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lemonluvgirl · 10 months

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Ok, so this idea just would not leave me alone. I told my husband about this idea for a three-chapter Everlark modern high school AU and he really liked it and told me I should write it. So, here is the first part.

August

Junior year

Panem HS

Another year, another seat in the back of the class next to the window. Another bland teacher introduction followed by the passing out of the class syllabus. Then come the dreaded icebreakers.

Never mind that we live in a town of less than 3,000, or that our graduating class will have less than 200 members if every one of us manages to make it through the next two years of high school. And forget the fact that we’ve all been in the same grade together since kindergarten. Every single year our teachers insist on forcing us to ‘get to know each other’.

If I don’t already know the favorite season and holiday of the person sitting next to me by now I probably never will. (It’s Delly Cartwright, and hers are summer and Christmas respectively)

But everything about this class, about this day, hell, probably about this entire year will be completely predictable. The brains, like BT Latier will work their asses off to get top grades, and the sportos like Cato Anderson will try to copy their homework and cheat off them during tests. Girls like Galinda ‘Glimmer’ Franklin and Clove Moretti will ignore the no cell phones rule and regularly update their Twitter and Instagram during the lecture and will only get called out about 40% of the time.

The rest of us will just muddle through, hopefully paying enough attention to pass the exams and avoid remedial tutoring in the library with Ms. Trinket who, contrary to first impressions, is not a vapid airhead who wears too much makeup and hairspray but in reality, is a total hard ass and does everything in her power to make sure the kids she tutors pass their classes. My life is all about reducing stress and hassle, so I’ll be avoiding her at all costs this year. Besides it’s much easier to just pass the first time around than have to deal with the fallout from failing.

So I inwardly roll my eyes at the whole charade of introductions and do my best to try and look only mildly bored.

When it gets to my turn I don’t bother standing up.

“My name is Katniss Everdeen. I’m 17. I’m stubborn and good with a bow and that’s pretty much it.” I say dryly, and it gets a few chuckles.

After that, the spotlight of my peer’s attention moves on and no one spares me a second glance. Which is exactly how I prefer it. Everyone here already knows I’m not very interesting. I hate the whole school spirit scene, and I’m not in any clubs or on any committees. The last time I was voluntarily a part of something, was five years ago. I quit track in middle school so I could spend more time hunting in the woods to supplement the money from my father’s income that we lost after his death. I’ve gotten so good at it that Mr. Abernathy, the owner of the local sporting goods store, took me on as a seasonal hire last summer. I parlayed that summer gig into a year-round job that helps keep food on my family’s table, and shoes on my little sister’s feet.

My life is a series of responsibilities and expectations that my classmates could never relate to. And their lives are a carefree existence of parties, dances, and soap-opera drama that I have no interest in.

They live in their little bubbles and I live in the real world and we will go on co-existing in this way until graduation breaks the cycle.

I zone out of the rest of the class. We won’t do much work today if at all, so I allow myself the small indulgence of looking out the window and planning for this year’s hunting season which is set to open up for archery on the first of October.

That leaves me only a few weeks to finish getting the permits and stock up on the needed supplies.

This year will be harder than the years before since I’ll be hunting alone. My best friend and hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne, graduated and left for Maryland this past summer. He’ll be in Annapolis, training to become an officer and a marine while I’ll be up to my elbows in wild turkey and white-tail deer.

Even though I’m happy for him, I can’t help but feel saddened by his absence. Now there will be no one to watch my back in the woods. No one to help me carry a hundred or more pound buck back if I manage to bring one down like I did two years ago.

The only thing I can think of is maybe asking my boss, Haymitch if I can borrow his truck and if I can rig up a travois then—

The bell rings and I’m snapped out of my thoughts by the shuffle of feet and the whoops of excitement and laughter that my classmates let out at the sound of the last period ending.

I pick up my old hunter-green JanSport, that’s due for another patch of duck tape soon, sling it over one shoulder and make my way to the door.

My exit is delayed by the clump of jocks jostling each other playfully around the doorframe. I breathe out an annoyed huff as I wait for them to pass.

One of them, one of the kinder ones, turns around and shoots me an apologetic look, bright, clear blue eyes shine back at me for a moment before his friends call his attention and pull him roughly behind them. A piece of folded-up paper falls out of the side pocket of his backpack in the midst of this and lands at my feet.

I swoop down to pick it up and my mouth opens to call out his name but the words died on my lips before they can slip off my tongue.

I catch sight of something completely unexpected when I automatically glance down at the paper in my hand. It's the letters K.E. inscribed neatly on the corner that spark my curiosity and prompt my hand to open up the folded paper to see what’s inside.

I lose my ability to speak, to even think for a moment because it’s me.

I’m staring down at a picture of my own face, straight dark hair pulled back into an unseen braid that hangs down my back, while a few stray pieces fall around my eyes, framing an oval-shaped face, dark brows perch surreptitiously over slanted grey eyes and a straight nose above a generous mouth that’s for once not tilted down into a frown, but is instead caught in a relaxed position, not quite smiling but something like the ghost of it, is settled on my lips. And my head is tilted to the side, curiously.

I have no idea when he caught me making this expression. Maybe when I was looking out the window? When did he draw this? Why did he draw this? Is this some sort of practice for art class? I think he takes Ms. Portia’s intermediate art class at the same time I take shop. I’ve seen him going into that wing of the school because it’s right across from the shop building. Maybe he’s just practicing his life study skills. Maybe he’s taking turns drawing everyone in our history class.

I move forward and stick my head out the door, calling out, “Peeta,” but the hallway is empty.

I look back down at the drawing in my hand and fold it back up carefully, before slipping it into the most secure pocket of my backpack, thinking I’ll give it back to him tomorrow.

#thg #everlark #fanfiction #lemonluvwrites #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #the hunger games #high school au #modern au #Paper Hearts

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bogleech · 2 years

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Don’t want to forget the elaborately comical dream I had just now so I’m making it a post even if that’s one of the least popular kinds of posts:

Swam with someone in a dark murky river to get to a little “island,” not even ten feet of swimming and the island was barely bigger than that, but we discussed how the river allegedly had a monster in it. We never believed it was a monster, but a thin grey ridge was sticking out of the water and circling us, which we just took to be the back of a whole ass sperm whale. It made me a little nervous even though we took it to be “sweet and gentle.” But, just then, I could see a pink river dolphin in the water, which was amazing. As I got my phone out to film it, it kept popping its head out of the water to snap at me and I realized it was actually a pink Icthyosaur. I still didn’t think this was a cryptid encounter, in the dream this was only usual because these animals aren’t supposed to live in Oregon. But then it very suddenly walked onto land and I realized this was a dangerous situation. Me and the other person (whose identity kept changing) ran up some concrete stairs that were suddenly on the island, but up the stairs? HIPPOS. The most dangerous animal in the world. As the icthyosaur began to figure out what stairs were we basically slipped down through the stairs to hang off the concrete lattice supporting them, just out of reach of any animals. We felt stuck until I remembered I could call 911 by swallowing a pill. I took the 911 pill and heard the call run through my head. Unfortunately it turned out to be the 911 dispatch for my old hometown, but they said they’d send someone anyway - it would just take more than a day or two for them to travel that far. This was very understandable to me and I was very sorry for being such a bother, calling from another state like that.

Suddenly it was night time however and all the animals were asleep. We climbed back to the ground, and were no longer on an island but inside a tremendous building, which I also thought was normal. It was night time now, after all.

There were lots of different doors and different kinds of walls and I knew this place was kind of the inspiration for my webcomics, but not as interesting as my webcomics; it wouldn’t have any silly monsters or anything, just facsimiles of real world things. I figured we could hide from the animals in one of the rooms so long as nothing dangerous was in it. The room we chose opened into a beautifully high-tech looking kitchen with blue LED readouts on everything, even the cabinets, which seemed like a great place to hang out! But I foolishly walked further through and found what appeared to be the rest of an extravagant modern house, and someone was coming in through the front door. I knew that either I had stepped into someone’s actual home by mistake or I had just triggered an “event” I’d be unable to stop. I knew it was the latter when the man on the other side of the door just kept saying the same word: “GARDEN????? GARDEN?????????” so I realized he was just one of the fake human entities of this unreality. He popped his head in and I pushed it back outside, only to find that the locks on the door didn’t function. I wasn’t too scared of him but I did worry he could be dangerous or at least bothersome. I peeked out the window and saw that, rather than an outdoor area, the other side of the door looked like the inside of a large, white, sunlit tent set up as a cell phone store. For some reason I tried flipping off the “GARDEN???” man wondering if that would deter him, but he kept trying to come inside.

I decided to leave but remembered the icthyosaur and the hippos, so I went further into the house, only to step into a huge department store full of shoppers. I worried these might also be hostile so I raised a hand to say “hi” to a passing woman. She had no idea what that gesture was and weirdly put her hand to mine, squinting to understand. This was awkward and I didn’t want this human-mimic entity to feel bad (it could set them off into hostile mode!!!) so I turned it into a high five. She still didn’t know what that was and I worried again this would trigger a possibly dangerous response in the dream people, so I did what I somehow knew would work to keep them friendly: I acted like I was one of them who had brought the concept of the high five back from an exotic vacation, and ran around teaching them high fives in a dramatic musical sequence. I can’t remember the song but it was very similar to “Jump in the Line” from the end of Beetlejuice.

They were all having a great time! But then the “GARDEN???” man showed up still running straight for me and saying “GARDEN???? GARDEN??????” I didn’t know if he was going to try to harm me, so I kept “in character” and made a big show of rolling my eyes and shaking my head, looking at everyone else like I was looking into the camera on a sitcom. Ridiculous of garden man to not do the high five song!!! All the other dream people followed my lead and kept up with the song, getting in his way or distracting him. I was a little relieved that their response wasn’t to rip him apart or something. You never know with these things and it’s not like he’d done anything wrong yet. I realized I was starting to wake up from a dream and felt proud of myself for gaming its system so well. It still didn’t occur to me that this made any of the prior events fake, and I already had it in mind to tell Tumblr all about the fun day I just had with the icthyosaur, so I hope you like this story for the sake of my idiot dream-avatar’s feelings.

#dreams

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masschase · 7 months

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Horizon

Rowvember Day 5: Rebuild.

This is a short fic (1.5k words) from Dex's perspective, set in mid-2023. Dex faked his own death in 2013 in my headcanon, and was one of very few people who changed their records so successfully that not even Zinyak had him stored under his real name. He is eventually removed from the pods in one of the final waves of humans. Hopefully that's all the context needed for this!

I'm not going to do the usual description and stuff for this bc it's short and I don't want to spoil things, but it's SFW!

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Down to earth.

That's how everyone's always described him. Pragmatic. Level-headed. Grounded. Down to earth. He was never too sure whether he liked that. It felt like a responsibility he'd never signed up for. A mould he was forced into.

Be the anchor, Dex. Weigh us all down so we can go off doing our dumb shit and know you'll still be there. Keeping us down to earth.

Yeah, actually, for a long time, he didn't like it at all.

Maybe that's why after he faked his death he was always moving around. He always told himself he was just being smart. There were Saints in so many cities now. If he stayed too long, he’d be recognised for sure. Deep down though, he wasn’t just escaping people who knew him. He was escaping himself. The very essence of who he was. Dex was an anchor, not a ship. Dex never would have left Stilwater. That Dex was dead.

He survived that way for three years until a moment of serendipity changed that aimless drift. His car had broken down for no god damn reason. He hated shit like that, shit he couldn't plan, couldn’t account for. There was no cell reception on that route either. His tendency to go down the least travelled paths had backfired.

There was a diner within walking distance. The waitress, a kind older lady, told him sympathetically that no-one really came this way. Once she’d poured him some coffee she headed into the back to see if she could find her phone to charge for him. As he'd sat there, sipping in silence, wondering where the hell he was going to go from there, the cheap plastic door had swung open like a saloon door in an old western, appropriately followed by a cowboy. Or a biker. Or both.

The only objective observation Dex could make of the man was that he was clad head-to-toe in magenta leather, perfectly matched to his long curls. He didn’t suit a drab, lifeless, silent place like this. He was bold and lively and it wasn't long before he became pretty loud, too. He immediately started talking, talking a little too much, and yet somehow Dex didn’t mind that he could barely get a word in edgewise. Because he’d left his world behind already. But he knew then and there that something about that guy was otherworldly.

