#and then he proceeded to tell us that we was punk as a teen while criticising pictures of punk fashion

[howaminotinthestrokesyet]

Behind The Album: In Utero

The third and final studio album from Nirvana was released in September 1993 via DGC records. The band wanted to make a clear departure from how their second album sounded. They felt that their huge hit album, Nevermind, was too polished as a record. The producer of that second LP, Butch Vig, would later note that Kurt Cobain needed to “reclaim his punk ethics or cred.” For his part Cobain would tell Rolling Stone in early 1992 that the record would have elements to it much more raw then found on the second album. However, he did emphasize the fact that the pop sound would not disappear entirely. He had hoped to start working on it l in the middle of 1992, but distance between band members getting together was an issue as they all lived in different cities. Another issue came in the fact that Courtney Love was expecting their first child. DGC was hoping to release a new record by Christmas of the year, but instead they were forced to go with the compilation album of all the early material from Sub Pop, Incesticide. For In Utero, Cobain showed interest in working with former producer of Bleach, Jack Endino and Steve Albini. They brought in Endino to work on a few instrumentals for the record that were eventually re-recorded, and he was never asked to produce in any capacity. The group went back and forth debating whether to hire Albini or not. In January 1993, the group recorded another set of demos while on tour in Rio De Janeiro, Brazil. This would later become the track, “Gallons of Rubbing Alcohol Flow Through the Strip,” which originally had the working title of I’ll Take You Down to the Pavement. The latter represented a direct reference to an argument between Cobain and Guns N’ Roses frontman Axl Rose at the 1992 MTV Video Music Awards. The band finally decided to go with Albini as a producer despite his reputation of strict discipline within the studio and remaining one of the most opinionated producers out there. He was said to have referred to Nirvana as “REM with a fuzz box, unremarkable Seattle sound.” He would later say that his decision to work with the band came out of sympathy, feeling smaller groups like Nirvana were at the mercy of the record label. This particular statement should be taken with a grain of salt as Nirvana had just released the biggest record since Appetite for Destruction. Cobain had been a fan of the producer based on his work with the Pixies and the Breeders.

Producer Albini wanted to complete recording within a strict two week timeframe. Nirvana paid for the recording sessions themselves on Albini’s suggestion to avoid interference from the record label. The band paid him $24,000 for his services, while he refused any royalties whatsoever, which would have amounted to $500,000. He would continually say that royalties were immoral and a complete insult to the artist. They recorded at Pachyderm Studios in Cannon Falls, Minnesota in February 1993. Krist Novoselic would compare the environment to a gulag. “There was snow outside, we couldn't go anywhere. We just worked." Nirvana during this time emphasized to the record company that they wanted absolutely no interference from them, which meant they did not share anything from these sessions with their A & R representative. For his part, Steve Albini followed suit by only speaking with members of the band. He characterized anyone associated with the group as “pieces of shit.” After a short delay, the band's equipment finally arrived, so the actual recording of the album went very quickly. Each track began with the group playing together as one doing the instrumental aspect of it. For some tracks, Dave Grohl did the drums in the kitchen due to the natural acoustics sounding better. Albini had also surrounded his drums with 30 microphones for each track. They did not remove any take from the album, but instead kept them all. Cobain even added more guitar parts at the end of each day before doing the vocals. Although Albini had a reputation for being opinionated, he let Nirvana decide what to keep. “Generally speaking, [Cobain] knows what he thinks is acceptable and what isn't acceptable [...] He can make concrete steps to improve things that he doesn't think are acceptable." They did all of their musical work in six days, while Cobain said that it was the easiest recording he had ever done. Albini proceeded to mix the album in five days, which actually was slow by his standards because he usually only spent 1 to 2 days on it.

After completion, the band began to send the unmastered tapes to various people including the president of the DGC records. They absolutely hated it saying the songwriting was mediocre, the entire album was unlistenable, and radio would never except Albini’s production. Cobain took the comments personally to mean that the label wanted him to start from scratch and record again with a new producer. He would say, “I should just re-record this record and do the same thing we did last year because we sold out last year—there's no reason to try and redeem ourselves as artists at this point. I can't help myself—I'm just putting out a record I would like to listen to at home." Yet, the group remained dead set on releasing this version of the record as late as April 1993. They had played it for a number of their friends, who had liked it. The singer said, “Of course, they want another Nevermind, but I'd rather die than do that. This is exactly the kind of record I would buy as a fan, that I would enjoy owning." Around this time, some doubts crept up with all members of Nirvana because the mix of In Utero did not sound right. They asked Albini to possibly remix the record, and he flat out refused. “[Cobain] wanted to make a record that he could slam down on the table and say, 'Listen, I know this is good, and I know your concerns about it are meaningless, so go with it.' And I don't think he felt he had that yet ... My problem was that I feared a slippery slope." They took the record to Bob Ludwig for mastering, while at the same time mentioned their issues with the mix to him. Upon completion, Krist Novoselic said he was happy with the result, but Cobain still felt it was not perfect. At this time, Steve Albini gave an interview with the Chicago Tribune, where he doubted whether the record would ever be released. Newsweek would run another article that echoed the comments made by Albini. This caused Nirvana to write a full page letter to the magazine denying the label was putting any undue pressure on them. The same letter would be reproduced as a full page ad in Billboard not long after. The head of Geffen Records, who owned DGC made the unprecedented move of actually calling Newsweek to complain. The band thought about having Andy Wallace remix the release, but once again Albini refused saying they had only agreed to work with him. At the time, the producer also would release any of the tapes that were now in his possession. He only did so after a phone call from Krist Novoselic. The entire album for the most part was not changed at all, except for a remastering. Yet, the producer continually made comments that it was nowhere near the album he recorded in Minnesota. “The record in the stores doesn't sound all that much like the record that was made, though it's still them singing and playing their songs, and the musical quality of it still comes across." He would go on to say that major labels refused to work with him for the next year or so because of In Utero.

As for the music, the producer wanted to go as far away as possible from Nevermind with this record. He felt that the second album made the group look incredibly bad because it had been overproduced at such a level to make it extremely radio friendly. He wanted to create a much more natural sound for the group. The 1993 Nirvana biography, Come As You Are, noted the vision for the band on this record. “The Beatlesque 'Dumb' happily coexists beside the all-out frenzied punk graffiti of 'Milk It,' while 'All Apologies' is worlds away from the apoplectic 'Scentless Apprentice.' It's as if [Cobain] has given up trying to meld his punk and pop instincts into one harmonious whole. Forget it. This is war." If one goes through the track listing, you can count which tracks are over the top punk, and which tracks are more radio friendly pop. The interesting thing is that they correspond equally, 6 to 6. Fans and critics alike would talk about how abrasive In Utero turned out to be, but Cobain and Novoselic really did not see it that way. The bass player had said the band had always had songs as they are found on In Utero. Yet, the group did consciously try to bring fans into the more punk sounding songs by releasing the first two singles that could have realistically been included on Nevermind. Some of the songs found on the record had been written years prior as early as 1990. Cobain used various points of inspiration for the lyrics. The track “Frances Farmer” came from a 1978 biography of the Seattle figure called Shadowland. “Scentless Apprentice” originated from a horror novel that the singer had read by Patrick Suskind. One of the central themes found on the album noted in that same Nirvana biography from 1993 was the fact that every song talked about sickness or disease in some manner. Although Cobain said the lyrics were very impersonal to him, many disagreed with this assessment. Dave Grohl would say this in an interview. “A lot of what he has to say is related to a lot of the shit he's gone through. And it's not so much teen angst anymore. It's a whole different ball game: rock star angst." The singer continued to argue that much of the album had been written years prior to any issues he was going through at the time. For example, “Rape Me” quite possibly could be talking about his frustration with the media in how he has been portrayed over the past couple of years. The track “Serve the Servants” seemed to specifically talk about Cobain’s father and how divorce affected him from a very early age. The Nirvana frontman wanted his father to know that he did not despise him, but he also had no desire to be around him whatsoever. One track, “Gallons of Alcohol Flow Through the Strip,” was actually one of the only improvisational tracks they ever recorded. The song represented a jam session that the group would frequently participate in in during down times at the studio. They had done this quite often, but this would be the first time that it was ever recorded in some form.

Upon its release, the record label took a very low key approach to promoting the album. None of the singles would come out commercially in the United States, as they concentrated all of their press releases at media specializing in alternative music. The band remained convinced that there was absolutely no way that In Utero would sell even a quarter of what Nevermind sold. The record would debut at number one on the charts selling 180,000 copies in its first week. They sold this many copies without big retail chains like Kmart and Walmart selling it because officially the demand was not there. The truth was actually these chains feared backlash due to the graphic nature of the artwork accompanying the album. In March 1994, an edited version of the album would be released with new artwork and alternative song titles. The band made this concession saying they wanted fans who could not go to a traditional record store to be able to purchase the LP. Following the death of Cobain. the third single “Pennyroyal Tea” was canceled, as well as any tour plans. Immediately following his death, the popularity of In Utero on the charts increased by 122% from 72 to 27. The album would eventually be certified five times platinum.

Critics were not unanimous in the praise of In Utero. For the most part, rock writers really liked the new sound from Nirvana. Time’s Christopher John Farley noted that once again perhaps the mainstream may need to go to Nirvana, rather than the other way around. David Browne of Entertainment Weekly emphasized the absolute contrasts on the release. “The music is often mesmerizing, cathartic rock & roll, but it is rock & roll without release, because the band is suspicious of the old-school rock clichés such a release would evoke." David Fricke of Rolling Stone would say that the record was both “brilliant and corrosive,” but undoubtedly a “triumph of the will” for Kurt Cobain. NME’s John Mulvey did not share the same sentiment as he observed the album really was not up to par with previous Nirvana standards. The review from Plugged In did not mince words saying it had absolutely no redeeming value whatsoever. Some reviews became quite bittersweet as you are reminded of Cobain’s suicide. Q said this about the record. "If this is how Cobain is going to develop, the future is lighthouse-bright." Ben Thompson of the Independent merely seemed happy that the record did not represent the punk rock nightmare the group had continually threatened to release. In Utero would go on to top several end of the year lists as one of the best albums including Rolling Stone, Village Voice, and the New York Times. The band would even receive a Grammy nomination in 1994 for Best Alternative Album. As time has passed, critics have lavished even more phrase on it seeing their work with Albini as far superior to Nevermind. Charles R. Cross would write in his Cobain biography, “If it is possible for an album that sold four million copies to be overlooked, or underappreciated, then In Utero is that lost pearl." Pitchfork named it the 13th best album of the 1990s, while it even made Rolling Stone’s list of the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. NME named it number 35 on its greatest albums of all time list creating quite a sense of irony since the periodical did not think too much of the album at the time of its release.

[fuxkingmarvel]

Brooklyn Baby

Request: Can u do one where the reader is a teen avenger and she has a huge crush on bucky so maybe she's always following him around and the others tease him about it? (it doesn't have to have smut if youre uncomfortable w/ that)

Pairings: Bucky x reader, Peter x reader (platonically) 

Warnings: age gap, the reader is 19 years old, this part doesn't have any smut but if I decide to do another part then i’ll add smut

“You know our time slots are not for another hour” Peter questioned as his eyebrows were raised as you took a seat next to him. 

“Oh yeah, I know” you smile lightly watching the match between Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. 

     The two of them in a wrestling position, Buckys’ arms grabbing onto Steve’s shoulders and quickly putting him into a skillful headlock. Your eyes widen at the scene in front of you, your hands desperately wanting to cheer on Bucky but you kept your composure. Bucky’s hair was drenched in sweat, no longer in the tight, neat bun, it was like when the matched started. His muscles tightening at every move and his chest was glistening with sweat. With a body like that, you couldn't help but bite your lip.

“Hello, what are you doing here?” you heard the voice of your friend snap you back into reality. You lightly blushed as you turned to face him and shrugged, thinking of a clever remark. 

“What are you doing here, Peter? Huh? If our time slots aren’t now” Two could play at this game. Now Peter was chuckling and rolling his eyes playfully. 

“Well, it's definitely not to stare at Bucky...” your jaw dropped and your eyebrows scrunched, shaking your head.

“What? Is Peter Parker being sexist? Excuse me, but I am early just like you! To learn from the finest and kick your ass in a few” Peter chuckled and nudged you on the side. 

“I’m your best friend, you can't-fool me...” Peter said stuffing his bag with his dirty gym clothes and the proceeded to grab his bag. It seemed like he was leaving even though there was 40 min left until your next session. You looked at him weirdly and stopped him with your arm.

“Woah, Parker where are you going?” you asked standing up from the bench, and still holding on to his arm tightly. He chuckled lightly.

 “Tony, canceled our session today, but I know you never read his emails. So, I came here to prove a point” He smirked slyly at you. 

     Oh, shit, you were caught into Peter Parker’s trap. That son of a bitch... he was good.

    You sighed as you were caught in your trap, having one last look at Bucky drenched in sweat before walking off with Peter Parker.

“Good game, Buck” Steve shook his best friend’s hand in the ring before chuckling to himself. 

“What’s so funny, punk. I just beat your ass!’” Steve continued to chuckle on and nodded running a hand through his hair, getting up and out of the ring. 

“It’s just cute whenever your girl watches your games. That’s all” Steve’s hands raised up in defense as he swung his gym bag over his shoulder. 

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, also grabbing his bag and walking with Steve. 

“My girl? What the hell are you talking about, Steve?” Bucky questioned as he stopped him in the middle of the gym.

“Y/N..., she has a crush on you” 

“Y/N” Bucky knew who you were, obviously. You were one of the newer recruits, around the same age as Peter Parker. The two of you exchanged a few conversations here and there. Nothing ever too serious or over 10 minutes. However, he would always hear you and Parker struggling over college work. He always thought to himself that you were way too close on the couch with Peter to be just friends. Bucky thought the two of you would sure hit it off.  Of course, you were pretty to him but you were young and he was sure nobody would approve. 

But him... you couldn't possibly like him... 

He’s nothing like the boys your age.

“Yeah, the girl who’s always waking up early to catch a glimpse of you while we eat breakfast, coming early to practices, and watching your games secretly and even bringing Parker along” Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve’s silly remarks. 

There was no way you had a crush on him. 

“I don’t ever recall you becoming a detective. But let’s say you’re doing a shitty job, punk. If anything, she likes Peter.” Bucky said with a casual tone continuing to walk with Steve. 

“Whatever you say, Bucky. Hey, watch her tonight, during dinner and after that. Trust me, you’ll have lingering eyes”  Steve teased softly patting Bucky’s back before catching the elevator and leaving Bucky to think.

    It was a stupid rule that Tony implemented months ago, stating that everyone had to eat together during dinner. Like, jeez can you give us some space. At least, you could silently thank him for giving you easier access to sneak looks at Bucky. You took your usual seat at the end of the table next to Peter and Wanda, Bucky and Steve were always at the front so they never knew when you took quick glances, which is what you thought anyway... 

“You know you are going to have to tell him sooner or later” Peter teased with a smirk after finishing up your food. Your eyes widened and you instantly stepped on his foot. Peter literally never brought up Bucky into conversation especially not when Bucky was 2 feet away. I guess that the secret was out, you wouldn't be able to escape it.

     Peter yelped out loud as your heeled boot dug into his foot under the table. Peter’s yelp alarming the people around him, especially Bucky & Steve. You looked over at Bucky & Steve, Steve instantly catching you glance but you immediately looked away. 

     Steve nudged Bucky’s side harshly grabbing his attention away from his plate. Bucky’s groaned in annoyance lifting up his face and looking at Steve with a dumbfound ‘what’ expression.

“Right now, they’re talking about you” Bucky grunted and rolled his eyes turning his attention back to food.

 “Buck, I’m serious” Steve said in a serious tone... Bucky watched you intensely, you looked annoyed maybe even upset. Your body was tense and you kept shaking your head.

“They really could be talking about anything...”

    The tables had basically turned because thanks to Steve, Bucky was watching you the entire time. He became curious at your actions, especially towards Peter. He could’ve sworn jealously was running through his blood but he shook away those feelings as much as possible. Steve even convinced him to stay a little bit with the group in the lounging area, which is something he never does. He really didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Not one time did you ever look over at him... 

“Queens sucks anyways Parker, we all know Brooklyn is better!” Bucky perched up from the couch as his eyebrows raised at your statement. You were playfully sticking your tongue out at Peter and laughing loudly. 

“She’s from Brooklyn...” Bucky mumbled and questioned to himself but Steve heard and smiled.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, you grew up in Brooklyn right, Y/N!” Steve chimed in interrupting you and Peter. You looked over in the direction of Steve’s voice, Bucky sat right beside him, wearing a tight black shirt that snuggled his chest perfectly. His dark brown hair falling perfectly on his shoulders. You internally moaned to yourself and smiled and nodded as a response.

“Well, Bucky and I are from Brooklyn too” Steve said happily, patting Bucky’s thigh trying to bring him into the conversation which eventually allowed Bucky to lock eyes with yours.

��Oh, I know” You said in a voice soft with affection not breaking eye contact with Bucky.

  God, maybe romantic movies didn’t exaggerate about love because you swore time had stopped around you and nothing else matters at this moment. Fuck, you were screaming internally as Bucky smiled at you with the softest look. 

“Are we interrupting something?” Peter grinned as he watched the two of you make lovey-dovey eyes for each other and Bucky could hear the rumble of Steve’s chuckle next to him snapping him back.

    Bucky looked down and chuckled, ruffling his hair up a little to distract himself from the intense moment between the two of you. You bit your lip hard, feeling your face getting flushed, you awkwardly pulled out your phone pretending to go on some app, as Peter & Steve brought up a different conversation with ease.

[heartsofstrangers]

What has been one of the most challenging things you’ve experienced or are currently experiencing?

“One of the most challenging things that I’ve ever experienced . . . As a child I remember being happy, joyous, and free, at least those are the videos I’ve seen of myself, but I don’t remember much about that time. I do remember being pretty outgoing, sociable, and looking to connect with people. When I was around ten or eleven years old, my father was taken out of our house in a straitjacket due to depression and he wasn’t eating or taking care of himself. My dad was gone for most of my life as a young child and then my mom was always working, and I was kind of left to my own devices and trying to find my place in the world. I was always kind of seeking for approval, love, or validation from outside.

“When I was about ten or eleven, I got involved with this gang of kids called Mixed Mafia; it stood for mixed races. They were in their late teens and early twenties, rebel punks, and all these different types of people, and I felt like I had found my tribe. They were accepting and gave you drugs and alcohol. It seemed like a good place to be. My friend, Rob, had invited me to gang parties and I thought it was exciting. I felt cool that I was hanging out with these older kids. They were aware of me and that wasn’t something that I had at my house because my mom was always working and my dad was in the Institute of Living at that time. I continued to take part in this gang. At the beginning, it was just a party kind of thing. I think I was going into sixth or seventh grade around the time, and they were accepting. Slowly, but surely, they told me that they needed to make me into a man and, after the fun parties, me and two of my close friends, my buddies Jim and Jeff, they would tell us that we needed to receive beatings and they would make us into men. I stuck around for them and they would have us do various things like they would put us in a line and they’d have the older girls kick us in the chest or something like that, and they would say that we couldn’t fight back, we had to take it. I remember having some attraction to the girls and it made me feel really, I don’t know. It made me feel like shit, but I felt that I was getting some sort of attention.

“My good friend, Jeff, at the time, he was supposed to have his initiation into what was called One Mafia, which was the younger kids of the Mixed Mafia. First, they burned a WM on his arm with a hanger and then he was supposed to fight a kid. If he won, he would gain the respect of the older individuals. This was my best childhood friend, and he lost the fight. I remember sitting there looking at him, and they took an iron, heated it up, and burned his WM off. I remember seeing the skin bubble. He was about twelve at the time, and I remember seeing him crying and looking at me. Years before it was soccer, playing videogames, and sleepovers. I remember him looking at me, crying, and I didn’t show any emotion and I looked away. I thought I needed to be tough and wanted to be cool in front of the older kids. Jeff faded away from the gang and so did my buddy, Jim. I think I had won a fight against a kid and I was told that I could keep in, but I never wanted to fight. I was always so scared, so scared.

“Slowly but surely, the gang expanded and they would have me fight my closer friends; they told us that we had to knock each other out. I couldn’t fight. I was scared. I remember I was terrified when I was at that person’s house, and these were all friends and older brothers. Most of my friends started to fight back, but I didn’t, and the beatings got worse and worse for me. When they fought back, they got some sort of respect, but it just wasn’t in me. I was scared. At one point, I thought it was the only love I ever knew, this attention that they were giving me and that’s why I kept on going back. Sometimes they would have parties and make me sit in the corner and put piles of trash on me and tell me that I couldn’t leave from this place. I would sit there and they would laugh at me. At this point, my outlook on life started to drastically change. At that time, my mom had just got diagnosed with cancer and my dad was getting out of the Institute of Living. He had had electroshock therapy there and he wasn’t really talking much; he kind of just paced in the house. Our house was kind of a really dark place to be at. So, I didn’t really have anywhere to go. It was either go to this place where you might get a couple of minutes of fun and then the abuse or sit in my house where no one even knew you were there, while my mom was starting her path of surgeries.

