#i paid a lot of damn money for thousand year door though so i gotta play more of it i stg

[zincbot]

i been playing thousand year door

[halowastaken]

Why I Left (chapter8)

read it in ao3!

Summary: 

“You are kidding, right?” Peter just shook his head slowly “Kid I’ve offered you multiple jobs here, paid internships, you could be one of the board members if you wanted to and you know that. If you’re looking for a job, please, I beg you, work here” Tony insist “My answer is gonna stay the same” Peter says rolling his eyes “Peter I will literally pay you for doing what you already do. I don’t beg for absolutely anything and I am begging you” Peter raises an eyebrow “If I wanted to work in a bigass tech company, I would definitely work for Hammer Tech” Peter teases

----

He skipped school the next day. Spent the whole night coding. He figured it out. However at this point the coding would be considered as 'hacking' by experts. Peter Parker, a sixteen year old from Queens, managed to hack FRIDAY and Karen overnight with nothing else other than his laptop, a single can of redbull, and a broken heart. He didn't feel good but he didn't care. The only person that he fully trusted stabbed him in the back. There were lots of emotions involved. He feels like he deserved it, because of how bad he is, he also feels betrayed for obvious reasons, he is mad because he let himself be fooled by it, but right now? He was numb. He had just one goal and it was to make the code unbreakable. And he was gonna get there no matter what. After all Tony Stark was the guy that taught him how to code. It took time but he got there eventually. When the protocol is activated, every live information will stop till it’s deactivated. That way, nobody can track him or know his vitals or contact him. Like he is gone. Now it was part two of the plan. Peter is going to tell everything to Tony and then disappear. He had to wait till next thursday but it was just a matter of time. When Thursday finally arrived, Peter immediately went to the Tower right after school. He didn’t even tell Happy that he was gonna swing his way there. When he arrived there Peter opened his room’s door and changed his clothes. Then went down to the lab without saying anything to FRIDAY. Tony was predictable enough to know that he is in the lab “Mr Stark” Peter says announcing his presence in the lab. Tony just cringed when he heard Peter “Cut it out kid. You know you can call me Tony” Peter just rolled his eyes “There’s something important I need to tell you, Mr stark” Tony turned around and smiled. A really comforting smile “Sure kid. Just ask for anything. Consider it done” And that’s when it clicked. “I may not be coming here for a few weeks” Peter days looking down. Tony’s smile dropped “What? Why? What happened?” Tony asks “May said that because I am sixteen should start helping them financially so I am going to get a job” Tony blinked at Peter’s answer “I even have an interview tomorrow as a photographer for the daily bugle” “You are kidding, right?” Peter just shook his head slowly “Kid I’ve offered you multiple jobs here, paid internships, you could be one of the board members if you wanted to and you know that. If you’re looking for a job, please, I beg you, work here” Tony insist “My answer is gonna stay the same” Peter says rolling his eyes “Peter I will literally pay you for doing what you already do. I don’t beg for absolutely anything and I am begging you” Peter raises an eyebrow “If I wanted to work in a bigass tech company, I would definitely work for Hammer Tech” Peter teases “I am gonna pretend you didn’t just say that. But please kid. Working here will look beautiful in a college application. And you won’t even need an interview. I have had the paperwork in my nightstand for a while now. You just need to sign it” Tony insists “I don’t think you got the part of ‘helping financially’ you know?” Tony glares at him “If you want a million dollars the minute you can just tell me. You say a number, I’ll make it happen” Peter raises an eyebrow “Tony, I really don’t feel comfortable working for you” Peter says. That doesn’t stop Tony “Thirty dollars the hour for every time you come here” Peter’s eyes widened “Tony! That is a lot of money! As in ‘more than the average teenager salary’ a lot of money!” Peter says “I can make it more if you want too” Tony adds “You know what? I’ll sign the damn paper if you don’t do that and just shut up so we can finally finish that damn robot” Peter says and Tony ruffles his curls “I’ll go look for the paperwork” And that is how Peter got away with it. Peter knows Tony enough to know that if he was looking for a job, Tony wouldn’t stop till he accepted any kind of job offer. Also, he knows that Tony will start to suspect something if he accepted right away, so he played hard. Tony had become predictable. That’s what got him. When Peter came home the next day, he told Ben that he got a job and that he quitted the internship. He also hid the MIT sweater right next to where he hides his spidersuit. Nowhere to be found. And the code? Peter called the protocol the ‘sicko mode’. It worked like a charm. If Peter didn’t know better, he would say that Tony would be disappointed. Ben would also be disappointed. May would be disappointed. But he knew better. Tony really didn’t care about him, and obviously Ben didn't either and May is not around. Even if she was, Peter highly doubts that she ever cared. In school this whole charade was harder. MJ’s been skeptical since the beginning but she hasn’t taken action, but that means that Ned is on her side because Ned knows that MJ is always right. Actually everyone knows that. “I am just asking, ok? If there was something going on in your life, you would tell us, right?” Ned asks and Peter rolls his eyes “Yep. I am fine guys. I swear” Peter says for the fifth time just since they entered the cafeteria “Are you coming to decathlon practice then?” MJ asks and Peter sighs “I told you I can’t. Mr. Stark needs me in the lab” Peter says, you know, like a liar “You’ve gone to ‘the lab’ everyday for two weeks now. The team needs you, loser” MJ says frustrated. Peter knows that. He knows perfectly well that without him the team could lose. “I am sorry. I promise I will tell him that I need a break from the lab” That was another lie. MJ sighed “Forgive me if I don’t believe you” MJ says going back to her book “I forgot! My mom bought the baby yoda Lego set!” Ned said changing the subject “Dude! No way! How many pieces?” Peter says excited “A thousand and seventy three! We gotta do it soon!” Ned says getting more excited “You two are actual losers. That’s why nobody hangs out with you” MJ says without looking up from her book “You hang out with us” Peter says raising an eyebrow and MJ scoffs “Do I?” MJ asks. Sometimes she can really be weird. Peter still liked her. He has to admit that after Liz, Peter had a crush on her, but he prefers being just friends now. The last thing he wants to worry about was his lovelife Truth is today didn’t suck. At least school didn’t. Right after school Peter went to the alley and got changed there. "Hello Peter" Karen says and Peter smiles "Hey Karen. Initiate 'sicko mode' please" Peter says shooting the first web to the building in front of him "Sicko mode activated. All live connections were cut" Karen says making Peter smile in sign of satisfaction "Thanks dear. So, what do you have for me?" Peter asks "There's a woman being robbed two streets to the left" Karen informed. It was gonna be a long night. Patrolling at night was ten times better. Peter loved seeing all the lights at night ot New York. He could enjoy the beauty of the only place in the world he knows. And the people that lived there were not the biggest fans of Peter, but they loved Spiderman. They needed Spiderman. Spiderman was the kind of hero that you can reach out when you’re being mugged or something like that. Something in the friendly neighbor level. Even though Peter knew he could do more he prefers laying low till it’s necessary. While Peter was patrolling in the other side of the city, there was our favorite man of iron in the lab not really doing lab "So you hired peter but decided to not tell May" Pepper asked "I forgot! And I am gonna tell her, ok? She will be proud of him, as she should" Tony says grabbing his phone "Can you put it on speaker?" Pepper asks and Tony just smiles and does as she asks. It took awhile for someone to answer the phone and Tony was disappointed when someone did answer "Who are you and why are you calling this number?" Tony and Pepper looked at each other when they heard a very not so chill Ben “Mr. Parker. This is Pepper Potts. Can I please speak to your wife for a second?” Pepper asked before Tony could say anything “Is this some kind of joke?!” Ben asks almost yelling “Uhh no? We want to talk to her about Peter” Tony clarified. After a few seconds Ben just sighted “Whatever he did, I will talk to him later. Have a nice day” Before Tony could argue back Ben hung up on them Pepper and Tony looked at each other thinking the exact same thing. There is something going on.

[saltnhalo]

inspired by if I can’t have you by shawn mendes, and this video

Dean looks out over the city lights of Toronto as the cold wind tousles his clothes, bites at his skin. His glass of whiskey, half-forgotten, is held in tightly curled fingers.

This isn’t fucking sustainable, Dean. Running from country to country, chasing your highs, forgetting about everyone who helped you get where you are.

It’s been two weeks. He’d thought time and distance would help, the endless string of shows and performances serving as a distraction, but it hasn’t. His thoughts keep returning to—

It’s going to get to a point where you put your music, your ego, above me every time. It already is. You’re blind if you don’t see it.

He grits his teeth. It’s not selfish to want to be successful. He’s worked so hard to get here, and now that he’s finally achieved his dreams, he shouldn’t be told to step it back. People want more. Everyone wants more.

…Almost everyone.

Goodbye, Dean.

Dean’s hand shakes as he lifts the glass of whiskey to his lips. He takes a tasteless sip, looks out over the hollowly beautiful view for another minute, then turns and walks back into his room.

~

It’s 2am in Montreal, and Dean lies awake in his hotel room, looking at his phone.

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this—he needs a clean break, otherwise it’s going to mess with his head. He trusts that Crowley knows what he’s been talking about, since it’s his management that’s made him so successful, and so he’s tried to stay away from everything that could remind him of…

Of Cas.

Clearly, he’s failing.

Every message that he scrolls past hurts more and more, every sweet flirtation or news about their respective days, shared comments and confessions of fears, aspirations, love. Cas’s absence burns like a hole in his heart, and reading his texts only makes it hurt so fucking much more.

Over and over, he reads: I love you, I love you, I love you.

Does Cas even still feel that way about him? Or has he moved on already, too over Dean and the consuming nature of his career to care?

As much as Dean wishes he could say the same, that he’s doing fine on his own and he’s happy…

It’s not the truth.

~

Dean’s hotel room in New York has all the comforts and luxuries that a young music star could ever want, but that’s not what he’s absorbed in right now. Instead, he’s a third of the way through the expensive bottle of rum that was provided to him as a courtesy from the hotel, drunkenly doodling images and random song lyrics into his notebook.

He’s trying to use his newfound insomnia to write new songs, but no matter what avenue he tries to take with his writing, or which themes he focuses on, his thoughts always come back to Cas.

He always comes back to Cas. And Cas always comes back to him—or he has done, for the last three years they’d been together.

But this time… Dean is starting to realize that Cas may not actually come back. No matter how many times he’s typed out a text, he’s deleted them every single time, and never actually had the guts to reach out.

Likewise, Cas hasn’t contacted him since the night that they fought. The night the he ended… them.

And that realization is fucking terrifying, because it’s starting to put things into perspective for Dean.

If he can’t stop thinking about Cas—not even when he’s onstage, or in his hotel with a glass of liquor, or even writing a brand new fucking song—then maybe he made a mistake in letting Cas walk away. Maybe he’s made the biggest fucking mistake of his life.

And if he can’t write a song that’s not about Cas… maybe he should stop trying not to.

He finishes the last of his glass, sets it down, then puts pen to paper and starts to write.

~

The song, in itself, is pretty simple. It’s Dean, in all his essence, saying all the things he would say to Cas and confessing just how much he’s missed him in the time they’ve been apart. It’s a long shot, he knows, and he might have done too much damage to their relationship already, but he has to try.

“Crowley,” he says into his phone, as he sandwiches it between his ear and his shoulder and fiddles around with guitar chords. “This tour is going to be my only one this year. I’ve gotta focus on other things. Can you make sure the press knows before my show tonight?”

“What? Dean, you—“

Dean cuts his manager off before he can get any further. “I’ve made my decision, Crowley, I won’t let you change my mind. Just get it done.” He hangs up the phone before Crowley can protest much more, and the accented squawking is cut off mid-rant. He’s got more important things to think about—like chord progressions, and performing a completely new song, and whether Cas is going to actually use the ticket and VIP pass that Dean had requested be delivered to his apartment this morning.

~

Dean sits in his dressing room, ten minutes before his show is due to start, and looks down at his phone. The news outlets have been going wild all day with the news that this will be his last and only tour for the year, but he couldn’t care less about that. Amongst all the people who have been texting him or tweeting at him, the one person he really cares about, really wants to hear from, has been radio silent. The most recent text in his conversation with Cas still just says we need to talk.

He tosses his phone onto the table in front of him and runs his hands through his hair. Regardless of whether Cas is here tonight, he’s still gonna play the song—he didn’t pull an all-nighter on it for nothing—but the longer it goes without hearing from him…

The more Dean worries that the damage he’s done is totally irreparable.

There’s a knock on his door.

“Come in!” he calls, spinning in his chair to face whoever needs his attention.

It’s Benny.

“Is he here?” Even if it’s not Cas at the door, Benny could still be bringing good news—news of Cas spotted in the venue, Cas waiting in the VIP area, Cas wanting to talk to Dean. Just from the look of Benny’s face, though, Dean can immediately tell that that’s not the case.

“Sorry, Dean. No one’s seen him. I’ve been sent to get you, the show’s supposed to start soon.” He opens his mouth, like he wants to say more, then closes it. “Good luck out there,” he says instead, and then the door closes again.

Dean tries not to deflate, tries not to let the news of Cas’s absence crush him more than it already feels like it is. A lot of people paid good money for their tickets tonight, and he still needs to give them what they came for, regardless of who may or may not be in the audience.

He pours himself a shot of whiskey, downs it in one quick swallow, then stands.

It’s time to put on a show.

~

“How are y’all doing?”

The stadium erupts in wild screaming that makes Dean’s blood thrum with adrenaline and electricity. This is why he loves performing live—the energy that he gets from the crowd has to be one of the most incredible sensations he’s ever felt in his life, and he smiles out at his audience.

“Alright, this next song is… kinda special, actually. I wrote it last night, and this is the first time I’m performing it for anyone, let alone several thousand anyones, so…” He laughs and shakes his head as he takes the offered acoustic guitar from a stagehand. “If it’s no good, then I’m sorry. But I wrote it for someone pretty f—damn amazing, and I was really dumb to let him go, so… if you’re out there, you know who you are.”

That’s all he can say right now, before his nerves and his fears get the better of him. There’s more, so much more, but it’s all for Cas’s ears only (if he ever gets a chance to say it) and so for now, he sits down on his stool, sets his guitar against his thigh, and begins to play.

I can’t write one song that’s not about you…

He can’t hear the audience past his earpieces, so he can get lost in the music, in the chords and his voice and the feelings that well up inside him. The hopelessness, the inability to move on, the longing and the feeling of wrong time, wrong mindset.

He sings out his feelings, everything he wishes he could say to Cas, closing his eyes halfway through and just letting himself go. So much to say, so much still left unsaid, so many feelings bottled up inside him with no way out. Even if Cas isn’t here to hear this tonight, at least it’s a start.

When he opens his eyes again, towards the end of the song, there’s a commotion by the front barriers, people turning to look at someone and the crowd making way for them and then—

And then Cas is standing there, pressed against the barrier and looking up at Dean, one person in a sea of thousands but the only person who matters most to Dean in this single moment.

His heart breaks open, raw and vulnerable, and he fumbles the next chord in front of an entire stadium full of people but it doesn’t matter because Cas is here. This means that maybe, hopefully, he’s willing to give Dean a second chance.

He plays the last few chords, sings the last few lines as he watches a reluctant smile tug at the corners of Cas’s mouth, and barely lets the last note ring out before he’s putting his guitar down and jumping down off the front of the stage. His security team move to intercept him as he nears the barriers, but Benny must say something into the comms, because they step down after only a moment.

There’s nothing standing in between him and Cas now but a metal barrier, and Dean closes the distance eagerly, as though it’s just the two of them and no one else. Cas reaches for him as he gets close, curls his fingers into the lapels of his jacket and kisses him. The crowd screams. Dean doesn’t care.

The kiss only lasts a few brief moments, but there’s so much in it. There’s relief, and frustration, and the joy of being reunited. There’s passion.

There’s Cas.

When they separate, Cas’s hands still cling to Dean’s jacket, as though he’s unwilling to let him drift away again. Dean leans close, the edge of the barrier biting into his chest. “You came,” he says, breathless and exhilarated. Cas is really here.

“I did.” His voice is quiet over the noise of the crowd. Dean leans in closer to hear him, always gravitating into his pull.

“You didn’t use the pass I gave you.”

Cas gives him a wry look, one eyebrow raised. “I bought my own ticket, Dean. Are you really cancelling the rest of the tours you were planning to do later this year?”

“Yeah. Someone made me realize that there are more important things than how many chart toppers I can release and how many stadiums I can sell out.” He pauses for a second, then adds, “It’s you, Cas. You’re the important thing. And the someone. Just in case it wasn’t clear.”

For the first time, Cas grins, wide and gummy and happier than Dean has seen him in a long time. “It was clear, Dean, but thank you. It means a lot to me that you’ve thought about what I said. Really.”

Dean’s heart flip flops in his chest, and he grins like an idiot. “I don’t know how I ever thought I could put anything above you, Cas. I… I need you. I want to make this work.”

The corners of Cas’s eyes crinkle. This time when he pulls Dean in for another kiss, it’s softer. Gentler. “Me too,” he says when they pull away, and the corners of his lips curl up. “I think you have a show to finish. I’ll meet up with you after?”

Dean can’t think of a more perfect way to end the night. “Deal,” he says, but as he turns away to head back up to the stage, Cas grabs him loosely by the wrist to get his attention back.

“Oh, and Dean?” He grins, and Dean leans back in, enthralled by him and whatever it is he has to add. Cas squeezes his wrist gently, his eyes soft.

“I really liked the song.”

[realityhelixcreates]

Beta, Theta, and Me

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Avengers (Movies) Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: PG Warnings: Swearing, Homelessness,  Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not right now) Characters: Tony Stark, Thor(Marvel), Loki(Marvel) Additional Tags:  A/B/O, Sorta, More Of An Exploration Of Life And Self Expression Within An A/B/O Framework, Loki Does What He Wants, But Loki Does Not Actually Do What He Wants, Antagonistic Bosses, Managerial Differences

Summary:  As it becomes clearer that your immediate superior hates you, and clearer that Tony needs to put someone somewhere else, you get caught up in things that are way above your paygrade.

“Mr. Stark!”

“And now I gotta deal with this.” He muttered, closing a holo-screen and whirling in his rolling stool to face her. “Florence! Surprised to see you. Isn't there somebody else to see to whatever problem you have?”

“It has to do with that new hire, Whom you forced on us. Since it has to do with her, I bring it to you.”

“Hey, do I pay you for sass?”

“No, you pay me because I am the best at what I do. I mean to continue doing it.” She slapped a paper down in front of him.

“I don't like being handed-”

“That's why I didn't.” She tapped the paper. It was an application. “She has falsified information. Look.”

He looked. He couldn't help it. Florence reminded him altogether too much of one of his old nannies. He could never disobey that woman either.

On the application, next to Secondary Gender, you had scrawled not the usual α, β, or Ω, but a θ instead.

“Maybe...it's a sloppy Beta? Like just a really sloppy B?”

“Except she writes a perfectly legible B later on. Also, this address is false. No one lives there, it's a storage center. I wouldn't put money on that phone number being legit either. On top of that-” She said, cutting Tony off. “I have caught her filching food from the employee cafeteria.”

“Oh yeah? What did she take?”

“Creamers, jelly, crackers, and salad dressing packets.”

“So...all the stuff we offer for free?”

“With purchase of something else.” Florence sniffed. “Also, I caught these this morning.”

She held her phone out, showing slightly blurry pictures of a person who might be you climbing out of the dumpster behind the building.

“Okay, that doesn't necessarily prove anything.”

“And I've caught her sleeping around the building.”

“On the clock?”

“On breaks, and sometimes before her shift.”

“So, not on the clock.”

“Sir, she is breaking the law!”

“Well, so did you when you took that picture without her consent. I don't tolerate spying on my employees.”

“Sir!”

“What's the real problem here, Florence? That she's homeless? Don't we want them to go get jobs? Then suddenly she's got one, and you're like, no not like that?”

“I just don't understand why you are rewarding a stranger for breaking the rules. Indecent exposure in the bathroom, and you give her a job. Lying on her application, and you defend her. You don't even know this girl, you don't know why she was on the street, what warrants might be out for her, what problems she might have, what havoc she might cause. That nonsense symbol on her gender identification alone shows she's not taking this seriously!”

“Theta.” He murmured.

“Pardon?”

“It's not nonsense, it's a Theta. It's just another letter. We use it in mathematics all the time; it means there's an angle.”

“Is she trying to tell us she's crooked?” Florence demanded.

“She's probably just a Beta who thinks secondary gender inquiries are an invasion of privacy. It's all the rage among the young people these days. In any case, just keep her on for a week or two. If she's gonna wash out, you'll know by then. It'll give you the chance to do a few more interviews. You're still looking for extra help, right? You've got permission, go on ahead and do it. Two, three more people.”

“Well...Alright.” Florence said, mollified. “Thank you sir.”

“You know I got your back. But we gotta shake things up every now and then, keep things fresh. Get in people from all walks of life, keep in touch with the pulse of society, all that. Now run along, dear. You've got a ship to keep shape, don't you?”

“That I do, sir.” Florence left, forgetting the application behind her. Tony held the paper up, examining it. Fake address for sure, and likely the number was for a burner phone. Age, education, and work history looked legit. There was a year and a half gap between your last job and this one: it probably marked the amount of time you'd been on the streets.

A Theta symbol. Why that, specifically?

“You're not too fond of Florence, are you?” F.R.I.D.A.Y. asked.

Tony shrugged. “Not really, but she's damn good at her job. That's all I really need from her. Would you do me a favor and look up gender expressions pertaining to Theta? There's a lot of new terminology I need to get caught up with. This might be one of them.”

                                                                                  *****

You sneaked another sugar packet from the ground floor coffee shop, fully aware that the amused barista was watching, and didn't care in the slightest.

You sprinkled a tiny bit into a little container of coffee creamer, then knocked the whole thing back like some kind of shot.

Everybody knew now that you worked here, and if they speculated about your bizarre eating habits, none of them said anything to you about it.

As long as you didn't break any rules, nobody seemed to care.

Fine by you. Even though they were small, simple snacks; salad crackers with tiny packets of jelly, butter, and salad dressing, sugar, salt and pepper packs, creamers, ketchups, mustards, and mayonaise, these were quick and easy sources of calories that hadn't been readily available to you before.

Having a fresh uniform each day was kind of amazing. Florence insisted that all uniforms be cleaned and disinfected properly, which meant they all got left behind at the end of the day, and were clean by morning. It had the added bonus of no one seeing you wearing a Stark-affiliated uniform while you were sleeping on the fire escape, or hanging around near the dumpsters outside

You weren't exactly friends with the baristas here, you never even talked, but ever since you had run a creeper out of the shop by being generally stinky and unpleasant to be around, they had started disposing of their expired muffins and cookies by wrapping them in wax papers or bags. Their boss hadn't caught on yet, but you were deeply grateful to them for every bite you salvaged from the trash.

Soon you would get your first paycheck, and then you could buy a decent meal. You'd been planning and dreaming of what it would be. Steak and potatoes? An omelet? Maybe just a regular old hamburger and Coke?

It might be the only paycheck you saw from Stark Industries though. You'd overheard Florence and Khalil talking, and she was determined to be rid of you. Khalil didn't really seem to agree, but he had kids at home, and probably couldn't afford to argue.

It didn't matter. Even if it was less than a week, you could put Stark Industries on your resume forever now. That would get you in the door. Janitorial training was a pretty good skill too. Every business needed cleaning staff, no exceptions.

Things were really looking up for you.

No one had even called you on all the weird stuff you'd put on your application.

You hadn't lied, exactly. Not exactly. Sure, you didn't live permanently at the address you'd provided, but you did sleep there sometimes. And you had gone to the school you named...before your parents completely succumbed to their paranoia and pulled you for homeschooling. The hadn't wanted public educators to fill your head with 'propaganda'.

And that was your phone number, though you'd have to buy some minutes when you got paid.

It was all at least semi-true.

Even the Theta was a symbol you had picked up off the internet, when researching what was wrong with you.

You tossed back another sugared creamer.

Having a routine again felt good. It had been over a year, but you slipped back into civilization pretty easily. You were so lucky. You always told yourself that.

Yeah, even if Florence gave you the boot, you still had options. This chapter in your life might soon be coming to an end.

Soon. You just had to wait, and work.

                                                                                                                                                    *****

Tony looked over the long, primly written list with amused disbelief.

“Is this...Is he serious?” He asked Thor. “I literally cannot tell when he is being serious, and when he is trolling me.”

“Welcome to the last thousand years of my life.” Thor said dryly, taking the list from Tony, and skimming over it. He held his hand out for a pen, and when Tony handed him one, he began crossing things off of the list.

“No...No...Absolutely not...Oh, he just put that one in there to annoy me...” Thor handed the list back. “But for the most part, yes. He is serious. Whatever else he may be-” He paused at Tony's muttering of 'war criminal' then forged on. “He is still the Crown Prince of Asgard, and the true King of Jotunheim. He is entitled to certain amenities. And then there is his...condition to think about.”

“Crown Prince of-no offense-a set of postage stamp sized fishing villages in Nova Scotia, and true King of a planet so far away that they can't even reach us to take him back. What exactly does he think he's entitled to on an enemy planet? He's here for punishment, right?”

