#and that and patching in the missing basic staged shots could be part of my clean-up process

[gobs-o-dice]

Dice Set #287: Wheat

Bonus Detail Shot:

(Yes, there is an actual piece of wheat floret as an inclusion in each die).

[fruitydiaz-archived]

you can have my back any day

4.14 speculation fic / eddie wakes up in the hospital

6,383 words

part two of healing together

AO3 link

The first thing Eddie feels when he wakes up is panic.

Everything’s a little foggy, a little blurry, and he can’t remember much of anything — and that’s never a good sign.

He struggles to open his eyes, his eyelids feel heavy. And then it all starts to rush at him quickly.

Charlie, Sheila, the eyedrops. She was poisoning him, her own kid, all for money — how sick is that?

But they got there in time and they had just closed the doors to the ambulance and Eddie was just talking to Buck in the middle of the street when — when —

His eyes fly open at the memory, at the sound piercing through the fog in his brain. A gunshot. A gunshot and a bullet cutting through the mass of his shoulder — and Buck.

He vaguely registers the sound of something beeping beside him, a loud, annoying sound — and there’s something in his throat. Panic claws its way up his chest and he feels it taking over his entire body. He doesn’t realize that he’s in a room surrounded by people until the nurses are at his side, gently holding his arms and easing him to relax back down against the bed.

He stares up at them with wild, panicked eyes, before he starts to relax. It’s not really a voluntary reaction, but he feels himself start to disappear into the fog again, his limbs going loose in heavy.

He’s been intubated. He’s awake in the hospital. He’s panicked. They need to sedate him again, just a little, just enough to remove the tube, enough to patch him up.

But he doesn’t want that — he wants to see Buck. The last thing he remembers is Buck, covered in blood, Buck on the ground, Buck staring at him helplessly as he bled out onto the street. He has to know he’s okay.

He tries to open his mouth to speak but, like everything else, it feels heavy. He doesn’t like feeling out of control of his body like this — hates it really. He just wants to see Buck, he just has to know he’s okay, that the shooter didn’t get him too. He has to see him.

Eddie’s unfixed gaze drops from the nurses’ faces, shifting to the foot of his bed while his eyelids start to fall shut. The last thing he sees is a blurry face — a birthmark and dark curls.

Buck.

The next time he wakes up — he’s not as panicked. His mouth and throat feel dry and scratchy, but he can swallow easier. Somewhere in the back of his mind he notes that the tube must’ve been taken out after he woke up the first time. That’s a good sign. His limbs still feel heavy, though, and his thoughts are thick and syrupy like molasses. He keeps sliding from one thought to another, never forming anything complete. It feels a little like he’s floating through time. He hates it.

Eventually, Eddie forces his eyes to open and he stares up at the bright white ceiling, before the sound of someone shifting to the right draws his attention. He blinks.

It’s Carla.

She smiles down at him, and it’s warm and comforting in a way that Eddie didn’t know he needed. Of course she would be here.

“Hey there, handsome,” She smiles, reaching out to brush his forehead lightly. He smiles and leans into the touch for a moment. It reminds him of something his sisters used to do, absentmindedly when they’d pile onto the couch to watch a movie together, when he was younger, way younger, way more innocent, when the only scars he had were from climbing trees and playing sports — not from bullets or fists.

He opens his mouth to speak but she shushes him, grabbing a paper cup with ice chips from the side table.

“I imagine you’re pretty parched after what you’ve been through,” She says, pulling a chip out of the cup and lifting it to Eddie’s mouth. He stares at her for a second and she stares back before he eventually opens his mouth and lets her slip the chip in. It's an instant relief, even though the cold is shocking. She slips him a couple of more before he nods to her and she puts the cup down and settles into the chair by his bed.

“I’m sorry you’re in a hospital again,” Eddie says eventually. His voice is rough, and it takes a lot of energy to speak, but he’s desperate to fill the silence, to hear the sounds of life around him.

“Especially so soon. I can’t imagine it’s easy being here after your dad. When Shannon died — for a couple of weeks I couldn’t even drive by a hospital without wanting to cry.”

He’s never said that before — and he’s surprised at how easily the admission slips out. But he doesn’t have a chance to feel embarrassed about it. Carla reaches out, covering his hand with her own.

“I know you’re not apologizing for getting shot by a sniper, Eddie.” He shrugs his good shoulder. “I would be here for you anytime, any day, you know that.”

He looks at her and he knows it’s true. It’s weird, if he thinks about it too long, the way that Carla has become such an important part of their lives. He was used to fighting for things, to having to do things on his own, to having to explain himself to everyone, to defend himself.

But Carla, Buck’s ex-girlfriend’s dead mom’s caretaker, wasn’t anything like that. She just stepped in and graciously offered her care. He knows that’s her job, but he also knows that she loves him and Christopher like they’re family. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t. And that’s something Eddie never had in his life before.

“It’s no wonder you and Buck are such good friends,” She says, changing the subject. “You two are a lot alike.”

At the mention of Buck, Eddie can’t stop the emotions from shifting over his face. They move so quickly he’s not even sure what they all are — but they’re suspicious and he knows it. He’d been expecting to see Buck when he woke up, he had been wanting to see Buck when he woke up. All he’s been able to think about, in his conscious moments and unconscious, is Buck. He just has to see that he’s okay, and then he’ll relax.

“I thought he would be here,” Eddie chances saying, eventually. Carla nods, a small smile on her lips.

“That boy has been here more often than not. You’ve been in the hospital for a couple of days, honey. We’re taking turns. He took Christopher for some real food and a change of clothes a couple of hours ago. But I texted him as soon as I saw you were waking up and they’re on their way now.”

And that — right there — that makes everything okay. All of the fear, trepidation, tension in Eddie’s body basically vanishes. Buck’s okay. More than okay — he’s with Christopher. And more than just being with Christopher, he’s looking after him. Making sure he’s well fed, clean, and comfortable. It’s more than Eddie could ever ask for, and the fact that Buck just does it, no questions no complaints — he does it happily — that has Eddie choked up.

Then he realizes.

“Did he — who told you? About what happened?” Carla frowns.

“He came by the house an hour or so after getting you to the hospital. He said Bobby made him go home and clean up but he had to come tell us the news. I offered to tell Chris — but he wanted to do it. It was...not easy. For either of them.”

Eddie can imagine. He remembers having to get down on one knee in front of Christopher and tell him that he would never see his mom again. A couple of hours after getting Eddie to the hospital means there was no way they knew whether or not he was gonna make it at that point.

Buck had to prepare Chris for his dad’s death.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever repay Buck for this — for everything, for saving his life, for taking such good care of Christopher, for looking after him like he was his own son. For having to hold it together for all of them.

But he knows what Buck would say if he mentioned any of this to him.

It wasn’t some favor I was doing you, Eddie. I have your back, always. You never have to repay me.

Eddie leans back. Buck’ll be here soon, with Christopher. That’s all he needs. Everything’s okay.

He realizes it all, several minutes too late. He glances at Carla, who’s looking back at him expectantly.

“Ana,” He says. Carla nods. Eddie’s mouth works as he tries to figure out exactly what to say next. Nothing comes to him.

“She’s downstairs grabbing us some coffee,” Carla says, folding her hands over her lap. She fixes Eddie with a look and he sighs, turning away from her.

“Can the fact that I just had a bullet in my shoulder get me out of whatever conversation I know you want to have with me right now?” She smiles and it’s not unkind. It reminds him of the way his sisters used to smile at him — right before they would expose some deeply buried truth about him that sent him into a week-long existential crisis.

“Honey, we don’t have to have any conversation that you don’t want to have. Not right now. But you should be having a conversation with Miss Flores soon, because you and I both know where your heart is, and it’s not with her.”

Eddie frowns. Ana’s nice. He likes having her around. She makes Christopher laugh — fills the house with his laughter which, really, to Eddie, seems like everything in the world.

In some ways — she reminds him of Shannon. It’s the way she carries herself, the sundresses she wears, the quiet shyness, the way she smiles at Christopher, runs her fingers through his curls.

But they don’t fight like he and Shannon did. They don’t fight at all, really. Eddie thought their polite tip-toeing-around-each-other stage would’ve ended months ago — but it hasn’t. And it’s not that he wants to fight, he hated fighting with Shannon. But he’s started to realize that fighting was the most exciting part of their relationship — the throwing down and the making up, the passion that followed.

It was undeniably toxic and unhealthy for the both of them, and as much as Eddie hated Shannon for leaving him again — she was right. They didn’t really work together.

And Ana...he’s beginning to see that they’re not working together either. Maybe it took him longer to figure out because they weren’t fighting, because all he’s ever known in his relationships is fighting — fighting with his parents, fighting with his sisters, fighting with Shannon. He thought this...this pleasantness was good. The easiness was good.

But ever since Carla planted that tiny little seed of doubt in his head at the dinner table, he’s felt the whole thing unravel.

He doesn’t want Ana here. He just wants to be with Christopher and Buck and Carla. He didn’t want to wake up to see Ana sitting next to him — was pleasantly surprised when it wasn’t her, but he wanted to see Buck. He didn’t care that Ana knew he was safe — he wanted to make sure Buck was safe.

But, most importantly, Ana wasn’t with Chris. Ana wasn’t the one who told him that Eddie was in the hospital, wasn’t the one who bravely broke the news to his son, wasn’t the one who held him and comforted him, wasn’t the one taking him to and from the hospital, wasn’t the one making sure that he still ate and took care of himself, even though he’s sick with grief.

Ana’s not with Christopher. Buck is. And that’s the most damning piece of evidence of all.

He doesn’t want anyone else in his life. He has Buck.

When Ana appears in the doorway a couple of minutes later, Eddie doesn’t even have enough energy to feel sick about it. She smiles at him, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and he smiles weakly back.

Carla picks her purse up.

“I’m going to give you two a moment alone. Buck and Christopher will be here soon, so I’ll see you again when it’s my turn.” She steps over to Eddie’s side and leans down to kiss his forehead. “I’m glad you’re with us still, Eddie.”

He doesn’t want her to go but he knows she has to. He doesn’t really want her to be here for what’s about to happen either. And if she’s down in the lobby she’ll be able to fend off Chris and Buck until Ana’s gone. The last thing he needs is them walking in on...whatever’s about to happen.

Ana slides into Carla’s spot, smoothing her hand over the top of her hair. She looks worn and tired — Eddie imagines they all do. He hates when people worry about him. It reminds him of when he was younger, when he would do something foolish with his friends and end up with a couple too many scrapes or a broken bone — and he would sit in bed while his parents fretted over him, bringing him soup and pain meds and whatever else he might need. It wasn’t the care that bothered him — it was the way it always came with an edge of disappointment, like he should’ve known better to get hurt, like it was an inconvenience for them.

He swallows.

“It’s good to see you awake,” Ana says, her tone falling just short of the bright and cheery Eddie knows she was aiming for. He forces a smile. “You had me really scared for a minute there.”

Eddie bites back the urge to say sorry. He didn’t ask to get shot.

“Yeah, thought I was done being shot at once I left the army,” He comments drily. Ana nods and her mouth twitches like she wants to smile, like she wants to laugh at the joke Eddie’s trying to crack, but it’s probably too on the dark side for her, because her face crumbles just a bit.

“Sorry,” He tacks on sheepishly. She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything.

The silence stretches over them and Eddie hates the fact that it’s making him itch, that it’s making him angry. He’s just been shot, just woke up to a tube in his mouth, and woke up again — waiting to see the two people he wants to see most in the world, so he thinks he should be allowed to get a little angry.

But Ana hasn’t done anything, not really. And she deserves better than Eddie lashing out at her right now.

“Ana,” Eddie starts, but his throat feels dry again. He glances at the cup of ice chips that Carla left and Ana’s up immediately, lifting a piece of ice to Eddie’s mouth just like Carla had moments before.

Her hands are shaking.

Eddie sighs and lets her slip a couple of chips in his mouth before he feels like he can talk again. She stands by his side.

“I really...I don’t want to have to do this right now,” He says, lifting a hand up to rub at his face. He wants to lift his right arm but quickly remembers its in a fucking sling, draped across his chest, and he’s quickly losing his patience.

“I know,” Ana says quickly. He looks up at her and sees her blinking back tears. “It’s us.”

“I’m sorry. This is...shit timing.”

“Nothing like a bullet in your shoulder to make you realize what you really want,” She jokes. He surprises both of them when he snorts a laugh.

He looks up at her and she’s smiling down at him, but she looks sad, not angry. He really does like her.

“Thank you for being here,” He says honestly. She reaches down and brushes her fingers against his forehead.

“Of course, Eddie. Things between us...I think we’ve both known where this was heading for a while. But...I’d always be here for you.”

“You’re really great, you know,” Eddie says. Ana tilts her head to the side and Eddie’s surprised when a tear slips down her face and onto his forehead. She moves to wipe it away with her thumb quickly, scrunching her face up, a move Eddie now knows she does when she’s embarrassed.

It’s weird, knowing that he’ll always have these tiny quirks cataloged as Things Ana Does When in his mind. He has a list of things that Shannon does too — he sees them in Christopher all the time. It took a while for him to get used to the dull ache he feels in his chest every time he sees it.

He has a list of things Buck does too, that Chris has also picked up on. He’s never quite understood how that made him feel, but he’s beginning to.

“I know,” Ana says, faking a smile. “I’m just not what you want.”

Eddie twists his mouth into a sympathetic smile.

“I don’t really know what I want,” Eddie says — and at that moment Ana’s phone pings with a notification. She quickly steps away from Eddie, turning her back to him while she digs in her bag for her phone. He hears her sniffle a couple of times but pretends he doesn’t — he knows she’s trying to hide it.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I do,” Ana says distractedly, straightening once she has her phone in her hand. She wipes away her face dry as she turns back to him. “Christopher and Buck are here — so...I guess this is the last time I’ll see you.”

Eddie’s stomach turns uncomfortably at that. He’s never liked goodbyes — even when they’re necessary. He knows it’d be unfair to ask Ana to stick around, and he doesn’t even want her to, but he feels like he needs to make it up to her somehow.

She steps up to him, brushing her fingers against his forehead again. She lets them trail down the side of his face, running along his jaw like she’s trying to map his facial features, committing them to memory. Her face starts to crumble again and before Eddie can say anything to try and soothe the pain, she presses her lips to his forehead, whispers a shaky goodbye, and disappears out the door.

He feels like shit about it for about a minute before he remembers that her absence means that Chris and Buck will be there soon.

His boys.

He feels a complicated series of emotions at that realization. First, it’s pure elation that he gets to see Christopher. He never likes to be away from him for long, it makes him feel like he’s missing a part of himself, and he knows Chris has had a hard couple of days while he’s been in the hospital. And then the reality of what he’s been through comes crashing down on top of him.

He was shot . He was shot and he almost died — he knows that. He knows he lost a good amount of blood, knows that the surgery was touch and go. He knows it was devastating for Christopher — 12 years old and grappling with the fact that he might lose his only remaining parent.

Guilt settles heavy in the pit of his stomach and he’s breaking down crying before he knows it. He almost left Christopher alone. He almost lost his boy.

And then he feels anger, anger at the fact that this is the hand he’s been dealt — this life of fighting, of feeling like he never does a goddamn thing right. He couldn’t when he was a kid, couldn’t when he started dating Shannon and got her pregnant, couldn’t when he committed to marrying her because he thought it was the right thing to do, couldn’t when he enlisted, couldn’t when he re-enlisted, couldn’t when he picked up job after job to support his son, couldn’t when he relocated them to California, couldn’t when Shannon came back, couldn’t when Shannon died. He couldn’t even live right.

He wasn’t supposed to be getting shot at anymore — he left Afghanistan long ago. How was he supposed to leave Christopher again, put on that uniform, and know that any day something could happen and he could be ripped out of his kid’s world?

He’s always known the job was dangerous, always accepted that any scene could go the wrong way and anything could happen. But he’s never come this close before.

But then he remembers that he didn’t die, he didn’t die and he didn’t lose his son, and his son is on his way to see him right now. So he pulls himself out of the fear, guilt, anger spiral quickly. He’ll deal with that again some other day, he knows it. He knows that he has months, maybe years of new nightmares ahead of him, knows that eventually, he’ll have to sit down in Frank’s office again and slowly, painstakingly, piece his life back together.

But for now — he’s about to see his son.

And he’s about to see Buck.

The wave of guilt threatens to wash over him again — because Eddie can never really escape it.

Buck who saw him get shot, Buck who got covered in his blood, Buck who watched him bleed out, Buck who risked his life to physically carry the weight of Eddie’s body to safety, Buck who got him to the hospital in time, Buck who sat in the waiting room, traumatized and shocked, Buck who went home to tell his kid, Buck who cared for his kid like he was his own.

Buck. Buck who...is his best friend...but is maybe more than that.

He loves Buck, he’s always known that. Ever since the tsunami, ever since Buck ran himself ragged walking all over the city looking for Chris — he’s known. But loving his friend and being in love with him — that’s a different thing.

Or at least, he thinks it is? He’s not sure. He just knows that in his last moments, when he was standing in shock and Buck was in front of him — something changed. Or, rather, something shifted, in his mind.

He doesn’t know exactly how he feels about Buck or exactly what he wants their relationship to look like and if he thinks about it too hard he knows he’s going to get a headache. But he knows that he loves Buck, and that for a moment he was terrified that he would never see him again, and that he never wants to leave him, and that he wants him woven into his life forever.

Thankfully, Eddie’s managed to pull himself together by the time Buck comes skidding into the doorway, Christopher over his shoulder. It’s such an entrance that Eddie’s stunned for a second, and his eyes lock with Buck’s before he breaks down laughing.

It feels good to feel such pure joy.

“We were gonna walk but Christopher was so excited to see you that he insisted I carry him and run here — and I wasn’t really gonna deny him the opportunity to see his dad as quickly as possible,” Buck explains, a little out of breath as he lowers Christopher down to the ground.

“Used his puppy dog eyes on you, didn’t he?” Eddie teases. “You’re too easy, Buck.”

“Yeah, well, I already accepted that I’m not immune to the Diaz puppy dog eyes a long time ago. I’d do anything for you two.” Buck says this naturally, as he slides Christopher’s glasses off of his shirt collar and hands them for Chris to put on. He shifts Christopher’s crutches from one hand to the other, eyes still focused on the kid.

“Do you want to use your crutches, buddy, or are you good to walk around?” Eddie’s a little stunned at how natural Buck is with Chris — and he’s not really sure why, because he always has been.

“I don’t need them,” Chris says, nodding. Buck nods back and settles his crutches down on the chair.

Eddie can’t hold back the tears. Christopher looks at him with such unfiltered joy — and the guilt lingers in the back of Eddie’s mind, the knowledge that he scared the crap out of his own kid. He holds out his good hand.

“Here, let’s go around the other side so we can be on your dad’s good side,” Buck suggests gently, ushering Chris over to the other side of the bed. Eddie can’t help but notice that Buck’s not looking at him, but he can’t focus on it for too long when Christopher’s collapsing against the side of the bed, falling into Eddie’s arm. Eddie pulls him close, presses his head against his chest, and buries his face in Christopher’s curls, pressing a solid kiss to the top of his head.

He closes his eyes and loses himself in the familiarity, in the comforting scent of Christopher’s shampoo, in the feeling of his son in his arms, where Eddie would keep him forever if he could.

“Oh mijo,” Eddie mumbles into Christopher’s hair, not wanting to pull away from him for a second. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Chris asks, pulling away. He reaches out to brush his hand against Eddie’s jaw and Buck’s hit with the startling memory of when Chris did that to him, on the pier, just before the tsunami. He wonders if that’s something he picked up from Shannon or Eddie.

Eddie smiles at Chris sadly.

“Because I scared you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Christopher says, and Buck clears his throat behind him.

“Come on, buddy. We talked about being honest about all of our emotions, remember?”

Eddie quirks an eyebrow and looks up at Buck, but he’s still avoiding his eyes.

“Sorry. I was scared at first. I didn’t want to lose you too. But Buck said that he would never lie to me and he was pretty sure that you were gonna be okay because...you’re the strongest person he knows and that the doctors here are the best!”

Eddie doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he just pulls Christopher back in and presses another kiss to the top of his head. He looks at Buck again, and this time he waits, keeping his gaze steady until Buck’s eyes finally meet his.

And it knocks all of the air out of his lungs.

Because the last time he looked into those eyes — everything was hazy around the edges. He could feel himself slipping away and the only thing that kept him anchored, the only thing that kept him tethered to the earth, was the piercing blue of Buck’s eyes. The last thing he remembers is the fear in them, and the anger. He knew as soon as he recognized it that he was going to be okay — because he’s seen that determined look in Buck’s eyes a million times before.

He knows Buck’s remembering it too, he’s pretty sure that’s why Buck’s been avoiding his eyes the whole time, because he goes pale the moment they meet. He watches him swallow, watches the flashbacks echo in his mind.

Buck looks away quickly and clears his throat. He’s trying really hard not to throw up his breakfast right now, remembering Eddie lying lifeless on the street, bloody and pale. It’s not a sight he’s soon to forget, no matter how hard he tries.

He slides into the seat behind Christopher, too far for Eddie’s liking, so he stretches out his hand to him.

“Come on, Buck,” Eddie mumbles. Buck hesitates before scooting the chair closer. He stares at Eddie’s hand for a moment before he slips his hand into it. He rests their linked hands down on Christopher’s back.

They talk for a bit, Christopher catching Eddie up on the few things that have happened in the last couple of days. He’s been out of school, which makes sense. His parents are in town — he wonders when he’ll have to see them. He’s not excited about it; he knows that what’ll follow will be remarks about how it’s not safe, how Eddie could’ve died, how Chris could’ve lost him, how he’d be safer at home.

By the time Carla shows back up in the doorway, Christopher’s eyelids are drooping closed and he keeps dropping his head against his dad’s shoulder. It’s time for him to go home and rest but he protests — because of course, he wants to stay with Eddie.

“Go on, Christopher. I’ll be back home tonight and then we can stay up late and watch a movie and enjoy our fun time before your dad comes back and ruins it with his boring rules and grumpy face.”

Eddie’s heart warms at Buck calling his house home — and he wants to roll his eyes at the teasing, but he also recognizes the way Buck deflects with humor, and it makes his chest ache. It works for Chris, though, and he’s out the door with Carla after a solid hug and a kiss on his cheek goodbye, leaving Buck and Eddie alone.

Neither of them says anything for a minute. There’s a weight that settles over them without Christopher there. Something that rests heavily on their shoulders — the memory of the moment that neither of them want to talk about — when they were feet apart and watching the other lose their life.

The silence becomes unbearable for Eddie quicker than usual — he’s just not used to Buck being quiet. Buck is always full of this nervous energy, it keeps him moving at all times. He’s usually the one filling awkward silences with random facts, anything he’s read over the last couple of days, something that happened with Maddie, a random joke — anything. But right now he’s sitting in total silence, hands gripping his thighs, eyes fixed on the end of Eddie’s bed.

Eddie’s pretty sure he knows what he’s thinking about.

He reaches out his good hand again and it falls short of Buck’s knee. His fingers stretch out, flexing for a moment before curling back in, and he’s temporarily transfixed by that movement. It’s a little thing, but it reminds him so much of how immobilized he was once he got shot, once he went down, how he couldn’t even stretch out his hand to Buck like he wanted to.

He glances up at Buck, wiggles his fingers again to get his attention. He clears his throat and Buck blinks, once, twice, and then looks back at Eddie, eyes wide. He looks down at Eddie’s hand and then back at his face with the blankest, furthest off stare Eddie’s pretty sure he’s ever seen on Buck, before he shakes his head, flushes, and slips his hand into his.

“I wanted to do this so bad when I got shot,” Eddie admits, lacing their fingers together. He’s surprised at the lack of filter he’s had today. Maybe it has something to do with the drugs, or the recent brush with death, but he can’t find it in him to mull over every single thought that comes to him right now, no energy to vet the words before he says them to make sure they don’t leave him in a vulnerable spot. It’s too late for that.

Buck looks surprised but squeezes Eddie’s hand in response.

“I’m here,” Is all he says. Eddie nods.

“Thank you,” Eddie says and he watches as Buck freezes, as the words click into place in his brain, and his face twists.

“Eddie — I don’t know what you’re thanking me for. You shouldn’t.” Eddie shakes his head, cutting Buck off.

“Look, Buck, I know you. I know you’re probably all up in your head blaming yourself for me getting shot, for not doing enough. But you saved me.”

Buck looks like he wants to argue again so Eddie pushes on.

“Listen, I never thought I’d get shot at again,” He laughs bitterly. “Thought all that would end when I left Afghanistan. But...when our helicopter went down over there...we were under heavy fire. We were already transporting injured soldiers, then I got shot — it...I thought I was gonna die out there.”

Eddie pauses. He’s never really talked about any of this before with Buck. He’s mentioned having nightmares every once in a while, offhandedly mentioned getting shot at a couple of times — but he’s always tried to keep it casual. He’s always tried to cut out the dark reality — for himself and for Buck.

But what happened to him, getting shot in the middle of the street, for Buck to see, it’s dragging all of that up. And he can’t cut it out right now, because the dark reality is this .

When he goes to therapy again he’ll start to unpack his time in the army again. He’ll start to piece together his conscious moments from when he got shot to when he was in the ambulance. He’ll start to remember the fear, the anger, the deep sadness he felt that this was happening to him again.

He’ll remember hearing the sound of helicopter blades in the fire truck. He’ll remember the constant sound of gunfire, the way he screamed as Buck lifted his body. He’ll remember calling out to him, calling out for Christopher.