He spent four years bathing in the light of that man’s smile, and yet he still remembers the first time he experienced its warmth. When he sat there, trying to decide whether to wait for the waitress’s phone to charge to make a call, or accept a ride from a relative stranger, and did what he did best. He questioned everything.

Did this guy really just happen to be here? On this barely travelled route, at the same time as him? A guy who had allegedly just come up against the Saints and lived to tell the tale? A guy from Stilwater? A guy he may well have glimpsed in the street years ago? He asked his barrage of questions, expecting another continuous stream of words in response.

Instead, the reply was surprisingly understated. Because the other man listened carefully, thoughtfully. “I guess just...” he began, and that’s when the beautiful smile lit up his features. “Right place, right time.”

For four years, they ran together. Travelling. Exploring. Falling in love. Suddenly Dex didn’t mind being down to earth anymore, because his lover’s head was so high up in the clouds and it was everything, everything they both needed. Together they were the earth meeting the sky. A beautiful sunrise breaking on the horizon, just like the ones they watched together wherever they happened to be.

But like a sunrise, it was fleeting.

Four years flew by in an instant, two more in a simulation, and now earth is lost, replaced with the closest thing they have to a facsimile. It doesn't sound the same. It doesn’t feel the same. It doesn't smell the same. One part, though, looks the same. Almost exactly. So he has to admit, he's spent every morning there ever since it moved. The first rebuilt church was used as their HQ. He didn’t go near it. He wasn’t ready to face the Saints again. He certainly didn’t know how Case would respond to seeing him alive after years of thinking otherwise.

He’s proud of what she’s become, he really is. He always knew she had a good head on her shoulders. It used to mean a lot to him to have a younger Saint around. After he quickly unpicked her bullshit it turned out she was the same age as one of his sisters. But unlike his sisters, she actually seemed to listen to his advice.

But he’s not sure he can call her down-to-earth anymore, even as he lives within the infastructure she and the rest of the Saints have built for humanity. She’s down to New Earth, or Ragnarok, or her earth. This planet has multiple names but whatever you call it, she’s moved on. All the Saints have. They've moved on with their lives. To them he's dead, and has been for near enough ten years.

His heart might as well have stopped when he processed that his partner was gone.

He’s back to aimlessly drifting.

He's a ghost now. Haunting this place.

It isn’t for anything now. Not since the town was relocated, the thing re-rebuilt. He’s heard whispers. They’re too scared to make it the HQ again after the last one was destroyed. Scared it’s an easy target. So it almost feels like they rebuilt it for nothing. No one. No one but Dex, sitting there every morning at sunrise like a recurrent sinner.

He sighs and closes his eyes, tilting his head up into one of the first warm rays of sunlight beaming through the stained glass. It casts a dancing array of colors down onto the former Saint’s face. But with that ray comes a change. A break in the routine. A slight jangle of the door.

There’s a knack to it. You have to push down the handle, but not too hard, just short of all the way down. He knows it.

Casey probably knows it too.

He turns his head towards the noise, trying to make out a shape in the glass. The dawn is still breaking, it’s not the easiest to see. About the right height; 5’9” or so, maybe a little taller with heels on. A lot of hair. The shoulders look a little broader. But then he’s seen her wearing her boyfriend’s jacket before, when he’s been watching from afar. It looks like a Boss alright.

This might just be judgement day.

Maybe it’ll be OK. Maybe she’ll just be glad to see him alive. He knows she’s not the most forgiving type, but she has a great deal of dedication for her friends. He can’t tell where he sits between those two extremes. He’s an anomaly.

He’s going to have to talk fast. He has no weapon, despite the fact that in the back of his mind he already knew she’d come one day. While he didn’t seek death, he wasn’t actively resisting it either. Perhaps he’ll make a joke out of it. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I ain’t Jules.”. The sort of thing she’d love. He’s not exactly coming up with the smartest shit right now, but he has to come up with something.

But the door opens, and it’s definitely not the leader of the Saints.

The magenta hair remains but it’s cut a little shorter. The man dressed entirely differently to how he dressed before the earth was lost. Stylish as ever, but nowhere near as colorful. Like something has been stripped from him. Ivory shirt, black pants and boots, long black coat. The stetson remains but it’s a new, pure black one, not the one Dex was never entirely keen on because it had belonged to the dead boyfriend. He almost looks like a vampire hunter.

Or... maybe... maybe a ghost hunter.

There’s a stunned silence between the two. It seems impossible. It should be impossible. But still their feet are advancing in a quickening tandem across the floor and the feel and the sound and the range of emotions overcoming Dex as they near each other make it all seem so real.

He doesn’t quite believe it. He tries to be lighthearted about it as he moves closer, but his voice is trembling. “Let me guess. Right place right t-“

He is interrupted as the other man closes the gap and smashes their lips together passionately, wrapping him in a desperate embrace.

Dex's heart and mind trade places at that moment. The former races incessantly and the latter just... stops. Stops focusing on the what and the why and the how of what is going on. The time doesn’t matter. The planet doesn’t matter. Even the church doesn’t matter, because all that matters is the earth and the sky colliding into a perfect sunrise.

Anteros is here.

Dex is alive again.

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Look, Dexteros isn’t just a ship, guys, it’s poetry.

So... Ted if you read this, hiiiii! I didn't tag you yet but will later because I thought you'd probably read a thing about Dex anyway and that it would be a nice surprise just to see your own OC pop up! Happy (early) Birthday! xD

Tagging/crediting now: Anteros and his dynamic with Dex are very much the creations of @whoredmode

Everyone else, for further clarification, here are a few posts about Anteros’s place in Casey’s universe! There are probably gaps that I’ve probably thought about but not written anywhere but I’m always happy to answer questions!

#i'm nervous bc idk how well i edited this but i'm also super happy with it #saints row #post-sriv #rowvember #rowvember 2023 #dex jackson #sr boss: anteros prince #dexteros #masschase rowvember tag

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bruinhilda · 1 year

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So. It seems they did a movie “based on” the Missile Alert debacle back in 2018. Only, y’know, they made it an actual missile and all.

The trailer is painfully bad. The vibe I’m getting from the ads is that this is a Christian film desperately trying to hide that fact. There is a review on IMDB gushing about how wonderful it is and how it changed the reviewer. Please note that the film won’t be released for another two days. Funny how this review is dated from 2020 on a 2023 movie.

As someone who lived through the actual event, let me go over what actually happened:

On Saturday, January 13th, 2018, a large portion of cell phones in the State of Hawaii went off with the emergency alert. Until this event, this was not an unusual thing. We’d get this every goddamn time it rained hard, because any rain can cause the streams to flash flood and drown anyone fooling around nearby. However, as it was bright and sunny that day, everyone went, “uh-oh. Tsunami?” As tsunami alerts are the other thing out here you can expect to set off the emergency alert tone on your phone.

I believe my exact words upon picking up my phone and seeing the missile alert message was, “you have got to be fucking kidding me!”

We hadn’t opened yet, so step one was get all of the staff in the work room to minimize the number of windows we were next to. Step two was try to find any official word from anybody about what was going and and what we should do, if anything.

There was no word from ANYBODY, official or otherwise, for over half an hour. Not even a,”yeah, we got this message, we’re trying to find out what’s going on” from the TV or radio news. Nothing on the official websites either. The period is referred to as the “38 minutes of terror,” and this was the main scandal, aside from the fact it happened at all.

Some people did panic. There was an incident of parents putting their kids down into the sewer in Honolulu. Reportedly, there was at least one heart attack caused by it. People parked in the tunnels on the H-3 highway. Some stores hauled people in off the street, and put them in back rooms or coolers or anywhere it seemed like shelter. Wal-Mart, by contrast, reportedly threw ALL their customers outside and locked the doors. A lot of people called loved ones to say goodbye, just in case. Our security guard would end up being several hours late, because his neighbors were military, and they dragged him to the bomb shelter on the base, which was crowded with people, because in spite of the official armed forces “we knew it was fake,” stance, they still put their people into their bomb shelters until the official all-clear.

But for the majority? Concern mixed with general disbelief. The sirens never went off in most areas, which probably kept the panic down, but the lack of any word for so long actually made some of us wonder if it was for real, and that the people in charge just couldn’t find their own asses, or be bothered to give anyone instructions. Certainly the news before this had been full of “North Korea has missiles that can probably reach California, therefore they DEFINITELY have missiles that can hit Hawaii. We’re boned, people!” Which is probably why our first thought wasn’t tasteless prank, or hacker trying to terrorize people. It was plausible to us.

The Governor FINALLY got into his Twitter account, and word got around that it was a false alarm after all. We opened at our normal time. Some people laughed, some were pissed. Pretty much everyone was glad it was a false alert, rather than an actual nuclear threat. (I discovered my coworkers had never even heard of Duck and Cover, much less had any idea there was actual advice, pointless or otherwise, of what do do in the event of a bomb.)

The investigation found some shitty management in the department (said managers all resigning pretty much that week, because they knew they done fucked up), but the actual fuckup was caused by a dipshit on staff who set if off, apparently thinking the drill was the real deal, and then refusing to do anything to fix it, or even move out of his chair, while his coworkers scrambled to unshit the bed.

I call this person a dipshit because he subsequently refused to take any responsibility for the fuckup, went ON THE NEWS insisting he wasn’t to blame (while his superiors had taken great care to not release any identifying information about “the individual” in order to protect him from death threats and lawsuits,) and couldn’t decide on “I thought it was real,” or “I knew it was a drill but triggered it by accident,” as his defense. The official report noted that pretty much all of his coworkers had been complaining about his incompetence for years, while management did nothing. Even the union apparently agreed, because he was fired.

Nobody has any confidence that they’ve really improved the system. What did change is that Hawaii will no longer issue alerts for ballistic missiles. As in, if it happens for real, we will NOT be informed beforehand. Obviously that’s easier than making the alert system better, and/or creating actual shelters and plans for the civilian populace.

So, y’know, if you do decide to watch this “20 Minutes” movie, keep that in mind. We will first know about an incoming missile when it explodes something. Nobody’s gonna tell us beforehand to give us time to “get right with Jesus” or whatever. And while I love me a good bad disaster movie, just the trailer made my head hurt. I’m not watching any more of THAT.

If I want a completely fake “based on real events” movie experience, I’ll go watch Cocaine Bear, a movie that loudly and proudly owns its ridiculousness.

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notthatkindofsoulmate · 2 years

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All The President's Journals

For reference purposes, here are all of Roland's journals from the Timeless Tome DLC as screenshots with transcriptions:

Log No. 1: This is a Test So it didn’t take long for my cell phone to die. Figuring I wasn’t going to be able to source a charger anytime soon, I needed to find somewhere else to write down my thoughts. This Leafbook thing looks like it’s got a Private Mode so let’s see if it works…

Log No. 2: The Higgledies Back home, some kids imagine there are fairies at the bottom of their garden. But here they don’t have fairies—they have higgledies. And they’re real. Seems not everyone can see them, but it looks like I’m one of the lucky ones who can.

Log No. 3: Wyverns The monsters in this world are nothing like I’ve seen—outside of movies, at least. We’re talking living skeletons, sentient blobs of goo, you name it. Luckily, most of them aren’t too smart, but the wyverns are different. They speak, and sometimes they take humans hostage…

Log No. 4: To Be a King To become a king in this world, you have to make a pact with a creature known as a king-maker. But in order to do that, you first have to pass a test. One which involves fighting. Suffice to say, it’s way more dangerous than becoming president-even if you’re not a kid!

Log No. 5: Untitled Evan’s still just a kid, but he’s already been through a lot. He kind of reminds me of my son. He had to go through a lot too… What I wouldn’t give to see him again… But I think that world is gone. The only question is why I survived…and what I’m doing here.

Log No. 6: The Heartlands If you’re going to build a kingdom, location is everything. I convinced the pirate lady who runs the store to give me a map, and I think I might’ve found the perfect spot. Evan liked the idea and Lofty had no objections either. Now the only problem is the bandits…

Log No. 7: Goldpaw In Goldpaw, they have a ceremony in the main square where they decided the taxes for the coming month by rolling a giant die. There are many ways to run a country, but letting fate decide’s a new one on me. It’s not what you’d call responsible policy making…

Log No. 8: The Trial So it looks like I’m going to play prosecutor in the trial of Pugnacius. I’m used to arguing my case, so I guess I’m the man for the job, and it didn’t seem fair leaving it to Evan. I just wish I didn’t look so darned young!

Log No. 9: Evermore Well, it’s been quite the ride for young Evan. He’s gone from being exiled in a coup to founding his own kingdom, all in the space of a few months. To say I’ve enjoyed it would be an understatement—and Evermore’s story is just beginning. Long live the king!

