My dad was a mechanic for 20+ years, and for as long as I can remember, I drove him nuts because I would go around the house with a screw driver he left out and take everything apart because I wanted to see how it work. As I grew older I developed an affinity towards computers and electronics, which led me to be “that kid” in High School who changed his grades, crashed the school districts servers, and used the NETSEND command with great success. I would spend my weekends either with my grandparents and uncle working on science projects or dragging my dad outside to help me fix my car (which consisted of him telling me that he would help once I got it taken apart). Those “figure it out” lessons were the probably the greatest gift he could’ve given me growing up.
I joined the US Army in 2004 and went into communications or “commo” for short (25U) where I managed to go from PVT (E1) when I joined to SGT (E5) by the time I returned from my deployment in 2006. After returning home, I was subsequently transferred from a Light Infantry Unit (walking everywhere) to a Mechanized Infantry Unit (Riding in an armored vehicle everywhere) and placed in charge of the Battalion Commo Shop as the current person running the commo shop was scheduled to retire in a few months and I was the only other NCO. This is where things got interesting and my Commo vs. Mechanics ProRevenge story starts…
Cobra man, no. Besides, I don’t have time for dreams. My dad taught me at a very young age to focus on the here
and now. He’s a good man, and he taught me a lot. He showed me how to defend myself, how to take on
responsibility, how to earn my keep.
Besides, I don’t remember my real parents, so, I
got nothing to compare him to, anyway.
Title: A Little Trouble Fandom: X-Men Word Count: 730 Characters: John Allerdyce (Pyro) x Reader, Jubilation Lee, Rogue, Bobby Drake Reader Gender: Female Warnings: None Notes: I wrote this months ago and forgot about it. From what I remember, the idea popped into my head, and this is the result. ☺
The rec room of Xavier’s was bustling even more than usual for a Friday night. A diverse group of mutants was there, celebrating someone’s birthday, but the majority of those in attendance were just there to hang out. You were one of the latter, sitting next to your friends Rogue and Jubilee. They were discussing the recent exam, but your attention was somewhere else. Well, someone else: John Allerdyce, who was playing a game of pool with his friend Bobby. Judging by the alluring smirk on his lips, he was winning. Your thoughts were interrupted by Jubilee snapping her fingers in front of your face.
request: Can you write about Harry getting a new personal trainer to help him get in shape (like boxing and cardio and stuff) and he gets set up with a really pretty girl and he really likes her but she won’t date her clients and he tries to persuade her and ya whatever you come up with!!!
i had a lot of fun writing this one so i hope you guys like it ((: a huge thank you to @stylishmuser for reading this over for me ily
You’re pounding away at the punching bag in your pastel pink gloves, sweat dripping down your forehead and french braids bouncing against your shoulders as music blasts through your headphones.
You’re expecting a new client soon and sometimes your nerves act up when that happens, knowing you’re an amazing personal trainer, but knowing sometimes men can’t see past your pretty body or your “girly” pink gloves. On top of that, you’d been informed that your new client was Harry Styles, former member of One Direction. The most high profile client you’d ever had.
You don’t hear him come in behind you as you’re hitting the bag as hard as you can to fight off your anxiety, sending it flying on the chain in the opposite direction. As it’s swinging back in your direction, you take the time to swing your leg around with the intention of kicking the bag in a more dramatic move than necessary. But as you twist your body your leg narrowly misses the man and he falls over trying to avoid a kick to the gut. In your shock you lose your balance and fall back on your butt, the bag swinging forward and colliding with your head instead of the foot it was meant for.
Ripping your headphones off and standing immediately, you tower over him, “Christ, don’t you know better than to sneak up on someone who’s training?”
“I’m sorry, I was trying to let you know I was here without startling you.” He stuck out his hand, “I’m Harry. It’s nice to meet you.”
My father had taught me to be nice first, because you can always be mean later, but once you’ve been mean to someone, they won’t believe the nice anymore. So be nice, be nice, until it’s time to stop being nice, then destroy them.
I would love to see a fluff about Yuri shaving Victor. Idk, but I find that kind of thing so cute! Thanks again. ♡
It’s a Sunday morning ritual. It has been for almost a year now. Sometimes they have to forgo it if they’re travelling, but mostly every weekend they indulge in a lazy morning, taking their time to get up, making sure that they spend the extra hours being dedicated to each other and nothing else.