But he’s not unpacking that all right now. He just wants to make sure Buck knows that he knows that this time was different.

“I thought...I was never gonna come home again, never gonna see Shannon again, never gonna see Christopher. I felt helpless...and — alone.”

He turns back to Buck again, locks their eyes, and squeezes his hand.

“This time I had you. And I knew that you would do whatever it takes.” He can’t keep his voice from shaking anymore, and stops trying to keep it even, stops trying to hold back the tears. He needs Buck to know how much this means to him — how much he means to him.

Buck’s eyes are red and watery and Eddie knows he’s trying his best to not break down. In the back of his mind, he knows Buck’s had his fair share of breakdowns over the last couple of days. The guilt echoes in the back of his mind.

“I said I’d have your back,” Buck says, voice small as he squeezes Eddie’s hand. “I — I’ll always be here for you. But I’d really like it if you never got shot again.”

He laughs as he says it, but he also cries a little too, tears falling freely down his face. He forces a watery smile and grabs Eddie’s hand with his other, sandwiching his good hand between his. And then he’s fully crying, leaning forward and pulling their hands up to his forehead as the sobs rack his body.

All Eddie wants to do is pull him in, wrap his arm around him and hold him close, remember that there’s not this distance between them anymore, remember that they’re both alive and there’s no blood on either of them and they’re safe, they’re safe.

But that illusion of safety has been shattered, and for that Eddie cries too.

Eventually, they’ll pick themselves up, dry their tears (or rather, Buck will reach out to dry Eddie’s with his free hand, because his other refuses to let Eddie’s go) and they’ll talk about their experience.

Buck will tell Eddie how he felt paralyzed, stuck standing there when he watched Eddie get shot, how he could still taste and smell his blood for hours after.

And Eddie will tell Buck how he didn’t register that he’d been shot at first, that he looked up and saw the blood on Buck and how at first it scared him, until he realized it was his own, and that comforted him.

They’ll talk about that moment their eyes met under the truck, how they were both so desperate to hold onto one another’s gaze because it meant they were alive.

Buck will talk about how he had to drag Eddie’s body, how it felt listening to Eddie in pain, how Buck and the medics had to do their best on the floor of the fire truck to stop the bleeding and keep him alive until they got to the hospital.

Buck will tell him how he couldn’t get all of the blood off him until Bobby sent him home and he scrubbed every last bit of it off in the shower — before putting on fresh clothes and going to tell Carla, Ana, and Christopher. He’ll tell him how Chris broke down, how he was so scared, and how Buck held him while they both cried. And Eddie will cry at that too.

Eddie will tell him how he woke up wanting to see him, because he couldn’t remember anything after his eyes closed on the pavement, how he wanted to make sure Buck was okay.

He’ll tell him that he had to end things with Ana, because it wasn’t fair to her and he couldn’t drag her through all of this if they didn’t love each other. He’ll tell him how the last time he got shot, it was too much for Shannon, and she left them, weighed down by her own struggles and grief.

Buck will squeeze his hand gently.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Eddie,” Buck will say, sincerely.

“I was alone when I came back from Afghanistan,” Eddie will respond. Buck’s face will twist and he’ll lock eyes with Eddie.

“You have me now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

And it’ll be hard and it won’t be pretty. They’ll spend weeks staring at each other, reminding themselves that they’re okay. They’ll spend months having to adjust to loud noises that make them both jump. Eddie will struggle to regain full motion in his hand and his shoulder.

They’ll have nightmares and therapy sessions and breakdowns that make everything seem impossible.

But they’ll have each other — and they’ll be okay.

[sochilll]

Thoughts about the deh movie? What did you like, what did you not like?

I have SO many thoughts and I’m sure other people are gonna explain them much better so I’ll give you a top 5 on each side. (Also I did make a long ass story highlight of all my thoughts on my insta @ be_more_sochill always be plugging). Under the read more cause it’s long and for spoilers!

Likes

Jared Kalwani does is gay! I think they handled it pretty well. They just switched an existing line bragging about a girl to make it about a guy and gay him a pride patch! The “honey” moment was…….. a choice. But I didn’t think it was a big deal considering the tone of that scene. All around it was fun n good and makes sense that it wasn’t a major plot point given that Jared’s love life isn’t relevant to the story

Alana gets feelings! There was a lot of Alana changes I didn’t love tbh. But I really liked the scene of her talking to Evan in the park. It was a good connection moment and showed that while Alana feels the same as Evan, she actually sees that feeling in others too whereas Evan thinks he’s the only one.

Maybe cheating to make these two points but: Anonymous Ones! I really liked this song. It was good as a song, miss Amandla Stenberg has a beautiful voice, and it was good character development. I am disappointed they missed the fucking PERFECT opportunity to show a clip of Jared during the school shots god that would’ve been so good. But anyway, I really liked the addition

They gave us a few little kleinsen treats such as: Jared randomly telling Evan he put on 13 pounds of muscle and hooked up with some guy, and of course, Jared looking at a video of Evan and Zoe and being visibly upset literally in the middle of Only Us. Chefs kiss thank you

I did like the new ending of Evan actually trying to learn about Connor. Reading his favorite books, reaching out to old friends, finding the video. I felt like that showed how everything hit him and how he actually did care about what they were doing. I really liked that he sent the flash drives to Alana and Jared too.

Dislikes

Evan (and everyone else) isn’t responsible for anything. Other people have already talked about this but they removed everyone’s agency pretty much until the only people making bad decisions were people (like Alana) who didn’t *know* they were making them. Almost every single choice Evan makes in the stage version is taken from him. Cynthia literally just comes up with the idea of emails so Evan just has to agree. Alana comes up with the Connor Project and Evan says *no* at first before being pressured into it. Evan doesn’t even kiss Zoe or make the first (or any) move at all with her. There’s no mention of Cynthia and Larry making mistakes in regards to helping Connor except like one line before words fail. Plus, making Larry a step dad completely changes his role into like a hero for raising this difficult kid who “wasn’t his” or whatever. Jared is no longer the driving force behind Evan lying. He softly suggests that it would upset the Murphy’s to know the truth one time. He doesn’t freak Evan out and tell him he needs Jared’s help to pull it off. Everything is perfectly set up for Evan to just quietly nod along without doing anything himself. It undermines the message of the original show. It’s ABOUT people doing bad things. It’s about guilt and regret and GROWING from your mistakes. That can’t happen if no one is to blame.

Alana is very different. She’s quiet and you can sort of tell she has some stuff going on. Which is ???? The opposite of how she’s supposed to be. The whole point of her character was to show that even the loud, confident, outgoing, always good attitude girl feels alone and scared and sad. That doesn’t come across when her self doubt is prominent right away. It’s not as big of a shock when she gets her “I know what it’s like to feel invisible!” Moment. Maybe that’s why they didn’t even let her have it. She literally had to *whisper* her confrontation with Evan. Like they were so afraid to let her raise her voice they made her confront Evan for lying to her about this horrible thing in the library. Let her fucking yell!

Zoe and Evan’s getting together was so fucking weird. Without Evan kissing Zoe first, she doesn’t even know he likes her before launching into her love song for him. But more importantly, Only Us is not a “let’s start dating” song??? The lyrics are clearly about people who have been together. “What we’ve got going is good”??? What have you got going? A weird friendship where he’s trying to steal your parents???? It didn’t make sense. Also I don’t like how Zoe is the one to say “I wish we could’ve met now” at the end. I feel like it doesn’t make sense/feel right for her to say it.

Heidi. I’m sorry Julianne Moore but I can’t stand movie Heidi. She has zero emotion. The good for you fight was just SO boring and bland. She sounded vaguely annoyed. That scene is supposed to be SAD. Yeah she’s angry with Evan but she’s also SO heartbroken that he’s found this other family he loves so much. She’s hurt that he’s apparently been telling them how bad his home life is. She feels like she’s not doing enough for him and that makes her both sad and angry. In the stage version she’s on the verge of tears and she’s yelling and RBJ kills it. I got none of that from the movie. It was just a tense conversation. And because of that, Evan’s final “it’s not my fault other people can” had absolutely none of the punch it usually does. That’s a *gasp* moment in the show. It fell so flat. (I also didn’t like her version of so big/so small for similar reasons. She didn’t seem all that affected by Evan’s reveal :/)

And of course the biggest offense to me personally. Jared got fucked over so bad. They removed anything that gave him any development. Not just didn’t expand on it, fully removed it. He’s basically gone for the second act. He’s way less involved with the lying and the emails and TCP. And once the initial “I can do emails” plot is out of the way he’s just gone. He gets a few reaction shots looking at his phone and that’s it. And the worst part to me is the fact that they added those shots anyway. They put them in there to SHOW that Jared was upset. And then they just DIDNT RESOLVE IT HE DIDNT GET TO CONFRONT EVAN AT ALL. THEY DIDNT EVEN SPEAK IT JUST HARD CUTS TO “oh it’s graduation and we’re friends again”. It completely erases Jared’s entire character. He also feels alone and desperately wants to connect (specifically with Evan). We know that through the bits of him we see in the show ESPECIALLY during good for you. And they trashed all of that so he could be the funny side character.

Bonus dislike: they showed the scene of Evan falling so many fucking times and it was just so tasteless. Like… why was that necessary.

All in all I did enjoy it as a separate entity but comparing it to the stage version which I love so much, it was so, so disappointing for me. However I will be watching it 17 more times. Long live Nik Dodani Jared.

[bandzrus]

Tattoos (One-Shot)

Machine Gun Kelly x Reader

Masterlist

SUMMARY // requested by @icalldibsonharrystylesandluke – “if your requests are open, would you consider doing some mgk one shots, blurbs or whatever? That would be highly appreciated”

NOTE // I’ll be honest and say writing this scared me because I’m not actually that familiar with MGK – I basically only know him because of The Dirt, so disclaimer for OOC behavior and incorrect information.

WORDS // 2314

TAGLIST // @divaanya @icalldibsonharrystylesandluke ((okay I am so sick of tumblr not wanting to let me tag people this is so stupid))

***

              You’d started dating Colson around the same time he’d gotten the call to play Tommy Lee on The Dirt, which meant you got to come along to New Orleans with him.  It was great for you; you’d always wanted to travel there and now you got to do it with your boyfriend and watch him make what you knew was going to be a killer movie. You weren’t allowed on set all the time, but it was easy to keep busy sight-seeing around New Orleans and checking things off your bucket list.  It was even better when Colson had a day off and the two of you could do things together. But whenever you were allowed you could never wipe the smile off your face.  You’d grown up on Motley Crue and now you were watching your boyfriend bring their music back to life.  It was nothing short of surreal.  One of your favourite parts though was watching the transformation from Machine Gun Kelly to Tommy Lee.  You often spent time in the makeup and costume trailer with him, and it blew your mind.  It was weird watching your boyfriend morph into one of your idols.

              You’d help him go over lines, watch him practice twirling drumsticks, and film little behind-the-scenes stuff on his phone for him.  It was kind of a weird way to spend quality time with your boyfriend, but it was a lot of fun.  The whole trip was by far the most amazing experience of your life, but if you had to pick one thing that you loved above everything else from the trip, the times you helped Colson wash the makeup that covered his tattoos off were your favourites.  

                You beamed as Colson walked off the stage set.  You’d been watching them perform Motley songs all day for a gig scene and they were honestly incredible.  With all the screaming extras, it almost felt like you were at the real thing.  You could still tell it was weird for the other guys, but performing was like second nature for your boyfriend.

              “You guys were amazing up there!” you congratulated, throwing your arms around his sweaty neck.

              “You really think so?”

              “Yes!  You look just like the real deal, and if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were a first-rate drummer!” you gushed.

              “That was the last scene we had to film today, so we can go back to the trailers if you want.”

              “Ooo what are you implying?” you teased him, pulling back to give him a cheeky grin.  He just laughed.  “I’m just teasing, I know you’re probably exhausted.”

              “I mostly just want to get this wig and makeup off,” Colson confessed, leaning down to give you a little peck on the lips.  You nodded your head.  Giving you a big smile, he grabbed your hand and the two of you bid farewell to the rest of the cast and crew.  It was getting close to dinner time and the sun was starting to sink below the horizon, painting the sky every shade of pink, purple and orange and making everything seem golden.  You looked up at Colson as the two of you walked hand in hand back to his trailer. He had that post-show glow that you’d seen well over a dozen times.  And you had to admit he looked really good in the leather pants and jacket.  Just like a rock star.

              A few more crew members were milling around the trailers when the two of you arrived, one of them being the girl who helped style all the boy’s wigs, Cassandra.

              “Hey, you’re back!” she greeted, putting down the book she’d been reading and jumping to get the door of the makeup trailer.  “Ready to get that wig off?”

              “Yes.”

              “I’ll try to be quick so you can hop in the shower and get the makeup off,” she smiled, ushering the two of you inside.  “I’m sure Y/N won’t mind helping with that.”

              You blushed a little as Cassandra winked.  Colson just laughed and plunked himself down in the makeup chair as Cassandra went to work ungluing his Tommy wig.  Pulling out your phone, you switched it to video.

              “How’d the shoot go today, babe?” you asked your boyfriend, capturing the moment.

              “Fuckin’ rocked it!”

              You laughed as he threw up the devil horns.

              “We did so fucking good we get the day off tomorrow.”

              “Really?” you squeaked, ending the recording and putting your phone down.

              “Yup, we can go to that restaurant you wanted to check out,” answered Colson. “They’re filming some other stuff tomorrow so we’re off the hook.”

              “I guess that means on break tomorrow too,” remarked Cassandra, slowly pulling the wig off Colson and placing it on the Styrofoam head on the makeup counter.  With nimble, practiced fingers she began working at his flattened hair to get it loose for washing.  You were always amazed how flat makeup and costume people could get actors’ hair underneath the wigs.  Propping yourself up on the counter, you watched her work in comfortable silence until she was finished.  Ruffling his hair to signal she was finished, she flashed you a smile.

              “All done, pal!”

              “Thanks Cas,” said Colson, getting up from the chair.  You reached for his free hand as he waved at her with the other as the two of you left the makeup trailer.  Colson’s trailer was on the other side of the lot, but you didn’t mind the walk.  The air was still warm and any alone time with your boyfriend no matter how small was always nice.  Grinning up at him, you tugged at the sleeve of his leather jacket.

              “Think you’ll get to keep some of this stuff afterwards?” you asked him.

              “Not sure, but I’m kinda growing fond of the pants,” he replied, grinning.

              “They look good on you.”

              “You sweat buckets in them but they look fuckin’ rad.”

              The two of you arrived at Colson’s trailer and you opened the door.  It would have been dark inside, except Colson had installed one of those disco-type lights that spins around and shines little circles of colour everywhere that he always left on.  Dropping your purse on one of the seats, you watched your boyfriend shrug off the leather jacket and unbutton his leather pants. Stretching, you missed seeing all his tattoos, especially the really big piece on his back.  It was your favourite.

              “It’s so weird seeing you without your tattoos,” you commented.

              “Yeah, it still weirds me out every day.”

              “Do you want to eat something or take a shower first?” you inquired, flopping down on the couch that ran under one of the trailer windows.

              “Shower.”

              “Then pizza?”

              “Yes!”

              “Sounds like a plan,” you smiled.  You watched him tug off the leather pants and toss them onto the back of a chair before sliding open the bathroom door.  The bathroom on the trailer wasn’t huge, but it did have a shower which was pretty luxury.  Leaving it open a crack, you heard him start the water and wait a minute or two for the water to get warm.  There was the usual bumping and thumping and then you couldn’t help but grin when over the sound of water you heard him humming ‘Girls, Girls, Girls’.  Relaxing on the couch, you kicked your feet up and entertained yourself by watching the lights go around and around the cabin of the trailer.  It was hypnotic and you probably stared at them for well over five minutes before you heard Colson calling for you from the bathroom.

              “Hey babe,” he called.

              “Yeah?”

              “Mind helping me get some of this shit off?  I can’t reach.”

              “Sure.”

              Sliding off the couch, you opened the door to the bathroom.  It was all steamy and warm inside, and Colson’s boxers had been discarded on the toilet seat.  You couldn’t see into the shower because the glass was all fogged up.

              “Want to just open the door and hand me the cloth?” you asked, rolling up your sleeves.

              “The water’s gonna get everywhere if I open the door.”

              “How do you want me to do this then?”

              “The shower’s not that small, get in here.”

              “Pardon?” you squeaked.

              “Get in here!  I can’t reach and I want this stuff off!” he chuckled opening the shower door just a crack to peek his head out.  “Take your damn clothes off!”

              You could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks as you shook your head at him.

              “Oh my god,” you laughed.  “Fine!”

              Your cheeks flushed darker and darker as Colson watched you pull your shirt up over your head and wriggle out of your jeans.  Standing there in your underwear, you placed your hands on your hips and looked at him.

              “I said take your clothes off,” he said, gesturing at your undergarments.

              “All of them?”

              “Yes, all of them.”

              You bit your lip.

              “Fine.”

              Undoing the clasp of your bra, you let it join Colson’s underwear on the toilet seat before you did the same with your panties.  

              “There, you happy now?” you huffed, even though there was a smile on your face.

              “Yess,” grinned Colson, pulling away from the door of the shower so you could slip in.  There was actually more room in the shower than you were expecting, and the water was nice and hot.  Colson had cleaned off a lot of the makeup, but there were still patches on his back that you could see were still covered.

              “It’s nice in here,” you remarked, letting the warm water hit your skin.

              “It’s nicer with you in here.”

              “Oh my god, you’re being so sappy today!” you chided, grabbing the washcloth from his hand.  “Turn around so I can get this makeup off.”

              Doing as he was told, you slowly started wiping off the makeup.  It was pretty heavy duty stuff, and even though he had managed to get most of it from his front, your favourite tattoo was still hidden under the stuff.  Holding his bicep with one hand, you used your other to gently uncover his tattoos. You smiled a little to yourself as you realized how much this felt like you were unearthing dinosaur bones or buried treasure.  Rubbing the cloth over his shoulders, you carefully wiped off more of the makeup.

              “Can you rinse this?  There’s a lot of this stuff,” you said, handing your boyfriend the washcloth since he was closer to the stream of water.  You leaned into his back and rested your cheek against his arm as he wrung out the cloth and handed it back to you.  

              “Thanks for doing this by the way,” he said, planting a kiss on top of your hair that was starting to get wet.  You rubbed your thumb over his as you took the washcloth back.  It was nice to spend a quiet alone moment with him after a long day, and the hot water felt really nice.  Going back to your scrubbing, you slowly uncovered more tattoos, working your way from his shoulders down his back.  He’d been in pants all day so they didn’t paint up his legs, but everything from the shoulders down to them had been.

              Finally you got to your favourite one, the Salvador Dali piece.  Wringing out the washcloth, you squeezed next to Colson to wet it again.  You smiled up at him, your chest bumping his arm.

              “I know I’ve said this before, but I love your tattoos,” you told him, tracing one of the ones on his shoulder with your index finger.  “Especially this one.”

              You started washing the makeup off the Salvador Dali, tracing bits of it with your other fingers.  Feeling Colson shudder a little under your touch, you giggled.

              “Sorry,” you apologized, uncovering more of the piece.

              “’S okay, just tickles a bit when you do that.”

              “Is that so?” you grinned devilishly, doing it again.

              “Hey, cut it out!” laughed Colson, turning around so you couldn’t tickle him anymore.  

              “You still have makeup on you!” you protested, trying to turn him back around by grabbing him by the sides of his arms.  He wouldn’t budge.

              “Don’t fuckin’ tickle me or I’m gonna start swinging!” he warned, doing fake karate moves with a huge grin on his face.  You just laughed.

              “Fine, fine, I’ll stop,” you promised, smacking him with the washcloth. “Turn around, I’m almost done.”

              Guiding him with your hands, you went back to cleaning the remaining makeup off Colson’s lower back until the whole tattoo was uncovered.  Hanging up the rag, and tracing one last teasing finger over it, you wiggled in under the water with your boyfriend.

              “You’re such a tease!” nagged Colson, referring to your tickling.

              “Yeeaaah, but you like it,” you replied cheekily, putting your head under the water and running your hands through it.  You felt his hands come to rest on your hips.  Wiping water off your forehead, you rested your arms on his shoulders and smiled before giving him a little peck on the lips.

              “That’s it?” he asked, feigning being hurt.  Shaking your head and rolling your eyes, you kissed him again, longer this time, letting your eyelids flutter closed.  Pulling you closer by your hips, Colson kissed you back.  This was hands down the best vacation ever. Colson, New Orleans, Motley Crue; it was a dream come true.  Surrounded by steam and warm water, you peppered a few more kisses on your boyfriend’s lips before you pulled back.

              “Do you still want to get pizza, or do you want to stay in here and get pruny?” you asked him, cocking an eyebrow suggestively.  The two of you were chest to chest as warm water cascaded down your back.  You watched him think about it for a second before he answered.

              “Pizza and sweats.”

              “Really?”

              “Yeah.”

              “Okay,” you smiled.  “Pizza and sweatpants it is!”

***

This took so friggin’ long to write I’m so sorry!  I kept getting distracted by TNFT.  Plus I don’t know much about MGK so I hope this doesn’t suck.  I don’t think I’ll do any more MGK requests just ‘cause I don’t feel that comfortable writing about people irl.  The Dirt characters yes - the real guys, not so much.  

[yesloverboy]

Punk Rock Girl, Please Look at Me (mgk!Tommy Lee x Reader)

Requested: @angelfuzzy2 

“Oh well it could kinda be a one shot , But I do have one , where Tommy Meets the reader , like early on in his life , looses her (like lost track of her) later to find out she’s a famous singer and tommy meets her again , at her concert or they meet at a party again and reconnect , but the rest of the band don’t know the reader is like seriously famous yet , just Tommy , but the band finds out later”

Note: Thank you all for your patience! I loved writing this request so much, so let me know if y’all would like to see sequel. As always, I know I’ve been a super slow writer because of my new job, but feel free to send me more requests! They’re pretty much always open, and I’m more than willing to write for the other Crüe boys. :) 

Edit: also props to anyone who knows where I got the title from. 

word count: 5,632

[Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, misogyny, swearing, drug & alcohol mention/usage, mild injuries, and two pining idiots]

 The stage lights are blinding as the last note of the song plays out, the sound of guitar feedback drowning out the roar of the crowd beneath you. You breathe hard, sweat dripping from your hair as a broad smile stretches across your face. This is what you loved most in the world– playing music in front of dozens of your supporting fans. When you sang, they sang every word right back to you. No feeling in the world could ever replace that. You and your band Vertigo are on the verge of a big break, and these are the people that helped get you there. 

 As you step off the stage, your manager Scott immediately rushes to your side with a towel and a water bottle in hand. You accept both, pouring the water onto your head and shaking off like a dog. Scott raises his hands in an effort to shield himself, but ends up showered with water anyways. You roll your eyes, not knowing what the big deal is. It’s your final show of the tour, he should be used to it by now.

 “Hey, Y/N!” Scott calls as you move past him to go to the green room, “There’s a guy out by the bar that’s been bugging all night to see you.” 

 You turn on your heel to face Scott, eyebrow raised in confusion, “What guy?”

 Scott shrugs, “Says his name is Tommy Lee.”

 Tommy Lee, your mind reels at the sound of his name. A flash of memories flood your head, all of which playing visions of your childhood. Tommy had been your first friend when you moved to California in the third grade, and ended up being your last when you moved away in high school. All these years, you can’t believe that he would remember you, let alone recognize you.

 You give your bandmates a quick heads up, and amble out to the bar area in search of Tommy. Surprisingly, you feel nervous for the first time in years. You aren’t sure what he looks like or what he’s up to these days– and there is always the chance that he wouldn’t take a girl in a band seriously. That happens a lot more than you’d like to admit.

 Luckily, you don’t have to search for long before a loud voice calls to you from the end of the bar.

 “Y/N! Hey, over here!”

 You look over and are caught breathless by the sight of a tall stranger with long, brown hair waving enthusiastically in your direction. He definitely looks different from how you remember, but the smile he’s giving you is just the same. Back in the day, you knew Tommy was a cute kid, but you never imagined he would turn out to look quite this handsome. He’s tall, lean, and completely rocking a pair of tight, leather pants.

 Walking over, you muss your hair into some semblance of order and wipe at the remaining eyeliner running from the corners of your eyes. You are fully aware of how much of a mess you look. It’s a part of your thing. Smeared lipstick, melted eyeliner, and ripped jeans are basically your work uniform. Music executives and your fans like you because of how uncaring you look. You’re like one of the guys– only hotter. The problem is, you had never once been self-conscious about it. That is, until now.

 As you nervously approach Tommy’s smiling face, you notice he has a slightly busted lip and the ghost of a black eye beginning to form. He stands up from his seat at the bar, towering over you at a surprising height.

 “Tommy, is that really you?” you ask, feeling as though you’re practically looking up into his eyes, “How in the hell did you find me?”

 “The one and only!” Tommy laughs, pulling you into a bone crushing hug. He still has a familiar smell that lingers with the cigarette smoke clinging to his hair and clothes. “I actually got kicked out of the bar across the street so I came over here,” he answers sheepishly.

 “Kicked out? Tommy what fuck–”

 “It doesn’t matter, dude, because I found you!” Tommy slaps you hard on the shoulder, his boyish grin still persisting, “Your band fucking rocks, by the way. When did you learn to sing like that?”