Log No. 10: Untitled I dreamed of my son last night. We were in the ward. I spoke to him, but there was no response. No way to reach him. But I have to leave the past behind. I’ve got a life here, and people who rely on me. No time to wallow. Still, you can’t choose what you dream about.

Log No. 11: Untitled I can’t afford to waste time listing up all my regrets. This journal was meant to help me stay focused. Right now, my fighting skills are my top priority. I’ve got some spells under my belt, and my sword skills aren’t so bad. As for shooting, what can I say? I’m a natural.

Log No. 12: Boddly You don’t normally have to fight bandits and dragons to get a library card. It makes me wonder what Boddly’s really up to. I get the feeling she’s trying to teach us things that are going to come in handy in the future. I’d ask, but she’s not exactly one for straight answers.

Log No. 13: We Need a Boat I thought with all the magic in this world, you wouldn’t need old-fashioned things like boats to get around, but it seems I was wrong. And here I was waiting for my broomstick to arrive… I can’t deny I’m a little disappointed, but I guess I’ll perk up when we finally set sail.

Log No. 14: Privacy? Forget it… Hydropolis is what we would call a police state. The Queen has her people under 24/7 surveillance and pretty much everything is banned—even love. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she has issues. We had some strange laws back home, but nothing came close to this.

Log No. 15: Hats Off to Lofty Hoping to meet with Leander, Evan and Tani acted out a proposal scene with Lofty directing. I have to say, the guy has some pretty smart ideas on occasion. But then he can’t be that stupid—Evan had to take the Trial of Knowledge before he’d work with him.

Log No. 16: Pirate Power Tani and Batu are always up at the crack of dawn, making a racket. It sure beats an alarm clock. They make a point of going around town and talking to people every day. Some were a little wary of sky pirates at first, but they soon warmed up to them. I’m impressed.

Log No. 17: Broadleaf It was quite the surprise to find a place with technology that wasn’t so far from what we have at home. Not that it’s exactly the same, of course. Entering Broadleaf was like going from a fantasy epic to a sci-fi movie, with the protests leading things an aptly dystopian feel.

Log No. 18: Robots Everywhere When I was a kid, I remember pestering my mom to buy me this robot I’d seen in a toy store. When I finally got it, it was the happiest day of my life. Now we’re going around Broadleaf battling robots that look a whole lot like it. Funny how life turns out…

Log No. 19: Lofty’s All Grown Up Lofty’s transformation was something else. When Evan first told me we were going to meet a kingmaker, that’s exactly the kind of fantastical beast I imagined. But if that’s the real Lofty, does that mean every kingmaker has a mini version? I can’t quite picture it…

Log No. 20: Doloran So who exactly is this Doloran? All we know right now is that he wears a snake mask and goes around stealing kingsbonds. He’s got three so far, and you have to wonder when he’s going to come for Evan’s. I just hope I don’t get another headache when he does…

Log No. 21: The Plot Thickens I spoke to Leander about the Mark of Kings and he came up with one heck of an idea—we could use it to negotiate with Mausinger. Trust him to think outside the box. Anyway, we hatched a daring plan. Now let’s see if we have the acting chops to pull it off…

Log No. 22: Whose Idea was That!? Leander and Bracken teamed up to make the gear I took on my mission to Ding Dong Dell, using some ideas I got from old spy flicks. But I definitely don’t recall mentioning pills that turn you into a frog. I was convinced I’d be stuck that way forever!

Log No. 23: A Trip to the Crypt It seems there’s a crypt in Ding Dong Dell where all of Evan’s ancestors are buried. I guess if things had worked out differently, it’s where he would have ended up one day. Should be an interesting trip—I hear there are royal quotes carved on all the headstones.

Log No. 24: A Royal Pardon Ordinarily, anyone who orchestrated a coup, killed the King, and banished his son and heir wouldn’t warrant forgiveness, but it seems Evan and his late father see things differently. That kid really is one in a million. The people of Evermore are lucky to have him.

Log No. 25: What’s Going On? So here are the facts: I don’t look a day over twenty, there’s not a scratch on me from the attack…and there’s a kid here with cat ears and a tail. Real ones. So what does it all mean? I guess I’m either in a hospital war somewhere, dreaming all this…or I’m dead.

Log No. 26: Trouble Afoot Doloran finally surfaced, and he’s wreaking havoc on the world. He’s reawakened a creature known as the Horned One and is stealing people’s should en masse, turning them into empty husks. I’d say it felt like a movie, but no—no, this feels all too real.

Log No. 27: Untitled I couldn’t protect him. My own son… I don’t know what I just saw—if it was real or just an illusion, some dark dream caused by the evil flooding the world. But what can I do? I have no way of knowing what became of him. All I have are my memories…and my pain.

Log No. 28: Keeping Hope Alive If we don’t do something about the Horned One, this world could end up in an even worse state than mine. I couldn’t do anything to prevent what happened back home, but at least I can stop it from happening again. With Evan at my side, nothing is impossible.

Log No. 29: A Faint Memory I remember looking up and seeing the missile…and I have this nagging sense that I heard someone speak to me. But who was it? Hard as I try, I just can’t figure it out. Maybe it’ll come to me. Or maybe I’ll never know.

Log No. 30: Untitled I think Evan’s going to be just fine without me. Watching him face down Doloran, I knew that I didn’t need to worry anymore. When we first met, he reminded me of my son, and that made me want to protect him. But a lot’s changed since then. Now he can stand alone.

#NNK2 #Ni No Kuni 2 #NNK2 Reference #Long Post #Super Long Post #Roland #Image Heavy #NNK2 Spoilers

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jonghyuns-husband · 2 years

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sexy ass fandoms having a conversation with each other.

Featuring Nctzen (Natalie Lee), Shawol (Sophie Brown) and Carat (Catherine Garcia) <3

We had found three random women in the street and placed them in a cell where we locked them in before throwing the key in a river nearby. Let’s see how long it would take until they turn crazy!

—

Sophie: This is not funny, I need to go to collect my albums from the post office!

Catherine: What albums?

Sophie: I literally brought a SHINee album for my collection. Now, I can’t even go and get it!

Catherine: Oh my gosh… That reminds me- I need to go to a club tonight.

Sophie: Same- oh well. I might of well do a netflix and chill then.

Natalie: What just happened?

Catherine: We’re trapped.

Sophie: MY SHINEE ALBUM! *cries loudly* I CAN’T EVEN GET IT IN STORES!

Catherine: It’s alright… Jeez, I would assume being a Shawol is so hard nowadays.

Sophie: For real! Why was I so naive and stupid as a teenager? Why weren’t this accessible to me only until now? Jesus fuck my life.

Natalie: Wait- are we?

Catherine: What are you assuming.

Natalie: We’re all K-pop fans…?

Sophie: Yep. I literally just came out from a boba shop-

Catherine: Hey… I went there too…

Natalie: I went to a boba shop too! Was it called… The Boba Dragon-

Catherine and Sophie: I WENT THERE!

Catherine: It was near a McDonalds isn’t it?

Sophie: And the post office was just few blocks away! That was where my album is at!

Natalie: Jeez… I need to go to a concert tomorrow.

Sophie: What concert is it?

Catherine: I’m curious!

Natalie: It’s an NCT concert, no biggie.

Catherine: Wow… so we’re all K-pop fans here right?

Sophie: Yep. I’ve been one since 2011.

Catherine: I’m since 2016.

Natalie: Been here since 2018.

Catherine: That’s so fascinating!

Sophie: Yeah. We’re all kidnapped, yet we’re all K-pop fans.

Natalie: I could live with that.

Catherine: Same.

Sophie: But my album…

Catherine: You may have to say goodbye to it then.

Sophie: NO! IT IS WORTH ABOUT $100!

Natalie: Wow… why would you spend $100 on an album?

Catherine: Older albums are rare, especially SHINee’s.

Natalie: Ohhhhh.

Sophie: *having a panic attack*

Natalie: Are you alright?

Sophie: T-this is the end of my life… It’s o-over-

Natalie: No… don’t say that. Why don’t you call someone to collect it for you?

Sophie: No- *realises, gasps* YOU’RE A GENIUS! *goes to find her phone* I’ll call my sister!

Natalie: You forgot?

Sophie: *tries to call* Ahhh! The connection is dead!

Catherine: *plays left and right out loud*

Natalie: Why are you playing your music?

Catherine: Well… we’re gonna be stuck here forever so… better get used to here.

Natalie: Fair enough. *plays baby don’t stop out loud*

Sophie: HOW ARE YOU GUYS PLAYING YOUR MUSIC?

Natalie: Spotify Premium.

Catherine: YouTube Premium.

Sophie: W-WHAT-

Catherine: Get into the diamond life, you’ll understand.

Natalie: You rather spend $20 than $10?

Catherine: I don’t just pay for the price, I pay to see my 13 husbands.

Natalie: This is literally just me saying I rather spend £20 to see my 23 husbands- oh…

Catherine: Yeah.

—

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dontjudgemeimawriter · 11 months

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Ten Random Lines Tag

Tagged by @ceph-the-ghost-writer ty!

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics/writing projects, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag people (ten if you want to follow the theme).

Tagging: @theramwrites @puzzleddragon02 @saltysupercomputer @aether-wasteland-s @lexiklecksi and anyone else who wants to!

Okay I really only have 2 main WIPs but sure we can see snippets of some tiny things......

Second Chance I don’t even have to explain to Hayln why I am actually still alive, because it’s a null day (that really is a good name for it. On the Base we call it pre-day and post-day, in reference to when the reversal occurs). Except here’s the funny thing: Turns out, since I didn’t exist, the most natural thing to occur is for me to simply not exist for about 16 hours. When I explain to the Spirit that No, I am NOT okay with that, it says that if I really want to, we can resist that natural couse of events.

Syndicate He flashed a smile. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he said and came over, picking up mugs from the desk that I hadn’t noticed and bringing them over. He handed me one. “Got you coffee.” A string and tag on the side of his mug showed he was having tea.

Drake Knight I look to the sky, pausing three-quarters down the alley to catch a breath and attempt to wipe some of the coffee off the front of my shirt. It’s empty for a bit, just a gray sky, but then a shadow passes over us and I see it clearly for the first time. Nothing special, the dark gray scales indicate it’s probably from the mountains. But it’s smaller than I expected. Most dragons you fight are adults, but this one isn’t much larger than an elephant. I think it is anyway, hard to tell from the flyby.

Angie & Eddie So Angie stood up and made her way to Target. Passed the cart return, the shampoo bottles, the spa day bins with images of thin women relaxing. She went down the band-aid aisle, the cold medicine aisle, the muscle relaxants. She paused, facing a wall full of pads. She’d been in a slight daze, half convincing herself this wasn’t real, but not she had to focus because where the fuck were they? God, she wasn’t going to have to ask someone, was she?

Creative Nonfiction Portfolio In my dorm, the top left dryer doesn’t work. I’ve put wet laundry inside and returned to find wet laundry. After that, I avoided that dryer for weeks, until it was the only one available so I let it run through, figuring if it didn’t work there would be an open dryer by then. Lo and behold, my laundry remained wet. Have I reported it to the conveniently posted number hanging on the laundry room wall? Nope. Everyone seems aware it’s broken, someone must’ve reported it. And ultimately, we’ll live. But, that’s just a dryer. No one’s in any danger.

Immortal Souls The rain picked up. Back home, inside, I loved rain, but now I hated it. I pulled my hood up to cover my head and swung my backpack over my shoulder, moving off the bench and under an awning of a corner store. It was the kind of building that looked like it had been passed down between different owners, none of which bothered to change the old sign. An ancient hand-painted sign that said “Collier’s” was faded and mounted above a newer, stenciled sign that said “Watkin’s Market.” A glance around told me that Watkin’s was the name of the street, so, definitely not the most creative. It was advertising cheap cell phones and beer, so not much of a market either.

The Snow Queen Retelling "What’you suppose they are, demons or something? Goblins? Nothing like the ones at the church. That one looks like he can fly.” He stared at it, getting lost in the red of the glass, a color that stood out in the colorless castle. He hadn’t noticed it before. Or, he remembered, he’d thought it was stupid, that the colors gave him a headache. He’d never stopped to take them in, to look at how pretty the colors were when light shone through them.

Faye & Myra-- Summer Hangout I felt like crying, but that would be way worse right now and I couldn’t face it. I took a deep breath and pushed it away. I grabbed the few tintypes I’d taken out of the box, brought the box back, and purchased them. I went over to Olivia.