“I remember it was about a year or two into the gang, and I was still their main thing to beat up on. I had had all these supposed initiations to make me into a man. I remember most of my childhood friends were gone and I was part of this thing, and they would just beat me up. I remember going over to my close friend Bill’s house, and his older brothers were the main gang members. I remember being so terrified when they came back home. We went up into the attic, and they said, ‘Mike, this is your final initiation. Either we give you two hours of beating or we shave your head.’ I had long hair, and they were going to shave it with a Bic razor, and I didn’t want that to happen. So, about an hour after the beatings happened, I couldn’t take it anymore, I walked outside and tried to run, and one of the kids tackled me down, pulled me into a chair, and duct-taped my arms to the chair. All these kids were walking around, drinking beers, older kids and older girls, my good friend Bill and his older brothers, they took out the Bic razor and when you have long hair, you can’t shave it with a Bic razor, they proceeded to use the Bic razor to shave my head and it gouged my head. I remember tears coming down my face. I remember looking at Bill in the eyes, just like I had looked Jeff in the eyes, like ‘please, please save me’—screaming without words because I couldn’t say a single thing and I was just crying. They had made up this name, Mikaloo, and they said ‘Mikaloo, cuts all over your head’ and they continued to shave my head and walk around and laugh at me. I think I was only thirteen at the time. They walked around and laughed at me, and I just sat there. I remember holding on to Bill’s gaze and I could see his older brother looking at him in the eyes, like that peer pressure that I had felt with Jeff. I wanted Bill to do something so bad, and I could tell that some of the people in the group thought they had had gone too far. As blood and tears are dripping down my forehead, they were gouging my head pretty deep and they were spraying hair spray into the wounds to make the bleeding stop. I remember looking at Bill, still crying, crying pretty hysterically, I don’t think there was much sound coming out. I remember Bill looking away and walking inside. I knew the pressure he felt. I knew it. I had been there. Instantly, in that moment, I remember just shutting off and there wasn’t a tear that fell out of my eye anymore. It felt like Mike was gone. Mike was dead. I basically had that cold, emotionless look in my face, and all joy, curiosity, and everything was taken from me. I remember just sitting there and I had some patches of hair, dried blood, and they continued to laugh at me, and I just sat and there was nothing left. I didn’t feel a thing and didn’t think about anything. It was like I had left Mike. Mike was gone.

“I don’t know how I got home, but when I got home, my mom had just gotten out of a chemo session and she was sick in bed and I don’t know what my dad was doing; he had just gotten a job at Staples to keep the roof over our heads. I remember sitting next to my mom, as she was nauseous in bed. I think it was the last thread of me, holding on to Mike, and I just sat there and I needed her to recognize that clearly I was changed. I had dried blood all over my head and patches of hair. I don’t know what happened, but she wasn’t able to give me any sense of security. She was—I don’t know—a lot had happened with my father. I don’t know how my dad didn’t know. Clearly, I was much different. Obviously, now I had a shaved head and was pretty unresponsive to anything, but my father was pretty unresponsive to anything, as well, and there’s a long story behind my dad. I think when my mom looked away, she thought we couldn’t burden the family like this, my dad was bringing in money, and she didn’t want to send him back to the hospital. I don’t know what the thought process was. I think she was overwhelmed. I don’t know what it was. There was really no love given and I was just shoved off to my room.

“After that, it was pretty much I didn’t care about anything anymore. I had a lot of external anger and the couple of words that I would say were ‘I don’t give a fuck.’ At one point, I thought I was going to kill those kids who had done it, but I took it all on me, it was all on me. I just shut down. From the moment that Bill’s eyes left or the moment when that boy hit my head, I just remember losing everything that was Mike; maybe I didn’t even really know Mike. I had always been seeking outside. I just remember losing that joy. That toxic masculinity—to be a man. Those three words, ‘to be a man’—what does that even mean? I think the definition I had formed has been the most debilitating, shameful experience of my entire life.

“I know that for the next ten years or so, I started to bully kids, but I stopped doing that. I didn’t want that to be a part of my life and I tried to uplift, but there was nothing inside. There were no joy or feelings inside, there was complete emotionless. Any way to turn off the depression and the darkness that was all consuming, so that’s what I did—I drank and I drank and I drank. That worked for a while but, for the most part, it was bouts of depression and any way to escape because I couldn’t escape when they had me all taped down.

“Eventually, I had made some forgiveness to those people. I called up two of them when I was about twenty-three, and one of the guys said that he had nightmares about what he had done and the other individual, the first thing he said when he picked up the phone was, ‘Mikaloo, you little bitch,’ and that was ten years later. At that point, I had a lot of different struggles. I ended up going to jail for selling some weed and different things. That was my first breath of air, a structured environment. It made me feel like a baby. After I got out, I finally found heroin, and that was finally the answer to all my problems. I could shut off everything and I felt okay, and there was no depression attached to it; you just had to do it all day.

“That kid, who had originally invited me to the gang, Rob, ended up dying of an overdose. I would attempt to get sober here and there. The other kid, Bill, who was one of my best friends, called me and said he was so sorry for not doing anything, and this was about fifteen years later. He eventually ended up hanging himself; that was this past Christmas. A lot of that stuff was pretty crazy, but the heroin was definitely the end-all be-all for me. I remember just over two years ago, February 12, 2017, he had called me, and it was this recurring theme of emotionless disconnection and, obviously, it was drug-fueled this time. He had asked me to use some heroin. He got into my car and he overdosed in the car around 2 pm on a Thursday in February, it was kind of a gray day. I didn’t feel anything because of the heroin, and I was looking for a place to dump his body. He was blue, he wasn’t breathing, and ten minutes had passed. I remember feeling so cold. I hadn’t felt anything in years. Something pulled on me, I don’t know what it was, a spirit source, God, angels, whatever you want to call it, told me to go to an urgent care center on Route 44 in Avon. I pulled in, they Narcaned him twice, they said he was dead, they put a tube down his throat, and they finally got his heart beating. He had survived that and the next day, I decided to get clean. That was part of the journey and the many stories.

“These past two years have been me trying to uncover all that. I try to talk to myself as if my parents had been there. I know they did the best they could. During that timeframe, my mom had died, right before I went to jail, my dad lost the house, and there’s been so many different things. These past two years have been Mike again, the story of finding Mike or uncovering Mike. It’s been a painful process, some of the things that I haven’t wanted to look at. 

“This past winter my father had a mental breakdown. He lives in North Carolina where he rented a room. He would call me every day, telling me that he wanted to die. My father is a good soul and wants to make people happy, and he hasn’t been happy himself. He’ll give the shirt off his back to someone. I remember being down in North Carolina with my sister, who lives out west. Since my mom died, we hadn’t seen each other. When we spoke, we decided that we needed to go see our dad. We went out there and he said, ‘Maybe I’ll see you and maybe I won’t.’ He was basically locked in his room, not eating. And then I got the call that Bill had taken his own life, and still I didn’t feel much of anything. I think there was a protective haze over me or cognitive dissonance. I just couldn’t feel.

“I went through a really hard process while in North Carolina. My dad was not doing well. He was living in an unsafe environment. We had to do a lot of crazy stuff, and eventually got him into assisted living, using his disability to help pay for it. He still called me every day, and just wanted to die. I remember going down to North Carolina again about a month later and, as I walked into the assisted living place, my dad was barely eating an ice cube. He looked at me so scared. I knew those eyes. I’ve seen those eyes. Those are the eyes that Jeff gave to me when he was receiving the beatings and the eyes that I gave to Bill during the head shaving. I knew those eyes—so scared. The most scared you could ever see anybody in your life. I saw my dad like that, and I know my dad went through a lot when he was a young kid. I think he lost himself along the way, too. I hugged him and he had lost a lot of weight, and weighed about ninety pounds. I felt like I wanted to cry so much. I never got that love from my dad and I knew that I needed to give it to him, but I didn’t have much in me. I felt like so much wanted to come out, just hugging him while he was so scared. He was so ashamed, ashamed of how he looked, where he was at in life, and one little tear came out, and that was it. We talked and he didn’t say much. He just looked at me really, really scared.

“My mornings were waking up to him, calling and saying those things. I couldn’t sleep, and I know he couldn’t sleep. I ended up writing a letter to Bill. I was writing it as if everyone was going to read it. I like to write, and I thought about writing it from an audience perspective, but I thought fuck that, I’m writing it to Bill, and I just wrote to Bill. I knew he was right there with me, just like Rob because I was close to Rob too. I knew he was right there with me. I just talked to him. I typed and just talked to Bill. He said that he would watch over my dad. I talked to him and I knew that he was healed from all the shame he held in, all that abuse, and that frickin ‘be a man, be tough.’ He grew up with that. We all did. I cried. I really cried. That was this winter and I was just getting back to feeling again. It felt good to let him know I was still there and forgave him. I had forgiven him the minute it happened, but I don’t think he ever knew that. I knew that pressure, I know that pressure.

“There are still other challenges now that I’m facing, that I’m uncovering. I have a little bit of light and starting to feel that people are good and caring. I know that those people who did that to me, I had this epiphany when I was twenty-two or twenty-three years old, that whatever you exert outwards, you exert inwards. So, whatever they had done to me was really their own pain and fears, and I realized they were suffering so much more than I was, to be able to do that to someone else. I had seen that and I tried to send them forgiveness and caring. I realized how much pain they must have been going through and how that manifested and whatever underlying fears and shame manifested in abuse to others. It’s been slow uncovering and sometimes, when I get these glimpses of who Mike is now, the direction of my life, or I find myself trying to figure anyway to not, there’s that most debilitating thing—how I defined being a man. As I uncover myself, I still find that shame and ways to seek outside a lot. I’ve also had the conversations of everything with people who have been loving and caring, and I’ve been able to find people that see me as me, but sometimes I’m still not there yet. There are voices of who you’re supposed to be that still ring in my head and I became my own abuser and victim for so long, for so long.”

Why do you think that is?

“I guess because that was the only love I ever knew, that type of abuse, and that’s what I gave myself. Even when I got into sobriety, I felt like was doing enough or I wasn’t working hard enough. Then I got into the gym and I was doing extensive workouts of beating myself up, saying ‘better, better, better, more, more more,’ then I stopped doing that. I guess, for the most part, it’s what I’ve always known. I’m still ashamed of myself and to some degree that’s changed. I’ve done a lot of telling myself that I love myself. When I get deeper, that root of shame is still there. I believe it’s changing. I have faith. I do. I really do. It’s funny, after I wrote that letter to Bill, my father ended up falling in the bathroom and cracking his back, and he called me and, after cracking his back, he said, ‘Sometimes, Mike, we forget the good things in life.’ Magically, out of nowhere, he started talking regularly and eating food again. Nothing external had changed. It was definitely like some miracle stuff. I don’t know, maybe he was tapped into something greater. It’s trying not to see with the eyes of everyone else because that’s all I looked to define me for so long.”

Yeah, it sounds like your value, sense of worth, and identity were tethered to both your parents, who you felt unseen, unheard, and unvalued by because of their own predicaments and inability to give you their presence, and also the way that the gang, in the beginning, felt like a sense of belonging, community, and brotherhood, maybe the family you didn’t have, became a degrading source of abuse for you that made you feel ‘less than,’ and it sounds like you internalized that for years. You recognize that the roots of shame are deep. What are some of the identifiers of shame? What is it that you’re ashamed of?

“I don’t know. If I was to go back before the gang stuff, I don’t really have any memories before ten or eleven years old—I always wondered about that. Like I said earlier, I remember seeing videos of when I was younger. The videos pretty much stopped when I was about four years old, and I don’t really have any memories until about age ten. I had done some shamanic journeying work with this guy and he was doing some reiki on me towards the end, and he put his hands on me and I remembered a feeling or something that had happened between ages four and ten. I can’t put my finger on the person, but I know that it was some older male figure that made me believe that to please him in some sort of sexual way was the right thing to do. I just remember feeling his hands on me and feeling a lot of anger, an immense amount of anger. Anger is not a word that I tend to identify with that much and usually the lack thereof leaves passion and different things when directed right. I haven’t had that passion for as long as I can remember, maybe little tidbits here and there.

“After that experience with the sexual abuse, I became hypersexualized and oversexualized at a young age. Being told that being pleasing in that manner, at least that’s what I internalized, was the way to acceptance or love or whatever, and also being really, really confused because that was part of me that I didn’t even know at such a young age. So, everything with regard to sex became very convoluted to me. I guess that’s the deeper part where the shame resides at now. Anyway, at such a young age to receive, feel, or give any sort of sexual pleasure or anything in all relationships caused me a lot of shame.”

Do you think your parents had any idea that you had experienced that?

“I don’t know. There wasn’t much intimacy in my family. I know my father had a very rough time growing up and he never understood the word ‘happiness.’ He said that he never understood what that meant. When I was around twelve or thirteen years old, I found out that my father was attracted to men and it really messed me up because I didn’t know if he loved my mother. I didn’t know a lot of things and I don’t think I ever really knew myself because of the abuse earlier. All sexual attraction was just everywhere, to all people. I don’t think my father knew and he did his best to stay away. I know that the abuse didn’t come from him, but I know that, due to his own shame, he grew up in the Bible Belt of Oklahoma, the youngest of five brothers. He was a very sensitive kid growing up. He had polio as a young kid. A lot of different things happened to him. He told me that his first friend was my mom, at thirty-eight years old. He said that he didn’t remember having a friend before that. My father’s story is kind of intertwined in there. I think he was afraid and he kept his distance from me.

“I don’t know if they knew or not. I don’t think at the time or how it was presented to me or how the abuse went on, I don’t know if it was multiple people or not, but it was like ‘this is how it’s supposed to be.’ It wasn’t presented in a way that ‘this is wrong.’”

At what point did you recognize that maybe it wasn’t the way things were supposed to be?

“I think it’s something that’s just coming to fruition because I don’t think I was able to remember that. It was all blocked out. At the time, we were moving a lot. My dad was in and out of hospitals. I was on the road and unable to form any lasting friendships. I think it happened in between one of the moves. I can’t really remember, but I don’t know. I don’t know if I did recognize that it was wrong. I wished it didn’t happen.”

Do you feel responsible for it?

“No, I don’t feel responsible for it. No, no, no. I think the one thing I feel responsible for is probably the amount of shame I carry. Not only because of that, but more with the sexualized feelings towards everyone. When you asked that question at the beginning, ‘what’s the biggest challenge that you face now?’—that’s it. When you asked it, I wasn’t going to answer and I went down the path of the abuse, which I’ve said before in some instances. I’ve never really talked about the sexual stuff or my father too much but, for some reason—I don’t know—that’s been the most shameful parts. It felt like the nail in the coffin type of event to ‘be a man’ type stuff, and then trying to navigate yourself intimately has been a process. Saying those words, that’s only been said, it took me a long time to say those type of things.”

What words? 

“I guess the sexualized feelings towards everyone. I’d have to do a lot of analyzing and a lot of character checking before I said that type of stuff.”

How is the sexualizing everyone manifesting in your life or interfering with it?

“It lets me keep an arm’s distance from building relationships. I used to think I was good at intimacy, but I was always drunk or high. I guess it’s interfered a lot. Recently, I was able to engage in a relationship that was all about talking about everything that came up during everything basically. There was some healing there around physical intimacy because for me most of the time anything that was enjoyable physically would have to be with someone I didn’t know and, if there was some sort of loving connection, physical intimacy was never enjoyable.”

Is sounds like the reverse of what it should be.

“Yep. Luckily, in this past relationship, we were able to dialogue over everything, what came up during intimacy, and I told her everything. So, there was some healing there, but there was still some shame underneath, but I feel that I’m close. There was some healing in that relationship, but I feel like I still have to uncover Mike. I continue to push away from that love because I’m realizing that I need to . . . I’ll slowly but surely tell you everything that’s gone on and then I’ll analyze your frickin’ reactions to everything’s that happened, and see if you’re accepting in the relationship, very slowly, because ultimately I want it to be an open, vulnerable place, like there’s no shadow or anything, but I guess it was still a way of seeking validation. Here are some little pieces of me, let me see how you react, let me see your facial responses to them. Now it’s my own journey to finding that within and finding that joy again. Even most of my sobriety has been about ‘to do’s’ and ‘get this done.’ There’s never been a space where I can just go hiking with a friend and not overanalyze everything, but for the most part, it’s hard for me to tap into that sense of joy. Slowly but surely, it’s coming back. I believe that wholeheartedly.”

I think the process of trying to shut out or repress pain takes so much energy and effort that there’s no capacity for joy. Perhaps, through the releasing of the feeling of pain, you have the contrasting element of the pain to experience the joy, but if you’re not feeling one, it’s hard to feel the other. I’m sure you have years of accumulated pain internalized that is just beginning to surface and make sense to you. It sounds like through that experience of reiki, you came in contact with a part of your life that you had internalized and blocked out and had no memory of until that moment, which is a response the brain and the body have to allow you to survive a traumatic moment. Eventually, your guards come down and it’s safe for you to feel that; it surfaces.

“Yeah, I guess it’s trying to feel safe.”

And still feel loved, heard, and seen. It sounds like you’re at a stage right now where you’re in the slow process of letting a little bit out here and there and seeing how people respond to it in order for you to know whether it’s okay to keep going, but I’m sure that probably brings you face to face with fear often, fear of someone telling you you’re not good enough or showing you that you’re not good enough through their actions.

“At one point, I was going to share all of this, even deeper, in front of a bunch of people just so I could shut down because I thought, inside, that I was going to do it for some sort of cathartic moment. But I think subconsciously what I was doing it for was to find that person in the room who was judging me so that I could say, ‘See, this is why I don’t do this.’ Lately, I’ve been trying to find little pockets where there’s an exchange, and I’ll reach for it sometimes, I’ll give little pieces or breadcrumbs, and if there’s not that exchange back, I step back, but I don’t want to have it like that always. I don’t want to have to analyze the safety of a situation. I just want to be ‘here I am.’ It’s a process.”

It’s a process—that really resonates with me . . . here I am. In short, that’s the definition of authenticity, vulnerability and courage—here I am; showing up and being seen. You’ve talked about losing a sense of connection to Mike, that you may or may not have come to know him at some point in your life, that he exists on some level, somewhere. Where is he? Where do you think he is?

“It feels like he’s stuck inside this shelter, that adult Mike or Mike now, keeps him safe.”

Do you feel that it’s okay to let him out of that shelter?

“Umm. I don’t know. I don’t know if I even really know who he is and who I’m letting out. That’s a tough question. I guess I see him when things are simple. I went on a hike this weekend with a buddy of mine. I knew he didn’t really know all that, and I don’t think he really needed to, so it was just me being able to have fun and laugh. I don’t think I’ve laughed like that in a long time. There were no expectations.”

In that space, it was okay for him to be a part of that experience?

“Yes. I was able to feel free.”

I imagine the shelter that you created for him was designed to protect him and keep him safe, but shelters can also become cages. If someone spends enough time in a cage, the hand that’s trying to feed them or unlock the door gets met with a ferocious beast who’s so deprived of connection, light, and sense of humanity that they almost appear to be a monster, and that can be terrifying to the hand that’s trying to feed them or unlock the door.

“Or, it’s the other way around. Where the one holding the key to the door is the ferocious beast. And the light inside just wants to be integrated. I wrote a story about myself (and made it seem like it wasn’t). It was prison, all black and white, and everyone was told that you’re not allowed to go to the light. Every day, he was told that he was a number, number 6752 or whatever, and everyone’s a number. Every time the number walks outside the prison, he sees this light and everyone tells him that this all-encompassing society tells it, not even him, to stay away from the light, the light will take you off. So, he walks by the prison, he does what he has to do every day, number 6752. One day, he’s walking by the prison, he sees the light, and something inside says, ‘Maybe you should dance, maybe you should play music,’ but he disregards it and keeps walking by the prison. He’s always been told to avoid the light, avoid it, it will take you off line. He walks up to the prison one day, and he’s following the light inside the prison and feels discombobulated and doesn’t know what’s happening. The path outside in the black and white was clear—you do this, you get this, this is how it works. Following this color and light was different and different thoughts were coming in. He approaches the prison and there are these huge prison guards, they’re standing there, stone cold, with huge guns, and he looks at them in the eyes, he tries to get in and shakes them. They’re just sitting there, he takes off a layer, and he tries pulling at them and layers are just falling, falling, falling, falling, falling, and then there’s nothing, no prison guards. There’s a door in front of him, he opens the door and there are all these eyes looking at him, everywhere. They’re so big and overwhelming, and filled with fear. They were just looking and staring at him, and he is just so scared and he can’t move. There are hundreds of eyes everywhere and he says to the eyes, ‘I am you,’ and the eyes disappear. He walks into the next door and ‘ego’ is written on the door. He’s afraid and he can’t get through it. It looks like this big, stainless steel door, unbreakable, unstoppable; he kicks it and it shatters. He walks in and then there’s this light behind this prison door. He’s almost there, he can almost touch it, and all these thoughts are flooding in. Outside the door is this big guard, he stares at him in the eyes and thinks ‘there’s no way I can get through this.’ The guard is so scary, he has so much fear raging in him, and he’s putting it all on number 6752, and It screams, ‘I’ve gotten through all this, I’m almost to the light, I can almost be there, but I can’t face this’ (this fear). He looks at the fear, stares at it, he’s about to walk away, and whenever he trusts the light, it always, leads him to feeling these thoughts again, these feelings again, and he looks at the fear and says ‘I love you’ and the jacket falls off the fear and there’s a little boy curled up outside the light, outside the prison. It is saying to the little boy, ‘I love you,’ and nothing’s happening and the little boy cries and cries and cries and looks up periodically, and cries, and just sits there and It says, ‘I faced the eyes, I faced the masks, I faced the ego, I faced the fear, and I tell you I love you and nothing happens.’ The boy cries and cries and cries. Days pass, months pass, years pass, and It gets mad at the boy, screams at him, ‘All this time I loved you,” and the boy cries and curls up in the corner. It sits with him again for years and says, ‘I love you.’ Eventually the boy lifts up his head and says, ‘I love you, too,’ and the door opens. The light, It—now Him—and the boy all join together. He is scared because he’s been offline for so long. Where does he go now? What does he do? He’s scared for the little boy. Eventually he feels some sort of song come up within him and He flies above the prison. He’s scared that the little boy isn’t safe, but he looks and there is no little boy, the light is gone, and he’s just flying above. Some other It, number 67425, is walking by, sees this bright light flying above the prison, something sparks in him. and he asks to go inside too.”