“He's here for rehabilitation. And so that we can try to winkle out the information that we need. The goal is that he comes back to one of Asgard's 'postage stamp' villages eventually. But that man is still out there, and it's altogether too likely that he will make his way here. We're going to have to indulge my brother a bit, if we are to get information about it. Besides, he has proven himself a hero already, and suffered for it. He has earned a bit of leniency.”

“So you say, your majesty, but...” Tony scanned the revised list. “...I think I can provide most of this. But...servants? We don't really do that around here.”

“He will need assistance. And Loki has never been unduly cruel to servants who had done nothing to trouble him.”

“Okay, but what do you mean by 'trouble'? I mean, I have a few people in mind, but they all live here, and might not be instantly comfortable around him. Is he gonna whip someone over dropping a plate, or folding a cape wrong?”

“He is in no position to do so. And he never went so far back home, so I honestly doubt he would do so here. He knows full well the effect he has on the people of this world.”

“Anger and terror?”

“Pretty much.”

“Look. I'm not going to send him a servant. He'll get a maid, and nothing more. If he drives them off, he won't get a replacement. One chance. I'm not putting people at risk for his whims.”

“I couldn't ask for better than that. But time is of the essence my friend.”

“I better get some royal kickbacks for this.” Tony grumbled.

“I'll send you some Asgardian postage stamps.” Thor joked, leaving the lab.

Tony turned back to his desk, pulling up his holographic display. A short list of Greek letters that he'd been learning about popped back up.

“Okay, Theta.” He said. “Time to show me what you're worth.”

                                                                                *****

The fight started out as an accusation of theft. Florence had caught you with an Iron Muffin-a specialty of the ground floor coffee shop-which you had filched from the dumpster that morning. You'd tried to claim that you'd bought it, but then she'd demanded to see your receipt, and it had just escalated from there.

You were two words away from just quitting then and there, mostly so that she couldn't fire you, when Tony Stark had reached out of the elevator behind you, yanked you into it, waved goodbye to Florence, and shut the doors. As the elevator began to rise, you wiped a few angry tears out of your eyes, embarrassed that he had seen that.

You seemed altogether too prone to show this man your worst sides.

“I'm sorry sir.” You said. “Florence and I don't really get along.”

“She needs to be challenged sometimes. However, I am perfectly able to sass her myself, and I can't have disruption in the janitorial team. Can you imagine the uproar if the floors didn't get waxed properly at night?

Anyway, I thought we might chat about some of the information on your application.”

You were screwed. Could you be arrested for lying on an application?

“Oh geez. I'm sorry about that, but-”

“Yeah, I know. You have to write down an address, but you don't really have one, do you? But you can't leave it blank, so you improvise. I looked you up though. Your family seems to have a history of...shall we call them 'rebellious acts'?”

You hung your head. Fuck. He knew about that too.

“I'm not like them.” You muttered. “I'm not that stupid.”

“Sure hope not. Anyway, wanna tell me what a Theta is? Like, in your words.”

“You won't believe me.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Nobody does.”

“I can fly. I've been finding things easier to believe since then.”

Well, that was fair. He was Iron Man. He'd been involved with aliens, and killer robots, and terrorists. Why would this be too weird?

“It's kinda like a Beta, but I have an Omega's sense of smell.”

“And Alpha's pheremones don't effect you. Right?”

“R-right...” How did he-?

“You presented me with a conundrum, and I couldn't leave it alone. I needed to find out what you meant, but it wasn't exactly easy. I had to get on tumblr to figure this out. I had to learn what a demi-omega was, to figure this out. I never thought I was out of touch, but damn if you young-uns haven't come up with some creative new lingo.”

“It's just that the world is more complex than a mark on a paper.” You said.

“Don't I know it!” He laughed. “But that's not too bad, is it? Not being overpowered by Alphas? Sounds nice.”

“It's not so bad, but most people think there's something wrong with me. It's not just the Alpha pheremones, I just don't feel-wait a minute, where are we going?”

The elevator had passed the labs, far above the highest floor you were supposed to be allowed to access.

“We're headed to the residential area. Me and Pep aren't the only ones who live up on the top floors. Top dozen or so are basically penthouses, though they aren't all consistently occupied these days.”

You remembered watching footage on the news of a fight at an airport. Avenger versus Avenger. It was terrible; both you and your old roommate had cried a little. It was an awful thing, watching your heroes come apart.

You were kind of glad you didn't have any superpowers or anything like that. You wouldn't want to be at the beck and call of any government, much less more than one. It was something you had actually agreed with your parents on.

“Why are we going up there? I'm not supposed to be here.”

“You're with me kid; you can be anywhere. And anyway, the best way to keep cats from fighting is to separate them. So, from now on, you are a maid.”

“A maid? I don't know how to be a maid, I just started being a janitor!” You protested, then told yourself to shut your trap and not argue with the boss for not firing you.

Tony shrugged. “What's different about being a maid? You still clean stuff, only it's a home instead of a museum. You might need to cook something every now and then. Can you cook?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“Not gonna lie; it's not a walk in the park. But it comes with a pay upgrade, and an apartment off the penthouse, so that's two of your problems solved.”

Suspicion began creeping in. This was all way to good to be true.

“Why me? You have to know that I'm not as qualified as the other janitors. What's the catch?”

“Well, the catch-” The elevator dinged. “Oh, look! We're here!”

The elevator doors opened. Standing right in front of them, in horned helmet and armor, stood Loki, the destroyer of New York.

[lareinenoir]

Bucky Barnes x My Black! OC pt III LAST CHAPTER

Warning: about 5k, use of the word n word, angst

@littlekidsteve

A/N; idk why it took me so long to post smh. But here is the last chapter. Enjoy!

"Barnes!" Shouted one of his buddies. "Gotta letter for you."

"Thanks." He said taking it from his hand, then sat back on the bunk with the envelope in his hand.

Bucky,

I was so close to getting in. I would have been on the first ride out of Brooklyn to fight. But the government isn't that desprate. "We don't need some stupid kid."

Don't pity me. They'll need me someday. Beggers can't be choosers, right?

Anyway, I did as you asked. I'm looking out for her. She's living her life and getting ready for a job interview. Her exams went very well and she had one of the highest scores. Margaret-Jane had a seizerure a couple weeks ago and I would have sent this sooner but no one wants to read news thats all bad.

She's happy and doing very well now. I managed to keep it a secret that you've been asking about her. Though I almost broke when she had asked about you. If you're wondering if Margaret-Jane still cares, then you have nothing to worry about. She does

She feels guilty for telling you not to think about her. She misses you and I see it when I talk to her about you.

My advice, when you come back don't waste time. Just ask her again and I guarantee you that she'll say yes. Margaret-Jane will need you now more than ever, Buck.

Your friend,

Steve

▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪

"Hey." Steve waved as Margaret-Jane sits on the porch.

"Salut!" (Hi!) She waves back holding on her purse hugging him.

"How are you?" Steve asks "Both-"

"We are fine." Margaret-Jane replied with a hand on her little bump. "Kathleen gave me some pills and I take them everyday. No worries."

With his hands in his pocket he kicks the little rock on the ground. Margaret-Jane had been out of the hospital for a couple days and was told not to stress to much. Her grandmother already suspected but respected her granddaughter enough not to mention it.

"You sent your letter, oui?" She asked

"I did." Steve nods. "Don't worry, I didn't tell him. He won't know."

"Thank you. It is appreciated very much. I wouldn't even know how to tell him." She giggled flattening out her dress. "How does one even begin to explain that? I love him but what if he is not ready?"

"Bucky isn't like that. You know that." Steve said as they continued to walk down the street.

"Right. I knew that, I think it's just my nerves. Forgive me. Look I have an interview in thirty minutes. Perhaps we could finish this talk at another time."

"Of course." Steve nodded as she wrapped her arms around him in an embrace. "What's this for?"

"For being a good friend through all of this." She said. "You and Hector have been such good people to me since ma grand-mère and I moved here."

"No problem." He says as she places a kiss on his cheek making the little Steve Rogers blush. "Go on. You don't wanna be late." The shy blonde haired boy watched her walk away, shoving his hands back in his pockets.

¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪

Sitting down in front of the head mistress, Margaret-Jane tried not to shake as much. She was nervous and her stare over her glasses wasn't helping.

"You have all the right paper work and this would be your first time working at a school?" Asks the headmistress

"Yes and no, Mrs. Powell." She tells her. "I've worked in a school before but just for experience back in France. I could have them give you a call if you'd-"

"No need Ms. Robinson." She shakes her head then stands. "I like your resume, but here you are noticeable. And it's up to you to work up to your potential. You'll find that you are the only colored teacher here and the parents can be quite...judgemental." said the headmistress as Margaret-Jane stands walking to the door. "Parlor Prep is a school for gifted children. Children who could change the world. And parents would want a teacher they can trust. You will have to work harder than any other teacher here because-"

"I am a woman of color." She said trying to smile through it as they walked the halls.

"Correct. You'll be leading your own class and of course you are responsible for everything. If one kid so much as fails a test, you are fired."

"Mrs. Powell, you are saying I'm hired?" Asks Margaret-Jane trying to sound casual but inside she was jumping.

"Yes, you are." The headmistress answers. "I'm sure you and your husband will be-"

"Pardon?" Margaret-Jane questions. "Husband?"

"Ms. Robinson, the application said you had to be married or engaged. In the past we've had men come and visit their significant other here at Parlor Prep and then the next week a different man. At one point it was one of the students father and when the mother found out things got out of hand." The headmistress informs her. "Since then, the teachers that come in have to be married or engaged to avoid a confortation like that."

"I see." Margaret-Jane nods lowley. She wasn't married and felt her heart sank. This was the school she wanted to work at. It paid a lot of money. It would get her and her grandmother out of that house and into a better one.

"Jane!" Shouted a voice making her turn around. "Jane!"

"Hector?" She asks frowning as to why he was shouting and running in the hall. "What on earth-"

"You forgot this. Your grandmother wanted me to bring it to you in case you have another seizure." Says Hector handing her the tiny pill bottle. "We need the both of you safe right?" He laughs

The headmistress, peeks over her glasses and extends her hand. "You must be Ms. Robinson's husband." Hector shakes her hand and laughs.

"Well you see-"

"Yes." Margaret-Jane says taking his hand into hers, locking them together securely. "He is. Hector this is headmistress, Powell. I was just about to tell her that you and I are finally engaged after so long. Engaged or Married to get the job." Giggled Margaret-Jane then looks to the headmistress. "It took him two years but be finally proposed." She gives Hector a stare

"Right." He catches on. "She was so beautiful when I first saw her. Still is. Now we are about to have our first kid-"

Margaret-Jane elbowed him and smiled through her teeth, "Darling, I didn't think that was important to tell headmistress Powell."

"Well that is important. Ms. Robinson, I hope this isn't going to a problem? The students come before anything outside this building."

"Right. I understand. My priority is here, promise."

"Good." She nods. "I'll see you here tomorrow. Your folder with your classroom number will be on it and so will the attendance sheet. At the end of the month you'll receive a two three-thousand dollar check. Don't disappoint me, Ms. Robinson."

▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤

NINE MONTHS LATER

Bucky was working hard to make sergeant and when he finally did, he finally could walk around in glory.

The other men would roll their eyes but they still had respect. He was their sergeant now and he led them through morning drill and PT. He was glad because the pay was good bed get a giant rock to go on his lovers hand.

He meant it. Marrying her. She may not know it's coming or the world but he wanted too. Marrying Major was what he thought about everyday. When he was getting shot at from all direction. When he was wide awake in the trench firing his gun. When he did get that little bit of shut eye he dreamt of her.

Bucky was ready. Some of the men would give up but not him. He had something to fight for and Bucky didn't want to come home in a body bag. He didn't want to hurt Major all over again.

Bucky wanted to be their for her every step of the way and prove himself to her. What better way to do it with a ring that showed how much he loves her. How much we was willing to invest into her.

"James Barnes." Said his supirior. "You are on leave for a couple weeks."

"Well it's about damn time." He chuckles. "A few days makes a difference."

"You take care Barnes." Said one of his buddies patting him on the back. "And get that ring, ya hear?"

"You got it." He winked "When do I leave?"

"Fist thing tomorrow morning. Don't be late."

"Yes, sir."

▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤

"You feeling any better, Jane?" Asks Hector seeing she was looking through some papers.

"Define better?" She answers grumpily. "I don't think I can do this any longer, I'm supposed to be glowing."

"Three more weeks Jane and it will all be worth it." Said Tommy laughing kissing his boyfriend on the cheek.

Hector and Jane did end up getting married. It worked out well for both of them. Hector didn't have to come out to his dad and when he did meet Margaret-Jane he was thrilled. He already planned the wedding but Margaret-Jane didn't want one.

"I'll wear white for Bucky and only him." She told Hector and he understood.

They got married at a courthouse and Hector and Tommy continued to sleep around in secret. Tommy would come over every week to the house, Hectors father bought and to everyone else he was just a friend.

Margaret-Jane got the job and was really good at it. Her grandmother used the money to open a bakery in the nicer part of town and no one would ever know about what was going on.

Not even Steve. Even though she wanted to tell him, she thought it was best to keep the people who knew small. Her grandmother didn't know and that was the way it had to be.

Steve understood and took the news of her engagement quite well. He understood women without a husband who was about to have a child wouldn't make it far. Those women were always looked down at and degraded.

A child out of wedlock or worse...a bastard.

"I love him and I'll never stop loving him Steve." She told him. "But this isn't just about my love for him anymore. I have a baby to think about and what's best for him or her. I know Hector will be a good father to my baby while he's gone. When Bucky comes back, he'll always be apart of its life if he wants too."

Steve kept that in mind. Margaret-Jane wasn't the betraying type even though it felt like that to him.

"Look, I have to get to work and I promised my grandmother Hector, you would visit." She said "She wanted to tryout a new macaroon flavor."

"Yeah sure." He nods helping her stand from off the couch.

Tommy gave her hug. "Tommy, do I look fat?"

"No way." He shakes his head kissing hers. "You look absolutely ravishing. Like a glowing angel. The midwife should be here later on today."

"Aw. You are sweet " She blushed "I'll see you both tonight."

Hector walked her to the door and drives Margaret-Jane to work.

Margaret-Jane started her class on time and greeted the students one by one. All dropped off by their mothers and all twelve of them entered into her class. She did loose quite a few, the mothers weren't to keen on there child having a black teacher.

A lot of the other teachers said teaching kindergarten was hard, but for her, it was easy. Margaret-Jane fell in love with their curious minds.

"Miss. Robinson?"

"Not now, Luke. I have to take attendance." She tells him

"Miss. Robinson, I have a question. A very important question." He interrupted again making her turn to him biting her lip.

"Ok, what is it, Luke?"

"My mommy and daddy said you used to date a white man." Luke said, as her body tensed up and she swallowed. "He said that a nigga shouldn't date outside of their race. Then mommy said that, everyone will know for sure if that baby belongs to a white man if he is mulatto."

Margaret-Jane didn't even think about that. Her baby was both black and white-

"Luke, do you think it's wrong for a black female and white male or vice versa to be in love?"

"Well..." He pokes his chin and shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe."

Margaret-Jane went up to the chalkboard and wrote the word in big letters, '

IGNORANT

• Lacking in knowledge

"Can anyone say this word for me?" Asks Margaret-Jane

▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤▪¤

Bucky was back in Brooklyn in no time. He went straight to Steve's and asked him to come buy a ring with him.

"So...you are really doing it?" Asks Steve "Don't you think you should wait?"

"I've waited long enough. I wanna make it official, Steve. So...do you think she'll like it?"

"No doubt but her grandmother knows nothing of you-"

"Then I'll go to her today and ask for her blessing. I'm sure she'll say yes again." Bucky pays his best friend on the shoulder and walks out the store, shortly after paying for the ring.

"Tell me how everything goes. I'll see you at Starks presentation?" Asks Steve still not sure if they were going

"Yeah. I'll come and get you." He nods making his way down the street to Margaret-Jane neighborhood.

He adjusted his uniform and tried to look his best. Bucky knocked and stepped off the porch waiting for the door to open.

"Hello?" She asks opening the door. "And who might you be?"

"Hello Miss..."

"Mrs. Allard." She says with a smile as Bucky reaches out to shake her hand. A bit hesitant she shook it and asked, "Sergeant Barnes, is there something I can do for you?"

"Yes." He nods "I actually wanted to ask you'd something but I do have a lot of explaining to do and I wanted to come and ask you first..." He started to rant and all she did was smile and nod her head.

"Sergeant Barnes, if you're looking for Margaret-Jane then I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place. She's not here, but at work."

A bit shocked that she knew he was looking for Margaret-Jane, he was even more surprised when Mrs.Allard told him how she knew they were dating. "I'm not as old and clueless as my dear grand daughter thinks me to be. I know things. Besides, the neighbors told me that a few times you come over and sneak into her bedroom."

"Mrs. Allard I promise you nothing happened." Bucky says but was very confused as to why she was laughing as if it was a joke.

Mrs. Allard invited Bucky inside where he asked for her blessing and she agreed. She made him promise to take good care of Margaret-Jane and he did so.

He walked up to the school and everyone saw the uniform thanking him for his service. Bucky, of course, waved and acknowledged their thanks. Going to the headmistress office, he asked for, "Margaret-Jane Robinson?"

"She's teaching a class as if right now. Perhaps you could come back later." Said the headmistress

Bucky figured she wasn't going to let him in so he lied,"Actually I'm here to just check on my nephew. I haven't seen him in a while is it OK if I just peek. I won't disturb your class."

The headmistress thought for a moment and then nodded him off in the direction. "Just look at the classroom numbers, underneath it should be the teacher names."

He thanks her and walls to the classroom his heart thumping with anticipation against his chest. When he peeked through the window he heard her french voice.

"Luke, what did we learn today about ignorance?"

"That love has no color." He answers

"Not just that but ignorance is what the cowards and small minded people carry around because most of the time they are very bitter and sad."

Bucky's face dropped when she turbed. Hand on her hips to support her belly poking out from her dress. Bucky shook his head in utter shock and remembered to breath. His beloved Margaret-Jane was pregnant.

"Who?" He whispers

"Pretty isn't she?" Asks a voice and he turned to see one of the teachers outside the classroom. "Pretty for someone her color. I'm almost jealous."

"Yeah." Bucky nodded smiling.

"Her husband is pretty too. Don't know how she got so lucky. Shes gonna be on maternity leave soon. She's due in a couple weeks." Said the redhead

"Husband?" Bucky questions "What do you mean?"

"Hector. He's a poet and they've been married for a while. They say if you are in the first years of marriage, you're still a newlywed." She giggled "anyway, did you need something?"

Bucky had already started walking. He didn't look back but Margaret-Jane did. Out the corner of her eye she thought she spotted him but it was all in her head right.

Bucky stayed for Starks presentation and went back to the military. He didn't think about Margaret-Jane anymore because whoever she was with, she was happy. She was happy enough to marry him and have a kid with him.

There was a little regret. A little voice saying to ask to make sure. What if...what if that baby was...no. It couldn't be.

"You OK Barnes?" Asks someone in his platoon. "You seem...out of it. What happened with that girl you talked about marrying?"

"She moved on." He answers

"My gramps used to say, the saddest part about life is saying goodbye to the person you want to spend a lifetime with."

And it was true. He was sad. And in the back of his mind, a distant memory really, was that little barn turned into a house. His three boys and Margaret-Jane sitting on the porch waiting for him to come home.

The End

[practicingmedicine]

Practicing Medicine: Chapter Six

(+)6

2075 ROBCO(R)

LOADER V1. 1

EXEC VERSION 41.10

32K RAM SYSTEM

14902 BYTES FREE

HOLLOWTAPE LOADED: "THE-LORD'S-MIDDLE-FINGER"

INITIALISING….

SUCCESS!

STATUS

Battery Level: 67%

Wireless Signal: (?)

Operating Temperature: 90F

HEALTH

BP: 120/90

SPO2: 100%

Temp: 98.5F

RR: 17

HR: 70

TIME

Day: 24 SEP. 2279

Time: 15:32

CLIMATE

Current Temperature: 89F

Atmospheric Pressure: 750 mm

Background Radiation: 0.431 RAD

---

"Chomps Lewis! How ya doing, old buddy?" cried Gram, throwing his arms out and motioning for "Chomps" to come hug him. Chomps didn't play ball. He was wearing a yellow mining helmet, and holding some sort of animal in his arms- a mole-rat, I think. Didn't seem like he wanted to let it down to hug Gram.

"Howdy, Gram. Going to New Vegas again?"

Gram shrugged. "Dropping off a shipment there. And if it all works out, maybe I'll have enough money to settle down there for good." Chomps stroked his mole rat, and it let out a quiet sniffle.

"That city sucks the money right out of you, Hoplite. I traveled there once- never again. Blew a whole month's earnings in one hour..." He didn't sound bitter, when he spoke, just regretful. Gram put a hand on his shoulder.

"A hundred-thousand caps, Chomps! That's how much I'm gonna get paid, and I ain't gamblin' away a single cent of it. There are other things in Vegas than gambling," he said. There was a serpentine emphasis in his voice as he spoke aloud the absurd amount of money he'd be earning from this job. The old man sighed.

"Listen, Hoplite, that's great and all, but if you want to go to New Vegas, then you might as well turn around right now. This route is closed to travelers."

Gram looked hurt. "Closed to travelers? Is everything okay here?" Chomps shook his head.

"No, things are not okay. You heard about them escaped NCR convicts? Powder gangers, they're calling themselves. Dangerous folks," he replied, still stroking his mole-rat. Gram nodded sympathetically.

"Yeah, I always knew that the correctional facility was a stupid idea. Giving a bunch of violent criminals dynamite, they should have seen that one coming from a mile away…" Gram trailed off, then snapped back to attention. "But, those boys- they don't trouble us. Bounty hunting is one of Tandi's favorite pastimes. Am I right, Tandi?"

"I've killed at least a hundred now, and that's just since I got to America. Do you want to know how many times I killed in Kiev? I used to keep track," said Tandi. My heart skipped a beat.

Kiev?

Oh.

Oh, of course that's who she is!

"Wait, Tandi, did you just say Kiev? As in, Kiev Ukraine?" Tandi put a finger up to the mouth of her gas mask.

"Shut it, sawbones. I'm busy," she said. But she wasn't getting off that easy- I nudged her in the shoulder.

"As in, the Scourge of Kiev? Is that who you are? I thought you were retired!" Tandi yanked her mask off. She didn't look happy.

"Yeah, that's me! I served my 25 years, I got my medals, and now I'm retired. You want a fucking autograph?"

She didn't shout. She just looked and sounded completely disgusted with me, and that hurt a lot more than the shouting would have. I slunk back behind the cart and tried not to care about the opinion of a 50-something year old serial killer.

But, despite how much I disliked the NCR, and how much I disdained killers, I'd heard a lot of stories about, "The Scourge of Kiev," that mysterious Eastern ranger. She might not have been born here, but her dedication to the NCR was legendary. She was on the propaganda posters, in the Newspaper headlines- hell, I'd even seen a comic-book with her likeness on the cover! They never showed her face or said her name, but you could tell it was her by the way she stood, the flowing cape that they always had her wearing, and by the big, obnoxious labelling that said, on every portrayal, "THE SCOURGE OF KIEV," usually with a big blue rifle-crosshair next to it.

Not that I'd had mom read it for me. Or that I'd enjoyed it, and briefly aspired to be like Tandi until father convinced me that killing was bad.

Really what I'm saying is, I could pretend that I was above her, but the unfortunate fact remained: She was a hero, and I was nothing. It's hard to ignore the opinion of someone like that.

"So Ignore this boy- there could be a hundred of these men, there could be a thousand, and it wouldn't matter to me. Not with all the lives I've ended, no. They are still only men. And these hands have broken many men..."

There was silence. The wind changed direction in the seconds that followed.

"You all done pretending to be scary?" asked Chomps, when some time had passed. She nodded and re-applied her gas mask. "Well then lemme explain why you'd best be turning back. See, we ain't worried about the convicts; we're worried about the deathclaw infestation that they caused when they blew up the valley."

"Shit," muttered Gram. Chomps looked a little smug at that. Gram started pacing back and forth, glaring at the ground. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…!"

"I can kill deathclaws too," said Tandi, nonchalant. Chomps shook his head.

"Well, you can try, but- I'm warning you, there's a lot of em-" Tandi was already striding past him, sniper rifle slung over her shoulder. She gave us a confident nod goodbye.

"I'll be back when they're all dead!" Gram spit on the ground.

"Damn straight- give em hell, Tandi!"

"And, if you see an egg, would you mind hauling it back? Asking for a friend!" added Cook. But I don't reckon that Tandi heard her, cause she had already turned her back to us and started walking towards deathclaw territory. Chomps looked indifferent.

"You don't think she's actually gonna do it, do ya Hoplite?" asked Chomps, staring off after the ranger had climbed to the top of a large, rocky hill. Gram stared after her for a moment, then nodded. She disappeared over the crest.

"I've learned better than to doubt that old maid, Chomps. She lives up to the hype."