Layla In an instant, the numb feeling of being disconnected vanished, and panic rushed through me. Twitches underneath my eyes warned me that tears were coming, and then they did, filling my eyes and blurring the message. My mouth quivered, my breathing was speeding up. What was he doing? Couldn’t this be over? Hadn’t he gotten what he wanted?

Lialyn Lialyn was a kingdom of Mages. Every part of their lives had been shaped around the fact that everyone, from the rich to poor, learned magic. As the prince, he and his sister were expected to master as soon as possible. They were supposed to be superior in magic the way other countries had their royalty superior in swordfighting. Which meant that Sam had failed his family from the start.

#10 random lines tag #tag game catch up

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therecordchanger62279 · 1 year

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youtube

WAYBACK RECORDS

“Where are you?”

“I just left Sidney, and I’m headed up to Wapak, and then I’ll take 33 to Dublin. I should be back there by closing time.”

“Well make sure you are. A.J.’s not about to put up with any more excuses from you about getting lost now that there’s a GPS in your truck.”

“I know, I know. I won’t get lost. I’ll have everything delivered, and be back by closing. I swear.”

“Alright. See that you are.”

******

Meet Ronnie Dawson, a delivery driver for a small roofing co. in a small town in Ohio. Mr. Dawson walks a fine line between the real world and a world of dreams. When this day began, he was living reality. Before the day ends, he’ll be living a dream in a place we like to call…... The Twilight Zone.

******

I can’t get back late again today or my boss will fire me. This job isn’t really suited to me, but I collect records, and it gives me a chance to drive all over the state to different towns where I can check out any record stores that are still in business and maybe a thrift store or garage sales or flea markets now and again. The store I worked for was the last one in my town, and I just have to get my record fix. I don’t like shopping online. I don’t trust people. Anyway, I needed a job, and figured this job might feed me, and my habit. So when I’m in these different towns delivering roofing materials for jobs we’ve got coming up, sometimes I take a few detours just to see what I can find. Just last week I scored a Percy Mayfield record on Ray Charles’ Tangerine label for 50 cents at a thrift store in Hamilton. And last month I found a 45 of my favorite record by The Coasters, Shoppin’ For Clothes on Atco for a quarter at a garage sale up in Lima. You never know what you’ll come across. I’m probably pushing my luck with my boss. But I can’t help it.

Just then the cell phone rang.

“Hi, baby. What’s up?”

“Damn you, Ronnie!”

It was his wife, Rita.

“What’s wrong? What’d I do?”

“You know damn good and well what you did. Did you think I’d never find them?”

“Okay. Calm down. I know what this is about. You found the box of records in the closet in the guest room. I only put them in there until-“

“I don’t care. That’s not a guest room anymore. It’s supposed to be a nursery. Remember? If you think you’re going to keep buying records and storing them where the baby’s going to sleep, you’re daydreaming, buddy. I swear. I’ve had just about enough of this. There are records in every room in this house. I want a family, and the way you’re going we’ll never have the space or the money for either. You think I don’t know you’re buying records when you’re supposed to be working? You’re going to lose that job. Stella from the office called here last week looking for you. She said A.J. was having a fit you were getting back so late, and using too much gasoline to make the deliveries. How long do you think you can get away with it?”

“I know. I know. I promise-“

“I don’t want to hear it. Get your ass home in time for dinner tonight or you’ll need a divorce lawyer – and a good one. Because if I divorce you, I swear I’ll take every last one of those records in the settlement, and I'll burn 'em.”

And she hung up.

She knew when she married me that I had a habit. She doesn’t understand it. I settled back for the drive to Wapak, and listened to an oldies station on the truck radio.

_____

The drive to Wapak was uneventful. There’s not much to see or do in a town that small except for the Armstrong Air & Space Museum. But I never had any luck finding records in Wapak, so I made short order of lunch at Wendy’s and got back on the highway to Dublin – my last stop for the day before heading home. At least it was supposed to be my last. About midway between Wapak and Dublin, not long after I passed the exit to Indian Lake, I noticed a road sign that read Exit 6 Phillips 24 miles. Phillips? I’d never heard of Phillips, Ohio. Curious, I decided to talk to my new GPS.

“Reroute to Phillips, Ohio. Confirm, please?”

There was silence from the GPS. So I spoke the instructions again.

“There is no Phillips, Ohio in the database.”

“There must be. I saw a road sign.”

I tried once more, and again got the same response.

Worthless piece of crap. Who needs a GPS anyway? That’s what road signs are for. I’ll just turn off when I reach the exit. I’ve been making good time. I can still have a look around and get to Dublin and then home in plenty of time. I turned the radio up, and sang along with Get Off My Cloud by The Stones, and tapped the wheel to Draggin’ the Line by Tommy James.

_____

There’s the exit. Phillips, Ohio. Probably named after the great Sam Phillips of Sun Records fame. There’s got to be some great vinyl finds in a town named after Sam Phillips. There was nothing except open roads and empty fields after I took the exit. I must have driven a good dozen miles or so before I saw a sign that read: Welcome to Phillips, Ohio. Population 570.

Wow! This town is really small. No wonder the GPS never heard of it. I wonder how much further the town is? Just then, on the horizon, I saw what looked to be a main street with buildings lining both sides, and a stop light ahead. The place looked pretty clean, and there was parking up and down either side of the street. I pulled into an open space, and put the truck into park and looked at the sign directly in front of me. Wayback Records. Well, I’ll be damned. They’ve got a record shop. And it looks like it’s open, too.

Sure enough, it was open for business. But nothing prepared me for what I saw when I stepped inside. The place was enormous. It seemed to go on for miles in every direction. And there were racks, and racks, and racks filled with records as far back as the eye could see. The walls were covered with posters advertising Rock ‘n’ Roll shows. There was a ticket window to the left that must have sold concert tickets to shows in the area. Next to that was a long counter filled with buttons, and belt buckles, and scarves, and countless other things embossed with band names and logos. To my right was a magazine stand overflowing with Rock magazines. I’d never seen so many in one place in my entire life. Rolling Stone, Creem, Crawdaddy, Circus, Circus Raves, NY Rocker, Hit Parader, Melody Maker, Zig Zag, Sounds, NME, Who Put the Bomp, Kicks, Mojo Navigator, The Record, Goldmine, Billboard, Cashbox, Record Collector, Trouser Press, and too many more to mention. On the floor next to the stand were stacks and stacks of back issues of nearly every title. I couldn’t believe my eyes. On the overhead sound system I heard – no, it couldn’t be. But it was! They were listening to Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band. And it slowly dawned on me that I wasn’t going to make it home on time that night. I wasn’t going to make the delivery to Dublin either. I was going to need an alibi, and fast! I ran back out to my truck, opened the glove box, and found my cell phone, and dialed A.J.’s.

“A.J. Construction. May I help you?”

“Stella. It’s Ronnie. I’ve got a problem.”

“Oh for god’s sake. What now?”

“The truck broke down, and I had to have it towed for service.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in Phillips, Ohio off 33 about halfway between Wapakoneta and Dublin.”

“Hang on. I’ll get A.J.”

A few moments later I was listening to my boss, and he wasn’t happy.

“Goddammit Ronnie! What the hell happened?”

“The truck broke down A.J. I had to get it towed to a service station. They’re working on it right now.”

I almost had myself convinced.

“I just had that truck serviced a month ago. What happened?”

“I don’t know. Everything was fine, and then out of the blue, the thing just died. I think it’s the electrical system. I couldn’t get it started, and I didn’t have any lights or radio or anything.”

“Well, those supplies need to be in Dublin by tomorrow morning or we’ll lose that contract. I guess I’ll have to send another truck and we’ll have to reload them.”

“No, A.J. That won’t be necessary.”

I was trying not to panic.

“Well, what do you suggest? I don’t want to lose that job.”

“Maybe they can get it started. It’s still early enough. I can probably get them to Dublin by tonight. But I’ll be real late getting back.”

“Did the mechanic think he could fix it today?”

“He hasn’t said anything yet. He’s still doing a diagnostic on it.”

“Well, when you find something out, call me back.”

“Right, A.J. I sure will.”

And with that I hung up. But that wasn’t the worst of it. I still had to call my wife and tell her I wouldn’t make dinner. After giving some thought to it, I decided that call could wait. And I headed back inside the shop.

I began wandering around and I saw several glass booths set up throughout the store, and there were people inside them with headphones on sitting in chairs, listening to records on the turntables. As far as I could see, it was mostly records. But on one of the walls near the cash register there were 8 tracks, and a smaller selection of cassette tapes. There wasn’t a CD anywhere in the place. The aisles were long, and every fixture was jammed with records. I’d never seen anything like it – except in my dreams. As I browsed the aisles looking through the records, I overheard other customers arguing with one another about what they liked and didn’t like. I heard some recommending records to friends or strangers who were nearby. There was a lot of conversation while the music on the overhead sound system now played Dave Edmunds’ Tracks On Wax 4. This was a very strange place indeed.

The selection was also astonishing. The place seemed to stock everything I’d ever heard of. Every artist I could think of seemed to be here, and every record seemed to be stocked. I couldn’t imagine where it had all come from or how they managed to restock it all.

In the middle of the store, dividing two huge sections of LPs were several aisles of tables with wooden boxes on top filled to the brim with 45s. I noticed that the 45s all seemed to be in factory sleeves, and were original label as well. But, how could that be? And how would you ever restock them once you’d sold them? I moved over to a section labeled “R&B/Soul” and began browsing the selection there. What stopped me dead in my tracks was a copy of Frank Wilson’s Do I Love You on the Soul label. That record is highly sought after by Northern Soul collectors, and sells for a fortune online whenever it’s offered for sale. And here it was, just sitting in the rack alongside thousands more original Soul singles – most from England, and all with original sleeves on the original labels.

I picked up the Wilson single and walked to the front counter. There was a big guy working the counter, smoking a cigar. He was wearing a striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and when I approached him, he turned and glared at me.

“Got a question, kid?”

“Yeah. Several, I think. Are you the owner?”

“Yeah. Call me Fats. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering about this record,” and I handed it to Fats across the counter.

“What about it?”

“Well, it’s extremely rare, and you stock it, and….”

“We stock everything kid. That’s what we do.”

“But there’s no price on it, and I –“

“See that sign above the 45s?

“You mean that one?” I asked pointing at one hanging from the ceiling.

“Yeah. What’s it say?”

“All 45s 99cents.”

“Okay, then.”

“You mean I can buy this record for 99 cents?”

“Jesus! Yes! You got a learning disability?”

“No, but it’s really rare, and – “

“It ain’t rare. We just restocked it from the distributor last week. We sell out, we order more.”

“How late are you open?”

“We’re open ‘til midnight every night. We open at 10 a.m., and we’re closed on Sundays.”

“Why aren’t you open Sundays?”

“Stores should be closed on Sundays. People need to cool out once in awhile, and Sunday used to be the day they did that. Not anymore. But this place closes on Sunday because that’s how I want it. I tell my customers to buy some Sam Cooke and The Soul Stirrers or Sister Rosetta Tharpe to get their Sunday music fix. And we don’t do holidays either. Holidays are for families to gather round the record player, or the upright piano or the radio. When you need that communal music experience, we’re here the rest of the time.”

Looking at my watch, I said, “Man, no wonder I’m hungry. It’s after 5. Is there some place in town to get a bite?”

“Sure thing. Go out the door to your right. About a block up the street you’ll see Roy’s Diner. Best burgers anywhere.”

“Thanks a lot. I’ll be back.”

“We’ll be here, kid. What’d you say your name was?”

“Ronnie. Ronnie Dawson.”

“Your folks name you after Ronnie Hawkins?”

“Nah, I wish.”

Fats chuckled as I headed for the door.

_____

I had a problem. I needed to get that truck full of roofing materials to Dublin by tomorrow morning. I needed to sort out the lie I told my boss. I needed to talk to my wife. And I needed to find a job in Phillips so I could live there the rest of my life. Before I started my walk to Roy’s, I got into my truck and grabbed my cell phone. The first call I made was to A.J.

“A.J.! It’s Ronnie. The truck is fixed, and I’ll have it in Dublin by morning.”

“Well, that’s a relief. What the hell was wrong with it?”

“Uh, there was a wire in the electrical system that sparked, and shorted everything out. Once they fixed that, it started right up.”

“Well, the site will be closed tonight. You won’t be there in time to deliver the materials.”

