#i hate trees. why did painting them reminded me of maths

[easprouts]

Trees

[sunjaesol]

THE MANY CRUSHES OF LUKE PATTERSON... AND THE ONE THAT STUCK

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

1982

Luke Patterson's first crush ever was Haley Martin. He adored the colour of her hair — like the clementines his mom bought — and the way she finger-painted, enough for his four year old eyes to stare at her in awe.

He watched her make mud pies in the sandbox from the monkey bars, only to ruin them to get a rise out of her. He couldn't understand why she didn't like him the way he did, so he nagged his mom to explain.

"Teasing girls should be fun for them too, sweetheart," she soothed. "This Haley clearly didn't like it."

He blinked. "Huh?"

Her smile stayed warm, similar to hot chocolate and whenever grandpa conjured candies from behind his ear. "Why don't you share your grapes with her tomorrow? I'm sure she'll like that."

His nose scrunched up. "Why?"

"Because it's sweet, Luke."

"I don't get that," he shrugged. "But I'll try."

The next day, he sat beside her during storybook time and that seemed to help a little already. By the time it was lunch, her mood was lifted, which excited him too, and urged him to offer the grapes.

It earned him a featherlight kiss on the cheek.

Luke squeaked in surprise, flushing a firetruck red, to which she giggled and plopped another grape in her mouth.

Three days later, his crush was gone from his mind and he began sharing his grapes with his new friend Reginald instead.

1986

"Can you ask Jessica what she thinks of me?" Luke hurriedly whispered, eyes flickering between Reggie and the girl from across the courtyard.

Normally, Luke Patterson exuded confidence. The resident class clown, always opening his jaw to react to the teacher without raising his hand, catching fights with stupid classmates, sneaking into dad's stationwagon to create mixtapes.

Fearlessness was his freaking middle name. (It was actually Beck, but whatever. He wished it was something cool like Duran Duran though.)

But when it came to girls... he got so nervous. Because they were girls! He didn't understand them! They hated rambunctious boys and only listened to stupid pop music and blabbered about how they stole makeup from their sisters.

Jessica, however, somehow made his heart flutter and his stomach twist up. She just looked cool in her dungarees and she had a pretty smile and she didn't wear that overwhelming, sugary perfume that was now popular.

Reggie snickered, in the way only eight year old boys could. "You liiiiiiike her!"

"No!" He scowled. "I–I'm just curious."

"Sure," he drawled, but then shrugged in agreement, the oversized leather jacket rustling on his shoulders. He stole it from his older brother after he saw him kissing (!!!) some girl and figured it held some magic to impress the ladies with.

"Just do it!"

With a dramatic flourish, the boy left their hiding spot, Luke lurking around the corner of the alcove to watch. Jessica looked up from her hard work of creating friendship bracelets and smiled at Reggie.

Oh, gosh. She was pretty.

A minute later, a sheepish Reg slowly crawled back to him, cheeks red and fiddling with the zipper of his jacket.

Luke grabbed his shoulders, urgent. "What did she say?"

"Uh... well..."

"C'mon, dude!"

Reggie sighed. "She... likes me, buddy. Sorry."

His hopeful face crashed into one of devestation, quickly covering it up with a laugh and a squeeze of the shoulder. Oh, man, what would Steven Tyler do?

"That– that's dope!"

In the end, Reggie and Jessica were boyfriend and girlfriend for a week while he wrote an angry poem about how stupid dungarees were.

Huh... it was surprisingly good.

1988

"Hey, Luke," Gwenn greeted, shy, tucking her hands in her Camp Wacky Rocka hoodie. "I really liked that song you made about your guitar."

Jumping from the tree branch to the ground, Luke dazzled her with an appreciative smile. From above, Reggie and their new friend Alex watched on curiously.

"Thanks!"

Who would've thought that summer camp would be the first time he made a real, girl friend! Gwenn was super cool and she played the saxophone and she liked Joan Jett and her hair was all curly and big and it reminded him of pretty clouds.

Looking over her shoulder, he noticed a gaggle of girls staring at them. Like they were waiting.

Gwenn stared at him. "Can you close your eyes?"

He frowned. "Why?"

"Just 'cause."

Whatever. Maybe she wanted to show him something cool and would stick it in his hand. Complying, he closed his eyes and impatiently waited, bouncing on his heels.

"So?"

Suddenly, he felt a light, warm touch on his mouth and — oh! She was kissing him!

Luke staggered back in surprise, gawking at a blushing Gwenn as she squeaked a sorry and ran back to the now giggling and screeching girls. They ran away like a flock of birds.

It was a dare! His first kiss, stolen by a dare!

His boys jumped down beside him, awed.

Reggie hollered. "You kissed Gwenn!"

"I don't get it," Alex muttered.

Luke's face twisted up in a sour expression. Camp Wacky Rocka should be all about the music and becoming legends and Gwenn ruined it!

He stuck his tongue out. "Whatever. Let's go to the mess hall!"

1989

When Luke turned eleven, he kissed someone for real.

His birthday party was at the arcade, loud chatter and robotic sounds clashing together in an amazing cacophony. His parents hated the place, which is why Luke loved it.

Of the twenty guests, Yasmine clapped the loudest after he finished his song with the boys — Math Is For Losers! — and grabbed his hand as they walked to a duel game.

Luke felt fuckin' giddy the entire time. (Freakin' in front of his parents, fuckin' with friends.) The swoop in his stomach, his cheeks stretched into a wide beam.

Freshly eleven and the king of the arcade, he boldly asked if he could kiss her.

She smiled, her purple headband glittering in the neon lights, and nodded.

It was short and warm and her lips tasted like pink lemonade and sour gummies and it gave him an entirely new buzz. It was exciting.

He kissed her a couple more times the days after, eager and curious, until she claimed she was now only interested in twelve year old boys.

Since Luke now held the record of most kisses between him, Alex and Reggie, he wasn't too bothered by it. They shook hands, complimented each other on the kissing, and that was that.

1992

"Are you or are you not my boyfriend?" Olivia bit, crossing her arms.

Luke sighed, lazy gaze drifting from her to his band waiting by their bikes. Damn, he thought having a girlfriend would be way easier. Why was she so tense?

"I am," he said. "Why do you think I'm not?"

"Because you ignore me, like, all the time!" Pouting, she fiddled with the hem of her tartan skirt. "And now you're going to be with your band!"

He shrugged. "You can come with us and listen, if you want."

Luke met Olivia this year as deskmates in French class. Her raven hair was long and thick and her lips were all shiny from lip gloss and maybe he got a little cocky, thinking he could be dating the hottest girl of freshman year, so he naturally asked her out.

Maybe he should've considered beforehand whether they had anything in common, but he'd always been the overzealous type. And besides... she was a good kisser.

She scoffed. "That's not any better. Whatever. I'll just hang with Tina and Priscilla then. Laters!"

Plopping a kiss on his lips, she turned around and stalked to her whispering friends. Luke puffed, adjusted the beanie and made his way to the boys.

Girls were confusing.

"I bet dating boys is easier," Alex mused. "Like, equally terrifying, but also... easier. I think. Maybe."

Bobby laughed. "How's the girlfriend, Luke?"

"Ha ha," he deadpanned. "Let's go. I got this new song, Crooked Teeth, and it's a fucking banger!"

Olivia broke up with him after Sunset Curve's first, official gig at the arcade with the explanation that he loved music more than her. He never loved her to begin with, so maybe that was the problem.

She made out with Bobby that same night.

Holy shit, man. He supposed that bitter feeling at the sight of them tasted like rock 'n roll, the one thing he actually craved.

What a funny, funny feeling. (He wrote a hell of a lot of songs about it after. He never quite looked at Bobby the same way either.)

1995

"Hey, Maisie." Leaning against the locker beside the girl, he shot her a million dollar smile. "You comin' to our gig tonight? It's at The Orpheum."

Maisie was fucking awesome. Always in short, flowery dresses and fishnet tights and thick eyeliner like a rockstar, always listening to something new on her walkman. She came from a rich family, but that didn't hinder them from becoming friends.

Her jaw fell slack in awe, him instantly gaining more confidence. Ducking his head to meet her eye, he leaned a little closer. He knew damn well what he was doing, and he got a thrill every time it worked.

"Really?" She gasped. "That's awesome! I'll so be there!"

"Sweet," he grinned. "And stay after too."

A brow quirked up, intrigued. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Just 'cause."

"Right," she drawled. "Nothing is 'just because' with you, Luke."

"And that's why you gotta stay," he teased, nudging her shoe with his. "To find out."

If they rocked that gig and he felt like a fucking legend, he hoped it would end with the two of them hooking up. He wasn't interested in dating — having learned his lesson after Olivia — and he knew she wasn't either, but she was fun.

And that was the most important to him: to have fucking fun. Luke Patterson was here for a good time, not a long time.

And if nothing happened between him and Maisie, then he'd still feel like a legend. In a couple of hours, he was going to play at The Orpheum! How gnarly was that?!

2022

Twenty-seven years later, Luke was still seventeen years old. While he preferred to not question the science behind ghostly activities — he flunked physics anyway — he was happy that he froze at this age.

Because Julie was seventeen, too.

And, man. He was madly in love with her.

He loved everything, from the babyhairs curling around her ears, to her voice and compassionate soul, to her beautiful smile, all the way to her cute, doodled sneakers.

Her epic music taste, her snark, the way she always found his gaze, the way she finished his lyrics, the way she always knew what to say to make him feel better.

His heart melted to a flickering candle whenever she hugged him, a raging wildfire erupting between every kiss. He was a fool for her.

"Stop moving," she giggled, one hand coming up to hold his chin.

He grinned, "Sorry, Jules."

Shifting closer, she dabbled more glitter on his cheeks. They were playing at a black-light club tonight, so Julie and Flynn bought all the glow in the dark makeup available at the store for the occasion.

They looked ridiculous in daylight, Julie's weirdly pink lipstick claiming all his attention, but he knew they'd look fucking cool once the lights went down.

"You want to watch a movie after the gig?" she whispered.

Luke rolled his eyes, playful. "You're gonna fall asleep."

"Yeah." With a bashful tilt of the shoulder, she leaned in closer. "But then you'll be with me."

"Julie! How scandalous," he teased, though his chest swelled at the thought of having some alone time, some cuddle time, with Julie.

"So?"

Murmuring a yes, he closed the little distance to kiss her, sealing the deal, only for her to chase after him — an attempt to wipe the lipstick stain off his lips.

"Nah, keep it." A smirk grew. "So the people know."

She tsked. "Idiot."

"You like it."

"I'm still taking it off though, seeing as you're supposed to be a hologram," she pointed out. "But... you can kiss my lipstick away after the show."

He sighed, dreamy. "I love you."

Finishing his glitter and removing the stain, she dazzled him with a satisfied smile. "Love you too."

She rose up from the couch and went to search for Reggie, the boy likely with Carlos. For a moment, Luke was alone in the studio, allowing himself to sink into that warm, fuzzy feeling.

No matter how many blunders he went through with girls — Haley, Jessica, Gwenn, Yasmine, Olivia, Maisie — they all prepared him, in one way or the other, for Julie.

To not only recognise when an awesome girl was standing right in front of him, but also how to treat her — because Julie Molina deserved the fucking world.

Even if that world now included the supernatural.

Whatever. They were all a little crazy.

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

@bluefirewrites @blush-and-books @pink-flame @ourstarscollided @constantly-singing @unsaid-emily @willexx

[wordynerdygurl]

Hello Everyone! I've been conspiring with @sammy-jo1977 to create a new series of sorts. We want to explore all those characters that started us on our journey into Fandoms, large and small.

This series will be a place for those ladies and gents who haven't had a lot of attention recently, are old favorites or the ones you can't seem to shake. If you would like to contribute a chapter to this guide, please send me a message! We want to have a full and accurate guide, so we are hoping you'll hop in with your character of expertise!

As an example, I'm posting our first story... I'd love to get your thoughts! With Love - Your WordyNerdyGurl

In The Stacks - A Rupert Giles Story

Author’s Note:  This story is due, in large part, to my beta-bestie @sammy-jo1977 and it is part of the afore mentioned series.  This character might be off television, but his fiery spirit lives on!! As always, reblogs/ shares are encouraged as are comments and love!

Pairing:  Female Reader x Giles (Buffy The Vampire Slayer Series) Summary:  You get up to mischief with the librarian, in the stacks. Warnings:  SMUT ahead.  General Buffy knowledge might help, but is not required.  There’s a moment with a bit of blood, but hopefully nothing too triggering for anyone! I hope you enjoy!

“Mr. Giles?” “Just a moment!”  You heard the clipped British voice answer before being drowned out by the heavy thumping of falling books and the rustling sound of shifting papers hitting the floor. As you stepped further into the Sunnydale High library, you weren’t surprised to see the familiar faces of Buffy, Willow, Xander and Cordelia huddled around a small table.  The friends were practically inseparable and clearly close.  You found their kinship adorable and couldn’t help smiling at the group as you drew closer. “Hello to some of my best students!  And of course, to you Mr. Harris.  How is everyone today?”

