#cheers to neil and his tunes as well

[turbotrout]

there's something very sweet about how 413 still brings former homestucks out of the woodwork

[diorgirl444]

𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐞𝐯𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 ༊*·˚

@goodoldfashionedluvergirl

loud music and the flickering lights of candles danced from the cave. If anyone got close and peeked through the gaps in the walls, they would see the endearing sight of a group of boys trying their earnest best to sing happy birthday to a girl with curly red hair. and though it was grating and very out of tune one could not deny the sweetness that went with it. The girl in question was widely smiling, her eyes large and reflecting the joy of the scene appearing around her tenfold. The cake they held matched the scene. It was slightly mashed-looking and had slightly wonky candles but if you had asked anyone who tasted it would fondly say that it was simply the best cake they had ever eaten. After singing Charlie bowed and begged for her to blow her candles out. as she lent to do so she heard Todd whisper in her ear “make a wish”  

it was a marvelous birthday if ever she had one. When it came to presents, she was overwhelmed by their gifts and the thoughtfulness of it all. Neil had bought her a beautiful vintage copy of “the importance of being earnest, Charlie had given her a locket which held a photo of the pair of them as children, Pitts had baked the wonky cake, Meeks had nurtured a small seedling of a rose “for her name” he had explained and Cameron had found a pretty little music box which played the sugarplum fairy dance music which she had once mentioned that she longed to see. she felt their kindness settle in her like a gorgeous golden light of all that is good and right in this world. but the gift that meant the utmost to her was Todd's gift. He had gotten all their attention before announcing that he would like to recite a poem. This was understandably a significant moment. Todd never recited so when he said he was going to the other poets whooped, and cheered, slapping him on the back. Todd's eyes remained trained on Eva though.  

He cleared his throat before beginning and the noise ceased. 

“Light pauses to look at her, 

for it knows that it pales in comparison, 

it knows that its glimmers and glows are nothing to the way her eyes glimmer and glow, 

the sea stops at her feet, 

for it knows that it pales in comparison, 

it knows that its waves and curls are nothing to the way her hair waves and curls, 

the air even catches its breath when she appears, 

for it knows that it pales in comparison, 

yes, it too knows that its lilts and chuckles are nothing to the way her voice lilts and chuckles,

 

I too stop when she stands before me, 

for I know that I pale in comparison, 

yes, I too know that I am not worthy to catch the eye of such an angel, 

for I am not another angel I am simply a boy who longs to hold her close” 

When he finishes his eyes drop her gaze. 

The other boys are cheering again but neither Eva nor Todd hears them. They are too focused on each other. 

neither of them says anything again to each other that night till the time comes for Todd to walk her back to her dorm. They walk in silence but just as she goes to walk in, she pauses. “Did you mean what you said in that poem.” Todd nods too shy to speak. she continues “well I loved it Todd” he speaks then “you did?” she nods “I’ll prove it to you” he goes to ask how but before he can get the words out, she kisses him.  

and all she can think is that all the books she’s read are wrong. No fireworks are exploding inside instead she feels unbelievably warm and happy. He tastes like birthday cake, and she can feel him smiling into the kiss, but it does not bother her one bit. when they pull away his forehead still presses against hers and he whispers to her “happy birthday Eva Rose I hope your wish comes true.” she whispers back “it already has” and then she leans in again… 

hope you liked it happy early birthday eva rose <3

[seanpultz]

Ernest P. Worrell, his rubbery face a mask of wonder, steered his cherry-red convertible through the bustling streets of New York City. Rimshot, his ever-faithful Jack Russell Terrier, sat proudly in the passenger seat, ears flapping in the wind. "Look at this place, Rimshot," Ernest exclaimed, his eyes wide with amazement. "It's like a whole 'nother world, ain't it?" The car radio blasted a classic rock tune, and Ernest tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat. He had never been to the big city before, and he was lovin' every minute of it. Little did he know that this trip to the bank was about to turn his world upside down.

Pulling up to the bank with a cheerful grin, Ernest said to Rimshot, "Alright, buddy, this won't take a New York minute!" He parked the convertible and hopped out, leaving Rimshot to keep an eye on their ride. Entering the bank, the atmosphere changed instantly. A cacophony of yells and the clatter of guns echoed through the marble halls as a group of masked robbers stormed in. One of them, noticing Ernest, grabbed him and shoved him into the mix of terrified patrons. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Ernest squealed, his grin fading fast. "I'm just here to put some greenbacks away, knowhutImean?" But the robber wasn't in the mood for small talk, and he pushed Ernest into the line of hostages. Through the chaos, Ernest's eyes met the determined gaze of April O'Neil, a beautiful news reporter, and he realized this was a story she'd die for. Little did he know, it was also a story that would change his life forever.

As the robbers' grip on the situation loosened, in barged a quartet of unlikely heroes: Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! Moving with the grace of dancers and the precision of a SWAT team, the turtles leaped and karate-chopped their way through the bank, sending the robbers scattering like a pack of rats. The hostages gawked in amazement as the green, masked figures moved with a blur of speed and skill. Ernest's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Am I seein' what I think I'm seein'?" he whispered to himself. The turtles didn't bother with explanations; they were all business as they secured the area. With a final roundhouse kick, Michelangelo sent the last thug flying, and the bank fell silent.

The Turtles disappeared into the alley, and Ernest, his curiosity piqued, decided to follow them. He ducked behind a dumpster and peered out as they vanished into the shadows. "C'mon, Rimshot," he murmured, leading his dog by the leash. "Let's see where these crazy critters are headed." The alley grew quieter as the sound of the city muffled behind them. Suddenly, a metallic clank echoed through the narrow passage, and a sewer lid flew open. Without a second thought, Ernest stepped closer, peering into the darkness below. He could just make out the tail end of a turtle shell disappearing down the ladder. "Well, I'll be darned," he exclaimed, his eyes wide. "They're going underground!"

Back at the Channel 3 News Station, April O' Neil, her hair slightly disheveled from the earlier excitement, sat in front of the camera, her eyes gleaming with the excitement of the story she was about to share. "In an unprecedented turn of events, the city was saved today by four mysterious heroes, witnessed by none other than our very own Ernest P. Worrell," she announced, her voice steady and clear. Chuck, the diligent cameraman, nodded solemnly, capturing her every word, while Bobby, his eyes glued to the monitor, made sure the audio was crisp.

"Tell us, Ernest, what exactly did you see at the bank today?" she prompted. "Well, Miss O'Neil," Ernest began, his voice quavering slightly, "it was the darnedest thing! These four, uh, turtles, right? They just swooped in and cleaned house!"

"Please, go on, Ernest. The city needs to know about these heroes." And so, Ernest spun his wild tale, his words painting a picture of the Turtles' daring rescue, complete with flying kicks and quips. Though they couldn't help but snicker behind the scenes, Chuck and Bobby knew that a good story was a good story, no matter how ludicrous it might seem. They focused on their job, capturing every moment of Ernest's account for the evening news.

At the end of the interview, Chuck and Bobby approach Ernest. "Turtles, you say?" Chuck drawled, raising an eyebrow. "With ninja skills?" Bobby added, his voice tinged with doubt.

"Come on, guys, I'm not pullin' your leg here!" Ernest protested, his voice rising with frustration as he recounted the unbelievable events at the bank. "They had these colored masks on and were fightin' like Bruce Lee on a pizza bender!" But Chuck and Bobby just couldn't wrap their heads around it. They stared at him like he'd just claimed to have seen Elvis handing out peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at Central Park. "Turtles with nunchucks and swords, huh?" Chuck said, a smirk playing on his lips. "And they talked, too?" Bobby chimed in, his disbelief palpable. "You've been hittin' the moonshine again, haven't ya, Ernest?" They chuckled, patting him on the back as if he'd just told the most ridiculous tall tale.

But Ernest was adamant. "I'm tellin' ya, it's the truth! They're out there, savin' the city from the bad guys, one slice at a time!" His eyes pleaded with them to believe his words, but their laughter only grew louder. "Alright, alright," he finally conceded, his shoulders slumping. "You don't believe me, but I know what I saw." As they walked away, still chuckling, Ernest couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just stumbled upon the story of a lifetime, and he was determined to prove it.

Later that night, under the cover of darkness, Ernest and Rimshot tiptoed back to the alley, the yellow glow of the streetlights bouncing off the damp pavement. The sewer lid still lay open, inviting them into the abyss below. "You ready, buddy?" Ernest whispered to Rimshot, his heart racing with excitement. "We're about to meet some real-life superheroes!" With a deep breath, he descended the ladder, Rimshot eagerly following. The dank scent of the sewer filled their nostrils, but the promise of adventure propelled them forward.

The rhythmic thump of bass and the muffled sound of a boombox grew louder as Ernest and Rimshot cautiously approached the sewer opening that the Turtles had disappeared into. Curiosity piqued, they crept closer, and to their astonishment, they found themselves in the middle of an underground rave—only the partygoers were the Turtles themselves! Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael were all bobbing their heads and grooving to the beat, surrounded by a sea of glowing neon graffiti and discarded pizza boxes. The sight was so bizarre that Ernest had to blink a few times to make sure he wasn't seeing things. Rimshot's ears perked up at the sound of his favorite tune, and before Ernest could stop him, the little terrier darted into the fray, yipping and barking with joy. The Turtles, startled by the unexpected guest, turned to face them, their expressions a mix of surprise and amusement. "Whoa, dude!" Michelangelo exclaimed, his surfer drawl echoing off the sewer walls. "Looks like we've got some uninvited company!"

The Turtles' eyes widened in shock as they saw Ernest and Rimshot standing before them, looking just as confused as they were. Leonardo stepped forward, his sword at the ready. "Who are you, and what do you want?" he demanded, his voice a mix of curiosity and caution.

Ernest held up his hands in a peaceful gesture, his face a picture of awe. "Hold on there, don't get your shells in a twist! I'm just a simple country boy lookin' for a good story, knowhutImean?"

Michelangelo couldn't help but chuckle, while Donatello peered at him over his glasses. "Well, you've definitely found one," he murmured, his voice filled with amusement.

Raphael, ever the skeptic, crossed his arms and glared. "What are you, some kind of tourist?"

April, who had been quietly watching the exchange from the sidelines, stepped forward with a warm smile. "Actually, guys, he might be more than that. He's Ernest P. Worrell, and he's been telling everyone about the amazing things he saw at the bank today."

The Turtles exchanged glances, and Leonardo sheathed his sword. "Well, in that case, welcome to our humble abode," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Leonardo. This is Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael. And that's our sensei, Master Splinter."

Ernest took Leonardo's hand and shook it vigorously, his eyes lighting up. "Pleasure to meet ya, Leo!" he exclaimed. "And the rest of ya, too!"

Splinter, who had been meditating in the background, opened one eye and raised a furry brow. "The bank incident, you say?" His curiosity was piqued. "You've had quite the adventure, young man. Tell us more."

As Ernest regaled them with his tale, complete with exaggerated gestures and Rimshot's barking interruptions, the Turtles couldn't help but feel a strange kinship with the rubber-faced everyman.

In the shadowy depths of the Foot Clan's lair, the Shredder, flanked by his loyal second-in-command, Tatsu, pored over blueprints of New York City's infrastructure. His eyes narrowed as he traced the lines of power plants, water treatment facilities, and communication hubs with a gleaming metallic finger. "Tatsu," he murmured, his voice a low growl, "our time to claim this city as our own draws near. With control over these vital points, the humans will tremble before us." Tatsu nodded solemnly, his cold gaze reflecting the light from the flickering candles. "But first," Shredder added with a sly smile, "we must deal with those pesky Turtles and their interfering friends."

Back in the Turtles' lair, a sprawling underground sanctuary adorned with ancient Japanese artifacts and high-tech gadgets, Leonardo began to train Ernest in the art of Ninjutsu. "Now, Ernest," Leonardo said with a stern yet patient tone, "the key to being a ninja is balance, discipline, and a strong sense of humor." The other turtles snickered, but Leonardo shot them a look that silenced them immediately. "We must prepare you for the battles ahead," he continued, handing Ernest a pair of nunchucks.

Ernest's eyes widened as he took the nunchucks in his hands. "Okay, Leo," he said, swinging them around in a clumsy arc, "I'm ready to kick some shell!" His enthusiasm was met with a series of facepalms from Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael, while Splinter looked on with a mix of amusement and concern. "First," Leonardo began, "we must work on your grip."

"Alright, here goes nothin'!" Ernest exclaimed, his grip on the nunchucks tightening with determination. He swung them around with gusto, only to have them bonk him squarely in the nose. "Ow!" he yelped, stumbling backward and landing on his posterior with a thud. Rimshot, ever the loyal companion, yipped in concern and rushed over to lick his face. The Turtles couldn't help but burst into laughter at the sight, and even Splinter cracked a smile. "Perhaps we should start with the basics," Leonardo suggested, gently taking the nunchucks from Ernest's now-loosened grasp. "Remember, young one," Splinter chuckled, "even the best ninjas start as clumsy beginners."

Over the next few days, Ernest endured a rigorous training montage with Leonardo, each attempt at mastering the ancient art of Ninjutsu more comical than the last. He stumbled through obstacle courses, accidentally knocked over priceless artifacts, and even managed to get tangled in his own bandana while trying to mimic Michelangelo's nunchuck skills. Despite the laughter and bruises, Ernest remained undeterred, his desire to help the Turtles in their battle against the nefarious Shredder and the Foot Clan stronger than ever. "Now, remember, Ernest," Leonardo coached him, "timing is everything in combat."

"Got it, Leo," Ernest nodded, sweat beads forming on his forehead as he held a set of bo staffs awkwardly.

"And precision," Donatello chimed in, adjusting his glasses as he observed.

"Don't forget the pizza," Michelangelo added with a cheeky grin.

"And pizza," Ernest murmured, eyeing a nearby pizza box with longing.

During one particularly intense training session, Ernest's lack of coordination was on full display. As he attempted to perform a dramatic bo staff twirl, the wooden rods smacked him in the face, sending him reeling backward. "Whoa!" he yelped, rubbing his nose. "Guess I've still got some learnin' to do, knowhutImean?" The Turtles couldn't help but chuckle at his expense, while Splinter offered some wise words. "Patience and practice, Ernest," he advised, his tail swishing behind him. "Remember, Ernest," the rat said in a gentle yet firm voice, "Use your mind and your heart, and you will find the strength to conquer even the darkest foe."

One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, Casey Jones, the burly streetwise vigilante with a penchant for ice hockey, invited Ernest to join him for a friendly game of stick-and-puck in the lair's makeshift rink. "Come on, Ernest," Casey said with a grin, slapping a stick into his hand, "you can't call yourself a New Yorker unless you know how to handle the puck!"

Ernest looked skeptical but eager to bond with his new friends. "Alright, Casey," he said, tightening his grip on the stick. "But I'm more of a golf kinda guy, knowhutImean?" The two squared off, Rimshot watching with his tail wagging in excitement. The game began with Casey showing off his skills, weaving around imaginary opponents with ease. Ernest, on the other hand, couldn't even get the puck to slide in a straight line. His every move resulted in a comedic disaster, with the puck bouncing off the walls and occasionally hitting Rimshot, who yipped and chased after it with glee.

The Turtles watched from the sidelines, cracking up at Ernest's antics. Michelangelo couldn't resist joining in, jumping onto the ice and sliding around on his shell, while Donatello offered a running commentary that sounded suspiciously like a sports announcer. Even Raphael, the grumpiest of the bunch, couldn't help but smirk at the sight of the bumbling human. The game grew more chaotic by the minute, with the puck flying in every direction, narrowly missing priceless artifacts and knocking over a pile of pizzas.

But amidst the laughter and mayhem, something unexpected happened. In a rare moment of coordination, Ernest managed to send the puck hurtling towards the net with a mighty swing. Casey, caught off guard by his friend's sudden skill, barely managed to block it with his stick. The Turtles erupted into cheers, and even Splinter couldn't hide his surprise. "Well done, Ernest," Casey said, clapping him on the back. "You've got more in you than you think."

The camaraderie grew stronger, and as they all sat down to catch their breath, sharing stories and laughs, Ernest felt a part of something bigger than himself. Little did he know that the friendship he was forming would soon be tested in the most dangerous of ways, as the shadow of the Shredder and his Foot Clan loomed ever closer.

The room grew tense as April's news report crackled over the Turtles' communication device. "Breaking news," she announced, her voice urgent. "The Foot Clan has been spotted infiltrating the city's main communication hub. The situation is critical. Authorities are on their way, but we can't wait for them to act." The Turtles exchanged determined glances, knowing they had to move fast to prevent the Shredder's plan from unfolding. "I'm coming with you," Ernest declared, his eyes shining with excitement. Despite the Turtles' initial hesitation, Leonardo recognized the passion in his voice. "Alright, Ernest," he conceded. "But you stay behind me and do exactly as I say."

With a whoop of excitement, Ernest grabbed his trusty nunchucks, while Rimshot, ever the eager sidekick, jumped to his feet and barked his readiness. The group set off into the night, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the sewer tunnels as they made their way to the surface. The air was electric with anticipation and a hint of fear as they approached the communication hub, the looming shadow of the Foot Clan's ambition casting a pall over the city. "Remember, Ernest," Donatello whispered as they crept closer, "we're fighting for more than just the city. We're fighting for each other."

Michelangelo slapped a high-five. "Turtle Power, dude!"

"And pizza," Donatello added with a smirk.

Raphael rolled his eyes. "Always with the pizza."

But their playful banter was short-lived as they reached the hub's perimeter, the sound of distant sirens growing louder. The battle was about to begin, and they had to be ready.

The group huddled together, their eyes scanning the dimly lit room for any sign of the Foot Clan. "We need a distraction," Leonardo murmured, his gaze settling on Rimshot. "And I think I've got just the thing." He turned to Ernest with a mischievous glint in his eye. "You think Rimshot can handle a little reconnaissance?"

Ernest looked at his dog, who wagged his tail in response. "You betcha, Leo! Rimshot's the sneakiest critter in the county!" He patted Rimshot's head and whispered in his ear, "You go show 'em what you're made of, boy!" With a nod from Leonardo, Rimshot darted off into the shadows, his little legs a blur of motion. The Turtles and their new human ally waited with bated breath, their ears tuned for any sound that would indicate the presence of their foes.

As the seconds ticked by, the tension grew thicker than the cheese on a New York slice. Suddenly, the sound of barking echoed through the tunnels, followed by the clatter of footsteps and shouts in a foreign tongue. "They've found him!" Donatello exclaimed. "Now's our chance!" The Turtles and Ernest sprang into action, using the commotion to sneak closer to the communication hub. The Foot Soldiers were so busy chasing Rimshot that they didn't notice the green-clad figures slipping in unnoticed.

As they approached the heart of the operation, they could see the Shredder himself standing over a series of control panels, his metallic hands poised to take over the city's communications. "Not if we can help it," Casey grunted, gripping his trusty baseball bat. The Turtles nodded in agreement, their determination etched on their faces. With Rimshot's barking growing fainter, they knew they had to act fast. "Ready?"

The air crackled with energy as the Turtles and Ernest burst into the room, their battle cries mixing with the clang of swords and the slap of bare feet on concrete. The Foot Clan, caught off guard, scrambled to regroup, their eyes widening at the sight of the unexpected human and his yipping canine sidekick. Without a second thought, he dashed forward, nunchucks swinging wildly. The Turtles, impressed by his bravery, followed close behind, their weapons flashing in the dim light. The fight was chaotic, with turtles and ninjas leaping through the air in a flurry of kicks and slices, while Ernest stumbled and slipped, managing to inadvertently knock a few Foot Soldiers off their feet with his flailing limbs. Through the chaos, a bond grew stronger between the unlikely allies, each one fighting not just for the city, but for the friendship that had formed in the bowels of the sewer.

The Turtles continued to battle the Foot Clan with the finesse of seasoned ninjas, while Ernest's approach was more… unconventional. He'd trip over a cable, only to accidentally sweep the legs out from under a Foot Soldier with his nunchucks, then tumble into a pile of pipes, knocking two more off their feet. His flailing became a surprisingly effective distraction, giving the Turtles the upper hand. At one point, Michelangelo couldn't help but crack a joke. "Looks like you're fighting with your own brand of 'Turtle Jujitsu' there, Ernest!" Despite the laughs, the stakes were high. The Shredder had set his sights on the city's power grid, and if he wasn't stopped, New York would be plunged into chaos.

In the midst of the chaos, Tatsu, the Shredder's silent yet deadly right-hand man, emerged from the shadows, a snarl etched on his face. His eyes fell on Rimshot, the tiny terrier who had unwittingly led them into the lion's den. With a swift move, Tatsu snatched Rimshot from the fray, the dog's yelps of surprise piercing the air. Before anyone could react, he vanished into the shadows with the stolen prize. "Rimshot!" Ernest yelled, his heart racing. The Turtles exchanged grim looks, knowing that this was a twist they hadn't anticipated. "We've got to get him back!" Michelangelo exclaimed. "And fast!" Leonardo added, his grip tightening on his katanas. "The Shredder won't stop until he has what he wants," Donatello warned, his voice tinged with urgency. "And now, it seems he's raised the stakes."

Back in the Turtles' Lair, the mood was grim as they regrouped, their eyes darting to the empty spot where Rimshot usually sat. "Don't worry, Ernest," April said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We've faced tougher challenges than this, and we'll get him back." Casey nodded in agreement, his face a mask of determination. "Yeah, we're not gonna let those slimeballs get away with this." The Turtles exchanged solemn glances, their expressions a mix of anger and concern. "We'll find him," Leonardo assured him. "And when we do, we'll make sure he's safe." Michelangelo patted Rimshot's favorite chew toy, his voice thick with emotion. "We're gonna kick some serious shell and save our buddy." Donatello's eyes flicked to a nearby computer screen, displaying the city's security feeds. "We need to track down the Foot Clan's next move," he said, his voice steady. "They won't be expecting us to come after them so soon." Raphael, ever the strategist, tapped his chin thoughtfully. "And when we do, we'll show 'em what real Ninja Turtle Power looks like."

The room buzzed with a newfound resolve as they turned their attention to the monitors, analyzing the data for any sign of their beloved pet. "We've got to be smart about this," Casey reminded them, his eyes scanning the screens. "The Shredder's not just gonna hand him over."

