-stocked commercial kitchen. you'd go in, wash your hands & get assigned an apron instead of a table number, and cook whatever you wanted. all the restaurant staff were just there to make sure everyone was cleaning up after themselves and finding ingredients and utensils they needed, and your apron somehow kept a tally of all the ingredients you used, which were itemized and charged at the end of your meal. i went in at like 2am and most ppl were cooking diner-style breakfast foods, but there was one girl huddled in the corner who wasn't cooking anything. we got to talking and decided to bake a loaf of sweet bread and some lemon curd to spread on top. she kept dropping things and crying so i did most of the cooking and shared with everyone else at the shake n' swirl when it was done.

it was dawn when i went up to the counter to pay, and the owner was there crying and handing me wads of money in odd quantities (i remember a $30 bill), a check for $2,700, and a bunch of random junk from his pockets. apparently the girl i'd helped was in the news because something really bad had happened to her, and to thank me for helping her feel better, he'd written to the paper and gotten a ton of donations for me and was also giving me the franchise? i left in a daze with a soft serve cone, and the dream ended with me watching the sunrise from a swing set in another dream location i haven't visited in years. it was just me, all the roads empty and people gone somewhere safer. a family of deer emerged from the mist to graze in the median, a light in a nearby house went out for good.

i woke up, and was so convinced that shake n' swirls were a real franchise that i googled the nearest one for breakfast before i realized it was just a dream.

[bumblybee-fic]

soft snuggly cuddles or farmers market/bargain outlet shopping (bc Sid is cheap LOL)

“This place awful,” Geno whines. “Why we can’t go to Bed Bath and Beyond?”

“Because,” Sidney says, rummaging through one of the bargain bins, “it’s the same stuff but cheaper here.” He pulls out a size extra-small children’s t-shirt, caught on a wooden spoon, and sets them both aside.

“Yes, but if we go to Bed Bath and Beyond, we don’t have to be here. It’s worth the price.”

“Come on, it’s not that bad.” He pulls out a wooden cutting board, which looks new and of a decent quality. He raps his knuckles against it, showing it off to Geno. “See? Look at this. Cutting board, check. What else is on the list?”

“Dignity,” Geno says. “You think we find that here?”

“Don’t be such a snob. My mom used to take me here all the time when I was a kid.”

“Yes, but now we have option for other stores—take less time to find what we look for.”

Sidney takes the list out of Geno’s hand pointedly, putting the cutting board in the cart. “Housewarming gift for Taylor. That’ll be easy, come on.”

“How she feel, she see you buy from this place? Her brother not splurge and get her something nice?”

“You say that like she’s not gonna be shopping here, too.” Sidney pushes the cart toward an area that has home decor strewn across a few different displays. “It’s a Crosby family tradition—you needed something for the house, you came to one of these stores.”

“We have our own family now, make our own tradition,” Geno says. “Teach our future kids to go to Bed Bath and Beyond.”

“What is with you and Bed Bath and Beyond?” Sidney reaches for a sign that says LIVE LAUGH LOVE on it, makes a face, and moves it to the side to look at what else is on the shelf. “It’s all overpriced junk. At least you can get junk for less here.”

“Why I even try to argue with a man who wears Crocs?” Geno asks the sky, and even Sidney snorts a laugh at that.

“Okay, what do you think of this one?” he asks, showing Geno a sign that says CHOOSE HAPPY in orange neon against a white shiplap backing board. It has a cord to plug into the wall, and even though it’s not turned on, Geno can see how it’d look all lit up.

It’s actually not awful, for all that Geno wants to chirp Sidney about it. “I think she like. Is good for kitchen area.”

“That’s what I was thinking, too.” Sidney holds it up a little more to the light, as if that’s going to make it a better deal, then puts it in the cart. “What’s next… oh, candles. Those are over here—“

“Candles?” Geno gives Sidney a look. “What we need candles for, Sid?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” There’s a large end cap full of candles, on their own and in jars and for candle warmers. He looks at some of the taller ones and sniffs them, then turns around to Geno. “Which one do you like better?”

“Depends what they for,” Geno says, and Sidney rolls his eyes, his cheeks turning a little pink.

“They’re for beside the tub. You know, since we, uh. Used up all of our last ones.”

Geno remembers that night fondly, actually—they’d both gotten home from a game and were so bone-tired they fell asleep in the bath together. Looking back, it was definitely not the safest thing to have done, and maybe a little embarrassing, but Sidney’s skin had smelled like a bath bomb for a week afterward, which was nice.

“I like purple,” Geno says, pointing to the one in Sidney’s right hand. “Different from just white ones.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Sidney sniffs the purple one again, then puts it in the cart. “I think that’s everything now.” He looks at the list again, then shoves it into his pocket.

“No, Sid, it’s not everything.” Geno walks to another aisle, grabbing what is probably the largest stuffed animal he’s ever seen, a floppy tiger that won’t be able to sit up on its own and would probably take up a whole chair all on its own. Geno carries it over his shoulder, then sets it into the cart. “He come with us.”

Sidney starts laughing, and Geno pretends to be offended. “What? What so funny? He’s perfect, look at him. We need, Sid.”

“Okay, okay, we can get him!”

Geno kisses Sidney’s cheek in thanks, but Sidney looks awfully smug about it.

“So, glad we came here after all, huh?”

“…Only because we’re rescue him.”

“Uh huh, sure, G.”

[unicyclehippo]

My girl Dima also has an urchin background! Wanna tell the people about your warlock?

yeah ! sure !

So she is a human with the prodigy feat & urchin background, for the mechanics side of things & for design,,

Early twenties, short, hungry thin, ash blonde hair. She grew up in a big city & worked largely with a group called the Dredgers who used to like fish junk out of the river & mud to sell & whose space they ran in was around the river there. The sign of the Dredgers was two blue lines down the thumb, which she has on her right hand. She was a member of the group but on the outskirts of it so she did business with them & had a little protection from them but she wasn’t involved in any of their planning or anything for jobs, she was on the periphery still.

The one person she trusted was a tiefling girl called Tick who she didn’t even like most of the time but who she trusted implicitly. They lived together in that kind of rotating bed kind of way like Ruck (my warlock) slept in the bunk in the basement at night & worked during the day & Tick slept during the day & worked at night. If either came across jobs the other could do, they would share them, they would share their food & medicine & stuff like that.

Tick was a much better street magician, con artist, sleight of hand pick pocket type person than Ruck. Ruck isn’t great at picking the right people to con. She’s not bad at talking to people but her persuasive skills tend to align more with planned deception that comes with a disguise than on off the cuff improvisations. So while Tick was good at those social cons, Ruck was actually better at environmental jobs. She has a knack for reading maps & blueprints & stuff like that & so her jobs usually involved searching sewer pipes, mausoleums, graves, etc for things to sell & eventually with a little work she managed to branch into house work. She’s good with maps & buildings, she’s not so good with people.

Her adventuring story begins when she was approached/word got to her about someone who wanted a “family heirloom” to be “recovered” from a temple/tomb/resting place & she agreed to it bc they were offering a decent sum of money. When she got there, it was a plain & simple cavalry looking sword (like a sabre) & she was like “yoink”. In that moment or maybe as she was leaving the place, there was an earthquake/landslide or smth to that effect & she was trapped. She was rescued by a dwarfen ranger who took her back to his home & him & his husband (Kerryn & Orsik) helped her to recover.

When Ruck realised these guys were comfortably well off & also lonely since their children long since left to do whatever they wanted, she pretended not to remember anything that came before & stayed with them. They adopted her & gave her the name “Orryn” (a splicing of their names!! cute !!) Orryn “Stoneborn” Torfell is her name (previously, & in her mind maybe forever, her name is Ruck)

What I think I want to explore with her is discovering whether or not she decides putting her skills to good purpose means that she is good, or whether she continues to believe that putting her skills to good purpose means that she is a tool for this greater force & when her job is done she will be nothing again. That’s what I’m interested in story-wise. Character wise, I’m not sure yet. I think she felt safe & contented with her new dads but I do not at all feel like she thought she deserved it, she definitely believes she tricked her way into that comfortable life. So I don’t know maybe she wants to earn it, maybe she wants to atone, maybe she wants to challenge the idea that she’s “bad” just because she is someone who is calculating and fights dirty and hasn’t got the cleanest hands. She definitely wants to make sure that Tick is okay because she thinks maybe Tick got in trouble when she never returned with the sword. Who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[professional-anti]

Chapter Eleven: Magnus Bane

Okay, kiddos. Let’s go.

Jace and Clary leave the Brotherhood HQ, and Jace calls the cab driver a “brain-dead moron”. You know what, here’s the full quote:

Jace leaned forward and banged his hand against the partition separating them from the cab driver. “Turn left! Left! I said to take Broadway, you brain-dead moron!”

Oh, man, I’m so hot for Jace you guys. He’s so evil and cruel. I’m fanning myself. And the reason he wants to take Broadway? He wants breakfast. That’s it. It’s not a life-or-death situation. He wants fucking breakfast.

I like the idea of the diner they go to. A place where magical ppl can get together for some spaghetti. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I LOVE the idea of a secret (or not-so-secret) magical Manhattan. It’s just so unfortunate that Clare’s is so bad.

Clarinet asks Jack-Jack about Magnus Bane. Jack-Jack explains that he’s a warlock. Alec shows up. Clare is the foreshadowing master.

Clary freaks out about a guy in front of the store who looks like a demon. Clary. Girl. Come on. You know about this stuff already. It’s been like two days. Calm down. Apparently he’s a bouncer (for a diner) and is the warlock equivalent of a squib.

Honesty, I love this diner. They have blood on tap!!!! That’s so cool!!!!!! Plus, the people eating there sound way more interesting than our MCs.

[A] boy with spiky blue dreads was sitting next to a beautiful Indian girl with long black hair and gauzelike golden wings sprouting from her back.

Gotta love how the only people of color are basically set-dressing, though. At least Simon is Jewish, even with the messed up antisemitic crosses-burned-into-him dream thing. Clare’s Jewish, though, so of course she represents only herself and leaves everyone else out in the cold.

Alec shows up:

There was a kinetic, almost feverish energy to [Alec] that hadn’t been there before. Something about Jace sharpened him, brought him into focus. If she were going to draw them together, she thought, she would make Jace a little blurry, while Alec stood out, all sharp, clear planes and angles.

Oh, here it is. The “poor gay boy only comes to life in front of hopelessly straight crush” trope. Bc Alec has nothing better to do than obsess over Jace, a boy who is currently being rude to the waitress. Does Clare honestly not know how annoying rude boys are?

Isabelle and Simon show up. Apparently, even Isabelle’s perfume is evil:

Isabelle’s hair tickled [Clary’s] face, smelling of some kind of vanilla perfume. Clary fought the urge to sneeze. She hated vanilla perfume. She’d never understood why some girls felt the need to smell like dessert.

Haven’t I mentioned? Clary is the best girl to ever girl. Isabelle can’t even order right. Instead of getting something reasonable, like a large order of coconut pancakes (gross, Clary), “Isabelle fastidiously order[s] a fruit smoothie”.

Jace goes off to flirt with the waitress. Clary is confused bc the waitress is a Downworlder and aren’t they, like, totally evil? Isabelle and Alec assure her that the only kill the bad Downworlders. The rest they let live.

“Like letting spiders live because they eat mosquitoes, Clary thought.” Uh, not really. The Downworlders aren’t spiders. They’re just people, living their lives.

“So they’re good enough to let live, good enough to let live, good enough to make your food for you, good enough to flirt with—but not really good enough? I mean, not as good as people.” Isabelle and Alec looked at her as if she were speaking Urdu. “Different from people,” said Alec finally.

This doesn’t really seem like such a difficult question? Isabelle and Alec are just trying to cover up their bullshit.

“Better than mundanes?” said Simon. “No,” Isabelle said decidedly. “You could turn a mundane into a Shadowhunter. But you could never turn a Downworlder into one of the Clave. They can’t withstand the runes.”

So Shadowhunters judge others based on their ability to become Shadowhunters? Seems not at all racist. I’m so glad we had this chat. Jace comes back and explains that there’s just a shit-ton of hostility between Shadowhunters and Downworlders, so it’s not really racism.