Suddenly, Chomps looked at me. I hadn't really been acknowledged thus far, so it caught me off guard when he looked into my eyes. Immediately, I broke eye contact and stared at the ground.

"Not sure I've seen you traveling with Gram before- you new to the business?" I started to reply, but Gram interrupted me.

"He's a Doctor! Gotta get Downtown for some reason, so we took him on for this run," said Gram. Chomps ignored him.

"Who are you really, though- what's your name? Are you a doctor?" I looked up at him for a moment, not sure if I should answer, then looked back down. I hated it when people did stuff like this. To be fair, I also hated when other people tried to tell me who I was, but Gram hadn't said much.

"Isaac Saller. My father was a member of the Followers, so I... picked some things up along the way," I said, indicating my badge. For a few seconds, Chomps wore a look that was impossible for me to parse. Then, he broke into a wide smile, which was enough to scare me. Why was he smiling? Did I say something stupid?

"You're Lucas's boy, right?" He asked. I nodded; I'd be surprised, but apparently a lot of people had heard about father, and I had a bit of his likeness. It was a hard thing to live up to.

"You see, Lucas was a big name around here after the work he did in Novac. Saved the whole town from some sort of plague, or something. My wife Margaret was visiting at the time, and she invited him back here for the night when he finally decided that it was safe to let the residents travel again. An intimidating man to be around, but I was grateful- If it weren't for him, Margaret probably wouldn't have lived to fight at Hoover Dam- wouldn't have died a hero…" Chomps stared off into space for a while, then snapped back to the conversation. I felt a pang of sorrow for this strange old man. "Anyways, Lucas is a good man. Is he still working for the Followers? I haven't gotten a letter back from him in years."

I shook my head. "He's dead. A drunk courier from the Mojave Express came into town one night and shot him." Chomps didn't flinch.

"That's a damn shame. But, as I've learned, people come and go- be glad he managed to do so much good in his life before he died. Probably helped more people than everyone who's ever worked this quarry combined."

It was sort of disorienting to hear a complete stranger talking about my father like this. Like, I always knew that he was kind of important, but here this old man was talking about how my father had saved the life of his wife. I even vaguely remembered father talking about Novac, but he hadn't talked about it like it was anything but a little pit-stop, a side quest. Had he really impacted so many people?

In the time that I had been mentally absent from the conversation, Chomps had started walking to the front door of the main building, and Gram was currently walking the cart and the two Brahmin to a little stable area beside the main building. Judging by how far they got, I'd been standing around slack-jawed for a good twenty seconds.

Well, nothing new there. Trying not to look embarrassed, I casually (read: stiffly and suspiciously) jogged up behind the caravan.

"Wow, that quarry sure is abandoned! Can't imagine what it must've been like watching all those deathclaws come flooding in," I commented, even though I had actually been facing the opposite direction of the apparently deathclaw-infested mining quarry, and I actually could imagine all of the deathclaws flooding in because it's a recurring nightmare of mine. I don't think anyone heard me except for maybe Cook, who was still sitting on the roof of the cart as it was secured beside the main building. She gave me a nod of acknowledgement as she stepped down from the roof, and sidled up next to the Brahmin. She led them up to a little wooden stable, much like the one we had behind the casino in Primm.

"Did we feed Flebe this morning? She keeps giving me the puppy eyes whenever I come near her," Cook said, indicating the larger of the two- Well, four Brahmin, depending on whether or not you counted each head as a separate entity. I wasn't exactly sure how that worked, though I'd noticed that each head seemed to be doing its own thing. Which one controlled the body? Did they both control the body?

Does it matter to the story I'm trying to tell? Probably not.

"Yeah, I fed and milked 'em both this morning. Though now that I think about it, Flebe probably hasn't had any water for a while. Hebe drank some when we stopped in Primm, but I think we forgot to water Flebe on account of this guy," said Gram, nodding in my direction. I snorted.

"Oh- Oh, I'm so sorry Flebe! I must admit, I weren't thinking much for your health when I got assaulted yesterday!" Gram looked like he was gonna try and say something, so I raised my voice. "I SURE DO HOPE that I can make it up to you someday, but I understand if that's too much to ask! Water's a precious thing in the Mojave, ain't it?." Both of the heads regarded me with dull interest for a moment. Gram gave me a punch in the shoulder.

"I wasn't insulting you, wise-guy! Just answering Cook's question."

"Oh, and while we're still on the subject, why don't you make it up to poor little Flebe by helping us pump him some water? I'm about to get started on dinner, and if he hasn't drank since the stop before Primm, he's probably going to collapse soon," said Cook, stroking Flebe's head. I gave her a nod of assent.

"Seems like the least I can do. Where's the pump?" I asked. Cook pointed at the corner of the wall we were standing beside.

"Behind here, there are a couple of water pumps and buckets. Just dump some water in the troughs, and be careful not to spill any- Chomps has chewed me out for that before," she said, and I raised a rectifying finger.

"Don't you mean... chomped you out?" Cook broke into a toothy grin. Gram looked decidedly less amused.

"Look Gram- now we have a teammate who's even dorkier than me, and I think that crossword puzzles are fun! I told you it would happen someday," said Cook. I took her comment with pride; Father had taught me the fine art of the awful pun when we were reading Discworld together for the first time, and I'd been fabricating them since.

Come to think of it, can you believe that no one had shot me yet? Like, I might've done alright before the war, but I'm genuinely impressed with myself for surviving past my 12th birthday, given the world I grew up in and the many, many counterintuitive traits I possessed. It's a miracle that someone so insultingly naive, neurotic, and out of place as me managed to avoid getting blasted to pieces sometime between my birth and now!

As I prepared to make a retort, Cook disappeared into the main building, leaving me alone with Gram and the Brahmin. Gram nodded towards the water pumps.

"Better get to pumping," he said. I watched him slip through the partially opened front door and close it behind him, yanking it shut loud enough that I winced.

Did I just get delegated? It sure felt like it. After a few moments of thinking, I decided I'd been delegated. Pretty tame, as far as hazing rituals go, though I was still surprised with the swiftness and efficiency with which the task had been dumped on my lap while the others went off to relax. Kinda reminded me of how mom roped her employees into going "above and beyond" for the business...

Ah well. It wouldn't hurt to do some mindless work to take my mind off of everything, and maybe I'd earn some brownie points for it. All that in mind, I headed around the back of the building, picked up a bucket, placed it under a rusty blue water-pump, and got to work extracting water from the Earth.

-Break-

I opened up the back door to the mess hall, and was immediately struck by the delicious smell of roasted meat wafting in from the kitchen. In the main hall, plates and silverware were being set out on a fancy wooden dinner table by a uniformed NCR soldier. Gram was sitting at one end of the table, while chomps sat across from him, and all of the other stools were unoccupied. I walked into the room a bit, and saw Cook and some lanky, sunburned young lady with brown hair and a ponytail arguing back and forth in the kitchen. I decided to listen in.

"… that isn't mole-rat meat, Jas! Just who the hell are you getting your meat from?"

"A very nice old lady, who just happens to not want to diverge her name to me." Cook glared accusingly at the woman, and she threw her hands up above her head. "Okay, fine, maybe that should have rung some alarm bells! But I can't believe it's actually…"

"Jas, that's human meat. You've been making meat pies out of human meat," Cook whisper-shouted. I don't think anyone else heard her, but my appetite shrank away just like that. Of course, now that I'd heard it, I had to investigate…

"What's this about some human meat? We just find out about the secret of soylent-green or something?" I asked, stepping into the kitchen. Immediately, Cook pointed at a cut of meat on the counter. It didn't take me a magnifying glass to figure out what that was.

"Yep, that's people," I said, backing up a little bit. Jas looked betrayed.

"Are you sure? I mean, I guess I thought it was a little bit too beefy for mole rat meat, but it tasted kind of similar," murmured Jas. I nodded. She didn't sound nearly horrified enough to me.

"Trust me, I've seen human meat. My father and I performed a few autopsies when I was younger- that strip right there is probably a cut from the inner thigh…" I said, indicating the larger of the two hunks of meat. I briefly examined the other one, adjusting my glasses and kneeling down to put my face a little bit closer to it. It had been cut down a bit, but I could still vaguely figure out where it came from. Looked sorta like bird poultry. "…and I think the one beside it is from the bicep, but don't quote me on that. Someone cut the fat off the edges, so it could also be a different cut of meat off the humerus." The color was rapidly draining from Jas's face as she stared at the meat in question. Cook looked kinda curious as I was explaining the cuts, but seemed to get back to being angry with Jas pretty quickly.

"Anyways, it's like I told you last time- don't get your meat from people who you don't know and trust. They might be cannibals or something," said Cook. Jas crossed her arms.

"Fine. I'm not planning on sticking around here anyways. As soon as I get to my next stop, I'll get a new supplier. For now, I'll just have to sort out the human meat from the rest," she said. Cook rolled her eyes.

"Please. You've been here for at least a year now, I don't think you're leaving anytime soon."

"Jas, stop arguing with the guests! I don't know what it's about, but if it's holding up dinner then you better quit it!" shouted Chomps from the other room. Jas sighed dramatically.

"Alright, fine, I'll get a new supplier! If your ranger solves the deathclaw problem, maybe I can finally get back on the road to New Vegas, and then we won't even have to worry about it." Cook crossed her arms.

"Well, then you better start packing soon, cause Tandi is good at killing stuff. Bet you she gets back before we're done eating." She opened up the oven and grabbed a stray rag to pull out the contents. Jas grabbed a rag as well, and together they hauled out two platters, each of which contained a big cut of steaming Brahmin roast.

Sensing that I was in the way, I silently retreated from the kitchen and tried to find a seat among the rest of the guests in the dining room. Gram had moved to sit beside Chomps, and was halfway through a conversation with the old man, but he gave me a nod of acknowledgment as I sat down at the table. A young NCR soldier whose name I didn't know said something to the effect of, "welcome back," but I didn't quite catch it. One leg of my stool was shorter than the others, so I occupied myself tipping it up and down. A dangerous thing, on account of my stubby little legs.

"… Where do you think she went?" asked Gram. Chomps looked distressed. The little mole rat was crawling under the table, so I pet it on the head while I tried to figure out what they were talking about. It squeaked pleasantly as I stroked its nose.

"I don't know! She left a note, says she was going off to live life free from me and the NCR, but she didn't say what she was doing." Chomps put his elbows on the table, and let his chin rest in his hands. His eyes were watering, I noticed. Had his wife run away- wait, no, she was dead. His daughter then?

After a few seconds of silent tears, he stiffened his upper lip and sat back up. When he spoke, you could hear the tears.

"I'm worried about her, is all. Her mother did the same thing when she was that age, and that's how she met me, so I guess I should be happy for her- but it just ain't the same world it was all those years ago. I don't want to have my daughter disappear out there in the wasteland. I just love her so damn much..." Chomps started crying again, and Gram gave him a sympathetic squeeze.

So it was a daughter, then.

I tried not to accidentally catch anyone's gaze- I felt bad for Chomps, but I didn't know him well enough to try and comfort him. Whenever I tried to comfort people who I didn't know, I'd just make things worse. So, I stuck to treating people's physical symptoms. I'd never learned very much about psychology.

"The worst part is knowing that it's my fault she ran away. After her mother died, I guess I clung to her a little too tight- I put limits on her that she didn't need, told her to stop talking with friends I didn't like. Looking back, it's so easy to see where I was wrong, but I was so scared of losing her that I was blind to how much I was hurting her. Or, maybe I did see it and I didn't care. It's hard to remember now..."

In the corner of my vision, I could see the two chefs emerging from the kitchen, carrying their platters of vegetables and roast Brahmin to the table. Chomps wiped his eyes, relaxed his posture, and tried not to look like he'd been crying as Cook and Jas set down the platters. I fought with myself to say something, to try to tell him that his daughter would be fine, because I knew I'd screw it up, but it was hard not to say something- the details were different, but it reminded me so much of what I'd done. Was this how my mom felt right now? Was she worried that I'd been done in, and that it was her fault?

Simmering with emotions, I stayed silent and watched Cook and Jas heap slices of beef and vegetables onto the assorted plates sitting around the table. I muttered my thanks to Jas as she served me two slices of meat and some unidentifiable vegetables. As was customary in the Saller household, I held off eating until everyone had sat down. The NCR soldier didn't even bother, slicing up his steak and spearing one of his vegetables as soon as the food was laid before him. He was the odd one out, actually- everyone else waited until Jas and Cook had sat, though only Jas and Chomps kept waiting even after that. As everyone prepared to eat, Chomps cleared his throat, and all eyes fell on him. He looked like he had recovered somewhat, but I still felt uneasy seeing him get ready to speak so soon after all that emotion. Was he gonna start crying again?

"Now, I know that most of you don't believe in any sort of God- I have to admit, I've had my doubts too. But, I was raised to say a prayer before I eat, and I intend to carry on the tradition until the day I die. I invite everyone here to pray with me if you know the words, or give a silent prayer if you don't. We haven't necessarily been lucky here in Sloan lately, but let's all tell the lord how grateful we are for what we've still got..."

I didn't believe in god- still don't, probably never will- but I ain't no asshole neither, and I was pretty sure I knew the prayer that he was talking about. My father had read the Bible with me as a kid, because he was a big fan of Jesus and all that, and the McBain's had taught me the dinner prayer when I stayed with them for a while. So, calling on knowledge that I hadn't used in years, I put my hands together, bowed my head, and started talking with God.

"Bless us, Oh Lord…" Chomps began. Jas, the NCR soldier and I recited it with him, while Gram had his own silent prayer. Cook just looked annoyed the whole way through.

"... and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord." Everyone was silent for a moment.

"Amen," Said Chomps. I nodded.

"Amen!" we said, and then a huge chunk of the wall exploded inwards in a shower of rocks, wood, and pink-insulation foam, peppering us all with debris. Everyone sat in shocked silence as the dust cleared, and a massive white deathclaw appeared in the hole.

Yeah, well, fuck you too, God! Don't suppose you're offering prayer-refunds these days?

[+]

[casandpuppies]

October Destiel AU Challenge: Day 2 - Extra Salty

31 Days of Destiel Drabbles: Day 2 - Fast food hell

“Welcome to Sonic, my name is Castiel. May I take your order?” Cas tries to put as much false enthusiasm into the greeting as he can muster, but at this point he’s so dead inside that he feels like no amount of forced cheer can cover it up.

“Heeeey, Cas! How you doing?”

Cas groans when he hears the unfortunately familiar voice come through the speaker, and he honestly considers hanging up right then and there.

“I’m doing well,” he replies politely. “How are you today, sir?”

“Doin’ better now that I’ve heard your voice.” The sickly sweet tone is accompanied by a chuckle that makes Cas wonder if he could make it to the supply closet and drink enough bleach to kill himself before someone stops him.

Fake it ‘til you make it, he tells himself. You need this job. College isn’t going to pay for itself. Neither is food or rent. His deadbeat dad certainly isn’t going to pay for any of it. Hopefully once he graduates in a year he’ll have a better job lined up and he can finally quit this hellhole.

“What can I get you today, sir?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t come across as impatient as he feels.

“Oh, yeah, guess I gotta order, huh? Let me see, um…what do you recommend?”

Castiel sighs and drums his fingers impatiently on the table. It’s the same pattern every day. Literally nothing, he wants to say. Everything in this store is terrible. “Well, we have a special on our cheeseburger and onion rings right now.”

Charlie Bradbury picks that moment to walk in from outside. “Oh, hey, Cas, I was gonna tell you that your boyfriend’s out on stall twenty-one, but looks like you’ve already figured that out.”

This particular customer has come in almost every day for the past month, and Castiel is almost always unlucky enough to have to take his order. The few times he’s gotten lucky, the man specifically asks for Castiel by name. He’s afraid to ask whether this guy comes up on Castiel’s days off, because if the answer to that is “no,” then Castiel may actually fear for his life. Frankly, he doesn’t know what the man’s obsession-slash problem is. He’s never seen Castiel, and Castiel has never seen him. All he knows is that he drives an old, black muscle car. A Chevy Impala, according to some of the car aficionados in the store. For Heaven’s sake, Castiel doesn’t even know the man’s name.

He shoots her a long-suffering glare just as the customer speaks up again, after some humming and hawing about it. “Yeah, that sounds good.” Finally.

His finger has just hit the screen when Satan’s spawn speaks up again. “Hang on, wait. Sorry, man, I changed my mind. Make it a double-bacon and a large fry, instead. Sorry about that.”

“Not a problem,” Castiel says through gritted teeth. “Anything else I can get you today?”

“Oh, I guess your number isn’t on the menu, huh?”

The guy sounds proud of himself, as if fast-food workers don’t hear that joke ten thousand times a day. Still, to his horror, he feels his face heat up, and when the unmistakable sound of one of his carhops bursting into laughter filters through the headset, he’s just about ready to quit on the spot.

He must stand there in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time, because the customer clears his throat and says, quickly, “Sorry, man, I’m just kidding. Uh, you guys don’t have pie, do you?”

His embarrassment turns into frustration, and he remembers how much he hates this guy. “No, sir, I’m sorry,” he apologizes, even though he’d much rather say ‘do you see it on the fucking menu?’ or ‘sir, you ask me this every time, and the answer never changes,’ or something along those lines. ‘Take your ass down the road to McDonald’s or bake your own damn pie’ is also an appealing option.

“That’s all, then, thanks.”

“Is the order on your screen correct?”

There’s another of those annoying chuckles on the other end. “You got it. What can I say, you know me well, Cas.”

“Nine-eighty-four, have a great day,” Castiel says quickly, forgoing his usual spiel of suggestive selling and offering condiments. He hangs up before he can hear any form of response.

“I honestly don’t know why you hate this guy so much,” Charlie says less than five minutes later. “Yeah, he’s kind of annoying sometimes, but mostly he’s actually super sweet and always tips really well. Speaking of which…” A twenty dollar bill is thrust into his face, and Castiel blinks dumbly at it for a moment. “He said, and I quote, ‘give this to the angel that makes my food.’ Ain’t that sweet, boss?”

Castiel groans and prays the blush on his face isn’t noticeable. Within the first week of “meeting” this mystery asshole-that’s-apparently-not-an-asshole, the man had asked him whether he was going to deliver his food, and Castiel made the mistake of saying “no, I’m the cook.” It’s not quite true, but after nearly losing his temper with the man, Castiel hadn’t had the guts to say “actually, I’m the manager.” Besides, he never wanted to be a manager anyway. And he wouldn’t be, if one of the managers hadn’t had a nervous breakdown and walked out, leaving Castiel—as the most experience—with no choice but to step up to the plate.

Now, this guy must think Castiel is the only one in the building who can cook, because he always sends the carhop back inside with extra money for him. He rolls his eyes and pushes the bill away with an irritated wave of his hand. “You know I don’t accept tips.” It’s not like he’s not allowed to. In fact, he could use the extra money, but his sense of honor won’t let him. Not when his carhops are paid under minimum wage. “Split it up with the rest of the crew, or put it in your pocket. I don’t care,” he tells her. “You’ve told him I don’t accept tips, right.”

Charlie nods while digging into her apron to make change for the twenty so it can be split between the three other carhops on shift. “I don’t know what this dude does for a living, but I wish I was doing it. Because he sure seems to make bank. He’s not even that old. Probably just a little older than you. You know, he’s really not bad looking. If I was into guys, I’d totally snatch him up. You oughta give him a chance. He might be your type, Cas.”

“Right.” The very idea makes him scoff. “The man is clearly an idiot.” He does his best to tune out the rest of Charlie’s description, because he definitely does not want to know anything about this guy. It’s already bad enough that the guy has the voice of a god. It’s even worse that everyone in the store agrees that he’s flirting with Castiel. He doesn’t understand why anyone would flirt with someone they’ve never seen. For all this man knows, Castiel could be ugly as hell. No matter what, he can’t get them to stop calling the guy “Castiel’s boyfriend.” They all think it’s funny and cute, because all of his employees are assholes. Apparently, this customer doesn’t cause this much trouble for anyone else, and Castiel honestly doesn’t know what to make of that. All the carhops love him (that may have something to do with the size of his tips), even if he often sends them back inside to fix something with the order. He must be charming, if nothing else. And if he’s not an idiot, then he’s a trouble-maker, which is just as bad, and Castiel wants nothing to do with him.

--

“Hey, Cas! Your boyfriend wants—”

“Oh no, just stop right there, Charlie. Just walk back out of the door and don’t say anything else to me.”

When he looks up briefly from the money he’d been counting, Charlie’s standing there holding up a bag of food.

She continues anyway, “He wants to know if there’s any way he can make his fries large.”

“Has he paid for his order?” Sixty, eighty, a hundred, a hundred ten…

“Yeah, he paid with a card. He says sorry, he thought he ordered large, but he wasn’t paying attention to the screen, the usual spiel.”

A hundred fiftee—goddammit. It takes an impressive amount of self-control to keep himself from smashing his face into the desk. “Just give it to him and tell him to bite me.”

“Careful, boss.” Cue a suggestive eyebrow waggle. “He might come in here and take you up on that.”

He slams the stack of money onto the desk. “Just...” His hand waves around uselessly in front of him, as if it’ll help him come up with the words. “Give him a family size for all I care, just get him off the lot.”

Charlie does, and it seems like two seconds later that Anna Milton comes in the door, with a look on her face that tells Castiel all he needs to know before she even opens her mouth.

“I’m taking a smoke break,” he deadpans as soon as she comes up to him.

“You don’t even smoke!” she protests.

Before he starts seeing red, he closes his eyes and forces himself to take a deep breath. He says, as calmly as he can, “what does he want now?”

“He says he’s sorry, he doesn’t mean to be annoying, but his fries are really greasy and not salty at all, and he wants to know if he can get a fresh order.”

Because he’s feeling extra “salty,” as Charlie would put it, he drops a fresh order of fries and spends a solid five seconds aggressively salting them. Three minutes later, he thrusts the bag into Anna’s hands. “Here,” he hisses. “Give him a drink too. Give him a shake if he wants. Get him off the lot. I’m going to smoke.”

He storms out the door, taking care to avoid walking by the black behemoth parked at stall seventeen, and spends the next two minutes stewing in his own frustration and glaring at every car that drives by. Unfortunately, his self-pity party is cut short when he spots the Chevy drive off and he’s forced to rush back inside before the guy sees him and somehow realizes who he is.

When he gets back inside, Anna tries to hand him a twenty, and Castiel never thought the sight of money could make him so angry. “He says to give this to the cook for all the trouble, and to tell you—specifically you—thanks.”

--

The damn box has been going on seemingly non-stop, and it’s grating on Castiel’s last nerves. Okay, in reality, it hasn’t been anything they can’t handle, but Castiel’s head is already pounding, and the high-pitched ringing doesn’t help.

He coughs into his elbow and calls across the store, as loudly as he can muster, “Sam, will you answer that? I’ll take over for you.” Sam, the newest cook, shoots him a pitiful look, like he’s just let Castiel’s puppy die. Castiel sighs wearily and makes his way over to the kitchen. Sam is a good worker, and he learns quickly. He’s fresh out of high school, and even though he has a full ride, he wanted a job so that his older brother, Dean, wouldn’t have to pay for everything while he’s in school. “It’s nothing personal,” he says, trying to soften his tone. “You’re doing fine. I’m just faster.” He doesn’t mention that his head hurts too much to listen to customers yell in his ear all day, and Sam’s surely smart enough that he doesn’t even need to mention the fact that he feels like his voice is going to call it quits at any time.

Sam obliges, and Castiel takes his spot at the sandwich station. Today has not been his day. He’s having to turn in an assignment late because he fell asleep last night before he could finish it, and he’s pretty sure he did poorly on a test worth five percent of his grade due to falling asleep too early and not getting the chance to study. To top it all off, he’s pretty sure he’s getting sick. At least, if the bone-deep exhaustion and the relentless cough is anything to go by. But he can’t afford to miss work, and none of the other managers could cover his shift, anyway. Supposedly they all have plans they can’t cancel, but Castiel’s not stupid enough to think that the reason is anything other than simply being too lazy and unwilling to close on a Friday night. In addition to all that, he had to deal with a rude customer not five minutes after walking in the door to start his shift. Castiel argued with the woman for nearly ten minutes before she finally drove off in a huff, even though he’d offered to give her the entire meal for free, despite the fact that the mess-up was her own fault.

And if he thought the day couldn’t get any worse, he’s wrong, because Sam turns to him, holding up his headset, and says, “hey, Cas, they want to talk to you.”

“Is it another complaint?” he asks hopefully. He’d much rather deal with that than the only other possibility.

Sam grins, and Castiel knows he’s done for. “He says he’s ah, your regular?”

The professional thing to do would be, of course, to just tell Sam to hang up on him if he’s not going to order, or tell him that he’s busy. Maybe he can blame it on being sick, or his pent-up annoyance at this customer who’s trying to make his life hell. Instead of doing the reasonable thing, he snatches the headset out of Sam’s hands and puts it on. “This is Castiel, may I help you?” he says unenthusiastically.

“Evenin’, sunshine!” replies a chipper sounding voice. “How’s it going?” It’s like he’s greeting an old friend and not ordering food from a complete stranger.

