Fallout Headcanon: the most frequently confiscated type of contraband in the Legion isn’t cigarettes, alcohol, or any kind of chem. It’s actually shitty, pre-war dime store paperback harlequin romance novels. They’ll trade them to one another, under the table, and the Legionaries who can’t read get in on the action too by having the literate ones either straight up read them out loud to them or having them summarize it. Ones without missing pages or scorch marks are highly valued, and the books are commonly traded for favors, information, and other stuff on top of being used as betting material.
“Pavus, I need a favor.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“I’ve got ‘Untamed Billionaire, Undressed Virgin,’ AND the highly coveted 'A Noble Captive.’ Both have a little bit of water damage but all the pages are there and everything’s readable.”
“….throw in that copy of 'Bought for the Marriage Bed’ that I saw you with last week and it’s a deal.”
Skeletal concrete piers, reaching like broken fingers into the grey water. Eighty years ago they were a crucial figure of the industrial waterfront. Now they are crumbling.
Six hundred gulls in the grocery store parking lot.
“A high of seventy degrees today,” the weatherman says, “cooler by the Lake.” Snowflakes kiss your eyelashes. It is July.
You are barefoot at the edge of a vast beach. The sand is impossibly hot. You run toward the water, but the waves shrink away. You have been running for hours. You never get closer.
A foghorn sounding on a clear night.
Scorched sticks and blackened sand mark the remnants of another campfire. You were here all night. There were no other flames.
The town reeks of rotting fish for days. No one mentions it.
The hottest week of the summer, there is an E. coli outbreak. No lifeguards are posted because, officially, the beaches are closed. Hot bodies press against each other, straining to reach the water.
Large, strange bones flash white in the shallow water, tumbled smooth by rocks and waves.
The lakefront glitters silver and gold. The gold is warm afternoon sunlight, kissing every waves. The silver is hundreds of thousands of tiny dead fish, their scales glinting with every movement of the water.
The lighthouse a few miles away flashes its lantern. Again. Again. You stare into the darkness, counting the seconds between rotations, matching the rhythm with your breath. It takes a little longer each time. You begin to feel faint.
There is no sand. There are only a hundred million zebra mussel shells, cutting at your feet.
Ships of sunken iron ore, a hundred thousand tons of metal rusting at the bottom of a lake.
This beach is popular with joggers. You nod at them as they pass you. Something begins to nag at your mind. Something familiar. His face. Again. Again. There is only one jogger, who runs this leg of beach over, and over, and over.
An ice cream truck on a damp morning, its tinny music muffled by the fog.
You are digging a hole at the beach. The walls begin to crumble, and you dig faster. Water seeps up from the bottom, sloshing thickly about your ankles. It is cold. So cold.
It’s hot. Not the average California consistency but fucking scorching. Stiles’ sweat is sweating if that puts anything into prospective - it is the least attractive thing, well, besides that one time he tried to demonstrate a proper blow job on a cucumber; that resulted in a SnapChat hell.
Yeah, so. Anyways. That’s why he’s standing in the frozen foods aisle with one of the doors wide open pretending to shove around a box of frost bitten pizza every time someone strolls by. Thank god Beacon Hills Grocery is a rinky-dink, East Bum Fuck kinda store, they don’t have security cameras. Which means no announcements for scrawny idiots to step away from the waves of cool air pumping past the glass doors.
Stiles presses his head to the cool surface, happens to let out a long breath that fogs the glass - you know, smiley face drawing fog - when he catches sight of this guy. This really really unforgettable guy.
Deja vu hits Stiles like a slap to the face. He lets the freezer door click shut, stands aimlessly in the middle of the aisle and just watches the stranger start to pass with his brows knit and his jaw hanging slack. Stiles presses his tongue to the back of his teeth to keep from saying anything fucking stupid like, “can I touch your beard?” or, “I love you.” The usual things you say to men in grocery stores.
It’s just…Really Really Unforgettable Guy is somehow intangible, and that feels backwards. Stiles’ fingers are itching to curl into the strangers belt loops, his arms aching to wrap around what Stiles assumes is a sculpted torso.
“Dude, hi,” Stiles is spitting out before he can stop himself. He puts a hand on the strangers chest to halt him, cants his head like an intrigued puppy before continuing, “okay, that was all I had. Hi. And also sorry for touching. Can I touch though? Like, are random people allowed to touch? They shouldn’t be. I don’t…okay. You know what, actually, carry on.”
Maybe there’s tape on sale he can spread across his mouth.
You read the strip one more time. Positive. You cried tears of joy. After a year of trying you finally were pregnant. You couldn’t wait to tell your husband Thomas. It would be a while until he got home so you went to the store to get some stuff.
*few hours later*
“Honey, I’m home!” Thomas called.
“I’m in the kitchen!”
He came in and wrapped his arms around your waste as you cut up some carrots and he gave you a peck on the cheek.
“So what’s for dinner?” He asked still hugging you, resting his chin on your shoulder, swaying you back and forth.
“Let’s see,” you turned around facing him, “Baby corn, baby carrots, and baby back ribs!”
“Um, okay,” he said clearly not getting the hint.
“Go take a seat at the table, it’ll be ready in a minute.”