Miracle of miracles, Isabelle reveals that Magnus Bane has invited the magical community of New York to his house for a party. God, I love parties.

There’s a whole day before the party, so Simon and Isabelle decide to go for a walk in Central Park. For some reason, this makes Clary feel a “murderous rage”. These emotions are seriously not healthy.

Back at the Institute, Clary goes exploring in the library and finds a photo of her mom and other Order of the Pheonix members-cum-Deatheaters Shadowhunters. Evil Giles shows up and points out Valentine, Luke, the Lightwoods, Jace’s mom, and himself in the picture. Clary mentions that Jace doesn’t look anything like his father. What could this possibly mean?

Honestly, the concept of a book about the children of villains isn’t terrible. It really just the complete ripping-off of Harry Potter that annoys me.

Oh, God. Clary gets back to her room (armed with a sleeping potion from Hodge) to see Jace looking at her sketchbook. I’m not even good at drawing, and my sketchbooks are still deeply personal. You can’t just look in someone’s sketchbook! It’s like a diary! WTF, Jace!

In fact, Clary tells Jace that it’s  basically a diary and that he shouldn’t look at it. This should be obvious.

Wait, I’m laughing:

“You could try not being charming all the time,” Clary said. “It might be a relief for everyone.”

BITCH, WHERE???

Jace offers to tell Clary a bedtime story. It’s the famous falcon story, the one that Clare used in her Harry Potter fanfiction. You know, where Jace’s father gives him a falcon to train, and when Jace loves it, his father kills it. Proof that Jace is Draco.

Somehow, Clary makes the connection that this story is about Jace only as she falls asleep. Whatever.

Isabelle wakes up Clary. Again, a famous moment:

[Isabelle] looked like a moon goddess. Clary hated her.

Bitch, Isabelle is a moon goddess, and I love her.

Yes, we have a makeover scene!! My secret weakness. I’m sorry, fellow patriarchy fighters. Makeover scenes are just so good.

Isabelle continues to be the coolest person in this book:

Her room looked as if a disco ball had exploded inside it. The walls were black and shimmered with swirls of sponged-on golden paint. Clothes were strewn everywhere: on chairs, spilling out of the closet and the tall wardrobe propped against one wall. Her vanity table, its mirror rimmed with spangled pink fur, was covered in glitter, sequins, and pots of blush and powder.

I want this room!

Clary gets a slinky black dress, fishnets, and boots. I want this outfit, too. When Isabelle does Clary’s makeup, Clary asks if Alec is gay. For some reason, this causes an intense shock in Isabelle:

Isabelle’s wrist jerked. The eyeliner skidded, inking a long line of black from the corner of Clary’s eye to her hairline. “Oh, hell,” Isabelle said, putting the pen down. “It’s all right,” Clary began, putting her hand up to her eye. “No, it isn’t.” Isabelle sounded near tears as she scrabbled around among the piles of junk on top of the vanity . . . She sat down on the edge of the bed, ankle bracelets jingling, and looked at Clary through her hair. “How did you guess?” she said finally. “I—” “You absolutely can’t tell anyone,” said Isabelle. “Not even  Jace?” “Especially not Jace!” “All right.” Clary heard the stiffness in her own voice. “I guess I didn’t realize it was such a  big deal.” “It would be to my parents,” said Isabelle quietly. “They would disown him and throw him out of the Clave—” “What, you can’t be gay and a Shadowhunter?” “There’s no official rule about it, But people don’t like it. I mean, less with people our age—I think,” she added, uncertainly, and Clary remembered how few other people her age Isabelle had ever really met. “But the older generation, no. If it happens, you don’t talk about it.”

Okay. So. I’m trying to judge this for when it was written. But, like. Is the homophobia necessary? It’s kind of like the ridiculous sexism in ACOTA/R. It’s a choice the author is making, for, like, no good reason. This is a case of a straight author needlessly torturing her gay character. But since this was published in 2007, I feel like this has been talked out, so let’s move on.

IT TURNS OUT THAT ISABELLE’S ANKLETS ARE WEAPONS. I LOVE HER. WE ARE GETTING MARRIED. WEDDING INVITATIONS TO FOLLOW.

Ugh, Simon short-circuits bc Clary is wearing a short skirt. Please calm down, sweetie. You’re embarrassing me. Wait, what is even going on here? Jace gives Clary a dagger, and, uh, this happens:

“I could give you a thigh sheath to put that in,” Isabelle offered. “I’ve got tons.” “ABSOLUTELY NOT,” said Simon.

I’m actually laughing. Lol for real. What does this even mean? Is a thigh sheath too sexy or something? Simon, can you chill for .2 seconds? This isn’t your body. Let’s all take deep breaths.

Clary puts the dagger in the outside pocket of her backpack because there’s no way having to unzip a backpack to get to the dagger could bit her in the ass during a fight. Then Jace reaches over and undoes her hair bc, uh, shipping moment.

I’m so grossed out by the fact that in a short while, they will think they’re siblings.

[iadorayou-blog]

Hide - Chapter 7

previous          next          chapter listing

We went into the pool bathroom and Lance handed me a baggie with messy blue sharpie labeling the contents ‘clean undies’ I pulled out the only pair in the bag, “Lance, I thought you said you had multiple pairs! I can’t take your only extra pair of clean underwear.” He just ignored me to rummage through his bag again pulling an almost identical baggie to the one he handed me out

“Keeping everything separated is more sanitary.”

“Makes sense,” I shrugged as I entered a bathroom stall to change and Lance did the same.

We left the pool and started heading back walking just the way we did before, hand in hand, except surer that the other wanted the same thing.

We got back and found Hunk, Pidge, and Shay in the same room we left them in. “Hey Hunk, can you take Keith and me to my house he’s staying over.”

“Lance, I hate to be the dad here but, you and Keith are drunk you shouldn’t do anything…” he lectured.

“Don’t worry, Lance and I agreed to not do anything until we talk about things sober because we are drunk. We’re just gonna watch movies and eat food.” I interjected.

“Wow that’s very mature of you guys, I’m proud.” Hunk faked tearing up.

“It was Keith’s idea,” Lance began, “which I agreed to because I am just as mature as Keith is!” He sounded like he thought he had to defend himself.

“Okay I’ll take you but can you wait a little longer it’s only like 9:30 we’ve been here like an hour and thirty minutes.”

“Oh come on Hunk, you said yourself that Lance only came bc you told him Keith was coming and Keith only came bc you got Allura to tell him that Lance was coming. Take the idiots home!” Pidge yelled.

Lance gasped and he turned to me, “Yo we were tricked, I mean I don’t mind because I enjoy the end result but, yo we were tricked!”

“Pidge, they weren’t supposed to know that!” Hunk groaned at her.

Pidge took off her glasses to clean them, “Sorry I can’t hear you I don’t have my glasses on.” She deadpanned.

“You don’t even need them you’re not blind Matt have them to you when he got contacts and you got the lenses replaced!” Hunk sighed, “whatever guys, Shay I’ll be back I’m gonna take these two losers home.”

“See you soon Hunk!” She replied cheerfully.

The three of us walked to Hunk’s car while he grumbled, “why do I always have to be the designated driver,”

“Because Hunk you don’t drink,” Lance answered his rhetoric.

“Because it’s terrible for your liver! It’s not even enjoyable, you just get all dizzy and confused and you wake up with a headache in the morning.” Junk ranted.

“Not me I have fun when I’m drunk and then I wake up sober and have more fun.” Lance once again replied.

Hunk just sighed in response he had given up on trying to lecture the boy. The drive was only about five minutes but it would have been too far to walk.

“Okay boys,” Hunk started in a mock mothering voice, “be safe don’t stay up too late don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! And remember mommy loves you!” He joked.

“Uh, we already have done stuff that you wouldn’t do but love you too, mom.” Lance played along as we walked up the sidewalk leading to his door. Hunk just stared at us blankly as he slowly rolled up his crank window.

Hunk’s car is exactly how I imagined, a really old minivan but in pristine condition. He replaced the stereo system with a newer system that can connect to his phone through Bluetooth. Lance said the windows were all broken when he bought it but he fixed them up so now they all roll up and down. He also replaced the fabric seats with a fake leather.

Lance’s house was nothing like I expected, we were only a few minutes from the suburban neighborhood the party we were just at was in but this area was much more rural. The property seems to be mostly land with a short picket fence bordering it all. In his backyard, I could see smaller fence pens walling in small groups of animals. Further back there was a small building resembling a barn where I imagine they kept the animal that wouldn’t fit in the fenced pens. The house was a pretty pale blue with white trimming. It had a high rise porch with a closed off crawl space. There was a moderate sized hole in the criss-cross pattern blocking off the underside of the porch.

Lance let go of my hand to unhook the latch holding the front gate closed. He opened it up, gestured for me to walk in and then closed it after himself. He grabbed my hand again and said “welcome to my humble abode.”  

As we walked closer to his house a small gray cat crawled out from the small hole under the porch and ran right up to us whining. Lance immediately goes to pick it up, “Blue, what are you doing outside again?” He asked the cat whilst holding it like a baby. “Keith, meet Blue, my baby girl. You aren’t allergic to cats are you?” He asked directed at me this time.

“Oh no, I’m not. I don’t often play with cats though, do I just pet her?” I asked him.

“Well, you have to let her smell you first so she knows you don’t want to hurt her. But then you can just scratch the top of her head.”

“Okay,” I slowly reached my hand out to her face she smelt me and then visibly relaxed and rubbed her face against my hand. “So why is she named blue?” I asked as I scratched the cats head.

“Oh that’s because she’s a Russian blue, also she first came around when we were painting the house and she got paint all over her fur and we had to clean her up and she’s stayed with us since.” He smiled at me.

“Ah okay, that makes sense. I thought you were gonna say something like ‘well blue is my favorite color.’ But that’s cute I like that.” I said

“Actually blue is my favorite color, but that’s not why I called her that. It amused me that a Russian Blue cat decided to roll around in our blue paint.” He looked at his cat lovingly. “I’m gonna hand you the keys because I have to carry her in she knows she’s supposed to be an indoor cat.” He shifts blue to where she’s only in one arm to dig in his pockets for the keys and then toss them my way.

I unlock the door and let Lance walk in before me he sets blue down on the couch as I close the door behind us. The inside of Lance’s house is much more like what I imagined. Everything was a nice warm tone, the walls were a toned down sunset orange with red roses painted on the white baseboards. The wood floors were stained a deep burgundy color. The couch was a mixture of gold and beige and looked a few years old but still extremely comfortable near it there were matching chairs all surrounding a coffee table made of recycled and repurposed wood. As I scanned the room there was a cross stitch banner that read ‘mi casa, es su casa.’ above the door. In the farthest corner to the right, there was an old piano, the top of it was being used as a shelf to hold various family pictures. In the other far corner, there was a doorway I later learned led to a bathroom. Between the two corners was a large archway that led to the dining room and kitchen. Almost every wall had framed school pictures and childhood drawing to go with them. Messy flowers, bowls of fruit and redrawn family portraits. Lance’s mother kept every piece of artwork the school probably made Lance and his siblings draw throughout the years.

As I look at all the framed pictures around the room I find one of Lance in elementary school he had the hugest smile and he was missing his front two teeth. Lance came up and hugged me from behind and wrapped his arms around my stomach and I leaned into his warmth. He rested his chin on my shoulder and spoke, “right before that picture was taken I pulled out my two front teeth because I was tired of them being there. I wasn’t gentle either there was blood on my face that the teacher had to wipe off before I was allowed to take my picture. Apparently having a child have blood on their face in the yearbook was against school policy.”

In the corner closest to the door we’re some stairs and in the other front corner, there was a Christmas tree, “Lance, as much as I would love to hear the story behind all of these pictures what I’m really curious about is the Christmas tree over there? Like it’s August why is there a Christmas tree out?” I spun us around in the direction of the tree.

“Ah see my family love plants but we all have allergies so we can’t keep them in the house and my mamá always says that it’s the best tree to have. She loves God and every year she makes us read these stories about how Christmas trees are meant to be a reminder of God. So for her, it isn’t just a seasonal thing. Don’t worry though she’s not like the Westboro Baptist church or anything, she’s really accepting and kind.” He explained.