“Can I get you something?” Castiel asks, completely ignoring the man’s question. Usually, he at least tries to be polite, but he’s too fed-up right now.

“Whoa, buddy, you don’t sound so hot,” the man points out, and then has the audacity to scold him. “You should take it easy if you’re sick, not make yourself worse by working.”

That’s the point where Castiel decides he’s done. “Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for this. If you’re going to order something, then order something. If not, then get off the lot and please stop bothering the employees.” His voice sounds cold to his own ears, and the guy’s probably going to call and complain, but he’s too tired to care. Without waiting for a response, he rips the headset off, shoves it back to Sam, and pours all his anger into making burgers. He doesn’t know if the asshole orders anything, and he doesn’t care. The dinner rush dies down after a while. Castiel sends Sam and a couple other employees on break, and locks himself in the employee bathroom to get some peace and quiet for a few minutes.

Then the peace and quiet is shattered by a knock on the door. He sighs and lets his head fall against the cool glass of the mirror. “Yes?” he calls.

“Cas, your regular wants to talk to you. He’s on twenty-eight.”

Of course. “He’s still here?” It’s kind of strange that Sam’s the one to relay the message, since he’s on break, but then again, customers don’t tend to care if you’re on the clock or not when they call you aside to yell at you.

“Well, he specifically asked for a manager, so there may be something wrong with his order…” Sam trails off awkwardly.

“Alright, fine.” Well, this is it, he thinks. Looks like he’s going to get cussed out for a second time tonight. The guy probably came back to bitch about how rude he was on the box, not knowing that his order-taker was also the manager. Which means the complaint’s probably going to go all the way to corporate, and his boss will have his ass. Great. “I’ll deal with him.”

As he makes his way towards the door, he internally bemoans the fact that he’s going to have to actually deal with this idiot in person, and his nerves set in as soon as he catches sight of the man’s car. Once he’s within five feet of the car, he stops. The man in question is standing beside his car, leaning against the menu board, to Castiel’s irritation. But that’s not what stops him. What stops him is the fact that this is, hands down, the most gorgeous man he’s ever laid eyes on. The man looks up when he hears him approach, and fuck, even his eyes are a nice shade of green.

Remembering that he’s supposed to be professional, and this guy is still an asshole, Castiel coughs awkwardly and hopes he’s not too flushed. It doesn’t matter how beautiful he is. “Um, is there a problem, sir?”

“Heya, Cas,” the man greets, and offers him a small smile. “Just wanted to apologize for bothering you.”

Oh. Well, that’s a plot twist. “Apologize?” he echoes stupidly. “You asked for the manager. I was prepared for you to complain.”

He laughs good-naturedly. “Yeah, I knew you wouldn’t come out if I asked for you by name. Sammy told me you’re a manager, and not a cook. Heh, with that attitude, I should have figured.”

“I..uh…do everything, really.” Smooth. Wait. His mind backtracks. “Sam told you? Then does that mean…”

“Name’s Dean.” The man, Dean, grins, and it’s unfairly dazzling. He sees why his carhops all fall prey to Dean’s charm. “I’m Sam’s brother.”

The revelation should probably be more surprising than it is, but Castiel’s mind is still sluggishly trying to get itself in gear. “Oh. So…is there a problem, then?” Blunt, but Castiel never was fond of small talk.

Dean laughs again. “Nah, man. Like I said, I just wanted to apologize. First time I came up here, I was drunk and I thought it’d be funny to mess with one of the workers.”

Castiel scowls at that, and Dean has the decency to look sheepish. “Yeah, Sam already told me it was a dick move. But look,” he holds up his hands in a peaceful gesture. “I worked fast-food from the time I turned sixteen all the way through college. I know it sucks. Believe it or not, I was hoping you’d get a kick out of me, rather than hate my guts. It was stupid, I know. I should have known better. I know my plan kinda backfired, but hey, I thought I’d end up annoying some bratty little high-schooler at best. I didn’t think I was gonna end up talking to a guy who sounds like he should be operating a phone-sex hotline.”

Castiel’s face turns bright red and he sputters for breath, inhaling so sharply that it sends him into a coughing fit. “Sorry,” he croaks, thirty seconds later.

Dean winces, and gives him a sympathetic look. “Oh, hey, so, yeah… Um…” Now it’s his turn to fumble for words, and he turns and digs for something in his car. “I actually wanted to bring you this.” When he faces Castiel again, he’s holding a Styrofoam cup in his hand, and is determinedly avoiding eye contact. “It’s not poisoned or anything, but I get it if you don’t want it. Just...you sounded kind of sick, and I wanted to give this ah, this peace offering? Kind of? My aunt owns a restaurant, and she makes really good tea—not that I drink tea, but I’ve heard it’s good—anyway, it might help your throat?” He holds the cup out towards Castiel.

For what feels like an eternity, all Castiel can do is stand there and stare. He must stand there long enough to send the wrong impression, because Dean shifts uncomfortably and starts to lower his arm. “I mean, I get it. Yeah. You probably think I’m creepy or weird, or whatever. I’ll just, uh, I’ll just leave.”

“Wait.” He reaches out and gingerly takes the cup, clutching it to his chest in both hands. He has to admit, the warmth from the hot tea feels good on his hands. “Thank you,” he mumbles, gluing his eyes to the ground. The tea actually does help, he discovers, and it has good flavor, too—a mix of ginger and lemon, and a sweetness that’s probably honey.

“Sooo…are we cool?” Castiel looks up to see Dean standing very casually, with his hands shoved into his jacket pocket, doing a very bad job of hiding the hopeful look in his eyes.

Castiel can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. He tries to hide it with the cup. “I don’t know. You did cause me an awful lot of trouble.”

Dean’s face falls. “Oh, yeah, that’s totally fine, I get it.”

“You might have to buy me dinner to make up for it.”

Just like that, the gleam is back in Dean’s eyes. “I think I can do that.”

Naturally, the moment is ruined when Charlie calls out to them from three stalls down. “Hey, boss, hate to break it up, but if you’re done flirting with your boyfriend, we could kind of use you inside! I don’t know if you noticed, but the lot is kind of full.”

Both of them react instantly, stammering out excuses and trying not to appear as visibly embarrassed as they are. Dean clears his throat and Castiel straightens his posture, as if they were merely discussing official business. “Right, well, um…” Dean gestures towards his car and moves like he’s going to get back in. “I’ll…I’ll see you around, right?”

Castiel’s smile widens, and reaches inside his pocket to pull out a pen. Swiftly, before he loses his courage, he grabs Dean’s hand and scribbles his number. “I’m off at two tomorrow. Don’t worry, we’ll go somewhere that has pie.”

“Awesome. And hey, just a tip,” he adds with a cheeky grin. “Don’t put so much salt on the fries, yeah? Your attitude is more than enough salt.”

Sometimes his job isn’t so bad, after all. He just hates that his employees were right, and he’s never going to live it down.

[doomedandstoned]

A Freeform Conversation With C.T. From RWAKE

~By Shawn Gibson~

Some weeks back, Doomed & Stoned tracked down Christopher Farris Terry, frontman of the beloved Little Rock progressive sludge six-pack RWAKE to catch up on what's been happening since Rwake's last album, 'Rest' (2011) -- including the more recent project Mutants Of The Monster fest and the super-group Deadbird, which released 'III: The Forest Within the Tree' (2018) just months ago. They also compare notes on southern barbeque, tripping balls, Danzig memes, raising teenagers, and their mutual love for Guns N' Roses. Finally, we catch wind of a new Rwake record in 2020, which is exciting news indeed for the diehards among us. As usual, I'm presenting Shawn Gibson's interview in the most organic fashion possible, so you can appreciate the flow of the conversation. (Billy)

☿

C.T. how's it going, man?

I'm doing good, man. Doing good.

I'm glad we're able to do this. Thanks for your time.

No, thank you! Man, I was telling someone the other day this is all done. Anything to do for the Mutants [Of The Monster] thing is all resources. I'm not as punk as punk rockers are! (laughs) It's all DIY, you know? It’s friends helping out to do stuff. So, yeah, it means a lot, us talking like this.

Right on! That's how I feel. It's underground music for underground people by underground people. It's that nice little family, like the patchwork. Friends helping friends out! I wouldn't think you'd see it too much in other genres and styles of music. True camaraderie!

No. It's a cool little community threaded out. It's like it's our own little thing throughout the country, ya know?

Definitely! Throughout the world.

Totally, totally.

You told me you have a new project or you've got something coming up, right?

Dude, I got like 50 things going on. (laughs)

I'm sure you do! I can only imagine.

Yes, it's the Mutants [Of The Monster] show. It's coming up soon. I hate to even call it a fest, because compared to another fest in the country, it's not really that big. In Arkansas, to the underground, it's pretty big -- especially when you take a bunch of shows that usually draw fifty to a hundred people and we're getting like three hundred people at it. That's everybody you know going to those shows in these parts!

Rest by Rwake

I started listening to punk and metal in middle school in Charleston, South Carolina. We would have to really go to some hole in the wall type places to see some shows. You get people showing up and you’re glad as shit people showed!

No, real glad! About ten years ago, we did this at Downtown Music, our old venue. It's like a weekend. We did it three years in a row, mostly locals and then we would bring in a couple of out of town bands. Through the years, I started helping a friend with another thing and it stopped happening. Then it made sense to do this. Do something, because something was going to happen. I was having all these bands hitting me up. They all wanted it on a specific weekend. The first thing you think is, "Do I want to do two shows in a row?" If it's a regular show, I want everybody to come to one of them. I had to make the decision: "I'm going to do two in a row!" We're going to make this something that everyone is coming out to.

Nice!

Last year, it turned into what it did with all the good bands that were involved. Before last year was even done, we were already starting to book the bands for this year.

Gotta love that! Sometimes as the fan and audience member you might have to decide which day you’re going, if you might not be able to go to all events or days. "Man, Friday they have these guys. Saturday they have those guys!"

It's the people who have driven in. They are there for the whole shebang. The locals are the ones that they're not copped to the fact of the whole thing and they look at it like, "I want to take this night off." So you have to make something worth them taking off the entire weekend, but I'm going to save up a lot of money. (laughs)

Shit yeah, man! When you go, you got to get merch.

Everyone seems to buying the hell out of merch. Last year was a really positive show. This year, it seems like it's going to be doing the same thing.

What's the name of it?

Mutants Of The Monster, after the Black Oak Arkansas song.

Wow! They are badass.

Yeah. (laughs)

I dig those guys and they are still playing, right?

Oh, yeah.

I saw a year ago they were playing shows. Badass!

Atlantic Records paid me and I made like a webisode. It was a full documentary mixed in with Royal Albert Hall concert.

What?

They played it on VH1. I didn't get to watch it. (laughs)

Damn, man!

I was in the studio with them, like a week recording everything. It was pretty wild!

I love their music. I love Goatsnake's cover of "Hotrod."

Yeah that's a rad song!

I like in the song where they are talking about going to the show, then giving Jim Dandy a ride.

Yeah. I let my wife hear that for the first time. She was like, "Did that really happen?" Who the fuck knows? (laughs)

No telling!

In the world of Jim Dandy...

Those guys have stories for days!

Yeah, completely.

What are some other projects you have going on?

It seems like I got a lot going on, but there's not really any work going on at all. I play in Deadbird. I do samples and chords. Any of that auxiliary kind of stuff, backup vocals. We play on cool shows. (laughs) We played that Migration Fest last year. That was sick! We have a show with Phobia and EYEHATEGOD coming up that's sold out. We have some shows this summer. Even though we have a new album came out, we already got new songs in the works. It's fun.

Always have a little something on the back burner, something in the pocket.

The guys in Deadbird -- Jeff that's in Rwake, the drummer, is in Deadbird also -- we are like the new guys in the band. We are the only ones that live in like central Arkansas, like Sherwood area. Everyone else is spread out. They are the core members. It's two brothers, the Schaaf brothers on guitar on drums. Alan Short is also on guitar and vocals. They all do vocals. We always have a thread going and always sending new riffs, new ideas. Getting together with them is a lot of fun! It's not like any other band practices. It's weird. It's like a bunch of cousins getting in the room and drinking. (laughs) It's fun!

A lot of camaraderie. You guys are tight and have a very good vibe.

Everyone's working so much and we all have kids. When everyone goes out of their way to drive down, like three hours for a band practice. We make a weekend of it. We are cooking out. We’re hanging out. We don't get to do that a lot. Even though I might be putting on a lot of good shows, I don't go to all of them. I can't. Even if I do, I don't get to run into any of my old friends, ya know? It's like a new scene. It's the times. So Deadbird practices, yeah, they're the best! (laughs)

Stories for a later time. A separate interview, huh?

Totally! I'm also working on moving the [Mutants Of The Monster] fest to Hot Springs Arkansas. I've been going up there and having meetings about raising money for artists. All the venues will be in small theaters, really original shows. So yeah, I've been working on that. Even though I should be concentrating on this year's, I'm already working on next year's.

How much goes into all that? Is coordinating with venues tough? The reward is worth it, but what are the technical aspects of putting together a fest?

Technically, I have a crew of buddies. This buddy of mine, Drew, we started cooking catfish together at like nine, I think. We just got tight in a kitchen doing what we have to do, you know what I mean? Get through the weeds, to have everything come out on time. A few years later, I started booking in a local venue. It started out as a nightmare. It's come around 180 degrees and brought it to a really good spot. He was the manager at that time. When it came down to doing this last year and it was getting way too big for me to fuck with. My mind was...

...turning to mash potatoes! (laughs)

It really was! I don't even know if I reached out to Drew. He's the kind of buddy that probably reached out to me and asked: “Yo, what are you going to do? This is the situation. This is what I would do here." He started going over everything. We have a small crew of guys, two other buddies. One hardcore buddy, Jordan, who was always by the stage with Drew. Then we had a floater buddy, Corey, who would be the kind of guy who is like, "Oh, they need this?" and run to the store or run to Guitar Center if we had to type of situation. It always left Drew and Jordan managing the stage. The sound guy didn't even have to worry about any of that just because they had it down so well. When it comes to that, I don't worry about any of that stuff. I'll say this: last year we were almost an hour ahead of time with so many bands.

Damn! That's rare with shows. That's on it!

That is something that never happens! I mean nev-er! (laughs) Seven bands in a time period from like seven-to-midnight, ya now? It’s just that we were on top of our shit.

Voices of Omens by Rwake

Right on. From writing, having had a radio show, and being a fan in the audience, you get there at doors and see the first band two hours later or something. I can imagine it's a headache for musicians and promoters putting on shows.

This year, we've taken on some more. We've added a band onto the list. I think we are going to be good. The only thing I usually worry about at this point is when I wake up in the middle of the night and think, "Eight thousand dollars I got to come up with or whatever!" (laughs) I lose sleep. "How am I going to get this out?" It seems like all that has past, because once the poster is done I start getting a little more attention to eyebrows being raised. Stuff like this where you and I are talking and I'm already watching the ticket sales meet up to the guarantee. This year, there's something I've never had: sponsors.

It helps.

Dude, it helps everything.

Big time.

Man I'm incredibly grateful for that! I had a friend, Kyle he's one of the sponsors. He came to me with the idea. He's kinda like Drew, who runs the stage; it was his go-for with the sponsors, ya know? He was like, "I know people that want to back you. I know people that would back you, especially 'cause they know you can get artists here. It pushed me so hard! Knowing these people were doing this, I just wanted to get more quality stuff, ya know? I wanted to impress them as much as I could on the level I could without killing myself. (laughs)

Of course.

It's really nice! It's doing real good this year. Okay, like you said something about venues. It's such a small town, we really don't have that many venues that deal with original music, ya know? It's not like Austin Texas, where it's like seven venues on one street. They all look the same almost and you just go back and forth, ya know? Dude, if we have to change venues, they're not next door to each other. The venues have been really cool working with me. I want to do something more original. That's why I want to move to Hot Springs. It’s a fest, but it's only three hundred people max, you know what I'm saying? Compared to the festivals, at least in our country, it's not really ["huge"]. But here in Arkansas, it's a big deal for the underground. Not just Arkansas, I'd say mid-south. The whole mid-south is like the butthole of the country! (laughs)

It is! There's a lot of good music here in the south. I try to represent and music that you'd never hear on mainstream radio, especially from the south. I love this shit and been doing it many years. There's a lot of good music from the Carolinas.

Totally. It's affordable to do things in the mid-south too. The price range jumps once you get out of it. It's easier to get a venue. When I move to Hot Springs, I could send you pictures. They are in nice theaters. Technically, there's no more seats than three hundred. It looks nice. It looks amazing. It looks dramatic. You'd be like, "Wow, if I could see Cough in this room!" (laughs)

That would be badass.

When we move to Hot Springs the numbers will be the same, but the quality's going to be different. Like on a steamboat on a river. The sky's the limit as far as doing original performances. I know you heard about Sunn O))) playing in a cave!

Oh yeah! That's where it's at!

That's the kind of stuff we can pull off in Hot Springs, because the entire city is an art city and they back you. "Oh you want to play on the top of the hill that overlooks the whole city?" They back that kind of stuff. So hopefully this year is sick and we move to that.

What makes you laugh?

Most everything. I'm easily amused. I laugh at tragic stuff. (laughs) I don't mean it in like a bad way.

It's a nervous laugh. Sophomore year in high school they came in and said, "Mrs. So-and-so passed away." I had the nervous laugh come out.

Yeah it could be like, "She ruled!" or "She sucked!" (laughs) Right now my daughter has this smartass little attitude going on. We gotta nip it in the bud, but it sounds so clever. (laughs)

You try not to smile! You put your hands over your mouth when you smile.

I put my hands over my face!

You look at your wife, "Take care of this. I can't handle it right now."

Dude!

My thirteen year old son has an attitude problem right now, as well. I keep yelling at his ass! I get it.

I'm laughing easy and I need it, too, because I'm easily just as stressed! To wake up, catch a smile even if it's from an old Warrant video! It'll make my day ya know?

What's been an awkward moment in any of your bands: Rwake, Deadbird, Ash Of Cedars?

Hmm. They are there. I don't know if they could be like addressed at the moment.

Like you are on acid and you go into a grocery store and there's like six cops buying doughnuts! (laughs)

In the Rwake days, I wish it would get awkward. We always pushed it to where it was past awkward and to the point of are we going to live through this!? Are we going to jail? (laughs)

That's one of the reasons I love Rwake! You can hear how out there the music is, so I'd imagine how out there you might have been in the moment.

I wish there were awkward moments! We fought each other on tour and it never got awkward. Still raging the whole time. We never acknowledged the moment, ya know? If something is happening like we get pulled over and we're all going to jail and there's drugs all over the place. It's not awkward anymore. (laughs)

Damn, man.

It's like, "Well everything is fucked at this moment." There was this one time, maybe. We played with these punk rock kids. It was 2003 in Flagstaff, Arizona, and the band was Stab City Slit Wrist. It was two singers, female and dude, and they were just like fucking crazy crust punk, but bigger. We were all on substances at this time. (laughs) My mind was out there on stuff. This was the night I chose to break out my leather pants. (laughs) There was also like a punk GWAR kind of band that opened before us, an artsy band dressing up and did theatrical kind of stuff. My friend gives me these leather pants and I was like, "I'm going to bring em on tour!" The band was like: "Dude, you keep those put up the whole time we are on tour!" (laughs) They were like, "Do not bring that shit out!" I remember like, "This is the night!"

Get real toasted and put 'em on!

Dude, I was trippin’ like out of my mind! I already justified doing it, because I'm on a spiritual plane of existence. I was just like, "No one can touch me!" We go and we spent the night at these peoples house and I'm burning up. It's Arizona and I'm wearing leather pants ya know? Dude out of nowhere I took my shirt off and was like, "Who gives a shit ya know?" The singer of Stab City goes, "Oh, it's that kind of party!" Every dude in the audience takes their shirt off! (laughs) Rwake looks over at me like, "You fucking asshole!" (laughs) This is what Alice Cooper's original band must have felt like. It wasn't awkward to me, of course! I remember looking at Rwake. I say Rwake, I mean Brittany. Brittany looks over at me like, "You motherfucker!"

So you're like Jim Morrison out there? (laughs)

Yeah!(laughs) Leather pants, snake skin boots, no shirt.

WOO!

The after party at the house was shirts versus skins! That was semi-awkward, but not for me! We made really good friends with them.

What are some other projects you're involved with at the moment, besides Mutant Of The Monster?

I do a radio show and make compilations of all the local stuff. I play in another band, Iron Tongue, but we don't play that much either. It's like most of the stuff I do, I don't do it that much. I could say I play in a lot of bands, but it's stuff that doesn't happen that often. Rwake played last year at the Mutants fest and that was a really cool thing. It was cool to get together and play a new song -- that was really cool! Rwake, we have a whole album written, recorded basically. Not recorded to put out, but like a demo.

Wow!

You know, we have to figure out how we're going to do it as a band. Reid [Raley] is busy all the time. If he's not touring in his other bands, which they tour a lot, he is constantly on the road. He's a real busy dude! Our other guitarist, John, lives in Nashville, Tennessee or Murphysboro. So it's tough for Rwake to get it going, but it's there when we can figure it out. We've all put it on our radar for 2020.

Awesome!

We are hoping to record the full album by then, somehow. We have a full album written and more stuff. We are going to do the Black Sabbath thing.

Oh, yeah! Volume Four, Magnetic Eye. It's the redux. They did 'The Wall' -- fucking amazing record. Did you hear that one?

Yeah. ASG, Pallbearer are on it.

They did a damn good job, great covers of classic Floyd!

Yeah. We are ridiculous Zakk Wylde fans, so when we saw he was going to be on there it was like, "Oh god!" (laughs) Rwake's not a working band, like a lot of bands. We really didn't expect to get on it. Then they put us on the other one that's going to be coming out. We are going to do "The Writ," so it really seems like we have just stepped in it! (laughs) It's like the biggest song in the world. That's a no matter what, we are doing that! It is supposed to come out in 2020. As a band, that's some of the stuff I'm doing. We are talking about how are we going to record this, what is the structure going to be like? The Deadbird thread is up and constantly going. If we are not talking about new songs, we are joking about something. We had this awesome thread going on about Danzig. Jeff sent this picture of Danzig's left breast, then I put puppy dog eyes on it. Then we were also talking about Danzig's cover of "N.I.B." sounds like he's saying, "Your loaf of meat."

(Both of us try our best Danzig impressions)

I saw something that said Danzig will cover Elvis tunes. That made me spit my beer out! I also imagine him wearing the white suit with the cape.

He's takin' it so over the edge there. He was born for this!

Is he going to wear the suit or what?

Oh, wow! Probably black leather, ya know? That's what he did. Remember the Misfits video, where it's just them on stage. There's a pyramid. That, to me, when I see that, is like you just ripped off Elvis' live video. That's how his concert was on stage like that. Small band and he's sitting in a chair with a guitar. He wore the black leather suit. I think it was Elvis '69 or something I saw what he was doing. I appreciated it, I push for it. Danzig you go, girl! (laughs) Just do it! Feel good about yourself! Don't hurt nobody!

Don't practice your Jeet Kune Do on anybody!

Practice on the stage in front of us while we're down on the floor watching you. (laughs) Shit, I'll pay extra for that!

Hell Is A Door To The Sun (Reissue) by Rwake

I like to ask folks in southern states if they have good barbeque where they are from. How's it fare in Arkansas?

There is this place that is growing called Whole Hog, which originated here. When you walk in there, there's trophies out the ass. They're sauces mostly. There is a place right down the road called Pig and Stick. It's the fucking bomb! There's a place that's been open since the seventies, in Levy, called Mick's BBQ. It's ran out of this small little room. The smokers in the back are bigger than where you'd eat. That's where I learned to cook barbeque when I was a kid. He opened up a restaurant and it didn't last long so he just went back to his original place and he's still open. That's where I learned to put it on, to spin it, how long that kind of stuff. There are multiple places here. You can tell that about them when you show up to these places in a small town. When you look at the back in the smoking room and you think: "Jesus, this place has been up since the '20s!" (laughs)

Some of the best places I have gotten barbeque from looked like sheds or shacks. There are several like that in Savannah.

They are not winning the awards, but...

...they have some badass barbeque.

Yes, they do! Yes they do. We have good catfish places here, too.

Nice! I love catfish.

You want to find a place that makes their own hushpuppies -- that batter their own shit up. Those are the places. Grandpa's Catfish has been around awhile. That's where Drew and I worked together. I worked there almost ten years. They were ran out of the house. They were there since the early '70s. The house was falling down and they had to move into a restaurant. When they were in the house they were famous, because right when you came to the table you got this bowl of peanuts to crack and eat. What was so cool is they didn't care if you dropped your shells on the floor. So every time anyone would walk across the floor, you'd here crunch, crunch, crunch of peanut shells. As a seven or eight year old kid, "I want to go to Grandpa's!" and throw peanut shells on the floor! When they moved into an actual place is when they're like, "You can't do that!" It's not legal to do this. We're like, "Okay." They make the best hush puppies I've ever had. Even working there and I was making it, I still couldn't understand the magic. I never got sick of it. There's a magic in hushpuppies!