"But we're not just gonna sit here and do nothin' either, knowhutImean?" Ernest said, a fiery glint in his eye. "Rimshot's family, and family sticks together."

Leonardo nodded, his gaze never leaving the monitors. "We'll find him," he promised. "And we'll make sure the Shredder never uses him as a pawn again."

The Turtles huddled around the makeshift command center in their lair, with April and Casey leaning in to examine the blueprints of the communications hub spread out on the table. "Alright, think," Leonardo said, tapping his chin with his finger. "What would Shredder want with a place like this?"

Michelangelo spoke up, his eyes wide with excitement. "Maybe he's planning a city-wide dance party, and he needs to sync up the boomboxes?"

Donatello rolled his eyes. "Not helpful, Mikey."

"Okay, okay," Michelangelo conceded, scratching his head. "How about this? Maybe he's gonna hack the TV stations and play nothing but reruns of 'Cowabunga Shredhead' 24/7?"

"While that's a terrifying thought," Casey said, his voice dry, "I doubt it's his endgame."

April tapped the blueprints thoughtfully. "If he controls the communications, he could spread misinformation, cause panic, and distract the city while he carries out his real plan."

"And with Rimshot as his hostage," Donatello added gravely, "he's got us right where he wants us."

Leonardo nodded, his gaze intense. "We need to find out what that plan is, and fast." His eyes scanned the blueprints, looking for any clues. "If we can anticipate his moves, we might be able to turn the tables on him."

Raphael leaned in, his jaw set. "Let's do it. No more joking around. We're getting our tails in gear and bringing Rimshot home."

The group nodded in agreement, their determination stronger than ever. They knew that the battle ahead would be tough, but with their friendship and their wits, they were ready to take on the Shredder and the Foot Clan to save their newfound friend.

Word of the Foot Clan's latest target reached the Turtles' lair: the city's power plant. The stakes were higher than ever, and time was of the essence. As the Turtles and their allies prepared to set out on their mission, they were met with an unexpected sight. Chuck and Bobby, armed with their camera and sound gear, were sneaking through the tunnels. "What in tarnation are you two doin' here?" Ernest exclaimed, his voice a mix of shock and bewilderment.

April, who had been quietly planning with Casey, whipped around to face them. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice sharp. "You're supposed to be safe at the news station!"

Chuck, his eyes wide as saucers, held up his hands. "We couldn't just sit around, Ernest," he said, his voice trembling with excitement. "You told us about the turtles, and we had to see it for ourselves!" Bobby nodded fervently, his usually stoic expression replaced by one of wonder. "Now that we know you weren't just spinnin' tall tales…" Chuck's voice trailed off as he took in the sight of the Turtles standing before them.

"But guys," Ernest began, his face etched with concern, "Rimshot's been dognapped by the Foot Clan. They're usin' him as bait, and we've gotta get him back." Chuck's smile faded, and Bobby's eyes narrowed in a rare show of emotion. "You mean to tell us that the little feller's in trouble?" Chuck asked, his voice filled with genuine worry.

"Yes," Leonardo confirmed gravely. "The Shredder has him, and we need to act fast to ensure his safety and stop the Shredder's nefarious plans for the city."

The two friends looked at each other, then back at the Turtles. "Well, if anyone can save him, it's you guys," Chuck said, his voice filled with admiration. "But we're not gonna just sit this one out. We're comin' with ya."

April sighed, knowing it was futile to argue with them. "Alright, but you two stay behind the cameras and out of trouble," she warned. "We've got enough to deal with without babysitting."

With nods all around, the group set off into the night, their mission clear: rescue Rimshot and stop the Shredder from taking over New York City's power grid. The adventure was about to get even more bizarre, with the fate of the city resting in the hands—and shells—of a rubber-faced everyman, four Ninja Turtles, a streetwise vigilante, and a couple of bumbling newsmen.

At the power plant, the air was thick with tension as the Foot Clan and their fearsome leader, the Shredder, awaited the Turtles' arrival. Tatsu, his grip firm on Rimshot's trembling form, smirked. The helpless little terrier whined, his eyes darting around in a panic. The Shredder's plan was unfolding perfectly, and the thought of the Turtles walking into his trap brought a cold, calculated joy to his heart. Meanwhile, high above the city in the Turtle Blimp, the team of heroes hovered, their eyes scanning the plant for any signs of trouble. "We've got to be careful," Leonardo murmured, his gaze locked on the sprawling complex. "The Shredder won't make this easy for us." Michelangelo tightened his grip on his nunchucks, his usually carefree demeanor replaced with a steely resolve. "We'll get Rimshot back," he vowed. "And then we'll throw the biggest pizza party this city's ever seen!" The blimp descended, and the Turtles, Casey, and Ernest prepared to face the enemy. As they dropped into the shadowy grounds, they knew that the battle ahead would be one of their toughest yet.

The Turtles, Ernest, and Casey tiptoe through the power plant's dimly lit corridors, their shadows stretching long and ominous before them. They thought they had entered unnoticed, but the echo of a distant growl and the sound of patrolling Foot Soldiers' footsteps had them on edge. The scent of oil and electricity filled their nostrils as they moved silently, their eyes peeled for any sign of trouble. Little did they know, the Foot Clan had anticipated their arrival and had set a trap more ingenious than any they had faced before.

Their footsteps grew more cautious as they approached the heart of the power plant, where the Shredder's sinister laughter echoed through the metal halls. Suddenly, a floodlight blinded them, and a swarm of Foot Soldiers emerged from the shadows, surrounding the group. In a flash, they were overpowered, and the sound of Rimshot's desperate barking grew louder. The Turtles, Ernest, and Casey were dragged before the Shredder, who loomed over them from a raised platform, his twisted grin gleaming in the harsh light. "Welcome, my green-shelled pests," he sneered, holding Rimshot up by the scruff of his neck. "You've walked right into my trap, and now, you will pay the price for your interference." The fear in Rimshot's eyes mirrored the determination in the Turtles' gazes, and they knew that the battle to save him and the city had just begun.

The Shredder cackled as he loomed over the captive group, Rimshot's yelps of fear punctuating the silence. "Your heroics may have foiled my previous schemes," he sneered, "but this time, I shall not be denied. With control over the city's power, water, and communications, I will bend New York to my will!" He gestured to a bank of monitors displaying various city landmarks, each with a red target superimposed. "Once I have New York under my control," he continued, "my Foot Clan will execute the final phase of our takeover!" The turtles and their friends exchanged glances, their determination to save their city and their newfound companion stronger than ever.

"But what's with Rimshot?" Ernest blurted out, his voice filled with concern for his little terrier. "What's he got to do with your big ol' plan?" The Shredder's grin grew wider, and he stroked Rimshot's trembling fur with a metallic finger. "Your pet is merely a demonstration of my power and your vulnerability," he hissed. "A warning, if you will, to show that nothing and no one is beyond my reach." The room fell silent for a moment before Leonardo spoke up, his voice calm yet firm. "You're a coward, Shredder, using an innocent animal as a pawn in your twisted game." The Shredder's smile didn't waver. "Innocent or not, it's all the same to me. What matters is that you're here, and now, you're all in my clutches." The turtles' eyes flashed with anger, and Casey tightened his grip on his baseball bat, ready to charge. But before they could act, a cacophony of alarms blared through the room, and the sound of heavy boots echoed in the distance. "Looks like we've got company," Michelangelo quipped, his voice tight with tension. The Shredder's smile faded.

The Shredder's eyes narrowed as he stared at the security monitors, spotting April, Chuck, and Bobby making their way through the power plant. "Tatsu," he barked, his voice cold as steel, "Take a squad of soldiers and bring them to me. I have no patience for these pesky interlopers!" Tatsu nodded curtly, his grip on Rimshot tightening, and gestured for a group of Foot Soldiers to follow him.

April, Chuck, and Bobby moved stealthily through the power plant, the camera's red light a beacon in the darkness as April whispered her live report into the microphone. "We're deep in the belly of the beast," she murmured dramatically, her voice broadcasting over the airwaves. "The Foot Clan is…Whoa!" Her words were cut off as a blinding flash filled the corridor, followed by an ear-splitting bang. The trio stumbled, disoriented by the smoke billowing around them. Through the haze, they were quickly overwhelmed by a squad of Foot Soldiers, their cries of protest cut short as they were secured with ropes. When the smoke cleared, they found themselves face to face with a grinning Tatsu, who held Rimshot tightly in his grasp. "Looks like you've got some explaining to do," Tatsu sneered, tossing the trio into the room with the others.

The reunion was anything but joyous, as the captives were lined up before the Shredder, their eyes watering from the acrid smoke. The turtles struggled against their bonds, their shells glinting with the desperate need to break free and save their new companions. Casey and Ernest looked equally determined, though their expressions were a mix of fear and indignation. "Well, well," the Shredder purred. "You've brought more guests to our little soiree. How delightful." His cold gaze swept over the new arrivals, and he nodded to Tatsu. "Secure them," he ordered. "Their interference will not be tolerated." The Foot Soldiers moved to comply.

The Shredder snatched Chuck's camera from his trembling hands and turned it to face him, his voice echoing through the room as he addressed the lens. "Citizens of New York," he began, his tone menacing, "you are now under the control of the Foot Clan. Your city's fate lies in my hands, and unless you submit to my will, I shall plunge you all into chaos!" He gestured to the captives with a dramatic flourish. "Behold, your so-called heroes," he sneered, "helpless before me." He turned the camera to show the bound turtles, Casey, and Ernest, their expressions a mix of anger and defiance. "But fear not," he continued, "for I shall be a benevolent ruler. If you obey, you will be rewarded. If not…" He paused, his eyes flicking to Rimshot, "the consequences will be dire. Let the city see their protectors for what they truly are: powerless in the face of the Foot Clan." As the camera rolled, the Shredder's message of terror was beamed out across the city.

In a flash of ingenuity, April managed to slip her bonds free and palmed the smoke bomb Chuck had smuggled in. She took a deep breath and whispered to the others, "Cover your eyes and brace yourselves!" With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the smoke bomb at the Shredder's feet. "Now!" The explosion of light and sound rocked the room, and the Shredder and his soldiers reeled, their vision obscured by the thick, choking smoke. Through the chaos, Rimshot took his chance. As Tatsu's grip loosened, the little terrier clamped down on the villain's hand, yelping and snarling. Tatsu howled in pain and released Rimshot, who scurried to safety.

In the midst of the confusion, Rimshot's sharp teeth sliced through the ropes binding Ernest's wrists, freeing him from his restraints. Coughing and blinking through the smoke, Ernest's eyes grew wide with gratitude and he quickly set to work, untying the Turtles, Casey, and his friends. "Let's go, fellas!" he exclaimed, slapping the turtles on their shells. "We've got a city to save!" With newfound vigor, the group leaped into action, their bonds of friendship and shared determination fueling their escape from the Shredder's clutches. The battle was far from over, but with their newfound freedom, they had the upper hand—for now.

Chuck, his eyes watering from the smoke, lunged for the camera, his heart racing. He knew that capturing this moment was crucial. As he snatched it up, the weight of the device felt reassuring in his hands, a tool that could help bring the truth to the people of New York. Through the haze, he could see the Turtles, Casey, and Ernest springing into action, their determination unyielding despite their dire circumstances. "Keep it rollin', Bobby," he yelled over the din, his voice a mix of excitement and urgency. Bobby nodded, his eyes glued to the viewfinder as he captured the chaos unfolding before them.

With a battle cry that could be heard over the din of the alarms, Ernest and the Turtles sprang into action, their every move a blur of green and denim. The Foot Clan, caught off guard by the sudden escape, scrambled to regroup, but it was too late. The rubber-faced everyman, now fueled by the fiery spirit of Ninjutsu, dodged and weaved through the air, his fists and feet flying in a whirlwind of fury. Meanwhile, Casey locked eyes with Tatsu, the two recognizing each other from their previous encounter. "You and me, round two," Casey growled, cracking his knuckles. The burly streetwise vigilante and the stoic Shredder's right-hand man charged at each other, their fists clenched and their wills unbreakable. The clang of their weapons and the grunts of their exertion filled the room as they fought, each blow a testament to their unyielding determination to protect their friends and city.

While the battle raged on, Chuck and Bobby couldn't contain their excitement. They hovered over the camera, jostling for the best view, their eyes glued to the monitor as the Turtles and their new ally, Ernest, dispatched Foot Soldiers with surprising ease. "Look at 'em go!" Chuck exclaimed, slapping Bobby on the back. Bobby's wide grin was all the reply he needed. Meanwhile, April remained steadfast in her role, her voice strong and clear as she reported the unfolding events into the microphone. "This is April O'Neil, live from the power plant. The Turtles, Casey Jones, and an unexpected hero named Ernest are fighting to save not only their city but also our furry friend, Rimshot," she narrated, her professionalism a stark contrast to the chaos around her. Despite the danger, she remained focused, her heart racing with every swing of Leonardo's katana and every crack of Casey's baseball bat. The sight of her friends fighting for justice filled her with a fierce pride, and she knew that no matter the outcome, she had a story that would make history.

With a grunt, Casey brought his bat down on Tatsu's sword, sending it clattering to the ground. He delivered a swift kick to the villain's chest, sending him stumbling backward. "You're goin' down, Tatsu!" Casey roared, his eyes alight with victory. Meanwhile, the Turtles had systematically taken out the remaining Foot Soldiers, their synchronized movements a testament to their unbreakable bond and rigorous training. The room grew still as the echoes of their battle faded, leaving only the labored breaths of the exhausted heroes and the distant hum of the city above. The Shredder, watching from his lofty perch, knew the time had come to face his foes himself. He descended from the platform, his armor gleaming in the flickering lights, and the air grew heavy with anticipation. "You may have bested my soldiers," he sneered, his eyes locked on the Turtles and their newfound ally. "But against me, you stand no chance." His voice was a mix of confidence and malice, a promise of the pain that awaited them. But the Turtles and Casey had faced worse, and they knew that together, they could conquer any enemy. They tightened their grips on their weapons, their eyes never leaving the Shredder's cold gaze. "Let's do this," Leonardo murmured to his brothers, and as one, they charged forward to meet their ultimate challenge.

With a surprising burst of courage, Ernest stepped in front of the Turtles, blocking their path to the Shredder. "Hold on, guys," he panted, his chest heaving. "I got this one." The turtles stared at him in disbelief, their eyes wide with shock. "Are you kidding?" Michelangelo exclaimed. "You're gonna take on the big cheese?" But Ernest was dead serious. "You see, Rimshot's like family to me," he said, his voice steady. "And nobody messes with family. I've learned a thing or two from you all, and I reckon it's time I put those lessons to the test." The turtles shared a skeptical glance, but the resolve in Ernest's eyes was unmistakable. Leonardo nodded solemnly. "If you're sure, then we've got your back," he said, his voice filled with respect. The other turtles and Casey took a step back, giving Ernest room to face the Shredder alone. The villain sneered, his amusement clear. "Very well," he hissed. "Let's see what this simpleton is made of." Ernest took a deep breath and rolled up his sleeves, his face a mask of grim determination. "Alright, Shredder," he drawled, cracking his knuckles. "Let's dance."

The battle between Ernest and the Shredder began with a clash of wills, their eyes locked in a fierce stare-down. The Shredder, underestimating the country bumpkin, sneered as he lunged forward with a flurry of razor-sharp strikes. Ernest, his face a twisted grimace of concentration, managed to dodge and weave, his denim vest fluttering in the artificial breeze of the power plant. But as the fight dragged on, his movements grew more sluggish, and the Shredder's blows grew more precise. Each hit from the Shredder's metal-tipped bo staff resonated through the chamber, and with each strike, Ernest stumbled backward, his face a mask of pain. The turtles and Casey watched, their hearts in their throats, as their newfound ally took blow after blow. The sweat on Ernest's brow grew heavier, his breaths more ragged. It seemed that the rubber-faced hero was moments away from meeting his doom.

The Shredder cackled with glee as he sent Ernest reeling with another vicious blow. "You are no match for me, fool," he taunted, his eyes gleaming with malice. "You cannot hope to stand against the might of the Foot Clan!" But in that moment, Ernest's expression shifted from pain to one of clarity. He recalled the wise words of Splinter, the Turtles' sensei, echoing through his mind. "Remember, Ernest," he heard Splinter's gentle yet firm voice, "Use your mind and your heart, and you will find the strength to conquer even the darkest foe." Drawing on the lessons he'd learned from his new friends, Ernest's eyes narrowed, and he took a deep, centering breath. The next time the Shredder struck, Ernest was ready. He stepped aside with a grace that belied his earlier clumsiness, and as the villain's arm swung wide, he reached up and plucked the bo staff from his grip. "Looks like I learned a thing or two," he quipped, spinning the staff in a blur of motion. The Shredder's smugness faltered for a second, his eyes widening in surprise. "Maybe I ain't no ninja," Ernest panted, "but I reckon I've got the hang of this turtle power!" The turtles and Casey watched in amazement as Ernest, fueled by his love for Rimshot and his newfound skills, took the fight to the Shredder. The room was electrified with anticipation as the two adversaries circled each other, the bo staff a blur of wood and metal in Ernest's hands.

The Shredder's eyes narrowed as he watched Ernest spin the bo staff with surprising skill. He knew he couldn't underestimate this bizarre human any longer. With a snarl, he lunged again, his movements a blur of shadow and steel. This time, Ernest's reactions weren't fast enough. A swift kick sent him sprawling, and the bo staff clattered to the ground. The Shredder loomed over him, the weapon raised high for the finishing blow. "Your valor is admirable, but futile," he sneered. But just as the bo staff was about to come crashing down, a furry blur shot out of the shadows. Rimshot, fueled by the same determination that had driven his master, sank his teeth into the Shredder's ankle. The villain howled in pain, his balance lost, and the bo staff swung wildly through the air, missing its intended target. The turtles and Casey watched in shock as the little dog held on, his jaws clamped down tight.

With the Shredder momentarily distracted, Ernest's eyes widened with a newfound determination. He leaped to his feet, snatched the bo staff from the air, and in a swift motion, he brought it down onto the villain's back with a resounding thud. The Shredder stumbled, releasing Rimshot, who yipped in victory. The room held its breath as Ernest, with surprising agility, spun the staff and delivered a final, crushing blow that sent the Shredder to the ground. The once-feared leader of the Foot Clan lay defeated before them, his armor clattering to the floor. The turtles and Casey erupted into cheers, and even Chuck and Bobby couldn't resist letting out a victory whoop. "Way to go, Ernest!" Michelangelo exclaimed, while Donatello offered a rare smile. The battle was over, and the city was safe—thanks in no small part to the unexpected heroics of Ernest P. Worrell.

The sound of distant sirens grew louder, their wails piercing the air like a clarion call to retreat. The Turtles, Casey, and Ernest knew that the NYPD would soon be storming the power plant, and they had to move fast. "We've gotta get outta here before the cops show up!" Casey shouted, his voice tinged with urgency. They knew that explaining their actions to the authorities would be a tall order, especially with four talking turtles in tow.

The wail of police sirens grew louder, and moments later, the power plant's doors burst open as Sterns, the Chief of the New York City Police Department, led a team of officers into the fray. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the unconscious Foot Soldiers and the chaotic scene before finally landing on April, Chuck, and Bobby, who were all standing over the defeated Shredder, their expressions a mix of relief and disbelief. "What in the blue blazes is goin' on here?" Sterns bellowed, his voice booming through the cavernous space. April, her heart racing, stepped forward to explain. "Chief Sterns," she began, her voice shaking slightly, "you're not gonna believe this, but we've got the whole thing on camera." He took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. "Miss O'Neil," he said slowly, "I think I might need to see the footage in that camera."

The following day, the city of New York awoke to a symphony of sirens from newspaper boys hawking the latest headlines: "Mysterious Heroes Foil Shredder's Sinister Plot!" and "Turtles and Unlikely Ally Save City from Certain Doom!" The front pages were plastered with images of the bizarre battle at the power plant, with the unmistakable figures of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and their human companions standing triumphant. The story had spread like wildfire, with April's daring live report and Chuck and Bobby's exclusive footage going viral. People couldn't get enough of the outlandish tale of talking turtles and their rubber-faced savior. The city buzzed with excitement and disbelief, and the usually stoic New Yorkers couldn't help but exchange smiles and incredulous glances as they passed each other on the street, each clutching a copy of the newspaper with the heroes' exploits in bold print. The air was thick with whispers of "Did you see?" and "Can you believe it?" The legend of the Turtles and their allies had grown overnight, and for once, the Big Apple felt a little less jaded and a whole lot more hopeful.

Later, in the quiet sanctum of the Turtles' lair, the air was filled with the aroma of freshly baked pizza, a celebratory feast laid out before them. The usually stoic Splinter couldn't help but crack a smile at the sight of his adopted sons, Casey, Chuck, Bobby, and the surprising hero of the hour, Ernest P. Worrell, all gathered around the table, sharing tales of their adventure with the glee of schoolchildren recounting a summer camp escapade. The news of April's Pulitzer Prize nomination had just reached them, and the room was alight with a mix of excitement and pride. "Well, I'll be," Ernest drawled, his cheeks bulging with a mouthful of cheesy goodness. "Looks like we've all hit the big time, huh?" The turtles chuckled, their laughter a symphony of muffled giggles through their mouthfuls. "You're a natural, Ernest," April said, patting his back. "Couldn't have done it without you." Casey nodded, a rare smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, you're all right for a squishy human," he conceded, earning a playful swat from Michelangelo. The camaraderie was palpable as they enjoyed their well-deserved victory meal, each slice of pizza a toast to the unbreakable bond they had formed. The room echoed with laughter and the clinking of soda cans as they reveled in their newfound friendship, the glow of their victory shining brighter than the neon lights of the city above. For this one night, they were more than just a ragtag group of heroes; they were a family, united by a love for justice, a passion for pizza, and the knowledge that together, they could conquer any challenge the city threw their way.