 “Oh, um, I guess when I moved away? I didn’t have many friends so I turned to music instead,” you reply, face feeling hot from the sound of Tommy’s praises, “Obviously, it’s more complicated than that, but you get the idea.”

 Tommy grabs his beer off the bar and tips it back, finishing the rest of it in one gulp, “Why don’t you tell me all about it?”

 He wipes his mouth with the back of a large hand and you feel your throat go dry. When you were younger, Tommy had been the one person you could always be yourself around. However, having him barge into your life as a hot stranger is an entirely different story.

 “Tommy, I don’t know, man. My band is probably gonna come looking for me.”

 “Let ‘em. Remember the old diner at the end of the block? It’ll be just like old times,” Tommy looks at you with pleading, blue eyes, reminding you of the first time you met him on the playground all those years ago. “Besides, my band might just be looking for me, too.”

 “Aw, fuck it,” you relent, trying your best to conceal the smile on your face. Needless to say, it’s a losing battle.

...

 You and Tommy end up staying at the diner until closing, exchanging old memories over a shared platter of blueberry pancakes and a chocolate shake. As it fate would have it, the two of you still have just as much in common as you did when you were kids. Maybe even more.  

 It absolutely delighted you to find out that Tommy is still playing the drums– only this time it’s for a band of his very own. He told you that he even found a friend from high school to join Mötley Crüe, but he and Tommy had apparently met long after you’d already left. Vince was his name and, although he sounds like a bit of a diva, Tommy insisted that you’ll like him. Then again, Tommy likes everyone.

 Eventually, you’d even gotten around to telling Tommy all about Vertigo and how you had already amassed a large following on the East Coast. When the band’s single got played on a radio station in the UK, that was the moment you all decided to take things to the next level. The only piece of the puzzle that seemed to be missing was the West Coast, which gave you the perfect excuse to end the tour in L.A. and relocate.

 “Wait, so you’re back for good?” Tommy had asked, eyes hopeful as he nearly bounced out of his seat.

 “For now,” you smiled, knowing that you couldn’t totally be sure. Your chest tightened as you found a small part of yourself wanting to say yes instead.

 In your life, you had never been the kind of person who thought they needed to be completed by anyone else. You’re independent– a stand alone personality and the hero of your own story. However, something about seeing Tommy again brought your attention to an emptiness in your heart that you never knew existed. It didn’t make any sense. Being in the band meant you were around guys all day, and not a single one made you take so much as a second glance.

 Now, as you and Tommy step out of the vacant diner and onto the strip, you catch yourself staring as the neon lights shift and dance across his face. Much like when you were kids, Tommy’s resting face was one of a perpetual smile– even with a black eye and a busted lip.

 “Hey dude,” Tommy stops suddenly, shaking you out of your trance, “you should totally come meet the band!”

 “Are they nearby?” you ask, eyebrows raised as you scan the droves of people clamouring along the strip.

 Tommy scoffs, “Where do you think I was with before I found your sorry ass?”

 You giggle at his teasing tone and ram your body into his, nearly crowding Tommy off of the sidewalk and into the busy street.

 “Better watch yourself Bass, or Mötley Crüe might end up needing a new drummer,” you bait as Tommy catches his balance, teetering on a single foot back to the safety of the sidewalk. “Since when did you start going by Lee, anyways?

 “Since it sounded so much cooler,” he grins, throwing his long arm over your shoulders and around your neck as the two of you walk onward.

 “Cool? When have you ever been cool?”

 Tommy glances down at you, knitting his brows together and pursing his lips in exaggeration. “Now that I think about it, right around when you left. Your nerd juice must have stopped rubbing off on me.”

 “Shut the fuck up, loser,” you groan in frustration. Although you sound annoyed, you still lean into his side, maybe getting a little bit cozier than you ought to. To your satisfaction, Tommy hums contently and holds onto you just a little bit tighter. At this point in your lives, you and Tommy should have so many degrees of separation between the two of you that it would be impossible to connect again. Yet, here you are. Walking side by side, as if your feet had been stepping in sync with his for all those empty years in between. You wonder if he can feel it, too.

 After walking a few blocks, you and Tommy stroll up towards a broken-down dive bar teeming with people. Judging by the leather clad kids in patched jackets and paramilitary boots, it is definitely the kind of punk scene you were comfortable in. Tommy’s pretty-boy appearance causes him to stand out a little, but his attitude makes up for it tenfold.

 As you approach the bar, Tommy leads right up to a couple of young guys knocking back a row of shots. A third, more mature-looking man watches them from a barstool, disdain visible even from behind the dark sunglasses over his eyes. The man in the sunglasses notices the two of you walking up together and pulls down his shades to reveal a pair of cold, blue eyes.

 “Drummer,” the man nods, “and friend.” Despite the room’s warmth from the summer heat, the iciness in the man’s stare makes you shiver involuntarily.

 “What’s up fuckers!” Tommy exclaims, slapping the two younger guys on the back excitedly. The taller of the two spins around first, his mane of fluffy black hair sticking up wildly in all directions.

 “Hey T-bone! Where the fuck have you been? Nice shiner, by the way,” his face twists into a mischievous smile as his green eyes land on you, “And who do we have here?”

 “Oh yeah! Nikki, this is Y/N. She was, like, my best friend when we were kids. I just found her at a show a little bit ago.”

 Nikki nudges the guy at his side, blonde hair and skin-tight tank top making you recognize him as Vince from yours and Tommy’s high school. You never actually got the chance to meet him before you moved away, but Tommy’s description of him being a diva seems pretty spot-on.

 “Hey, Vinnie, check out T-bone’s best friend,” you frown at the patronizing lilt in Nikki’s voice, but decide to let it slide for now.

 Vince grabs a beer off of the bar, taking a thoughtful swig while he studies you. “Well, well, well– it looks like Tommy’s found himself another one already.”

 “Another one, what?” you snap, unable to control your flush of anger.

 From what you could remember, Tommy may have been girl-crazy– and a little stupid sometimes –but he was never as arrogant and mean-spirited as the two guys in front of you seem to be coming across. It’s clear to you, even now, that Tommy is still a kid at heart, but his friends were ready to be rockstars down to their very core.

 Vince takes a reflexive step back from you, and you smirk with satisfaction. “Uh, nothing,” he flounders, eyes darting between Nikki and Tommy anxiously. From his seat at the bar, you can hear the man in the sunglasses chuckle.

 Vince throws his beer in the man’s direction and misses, the bottle clattering noisily to the floor without breaking. “Shut the fuck up, Mick,” Vince’s clearly bruised ego almosts gets a laugh out of you.

 “Chill out, dude,” Nikki purs, stepping directly past Tommy and into your personal space, “you don’t have to explain anything to us– we get it.”

 Tommy tries to wedge himself between you and Nikki, doing his best to intervene before things can escalate any further. Your teeth are gritted, firmly locking your jaw in an expression of restrained anger. More than anything, you want to wipe Nikki’s smug smile right off of his face. Nikki might be nearly as tall as Tommy, but you refuse to be intimidated.

 The only thing stopping you is knowing that giving Nikki a fight would only cause more problems than it could solve. Even then, when you first agreed to be the frontwoman of Vertigo, you promised yourself that you would hold your own with the band guys without ever becoming like any of them. You aren’t about to let some amateur punk change that.

 “Dudes, calm down! Y/N is one of my oldest friends, and I swear it’s not like that!”

 “Whatever you say, T-bone,” Nikki shrugs, finally backing away from you in favor of leaning up against the bar. He stands there cooly as if he wasn’t just inches away from you. It’s more than obvious that Nikki was never actually going to engage in any kind of fight– the confrontation alone is enough to get him off.

 Rolling your eyes, you return to Tommy’s side, wanting to put as much distance between yourself and his bandmates without hurting his feelings. You’re used to dealing with shitty rockstars and wannabe playboys, but since Vertigo’s newfound successes you had been dealing with it far less often.

 “Besides,” Tommy continues, talking to no one in particular as he rests a supportive hand on your shoulder, “Y/N isn’t just my friend she’s–”

 Realizing that Tommy is about to expose you as the singer of Vertigo, you quickly interrupt. Judging by the way Vince and Nikki feel about you while assuming you’re just some random girl, you decide that they don’t need to know you’re in a band. Hyper-masculine rock types tend to not take kindly to any woman that isn’t Joan Jett, and you aren’t ready to crack open that can of worms.

 “Just visiting!” you say, plastering an artificial smile across your face.

 For some reason, your reunion with Tommy makes you want to keep seeing him while you’re in town, and the only way that can happen is if you have as little attention paid to you as possible. With the band’s popularity on the East Coast, you know it won’t be long before everyone in L.A. will know your name– even the guys in Mötley Crüe.

 “Speaking of,” you turn to Tommy, blatantly disregarding the confounded expression on his face, “I think I should probably be getting back to my hotel right about now. It’s getting late.”

 “Uh yeah, sure,” Tommy blinks, “let me walk you there.”

 “Come on, man, you don’t have to do all that. It’s way too long of a walk,” you complain knowing full well that you can handle a late night stroll on your own. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. 

 “As if a short shit like you could hold your own in the big city,” Tommy’s joking voice settles your nerves. You turn to lead the way out of the bar, not bothering to say another word to the rest of Mötley Crüe.

 By the time you shove past the shuffling crowd of punks and step outside, Tommy has already caught up to you. The night is warm with a gentle breeze that tickles your face, reminding you of careless, childhood summers where your nights spent at home were few and far between. Tommy had been by your side then and, miraculously, he’s at your side now. You find yourself constantly amazed at the way so much can change, and yet stay exactly the same.

 “Sorry about all that, dude,” Tommy’s eyes are trained on the ground as he kicks his feet sheepishly, “I don’t know what’s gotten into them tonight. I mean, I know how they are around girls but you’re– you’re different.”

 You punch his shoulder playfully, not wanting Tommy to feel responsible for the fact that his friends were clearly just drunk idiots acting like pigs.

 “It’s alright, Tommy. You can’t fix stupid. Trust me, I tried to fix you for years.”

 “Shut the fuck up,” he grins, eyes finally meeting yours. Every time Tommy looks at you, something stirs inside of you that you can’t put your finger on. The feeling excites and scares you, but you know that all of the best things in life are supposed to make you feel that way. Arm in arm, you and Tommy walk into the neon glow of the night, your heart skipping a beat with every step.

...

 The walk ends up being a lot longer than either of you had expected, but neither of you seem to mind. In fact, the further you got away from the strip, the more connected to Tommy you seem to feel. The two of you had passed a cigarette back and forth as you travelled, walking so closely that it was a miracle one of you hadn’t tripped over the other’s feet.

 When you finally approach your hotel, Tommy nearly passes it up. He didn’t realize that the art deco building with valet parking is basically your home until you find something more permanent. Your manager had arranged everything for you and, although you argued in favor of a simple motel, he obviously hadn’t listened to a word you said.

 “Holy fuck, dude. This is your hotel?”

 You suddenly flush red with embarrassment, feeling very not punk rock in the presence of such an extravagant building. “Uh, yeah. It seems that my manager went a little overboard when booking our place, huh?”

 “Are you kidding me? This place is rad as fuck,” Tommy turns to you in a sudden burst of energy with a wild look in his eyes, “Do you think you’d let me come up and see the place?”  

 Although his question is innocent enough, you can’t ignore the way your stomach backflips at the thought of being alone with Tommy in your bedroom. With the recent upheaval of emotions you’d been experiencing since Tommy catapulted himself back into your life, you know that being with him any longer is bound to be a bad idea. It really was getting late, and part of you is starting to wonder if your feelings are real or just a product of exhaustion.

 Still, Tommy’s sparkling blue eyes pull you in and you find yourself nodding your head yes before you can give his question a second thought. When the two of you walk inside, you’re too amused by Tommy’s enraptured gaze to notice the weird stares that the staff and other guests were shooting your way. There’s no doubt that you and Tommy stand out among the marble floors and jewel-encrusted chandeliers. Still, you smile all the way to the elevators, noting how small Tommy appears beneath the vaulted ceilings.

 “I can’t believe you get to stay at a place like this,” Tommy says as the two of you step into the elevator. You aren’t sure if you’re seeing things or going crazy from exhaustion, but the sight of Tommy’s bruised eye glistening under the golden fluorescents looks strangely beautiful.

 “Pretty crazy, huh?” you reply, knowing that the craziest part of your whole return to L.A. is standing right in front of you.

 When the elevator reaches the thirteenth floor, you walk out ahead of Tommy, escorting him down the snaking hallway and to the front door of your room. You pry the door open, your breath hitching slightly as you feel Tommy shuffle in behind you. The room is spacious, with a plush king-sized bed and a floor to ceiling view of the city below.

 “Damn dude, I really hope Mötley Crüe can come to places like this someday,” Tommy says, sauntering over to the window. He pushes the curtain back, revealing the city lights glittering in the darkness.

 “You will.” Even though Tommy’s bandmates were indefinitely jerks, you believe in Tommy’s talent more than anyone else searching for stardom in this godforsaken city.

 “Hey Tommy, I think I still have some bubbly the hotel left me if you wanna crack it open,” you bend over, reaching into the mini fridge to retrieve the full-sized bottle of champagne the hotel manager had left on your bed yesterday. While you were thankful for the welcome gift, you had never been one to drink alone. Tommy just so happens to be the perfect excuse to not let it go to waste.

 Weirdly enough, Tommy doesn’t answer you. Standing upright again, you set the bottle on the dresser and decide to find out what’s captured his short attention span this time. Turning around, you nearly slam right into Tommy– not realizing he had been standing so close to you. He catches your arms, gently wrapping his large hands around your wrists to steady your balance.  

 “Shit, Tommy,” you laugh nervously, “I didn’t see you there–”

 Before you can finish your thought, Tommy’s lips are pressed against your own. Instinctively, you kiss him back, feeling as though your body is on autopilot while your ability to think rationally takes the back seat.

 You shiver as your lips melt into Tommy’s, his kisses becoming more frantic and desperate. Releasing his hold on your arms, Tommy cups the sides of your face. His tongue grazes your bottom lip, silently requesting permission to cross a line you can never come back from.

 Gasping into his touch, you give him the freedom to explore. Slowly, he starts distancing his sloppy kisses from your mouth and places them on your jawline. You take in a sharp breath as he goes to work on your neck, your hands finding themselves nestled firmly in his hair as he nips at your throat.

 “Fuck Tommy,” you pant, trying to gain some semblance of clarity, “what are we doing?”

 Tommy stops kissing your neck to give you a firm look, his eyes dark with desire. “What I’ve always wanted to do,” he replies.

 Your heart leaps at his confession, compelling you to kiss him once again. This time, Tommy’s hands snake up your shirt as he pulls your body against his. You yank your shirt up over your head, feeling as though the room is far too hot for the amount of clothes you’re wearing. Before you can start unfastening the button of your jeans, Tommy shoves you roughly onto the bed. You fall dizzily onto the plush duvet, your skin feeling as though its on fire.

 “No, baby,” he growls, “that’s my job.”

 Tommy discards his shirt, leaving himself standing bare-chested before you. Your face flushes at the sight of his cock throbbing through the constraint of his leather pants.

 Fuck he’s gorgeous.

 As you stare up at Tommy you can’t help but wonder how he turned out this way. If someone told you yesterday that you’d be moments away from fucking your childhood best friend, you would’ve laughed right in your face. Now here you are, shirtless and squirming with anticipation on your bed.

 As you stare up at Tommy you can’t help but wonder how he turned out this way. If someone told you yesterday that you’d be moments away from fucking your childhood best friend, you would’ve laughed right in their face. Now here you are, shirtless and squirming with anticipation on your bed.

 Before you can get lost in your thoughts any longer, Tommy is on top of you. Your mouths crash together in a hot disarray of lips and tongue. Tommy goes back to kissing your neck, sucking and biting the soft skin until it becomes bruised between his teeth. With each love bite, his mouth travels lower. All you can do is gasp with pleasure as he places a wet kiss on your lower abdomen, his hands going to work on pulling off your jeans.

 As you lay there in your underwear, Tommy kneels before you at the edge of the bed, pausing to admire the shape of your body as it splays out before him.

 “God, baby,” Tommy murmurs, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “you look so delicious spread out for me like this...”

 Tommy situates himself between your legs, gripping your thighs tightly. You suck in a sharp breath as Tommy begins peppering your inner thigh with soft kisses, his lips fluttering painfully close to your bikini line. He looks up at you, dark blue eyes sparkling dangerously beneath his eyelashes.

 “Can I make you feel good, baby girl? I want you to feel good,” his hot breath ghosts against the wet spot on your panties, and you find yourself nodding vigorously in response.

 Tommy just shoots you a mischievous grin, licking a wet stripe up your clothed pussy. You are unable to contain the strangled moan that leaves your lips, fingers clawing aimlessly at the duvet for support. Your underwear is soaking wet, and you’re unsure how much longer you’ll last without any actual contact.  

 “Use your words, Y/N,” Tommy laps at your heat once again, eliciting another desperate gasp from you, “tell me what you want, baby.”

 Crazed by Tommy’s teasing, you finally relent, “Please make me feel good, Tommy. Fuck, I want you–I wanted you the minute I saw you.”

 Tommy chuckles darkly, aggressively pulling your panties off of your hips and onto the floor. Without so much as a warning, his tongue is on you; lapping at your hot center hungrily. As he sucks on your clit, you feel a large hand dig into the soft flesh of your thigh, raking downwards and scratching your skin.

 “Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck,” you chant, your abdomen tightening with hot pressure. You grip his hair as your hips involuntarily buck into his mouth, legs shaking as he hums with pleasure against your clit.

 “You taste so good,” Tommy moans, curling one of his long fingers inside of you.

 You clench around him, unable to keep your orgasm from taking you over any longer. A series of moans fall from your lips, your body hot with pins and needles. With your hands firmly twisted in the sheets, you come all over Tommy’s mouth and fingers.

 Sitting upright, you blink at Tommy, mind dizzy with pleasure. “Oh my fucking god, Tommy,” you pant, “where did you learn to do that?”

 “Lots of practice,” Tommy winks leaning in to kiss you. His lips are soft and loving against yours, causing a shiver to run up your spine. As the kiss becomes more intense, Tommy peels off his leather pants and climbs on top of you, pinning you onto the bed by your wrists.

 “I don’t think so,” you growl between kisses, shifting your weight to wrestle for control.

 You bite Tommy’s lip hard, catching him off guard just enough to roll him over. Climbing on top of him, you straddle Tommy’s hips firmly and situate yourself on the rock hard bulge in his underwear. Tommy hisses as you apply more pressure, his hands digging into your hip bones. Grinding against him, you pull him into another heated kiss. Tommy’s busted lip had reopened after you’d bitten him, causing a little bit of blood to drip into your mouth.

 Deep down, you know you should stop kissing him like this, but something about seeing Tommy all roughed up turns you on in ways you would never have imagined. Judging by Tommy’s aggressive hold on your hips, you can only assume he’s feeling the same way. Without warning, Tommy shoves you aside to pull off his underwear. When his cock springs free, you are surprised to find that it’s even bigger than you expected.

 Seeing your eyes widen, Tommy chuckles darkly, “Think you can handle it, honey?” Your heartbeat quickens as you look at Tommy’s flushed fash and tangled hair, a drop of blood trickling lazily down his chin.  

 “Try me,” you say definiantly, pushing him back down.

 You mount him again, only this time there’s no fabric to separate the two of you. Teasingly, you rub your slick folds over the head of his dick, hoping that– maybe –you can make him beg for it. Tommy hisses as you rake your nails against his chest, leaving a trail of little pink lines behind.

 “Fuck, baby, you’re such a bad girl,” Tommy gasps, “Wanna–wanna fuck you so bad.”

 Hearing Tommy pleas makes you wet all over again, wanting so desperately to fill whatever was empty inside of you with the man under you. Slowly, you sink onto his cock, your inner walls stinging slightly from the stretch. Truthfully, you had never fucked a guy this big, and Tommy was barely fitting inside of you.

 Tommy bites his lip, noticing the strain you’re experiencing. “That’s it, baby,” he coos, “you’re doing so fucking good for me.”

 Encouraged by Tommy’s praises, you begin to rock back and forth. Tommy’s breathing becomes heavier with every stroke, and, before you know it, he’s guiding your movements with the grip he has on your waist. He feels good, better than any guy you’d ever been with, and you wonder if this is what you had been missing all along.

 “You look so good when you fuck me baby,” Tommy babbles, his hips snapping up to meet yours. Tommy sits up, wrapping an arm around your back to pull you flush against his chest. His face is right up against yours as he fucks into you, your breathy moans falling hot against his open mouth.

 Tommy’s fingers snake up your back and curl into the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging hard. You cry out from a mix of pain and pleasure, the heat in your abdomen tightening.

 “Want me to make you feel good again? Hmm?” Tommy asks, blue eyes fixated firmly on your own. Without giving it a second thought, you nod, rocking your hips into his as sweat trickles in tiny beads down your face.

 Suddenly Tommy’s hand firmly grips your throat, applying gentle pressure just beneath your jawline. Your breath catches in your throat as your breathing is restricted, waves of euphoria radiating through your body. Just as your vision begins to go a little spotty, your orgasm rips through you. As you cry out, Tommy’s movements become erratic and sloppy, his pleasure directly feeding on your own.

 Tommy’s chanting your name when his orgasm hits, pumping into you while his hands grasp your face lovingly, his eyes never leaving yours. The both of you go limp, breathing and panting hard. Tommy falls back into the duvet, while you remain sprawled out on his chest, lightheaded and thoroughly exhausted.

 “Oh...my fucking god,” Tommy heaves, the satisfaction in his voice audible.  You can’t help but giggle breathlessly, “Emphasis on the fucking.”

 Humming contently, you snuggle into his chest, feeling strangely at peace for someone who just fucked their childhood best friend. Tommy runs his fingers through you hair delicately, the act feeling drastically different from how he had been touching you just moments before. There’s a warmth spreading through your chest that you never knew could be there, and it’s consuming you like a wildfire.

 A moment of comfortable silence passes between the two of you. Tommy pets your hair as you trace small circles on his bare chest and, somehow, the exchange feels more intimate than anything else the two of you had experienced together in the past hour.

 “Y/N?” Tommy asks, his voice small.

 You look up at him to find his expression unreadable. “What is it, Tommy?”

 “Can I–can I kiss you?”

 Instead of answering, you place a warm kiss to his lips. The sensation is soft and innocent. Gently, Tommy cups the side of your face, his thumb grazing your cheek tenderly. You nuzzle his nose as you pull away, eliciting amused smiles from the both of you. Part of you wishes this moment could last forever, but the self-doubt nibbling at your brain makes possibility of Tommy wanting to be with you seem unlikely.

 “Why’d you ask if you could kiss me?” you wonder, finding it hard to believe that Tommy would suddenly think you wouldn’t be okay with it.

 Tommy’s brow furrows together and he quickly averts his eyes, suddenly becoming fixated at a point on the ceiling. If you didn’t know any better, you would say he looked embarrassed.

 “I just–” he starts with a sigh, running a hand through his chestnut waves, “I just don’t want this to be a one time thing, you know? You’re too important.”

 Your heart pounds at his confession, pulse rushing noisily through your ears. When Tommy’s lips touched yours for the first time, you assumed that you wouldn’t be more than a one-night fling to him. Still, when you first saw Tommy that night, you swore you had felt something electric passing between the two of you; and now you know that you weren’t crazy after all. This was the first time you’d seen each other in years, but whatever you were experiencing now was real. More importantly, Tommy was experiencing it, too.

 “I don’t think I want this to be a one time thing either.”

Masterlist

[wheremytwinwatches]

[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 46

Last time: The Armstrong Siblings “fought”, Envy pulled a Loki, and Greedling got a new crew. Onwards!