What's some damn good books you've read?

I recently finished the Slash novel, his autobiography. I'm about to start the Duff book.

Duff's awesome! Love his attitude. He's always smiling.

He did a show of his book and I kind of didn't like it. This is kind of weird man. I read excerpts from the book and I know it's awesome. Have you read this book at all? Slash book?

No, not yet.

It's incredible! His mother was David Bowie's stylist, like made all of his outfits. She actually started dating him and going on tour. The Ziggy Stardust outfits and everything after that was designed by Slash's mom.

Wow!

He was heavy into BMX as a teenager. Dude, the Guns N' Roses stories are mind blowing! Just the shit on Axl! (laughs) I have all the KISS books. The only one that seems halfway honest is Ace's book. The other ones seem like they are talking a lot of shit. You don't know if it's made up or what, ya know? Slash's is all real. You can tell. The stories are so precise. The first time he met Izzy [Stradlin], Slash drew a picture of Joe Perry in a high school notebook at a party and he left it there at the party and left. While he was working at Tower Records, Izzy showed up and was like, "Did you draw this?" Slash was like, "Yeah," and Izzy was like, "Cool." (both laugh)

Dude, all the way down to the heroine stories are mind blowing! They opened up for Alice Cooper in a coliseum in LA. The whole band is there but Slash left to go find heroine. He was gone for two days up until that show. They couldn't find him! All the way up until a minute before the concert he was like "I didn't have a guitar around my neck." At that time he didn't even have a fucking guitar! He pawned all his shit! While he was recording Appetite For Destruction, the only guitar he had was that red Mockingbird. It was getting pawned, getting out, getting pawned, getting out. He never had Les Pauls. The Les Paul that he recorded that album with, there's two made in the entire world and they are mocks, they're rip offs. They are not Les Pauls. That's what he recorded that album with. There was one other one, "Oh, I borrowed this from a friend." So he shows up for the show. He walks past security through the back, where only a band would or someone working would walk through. Until he found his way through, he kept telling everyone that he's playing tonight, "where's Guns N' Roses?" He said everyone was pissed off and didn't want to talk to him. He said to that day every time they would play with Alice Cooper, Alice would look at Axle and ask, "Where is your guitar player?" even if Slash was standing right there.

Damn!

It's funny, because Slash has recorded songs with Alice. His last two albums he's played on with Alice. That's just a story to come up with the tone of the recording for Appetite For Destruction and him trying to find that tone for the rest of his life. (laughs) Dude he was like "we were in this shitty little room with a rented head." He rented this Marshall head. The company would not sell it to him. He rented it for the next two years and would not return it. They were like, "You got to fucking return this!" He returned it and re rented it. All during the process they were looking for producers during the Appetite for Destruction. It was a two-year lull before they actually went in and recorded the album. That's the whole reason Live Like A Suicide came out. None of that is live. It's all demos they recorded in one day getting ready to sound check for Appetite for Destruction. They threw a live track over it like people were there and they called it that.

So they are looking for producers and all that crap. Paul Stanley reaches out to them because he is looking for bands or whatever. He's heard of Guns N' Roses. They set up a show. Slash says, "Dude, there's this one bar we would play." It was the seediest bar in LA. No one knows the name, because it was never popular and it was where their fans would go, where the dope fiends would go. It was dark, dungeon-like place. "Our best shows have been there." He said he tried to kick heroin two days prior to this. He is drinking a lot of whiskey to try to make up for it. He also mentions his guitar tech, who still works with him 'till this day, was his first night working for Slash. This was a year-and-a-half before Appetite for Destruction was ever released. They are signed, they have money behind them. Slash said he's going behind the amp and throwing up the entire night. He's coming off heroin, but constantly drinking whiskey. Those were his two things: whiskey and heroin. He did coke, but he didn't make it sound like it's a big deal. (laughs)

He said the backstage of this venue was a slender concrete hallway that went to this backdoor to an alley. So he said they played that show and Paul was like, "That was interesting." A few months later, they do an interview for Billboard, because Appetite for Destruction is coming out. Slash still doesn't have any guitars yet. They are talking about doing some shows and they make fun of KISS in the interview. They are about to go on their first major tour. Slash loves B.C. Rich. That is his guitar all the way up until he got labeled a Les Paul, dude. Slash calls Paul Stanley, three months after bashing KISS in the Billboard interview, "Paul, you have an endorsement with B.C. Rich, I'm really struggling for a guitar right now. Is there any way you could help me out?" Paul was like, "I can help ya out, but I'm not gonna!" (laughs)

Damn it, man!

He was like, "You should watch what you say in interviews!" Slash said he realizes what he said. They were at the KISS honors and Slash walked up to Paul that night and apologized to him. Slash was going on about how sorry he was and he's not that guy anymore. Paul told him to shut up, because they were on live TV. "Who gives a shit about that stuff, man?" (laughs) Slash said "Okay, I just had to apologize." One last one and you won't have to read the book! (laughs)

Sure.

In that Appetite For Destruction lull, Slash became best friends with Dave Mustaine.

Oh, wow.

This was right before So Far, So Good, So What? came out and he had already written most of the songs. Slash was not doing heroin at the time. He got on this huge crack kick with Dave Mustaine.

What the fuck? (laughs)

They are smoking it like crazy! (laughs) They are both B.C. Rich dudes, ya know?

That's hilarious.

He said he would go to Dave's house and smoke crack and play guitar. Dave would play all of the So Far, So Good, So What? stuff. Dave Mustaine told Slash that he wanted Slash in Megadeth. Slash had to make the decision: Guns N' Roses or Megadeth. This is when you're signed to a major label, but you don't have a producer. You have this, but you don't have that, ya know? Do I join Megadeth or stay with my band that's trying to do this? He finally had to say, "I'm sorry, Dave. I can't do it." That's crazy, ya know? Think about So Far, So Good, So What? with Slash playing guitar on it!

That blows my mind thinking about it.

Slash gives Dave Mustaine a lot of credit to this day. "He may be a better guitar player than me." Slash was showing up everyday smokin' Dave's shit and keeping up until he made me that guy. Ok, I'll be done. There's thousands! There's so many cool Duff stories. It makes me want to dive right into the Duff book.

Xenoglossalgia: The Last Stage of Awareness by Rwake

That's what people want. I want to know what makes these guys tick. What do you do when you’re not on tour, recording, or writing? I love that shit. I love finding out what we have in common.

It's cool to find out why it took three fucking years to record Use Your Illusion. It's wild hearing those stories alone. I'm trying to think, Slash might have been twenty-two or twenty-three. It's crazy! You know that Guns N' Roses Ritz show?

I believe so.

The classic Live At The Ritz show. It was on MTV. They sound like shit. (laughs) That was a fluke. Guns N' Roses shared a manager with Great White. Great White was supposed to play that. Slash would talk about the manager pushing Great White on Guns and Roses and mentioned touring. Slash said, "Stop pushing Great White on us, dude!"

(both laugh)

Great White was supposed to play that MTV performance and they pulled out for whatever reason. The manager was like, "Guns N' Roses, you gotta do this!" They got on the road and went straight to New York to play that show. I was in seventh grade when I watched that motherfucker. It’s the one where they played "Knocking On Heavens Door" for the first time. Appetite for Destruction was out three or four months and "Sweet Child of Mine" wasn't even a single yet. Dude, Axl's wearing a Thin Lizzy t-shirt, the snap on leather biker hat. Slash is so not on, that it is on! Duff McKagan is the entire band! The come on with "It's So Easy" and you're like, "Where is that second vocal coming from?" It's carrying the entire song, and it's Duff.

Duff's the man!

They come out like a goddamn missile at that show! It's insane! My seventh grade mind could have had to watch Great White that night! (laughs)

You would have taken a different path.

I like Great White, don't get me wrong. I think the whole world would have taken a different path if it wasn't the Guns N' Roses show at the Ritz.

You can appreciate hard rock and punk edge that early Guns N' Roses had. Now you might find Guns N' Roses t shirts at Walmart. Now they're a classic rock band with the likes of AC/DC, Metallica, and so on. When you see GnR playing Moscow, Monsters of Rock tour, and there are millions of people there! It looked like Woodstock!

Man, that Slash book is so good about details. They talk about Use Your Illusion tours how they had two keyboard players, six back-up players, saxophonists. There is a point where he is like, "With all these musicians really we are a stripped down band again." I took breaks from the book to watch YouTube videos of these performances and Slash was right. The music was stripped down. The part in the book where Slash talks about touring with Aerosmith! Somebody videotaped it from the crowd. Dude, it's so awesome where GnR introduces "Patience" to the crowd for the first time! It's there! Fuck this is so awesome! [Aerosmith] are coming on stage, blown! I'd hate to be Aerosmith having to follow that.

Have you seen Walk Hard?

Oh yeah!

Where Dewey Cox has to follow Elvis and he says, "Mr. Elvis, that a hard act to follow!"

Yeah! It's a good time. I wouldn't trust the Axl book if it ever came out. Steven Adler, just 'cause of his health, I don't know where he's at with writing. The stories that were told about him in that book were incredible. He was the hottest dude in the band. Chicks went to the shows to see Steven Adler. They were like nobody wants to fuck us! (laughs) Slash told a story about going to these parks where people would play basketball or whatever and they were open all night long. If you wanted to get a basketball game at 3AM, you could. He said Steven would take his entire drum set and set it up at like midnight and would play for three hours. He said it was wild pulling up on Steven and he's playing solos in LA, ya know? I would love to hear his story.

The first two Guns N' Roses shows were Tracii Guns from LA Guns It was Tracii, Izzy, Axle, a different bass player and Steven. Duff and Slash were the new editions to Guns N' Roses. Axl Rose originally sang in LA Guns. They broke up LA Guns to start a new fresh band called Guns N' Roses. It was members of Hollywood Rose, I knew that before reading the book and then members of LA Guns. I just never knew the particulars. They played two shows and had a blowout fight at the second one where Tracii quit and went back to LA Guns. Axl was like fuck it, we'll fill their positions. Slash tried out for G'n'R for a while. Axl wanted Slash, and Izzy is a standoffish dude, so Izzy came to band practice one day and walked out. He was like, "You didn't tell me this dude was showing up." Axl yelled at Izzy, "This is Slash! I want him to be in the band!"

Izzy had just as much pull as Axl at the time, because he was such a weird avant artist. He'd be like, "You jam with him. I'm out of here." He had already done the "Did you draw this picture?" two years before that. (laughs) Slash remembers the first time and what he had to do to get with Izzy, to be on his side. Slash had to get on Izzy's good side to get in that band. I love KISS, but they have no stories like that. It's probably the most anti-rock and roll stories. Gene got really gross and personal with all his sex stories. I mean, which could be the most lewd shit that would stand up to drug taking (laughs) or just being a weird stand up artist, ya know? Which I -- sure, 'cause Izzy was on heroin, too. Duff wasn't like them. They all dabbled in the stuff, but not even Axl. He wasn't like that. The heroin dudes were Izzy and Slash. From what I get from it, is that Slash probably got in with Izzy that way, being heroin buddies. That's exactly what it is.

Crazy shit.

It's such a good book. It is real rock and roll. It's like shit Rwake would have done really early on. (laughs) "Well, I guess we are all going to walk back home from Jackson Tennessee together and leave all our gear on the side of the road. Well, we really didn't think about it. It's a van, it ran to the gas station when we filled it up with gas. We thought it would have made it to Nashville!" (laughs) I see those connections.

Truly living in the moment.

Yeah, yeah. Fun times!

Is there anything else you want to push or plug?

No, I think I sold Slash's autobiography pretty good! (laughs)

I liked hearing that. I'll have to check those books out.

It's hard to pull yourself away from it. I really want to plug the Mutants Of The Monster coming up. The THOU set is going to be amazing!

Goddamn, yeah!

There are going to be sets throughout the entire weekend that I'm not supposed to talk about. -(16)- is flying in just for this!

Nice!

Fingers crossed that a lot of these bands will do second sets.

Anytime you got something going on let me know and I'll gladly share and promote it.

Thank you! Hell ya dude! Hopefully we will have some Rwake out some time soon.

Sweet!

Cool! It means a lot Shawn! Thank you, dude!

Right on! Thank you!

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

[fanaste]

Birthdays in a traffic jam

Title: Birthdays in a traffic jam

Fandom: OMGCheckplease

Pairing: Larissa Lardo Duan / Shitty Knight

Rating: PG-13 (for language)

Word count: 3320

Part 3 of The Shitty and Lardo Chronicles.  Also on AO3

The problem is traffic.

The problem is it’s four in the afternoon and everyone and their mother is out thinking that they’ve escaped early enough to avoid the home time traffic.  The problem is someone up ahead is honking angrily every three seconds.  The problem is some people can’t blare a horn politely.

The problem is they’re in a traffic jam.

The problem is Lardo’s in labour.

“I’m gonna have this baby in the car.”

Shitty looks calm and composed.  His eyes are focused on the unmoving traffic ahead and his knees aren’t bouncing but you’ve only to look at the bone white knuckle grip he has on the steering wheel and his twitching moustache to see that he feels otherwise.  That despite how he looks he is very aware of the active labour going on beside him and he is shitting himself.

The wheel leather squeaks under his hands.

“My darling, my queen, my reason for living,” he takes a thin breath, “please don’t because I don’t know how to deliver a fucking baby.”

Lardo flinches despite his even tone and her eyes flit to the rear view to check the backseat but of course it’s empty.  Xuan is not bouncing impatiently in her car seat because she’s at Dex and Nursey’s probably drinking too much sugary juice and watching cartoons that are slightly too old for her.  Shitty can swear all he likes now that they’re sponge of a two-year-old isn’t around. Truthfully Lardo wants to swear too but someone in this vehicle has to have their shit together.

She thought she had more time.

Honestly.

“I might crown in the car.” She tries to keep her voice light but Shitty shoots her a very dark look.

“No you are not.” He says firmly.

Traffic moves up a distracting couple of inches preventing her from voicing just what exactly she thinks of that ridiculous command.  Lardo sees Shitty loosen on thumb and it hovers over the centre of the wheel.

“Don’t.” She warns. “It’s not helping the guy up there, it’s not gonna help us.”

“You are literally having a baby in this car.” A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead.  Lardo reaches out to wipe it away and despite the tension in his body he leans into her touch.  Shitty will always lean into her caress as she would lean into his.

“Chill dude we’ll get there.” Except channelling Nursey doesn’t help her to actually feel chill. In fact, she feels quite panicked because she really doesn’t want to have a baby in the car.  Firstly, because contrary to what they’ve seen on TV, having a baby is a mite more complicated and Shitty is a very talented man but he’s not a doctor – the man can’t even cook scrambled eggs for God’s sake let alone deliver the product of a fertilised one – and secondly the bodily fluids would ruin the upholstery.

“I know it doesn’t help to point it out but I feel like I should,” Shitty grits, “this wouldn’t be happening if you’d paid attention to the contractions instead of doing that fucking painting.”

Lardo knows this is true but honestly, truly and honestly, she thought she had more time.  It’s not her fault pregnancy makes her so inspired. It’s way better than eating bizarre food combinations or being sick all the time.  Lardo gets pregnant and creativity is pouring forth from her body like a tap turned on full.  She would be an idiot to let all that potential go to waste, so yes she may have favoured getting that last bit of colour down rather than note how far apart her contractions were getting.  Besides this is her second baby and the second is supposed to be a breeze.  Her first certainly was.  Xuan was born with minimal fuss, very quickly and with a funny half smile on her face.  Lardo was sure the story would be the same this time round.

She realises now as she pants in the car that this was ridiculously, wildly stupid.  With every contraction (five minutes apart!) she is reminded of how fucking arrogant it was to ignore her bodies ample warning that it was time to get her ass to hospital.

Unfortunately for Shitty, however, Lardo’s in a lot of pain and she’s scared and even if they called an ambulance it would be stuck a hundred cars behind them.  With every second they don’t move Lardo is further convinced that she’s going to have to do this alone and it’s terrifying, which is why when she answers it’s more of a screech than the sharp retort that would have ordinarily sufficed.

“That fucking painting is a fucking commission,” Their toddler is not here so she’s letting a litany of cathartic curses go, “and I’m getting paid a fuck tonne of money for it.”

“We don’t need the money!”

And it’s a testament to how stressed he is that he even let something like that slip past his lips.

But labouring Lardo is in control now and she has no time for his bullshit.  “Have you met me?! Oh fuck!” A contraction steals her breath.

All the hostility in the air vanishes.

“Lards you okay?”

It takes her a minute to find enough air in her lungs to exhale a hay, “I’m okay.”

Shitty grasps her hand and she squeezes it hard.  He goes white, something cracks.  “I’m sorry.” He says.

She nods because she knows he is but also because she’s having another contraction and must pant like a dog.

When it came to carrying their first child Shitty made sure they were the most well informed terrified parents to be.  Lardo, refusing to feed into his paranoia took on the role of the zen parent. Shitty worried so much he gave himself stress ulcers so to balance them out Lardo refused to worry about anything. Come their second she thought he’d mellow the hell out but he didn’t.  He went and dug up those articles, gave himself a hair whitening refresher course on pre and post pregnancy complications and then stared at the ceiling for two hours with their daughter held tight in his arms.

“I’m freaking out.” She says in a small voice all hope of appearing calm for the sake of the man quietly freaking out beside her, gone.  The simple confession does make her feel a little better though as confessions of weakness around loved ones are pro to do, but it doesn’t last long because her body is still trying to expel the human being inside of her.

The cape of calm that Lardo usually wears for him is now crumpled in the foot well, she’s gritting her teeth through every wave of pain, she really wants to push and is desperately trying not to, and she wants to cry.  She always took comfort in thinking that if women could give birth in caves thousands of years ago then it meant her body would know what to do.  The downside of that being that when your body really wanted to do something you had to contend with a thousand years’ worth of evolutionary stubbornness.  Her body wanted to push damn the situation and consequences.

Shitty takes both hands off the wheel and encases hers.  “Lards look at me.  Larissa.” Lardo looks into those bright green eyes, tries to lose herself in the spring colour of them, tries to remember what it was like when they first met, how beautiful he was…even with the blossoming Tom Selleck pornstache.  “You’re going to be okay? Okay? We’re not far from the hospital turn off now and we’re surrounded by people who could get help if, if we need it.  Don’t be afraid.  I’m here and I’m not going to leave you.  You won’t do this by yourself.” He kisses her knuckles.

Lardo nods, tears roll down her cheeks.

Reluctantly he lets go of her hand and takes the wheel.  One contraction later traffic starts to move.

They spend the next three minutes in silence.  Lardo’s busy trying not to moan every time she contracts and Shitty’s too busy trying not to lay on the horn, throw up and scream all at the same time.

“Shitty?”

The honking stops cars around them start to roll forwards as traffic eases up.

“Shitty?”

Eyes glued to the road he replies, “Yes my love?”

“I need to push.”

Shitty does a double take at the puffy red faced woman who’s taken his wife’s place.  “What? No! No, no, no don’t push! Traffic’s moving baby we’re almost home fucking free!”

“Shitty!” Lardo screams, “I have to fucking push!”

“Argh!” He screams.

“Argh!” She screams.

“Shit shit shit.”

There’s an angry blare of the horn and Lardo sags sideways into the centre console.  The car stops abruptly and then Shitty’s out of the car.  For a frightening delirious second she thinks he’s run off but the minute he throws open her door she realises how utterly absurd such a fear is.  It’s Shitty she’s talking about here.  Her husband. The man who waited nearly four years for her in college.  He’d never leave her especially not when she is valiantly trying to not give birth to their child in the car by the side of the road.

“Okay baby.” He gasps, “We’re having a mother fucking baby.”

They’re going to have a baby by the side of the road.

“Noooo,” she whines, “Not here.” But really protests at this point are hopeless.

“Lards my universe, my sweet sweet duckling, my entire reason for existing- “

She finds it in her to roll her eyes at him.

“We’re having a baby by the side of the road.  It’ll be a glorious anecdote for when we go to Providence.” He grins but it’s strained and it’s only when she really concentrates on looking at him that she reads the absolute terror on his face.  He takes a deep summoning breath.  “I can do this.”

“Well,” she pants (one, two, three, four) “you’ve read enough books.”

Shitty lets out a nervous burst of laughter.  “Yeah I did didn’t I?”

He helps her out of the car and together they very very slowly make it to the back where Lardo tries to settle into the seat.  Despite the panic and the pain she still has the presence of mind to be embarrassed about having her feet and her ass hanging out.  Sure, she’s trying to push a human out but she was hoping to do it with some dignity, surrounded by doctors who look at people’s undercarriages all day, not home time motorists.

“Okay, okay, okay.  So I guess just push when you need to huh? Oh fuck! I gotta wash my hands.”

“Glove compartment!”

No parent travels anywhere without hand sanitiser.

Shitty dives forwards yanking open the compartment and pouring way too much gel on his hands. “Ooh Watermelon.”

She wants to laugh she really does but all she’s got in her is a groan.  Baby Knight two is ready to come out and they are pissed at being held in so long.

By her feet Shitty chants, “Oh shit oh shit oh shit.  Okay I need to catch it.”

“Don’t drop the baby!”

“Right,” Shitty pushes his sweat slick hair back, “rule number one just like with the first.”

Then Lardo loses all ability to do anything except accept that it’s time to push.  Fingers of one hand curled around the headrest and the other digging into the seat she grits her molars, bears down and with the next contraction rides the wave pushing and pushing until she has to break for air.

As she raggedly sucks in oxygen voices gather around them.

“Oh my god is she-?”

“Someone call 911!”

“You got this! Come on baby!” Shitty sounds like he’s cheering at a game.  “Come on Lards keep pushing! Go go go!”

Ignoring the crowd situated at the business end of this marvellous and cringe worthy display of the miracle of birth she pushes and pushes until she can’t push anymore.

“I see the head!” Shitty’s voice has gone up an octave, his eyes saucer wide stare down between her legs. “Oh fuck.  Oh Jesus fucking fuck! You beautiful little bastard yes!”

“Stop,” Lardo wheezes, “Swearing in front of the baby.”

“One more push Lards you fucking beauty.”

Lardo takes a deep breath.

Shitty laughs, high and manic, “They’re out! They’re out!”

Lardo’s arms and legs feel like jelly as she cranes herself forwards.  “Are they okay?”

The air is still, all sucked in by the crowd around them.  Shitty’s face is frozen halfway between heart bursting joy and heart stopping terror.

A long loud wail pierces the bubble of silence.  “Oh my God.” He breathes.  “Oh my fucking God.  It’s a boy. We have a boy!”

Lardo sobs.  In relief, in joy, in pain.  She cries when Shitty cuts the cord (thank you gathering strangers), she cries when he places their son on her chest and kisses her cheek, his own face soaked.  “Oh man.” He cries against her skin, “Oh man.”

In the distance a siren wails.

***

Half an hour later Shitty, eyes still round as dinner plates, sits beside her in the ambulance. He wasn’t kidding about them being close to the turn off ramp, the ambulance might have been here sooner but the incident ahead is only just clearing.  In her arms a tiny pink faced infant with downy dark hair makes breathy sounds against her skin.  When she places her lips against his head she inhales that impossible to describe scent of new baby, despite being delivered by a man whose hands were covered in watermelon scented anti bac gel.

“Oh man.” Said man breathes, smoothing a hand over his sweaty hair.  There’s a smudge of blood on his forearm and a mix of that and placenta on his shirt.  “I can’t believe that just happened.” They both take a moment to disbelieve it together. “What’s the Vietnamese word for surprise?”

Lardo slides him a look. “You do realise my mom speaks French right?”

“Yeah but you said you wanted to give the kids Vietnamese names.”

She did say that.

“Google it.” She says. Her mother grew up in a French speaking orphanage.  She speaks Vietnamese a little but she was educated in French.  Lardo grew up learning French not Vietnamese.  She doesn’t know the word for surprise.

Shitty shows her the screen which reads sự ngạc nhiên’ – surprise.  He then youtubes how to pronounce it.

“I don’t think we can name our kid something that we can’t find a direct translation for.”

Shitty hums his agreement. Then as if struck by lightning he says, “What about Vinh?”

“Vinh?”

“It means glory or glorious. I think this birth was pretty fucking glorious don’t you?”

“Language.” She warns mildly, chewing over the name.

“We could call him Vinnie for short and then my grandfather would be able to pronounce it.”

Lardo snickers.  His grandfather falters over Xuan’s name all the time.  If he wasn’t so old and they didn’t visit so infrequently she’d be annoyed by how he uses his age as an excuse for what is just a wilful racist refusal to learn how to say a name that he won’t find in his bible.

“I like it. Vinh.  Glory.”

“Wait until we tell Bitty about this.” Shitty beams down excitedly at them. “He is gonna fucking die.”

Lardo cups her palm protectively around their son’s tiny head and scowls, “Language, Shits.”

* * *

Bitty’s face fills up the phone screen “Oh my god honey are you okay?”

Thankfully Lardo’s shirt was not covered in placenta and other assorted birth goos so there was no need for a washed out pastel hospital gown but she does look like a woman who belongs in a hospital bed.  Gone is the pregnancy glow of before and in its place is the post birth sag.