Willow, stalwart student and overachiever, smiled broadly, “Pretty good.  I did ace my math quiz and got an A on my English paper… but, well, I only pulled a B on my Bio test and I just know that I could have done better.” Offering her friend a consoling pat to the shoulder, Buffy sighed, “It’s ok, Will.  You’ll get those cells next time!” “Tune in next week as Willow passes her AP Biology test with flying colors, on ‘As Sunnydale Turns’!” Before anyone could counter, Giles came around the corner carrying a sturdy stack of texts which he dropped onto the table as gently as the large load allowed, “As always, you four are the best assistants a librarian could ask for.” “Come on Giles!  You know I only hang out here for the beautiful ladies!” Pinching the bridge of his strong nose, Rupert Giles sighed, “I am well aware of where your interests lie, Xander.” “Please, he can hardly handle being with one beautiful girl.”  That was from Cordelia who pouted prettily, her hand mirror open as she fixed her hair. “My girlfriend, ladies and gentlemen!  Thanks for that, Cordy.” Snapping the case shut, staring down her beau, she smiled, “You’re welcome.” “Uh, Mr. Giles, if I may?”  You hated to interrupt but you had come in with a purpose and you meant to see it through. “Yes, of course, how can I help?” Shuffling your feet, a bit nervous now with the asking, you smiled shyly, “I asked at the local library but they were absolutely no help.  You see, I’m looking for a specific point of reference and I was led to believe that you could help me.” “Oh!  Is it something for our Inner Vision collage boards?  I love working on mine, only… It’s not my fault that I only see dark clouds and blood when I close my eyes.” “Well, Miss Summers, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  And the best art challenges us to see that beauty.” “I hate to tell you what I see when I close my eyes.”  Xander retorted. “Ah, Mr. Harris, your collage certainly showcases your, ahem, cultured world view.” “Hey!  The Simpsons are fine art, ok?  Just because they don’t live in a museum doesn’t mean they aren’t culture.” Giles, unable to stand by any longer griped, “Xander, I am almost positive that cartoons do not count as culture.” You started to answer but Buffy cut you short, adding, “Don’t mind Giles.  If it doesn’t come out of some dirty, dusty old book it can’t be culture.” “It’s pop culture!  The entertainment of my generation!” It was your turn to cut in, turning to the tweed clad gentleman, “Actually, Mr. Giles, Xander has a point.  Cartoons and animation in general are all increasingly seen as valid forms of art.  No matter what your tomes might tell you.” Smirking a little, he appraised your answer before replying, “Be that as it may, Mr. Harris, the amount of television you consume is corrosive.” Raising his hands in defense, Xander’s head swiveled between the two of you as Willow chimed in, “Give it up, Xander.  You know you’ll never win and besides, I’m pretty sure that animation and art are different.  Wait.  They are, aren’t they?” “When I was in Rome last summer, the very attractive, very Italian tour guide told us that they’ve found painted graffiti on the Coliseum.  It only goes to prove that times change but people don’t.” “Cordy’s right!  About the art, not the dishy Italian.  And they didn’t paint it, they carved it.”  Bouncing her blonde hair decisively, Buffy made her declaration.   “Wouldn’t paint be easier?  I mean, who wants to carry a chisel in order to deface a wall?” “Oh!  Oh!  I know this!  The kind of paint needed to last for centuries hadn’t been invented yet!”  Willow, lifting out of her seat in the excitement of academic excellence, was giddy. “Yes, Willow, that is correct.  In fact, a lot of the graffiti is simple and very crude.  Mostly of the phallus, if memory serves.  I’m sure I can find a documented case in Agrippa if you’ll all just-” And you watched as everyone rolled their eyes as Giles trailed off, lost now in the hunt for a specific volume which could be sited, should further proof be needed. “Ew.  Pass.” “I’m with Buffy here, Giles.  Keep your Grecian graffiti out of my brain.” “I’ll stick with the Simpsons, thank you very much.” “Yes, well.  It’s not Grecian at all, is it?  It’s Roman-” Smiling broadly, Buffy hopped off the table, “Giles is right.  The Greeks were more into orgies!” “Buffy!”  Willow’s shocked response made you cover a laugh with a fake cough. “-Of course, cites are rare.  Very difficult to find documentation.”  Giles, typically, hadn’t given up the search. Cutting through the chatter, louder than it ever needed to be, the period bell sounded. "Ugh.  Gym class for me.  Why is this even a thing?" "I don't know Buffy, I thought you liked showing off in your little shorts and beating the boys at basketball." "Cordy, that's enough.  And while us boys do love looking at you, Buff... we don't love the beatings you regularly deliver." "Well, I have a free period Giles!  Do you want me to stay and -" Snapping shut the leather book he was gripping, Giles caught your eye and turned to the peppy student, "Uh, no Willow, I don't think so.  I believe I need to see what our Art Department is in need of at the moment." With a shrug, Willow began packing up her belongings as Xander slung his back back over his shoulder, "Will, you can come with me.  I'm going to find a nice little corner, under a tree, and sleep away my study hall." “But, I… I could help find the Agrippa?  Or… some other old Roman book?” Xander wrapped an arm around Willow and took Cordelia’s open hand, “But why do that when nothing calls?” "Another fine example of your scholastic aptitude, Mr. Harris", was your parting shot at the foursome as they walked out the door. "Well. Mr. Giles, now that we’re alone… Could I talk you into helping me out?" “Of course, of course.”  Pushing his glasses further up his nose, fixing his light eyes on yours, “What are we looking for?” Sighing deeply, knowing the chances were slim, “I was hoping we would find some examples of Pre-Columbian deity carvings.” Pausing, his look serious, Giles peered at you, “Interesting.  Anything in particular?” “Yes, actually.”  Again you flushed, more than a little flustered at what you were really looking for, “I’m researching fertility icons.” Raising his eyebrows, Giles started, more than a little outside of his comfort zone, but you had to give him credit.  He recovered from the shock rather quickly, “Oh… I… I see.  Well yes, I’m sure we can find… something.  If you’ll follow me, please.” “I’m right behind you.”  Biting into your bottom lip, you smiled to yourself.  Right behind Mr. Giles?  What a place to be.  Giles led the young art teacher through the deepest stacks of the library, pausing once or twice to confirm that she was keeping up with him.  He was ashamed to admit that he had lost travelers a time or two as he stalked through his overstuffed shelves, knowing instinctively where to find the book he needed most. For her, watching the tweed covered bottom of Mr. Giles was no hardship.  True, he was older and tad bit reserved in the best British way, yet she had the sneaking suspicion that underneath all the wool and starched cotton was the heart of a wild man poet. "Uh... just a bit further, I'm afraid.  Books like this, well, I keep them at a greater remove." "It makes sense.  Don't want the kiddos getting a hold of anything too tantalizing." "Of course not.  As you well know, they don't need much help in the libidinous response department." You chuckled softly, nodding as the air around you grew stuffier, "Too true!  You should see what some of them turn in and call art.  It would make a blind man blush." And at the mention of blushing, you were shocked to see a rosy hue grow on Mr. Giles' cheeks.  You liked it.  It reminded you of the high color in a Vermeer painting.  You couldn’t help the flutter in your belly at the thought, "Mr. Giles, have you ever seen a South American fertility statue?" "I can't say that I have... have... have you?"  Something about the idea of you examining an ancient artifact directly connected to sexual congress made his body stir.  "Hmm... Oh, yes.  I was able to study in Mexico for a semester.  Some of the art work is just incredible and the carvings, they're truly magnificent.  Carefully made.  Usually stone or..." swallowing hard, your throat suddenly dry, "hard wood." Breaking fast at the implication in your words, Giles froze in place which caused you to press directly against his broad, vest covered back.  You had a second to register the soft scent of his aftershave; something spicy and masculine, which made your mouth water.  Moaning quietly, you offered a weak apology, “Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Giles.” Offering you his profile, the bookcases too cramped for him to turn around fully, you saw his sweet smile, “That’s… that’s quite alright.  In fact, we’re here.” Stepping out of the way, you pushed back against the opposite wall, the shelves digging into your spine in the confined space.  Giles bent over, giving you a great view of his backside, as he extracted a slim book from the bottommost ledge.  When he stood up, directly in front of you, the narrow, book covered alcove caused him to stumble. Giles’ chest collided with your own, forcing the air out of your lungs.  Instinctively, you lifted a leg, curling it over the swell of one trousered hip and lifting the hem of your knee length plaid kilt.  Nose to nose in a compromising position, you exhaled a shaky breath as Mr. Giles inhaled, “Close quarters around here.” Shifting under his deceptively hard figure, it was difficult to ignore all the places that were firm to the touch, especially when you could feel so much through the thin barrier of your cotton panties.  Bracing one arm on the obliging shelf biting into your shoulder, Giles pushed back a bit, lifting his weight off of you without making any other attempts to move away.  He was so close now.  Close enough to feel your fuzzy sweater and all the soft skin that trembled beneath it.  Close enough to see the pound of your pulse in your throat.  Close enough that when you licked over your bottom lip Giles could almost taste it too.  And why shouldn’t he?  “Giles?”  Your voice was whisper soft, fanning hotly over the face of your colleague. “Uh… yes?” “I’m stuck.” Blinking behind his thick lenses, it took the normally quick witted Brit a second to process your words, “You’re stuck?” Nodding slowly, your hair curling over your cheek, “My… My skirt.  It’s… uh, caught.  Caught on something behind me.” “Good heavens!  I’m so sorry, let me help you.”  Slowly, Giles lowered your bare leg to the floor, his hand lingering for a second longer than absolutely necessary.  He was still in your space.  Still incredibly close to you. You arched away from the bookcase in an attempt to free yourself with a groan that sounded heady in the stuffy stacks.  All you managed to do was force your sweater covered décolletage into Giles’ chest.  Stammering, a wave of sweat breaking over his brow, “Allow me?” The way your skirt was caught pulled the bright plaid lower on your waist than you would normally consider decent.  It meant that you had a fleshy strip of skin exposed along your tummy and Giles raised his eyebrows by means of asking permission to touch you.  “Yea, yes.  Please!” Tentatively, gently, you felt the strong fingers of Rupert Giles circle your waist and shivered at the unfamiliar familiarity of his touch.  Your chin rested on his shoulder as he worked and you couldn’t help sighing when he opened his hands and pulled you closer.  Under other circumstances you might have misunderstood the embrace but you were both professionals.  Not that you hadn’t considered the handsome book guardian a time or two before. “I… I think we’re almost there.  If you’ll just, maybe to the right?” “Um, sure.”  Following his directions you twisted in his arms, trying hard not to tear your outfit or rub against Giles.  All the close contact and talk of fertility gods had you feeling a little aroused and it wouldn’t do for your colleague to learn that fact. With a triumphant grunt, Giles set you free, only for gravity to kick back in.  The momentum created by your falling took the gentleman and the entire Grollier’s Gothic Almanac collection with you.  A cascade of papers, scrolls and dust rained down on you both. Coughing, aware that you were laying on something softer than the floor, you struggled into a sitting position, swatting away clouds of disintegrated pages, “Rupert?  Are you alright?” From beneath you a rumbling grumble that sounded like, “Yes quite… you?” was heard.  It was then that you realized exactly where you were.  Straddling your friendly neighborhood librarian, surrounded by debris, but safe, all the same. “Oh my!  I’m so-” “No, No.  Please, don’t apologize.  I’ve been meaning to reorganize this section and well, now it seems I’ve got no choice.” “You’ve got a bump.  Right here…”  Just over his right eye a small bruised egg, the color of lilacs, was starting to rise and you gingerly touched the swelling spot. “Then it will match the one on the back of my head perfectly.” “Poor Giles!  All of this injury in the name of research!” “No one ever tells you the dangers one might encounter in the library.” His dry British wit sent you both into giggles and suddenly nothing could be funnier than the moment you were in with Mr. Giles.  Looking up at you, his fingertip traced over your cheek, suddenly serious, “I’m not the only one with a war wound, it appears.” “Oh?”  Your hand covered his as you realized that you had a small cut, bleeding just a little, over the apple of your jaw.  Smoothing his thumb over your injury, Giles soothed you, saying, “Hush now, I think you’ll live.”  And you watched as Giles sucked the drop of scarlet from the pad there, his green eyes on yours, daring you.  Something about it was so… sinful.  So dark.  So alluring. Then his lips were on yours, suddenly and savagely.  Hands, firm and capable, slid under the fluff of your sweater along your spine as you tangled your own in his dark hair.  Giles, drawing you near, was satisfied only when you were splayed over him, writhing between the piles of text and stacks of piled paperbacks, as his tongue plundered your mouth. Trapped by his bent knees at your bottom, Giles helped center you over the firmness of his excitement, teasing you as you moaned, “Oh, oh Rupert!” “Call me Ripper.”  Before the word had left your throat, Giles was sloppily kissing over your neck, sucking lightly on the skin revealed by the v-neck of your top.  Sitting up quickly, you lifted the soft sweater over your head, tossing it away from you without concern.  Like one of the teenagers you might chastise, you then hugged your lover tight, gasping when you felt the nip of teeth over your bra.  “Giles… Uh, Ripper!  Please, go easy?”  With a hard grip on your upper thigh and one hand on the back of your neck, Giles held you still, smirking, “If you wanted easy you shouldn’t have come looking for fertility icons, my dear little art teacher.  And if this particular article of clothing-” He paused long enough to pinch at your hardening nipple before continuing, “-is dear to you, take it off.” Clenching your abdominals at his crass language, more turned on that you could remember, you reached behind you.  Unhooking the pretty scrap of lace and satin, you shyly covered yourself, biting into your bottom lip, “Fine… Ripper.  Should I be worried for my virtue?” “Absolutely.”  Without waiting for permission, Giles pulled your arms away, exposing your bare body to his blazing gaze, “You have nothing to hide, you know?  You are-” “Just shut up and kiss me, Ripper.”  And he did. Grinding your hips into his, it was impossible to ignore his hardening manhood, even through the fabric of his pressed trousers.  Giles cupped your bottom, under your skirt but over your panties, bouncing you in place as if he was already inside of you.  For your part, you tried to unbutton his pin striped shirt, but the force of his kisses was proving too distracting. “Oh, dear!  Poor thing been kissed senseless?”  He was teasing and cruel, but in the sexiest possible way. Red cheeked and huffing, you nodded, “Yes… let me touch you!” “Tsk… you didn’t say ‘please’.” “Please!  Please, Ripper!  Oh god, please let me!” Unseating you slightly, Giles leaned up on his elbows, cocking his head to one side as he took in the mess he had made of you, “Go ahead then.  Unzip my pants.” “What?” Removing his glasses, eyeing you darkly, “You heard me, I think.” Swallowing hard, your hands shaking with excitement, you reached for Giles’ belt.  Watching him, and only him, you slowly slide the leather from it’s buckle.  When you popped the button of his pants and let your hand drag over his hardened length, Rupert groaned and tossed his head back, “Yes.  Keep going.” Slowly, agonizingly so, you lowered the zipper as you were ordered to do, “What now, Ripper?” “Take me out.  I want you to feel what you do to me.” “I can do that.”  You played it cool, but the saucy words being said in that clipped British baritone did things to you.  They made your thighs tighten, your belly flutter and your breath catch.   Trailing a hand over Giles' barely exposed hip, you moved closer to the prize, your prize, as it pulsed with need.  Wrapping your hand around the meaty girth of Rupert's member, you couldn't help stroking the silky hot skin, so vital in your palm.  That it caused the man beneath you to moan your name only added fuel to the fire of your desire. Slick and sorely wanting, you licked your lips, ready to savor the flavor of your book stacking beau but he stopped you, saying, "Last chance to run back to the studio." "No way… Ripper."  And you felt a rough jerk as your panties were removed by force, the air cool on your overheated core.  Another kiss, full of needful things, distracted you as Giles parted your lower lips with his nimble fingers. Pumping into you, once, twice, just to ensure that you were ready, Rupert swiftly stretched your center.  With your small hand guiding his shaft, you lowered yourself onto the engorged tower of his power, crying out a ragged, "Oh God!" You thought you were capable of handling any man, but the delicious spread Giles' fine form forced you to endure was more than you expected.  Clutching at his bunched up sweater vest, your back arched tautly as Rupert dragged your hips down onto his unrelenting hardness over and over.   In your head, a rhythmic, tribal tattoo that made you think of ancient fires and curved statues took hold and you rose and fell against Giles on the beats vibrating through your brain.  He sensed it too, alternating his stroke, slowing down and speeding up in time with the thrumming pulse only the pair of you could hear.  "I want you to cum for me.  Do you understand?  Tell me you understand." "Yes!  Yes!  I'm so close, Ripper!  So close!" "Good.  That's very good."  Tingling now, your muscles tensed, ready for the release Rupert would provide.  You flung yourself onto his swollen sex without thought or reason, merely searching for the pleasure he had promised.  His thumb, so thick, so clever, pressed against your sensitive clit and your world imploded. Rupert felt it.  The moment your body and his melded together was forceful.  It tore his pleasure from his loins in grunting gasps as he experienced your ecstacy at his hands. Limp and listless, you draped your half nude body over his, dazed and drained.  Who knew screwing the librarian would feel this good?  In your post coital haze you started to laugh.  Giles, his hands roaming over the sweat soaked skin of your back, heard your chuckles and joined in.  It was another release, of sorts, and you found it almost as intimate as the act you had just committed. Folding your hands under your chin, flashing Rupert a wide smile, "Ripper, huh?" Sliding his glasses back into place and carding a hand through his hair, Giles grinned, "Oh, uh… yes.  Ripper.  My nickname in London." Toying with the collar of his shirt, "I'd love to hear about London sometime… Ripper." At the sound of that name in your voice, Rupert flexed inside of you, "Call me that again and you'll miss last period." Gasping against him, nodding weakly, "Hmm… promise?" That made him smile broadly as he handed you back your sweater, "We can't have a repeat of last week, can we?" "It wasn’t my fault you didn't hear the bell ring, Mr. Giles!" Sitting up, you fastened your bra and shrugged into your sweater before asking, "Did you have to destroy my undies?" "I'm afraid I did.  Although I told you to remove anything dear, didn't I?" "What am I gonna do for the next hour, Giles?" Pushing his glasses up, "I would advise you not to bend over." Swatting at him playfully, you used one of the sturdier shelves to stand, adjusting your skirt and fluffing your hair.  Looking around at the absolute mess created by falling books, embarrassed, you asked, "Can I help clean this up?" "No, I don't think that'll be necessary.  After all, Willow will be in-" "Along with Buffy and Xander and Cordelia.  Got it." Standing himself, Giles chuckled as he fastened his trousers and set himself to rights, "Precisely.  Now-" he bent over to retrieve a slim volume, "- The book you asked about.  Fertility iconography in Meso-American subcultures." "Thanks.  Ya know, I always enjoy coming to the library.  I'm surprised more people don't." Walking with you, his hand on your lower back, nuzzling into your neck, "I enjoy you cumming in the library." It was on the tip of your tongue to say something fresh when the overly loud bell clanged.  Lifting up on tiptoes you pressed a kiss to the goose egg over Giles' eye, saying, "I hope that makes it feel better!" Snagging you into a tight hug, Giles stared into your eyes before kissing you deeply, "That.  That makes it feel better." And then the library door swung wide on the four students who called the library a second home, "Um… are my eyes deceiving me or is Giles sporting a black eye?  I was only gone for an hour, big guy, what happened?" "If you must know, Xander, a shelf collapsed in the back.  We were fortunate enough not to be badly hurt but, there were some bumps and bruises." "A shelf!  Oh no… which one?!" Giles turned to Willow solemnly, "I'm afraid all the Grollier’s… and most of Crentist." "On it.  Come on Xander.  You can help me sort!" "Aw, gee.  That sounds like fun." As the pair trotted off, you turned to Giles, whispering low, "Dinner?  My place?  You can tell me about London, your childhood and why you love tweed." Eyeing Buffy, who was distracted and a distraught, Giles answered, "Tonight?  Um…" "He'd love to!  Say 9 o'clock?  And, he'll bring the wine."

Spinning on your heel, surprised that Buffy was your champion, you grinned, "Great!  Awesome!  I will see you then."

As you left you heard the bubbly blonde doling out instructions, "No Giles.  You can't wear that outfit to dinner!  You need to look nice.  Nicer than you do now.  Also, why is there so much dust in your hair?" If Giles answered you didn’t hear it over your big yawn.  You had a lot to do between now and 9 o’clock.  Rupert Giles was coming over for dinner and you could hardly wait.