He sat down and you passed him a plate, “looks great,” he smiled. You sat down and started talking about normal things until the tea kettle whistled. You got up and poured it into the new mug you bought him today: “Worlds Number One Dad.”
You passed him the mug and sat down again.
“New mug?” He asked and then he turned around to read the writing and gave a questionable look. “Worlds Number One Dad,” he read to himself. Then all of a sudden he looked up at you, a huge smile spreading across his face.
He started to cry and got up to kiss you.
“I am going to be the Worlds Number One Dad,” he laughed.
Jack’s gradual desire for the boy boiled beneath his skin like a pot of water left unattended on a kitchen stove. It started out warm yet unmoving, but as time went by it began to quiver underneath the developing heat until it bubbled over the rim and scorched down the side to drip into the very flames that aroused it. And by then there was no way of calming it down.
(Also known as the one where Jack is a teenage pyromaniac, and the blonde boy that frequents his convenience store is more than okay with that.)
Big Sean is Set to Drop One of the Biggest Albums of 2015.
Big Sean has been scorching lately. Every single track he’s dropped since late 2014 has been a must listen. From his biggest breakout hit since ‘Marvin Gaye and Chardonnay’, 'IDFWY’ is ringing off on every major radio station building anticipation for whatever he has in store next. The newest album titled Dark Sky Paradise is set to drop Feb 24th but go get your fire extinguisher now.
1. “Dark Sky (Skyscrapers)” 2. “Blessings” (feat. Drake) 3. “All Your Fault” (feat. Kanye West) 4. “I Don’t F**k With You” (feat. E-40) 5. “Play No Games” (feat. Chris Brown & Ty Dolla $ign) 6. “Paradise (Extended)” 7. “Win Some, Lose Some” 8. “Stay Down” 9. “I Know” (feat. Jhené Aiko) 10. “Deep” (feat. Lil Wayne) 11. “One Man Can Change the World” (feat. Kanye West & John Legend) 12. “Outro”
I owed a friend $5 or $10 and was headed by his house, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to repay him. As I was driving to his place, I realized I only had $20 bills and knew it was unlikely he had change for me, so I stopped into a local convenience store to make change.
Now, I’m pretty considerate when it comes to asking stores to make change. I know convenience stores don’t like $20s, so I didn’t even consider outright asking for change. I walked to the row of glass doored refrigerators in back and grabbed a Coke. I even reached into the back to get the coldest one since it was a scorching hot summer day.
I waited my turn in line, and handed the clerk the Coke. He scanned it and $1 and some change pops up on the screen. I open my wallet and pull out a $20. He asks, “got anything smaller?” I show him my wallet which has three other $20s inside, saying “no, sorry, I don’t.”
“Well, I’ve got too many $20s,” (or something similar), he replies. I politely asked him again to make the sale as it was hot and I didn’t have any smaller bills, getting nowhere.
I turn to leave and he says, “put that Coke back.” No please, nothing. I continue walking out and reply, “no thanks,” and leave.
Restock your own Coke, you miserable piece of shit.
Rumor had it that this particular bookstore had a spellbook that Valentine had been scouring the glode for. Granted he doubted the warlock owing the shop would part with it so willingly. Which was why Sebastian had been the one sent to retrieve it. It was an order to retrieve the book, kill if it called for it, but this was Sebastian after all. To him the book sellers fate was already set. The tainted nephilim entered the book store calmly, the man behind the counter eyeing him suspiciously. Rightfully so.
Although, only a few minutes later a woman would also enter. Her skin fairer then most, and she carried herself highly. Sebastian new without a doubt she was something more then human. Irritation stuck a cord as he would be unable to do as he needed with her there as well. He’d have to loiter until she’d left. For the time being he slowly weaved through the shelves, pretending to look over the spines of various books, the place smelt of dust and age.
Haven was gone. The buildings glowed like dying embers, the contents and citizens reduced to agonized ash.
Cullen hefted Kaitlyn’s scorched trunk—the only thing that had served her cabin—as he stalked down the side of the mountain. There’d been nothing that the scouts hadn’t already reclaimed, leaving Haven behind them like a picked-over carcass. Cullen gritted his teeth as he paused to collect another handful of Elfroot. He thawed out the leaves with his breath and fingers before storing the collection into the trunk with the rest of Kaitlyn’s things.
Grey began spilling over the mountain peak: the warning of the oncoming dawn. He grunted, quickening his pace as he trudged to the encampment below. Dying fires licked the cracked remnants of burnt logs, casting long shadows over the handful of soldiers who paced throughout the camp. The only other light came from the healer’s tent.
“How is she?” Cullen asked as he set the trunk inside.
“She’s fucking cold!” Bull snapped from the bed.
Kaitlyn—now wrapped in bandages—was draped across Bull’s front. The qunari’s hands rubbed along her back in slow, circular motions. Cullen had never thought of Kaitlyn as small until that moment. Bull could miniaturize anyone who stood beside him but Kaitlyn, with her bandages and shallowed breaths, appeared closer to a sick child than an injured warrior.
“Um…” Cullen cleared his throat and glanced away. Bull was the proper choice to keep Kaitlyn warm. He was large enough to cover more of her skin and his size made him run hotter than the average human but it still felt… off to see Kaitlyn in his arms. He shifted from one foot to another as he tried to shake the nagging emotion off. “Has the Herald improved?”