THE END

[lemondemonshop]

Lemon Demon is an American musical project that has been captivating audiences for over a decade. With its quirky and humorous lyrics, eclectic blend of musical styles, and relatable themes, Lemon Demon is a band that has something for everyone. Whether you're a fan of rock, pop, folk, or electronic music, Lemon Demon's unique sound is sure to appeal to your musical tastes. Headed by singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Neil Cicierega, Lemon Demon has released several albums and EPs, each showcasing the band's unique and entertaining style. From the iconic "Touch Tone Telephone" to the hilarious "Pizza Heroes," Lemon Demon's music is filled with witty and entertaining lyrics that have earned the band a dedicated following. In this blog, we'll take a closer look at what makes Lemon Demon such a unique and beloved musical act. From the band's early beginnings to its current place in the music industry, we'll explore the many facets of Lemon Demon and what sets this band apart from the rest. So whether you're a long-time fan or just discovering Lemon Demon for the first time, get ready to be entertained and captivated by this one-of-a-kind musical project! 1. What Is Lemon Demon Known For? &nbsp; Neil Cicierega, an American musician and animator, established the musical project Lemon Demon. Lemon Demon is renowned for its humorous and frequently fantastical songs as well as for having a sizable and devoted internet fan base. Dinosaurchestra, the project's debut album, was released in 2006; Spirit Phone, its most recent album, was released in 2016. 2. Is Lemon Demon Still Making Music 2022? The Lemon Demon concert season is not expected to begin until 2022. Ranking: Top 10,000 in the world. TikTok is a popular app for people to use to make and share short videos, and it’s no secret that it’s a huge success. Lemon demon recently canceled their account after a dispute with a user who used Neil’s song in their video. People frequently ask Neil for permission to use his music, but it’s nice to be polite and ask first. 3. Neil Cicierega’s Lemon Demon Project: Still Great After All These Years &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Although Neil Cicierega's Lemon Demon project has been dormant for a while, his music isn't yet complete. Fans will love his many great tunes, and there is a good probability that he will release new music in the future. Spirit Phone, View-Monster, and Live (Only) are all copyrighted, implying that they are each legally shielded from infringement. It's unclear if Neil's other songs are copyrighted or not. The total number of songs is 170, and they were all created throughout a ten-year period. There may be even more tracks that fans haven't heard because Neil has published so many albums. Mojim.com has the lyrics for every song, allowing fans to learn more about the singer and get a sense of what he sounds like. 4. Is Lemon Demon Still Making Music Lemon Demon is a musical project created by American musician and artist Neil Cicierega. Lemon Demon’s music is characterized by its use of various electronic music genres, often with humorous or surrealist lyrics. The project has released eight studio albums, the most recent being Spirit Phone (2016). 5. Is Lemon Demon Problematic Popular musician Lemon Demon has been criticized for having issues. Some claim that his music supports rape culture and is misogynistic. Others claim that his songs advocate violence toward women and are demeaning to them. Because of these accusations, some of his supporters have even said that they will stop cheering for him. (Lydia’s version): “im literally devastated by the lemondemon #neilcicierega #d4dj #rhythmgame #viral #boost #xyzbca #fyp.” It is a problem. Nobody on the planet is without problems. It doesn’t have to be awkward to avoid mentioning artists who have been accused of bad behavior. Furthermore, no matter what problems arise, you don’t have to care. If you cared about it, you would have canceled your Netflix subscription a year ago.

Neil Cic has fired as a result of his use of the F-word 12 years ago when he was telling people not to use it. There was never a time when he referred to anyone as that, and he discouraged others from doing so. It is not necessary to attack him or his fans. The behavior is irresponsible and inappropriate. Locate our website to find out more about Lemon Demon Merch! https://lemondemon.shop/

[dadsbongos]

roses by other names

Stranger Things x Horror Movie Collection

American Psycho / Halloween / Scream / Friday the 13th / Fear Street / Jennifer’s Body 

1.7K words

warnings - Billy is a dickhead (don’t read this if you actually like him), you’re pretty blind to his assholery, most likely inaccurate way of thinking for abuse survivors (don’t take this as billy = survivors irl), american psycho bullshit

summary - A girl on the cheer squad confuses you for your co-captain, Billy - in Billy fashion - loses his mind over it.

Billy would never admit to it, but he has an exhaustingly long morning routine. He wakes up at 6:45 every weekday and is sure to be in bed by midnight at the latest, so he doesn’t end up with those dark circles under his eyes. He does cardio in the morning, specifically. He showers. He exfoliates. He dresses well enough to look good without seeming as though he’s actually trying. He drives fast and loud and he throws his cigarette butts out the window as he pleases.

It paints the picture of a Billy Hargrove.

The flesh, the muscle, the hair, the lashes, the lips, it all puts up an image without him having to do the work. Without him having to be there.

There is an idea of a Billy Hargrove. Some kind of picturesque varnish that is supported by his blasting music and suave mannerisms. Lonely wives and mothers can wink and kick up their tanning legs because he’s pretty and looks like the man on their book covers. Meek teenagers in cramped hallways scurry out of his sight because of things they’ve heard. Tommy H. worships the ground he walks on because of his aggressive intensity.

That intensity is what keeps him on top.

Billy is unafraid of many things and social interaction is one of those things. He does not, by any means, prefer or enjoy that interaction, but he genuinely cannot bring himself to shy away from the eyes of his peers. Or teachers. Or townies. And that eagerness to prove himself as big and brave and out-there has put him on top.

Keeps him on top.

What helps is you.

Cheer co-captain and a student set to graduate at the top of class ‘85. Where he was known for blood-speckled knuckles and split lips and shirtless keg stands, you were the state’s sweetheart. Well studied, batting lashes, soft lips: fruit ripe and preciously tinted. You are the image of a princess and you pair well with Billy precisely because you two should not work together. It isn’t yin and yang, you two are entirely different halves that should not be pressed together for a whole.

But you are.

And he plays the tune.

He doesn’t like your friends. The cheerleaders or the nerds or the preps or the band geeks. You are overly friendly and sometimes it makes your friends think they’re his friends. If Billy were to actually think about it, then he doesn’t know that he actually has any friends.

Not that he cares much.

If anything, it adds to the image, and that is something he can appreciate at least.

You come around a lot, though. Inviting yourself over, most of the time. Again, not that he cares much.

In a broad picture, it doesn’t affect him until Neil comes home and when Neil comes home you’ve already left so that you can babysit; like the main character from a horror movie.

Billy is waiting for you at his locker. It’s closer to the school doors and he, as usual, is your ride home.

But you’re the stub of his ticket to the top, so he can’t say anything. Besides, when he has to wait for you, Max usually ends up being at the car by the time you two arrive.

You have a lot of different smiles, but there’s a special one you reserve for Billy. He doesn’t know if it’s truly original or if boyfriends before him have seen it. He doesn’t want to know.

You’re giving him that smile now, though, with your bag slung over your shoulder and cheer skirt fluttering in your wake. Every part a preppy girlfriend of the local trouble.

There’s a girl at your side. An underclassman that’s chattering your ear off over a mile a minute, but like the golden girl you are - you’re taking it in stride. You giggle and nod and interject whenever appropriate. He imagines that you’re exhausted at the end of each day. He imagines that’s why you’re so inherently blind to the ways he’s so clearly bad for you.

“Well, this is me,” you lay a hand over Billy’s arm and the younger girl is watching in awe like you’ve tamed a wild beast, “See you tomorrow, Kennedy.”

She snaps back to reality with a bubbly nod and waves animatedly.

Then, she says it.

“Bye, Mary-Lee!”

Your co-captain. You two barely looked alike and she thought you were Mary-Lee? Billy’s eyes flick to you in a silent plea to not lay down and take the disrespect.

But you do. And you wave right back.

“Bye!”

Jesus fucking Christ. The whole point of being the It couple was being the most well-known.

It started with Tommy H. and Carol, then Nancy and Steve -now it's supposed to be you and him. People either hate you or love you or envy you or daydream of you. That's how it went.

And you didn't give a shit that that girl called you a completely different name. When he points it out, you shrug and yawn - fucking yawn - before saying "shit happens, babe".

Shit happened to the person he was. The one without the car and the hair and the hulking physique and the hot girlfriend. Shit happened to Billy before he climbed the ladder and he refuses to let it happen to you because if shit happens to you, it'll start happening to Billy.

You just don’t get that and it makes him want to bash your head through a wall sometimes.

“Are you okay?” you lean down to lock eyes with your beau, “Billy, it really isn’t a big deal.”

You’re a sweet girl, if his dad could pull his head from his ass and act like a decent person, then he’d like you. Susan likes you - so does Max. Billy doesn’t know if your relationship will survive past high school, but at least what you have during high school isn’t so miserable.

If you would simply play to his tune, anyway, then perhaps high school wouldn’t be so miserable.

But the way you try changing him is annoying.

You've seen a few too many movies - read a few too many books. Now you have the idea that with enough lighthearted eye rolls and arm crosses, he'll change. He won't.

You keep trying, though.

It's endearing, almost. Almost lovely. Almost admirable.

You’d be a good wife. Supportive and loving and relentlessly there in a way that nobody else cares to be.

Max is only now making her way to the Camaro. That friend of hers trailing at her side. Their entwined hands drop when Max sees him. Good.

Billy wouldn’t actually lay a hand on Max, but she knows that grace isn’t extended to her property. You don’t know that though, if you did you would probably give up. You would probably tell your cheerleader friends and they would probably tell their friends and it would slowly circulate until Billy wasn’t quite as revered as before.

Or at least not for the reasons he is now, and the last thing he needs is more change.

“I told you to stay away from him,” Billy grabs Max’s skateboard. Just a little too harsh.

A touch too rough as he throws it through the front seats into the back.

There’s something in his tone, apparently. A venom with which he spat the word. A harshness in his gaze as Lucas hurries off to where his band of misfits stands. Something - anything - that you seem to finally pick up on.

Something that makes you look at him like he’d slaughtered a puppy in front of you as an anniversary gift.

“Billy,” you snap, gaze hard as you scowl, “What the fuck?”

He hasn’t shown you the other parts of himself. The ones that Max sees. That’s for a reason.

Max likes you because when you’re around Billy is subdued, and you like Max because she’s spunky. Everything works out. It’s better if you simply don’t see that part of him.

Billy just forces the passenger seat forward so Max can crawl into the back. The seat shutters with the force he uses. He forgets himself like that often. Usually when he’s upset.

The door is left open, but he doesn’t quite hold it. He does that often, too, opening doors and leaving you to close them. Sometimes it’s hard to tell if he doesn’t give a shit or doesn’t know that the complementary action to opening something for a partner is to close it after them. It feels like you shouldn’t ask.

Billy waits for you to settle your bag on the floor before he even gets out his keys.

He doesn’t wish for a better world, not for anybody. He just can’t return to that hell he used to live in. As long as people can look him in the eyes - or be so intimidated they have to look at his shoes - and be able to stutter out his name. As long as he’s feared. When he’s feared he’s stronger and when he’s stronger he’s safe.

Because shit happened to the person he was before, not now.

“Make sure that cow knows your name,” the Camaro’s engine roars to life, and the keys jingle in the ignition. You roll your eyes lightheartedly and cross your arms.

“What? Gonna dump me ‘cuz a sophomore that just moved here forgot my name?”

He looks away from the road entirely. Eyes on you. He squints in the sunlight that peeks through his slotted window. His hair blows in the rushing wind and he’s itching for a cigarette.

You giggle and shake your head, rolling down the passenger window and feeling the breeze caress your tender face.

It’s cute when you think he’s joking.

A forgotten name is bigger than you - it’s a slipping title. A tilting seat at the table. It’s his name.

“Never know, sweetheart,” he turns back to the road, a bird flying out from in front of his tires just in time to dodge getting run over.

His tone is just high enough for him to pretend he doesn’t mean it, should you decide that his words are too severe. You never do though, and when Max does, you usually brush it off as little sister paranoia.

Almost lovely. Almost admirable.

If only you would just care about a name - his standing - as much as he needed you to.

[imaginedisish]

The Adults are Talking (Tenet) Neil x Reader

A/N: HEY GUYS!!! HERE IS THE SMUT!!! This is my first time writing smut in a long time, so I’m sorry if it’s awkward ahhh!!! It’s 3:30 over here on the East Coast of the US, so I’m going to BEDDDD!!!! Enjoy!

Summary: (dom!)Neil teaches you a lesson for being forgetful and late, and it’s the type of lesson you're sure to never forget. 

Warnings: SMUT, SO MUCH SMUT. Overstimulation, lot’s of cursing, minor violence, and a very dominant Neil, so this is very much 18+, read at your own risk...

Word Count: 3,747

I’m so fucking late, You think to yourself. 

Nervousness swells in your gut as your black boots press harshly into green grass below your feet. Your eyes search the crowd around you as shoulders hurriedly crash into your chest. No one apologizes, they just keep moving as they try to get a better view of what lies at the front of the crowd. 

You were 10 minutes late for a training session with the new recruits. You knew that Neil would most likely tease you endlessly for it. You were late because of him, after all. 

You and Neil had been secretly together for quite sometime, which meant extensive sneaking around, just like a couple of teenagers. Usually you would go to his room while everyone was still eating dinner in the cafeteria, spend some time together, and then head back into your room to go to sleep. No one saw a thing. No questions were asked. 

But this time was different. This time, you let yourself fall asleep in his arms. 

I’m an idiot, You think to yourself as you push a hand through your dampened hair. Neil decided to steal the keys to your room and run into the shower ahead of you as a playful punishment for your forgetfulness. 

“I don’t know what to say, but I’m disappointed, (Y/N)!” Neil sarcastically sings through the other side of the bathroom door. 

You rush over to the door, and knock a few times. “Come on Neil, let me in, or at least give me my keys so I can shower in my room!” You can’t help but smile, despite the fact that you were definitely going to be late. 

“No, I’m teaching you a lesson here,” Neil pauses, “And then after the training session, I’ll teach you another.” You feel your cheeks flush with redness. 

Your heart somersaults in your chest at the thought of the other lesson Neil had planned.

You look around, forcing yourself to focus. You can easily tell that you stick out like a sore thumb amongst the new recruits. You look far too polished and put together to be new. You’re too…sophisticated. Your black, faux leather dress pants and tight black turtleneck clash against the beige and green bodies spread across the open field. Still, despite your appearance, you get the feeling that you’re a freshman being judged by the older kids, when in reality it should be the other way around. You shake the feeling off, remembering that you have nothing to prove. 

While you weren’t recruited to Tenet too long ago, you were granted extremely high clearance almost immediately. TP saw something special in you from the very second he met you. You were skilled in hand to hand combat, and you could shoot a gun better than anyone, better than Ives, better than Neil, even better than TP.  After all, you were a high level CIA operative before you were recruited to join Tenet. Your training goes back years. 

“(Y/N)!” You hear a familiar voice call out from the near distance. You stand on your tippy toes, searching for the dirty blonde head that matched the voice. 

Out of the corner of your eye you spot two slender, toned arms waving erratically at the front of the crowd. He smirks, and waves even faster as he realizes that you’ve found him. You push through the recruits as you get closer to the front. 

All of a sudden, a hand grabs your wrist and pulls you out of the sea of people. 

“Took you long enough,” Neil says, a cocky grin spread across his face. Your heart thumps in your chest. His long fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. He pulls you closer to him, and brings his lips to your right ear, “Try to be faster next time, love, and maybe I’ll go easier on you.” 

You feel your face redden with heat. He lets you go, but you’re all shaken up now. You almost wish he held on. A shiver travels down your spine. Your mind is too foggy with thoughts of Neil to recognize that Ives had already started talking. 

You clear your throat, still focused on what Neil had just said. “G-go easier on me?” 

With the blink of an eye, Neil grabs your waist, and pins you down to the ground. He presses his right hand into the center of your chest. He pulls a knife from his back left pocket and points it in the direction of your throat. The recruits rowdily cheer Neil on. He smirks, basking in the attention. You can’t even imagine how red your face is now. 

“And at this point,” Ives pauses as a slight smile tugs at his lips. He looks down to you, “We can see that Neil has the advantage. It’s safe to say that (Y/N) would be dead if she were the enemy.” Neil puts the knife back into his pocket, and stands up.

He extends a hand out to you, and you grab it, grateful for the assistance. That is, until he twists your arm, turning you to face the crowd. His right arm pulls your back into his chest. Your hips brush against his. He pulls you even closer so that you’re glued against him. You’re stuck; there’s nowhere to go. He takes his knife out of his pocket and brings it to your neck again. 

You swear that you can feel him pushing his crotch against your lower half. 

“Are you alright, darling,” He mumbles against the skin of your neck. You can feel his gaze land on your face. You swallow harshly and nod. “Good,” Neil says in response. “I wouldn’t want you too beat up, especially for later.” 

Later? You think to yourself as you ignore Ives’s description of Neil’s move. “What’s happening later?” You whisper back to him. 

He lets you go and gives you a smug look that reads, You should know already, love. 

You breathe in sharply as your mind races with thoughts of Neil. Now wasn’t the time for this. You were embarrassing yourself in front of the new recruits. They were going to think you were weak. 

You tilt your head side to side, cracking your neck slightly. You roll your shoulders back and get into your fighting stance. You’re ready this time. You tune everything out and focus on Neil’s movements. He flashes a smile your way but you know he’s trying to distract you. The recruits’ cheers quiet down a bit as their interest piques. 

“You’re so unbelievably cocky, Neil. It’ll be the death of you,” You playfully remark. Neil furrows his brows and squints his eyes. He takes a single step towards you and you take a single step back. 

Neil chuckles, “What? You’re too scared to get any closer to me?” You can tell Neil’s guard is down. You’ve got him right where you want him.

The left corner of your mouth turns up slightly. You rush towards him, stepping onto your left foot and round housing Neil on the right side of his stomach. He buckles over. You feel a twinge of guilt before you take another step, sliding down to the ground, and kicking your legs into Neil’s ankles in a circular motion from left to right. You sweep him off his feet and he falls to the ground. You stand back up and look down at him. 

“Now that’s what I call a comeback!” Ives shouts. The new recruits roar in excitement. You reach out your right hand to Neil and he takes it. He gets back on his feet and brushes off the dirt from his navy blue dress shirt.

Neil shakes his head in defeat. “Yeah, I guess she got me back,” He says taking a step towards you. He lowers his voice and says something that’s clearly only meant for you to hear, 

“But I’ll get you back later.” 

Later, the word repeats itself over and over in your head. 

“Alright everyone! We’ll reconvene after lunch!” Ives yells, and the recruits make their way back into the boxy white building that houses the Tenet headquarters. 

Neil and Ives walk a few feet away from you and begin to chat. Ives briefly looks concerned, but Neil waves his hand, appearing to reassure him about something you’re not supposed to hear. Ives shakes his head as the concerned look falls back upon his face. He breaks his stare from Neil and looks towards you. 

You take that as your cue to walk over. “I kicked your ass there, didn’t I?” You say jokingly, nudging into Neil’s side with your elbow. 

Neil sighs and moves his head to turn towards you. “The adults are talking, (Y/N), pipe down love.” The sense of elitism in Neil’s words are carried through an ever so dominant tone. You know he’s teasing you, but you can also tell he’s trying to get under you skin. 

Ives chuckles, “The ‘adults’? Neil, since when have you proved to me that you’re an adult?” You can’t help laugh at Ives’s dig at Neil. Ives’s laughing continues as turns away from you and Neil and follows closely behind the recruits. 

You take a step forwards to walk behind Ives, expecting Neil to come along as well, but he doesn’t. He grabs your upper arm and pulls you towards him. 

“Thought you could get away?” He stares into your eyes. “You didn’t forget about what I said earlier, did you?” He questions, his grip growing tighter around your arm. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you think of some sort of response. “I-I-,” But you’re speechless. 

Neil’s eyes pierce through your soul and he parts his lips, “I believe I told you that I’d be teaching you a lesson, didn’t I?” His domineering voice leaves goosebumps on your arms. 

You look around, noticing that everyone had already gone inside. It was just you and Neil now. 

Neil pulls you closer to him yet again. “You still haven’t answered, love,” He says softly as his free hand glides down your side, settling finally on your hip. 

“Yes,” You mumble under your breath. You can’t concentrate. You’re too wrapped up in the thought of Neil pinning you down to the ground and taking you right here and now. 

Neil releases your hip and begins to walk you towards the building. “Good,” He says nonchalantly. You walk across the green field and onto the concrete sidewalk that outlines the shape of the headquarters. You finally approach a door. Neil opens it and brings you inside. He instinctively lets go of your arm the second you enter the building, as the sounds of people and the flow of pedestrian traffic overwhelms your senses. 

“Follow me,” Neil demands. He walks in front of you, and you follow close behind. You walk down a series of similar hallways before recognizing where you are. 

You’re headed towards the living quarters of the building. 

You swallow hard, trying to keep up with Neil. He turns around to catch a glimpse of you, and notices that you’re starting a slow down a bit. 

He grins confidently as he closes the gap between you and him. “What? Are you overwhelmed, darling?” He questions as his hands land on your waist. 

“Neil,” You whisper, “What if someone sees us?” 

Neil pulls you against his chest. “That just makes it more exciting, doesn’t it?”  

You gasp as he pulls the collar of your turtleneck down a bit, bringing his lips to your neck, planting soft kisses on your now exposed skin. He sucks lightly. You look around. The coast is clear, but you know it won’t be for long. 

“N-Neil,” You moan. Neil’s lips leave your neck in response, and he brings his left hand up to cover your mouth. 

He looks left, and then right, searching for somewhere to go. There’s a single door at the end of the hallway. He uncovers your mouth and grabs your wrist. He practically runs into the door before twisting the knob and pushing it open. 

He pulls you into the room as the door shuts behind you. 

“What happened to going back to your room?” You ask, confused as to why you’re in what appears to be a dark, tiny, unused office.

“Because, I couldn’t wait any longer.”

You feel your need for him growing. He takes a step towards you so that your back is up against the door. Neil reaches behind you and twists the lock. 

You can feel yourself getting more and more wet. You need friction between your legs. The sensation is driving you crazy.

Neil’s hands secure themselves onto your hips, pushing you harder into the door. His lips find themselves in the crook of your neck again, but this time Neil is rougher. He lightly sucks your skin, intending to leave his mark on your. You moan in pleasure as Neil’s right hand finds its way in between your legs, spreading them a part slightly. 

“You need me, don’t you?” He asks as his lips leave your neck. His ocean eyes deeply stare into yours. 

You breathe shallowly. “Y-yes,” You stutter. 

Neil grins. “I thought so.” He grabs your waist again, picking you up and setting you down on the desk that’s on other side of the tiny room. He grabs the inside of your thighs and parts your legs with his hand, filling the newly made gap with his body. He rests his right hand on your thigh, and his left on your waist. 