“I’m fine bits.” She smiles pepped up by some juice after the event.  “Us women are very resilient.”

“Well I know that,” he tuts, “but you gave birth in a lay by! You’re trending on Twitter!”

Lardo jolts forward horrified, “I am?”

“Uh huh.  Someone filmed you.”

She cringes.

“Nothing graphic!” Bitty rushes to reassure her.  “Just your face all sweaty and- well actually you have the same expression Jack does when he’s playing against the Rangers.”

“I have Jacks angry hockey face when I’m in labour?”

“Or,” says a voice from the doorway, “Jack has your labour face when he’s playing hockey.  Hi guys.” Nursey sweeps into the room followed by Dex who has a squirming Xuan in his arms.  She wriggles and wriggles until he lets her slide down and then she’s climbing up on the end of the bed tucking herself under Lardo’s arm and staring at the screen.

“Hey cutie.” Bitty waves.

Xuan waves shyly then buries her face in Lardo’s side.  Her daughter has a very big crush on their itty Bitty.

“She still has excellent taste I see.” He teases.

Lardo sweeps some hair back from Xuan’s face.  “Holsters still lobbying hard.  He told her he’d get her a p u p p y for her birthday.”

Bitty gasps theatrically, “He did not!”

“Swear to God.  He’s not allowed obviously, two rabbits, a gerbil and the hens is enough.”

Bitty grins.  “So where is he?” He leans forwards as if he could see round the screen.  She turns the phone exposing Shitty holding the baby between two cooing former hockey players.  “He’s so tiny.”

“You didn’t see Xuan either did you?” He shakes his head.  “They’re so little but only for, like, five minutes.  In a week he’ll be a fatty.”

Bitty laughs, “Hey you.”

Everyone is expressly forbidden from using his nickname since Xuan has started to parrot them all.

“Hey Bits.  Meet Vinh.” Shitty’s grin stretches his moustache out.

“How are you?”

“My man,” he gushes, “I delivered my son by the side of the road.  These hands of mine pulled him from his mother’s womb- “

“Dude stop.” Will grimaces.

“Into the light of day.”

“In front of a crowd of gawping strangers.” Nursey adds as if Lardo’s going to ever be able to forget it.

Shitty ignores them, “I am fan-fu- fantastic.”

“I’m so glad.  Jack says hi and congratulations – I think he was tearing up.  He’s at practice but he’s gonna call when he gets back.  I can’t believe you gave birth by the side of the road.  Lards that’s awfully spectacular of you.”

She shrugs and smiles ruefully, “And I wanted to be so low key.”

“Blame the painting.” Shitty says in a baby voice as he’s looking down at their son.

Bits frowns quizzically. “What painting? The commission?” She nods.  “Wait isn’t that the one you’re doing for Thirdy and his wife?”

She grins guiltily.

“Oh my god I’ve got to tell Jack.” His hands move rapidly on the phone.  A second later it trills “Ha ha he says he’s gonna give Thirdy so much sh- junk over it.  Really increase your chances of a bonus.”

“It wasn’t his fault. I was super inspired.”  Bitty nods familiar with how inspired Lardo gets when she’s expecting.

“You know Lards I knew you were stupid determined when you had us pretend to be the judging body of graduate art students and you practiced your audition for the studio space in front of us, but to ignore labour in favour of painting?” Will makes a face, “I mean I’m impressed but also confounded.”

“Classic Tango.” Nursey smiles wryly.

They all share a fond smile in remembrance of their constantly questioning team mate.  Vinh makes a hiccupping noise and all the boys melt.

“So,” Bitty says after their moment, leaning forwards on his counter with a wide sunshine smile, “what kind of pie am I making?”

[gotta-save-your-ass-for-a-change]

Who Would Have Thought?: Chapter 5

Chapter Title: Something in the Sky Fandom: Shameless, Mickey/Ian Rating: M Summary: Mickey and Ian start planning for their wedding, and Fiona makes some big decisions with Mickey’s help. Notes: I’m taking some liberties with s7 here. Kev, V, and Svet are still good. Monica never came back. And the timeline’s probably a little messed up, but overall, I’m using s7 as a base and going from there.

Also, if you couldn’t tell, I really love Fiona. Like really, really love Fiona. And I absolutely think she was 100% justified in every action she took in s7.

Title from Darren Hayes’s “Something in the Sky.”

Ao3 Link

Chapter One * Chapter Two * Chapter Three * Chapter Four * Chapter Five * Chapter Six * Chapter Seven * Chapter Eight * Chapter Nine * Chapter Ten * Chapter Eleven * Chapter Twelve * Chapter Thirteen * Chapter Fourteen * Chapter Fifteen

“Hey, Mickey,” Fiona greets as he wanders into Wendell’s looking for her, “How’s it going?”

Mickey shrugs and leans back against the nearest machine. “Not bad. Not the biggest morning rush, but steady. How’s it going over here?”

“Pretty good,” Fiona admits, handing him a cup of coffee. “It’ll be a while before I start seeing any real profits, but that’s normal, from what I’m told. Family hates me, though. Thinks I’m a screw up.”

“You?” Mickey questions, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. “They hate you for buying a laundromat?”

“Not exactly,” she explains, sipping at her own coffee. “They hate me ‘cause I asked them to start chipping in their share for bills. Ian seemed okay with it before he moved in with you, but Lip and Debbie are pretty pissed.”

Mickey scoffs. “Like they’ve got any right to be. You sacrificed your whole damn life for those kids. Raised ‘em when Frank refused. They’re grown now. It’s your turn. Nothin’ wrong with wanting to make something of yourself, Fiona. You shouldn’t feel sorry for that.”

Fiona stares at him for a moment in disbelief. She and Mickey had been getting on well since his return, but she hadn’t necessarily expected the direct support. “Wow,” Fiona continues to watch him for a moment, arms crossed over her chest and shock written across her features, “Not sure I expected my only line of support to come from Mickey Milkovich.”

Mickey laughs at that. “Yeah, well,” he offers, downing the last of his coffee with a shrug, “if it helps, you’ve got Ian’s support, too. He’s just trying to stay out of the way to avoid pissing off the entire family. We’ve been really happy lately. He doesn’t want to jeopardize that by starting shit with the family, you know.”

Fiona sighs and gives him a nod. “I get it. I’m glad you guys are so happy. Think it’s good for him, being with you.” Mickey smiles at that but doesn’t say anything, so Fiona continues. “So, you need anything in particular, Mick?”

“Uh, yeah,” Mickey nods, and suddenly he feels a little nervous, unsure about where everything stands. “Ian and I talked about it, and we think we might want to try for a real wedding. Figure you’re the only one who’s ever really planned one of these things, so we thought maybe you could help us out with that end of things. Don’t want anything crazy, you know. Just friends, family, and a bit of a party.”

Fiona lights up at the request, moving to pull Mickey into another uncomfortable hug. He’s still not used to the affection, and he’s tentative when he tries to hug her back. After a moment, he hears Fiona laugh. “Of course I’ll help,” she tells him with a smile. “You better get more comfortable with the hugging, though. You’re gonna be gettin’ a lot more of this now that you’re officially joining the family.”

Mickey rolls his eyes and pulls away with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah,” he shrugs, gesturing back toward the diner, “I’m gonna head back to work before things get busy. We’ll talk soon about the wedding plan.”

Fiona nods with a bright smile and gives him a little wave as he heads out the door, excitement seeping in for her little brother and the soft-hearted thug he’d fallen for.

“Hey, babe,” Ian greets as Mickey comes through the door. Ian had worked an early shift, and he’s been waiting impatiently for Mickey since he got home an hour ago. “You talk to Fi?”

Mickey presses a gentle kiss to Ian’s lips in greeting before tossing his jacket onto the nearby arm chair. “Yeah,” he affirms, making himself comfortable beside Ian, sitting close as Ian loops an arm around Mickey’s shoulders. “She’s happy to help. Seemed kind of excited actually. Your sister’s a shark, man. If anyone can get us the prices we need, it’s gonna be her. How we doin’ on the budget, anyway?”

“Not bad,” Ian shrugs. “It’s gonna be tight, but I think we can swing it. Depends on locations and stuff, but I figure if we go with the Alibi for the reception, we can probably get a decent ceremony space. Bet Kev’ll let us use the Alibi for free. Just have to pay for the booze.”

Mickey nods. “Yeah. Sounds like a plan.” After a moment, he continues, glancing up at Ian curiously. “You excited?”

The corners of Ian’s lips tip up in a little smile. “Gettin’ there,” Ian admits, pressing a kiss to the side of Mickey’s head. “Starting to feel more real, the longer we plan, you know? I feel like we might actually pull this off.”

“We will,” Mickey grins and pats the hand Ian has draped over his shoulder gently. “I’ll make sure of it. Gonna marry you, Ian. Not a damn thing on this earth is gonna stop me.”

A few days later, Mickey and Ian are hanging out at the Gallagher house, and Ian and Lip have stepped outside for a smoke, while Mickey and Fiona are sitting on opposite ends of the couch, nursing a couple of beers and trying to find their way out of the awkward small talk they’ve stumbled into. They’ve been unsuccessful so far, so they’ve fallen into quiet for a few long moments.

Finally, Fiona breaks the silence, avoiding Mickey’s eyes. “Thinking about selling the 'mat,” Fiona confides, giving Mickey a look of uncertainty. “Etta’s not doing well. Not sure how much longer she can take care of herself. Think she needs to be in assisted living. Plus, I was offered double what I paid to sell the place. Hundred and sixty thousand. Not sure I can turn it down.“ She pauses for a moment, staring down at the bottle dangling in her hand. "That make me a sellout?”

“Fuck, no,” Mickey counters from where he’s sitting beside Fiona. “That’s just fucking smart, Fiona. You’re Southside, you’re Southside. That doesn’t change just 'cause you make a little money.”

“Really?” Fiona questions with a raised eyebrow. “'Cause I seem to remember you calling out Lip for goin’ to college.”

“Lip’s an ass,” Mickey shoots back, and Fiona shrugs in acquiescence. She’s certainly not going to deny that one. “Plus, that wasn’t really about Lip. That was back when Ian had that bad break. I was struggling with it, too. Took it out on Lip. But seriously, Fiona. You deserve to make something of yourself. You’re good at this stuff, and yeah, you put a lot of work into that place, but you also deserve to get something out of it. For you.”

Fiona looks at Mickey for a moment, and she can’t help but smile. “Damn,” she finally says with a little huff of a laugh, “never thought you and I would get along so well. Second time you’ve offered your support in a week. Startin’ to feel like I got something to live up to.”

“Yeah, well,” Mickey shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest at the discomfort he feels at the affectionate smile Fiona’s throwing his way, “you raised Ian. Plus, you’re his favorite. Means I kinda gotta get along with you, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Mick,” Fiona mocks with a smile as she bats at Mickey’s shoulder playfully. “You’ve got a soft spot for me.”

Mickey lets out a little laugh at that. She’s not wrong, he knows. Fiona’s strong, stronger than most, and he admires her for that. She’s got a big heart, and she deserves to make something of herself after devoting such an important chunk of her life to her siblings. Mickey’s not going to deny that.

“Hey,” Ian calls as he re-enters the room, shucking his coat on the way and leaning down to press a kiss to Mickey’s forehead from over the back of the couch. Mickey smiles and closes his eyes at the affection, leaning back against Ian. “What’re you guys chatting about,” Ian asks as Fiona’s fond smile catches his eye.

“Nothin’,” Fiona covers with a smile. “Nothin’ at all. Should probably talk about the wedding, though. Get the plans started.”

Ian nods at that, and Mickey raises a brow at Fiona. Part of him regrets the big wedding decision. Seems like all they do now is plan. Which would be okay, except since they’ve brought Fiona in on the planning phase, they haven’t had a whole lot of alone time to spend together, especially with work interfering. Mickey still smiles fondly, though, when Ian hops over the back of the couch and starts discussing dates and colors and whatever the hell else with his sister. Because as much as Mickey wants Ian all to himself, he’s also finding himself beginning to get excited about the whole thing, and he appreciates the help Fiona’s providing.

Later that night, Mickey’s fallen asleep on the couch, and Ian and Fiona have settled themselves in the kitchen in an attempt to avoid waking him.

“Mickey seems excited,” Fiona offers with a little smile. “It’s nice seeing him so happy. How’ve you guys been doing?”

“Good,” Ian confirms. “Happy. Past few weeks have been a little rough with the schedules. Haven’t had much alone time, you know? And I don’t even mean sex. Just, you know, not a lot of time to be with him. We’ve missed each other a little. We’ve managed to spend a decent amount of time with Yev, though, which is good. I can’t wait to be his step-dad officially. Mick has already taken to calling him our son, which I love. Be nice when it’s official, though.”

Fiona smiles softly. She knows everything that had gone down a couple of years before with Yev. Knows the story of his conception. And she’s impressed with Mickey’s ability to move past it all and love the little boy despite the circumstances. “Mickey really loves that little boy,” Fiona observes, catching Ian’s eye. “Impressed with the turn around there.”

“He always loved him,” Ian confides. “Just had trouble showing it around most people.”

“Let me guess,” Fiona gives Ian a fond little smirk with a raise of her eyebrows. “You’re not most people?”

“Thought you already knew that,” Ian jokes, “‘m about to be Mr. Mickey Milkovich.”

Fiona laughs at that, and her smile matches Ian’s, big and carefree. “What’re you guys thinking on your names, anyway? You gonna change ‘em? Officially become Mr. Ian Milkovich? Or is Mickey gonna become a Gallagher?”

Ian shrugs, uncertainty written across his features. “Not sure. We’ve talked about it a little. Our families are both a fuckin’ mess, though.” Ian laughs at that, but there’s mostly irritation behind it. And Fiona gets that. Neither family has a stellar history, that’s for sure. “Not sure we want to pass along either of the family names. Considering hyphenating. Gallagher-Milkovich. At least then it’ll be ours, right? Less negative history or some shit? Or maybe double. I don’t know. We haven’t really settled on anything yet.”

Fiona nods and she’s silent for a moment, eyeing Ian closely. “Talking about passing on the family name, huh?” Fiona questions. “You guys thinkin’ about having more kids?”

“Nah,” Ian denies with a shake of his head, “don’t mean it like that. I mean, it might be nice someday. But with Yev, it’s, uh, it’s tough, you know? Considering the circumstances of his conception. Mick’s just starting to learn how to be a dad to him. He wants to be, but it’s hard sometimes.” Ian’s silent for a moment, thinking back on that horrible morning when Terry had caught the two of them together. After a bit, he breaks the silence with a harsh laugh, no real humor behind it. “Guess on the bright side, we both got to be there for our son’s conception, huh?”

Fiona doesn’t laugh, just watches Ian carefully, eyes holding sympathy she knows Ian doesn’t want. “Terry was really a piece of work, huh?” she asks, voice gentle as she watches Ian with soft eyes.

“Understatement,” Ian tells her with a scoff, trying to hold back the tears that come to his eyes at the memories. “And I was shitty to Mick back then. Pushed him, you know? More than I should have. And I think part of it was the beginnings of the bipolar, mania, whatever. But part of it was just me, refusing to understand, unwilling to hear him. He was trying to protect me as much as he was himself. But I didn’t really get it because I grew up here. And as shitty as Frank and Monica may be, they never cared that I was gay. Everyone in my life has always been okay with it, at least peripherally. Mickey never had that. Didn’t have anyone supporting him or loving him for who he was.”

Fiona reaches out to squeeze Ian’s hand. “He had you,” she offers, and it provides a little bit of needed comfort for Ian.

“Just wish I’d loved him better,” Ian admits quietly.

Fiona smiles. “You’ve got the rest of your life to love him the way he deserves. He’s trusting you with that. Mickey loves you, Ian. He’s marrying you. You must’ve done something right.”

Ian smiles at that. She’s right, he knows, but it doesn’t stop him from regretting some of those choices. But then, Ian thinks, maybe they wouldn’t be here without all the tough times, and maybe that makes it all worth the suffering. Ian’s not sure, though. Still wishes he’d done better by Mickey. He resolves then to do exactly that for the rest of their lives together.

Ian nods at Fiona then and gives her a little smile. “Guess you’re right,” he agrees. “Now, how can we make this wedding perfect without breaking the bank?”

Fiona laughs at that, and pats Ian’s hand gently, accepting the change of subject happily. “Good question,” she offers, pulling out a frilly little notebook she’s insisting on using for the wedding planning. Ian rolls his eyes, but there’s a gentle fondness behind it, and he smiles at Fiona’s eagerness. She’s good at this stuff, he knows, and he trusts her to help them make the right decisions.

It’s been a couple of weeks, and they’ve been making some good headway in the wedding planning. Mickey’s starting to think they might have it all together, and he’s looking forward to making it all happen. First, though, he wants to get home to Ian, and spend some time just being with his husband-to-be.

Fiona stops him, though, when Mickey’s about to head out for the day, cornering him just before he reaches the front of the diner. “I called Ian,” she tells him excitedly. “He’s here, and we’re gonna talk about the wedding for a bit. I had some ideas I wanted to run by you guys. Will you stay? Help with the planning?”

Mickey smiles at her. He’s tired, worked a double shift and all, but all he wants right now is to be with Ian, so if Ian’s here, Mickey’s not going to argue. “'Course,” he agrees gently, shifting around her to move to the front of the diner to find Ian. Fiona sees right through him, he knows, and he can nearly feel the smirk she sends his way, but he doesn’t let it deter him. Just heads straight for Ian and kneels in the booth beside the redhead before leaning down to capture Ian’s lips in a quick kiss. Ian laughs a bit at the way Mickey’s fingers linger in his hair as Mickey slides down into the booth beside Ian. Ian loves the affection Mickey’s learned to show in public, and Mickey knows, so he offers those affections whenever he feels safe, and the diner does that for him now.

“Missed you,” Mickey murmurs, resting his head on Ian’s shoulder. They’ve both been picking up extra hours where they can, and Ian’s been on some early, early morning shifts with Mickey covering the late mornings and afternoons at the diner, sometimes staying on for a double like today and getting home late to a sleeping Ian. They’ve been trying to spend as much time together as possible, but they’re also working hard to pull off the wedding, and it’s all starting to weigh on them—especially the separation.

“Missed you, too, Mick,” Ian agrees as he wraps an arm around Mickey’s shoulders and kisses to top of his head, fingers stroking over Mickey’s upper arm as he tries to soothe the tired man in his arms.

“All right, lovebirds,” Fiona interrupts with a playful grin, whipping out her notebook and settling herself on the other side of the booth. “Time to get to work.”

Mickey groans and Ian laughs as he pulls away from Mickey just a touch so he can lean closer to the table to see her notes.

“Now,” Fiona starts, “we’ve got a decent plan started for the ceremony, and we’re doing good cost wise so far, but we need to get on a plan for the reception.”

“We can just potluck it,” Ian offers with a bit of a shrug. “Set up at the Alibi, you know. Kev’ll let us do it for free, I bet.”

“Yeah, but the Alibi’s a hike from the ceremony spot,” Fiona counters. “You ever think about doing it here? In the diner? Could give you a good price. Might even be able to get it free, 'cept the booze, but I bet Kev would comp you that. Wedding gift and all. We’ve got good food. Could open the whole menu, not worry about rsvp meal cards or whatever. Not a lot of room to dance, but we can make it work. Done it before, with the launch party. And your guest list isn’t crazy, only about thirty people, right? We could do that easy. Bet the girls would be happy to chip in and waitress. I’ll pay 'em extra, and once everyone’s fed, they can join the party. I mean, I get it if you’re not interested—diner’s not exactly a traditional party place—but we could make it happen if you’re into the idea.”

Ian and Mickey are both staring at her with wide eyes, brows drawn together at Fiona’s enthusiasm, and neither of them can help the smiles that tug at their lips as they watch her.

After a moment of silence, Fiona drops her eyes back to the notebook. “You hate it,” she blurts, worried that they’re uninterested and feeling a little insecure but waving it off. “It’s all right. We can just go with the Alibi. I’ll talk to Kev tomorrow, and we’ll nail it down, and—”

Ian reaches out then, laying a hand over Fiona’s gently to stop her from crossing out the notes she has scribbled on the page in front of her. “Fi,” he offers gently, calling her eyes up to his, “we love it. It sounds amazing. Can we really pull it off?”

Fiona stops, looking up at them with soft eyes and a touch of question. “Really?” she asks quietly. “You like it? Both of you?” She’s looking at Mickey now, unsure but hopeful.

Mickey gives her a genuine smile. “I think it’s perfect,” he confirms, and he means it. “You can make it happen?”

“Absolutely!” Fiona confirms excitedly. “I can make it happen.”

Ian smiles and shoves at Mickey’s shoulder until he groans and lets Ian out of the booth before Mickey collapses back down into the cushioned seat dramatically and Ian rolls his eyes. “Make it happen,” Ian tells Fi happily as he leans down to kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Fi.”

She smiles proudly and waves him off. “No problem. I’m gonna make sure you two have the perfect wedding. Just leave it to me, okay?”

“Will do,” Ian agrees. “Got any more ideas you want to run by us today, or can I take my drama queen of a fiancé home to sleep it off.”

“Yeah. Sleep. Sure,” Fiona laughs with playful sarcasm, as she waves a hand in Ian’s direction. “Go, go. Take your man home and spoil him. I’ll let you know when I’ve got more for you to approve.”

“Thanks, Fi,” Ian repeats as he grabs at Mickey’s hands and tries to pull him up. “Okay asshole,” he chastises, “get up so I can take you home.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey shoots back. “This is my home now. I’m not fuckin’ moving until I’ve gotten at least six hours of sleep.”

“I will leave your ass here,” Ian threatens with a raised brow, and it pulls a heavy sigh out of Mickey.

“Fuckin’ fine, man,” he agrees begrudgingly. “But I’m fucking sleeping when I get home.”

“Whatever you say,” Ian rolls his eyes in Fiona’s direction as she smirks at the two of them as Ian steers Mickey out of the diner after dragging him up from the booth.

Chapter One * Chapter Two * Chapter Three * Chapter Four * Chapter Five * Chapter Six * Chapter Seven * Chapter Eight * Chapter Nine * Chapter Ten * Chapter Eleven * Chapter Twelve * Chapter Thirteen * Chapter Fourteen * Chapter Fifteen

[richmegavideo]

Crate Digging at Cheapo Discs, Minneapolis, MN

Huge selection.  This is only one sliver of their stock

Related to Elements: Crate Digging, DJ

After a long night of excess, resulting in the need for triple of my daily allotment of coffee in the morning, my only desire was to hit up the local record stores in Minneapolis.  After all, it's not often I get to go crate digging in the Twin Cities.  Besides, finding records is therapeutic, it's my detoxifier of choice, because for whatever reason hang overs are slowly quelled as you flip through records.

Like David Arnold, crate digging always leaves you "feeling mighty fine!"

On this trip I figured it was best to hit up Cheapo Records, I'd dug there before, and looking at the few remaining balled up bills in my same-as-last-night jeans, it seemed like a place called "Cheapo" was the sensible choice to dig for wax.

I plugged Cheapo in to Google Maps, and after a short trip it sent me to their old store.  Cheapo, if you are reading this, please tell Google wassup on maps!

The detour was no big deal though, they put their new address in the window of their old address, so I could see they were now located at 2600 Nicolette St, just a short distance from their old store, now fairly close to one of their competitors, Electric Fetus which I reviewed a few years earlier.

Walking thru the door I could see they had just moved in recently, but it was nice and clean and basically mostly setup as it was clear the main sections were now well organized.  

I started with the rock section as it had the biggest footprint in the store.  Plus, it seems like the more I learn about rock, the more I realize I'll always have some voids in my own rock section that need filling.

No one ever circle jerks the Circle Jerks and that's a damn shame.

I should have bought that Circle Jerks album, it was a fair price for an original pressing of this classic punk album, but I had to be extra picky with my money today, so I reluctantly passed this by looking for my must-haves at true cheap-o prices.   I figured maybe buying a few good 7" records would be easy on the wallet, so I asked one of the store clerks where the 7" section was. "We don't have a 7" section set up yet, sorry we're still moving stuff around.  If you dig thru the various 12" records you'll find a few in each section but we don't have a 7" section right now." I was disappointed, but I get it, moving all those records must have been a back breaking feat.  Now putting the pieces back together again while still staying in business is a task that will take weeks.  Hopefully the next time I pop in they will have 7 inch records section all set up. So I asked them if they had a regional music set up and the store clerk said "Yep, sure do." and without hesitation he was kind enough to stop what he was working on to lead me to their nice big section of Twin Cities based regional records.   

"When in Rome, right?"  "Definitely!" he replied with a smile.

What'ya know, there really are Hypstrz in record stores!

Nice!  The Hypstrz, this one I had to buy.  I found out about these guys from a regional rock compilation on Twin Tone called "Big Hits of Mid America Volume 3".  This is exactly why I buy regional rock comps, so I can learn about what bands speak to me the most from whatever city or location I happen to be in.  