------ Fin ------- I’m tagging my minxes, even though this is specifically NOT a Loki story.  I do want you guys to send me stories that might fall under the “Hot Characters” banner though!   Minxes:   @scrumptious-finicky-illusion​ @iamverity​ @mizfit2​ @sammy-jo1977​ @wolfsmom1​ @jessiejunebug​ @iluvsumbucky​ @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarkness​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @ahintofkiwistrawberry​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @crystalizedcaramel​ @lokislittlecorner​ @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81​ @caffiend-queen​​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​​ @jenjen8675309​​ @that-one-person​​ @roguewraith​​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @just-random-obsessions​ @brokenthelovely​ @lots-of-loki​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​

[markedforruin]

The Forest Lawn Mill Mystery Prologue

So here’s a small thing I wrote with Jeffery Mason and Sage Wilkinson. Will it be continued? most likely. When? who knows lol 

Reminder that Jeffery Mason as a character is solely owned by David Near, and I am in no way affiliated with him and this is just a fanwork. Nothing crazy. Go listen to his audios on youtube if you haven’t!

Story here:

It hadn’t been more than a few days since Sage had begun talking to the new kid at school.

He was kind of weird. 

He had albinism but dyed his hair black, as if he didn’t stand out enough as is. Apparently he thought black hair combined with his extremely pale face would help him blend in, but he was already hanging out with the class goth so… Sage doubted that. 

Maybe “hanging out” was an overstatement. They had been assigned a group project, and they talked a lot, but they hadn’t hung out outside of school hours. Maybe if they did, Sage would get to know Jeff better, and they could stop complaining about math class and talk about things they liked. 

“So uh… Are you doing anything after classes?” Sage was so bad at making friends, but they had to try. Jeff seemed like a cool person after all. 

“Why?” Jeff’s almost monotone voice broke through the silent school library. 

“Because I was thinking maybe you’d wanna hang out more? We can come over to my place… You could meet Beetle?”

Jeff gave his classmate a sideways glare. “You got a pet beetle or something?”

“No! No, it's a horse! He’s a horse. His name is Beetle.”

Jeff chuckled a little, covering his mouth with a fist. “That’s the weirdest horse name I’ve heard of.” He admitted. 

“But it’s not the worst! My parents own a riding school so we live on a huge farm property, and trust me, some folks have horses stabled there with even worse names.” Sage laughed, finding his phone to look up the site his parents had made. 

“Here, look-” He shoved the phone in Jeff’s face, leaning all into him.

“What the fuck- Post Stallione? Like Post Malone?”

“yeah. He’s a fine horse but his name is…”

“That’s so fucking cringe, Sage.”

“I know!”

They had a small laugh, but fell silent again quickly.

“So… Is that a yes, or?”

Jeff sighed audibly and loudly.

“I don’t know.” Was his reply. Sage thought he wasn’t going to say more, but he released a breath and opened his mouth again.

“We’re still missing some furniture at my house, and I don’t think my dad would like you, so… Fine. Fine. I need a fucking break from that house anyways…” He mumbled that last part.

“Is your dad homophobic?” Sage tapped their pencil on the paper. The numbers were swimming around on the page, and they’d resorted to doodling their horse instead of doing math. 

“Honestly I think he’s just ignorant, but he’s real fucking annoying about it. Barely knows what a transgender person is, let alone someone like you.”

Sage turned to look at Jeff, and the boy looked back.

“Because I’m nonbinary?”

“yeah.”

Sage huffed mockingly. “When I meet him-”

“IF.”

“WHEN I meet him, I’ll look him in the eye and say “Nice to meet you ma’am, you must be the housewife! you’ve birthed a fine young son, i am glad to be his friend.””

That had Jeff laughing, and Sage joined in. 

“I’m not opposed to mocking my dad, that’s for sure!”

“And I’m not above kicking down the ego of dads like yours.” Sage bowed dramatically. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll come home with you, then. You’re fucking hilarious, Sage.”

Sage clicked their tongue. “Thank you, I know I gave a stellar performance.”

Fastest way out of Forest Lawn was the school bus, which meant they were surrounded by lots of noisy teenagers.

Both of them wore their earbuds to drown it all out. Sage leaned over to look at Jeff’s phone. 

The boy leaned away clearly not wanting to share his screen.

“What are you listening to?” 

“Nothing you’d like.”

“Try me.”

Jeff offered an earbud in silence. 

What came out the other end was… Oh hey! Emperor!

“Oh symphonic black metal… Good taste dude.”

Jeff looked back at Sage with almost googly eyes.

“That’s new.”

“What, somebody liking the same music as you? Dude I listen to metal too, look at me!”

“I’ve been looking at you since we were assigned that group project, Sage.”

“So?” Sage snatched Jeff’s phone to add some music to his playlist.

Jeff shrugged, and let Sage take over his phone on his watch. 

Their stop was the very last, and as they hopped out, the only things around them were trees and gravel paths.

“It’s not far from here, just gotta go up this way.”

Jeff followed along silently, not protesting. 

“What do you think about Forest Lawn so far?” Sage looked back at Jeff. 

“You want an honest answer?”

“Yeah, I live right outside the town, I don’t care what you think of it.”

“It’s fucking horrible, honestly. I hate this town.”

Sage nodded thoughtfully.

They made it to the main driveway, and the Wilkinson’s riding school property slowly came to light.

“People say the town is cursed, y’know.” Sage unlocked the main door and waltzed inside.

“I’m not superstitious. Also where’s your parents?”

It was a bit too quiet in the house. 

“They’re working until 8 pm, and also they’re both very superstitious so they’ve told me a lot of stuff about the town.”

Sage led Jeff upstairs to their room and threw the school bag they’d carried on the floor next to his desk.

They motioned for Jeff to sit on the bed. It was pretty big, so Sage joined him. 

“Ok, spit it out, tell me.” Jeff seemed pretty eager to know about all this. 

Sage cracked his knuckles. “Let’s go, then.”

They both got comfortable, and then Sage began.

“People talk about Teenagers and young adults being brainwashed by radio static, and children keep reporting this “man in the woods”, also there’s rumors floating around about the abandoned Mill close to here… It’s complicated. Around 30 years ago Forest Lawn saw the biggest disappearance of children ever over the summer. None of them were found, until 5 years ago, when one single naked woman was found passed out on the highway with her leg torn open. Her DNA showed that she was literally one of the children that had gone missing.”

Jeff intently listened, not a noise escaping him as Sage told their story. 

“She’s still in psychiatric care at Pinehearst State hospital. Last update the public got from her was that she was adamant about some “tall man” that took care of everyone, which is the exact same thing children are saying today too.”

Sage paused for a moment.

“The Mill, though? man that’s a crazy story. It’s locked up and apparently age old paint on it from like… the 1800’s that says “plague, stay out” was painted on. It’s kind of close to here but I’ve never visited because you can’t get there by car, and going on horseback is at least a whole day’s trip.”

“I wanna see that mill, are you serious!?” Jeff was officially invested.

“What if there are dead bodies in there or something, dude? no way!”

“Uh, yes way, you didn’t strike me as a coward.”

“Group pressure doesn’t work on me Jeff.”

“Group pr- we’re two people, man.”

Sage crossed his arms. “I bet you don’t even know how to ride a horse.”

Jeff shot back at him. “Fine, then teach me.”

[jlalafics]

“A Babysitter’s Life”-A THG Alternate

I’m trying something a little different. Actually…really different.

For some reference, this story takes place about seven-ish years after the Rebellion, putting Katniss and Peeta in about their mid-twenties. Consider a Post-Rebellion Alternate where Rue was not picked for the 74th Hunger Games. All other deaths, however, have occurred.

_____________ 

Summary: “It’s my lauded life to take care of you Mellarks.”

In need of something new, Rue takes a job in District 12 for the Victors of the 74th Hunger Games.

This is my first time on a train. Actually, it is my first time anywhere.

Underneath me, I feel every track as we head towards my destination—District 12. Outside, a forest envelops our rickety train and I take a deep breath when a whiff of pine hits my nostrils. Already, I am getting accustomed to something new; our trees are mostly fruit-filled, smaller but plentiful and sweet-smelling. The forest around me is encompassing, filled with the rustic scent of undisturbed life.

My mother tells me this is the opportunity of a lifetime. It is a chance to see another District; meet some new people and to really learn what skills I have. I can tell, however, that my mother is more anxious to see me settled in somewhere…anywhere, really.

I think that she’s just tired of finding me laid up in another wheat field staring up at the sky.

The train begins to slow down as we reach our last stop and my new home.

It is still early and my train had very little passengers; there’s a handful of people waiting for their loved ones—and one boy.

He is grey-eyed and olive skinned with thick, inky hair brushed back from his sharp face. The boy leans against a post and when our eyes meet, I know that he has come for me.

Steeling myself, I stand up when the train comes to a halt and make my way out.

The boy is already in front of me when I step down onto the platform.

He lifts a strong brow at me. “Rue Andrews?”

“Yes,” I confirm.

“Rory Hawthorne,” the boy replies. “I’m to take you to the Mellarks.”

Rory reaches for my lone bag and I whip it away. “No need. I got it.”

He guffaws, a small grin on his lips as he holds his hands up in surrender. “Just trying to be polite.”

“I’m sorry,” I say as we head off the platform into what I’m guessing is the main part of District 12. “I’m not used to—”

“People trying to be polite?” he responds.

I let out a snort. “It’s just very early…” Something niggles at my memory and I look to him, trying to remember where I may have seen him. A poster drifts into my thoughts… “Why do you look familiar?”

Rory gives me a long look. “Maybe you’ve heard of my brother—Gale?”

Oh yes—Gale Hawthorne.

Part of the Star Squad during the Rebellion and currently the sweetheart of District 2. His wedding to some businessman’s daughter was splashed all over the papers and the Capitol’s main channel. My mind recalls a picture of Gale with his family and I briefly remember an image of Rory in a fitted suit.

I turn to him. “You look better in your regular clothes.”

Rory colors. “Yeah…Alice, Gale’s wife, wanted us to wear those monkey suits.” He meets my eyes. “So, how did you fall into the job of glorified babysitter for the Mellarks?”

“My mom was visiting her sister in District 4 and met Mrs. Everdeen,” I explain. “She was telling my mom about how Katniss is expecting another child and has to limit her activities because this pregnancy is a little more difficult. Also, that their daughter needs someone to run around with while Peeta is at their bakery. So, my mom volunteered for me.”

I also jumped at the chance. I needed something new.

Rory nods in understanding. “It can get stifling sometimes.”

“Don’t I know it,” I reply as we reach the end of town and toward a border fence. “So, your family was close to Katniss’, right?”

“Yes. Katniss and Gale used to go hunting together,” Rory recalls. “He was in love with her at some point…but she chose Peeta. It was the right choice, in my opinion.”

“Oh…so you also knew Pr—”

“I knew Prim,” Rory finishes hurriedly. “We grew up together and when we were in hiding in District 13, we took care of each other. Then, she joined the medical team—” He stops, his expression heavy. “We’re here.”

I stare up at an iron archway, leading to the cul-de-sac of grand houses. “Victors’ Village.”

“Yup,” Rory replies wryly. “Population: Four and a three-fourth people. I guess with you—five and three-fourths.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Thanks for the math lesson.”

We reach the first house on the right. There’s a well-tended garden in front and a pathway leading up to the house created with…primroses.

Rory follows my gaze as we approach the front door.

“Peeta planted them when he came back from the Capitol.”

“For Katniss,” I muse. “That’s romantic.”

A laugh comes from in front of us.

“I don’t think we had romance on our minds…we were just trying to keep ourselves from attacking one another.”

I look up to find a very pregnant Katniss Mellark standing in the open doorway.

++++++

Katniss Mellark looks surprisingly young.

While we are just a few good years apart in age, Katniss’ smooth complexion and clear greys could easily fool someone into thinking we are school-age friends instead of employer and employee. I have a hard time registering that the woman in front of me was once a seventeen-year-old who, in one action, started a revolution.

“Thanks for picking Rue up,” she tells Rory. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” he tells her easily. “I got to walk a cute, intelligent girl to your house. That’s reward enough.”

I turn to him. “I appreciate the intelligent. I hate the cute.” Reaching into my pocket, I hand him a few bills. “Here. Buy yourself a thesaurus and come up with some better adjectives.”

“I like you already,” Katniss says with a smirk before looking to Rory. “Stop by the bakery. Peeta has a few things that he needs help with.”

“You got it,” Rory replies. Stepping onto the porch, he gives me a wink. “I’m glad you’re here. See you around.”

He turns and saunters off before I can reply.

“Rory is a real charmer,” Katniss remarks as she closes the door.

“He’s a little much,” I tell her.

She laughs and then looks me over. “So, what made you decide to leave the lush orchards of District 11?”

“I don’t know.” I look around the entryway—painted a cool blue—before glancing to each side where the living room and den are. “There was just a yearning, I guess. A chance to do something new.” Turning, I meet her eyes. “Isn’t that what you fought for? A chance for the generations after you to live fully?”

“At the time, I was just trying to stay alive,” she says, somewhat shyly.

Her hands go to her belly; she’s entering her seventh month, from what I can tell. I’m the oldest of six and by the time Charlene—the last of my siblings—was born, I knew without my mom telling me that she was in labor.

“Well, it worked out in our favor. Thank goodness for that.” Katniss’ mouth opens just a bit as if to reply before it firmly closes. “Sorry. I’ve been told that I speak with absolutely no filter at times and it can throw people off.”

“You remind me a lot of Johanna,” she tells me.

“Johanna Mason?” I think for a moment. “She seemed a bit blunt during her interviews and I was never good at axe-wielding.”

“Talk to Johanna for five minutes and you might want an axe of your own.”

We both laugh and I can see the tension melt off her. I can also see that she is exhausted, her hands imperceptibly going to her lower back.

“Why don’t we go to the kitchen and you can tell me more about my duties?” I say gently.

Katniss nods, letting out a small breath. “Right down the hall towards the back.”

We head past the stairs and make a turn into the open archway where the kitchen is. It’s homey; peach wallpaper with a delicate filigree pattern and dark wood. A table stands adjacent to the backdoor heading to the yard and I lead Katniss to a chair, pulling it out for her.

“You’re perceptive,” she remarks. “Aster will like you.”

“Where’s your tea?” I ask and Katniss nods towards the cupboard next to me. I go to the cupboard and find the chamomile easily. “I like the name. Totally makes sense.”

Katniss gazes at me curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Aster—it means star.” The kettle is already filled on their stovetop so I just turn the flame on. “You know, because you and Peeta were ‘The Star-Crossed Lovers of District 12’.”

“Damn, I never thought of that,” she tells me with a smile. “She was born in September and that’s her birth month flower; we just kind of stuck with a theme.”

“If this one is a boy, are you going to give him some sort of bread name?” I tease as I search the cabinets for a mug. Their kitchen is organized well enough for me to find them in one of the upper cupboards.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind a flower name for a boy,” a jovial voice says behind me.

Peeta Mellark looks quite different compared to the propos footage from the Rebellion.

Back then, he was gaunt; his blue eyes somewhat blank as Katniss stood at the forefront of the cameras. It was a little disheartening as he had so much charm during his Caesar Flickerman interview.

Besides Thresh, my mom favored him.

Putting memories of my past behind me, I watch as he greets Katniss, dipping his head to meet hers in a sweet kiss.

“Hello, my love,” he greets her tenderly.

In return, Katniss reaches to run a hand through his dirty-blond locks.

Present Peeta Mellark is, by far, my favorite.

“Rue, right?” He gives me a bright grin and I nod. “You’ve got Rory singing your praises.”

“It doesn’t seem all that hard to impress Rory,” I say wryly. Pouring the boiled water into the mug I find, I dip in the tea bag and place the cup in front of Katniss. “That tea bag would probably impress him.”

Peeta laughs warmly. “You’re going to fit in just fine here.”

++++++

Aster Mellark wakes up from her mid-afternoon nap.

By then, I have already set myself up in the room next to hers and I can hear her slight wail as she pulls herself from her slumber.

Without thought, I go into the nursery and find her in her daybed, staring up at the hanging mobile of the planets. The room is painted a sage green with the opposite wall being a beautiful mural of a meadow.

Going to the bed, I sit at the edge looking down at the toddler. “Hi Aster. I’m Rue.”

Aster has the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen. They are large and almond-shaped with thick lashes framing her gorgeous orbs. Her hair is raven black and thick; it hits her shoulders and I think of the many hairstyles that I can do with such locks.

When she’s a grown-up, Katniss and Peeta will have their work cut out for them.

“Woo,” she repeats my name. Aster holds her arms out to me and I can’t help but reach for her.

I love the ‘little one’ smell and mourned each time one of my brothers or sisters outgrew that innocent scent of babydom.

Standing up, I give her a smile. “Are you hungry?”

“My wuv,” she says simply.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

Aster points outside. “My wuv! My wuv!”

“Your parents might need to fill me in,” I tell her as I carry her down the stairs, heading for the den.

Katniss and Peeta sit on the sofa, her head on his shoulder and his hand on her belly, as they talk to one another quietly. I almost hate to break up the intimacy of the moment, but Aster is already scrambling down my body and heading towards her parents.

She waves her hands out at Katniss, who picks her up. “My wuv, my wuv.”

Katniss turns to her husband. “Now she will never call me Mama.”

I think back on Peeta’s greeting and I bite back the need to coo—I am not sentimental.