“Please, Neil,” You murmur, wanting him to touch you where you need him most. 

“Please what?” Neil asks, his face moves closer to yours. 

“Please,” You pause as your heart beats out of your chest, “Touch me.”

Neil’s lips crash into yours as his hands wander to the hem of your pants. His fingers move down to play with your button before undoing it completely. He finds his way to your zipper and carelessly unzips your pants. His hands move back up to the top of your trousers. Much to your dismay, his lips leave yours. You groan at the loss. 

Your unhappiness ends almost instantly as you feel Neil slide your pants down your legs, discarding them to the side. He pushes himself back in between your legs and brings his thumb over the your underwear to your clit, slowly sliding down to explore the rest of you. 

He lands over your folds and smiles. “You’re already wet for me and I’ve barely touched you at all,” Neil says. He takes his hand away from your heat and brings it up towards the hem of your panties. He plays with the elastic band for a second and brings his attention to your eyes, searching for consent. 

You nod your head in anticipation, and he pulls at the hem, bringing them down your legs, and throwing them on the floor. 

Neil grabs the bottom of your shirt next, pulling it up over your head as you lift your arms to give him easier access. He places his hands on your back and starts to mess with the hooks of your bra. With ease, he undoes the clasp, and your bra falls to the side. 

He steps back, looking you up and down. You bring your knees together, rubbing them against one another in search of some sort of friction. Neil shakes his head and spreads your legs again. 

“You haven’t earned that yet,” He breathes. His hands grab your waist and slide up the sides of your body. He stops at your breasts, playing lightly with your nipples. 

You gasp at the feeling, needing more. Neil squeezes them tightly. He smirks, and then moves his hands back down to your hips. 

“What do you want me to do?” Neil asks. His breathing becomes heavier. Despite his attempt to be the dominant one, you can sense his need for you.

You take a deep breath as his hand moves down towards your heat. “I want you to make me come, please,” You plead. 

You gasp as Neil’s thumb brushes over your clit. It’s slow at first, but still enough to make you moan. He picks up the pace a bit, rubbing small, slow circles where you need them most. You throw your head back and moan. Neil smirks, loving how he’s making you feel. 

Neil’s circles get faster, pushing you closer to the edge. You shut your eyes tight, letting the pleasure take over.

Abruptly, Neil’s touch disappears, leaving you feeling cold and empty. You groan in agony, wanting more. “N-Neil don’t st-,” 

You’re cut off by a warm, wet sensation at your folds. You open your eyes to see Neil’s head in between your legs. His tongue rolls over your clit. Suddenly, you feel a finger at your entrance.

“Shit, N-Neil,” You cry out in pleasure as Neil pushes his middle finger inside of you. He sucks roughly on your clit, pushing his finger in and out. 

Neil adds his index finger, and it’s already too much to handle. “Fuck,” You whimper as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to climaxing. 

“You like that?” Neil says, his words vibrating against you, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. 

You moan in response, but that’s not enough for Neil. He takes his lips off of you, and takes his fingers out. “I asked you a question, (Y/N).”

You want him to fill you up again, to make you feel whole again. “Y-yes Neil, I like it. You feel amaz-, oh fuck!” You practically scream as Neil shoves his fingers back inside of you, his tongue lapping at your folds. 

“You taste amazing,” Neil says against your clit before sucking on you again. His words alone could take you there. 

“Neil I-,” You try to get your words out, but you can’t form a proper sentence. 

“I love when you say my name like that, darling,” He says, sucking even harder now. 

You can’t hold back anymore. “I’m so close,” You mumble. “I wanna come, please,” You beg. 

“Then come for me, (Y/N), now,” Neil commands. You do as he says. You feel your walls tightening, you feel yourself collapsing around his touch. 

“Holy sh-shit,” You stutter. You come around his fingers as you throw your head back against the wall. 

Neil removes his fingers from you and stands up. 

“I think it’s my turn now,” Neil remarks slyly, undoing his belt. You feel butterflies flutter in your stomach. 

You watch closely as he slips his pants down his legs and steps out of them. He brings his hands up to the top of his shirt and unbuttons each button one at a time. He throws his shirt to the side. 

You gulp harshly as he pulls his boxers down, revealing his hardened member. He gets closer to you, pushing your hair out of your face, searching your eyes once more for consent as he lines himself up with your opening. 

You nod.

“F-fuck!” You cry out, feeling the overstimulation wash over every inch of your body as Neil enters you. He grabs your right breast with his hand.

Neil starts out slow. “You feel so good around me,” He says, moving rhythmically in and out of you. 

He then brings one hand up to your chin, and the other to the middle of your back, forcing you to sit up and stare into his eyes. His lips meet yours hungrily, searching for something more. Neil picks up his pace, growing faster and faster. 

“Neil,” You sigh, “I don’t know how long I can last.” You were already close.

“You got to hold on longer, darling. Don’t come yet.” Even when he whispers he’s commanding. 

“O-okay,” You mumble, bitting down on your lip, trying to hold yourself back. It was all becoming too much for you to handle.

“You’re taking me so well, (Y/N),” Neil praises you as he speeds up even more, his hips bumping hard into yours. 

He’s going to send you over the edge. Your walls begin to clench tightly around his cock. 

“Neil, I-,”

He cuts you off. “No, not yet,” He says shakily. “I’m so close. Shit!” 

Neil moans loudly, his lips capturing yours in another passionate kiss. 

“Y-yes,” Neil huffs, pushing in and out of you even quicker now. You know he’s seconds away from finishing, and so are you. “I’m ready now, love. Come with me,” Neil begs. 

You do as he says, your walls clenching harder around his hard dick. Profanities fly out of your mouths as you both reach your climax. After a few, slow pumps, Neil pulls out of you, stroking his cock a few times before reaching down and grabbing his boxers. He slips them on, and looks over at you, still sitting on the table. You’re so sore, so tired. But it’s all so worth it. 

He walks over to you, cupping your right cheek in his hand, and bringing your face close to his. 

“I love you, (Y/N),” Neil says as his lips find yours again. 

You part from him. “I love you too, Neil.” 

Neil grins, looking around the room at the mess you two made, and the mess he made of you. He looks proud. 

And he should be, You think to yourself. Only Neil could make you feel this way. 

You stand up, grabbing your panties and slipping them on. They’re still soaked. You grab your bra put it on as well. You look over at Neil, who’s buttoning up his dress shirt now. 

He’s watching your every move, as if he’s still fucking you in his head. 

“Just looking,” He says, a wide smile makes its way across his face. “I mean, how could I not?” He slides his pants back on, and buckles his belt. 

“So,” He pauses for a second, “Do you think you learned your lesson?” He questions finally, arching an eyebrow in your direction. 

You can’t help but giggle. “If the lesson was that I should ‘misbehave’ more often, then yes, lesson learned.”

Neil grins widely and walks over to you. “I guess I’m a good teacher then.”

He embraces you tightly, pulling you into his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah, I guess you are,” You say, grinning back at Neil. 

[caravelmp3]

UNDER THE CANYON MOON

pairing: josh kiszka x female!reader warning(s): mostly fluff, just brief mentions of alcohol and sex  word(s): 2k note: hi hi hi !! this is just a little something i wrote up the last couple of days with the inspiration of light my love, canyon moon by harry styles, and the interview where josh talked about road-tripping the u.s. last summer <3 i don’t write one shots often but let me know what you all think bc i might shuffle some more out soon lol. hope you all enjoy !! :) 

The Los Angeles sun was hot, beating down onto the city basking in its late-summer hues. You parked your car on the street in Silver Lake and carried a bag of food and drink tray to the door of a recording studio, more than prepared to be swarmed by hungry boys who had been cooped up in the studio since five a.m. on the dot that morning. They had a breakthrough the night before with a new song, and after getting home and going to bed for a few hours, the creative juices started flowing again and they were back in the booth. 

A windchime on the door sang as you pulled the door open and walked inside, greeting their manager who was at a table by the door. 

“The boys here?” 

“Down the hall,” he nodded, pointing a finger in the direction of the hallway. “They’re more rowdy than usual so be prepared,” 

You laughed and turned down the hall, walking towards the studio. The walls were decorated with memorabilia of rock and roll greats and record plaques, and among them, you spotted a picture of the four boys with their Grammy award. It seemed like time had passed so quickly. They won the award for the first album and they were already working on their third, shooting them further into stardom. 

“Coffee’s here!” You shouted in a really bad New England accent when you noticed the recording light was flipped off above the door. 

You stepped into the room to a chorus of cheers and “thank god you're here”’s that made you laugh while sitting the food and drinks down on the table and they all rushed over. You handed out the specific orders and pointed to which drinks was theirs when they got handsy and tried to grab everything from her out of both excitement and some desperation for caffeine. 

“Our savior,” Jake said, reaching out and grabbing your shoulders to give them a gentle shake before taking the coffee you were holding out to him, and then you handed Danny’s to him, too. 

“Just the coffee girl here,” 

“Well, you’re a little bit more than that,” Josh said, walking over to the table to grab his full cup. 

You pressed a hand against the table, leaning over to him. “Just a little?” 

“A little bit,” he shot you a wink before swiftly pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

You were more than just a “little more” than the coffee girl, you were typically their designated drunk driver, the one who took all of their candid photos, the mediator in times of need, and well, the girlfriend of the lead singer, too. 

Everyone in the studio took their food and drinks and scattered among the seating area in a break from recording. Instead of one tiny room with all of them cramped together, they had a wide open space with booths for the different instruments and bean bag chairs and big comfy, velvet sofas, and there was dim lighting with deep toned rugs that gave off the vibe of a more relaxed feel rather than the fluorescent-light, tiled-floor feeling that made them feel rushed and confined by rules they didn’t set themselves. 

You liked the studio, too, and often took naps on the sofa while listening to them play instruments individually in the recording booths and while they were writing. One night they had found you at two a.m., bundled up with a blanket on the bean bag chair after they spent the night writing in the front room on the piano, but it wasn’t the first time as you often napped in their Nashville recording offices, too. 

“You guys been busy today?” You asked jokingly while lowering onto the sofa armrest, receiving nothing but glares shot in your direction. “Okay, okay, touchy subject,” 

With a mouthful of bread, Sam pointed to Josh, “Josh finished a song, didn’t you?” He was grinning. 

You hummed in joy and surprise, grabbing Josh’s knee as he sat next to you. “Really?” 

It had been a rough few days for all of them as they tried to shuffle out a few more additions to the new album. It felt incomplete with something missing, but they couldn’t quite put their finger on what it was exactly, so they attempted to bring back and revamp old songs, write and record new ones, but nothing seemed to stick, until now. 

“Yeah, wanted to wait and show you later, but someone can’t keep his trap shut.” Josh said, pretending to be serious before cracking a smile and taking a sip of his coffee. “Just wanted it to be a surprise,” 

“Well it can still be a surprise, I’m surprised now,” you said. “Can I hear it? Or read what you got?” 

Josh nodded and stood, grabbing your hand and pulling you with him. There was a little recording room fit with a piano inside, his writing journal placed on the music stand where he had scribbled notes and keys and melodies in pen. He picked it up and handed it to you. 

“Nothing seemed to click until last night, when I started putting it together.” He said. 

“Is that why you wouldn’t tell me what it was when you all got back to the house?” 

Josh shrugged, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. “Yeah, yeah, I wanted it to be special when you first heard it.”

You sat the coffee cup down onto the floor while lowering into the small chair in the corner, holding the journal like it was the most delicate piece of art in the world. In silence, while Josh watched on anxiously, you read the words he had splayed across the blank page. 

     Can you light my love?      Flames glowing bright as the sun      Deeper than oceans you run      Watch as our world has begun 

     Your mind is a stream of colors      Extending beyond our sky      A land of infinite wonders      A billion lightyears from here now

You felt your throat tighten, tears tempted your eyes. 

It was a love song. 

“Josh-” 

“Oh god you hate it don’t you, you dread it, despise it,” 

“Oh shut up, I’m in tears right now, you know I love it.” You looked up at him with a smile and a sniffle. 

His words across the page were sloppy, some cursive, written in different pens of different colors, some lines crossed and scribbled out, others underlined. 

“Your mind is something I will never fully understand.” You told him as he sat down on the chair next to you. “How the fuck did you come up with this-” 

“I was thinking about our trip out here, the week we spent driving out and all of the stuff we did… and how I think I fell more in love with you.” His voice softened. 

You reached out, placing your arm on his shoulder, fingers playing with his curls. “I can’t put it into words how much I love it, how much I love you,” you said, “and you make me sound so lovely when in reality I know I was a pain in the ass that entire trip.” 

“Yeah, but my pain in the ass,” he kissed the inside of your arm. 

Two weeks before the boys left Nashville to head to Los Angeles, Josh called you at midnight with an idea in mind – the two of you renting a camper to drive out to L.A., falling into all of the tourist traps along the way and stopping in random small towns to sleep while exploring the in between, which would definitely beat the boring four-hour flight. And you, half asleep and across the country, agreed. 

It would be fun. Right? 

And it was. Every time someone asked how it went, you called it “the most magical week of my life.” 

While the others waited behind for their flights the next week, you and Josh set off from Nashville, heading west with only the destination in mind and a trusty map in hand. Everything else just came to you both. 

The first stop was three hours in the trip, in Memphis. You and Josh roamed Graceland on Elvis Presley Boulevard and had lunch near Sun Studio before taking in the mementos and relics at the Blues Hall of Fame where Josh talked your ear off, rattling off more details about each band and singer than was on the info-cards on the wall. 

Then it was two hours to Little Rock, falling asleep in the back of the camper after a take-out dinner outside of a random supermarket. Sitting in lawn chairs in the middle of a parking lot, you held Josh’s hand under a blanket and watched the pink sunrise over the hills, and then it was back on the road again. 

From Oklahoma City to Amarillo, you fiddled with the map when Josh got lost after a wrong turn in a small town where he insisted on seeing the giant 66-foot LED soda bottle sculpture, and in the middle of northern Texas, he made it up to you by cooking your favorite dinner. You thanked him in a quiet whisper as you crawled into the bed with him that night, sliding under the covers where he greeted you with warm hands and kisses against your neck that made you squeal with the tickle of his mustache and he grinned against your lips. 

Josh got to choose the music all the way through New Mexico – Neil Young and Crazy Horse to John Denver’s Thank God I’m A Country Boy, and you were only able to squeeze in Joan Baez every hour when you stopped to stretch your legs on the side of the road, belting the words to him while he laughed at your voice cracks. 

And after you both pitched the tent in the Petrified Forest in Arizona, Josh hummed the tune to some new song while you two sat under the midnight stars in the canyon with a roaring fire, his arm around you, his sweatshirt draped over your shoulders. When he tried to start telling you a scary story after you heard a weird noise outside the tent, you blindly hit him in the dark and accidentally hit his nose, causing you both to burst into laughter after the initial panic left. He laughed loudly into your shoulder as you held his face in shock, catching the scent of your lavender lotion, and his body relaxed when the laughter died down, feeling so at peace in his life with you there. 

It was the tail end of the trip, but the excitement hadn’t died down yet. After showers in the camper in the middle-of-nowhere-Arizona and five hours west, you and Josh found a bar outside of Las Vegas that resembled Coyote Ugly, so you both had a round of tequila sodas and margaritas before walking around the small town that evening and sleeping off the tipsy-headaches in the air conditioning. On top of the covers, you looked at Josh napping in the sunshine, cheeks flushed red, curls poofy from the wind, and you felt your heart grow in your chest before falling asleep next to him. 

And then came Los Angeles, the final stop, the dreaded one. But you and Josh didn’t tell anyone that either of you were sad to be back with them in L.A. when they asked, and instead, you two smiled and hugged everyone after piling out of the camper in the drive-way of the Silver Lake house. 

Cleaning out the camper, tossing cheesy novelty t-shirts at each other and laughing at how many socks you two managed to lose along the way and how many bug bites were added, watching the developed clips Josh had filmed of scenes in the desert and you asleep in the passenger seat, you both were nostalgic about a trip that just ended. 

It was so easy, so freeing to just be together on the road, with only the destination in mind. It revealed a part of them that the other didn’t see often, like your tendencies to get your lefts and rights mixed up while giving directions, and Josh’s equally awful sense of direction didn’t exactly pair with the fact that he was a maniac while driving in the first place. 

But those parts were just added to the long list of why you and him loved each other in the first place. So you became the designated driver after Amarillo and Josh stuck to telling you “left or right” for the rest of the time. It was a compromise, another reason why you two worked so well together. 

It was a form of love in itself. 

“We’ll have to drive all the way back to Nashville then, so you can write more songs about me.” You teased. 

Josh rolled his eyes but cracked into a grin a second later. “Let’s not get too carried away,” but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t always mentally reliving the night under the canyon moon.

[djhedy]

i have decided to start posting anything im not gonna finish for ao3 here, in case anyone doesn’t mind reading something small and unfinished

this one is called: the one where andrew meets neil at a party and is definitely not interested

*

Andrew regrets everything about the party the second he walks into it. He regrets the deafening chaos of the people dotted around the room whose mothers gave birth to them; the smell of the dorm, like carpet-crushed-cheetoes and unmixed malibu; the clock on the wall which says they arrived way too early for his patience. He smiles a little, salutes Kevin and says, “No.”

Kevin, the tall asshole that he is, shoves his way between Andrew and the door, frowning, and says, “No? We just got here.”

Andrew crosses his arms and stares at the wall. He waits. If Kevin wants to watch him stare at a wall all night that is up to him. Something itches under Andrew’s skin, something like violence, and he closes his eyes, and waits. A phone is pressed to his cheek, which he takes intuitively. Nicky says,

“Andrew, you promised.”

Andrew’s eyes flicked open. His eyes drop to the skirting board, flakey and a little away from the wall. “No I didn’t.”

“You did,” says Nicky, half-confident, half-sad, very thousands of miles away. “Last Sunday.”

Andrew flicks through last Sunday, finds their conversation, considers all the parts. He clicks his tongue, irritated. “That was not a promise.”

“Ok fine, but you said you’d try.”

Andrew eyes Kevin who is still staring down at him, arms still folded, body still blocking the door. Andrew says, “This is me, trying. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Kevin says you’re leaving.”

“Staying at this party won’t prove anything.”

“Oh go on,” Nicky says, using his cheerful mom voice, “it might be fun!” And then, “Ok it’ll probably be super lame but I dunno you might – witness a shooting or something.”

Andrew blinks away from Kevin. “A shooting.”

“Maybe an argument will break out. Or an epic red wine disaster.” Andrew feels bored, feels his eyes growing hazy, the way he hates, the way he can’t concentrate on anything sometimes. Nicky says, “Just – just stick with Kevin. For me. I’m so – far away.”

Andrew closes his eyes, feels his eyebrows furrow, hands the phone back to Kevin. Hears Kevin say, “Yeah. Ok. Sure Nicky.” And then nothing.

Andrew looks up at the man who calls himself Andrew’s friend and says, “You will pay for this.”

“In what?” Kevin says, tucking his phone away in his pocket. Confident. Asshole.

Andrew turns away. “Find me something drinkable.”

Kevin finds it: a 10 year old Glenmorangie, hidden on top of the cupboard, reachable only by a 6”2 athlete on top of a chair. Andrew makes himself comfy against a wall in the living room, crosses his legs at the ankles, and drinks expensive whisky.

It’s not that he hates people. He does not really hate anything. Being bored, maybe. He watches people, the window – something dark and grey and sticky against the sky – the paint drying. He thinks the paint probably dried a long time ago, now he’s just watching it existing.

He thinks about what it would be like to be one of these people. Who go to parties. And stand, or wander, finding someone interesting to talk to, or to paw at. Exceptionally ordinary, dull, shallow, brain the size of peas. Wonders what it would be like.

Watches dried paint, static.

--- 

“Dolphins surf.”

“That’s so cool.”

“I know, I know. I mean, like, do you think they do it for fun?”

“Maybe they’re trying to go somewhere.” A conversation has sprung up around Andrew, unwarranted. He was just standing here, minding his own business, and now he has to mind his tongue too.

The guy says, “Blue Planet is awesome.”

He’s looking at Andrew, kindly, as if to include him, so Andrew clenches his jaw and says, “Incredible.”

When he says nothing else the guy looks away and him and the girl keep chatting about whether or not they think dolphins have a secret agenda until they get distracted and Andrew gets his wall back.

His whiskey is empty.

He sighs, feeling put upon, feeling his back pocket for his cigarette pack, and pushes away from his wall.

---

The kitchen is busy. He doesn’t like people.

It’s not that he hates people.

He doesn’t hate anything.

He just doesn’t care for any of it.

It’s like the difference between setting something on fire and just watching it burn.

He looks for the whisky, and finds it – fucking Kevin. It’s back on top of the cupboard, and Andrew stares at it forlornly while going through possible plans in his head. If Kevin needed a chair to get it, Andrew will need two. He doesn’t think that would work. He considers climbing on top of the burly brunette chatting in a corner, but that would require touch, and an awkward conversation. Though – he looks back at burly brunette, long enough that the guy catches his eye, gives him a look, clocks onto something and winks.

Andrew turns away, tucking that aside as plan B.

He finds Kevin in the living room, stuffed in a corner with two girls.

Eurgh.

“Kevin.”

Kevin looks up, and waves his hand dismissively.

“I just don’t think a trade is the right move for them,” says Girl 1. “Not now, not when everything is so fragile.”

Kevin scoffs. “Fragile. Amy Williamson is an incredible coach, she had five years with the Eagles –”

“Yes, I know,” says Girl 1.

“She knows,” agrees Girl 2, giving Andrew a look Andrew doesn’t care about. So they’re both friends with geeks, that doesn’t give her a free bonding pass.

Kevin scoffs again, so Andrew says, “Kevin.”

Kevin misreads, gestures at the two girls and says, “This is Andrew. Andrew – Dan and Renee.”

Dan gives Andrew an assessing look and Renee smiles.

Andrew says, “Great. I need a top up.”

Kevin gets to his feet and tries to take the glass out of Andrew’s hand. Andrew holds onto it and says, “Bring the bottle this time.”

Once Kevin is out of sight, Dan says, “So, Andrew, do you play exy as well?” Andrew says nothing. He doesn’t take Kevin’s seat, and standing puts him above the two heads nicely. He looks away.