“I know. I’m gonna drive down tonight, and I’ll sleep in the truck and be there when they open in the morning.”

“Alright, Ronnie. Then get your butt back here because we got two more runs tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, A.J.,” I replied, knowing full well that after tomorrow morning I’d no longer be working for A.J. Construction Co.

I thought it best not to call Rita until I’d had something to eat, so I took the walk to the diner. Roy’s Diner had one of those rusted neon signs on the outside – half-burned out like neon signs always seemed to be. But there was a pair of sunglasses wrapped around the word “diner” and they were lit. The inside of the place had about a dozen small booths along the walls, and a half dozen tables on a red and white tiled floor with tablecloths on each. The booths had those old fashioned jukeboxes on the table. A girl behind the counter called out to me, “Have a seat anywhere, darlin’ I’ll be right with you.”

I took a seat in one of the booths and pulled a menu from between the salt & pepper shakers. It looked as if this restaurant had a theme. And the theme was Roy Orbison. That explained the name and the sunglasses on the sign outside, not to mention the early 60’s décor. And the menu featured a variety of grilled sandwiches with names like The Ooby Dooby, Chicken Hearted, Rock House Chops, Blue Bayou Cajun Fish, and so on. There was even a Candy Man dessert – ice cream with chocolate topping. I ordered The Ooby Dooby burger, a Coke and a side of fries from the waitress whose name tag read “Leah” and who peppered her sentences with the word “Sugar”. You want fries with that, Sugar? Small Coke or large, Sugar? Ketchup and pickle, Sugar? It’d been a while since a woman called me Darlin’ and even longer since one called me Sugar. Leah is in for a generous tip.”

While I waited, I browsed the selection on the jukebox. The titles were familiar: Oh, Pretty Woman, In Dreams, Blue Angel, Runnin’ Scared, Crying, It’s Over, Claudette, and many more – every one of them a Roy Orbison classic. I put a quarter in and chose three of my favorites.

The burger was even tastier than the song it was named after, and when Leah brought the bill, I couldn’t believe it - fifty-seven cents for dinner? That couldn’t be right. I called Leah back over to the table.

“Change your mind about dessert, Sugar?”

“No, but I think you miscalculated the check. Fifty-seven cents sounds a little light, doesn’t it?”

“No, Sugar, that’s right. The burger was 30 cents, the fries were 15, and the Coke was a dime. And two cents for tax.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. But I wasn’t about to argue. I could definitely afford to live in Phillips. I left Leah a generous 2-dollar tip, and made my way back to my truck. For the first time, I began to notice the other businesses on the street. Now that it was getting dark, all the shop signs were lit up like Christmas trees. There was Bo’s Billiards, Buddy’s Market, The Killer’s Bar & Grill, Presley Pharmacy, Everly Cleaners, Penniman’s, which looked like a men’s clothing store, Wanda’s Sweets - a candy store, Brenda’s Nail Salon, a movie theatre called Connie’s Majestic (which happened to be playing a double feature of The Girl Can’t Help It, and Where The Boys Are), Berry Motors on the corner, Vincent’s Texaco, and Cochran’s Body Shop. It was all starting to make some sense to me. But before I could return to Wayback, I needed to call my wife.

“Where the hell are you, you sonuvabitch?”

“I’m in Phillips, Ohio. My truck broke down, and I’ve been here all afternoon waiting for it to be fixed.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Look, Rita. Give me a break, will you? I know I should’ve called earlier, but – “

She hung up. I hoped she wasn’t serious about a lawyer, but I figured I’d find out when I got back home. In the meantime, I had to talk to Fats.

When I walked back inside Wayback, Fats asked me, “How was the burger, kid?”

“Oh, it was great. You were right about that place.”

“Isn’t Leah a doll? I went to school with her mother.”

“Yeah, she was something else. But I have to ask you a few more questions.”

“I figured you might once you’d had a look around town. So, go ahead and ask.”

“What is this place? Where is this place? According to the new GPS in my truck, it doesn’t exist. It’s not on the map. And every business on the main drag – including this one – seems to have a history and a name connected to Rock ‘N’ Roll. Where am I?”

“You’re in Phillips, Ohio, Ronnie. This place is the best-kept secret in the state. We don’t want it spoiled by outsiders. We want to keep it as pure as the music it represents. I built Wayback, and the rest of the businesses followed – one by one. But it’s my town. I incorporated it, and I’m the mayor, the city council, the police, the fire dept., and the post office, too. I named the town after Sam Phillips that founded Sun Records. And I only grant citizenship to people who are as devoted and dedicated to the music as I am. Everybody that came to town and wanted to stay and start a business had to agree to name it after one of the founders or leading lights of Rock ‘N’ Roll. This place is named Wayback because it’s the entry portal."

“The portal? What’s that mean?”

“It means to really see the town, ya’ gotta come through the portal – the front door of Wayback.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Trust me. It’s not important. Anyway, I get the feeling you might be staying. Am I right?”

“If I can find a job. Is anybody in town hiring?”

“I could use some help here, but you’d have to work your way up.”

“I’ll take it.”

“I haven’t even told you what you’d be doing or how much I can pay you?”

“Details. I’ll take it.”

“When do you want to start?”

“Well, I have some loose ends to tie up, and I’ll have to find a place to live.”

“You head over to Lymon Avenue. There’s a boarding house there - Perkins Boarding House. There’s a sign out front. Tell them I sent you.”

“Fats, can I ask you one more thing?”

“Sure, kid. What is it?”

“You don’t know me at all. How come you offered me a job and a place to live and we just met? You said you don’t let just anybody live here.”

“You collect records, don’t you?”

“Of course. But how’d you know?”

“I can spot a serious record collector a thousand yards away. They’re all going to come here eventually because it’ll be the only place they can be truly happy in the world we live in now. I figure we’ve all gotta stick together. Kindred spirits. You know what I mean?”

“Yes sir. I sure do. Thanks, Fats.” And I shook his hand, and called back as I turned to leave, “I’ll be back with my things next week. Don’t give my job away.”

“Don’t worry, kid. It’ll be waiting for you.”

******

All of Ronnie Dawson’s dreams were about to come true. He was leaving behind reality for a new job, and a new address in a new town. Phillips, Ohio. Take the exit 6 offramp, and drive 24 miles……to The Twilight Zone.

#Youtube

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sunsetfell · 1 year

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Darla's Journey

It smelled like sweaty underwear, and not always in a good way. Six to a room in three bunk beds. I’d been there five weeks.

This hostel was in a small town west of Boston, Wellesley Farms—not where tourists wanted to stay, but where they were willing to stay if it was cheap. The business was not on the map and had no website. The owner called himself Flyman—we never knew any other name for him. He ran a number of hostels in the city. When he sensed a traveler had the right qualities, he sent them here—to experience something more relaxed, more intimate, less private, and more real—more America.

I was not a traveler and I was not here to see America. I grew up down south in Atlanta. When I was ten my family relocated to Charlotte. In my early twenties, I got a little apartment above a laundromat in the middle Hartford, Connecticut. Then I realized I needed to change something. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I knew I couldn’t change it in that little apartment in Hartford. So I ended up in Flyman’s secret house in Wellesley Farms.

I was lying on my top bunk reading when a new girl walked in, wearing a backpack almost as large as she was. Blond shoulder-length hair and a dull-green jacket. I was glad because, since it was always going to smell like sweaty underwear, it was more pleasant if it was girl-sweat.

“Hi,” the new girl said. “Where are you from?”

“Oh, I’m from around here,” I replied, gesturing. And then noticing that this response seemed to confuse her, added “I live here.”

“In a hostel?”

“For now.”

As the new girl unpacked her massive backpack, I found out her name was Darla, and asked her where she was coming from and why she was here.

“My family lives in Warsaw,” Darla said. “That’s where I grew up. When I was 18 I moved to South Africa. I did different things there, but never had a sense of direction. My older sister is a bank executive in Berlin. For my 26th birthday, she told me she’d pay for me to travel the world until I found my place in it. I’ve been traveling for three months now.”

“I take it you haven’t found your place?” I asked.

“To be honest, I think some people don’t have a place. The more I travel, the less I have a home anywhere.”

Darla took the lower bunk beneath mine. She would always come back to the room late, after I was asleep, and in the morning she’d be sound asleep as I left the hostel to work a part-time morning shift in the grocery store at the corner.

Then one night I happened to step outside around 11:30 p.m. to see why I was hearing voices outside the window, and there was Darla, sitting on the steps talking to three middle-aged men standing around her. They did not acknowledge my presence but left soon after I showed up, drifting into the dark street and out of sight.

Apparently sensing that I was about to ask, Darla spoke:

“Those were the lost spirits,” she explained. She motioned for me to sit next to her on the step.

“The lost spirits?” I asked after I sat down.

“When you wander the earth for long enough, they start to appear. At first I was scared, but soon I came to understand what they were. They have no locus, only a trajectory. You find them only by being in motion.”

“What do you talk to them about?”

“I tell them about the world in stasis. They cannot perceive fixed artifacts like trees or houses. Even people who live most of their lives in one place appear blurry to them. I act as intermediary to tell them about the still things.”

I thought about this while we both sat on the step staring into the dark street. It was a warm evening in late April.

“Am I one of the still things?” I asked eventually.

Darla looked at me hard. It was unclear whether this was a question she was used to being asked.

“You have some qualities of the still things,” she said, “but you have other qualities as well. You may someday find that, like me, you have no particular place you fit in.”

That night Darla stayed up late reading a book by the light of her cell phone screen. The other travelers sleeping in the bunk beds didn’t seem to notice or mind. I lay there listening to the sound of her turning pages until I fell asleep.

* * *

#story #short story

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septimore · 1 year

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I just woke up from a ... idk a nightmare I guess?

It was a pretty normal dream except my brother and one of his friends I've never met lived in town. My husband was at work or something so my brother was gonna pick me up from my old cell phone store where I was still trying to cancel my plan (that irl I have) and they were gonna take me to the grocery store.

The store was pretty busy and I was in there for hours and another lady had just gotten her baby to stop crying when my brother came in to pick me up. He didn't do anything too bad,but when I say he embarrassed the hell out me-

So I wrap things up quick, didn't finish my errand, and leave. Then in the car on the way to the store I go to call my mom really quick (who my brother is irl living with) and ask her if she needs anything from the store for when she comes to visit. Instead of answering she goes off on a rant about HER brother and all kinds of real family drama and my brother goes into the store, not knowing what we need and leaving me alone with his friend I kinda sorta know.

Dream me just sighs so deep, dude and clenched my teeth

Then I woke up. My family just gave me a stress dream and woke me 30 mins before my alarm and they don't even live in town anymore

Makes me wonder if that's why I don't have insomnia issues anymore. I used to only be able to sleep 4 hours a night

#words only #my thoughts

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longbackup · 2 years

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Boondocking tips

#BOONDOCKING TIPS HOW TO#

#BOONDOCKING TIPS FULL#

Anything you can think of that would be helpful in an emergency should be put into this first aid kit. You will want to include things like cotton balls, alcohol wipes, tweezers, rubber gloves, burn treatments, bandages, an emergency heat wrap blanket, thermometer and fever reducer, bandage wrap and medical tape.

#BOONDOCKING TIPS FULL#

Simply find a smallish Tupperware container and start filling it full of all the essentials. You can purchase first aid kits at most drug stores, you can order them online and have them delivered, or you can make your own. Accidents happen and this tip could save your life in the event of an emergency.