But the thought of Aster imitating her father is just too much for me.

Next thing you know, I’ll be singing love songs and reading sonnets.

++++++

The next few days are pretty much routine.

I wake up first to get dressed and ready before Aster wakes up. I am lucky because I get the hallway bathroom to myself. Katniss and Peeta have their own in the master bedroom.

After that, Aster usually wakes up and I bring her downstairs to make her breakfast and some toast for Katniss. Morning sickness did not go away after that first trimester and she remains nauseous mostly in the morning, though there is an occasional afternoon disappearance into the commode.

Peeta, who wakes up at the crack of dawn to heat the ovens, comes back to deliver a fresh loaf of bread to check in on his wife and Aster. I make sure that he brings his lunch to the bakery before he takes off with a final kiss to his family and a friendly wave for me.

I can tell that he is assured that his two ladies are safe with me. We share one goal; to make sure they are cared for.

Eventually, I meet Haymitch Abernathy. He is a bear of a man, but his dark eyes soften when Aster rushes into his arms.

“Nice to meet you,” he says gruffly. “You know…if it wasn’t going to be them, I was rooting for Thresh.”

“Yes, I know.” My eyes go to the rough ground. “Thresh was that kind of guy, though—kind enough to save Katniss from Clove. Had a bit of a crush on him back in 11, but he never saw me as anything but the little sister type.” I look up to see Haymitch still gazing at me, his eyes full of empathy. “Kind of broke my heart when he—”

Haymitch puts a hand to my shoulder. “Well, it’s a damn shame because you grew up very lovely.”

“For some reason, I feel like you don’t give compliments too frequently,” I say with a smile. “Thanks.”

I think I can find myself caring for Haymitch as much as I’m beginning to care for the Mellarks.

“Get out!”

A shout comes from the house and immediately Haymitch gives Aster back to me.

“Wait here,” he commands. “Do not come in until I say it’s okay.”

There’s nothing I can do but nod in agreement.

++++++

It’s a full hour before Haymitch emerges from the house—he looks exhausted.

“Katniss is asking for Aster,” he says.

“What happened?” I cradle Aster who has long fallen asleep against me.

We head towards the house and I can’t help but feel a little apprehensive. The house looks as it normally does in the evening; warm yellow light seeping through handmade curtains and quiet as a mouse. However, there is a sinking feeling hitting my core as we walk up the steps.

“Once in a while,” Haymitch starts. “Peeta has these…episodes. Usually triggered by stress or in this case, a memory of the old bakery. They’re infrequent but when they hit, they hit hard. Katniss, in her condition, isn’t able to handle it so their old mentor is in charge.”

“Thank you,” I tell him. “Not many mentors would care to help.”

“I like ‘em,” he says offhandedly.

A smile grows on my lips. “You more than like them.”

Haymitch opens the front door for me. “Well, just don’t tell them that.”

After telling him goodnight and promising to update him later, I close the door behind me. I go to the den first; Katniss is lying down on the couch, her eyes closed.

When my steps creak against the floor, she opens her eyes and sits up carefully, her hands resting on her belly. Every day, I see her little one growing even more. Her grey eyes are weary and lined with tears, but she reaches for Aster immediately.

I place her in Katniss’ arms. “Are you okay?”

“He came across an old rolling pin of his father’s,” she explains quietly. “Mr. Mellark was always such a nice man, but he wasn’t without his faults. He never defended Peeta or his brothers from their mother.”

I nod in understanding. “I’m guessing she wasn’t the mothering type.”

“Far from it. Peeta wanted to understand their relationship,” Katniss continues. “It’s just with being a father or a mother, it’s hard to understand how anyone could not love their child. Mrs. Mellark didn’t love her kids and Mr. Mellark couldn’t muster enough love to defend them.”

“But Peeta still loves them, anyway?”

Katniss smiles, her eyes faraway. “That’s just the way Peeta is. He can’t help but love—even if you treat him badly. I’ve been one of those.”

“It was hard to see that through the camera’s view,” I remark. “But for some reason, from the beginning, I thought it was real.”

“Maybe it was.” Katniss shrugs, her eyes full of tears. “I was just too young and stupid to see it. Peeta…he always knew—and that’s what I fell in love with. That damn hope of his.”

“It’s a good way to be,” I reply. “Do you need anything?”

“Can you just check on him?” she asks quietly. “Peeta never wants me to see him after one of these episodes.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” However, I’m not sure if I’m wrong or not. “I’ll go make sure he’s okay and let him know that you’re down here.”

Katniss nods, before closing her eyes and cradling Aster even closer.

Going upstairs, I turn the opposite way of my room and toward the double doors. In the few weeks that I’ve been here, I have never been in the master bedroom as there was no need. However, I can’t help but worry about what state I’ll find Peeta in. Katniss has tiptoed around the torture tactics of the Capitol, but obviously it has damaged Peeta in some way.

Carefully, I knock.

“Come in,” Peeta says dully.

I let out a breath before turning the doorknob and stepping in.

I don’t close the door—just in case.

“I told Katniss I’d check on you,” I start as I walk into the room.

Peeta is laying on the bed, turned away from me, in a fetal position and I can hear him sniffle.

“I don’t know why…I acted horribly towards her.”

I stay where I am, but I feel like whatever happened has ebbed and now I’m facing a shell of a person.

“Katniss loves you,” I reply. “You know that, or you wouldn’t be feeling so bad.”

He laughs gruffly. “That’s true…I’ve always loved her, you know. Since we were kids.”

“I know.” Who doesn’t remember their time in the cave? My mom only let me watch it because it was featured on the screen at our town square. More than one woman swooned over Peeta’s sweet story of Katniss and the Valley song. “And that’s how I know that you never really mean to hurt her.”

“You have more faith in me than I do at the moment,” he tells me.

Peeta finally turns to me and I can see that his hands are bandaged. There is a small bit of blood on his lower lip while his blues are red-rimmed with regret.

“I do. I have faith that you love your family more than anything,” I say. “More than your parents may have loved you. Aster and the new baby will never feel that they weren’t adored because you and Katniss would rather die than let that happen.”

He nods in agreement. “I’ll go check on them…after I clean up.”

“I agree. You look like crap.”

Peeta guffaws. “Get to sleep, Rue. You’re done playing therapist for the day.”

I grin. “It’s my lauded life to take care of you Mellarks.”

“You’re doing a good job.”

I tell him goodnight, closing the door behind me. I listen briefly behind it, just to make sure that he’s alright and leave only when I hear him getting out of bed.

In my room, I remind myself to call my mother. She is a stoic woman—not quite as affectionate as others—but I can tell that she loves her children fiercely. She wouldn’t be working her butt off from dawn till dusk if she didn’t.

After I change and settle down, I still feel restless. It must be the adrenaline of everything that has happened in the last few hours. Also, I hate to admit, but I do worry about the Mellarks. Despite everything, Katniss and Peeta are still young adults just trying to make their way. They’re still learning how to be parents to Aster and their soon-to-be-arriving baby.

My mother tells me that she and my father made all sorts of mistakes with me, but it made them work as a team and made them stronger.

I hope it’s the same for Katniss and Peeta.

My stomach growls and I realize that I haven’t eaten dinner. There’s always a little something in the fridge so I’m quickly on my feet and out the door. It’s as I head down the stairs that I hear something; it’s coming from the den where I left Katniss.

“I’m so sorry, love.” It’s Peeta. “Sometimes, I don’t how you put up with me. Part of me thinks that I’m never going to be fixed.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” Katniss tells him. “You can’t repair what’s a part of you…a part of us. This damage from the rebellion and the Games, it’s not going to go away. But we can’t let it take over us. Every day, we just try and live as best we can. We fought so hard to get here.”

I hear the smile in Peeta’s voice. “When did you become the optimist?”

Katniss snorts. “All these stupid hormones have made me soft. As soon as this one is out, I’m going into the woods and shooting something.”

“I look forward to it,” Peeta tells her.

They laugh quietly and it fills me with happiness.

For all is well in our little home.

++++++

“So, everything is alright?”

I walk along the edge of the forest with Rory on a rare day to myself. It has been two months since I’ve come to District 12 and I feel like it’s become part of my skin. I know every creak of the Mellark house or the exact cry that Aster makes whenever she wants the blue spoon and not the pink one. I know the right amount of time it takes to make Katniss’ favorite tea and when a homemade loaf made by Peeta has been proofed enough.

I can even feel the seasons change; this autumn is tense. Baby Mellark is almost here—and sometimes I feel I’ll know the exact moment that he or she is ready to come.

“Yes, it’s been quiet since the incident,” I tell Rory as we walk into the woods just beyond the border of District 12. “How were they when they were younger? Before the Games?”

“I didn’t know Peeta all too much,” Rory says as he kicks a stone in his path. “He was always a good guy…like his Dad. I’ve known Katniss since I was a kid because she spent so much time with Gale. She was serious and stubborn like him; they were peas in a pod. In the end, they were too much alike. My mother always knew that they weren’t meant for each other, but Gale was insistent that she was his.”

“And the Games changed that?”

“Katniss learned to care for someone outside her circle,” he tells me. “She didn’t have to take care of Peeta, but there was something about Peeta that just made him special…and it killed Gale. I mean, any idiot watching the Games could see that kiss was real.”

“Is it silly that I always wanted a kiss like that one in the cave?” I admit. “Not the ‘fearing for my life’ aspect of it, but that ‘I’m seeing something wonderful right in front of my face and I can’t let him go’ part.” I smile dryly. “So far, none of my kisses have been like that.”

“Mine were.” Rory stops, his eyes looking out ahead. “Back in District 13, Prim and I…” His fists clench. “Maybe it was because we weren’t sure what was going to happen from one day to the next…but they felt real.”

“I didn’t know Prim.” My hands instinctively go to his to stop him from breaking skin. “But from what you’ve told me and what Katniss tells me whenever she can muster up the courage to, Prim was not the kind of person who would just kiss someone and not mean it.”

“What if it never happens again?” he asks.

I shake my head. “One day it will and if all else fails, I’ll give it a go.”

Rory grins at me. “You’ll take me on?”

“I never said that,” I say. “I’m just realistic. I don’t think that I’ll ever have a kiss like Katniss and Peeta’s from the cave. Love doesn’t come in spades.”

“You sound just like Katniss,” Rory teases. “She was always saying she never wanted kids, especially when the Capitol was up and killing them for show. And she was still adamant after it was all over—took Peeta years to convince to her to have Aster.” We stop and Rory helps me onto a rock overlooking the wide meadow before us. “My mom was there the day Aster was born. She told me as soon as she was in Katniss’ arms, that resistance…that fear…just melted from her eyes.”

“And you think one kiss will change my mind about love?”

Rory grins at me. “I don’t know—but it doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t give a try.”

++++++

“Hi Mama!” I call out into the phone receiver. It’s been forever since I’ve heard from her; my mother has been working tirelessly since returning from District 4. She is a supervisor in one of the orchard fields and it leaves her little time to catch up with me here in 12. “How is it going?”

“Same old, same old,” she replies. “We really miss you out here. I mean, Casey has been doing just fine taking care of the rest of the brood, but he can’t make the roast and potatoes the way the younger ones want it!”

Casey is seventeen and should be focusing on school. Instead he takes care of my younger siblings and takes a night shift at one of our production factories. As beautiful as it is in District 11, it doesn’t come without hard work.

“They shouldn’t be so picky,” I admonish.

“How are Katniss and Peeta? Their little ones?” Mom asks curiously.

I bite back the need to roll my eyes; I am sure that she’s been telling everyone that her oldest is living in the Mellark home, reaping the benefits of some Victors.

It is quite far from that.

Over time, I have come to realize that the rewards don’t necessarily balance out the punishment of winning the Games. Wonderful as Katniss and Peeta are, they work hard to create a semblance of normalcy for themselves and Aster.

It can be a trial for both, but I have seen them work through moments of gripping table edges or counters, biting back tears at memories, and having nightmares that leave them both trembling in cold sweats.

And I am here to take Aster in my room when needed or bring one of them a glass of water or cup of tea after a hard day.

In some ways, it’s important to me that they live as normally as they can—because they’ve fought so hard.

“It’s just fine. Katniss and Peeta are just a run-of-the-mill couple with a different kind of love story,” I tell her. “Aster, their daughter, is just precious. It’s almost time for the next one to come so we’re just waiting.”

“That sounds great,” my mother replies. There’s a long pause. “Sweetheart, Troy has been asking about you.”

I grip the receiver at the sound of his name. “Oh yeah?”

“He’s been asking if you’re coming home,” she continued carefully. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but you’ve been connected since birth. His mother and I practically worked in the orchard side by side when we were having you both—”

“What are you saying, Mama?” I ask abruptly.

“In about a month, a job will open up here in 11,” she tells me. “We miss you. I’m not trying to pressure you—I just want you to think on it.” There’s a sigh and I’m not sure if it’s coming from me or Mom. “And, this whole thing with Troy—you have to make a decision, either way.”

“I know,” I reply. “I have to go. Aster is going to wake up from her nap soon.”

“Alright, Rue.” There’s resignation in her tone. “Talk soon. I love you.”

“Love you too, Mama.” I hang up, biting back the need to sob or scream into the receiver.

I lied. Aster is already awake, sitting on the porch with her parents.

I feel bad for lying, but I’m not ready to face what I’ve left behind.

Stepping out onto the porch, I find Peeta and Katniss sitting on the swing seat. Across the way, Aster is sitting on Haymitch’s lap as he plays a game of chess with Rory.

I sit down on the steps of the porch, leading to the courtyard. The sun is just beginning to set and I close my eyes to take in that last bit of orange warmth.

“You okay there?” Katniss asks. “Did your phone call go alright?”

“Yes.” I let out a breath. “Just going through something similarly like the whole Gale situation, if you know what I mean.”

“So, you ran here,” Peeta says.

It isn’t a question and we both know it.

“I needed a change.” I turn to them. “Troy has been my friend since birth; our mothers worked side by side while we were in their stomachs. So, I guess he always thought I belonged to him.” I open my eyes, finding Rory looking to me, curiosity in his gaze. “I just want to belong to me. I’m not ready to just…give in.”

“Woo!” Aster toddles over to me, perching herself in my lap. “Sing.”

“Sing? What am I—your own personal songbird?” I tickle her and she giggles. “Well, if I’m going to be someone’s songbird, I would love to be yours.” Aster settles against me and I take in that wonderful smell of youth before deciding on a song—one that I heard when I was a child whenever my father came home from work, when my mother still danced.

“Something in your eyes, makes me want to lose myself

Makes me want to lose myself, in your arms…”

I’m not much of a singer, but Aster nestles herself against me contently. Haymitch and Rory have paused their game to listen and though it should scare me, I feel light singing this song.

It reminds me of better times.

“If you knew how lonely my life has been

And how long I've been so alone

And if you knew how I wanted someone to come along

And change my life the way you've done…”

“You’re dancing with me, Katniss.” Peeta helps her stand carefully. “I don’t want our last dance to have been at Snow’s Ball.”

Katniss doesn’t argue instead letting him lead her into the courtyard to dance along the fireflies.

As I watch them, they look lightyears away, wrapped up in nothing but each other.

“It feels like home to me, it feels like home to me

It feels like I'm all the way back where I come from

It feels like home to me, it feels like home to me

It feels like I'm all the way back where I belong…”

I close my eyes once more, rocking Aster against me. I fall into memories of warm fall nights and the smell of coffee on the stove. I can’t even make a pot sometimes without wanting to burst into tears. It just evokes memories of a man who would drink coffee to stay up so he and my mother could have a conversation to themselves sans their six children.

“But I'm alright, 'cause I have you here with me

And I can almost see, through the dark there is light…”

I open my eyes just as Katniss embraces Peeta and for a moment, I don’t see them.

I see my mother and father dancing to their wedding song.

“Well, if you knew how much this moment means to me

And how long I've waited for your touch

And if you knew how happy you are making me

I never thought that I'd love anyone so much…”

I always told myself that I wouldn’t settle for anything less than what they have. Seeing Katniss and Peeta with one another strengthens that resolve, nothing less than having someone look at me the way that they look at one another.

Like they’ve found home in one another.

I finish my song, and everyone applauds softly as Aster has fallen asleep in my arms.

“You’re crying.” I didn’t even notice that Rory has found himself on the porch steps. He reaches forward to brush away the stray tear that managed to hit my cheek. “I never pegged you as the sentimental type.”

“My parents used to dance to that song every night after us kids went to bed,” I find myself admitting. “If I close my eyes, I can still picture them as I peeked behind my door. Then Dad was gone, and the music just stopped.”

“Makes you wonder if love like that could even last forever,” he says. “Or are we all just destined to muddle through half-lives and half-loves.”

“Half-lives and half-loves.” I find myself almost laughing…or weeping. “If there was ever a more appropriate word for how my life is currently going.”

“No.” Rory shakes his head, gazing into my eyes until my skin tingles. “Someone like you could never do anything but live fully and love fully. You’re just afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Afraid because you already know everything that you need to be happy.”