Renee says, “Are you friends with Kevin?”

Andrew says, “Define friends.”

He gives Renee a sparing glance, and she smiles again, and says, “Willing to put up with exy in exchange for whisky service?”

Andrew shrugs, and Renee laughs. Small, and earned, and Andrew flicks his eyes away again.

Standing on the other side of the room, leaning against his wall – tucked into a corner and bathed in shadow and looking into a red cup – is some guy.

Andrew narrows his eyes at the challenge.

Dan is saying, “– go to school here?”

And then Kevin appears with the bottle and Andrew snatches it out of his hands and stalks off.

---

This guy is no less as boring as the rest for leaning against Andrew’s wall; no less boring for the way his fingers curl around the cup, tight and possessive; for the way his rough auburn hair sticks out all over the place only a few inches above Andrew’s own.

Andrew leans one shoulder against the wall, hip out, and stares him down.

The guy looks up, slowly, still frowning, like he was trying to figure out something.

“The mystery of the universe?” Andrew asks.

Guy cocks his head, just a centimetre. Barely noticeable. “What?”

“In your cup.” Andrew nods at it.

Guy looks back into his cup. “I think it’s spiked.”

Andrew freezes, then straightens and snatches the cup out of the guy’s hand, pours it straight onto the floor.

It spools into a little puddle, most of the fizzy orange liquid soaking into carpet, a few droplets here and there that haven’t made their way in yet.

Andrew and guy watch it.

Guy says, “With alcohol.”

Andrew looks up at him, breath still in his body, but barely, and says, “What?”

A small smirk hooks the edge of the guy’s mouth. “The drink. I meant, I think it was spiked with alcohol.”

Andrew blinks at him, and looks away, and presses the toes of his foot into the wet carpet. He says, “Huh.”

And hears a low chuckle. “Yeah. Well. Solved the problem either way, so thanks.”

If Andrew could feel anything, he thinks he would feel sad at the loss, so he says, “What a waste.”

The guy says, “If it was my asshole friends, it was probably something cheap and shit.”

“Good riddance then.”

When Andrew’s eyes finally make their way back up to guy’s face, it’s to that smirk again. He looks at it for a second too long, and then the guy says, “Anyway. Go away.”

Andrew’s eyes flick up from his mouth to his gaze and says, “I got here first.”

Guy waves a hand around himself. “You didn’t. You literally didn’t.”

Andrew purses his lips. “This evening,” he bites out. Awkward for some reason. “This wall is mine. I came to tell you to fuck off.”

The guy looks at his empty hand, flexes it for want of something to grip, Andrew supposes, and says, “You didn’t make it very far.”

Andrew takes one last look at him, turns the angle of his body, and relaxes his upper back against the wall, whisky bottle in one hand, and doesn’t look at the guy again for 12 minutes.

They watch the party. Or at least Andrew does.

There are thirty people stuffed into this room, the wide common area that acts as a living room, with sofas and beanbags and a table full of bottles. Andrew knows there’s a kitchen. Probably half a dozen bedrooms. Calculates there could be a hundred people at this party.

Some low-fi beat-pop he tunes out. He’d rather listen to nothing than something someone else has chosen.

He thinks about his heart beat, and the way it speeds up sometimes when he drinks too much. Not that he drinks too much very often. He knows his limits, he sticks to them. Swigs the bottle up to his cup, then his mouth, feeling the burn all the way down his throat.

The guy says, “That stuff smells disgusting.” Andrew wipes his mouth with his sleeves and drags his eyes lazily to the side. The guy shrugs. “No offence.”

“No offence,” Andrew mutters, lifting the bottle. “10 years.”

The guy looks amused. “Is that supposed to be impressive? I’ve been alive 20.”

“Congratulations.” Andrew shuffles his feet, straightens. It puts him at the same height as his slouching companion. “Do you have a name?”

The guy looks away. Smirks. “Alex.”

Andrew narrows his eyes, at the way his grey walmart tshirt doesn’t really fit, like there’s some space between his stomach and the shirt, the way it hangs past his hips, and says, “The truth?”

The guy looks back at him, face expressionless but eyes searching, and says, “Sure.” Andrew doesn’t break his gaze, and then he asks, “What’s yours?”

Andrew waits a beat, then deadpans, “Batman.”

Alex laughs.

His amusement is small, mouth closed and eyes alight, like he wasn’t expecting it, and Andrew has to look away.

“Ok Batman,” Alex says. “You can share my wall.”

Andrew presses a little more firmly against it. “Wasn’t asking.”

“You’re welcome.”

They stand, side by side, a solid gap between them, for another few minutes, and at one point Andrew just closes his eyes, and breathes.

A large figure approaches, first his shadow, then his laughter, then Andrew opens his eyes to a grin and spiked hair. “Chris! Where did you go?”

Andrew looks at his companion, who just frowns.

“Alex,” Alex insists.

“Ok ok,” says large guy, smiling and looking distracted. “Wanna come play mario kart?”

“No.”

“Who’s your friend?”

There’s an awkwardness before Andrew realises he’s being looked at, so he meets the guy’s inquisitive look head on, face blank and giving off as many unimpressed vibes as possible.

The guy looks away.

Andrew allows himself a small smile.

“Batman,” says Alex, “meet Matt. Matt, this is Batman.”

Matt frowns at him, then at Andrew, and Andrew links his hands and flaps his fingers like a bat.

Alex laughs.

Matt looks between them, then hides something in his expression. Andrew drops his hands, embarrassed by the stupidity, the triviality of making such a joke in front of two strangers he couldn’t care less about, then says, “Take him back, if you’ll have him.” He grips his fingers firmer around his bottle, turns on his heel, and leaves.

[darksaiyangoku]

RWBY: Ozpin’s Big Break

Jaune: *overhears Oscar humming* Hm? Oscar!?

Oscar: Gah!!! Oh, hey Jaune.

Jaune: What was that tune you were humming?

Oscar: I don’t really know. I-

Before he could finish, Oscar’s eyes change colour.

Ozcar: It’s a song from my days in a do wop group.

Jaune: Ozpin? Wait, hold up... you were in a do wop group?

Ozcar: *nods* Mhmm. Before I was headmaster of Beacon, I was quite the musician. In my younger days, I even caught the eye of a beautiful girl. That song I was humming just now is the same song I sang to her.

[Vale City, 30 Years Ago]

In a music club, a young Glynda Goodwitch takes a seat next to James Ironwood.

Glynda: So is this the friend that you were telling me about?

James: Yep! *smiles* He is amazing!

Glynda: Hmmm, I’ll be the judge of that.

James: *rolls eyes* You need to loosen up once in a while. Oh quick, it’s starting!

Announcer: Thank you all for coming and let me be the first to introduce our newest act. They’re hot off the streets of Arcadia, ladies and gentlemen I give you; Wizards of the Green!

The audience applauded as the curtain revealed a group of five, well dressed, young men; Neil, Garth, Jamie, Peter and Ozpin.

Announcer: Take it away, boys!

Neil: 🎶 Mmm, do-da, do-da, do-da, do-da.🎶

Wizards: 🎶 Oooh waaa, oooh waaa. Ooooh waaa, oooh waaa. Oooh waaa, oooh waaa. Why do fools fall in love? 🎶

Ozpin: 🎶 Why do birds sing so gay? And lovers await the break of day Why do they fall in love? Why does the rain fall from above? Why do fools fall in love? Why do they fall in love?🎶

🎶 Love is a losing game. Love can a be shame. I know of a fool. You see, *points to himself* for that fool is me! 🎶

🎶 Tell me why, why, why? Tell me why? 🎶

The audience clapped along to the beat, including Glynda. She had to admit that James was right, this was fun. The cheering grew louder as Ozpin started playing his saxophone and leapt off stage to dance in front of the audience. Many of the girls in attendance swooned while Glynda giggled.

Ozpin: 🎶 Why do birds sing so gay? And lovers await the break of day? Why do they fall in love? Why does the rain fall from above? Why do fools fall in love? Why do they fall in love? 🎶

Suddenly, Glynda yelped with joy as Ozpin took her hand started dancing with her. Her heart was beating faster than a horse at a racetrack and her face was cherry red. She couldn’t describe it but his green eyes had a wonderful effect on her, as if all her stress just melted away.

Ozpin: 🎶 Why does my heart skip a crazy beat? For I know it will reach defeat! Tell me why, why, why? Tell me why? 🎶 *jumps back on stage*

Wizards: 🎶 Why do fools fall in loooooove? 🎶

A thunderous applause echoed the room and the Wizards took a bow as the curtains pulled away. Glynda stared at the stage, sighing deeply.

James: *chuckles* So? What do you think?

Glynda: *blushes* D-Do you know if he’s seeing anyone?

James: I’ll be sure to give him your number.

Glynda: Yes! I mean.. *ahem* if you want to.

James: *stifles a laugh*

Kind of a sequel to:

[ughgclden]

Hi Bee! Congrats on 700! You deserve it! Could I get a 🧸 (male) for either dps or the Marauders? Ty in advance!

I’ve got brown eyes and long brown (but now dyed) dark red hair. I’m quite shy when you first meet me, and some situations make me quite anxious. (ex: phone calls) I’m a very kind person who puts others first, and don’t mind helping others out. I can be a little impulsive sometimes (hence the red hair now lol). I love playing piano, editing, going out to the beach/mall/etc.

Again, Tysm & congrats!! :)

hi!!! thank you so much lovely, of course!!

for dead poets society, i’d pair you with..

neil quickly falls head over heels for you, it really doesn't take long at all. he notices that you're initially a shy person, but thanks to his friendship with todd he understands how to approach you better without scaring you off. he's determined to get to know you more.

this boy loves how kind you are - he starts calling you 'sunshine' because to him, you are just a ray of sunshine and never fail to make him smile. he'll come to you any time he needs help, but sometimes holds himself back as he doesn't want to bother or overwhelm you. he always makes sure to be there for you, especially in situations he knows make you anxious.

you need to make a phone call? he'll be sitting right next to you, holding your hand in his and rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand, squeezing it every now and again to remind you he's there. if it's something like ordering food, neil doesn't mind placing your order or paying for you at all, and it makes him feel good that he's putting you at ease.

neil loves to listen to you play the piano - he thinks your incredibly talented and admires the coordination you have. he'll ask you to teach him, but it doesn't go too well; this boy cannot make his hands do two different things at once for the life of him, but you have fun anyways. he prefers just to listen to you play, sometimes humming along if it's a tune he's familiar with

when you dye your hair, neil is bursting with compliments and cannot stop playing with it. he shows you off to the poets for at least two weeks straight.

beach dates! he'll take you down with a little picnic basket and some towels and you'll sit there the entire day just talking and enjoying each other's company.

that is, until neil decides to pick you up and run into the ocean, despite your protests and threats.

for the marauders, i’d pair you with..

james would absolutely love you, no doubt in my mind about it. the first thing that draws him to you is your personality; he doesn’t get how one person can be so warm and so willing to help people, and he really admires you for it. he makes it his mission to get to know you from that point, although remus has to calm him down so he doesn’t scare you off.

he loves how impulsive you are! james is also a person who acts very spontaneously, so last minute dates aren’t uncommon in your relationship - you’ll often wake eachother up at ridiculous hours in the morning to do something, and james will happily help you dye your hair at any moment if you decide to.

he’s also very good at helping you in anxious situations; this boy is desperate to help his friends in any way he can, so if there’s anything he can do to make you more relaxed, he’ll jump at the chance to do it. he asks you to tell him if there’s anything he can do.

likes asking you to come to all of his quidditch games and cheer him on, claiming you’re his good luck charm and they can’t win without you

always makes sure you’re a little selfish sometimes - not in a bad way. he just wants you to know that it’s okay to put yourself first sometimes for your benefit

always spoiling you with gifts! he has the money, so he doesn’t see why not. when you go to the mall, he’s constantly buying you things despite your protests, which he brushes off with a charming smile.

i hope this was okay!! thanks sm for sending something in lovely <33

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 38)

A faint, warm breeze caresses Mila’s face as she and Juri walk along the quiet street, running alongside the newly built wall. A few of the Alexandrian men are working on the final piece, funnily enough nearby the church that caused it to break. It’s been two months since the wall collapsed now, or at least that’s what she thinks. Mila looks at the new construction as she and Juri passes, feeling a sense of calm throughout her soul as her eyes sweep over the repaired structure that has also been expanded; a part of Deanna’s original plan for the community. On the piece of the wall that stood by the invasion, next to the small graveyard, someone has written the name of those who have perished; loved ones, friends, family and those who became family after the outbreak. It’s a nice memorial site, a quiet corner of the community. Since that day, when the walkers poured into Alexandria, everything has gone back to a somewhat normal state.  

It’s a hot mid-summer’s day, the sky is blue and the clouds look extra fluffy. Juri points towards them and gestures as if he squeezed an invisible marshmallow between his soft little fingers.

“Yeah they look tasty.” Mila smiles and squints up towards the floating clouds cruising by without a hurry. “What about-” Softly, she pinches Juri’s button nose. “I try to find us some yummy marshmallows for a barbecue when I get back, huh?”

With glittering eyes Juri nods and hugs her tightly; obviously he is positive about the idea.

“Then it’s a date.” Mila chuckles and hugs Juri back, before putting him down on the ground. “Ufh, you are getting heavy. Soon I won’t be able to carry you around.”

With a proud, sunny face Juri stretches, he’s certainly not a little guy anymore; in Mila’s eyes, paradoxically, he’s still her little baby, while she’s also well aware that he’s turning four in a few months. Where the heck did the years between infancy and two go? With a smile, she thinks of Maggie and what adventure awaits her and Glenn in the years to come. At least they have each other, a small consolation when the world is constantly on the brink of doom. 

“Since you’re a big boy now, you’re going to teach Maggie’s baby a lot of important things. Like Carl does with you and Judith.” Mila says and takes Juri’s hand. “You think you can do that?”

Juri nods, with eyes that take the task very seriously. He adores Carl like an older brother and being addressed as a big boy, doing ‘Carl-stuff’, is everything he’s ever wanted. Juri gestures with his free hand and makes a finger walk in the air; of course he will teach the new baby to walk. But when he lets go of Mila’s hand, to show that he’s going to teach the baby to tie its shoes, Mila raises her left eyebrow.

“Well, I think we have to practice that one a little bit, Malysh.” Mila says.

Stubbornly, Juri signals that he’s already trying to learn, or rather states, very stubborn, that Daryl should teach him. He’s done it before, Juri gestures with a triumphant grin.

“Really?” Mila smiles. “Sure, I bet he’s good at it. What’s left for me then? I’m just gonna sit by and watch?”

By putting his hands together in front of him and pointing his index fingers straight ahead, Juri gestures a finger-gun. He narrows one eye and pretends to aim and fire. He points at her with a smile, clarifies that she’s best at shooting, therefore she should teach him. 

“Spasibo, malysh.” She winks at Juri. “Not quite yet, though. But I promise you, I will.”

Further down the street, both of them catch sight of Daryl and Denise. They part, Denise walks away from them and Daryl turns and starts to walk in their direction. Mila waves at him and Juri starts to run as fast as his short legs possibly can towards their favorite archer. Despite his packing, a backpack and the crossbow, Daryl receives Juri when he reaches him; he lifts him up in the air on straight, strong arms, making Juri’s blonde hair dance around his angelic face. The silent laugh that spreads on his face makes Mila’s heart swell with joy. She had never thought that the surly archer would melt completely because of a, certainly charming, mute toddler; her little ray of sunshine. He even smiles as he lifts Juri into the air. Surely a sight for sore eyes, she thinks as they meet in the middle of the street.

“Ya’ ready?” Daryl greets her as he puts Juri down. “We’re heading out now.”

“All done.” She replies, notices a piece of paper in Daryl’s hand. A shopping list? “That’s a nice little list you got there.” Mila peeks over the edge of the slightly crinkly paper, that looks like it’s been passed around the entire community. “Food, gas, some medicine, more medicine… another medicine-” She frowns her eyebrows. “Orange soda?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “Denise wanted to surprise Tara.”

“That’s nice.” Mila nods.

It was decided last night that Tara and Heath would go on a longer supply run. Daryl was asked to follow, but declined. Mila suspected that it was because of her; she’s been a bit under the weather the last couple of days; she’s been tired and just a bit feeble, felt nauseated. Carol was sure it was just her female hormones acting out, which could very well be a possibility. Tracking a period during the apocalypse wasn’t high on her ‘to do’-list, so she brushed it off. Daryl didn’t say anything about the reason for his decision, but Mila guessed that he didn’t feel like leaving her behind, even though she’s neither sick or… well, anything really. Just a bit tired. Instead, it was decided that Daryl and Rick would go on a supply run. Mila offered to come along; Daryl couldn’t possibly stop her from following, so it was settled that she’d tag along. 

They walk to the dusty Chrysler sedan together. Rick’s already in place, assuring that his gun is loaded and attached properly to his belt when they arrive.

“Mornin’.” He greets them with a nod; Once a cop, always a cop. The only thing missing is the wide-brimmed hat. “Ready to go?”

Both of them nod and Daryl hands Rick the list of supplies.

“Ya’ see anything you miss?” He asks.

Rick glances through the list quickly.

“We’re outta’ toothpaste.” He states and lifts his eyes to them, waving the note between his fingers. “Keep an eye open for spearmint and baking soda. Michonne’s orders.”

“Got it.” Mila turns to Juri and squats in front of him. “Okay, be nice to Carol and the others, don’t run away.”

With a serious look, Juri reminds her of the promise of marshmallows.

“I’ll remember.” Mila promises and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “There, davay.” She gets up from the ground as Juri turns and runs over to the porch, climbs the stairs and gets into the house to find Carol. 

They get in the car, Rick and Daryl in the front seat and Mila in the back seat. She puts her handgun and backpack in the seat next to her and Rick rolls over to the gates, where Eugene’s about to push it open for them. On the other side, pierced on a couple of rebar attached to a broken car, a couple of walkers are trying their best to reach for them with their worn, boney arms, all in vain. 

Eugene strutts over to the passenger seat of the car and leans into the open window. The mullet looks more solid than ever as he hands Daryl another note. “I mapped out some of the agricultural supply places in the area.” He says in the heavy Texan accent Mila finds incredibly fascinating. “Even if they’ve been cleaned out, my bet is that the sorghum would be untouched. Now, that there is a criminally underrated grain that could change the game with our food situation from scary to hunky-dunky.”  

No one says anything. Mila rests her elbows on the backs of the driver’s and passenger seats and leans in so her head sticks out in between the two men in the front. 

”I'm talking standability-” Eugene continues. “Drought tolerance, grain-to-stover ratio that is the envy of all corns.” He pauses. “Think about it.”

”Gosh I could listen to him forever.” Mila says and looks at Rick. “Hunky-dunky.” She repeats in an as good as it gets Texan accent, while meeting Eugene’s eyes.

“All right.”

The car drives out through the gate, Rick accelerates and they leave Alexandria behind. 

“I’m having a good feeling ‘bout today.” Rick says cheerful.

“Really?” Mila replies.

“Just-” Rick shrugs. “You know- You just feel it. Today’s the day. We're gonna find food, maybe some people. The law of averages has gotta catch up.”

“We ain’t seen nobody for weeks.” Daryl notes. “Maybe we ain’t gonna find nobody.”

“That’s sunny.” Mila says, strokes his bare arm with her fingertips. “Let’s cheer this bad boy up, sheriff.”

Rick grins and pushes ‘play’ on the stereo. The music starts faintly and Mila recognizes the band as Social Distortion. 

”Oh I like this one!” Mila exclaims and starts to sing along.  

”Thought ya’ only liked country?” Rick looks at her in the rearview mirror. 

”Nuh.” Mila shakes her head. ”I’m full of surprises. Fun fact, I went to a bunch of cool concerts back in Jersey. These guys, Bruce Springsteen, Neil Young, Rise Against, Pearl Jam- Lots of rock, punk, country-” Mila continues to sing along when the chorus starts. ”I made out with the Social Distortion singer, Mike Ness, after a concert. Or at least I think it was him.”

”Think?” Daryl sputters and turns to look at her. 

”I was eighteen!” Mila shrugs easily. “And drunk beyond judgement.” She confesses. ”He was- old, kinda’ handsome. Smelled quite nice, except the sweat. When I think about it, it could just as well be any middle aged guy with tattoos and tons of hair wax working backstage. I will never know for sure. But I’d like to believe it was the singer. Makes the story more interesting.”

Rick laughs.

“Concerts are wild.” He agrees while tapping the steering wheel. “I took Lori to see Tim McGraw once, before Carl was born. Cheap fried hot wings, beer in red plastic cups, great music; great night.”

“Is he the-” Mila starts to hum while drumming on the thighs. “Hu-huuu- I like it, I love it-”

“-I want some more of it-” Rick tunes in and snaps his finger to her beat. “I try so hard, I can't rise above it. I don't know what it is 'bout that little gal's lovin’-”

“Christ sake-” Daryl sighs and slides further down the passenger seat. 

“Here-” Rick hands Mila the worn plastic case of cd’s from the door pocket. “Find something good.”

“Yes, captain.” Mila unzips the case and starts to flip the plastic pages, filled with scratched cd’s, before finding something that looks promising. “Here-” 

“Please, don’t-” Daryl pleads. 

Too late. She leans into the front seat and pushes the cd into the radio.

“Crank it up!” 

Rick turns the volume wheel up to fourteen and both he and Mila happily exclaims “yeeeah” when the intro to “Life is a highway” blasts out of the cheap stereo. 

“Ya’ both crazy!” Daryl cries, in an attempt to drown out the radio. 

“Draws ‘em away from home!” Rick calls before tuning into the catchy chorus with Mila.

Rick knows the lyrics even better than she does; she still stumbles on the fast lines combined with her not pitch perfect english.

After driving for awhile, while continuing their exceptional singalong, Daryl manages to override the music:

”Look-” Daryl points out of the window and Rick hits the brakes in a matter of seconds. ”Back up.”

While Mila stretches forward and turns down the volume, Rick puts in reverse gear and drives the car back to the intersection. About a hundred meter to their right lies a couple of buildings. A silo, a shed and a barn, with ’sorghum’ written all over the dirty white roof. Rick turns the wheel, hits the gas and drives in the direction of the barn. He drives up on the dirt road and parks in front of the red building. It looks untouched, as if no one else knew about the great power of the sorghum. They step out of the car and look around. It’s quiet, no walkers.