Timeskip apparently, Narrator’s saying that our guys planned as the year changed and it’s spring now. “Ready or not, the Promised Day would soon arrive.” So the Day is in spring? Episode 46 - “Looming Shadows” Gee, I wonder which shadow-based Goth is going to feature in this episode? Hey Sideburns! What brings you down to the land of sun, sheep and cheerful villagers? Wait, Resembool? That’s the hometown of the Blonde Trio! Oh I get it, take a break to fill up on water for the train, while you’re there pass a note to Granny Rockbell, she’s probably wondering why Winry hasn’t called lately. Or forget the note, just smuggle Winry home! Been a while, hasn’t it? You went to Rush Valley to study automail and wound up with an apprenticeship, then went to Central to patch Ed up, went back to Rush Valley because of demanding customers, went to Fort Briggs to patch Ed up again, and after dealing with Ishvalans and Goths you’re finally home. While the disguised Briggs troops look around the workshop, Winry heads upstairs for a long-awaited outfit change HEY cameraman stop creeping on Winry can’t you see she’s changing her shi Um Yeah Ed, I’m having the same reaction. Minus the sandwich, but yeah. Same face on my end. So Winry understandably screams at the Surprise Boyfriend in her bedroom her guards run upstairs guns ready surprised to see the Protagonist chilling then Gorilla and Boar are there pointing their guns at the guards then the Rockbell Dog comes running up to bite Gorilla (not the cat Chimera? Missed opportunity) on the bum who gets pulled off by an irritated Greedling then Winry recognizes “Ling” then the troops recognize Kimblee’s former men who recognize guys from Briggs then accusations about everyone following each other start flying and everyone’s yelling at each other [Winry]: “Ok Ed, you want to tell me what’s going on here?” [Ed]: “Looks like a cautionary tale about guns.” [Winry]: “Don’t be a smartass, tell me why you’re in my room!” [Blushing!Ed]: “I just wanted someplace private to eat my sandwich!” By this point Winry is just Done and kicks the guards/the chimeras/Greedling out, Ed and Dog cowering at the sight of the furious mechanic with a wrench. Awww but now she’s admitting she was worried about Ed and he says he was worried about her and Al- hey wait a minute. Where’s Little Brother? At the trainstation with Sideburns? Hurry Ed, you can reunite with your brother and Absentee Anime Father! Wait no need to stop and say goodbye and give Winry back her earrings and kiss her already you fool. Or not? Oh yeah, Ed’s kind of a fugitive, while it’s Sideburns and Al at the train if any of Bradley’s forces are around and see him then they’re all in trouble. So what, he just has to wait and let his brother be separated from him again? That sucks. Granny Rockbell! Good to see you again. After all the other interlopers recover introductions go around, and Winry tries to talk to Ling but nope! It’s Greedling now. The “boss” gives the backstory over supper, explains that they’re crashing at the Rockbell’s place because Ed’s automail is banged up thank you I was wondering if they were going to address Ed moving with the old limbs after a growth spurt. And don’t think I missed your game Granny, you passed on Ed’s checkup so the two kids could chat on their own. Ed’s glad to get the good news about Liore rebuilding, and learns that Al’s going with Sideburns east to help with the combined North/East forces. And Beard’s heading to Central? Damnit so Ed has to choose between helping his brother or his pops. Winry says it’s almost the Promised Day ok I’m sorry but when is the Promised Day? Is that like an Amestris holiday or something? Spring Solstice? Anniversary of Amestris’ founding? Selim’s birthday? When is it?! Whenever it is, Ed notes that they might be able to use it to get their bodies back, but there’s the likely risk of catastrophe. So he wants Winry to take her Granny and the dog out of the country-

Winry does not approve of this plan. Honey, I get that you have faith in the Protagonist and hate the idea that people will get hurt if he fails, but you have to admit that he’s up against long odds. We can hope that he’ll succeed, but even Armstrong the Great ordered her family out of Amestris on the chance of failure. And HA! He is taller than her now! Growth Spurt confirmed!

(yes Winry’s leaning forward in that shot but damnit I’m taking this) ...dude! Not cool! Don’t just gripe that she just doesn’t understaaaaaand and storm out! Don’t let that be the note you part on! Look, even Greedling’s mocking you. And NOPE you stay the hell away from my ship you Goth. [Ed]: “That kind of wanting is dangerous; That’s not how reality works. Take a look, this is what I got for wanting something unrealistic.” What, a badass robot arm? I mean, I’ve made my stance on being a cyborg clear, I’m not really sympathizing with you here buddy. Greedling disagrees as well. [Greedling]: “You wanna bring back someone that you’ve lost. You might want money. Maybe you want women, or you might wanna ‘protect the world’. These are all common things people want. Things that their hearts desire. Greed may not be ‘good’, but it’s not so ‘bad’ either.” Ed starts walking away. [Greedling]: “You humans think greed is just for money and power! But everyone wants something that they don’t have.” Ed comes to a stop on the stairs. Then he keeps on walking. You’re leaving already? Where are you heading, Al or Beard? Also hot damn Ed’s rocking the suit look, I’m so proud of my no-longer-little boy. Thankfully he’s trying to leave on a good note with Winry, goes so far as to say he’ll stop them like she told him to promise earlier. ...wait, did you just basically tell your LI to get in the kitchen and cook for your victory? Back in Liore wait are the Chimeras and Yoki still there? Why didn’t they head to Central with Beard? See even Boar’s complaining that they need to prepare for the Promised Day oh so they’re waiting on Scar and Marcoh to come back never mind here they are. What were you guys up to, anyway? Ok then guess we’ll find out in Central. The majority of the Mine Crew is back on the road now, Toad and Boar chatting about the irony of working with a former Antagonist to save their own country. Scar retorts that he’s not trying to “save” Amestris, but change it. Yeah, with how militarized and expansionist Amestris is under the Goths I suppose it’s be essentially a new country, changed to be unable to cause another Genocide. [Voice?]: “If you truly dream of changing the world, you must first be able to change yourself!” It’s the Ishvalan Elder! With a bunch of other Ishvalans, talking about “the ebb and flow” wait a minute that sounds suspiciously like the Law of Equivalent Exchange. Jeez, when was the last time we got to update the EEC? Should I count this? Anyways, Toad and Boar are shocked to see other Ishvalans, turns out that recruiting these guys was what Scar and Marcoh were up to these past few months. And there’s General Grumman! Back in his uniform, looking over his troops. And Sideburns is there too, with the Northern forces. Everything’s all set- a “stumbling block”? Uh, that’s Fuhrer King “Wrath” Bradley up in the observation tower. I’d call that a bit more than a “stumbling block”. So what now? Later that night Al’s still in that train car bored out of his non-corporeal mind oooor slipping away. Crap, he’s getting worse. He needs his body back, soon. A crash? Al’s looking outside did water just fall on ooooooooh no. That’s not water. Gluttony! Crap, run dude! It’s not just Wrath here but Gluttony’s back in the field SHIT IT GOT WORSE. Normally light would be safe but it just cast a shadow behind Al and Leto-damn Pride is here to do that hand-grabby thing from the last intro, and Al’s losing his connection again no no no Al’s down. The hands are moving in. Al… [Pride]: “You rest up Alphonse, just take it nice and easy for a while. We’ll wake you on NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO “-on the Promised Day.” GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIS SIGIL ...how the hell did this episode go from “hyuk hyuk lets have Winry almost undress in front of Ed” to “hyuk hyuk lets have Al get captured by the Goths”. What the Leto. Mid-ep pictures of Winry undressing and Wrath drinking tea. Armstrong the Great’s hanging out in her mansion when Roy pays a visit. They take a walk outside as Roy admires the size of the home, “you could hide an entire battalion in it” real subtle, wannabe-Fuhrer. But Armstrong the Great says he can have it if she dies? Holy crap does Armstrong the Great think she won’t survive this? It’s one thing to order non-combatants out of the line of fire, but you’re writing your own will? Although it is sweet that you would leave it to Roy wait hold on I ship Roy/Riza you stop that right now you homewrecker! Ok fine you can take flowers to celebrate your victory although that happened months ago wait WHAT?! You’re only just now telling her that Selim is one of the Goths? What the hell took you so long, that’s kind of an important thing to know! Fine whatever, she knows now so- hah ok that was funny, glad to see it’s still a good rivalry between the two. And making her angry enough to throw the flowers (representing “ladylike charm”) in the fire along with the note, nice touch. Bradley’s overlooking the drills while Grumman gripes about feeling helpless. We seem to share the same initial thought that the artillery cannons being fired could “accidentally” blow up the observation tower, but since the guy’s a Goth that’s probably just piss him off. Uuugh, and the good guys can’t find Al anywhere, where did the Goths take him? And on the day before the Promised Day, too! A General come to talk to Bradley? Warning him about Grumman staging a coup but Bradley already knows about the plan damnit he’s questioned Al. But that’s not the plan? Ooh! So while these drills are going on Scar’s Ishvalans are preparing to attack Central, then Grumman can move his troops to “save” Central, meeting up with Roy’s forces. Damnit General, way to spoil the secret plan. Bradley watches the drills a bit longer to confirm that Ishvalans are gathering outside of Central, then orders the train to depart. Some of his flunkies are complaining about Roy being “treacherous” (say the guys planning to massacre a friggin country) when the train reaches a bridge- wait. Wait wait wait. Ooooooooooh. Grumman? You are a genius, please never be my enemy. Yup! The train comes to a stop in the middle of the bridge, ostensibly because of some sheep crossing the far side. Then the engine splits off and books it for the far side of the gorge. 3...2...1…

Hahahaha screw you Wrath! Uuunfortunately while I see a bunch of twisted metal and a broken bridge where the traincars used to be, I don’t see Wrath’s body so we have to assume he lived. Damn I would not want to be that Snitch General when Bradley climbs out of that ravine. Tactical Genius Grumman just snaps his fan closed and laughs the laugh of the victorious. And now the end credit music is starting up as hell yeah Riza’s getting her guns back out! [Riza]: “This is it, everything goes down tomorrow. It’s Do or Die now. I’m glad the two of you have got my back.” [Breda]: “Hey, anything for you Riza. Even if it does mean deserting.” [Fuery]: “Oh man… there go our careers…” [Riza]: “Heh. Once the dust’s settled, we’ll make sure the Colonel answers for us.” After-credits of the Central Officers freaking out over the assassination news. Armstrong the Great’s just chilling in her chair, mentally mocking the fools for panicking the moment their leader is gone. Maybe now’s her chance to Nope Never mind. Uncle and Sloth are right behind her. The Officers regain their composure as their ultimate leader finally steps foot outside of his Pipe Room. [Uncle]: “I’m still here with you, and I’m watching over Central.” ...wait a minute, did Ed ever give back those earrings?

[debbie-tanthorey]

65 DAYS IN MAY

CHAPTER ONE

Cosmic irony.  A dentist saved me. You read that correctly – saved my LIFE, albeit inadvertently.  An action as mundane as having one’s teeth cleaned, set fate in motion. Was the week of Thanksgiving 2019, bi-annual check-up.  Dentist does his thing after the hygienist finishes. You know the drill (pun intended).  Only this time he uncustomarily offers me a hand-mirror, tells me to look in my throat, asks me if I've had my tonsils out.

“No”

“You have a white spot back there, see that?” My eyes shift toward the mirror – I LIE – say I see it (don’t have my glasses on, PRIDE won’t let me admit I can’t see any white patch)  He continues, “If you don't mind, am referring you to an oral surgeon for a biopsy.”  The nefarious B-word; brain fires a warning shot.  B-word leads to the C-word. 

Alone now in my car, I fall apart.  Hi, I'm a hypochondriac; I don't handle health challenges well despite the jovial persona folks see.  A paralyzed-with-fear hypochondriac.  Foremost in my thoughts is a long-time friend from high school, currently dealing with a devastating throat cancer diagnosis; I know not to minimize this.  (R.I.P. Grady, August 8, 2020 😔)  Get to my desk, dial my primary physician immediately, which is a big deal for introverted-me; set up an appointment for a second opinion.  The Thanksgiving holiday means I can't be seen until the following week.  What is normally a fun, family-gathering time of year, is effectively fogged in with dread, I go through the motions.  All-consuming thoughts ruminate incessantly - I'm dying.  Yeah, it's what hypochondriacs DO, we ‘dive off into the deep end,’ thrash, drown in ‘what if’s??’

The next week, my doctor smiles after he peers past my tongue into my throat, “Where?” Looks twice, insists I relax, “It's nothing.” He knows me well, adding, “if it would make you feel better, let's follow-up in three months.”  His reassurance tempers my panic . .  life resumes. 

CHAPTER TWO

December 2019, January, February, 2020 the winter that wasn't.  Work that was. Mid-February Housing fair at Ohio University's Walter Hall Rotunda.  Event coordinator, Donna, introduces herself to Dave and me at our display table. Lively-soul, (I admire extroverts) she explains she recently transferred to this area from Columbus and, among other things, is a Stage 4 breast cancer survivor.  Woman is spunky. Piques my interest. I share my sister's email address with her, explaining Cheryl is an 18-month soldier waging the same battle.  

March approaches and the little nagging voice in my head reminds, “3-month follow-up, Deb, just do it.”  Did.  Friday, March 6.  Confirmed, no dumb spot. Ha!! Your basic normal appointment. Crisis debunked. As visit concludes, Hillary, his nurse, scrolls through my medical record, turns to mention it's been more than a couple years since my last mammogram, they’ve all been clear, but I'm due, and would I want to set up one. 

“Sure” 

My youngest, Leah, works in this same medical facility, stop at her desk near the lab to say ‘hello.’  She’s my last to leave home, miss her in my house still. Always good to see and talk to her.  She and Ian were married 18 months ago.  Her desk-mate, Jordan, coincidentally one of Leah’s friends from her high school days, sets up my mammo appointment for Monday.

MONDAY, MARCH 9.  Say ‘hello’ again to the girls at their desk.  Check-in. Take a seat, wait my turn.  Have had plenty of these 'grams in my lifetime, no big deal, no dread.  Bare 'em, squash 'em, and get back to work.  This time though, the tech knows my sister, and as I dress when we are done, from behind the screen she casually asks how old Cheryl was when she got her diagnosis and how’s she doing. (60. She is doing remarkably well, maintaining) 10 minutes later, I’m back at my work desk, phone rings, the mammo-tech is on the phone, needing me to return the next day for “a couple more, 'maybe clearer' pics, and an ultrasound.” That’s never happened before.  A fleeting shot of panic surges, but since my most recent dread has been unfounded, I attempt to not over-react.

TUESDAY, MARCH 10.  Keenly study the radiology-tech’s face for clues when she comes to fetch me from the lobby, I examine her demeanor as if I’m a police detective on a high-profile murder case and she’s my prime suspect.  She's calm.  So I'm cool. Rescan first, ultrasound second.  Not especially pleasant the latter, (idiotic thing to say, was wholly unpleasant ) having your chest unceremoniously smashed in a circular motion against your ribs.  The techs are studious, the room silent, I stare at the ceiling. Last time I had an ultrasound was 26 years ago and I was pregnant. Today, no fun at all. Understand now why my sister mentioned she is not a fan of these during her breast cancer struggles.

CHAPTER THREE

SATURDAY, MARCH 14, a knock on the front door, mailman is standing on my front porch and in the time it takes me to scribble my name on a card, I'm staring down at a certified letter in my palm, the return address of the clinic lunging off the paper at me. There's a low, barely-audible, foreign sound in my head.  It's 'control', in human form, and is protesting/whining as she’s being forcibly dragged away from me.  Remind myself I'm somewhat sane, an adult - just open the envelope.  I do.  And there it is, in black and white, the word -

ABNORMALITY

The rest of the weekend is a blur, debunking the need for concern with my daughters.  Every excuse, every plausible explanation of why a letter like this would be mailed.  A mistake, surely so.  Just a glitch in the system.  “Mom, if it was bad, they wouldn't notify you by letter,” Leah insists.

MONDAY, MARCH 16, my primary physician calls in regard to my somewhat-panicky email fired-off to him on Saturday, the day the letter arrives. He speaks in calm tones, explains he was on vacation the past week, is sorry he could not talk to me before the notice arrived, he's seen the offending spot on the film, offers it's so small, unlikely any cause for concern. “Indistinctive,” he assures. Forwarding to a surgeon for review.

CHAPTER FOUR

TUESDAY, MARCH 17, mama-daughter call . . normal stuff .. she’s working today at the clinic. She mentions the aforementioned surgeon has office hours today, maybe I could be squeezed in.  I’m in luck, they can.  So in a couple hours, I am shaking the hand of the head of surgery.  Personable guy, he tells me he's reviewed my pics, if the radiologist had not circled the area, he would not have noticed it right away.  Optimism duly noted. He thoroughly examines that body part, pokes and prods, asks me if I feel a lump. “I have not.” Today he doesn't either.  Every woman knows about lumps. I absolutely know about lumps. I would never ignore one.  Fact of the matter, there is NO lump! 

We go over my less than stellar immediate family history of C. (HATE that word). Lung, breast, leukemia.  He recommends biopsy to rule out any true problem. The B-word again.  This day I say, ‘ok'. 

Right here is where COVID-19 makes it's bizarro presence known, personally impacts ME. Doctor advises local surgery center is now closed due to the virus and procedures are limited to emergencies only but he is willing to go before the Board to plead my case.  ????  While thankful he is willing to intercede for me; I am tamping down anxiety fighting to rise up, mentally jumping up and down, stomping on it, both feet.

Couple days later I get the call the Medical Board approves me for a needle biopsy.  Control-of-my-life, she is sitting on the floor in a fetal position, rocking, whimpering in a locked padded-room somewhere.

CHAPTER FIVE

TUESDAY, MARCH 24, Jess drives me to Jackson.  I don't need driven. Appreciate my oldest’s company though.  COVID rules necessitate only a patient be permitted to enter any facility; Jess has to wait in the car.  At the door, am screened for symptoms, this is the Twilight Zone.  And it's too quiet in here.  The place is dark and weird and I don't want to be here.  I'm the ONLY person in the entire surgery center, I overhear the staff talking, they weren’t on the schedule today, I’m the only patient. hhmmmm, why am I so important??  Creepy.

Am ushered into the procedure room, nurses are professional, put me at ease.   Entering, it’s impossible to miss my film aglow on the lighted-box on the wall; she asks if I want to see it.  (NO!! I don’t want to see it!!)  In reality, robotically, walk over to look.  There it is, plain as day.  The previously described small-likely-nothing indistinctive spot.  Yikes, it's a glaring, ominous, bright white glob with literal tentacles reaching out, it’s in the middle of my precious flesh.  No denying this now. Thing’s staring back at me.  The only way I know how to describe the rest of the appointment, is that I am having an out-of-body experience, it’s not happening to me.  No . . . is not.

You know the lifts in a garage of an auto repair shop?  That's what this is. Clumsily climb aboard, assume a  face-down position. There's no delicate way to explain the procedure.  There's an enormous hole in the table, chest area, your beloved body part dangles and the table is raised, surgeon accesses it from below.  Area is securely taped, prepped and numbed.  Needles are fun, aren't they??!  (eye roll)  Am told the table will vibrate, surgeon cautions me to lay perfectly still or the laser will slice me.  (no problem, I float away, not even present in the room)  And it begins.  Computer guides a gatling gun of needles as it commences to stab the tumor, withdraw specimens of cells.  Sounds horrific, but it isn't, numbing tends to that. Divert my eyes from the red, fleshy goop siphoning into the container, my eyes clamped shut much of the time. Lasts just a few minutes, dress, then am on my way.  Visit the same surgeon in a week for the results. Will not come back to this location, by then this center will also be closed by the pandemic mandate, next appointment is at a nearby hospital.

CHAPTER SIX

APRIL 1, 2020, APRIL FOOL'S DAY.  First time I have ever visited this hospital, enter alone, virus protocol at the door.  Surgeon’s office on the second floor, take the elevator.  Few folks in the building, those that are, like me, are wearing masks.  As I wait, pilfer on my ipad.  Name is called, off I go.  Today I find out this thing is benign, that I have been spazzing for weeks over nothing, naturally. Don't wait long for the Dr., I remain seated as he enters, greets me.  He begins  talking as he walks across the room, lays down my chart, then turns, making eye-contact, “you are so lucky to have had this test, mammogram did what it was supposed to do; we've caught it early.”  

IT 

“...(I go effectively deaf)  blah-blah-blah-blah-blah CARCINOMA.” A cataclysmic concoction of consonants and vowels strung together into syllables, words, in sentence form, delivered matter-of-factly.  What happens here is nothing short of BIZARRE.  Always imagined if I heard the words, “you have cancer,” I would react BADLY.

I would -

be angry

weep

go to pieces

vomit

all of the above

In reality -

I did not cry

I did not faint

I did not scream

Instead, sit calmly, silently.  Stoic. Utterly, absolutely, wholly dumbfounded. ( this isn’t real - my head hurts - is this a stroke!?)  REALITY  Brain cells scramble to focus, I listen intently to every word, nod occasionally.  Hearing all, absorbing little, during this a crash course on three types of breast cancer and treatment options available.  (drifting off  - I like him, he gestures with his hands as he speaks of surgery options.)  Reconstruction; their plastic surgeon is top notch. The decision is mine.  The doctor adds simply, “you know what will happen if you do nothing.”

I do

Unceremoniously and without a second’s hesitation, I react, “Get it off me,” hand on my chest. (subconscious protesting, “I feel FINE!!!!  THIS. IS. STUPID!!”)

He nods in acknowledgement of my words, continuing, discusses recurrence rates on the opposite breast. Fuzzy math. Right here I interrupt him with the wave of a hand, “Get them both off me!” For good measure, I repeat it.  Decision made, bilateral mastectomy it is, ASAP.  Hands me a print-out with my diagnosis, I roll the paper up like a diploma and slip it in my bag.  Stare down at the bag I take to work everyday . . (new-reality thoughts commence) or did … back when life was normal.  

“Lousy April Fool’s Day, ya gotta admit.” I mutter out-loud to him as I rise to my feet, reach for the door.  (how am I walking??!)

Ah, but COVID-19.  Global pandemic, if it were a person, he’d be a cold-hearted, merciless jerk.  I have to wait 14 days, be symptom-free in order to be permitted in their surgery unit or risk contaminating the whole place.  Condemned to live with my killer for 15 more days, let it sleep with me, go to work with me, hang out with me while I visit my kids, grandkids.   Melodramatic? You betcha, but the truth.  All the while knowing the beast is growing.  

I don’t exit the building until I am pre-registered for surgery, receive copious instructions, am assigned a day, APRIL 16.  Next to the radiology waiting room, there I message my sister, she is the first to know.  I have breast cancer.  There’s lab work, x-ray, EKG.  Am a zombie.  A polite zombie with cancer making idle chitchat with techs who have no freaking clue my unremarkable and average life has evaporated in the last 45 minutes.  

Poked, prodded, scanned and x-rayed - my walk across the parking lot is a 1,000 mile trek.  Open the door, slide into the seat, fasten the seat belt, inhale deeply, fill my lungs with air just so I feel alive and less numb.  Stare at my hands. Wish I could scream without attracting attention.  Vomiting would be a blessing about now.  I seem to be the same person that got out of the vehicle two hours before. No, am not the same at all. HOW do I do this????! Any of this??  

HOW??????????!!!!!

In the days that follow, I will unroll my biopsy report, familiarize myself: invasive lobular carcinoma, 1.6cm, grade 1, ER+PR+HER2-. (translation = hormone fed)  I will become versed about the enemy within, that if left untreated, would put me in the ground. Knowledge is power.

CHAPTER SEVEN

How do you tell the people you love, you have cancer? How do you toss a live emotional-grenade in a room? As terrifying as it is for me, I have to watch the realization sink in, the fear in their faces.  Jess and Leah, my girls, having initiated a video chat with me as I wait for labs at the hospital. “Mom...well, how’d it go??” Not necessary to share details out loud, I crack, my eyes said all there was to say. Tough to hide that.  Awful is the fact I’m in a public waiting room as they ask, am trying to hold it together, not disintegrate, explode into pieces.  Watch them absorb what they now understand.  I can’t help them.

Morning of April 1, the plan was to go back to work after the appointment. I don't. I aim the car toward home.

But first, I stop at my mom's house, to reveal the diagnosis to her and George.  This is the first time I will say the words.  Standing in the middle of her living room, my mouth opens and the emotion-less words fall out, “I have cancer too.” It is weird to hear it voiced and I feel bad for her.  (her sister, my dad, my brother, my sister, now me) Explain to her what I plan to do and comfort that it'll be alright.  She supports my decision: show no mercy to the beast. 

Head home.

Turn onto my county road, Jameson calls, asks how the Dr. visit went.  Avoiding answering, instead, ask if they are home, that I will be right there.  Am thankful I am not them.  He ‘knows’ from my tone, detects from the question.  My son and wife, Patty, live 1/4 mile from my house, I arrive at their place in only a couple minutes, walk into their living room where they both were, learn the kids are upstairs, state the fact to the both of them, and I sit down for a bit.  Just like that. Keep it light and matter of fact.  

Life is insane. 

CHAPTER EIGHT

What follows is 15 days trapped in a state of in-between.  Desperate for normalcy yet knowing I can’t have it.  What to do. What. To. Do.  Staying right-minded is the aim.  Crave it.  C-word rarely leaving my thoughts. Every day ‘hospital Jessica’ calls me to ask a series of Covid-19 related questions and asks my body temperature that I am tasked with taking each morning upon waking.

What I CAN maintain right now, is routine.

COVID locks my office door in mid-March, am the only one staffing there.  OU student move-in/move-out day is May 3.  I’m the one in charge of this, making sure everything is ready. Can’t cancel it . . it goes on with or without me.  Scheduling surgery mid-April, slashes two weeks off my prep time for this once-a-year event.  Realize the timing could not be better, if there IS such a thing, I have little free time to ponder what’s coming, am too busy.  Every day I plow through my work to-do list.  Go home too tired to indulge doom and gloom.  

Away from the office too, I quickly find another diversion, researching and shopping for items I might need after the surgery.  Soft tops with inner pockets for drains management, ice packs, hot packs, special propping pillow.  A miracle they all arrive on time because Amazon Prime has been waylay-ed by the corona virus.  A sick and twisted ‘Merry Christmas to me’ as each package arrives.  In some small way, gives me a semblance of control.  

Sleeping is not an issue during these days.  It’s my safe place.  Sleep deep and well, courtesy of a little purple pill discovered years ago.  (thank you, menopause) Each and every morning, have about 30 seconds of ���normal’ before I remember what demon is living in me.  

An entertaining activity during this time is staring in my lingerie drawer at the start of every day, choosing which style, what color bra for one last travel in the rotation.  I waffle.  At first, suffer pangs of melancholy while looking at the neat row of vibrant colors and lace.  Then chuckle, cups are large enough to be made into hats for small children.  No one wants to discuss my boobs, but this is an important part of the process of letting go.  Acknowledgement.  A girl spends what seems like her whole life waiting for these body parts to materialize; coveted, we dress them up, suspend them with steel reinforcement, make the best of them.  They feed our children, we rock our babies/grandbabies against them.  They’re part of who we are.   Mine are set for execution.  It’s them or me.

Time ticks by. 