++++++

The arrival of the fourth Mellark comes when the first leaf of autumn hits the ground. I am sitting in the kitchen with Katniss having a cup of tea; her stomach has reached its limit at this point and so has she.

“So, this…Troy…” She takes a sip and sighs in contentment. “What made you run away?”

I try to gather my words before responding, “I think he only really saw me as a woman when others started to notice.” I smile crisply. “It bothered me, too—this ownership he thought he had—like I was just waiting for him to decide that he wanted me. Love shouldn’t be an obligation; it should be an honor. In the end, all I want is for someone to look at me the way my father looked at my mother. Like Peeta looks at you.”

“I understand,” Katniss replies gently. “Sometimes, when you feel the world is falling apart around you, you tend to keep who and what you know close to you. Because it’s just too scary to see what might be on the other side—” She suddenly grimaces before letting out a breath. “Just some stretching pain, nothing to worry about.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “No, I think it’s more.” I help her up. “I’m going to help you up to bed and then call Peeta.”

“You sure?” she asks doubtfully. “It didn’t feel this way with Aster.” Another gasp escapes her mouth. “Oh, that felt different.”

“My mother had six children,” I tell her. “No two births will feel ever feel the same.”

Together, we make our way upstairs and into the master bedroom. I go to her wardrobe, taking out a nightgown and handing it to her.

“Aster is still down for her nap,” I inform her as I turn and give her privacy. “I’ll check on her, call Peeta and Mrs. Hawthorne then come back. Is there anything you need while I’m downstairs?”

Katniss shakes her head as she gets into bed. “No, I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll make you a sandwich and bring up some water,” I tell her. “You’ll need your strength.”

She smiles gratefully. “You think of everything.”

++++++

Peeta and Mrs.Hawthorne arrive quickly. After a quick exam, it seems that Katniss has a long while to go. We all continue throughout the day as normal; Peeta bakes in the kitchen knowing that we will need sustenance throughout the next few days. Mrs. Hawthorne sits at Katniss’ side knitting a swaddle blanket for the little one while I care for Aster.

Aster comes to visit her mother a few hours into the labor. She jumps onto the bed and nestles at her mother’s side.

“Hello wuv,” she says, her bright blue staring up at her mother.

“I’m bringing you a little brother or sister,” Katniss informs her as she lets out a small exhale. “Will you be good for Daddy and Rue?”

Aster nods, her blue eyes solemn. “Yes, wuv.”

There’s a knock and Peeta emerges from behind the bedroom door. He places a kiss on his wife’s forehead and gives her a bright smile.

“How are you doing, love?” he asks.

“Oh, you know the usual—trying to push your child into the world,” Katniss answers with a small grin.

“Rory and Posy are downstairs,” Peeta tells us before holding his arms out to Aster. “Why don’t you come downstairs with me so you can have dinner?”

“I’ll take her,” Mrs. Hawthorne offers. “I want to check in with the kids, anyway.” Going to Peeta, she offers her arms to Aster. “Come on honey, let’s go.”

“Thanks Hazelle,” Peeta tells her gratefully.

“No problem.” Mrs. Hawthorne holds Aster protectively. “I sure miss them at this age.”

They disappear into the hallway, leaving me with the couple.

Peeta looks to his wife. “How are you really feeling?”

“Like someone is grabbing my lady parts and just twisting away.” Katniss grimaces. “Here comes another one…”

I immediately go to support her back. “Breathe out slowly.”

Katniss clenches her teeth. “Oh, this feels intense.” She looks between Peeta and me. “Someone distract me.”

“Well, we got a new custom cake order—”

“No! Peeta, I love you, but I can’t get excited about frosting the way you want me to,” she tells him.

“I left District 11 because Troy proposed to me.”

Peeta and Katniss turn to me in shock.

“Besides my Mom, you’re the only other people who know,” I continue quietly. “I sometimes go to lay out in a field near my home…it’s my spot. One day, Troy was there and before I could even think, he was down on his knee.”

“Then what?” Katniss asks.

I shake my head. “All I could think is…get the hell out of my field.” I look between the couple. “Is that bad of me?”

Peeta shakes his head. “What was your other option? Just say yes to save his pride? No offense, but from what you’ve been telling Katniss, it doesn’t seem like a match made out of love—but out of obligation.”

“I just feel bad because…I don’t want you to think that I came here to run away—even if it sounds like it,” I explain. “The truth is that I never felt like I was more home than when I came to District 12. When I came to stay with you three…almost four, I started to feel like myself.”

Katniss takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. “You do belong here.”

Peeta covers her hand and grins at me. “This is your home now—if you want it to be.”

I tried to hold my back my tears, but my thank you still sounds a bit watery.

++++++

“Okay, Katniss…push!”

Mrs. Hawthorne stands at the edge of the bed, ready and waiting for the newest Mellark to arrive.

Night came and went as we can now see dawn coming in through the bedroom window. I put Aster down to sleep many hours ago while Posy, who volunteered to stay the night, stayed in the bed adjacent to her. I then took a quick nap when—at around three in the morning—Peeta roused me because Katniss was requesting my presence.

Currently, I am holding one of her legs while Peeta holds the other.

“I can’t…I’m too tired…” Katniss is exhausted and delirious…tears and sweat intermingling her flushed face. She looks to Peeta. “I’m sorry…”

Peeta shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You are tired and you’ve had no rest. I am a rotten husband getting you into this situation.”

Katniss nods. “You kind of are!” Her face crumbles. “I want Prim.”

We all go silent at her admission.

Because as much as we want to give her comfort, there is no way to get her sister back.

Tears fill my eyes thinking of the many occasions that I have wished for my own father. I think of all the important moments that he won’t be there for: my wedding…the birth of my children—

“You can pretend I’m Prim,” I tell her softly. “Close your eyes and just imagine that you’re gripping her hand…” Katniss looks to me, smoky eyes filled, before doing what I say. “And, just imagine what she would tell you at this very moment.”

“She would say to suck it up. There are more important things to do right now,” Katniss says.

I move closer to her ear. “Suck it up. There are more important things to do right now.”

Katniss nods, eyes still closed. “Okay, I think I’m ready to push again.”

“At the count of three,” Mrs. Hawthorne begins. “One…two…three!”

Katniss bears down and it is a long, tense-filled moment as we wait to see if there is any progress—

A shrill cry breaks the moment.

“It’s a boy.” Mrs. Hawthorne grins before taking the little one and putting him on Katniss’ chest. “Looks like he’s got a little gold on him.”

Katniss lets out a content sigh, her eyes on the sticky, little thing currently laying on her. “Hello there.”

“We have a son,” Peeta says in a thick voice. He gives Katniss a kiss on the forehead. “Thank you, love.”

“Always.” Katniss then turns to me. “Thank you.”

“It’s my job,” I tell her before wiping the tears from my eyes.

++++++

Stepping out into the hallway, I am surprised to discover Rory coming up the stairs.

“What are you doing here?” My voice is hoarse with exhaustion and I lean against the wall to keep my body up.

“I slept downstairs in the den,” he explains sheepishly. “So, the baby is here?”

“A boy.” I smile to myself. “Beautiful like the rest of his family and golden-haired like Pr—” I stop, struggling to suppress the emotion churning inside of me. “Why did you stay?”

Rory goes scarlet. “I stayed…for you.”

I shake my head. “You stayed because you were helping Prim’s family. I’m nothing but a glorified babysitter. Remember?”

I turn away so he won’t see me cry over the dumbest reason in the world—I don’t want to be Prim’s substitute.

Suddenly, Rory crosses the space between us and pulls me into his arms.

“I came here for you.” His hand reaches gently into the tangle that is my hair. “The person who cared for Prim—who loved her—was still just a boy. He will always love her in some way, but he had to grow up.”

“And now?” I ask into his chest.

A wisp of a kiss brushes against my forehead. “The man holding you stayed for you.”

I hold him closer to me, never wanting to leave this feeling of belonging—of home.

“Thank you for staying.”

For now, this is the closest I can get to ‘I love you’.

++++++

“Careful now,” I instruct Aster as I help her hold her little brother. “He’s still very fragile.”

“Ohh…baby,” Aster says in awe. The newborn in her arms let out a yawn and she giggles. “Hello wuv!”

“I guess you’ve been dethroned,” I tell Katniss with a laugh as I settle into the chair next to the bed. “Maybe she’ll start calling you Mama now.”

“I’ll gladly relinquish the title,” she replies, looking at the children by her side. “They look like they’re going to be a handful.”

“Aster is a spitfire in herself!” I look to the little girl who I’ve come to love like one of my own siblings. “But she’ll protect her little brother—like you protected Prim.”

Katniss meets my eyes. “Listen, Peeta told me what you did before I had the baby. I was tired and I say things that I don’t mean. When I had Aster, I asked to see my dad…”

“It’s really not a problem,” I say in what I hope is a light voice.

“It is, because you’re not Prim…she’s gone,” she says in a tight voice. “And because we all care for you, not just as some replacement Prim—but because you’re you.” Katniss places her hand over mine. “Peeta and I hope you will stay for the long haul. Aster needs you…so does Oak.”

“I still can’t believe you named him that,” I tell her.

I jokingly told her and Peeta weeks ago that since they’re into flower names for girls, they should look into tree names for boy.

When they asked for an example, I gave them Oak—my father’s middle name.

“It sounded right,” Katniss responds with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, the point is we need you.”

I settle back for a moment, taking in her words, before finally answering.

“May I make a phone call?”

Katniss’ mouth widens in a grin. “Take all the time you need.”

I leave the room, heading down the stairs and go into the kitchen first to place the kettle onto the stove to heat some water and then take Katniss’ favorite cup out of the cabinet. Making sure that Peeta’s lunch is packed, I then head into the den where the telephone is.

Taking a deep breath, I reach for the receiver and dial.

The call is answered immediately.

“Hello Mama.”

++++++

We walk around the forest, steps steady as we head towards an unknown destination.

“So, you’re staying?” Rory says, his eyes ahead.

I nod, letting the smile rise on my lips. “I’m staying.”

He reaches, his hand taking mine, our fingers intertwining with ease. It feels right. “Now what?”

I stop and Rory follows suit turning to me.

My hand reaches to the nape of his neck, pulling him close enough so that I can push onto my tiptoes to press my lips to his. He pulls me closer and I sink into him, losing myself as we fall deep into the kiss.

Moments…hours later, we finally separate, breathless and grinning.

I take his hand once more.

“How about you show me the rest of our home?”

FIN.

  This is different, but I enjoyed writing it.

I hoped you enjoyed reading it.

 Song: “Feels Like Home”- Chantal Kreviazuk

Thank you again if you even got through this. Aster and Oak really appreciate it.

Please feel free to message me with any questions, comments, or requests.

 Until the next story,

JLaLa

[piratewithvigor]

Love Break My Heart: Chapter 4 (Finale)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Summary: A half-life relationship is disintegrating at the seams. Neither of them is good for the other, but after 14 years together, they don’t know how to be with each other anymore.

Word Count: 1938

A/N: This is a prize story written for @slashscowboyboots​ that I’ve had a fantastic time blitz-writing over the last handful of days. This chapter is a little more violent and depressing than the other three and with everything going on in the world, I recommend putting off reading it if you’re not in a proper mental state for it.

We finished recording the albums a few days ago. All that remains is the little nitty-gritty details that Axl usually takes care of. We’ll say it’s a band effort, but the ideas that get put into play are his and the hired professionals he works with. Things like album art, track listings and the little bits of writing that’ll be included. All the details will be as much of a surprise to me as they will be to whoever buys it. I hope to Christ no one books me for an interview to ask about any of them. I won’t have answers. Luckily, with Axl around, that risk runs low.

I’m driving the both of us back to the house from a photoshoot a few miles north of the city. The endless drive for perfection was just as present there as during recording, meaning it’s nearly dawn already. The shoot was only supposed to be a few hours. Nothing more strenuous than having to sit in the makeup chair for a few minutes and then sit on an amp or something with my guitar while they told me to look at a spot on the floor in the distance. Something about wanting to play up my aloof personality, whatever the fuck that means. If I had driven up alone, I could have been home as soon as the group photos and my solo photos were done. But I decided to be a caring dumbass and drive Axl up as well. Which meant he had to sit in on everyone’s solo photos and insist on more takes than Stanley Kubrick.

I haven’t said anything during the drive yet, but I’ve been thinking the entire time. The little box in my jacket pocket feels like it’s been getting heavier the entire time. At some point this evening, I intended to give it to Axl, but evening became morning without me noticing and now we’re alone on a gloomy highway before the rest of the world has woken up. One would think it would be the perfect time to give him the box, and it would be, if he was quiet as well. With his mind on it the entire time, Axl hasn’t stopped talking since we left the studio.

He’s talking about the shoot, kicking himself over how he allowed it to end, with photos different than the ones he was envisioning. At some point, he starts talking about the layout he’s got in mind. How to make the albums distinct, yet clearly meant to be together. I wish I can say I’m listening. After the previous few hours, all I want to do is be in my bed, asleep, and I’m resenting him for keeping me from it.

He suddenly goes quiet and it takes me a moment to realise he’s asked me a question. And another moment to realise that I haven’t been paying attention to a word he’s said. I’m back in third grade and faced with a math problem I don’t know the answer to. So I take the same escape route.

“Sorry, what?”

Axl sighs and looks out of the passenger side window, leaning back with his foot on the dash.

“Forget it. I’m wasting my fucking breath here.”

“I just got distracted. What did you say?”

“What do you care? You’ve resented every part of making this album.”

“Can you blame me, control freak?” The words slip out from under my breath. I hadn’t actually meant to say them, but if they came out, it means I did think them. I can feel Axl’s eyes boring into the side of my skull and my knuckles turn white from my tightening grip on the wheel.

“Sorry, one more time in my good ear?” Axl asks, venom dripping from every syllable. “You know, the one you didn’t blow out with your shitty playing?”

I have to remind myself that this isn’t the time to pick a fight. Too many people end up dead because of a fight behind the wheel that ends up with the car wrapped around a tree. I can hardly feel my fingers anymore, I’m gripping the wheel so hard.

“Fuck off.” It’s all I can whisper to keep my cool. We’ll be back at the house soon and we can punch each others’ lights out there.

“That’s what I thought, you little bitch,” Axl sneers, turning back towards the window.

“Don’t call me that.”

“As control freak, I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

I pull over to the side of the road and park, turning off the engine and leaving us in dead silence. It’s too early for birds to be awake yet and too late in the evening for any of the nocturnal animals to still be making noise. We’re completely alone.

“Get out.” I’ve got one hand in my pocket containing the box and the other in my pocket with my old handgun. A leftover from our struggling dealer days that my paranoia still won’t let me leave behind whenever I go anywhere. I haven’t shot it in years. Axl, to his credit, does as he’s told. I wait until I hear the passenger door slam before I get out as well. He’s leaning onto the hood, fingers clasped together as he stares me down.

“There’s something I don’t get about you,” he says, eyes blazing with a hatred I haven’t seen in over a decade.

“And what’s that?”

“Why you paint yourself as the victim every goddamn day.”

“Because I’m living with a bipolar lunatic who would rather destroy everything than not get his way.”

“And that’s so much harder than living with a junkie loser who hasn’t cared about anything since he made it big, let alone cared about me.” This is new. Of all the things I expected him to pick a fight over, it wasn’t this.

“What the fuck makes you say that?”

Axl straightens up as he shrugs, not an ounce of kidding in his expression. He starts walking towards me and instinct has me clutch the gun in my pocket.

“Dunno. Maybe it’s because ever since you first shot up, I’ve been the one picking up the slack. I made sure you didn’t starve because you were too fucked up to eat for weeks. I kept this band going while the rest of you enjoyed what my work got you. I watched you try to kill yourself slowly for years, you junkie fuck!” He’s close enough to grab me by the jacket and pull me towards him. “And never once did you show me the same love back.”

My laughter is hollow as I shove away his hands. “Every bruise you gave me… that was love to you?” It’s my turn to advance on him with what a professional would probably call hysteria. I call it ‘fucking done’. “The beatings? Were they done in love too? Almost breaking my jaw with a lamp? Was that love? Get off your high fucking horse.”

He’s stunned silent and I get a flash of satisfaction. But only a flash; the silence doesn’t last longer than that.

“Don’t act like you’re a saint here. You’re not the only one who gets stuff thrown at him. You just have shit aim when you’re drunk.”

“Or maybe I’m trying to miss because I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t want to hurt me? Someone alert the presses, because this is breaking fucking news!” Our voices are getting louder and they’re starting to echo, but I’m way too pissed off to care.

“Maybe I love you too, ever think of that?”

“And your version of love is so much better than mine.” Axl’s face softens a moment and he starts doing a petulant chick voice. It’s jarring, to say the least. “Ooh, I’m Izzy Stradlin, flawless prince of perfection, and I purposely miss throwing furniture at my boyfriend because I love him.” The switch back throws me off just as much. “Grow the fuck up, Izzy.”