Inner Gate fold of Big Hits of Mid America Volume 3

Little did I know when I bought that compilation years ago that not only would it become one of my all-time favorite personal compilations that I never seem to get sick of listening to, but now it's paid off again by giving me enough of a taste of the Hypstrz to know I needed to buy that live album, "Hypstrization!" today. 

Price wise, it wasn't exactly cheapo, but it was mint, and when in Rome, don't pay for shipping. Then I ran into multiple copies of Yo La Tengo - I can Hear the Heart Beating As One LP

I went ahead and picked this up as well.  It's the reasonably priced reissue on Matador from 2015.  After a quick Discogs search, I could see no one bitched about the quality of this repress yet, and everyone else had it priced a bit higher.  

This is one of those albums that when you tell people you liked their newer stuff, they tell you...  

"Well you gotta have this one!"  "You can't TRULY appreciate Yo La Tengo unless you have yada yada..."

Well I got it now, and I didn't have to pay an arm and a leg for the original, so I don't have to hear that again.  It's a good album BTW, maybe not my favorite of theirs but I'm glad I took the advice nonetheless.

Past the rock section's Ys and Zs and onto the end cap where I spotted...

Mark Andrews ‎– How To Set Up And Test Hi-Fi Stereo Systems

I've always wanted one of these test records for putting my home studio's amp and speakers through the fine tooth comb, but today wasn't the day to try to justify buying a record I'd use only once and maybe sample several times for the "oddity" factor it had.  Besides I saw on Discogs 1 seller in the US had it for $5, and Cheapo had it for $20, so if I really needed it I would just pay for shipping, still pay a lot less, and wait a bit longer for something that basically wasn't essential. Saving the best for last, it was time to hit up their Hip Hop Section...

 Rodney O & Joe Cooley ‎– Me And Joe LP

I pawed at this essential Egyptian Empire release a few times before putting it back reluctantly.  File under: Yet another Hip Hop classic LP that I still don't have on vinyl.  It was in great shape, the price was not horrible, but not low enough to make me jump on it.  In a nutshell, that's my overall take on Cheapos...  Their prices really aren't that cheap, but compared to Discogs pricing along with whatever shipping you would have to pay to get it to your door, they are fair and their selection is solid.  So don't expect to walk in the door and dump 100 bucks on a thousand dollars worth of records.  

These guys know what they are doing, they know what sells for what, and they often price right in that comfort zone where they aren't making a killing on each sale, but they are moving enough records to keep the doors open for many more years to come.  Yes, if you spend a few hours in the store meticulously digging through their shelves, you will find some legitimately cheap and good records, but for the most part, I think it's safe to say their prices are basically "up to par."  I don't think you should really shop at Cheapos to get cheap records, you should shop there for the huge selection so you can buy good records at a fair price.  Eventually it was time to hit the long road home.   As I stood at the counter to pay for my tiny haul, the last remaining sales staff in the store was on the phone.  She didn't look like she wanted to be on the phone, on the contrary she appeared to be in pain.  

Apparently someone in the store earlier didn't like the look she gave her, or how she stated one of her sentences,  so she was getting an absolute earful from this irate customer.  The UPS guy showed up with a delivery and waited along with me for his signature for delivery as she carefully listened to the grievances being shouted at her on the phone.  She had to hold the ear piece away from her ear a few times and I could hear from my vantage point that the woman on the phone was not done giving her as much hell as she could possibly dish out.  I sympathized with her as I watched her take it in stride, doing her best to fix the situation, so I waited while the UPS guy couldn't wait a minute longer.  Mind you, I was in metered parking so I was getting anxious waiting myself, but I patiently waited until the customer hung up on her a third time. After all that she looked at me and smiled and said... "I'm sorry for making you wait, that customer really needed my attention and I couldn't just tell her to hold on while I checked you out." "Don't worry about it, I understand completely!" I told her. "For being patient with me I'll give you this 7" for free." she added. I was grateful for the freebie, and genuinely impressed with how that situation was handled.  Honestly, I have to give them props for being good people and running a good operation.  That situation she dealt with is a part of business sometimes, and I get that you can't please all the people all the time.  Yet long ago, and again today, they won me over, so I'll definitely be back to dig again in their shelves in the future. TLDR: if you ever find yourself in Downtown Minneapolis, longing for a few hours to kill to do a little therapeutic crate digging, hit up Cheapo records and you'll find a few great records to add to your collection.

The post Crate Digging at Cheapo Discs, Minneapolis, MN appeared first on .

from WordPress http://www.richmegavideo.com/crate-digging-at-cheapo-discs-minneapolis-mn/

[jeremietheguy]

MEPS 2 (Part 1)

And so it was back to Clarion Hotel and MEPS again. A month ago I took the AFOQT and apparently my “very competitive scores” earned me a second trip this time. The purpose for this trip was getting my physical done. I wasn’t worried; I was in great health, had no congenital or incurable disease, and nearly a year had passed since I last smoked weed.

Knowing the procedure from last time, I simply said, “MEPS” to the front desk guy and went to the second floor office room. I stopped abruptly near the door, realizing there must be about 25 people stuffed in that small office.

“Hey, you that just came in-” everyone turned and looked at me and turned back “-read that list of instructions on the wall and line up here to sign in,” ordered the office lady, who was not Joanne from last time.

I looked at the poster, which contained basically the same information that Joanne from last time had so kindly and amicably explained to me. I waited in line until it was my turn.

“Name and branch?”

“Lai. L-A-I. Air Force.”

She flipped through the heavy binder.

“I can’t find you here. Is your name spelled correctly?”

“Yes.”

She flipped one more page.

“Oh, you’re an officer!”

I heard 25 silent gasps and felt 25 pairs of eyes on me.

“Yes.”

I was already seated at the diner in the lobby five minutes before dinner was supposed to start. I wasn’t taking any chances. Judging by how many people were in that office, I wasn’t going to wait for my food. It had worked too; I was the only one there. A few moments later a guy in blue approached the diner.

“Hey can I sit here?” he asked, gesturing the seat opposite to mine.

“Sure.”

As he ordered his food, we were joined to two more, filling our table. We introduced ourselves.

“So what are you, Army?” I asked the guy in blue.

“Marine,” he replied.

“Nice.”

I took an immediate liking to the Marine. He had an easy-going and relaxed vibe and seemed like someone I could just hang out and talk about nothing with.

“Yeah right now I work in an electronic store and I’ll probably be a radio technician or something. By the way, how old are you guys?”

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen.”

“Twenty two,” I answered, then raised my eyebrows inquiringly at him after the moment when he should have responded right away.

“Twenty seven,” the Marine said after a slight pause, as though embarrassed. He continued, “See, I have to go to boot camp before I turn 28 or else I’m too old. I worked it out and I’ll turn 28 in boot camp, which is allowed. What’s your branch?”

“Air Force, pilot,” I said, “I’m going to be flying. And you guys? Army?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Just then, a question that had always been bothering me came to mind, so I asked, “have you guys seen the movie Zootopia?”

I was met with yes’s.

“OK so you know how the bunny and the elephant are both police officers? Here’s my question: do they get paid the same amount?”

All three guys laughed.

“No seriously think about it, the elephant needs, like, a thousand times more food than the bunny, so she should get paid a lot more. But if they’re doing the same job, they should get paid the same.”

They laughed again.

“You know what, I’m going to be thinking about this,” I said, “in my cockpit.”

Then, our food arrived.

The perks of being an “Officer” were unbelievable. My double-bed bedroom offered me the peace and quiet for me to finish my final paper for my German Expressionism class on female sexuality and autonomy in the films Metropolis and Nosferatu when all the other recruits were watching a football game. I would later find out that I only earned a B+/A- for that paper.

The next morning I went down to the lobby for breakfast at 5 A.M. and was greeted by a familiar face.

“Back again?” Joanne from last time asked, “How was the test?”

“Good enough for me to be back here”

I picked a random seat and quickly finished my food. Quite a few recruits had finished theirs too and were standing around in clumps near the entrance, waiting to be bussed. I spotted the Marine from dinner the previous night wearing a full suit and tie standing with another guy and joined them in waiting.

“Did you watch the game last night?” the Marine asked.

“Nah, had to finish my final paper. What’s up with the suit?”

“Gotta be formal, man. I may be swearing in today.”

Usually you get your picture taken when you swear in, hence the formality.

A voice called out, “Single file, everybody!”

Us clumps started declumping towards the middle of the lobby. I remarked to the Marine, “How long do you think it’ll take to get all these guys in a line?”

“Seeing how these are a bunch of Army and Marines, probably forever,” replied someone from behind me.

I turned around and faced a short guy with a rather large head.

“And why is that? I asked.

I didn’t have to ask; I knew why he said that. There are stereotypes for the four branches of the military (there are actually five, but no one cares about the Coast Guard enough for them to have stereotypes that I am aware of), and essentially the stereotypes boil down to this: there is a strong negative correlation between intelligence and manliness/fighting ability for each branch. The Air Force and the Marine Corps exist on the opposite ends of the spectrum with the Air Force being regarded as the smartest branch and the Marine Corps as the best fighters. The Army is somewhere in the middle, and the Navy, weirdly, doesn’t really fit in anywhere regarding the intelligence/manliness debate. It’s probably because the Navy guys already get roasted enough with the stereotype that they are all homosexual. Supposedly, being on a giant ship for months has that effect, although incidentally, the Navy also as the highest percentage of female personnel.

Yeah, I don’t get it either. I’ve actually seen full blown fights between members of different branches over which branch is more <insert adjective here>.

“Well, you know,” Bighead said, “these guys are pretty dumb. But I’m Air Force, so…”

What an ass.

Remarks like these extremely juvenile and pointless. After all, we all work for the same organization that is the U.S. government for the same purpose of exercising political and economic might over other countries when diplomatic missions and bribery don’t work. So what the hell do you gain from vilifying each other?

Trying to defuse the tension a bit, I turned back to the Marine and said, “Hey Jarhead, you hear that? Air Force over here says y’all are dumb.”

Jarhead. Noun. Semi-derogatory term for a Marine. It originated from the short and flat haircut given to Marines which makes their heads look like jars. It also implies that like a jar, their heads are hard on the outside and empty on the inside.

The Marine turned back to us and said, “Beats being you, Chair Force.”

Chair Force. Noun. Semi-derogatory term for an Airman. It refers to the belief that all Airmen simply sit in chairs and do boring paperwork as Air Force personnel see the least amount of combat.

“Man, fuck you” Bighead wasn’t about to back down and was determined to prove his intellectual superiority. “What’s your ASVAB score?”

“96”

That’s a really good score, like damn near perfect. But then again, the man’s 27, graduated from college, and worked for five years. He would simply be more knowledgeable.

“How about you?” Bighead turned to me.

“I didn’t take the ASVAB. I took the AFOQT. It’s for Air Force Officers.”

Usually I’m not one to flaunt my status as an Officer candidate, but seeing as how this fool wouldn’t shut up, I thought I’d mention it.

“Butter Bar.” He replied.

I just looked at him.

“Clearly you don’t know very many Officer jokes.” He said.

“No. No I don’t. Why would I?”

Butter Bar. Noun. Semi-derogatory term for a Second Lieutenant, the lowest ranking commissioned officer in the U.S. Armed Forces. It originated from the gold insignia worn by 2nd Lieutenants. Because 2nd Lieutenants are the lowest ranked officers, they usually have the least amount of leadership experience. The term is used to belittle the 2nd Lieutenants who think they are hot shit and know more than enlisted personnel who may actually have way more years of experience.

The guy standing with the Marine the whole time finally joined in.

“Dude, you know he outranks you, right? And that he’s not going to be a Butter Bar forever?” he said to Bighead. “And like in five years, he’s going to be making ten times the money you will. What’s your job going to be anyway?”

“Service.” Bighead said.

The Marine, the guy with the Marine, and I exchanged looks.

“Ah yes. Service, of course,” I said. “Only the noblest of all jobs.”

They smirked.

When we arrived at MEPS, we went through the same procedure as last time of checking in. Immediately afterwards, we were ushered into a classroom-like room for procedure debriefings. An even older and more cynical looking version of George Carlin was in civilian clothing and started debriefing us.

“How many people are under the age of 18?” he asked.

Everyone except the Marine and I raised their hands.

“And how many of you 17 year olds are going to be 18 in six or fewer months?”

All the hands stayed raised.

“Good. Now, how old are you two?”

“Twenty two.” I answered.

“Twenty seven.” The Marine answered, looking slightly embarrassed again.

“Trying something new, huh?” Jeorge Karlin continued, “On the forms in front of you are detailed questions relating to your physical and mental health. Think clearly and remember every possible disease, injury, or surgery that you had. Say you end up in Syria and lose an arm. You come back home and expect ol’ Uncle Sam to take care of you since you bravely sacrificed one arm for our freedom that was in Syria for some reason. They’ll look through these forms and examine your entire body, and if you forget to mention that in 8th grade you broke your arm playing baseball and they find signs of surgery on your bones, they’ll say that you lied to them and won’t give you a dime because your missing arm had something to do with that 8th grade surgery before you joined the military instead of that F1 grenade, freeing them from all responsibility. You know those Wounded Warriors commercials playing at half-time of a football game? Yeah, that’s a charity organization, not a government organization. They’re the military equivalent of those adopt-a-stray-dog-today commercials. These guys come back from warzones with missing limbs and have to beg their government to keep them off the streets.”

I raised my hand. “Sir, do braces count?”

“Dental braces? Yeah, I’d put that down just in case.” He turned to address everyone again, “Some guys come back with all their limbs attached, but something’s different. In their heads. They’re just not the same men anymore. Now that’s harder to prove, but they’ll find out that you were homeschooled for a year in middle school because of behavioral problems, proving that you were already crazy, and that seeing the guy next to you get shot had absolutely nothing to do with your PTSD.”

I was the last one to finish filling out the forms. I walked to the front of the room where he was waiting and handed them to him.

The area next to the classroom was where we were actually examined. We were separated into groups and went to different stations for different checkups. I had the honor of getting my eyes checked by none another than Jeorge Karlin.

“Took your time, huh? That’s good. Bring your pencils back to this box. We’ve only got a 600 billion dollar military budget so we can’t afford to lose any pencils.”

[sunriseoverastorea]

Home

♬ Jeremy Soule - Far Horizons

Day 5

I think it's been five days—but I could be off, one or two. Been out of it a lot. And now I'm finally out of the doctor's office. Hosta thinks I'm hilarious. Refusing to stay in bed, but with nowhere to be. I can't just sit around waiting to heal. I have to explore, even if I can't get very far. Today, I saw Hosta's bakery, and she gave me this tart wedge thing. Then I stopped at what constitutes a general store here, and bought myself better clothes with money from Telford. They're still not what I'd choose to wear, but at least I have pants now, and boots that fit me. And sturdy leather gloves—to hide my hands with. Telford is fascinated by my prosthetics, and swears he won't tell anyone about them. I don't have much choice but to trust him.

 She sits on her cot in Telford's practice, slowly, painfully bending her legs, and tucking them up against her chest. She maneuvers a crudely cut copper coin between her fingers, concentrating on keeping the coin in motion. Time and again, it falls to the wrinkled bed sheets, and she sighs softly, watching her fingers fold and clench around the coin, lethargic as if weighted beneath a mile of water. Seized by frustration, she hurls the coin across the room, where it dings harmlessly against the front door, and she pounds her fists against the bed, crying out in the sudden flash of pain that sears across her burns.

Day 10

Got my own place now. Funded by Telford, of course. Paid a month in advance for a room in the inn. He let me take a bunch of his books with me, and my reading is improving, if very slowly. Their language may strongly resemble ours, but their alphabet does not. Not in the slightest. Anyway, I get to see the crappy bard that Hosta's always talking about. He plays downstairs in the tavern, so I'm gonna try and listen every night, learn whatever I can from his tall tales. There's so much to learn—an entire world to understand. I feel like it hasn't sunk in yet. If it weren't for the complete lack of magic, I wouldn't even know I had left Tyria. I have to keep reminding myself that this is an alien land. I am stranded, many of my most valuable possessions lost. I don't know what's going to happen to me, but just as in Tyria, it seems I can't look back. Only ahead, at what bridges I haven't already burned.

She perches upon the stairs coming down from the second floor of the inn, and watches the bard attentively. An older man, with a plain face and plain clothes, but a rich, sonorous voice. Gnarled fingers strum effortlessly upon a fine lute, and stories of fallen kingdoms fill the hush of the tavern, seeming to bring life back to the worn wooden walls, reminding them they were once great trees. Marea strains to understand the even more melodic lilt of the Middle-Earth accent when sung, and every now and then, her concentration is shattered—blackness and silver stars fill her vision, assaulting her in rare moments of peace, and she jerks her face away, trying to hide, though the void always returns in time, a lingering tune that she can't get out of her head, that haunts her with its sweet, empty melody.

Day 30

I've memorized some of the bard's stories. A few of Telford's books, too. Not much else to do than read and listen. I've talked some with the townspeople, though I try not to be too friendly. They all know who I am, the strange foreigner from the south that showed up looking like she just rolled out of a bonfire. I don't want to accidentally do anything that will arouse suspicion. I should have the upper hand here, but without guns and magic, and with my skin too fucked up to move fast with a dagger, I can't risk a witch hunt. The people are nice, though. Curious, but harmless, so far. In a lot of ways, talking to them is just like talking to someone in Tyria. The farmers talk about their crops, shopkeepers gossip, and kids stare at me and whisper, until I lunge at them and go 'boo!' Then they scatter like roaches, good riddance. Still, even with all they have in common on the surface, these people feel different. I can't put my finger on what it is. Every time I think I understand them, some small thing puts me back to square one. One of those teenage habit-things tried to steal a cupcake from Hosta yesterday, and when she spotted him, he ran off laughing with his prize, and she only shook her spatula and yelled at him. Just let him go without a fight. I guess it's not that strange. I guess.

She goes downstairs in the wee hours of the morning. Dreams interrupted by starry space, she seeks respite in the waking world, though her eyes droop with the weariness of many sleepless nights. She sits at the empty bar, staring at the sparsely stocked shelves. She perches on the edge of a table, rolling a salt shaker between her hands. She crouches down before the fireplace, ashes still simmering faintly, and in those ashes she sees a thousand twinkling universes. So she quickly turns away, and spies a pile of bags by the double front doors. Atop them rests a small harp, fit to be carried around with ease while slung over one shoulder. It fits perfectly in her hands, the arms on either side formed of delicately carved ivory, silver strings glinting like pale silk spiderwebs.

She closes her eyes, imagining the practiced caress of the bard's knotted old fingers, and she strums a chord. The fleeting music fills the shadowy silence of the deserted tavern, and a smile finds it way onto her face. It feels as if it has been years since she smiled. Even while she looks to the future, the reality of a new reality weighs heavily on her shoulders, and as she clumsily plinks out pretty tunes on the harp, that weight is lifted, and suddenly she can breathe again. Breathe as she did on the deck of the Horizon, high in the skies of Tyria, far from that world and the next. As if she were in her own bubble of space and time, and nothing but the rain could touch her.

A hand grasps her shoulder, and she yelps in surprise, fingers slipping and striking a comically hideous chord on the harp. The bard comes up behind her, one eyebrow raised over a crooked smile, and throws open the front doors, where a horse-drawn wagon loaded with hay awaits him. Marea steps back, watching in confusion as he grabs the bags by the door and throws them up into the wagon, then climbs aboard himself, raising a hand to wave goodbye as he perches upon a golden bale.

“Wait!” The wagon pulls away, the clopping of horse hooves echoing upon the cobblestones of the silent town. “You forgot this!” Marea takes a few hurried steps after the bard, harp held aloft, but her nerves scream in protest, and the man is growing farther away by the moment. He gazes up at the dawning sky, perfectly at peace without his ivory harp. And Marea stands in front of the inn with her new prize, clutching it tightly to her chest.

Day 50

Came to the first town I've seen since leaving Archet. Been practicing a lot between there and here, so hopefully they'll comp me a room at the inn. Sleeping outside here is lovely, but I can't shake the feeling that I'll be unpleasantly surprised by some hitherto impossible threat, native to Middle-Earth. Not that I've found any reason to worry about that here. Almost everyone's been fucking harmless. But there's plenty of time for the universe to prove me wrong. I'm heading south, to a place called Rohan. I've heard the name before, but I don't know where—it almost sounds like a dream, to me. An unreal concept. But I know I've heard it, and if I need a direction to travel, I might as well go there. I have the bard and his tales of 'riders' to thank for that.

Marea plops her butt in a chair on the makeshift stage in the tiny village inn. Only the cook and four grizzled men occupy the room, so hardly a crowd, but even still her skin tingles with nervousness, and she knows her hands would be leaden if she could feel them. She clears her throat, and strums a starting chord, followed by a dramatic, fully unintentional pause, before finally she spits the words out. She sings one of the bard's simpler tales, a silly song about forest critters stealing food from each other, and when she finishes, she promptly gets hit in the eye with a copper coin. The offering seems to be in lieu of clapping, as one of the gruff men stares at her expectantly.

“Thank you, thank you,” she blurts out, shoving the penny down her bodice. “You're too kind.”

The man grins, whether because of her stage presence or the fact that his money went to rest beside her boobs, she will never know. She isn't offered a free room that night, but after singing an hour of songs with her best attempt at a legible accent, she buys herself a bowl of hot meat stew, and cherishes every savory bite after weeks with only roots and berries. When she has licked up every drop, she finds herself a little shelter beneath the trees outside the village, inspects her injuries to ensure none have worsened, then lies down her head in the lush green grass, and dozes with the crickets under a bright full moon.

Day 100

Horses are fucking awesome. God damn, if I ever go back to Tyria, I absolutely have to hunt one down and take it for myself. There's gotta be someone in the world that still has horses, or else we wouldn't all remember them so well. Right? Anyway, this ones name was Lila, but I'm renaming her Indigo. Another play on Inigo, I know, real creative. But she's kinda colored that way—like me, she has a black mane, but it shines blue when it catches the light just right. She's so beautiful. Smaller than a lot of the horses I've seen, but full of energy, and crazy. The other day she went off after a bunny for miles, and I could barely get control of her. Could say it's just because I'm inexperienced, but I think she's extra spunky. And to think, I didn't even have to kill anyone to get her. Just walked off while no one was looking. These people are so damn trusting.

She sits on the edge of the well in the town square, carefully tuning her harp. She must be very careful about it, since she was never properly taught, but she learns quickly through trial and error, and if she doesn't do things in the most practical way, at least she adapts herself as needed. A few families have gathered before her, waiting for the show. A starting crowd of fifteen, the largest she's had.

“May I have your attention,” Marea interjects through the chattering crowd, who immediately go silent and stare at her in confusion. “The accent works wonders, huh?” she jokes, to which the people only stare some more. “Today I will be testing out a new song on you guys, not the classics you know and love, but something that really comes from the heart. So if it sucks, be honest with me afterwards, okay?”

A lone voice calls out from somewhere on the street: “'Sucks?' How would it 'suck?'”

“Not important!” Marea chimes cheerfully, rolling her eyes, and with a careful flick of her damaged fingers, the tale begins.

Day 150

These people love the Ode to Ascalon, holy shit. I'm getting free rooms and meals and kids are singing along with my own accent. I can almost see why people think kids are cute, for the first time in my life. People even recognize me in some places—I step through the gates and they go hey, that's the foreign bard with the one red eye! Damn straight I am, harping my way right into your hearts. I've never been involved with music before this, but it seems I've got a knack, especially when I put my own words into it. I still feel like I'm attracting too much attention, sometimes. If these people saw me the way the Ferny family did, when I first arrived, I'm sure they'd turn on me in a second. But as long as the gun and the prosthetics are tucked away, I'm just a woman from a distant fishing village with odd mismatched eyes and a knack for made-up myths. Although Ascalon is neither made-up nor myth. I wonder if they'd feel differently, knowing it was real.

She sits at the bar of yet another tavern, braiding her hair while she awaits her morning meal. Her once-charred locks reach her shoulders now, and although the braids are stubby and stick out a bit goofily, she's missed having them. Now her frizzy dark halo will stay closely plaited to her skull, out of her eyes, right where it belongs.

Alongside her hair, her body has been healing, too. The skin of her back and her legs is hideous—without the advanced medical knowledge of Tyria, there was nothing to be done except cut away the dead skin, and keep what remained from becoming infected. A patchwork of leathery browns and reds covers her concealed flesh, and she tries to think of it as resembling the bark of a sylvari. But when she looks at her reflection, and confronts the pale whiteness of her chest to the mangled mess of her back, she can't help but feel a certain repulsion. Far worse than the scars of whippings and fights that she once had. Where once she was a map of of brutal tales to tell, now she is the chewed-up and spit out remnants of one tale, one story, a story that still haunts her when she closes her eyes, so that sometimes, she forgets to blink. And when she does blink, those eerie stars rush at her, and she flinches away, much to the concern of those around her.

She can't tell anyone about the visions. As it is, she is only strange. Strange only raises eyebrows. But madness raises weapons.

Day 200

It came upon me so suddenly. I reached the pass between the mountains, just like I was told I would. There was a great tower, easily the most imposing thing I've seen since coming here, but I kept to the shadows and the trees, since it was mentioned at the last town that a powerful wizard resides there, and being a powerful wizard is a much bigger deal here than in Tyria. I'll make it a mystery for another day. All the better to reach my destination.