Neither are sure how it first started, really. Maybe it was on one of those morning’s they’d decided to do everything for each other: wash each other’s bodies, fix each other’s hair, feed each other breakfast. But now it’s become habit that, morning shower or not, Yuuri shaves Victor.
It had started off innocently enough. Yuuri straddling him and using his electric razor to clear the fine dusting of stubble Victor had accumulated over the past day. It’s intimate, but something that any couple might do for each other.
Now, though, it’s changed into something more. A few months ago, Yuuri had brought out a straight razor instead of Victor’s usual electric shaver. He hadn’t asked, hadn’t explained, just offered.
As terrifying as it might have been - a single blade so close to Victor’s neck - he’s always trusted Yuuri, and he’d agreed with almost no hesitation.
The first session had been quiet. Just Yuuri concentrated on cleanly shaving Victor. His sweeps weren’t perfect, but he hadn’t nicked Victor at all, just left him with soft skin.
They hadn’t discussed it and had gone back to the electric razor the next week. But the week after, Yuuri had given him the choice - electric or straight razor. Victor had chosen the blade.
It’s beyond intimate now, this ritual of theirs, but still something they only indulge in once a week.
It always starts off the same, Yuuri sitting a naked Victor down on the edge of the tub, pulling the brush, soap, and blade out from under the sink. He doesn’t need to turn the overhead lights on - the morning sun is streaming in through the window at the perfect angle.
He heats a washcloth under the hot water of the tap, pressing it to Victor’s face once he’s pleased with the temperature. It’s quiet as they wait, letting the warm wet weight of the washcloth soften the stubble Victor has.
When he’s satisfied, Yuuri sets the blade ontop of the washcloth beside Victor as he wets the brush, swirling it over the soap to make a lather, the edges of the brush lightly tapping against the ceramic bowl the soap sits in. Victor’s eyes flutter closed as Yuuri slowly brushes the foam across his jaw in long swipes, gathering more lather as needed. The bristles of the brush are soft, but sometimes catch against his stubble.
He only blinks his eyes open when Yuuri turns to wash out the brush in the sink. He receives a soft smile when he turns back around and their eyes meet.
Victor quietly tips his head back to bare his throat to Yuuri when he picks up the razor and washcloth. Yuuri steps in between his legs, one hand keeping Victor’s head steady, the other carefully holding the blade. The first sweep is long and easy. Yuuri wipes the excess soap from the blade on the washcloth drapped over his arm.
“My dad taught me this,” he admits for the first time this Sunday. “Back when I was a teenager.”
It takes a few more sure swipes of the blade before he continues.
“When he did, I wasn’t sure what the point was. There were easier ways, and I certainly wasn’t growing enough of a beard at fifteen to warrant a full shave.”
Victor hums in the back of his throat to show he’s listening. He doesn’t speak though as Yuuri’s swiping along his jaw.
“I practiced anyway,” he admits. “Because I thought maybe it would be a useful skill. My father told me that if I could master this, then any other shave would be easy.”
He has a fond look in his eyes as he tilts Victor’s face to the side to slide the blade up his neck.
“I thought it was ridiculous. And after I’d learned how to do it, I just stuck to disposable razors because they were easier.”
“Seems a shame,” Victor murmurs as Yuuri cleans the blade on the washcloth.
“I suppose.” Yuuri agrees as he continues. He works his way slowly across Victor’s face, fingers and blade moving together in a loving motion. Every action for to Victor, and Victor alone.
Victor shows his own trust, his own love for Yuuri in the way he moves pliantly with each tilt of his head. Never flinching when Yuuri comes close with the razor.
It’s almost erotic, this reverence, this attention that Yuuri gives him on those late Sunday mornings. A moment just for the two of them.
“Even though I always thought it was a little archaic,” Yuuri says as he swipes at any moustache hairs Victor might have, “I’m glad I learned it.”
“Mmnn,” Victor agrees.
“Because now I can share it with you,” Yuuri breathes, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It’s heart wrenching to see how soft Yuuri is in this light, smiling, eyes intent on Victor, adoration showing completely on his face. Devotion. That’s what this ritual is. A promise of every Sunday from here until forever.