“She’d be okay with me, a full-fledged gay, being here right? Does she know that you’re… ya know?” Also, where is your family?”

“Uhh, yes, no and tonight is date night for my parents and none of my siblings live at home anymore.” He paused to turn our bodies to face the door still hugging me from behind, “See that sign right there,” he pointed to the cross stitch banner I had noticed earlier, “it says ‘mi casa es su casa’ which in Spanish means ‘my house is your house’ something that my family lives by. Basically, anyone who is important to any family member is always allowed here. Which is why I didn’t have to ask if you could come over our rule is our doors are always open to guests unless otherwise specified.” He paused again to release me from the hug and make me face him, “basically what I’m trying to say is, you’re welcome at any time and make yourself at home.”

“Lance, can I ask you something?” He quickly nodded in response. “Why haven’t you come out?”

He took a deep breath before slowly beginning, “To be perfectly honest, I don’t know. I know that my parents and siblings won’t care. But all of my family is from Cuba, which isn’t exactly known for its gay rights… I guess I’m just scared I’ll be looked at different, and I don’t want to hide this side of me from them but I don’t want anyone to try to change me.” He said weakly.

“I get that, I mean I can’t relate but I understand what you mean. Don’t worry Lance, you can come out when you’re ready. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” I rubbed small circles in his hand trying my best to be comforting.

“Thank you, Keith, I always feel ashamed that I don’t have the courage to tell my family, some people think it’s because someone is ashamed of being LGBT but I’m so proud to be bi like it’s a huge part of me. It’s just scary because you can’t help but wonder if the people who are most important to you will think of you differently.” He rested his forehead against my shoulder.

“Lance there’s no need to thank me. I like you I want you to feel happy and comfortable. I want to reassure you and help. And the people who think being in the closet equals being ashamed of who you are, are dead wrong. You can be the proudest person in the world and still be scared of how the people around you might react.” I started to rub his back as to tell him everything would be okay, “Lance I’m gonna be here for you okay.”

“You’re the sweetest person in the world,” he lifted his head and planted a gentle kiss on my cheek, “so what kind of movie do you wanna watch?” He suddenly regained his confidence.

“I don’t know I’m not really a movie person, I’ve mostly watched older movies. Like back to the future or all the old Star Wars movies.” I told him.

“So you haven’t seen love, Simon?” He asked quickly.

“Nope, what’s it about?”

“It’s gay and we’re watching it. How do you like your popcorn?” He led me to the kitchen and started rummaging around the shelves. “We have cheddar cheese, movie theater butter, caramel corn, and extra butter.”

“What’s the difference between movie theater bitter and extra butter?” I asked him.

“Movie theater is more salty and extra is more classic butter taste.” He explained.

“Uh that doesn’t help me, you choose anything but caramel corn.” As I said that he whipped around suddenly to face me.

“You don’t like caramel corn?” He shouted.

“I’m more of a savory guy, plus I like to keep my sweets and savories separate and corn is like inherently savory already.” I elaborated as he continued to stare at me blankly.

He sighed, “I guess everyone is entitled to their opinion even if it’s wrong. We’ll have cheddar.” He finally announced walking to the microwave and popping it in.

“I’ll tickle you again.” I simply stated.

He pulled his arms up in front of him defensively, “No need your opinion is valid and so are you!”

“That’s more like it you get a kiss on the cheek.” I smiled at him.

“What if I want a kiss somewhere else?” He pouted crossing his arms over his chest.

I shrugged, “I mean how can I object?” I leaned in for a quick peck on the lips and he rested his arms on my shoulders. The sweet chaste kiss gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling. I pulled back and opened my eyes to the tan giddy boy in front of me smiling like he had everything he ever wanted. I was surprised when that smile turned into an uncontrollable giggle. I fake frowned at him, “why are you laughing we just kissed?”

“Your face makes me laugh.” I stared at him confusion all over my face.

“Okay, no more kisses for you then.” I jokingly scolded and backed away, but he just followed.

“No, come back,” he whined “your face is cute and it makes me laugh. Not like ‘haha that’s so funny’ laugh, an ‘aw he’s so adorable’ laugh. Like it’s just a joy-filled gut reaction. Now come here and give me more kisses.” He begged as he leaned forward, puckered up, and closed his eyes waiting for me to join him.

I connected our lips once again going for a more passionate kiss, I rolled his bottom lip between my teeth before I brought our lips back together and pulled away. He tried to come with me but I held him back. “Sorry lover boy, we agreed we’d keep it at kisses until we’re sober.”

“I know you’re right, you’re just fun to kiss. I wanna steal all the kisses. And more. But we can wait.” Lance was startled by the loud beeping of the microwave telling our popcorn was ready.

Lance poured our popcorn into a bowl and grabbed two bottles of watermelon Powerade, “step one of Lance’s hangover remedy: carbs and electrolytes.” He tossed me one of the bottles, “I hope you like watermelon because that’s the only flavor we have also hydrating with drinks high in electrolytes is like the most important part. I don’t want you to be grumpy in the morning so drink up. Also, follow me to my room.” He sauntered into the living room towards the stairs and waited for me to catch up. I followed him up the stairs and he opened the first door in the upstairs hall.

“Welcome to my room, the bathroom is right over there. Also I’m gonna build us a fort because I don’t like getting into my bed before showering so I’m gonna get the extra bedding and make us a fort and then after we eat our popcorn and finish the movie we can shower and snuggle up in the bed, maybe watch more movies depending on how we’re feeling.” He rambled before leaving the room to get fort supplies.

As I looked around this room definitely was Lance’s. The walls were a dark calming gray-blue. On the wall behind his bed he had neatly arranged Polaroid pictures of beautiful landscapes, him with friends, and other various pictures I assume he took. The tops of his walls were lined with dim blue string lights. The wall by his desk was covered in theater posters and playbills. His desk had shelves housing multiple childhood sports trophies, t-ball, soccer, track, and swim. He had post-it notes with reminders littered all around his desk, things like ‘don’t change for others’ and ‘if you don’t study for math you’re a loser and I hate you.’

“Okay, here’s how we’re gonna do this,” he began and we set up the fort, we made a comfortable cushioned area using blankets and pillows and then placed one end of a sheet on Lance’s desk and the other stretch out to the ground. “Okay now, you get in there and I’m going to hand you stuff.”

After handing me our food an extra blanket to cuddle under and his laptop, Lance finally joined me in our little fort. “You're like a pro fort builder, Lance do you often bring guys up to your room and build forts with them?” I joked while snuggling up to his side as he pulled up the movie.

“Well, you're not the first person I have built a fort in my room with,” he plays along.

“So who was the first?” I asked partially feeling insecure and partially genuinely curious.

“My niece and nephew. However, you are the first person over 10. Also the first boy I’ve kissed. I've always wanted to build a fort with someone of romantic interest but my ex-girlfriend didn’t want to do the cute fun couple things. She just wanted to have sex and go shopping, and by go shopping I mean to have me pay for things she wanted.”

“Lance I’m so sorry she sounds like a bitch, I would totally fight her.”

“Thanks, you don't have to though, we've only been talking for a week and you've already been better than her. Right away you made it clear that you didn’t want to use me. She just made me think that she would be the only person who would ever want me. I was afraid of losing that, but then Pidge caught her cheating and her and Hunk lectured me for like an hour about how shes terrible for and to me and then I broke up with her and I know I deserve better now.” he smiled at me.

“Seriously? I hate it when people lie especially to their partners like that's messed up.”

“It really is, but enough about my tragic love history shall we start the movie?” I nodded.

He started up the movie and Simon, the main character, started by explaining how normal his life is.

“Hey! Morning! It's Simon! I live right here! I like your boots! Okay, bye!” Simon yelled across the street to a boy working on the yard of another house not even hearing Simon.

Lance chuckled, “That's me trying to flirt with you.”

“Oh shut up I respond to you flirting with me,” I told him.

“Now you do, I meant before you talked. You were completely in your own little world.”

“I mean yeah I kind of was but, I also thought you were way too cool for me.” Lance reached to pause the movie.

“So what changed your mind then?”

“Nothing. I still think that but then you came out during class, and all this time I thought you were straight it made me feel like I had a chance because I knew you wouldn't just shoot me down because of things that aren't up to you. I kind of just said ‘maybe he has low standards’ and then Allura told me she'd give me food if I manned up and talked to you. I'm really happy I did. You're really the sweetest guy in the world.” I confessed my face cherry red.

Lance stared at me for a moment each second feeling longer as they passed, “Well, first of all, you're wrong you're really cool and kind and cute. And second of all glad to know you can be bribed with food.” I didn't even have to look at him to know there was a smirk on his face, you could hear it in his voice loud and clear.

“Wipe that smirk off your face loverboy, let’s get back to our movie.” I smiled up at him.

“Only if you give me a kiss,” he said smirk still there.

I leaned in, “Glad to know you can be bribed with kisses.” We connected lips for the third time that night each one felt just as good if not better than the previous.

[deanmiles13]

BLUE CHEER (JUST A LITTLE BIT)

My time working with Blue Cheer.

“Bridging the Digital Divide”                                                                            That’s what I’ve heard it called and much like Evel Knievel, I love to try and bridge that divide. If we have the technology to “Reach out and touch someone” like AT&T said, then we surely must honor the convenience and follow through with furthering a connection, if it calls for it. 

Old friends, fellow collectors of Rock and/or Wrestling Icons.They’re all out there to be tapped. Its happened for me....many times! 

Here is one such instance where I got off my butt and let my fingers do the walking.

It all began with that show we all know and love, Antiques Roadshow.

The segment had a poster collector, so that had my ear as I continued to read in bed. I love paper and posters and books. Always have since I was a kid and started “collecting” KISS posters. Then my mother threw these all out one winter and I’ve never been the same. I hold onto everything. NEATLY…

But I digress….

A fellow was going through some posters he had on this particular segment and he had some San Francisco Psychedelic posters. That was interesting, BUT the one that caught my ear/eye was a Blue Cheer poster from Tastee-Freez. I was blown away. 

THE POSTER THAT STARTED THE WHOLE GYPSY BALL ROLLING....

First of all I LOVE BLUE CHEER and the juxtaposition of BC and Ice Cream was too much. I had to have it. I ran to my Mac G3 and dialed up that modem as fast as it would dial. Early daze… Then I proceeded to Google BC and see what they were up to these days. We all watched that killer Closet Classic on MTV of Summer Time Blues and that is where I fell in love with them.

I sought out the records later in life, but here I was in the 2000’s? and where were they? I found a website and it had a contact for North American management for the band. I just threw out a quick email stating that I was a fan, owned a T-shirt printing company and was more than willing to help out if the EVER needed it.

The NEXT morning, I had an email from Rosalyn, the woman handling them here in the States. See, BC had relocated to Koln Germany and were doing just fine over there and in Japan. They never really stopped. She was so excited that I had reached out. She said the band loves it when their 1%’ers (BC fans) reach out to them, and especially if they offer help. I immediately got together with a friend I had at the White Eagle named Thomas. He was a super chill guy and struggling artist. He had a knack for retro 60’s looking stuff and he was up to the task.

He cranked out a 1% design and a logo and some other stuff. We printed up a variety of sample t-shirts and started the process of sending them to the band via Rosalyn in L.A. 

This part got to be a bit tedious so she eventually just gave me Dickie Petersons’ mailing address in Koln. We had a procedure for getting them to him and for getting his feedback (pun intended). In all the back and forth with Rosalyn, she mentioned that “I’m just gonna have to have Dickie give you a call some time! Don’t forget to ask him about the 3 legged dog and the boat!”

I was pretty sure that she was just building me up and stringing me along…

...but she sent me an 8x10 of Dickie and a letter out of the blue. 

She also warned me to ignore ex-guitarist Randy Holden. Dickie was and is BC, and no one else represents them. Got it!

THEN, one day at work, I had a call on my old flip phone and the number was a dazzling display of digits. I was like “Who and what the hell could this be?!?!” I answered it and the voice on the other line asked “Dean Miles?” 

