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The sun is different. The weather is not the same. Everything is so… wrong. He starts to feel out of place, not because of LA either, every time he turns around and sees a McGarrett-shaped hole right beside him. Chin has been a good partner. Almost perfect one even. Danny never gets a chance to rant. There’re no hanging suspects from anything higher than 3 feet. No grenades (Thank you very much.) No headache. Only some shootouts, nothing far from the usual. But something’s off. And watching Hannah and Callen together doesn’t help. At all. He’ll never EVER say it out loud alright, but he misses his own Neanderthal SuperSEAL like crazy. Misses the goofy face, the voice, the lingering gazes and even more lingering touches. Hell, he even missed the jerk’s insanity. And what does that statement say about his sanity? It’s Steve’s fault. Everything is Steve’s Fault for Danny. And he’ll make sure the asshole know that. He’ll make sure he’s going back. To his home.
“The nutritionist said I should eat root vegetables. Said if I could get down thirteen turnips a day I would be grounded, rooted. Said my head would not keep flying away to where the darkness lives. The psychic told me my heart carries too much weight. Said for twenty dollars she’d tell me what to do. I handed her the twenty. She said, “Stop worrying, darling. You will find a good man soon.” The first psycho therapist told me to spend three hours each day sitting in a dark closet with my eyes closed and ears plugged. I tried it once but couldn’t stop thinking about how gay it was to be sitting in the closet. The yogi told me to stretch everything but the truth. Said to focus on the out breath. Said everyone finds happiness when they care more about what they give than what they get. The pharmacist said, “Lexapro, Lamicatl, Lithium, Xanax.” The doctor said an anti-psychotic might help me forget what the trauma said. The trauma said, “Don’t write these poems. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.” But my bones said, “Tyler Clementi jumped from the George Washington Bridge into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.” My bones said, “Write the poems.” ”—Andrea Gibson
“Dude you were totally pining,” Finn butted in. “You even had that god awful playlist full of songs that made me want to, like, rip my heart out, that you listened to all the time.”
Sebastian laughed and Blaine shot a smug look over his shoulder. “You had a playlist about me Kurt?” he asked sweetly, but his eyes were dancing mischievously. “You never told me that. Was it full of epic love songs and classic musical numbers?”
“Shut up you.” Kurt said, “It was mostly Adele, actually, thank you very much Mr. ‘I’m not very good at romance’. And you aren’t allowed to mock my song choices unless you want to bring the GAP into this.”
COME HERE. YOU CAN SLEEP ON MY SLEEPSOFA. YOU SIT NEXT TO THE FOOD-DEPOT AND THE MUSIC AND A BIG WINDOW WITH VIEW INTO THE FOREST.
IT SOUNDS SO PERFECT, LET ME GET ON A PLANE AND WRITE YOU VIOLENT FICTION ON DEMAND WHILST NAPPING ON YOUR SOFA.
hoellenbrut replied to your post: ateenheart replied to your post: My sister and her…
Do not be too optimistic. I managed to dry several cactus-es(?) and Carlos seems quite flesh-y.
Shhh don’t do this to me, everything will be fine…hopefully