When Yuuri’s finished and has turned to wash the blade before he cleans Victor’s face, Victor stands, waiting until Yuuri’s turned around again before he catches him in a kiss.
The leftover shaving cream smears across both their faces. Yuuri’s stubble scratches across Victor’s soft skin. He feels contentment.
“Maybe one day you can teach me too,” He says before pulling him into another kiss.
hey, I have a lil langst prompt if you don’t mind reading!
so all the paladins are having a rest day and so they decide to ask each other questions and the other has to answer them. they’re going in a circle and shiro asks hunk who’s his best friend (they were going for easier questions first to get the ball rolling) and hunk’s just like “pidge obvs” and they smile at each other smugly like they have an inside joke, but it just makes lance realise how isolated he’s become. Hunk was his best friend but now he’s grown apart from them, in fact, he’s not very close with any of his teammates. Do any of them even think of him as a friend, or do they all find him annoying? Maybe then he realises that the only people who know he’s alive and well hate him, and he’s all alone.
idk just a thought?? also I love your blog btw, keep up the great work!
Ugh I relate to this so much…
They were all lounging the common room. Shiro, Keith, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge.
Allura and Coran were discussing an alliance with a species they recently rediscovered a day or two ago. Since the paladins weren’t needed they were allowed to have a rest day. No flying. No training. No stress.
“Ugh I didn’t think that I would be this bored.” Lance dramatically laid down on the couch.
“I agree with Lance, for once. I understand we all wanted a rest day but I’m pretty bored.” Keith sunk farther into the couch.
Shiro laughed at the two boys, “well what does everyone want to do today?”
Everyone was quiet, racking their brains for something to do. They hadn’t had a free day in forever so they didn’t know what to do. Pidge snapped her fingers resulting in everyone attention to be on her. “How about we asked each other questions. It would strengthen our bond as a team and bring us closer to each other.”
Everyone consider the idea for a moment or two before nodding.
They all moved themselves so they were in a circle and the game started. Hunk offered to talk the first question.
“So Keith where did you learn to fight with a sword?”
Keith crossed his arms and smiled “My dad taught me a little bit and when I moved into my house (shack) there was a sword so I just started to practice again.”
Everyone nodded, it made sense and Pidge took the next question. She turned towards Shiro “Do you wear eyeliner?”
Shiro sighed as everyone laughed “Yes, you jealous?”
Pidge just shrugged, failing to hide her smirk.
When everyone calmed down enough Shiro asked his question. “So Hunk who is your best friend?” Obviously Lance.
Hunk smiled and glanced at Pidge, not even looking at who Shiro thought “Pidge obviously.” Both him and Pidge shared a look and smirked at each other like they were sharing an inside joke*.
Shiro gave a forced smile and looked over at the blue paladin, he was smiling so he must be okay. Shiro was very wrong.
So Pidge is Hunk’s best friend? I thought I was, when did that change? Lance looked at all of his friend, no teammates. None of them were looking at him. Do any of them think of me as a friend? Or am I just the right leg of Voltron? Lance could feel insecurity climbing up his throat swallowing his voice. He glanced up at Hunk and Pidge, they were laughing about something. Lance wasn’t an idiot he knew that they had an inside joke, something he wasn’t included in.
Lance looked down at his legs. Am I apart of the team? Am I more than just the sharpshooter? What do I bring to the table except the fact that I pilot the Blue Lion? Anyone can do that. I mean I know that I’m not an expert on engineering or mechanics. I can barely cook and can’t build/ repair anything to save my life. Maybe I’m just too annoying. Pidge is a better person for Hunk to be friends with, they have more in common.
Lance pulled himself out of his thoughts and looked at Keith who was staring at him in concern. “Yes?”
“It’s your turn.”
Lance nodded and willed his mind to think of a question. Nothing came to mind, he had no desire to learn anything about his team. Lance shrugged. “Hunk, what do you miss about Earth?”
“Oh so much man. Like family and food and normal mechanics.” Hunk shared a laugh with Pidge who nodded in agreement.
Lance nodded and pretended to seem interested in the new information. Lance looked back down at his legs, completely oblivious to the looks his team gave him. Yet they continued to ask their questions.