It’s a full story of integration.

“Yeah.”

What are you learning about yourself through this process of recognizing that there’s still work to do and that you’ve endured a significant amount of trauma, loss, and pain in your life, and that you’re still figuring out who you are?

“That we all experience pain, and one of the biggest revelations is that it doesn’t matter what degree of trauma there necessarily is, maybe mine could look bad from the eyes of someone else who has experienced a different life but, in their eyes, whatever they’ve experienced, whether you shed it from the specific experience to the emotion that it is, fear or sadness, whatever it may be, that they’ve experienced those same things. The heart is behind it all, the one heart. I guess that was a way for me to realize that I wasn’t so alone because, at one point, I did think that no one has ever known this pain, but then I had to realize that everyone has a comfort zone in life and however they were pushed out of it could be the same experience. I guess that’s part of it. While I can say those words, it doesn’t necessarily mean I feel it 100 percent. I think that’s more how I’m able to see others with authenticity, but not as myself, applying that same standard. I think that’s the next point for me. I’m learning about myself, just to be able to say it’s okay. Like I said earlier, the pendulum swinging from faith and fear. Sometimes the fear can be all-encompassing, but I think to just say it’s okay and I don’t need to force myself through anything. Sometimes I push myself and it almost makes me regress. I guess I’m learning to be patient with my own unfolding and know that there’s a lot of layers and I feel, as the more safe places I find myself entering, that I won’t need to necessarily hear the words from other people. I’ll be able to tell myself those words of love and that, hopefully, I’ll feel safe no matter what. That’s the goal. I don’t know what will happen. I guess just don’t rush the process, as much as I want to, but when I start taking hold of that process and pushing it around, it doesn’t tend to do the same type of healing.”

If your nine- or ten-year-old self was sitting next to you, what would you want that self to know or feel?

“I think it would be the other way around. What would the nine- or ten-year-old self want to tell me now?”

Okay, let’s put that spin on it.

“You were never lost. It’s okay. You don’t have to hide. I miss you. I’m still here playing. That’s what I’d say.”

For those who may be reading this or listening to this, and may be able to relate not to your experiences, but to the thoughts or feelings that you’ve expressed, what would you want them to know?

“You’re not lost. You never have been. Deep down I know you love you. Give yourself the space and the time to find that joy again, because it’s not that far away, it’s not as far as you think.”

Is there a piece of advice, a song lyric, a mantra, or a quote that resonates with you that you’d like to share?

“‘Everything is already okay, everything is already all right.’”

What does that mean to you?

“Sometimes my head takes me all over the place and makes me really afraid and lonely, but when I tap back into that, I can feel that inner child playing again. It makes me realize you don’t really need too much, just some laughs and hugs from people you care about. I guess it’s a way for me to come back to that light and not get taken away by the emotional waves, just ride them a little bit and not pulled under. Not to say that I’m the best at it, but even in that, everything is already okay, trusting that wherever I am is where I’m supposed to be.”

How has it felt to share and talk about these thoughts, experiences, and feelings with me today?

“At one point, I felt very naked because I had a plan of the details of what I was going to share and what I wasn’t. I know before we were recording, I was talking about the other side of fear is the greatest growth. I felt that even if it’s a tiptoe of a little shelter, it’s better than nothing because I’ll be safe. It’s taught me a little bit more about what walking into fear really is and the space of forgiveness that falls right after. First, it’s like this naked vulnerability, like fuck, but then there’s this eerie feeling to it. It feels like I can move through the world a little bit easier. Yeah, that’s how it was to say those things.”

Do you think it’s possible that by sharing what you did today, in this format, someone on the receiving end could potentially benefit, gain some hope or inspiration, or even a sense that they’re not alone?

“I think that’s my lifelong purpose. I think our greatest pain is our greatest power. I believe that wholeheartedly. This fire that’s burning within us, it could be shame or fear-based or anything, once we take it outside of ourselves and realize it’s the most beautiful, amazing thing in the world, and we hold it as our torch, then other people begin to see, too. It’s not like this is my torch. No, there’s one right there inside of you, too. Let’s muster up and get that thing lit. The only way to light it is from yourself, but that doesn’t mean there can’t be any encouragement along the way; it doesn’t have to be so hard. I definitely believe that, or I hope. That’s the goal—eventually write my story, being able to make someone not feel so scared or, even if they are scared, recognize that someone else has felt that too and, right outside that immense fear, is really the best space you could ever be in.”

Thank you.

[talesofthebnha-marvel]

Tales From Peter Parker: Foreign Exchange Student - The Grapes of a feather Part 1

"WHAT THE HELL AM I LOOKING AT!" A raised voice coming from Flint Marko alias the Sandman.

It's called 'anime' Marko, learn the damn culture sand for brains!" Herman Schultz alias The Shocker responded by scolding and ripping the anime case from Marko.

"So what like them cartoons in the U.S.?"

"Its so much more than that its a way of life for this country, I'm what the Japanese kids called a Weeabo!" Herman said with such a prideful tone.

"....... Da hell does that mean?"

"It means I'm a fan who enjoys the highest of quality animation." Shocker responded in a staunch stance.

"And those finer things include gauking at underage girls?"

"Don't cheapen it like that, thats a gross and misleading interpretation of the anime culture!" Herman felt insulted by Flints simplified observation of the genre.

"Plus I don't do Lolicons I'm attracted to the more firm and volumptious woman of great beauty like Oda's One Piece." Herman corrected while making vulgar hand gestures.

A short silence fell between the two, as Flint tries processing what his quilt attired allied has just uttered.

"Okay whatever youse say, The Vibrator lets get our videos and bail out already." Flint mockingly smiled as Shocker only responded by a gritted face of irritation.

At the Kiyashi Ward Shopping Center is a mall that specialize in selling various goods pertaining to a citizens body type and quirk type. But aside from selling speciality items for unique quirk users, the mall houses a variety in the entrainment medias as your standard "electronic store." Where we see now, one third of the Sinister Six members Sandman and Shocker wearing oversize tan trenchcoats in the middle of summer at the local video shop on, DVD purchases.

"Lets see we got "Godzilla 1945" for Beck, the original film, "The Ring" for Gargan, something on "the Japan's monorail system" for Toomes and nothing for Dmitri."

"Dmitri not so much a movie goer?

"Nah I just hate that Russian prick, OH HELL YEAH!" Hermans eyes popped with excitement as his sights met with his choice of DVD.

"The last copy of "Monster Museum" and its within my grasp!"

"Okay and what's, wait y'know what I do-"

Jumping away from the DVD, Herman immediately cutoff Flint to explain.

"It's a raunchy harem comedy about sexy monster girls trying to win the heart of the male protagonist tenant as he cleans up after there orgies and survives there cuddles of death." Herman with such graphic detail of the animes premise.

Many of the customers looked there way disturbed by the man in the yellow quilted suit unashamed manner and lack of censoring. The stares from customers embarrassed Flint heavily as he desperately wanted to use his powers to slink his head inside like a turtle away from prying predators. Instead all he could do was plant his face into his palms like a meme from the internet.

"What are you all looking at, scram you degen- Where's my Monster Harem?!" Cutting off his rant Herman sees a small boy with "grape hair?" making a quick dash as if his life depended on it.

"That little turd is stealing my monster harem, Flint circle around him will cut him off from the register!"

"Schultz its just a freaking cartoon!"

"Its not about the cartoon its the principal!"

"Principal of what?!" But Flints yell fell on death ears as the former linebacker sighed a heavy breath.

"Why do I even bother?" Flint thinks to himself.

Back to the boy with grape hair. Continuing to sprint with dear life as his mouth salivates he thinks to himself his almost clear.

"I'm almost at the register and than pure unadulterated smut will be mine to-"

His thoughts were interrupted as his head made collision with Flint Marko mid section sending the grape haired boy tumbling backwards in a daze. He tries to turn back only to have his chaser Herman Schultz, lifting the small teens hair by the palm of his left hand.

"Sup que ball, you have something of mine."

"Hey guy in the yellow, cushion suit?" A teen with spiky yellow hair calling out Herman confused by his clothes.

"Drop the perv he's a UA student and my best friend!"

"And if there's one thing I can't stand Kaminari its villains picking on my fellow classmates!" The red spiked hair schoolmates chimed in.

"Hey now were not looking for trouble-"

"But your little turd friend here was stealing fro- Where did he go and what the @$#% is this crap on my hand!"

Flayling his arms in panic, the sticky ball stuck to his hand would not budge as it simply jiggled from his thrashing.

"I wouldn't use your other hand if I were you unless you want to get stuck." Said Minetta with a smug tone.

"Get this crap off me!" Herman yelled at the boy.

"Oh I will, But only on one condition."

"Kid I swear if your trying to extort me I'm-"

"THATS RIGHT!! IF YOU WANT YOUR PRECIOUS HAND FREE YOU'LL FREELY ALLOW ME THE "Monster Museum" COPY!" Minetta demanded dropping his previous calm composure to that of a creature of lust.

"Dude sweet move!" Kaminari followed with a fist bump to Minnetta.

"Minetta don't you think thats a bit underhanded" Kirishima confessing his discomfort at this display of villainy.

"You little turd, we came all this way from the U.S. just to enjoy some peace." Herman walks closer to the boys.

"Than you steal from me, put this weird stuff on my hand and now you blackmail me!" The boys feel a bit a trembled as he inches in.

"Well I got one thing to say about that deal, Flint kick the crap out of these losers!

"WHAT!?" The UA perv duo said in unison.

"Pfft Hell no, I ain't gonna beat up some teens that made youse look bad."

"OH COME ON, these punks are asking for it especially that little bastard!" Herman points angrily at Minetta.

"And I told you my names Minetta if you want my sticky ball off, give m- GAHH!!" A blunt slap struck Minetta collapsing him to the floor.

The pink girls hand that struck his back head still burned from the strike.

"OW! What the Hell Mina!?

"You know what you did Minetta and as for you!" Her gaze met with Kirishima.

"I would expect Minetta and Kaminari of this, but you I thought you were better than this."

"I wanted to stop them Mina, but those two guys were bullying Minetta and-"

"And you thought bullying them for extortion was better?! Shame on you Kirishima!" Mina rubbed her fist into Kirishimas head.

"Its obvious what these guys are!"

"It is?" Herman and Flint said simoultanously as they both looked in the others direction nervously.

"The bright costume on that guy in oven mitts, the foreign accents, and that big guy in the green stripe shirt."

Hermans brow sweated intensely, his breathing erratic while Flint unable to sweat tries to inch backwards as slowly as possible.

"There Pro heroes!!" Mina proclaimed ecstatically.

"It all makes sense now, how could I be so stupid please forgive us sirs!" Said Kirishima as he bows repeatedly.

"Wait what-"

"Um yeah that's right! Were uh, undercover pro heroes is what my partner was trying to say, right Flint!" Said Herman as he tries to forcefully wink towards Flint.

Flint gives a simple shrug and a half hearted smile towards the school uniformed wearing students.

"That. Is. So. AWESOME!" The pink, horned girl exclaimed with an unyielding reserve of enthusiastic energy.

"Please let us introduce ourselves I'm Mina Ashido!"

"Eijro Kirishima!"

"Denki Kaminari!"

"And Minetta!"

"And were from Class 1A of UA High training to become Pro Heroes." Said Mina enthusiastically.

"PLUS ULTRA" The group said in unity as they poised dramatically.

A long awkward silence soon proceeded as Herman and Flint try grasping what they just witnessed.

"Umm... Okay well I'm Flint Marko and quilt man over here is Herman Schultz."

"How many times I gotta tell you Marko quit calling me Quilt man, besides (ex nay on our "hero" names)!" Herman whispering that last detail in secrecy.

"Look congrats on your whole training to be heroes but uh, Mineta right? I'm gonna need you to take this damn thing off now."

Mineta tries to look away but soon turns away as the steely gaze of Mina stares back.

"GAH! Okay fine! I'll take it off!" He begrudgingly agreed.

"So I gotta ask what are a couple of Secret pro heroes from the U.S. doing in Japan?" Kaminari questions.

"Well um, yeah see, we uhh..-"

"And why are you guys in a video store buying anime porn?" Kaminari's question continue to corner Flint.

With Shocker getting Mineta and Mina to help remove the sticky ball from his hand, Flint knew he had to dig deep to pull off an elaborate, B.S. lie that would make even Mysterio proud.

"Well ain't it obvious Pin Cushion, were staking out for any bad guy yahoos trying to uh.... rob this place so we was just trying to blend in and be all "conspicuous"

that answer your twenty questions?"

"My name is not the damn Pin Cushion! Its Kaminari you ignorant tourist!"

"Why does this kid make me want backhand him like Electro." Flint said to himself as he struggles to keep calm.

"Kaminari! You shame pro heroes every where with that disrepectable talk! Kirishima scolded.

The blonde haired boy was shaken by his classmates scornful tone, a feet he thought only the explosive Bakugou was capable of.

"Forgive my friends jerk behavior sir but if your looking for recommendations-"

"Stow it half pint, Hermans the one who's into the anima or cartoons stuff I'm looking for something with a little bit more teeth, present company excluded of course."

"My names not half pint its, Kirishima" the young man protested more annoyed by the nickname than the teeth remark.

"I got the anime that's right for you, its Jojo's Bizarre Adventure Part 3 and I bet my entire code of manliness to convince you!"

"Manliness?"

"It's Kirishimas whole mantra of machismo don't encourage it." Kaminari explained.

"Who asked you Sparky! And as to you Kiri-shama was it, any man that puts there code on the line has my attention."

Flint held his fist high towards Kirishima.

Knowing the gesture well, Kirishima moved his arm in response to fist bump Flint in dramatic fashion.

"Did I hear explosions, Flint said to himself."

And Flint would be right for unbeknownst to the group, several armed men garbed in sophisticated helmets and harnesses storm the video shop entrance in a threatening like manner of ill intent!

TO BE CONTINUED!

---------

Tales of Peter Parker is an expanded story of the main series Peter Parker: Foreign Exchange student comic by @alexdrawsagain check him out!

[larissaloki]

Walking Avengers 17

the poem at the begining is curtesy to @thoughtfulbreadpolice who gave me permission ages ago to add this in. Hope you guys like this! comments deeply appreciated!

No Dead Nation

No, dead sky

No, dead nation, flies right on by.

No, dead soul

And No, dead don’t care

No Dead Nation

Eats the living and the living eat the soul.

Run through the woods

Past the trees, fallen oaks and vines

Run for freedom, run for sky

No Dead Nation has taken the night.

Sing a lullaby to the grieving

Sing a song to kiss the dead

Sing a song to wave past the living

No Dead Nation to kiss us goodbye.

Run, run, and don’t look back

Dead nation coming

Dead Nation has found the end.

Then tell us in the morning

What the world was like

Only if for a night

Tell Us How;

No Dead Nation has taken the light.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Tony spent two hours grilling Colossus and Yukio; names were finally swapped after an initial freak out; asking them about who they are, how do they know the group that attacked, why would they attack them and what information did Colossus have that he could share?

The information on the attacking group was depressingly little yet alarming, to have such a powerful group that supposedly had control of such a large area, yet was staying well hidden from any passing groups. Tony took a mental note of the leaders name; Francis, the only solid information that Colossus could give him; and tried to think of anyone he could have met in the past, that could fit this mystery before them.

On the verge of pulling strands of his hair out in frustration, Tony kept pulling up blanks in his mind- even Natasha had nothing from her time with shield or Red room that could help. If anyone hated not knowing something, it’s Natasha. She often took pride in having so much knowledge and knowing the important people in life, if Natasha didn’t know everything about you yet, it was only a matter of time before she did.

They could only conclude, that this Francis had to be a new development from either the result of this current world or a new villain that hadn’t had the chance to hit their radar before all this happened. They were going in this essentially blind.

However, they could hazard a guess that the attacking group has possibly got access to labs, as Colossus explained how that before the attackers would only go for the easier ones to kidnap. Using devices they had never seen before to restrain or capture. Stronger ones that could pose to be to dangerous to approach where left alone. Until now.

Seeing as Cap was taken this time- a super soldier beef tank that took down hydra in his prime, was a massive cause for concern. Could they now take on the Nordic Gods? Hulk? Why attack and kidnap and not ask the Avengers to join instead?

To many questions and not enough answers for Tony’s liking at all.

Admitting defeat in chasing info about Francis, Tony turned his attention on Colossus’s own group; it is a relatively big group considering Tony had only seen duos or singular people before now; the group consists of an old man in a wheelchair called Charles, an older teen/young adult called John but went by his super name Pyro. A man called Logan that had helped save Nat’s group earlier, Negasonic, Dopinder and finally an old lady called Al who is blind.

By the time Colossus had finished describing his group, the Avenger’s where reluctantly impressed that they had managed to survive this long considering that most of Colossus’s group had people with many disadvantages. Disadvantages that would normally get either the group or themselves killed early on. They key to them surviving it seemed, was that most had Mutant abilities, giving them an edge to survive.

Tony could see that Bucky; who had yet to leave his side since Nat returned; liked this group, Loki had even given Tony a nod after Colossus had finished talking to indicate that Colossus hadn’t lied to them. Having the god of lies on your side was proving to be handy.

Natasha even vouched for them, as well as Clint when Tony asked him. Calling for a quick group meeting, Wade and Peter playing with Punk in a corner of the “medical” room while the adults talked, Tony asked the group as a whole about what they should do.

“We all heard Metal man and Dollies story, we should discuss as a group what to do from here. Should we trust Colossus and his group?”

Hands squeezing the back of a chair that Loki had claimed, Tony’s knuckles where white from how hard he was gripping the chair. A near futile effort to keep calm and still, when all he wanted was to get in a truck and get Steve right then and now. It took Bucky a few moments out in the hall earlier, telling him; just as much for his own benefit as Tony’s; that they needed to make a plan before running off. Steve would kill them if they ran into this half cocked.

Nearby, Bucky is leaning in the corner right by the kids, in the shadows and the perfect angle to see both the door and window, arms crossed over his chest as he broods. Body rigid and tense with the need to go and look for Steve himself. He hated being idle when someone he cared for was in untold danger.

“I think it would be a good idea to join forces, safety in numbers after all. They have a lot of manpower which would be welcome I’m sure we all agree, I mean it’s not like were hurting for space?” Natasha reasoned, turning her gaze to each member of the room as she talks.

Sam was nodding along with her, perched on a rickety table that’s set against the wall, opposite the bed.

“I think it would be a good idea to bring them in, more people to split into defending this place while also getting Steve back. Hell, we maybe able to save more people out there from hoards, if we have a bigger group. Start a new community, draw other survivors to fight back against the dead”

Well, that certainly was a good argument for allowing the new group to join Tony had to admit.

“Everyone that thinks that we should join forces, raise your hand?”

Practically everyone raised their hand or voiced their agreement verbally, even the kids waved heir hands about. Excited by the prospect of having new people around.

“Daddy, does that mean there will be other kids?” Peter tugged on Tony’s leg, looking up curiously. Smiling down at his son, Tony ran a hand through Peters messy curls causing him to giggle and bat at his fathers hand.

“I’m afraid not sweetheart, but we may find other’s with kids in the future hmm?”

Pouting but pacified by the prospect of eventually seeing other kids, Peter nods and goes back to his game with Wade.

“What shell we do about Steve? We have to come up with a plan as soon as possible, the longer we leave it the more chance of something bad happening…”

Nervously fiddling with his glasses, cleaning them with the hm of his shirt, Bruce finally spoke up. Bringing up the most dreaded conversation that none of them wanted to have but needed to have.

It was Bucky who spoke, face a stone cold mask, voice soft and quiet that only seemed much more foreboding than if he had shouted.

“We should wait til the kids are in bed, and Colossus’s group is here and settled. I think if we all discussed it as one big group, we may have better results. Find out each of their strengths to help us”

“I agree with Bucky, we need to plan this properly or else this could go really wrong”

Tony took in both Bucky’s and Natasha’s advice, nodding slowly as he thought it over, though most of his focus was on the tech that was stored in the room next door. Ideas and plans formulating in his mind on ways to use it all, mentally calculating the parts that each item would have.

“Aye, in all my years as a warrior, it was always better to take a little bit of extra time to properly prepare an attack or course of action, rather than rush in foolishly rush in-“

“Oh please Thor,”

“-and risk more lives…”

Thor glared at Loki who had muttered while he had been talking, not appreciating the jab from the trickster.

Hissing between his teeth as he shifted, Clint rubs at his face tiredly as his body is using all his energy to try and heal faster, his fatigue made worse by the lack of nutrition from being on the run. He s going to need as much rest as possible to heal fast.

“You guys go and arrange that, I’m going to catch a few winks after downing these pain killers. Thank fuc- frick that we raided that medi centre huh?”

Clint quickly trying to censor his swearing when Nat elbowed him subtly, pouting at her, Clint plucked up the pills and some water. Taking the hint, the group file out leaving only Natasha behind to keep watch over him in case.

Sam and Thor deciding to take Colossus and Yukio back to collect their group to bring back, Loki went to sort food, the kids following behind him bugging him to show them (or Wade asking him to teach them some magic, to which Loki scoffed and told him a flat no.) some magic. Leaving Tony, Bruce and Bucky in the corridor.

“Tony? What you hatching in that head of yours?..” Bruce asked tentatively, watching Tony as he goes into the next room, seemingly ignoring the other two. Muttering under his breathe as he moves around the machines.

Confused, the other two trail behind him, curious as to what Tony could possibly be dong.

“Er..Doll? Could you slow down and -why the hell are you ripping that apart?!”

Alarmed, Bucky rushes forward to yank Tony away from one of the monitors that he had started to rip apart.

“The hell James? I’m trying to work here!”

“Would you like to share with the class first?!”