#BOONDOCKING TIPS HOW TO#

Boondocking Safety Tip Number Two: First AidĪnother tip for how to stay safe and secure boondocking is to build yourself, or your family a well stocked first aid kit. We would have never known it even happened had we not written that little note and left it with someone trusted. Thankfully we did and they drove out to us and we able to go to where we were needed. Had my husband and I have not left our information with his mother no one would have ever been able to reach us when that accident occurred. Imagine being out there in the wilderness having a ball and back in the real world there’s a car accident involving someone dear? It was my personal experience to have this happen to me which is why I emphasize so strongly to leave your trip information behind with a trusted individual. In the event that something does happen you at least know that someone knows where you are. Write down exactly where you will be, when you are leaving, and when you plan to come home. Write down your exact latitude and longitude if you can. Don’t wait until last minute to make a plan of what to do…be prepared. Think about potential problems and come up with solutions before you even take the trip. That is the first key to a Boondocking Safety program for your journey. You then ask what happens when you have don’t have that phone access and your kid get’s hurt and you need to call someone for help? What happens when you’re ready to end your camping trip and go home just to realize your truck won’t start or your tire is flat? All of these things need to be thought carefully about. You cant get out of trouble without contact. What happens if you are out there in the wild and you have no cell phone service let alone a way to charge your phone? This is just a simple Boondocking Safety tip that makes sense. The first tip that will show you how to stay safe and secure boondocking is to leave your information behind with a close, trusted friend or family member. Boondocking Safety Tip Number One: Stay In Contact This articles tips Boondocking Safety tips will show you just how to stay safe and secure boondocking. As long as you are aware of the Boondocking Safety dangers.īeing forewarned you will be able to prevent them from being a problem. Boondocking has it’s dangers, like many outdoor activities do. It’s also a good idea to learn as much as you possibly can about it before you take off and go. You should try to at least have some sort of communication though in case of an emergency. You’ll likely have no communication with the outside world. You leave it all behind and seek nature as your refuge. It gives you a nice break from the business and chaos of life. It is exhilarating! It is divine or at least can put you back in touch with all things divine. You seek the experience of living with nothing but trees surrounding you for a while. You aren’t camping outside in the back yard. The 10 Best Offroading Adventures in North Americaīoondocking can be explained as raw camping. Other Posts About Boondocking and Outdoor Lifestylesġ4 Top Must Know Boondocking Tips For Beginners Sometimes I think we’d rather live out in the middle of the woods. We are always refreshed when we go back home. It is simply amazing how peaceful, serene, and even therapeutic a good boondock camping trip can be. Boondocking is a great family experience. You’ll learn the most natural way of living in harmony with nature itself. You’ll have the chance to really survive in the wilderness, and learn how to live off of the land. Just you, your friends and family, and the great vast out doors. There will be no water or electric hookups. Boondocking is really going into the wilderness just as far as you can go and some issues can arise concerning Boondocking Safety. Take your on the ground tents, take your roof top tent, or your RV if you can get it there. The first thing you may ask yourself when you first hear about boondock camping is what on Earth is boondocking and do I need to worry about Boondocking Safety? Let me try to explain it to you this way…Boondocking is going way out there into the woods to camp. Getting totally away from stress, noise and pollution is the best way we have found to truly enjoy all of the gifts that nature has to share. Today we want to talk to you about an important subject, Boondocking Safety.

#Boondocking tips

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pippytmi · 3 years

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Roommates au, enemies to lovers, “you confuse me.” Supercorp obvs

“You’re a fucking liar.”

This is—objectively speaking—not the worst greeting Kara has ever received from her roommate, and so she takes it in stride. “Uh, hello to you…too,” Kara says slowly, silently running through a list of everything she could have done wrong to warrant such strong words.

But Lena does not offer any explanation; in fact, when she spots Kara in the doorway, she sends her a nasty glare as if Kara has said something wrong. “Don’t pretend you’re a saint in this matter, Lex,” Lena hisses, and only then does Kara notice the cell phone in Lena’s hands. “If I have to go and clean up your mess again…”

So it’s one of those days. Kara wisely shuts the door quietly behind her, and sneaks into the kitchen as Lena takes her argument into her room.

There is a list of chores pinned to the fridge—four black X’s cross out Lena’s, and Kara’s are underlined twice. They have a code, so as to avoid speaking to each other; X’s mean done, underlined means Kara you're a slob and a pain in the ass to live with. (All verbatim, by the way.)

The dishes, however, are not on Kara’s agenda at the moment. She instead takes the expensive whiskey hidden under the sink (that belongs to Alex, not that she has noticed it’s missing), and pours it into a glass with some ice. Then she whips out the ingredients for a stir fry, complete with every vegetable she had been saving for the potluck at work this weekend.

It is an unspoken rule that Lena will shut herself off into her room after this phone call is over. She does that every time her brother calls (and on occasion her mother), and Kara has picked up enough information about her roommate to know Lena will appreciate a hard drink and some food. She hasn’t said so or anything, but every time Kara knocks three times on the door and leaves a plate outside, it will re-emerge an hour later completely empty.

Lena’s voice grows louder despite the distance, and Kara turns on the stereo out of respect for her roommate's privacy. Lena hates the stereo and all it stands for; she argues it is outdated, and they have numerous pieces of technology that are less bulky and fully able to connect to radio stations. But Kara keeps it around anyway, because she still likes buying CD’s (and maybe to bother Lena, which is a bonus).

Blink-182 is playing on that alternative station Alex likes. Kara cranks it up as she cooks, singing under her breath as she sautes bell peppers and onions, ignoring the rumble of her stomach and the tight belt of her work pants still digging into her hips. “Say it ain’t so, I will not go,” she practically yells, poking her head into the fridge for the tofu that Lena always keeps. Kara personally won’t touch the stuff, but Lena is trying to eat less meat. It cuts up easily enough, even though Kara isn’t sure what the proper technique is.

She leaves the finished plate and drink outside after it’s done, rapping on Lena’s door in tune with The White Stripes’ “Seven Nation Army,” and then finally has some dinner herself. Since the tofu is unappetizing, Kara stores the rest of the stir fry in a container for Lena to take for lunch, and opts for a sandwich. She eats while scrolling through her notifications (she owes Nia twenty bucks, and so far Nia has been clogging up her phone with Venmo requests all well over $500), and keeps the radio on just for background noise.

That’s probably why she doesn’t even notice when Lena approaches; Kara has barely begun to type a text to Nia swearing to bring some cash next time she visits when a sharp voice declares,

“You confuse me.”

Which. Is not at all what Kara expected from her usually empty kitchen. And, caught exceptionally off guard, she nearly falls off her chair. “What the—Lena,” she sputters, righting herself. Unfortunately, the crust of her sandwich is a casualty of the surprise, and she watches as it crumples devastatingly on the floor.

Lena is not half as concerned about the fate of her dinner, and she stalks forward to jab a finger at Kara’s chest. “You confuse me,” she repeats.

Kara blinks. Then blinks again. “Um, okay,” she says. “…why?”

A strange, strangled noise rises from Lena’s mouth, and she appears angrier than Kara has ever seen. (Well, except for that one time that Kara did laundry and flooded the apartment laundromat, which had other pissed off tenants leaving mean messages for two weeks straight). “Because,” angrier-than-usual Lena says, “you do shit like cook food for me and don’t even say anything.”

“What do you want me to say?” Kara frowns, not sure where this conversation is going. “If you want I can start saying ‘Hey Lena, I made dinner’ every time.”

“You and I don’t do dinner,” Lena says, and it sounds like an accusation. “Every time I get off the phone, you decide to leave food outside my door. Why? What on Earth compels you to do that?”

“Because you’re always upset afterwards,” Kara says slowly. “And I thought you could use some cheering up, or at least a drink.”

“Whiskey,” Lena notes. “It’s always whiskey. And it’s never a cheap brand.”

“Well, yeah,” Kara says, gesturing pointedly to Lena’s designer work clothes (that she never seems to be without; Kara’s not sure Lena even owns pajamas). “You would probably accuse me of poisoning you if I gave you anything less.”

Lena narrows her eyes. “You don’t owe me anything,” she says. “So whatever this is, you can stop it.”

“What do you mean, ‘whatever this is’?” Kara repeats incredulously. “I’m just being nice!”

“I never asked you to be ‘nice’!”

Kara exhales, and reminds herself that it is illegal to strangle people. Especially since she is Lena’s roommate, and will therefore be suspect #1. Kara has never been a violent person, but her roommate just manages to test her limits.

“Look,” Kara says patiently, “I give you my sister’s whiskey, and she doesn’t care because she is trying to give up drinking. And I’m not a frequent cook or anything, but I can still throw together a plate because I know you don’t cook at all. That’s it! I don’t have a hidden agenda, or some secret plot here. I’m just being friendly.”

“We are not friends, Kara Danvers,” Lena says. “And I know exactly what this is, even if you refuse to acknowledge it.”

God, what an insufferable—“Okay, know-it-all,” Kara says, instead of the ruder words echoing through her head. “What am I doing?”

Lena’s jaw clenches noticeably. “You pity me,” she accuses. “You look down at my relationship with my family, and—and I don’t want your sympathy, or your stupid food, anymore.”

“If you wanted me to back off, that’s fine,” Kara says, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “But I don’t pity you, or feel sorry for you. Heck, with your track record, I’d feel more sympathy for your family. They seem to be on the other end of some nasty phone calls.”

Lena’s expression darkens. “You don’t know my family.”

“I don’t know you very well, either,” Kara retorts, and she turns back to her phone where three new Venmo requests are waiting (two of them well in the thousands range; Nia must think she’s hilarious). “Message received, okay? I’ll leave you alone.”

At first, Kara assumes that's the end of it—assumes that Lena is going to stalk off, and leave a strongly worded post-it on the fridge later that night for Kara to wake up to. That has always been how their relationship works; they fight, reiterate how much they hate living together, and go right back to ignoring each other.

But Lena doesn't walk away. Instead she sighs, and at that unexpected sound Kara looks up just in time to catch Lena frowning. “I—” Lena begins, and then she pauses uncomfortably before getting the words out. “I'm...sorry. I have been having the worst day, and it’s—it’s rude of me to take it out on you.”

“Okay,” says Kara dumbly, because she’s not sure what to respond. Lena never apologizes. Ever. It’s about as rare as, well, Kara actually doing her chores on time. “Thanks?”

Lena bites her lip, glances away. “You’re welcome,” she says stiffly. And this time she leaves—leaves, and abandons the plate of food Kara left her on the edge of the table.

Kara looks down at her phone. There are ten texts waiting from Nia, and about double that of Venmo requests. But she can’t shake the feeling that she is forgetting something, and it’s more than a twenty dollar bill. “Wait,” she blurts out, “Lena. What—what does that mean? You were an asshole to me, and I was an asshole right back, so why are you apologizing?”

“Well, you are more than welcome to apologize too,” Lena says, pausing in the kitchen doorway. She has a quizzical expression on her face, a kind of raw confusion that Kara has never seen before. Without the sharp clenched jaw and the angry eyes, she’s…just a girl. A girl, with a nervous tic of wringing her fingers together. A girl, despite her guarded nature, who is gazing right back at Kara as if she has no right to.

“Do you want me to apologize to you?”

A beat. “Not really,” Lena says. “I don’t—want that. You’re right, you don’t know me. Or my family. We’re nothing to each other, and I can’t expect you to know how complicated my relationship with them is.”

“Still,” Kara says, and she scratches the back of her neck absentmindedly at the sudden flush of guilt that overtakes her. “I am sorry. It was rude of me to, um, say that. Like if your family is a bunch of serial killers, who am I to say you’re worse than that?”

Lena scrunches her nose in a manner that is sort of cute. “Serial killers? Really?”

Kara shrugs—aiming for casual—and really that just looks like attempting nonchalance when suddenly she’s consumed with thoughts about how pretty her roommate is. “Like you said,” she says, “I don’t know your family.”

And, surprisingly, all Lena does is smile. A real smile, the kind that Kara has never witnessed, barely soft and just kind enough. “They’re not,” she says, and unnecessarily clarifies, “serial killers.”

“That you know of,” Kara points out, and Lena’s cautious smile becomes something fuller. That is the only thing that gives Kara the courage to add, “So, now that we have covered the whole you’re not your family thing, are you really not going to have dinner? I cooked tofu for you and everything!”

“You didn’t have to,” Lena argues, because she is defensive to a fault. But she falters immediately after, and sighs again, albeit in a more mellowed tone. “What I meant to say is, I really don’t need you to keep cooking for me. I’m fine.”

“Well what if I want to cook for you?” Kara says, and that is her own fault: she is ready to argue to protect her (noble) intentions. “We don’t have to be friends, if it terrifies you that much—”

“It does not terrify me—”

“—but we can be friendly,” Kara offers, and it’s a testament to her newfound appreciation for her roommate that she manages to even make a sentence. “If you want.”

Lena tilts her head, considering, and this time when she smiles it is curious. “If you knew what I wanted, Kara Danvers,” she says, “your delicate sensibilities would blush to their roots.” And with that odd goodbye, she eventually takes her leave; however, she does take the plate of stir fry with her, so Kara guesses that means they’re on their way to being friendly, if anything.

#remember when quarantine started & i asked for prompts?#yeah u read that right a whole ass year ago?#well. uh. so this is embarrassing but-#supercorp #supergirl #i need a fic tag #proudlyunicorn

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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Looking for a Place to Happen

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity.