Lance tuned them out, he tuned everything out. The only thing he focused on was the mice that had started to crawl over him and sat all over him. He started to pet every single one of them, making sure to pet them each for the same amount of time.
Lance nearly pealed out of his skin when Shiro placed his human hand on his shoulder, making sure he didn’t move the mouse that was perched on it.
“Lance the princess called us.”
Lance looked around the room and saw that everyone was already gone. “Oh, okay.” Lance started to stand, placing all the mice on the couch.
Him and Shiro started to walk out of the room, heading to the bridge. Silence filled the space between them and Shiro felt uncomfortable. He snuck a glance at his teammate and notice that he was walking with his head down, something obviously plaguing his mind.
Lance snapped his head up at the older man and gave a forced smile. “Yes! Just a bit tired.”
Shiro frowned “Lance, you don’t need to lie.”
Lance stopped walking. Shiro stopped and faced the boy in front of him. Lance wiped his eyes and looked at Shiro. “I’m part of the team right?”
Shiro blinked, “Of course Lance.”
“I’m more than just then just the right leg of Voltron right?”
Shiro nodded, “Yes. Why are you asking?”
Lance took in a breath and whispered the next words. “Then why isn’t Hunk my best friend? I understand that Pidge is a better fit, but what did I do wrong? Am I annoying?”
Shiro placed his hand on Lance’s shoulder “Lance you’re not annoying. You may see Pidge as a better fit but that doesn’t mean that Hunk replaced you.”
Lance fought the tears that started to form in his eyes. “Then why is she his best friend and not me? She barely talked to us at the Garrison. Now she’s his best friend and they have inside jokes together.”
Shiro tighten his grip on the boys shoulder “Lance, I know you’re upset but people go through phases in friendships. They just have more in common at the moment. Hunk still loves you and is your friend. He didn’t abandon you.”
Lance wiped his eyes “I suppose, it just hurts you know.”
Shiro nodded and pulled the younger boy in for a hug “It’s going to be okay.”
*I just wanted to say that Hunk and Pidge aren’t the “bad guys” they just are caught up in their new friendships! I tried to write it so his team wasn’t “bad”
Before you say yes, get him angry. See him scared, see him wanting, see him sick. Stress changes a person. Find out if he drinks and if he does get him drunk - you’ll learn more about his sober thoughts. Discover his addictions. See if he puts you in front of them. You can’t change people. If they are made one way, it doesn’t just wear off and if you hate how he acts when he’s out of it, you’ll hate it much worse eight years down the road. You might love him to bits but it doesn’t change that some people just don’t fit.
Characters: Gabriel, Castiel, Balthazar, Lucifer x Reader (you’ll see *wink wonk*)
Word Count: 1,580
A/N: This was requested by @averagegaykid! I loved writing this one, so I hope you all enjoy it! I hope you’ve all enjoyed Satan Sunday this week!! I love you all so much!!
You assembled the four angels, all of them standing together in front of you. They all towered over you, which was one of the reasons you recruited their help. While the Winchesters were gone, you were going to decorate the bunker for Christmas. It was not an easy task to do by yourself.
You had them each bring along different decorations. Balthazar was to get the Christmas tree, and the ornaments for it. Gabriel was supposed to get lights for the tree, along with stockings. Castiel was sent to get candy for the stockings, along with candy canes for the tree. You asked Lucifer to bring one thing, garland. You knew Lucifer was not a fan of Christmas, but he could never say no to you.
“Alright my angels,” you smiled. “We only have the rest of today and a little bit of tomorrow to decorate the bunker. Dean and Sam don’t take long on hunts. They’ll be even quicker when they realize this is just a ruse.”
There is one universal law of anime, and it is that there is always a beach episode. There is always a beach episode
Mob had fallen asleep beneath the couch blankets again,
curled into the cocoon so that the blankets served double as his pillow. He was
woken up sometime later by the sound and brightness that came with Reigen
swishing back the curtains.
“Wake up, Mob. We’ve got plans.”
Mob opened his eyes. Reigen stood over him, wearing swim
trunks, a white tank top, and enormous sunglasses with the price tag still
dangling off the right ear hook. He had globbed suntan lotion on his nose and
shoulders, and he thrust a mesh bag to Mob containing roughly the same outfit
but in a smaller size—sunglasses and all.