Uh… yeah! “This is Dickie Peterson of Blue Cheer!”

Holy crap, it was him and I could tell just from his voice. I was stunned but played it cool as a cucumber. Man, if I told you we talked for over an hour and a half, you probably wouldn’t believe me. But we got on like a house on fire. He was so casual and just comfortable with me, that I just kinda did an interview. Of course, I had all sorts of questions outside of the t-shirt we were working on. I don’t really recall the story of the dog and the boat, but he did bring it up without my asking. 

I feel okay talking about some of these things because he has passed and so has pretty much anyone he was talking about. He mentioned his addiction issues and how he regretted letting that waste a bunch of his time and money. He said Janis Joplin turned him onto the junk. They were all at practice and she wanted some alone time with her boyfriend Paul (BC drummer). The band had work to do so Dickie objected. She said “Shut up Dickie, and just try this.” He said that was the beginning of the end. 

I’m not trying to dish dirt, or re write Rock & Roll history with any of this. Just to share my story. That’s all.

I asked him if he liked “Stoner Rock” and he replied that he was more of a blues guy. Which is totally true. I let him know that tons of bands out there worshipped at the Marshall altar of Blue Cheer. He seemed to like that.

I just have bits of stuff that I remember because it flowed so effortlessly. He was a real cool cat. I picked up the phone at the shop and talked for a bit, closed up, drove home (talking still), got home, walked in and mouthed to Darcy 

“IM ON THE PHONE WITH DICKIE PETERSON!!! and we continued to talk. 

By the end of our talk, he offered to put us up in Koln at their rehearsal spot. He gave me his phone number and address. I mean, Damn!!! Old School!!!

One of the coolest things I wanted to impart on you from our phone call was the 1%er thing. I asked him about that and the “Biker” connection, and he proceeded to tell me this story…

“You know, we were playing a gig way back in the day and it was a biker rally. Shit broke out and so did the guns. We dove under our truck that we brought all the gear in. Man, when the dust settled and we got back out from under there, we had holes and shit shot in our brand new amps. I was pissed and started to stomp around asking who was in charge here. Well, the biggest, baddest looking cat steps forward. I stood my ground and politely explained we had just bought the amps and we can’t work if we don’t have gear. He looks at me and says ‘How much do think they cost to replace?’ I gave him a figure and without hesitation he starts peeling hundreds off a money roll from his pocket. He says ‘Is that fair?’ I said ‘more than fair’. He just went back to hashing it out with the other club president that they had just gotten into it with. We loaded up and got the hell outta there. Let me tell you one thing though, a lot of people call those dudes outlaws and whatnot, but I’ll tell you the only people who stole from me were in 3-piece suits. Those outlaws were righteous when I needed them. The only OUTLAWS I know wear 3 piece suits.”

WORD!!!

Another cool thing that happened with this was I shop at a local record store called Vinyl Resting Place. Toby, the owner, has a bulletin board up and at the top is an OLD Blue Cheer picture of them playing outside to like 20 people behind some apartments. I would always just stare at this picture and wonder about the scene that day.

Well, the whole t-shirt thing was happening so I explained it to Toby and asked if I could borrow the picture for an hour. I wanted to go home, scan it and share it with the band. He had no problem with this. I sent it to Dickie and he couldn’t recall anything. He just remarked at the hair cuts and busted sticks on the ground. I was hoping they would get a kick out of it and circulate it on the site or something. No dice….

Fast forward to 2007 and BC is touring the States. I immediately start in on the promoter here in Portland and Rosalyn for a back up. My band at the time (Legend of Dutch Savage) has GOT to play this one. We actually secured an opening slot and couldn’t have been happier.

The ads hit the paper and our name is there. It’s really happening. I can thank Dickie for the call and meet him in person. Maybe even secure the t-shirt for the tour?!?!

I knew I shouldn’t expect too much….

The shirt thing was a no-go because they already had that in the works. Rosalyn was in L.A. and could get them done dirt cheap. 

Okay, cool… We still got the gig.

NOPE…. some friends had just started a band named Red Fang and they were invited to play the show. At first we all were on the show, but somewhere along the line Dutch Savage got bumped from the bill. Probably so it was just 2 openers. 

Hell of a bill…

Meanwhile, I was crushed. I have opened for tons of great bands but that’s about the only success I’ve enjoyed in my 35+ years as a working musician. Records, tours and the usual bull that a band goes through is all well & good, but when you get a slot playing on the same stage on the same night as your musical heroes, it just makes it all worth it.

I’ve played shows with Roky Erickson, Hawkwind, Dead Moon, Steel Pole Bath Tub, White Stripes and on & on.

  I was bummed beyond belief and just refused to deal with the whole night. I didn’t go to the show, didn’t go meet Dickie and didn’t drag my drums out on stage. I just sat home and moped. The scene was moving on, and no matter how tight we had it nailed for that show, we still got the shaft. No biggie. Dusted myself off and kept moving. Aint no cure…

I don’t really have many regrets in life but not going down to Dante’s that night is one of them.

I should have gotten over my self-entitled ego and just went down there. I will never forgive myself for blowing off the opportunity to meet the guy who took time to call ME to chat and just be a cool dude. I’m sorry Dickie!!! I know you had to leave this earth not too long after this gig, but the music lives on my brother. Always has/Always will. 

Like a true bluesman.

FROM WIKIPEDIA: 

On October 12, 2009, Peterson died in Germany after the development and spread of prostate cancer. After Peterson's death, longtime Blue Cheer guitarist Andrew MacDonald wrote on the group's website that "Blue Cheer is done. Out of respect for Dickie, Blue Cheer (will) never become a viable touring band again.". Under ten years later, in January 2019, drummer Paul Whaley died of heart failure.

[everlarkbirthdaydrabbles]

Hi! My birthday is April 24th and I'd love to read everlark where Peeta thinks he's lost Katniss somehow, like a misunderstanding or even some kind of accident, but everything works out in the end. Love the drama/angst, and I'm down for any rating (but let's be real, the smuttier the better bc it's my birthday lol). No infidelity please! Tytyty! You are awesome!

Happy Birthday! There is definitely some angst in this one. Thanks for having a birthday so we can all enjoy this great story! And thank you to @katnissdoesnotfollowback for writing and submitting it. She’s been a MAJOR contributor to this blog, as have many others, and we can’t thank her enough. Links to part one & part two if you haven’t read them yet. Enjoy! I know we did. 

Happy Birthday! Hope you enjoy this somewhatangsty story. Hugs and lots of love to you on your special day!

 All’s Fair - Part 3

 WARNINGS: RATED E for language, PTSD, and smut. Mostly the rating is forthe smut. SMUT I SAY!

 A/N: HR inthis instance stands for Human Remains. There’s no gore or graphic violence inthis, but there is a healthy dose of angst. Thank you @peetabreadgirl for pre-reading.

 ************************

 My boots scrape the pavement as I stop to stareup and down the parking lot aisles. I find at least four Jeep-shaped vehiclesunder black covers and sigh, drop my bag on the pavement, and search throughthe pockets for my keys. Not even my car keys, either. Customs fucked up mypacking job and I’m pretty sure they wound up back in my footlocker. I find thekeys I need underneath a half empty bottle of Gatorade and unlock my trunk,rummaging around until my fingers find the canvas ribbon on my at homekeychain. Yanking them out, I listen to the jingle of home with the distantgrowl of a C-130 spooling up its engines. The humid North Carolina air pressesdown on my lungs and I blink in the fading light.

 It’s late. I’m exhausted and hungry. And the redREMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT tag on my keys is a one-two punch to the face. Idon’t even know where he is right now. He was supposed to be home sometime lastweek, although I don’t know the exact date, but the fact that he wasn’t here tomeet me means he was delayed somewhere. Or something far worse that I am notprepared to contemplate on four hours of shitty sleep on a cramped rotatorflight and an empty stomach.

 Pocketing my car keys, I slam my footlocker shutand lock it back up, hefting my bag back on my shoulder and hauling the trunkonto its wheels to continue my solitary trek. I hit the lock button on the keyfob twice and hope my battery didn’t die while I’ve been gone. I’ve gotjumpers, but no one I feel comfortable inconveniencing. Most of the others havealready gone home. Prim couldn’t be here this time, unable to get away from medschool. Mom’s too sick to travel. Gale’s still somewhere in Fallujah, I think.At least, that’s the last place I ran into him.

Finally, my car honks back at me and I trudgethree aisles over towards the sound. Think it’s rough remembering where youparked your car after a thirty minute trip into a grocery store? Tryremembering where the fuck you parked it in a long term lot after a year longdeployment. I drop everything when I reach my Jeep. Unceremonious and messy.Fuck the Army and it’s obsession with order.

 It takes me a few tries to get the cover off mycar and folded up enough to shove it in the back. My footlocker and duffle goin next. The pack goes on the front seat since it contains my wallet, such asit is. I climb into the driver’s seat and roll back enough of the canvas sothat I’ll be able to feel the breeze. Keys in the ignition and I freeze, oncemore staring at the bright red tag.

 Peeta gave it to me right before my firstdeployment, in a black velvet box that looked like it contained a fancynecklace. Which it did. A single, luminescent pearl on a silver chain nestledunderneath a layer of padding, but on top had been this keychain. I’d laughednervously and shoved his face away from me when I saw the tag, but then he’dshown me what he’d bought for himself...a red, white, and blue double Akeychain. The emblem of the 82nd Airborne. My unit. They were meant to be asymbol. When we saw the keychains that ought to belong to each other, then we’dknow we were home.

 The C-130 must be warmed up because the tone ofit changes, softens as it faces a different direction. Turning up the taxiway,preparing for takeoff. I wonder what they’re doing tonight. Dropping bundles?Cargo? Jumpers? Or maybe they’re just making proficiency runs. Either way, Iknow Peeta’s not with them.

 “Come on baby, don’t let me down,” I mutter andcrank the engine. She starts rough but she does turn over. I throw my coveronto the passenger side floorboard, needing to feel the wind in my croppedshort hair after months of it being stifled beneath a kevlar helmet.

 As I leave the lot, I make a last minutedecision, turning towards the airfield instead of the main gate. I just want tobe sure. I’d call, but my phone’s buried in the back and I didn’t think to pullit out while I was searching for my keys. And maybe I’m not ready to face thesilence of an empty house.

 The drive is refreshing, but when I reach theairlift wing’s long term parking lot, I realize what a mistake this was. Theirsis almost as full as ours. I drive up one aisle and down the next, slowing everytime I see anything that might be silver. I find it in the fourth aisle.Peeta’s dark silver Mustang, parked next to a black Silverado, a layer ofpollen coating it, obscuring the color. I grip my steering wheel and stare atthe car for a moment. Then I force myself to leave.

 I’ll be going home to an empty house.

 The lights in town feel blindingly bright.Foreign after a year in the desert. When I tip my head back, I can barely makeout a handful of stars as they emerge into the night sky. At a red light, agroup of teens in a Tahoe with all the windows down stops next to me, laughingand singing along with their music. Once more, I’m massaging my steering wheeland trying to find my place in this world. It’s familiar and still disturbing.The lights and the colors too bright, the sounds too much like a dull roar, apounding in the skull.

 It’s when I pass a McDonald’s and my stomachgrowls painfully that I realize I’ll be going home to an empty pantry, too.There might be a can of soup or something, but nothing fresh. No one’s lived inthat house for six months and I didn’t think to ask Eddy, our neighbor’s kid,to stock the pantry for us. He was just keeping an eye on the place,maintaining the yard, and bringing in any mail. It’ll all be junk, but it’sbetter than leaving it to piss off the mail carrier.

 With a sigh, I pull into a grocery store thatlooks new, hoping they have a deli still open so I can get something alreadycooked and warm. I make it quick, though I do spend a few minutes debatingbetween macaroni or potato salad to go with my rotisserie chicken.Choices...something else that feels incongruously familiar. They’ve got abakery, too, and I add a loaf to my basket for dinner, and a couple bagels soI’ve at least got something to eat for breakfast, not caring that they’ll be alittle stale. I’ve eaten worse. I’ll come back tomorrow for a real groceryshopping trip.