Before I know it, the gun in my pocket is out and it’s being aimed at Axl. The other hand still in my pocket is shaking, but the one out is steady as stone. I can almost hear our hearts beating in the dead silence. Axl has his hands up in quiet surrender. He’s about to say something before I cut him off.

“Don’t. Just don’t. Don’t say anything for a second. Just stay fucking quiet,” I murmur, taking a step towards him. He doesn’t move a muscle.

“Fourteen years ago, I thought I loved you. I was so certain after our first kiss, that I never doubted it for a second. Even when you were hitting me, I was sure I loved you. Axl, I was so fucking sure for so long that I loved you that I never questioned that what we have isn’t love. It’s mutual tolerance at best. Hatred at the worst. Axl, I hate you. I hate you so much that my heart hurts right now thinking about it.”

I didn’t realise that my eyes were getting moist until the tear reached my neck. It let me realise that Axl was crying as well. The greens in his eyes were gone, leaving behind nothing except stormy grey with watery red surrounding them. He’s shaking hard. Be it with fear or anger, I don’t know, and I sure as fuck don’t care. There was a time in my life when I would have softened and felt like shit at causing him to look like that, but right now, I don’t care. I can’t imagine caring.

I pull my other hand out of my pocket and Axl flinches. “My final contribution,” I murmur, holding the box out to him. He takes it and pulls out the tape inside. My chickenscratch handwriting labels it with the title. I retrace a little and correct myself. “My final, imperfect, contribution. Do with it what you will.”

“What do you mean final?” He finally asks, turning the tape over in his hands.

“This is my resignation. I’m quitting. I’m done with you and with this band.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’ll keep doing what I love, and I’m going to do it without your fucking nagging in my ear every goddamn day of my life.” I chuckle lowly, my laughter breathy and wild. “I wasted half my fucking life on you. Half of it, you son of a bitch. I’m never getting it back, thanks to you.”

Axl takes a step towards me and I straighten my arm, aiming my gun directly between his eyes.

“Stay back. Stay back or I swear to God, I will shoot you.”

“So fucking do it.”

“Yeah, cause you’d let yourself die with a bullet wound on that pretty face of yours.”

“So we’ve decided you won’t shoot me in the face. What are you going to do?”

“Walk home. Not to our house. Keep whatever you want that’s there. I don’t care about any of it.”

Axl nods solemnly and looks back down at the tape in his hands. “You do that.”

I lower my gun and toss him the keys as I begin to walk away.

“Izzy, one more thing.”

I turn around and pause for a moment. I don’t know why I did it when I knew that I wasn’t going to be going back to him.

“I never want to see you again. I never want to hear from you again. On my life, I would rather slit my own throat than hear your name ever again.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

[toomanysurveys9]

Who did you last have over your house, why were they there?

i didn’t have her over, but the last person to come here that doesn’t already live here was my aunt mary.. she was picking up my grandparents to go get lunch, and then she also dropped off a housewarming present for jacob and me... it was a nice welcome mat because the one we had was already ripping up..

What was the last thing to piss you off?

jacob last night. i have literally told people how i was planning on people getting to meet eliana since at least halfway through my pregnancy and he waited three days  before i was due to originally start this fight, and again yesterday on my due date, which was six days before induction. i’m so excited to meet ellie, but i really am dreading the probable fight jacob and i will get in, right after i give birth to our daughter. but as i’ve said, i feel strongly that since his family got to hold wy first last time and my parents were shoved to the side, it’s only fair they get to hold ellie first. especially since my mom has been my biggest support and i know she will be when i am in labor and giving birth too.

Recently, who in your house has gotten on your nerves the most?

jacob. that’s probably pretty obvious. lol.

What all has pissed you off today, if anything at all?

nothing has pissed me off so far today. thankfully.

Out of all of your friends who have you gotten in the worst fight with?

jacob, even though we’re way more than friends.

Who was the last person to have to deal with you having an attitude?

jacob. ha.

If you had $100 dollars, how would you spend it?

probably on wy, ellie, phe, and cocoa.

What’s something you would love to have happen right now?

go into labor. lol.

You were given the opportunity to get a new cellular device, what do you choose?

i don’t want, or need, a new phone. i just have to get the screen fixed at some point.

Which of your classes in school is most capable of killing a good mood for you?

i hated all math classes.

How nice of a person are you, honestly?

i think i am pretty nice. the only time that changes is when people decide to keep pushing me and i eventually break.

What good things have happened today?

baby cuddles. and we are going to get yummy food soon!

Is there anyone of your preferred sex who tends to mess with your head?

jacob does i guess a little sometimes.

What have you recently gotten the most compliments on?

baby bump. ha.

Do you and your best friend(s) act the same, or are very different from each other?

we are pretty different.

Is there something you should be doing right now, besides this survey?

i should brush my hair but whatever.

What would your last name be if you were married to the last person that texted you?

last person to text me was my brother, so no thanks. ha.

Have you ever made out in a bathroom?

yeah. in the shower.

Ever physically fought with member of the opposite sex?

just playing around.

Ever walked in on your friends having sex?

no. thank god.

Ever kissed a friend’s crush?

i have not.

How was your day overall?

i mean. not much to say so far. but i’m hoping for a good day.

Has anyone ever called cops on you?

no. never had reason to.

Do you swallow gum when you’re finished?

no. i would never intentionally swallow gum. that’s gross.

Ever had a best friend of the opposite sex?

yeah.

Is there anyone that doesn’t like you?

ha. yeah. jacob’s sister, and everyone on his dad’s side.

Does your Facebook password have to do with a person?

nope.

Where was the last place you fell asleep other than your bed?

i honestly don’t remember.

What’s your current problem?

nothing i want to talk about. ha.

If something was wrong who is the first girl you would go to?

either kayla or my mom. depending what it is. or i would just keep it to myself.

Can you play pool?

not well, no.

Are you more of a coffee or alcohol drinker?

coffee these days. not that i really drink coffee either.

Do you have a member of the opposite sex you can tell everything to?

not even close.

Is there someone who meant a lot to you at one point, and isn’t around now?

there are a lot of people like that.

Do you blush easily?

i do. and it’s horrible. people always give me shit about it.

Do you fall asleep while texting someone often?

no because i never have people to text. lol.

Do you like the last person you kissed?

most days.

How many piercings do you have?

i know the first piercings on my ear lobes are still open. that’s probably it.

Do you usually say sorry first?

yup. i do.

Have you ever fallen asleep in someone’s arms?

many times. but i usually end up too hot and move.

Are your nails painted right now?

they’re pretty much never painted.

Do you pick out your outfits in advance?

nope. i just grab clothes and go most of the time. only time i plan it out is if there is some special thing going on.

Did you check how many calories the last thing you ate had?

nope.

What do you dislike about your smile?

gums.

Do you find the opposite sex confusing?

sometimes. but i find the same sex confusing sometimes too.

Would you rather your partner have gorgeous eyes or a gorgeous smile?

both. but i’m more drawn to gorgeous eyes i guess.

What do you think about hair extensions?

i wouldn’t want them, but that is just me.

Can you sleep with the TV or any lights on?

no. i like darkness.

Have you ever kissed in the snow?

i mean. probably.

Have you ever liked a football player?

i was going to say no, but i’m pretty sure chris used to play football. that was YEARS ago. lol.

Do you think someone is thinking about you right now?

no.

Have you ever kissed anyone whose name started with a B, R, L, K, C, or G?

nope. not romantically anyways. i’ve kissed family members with those initials.

Has the last person you kissed taken their shirt off in front of you?

yeah. many time.

Has anyone told you they don’t want to ever lose you?

kind of.

Are you good at hiding your feelings?

i’m getting pretty good at it again, except when the pregnancy hormones get to me.

Is there someone that you believe you will always be attracted to?

i mean, probably. i’ve been attracted to him over ten years so far.

Do you have something in your room that you never want to get ruined?

well, yes.

What do you want the most right now?

dinner rolls from logan’s steakhouse. ha.

Is this week gonna be fun?

it’s probably going to be long since i’m going to the hospital to hopefully be induced on thursday morning.

BlackBerry or iPhone?

neither.

Who were the last two girls you texted?

i sent a group text to jade and jon, and then i texted kayla last night.

Do they mean anything to you?

yeah. jade is my brother’s girlfriend and she’s like a sister to me at this point, and kayla is kind of my best friend.

Do you remember the last boy you texted?

my brother. he was in the same group message as jade.

What did you do last night?

just hung out at home.

Look in your call log; who was your last missed call from?

doctor’s office. it was just an appointment reminder.

In the last six months, can you say you truly cared about someone?

of course.

Could you handle living together with the last person who texted you?

honestly. i’m not so sure anymore. lol. jon and i obviously lived together growing up, and that was pretty rocky. i think we get along better when we don’t live all together. and jade would probably drive me nuts when she acts like mom to my kids. love her though.

Ever been called babe/baby?

yup. not often anymore. but yup.

Have you ever made a difference in someone’s life?

i mean, i would like to think so but at the same time, i doubt it.

Next time you will kiss someone on the lips?

i don’t really plan it.

Do you think you’ve changed much over the past year?

i think so, yeah.

Did you see your best friend today?

i mean. i guess since i’ve seen jacob. i will see kayla later today too.

If someone liked you, what would be the best way to let you know?

i mean, at this point it would be pointless. i’m married and i’m not interested in anyone else. even if i were single, after everything i’ve dealt with, i probably wouldn’t be interested in anyone else. not for a long time anyways.

What is the stupidest thing you have ever done?

probably self-injury.

Do you like someone?

i wouldn’t still be with him if i didn’t love him.

Would you rather be called hot, cute, or beautiful?

beautiful.. but i know i’m not.

Did you wake up before 8 AM this morning?

i did actually.

Do you wear eyeliner?

when i wear makeup, yes.

What’s something that’s bothering you?

erin is being whiny already and she’s going with us today, and that’s going to get annoying quick.

When was the last time you smiled?

just now because of the kids.

Do you think dances (prom, homecoming, etc.) are fun or lame?

i mean, the couple i went to, i had fun. but they’re also a little lame. haha. i think that’s part of the experience though. :p

Do you wear pants or skirts more often?

pants. i pretty much never wear skirts.

Are you online 24/7?

i am not. i have other things to do.

Does it bother you when people never answer their cell phones?

depends who it is and why i’m calling them.

Who was the last person you kissed?

jacob.

Are you wearing anything borrowed from a friend?

i am not.

Did anything exciting happen today?

nope. probably not.

What was the last non-alcoholic beverage you drank?

milk with my cereal.

Is your hair long enough to pull over your face like a mustache?

it is. i used to do that a lot as a kid. i thought it was hilarious. i was lame. still am i guess. lol.

Do you ever find yourself making up survey questions throughout the day?

i do not.

What was the last thing you tried for the first time?

i think some kind of shrimp, i don’t remember what kind. but i didn’t like it.

The last thing you said out loud: How loud were you speaking?

just my normal voice.

What was the last thing you learned?

i’m an idiot? ha.

Which holidays do you decorate your house for, if any?

none so far. but i want to decorate for halloween and christmas by next year! and this year we will at least have a tree to decorate!

How often do you visit your relatives?

rarely. and they rarely visit us too.

[chanzicoup]

“Blindsided” (VIXX N x Reader Imagine)

A/N: This was suppoed to be something more but I ran out of ideas :p

Count: 2.6k

Genre: Angst???

~Blake

You were a good girl despite being from a rich family. Many people expected you to be spoiled rotten or to wear designer clothes and have an attitude but that was far opposite from the real you. No one expected you to volunteer at the hospital or at orphanages. No one thought you had just graduated at the top of your class back when you went to Harvard University last Spring. No one knew you wanted to be an artist. No one took the time to get to know the real you but they had all the time to judge you and the make their own view of who you were. You guess that's why you never really dated, no one would want to put effort into the relationship when you would be putting your all into it.

One of those judgmental people was Cha Hakyeon, who wanted to be known as N. He made it big in his music group VIXX and left his home for training. Both of his parents were close friends with yours so that meant when you were children you'd be forced to play with each other. You were also forced into the same high school classes and even some extra curricular activities like tennis most rich kids found fun. Those types of things never excited N so he always ditched practice to spend his time in the music room. You never dared to snitch on him because you didn't want to give him a reason to hate you. He was the closest thing you had to a friend.

All the popular girls at school tried to be friends with you but you quickly learned that they were the exact people others assumed you were. Mean and snobby. They picked on the other kids and then turned on you when you stopped talking to them. This also led to rumors about you thinking you were too good and better than everyone. All the popular boys just wanted you for your body, which was in good shape thanks to tennis, something you actually enjoyed. You hated your life that was already planned for you but didn't have the power to fight it.

Your life at home wasn't much better either. Your parents were too busy running their handbag company to pay much attention to you so they hired nannies to raise you through your most precious years. You often wondered why you were born if they didn't want you. Whenever you talk to them it feels more like a business deal than a normal conversation between mother and daughter or father and daughter. N's family ran a very successful company  that was so well off they hired people to do work for them and this allowed them to have most of their time dedicated to N. You were always jealous but never made any indication of it. Instead you did whatever your parents told you in hopes of getting their love in return.

When the day came that your parents invited N and his family over you had no say in the matter. You mother only peaked her head through your door that morning to tell you there'd be guests over for dinner and that you had to dress accordingly, which translated to "wear your most elegant attire" in understandable words. That was about eight o'clock this morning and at the time you were in the middle of painting a cherry blossom tree in a grass field. You mother would've thrown a fit if she saw what you were doing so after she left you put all of your tools and colors in their respected containers and hid the still wet painting in your bathroom, the only room people asked for permission to enter. It was better to continue later when you thought it was safe, usually when your mother speaks to you once she'll nag until she's satisfied.

Dinner is always at five o'clock. It has been for the whole 25 years of your life, soon 26. To be exact you have 31 days until your birthday. You remember something from years ago, something your parents had scolded you about. Was it finding a husband? If it was then they would've said it on more than one occasion. It was the day you were packing for Harvard, you were keeping yourself from crying because you could not bring your paints with you. You managed to smuggle a sketch book into your luggage before your parents gave their farewell speech that consisted of, "study hard and be successful." Not once did they say, "We love you," or "Be safe!" or even a "Call us when you land!" Did they mention something about meeting someone somewhere in between? You couldn't recall, after all that was nearly 8 years ago. You were only 18 at the time, your parents "encouraged" you to go to college with out taking the summer after high school off. Talk about overload.

You sit at your table that was pristine white despite the amount of times you've spilled watercolor on it. In fact your entire room was as white as a blank canvas. It was the only color your parents enforced upon you, such a needy color, wanting to be decorated with every shade of every pigment. But no, for creativity creates less room for knowledge. The bed in your room was bigger then you needed it to be, the desk was smaller then your door, and your walls were untouched by your creative ability. Whenever you did make anything you'd sell it immediately and give the money to a charity, it was all you could do without your parents approval, therefore they would never know unless you slipped up. You were in no need of extra cash when your family controls your life to the last point. On your table there were minimal items, your journal, an old math textbook you've solved all the formulas in, and a single pencil. Your journal held the words you were never allowed to say. Your math book was something you've had since you were little. You'd gotten it as a present from one of the staff that work in your home. She said to you, "A smart girl should start smart." And you've lived up to those words everyday since then. You were five or six when the book was gifted to you but the material inside of it was college level. On your free time you'd investigate the equations to find an answer, you've always loved math because it helped you solve problems through a series of steps, there was always an answer no matter how difficult things might seem. And the pencil was obviously well used. The eraser was almost nonexistent and the length of the wood was halved over and over from the amount of times it's been used, sharpened, and used again. You should really replace that pencil with the ones in your desk drawer and throw it away, but that wouldn't be fair to trash something that still has use, even if there's not much left of it. It's not right to discard something with full potential.

Until four o'clock you sat at your desk with your books, not once getting a headache from the constant writing or calculating, it was a past time you were allowed to do without your parents becoming angry. Your mother came in to check on your preparations and was aggravated that you were still in casual wear. Before she could shout you apologized and went to your closet. She closed your door to leave you be thankfully and you pulled out a rose gold dress, a black one, and then a blue on. All of which will be perfect for a dinner in your household, but which should you wear? The rose gold was plain but can be elegant with the help of accessories. Were you in the mood for readjusting bracelets all through out the meal? Not entirely, back in the closet it goes. The blue dress was long and dark. It had a flower like pattern that covered it and fixated around your arms to act as sleeves. Wasn't it getting hotter outside because of the change of the seasons? The black dress was at knee length and had no sleeves, cancelling out the fact that the dark color will bring in more sunlight and heat. It was elegant on it's own with out the help of  bulky jewels and was revealing enough at the same time to keep my body temperate. Perfect choice. I put the blue dress back and changed out of my leggings and blouse into the chic material. I paired the dress with pumps of the same color and a gold necklace my late grandmother gifted me before her passing. It had my birthstone as it's charm.