“I’m overworked and you’re traumatized. I don’t know
anything about mental health but there’s no way a day at the beach can be bad. So get changed it’s beach time.”
Reigen sat down on the couch beside Mob, one foot pulled up
and resting on the other knee, and he pulled out an assortment of deflated floaties
from his own bag. He uncapped the mouthpiece of one—a duck by the looks of it—and
started to inflate it.
I play bass. I play a bit of guitar. I’ve never been to a lesson, so my theory of music is non-existent in any instrument, but we always had guitars around. My dad taught me to play drums for Love Actually, and I still play drums now. But I’m not a “drummer.” I’m not a “guitarist.” I’m trying to be a bassist.
( PROMPT: This one-shot is based vaguely off this scene from High School Musical 3 )
A/N: I was suddenly struck with the urge to re-watch High School Musical 3, and I really loved the rooftop dancing scene with Troy and Gabriella ( that’s my childhood right there ), so I wrote something based off it! And, I’d just like to say thank you to everyone who reads my stories and offers such nice comments! I may be too shy to reply to them all, but please know that I read every single one of your comments, and I love and appreciate every single one of you. Also - please fill my inbox with more requests of the bae Peter Parker! I love writing for him, and it’s amazing to see how creative all of you are being with your requests and I would totally do anything for him.
“When I asked you to teach me dancing, this wasn’t
exactly what I had in mind.”
Peter’s laughing nervously as you tug harder on
his hand, dragging him out onto the school rooftop. You’ve never been up here
before, and what you see surprises you. There’s a soft carpet of grass that
crunches pleasantly underfoot, wooden planter boxes with fresh flowers and
herbs, and even a garden swing and some wooden benches.
“Can’t we just head back to my place?” Peter
asks pleadingly, his eyes darting up to rest on the heavy clouds of pewter grey
swirling overhead. “There’s Netflix. And popcorn. And –”
“Quit stalling, and get over here!” You call out
laughingly, spinning around – with difficulty – on the balls of your heels. As
of yet unused to the strappy, heeled stilettos on your feet, you have to take
odd, shuffling steps over to Peter. “I didn’t put these for nothing! And don’t
you want to be able to impress Liz Allen come prom?”
Peter dumps his bag on the bench, reluctantly
shuffling forwards. And this is where your plan hits a slight snag. You hadn’t
factored in how close he would be standing, the smell of his cologne (
something spicy and sugary and delicious ), or the warmth of his fingers, fair
and wholly familiar as he lifts your right hand in his, and settles his other
one lightly on your waist. As you rest trembling fingers on Peter’s shoulder,
feel his warm and calloused fingers close around yours, and the burning weight
of his hand at your waist, you feel warm, and a little dizzy.
Peter Parker was your chemistry laboratory
partner. You’d walked into class one day, saw him sitting at your usual seat,
fair, sparkle-eyed, tousle-haired and perfect. Your heart, so used to being
lonely, had thumped almost painfully in your chest. The two of you had become
fast friends, but by the time you’d managed to muster up your courage to tell
him how you’d felt, he’d already developed a crush on the uber-popular Liz
“C’mon,” You say encouragingly, trying to ignore
the spikes of jealously eating away at your heart. “Can’t have you stepping on
Liz’s feet at prom.”
Peter laughs, shuffles his feet nervously. “Right.
Okay. What now?”
“Okay, now move your left foot forwards, and
step to the side with your right – No, not that side! Your other side!”
you sure we’re doing this right?”
“’Course I’m sure! My dad taught me!” It’s one
of the father-daughter bonding moments that you can actually remember. “Let’s
“It’s going to rain! Can’t we continue in, say, a month’s time?”
“Rain-schmane.” You say, sticking your tongue
out childishly, even as a drop or two of fat rain runs through your hair. You
can already see strips of lightning in the distance, blending in with the
perfect lines of light from the downtown skyscrapers. It won’t be long now
before the storm. “The prom’s on Saturday, you know. The clock’s ticking!”
“Funny, I thought that was the thunder.”