 I use the self checkout lane, though, becausethe last thing I want right now is attention called to me in the form of achatty cashier or someone wanting to thank me for my service. Most of them meanwell, but sometimes it’s hard to know what to say in response. ‘You’rewelcome?’ Arrogant. ‘Thank you?’ For what exactly? Thanking mefirst? ‘Just glad to serve my country?’ Yeah, tell that to Darius andhis family… I shake myself and gather my groceries before rushing out of thestore.

 Once I’m safely back in my Jeep with nounnecessary human interactions, I breathe easier. She starts up like a dreamthis time and I drive home, only freaking out at one plastic bag as the windmakes it drift across my path. Pretty good, considering.

 “Here goes nothing,” I say and reach up to pressthe button to my garage door opener. Nothing. Car battery lasted. Remotebattery did not. Time for the car and door dance. By the time I get my Jeep inthe garage, I add grouchy to my list of feelings. My pack goes inside with meand my food. The rest can wait.

 The house is dark and smells musty. I open a fewwindows to air it out, humidity be damned, and flip on a couple lights so it’snot as depressing. Then I eat -- with a real fork, off a plate that I’ll haveto wash -- in about four minutes. Which is savoring my meal, by the way.

 Once I’ve placed my leftovers in the fridge, Iget the rest of my shit inside and in the bedroom, glaring at the neatly madebed. Starting the shower, I toss crap from my trunk until I find my phone andplug it in. Then I wait for the thing to turn back on and for the water to warmup. I’ve got one voicemail from Prim. I’ll call her after my shower.

 I leave my cams on the floor in a pile. I’llshove all of it in the washing machine later. The good thing about shampoo andsoap is that they don’t go bad, although there’s a strange crust around thecaps. I wash quickly, watching the murky water drain away sand and three daysworth of funk layered over remnants from months of half-assed showers.Normally, I’d be in a rush. Limited water and somewhere to be in five minutesmeans that when we got them, showers weren’t luxurious or even very efficient.They were just fast.

 Standing under the clear, steaming stream, I tryto relax. To enjoy the luxury. But I can only manage a few extra minutes beforeI start to feel ansty and get out. It’s silly, but once I dry off and am standingin my underwear, staring at my drawer full of pajamas, I hesitate. Instead, Iyank open one of Peeta’s drawers, finger the neatly folded cotton shirts beforefinally dragging one over my body. The shirt smells stale as well, from it’smonths untouched in storage, but as long as I don’t inhale too deeply, I cansort of pretend that it’s his arms holding me. I comb through my hair andsettle on the bed to call Prim.

 “Hey! Welcome home!”

 “Hi, Prim,” I say and smile for the first timesince stepping off the plane.

 “Oh my gosh! I can actually hear you! Nostatic!”

 “Just one of the many perks of being stateside,”I say and look around the room. Prim prattles on for several minutes aboutschool and how excited she is to see me in a few days. I try to remaincheerful, but it’s not easy. All I can think about is how her life continueduninterrupted while I dodged bullets, sent a friend home in a casket, and camehome to a stale house.

 “You okay?” Prim asks, cutting into my thoughts.

 “Yeah, I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Why?”

 “I asked if you’d be bringing Peeta when youcome home in a few days and you didn’t answer.”

 “Sorry, Duck,” I say. “I spaced out. It was kindof a long flight home.”

 “I’ll bet,” she says then waits for my answer.

 “I don’t know. He was supposed to be back lastweek, but he’s not, so…”

 “I’m sure he’s okay,” Prim says and goes on tosuggest that he can always catch up to us after he gets back, but her wordsopen the gates of fears and worries that I’ve kept carefully under lock andkey.

 I maneuver awkwardly through the rest of ourconversation until I remind her how tired I am. When we hang up, I sit rigidand at war with myself. And even though I already know what's going to happen,I press Peeta's name and hold the phone to my ear.

 Straight to his voicemail, but I listen anyways.Just to hear his voice for a few seconds, something I haven't heard in sixmonths. I disconnect before the beep and power my phone down then toss it onthe nightstand to charge the rest of the way, wondering if he ever called myphone during those six months he was here and I was not, just to hear my voice.I hug a pillow to my chest before laying down. I squeeze my eyes shut and ordermy body to sleep, but as exhausted as I am, I can’t seem to relax. The sheetscarry a musty smell of their own that makes my nose wrinkle, and they feelcold.

 Four months. I haven’t seen him in four months,and even then, it was thirty seconds from a distance and a twist of luck. On atarmac in Baghdad while we were piling into the back of one plane, he waspre-flighting another. At least, I think it was him. We didn’t get a chance totalk. And I’m not even sure he saw me or knew I was there. Since his deploymentwas six months versus my year, we kept in touch better while he was stateside.Skype and e-mail, when I was lucky to stop at a base with internet. Theoccasional letter or phone call. But once he was in the desert too, all but theemails stopped. We just kept missing each other and it was more frustratingthan anything else.

 With a low growl, I shove myself off the bed,dragging the spring green duvet into the living room with me. I plop on thecouch and turn on the TV, hoping it will numb me into slumber.

 It doesn’t.

 News channels covering events I know littleabout, since I was isolated from current events at home for a year other thanthe tidbits Mom, and Prim, and Peeta while he could, would send to me in theirletters. When I stumble across war coverage on one channel, I pause, butquickly move on. I live it. I don’t need them telling me what it’s like.Besides, there’s a small part of me that’s terrified that the next breakingstory will be about a plane crash.

 The rest of the channels disappoint just asmuch. Petty squabbles on reality shows. Commercials and other fluff. It’s justlike talking to Prim only magnified. This used to be my life, I think as I turnthe TV back off and wander into the kitchen. I eat one of the bagels I’d meantfor breakfast just to have something normal to do.

 When I finally shove myself back into bed, it’swith little hope of sleeping. Still, I try, and I must succeed because I seethings, some of them real, others more difficult to pinpoint. Sergeant Chaffyelling over the pop of gunfire. A woman racing into the streets to enfold herchild into the black billows of her dress before collapsing and crying over hisbody. Peeta’s smile. The ringing in my ears when a grenade went off close by,drowning out the shouts and gunfire that followed. A door kicked in beneath atan boot. Darius laughing the second before the IED went off. A fireball and atower of smoke against an azure sky, the twisted wreckage of a plane’s tail.

 I gasp and wake up, sweating and trembling.Slowly, I manage to get ahold of my breathing and stand, walking slowly to thebathroom to splash water on my face in the dark. I gulp down a few handfuls andthen return to bed, stripping the duvet off first and using only the sheet.Staring at the ceiling as I wait for morning or sleep, whichever arrives first.I can’t tell which one it is, drifting in and out of dreams. Even when I see myroom, there’s Gale, detailing a strategy for clearing a street, his neckbandaged. My mother humming as she rocks in a rocking chair and sews. Theconstant, choking brown haze of a dust storm.

 I am a stranger in my own life.

 When I wake again, it’s late afternoon. Atleast, that’s what my clock says. The room is dark, the curtains drawn, so I’mnot sure that I’m not still asleep. I roll onto my stomach and stare throughscratchy eyes at what should be the empty space beside me. Only, there’s a bodythere, stomach down and faced away from me. My mouth goes dry and I hope it’snot a nightmare. I wouldn’t put it past my twisted brain to imagine him lyingdead beside me.

 Reaching out, I poke his ribs and he startles.It takes him a moment, but he finally turns his head to look at me, his eyesbloodshot and dark circles beneath them.

 “You look a little rough for a dream,” I tellhim and he blinks at me, confused. “And quiet, too. That’s how I know you’renot real. If you were, you’d have already said ten witty things.”

 “Too tired,” he mumbles behind a yawn.

 “You should've already been here,” I mutter, thefear of what could go wrong still clinging to me.

 “Plane broke and we had to divert to Turkey.Then we got stuck waiting for parts. I called you as soon as we had a takeofftime from Canada, but your phone was off,” he says and I shrug.

 “No one I wanted to talk to,” I tell him.

 “Ouch,” he says and I scoot closer, hoping dreamPeeta feels half as good as real Peeta. He opens his arms and I snuggle againsthis body. My subconscious has at least gotten the incredible warmth that heemits right.

 “You smell good,” I murmur and fist his shirt inmy hand.

 “I better. I just got back two hours ago andtook a shower first thing.”

 “You got naked without me,” I accuse. “Who’s incharge of this dream anyways?”

 “You were out cold when I got in. Didn't want todisturb you. How long have you been home?”

 “No idea. Tell you when I wake up.”

 “Katniss,” Peeta says softly. “You are awake.”

 I open one eye and look up at Peeta. Reachingout, I pat his cheek and he smiles.

 “You didn’t wake me!” I shout and scrambleupright in the bed and put space between us. I’m not sure if I’m more angryover the fact that he climbed into bed without waking me or that by leaving myphone off, I missed the chance to be there for him when he landed. But he justlays there, watching me with tired blue eyes.

 “I didn’t wake you,” he says softly, one handreaching for me and falling short on the bed, “because you looked so peacefuland wonderful, and all I wanted to do was to sleep next to you for a few hours.Just sleep with the knowledge that I wouldn't be alerted soon, and withouthaving to block out the sound of mortar shells.”

 “How's that working out for you?” I ask,resenting the fact that he's the one who brought it up, reminded me that hewasn't all that much safer than I was over there. He shrugs.

 “Not so well. It's so quiet here.”

 “Yeah,” I say and fold my hands in my lap as weadd to the silence. Staring at one another, neither one of us knowing what tosay, and I wonder if I will feel like an interloper in this part of my lifetoo, caught in a world I no longer understand. I search his blue eyes for somehint of the person I left a year ago. His eyes are the same color, but they'reguarded. Maybe even frightened. And defensive. I don't know how to talk to thisperson.

 “This is weird, isn't it?” I whisper. He bracesa hand on the mattress and sits up so our eyes are on the same level, but hedoesn't reach for me again.

 “Feels that way, doesn't it?” he asks.

 “Prim wanted to know if you’d be coming with menext week.”

 “Yeah. If you want me too,” he says and I nod,because what am I supposed to say to this cautious dance around each other.

 “Are you hungry?” I ask.

 “I could eat,” he says. We make our way into thekitchen and eat the rest of my chicken, salad, and bread from dinner lastnight. In silence. And we don't touch one another.

 I try to summon some sort of feeling. But I'm sotired of fighting and I know he must be too. Maybe it's too late for us.

 Two years of visits here and there while he wentthrough his training pipeline, existing on phone calls and quick weekends inwhich we tried to cram months worth of time missing each other. But there wasalways another absence looming on the horizon, and in those absences, it becamenecessary to survive alone. Without each other.

 He fought to get an assignment that somewhatmatched up with mine, requesting an airframe that others in his service oftenlook down on, shocking his superiors when he wanted and pursued a heavy insteadof a sleek shiny fighter. Requesting a base slated for closure just because itwas attached to the fort I was assigned to. Fought to line up our deploymentsso we weren't waving at one another as we swapped places. And now, each of ustwo deployments in, I wonder if we spent so much time and effort trying to betogether that we don't know how to exist together anymore.

 He flicks crumbs across his plate as we sit insilence, his foot bouncing nervously beneath the table. It's a twitch he'snever had before and I don't know what to think of it. Shouldn't we be happy?Crawling all over one another and ravenous?

 Peeta takes a deep breath and I look up to findhim already watching me. “Think I'll unpack...since I'm awake now.”

 “Okay,” I say, pushing away the guilt that Iwoke him after so little sleep when I’ve wasted almost an entire day moping inbed.

 We move around one another, returning personalitems to their places, shoving one load after another into the washing machine,wiping away the fine layer of powdered sand that’s accumulated on almosteverything. We barely speak, just two ghosts sharing a house. I'm not even sureI'd call it a home.

 “Grocery shopping?” he suggests after we'vestored our footlockers in the garage and I nod. I can't even look at him as wedress, afraid I'll find new scars or markings on his body that tell the talesof whatever horrors he lived through. And I don't feel his eyes on me either.

 “Your car or mine?” he asks softly as he doubleknots his shoes.