CHAPTER NINE

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 15.  Mastectomy Eve, am something I have never been, radioactive.  True.  This day go into the hospital ALONE, pass through the covid-19 gauntlet; escorted to a quiet room with a massive machine, bet it was a CT scanner, I don’t ask, I lay down on a metal table and a needle is inserted in my chest region, right side (still find it weird to use the word ‘breast’) and a radioactive tracer is placed in my body at the sight of the tumor.  I’d researched the procedure a little (LIE . . I researched a LOT) beforehand, and read it would be EXCRUCIATING.  So expect the worst.  Naturally.  Tech is kind and reassuring; small talk.  I notice what great hair he has.  Stare at the ceiling as I lay there. Then the doctor comes in, says I’ll feel a stick (had read the area is numbed first)  expect that.  Did.  Not horrendous - that’s an exaggeration, barely felt anything.  Assume we wait for the numbing to take effect before he drills through to the core.  What I DIDN’T expect, is him to say, “you’re done.”  Meaning that tiny prick was it.  Say what now?  Before the morning’s surgery, I’ll come back to this table, and will find out if the cancer has leeched into any lymph nodes.  I dress and exit the building.

ESCAPE! The rest of this day IS MINE. I take my dreary thoughts, my diseased chest, the ‘DD girls’ , and we hit the road, took the long way home.  Gave ‘them’ the best darned last-day-alive you could ask for.  Was the least I could do considering what I was consenting to do to them.  Pitied them and wanted them DEAD at the same time. Them or me.

Flowers waiting for me when I got home, the first time I sobbed in earnest. A torrent of tears.

CHAPTER TEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 16, 2020.  DtoDD DAY.  Death to DD’s Day.  (and my Mom’s 81st birthday) Eerily calm. I grab my packed bag, stare at my freshly-made bed as I turn to exit the bedroom.  Oh here comes one of those bizarro thoughts I have at times like this. Glancing around, mutter, “when I return, nothing will be the same.  Gee, I hope I come back.”  Melodramatic to a fault I am.  Patty drops me off at the hospital door at a ridiculously early hour.  Did I mention this is during a pandemic so no one can come in and that the hospital is spooky-empty and hushed??  Well, it is.  Apocolyptically-quiet.  Surreal.  Check-in is swift and efficient and a surgery-nurse retrieves me promptly, accompany her to the prep area. this is real?

This unit has a circle of several cubicles, all but three are empty though.  Settled in, changing into hospital gown, then I have three hours to ponder the fact that the last time I had surgery was 26 years ago and I am not as young as I used to be, and nowhere near ready to die, and lordy, I am no fan of pain.   I feel FINE . . how can something deadly be in me yet I feel this HEALTHY??

In the hours I wait, return to scan-room to see if this thing has reached my lymph nodes.  Dark room, humming machine.  Same tech lets me watch the screen, bright lights like tiny fireworks become visible. No clue what I am watching.

My appointed time arrives, was about 9:30 a.m.  Accompanied by a surgical nurse, I walk down the hallway to the O.R., my IV pole in tow. this isn’t real  Three surgical staff are busily prepping. Funny how apprehension makes one awkwardly talkative with strangers, more so than normal.  I greet them and cannot shut up, blather, “you know how kids took home tonsils in a jar?? (clutching my chest)  you have a gallon jug I can take these home with me?”  (yes, I really did say it)  Laughter from them, that’s good. Am offered a stool to climb onto the table.  I do.  My God, to the gallows, ‘girls’

Jettisoned into the Twilight Zone right here.  In the time it takes me to scoot, get comfortably horizontal on the table, sterile people descend on me, all over me doing things.  Arms, legs . .  belt around my abdomen.  Am picturing masked-ants.  Busy, busy.  Big light on the ceiling lowering, settles above my upper torso and head.  I feel FINE  Am here, but not here.  Oh God.  Gentle voice to my right, as a mask is fitted over my nose and mouth, “take a couple deep breaths.”

Blackness.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I’m struggling in deep water, not diving down - but up, shooting to the surface of the water, I need air.  Regaining consciousness, a jostling, repeating,  “Debbie, wake up.  Can you hear me?”  Awake.  Literal first conscious thought, drenched in relief -

“... NOT DEAD” 

Body is being tugged, moved, but I’m not doing it.  Realization hits me, where I am and what's happened.  Conscious, I no longer feel fine, unrelenting waves of nausea wash over me.  I give myself over to whichever medical professional wants to tend to me. They can have me, I don’t want me.  Not this me.

End up in a hospital room, no recollection whatsoever how.  Silence interrupted only by BP cuff on an ankle, inflating noisily at intervals reminding me I’m alive.  Not moving.  Lord, what have I done?  Ice packs under both arms.  Detest feeling this gross.  I hang onto the sheets for hours, ride out the nausea.

As terrible as that was, and it was horrendous, it ends abruptly once I am fully awake later in the afternoon. In fact, feel remarkably good - considering. Any pain is well-managed. I can move, even lift my arms. I can walk to the restroom, tend to myself.  Am hungry and eat a good dinner. Pleasantly surprised at this half of the day.

Curious. Here’s where I gingerly lift the blanket to get my first look. DD-girls are gone, replaced by a thick layer of bandage all across my chest, tubing, two drains, and . . . oh my lord . . . HOW long has my belly been that size??????!  God bless boobs, they divert one’s attention from a myriad of flaws. Geez-louise.

Thank you, Covid-19, for the hospital stay’s solitude, I don’t mind, I welcome not having to share this day with visitors.  Am only interrupted intermittently by nurses and the doctor.  No big deal.  Not much to tell.  Post on facebook that I survived.  Was released to go home the very next day with surgeon’s, “no restrictions. See you in a week, will have lab results for you then.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

FRIDAY, APRIL 17. HOME.  Here’s where it gets funny.  Seriously.  Humorous.   Reality.   My youngest, Leah, volunteers to stay for the first few days.  Plan on not needing much in the way of assistance.  Stubborn.  Not too uncomfortable, prop on pillows, watch tv, pain meds.  First-night, decide my bed is where I will sleep, let her have the couch.   Undeterred in the middle of the night, manage to get myself to the bathroom alone. Good for ME!! Ah, but then the sun comes up. Right here I discover Super Woman I am not.  Attempt the same maneuver and the stabbing pain angrily asserts, “NOT THIS TIME, SISTER!”  Ah, bladder is bossy and insistent. But Pain is in charge.  “#*&@*#&$}” a little too loudly (translation) “Leah!! Help!!”  She comes trotting and I’m laughing, trapped in my own bed.   Arms frozen at my sides, literally cannot move under my own power without an instant excruciating reaction.   With urgency (full bladder loudly protesting) instruct her to wring a bed sheet, get to the foot of the bed, hold the ends, let me grab the middle . . . PULL!!   It works!!  Whew, lesson learned, until I could get up and down on my own unaided, I didn’t sleep there again.  

Drains.  Grateful to only require two.  Three times a day they need emptying.  Unceremoniously, Leah’s job.  When large portions of flesh are removed, one’s body compensates by attempting to fill the space with fluid, drains are typically inserted to draw off this fluid, speeding recovery.  These ‘things’ (drain hoses) are just under my skin across the width of my chest, a stitch holding them in place at the hole (yikes) where they exit on either side.  The bulbs at the end of the 12 inch lines are clear grenade-shaped receptacles collecting wound-juice.   (you winched at the visual, didn’t you?  haha)  They get full.  Necessary to milk the line first, with sterile gloved fingers of one hand, she grasps and steadies the line where it exits my body, with the other, she slides her pinched fingers down the tubing, pushes the ooze and any clots to the end. Pops the top of the bulb, empties 'ick' into a measuring cup, and logs the amount and color.  Squeezes the bulb as she closes the lid so siphon will commence. My only job is to 'enjoy' the vigorous suction.   eek

I sit dutifully still on a stool while she goes about her ‘work’, chit-chatting about this and that, am intentionally not watching the gore slipping, dripping into the bulb. She's not hurting me but every now and then will feel a subtle tug, a movement of the tubing.  (shudder)  Sunday evening she taps the bulb’s bottom on the table, remarking, “darned clot won’t fall through.”  (rap, rap, smack)  “Eww, that’s gross,” she says, “clot (tap) won’t (tap) let go ( jiggling it, the dangling, stringing bloody blob just hanging there, swaying back and forth).”  My skin is warming . . . interesting sensation . . getting hot.  Really HOT.  She is sitting right next to me, is talking but her voice is fading.  Am looking her direction, but she is drifting away in a misty vapor . . . waaaaaaaaaaaay over there now, voice, can’t hear her.  Vision going and the room is moving ever so slightly.

I see my girl in slo-mo, she realizes what is happening, "Mom, Mom ... MOM!" (my mouth no longer works, cannot respond) hear her excited, “DAD!!!! Come quick!! Help! Mom’s passing out!!!”

Didn't. (did get to the couch . . sat still for an hour, feet up . . w/ice pack alternating on my neck, forehead) Didn’t vomit, so that's a 'WIN" for the day.

I learn to do it myself once she goes home. No big deal.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 23.  A week passes, mostly uneventful.  Sick leave, lounging, medicating, tracking excretion of Deb-juice, healing.  Tough to remember the days in March and early April when I felt GOOD.  I feel terrible.  Blah - which to me, IS terrible.  No fever, no signs of infection, just a general feeling of malaise. (such a descriptive word, ‘malaise’)  Post-op visit, a follow-up with the surgeon. Oldest daughter Jess, chauffeur for the day.  The entire drive down to Gallipolis, I imagine they’ll take one look at my sorry self, react in horror, re-admit me immediately.  I have to be dying, something has to be terribly wrong. No one can feel this bleak and survive. 

Mull my life over for that hour drive, did I live it adequately, what is left that I have not done, am I going to throw up IN or OUT of her car . . oh woe is me . . my thoughts are rambling, disjointed, grim.  (BEYOND melodramatic) LOL  Get to the hospital, I have to admit I cannot even walk in under my own power.  I have no power, drained dry.  Jess requests a wheelchair and I feel how I imagine being 150 years old and feeble feels, reliant on a stranger for transport up to the waiting area.  Pitiful.  I hate this.  Too puny to care.

And remember COVID . . Jessica can’t come in with me.  My mummified remains parked in a desolate waiting room.  sigh  I need a transfusion.  I need a transplant, I need SOMETHING . . want my life back.  Where’d Debbie go??!! 

Eventually wheeled into the exam room (decrepit thing that I am) to wait.  Surgeon enters, his normal perky self, smiles my direction.  I lament the state of (absence of) well-being and inability to go to the bathroom for DAYS.  (how embarrassing)  “Sweetheart (NO, he did not say 'Sweetheart’) it’s your pain meds doing this to you.  STOP THEM.” 

huh?????! 

Examines the 12-inch incisions on either side of my torso. Both doing well. No stitches to remove, interior stitches will dissolve on their own. Exterior sterie strips will fall off in the next week. He studies my drain-log, then simply remarks, “looks great, amounts are decreasing steadily. You want them (drains) out today?” (glimmer of hope) Instantly agree, so without ceremony and with a quick snip of a stitch and a wiggle of the tube and a firm TUG, one Jackson Pratt drain is out. Nasty thing now coiled on the exam table. OUT!!! The other follows swiftly. Oh dear lord . . feels soooooooo good to be rid of those things. Best part . . expected to have them at least another week, that the extrication of same, would be horrendous. Wasn’t. Didn’t hurt actually. Bandaids applied to my newest holes. No stitch, no nothing. “See ya in a month. No restrictions.”  Surprised he didn’t pat me on my sorry head.

Trip home is infinitely better, envision the tunnel and light shining in the distance. aaaahhhhh

Not another pain pill crosses these lips . . the man is a genius.  (epilogue: my decline was indeed induced by the pain meds . . out of my system - recovering was a breeze.  TIP: get off them as soon as you can)

P.S. Almost forgot the most important part!!!!! Lab results!!!  Geez . .the tunnel, the light . .  THIS IS WHY!!!  TODAY I learn I am CANCER-FREE‼️‼️‼️ Well, I would hope so!!  Nearly six pounds of flesh sacrificed / removed . . CLEAN MARGINS around the tumor. Lymph nodes are CLEAR!!! Sentinel node removal a bit messy, seven others unable to be separated from it, come out as well.  Sobering fact is that I, nor the surgeon, felt a telltale lump - but it was there.  In black and white, sobering words, “STAGE TWO”. Appointment  with oncologist in May to discuss options.  Why???  Here's the thing about breast cancer, sometimes IT COMES BACK. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Want to tell you the euphoria was warmly welcome and long-lasting.  Yes and no, in that order.  Sharing with friends that surgeon ‘got it all’ was met with copious genuine exclamations of ‘thank God!’ and ‘hallelujah’.  For good reason.  Pathology report of clean margins and clear nodes is a positive outcome. IT’S GONE!!  And like me at this juncture, believe that’s the end of it.  Too few days of relief pass swiftly -  the reality that it may not be over, steadily seeps back in as I educate myself.  But with a stubborn childlike optimism, trust the oncologist will study my diagnosis, pronounce my journey with this evil thing over. “Deborah, congrats, you’re finished with it and it with you. Have a nice life.” Let’s go with that.  I want it.

Just a couple more weeks to find out.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

In the meantime, at home I’m getting bored.  ‘Bored’ is WONDERFUL.  It’s normalcy.  And a strong signal that it’s time for life to go on.

I am well enough to attend to work emails, becoming more frequent as students prepare to leave Athens officially, the stalwart diehards who came back after Spring Break despite the lockdown that commenced mid-March.  Boredom, the impetus, that gets me out of the house.

TUESDAY, APRIL 28, 12 days post-op, several days free from pain-killers and feeling almost back to my old self, I slide behind the wheel of my car, new precious pillow between sensitive chest and the seatbelt and drive to work.  Man oh man, how I missed 70′s radio . . sing all the way.  I last at my desk for 4 hours this first day, mindful to recognize limitations, cut the day short, but go home triumphant.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN 

THURSDAY, APRIL 30.  Meet-my-oncologist day.  (mentally mark off THAT on my ‘Life’s List-of-Dreads’) First things first, why am I here??!  Surgeon recommends I have a chat with the man . . rule out the need for anything further.  Youbetcha. Today is THE. DAY!!  Fully expect to be ‘blessed’ and sent on my way . . “Debbie, you were lucky, it’s all gone.  Your cancer journey was intense and brief and now it’s over. Go live your life, girl.”

Check in.  Hunker down at the back of the vast lobby, comfy chair.  I absorb the room.  Oh you know I don’t want to, but I do.  A few patients are here.  One unhealthy looking older lady on a hospital stretcher over there.  Another slightly-weathered woman near the wall, wearing a turban.  And there’s me.  Odd-man out, pain-killers now out of my system: (yes yes, am minus the ‘girls’) full head of thick hair, kinda sorta minimally wrinkly, feeling strong and healthy . . . like me again.  

Name called.  BP and weight.  Perks of the day . .  bp is good, especially good for me.  Literally-asked-the-nurse-to-repeat-the-numbers good. And am down 10 lbs.  I’ll take it!!  Gee, this visit is headed in the right direction! 

Lead to an exam room, given a questionnaire.  Ugh.  Bottom of the page.  Please list details of immediate family members . . . health issues, explanation.  Here we go . .  Melvin / dad / died in 2000 @64 / lung cancer (scribble to the side ‘life time smoker’ . . like it somehow negates the dying)  Tim / brother / died in 2000 @39 / leukemia (again, the scribbling, master mechanic, hands in chemicals)  Stephen / brother / died in 1957 @6 weeks / S.I.D.S.  Bottom of this page is an OCD nightmare, ink scribbles in every direction, sad that I ran of space. Add, “Cheryl / sister / is 61 / @60 stage IV breast cancer (’maintaining’ . . didn’t add, but wanted to, “THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!”)   Janice / mom / is 81.  Terry / brother / is 55.”  Finishing up, as MY oncologist enters the room.

Brief introductions . .  Cursory physical exam of surgical site.

Oncologist reviews the information I provide, studies my chart.  Two verbal inquires of me - 

do you or have you ever smoked? “no”

do you drink alcohol and how much? “rarely” 

He pauses.  He can ascertain I’m not fudging the details.  “Never?” he queries again.  Shake my head in the negative.  Sincerely he adds, “this makes NO sense. Risk factors are not there for breast cancer.  No sense at all.” 

Dr. Hamid relates there is a genetic test that can be performed using my tumor tissue, (eewwww, they still have it!!)  the results determining whether or not chemo therapy would be of any benefit to me.  Again - I am confused why a person who is now disease-free, minus seven pounds of her best flesh, needs ANYTHING additionally.  I consent.  He jots down for me the chemo recipe that I would receive if it’s indicated.  Metaphysically burns my fingertips as I take the slip from him. (chemo??! stifling a scream)  If not, I would be prescribed a pill to stop my body's remaining production of estrogen.  Anastrazole is the drug of choice, there are a few common side effects: bone/joint pain, fatigue, etc.  Majority of women experience no side effects of any kind, he assures.  (mental note of an over-achiever: I will be one of THOSE)  Dr. adds, “Lab work takes about two weeks to get back.  Come see me in two weeks please.   Oh wait . .  you drive quite a distance to get here, right?  Just call my office on May 13, we can handle this over the phone.”

uh huh  . . .  so much for being blessed and sent on my merry way.  CHEMO, sub-set item under 1. CANCER on  ‘Life’s List-of-Dreads’.  TRULY . . . there is nothing I enjoy MORE, than waiting on test results.   (epic eye-roll right here, stomach twists in knot)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

This is the last chapter of ‘65 DAYS IN MAY’ (today it’s February 25, 2021) I am a procrastinator.  Am still me, after all.  My instructions were to call oncologist’s office on Wednesday, May 13, 2020, to learn whether or not chemo therapy was the next step in my cancer treatment.  By now I have little recollection of the blur of days between April 30 and when Dr. Hamid called me with my genetic testing results, my Oncotype score.  Every day seemed endless, recovering well, feeling progressively more like myself.  I let work duties bulldoze me through those days, thoroughly occupied. I was thankful to have nearly 300 college students moving-out and moving-in on May 3rd.  Grateful to be bone weary at the end of each day, having little time to thrash about the prospect of chemo - that, and staying safe as COVID rampaged.

TUESDAY, MAY 12, at my desk, alone in a pandemic-locked-down office.  One last day not having to call, know anything.  Ignorant bliss.  Phone rings, spy caller I.D., uh-oh, cancer center.  I stop breathing.  Lift receiver, ‘Hello, this is Debbie.’  Not breathing.   HERE WE GO  (9+ months later now, still recall the catch of my breath and pounding heart.  Am not exaggerating when I tell you time froze.)  Dr. Hamid’s voice was soft, he wasted no time relating my Oncotype score plus chance of recurrence is low and chemo is not necessary in my situation. He’ll call in an Anastrazole script for me, it cuts my chance of recurrence to less-than 5%.  Only question I had, “what exactly was my number?”  17    “See you again in 6 months,” as he ends the call.  Stare at the phone receiver clenched in my hand.

NO CHEMO . .  with exorbitant gusto, I EXHALE

Celebration fireworks in my head, both hands in the air, stifle an audible, triumphant HALLELUJAH!   For the moment, issued a reprieve.  I soak it up.  Once composed, swivel chair to my right, run my palms slowly, purposefully over the desk calendar, lift the pages, studying, absorbing.  Begin to count . . . .

STINT IN PURGATORY - 65 DAYS IN MAY

EPILOGUE

(stay tuned)

[fourthingsandawizard]

Firewhisky

Dan is fast asleep at Hogwarts when he gets a 2am call from a Firewhisky-fueled Phil in the club

Rating: Gen

Words: 1752

Relationship: Dan Howell & Phil Lester; friendship; phan if you squint

Tags: wizard au; Hogwarts au; Youtuber Dan; Youtuber Phil; muggleborn Dan; pureblood Phil; Hufflepuff Dan; Hogwarts grad Phil

Read on ao3

a/n: Written for @phandomficfests​ 2019 Bingo to fill the prompts birthday, drug/alcohol use, and writer’s choice (which I made magic au)

**This oneshot takes place in the Dan and Phil Hogwarts/Modern Day Wizards AU established in my chaptered fic Galaxies and Greenhouses, which should probably be read before reading this fic, but isn't absolutely necessary.

(If you don't want to read the chaptered fic first, main takeaway info needed for this fic: yes, Dan is a Hufflepuff in my au, fight me; also, Phil and PJ worked together to make a wizard smartphone equivalent out of a magic mirror, aka SmartMirror, that bypasses the Hogwarts ban on Muggle tech)

Dan groaned as his eyes slowly blinked open. He breathed sharply through his nose and stretched his long limbs across all four corners of his bed, resulting in a satisfying pop in one of his joints.

As he let his eyes begin to drift shut again, he noticed that he wasn’t hearing his housemates bustling around the room and starting their days while he, as usual, slept the morning away with his bed curtains drawn tight. Curious, he reached over and parted the heavy yellow drapes, only to be met with moonlight streaming into the dormitory and the soft snores of the other seventh year Hufflepuff boys.

Dan let the curtains fall together again and collapsed back against his pillow, wondering what could have possibly woken him up in the middle of the night, when suddenly he received his answer: a faint buzzing was coming from somewhere underneath his duvet.

Fumbling through his bed sheets in the darkness, Dan’s fingers finally closed around his SmartMirror. Bringing it closer to his face, he was nearly blinded by the screen, which displayed the unflattering closeup that Dan had set as Phil’s contact photo, along with the time and date: nearly two in the morning on the 30th of January.

Dan somehow managed to groggily accept the call, bringing the device up to his ear. “‘lo?”

“DAN!”

Dan jerked away from the sudden onslaught of sound, both from Phil’s unexpectedly loud greeting and the cacophony of background noises and music behind him.

“DAN? DAN, ARE YOU STILL THERE?” Wincing, Dan brought the SmartMirror closer again. “Yeah, Phil, I’m here,” he half whispered, “but why the hell are you calling this late?”

“DAN, IT’S MY BIRTHDAY! TELL ME HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAN! I THINK IT’S THE LAW!”

Dan rolled his eyes, chuckling fondly. “Yeah, yeah, happy birthday, dork.”

“WHAT?”

“Happy birthday!”

“DAN? ARE YOU THERE?”

“I SAID HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Merlin’s sake!” Dan finally had to almost yell for Phil to hear over the pounding music behind him.

“Oi! Howell!”

Dan’s bed curtains were suddenly ripped open, revealing a bed-headed and irritated housemate.

“Some of us are trying to sleep here, yeah? Slughorn has that nasty N.E.W.T. practice exam for us tomorrow, remember?”

Dan felt the tell-tale rosy patch on his cheek flush red and was thankful for the darkness of the dormitory. “Er, sorry, I’ll just…” He jerked his head towards the door, grabbing his wand and slipping out of bed.

Once he was safely in the quiet of the empty common room, he brought the phone back up to his ear, settling into one of the plush yellow armchairs facing the dwindling fire in the hearth.

“Phil? You still there?”

“Why, hello there, Daniel. Fancy meeting you here at this late hour, eh?”

Dan frowned at the familiar Northern voice, although it wasn’t the one he had been expecting.

“Chris? Where’s Phil?”

“Ah, well, our no-longer young Mr. Philip is currently finishing off what I believe is his third birthday Firewhisky shot of the evening and asked me to hold his phone,” Chris answered with a mischievous laugh. “So… How’s Hogwarts?”

“Three Firewhiskies? Shit, Chris, where the hell are you guys?”

“Lighten up, Daniel! Don’t get your wand in a knot, he’s fine. PJ and I just took him out for his birthday to that new magic club in London, Smoke and Mirrors. Perfect Prefect Lester is actually letting loose for once, it’s kind of wild—”

Chris was suddenly cut off and Dan heard nothing but the thumping bass of the music and the sound of someone fumbling with the SmartMirror, accidentally mashing several buttons.

“DAN! I’M BACK! CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

Dan winced at Phil’s unexpectedly loud return, leaning away from his phone slightly. “Trust me, bub, hearing you is not an issue right now.”

“WHAT? DAN, HANG ON A SEC, I’M GOING OUTSIDE SO I CAN HEAR YOU BETTER!” Phil shouted into the receiver. “PJ, I’LL BE RIGHT BACK!”

Dan idly flicked his wand against his knee, shooting out small sparks and reigniting the fire in front of him as he half listened to the sound of Phil making his way through the crowded club, mumbling apologizes to seemingly everyone he passed.

As he heard the door swing shut behind Phil, the music that had been blasting only moments before completely vanished; presumably there was some kind of noise dampening spell around the club to avoid suspicious Muggles.

“Okay, that’s better,” Phil said, finally at a semi normal volume.

“Yeah, much better,” Dan agreed, pulling both of his long legs up into the chair to get more comfortable. “Aren’t you freezing standing outside, though?” Dan glanced out the window where he could see a thin layer of snow blanketing the castle grounds. Phil may have been further south than Dan at the moment, but it was still January, even in London.

“Nah, I’m practically immune to cold, I’m so Northern,” Phil replied, and Dan could hear the smile in his voice. “Besides, I reckon I’ve probably had about half a bottle of Firewhisky tonight, I’m basically a dragon at this point.”

“Phil!”

At Dan’s scandalized exclamation, Phil let out a loud shriek, which came off much more pterodactyl than dragon, before dissolving into giggles on the other end of the line.

“You okay, there, bud?”

“Dan?”

“Yes, Phil?”

“I think I might be a little drunk,” Phil stage whispered into the phone, leaving Dan rolling his eyes fondly.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” he replied, making Phil snicker in return. “It sounds like you’re having a pretty good birthday, though.”