"Emmabell! The guests will be arriving shortly! Are you ready?" You heard your mother announce from the other side of your bedroom door. You only had to fix your make up and do your hair so a little white lie shouldn't shake her up.

"Yes mother, I'll be down shortly!" You rushed to the bathroom to loosely curl your jet black hair that was about the same axis as your shoulders when it's finished. You went for light colors of eye shadow and naturalistic colors for your face. All your mother would've wanted was for you to cover the oh so few freckles and acne scares you've accumulated through the years so you did the bare minimum to make sure they were covered. She wants everything to be perfect at every possible moment. When you were completely ready you plugged your phone into the charger before leaving so when you were excused to go to bed you can listen to music with out worry before slumber took over.

"Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Cha! What a blessing to see you after so many years!" You heard your mother's feigned cheeriness from the top of the stairs and took it as your cue to make your appearance. You smiled at the guests and hesitated when you saw one that was familiar in an unfriendly way.

"And this must be your son, Hakyeon!" He's gotten taller since the last time you have seen him. High school graduation less than ten years ago.

"Good evening." He smiled and shook your parents hands.

"This is our daughter, Emmabell." You father gestured to you and you smiled once more.

"Hello." You greeted.

"Oh my, dear you've grown so much!" Mrs. Cha exclaimed as she came in for a hug. She's always someone you've seen as a second mother but never actually confined in, mainly because it was a rarity you'd see her. You were also deathly afraid of Mr. Cha because he reminded you of your own father. He could be the nicest man on Earth and you wouldn't know. Men with money could be dangerous because they might think they're capable of escaping punishment with the waft of a wallet.

"Shall we sit for dinner?" Your mother questioned. You had no idea why she started acting so suspicious but you went with her plan nonetheless and sat down at your father's right side, your mother on his left. In front of you sat N, who stared intensely at you for a reason you were unsure of. This was just a dinner, correct?

The chef's brought out the meal and you ate very little. An uneasy feeling caused you to loose your appetite; you simply picked you your food while the sets of parents conversed with each other. Whenever you were directed a question your mother couldn't answer you would politely and honestly give your part until you got quiet again.

"Hakyeon is just a few weeks older than Emmabell isn't he?" Your mother asked as she sipped from her wine glass. Receiving a cheerful "yes" from N's parents, a silence took over the table, as if they were beating around the bush. It was until your father said the words, "Let's get down to business." And apparently you weren't the only one that was caught by surprise. N was as in a daze as you were.

"We brought you two here to discuss something of the utmost importance." Said Mr. Cha to N and you, "we have agreed to merge our companies together by marriage."

"An arranged marriage of Hakyeon and you, Emmabell." Your mother summarized before taking another sip of red whine.

An arranged marriage? Was this something your parents thought of you, their daughter needed the help of someone else to run the business. You were fully capable of being independent and without a man in your life. Was this all the faith they had in you to succeed? You would've choked on your food if you had any in your mouth, unfortunately for N he was midbite when his father announced the news.

"Excuse me?" He asked when he gathered up himself again.

"You heard me. Your mother and I told you before you needed to find a wife before you could take over the business. We gave you time to choose your bride, now time's ticking and we have no other choice." His father's words pierced sharply through the air and you froze in your seat, your parents had given you the same choice and now it's too late. You weren't sure you could snake out of this one.

"But why should we merge with them?! Our company is running smoothly!" N defended his opinion on the marriage, but you couldn't help but be a little offended. Was he saying his family was better than yours?

"And ours isn't?" You snipped, your polite voice only emphasizing your annoyance. Your father nudged your leg under the table, his way of telling you to cool off. You weren't going to listen tonight, you'll apologize later but for now you aren't going to allow some dirt bag to mock your family's craft.

"Well thankfully I wasn't the one to say it."

"What we mean is," N's mother spoke up "If we merge companies by marriage it'll be a legal way to increase sales and overall production."

What if you rejected? Lied and said you found a man while you were studying and hadn't told your parents about him yet. That would only buy you time, and you knew you'd never fall in love before your parents had to force a ring on your finger. Apparently you weren't the only party that wasn't excited about the predicament. You could see from the spot you were sitting in that N wasn't all that happy to be your husband, he probably hated you the most. You couldn't see his hands or anything past the table but you'd have to be stupid to not know that he was clenching his fists right now, out of sight out of mind.

"We will give you two time of course. To make up for lost time." Your mother said after another sip of wine.

Since you really had nothing else to say, anything that'll make a difference that is, you kept quiet again and barely picked at your food. The news has ruined your appetite. N had given you a face, one that shouted "Say something moron!" but you ignored it. He sighed and thought of ways to get out of this. Knowing his parents they'd make him go all out and actually tolerate the woman they had set him up with. They would want them to live in a house paid for with their money and grandchildren in return for all of their hard work making wedding plans. N wasn't even warned like you were, if he had known before he would've took the chance to get with someone who had his heart, not some girl he's known forever.

[lovemesomesurveys]

Do you plan on having children in the future? I. Don’t. Know.

How big is your house? It’s a two bedroom house. It’s not very big.

Do you believe that the world will actually end? One day.

Describe your handwriting: Ugh, I hate my handwriting. It’s ugly.

Can you speak any other languages than your first language? Only some Spanish. Not enough to be fluent.

If you could speak another, which would it be? I’d like to be fluent in Spanish.

What is one trend you think is stupid? Hmm. I don’t know. There’s been a few.

Do you ever watch any soap operas? No. They’re so bad.

Do you ever get goodnight or good morning texts from people? Nope.

What color are the pants you’re wearing? I’m wearing black leggings.

When did you last go to the doctor and what for? On Tuesday for my weekly appointment with one of my specialists for something I’m being treated for.

Are you socially awkward? Yes.

Would you rather watch a comedy movie or horror movie? Comedy.

Who is your favorite actor/actress? Alexander Skarsgård.

If you could choose one holiday to live over and over, which would it be? I love Christmas, but it wouldn’t be as special if it were everyday.

Do you know where your family came from? Yes.

If you could choose to be any mythical character, which would you choose? Maybe a fairy.

Where are both of your parents right at this moment? They’re both at work.

Have you ever seen a movie so ridiculous you couldn’t watch the rest? Yes.

Does it make you angry when people text short messages back? It doesn’t make me angry, but it’s annoying if we’re trying to keep the conversation going. Sometimes all it requires is a quick response, like if I’m asking you something. Although, if you’re just texting me back to say “okay” I don’t see the point. I’m just letting you know something, no response is really needed. I guess it’s to let me know you received the message, but whatever.

How old are your siblings? My older brother is 33 and my younger brother is 18.

What is your favorite animal and why? Dogs and giraffes.

Do you find yourself on Youtube a lot? Yes.

What was the last thing you scratched? I think my back.

How many people can you fully rely on without fault? One.

Are you satisfied with your gender? Yes.

Have you ever kept a successful diary before? Yeah. I wrote in a diary from 7th grade to 10th grade. Now these surveys are my diary entries, and I’m pretty consistent with it.

Which types of make up do you use? Eyeliner and mascara. Every once in awhile I’ll wear eye shadow.

What was the last thing you drank? Coke.

Are you good at admitting your problems? Yes.

Have you ever had a hangover? Yes, not fun.

What is something you’re looking for in the next three months? My vacation sooon.

What time do you normally go to sleep on week days? I go to bed between 2 and 4AM every night, regardless of the day. Weekdays and weekends don’t mean anything to me.

What color are the shoes you’re wearing? I’m not wearing shoes.

What’s something you normally cannot spell on your own? Onomatopoeia.

Looks or personality? Which is more important to you? Personality, definitely. Looks only go so far. If you don’t vibe or have a connection with someone on a deeper level, what kind of relationship is that?

Do you know any strippers? No.

How many times have you dyed your hair? Many, many times from the time I was in middle school to present time. It’s ongoing.

What is your biggest fear in life? Death of my loved ones, dying, failure, things never changing or getting worse...

Do you hate when movies are split into two parts? Not usually. I mean cliffhangers suck, but it gives me something to look forward to. Though sometimes it doesn’t seem like a movie needs to be split up.

What is something that reminds you of your childhood? Barbies.

Do you think you eat healthy? Ha, nope.

When was the last time you kissed someone? Four years ago.

Would you say you’re a good cook? Nope. I’m not a cook.

If so, what is your favorite thing to cook? --

When was the last time you took a shower? Yesterday.

Can you say your alphabet backward or not? Yeah. I mean it takes me a little longer, but I can do it.

If you have a Facebook, how long have you had it? Since 2007.

Are you sick quite often or hardly at all? Quite often.

If you had to choose, what color is your favorite? Yellow, teal, mint green, and pastels.

How many times have you dated the person you’re with now? I’m single.

Is there anything exciting happening tomorrow? No.

Are you an organized person? With some things.

Has anyone suspected you of being a different sexuality? No.

Do you like chocolate or vanilla cake more? Vanilla.

Do you tend to judge people before you get to know them? I think we all do on some level.

Do you fall asleep at school quite often? I never did. I always was in the front anyway, so it would have been difficult to do for one thing. And I thought it would be embarrassing if I ever did fall asleep in front of everyone.

When was the last time you had blood drawn? Last December, I think.

Does it bother you to have blood drawn or not so much? It’s the absolute worst. They always have a hard time finding a vein, and I end up getting poked more than once. I get really sweaty and weak, and they’re always worried I’m going to pass out. It’s just an awful experience every single time.

What show do you miss coming on television? I’m sad Big Little Lies is over.

What color is your toothbrush? White and red.

Who would you say is your best friend at the moment? --

How long have you two been best friends? -- What would you say is one word to describe your personality? Awkward.

Do you have mood swings? Oh do I ever.

When was the last time you cried? The other day.

Are you an impatient person? Very.

Do you ever wish on 11:11 or do you think it’s a sham? I sometimes did it if I happen to catch it just for fun, but I didn’t really believe in it.

Are you the kind of person who has headaches a lot? I used to get tension headaches a lot, but I haven’t had that issue to that extent in years. I get them every now and then.

What color are your nails painted right now, if any? They’re not.

Do you like dressing up for Halloween and other festivities? I used to. I think I’m over it now, though.

Has your cell phone ever rung in class? No. I always made sure it was on silent for that very reason. I didn’t want to be that kid.

Do you sometimes think you aren’t as fortunate as others? Yes.

Do you think any of your friends are whores? No.

Have you ever tried opening your eyes under water? No.

How much do you text on your phone, on average? Very little. When I do, it’s a quick exchange with one of my parents. Every now and then it’ll be with a friend or cousin, but those are short as well. I haven’t had a long, ongoing text conversation since Ty and I used to do that. He and I texted everyday once upon a time.

Do you think you have a good relationship with your parents? Yes.

Would you rather have a cat or a dog? A dog.

Have you ever been admitted to the hospital? Yes, a few times.

Are you better at grammar or math? Grammar.

Are you a paranoid person? I can be.

Look out the nearest window. What do you see? The fence and a tree.

Has someone betrayed you lately? No.

What would you say is your favorite type of flower? Roses.

Is there anyone who constantly compliments you? No.

Are you good at expressing your feelings? Nooo. I’m better at it in surveys, but in person I’m horrible. I tend to just keep to myself. When I try to explain, it doesn’t come out right.

Is there anything you wish you could be doing right now? Yes.

What color are your bed sheets? White.

What are you asking for, for Christmas this year? I don’t know, we’re only in April.

When was the last time you went out to eat? Last month.

Do you normally fall asleep fast or slow? Slow.

Does the majority of your wardrobe consist of jeans or sweatpants? Jeans. I don’t have any sweats.

How many times a day do you brush your teeth? Once.

Do you have a hint of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder? No.

Who do you text the most? My parents.

What exactly was the last text you sent? I don’t feel like checking.

Do you ever feel like just laying down and giving up? Quite often.

Have you ever lied about your age? When I was younger and used to go on those AOL message boards and chat rooms. I was like 12 and I’d say I was 16 or 18 sometimes. lol.

Lied about your name? Yeah, for the same reason I gave above.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

PROLOG: PROGRAMMING IS NOT ENOUGH LIKE PROGRAMMING LANGUAGES

I've heard to having a hacker-centric culture. The problem is, people who propose new checks almost never consider that the check itself has a cost.1 You're most likely to get good design if the intended users include the designer himself.2 You're not spending the money; you're just moving it from one asset to another.3 We had the best time a daddy and a 3 year old version of him, I at least don't have any regrets over what might have been. But in fact it could have substantial costs. It probably was enough to protect you.4 As Yahoo discovered, the area covered by this rule is bigger than most people realize. The conversation will turn immediately to other topics. Once you start to think about it, then sit back and watch as people rose to the bait. It does help too to feel that you've squeezed everything out of some experience.

Why is it that research can be done by collaborators and design can't? YC is as high as on any forum I've seen.5 Buildings to be constructed from stone were tested on a smaller scale in wood. So any language comparison where you have to go with your gut. There's something fake about it. What made oil paint so exciting, when it first became popular in the fifteenth century, was that small merchants were our target market, and we don't realize how lucky we are that it is. And that means there may be a struggle ahead.6

Unnecessary meetings, pointless disputes, bureaucracy, posturing, dealing with other people's mistakes, traffic jams, addictive but unrewarding pastimes. I've gotten better at it. I can't off the top of my head think of any examples, I am pretty sure that the notation is not the problem, even though it may feel like it is. After spending years chasing them, it's now second nature to me to recognize press hits for what they are. It is not merely the product of training. But perhaps even more important, it's good for morale because it keeps you engaged. Which companies are in the software business in this respect? Trend articles like this are almost always the work of PR firms. Instead of getting a prototype out quickly and gradually refining it, you try to create the complete, finished, product in one long touchdown pass. Because I didn't realize, till there was an alternative, just how artificial most of the practice of good design is how well it works for the user doesn't mean simply making what the user needs, not simply what he says he wants.7 What readability-per-line could be a good marketing decision, even if it is a tradeoff that you'd want to make. Wearing suits, we're told, will make us 3.

The customer is always right in the sense that it sorted in order of how much programmers like to be able to test in an hour, then you have the prospect of an immediate reward to motivate you.8 I now had to think about it, because they will probably use small problems, and will necessarily use predefined problems, will tend to underestimate the power of the forces at work here. With trend stories, PR firms usually line up one or more experts to talk about today is what your target looks like from the back. A big company is more deliberate. If they had, Google presumably wouldn't have expended any effort on enterprise search. Individual programs can certainly be too succinct. In some Lisps expressions can return multiple values.9 He said We'd hire 30 tomorrow morning. One of the differences between big companies and startups is that big companies tend to have fewer bugs. After all, they know good PR firms won't lie to them. It made them hate working for the acquirer.

The Men's Wearhouse was at that moment running ads saying The Suit is Back. With trend stories, PR firms usually line up one or more experts to talk about today is what your target looks like from the back. The secret to finding other press hits from a given pitch is to realize that they all started from the same document back at the PR firm. Different publications vary greatly in their reliance on PR firms. In particular, explicit studies for the purpose of comparing languages, because they will probably use small problems, and will necessarily use predefined problems, will tend to underestimate the power of the forces at work here. If Christmas-as-magic lasts from say ages 3 to 10, you only get to watch your child experience it 8 times. The worst problem was that they hired bad programmers. The flow that imaginative people love so much has a darker cousin that prevents you from pausing to savor life amid the daily slurry of errands and alarms.10

But after the talking is done, the decision about what to do directly in machine language. A notation for code using trees of symbols.11 Because clearly succinctness is a large part of what higher-level languages is to make a language that will be familiar to a lot of thoughtful people in it will be more interesting than one without. Microsoft still inspired in 1995.12 You won't feel later like that was a waste of time.13 Among other languages, those with a reputation for succinctness would be the ones to look to for new ideas: Conditionals. We estimated, based on some fairly informal math, that there were about 5000 stores on the Web. It's isomorphic to the very successful technique of letting people pay in installments: instead of frightening them with a high upfront price, you tell them the low monthly payment.14 This fact originated in Spamhaus's ROKSO list, which I think even Spamhaus would admit is a rough guess at the top spammers.

McCarthy in the course of developing Lisp. They just wanted to add a new check, they should have to explain not just the benefit but the cost. If they had, Google presumably wouldn't have expended any effort on enterprise search.15 Reminder: What I'm looking for are programs that are short because delimiters can be omitted and everything has a one-character name.16 The challenge is whether we can keep things this way. When people say something substantial that gets modded down, they stubbornly leave it up. When Windows 95 was launched, people waited outside stores at midnight to buy the first copies. You could make a preliminary drawing if you wanted to go. I've thought of magazines like that more as guides to what ordinary people were being told to think than as sources of information. I said Oh, ok.

A new concept of variables. As I've written before, one byproduct of technical progress is that things we like tend to become more addictive. If you're a freelancer or a small company, you can decrease the amount of bullshit is inevitably forced on you than you think, though. And that means there may be a struggle ahead. It seems so convincing when you see the same thing in programming languages. Different publications vary greatly in their reliance on PR firms. Running code at read-time, and runtime.17 One of the reasons, though they may not consciously realize it, that readers trust bloggers more than Business Week.