 “Mine,” I say automatically, and he nods butstill tucks his keys into his jeans pocket. I catch a brief glimpse of hisairborne keychain, dulled a little but still attached to his house key.

 We limit our conversation to the necessary whilewe drive to the grocery store, and while we fill our cart. At one point, herests a palm on the small of my back as he leans around me to grab a box ofcrackers while I read a label and try not to fall apart at the minute touch.The heat of his hand sears through my shirt, and I lean back into it. When hemoves away, the disappointment rushes through me, swift and painful.

 He tosses the box of crackers into the cart andlooks back at me, a small and hesitant smile curving his lips up just on oneside. And I can't take it anymore, pretending like everything's normal and fineand I’m not five seconds from falling apart. I drop the saltines on the groundand fling myself at him.

 He only hesitates a second before his arms surgearound me and he buries his face in my neck, releasing a quiet shuddering noisethat might be a sob or a sigh of relief. I still shake with fears anduncertainties, my fingers digging into the back of his neck to make sure hedoesn't vanish from my arms. Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips touchmy neck. And I don't care that we're in the middle of a grocery store with adozen people muttering in discontent as they have to maneuver their cartsaround us.

 “What’s happening to us, Katniss?” he whispers,and I know he’s not talking about the nightmares or the shortened tempers, butthe apathy. The need to not make a big deal out of things, not even a reunionafter an entire year apart. Or the fact that it’s easier to ignore the possibilityof hurt or death or worse because if you think about it, you’ll go mad.

 “I don’t know,” I whisper.

 “I missed you so much it physically hurts,” hesays, his arms shaking against me for a moment. I think about how many timesthese arms have been my refuge from the world. Always so warm and strong.

 “Me, too,” I admit. But we’ve opened thefloodgates and words pour forth from his lips.

 “It was bad enough being here and watching thenews. I’d go fucking crazy watching it, looking for you in the footage, hopingI’d get just a glimpse of you and dreading it at the same time. But being therewas a million times worse. Every time we got called for medevac or to moveH.R., I’d feel ill, certain that I’d be seeing your face or your name on acasket and knowing it’d be more than I could bear. Katniss, I don’t know if I’dever be happy again if I lost you.”

 My eyes burn with unshed tears. I should tellhim about my nightmares, too. RPG’s and planes shot from the sky. The wordsstick in my throat, and then someone behind us clears theirs impatiently. Iswipe at my eyes as Peeta releases me and we step apart enough to look at theintruder.

 “Excuse me. You’re blocking the shelf,” shesays, oblivious to or blatantly ignoring the obvious tears in both our eyes. Areminder that this is not the place for either of us to break down. Not with anaudience.

 “Thank you for your patience,” Peeta says toher, bending to scoop the dropped box of crackers off the floor and depositingit in our cart as we walk away. Only this time, we join hands and each use onehand to steer the cart.

 Our conversation is still somewhat stilted afterthat, and maybe it will be for awhile as we adjust back to each other’spresence, to the comfort of relative safety and the absence of the fears of thenight.  

 We pay for our groceries and I manage to get ushome without incident. As I cut off the engine, Peeta reaches out a hand tosqueeze my thigh and I look up at him while I press to shut the garage door,the remote now with a fresh battery. His thumb rubs up and down my thigh, asoothing touch along a rubbed raw nerve.

 The air around us already hangs heavy withhumidity, but under his steady gaze, it thickens until it’s almost stifling. Heleans towards me and my grip on the steering wheel tightens. Peeta haltshalfway between us, his eyes flickering down to my mouth and then away with anearly inaudible sigh. For now, I will ignore the voice in the back of my headthat insists there’s no point. One or both of us will just be heading back outthe door in six to twelve months. A seesaw of adjustment to life and thensurvival. Or maybe they’re just two different kinds of survival. But I refuseto let this wall stand between us a second longer.

 With my hands firm on the steering wheel, I moveto meet him over the gearshift and capture his lips with mine. His fingers onmy thigh clench and he brings his other hand up to hold me to him, his palmwarm on the side of my neck, his thumb tracing a path from the corner of mymouth to the edge of my jaw and back again. And I can't believe we waited thislong. I let go of the steering wheel and grip his shirt instead, yankingroughly on the fabric, needlessly because he’s not pulling back or going anywhere.

 He tilts his head and I open my mouth withouthim asking, because I need this kiss right now. Right here. The soft tremorthat shakes through me at the first touch of his tongue to mine. We are sloppyand graceless, but one kiss only makes me want more. All too soon, though,Peeta gently separates our mouths with one last suckle of my bottom lip betweenhis.

 “We should get the cold items put away beforethey all melt,” he croaks and I nod, although I’d much rather kiss him for thenext hour. Releasing my leg to open his door, Peeta kisses the tip of my noseand smiles at me.

 With each mundane task that we complete, thegaping wound between us knits together. A gradual healing. By the time we’vefinished putting our groceries away and managed to prepare and consume a meallike human beings, I’m thinking of tonight, about spooning with him in bed,less in terms of something we just do and more in terms of the comfort that itmight provide.

 When Peeta stifles a massive yawn, I suggestheading to bed, even though I’m not tired yet. He has to be beyond exhausted.Within seconds of crawling into bed, his breathing evens out and I lay in thecircle of his arms, listening to the calm sounds of spring outside our openwindow.

 Eventually, sleep takes me as well, and while Istill see things I’d rather not, they’re easier to face with Peeta’s arms warmand steady around me.

 Some time during the night, I wake to darknessand feather soft touches drifting up and down my side, beneath my shirt, aroundto my belly and up my ribs, back down and around to my side. Over my hip, thetouches dulled through the fabric of my shorts, igniting on my thighs before hereturns to my torso. For a second, I wonder if he’s even awake, but then hislips brush over my neck and I shiver. Peeta’s touches halt and I bite my lip,wanting him to continue.

 “Why’d you stop?” I finally whisper.

 “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers back.

 “I don’t mind,” I say and rest my hand over his,guiding it in the soft caresses for a moment before I tuck my hands beneath mycheek and relax into his touch as he continues unguided. Each delicate brush ofhis fingers lulls me deeper into a boneless state of bliss, reminding me ofjust how starved I’ve been for something like this, for the softness of hisloving touches. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness.

 “You know what I’m thinking about?” he whispersand kisses the back of my neck.

 “No,” I murmur, content to lay here and let himkeep doing what he’s doing.

 “I’m thinking about that quart of chocolate icecream in the freezer.” It’s not what I was expecting him to say, but my eyesjump open as the idea takes hold.

 “You have my attention,” I say and he chucklesbefore kissing my neck again. Then he’s up and tugging me off the bed. We hurryinto the kitchen, laughing as I slide across the floor in my socked feet. Peetagrabs the ice cream while I get the bowls and spoons. Within minutes, we’reseated at the table and enjoying the frozen treat.

 “Dear diary,” I say as I moan around my firstspoonful and then stare at the smeared reflection of my face in the bowl of thespoon. “It has been seven months since my last ice cream. And even then, it wasmelted by the time I got to eat it.”

 “That’s just sad,” Peeta says and grabs thecontainer, adding another scoop to mine. “You need to catch up.”

 “That’s a lot of empty calories,” I protest andhe shakes his head.

 “We’ll burn them off later,” he says, andalthough the comment could be perfectly innocent, my stomach does a strangeflip and warmth pools in my chest in spite of the freezing chocolate in mymouth.

 Peeta keeps eating, oblivious to the effect ofhis comment, and so I continue to spoon one bite after another into my mouth,savoring it like I haven’t savored anything in months. In between bites, wemanage to open a little more, share a few of the lighter tales of our timeoverseas. It’s relaxing, sitting here enjoying a midnight snack, him in hisboxer briefs and a plain white t-shirt, me in my pajama shorts and a tank top.It feels like something we could do everyday, made special in its normalcy.Eventually, though, our spoons both scrape our bowls to get the last melteddrops. I tip my bowl up and drink what the spoon can’t get.

 “Are they useful calories if they’re slurped?”Peeta asks. When I lower my bowl to scowl at him, he’s grinning, blue eyessparkling in laughter. And for just a second, I see the eyes of the boy I fellin love with in the face of the man I still can’t survive without. My bowl hitsthe table with a loud clink and I wrinkle my nose at him. He bites hislip, like he’s trying not to laugh out loud.

 “What?” I ask sharply.

 “Nothing,” he says as he gathers both our bowlsand rinses them before loading them in the dishwasher. I toss the ice creamback in the freezer and set my hands on my hips to glare at him. “It’s just,you’ve got some ice cream on your chin.”

 I swipe at my chin as unwanted heat floods mycheeks and spreads down my neck. Here I was thinking maybe our relaxing midnightsnack would help us leap the last unspoken hurdle, and I can’t even eat like anadult. Oh so sexy. But Peeta’s smile won’t be contained as he moves to stand infront of me and lifts his hand to my face.

 “You missed,” he whispers, swiping his thumbover my chin. “And you call yourself a sharp shooter.”

 His hand leaves me and his eyes still dance withmirth as he sucks the ice cream from his skin. In a flash, I am heated andrestless, unable to look away from his pink lips as they pucker around histhumb or the deep pools of blue as he watches me.

 “That was mine,” I whisper and he pauses withhis thumb still in his mouth. When he removes it, the silence of the kitchenshatters with the soft sucking noise of release.

 “Come and get it,” he breathes. We stare at oneanother for what feels like ages, the moment strung tighter than a bow ready tofire. We snap at the same time, mouths colliding and hands grasping shirts andhair.

 Peeta steps forward, forcing me back until I’msandwiched between him and the refrigerator. His mouth slants over mine againand again, ravenous and demanding. I can’t tell my moans from his as Ifrantically relearn the feel of his hair, the back of his neck, his shouldersbeneath a soft cotton shirt. The taste of his tongue and the ridges of hismouth. When his hand cups my breast and kneads it in the same rhythm as thehand massaging the back of my neck, my fingers clench, scraping my nails overhis skin. His hips thrust into me and we both moan as my stomach somersaultsfrom hungry to rapacious.

 Peeta flattens his body against mine and triesto say something that gets lost between our joined lips. His arms circle me, asteel band of support and I lift my feet to wrap my legs around his hips,trusting that he won’t drop me. With careful steps, he walks us back to thebedroom, but I refuse to stop kissing him. A year. An entire yearwithout his lips and hands on me.

 We need to catch up.

 When his knees hit the bed, our mouths joltapart and I giggle as we flop onto it, Peeta’s hands and the soft mattressbracing the fall as we bounce and he smiles at me before he resumes kissing me,our hips pressed together as we shift restlessly against one another. My feetcaress over the backs of his thighs and his hands encourage me, skimming overmy legs and grasping my ankle to wrap my leg around him again.

 I want our shirts off. I can feel the heat ofhim burning through the fabric that still separates us. I want it unfilteredand undiluted on my bare skin. But I don’t want to stop kissing him to tell himthat either, so I leave the clothes and let the need build and scratch at thehairs on his neck and the back of his head.

 After who knows how many minutes of this, hecomes up panting and tears at my shirt. Relieved, I arch my back and lift myarms so he can remove it to throw it across the room. I’m expecting him to takehis off, too, and gasp as he instead fuses our mouths together, the cotton ofhis shirt dragging over my nipples. The unexpected stimulation does wickedthings to my nerves, my legs pulling him closer in response, until the hardridge of his arousal presses into the soft folds of mine. His hips buck in myembrace, the sudden pressure sending a frisson of need all the way out to myfingertips.

 “Katniss,” he gasps as he lifts his head to transferhis mouth to my throat. Each word he speaks is kissed into my skin, lower andlower on my body. “Hold. Onto. Something,” he warns, pausing only to give eachbreast one quick, hard suck and a moan of appreciation before he moves on. “Ihave an entire year of not tasting you to make up for.” Until he reaches mypajama shorts and silently slides them and my panties down my legs, lays mebare to his gaze. I slip my hands beneath the pillow and grab hold of it whilehe stares at me.

 “Say something,” I whisper when he remains quietand still, staring between my legs beyond the point where I am still confidentin his desire for me.

 “Words aren’t enough to describe how incredibleyou are. I’ll just have to show you,” he murmurs.