Phil hummed in response, and Dan could easily imagine the shrug that would have accompanied it. “‘s alright, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It’d be a lot better if you were here.”

Dan felt himself deflate a bit. He pulled his legs to his chest and hooked his chin over his knee.

“You remember my seventeenth when we snuck up to the Astronomy Tower,” Phil continued, filling Dan’s silence, “and we pretty much ate our weight in Honeydukes?”

“‘course I do,” Dan finally managed to breathe out, “McGonagall was pissed when she caught us out of bed that late.”

Phil snorted. “I think it was worth a couple detentions, though, to get to spend my birthday with my best friend for the first time.”

Dan felt a wetness suddenly pricking at his eyes. “Shit, Phil. I really miss you… Like, I know I just saw you last month during Christmas break, but I mean… Why’d you have to be a whole year older and graduate before me, again?”

“Hey, I offered to flunk my N.E.W.T.s and stay another year.” Phil chuckled, voice cracking a bit.

“Yeah, I’m sure Kath would have just loved that,” Dan said as he rubbed at his eyes. “And speaking of… What’s she gonna say when you stumble home drunk off your tits tonight?”

“I’m, uh… I’m not going home tonight. I’m staying with PJ and Chris in Brighton for a couple days. I kinda got in an argument with my dad and I’m trying to avoid him for a bit.”

“I mean, I can definitely relate.” Dan laughed, a little darker than he intended. “But you and your dad usually get along mostly fine, what happened?”

He heard Phil sigh deeply. “He bought me, like, proper business-person robes for my birthday.”

“What? Why?”

“Dunno, I guess he thinks it’s time for me to ‘be a man’ and ‘get a proper job’ and all that other adulty stuff.”

“Damn,” Dan replied, twirling his wand between his fingers absentmindedly. “And is that what you want?”

“I dunno. Probably not,” Phil admitted quietly. “I don’t really know what I want to do with my life, I just know I really like making videos, especially with you.”

“And I’m guessing your dad doesn’t really get that?”

“Not at all. Try explaining Youtube to a wizard who’s never even touched a computer.”

“Mine doesn’t really get it, either. I think maybe it’s less a wizard versus Muggle thing and more just a dad thing.”

Phil was silent for a long moment, leading Dan to pull the phone away just to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.

“Hey, Dan? Promise me something?”

“Yeah?”

Phil took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Promise me that we’re still gonna move in together next year like we talked about?”

‘“Course we will,” Dan answered with no hesitation. “We’ll probably have a pretty crappy apartment ‘cause it’s all we can afford, but it’s gonna be awesome.”

“And we’ll make videos together?”

“I mean, duh, all the time.” Dan couldn’t wipe the smile from his face if he tried. “Damn, our neighbors are gonna hate us, aren’t they?”

He got a classic Phil laugh in return, and he felt better knowing he put that goofy tongue-biting smile back on the older boy’s face. “That’s fine by me. Dan and Phil versus the world.”

“Always,” Dan answered as he glanced around the empty common room, desperately wishing his best friend wasn’t so far away, and felt tears building up again. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just thinking about how being here without you guys this year sucks major ass.”

“How would you know?”

“What?”

Phil snickered. “How would you know that it sucks ass unless you’ve—”

“Damn!” Dan swiftly interrupted before Phil could finish that thought. “Proper pissed Phil is a cheeky little shit, isn’t he?”

“No,” Phil answered around a yawn, “he’s a sleepy little shit. I kinda wanna just lay down right here on the pavement and take a nap...”

“Phil! You’re not sleeping on some random London street at two in the morning, you’ll get picked up by the Muggle police,” Dan laughed, shifting his phone to the other ear. “Go back inside and find Chris and PJ.”

“‘kay.”

“And make sure at least one of you sobers up a little before anyone tries to Apparate home,” Dan instructed. “I doubt you want to spend the rest of your birthday at St. Mungo’s because you splinched yourself and left an arm behind in the club or something.”

“Okay, okay, we’ll be careful,” Phil assured him as he opened the door to the club and the music suddenly blared into the phone again.

“Text me tomorrow whenever your hangover goes away,” Dan called over the noise.

Phil groaned in reply. “Ugh, don’t remind me of the consequences of my actions! It’s my birthday!”

Dan felt himself grinning like an idiot. “Happy birthday, you dork.”

[jenosweave]

college!kun

FINALLY A KUN REQUEST!! this is one of my favorites please enjoy and don’t let me flop!!

let’s start w the basics…

major: linguistics

minor: comparative literature

extracurriculars: book club

other: literally writing his own novel??

school life

kun is such a good student

he always does his work on time and tries to get ahead when he can

he’s a plug too

he'll even do his friends’ readings and summarize it for them if they have a particularly busy week

he doesn’t allow himself to be used though

he just loves and appreciates his friends so much and wants to help them be successful when there are things they cant control that can get in the way of that

kun really enjoys his studies

his required courses are really stimulating and keep him on his toes

he loves leaving class every day feeling like he’s one step closer to understanding where language comes from and why we communicate the way we do

kun’s passion for linguistics sprouted from his adoration of reading

he’s a member of every book he could find on campus

he firmly believes the more you read, the more perspectives you’re able to see, which in turn, makes you a generally more enlightened and compassionate person

kun loves reading and language so much that he decided to just write his own book over the summer for fun

he sent a “very rough draft” to a local publisher

just for experience

and to get him used to rejection in case he ever wants to seriously pursue a career in writing someday

but now he’s fucked because

they actually liked it??? so he kind of has a book deal now??

which he was not expecting at all

there were a lot of comments for him to address as he expected

and the first one he decided to deal with was the lack of a love interest for his protagonist

except there’s only one problem with that

he has no idea how to successfully write for a love interest

so he does what any normal young writer would do to get inspiration

and goes to the university’s monthly speed dating event in the quad

early stages

you had been “too single for too long,” according to your best friend

and the only way you could get them to shut up about it was if you attended one of the school’s speed dating nights

and you decided it was worth the trouble, and made your way to the quad to get this over with

you had exactly two and a half minutes with every person you’d “date”

and for the most part, those two and a half minutes couldn’t go by fast enough

after talking to other students who only cared about football, trucks, and battlestar galactica, you were about ready to up and go

but your second to last “date” changed your mind

his name was kun

“alright this is gonna go by quick, so i’m gonna take the reigns if you don’t mind,” he spoke

he was oddly productive

you nodded

“great!’ he smiled. “any hobbies?”

“well, i love to read an-”

“reading? me too! what genres are you into?”

a wide smile stretched across his smooth face and his pupils dilated noticeably UGH CUTIE

“i mean, i like fantasy, historical fiction, biographies, science fi-”

“no way! me too!” he interrupts. “i just like all books so much!! i’m writing my own actually!”

you thought that was mighty impressive and asked him what his book is about

and he told you he can’t disclose that information because of his publishing deal

and youre like,,,, wA i T.. PUBLISHER?? THAT’S SO COOL!!

and he goes, “thank you! maybe you’d like to come and read it sometime when it’s finished.”

you couldn’t help but blush and turn your head away

and that’s when you noticed you only had ten seconds left on the stopwatch

you hurriedly seized the pen the event organizers had left on the desk and grabbed kun by the wrist, taking him by surprise and causing a slight gasp to escape his lips

you messily scribbled your number onto his forearm

and as soon as you had finished writing your digits, the timer rang

as you both departed from the table, kun shouted at you from a distance “how am i supposed to read this chicken scratch?!”

you shot him a smile playfully and shouted back

“text me!”

you didn’t receive a text that night

or the night after

but the night after that, your phone dinged as soon as you hopped out of the shower

“hey! this is kun from the speed dating thing. i hope this is the right number. i’ve already texted three wrong people and have had to explain myself to each of them. it’s really embarrassing. please confirm if this is you!”

you sent him a simple “:)” in response

“so does that mean you’re down to get a coffee with me tomorrow?”

“:)”

the next morning, you had the first of many, many morning coffee breaks outside the school library

these quick little meetups usually concluded with a quick sift through the library, where you’d each recommend each other your favorite books and read the prologues to each other over a hot cup of coffee

at first, the librarians used to kick you out for having drinks inside, but now youre clever and just hide your cups under your jackets

this became a weekly occurrence

and then it started happening twice a week

and now you basically see kun every other day

he even managed to get you to join the biographical book club with him, something you’d be way too nervous to do before meeting him

kun was such a good guy

you knew he was smart and funny and you knew he was caring and fun to be around

but what you didn’t know is that he had been smitten with you from the second you scribbled your number onto his arm

one day, as you were studying for your last final of the semester, you got a call from kun

you sent him the automated response, “sorry, i cant talk right now”

but he called right back anyway

“what is it?” you answered

“i’m sorry if you’re studying but this is super important and im so excited and i just have to tell someone!”

“what’s up kun?”

“my book! it’s finished! and i finally added in the love interest like the publishers asked!”

“I’M SO PROUD OF YOU BITCH

“finish studying! then we can facetime and i can read you a chapter!”

and so for the next thirty nights (even over your winter break), you and kun would facetime so he could read you a chapter until the book was finished

and you’d give him pointers at the end of each one so he could go back and revise once you had gone to sleep

the plot was incredible, honestly

the protagonist was a divorced middle-aged man whose wife left him for being too aggressive and absent-minded all the time

in the divorce, the wife got full custody of their teenage son

but when she goes on a business trip, the protagonist gets to watch the son

however, when he goes to pick the son up to take him to his house, hes nowhere to be found

so the novel follows this poor guy trying to find his missing son

but no one seems to be listening to him, so hes losing his mind

he’s working alongside the police and falls for the dci leading the investigation

and basically in the end it turns out he’s schizophrenic and his wife and son never existed at all

all of this was in his imagination

and he had just been showing up to the police station every day like a crazy person

kun did so much research for that

he even got the accuracy of his portrayal of a schizophrenic checked by his pal psych major!jungwoo

on the night kun finally finished reading to you

you were sh0000000000000k like what the fuck all that trouble for it all to be fake?? genius kun!!

so he asked for your feedback on the development and personalities of all his characters

you complimented him on how well he portrayed the dci

they weren’t your typical love interest

they were headstrong and witty and educated

and they were determined to help the protagonist find his son when no one else was listening to him

“you like them?” he asked you

“yes! they were so different than i had expe-”

“i was hoping you’d like them. i was inspired by you.”

your heart BURST!!!

“KUN THAT’S SO SWEET!”

and that’s when he explained to you why he went to speed dating to begin with, and told you he was so glad to have met you

because you were the “perfect muse”

and then he asked if you’d like to be his s/o

and of course

you said yes bc duh?? he’s kun?? 

relationship

kun is the cutest bf ever!!!

nothing has really changed between you two

you still have library and car dates

but now you hold hands sometimes

and when kun is feeling extra bold, he gives you a peck on the cheek

you guys have such a cute and innocent relationship

you can often be seen together on the campus quad where you met for the first time, you in kuns arms, him tickling your stomach to make you giggle

he’s so sweet and is so considerate of your needs

out of all the boys, he’s hands down the one most likely to change for you if you guys hit a rough patch

he always pays for food

which kind of ticks you off because what if one day he goes broke

but all he really cares about is your happiness and satisfaction

and he really just wants you to know that no one loves you quite like he does

and he tells you every day how grateful he is to have you in his life

[fen-ha-fuck-you]

the 100 ask game

hi i was tagged by approximately a million of you for various things in the past few weeks, so forgive me if i missed you, but I believe this one included: @little-oxford-st — @yourereallyhere — @foreverandalwayscrysis — @clarkgriffon — @mamabearsdontthink 

and i’m putting the rest of this under a cut bc she’s thicc ladies

1. What station on the Ark would you be from?

honestly, probably alpha tbh

2. What would you get arrested for on the Ark?

treason. i don’t know specifics, but it would absolutely be treason

3. Would you take off your wristband when you landed on the ground?

nah

4. What would the necklace Finn would make for you look like? (Clarke: deer/Raven: a raven duh..)

bold of you to assume i’d let that boy so much as speak my name

5. If you could resurrect any MINOR character who would it be?

gina martin, may she rest in peace

6. Create a squad of 5 characters to go on missions with. Who are they?

clarke and bellamy, clearly, and also lincoln, diyoza, and roan. i call it Competence Squad™

7. What Grounder Clan would you belong to?

get grounder culture 31596026746 feet away from me. skaikru.

8. What would your name be in Trigedasleng? (example: Octavia=Okteivia…just make it up!)

Abi 

9. Thoughts on Finn? Some people hate him, and others love him, so I’m curious

from a writing perspective? fascinating character and arc  from a personal perspective? boy can choke 

10. Be honest. How willing would you have been to take the chip without knowing all the horrible things it does?

absolutely not, nope

11. What character do you relate to most?

clarke 100%

12. What character do you like the least?

currently? echo. the one thing I like less than a complete asshat of a character is one with absolutely zero development, and there she is, right there. don’t @ me

13. Describe your delinquent outfit. (Would you wear something like Murphy’s jacket with the spikey red shoulder patch or have a trademark like Jasper’s goggles? Be creative, yet practical)

clarke’s s3 fetish gear but like............... more leather

14. Favorite type of mutant animal?

i have a soft spot for the worms, idk why. i love their useless non-existent asses

15. What would your job be on the Ark?

i’d probably be doing some high-level organizational work or some shit. i’m good with patterns and recall

16. Would you have willingly pumped Ontari’s heart if Abby asked?

without hesitation

17. If Lexa wasn’t Heda, but she was still alive then who would have made the best commander?

let’s make it a democracy babey

18. How would you act if you ate the hallucinogenic nuts like Jasper and Monty?

i have no goddamn clue

19. How would you have dealt with Charlotte’s crime? A more John Murphy approach or Bellamy Blake approach?

neither. clarke griffin approach. protect the kid, but give her some tough love because holy shit, you can’t just kill people charlotte

20. Who should have been the Chancellor, if anyone?

clarke was basically the chancellor anyway and saved their asses more than any of the other “chancellors” so i’m gonna go with clarke

21. Would you have been on Pike’s side like Bellamy or on Kane’s side? Or Clarke in Polis?

kane’s

22. Mount Weather had a lot of modern commodities. (example: Maya’s Ipod) What is the one thing you would snatch while there?

gimme the tunes

23. What would your Grounder tattoos look like? Hairstyle? War paint?

a nice mix of geometric patterns and flow-y nature. undercut. classic american football shit

24. Favorite quote?

"You won’t do it.” / “You don’t know me very well.”

25. If all of the characters were in the Hunger Games, who would have the best shot at winning?

i keep answering clarke, and i’m gonna keep answering clarke. girl fights smart and dirty, and uses her surroundings to her advantage. plus she’s highly adaptable

26. Least favorite ship? Favorite canon ship? Favorite non canon ship? NOT INCLUDING CL OR BC OR BE

i’ll say BE is my least favorite ship if i damn well feel like it, and i do. very closely followed by CL. for writing reasons, specifically and bellarke might as well be canon already so i’m gonna say that for both of the other ones

27. A song that should be included in the next season? If there had to be another guest star like Shawn Mendes on the show, who would you want to make a cameo?

no more cameos.............. blease, i’m begging................................ but i’m gonna go with season 6 because i have a whole playlist for it and say The Devil Within by Digital Daggers

28. What would you do if you were stuck in the bunker with Murphy for all that time?

jam out and snark until we inevitably killed each other probably

29. You’re an extra that gets killed off. How do you die?

just let clarke kill me in a really hot way

30. A character you’d like to learn more about and get flashbacks of?

where the fuck is harper’s backstory jroth

31. A character you’d bang?

i would be in the middle of a blarke sandwich, thanks. the dream. alternatively, a roan/diyoza sandwich. the forbidden ship

32. Would you stay in the Bunker? Go up to Space? Or live on your own in Eden?

would i rather eat people, only algae, or a whole variety of fresh fruits and vegetables? are you joking?

33. In the Bunker, would you follow Octavia? What would you do to pass the time underground?

yeah, hard pass. i’d sure as hell train though holy fuck

34. What crime would you commit in the Bunker that lands you in the fighting pits?

again, treason. 

35. Up in Space, who would you bond with first? Who would be the most difficult for you to get along with?

i’d probably bond with murphy and clarke first. i probably wouldn’t get along with jasper much

36. How long do you think you would last on Earth by yourself?

i’d be fine with the solitary element for a good chunk of time, it’s the outside survival part that’d be the problem

37. When the Eligius ship lands what do you do?

recon that shit

38. Favorite Eligius character? Least favorite?

DIYOZA. mccreary.

39. Would you Spacewalk?

fuck no space scares the shit out of me

40. Would you prefer to eat Windshield Bugs, Space Algae, or Bunker Meat?

... bugs. but people are a close second.

41. Would you start a war for the last spot of green on earth? What would your solution be to avoid it?

no??? a peaceful solution was right there. it wouldn’t be difficult. as long as i didn’t have a group of people staging a coup to remove the person i made a deal with and also someone who didn’t give a flying fuck about anything but war at the time. *cough*

42. Would you rather dig out flesh-eating worms or stick thumb drives into bullet holes?

i’d rather try to save someone’s life than cause so much damage to someone’s injury that it kills them, if that’s what you’re asking. 

43. Are you willing to poison your sister for the Traitor Who You Love? What would you do to stop Octavia?

LMAO, i’d probably just straight up kill her, but i also don’t have a bellamy to be in love with, nor is she my sister

44. Would you go to sleep in cryo or stay awake like Marper?

cryo, fuck that shit

45. Who are you waking up first to explore the new planet?

clarke, bellamy, diyoza. everyone else is window dressing

[snarky-sims-witch]

Ask Pileup

It’s finally here! The asks that have been collecting dust in my inbox! Doing them in one post just because it would be hella spammy if I did them all individually.

Don’t see your question here? It’s probably because it’s a 100BC ask that I’ve either answered before or is already clarified in the rules.

@simvanglade:  I love your sims medieval posts! I've never put that much effort into it before but you make me want to!

Aw thank you! I assume you mean the ones I was posting in the Sims Community Facebook group? I don’t think I’ve posted a lot of Sims Medieval to my tumblr, but I’m super happy you love them so much! I’ve wanted to do a Sims Medieval story for a long time on this simblr. Remind me when I finish one of my current stories. ;)

@consultingpolymath:  I have a question about the 100 baby challenge!! When my matriarch is an elder and ready to move out, is it ok at that point to make her immortal, or is it still against the rules? Even if she's not in the house anymore, I wish she could live to see some of her grandchildren, instead of just dying of old age after a week.

So I don’t typically answer a lot of 100BC questions anymore but this is kind of an interesting question that I don’t actually think I ever thought to address??? Yeah, it’s fine. You can basically do whatever you want with moved out kids and elderly matriarchs as long as it doesn’t break any rules that would in any way affect your active household. Moved out kids and matriarchs aren’t technically part of the challenge anymore.

@darkgrungemusic:  Hiya I just saw your answer to the ask of your text color on your blog and I wanted to let you know on Mod the Sims there's a mod to change the load screen and the main menu so its like normal, and there's one that lets you pick the colors instead. Just letting you know in case you didn't. Love you and your blog! Have an amazing day!

Thank you so much! I’m so happy you love my blog! I knew about the mod but since I knew a darker load screen was coming soon, anyway, I didn’t really want to bother with another mod that I’d just end up uninstalling again in a couple weeks, anyway. I appreciate the help, though!

@hotcocomash:  [i swear this isnt a 100baby ask] I found you from the buzzfeed 100 baby videos and got hooked on your not so berry story! ive kinda been reading it backwards cause of how mobile works but im still loving it. when i have time im gonna sit down and read everything chronologically. thank you for making so much interesting and fun content!

Lol I don’t actually mind answering 100BC asks. I just don’t like repeating myself. I’m so happy you found me through Buzzfeed (which is kind of surreal, wow) and I’m even happier you like my Not So Berry Challenge so much! I hope to get back to the Sweet family soon! They’re lots of fun.

@tekimimotaku: So I've only just found you. By looking up the only challenge I knew: the 100 Baby Challenge. But I'm looking through your blog and I'm captivated by the other challenges so far. Some aren't to my taste, but I can still appreciate the thought put into them and that others will enjoy them. Had I not already made my matriarch, I'd say F it and do a different challenge of yours. I can't wait til I'm done with this one so that I can start on the others! I wish I could think things through like that!

Aw thanks so much! I hope you’re having fun with the 100BC and it’s totally fine that not all my challenges appeal to you. :) I try to create different challenges that appeal to a wide variety of players so for most people, some of my challenges won’t be all that fun for them, but there could be others that they love so much, they just want to play over and over. That’s always sort of my intention when making a new challenge; trying to engage a different group of Simmers.

@mmfinch: I know that you're completely tired of the 100 baby challenge questions. I went back and read your Midford series as an apology of sorts and thoroughly enjoyed it. Your creativity in storytelling is amazing. I read through all the Q&A but this hasn't been asked. Is show hidden objects allowed to get a birth certificate for non hospital births? The have baby option was clicked by accident and couldn't be cancelled. Show hidden objects is a cheat, but the object is decoration only.

I’m so happy you love The Midford Legacy! As for your 100BC question, there are definitely a LOT of objects in the debug menu that I would consider cheating and not allowed, but the decorative birth certificate isn’t one of those things. Go ahead and buy it if you like. :)

@bipolarrrbearrr: Hey! I know you’re not super into this page right now, but I’ve been keeping up with your not so berry story and I love it. I haven’t been able to go past peppermint because I’m on safari and can’t get the app right now. I wish you could have streamed or recorded it because that would have made the story so much better! You’re awesome 😎

I have kind of a personal loathing for the YouTube/Twitch scene for... many, many reasons, some of them valid and some of them petty, lol, so I don’t think I’ll ever take up YouTubing again. I like the written word too much and the freedom of being able to stage my shots, but I appreciate the sentiment! I hope you get to read the rest of the challenge soon!

@sim-sizzlin: I did originally follow you cause you are the 100 baby (and many other cool challenges) OP writer, but it's really cool to see an active simblr making sims medieval posts it makes me want to reinstall my old copy it was YEARS AND YEARS ago ty

Aw, thank you! Yeah my Sims Medieval content is surprisingly popular. I think I need to make one of my next storytelling projects a Sims Medieval one. Thanks so much for the feedback!

@yennibelle: Hello there, I have an inquire about your unnatural genetics for children and toddlers in the sims 4. I just re-downloaded it, due to this months patch and was wondering if you have added Island Living hairs? Or did I miss them? And if you have not, will you? Either way, I appreciate your mod/CC :)

Hi there! I’m so sorry, but I haven’t updated the hair for Island Living, yet! All my files and palettes I used for those hairs is on my old laptop and I haven’t gotten around to transferring everything I need onto my new one, yet, but thank you for reminding me that’s something I need to do. :) In the meantime, all the hair should still work fine in your game. You just won’t have funky varieties of the IL hair (yet). I’ll be sure to post when I take this on but it may not be for a while, yet.

[madiletio]

Paper Cranes | Clouis Summary: Louis had never been much of writer, but for her?  He’d write her a thousand paper cranes. !!Major character death is implied

Writing love letters had never really been his strongest forte. Hell, he'd pick speaking his mind over writing a simple love letter if he could. But beggars couldn't be choosers and he had to adjust to his reality.

Truth be told, he was adjusting pretty well. His handwriting seemed to get neater as the days went on and if it meant Clem got to know that she was appreciated and loved? He’d write her one everyday- just in case she suddenly forgets.

They had started out simple too, nothing crazy or beyond cheezy. Small notes of torn parchment containing singular sentences of “You look pretty today.” or “Your smile is infectious.”

Basic cringey shit like that.

Yet as the months dragged on and as the seasons changed, so did their relationship. They became closer and bonded more; they were past the fragileness that every new relationship held- especially in an apocalypse.

But now more than ever, they were a stronger and better team.

As Clem got stronger with her crutches, the notes started to become longer and more filled out too. Often ending with some sort of rambling or heart felt joke.

In the warmer seasons, he would often fold the letters up to take shape of a paper crane, before tossing them to her when she emerged from the dorms. And despite still waking up from her slumber, she never missed catching the letter.

Late fall was starting to take a toll on everyone. Rations were getting scarce with each passing day and most of the forest creatures had hidden away to hibernate.

In his letters he often expressed how he wished people could also hibernate and if not people, then walkers. It would take the edge off of them at least. Clem would often give him a sympathetic smile, understanding clear in her honey brown eyes.

Aj had started to grow taller and stronger too. Often being the first to jump up and volunteer to go beyond the safety of the schools iron gates to hunt or to fish, with sometimes the occasion of Clem tagging along- if it was just beyond in the gates.

It never ceased to amaze him how badass Clem was, and even if she couldn’t see it, everyone else certainly did. Some nights, when he couldn’t sleep however, he’d spend his nights in the music room.

After he lost his tongue, the first few weeks back at Ericson had been brutal. Nightmares often plagued his dreams, the phantom pain feeling so real. The only thing that seemed to ease his racing heartbeat and anxiety, was his piano.

He knew the notes like the back of his hand. Every key, every placement- every scale. It brought him a comfort he couldn’t properly describe. He didn’t have to worry about what he was going to write. Didn’t have to worry about his spelling or making sure what he hate written had made sense. It was just him and his piano and even though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, that was one of the first few things that helped him cope from the trauma.

Clem had her own ways of coping too.

Once she had been given her crutches, she was always on the go, trying to busy herself whenever she could. At first, it wasn’t noticeable. Everyone was busy after the delta raid.