You continue calling out instructions to Peter,
correcting his footing and posture, uncomplaining even when he steps on your
toes. Alright, maybe you did squeal a few times, much to Peter’s embarrassment,
but as much as your feet protest at the rough treatment, you find yourself loving
every moment of it. Love moving through
the space in his arms, your bodies close together, your thighs brushing, the
scent of his clothes and hair, close and fresh –
Your face feel warm. You wonder if your shirt is
soaked with sweat.
How sad is it, that you’d jumped at the chance
to teach him dancing just so that you could spend more time with someone who
didn’t return your feelings?
“I think you’ve got the hang of this,” You
remark, glancing up at Peter as the two of you begin your second turn about the
floor, still relatively slowly and carefully. “Let’s try it with music!”
You have to laugh at the utter look of horror on
Peter’s face. “Music?”
“It’ll be fun, promise.”
Wriggling out of Peter’s arms – and trying to
ignore the sudden sense of loss trammelling through you – you dig your phone
out from your bag. You scroll through the songs on your phone until you find
the one that you’re looking for and hit PLAY.
“Really?” Peter asks, eyes aglow with amusement.
“High School Musical? Wait –”
Realization breaks over his face, like the sunrise over the clouds. “– Is that
why you insisted on binge-watching all three movies yesterday?”
“It was a good series!” You say defensively,
humming along to the first strains of the soft, familiar song. “And you were
totally rocking out with me when ‘A Night to Remember’ came on.”
“Think they’ll play it at Prom?” Peter asks
wistfully, holding you close once again.
“We could always bribe the DJ,” You suggest, his
comment surprising a little laugh from you. “Heck, I could be the DJ.”
It’s not like you’ll be doing anything come prom
night besides lounge around in your pyjamas and eating your weight in
chocolate. Besides, you’re sure that your collection of songs on your phone is
way better than whatever the hired DJ has planned.
“I bet your set list consists of only High
School Musical songs.”
“Er … Maybe?”
As the singers croon about catching lightning in
smooth, dulcet tones, Peter hesitates for the briefest moment before stepping
into the dance. The first steps are stilted, but as he gains confidence, the
two of you are soon spinning and whirling about with the same smooth alacrity
as the dancers in the movie.
You’re floating on a cloud, held steady by the
firm grip on your hand and waist. Even with your high heels and the butterflies
coming to life in your belly, you’re twirling about like a princess in an
Dizzy and flushed with happiness, you let out a
high pitched stream of giggles, burying your face in the crook of Peter’s neck.
Stupid! You curse yourself, but you
don’t have it in you to pull away. Peter laughs, not minding in the least,
making no attempt to push you away, sounding just as giddy as you feel as he
lifts you up into the air.
He’s stronger than he looks, you think vaguely,
feet flying out behind you as you shriek with joy. The two of you barely notice
that the heavy drops of rain have begun to fall in earnest now, plastering hair
to faces and clothes to bodies.
And as you cling to Peter, feeling the closeness
of your best friend in your arms, and the warmth of him on your skin, you
think, “This is enough. This is enough.”
And it is. You can almost forget that he’s
taking Liz to prom.
I started off playing the piano, and although I liked it, it wasn’t exactly what I was looking for. A friend of my family left a drum kit in our garage; I think any kid left alone with a drum kit over the summer will have a bash at some point! My cousin was learning drums at the time, and she taught me a basic beat. My dad had some friends who would come around and play together on the weekends. I’d sit and watch them, and soon I started joining in. – Sarah Jones
“Hey, Scully,” Mulder called, flipping through a familiar-looking notebook as he walked into the room she was packing.
“What?” she asked. She knew she recognized the notebook in his hand, but couldn’t place it.
“Patrick?” She squinted and wiped the back of her forearm against her forehead.
“Dear Patrick,” Mulder read. “I dreamed you kissed me at summer camp and we went swimming together. You told me not to tell Billy that you kissed me because he would punch you in the nose, but I said if Billy punched you in the nose, I would punch him back. I know how to break his nose because Dad taught me how to punch. Love, Dana.”
“Oh my God,” Scully chuckled, dropping the dish rags in her hand and reaching for the notebook. “Can I see that?”
“First, I need to know more about this Patrick,” Mulder said, holding the book out of her reach. “Who is he and did he ever kiss you at summer camp?”