 The bed bounces as he drops heavily between mylegs. With no warning or preamble, he wraps his hands beneath my thighs andholds me open, his mouth descends and he moans loudly as he suckles my folds.At first, I squirm, the sensation of being licked there distant and no longerfamiliar. But Peeta doesn’t let me hide behind shyness or uncertainty. Hismouth is on a quest, and before long, I’ve forgotten time and distance,writhing beneath the onslaught that sets my entire body aflame with need.

 I grip his hair and then mine. The sheets andthen his hair again. I watch him until I can’t, my body taking over andbanishing thought in favor of feeling as I crest and shudder, moaning gibberishinto the night.

 Instead of stopping, though, Peeta keeps going.His tongue pushing deep inside me to drink of me as I tremble and yell that Ican’t. But apparently, I can, as he sends me careening over another peak whenhe flicks his tongue over my clit then sucks it into his mouth.

 Falling limp, on the bed, I gasp for air andgroan in beautiful agony. Still, Peeta gives me no reprieve, sliding his handsover my legs until he grips my calves and pushes my knees up until they touchmy ribs.

 “Peeta, please,” I beg, unable to articulate thesearing feeling I can’t escape as his mouth continues it’s sweet torment. Hetakes it to mean that I want another, but it feels so good that each swipe ofhis tongue actually hurts. “Too much,” I finally manage to gasp.

 Undeterred, Peeta’s head shakes as though he’stelling me “no,” but the result is a streak of pleasure so acute that I screamand kick wildly, thrashing on the bed violently enough to unseat him.

 “Fuck!” I hear him exclaim, followed by a loudthud, but I am so lost in the shudders still wracking my body that I don’trealize what’s happened until the pounding of my heart calms enough for me tohear clearly again. It’s only then that I notice that Peeta’s not between mylegs any more. Not even touching me nor even on the bed.

 “Peeta?” I ask hesitantly and his laughterdrifts up to me from the floor at the foot of the bed. Gathering my wits, Ishift to the edge and peer down at him. He’s lying on his back, looking up atme with a pleased grin on his face, one hand behind his head and the otherresting leisurely on his stomach. If it weren’t for the obvious strain of hiscock against the cotton of his briefs, I’d think he was just reclining downthere to get a rest.

 “What happened?” I ask, self-consciously runninga hand through my own hair and tucking strands back behind my ears.

 “You came so hard, you kicked me off the bed,”he says, but he doesn’t seem too upset about it. He reaches up and grasps mywrist. “Come here.”

 I squeal as he tugs me over the edge and ontohis chest, but then I let go any embarrassment or doubt as he pulls me down tokiss him again. This time, it’s leisurely, allowing me a chance to recover fromwhatever the hell it is he just did to me. He reaches up and yanks the duvetdown to cover us both as he ends the kiss, his arms cuddle me to his chest andI settle my head on his shoulder. He’s still hard against me, but doesn’t seemto be in a rush to find his own relief. As it was when I woke earlier, his handtraces delicately over my skin, my back this time.

 A restless longing takes place in my breast, andeven though he seems content to take things slow, this kind of hunger won’t besated easily.  When he makes no move, I push myself off his chest and sit,straddling his hips.

 “Where’re you going?” he asks quietly.

 “Nowhere,” I tell him, but make my fingers walkdown his torso towards myself.

 His eyes jump between my hands and my face as Iwatch him for any sign that he doesn’t want this as much as I do, but when myfingers curl beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, he lifts his hips fromthe floor and pushes them down his legs. I move my hips, dragging my still wetlips over the length of his cock. With a curse, Peeta drops his hips back tothe floor, his shorts still somewhere on his legs as I take him in hand andkeep up the steady revolutions of my hips over him, sliding him through both myhand and my lips.

 “Oh fuck me, that feels like heaven,” he groans,eyes riveted to what I’m doing to him. I bite my lip and brace a hand on histhigh, and even though I just came three times on the bed, I already wantanother. Heat and blood pulse through me as I move and Peeta whines a little,his hands massaging my thighs.

 I started this to tease him, but it quickly hasme just as excited as him. I let go of his cock and instead grip his shirt,tugging on it like it’s a set of reins and the only thing keeping me frombucking wildly on top of him.

 “Katniss, please,” he begs and bites his lip,lifts his head and smacks it back on the floor in distress. “I wanna cum insideyou.”

 With a nod, I shift myself and he aligns us,releasing a string of expletives as I sink down onto him, his right leg kickingin rapid succession as he tries to hold back. Taking his face in my hands, Ibend over and kiss him as we move. Short, sweet tastes as I slide up and downhis cock. Peeta’s arms wrap around me, hold me close as he draws hearts andswirls on my back, guides my hips in riding him. I try to keep it slow, but hekneads my ass and pushes my hips so they roll over him instead of bouncing. Mybody grasps hold of the pleasure and I take it, following his lead until mylegs start to cramp and I have to straighten them alongside his, laying my bodyflat on top of him.

 When I can move again, I slide up his body andkeen into the night as he curses beneath me. It’s the best of both, taking hiscock in and out while still grinding my clit against him. I grab his chin andhold him so I can stare into his eyes, foggy with need and deeper than theocean. He whispers to me, dirty words in broken phrases.

 “I dreamt about this every night, alone in ourbed and then in my bunk. How fuckin’ sexy you are when you’re on top of me, mycock deep inside you. Jerking myself off when my balls ached with the need tocome. I’d have to bite my lips so no one would here me and blow my load in ashirt or a sock and do laundry the next day. Fuck, Katniss,” he breaks off toswallow and kiss me a moment before I push his head back to the floor because Iwant his words right now.

 “I’ve been starving for the feel of your lips anywhereon me I could get them, your legs around me, and fuck, your tits on my chest,god they feel so good there. And your pussy. I’ve needed your pussy on my cockevery day since the day you left. Fucking starving so bad for the clench ofyour walls and the smoke in your eyes as you come for me.”

 I grip his shoulder and move faster, his wordsdrawing forth a greater arousal and making the slide smooth and easy asbreathing. But it’s not enough to get me there. I whimper and tell him that Ineed more and he grips my thighs, spreading me wide over him as he bends hisknees and leverages himself on his feet to thrust up into me. He’s groaningloudly, getting close as I still lag behind him. And for some reason I think ofthe night I first mentioned the possibility of our future together. I had noidea where we’d be on this night, but I remember the tremulous way he’d offeredme an out, if I’d wanted it. How scared and brave he’d looked as he tried tohide the hurt that just the thought my leaving caused him. Then how he cededcontrol to me without question and let me fuck myself sore and hoarse on him.

 “Pull my hair, Peeta,” I urge and brace myselfto help.

 “What?” he asks with wide eyes.

 “Pull my fucking hair,” I order him and his handshifts to grip the short locks. Then I borrow the words that sent me hurtlingtowards my own orgasm all those years ago. I’ve never forgotten them. “Now takewhat you want. Your cock wants it so bad. I can feel it. Hot and pulsinginside of me.”

 He makes a strangled noise as his fingers tanglein my hair and his hand yanks on me, slamming our bodies together again andagain as pain tingles across my scalp then mellows into pleasure.

 “Stop holding back and fill me with your fuckingcum,” I demand and my muscles ache with the effort of maintaining this pace,but he shouts my name and his hips jerk erratically as his eyes squeeze shut.He stops moving, but I keep going, milking him until he grabs my ass and shovesme down onto him even as he thrusts up into me one last time. We remain there,hips suspended above the floor while he finishes with an elongated moan.

 When he relaxes, dropping us to the floor, Itake his lips with mine and kiss the shuddering breaths from his throat. Hishands flex and clench on my ass and then start my hips rolling again, andbefore I can think or prepare myself, I shatter with a soft sigh, my clitpulsing against him as warmth and wonderment floods through me.

 Peeta makes a sound of contentment in his throatas his leg spasms once more before we lay there, a mess of heavy breathing andfinally sated bodies.

 “Too long,” he groans, his voice rumbling in hischest beneath my cheek. “A year is far too fucking long to go without you.”

 “Yeah,” I agree. Then, because I am an idiot anddon’t think before I speak when I am a melted puddle spread across him, I saysomething stupid. “How long do you think we can live like this?”

 “I don’t know,” he murmurs, shifting us so thatwe’re eye to eye. “But I’m willing to work for us for the rest of my life, ifthat’s what it takes, Katniss.”

 “Me, too,” I whisper and kiss him once more toseal the promise.

[fiveshots-nokills]

All numbers, Widow and Gerard ;)

oh my god why would you do this to me

1. Who is the early bird/ Who is the night owl?Amelie can stay up all night no problem but ask her to get up early and she’ll kick u in the faceNeither of them really liked getting up early but Gerard was less bitter about it2. Who is the big spoon/ Who is the little spoon?Gerard is the big spoon. (Was?)3. Who hogs the cover/ Who loves to cuddle?Amelie is that bitch who hogs the covers but does Gerard care? no. he just wraps himself around her and forces her to share and she fake pouts but she loves it and after a while of being in talon she started to ask sombra to do the same because as she started to remember she couldn’t handle being alone4. Who wakes the other one up with kisses?Gerard def (although Amelie would on Gerard’s birthday)5. Who usually has nightmares?Neither of them They’re Happy There’s Nothing Wrong HaHaHaHAHAH i’m in pain6. Who would have really deep emotional thoughts at the middle of the night/ Who would have them in the middle of the day? Gerard is the kind of person to be like “do you think pigeons have feelings” in the middle of the night but if you’re talking abt legit deep probably Amelie7. Who sweats the small stuff?Amelie, but like secretly. She’s nervous sometimes that she’s too aloof and not affectionate enough for gerard but he loves her just the way he is GoD I’mGiVIng MYselF FeeLS AnoN8. Who sleeps in their underwear (or naked)/ Who sleeps in their pajamas?Amelie wears floofy sweatpants and tshirts. Gerard sleeps shirtless but he wears pants (sometimes)9. Who makes the coffee (or tea)?Amelie, bc she doesn’t trust gerard to make hers right10. Who likes sweet/ Who likes sour?Amelie has a sweet tooth. gerard just likes candy,, any and all candy11. Who likes horror movies/ Who likes romance movies?Gerard loves horror movies. Amelie is a coward (Gerard also likes romance movies, and Amelie complains about them but secretly she thinks they’re adorable)12. Who is smol/ Who is tol?Gerard is the smol,,, i mean his gf is like 6′0 so13. Who is considered the scaredy cat?Amelie lmaooo14. Who kills the spiders?Gerard ironic bc a spider got him in the end hahahha kill me15. Who is scared of the dark?Amelie again. it’s why she likes that gerard cuddles her he makes her feel safe16. Who is scared of thunderstorms?Amelie… but she pretends she’s not while hiding under the covers “just for fun, gerard, stop laughing”17. Who works/ Who stays at home?Gerard works from home most of the time !! he tries to never be stationed away for too long, or to get stationed near where Amelie is performing if he can.18. Who is a cat person/ Who is a dog person?Amelie is a cat person and gerard is a dog person. they have one of each. the cat’s name is Noire, it’s a black cat with beautiful yellow eyes. the dog’s name is Ulysses bc Amelie thought it was dumb so of course Gerard went with it19. Who loves to call the other one cute names?Gerard ofc but Amelie calls him things in french20. Who is dominant/ Who is submissive?no21. Who has an obsession (over anything)?Amelie loves ballet. She loves watching it, dancing it, and the classical music that goes with it. Gerard really likes collecting state quarters, even though he lives in france. amelie thinks it’s stupid. he thinks its fun.22. Who goes all out for Valentine’s Day?Amelie, surprisingly. She’s got the wine, the fancy dinner, the romantic stroll through the park – if it was up to gerard, he would probably just stand outside her window with a jukebox thinking that was romantic23. Who asks who out on the first date?Amelie asked gerard, which surprised him a TON. i mean, he was flirting with her for months but he didn’t think she reciprocated?? and then one day she’s like “so want to get coffee on saturday” and hes like SHIT YEAH OKAY SOUNDS GOOD24. Who is the talker/ Who is the listener? Gerard talks a lot more but that’s okay. Amelie chimes it when it counts.25. Who wears the other ones clothes?Both of them. Gerard looks great in a tutu. Amelie loves his sweatshirts and his overwatch jacket26. Who likes to eat healthy/ Who loves junk food?Amelie eats super healthy bc she’s got to stay in shape. She sneaks chocolate a lot though. Gerard likes to taunt her by eating a family sized bag of doritos in her presence once. He sleeps on the couch that night.27. Who takes a long shower/ Who sings in the shower?Amelie takes a super long shower. They both sing. They’re both terrible at singing.28. Who is the book worm?Amelie. She’s read pride and prejudice ten times. She still cries at the end.29. Who is the better cook?Amelie, but she’s never around. Gerard mostly makes frozen lean cuisine meals or hot pockets30. Who likes long walks on the beach?you would think i’d say amelie but neither of them honestly? they don’t get much time to go to the beach and Gerard prefers the woods anyway31. Who is more affectionate?Gerard, at least overtly.32. Who likes to have really long (deep) conversation?Amelie. She doesn’t really do small talk, especially since they don’t get to spend much time together.33. Who would wear “not guilty” t-shirt/ Who would wear “sin” t-shirt?Amelie wears the “not guilty” t-shirt and gerard wears the “sin” t-shirt34. Who would wear “if lost return to…” t-shirt/ Who would wear “I am…” t-shirt?Amelie reluctantly wears the “if lost return to” shirt and gerard of course wears the “i am gerard” shirt with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. there’s a picture of them wearing it in disney world. gerard has mickey ears on. amelie looks like she wants death.35. Who goes overboard on the holidays?They both spoil each other honestly. Amelie sometimes feels bad bc she makes a lot more money than gerard does but he’s like I Must Treat My Wife Like The Queen She Is36. Who is the social media addict?Gerard. He has everything and he’s famous on all of them. Amelie runs a very successful instagram37. Height difference or age difference?Height difference. Gerards a few inches shorter and Amelie teases him a lot about it38. Who likes to star gaze?Amelie, but Gerard will join her just to see how pretty she is under the night sky there i go again giving myself the feels39. Who buys cereal for the prize inside?gerard, obviously40. Who is the fun parent/ Who is the responsible parent?Gerard is the fun parent to outsiders looking in, but in reality, it’s amelie that sneaks her children cookies when they’ve already had a snack and who lets them eat dessert before dinner sometimes and spoils them41. Who cries during sad movies? Both of them, though Amelie will never admit to it.42. Who is the neat freak?Amelie, god. she’s never around to clean up though, so their flat gets to be a mess sometimes43. Who wins the stuffed animals at the carnival for the other one?Gerard tries. He really does. He wants to have a grand romantic gesture but in the end, he just really can’t beat amelies aim jesus i need to stop44. Who is active/ Who is lazy?Amelie is more active but I would never call Gerard lazy. He’s an accomplished fighter and works hard to protect the people he loves and the world. People write him off as a goof sometimes, but he can be very serious when he needs to be and is excellent at his job.45. Who is more likely to get drunk?Amelie. She always thinks one bottle of wine isn’t enough to get her drunk. It’s more than enough.46. Who has the longer food order?Gerard. He just wants to try everything47. Who has the more complex coffee order?Amelie lmao but normally she makes her coffee herself bc the baristas “never get it right”48. Who loses stuff?Gerard, amelie is really good about keeping track of her things since she travels so much. Meanwhile, gerard’s got one shoe at watchpoint gibraltar and the other at the Swiss HQ and for some reason can never remember to reunite them49. Who is the driver/ Who is the passenger?Gerard drives bc Amelie is always tired and needs rest50. Who is the hopeless romantic?Both of them