“Let’s check it out.” Rick looks around the corner.

”Best to be safe.” Daryl says and walks over to the storage roll up door. He checks the handle, nods as to tell that it’s unlocked. ”Ya’ cover?” He looks up at her and Rick. 

”Yup.” Rick returns, hand on his gun. 

While the two men get ready for combat, Mila throws a glance out over the fields surrounding the barn; keeping an eye open for potential enemies. The door goes up with a loud noise and Rick bursts into the barn. Mila’s eyes land on the back of a truck. 

“No sorghum?” Mila says.

”Doesn’t look like it.” Rick turns to her and Daryl. “We’re good.” He states and points at the truck. ”One more time?” 

”It ain’t locked.” Daryl puts his hand on the handle and thugs at the box truck roll up door that rolls up with a rattle. 

”Wohaa!” Mila exclaims. 

The truck is filled with supplies; food, blankets, towels, everything really. It must be their lucky day.

”How ’bout that?” Daryl says. “Looks like we’re done for today.”

”Let’s get this thing going, grab our gear and come back for the car later. Take another way back and see what we can see.” Rick states. “We still need to find more things.”

”I’ll go start it up-” Mila says. ”If it starts.”

”I think it does.” 

”Also one of your optimistic predictions?” She smirks at Rick, turns and walks over to the drivers side and opens the door. ”Hah, they where dumb enough to leave the keys.”

Daryl unloads the most necessary things from the car, Rick locks it with a ‘beep’ on the key and  they get inside the truck; Mila makes herself comfortable between her two companions and they backs out of the barn and hits the road. They head in the direction Rick drove before Daryl asked him to stop. The road is lined by green, lush forest. The sun has settled behind some clouds, but it’s still warm, a sticky moist heat that doesn’t really make Mila’s tiredness any better. She’s already drinked a whole bottle of water by herself and starts to feel her jeans push at her bladder. In the distance, she sees what looks like a very run-down gas station. 

“Should we check it out?” Daryl looks at Rick, who nods. “Might be some gas left.”

“Let’s find out.” 

Rick parks at the first pump and they get out of the truck. The gas station is a mess; debris everywhere, an abandoned jeep is parked outside and the black color of the roof has begun to flake and exposes the gray metal underneath. The store looks equally miserable. She strolls up to the doors and peeks through the dirty glass, but sees nothing else than darkness. On her right Daryl’s checking out a tipped-over vending machine, filled with soda and candy. Someone must’ve given up halfway through their attempt to move it, Mila thinks.

“Give me a hand with this.” Daryl says.

Rick, looking around the desolated place, turns on the spot and walks over to help. Besides her urge to pee, Mila’s struck by a slight sensation through her head, like nausea, just as she has been doing on and off the last two days. Heck, not now. 

“I just gotta- you know.” She makes a whistling sound, to signal that she needs to find a toilet, or just walk behind the corner of the gas station to pee, or vomit - right now she cannot decide which of them she needs the most.

“We’ll get this.” Daryl nods towards the vending machine.

Mila turns and walks towards the door of the gas station. She thugs at it, then pushes it open with force. It’s barricaded with a shelf and she creates a passage wide enough for her to get through  and walks inside the dark store, gun raised in front of her. She lets her gaze get used to the dark, then sweeps over the empty, chaotic store before she walks towards the back of it, towards the door with ‘staff only’, hanging on just one hinge. The back of the shop, a room that looks like something between an office and a storage, with walls clad in brown wooden panels, is also empty. She quickly finds the ‘staff only’-toilet that doesn’t look far too disgusting to sit down on. She closes the door halfway, to prevent herself from being in total darkness. While unzipping her jeans she curses herself for not bringing a flashlight. As she sits down, she promises herself to wash her whole body with steel wool as soon as they are back in Alexandria; the toilet stinks of urine and It must be a pure bacteria party in the small space. She closes her eyes, feels how the nausea calms down a bit, focuses to breath through her mouth to close out the acrid smell. She takes another breath and feels her bladder relax, happy to release the huge amount of water she drank. 

Despite the disgusting toilet, it feels better to go to the toilet inside than outside. Mila reluctantly remembers the time she had to pee in the woods, and a walker snuck up behind her. With her trousers around her ankles, Mila had to ward off the armless, dead man. It wasn’t her proudest moment for sure. 

Loud voices and thumps make her wake up from her thoughts. Mila almost falls on her nose getting up from the toilet seat with her jeans around her ankles. Swearing over the fact that she might have to repeat her unworthy pants incident, she makes her way out from the bathroom, thuggin’ on her panties and jeans to get them over her ass, to see what’s going on outside. Is there an ambush? She loses balance, while trying to zip her pants, when she makes her way out in between the gap in the door and drops to the pavement. While brushing her hair out of her face, Mila catches sight of Daryl and Rick standing out in the street. The truck is gone. 

“What the heck?!” She cries and gets up from the ground, fiddling with the zipper. “Where’s the truck?”

“Gone.” Rick hollers back at her. 

Mila lets go of the zipper again -whatever if she shows off her undies at this point- and holds out her arms, to show that she noticed that very well on her own. 

“I was gone for like, five minutes, and now you lost the truck?”

“He took it-” Rick continues. 

“He who?” 

“Some goddamn’ hippie.” Daryl scoffs angrily. “Crashed into Rick and then drove off with the truck, swiped the keys.”

“Wha- just like that?” Mila says, more confused than ever. What the hell happened?

“We talked to him.” 

“Okay… and?”

“Told us his name- called himself Jesus.”

“Yeah I’m sure that’s his name.” Mila laughs dryly; right, Jesus Christ would surely show up in the middle of nowhere and steal a truck filled with toothpaste, food and other supplies. “Jesus don’t steal trucks.” She says. “Jesus isn’t even real! And how on earth did he overpower both of you?” 

The two men in front of her transform into two ashamed puppies, that’s been caught peeing on the carpet, in the matter of seconds. Mila suspects that they weren’t overpowered but tricked; muscles and guns are no use for cunning, and she knows a lot about the latter.  

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Mila sighs, squats and ties her boots with an extra secure double knot. “Lets go.” 

“What?” Daryl looks at her. 

“We gotta follow the truck.” She replies and thanks her lucky star for not having eaten anything heavy earlier this morning. “I won’t let someone who believes himself to be Jesus just steal our truck. I went to church back in Russia when I was a child; stealing is a sin, which makes this Jesus a hypocrite. Come on.”

Mila starts to run. Had she known she would have to chase after a truck, she would have taken a pair of running shoes. They pass the vending machine after a few hundred meters, discarded in the middle of the road. Mila brakes and takes a deep breath, wiping sweat from her forehead. The sticky heat is killing her and the three of them drip with sweat. Rick’s shirt is several shades darker and Daryl looks almost freshly showered. Next to her, Rick doubles down and rests his hands on his knees, still hugging the gun.

“How far do you think he’d come?” She pants.  

“Dunno.” Daryl takes a crowbar from his backpack, shatters the display case of the vending machine and starts to stuff orange sodas and some snacks into his bag. He reaches Mila a can. “Here, drink.”  

She smiles, as to say ‘thank you’ and opens the can. The soda is somewhere between lukewarm and warm, but it’s better than nothing. She finishes the can quickly and wipes her mouth on the back of her arm.  

“Isn’t this the soda Denise wanted?” She asks.

“Uhu.” Daryl nods. “Special request.” 

He takes one of the cans, punctures a hole in its side and pours the lukewarm orange drink into his mouth. Very classy.

“Hey, whatever she wants. She saved Carl's life.” Rick replies and receives the can from Daryl. “If there's still people out here, and they're still people, we should bring 'em in.” 

“Still feelin’ positive, huh?” Daryl asks his friend. “Takin’ em in? Like this guy, stealing our truck?”

“No, not this guy.” 

Daryl turns and looks at her, the gaze wanders from top to bottom.

“Ya’ good to go?” The look is caring, protective. As if he was trying to say 'sorry ‘bout the bumpy ride'. 

Mila nods, feels a drop of sweat run down her lip, into her mouth. 

“Let’s get this over with.” She replies and collects her long, sweaty hair on the back of her head, ties it up with a hair tie. “I’ve ran marathons, remember.”

They set off again at a slightly faster pace, strengthened by the soda. Mila breathes calmly as she sprints over the concrete, counts her breaths as she used to do when she was an avid runner and used to go out for a long run for fun. The circumstances are a bit different from back then; no running shoes or comfortable running clothes in bright colors, no iPod filled with upbeat music and no fitness clock tracking her pulse and her route. The boots are actually horrible to run in, the same goes for jeans, t-shirt and denim shirt, plus a backpack and weapons. 

They follow the tire tracks until they reach a crest, where Daryl signals for them to stop. Carefully they ascend the hill until they can peek over the edge. In the hill down on the other side they see the truck, standing still. It has a puncture and Mila immediately sees a long-haired man with a beard, dressed in a long coat and a beanie, which in itself is pure madness. She’s dripping with sweat and would never in her life put on a long coat or hat now. 

“That’s him?” She asks faintly. 

“That’s him.” Rick nods at them to follow him into the woods to the left. 

They carefully make their way over the fallen leaves between the trees, without losing sight of the truck. The man walks around to the back of the car and they see their chance. They quickly get out of the woods, Rick takes the lead and throws himself forward, wraps his arms around the man from behind.

“Hold still and maybe we won’t hurt you.”

If Rick thought it would help, he was completely wrong. The man sends off an elbow into Rick’s stomach and is suddenly free again. He makes a move, kicks Rick in the guts and gets him down on the ground. It's obvious that the guy is a bit sharper than the rest of the knives in the drawer; Mila climbs out of the ditch just as the man is about to set off towards the driver’s door, but is stopped by Daryl. While the men fight with each other, Mila manages to get up on the road just as the bearded man slips out of Daryl’s arms, pushes him into the side of the truck, turns around and loses track completely at the sight of Mila, who -tired of running and still a little nauseous- has pulled out her gun and aims it at him.

“Surprise!”

The brief moment is enough for Daryl to get back on his feet. He sees his chance when the man turns and notices Mila and tackles him from behind, down into the ditch. At gunpoint, they finally have the upper hand.

“Thanks.” Daryl pants and looks at Mila.

“The power of surprise.” She shrugs and looks down at the man. 

He’s about thirty, long brown hair, beard. Yes, she sees the resemblance to Jesus; every time she sat in church and counted the icons portraying him when she was little. The serious man with sloping shoulders, blue dress, beard and well-groomed hair. The difference is that the Jesus in the icons didn’t have a knitted beanie and a leather coat.

The foliage behind the man in the grass rustles. A walker then announces its presence, by a guttural hissing sound.

“Do you even have any ammo?” Jesus looks at them.

Without answering, Mila raises her gun at the walker and shoots.  

“Okay.” Jesus nods, still with his hands raised in front of him. “You gonna shoot me over a truck?”

“There's a lot of food on that truck.” Rick says. “The keys - now.”

“I think you know I'm not a bad guy.” 

Once again, Mila suddenly feels that unpleasant, nauseating feeling, but this time it spreads from her head down to her stomach. She turns around, hurries away a few meters, bends forward and vomits into the ditch. ‘Is she okay?’ she hears Jesus' question, while she spits and feels how she shivers all over her body; fuck, she hates to vomit. But it actually feels better.

“Ey-” She hears Daryl scoff at the poor guy. “Eyes here, dude! The keys!”

“I’m fine.” Mila hollers and waves her arm at them, still folded like a pocket knife.

“You sure?” Jesus calls back.

“Oh shut up!” She shouts. “It’s because of you I’m throwing up.”

“Sorry.”

“Just-” Mila straightens her back. She feels less nauseated, a bit weak but otherwise much better. “Give us the keys.”

For some reason, Mila can’t figure out why, Jesus throws her the keys. It might be out of pity, or the fact that her two comrades are holding him at gunpoint; she nods at him, as a way to say thanks.

While Rick ties Jesus up, Daryl hurries over to her.

“Ya’ okay?” His eyes are worried. “Ya’ sick?”

“No I’m fine.” Mila nods averted. “Probably just too much running and too little breakfast. I’m good now.” She smiles. “Just, don’t kiss me until we’re back and I’ve brushed my teeths, okay?”

He doesn’t look completely convinced, but he grunts a little, caresses her cheek and places a kiss on her forehead instead.

“There’s toothpaste in the back of the truck.” He says, before returning to Rick and Jesus.

Mila gets into the truck, sits down in the middle seat and closes her eyes; maybe she should try to find one of those toothpastes, she has a foul taste in her mouth. She looks around the cab and finds a pack of spearmint gum. As she pushes a third gum into her mouth, Daryl and Rick jump on either side of her.

“Where is Jesus?” She asks.

“On the street.”

“What? We can’t just leave him?”

“Of course we can.” Rick replies, turns the key and starts the car. 

“So long, you prick.” Daryl shouts out of the window as they drive off.

Mila chuckles dryish; She has an underlying sense that something is going to happen. Karma. She takes out the case of cd’s from her backpack, picks the “best of sixties” album and pushes the cd into the stereo. The sound of Connie Francis “Tennessee waltz” crackles out of the speakers and Daryl hands out snacks from the vending machine. 

“Still worked out. Today still is the day.” Rick recalls while snacking on a chocolate-peanut bar. He then points in front of him. “Hey, look at that.”

The truck drives out of the forest, and Mila sees both fields and buildings.

“Yeah, a barn.“ Daryl says. 

As Rick turns off in the direction of the barn, something makes them all fall silent and listen; thumps, like something hitting the truck box, is heard even over the loud music.

“What’s that?” Mila exclaims. “You hear that?”

It’s inevitable what the noise is; footsteps.

“I think that son of a bitch is on the roof.” Daryl says. 

All three of them react at the same time; Rick stands on the brake pedal, the car stops with a howl and Jesus falls down in front of the windshield and tumbles to the ground. Daryl, swearing loudly, throws himself out of the car to follow him and Mila follows Daryl. She has no idea why, but her gut feeling tells her that Daryl won’t be gentle on him. It also tells her that Jesus probably isn’t dangerous at all, which isn’t in his favor if Daryl, who’s all muscles and pretty bad impulse control, gets a hold of him.

“Daryl-” She calls. “No- Stop!”

“I’ve had enough of ya’!” Daryl shouts at Jesus, not hearing Mila. 

This must look ever so stupid, Mila thinks as she sprints after Daryl and the hippy-dippy guy into the dry green field; like one of those silent films, except that the soundtrack in this case happens to be Helen Shapiro’s “Walking back to happiness” playing from the car. Mila running after Daryl, running after this odd long-haired man who seems to believe he’s Jesus. Why in the world would he otherwise call himself that? 

”No- no, stop it!” Mila shouts, as if she was scolding at a bad dog. 

She stumbles and falls flat on her stomach, while Jesus reaches the now stationary truck and throws himself into the driver’s seat. Daryl follows.

“Come here, you little shit!” He barks and starts to drag Jesus out of the car. 

At the same time a walker has snuck up behind Daryl. Mila gets up on her knees, gropes for her gun, but before she has managed to raise it to shoot, she hears Jesus call out ‘duck’; Daryl ducks just in time. A gun finds its way into the walker's skull and it falls back like a bowling pin. 

“Thanks.” Daryl pants, then sends off a punch into Jesus face. “That's my gun! Come here!” 

He throws Jesus out of the truck, onto the grass. He doesn’t remain there for long; instead, he lays hooks for Daryl, who stumbles, giving Jesus time to get up on his feet and set off again.

“Son of a-” Daryl roars and runs after.

“Fuck- knock it out!” Mila shouts and increases her speed, minimizing the distance between herself and her, frankly pissed off, other half. Before Daryl’s able to take another leap in his hunt for the handcuffed, longhaired karate kid, she tackles him to the ground with a thud. ”Stop this!” Mila climbs up on top of him, to prevent Daryl from getting up from the grass. ”This is stupid!” 

”Christ- knock it out ya’!” 

Crap, she doesn’t have time to argue. Mila climbs over Daryl and sets after Jesus, who has slowed down to watch the wrestling match played out in the grass behind him. A surprised expression spreads on his bearded face as he sees her approaching, faster than he imagined. Jesus turns and starts to run again, but he doesn’t get up to speed fast enough. Mila lunges for him and they tumbles to the ground in a bundle of arms and legs, and she starts to wrestle him. He doesn’t fight her, but he tries with all his power to get loose from her grip. Mila gets a sharp elbow in the eye and a cracked lip before hobo-Jesus is ripped away from her by Daryl, who looks like he’s boiling.

“Ey, that’s ma’ girl, ya’ scumbag!”

“Wohaa, jeez.” The long haired, ravaged man, flies like a raggedy Anne-doll through the air.  

Mila gets up from the ground, covered in dry grass and wipes blood from her mouth on the back of her hand. Her eye pounds and already feel swollen, a certain recipe for an upcoming, gorgeous black eye. Daryl pants loudly through his nostrils while holding on to the ravaged man’s coat, the poor guy can barely stand up straight.  

“I had him.” Mila glares at Daryl and spits blood on the ground in front of her feet.

“I’d had him if ya’ didn’t tackle me.” Daryl scoffs back, still holding on to Jesus' collar. 

“You’d kill that poor man if you’d catched him.” Mila replies, pointing at Jesus. “You’re not exactly sensible when you’re angry.”

“Oh yeah right, you’re the one to talk!” Daryl scoffs back. “What about that guy’s kneecaps-”

“I had every right-” Mila cries. “He sliced my guts with a fucking machete!” 

”You two are related of some sort?” Jesus doubtfully breaks in. 

”Married!”

“What?” Daryl sputters, looking both terrified and shocked at her sudden, out of the blue exclamation. 

“Feels like it!” Mila replies and spits more blood; they’re arguing like they were married at least. “Pridurok...” She mutters, eyes locked at Daryl.  

”Oh-” Jesus pants and looks just as confused as Daryl does, plus a bit tufted. “Right-”

“Shut up.”

Pow! Jesus falls to the ground. Mila rolls her eyes; why does he have to punch everyone? She snorts and turns, stepping through the tall grass in the direction of the car. Damn hypocrisy, she thinks to herself. She passes Rick, who walks in the opposite direction out in the tall grassy field, holding his bloody knife, but ignores him. She’s frankly grumpy and her eye hurts. But she halts when she doesn’t spot the truck.

“Where the fuck is the truck!?”

She looks around. It’s nowhere to be seen. As she lets her gaze sweep over the field she catches sight of something behind some trees, in the small pond.

“Shit.” Rick comes up at her side, eyes locked at the truck that’s sinking further down the pond. “He must’ve knocked it into neutral.”

“Now what?”

They both turn and start walking back towards Daryl and the man in the grass.

“Are you alright?” Rick looks at Daryl. “Let's go check them cars, get the hell out of here.”

“What about the guy?” Mila points at Jesus. 

“What about him?” Daryl asks. 

“Well, he was actually nice, saved you.” She replies. 

“Hm.”

“Did he ever pull a weapon on you?” Rick asks. 

“Fine.” Daryl sputters. “Fuck- fine. Let’s put him up a tree.”

“No. He’ll come back with us.” Mila corrects, giving Daryl a sharp gaze. “Enough of that grumpy attitude.” She nods at Jesus. “Come on, let’s find a car. Drag him with you.”

They find a working car about fifteen minutes later. Daryl throws Jesus into the backseat. Mila takes the wheel, Daryl calls shotgun and Rick takes place next to Jesus, who’s still knocked out and they start driving back to Alexandria. 

“He took a pretty hard hit.” Rick says and meets Mila’s gaze in the mirror, then looks at Jesus. “Denise needs to look him over.”

“Try to wake him.” Mila suggests. “See if he’s got permanent brain damages.”

Rick shakes the man, who grunts and starts moving. He blinks and jumps.

“You’re alive.” Rick says. “Good.”

“Yeah-” Jesus grunts again. “Why am I in a car? I heard something about a tree.”

“It was a joke.” Mila says, meeting his drowsy eyes in the mirror. 

“It wasn’t.” Daryl looks at her.

“You wouldn’t have gone through with it.” Mila gives him a sharp gaze. “You wouldn’t have left him.”

“I would’ve-” Daryl nods upwards. “Right up in a tree.”

“He’s a comedian.” Mila says, once again looking at Jesus in the mirror, not taking notice of Daryl’s irritated expression. “Or at least tries to be.”

”Where have you been all my life?” Jesus chuckles and looks at her in the mirror and sends off a radiant smile that tells Mila that he’s using mouthwash on a daily basis. 

”Ey- knock it out!” Daryl reaches back and slaps the man on his tied up hands. 

Mila lets out a faint laugh. Huh, look at that; a jealous Daryl Dixon. Jeez Louise, there’s nothing to worry about, Mila thinks to herself, but Daryl’s poor self-confidence doesn’t make it easy for him. She pats her jealous, southern knight on the back of the hand.  

”He looks like a hippy dippy orthodox priest.” Mila gives the surly, blushing archer a soft gaze. “Calm down, Dixon.” She turns to the rear view mirror and the hippy dippy man in the backseat. If papa was here, he wouldn’t have let him inside the car. Not in a million years. “No offense, but you do.” She says to Jesus.

”None taken.” He nods at her with a curious gaze. “What’s up with the accent?”

”Up and running, thanks for noticing.”

While steering the car with her knees, Mila once again takes out the case of cd’s, now missing the one with sixties-music, takes out a random cd and puts it in the stereo. She adjusts the volume-wheel on the radio and increases the sound of “The Chain” and starts to tap the wheel while singing along. 

“You’re a really good singer.” The man in the back calls after a while.

“Thanks.” Mila replies backwards. “I’m a dental nurse.”

“Did you sing to the patients?”

“To the kids, sometimes. Some terrified men before they, you know-” She closes her eyes and pretends to snore. “Put them down.”

“I’m sure that’s not what it’s called.” Rick replies.

“I made them sleep.” Mila shrugs her shoulders. “Right?”

“Not what it sounded like.” Daryl says and meets her eyes, with a slightly amused expression on his stern face. 

“Anyway I think it sounded beautiful.” Jesus says. 