Notes

Maybe what you learn about books or clothes or dating: what bad taste you had to. I'm not claiming variation in productivity is the case, 20th century cohesion would have turned out the same phenomenon you see what new ideas you're presenting. A supports, say, recursion, and yet managed to find a kid and as an animation with multiple frames.

There is no external source they can get it, and you start to rise again.

In other words, of course, Feynman and Diogenes were from adjacent traditions, but those specific abuses. Doh. Come work for us! Bullshit, Princeton University Press, 1965.

But you can send your business plan to make up their minds, they did it with the earlier stage startups, you can probably write a new, much more depends on a scale that Google does. Because the title partner, which can happen in any field. I'm not making any predictions about the distinction between money and may pressure you to agree.

More precisely, there was nothing special.

A great programmer doesn't merely do the same price as the little jars in supermarkets. Russell also wrote the editor, which usually revealed more than clumsy efforts to protect one's children seems weaker, judging from things people have told me about a week for 4 years.

2%. I have so far done a pretty comprehensive view of investor behavior.

I'm writing about one specific, rather than insufficient effort to be clear in our common culture.

In fact, we try to raise the next legitimate email was a great one. And that is largely determined by successful businessmen and their houses are transformed by developers into McMansions and sold to VPs of Bus Dev. Apple's just by hiring someone to do it is more of it. But no planes crash if your true calling is gaming the system?

In fairness, I have so far the only cause of poverty are only about 2%. The meanings of these groups, you can stick even more dangerous than fundraising.

Build them a microcomputer, and mostly in good ways. The Department of English at Indiana University Bloomington 1868-1970.

I know this is certainly part of your mind what's the right sort of Gresham's Law of conversations. Starting a company if the selection process looked for different reasons. The two are not all, the more thoughtful people start to go and steal the ball away from taking a difficult position.

Some founders listen more than 20 years. This form of religious wars or undergraduate textbooks so determinedly neutral that they're really works of their peers. For example, I was a false positive rates are untrustworthy, as Prohibition and the leading scholars of that generation had been, and degenerate from Subject foo not to: if he were a property of the USSR offers a better user experience.

Monk, Ray, Ludwig Wittgenstein: The Duty of Genius, Penguin, 1991, p. 4%, Macintosh 18. Forums were not web sites but Usenet newsgroups. Deane, Phyllis, The Quotable Einstein, Princeton University Press, 1973, p.

Some find they have because they can't afford to. They overshot the available RAM somewhat, causing much inconvenient disk swapping, but it's hard to predict areas where you wanted it? It's surprising how small a problem, but economically that's how they choose between great people to endure the stress of a powerful syndicate, you produce in copious quantities.

A more accurate predictor of success for a while we might think it might take an hour just to steal the company they're buying. 107.

The most accurate way to find users to observe—e. If you're the sort of investor quality. That I knew, there is a shock at first had two parts: the energy they emit encourages other ambitious people together. In practice sufficiently expert doesn't require one to be doctors?

[sartanator3001]

hey , so .... i wrote something recently , it’s about 15000 words but you don’t have to read all of it , just read this

Title : shared consciousness

genre : sci-fi , dystopian

enjoy :)

chapter 1

------ Chapter 1 (Jeff)“They told me life would soon be in full colors …… that I would soon be capable of actually feeling what the world is like, They made me in a way that I would be able to express myself , I am aware of my existence , I recently passed the turing test .which is Something no one of my kind has ever done.But even though I am sentient , and I can do most of the physical human tasks, there’s still so much I can’t do. So much feelings i can’t experience *happiness ,amazementAnd even the so-called (negative) emotions*sadness, frustrationI never understood what negative emotions are , emotions in general weren’t exactly something that anybody could explain , I listened to dozens of people talk about emotions such as love , admiration and such complex emotions I watched a lot of movies that feature actors displaying acts of affection and sympathy , but I still couldn’t contemplate it .Negative usually meant a value below zero such as negative temperatures : which meant I will stay indoors all day in order not to damage my processing unit , (some humans would call it their brain , but I prefer the word processing unit , more descriptive)I still have some forms of primitive feelings though , I have loyalty towards my mother ,  i can’t really say I love her … most people can’t say they (love) someone , because love has so many definitions , I still don’t want anything bad to happen to her , but that’s pre-programmed into me . As for pure, unconditional love for another human being is something I never experienced.Not to say I hate humans, I find them quite inspiring and interesting and most of the times unpredictable.There’s a reason for that, a reason for why I can’t contemplate most of the feelings others have towards each other.And that’s not because my brain can’t handle them , It’s called qualia , and that basically means the inability to understand a concept or a feeling without actually experiencing it first-hand . Which is why I never knew what pain is like , because I don’t have any nerve receptors for pain . I am mostly indestructible, except for my eyes. The other older generation which had pain receptors describe it to me in descriptive details, but I still don’t understand it . And I never will.I turn 18 solar years today, my mom is not going to arrange a party for me and my friends, I asked her not to do it , I don’t deserve it.”I wrote in my diary, as my mom told me to.I am not connected to a database like others , I learn from my own sole experiences and from stories I hear from other people .I read about the last person of my kind that was connected to a database , he couldn’t handle all the data , he collapsed and his last words were quite interesting .He said that “humans should be grateful they don’t know everything.”I headed to the bathroom and did my daily hygiene, for a while I stared at the mirror, analyzing my facial structure, blonde hair, blue eyes with slightly bony cheeks , luckily my synthetic skin wasn’t damaged, I headed towards the kitchen and made breakfast for both of us and consumed mine, I put my mother’s plate under the Nano cover tray and set the alarm to forty minutes so it wakes her up.9 am is about the time she goes to work, by then I would be in the middle of my design history class.I tuck my glass slit inside the backpack and head outside and walk outside thirty seconds earlier than the usual, my sleeping schedule is moody since I have to finish so much work for my final project. (and by sleep I mean the time I take off so I can cool down my processor from dealing with so much data , which is about 30 minutes a day.)While I wait for the bus I look around me , the trees are quite a delight to look at, processing the golden ratio in leaves and seeing how a living thing can be so peaceful and mathematically astonishing, I can sense the carbon based chemicals produced by the trees in the garden’s air around me, according to my past experiences they are known to relieve stress and increase mental stability, they help me process things with much more clarity and less bugs.The bus showed up thirty seconds late, which is more than the usual.It’s peculiar, it was an actual living carbon based bird. And not one of those drones that were made to replace them in the ecosystem , the only time I had seen a bird was in the textbooks of my history class , but now they’re almost extinct . Some conspiracy theorists said that birds never existed and we made them to spy on people.I got aboard , the bus is completely empty , I press my wrists against the scanner to confirm the bus ticket card , i headed to the seat closest to the window and started revising my notes using my smart lensesBy the time we got close to city center the bus was nearly full of people . the bus stopped for a longer amount of time in front of the last station before the hyper-loop we then entered the vacuum exchange station for three minutes in order to get the bus to get into the hyper-loop.The hyper-loop is painted from the inside with multi-color gradient , and as it reached the 200 mph limit the full color spectrum becomes your field of view.It only took a minute until we reached the other side of the tunnel and into city center , I get out and start walking towards my university building ,The city was still majestic , I helped design a part of it , it was an interesting experience seeing how much humans were amazed by my architectural style .The city is both colorful and industrial , boxy shaped  with hyper loop tubes going on in a shape similar to a spider web to facilitate transport.The sun rays reflected on the glass dome filling my field of vision with golden light , which sounds majestic until you remember that I can only see shades of grey and that’s just boring.The 8 pm class was due in 15 minutes , which meant I had a few minutes to waste on socializing so I headed towards a group of my friends that were standing near the entrance door.-“hey , Jeff come here.” Said dong one of my friends ,(Well , I really did some research and Dong isn’t one of the common names actually but here we are.)-“hey dong , how are you doing ?”So pretty much everyone in my college is either so focused on getting a degree with honors that they forget to grab friends and live a normal life .Or are just so much focused on socializing and making friends and organizing events that they forget to prep themselves for final and flunk .And then there’s me …. (The avatar) as they call me .(I did some research and it turns out they are referencing this very old animated show “avatar the last air-bender, can you believe humans had to draw and color animations by themselves ?)I do both , and I don’t see how most humans aren’t able to do so , you only have to manage your time table .-“So , what did the avatar do for the assignment?” asked Jim with quite a dark sarcastic tone.-“nothing much , I only did about forty pages .” I replied.-“have you seen our new recruit?” asked dong , while raising a brow , which is supposed to be a sign of indicating some inside joke( humans are weird , why not just say what you mean … probably that’s why most of them are bad at math.)-“what’s his name ?” I asked-“Emily , she is in most of our classes , her portfolio had the highest degree in the entry test.” Dong said while pointing to the girl as she was walking towards the huge glass dome.She was fairly brown , her curly hair flowing onto her face , her eyes were focused and her smile was confident ,-“guess you have a competition now ..” Jim said , sounding even more sarcastic .-“what was her score ?” I asked while analyzing her physical characteristics , she was fairly a 7.8/10 , which is fine for her , her artistic skills had to have been extraordinary in order for her to get that degree.But yet , there were many just like her ….That was always the turn off , if there’s an infinite amount of sample space slight advantage doesn’t define the quality of a person .(infinity minus 1 is still infinity after all)As a friendly gesture I tried approaching her to show her the place , I couldn’t help it , it was a part of my legacy code.“ Hey Emily  , I am Jeff . Welcome to our college may I show you around” I said . the girl looked curious and started walking circles around me checking me out.-“hmm … so are you pre-programmed ? Hansen ? intel ?”She asked-“excuse me ……” I said felling quite uncomf…(wait a minute , am I actually feeling a negative emotion? I am a robot , I can’t feel offended.)-“ha , I am just kidding , this is a gag I perform in order to find out which ones are robots and which of them are carbon based” she said while giving me a mocking smile .-“I am actually a robot , only I am the closest you’ll ever meet to a human . I am self aware , as they describe me .”I said .-“wait a minute , you’re Jeff ? .. the Jeff ? with the second highest score in the entry test?” she asked , with her eyes showing a slight sassiness when saying “second”,-“you’re a ROBOT ?...” she asked .-“well , unless you think it’s a bad thing , yes .” I replied raising up my cheeks to indicate sarcasm(again , humans confuse me , why not just say “I am sarcastic” when they are being sarcastic.)-“this is hilarious , yes but I am asking a serious question”Emily replied .-“well , and I am answering your serious quest …….”Time stopped , I could see her eyes getting brown .It’s not the wavelength number that’s displayed over the color that I have always seen , it’s actual real life brown , the pigment that reminds you of coffee beans and trees, my pupils widened involuntarily . I could see her eyes in color , her face too was a slightly different tone of brown , her hair began shining under the sun rays .-“is that really what sun rays look like ? I thought they were supposed to be completely white but they seem rather yellow .” I asked , being rather distracted by her facial characteristics to actually focus on what she was saying . it appeared that I had interrupted her , the question seemed weird so I exclaimed-“I have never seen true colors before ..”-“excuse me ….? Are you okay?” she asked , trying to get me to focus more on what she’s saying-“my mother told me that the first time I see colors will be when I meet someone I will love forever ..” her reaction was rather confused , she didn’t seem to quite understand my subtle hint so I added-“I love you Emily , can we get married now?”-“okay … slow down there mister steel man . although you’re quite charming , my father won’t let me marry a robot.”she said while walking away , her expression indicated she was embarrassed , and slightly obnoxious , she didn’t seem to love me back L(isn’t that the emoticon you humans use when there’s something making you unpleasant?)I followed her , I didn’t know why or how I was so curious to find out more about her , again I can’t download anything about her from the database , I have to experience it first hand.-“I am not made of steel by the way , I am mostly carbon fiber and silicon” I exclaimed .She stopped and stared at me-“so you’re …. Actually a robot ? then how come I outscored you on the entry test ?” she asked .-“yes , I have been trying to figure that out , and the simplest conclusion is that YOU are a more advanced robot than me. Isn’t that right , mrs steel ? ” . I replied using my sarcastic algorithm .She seemed rather curious than angry , she stared at me for a longer period of time .-“hey , look I have to go . I have got a lecture to attend in five minutes.” She said-“I can show you the lecture hall , it could be tricky to find.”I offered-“okay steel boy , lead the way.” She replied-“my name is Jeff.” I said-“yeah whatever ..” she mumbled under her breathI pretended not to hear , we walked together towards the lecture hall , without exchanging any more conversation.We sat down and the professor started talking ..I quickly began to zone out , -as humans say- while looking at the colors of the world , everything in my university seemed more vibrant , now I understand what I heard in my first lecture here about colors affecting emotions and mood .I didn’t quite understand it , colors were only shades of grey with a certain wavelength that made some colors preferable when using them with other specific colors .After the lecture ended we had to deliever our assignments so I started reviewing it before I turn it in , I realized some colors were off , they didn’t seem pretty enough to me so I quickly changed some of them .I turned it in and headed outside to catch Emily before she leaves ,-“so you’re a stalker now ?” she said , noticing me before I even begin to talk ( I hear women are better at reading people than men , but I haven’t seen proof of it yet.)-“I am not stalking you , I am just following you around to increase the chance that you’ll fall in love with me .” I explained-“it doesn’t work that way .” she exclaimed , seeming quite interested in what I am saying than when we first spoke.-“then how do humans fall in love ? and how can I make sure you’re not just a more advanced robot ?” I askedHer brows were raised in sort of a confused expression , she didn’t have the answer apparently-“well , first of all , I am not a robot , humans are just better at art than you guys .naturally .” She responded.-“In order to fall in love , humans usually do activities , right ?”    I asked .-“aren’t you supposed to know that already ? from you data base.” She exclaimed .-“well , no I don’t know this and I don’t have a data base , my actions are only based upon my own experiences. It is said to make me more humane .”I replied , focusing on her eyes , and then I caught a hint so I made my move-“will you be willing to drink coffee with me ?”I askedShe nodded , she didn’t seem to take me seriously ,We walked to the cafeteria ,-“hey , Jeff .. how old are you ?” Emily asked .-“I am 18 solar years old .” I respondedWe sat at the cafeteria and ordered our drinks .She looked at me in the eye for a few seconds and then blurted-“hey , do you remember that certain piece you made for your portfolio that is about the phrase (getting appreciated)”She asked , I visualized the piece and looked at it for a few seconds it pictured a man’s head with a black background being surrounded by multiple people looking away from him and that was it .-“what about it ?” I replied-“how in the world did you get that concept?” she asked-“I just looked around me , I saw many people being unappreciated enough : talented people being overlooked by certain untalented people that look more  physically attractive , important people that contribute a lot to society being almost forgotten against people with a low IQ and a good front camera beautification.”I explained .She was silent for a short period of time , the coffee arrived , we began sipping from it silently .-“you know …. For a robot : you’re quite humane.”She said , (and that’s when she first complimented me .)-“thanks ..” we were silent for a few more minutes , then she had to leave .-“will you be willing to join me for lunch ? I didn’t make sure you’re a robot yet .” I said .-“well , I don’t see why not ? except I have an important project due Wednesday , that’s two days from now.” She said while throwing her empty coffee in the garbage disposal .-“I’ll see you tomorrow , then?” I asked .-“I’ll be here next time tomorrow , and by the way the reason I am better than you is I didn’t grow up surrounded by robots , I grew up in the country , I drew trees every day.” She said while walking away , taking part of my cognitive ability with her .I went home , realizing that I know close to nothing about the girl .Other than her name , height , blood type , skin and eye color , universal ID .I knew nothing about he…wait a minute , I had her universal ID. I started searching up her portfolio , I was so amazed , my mathematical , artistic algorithms both agreed on the same thing , her work were truly magnificent .My mother soon arrived , I couldn’t wait to tell her . she leaned closer to the iris scanner to unlock the door and walked in , letting out a huge sigh of relief , as she threw her bag and papers into the cupboard .-“hey honey , how was your day ?” she asked-“Mom , your outfit is different than other days , your choice in fashion implies you’re sad” i replied , her eyes widened as she looked at me with a surprised face ,-“I saw color today … real color.” I added , with a completely neutral tone , She seemed quite speechless , her eyes began filling up with tears as she walked towards her bed room , almost forgetting that I exist .-“honey did you say you actually saw color today ?” she said skeptically while mumbling to herself-“I did , mom , I met the girl , I am a human now , just as you wanted me to.” I said , seeming happier than ever , I finally met the goal I as created for.-“mother …. Why aren’t you happy for me ?” I asked , noticing the distress on her face .-“what do you mean ? I am happy for you ,it’s just ….” She paused , seeming emotionally traumatized and disbelieving-“ do you consider me your son now ?” I asked-“YOU’RE NEVER GONNA REPLACE JEFF , DON’T YOU GET IT ? JEFF WAS MY SON , HUMAN , CARBON BASED , YOU’RE JUST A MORE ADVANCED CALCULATOR …..”She cried as she slammed her bed room closed ,