“U-um, guys? Let’s keep it down yeah?...” Both proceeded to ignore Bruce as they bickered.

“I have ideas for weapons and and small traps, I only need around half these machines to make what I need!”

“Warning us would have been nice you little punk! Jesus between you and Steve I’m surprised I’m not entirely grey”

“What the hell does that mean? You haven’t got a single grey yet at all you dick! I’m the one with grey’s!”

“…yeah but you look sexy with the silver streaks”

Grinning unrepentantly in the face of Tony’s sudden silence, face going red from the compliment. It’ been a long while since someone had paid him any compliments on his appearance, having long since passed his prime what with his more squishy body and belly. Lines starting to show on his face.

Spluttering while trying to fight down his blush, Tony squirmed out of Bucky’s grip, straightening his clothes and subtly tugging at the collar of his shirt.

“Shut up and go watch Peter for me? Bruce fancy helping me tear a apart a few mor machines? We need to start preparing for a fight”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Sam and Thor had decided to take the truck with the camper van on the back to collect the group, ironically the same vehicles that they were in that started this. Clint’s dried blood still standing the footwell on the passenger side.

Sam being the only one who can a) drive and b) actually fit in the drivers seat, was the designated driver while Yukio gave him directions. Thor and Colossus sat in the truck bay, keeping a sharp eye out for any more surprise attacks. Inside, Yukio was happily keeping conversation going with Sam as she chatted about her group and her girlfriend Negasonic, whom she loved completely.

Sam was happy for her, to have managed to keep ahold of something so pure in such dark times, Sam was a little envious but mostly, he is happy for her. Everyone needed something good to help them carry on.

“-so I told her, not to put so much rice in the pot, but she did anyway and went off to fix the perimeter while the rest of us was collecting water and such. When she came back the rice had expanded so much that there was a tower of rice coming out of the pot! The lid on top.”

Blinking as Sam tune back into the story, catching the last bit, he snorts in amusement.

“I take it she was taken off cooking duty huh?” Grinning, Sam takes a left that Yukio tells him to take, Yukio giggles nodding in agreement.

“She was, Colossus tried hard to salvage the rice! It wasn’t the best meal but it wasn’t to bad either. Professor Charles since then had taken to doing cooking lessons with her every now and again, hoping to try and avoid that situation again”

Yukio directed him a little way outside of the main town, a small drive that has trees on both sides of the road, leading to a small cottage like building. The darkening sky making the place look more ominous than usual, over grown bushes and plants hid any pathway that would usually be there.

“Here we are!”

“…if we weren’t in a post-apocalyptic world…I’d be scared that you were about to murder me..”

“Serial killers could still be alive you know” Chirping cheerfully, Yukio climbs out of the truck, leaving a suddenly frozen Sam.

[trulycertain]

Deus Ex is One Great Big Goth Phase

@jackedjoyce, @valeriannn, @ngresonance - I blame you all. We run a Very Serious Server.

ngresonance Today at 00:10 Put nail stickers where Adam's nails are supposed to be

trulycertain (Print), is a shrubToday at 00:11 ...Do not make me draw this He'd be so glitzy

ngresonanceToday at 00:11 Gold of course

trulycertain (Print), is a shrubToday at 00:12 ...Dammit, dammit, dammit Would he have to wear false nails, though, or just the wraps?

Resident ToufexpertToday at 00:13 jensen showing up with poorly painted nails only to end up with pritchard rubbing acitone on his polycarbonate hands and grumbling about how Jensen clearly never had a goth phase ngresonanceToday at 00:13 If he wants to be able to pick up little things like coins and stickers, probably false nails

trulycertain (Print), is a shrubToday at 00:13 Or maybe he did

Resident ToufexpertToday at 00:13 and then proceeding to make them STUNNINHG

trulycertain (Print), is a shrubToday at 00:13 Perhaps he got used to painting his old nails and just couldn't get used to aug fingers

ngresonanceToday at 00:13 Pritchard probably cares for his nails, using nail oil and keeping them filed, but doesn't paint them obviously

Resident ToufexpertToday at 00:14 "Holding the little brush is hard" "Did you fucking go to the gas station for this low quality shit"

trulycertain (Print), is a shrubToday at 00:14 I wan... I want to draw. And I can't decide whether it's goth Frank or post-punk Jensen

Resident ToufexpertToday at 00:14 "Im bored." "Too bad. I'm not done with my design"

trulycertain (Print), is a shrubToday at 00:14 With his daft hair and his black nail varnish wearing these

Because continuity To be fair, if he disassembles computers, Frank must have really good hand coordination. I bet he'd be good.

ngresonanceToday at 00:15 Eidos show us Frank's goth phase

trulycertain (Print), is a shrubToday at 00:17 [Jensen] grooms his beard like that! If you think that boy has never worn eyeliner I don't know what to tell you

Resident Toufexpert Today at 00:18 Idk why i really want adam to be a beauty guru "Beardy make up and the best mascara to cry in" 20 mil views

BrideToday at 00:21 "Eye-liner for Augmented Eyes"

Resident ToufexpertToday at 00:21 "The best swatches for Sarif Industries model augs" Honestly i just want to hear adam do the tongue click

trulycertain (Print), is a shrubToday at 00:22 I want him to be alternative, somehow Frank's there all goth and angry and "I am so alone" and gets pissed off by that guy who's a ten-years-too-late Cranberries fan. "God damn it I thought you were meant to be the preppiest prep who’s ever prepped."

ValerianToday at 00:22 never too late to be a cranberries fan

trulycertain (Print), is a shrubToday at 00:22  Agreed.

Resident ToufexpertToday at 00:23 "Hi im adam and im here today with my special guest frank who's a fucking prick and made fun of me for making the debate team"

trulycertain (Print), is a shrubToday at 00:23 *laughter* Yup. He'd be so pissy but secretly so hurt. Stop it. Stop it. I should not want to pat teenage Adam's head and ruin his careful hairdo and tell him everything will end up fine. Except for the whole aug dystopia thing never mind that...

ValerianToday at 00:24 why would you lie to him like that

trulycertain (Print), is a shrubToday at 00:24 true

Resident ToufexpertToday at 00:24 Did he have a slime channel phase

ValerianToday at 00:24 i can think of one or two things that are decidedly not fine

Resident ToufexpertToday at 00:25 i love how there's so many aus i could b e thinking about but my main concern right now is "beauty guru youtuber adam AU"

trulycertain (Print), is a shrubToday at 00:25 Agreed I'm stuck on "lanky earnest captain of the debate team who keeps trying to grow a beard and failing and had a goth phase"

Resident ToufexpertToday at 00:26 "ITS NOT A PHASE MOM IT'S WHO I AM"

trulycertain (Print), is a shrubToday at 00:26 "and keeps trying to look after his mom and pretend everything's fine because people would look at him funny and probably put him in care if he explained"

Resident ToufexpertToday at 00:26 "THIS IS ME NOW"

trulycertain (Print), is a shrubToday at 00:26 *laughter* Yes, that

Resident ToufexpertToday at 00:26 Arthur Jensen: I wish I got a different baby

trulycertain (Print), is a shrubToday at 00:26 Adam: *blasts thirty seconds to mars and reapplies eyeliner*

Resident ToufexpertToday at 00:27 "Adam it's time for school" "NOT NOW MOM IM WRITING MY HARRY POTTER FANFICTION"

trulycertain (Print), is a shrubToday at 00:28 He'd so be there for the Draco in Leather Pants stuff

Resident ToufexpertToday at 00:28 i love terrible millennial teen adam

trulycertain (Print), is a shrubToday at 00:28 I just like working-class knackered kid who's actually quite well-liked while trying to secretly indulge his total nerd and goth tendencies And also is a  terrible millenial teen] 

Mutual: I legit do want to hear about Megan's goth phase, though. She eventually got very embarrassed about it and never told anyone about it ever again. Except possibly Adam when she was really drunk on a date with him trulycertainToday at 00:40 Yes, good. Cue equal sheepishness and scratching the beard and "so, uh, Meg... same?”

[nicksilveirart]

(SING!) Story Not Told, chapter 4 – You've Got A Friend in Me

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Click to read chapter 4:

Ash was tired, exhausted maybe. She didn't remember feeling like this before, not even that day that she stood awake for two days until her grades came. This was more tiring, and felt worst. She wasn't going to tell him anything, not today, and definitely not now, she just didn't want to be alone. Buster was standing right in front of her, and came closer.

"Can I?" She nodded. He embraced her, and she returned the gesture.

Neither knew for how long they held each other.

"I'm too tired to explain anything to you right now." He faced her. "Tomorrow, after the rehearsal, can we talk about it?"

"Your choice." He smiled. "Take your time. I just want to know one thing."

"What's that?"

"Is there a way I can hug you without getting stung?"

She giggled. "Put your hands through the quills, not over them."

He did as told. "Ah. Better, thanks." She laughed a little. "So, what do you want me here for, read you a bedtime story?" He said, teasingly. Ash stared at him.

"Very funny."

"Come on, you didn't ask me to stay just to have a cuddle buddy."

"Maybe I did."

He froze. "Wait, you serious?"

"No."

More laughter. Buster yawned.

"Listen kid, I'd love to sit here and just do whatever but I kinda got an appointment tomorrow and… It's important." He tried pulling away, only to be pulled back into Ash's arms.

"You told me to call you if I needed anything. You can sleep here, there's plenty of space. I just…" She sighed. "I don't wanna be alone."

He gave her a tender smile. "You aren't. I'm here with you." She was clinging onto him as if her life depended of it. He couldn't help but wonder what'd make a teenager as tough as Ash turn into an emotional wreckage such as this. He had a clue, but didn't know for sure. But whatever it was, he was more than willing to help her overcome it.

"It's okay… What happened, is going to be okay. So let's get you to bed, okay?" She nodded. He took her to her room and gently laid her down, sitting down by her side.

"So, once upon a time there was a couple of siblings…" She laughed and punched his leg softly.

"Stop it."

"When would I get another chance?" He chuckled. "Comfortable?" She gave him a nod. "Good. I'll be out there at the couch if you need me. Good night."

"Good night." She accompanied the movement of the door until it was completely shut, and went to sleep.

Buster, on the other hand, took a long time to fall asleep. Not because laying on the couch literally felt like resting upon quills; he was rehearsing in his mind what he'd say to Nana when he met her the following morning. It was easy. He'd go in there, be flattening, and hopefully get out with $100 grand. Must be change if you have millions. He thought, wryly. He took off his shirt and tossed it to the ground, adjusting himself at the less-than-comfortable couch.

In the middle of the night, a loud crashing sound startled him awake. Something out at the streets. He dragged himself to the window. Bad car crash just outside the block. Seemed like a fight was close to erupting. He shut the window and closed the blinds, turning just in time to see Ash standing in the doorway.

"This is normal around here, it's not exactly the best part of town."

He laughed. "It is just a fine part of town, Ash. Depends of how you look at it. Plus, I am awaken very easily…" He started scratching his ears. She laughed. "I think I am a light sleeper."

"Yeah, that's probably the case."

Buster smiled. He was finally coming to terms with her. And Ash had to admit, when he wasn't trying to get her to sing pop songs or wear a dress, he was a pretty funny guy. He was a funny guy, and he was shirtless. She blushed. He quickly covered himself.

"Sorry!" He said, holding his shirt against himself. "I sleep like this at home and I kinda, well…"

"I-It's fine." She turned away. Why does he look kinda good? She thought to herself.

"I'm just gonna…" He laid down at the couch. "Go back to sleep."

Silence.

"It feels like a rock there." He turned. She shrugged. "I gotta double bed in there, if you want to maybe sleep there…"

He froze. "With you?"

"It's not like we gotta engage into anything." She said, matter-of-factly. "It's just so you don't walk like the Hunchback of Notre Dame tomorrow."

"That's a nice movie." He stood up. "Okay, offer taken."

Not too long after, both laid in a bed, staring at the ceiling, and not knowing what to do or say. She was starting to think this wasn't the best idea, but she wasn't going to ask him to leave.

"Have you even written a song?"

She turned. "What?"

"Songs. You have any?"

"No, not yet…"

"Hm. You should write."

She sat in silence for a little while, then turned to him. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you think I should write?"

"I don't know… You kinda seem like you got a lot of story to tell. Just a thought."

"I kinda co-wrote a song. But that was a long time ago…"

"What was it about?"

"Freedom. My friend gave me a melody, and I wrote the lyrics."

"Is it a good song?"

"You tell me." She was about to grab her guitar. He stopped her.

"I trust your opinion. Is it a good song?"

"No, it was plain… I don't know, dramatic and cliché."

"Doesn't make it a bad song." He smiled, getting off the bed and picking her guitar up. "Play it. Got the key?"

"Kinda, it's somewhere here- Wait. What do you want with the key?"

"Guess." He winked, picking up an old guitar that was sitting there.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes. I played in a rock band in my teen years. I was the guitarist."

"You, in a rock band?"

"What, don't I look like a rocker?" He posed. She laughed.

"Oh my god." Her mouth was agape. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. "You play something."

He laughed. "I don't remember much, Ash. Plus, I only played a punk song once, and it was because my friend begged me to do it."

"Play anything."

"I'm gonna play a very old song."

"Fine by me."

He cocked a brow, tuning the guitar. "If you want me to play, you'll have to play." She nodded. He then proceeded to play The Donkey Brothers' Listen to The Music. Just the few broken parts he remembered from playing with his friends when they had free time. He finished, and put the guitar down.

"Nice voice."

"Thanks. Your turn." He smirked. She froze.

"Been a while since I last played this."

"It's been twenty two years since I last grabbed a guitar, and will you look at that." He winked.

After playing a few notes on the guitar, she hummed along with a song she called 'Freedom is a Voice'. At the end, Buster couldn't believe what he had just heard. She was a great composer, and had a voice that'd go with any genre.

"Wow." She blushed a bit, and thanked heavens the room was dark. "You got a beautiful voice."

"Thanks, Mr Moon."

"Buster. Save Mr Moon for the theatre." He winked. "We should be sleeping."

"It's 2:30 in the morning. Night's young!"

"But this koala ain't!" He mocked. Both laughed.

"You know… Outside the theatre, you're a funny guy."

He laughed and bowed. "Thank you very much. And you are a sweetheart outside the theatre, mind I say." She laughed, then came closer to him. "Ash."

"Let it happen." She gave him a soft kiss. He rested his hands on her sides, gently holding her back.

"Ash, this is wrong."

"There's no one here besides us."

"I can get arrested."

"No one will know about this." She tried kissing him again, but was stopped.

"You know what? I think you had a rough rough day today, and are about to do something you'll regret later."

"You're right. I had a terrible day. And it would be nice to add something good to it."

"Not if it is something we both regret later."

"Are you going to regret it?"

"Well, when I'm sitting at my cold and dark jail cell I may regret it." She rolled her eyes.

"Nobody has the keys to here and all windows are closed."

"You'll also regret it, Ash."

"I won't."

"Listen… Have a good night of sleep, okay? None of us is fine enough to make any decisions right now, you had a couple shots, I had a couple shots, and I'm not about to take advantage of you. I need… To think."

There was a remarkable pause before she replied.

"After you return the kiss."

"Excuse me?"

"After, and if you return the kiss I lay it down until tomorrow." She leaned in again. Altho reluctant, Buster shyly kissed her back. She sat on his lap, and rested both his hands at her waist. After a while, they pulled away, and connected foreheads.

"Ah. This was good."

"In a… Weird sorta way, maybe." She was gently rubbing his back. He groaned. "That feels good."

She smiled. "I used to do this to my brother to calm him down."

"You have a younger brother? That's nice."

"Yeah, I miss him. I wish I could visit him without my parents finding out."

He gave her a sympathetic look and planted a kiss on her cheek. She blushed and looked up at him. He shrugged. "We went farther."

"We did."

He then embraced her. She pecked his neck. "Hey."

"Come on…"

"Ash, don't do this right now."

"It's just kissing, it's not like you're taking away my first kiss or something." He was going to protest, but got pinned in the bed.

"Oh my god." He covered his face. "Ash, you're old enough to be my daughter!"

She shrugged. "So?"

"Ha! So? I'm the only one feeling awkward?"

"Pretty much." She started gently massaging his shoulders. "Relax. If I hadn't told you my age, it wouldn't matter now." She kissed his neck. He tensed, and held her back.

"Tomorrow. You said you'd lay it off until tomorrow if I kissed you. Don't rush it… Think about it, and let me think about it, okay?"

She let out a defeated sigh, then laid down next to the koala, who hugged her close.

"Don't be like that."

"It's okay." She said faintly.

"I'm going to ask you something, and you reply if you want to."

His voice was unexpectedly serious. "Say it."

"It's about a boy. Isn't it?" She didn't answer. He sighed. It was right at your face, Buster. Why else would anyone kiss you? He was her perfect outlet from the situation, and he knew it.

"Sleep tight." He muttered, gently pecking her forehead. "Tomorrow when you wake up I'll probably be gone to my appointment, and rehearsal is in the afternoon."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get the pri- get a loan. To pay for some repairs at the theatre." He lied, "Since someone destroyed my window."

She was running her fingertips at his bare chest, and chuckled. "Hey, I can point a hundred things you should fix before that."

"That's all? I can point two hundred." He smirked. "But no one's gonna lend money to a koala which seemingly spent the night playing cards."

"Silly."

"When occasion requires." He turned off the light. "Night, Ash."

"Good night… Buster."

Both drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.

A/N: Freedom is a Voice is actually a song by Bobby McFerrin, but I thought about an escapee Ash living in the streets composing and thought "eh, why not?" As done with Zootopia, bands get different names in the Sing universe here, and yes, the song Buster sang was The Doobie Brothers' Listen to the Music. I like the ship, but I do like it classy. Sorry leaving you Bustash fans so unsatisfied, but as you can guess, of COURSE some more romance will happen. XD

[chicklette]

Rain Dance

This is for the Nony who sent me that terribly sweet message earlier this week.  I haven’t been able to stop thinking of these two idiots, dancing in the rain.  (Probably should be rated M, no powers, AU.)

The music from the jukebox is loud, but not overbearing.  It’s currently playing classic rock, which Bucky doesn’t mind one bit.  He’s got a table in the back, two pints and two shots of Jameson in front of him.  He’s just about to pull out his phone to text when he sees Steve make his way to the back of the bar, shaking rain out of his hair and pulling off his coat.

He looks – Jesus he looks good.  His hair’s a little bit too long, and he’s shaking drops of rain out of it like a dog.  But the wide shoulders are even wider in the navy blue peacoat that he’s wearing, and the color, combined with the dark room, are making Steve’s eyes look dark blue.  He’s gorgeous. 

When Steve sits, Bucky pushes one of the shots forward.

Steve gives him a miserable smile before picking up his shot.  The two of them toast to Brooklyn, which is corny as fuck, but it’s the toast Bucky’s dad always makes, so it was the first thing that Bucky and Steve ever toasted to.  Now every first toast is for Brooklyn, and Bucky’s feeling certain that there will be a fair few toasts tonight.

“Alright,” Bucky says, glad he doesn’t have to yell to be heard over the music.  “What happened?”

Shrugging, Steve stares at his pint.  When he meets Bucky’s eyes, he looks miserable.  “I dunno.  She said she couldn’t do it anymore, handed me a box of my stuff, and left.  Least I got my favorite hoodie back,” he says, looking down at his SUNY sweatshirt.

“She didn’t say anything else?”  It’s not like Bucky’s never been here before.  Counseling Steve after a heartbreak is something he does a couple of times a year.  By now, he feels like he’s probably earned his LCSW – Licensed Clinical STEVE Worker.

It’s fine – as much as it can be.  Not anyone’s fault he’s been gone on his straight best friend nearly his whole life.  Just the luck of the draw.

“She said ‘I thought I could do this, but I was wrong.’  When I asked her what she meant, she told me not to be an asshole, and left.”  Steve shrugs and downs half of his beer at a go.  Bucky signals Nat, the bartender, for another round.  She takes one look at the two of them and pours doubles.

He’s never told Nat about how he feels about Steve, but somehow she just knows.  Once, he’d been at the bar, watching Steve and his latest girlfriend (Say what you will about the guy, he’s never been one for casual relationship – oh no – Stevie Rogers had to fall in love with the girls he was dating, or at least give a damn fine impression of it) dancing on the bar’s tiny dance floor.

“You need this,” she’d said, floating a glass of Jamie his way.

“I don’t –“ he’d replied.

She cocked one brow his way before turning and looking fondly at the doorman – a blonde with a penchant for purple, coffee, and dick, before pushing the glass back his way.  

She’s the only person he’s ever told his secret to, and she’s been a good friend to him over the years.

“Hey, man,” Bucky says, and reaches out to squeeze Steve’s shoulder.  “If she couldn’t see you for the great guy you are, then she’s not worth thinking twice about.”

Steve nods, but there’s a sadness in his gaze that Bucky knows oh, so well.

What Steve wants, what he really wants, is to settle down.  He wants to find the love of his life, and buy a house and have some kids and take vacations in the summers and build model planes with the girls and have tea parties with the boys, because fuck misogyny.  He wants every single mundane, simple, happy moment out of this life that he can get. ‘Everyday joy,’ he’d called it, and God, does Bucky see the appeal.

He just can’t seem to find the girl to do it with.

“Come on,” Bucky says.  “Let’s get fucked up.”

So they do.  Nat keeps the drinks coming and before long, Steve and Bucky are laughing so damned hard at what Jimmy Morita did in the sixth grade that they’re crying and holding on to each other to keep from falling down.

“And she said – d’ya ‘member?”

“Oh, god,” Bucky says, laughing and trying not to fall off of his chair, before proceeding in a high falsetto, tinged with a Southern accent.  “At least in Baton Rouge they have manners!”

Steve howls with laughter and Bucky’s side stitches.  It takes them a moment to calm down, and when Bucky looks up, Steve is actually crying.