Scully jumped up and snatched the book out of Mulder’s hand and flipped it open. “He was one of Bill’s best friends,” she said. “I don’t even think he knew I existed. i was in love with him when I was about twelve.”
“I like this one,” Mulder said, leaning over Scully’s shoulder and stopping her from going any further in the book. “Dear Patrick, I am more than Billy’s little sister. When I said hello to you today at church, you told your mom that I was Billy’s little sister and you didn’t even tell her my name. I forgive you, though. Some day, people are going to say oh, there’s Billy Scully, he’s Dana Scully’s brother. Love, DANA.”
“Where did you find this?” Scully asked.
“Taking the boxes out of the basement like you asked. I opened up one with your name on it and a whole treasure trove spilled out.”
“What else was in there?”
“School stuff, trophies, some file folders. This was just too interesting to wait.”
“I wonder how Mom ended up with it. I wonder why I didn’t throw it out.”
“Maybe your love for Patrick burned too hot.” Mulder swiped the notebook back from Scully’s clutches and flipped through more of it. “Dear Patrick, If it’s because I’m twelve, I’ll understand. I’ll be thirteen in eight months and Mom says I’ll be able to go to the mall by myself like Missy does. Missy didn’t get to go to the mall by herself until she was fourteen, but I’m more responsible and mature, Mom says. I also know I’m smarter than Jenny Flaherty, so I don’t know why you want to date her. Billy says boys don’t give a crap about brains, but I think he’s wrong. I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that strange? (That’s from Shakespeare. I didn’t even read it for school, so see, I bet Jenny Flaherty doesn’t even know Shakespeare) Love, Dana. Damn, Scully, you were vicious. Poor Jenny Flaherty.”
“Wonder where she’s at today.”
“I’m more interested in the current state of Patrick.”
Scully smiled a little sadly and went back to cleaning and packing china. “Killed his first year of college by a drunk driver.”
“Yeah. Bill was given a weekend pass from boot camp to attend the funeral.”
“Did you ever tell him?”
“No. I just wrote him letters I knew I’d never send.”
“Sort of like…” Mulder stopped and then shook his head.
“Yeah, sort of like the ones I write to William,” she finished, glancing up at him.
“Could I read those ones some day?”
She licked her lips and rubbed imaginary spots off a plate with too much determination. “Okay,” she finally said.
“I’ll get back to work on those boxes.”
“I’ll order lunch soon.”
Mulder came back over to her and put one arm around her, leaning down so his lips brushed her ear. “I love nothing in the world so well as you,” he said.
“I know,” she said, setting the plate down so she could put her own arms around him too.
Does it count as a first date if you wake in the person’s arms?
We lounge in bed, drifting between awake and asleep, Peeta’s fingertips skating over my legs and hips, etching cool patterns or maybe words into my skin. It’s such a luxury to wile away the hours this way. We get up to eat, but it isn’t until early afternoon that we’re both awake and willing enough to actually go on our hiking date.
I dress in cotton pants and a t-shirt, tugging on a hooded sweatshirt for warmth. Peeta leaves me for a few minutes to dress in his apartment and returns garbed much the way I am, his black backpack slung over one shoulder.
It doesn’t feel like a first date as I drive us out of town, since Peeta apparently doesn’t own a car, preferring to walk or use public transportation to get around the city. We talk and laugh, the windows down and the crisp fall air making a tangled mess of flyaways even though I braided my hair. I tell him about the time my father and I got ourselves chased up a tree by a black bear when we plucked berries from a bush he’d apparently already laid claim to. And as I park in one of the lots at the trailhead near Lake Panem, I realize that I’ve never been this comfortable on a first date before.
I play bass. I play a bit of guitar. I’ve never been to a lesson, so my theory of music is non-existent in any instrument, but we always had guitars around. My dad taught me to play drums for Love Actually, and I still play drums now. But I’m not a “drummer.” I’m not a “guitarist.” I’m trying to be a bassist.
It's O.K. that you can't swim, Gerard. It'll come to you.
Yeah. This swimming stuff is easy. My dad taught me to swim when I was little. We went white water rafting and he just pushed me right out. I hit so many rocks. You know how they say "sticks and stones can break your bones"? Yeah, that's not just a phrase...