Though at first I was hesitant to believe I actually made it, it's been a few days now, and there's no questioning that I'm here. I'm on my way to the capital, I think. Most of the people here don't speak the same language as the humans I've been dealing with, so it's been difficult getting around, but they're still nice enough. I've sang a few songs for them. I like to look at them, in as non-creepy a way as possible, because they're familiar. Blue eyes and blonde hair, a fair number looking like they just got back from bench pressing a charrcopter. If I needed more assurance than the land itself, that would do it.

Indigo races across the plains, long grasses parting for her obsidian hooves. In the distance, Marea spots a gaggle of other horseback riders, and waves to them, spirited in the crisp evening air. At first she receives no reply, but after a moment, one man waves back to her, shouting something unintelligible, and Indigo gallops on, over rolling hills bordered all around by massive white mountains. Where the Shiverpeaks are imposing, these craggy, snowy peaks seem to beckon her onward, onto horizon after horizon, forever chasing the last gleam of sunlight as it passes beneath their crystalline pinnacles.

Before she reaches the city, she pauses by a rushing river so Indigo can drink, and she splashes her face with the chilly water. She licks it off her lips, and she tilts her head back to the pale rosy sky, the wind snapping her cape through the air.

“'A place of verdant plains and roaming horses, nestled between two great mountain ranges and a wide, flowing river.' Welcome to the homeland, Marea,” she whispers, a broad smile lighting up her face. She gets on her horse, and they turn towards Edoras, the city on a hill only a mile in the distance. They ride the fading light to a place to rest for the night, and many nights to come.

Day 300

I almost feel sorry for Raigar, that he had to leave this place, for whatever reason, and travel to Tyria. Sure, it isn't perfect. It's backwards and poor in comparison to what I know. But at the same time, there is so much—spirit. There's a wholeness to the people that Tyrians lack. Even when they fight and they suffer, there's none of the bitterness I know from home. If I could call it home. I don't know how I'd get back. And I don't want to go back. I'm learning the speech of the Rohirrim, very, very slowly, but it's not as important in Edoras, since more people speak the common tongue here. They still sound extra funky, as I must to them, but they enjoy my music and I enjoy their fleeting company, so it's not a problem. They take great care of Indigo in the stables, so I never have to worry about her. And there's so much open space—endless open space. It's like something out of a dream. I may not have a ship, but I have a horse and rolling fields. And I think that's more like flying than anything I've experienced before.

She starts the hike around noon, and finally reaches the lookout point in early evening, when the sun is just beginning to sink in the sky. Halfway up one of the smaller mountain peaks, the breeze blowing her long braids behind her, she feels like she beholds the entirety of the world before her. She can see from range to range, river to river, she can see Edoras and half a dozen other villages scattered like crumbs in the distance. Only a fraction of Middle-Earth, an impossibly small grain of sand in the stars of the void. But it is the only world she needs.

It hits her suddenly, and wet tears are streaming down her face. Warmth fills her veins from head to toe, and her heart swells with emotion. She clutches her hands to her chest, and she laughs and she sobs as happiness overwhelms her. She can't say why she is happy, only that her bliss is complete, she watches the sky darken and flush with color as the sun sinks ever lower, and she silently cries that it should never leave her. For when the sun leaves, she feels in the pit of her stomach that she will lose it. She will lose the sun, and though it will rise and set every day to come, it will never be the same, and she will long for the joy that she felt in that moment, for the rest of her life.

Gazing out over the mountains cast in burnished golden light, she feels as if she were lost in a beautiful dream. And if only she could remain lost forever, she would never want for freedom again.

As the sun dips below the mountain peaks, casting the valley in shadow, her ecstasy fades. Even the memory of it grows faint, though she will never forget that it happened. She wipes the last tears from her cheeks, and starts down the path, carefully picking her way through rocks and gravel. About halfway along, she pauses, hearing the crackle of footsteps in the woods nearby. It could be anyone, out for an evening walk, just like her. But for some reason, she finds herself immediately drawn off the trail, into the copse of trees, treading light as a fawn as she searches for her fellow wanderer.

He stands in a small clearing, and gazes at a lone little sapling sprung up through the grass, in contemplation. Tall and broad-shouldered, with long golden hair framing his angular face, in which striking blue eyes are set like sapphires. Though he wears the clothes of the noble Rohirrim, the face is unmistakable, and Marea nearly shouts out his name before she manages to tear herself away, fleeing back to the trail and all the way down the mountain, her mind racing with a thousand questions and confusions.

Later that night, she closely watches the entrance to the city. She sees him return on horseback, greeted warmly by name by villagers and vassals. As he passes her tavern, he catches her eye for a moment, and time seems to stop—she prays that he will recognize her, that he will say her name as Tyrians do, that he will leap off his mount and sweep her up in his arms because he has missed her so much, his dear friend, his sister.

But clear blue eyes merely glance over her, and he continues up the road, high into the city.

She doesn't sing that night, or the next night, or the night after that. She climbs the mountain trail, and she stares out over the plains and the hills, and she waits for that beautiful dream to return. But she can see nothing but Raigar's face in her mind's eye.

Day 310

I'm going back. I have to. I'm so confused. I had never felt so, so happy, so at peace, until I came here, and now it all feels so wrong, just like Tyria does. Raigar is here. He is still here. But he left! He left a long time ago, and barely even remembers this place. I don't understand. How can there be two of one person? Did something happen to him? But it doesn't matter how it happened, because here, he doesn't know me. And I can't live in a world like that. It's one thing to leave behind your best friend, another to find him again, but be a stranger to him. I feel like I should've seen this coming. Something was gonna fuck up my stay in Middle-Earth. And of course it's a Tyrian, if I could call this Raigar that, since I guess Tyrian Raigar isn't even Tyrian, technically. But yeah. Going back. I have a hunch and I desperately hope I'm right, 'cause if I'm not, I'm trapped here.

She rides for months, only pausing so she and Indigo can rest. She stops in no towns, she eats in no taverns, the picturesque countryside races by in a blur that she can't be bothered to look at. All she sees is the path ahead of her, and the void on either side of it, shooting stars filling her chest with cold dread. Yet she keeps her feet firm in the stirrups, and clenches her teeth to stave off the terror of what's to come.

Day 370

I left Indigo with Hosta. She wasn't home, but I wrote a note, and I know she'll take good care of her. I wish I could bring Indigo with me, but I can't imagine what the void would do to an animal, if this is what it does to me. Not worth the risk. I suffer because I understand what I've chosen to do. Wouldn't be fair to make a horse go through that.

At sundown, she hitches her belongings on her back. Like a pack mule, buried under a huge bulging bag, with a sheet of white metal, her prized Horiz remains, strapped over top of it. She strides through the clearing where she crashed a year ago, heading due north. The forest grows thicker, untouched for decades, if not centuries. A small patch of woodland mysteriously avoided by the locals, who likely never even realized it was there. And in the heart of this overgrown grove, she finds a standing stone, two stories tall, almost completely buried in vines. Although the air is still and lifeless as only it can be in a land without magic, the second her forehead touches the stone, the breath is knocked out of her.

In the moment before she goes, she hears Raigar's voice in her head, and suddenly she remembers a series of waking dreams from long before, when she was still over the Unending Ocean, in search of the otherworldly storm that would take her out of Tyria.

You'll get there. And then you'll know what home is.

“You,” she says quietly, even as a wail of panic builds in her throat, voice trembling. “Home is wherever you are.”

And this time, instead of falling into the abyss, she dives.

[n4lentertainmentltd]

Chapter IV

1 City, Many Fallbacks, Unnecessary Rush

“Shit you never know with him bro.” Young replied.

Just as they were talking they all got a notification of a text on their phone. 

Recipients: BrisQuo, Russ, Young

Theo: Fuck yall niggas. All yall some ho ass niggas. Y’all just gonna leave me? Bitch ass niggas. My granny bringing me anyway. Don’t say shit to me when you see me.

None of them knew what to expect from him when they saw him, but they didn’t care. They needed to get to Orientation. They couldn’t wait all day on him. Besides, he had found a way there anyhow. He’d be aight.

The first time Young met Russ, he thought he was funny; he didn’t talk funny or walk funny. He was just a nice guy. Super nice. The nicest guy Young had ever met before. He was the kind of guy you did something wrong to, and he would end up apologizing for it. He had a kind soul.

Russ was closer to Young’s height. He was about 6’3”, dark skinned, built from his years of playing high school defensive end and tennis, and he had one dimple on the left side of his face that he often flashed at any chick willing to give a glance. Young did not know at that time, but they were going to end up being best-friends. Inseparable.

Text Messages

F: Angelica

T: Young

Angelica: Hey babe what’s up? I haven’t heard from you since you got off last night. 

Young: Sorry babe. I got off at like 1 then came home and packed for Orientation.

Angelica: Its okay I understand. I was sleep anyway. Are y’all in Austin yet?

Young: Naw not yet. I almost didn’t respond to your text.

Angelica: What?! Why not? 

Young: I thought you were Theo! We left his ass in Dallas and he been talking shit ever since.

Angelica: Ugh. That sounds just like that nigga. He so angry to be so light-skinned.

Young: Exactly! Lmao

Angelica: I’m so proud of you baby. I know you are going to do great things. Try not to forget me along the way. 

Young: Never.

Everyone can’t be as lucky as Young to have known love at such a young age. The moment his eyes rested on Angelica he knew she would be his. They went from acquaintances (she did not care for him at first), to friends, to bestfriends, and then there was the kiss that started it all. They both knew when their lips touched on that day things would never be the same. 

Every time she giggled. 

Every time she batted those big beautiful brown eyes. 

Every.

Single. 

Time. 

He was powerless.

Angelica and Young started dating the summer of his senior year before he headed off to college. They figured his school was close by since it was only a 3-hour drive. They agreed he would come home on the weekends and the two of them would be just fine. Everything seemed like it would work out.  

She expected to still be treated like and to feel like his Queen. He intended to give her just that...

After 3 hours on the road and talking extensively about what it would be like when they saw Theo, they finally arrived on campus. When they arrived, there were Student Guides all over the campus, dressed in official school colors with the mascot displayed proudly across their chests’. They were all pretty much giving the same speech.

“Hello! Welcome to the University. We’re so happy to see you.”

BrisQuo rolled up to the Student Guide standing closest to the car on the nearby street corner. After the initial speech mentioned above, the Student Guide said, “Please go to the annex to pick up your agenda and keys. If y’all need anything feel free to give me a holler.” 

“When do we have to pay by?” Russ asked as he pressed the automatic window button down so the Student Guide could see through the tint. 

“Great question! You have until the end of the Orientation to pay your fee. That will be 250.00. Cash, check, and all major credit cards are accepted.”

“Oh ok. Thank you.” Russ responded as he rolled the window back up.

They parked at the annex then everyone got out and did their long car ride stretches and yawns. Young was surprised Russ hadn’t paid for Orientation yet. He had a job and was sensible with his money.

“Russ?” Young said.

“What’s good bro?” He replied.

“Why haven’t you paid yet?”

“Nigga I ain’t paying for this shit. 250 bucks for something they made mandatory? Naw nigga. I aint paying a dime. I’mma just do whatever y’all do and tell them to write me down as present.” He said as he wrote an imaginary check in the air.

Young definitely felt where he was coming from. Since it was mandatory, Young felt the exact same way as him. 

Why do I have to pay for something I am being forced to do? 

Russ’ plan was ingenious. 

“So where you gonna stay?” BrisQuo asked.

“I’m staying in y’all room.” Russ replied.

“Bro its only two beds in there.” Young said. “How you gonna manage to do that?” 

“Yeah nigga! And you always snore loud than a bitch. Nigga you wasn’t gonna tell us you was staying?” BrisQuo interjected.

“I’ll be fine on the floor. I’ll make a pallet on the floor AND BrisQuo leave me, and my snoring, out of this. You know I gotta condition!”

When they got to the annex, the line had already extended out past the front door. Everyone and they Mama was at Orientation. Each Orientation was held for incoming students. 6 or 7 generally were held throughout the summer, depending on the number of incoming freshman. They decided to go to the 4th one because that one worked best with each of their work schedules. 

The annex was huge. The building had high ceilings; lots of windows, and people were packed in like sardines. It was a hot day outside, in the 100’s once again. The air was being blasted full power but that didn’t matter. It was too hot and too many bodies in that one building.

When they walked in they got in line behind the other people waiting for keys and agendas. 

“Hey Young?” BrisQuo said in a low whisper.

“Yeah what’s up?” He replied.

“Don’t that look like them Niggas from that dinner that was sitting with them bad chicks?”

“What y’all talking about?” Russ asked.

“Shhhhh Nigga damn!” BrisQuo said in an excited utterance. “Look.” BrisQuo said as he nodded his head in the semi-familiar crowds general direction.

“Yeah I think that is them.” Russ whispered. “What y’all tryna do?”

“What you mean what we tryna do? I’m tryna get these keys so I can go lay down. They not flexing on us so we shouldn’t flex on them.” Young said sounding irritated.

“Relax nigga. We just got here so we don’t have no time to be making enemies. Trust though, if we see them acting weird out in public we gonna handle that.” BrisQuo said triumphantly.

“Hell yeah.” Russ replied bouncing his shoulders and rubbing his hands together like was putting on too much hand sanitizer on.

You could tell the University prepared for the event because it took them less than 30 minutes to get to the front of the line. When they got to the front, none of them could believe who was up there waiting to get a roommate. Young recognized that voice from over a thousand Chick & Strip drive-thru orders...

“Which one of these guys is your roomie?” The student helper asked Theo.

“Shit not these niggas.” Theo shot back. He wouldn’t even look at them when he said it he just waved in their general direction.

The student helper looked at Theo with a puzzled expression on her face. 

“So wait, you aren’t with these guys?”

“Naw man. I don’t know them. They don’t know me. This my roommate right here. This guy right here. Uhhhhh, what’s your name?” Theo asked as he wrapped his arm around the stranger’s shoulder.

It was clear that Theo just grabbed the closest person to him that wasn’t one of the fellas he was supposed to ride with. The kid he grabbed was a small white guy with plaid shorts, a white tee, and flip-flops. He looked absolutely terrified when Theo touched him. The guy could tell Theo looked angry though and didn’t want to get on his bad side. 

“My name is Tommy.” The stranger mumbled.

“Is this gentleman really your roommate?” the student assistant asked. 

The guy looked at the Dallas Troop. Then looked at Theo. Then looked back to the woman. Then gave everyone a once over one more time, and finally replied, “Yeah. This is my roommate.”

“Here are your keys. Here are your agendas.” The woman said as she handed them their items. “If you need anything or have any questions feel free to ask myself or any of the other student assistants.” Theo and Tommy thanked her for her help and then walked off together rolling their luggage behind them.

BrisQuo and Young were next up. Russ, sensing it would be awkward when he was the only one not getting a agenda and key, got ghost until they came out. He was leaning on a pillar outside texting when BrisQuo, Soulful, and Young walked out of the building.

[disregardcanon]

end of the year writing meme: tagging anyone who wants to do this! i’m just bringing it back from last year again 

or: 2017 in fanfiction 

Total Stories Written: 62

Total Words Written:  150k ish  Average Words Per Story: somewhere 3-5k probably  Shortest Story: Skyscraper and Short Stuff at 302  Longest: Jane the Metahuman, my still incomplete the flash/jane the virgin crossover fic at  19,936 

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted?

less, probably. i had a great fic stall over the summer and the first few months of the school year where i just couldn’t get anything written. also i have a ton of unfinished wips that i can’t apply to my word count.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write most?

i wrote the most for snaibsel and young justice, though i didn’t get caught up on one fandom much  What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January?

hannibal/brooklyn nine nine crossover fic. enough said Did you take any writing risks this year?

i wrote longer fics and some crossover fics, both of which scare me quite a lot so trying them out really paid off. 

Do you have any fanfic or general writing goals for the new year?

1. post a lot of fics for femslash february. i have a goal of at least 15.

2. write more original fiction.

3. maybe finish that yj season 3 fic i’ve started work on? maybe.

these are the exact same goals as last year omg

From the past year of writing, what was your… Best story of this year: 

you, me and the flash makes three probably. it’s the story that i’n the most proud of in general. i feel like i was able to work within the flash season 1 canon while also tweaking and adding things to make the ot3 work. 

Most popular story of this year: Imagined Infidelity is the most popular on all fronts but bookmarks, which belong to Mantis Prays to Oregon (a far superior fic in my opinion. that one’s of my favorites of the year) 

Personal favorite:

Borrowing Problems from the future was the first real fic i was able to complete in months after my writing drought, so i have a real soft spot for it, especially because it allowed me to explore alex fierro’s character a bit and try to fix a few problems i had with the way their relationship was handled. 

Most under-appreciated: 

i have two for this one, tbh 

the man in yellow in the living room with the knife: this is my flash/pushing daisies crossover which REALLY ends up working but hardly anyone read

The Spark that Will Light the Fire: what if rose tico was a stormtrooper and we actually addressed the stormtrooper issue in tlj? what if???? 

Most fun to write:

Jane the Metahuman. I haven’t worked on it in a while, but it’s always so fun to just slip into the universe where the jane the virgin characters and the flash characters are friends. it’s just so delightfully weird and fun to write. Story with the single sexiest moment:

Blame Me, I Will Wear It hate sex between iris west and a caitlin snow that’s almost kind of herself and almost kind of killer frost, enough said

Most “holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you” story: maybe All Katz Go to Heaven? I didn’t write a lot of fucked up stuff this year, but the idea that every person hannibal lecter has ever murdered ends up in Brooklyn Nine Nine is kind of a fucked up premise for a fic haha

OH WAIT maybe it’s grieving schrodinger’s dad? it puts zatanna zatara into a time loop of the day that her dad becomes doctor fate. 

Most challenging to write:

It was really hard to crank out the second chapter of dead girl walking, especially since i was trying to finish it during my ireland trip. it was a lot of heavy content, a lot of characterization issues, and some action scenes, which aren’t necessarily my strong suit. 

Biggest disappointment: Pushing Irises. it turned out well, but I also had zero motivation to continue it so it’s just a single chapter that ends on a cliff hanger. It might always be a single chapter that ends on a cliff hanger.  Favorite character to write:

this year i really enjoyed writing eleanor shellstrop and cisco ramon. i didn’t write either of them a lot, but whenever i did write them it was a blast. 

Favorite opening lines:

Zatanna crosses her arms over her chest as she leans against Bruce’s black SUV. The “parking lot” at this camp is a glorified field of grass. It rained last night, and there are muddy ruts left all throughout the field and little muddy puddles scattered everywhere. It’s disgusting and rundown and everywhere that Zatanna doesn’t want to spend three weeks of her summer. Endless Summer

Her first memories are of Ego, him cradling her in his arms, tickling her, telling her that he loves her. Her first memories are of him calling her daughter and her calling him dad. Mantis Prays to Oregon

The 99th precinct had a strict, no dating rule. At least, it acquired one the moment Holt showed up. She's pretty sure the old guy wouldn't have cared if they had an orgy in the break room. An Emoji is Worth a Thousand Words

Murder and money are messy businesses. Verger Virtues

The first thing that Rosa thinks when they get to the orchestra hall is that this dressing room will never be clean again. The decor is all bright white except for the places where it’s been stained red by blood. There are a lot of places where it’s been stained red by blood. All Katz Go to Heaven

Favorite closing lines:

Bart's going into uncharted territory. Trying to have friends and a family and be a hero in an era where he's not a slave or even a child soldier. He doesn't know how to go about it, but that's alright. He thinks he can work it out later. How To Fall in Love with Your Mark

“I love my dead gay wife,” Kelly says, hugging tightly, “and I love my dead trans son.” And they laugh, not because it’s funny, really, but because it’s ridiculous and happy. They laugh because somehow life just got so much better. We’re All Dead Here

They may be in the bad place, but they have a freedom now that they’ve never had before. here they are, a tortured academic, a hot rich fraud with legs for days and a selfish ass helping a demon to keep his job, with the help of an idiot DJ and his AI wife. Three hell-bound people just trying to make it in this crazy world, becoming better people and loving each other only after it’s too late.   Eternal Recurrence

"Stop taking your hand?" He asks, and Rey can't tell if he's joking.

"No," Rey says, "don't ever stop."

A Pair of Somebodies

Other favorite lines:

"Romance isn't just for the straights," she says. Pair the Spares

"He's not just a bucket head," Ahsoka says, cracking a grin, "he's the king bucket head." An officer of a notable rank comes up behind them, and stands respectfully to the side.

"No, he's Lord of the bucket heads," Aphra corrects, "you gotta get the title right."

"Lord Buckethead," the officer says with an enormous grin, "your presence is requested on the control deck." Anakin turns towards him, and holds his hand out immediately. The man makes a strangled noise, and he's pulled by the Force.

"Master," Ahsoka says, her voice wobbly. Anakin clenches his fist, and the officer falls to the floor, dead.

"Any more remarks?" Anakin asks. The other officers and troopers on the floor all divert their attention. They got the message: only Ahsoka and Aphra are allowed to tease Darth Vader. Ahsoka feels sick to her stomach. Between the banter and the sex, she had almost forgotten she wasn't supposed to feel at home here. Sympathy for the Devil

Jane Gloriana Villanueva is twenty eight years old. She is a lot of things: a published author, a mother of three, a beloved wife, a local gay icon. She is no longer a virgin. Unless, of course, your definition of virginity requires a penis going into a vagina, then Jane is still a virgin. These are all technicalities and have no bearing on our current story. Jane the Metahuman

Joe, however, had already heard the murmur, and knew that something very wrong was going on. He threw the door open and stormed into the room. Nora Allen, who was dead the last time he looked at her, was sitting up on the morgue table with the bloodstains still prominent on her shirt. the man in yellow in the living room with the knife

“It’s Brandy or the sea, child,” Ego says.

“Brandy,” Zatanna says, exhaling breath,  “I choose Brandy.” That was always going to be her answer. How could it not be, when the choice isn’t even just Brandy? It’s the port. It’s the sailors that it serves. It’s the whisky and the wine, and the whole damn bar,  and- ugh

This is a bullshit metaphor anyway.

The choice Ego offers isn’t between Brandy and the sea. It’s between the sea and the world. It’s not leaving Brandy for adventure, it’s destroying the entire harbor town for Ego’s bullshit god complex. Brandy Beats the Sea

A pile of blue beetles has emerged in the place of Jaime's body, like the Oogie Boogie man without his burlap skin.

Bart screams, and the Jaime figure laughs a laugh that isn't Jaime's as it shifts into something else entirely. The big, muscular Blue Beetle stands before him, maniacal grin plastered on his face.

"You're not Jaime," Bart says. The Beetle laughs, demonic voice over Jaime's.

"Am I?" He says, "you don't know. You won't know until it's too late." A sinking feeling settles in Bart's stomach, like a hush puppy that settled in with a gallon of Mountain Dew and a whole basket of fries.

"You aren't," he says. He wants the words to be true, but he doesn't know . He might be letting his guard down for a traitor to humankind. He might be falling in love with a monster. How to Fall in Love with Your Mark

"I told him I would. I promised that I wouldn't do this." Maybe she does have a problem. Maybe she should see Black Canary, or- or something. She has a chance at normalcy. She doesn't understand why she doesn't want it anymore.

She has a chance for true love and The American Dream, for the kind of life she'd dreamed of as a kid. She has a chance to settle down and be a normal fucking human with a normal marriage to a normal guy who wants a normal sort of happy ending. She doesn't know why she can't be satisfied with that.

Zatanna’s voice is soft and gently as she tells her, "Artemis, if you're supposed to be with him, then you should be able to be yourself with him."

"Are you trying to break up my relationship?" It's a cruel jibe, a reminder of Zatanna's (mainly) unrequited crush and her subsequent rejection. Zatanna barely looks phased.

"Are you?" The words knock the wind out of her. She hadn’t considered that, but now that Zatanna’s put the thought in her head, Artemis can’t stop considering it. At this point, Artemis doesn't know. climbed a mountain and turned around

Will Graham, the bride of Frankenstein and his monster rolled all into one. The Stuffed Dog

It’s destiny. Destiny is an otherworldly Eldritch beast, devouring everything in its path. It eats up all other options, and leaves only one path. It wraps its hideous, shadowy tendrils around her and drags her back into the dark. This is destiny like Ragnarök, fated to happen and rip the world apart.

  mountains out of molehills

“I wanted to find her and run away,” Finn says, “I just didn’t want to be a stormtrooper anymore, Rose. I wanted to run as far away from the First Order as I could, but then I met Rey. So I came back for her. I never signed up for the Resistance. I just want Rey and I to be safe.” Rose feels a twist in her gut. This might be worse than finding out he wanted to desert. This is knowing the reasons behind it, having to see him as human in his mistakes and understand why he made them.

Oh how heroes fall and then stumble back up again.

The Spark that Will Light the Fire

Most telling fic:  international harvester certainly tells you something about my background. also the fact that i, too, want to make out with a girl in a combine