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: We’re starting Sam’s installment but this weekend I’ll probably only be catching up on my headcanons and drabbles because I’ve been a lazy bitch and I’m sorry to those who have been waiting.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: I've got a job, I explore

💀💀💀

The sleepy town of Birch was awake.

In those last weeks, the arrival of outsiders had roused the attention of many once passive residents of the timeless territory. Those brick buildings unchanged by the tick of the clock inlaid into the old tower above the library that chimed every hour on the hour. They still stood with only chips in the mortar but the air tasted different. The frost was more bitter and the sky more grim. An omen of something no one could predict.

It was the perfect setting for a screenplay. The isolated town with its unsavoury secrets and the visitors who threatened to bring them to the surface. It was inspiring to you, to imagine what was hidden behind the stern wrinkled faces of the town elders and under the jackets of those men who wore the cut of the local club. The bikers ruled the town covertly but everyone knew that Bucky Barnes’ palm was lined with the map of Birch.

As a bystander, an unnoticed observer, just another ant in the hill, you watched from the side and amused yourself with the drama of others. It was like a soap opera or another HBO hype machine. Those things you aspired to when you could be free of this ho-hum town.

The snows added to the natural gloom of the place. The deep heaps smothered the noise and harkened back to those days of colonial settlement. Forgotten, desolate, fearful.

You ventured down in your heavy boots that stretched to your knees and pushed your chin down into your scarf. As a child, you ran and jumped in those piles, now you were out of breath just trying to walk past them.

You stopped in the bakery that doubled as the only café, a place where the owner, Babs, tried to to intimidate the last caffeinated trends. She was always a few seasons behind but you didn’t mind so much.

You ordered the salted caramel mocha and waited patiently as the quiet woman fought with the steaming machines. She was older than you but you’d work with her for one summer during high school, only five years ago. She had the eyes of a child still, but there was something worn in her. As if she’d been exposed to far too much in her three or so decades in that place. She was a harbinger of what you didn’t want to become.

You thanked her for your drink and set out once more into the billowing winds. Birch winters were never kind but this one was crueler than most. Your teeth chattered as you blew the steam away from the lid and hugged it with your mittened hands.

You stopped short as you heard the familiar ding of the diner door across the street. You recognised the mechanic who kept to herself and once growled at you in the grocery store. She stormed across the street, followed closely and quickly by a black-haired man you’d only seen once before. He was one of those outsiders who came to deal with the club men.

You sped up as you sensed chaos brewing and pulled out your phone as you balanced your paper cup in your other hand. You flicked your camera on just as you got to the front of the shop and the man grabbed the mechanic. You let out an ‘oop’ as she turned on him and you aimed the lens at the couple as they fell into the snow, the man’s shoes giving little traction to his steps.

You moved closer, stunned by the scene, and kept your cell phone rolling as you found a better angle around the snowy walks. As she choked him on the ground he elbowed her and she coughed as she rolled away. She snarled as he clamoured to his feet, slipping and sliding as he marched away.

You killed the recording and watched the man cross the street again, nearly wiping out as he did and when you looked back to the mechanic, she was gone behind the clattering door. You chuckled to yourself and tucked away your cell. It was prime footage for TikTok; with a bit of editing, it would be comedy gold.

💀

You stomped up the steps of your grandmother’s house, this time through the front door as you heard her chair rocking in the front room. You usually took the stairs in the back as you paid her to live on the upper floor of the duplex. You checked in with her daily, she didn’t get out much more than the occasional trip to the grocery store when you couldn’t or you dragged her out to join you for a tea at Babs’.

“You’re late,” she grumbled as you set your cup down and unzipped your coat.

“For what?” you scoffed.

“It’s after noon and you don’t even come down to say hello? A ‘good morning, nan’,” she harrumphed.

You chuckled and hung your coat before shoving your boots over on the mat. You grabbed your mocha and leaned on the doorway as you watched her crocheting in her chair, reruns of some court show playing from the boxy television.

“I was working,” you said, “sent in some stuff for review. Hopefully not much work to be done.”

“I don’t know how you make money on that interweb,” she bemoaned, “I don’t trust it.”

“Maybe you’d trust it more if you used the Netflix subscription I got you,” you crossed your arms, “then you wouldn’t have to watch trash daytime TV.”

She shrugged and muttered under her breath. She could be crotchety but you liked her sense of humour. Your aunts and uncles never came around because they just took it as spite. You were the only one who knew how to handle the jaded old lady.

“Maybe you coulda looked out the window,” you snickered, “quite a show going on in town.”

“Hmm, what’s that?” she stilled her needles and reached for her tea stained cup.

“Just a fight. You wouldn’t believe it, that lady mechanic beat the shit--”

“Language,” she huffed.

“Anyway, she had this guy in a chokehold. It was awesome.”

“What guy?” she squinted at you over her glasses.

“I dunno. Some out of towner. Remember I told you about that burly dude hanging around the library?”

“There’s more?” she sucked on her teeth, “those bikers have never been good news and now they’re bringing in more.”

“Yeah, well, what’re you gonna do?” you sniffed as you took out your phone and rewatched the scuffle with the volume down. You shook your head and opened up your TikTok.

“I don’t understand why you’re always on your dang phone,” your grandmother pestered.

“I’m not always on my phone,” you smiled at her smugly, “there are those time when I’m listening to you prattle on or you know, making you tea, oh, and cooking you dinner. What was it I did last week? Oh that’s right, I got Pippin out of the crawlspace.”

“I’m too old to be chasin’ that cat all around,” she huffed, “where is he anyway?”

“He’s your cat, I don’t know? Last time I saw him, I sent him back out the window for shredding my charger.”

“He knows you need to give it a rest,” she laughed to herself, “got your nose to that screen too much.”

“And what do you do, old lady? Crocheting doilies to put where exactly?”

She gave you that dry smile, the one that said watch it but carried a hint of humour still. You hit post and put your phone away as you waved off her irritation.

“Well, you know what, I sit all day at my computer, doing who knows what and you know what it got me?” you taunted, “a large mocha!” you sipped as you sat on the sofa and grabbed the remote, “and it’s paying my rent and putting bullet points on my resume.”

“Mhmm,” she scowled, “just remember, real life ain’t online. Those videos you’re always laughing at like hyena, that’s not reality. You forget it and it’ll come back and bit you. ‘Specially with those bikers.”

“Oh, nan, you know too well, don’t you? Didn’t you have a fling with one back in your hippie phase?”

“Two, actually,” she raised her brows, “I was young and stupid. Not like you, but still.”

“I love you too,” you chirped and sipped from your cup, flicking the station to Jerry Springer, “that’s more like it.”

💀

Your usual TikToks were sarcastic and dull complaints about your small town life. The response was less than pleasing but it gave you an outlet to vent. You liked to goof around and document the very specific type of weirdos that resided in Birch. But the video of the fight in the snow blew up your phone and made it difficult to ignore the buzzing as you went back up to your room to eke out the last of your captions for the ad agency.

When at last you could call your day hard-earned, you logged off and sent in your hours to the agency. Social media promotion was easy enough but the working gigs for a thousand different companies was tedious. You hoped you could build your portfolio enough to manage a single corporate page as you continued to chip away at your creative outlets.

You picked up your phone as you waited for Netflix to load on your tiny smart tv and flopped onto your bed, not two feet from your desk. You hit the icon in the upper panel of your phone and scrolled through the notifications, pausing to turn on another episode of the cable sitcom from ten years before. You snorted as you read each comment but the number under the video made your eyes round. The thing was bound to go viral.

As usual, you went down to help with supper. Pippin, the orange tabby, returned to cry at his dish and you fed him too. Your nan peered through her glasses at a crossword as she tasted the tangy pasta sauce.

“More basil,” she snipped.

“Well, I asked if you wanted to help,” you muttered, “I think it’s good.”

“Hmmp, I need milk,” she jutted her chin out, “for my after-dinner tea.”

“You couldn’t say something like three hours ago?” you blinked.

“I could have but I didn’t,” she snickered. You rolled your eyes and she took another forkful of penne and filled in another line on her puzzle, “ah, no hurry, girlie, you know I’m patient.”

“Patient? You?” you chuckled as you took your plate and shoved it in the microwave to keep it warm. The ancient thing had a dial and the door stuck, “I’ll just go get it over with.”

“Don’t forget your mitts,” she called after you as you tramped into the front room, “it’s cold.”

You pulled on your knitted cap and matching mitts. You zipped up your parka and shoved your feet into the deep boots. You grabbed your wallet and buried it in the spacious pocket. You bounced out the front door and down the steps as the sky sent down another coat of powder for the night.

You went up White Forge Street and through the short path behind the diner that led to the main road. You glanced over at The Asp, the beacon of the dull town, and turned towards the grocer. Like anywhere in Birch, the store was outdated and stuffy. It felt like stepping into another time with the paper bags and chunky tills.

You went down the center aisle and stopped at the fridge to search through the frosted glass. Your nan only drank whole milk and the last time you carelessly grabbed skim, she whined that even Pippin wouldn’t drink it. She was particular but that was just her nature. You couldn’t say you were any less fussy in some instances.

You grabbed a jug and the door slapped closed against the worn rubber seal. You headed up the candy aisle and brushed your woolly thumb over your chin as you considered gummy bears or Reeses’ Pieces.

“Hard choice?” The deep voice jolted you.

You snatched the box of chocolate and looked over at the man in leather, his chin tucked down behind the collar as snow dusted his shoulders.

“Sure,” you said as you brushed past him.

The cut of the leather told you he was better not entertained. While you thought the men amusing, you weren’t stupid enough to engage with them. You rarely listened to your grandmother but she was wise in her own way.

You knew a girl in highschool, she was fucking around with one of the club men in her junior year, she ended up with a baby and no support. You didn’t think he was into you that way but he could hardly have innocent intentions.

“How’s the old lady?” Clayton asked as he rung in your order at the end of the belt, you moved along with the groceries and pulled out your wallet.

“The usual, you know? She’s tryna quit again. Don’t know how long it’ll last.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll keep a carton aside for her,” he kidded as you felt your phone vibing in your back pocket.

“Don’t encourage her,” you swiped your card and punched in your pin, “although I don’t know what’s worse; the smoke or her sucking on those mints all the time.”

“Oh, it’s not the bitchin’?” he laughed.

“That, too,” you scooped up the paper bag and put your wallet away, “have a good one.”

As you came to the end of the first counter, you were nearly cut off by the club member as he swept around from till two. His own purchase of a car magazine and jerky was tucked under his arm.

“Ah, sorry,” he smiled, a sparkling smile, almost charming.

“No worries,” you continued on and he followed close behind.

“Those mitts look real warm. ‘Specially in this weather,” he said as you pushed open the door.

“Uh huh,” you kept on as your boots crunched out into the snow.

“You know where I can get a pair. Leather isn’t exactly thermal, you know?”

“These? My nan made ‘em. I’m sure Clayton got some hung up back there,” you looked across the street as you stepped up onto the ledge of snow between the sidewalk and the road.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked.

You looked at him dumbly and almost laughed in his face. You glanced back across the street then down towards The Asp.

“Sorta,” you answered.

“Make you a deal. Leave ya alone for your name.”

You eyed him. He was older than you like many of the Commandos. At least a decade, likely more than that. You chewed on your hesitation and cradled the bag more firmly against your side. His eyes strayed as he tried to see through the thick layer of your coat.

“Nah, I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers,” you said and hopped off onto the road.

You heard him behind you as he struggled to follow and as you came up to the other side, he came parallel with you and kept stride with you easily.

“I know you’re young but you’re not a kid,” he intoned, “what’s the harm in a name?”

“It’s a small town,” you stopped short of the end of White Forge, “I think I know enough about you to avoid you.”

“Oh ho, is that it? Well, I’m Sam, I’m not a stranger now, am I?”

“Not interested, Sam. Sure there’s women your own age over at the bar,” you nodded behind him.

“You wanna come see? Maybe have a drink?” he gave a crooked grin.

“You don’t give up, do you?” you shook your head, put off by his forwardness.

“Well?”

“Not tonight, Sam,” you turned around and headed down White Forge.

“Then what night?” he asked but you didn’t answer and he didn’t follow.

You turned down onto your street and refused to look back in case. It would be best not to mention the run-in to your nan, she was paranoid enough as it was. Besides, you’d forget about it by the end of next week.

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dear-galileo · 2 years

Text

blushing all the way home

happy first day of buddie week! thanks to @dailybuddie for setting up this awesome week :)

these fics will also be posted on my ao3, which is deargalileo

Day 1: Did I make you blush? | Rivals

Buck is very pleased when he discovers how easily he can make Eddie blush. Eddie is not as pleased.