“Aw, Stevie,” Bucky says, and puts his arm around Steve, pulling him close.

God fucking damn Sharon Carter for breaking his heart.  Bucky will hate her until the day he dies for making his best friend cry.

“Did you really love her?” Bucky asks, both needing to know the answer and hating himself for asking.  Why does he keep torturing himself like this?

Steve looks down and sniffles, before wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve.  Punk might have grown into his attitude – at 6’2” and 200 pounds, he can finally finish all the fights he starts – but inside?  Inside Steve Rogers is a total marshmallow.

Blinking, Steve looks at Bucky.  “I don’t think I did,” he says, and his face crumples again.  “How fucked up is that?  I don’t even think I loved her.  I just – I just want to be happy.  I want…”  I want what your folks have, is what he doesn’t say.  I want what my folks had, goes unsaid, but heard loud and clear, regardless.

It’s what Bucky wants, too.  They had had a great childhood.  They grew up as next-door neighbors, and their folks hit it off like wildfire.  Growing up, Steve spent as much time at Bucky’s house as he did his own.  Then when his father died (freak heart attack out of nowhere), Bucky’s folks had stepped in and half-raised Steve: Winnie watching the boys while Steve’s mother worked, George taking the boys out camping and fishing, teaching them about the outdoors.

(“Does she have to come?” the boys would say, eyeing Becca Barnes and her knobby knees and her dolls.  “Be nice,” George Barnes would say, and the four of them would troop off into the woods, learning to identify plants and animals, how to build a fire and make sure the water wouldn’t make them sick.  There was a time when Bucky thought maybe Steve and Becca would get together, and he could have been okay with that, he thought.  Then, at least, they’d be brothers.  But Becca’d met Davey Proctor her junior year of college, and that was that.)

“Stevie,” Bucky says again, and Steve buries his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck.

Bucky rubs his back, eyes darting around the room to see Nat watching them with careful eyes.  He looks away, feeling his face heat.  He doesn’t need the reminder of how fucked the situation is.

He wants to move on.  Hell, it’s not like he hasn’t tried.  But he’s never found anyone who’s even half as interesting as Steve.  It’s like one day, Bucky blinked and realized that his best friend was the only man he was ever really going to love.

Inconvenient, to say the least.

At Nat’s pitying look, Bucky’s skin grows tight.

The music changes and Steve chokes a laugh, before tipping his head back.  “Jesus,” he says, then looks at Bucky, who’s grinning like a madman.  This song.  This song.

“C’mon,” Bucky says.  The music’s gotten loud enough that they have to yell into each other’s ears, but it doesn’t matter because this is their song.

The first time Steve heard David Bowie, he’d immediately run to find his best friend and tell him all about the amazing albums he’d found in his mother’s collection.  Bucky’s teen years could be mapped surely and succinctly by the different phases of Bowie’s career:  They’d been freshmen for the “Let’s Dance,” phase, sophomores for Aladdin Sane, and seniors for Scary Monsters.  But the year they’d learned to drive, the year that Steve had shot up and filled out, and the year that Bucky first realized that he was irrevocably in love with his best friend – that year, they’d listened to Heroes.  They’d danced to it, sang to it, Bucky came out to Steve to it, Steve had had his first kiss to it (Peggy Carter, who, years later, turned out to have a cousin named Sharon) – that year was filled with firsts, and David Bowie crooned them along toward adulthood.

Bucky drags Steve by the hand out into the street.  It’s raining still, and the street is painted in neon, reflecting from the shops, colors slipping between wet windows and wet sidewalks, making everything feel unreal.

Steve’s laughing, stomping into the puddles, and Bucky starts screaming the words to the song:

“I – I would be king!”

“And you,” Steve chimes in, “you would be queen!”

“Though nothing, nothing would drive them away,” the pair screams.  They are dancing and singing in the street like absolute lunatics, the rain showering them, soaking their hair and their skin and their clothes, and it’s the happiest Bucky has been – the happiest he has seen Steve – in a year.

“We can be heroes,” they sing, and Bucky comes in close, then grabs Steve and dips him back.

“We can be us, just for one day.”

Steve straightens and shakes his head, water flying off in a rainbow of droplets, reflecting the neon red, white, and blue Pabst sign in the window.

“You’re a lunatic,” he says.

“Made you smile,” Bucky grins, and the two of them laugh.  Bucky knows that he is never going to be over Steve.  Never.

It breaks his heart.

Walking back into the bar, Bucky lets the cold and wet sober him up some.

“I gotta get out of here, man,” he says.  “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, Buck.  ‘Course.  Hey,” he says, and grabs Bucky up into a long, tight hug.  “Thank you.”

“Shut up,” Bucky says, because he’s just drunk enough to let himself wonder what it would be like to drag his lips across the damp skin at Steve’s neck, where he smells warm and safe and like home.  “Call you tomorrow,” he says, and pushes away.

He walks to the bar to push a couple of twenties Nat’s way, but she pushes them back.  “Loverboy’s got this one,” she says, and Bucky shrugs.

He needs to get himself home before he does something really stupid.

Bucky’s not sure what time it is when he’s woken up by a pounding at the front door.

“What the fuck?” he mumbles, then looks at his phone.  It’s after three and he has four missed calls from Steve.

Fuuuuck.

He’s stumbling into a pair of boxers and fishing around for a t-shirt when the front door opens.  They’ve had keys to each other’s places since they’ve had places.  It’s not unusual for Bucky to wake up to find Steve asleep on his couch, having fought with a girl and gotten drunk and not wanted to go home to an empty apartment.

“Dude,” Bucky says, walking out into the living room where Steve is standing tall.  Bucky’s sober now, and his mouth tastes like ass, and he has to be at work in just a few hours.  “What the fuck?”

“Is it true?” Steve asks.  He stands just a little taller, and Bucky would recognize Steve “fight me” Rogers getting ready for a brawl from a hundred paces in a snowstorm.

“What?” he asks, feeling stupid.  He definitely does not have the script for whatever this is.

“What Nat said.  Is it true?”

Bucky’s stomach clenches in the moment he hears Nat’s name.  God, she wouldn’t he thinks, even as he is four thousand percent positive that she would.  His heart hammers so hard he can hear it whooshing, inside his head.

“Stevie,” Bucky says, because if Steve is still kind of drunk, maybe by morning he’ll have forgotten all about this.  “Come on, let’s get you to bed.  Grab some pillows,” he says, turning toward the hall closet for blankets.

Steve grabs him by the wrist, swings him back around and gets right into his face.

“Is it?  She said,” Steve blinks and swallows before going on.  “She said you’re in love in with me.  Why would she say that Buck? Why –“ Steve closes his eyes and lets out a shuddering breath.

“Steve,” Bucky says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.  What do you say to the man who is your truth, but also your only lie?  “Come on,” Bucky says, and tries to step away, but Steve holds him tight, right there.

Bucky is – he’s terrified.

“I used to think you had it on lock,” Steve says, and even in the darkened room, even in just the moonlight, Bucky can see how blue his eyes are.  “Bucky Barnes, he’s never gonna get his heart broken like some chump.  Isn’t that right?”

Bucky swallows.  He is so scared, and everything inside of him hurts so bad that he wants to cry.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky says, looking down, and then the worst thought, the one that’s so bad he’s never even thought it before, that one comes rushing out of his mouth.  “Does it?  Because if it does – if it –“ His voice breaks and he hates himself a little right then.  “If you don’t want to be my friend-“

“Oh, shut up! Shut –“

And then Steve is kissing him. He has both hands on Bucky’s shoulders and he’s gripping him so tight and he’s pressing his mouth to Bucky’s hard enough that his lips are going to go numb.

Steve pushes away and the two of them stare at each other, panting.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know!”

“Why would you -?”

“I just –“

“You’re an asshole!” Bucky shouts.

“Well, I learned from the best!” Steve answers, before reeling Bucky in for another kiss.

This time it’s softer, but it’s also messy and desperate, Steve clinging to Bucky, wrapping Bucky right up into his arms and threading his fingers through Bucky’s hair, tilting Bucky’s head and when Bucky opens his mouth (instinct, it’s instinct, he tells himself) Steve licks into it with a gasp.

It’s gorgeous and terrible.  It’s either the worst first kiss or the best last kiss, and Bucky isn’t sure he’s ready for either.  Not after all this time.

“Steve,” Bucky says, pulling back.

Steve presses his forehead against Bucky’s, breathing hard against Bucky’s lips.

“She said I was an idiot if I couldn’t see what was right in front of me and I am an idiot because I thought she was talking about herself but then she gave me that look and I thought – it couldn’t  - I mean, I would have known, right?  But it made me think back to a few months ago, me and you were at that Mets game, remember?  And we were on the subway coming back – we were both a little day drunk and just talking and laughing on the train, and you got off at your stop and we hugged and you kissed my cheek – you remember that day?”

Bucky nods.  Of course, he remembers it.  They’d started drinking at Bucky’s place even before the game, and they’d spent the whole day leaning into one another, propping each other up, soaking in the sunshine and the booze and it was perfect.  They were just drunk enough by the end of it for Bucky to lay a smack against Steve’s cheek, the quick, rough scratch of Steve’s stubble against his lips. As he’d sobered up, he’d worried that he’d given himself away, but the next day, nothing had changed, and Bucky locked that memory away, along with all of the others that hurt too much to look at often.

“There was a girl on the train sitting opposite us. She said ‘I wish my boyfriend looked at me that way.  You two are goals.’  I laughed it off, but…it made me think.  And then tonight I called Sharon and she said she couldn’t compete with you, and she was tired of trying, and Bucky,” Steve says, and he draws back to look at Bucky, his eyes full of questions.  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks.

“Didn’t want you to know.  Didn’t – I don’t want to lose our friendship,” Bucky says.  He leans in, leans his head against Steve’s chest, leaving a space between them, just enough for a confession. “I love you.”

And he does.  Steve is his best friend and his most ardent fantasy and he doesn’t know how to separate his love for eight year old Stevie Rogers with a bloody lip on the playground from eighteen year old Steven (and wasn’t that a hilarious phase?) who was daydreaming about girls from twenty-eight year old Steve who is his best friend and who had just kissed him within an inch of his life.

“Who says you’d lose me?” Steve asks, and he leans back before running a fingertip along Bucky’s jaw, and looking at Bucky with something like wonder.

“Stevie.  You’re not gay.  That’s gonna be a problem, don’t you think?”

“No,” Steve says.  “I’m bi.  I think so, anyway.”

“You think so?  Stevie, come on.  You don’t – you don’t gotta do this, okay?  We’re fine, just like we are. It’s not – it’ll go away, you know?” And damn if that’s not the filthiest lie he’s ever told.

“Is that what you want?”

Bucky can’t say yes.  He can tell a lot of lies and half-truths, but he can’t bring himself to tell this particular lie.

“Come on,” Bucky says, and takes a step back.  “It’s almost four in the morning.  Let’s just…sleep it off.  Come on,” he says, and turns toward the bedroom.

“You are such a stubborn fucking shit,” Steve says, before pulling Bucky back into the puddle of moonlight leaking in through the window.  

“We can’t,” Bucky says, pulling back.  “You can’t – you have to – Jesus, Steve, you have to mean it. We won’t – we won’t make it back if you don’t.”

He searches Steve’s eyes for something, some sign that Steve understands what he’s saying.  Bucky would have been just fine eating his heart out for the rest of his life, and never having Steve quite the way he wants him.  He would have been fine with that.

But this?  Kissing Steve and touching Steve and getting this close to what he wants? If Steve decides in three months that he’s not a little gay after all?  There’s no way they’ll be able to come back from that.

Steve’s watching Bucky’s face, searching his eyes. He pulls Bucky back in, so that they’re chest to chest, knee to knee, and he takes Bucky’s face in his hands.

“I’m so sorry, Buck.  I’m sorry that I didn’t see you, and I’m sorry that you had to wait here, all this time, without me.  But I’m here now, and I’m not letting you go.”  

He looks at Bucky, and then blinks. “Jesus,” he says, and cups Bucky’s cheek.  “Look at you.”  

Steve slides his fingers into Bucky’s hair, cradling his head, before dipping down for a soft, warm kiss.  

It’s not the hard, something-to-prove first kiss, and it’s not the messy, not-sure-what’s-happening second kiss. This kiss is easy and full of gentle intent. This is a kiss that Bucky can believe in.  

This kiss is perfect.

The kiss deepens, Steve pulling Bucky all the way into his space, wrapping his arms around Bucky and holding him tight. Bucky brings his arms up around Steve’s neck, pressing even further in and it’s – oh – it’s just exactly what he’s wanted, all these years, all this time.

They kiss and they kiss and they kiss.  Bucky feels warm, wet tracks running down his face, and Steve’s warm thumb wipes them away.  And still they kiss.

In the morning, they kiss some more, even though they’re bleary-eyed and their mouths taste terrible.

Three months later, they kiss at the threshold of their new apartment, Bucky holding a box on his hip and Steve with a rug under his arm. They kiss past Valentine’s day and through Easter, the first day of spring, and then of summer.  Their kisses are sweet with chocolate or salty from the ocean, or boozy from one too many of Nat’s drinks.  They taste of eggnog and then champagne, bubbly, fizzy kisses, and after another year passes by, they kiss to the applause of their loved ones, sliding golden bands onto one another’s fingers.

They kiss through promotions and raises, and at the threshold of a new house, a bigger house.  A house with a yard.  They share giggling kisses over the yelps of their new puppy, and a soft, tender-sweet kiss while holding Becca’s baby boy.  

There is a kiss in a lawyer’s office, full of excitement and hope for a life that might soon be theirs to nurture, and then there are kisses through tears, as that dream falls apart. There is another kiss soon after, though, one interrupted by a baby’s harsh cry, and a few years later, it happens again.

“I’m never going to sleep again, am I?” Bucky asks, flopping onto the bed.  Steve is propped against the headboard, glasses on and reading through a thick stack of briefs.  He’s in court next week on an immigration case, and he’s been working himself ragged, trying to perfect his arguments.

“No,” Steve answers.  “Probably not.”  He sets the briefs aside and opens his arms, and Bucky crawls into them, resting his head right over Steve’s heart.

“Daisy’s asleep – finally.  I thought she would never go down.  At least Joey sleeps through the night.”

Steve gives him a squeeze and kisses the top of his head.  “Speaking of,” he says, and rolls Bucky onto his back.  

“What are you -?  Oh!” he breathes, as Steve begins kissing his way down Bucky’s body. “Oh, Stevie.”

Over the years they’ve kissed hundreds of ways – filthy and sweet and shattered and joyful.  Through the good times and the bad, through their joys and sorrows.  But the one that Bucky remembers most is not the first kiss, or even the second.  He remembers that third kiss, standing in the moonlight, Steve cupping his cheek and promising with his words and his eyes and his kiss that Bucky’s heart would be safe with him.  That together they would be happy.

And they are.

[hoenn-hakase]

TPP Bronze: Summary Day 2

So continuing with the next 24 hours, we just finished our match against Grass Specialist, Gym Leader Weedy and had our Sentret evolve into a Furret! Now it's onward and upward as we seek out our third Gym Badge. I will say it's kind of nice that there's been little actual story to the game so far making it less of an ~adventure~ and more that our girl, Fifer, is simply taking in the sights of her homeland. After all, if you can't leave town on your own until you become a trainer, there's a lot for little bitty to take in. 

After learning CUT, Fifer was able to take a shortcut back to LittlePond and entered the Underground Path once more, this time to take the route to Kanto so we can hang with Red in his room for a while before returning to LittlePond to continue our travels. Inspired (or something) Fifer returns to the fields near Orchid City and Brown Cave where she finds a couple of new friends. Including a SHINY Hoppip! 8O

Eventually, Fifer decides to explore a new area with her new Cut ability, and heads through the Underground Path toward Peel City. A boy blocks the gateway though saying "something weird" is up ahead and it's best not to go through there, forcing Fifer and her team to make their way through Junction Park instead.

We find a small town that has apparently been plagued by rocks and all the buildings are blocked off by rubble. Fifer has no choice but to continue south while her team is in desperate need of healing. Fortunately, we passed out on the road, so we were fully healed when...

We enter the gate to the city and get a surprise battle from our Rival, the male protag if we had chosen him, named .... Nothing. No seriously, his name is --?!! Which for someone ~so mysterious~ he's pretty upfront about what he wants. The match started because he saw Fifer and knew they'd both been catching and training Pokemon, so why not have a match? He's got a Scyther, a Pidgeotto, and a Charmeleon (one of the starters we didn't choose was Charmander). After getting whooped (mostly by DeadOps) he decides to do something even bigger. If he can't beat us in a match, why not a race? First to get all 8 badges wins! Fifer just kind of stares at him as he leaves and immediately just "whatevs" and turns to leave the gateway for Peel Town.

Peel Town is Kohto's largest city, having wide streets and tall buildings. It's also got the Game Cormer and Department Store for this region. The game decides to troll us by having a normal Mart as well, but trying to buy balls reveals that the store is closing up shop due to being run out of business from the Department Store. Least we got some Leftovers XD There's also a... "Warehouse" that is important enough it has its own slot on the map. Curious, but we'll get to that later I'm sure.

Knowing how these things go now, Fifer decides to be a good girl and blow all her money on Poke Balls and Great Balls before entering the gym. Which seems to have a love for Fire and stairs that lead to nowhere. Bianca is... a strange one. (Who says we better have a water type cause she gonna give us THE BURN D8 ) Sadly, we don't. And our underleveled team puts up a good fight before losing. Round 2 though... went about the same. ROUND 3 though we actually claimed victory with over half our team in one piece. Progress! \ 8D / And so we get to say bye to her and- Wait... no wait.... she lost the badge.

After helping her look, Fifer is stopped by a nearby trainer who says they managed to find one. Bianca seems the type to easily panic, so best return it to her before she tears out the floor boards looking for it. Doing so, Bianca officially gives us the Terra Badge~! Wait, isn't "Terra"... earth? Well her Arcanine sure did like to Dig... It allows to use Strength now! She also gave us TM 28! .... Which is Dig. Guess that badge is starting to make sense now. XD We seem to celebrate this by depositing APE the Zubat for our shiny Hoppip, I hugs (?)

Trying to leave town to continue on her way though, Fifer is surprised to have the police say NO ONE is allowed to leave town that way. Confused, she goes back to wandering the city. She finds the Game Corner for which she needs a Coin Case to play. The Peel City Parking Garage which is currently being blocked by some punk teen telling her to buzz off because she's a kid. And the Game Freako Game Office where she got the unnerving shock of meeting her maker. (And --?!! too! D8 )

At the urging an old man, she heads for The Markets where she finds an Herb Shop, a Massage Parlor, some strange and highly on edge trainers, and the COIN CASE! 8D Naturally, the Chat's first priority is to go to the Game Corner. THEN realize some of their party is too unconscious to join in the fun, so they head for the Center. Going into the residential area, a nice man gave us The ITEMFINDER! Which we then proceeded to find the largest treasure yet.... The Day Care XD

We leave Shush the Pumbloom at the Two Sisters' Daycare and fill in the 6th slot with Shuck 3P0 (PPPO.. is the Shuckle's actual name) and decide to train in the fields late into the night. Fifer gets into a fight with an officer for being out after curfew. He is highly embarrassed by our skillz XD Tired of all this, she heads back through Junction Park and camps out until sunrise

Having been out way too late, Fifer seems to have forgotten all of the day's events as during the next Day Cycle she renters down and AGAIN goes to the Mart having it's closeout sale, the Market, the Game Freako Office and even the Peel Parking Garage only to realize she already covered all these places. Eventually just wanders off toward the Game Corner to play her problems away while contemplating things.

A balding man asks her if she'd taken on Bianca yet, and... Well after the day she's having, she seems unsure as she re-enters the gym and confirms with the Gym Guide she's one tough kid to have beaten all those grown women.

Going back to the housing area, she quickly finds out she's not the only one looking for loot. Especially not legally. Entering one of the houses she finds a woman screeching at a teenager, dressed a lot like the punk from the garage, who's torn up the house and broken her TV while trying to make off with it. Fifer immediately goes to confront him, but instead of fighting her, he challenges her to chase him down and takes off. Not one to say no to a challenge, she immediately heads to the Peel City Parking Garage and kicks in the previously guarded door.

She just as quickly draws attention to herself from this gang calling themselves Racket Teens and gets into battle. The first boy tries to sway her wrath by explaining how they're just hanging in the garage. Fixing cars. Normal cool kid stuff, ya? An elderly gentleman disagrees as he screams about the mess these Racket Teens have made and how he highly doubts they know anything about mechanics. He'd be right, as there's so much oil on the floor, it's gained ICE PHYSICS o.O;

Fifer manages to track down the punk she came in for and beats him down. He gives her a word of warning though not to go checking the Department Store as there's apparently a much larger scheme in place the Racket Teens are up to. Naturally, she heads straight there and peers into the darkness of the stairwell that leads even beneath the basement...

Which ends off Day 2. Honestly I think her repeating everything is just miscommunications between Day Crew and Night Crew not knowing what had already been done, but it makes for an interesting turn of events. Also seems our girl is starting to come into her own as a threat is in the air. What are they up to? Who knows~ We'll find out in the next "episode"!

[gemtopia]

Bright: Rise of the Nine Armies Chapter One

It's been fifteen years since the events that took place with Tikka and the wand that almost destroyed all of L.A but for Quinn Jakoby, it's just another average ordinary school day. Little does she know that she's about to play a very big part in one of the worlds most important prophecies.

I know this probably isn't the best description I've ever written but I've been having a hard time trying to come up with a good way to explain how good this story is. I'm still currently in the first stages of the story. This Fan Fiction is based off of the Netflix original hit movie, "Bright" And I will probably be changing this description along with the cover, the longer I work on this. But other than that, please enjoy!