Whew I did it i hope you like my cute headcanons (although it’s my personal headcanon that post-talon stuff widow regrets killing gerard but no longer has feelings for him which is Really Angsty so)

Send me a ship & some numbers!

[churchyardgrim]

primes for character of ur choice (since i dont know most of them too well sorry) :>

what’re primes again thank u google and thank u friend! also hmu for basic bios on any of these goobers if you’re curious about any of them! I talk about my main faves a lot but I’ve got some on the back burner that don’t get as much screentime

2- What is/was your character’s relationship with their mother like?

Ifian learned all she knows about fibercraft from her mother and grandmother, and they share a bond into adulthood.

3- What is/was your character’s relationship with their father like?

skipping this one sorry I can’t think of a decent answer

5- On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?

Harker keeps a million rocks and bits of junk in her pockets, and the drier sounds like a coinstar bc she never empties out her jeans before washing them. Notable contents include: no less than six shiny rocks at once, expired cold medicine, mysterious and unsafe bits of rusty metal, gum wrappers for days, a phone, somewhere in there, and once an empty flash drive shaped like an alligator that none of them remembered owning.

7- Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares?

one of Gregory’s subconscious’s favorite playgrounds is the seven or so years he spent holed up in that monster hunting family’s dungeon, before he got upgraded to the business class suite. featuring such great hits as: the time he got branded, the time he got dropkicked by an ordinary nonmagical wild boar, the time he bit his favorite person for funsies and the family had them killed for fear of turning, and more!

11- In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been?

you’d think Harker’s worst Scary Moment would be something magical but she was in a bus crash when she was like 12 and it was The Worst

13- Is your character bothered by the sight of blood? If so, in what way?

hrrmmm yeah imma say none of them are, unless you count hot & bothered wink wink

17- What was your character’s favorite toy as a child?

Felicity had a stuffed dragon that was her entire life from ages 5 to 13

19- What is your character’s biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?

I promised myself I wouldn’t do Gregory for this one bc I always do Gregory for stuff like this so Harker keeps all her feelings in one single compact box and Erika needs to explain and examine every emotion she has ever and this is a friction point for them, and it’s not really an answer to the question but shush

23- What does your character dislike in other people?

Paris thinks everyone around him is too loud and active and would really appreciate some patience plz

29- What did your character dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?

Gregory was raised by priest monks and wanted nothing more than to become a priest monk and surprise surprise he became a priest monk

31- Describe a scenario in which your character feels most comfortable.

Harker really loves the end-of-the-day cuddle puddle, her and Erika and Ifian all piled together watching whatever’s on tv in their lounge clothes

37- Is your character more concerned with defending their honor, or protecting their status?

Morgan doesn’t so much have honor but she does have pride, which isn’t quite the same thing but it’s close enough, and she’ll chase you across five continents to avenge her pride

41- Does your character feel that they deserve to have what they want, whether it be material or abstract, or do they feel they must earn it first?

Paris hasn’t gotten quite that far in the Human Morality Handbook yet but when he does he’s sure to have a nice healthy guilt spiral over it

43- Has your character ever had a dependent figure who was not related to them?

did I ever tell yall about the time Gregory stole adopted a child? you know how you take your evening graveyard stroll and see a seven year old stabbing a ghoul with a kitchen knife and it’s just the most precious thing, so you scoop the little thing up and take it home, doesn’t that happen to everyone?

[smoothshift]

Goodnight C63 Goodnight AMG via /r/cars

Goodnight C63 Goodnight AMG

I received the news yesterday that my 2009 C63 with 88,200km on the odometer is probably toast.

The car has been consuming coolant for a month or two, increasingly within the past couple of weeks. I knew I was in for some bad news when I took it in but I hoped I could avoid the worst-possible outcome. Maybe spend a few grand and come out with a new head gasket. No such luck. Mercedes has spent about a day diagnosing it and they're not 100% sure what's even wrong but at this point just finding out would probably cost more than the car's worth. They say that it looks like cylinder 2 is being bathed in coolant. It can't hold pressure. They suspect that the piston ring and perhaps cylinder wall are damaged, and they also believe that there could be issues below the piston so even if they fix the issues up top, the ones down below will catch up to me. The remedy is to take out the engine, ship it to their machine shop in Ontario and spend tens of thousands of dollars to diagnose and repair. Of course once the engine's out, you go all the way or you don't get it back. Or I could buy a new engine - price tag 60K.

Much as I love the car, the answer is necessarily a no. It's not specifically even a question of money, but sane use of money. Interestingly, the car never threw a light - just asked for coolant. Also, despite basically missing a cylinder, I couldn't tell at the pedal - the car's a beast.

I don't know why I'm writing this, exactly. I guess I'm hoping to organize my thoughts and deal with what feels to me like the death of a beloved pet. I'm sad about the loss of an object of little actual value because part of me feels that it was more than just a car. It had a soul, in its own way, given to it in small measures by all the people who lovingly designed, crafted, assembled and cared for it. It was a rolling work of art. The biggest, dumbest, most ridiculous, most overpowered and completely unnecessary everything all wrapped up in a handsome tuxedo. Despite my intense dissatisfaction in the end result, this is the single most satisfying car I have ever owned and, honestly, the single most satisfying object I have ever owned.

I had intended to keep it forever. To drive it into the ground. I thought that this car containing one of the most beautiful naturally-aspirated V8s ever made would be my future classic. I thought it would be the last engine of this nature produced by a generation of excess so foolish it's destroying our whole planet. I thought that one day I'd be driving it down the road and people would look at me in disgust as my stupid car growled and polluted its way around the streets for a cruise. I am dismayed that my future classic isn't going to live to see the future. I guess I did drive it into the ground.

As disappointed as I may be about its demise, I have no regrets about having purchased it. It was awesome and I'll always remember that feeling of awe I got driving it. Just seeing it made me happy. The sound it made every single time it barked to life or the way it bellowed when I put my foot down on the gas is forever burned into my memory. I'll miss the crackles and pops it shot out the exhaust when I lifted off the pedal, especially on cold days.

I'm sad also because this car has driven me through all the greatest moments in my life. I drove my fiancee to our wedding in it and returned her home as my wife. I drove us to our new home in it. I drove my pregnant wife to the hospital and then brought home my new family in it. We've driven it all up and down BC's Sunshine Coast, from Vancouver to San Francisco and back along the coast, we've taken it camping, etc. Whatever we needed, the car could do, and always there was a bear ready to roar under the hood if you wanted to have some fun. Driving in the snow? OK. Trunk full of junk? OK. IKEA trip? OK. Comfortable cruise around with the inlaws? OK. It was whatever car you needed it to be and it served faithfully always. It's been a busy 10 years.

In fact, I bought this car purely for personal pleasure. For both my wife and I, our daily commute is by transit or, in warmer months, by bicycle. We walk most places. The low mileage is proof that the car spent a lot of its life just chilling in the garage. As such, I don't think I'll be replacing it right away. If I do, it certainly won't be with another Mercedes.

I don't specifically fault Mercedes for its failure. Shit happens when you've got thousands of moving parts. Still, I would have expected that the finest hand-built, precision German engineering would last more than 88,200km of relatively sedate driving. I'd expect better durability out of a Lada and I'd probably get it. I'm sad for this reason also. All the people who created this monster must be as sad to see its end as I am. To see it die by the flaws in its manufacture. Or maybe they're not but they should at least be ashamed. My opinion of the brand is somewhat soured. I was prepared to jump through all the hoops and pay the cost of ownership but I didn't expect a shot engine out of a high-end car.

Anyway, thanks for reading and for letting me offload some of my feelings onto you. Nobody in my life really understands. Their concerns are for the financial loss and impact to my pocket book but to me those are meaningless. I could get a brand new C63 if I wanted to but it wouldn't be this exact one. I could maybe buy a used M156-based model if I wanted but I don't think I do/will. It's not what I need in my life now. The dollars are irrelevant and I don't really need a car. I'm just sad about the loss of my car. It's all too fresh right now.

I think I'll have the dealer wash it so it looks nice and then I'll take it home. I'll call some independent shops and see if they have any alternative options for me. If I do end up needing a car someday, I'll probably take it to Toyota, maybe get a couple thousand bucks for it and end up with some boring, soulless box.

Maybe someday in the future, when everyone's driving electric cars or when nobody's driving anymore at all, I'll see some classic muscle roar down the street. Instead of being disgusted I'll marvel and I'll shed a tear for my would-have-been classic. I'll tell my daughter about that time back when she was a kid and I'll show her some pictures. She probably won't care.

Goodnight C63 Goodnight AMG.