2.5k words

read it here on ao3

Considering the long shifts that the 118 team pulls, and the amount of time outside of work that they spend together, it is incredible to think that they have never run out of things to talk about.

It’s incredible until you meet Evan Buckley, and then you realize that it is more impossible to reach the end of random facts that he stores, rather than running out of things to say.

The team is used to this, and most of the time allow themselves to get pulled into a random conversation about the history of a chef’s hat (technically called a toque, and the pleats in the hat represents the chef’s level of experience), or discussing how the odds of getting a royal flush in poker are exactly 1 in 649,740, which led to a station-wide, multi-day poker championship.

So when Hen and Chimney entered the locker room and found Buck furiously reading something off of his phone, they weren’t surprised when he showed them a website that boasted “39 Fun Flirting Facts”.

“Do I even want to know what instigated this?” Hen asks, settling on one of the benches.

“Studies show that flirtatious people have whiter blood cell counts, which improves health and immunity,” Buck recites in lieu of a real answer.

“Oh good, so you’ll live forever,” Eddie came out from the showers, pulling a t-shirt over his head.

“So the good ol’ Buckley charm made it through up to Buck point one-oh- what version are you on?”

“Hey, Hen! Did you know the word lesbian comes from the Greek island Lesbos, where the poet Sappho wrote her poetry about her female lovers?” Hen rolls her eyes, but nods obligingly.

“Yes, I did know that, Buckaroo. Literally every lesbian on Earth knows that. Thank you for bestowing your wisdom onto me.”

Eddie comes to sit down next to Buck, trying to read his phone over his shoulder.

“Some of these has to be bullshit. Women are more likely to give out their phone numbers on sunny days as opposed to cloudy days?” Hen nods in agreement while Chimney sticks his finger up.

“No, I’m pretty sure that one is correct! Something about hormo-“

“Finish that sentence and I’ll have Maddie kick you in the crotch,” Hen interrupts, leveling Chim with a stern look. He smiles sheepishly and goes back to reorganizing his locker.

“Since ancient Greece, the apple has been a symbol of love. They believed that apples represented love because it lasted so long after being picked.”

“That one’s kind of sweet,” Chim says. “Think Maddie would want an apple for Valentine’s Day?”

Buck went over to his locker, riffling through while the others chatted amongst each other.

“Karen and I both tried to get Valentine’s Day off for next year, you know, ask in advance, but she can’t, so we might do a weekend trip sometime in February to make up for it.”

“Ugh, that’s two months away,” Eddie groans. “Let us get through Christmas first, please.” They all chuckle.

“Got any Christmas facts for us, Buck?” Chim asks, before Buck slams his locker shut and plops down right next to Eddie.

“Here.” Out of nowhere, Buck is holding a red apple out towards Eddie. “I think we could live apple-ly ever after.”

Eddie immediately felt his face go up in flames as Hen and Chim dissolved into a mess of laughter. Buck was clearly trying to hold back a smile as well, but he was looking so deeply into Eddie’s eyes that Eddie couldn’t look away.

“Oh my god, did I make you blush?” Buck finally broke, eyes flickering all around his face.

Eddie rubs at his neck, as if he could wipe away the pink tint rapidly rising. “You are!” Buck crows, practically vibrating on the bench next to him. “See? I’ve got game!”

“Buck, you once stole a firetruck to have sex with someone, no one here doubted that you have game,” Hen says, but Buck ignores her. Eddie bats Buck’s finger from where he was trying to poke his cheek away. The apple sat long forgotten on the bench between them.

“Shut up,” Eddie wiped at his face before standing up. “I think I hear Cap calling me,” and he is out of the locker room before anyone can point out that Bobby is in his office completing paperwork.

“Not that watching that wasn’t incredibly interesting,” Hen says, standing up herself. “But I am going to go do literally anything else.”

“Hey, that sounds like a great idea, I’ll go do that too with you,” Chimney pipes in, and before he knows it, Buck is alone in the locker room, but even that doesn’t take the smile off of his face. After a few more moments pass, he scoops up the apple and takes a big bite out of it. “Tastes like love to me.”

The rest of the day is like a game to Buck- and Eddie knows that even if he tried he couldn’t resist. The two are usually always tied up together, shoulders or knees knocking as they sit at the dinner table, opting to sit next to each other on the couch in between calls rather than taking their own loveseats, and always, always, having each others backs.

But now, Buck is doing it with intent. When he hovers behind Eddie while Eddie is restocking the ambulance, he knows that Buck is fully aware of what he’s doing to him. Buck’s hot breath on the back of Eddie’s neck would be enough to get a rise out of him, but the gentle caress of Buck’s hand on the back of Eddie’s elbow is nearly enough to make him go weak in the knees.

Buck takes every sign of any color in Eddie’s cheeks as a win, with frequent reports back to the team. Eddie is pretty sure Hen knows what’s going on in Eddie’s mind, if the sympathetic looks she sends him from across the room mean anything.

“Eddie, Eddie, come here,” Buck chants, dragging him away from the truck after Eddie spent ten minutes cleaning just one tire. “I have to show you something.”

“What?” Even though he’s a bit annoyed by the game, Eddie can’t deny the thrill that goes up his spine every time Buck lingers this close, or when their eyes lock in the intense way that they do. “Bobby, Bobby, Bobby!” Buck changes his chant as Bobby walks out onto the main floor. Eddie dutifully allows himself to be dragged along in Buck’s grasp.

“Are you still torturing Eddie?” Bobby asks without looking up from his clipboard.

“Maybe.” Buck answers completely seriously before charging ahead. “But I want to show you this cool trick. Look, look, look.”

Eddie liked these types of days. When the calls didn’t burden them, follow them back to the station and then to their homes. And Buck helps with that, even if he doesn’t realize it. His energy was so infectious, that he couldn’t even fathom someone being around him and not immediately enamored.

His mind briefly flickers to the times where Buck wasn’t in the station, couldn’t be, and how foreign laughter became during those times.

Eddie physically shakes his head, banishing those thoughts from his head as Buck pulls him to stand in front of Bobby.

Bobby looks at them, trying to act like he isn’t amused already. “So?”

“I learned this in middle school.” Buck starts, which Eddie privately thinks that is a terribly ominous prelude, before turning to Eddie. “Want to play a game?”

“Uh- what game?”

“It’s easy!” Buck is so bright- sometimes it is simply too painful to look at him directly, but Eddie lets himself bask in the warmth. “It’s called Counting Shoulders.” He turns back to face Bobby, so his shoulder is pressed right against Eddie’s. Buck is on Eddie’s left side, an unspoken agreement about their arrangement since they became partners.

First he brings his right arm up to his own shoulder, pressing down on it in an exaggerated way. “One,” he moves onto his right shoulder, repeating the motion. “Two,” Buck then seamlessly transitions to Eddie’s left shoulder. “Three,” and before Eddie can process it, Buck’s arm is hanging around his shoulder in a familial, affectionate way. “Four! Good job!”

Buck doesn’t move his arm from Eddie’s shoulder, and a beat passes with him smiling, obviously very pleased with himself.

The moment is broken by Bobby snorting loudly, and dropping his head into his hand. “And that worked for you, in middle school? he asked.

“It’s working for me now!” Buck cried, gesturing to what Eddie knew had to be the furious blush that was across his face. “Look!”

Eddie could only face palm just as Bobby had, hoping his hands could hide his face from everyone in the station. “You are insufferable,” he says just loud enough for Buck to hear him, but that only makes Buck laugh.

Eddie’s saving grace was the alarm ringing, but even then Buck’s arm lingered just a moment longer before it was gone and they were heading into the trucks.

Eddie was thankful that it was only a 10 hour shift- after today, going home would feel like a small mercy. His skin might feel like it was burned for it’s state of constant heat, thanks to a certain blond who’s name rhymes with Fuck.

Speaking of Fuck- he means Buck- he was following Eddie into the locker room. Hen and Chim were on the shift for a couple more hours, so they bid their goodbyes after the last call.

Even though he had gone through the constant teasing all day, he still felt nothing but relaxed when they walked into the locker room.

“Picking up Chris from school today?” Buck asks, opening up his locker and pulling out his change of clothes. “He will be excited to see you.”

“More like he will be excited to see his Buck,” Eddie corrected. “Movie night, remember?” Buck beamed in the way that he always did when he was referred to as Christopher’s Buck.

“As if I could forget!”

There was a lull in the conversation as they stripped out of their clothes. Eddie had his clean t-shirt over his head when he heard a low whistle coming from about three feet away.

Eddie rips his head through the shirt, glaring at Buck. “Did you just wolf whistle at me?”

“How could I not! Those abs, dude!”

“Can you really call me dude while flirting with me?”

“Clearly I can.” As if to prove his point, Buck let his eyes stare down Eddie from head to toe.

Eddie couldn’t miss a minute of it, the way that Buck looks at his eyes, the way his eyes lingered over his chest, and by the time that Buck’s eyes dropped lower, Eddie twists up his dirty shirt and snapped it out at Buck.

Buck shrieked and jumped out of the way, but he was already laughing.

“You are making dinner tonight,” Eddie tried to say in a menacing voice, but it clearly didn’t work when Buck just smiled fondly and rolled his eyes.

“Wasn’t I going to do that already?” Eddie snapped his shirt out one last time, for good measure.

“Shut up.”

Chris was, as predicted, very excited to be picked up by Buck. Technically, Eddie was there too, but he sat in the truck while Buck leaned on the outside.

Chris had excitedly explained to all of his teachers that “his Buck” was there to pick him up, which Eddie thought was going to make Buck cry.

It didn’t, and once Christopher was buckled into the truck, they launched into a rambunctious conversation about Christopher’s day at school.

At home, Eddie got Christopher started on homework while Buck puttered around.

At some point over the years that they had known each other Buck and Eddie have built a domestic routine in Eddie’s home.

Eddie didn’t mind. He liked it a lot, in fact. He liked Buck fitting into his home, Eddie’s home becoming Buck’s home, too.

Buck handled most of dinner, as he did most nights that he spent at the Diaz’s. Chris helped him mix the meatloaf mixture, and watched it slowly cook in the oven.

After Chris helped set the table, Eddie had him sit down.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else I could help with?” Eddie tries, not for the last time. Buck hip checks him, bumping him out of the way of the oven.

“No. I’m worried you will blow up the oven by looking at it too hard.” Christopher giggles, but Eddie lets himself be pushed out of the way with little fight.

“Hot stuff, hot stuff!” Buck crows, pulling the meatloaf out of the oven. “Move out of the way, hot stuff!” He hipped checked Eddie again, before safely putting the meatloaf down on the table.

That sent Chris into hysterics again, and Eddie vaguely had the notion of putting his head into his hands and screaming.

Instead he looked at Buck. Buck was looking like a kid who had just gotten away with stealing cookies from the cookie jar, just pleased as punch.

“You are so stupid,” he tries to say quietly, but Chris oooh’ed softly, so it wasn’t quiet enough. “Christopher, please turn around.”

“Aw, dad!”

Eddie moves to Chris’s chair, and moved it so he was facing the wall, sending Christopher into another fit of giggles.

As quickly as he could, Eddie moves back to Buck, stepping into his space and crowding him back against the counter.

“I seriously can’t take this anymore,” Eddie whispers before pulling Buck into a kiss.

It wasn’t tender, or heated, and was cut into by Christopher’s nonstop giggles from ten feet away, but Eddie couldn’t bring himself to care.

Buck was smiling into the kiss, Eddie could practically taste the laughter on his lips, but he was so giving, so warm, and Eddie knew that he could lose himself in those lips easily.

He forces himself to pull away, even when Buck tries to follow his lips.

“Ew! You guys kissed!” Christopher- who had managed to wiggle his chair back around- yells, breaking them out of their moment.

Buck laughs and presses one more kiss to Eddie’s lips before stepping it away. “I had it coming, Superman. I was basically asking for it all day.”

As Eddie sat down across Buck at the dinner table, watching him serve up Christopher with food before himself, Eddie let himself smile. Buck caught his eye and smiled back, and gently tangled their feet together underneath the table.

“He was,” Eddie finally muses. “Your Buck is a pretty bad flirt.”

“Hey! It worked, didn’t it?” Buck retorts. Eddie rolls his eyes, but he had to nod.

“I guess it did.”

#buddieweek21 #buddie #my fics #evan buckley #eddie diaz #fan fiction #em posts #this is pure fluff ok

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