”I like this guy!” Mila looks at him and Rick with an excited smile upon her face, nodding her head to the beat of the music. ”Can we keep him?”

“He ain’t a dog.” 

“But he’s quite fun!” 

”You see.” Jesus says triumphantly. “She likes me.”

That’s it for Daryl. He turns and once again starts to try and hit the guy. Mila hits the brakes and the car stops with such force that Jesus is thrown into the headrest of the passenger seat, and dozes off.

“Knock it off!” Mila roars. “Or I won’t drive an inch further.”

The angry mom-voice isn’t only effective on children, it works really well on adult men as well. Daryl mutters and returns to his seat. Mila steps on the gas pedal again and continues to drive. Outside, it eventually starts to get dark. The sky is clear and the stars look brighter than ever. When she brakes at the gate to Alexandria, it’s pitch black. Daryl gets out, opens the gate and she drives into the community; a sensation of calm spreads throughout her body. That’s when she remembers.

“Shit.”

“What?” Rick asks.

“Forgot to get marshmallows.”

When the gate’s closed and locked, Daryl gets into the car again and Mila drives up to the infirmary, parks and the engine dies. The three of them get out of the car and stretch. What a fucking day, Mila thinks to herself, while watching Rick and Daryl dragging the still unconscious Jesus out of the backseat. They carry him up the stairs to the infirmary, knock on the door and wait. Denise opens in a few seconds.

“Sorry to wake you up.” Rick excuses himself before Denise can say something.

From her spot at the car, Mila notices Denise’s confused expression as she notices the lifeless man. 

“Who is this?!”

“Come on, man, he's heavy.” Daryl says to Rick. “Oh, that thing-” He looks at Denise. “Uh, didn't work out. It's this asshole's fault. Sorry.”

While they bring Jesus inside, Mila leans up against the hot hood and looks at the stars. Juri has probably been asleep for a while now. She doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s late. Rick and Daryl walk out of the infirmary just as she catches sight of the pole star. 

“He’s taken care of.” Daryl says as he walks up to her. He examines her in detail in the faint glow of the infirmary. “Let’s patch ya’ up.” 

Mila doesn’t struggle. She’s tired and hungry. They go back into the infirmary and she sits down on one of the beds with clean, white sheets and exhales. There’s a mirror in the corner of the room. When Mila sees her reflection, she sighs even deeper; she has a pretty neat blackeye and a cracked lip. Daryl sits down on the stool in front of her.  

“A hell of a blackeye-” He squints at the look of her pulsating, sore eye. “Ya’ really took a few punches.” He takes the bottle with alcohol and a wipe and pours some onto it. “Like Rocky Balboa.”

“Yeah, but I won.” Mila replies. 

“Just like Rocky.” Daryl replies. “Still though- hell of a fight.” 

“Better me than you I guess.” Mila swears as Daryl, as gently as he can, wipes her cracked lip with the drenched wipe. “You’d kill him.” 

Mila nods over Daryl’s shoulder, towards the knocked out man lying on the narrow hospital bed, handcuffed to the bed frame. Daryl turns, looks at Jesus, then scoffs. 

“I’ll kill him if he ever puts his hands on ya’ again.” Daryl mutters and throws the wipe over the room, into the trash bin. 

“Don’t have to, I’ll do it myself.” Mila smiles, but grimaces; it hurts to smile. “I know.” Daryl replies. “Sorry ‘bout earlier. For yellin’ at ya’.”

“You gotta work on that temper.” Mila states. “It ain’t good for the blood pressure.”

With a grunt, as much of an answer as anything, Daryl puts his hand at the back of her head, brings it to his lips and kisses her on the forehead. 

“Ain’t gonna need to stitch ya’ up.” He says. “Come on, let’s get ya’ to bed, Rocky.”

“Yes, Adrien.” Mila grins wryly. “What about Jesus Christ Superstar?” She nods towards the other bed. 

“Yeah we’ll deal with him later.”

“You gonna tuck me in first?” Mila asks. “I’d love that, but honestly, I need a quick shower before bed. I think I might have caught every possible STD there is from that disgusting toilet at the gas station.”

[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

Teen Witch

Controversial opinion: stories about witches are the best stories. Just look at WandaVision - bitches ate that UP because it’s about WITCHES, which means it’s ultimately about loss and trauma and female (literal) empowerment in the face of those tragedies (and I mean there’s some complicated stuff in there about inflicting trauma upon others, even accidentally, and that’s kind of a witch thing too). And Sabrina is all well and good and everything, but what if you want your witch story to be a little less Dark Arts and a little more candy-coated? Have I got the film for you! Wes requested Teen Witch as part of his quest to expand my cheesy 80s cult classic knowledge, and boy did this one deliver. How 80s-tastic are we talking? Well...

The basic story is this: Louise (Robyn Lively) is a typical teen girl who occupies the nerd level of the high school hierarchy. You know the type - soft-spoken, nerdy best friend, has a crush on the cutest guy in school (Dan Gauthier), made fun of in gym class by all the cheerleaders. One day she crashes her bike in front of a psychic’s home/place of business and goes inside to use the phone, but gets her palm read first. The psychic, named Madame Serena, (Zelda Rubenstein, playing, I’m assuming, herself) tells her she will soon come into some witchy powers on her 16th birthday. When Louise’s birthday rolls around, you guessed it - witching aplenty. She gets the popularity, she gets the cute guy, she ditches her nerdy friend; it’s basically The Princess Diaries without Queen Julie Andrews. But then, y’know, she learns a valuable lesson about the high price of popularity and how important it is to be true to yourse--wait, no she doesn’t, she takes off her magic necklace and smooches with the boy she likes at the school dance and that’s how it ends.

Some thoughts:

This slow motion credit sequence is incredible. See, we just don’t have this anymore, where the movie starts and you have no fucking idea what’s going on. The 80s really knew how to draw an audience in. Is this a dream? Is this a music video? No one knows! That’s why it’s exciting!

Why are tv and movies so obsessed with a completely made-up depiction of what takes place outside a high school’s entrance before the first bell? Apparently there’s a busker festival going on at this high school every day - there’s guys doing BMX tricks, an all white rap group, I think I saw some jugglers.

I’ve actually taught in both middle and high school, so I know this English teacher (Shelley Berman) wouldn’t be fired for being such a shitty teacher, but he should be. 

Is this like...a musical? First there was the terrible rapping, now there are cheerleaders doing “the new cheer” which is literally a song just saying “I...LIKE...BOYS!” and there’s a dance routine on top of lockers - there’s a lot of towel choreography. It feels like a musical in the sense that it’s nonsensical, but I don’t actually think it IS a musical. Genre-defying!

It’s kinda creepy that Louise is watching an extended montage of Brad (Gauthier) working out shirtless from the shadows but like...same, girl. Damn, Brad.

Aw, at least Brad is reasonably nice. Louise, show some backbone! You shouldn’t have been too proud to let him drive you home after he ran you off the road on your bike accidentally!

I am just mystified by the market for roles that were appropriate for Zelda Rubenstein in the 80s. What is this niche? Which came first, Zelda Rubenstein, or these characters? 

I am also mystified by this gremliny little brother (Joshua John Miller) who seems to be obsessed with eating cake and never washing his hair. He’s like a goblin trapped in a diminutive nonbinary body made of pizza and spite. [ETA: I now feel a little bad for finding him so repellent in this, as the actor wrote one of my favorite meta horror movies, The Final Girls, in 2015. So at least he grew up and made something cool of himself.]

OMFG did Brad just hit the soda machine for her like the fucking Fonz? 

There is (temporarily) a Very Good Dog who is not harmed in any way.

In what universe does Louise see what her date, David (Jared Chandler), is wearing and be like “he’s such a geek” when she looks like an extra from Leave it to Beaver. 

The DJ just said “OK guys, grab your wallets, it’s a slow song.” What...does that even mean? Is he implying that slow dances are expensive? Ooh or even more nefarious, that there’s a rampant pickpocketing problem during slow dances?

Did Louise...just imply that the number of light years away a star is dictates how soon a wish you make on that star would come true? Listen. I’m no astrophysicist. But I have read enough Neil Degrasse Tyson tweets to know that that’s not how any of this works. 

OK I take back what I said, David is a fucking CREEP. Drag his ass, Louise. However, I think she may have straight up murdered him by making him disappear. David is never seen or heard from again in this film. 

Obsessed with the dad’s sweaters both because they are ridiculous and because he is the lesser Darren from the original Bewitched. 

It feels weird that Louise’s revenge involves forcing Mr. Weaver to take his clothes off in front of the class.Who wants that? Like I get that it’s humiliating for him, but really, you’re only punishing yourself here Louise. 

There is a rap-off that is meant to convey electric sexual tension between two nerdy ass white kids. 

I don’t know what it was like at your school, but I can tell you for sure that at my high school no one ever applauded when the most popular girl in school walked into the classroom like she’s Kramer making an entrance on Seinfeld.

Why is Brad taking her to an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere? And why is she wearing heels?

Oh god she took the heels off and now she’s barefoot in this decrepit house, that’s so much worse! TETANUS EXISTS LOUISE.

Wait are they going to fuck in the abandoned house? Brad has a girlfriend! You brought heels, but did you bring condoms?? I guess she has bigger concerns than tetanus now. Also I feel so bad for these actors, they are both DRIPPING sweat. That must have been a miserable shoot.

I’ve said this before, but the 80s were such an incredible time for himbo fashion. Crop tops, those tank tops with the giant holes for the arms, teeny little basketball shorts. In the 90s all we had were JNCOs and weirdly “urbanized” Looney Tunes characters on baggy t-shirts. Gen X has no idea how good they had it re: male fashion. 

I’m genuinely obsessed with the idea that popularity means the school just has banners all over that say “LOUISE” and she gets like, cards and fan mail that say “Louise U R the best.” This feels like if you ask a kindergartner what being popular means.

Madame Serena just said “the real magic is believing in yourself” which is exactly what Louise’s dad said like 15 minutes ago, but I guess he wasn’t a 3-foot-tall witch so no one paid attention when he said it. 

Y’know for an 80s prom outfit, Louise’s dress is pretty cute. 

I cannot stress enough that Brad’s girlfriend is at this dance while he and Louise are kissing! Does no one care? Were high school attitudes toward monogamy just way more flexible in the 80s? 

Did I Cry? Shyeah, right. 

This is such an odd, mostly charming, but wildly perplexing little movie. There was no antagonist or real conflict here, at all. Louise barely struggles with any sort of tension or remorse about having her powers and what it means for her life, she just kind of decides at the end that she’s over it, and she still gets the guy and no actual negative consequences from bending the entire school to her will for the past few months. I mean, in The Craft, when people use magic for their own gains, other people fucking DIE. I was definitely entertained, but a lot of it was due to me saying, “What? How? What?” loudly at the screen. I can see how this has gained a cult following in much the same way that other oddball 80s fare like Better Off Dead or Girls Just Wanna Have Fun did. Watch it once, then watch it again while you get drunk with your friends (in a post-Covid world, obviously) and you’ll probably have a pretty great time. 

If you liked this review, please consider reblogging or subscribing to my Patreon! For as low as $1, you can access bonus content and movie reviews, or even request that I review any movie of your choice.

[jemej3m]

HAVE U EVER THOUGHT OF A BAND!AU?? i love band au's and ur work!!! (not to mention but i think u would write an excellent drummer!andrew)

are you kidding me??? have i ever thought of a band au? bruh i breathe band au’s

also, i wanted this to be soft, so have some childhood friends starting a band out of their mum’s garage :DD

*

“Can I now?”

Neil ducked his head, trying not to show Andrew his grin. “No, ‘Drew.”

Andrew cocked his head. “How about now?”

Neil turned around and arched a singular eyebrow at the man. “You cannot shove your drum stick through Kevin’s brain, Andrew. Not now: not ever.”

“I hate you,” he muttered. Neil just grinned. 

“You say the sweetest things to me, ‘Drew.” With that, he turned and continued to tune his acoustic. Behind him, Andrew was going bright red. 

What started as a friendly, neighbourhood band had turned into something else entirely: Neil and Andrew were cramped backstage, tuning and warming up. Kevin was probably talking to his mom on the phone, whilst Nicky was most certainly trying to escape their security detail and go flirt with fans in the event centre’s foyer. He could charm a crowd. 

They’d started the band up when they were just kids: Neil remembered Kevin grabbing him by the sleeve and dragging him across the street, where he’d noticed the three Dobson boys setting up instruments in their garage: Nicky on bass, Aaron on keyboard and Andrew on his drumkit. 

Neil, having been only 11 whilst the others were 12 or 13, wasn’t as outspoken or enthusiastic about joining them as Kevin was. 

“Come on, Neil,” Kevin insisted, dragging him by the elbow. “I’ll sing and you play the guitar. Okay?”

“It might be fun, Neil,” his sister, Dan, insisted, giving him a gentle push out the door. “It’s just messing around in a garage band. Nothing serious.”

If little Neil knew where he’d be, nine years later, he probably would’ve spontaneously combusted out of paranoia and fear. 

Adult Neil still got anxious - he always wanted to perform his best - but it’d taken years of gigs and scouts and labels to work them up to where they were now. It was a gradual process, which definitely helped the whole stage-fright thing. 

“What are you thinking about?” Andrew inquired, sitting down behind Neil and hooking his chin over Neil’s shoulder. He smiled, leaning back against his best friend. 

“Just stuff,” he responded. “How we got here. Where we’ll go.”

“Next stop on the tour is D.C.”

“Funny.”

“Yes,” Andrew agreed, deadpan. “That’s what I’m known for.”

Neil just laughed, getting to his feet. “We’d better get ready before Kevin comes back.”

“Your brother is the worst,” Andrew grunted, following suit. 

“At least we’re not related,” Neil grinned, jostling Andrew’s shoulder. “You can’t talk: you’re Aaron’s twin.”

Andrew just pointed a stick at Neil in warning. 

*

The lights were flashing. Audience screaming. Neil opened his eyes out of his reverie and looked to his counterparts: Nicky was rushing up and down the front lines, giving out as many hugs as he could. Kevin was waving and blowing kisses. And Andrew - 

He stood behind his drumkit, shirtless and dripping with sweat. He still bore his armbands, brimming with blades and secrets, and in his hands he loosely held his favourite pair of drumsticks, a pair Betsy had bought him, one’s he’d been careful to not break. 

Neil’s mouth was dry as he walked over to where Andrew stood. A spotlight blazed from above, shrouding Andrew’s head and illuminating his hair like a golden halo. He looked angelic. He was angelic. 

“You were amazing,” Neil said, voice lost under the cacophony of the crowd. His hand was reached out, gently brushing the bare skin of Andrew’s bicep. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore: the post-show euphoria was driving him. 

Andrew didn’t need to hear him. He could read lips. Read intentions. 

They were ushered off the stage soon after, Neil’s ears still ringing, his fingertips still burning. Andrew tugged on a fresh shirt, a towel around his neck. He had the most laborious job out of all of them, save maybe Kevin. Neil looked away from the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck. 

“Good show,” Kevin panted, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. Neil nodded, the exhaustion of playing for four hours settling in. His shoulders ached, fingertips raw with playing both his guitar and the keyboard (Neil filled Aaron’s vacancy when he’d fucked off to college) whilst his throat ached from countless harmonies and backups he sung for Kevin. 

Genuine praise from Kevin was rare and prized for their band, and was usually reserved to the few moments after a performance finished. Then he’d go back to his regularly scheduled criticisms and evaluations. 

“Wasn’t it?” Nicky grinned. “We are such hot shit sometimes! Anyway,” he slung his guitar off to the side, careless. Neil winced a little. “I’ve got a cutie waiting in my car, apparently.” He winked. “His name’s Erik and he’s built like a wall. I’ll see y’all tomorrow!” 

“Jesus Christ,” Kevin said, not unkindly. They were all used to Nicky’s antics by now. He looked back to Neil. “You gonna stay with Andrew or me?”

Neil narrowed his eyes. Was he going to stay with his brother or his best friend? The choice wasn’t exactly hard to make. 

Kevin put up his hands. “What? I thought you two’d had a lover’s spat or something, before the show.”

“Kevin,” Andrew warned, voice low. 

“You guys weren’t as synthesised as you usually are,” Kevin continued. “Did Neil say something, again? Neil, what did you do?”

“Kevin,” Andrew snapped. 

The man took his final warning with a grain of salt and rolled his eyes, peeling off to cool down and head back to the hotel. He left Neil standing in the middle of the corridor, baffled. What the fuck was he talking about? A lover’s spat?

“Don’t think too hard, junkie,” Andrew muttered, fingers hooked into the collar of Neil’s shirt. “He’s just sprouting his usual bullshit.” But Andrew couldn’t look him in the eyes. 

“Right,” Neil agreed, smiling weakly. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“Shut up,” Andrew tugged him down the corridor with a finger hooked through Neil’s belt loop. 

Neil went willingly. He always went willingly with Andrew. There was no one else in the world that he trusted more.

*

“What do you mean, you’re not a thing?”

Neil paused with his fingertips up to the door, ready to push it open. It seemed as though he had stumbled upon a conversation - perhaps not for Neil’s ears. 

“He’s not interested,” Andrew said, sounding exhausted. “And I’m not about to pressure him into something he doesn’t want.”

Huh. Maybe they were talking about a new guy. Andrew didn’t date that often - or very successfully - and he was usually not willing to talk to Neil about it whenever it did happen. Neil wasn’t quite sure why but respected his boundaries nevertheless. He just didn’t know that Andrew went to Kevin about it. 

Neil wondered who it was, this time. Roland? He’d been the most long-term thing Andrew had ever attempted. No, Andrew said he wasn’t interested in Roland. Unless he was lying. 

Andrew doesn’t lie to me, Neil reminded himself. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kevin insisted. “He’s been in love with you ever since he first saw you. Don’t give me that look, Andrew. Put away your knives.”

“Do you think so?” Andrew asked, voice low. Gravelly. Tainted by disbelief.

Something in Neil’s chest tightened. He sounded…hopeful. Neil was arbitrarily jealous. Who was this guy? 

Wait, why was Neil jealous?

He pushed against the door, ignoring the way that the two of them shifted so that it didn’t look like they were engaged in conversation. 

“We’re loading up the bus,” he supplied. “Time to get moving.”

And if Neil noticed the way that Andrew walked around him, careful not to brush their knuckles, well. 

He didn’t say anything. 

*

By the end of the third week, Neil couldn’t handle it anymore. He wasn’t sure what he’d done, or why Andrew was so adamant in avoiding him, but he hated it. He hadn’t felt this isolated since his early years when his father would shut him in a wardrobe and his mother would scold him for eliciting his father’s ire, before both of his parents died and Wymack adopted him into his strange little family, brought him into the tiny cul de sac  where Betsy Dobson and Abby Winfield lived with their own collections of abandoned kids. 

“Andrew,” he mumbled as he watched Andrew tuck himself into his own bed. They were sleeping in the same hotel room but they were millions of miles away from each other. Neil felt stiff and confused. 

Resigned, he shut the light off. 

*

“Fix it,” Kevin demanded. 

“Fix what?”

“Just tell him already. It’s getting nauseating.” 

Neil narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Kevin threw Neil’s lyric notepad back at him. “‘Living limbless, lost, lonely, ever since you went and left me’? What do you mean, what am I talking about? I thought you two were already together - now he’s saying you were never interested? What the fuck, Neil. You’ve been practically married for years.” 

Neil blinked. “Me and -”

“Andrew, yes, who else?” Kevin continued, irritable as he scrawled down new ideas. “You’re so fucking dense sometimes - ow!” 

Neil stuck out his tongue, satisfied with the large black line his thrown pen had left behind. He fished out another pen from his bag and kept writing, letting Kevin’s banter distract him from how painful his chest felt. 

*

The tour was ending. They were looping back to South Carolina. Andrew hardly looked at him anymore, let alone spoke to him. Kevin looked at Neil with pity. Nicky tried to cheer everyone up with icecream. 

Neil couldn’t understand why they were falling apart. What had he done? What had he said? 

The screams irked him. They sounded less ecstatic and more afraid. Neil was falling apart onstage, overthinking. They’d just played for Charleston, one of their last stops on the tour. 

The curtains came down. Neil couldn’t move. The others were already off the stage. Neil couldn’t breathe. 

“Neil,” Andrew said. He couldn’t look Andrew in the eye. How was he to explain that Andrew’s estrangement had left him in such a miserable state that he could hardly perform without breaking down? 

“Neil, look at me.” 

Neil closed his eyes. “Whatever I did - I’m sorr -” 

“Abram,” Andrew whispered, before pressing a bruising kiss to Neil’s lips. His eyes flew open, though he didn’t move. It didn’t matter: Not a moment later, Andrew ricocheted back, hand over his own mouth. In his other hand, his favourite drumsticks snapped, falling to the floor in uneven halves. 

By the time Neil had opened his mouth, Andrew was gone. 

Neil spent the drive to the pub they’d chosen to ride out their performance high in silence. Andrew was stoic and unmoving, silent despite Nicky’s attempts at conversation. When they arrived, Neil felt like he wanted to throw up. 

It was bustling at the late hour, but dark enough to slip in unnoticed. Neil followed Andrew up to the bar: at one point, someone shoved into Andrew and Neil felt him press Neil against the marble top, warm from shoulder to shin. Neil wanted to lean back into him. He wanted Andrew to look at him, to talk to him. He wanted Andrew back. He wanted Andrew. 

Quickly, he turned around, ignoring the bar tender when he asked if he was sure he wanted a virgin martini. Andrew was right there, pupils blown, cheeks red. Angry. 

He was furious. 

“Andrew,” Neil insisted. “Why -” 

He grabbed the tray of drinks and disappeared before Neil could form a sentence. 

And - well. Neil wasn’t known for subordination. 

He waited patiently for the others to get drunk and disappear into the crowd, like they always did. Sometimes Nicky dragged Neil with him, if the night was right. Andrew usually just sat, patiently waiting for his family to return to him. His whiskey sips were cautious and slow. 

Tonight was different. As soon as they were alone, Andrew stood, knocked back the entire glass and strode towards the exit. Neil let his breath hitch and followed, almost jogging in order to keep up with Andrew’s stride. 

“Andrew, this is insane,” he said as they walked down the street, leaving the bar behind. “I’m losing my mind here. Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you even look at me? What did I do?” 