But time goes on and life moves on and Clem needed to do that too.

So some nights he’d find her waiting for him at the piano. They would just sit there, playing the keys in the looming silence of the halls, no words, no letters, needing to be spoken or written.  

Just the two of them and the old falling apart piano.

-

It had taken a few months and lots of trials and errors, but eventually Willy and Aj (with the occasional help from Aasim) had finally succeeded in making Clem a prosthetic. It was far from perfect, and there was lots of room for improvement. But with the resources and the shit they knew? They did a pretty alright job.

That didn’t ease the anxiety he felt when she first started to go back out on scouting missions. Of course, she would always come back safe and sound, but just for extra measure, he’d write her a note.

Winter had been a brutal season for everyone. Ruby had come down with a shocking fever and some were starting to develop coughs of their own. Louis was one of them.

He knew that Clem and Aj had volunteered to go on a supply run, and as much as he protested, they didn’t have much of an option. So instead, he stayed up and wrote her a letter.

Only this time it wasn’t just a simple letter. She had to know that he loved her, and that she better come back alive. He had sighed it and crawled into his covers, the sweet embrace of sleep taking over him.

The sound of the iron gates scraping opening startled him awake. Light bled into his room and immediately he felt his heart jump into his throat.

He had slept in and missed her. By a long shot.

Muffled voices came from outside and what he could only make out to be screaming? Or was it crying? His head was so fucking muffled. He crawled out from the covers and threw on his coat, disregarding anything else.

He wished he hadn’t stepped outside.

There stood a shaken Aj, tear stains marking his small checks and already drying blood soaking in the material of his clothes. And in his hands? Was Clem’s hat.

His world slowed down completely. He could only focus on the hat.

“Louis..” Violet mumbled, reaching out to grab him.

Everything looked so blurry and overwhelming and he couldn’t stop looking at that damn fucking hat.

He had gone over this scenario multiple times in his head. Played out every worse case scenario that could happen to her. He had been through this shit way to many times before.

It wasn’t supposed to happen to her.

He felt a small weight tug on hips and finally he broke his gaze away from the hat and onto a glassy eyed Aj who looked like he had just lost his entire world.

Maybe he had.

-

Grief was a strange concept to him. They had built her grave, said their final goodbyes. Aj found comfort with the rest of them, and even though the small boy was very much still hurting, he was also showing signs of healing.

So why didn’t he feel like he was healing?

Guilt would often eat away at him, when he was alone. He had never been one to believe in superstitions and it was completely stupid of him to even consider it being the reason she got bit. But he couldn't help but feel like if he hadn’t slept in that morning, if he had given her that fucking letter, she’d still be here.

He hated nights like those.

The nightmares returned and so did the nightly visits to the piano room. Only this time instead of playing the instrument, he sat there on the dusty piano bench and cried until he no longer could.

Until the exhaustion from crying would eventually take over his body.

Aj would sometimes come into the room too, long after he broke down. They would just sit there, just like Clem and him had done months ago, and they would play nonsense. Melodies that felt half hearted, keys and notes that didn’t merge well together. All of It helped, for a little bit at least.

Aj was slowly beginning to smile again, even if it was for half a second. Half a second was better than nothing.

He hoped, in time, he’d be able to smile for that half of a second too.

-

Louis had never been much of a writer.

If he needed or had to, he would. But he never really had the desire to keep a journal like Aasim, or draw his thoughts down just like Tenn used to.

Then she happened and everything felt like it was going to be okay for once in this God forsaken nightmare but just like anything else, nothing good ever lasts forever and now she was gone six feet under and he couldn’t deal with it.

It wasn’t supposed to happen to her.

He pulled out the blank piece of parchment, careful not knock over the candle as he set it down on the desk. After all, last thing everyone needed was another fire.

Not Clem.

His wasn’t much of a writer but he needed to do this- for his own sake. He was remaining strong for everyone around him, but mainly putting on a brave face for Aj. The little shit was in their care now after all.

So he sat down and wrote until he physically couldn’t anymore. Until the tears that threatened to fall blinded him.

“Darling,

I know you would want us to continue on, even though you are no longer here. That’s the funny thing about all of this don’t you think? We’ve all grown up surrounded by death and yet it never really gets any easier does it? I think… I think my mind is still in some stage of denial. It’s been months and I still half expect to see you standing there, laughing or talking with someone when I enter a new room. Or to find you teaching Aj about something positive about this shithole of a world.

You’d be so proud of the little man he’s becoming Clem. I know we all are.

The piano has started to go out of tune again- I blame the weather. I would tune it but..truth be told part of me doesn't want to, as silly as that sounds.

How did it get to this point Clem? You got us back home, you came back home. You gave us. Gave me-”

Droplets fell onto the paper and when the few tears fell, he couldn’t stop the rest from falling. Everything that had been eating away at him for months on end was slowly beginning to dissipate away.

He couldn’t continue the letter. He didn’t even bother to read over it. Instead, he folded it up in a crane shape, just like all the others and placed it on his bookshelf.

For the first time in months, he was starting to feel again. There was no guarantee he was going to start feeling better soon, but he was healing. Slowly.

No amount of words on paper would ever be enough to describe all he felt about her and about her life. And even though she was gone, he could still feel her presence in the little things. Like the sun shining through the window, or when a patch of wildflowers completely bloomed in the spring. That was how he- no everyone was going to remember her.

And for as long as he was on this earth, he was going to fight like hell to survive, just like she had done.

He wasn’t going to let her down.

[worlds-shortest-astronaut]

Ateez Pirate Headcanons

Because I love adding my two cents. Also they have Powers. Also also I’m writing this fic lmao

Hongjoong

Captain, obviously - a firm leader. He always has a plan up his sleeve (though Seonghwa hates 93% of them). He would die for his crew (and almost has, several times, as Seonghwa never lets him forget)

No powers

Is the shortest of the crew - a fact which they never left him forget

Has too-long hair which, for an unknown reason, is an ashy blonde

Is usually calm and steady but tends to shout when he loses his temper

Wears a red cropped jacket - this originally belonged to his father and was too big for him but Seonghwa altered it to fit him and embroidered the Twilight’s emblem, a silver eight-pointed star, onto it

Was voted Captain of the Twilight after his dad was killed in a skirmish with the British Navy

 Lost part of his left ear to the British navy (though he can still hear fine). Seonghwa often feels guilty that he couldn’t Heal it properly but Hongjoong doesn’t mind.

Has a large scar on the left side of his abdomen, over his ribs, from a fight with the British 

Joined the Twilight when he was 16 after his mum died 

The Twilight used to be a legitimate merchant vessel but turned to piracy after being raided by corrupt Korean navy officials

Can speak and read English besides his native Korean

Plays piano, especially when he’s upset about something. Occasionally tries to use it to woo Seonghwa (it works).

Weapons - two flintlock pistols (he’s the best shot of the crew)

Seonghwa

Quartermaster (equivalent of First Mate, Hongjoong’s right hand) and Ship’s Doctor

Power - Healing

Rarely gets angry but, when he does, he tends to get quiet and vicious

Because of his Healing Power and his intelligence, he was something of a prodigy and went to medical school early. He was also selected to go abroad to England to complete his training where he joined the British Navy as a Surgeon.

Seonghwa became disillusioned with military life after seeing his crew massacre the indigenous people of an island. The Twlight was caught in the fray and the crew was captured.

Seonghwa helped Hongjoong and the surviving crew escape and recapture the ship.  Hongjoong, always merciful, allowed Seonghwa to stay.    

His family is murdered by the British Captain he once served under

Speaks English

Teaches Wooyoung and Jongho to read along with San

Is very close to Hongjoong as well as Yeosang. 

Has black hair

Sings

Everyone knows he and Hongjoong are in love and are exasperated by how long it takes them to realise it

Eventually becomes Quartermaster after Mingi resigns from the position

Weapons - Hates fighting but is the best with a dagger – he won’t tell any of the crew where or how he learned to fight (only Hongjoong knows) but he carries an intricately-carved dirk (also from John) and a simple dagger, sometimes fighting with both simultaneously.

Yunho

Ship’s carpenter - Loves the Twilight to pieces and is constantly in despair at the number of repairs he has to complete

No powers

Talks to the dragon’s head on the Twilight’s bow

 A genius engineer – he’s always coming up with ways to improve the ship and make it run more efficiently (Yeosang complains that Yunho’s inventions will kill them but Hongjoong is always delighted by them)

Jongho and Wooyoung help Yunho with his inventions and carpentry. Jongho is interested in learning how to a good carpenter and Wooyoung just enjoys testing out Yunho’s crazy ideas.

Also doubles as a gunner – he and Mingi work terrifyingly well together

Everybody’s favourite (gives the best hugs) (always positive and hopeful)

Surprisingly light on his feet.

Has been friends with Mingi since they were children - he and Mingi had to leave their town after running into trouble with a local gang. Several gang members had been threatening Yunho’s father, a blacksmith, and Yunho had fought them off with an anvil from the forge, nearly killing one of them. 

Has brown hair 

Weapons: Yunho is an all-rounder when it comes to weapons and fighting. For close combat, he uses an axe and a buckler (shield). He can also use a cutlass. He helps Mingi with the cannons - he can prepare a cannon as fast as a Master Gunner though his aim is not as fine. .

Yeosang

Helmsman - undoubtedly the steadiest and most level-headed of the crew, Yeosang is an obvious choice for helmsman

Power - Weather Manipulation. He’s actually extremely powerful but he downplays his Power (he mostly uses it to predict the weather)

Has been at sea the longest - comes from a long line of mercenaries but ran away from his family at fifteen. Worked his way up from cabin boy to Helmsman on Bang Si-hyuk’s ship the Danger. Left that crew when he was eighteen after half of his crew was killed - they were betrayed to the navy by another crew member

Missing his left eye - wears an eye-patch or a glass eye

Joined the Twilight before Hongjoong became Captain.  They were both young so they stuck together. They tend to butt heads because they’ve known each other for a long time and understand each other well.

Knows Wooyoung from his days on the Danger - feels guilty for leaving Wooyoung to fend for himself after leaving Bang’s gang (Wooyoung eventually forgives him)

Can speak Mandarin

Could have been a navigator if he’d had the patience to read maps – Yeosang relies almost entirely on the stars, the weather and his compass to navigate but finds maps frustrating (they’re not realistic, San, the sea and the land don’t actually look like that)

Has dark brown hair and a birthmark next to his left eye

Weapons: Highly skilled fighter thanks to his family but hates fighting - probably the best shot after Hongjoong and was once very good at hand-to-hand combat. Now, he only uses a wooden staff because it allows him to control whether he maims or kills a person.  

San

Navigator - a genius Navigator who can use both the stars and maps. He draws his own maps and has memorised hundreds of sailing routes. He’s also brilliant at improvising a route when the Twilight is in need of a quick, creative getaway. 

Powers - apparently none (suspicious music)

When the Twilight is not being chased by multiple navies and other pirate crews he begs Hongjoong to let them make pit-stops at new islands and ports so that he can improve his maps. Keeps a rutter/navigational books where he writes down his routes/observations. 

Works closely with Yeosang – Yeosang has been a pirate for much longer and often reviews his maps, pointing out errors or helping him fill in missing details.

Comes from an aristocratic family (the only son) but ran away from home after his father beat him and tried to force him to take the yangban exams.

He was captures by slavers and sold to a merchant who recognised his talent for navigating and his skill with languages. But the merchant died and he was sold to a cruel mapmaker.

Was rescued by Hongjoong and Yeosang. 

Has dark brown hair with a bright green streak which he dyed himself (to piss off his father). Helps Wooyoung dye his hair purple, cementing their friendship    

 Is fluent in Korean, English and Japanese and is learning Mandarin (Yeosang teaches him). Consequently, he frequently acts as interpreter/translator for the crew. He can also read Latin.

His gift for languages and his aristocratic upbringing make him useful on diplomatic missions 

He and Wooyoung hated each other at first (Wooyoung thought San was a mean, spoiled snob and San thought Wooyoung was rude, uneducated and annoying) but they eventually became very close. Now, they’re basically inseparable   Everyone’s pretty sure there’s something going on between Wooyoung and San but nobody ever talks about it. 

Also close to Yunho and Yeosang.

Sings – San, Jongho and Seonghwa tend to sing throughout the day. Plays the flute (sogeum)

Weapons: The crew’s best swordsman – coming from aristocracy, San was taught swordsmanship from a young age. Tends to fight with two scimitars but recently acquired a katana.  Is learning hand-to-hand combat from Wooyoung

Mingi

Master Gunner - Mingi’s talent lies in blowing things up – he makes his own gunpowder, grenades and other bombs.

Between Mingi and Yunho, Seonghwa is certain that they’re all going to die because of an invention or experiment gone wrong.

San likes to help Mingi with his experiments.

Very close to Yunho - they grew up together and he insisted on leaving town with Yunho after the Carpenter ran into trouble with the local gang. Yunho tried to stop him from leaving but Mingi can be extremely stubborn when he wants to be.

Also very close to Hongjoong

Was originally Quartermaster but resigned from the position after recognizing that Seonghwa was needed in the role.

Has dark brown hair but San helped him dye some parts of it a bright, dark blue.

Is usually kind of quiet but is also very affectionate. Gets noisy around Yunho.

Is absolutely terrified of heights and refuses to go up into the rigging despite Wooyoung’s coaxing.

Playes the janggu (a traditional Korean drum)

Weapons: Cannons – Mingi can set up a cannon in the blink of an eye and is famous for his aim.  Many consider him the greatest gunner of their generation. He can also construct a bomb from just about anything. He learned a lot from Yunho’s dad, who was a blacksmith, and taught himself some pretty interesting chemistry to make his own explosives/gunpowder. Uses a Cutlass  for close combat

Wooyoung

Rigger - the quickest of the crew and ridiculously light on his feet, an excellent climber and acrobat, definitely crazy, enjoys giving the rest of the crew (especially San and Yunho) heart attacks with his recklessness

Powers - Invisibility (I have SUCH good reasons for this - it’s a really dynamic Power and it thus in keeping with Wooyoung’s high energy levels, I think it goes well with his ability to switch between stage and off-stage personas, it also seems kind of contradictory which is the POINT - i wanted Wooyoung to have a Power that lets him hide when needs a break from the world)

Was an orphan and a street hat - was picked up by Bang’s gang at a very young age and learned how to fight, pick pockets and, later, was part of the Danger’s crew

Is learning how to read from San and Seonghwa, though San is initially very impatient with him and they kept bicering.

 Fell from the rigging during a battle after being shot in the back and nearly died (he was unconscious for five days but San never left his side).  Is mostly recovered but his back still hurts occasionally.

Has purple hair thanks to San

Initially hated San but now they’re inseparable

Close to Yeosang because of their days on the Danger

Also close to Jongho

Weapons: The best at hand-to-hand combat thanks to his time on the street. He’s also extremely scrappy in a fight and tends to use anything within his reach.  Learning to use a sword from San

Jongho

Able-Bodied Sailor and youngest of the crew

Powers: Super Strength

Lost his parents to a flu epidemic and left his extended family for the circus. His strength was exploited and he eventually ran away from the circus and was picked up by Hongjoong’s father

Everybody has adopted him as their own and each crew member teaches him something different

Hates lessons, particularly maths, but Hongjoong forces him to take lessons with San and Seonghwa (they teach him how to read and write both Korean and English)

Loves learning carpentry from Yunho

Learns how to read the weather from Yeosang

Learns how to prep a cannon from Mingi

Learns hand-to-hand combat from Wooyoung

Basically, he’s going to be the most well-rounded member of the crew because a) he’s good at pretty much everything and b) everyone has adopted him

Has dark brown hair

Initially seems quiet but is actually the craziest of them all

Close to Wooyoung 

Likes to tease Mingi

Sings

Weapon: Curved cutlass – he’s left-handed but can fight with both hands which he uses to his advantage. He’s also the strongest of the crew and is rapidly improving at hand-to-hand combat thanks to Wooyoung’s training. Probably going to be an good well-rounded fighter like Yunho.

[mangled-dreams]

Reader goes on tour with Mark, Sean, Bob, Wade, Ethan and Tyler, and ends up taking a bullet in the stomach for Sean? How do they all react to reader being hospitalized, or reader dying in their arms?

I went out of order for this one because I didn’t want the idea I had in my head disappear. So without further waiting:

Killing Shot

You’ve been psyched up for the past three months in preparation for the tour and now that your actually on it, nothing else compares. Sean and Mark have done their own shows either solo or with friends and this time is no different. Improv, a few rehearsed sketches, singing, dancing—the show has it all! Not to mention you get to be apart of it!

“I’m so pumped!!” You hear Ethan cheer from across the stage. Right now everyone is getting ready with costume/wardrobe fittings. Hiding your smile behind your hand you turn to Mark again adjusting the sleeves some.

“How does that feel?” You ask stepping back from Mark to let him move freely.

He does a few of his favorite dance moves nodding his head. “It’s good. I’m glad you could come with us.” Mark says super happy to have your skill set and comedy talent on the tour.

Taking thread and needle you do a quick few stitches to secure your adjustments and remove the pins. “Glad to be of service.” You laugh then tell Mark to go change and give you the clothes when done. Sean walks over for his last minute fitting once Mark is gone. “Any areas that feel to loose or not loose enough?” You ask beaming at your handsome beau.

Sean indicates it feels a little loose on the inside seam of his pant on the right side and you concur. Taking your dress maker pins and a fabric pen you secure and dot where you need to sew together. You would normally use your needle and thread but it’s a sensitive area and quite a large spans of fabric you’d have to thread. Standing you ask Sean to move and bend his legs. “Are you getting the pins? I’ll be taking in the fabric quite a bit but is that comfortable?”

Sean does as you ask giving thumbs up in approval. You nod and remove the pins from his pants. “Can we take in the jacket too?” Sean asks looking down at you. He likes this angle.

“Focus on the important things Sean.” Your grouse playfully.

“Oh believe me, I am.” He teases back liking the flush of heat to your face. Standing again you look at the jacket and agree again it does need to come in some.

“Shit! Y/n, wardrobe SOS!” Ethan calls from the other side. Twisting you see Wade and Bob have crashed and Wade’s coat is missing a sleeve.

Gasping you rush over with Sean. “Are you okay?” You ask Wade. He’s on his feet again and looking quite embarrassed but tells you he’s okay.

“Bob?”

“I’m good. We were trying something new for the show tonight but, it didn’t work.” Wade replies rubbing his back and head. You sigh and look at their costumes. You don’t see anything to terrible to fix, but most importantly there’s no blood anywhere.

“Can you salvage the coat?” Wade asks holding up the sleeve now complete detached from the rest of the coat. You take it and look at the seam. It appears okay and simple enough to fix.

“Yeah, I should be able to make it good as new.” You say confident in the fix. “Bob any damage to report?” You ask looking Bob over again.

Spinning Bob tells you no and you feel a small amount of relief. Taking Wade’s jacket you tell everyone to take it easy and go back to adjusting Sean’s jacket. Sean gives you words of encouragement to which you are regateful for, but it’s more than just the costumes that have you stressed; Sean insisted that you accompany them on stage tonight. You’ve helped with props and other little things while the show is going on, but being a star in it frightens you.

In your sewing room once everything is done and you’ve collected the costumes you set to work sewing. You feel euphoria when you sew. Its your life’s purpose and it’s so fulfilling to you. You’ve made so many costumes for yourself and others I’ve the years you can just abou eye ball a person and know their measurements.

Of course that’s how you met the gang. You’d been cosplaying at a convention when you been stopped by Mark and Bob. They really liked all your detail and craftsmanship. You’d managed to get them o take your card and basically the rest is history. You’d made the costumes for a lot of Mark’s Darkiplier and Wilford videos, a few personal costumes for both Wade and Ethan. It was during a shoot for a Darkiplier vid that you met Sean and there’s been instant chemistry.

Looking back on all you’ve done it feel amazing and surreal, as if all a dream. Today will be the third city and ninth show. You're nearly two months into the six month tour and you've been apart eight show so far as a backstage hand, now you'll have at least one show under your belt as being a participant.

“Hey, how's going in here?” Tyler asks coming to check on your slave shop. Taking your foot of the petal of your sewing machine you look up with a smile.

“Doing fine. How's practice going?” You ask clipping the small bit of threat still attached to the machine and shake out the coat.

“It's going well. Sean asked me to check on you.” He says twisting a free standing chair around and sits down facing you, his arms and chin resting on the back of the chair. “Is that Wade's?”

Nodding you show it to Tyler. “I didn't loose any length of the arm, which is a blessing.” Tyler nods quite impressed at your skill despite his lack of facial reaction. You know Tyler well enough to pick up on his micro facial features. “I have just about everyone's costumes ready for the show,”

“Including yours?” Tyler asks quickly. You look away from him with a little bit of guilt. “That's what we thought. You can tell us you don't want to do this.” Tyler tells you meaning it. You already know he's right, but you don't want to let Sean or anyone else down.

“I promised you guys I'd try more new things.”

“Within your comfort zone.” Tyler shots back instantly. “We don't want you to feel forced into this. It's supposed to be fun for everyone.” He adds his features softening.

“I know, Tyler, but I—I want to try this.” You say folding Wade's jacket, setting it down before taking up your outfit and look it over. It's already tailored for you, it'd been the prototype so it looks a little different from the rest, but each outfit reflect the wearer.

Tyler watches you for a few minutes then ask you, “How much do you like Sean?”

“Is this a trick question?” You ask. It's very well known how much you “like” Sean. It's been known since before you met him face to face. “It's pretty well known my feeling about him, I am dating him. I don't see a point in a closed partnership if there isn't at least some kind of romantic feeling.” You explain fixing a patch on the shoulder of your jacket.

“No trick. You've been dating what? Four years now?”

“Ugh, you're starting to sound like my mother.” You groan rolling your eyes at Tyler. “She's always asking, “When are you and Sean going to get married? I won't be young forever.” It gets real old real fast.” You mimic your mother tone to the best of your ability.

“Don't you want to get married?” Tyler asks a little shocked at your response.

You shrug. “Sure, eventually. Sean's at the peak of his career. He's happy with the way things are. If he wants more than what we have now I'll take that path with him. There are people expecting us to tie the knot, but I don't want him to feel tied down.” You explain calmly. You've seen how badly relationships can end if two people rush into marriage, especially with celebrities.

“Do you think he'd cheat on you?” Tyler asks getting the hidden meaning behind your words.

Do you? Yes, part of you always worries that your partner—despite who they are will cheat. It's common culture now to have at least one or two relationships end in unfaithfulness. “Yes, but I'd rather avoid that heartache if it's in the cards. If I'm no longer what he wants, even if he's what I want, I'd rather part on good terms than in a ball of flame and hatred. I love this life I have, with and without him. I don't want to feel like regret when thinking upon these days.”

You miss the former green hair Irishman standing just on the other side of the door. He'd come down to check on you when Tyler didn't come back to the stage to finish up. He'd heard Tyler ask about marriage and curiosity got the better of him. It hurts that you expect him to be tempted into cheating, but the more he listens he understands you're being logical about it.

"What about kids and stuff?"

"Animals are good for now. I mean look at us right now.  We're on tour for six months visiting at over twenty cities, what about this says kid friendly?" You laugh smiling cheerfully at Tyler. "Kids would be nice, but I've imagined using whatever wealth I accumulate to take in older kids in the foster system." You add winking. You'd imagined growing old with a wall filled with kids you helped get to a better place.

Tyler smiles at you. He likes the idea of that. "That's a good plan." He tells you quite proud of your plans.

Sean smile to himself. He knew he found the perfect person for him when he met you. Turning Sean heads back up the stairs. He's can see you're doing just fine and having a nice conversation with Tyler. Hearing you talk so candidly with Tyler solidified his purpose for asking you to join him on stage tonight.

"AND NOW! WELCOME THE STARS OF TONIGHT'S SHOW!! MARK, SEAN, WADE, ETHAN, BOB, TYLER, AND INTRODUCING A SPECIAL GUEST Y/N!!" The house announcer shouts the crowd already on their feet cheering.

One by one everyone, you included, run on stage waving, blowing kisses, and cheering along with the crowd. You can't see much in ways of facial features past the first few rows, but it doesn't quell the nausea you feel.

Sean and Mark dance around separately while Ethan and Tyler do a hoedown kind of dance. Wade and Bob slap their thighs in time with Ethan and Tyler's dancing. You laugh watching the spectacle before you.

Sean spots you by yourself and rushes over to you lifting you into his arms and swings you around, carrying you over to rest of the group. Laughter erupts from the crowd at the scene and a few minutes later everyone settles down and the guys take their turns talking to the crowd, thanking everyone for coming out to see them stand on stage and have fun.

As the hour mark slowly comes to pass you find you've taken to the improve and sketches with ease. It'd been fun and in the end Mark won the little contest they do at each show. So far the score is Mark with three wins, Sean with three, Tyler one, Ethan with one, Wade with one, and Bob with none; but with all the shows still to go, it's anyone's game.

"Now! We're going to take some questions before the end of the show and share some of the gifts we've gotten at the beginning of the show." Ethan says smiling. The couches had been rolled out during the last sketch battle and everyone takes a seat. You perch on the arm rest next to Mark since Sean is in the middle.

Two lines of ten are made and one by one each fan gets to ask a question of the guys. And to your surprise you get a few questions of your won. Sitting up straight you give the young girl you're pretty sure you've meet before your full attention.