"I have a message from the Shield of Light."

Nick was stirring and jerking in his sleep.

"Remember the old ways…

Remember what you are..."

It  was now 5:30 am and Nick would have to get up in half an hour.

"Remember your traditions..."

"No..." Nick grunted.

"Only clan ways can save you…

The Prophecy has chosen you!"

"ENOUGH!" Nick shouted in Orcish.

Nick sit up in bed, gasping, sweat rolling down the side of his face. Sitting up in bed next to him was his wife, Beth; an Elf with ocean blue hair and sky blue eyes. Eyes that were now startled and fixated on Nick.

“Nick? Nick what’s wrong are you alright?”

Pulling himself back to reality, Nick looked over at Beth and reassured her he was alright.

“I’m fine… D-don’t worry about it, it’s… it’s nothing.”

“No, it’s not nothing. This makes the tenth time this week!”

“Now I told you it was nothing! Just go back to sleep.”

“Something is obviously wrong, so just tell me!”

Nick leaned over the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

“It was that dream again wasn’t it…?”

Nick stood up, reaching for his shirt at the end of the bed, acting like he hadn’t heard the question.

“Nick… we need to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’ve told you multiple times what happened that day.”

“I know, it’s just…”

“You don’t think I’m telling you the whole story.”

Nick was now facing the doorway with his head down.

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what your thinking though… and your right. I’m not telling the whole story… but there are some things that I saw that day that I just…”

Beth climbed out of bed, walking over to her husband and wrapping her arms around his waist.

“That you can’t relive. I know but this isn’t normal, Nick.”

“Yeah, and why’s that?”

“Because this isn't like some sort of PTSD or an everyday occurance… What's not normal about this is that you only do this when something bad is about to happen.”

Nick sighed and turn around. He held Beth's hands in his and lightly smiled, kissing her on the lips.

“Everything's fine. I promise.”

Beth smiled, “I don't believe you.”

Suddenly the alarm clock went off, signaling it was time to get up for work.

“So much for a restful night.”

“Baby I'm so sorry.” Nick apologized.

“No not me, for you!”

“Me? Oh I'm fine! Nerves of steel right here.”

Beth smirked and rolled her eyes as she walked into the kitchen. As Nick followed behind her, Beth continued the lecture.

“All I’m saying is, I think it’s time you seaked some proffessional help for this.”

“Really? And who do you suggest I go to? Because I took an oath that I would never speak of that to anyone. As far as everyone knows, that day never happened.”

Beth was silent as she put on a pot of coffee.

“Maybe if you call Arthur…”

“Your brother?!” Nick chuckled, “Your jackass of a brother is the last person I would talk to about this.”

“Nick!”

“No Beth! Just forget about it.”

“I’m sticking a pin in this conversation.” Beth poured him a cup of coffee, “But we are not done with this.”

Beth kissed her husband again and stroked his face.

“I just want you to be at peace with this.”

“I am at peace with this, there’s just some things that… No, like you said, I’m sticking a pin in it!”

Nick started walking to the bathroom to get ready for the day while Beth walked into their daughters bedroom.

“Quinn. Quinn, it’s time for school.” Beth reached for Quinn’s covers and pulled them off.

“Stop!” Quinn cried.

“No! It’s time for school so get up!”

“I’m not going to school today.”

“Your not going? Why? Why do you think your not going to go today?”

Quinn reached for the end of the sheets and pulled them up over her head.

“Quinn! Why don’t you want to go to school?”

Quinn rolled over, continuing to ignore her mother.

“Did someone say something to you? Are you sick? Is there a big test today?”

“...no.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“...I got a…”

“You what? Speak up!”

“I got a pink slip!”

“You got a what?!”

“I got a pINK SLIP! If I go to school today, I’m going to have to have lunch detention.”

Beth crossed her arms, her famous angry slash ashamed look crossingher face.

“Where’s the pink slip?”

“Mom…”

“NOW Quinn!”

“I threw it in the trash in the kitchen!”

Beth started for the kitchen with Quinn quickly following behind her.

"Mom wait!"

"What's going on?" Nick asked.

Beth rummaged through the trash and once she found what she was looking for, she turned around, showing it to Nick.

"Apparently our daughter has a pink slip and will be in lunch detention today."

Nick's jaw dropped as he faced Quinn, who was covering her face.

"Quinn! I thought we talked about this!"

Nick reached for the slip,

"What did you do now?"

"You STABBED someone?!"

"WHAT?"

"I didn't stab him! I turned around to hit him and my pencil was in my fist and.."

"And nothing Quinn! It says you stabbed a classmate in the arm then proceeded to use curse words towards the said student!"

Nick slammed the pink slip on the table.

"Dammit!"

"I'm sorry."

"You know I get called to high schools all the time, just to arrest punk ass kids that pull stunts like this!"

"... I said I'm sorry."

"Sorry's not gonna cut it this time! Your going to school and I'm driving you there to make sure you actually show up."

"Quinn why would you do something like that?"

Beth asked.

"Because... Because he called Janice a pig skin slut."

"Who's he?" Nick asked.

"David Donahue."

"Ah... He's an Orc himself, isn't he?"

"Yes, and? It doesn't matter! What he was saying about her was disgusting! Someone had to do something!"

Nick sighed and pulled out a kitchen chair, motioning for Quinn to sit down.

"I admire that you want to stand up for people but that's the wrong way of handling it."

"Telling a teacher, telling an adult doesn't do anything. Sometimes you have to take things into your own hands."

"From now on, if someone is bothering you or you see something that you know is wrong, tell me first. Understand? I'm cop. Dealing with bad guys is my job not yours."

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now go get dressed."

Quinn quickly got up and ran to her room.

“What are we going to do with her?” Beth asked.

“She's just trying to do the right thing. What she did was wrong but she's trying.”

“She gets that from you, ya know.”

“What, the optimism? Cause she gets the attitude from you.” Nick playfully smiled.

“Oh shut up and finish getting dressed!”

The Cop car pulled up to the front of the school. As Quinn got out, the remainder of kids sitting outside stopped and stared. This always annoyed Quinn. Nick picked up on this and could smell the tension between the teens and his daughter. Nick smiled at the kids in a dad-like way and tapped at his watch.

“Just ten minutes before class!” Nick opened the door, offering to let the kids in front.

“It be a shame to get a tardy this early in the day.”

The teens looked at each other and decided to go inside, to avoid controversy. Quinn glared at her dad, embarrassment on her face.

“Good Morning.” Nick said approaching the front desk.

“Oh good morning Officer Jakoby!” The secretary waved, “What can I do for?”

“Oh nothing. Just thought I’d drop off my girl this morning.”

As the two continued chatting, Quinn could feel the menacing glares from kids both coming and going down the halls. Before Quinn could walk away, Nick pulled her aside.

“Now listen. I’m expecting you to do good today. No fighting, no swearing people out, I don’t want to see another pink slip. Period.”

“Okay. I get it.”

“Look at me Quinn.”

Quinn took her eyes off the group of kids now watching in the halls.

“I don’t wanna see another pink slip again. I don’t want to get a phone call at work to come get you because you got expelled. Understand?”

“Yes sir.”

Nick looked around and noticed the kids in the hall watching them as the bell rang for first period.

“Get to class!” Nick shouted.

“Try to have a good day. I love you.”

Nick kissed Quinn on the head before leaving.

“Bye Dad. I love you too.”

Back at the station.

“Hey! Nick!” It was Daryl.

“Hey man, what held you up this morning?” Daryl asked getting in the car.

“I had to deal with something at Quinn’s school.”

“She get in trouble again?”

“Why do you always assume that she’s the one in trouble? There may have been another reason why I was there.”

“Nah man. Your right, your right. So why was you there?”

“Because… Quinn… yeah she got in trouble again.”

Daryl snickered.

“What did she do this time?”

“I’m not classified to share that information with you at this time.”

“She get expelled?”

“No.”

“Did she get detention?”

Nick went to open his mouth but quickly changed the subject.

“How’s Sophia liking college? She’s almost done isn’t she?”

“Oh I see… You wanna change the subject. That’s a’ight! But yeah she’s doing great right now. This time when she’s done, she’s done. Ya know what I mean? She will finally be a registered PA. No more schooling, that’s it.”

“Wow. That’s fantastic Ward.”

Suddenly a voice came over the CB, telling them to head over to the Elf District. That they were needed at the Department Of Homeland Security's Magic Task Force immediately. A name they haven’t heard of in years. The two exchanged puzzled looks.

“We’re on our way.”

At the High School

“Pst! Quinn!” A voice whispered from behind.

Quinn turned around in her seat to see it was her friend, Kip. Kip was a Halfling like her. He was half human and half elf and a very dorky one at that. He was always wearing nice clothing and neat, clean hair. Although he always kept up his appearances, Quinn knew, unlike the other kids, that Kip didn’t have money. He only took good care of his things and just kept tighty. Today he was wearing khakis. Along with his usual Minecraft shirt tucked in and his famous white converse. And let’s not forget, the giant pair of glasses that always sat on his face.

“What is it Kip?”

“I thought you wasn’t coming today?”

“My dad found out and he made me come.”

“So I guess we can’t hang out after school then?” Kip asked.

“Listen… When the bell rings for lunch, meet me outside the detention room.”

“Why?”

“Because… I’m breaking out of here.”

Meanwhile, at the Department Of Homeland Security

As Daryl and Nick walked in, there, leaning up against his desk is Kandomere. Along with his partner Montehugh.

“What’s this about, Kandomere?” Daryl asked.

“It's been quite a while since the last we saw each other.”

The tension in the room became that much more heavy as Kandomere made eye contact with his current brother-in-law.

“Nicholas…”

“Arthur…”

Ward noticed the two being awkward and rolled his eyes.

“Hey man. Cut the small talk, a’ight! Why are we here?”

Kandomere turned around and grabbed a file from his desk.

“How well can you remember that day you found the wand?”

Daryl and Nick exchanged suspicious looks.

“Maybe I could, maybe I couldn’t. It was fifteen years ago.”

Kandomere looked at Montehugh, signaling for him to lock the door and close the blinds. He reached into the folder and pulled out a picture.

“We know Tikka’s alive.”

Kandomere turned the picture around to show Daryl and Nick. Nick’s eyes went wide at the stunning photo before him. It was definitely Tikka but she was different. She had changed. She hadn’t aged like a human would after fifteen years but she had certainly aged. She no longer had a child like fasic. If anything, she closely resembled her sister, Leilah. Her hair was now down to her hips and tied in a tight braid behind her head. Her face was more mature now but this picture didn’t show her true beauty. This was a poorly taken photo from the camera on a light pole. Her close were dirty and her face looked as if she had been beaten.

“What happened to her?” Nick asked.

“That’s what we would like to know. This photo was taken last night right here in L.A.”

“Who is that with her?” Daryl asked.

Trailing behind Tikka in the photo was a tall figure, a man, trying to cover his face with the hood of his jacket. The two of them appeared to be entering what looked like an old abandoned factory.

“We aren’t sure. We think it might be Hans Daggert. He’s a Reptilian and we think he might be a Bright as well.”

“What does any of this have to do with us?” Daryl asked.

Kandomere sat down behind his desk and crossed his arms.

“We need your help to catch her.”

“Why do you want to catch her? And why would you ask us for help anyway? Isn’t this more of a FBI type problem?”

“We want to capture Tikka because she dangerous and we’re afraid that she’s…”

“She’s what? Listen, we’re not gonna trick her and do your dirty work just for you to put her in prison for something she can’t even control.”

“For the past year we’ve been following her whereabouts but have never been able to catch her. Each time the terrorist group, Inferni, strikes somewhere, Tikka and her possy are always there to take them down before we can even get there.”

“That’s a good thing right?” Nick asked.

“Each time the Inferni is taken down, we notice something interesting with each crime scene.”

“Which is what?”

“The use of a wand.”

Nick could feel a sickness building in his chest. He looked over at Daryl who had an ‘oh shit’ look on his face.

Meanwhile, at the High School

It was lunch time now and Quinn was heading to the detention room with Kip following close behind her, listening to what the escape plan would be.

“Do you understand now?” Quinn asked.

“I think so. Cause a distraction that lasts five minutes.”

“Exactly. That should give me enough time to zip through the lunch line and grab whatever's there before he gets back.”

The two of them reached the end of the hallway where the detention room was. Quinn turned around and gave him a reassuring smile.

“You can do this Kip. I’m counting on you.”

As Quinn closed the door behind her, Kip wiped the sweat off of his forehead and proceeded to the teachers lounge. Luckily Quinn was right, the lounge was empty. So he headed over to the fridge and grabbed whatever leftovers he could find, like old sushi, outdated yogurt and a spoiled latte. Next he put all of the contents into a bag and smooshed it. This alone was almost enough to make anyone sick but what he had to do next was even more horrible. He microwaved it. What was he doing? He was making fake vomit to throw on the floor infront of the boys bathroom.

“Oh God.” Kip gagged.

As he carefully carried the bag down the hall, he quietly gagged and coughed, trying his hardest not to make the real thing. Finally he reached the boys bathroom. He stood there for a moment and took a deep breath. Then he tossed it as high as he could and started running. When he heard the bag hit the ground, he turned around and almost puked at his own work. This was almost too convincing. When Kip reached the detention room, he knocked on the door and then burst into the room.

“Mr. Kidwell! Mr. Kidwell!”

“What is it now, Chinning?”

“Someone’s puked in front of the boys room and it’s p-pretty bad.”

“Damn. Look, you two stay here and I’ll go get the janitor.”

Kip watched as the teacher disappeared down the hallway and around the corner.

“Is he gone?” Quinn asked.

“And… Now! You’ve got at least five if you hurry.”

Quinn smiled and sprinted out of the classroom. When she got to the cafeteria she could see there was some pizza left in the lunch line. She could also see that it was crowded and there were kids in line buying extras. So without thinking, Quinn ran and slid under the lunch tables and jumped right in front of the line.

Quinn quickly started grabbing food and stuffing it into her bag while also simultaneously stuffing her face. Again, Quinn started running back to the detention room but was stopped by Kip running into her around the corner.

“Kip! You’re supposed to be keeping watch!”

“You were taking too long! I came to check on you!”

“Well listen we need to-”

Suddenly the school entercom came on and a recording started to play on repeat. “We are now under code lockdown.”

“What’s going on?” Kip asked.

“I don’t know. How bad was that destraction you made?”

“Oh God. Don’t even ask me about it.” Kip gagged.

“Come on. Let’s get back to the detention room before we get locked out. And then we’ll both be in trouble.”

As they headed back to the room, the sound of horrified screams could be heard throughout the school. Followed by the sound of an automatic rifle. Quinn and Kip stopped dead in their tracks and looked at each other terrified. Without hesitation, they began to run to the nearest class room and tried to open the door but to no avail, it was locked. This door didn’t have a window in it and they couldn’t tell if anyone was in there or not so they ran to the next one. Realizing they had nowhere to hide, Quinn suggested running out the front doors of the school.

“This isn’t right.” Quinn said.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s one thing to have the doors locked so the killer can’t get inside but…”

“But what?!”

“We’re locked on the inside. The killer has locked everyone inside. No ones getting out.”

“Shit! What do we do?”

Quinn pulled out her phone and started dialing the police station.

“Yes, nine one one? Someone needs to send help right away. I think there’s a shooter at our school and…. Hello? HELLO?!”

“What now?”

“The phone service is gone.”

Then the power went out and everything got quiet.

“Quinn?” Kip whispered. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know.”

Back at the office of Home Land Security

“We think Tikka and her alliance are collecting materials to make wands. They’re going to be hitting up a popular jewelry store tonight to collect specific jewels and gems. That’s where you two will come in. Any questions?”

“Could you give us a minute alone?” Nick asked.

Kandomere and Montehugh left the room without question, seeing this was obviously a hard decision.

“Ward this isn’t right. Tikka saved our lives. I don’t think it would be wise to take advantage of her trust like this.”

“Nick we don’t really have a choice.”

“After everything she did for us and we’re just gonna betray her like that? I’m sorry Ward but I can’t do this. I won’t do this..”

“Pardon the interruption.” Montehugh said holding a phone, “But it appears you two are needed back at the station.”

Then there they were. Ward and Jakoby speeding down the highway, sirens blaring.

“How many are down?” Nick asked over the radio.

“So far no one knows but everyone is still stuck inside. They think there’s more than one shooter.”

“Copy that. We are on our way.”

At the High School

“I have an idea.” Quinn said.

“What kind of idea?”

“Just grab my hand and keep quiet. I know where we can hide.”

Quinn started slowly walking down the hall, feeling the wall to navigate where she was going. They could now see light coming from the windows in the main corridor leading to the front desk.

“Quinn why have we stopped?”

“Something's not right. I can someone. Someone watching us.” Quinn whispered.

In the light of the corridor, Quinn could see that the janitors closet was open.

“Kip. On the count of three, we are gonna run to that closet as fast as we can. Ok?”

“Does it lock?”

“Let's hope it does. One… Two.. Three.”

Before they could come close to reaching the closet, a hand from behind grabbed Kip, throwing him down the corridor.

“KIP!”

Then the same pair of hands grabbing and dragging Quinn by the nape of her shirt.

“LET US GO!” Quinn screamed and kicked, “We won’t tell who you are! WE can’t even SEE you! Just let us go!”

Suddenly the they were thrown to the ground and the lights flashed back on revealing where they were. The cafeteria.

“OH MY GOD! Quinn!” Kip screamed.

The entire cafeteria was covered in blood. The lifeless bodies, of what use to be students, scattered everywhere.

“They’re gonna kill us! OH God! We’re gonna die! We’re-”

Unfortunately Kip had passed out from shock.

“Kip! Please don’t hurt him!”

The two of them were surrounded by a group of cloaked figures. None of them spoke but stared down at them.

“Who are you people?” Quinn cried, “Did you do this? Did you kill all these kids? SPEAK!”

The group was still silent and Quinn couldn’t make out any of they’re faces. Then they all started to raise their arms to the sky and began to chant something in a language she had never heard before. Quinn could feel something starting to happen. She didn’t know what it was but she knew it wasn’t good.

“Stop! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

The lights began to flicker as one of the group stepped forward with what appeared to be a wand in their hand. They pointed it at Quinn and continued to chant, causing the wand to glow a bright red. Quinn begun to panic.

“I SAID STOP!”

And with that, everyone in the cafeteria went flying in all directions. Unaware of what she just did, Quinn tried to stand up, only hearing a ringing in her ear. Quinn looked around trying to figure out what just happened. The cultist group that had surrounded her had now been thrown all over the place, some of them burned to a crisp. The children amongst them who were already deceased, were scattered and burned too.

“What did I do?” Quinn whispered.

That’s when Quinn saw it. Lying on the floor next to her feet was the wand. Quinn could feel the energy pulsating from it almost as if it was beckoning her. She reached down and carefully picked it up, something most people would die instantly from, but this was different. Quinn wasn’t exploding or burning alive and the wand wasn’t turning red but instead, a soft yellow. Quinn took one more good look around and put the wand into her bag.

“Quinn?”

Kip was waking up.

“Quinn? What the hell happened?!”

“I’ll explain later.”

Quinn put her arm around Kip and tried to stand him.

“Why are my converse burned?! Oh my God! My khakis!”

“Kip! Forget about that for a sec!”

“Right, right. Sorry.”

Slowly but surely they limped their way to the exit in the back of the kitchen.

“Quinn… Where are we going? Shouldn’t we wait for the police?”

Quinn paused before continuing and said,

“They’re not coming and until they do, we need to find somewhere safe… Because I have a feeling, who ever these freaks are, they’re not the only ones.”

Stay tuned for more!!!

[loxare]

Yesterday was just another day

Written for @redrobin-detective‘s birthday! I’m sorry it got so angsty, I need to learn how to write fluff... Happy birthday friend!!

“Are you doing alright Batman?”

Tim watched as Dick hoisted himself into a sitting position until he was leaning against some of the rubble behind him. “Yeah. I think so. My leg might be broken though. How about you? Any injuries?”

Cracked ribs, severe bruising to his right shoulder, possible concussion. “Nothing major. Here, give me your arm.” Tim scooted under Dick's arm, using it to help lever Dick to his feet, being very careful not to hit his shoulder. Luckily, the bruise was closer to his upper arm than his neck. “Let's get you out of here.” Who knew when the enchantments on the building would wear off?

They walked through the ruined corridors in silence for a few minutes, Dick hopping on one leg, Tim supporting him as best as he could. Which wasn't a lot, considering the height difference. “Thanks Red.” The words were quiet. Tim looked up at Dick, noting the softness in the one eye visible under the broken cowl, the smile that had no place on Batman's face. “Saved my life.”

“I didn't do much. If I could have stopped the bomb-”

“You did plenty.” Dick cut him off, then groaned, using his free hand to clutch at his side. He waved off Tim's concern. “I'm fine. Just a bruise probably. I'm not sure how you think you could have stopped the bomb though. You had what, a minute?”

A minute, to stop the bomb or at least reduce the damage. So he'd thrown the bomb into the pit that the cultists had dug for whatever reason. Instead of taking out the ten blocks surrounding the condemned apartment building they were now making their way through, it had taken out the foundations. He'd dropped most of an apartment building on their heads, and it was pure luck they weren't dead.

Dick patted Tim on the chest with the arm he had slung around his neck. “You did fine. Better than fine really. So thanks Red.”

“I...” Tim faltered. He could have done better. If he'd gotten through the cultists faster, he would have had more time to disarm the bomb. But he also knew Dick wouldn't drop it. “You're welcome.”

Dick nodded, satisfied. They kept walking through corridors that Tim was sure were only still standing because the cultists had enchanted them. The building was supposed to have survived the explosion. As they walked, they passed the unconscious bodies of said cultists. Dick muttered something about calling Superman when they had access to a radio, which made sense. Superman could rescue these idiots without having to worry about when the enchantment on the building wore off.