“Exist,” Andrew snarled, hands curled into fists and shoved into the pockets of his denim jacket. 

Neil ran ahead of him, almost tripping over the uneven sidewalk. They’d walked far enough that they seemed to have removed themselves from any remnants of the club, and instead were stood in front of a circular, patheon-esque church and its haphazard graveyard. 

Andrew stopped walking and stared. In the moonlight his skin was pale enough to be translucent. 

“Tell me,” Neil whispered. “Truth for truth. We promised, Andrew. To never lie, to never leave. Why did you kiss me?”

“You promised,” Andrew corrected him. “I swore I would have your back. Does that have to constitute being attached at the hip?” 

Neil crossed his arms, petulant. 

Andrew’s sigh was aggravated. “It was never meant to be a problem.”

“What was?”

“You.”

“Andrew -” 

Fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, then slipped across the warm skin at the nape of his neck, then tangled themselves into Neil’s hair. Andrew pulled their foreheads together, squeezing his eyes closed too tight. Neil wanted to iron out the crease between his brows. 

“‘Drew?”

“Shut up,” the man croaked. “Shut up. Shut up.”

“Andrew,” Neil said, weakly. “I wanted to kiss you.” 

Andrew’s nails dug into Neil’s scalp. “No you didn’t.”

“Yes,” his fingers carefully found their way onto Andrew’s jaw, forcing the man to look up at him. “I did.” 

Andrew just swallowed, red-cheeked. 

Neil pulled Andrew closer, head dropping to Andrew’s shoulder. His heart throbbed like a drumbeat, heavy and insistent and never, ever out of time. “Is that what this is about?”

“No,” Andrew lied. 

“I think I like you, ‘Drew,” Neil whispered into the skin of Andrew’s neck. “I think I really do.” 

“I hate you,” Andrew managed, sliding his hands around Neil’s waist and holding him close under the Charleston moonlight. “I hate you.” 

“I know,” Neil managed, closing his eyes. It made a lot more sense, now. 

Between their erratic breathing and racing pulses, a drumbeat formed. 

[just-a-poor-boy-queen]

I'm sorry to hear you've had a bad day. I hope this makes you feel a bit better 💜

Part 20 of Jimercury Kid series

‘I’m going to die.’ Freddie whined dramatically from the sofa, arching his back as Jim walked through the door with a tray of tea and biscuits, carefully setting it on the coffee table in front of the singer. ‘I’m not sure how much more of this pain I can take, darling.’

‘I know, love.’ Jim replied softly, placing another pillow under Freddie’s head. ‘But that’s what happens when you decide to do acrobatics on stage when there are wires lying around.’

‘It was entirely Roger’s fault.’ Freddie huffed. ‘He could have warned me that his drumkit was a danger zone.’

Jim chuckled and kissed his husband’s forehead. ‘The doctor said you’ll be right as rain in a few weeks, so long as you get plenty of rest and keep up the physio.’

The Persian grumbled, ‘I hate rest.’ Then he looked up at Jim with an accusatory glare. ‘And I can’t believe you’re abandoning me to galivant off and cut people’s hair! The audacity.’

Freddie hadn’t been all that pleased when Jim announced that he had accepted a weekend job at the barber shop down the road. The Irishman had befriended the owner, Carl Pritchard, in a bar a few months ago and while he had declined the offer of a full-time job (he still had the garden to think about and Khaleel to look after when Freddie was at the studio,) he was more than happy to lend Carl a hand every Saturday, when the shop was at its busiest.

Khaleel hadn’t been too happy about it either; he was used to Jim being around 24/7 and the sudden change of routine caused him a great amount of stress. Jim was almost late on his first day of the job because his son had cried and refused to let go of his leg. But eventually, the boy begrudgingly accepted it and Jim was able to pacify his separation anxiety with the promise of bringing home a treat when he was finished at work.

‘You’re just saying that because you’re jealous.’ Jim teased, dodging as Freddie attempted to swat his backside. ‘You think I’m going to fall head over heels for Carl’s dashing good looks and run off into the sunset with him.’

Freddie pouted like a child and crossed his arms. ‘So, you do think he’s good looking.’

Jim chuckled and dropped a kiss into his husband’s dark head of hair. ‘I’m old enough to be his dad, sweetheart. Besides, he’s really not my type.’

‘I wasn’t your type either and you still went for me.’

‘Well, how could I possibly resist? Have you seenyour arse?’

He roared with laughter as Freddie attempted to swat him again, but this time the singer grabbed his hand and pulled him down to kiss his lips.

‘Do you love me?’ he whispered once they had parted, brown eyes staring into Jim’s own almost fearfully. They had been together for almost ten years now, and yet he still needed that reassurance.

‘To the moon and back.’ Jim replied, leaning down for a much deeper kiss. He could have stayed like that all day, but a quick glance at his watch told him that he was already pushing it for time.

‘I’ll be back about six.’ He placed one final kiss against Freddie’s forehead before heading to the hallway to grab his coat. ‘I’ve left the shop’s number by the phone in case there’s an emergency. Try not to have too much fun without me.’

‘Very funny.’ Freddie sniggered as Jim blew him a kiss and turned the keys in the door. ‘Have a good day, darling. Don’t snip any ears off.’

The last thing he heard was Jim shouting goodbye to Khaleel up the stairs – which was quickly followed with a cheerful, ‘bye Daddy!’ – before the door was pulled shut. Freddie sighed and stretched his sore back, wishing he could at least hobble over to the piano and belt out a few show tunes to take his mind off the pain. He hated being alone; Phoebe was in town with friends and Khaleel had been colouring upstairs for most of the afternoon. He knew that colouring was one of the ways his bijou coped with Jim’s absence, so he didn’t want to disturb him.

Well, since he was bedbound (or in this case, sofa bound) he might as well catch forty winks. After finishing his tea and munching on a biscuit, he plumped up his pillows, propped his feet up on the armrest and did his best to ignore the constant throbbing in his lower back as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

--

Freddie was awoken by the sound of the phone ringing in the hallway, and he groggily rose from the sofa to go and answer it.

‘It’s Bernie, Bernie Morris.’ Said the voice on the other end of the line. ‘I know you usually have your physio on Sundays, but my 2 o’clock just cancelled and I don’t have any other appointments today. Would you like to take the slot?’

‘Oh darling, that would be wonderful.’ Freddie sighed in relief, rubbing his back as he spoke. ‘It’s really acting up today. I could use your magic hands.’

Bernie chucked jovially. ‘Alright then, see you in twenty.’

Bernard Morris was a tall, broad, cheerful man, recommended to Freddie by Doctor Atkinson after he had his accident. The vocalist had been apprehensive at first, thinking he could simply deal with the pain on his own; but he eventually relented when it became unbearable and had agreed to six weeks’ worth of sessions, so long as he could do it in the comfort of his own home. So far, Bernie’s methods had proved remarkably effective; Freddie’s back still hurt like hell, but he always felt slightly more relieved once he had been stretched and bent over a few times by a handsome looking man.

‘Thank you so much for this, darling.’ Said Freddie, as Bernie laid the exercise mat out on the floor and shifted the coffee table over to give them more space. ‘I was doing well for a couple of days but last night it started hurting like a bastard. I made the mistake of lifting Khaleel up too quickly during playtime.’

‘It’s no bother at all.’ Replied Bernie. ‘How’s the family? I still have yet to meet your little man.’

‘He’s very shy, our Kenny.’ Freddie chuckled fondly. ‘He’s been a bit clingy lately because of this new job Jim has taken up. He’s not used to him being away and he’s finding it hard to understand.’

‘Poor thing.’ Said Bernie sympathetically. ‘My little girl was the same when I started working full-time. But they get used to it eventually. Now,’ he cracked his knuckles, ‘shall we get started?’

‘Abso-fucking-lutely.’ Freddie said with a laugh and carefully laid himself down on the mat.

--

Khaleel let out a soft yawn as he finally finished colouring in Goliath’s bright yellow eyes and carefully added the picture to the pile of cat drawings he had been working on all afternoon. He didn’t like it when Daddy went to work; he was used to Baba being away, even though he missed him, but Daddy was always there and suddenly not having him around all day made Khaleel confused and scared.

His tummy began to rumble, so he hopped off his bed and carefully climbed down the staircases to tell his Baba that he would like a snack. But when he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard a strange noise coming from the lounge. The door was open a crack, so Khaleel peeped through curiously.

Baba was lying on the floor and a strange man was sitting on top of him, pulling on his leg. Baba was moaning in pain, his arm flying up to cover his eyes as the strange man continued to push on his leg until his knee reached his chest, before stopping and doing the same with the other one. Baba started to cry a little, and the man said something, though Khaleel couldn’t hear what it was. The boy felt his tiny heart racing. There was a strange man in the house, and he was hurting his Baba. Daddy and Uncle Phoebe weren’t here to protect them. He wanted to run into the lounge and jump on the horrible man, but his feet were frozen to the floor, unable to move.

Then he remembered the phone. Daddy and Baba had taught him how to use it, though he was only supposed to use it in emergencies, and he was never to call 999 unless he really needed to. Daddy had left his work number beside the telephone in the hall, so Khaleel quickly hurried to it and stood up on his tiptoes to grab the handset. He stared hard at the numbers on the little piece of paper and slowly began pressing the buttons. (1/2)

Jim had to admit that it felt good cutting hair again.

Pritchard & Sons was nothing like the Savoy; it was small and intimate, with a far more welcoming atmosphere and friendly regulars who were always happy to make conversation. He instantly felt at home in the place and found himself actually looking forward to working on a Saturday; despite his full-time commitment to the garden, he had been longing for a change of scenery as of late, and this job offer was exactly what he needed.

He was busy brushing away the stray hairs from the shop floor when the telephone at the front desk began to ring. Carl was nowhere to be seen and his two co-workers, Simon and Neil, were busy with clients, so he set his broom against the wall and crossed over to the desk, picking up the handset before it could ring off.

‘Pritchard & Sons, how can I help you?’

‘Daddy?’ Came a small voice from the other end of the line.

Jim was taken back a second, as if he was hearing things. ‘Kenny? Is that you? Kenny, you shouldn’t be calling Daddy at work, he’s very busy.’

‘Daddy, I need help.’ The little boy whimpered in response.

‘Sweetheart, if you need help with something, ask your Baba-’

‘There’s a strange man in the house.’ Khaleel started to sob, his voice a terrified whisper, as if he was worried about being heard. ‘There’s a strange man and he’s hurting Baba.’

Jim felt his blood run cold. ‘W-what do you mean? Where’s Baba, Kenny?’

‘In the lounge. The man is on top of him, and Baba is crying.’

Oh Jesus. Jim began to shake, sweat beading his forehead as a million images flashed before his eyes. He knew he couldn’t let Khaleel hear the fear in his voice, otherwise it would just panic the little boy further. ‘Sweetheart, listen to me. I need you to go upstairs into your bedroom and hide under your bed, okay? Daddy’s coming, everything’s going to be okay.’

Khaleel continued to sob. ‘Daddy, please hurry.’‘

‘Please, Kenny, do as I say. Hang up the phone and go upstairs as quietly as you can. I promise I’ll be home soon.’

There was a loud sniff, before Khaleel mumbled, ‘hurry, Daddy,’ and the line went dead.

‘Tell Carl there’s been an emergency!’ Jim yelled over the counter to Simon, as he raced to the hat stand and grabbed his coat, racing through the door before he even got a response. He cursed as he fumbled with his car keys, almost dropping them into the gutter as his hands trembled violently; as soon as he was in the driver’s seat, he slammed his foot on the accelerator and sped down the road.

-----

As soon as he reached Garden Lodge, Jim immediately went around the back entrance, not wanting to alert the intruder by ringing the bell. As soon as he had turned the key in the back door, he immediately called for Freddie, feeling his heart sink when he didn’t receive a response. He slowly walked down the hallway, glancing into every room in case someone leapt out and attacked him, until he reached the kitchen and quickly armed himself with a large knife that had been left sitting on the counter. He prayed that he wouldn’t have to use it.

‘Freddie!’ he cried out again, almost in tears, the hand holding the knife shaking so hard it was a miracle he didn’t drop it.

The kitchen door suddenly swung open behind him, and he yelled in surprise, whipping round, knife clasped in both hands and pointed straight at his would-be assailant.

There was a high-pitched shriek and a crash, and only then did Jim realise it was Freddie, clad in one of his silk kimonos and surrounded by broken teacups. They both stood there, frozen, as Jim looked his husband up and down; Freddie appeared unhurt, though shell-shocked, the tray he had been carrying now lying at his feet amongst shards of china.

‘Jim!’ Freddie screamed, once he had overcome his initial shock. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing?!’

Jim didn’t respond. He dropped the knife immediately, letting it clatter against the kitchen tiles as he ran to Freddie and scooped him into his arms, hugging him fiercely. His husband let out a surprised squeak as he was suddenly lifted off the floor and he quickly wound his legs around Jim’s hips before the younger man dropped him on his arse. It felt like Jim stood there forever, holding onto Freddie tightly, swaying back and forth like he did when soothing Khaleel to sleep.

‘Darling?’ Freddie finally whispered into Jim’s flushed ear. ‘Darling, what’s going on? What was all that about?’

Jim finally released his husband, brushing away the tears that had fallen down his cheeks as he cupped Freddie’s face and looked desperately into his eyes. ‘Are you alright? Are you hurt?’

Freddie looked baffled. ‘Hurt? Of course not! Why would I be hurt? And what are you even doing here? I thought you didn’t finish work until six.’

The Irishman’s heart finally began to relax as he took a moment to process this information. ‘Khaleel called the shop. He said there was a man in here and he was hurting you. I got here as fast as I could.’

Freddie stared at him with wide eyes, looking like a deer in headlights. ‘Oh my God…Jim, that was Bernie. Bernie Morris, my physiotherapist. He’s in the conservatory, I was just about to make us some more tea.’

Jim looked like he was about to collapse to the floor. He leaned back against the counter, colour finally returning to his face as he realised that Freddie and Khaleel had never been in any danger. All the horrifying scenarios that had been playing in his mind finally ceased to be.

‘Oh God…’ he covered his eyes with his hands, taking deep, uneven breaths, ‘I thought some psycho had broken in, I thought…’ He cut off, not wanting to even consider what could have happened.

Freddie carefully stepped over the mess on the floor, careful not to cut his bare feet as he approached him and put his arms around Jim’s neck, gently kissing his forehead. ‘You really would have killed a man just to protect me?’

Jim removed his hands from his eyes and replied without any hesitation. ‘Absolutely. The bastard wouldn’t have known what hit him.’

Freddie chucked softly, ‘my knight in shining armour.’ Then suddenly his eyes went wide. ‘Kenny! Where’s Kenny?’

‘I told him to go upstairs and hide under his bed.’ Replied Jim. ‘Come on, let’s go and get him. He’s scared out of his wits.’

-----

It had taken a while to coax Khaleel out from underneath his bed. But his parents eventually managed to convince him that the mean man downstairs was actually a very nice man, who was helping Baba get better, and the only reason Baba had been crying in the lounge was because his back hurt so much. They praised him for being such a brave boy and using the phone to call for help when he thought it was needed. Khaleel eventually crawled out and let Freddie carry him downstairs.

He hid in face in Freddie’s shoulder when he saw Bernie, his body trembling in fear. But he gradually looked up when Bernie started chatting to him, realising this strange man wasn’t really that scary up close. By the time Phoebe arrived home from town, Kenny was sitting on Bernie’s lap, giggling as the man held one of his soft toys, pretending to make it talk in a deep gruff voice.

‘What happened here?’ Phoebe asked as he walked into the kitchen to see Jim sweeping up the broken china into a dustpan.

‘Long story.’ Was all the Irishman said in reply. (2/2)

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

Aww an extra long update! I loved it😊 It was exactly what I needed after the exhausting day I've had, thank you for making me smile with this part (and all your stories everyday).

I was happy to see Jim take up a part time job of a hairdresser. I've often wondered about that in Freddie!lives scenarios. I think one of the reasons why Jim took up the job of the gardener at GL is to be close to Freddie who had received his diagnosis by that time, if I'm not wrong.

And aww, baby Khaleel being so smart and calling up his father when he saw that his baba was in danger. And ofc, Jim being ready to do absolutely anything to keep his family safe... my heart.

And lol, I can see Phoebe rolling his eyes in the kitchen like, "I take one day off..."

(More drabbles by writer anon)

[crayonurchin]

There’s an influential moment in Embers’ life that set him on a passionate, determined path towards his career in space engineering 

Ember’s always been obsessed with outer space, right from a little kid when he watched Wall-E. If it had stars, spacemen or aliens, he ate it right up. One of his favourite games was playing ‘moon landing’, which consisted of putting a plastic bowl on his head and having his Baba hold him under the arms so he could ‘space walk’ all over the bed, floor and tables. Baba also provided sound effects. It added to the atmosphere.

Leading to his 8th birthday, Solo mentioned they likely couldn’t do much, as they were low of funds. Ember was sad, but ultimately used to it by this point.

Come birthday day, one very loud awakening via party horn revealed SURPRISE, WE’RE GOING TO THE PLANETARIUM LIL DUDE!!! And you can get any one thing from the gift shop as your gift!

One hearty breakfast of birthday cake later, the two are at the Planetarium, where there’s a midday tour for kids and parents going on! Solo managed to let the guide know it’s Ember’s 8th birthday, and she makes sure he’s at the front, and it’s a whole 2 hours of nerdy, spacey, alien fun!

By the end of the tour, just before they head to the gift shop (where Solo KNOWS they sell kids astronaut costumes and has saved up just enough to buy it) Solo grabs the guide to thank her for helping them out in treating Ember.

It’s at that point they see him looking at a huge wall sized picture of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin in their space suits, with the crew of the first moon landing all standing, smiling at the camera. But Ember has this dark, sad look on his face. Concerned, Solo goes over to see if he’s feeling okay.

“None of them are in wheelchairs.”

Solo blinks, unsure of how to respond to that. Before they think of anything, the tears start dripping down Embers face as his expression crumples.

“I’m never gonna be a spaceman, Baba...”

Panicking slightly, Solo tries to think of how to distract Ember or change his mind, and as they do, the tour guide comes over and kneels down to Embers’ level.

“Hey, that’s just a few people in that picture, birthday boy. Truth is, most astronauts ARE able-bodied, because there’s a lot in a spaceship that needs body work. But you know who ELSE got to go into space?”

She takes out her phone and gets up pictures of Houston, ground patrol, and various employees of Nasa in 1969

“All of these people got to go to space, because they’re the reason we can even GO into space. These are engineers, scientists, physicists, incredibly smart people who figured out how we can put our tiny, fragile bodies into metal boxes and throw them into outer space. They used maths to figure out gravity, radiation, black holes, and back then their computers were so old they couldn’t even run PacMan! But they STILL got the first humans on the moon, and they did right here on Earth!  Who knows, maybe one day we’ll be so advanced, we could make spaceships that let wheelchairs move on the moon. But right now, we need people to make those changes possible- we need the astronauts on Earth. People like you, Birthday Boy.”

Ember was utterly mesmerised by her, and smiled when she smiled. Solo was IMMENSELY perplexed by what just happened, but was just relieved Ember seemed to have cheered up. He wheeled himself back to his Baba so they could go to the gift shop. Solo started over to the costumes, but Ember called them back, instead holding up two items, GIGANTIC puppy eyes.

“Baba, please please PLEASE can I get two things instead of one?”

He was holding a Nasa stamped calculator and a Nasa stamped pen and book set.

Solo, who’d worked A LOT of overtime to afford the costume, tried a couple times to convince him that “errrr well wouldn’t you rather the suuuuper cool fancy spaceman suit buddy?” but changed their tune quick when they saw just how badly Ember wanted these cheap things. Deciding ‘screw it, now we can buy ice cream on the walk home’, Ember left the planetarium in silence, head down at his lap, writing his times tables in the book with the calculator helping him out.

He stopped ONLY to take licks of his giant scoop of strawberry ice-cream.

[oldguy56-world]

Broadcast News

I have to confess that I have not been watching the news as  much as I did last year. (Something about seeing train wrecks held my attention) I found myself needing to know more about what is going on, like who gets to spend Britanny’s money and which billionaire will blow up in space first. Fascinating things to follow. 

Last week I was bored so I tuned in because I knew there could be dire consequences surrounding the assassination of the Haitian president. Imagine my shock when tuning into CNN and while they did briefly mention this event another event garnered even more attention. Yes, I am talking about how upset Mike Pence was while in the White House when the man who shall be nameless threw a crumpled wad of paper at him. While recognizing paper cuts can be devastating, especially if they cause a facial scar, all I have to say is REALLY??? 

in fairness the Pence story fizzled after one day and more attention was given to the assassination. 

All through history there have been some big events and I was wondering if they were almost overshadowed by other happenings. This resulted in some extensive research on my part (except for the second point. I lived that one)

- Did you know that D-Day was almost cancelled because of a major argument between Churchill and FDR? Seems they didn’t see eye to eye on how you should put toilet paper on the roll. Does it unroll from the top or the bottom? This was settled by Charles de Gaulle who simply said ‘Merde’ (For the record it should unroll from the top unless you are in Australia then the bottom. This has something to do with hemispheric gravitational differences. Honest.)

- The exact moment man landed on the moon I, an avid pseudo astronomer and Star Trek aficionado, experienced my voice change. When they landed my parents heard a high pitched squeal come from the living room. When Neil Armstrong stepped onto the moon they heard a low voice cheering. My parents came rushing in believing a strange man had gotten into the house. They were relieved to see it was only me. Little did they know...

- LSD was invented April 19, 1943. Big news. What wasn’t covered was that same day its inventor Albert Hoffman, a Swiss Chemist, attempted to fly down from the Alps without an airplane. It didn’t go well.

- In 1964 Lyndon B. Johnson started his famous War on Poverty. At the same time a Canadian hockey player started a donut empire that became a cult. Which one is still viable tells you which story should have received greater coverage.

- 1977 saw the rise of the PC. That same year the first call center was opened with one operator to help people. PC’s are huge now but is the bigger story not that these companies can still operate call centers with only one person?

There are dozens more examples. All I am saying is that big stories should have an effect on people’s lives. Maybe these stories I am seeing on the news today do and I just don’t get it.

THOUGHT OF THE WEEK: The best news day is one you are not in the story.