"I've been watching your channel for two years now, and I just wanted to know when did you know that costume designing was what you wanted to do? And follow up, how would you suggest someone interested in sewing start out?" She asks in a shy tone you can't help but coo at.

"Well, I was about your age I guess. I used to watch shows like BDZ and Sailor Moon and I really liked their costumes but no one would ever have the designs I wanted in the stores and the places that did would have very poor quality. My grandma used to sew me clothes as a kid and I asked her for help. We'd go to the fabric shop and she'd help me mix and match patterns to get the right design." You tell her smiling. "I've been working on my craft since then as for beginning, start slow. Buy a stuffed animal building kit, start with doll clothing then move up from there. I'm sure if you look around you'll be able to find a club or group of avid seamstresses that would be glad to teach you unique tips and tricks of the trade." You add encouraging the young girl as best as you can. "My e-mail is always active and I'm usually able to respond in a few days."

The girl smiles big, thanks you, and walks back to her seat where you see the adult with her smile just as big. The next person steps up and asks Sean a question about Chase and Henrik's next appearance on the channel.

You have to hide your smile at the amount of trolling Sean does before answering the question. The whole group is laughing and cheering by the ends of the question.

"Admit it, you're having fun." Mark says lowering his microphone to talk to you privately. Glancing down at Mark you nudge him a little smiling back.

"Before me move on to the next person!" Sean says shooting the next fan an apologetic glance. "I need to ask a question of my own."

Confused you have to look to the others for help when Sean walks before you and kneels. "Sean, what are you doing?" You ask red faced as the scene before you becomes crystal clear. "No. Sean y--you can't..."

Sean smiles at you. One of the camera operators rounds to get a shot of Sean's face at this moment. "Yes, I am. Y/n, I've been wanting to ask for a while, but will you make me happy and marry me?"

Behind him the crowd goes completely insane at his question before it goes dead quiet waiting for you to respond to his question.

"A-are you sure?" Sean nods his head. Teary eyed you nod your head saying, "Yes Sean, I'll marry you!" The world exposes around you, literally as small fireworks are set off. Sean slips the ring on your finger and quickly gathers you in his arms. You share a long passionate kiss before parting. Sean smiles for the crowd holding up your hand.

"I'm enraged!" He cheers. The rest of the group stands up, hugging and congratulating you both on your commitment to each other. Mark moves to let you sit next to Sean, keeping your hands locked together.

You can't contain your happiness as the ask section comes to a close as does the show. Standing up with the others you join in the closing thank you and give a long bow. Sparks of light rain behind you in a controlled display. Waving goodbye you notice something a little out of the ordinary.

Despite everyone jumping and cheering, clapping their hands, and whistling a single figure a few rows away from the stage stands still. It feels different. You don't know what it is about the person standing eerily quiet in the crowd of cheering people.

Keeping an eye on the man in the crowd you walk over to Sean. Being close to him gives you some amount of comfort but it doesn’t last. Glancing at the man in the crowd you notice his eyes are trained on Sean beside you.

Tugging on Sean’s jacket you say, “Sean you need to get off stage.”

“What?” Sean follows your gaze to the man eye wide as a gun is pulled from the man’s pocket. All it takes is a split second to react. Using all your power you knock Sean out of the gunman’s line of fire.

You don’t feel the bullet pierce your stomach, no, it’s the impact of falling back that elicited your cry. People are screaming as bodies scatter, running to get away from the gun fire. Only when you twist to crawl away do you feel the pain and sticky red liquid spilling from you.

Pausing you look at your now wet red colored shirt. Sean screams scurrying to your side. This doesn’t make sense but it hurts. It hurts so much.

“No. No, no, no!” Sean looks from your abdomen to your face watching the color drain. “Y/n, can you hear me?” Sean asks turning you to face his chest.

“Sean... it hurts.” You whine grabbing his shirt as your strength slowly fades.

“I know, I know. They’re coming. We got people coming to help.” Sean says pressing his hand tightly again your stomach. Mark and the others rush over with towels.

“Hold on, they’re almost here.” Mark pleases hating how weak you look. None of them are willing to believe you’ll die here in their collective arms.

Your vision is coming and going as your eyelids droop down. You need to stay away but the pain, the loss of blood, the tiredness you feel it's all so overwhelming and you can't fight. You don't know how much time has passed but it feels like hours, days laying in Sean's arms. Your heart breaks at the sound of his sobbing pleads to stay alive, to stay with him, to not go wards the light you can't even see.

Burying his face in your neck Sean clutches you to his chest. He's a broken man and the only mend is for you to survive. But as the minutes tick by his words of reassurance turn to prays for mercy. Mark closes his eyes, turning his head away as he cries. Ethan turns to Tyler unable to watch you die.

"Please, don't leave me." Sean pleads.

With your last bit of strength--your last breath you force your eyes open, try to smile, and manage to say, "I love you."

Breathe.

[renegadesrpg]

Soulmates Part 18: Night Moves. CROSSOVER with Dark Angels: Creation Part 33. Sean and Layla

Layla: *Yawns and leaves the bedroom* Nallum? Is all well? I thought you had gone already.

  Sean: *Smiles* I had to go to Hawaii for a short meeting with Sin and Declan, but I'm off the roll today so I came home to spend time with my nalla. Want some coffee?

Layla:*Smiling* That is a marvelous surprise. I would love some coffee.

 Sean: Have a seat. I'll get you some. *Rises from the table and kisses the top of your head as I pass you. Rummaging through the cabinet over the coffeemaker, I find a cup and pour coffee into it*

 I'm not interrupting any plans am I?

  Layla: Nothing more important than you. *I take the offered coffee and add some sugar and cream then take a sip* Mmmmm, perfect. Thank you Love.

  Sean: *After refreshing my own cup I sit down at the table with you* If you've got errands I could run them with you. Or we could take Reaper for a walk in the woods.

 *I just wanna make some memories with her. Memories just in case.*

  Layla: I was just going to do things around here but walking Reaper was on that list. We could do that after we finish here. Would you like breakfast? I could make omelets. *whispering with a smile* I've been practicing.

  Sean: *laughs* Baby, I would love to try one of yourself omelets. Can I do anything to help?

  Layla: Do you wanna chop the ham into small pieces? *I get up and grab the ingredients from the fridge and place them on the counter. Then I grab the skillet and spatula and turn on the stove before beginning to break eggs into the pan.*

  Sean: I'm a good hand with a knife, *although stabbing and slicing are more my strengths, but not telling her that right now,* so I should be able to handle that. *Getting up and going to the counter, I stand beside her and put the ham on a cutting board. Searching the knife block, I find a knife.* This one do? *I'm well aware that you want the right blade for a task.*

Layla: Yes, that one is good. It's not too big and will cut nicely. *I work on flipping the egg mixture then begin adding cheese* When you are done just sprinkle half onto here like I did the cheese.

 Sean: *Hefting the large bladed kitchen knife I find it's a little awkward. Not as balanced as the daggers I'm used to, the tip greatly widening from the tip and curving slightly. After testing it on the meat a few times I find the right technique and make quick work of dicing the ham, then sprinkle the pieces on the omelet as she had done with the cheese and hold up the knife again, examining it*. 

The balance on this doesn't make it much of a throwing knife although if the fight got in close one good, we'll-placed stab would end it. *frowning* I'm gonna get you a few throwing knives and teach you how to use them. I might not always be around. Learning some self-defense would be a good idea.

  Layla: I would like that actually. Self-defense is something I've come to believe everyone should have a basic knowledge of. *I fold over the egg mixture into omelet shape and slide it onto a plate then start the second one* One down, one to go.

  Sean:*sniffing the air* That smells really good, baby. *grins* After all these years who knew I'd enjoy food so much again? I'll have Declan make some throwing knives like Celia's for you.

  Layla: The true test is in the taste. *I take a fork and cut into the omelet then lift it to your mouth* You are the taste tester *I smile* so here.

  Sean: *taking the bite between my lips and sliding it off the fork, a soft moan escapes me. Swallowing...* mmmm. Da.... Darn that's good. If you learn to throw a knife as well as you make an omelet, you're going to be one deadly Chosen.

  Layla: *giggling as I go back to adding cheese and ham to the second omelet* From an Ehros to Executioner Chosen...what a change. *shaking my head with laughter*

Seam: *snickers* Baby, you were always deadly with that smile. There's probably a trail of broken hearts everywhere you go.

  Layla: No, definitely not. Besides, yours is the only heart I care about and it'll never break around me. And if someone tries to break it then there will be trouble.

Sean: *setting the knife on the counter, I slide around behind you and wrap my arms around your waist, kissing your neck and holding you as you cook*

 Only you have my heart, so only you could break it and I trust you to keep it safe.

 Layla: *Smiling I lean back into you as I slide the second omelet onto its plate and turn off the stove. It’s a beautiful heart too and it is my honor to keep it safe and loved.

Sean: You're the one that honors me, nalla. *smiling wryly* And I'm pretty sure the Brotherhood would agree with me. *Releasing you, I take both plates, and set them on the table.* Do you want anything to drink besides coffee?

  Layla: No, thank you. Coffee is good for now. *I wait ‘til you sit before beginning to eat my omelet* How are Sin and Declan? Well I hope.

  Sean: “How are they?" *repeating the question wryly.* well Declan's fine. He misses his mate. And Sin is Sin. He managed to slip the leash we've tried to keep on him to prevent the Horseman from finding him and got himself shot. Mortal weaponry so nothing that could kill him, but still... *sighs* he doesn't take chastisement well. Especially from a subordinate.

Layla: I'm not surprised Declan misses his mate. It is hard being separated from those you love even if it's for a good cause. Sin was shot!? Dearest Scribe...I'm glad he is alright. All you males are stubborn about chastisement. It is not surprising that he is. I doubt he'd feel any better if it came from an equal or superior, that is just who he is. *laying my hand on yours* I'm sure he knows the chastising came from a good place though whether he acknowledges it out loud or not.

  Sean: He knows. *smiles* He just has that natural "I am God and why do you question me" thing going on. Zav says he was no different as a human. When he's ready, he's gonna do what he's gonna do and we just have to keep up. But it did give me a chance to experiment a little.

  Layla: Experiment? What kind?

Sean: Sin wouldn't let me heal him -- you know that whole power of life vs power of death thing.

 *heaves a sigh that turns to a moan as I take a bite*

 Mmmmm. We gotta have these more often... anyway, he was losing a lot of blood because he took a full clip. The bullets would have dissolved as he healed but it was gonna take longer and he would have kept losing blood until they did. It wouldn't have killed him but blood loss weakens us for a time. Even him. So we compromised. I used my empathic abilities minimally to locate the bullets in his body and latched onto them with my reaper senses and then dematerialized them out. You know, *grinning at her* kind of like I do our clothes sometimes.

  Layla: *grinning with a blush recalling those favorite times* Ah yes, that is a wonderful gift especially in a situation like that. I'm glad he compromised and allowed you to help him in some way.

 *Taking a bite of my omelet, thinking before I swallow and speak again,*

 So he is well? No more bleeding? And when would you like to take Reaper out?

  Sean: I still had to bandage him up because he wouldn't allow me to heal the wounds but the bleeding was already slowing. He's probably healed up by now. He heals even faster than I do. It's the power he wields. Still, he should stand down for a few hours. If Declan can get him to.

 Let's just stack the dishes and go out and enjoy the evening, nalla. *smiles* I'm looking forward to a walk in the moonlight with you. Even if it's not quite a full moon yet.

Layla: I look forward to a walk as well. Spring is in the air, I love the beginning warmth and the moon, in any stage, is a marvel. *I stack dishes in the sink and go to the front room, grabbing the leash then sitting down to put on my shoes* Will you get Reaper?

Sean: Sure. *Heading into the living room, I call for him*

 Reaper, c'mere boy! *He comes running, all awkward legs and tail skittering on the hardwood and of course, his partner in crime is hot on his heels. Squatting down, I give Bear a scratch behind the ears.*

 Sorry bud, just him right now. Maybe we need to teach you how to walk on a leash, too. *scooping the squirmy pup up in my arms I carry him back into the kitchen* Ready?

  Layla: I am! *smiling I hook the leash onto Reaper's collar as you hold him steady* He's good to let down now, he can run but not far *I giggle as we close the door behind us and set off.* It’s a beautiful night, so happy you are here to enjoy it with me Nallum.

  Sean: *Setting the pup down on the floor, I take your hand as we walk outside into the woods. Carefully tended paths are laid out through them, although a lot of care to see that they appear natural has been taken. The doggen from the manse must take care of them during the daylight hours. I choose one that leads to a clearing I know of, and away from the barn the rogue reapers had nearly cornered Layla in.*

 You're right it really is. This part of the country doesn't get many warm evenings this time of year. And even then the skies are usually overcast but tonight you can see the stars.

 Layla: It's welcoming us. *grins your way as we keep walking* Reaper is very happy. Look at his tail wagging. *Reaching down to pat Reaper and giggle I stand and squeeze your hand.*

 Do you have a destination in mind love?

  Sean: There's a patch of open land in the woods this way. I thought we could watch the stars for a little while since the night's so clear. Maybe let Reaper explore a little. It's a good place. It has the same feel I get when I'm in a stone circle. I think a very long time ago it must have been used in spiritual rituals. It's not far.

 *The pup runs ahead and pulls on the leash, attempting to dart here and there every time a bush rustles, but very soon the path opens up to a large circular clearing. Early crocus are trying to poke their heads out of the earth in a circle around the perimeter and in the center a large slab of granite takes center stage.*

 See what I mean? Let's go sit on the boulder.

  Layla: Oh this is lovely! *I let you lead me to the boulder and we sit, still holding hands* Reaper don't go too far little one. *looking up into the night sky, I gasp* Oh look how bright the stars are love! *pointing up I ask...* Is that the one they call the Big Dip?

 Sean: *laughs*It's the "Big Dipper" And yes. The North Star is always at the end of the handle. And there, *pointing* is the Little Dipper. And over there the Belt of Orion. *the large stone's surface is nearly flat, and I lean back on one elbow.* Haven't you ever gone stargazing before, nalla? Look, *pointing at a bright twinkly star* There's Venus. *Smiles.* Goddess of Love and she's smiling at us.

 Layla: Oh...Dipper. Sorry, *I say into the air* No, I have looked at the stars while here but never gazed at them for long. I just know they are beautiful and some find meanings and shapes among them. Venus, Goddess of Love approves of us then. I'm glad she approves, although to be honest it would not matter to me as I will love and adore you no matter who approves or does not.

 Sean: *laughing, I reach up and drop a kiss on your lips* Good to know. I'm still not sure how the Brothers are going to react to me. Look, there's Taurus, *tracing the outline with my finger tip for you* Are the stars different Sanctuary?

 Layla: Taurus is a bull? The Sanctuary? *I bite my lip remembering my time there before my abduction* No sky like this. Everything is bright and white.

  Sean: *Just the mention of Sanctuary has started the adrenaline flowing in her. I can feel the stress rising off of her. Opening my gift to her, I exude waves of comfort, hoping to bring down the stress levels a little. Still, if just mentioning it to her causes this reaction, I'm not sure Sanctuary is the place for her to go while a major battle goes down and even less certain she should stay there if we lose. Sitting all the way up, I take your hands and look into your eyes*

Layla, your heart rate just skyrocketed and your adrenaline spiked off the charts  at the mention of Sanctuary. I could feel it. You don't have to go there. Both Danu and Freya would open their realms to you if I asked. But even if you choose that, we should talk about this. It won't get better kept inside.

  Layla: *I go from looking far off at nothing to looking into your eyes and sigh* It will not be easy. I knew it would not be as I have avoided it too long but I am sure I must go there. Facing and fighting your fears, is never easy but still very important. I must do this Sean *I squeeze your hand and look deeply into your eyes hoping you feel the importance of this* You have a battle to win and so do I. It starts tonight, here with you.

 Sean: *Lifting your hand to my lips, I kiss your knuckles then lower it and enfold them in both mine* I understand the need to face your past, confront your demons. *smiling wryly* I'd probably be doing something of the same at Callanish if I weren't going to be busy trying to stay alive. But baby, I hate for you to do it alone. If we found another place for you to go, afterwards I could go with you.

  Layla: *Smiling I lean in and kiss you softly* I would love nothing more Nallum but you can't. Just as I can't battle with you, you can't with me. I must tread this road alone. *tears fall and I smile* But, in the end, I will return to you stronger and more deserving of all we will have together because that place of fear will be replaced with happiness.

 Sean: *Pulling you to me, I just hold you for a few moments* That place of fear is in all of us Nalla. Facing it is the true test of courage. It's easy to be brave in front of a flashing blade or a fireball. You react, you don't think, you just do. But that fear inside us? The one that tears at our gut, and puts our heart in our throat just thinking about it? That's the one that shows character. *Smiles as I wipe away your tears.*

 I always knew you were braver than me. *I open my mouth to tell her I love her, when Adrian's voice, rings in my brain.*  'Gimme a second,' I telepath back to him.* Baby, Adrian wants my attention and it sounds urgent. Can we mist back to the house?

 Layla: Yes, of course Love. *I grab Reaper into my arms and grab your hand* I'm ready when you are.

 Sean: I'm sorry to cut this short. *Drops a kiss on your lips as I take your hand. With a thought I dematerialize us back to the kitchen, leaving behind only the fine black mist that is the telltale of a reaper.*

 #TBC

 #Soulmates #Crossover #DarkAngelsCreation #Renegades #RRPG #AU #BDB #Reapers #Vampires #Angels #Wolfen #Ghosts

[antiques-for-geeks]

Atari 8-bit lucky dip!

The Atari 8 bit was never a popular machine in the UK. Given its relative obscurity here (...if there's one thing I'm a sucker for it's the obscure) and the fact that it's a product of a fertile period for one of the most famous gaming brands, I've always been interested in getting one to play with.

After a bit of fishing on Ebay I managed to get a 600xl for a reasonable price; old hardware is getting pretty expensive and A8's seem more expensive than most. The 600xl is the smaller brother of the flagship 800xl, and is appealingly diminutive for an 8 bit micro. It does have one main disadvantage - it only comes with 16k of ram, so until I can upgrade it to 64k I'm left with a machine that will only be able to play simpler, earlier titles.

Scrubs up quite well!

I bought a flash cart (an UNO cart, which has worked flawlessly) and loaded it with games that should play on my 16k machine. Among the conversions of popular arcade titles of the time, there were many that I didn't recognise. Over the coming weeks I'm going to trawl through all of the games I can get to work and give them each a short review ...for better or worse...

Abracadabra

TG Software / 1983

Wander round a single screen maze blasting wizards with your magic, collecting keys and treasures. To make things more exciting, the walls move periodically, changing the layout of the maze. 

I really thought I was going to like this game. These single screen maze shooters are often a lot of fun, but sadly the movement of main character is stiff and awkward here. He seems to want to follow a narrow path even where it looks like you have a wider area to move in, leading to frustrating moments where you push a direction and nothing happens. If there's one thing an arcade style maze game needs it's precise control, so I can't recommend this one.

Alien Ambush

DANA / 1983

This is a fairly basic vertical shooter with a scrolling star background. The graphics are chunky, but a bit muddy - more like an early C64 game. One or two aliens appear on the screen - simply shoot them and avoid their wreckage. Sometimes they split into smaller enemies when hit. It’s competent enough, but there's not much to make this one stand out.

Alpha Shield

Sirius Software / 1983

This seems like a simplified Star Castle rip-off, and is a game which I remember previously playing on the Atari 2600. This version is very similar, though a touch more colourful. The original version seemed like a clunky attempt to get around the limitations of the 2600, substituting the Asteroids style point and thrust controls of the arcade for more traditional directional control. While it qualified as a decent effort for that machine it’s a bit out of place on the much better equipped 8-bit.

Anteater

Romox / 1983

Extremely similar to the arcade game Dig Dug with most of the excitement sucked out. A single anteater follows your ant through the tunnels left behind as you dig through the layers of earth. The goal here seems to be to collect ant eggs from a pile on the surface and bring them back to your nest. It might well get more exciting as the levels progress, but I found the first one so tedious I refuse to give it any more of my precious time ...especially as I know there are 2 different official conversions of Dig Dug itself coming up later!

Asteroids

Atari / 1981

F-ugly but functional take on one of my favourite games ever. Asteroids is one of the handful of early arcade games I always enjoy playing. It's an ageless classic, so a mediocre conversion like this is a real shame. It has chunky and jerky graphics, and the movement of the ship is too crude to properly capture the feel of the original. It's not the worst game ever, and has a handy 4 player mode if you're using an Atari 400/800 with enough joystick ports... but it's not a patch on the 7800 version, and even the cut down Atari 2600 is probably more playable despite it's inaccuracy.

Astro Chase

First Star Software / 1982

Can I skip the intro where astronaut walks slowly to their ship and takes off please? This has quite nicely drawn graphics for an early game. You fly through a maze of planets, scrolling in 4 directions. You can shoot some enemy spaceships... but what the hell am I supposed to be doing here? I’m not sure instructions will improve matters, because there seems to be no urgency or excitement to this game at all.

Atlantis

Imagic / 1983

A conversion of the Imagic Atari 2600 classic - like a simplified version of missile command designed to fit in with the limitations of the VCS. You have control of 3 defensive turrets protecting a city from an attacking space fleet. When I say ‘control’ what I mean is that you can choose to fire lasers from one of the turrets, but you cant change where they fire; one goes left, one right and one straight up. It’s purely an exercise in timing shots, made more difficult by the possibility of one or more of your turrets being destroyed. This is just a small graphical upgrade over the 2600 version. It's a playable game for sure, and gets quite frantic, but I never found it quite as fun and well balanced as its inspiration.

BC's Quest For Tires

Sierra On-Line / 1983

A sort of proto-typical endless runner, this has very bold cartoon graphics for early 80's game. You control a cave-guy riding ever rightwards on a single stone wheel. You start off by jumping pot holes and ducking under branches. There are some sections later where you have to time a jump over a river on some bobbing turtles backs. It's got some entertainment value, but I found it pretty repetitive stuff and I got stuck timing the river jumps. Bit of a theme forming here - games that wowed people with fancy cartoon graphics are often exposed as hollow experiences after a few decades have passed!

Beamrider

Activision / 1984

This is more like it! A solid version of a fun old-school shooter. This could be described as being like a simplified version of the arcade game Tempest, played out on a flat plane. You fly over a grid toward an infinite horizon, blasting enemies as they travel down fixed lanes toward your ship. I liked this one on the Atari 2600, and I like it here too. It's got the right mix of stylish but abstract graphics and frantic game-play to feel like it could have been an arcade effort of the time, something that many of these games clearly aspire to.

Berzerk

1983 / Atari

<Thwak!> ... boots Atari across the room ... I can't get this to work on my flash cart for some reason. I love this game, and I know from past experience that this is probably the best home version around (or at least the best that was released at the time). The game-play is spot on, and it has quite a bit of the metallic robot speech that livened up the arcade version. When I get a working copy of this it will get the full review it deserves.

Blaster

Williams / 1984

The only home version of a really obscure Williams into the screen arcade shooter, this is blocky and slow, with crazy psychedelic line drawing graphics. Apparently this was made before the arcade version, but was never officially released. It’s as basic as they come; you avoid things and shoot things. The game-play is shallow, the controls are treacly and the graphics are possibly seizure inducing .... and yet I somehow found this one quite appealing!

Boulder Dash

First Star Software / 1984

A stone cold classic dig-a-thon. You move through a scrolling level, hollowing out the earth a behind you to collect all the diamonds. Once all are collected you can exit to the next level. Making things more difficult, rocks dotted about will fall when undermined - a crush danger - and butterfly like enemies follow you through the tunnels you leave behind in the earth. The levels take on a heavy puzzle element - much more so than in Dig Dug, from which this takes some inspiration. The patterns of rocks have to be worked round with careful consideration to get all the diamonds. This seems like a great version that I'd like to spend more time with.

Bristles

First Star Software / 1983

Here is quite a likable single screen platformer where you catch lifts to visit different parts of the screen in order to paint all the walls. As expected, there are enemies to avoid who will bump you down a level on contact. There's also a 'lady' who wanders the halls leaving dirty hand prints on your new paint work. These have to be repainted to complete the level and she'll make you swear with rage before too long. When all the walls have changed colour on move to the next level with more walls to paint and more enemies to avoid. Being repeatedly bumped down the levels by errant enemies and lifts can frustrating, but once you have the hang of what the game expects of you it's fairly compelling.

Buck Rogers Planet of Zoom

SEGA / 1983

A conversion of the early SEGA into the screen shooter. This one appeared on many of the computers and consoles of the time, no matter how primitive - there's even an Atari 2600 version. The arcade game must have been very impressive at the time, using scaling sprites to convey the impression of barriers and enemies rushing toward you from the horizon. Sadly, like most of these home conversions, this version looks crude in comparison, sporting flickery graphics and jittery controls. It's also missing a 'trench run' stage present in the arcade which I'm sure could have been re-created in some form on the home hardware. It's not a terrible game, but has aged poorly and is ultimately pretty dull. I did like the colourful psychedelic flashing when a level is complete!

Captain Beeble

Inhome Software / 1983

This one didn't look much at first viewing, but turned out to be quite good fun, if frustratingly difficult at times. Fly around caverns on a jet-pack, fighting against the effects of gravity and blasting all the aliens on each scrolling level. Making things much more difficult, large crushing blocks fly across the level and deadly walls fry you on touch. I've always enjoyed games where you had to fight against gravitational effects, and it adds quite a bit to what would otherwise be a simple game. The graphics are quite plain, and this would be an easy game to overlook - give it a go.