It took longer than Tim would have liked, but eventually, the two of them found an exit not blocked off by a million pounds of building on the other side of the door. Of course, they still had to scale a pile of rubble once outside.

They had just started climbing down the other side when Tim's vision went black and fuzzy. He swayed, his grip on Dick the only thing keeping him upright. “Tim?”

Tim shook his head until the fuzziness cleared. “I'm fine.” And then his legs buckled beneath him. He dropped Dick so he wouldn't pull him down with him, trying and failing to keep himself from rolling down the rubble. Shards of glass cut through his suit on the way down. Eventually, a vertical piece of rebar stopped him, slamming into his stomach and knocking his breath away. He tried to push himself up, but the world was spinning and he couldn't figure out where up was.

Suddenly his cowl was yanked back, the cool breeze wonderful on his sweaty skin. “Damn pretender. That's one heck of a head injury you've got.” The words sounded weird, like he was hearing them through a filter. “Red Hood to Oracle, found them.” A hand ran through Tim's hair, brushing the strands away from his forehead.

Through the corner of his eye, Tim could see Dick carefully slide down the rubble. “Hood? What are you doing here?”

“Saving your butts apparently. You're welcome.” Something landed on Tim's chest. “Here. Oracle is tracking that. Someone will be here in a few minutes for pickup.”

The last things Tim saw as the darkness closed in on the sides of his vision was a red dot slowly walking away and Dick's worried face taking up his field of view.

When he woke up, everything hurt. Which made sense; painkillers didn't mix well with concussions. He was in the Batbunker's medbay, based on the sadly familiar ceiling, and Damian was standing next to him. The kid was glaring, as usual, but there was something wrong with the expression. Tim glared back. “What?”

Damian jumped a bit, even though he had watched Tim wake up. “You... did good work today Drake. I'm not sure I could have done better.” Then he fled, calling for Dick before Tim could make his brain work enough to think of a reply.

Dick walked in and sat next to Tim, setting his crutches beside him. He had taken off the Batsuit and was dressed in sweats and a tank top. “You scared the crap out of me Tim.”

“Sorry,” Tim said it quickly. Maybe he could get Dick to drop it. “How's the case? Did Superman get the cultists out?”

“Yeah. Two of them died in the collapse, half a dozen are in surgery. Which,” Dick leaned forward and rapped Tim between the eyebrows, eyebrows which had been inching closer together, “is a lot better than the hundreds of innocents who would be dead. So don't do that blaming yourself thing. We get enough of that from Bruce.” Dick ruffled Tim's hair, avoiding the bandage wrapped around his head, then sat back. He sat there for a moment, staring at Tim with his detective face on. “Why didn't you tell me you were injured?”

Later, Tim would blame it on the headache. “There were more important things to do. Like getting you out.”

“You're important Tim!” Dick's hand came down on the table beside Tim's bed, the glass of water on it clattering loudly.

“So is Batman.” Tim glared at Dick, trying to push himself up. He didn't even get halfway to sitting when his elbow gave out. “You saw what happened when Bruce went missing. The city was chaos. Having you die in a building collapse, with a confirmed corpse, would destroy it.”

“The building is still up Tim. We had plenty of time-”

“Which we didn't know at the time. What were you going to do, carry me out? On your broken leg?” Tim gave up on sitting. He sank deeper into his pillows and tried to wipe the frustration off of his face. “We're both fine now. So drop it.”

“Fine. I'll drop this. But let me ask you one thing.” Dick's muscles were tight, his jaw clenched. “Did you really know I would catch you? Because I didn't. I saw you falling from that window and I didn't think I would make it on time. But you looked content. Can you imagine how that felt? It was terrifying.” His hand shot forward, grabbing Tim by the wrist. “Tim, I can't lose you too.”

Tim tugged his wrist out of Dick's hand, resting his fingers on top of it instead. “You'd be fine. You have Damian.”

“He's not you Tim.” Dick flipped his hand so he could hold Tim's. “I shouldn't have taken Robin without asking, and I'm sorry. But you taking Robin didn't replace Jason in Bruce's heart, and Damian being Robin won't replace you in mine. You're my brother Tim, and I love you. And I'm going to do all I can to show you that.” He started running his free hand through Tim's hair again. “I wish you could see how much you mean to me. To Alfred and the girls, and all your friends in the Titans.

“Of course I know.” Tim had no illusions. His work was invaluable to lots of people. Wayne Enterprises was still largely run by Lucius, but Lucius was starting to defer more and more decisions to Tim as he gained more experience. And while the Teen Titans were getting on fine without him, every time he helped them with a case, they were very grateful.

As if reading his thoughts, Dick said, “And not just as Robin, or Red Robin. You did and still do fantastic work, and honestly, I don't think we would have gotten as far as we have without you. But I love you because you're smart, and funny, and because you sleep in class, and you wear Brioni even though you'd rather wear those punk rock shirts, because you can't cook anything more complicated than soup. Because you're Tim.”

Tim's throat was feeling strangely tight, and it was getting difficult to breathe. He didn't think he could blame it on the wrappings on his ribs. “I...”

“Shh. Get some rest Tim. I'll be here when you wake up.” Dick smiled at him, one hand wrapped around Tim's, the other still carding through his hair.

When Tim woke up again, Dick was still there, in the bed opposite. Alfred came in with fresh bandages and filling snacks. The next day, when Alfred allowed him out of bed (“But no patrol for a week Master Tim. I mean it.”) Steph and Cass showed up at his apartment and they played racing games for four hours. Kon showed up at his window halfway through with a bunch of vegetables from the farm (“Ma says that farm fresh veggies are better for your health”) and proceeded to get owned by Steph when he tried playing.

Tim ended up falling asleep on Kon's shoulder with Steph on his other side and Cass laying across all their laps. And for the first time in a long time, he felt... good.

[angel-gidget]

Stars Unearth Your Fires (ch3/?)

Title:  Stars Unearth Your Fires (Ch 3/?)

Fandom: DCU, Teen Titans, Red Robin (preboot)     

Rating:  PG  | Words: 2320  | a03 link    

Summary: Tim Drake never thought of himself as a troublemaker as far as Robins go. But a passing accusation quickly escalates into a case of stolen memories, technologically backwards clues from his past self, interdimensional hijinks, reflections on the good old days, and possibly the rekindling of a foregone romance. Eventually Tim/??? Mystery ship!

A/N: Thanks to @kiragecko for being my lovely beta on this. And thanks to @komadoriwonder, and JLAGuyer and regulusmarkara on a03 for their thoughtful reviews. ^_^

“Dude. You know you just paid wicked money for good seats to the show right? So why are we not in those four front row seats with Wayne’s name on ‘em?”



“Because it doesn’t feel right, Kon.”



It did, but it didn’t. Fashion show. He had been so sure at the time that the term wasn’t code for anything. But as he watched the snappily-dressed crowd converge on the runway waiting for the lights to dim, he just got the feeling that actually attending the official show wasn’t quite what his younger self had in mind.



“So… what does feel right?” Bart asked, looking up from his e-reader. Cyborg had customized the processing power to keep up with Kid Flash’s speed, and so far, it was doing wonders for creating the public illusion that Bart was a patient person. So long as no one looked too closely at how quickly his finger tapped from page to page. 



Even if Bart had paused for half a second, Tim wouldn’t have been able to read it. Bart had studied Dutch last week, and was currently reading about some variety of European alternative rock in its native language.



“I don’t know,” Tim sighed, “Just… walk with me.”



They did. They were amazingly patient with him, dodging and weaving through the crowds. Kon and Bart chuckled at a cheesy poster for running shoes that seemed to appear after every third store.  Cassie allowed herself to admire a couple dresses in their respective windows—he had seen her in a dress exactly once but apparently she liked to look at them a lot? Unclear. She lingered longer over a pair of hot pink boxing gloves in a sportswear display. Future Christmas present. He made a note.



“So, not that this isn’t kind of a novelty for us,” Kon interjected, “Because you know we never do normal things, but… is there anything for us to check out here that we couldn’t have checked out in ‘Frisco? Or Gotham? Which would both be less crowded by now?”



Tim sighed.



There was something different about the Beverly Hills Mall’s ambience. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. The posters were the same stupid posters in shopping centers back in Gotham. The music was the same blaring music. The people… the people.



“The girls.”



“Hah, very funny.” Cassie rolled her eyes.



Bart chuckled.



“What about them?” Kon blurted, taking his statement seriously.



Tim’s gaze latched onto a circle of three girls—late teens to early twenties—chatting loudly with each other as they dug into their food court lunches.  He pulled out his phone and discreetly snapped a handful of pictures.



“Wait. You’re serious?” Cassie blinked.



“Bart, pick a topic and start talking. Low voice. We’ll take the open table close to them and keep it casual. I need audio.”



Cassie grimaced, “Oh my god, you are serious.”



Bart shrugged and proceeded to perfunctorily lecture on Darwinian evolution as a growing topic for romanticization in symphonic metal music. It actually struck Tim as vaguely interesting, and he made a note to ask Bart to repeat his spiel when he was better able to pay attention.


For the moment, he leaned back and let the cadence of the girl’s voices wash over him. They were talking about the fashion show, its pluses and pretentiousness, because their friend Valerie was clearly more talented than those ‘professionals’ as she actually designed things that were fun to wear. That somehow evolved into a discussion on nail polish remover as a multi-purpose solution, and really—while the nail polish thing might prove useful—none of it really mattered.



There was a common speech pattern. Not accent so much as slight dialect. Word choice interspersed with the casual pop of Mindy’s bubblegum.  For the first time, it wasn’t something about the milieu that was the same; it was something about it that was familiar.



Yet Tim couldn’t remember for the life of him where he had heard it before.



“Go 2 fashion show @ Hollywood Mall. Compare/Contrast costume.”



West coast street fashion was inherently different. While not terribly fashion-conscious in his own right, Tim had been exposed to nearly all walks of life, and their clothes, in Gotham.  The destitute in patched up hoodies, the wealthy in designer suits, the middle-class in semi-ironic polo shirts. But it was all Gotham. Even the goths and hair-dyed punks had a certain aesthetic that fit to a mold.



The California mall had different molds. Mindy’s glittery tattoo-style tights under her faded denim skirt, and Raquel’s bangly earrings jangling against the careful color palette of the beads in her cornrows had a certain feeling to it that was more theatrical than anything Tim ran into outside of his costumed life.



And Sylvia’s bright yellow jacket demanded that he stare at it. He didn’t know why.



“… I love your fashion sense!”



Tim’s head snapped around, “What?”



“Is that what you were planning on saying to them?” Bart had an eyebrow raised, “‘Cause you’ve been kinda badly hiding that you’re looking at them for the last 43 seconds and even with me providing conversational cover, they were going to notice. Soon.”



While Bart appeared merely curious, Kon and Cassie had their patented looks of concern on their faces once more.



Tim tapped his phone to stop the audio recording.



“I’m done. I’m good. Let’s go.”



——



“So,” Bart called out while skateboarding into a loop in the gym-obstacle course hybrid of Titan’s Tower, “What do we do when we hit up Paris?”


“What?” Tim blinked, pulling out one earbud. 



He hadn’t been playing the audio clip of the girl’s voices on repeat very loudly, so he had heard the question just fine. He just wasn’t on the same page, exactly.



“It was in your notes,” Kon explained from the corner where he was spotting for Cassie’s weight-lifting. “Go to the most romantic city?”



Tim snorted, “Paris is NOT the most romantic city. Nowhere close.”


Cassie grunted from beneath her gym record of 74 tons—it was frustrating for her, he knew, because she’d stopped a passenger jet once. Theoretically, she should have been able to press twice that without shredding her muscles, but apparently even superheroes had a kick-in-the-pants relationship with adrenaline that wasn’t easily replicated with a machine.



“Nnhh… okay then—guh—We’ll bite. Why? Baguettes not on your diet?”



Tim lifted an eyebrow. 



“Paris is filled with street gangs who know my face, and there’s nothing wrong with my diet.”



He wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t trying to lose muscle-mass. It was just an unfortunate side-effect of focusing his grocery list on immunity boosters instead of protein or comfort food. Mackerel and ginger and salads did good things for his lack of spleen, but didn’t help him look ripped. 



At once, Bart was in his face with a cold slice of leftover pizza.



“OkayTim. Every time you say something drenched in the waters of DeNile, youhavetotakeabite.”



He wasn’t in de—ooh anchovies on extra cheese. It wasn’t like he couldn’t use the protein. And cold or not, it smelled good. He took a bite.



“Good boy.”



“Screw you.”



Bart cackled and ate the rest of the slice himself. Jerk.



He zipped away and the clattering of pots and pans a level away signaled that Bart had started the process of cooking dinner for the evening. Tim mentally rescinded his jerk comment.



“So Rob,” Kon’s use of his old nick name snapped his attention back, “What is the most romantic city then?



Tim shrugged, “Not Paris.”



“Well, nnnngh, that’s helpful.” Cassie set down her weights, and reached out a hand. Kon wordlessly handed her a water bottle emblazoned with a W.



Kon tapped a finger against his chin.



“Is it Moscow?”



Tim frowned, “You think the most romantic city is Moscow?”



“Uh, no,” Kon scratched the back of his head, “I think you might think that Moscow is the most romantic city because you and Tam Fox had kind of a love nest going on there…? Didn’t you?” His eyes flashed quickly to Cassie, as though unsure if Tim would want to talk about it in front of her.  Tim rolled his eyes.



“We had adjoining hotel rooms that had good room service. Hardly the mark of ultimate romance, Kon.”



Cassie smirked, “The Tower is subscribed to the Gotham Gazette.”



Oh. Oooooh. Tim winced. Knowing his friends watched the news to keep an eye out for his exploits as Red Robin was one thing. Knowing that they were reading all the gossip columns on Timothy Drake-Wayne was another.



“This does not leave the Tower, but if you wanna know, I’ll tell you.”



“Please.” They chorused. And wow, but things must have been dull around San Fran if they were all that starved for proverbial bread from the rumor mill. Tim sighed.



“The only way in which we took advantage of those adjoining hotel rooms was by having breakfast together in our pajamas. Yes, I was flirting. And yeah, I really, really enjoyed it.”



Both Kon and Cassie had small, tight smiles on their faces. They were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because, well, they knew him. Tim pretended that he didn’t see Kon reach behind his back, handing Cassie a twenty dollar bill. He was too tired to ask about the specifics of the bets anymore.



“But it’s all irrelevant now as I have since managed to royally piss off Tam, and have just barely earned enough forgiveness that we can work together in a civil manner. It’s over…”



Kon snatched the twenty back.



“… No matter what I want.”



Cassie reached behind her again, claiming final victory on the crumpled bill.



“Hera, that’s rough. Sorry, Tim.” 



At least Cassie sounded sincere. And at least the value of his personal woes had risen with inflation. Bets about his mask had only been worth ten bucks back in the day.



“Grub’s up!,” Bart’s shout came from the kitchen, “And Ikindabrokethemicrowave, so get it while it’s hot!”



———



Tim wasn’t sure why he had been so suspicious of ‘peppered lamb lasagna’. He should have learned to trust Bart by now. The sting of spice and rosemary with cheese lingered on his tongue as he slouched with the group—and their full stomaches—on the giant couch in front of the 70’’ TV.



They had it set to Gotham news. Which was boring, seeing as Tim helped make the news by putting Riddler back into Arkham, so he already knew it all. But apparently, boring news was the point, because boring news was easy to talk over. 



Kon was the first to breach the white noise.



“So you never did answer the question.”



“Ugh,”  Tim pinched the bridge of his nose.



“What question?” barked Gar from his basset hound form. He was snuggled up next to Raven, who had similarly snapped out of her private world to pay attention.



“For four hundred points,” Bart mock-intoned, “What is the most romantic city in the world. Andon’tsayParis. SayingParisstartsawholeTHING.”



“New York?” Gar mumbled, sliding back to his human self.



“Ain’t got nothing on Honolulu.” Kon rejoined.



“I’d say Themyscira,” Cassie enunciated around a last bite of lasagna, “But you can only take girlfriends there, not boyfriends. So…”



“Funny thing is, I know the absolutemostperfectcity,” Bart muttered, grabbing the remote and flipping through channels, “But it hasn’t been founded yet. Welcome to thespeedsterlife.”



Raven’s voice managed to seep through the white noise and the commentary, causing everything else to go silent.



“You know the answer, Timothy. You just need a moment to breathe and think.”



She stepped away from Gar to kneel in front of him, placing a hand at his temple. Tim shivered. 



He wasn’t inherently comfortable with magic, but he refused to shut it out the way Bruce did. Refused to let that twinge in his gut make him shut people in his life out. He might not ever be as relaxed in Raven’s presence as Dick could be—as Dick pretended to be?—but as much as he could consciously open himself up to someone who had fought and bled with him, he would.



So he leaned back, and breathed out…



“Venice.”



He came out of the meditative moment to find everyone staring at him. It was getting kind of old. His friends seriously needed some more hobbies. Kon finally restarted the discussion.



“Y’know? Not bad. Venice is… a good choice.”



“Shoddy infrastructure, though.” Bart sighed.



“Pretty sure that’s a huge part of the charm, kiddo.” Gar chuckled.



“Seriously. Why?” Bart tilted his head.



Tim shrugged, “Venice has gondolas.”



Cassie nodded, “That it does. Guess that’s pretty romantic.”



Tim continued, “Gondolas are the perfect date activity. Historical romantic tradition. Often a new experience for both parties. A mix of public space to create a feeling of safety, but enough privacy to… um. Make out. If you want to.”



How did he know that? That wasn’t… he couldn’t ever remember setting foot in Venice. Or a gondola. But now that he was stopping to breathe and think—thank you, Raven—it made perfect sense. Huh.



His hooded empath of a teammate gave him a gentle smile before returning to her corner of the couch once more.



“I’m just saying that Venice will have collapsed by the time I’m even born,” Bart objected.



“You are so missing the point, my man.” Kon retorted.



Tim let their squabbling wash over him like a blanket. The last several times he had come to the tower, he had simply fallen asleep on the couch. It was always warmer there than in his room, and it didn’t hurt that he was usually in someone’s company. He had every intention of sleeping there again. But until then… he rose and headed for the kitchen.

By his calculations, there was one piece of lasagna left.

[gay-f0r-jesus]

My entire class applauded our lecturer for having a masters degree. Not because we were surprised or impressed. It’s because he’s a nice man and we want him to know he’s appreciated.

[thelowcarbrunner]

What’s The Story Here?

“Hi! My name is Fred, and I’m an addict.”

I moved to America in 2009, where, when you say those words, you immediately picture an awkward room filled with people quivering in silence to the sound of anxiety. One may even smell over-brewed coffee. No, I am not addicted to drugs, and this is not going to be the story of how I overcame an addiction by running. This is the story of me. A French-born runner in New York City.

In 1994, my PE teacher gave me detention for hiding in the bushes with some girl friends while we were doing endurance laps in the Jardins du Luxembourg (the Senate’s garden where we would have PE classes in the spring). I think I was smoking cigarettes there as well... I was to report at 8am on a Saturday. This seems like an unimportant event, but I truly believe the confidence boost that was to come shaped part of my personality.

I unexpectedly arrived on time, in my joggers, my rebel attitude blazing out of my ground-striking eyes, only to have it thwarted by the absence of any other student.

‘We are going to jog for half an hour, and you are not allowed to stop.’

What a preposterous idea... ‘C’est impossible !’, I said in my teenage pouting voice. But there was no way out, it was happening.

So I went, before him, slowly. I tried to brake-check him, I said I couldn’t breathe... But I think my sweaty red face wasn’t sad and convincing enough, because he would just push back and tell me:

‘stop whining, you can do it, don’t stop!’ 

He proceeded to start a conversation, I can’t remember what it was about... But I like to talk, so I went with it, and with every sentence, the concept of time started to wither away. I have no idea how fast we were going, but in the end, we did run for 30 minutes, and I did not die.

FAT This happened during what I call, my ‘fat’ year. For a while, I had been drinking Coke by the bottle, stacking candies near my bed, eating ice cream and cookies by the box, ... My older brother even referred to me as “bouffe-tout” (”eat-everything”, which happened to be Slimer’s French name in Ghostbusters.) All I wanted was to eat, burp, and mostly to avoid any effort at all cost. One of my brother’s friend reminded me recently that I had ‘invented’ some type of rope-elevator apparatus just so I didn’t have to walk down the two flights of stairs that separated the TV from the refrigerator... I am unsure of what would have happened of me if I hadn’t hidden and smoked behind the bushes during PE in 1994.

BE COOL In High-School, I spent every day skateboarding with my friends. I would skateboard to school, skateboard in school, skip school to meet my friends to, skateboard... That’s all I did around, and sometimes within, my class schedule. I was very active. Those years can be summed up in 5 words: Skateboard, metal,_ sweat_, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 411 Video Magazine... Yet, running wasn’t something I enjoyed. I assimilated it with PE, and PE wasn’t fun.

I stopped skateboarding when I graduated from High-School and joined a band. This was going to be my life. The energy I put into skateboarding was to go into my hardcore band life. I’d eat whatever, drink whatever, party, scream and play loud music. Somehow, I managed to stay fit during several years with my only workout being screaming into a microphone while jumping everywhere like a clown for about 6 hours a week... How sweet is life...

‘What sport do you play?’

Sports? I didn’t play any. What a strange concept that everyone should be into some type of sports... Of course, as any kid in France during the 90s I had practiced Soccer, some Track and Field, Tennis, etc. But I was out of school, why would I put myself through this willingly?

WHATEVER HAPPENED From one band to another, the music got quieter, until I ended up singing in a signed pop/punk band. The rehearsals and the jumping around were more sparse, I mostly stood behind my mic on a stand going left and right, but the rest of the lifestyle was still there, harder than ever. I remember a band retreat, where we tried to push ourselves to wake up every morning and jog in the woods and do some crunches. Fail. It lasted about a week and stopped as soon as we were back in Paris. Life started to catch up on me, and I was losing touch with my body.

I woke up one morning, my band wasn’t doing as great as I wanted, pictures started showing rolls out of my skinny jeans, I had no vision for my future, I hated myself. Life seemed to be an impossible concept. Impossible... ‘Nothing is impossible. Fuck that’. Like my PE teacher, the voice in my head would not let me quit. ‘Get a grip you stupid goat!’

DIRECTION I needed goats goals. Like those 30 minutes of jogging I was forced to complete, I needed to picture a success, and never quit until I was there. ‘Get fit!’ I bought a cheap pair of store-brand ‘running’ shoes, and started running. I started going to the Olympic pool in my neighborhood to swim laps. I registered for college to resume my studies (in France it’s free, how sweet is la vie?). Here was a clear goal right in front of me, there was an exchange program after 2 years, and I would be one of the few that would spend a year studying in the United States. Failure was not an option. I would talk about it like it was set in stone, ‘when I’ll be in the US...’ Whatever people said, this was happening.

I don’t think I can describe how it felt two years later, on that plane to San Jose, CA, looking out the window, with a year of fending for myself ahead of me. I wasn’t scared. I felt a mix of incredulity and excitement. Like a long race during which you did not even acknowledge any thought about quitting, yet when you pass the finish line, you wonder how the hell you did it...

WHERE AM I GOING? When in college in France, I had registered for any sports or team that would fit into my schedule. Track team, check. Team Handball, check. Baseball, check. If I didn’t have practice on a day, I would just go to the gym or to the pool. But in France, apart from the Rugby team, all you had to do was to show up, and you were part of the team... Years of American Teen movies had scared me from even considering the dreaded “tryouts”, so I didn’t join a team. I just ran, went to the gym, and I bought a skateboard and a bike to get around (as a typical Parisian, I did not have a driving license...) I was staying in shape.

After two years of having planned my life like I had OCD, I let it take a direction of its own, and a year later, I ended up in New York instead of going back to France. There, I adhered to the ‘basic’ New-Yorker’s lifestyle: join a gym, work, workout, drink, eat-out, bis repetita. It wasn’t the best of time, it wasn’t the worst of time, but I did not have a goal, an ‘addiction’. ‘Just find something.’ Music it is. I started The Johnny Pumps, in 2012, and focused on writing songs again. When I wasn’t working or writing songs with a glass of whiskey, I was going to the gym, not really trying, avoiding cardio.

FAT 3.0 Was it age, diet, or lifestyle? I started putting on more pounds that I wanted to. When I reached 220bs, I felt disgusting. The problem when you are 6′4″, is that even when you are overweight, it doesn’t show that much unless you take your shirt off, therefore people tell you “you’re crazy... You’re not fat at all...” Some people, like me, need to hear that we are fat, and we need to get a grip.

I don’t think I’m blowing anyone’s mind by saying that the fastest way to shed fat is to stop eating carbs. Unless Dr. OZ is your go-to reference in dieting, setting aside all other rhetoric, we should all know in 2017 that grains and sugar raise the level of glucose in your blood which triggers your pancreas into releasing insulin which tells the body to stop burning its fat stores and instead, absorb some of the fatty acids and glucose in the blood and turn them into more body fat. Whether we agree or not that this is a healthy, or easy way to lose fat, or that you run faster or slower with carbs, nobody can say it doesn’t work if you commit to it. ‘Commit’. Well, turns out I am good at that. Ketogenic diet, here I come.

RUN, YOU FOOL Coconut oil, avocados, chicken, fish, broccoli and cauliflower. You name it, I’ve eaten more than anyone would like to. But in less than a year I was as skinny as 175lbs (way too skinny...) to finally set up to 185lbs (my ‘perfect’ weight).

In 2015, one of my best friends texted me:

“Hey! Wanna run a relay with me and some friends in a month and a half in Utah?”

“Sure!”

I had committed to run 2 legs of a marathon relay with my friend’s girlfriend. I was going to basically run a half marathon, with no training. I cringe today when I say out loud that I trained for it mostly on a treadmill, at the gym, and that I ran it with road Nikes I bought on sale. I believe my longest ‘train’ run was 8 miles out of the three ‘real’ runs I did in Central Park.

DID I JUST JOIN A CULT? This was the third November Project Summit, and I had no idea what the November Project was. From my experience at the race, they were just some weird beer-drinking frat guys who happened to be really loud and cheerful. I can say today that I really didn’t get it...

I can honestly not remember my time, all I know is that my first leg was under 1h, and the second was hell, and over 1h. I had never focused on my result/time, PR was an unknown concept to me, pace was just a word I would hear without knowing what it meant, if I went out to run, my goal would be x minutes of running or x many loops. I would go, reach the goal, then not think about it again.

Back in New York, I went on a few runs, mostly worked out at the gym. I didn’t really have a ‘good‘ reason to run. In the back of my mind I thought, maybe I can do this again next year, it was fun.

February 2nd, 2016

Text from, to use his real name, Gabe**: **

“Want to go to the November Project workout tomorrow morning at 6:28am?”

“What the hell is November Project, and why TF is it at 6:28am?”

“You know, those guys who were partying when we ran the race in Utah, they have workouts every Wednesday morning and its right by your place.”

“Sure.”

I’m not addicted, but I may have joined a cult.

[mayardsale]

"And where might we find these 'likeminded' couples?" I questioned my husband, even though he'd dropped the subject. Freshly-minted emptynesters, we were struggling with all of this alone time. Communication was never our best skill. Neither was spontaneous sex. We were the 1% of teen couples that got pregnant in high school and made it last this long. But now we were without the 2 people that defined our every breath for 20 years. Cisco was following his brother's path to boarding school for his senior year before deciding on a four year school. We were expecting him to be bumming around our house for another 9 months and now he's gone. Antonio is studying and playing in Argentina this year, so he's beyond gone. Cisco's decision caught us off guard. Don't get me wrong. We were far from helicopter parents. Our parents forced us take on the responsibilities of parenting, though school was our job for the first five years. We just didn't know how to enjoy a relationship without little eyes on us. What we ate, what we wore, how we traveled, everything driven through their needs. Example: we never made noise during sex. Ever. "You'll wake the boys," I'd say when they were little. "You'll traumatize the boys," he'd say when they got older. So we were silent. It was all we knew. Now it was like we were dating. The first 3 months were a whirlwind of sex in the morning and dancing at night. No more cereal or soda in the pantry. Laundry every other week. Zero dirty dishes. The next 3 months we did nothing but focus on the boys. "Let's Skype Tony," I'd say. "We better get some food in the house for Cisco at Christmas," he'd say. We were constantly planning for the three days they'd be home. Now we've settled into blah. First we'd binge watch shows together. Then we'd binge watch shows next to each other. I knew we needed to change directions when I caught him binge watching the same History Channel shows as my father. "One more episode," he'd say before bed. "Your pops is only two ahead of me." But it didn't hit me until we both got home from work and had our comfy sweat pant couch moment before 6PM. He only worked a 1/2 day at the hospital and it was down time in my office, so I wasn't stressed. We weren't tired. We were tired! "We should be naked or dressed up," I noted as I watched him reading his Twitter feed. I was no better as I repinned one of his mother's recipes on Pinterest. "That's quite the range, my love," he acknowledged. "Let's ask the internet." Our phones danced in our hands while we crowd sourced our way out of this rut. Yoga. Cooking class. Hiking. Scrapbooking. Skydiving. An hour later we came up for air. Nothing. "Other than work, we either make kids or raise kids," I sighed. "Well, I got a job, ain't changing no more diapers and I'm kinda bored of fucking you," he smirked as he braced himself for a punch to the arm. "Your dick hasn't fucked my brains out yet, so I'm guessing I can stop wishing for that one, huh?" I responded, still punching his arm. He just laughed as he went to the kitchen to get us some water. "We need some friends like us to hang out with," I shouted. "Give us reason to go out." He returned with our water and put his arm around me. "No problem. I'm sure there's other 30-something emptynesters ready to hang out to watch," he paused to check my phone. "Al Jazeera." "So what are people our age doing in this city?" I pushed back. "What we did in high school: fucking until they decide to have kids," he imagined out loud. "So let's go fuck with them," I pleaded, though I wasn't quite sure what I meant. "An open relationship?" he responded with curiosity. "Fucking people other than us?" His body language was unreadable at this moment. I couldn't tell if he was offended or totally game. He always had a better poker face than me. "I just don't want to be playing shuffleboard on cruises for the next 50 years, baby," I sputtered as I sunk into the couch. "You are bugging right now," he insisted as he placed his warm hand on my knee. "Likeminded couples are waiting for us to chat right now!" he joked before the doorbell rang with our Chinese food. After dinner we went for a walk and texted the boys. Soon we were back in bed checking the DVR for new recordings. "And where might we find these 'likeminded couples'?" I opened. He rolled his eyes and pulled his laptop from our desk. I couldn't tell if his apprehension was based on not wanting to do it or not wanting to see me go down a path I wasn't ready for. "There's Craigslist . . . ," he offered as he scrolled down his search for 'likeminded couples'. "Ewww!" I protested. "That how we got the boys' bikes. What else?" For an hour he humored me while we laughed at the idea of us swinging and the scary people out there looking for 'likeminded couples'. These folks might have had the right idea, but there was no way I'd date them single, much less married. One couple wanted to meet the the Barney & Betty to their Fred & Wilma - which they were dressed exactly like. Then we landed on a site that rated other sites that connected singles and couples. By now my husband had lost interest and was checking out his Fantasy Football Team on his phone. But I fell down the rabbit hole. "Okay, we're signed up," I announced 10 minutes later. He was still making some last minute trades, so I started shopping without him. "You like tall women, right?" "Yeah. What? What are we signed up for?" he jumped. "Whoa! She's hot," he nodded, finally impressed with my internet shopping skills. "She likes them brown, sugar," I joked. "Save!" I announced as though I'd just made a purchase. "Her husband looks okay, but I'll take one for the team," I shrugged. Now, he couldn't tell if I was serious. And neither could I. Certainly it was fascinating seeing people that probably were in the same boat we were in. But I also wondered if every man's dick felt like my husband's. I know they didn't but I didn't personally know. And I wouldn't know how I'd react to seeing another woman enjoying my husband's dick too much. That might be a bit much. "So who is in your shopping cart, you freak," he asked with a curiosity I hadn't seen in years. Without blinking I opened the shopping cart to the five couples I'd already saved. There was a range from preppy to punk, urban to country. I've had one song in my playlist for 20 years. Genre was not about to filter my exploration. "I had a few criteria - funny and witty write-up, thought given to their photo, not too porny and proximity to our house," I explained. "Looking for a quick delivery," he sheepishly joked. "Opposite, hon," I continued. "Don't need any one recognizing us. A discreet hotel between our lives might be enough to entertain us between dinner and dancing." "So you are seriously going to let this . . ," he began as he scanned my cart, "Ann ride my dick while you let . . . Craig fuck you from behind?" he asked with a devilish look on his face. His warm hand was on my knee again. "Actually," I started as I took my glasses off and placed my hand on his bulging boxers, "I was thinking Ann and I would start slowly by sucking our own husband's dick in the same room. Then you and Craig could work your tongue on our damp pussies. The first date doesn't have to go all the way." I put his laptop on the nightstand and headed for second base. "If we enjoyed their company after the first date, we might try fucking on separate beds - still keeping to ourselves," I said as I pulled my husband's boxers down. "But you might not be able to clear Ann getting fucked from your daily thoughts," I punctuated as I leaned into his mouth. "And I might have visions of pushing Craig down like this," I followed as I pushed my husband back onto our bed, "so I can taste Ann's cock before I let him fuck me from behind." By now my tongue was licking my husband's dick and he was in heaven. "Ann, you are amazing!" he grunted. He pulled my top over my head and cupped my breast like it was our first time. I crawled up next to him on all fours while I rubbed his dick. "Craig, please fuck me from behind like you fuck Ann," I responded. My husband quickly got behind me, threw his tongue between my legs to get me wet and then proceeded to fuck Ann while I screamed Craig's name. His balls were slapping my ass. The bed was shaking the walls. Craig and Ann were animals. And then he said, "I'd love to watch you suck Craig's dick while I'm fucking you!" I wasn't sure if I was Ann, but my pussy didn't care. She erupted at the thought and then he came inside me. We were panting like we'd finished a 5k for charity. Then a beep came from his laptop. He mustered enough strength to open it and found two responses. "Responses to what?" I said as I laid kicking my legs up and down. "To your messages from your shopping cart, fat fingers," he laughed. "Oh shit," I jumped. My trepidation was enough to convince my husband that I was still full of shit. That was until I said, "Was it Stephanie & Isaac?"

[mikorei]

Witch's Haven (Working Title)

Bring. Bring. Bring.

            That was the sound that every teenager dreaded on an August morning. A hand reached out from under a mountain of six pillow, grabbed the offending alarm and tossed it across the room. A thud echoed through the room and silence took over. The hand retreated under the mountain and all was peaceful. Not even five minutes later the door to the room was tossed open and the once dark room was filled with light as the heavy curtains were shoved out of the way. The room now bathed in light was furnished with black furniture and the walls were an off-white color possibly called egg-shell. There was a mural of a curling wave on the north wall smaller waves seemed to spread to the other walls giving a sense of serenity most days.

            A frustrated sigh could be heard from the mountain as the light seeped through the cracks, two hands forcibly pulled the pillows down to escape. A large body jumped onto the mountain and bounced excitedly.

            “Azriel! Azriel! Get up! Come on, today’s the first day of school!” The body crawled off the bed and then yanked the sheets off and out came a girl who proceeded to follow the blanket and landed on the floor. “Az-ri-el! Get u—Woah!”

            The body dodged to the right crashing into the night stand as a ball of ice raced passed their head.

            “Jaden, my dear, dear brother…If you value your life, leave now or forever hold your peace.” Azirel stated while rubbing her abused head.

            “Azzy,” Jaden whined. “Please? It’s our first day, well my first at least.  Sis will you please get up? I don’t want to face this alone.” He plead as he crouched down by her.

            She smiled and reached up and ruffled his hair causing him to scowl. “Alright Jay. I’m up. Only ‘cause I know how nervous you really are.”

            “Thanks, sis; I’ll see you down in thirty?”

            “Yeah squirt. Now get out.”

            Jaden smiled and leaned into her touch before standing and walking out of the room. He even closed the door, after she yelled at him to do so. She rolled her eyes. Her little brother was such a pain but she loved him. Azriel sighed and stood up from the pile of blankets and walked over to her vanity and frowned. Her dark brown hair looked like a rat made a nest in it. Her thick purple streak somehow survived rested to the side of her head. Rolling her eyes, she went to her closet and grabbed her clothing and want to the bathroom. The same routine that she’s had for years: Wake up, grab clothes, shower, brush teeth and hair, get dressed. It was a normal day for a normal teen.

            “Yeah right. A normal teen is anything but what I am.”

            She had just finished getting dressed. She decided to wear a pair of denim shorts with her black uneven thigh high socks and her black books with dark purple straps and buckles. Her top was a black halter style that wrapped her bare torso with a light purple flannel over the top for some modesty. She pulled her hair into a high ponytail her purple hair resting on the top of her head as she wrapped a strand around the hair tie to hide it. She donned her purple choker and wrap-bracelets.

She shrugged at her reflection “Guess this is as good as it will get.” She closed her bright blue eyes and grabbed her black messenger bag before going downstairs.

“Azriel.” A voice called from the kitchen.

She just rolled her eyes before sitting down at the table taking a good look at her kid brother who was almost bouncing in his seat from excitement. She hadn’t realized how much he had grown. He used to be shorter than her at 5’4” but now he towered over her at 6’5”. She had always referred to Jaden as a handsome fool, but now he fit the bill. He had shaggy deep brown hair, her blue eyes, and the athletic build that drew in coaches to battle each other for the right to call him theirs. He was dressed differently, he usually was the typical punk boy but he was wearing an open denim button down shirt rolled up to his elbows over a white undershirt, denim jeans and a pair of tan work boots. It was different but she wouldn’t say that she hated it, until she had to beat someone off her little brother…with a sledgehammer.

“Really Azriel, is it too much to ask that you actually show up on time for breakfast.”

“Now, why would I do that Zaphina? You would think that I was sick showing up on time for something.”

Azriel looked up at her sister with a bland look. Zaphina was her fraternal twin. She took more after their mother than Jaden or herself did. Her hair was a dirty blonde with a giant red streak running through it. She was pale with bright red eyes. She wore a burgundy boho-chic top that had mini bell sleeves with a black pleated skirt and over the knee boots. Both had cheetah spots that acted as crowns lining their foreheads and down the sides of their bodies. Azriel watched as Zaphina shook her head with a small smile taking the seat next her Jaden. As they ate Zaphina looked over at her sister.

“Azzy. Do you think that this year will be better?”

Azriel shrugged. She wasn’t a seer. She grabbed the empty dishes and put them in the sink. In all honesty, she had been wondering the same thing. “I don’t know Zap. We’d better head out though. Promised butt-head over there that we’d help him get settled.”

Azriel walked back and grabbed her bag from the linoleum floor and walked towards the front door. Jaden and Zaphira nodded before grabbing their bags and following suit. Azriel locked the door and all three of them began their trek towards the school.

“Um, what did you mean when you asked if it would be better?”

Zaphina was the one who looked at Jaden. “Huh?”

“Nothing little brother. Just something that has been happening at school.”

Zaphina glared at her sister daring her to continue. She didn’t want Jaden to know what has been going on. It was their issue not his. Azriel shrugged off Zaphina’s glare. She wasn’t going to tell him unless there was a dire need to. She agreed with her sister that this was their problem and had been for years. No need to worry him about something that more than likely won’t concern him.

Jaden looked at his sisters with skeptical eyes. He knew that something was going on and he would find out. He didn’t like secrets. He decided to let it go for the time being. “What’s the main school like?”

“Eh? You really don’t know?”

“Azriel…he’s been at the lower schools remember?”

Azriel had the decency to look a little sheepish from her question before asking, “Jaden Do you know what the main school’s name is?”

“No I don’t Azzy.”

“It’s Witch’s Haven, Jaden.” Zaphina stated with pride only to deflate at his confused look. “I guess they didn’t feel the need to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Squirt Witch’s Haven in for the mortal and immortal.”

“What? Immortal?”

“Like us Jay. Like our family.”

“Squirt how many times have we told you what we are.”

“Quite a few ‘Phina; I get that you two are witches but— “

“That’s just it, squirt, you’re messing up the terminology. Anyone can learn to be a witch, just takes practice and belief. We are immortal. We’re demons. You’re a hafu.”

“Hafu.”

“What Azriel means Jay is that you are a half demon.”

“Yeah, your ma was a human and pa was—was…Hey Zap what was he again?”

“…He was a Cat demon with Elvish on his father’s side.” Zaphina sighed before continuing. “Jaden this school is a school for the combination of mortal and supernatural.”

“human? They know about immortals?”

“Nah. Norms have no idea about us. The humans that attend the school are gifted, spiritually aware, or whatever you want to call it. Squirt that’s where witches come in. I said that anyone could be a witch if they practiced, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well I wasn’t exactly truthful. Even if you practice you must have the gift to perform a spell. Hence the spiritually aware.”

“This is very confusing. How did I get into the school?”

“You’re a hafu.” Zaphina stated. “You get in by association. Even if your immortal heritage doesn’t show. Even if you are 1/16th immortal. Humans who are gifted receive invitations and can decline if they feel they don’t belong in our world. But those who are immortal don’t have a choice. The classes are designed to help teach control should any of their heritage show up later.”

Azriel laughed at Jaden’s confused face. “Don’t worry about it squirt. You have plenty of time to learn about this stuff. There is just one warning I will give you. There are certain people you can’t trust.”

“One person in particular.”

“who— “

“Crio Walkerman. She’s a vile snake in the grass who— “

“Now, now Miss Azriel. Is that any way to speak about someone? Especially when they aren’t there to defend themselves?”

Azriel ran a hand over her face and sighed. “It’s way too early to deal with this shit.”

Sure enough they had spoken her name she appeared. Jaden looked behind them and saw an interesting girl. She was decently pretty Jaden decided. She had similar dirty blonde hair like Zaphina only was in bouncy curls. Jaden could see what looked like black feathers weaved in. She had murky green eyes that resembled a hawk. She was small. She was dressed in a form fitting dress that showed off her chest. Her fingers and toes had dainty pink painted talons that set off the blue dress and pumps. Her voice seemed to be the only turn off.

“Crio. We don’t have time for you this morning.”

“Shut your mouth Zaphina we will talk later. I am more interested in the gentleman. Come now darling. Ditch the two rejects and get to know a real woman.” She smiled showing faintly sharp teeth.

The three siblings cringed at the come on. It was an odd attempt at being alluring and Jaden wasn’t going to have it. He would have given her the benefit of the doubt had she not insulted his sisters. He arched a brow at her and for some reason that caused her to start giggling. At least he thought that’s what the odd choking sound was.

“I’m not interested.” He stated before covering his mouth to yawn. “I may have invited you to hang out but since you insulted them I’ve changed my mind.”

“What do you mean may have? What do those two freaks mean to you?” Crio sneered all niceties thrown aside.

Jaden looked at both of his older sisters before looking Crio straight in the eyes. “They’re my older sisters.” With that statement, he wrapped his arms around his sisters and walked away leaving a sputtering Crio behind. “Now my dear sisters where can we find my schedule?”

Crio watched as they walked away and felt her feathers ruffle. “Just wait Stoker. I’ll get even. With all of you.”